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saatorus · 3 months ago

Text

whisper of the heart — a nerdjo fic

synopsis — after reading about a book series that mirrored everything you’d loved about a past favourite, you were thrilled to find it in your college library. the copies were old—worn enough to still have checkout cards—but what caught your attention was the same set of initials, G.S., scrawled across nearly every one. the same G.S. who had filled the margins with sharp, thoughtful annotations. you couldn’t stop yourself from thoroughly enjoying the silly little comments written in the margins, leaving your own notes alongside theirs. it wasn’t until much later that you realised G.S. wasn’t some long-gone bookworm. it was none other than the man you had sworn to hate. gojo satoru.

pairing — nerd! satoru x reader

genre — academic rivals to lovers

word count— 32k (oops)

warnings — sexual content (unprotected sex), swearing, mentions of not eating, slight angst.

small playlist i listened to while writing

"You all can come and grab the papers now—do not ask me for any re-evaluations, the mark presented on the paper is your final mark—"

You barely listen. The professor could be reading a grocery list for all you care. Your focus is already on the stack of midterms in his hands, your heart pounding like a drum against your ribs.

The exam had been brutal—200 marks, covering classical mechanics and electromagnetism, some of the toughest material in your Physics II course. Past students had called it a horror show, a midterm designed to crush dreams and expose weaknesses. It was weighted heavily in your final grade, which meant every single mark mattered. The room is filled with a tense hum, a mixture of eager whispers and anxious murmurs. Some students hesitate in their seats, mentally preparing themselves before facing their doom. But you? You don't wait. You weave through the aisles, manoeuvring past people, determined to be one of the first to grab your paper.

And, of course, Gojo is right behind you.

"Jeez, you could at least pretend to be patient," he muses, his tone dripping with amusement as he strolls lazily down the steps, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie. You roll your eyes. "Not all of us have the luxury of cruising through exams without trying."

"I do try," he says, flashing you a grin. "I try just enough." Before you can shoot back a response, you reach the professor’s desk. Professor Takeda raises an unimpressed brow as he sorts through the papers.

"You two again," he sighs. "Half my life as a professor has been spent watching you bicker."

"Don't be dramatic, sir," Gojo says smoothly, resting an elbow on the desk. "It's only been three years." Takeda shakes his head, muttering something under his breath about headaches before handing you your paper. You grab it without waiting, fingers slightly shaking as you flip it over.

98.

The relief rushes through you instantly, so strong you can’t help the triumphant burst of excitement. "Ninety-eight!" you blurt out, beaming as you hug the paper to your chest. It’s a damn near perfect score, and after all those sleepless nights, all those hours of grinding through problem sets—you earned this. Gojo, still waiting for his turn, glances at you with an expression you can’t quite place. His usual smirk is still there, but there’s something else—something quieter, almost thoughtful, before he smooths it over with his usual easy confidence.

Takeda hands him his paper. Gojo flips it over, barely reacting as he reads the number at the top.

"Ninety-five." Your grin widens.

"You mean I beat you?" You practically bounce on your heels. "Me? The one you said was ‘too uptight’ and needed to ‘relax and accept second place’? Me?"

Gojo exhales through his nose, shaking his head, as he folds his paper out of your sight. "Don't get too cocky," he drawls, shoving the paper under his arm. "It’s just three points."

"Three points above you."

"For now," he corrects smoothly, nudging your shoulder as he moves past you.

It’s been this way since freshman year. You and Gojo had ended up in the same introductory physics course, and from the very first midterm, it was clear: you were the only two truly competing at the top of the class. But while you poured everything into studying—late nights, flashcards, equations scribbled on napkins—Gojo seemed to barely put in the effort. He’d show up late to lectures, half-asleep in sweatpants, glasses slightly skewed, yet somehow still aced every exam. He never took notes, never stressed, never seemed to break a sweat. It drove you insane. Because no matter how hard you tried, how much effort you put in—he was always right there with you. Sometimes ahead, sometimes just behind, but never far enough to ignore.

And worst of all? He made it look easy. By now, the entire physics department knew about your rivalry. Professors expected you to fight over test scores. Study groups would take bets on who would score higher. Even during practical lab sessions, it was always a silent battle—who could get through the calculations faster, who could figure out the trick questions first. You hated him. And now, after years of this, you finally had something over him. A small, almost imperceptible shift in the universe.

You beat Gojo Satoru. As soon as class ends, you’re practically floating out of the lecture hall, midterm still clutched in your hands. The second you step into the cafeteria, your eyes scan the room for your friend, and when you finally spot her at your usual table, you don’t even bother with a greeting. “I got a ninety-eight,” you announce, sliding into the seat across from her with an undeniably smug grin. “And I beat Gojo.”

Her head snaps up from her laptop. “Wait— Gojo Gojo?”

You roll your eyes. “As opposed to what? Some other Gojo in our department?”

“Oh my God, you actually did it?” she gasps, setting her drink down as she stares at you in something close to awe. “I thought that man was unstoppable.”

“Well, turns out he’s not.” You lean back in your chair, stretching your arms above your head. “Guess he finally met his match.” Your friend is still blinking at you in disbelief when a voice cuts in from behind you, slow and amused.

“One good score, and you think you’re the shit.” You freeze. Then, before you can even turn around, Gojo is already there, stepping up behind you like a shadow that refuses to be ignored. You feel the presence of him—tall, lazy, entirely too smug—before you even lift your head to meet his gaze. He’s leaning in just slightly, close enough to loom, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. That familiar, insufferable smirk is plastered on his face, condescending and infuriatingly amused.

You huff. “Can’t a girl enjoy her victory in peace?”

He tilts his head, that same damned smirk never wavering. “Victory?” he echoes, voice dripping with mockery. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, aren’t you? One midterm doesn’t erase three years of domination.” You scoff, crossing your arms. “Oh, please. Like you’ve actually dominated me.”

“Oh, you want me to bring out the stats?” Gojo hums, slipping into the seat beside you like he owns the place. He props his elbow on the table, resting his cheek on his palm as he begins, “Physics I final—97 to your 96. Thermodynamics midterm? 95 to your 91. Electromagnetic Fields exam—”

You groan. “Jesus Christ, you memorized all of them?”

“You think I don’t keep track?” He arches a brow, eyes glinting with amusement. “It’s not my fault I have a consistent history of kicking your ass.”

Your friend snorts into her drink. “He kinda has a point—”

You shoot her a glare. Gojo, meanwhile, is clearly having the time of his life. He leans in, that imposing height of his making his presence impossible to ignore, his voice dropping just slightly, almost teasing. “But sure,” he drawls, chin resting in his hand. “Enjoy your one win, (name). I’ll let you have it.”

You grip your cup so tightly the plastic crinkles. “Let me have it?”

“Mmm.” He tilts his head, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Wouldn’t want you to cry when I obliterate you on the final.” Your friend nudges you under the table, mouthing he’s so full of shit, but you barely register it—because the air between you and Gojo is charged in a way that makes your stomach twist. You won’t admit it out loud, but part of you wonders— is this how he always talks to you?

So close, so taunting, like he enjoys watching you bristle. You hate how natural it feels, how effortless the rhythm of your bickering has become. But more than anything, you hate the way your heart stutters when he pushes himself out of his chair, hands still stuffed in his pockets, and grins down at you like he already knows how the next round of this fight is going to end.

“You should really start studying,” he hums, walking backward toward the exit. “You’ll need it.” And with that, he’s gone, leaving you fuming at the table. Your friend watches him go, eyebrows raised. “So, uh,” she says slowly. “Are we sure you guys aren’t flirting?” You glare at her.

“I hate him.” She smirks. “Mhm.” You seethe a little, realising—with a stab of annoyance—that yes, that motherfucker is actually leading right now in terms of grades and rankings. It’s not even about the marks. Okay, maybe it’s a little about the marks. But you’ve always been the smart woman in your course. The one who professors hold up as an example. The one whose name has been printed on merit lists and whose email is always flooded with internship offers and research opportunities. You’ve spent years perfecting your academic standing, earning every achievement through sheer effort and discipline. But for some odd reason, none of it ever seems to matter until you’ve compared it with Gojo Satoru. You glare at his name on the leaderboard, one place ahead of yours. A single midterm shouldn’t be enough to infuriate you, and yet—

Your eye twitches. How the hell did you even get here?

Well.

Actually.

You know how. You just try not to think about it because, frankly, it’s one of the most mortifying moments of your entire academic career.

—

It was the very first week of freshman year, and you were, for lack of a better term, an insufferable know-it-all. Not in a bad way—okay, maybe in a slightly bad way. But it wasn’t your fault that you took your education seriously, or that you actually read ahead in your courses, or that you genuinely cared about learning. If anything, you were doing everyone a service by answering questions when no one else raised their hands. So, on that particular day, when your physics professor asked the class a question about vector components, you barely hesitated before speaking up.

“The perpendicular components of a vector are independent of each other,” you’d answered smoothly, sitting up a little straighter as you prepared to elaborate. “That’s why we can analyse them separately using—”

“Ohhh, wow,” someone cut in, voice dripping with mock wonder. “Look at that. We got a genius in the house.” The interruption had been so unexpected—so audacious—that it completely derailed your train of thought.

And when you turned around, irritated beyond belief, there he was. White hair, round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, an undeniably punchable smirk tugging at his lips. You had no idea who he was at the time. Just some tall, obnoxious guy slouched lazily in his seat, all limbs and arrogance, tapping a pen idly against his notebook as he stared at you with barely concealed amusement.

Your brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugged, “you must be so fun at parties.” The class chuckled. Your jaw clenched. “Well, someone has to answer when no one else even tries.”

“Right, because we’re all just too stupid to understand vectors,” he drawled, stretching lazily in his seat.

“I didn’t say that,” you shot back.

“Didn’t have to,” he grinned, tapping his temple. “I could feel the superiority radiating from you.” You exhaled sharply through your nose, forcing yourself to turn back around before you said something that would get you in trouble on the first week of class.

“Okay, okay,” your professor cut in, looking thoroughly unbothered by the exchange. “Let’s keep the debating to actual physics concepts.” That should have been the end of it. But then you heard a low tsk from behind you.

“I bet she memorized the textbook cover to cover before the semester even started,” the white-haired menace mused under his breath to his friend with the long, black haired locks, who seemed disinterested in what his friend had to say.

You whipped around. “I did not—”

“Don’t lie, nerd.”

“Excuse me?!” The class chuckled again. And when you shot a glare toward your professor, expecting some kind of reprimand, he just sighed and muttered, “God, I already know you two are going to be a pain in my ass.” From that moment on, it had been war.

Your first set of midterms was when you realized he wasn’t just talk. You walked into class with a 97 on your physics exam, feeling confident—only to glance over and see Gojo slouched in his seat, grinning as he casually flipped his test paper over to show a 99. He made eye contact with you as he tapped his fingers against the big red number. You nearly broke your pen in half.

And so it began.

Every exam, every assignment, every single class discussion became a battleground. You would argue over formulas, nitpick each other’s solutions, and constantly try to one-up the other. You worked your ass off to close the gap, pouring hours into perfecting your work. And Gojo? Gojo barely looked like he was trying. That was what infuriated you the most. He never seemed stressed, never looked exhausted, never talked about pulling all-nighters. He just showed up, half the time looking like he hadn’t even studied, and still somehow stayed ahead. Until now. Until your 98 finally beat his 95. A single win isn’t enough. But damn, does it feel good.

—

You step into the lecture hall, already bracing yourself for the inevitable. Sure enough, Gojo Satoru is exactly where you expect him to be—sprawled out in his usual seat, legs stretched obnoxiously far like he has no concept of personal space. His sunglasses rest on top of his head, keeping his messy white hair from falling into his annoyingly pretty eyes, and the second he spots you, that familiar smirk tugs at his lips. You’re already exhausted.

“You’re early,” you mutter, slipping into your seat and pulling out your laptop.

“And you’re predictable,” he shoots back. “What, do you set an alarm just to make sure you get here before me?”

“You wish.”

“Nah, you wish.”

You pause, narrowing your eyes. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

He shrugs, propping his chin on his hand. “Still got under your skin, though, didn’t it?”

You make a sound of irritation in the back of your throat, ready to tell him exactly where he can shove his smug attitude, but your friend plops into the seat next to you, completely unaware of the storm brewing between you and Gojo. You exhale sharply, forcing yourself to shift gears—there’s something more important than your ongoing war with him. Something much, much more important.

“Okay, so, I found this book series last night,” you begin, your fingers twitching excitedly as you pull out your phone. “I was going through one of those book recommendation guides—you know, the niche ones that aren’t full of the same ten bestsellers—and this one just caught my eye.” Your friend hums in interest, booting up their laptop. “What’s it about?”

You practically buzz with excitement. “So it’s kind of like—ugh, how do I explain it—it’s this really well-written like narrative, mystery, suspense, romance, but with, like, existential themes? And this insane world building? And apparently, no one talks about it because the publisher went under before it got the recognition it deserved, so it’s kind of a hidden gem.” As you speak, Gojo, who had been staring blankly at the front of the room, blinks. That sounds familiar.

“You’re really selling it,” your friend teases.

“Right?! And apparently, it’s super hard to find, but I checked, and our library actually has a few copies.” You tuck your phone away, already feeling a rush of excitement. “I’m gonna borrow the first book after class.” Gojo leans back in his seat, eyes flickering with something unreadable.

Yeah, he thinks. I’ve definitely read that.

He doesn’t say anything, though. Just rests his chin in his palm and listens as you keep gushing. Because now that he thinks about it, he really liked that series too. It had been one of those random books he picked up between classes, half expecting to get bored, but then something about it hooked him. The way it wove together philosophy and adventure, the quiet melancholy lingering in the prose—it was the kind of book that stuck with you. But he never finished it. Midterms had hit, and between exams, research papers, and group projects that made him want to rip his hair out, he just… forgot. He never went back to check out the last few books. He had meant to, but by the time he had free time again, his brain had moved on. And now here you are, unknowingly digging it back up.

His fingers drum idly against the desk, and for some reason, he can’t shake the thought: She’s gonna love it. He steals another glance at you. You’re still talking, eyes bright with excitement, flipping through your phone as you read off little details from the guide you found. The enthusiasm is contagious—he can’t remember the last time he saw you this animated about something that wasn’t academics. Usually, all your energy goes into perfecting equations, arguing with him over points lost on exams, and trying to one-up him in every possible way. This is… different.

And weirdly, he finds himself kind of liking it. Not that he’d ever admit it.

–

So after class finally finishes—thankfully, your professor had been going through a hard topic that he kept droning on and on about, emphasising how likely it was to appear in the final exam—it was enough to sate even Gojo, who, for once, shut up and took notes diligently. You head out at lightning speed, managing a small “see you later” to your friend before disappearing into the hallway. Honestly, ever since the new year of college had started, you’d barely had time to indulge in activities you actually enjoyed.

Sure, you squeezed in a few books here and there when you had the chance, but it was difficult finding ones that hit just the right way—ones with the same kind of engaging plot, the same writing style that kept you hooked. You’d tried, but nothing had stuck with you the way your favorite books used to. It had been frustrating, going through these long periods without anything to read. But this time, you had a feeling it would be different.

Turning a corner, you step into the vast college library, its sheer size never failing to impress you. The high, arched ceilings, the rows upon rows of bookshelves, and the dozens of students scattered across large wooden tables, heads buried in textbooks—it’s an environment that should feel welcoming, yet all it does is remind you how much work you still have waiting for you. You shake that thought away.

Right now, you’re here for one thing.

You glance at your phone, rereading the author’s name one last time before slipping it into your pocket and heading straight for the fiction section. It’s tucked away in one of the quieter corners of the library, past the heavier academic texts, and while it’s not as large as the science or philosophy sections, it still has an impressive selection. The shelves here are a little dustier, the books a little more worn—proof that they don’t get checked out as often as the physics or chemistry textbooks. You trace your fingers lightly along the spines, scanning for the title. When you finally spot it, you feel a flicker of excitement. There it is.

The first book in the series. The cover is simple yet striking, the title embossed in slightly faded silver lettering. You pull it off the shelf carefully, glancing around to see if the rest of the series is there. To your delight, every single book is lined up neatly in order. Some of them look well-loved, the edges softened from use, some even slightly bent, as if they’d been carried around in bags, read and reread countless times.

You flip the book over and read the blurb. Even though you already know the gist of the story from your research, there’s something about reading the official summary that makes your excitement spike. It’s exactly what you’ve been looking for—an underrated but brilliant story, the kind that feels like a hidden gem. Unable to resist, you take the book with you and settle down at one of the smaller, tucked-away tables. You’re a slow reader, someone who likes to absorb every word, letting the imagery settle in your mind before moving on. But the moment you turn to the first page and begin reading, you’re immediately pulled in.

The writing is crisp and immersive, the kind that hooks you effortlessly. Within moments, you’re completely lost in the world of the book, eyes darting across the pages, flipping to the next before you even realize it. The characters are compelling, the descriptions vivid, and the dialogue sharp. You can already tell this is going to be one of those stories that sticks—the kind that lingers in the back of your mind long after you’ve finished. Just as you reach a particularly interesting part, your phone buzzes.

You blink, momentarily disoriented before glancing at the screen. It’s a reminder you set for yourself. Right. You still need to study. A sigh escapes you. As much as you want to keep reading, you know you can’t afford to waste too much time. With some reluctance, you close the book and stand up, making your way toward the borrowing counter. You check it out quickly, securing it in your bag, already planning when you’ll carve out time to read it between your study sessions. It’s something to look forward to, at least. And if you had known just who had been the last person to check it out before you, maybe you wouldn’t be so eager.

–

The ringer from your Pomodoro timer goes off, its sharp chime cutting through the quiet of your dorm room. With a sigh, you drop your pencil onto your open notebook, rolling your shoulders back as you stretch in your seat, feeling the slight stiffness from hours of hunching over your desk. Lazily glancing at the glowing numbers on your laptop screen, a small grin tugs at the corners of your lips.

Four hours of focused work.

Good. You’ve finally finished studying for the night, trudging through a mountain of tricky concepts and endless equations—just enough to ensure you’ll keep up with the next few lectures before the actual final exam looms over you. The weight of the work you’ve put in settles in a satisfying way, a quiet reassurance that you’re keeping up. Yawning, you grab your phone, thumbing through a few unopened texts, sending half-hearted replies where needed.

Your mind is already half-tuned out, already drifting toward what you actually want to do now that your responsibilities are out of the way for the night. Pushing yourself up from your chair, you shuffle toward your bed, sinking into the softness of your mattress with a pleased sigh. And then, with an eager flicker of excitement, you reach for the borrowed library book resting on your side table, fingers running over the slightly worn edges of the cover.

Finally.

Opening it to the page you had left off, you settle deeper into the blankets, eyes scanning the words slowly, absorbing every detail. The prose is effortless, pulling you into the world woven between the lines. The atmosphere is rich, each description vivid and carefully placed, the characters full of depth. There’s a certain feeling you get when a book is just right—something that clicks into place, the rare kind of story that makes the outside world blur at the edges. You don’t rush through it.

You savor every word, taking in the dialogue, the intricate details of the setting, the careful unraveling of the plot. Then, just as you shift slightly, readjusting your grip, a small slip of paper flutters from between the pages. You blink, momentarily pulled from the trance of the story, watching as it lands lightly on your blanket.

Frowning, you reach for it, fingers brushing against the slightly yellowed, aged texture of the paper. It’s rectangular, not quite as thick as a regular bookmark, with neat printed lines running across it in faded ink.

A borrowing card.

You stare at it for a second, a vague memory surfacing. Back during your university orientation in first year, you remember a librarian offhandedly mentioning that some of the older books in the collection still had checkout cards inside them, relics from a time before everything became digitized. But since you’d only ever borrowed course-related books—ones that were constantly replaced with new editions—you’d never actually come across one. Huh.

Your fingers trace the faded lines as you sit up slightly, eyes scanning the list of names scrawled across it—

Except… there are no names. Just one. Or rather, just a set of initials, written neatly in blue ink

G.S.

The date beside it is from a while ago, though not too long. But the strange thing is, it’s the only entry on the entire card. You blink, flipping it over, checking the back. Nothing. So… no one else has borrowed this book? You hesitate, gripping the card a little tighter. You’re supposed to write your name down now, right? That’s how these things work. It’s a log of borrowers. But then—why had this person only written their initials?

A weird feeling stirs in your chest. Not unease, exactly—just something you can’t put a name to. It’s probably nothing. Maybe this book just wasn’t that popular. The only reason you found it was because of some obscure online guide, after all. Maybe no one really checked it out over the years, and the one person who did just didn’t feel like writing their full name.

Shaking your head, you push the thought aside, grabbing a pen from your nightstand. Without thinking too much about it, you write your own name neatly beneath G.S., along with today’s date. Then, you tuck the card back into its place and return to your book, letting yourself sink back into the story. A few more pages in, about a quarter of the way through the book, your eyes catch something that makes your brow furrow.

Are those… scribbles?

Your annoyance flares up immediately. Who the hell desecrates a library book? It’s practically sacrilegious. Your fingers tighten slightly around the spine as you bring the book closer to inspect the crime against literature, fully prepared to be enraged—

Wait.

They’re not just random scribbles. They’re annotations.

Your irritation dims slightly, curiosity piqued as you squint to make out the neat, slightly slanted cursive handwriting running along the margins. Some words are underlined, a few sentences circled, and in a crisp blue ink, a note is scrawled beside a particularly tense conversation between two characters:

“I can just tell he’s gonna be the one dead first. He’s overreacting to everything.”

You blink. Then, despite yourself, a small giggle escapes. Because—okay—whoever wrote this isn’t wrong. You literally thought the same thing just a few moments ago. As much as you love a good, well-written novel, you’ve read enough books in your life to recognise the telltale signs of an early death flag. And this character? He’s practically begging to be taken out of the story. Your amusement lingers as you scan the page again, eyes flitting to more scribbles running alongside the printed words.

"God, she sounds so insufferable."

You smirk a little at that, suppressing a chuckle.

"I like this line—the quote kinda speaks to me."

Your gaze follows the arrow pointing toward a particularly well-crafted piece of dialogue. Huh. You actually like that line too.

"I take the previous statement back—no way did he say that entire motivational monologue just for him to throw his morals aside..."

A small, surprised laugh escapes you. You love when characters do this kind of thing—spend pages waxing poetic about their grand principles, only to completely toss them out the window at the first sign of trouble. It’s frustrating, but also wildly entertaining, and you find yourself nodding unconsciously in agreement.

You shift slightly, adjusting your grip on the book as your initial annoyance starts to morph into something else—something you don’t want to admit is enjoyment. Because as much as you usually hate unnecessary markings in books, these annotations don’t feel disruptive.

They feel… engaging. Like you’re reading with someone. It’s a strange feeling—an unexpected, quiet kind of companionship in the margins of the book. You scan ahead, flipping a few pages forward, wondering if this mystery annotator—G.S., you assume—has left their thoughts scattered throughout the entire book.

Oh. They have. Almost every page has at least something scribbled in the margins. Some annotations are sarcastic, others incredulous. A few are simple observations or predictions about the plot, and some are just random, dramatic reactions that make you snort.

"Oh my GOD, just kiss already!"

You huff out an amused breath, shaking your head.

"He is so painfully oblivious it’s almost impressive."

Honestly, you were thinking the same thing. Before you realize it, you’ve started reading out loud—not the annotations, but the actual book. It’s something you do sometimes when you’re alone, when a scene is particularly well-written or emotional. And now, with G.S.’s thoughts scattered alongside the text, it almost feels like you’re having a conversation with them. Like they’re some ghostly presence in the book, reacting alongside you in real time.

You catch yourself before you say something back to one of the notes.

Which is insane. Because this is just a random person’s handwriting in a library book. And yet—

You exhale through your nose, fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the page. You kind of… want to know who they are. Who is G.S.? Because if their annotations are anything to go by, they have the exact same thoughts as you while reading. The same exasperation, the same eye-roll-worthy observations, the same appreciation for the well-crafted lines. And you can’t help but wonder—just who was sitting with this same book in their hands, reading the same words, thinking the same things? It’s an odd, fleeting curiosity, but you push it aside for now, shaking your head as you turn the page.

You settle deeper into your blankets, the book resting comfortably in your hands as you turn the page. The words on the paper blur slightly in the dim light of your bedside lamp, but you don’t mind—you’re too immersed now, drawn into both the story and the unexpected presence of G.S. in the margins. The next chapter begins, and you take a slow breath before diving in, eyes flicking between the printed text and the handwritten notes.

"Oh, I just know this is going to go terribly."

You glance at the line it’s referencing—a scene where the protagonist makes a bold, arguably reckless decision. Yeah, G.S. is probably right. A few more pages pass. The tension in the book rises, and you’re so absorbed that you nearly miss the next annotation.

"There it is. The classic ‘staring at the moon in emotional turmoil’ scene. Authors love this one."

You snort. Okay, but they’re right. You tilt your head, momentarily pausing your reading to stare at the note. It’s a little strange, this dynamic you’ve somehow fallen into with a complete stranger. You feel like you know them, or at least, their reading habits. Their humor. The way they react to the exact same things that pull at your attention. It's unsettling in a way that’s not entirely unpleasant. You flip forward, skimming ahead to see if the notes continue—and they do.

"I KNEW IT. I CALLED IT. HE’S A TRAITOR."

You blink, pausing mid-sentence. Your gaze darts back to the text, where a major plot twist has just been revealed. Your mouth parts slightly, rereading the words to make sure you’re seeing them correctly. Damn. You did not see that coming.

You exhale, a small smirk tugging at your lips. Fine. Point to you, G.S. You keep reading, now almost waiting for the next annotation, like it’s a second voice in your head providing commentary as you go. And when the protagonist makes another questionable decision—

"Why are men in fiction like this?"

—you laugh, shaking your head. It continues like that for pages. Every now and then, G.S. 's notes make you chuckle, or nod in agreement, or roll your eyes because come on, that was an obvious metaphor. And as much as you want to be annoyed by the interruptions, you find yourself… enjoying it. Maybe even liking it. At some point, you shift your position, getting more comfortable against your pillows, completely absorbed. The words feel alive, and not just the printed ones, but the ones scribbled in blue ink alongside them. It’s a conversation you never expected to have—one separated by time, by anonymity, by the unlikelihood of ever knowing who G.S. is. Your fingers brush over the ink of the annotations, slightly faded but still legible. Thinking back to the date listed on the library card from quite a while ago, you wonder if G.S. has even thought about this book since then. Or if they’ve forgotten about it entirely. You stare at the letters for a moment longer before shaking your head, pushing away the odd sensation curling at the back of your mind.

It’s just a book. Just some random person’s annotations. It doesn’t mean anything.

A reminder notification pops up on your phone—one you’d set earlier to keep your study schedule in check. You sigh. Right. You should get some sleep soon. Reluctantly, you close the book, running your fingers over the cover one last time before placing it on your nightstand. You’ll finish it later—between classes, between assignments, between all the little gaps in your schedule where you can steal a moment to read. And maybe, you’ll keep an eye out. Because now, you kind of want to know if G.S. ever came back for this book.

–

By the time your next Physics lecture rolls around, you’ve already finished the first book in the series. It had consumed your nights, pulling you in with its immersive world-building and gripping storyline—but, if you were being honest, the experience had been made infinitely more enjoyable because of the annotations left behind in the margins. The presence of another reader, someone who had walked the same narrative path as you and left breadcrumbs of their thoughts along the way, had made the book feel less like a solitary escape and more like a shared secret. So, naturally, when you stride into class that morning, you’re already prepared to discuss it at length with your friend.

What you aren’t prepared for is Gojo Satoru.

Not that you ever are, really. He has a habit of making his presence known, like some self-appointed force of nature existing solely to get under your skin. And today is no different—he walks past you with an easy, sauntering gait, the kind that’s deliberately slow enough to be obnoxious. There’s a telltale smirk tugging at his lips, the glint of mischief in his strikingly bright eyes as he leans in, as if he’s about to say something insufferable just to throw off your morning. You pretend not to see him.

Your willful ignorance must be obvious because you hear him scoff under his breath as he passes by, but you don’t give him the satisfaction of looking.

Instead, you beeline toward the row where your friend is already seated, setting your bag down with an eager bounce in your step.

“Dude,” you start, flipping open your laptop with a flourish, “remember that book I told you about a few weeks back?” Your friend raises a brow. “The one from that super niche book guide you were raving about?”

“The very same one,” you confirm, barely able to contain your excitement. “I finally finished it, and oh my god, it was so good. The plot? Phenomenal. The pacing? Perfect. But you know what actually made it even better?”

You don’t notice the way Gojo hesitates just as he’s about to settle into the seat behind you. He freezes, fingers hovering above the keyboard of his laptop as his ears zero in on your conversation.

“You found another book to obsess over?” Your friend teases, but you shake your head fervently.

“No, no, listen,” you insist, your voice lowering slightly as you lean in, “someone left annotations in it.”

Satoru’s fingers twitch.

“You mean like, study notes?”

“No! Like, actual thoughts—comments, reactions, opinions. And not just boring analytical stuff, either. They were funny. Snarky. They made fun of the characters at the exact moments I wanted to. It was like reading the book with someone, you know?”

A very distinct, yet invisible, sense of dread creeps into Gojo’s chest.

Oh. Oh, shit. The annotations. He had completely forgotten about those. He had scrawled them in the margins ages ago—mostly on a whim, partly out of boredom, and entirely because he physically could not read a book in silence. If there was one thing Gojo Satoru was incapable of, it was shutting the fuck up, even when he was the only audience for his own commentary. So, naturally, when he had found himself enjoying the book way more than expected, he had started treating it like a private conversation with himself, writing down whatever thoughts came to mind.

He never expected anyone to see them. And now, sitting barely a foot away, he’s listening to you—of all people—excitedly gush about his stupid little scribbles, completely oblivious to the fact that the person you were praising, the one whose humor you found entertaining and whose insights you had agreed with, was him. He schools his expression, keeping his head tilted just enough to appear disinterested. But his ears are wide open.

“Whoever wrote those notes,” you continue, flipping your pen between your fingers, “had some serious opinions. And honestly? I kind of love them. Like, I think we have the same brain.”

Satoru presses his lips together, biting back a grin.

You? Agreeing with him? That was new.

Your friend hums. “So you’re basically having a book club with some anonymous person who read it before you?” You chuckle. “I mean… kinda? It’s weird, but it’s nice in a way. Like, usually when I read, it’s just me and the book. But with the annotations, it’s like there’s this extra layer of interaction. I get to see how someone else processed the story, how they reacted to the same moments I did.”

Satoru knows he should stop listening. He should. But he doesn’t.

Because something about this whole situation—the fact that you, of all people, had unknowingly connected with him through a book—has him equal parts amused and intrigued. You, who always huffed when he teased you. You, who rolled your eyes at his antics, who made a point to ignore him even though he knew you were hyper-aware of his presence.

You had spent nights poring over words he had written in passing. And you had liked them. God, if you knew, you’d probably strangle him on the spot.

“I actually wanna see if this person has read the rest of the series,” you muse, mostly to yourself. “Like, maybe they annotated other books too.”

Satoru exhales through his nose, staring at his laptop screen but not actually registering anything on it. Well. This was going to be interesting.

–

You make your way to the library once again, the first book of the series clutched in your hands, ready to be returned. It feels weird, parting with it. As if you’re saying goodbye to something that had, for the past week, been a quiet companion during your late-night reading sessions. But not to worry, there’s still like five more books in the series. Your steps slow slightly as you approach the return counter, fingers absently reaching into your bag’s open pocket for a pen. Without much thought, you flip open the book and scrawl the date of return onto the inside of the back cover, where the borrowing card is located. Your thumb absentmindedly drags across the faded blue ink of the initials scrawled in the row above where you’ve signed your name.

G.S.

Whoever they were, they had made your reading experience infinitely better with their wry, sarcastic observations and strangely thoughtful insights. It was like reading alongside a particularly sharp-witted friend—one who, frustratingly, was just out of reach. You’re lost in thought, mulling over the mystery of G.S., when you abruptly walk straight into something firm and unmoving. And warm.

Something that smells like sandalwood and fresh linen and something inexplicably, irritatingly familiar.

You barely have time to stagger back before a voice—deep, lazy, and dripping with its usual brand of smugness—drawls, “My, my, pretending to walk around with your nose in a book so people think you’re more studious than you actually are?”

Your stomach sinks. You do not have the patience for this right now.

“Fuck off, Satoru,” you mutter, not even looking at him as you try to sidestep. Predictably, he moves right in front of you again, blocking your path with that insufferable ease of his. Hands in the pockets of his impeccably tailored slacks, sleeves of a stupidly expensive cashmere sweater pushed up to reveal the sharp line of his wrists and veiny forearms, and his ever-present glasses glinting under the dim library lights—he looks as if he owns the place.

His head tilts, white hair falling slightly over his frames as he glances down at the book in your hands. That smile—all teeth and smugness—spreads across his face like he’s caught you in something scandalous.

“Oh? Reading a book that isn’t course-related? Scandalous. What happened, got bored of being a try-hard? Or are you just begging to score lower than me on the final?” He exhales dramatically, shaking his head. “Tsk, tsk. Not that I’d expect you to actually be on my level, but it’s cute that you try—”

You stop listening after that. Normally, you’d throw something equally sharp-tongued back at him, tell him to go get hit by a bus or something equally creative, but you’re too drained to bother. The exhaustion from back-to-back lectures, plus the fact that you haven’t eaten anything substantial today, has dulled the sharp edges of your patience. A dull ache pounds at the base of your skull, and every word out of his mouth makes it throb even harder. Your expression must give away more than you intend because, for a split second, Gojo falters.

It’s quick—barely there. But you see it.

A flicker of something almost resembling concern flashes behind his glasses, like he’s actually noticed how drained you look. The moment is gone before you can process it. His usual smug expression slides right back into place, and you don’t have the energy to care.

“I need to return this,” you say flatly. “Get out of my way.”

Instead of stepping aside like a normal person, he falls into step beside you, hands still lazily stuffed in his pockets. “Oh? So now you acknowledge my presence,” he muses, voice light. “What, you didn’t miss me in class today? I even waited for you to roll your eyes at me like you do every morning. Felt almost lonely without it.”

“I genuinely do not care,” you reply without looking at him. He presses a hand to his chest as if wounded. “Ouch. Someone’s moody today. Low blood sugar? On your period? Brain finally given up trying to keep up with mine?”

You don’t dignify that with a response, instead sliding the book into the return pile with a little more force than necessary. Gojo watches, his gaze flickering between you and the book.

“What book were you returning, anyway?” The question is so casual, so offhanded, that you almost don’t clock it as strange. Almost. You narrow your eyes at him. “Didn’t take you for someone interested in my life.”

His lips curl into something unbearably smug. “Oh, I’m not.” He rocks back on his heels, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “I just like knowing what my rival is up to outside of class. You know, studying your weaknesses. Gathering intel. The usual.”

You stare at him. “You are so full of shit.”

“I really am,” he agrees cheerfully. You exhale through your nose, patience wearing thinner by the second. “Shouldn’t you be off somewhere being a general public nuisance?”

“This is me being a general public nuisance.” He grins. “And you’re the lucky victim of the day.”

“God, I hate you.”

“Aww, that’s cute. But you should be honest with yourself,” he says, following you as you make your way toward the exit. “I think you’d miss me if I suddenly disappeared.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You so would.”

“I would thrive in your absence.”

Gojo makes an exaggerated show of wiping away an imaginary tear. “How cruel. And here I was, thinking we had something special.”

You push open the library doors, stepping out into the crisp afternoon air. Finally, freedom. But, of course, Gojo keeps following you.

“…Why are you still here?” you ask, tiredly. He hums. “Dunno. Walking this way.”

“You don’t even know where I’m going.”

“Exactly,” he says, grinning. “A mystery. How exciting.” You consider throwing your bag at him. You settle for walking faster. You quicken your pace, hoping Gojo will get bored and wander off. He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He easily keeps up with you, long legs making it effortless, his stupid grin never fading.

“Walking faster won’t shake me, you know,” he muses, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you enjoy my company.” You don’t bother responding, gripping the strap of your bag tighter and staring straight ahead. He walks backward in front of you, head tilted, watching you with an almost lazy amusement. “So, where are you going? Café? Student lounge? Maybe a secret nerd meeting where you all discuss the best highlighters for maximum efficiency?”

You give him a deadpan look. “Yes, Satoru. That’s exactly what I’m doing. We’re all going to sit in a circle and ritually sharpen our pencils while whispering incantations about final exams.” He gasps dramatically. “I knew it. I bet you have a shrine dedicated to good grades too. And, like, a little altar where you sacrifice people who get higher scores than you—”

“I don’t need to sacrifice anyone,” you cut in, dryly. “Because I get the highest scores.” His grin widens. “Not all of them.”

You bristle, and he knows it. You both know that you and Gojo have been locked in a constant academic battle since the semester started. It’s maddening how often you end up in the top two spots. Even more maddening that he acts like he doesn’t even try. You exhale slowly, trying to focus on literally anything else. “I’m going to get food. Why don’t you go fuck off somewhere, like, I don’t know, ruin someone else’s day?”

“You wound me with such crass language,” he says, clutching his chest like you physically struck him. “I’m just being a good friend.”

“You’re not my friend.”

“Wow.” He sighs dramatically, as if genuinely offended. “All this time we’ve spent together, and you still call us enemies? I’d like to think of us more as… frenemies.”

“I would like to think of us as strangers.”

“And yet,” he says, smirking, “you still talk to me.”

You roll your eyes. “Only because you won’t shut up.”

Gojo shrugs. “Details.”

By now, you’ve reached the campus café. The smell of coffee and freshly baked pastries drifts through the air, making your stomach growl embarrassingly loud. You knew skipping lunch was a bad idea. Gojo hears it, of course.

“Oh?” His eyebrows lift, delighted. “Was that your stomach? Should I be worried? Are you dying of starvation? Is this how our rivalry ends?” You ignore him and step inside. The café is buzzing with students, some hunched over laptops, others chatting over coffee. You head straight for the counter, scanning the menu, debating if you should just get something quick and easy or actually sit down for a meal. Gojo, uninvited, leans casually against the counter beside you.

“Getting a drink too?” he asks, peering over your shoulder.

“Why do you care?”

“Maybe I wanna know what fuels my biggest competition,” he says, tone exaggeratedly thoughtful. “What’s the secret? Triple shot espresso? Pure willpower? The tears of your academic rivals?” You give him a look. “You’re projecting. You probably run on the suffering of others.”

“Obviously,” he says easily. “But I like to mix in a little sugar sometimes. Keeps me balanced and shit.” You’re about to tell him to go bother someone else when the barista glances up. “Next?” You quickly place your order. Just as you’re about to pull out your wallet, Gojo’s voice rings out:

“I’ve got it.”

Your head snaps toward him. “What.”

“I’m paying.” You stare at him, genuinely baffled. “Why?”

He grins. “Because I’m so generous, obviously.” You narrow your eyes. “No, really. What’s the catch?”

He puts a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “You think I’d trick you? I’m hurt.”

“Yes.”

Gojo just laughs and hands his card to the barista before you can argue further. You glare at him. “This better not be some elaborate scheme to hold this over my head later.”

“Oh, it definitely is,” he says cheerfully. “I plan to bring it up all the time.”

“Of course you do.” Your drink– tea to be specific– is ready a moment later. Begrudgingly, you take it, mumbling, “Thanks.” Gojo gasps, eyes wide. “Did you just thank me?” You exhale. “Never mind. I take it back.”

“No, no, it’s too late, you already said it.” He grins. “You like me.”

“I hate you.”

“You adore me.”

“I tolerate you at best.” Gojo sips his drink, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “That’s basically the same thing.” You groan and turn to leave.

Thankfully he doesn’t make the move to follow you this time.

–

Your… somewhat friendly interaction with Sa—No, Gojo—was forgotten by the time the next week rolled around. Not deliberately, of course. But between your physics assignments, math problem sets, and an unrelenting pile of lecture notes to review, your brain had simply discarded the memory. College had a way of pushing everything that wasn’t directly necessary for survival to the furthest corners of your mind. Currently, you were in the library, hunched over a thick textbook, your fingers curled into your hair as you skimmed the same paragraph for what felt like the tenth time. Nothing was sticking.

You groaned, tilting your head back against the chair and letting your gaze drift to the high ceilings of the study space. It was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of pages and the rhythmic clicking of laptop keys. Your physics notes sat in front of you, covered in a desperate sprawl of formulas and diagrams, but the more you stared, the more meaningless the symbols became. You needed a break. Your eyes flickered toward the fiction section.

It wouldn’t hurt to get another book.

A moment later, you were standing in front of the shelves, fingers tracing the spines as you searched for the second book in the series. It didn’t take long to find—it was positioned neatly with the rest of the series, the cover slightly fading due to how long it had probably been there. As you turned to leave, your thumb brushed against the inside cover, where the borrowing card was located.

And there, scrawled in the same faded blue ink as before, were the initials:

G.S.

You paused. Your mystery commentator had been here before you. Again. You traced the letters absentmindedly, your mind flickering back to the first book. Their annotations had been witty, sometimes mocking, but always sharp. You had enjoyed them—more than you expected.

You flipped to the borrowing card. G.S. had checked out this book multiple times. At least three dates next to their initials. A strange feeling settled in your chest. Who were they? You shook your head, pushing the thought aside as you made your way to the borrowing counter. It doesn’t matter. It’s just some random person. Still, as you returned to your study space, setting the book beside your untouched notes, your fingers itched to open it.

You tried—really tried—to focus on physics. For maybe ten minutes. Then, with a sigh, you slid your textbook aside and cracked open the novel. This one picked up right where the last had left off—the protagonist, an ambitious scholar, now forced into an uneasy alliance with a rogue historian, both of them hunting for a long-lost manuscript said to contain the secrets of the universe. Their journey took them through ancient libraries, shadowy alleyways, and grand halls of academia filled with intrigue and suspense that you thoroughly enjoyed.

It wasn’t long before you noticed the annotations.

"What an idiot. Why would you trust someone who literally betrayed you three chapters ago?" You huffed a quiet laugh. It was scrawled in the margins of a tense conversation between the protagonist and the historian, who had indeed been suspiciously untrustworthy.

Another note, a few pages later: "This argument is painfully dumb. If they just communicated, we wouldn’t need three more chapters of tension." You found yourself smiling. Whoever this was, they were blunt, maybe a bit cynical, but entertaining.

Then, another annotation caught your attention—this one different. It was scribbled beside a passage where the protagonist was deciphering an ancient mathematical equation, trying to understand the patterns behind the manuscript’s code. The handwriting was just as casual, but the content—

"This is basically just Fourier analysis but dressed up in fancy old-world academia. If the author actually wanted to be accurate, they’d at least mention waveforms. But nooo, we get poetic nonsense instead."

You blinked. That was… oddly specific. And not the kind of thing your average literature enthusiast would comment on. For a fleeting second, you wondered—

Does G.S. study physics?

The thought was strange, lingering in the back of your mind even as you continued reading. Minutes turned into hours. Slowly, students trickled out of the library. The rustling of papers faded, the soft murmur of whispered conversations disappearing into the silence of the near-empty study space. You didn’t notice.

Not until the overhead lights dimmed slightly, signaling that the library was closing soon. With a sigh, you shut the book, stretching your stiff limbs. Physics could wait a little longer.

–

A few days later, you found yourself in yet another grueling lecture. The classroom was buzzing with low chatter as students filtered in, some sleep-deprived, some over-caffeinated, and most looking like they’d rather be anywhere else. You were somewhere in the middle—tired but functional, flipping through your notes with half-hearted interest as you tried to prepare yourself for another two-hour session of mathematical physics. You adjusted your laptop screen, took a sip of your tea, and just as you settled in, you felt a presence.

A familiar, irritating presence.

“Morning, rival,” Gojo Satoru said cheerfully, dropping into the seat next to you with all the grace of an avalanche. You didn’t even look up. “Go away.”

He tsked. “Is that any way to greet your favorite classmate?”

“You’re not my favorite classmate.” He grinned, propping his chin on one hand.

“Don’t lie. You’d miss me if I wasn’t here to make class interesting.”

You ignored him, resolutely staring at your notes. The professor arrived a moment later, quickly settling into the day’s topic—wave equations and their applications. The discussion meandered through standard examples, Fourier transforms, and the different methods used to break down complex waveforms.

You barely registered the name of the theory—just a fleeting recognition of something familiar—before you were back to jotting down notes. At first, you were focused, diligently taking notes and absorbing the information. For the first thirty minutes, you managed to avoid paying him any attention. You scribbled down notes, underlined important formulas, and even managed to listen without feeling the urge to slam your head into the desk.

But then—of course—Gojo had to open his mouth.

“So, hypothetically,” he mused, voice carrying just enough to be heard by the surrounding students, “if we were to apply this to a broader model, say… nonlinear oscillations, wouldn’t that mean—”

You immediately frowned. He was already trying to sound smarter than he was.

“That’s not how that works,” you cut in before the professor could even acknowledge him. Gojo turned to you, looking far too entertained. “Yeah, it is.”

“No, it isn’t.” You shifted in your seat, twisting to face him fully. “You can’t just apply Fourier analysis wherever you want and expect the results to be useful. Nonlinear oscillations don’t break down the same way because of the introduction of chaotic behavior—”

“Oh, come on,” Gojo scoffed, waving a hand. “It’s not that deep. Sure, chaotic elements make things messier, but that doesn’t mean the framework is useless.”

You let out a sharp breath. “It means the entire assumption of the analysis changes. You can’t approximate a nonlinear system with linear components and expect the results to hold up—”

“You can if you use a perturbative approach,” he countered smoothly.

You almost growled. “A perturbative approach only works when the nonlinear term is small relative to the linear system. If the nonlinearities dominate, your entire model collapses.”

“Not always,” Gojo shot back, shifting in his seat with that insufferable smirk. “It depends on how well you construct the higher-order terms—”

You threw your hands up. “At that point, you might as well scrap Fourier analysis entirely and just use a different decomposition method!” A few students had stopped taking notes. Some were watching out of curiosity; others, out of sheer amusement.

Gojo, completely unbothered, shrugged. “But that wasn’t the question, was it? The point is that Fourier methods can still be useful, even if the system isn’t perfectly linear—”

You gritted your teeth. “Useful doesn’t mean accurate, dumbass.” Gojo gasped dramatically. “Did you just call me a dumbass? Right here? In front of our professor?”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you stopped saying objectively incorrect things—”

“Oh, please,” he drawled, leaning back in his seat. “You’re just mad because I’m right.”

Your jaw clenched. “You’re not right.”

“I am right.”

“No, you’re—”

A loud cough. You both froze. Slowly, you turned toward the front of the room, where the professor was staring at you both, unamused.

"Would you two care to bring your literary debate outside of my physics class?" You swallowed. Gojo scratched the back of his neck, looking entirely unbothered.

"...No, sir."

"Good," the professor said flatly. "Then kindly stop interrupting the lesson." You resisted the urge to sink into your chair. Gojo, of course, had the audacity to look amused. As the lecture resumed, you shot him a glare.

"This is your fault."

He winked. You swore you were going to strangle him one day. As soon as class ended, you were out of your seat, shoving your laptop into your bag with slightly more force than necessary. Behind you, Gojo was taking his sweet time, stretching like he hadn’t just spent the past two hours actively making your life worse. “Man,” he sighed dramatically. “That was a great discussion, don’t you think? Nothing like a little intellectual sparring to keep the brain sharp—”

You spun around so fast he almost bumped into you. “Discussion?” you repeated incredulously. “That wasn’t a discussion, that was you talking out of your ass like usual.”

Gojo placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “Wow. You wound me. You know, I feel like I say that phrase a lot. Would you prefer it if I said thee painfully wrench mine own heart with such careless words–”

You rolled your eyes and stormed out of the lecture hall, weaving through the crowd of students. Of course he followed, long strides easily keeping pace with yours. “I’m just saying,” he continued, completely ignoring your clear irritation, “it’s kind of funny how you always shoot me down but never actually prove me wrong—”

Your jaw clenched. “I do prove you wrong. Every time.”

He smirked. “Do you, though?”

“Yes!” You turned on your heel, walking backward so you could glare at him properly. “Just because you talk like you know everything doesn’t mean you actually do—”

Gojo’s smirk widened. “So you do think I sound smart.” Your eye twitched.

“That’s not what I said.”

“Sounds like that’s what you said.”

“Go kill yourself.”

“Only if you join me, sweets.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Why, you don’t like being called sweets?–”

You groaned, turning back around and quickening your pace. You weren’t going to stand here and let him twist your words into whatever self-indulgent nonsense was brewing in his head. Gojo, naturally, kept up with ease. “You know, it’s weird how you always get so mad at me. Maybe you should work on that anger problem of yours.”

“Oh, I have an anger problem?” You spun around again, narrowing your eyes. “You’re literally the most aggravating person I’ve ever met.”

“Really?” He tilted his head in mock thought. “I dunno, you seem to get pretty riled up over nothing—”

“You are nothing.”

Gojo laughed, the sound bright and infuriatingly genuine. “Damn, that was actually kinda good. You been practicing comebacks in the mirror?”

“Leave me alone, for the love of god, before I strangle you, bastard–”

“Oooh, kinky–.”

Before you could actually commit violence, someone stepped between you. “Alright, enough,” a smooth, tired voice interrupted. You looked up to see Suguru Geto, Gojo’s ever-patient best friend, standing between you with the exasperation of a man who had dealt with this before.

“Satoru,” he said, dragging a hand down his face, “leave her alone.”

Gojo pouted. “But we were bonding.”

“We were not bonding,” you snapped. Suguru gave you a knowing look. “And you,” he sighed, “stop encouraging him.”

You scoffed. “Encouraging him? I—”

A hand suddenly clamped down on your shoulder. You glanced up to see your own friend standing beside you, looking just as exasperated as Suguru. “Come on,” she muttered, tugging you away. “We’re going to lunch before you actually try to kill him.” You didn’t resist, only because the temptation was strong. But as you turned to leave, you caught a glimpse of Gojo flashing that stupid, insufferable grin at you.

You stuck your tongue out at him. Gojo only winked again in response. Why did he keep winking at you? It made you wanna puke. You definitely needed lunch. Maybe something very, very spicy.

–

You're sitting in your dorm again, cross-legged on your bed, laptop open in front of you, but your mind is elsewhere. The textbooks and notes are pushed to the side of your desk, proof that at some point you had every intention of being productive tonight. A third empty cup of tea is perched precariously on your nightstand, and the finished second and third books of the series stacked besides your laptop.

It had been a slow burn, working your way through them between lectures and study sessions, but now, the empty feeling of finishing a book you enjoyed is settling in. Worse yet, it's late at night, which means you can't borrow the fourth book until tomorrow. The thought alone makes you sigh as you shut your laptop and flop back against the pillows.

You flipped open the third book, fingers brushing over the slightly worn borrowing card tucked inside. The neat, slanted initials ‘G.S.’ were there again, written in blue ink. And just like before, the pages had been marked with the same sharp, and sometimes frustratingly perceptive annotations that had made you laugh, scoff, and even—on some particularly well-argued points—begrudgingly nod along. Your mind drifts, replaying some of your favorite annotations from the books.

There was the one where G.S. had written, "Oh, he's totally gonna betray them," followed by a later note that read, "I CALLED IT. WHERE’S MY PRIZE?" That one had made you laugh out loud in the middle of the library, earning a few disapproving stares. Another one of your other favorites from the third book had been an annotation scrawled in the margins of a pivotal scene:

“The irony of this moment is almost painful. She sees herself as the heroine, but the real tragedy is that she’s just another character in someone else’s story.”

You had reread that line about five times before closing the book and staring at the ceiling, feeling somewhat existential. Another annotation had been pure sarcasm:

“Yes, because when faced with adversity, the best solution is always to run directly into danger. Genius.” That one had also made you laugh out loud in one of the study halls located in some part of your university, earning a weird look from the girl across the hall. But the annotation that had really stuck with you—really made you pause—was in the third book, written in response to a section that delved into the intricacies of time and choice:

“If you think about it, this entire dilemma can be broken down into a fundamental question of physics. If time is just another dimension, then isn’t every choice we make just another coordinate on an already-existing map? So is it really ‘free will’ if we’re just tracing a path that’s already there?”

That one had thrown you for a loop. It was the kind of thought that lingered, weaving its way into quiet moments when you least expected it. And, you hated to admit, it made you think—whoever this person was, they were kind of brilliant.You sighed, snapping the book shut. You needed to get the fourth one. Now. But a quick glance at your phone reminded you that it was almost midnight, and the library had closed hours ago. You groaned, letting your head submerge deeper into the pillows. You grabbed your phone, scrolling mindlessly, until your eyes flicked to the messages her friend had sent earlier—recommendations for movies she’d been meaning to watch. You scrolled absentmindedly, not really expecting to find anything interesting, until your thumb hovered over one title:

Whisper of the Heart.

Something about the name tugged at your memory. Wasn’t this the one with the girl who loved books and a mysterious boy who shared them? On a whim, you pressed play. The soft hum of the opening scene filled the quiet of her dorm, and soon, you were drawn in. The gentle storytelling, the warmth of the animation, the way the main character, Shizuku, slowly became obsessed with the name written in all the books she borrowed—

Oh. Oh, shit.

Your face grew hot as you sat up straighter, eyes darting to the books stacked beside you. You weren't doing that. Right?

…Were you? Because if you really thought about it—if you really thought about it—weren’t you kind of doing the same thing? You buried your face in your hands. This is so embarrassing. And yet, as you peeked between her fingers at the screen, you couldn’t help but draw the comparison between Seiji Amasawa and your mysterious, faceless G.S. Seiji had been intriguing, a presence felt long before he actually appeared. Just a name scribbled in books, a person she hadn’t met yet but somehow felt connected to. And wasn’t that exactly what G.S. was?

You groaned, flopping back onto your bed, kicking your feet against the mattress. “I need to stop,” you mumbled into your pillow, but your shoulders shook with barely contained laughter. It was stupid. This whole thing was stupid. You didn’t even know this person. For all you knew, G.S. could be some forty-year-old professor or a girl who just happened to find the same series as you on the niche book guide you were on. And yet, there was this tiny, ridiculous, completely unserious part of you that wanted to believe—

What if it was some guy? A guy with sharp wit, someone who thought deeply about things most people glossed over, someone who liked this series enough to leave behind thoughts for others to find. A guy who— No. Nope. Nope. You were not about to mentally script herself into some shoujo romance anime over marginalia.

But the damage was done. Because now, your brain had latched onto the idea, spinning daydreams faster than you could stop them. Some dramatic, cinematic first meeting. Some passing moment where you’d reach for a book, and a hand—slender fingers, ink-stained maybe—would brush against yours, and you’d look up and—

You shot up again, shaking your head violently. God, this is pathetic. But even as you scolded herself, you couldn’t wipe the stupid little smile off your face. You were allowed to have a little fun, right? Just a tiny bit of harmless romanticising? You collapsed back into the pillows, eyes drifting back to the ceiling as the movie played on. And as Shizuku’s voice echoed through the room, musing about stories, destiny, and the people we stumble upon by chance, you thought—just for a second—Maybe, maybe, you kind of liked this. The idea of it all. The way life sometimes felt like a story waiting to unfold. Maybe it’s silly, maybe it’s unrealistic—but right now, in the quiet of your dorm, with the soft glow of your laptop screen and the remnants of Whisper of the Heart playing in the background, you don’t really care.

–

Satoru Gojo had always been considered a prodigy. A genius. Someone born with an innate brilliance that set him apart from others. It had been that way since he was a child—where other kids had to struggle and study, he breezed through school without breaking a sweat. It wasn’t just academics, either. He was quick-witted, sharp, and effortlessly charming in a way that made people gravitate toward him. But when you grow up with everyone expecting greatness from you, it becomes suffocating.

So he learned to play the fool.

It started as a mask—being overly cheery, always teasing, never taking things too seriously. It was easier that way. No one could see the weight of expectations if he always had a grin on his face. And at some point, the mask became second nature. Satoru Gojo, the carefree, insufferable genius. The only person he could ever drop it around was Suguru. His best friend, the one person who could keep up with him, who understood what it meant to carry something too heavy to put into words. Then, freshman year of university, he saw you.

He had noticed you before—how could he not? You were diligent, meticulous in a way that fascinated him. You always sat at the front of the class, always had color-coded notes, always took everything so seriously. And maybe that was what caught his attention first. You were everything he wasn’t. Where he coasted through life, you worked hard for it. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t quite know how to communicate with someone. So he did what he always did. He teased.

“Ohhh, wow,” he cut in, voice dripping with mock wonder. “Look at that. We got a genius in the house.” He had meant it playfully. A joke. But the way your expression hardened, the way your eyes flickered with irritation, made something click in his brain. You didn’t like him. And yet, he couldn’t stop teasing you. Even when he knew it annoyed you, even when he knew you hated him. Maybe it was because you challenged him. Maybe it was because, for once, someone didn’t look at him like he was untouchable. Or maybe it was because he liked you.

Not just because you were pretty—though you were, infuriatingly so—but because you were determined. Because you cared about things deeply. Because you fascinated him in a way nothing else did. He found himself watching you more often than he cared to admit. The way you bit your lip when you were concentrating, the way your eyes lit up when you finally understood something, the way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear when you were nervous when results came out. It was all so... endearing.

And maybe that’s why he finds himself watching you sometimes—when you’re scribbling furiously in your notebook, when you’re biting the end of your pen in deep thought, when you’re rolling your eyes at something he says but still, still responding. He watches, because for the first time, someone makes him want to understand more than just equations and theories. And if the only way to keep your attention was by being your rival, then so be it.

–

The next morning, you had a practical class, a hands-on session designed to reinforce the theory you’d been learning. Since it was held in a laboratory, students were sorted into small groups to share lab tables. Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how you looked at it—you weren’t grouped with Satoru, but by some cruel twist of fate, his group was at the same table as yours. The setup was simple: four students per group, two groups per table.

A long, clean expanse of black lab benches stretched across the room, each one covered with neatly arranged equipment: a set of metal ramps, photogates, a timer, and a set of small carts. Today’s experiment was a classic: measuring acceleration using a motion sensor. Each group was supposed to release a cart down a ramp and use the photogates to measure velocity changes over time. Simple, right? Satoru, of course, had already started causing trouble before the experiment even began.

“You know, it’s kinda unfair that I wasn’t put in your group,” he mused, leaning against the lab bench with a smirk. “Would’ve been fun watching you pretend to know more than me.” You didn’t even look up as you adjusted the height of the ramp, focusing on making sure it was aligned properly. “Oh please, Gojo, you would’ve just copied all my calculations and then taken credit for my hard work.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” he said, feigning offense. “I’d let you take, like, fifty percent of the credit.” Your lab partner snorted beside you, shaking their head as they double-checked the photogate placement. Satoru, undeterred, watched as you bent over to place the cart at the starting position. His group was still setting up, which meant he had time to bother you before he actually had to do any work.

“I bet my group’s results will be more accurate than yours,” he declared. You rolled your eyes, finally sparing him a glance. “You do know accuracy depends on precision and minimising errors, right? Which means—” you motioned to his group, where one of them was currently struggling with the timer, “—your chances of that happening are slim to none.”

Before he could retort, your professor called for everyone’s attention, signalling the start of the experiment. Both of you fell into your respective tasks, measuring, calculating, and recording values with practiced ease. You got so caught up in fine-tuning your results that Satoru didn’t get the chance to throw more taunts your way. That was until, while waiting for your next trial to begin, you turned to your friend beside you, excitement bubbling over.

“Oh my god, I finally watched Whisper of the Heart last night,” you gushed, voice dropping into that high-pitched, dreamy tone reserved for things you were completely obsessed with. Your friend gasped, clutching your arm. “Stop. You did not.”

“I did.”

“DID YOU CRY?”

“OBVIOUSLY.”

Satoru, who had been focused on adjusting his group’s ramp, stilled slightly. He knew that movie. More than that, he could predict exactly why you were talking about it. Casually, he glanced over, pretending to check his photogate readings while shamelessly eavesdropping. Your friend squeezed your arm excitedly. “I told you it was perfect. The vibes, the music, the slow-burn romance. Tell me you loved Seiji.”

“Oh, I loved Seiji,” you sighed, eyes sparkling. “Like, the way he was so ambitious but still so soft? And the way he believed in her? And the fact that he left little signs for her without even realizing how much they’d mean?” You could feel yourself getting lost in the emotions of it, and your friend was right there with you, nodding along enthusiastically. “It was so romantic,” she said dreamily. “The idea of someone quietly believing in you and pushing you forward. It’s just—”

“SO good,” you finished for her, and the two of you squealed quietly before catching yourselves and trying to focus again. Then, almost absentmindedly, you added, “Honestly, I feel like I’m in Whisper of the Heart right now.” Your friend perked up. “How so?”

You nudged her lightly. “Because of G.S.”

Satoru, who had been handling the cart for his next trial, fumbled slightly. Your friend’s eyes widened knowingly. “No way. You mean your G.S.?”

You groaned. “Don’t call him that. But yeah. The whole leaving-annotations-in-the-books thing? And how I keep borrowing them? It’s totally giving Seiji and Shizuku. Like yeah I kinda sound corny right now–”

“Not really honestly, I get it–”

“Exactly! See? I knew I wasn’t crazy. Imagine G.S is like Seiji– scratch that, imagine he’s better, like some sweet, studious, hot book nerd–”

Satoru swallowed, suddenly feeling warm despite the sterile chill of the lab. You thought he was like Seiji? More than that, you thought G.S could perhaps even be better than Seiji? That was—that was something.

“And next week,” you continued, stretching your arms over your head, “after I finish studying, I’m going to borrow the next book.”

Satoru barely heard the rest of the conversation after that. His brain had latched onto one horrifying realisation—

The last four books weren’t annotated. Oh, shit. He hadn’t really expected you to grow this attached to his stupid thoughts scribbled on the edges of the frayed pages, hadn’t expected you to burn through the series so fast. He completely forgot that he didn’t bother annotating the last few books because he had gotten so busy with work. But you had just sat there, eyes sparkling, gushing about his notes like they were some grand romantic mystery. You liked them. You liked his words. Not just the books themselves but the tiny, scribbled thoughts he had left behind. Satoru’s stomach did a weird little flip. It seemed to be doing that a lot every time his nosy ass overheard you talking about his writing.

You really liked his writing. The writing you’d been gushing for about two weeks now. You really found it special. You liked it so much that the thought of continuing the series without it made his chest ache. Because what if you borrowed the next one and found nothing? What if you flipped through the pages, searching for his voice, only to be disappointed? No. No way. That wasn’t happening. Initially he had done it as a way to, y’know, simply yap, maybe desecrate the pages of a book from a library with his oh so superior commentary. But now? He was going to do this for you. Because the way you had talked about Whisper of the Heart—the way your face had gone soft and dreamy, the way your voice had gotten all excited—he wanted that. He wanted to hear you talk about how much you enjoyed the little quips that made their way into his head every time he read something. He wanted to be the reason you spoke like that again. Maybe it was pathetic, but he wanted– really wanted to once again be the reason why your cheeks slightly went pink when your friend called him yours. Even if they were his initials, they were his, and it insinuated he belonged to you, right?

The second class ended, Satoru bolted. There was no time to waste. He had four books to annotate, and he didn’t care if it took him all night. If you wanted G.S., then G.S. was going to be there.

–

Satoru burst into his dorm, heart pounding as he dumped his bag onto the floor. His fingers fumbled with the zipper as he yanked it open, pulling out the four books you were inevitably going to borrow next. He stacked them on his desk, staring at them like they were some kind of urgent mission—because they were. You liked his notes. You liked his notes. That thought alone sent a weird, warm feeling blooming in his chest. He flopped into his chair, running a hand through his hair as he exhaled sharply. This wasn’t just about keeping up the act anymore. It wasn’t about maintaining the mystery of G.S. or feeding into some casual curiosity you had. No, this was about you. About the way your eyes lit up when you talked about the books. The way you had called him—unknowingly, of course—your own Seiji. The way you were so excited to continue the series, fully expecting to find more of his little thoughts nestled between the pages. He wasn’t going to let you down.

Satoru grabbed the first book off the stack and flipped it open, his pen poised over the margins. He scribbled his initials in the borrowing card in the same blue ink that he always used– he always thought the blueness of the ink was much better than any other pen colour out there. Before he started reading, he did this in all the library cards, and made sure that the date corresponded to the previous dates– so you wouldn’t think it was suspicious that the last remaining books were all borrowed on the same day. He then started reading—not just skimming, but really reading, more carefully than he ever had before. Thankfully he did remember the plot of the first three books, so catching up with what was going on wasn’t too hard. Every sentence was weighed, every line considered. What would make you pause? What would make you smile?

When he hit a particularly poetic passage, he underlined it and wrote in the margin: Bet whoever is reading this– I just know this made your heart do that stupid fluttery thing.

He smirked to himself. If only you knew.

A few pages later, he found a scene with the protagonist staring out a train window, deep in thought. The description was vivid, full of melancholic longing. He tapped the pen against his lips before jotting down: Ever feel like this? Just existing, watching life happen? He could already imagine you reading it, tilting your head slightly, considering his words. Would you reply in your head? Would you wonder what kind of person wrote something like that? The thought of it sent a thrill through him, and he leaned in closer, more invested than ever. Hours passed, but he barely noticed. The desk lamp cast a warm glow over the pages as he worked, annotating with a mix of teasing, sincerity, and the occasional cryptic remark just to mess with you. In the fifth book of the series, there was a passage about finding comfort in routine—about how little, familiar things could feel like home. He thought back to all the times during your early morning classes, how you’d bring a steaming thermos filled with a tea of some kind, something to sip on while you reviewed the lecture slides before the professor started the lecture. The half cold tea in that same thermos, he’d seen you nursing it outside the exam hall before a midterm while your eyes furiously scanned your meticulous, colour coded notes. Satoru probably guessed that it was a habit of yours– to have a warm comforting drink while you read– lecture notes, physics textbooks, or fiction.

He hesitated for a second before writing: Hope anyone who ever reads this is reading this with a warm drink. Tea, in my opinion, is the best kind of beverage to drink while reading a book series like this.

Would you pause when you read that? Would you glance around, suddenly hyper-aware that maybe G.S knew you? That someone had been paying attention? Or maybe you’d think he’s just like you? The thought sent a rush of satisfaction through him. By the time he reached the second last book, his hand was cramping, but he didn’t care. He stretched briefly before diving back in. This one had more banter between the characters, something he knew you loved. He played into it, adding sarcastic commentary in the margins. When the heroine had a particularly dramatic internal monologue, he scribbled: Relax, you’re not in a soap opera.

And a few pages later: Actually, never mind, maybe you are.

He could already hear your reaction. The annoyed little huff, the way you’d roll your eyes but secretly love it. You always did have a tendency to refute things first, only to realise you enjoyed them later. He’d sometimes see it in the way when you’d roll your eyes or let out a disapproving noise at Satoru plainly criticising one of the professors under his breath during a lecture– but Satoru’s eyes were sharp, he never missed the smallest twitch of your lips as soon as you’d finished your melodramatics. The last book was the longest, and by then, the city outside his window had gone quiet. His dorm was dim except for the glow of his lamp, and his body was buzzing with a mix of exhaustion and excitement. He was too far in now, too absorbed in the thought of you reading all of this soon. This book had a recurring theme about missed chances—about words left unsaid and moments that could have changed everything if only someone had spoken up. It hit a little too close to home, but he didn’t let himself dwell on that. Instead, he carefully underlined a sentence: Sometimes, we don’t realise what we mean to someone until it’s too late.

Beneath it, he wrote: I hope this never applies to y̶o̶u̶ whoever is reading this.

And then– and then he wrote another little thing, but it felt a bit too intimate, a bit too revealing so he neatly crossed it out. His pen hovered over the page for a moment. That was the most honest thing he had written all night. Satoru exhaled, rubbing his eyes before sitting back, staring at the stack of books now filled with his thoughts. He had done it. You wouldn’t get a single blank page. You’d find him in every single one.

–

Satoru strolled across campus with a tote bag slung over his shoulder, weighed down by four thick novels. The books—now thoroughly marked up, pages lined with his messy scrawl—felt heavier than they should have, but maybe that was just him. He’d spent the entire night annotating them, barely stopping to eat, sleep, or think about anything that wasn’t you reading his words. Now, all he had to do was return them before you got to the library. He wasn’t about to let you see him checking them in like some lovesick idiot. He carefully managed to place them back on the shelf after scanning them as ‘unborrowed’. He was a few steps from the library doors when someone rounded the corner, and before he could react—

Bam. The collision wasn’t hard, just enough to jostle him off balance, and he barely had time to reach out and steady you before you could stumble back. “Damn, could at least pretend to watch where you’re going,” he drawled, glancing down at you with a smirk. “Or do you just like running into me?”

You scoffed, adjusting your bag over your shoulder. “Yeah, I totally planned that. Just desperate to bump into you of all people.”

“Oh, come on,” he teased, stepping aside so you could walk past him. “If you wanted an excuse to see me, you could’ve just said so.” You rolled your eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Please. I’m actually on my way to the library, unlike some people who just loiter around.”

His grip on his tote bag tightened for half a second, but he kept his expression easy, unreadable. “Library, huh?”

“Yeah,” you said, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I finished this book from a series I’m actually enjoying, so I figured I’d borrow the next one today.” You didn’t even know why you told him that, but you figured it was an improvement from the usual bickering you two always had going on. He hummed, nodding slowly. “Oh, okay. Well…” He took a step back, flashing a lazy grin. “Have fun with that.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “Why do you sound weird?”

“I always sound weird.”

“Yeah, but more than usual.”

Satoru shrugged. “Dunno what you’re talking about.” You stared at him suspiciously for another second before shaking your head. “Whatever.” And with that, you pushed past him, making your way toward the library doors. Satoru watched you go, fighting the smug grin threatening to take over his face. He could already picture it—the way you’d flip through the pages, expecting plain text, only to find the familiar, scrawled handwriting in the margins. He wondered if you’d smile. If you’d talk about it again the way you had in class. He shook his head to himself, finally turning away. Yeah. He was so in trouble.

–

You settled into your usual spot at the campus café, tucking yourself into the corner by the window with the newly borrowed books. Yes, books. Not a book. You figured that if there were just four more books left in the series, you’d just borrow them now, instead of continuing the annoying walk from your dorm or lecture rooms to the library. The familiar scent of aged paper and coffee beans wrapped around you, grounding you in your routine.

With your drink beside you and your phone silenced, you flipped the fourth book open, eager to dive in. You didn’t even bother to check the borrowing card this time, neither had you written your own name in it yet, heart beating a little faster as you childishly hoped that the familiar cursive scrawls were still present in the weathered pages. You had barely made it past the first few pages when your eyes caught something in the margins next to one of the more romantic lines.

Bet whoever is reading this– I just know this made your heart do that stupid fluttery thing. You blinked. Your stomach did an odd little flip, completely unprovoked. Honestly speaking, your heart did that little flip more in regards to the familiar blue handwriting rather than the line on the page. You knew exactly whose handwriting that was.

G.S. had struck again. A slow smile pulled at your lips as you traced the ink with your fingertip. You had gotten so used to these notes, the little jokes, the occasional deep thoughts, that it almost felt like a conversation now. Like you weren’t reading alone, but with someone who understood exactly what you’d linger on, what you’d pause to appreciate. And yet… something about this one felt slightly different. You glanced at the ink again. It looked a little… darker? Not as faded as some of the earlier notes in the series.

You frowned slightly but shook the thought away. Maybe it was just your imagination. You kept reading. A few pages later, the protagonist stared out of a train window, lost in thought. The description was melancholic, vivid, and all too relatable.

Ever feel like this? Just existing, watching life happen? You exhaled sharply through your nose. Yeah, you thought. All the damn time. You tapped your fingers against the table, feeling that same strange connection as before. Whoever G.S. was, they had a way of making their presence known—not just through the words they chose to underline, but in the little thoughts they left behind, the questions they posed, the moments they chose to comment on. It was like they could hear your thoughts before you even formed them, like they knew exactly where your mind would linger on the page.

The sun dipped lower outside the arched windows of the campus café, casting long shadows across the floor as golden light pooled over the tables. The afternoon crowd had begun to thin, students trickling out one by one, their conversations fading into the hum of the espresso machine and the occasional clatter of cups behind the counter. The once-busy space was quieter now, more intimate, like the world had momentarily shrunk down to just you and the book in your hands. You traced the ink of the latest annotation with your thumb, barely skimming the words but feeling them all the same. It was a strange thing—to be so affected by someone you had never even met. Had you met them? The question pressed at the edges of your mind, unspoken yet persistent. The specificity of some of these notes, the way they seemed to know you—it made your stomach flip in a way you weren’t quite sure how to name.

You glanced at the café entrance, as if expecting to see someone standing there, watching you, waiting to see your reaction. But no one lingered. Just the usual stragglers—people buried in their own work, in their own stories. Still, the feeling remained. With a quiet exhale, you pulled your focus back to the page and turned it, sinking further into the book. The story continued, but now, each annotation felt like something more. Like a conversation waiting to happen. And by the time you could hear the cicadas chirping outside, you had successfully finished the fourth book.

–

Your luck today had been astoundingly awful. The first sign was your hair—a complete disaster from the moment you woke up. Brushing it down did nothing. Water made it worse. Mousse? A grave mistake. You finally resorted to tying it up, accepting defeat. Then came the sharp pain on your forehead, a telltale sign of a forming pimple, because of course your skin had decided to betray you too. But the true betrayal came from your kettle, which, after years of faithful service, had chosen this morning to stop working. No tea. No caffeine. No hope. And now? Now, as if the universe hadn’t already tested you enough, you were seated next to Gojo Satoru, his chair pushed obnoxiously close, his long legs stretching out under the desk like he owned the place. His expression was insufferably smug, like he had personally orchestrated all of this just to get under your skin.

Have you ever mentioned that you shared more than one class with Gojo? Sure, you were both in the same physics course, but once again, your luck with picking extra subjects was nothing short of terrible. That’s how you ended up in psychology—a field that couldn’t be further from the world of physics you were so deeply immersed in. You had figured it would be a nice change, to explore a different kind of science.

Unfortunately, a certain white haired freak seemed to share the same thought process.

You exhaled sharply, crossing your arms. “We’re not choosing your dumb topic.” Gojo gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “Excuse you, my brilliant topic.”

“You want to write about the psychology of humor.”

“Exactly! It’s fascinating.” He grinned. “What makes something funny? Why do people laugh? Why am I so naturally hilarious?” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “We’re in a psychology class, Gojo, not a stand-up workshop.”

“And yet, humor is deeply psychological.” He leaned forward, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Maybe if you had a better sense of humor, you’d agree with me.” You scowled. “I have a perfectly fine sense of humor.”

“Sure you do,” he teased, “in the same way a brick has mobility.” Your jaw clenched. “I’m not doing a research paper on why people laugh.”

“And I’m not doing one on cognitive dissonance,” he shot back, drumming his fingers against the desk. “It’s been done to death.”

“It’s interesting,” you argued. “It actually ties into real-world behavior.”

“So does humor.” You stared him down. He stared right back, his lips curving just slightly, like he was having the time of his life getting you riled up.

A muscle in your jaw twitched. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

Gojo snorted. “What are we, five?” You held out a fist. He sighed, then did the same.

Rock, paper, scissors, shoot. Your scissors to his rock. Your eye twitched. His grin was downright gleeful. “Looks like we’re writing about humor.”

“You are insufferable.”

“I’m a visionary,” he corrected, stretching his arms behind his head. “You’ll thank me when we get a great grade.” You grumbled something under your breath, flipping open your notebook to at least try and plan the assignment. You weren’t about to let him ruin your GPA over jokes. But Gojo wasn’t looking at the notebook. He wasn’t even thinking about the project anymore. His gaze lingered on the way a few wisps of hair had escaped your ponytail, framing your face. He wasn’t used to seeing your hair tied back—it made your features more striking, somehow. It made him notice the little things, like the way your brow creased when you were annoyed, or the way your lips pursed slightly when you were trying really hard not to snap at him. And it was funny. All morning, you’d been looking at him like he was a headache, while he… well. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t kind of enjoying himself. He propped his chin in his palm, watching you jot something down in your notebook.

“You know,” he mused, “for someone who’s so against my topic, you sure do make me laugh a lot.” You shot him a suspicious look. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Gojo smirked. “Just an observation.” You scoffed. “An annoyance is not the same thing as amusement.”

“Tell that to your cognitive dissonance.” You rolled your eyes, but before you could fire back, something distracted you. A shift in the air, a fleeting scent—something clean and warm, like cedar and the lingering spice of cologne. You blinked. You didn’t know why you noticed it now, of all times, but the way he smelled was… oddly pleasant. You shook it off, focusing on your notes again. Only, now you were very aware of other things, too—like the fact that his hand, resting casually on the desk, was a lot bigger than yours. His fingers were long, his knuckles prominent, and his nails were annoyingly well-groomed for someone who clearly put zero effort into most things. You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to refocus. It’s just Gojo, you told yourself. He’s just being annoying. As usual. I’m probably ovulating or something. Gojo, meanwhile, had caught the way your eyes flickered over to him, how you quickly looked away after.

He tilted his head. “Something on your mind?”

“Yeah,” you muttered, deadpan. “How fast I can finish this project so I don’t have to deal with you.” Gojo chuckled, and despite yourself, you felt the sound of it—low and amused, like he found you far too entertaining. “Oh, sweets,” Gojo drawled, his voice lilting with amusement, “no way in hell am I gonna let you finish this project fast enough to escape me. C’mon, in our three beautiful years of rivalry, you’ve never once tried to get to know me—”

“Let’s just start the project,” you cut him off, already pulling out your stationery and notebook, flipping to a fresh page with more force than necessary. You barely resisted the urge to groan at the topic glaring back at you. Humour. Ugh.

Gojo, of course, noticed immediately. He didn’t even have to try—he just always noticed things. The way your lips pressed into a thin line, how your fingers fidgeted with the cap of your pen, how your shoulders tensed slightly, like you were already resigning yourself to suffering through an assignment you hated. His smirk faded—just a little. And then, before he could think about it too hard, he sighed.

“You know what?” he said, nudging his notebook aside. “Screw it. Let’s do your topic.”

You blinked, pen hovering mid-air. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said, waving a hand. “Cognitive dissonance, weird little psychology experiments, all that jazz. It’s fine.”

Your eyes narrowed. “This feels like a trick.”

“Wow, you think that low of me?,” he said, clutching his chest in mock betrayal. “I am capable of compromise, you know.”

You gave him a flat look. “Since when?”

Gojo rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned forward, elbows propped on the desk, watching you with a lazy kind of curiosity.

“Seriously, though. If you hate my topic that much, let’s just do yours. No big deal.”

You stared at him, suspicious. Gojo Satoru? Giving up? It felt wrong.

“Wait,” you said suddenly, narrowing your eyes further. “What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch,” he insisted, but the way he said it, all breezy and casual, made you even more suspicious.

“… You want me to owe you a favor, don’t you?”

He gasped, scandalised. “Sweets, I would never manipulate you like that.”

You scoffed. “You absolutely would.”

“Okay, yeah, I would,” he admitted easily, grinning. “But this isn’t that.”

You hesitated, drumming your fingers against the notebook. Then, you exhaled, shaking your head. “No. We’ll do humor.”

Now he was the one taken aback. “Huh?”

“I don’t want to hear you complain about how boring cognitive dissonance is for the next two weeks,” you said, scribbling down a rough outline. “And you’re actually interested in humor, so we’ll get it done faster.”

Gojo just stared at you, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

“Hold on. You’re giving in?”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“Oh, I’m definitely making it weird.” His grin was slow, teasing, like he had just won something. “This is, like, a historic moment. I should get it framed.”

“Gojo.”

“I mean, imagine if people knew—”

“Gojo.”

“—that you actually care about my interests? That you—gasp—want to make me happy?” You kicked him under the desk.

“Ow!” He laughed, rubbing his shin. “That was uncalled for.”

“You deserved it.”

“But really,” he said, still grinning, “this is kinda nice.”

You quirked a brow. “What is?”

He shrugged, tilting his head. “Usually, we’re arguing for ourselves. This is the first time we’ve argued over, like, what’s better for the other person.” Your lips parted slightly. You hadn’t thought about it like that. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, absurdly, a little laugh slipped out of you. Just a small one, but it was enough to make Gojo’s eyes flicker with amusement. And before you knew it, he was laughing, too. It wasn’t even that funny, but somehow, the realisation of how ridiculous this entire thing had been—bickering for fifteen minutes over who should get their way only to insist on the opposite—had you both quietly shaking with laughter in the middle of the library.

“Okay, okay,” you finally said, breathless. “Let’s get this outline done before we completely fail this class.”

“I’d never fail,” Gojo said, flipping open his notebook. “I’m naturally brilliant.”

“You would if I weren’t here keeping you on track.”

He grinned. “See? You like being my partner.” You rolled your eyes, but as you both started drafting the project together, something about this—about working with him, actually working—felt… nice. And even though he was still Gojo, still distracting, still annoying, still insufferably smug, for once, he didn’t feel like an opponent. He just felt like Satoru. Not Gojo, but Satoru. Of course, the moment things got too productive, he ruined it.

“Y’know,” he mused, leaning back in his chair, “I am gonna make sure our humor project includes at least one joke at your expense.”

You deadpanned. “Then I’m making sure our references include an article on the psychological effects of annoying classmates.”

Gojo gasped. “I would love to read that.”

You smacked his arm with your notebook. And, as usual, he just laughed. You two managed to get a lot of the work done– not just a solid outline of your project, but the finer details too. Gojo suddenly shoved his chair back, standing up so abruptly that you startled. “I need to do something,” he announced, brushing imaginary dust off his clothes. You frowned, confused. “What? Where are you going?”

“Just wait here,” he said, already turning on his heel. Your brows furrowed. “Wait—what? Gojo—”

“Just wait!” he called over his shoulder before disappearing down the hallway. You stared at the empty space where he had been, utterly bewildered. What the hell was that about? For a moment, you debated packing up your stuff and leaving just to be petty, but curiosity got the better of you. Huffing, you tapped your pen against your notebook, drumming your fingers impatiently. Three minutes passed. Then five. Then—

Gojo reappeared, striding back toward your table with an obnoxiously triumphant grin. In one hand, he held two drinks, in the other, a small paper bag. He set them down in front of you like he was presenting some kind of grand prize.

You stared. “... What is this?”

“Snacks,” he said, like it was obvious. “I see that,” you said, eyeing the drinks. One was clearly milk tea—yours, probably—but the other was some sugary monstrosity topped with whipped cream, which was obviously his. “But why?”

“Well, we’ve been working,” he said easily, plopping back into his seat. “Figured we deserved a break.” You blinked, then looked down at the tea again. It smelled… exactly how you usually ordered it.

Suspicion prickled at you. “Did you—did you get this on purpose?”

Gojo took a sip of his own drink, unbothered. “Yeah?”

Your eyes narrowed. “How do you even know what I drink?”

Gojo shrugged. “Dunno. Guess I just noticed that one time when I ended up paying for it.”

You paused. The thought of Gojo Satoru noticing anything about you—remembering how you liked your tea, going out of his way to get it without even asking—made your brain short-circuit for a second. You weren’t sure what to do with that information, so you just focused on unrolling the top of the pastry bag, peering inside. There were two croissants—one chocolate, one plain.

“… Okay, but the pastries?”

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got both.” You squinted at him. “That doesn’t make any sense.” He smirked. “Sure it does. If you like chocolate, I got it right. If you don’t, more for me.” You stared at him, then at the pastries, then back at him.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head.

“Unbelievably thoughtful?” he supplied.

“Unbelievably annoying.”

Gojo grinned. “That too.” Rolling your eyes, you took the chocolate croissant anyway, breaking off a piece. The tea was still warm when you took a sip, and you hated that it was perfect—hated that Gojo Satoru of all people had somehow memorized exactly how you liked it. He propped his elbow on the table, chin resting in his hand as he watched you. “Y’know, for someone who’s been roasting me for the last five minutes, you seem to be enjoying that a lot.”

You shot him a look. “Don’t push it.” He only laughed, reaching for his own pastry. “No promises.”

–

Over the next week, you and Gojo fell into an oddly stable rhythm. It wasn’t immediate—nothing with Gojo ever was—but slowly, the sharp edges of your interactions dulled. The bickering still happened, but it felt different, less like clashing swords and more like an inside joke neither of you wanted to drop. Your study sessions were always in the same corner of the library, where Gojo insisted on pushing the limits of how far back he could tilt his chair before it inevitably crashed to the floor.

(“Gojo, if you fall and crack your head open, I’m not calling an ambulance.”

“Nah, you totally would.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Yes, you would, sweets. You like me too much to let me die like that.”)

You’d grumble and go back to your notes, but a traitorous part of you was starting to find his antics almost… endearing. Your actual progress on the project was steady. It surprised you—Gojo might’ve been infuriating, but when he actually focused, he was sharp. He had a way of cutting through useless information, pinpointing the most interesting angle on a subject, making connections you hadn’t considered. Begrudgingly, you kind of understood why he was always neck to neck with you in grades.

(“So, humor as a psychological coping mechanism?”

“Mhm.”

“And you want to include self-deprecating humor as a subsection?”

“Well, yeah,” he said, twirling a pen between his fingers. “It’s like, prime material.”

“You literally never make fun of yourself.”

“I make fun of myself all the time.”

You scoffed. “Oh, really?”

He smirked. “Yeah. I mean, look at me—six-foot-three, gorgeous, built like a god—my life is so hard, y’know?”

You stared at him. “That was not self-deprecating.”

“No?” He shrugged, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make your stomach do something weird. “Maybe I just want you to compliment me.”

You threw a balled-up piece of paper at his head.)

There were… moments. Small, fleeting things you didn’t know what to do with. Like the time your pen rolled off the table and he picked it up, spinning it between his fingers before handing it back to you, and you noticed—really noticed—how big his hands were. Or how, sometimes, when he was reading something on your laptop, he’d lean in too close, and you’d catch the faint scent of his cologne—fresh, clean, but with something warm underneath. You ignored these things. Obviously.

But then came the gym. You were only there because you needed to de-stress. The project had been long, your classes demanding, and you just wanted to move your body and clear your head. You weren’t expecting to see him there. At first, you didn’t even realize it was Gojo. You were just filling your water bottle, minding your business, when your gaze flickered to the squat rack and landed on a very tall, very shirtless figure. And then your brain short-circuited. Because it was Gojo.

And Gojo was—

Built.

Like, really built. You had known he was tall. You had known he was in shape. But knowing and seeing were two different things. His usual oversized hoodies and button-ups had hidden the fact that his entire torso was carved like a damn statue. Broad shoulders, lean muscle, a defined chest, abs for days and—

Your gaze dropped lower.

—Happy trail. Something inside you malfunctioned. Because, okay, fine, sure—objectively speaking, Gojo Satoru was attractive. You had always known that. But this? This was different. This was some kind of cruel joke. This was the universe personally handing you a vision of a half-naked Gojo and saying, Hey, enjoy struggling with this one! You were staring. Oh, god, you were staring. You needed to leave. You were about to spin on your heel and get the hell out of there, but that was when he noticed you. His gaze locked onto yours in the mirror, and something slow and amused curled across his lips.

“Yo,” he called, turning around fully now, like he knew exactly what he was doing. You were so close to pretending you hadn’t heard him, but there were only so many places to run. You forced yourself to walk over, as if this was normal, as if your brain hadn’t just imploded from seeing Gojo Satoru shirtless. “You work out?” he asked, wiping sweat off his forehead with a towel, and you hated that even that was distracting.

“Yes, Gojo, I work out,” you said flatly, crossing your arms. He grinned. “Huh. Never would’ve guessed.” You narrowed your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He just shrugged, all easy confidence and knowing smirks. “You don’t exactly look like the gym type, sweets.”

“Because I don’t look like I can deadlift a hundred kilos?” you shot back.

He tilted his head. “Can you?”

“… No.”

He laughed, tossing the towel over his shoulder. “Then I rest my case.” You scowled. “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re staring,” he quipped, and your breath caught in your throat. Your face heated. “I—I am not.” His smirk deepened. “Sure you aren’t.”

You clenched your jaw, trying to school your expression into something neutral. You refused to let him know he was right. But as you turned on your heel and all but stomped to another part of the gym, you could still feel his gaze on you. And the worst part? You didn’t hate it.

The next day, you almost considered canceling your study session. Not because you were avoiding Gojo. Obviously. You were just busy. Lots of work. Essays. Big academic responsibilities. But you weren’t a coward. (And okay, fine, maybe a tiny part of you was curious to see if things would be normal again. Not that things were weird, but—well. Whatever.) When you arrived at the library, Gojo was already there, feet kicked up on the chair across from him, lazily flipping through his notes.

“Look who decided to show up,” he said without looking up. You dropped your bag onto the table with a little more force than necessary. “Shut up.” He smirked. “Feisty today, huh?” You ignored him, pulling out your laptop. “Did you actually get any work done?”

He held up a single, crumpled page.

You groaned. “Gojo.”

“Hey, hey,” he said, leaning forward, “in my defense, I was busy yesterday.” You knew exactly what he was referencing. You refused to react. Instead, you snatched the page from his hands. “We’re never finishing this at this rate.”

Gojo leaned on his hand, watching you with a lazy smile. “Maybe I just like dragging this out so I can keep seeing you.”

Your fingers twitched around your pen.

He was messing with you. Obviously. That was what he did. But it was getting harder and harder to pretend you didn’t notice the way his gaze lingered sometimes. Or the way your stomach dipped when he said things like that. You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to focus. “We’re getting this done today, whether you like it or not.”

“Bossy,” he murmured, still watching you. You gave him a look. And then you got to work. And as much as you hated to admit it, your study sessions with Gojo had started to feel… comfortable. It was weird. In some ways, nothing had changed—you still bickered, still teased, still rolled your eyes at each other every five minutes. But there was something different underneath it now, something you couldn’t quite name. And you weren’t sure you wanted to. Not yet.

–

The lecture hall was packed, the dull hum of students settling in filling the air as you pulled out your notes. Today’s topic was something about fluid dynamics—not that you were paying too much attention. Mostly because you were tired. And, maybe, because there was a certain someone sitting behind you. You don’t know when or why it had started– maybe it was the fact that you’d, well, always been deprived of male attention (since you were hyper focused on academics instead. Those men won’t bring you scholarships, but your GPA will!), or the fact that you had seen him multiple times in the past weeks without feeling the urge to rip his head off, or maybe you actually were ovulating, you hadn’t checked your cycle on your period tracking app yet but it was likely—

You had been doing your best to ignore it, to ignore him, but Gojo had a way of making his presence known. Even when he wasn’t doing anything, you were now even more hyper aware of him—the occasional shift of his chair, the absentminded tapping of his pen against the desk, the quiet sighs of boredom that you knew were dramatic. And then, just as you were finally starting to concentrate, you felt it. A presence leaning in behind you, the faintest brush of breath against your ear.

“Sweets,” Gojo whispered, his voice low, teasing.

Your whole body went rigid. “What,” you hissed, barely moving your lips, keeping your eyes trained on the professor at the front of the room.

“There’s a fatal flaw in this lecture,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. You refused to turn around. “Gojo, I swear—”

“I mean, really,” he continued, like you hadn’t spoken, “how can they expect us to focus on physics when you’re sitting right in front of me?” Your grip on your pen tightened. Your face was definitely heating up. Slowly, finally, you turned your head just enough to glare at him. “Are you seriously flirting with me in the middle of a lecture on fluid dynamics?”

Gojo grinned, chin resting on his palm, looking utterly unrepentant. “I’m not flirting. I’m just… y’know… testing like behaviourism, or whatever.”

You inhaled sharply, willing yourself not to react. Noticing your silence, his smirk grew.

“Or,” he whispered, tilting his head, “is the idea of me flirting with you not so bad?” Your brain short-circuited for half a second. Then you turned back around, focusing very hard on your notes, pretending you hadn’t heard him, pretending your heart wasn’t doing something very annoying in your chest. Behind you, Gojo chuckled softly, and you could feel his smirk.

You hated him. You hated him. Nah, you didn’t. You just… now mildly disliked him.

–

By the time the physics final rolled around, your life had been reduced to a frantic cycle of cramming formulas, flipping through notes, and barely surviving on caffeine. The psychology project with Gojo had taken up way more time than you expected—not just because of the work itself, but because of him. His constant presence, his insufferable teasing, the way he somehow made long study sessions more bearable with his antics. It was irritatingly easy to fall into a rhythm with him, and by the time you’d turned in your joint paper, you were too mentally exhausted to even think about anything else. Which was probably why you forgot about book five. When you finally let yourself have a break, that you found it tucked away in your bag.

The sight of it sent a flicker of guilt through your chest—you’d been so eager to read it, and then you just… hadn’t. You curled up by the window, the campus café bustling quietly in the background, warm drink in hand as you flipped open the book. This one was slightly smaller than the other ones in terms of length– you’d be able to finish it in an hour or so. The familiarity of the prose was comforting, like stepping back into a world you knew well. And then, right beside a passage about finding comfort in the little things—the warmth of a cup of tea, the quiet joy of returning to a familiar book—was an annotation.

Hope anyone who ever reads this is reading this with a warm drink. Tea, in my opinion, is the best kind of beverage to drink while reading a book series like this.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Okay. That was… oddly specific.

A chill—not unpleasant, but strange—crept up your spine. It wasn’t just the words themselves, but the fact that G.S. knew this about you. It was as if they’d noticed your habit of your love of tea. But it was probably a coincidence. I mean, tea is enjoyed by millions of people in the world, right? You exhaled slowly, shaking the feeling off as you flipped a few more pages. The wittiness of the quips grew, and you eagerly read through each one with heightened interest. In about forty five minutes, you had managed to finish the fifth book with ease. Since you had some free time to spare, you started on the second last book.

The first note you came across was pure sarcasm, scrawled beside a particularly dramatic inner monologue from the protagonist.

Relax, you’re not in a soap opera.

And a few pages later: Actually, never mind, maybe you are.

You huffed a quiet laugh, rolling your eyes. The teasing was familiar, familiar enough to imbue a sense of relaxation in you. The annotations drew you in, the ink curling across the margins like whispered thoughts meant just for you. It was easy to imagine G.S. sitting beside you, their presence warm and familiar, flipping through the pages with quiet amusement. Someone who knew exactly which passages would make you pause, who understood the way certain lines lingered in your mind long after you’d read them.

Your fingers traced over the words they had left behind, and for a moment, you let yourself daydream. You imagined meeting them—G.S., whoever they were. The two of you sitting in some hidden corner of a library, books stacked high around you, the world outside fading away. Maybe their voice was soft, thoughtful, the kind that made you want to lean in a little closer. Maybe they smiled when you argued about a particular passage, when you pointed out something they’d written in the margins.

Maybe they would look at you like you were something worth understanding.

The thought sent a strange warmth curling through your chest. It was silly, this little fantasy, but you let yourself indulge in it anyway. And that was when your brain betrayed you.

For a brief, horrifying moment, the faceless idea of G.S. wasn’t faceless anymore. The image of Gojo flashed into your mind, unbidden and unwanted. But it wasn’t just him reading beside you, wasn’t just him scrawling out these notes with his long, annoyingly pretty fingers.

It was him kissing you.

Gojo’s lips brushing against yours, lazy and confident, like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hand sliding up your spine, the heat of him pressing against you, that teasing voice of his murmuring something you wouldn’t quite catch—

Your entire body froze.

No.

No, no, no.

You tried to shake it off, tried to focus on the book in front of you, but the words blurred together, unreadable. Your mind was stuck, caught on the vividness of the thought that had just invaded it.

Gojo.

Not just Gojo sitting across from you, running his mouth like he always did. Not just Gojo tossing a wadded-up paper at your head or poking at the end of your pen when you were trying to write. No—your brain had conjured up something else entirely. Gojo leaning in too close, his breath warm against your lips. The weight of his hand pressing into the small of your back, fingertips splayed across your lower back, your waist, your sides. The slow, unhurried way he would kiss you—because of course he’d be like that, because he was always so damn self-assured. Because he never did anything halfway.

And worse—worse—you could almost hear him. That stupid teasing voice, low and amused, murmuring something between kisses, something only meant for you. Your fingers twitched, and you slammed the book shut.

No. Nope. Not happening.

Your pulse was erratic, your skin burning like you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t. You blinked rapidly, as if that alone could erase the thought from existence, but the sensation lingered, the imagined heat of him refusing to dissipate. It was just stress. That’s all it was. You were exhausted, overworked, and had spent way too much time in Gojo’s orbit lately. Of course your brain was short-circuiting. You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to reopen the book. Back to reality. Back to G.S.

Back to anything that wasn’t Gojo Satoru and the absurd, fleeting idea of what kissing him might feel like.

–

Gojo’s deep voice cut through your thoughts, pulling you back into the present as he tapped the end of his pen against the open physics textbook in front of you both.

“And then—are you even listening to me?” You blinked, realizing you’d been zoning out. “Yeah—yeah,” you mumbled, scrambling for something relevant to say. “Professor Takeda can be an ass sometimes, even if he’s awesome at teaching.” Gojo grinned, apparently satisfied with your response, and continued yapping as he absentmindedly worked through some small equations on the paper in front of you both. His handwriting was quick and fluid, annoyingly neat for someone who acted like he never took anything seriously.

You didn’t quite know how it had happened, but after the two of you had finally submitted the psychology project, something between you shifted. It wasn’t spoken aloud, wasn’t even acknowledged outright, but it was there—an unspoken understanding. You still bickered, still argued over trivial things, but there was something else now too. A companionship. A quiet, reluctant camaraderie that neither of you had actively sought out but somehow settled into with surprising ease. And now, you were in the library with him, ironically revising for the upcoming physics final, less than a week away. You weren’t sure when he had become your unofficial study partner, but here he was, scribbling down formulas as he complained about Takeda’s obsession with fluid dynamics.

“You’re still struggling with Bernoulli’s principle?” you teased, shifting your chair slightly to get a better look at his notes.

“Struggling is a strong word,” he said, twirling his pen between his fingers. “I prefer ‘strategically choosing to ignore it until I absolutely have to care.’”

You scoffed, but before you could argue, your eyes landed on the book beside your bag—the sixth book in the series you’d been slowly working through, the second-to-last one before the finale. You had completely forgotten about it. You were pretty sure you had hit the maximum borrowing period, and at this rate, you were lucky the library hadn’t sent you an overdue notice.

“I need to go return this,” you muttered, grabbing the book and standing up.

Gojo glanced at it, tilting his head slightly. “That again?”

You blinked at him. “What?”

“That series,” he clarified, nodding towards the book in your hand. “You’ve been reading it forever. What’s the deal?” You hesitated for a moment, not really sure why you felt the sudden urge to explain, but then the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“I… I don’t know. It’s comforting, I guess,” you admitted. “It’s one of those series that just sticks with you, you know? And it’s not just the story—it’s the annotations.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow. “Annotations?”

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah. Someone else read these books before me, and they wrote all these little notes in the margins. Some of them are funny, some are insightful, some are just straight-up teasing—but they make the whole experience feel… shared, I guess.” For once, Gojo didn’t say anything. He just listened, head tilted, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher.

You coughed, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Anyway, I should go return this.” You turned before he could say anything else and made your way to the library’s return section—only to find the drop-off shelves completely blocked off with construction tape. A small sign informed students that book returns had to be made manually at the front desk. With a sigh, you made your way to the librarian’s desk. She smiled at you as you set the book down.

“Returning this?” she asked, flipping open the cover to check the borrowing card.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. She hummed, scanning the barcode. “You know, someone else borrowed this whole series a while back.”

No way.

No way, no way, no way.

Is this how you were going to finally find out who the faceless stranger you had grown attached to was? Your heart skipped a beat. You forced yourself to keep your voice casual.

“Oh? Can you recall who?”

She paused, tapping her chin as if trying to recall. “Give me a moment dear. He’s a male…about the same age as you, actually. Well I think he might be the same age as you. Hmm, he was tall, quite tall, had this head of brilliant white hair, and glasses. His eyes were startlingly blue too. I can’t remember his name but you two’d get along, he seemed very interested in these series too!” She chuckled, taking the book from you to store it under one of the accompanying shelves.

Your blood ran cold.

She continued, oblivious to your internal panic. “Had this little keychain on his bag too. It tinkled a lot when he came in to borrow the books.” Your mind flashed back to the small jingling sound of Gojo’s keychain— a digimon one. The one that always made a tiny noise whenever he slung his bag over his shoulder. Oh my god.

Your grip tightened on the desk. “Right. Thanks.”

Somehow, miraculously, you managed to return the book without your hands shaking. But the moment you turned away, the weight of the realization slammed into you like a tidal wave. Your breath hitched, your vision tunneled slightly, and for a second, you weren’t sure if your legs would carry you back to the table.

Gojo.

Gojo was G.S.

The knowledge settled in your bones with a dizzying clarity, making the library around you feel unreal, like you were wading through a dream you couldn’t wake up from. The notes, the teasing comments, the underlined passages—it had all been him. The same Gojo Satoru who drove you insane with his arrogance, who somehow wormed his way into your study sessions, who made physics revision bearable with his endless chatter. And he had never said a word about it. By the time you reached the table, your emotions were tangled beyond recognition—embarrassment, frustration, something dangerously close to hurt. You dropped into your seat, a little too forcefully, the noise drawing his attention.

Gojo barely glanced up from his notes. “You okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You swallowed, pulse thrumming against your ribs. Your fingers curled into fists against your lap. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something sharp, something that could cut you open if you weren’t careful.

“It’s you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He finally met your gaze, his pen stilling against the page. For a second—just a second—there was nothing but blankness in his expression, as if he truly didn’t understand what you meant. But then, recognition flickered in those bright, unreadable eyes. And slowly, like he had been waiting for this exact moment, he grinned.

“Took you long enough.”

A sharp breath escaped you, like the wind had been knocked from your lungs. Something twisted in your chest. He knew. He had known. You exhaled shakily, trying to hold onto your composure, but your voice wavered when you spoke again. “You—” You swallowed hard. “You knew it was me reading those books, and you just—”

He didn’t deny it. Didn’t even try. You hated the way he was looking at you, like this was funny, like this was just some game he had been playing all along. Like he had been waiting for you to connect the dots, to put the pieces together while he sat back and watched. Something inside you cracked.

“You were just messing with me.” The words came out quiet, but there was something raw beneath them, something unsteady. “That’s what this was, right? Just another one of your games?”

For the first time, his smirk faltered.

“That’s not—”

But you didn’t let him finish.

You stood up too fast, your chair scraping loudly against the floor. A few heads turned, students shooting you mildly annoyed glances, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You felt like the library was closing in around you, like you needed to get out before you drowned under the weight of it all.

“Forget it,” you muttered, voice tight. You grabbed your bag, barely able to look at him. “I’ll see you in class.” And before he could stop you—before he could say something that might make you stay—you turned on your heel and walked out of the library. Your pulse roared in your ears, your face burned with humiliation, and your heart—God, your heart was a tangled, aching mess you weren’t ready to unravel yet.

–

You didn’t talk to Gojo for three days. Not once. Not in class, not in the library, not even in passing. If he was in a group conversation, you found an excuse to leave. If he tried to sit next to you, you conveniently needed to be somewhere else. And if you caught even a glimpse of him from across campus, you turned in the opposite direction before he could call your name. It wasn’t out of pettiness. At least, you didn’t think so.

You were hurt.

The weight of it had settled deep in your chest, a slow, heavy ache that didn’t fade no matter how much you tried to distract yourself. You felt stupid, looking back at all those late nights spent tracing the loops of G.S.’s handwriting, at the way you had let yourself get caught up in the fantasy of someone—someone you thought understood you. Someone who had felt just as deeply about those books as you had. And the whole time, it had been him.

Had he just been laughing at you? Watching you get wrapped up in his words, in him, while he sat back and waited for you to figure it out? Had it all just been some kind of joke? You didn’t know what answer would hurt more. Gojo, however, wasn’t making your avoidance easy.

He noticed, of course. The first day, he seemed ashamed. You saw it in the way he frowned when you brushed past him after class, in the way his gaze lingered when you sat on the opposite end of the library instead of your usual table.

The second day, he got annoyed.

“Are you serious right now?” he had muttered when you blatantly ignored him outside the lecture hall, your fingers tightening around your books as you sped up. By the third day, his frustration had given way to something else—something quieter, something bordering on concern.

He caught your wrist as you passed him in the hallway that morning, his grip loose enough for you to pull away if you wanted.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “Are we—?” He hesitated. “Did I—?”

You looked at him then, really looked at him, and for the first time in years, you saw it—uncertainty.

Gojo Satoru was scared. But you weren’t ready to talk. Not yet. So you shook him off and kept walking.

He let you go. For the rest of the day, you tried to pretend like it didn’t feel like a mistake. That night, unable to sleep, you reached for the last book in the series—the one you had borrowed before you found out. You had been meaning to return it. The thought of flipping through those pages again felt wrong after everything that had happened. But something about the weight of it in your hands made you pause. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you curled up in bed and opened to the first page.

And read.

At first, it was mechanical. You skimmed. Skipped paragraphs. Let your eyes pass over the words without really taking them in. But then—somewhere along the way—you found yourself slowing down. The story was familiar, but it felt different now. The annotations were there, just like before. The same small, thoughtful notes in the margins. The same underlined passages, the same occasional sarcastic remark scribbled beside overly dramatic monologues.

And it still felt intimate.

Your chest ached. Gojo’s handwriting had always been a little messy, but now, you could hear his voice in it. The playful quips, the teasing corrections, the occasional rambling thoughts that trailed off mid-sentence. He hadn’t just read these books. He had shared them. With you. But it wasn’t until you reached the end of the book that you froze.

A note, scrawled beneath a passage about missed chances. About how sometimes, you don’t realise what someone means to you until it’s too late.

To whoever is reading this, I… really hope that this never applies to you.

And then, right underneath it, you spot a small sentence. Your eyes narrow as you lean in, catching the faint blue ink beneath the initials G.S., nearly lost beneath the hurried strike-through. It’s messy, almost like he had written it in a rush, then panicked and scratched it out before anyone could see. The ink is slightly smudged, the letters not quite as crisp as they should be. But you can still read it.

T̶o̶ y̶o̶u̶, I̶ h̶o̶p̶e̶ I̶ d̶o̶n̶’̶t̶ m̶i̶s̶s̶ t̶h̶e̶ c̶h̶a̶n̶c̶e̶ t̶o̶ t̶e̶l̶l̶ y̶o̶u̶ h̶o̶w̶ m̶u̶c̶h̶ I̶ r̶e̶a̶l̶l̶y̶, r̶e̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ l̶i̶k̶e̶ y̶o̶u̶.

Your breath catches. The frustration twisting in your chest falters, cracking under the weight of what you’re seeing. This wasn’t just about G.S. This wasn’t just about some stupid rivalry, some elaborate, long-running inside joke only he was in on. He had liked you.

All along.

The truth of it presses against your ribs, turning your anger into something else—something hot and unbearable and aching. Because of course Gojo Satoru wouldn’t have just let you take that book without noticing. Of course he wouldn’t have just been some faceless mystery behind the initials. He had been right there, all this time. Watching. Waiting. Never saying a damn thing. You press your lips together, gripping the book tighter, torn between wanting to shove it in his stupidly smug face and the overwhelming realization that this—this whole thing—had never been a game to him.

Not really. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the page, heart pounding. You should be mad. You are mad.

But now? Now you don’t know what to do with the way your chest is clenching, your stomach twisting, the words replaying in your head over and over again. He really, really liked you. And he had been too much of an idiot to say it.

It wasn’t just a game. It never had been. Your fingers curled around the edge of the page, heart hammering against your ribs. And in that moment, without a second thought—

You didn’t hesitate.

You barely registered slipping on your shoes, grabbing your jacket, heading across campus toward the dormitories. Your pulse roared in your ears as you climbed the stairs, the weight of the book heavy in your bag. You remembered the way he’d joked about it once—how it was almost too easy to find his dorm because the boys’ rooms were stacked directly above the girls’.

("It’s like fate, babe," he’d drawled, slinging an arm over your shoulders. "You’re literally sleeping right below me."

"Don’t say it like that," you’d deadpanned, shoving him off.

He’d only grinned, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "What? It’s true. If you ever get lonely, just know I’m right there—" he pointed up dramatically "—in room sixty-nine."

You’d groaned at that. "Of course it’s sixty-nine."

"Oh, absolutely." His smirk had been positively insufferable. "The universe practically insisted on it.”)

And now, here you were. Standing in front of his stupid door, his stupid room number glaring at you, mocking you, reminding you of how easily he had wormed his way into your life. You knocked. There was a pause. Then—footsteps. The door cracked open, and Gojo blinked down at you, disheveled, his glasses slightly askew. He was in a hoodie and sweatpants, and for once, he looked genuinely caught off guard.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he whispered sharply. “What if the dean catches you? It’s past curfew.”

You ignored him. “Explain.”

Gojo stared at you. Then, with a sigh, he opened the door wider and let you in. His dorm was surprisingly neat, save for a few open textbooks on his desk. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling before leaning against the edge of his bed.

“You want an explanation?” Gojo muttered, rubbing his temple as if trying to collect his thoughts. His voice was uncharacteristically hoarse, lacking its usual teasing lilt. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before meeting your gaze.

“Fine.”

And then—something shifted in his expression. That raw, unguarded look returned, cracking through the facade of the cocky, untouchable Gojo Satoru.

“I liked you this entire time.”

Your breath caught. His words were quiet, but they landed like a stone in your chest, sending ripples through every assumption you had made about the past few months. No—longer than that. Yes, you had gathered from that scribbled annotation that he had liked you, but hearing it was different from reading it. The weight of what he was saying pressed down on you, curling around your ribs, making it hard to breathe. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His gaze flickered away for a second, like he was considering taking it back, like he was still terrified of saying it out loud. But then, with a short breath, he pressed forward.

“I—” He licked his lips, shaking his head slightly. “When I overheard you talking about the books, about G.S., I thought… I don’t know. At first, it was funny.” He let out a weak laugh, but there was no humor in it. “You, of all people, getting caught up in my annotations.”

A pang of hurt flared in your chest at that, but Gojo’s face twisted almost immediately, like he regretted saying it that way.

“I don’t mean it like that,” he murmured. “I just mean—” He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “You always had this way of looking at me, like you had me all figured out. Like you already knew what kind of person I was. And I guess… part of me thought it was funny that I got to be something different in your head for once.”

Your fingers curled at your sides. You weren’t sure how to respond to that, but Gojo wasn’t done. His fingers flexed at his sides, like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. His eyes darted back to you, searching, waiting for you to interrupt, to tell him he was ridiculous. When you didn’t, he exhaled sharply through his nose, like he was bracing himself.

“But it wasn’t just the books,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “It wasn’t just some joke to me.” His lips pressed together for a moment before he continued. “Because the truth is, I—” He hesitated, then finally met your eyes again, his own brimming with something raw and unguarded. “I’ve liked you since freshman year.”

The air between you shifted. Your fingers curled at your sides as his confession settled in. You wanted to say something—anything—but all you could do was stare at him, pulse pounding in your ears.

He let out a breathy chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Long time, huh?” His voice was softer now, tinged with something almost self-conscious. “It sounds stupid when I say it out loud. But I did. I do.”

Your mouth felt dry. “Since freshman year?”

His lips twitched, like he wasn’t sure if he should smile. “Yeah.”

Your mind reeled. Freshman year. That meant before the rivalry, before the teasing had turned sharp, before you had convinced yourself that he was just some cocky, insufferable show-off who loved to push your buttons. Before you had started believing he only saw you as an opponent to one-up. Gojo sighed, dropping his head back slightly, staring at the ceiling for a moment before looking back at you. “You remember that first day of class?”

You blinked. “Where we had to introduce each other to the class?”

He nodded. “You were wearing that stupid oversized sweater that practically swallowed you, and you kept tugging at the sleeves like you wanted to disappear. I just– at first I thought you were just so cute” His lips quirked slightly at the memory. “And then you opened your mouth when we argued for the first time in class– remember? When you answered that question on vector components and I poked fun at you or something, and when you responded back to me, you had this… fire in you. You wouldn’t let me get a single word in edgewise, like you had something to prove.”

His expression softened, something unbearably fond flickering in his gaze. “And I just remember thinking—shit.”

Your breath hitched.

“I wasn’t supposed to like you,” he murmured, like it was a confession he had never meant to say out loud. “But I did. And when we started arguing all the time, when it turned into this whole thing between us, I thought—fine. If I couldn’t have you the way I wanted, then I’d settle for getting under your skin.” He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “And trust me, I tried to stop thinking about it. About you. But I couldn’t. And then you started borrowing those books, and it was like—” He exhaled sharply, like he didn’t even know how to put it into words. You swallowed hard, heart hammering.

All this time.

Every argument, every smug grin, every lingering glance across the room—he had liked you this entire time.

“But then you kept reading them.” His voice had softened, like he was talking to himself now as much as to you. “You kept flipping through those pages, talking about how much you liked G.S– and god, who am I to deny you when you speak like that? When you speak like that about my thoughts, my feelings, spilled onto the pages of those stupid books? And suddenly, I was waiting for you to borrow the next book. Waiting to see which parts you’d pause on, which annotations you’d react to. Waiting to hear what you’d say about G.S. So I–”

He exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around the fabric of his hoodie.

“– I borrowed the remaining four books or so. I annotated every last one of them, annotated them so maybe, maybe I’d get to hear that gorgeous voice of yours talking about it in class again. I’d get to see that giddy smile when you’d refer to me as your Seiji Amasawa again. As your G.S. And honestly, it was worth the entirety of the long night I spent, just so I’d see you fucking smile throughout the day and snap less at me because G.S. wrote something that made you think he was similar to you– because in reality, with the way you viewed me– entirely my fault by the way– it would never be possible.” He took a deep breath after saying that.

“And I realised—” He paused, just for a second, like he needed to steady himself. “I liked it. I liked you. Not that I didn’t already like you, but— but I was falling. Like really deep.”

Something inside you twisted painfully. Your lips parted, but you couldn’t force out a response. You had spent the past three days agonizing over the idea that he had been toying with you, that this had all been some elaborate joke, but this—this was different. This was Gojo Satoru, stripped of his usual bravado, laying his feelings bare in a way that felt like it might physically hurt him.

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Gojo let out a sharp, humorless laugh. He looked away, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Because I’m an idiot?” he said dryly. Then, quieter, “Because I’m Gojo Satoru, and I figured you’d never take me seriously?”

Your chest tightened at that.

Before you could process that, he spoke again.

“I know I was arrogant. I know I still am arrogant,” he muttered, his lips curling bitterly. “I push too hard. I’m too much. I act like I know everything, and maybe I do most of the time, but—” He swallowed thickly. “Those annotations… they were the only time you ever saw me.” His voice had dropped lower now, almost vulnerable, and something about it made your pulse stutter.

“Not the dumbass you argue with in class. Not the rich kid with the perfect grades. Not the guy who has to prove he’s the smartest person in the room.” He let out a slow breath. “Just… me.”

The silence between you stretched, thick and charged.

Gojo’s hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles going white. He looked like he was bracing for impact, like he had just thrown every last piece of himself at your feet and was waiting to see if you’d step on them. Your fingers trembled slightly as you reached for him.

Then—

You stepped forward. Gojo stilled the moment your fingers brushed against his hoodie, his breath catching in his throat. He stood up, towering over you, an unfamiliar glint in his cerulean eyes. You hesitated, your fingertips barely grazing the fabric before curling into it, fisting it lightly like you needed something solid to hold onto. His whole body went tense under your touch, his usual easy confidence absent now, replaced with something far more uncertain—far more vulnerable.

“You really are an idiot,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath against the space between you. His lips twitched, like he wanted to smirk, wanted to tease, wanted to be Gojo—but he didn’t. Instead, he just let out a shaky breath. “Yeah?”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening against his hoodie. “Yeah.”

The word hung in the air between you, weighty and full of something neither of you had the strength to name. And then—before you could second-guess yourself, before doubt could creep in—you surged up onto your toes and kissed him. Gojo made a startled sound against your lips, his whole body going rigid for half a second, like he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. But then—slowly, desperately—he melted into it. His hands found your face, cupping it with a tenderness that made your heart twist. His palms were warm, his grip firm, like he was terrified you’d slip away, like he needed you to know this wasn’t a joke to him. That it had never been. He kissed you like a man making up for lost time—deep, searching, like he had been waiting for this moment far longer than even you had realized. When he tilted his head, his lips pressing more firmly against yours, you felt it—all of it.

Every unspoken word. Every missed chance. Every moment that had teetered on the edge of this but never quite fallen. His fingers slid into your hair, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek, like he was memorising the way you felt beneath him. Your heart was a wild, unsteady thing in your chest, thundering against your ribs as you pressed yourself closer, your hands sliding up from his hoodie to clutch at his shoulders. Gojo let out a quiet, almost desperate sigh against your lips, like he had been holding back for so long that finally getting to kiss you was unraveling him.

And maybe it was.

Because as much as you had spent the past few days convincing yourself that this had all been a game to him, this—the way he was holding you, the way his fingers trembled just slightly against your skin—told a different story. Gojo Satoru didn’t play games with things that mattered. And you—somehow, impossibly—mattered. When you pulled back, slightly breathless, Gojo just stared at you, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

Then, slowly, he grinned. “So,” he murmured, his thumb tracing your cheek. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t step away. “Don’t push it.” Gojo laughed, bright and real, before pulling you back into his arms.

“God, do you know how beautiful you fuckin’ are? It drives me insane,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. His breath is warm against your lips before he swoops down, capturing your mouth with his own again, his large hands grounding themselves against your waist as if he’s afraid you might slip away.

You giggle against his lips, trying to push him off, but he refuses to budge. “S-Satoru—wait!” Your protest is muffled, barely audible between the kisses he keeps stealing, his lips soft but insistent against yours.

He lets out a quiet, needy sound, almost a whimper, his grip tightening on your hips. “Shut up,” he murmurs breathlessly, squeezing lightly at your waist as if that alone will silence you. “Been waiting to kiss this pretty mouth for sooo fuckin’ long… Let me get my fill, yeah?” You barely have time to respond before his tongue swipes across the seam of your lips, coaxing them open. The second you allow him in, he kisses you deeply—desperately—his tongue sliding against yours, tasting, claiming. The soft little noises you make against him seem to spur him on, his fingers pressing firmly into your sides as he tugs you even closer. His legs bump against the edge of the bed, steadying you between his parted thighs, and the world around you fades, leaving only the two of you tangled up in each other.

A surprised squeak leaves your lips when his thumbs slip just beneath your shirt, brushing against your bare skin. His hands are cold, the contrast against your warmth sending a jolt of electricity through you. He laughs—a quiet, smug chuckle—and then the bastard has the audacity to bite your bottom lip in amusement. “Shh,” he teases, lips brushing against yours. “Don’t wanna get caught sneakin’ into my dorm after hours, do you?”

Before you can even process a response, his hands move to the backs of your thighs, gripping firmly as he lifts you off the ground with ease. A gasp leaves your lips, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he manoeuvres you to the bed. He turns smoothly, lowering you down onto the mattress before climbing over you, his movements slow, deliberate, eager. And this time, you don’t hesitate. Your hands fist the front of his hoodie, yanking him down in a clumsy rush to kiss him again, your breath mingling with his as your noses bump. His glasses shift slightly from the movement, and with an annoyed huff, he pulls them off, setting them aside carefully before his gaze returns to you—hungry. His mouth is back on yours in an instant, moving with a mixture of urgency and something softer, something deeper. His lips trail from yours to your jaw, to the delicate skin of your neck, to the dip of your collarbone—his hands following the path his lips leave behind, fingers toying with the fabric of your open jacket. He pushes it off your shoulders tentatively, almost testing, waiting for you to stop him.

You don’t.

A pleased hum vibrates against your throat as his confidence grows, his hands sliding over your arms, your waist, memorizing the shape of you beneath him. Your arms wrap around his neck, tugging him impossibly closer, like you could mold yourself against him if you just tried hard enough. The kiss is more than just the heat of the moment. It’s more than just the weeks—months—of built-up tension. It’s the culmination of years of frustration, of stolen glances, of biting words laced with something deeper neither of you had wanted to acknowledge until now.

And maybe, maybe, it’s also the weight of finally realising—fully understanding—that the only person who had ever been able to keep up with you, to challenge you, to drive you absolutely insane, yet make you feel like this… was him. Satoru groans against your skin, nipping at your neck as his hands slip beneath your shirt, his fingers splaying across your waist. But even in the heat of the moment, he’s calculated. His lips map out a path of possessive little marks just below your collarbone—places that can be covered easily. Even now, he’s thinking things through. Your breath hitches when his fingertips skim the skin of your hips again, this time firmer, testing. Your cheeks burn, and the words slip out before you can stop them.

“You can—you can take it off.”

Satoru goes very, very still. You swear you can feel the exact moment he processes what you’ve just said, the exact moment he realizes that you mean it. His hands tighten slightly against you, his breath coming out a little shakier than before. And for once, for once—he doesn’t have some cocky remark ready to go. Because this? This is real. And for the first time, Gojo Satoru doesn’t want to ruin it with a joke. He gently tugs your shirt up and over your head, eyes eyeing the new expanse of skin that has just been made available to him.

“My gorgeous girl…”

He whispers out, before he’s back to lavishing your skin with attention, paying close attention to your breasts, lips lovingly, reverently moving across your skin with gentleness you hadn’t thought possible by him. You don’t know what possesses you, but something suddenly clicks and shyly, you unclasp your bra, leaving your entire upper half bare, making Satoru’s breath hitch. And then, in a moment that takes you completely by surprise, he does something that makes your heart both melt and swell—if that was even possible.

Because instead of his usual teasing, instead of his cocky grin or some flirtatious remark that would make you roll your eyes, Satoru simply looks at you. Really looks at you. His intense blue eyes don’t dart downward like you half-expected, don’t darken with some unchecked hunger. Instead, they stay locked onto yours, unwavering, all traces of playfulness and impulsive need fading away. What replaces them is something quieter—something gentler. A tenderness that makes your breath catch, your chest tighten.

Satoru, who always had a joke ready. Satoru, who always teased and never took anything too seriously. Satoru, who could have had anyone but had spent years bothering you instead—staring at you now like you were something fragile, something precious, something he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch. His throat bobs as he swallows, and then, carefully, softly, he speaks.

“Are you sure you wanna… do this?” His voice is quieter now, laced with something that sounds an awful lot like uncertainty. Like he’s terrified of ruining whatever this is. “I’m not—pressuring you or anything, am I?” His fingers twitch slightly at his sides before he hesitantly lifts a hand, reaching out toward you—not to pull you in, not to take what you’ve offered, but to tuck a few strands of your hair away from your face. His touch is featherlight, barely there, but it sends warmth spreading across your skin.

“I just—” He exhales, gaze flickering between your eyes, searching, as if trying to read your thoughts. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to. If me kissing you made you think you needed to… y’know, do anything more—then I’m sorry.” The words leave his lips like a confession, like the idea of you feeling obligated to be with him hurts him. And that—that simple fact—makes something inside you ache. Because Gojo Satoru, for all his arrogance, for all his relentless teasing and larger-than-life presence, was standing before you now with uncertainty in his eyes. Not because he didn’t want this—God, did he want this—but because he needed to be sure that you did too. For a moment, you just stare at him, your heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your fingertips.

Because this isn’t how you thought this moment would go. Not with him—not with Gojo Satoru. You had braced yourself for teasing, for him to say something infuriatingly smug, to grin like he had won some long-fought battle. But instead, he was looking at you with quiet hesitation, with care. With something that felt like love. Your throat tightens.

“Satoru.” His name– his first name, not Gojo– leaves your lips in a breath, barely above a whisper. His hands—so sure and confident only moments ago—remain frozen where they rest against your sides, like he’s afraid that if he moves, you’ll change your mind.

“I want this,” you say, and you make sure there is no room for doubt in your voice. Your fingers curl around the fabric of his hoodie, grounding yourself in the feel of him. “I’m not saying it just because you kissed me, or because I think I have to. I want this.” His lips part slightly, but no words come out. His grip on you tightens just a fraction, like he’s trying to make sure you’re real.

You take a breath, steadying yourself, because you need him to understand—really understand.

“I’ve wanted this for longer than I want to admit,” you confess, a nervous laugh bubbling up in your throat. Your fingers flex where they rest against his chest, feeling the steady thud-thud-thud of his heart beneath your palm. He’s warm, impossibly so, like he’s radiating heat just for you. “And it scares me, Satoru. You scare me.” His brows furrow, the corners of his mouth dipping slightly downward. “Scare you?”

You nod. “Because you make me feel things I don’t know how to deal with. You drive me crazy. You make me want to strangle you half the time, and the other half I—” Your voice catches, and you swallow thickly before continuing. “I want to be near you. I want you to look at me the way you’re looking at me right now.” His hands slowly slide up your sides, not rushing, not pushing—just holding. His thumbs brush against your ribs, barely ghosting under the underside of your chest, but even that light touch sends a shiver up your spine.

“You have to know this isn’t just some impulsive decision for me,” you tell him, voice softer now, filled with something you can’t quite name. “I don’t do things just because they’re convenient, or easy, or expected. I do them because I choose to.” You reach up, cupping his face between your hands, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palms. His breath stutters when you stroke your thumb over his cheekbone, and for the first time since you’ve known him, he looks completely lost. “I’m choosing you,” you whisper, staring straight into those brilliant blue eyes. “Not because you kissed me. Not because of some annotations in a book. But because I want you, Satoru. I want this.”

A shaky exhale leaves his lips, and for a second, you swear he stops breathing altogether. His grip on you tightens just enough for you to feel it, his fingers pressing into your waist like he’s holding himself back. Then, slowly, so slowly, he leans in, forehead resting against yours. His breath is warm against your lips when he speaks.

“You can’t take that back now, y’know,” he murmurs, his voice low and almost reverent.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

In a flurry of kissing and movement, his hands roamed over your breasts, fingers pressing and kneading with a slow, deliberate touch that sent shivers down your spine. Every brush of his palm left a burning trail in its wake, making you arch into him, craving more—needing more. His lips never left yours for long, only breaking away to breathe, to murmur your name against your mouth like a prayer, before diving back in, desperate to claim every inch of you. Your own hands found their way under his hoodie, fingertips exploring the firm ridges and planes of muscle beneath. He was all taut sinew and warmth, his body solid beneath your touch, the faintest tremble betraying just how much he wanted this too. Heat pooled in your lower belly, a slow and delicious ache, as you pressed your palms flat against his stomach, feeling the way his muscles flexed under your touch.

And then you felt it—the thin trail of hair below his navel, soft against your fingers, leading downward. Your breath hitched at the realisation, a flush creeping up your face as your hands lingered there, tracing along his happy trail. The sensation made him shudder, his breath stuttering for just a moment before he let out a low, breathy chuckle. “You’re teasing,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rougher now, his grip tightening slightly where he held you.

You shook your head, though your fingers betrayed you, still trailing feather-light touches just above the waistband of his sweats. “Just exploring,” you whispered, emboldened by the way he reacted to your touch, the way his muscles tensed as if he was barely holding himself back. His entire body felt heavier now, weighted with desire as he sucked in a slow breath. His fingers twitched against your sides, like he was restraining himself, before he finally gave in.

With one fluid motion, he pulled his hoodie over his head and tossed it aside, leaving his torso bare. The sight of him knocked the air from your lungs. He was beautiful—lean but strong, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, skin warm and golden in the dim light. The definition of his abs trailed down to his happy trail, disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweats. There was something intoxicating about seeing him like this, vulnerable yet utterly self-assured, the usual cocky glint in his eyes replaced with something softer, something just for you. You traced your fingers lightly over his stomach, watching the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch. His breath came a little heavier, his hands gripping your waist like he was holding onto the last thread of his restraint.

"You're staring," he teased, though his voice was lower now, rough around the edges.

"Maybe," you admitted, dragging your fingertips just a little lower, reveling in the way his breath hitched. His lips curled into a smirk, but there was a heat in his gaze now, something dark and wanting. “Careful,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “I might start thinking you like what you see.”

Your pulse thrummed wildly, heat licking at your skin as you met his eyes.

“I do.”

He gave you a full-blown grin, the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners, his canines glinting in the dim light of his dorm room. It was a look you had seen a hundred times before—mischievous, teasing, effortlessly confident—but now, there was something else underneath it. Something softer. Something real. His hands, warm and slightly rough, hesitated at the waistband of your sweats, fingers grazing the fabric as if waiting for permission. His touch sent a shiver down your spine, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach. But despite the heat in his gaze, despite the way his breath was uneven and his chest rose and fell just a little too fast, he didn’t move forward. Not yet.

“Are you sure?” His voice was lower now, quieter, cutting through the thick silence that had settled between you. His usual bravado was nowhere to be seen—no teasing remark, no cocky smirk. Just Satoru, looking at you like you were something delicate, something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to have. Like he was terrified of doing something wrong, of ruining this moment before it could fully begin. You could feel his hesitation in the way his fingers flexed against your waist, could hear it in the way his voice wavered just slightly, as if he was bracing himself for you to change your mind.

It made your heart ache. You reached up, cupping his face gently, your thumb brushing over his cheek. His skin was warm under your touch, and he leaned into it instinctively, like he couldn’t help himself. His breath hitched, just slightly, and you saw the way his lips parted, the way his lashes fluttered when your fingers traced along his jaw.

“Satoru,” you murmured, voice steady despite the way your heart was hammering against your ribs. His eyes flickered to yours—deep, cerulean, searching.

“I’m sure,” you whispered. “I want this. I want you.” For a moment, he didn’t move, like he was letting the words settle, like he needed to make sure he heard you right. And then—

He exhaled, something tight and heavy leaving his chest, and his hands finally gripped your waist properly, fingers digging in just a little, grounding himself in the reality of the moment.

“God,” he muttered, his forehead pressing against yours, his voice almost shaky. “You have no idea how much I fucking love hearing you say that.”

He gently coaxed you out of your sweatpants, hand finding itself atop your underwear, breath hitching at the dampness that was present. Seems like this fueled his ego a little bit too much, because the next thing you knew, the Satoru you knew was back.

“Dang you’re wet as fuck.”

You gave him a pointed look and he faltered, the smirk on his lips morphing into a grin as he ushered out apologies. Your hands clutched the sheets when his fingers began to gently touch you, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you eyed his hand with need. You couldn’t stay mad with him for long the way his fingers tugged the flimsy material down and began to work his hand between your legs. He grinned, experimentally probing around, ocean eyes half lidded.

“This is where you’re weak, right?” He murmured sensually, fingers finding your sensitive nub, eyes flickering up to watch your reactions, his pretty pink lips parted open in pleasure as he watched you come apart under him. He was precise with his fingers, circling you, teasing, pinching and rubbing, before thrusting in all the right spots, reaching places your own hand was unable to take you. Before long you had to let out muffled whimpers into his big palm that he had slapped gently across your lips; it covered almost the entirety of the lower half of your face– you were a bit loud.

Unable to take it anymore, you finally reached your breaking point, squirming underneath him as you came all over his fingers. Your chest was heaving, rising and falling in rapid succession, your breath coming in short, uneven pants as the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through you. Every nerve in your body felt like it had been set alight, over sensitised and trembling in the lingering warmth of his touch. Your skin was flushed, heat radiating from every inch of you, and the room felt impossibly small, like it was holding the weight of everything that had just passed between you.

Hungry for more, you made quick work of his sweats, sliding them and his boxers down (pokemon boxers but you were too needy to make fun of him for it). Satoru loomed above you, shakily guiding himself to your entrance, pale lashes fluttering as he looked down at you. He was hard– had been hard the moment you two had started kissing, pressing up against you in a needy manner.

“Su–Sure you can take it? Don’t need a break?” He breathed out, referring to the fact that you had practically jumped at the opportunity to take things further right after having an earth shattering orgasm thanks to his lanky fingers.

“So fucking sure– please, Satoru.” You flutter your eyelashes up at him, and he swears he almost comes from the sight. He nods, leaning down to kiss your lips gently, all the while he ushers himself inside you slowly.

Now you knew he had meant you not being able to take it because you might have been tired after your first orgasm, but now it felt more like he was warning you, because he was long, pressing inside of you deliciously. Once he had buried himself to the hilt, he halted in his tracks, giving you time to adjust. His face was screwed in pleasure, likely trying not to give in the urge to move. After a few minutes, when you deemed the feeling of him inside you as highly pleasurable and not the slight uncomfortableness that you initially felt while being split open in two, you murmured out a small “I’m ready,” and that was all it took for Satoru to start moving.

He kept up a slow, steady yet deep pace, his muscular form looming over yours, and for a moment, all you could do was look at him. The dim light of his dorm cast shadows along the sharp lines of his body, emphasizing the taut muscles in his arms, the sculpted contours of his chest, and the way his abdomen flexed with each controlled movement. His skin was flushed, a faint sheen of sweat glistening over his toned physique, catching the light in a way that made your breath hitch. His broad shoulders framed his lean build perfectly, his biceps taut as he braced himself above you, his fingers curling into the sheets as though restraining himself from losing control entirely.

And then there was his face. Messy white hair fell into his eyes, strands sticking to his damp forehead, and his lips—God, his lips—were parted, slightly swollen from kissing you breathless. His sharp jaw clenched subtly, his throat bobbing with a swallow, and when his gaze flickered down to meet yours, you felt like all the air had been sucked from the room.

His usual cocky grin was nowhere to be found. Instead, his expression was intense—raw, focused entirely on you, like nothing else in the world mattered. His impossibly blue eyes, darkened with something deep and consuming, dragged over your face, your body, drinking you in like you were something precious, something his. “Satoru—” you breathed, voice barely more than a whisper, but it was enough to make him groan, his grip on your waist tightening as he dipped down, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice rough, strained. “You have no idea how good you look right now. How good you feel right now.” He moved his hands from your waist, his fingers trailing over your skin as he shifted, bracing his forearms on either side of your head. The new position brought him even closer, his body pressing against yours, heat radiating between you as he continued to move within you. His breath was heavy, mingling with yours, and for a moment, it was all-consuming—the feeling of him, the weight of him, the slow, deep rhythm that sent shivers down your spine. When you had imagined being with Satoru like this, you’d thought it would be… different. You had expected teasing, cockiness, maybe even some ridiculous commentary, because that was just who he was. You thought he’d smirk down at you with that usual self-assured gleam in his eyes, crack some joke between kisses, whisper something infuriating just to make you blush. You had even braced yourself for the possibility of him being downright kinky, because he was Gojo Satoru, and he loved pushing limits.

But this? This was something else entirely.

This wasn’t just cocky flirtation or the result of years of pent-up rivalry and tension—this was intimate. It was raw, real, and so incredibly him, stripped of bravado and playfulness, leaving behind only the man in front of you. The one who had been waiting, wanting. The one who had loved you quietly, even when you didn’t know. His movements were deliberate, his touch reverent, his normally mischievous eyes dark with something softer—something deeper. When he leaned down, his lips ghosting over your cheek before pressing to the corner of your mouth, it wasn’t just a kiss—it was a silent confession. A plea. A promise. His fingers threaded through your hair, brushing over your temple, before trailing down to cup your jaw with aching gentleness. “You okay?” he murmured, voice hushed, almost breathless. You swallowed, overwhelmed by the warmth in his voice, the concern laced into every syllable, and you nodded, reaching up to lace your fingers through the soft strands of his hair. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I just… I didn’t expect this.”

A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He tilted his head slightly, pressing another lingering kiss just beneath your jaw, his breath warm against your skin. “Didn’t expect what?”

“For it to feel like this,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “For you to be like this.”

Satoru stilled for half a second before exhaling softly, lowering himself further so his chest was flush against yours. His nose brushed against yours, lips hovering just out of reach, and when he spoke, his voice was almost fragile. “I don’t think you realise how long I’ve wanted you,” he murmured. “It was never just some passing thing, y’know? It was always you.” Your chest tightened, your fingers gripping his hair just a little harder as his words settled deep within you. The air between you felt electric, charged, as if the weight of every unspoken feeling had finally caught up with you both. He kissed you again—slow, deep, purposeful—and you melted into him, your hands roaming over his bare back, nails lightly dragging along his spine. He let out a shaky breath, his forehead pressing against yours as he moved, his body fitting against yours so perfectly that it made your heart ache. There was no rush, no urgency—only the quiet, lingering touches, the shared breaths, the whispered words against flushed skin. It wasn’t just about desire or need anymore. It was about something much more.

And before long, you were coming again, whispered cries of his name leaving your mouth as you tightened around him– and if he had indulged in the feeling a second longer, he would have finished inside. He splattered on your stomach, hissing at the feeling, pale eyes fluttering shut. After a few seconds of basking in the afterglow, he quickly went into his bathroom, grabbing a warm washcloth to wipe your stomach down. Your breath came in quick, unsteady gasps, each inhale failing to steady the trembling in your limbs. A slow burn lingered beneath your skin, every nerve alight with the remnants of his touch. The air felt thick, pressing in around you, charged with everything that had just transpired. Heat clung to you, pooling in the spaces where his hands had been, leaving you adrift in the aftermath.

Your fingers curled into the sheets beneath you, gripping them like an anchor, like you needed something to steady yourself against the dizzying sensation still coursing through your veins. A shuddering breath escaped your lips, and you swore you could still feel the phantom imprint of his hands on your skin, the way they had mapped out every inch of you with a reverence that made your chest ache. Satoru was watching you.

You could feel his gaze—heavy, intense, something unreadable flickering behind those endless blue eyes. His hands hadn’t left your body entirely, his fingertips still resting against your hips, warm and grounding. There was something in his expression that made your breath catch—a mixture of awe and something softer, something tender. Like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened, like he was committing every second of this moment to memory. He swallowed, his own breathing uneven, before he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your shoulder—slow, lingering, like he just needed to feel you. His lips brushed over your skin again, trailing up toward your jaw, soft and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world.

–

The room was bathed in the dim glow of his bedside lamp, casting long shadows across tangled sheets and discarded clothes. Your body still hummed from the aftermath, warmth pooling in your limbs as you lay half-draped over Satoru, your cheek pressed against his bare chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. For a while, neither of you spoke. His fingers idly traced shapes along your spine, the touch featherlight and absentminded, while his other hand rested lazily on your hip, holding you close. You could still feel the heat radiating from his skin, the aftershocks of everything you had just done settling between you in the form of comfortable silence.

It was intimate, more than anything. More than the way he had touched you, more than the way he had moved inside you—this moment, the stillness, the way he exhaled softly like he was content, was what made your chest tighten.

Then, of course, he ruined it.

“So,” he drawled, breaking the peaceful quiet. “Would it be weird if I rated that experience a solid twelve out of ten?” You groaned, weakly smacking his chest, but he only laughed, the vibrations rumbling beneath your palm. “Oh my God, Satoru—”

“I mean, I am the strongest,” he continued, completely undeterred, stretching one arm lazily above his head. “So it makes sense that I’d be great in every department.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

He grinned, tilting his head to peer down at you. His hair was a mess, white strands sticking out in different directions, and his lips were still kiss-bitten, smugness radiating off of him in waves. “Oh, don’t worry, sweets, I’d never joke about my performance in bed—”

You smacked him again, this time harder, and he let out a dramatic oof, clutching his chest like you’d wounded him.

“You were being so sweet just a second ago,” you muttered, pouting as you nestled closer against him. “Why do you have to ruin it?” Satoru chuckled, his arms wrapping securely around you as he pulled the blanket over both of you. “C’mon, you wouldn’t want me any other way.”

You sighed, exasperated, but deep down, you knew he was right. He shifted slightly, rolling onto his side so he could face you properly, one long leg tangling with yours. His hand came up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch softer than you expected after all his teasing.

“…Was it really okay?” he asked, voice quieter this time. Almost hesitant. Your heart ached at the sincerity laced in his words, the way he was still Satoru, even after everything. Still checking in. Still making sure. You smiled, cupping his face in your hands as you pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “It was perfect.”

A slow, almost shy smile spread across his face, and for a moment, the cockiness was gone, replaced by something softer. Something real.

Then, of course—

“Perfect, huh? So you are saying I’m the best you’ve ever had—”

“GOJO SATORU, I SWEAR TO—”

His laughter rang out through the dorm, loud and unfiltered, and despite yourself, you couldn’t help but laugh too, the warmth of it curling around your heart. The warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the lazy way his fingers traced along your spine—it was all lulling you into the kind of peace you hadn’t felt in a long time. The teasing had settled into something softer, something quieter, and as sleep tugged at the edges of your consciousness, you thought that maybe, just maybe, you could stay like this forever. Satoru shifted beneath you, his hand sliding from your hip to your waist, pulling you just a little closer. His lips brushed your temple, his breath warm as he murmured, “Hey.”

You hummed in response, not quite opening your eyes. His fingers tapped against your skin, hesitant. “Be my girlfriend.”

That woke you up. Your eyes fluttered open, your head lifting slightly to look at him. “Huh?”

He huffed out a soft laugh, like he couldn’t believe he had actually said it. The Satoru everyone else knew was loud, arrogant, untouchable. But right now, he was just a boy with messy white hair and sleep-heavy eyes, holding you close like he was afraid you might slip away.

“I mean,” he continued, clearing his throat, “we’re already doing all this. And I like you. A lot. So…” He exhaled sharply, his thumb brushing over your waist. “Be my girlfriend.” Your heart clenched at the quiet sincerity in his voice, at the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered. It wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t just another one of his playful remarks. This was real. A slow smile spread across your lips. “Wow. That was kind of romantic.”

He groaned, tipping his head back against the pillow. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, sweets.” You giggled, shifting to prop yourself up on one elbow, fingers threading through his hair. “You really like me?”

He turned his head back toward you, his eyes—those striking, endless blues—soft in the dim light. “Yeah,” he said simply. “I really do.” Your chest felt too full, your heart racing faster than it should have been after everything you’d already done tonight. But it wasn’t nerves or fear—it was excitement, warmth, the dizzying rush of knowing Satoru Gojo, of all people, wanted you in a way that wasn’t fleeting.

“Okay,” you whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be your girlfriend.” He grinned instantly, arms wrapping around you as he rolled you onto your back, settling half on top of you with a triumphant look. “Took you long enough to say yes,” he teased, but the relief in his voice gave him away.

You laughed, shaking your head. “I hate you.”

“Liar,” he murmured, kissing you again, slow and deep, like he was trying to seal the moment in time. And maybe he was. Maybe you both were.

—

Getting into a relationship with Gojo Satoru was like being swept into a whirlwind—one that was loud, chaotic, and entirely consuming. Everyone around you had the same reaction when they found out: About time.

Shoko had rolled her eyes, exhaling smoke from her cigarette as she smirked. “Honestly, I thought you guys were already dating. You’re both just that disgusting.” Nanami had simply given Gojo a long, knowing look before shaking his head, muttering something under his breath about finally. Even Geto—before everything—had grinned, clapping Satoru on the back and saying, “I was starting to think you’d never get your head out of your ass.”

Satoru, naturally, took it all in stride, tossing an arm around your shoulders and grinning like he’d won the lottery. “What can I say? She couldn’t resist me forever.”

Your life since then had been… a lot. In the best way possible. Because being with Satoru meant being at the center of his world, whether you liked it or not. And he was obsessed with you. Absolutely obsessed. It was the way he always had to be touching you—his hand warm on the small of your back, his fingers playing with yours, his arm slung around your shoulders. It was how he looked at you, like you were the most fascinating thing in existence, eyes always following you, filled with nothing but admiration. It was the teasing—“I get it, babe. I’m super hot, but please let me study for five seconds without you getting distracted by me.”

It was the sweetness—bringing you your favorite snacks when you were stressed, pressing kisses to your temple when he thought you weren’t looking. Intertwining his large hand with yours and placing it in his coat pocket And, well, it was also the other things—

“Satoru, we have a lecture in twenty minutes—”

“Plenty of time, sweetheart. What, you don’t want to study with me?”

“This isn’t studying. You’ve been making out with me for the past ten minutes. And you really do need to stop. What if someone catches you in my dorm?”

“C’mon, I can’t resist you–”

“Sure you can, ‘Toru.”

“But you love me.”

You did. God, you did. And he loved you. He never let you forget it. You’d studied together for your physics final, working hard side by side. Even though Satoru acted like everything came easy to him, he did work for it. And so did you. You spent countless nights pouring over equations, bouncing theories off each other, fighting over who got to use the good highlighters.

And when results day came—

“Oh my God,” you whispered, staring at your score.

100%. Your hands trembled slightly as you clutched the paper, the weight of all those late-night study sessions, the stress, the endless debates with Satoru over formulas and theories—everything culminating in this moment. Pure, unfiltered pride swelled in your chest. Before you could fully process it, a loud whoop filled the air.

“YES! I knew it!”

Suddenly, you were lifted off your feet, spinning in a dizzying circle as Satoru’s wild laughter bubbled over. His strong arms wrapped around you, keeping you pressed to him as he twirled you around the hallway like an overexcited kid.

“My baby’s the smartest person in the world!” he crowed, not caring about the amused stares from your classmates. “Geniuses bow to you! The world kneels before you! Einstein weeps in his grave—”

You were laughing breathlessly by the time he finally set you down, his hands still firm on your waist as he grinned down at you. Your heart swelled at his excitement. “You did well too, right?”

“Pfft, of course.” He flipped his own paper up dramatically, flashing his score.

99%.

“I mean,” he sighed, shaking his head with mock sorrow, “you totally obliterated me, absolutely wrecked my pride, but it’s fine. Matter of fact, I think it was the fact I didn’t revise Bernoulli’s principle enough that resulted in me getting only 99%-”

In another world where he wasn’t your boyfriend, you would've smirked and gloated about beating him, and he would’ve snapped back with something equally smug. But instead, all you felt was pride—pure, unrestrained pride for him. You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you.” Satoru melted into you, his arms encircling your waist as he hummed into your shoulder. “Mmm, say it again. I like hearing that.” You chuckled, pulling back slightly—just enough to see the sheepish grin creeping onto his face.

“Actually…” he started, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes glinting with something suspicious. You frowned. “What?” He exhaled dramatically. “You’re probably gonna kill me when you hear this.” Your eyes narrowed. “Satoru.”

“Okay, okay—” He raised his hands in surrender, before leaning in like he was telling you a juicy secret. “Technically, I got a 99 on the midterm.” You blinked. “…What?” He grinned. That smug, trouble-making, up-to-no-good grin. “Buuuut you looked so beautiful when you were all happy about your score, so I lied and said I got 95 last minute.”

Your mouth dropped open. “You—WHAT?!”

Gojo Satoru—the cockiest, most competitive man you knew, the one who never let anyone forget how brilliant he was—had lied about an exam score for you? He burst out laughing at your expression, reaching out to ruffle your hair. “Don’t go feeling all bad about it, sweets. This final weighed more than the midterm, so technically—” he booped your nose, “—you’re better than me.”

You were still reeling, warmth spreading through you as you realised he had lied to see you happy. “You changed your answer for me—”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved off your shock, smirking. “I’m the best boyfriend in the world. You can say it out loud, babe.” You rolled your eyes, exasperated, before tugging him down into a kiss.

He instantly responded, his grip on your waist tightening, his lips warm and eager against yours. The teasing faded for just a second, replaced by something softer—something real. When you finally pulled back, he looked way too smug.

“…Still smarter than you, though,” you teased, just to knock him down a peg. Satoru gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Oh, you absolutely crushed my heart and then ate it—”

Before you could react, he suddenly straightened, towering over you with a wicked glint in his eye. His large hands slid around your waist, ushering you closer until your bodies were flush against each other. His voice dropped, suddenly deep and velvety, amusement laced with something more sensual. “Guess you’ll just have to make it up to me in bed, huh?”

You groaned, immediately shoving at his chest. “You’re the worst.”

“Your worst.” He waggled his eyebrows, entirely unashamed. You shoved his face away, laughing as he grinned, easily catching one of your wrists in his hand. Instead of saying anything else, he simply lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss to your wrist, his lips warm against your skin.

–

Later that night, you were curled up in his dorm, forcing him to watch Whisper of the Heart. He had grumbled and groaned, saying he’d already watched it way back in high school and that he "totally got the whole love and dreams thing," but you still made him sit through it. He spent the first twenty minutes sulking, arms wrapped around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder like a spoiled cat.

“I’m way better than Seiji,” he huffed after a particularly sweet scene. “Like, a million times better.” You snorted. “Jealous of an anime boy, Satoru?”

“I’m just saying,” he drawled, tightening his arms around you. “If I was in this movie, she wouldn’t even look at him.”

“Uh-huh.” You leaned back against his chest, enjoying the warmth. “Sure, babe.” His fingers absentmindedly toyed with the hem of your sleeve, and for a while, you both watched in silence, the glow of the laptop screen painting soft shadows over the room. Halfway through the movie, you reached into your bag to grab your laptop, but something tumbled out and hit the floor with a soft thud. You blinked at the familiar cover of the last book.

“Oh crap,” you muttered, picking it up. “I forgot to return this.”

Satoru turned his head, eyes narrowing. “Wait…” He plucked the book from your grasp, flipping through the pages with an expression that immediately made you suspicious. “You didn’t return this yet?” You nodded, smiling sheepishly. “Guess I kinda forgot.” His fingers slowed as he reached the back cover, eyes landing on the borrowing log where the name “G.S.” had been scrawled in blue ink.

For a moment, he just stared. His thumb ran over the initials like he was absorbing the weight of them, of what they had meant to you before you knew the truth. His usual teasing expression softened, something almost nostalgic flickering in his eyes. Then, in a slow, deliberate motion, he grabbed a pen from his desk, twirled it between his fingers, and, without saying a word, carefully crossed out “G.S.”

You watched as he replaced it with something else—his full name, written neatly, in the same familiar shade of blue ink in the column beneath the crossed out G.S. He paused, then handed you the pen. Understanding settled between you like an unspoken promise. Without hesitation, you leaned down, pressing the tip to the page to the column under his name, adding your own in smooth, looping letters.

The same date. The same ink. Together.

Satoru stared at it for a long moment, his usual cocky grin nowhere in sight. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his lips, something softer, something fonder. He looked at you with that unreadable, almost reverent gaze—the one that always made your breath catch. And then, with absolutely no warning, he grinned and yanked you straight into his lap.

“Sooo,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear as his arms locked around you. “How does it feel to know you’ve been fantasising about me this whole time?” You groaned, swatting at his arm. “Satoru—”

He just laughed, effortlessly dodging your weak attempts at smacking him. “Nah, nah, don’t try to deny it! I knew you had a crush on me.”

“I did not—”

“G.S.,” he sing-songed, his breath warm against your skin as he nuzzled into your shoulder. “You thought I was some mysterious, tortured genius. Bet you used to daydream about me in class, d’you think I showed up as some mysterious faceless guy in your wet dreams?—” You grabbed a pillow and shoved it into his face. His muffled laughter rang through the room, and when he pulled the pillow away, he was still grinning. He kissed your shoulder, lingering there for a beat longer than necessary.

And this time, you let him gloat.

a/n: summary of this entire fic basically (art creds to su2kuna on 𝕏)

sorry if there are error/grammar mistakes or slight plot issues uni is lowkey gnawing at the folds of my brain and a girl gets sick of reading 32k words over and over again.. but i hope you all enjoyed reading this because i really enjoyed writing it :) huhuhuhu much love

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trashytracktales · 3 months ago

Note

GIRL DONT HOLD BACK

WRITE THE LANDO NORRIS HELMET SMUT

Finders keepers | LN⁴

🟢 summary ──── A moment of boredom turns into a game of control and restraint, with Lando pushing boundaries neither he nor his girlfriend expected on such a busy day.

🟢 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

🟢 rating ──── explicit

🟢 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, smut, swearing, semi-public setting, soft!dom Lando, fingering & oral ─ (f)receiving, unprotected sex, overstimulation, messy finish, Lando low-key losing it.

🟢 word count ──── 3.3k

🟢 date ──── Mar. 4, 2025

🟢 a/n ──── This one has been HIGHLY requested after one of you guys sent in this ask, so I shall deliver. I hope you enjoy it as much as you imagined & can’t wait to hear your thoughts 🤍

Also, yes. This is the second one-shot of the day, because I ACCIDENTALLY posted this Charles Leclerc piece earlier. It’s very short and I was supposed to post it after this one OOPSIES get greedy & go check it out. Thank you, love you all 💋

THERE IS HARDLY enough room for more than two people in the driver’s room. A physio table is pushed against the wall, a couple of chairs sit tucked under a desk covered in notes, post-its and water bottles, and a row of plastic shelves is holding some race suits, a change of clothes and toiletries, and a spare helmet. There is a faint scent of fresh rubber and overall newness of the place in the air that blends with the smell of rain, and something so distinctly Lando, a mix of his cologne and fabric softener.

She has been waiting for hours now. Day two of testing in Bahrain is dragging, and even though she loves watching her boyfriend hit the track, the long hours spent doing nothing are starting to wear on her. She finished reading three books in two days, rewatched her favorite TV show, and scrolled through her feed until the app informed her that there were no new posts.

She sighs, running a hand over the edge of the desk before deciding to tidy up a little. Not that there’s much to clean, since McLaren keeps these rooms nearly spotless, but at least it gives her something to do. A few minutes later, the post-its are arranged on the wall by color, the documents are organized in chronological order, and the water bottles have found a new home, crammed under the table.

Out of curiosity, her fingers brush over one of Lando’s new helmets, freshly designed for the pre-season testing. It’s sleek, predominantly black with neon streaks and intricate models running along the sides. On impulse, she lifts it, feeling its surprising weight before slipping it over her head. The padding presses snugly against her ears, muffling the distant sounds of mechanics still at work in the garage.

She can’t help but feel a vague claustrophobia surrounding her, but the feeling isn’t necessarily bad. On the contrary, it gives her the impression of safety, even if it inhibits her other senses.

Grinning to herself, she pulls out her phone and angles the camera for a selfie. The reflection in the visor catches the glow of the overhead lights, giving her an futuristic look. She continues to snap a few more photos, adjusting the tilt of her head, until a blurred figure appears in the background of her screen.

“Having fun all by yourself?” Lando’s voice is amused yet he sounds tired, and before she can turn around, she feels his arms wrap around her waist from behind. He leans in, lips ghosting over her shoulder in a lazy kiss.

She huffs out a laugh, nudging at his arms, “I told you to stop sneaking up on me like that. You scared me.”

Lando chuckles, hands splaying over her stomach, thumbs brushing absentminded circles through the fabric of her shirt. “Sorry. Didn’t expect to catch you playing dress-up with my stuff.”

“Finders keepers,” she says in a singing voice, making Lando chuckle again.

“Yeah? You like it?”

“It looks cool,” she admits, “Therefore, it makes you look cool.”

Lando squeezes her a little tighter, “That mouth on you,” he teases.

The girl giggles, “Am I wrong? Also, you should’ve knocked, by the way,” she continues, reaching up to pull at the visor so she can actually see him.

“I should knock on a door that has my name on it?”

“Yeah, you do!” she sounds revolted, “Especially when you know there’s a lady waiting for you inside.”

Lando’s gaze darkens ever so slightly as he takes her in. She looks like a mirage under the dim light of the small room, her curls coming untamed from under his helmet and her eyes so bright and filled with love, looking back at him.

He nods with a boyish smile, “I’ll try to remember that next time.”

Maybe it’s just exhaustion making his eyes so heavy-lidded, the lingering adrenaline from a long day fading into something softer. But when she catches him staring, Lando has the same soft gaze he does whenever they sit on the couch and he’s about to doze off; he looks unintentionally hot like this, worn out but content.

“Alright, racer boy. Can we go now?” she asks, pressing back against him slightly.

Lando sighs, reluctant. “Not yet. I still have a couple of hours to go. Gotta go over the data with the engineers,” his fingers tighten briefly on her hips before he steps back. “You can head back to the hotel if you’re bored. I’ll get you a car.”

She pouts, “It’s not as fun without you.”

That wins her another chuckle, but this time, there’s something else in Lando’s expression. His gaze is shamelessly dragging over her with an intensity that makes her pulse stutter. It’s only now that he really registers that she’s wearing his helmet, his name and number stamped all over.

She’s worn his clothes before — his hoodies, his merch, his team’s attire — but this feels completely different. It makes his mouth dry and head spin, and he might be exhausted, but suddenly, swallowing the lump in his throat, Lando realizes he’s so turned on.

“Then stay,” he encourages her, “I have half an hour to decompress before going to debriefing. I’m sure we can find something fun to do.”

His suit suddenly feels tighter, heat creeping up the back of his neck. He swallows again, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he exhales slowly.

“Is that so?” she challanges him. “Something in mind already?”

He runs a hand through his curls before reaching for her again, “Maybe,” his voice is low, amused but laced with something indulgent. His fingers skim her waist, tracing the hem of her shirt as he tugs her closer. “You’re pretty inspiring.”

She tilts her head slightly, the visor still lifted so he can see the teasing glint in her eyes. “Well, that’s new,” she laughs. “But I was just messing around.”

Lando hums, unconvinced. “Sure you were.”

She moves to take the helmet off, but his hand catches hers mid-motion.

“No, leave it,” says Lando, thumb grazing over her knuckles. His breath is warm when he leans in, his next words spoken directly against its glossy material. “You have no idea how hot you look right now.”

A shiver rolls down her spine, and it quickly goes south, right between her legs. It makes Lando grin subtly, then he reaches for the visor, pulling it down with a definitive, loud click. At that, her world narrows in an instant, and the limited view somehow makes every touch and every breath between them more intense.

Lando walks her back until she’s perched on the edge of the physio table, her pulse hammering as she watches him, excited, but mostly curious about his plans. They have thirty minutes, so his movements aren’t rushed in any way. Quite the opposite. They’re almost lazy, but there’s something precise about the way he reaches for the zipper of his race suit.

He rolls his shoulders, loosening up, then adjusts the height of the table so that when he sinks to his knees in front of her, she’s exactly where he wants her to be. Patiently, his fingers trail up her legs, making slow work of the button on her jeans. There’s no hurry in the way he peels them down, taking her underwear with them in one go, but the moment he gets rid of them, there’s a shift in his demeanor.

Lando exhales sharply, his large hands splaying over her thighs as he looks at her, half-lust and half-serious. “You gotta keep quiet, baby,” he says, a hint of mischief curling around his words. “These walls aren’t real, and anyone passing by the door can hear us blink.”

There was a little giggle stuck in her throat, but now she barely has time to react before his fingers part her, his touch light at first, just exploring while he preps her with the dexterity of a man who did it countless of times before.

Her breath catches at the first slow stroke, her thighs tensing as he traces circles where she’s most sensitive. The first sound she makes is barely a whisper of a whimper, that Lando trained his ears to hear, since is muffled inside the helmet.

He huffs out a quiet laugh, “Is that my cue?”

Before she can answer, Lando leans in.

Initially, his mouth is warm and merciful. He licks into her with a sort of tamed hunger that’s out of his character, savoring every little shift of her hips, every shudder she tries to suppress. Even so, it sends her a clear message: even though his energy is low from the long day, his need to taste her is anything but.

The world outside their room hums with noise — faint conversations, the occasional shuffle of footsteps, the distant whir of power tools in the garage. But all she can focus on is the way he’s lapping at her clit, the slick sound of it embarrassingly loud in the small space, her own whimpers barely contained behind the visor.

Lando chuckles against her, the vibration making her head tilt back slightly; the weight of the helmet forces her to let her head fall against the wall, which positions her even better in front of him.

“Gonna have to be quieter than that,” he teases, slipping his fingers between her folds, pressing just enough to make her squirm.

She barely manages to shake her head, her breath ragged. The visor fogs up as a result, which forces her to close her eyes, since her sense of sight is officially useless.

Lando looks up proudly, fingers pushing deeper as he settles in, more than happy to test her limits. He knows how to curl them just right, the wet sounds obscene in the stillness of the room.

His free hand grips her thigh like he’s starved, holding her open for him, his name echoing softly inside the helmet — muted yet desperate. He feels the way she gets even more aroused with each passing second, coating his fingers with every slick stroke, her body responding to him exactly as it does every single time he takes over.

Startled with new sensations experienced in the dark, she brings a shaky hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the moans threatening to spill out, only to realize, all over again, that she can’t. A frustrated whimper escapes instead, the same hand scrambling for something to support herself. Finally, her fingers clutch at the edge of the table, but it’s useless; her hips are already rolling against Lando, chasing more.

“Mhm,” he hums, his voice shallow. “Getting so wet for me, should’ve done this ages ago. Why didn’t we?”

She gasps, trembling on the edge and so ready to agree with him, but then Lando stops, and the loss of his fingers is almost unbearable. Before she can think, a loud, frustrated moan slips past her lips, making him laugh at her impatience.

She’s too gone now, drunk on the feeling, and the weight of the helmet is definitely not helping. Not when she’s melting under his touch, making it hard to move, and pretty much do anything but stay there, waiting. Aching for more.

Lando watches her for a moment, dark-eyed and smirking, already hard just from seeing her like this, her body so pliant and responsive under his hands. He pulls himself out with one hand, stroking lightly, and with the other, he grips the edge of the helmet, forcing her to look at him.

“Alright, baby, I’m serious. No more of that, okay?” asks Lando. “If someone hears us, it’s gonna be bad. And we don’t want that, do we?” he continues, watching her gathering all her strength only to nod slightly. “That’s right. The second I hear you moan, I’ll have to stop.”

Even Lando knows it’s a lie, but he had to say it, just in case.

She swallows, nodding again as best as she can, her pulse a frantic rhythm against his fingers when he drags his hands down her sides, holding her still. Then, with a precise snap of his hips, he buries himself inside her, stealing the breath from her lungs.

The force of it sends a shudder through the physio table, the legs creaking against the floor. She barely has time to adjust before he thrusts again, deeper this time, pressing her body into the table like he’s trying to mold her into it. Her thighs tighten around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, desperate to keep him there, to keep him buried inside her where she needs him most, the weight of him, the pressure and the friction maddening.

Lando swallows a moan, but some of it manages to slip past gritted teeth, “Fuck, you look—” he cuts himself off, sucking in a sharp breath. He doesn’t even have words for it. The way she feels around him and the heat of her pulling him back in every time he dares to pull away, it’s enough to make his mind go blank.

The table shifts again, inching against the floor with every thrust. She grips at the suit still clinging to his shoulders, trying to hold onto something, but there’s no escape from the way he’s driving into her, every drag of his cock making her shake beneath him.

“Lando…”

He knows. He feels it too. The way they’re teetering on the edge of something dangerously intoxicating, and the way they’re doing that together.

His hands tighten on her, his next thrust shoving the table another inch to the side. “Shit,” he breathes, voice husky with restraint. “Hold on, love. A little more, yeah?” He grips the edges of the table and snaps his hips forward again, watching the way her body reacts to him. “Fucking hell,” he spits, eyes dark as he watches her fall apart under him, little by little. “Keep me in, baby. Like that.”

She clings to him without hesitation, like she was made for this, for him. He’s marking her and he knows it, his fingers moving back to her waist, digging into her soft flesh. Lando’s name is all over her, in ways that only he can see, in places only he gets to touch. And the way she lets him, makes his head spin.

In the haze of it all, a sudden, foreign thought crashes into him like a gut-punch: her name next to his. It’s ridiculous, completely out of place in a moment like this, but it paralyzes him for a second. Until his body reacts on its own, fire spreading through his veins. He leans forward, caging her in, his thrusts becoming sharper, more desperate. His forehead presses against the cool surface of the helmet for just a moment, grounding himself, before he pulls back and looks at her.

He can barely see her eyes, wide and glazed over, but it’s enough. His fingers tighten on her hips as he slams back into her, dragging her flush against him, letting her feel every inch of his length. The sharp noise that the table makes underneath them is lost in the delicious sounds of their bodies moving together, of their heavy breathing, of the desperate way she silently whimpers his name like she wants to keep it on her tongue forever.

He’s spiraling, drowning in the heat of her, in the thought that she lets him take her like this, lets him ruin her for anyone else.

Yet somehow, it’s still not enough.

Her hands fly up instinctively, grasping at the helmet, knuckles turning white as she tries to steady herself against the overwhelming feeling of him.

Outside the room, voices pass by again, too close, and Lando clenches his jaw, fighting his own demons as he’s forcing himself to stay quiet.

Luckily, she’s close. He can feel it in the way she tightens around him, the way her body shakes as she tries her hardest to stay silent. Inside the helmet though, her breathing is shallow, small cries coming out of her parted lips.

“Come on, pretty girl,” says Lando in a demanding yet soft tone. One of his hands clamps around her neck, guiding her into each thrust. “Give it to me. Let me feel you.”

Lando doesn’t slow down one bit, rolling his hips in a way that he knows it drives her wild. As a result, her body tenses, trembling as pleasure overtakes her. A choked gasp echoes inside the helmet, and Lando smirks, watching her unravel. He’s so utterly captivated by the way her walls tighten around him and the way her thighs quiver in his hands, as if she can crumble if he’s won’t be careful. It’s almost too much for him, but Lando manages to pull out just in time, watching as her release coats his throbbing length, as she shudders through the aftershocks.

“Yeah,” he breaths, running a hand up and down her thigh. “Such a good girl, baby. Let it all out.”

She slumps back against the table, panting inside the helmet, her body overly sensitive. Keeping his eyes on her, Lando gives himself a few slow strokes, exhaling hard through his nose; he’s so close it’s painful.

“You okay?” he asks her, his voice as hoarse as if he screamed for hours at a concert.

Slowly coming back to her senses, she exhales sharply, “I’m good,” she manages and, before she gets the chance to ask him the same question, Lando slaps her thigh in order to catch her attention.

“Down on your knees, then. Come on,” he rasps, guiding the girl to her knees, his patience wearing out quickly, as he tilts her chin up with two fingers.

The glow of the light catches on the sleek surface of the helmet, and something about it — about her like this, still catching her breath, still his — makes his stomach flip.

“God, look at you,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the edge of the visor as he grips the helmet gently. “Obedient little thing.”

She doesn’t speak — can’t, really — just watches him through the darkened shield, completely at his mercy.

Lando’s breathing stutters as he pumps himself faster, the tension coiling tight in his core. “Gonna make a mess of you, yeah?” he asks, mostly rhetorically. “Right there on my—”

He barely manages a breath before the orgasm crashes into him, blinding and all-consuming. His grip tightens, a sharp groan breaking free as heat pulses through him, spilling in thick streaks across the dark visor. Each of his breath is shaky, his mind fogged with pleasure and a sudden possessiveness.

She stays still, letting him ruin the helmet just like he ruined her, and the sight leaves him dizzy.

His fingers twitch as he pushes sweat-damp curls from his forehead, exhaling a laugh, wrecked and breathless. The sound of it fills the space, mixing with the muffled hum of voices just beyond the walls. But all Lando can hear is the quiet, pleased sigh that leaves her lips, her fingers scratching against her thighs, as if she wants to touch him, as if she wants to taste him.

His stomach clenches at the thought, the aftershocks leaving him lightheaded, wrecked in a way he’s never felt before. He exhales sharply, looking down at her, at his helmet, at what he’s done.

Then, Lando’s fingers are flexing against her head before he finally loosens his grip, running a slow thumb over the mess he’s made.

“Hell,” he pants, still catching his breath. Then, softer, with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “Might have to fuck you like this more often.”

She exhales a quiet, amused breath, tilting her head slightly. “Guess that means I’m actually keeping it.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

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hiraethwrote · 5 months ago

Text

ADMIRING FROM AFAR

pairing : choso kamo x f!reader summary : suddenly the quiet, alternative looking guy catches your eye in class and you're unable to shake the idea of him. from afar, you start to create a fantasy of what he might be like — and eventually your imagination has made up a character you slowly find yourself falling for cw : university au, non-curse/modern au, fluff, pining, pierced and tattooed!choso, smoking, one mention of a party, yuki cameo, terrible ending bc i suck at writing endings, no use of y/n word count : 3.6k

Hallway crush!Choso who didn’t stick out to you until you were halfway through the semester, on a random Tuesday.

The only reason he caught your attention in the first place was because he actually raised his hand to answer the professor’s question, something he had never done before, or since.

His husky, yet surprisingly soft voice, broke the deafening silence that came after the question was asked. Nearly in a trance, your head shot up to get a look of the mysterious guy.

Never had you been more thankful for the mandatory core courses you were forced to sign up for — you would never have encountered him otherwise.

Sitting two rows in front of you and five seats to the left, you weren’t able to get a clear view of the guy. However, what you did see, did not disappoint. Tufts of black hair was tied up in two buns, and silver jewlery decorated his ear. He was wearing all black, shy lines of ink peaking up the neck of his shirt and past his sleeves.

From that moment, you were hooked on the idea of this stranger.

Hallway crush!Choso who you spotted nearly daily now that you were aware of his existence.

You had an assignment due in one week, so you decided to go to the library to actually get some work done for once.

Three hours into your study session, you had to exhale deeply as your motivation was running low. So you let your eyes roam the peaceful scenery of fellow students, some more dutiful than others — when you suddenly spot the mystery guy from class, sitting with three other people.

He looked so casual, leaned back in his chair, arms loosely crossed across his chest as a chuckle played on his lips as a response to something the person sitting next to him said.

Now that you had the opportunity to get a proper look at him, you noticed how extremely good looking he was — the type of breathtakingly handsome that hid in plain sight by how he never tried to stick out whatsoever.

For the next hour, you would subtly shoot glances in his direction. In all honesty, you felt somewhat embarrassed by how you found yourself a little infatuated by a guy you didn’t even know the name of.

All of a sudden he raised from his chair, having you straighten your posture. He pulled his leather jacket over his shoulders, his bag across his chest and put his headset on — with a smile and a nod, he begged his friends goodbye and left.

Hallway crush!Choso who, despite having his small group of friends, tended to stick mostly to himself.

Yeah, he sat with his little crew for a few hours, but he always left before the rest of them. Not to mention you often spotted him walking from one class to another in his lonesome.

On the days the library was absolutely packed, and it was impossible for you and your friends to find any available seats, you would sit down at one of the sofa groups in one of the university’s many long hallways. None of you complained either, as there wasn’t the same pressure to remain quiet.

It just so happened that the man who had captured your interest, walked right past your designated spot at least three times every week.

His headset was on like always, walking with easy determination. He simply seemed to mind his own business as he smoothly made his way through the hallway without bumping into anyone.

Your attraction to the dark and handsome stranger wasn’t as subtle as you first had thought, when it didn’t take your friends more than a day to notice your admiring gazes hanging onto him for the few seconds it took for him to walk by.

“Who’s that?” Your friend asked with a playful lilt to her voice, leaning forward and placing her chin in the palm of her hand.

“Hm? Just someone in my social science class,” you answered nonchalantly with a shrug just as he was out of sight.

“Just someone in your social science class,” she repeated mockingly. “And what’s his name?”

Hot embarrassment raised up your neck, “I don’t know,” your voice weak as their teasing chuckles filled the space.

“So you’re just ogling a stranger, essentially?”

“Shut up, he’s hot,” you fired back as you fell back in your chair, desperately trying to ignore their laughter.

Hallway crush!Choso who only continued to remain a mystery as the weeks went on.

It quickly evolved into somewhat of an inside joke — a game almost, all of you pitching in with silly little ideas of what he might be like.

“He looks like a cat person,” your friend whispered as he walked by.

“Oh, no doubt,” you agreed, eyes glued on his back. “Probably grew up with a family cat that always sleeps at the foot of his bed.”

“You think he greets the cat before his family?” She giggled.

You laughed along as you slowly shook your head no. “Don’t think so. He greets his mom first,” you turned your attention to your notebook, your pen drawing mindless doodles across the pages. “He’s a mama’s boy. But not in a weird way, you know? But in a green flag way.”

They would all laugh along to the daily chatter that filled the group before turning back to their own work, forgetting all about him until he would walk by again.

You, however, couldn’t shake him from your mind quite as easily.

The more they fuelled your fantasy with their fun and innocent ideas of who he might be, you fell deeper into the spiral of your crush.

When left alone with your own mind, your imagination went beyond the small quirks your group came up with — you started to imagine meet-cutes.

What if you “randomly” bumped into him at the little coffee shop just off campus?

What if you were paired up for a group assignment?

What if you ended up next to each other in the kitchen at some random frat party, and the conversation would just flow so naturally?

However, you kept those made up scenarios to yourself, because it was too shameful to admit to your friends that you were slowly falling for the person you had made him out to be — still without a name to put to the face.

Hallway crush!Choso who broke your heart just a little, though totally unaware of the fact.

“I didn’t know your man had a girlfriend.” You shot your friend a confused expression before following her gaze.

That was a first. You had never seen him walking down the hallway accompanied by someone. Let alone a tall, blonde and absolutely gorgeous girl, pure confidence running through every fibre of her body.

After that, you saw just the two of them more often than you liked. And you knew it was absolutely ridiculous to even be bothered by the pair, but you couldn’t control how the lump in your stomach formed at the sight of how well they seemed to fit together.

Her look wasn’t quite as edgy as his, but they definitely had the same vibe. Not to mention they seemed to be close, evident by how she always leaned in and grabbed onto his upper arm when he made her laugh, or how just the two of them would leave their study session in the library to share a cigarette.

You hoped seeing them together would eventually kill the proximity crush your brain had stupidly nourished — it turned out to be the opposite.

Watching him interact with her only granted your imagination new material to build on. Whenever she spoke, he had all his attention directed at her — genuinely listening to every word she said. You watched how he was gentle with her, careful not to be too harsh in his movements whenever he made contact with her.

He just seemed like such a good guy, who made your heart beat a little faster every time you saw him.

Hallway crush!Choso who one day actually did crash into you in the line in the cafeteria.

At first you thought you were dreaming, because the scene played out exactly how you had imagined it so many times in your head.

It was lunchtime, meaning the cafeteria was obviously packed. You were blissfully unaware of his presence behind you, having stayed up a little too late the night before to try to get some understanding of the material you had been assigned.

It wasn’t until a random bystander bullied their way through the crowd in the opposite direction, causing him to stumble forward into you and he quickly uttered a polite apology, that you realised exactly who it was.

Strong hands had grabbed onto your arms to help steady you. When you turned to face him, you wished you were able to utter your own apology — however, the words never made their way past your tongue, too startled at the sudden close interaction.

“People really don’t look where they’re going, huh?” he said, a shy curve to his lips as he let go of you.

“That’s people for you,” you tried to joke once you found your words again.

Your heart was beating a million miles an hour as you watched his eyebrows narrow. “Hey, don’t we have social science together?”

He recognised you.

You cleared your throat and nodded weakly, trying to serve him a sweet smile but you could feel the waver in it.

“I’m Choso, by the way,” he smiled casually, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Once again you tried to smile, but your lips only managed to pull into a thin line as you introduced yourself.

You expected that to be the end of the conversation, that he would pull out his phone in an effort to smoothly round it off without it being too awkward for either of you — but to your surprise, you saw him contemplate his options before opening his mouth again.

“How’s the assignment going?”

“Well,” you started, hoping he didn’t notice the little crack in your voice. “The words are, at the very least, being put on paper, if that tells you anything.”

He chuckled.

You made him chuckle. It was low and coarse, but a chuckle nonetheless. “Sounds familiar.”

He continued to keep the chatter light as you moved along with the queue, completely oblivious of the effect he had on you.

It wasn’t much, but just based on the little interaction, he seemed even more lovely than you had imagined, which only did more damage to your already smitten heart. Because being effortlessly attentive when listening and engaging in the conversation though he didn’t need to, only brought a piece of reality into your fantasy.

Your palms were turning clammy as your heart was pounding against your chest so loud you were sure he heard it. He was, after all, standing closer than one normally would a stranger due to the thick crowd of hungry students surrounding you.

“Well,” he sighed once you’d both paid and stepped into the hallway. “I need to get going. But it was nice to finally meet you for real.”

Finally.

Nice to finally meet you.

“Yeah, you too,” your lips twitching in a smile, heat travelling to wash over your face. You had always thought him to be so incredibly handsome, but you had underestimated how charming his smile was up close.

“I’ll see you around.” The curve of his lips continued to linger as he backed away before he eventually turned his back towards you and removed his headphones from around his neck to put them on.

Hallway crush!Choso who slowly started to gain the title of acquaintance after the reenactment of one of your made up scenarios.

It started very casual — he would greet you with a quiet “good morning” as he walked past you in the auditorium before taking his usual seat two rows in front of you.

“Morning,” you smiled in return while he held your gaze for a little while.

Waking up the days you knew you had class with Choso became a little easier when you knew what friendly routine was waiting for you.

After three weeks of the innocent interaction, he decided to disrupt the comfortable pattern you had fallen into. This Tuesday morning, he didn’t continue walking down the stairs after wishing you a good morning.

No, he stopped dead in his tracks, pointing at the empty seat beside you. “Is this seat taken?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, and shook your head. “No. No, all yours,” you stuttered as you moved your bag for him to sit down.

He uttered a weak “thanks,” and made himself comfortable, pulling out his leather bound notebook and pen.

Hallway crush!Choso who turned out to be a lot funnier than you had first imagined.

Too caught up in the potential romantic gestures that entertained the depths of your mind, you found yourself so giddy whenever he whispered a silly joke during class for your ears only.

Hallway crush!Choso who accompanied you for the few minutes it took for you to walk to your friends after class finished.

“I’m headed in that direction anyways, so I’ll just tag along.” You’d be a fool to decline his offer, cutely biting your bottom lip and clutching your laptop closer to your chest, feeling like a love struck teenager.

When coming around the corner, you avoided looking in the direction of your friends at all costs. You knew you wouldn’t be able to suppress the embarrassment that would flush your face if you witnessed their shocked expressions as a reaction to walking alongside the guy you had fawned over for months.

It wasn’t until he was out of sight that you spun around — sure enough, they all sported exactly the facial expression you had expected, staring wide eyed with their jaws slacked.

“Okay? Something you forgot to tell us, babe?” One of your friends gushed once you had taken your seat. You shrugged innocently, trying not to let all your excitement spill over at once.

“Hope you at least know the name of your stranger now,” the one sitting opposite you teased.

You nodded slowly, “Choso,” you answered simply, enjoying the interrogating looks they were giving you.

“And? Give us the details!” All three of them had pushed their school work aside — this was ten times more important after all.

So you began to explain of the happy accident that had taken place a few weeks ago, and it had eventually ended with the two of you always sitting next to each other during lectures — none of them failed to match your energy.

“Wait, but I thought he had a girlfriend?”

And as easy as that, your girly and romantic fantasy shattered into a million pieces. Guilt was written all over your friend’s face as one could literally see the realisation dawning on you.

Having lived in the pure bliss of your new friendship, you had completely forgotten about the goddess he was so often seen with.

You started to reflect over the fact that you couldn’t remember seeing her in a while, and felt sick that you might have been too wrapped up in Choso that you just hadn’t noticed her recently.

Thus your excitement was short-lived, not ever wanting to be that girl.

Hallway crush!Choso who noticed how your mood was drastically different than normal the next time he met you.

He had looked forward to seeing that sweet smile tug at your lips when he wished you good morning, but instead he was met with a cold “hi”. You didn’t even turn to look at him.

Had he done something to upset you? The last time he saw you, nothing seemed to be off. You were your chipper self, greeting him with a curve to your lips so wide, your eyes would crinkle.

Class started, and you had yet not said another word to him. He shot you a glance, seeing your fingers hurriedly travel across the keyboard of your laptop, and every once in a while letting your eyes flicker up to look at the professor.

Maybe it was just a bad day. Maybe you had an exam in a different course that was causing you unnecessary stress.

Or maybe, god forbid, you’d come to the conclusion that Choso wasn’t someone you wanted to waste your attention on after all.

Hallway crush!Choso who decided to walk you out of the auditorium, despite your cold front trying to push him away.

It was awkward — incredibly awkward, a feeling that really hadn’t been present in the newly blossomed friendship. Still with no words exchanged, you packed your stuff and pulled out your phone.

Once outside of the auditorium, Choso wanted to try and start a conversation to try and disclose whether he’d done something or not. He only managed to catch your eyes when calling your name before a bolting figure came crashing into his side.

“There you are! You’re an impossible man to catch these days,” the girl exclaimed.

Choso saw the discomfort that subtly traveled down your face, awkwardly shifting your weight from one foot to another.

“I’ll see you around, Choso,” you said shyly, about to turn around and walk away before the blonde captured your attention.

“Wait, is this the girl you’ve been talking about?” You quickly spun back around, eyebrows pinched together in confusion as the blonde girl had peaked your interest.

Switching your attention to Choso for a second, you noticed how dusty pink had coloured his pale cheeks, his eyes wider than you’d ever seen them.

“It might be,” he said before clearing his throat and rolling his shoulders, hoping you didn’t notice the stress that was residing in his body.

“Finally,” she groaned, her hand shooting forward to initiate a handshake. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while. I’m Yuki.”

You still weren’t able to completely put the pieces together yet, blinking at her as you accepted her hand and introduced yourself.

“Oh, I know,” she mused, flashing you a cheeky grin. “This one right here,” patting a flat hand against his chest, “doesn’t really stop talking about you.”

A shy smile spread across your lips as you quickly shifted your gaze to him. “You’ve been talking about me?” You spoke softly.

“Well-” he stuttered, the pink quickly deepening into red.

A teasing scoff shot past her teeth. “Isn’t he cute when he gets shy,” she said as Choso’s shoulders grew stiff under her embrace. “You have that effect on him.”

When the opportunity to properly observe the dynamic between the pair in front of you, as well as digest the things Yuki was actually telling you, the pieces finally fell into place — they were just friends.

You had worried and spiralled for no reason, having spent the days since you had last seen him to prepare you to distance yourself from him.

But one look at his embarrassed face and tense body as a result of being teased about you, had all the butterflies come swarming back within seconds.

Choso kept most of his attention on Yuki as she went on to ask him what she’d initially come to talk to him about, but he couldn’t stop himself from letting his eyes dart over to you every once in a while.

“My god, you’re my saviour,” Yuki gushed at her friend, tugging playfully at his arm, before turning back toward you. “He’s truly a catch,” she said with a wink as she slowly started to back away. It had you grow a little restless, knowing you would soon find yourself standing alone with him. “Be good to him. And it was great to finally meet you!”

And she was off.

Slowly Choso turned his entire body towards you, his face having done the impossible and gotten even more red.

“What an interesting interaction,” you breathed.

A nervous chuckle slipped out of him in an attempt to remove the immense pressure that was looming over him. “She’s really something.”

“What was that part about me making you shy?” Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth.

“I mean-“ he cleared his throat. “I guess you’re seeing it in action right now.”

“Hm,” you said simply, causing him to narrow his eyebrows in response — both in confusion and slight worry.

“Hm what?” Swallowing the lump in his throat.

“It’s cute.”

Then he couldn’t stop smiling.

Boyfriend!Choso who managed to live up to every bit of your love dazed fantasy.

At times, you were scared you had let your fantasy go to far — that in your desperate hope for something more, you had created a character that no living person would ever be able to live up to.

Yet here Choso was, in the flesh, embodying every scenario you had made up when you had been tossing and turning on sleepless nights, and then some.

Small or big, he never disappointed.

He held the door open for you, he remembered your coffee order, he showered you with compliments and admiration.

It didn’t take long for him to learn how you yearned for grand gestures — so Choso made it a mission to fulfill those dreams.

Not only did he succeed, but he excelled well beyond your expectations.

He made sure to take you on dates frequently, but also spontaneously so you wouldn’t see them coming. He managed to make every occasion feel planned and intentional.

Boyfriend!Choso who was absolutely baffled once you told him about how you had admired him so intensely before you ever talked to each other.

The confession caught him completely by surprise, because he couldn’t in his wildest dreams have imagined you even noticed him before the little episode in the cafeteria.

Boyfriend!Choso who despite succeeding in making you his girlfriend, got just as shy about you now as he did then.

tags : @sad-darksoul

an : i hope it's a universal experience to create proximity crush that drives you crazy... dividers by @/strangergraphics comments and reblogs is much appreciated

#— ଓ my creative corner #jjk #jjk oneshot #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen oneshot #jujutsu kaisen x reader #choso kamo #choso kamo oneshot #choso kamo x reader #choso x reader #jjk choso #kamo choso #kamo x reader #jujutsu kaisen choso

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brunchable · 7 months ago

Text

How To Impress a 21st Century Girl.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Themes: Rom-Com, Fluff, Mutual Pining(Heavy?), First Date, Flirtation and Playfulness.

Summary: Sam had forced Bucky to use Tinder to solve his abysmal love life. Bucky tells himself that if third time isn't a charm, he will officially give up trying to find a partner.

A/N: I'm a sucker for rom-coms, I hope you guys enjoyed this because I enjoyed writing it.

tags: @hzdhrtss @winterslove1917

It had all been Sam’s idea. "Come on, man. You need to get back out there!" Sam had said, way too enthusiastically, while setting up a Tinder profile for him without even asking. Bucky had resisted at first, arguing that dating apps probably weren't his thing. But Sam was persistent, reminding him that it was 2024, not 1944, and that "no one meets in grocery stores anymore."

Reluctantly, Bucky had gone along with it, figuring it couldn’t hurt to try. What was the worst that could happen?

Well, now he knew.

Bucky was starting to think Tinder was out to get him. His first two dates had been disasters—and not just normal awkwardness, but spectacularly bad. The first girl, Jenny, had brought her ex-boyfriend to the date. Apparently, he was her ride, and they were still "good friends." Bucky had spent two hours third-wheeling a reunion he hadn’t signed up for. The second girl, Alicia, had a collection of ceramic frogs. And when Bucky said “collection,” he meant obsession. The girl spent an entire dinner showing him photos of different frog figurines. It was ribbiting. Literally. One of them even made croaking sounds.

So, now here he was, on date number three, standing outside some trendy café, wondering what fresh nightmare awaited him. This time, though, he’d let you plan the date. Maybe handing over control would be better than having to smile through another amphibian-themed dinner.

You showed up right on time, and Bucky was genuinely relieved to see no ex-boyfriend hovering in the background. You were wearing a paneled knit dress with spaghetti straps that hugged you just right, and your short hair was perfectly tousled. You smiled at him, but the look on your face told him you were just as unsure as he was.

“Hi,” you greeted, and Bucky instantly forgot every single normal response. Holy shit he is TALL.

“Hey, I’m Bucky.” he mumbled back. He was really nailing this whole dating thing.

You walked inside, and the café had that minimalist vibe. A lot of plants. A lot of exposed brick. The kind of place where you’re not sure if you’re supposed to sit or admire the interior design.

As you both sat down, Bucky tried to channel his inner suave. He could do this. He had faced way worse than an awkward date. Like alien invasions. Like that one time he lost his arm again. This was nothing.

Except... why was talking to an attractive woman harder than fighting off super soldiers?

“I, uh, like your dress,” Bucky said, already feeling the heat creep up his neck. Nice, Barnes, real original.

“Thanks,” you replied, with an amused smile playing on your lips. “I like your... jacket.”

Bucky nodded, looking down at his worn leather jacket. “Yeah. It’s... warm.”

Warm? That’s what you’re going with? He mentally slapped himself. This was going well. So well. He tried to change the subject and scanned the menu. “Uh... so, what’s good here?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never been,” you said, fiddling with the edge of your napkin. “The internet said they have good coffee, though.”

“Internet reviews, huh?” Bucky raised an eyebrow. “That’s always a gamble. Could be great... could be a disaster.”

Cue the awkward silence.

The waiter had barely placed the food in front of you both before the quiet tension stretched between you like you were sitting in a library, not a café. Bucky poked at his bagel as if it might come to life at any moment, while you took a delicate sip of your coffee, your eyes darting between him and the wall behind him.

You both chewed in the most nonchalant way possible, each of you hyper-aware of the silence that was growing louder by the second. You were mentally cursing every decision that led to this exact moment, and Bucky, for his part, was questioning whether retiring from the whole Avenger thing had been a mistake.

Say something. Anything, Bucky thought, taking another bite of his bagel, which suddenly felt like chewing rubber. Ask about herr favorite food? No, that’s boring. Comment on the weather? Oh, yeah, nothing like ‘Hey, it’s been cold lately,’ to really sweep her off her feet. Real smooth.

Meanwhile, you were trying to figure out how you managed to forget how to make normal conversation. Maybe ask him about his hobbies? No, that’s basic. Compliment his hair? What are you, in fifth grade? Pull yourself together!

Bucky, still chewing the world’s driest bagel, caught your eye for a split second, and you both did that polite half-smile thing that happens when you’re not sure whether you should talk or continue pretending to enjoy the food.

Did she just smile at me because I’m being awkward, or am I overthinking this? Bucky wondered, immediately breaking eye contact and pretending his coffee was the most fascinating thing on the table.

You, on the other hand, were screaming internally. Oh God, did I smile too weird? Was it the kind of smile that says, ‘I like you,’ or the one that says, ‘I’m trapped in this date and don’t know how to escape’?

You both took another sip of your drinks at the exact same time.

Alright, Barnes, get it together. Say something smart, Bucky told himself, putting his mug down carefully.

“So, uh... how’s your coffee?”

You blinked, your brain scrambling for a response. How’s my coffee? It’s coffee. Just say it’s good. Don’t overthink it.

“It’s... good. How’s your bagel?”

Bucky looked down at the circular piece of bread like it had personally betrayed him. “It’s... round.”

Round? Really? You went with ‘round’? Smooth, real smooth, he chastised himself, nodding like he had just made the most profound statement about bagels ever.

Your lips twitched. Did he just describe his food as ‘round’? Okay, maybe I’m not the only one struggling here.

You took another sip of your coffee, trying to hide your smile. God, this is like watching two middle schoolers on a first date.

You both glanced at each other again. Smile. Look away. Silence.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair. Alright, clearly, she thinks I’m a complete idiot. But it’s fine. I can recover. Just... find a topic. Literally any topic.

You picked at your napkin. Okay, maybe I should mention the escape room next. But what if he hates escape rooms? What if he thinks they’re boring? You cleared your throat slightly, ready to speak, but then—

Bucky cleared his throat at the same time. You both froze, staring at each other like deer caught in headlights.

“You go first,” Bucky said quickly.

“No, no, you first,” you insisted, waving your hand.

Bucky’s brain blanked. He blinked, searching for anything to say. “Uh... did you... park nearby?”

You stared at him, and then a smile slowly spread across your face. Did he really just ask me about parking? You nodded. “No I–um took public transport. Did you?”

Bucky gave a stiff nod. “Yeah. Close. Very close. Super convenient.”

You both stared at each other for a beat, and then, in a miraculous moment, you both cracked up at the exact same time.

“Parking?” you laughed, shaking your head. “That’s the best we’ve got?”

Bucky held up his hands. “Hey, I panicked, okay? The bagel threw me off.”

You wiped a tear from your eye, your shoulders shaking with laughter. “And I thought the frogs were bad.”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh harder. “Okay, in my defense, this date is way better than ceramic frogs.”

“Glad to be the non-frog date.” You raised your cup in mock salute.

You both chuckled, and for the first time, the awkward tension seemed to melt away. Sure, you were a bit of a mess, but at least you were a mess together.

As you calmed down, you leaned forward, a playful grin on your face. “So, what’s next? You ready for the escape room?”

“I dunno. Should I be worried?” Bucky smirked, feeling a lot lighter.

“Only if you’re bad at puzzles,” you teased.

Bucky crossed his arms, leaning back with a smirk. “Oh, trust me, I think I’ll manage.”

And with that, you both finally stood up to head for the next part of your date, the awkwardness left behind with the round bagel and the overly complicated coffee.

× × × ×

As soon as you stepped into the Asylum escape room, the mood shifted from "awkward first date" to "this might be how I die."

Oh, great. Creepy hospital décor. Perfect first-date vibes. You eyed the flickering lights and eerie medical tools scattered around the room, trying not to let on how much it was creeping you out. At least it’s better than ceramic frogs, you thought, glancing at Bucky.

“This is supposed to be the hardest escape room they have,” you said, glancing at Bucky. “Takes most people at least an hour. You ready for this?”

“Yeah, sure. I mean... it’s puzzles, right? How hard can it be?” Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to appear calm. I’ve literally fought aliens. How bad could a few puzzles be?

“You’ve never done one of these before, right?” You looked at him, a bit skeptical.

He shook his head. “First time. But, uh... I’m good under pressure.” Under pressure? What am I saying? I sound like I’m about to defuse a bomb, not solve a riddle. Get a grip, Barnes.

“Alright. Let’s do this.” You smiled, trying to hide your own nerves.

The clock started ticking, and immediately, you were plunged into darkness. A loud creak echoed through the room, followed by a voice over the intercom: “Welcome to the Asylum. You have 60 minutes to escape. Good luck... you’ll need it.”

Perfect. Creepy voice? Check. Flickering lights? Check. Yep, I'm doomed. You moved toward a stack of papers, squinting at the dim lighting. “Okay, first thing’s first... we need to find the clues hidden in this room to unlock the door.”

Before you could even start, Bucky was already inspecting a random pipe on the wall. He tugged at it, and it came loose, revealing a hidden key taped to the back. Oh, that was... lucky? Or did I just break something?

You froze mid-step. “Wait. How did you—”

“I... uh... just pulled on it.” Bucky looked just as surprised as you. Did I just accidentally solve this?

“Okay. Lucky guess.” You stared at him.

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe.” Play it cool, Barnes. Don't look like you’re clueless here.

You both moved into the next room, which had even creepier décor. Faint writing on the walls, jars filled with unidentifiable things, and a mannequin in the corner that Bucky immediately side-eyed like it was going to jump out at you. Okay, I don’t trust that mannequin. Why’s it looking at me like that?

You picked up a piece of paper with some cryptic writing on it. “This says something about finding the light within the dark. I think it’s a clue. We need to—”

“Found it,” Bucky called out.

You turned to see him holding up a blacklight. How does he keep doing this?!

“They always hide something with a blacklight, right?” He grinned, flashing the light on the wall, revealing a series of glowing numbers. That’s a thing, right? People hide stuff with these lights all the time... right?

“Oh, you’re just full of ideas now, huh?” You crossed your arms, smirking.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, trying to play it cool. “Just... using my instincts.” Yep. Totally knew that.

You worked through the next few puzzles, but by "worked," what you really meant was Bucky accidentally stumbling into the solutions. Every time you tried to figure out a clue, Bucky would casually touch something, pull a lever, or press a random button that—surprise—opened the next door or revealed the next key. At first, you thought he was joking. But as the minutes ticked by, it became clear: Bucky was somehow solving the escape room by sheer dumb luck—or so you thought.

This is starting to freak me out... Am I secretly a genius? Bucky thought.

At one point, you were trying to decipher a complicated code etched into the wall, mumbling to yourself about numerology and patterns, when Bucky—completely oblivious—pulled a book off the shelf, and a hidden door creaked open in the floor.

No. No way. “Are you—” You blinked. “Did you just—”

Bucky glanced at the open trapdoor, confused. “What? Was that not supposed to happen?”

You slapped your forehead. “No! I mean, yes, but—oh my God, Bucky, you’re breaking the game.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “I swear I’m not doing it on purpose!” Seriously, I just touched a book. How is that a thing?

You looked down at the trapdoor, then back at him. “What are you? A puzzle savant? Did you plan this?”

Bucky laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head. “Nah, I just thought the book looked weird.” Great, now she thinks I’m some kind of escape room wizard.

You gaped at him. “The book looked weird?” Weird? Dude, I’m starting to think you have X-ray vision.

“I mean... yeah. It was dusty.” It wasn’t even that weird... or was it?

You squinted at him, hands on your hips. “You’re telling me you spotted a dusty book and thought, ‘Aha! Hidden door.’?”

“Isn’t that... what you’re supposed to do in these rooms?” Bucky shrugged, looking genuinely sorry. Please tell me that's how this works.

This man is unbelievable. You stared at him for a long moment before bursting out laughing. “Oh my God. You’re accidentally good at this. You’re just walking around solving stuff like you do this every weekend!”

Bucky chuckled, his shoulders relaxing a little. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m glad she’s laughing. “I swear I’ve never done this before.” This isn’t even the weirdest thing that’s happened to me this week.

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or terrified,” you teased, stepping closer to him. “You’re like a walking cheat code.” Sure, Sherlock. Whatever you say.

“Hey, I’m just here to help.” He smiled, clearly enjoying your reaction. At least she’s impressed. That’s something.

I think you might secretly be a robot. You shook your head, grinning. “Alright, escape room prodigy, let’s see if you can crack the last one.”

You entered the final room—a dimly lit chamber with a creepy-looking mannequin in the corner and random medical equipment scattered around. You narrowed your eyes.

“Okay, this is the hardest part. No way you’re going to just... guess your way out of this one.”

“Yeah, this one’s. . . tricky.” Bucky glanced around, clearly trying to look casual. Please don’t let me stumble into the solution again...

Please don’t let him find the solution immediately. Just this once.

You pointed at the mannequin. “We need to find a code hidden somewhere in this room. The clue says it’s ‘locked in the mind.’ So it has to be something mental, right? Like a puzzle?”

Bucky stared at the mannequin for a second, then slowly reached out and twisted its head off. Inside, there was a slip of paper with the code on it. Oh, come on. You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Are you KIDDING me?!” Your jaw dropped.

“I just thought... you know... maybe the head comes off?” Bucky held up the paper, looking sheepish.

Why am I even here?! You threw your hands up in the air. “Of COURSE the head comes off! Because that makes total sense! Sure!”

Bucky bit back a laugh. “Well, it did say ‘locked in the mind.’” Technically, I was right.

You glared at him, then shook your head, laughing despite yourself. “Okay, that’s it. You’re banned from escape rooms. You ruin them.”

“Ruined it?” Bucky asked, grinning. “We escaped, didn’t we?” She’s totally impressed, even if she won’t admit it.

“We escaped in twelve minutes, Bucky! Twelve!” You slapped his arm playfully. “That’s not normal!”

He laughed, ducking his head. “Sorry?” Guess I’m not so bad at this ‘fun date’ thing.

As you both stepped out of the escape room, the staff was standing there, looking like they’d just witnessed the impossible.

“You’re... done?” Pink-haired Girl asked, your eyes wide with disbelief.

Wow. They look like I just told them Santa isn’t real, Bucky thought.

You, just as confused, looked over at Bucky. “Uh. . .yeah, I guess?”

“Looks like it.” Bucky gave a casual shrug. No big deal. Just casually shattering dreams.

Clipboard Guy checked his stopwatch again, his mouth hanging open. “Twelve minutes. No. That’s not possible. People are supposed to break down in there. We’ve had people cry!”

Cry? What is this, an escape room or emotional boot camp? “You want me to go back in and tear up a little? You know, for the full experience?” Bucky raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“People have left that room emotionally damaged. You just... strolled out.” Pink-haired Girl blinked.

You stared at Bucky, still wrapping your head around it. “I didn’t even get through the first clue, and you were already unlocking half the room.”

“You were working hard. I just sped things up a bit.” Bucky chuckled softly, glancing at you with a playful smile. I mean, you were giving it a solid effort...

The Master of Puzzles guy appeared, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Did you... have the answers beforehand? Because that’s the hardest room we’ve got. We’ve had people rage-quit in there.”

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, looking amused. “Nah, just good at finding my way out of things.”

“I didn’t even do anything. You solved the whole thing!” You shook your head, still half-laughing, half in disbelief.

“Hey, you were a great moral support.” Bucky smiled at you, nudging you lightly. Seriously, though, it’s good to have someone to watch while I dismantle a room’s dignity.

Clipboard Guy muttered, “We’re gonna have to ban him. He’s banned.”

Oh no, I’ve ruined their sacred puzzle temple.

“He broke the hardest room we’ve got. Who even does that?” Pink-haired Girl nodded, still dumbfounded.

“Well, I’d offer to go back and struggle a bit, but... I don’t think it’d be convincing.” Bucky smirked, leaning casually against the counter. Trust me, I can’t fake being bad at something. Even if I tried.

As you headed for the exit, Bucky held the door open for you, giving the staff one last glance before he leaned over to you, voice low.

“What? You wanted to be stuck in there all night?”

“Honestly? It would’ve been nice to solve at least one puzzle.” You groaned, though you were smiling.

“Next time, I’ll let you have the first clue. Promise.” Bucky chuckled softly. And by let you, I mean I’ll stand far away from everything and try not to accidentally win.

“You better.” You laughed, shaking your head as you both stepped out into the night.

× × × ×

The arcade was buzzing with lights, sounds, and the faint scent of popcorn. It was a complete shift from the eerie asylum escape room, and you were already eyeing the rows of flashing machines and claw games with glee.

Alright, this is more like it. No creepy mannequins here, just good old-fashioned fun.

Bucky, on the other hand, looked around like he had just entered a foreign world. The last time he’d been in an arcade, they didn’t have all this flashing neon or half the games that were here now. What happened to the simple stuff? Pinball machines and jukeboxes. Now I’ve got ten-foot robots staring at me while kids slap buttons like their lives depend on it.

Still, he couldn’t help but smile at how excited you looked. Okay, if she’s this excited, maybe this won’t be so bad.

“Okay, so... how does this place work again?” he asked, watching a kid furiously slap buttons at a nearby game.

You laughed, giving him a gentle nudge. “It’s simple! We just play a bunch of games, earn tickets, and then trade them in for really weird prizes. Easy.”

Bucky nodded, though he still looked a little confused. “So, you win tickets by—?”

“By being amazing at games, obviously,” you said, your eyes already darting toward a nearby basketball shooting game. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

Bucky followed you, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh, I’ll keep up.” Alright, let’s see if I remember how to be competitive at... basketball?

You started with basketball, and while you had a decent shot, Bucky quickly became the Michael Jordan of arcade basketball. He tossed shot after shot into the hoop with ridiculous ease, barely even looking like he was trying.

Oh, come on. Seriously? Why is he good at everything? You shook your head in disbelief. “Oh, come on. Are you serious right now? Are you even aiming?”

“I dunno. I just... throw.” Bucky shrugged, not missing a single shot.

“This is what I get for going on a date with someone who’s literally built for accuracy.” You playfully narrowed your eyes at him. Why am I pretending like I’m mad? It’s honestly impressive.

He flashed a boyish grin. “You wanted to see if I could keep up.” Oh, I’m keeping up, doll.

You crossed your arms, pretending to pout. “I wasn’t trying to lose in record time.”

When the game ended, Bucky had a ridiculous amount of points, and you had... well, significantly fewer. He collected your combined tickets from the machine, glancing down at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Should I carry these, or do you want to hold on to the three tickets you earned?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

How is he still charming even while teasing me? This is unfair. You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you snatched a couple of tickets from his hand with a grin. “You know what? Fuck you.”

“Careful, doll. You keep talking like that, and I might just take you up on it.” Bucky’s smirk widened, and he leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice just enough to make your pulse quicken.

Okay, that was a little too good. I should not be blushing right now. Your eyes widened for a second, a flush creeping up your neck before you shot him a playful glare. “You wish.”

“You know I don’t have to wish for anything.” He chuckled, stepping back with a wink.

Well, that escalated quickly. You tried to bite back your smile, but it was impossible with the way he was looking at you. “I’m starting to regret bringing you here.”

Bucky held up the stack of tickets, grinning like a kid who just won the lottery. “You’re only regretting it because I’m walking away with all the prizes.” Did I just turn an arcade into a battlefield?

“Yeah, yeah, keep rubbing it in.” You huffed, shaking your head, though the smile on your face said otherwise.

Bucky shot you another wink. “Oh, I plan to.”

This guy is dangerous with that smile. You smirked, leaning in a little. “So... what happened to the awkward guy who pointed out that bagels are round? Because this,” you waved at the arcade tickets, “does not feel like the same guy.”

“What? You weren’t impressed by my bagel observations?” Bucky chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. I was doing my best back then, okay?

You laughed, giving him a playful nudge. “Oh, I was very impressed. I just didn’t know you were hiding this arcade legend behind all that bagel wisdom.”

He grinned, eyes glinting. “I’m full of surprises, doll.” You have no idea.

“Clearly,” you said, still teasing him as you walked toward the next game. “Let’s see how many more surprises you’ve got.”

You dragged him over to the shooting gallery game, where you were met with an array of plastic rifles and paper targets.

“I’m kinda good at this,” you declared, grabbing one of the rifles with renewed determination. “You can’t have a crazy aim for everything.” Finally, something I can win.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, amused. “Okay. Let’s see what you got.”

You aimed and fired... missing every single target. You winced as the targets flipped back and forth, mocking you with their tiny, evil faces. Are you kidding me?

“You’re holding it too tight.” Bucky stepped up beside you, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Oh, great. Here we go. The expert.” You groaned. Of course, I’m holding it too tight. Leave it to Bucky to know everything.

Bucky smiled, but instead of saying anything, he stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around you, his hands gently guiding yours on the plastic gun. You froze, your heart skipping a beat as you felt the warmth of him so close. His breath was soft against your ear as he leaned in to guide your aim, his voice low and steady.

Why does he have to be so good at this? I can barely think straight.

“Relax,” he murmured, his hands adjusting yours gently. “Don’t grip it so hard. Just like this.”

How am I supposed to relax when he’s practically wrapped around me?

Your pulse quickened, your senses suddenly overwhelmed by how close he was. His cologne—woodsy and warm—filled your lungs, making you a little dizzy. You swallowed hard, focusing on anything but the way your back pressed against his chest. “Okay... relax. Right. Got it.”

“You’re not relaxing.” Bucky’s voice was low, almost teasing.

Yeah, no kidding. Not exactly easy when you smell like a lumberjack dream.

“I am relaxed!” you shot back, though your heart was racing so fast you were sure he could hear it.

Bucky chuckled, and the soft rumble of his laugh vibrated against your back. “If you were relaxed, you wouldn’t be holding your breath.”

If she’s holding her breath, I must be doing something right.

You blinked, realizing that yes, you were in fact holding your breath. You exhaled slowly, trying to focus on the targets instead of the fact that Bucky was basically wrapped around you.

“Good,” he said quietly, his hands still steadying yours. “Now, pull the trigger. Nice and easy.”

Yeah, this is totally normal. Just shooting targets, totally not thinking about how close we are.

You followed his lead, squeezing the trigger gently. The shot rang out, and the sound of a hit echoed through the machine. The target flipped backward, signaling a perfect hit.

“I did it!” you exclaimed, your excitement bubbling over as you turned your head to look at him.

Your faces were just inches apart. Bucky’s eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you was thick with tension, the good kind—the kind that makes your heart race and your stomach flip.

God, she’s close. Just a little closer...

Your gaze flickered down to his lips, and Bucky swallowed hard, momentarily forgetting where you were or what you were doing. All he could think about was how easy it would be to lean in just a little more, to—

“Uh, sorry!” A kid nearby bumped into the machine, jolting you both out of the moment.

Of course. Great timing, kid.

You quickly stepped out of Bucky’s embrace, your face flushed. “Well, um... thanks for the lesson, Barnes.”

Bucky cleared his throat, his ears a little pink. “Yeah. Anytime.” Anytime? Seriously, Barnes? That’s all you’ve got?

You moved on to a few more games, but the tension between you still lingered, electric and unspoken. After a particularly intense game of air hockey (where you almost won, thanks to Bucky being a little too distracted by you), you found yourselves at the prize counter.

Your eyes scanned the shelves, but one prize in particular caught your attention: an absolutely massive goose plush sitting at the top of the prize display. It was ridiculous, almost comically large, but it made you smile instantly.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, pointing. “That goose is so cute.”

Bucky followed your gaze and raised an eyebrow. A goose? Really? She could pick anything, and it’s that giant bird?

“You like that thing?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“I mean, look at it. It’s the size of a couch,” you said, laughing. “No one’s ever gonna win enough tickets for that.”

Bucky looked thoughtful for a second. Then, without saying a word, he handed all of your tickets to the guy at the counter. Challenge accepted, doll.

The kid behind the counter stared at him. “Uh, you know this isn’t enough for the goose, right?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, but... what’s it take to win that thing?”

Because clearly, winning giant plush birds is my new priority in life.

The kid blinked. “Like... a thousand tickets.”

Bucky smirked, then turned to you. “Wait here.”

“What are you doing?” You frowned, confused.

Please don’t say you’re going to try and win a thousand tickets... oh my God, he’s going to try and win a thousand tickets.

Bucky said nothing and disappeared into the crowd. A few minutes later, you saw him at one of those old-school, rigged basketball games. His face was calm, determined—like he was about to go to war.

One after the other, Bucky sank shot after shot, racking up points so fast that you had to rub your eyes to believe it. Within minutes, he had earned a mountain of tickets. He moved on to another game, this time skee-ball, and then to another. Every single game, he dominated, earning enough tickets to make the counter kid’s jaw drop when he returned with what looked like a roll of tickets big enough to use as a belt.

“Holy crap,” you muttered, watching as Bucky handed the tickets over, a satisfied smirk on his face. The kid counted them, eyes wide, then slowly reached for the giant goose plush.

The oversized goose was practically half Bucky’s height as he carried it back over to you, grinning.

“Here you go,” he said, handing it to you with a proud look. “You said you liked it, right?”

Who just... casually wins a giant goose plush? How did he do that?

You stared at the giant, fluffy creature, then at him, your heart flipping over itself. “Bucky... this is insane. It’s huge.”

“Well, I couldn’t just leave without winning you something.” He shrugged, his grin boyish and a little shy. Yeah, Barnes, act like you’re not insanely proud of yourself right now.

He’s... adorable. Stop. Focus. “You really didn’t have to... but I love it.” You laughed, hugging the goose to your chest.

“Good.” Bucky’s eyes softened as he watched you smile. Worth every single ticket.

Your heart raced, your face heating up as you looked at him over the massive plush. “You’re full of surprises, Barnes. Who knew you’d be this good at arcades?”

Just trying to impress the girl, no big deal.

“Maybe I just wanted to impress you.” He smiled, a little more reserved this time.

Well, mission accomplished, buddy. You blushed, the air between you crackling again with that familiar tension. “Well, mission accomplished.”

You stood there for a moment, just smiling at each other, the absurdly large goose between you, until you laughed and nudged him with your elbow.

“You know, this might be the best date I’ve ever been on,” you said, your tone light but sincere. Was that too much? Did I just over-share?

Bucky’s smile grew, his eyes softening. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said softly, holding the goose a little tighter. “Definitely the best.” Okay, that was smooth. Not awkward at all.

You left the arcade with the giant goose plush between you, its goofy face almost mocking the awkwardness that had suddenly crept back into your steps. Bucky walked beside you, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, trying to figure out what to say.

Do I say something? Or just... keep walking?

The sounds of the city filled the silence around you, but neither of you spoke. The playful energy from the arcade had faded into something quieter, more uncertain.

Why am I so bad at this? Just say something, Barnes.

After a long stretch of quiet, Bucky cleared his throat. “So... is this the end?” Smooth, real smooth.

You blinked and glanced over at him, trying to keep your heart from doing a flip at his words. “Well, that’s all I had planned. Why?”

Bucky hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly as he looked ahead, his mind clearly weighing something. Okay, don’t screw this up. Don’t sound too eager.

For a moment, you thought maybe he was going to say goodbye, that maybe this was the end of your date after all. But then, he spoke quietly, almost as if he was embarrassed to admit it.

“I kind of don’t want to go home yet.” Well, there it is. Now she knows.

You felt a flutter in your chest, your face heating up as a small, shy smile tugged at your lips. You ducked your head, looking down at the sidewalk to hide the blush creeping across your cheeks. The way he said it—so simple but sincere—made your heart skip.

Why does that sound so much cuter than it should? You bit your lip, an idea suddenly coming to you.

“Well...” you started, glancing up at him. “There’s a new building by the riverside with a sky deck. It just opened recently, and it’s supposed to have the best view of the city.”

“Sky deck, huh?” Bucky raised an eyebrow, intrigued. A sky deck? Yeah, that sounds better than awkwardly walking home.

You nodded, a little more excited now. “Yeah. It’s pretty high up, and overlooks the whole city. I haven’t been yet, but I heard it’s amazing at night.”

“Sounds better than going home.” Bucky tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a soft smile. Thank God. I’m not ready for this to be over yet.

“Then let’s go.” You grinned, feeling your heart race just a little faster.

You shared a quick, almost nervous glance at each other before walking in the direction of the riverside. The awkwardness wasn’t completely gone, but now, it was laced with anticipation, a kind of giddy energy that made your stomach flutter. You hugged the plush goose a little tighter, trying not to let your excitement show too much, but inside, you were buzzing.

× × × ×

The city lights shimmered below you as you lounged on the comfy chairs, drinks in hand. The night air was cool, but it didn’t come close to breaking the warmth buzzing between you and Bucky.

She’s... something else, Bucky thought, leaning back slightly. His gaze kept shifting between the breathtaking skyline and you, but he found himself more captivated by you. How am I supposed to focus on the view when she looks like that?

Noticing the quiet, you smirked. “So, you were really gonna end the night without showing off more of your endless talents?”

Oh, she’s teasing now. Alright, two can play this game. Bucky raised an eyebrow, amused. “What, beating you at arcade games wasn’t enough?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re a walking cheat code, Bucky. But I feel like there’s more you’re holding back.”

His eyes flickered over your face, lingering on your lips for just a little too long. More than you know, doll. “Maybe I am.”

Your breath caught for a second, but you quickly recovered, tilting your head and flashing him a grin. “Oh yeah? Like what? Some secret talent I should know about?”

Keep your cool, Barnes. Don't blow it now.

Bucky leaned in just a fraction, his voice lowering, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. But I only show them to people who ask nicely.”

God, does he have to sound that smooth? Your heart flipped at the way he was looking at you, intense, as if he was seeing through every joke and teasing comment. How am I supposed to keep this casual?

“Nicely, huh? And what do I have to do for you to show me?” you asked, your voice quieter now, the playful banter fading into something more charged.

“Keep hanging around,” he said softly.

I’m in deep now. Bucky's eyes dropped to your lips again, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to blur into nothing. Should I kiss her? Maybe I’m reading this wrong...

His eyes dropped to your lips again, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to blur into nothing. It was just him—his voice, his presence, the way he was looking at you like he wanted to kiss you but was holding back.

You swallowed, feeling the tension build like a slow fire. You sipped your drink, trying to cool yourself down, but it did little to shake the feeling that something between you had shifted. Stop overthinking, just go with it.

“I could do that,” you murmured, a small smile playing on your lips. You felt his eyes on you, and the air between you felt electric. You glanced at him, catching him staring at your lips again. Your pulse jumped. He’s really staring... isn’t he?

“You’re staring,” you said, teasing, though your voice had a soft edge to it, your heart thudding in your chest.

Bucky blinked, caught, but instead of pulling away, he smirked. “Am I?”

Yeah, Bucky, play it cool. Like you haven’t been staring for the past five minutes.

“Mhm,” you teased, though your voice was barely steady. Why does that smirk make my heart race? “I mean, I get it. The view’s great and all.”

Bucky’s smirk deepened, his voice dropping lower. “You could say that.”

I can’t believe this is actually happening. You felt your face heat up at the way he was looking at you. The intensity of his gaze made your stomach do wild flips. Why is this so... intense?

“You’re not just talking about the city, are you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled softly, sending shivers down your spine. Just kiss her already. “Maybe not.”

Your breath hitched. “And what are you looking at?”

He leaned in slightly, his gaze locked on yours. “What do you think?”

She knows exactly what I’m looking at.

Your heart raced, the pull between you growing stronger with every passing second. His eyes kept flicking down to your lips, making you wonder if he was going to kiss you. I really shouldn’t wait any longer...

Bucky cleared his throat suddenly, as if shaking off the trance he’d been in, and leaned back into his seat, looking almost embarrassed. Okay, maybe I’m rushing this.

“Sorry... I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” you interrupted quickly, your voice softer, gentler now. God, why did he stop? “Don’t be. I didn’t mind.”

His gaze snapped back to yours, the tension flaring again. She didn’t mind? Well, maybe I didn’t screw up, after all—or I did because you didn’t kiss her you idiot. He opened his mouth to say something, but instead, a soft smile tugged at his lips, and his expression softened.

“So... orthopedic ward, huh?” he said, shifting the conversation, though his eyes were still locked on you. “How do you handle that? All those broken bones?”

Smooth, Barnes. Talk about bones to distract yourself from the fact you were just about to kiss her.

You took a deep breath, relieved for the break in intensity but missing it instantly. Great, now I’m thinking about how close he was... “Well, it’s mostly convincing people not to do dumb things. Like skateboarding down staircases. You wouldn’t believe what people put themselves through.”

Bucky chuckled. Yeah, I believe it. Considering I’ve done dumber things in my time. “I can believe it. I’ve been there.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’ve skateboarded down staircases?”

“No, but I’ve done some pretty stupid things in my time,” he admitted, leaning in again. Pretty sure falling for you might top the list. “But if I did something dumb, you’d patch me up, right?”

You smirked, your eyes twinkling. He’s flirting again. I can’t take this seriously. “Oh, I’d patch you up. But I’d make sure to remind you how dumb you were the entire time.”

“Fair,” Bucky said, the distance between you shrinking again. Patch me up, lecture me—just keep talking, I don’t care. “But I think I’d be a good patient.”

You shook your head with a grin. Good patient? Doubtful. “I doubt that. You’d probably complain the whole time.”

“I wouldn’t,” he replied, his tone teasing but soft. I’d let her take care of me, no problem. “If you were the one taking care of me, I’d be on my best behavior.”

He’s definitely not just talking about broken bones... Your heart skipped at the way he was looking at you again, his voice dropping to something more intimate. The banter was light, but underneath it all, there was that same intensity. Okay, now I’m thinking about kissing him again...

“You don’t strike me as someone who’s ever on their best behavior,” you teased softly, though your breath caught in your throat.

Bucky smirked, his eyes flicking to your lips again. “Maybe you bring it out in me.”

God, I hope so.

The words hung between you, heavy with meaning. Your pulse raced, and you leaned into the moment, letting the tension simmer between you, unspoken but undeniable. He’s close again…

“I’ll have to see that for myself,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heartbeat.

She’s close, too. Just lean in, Barnes. Bucky’s gaze darkened, his voice low and rough. “You just might.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as the tension between you crackled, thick and electric. You shifted slightly, leaning in with a playful smirk. “So... tell me, you got any other dates lined up after this one?”

Bucky’s eyes flickered with amusement as he leaned back, crossing his arms. Dates? I can barely keep up with this one. “Why? You worried I’ve got someone else lined up?”

You grinned, holding his gaze. “Maybe. Should I be?”

Not a chance. He leaned in closer, the space between you shrinking as his voice dropped lower. “I don’t know... do you have any other dates lined up?”

He’s really turning this on me, huh? You blinked, your heart racing, but you quickly shot back, “Well, maybe... maybe not. Depends on how this one ends.”

Bucky chuckled softly, his eyes dropping to your lips again, the intensity rising. Alright, Barnes, time to end this date right. “Guess I better make sure it ends right, then.”

Before you could respond, Bucky reached out, his fingers gently tilting your chin up. His other hand slid to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing tenderly against your cheek as he leaned in, your lips so close you could feel his breath.

Your heart was pounding, your breath shallow, as his parted lips brushed against yours, soft and slow, his head tilting just slightly. The kiss was gentle at first, his lips locking against yours in a way that made everything around you fade to nothing. He could taste the faint sweetness of your daiquiri on your lips, and with a soft groan, his tongue did a slow, savoring lick against your bottom lip before slipping past, deepening the kiss.

Your hands instinctively moved up, cupping his face as you kissed him back, your fingers sliding along the scruff of his jaw. The warmth of his touch, the way his thumb stroked your cheek, the way his lips moved against yours —everything about it was intoxicating, pulling you under.

Then Bucky pulled back for a quick gasp, his breath mingling with yours , before diving back in, capturing your lips with even more intensity. The kiss deepened, more urgent this time, as though neither of you wanted the moment to end. His hand on your nape tightened slightly, pulling you closer as the kiss intensified, his lips pressing more firmly against yours.

They didn’t stop until they couldn’t breathe anymore, finally pulling apart when the need for air overtook you, both of you breathless and flushed. Their foreheads rested together, the cool night air doing little to cool the heat between you. Bucky’s thumb gently stroked your cheek as he whispered, his voice rough, “Definitely no other dates lined up after this.”

You smiled, your hands still cradling his face, your heart pounding. “Good. Neither do I.”

× × × ×

As Bucky’s motorcycle came to a slow stop outside your house, and glanced up at your front porch. You hopped off the bike, shaking out your hair with a satisfied grin.

That ride was way too short... you thought, glancing at him as you handed Bucky his helmet, which he stubbornly told you to wear instead of him.

Bucky, being the gentleman, didn’t just let you off with a wave. He slid off the bike and stood up straight, dusting his hands like he was about to help carry your groceries.

Alright, Barnes. Play it cool.

"I’ll walk you up," he said casually, like it wasn’t 2024 and people usually just waved from their cars.

You raised an eyebrow, your lips quirking into a smirk. "You’re walking me to my porch?"

Bucky nodded, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. She thinks it’s weird? Hell, I thought that’s what you’re supposed to do.

“Of course. What kind of guy lets a lady walk to her door alone?” he replied, shrugging like this was completely normal.

You tried not to laugh, biting your lip to hold back a smile. He’s serious. Oh my God, he’s really serious. "Wow, okay, Mr. 1940s. What’s next, you gonna tip your hat and call me ‘ma’am’?"

Bucky smirked, taking a step closer. Alright, go with it, Barnes. “I could, if that’s what you’re into.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes but smiling as you walked together toward your porch. He’s ridiculous... and kinda sweet. You couldn’t help but notice how he slowed his pace just a little, like he was savoring the moment, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, casual yet somehow... considerate.

When you reached your porch, Bucky stopped, glancing at your door as if making sure it was safe territory. This is it. Play it smooth.

You turned to him, unable to hold back a laugh this time. "So, do I get a secret code to get into my own house, or...?"

Bucky grinned, leaning casually against the porch railing. “Just making sure you get home safe.”

Alright, Barnes, she’s not buying it. But hey, it worked.

“You know, they invented porch lights for a reason.” You shook your head, amused. He’s seriously acting like my personal bodyguard right now.

“What can I say? Old habits die hard.” Bucky shrugged, leaning in just a little closer, that playful glint in his eye. Please don’t laugh, please don’t laugh.

You looked up at him, crossing your arms with a smirk. “You know, there’s a fine line between being a gentleman and babysitting.”

Bucky chuckled. She’s killing me with that smirk. “Hey, you never know. There could be a rogue bagel out here, just waiting to trip you up.”

Oh, not the bagels again. “Oh my God, not the bagels again!” you burst out laughing, shaking your head.

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “You know they’re round, right?”

This man is unbelievable. You groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. “I think we’ve officially come full circle.”

“Just like a bagel.” Bucky gave a slow, dramatic nod.

You couldn’t help but laugh again, but you shook your head, standing on your porch with your hands on your hips. Why do I like this guy so much?

“Alright, alright, you’ve escorted me safely to my door. Anything else, or are you going to salute me goodbye?”

Bucky’s grin softened, and with a playful twinkle in his eye, he gave a small, mock salute. She’s gotta be messing with me right now, right? “Goodnight, ma’am.”

“Goodnight, soldier.” You couldn’t stop smiling as you opened your door, turning back to look at him. Don’t walk away, don’t walk away yet...

As you slipped inside, you peeked out one last time, watching as Bucky lingered for a second, that charming smirk still on his face before he finally turned and headed back to his bike. Say something, Barnes. Don’t just leave like a dork.

But then he stopped, halfway to his bike, and turned back around, something flickering in his eyes.

No, I’m not leaving yet. Not without...

Before you could ask what he was doing, Bucky closed the distance between you with a few long strides. Without hesitating, he gently tilted your chin up, his thumb brushing your cheek as he leaned in and kissed you—soft, quick, but just enough to make your heart race. His lips parted against yours, and for a split second, you tasted the warmth of him before he pulled back, just enough to meet your eyes.

That... was... wow.

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart doing a somersault. Did that just happen? You were still processing when Bucky grinned, his voice a little more hushed. “I guess I couldn’t leave without a proper goodbye.”

Smooth, Barnes. Real smooth.

You blinked, trying to find your voice, but all that came out was a soft, “No complaints here.”

Bucky chuckled softly, his hand still lingering at your neck for a moment longer. Then, he cleared his throat, stepping back a bit. “Hey, uh... you got a number I could call sometime?”

He’s asking for my number after that?

You smiled, feeling your heart flutter as you reached into your pocket, grabbing your phone. “Yeah, here—let me put it in.”

As you typed in your number, Bucky watched you, that familiar twinkle back in his eyes. Best decision I’ve made all night.

When you handed his phone back, your fingers brushed his, sending a small jolt up your arm. Yep, I’m done for.

Bucky pocketed the phone, flashing that boyish grin again. “Alright. I’ll call you.”

Yeah, you better. “I’ll hold you to that.”

He took a slow step down from the porch, but not without glancing over his shoulder one more time. “Goodnight... again.”

You stood there, grinning like an idiot. “Goodnight, Bucky.”

As Bucky made his way back to his bike, you slipped inside your house, leaning against the door as your heart raced. Did he really just kiss me? Again? Oh, this is definitely not over.

You peeked out one last time through the crack in the door, watching him as he swung his leg over his bike. Even from your doorway, you could hear him muttering with a smirk, “Just trying to keep the rogue bagels at bay.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly as you finally closed the door behind you, your heart racing a little more than you expected. I’m never going to forget this night...

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fuiru · 10 months ago

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A 44 year old man goes to a K-Pop Concert

I promised you a report on the K-pop concert that I, a 44-year-old accountant, went to a couple of weeks ago with my wife and daughter in Toronto. So here it is.

The band we saw were Ateez. They're my daughter's favourite band and my wife's second favourite. I know most of my mutuals are similarly aged like me and may not be familiar with them so let me give you a brief primer on Ateez.

Imagine the most attractive eight men you can think of, just unfathomably beautiful specimens of aesthetic perfection, and make them sing songs that somehow combine the subjects of 'dancing like nobody is watching' with 'we live in a dystopian hellscape that we must all work together to overthrow'. Give them an ongoing music video story lore that literally nobody - not even the band themselves - understand, so that online discussion of their visual motifs looks more like the fevered rantings of a conspiracy theorist, complete with speculation about alternate realities and time being a Moebius strip. There is also a giant sand timer, for some reason.

That's Ateez. That's what you need to know.

Now, K-pop concerts are very different to the gigs I've been going to for the last 28 (!) years. There's no support act, for a start. Also the band perform for like, three hours, with breaks for costume changes and interpretive dance. Furthermore, hanging above everything is the constant looming threat of mandatory military service.

So this being my first such concert, I wasn't sure what to expect. What happened was difficult to explain, but I will try as I am already six paragraphs into this write-up and I'm too invested to stop now. Here goes:

In his Wicked + Divine comics series, Kieron Gillen places modern pop icons as deities, feeding upon and gaining strength from the worship of their fans at the altar of musical performance. I thought I understood that metaphor. I thought I understood it AS a metaphor. I was wrong, because that night Ateez WERE Gods with a capital G and we were their worshippers, a crowd emanating adoration (in the religious and non-religious senses), bestowing strength upon them and gaining their strength in return.

If that sounds weird, it probably is. But as pointed out above, I have lived over four decades and never yet experienced anything like the overwhelming passion of that crowd, the utter abandon with which they conveyed their love for the band.

"But Fuiru, what of the actual music?" you ask. Thinking back, there was a moment in one of their songs - I can't remember which - where I watched the stage, and the people around me, taking it in, and I thought, "Man, I just love Music". But that doesn't answer your question, sorry.

Ateez's music is bloody great. As a tiresome indie/rock/metal kid I'm resisting the urge to add the usual tiresome indie/rock/metal caveat of "...for pop music" because honestly that does it a disservice. They have some genuinely amazing songs. Halazia is an absolute fucking masterpiece that descends into furious hardcore breakbeat. Bouncy is a big, brash racket that somehow is also a perfect pop song. Utopia, Wonderland, and Guerrilla are similarly superb. The obligatory boy band slow number is represented by Dancing Like Butterfly Wings which will make you cry because you will forever associate it with your twelve year old daughter being pointed to and waved at by her favourite Ateez member (Seonghwa) because of her Seonghwa-branded lightstick.

That might just be me, though.

So in summary: being a 44 year old dad at his first K-pop concert rules and you should endeavour to partake in the experience if the opportunity arises.

Finally, for any Atiny reading this: my bias would be San or Seonghwa but my wife and daughter said they were taken so it’s Mingi. My concert outfit (designed and created by my offspring) reflects this.

#ateez #atiny #mingi #song mingi #k-pop #the oldest bloke at the dance #kieron gillen

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elix8r · 8 months ago

Text

Prada Shoes and I Love Yous

PAIRING: heeseung x fem!reader

GENRE: smut, angst, crack, (some?) fluff, college!au, exes to lovers!au, enemies to lovers!au, socialite/richkid!au

SUMMARY: Life as a socialite wasn’t all champagnes and designer labels, especially not with the turn your reputation took due to a simple misunderstanding. Now, you were being painted by everyone as a big fat cheater who shattered her sweet boyfriend’s heart—a narrative that couldn’t be further from the truth. In reality, it was him who had betrayed your trust. Frustrated and feeling deeply wronged, you returned to society and the new school year after a summer of cutting off contact with everyone and the drama. But just when you thought you were ready to face the world again, you were blindsided by something unexpected: the lingering effect Heeseung had on you. And who could blame you? Heeseung was way too hot for you to get over in just three short months and now, seeing him with the girl he once told you not to worry about all over him? Oh, it was on.

You refused to be replaced, labeled as a crazy ex, or forgotten. No, you were going to make Lee Heeseung realize that you were the best motherfucking thing to had ever happened to him.

WC: 21.4k

WARNINGS: some extent of emotionally cheating? (not actual cheating i swear it’s kinda unintentional), jake is a bestie and fwb hybrid (kinda flirty but it’s very much platonic i swear), so much miscommunication, profanity, drinking, drugs, physical altercation, mentions of puke, slut shaming, mentions of pregnancy (no one is actually pregnant), toxic relationship, roughdom!heeseung and sub!y/n, unprotected sex, oral (m recieving), rough sex, unprepped? sex (consensual), creampie, mirror sex, deepthroating, cowgirl, dick too big?, creampie, and i am so sorry but karina is a BITCH like it’s almost campy how villainess she comes off

AUTHOR'S NOTE: hope everyone has fun with this one!! had a lot of fun writing it like and i'd love to hear you guys' feedback! love you lots <3 ☺️

Fuck Lee Heeseung. Fuck Lee Heeseung. Fuck Lee Heeseung.

This was all you found yourself repeating in your mind like it was some mantra while you reapplied your lip gloss, making sure to take one last good look at yourself in the mirror before shutting it close once you felt the plane’s wheels coming to a stop. From the outside, you looked absolutely perfect as not a single hair could be found out of place; no one would’ve guessed that you had been on a plane for over 10 hours. But inside, you were a wreck as you felt your anxiety shooting up as your heart raced a million beats per minute.

“You need to loosen up, you look like you have a stick up your ass.” Jake was lazily scrolling on his phone while nursing a champagne in his hand, barely sparing a glance at you. He seemed to be in a much more relaxed state than you were.

You scoffed before sending him a glare. “You know, if anything, you should be the one panicking right now. Everyone’s going to be talking about how we came back together.”

“Good thing I don’t give a shit about what people say, right? Should’ve thought that through before inviting me,” Jake shrugged, finally lowering his phone to look at you. His nonchalant attitude was pissing you off. “Plus, this all just looks worse because Ryujin decided she wanted to spend one last week with whatever his name was.”

He wasn’t wrong. It hadn’t just been the two of you in Monaco for three months; Ryujin had also been very much present. However, she found herself a summer fling named Louis, and unlike you and Jake, she couldn’t find herself boarding your private jet without spending one last fiery week with her lover before saying goodbye for good and starting school again.

“Maybe we should have just stayed an extra week with her. It probably would have saved us from the shit show that I know we’re gonna be bombarded with the second we step off the plane.” You released a deep sigh before you started to gather your belongings around you.

Jake followed suit, grabbing his stuff and getting up from his seat. “Well, if we stayed back an extra week, then that would mean we’d have to deal with your mom’s wrath for missing her annual end-of-summer garden party that we promised we wouldn’t miss. You know how important it is for her, and to be honest, I’d rather face Heeseung’s wrath than your mom’s.”

He was right. This garden party of hers had been going on every year since even before you were born, and you’d be out of your mind to miss it. It was single-handedly the most important event every year for your family, and you couldn’t even begin to fathom how your mom would react to your absence.

You reached over and snatched the champagne glass out of his hand before you downed whatever was left in it in one gulp as you braced yourself, hoping the alcohol would give you the courage you needed to step off the plane.

“Well, then I hope you’re prepared to take on Heeseung. Maybe he’ll be nice enough to spare your pretty face. God knows it’s the only thing you have going for you.”

Heeseung was going to fucking kill Jake Sim.

When he woke up this morning, you were the last thing on his mind, something he seemed to have finally freed himself from. However, all the hard work he put into casting you away from his mind seemed to have been in vain, as now all he could think about was you and how you had returned after three months of radio silence with the guy you cheated on him with.

Livid didn’t even cover what he was feeling, and it was evident in the way he swung his club. Each hit seemed to be driven by a surge of pent-up frustration.

“What the hell, man? That’s the third time today you’ve been way off course. What’s going on?” Jay shot him an incredulous look as he tried to locate where the golf ball had landed.

Heeseung let out a frustrated groan as he ripped off his glove and shoved his driver back into his bag. “Y/N’s fucking back.”

That was all Jay needed to hear to understand what was going on with his friend. "Shit, I saw. I’m sorry dude, it’s fucked up."

Heeseung was in no mindset to be playing golf right now. All he wanted was to go back home and wallow miserably in his bed. Unfortunately, they were only on hole ten of eighteen, and judging by his performance today, Heeseung knew it was going to take awhile.

"Did you know?" Heeseung couldn't help but blurt out, his frustration evident in his voice as he watched Jay effortlessly swing a shot miles better than his own.

Confusion flickered across Jay's face as he turned to face his friend. "What do you mean?"

“Did you know that she was coming back with Jake?” Heeseung felt his jaw tense as he mentioned his ex-friend.

“I didn’t even know he was with her until today. Honestly, I thought he’d just fucked off somewhere and didn’t bother telling any of us, considering how things went down. You know me, I would’ve told you straight up if I had found out earlier.” Heeseung trusted Jay implicitly. He was as loyal as they came, but unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for everyone in their friend group.

"Do you think Sunghoon knew?" Heeseung's question elicited an audible groan from Jay.

If anyone in their friend group knew how Jake spent his summer, it would undoubtedly be Sunghoon. However, Sunghoon was notoriously tight-lipped, especially when it came to sensitive matters. Since the breakup, the entire friend group had undergone an incredibly awkward shift. It seemed that everyone had more or less chosen a side, and allegiances were clear.

"You know he wouldn't tell us anything if he did. It's getting ridiculous. The other day, I saw Gaeul and him having brunch or something at the clubhouse, and the moment she spotted me, she practically sprinted over to explain herself. She claimed she's still 'Switzerland' in the whole situation and hasn't chosen a side," Jay recounted, frustration evident in his voice.

Heeseung almost snorted at the absurdity of it all. Their friend group had never been one to keep secrets or tiptoe around each other, but the last few months had been nothing but that. The betrayal by you and Jake had not only affected Heeseung's relationship with you but had also tainted the dynamic of their entire friend group.

“Literally, what is there to be ‘Switzerland’ about? I mean, this whole thing isn’t even complicated. Everyone saw them go into the bathroom together and come out literally holding hands. Trust me, I know what she looks like after giving head, and that's literally what she looked like in that video Beomgyu sent. Plus, Karina literally heard them.” Heeseung angrily got into the golf cart as Jay fished the keys out to start driving.

“Okay, well, no offense, but in all honesty, Karina’s probably not the most reliable source, cause she’s in an extremely biased position, but I guess that’s beside the point.” Jay’s words seemed to instantly bring a frown upon Heeseung’s face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Heeseung’s tone sharply switched up in an almost defensive manner.

Jay, feeling this shift, nervously cleared his throat as he stammered, trying his best not to offend his already sensitive friend regarding an even more fragile situation. “I mean, uh, well. You know…”

“What?” The grip he had on the seat of the golf cart seemed to get tighter as he waited for his friend to elaborate.

“Dude, you can't be serious? You know Karina’s been trying to ride your dick for the past, what, give or take ten years? I mean, we all know that she’s never had a good relationship with Y/N, and I’m pretty sure most of that resentment stemmed from the fact that you’ve always been head over heels for Y/N.” Jay slowly parked the cart and turned off the engine as he explained.

Still not understanding Jay’s point, Heeseung furrowed his brows, shooting his friend another annoyed look before getting out of the golf cart. “What are you trying to get at?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re dense. I mean, the last couple of months before Y/N cheated on you was the closest you seemed to have gotten with Karina because of that final project that you guys had or whatever. I mean, you were with her more times than you were with your own girlfriend, and knowing Karina, she seems like she could be delusional enough to have maybe taken that as a sign that you were interested in her? I mean, this is all speculation, but I’m just letting you know what we all saw.”

Jay cautiously treaded this topic. Heeseung was his best friend since they were babies, and he would always be on his side, but Karina was never anyone’s favorite with her extremely polarizing personality. He had no allegiance towards her, not to mention that she wasn’t actually even in their friend group and always only ever found lingering around wherever Heeseung was, so it was much easier for Jay to actually see through her. In fact, it seemed that all of their friends could pretty much catch on to Karina’s end goal except Heeseung.

“So you think it’s my fault that Y/N cheated on me?” The air got tense as Heeseung snapped at Jay while snatching his 7-iron out of the bag. “Just because I spent some time doing a stupid fucking school project with Karina doesn’t mean it gives her reason to go and suck off one of my best friends.”

Jay shook his head even before Heeseung was done with his sentence. Heeseung seemed to not be getting the point. “Fuck no, dude, that’s not what I’m saying. Karina has an incentive: you. If she gets rid of Y/N, then it means you’re up for grabs. Of course, Karina didn’t force Y/N to get on her knees for Sim, but she was the first one to come running, telling us what happened even before Beomgyu sent that video.” Heeseung was trying hard to focus on trying to get his ball on the green as he geared up to swing while listening to Jay.

“So you don’t think she should’ve warned me of what she heard?” He swung precisely, but it seemed that this whole course, to be precise, wasn’t going easy on him. He’d be lucky to get even a double bogey on the par-4.

Jay slightly grimaced at Heeseung’s shot. “No, it’s not that,” he let out a sigh as he walked over to Heeseung. “Look, you’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember, and I know the past few months have been fucking hard because of what Y/N put you through, and I just want you to be careful. Karina’s always been kind of a conniving, spoiled bitch who finds a way to get what she wants. Just because she’s been warming your bed every night since Y/N fell off the fucking Earth doesn’t mean she should be someone you start trusting.”

There was nothing he could say back to his friend’s words and it seemed that what Jay had said clung on deep to Heeseung's thoughts throughout the day, casting a lingering shadow and leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mind.

A small bead of sweat trickled down your back as the sun's relentless heat beat down on you. You took a small sip from your now lukewarm glass of champagne, its warmth doing little to refresh you. Today felt even hotter than previous years, and once again, you found yourself questioning why your mother insisted on hosting her most important event during the hottest month of the year.

Your cheeks were hurting from all the forced smiles you’d already given to family friends and important figures in your mother’s business circle. This garden party was always about promoting her upcoming collection and ensuring the continued support, financial and otherwise (not that she needed any more money), of both new and old acquaintances and partners. So, as always, it was no surprise that you were dressed head to toe in unveiled pieces from your mother’s upcoming collection. While no one could deny her incredible eye for fashion and the breathtaking quality of her creations, the white-tiered tulle dress with its plunging neckline felt entirely too inappropriate for a garden party and was getting on your last nerve. You stood out like a peacock—a testament to your mother’s outstanding handiwork—but you weren't a fan of the attention it drew.

“I need to get out of this fucking dress,” you muttered through gritted teeth, your annoyance palpable.

Jake chuckled softly beside you. “I can think of a few ways to get you out of that.”

You shot him a sharp look, clearly unimpressed by his insinuation. “Don’t say shit like that, especially around everyone. It’s not funny.”

“What? No one's around to hear, and even if they did, it wouldn’t matter. Everyone already thinks we’re fucking, and to be fair, they’re not that off.” He shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips.

Without hesitation, you elbowed him hard in the ribs, your face growing even more pissed off. “That’s not funny, Jake. Seriously, shut up. It happened only a couple of times and that’s it. If anyone hears that, they’re actually going to think I cheated on Heeseung with you.”

Your pretty face sported a cold, serious expression, leaving no doubt about how much this mattered to you.

“Honey, I told you, they already think you cheated on Heeseung with me, so this isn’t going to change anything. Besides, you know damn well it wasn’t just a couple of times,” Jake rolled his eyes at your dramatics.

“Yeah, well, the difference is that every time I slept with you was when I wasn’t dating him, so I didn’t actually cheat. You’re just making everything worse by making it seem like you’re confirming what they already assume.” Your irritation was through the roof, and the heat was doing nothing to quell your annoyance.

Before Jake could say anything else, your mother’s saccharine voice filled the space. For once, you were grateful for her impeccable timing. “Oh, darling, I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

The event’s dress code was always an all-white affair, but even then, your mother seemed to shine brighter than any of the guests. You were almost taken aback when you fully turned to face her. “Hey, Mom.”

You flashed her a tight smile, but she barely spared you a glance, her attention focused entirely on the figure next to you. Jake seemed to stiffen under your mother’s gaze. “Hello, Jake. You seem to be enjoying yourself,” she said, giving his attire a quick once-over and humming in approval. “You look quite nice. Brioni, I’m assuming?”

“Yes, as usual, the event is beautiful Mrs. L/N. You’ve definitely outdone yourself,” he nervously chuckled. Despite his attempts at flattery, your mother’s cold gaze remained fixed on him. “And you’re right, it is a custom piece from Brioni.”

“Unsurprising, seeing that your father is rarely seen in anything else. Perhaps you could enlighten him to broaden his wardrobe, and maybe we can see about getting you a custom piece of mine. I have no doubt the materials I use are incomparable to much of what’s in your wardrobe already. Though, I’m sure you already know that, since it seems much of your time these days is spent taking my beautiful pieces off my daughter.”

“Mom!” You gasped loudly, your eyes widening in disbelief at her bold statement. Your mother was never one to hold back her words, but this was beyond her usual antics. Next to you, Jake stiffened even more, nervously trying to regain his composure.

"Uh, Mrs. Y/LN, I can assure you that whatever you think is happening between me and your daughter is not actually true," Jake stammered, his voice strained with tension.

Your mother clicked her tongue in annoyance, obviously not buying his claims. "Well, the conversation I overheard the two of you having before I came seemed to say something different."

“Mom, can we not do this here?” You darted your eyes around, making sure that no one else was catching on to what was happening.

“Well, darling, I would usually never impose myself like this in your personal relationships, but it seems like the two of you have brought not only our families into this but now also my business as collateral just for the sake of some mindless fucking.”

You had never heard your mother speak with such scandalous vocabulary before. Seeing her like this was beyond unsettling and left you utterly speechless.

“Ma’am, I assure you that the rumors about our infidelity are not true at all. It’s been a huge misunderstanding that—"

"Jake, I've always held you in high regard, ever since you were a baby raised alongside my daughter. You've grown into a very smart and handsome young man, one your parents should be proud of. Out of respect for your mother, who you know is one of my closest and longest friends, I've tried to overlook what's been happening over the past few months. However, overhearing the two of you brazenly talking about your sexcapades in public, especially during one of the most important events of my year, is something I simply cannot ignore. This has not only strained my relationship with one of my closest business partners, but it has also jeopardized our families' standing. If anyone else had overheard, I can’t even begin to think how much worse the already damaging rumors would become."

“Mom seriously can you stop this,” you were furious that she would decide to do this here of all places. “This is fucking ridiculous and you know damn well that none of those stupid rumors are true. We can talk about this later, please.”

"I believe I'm entitled to speak as I please, especially considering this is my event," she retorted sharply. "Your father and I were generous enough to allow you to spend your entire summer break away without expecting you to address this mess you've created for us. I had hoped for better judgment from you. Instead, you and Jake decided to further exacerbate this situation by turning this trip into some sort of romantic getaway. I sure hope you were at least being smart and careful. The only thing that would make this situation worse is if you were to become pregnant. Who knows, you might even be pregnant right now. It wouldn’t even surprise me seeing as though that seems to be the only thing the two of you were doing in Monaco.”

Jake was a stuttering mess, his face flushed with embarrassment at the accusation. "Mrs. Y/LN, I swear that's not true," he managed to stammer out.

Before he could say anything else, your mother cut him off again. "I'm not so sure I can trust you on that. How can you be so sure that you didn't knock up my daughter?"

You were seething with anger at your mother's behavior, ready to intervene when suddenly a figure caught your eye.

Heeseung's fist connected with Jake's jaw before you even had a chance to react. The punch caught Jake off guard, and as he tried to recover, Heeseung landed another swift blow to his face.

"You got her pregnant?" Heeseung's voice was filled with anger as he launched himself at Jake, who was still reeling from the first two punches.

“What the fuck!” Jake groaned, struggling to fend off Heeseung's relentless assault.

Beside you, your mother was in a panic, shouting for security as everyone's attention turned to the commotion that erupted in front of you.

Before you could step in, Jay appeared out of nowhere, desperately trying to pull his friend away from their former friend.

"Heeseung, stop!" you screamed, rushing to Jay's aid.

But Heeseung was relentless, disregarding his surroundings entirely. All sense of decorum was abandoned as he straddled Jake, who was attempting to dodge Heeseung's blows while pushing him away.

From the other side, Sunghoon came running over to help pull Heeseung off of Jake. "Jesus Christ, Heeseung, get off him!"

After a couple of seconds of struggle, the three of you were finally able to pull Heeseung off of Jake, though he continued to struggle in attempts to break free. Security, called by your mother, arrived and joined in to help restrain the enraged boy.

Jake laid on the grass, his previously pristine custom white suit dirtied with splatters of blood and dirt from rolling around. Heeseung didn't look much better, his own suit now stained with blood, evidence of the fight. Despite being at a disadvantage, Jake had managed to land a few good punches, evidenced by the blood dripping from Heeseung’s nose. It was a chaotic scene, with whispers and murmurs from the other guests confirming their attention on the altercation. You could sense your mother's fury, even without seeing her directly.

"What the hell is this?" A gruff voice angrily interrogated.

Heeseung’s father had never been an easy person to be around, so you couldn’t even imagine how angry he currently was at his son’s behavior.

However, Heeseung seemed not to hear his father, his eyes staying trained on Jake, who was getting up with Sunghoon's help.

“Oh my, Liz, I am so sorry. I’m appalled; I genuinely am. I'm so embarrassed. I don’t know what came over him.” Heeseung’s mom quickly ran over to where your mother stood with fury and attempted to sincerely apologize.

“We are leaving.” Heeseung’s dad yanked his son from the security’s grip and started to drag him away, but not before also turning towards your mom with a stern look. “Yes, we apologize for our son’s behavior. We hope it didn’t ruin this beautiful event, and we will be excusing ourselves. Thank you for having us.”

You were still in shock with everything, and it seemed that everyone else was too, as no one moved and stood in silence, taking in everything that had happened. There was no way this just happened.

To say the last couple of days had been hell for you would be an understatement. Honestly, it felt even worse than the days following your breakup with Heeseung, when you could at least pack your bags and leave the country. But this time, with school starting in a week, that luxury would unfortunately not be granted to you a second time. Your parents were adamant that you face the mess head-on and frankly you found yourself wishing that you never returned from Monaco.

To make matters worse, Ryujin still wasn’t back. While she called every day, you still felt alone, especially since you hadn’t talked to Jake since your mom’s party. Rumors about your supposed pregnancy were rampant, further emphasizing your alleged infidelity, and you figured it was best to get some space from Jake until the rumors died down.

With nothing to do, you found yourself doing things you’d never normally do—like wandering down the chip aisle, looking for something to make you feel better about your situation.

“No, Ryujin, you don’t get it,” you huffed into the phone, frustration evident in your voice as you searched desperately for anything that sounded good. “I’ve gotten DMs from random people I’ve barely spoken to, asking if I’m actually pregnant and how far along I am. I’m so fucking sick of this.”

“Oh babe, I’m so sorry. This sucks so bad. It’s literally so fucking absurd and Heeseung was so stupid for this like I still can’t believe he did that. Don’t worry though, I’ll be there soon so just hold on,” Ryujin sounded sincere as the sound of waves echoed in the background. You envied your friend, who was probably at the beach right now, getting a nice tan with her hot beau, and not miserably suffering in this stupid predicament like you were.

“Ugh, I can’t wait until you’re here. I’m like seriously going through it and I just hope it’ll die down once school starts, but I doubt it because—”

“Y/N?”

You were abruptly cut off by a shrill voice. Even before you turned your head to face them, you knew exactly who it was and found yourself unable to hold back an exasperated groan. “Fuck, I’ll call you later, Ryujin.”

Karina had always been one of the most beautiful girls you knew, even from a young age and you couldn’t deny that she looked stunning now, even under the horrendously yellow dim lights of the grocery store. But, like always, she had a knack for bringing out a grimace on your face, which you sported as you turned to face her.

“Oh my God, no way! I thought it was you earlier but I was like, no way is The Y/N out shopping for groceries. But honestly, who else could it be? I mean, you’re unmistakable.” Karina held a shopping basket in one hand that barely had anything in it. She was dressed like she was about to attend a charity gala, a stark contrast to your Lululemon shorts and an old shirt from Heeseung’s closet.

“Hey, Karina,” was all you could let out before she animatedly started speaking again, not giving you a second to talk.

"It's been so long! I mean, how long has it been since we last saw each other? You didn’t even say goodbye to any of us and just left but you look great, especially considering—oh, and congrats! Honestly, I was actually worried it would be awkward between us, but once I heard the news, all my worries disappeared. You and Jake seem so happy together, and you have no idea how thrilled I was when I heard that you guys are about to start a family. It’s so cute and I now know that there's no reason for me to worry about you getting mad about me and Heeseung. Although I was a little surprised your boyfriend attacked mine like that, but I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding.”

Karina spoke without pausing, giving you no time to digest her words and she didn’t seem to notice your growing annoyance as she continued to babble with that smug look on her face.

“Wait hold on, you and Heeseung are dating?” There was no way you heard her right.

But it seemed that you did as she nodded with a bright smile on her face. “Yeah it’s still kind of new only a couple of months but it’s been amazing. I mean I’m sure you know just as well that he’s like literally the best.” Her voice slowly drowned out as you took everything in. A couple of months ago was literally when you left for Monaco so it meant that Heeseung didn’t waste any time to make Karina his girlfriend.

“What the fuck, Karina?” You didn’t hold back, making sure she knew you were beyond enraged at this new revelation.

Her face held a surprised expression as you cut her off abruptly. “I’m sorry, but what do you mean?”

You rolled your eyes. You knew she understood exactly what you were talking about, and it infuriated you that she was pretending otherwise. You knew Karina too well; she was reveling in the fact that she currently had something you didn’t for the first time in her life.

“Drop the act, Karina. I don’t have time for this shit. We both know exactly what you’re trying to do, and it’s pathetic. You and your friends can call me a slut for supposedly cheating on Heeseung, but it’s rich coming from you when you and Heeseung literally did the same thing. Not to mention the fact that you two didn’t even wait a decent amount of time before getting together after he and I broke up. So honestly, I hope you’re both happy and sincerely, fuck you both.”

You didn't bother to stick around to hear whatever else she had to say. As you turned and walked away, you felt your eyes welling up with tears. You thought you were over Heeseung, but clearly, that wasn’t the case. The revelation of his new relationship pulled at your heartstrings, making you wonder if you ever really mattered to him the way he did to you. Nothing hurt more than realizing that the two year-long relationship you cherished above all else might have been a joke to him.

“Ryujin, I really don’t think I’m up for going out,” you sighed, looking at yourself in the mirror. Ryujin, on the other side of the room, was finishing her makeup at the vanity.

“No way, I told you, you’re not staying holed up moping around because of Heeseung again. You already did that in Monaco, and I’m not letting you waste any more time on that asshole. You’re coming out with us, and you are going to have an amazing night.”

Ryujin had finally come back the day before, and while having her by your side made you feel better, you couldn’t stop thinking about your ex.

“I seriously doubt one night of drinking and partying will make Heeseung disappear from my thoughts,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. You knew Ryujin would end up dragging you out, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t complain the whole time.

“I think you’re underestimating the power of a good night out. Who knows, maybe you’ll find some hottie to get your mind off everything,” Ryujin shrugged while spritzing perfume. “Maybe you should go looking for Jake.”

You shook your head at her. “Jake’s not going to help.”

“Well actually, from what I remember I think Jake helped a good bit with speeding up the process of you getting over moping about Heeseung a couple of months ago so who’s to say that it won’t work this time?”

“I am not sleeping with Jake again. That would literally make everything like so much worse. Everyone already thinks I’m pregnant with his kid. I don’t need more things to fuel that rumor.”

Ryujin wasn’t wrong about your summer situationship with Jake helping to distract you, but continuing it back here would only add fuel to the fire. Not to mention, your relationship with Jake was purely platonic with some sexual attraction. That was all it ever was even back in high school, and you had both talked at length about how neither of you saw a relationship beyond friendship. So even if you went to him looking for something more, Jake ultimately wouldn’t be able to give you what you wanted.

“Well then there’s other people! What about-” You cut her off abruptly.

You cut her off abruptly. “Ryujin, I know you’re just trying to help, and I really do appreciate it, but I just think sleeping with other people isn’t going to solve anything. I just want to lay low this semester and focus on school. I don’t want to be wrapped up in more drama.” Done with the conversation, you grabbed your purse, suddenly more eager to get to the party if it meant changing the subject.

“Ready to go?” you asked, and just like that, her eyes lit up and a wide, giddy smile spread across her face as she eagerly followed you out.

The Uber ride was short, and before you knew it, you had arrived. Hyunjin was known for throwing the best parties, and tonight was no exception. The massive manor, which you were all too familiar with, was already buzzing with more people than you imagined his parents would ever find acceptable.

“Hey, there you guys are!” Ryujin’s close friend Yujin, who you were also friendly with, excitedly ran over to greet you both. She had been studying abroad for 6 months and you hadn’t seen her since so you were even more elated to see her.

“Hey, Yujin! It’s been a while! You and Sunoo looked like you were having the time of your lives in Italy.” You greeted her warmly, following her inside as she led you to where all the drinks were.

“Oh yeah, it was beyond amazing, but I’m sure nothing compares to Monaco. God, I haven’t been there in ages.” She poured out shots and passed them to you and Ryujin. Without hesitation, the three of you knocked them back, grimacing slightly at the aftertaste.

“Fuck, I already miss it. It took like an hour to say goodbye to Louis, and I was so upset for the first 30 minutes of the plane ride. But the good thing about summer flings is that after the goodbyes, there's nothing left to hold onto, so it’s easy to get over.” Ryujin poured another shot for both of you while Yujin reached for a can of Ranch Water.

“I literally thought they were going to try something serious since she was with him all summer. Half the time, I couldn’t even find her because she and Louis were off somewhere, but I guess he really was just a summer fling.” You nudged your friend as Yujin let out an amused giggle.

“I bet! Those pics on your most recent Insta post, man, they were hot. What about you, Y/N? Any European hotties catch your eye?” Yujin wiggled her brows, and you rolled your eyes while reaching behind her for a can of Ranch Water.

“More like an Australian hottie,” Ryujin teased, and you instantly elbowed her.

“Jesus Christ, Ryujin, seriously shut up.” You shot her an annoyed look.

Yujin, however, seemed to find amusement in Ryujin’s remark as she gave you a wide-eyed look while giggling. “No way, so it’s true then?”

“Fuck no. I mean yeah, we hooked up, but I swear to God I’m not pregnant.” You shook your head vehemently.

You saw Yujin open her mouth, but Ryujin beat her to it, grabbing your arm. “Don’t turn around.”

Your brows furrowed at her panicked actions, and you started to turn your head, but she quickly stopped you. “What? What happened?”

“Fuck, Heeseung’s here,” Yujin answered, her eyes darting around past your head. “He’s over there near the pool table. Don’t turn around.”

You stood still, heart racing, as you listened to your friends' directions. You saw Ryujin's expression shift from panic to a scowl.

“And he brought Karina. She’s stuck on him like a fucking leech,” Ryujin sneered. Even before the summer, Ryujin had always been Karina’s number one hater, so her reaction was no surprise.

Quickly, you decided it would be best to leave the area, and the girls seemed to think the same as the three of you started to move. But before you could take a step out of the kitchen, a booming voice caught your attention.

“Y/N!” Sunghoon’s voice echoed through the music, loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear. You stiffened as you realized your presence was now exposed to everyone.

“Fuck, it’s been a long time!” He approached with a massive smile and, before you could even respond, engulfed you in a tight hug. Behind him, you spotted Jake trailing close by, rolling his eyes at his friend.

"Hey, Sunghoon," you greeted him back, debating whether to reciprocate the hug he wasn't letting go of.

"Okay, buddy, that's enough," Jake intervened, yanking his friend back.

"Oh, princess, you got even prettier while you were away! If that's even possible, but damn, you look amazing," Sunghoon's red, dopey eyes hinted at his intoxicated state.

"He's crossed," Jake confirmed, as if reading your mind.

"Oh God, why did you let him do that again?" Ryujin scolded Jake, delivering a disapproving look along with a smack on his arm.

"What the fuck! I'm not his babysitter," Jake retorted, shooting Ryujin a pointed look.

"Well, he is your best friend," you shrugged.

"I'm totally fine, you guys worry too much," Sunghoon shot everyone a smile before reaching for the drink in your hand, which you quickly pulled away.

"Yeah, Sunghoon, maybe lay off the drinking and smoking for now. I think I still have the video from the last time you got crossed," Yujin remarked, raising a skeptical brow at his current state. The mention of the video drew snorts of amusement from everyone except Sunghoon.

Instead, Sunghoon's eyes widened at her words, shaking his head vigorously. "I swear that won’t happen tonight."

"Well, it might if you keep this up," Ryujin added, recalling the infamous incident the last time Sunghoon was in this state. It involved projectile vomiting on a girl followed by passing out on her, effectively ruining any chance he might have had with her.

"Whatever," Sunghoon rolled his eyes, turning away, but before he could even take a step, he turned right back around (unsteadily with Jake stepping in to steady him), and blurted out, "Heeseung's here."

You could hear Jake cursing under his breath at Sunghoon’s words, while Ryujin nodded.

"Yeah, we were trying to sneak out of the kitchen before they noticed us, and then you had to go and yell Y/N’s name," Ryujin added.

"Oh," Sunghoon sheepishly nodded. "My bad."

"Does he have to fucking bring her everywhere?" Jake muttered, casting another glance towards where Heeseung and Karina were.

"You know, I even heard Jay’s getting sick of her tagging along everywhere."

"Where’d you hear that?" You shot Sunghoon a suspicious look.

“Gaeul.”

"She still hangs out with them?" Ryujin scoffed, clearly annoyed.

"She claims to be the neutral party between us."

“So she’s still being a fucking dumbass?” Ryujin shot back, clearly unimpressed with their friend’s stance.

"Well, she still reports everything back to us, so it's not all bad," Jake tried to reason, but Ryujin wasn't buying it.

From next to you, Yujin chuckled. "Your friend group is so fucking messy, thank God I'm not involved. I'm going to find Hyunjin for some weed. Good luck sorting out your drama." She shot you a wink before briskly walking away before anyone could respond.

"Are we really that messy?" Sunghoon asked innocently, but before anyone could answer, he vomited everywhere.

You were cursing under your breath as you tried to wash the puke out of your shorts, fuming at Park Sunghoon. Thankfully, they were black, so staining wasn't an issue, but standing in your underwear in a house party bathroom, scrubbing your pants instead of enjoying the night, was infuriating. Even if you managed to clean them, you'd be stuck wearing damp pants for the rest of the night.

As you wrung out the fabric, desperate to dry them as much as possible, the bathroom door suddenly swung open.

“Oh! Sorry— Y/N?” Heeseung’s eyes widened in surprise when he realized not only that someone was already in the bathroom but that it was you.

In your haste to escape Sunghoon's vomit, you must have forgotten to lock the door. Naturally, Heeseung had to be the one to barge in.

The two of you stood there awkwardly, each taking in the other's appearance. It was technically your first real encounter since your return, discounting the brief moment at your mother's garden party before Heeseung was promptly escorted away by his parents.

He looked way too good, enough to stir butterflies in your stomach. It was unsettling how Heeseung could still have this effect on you after everything that had happened.

"Hey, Y/N," he greeted cautiously, breaking the silence. The tension in the room was palpable.

"Hey, Heeseung," you replied, unsure of how to navigate the awkwardness.

"Sunghoon was right," he blurted out abruptly, his words coming out in a rush before he could stop himself.

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. "What?"

"I-I mean, he said... that you look even prettier now," Heeseung stumbled over his words, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I mean, not that you weren't pretty before, but, um... yeah."

Your cheeks warmed at his unexpected compliment. This wasn't how you had imagined your first conversation with him after coming back would go.

"Uh, thanks."

A few more uncomfortable seconds ticked by before Heeseung finally seemed to notice your state. "Uh, what are you doing?"

You had completely forgotten about your current attire—just in your underwear, a lacy black thong that had driven Heeseung wild a few months ago.

"Oh, Sunghoon threw up on me after getting crossed," you explained, shaking your head in annoyance as you returned to wringing out your shorts.

"Again? Fuck, he really needs to learn not to do that. If he had a nickel for every time he puked on a pretty girl while he was crossed, he'd have two," Heeseung remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. You couldn't help but let out a small laugh. There was no way you were actually laughing at your cheating ex’s jokes.

Heeseung seemed to relax a bit upon hearing your giggles, joining in with a laugh of his own.

"Here, let me help. There's probably a dryer around here somewhere," he offered, finally deciding to step into the bathroom as he closed the door behind him. He bent down, rifling through a couple of cabinets until he found what he was looking for.

"Fuck, I don't know why I didn't think of that earlier," you muttered, taking the dryer from him and plugging it in before switching it on.

He reached over to hold your shorts for you while you dried them. After a few minutes, you turned off the dryer, confident your shorts were dry enough by now. "Thanks," you said, taking them from him.

As you looked up at him, you suddenly became aware of the closeness between the two of you. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes locked with his.

Fuck he was hot.

You could feel the all-too-familiar warmth spreading throughout your body as the two of you held each other's gaze, neither daring to look away. Slowly, almost as if guided by muscle memory, you inched your faces closer until you could feel his breath on your lips, poised to kiss him. But a small voice in your head stopped you before you could fully lean in.

“Wait.”

Heeseung instantly pulled back. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

"No, no it's not that. I can’t do that to Karina," you hurriedly explained, shaking your head. Tears threatened to spill over as the pain of Heeseung's past betrayal resurfaced. Despite any animosity toward Karina, you couldn't bring yourself to inflict that same hurt on anyone else.

"What?" Heeseung furrowed his brows, confusion etched across his face as he looked at you.

"Heeseung, you can't just fucking cheat on her after you cheated on me with her!" You shot him an incredulous look, unable to believe how close he had come to infidelity once again.

His head shook vehemently, confusion clouding his eyes. "What do you mean? If anything, you're the one who's cheating!"

"Jesus Christ, for the last fucking time, I'm not dating Jake!" You yelled in frustration.

“And I’m not dating Karina!”

The two of you stared at each other, mutual confusion now evident, leaving you both speechless.

“What?”

"Yeah, I'm not dating her! And what do you mean you're not dating Jake?" Heeseung shot back, equally bewildered.

"I literally saw her a couple of days ago, and she told me the two of you had been dating for a couple of months," you said, watching Heeseung shake his head in disbelief.

"What the fuck! She's fucking lying, we are not dating, let alone have been dating. That fucking bitch, literally what the fuck," Heeseung was beyond pissed.

You scoffed, equally heated. "Karina was literally rubbing it in my face about how happy you two were. And for your information, I have never dated Jake."

"What the fuck, Y/N? I fucking punched him!" Heeseung felt like he was going insane. Everything he had believed for the past few months was suddenly a lie.

You rolled your eyes at his outburst. "Yeah, I fucking know. I was there, if you remember! He still has a fucking split lip because of you, and my mom's still beyond mad about it."

You had to be lying, Heeseung couldn’t believe your words. “There’s no fucking way.”

“Yeah you fucking dumbass, you beat him up for nothing.”

“Wait, wait, wait no it’s still fucking justified! He was one of my best friends who went on and fucking slept with my girlfriend!” There was no way the two of you were actually having this conversation at a raging party after not seeing each other for three months.

"No, he didn't! Or at least not while we were dating, and I'm also not fucking pregnant!" Your voice echoed in the cramped bathroom. You were still intoxicated and could feel a headache coming on.

"Fuck you! Literally, everyone saw you two that night," Heeseung retorted sharply, but before he could continue, it seemed he fully absorbed your words, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. "So you have been fucking Jake!"

"Yeah, but only after we broke up, not before! And you can't be acting all innocent when you've literally been with Karina!" You were annoyed by his accusatory tone. He was such a fucking hypocrite.

"Okay, but I didn't blatantly sleep with her at a party while we were still together like you did—"

You cut him off by smashing your lips against his, needing to silence him in any way possible. You couldn't stand another moment of arguing about this.

You could feel Heeseung freeze for a second, taken aback by your action, but he quickly recovered as you could feel his lips move against yours.

There was nothing romantic about the kiss as the two of you hungrily pushed back against each other, fighting for dominance. Teeth clashed against each other as your tongues battled back and forth and you could barely breathe, but it seemed that neither of you considered stopping anytime soon.

His hands quickly found themselves ripping your top off you as yours went straight down to undo his pants and push them down. You finally pulled away from the kiss to spit on your hand before going straight back into his lips. Not a second was spared to think about your actions as you didn’t hesitate to stick your hand down his underwear. He was already half-hard and you quickly wrapped your hand around his length, inciting a groan out of him.

While one hand worked on pushing down his underwear the other worked on pumping him. Heeseung was in almost the same state as one of his hands was found groping at your boobs, playing with your nipple, while the other also attempted to pull your underwear down.

As soon as your thong reached mid-thigh, Heeseung quickly broke the kiss to turn you around and roughly push you down against the bathroom counter. You jolted at the cold counter pressing against your already sensitive nipples but Heeseung pushed down hard on your back so you couldn’t lift yourself up. You looked helpless in the mirror and without warning you felt his dick plunging deep inside of you.

You gasped at the intrusion. Sharp pain erupted within you as tears welled in your eyes and you could do nothing except tightly squeeze them shut while your hands desperately attempted to grab at anything to hold on to. Heeseung had started to fuck you without even giving you a second to adjust and your cries filled the bathroom.

You hadn’t been fucked like this in so long and sure Jake was a freak in bed with a big dick but he had never considered fucking you before making sure you were prepped. No, this was Heeseung’s specialty. He fucking loved it and you couldn’t help but also find yourself loving the pain that came with his pleasure.

“Fucking slut, look at yourself,” Heeseung growled in your ear before roughly grabbing your hair and pulling it back, forcing you to face yourself in the mirror.

“Please, Heeseung,” you could barely moan out.

His hand gripped your hip so tightly that he knew bruises from his fingers were sure to be left afterward and his eyes were crazed as he battered himself even harder against your cervix, giving you no respite.

“What? What else could you want, I’m already fucking you. Greedy whore.” You felt yourself clench tighter around him as you heard his words. You were almost there as you could feel the tight coil just about ready to snap.

“Oh fuck, Heeseung harder,” you screamed.

Heeseung did just as you asked and as if it was possible, you felt him force himself even deeper inside you at a faster pace. You knew he was battering deep at your cervix, but you were too focused on chasing your orgasm that you couldn’t even care for the dull aching pain. His hand in your hair pushed your head against the mirror and you found yourself unable to stop yourself from drooling and fogging up the mirror. His animalistic grunts filled your ear and the grip in your hair got tighter.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You screamed out as the coil snapped and you felt yourself reaching your ultimate high. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you slumped against the mirror, having no strength to hold yourself up.

Heeseung was also close as you felt his cock twitch inside you and before you knew it, warm spurts of cum painted inside of you as you felt him thrust a couple of more times while he panted. He came so much that you could even feel some drip down the inside of your thighs.

“Fuck,” he breathed out as he slowly pulled out, watching his cum drip out of you and land on the bathroom floor.

You were still slumped against the mirror, attempting to catch your breath and process what had just happened.

As your eyes connected with Heeseung’s through the mirror, a rush of emotions overwhelmed you. The weight of what the two of you had just done bore down on you, and shame began to smother you, making you feel like you were suffocating. You couldn't stay there with him a moment longer. Quickly, you dressed yourself, doing your best to ignore the aching pain between your legs. Heeseung looked confused by your sudden change, but before he could say anything, you were out the door, leaving him to dwell on the implications of your actions.

You honestly hadn’t been listening to anything Ryujin had been saying for the past couple of minutes as she rambled on. Instead, you stared at the piece of salmon on your plate, analyzing each line that ran through the fish. If you didn’t focus on this, your mind would start drifting back to what happened yesterday, and you'd rather shoot yourself in the foot than think about that.

“Hey, Y/N, are you even listening?” Ryujin raised her voice, trying to get your attention.

Snapping out of it, you finally took your eyes away from your dinner and looked up at her. “Oh, sorry, I got distracted.”

“Yeah, no shit. I’ve been talking to you, and you went catatonic or something. What is up with you?” She furrowed her brows at your unusual behavior.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” you quickly responded, but you knew the second she put her utensils down that she wasn’t buying it.

“Don’t fucking try to lie to me. I can see through your bullshit. What’s wrong?” Her gaze was intense, analyzing you as if there would be an external sign explaining your strange behavior.

You sighed, debating whether to tell her exactly what had happened. Deciding against it, you realized that if you opened that can of worms, things would get even messier. “Uhm, I don’t know, I guess I’m just still hungover.”

“You didn’t even drink that much yesterday, though,” she said, brows still furrowed. She had noticed you hadn’t come out of your room all day and had to literally drag you out just to get dinner with her.

“Are you sick? You don’t really look sick though.”

You shook your head, searching for anything to blame your odd behavior on. “Uhm, I just think I bruised my cervix, and it just hurts.”

Her eyes instantly widened, and you could see her holding back a grin. “Oh my fucking God, you slut. You had me thinking something actually bad had happened! When did you and Sim even run off to fuck?”

You sighed in relief, glad that she was distracted by the news you had just dropped on her. She didn’t notice the lingering look in your eyes that indicated there was actually something deeper driving you mad.

“Uh, quickie in the bathroom. I don’t know, you were probably too drunk to notice.”

She hummed while nodding. “Yeah, I’m not going to lie, I don’t really remember much after Sunghoon puked everywhere. But fuck, a bruised cervix from a quickie is insane. Oh, Yujin is going to love this.”

“Yeah, it’s a fucking bitch. I feel like I’m sitting on a knife or something,” you said. You weren’t lying about this part—you were sure Heeseung had actually bruised your cervix with how hard he fucked you last night—but you were fine letting her think you had slept with Jake instead.

“Oh, my poor baby. No wonder you’ve been in bed all day. Let’s just get this boxed up and head back to the apartment. Geez, I’m gonna have to have a talk with Jake later.” You flashed her a smile, nodding at her suggestion, glad that this not only got her off your back but also got you out of having to stay another thirty minutes at this restaurant.

Y/N (evil bitch) 👹:

if anyone asks we fucked last night kk?

JAKEY 🤢🦮:

wtf

Y/N (evil bitch) 👹:

no questions pls

JAKEY 🤢🦮:

fuck that what’d u do 🤨

Y/N (evil bitch) 👹:

none of your business go back to playing roblox with riki or something 🙄

JAKEY 🤢🦮:

THAT WAS ONE TIME

JAKEY 🤢🦮:

fuck you

JAKEY 🤢🦮:

tell me!!!!! you made it my business when you dragged my dick into whatever it is so i deserve to know 😤

Y/N (evil bitch) 👹:

i bruised my cervix

JAKEY 🤢🦮:

HUH

JAKEY 🤢🦮:

NO I’M NOT TAKING THE BLAME FOR THAT??

Y/N (evil bitch) 👹:

everyone’s gonna think you have a big dick

JAKEY 🤢🦮:

bet 🙂‍↕️

The rest of the weekend passed without Ryujin or anyone else probing into your life, and you couldn’t have been happier. There were so many moments where you debated whether or not you should reach out to Heeseung, but you quickly dismissed the idea. Besides, you had blocked him on everything, and you were sure he had done the same, so there would be no point in trying.

Distracted by thoughts of Heeseung, it had completely slipped from your mind that school was starting back on Monday. Last night (thanks to Ryujin of course), you hurriedly packed your school bag and made sure you had everything for the first day.

And while you usually enjoyed school, just from today, you already felt overwhelmed. It seemed that all your professors had decided to assign work and readings for the next class. You were already swamped with assignments, feeling the weight of the semester ahead.

“Okay, but don’t you think I at least deserve to know who you slept with?” Jake's voice cut through your thoughts as you walked through the library shelves, searching for a book your professor had assigned out of nowhere that wasn’t even mentioned in the syllabus. You had been barely listening to his yapping as most of your focus was on finding the book.

“Ryujin won’t stop talking my ear off about how I broke you and how you couldn’t move all weekend. She thinks I’m an ass and won’t stop scolding me like I’m the one who did it! I’m a gentleman—I’d never bruise anyone’s cervix without permission,” Jake said with an exasperated tone, trailing behind you.

“I’m pretty sure gentlemen, at least the ones i know don’t beg on their knees for anal-”

He cut you off, his eyes widening. “Alright, alright! That was one time and I was drunk. Jesus, woman! And don’t act like you didn’t let me do it—you were perfectly fine with it. Either way, I still feel like I should know who the fella is.”

“Please don’t say fella, it’s such a turn-off.” You scrunched your face at his choice of vocabulary, shaking your head before turning back to search for your book.

“Okay, fine, whatever. I just want to know who I’m protecting from Ryujin’s annoying ass, and honestly, I think Sunghoon overheard her, so now we can assume the whole school knows.” It was well-known that once any news hit Sunghoon, it spread through the school like wildfire. He had a bit of a loose lip and an affinity for gossip, making him the school’s personal Deuxmoi, but with none of the anonymity (maybe Perez Hilton was a better comparison).

“I’m serious, Jake, you don’t want to know. Just leave it. You owe me anyway.” By now, you were growing increasingly irritated with Jake’s relentless probing and the fact that you still couldn’t find the damn book.

He shot you an incredulous look. “Owe you for what? Now you’re just making up debts that don’t even exist!”

“Anal,” you replied without missing a beat, already smiling, knowing his reaction.

“Oh my God, Y/N, fuck you literally! Geez, if someone had told me this was the price I had to pay for putting it in the ass once, I wouldn’t have even touched it with a ten-foot pole,” Jake exclaimed, and you couldn’t help but giggle. You loved to mess with Jake, especially because he was always so overly dramatic and had the best reactions.

“Seriously, Jake, you don’t want to know. You did your job, so thanks, but please stop bothering me about this.” You flashed him an exaggerated smile and patted him on the head.

Jake’s eyes widened, and he stopped in his tracks. “No fucking way.”

“What?” You didn’t like how he was staring at you.

“Please don’t tell me you slept with Heeseung.” The smile on your face instantly vanished as you froze at his words. How the fuck did he know?

“No fucking way. You just slept with the enemy? Are you kidding me? Do you see this?” He gestured dramatically at his face. “This is the aftermath of my survival from his wrath and proof that I fought valiantly for you. And you go ahead and sleep with him? Oh my God, and you made everyone think I fucked up your vagina when it was actually him? Holy shit, wait until Ryujin hears about this.” You quickly reached over and clamped your hand over his mouth, realizing how absurdly loud he was being in the library.

“Shut the fuck up, you’re practically screaming! And what the fuck are you even talking about? Of course, I would never sleep with Heeseung.” You did your best to mask your surprise, hoping he wouldn’t catch on.

Jake shook his head, scoffing in disbelief. “You’re such a shit liar. The only other time I remember your cervix getting bruised was when Heeseung fucked you on that yacht last Christmas. Remember how you had a hard time sitting straight at Christmas dinner?”

Fuck, he got you there.

You sighed and reluctantly nodded, closing your eyes in frustration. “Okay, fine. But please don’t tell Ryujin, Sunghoon, or anyone else. I already feel like shit about it, and my self-worth is in the gutter right now. I’ve been sick all weekend just thinking about it.”

“He didn’t force you or anything, right?” Jake's face shifted to one of genuine concern, his brows knitting together.

You shook your head. “No, of course not. It’s just that I regret it so much. I felt so gross afterward. It was just a really, really bad drunken mistake, and I don’t want to talk about it. Seriously, thanks for covering for me. You’re literally the best because I really don’t want anyone to find out. I just want to forget about it.”

Jake studied you for a moment, clearly understanding how much this was affecting you. He nodded, reaching out to give you a comforting hug, which you gratefully returned while you let out a sigh. “Yeah, don’t worry. I won’t say anything. Just let me know if he tries anything else or if you need anything.”

The hug was comforting, a small balm for the turmoil of the weekend. You were relieved he didn’t press further or make you feel worse about what happened. However, as you started to pull away, a familiar voice sliced through the air, bringing with it an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. Jake’s groan confirmed the arrival of the last person you wanted to see.

“In the library is kinky, but what can I expect from the two of you? Always so classy,” Karina’s smug tone cut through the air. You and Jake quickly broke from the hug, and you rolled your eyes as you faced her, already irritated by her presence.

“Are you stupid or like blind? Cause obviously if you weren’t then you’d be able to clearly see we were just hugging you fucking dumbass,” Jake snapped back, his tone sharp. Normally, you’d find his sass amusing, but Karina’s presence seemed to have sucked out any potential humor in the air.

“Jesus, Jake, you’re such an ass,” Karina snapped back at him before turning her attention to you. “Get your dog on a leash, would you? Maybe you should have been more careful about who you chose to have a kid with. The anger issues are seriously concerning with this one, not to mention the aggression. Heard about what happened over the weekend.”

“Karina literally shut the fuck up. You know damn well I’m not pregnant. It’s not even funny anymore; you’re just dragging it out. Just fucking mind your own business,” you snapped, your anger bubbling over. You could see Jake’s jaw clenched tight, his irritation matching your own.

“Well actually it kind of is my business 'cause Heeseung has been MIA all weekend, and I can’t help but wonder—since you’re such a slut—if you had something to do with it. The past few months since you two left were perfect, but the second you come back, everything seems to be fucked up. So tell me, what the hell happened at the party?” Karina’s sneer was almost unbearable, and you fought the urge to slap her.

“Maybe he finally realized what a fucking bitch you are.”Jake’s voice was laced with disdain. If Ryujin was Karina’s biggest hater, Jake wouldn’t be far behind her. Even as kids he hated even having to sit at the same table as her so his hostility towards her was all too familiar for you.

Karina ignored him as her glare remained fixed on you. Her pretty face now twisted into a deep frown and you knew she was pissed. It was a stark contrast to the fake friendliness she’d shown you just a week ago at the grocery store.

“I didn’t fucking do anything, and I don’t want anything to do with him, so fuck off. Seriously. Maybe Jake’s right—he finally realized how much of a clingy piece of shit you are,” you shot back, frustration evident in your voice. You should have known that Karina would notice Heeseung missing from her side for a good portion of Friday night.

Karina’s expression hardened as she took a step closer, unyielding. “You’re such a shit liar. What did you do?”

“This is bullshit. Let’s fucking go,” Jake said, grabbing your arm and pulling you away. Neither of you wanted to spend another second there.

“You know he said I did it better than you, right?” Karina’s taunt was intended to provoke, and it did just that. You froze, feeling her words hit hard despite knowing she was just trying to get under your skin.

“C’mon, let’s go. Don’t fucking listen to her,” Jake urged, tugging you along again. As much as you tried to ignore her, her words had a lingering effect, and you hated that they got under your skin.

You didn’t care that this was your last year in college; you were convinced that you needed to transfer anywhere far away from here. There was no way you could endure a whole year of torment from Heeseung and Karina. As if to cement this decision, today seemed determined to be the worst day of your life. The moment you arrived at your apartment, rage surged through you when you saw who was waiting for you in front of your door.

“I’m going to fucking call security,” you instantly snapped, pulling your phone out of your back pocket.

Heeseung’s eyes went wide as his hands reached out in front of him. “Wait, wait, wait! Please, Y/N.”

You stared up at him, his eyes pleading with you to hear him out. Those bambi eyes always got to you, and this time was no different. With a roll of your eyes, you slowly put your phone down. “Okay, but I swear to God, if you try anything—”

“I swear I won’t! I promise, I just really need to talk to you. I’ve tried texting you, but I think you blocked me,” Heeseung said, sheepishly scratching the back of his head.

“Fine,” you muttered before walking past him, opening your apartment door, and stepping inside. You left the door open, signaling that he could come in, but he seemed hesitant, staring at the open door.

“Are you coming in or not?”

He blinked a couple of times, surprised that you were allowing him into your apartment, but he quickly followed you in and closed the door behind him. He hadn’t been inside in so long that it felt almost surreal. Everything looked exactly the same, and he found himself realizing that he had kind of missed being here.

“Wow, nothing’s changed,” Heeseung remarked, his tone revealing his surprise, especially as he noticed the photo of the two of you still on top of the kitchen counter.

You followed his gaze and felt heat rise to your face. You didn’t really know why you hadn’t taken it down. “Uh, yeah, I mean, I also haven’t been here for like three months, so I didn’t really have time to change anything.”

Heeseung nodded, but as his eyes trailed back to you, he found himself staring, forgetting his words. You were as gorgeous as ever, but it seemed that the time away had only made him realize how even more beautiful you were.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” The air between the two of you was awkward, just like at the party however, seeing him sober during the day gave you a much clearer look at him, and you wanted to fucking die. You hated that effect he had on you.

“Oh, yeah, sorry, uh, I just wanted to check up on you. Friday was kind of intense, and you ran off before I could say anything, so I was worried. I’m sorry for being so rough with you. I shouldn’t have done that.” Heeseung had been beating himself up over how he had treated you, so much so that he hadn’t talked to anyone all weekend despite his phone blowing up with messages from his friends.

“It’s fine. It was something we both wanted, and if anything, it’s on me. I kissed you first, so I’m sorry for that.”

Heeseung shook his head. “No, don’t be sorry, seriously it’s okay, but uhm, I also just wanted to make sure you knew that I wasn’t lying when I said I wasn’t dating Karina. I swear I’m not.”

Your brows furrowed as you recalled the incident in the library a couple of hours ago. “Well, does Karina know that?”

“What?”

"She confronted me and Jake at the library, demanding to know what I did for you to ghost her all weekend." Heeseung frowned slightly at Jake’s name, and his frown deepened as he listened to what Karina had done. "From what it looks like, she seems to believe that your relationship is much more than whatever you’re saying it is."

“What the fuck? I swear we’re not together. I—” He stopped himself and sighed, realizing that to make you understand he was telling the truth, he had to tell you everything. “Fuck, I— Uh, shit, we’ve just been kind of hooking up, but I swear that’s all.”

He looked almost embarrassed admitting the nature of his and Karina’s relationship, and you could feel a part of your heart waver at what you heard. For him to admit out loud to you and confirm what you had thought was happening hurt despite you knowing that you didn’t have a right as you two weren’t together anymore.

“Oh, uh, okay.” You nodded as you quickly turned around and opened the fridge. You pretended to look around as if you meant to open the fridge before reaching to get the Brita out for water. You knew that if you faced him, the tear welling up in your eyes would pour down your face.

Heeseung went into a near-panic as he saw your reaction. Having dated you for over two years and known you for your entire life, he could tell you were upset. He noticed your shoulders tensing as you kept your back to him, looking into the fridge.

“Wait, wait, but I swear it’s nothing more than that, and I promise whatever happened between Karina and me is over. I don’t have any feelings for her—I never did. She was just there after you left, and it just happened,” he rushed to explain. But his words only seemed to make you feel worse as he continued to ramble.

“Why are you telling me this? You think this is going to make me want to get back with you?” You shook your head in annoyance, grabbing a glass from a cabinet and filling it with water from the Brita.

“No! I’m not trying to convince you of anything,” he said, now genuinely panicked. This was not how he intended the conversation to go.

“You know what she said?”

“Huh?”

“Karina, you know what she said?” He slowly shook his head, clearly confused by where you were going with this.

“She said that you told her she did it better than I ever did,” you snapped, your anger evident as you stared him down.

His eyes widened in shock, and he scoffed in disbelief. “What the fuck! I’ve never said anything like that to her or to anyone, and it’s not fucking true.”

“What? So she’s just lying to get under my skin?” You were fuming, frustration etched across your face. “Karina’s a fucking bitch, but even she wouldn’t just make something like that up. You must’ve hinted at something for her to believe it.”

“No, no, no, I swear I haven’t said or done anything remotely like what she’s claiming. She’s a fucking liar,” Heeseung's anger flared as he defended himself, clearly outraged at Karina’s audacity.

“Well, it still doesn’t change the fact that you ran straight to her bed the second I was out of the country—literally one fucking day after we broke up!” You huffed, clearly pissed.

“Ok well don’t fucking act like you didn’t do the exact same with Jake. What the hell, Y/N? It isn’t my fault we broke up! You literally slept with one of my best friends!” Heeseung's frustration boiled over, clearly bewildered that you were still trying to act like you had no role in ending the relationship.

“I’ve told you a million times that I didn’t cheat on you with Jake! What more do I have to say for you to believe me?” You were fed up with defending yourself on this issue.

Heeseung rolled his eyes, “Honestly, aren’t you tired of keeping all this up? Beomgyu’s video and Karina along with everyone else hearing about you two should be enough proof.”

“Oh my fucking God! Jake went into the bathroom with me to help because I was puking my guts out. I drank way too much that night because I was so upset after seeing my fucking boyfriend cuddling with some other bitch all night! You’re genuinely a complete moron if you think Beomgyu and Karina are reliable sources. Beomgyu’s been a fucking asshole to me since freshman year because he’s still bitter that I refused to sleep with him, and Karina has wanted to get with you for as long as I can remember. Seriously, I thought you had at least some common sense in you!” You were yelling so loudly that your throat was already starting to feel raw.

Heeseung shook his head in disbelief. He had no idea Beomgyu had even tried to make a move on you, and now that he thought about it, he realized there had always been tension between the two of you. While he knew about Karina’s crush on him, he hadn’t thought she’d actually go as far as to lie about this. “Okay, well people still heard you two together.”

“Fucking hell, Heeseung, it was a house party with a hundred people. You really think anyone could hear anything over the music? You know what, whatever—believe what you want. There’s no point in trying to convince you otherwise. I’ve been honest with you the whole time, and it’s been you who’s been unwilling to listen. You dumped me without even considering my side, even though you were the one neglecting me during that last month before we broke up, spending all your time with Karina. Honestly, even if you’re telling the truth about not sleeping with her before we broke up, it doesn’t change the fact that you emotionally cheated. The number of dates you forgot or canceled to be with her, and how many times I saw you two together on campus when you said you were just hanging out with the guys. Whatever. It doesn’t matter anymore. We’re not together. Just get out.”

Tears streamed down your face, and you didn’t bother wiping them away. You wanted Heeseung to see the pain he had caused you.

Heeseung was at a loss for words as he saw the pain etched across your face. It broke his heart and he couldn’t help but start to realize that maybe there was a chance you were telling the truth and that he might be to blame for everything. He felt his heart crumble. “Y/N…”

You sniffed and shook your head. “Get out, Heeseung. I never want to see you again.”

It had been a week since Heeseung had gone over to your apartment, and every day since, he had been determined to find a way to make it up to you. He knew what your last words to him were, but there was no way he was going to let you go that easily, especially now that he realized he was most likely the one in the wrong and that Karina was a fucking bitch. He had come to that solid conclusion five days prior when he finally decided it was time to confront her.

“Oh my God, what the fuck? Seriously, where have you been? What happened? You literally just disappeared,” Karina ran over to him once she saw him at the café he told her to meet him at.

Even looking at her face made Heeseung want to vomit. “I heard what you did.”

Karina frowned, not understanding what he was saying as she took a seat across from him. “What do you mean?”

“Y/N told me about what you did at the library.” Heeseung tried his best to keep his tone even, attempting to mask the rage he was feeling toward her.

Karina nervously laughed, trying to brush it off. So, he was with you while he ghosted her. “Oh yeah, I ran into her and Jake trying to get it on at the back of the library. Isn’t that fucking insane, like in public like that?”

Heeseung wasn’t in any mood to entertain her. He was already at a boiling point. “Cut the fucking bullshit. She also told me what you said to her at the grocery store. I don’t know what I did to make you think that we’re dating, but we’re not. I don’t even remotely like you.”

“What?” Karina was taken aback by his words. Sure, Heeseung was never as affectionate and loving towards her as he was with you, but she thought she had made good progress in getting him to fall for her.

“Yeah, so I swear to God if I hear you telling anyone else that we’re dating, I will get a fucking restraining order. You have been nothing more than an easy lay for me to get my mind off Y/N this whole time. I let you hang around me because I felt bad, but that’s over now, especially since I realized you’ve been lying to everyone, including me, about everything.”

Karina’s face paled as she took in his words. She opened her mouth to say something, but he didn’t give her a chance. “Also, you’re delusional if you think you’re even comparable to Y/N, much less better than her. Go learn how to actually suck a dick before going around telling anyone that. Seriously, fuck off, and don’t ever talk to me or my friends again.”

Heeseung took off right after that, leaving Karina sitting alone at the table. It felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest as he stormed out of the cafe. Since then, he’d been planning a way to get you to hear him out. The only thing he could come up with was outsourcing, and in this case, that meant trying to reach you through the people you hung around.

It was a no-brainer that trying to talk to Ryujin and actually getting her to hear him out would be harder than getting you to talk to him again, so that was out of the question, which left him with only one other choice.

Just standing in front of the apartment was making him pissed, but he knew this was probably his best bet. He let out a big sigh before knocking loudly. He waited a couple of seconds, and after a bit, he wondered if he should knock again, but before he could, the door opened.

“What the fuck?”

Heeseung was the last person Jake would have expected to be on the other side of the door, and it caught him severely off guard.

Heeseung hadn’t seen Jake since he beat him at your mother’s garden party, and while it seemed that any previous marks left on his face from the fight were gone, Heeseung still felt bad. Okay, well, actually he didn’t feel that bad because he was still beyond pissed at Jake. Heeseung had by now come to the conclusion that you were most likely telling the truth about not cheating on him, but it still didn’t change the fact that Jake had fucked you who knows how many times after the two of you broke up.

Jake had always been a very close friend of his since childhood, and if Heeseung was being honest, in high school there were a good number of times when he couldn’t help but find himself envying his friend. It was kind of always known in your friend group that Heeseung had always had a tiny bit of a crush on you. So, when it became known that Jake had been the one to take your virginity, Heeseung was beyond crushed. In fact, he had avoided Jake for a good week, too envious of the fact that it wasn’t him who had been your first. But he was quickly able to get (mostly) over it as he couldn’t deny that he wasn’t surprised; you and Jake had always been the closest. But now, knowing that Jake had broken bro code made that resentment resurface, and he wasn’t sure if it was going away anytime soon (if ever).

“I need to talk to you,” Heeseung reluctantly said.

“Fuck no,” Jake responded with a condescending laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

Heeseung’s jaw tightened as he pleaded, “Jake, please.”

Jake stared him down, scrutinizing every aspect of him, clearly enjoying Heeseung's desperation. “Why? Y/N told me what happened on Monday. You��re a fucking asshole.”

“You don’t think I don’t know that? That’s why I’m here. Just let me in,” Heeseung said, his patience wearing thin.

“What’s in it for me?” Jake crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. Heeseung could tell he was relishing the sight of him getting so desperate.

“You already got to fuck my girlfriend as many times as you wanted. Don’t you think that’s enough?” Heeseung gritted his teeth, his voice tight with anger.

Jake rolled his eyes but opened the door, letting Heeseung in. “You know she’s not your girlfriend anymore, right?”

If Heeseung wasn’t so determined to win you back, he would have had no issue punching Jake in the face again. But he needed Jake’s help, so he held back and tried his best it ignore him.

“I need your help,” Heeseung said, crossing his arms and facing Jake.

Jake barely glanced at him as he headed to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of what Heeseung assumed was a protein shake. He started to shake it, more focused on his drink, acting almost as if Heeseung wasn’t even there. “You’re funny if you think I’m going to help you with anything.”

Heeseung sighed once again, watching Jake’s dismissive attitude. God, Jake was such a dick. “I know I fucked up.”

“Yeah? Took you long enough to realize.”

“I need help getting her back.” Jake let out a derisive snort that he didn’t even bother to hide.

“Holy shit, you’re delusional. What makes you think I’d help you?” Jake’s laughter was infuriating, and Heeseung started to regret coming here.

“Jake, I know what I did. I know there’s nothing that can fully make up for it, but I need Y/N back. I’m begging you, man, I need your help.” Heeseung’s pride was at rock bottom, but he didn’t care. If this was what he had to let go of to win back the love of his life, so be it.

“You literally cheated on her. Why the fuck would I help someone who cheated on her try to win her back? You don’t deserve her.” Heeseung couldn’t deny it anymore; he had emotionally cheated on you, whether he intended to or not and it sickened him to realize that he was responsible for your pain.

“I know I don’t deserve her, and I also realize what I did and how I’m responsible for everything. I know now that the last month before we broke up was terrible for her, and I was a complete asshole. I didn’t mean to hurt her; everything just spiraled so quickly that I didn’t have time to process it. I swear I’m not trying to make excuses—there aren’t any. But the last three months have been hell for me. You don’t understand how empty I’ve felt, how much it’s all hurt. Hearing that you two came back together from wherever you guys were fucked me up so badly that I ended up taking it out on you, and I’m sorry for that—it was fucked up. But what I’m trying to say is that this whole summer has made me realize just how much I need her. Seeing her again has only made that clearer. I should have listened to her that night, but I was so blinded by anger about you two that I lost control, and you have no idea how much I fucking regret it. Talking to her last week made me see just how badly I fucked up, and I guess I was too caught up in Karina’s lies to accept the truth. I know I don’t deserve her, but please, I just need one last chance to make things right.” Heeseung’s sincerity was evident in every word, and Jake could tell that this was something Heeseung had been tormenting himself over for a while.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” Jake said honestly. “I don’t even know how I can help. This is between you two.”

He hadn’t expected Heeseung to lay everything out so openly, and he was a bit taken aback. But Jake still struggled to fully support Heeseung. He knew how miserable and broken you had been after the breakup, and he wasn’t sure he could let you go through something like that again.

“I just need her to know that I’m sorry and to hear me out just once more. I know I don’t deserve it, but please. This was all I thought about this entire week, and I don’t know what else to do. I mean I came all the way over here to you of all people because of how desperate I am. I know you don’t owe me anything, especially after everything, but please, I’m begging you. Help me out, man.” Heeseung’s eyes were filled with desperation, and Jake let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Is Karina still in the picture?”

“Fuck no, and I made sure she understood. She’s literally the worst mistake I ever made, and I should’ve known better. I just didn’t think she’d take it this far, but I swear, there was nothing between us to begin with. She just caught me at a vulnerable time and took advantage of it. I fully acknowledge the mess I made in the month leading up to Y/N and me breaking up, and I know it’s probably too late now, but please, Jake. Y/N is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You of all people should know that, so I can’t just let this go without trying one more time.”

Heeseung couldn’t even lift his head to face Jake anymore, his eyes focused on his trembling fingers. The shame of his actions weighed heavily on him, and admitting it all out loud took a lot out of him.

A few seconds of silence passed, and Heeseung assumed Jake was deliberating. With each passing second, his anxiety spiked, and he desperately wished Jake would say something, anything.

“Fuck, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but okay,” Jake said, his tone heavy with disbelief. Heeseung’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock. “There’s no guarantee this will even work, but I’ll try something. Just know that I’m not taking this lightly. If you mess it up again, I’ll fucking kill you. I’m not kidding. The moment I see Karina anywhere near you, you’re dead. I’m only doing this because I know how much you meant to her and how miserable she’s been without you.”

Heeseung’s smile stretched so wide it made his cheeks hurt, but he didn’t care. “Thank you so much. Seriously, thank you, man. I really owe you.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Jake said, rolling his eyes at how excited Heeseung was. “But if Y/N isn’t having it, there’s literally nothing else I can do. So don’t get your hopes up.”

“No, I get it. Seriously, thank you so much. And I’m genuinely sorry for everything. It was fucked up for me to fight you like that.” Heeseung wasn’t sure if things with their friend group would ever return to normal, but he’d be lying if he denied that he missed having his friends around. A small bit of him kind of hoped this might be a step in the right direction of maybe getting everything back to normal.

“Yeah, whatever. I guess I kind of deserved it for sleeping with your girl,” Jake said with a hint of sarcasm.

Okay, maybe Heeseung wasn’t entirely fine with Jake being around like before as he felt one of his eyes twitch in irritation at the reminder of Jake being in your bed all summer, but he pushed the thought aside. “Just don’t make it a habit.”

“We’ll see. Don’t fuck it up.”

Heeseung felt another twitch in his eye. Maybe he wasn’t entirely over the idea of killing Jake Sim.

You had been sort of in a weird state of limbo where it seemed that a part of you was still wallowing in the sadness that came after the whole fight with Heeseung in your apartment but also there was also a part of you that was just kind of irritated with everything and you weren’t sure how to get yourself free from this state.

And it seemed the latter was taking over your current state as you let out a grunt of frustration as you attempted to hit the ball over the net, only for it to get caught and cause you to lose. Shouts of amusement came from across the court as you sneered in annoyance.

“Ha! Dinner’s on you! Oh, princess you fucking suck at this.” Jake was a little too happy about your loss as he giggled around the court.

Sweat drenched the both of you as the setting sun’s heat blazed relentlessly down the two of you. “You know that I’m usually good! You’re just better today I guess.”

You sheepishly shrugged before chugging your water from your water bottle on the side, the cold liquid instantly quenching your thirst. You were so ready to leave and get food.

“You just got unlucky that Sunghoon wasn’t here. There’s no doubt he’d be buying dinner. I’ve never seen someone worse at pickleball than he is.” You both let out a small laugh thinking about your mutual friend and his lack of athleticism.

"Yeah, honestly, I know he said he was sick or something, but I bet he just said that to dodge paying for dinner," you muttered, tossing your keys at Jake after packing up your paddle and balls. "You're driving, though."

He caught the keys without protest, shrugging as he followed you to the car. After unlocking it, he slid into the driver’s seat, immediately grimacing. “Jesus, what the fuck is this seat positioning?”

“Leave me alone, it’s my car,” you rolled your eyes, watching as he adjusted the seat to his liking.

“Too nice of a car for such a shitty driver like you,” he snorted, making you gasp in offense.

But before you could fire anything back, he quickly switched the subject. "So, who's Ryujin going on a date with tonight?"

"Some new European exchange student, I think his name’s Armand? Not sure, but I’m pretty sure he’s French."

"Where the hell is she finding all these European guys?" Jake shook his head.

Pickleball was usually a doubles match with you, Jake, Sunghoon, and Ryujin, but Sunghoon had bailed, claiming he was sick (though you weren’t convinced), and Ryujin was off on her date.

"I think he's in her finance class—or at least that’s what Yujin said. But yeah, she clearly has a type," you snorted, sending Ryujin a quick text to see how the date was going.

"That’s an understatement. I’m surprised she got over Louis that fast. And how the hell does Yujin still know everything about everyone despite being abroad for a whole semester?"

The circle you and your family had always been surrounded by was small, a natural outcome of the exclusive lifestyle the upper echelon of society led—one not easily accessible to just anyone. This circle was even tighter at your school, where everyone with status seemed to gravitate. As soon as someone new entered the fold, it took only a few days for word to spread, and soon enough, everyone knew everything about them, especially if they came from a similarly privileged background. So it was no surprise that even after studying abroad in Italy for 6 months, Yujin still managed to stay in the loop.

“You know you don’t actually have to be on campus to keep up with everything,” you sighed, rolling your eyes.

It was frustrating, sometimes even invasive, to know that every move you made was watched and analyzed, but it seemed to be the price you and your friends paid for the lives you led.

Jake hummed in agreement, and for a few moments, the car was uncharacteristically quiet. It was unusual—Jake was never one to keep his mouth shut, so his silence could only mean one thing.

"Ugh, what?" you groaned, turning your phone off and shifting your focus to his profile.

Jake shot you a brief look of confusion before turning his attention back to the road. "What?"

"Just spit it out." You knew all too well that when Jake went quiet, it meant he was holding back something important—and more often than not, it wasn’t good news.

He gave you another glance, this one doing nothing to ease the knot forming in your stomach, before letting out a long sigh. "So, the other day, someone came to see me."

You raised an eyebrow, sensing that he was trying to drag this out. It couldn’t be good. "Oh my God, just tell me already. Who was it?"

Jake took a few more seconds before finally answering. “Heeseung.”

Your ex’s name was the last thing you expected to hear. “What?”

“Yeah, someone knocked, and when I opened the door, there he was, just standing there.” Jake’s slow pace was driving you insane—you just wanted him to get to the point.

“Just tell me what he wanted. Did he try to fight you again? Because I swear to God—”

“No! No, it wasn’t anything like that. He didn’t come to start anything; he just asked for a favor.” Jake nervously bit his lip, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. He clearly didn’t want to tell you what Heeseung was really after.

“Jake, just get to the fucking point. What did he ask for?”

“Okay fine, he wanted me to talk to you about maybe hearing him out again.” Jake grimaced as he revealed Heeseung's request, sensing that the silence on your end was not a good sign. “Ugh, please Y/N, say something.”

You didn’t know if you should be fuming or surprised. Maybe both. “What did you say?”

Your calm tone caught Jake off guard as he turned into the Thai restaurant you’d chosen for dinner, parking before facing you. “Okay, you can’t be mad, but I agreed.”

Your mouth opened in protest, anger filling your eyes, but he rushed on before you could interrupt. “Just listen. You know me—I wouldn’t agree to something like this, especially with him, unless I really thought he deserved it. After I listened to him, I could see how genuine he was. I know he was a dick on Monday, but he came to me desperate and genuinely sorry. He wouldn’t have approached me of all people if he wasn’t serious.I know how much he hurt you, but I also see how unhappy you are without him. This might not be the worst thing for you two. Plus, Karina’s definitely out of the picture—Heeseung looked furious talking about her and promised he wouldn’t associate with her again.”

You processed everything slowly, staring at Jake. “He hurt me so bad,” was all you could manage as you shook your head, struggling to accept what your best friend was telling you.

Jake’s eyes softened at your reaction. “I know, Y/N. He’s still a total asshole, but deep down, you know that not having him around hurts even more. I didn’t promise him anything, and I won’t ever force you to talk to him. Honestly, if I had my way, I’d keep him far away from you. But I know you, and I see how badly all this unresolved feeling is fucking with you. I don’t want that for you. So just know this is an option. It doesn’t have to be now, or next week, or even this month. But if you ever feel ready to talk to him again—especially now that it seems like you both understand what happened—he’s willing to apologize. I’ll even be there with you if you want.”

Jake was right, and you hated that. Deep down, you knew this unresolved pain would eat you alive. Heeseung had always been part of your life, and having him ripped away, even for just a couple of months, was agonizing. You didn’t know if you could just cut him out completely, so you slowly nodded. “Okay.”

Heeseung honestly had little faith that Jake would keep his promises, but he still held onto a sliver of hope. Yet, as the weeks passed with no word from you, that hope began to dwindle. After a month had gone by without any communication, he was on the verge of accepting that he had ruined the most important thing in his life. Just as he was about to let it go, fortune finally smiled on him: he spotted you outside, nervously biting your lip as you waited for his class to end. A grin spread across his face the moment your eyes met, and he walked toward you.

“Hey,” he greeted softly.

His smile made your heart race, and it was annoying to realize that he still had that effect on you after everything that had happened. “Hey, I was wondering if you were busy. I think I’m ready to talk.”

Heeseung mentally noted to give Jake the biggest thank you ever. Despite his doubts about Jake's ability to follow through, he couldn't be more grateful to be proven wrong.

“Yeah, of course. This is my last class of the day,” he said, eagerly nodding as you both walked out of the building.

“Oh great, I wasn’t sure about your schedule, so I was just hoping I got lucky and you were free.” The awkward tension between you was palpable. “Do you want to grab lunch? I can drive if you didn’t.”

“Yeah, that sounds perfect. Jay drove us today, but I’ll just text him that he doesn’t have to worry about me.” Heeseung couldn’t help the smile spreading across his face. It was amazing how much your presence lifted his spirits. You were like a ray of sunshine, and just being able to look at you felt pretty fucking incredible.

You shot him a small smile before nodding, leading him to your car. “Okay, perfect.”

The ride to the restaurant was quiet, with barely any words exchanged until you both placed your orders.

Knowing that silence would make everything feel pointless, you mustered the courage to clear your throat and initiate the conversation. “Jake told me you really wanted to talk to me again.”

Heeseung nodded without hesitation. “Yeah, I’m not going to lie, I really didn’t think he’d actually help, but I’m so glad he did. I hope you didn’t feel forced or anything—that’s the last thing I want. If you ever feel that way during this conversation, I would completely understand if you just walked away.”

You nodded, recognizing the sincerity in his words. It gave you reassurance about his intentions. “I wasn’t forced or anything, but it did take some time. Honestly, I didn’t want to hear you out again, especially since last time ended badly. But I’ve had time to think, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I need to do this, at least for myself, to move forward from everything.”

“I’m really glad you gave me a chance to talk to you again. Y/N, I know this might not mean much to you, but I truly want to say I’m sorry.” Heeseung sighed before continuing, “I’ve had time to reflect on everything, and I’ve realized that what I did was unfair to you and hurt you in ways I never intended. None of this was your fault, and I’m so sorry for putting you through that.”

Hearing those words felt like a wave of relief washed over your aching heart. It was as if you had been yearning to hear him acknowledge your pain, and his sincere apology felt like a crucial step toward healing. Yet, one lingering question held you back.

“Why did you do it?” you asked softly, almost afraid to voice it. You noticed Heeseung’s eyes soften at your words.

He sat in silence, contemplating your question. Why had he abandoned you during the last month of your relationship?

“I’m not sure,” he blinked, his brow furrowing in distress. “I know that’s not a good enough answer, but honestly, I don’t even think I understand it myself. I really don’t want this to sound like an excuse, but I didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. That project consumed so much of my time, and unfortunately, that meant spending all those hours with Karina. It became a routine, and I thought it would help me finish the class with a good grade. I never stopped to consider if Karina had ulterior motives, and I’m so sorry—I never thought about how this would affect you.”

You were unsure how to process his words, but you appreciated his honesty and let him continue. “I didn’t mean to blow you off or prioritize the project, which ended up meaning prioritizing Karina over you. That was never my intention. I hope you understand that I never saw her as a replacement or thought she was better than you in any way, especially not romantically. I swear nothing happened between us until after you left for your trip. Even then, I was just so angry, and she happened to be there. She was only an outlet for my frustration, and I know that’s probably not what you want to hear, but I can’t deny that something happened. I just need you to know that aside from the physical, there was nothing else with her.”

Heeseung grimaced as he admitted all this. The weight of his actions felt unbearable, and when he saw your face—so sad, struggling to hold it together—it made him feel even worse. He hated that he was the cause of your pain.

You nodded slowly, your chest tightening as you absorbed his words and another sigh left your mouth. “That last month was so unbearable for me. It was literally hell. You have no idea how many nights I spent blaming myself, thinking I drove you to another girl. But what hurt even more was the aftermath. I’ve known you for so long, and I never realized how much you meant to my life until you were just… gone. I felt so lost without you.”

“It was the same for me. Y/N, you’ve been the love of my life since we were kids. You’ve always been my dream and literally everyone around us knows how much you’ve always meant to me. I’ve dated around and hooked up with other people but at the end of the day, I just kept coming back to you. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. You’re my home. That’s why I had to take this chance—to see you again, to beg you to hear me out one last time.” His voice trembled, and a tear slipped down your cheek as you felt the weight of his desperation. Your heart ached, torn between the pain of the past and the flicker of hope in his eyes.

He reached over to take your hand in his, the warmth of his familiar touch sending a jolt through you. A small, hopeful smile broke through his anxiety. “I love you, Y/N. I truly believe you’re it for me. But if you need me to let you go, I’ll do it. I’d do anything to see you happy.”

“Heeseung…” The words barely escaped your lips before tears started streaming down your cheeks. You couldn’t hold back your emotions, even in this crowded place. His confession pierced through the defenses you had built, reaching deep into the empty spaces you didn’t even know existed. You remembered all the pain he had caused, the scars still fresh, and yet, despite everything, he was still your Heeseung. Your heart ached with the undeniable truth that he was your destined other half, and you couldn’t bring yourself to let him go completely.

In that moment, amidst the whirlwind of your emotions, the right path became unmistakably clear. You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of your feelings shift into something resolute. With trembling hands, you squeezed his. This wasn’t just about forgiveness; it was about embracing the possibility of healing together. “I can’t let you go, not now,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “Let’s find our way back.”

No one had ever warned you how difficult it truly was to rebuild something broken, even with someone you’d known your entire life. But now, standing on the other side of that struggle, as you watched the pieces of your relationship with Heeseung slowly fall back into place, you realized that every effort had been worth it. The awkward silences, the tentative steps, and the raw vulnerability—it had all led to this unexpected peace. Months ago, you would’ve laughed if someone told you not only that you’d be back together, but that you’d be more in love with Heeseung than ever before. Yet, against all odds, here you were—more sure of him, more connected, and somehow, more in love than you ever thought possible.

It had been two weeks since that lunch, two weeks since you both decided to give things another shot. Although hesitation still hung between you, trust was slowly rebuilding, and you could feel the progress with every passing day. The real breakthrough came when you got solid proof that Karina was no longer a looming threat. It seemed that Heeseung’s rejection hit her harder than anyone expected, leading her to pack up and flee to her family’s summer home in Lake Como. Word spread quickly that she was taking a semester off to “heal” from all the so-called negative toxicity, but honestly, you couldn’t care less. And it seemed that it wasn’t just you—everyone in your circle seemed to be rejoicing the second her plane left the tarmac, collectively exhaling as though they’d been holding their breath for months. Her departure felt like the final nail in the coffin of a drama that had dragged on far too long, and for the first time in a while, you felt truly free from the chaos.

You and Heeseung had agreed to take things slow, both afraid to fuck up the fragile foundation of your newly rekindled relationship. While you often found yourself holding back more than you were used to, the fresh start was also exciting, like falling in love all over again. The honeymoon phase was in full swing, and honestly, you were soaking it up. So much so that it seemed your entire friend group—finally restored, thank God (you were sure you’d even seen Jay shed a tear when he was reunited with Sunghoon)—was playfully revolting at how inseparable you and Heeseung had become. But despite the jokes, everyone was genuinely thrilled to see you two back together. Even the soft launch on Instagram stirred enough commotion that your mom called, confused. But you didn’t care about anyone’s reactions, because for the first time in a long time, you were truly happy.

“I’m surprised your little purse dog isn’t with you,” Yujin’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts as she appeared out of nowhere, making you jump.

“What?” You shot her a confused look.

“Heeseung! He’s like your own little purse dog these days. I don’t think I’ve seen you two apart since you got back together,” she teased, giving you a smug grin before snatching your drink from your hand and taking a big swig.

You snatched it right back, rolling your eyes. “That is not true!”

But the grin on your face betrayed you—you knew exactly what she meant.

Your half-hearted attempts to deny her claims were cut short when yet another voice chimed in, startling you once again. "Nah, Yujin's right. You two are capital C clingy."

"Stop sneaking up on me!" you groaned, shaking your head at both Ryujin and Yujin. They, of course, found your irritation hilarious. Before you could protest further, Ryujin also reached over and grabbed your drink, taking a long sip without hesitation.

"Oh my God, just take it!" you exclaimed, shaking your head in disbelief. You turned to grab a fresh cup, already resigned to making yourself another drink.

"But seriously, where is Heeseung?" Ryujin asked, glancing around the packed house, her eyes scanning the crowd for your boyfriend.

Jake had thrown a party to celebrate Karina’s dramatic exit, and it seemed like everyone you knew had shown up. His place was absolutely massive so it was insane to see the entire place bursting with people, not a single corner empty.

You shrugged as you added ice to your drink. "Not sure, I saw Jay dragging him out to the pool. I think they’re playing beer pong. You guys do realize we haven’t been together every second, right?”

Yujin scoffed. "You sure about that?t At least from what I’ve been seeing I’m having a hard time believing that."

“Yeah, babe, I don’t think there’s been a single day this week you haven’t been with him,” Ryujin added. But when she noticed a slight frown tugging at your lips, she quickly backpedaled. “But that’s not a bad thing! You guys are back together, and honestly, you seem so much happier and more in love. We’re happy for you.”

Yujin nodded in agreement. “Yeah, it’s cute. Almost sickeningly so. But seriously, we’re all just glad you two are happy again.”

Right on cue, you felt a familiar arm wrap around your waist from behind. You knew instantly who it was. “Aww, that’s so sweet, Yujin. Glad we have your support,” Heeseung teased, reaching out to fist-bump her.

"Were you out playing beer pong?" you asked, glancing up at Heeseung.

He nodded with a grin. "Yeah, Sunghoon and I absolutely annihilated Jay and Jake. Those two suck every single time, but they keep teaming up like they’ve got something to prove. Not that I’m complaining—it just means we keep winning. The loser had to admit the other’s dog was better, and Sunghoon had Jake practically in tears, saying Gaeul was superior to Layla. It was almost cruel. Layla’s literally upstairs, and he ran right up to apologize to her."

Ryujin snorted. "You guys are such kids. What kind of punishment even is that?"

"Hey, I’ll have you know that when it comes to Gaeul, I’d put my fucking life on the line for her!" Sunghoon appeared out of nowhere, clearly having overheard the mention of his beloved dog.

"Yeah, don’t mess with his dog. It’s, like, actually serious for him," Heeseung added, backing up his friend with a smirk.

You couldn’t help but smile. It felt so good to have everyone back together, the easy banter flowing like it always had. The boys, especially, had clearly missed each other. Things were a bit tense between Heeseung and Jake at first, but once Sunghoon and Jay rejoined the group, it felt like no time had passed at all. Of course, Heeseung wasted no time making it clear that you were off-limits now, even threatening that he’d shave Jake’s hair off if he so much as thought about crossing that line—and judging by Jake’s face, it was a threat he took seriously.

As Sunghoon passionately defended his dog, you felt Heeseung's arm tighten around your waist. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “I don��t know about you, but I can think of something way better than listening to Sunghoon go on about his dog’s honor,” he whispered, his voice laced with mischief. “How about we check out one of the way-too-many bedrooms upstairs?”

The suggestion came with that familiar cheeky tone, and you didn’t need any convincing. Without a word, the two of you quietly slipped away from the group, who were still caught up in their conversation about pets. Heeseung was right—there were far too many rooms in this house, but luckily you knew exactly where to find a quiet, empty one.

Your body hadn’t even fully crossed the threshold before Heeseung captured your lips with a fervor you hadn’t felt since Hyunjin’s party. When you said that you and Heeseung were committed to taking your relationship slowly, you truly meant it. Sure, the two of you had made it to third base, but you had intentionally held back from rushing into sex, wanting to protect the delicate balance of your relationship. Yet, in that moment, it was clear that neither of you was opposed to going all the way. You both had been holding back for far too long.

Shutting the door behind you, he slammed you flat against the it as his tongue explored inside your mouth. You were panting against his lips as you reached for his clothes. It was obvious neither of you were particularly interested in taking it slow.

“God you’re so fucking hot,” Heeseung didn't hold back his groan as his hand pulled your top over your breasts and cupped one in his hand, groping it as he deepened the kiss. You scratched a hand against the nape of his neck eliciting another low groan from him while his lips trailed down from your lips down to your neck. His touches had never felt better and you were yearning to feel him closer and deeper.

While his lips worked their way down, you didn’t waste any time pulling your leather pants down, revealing the same pair of black thongs that you had been wearing the last time the two of you had sex and Heeseung groaned against your skin once he realized.

“Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me.” You giggled at his response and quickly tugged him towards the bed, leaving behind a trail of clothes as the two of you continued to get rid of your clothes until you were left bare.

Your hands firmly gripped his shoulders once he had finally stripped and you pushed him down on the bed as you also went down on your knees. His mouth was slightly agape as his eyes twinkled at the realization of what was happening.

“I’ve missed your cock so bad,” you purred before letting a wad of spit fall from your mouth and straight on his rock-hard dick.

His eyes instantly rolled back when your hands wrapped themselves around his length and worked their way up and down, adopting a steady tempo. Your eyes never left his face as you held a determined look in your eyes, eager to please him.

“Fuck, just like that,” Heeseung barely managed to pant out as his eyes connected with yours.

You couldn’t hold back a smile. Knowing that your touches had him falling apart like this in pleasure had you growing overcome with lust. There was not a better sight than the one in front of you and you couldn’t break away from witnessing his every reaction even as you slowly started to lick his tip.

He was panting hard as he watched you lick up and down his shaft before swirling your tongue around his sensitive tip that was dripping with precum. And when you sunk down, allowing his dick to find its place in your warm tight throat, his hands went straight to the back of your head, pushing you further down and inciting you to choke on his length.

It’d been a while since you’d deep-throated anything and you felt the tears instantly prick at your eyes as you gagged around his thick cock. You concentrated hard, closing your eyes to ease your throat as you slowly started to bob your head.

Saliva escaped down the corners of your mouth as the tears were now fully escaping your eyes. The filthy sounds of you gagging filled the room along with Heeseung’s deep grunts. His hands were fully pushing your head down as he thrust up, yearning for you to take him deeper. You tried your best to swallow around his as you searched for air, but he was relentless and pushed you until you couldn’t take anymore and had to slap the sides of his thighs for respite.

“Jesus Christ, Heeseung!” You gasped for air before coughing when he finally let you go, realizing how brutal he had been treating your throat.

“Shit, sorry,” his eyes were wide as he reached for your face, pushing your sweat-drenched hair away from your face. “It’s been so long and you felt so good, I’m so sorry-”

“Shut up,” you shook your head as you pushed him back on the bed. You ignored his apologies and quickly got on top of him, ignoring the fact that you had just been brutally choking on your boyfriend’s dick.

You were already dripping wet and Heeseung’s eyes couldn’t take his eyes away from your glistening pussy hovering over his dick. His hands guided themselves to your hips and you slowly teased him as you rubbed the tip of his dick at your entrance.

“Please,” he pleaded desperately and that was all you needed to hear before you slowly sunk yourself down his length.

The two of you let out groans and you couldn’t help but heavily pant as you went lower, feeling him deeper in you. You felt so full that it felt like you could feel him all the way up your throat. Heeseung was massive and despite having loads of experience riding him, every time it felt like almost too much for you as your body felt like it was being stretched beyond its limit.

“Fuck, you’re too big,” you whimpered as you felt your body slumping over his, trying your best to get adjusted to his side.

His mouth found yours as he passionately kissed you while his hands found your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers. “You’re taking me so well princess.”

As he praised you, you found yourself slowly attempting to move your hips and before you knew it, you were moaning against his lips as you moved up and down his length. The pleasure was overwhelming and you couldn’t stop. The stretch still stung, but the pleasure that came with it was more than anything you could’ve asked for.

“Heeseung,” you moaned out loudly as his hips thrust up to meet yours, forcing you to feel him deeper.

The room was filled with your wanton moans that didn’t stop chanting his name and the sounds of his balls slapping roughly against your pussy. His grunts were getting animalistic and before you knew it, he had flipped the two of you over changing the position and taking over.

‘Oh my God!” You screeched as he moved your legs to hang over his shoulders, causing the new position to allow him to reach you deeper if that was even possible.

He relentlessly pounded against your sweet spot, “You feel so fucking good. Perfect pussy made just for me.”

His dirty talk had you whimpering and you found yourself reaching down for your clit quickly rubbing it, helping you reach your orgasm faster.

“I’m almost there don’t stop,” you instructed, and with a couple more hard thrusts, you found yourself loudly crying out as you found yourself reaching your peak.

You clung to him tightly as you rode out your orgasm and could feel him twitch inside you before also cumming closely after. He filled you to the brim with his cum as you limply laid there taking everything he gave you. Once he was finished, he slowly pulled out inciting a small whimper from you and you could feel all his cum slowly pouring out of you and down your leg.

Heeseung, seemingly just as worn out as you were, plopped right next to you before pulling you close to him, cuddling you. A huge smile formed on your face as you turned your head to face him and kiss him, someone pounded on the door.

“You two are so fucked for that! You do realize Layla’s room is right next door!”

Bonus:

It was unbelievable how fast time had flown, especially now, standing with all your closest friends in matching caps and gowns. You couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that you’d all made it through college in one piece, still tight-knit as ever. It was almost enough to bring you to tears—if you weren’t so distracted by how uncomfortable your dress had become under your gown. You kept fidgeting, trying to adjust it for a bit of relief.

“Stop wrinkling your dress!” your mother scolded, while busy straightening Jake’s tie.

“But no one’s even going to see the tie under the gown,” Jake whined, only for your mom to shoot him a stern look that silenced him immediately as she returned to perfecting his outfit.

True to her word, your mom had finally gotten Jake head to toe in one of her custom pieces (minus the cap and gown). “I don’t care if anyone sees it or not. You are not wearing one of my designs without it being flawless,” she insisted, focused on making sure everything was perfect.

You could hear the quiet snickers behind you, and without even turning around, you knew Sunghoon and Ryujin were loving every second of this. They had already survived your mother’s meticulous once-over and were now relishing in watching the rest of you squirm under her scrutiny.

"Yeah, come on Jake, stop being so fussy. You should be grateful she's even doing this for you," Heeseung chimed in, grinning. His playful jab at Jake was laced with just enough sweetness to win over your mom—or at least, that was the plan.

Your mom still hadn’t entirely forgiven Heeseung for the disaster he caused at her garden party, and her approval of your rekindled relationship was, at best, tentative. But it was clear she was slowly warming up, especially with the way Heeseung never missed a chance to flatter her.

“Alright, now you look presentable. Don’t you dare mess with it during the ceremony,” your mom finally declared, stepping back to give Jake a final once-over. She then turned her sharp gaze on the rest of you, making sure everyone else met her high standards.

You exchanged a glance with Sunghoon and Ryujin, who were both barely holding in their laughter. They clearly found your mom’s unofficial role as wardrobe enforcer far more amusing from the sidelines.

“Oh, you all look so beautiful,” your mother said, her smile softening in a way you weren’t used to. The warmth in her gaze caught you off guard, and suddenly, the stuffiness of your dress was the last thing on your mind. As your eyes met hers, the reality of the moment hit you—graduation day, surrounded by your closest friends, all of you about to step into the next chapter of your lives. You could feel the emotions welling up, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as you took in the sight of everyone in their caps and gowns.

Heeseung, as if sensing your shift in mood, gently tugged your hand into his, threading your fingers together. He squeezed your hand and gave you a reassuring smile, grounding you just when you needed it most.

“Come on, let’s take a picture before we leave,” you suggested, grabbing Heeseung's hand and motioning to your friends.

Your group huddled close, arms draped over each other, laughter bubbling up as your mom snapped away on her phone. Heeseung’s arm stayed firmly around your waist, keeping you close while you smiled for the camera. The joy of the moment, the closeness of your friends, felt like the perfect snapshot of how far you had all come.

As soon as the last picture was taken, everyone started to drift toward the stadium for the commencement ceremony. You watched as the crowd began to gather under the soft glow of the setting sun. After a quick hug and goodbye to your mom, you turned to follow your friends toward the entrance gates.

Just before you could step through the gates, Heeseung gently pulled you aside, his fingers brushing your arm. He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “I couldn’t have done any of this without you. I’m proud of us.”

His words made your heart swell, emotions bubbling up in a way that almost took your breath away. You looked up at him, your smile soft and full of everything you’d been through together. “I am too,” you whispered back, a mixture of relief and joy filling your chest. “We made it.”

The air was cool, a gentle breeze lifting the corners of your graduation gown as you looked at Heeseung, remembering how uncertain things had once seemed. But now? Everything felt like it was finally falling into place. The obstacles and heartbreak had only made you both stronger.

As the sun began to set, Heeseung took your hand again, just like in the room earlier. This time, though, he brought it to his lips, brushing a light kiss across your knuckles before pulling you closer.

“I love you,” he said quietly, and it wasn’t a grand declaration—just a simple truth that felt completely genuine.

“I love you too,” you answered, your heart full.

Standing there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the future didn’t seem so intimidating anymore. It was uncertain, sure, but with Heeseung beside you, you felt ready for whatever was next.

TAGLIST: @notevenheretbh1 @leov3rse @slut4hee @llvrhee @simjungwon @lhspeachie @sakanelli-afc @rayofsunshineeee @deobitifull @iwaplant @mheretoreadff @farashawhee @skzenhalove @venfl-ifw @jaehoonii @melonvrs @enhastolemyheart @rainyjy @cha0thicpisces @love-be0m @niniissus

#enhypen #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #heeseung #heeseung x reader #heeseung scenarios #enhypen smut #heeseung smut #enhypen imagines #enhypen au #heeseung imagines #fic: psily

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anashins · 1 year ago

Text

King of the Streets

Pairing: street racer!Jaehyun x journalist!reader

Genre: street racing au, action, drama, romance, slow burn, smut

Word Count: 28k (I just can't write short stories, I'm sorry)

Summary: The moment you find yourself hiding in the backseat of a sports car that's illegally racing through the city, you just know this story will finally catapult you to the top of your journalism career. But there are a few things you haven't reckoned: How personal this story will eventually turn - and the driver's sheer insatiable craving for lollipops. And for you.

A/N: I started this after Jaehyun admitted he would have liked to become an F1 racer if the idol-path wouldn't have worked out for him. I spiraled and this is the outcome - I hope you have fun reading it as much as I had writing it!

“It’s been three years since I’ve started working here, and-”

“Unfortunately, this doesn’t matter, miss.”

For an entire week, you had prepared yourself for this meeting with your editor-in-chief. You had written down all your achievements from when you were an intern to your current position.

And he had the nerve to tell you it all didn’t matter?

It had been three very long years with too many nights spent in the office to meet a deadline you were not responsible for, trips all across the country on your own account for stories that hadn’t even made it into the magazine, and work meetings where no one had bothered listening to your ideas and input.

After all the hard work and sleepless hours you had poured into your dedicated passion, it was unfathomable to you how he didn’t even bother bringing up the slightest interest in what you had to say, and it showed all over face in the form of widened eyes and slightly parted lips.

“Others have started prior to you and they’re in the exact same position,” your chief editor said, swaying in his chair. The city’s skyline spread behind him like a painting as the sun was setting, and more than once had you already imagined yourself in that spot. “What makes you think you’re better than any of them?”

An imaginary note popped up in your head. You got this, you were prepared for this. “I’m one of the firsts to go and one of the last to leave, I wrote the most clicked article on our website - to this day. I offer input to everyone who hasn’t got something going on, my personal and professional network that I’ve built throughout the past years is wide and strong. I’m the first one to take on suggested topics, the number of articles I publish per month is the highest out of all editors, I’m always up-to-date, I live for this job.”

The middle-aged man leaned forward and propped his elbows against the glass table, inspecting you thoroughly while you were bracing yourself to elaborate every bullet point. But he only said,

“No, I don’t think so.”

You were flabbergasted. “Pardon me?”

“I don’t think you actually live for this job,” he explained calmly. “For that, it takes more than research and cranking out as many articles as possible just because your writing is good. It is, trust me, but the stories lack emotion and graspable actions. Right now, you’re only sitting in front of the computer, writing from your imagination. You don’t live the stories, you’re not in them.”

“I take trips across the country to attend events, I participate in every press conference possible, I-”

Again, he interrupted you, “Hara got in contact with a designer and walked for his show as an amateur model. Dal went to the rooftop of the highest building in this city and took pictures that even made it into television.”

“But that is illegal,” you commented. “Hara smuggled herself in when one of the models fell sick and Dal nearly got caught by the police.”

“And we would’ve bailed for all of them.” He sighed deeply as if annoyed by repeating himself. “See, this is what I’m trying to say, miss. The writing that you’re delivering is clean and conformable to law. When I read your articles, I’m well informed, but nothing sticks in my head. We’re a magazine, not a newspaper. Nobody wants to read about the opening of a new restaurant when they can read about things they will never be able to experience themselves. You have to dive in the story, be in the story to make people believe they’re in them too when they read it.”

You were quite taken aback as you noticed he remained polite when all he wanted to say was, “So, my stories are too boring, not sensational.”

The editor-in-chief let out another long sigh and fell back into his chair. “You have a trademark, but you have to get out of your secure shell to actually go somewhere, otherwise you’re going to get stuck.”

You were a goody two-shoes was what he tried to tell you. You were on the top when it was about writing, grammar and quantity, but your stories didn’t attract anyone’s interest, and if that wasn’t the case, then you could write as many perfect articles as you wanted - you would never get a higher position.

You inhaled deeply. “So, what do you suggest I’d do?”

His answer was clear, “Look for a story that will change lives. Write a story that will leave people breathless, and you’re getting the position of a senior editor. Because miss, you’re one of the most capable journalists here, but you don’t only need to be capable, you need to be a storyteller. If you can do this, propose the topic to me next week. If it’s what I expected, it will make headlines in the next issue and secure your new position.”

If only it were so easy.

____

You were sitting in the fast food restaurant with your notebook opened in front of you. Every single page was blank even though you had been there for several hours already, the ballpen in your hand having barely moved ever since.

“Do you want to order something else?”

“I’m good, thank you.”

You could only imagine the eyeroll the waitress let out when she turned away from you after not getting another order for two hours. But you were already short of cash this month and wouldn’t get paid for another week.

Another reason why you needed the senior position: as a regular editor, you could barely get by. Why were journalists underpaid anyway when they were the source of daily news and this connected the world? You had never understood.

Many ideas had flown into your head, from working a day in a job that was notorious to interviewing an infamous inmate, but none of these were exciting or extraordinary enough like it was expected of you. The topics that you came up with didn’t immediately peak interest when you researched about what your fellow editors had ever written about. And what you found left you nearly speechless and doubting yourself.

Yes, you had always been tame, reserved, a goody two-shoes. That was why your mind was also not expanding to the way it was expected of reporters. Perhaps, you were not made for this job as you could also not quite learn how to do it right.

Should you perhaps change to newspapers after all? But the open positions were always so rare and you had wanted to start at your current magazine because it was the most famous in the country…

“Where are you going after this?”

“I’m going to watch the race, Falcon against Antelope!”

“They’re set for tonight? I didn’t know!”

“Pscht, not so loud!”

Since you already lost focus and let other people’s voices into your mind, you could also pack your things and go home. You were already so done for the day.

“Can I come with you? It’s been so long since the last time I went.”

“Sure. They’ll start at midnight, so we have to hurry.”

You zipped up your handbag and threw a few bills on the table, already with one arm up the sleeve of your jacket when you perked up your ears.

“Falcon will make a comeback, so tonight there will be a lot of cash flowing!”

“Wow!”

You cleared up your throat and walked up to the two young women on the nearby table whose conversation you had been partially involuntarily listening to for the last minute. Despite your attention only shifting to them much later, you got the gist of the entire story.

It was about illegal street racing, you had read an article about it a few months ago in which the alias Falcon had also been mentioned along with another animal that you had forgotten.

The Falcon was only stuck in your mind, because there had been an accident caused by him, and ever since then, the police were paying even more attention to these kinds of illegal activities. The fact that there would be a race tonight must be a well hidden secret.

“Excuse me, I overheard you’re also going to watch the race?” you feigned knowledge and quickly made up a story that would get them to talk. “Can you tell me where exactly they’ll start? I was going to meet my friend here who’s got all the info, but she’s not arrived yet and I’m afraid I’m gonna be late.”

They looked at you in wonder, then in amazement. One of them, apparently the better informed one, then nodded eagerly before describing the exact spot to you. “I guess it’s going to be quite full since it’s the first one with Falcon since the… incident. So everyone wants to see him. They’ll start at the industrial park at midnight.”

You nodded. “Thank you. Maybe we’ll see each other there.” You waited a bit until they had left the restaurant and then pondered whether to join or not.

There had already been many articles written about the Falcon and street racing in common, but since the most controversial racer would make a comeback, this race would be a special one, perhaps even kept secret to a point where no other media outlet knew about it. There was a slim chance that you were going to be the only reporter, so regardless of your current struggles, you had to take this opportunity.

Yes, an article about the Falcon’s comeback was good, but that was by far not enough for the story of your lifetime. It was better than nothing though, a beginning. And who knew what could come out of it.

As a journalist, you had learned that you were better off going and had something expected to write about rather than not going and missing on unexpected happenings.

So you headed to the industrial park.

____

When you arrived at the destination, you spotted a crowd that had formed in a wide, clear space between two buildings. There were about fifty spectators that had gathered, divided into different groups of various sizes, lights coming from the street lamps all around the place.

Through the gaps between the cliques that all seemed too engaged with each other to notice how lost you were, you discovered a group of men that marked themselves off everyone else.

It wasn’t particularly the way they were dressed as they all wore black leather, but rather the presence they radiated. But you couldn’t deny the fact that all of them were equally overly handsome, just in a way you wouldn’t be drawn to. You weren’t intimidated, you were scared to the bones, and you immediately wanted to turn on your heels and run right back home.

You weren’t much informed about the topic of illegal street racing aside from the few articles you had read. You only knew that it was one of the most dangerous underground activities that had cost a few lives already, of drivers and passerbyers almost equally. It was macabre that articles like these gained the most attention, clicks and sales.

Although you weren’t quite passionate about this kind of topic let alone approved of it, it was the best that you could come up with for now. You wanted to prove to your editor-in-chief that you were willing to take risks, willing to leave your comfort zone for the job - even if this wasn’t going to be the final story.

But now that you were right in the middle of this happening, you were getting cold feet. This wasn’t right. If you were caught as a spectator, would the police detain you too? And would your boss truly bail you out?

“Place your bet!”

You flinched when a young man popped up right next to you with a tablet in his hand, looking at you with expectant eyes.

“Pardon?”

“Place your bet!” he repeated. “Falcon against Antelope.”

“Oh, I only came to watch,” you waved aside. “But thank you!”

“You’re here for the first time, am I right?” The guy’s eyes narrowed. “Place. Your. Bet. This is how we’re financing this all. No money, no races.”

This wasn’t a question anymore, this was a demand, and you figured that if you were going to remain undercover, you had to play along and pretend to be like everyone else, even though you didn’t know the rules to this game. The guy was scanning you from head to toe, and it took you everything to restrain yourself from shaking when you took the tablet into your hands.

You had changed your mind entirely by now. You just wanted to be out of here as fast as possible, no matter what the editor-in-chief might say about this lost opportunity. It just wasn’t worth all this stress and fear. After all, you were quite attached to your life and a clear criminal report. It wasn’t that bad to be a goody two-shoes.

Still, you had to place a bet before you could vanish so that the guy would stop bothering you, so you scanned the display laying in your palms.

There were two columns, one belonged to the Falcon, the other to the Antelope. Each column was divided into different cells with the name and the amount of money one betted. No one had placed a single bet on the Falcon.

What was there to lose when the money would be gone from you one way or another since you were going to leave right after this anyway? You wouldn’t win a single penny.

So you placed a fake name and 70.000 Won for the Falcon, which was ironically the lowest bid for the Antelope. You noticed that most of the other people had betted much more, making you wonder about the total amount the winner could collect. But 70.000 Won was already very much for you, so you stuck with that.

“The Falcon, huh?” The guy grinned. “Risky, but I like the way you think. We only accept cash. Today it’s 20 million won so far for the winner, and ten percent of it gets split between the right betters depending on their bets. Maybe you’re lucky tonight and win ten percent of the entire amount yourself.”

You were holding yourself back letting out an audible gasp as it truly sounded tempting, and instead reached into your bag and pulled out your purse. 70.000 Won was a small price for your life, and you couldn’t wait to finally leave and never turn back. How high were the chances the Falcon was going to win anyway when nobody believed he would?

The guy grinned when he collected your money. “Interesting. It’s going to be an interesting race today. Good luck!”

He then went on to bother someone else all while you checked your surroundings for a hidden, but secure exit. Since you had used a fake name and only one person had seen your real face up close, it would be easy getting away unnoticed.

And you did.

Sliding along the buildings with your back pressed into the outer walls, nobody paid attention to you since the race was about to begin and a turmoil broke out shortly after your bet. You had been weighing yourself in safety, currently hiding in a blind, dark spot in the entrance of a different building with the street to freedom in sight when you suddenly heard male voices speaking up.

“Ready, Jaehyun?”

“More than you are.”

You froze on the spot when you saw several tall figures coming in your direction, their bodies illuminated by the street lamps, and you recognized the intimidating men dressed all in black leather who had been right in the middle of the crowd shortly before.

You couldn’t go back or forth, because either side was illuminated and would set the spotlight right on you, and flight forward would mean running directly into their arms. You could only push the door to the building behind you open and…

You found yourself standing in some kind of huge factory hall where only two cars were parked, the rest was entirely empty. Who in their right mind would rent a whole factory building for only two cars? Yes, they were expensive sports cars from what you could tell, the kind of ones that would catch everyone’s attention on the streets because of how luxurious and tuned they were… but an entire hall?

You were still processing and connecting all of this new information when the same door through which you had entered got pushed open again, and in walked all men that you had run from shortly before.

Your heart suddenly lept, and you feared that this was what a heart attack might feel like, yet you were very much still alive as you were able to desperately look for a spot to hide again while they hadn’t discovered your presence yet, but lingered by the entrance with the focus on two of them talking.

Out of reflex, as one of them turned into your direction, you fell to your knees and hid behind one of the cars - the matte black one -, suppressing a gasp the moment this exact car unlocked with a sound and flash from afar.

“I’m not afraid of you. I pity you.”

You needed a new spot to remain hidden with footsteps approaching this vehicle. Right now.

“And why would that be, Jaehyun?”

You had to think of something safe, but there was barely time anymore.

“Because you’re going to lose the race today.”

No way in hell.

There was no way in hell these were the racing cars! But of course, now everything made sense as to why those cars were being kept here, you just had been in too much of a panic to have connected the dots.

How you found yourself inside that matte, black car at this moment of realization, you couldn’t tell. Just like you couldn’t tell how you could have hoped to get out of this situation unnoticed all while hiding in a crouching position in the backseat with the only way to escape being visibly passing by these men.

If only you had stayed behind the car or under the car if you were to be discovered anyway, you could have somehow talked yourself out of this situation. But how were you going to explain you had actually sneaked into a racing vehicle? Out of all the dumb things you had ever done, this made it to the top of your list.

You flinched and threw yourself down into the small legroom between the driver’s seat and backseat, when you heard the door in front of you open and a figure seated himself behind the steering wheel.

No way this was your situation now!

Everything was better than ending up inside one of these cars, hearing it start and rolling out of the hall.

This… this situation couldn’t be real.

If you just stayed crouched in the legroom, not giving away a single tone or making a single move, maybe you still had a chance to survive this ride unnoticed. How you would handle this situation when you returned and had to reveal yourself if you didn’t want to be locked inside that car until you died of thirst… that was something you didn’t want to think about yet.

After a few feet, the car came to a stop in the clearing among the spectators, and you made yourself even smaller in case someone might want to get a look inside. By the way the crowd cheered and rejoiced, you hoped that the racer was the Antelope for god knows which reason. They were both racers with the intention to win by all means.

The noise got louder, went from muffled to clear, and you realized the driver had pulled down the window.

“Everything ready?” A male voice.

“I’m ready,” was the driver’s dry answer, a deep voice with a calming, soft undertone.

The engine was raving up, and you were tucked between the passenger’s seat and the backseat in a hole that was too tight, but because of that it was also the safest spot for the ride as there was no room to move anyway. Turning your head against the window at the opposite of you, you only saw light that flooded in and nothing else.

Dear god, you found yourself praying for the first time in your life, please let me live.

“Jaehyun, do you hear me?”

You flinched when you heard another voice.

“Clear and loud.”

“Only ten seconds left.”

“Okay.”

Was he communicating through a two-way radio with someone? You hadn’t expected this race to be so well-planned and coordinated. Was it always like this? This was an interesting and not widely known point. You only hoped your memory would keep all this information saved as you for sure wouldn’t be able to take out your notebook and write everything down now.

This was the journalist inside you taking the upper hand again. If you were already in this situation, you were going to write the hell out of it. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity you would never get again, the exact situation your editor-in-chief had talked about.

This was going to be your headline story. You only hoped what he had promised was true and your company would really bail you out if it came down to this. Or pay for hospital bills. There was no way you would be able to leave unscathed, physically and emotionally.

“Three!” the crowd yelled that you could also hear in the car as though you were standing among them.

“Two!” Your fingers gripped onto leather and something metallic, you couldn’t really tell.

“One!” You closed your eyes.

“GO!”

How equally unlucky and lucky you were to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Or right place at the right time, it depended.

____

You were absolutely not safe in your hiding spot as expected. You got tossed and flung into every direction possible, and if it weren’t for the narrow space in which you had tucked yourself in, you believed that you would have been hurled into the seat right next to the driver already.

But you were gripping hard onto the cushions like your life depended on it just to prevent this from happening as the car sped through the streets and took every curve with such a sharp edge, you were amazed the vehicle didn’t drive on one side only by then. In your location, you weren’t quite able to catch the car’s speed, but only guessed by the street lights flashing by in less than a single second, which was, in your non-existent experience, quite much.

While the driver was talking to the person at the other end of the radio who was giving him directions and tips, navigating him away from police controls and crowded locations, you started to feel a bit braver with no more sharp curve having come in miles anymore. Most likely, you were on the highway now.

So you slowly arose and got on your knees. Curiosity eventually had gotten the better of you, and you wondered what the world outside looked like. In the end, no matter how you would come out of this, you had to make sure it must have been all worth it.

You had to come to the conclusion that if you moved a bit higher to look out of the window, he might spot your head from his position if he looked in the rear window. With a muted curse, you crouched back down, but instantly got hit by another idea. Dragging the phone out of your handbag was quite an act when you barely couldn’t move, but once you had managed to do so, you inwardly hyped yourself up.

You turned on the camera and pressed the record button, then imperceptibly motioned the phone over your head and let the upper part peek out of your lair with the camera facing out of the window. If he would look, then he would barely see anything, probably mistake the black edge of your phone for a shadow or a part of the car’s interior.

When suddenly a ringing tone broke through the silence inside the car though, you nearly let your device fall with a gasp. You thought you had the ringtone silenced for the entire day already, how was it possible?!

“Hello,” the driver suddenly greeted, and only then it took a load off your mind. It wasn’t your phone that had rung.

“Jaehyun, when will you come home?” The female voice sounded playful, childish. A kid? Perhaps a teenager even?

“Why are you still awake?” The driver named Jaehyun chided with feigned sternness, of whom you still didn’t know what he looked like and whether he was the Falcon or the Antelope. “It’s past midnight and you have school tomorrow.”

“I was waiting for you to come home.”

“But I won’t be home for another hour. It’s going to be late tonight.” The driver sighed, and he sounded very regretful. “I’m sorry.”

“Jaehyun, are you currently racing?”

Silence followed, and suddenly, you felt like you were going to overhear something no one else was supposed to eavesdrop. Like an intruder - which you technically and obviously were since this was obviously a conversation between two family members.

The driver repeated, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I won’t tell mom. I’ll tell her you’re studying in the library again.”

A yawn followed on the other side, and suddenly, you heard the driver snicker. Somehow, it didn’t fit his attitude that you had gotten a glimpse at earlier. Even his responses to the person at the other side of the radio had always been short and curt. But to this young person, he was entirely different.

“I will wait for you. Mom said I shouldn’t, but I cannot sleep if I don’t know you’re home.”

“I’ll come home safe.”

“Promise?”

“Promise, sis. I will always come home safe.”

Your arm that was holding the phone quietly slipped back into your lap, and you stayed silent for a very long time after they had hung up. This was so wrong. You had signed up for an adventure, not to listen to an intimate conversation between siblings that somehow also warmed your heart.

If you had learned anything from it, then it was that the driver was indeed a kind person deep within. It didn’t matter what he did, for what he did it and who he was in the end, Antelope or Falcon. They were people with stories, and if you were the journalist you claimed to be, you needed to look at both sides of the coin and bring out everyone’s own perception.

Wasn’t this what your editor-in-chief wanted? A headline that didn’t go “Illegal street racer makes a comeback! We are the first ones to interview him” but rather “He risked it all for his little sister, and now he’s back - read here about the tragic backstory of one of Seoul’s most dangerous men!” or something along these lines.

After you had gathered yourself again, you looked at your phone while the roads started to turn bumpier now. You assumed you had reached the outskirts and were hopefully on the way back to where it had all started. Gosh, you prayed for that, even though you hadn’t come up with a plan to explain your situation at all yet.

The video on your phone showed you exactly what you had expected to see: nothing but a blur of whites and black. Great. It was useless. But what had you even expected?

“We have a problem.”

You perked up your ears as you heard the other familiar voice through the radio.

“What is it?” the driver grumbled. “Not long and we’ll…” He paused, and even with the missing eye contact, you sensed how the mood had suddenly shifted. “I haven’t seen him in a while…”

“Exactly. There is an undercover police car underway, the informants have just told us, and it’ll stop right where you have to pass through. The Antelope apparently knew about this and already took another route.”

Antelope?! You knew you didn’t want to judge, but out of all possibilities which was 50/50, of course you would have ended up in the Falcon’s aka Jaehyun’s car, the very same person you had mindlessly betted on. What were the odds?

The Falcon snorted. “Now, will you tell me he didn’t set this up himself?”

“No accusations now. Let’s think about what’s best to do. We’re currently in Gangdong-Gu, you somehow have to leave the highway.”

“There is no possibility,” he growled back. “It’s a suburb, there is no way I can pass through it on time and unnoticed for me to win the race.”

“I’ll navigate you the best I can.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. The streets are so short and narrow, it will take too long and is too complicated.”

“You can’t get caught by the police, Jaehyun. And they’re almost right in front of you. It’s better to-”

“Don’t!” he cut the person on the other end off. “I won’t give up. Not this time again. I need this win and money, you know that. It’s my comeback and reputation that I have to restore.”

“But what your family needs is you, more than money or your reputation.”

Silence. Your front teeth sank deep into your bottom lip as you were quarreling with yourself in silence. You knew what was right and what was wrong, what was legal and what was illegal, and what you were currently doing with the driver was far from being within the law as a matter of fact.

But his little sister wanted him to come home so that she could go to sleep…

“HEY!” you screamed and suddenly appeared from behind his driver’s seat.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

The car swerved to the left, hurling you out of your lair and right into the edge of the backseat with a dull pain that shot from your stomach right into every limb. You gasped for air.

“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU AND HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE?” Despite you still not being able to face him, you got a glimpse of his face when you looked at it through the rear window. Clear anger and also shock was written all over it. You couldn’t blame him. “ANSWER TO ME NOW!”

“Don’t… have time,” you breathed and rubbed your back, getting on your knees and slowly rising from your position. “Gangdong-Gu… that’s where I grew up. I know this place inside out. I’ll navigate you.”

“Jaehyun, who is that with you in your car? That’s a rule violation!”

“I don’t fucking know who this is!” he yelled again, but not as loud as before, and before he could react to your actions, you had already crawled over the expensive interior and settled yourself in the passenger’s seat. “Who are you?!”

With a click, you fastened the seatbelt and looked out of the window. You knew exactly where you were now. “Take the second exit from here. We will pass by within the next two minutes. You will have to drive through a part of the neighborhood to change highways, but you’ll be fine at this hour. Once you have changed motorways, you’ll even reach the destination quicker. Is that a rule violation too? Taking a shortcut through the suburbs?”

You tilted your head and met his flabbergasted expression as he was staring at you with equal intensity where also curiosity was mirrored. “Uhm… usually we avoid that to not accidentally hurt any passerbyers. But…”

“It’s not a violation of the rules,” the person on the radio jumped in quickly. “It’s just unethical and something we would not like to risk.”

“Okay, thanks radio-guy.”

“Welcome, uhm… intruder-lady?”

“I did not intrude!”

“Well, how the fuck would you call this?” the Falcon interrupted.

“I don’t have time to explain now.” Your arm shot up and you pointed at a sign. “Take this exit! Right now!”

From the corner of your eyes, you clearly saw him struggling whether to trust you or not. Fair enough. You were a stranger that had hidden in his car and were now only popping up when it was about winning or losing. If anything, you could have been smuggled in by the Antelope’s team as well. No wonder he was doubting whether he could trust you.

“Screw it.”

You got thrown to the left when he suddenly swerved and left the highway according to your instruction. With your right hand, you grabbed the handle under the window for stability, once again questioning all your life choices. But you had thought long and clear about this. Having decided on helping him would result in the best outcome for your situation.

“Three rules,” he suddenly said when he drove into the neighborhood.

You shook off all your fears, speaking confidently, “I’m listening.”

“First. No word to anyone about what’s happening and what you’re doing right now. Nobody can know you’re in here.”

Why did he sound so intimidating? “Got it.”

“Second, you will lead me through this neighborhood without any incidents. Slow, steady and clear, you’ll be the navigator, the guy at the other side helps you from afar. One wrong turn, one accident or even the danger of one, and one late instruction, and I’ll kick you out of the car right there and then.”

No pressure, no pressure at all, you thought ironically to yourself. “Got it.”

“And third,” a voice on the radio chirped, “Don’t forget to have fun!”

“Shut up, Taeyong.”

“Third,” the Falcon repeated, “when we’re back at the venue, you’ll stay hidden inside here until someone comes and gets you.”

What would happen after, you didn’t dare to ask. Surely, they wouldn’t get rid of you… right? Either way, your fate had been sealed the moment you decided to come watch the race, so you gulped silently and gave a final nod.

The car came to a halt in front of a very familiar street. Everything was dark, empty and quiet. You took a deep breather and the Falcon’s head snapped in your direction. When you faced each other the next moment, you took a spare second to study his face.

If he weren’t in a racing car, you could imagine him very well sitting in a café, sipping coffee and typing something into his laptop, maybe even wearing glasses and ordinary street clothes, possibly even joggers.

He was just a normal dude under all these leather clothes that made him appear very tough, emphasized by this constant scowl on his face that was - admittedly - very handsome. After years in your field of expertise, you could read people very well and only seldomly were you wrong.

“Ready?” he asked, not breaking eye contact.

Neither did you. “Ready.”

The adrenaline flushed through your veins the moment he hit the gas pedal.

____

“Didn’t you sleep much last night?” your co-worker asked when you yawned for the nth time that morning.

What were you supposed to answer?

“I only got home at 4am last night, because I was street racing?”

So instead, you said, “I just couldn’t fall asleep, don’t worry.”

Nobody would believe you. And yet, these were the stories that everyone sought after. But only one ride was not resourceful enough and didn't contain enough substance for a decent plot. You needed the people behind it, the backgrounds and the experiences.

But after you had gotten out of the car, these people have made it very clear to you that you shouldn’t appear in a race ever again, not even as a spectator, and that your lips needed to be sealed for eternity. The fact that they had let you go without any consequences was only out of mercy because you had contributed to the victory - with a violation of rules though.

You had learned pretty quickly though that most of the time, they ignored these rules as long as nobody got hurt as physical incidents that included innocents were the highest breach of violation - just like the Antelope who had apparently cheated like the Falcon had assumed. But since nobody got proof, there hadn’t been more consequences than a few verbal attacks. As long as nobody had seen you inside the car and could prove it somehow, you were fine.

The only person that had thanked and had been nice to you was the Falcon’s navigator, Taeyong. He had even looked very sorry for what you had been through when he had opened the door to the car and you stepped out of the hideout between the backseat and passenger’s seat with shaking legs.

The Falcon hadn’t even looked at you twice when you walked out of the building - with all the money. Yes, surprisingly, they had still given you ten percent of the prize money. It was all rightfully yours since you had been the only one betting on the Falcon. Your bet had been officially registered and you had won, so it was fair and according to the rules that you would get what you earned, Taeyong had explained.

Deep down, you sensed that he only didn’t want to admit they wouldn’t have won without you, and this was them paying off their debt. After all, you hadn’t given out your real name, so they could have just said the betting person vanished. But you didn’t push the topic and saw it as hush money that you luckily needed anyway, and accepted it. Racers had a very high sense of ethics, you had learned by now. A thank you from the Falcon wouldn’t have hurt though. But instead, he had said you should never appear in front of his eyes ever again. What a rude man.

“Okay,” your co-worker said, “shall we go through the index for the next issue and compare the page numbers? Two pairs of eyes work better than just one.”

“Sure! Let me get the notes about what the editor-in-chief said. There were some important points he mentioned that had changed…”

You reached into your handbag to look for your notebook when at that moment, the telephone on your desk rang and showed the lobby’s shortcut number.

“There is someone waiting here for you, miss.”

“Alright, I’ll come downstairs.”

You wondered whether you had actually missed a meeting or an interview that you had set up for a story, but nothing actually came into your mind when you took the elevator and rode downstairs to the lobby.

At the front desk, you asked the lady where your visitor was waiting since you hadn’t spotted a familiar face as you passed by the waiting area. When she pointed at a figure sitting on the couch, slumped on the cushion, you needed to blink twice to match the face with your memories.

“You?!” you then called out when you stood in front of the young man.

He wore a snapback, glasses, joggers and a loose long sleeve. Between his lips, he carried a white stick, and you already wanted to call him out that smoking was not allowed in here when you realized that the stick was too thin to be a cigarette. It turned out to actually be a lollipop. When your gaze fell to his feet, you were able to count every single naked toe as he wore slippers. You were right. He normally didn’t look like this nighttime-self at all. During the daytime, he was just a normal guy who appeared to have just gotten out of bed.

When the Falcon arose from his seat, he didn’t even greet you. Instead, he took the lollipop out of his mouth, round and red, and just thrusted a notebook into your hands. Your notebook - the one you had wanted to fetch from your handbag earlier and which you needed for the meeting with your editor-in-chief later. You had been so sure that it was in your handbag this entire time!

“This was still in the backseat of my car. Take better care of your belongings. And don’t put your business cards everywhere. It’s not everyone’s business where you work or what your contact information is.” He then shrugged, made the lollipop disappear between his lips again and turned aside to walk past you, but you held him back by his arm.

“Wait!”

Slowly, he shifted his head back to you and asked lazily, but clearly despite the sweet in his mouth, “What is it now?”

He shook your grip off, but you just bluntly asked the question that had been on your mind this entire morning, “Let me ride with you one more time, please?”

He drew his brows together as if you had just asked the dumbest thing a woman your age could ask a man. And apparently, judging by his answer, you had done exactly that.

“Are you nuts?”

“You see, I’m a journa-”

“You people really think you’re superior,” he scowled, and you were taken aback. “Making money off of people’s personal stories, aren’t you guys embarrassed? I shouldn’t have returned your notebook at all. You’re all just selfish bastards.”

With a lowly look at you, the Falcon put more distance between you two, and although you were frozen on the spot and dumbfounded at first, you didn’t want to let him leave like this. Clearly, he had a prejudice about you journalists that you had to resolve.

“I’m not one of those journalists that make money off other people!” you told him when you had caught up with him, but by then you were already outside on the streets. “I tell real, verified stories, and only what people allow me to write! Only the truth!” He didn’t reply, but just continued walking, and you decided to follow him. “I’ve never lied or done anything without consent to write my stories. And that is what my editor-in-chief is always criticizing since this apparently holds me back from getting a promotion. In his eyes, I’m a goody two-shoes who doesn’t take any risks. But the truth is… I can’t do that, I’m fine that way! I want to tell the stories with people, I don’t want to tell stories against people! And I think you guys’ story is one very worth telling!”

Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks and you nearly ran into him from behind. One a few inches separated you from each other when he turned around to you and dropped his head to lock gazes with you. “I don’t think what happened yesterday with you breaking into my car was something a goody two-shoes would actually do, but a ruthless journalist.”

You let out a desperate cry. “I told you over and over again, I just wanted to watch the race, then changed my mind and wanted to go home when you guys appeared, and then I panicked! That wasn’t planned, and regarding how close I was to dying, I would choose to not do that again. Which is why I’m asking you formally for permission.”

The Falcon remained silent and inwardly, you raised your hopes up. If you could tell a great story in cooperation with him under an alias and his other friends, that would definitely secure your promotion.

“No.”

Then, he continued his way.

“But why?” You quickly caught up to him again. “I wouldn’t tell you guys’ real names and only write what you want to have written.”

“I don’t have a story to tell except that we like racing.”

“But there must already be a story to that, right?” you tried again, keeping up with his steps this time. “Why did you start? How did you start? How did you learn all this, how do you feel when you’re in the car, how does this whole teamwork function, do your other friends and family know and what do they think about it… I have so many questions!”

“No word about my family,” he interrupted you, the candy now in his hand to speak more insistently, and it didn’t sound like a warning at this point, it sounded more like a threat. “Whatever you heard in the car, you better forget about it.”

A soft spot - you had already discovered that. It was none of your business if he didn’t want to let you in as a stranger, but you also couldn’t stop wondering. “I already got that memo yesterday. But-”

Again, he cut you off. “Great. And if I still catch you publishing an article on what happened yesterday or what you eavesdropped… well, I know where you work and live thanks to your negligence. Goodbye.”

He put the lollipop back into his mouth and disappeared in the crowd. You were tired of chasing after him again, and truth to be told, you could understand his point. Taking a deep breath in, you settled with the fact that you had to change your topic, the promotion gone from your sight again.

Of course you could have written the article without any additional info or the reveal that you were in the car yourself, but then it would only be that, an article. But you wanted a story.

_____

You were scrolling through the internet, looking for new jobs.

You figured that if you were to stick with your old position, you could as well try your luck somewhere else. Perhaps, there were open positions on the same level as your missed promotion for which you could prove that you were qualified or that didn’t require you to do illegal and unethical things.

There were only two days left until you had to hand in your proposal for the story that would cover the next issue, and you still hadn’t come up with something else.

By now, you could also pack your things and leave the city since living in the countryside didn’t sound so bad after all. Sitting by the window all day, watching nature? A dream. But you had chosen to return and to stay in the capital on purpose, a quiet, secluded life didn’t suit your current ideals. You were a writer after all, always seeking for new stories to tell, and you believed Seoul told endless ones.

The ringing doorbell had you spin around on your chair. Your room was small, but it offered enough space for all necessities that only one person needed, which was why you rarely had visitors. And as far as you remembered, you hadn’t invited anyone over.

“Who is there?” you asked carefully as you approached the door.

“It’s me.”

You furrowed. “Who?”

“Me.” Pause. “Jaehyun.”

The Falcon. Lollipop-dude. What could he possibly want after your last argument?

You opened the door, and there he stood in front of you, hair slicked back and donned all in black leather - a stark contrast to a few days ago, safe from the lollipop spinning in his mouth.

He peeked through the halfway opened door. “It’s tiny in here.”

You snapped, “Well, nobody asked you to come.”

“Can I come in anyway? We need to talk.”

“I didn’t write anything!”

He rolled his eyes as you opened the door. “I know, that’s not why I came here.”

You closed the entrance door behind you and watched him standing in your room, a bit too big for your furniture, and also a bit lost in this environment. You struggled biting down a snicker, because this picture was just so surreal.

“What is it?” he grumbled.

You folded your arms in front of your chest and shrugged. “Nothing. So tell me, what do you want from me that even made you come to my home?”

The Falcon turned around to your desk and stretched out his arm, taking something into his hand that must be your notebook he had returned to you. Holding it up, he showed it to you with his back still facing you and asked, “You still want to write this story of yours?”

Perplexed, you could only nod, but as you realized he couldn’t witness your confirmation, you quickly agreed vocally, “Yes! Yes, of course!”

“Three rules,” he then started before slowly shifting back into your sight, the lollipop still in his mouth, and you noted that everything for him came with terms and conditions. How exhausting, three rules again. “You won’t use anyone’s real names. You will only write what I allow you to write. You won’t mention my family or my background. I am allowed to read the entire thing before you publish it.”

“Those are four rules tho,” you remarked, and his eyes narrowed.

The lollipop stopped spinning in his mouth. “I’m outta here.”

“I agree, I agree!” you corrected yourself. “I agree with all the rules!”

“Fine.” He handed you over your notebook. “Now get dressed, we’re going racing. I hope you have black clothes and a leather jacket, because this…” He pointed at your light pink pajamas in which you had changed into as soon as you came home, “is not it.”

Your eyes widened. “Now?”

“Now,” he repeated.

You hesitated.

“Your last chance,” he pushed.

“I’ll get changed.”

____

“I thought I was going to be in the car.”

“Didn’t Jaehyun tell you?” Taeyong asked with a cocked brow.

“Tell me what?”

“That guy…” He touched his forehead and pointed at the seat next to him, urging you to sit down in front of the three monitors standing on the desk. “We need you to navigate.”

“Navigate what?”

“What did you two talk about on your ride here?”

You heaved up your shoulders and let them down again. “Actually nothing.”

The ride in the Falcon’s car to this suburb had been quiet with him focusing on driving and you concentrating on what you could make this story revolve around. No, you had barely talked and had each lived in their own mind.

“You’re going to navigate the race. Basically be his co-driver, but from here, not from inside the car like last time,” Taeyong explained thoughtfully with a smile. “Basically, you’ll do my job, I’ll only be your co-navigator and the team’s manager fully again.”

“Navigator? Eh? I thought I was only going to stay here, writing. Maybe even get the chance to be inside the car again, but since it’s against the official rules, I didn’t even think of that.”

“Wait, he really didn’t tell you anything?” You were both equally confused.

“So I’m not just… observing?”

“Absolutely not.” Taeyong determinedly shook his head. “To be part of the team means to contribute something, and for you to write this story about us, you will also have to do your part. Actually, no outsider is allowed to be with the team during the race, because the risk of cheating and manipulation is too high, so this was the only option. Jaehyun has already fallen out of grace, we cannot allow something negative to be associated with him again when his reputation is just getting repaired.”

You wanted to know why the Falcon had fallen out of grace in the first place, but you came to the conclusion that it was not your time to ask just yet.

“And why me then? Aren’t you guys enough?” You tried to conceal your rising panic. “I can just sit here and write if I’m not allowed inside the car. Maybe do some cleaning of the vehicle before you start or do some promotion work. Something I can actually do. Nobody will notice I don’t have a fixed role in the team. Besides, I don’t even know how to navigate.”

Taeyong tilted his head, his smile growing wider. “But you’ve done an exceptionally good job last time. It doesn’t matter who navigates, the person just has to be good.”

You felt your cheeks getting warm by this compliment. “I barely did anything…”

“And yet, it was enough for him to win after such a long time and have people start betting on him again. He really needs the money, so you better help him win as many races as possible in return for getting a good story.”

Why did it sound like a threat despite his sweet smile?

You sighed. “What do I have to do?”

“Take this.”

Taeyong handed you a headset and instructed you to wear it which would connect your voice to the radio in Jaehyun’s car. Through the first monitor, you had the dashcam’s point of view, which gave you the feeling of being directly in the passenger’s seat, that was not bad. The second monitor showed the car’s location in the city with all streets and buildings through a GPS while the third showed another map but with different red dots spread across the screen.

“Those are police stations and control points.” Taeyong let the tip of his index finger glide over the screen. “... of the ones we know. Spotting cars following Jaehyun as well as unplanned control points popping up will be another challenge. And these devices are police scanners. As you can guess from the name alone…”

At first, you had been excited, but as you got everything explained and shown, it dawned on you how close the driver and the navigator actually had to work, and that the driver had to trust the navigator literally with his life. You didn’t feel very comfortable with that much responsibility weighing on your shoulders. What if something went wrong and he got caught by the police? Would you land in jail then too?

“Today, it’s going to be a cannonball run with two others, meaning Jaehyun will start here, but finish at the other side of the city where most of the spectators are waiting. That’s why there is barely anyone here right now. Of course they want to see the winner. As opposed to last time’s run, this is about time rather than bringing as much distance between the cars as possible. And you know how much the sum is that you can win?” Taeyong’s sweet smile got replaced by a wicked grin. “40 million won.”

“I can’t do this, I’m sorry!”

You jumped out of your seat and ran towards the door, opening it up. The starting point was somewhere in the suburbs where you had never been before, but you didn’t care as you pulled out your phone once you inhaled fresh air that filled your heated lungs, ready to call a taxi.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

A huge figure blocked your way, and it only took you one look to first smell his lollipop, then recognize him. Damn, did he ever finish that sweet or did he have an entire stash in his pockets?

“I’m going home!”

“And why would you do that?”

“Because you lied to me! I can’t do this!”

Instead of talking you out of it, the Falcon raised his brows, then laughed, revealing his teeth between the red lollipop. “I knew it. Once a chickenshit, always a chickenshit.”

“A what?!” Your mouth stood agape, wondering whether you had heard right. “How can you say that?”

“I’m only speaking the truth. The first time, you also wanted to escape had it not been for us coming in your direction and forcing you to get into the car, right?”

You faltered. “Hm… okay, yes… but…”

He tilted his head and shrugged. “You dream about big stories, but this is what they will always stay for you: a dream. And you know why?” The Falcon leaned in, and you felt the sudden urge to withdraw, but you were completely petrified. “Because you don’t have the courage and the will to actually make your dreams come true. You're a big talker, a dreamer to put it nicely, but you’re not a doer, someone who gets shit done. I, in comparison, get shit done. And this is why I'm doing what I’m doing and you’re only watching from the sidelines, not being able to type down this story of yours like the goody two-shoes you are. Ever thought about the fact that you won’t get this promotion because you don’t deserve it?”

You weren’t aware that you had been holding your breath the entire time. Only when he approached you further and whispered in your ear, “Now go home, we don’t need someone like you here, we can do it without you”, you were able to exhale again, blood irregularly pumping through your veins while you clenched your fists.

With a fierce gaze thrown at him, you spun around on your heel, opened the door to the hall and yelled, “Taeyong, give me the headset and tell me what to do. For this round, I feel more comfortable with you next to me.” You threw one last look behind you at Jaehyun before you continued, “And next time, I’ll do it all myself.”

The door fell shut behind you, but you could have sworn that you saw the Falcon smiling.

This time though, genuinely. And perhaps partly relieved.

____

You were still shaking when you found yourself sitting in the Falcon’s car again, heading home in the middle of the night after your first race as a co-navigator. The other team members had brought you to the finish line in their car with them to celebrate, but there was not much reason for you to do so as of now. The shock was still sitting deeply with you.

“Everything okay?” the Falcon asked, but it still sounded like coming from another planet as your ears were ringing. “What are you even upset about? We won.”

“What I’m upset about?” you called out. “There could have been so many instances that could have gone totally wrong!”

“But nothing went wrong. Why are you always such a scaredy cat?” You didn’t look at him but straight out of the window. His eye roll was very visible in front of you though. “Just calm down, it’s irritating me.”

“I know everything ended well, but just imagine if a police car had suddenly pulled up. Or if someone had crossed the streets. Inside the car, it was exciting, but as an official navigator, you have so much responsibility…”

“Just enjoy the victory and the amount of money we’re going to share with you. Isn’t that what you wanted?” He murmured something about goody two-shoes again, but by now you were good at ignoring that. “Geez, did you ever have one single day in your life that you could freely enjoy without having a stick so far up your ass? Your poor boyfriend.”

It was the most nonchalant way in which you had ever witnessed the Falcon talk, even though he had mostly said nonsense.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Yeah, I wonder why.”

You gasped. “Excu-”

The next moment, you tasted something sweet on your tongue. “Close your mouth and suck.”

Instinctively, you did as you had been told as you didn’t know how else to react. The Falcon kept driving the car through the city with his eyes fixated on the road in front of him as though he hadn’t just pulled the lollipop out of his mouth and nearly shoved it straight down your throat.

“Sugar helps me calm down and the motions I need to make distract me from unwanted thoughts,” he admitted, and his voice suddenly sounded so vulnerable that you didn’t dare to respond. “I think you need that now too.”

You slumped back into your seat, suddenly very quiet. You tried not to think much about the fact that his saliva was now in your mouth too, and that you didn’t feel repulsed at the thought at all. He had been right after all. Your hands were not shaking anymore.

“The fact that I participate in those races is because I need the money,” he continued and you somehow sensed that he was currently glad that you weren’t able to look him straight in the face in case you caught his true emotions mirrored there. “And I wanted you to be my navigator, because you had done a very good job the first time around. During the races, you appear to be panicked and disheveled, but you are actually calm and collected, always knowing what you’re doing and never doubting yourself. From the first moment on, I saw much potential in you, and I needed someone like that to strengthen my team.”

“... to win the races,” you finished what he probably thought to himself in silence.

“Exactly.”

“So to you, it’s all about winning?” Your mouth tasted sweet with each syllable, and only now you recognized which flavor that was: cherry. “You wanted me in your team, because you assumed I could contribute to your series of wins?”

“That’s my only life goal. Winning as many games as possible for the money.”

You didn’t know why his answer bothered you. Weren’t you also only on board because you needed to write about this experience to ensure you climb the ladder of success which would eventually also result in money and fame? You weren’t much different from each other. He probably was only a bit more reckless in money making than you.

“I understand,” you agreed when it eventually clicked. He was trying to fool you again, so you corrected yourself, “No, I don’t understand. The way you spoke to your sister… it’s not only about money for you.”

The Falcon scoffed. “Why do you feel the need to peg me as some kind of deep character? Because I don’t fit the narrative of your story?”

This stung. Most likely because he was right. People wanted to read about deep characters, if not about a hero, then about an antagonist who told them how he had become an antagonist. But nobody wanted to read about a greedy, selfish person.

“So the main character of my story is only after money,” you concluded dryly.

“Yes, this is something you can mention in your story. The person you write about is a selfish jerk who only thinks about money.” He let out a laugh, but it rather sounded rather bitter than genuine. “I know it’s not that very deep of a story, but never told you that what you would get was interesting.”

The lollipop clicked against your teeth as you replied, “No worries. I’m a professional.”

He wanted to make himself fit his very own narrative, and you needed him to fit your own narrative. Right now, there was no character to your story.

At home, despite the ungodly hour and your clash of interests, you typed down a summary of your story and handed it in the very next day, even before the deadline. This would be your story, one way or another. You were going to make the best out of it, with the Falcon’s cooperation or without.

____

“He is very popular,” you remarked.

“Oh, he sure is.” Taeyong thrusted a drink into your hand. “He just doesn’t like this attention at all.”

You watched the Falcon getting approached by both men and women who were desperate to talk to him while you watched with your new team from the sidelines. After another race together that the Falcon had won, Taeyong had invited you to something like an after party in some other team member’s big house. You had to work the next morning and didn’t want to stay long, but you supposed you had to do it for the experience and more substance for your article. The more you had to write about, the better.

“Can you imagine that only a few months ago, it was entirely different? Everybody hated him.”

“Hm?” You snapped your head to Taeyong. “Because of the accident he was involved in?”

The look in his eyes was impenetrable, but it softened when he watched his friend. “Yes, but the details to that… I’m sure he’ll tell you himself when he feels the time is right.”

Admittedly, you knew quite a bit already by just going around and talking to people, you were just keeping it a secret since you didn’t want to come off to the team as too nosy or pushy. But none of the spectators you had come to have a short conversation with knew exactly what kind of accident that had been. You had tried really hard to gather all the information, but they just differed too much from each other.

When one assumed the Falcon had hit someone with his car and drove away, the second guessed he had run into someone, but brought them to the hospital. And the third option, and that was the worst, those people believed he had killed someone in that accident. The newspapers that had reported on this case hadn’t mentioned anything more. Just the fact that the Falcon had caused an accident in a suburb that involved an innocent passerby. And that was still enough to fall out of grace in this community, that was how high their ethical standards were.

You wondered why, with such an incident happening that involved all kinds of trope that would make people drawn to it, there hadn’t been any follow-up reports by newspapers and magazines.

Taeyong had once let slip that Jaehyun had only been able to make a comeback after this incident because he had challenged the Cheetah. Apparently, nobody ever did that. And now you were even more curious about the Cheetah, the Falcon’s biggest opponent.

From what you had heard, officially and unofficially, he won all the races and was nearly untouchable. He only challenged someone just to show off how remarkable he was, but nobody ever challenged him. That was an unspoken rule - except for when you wanted to set yourself up for humiliation. And the Falcon had done exactly that.

You looked at your team which was already top notch with a driver who was nearly impeccable. You couldn’t imagine a team that was better. Apart from the one you worked the closest with, Taeyong, there was Johnny, the mechanic, and the one which they call the investigator, though you just believed that he was a hacker in reality - Yuta.

You had seen and worked with them before all the time, but getting to know them privately in peace made you realize one thing: These were all just normal guys who knew each other from university with a not so legal side hustle. They were splitting the winner’s entire sum equally among all of them, and even if they didn’t want that much as the Falcon was the one driving and inheriting the most dangerous part, the latter always insisted on it, claiming they weren’t a work environment, but friends.

The fact that you were now a part of this close knit group, made you feel a bit awkward as you didn’t know them that well yet, but the other fact that they had welcomed you with open arms, safe from the Falcon so far though, and already saw you as one of them, warmed your heart.

Even though the money had sounded very tempting as well and you surely always got your fair share of the work that paid more than a few bills, you were surprised how little it meant to you in the end. You couldn’t really pinpoint it. The races with the team… the preparation, the process, the talks in between, the shared laughter, the banter… you enjoyed this way much more than holding the money in your hands by the next day. It meant so less when everything else hoarded a much bigger feeling that was still so unfamiliar to you, but very overwhelming.

“Ah, there he is,” Johnny whispered to you and pointed at a tall guy, surrounded by other young men and a woman. “The Cheetah and his team.”

“That’s the Cheetah?” you asked. “The one he’s challenged?”

“The best racer out there and someone Jaehyun could never beat, someone no one usually challenges and beats.” There it was. Now, you didn’t need to feign lack of knowledge anymore. “Hopefully, until now. It’s about a lot of money and the people are already anticipating it. It’s gonna be the race of the year. Maybe, Jaehyun will take his crown.”

You hadn’t known it was going to be this big and anticipated. Now, you also understood why people had welcomed the Falcon back despite whatever everyone imagined the accident to have involved. The best and most popular racer against the underdog who had fallen deep, wanting to rise again? That surely made a headline.

“The woman in that team, is she also a navigator?”

“Yes.” Taeyong nodded. “Women are mostly navigators, there rarely are female racers. As of today, I only know of two who are still active. But it’s really hard to recruit women for your team, no matter which position.”

“Because the job is illegal and hard?”

He nodded again. “Women usually don’t want to be involved in illegal activities.”

“... I can relate.”

All eyes now landed on you and you shrugged. “I just really need this promotion, you know that, guys. Just once in life, I want to be fortunate and successful.”

You were glad you could be totally open with them and not get judged, because you all were here for the same reason. This illegal sport benefitted all of you in some way.

“Just like I need money to finance my studies,” Taeyong said.

And Yuta added, “I really want to found my own company in the future.”

“And one day, I really want to move back to the US,” Johnny finished.

You were only people with dreams and ambitions. If you did things like these with all the precautions and didn’t hurt anyone, no matter how selfish or selfless, then was it really wrong to chase after your longings? You still gave the Falcon the benefit of doubt over the incident. Your team was fair and good, you wanted to believe so hard in every single one of them.

Knowing his friends and what they did for each other, you now were a hundred percent sure that there was a deep reason the Falcon always put his life on line too, and that he wasn’t as reckless and as money-hungry as he had first made himself out to be. None of them were.

Taeyong studied to help out his family, because his father couldn’t work anymore. Yuta wanted to open up a company, because his family got robbed of theirs. Johnny wanted to go back to the US to take care of his mom.

“I first thought it all boiled down to money, that glued you together,” you thought out loud. “But I was so wrong.”

It was way more than about money. It was about friendship, family and dreams. Of some things, you had only ever heard of and never experienced yourself - and most likely never would. And as this thought settled, you realized that you were the one doing all this solely for fame. You were the selfish, money-fixated person in this group. You were the one wrong here.

“It all comes down to trust in the end,” Johnny complemented. “Without a tight-knit team that doesn’t trust each other, you cannot make it.”

“But why me?” You frowned. “I didn’t do anything to earn your trust. I’m just here, because you caught me.”

“Oh, but you did win our trust!” Taeyong then objected and Johnny and Yuta nodded along. “With the way you helped Jaehyun when you were stuck in his car, that was the first race he had won after a long while and which has restored his reputation. You didn’t help him because of the money, I heard the entire thing.”

They trusted you? Why was your chest grabbed by a feeling so overwhelming like it was going to explode at any moment? Perhaps, at this point, you could imagine being friends with them too eventually… if they wanted to still have someone as selfish as you around.

“I didn’t want to see him lose,” you reluctantly answered. “At that moment, I didn’t think about a story. I just cared for his sister… and for him.”

Because you never had had the experience of being in a real family, you wanted to protect everyone that still had one. You remembered the phone call the Falcon had made, that he had promised to always come back to her. Basically, you still knew nothing about him, but what you knew was that he was way more than he made himself out to be.

You didn’t need to invent a story about him to fit your narrative. He had fitted it all along. You saw it clearly now.

“Okay, enough with the long faces, guys!”

Johnny threw his arms around all of you and huddled you all together.

“You’re suffocating me,” Yuta complained, though the playfulness clearly stood out in his voice.

“People are looking,” Taeyong worried, but you couldn’t help but to chuckle.

“So what?” Johnny let you all go again and shrugged. “How about a round of drinks for us? I think we all need it now.”

“I’ll get the drinks.”

You all shifted your head in unison and saw the Falcon having moved to your group, no sign of other people anymore, although you could have sworn he was swarmed by them only a few minutes ago.

“What about your fans?” you wanted to know from him and joked, “They all got an autograph already?”

His reply was dry with a gaze just as similar, “I told them to leave me alone.”

“Jeez, Jaehyun,” Taeyong complained, “with a behavior like this, no one is going to bet on you in the future.”

“They shouldn’t bet on who’s the nicest anyway.”

Yes, the Falcon wouldn’t be the winner of a be-nice-award. But when he volunteered to get the drinks and naturally included you, you figured that he didn’t need to voice his kindness. He rather showed it.

____

“Why will you drive me home? Didn’t you drink?”

“Because it’s late and dark, and I need to go home too. And of course I didn’t drink alcoholic beverages this entire time, are you nuts? Now, get in.”

You looked out of the passenger’s seat’s window when the car started rolling, lights flashing by in a blur as you drove through the streets at a normal speed, and yawned. “The party was just getting to be fun, you didn’t have to leave with me.”

“Just take this free ride, will you?”

“Okay.”

You listened to the Falcon’s lollipop clicking against his teeth when he moved it in his mouth and you yawned again.

“I spotted the Cheetah earlier tonight,” you said. “What’s the deal with this big race that’s coming up?”

“So the guys told you, hm.” The movements of the lollipop stick stopped. “Our history runs deep. To sum it up quickly: I can win against anyone, but never against him. I need to break this curse.”

“I get it,” you declared and leaned back in your seat. “You never beat him, so the rage waves just get stacked on top of each other, and the more races you lose, the more you want to win. Just like we journalists fight to have our stories be headliners every month and there is always this one person who snatches them the majority of the time.”

The Falcon sighed. “A weird and out of place comparison, but I guess you’re not entirely wrong.”

You seamlessly continued, “When was your first race against him?”

“I guess when I turned 21. That’s when I started racing.”

“Wow, so many years and no win against him? It must be frustrating.”

“Yeah, just rub more salt into the wound,” he muttered, a bit offended, “but as I said, this is going to end in a few weeks. He won’t be Kind of the Streets anymore. It will be me who will take the crown.”

“King of the Streets?” You asked. “Is that the official title?”

“Just a label we throw around in the community every now and then, but nobody gets literally crowned, if you know what I mean. He’s just been inheriting this title forever, and I’m sick of it.”

“Did you only start because you wanted to win the title?”

“What? Of course not! I started because my fa-” He stopped. “Hey, I know what you’re doing!”

You giggled. “Don’t worry. I didn’t ask you as a journalist, I ask you as your teammate, your navigator. We have made rules and I will stick to them. Is it too much to ask for, getting to know you? We spend so much time with each other, we trust each other, don’t we?”

He became silent. You got him. “I guess so.”

This reply surprised you very much as you hadn’t expected it. But you regained your composure very quickly despite the feeling still lingering in your chest. “How many siblings do you have... Jaehyun?”

It was the first time that you vocally said and thought about his real name. You had been avoiding it, but you couldn’t keep calling him the Falcon. He was human too, although he would remain anonymous in your story.

Jeahyun paused, but eventually replied, “You already know of my younger sister. She’s the only one. I live with her and my mom.”

“How old is your sister?”

“She’s fourteen.”

“So, in middle school.”

“Exactly.”

Where was his father that he had nearly mentioned? You wanted to ask this and much more, but the way his voice had changed by the end, you knew that this was it for today. And it was okay. He should only share what he felt like sharing. Instead, you decided to tell him more about yourself.

“I live alone. My parents divorced when I was a little child, and since my mom moved abroad with a new man directly after, I stayed with my dad. But he was addicted to booze. I had to grow up fast, because whatever role a parent usually played, he wasn’t in the position to take over it. One day, when I was the same age as your sister, he didn’t come home.”

Jaehyun breathed in deeply, and you sensed that he was about to drop a comment, but held himself back from doing so at the last second. You were unsure whether this was a sign to continue or not, but you did anyway.

“He got caught in a hit and run accident. He was the driver. Despite me telling him every day to cut out on the booze or at least never get into the car with alcohol in his system, he always did. And on that fateful day, he took an entire family with him.”

Having this story sealed in your heart for such a long time, you didn’t expect the syllables to fall from your lips so smoothly as though you were retelling someone else’s past and not your personal one. After all these years, you felt nothing anymore.

“Your question from before we got into the car…” Jaehyun started, but refrained himself from ending the sentence.

“If you had drunk something, I wouldn’t have gotten in the car with you. And If you had drunk something during a race, I would have quit right away.” You smiled mildly. “I’m relieved your addiction is lollipops.”

“Why had you agreed on being my navigator?” was Jaehyun’s next question. “You should resent people like me.”

“I can’t resent the world just because I resent my father. I want you to always come home to your sister like you promised her.”

He fell into silence. Perhaps, you had crossed a line, perhaps not. But you wanted him to know that you cared. You collected stories every day from different people and they all affected you, every single fate, more or less. But for him, you didn't care like a journalist for a subject. You cared like a friend.

“I want that too,” Jaehyun eventually responded. “Always coming back home to her.”

You smiled. “Then let’s work together well.”

____

With every race, you got calmer and more professional, and even though you had lost two races so far - as constant wins were an exception anyway except for when you were called the Cheetah - Jaehyun won with you, his team, almost all races, and he rose to the top again, shining as the Falcon in all his glory.

You still weren’t able to shake off your nervousness and slight panic entirely, but you got better in managing those feelings and most importantly, you didn't let it seep through the headset for Jaehyun to feel.

Through the next races, your connection only got stronger as you figured out a way to work silently and peacefully with each other. You even bonded over unfunny jokes and small conversations you held in the car when he drove you home, which he always insisted on - most likely because you were a woman and it was usually the middle of the night.

Jaehyun’s car was his safe space, because he knew whatever you talked about, even though most of the time it wasn’t even something important, it would never leave his vehicle without his permission.

“I never drink alcohol,” he suddenly told you on one of these rides home when you both got out of the car as you had decided to make a short stopover. “I never know when my sister or mom will need me since my father is not here anymore.”

It was the first time in a long while you talked about something other than the races, teams, your job and other trivial things. You had rarely talked about his personal topics ever since that one time. You were happy to hear that you finally reached this point again, and the conversation was even opened up by him.

Jaehyun seated himself on the car’s hood and you carefully crawled up to him. He made space for you and reached out his hand when you teetered, securing you while you settled right next to him. After having taken your place, you followed his gaze and encountered a view that you hadn’t seen before.

He had wanted to drive out of the city after this race just to clear his head, and you had complied despite this late hour. Now, you were watching the sunrise from the top of a hill on an early summer morning, wondering how a moment like this, that you had never dreamed of before, was suddenly making you so happy.

“Where is your father?” you finally dared to ask, because the moment felt right.

“In prison for fraud,” Jaehyun deadpanned. “He committed a huge tax evasion crime with his own company, not only taking the business down, but all of our savings as well along with the family’s reputation.”

You were shocked. “I don’t know what to say… I’m so sorry, that’s horrible.”

“He consciously did that, knowing exactly the outcome of his actions, what it’d cause us, what it would make of us.” His blood was boiling, it was palpable. “And now, my mother is working two jobs just to make the ends meet and pay off the debt because of this selfish, money-hungry bastard.”

Jaehyun… was he racing to support his family too, just like his friends? Because a son who described his father as a selfish, money-hungry bastard couldn’t be one himself.

“I guess we both grew up with father figures we couldn’t really rely on.”

On top of the car were sitting two people with inner children that had been abandoned by their parents at some point. But you both had learned to make it through life without them. Screw them, you were going to make it better than your parents.

“I don’t want my sister to grow up thinking all men are like our father. I’m not the perfect example for an older brother, but I would do everything to give her the life she wants, such as illegal car racing just to open up the possibility to her of enrolling into her preferred university.”

So that was why and always, it was about winning races for him. Even though he had claimed otherwise in the beginning, he was not someone superficial who only cared about fame, you had always known. He cared about his family, and friends. And, as someone who hadn’t grown up with the first, it was pretty touching that a brother would do that for his sister. Nobody had ever done that for you and you didn’t have someone who would even consider doing this for you, too.

“You sister must be really proud of you.” You smiled. “You’re a good person, Jaehyun.”

Suddenly, he turned cold. “Easy for you to say, knowing only this side of me.”

These words hurt you after spending quite a lot of time with each other.

You had gotten to know his friends and now some of his backstory. You knew you were in no position to feel this way considering that he didn’t see you as his friend yet apparently. Still, it stung somehow.

“When I was your sister’s age, I would have loved to have an older brother by my side who cares so much about me. I was all alone, but your sister has you. Whether you see yourself as a good person or not, Jaehyun, it doesn’t matter to your sister at all. You’re good in her book, that’s enough.”

“I appreciate you saying that.” He was being sincere, judging by his voice. “My sister doesn’t endorse my… side hustle. But she accepts it without a complaint, because she knows that’s what gets us through. My mom on the other hand… You know how moms are. So we keep it a secret from .”

No, you actually didn’t. And Jaehyun only realized that when he saw how your face fell. “I shouldn’t h-”

Yet, you tried to overplay it with a shrug and a wave. “It’s okay. It slips off most people’s mind, because having a family is something we suggest everyone has. I don’t blame anyone for thinking the same about me.”

“It’s not okay, I’m sorry for speaking so nonchalantly,” Jaehyun replied determinedly, taking you aback. “I will pay more attention to what I’m saying from now on.”

Nobody had ever reacted that way to such a sand trap. You were really surprised how understanding he actually was. “It’s not like I grew up not knowing what a family should be like,” you continued. “I saw it in the foster family that took me in until I left high school. I saw it in my friend’s family who I spent most days with. I saw it walking through the mall passing by parents with their happy children. I know exactly what it should be like having a family, I just never had one of my own.” You dropped your head, tilting the corners of your lips slightly upwards. “But one day, I dream of having one and do it all better.”

The silence that followed made you realize how bright outside it had already gotten, and also that you had just confessed your deepest wish to someone who didn’t even consider you his friend. It had something slightly embarrassing, but also comforting, because you knew he would understand you nonetheless.

But Jaehyun didn’t say anything back directly, and you felt a bit lost. It wasn’t like you didn’t feel validated or overlooked, the gaze in his eyes reflected nothing but understanding after all. Perhaps, he just wasn’t as good at expressing his thoughts as you. And that was fine as you were a writer after all. As long as you could comprehend what seemed to go on his head, you were fine with the way you communicated. It was this fine bond between the racer and the navigator.

“Get up, we’re getting breakfast,” Jaehyun eventually prompted.

It sounded great after a good race so you didn’t complain. “Okay!”

Jaehyun was already back on the ground while you still struggled getting off the hood without slipping. That was until you felt two strong hands gripping onto your sides and heaving you up as though you were as light as a feather. You could have sworn when you got inside the car, his hand lingered on your waist a bit longer than it needed to. But it could all have been in your tired mind as well.

____

You hadn’t known breakfast would be taken in Jaehyun’s house.

“Please come in and eat, dear, we have enough!”

His mother was a cordial person whose smile brightened up the entire home upon entering. You instantly felt welcomed by her cheerful personality.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” you greeted her back and kind of awkwardly followed her into the kitchen where she had already set up the entire breakfast table for four people after Jaehyun had called her from the car to inform them they would have a guest over.

Different main and side dishes were presented, and you didn’t know where to look let alone what to eat first. You could tell Jaehyun’s mother had gone beyond and above to prepare this breakfast as he had given you a heads up that she usually left very early and came home late just to sleep the little time she had remaining. Yet, she never failed to eat breakfast with her children or at least make food for them every single day. That was motherly love.

You suddenly felt a wave of warmth spreading through your body. She wasn’t your own mother, but right now, you felt very much like part of a family you had never gotten to experience yourself. And Jaehyun had wanted to show you.

Tears welled up behind your eyes as you took a seat at the opposite of him, and you tried to hide your sentiment, yet still sneaked a look at him. His soft gaze, he hid behind his long fringe. His caring demeanor, he hid behind his rough words. His apparent worries, he hid behind a long scowl. But this was all a facade for what he truly was: a loving son and brother and so much more than a money-hungry, selfish racer.

“Did you guys study hard for the exams the entire night?” Jaehyun’s mom asked and you tilted your head in confusion.

“Yes, mom,” Jaehyun replied. “But she’s not a student anymore, I just picked her up on her way to work.”

She turned to you. “Really? What occupation do you inherit, dear?”

You looked into Jaehyun’s direction for approval, but he remained silent and nodded, so you told the truth, “I’m a journalist.”

“Really?” She clapped into her hands and laughed. “Jiyeong wants to become a journalist too!”

Before you could ask who Jiyeong was, a female voice already asked, “What’s with me?”

She didn’t look much like her brother. In fact, from the moment you saw her, you thought she was the spitting image of her mother, both very beautiful.

“Jaehyun’s friend here is a journalist, Jiyeong. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Really?” Jiyeong’s eyes started to sparkle and she approached you, seating herself right next to you. “I’m editor-in-chief at our school’s newspaper! Where do you work? I read almost all newspapers and magazines on a daily basis.”

While you were explaining to Jiyoung what articles were written by you of which she indeed remembered one or two, their mother placed rice in each of your bowls along with Jaehyun’s help.

You now knew why he had wanted specifically you and came back to recruit you not only once, but twice. The first time, he had most likely not thought about involving you yet. With his sister being into journalism, he knew how important your notebook was to you and genuinely only wanted to return it. The second time, he actually came around and wondered why not combine your talent for navigation with your occupation and get at least something out of your deal, not only for you, but for him - and his little sister - too.

“My dream is to attend Ehwa Woman’s university,” Jiyoung told you when you all started eating. “Where did you study?”

You smiled. It had been your dream to go to Ehwa too. But you didn't have money or relatives who could have supported you, so you attended a university far away from Seoul that was cheap in comparison. “I went to Chonnam University in Gwangju.”

“And you came back here and made it so far! I really look up to you!”

You flushed as you had always felt inferior to your colleagues who had attended the big and popular universities in Seoul, but Jaehyun’s sister not judging you by that but complimenting your actual skills touched you very much.

“Now, let her eat, Jiyeong! She hasn’t even come to touch her food yet! Please dig in, dear before it gets cold!”

It was your first breakfast together with loving people in many, many years.

When you stood outside with Jaehyun, waiting for his sister to get her backpack for school so that he could drive her there, you told him, “Thank you for introducing me to your mom and sister. I know why you did that.”

Because he wanted to show you what it felt like to have an actual, loving family. Because he wanted to show you that your work was never for vain. He had eventually become your friend, and you his. Yes, friend. But you didn’t speak it out.

“When I found out that you were a journalist, I immediately thought great, I need to introduce you to my sister!... But journalists also destroyed my life by writing articles not only about my dad’s crimes, but also about me,” Jaehyun explained, and you nodded, knowing it was about the mystery incident he had yet to tell you. “My sister never lost focus of her dream though. She told me she wanted to be one of the good ones, no defamation, always after the truth. So when you told me you were one of these people too, I thought that maybe, I can trust you after all, even with my life.”

“And you can!” You touched his arm in a gesture of comfort, and although his eyes widened, he didn’t pull away. “I stand by what we’ve promised to each other. I won’t publish anything without your consent. And if there is anything in the past that I have to clear up for you and your family, I will do so too.”

“Mhmm.” You saw him struggling through his mien, but he didn’t respond, apparently still needing to make his mind up. If so, you let him.

“So, what do you study? You never told me.”

“Nothing.” He heaved his shoulders and slowly dropped them again.

You frowned. “But didn’t you-”

“I dropped out last semester right after the incident.”

“But your mo-”

“- doesn’t know. Neither does my sister.”

You didn’t want to judge, that was not your job, as a journalist and as a friend. So you asked, “Why?” although you could most likely already make out the answer.

“We can’t afford it as of right now, so I’m postponing my graduation. I definitely want to return, but as always, it boils down to money,” Jaehyun clarified. “I want to do it better than my father. I want to found my own company too and provide to my family the life they deserve. Even if the path to this aim might not be all legal, I promised to myself to leave this part of me behind once I’m there.”

“...And I will do everything in my might to win every race for as long as we’re working together, Jaehyun.”

“For my sister? Or for your story?”

“Not only for me, but also for your sister,” you repeated, “for your mom and for y-”

You swallowed the last part, but the way his features softened suddenly, he might have understood nonetheless, and it made your heart flutter. Perhaps, in his eyes, you were now friends as well.

____

“There is nothing personal in this story.”

You felt defeated. You had hoped, with handing in your first draft, your editor-in-chief would be totally invested in the story as well, encouraging you to continue and maybe even compliment you on the premise. Instead, while reading through all the pages with you sitting anxiously in front of him, his facial expression had fallen more and more.

“What do you mean?”

“The beginning is very intriguing with you sitting in the car, racing with him. It’s perfect, the reader gets thrown right into the story. But after that?” He shrugged and threw the papers back on his desk. “Nothing. No feelings, no emotions, just scenery description and a lot of theoretical stuff. Nobody cares about how the navigation system works or how the cars are tuned.”

“Oh, I thought it might be interesting to read how the team stays connected and what makes the cars so special.”

“Nobody cares,” he retorted dryly. “That’s not the stories people like to read. They can google all that stuff.”

Although it hurt your feelings, you had to silently admit that he was right. You hadn't given much away in the article about how Yuta worked behind the scenes or what the navigation system was really capable of according to Taeyong, but had to google a lot of things yourself too. You had wanted to give as little personal details away as possible, but apparently, it was too less. Your article was just boring.

“There is no common thread,” he criticized sharply. “Do you want to write about yourself being involved, about the sports in common or about the Falcon? Because right now, it’s all of this and nothing at the same time. If you’re that involved, write about what you do, how you learned it, about your feelings during the races. If you write about the sports, interview other teams, the spectators, dive into the history. If you center the plot around the Falcon, what’s his background, what does he race for, what’s his aim?”

You exactly sensed which direction he wanted to push you. “I’ll write abo-”

“I think,” he cut you off, “if you want to make it a headliner, you have to focus on the Falcon.” There it was. “Why did the Falcon really pause for so long? Is it true that he had caused an accident during a race? What really happened back then? How did he regain his fame? What made people change their minds? And most importantly, is he going to win and what will he do with the prize money? These are the questions that intrigues the reader. They want emotions, passion, they need to feel something while reason. Right now, everything I’m feeling is my hunger since it’s almost lunchtime.”

You purposely overheard his subtle taunt. “Those are very personal questions that he doesn’t want to talk about.”

“Well, then make him.”

You kept it to yourself that you already knew most answers. “As journalists, we also have to respect the people’s privacy and opinions.”

“Then make the entire story anonymous with all the personal information gathered,” he proposed. “It’s not less personal, but no names are given away.”

“I already plan on doing that.”

“So what’s the problem?”

”People will still know, that’s how known he is. I cannot reveal things he doesn’t want me to reveal.”

Either way, anonymous, with his alias or even real name written in the article - it would hurt him all the same. It was his personal story, his family, his friends. It made him beautifully human, but also painfully fragile. It was his story to tell when the time was right, when he decided to do so, not you.

“Very well.” Your boss got up from his seat and took his jacket. “You can publish it like this if you want. I guess for a nice closing story at the end of the magazine, it's enough.”

For the first time in your life, you were having a clash of interest. There it was in front of you, your dream job position, so close if you were only selfish enough. And behind you stood the man whose trust you had just gained, begging you to respect his past wounds. What would you do?

____

It wasn’t easy, balancing racing by night and working by day. Oftentimes, you didn’t get more than four hours of sleep, spending time at home after work just to shower, change and then leave for a race again. You didn’t complain. You never did, because you enjoyed it very much. The newly formed friendship between you and Jaehyun’s team was something that brightened up your day as you had never experienced this kind of bond before. But you also didn’t leave your aim out of sight.

With Jaehyun’s rising popularity though also came people who voiced out their doubts about him even louder. You had just finished this night’s race and were waiting for Jaehyun to take you home, already looking forward to a bit of alone time with him, when you overheard a group of young men passing by.

“I don’t care what others think or whether he’s popular,” one of them said. “As long as he’s staying silent, he’s guilty in my book.”

“In mine too,” the second chimed in. “Why has he never said anything on that topic? And now, only because he’s winning so often and challenged the Cheetah, everybody seems to have forgotten about it? Bullshit.”

Your fingers clenched by the time the third one commented, “Don’t worry guys, he’ll fall out of grace as far as he has fallen. It’s always like this.”

“Hey!” Now, you couldn’t listen to this conversation any longer and stepped out of your dark corner. “Do you feel proud, talking like this about a person you don’t know?”

They stopped in their tracks and turned around to you. “And who are you?”

“Oh, I think she’s their navigator!”

One of them stepped in front of you and grinned. “Then, you must know the truth if you’re in the team and fight for him so desperately, right?”

The other two followed suit and laughed in unison. “Or are you in love with him and would defend him even though he’s guilty?”

You realized that you actually didn’t care about the truth anymore. You didn’t care when or whether Jaehyun would tell you one day at all. But that didn’t withhold you from defending him like your life depended on it. Someone who loved his family and friends so dearly, who always paid much attention to the street and passerbyers, who had to talk you into taking a detour just because there was a crowd of people he had to race by… you would always defend your racer.

“The truth is none of your business,” you said confidently. “Do I ask about what mistakes you’ve made? A person I do not know personally? What has this got anything to do with his performance anyway? Either you bet on him or you don’t, but nobody forces you. He doesn’t need your dumbass opinions to win, he doesn’t even know who you are.”

“Hey…”

You couldn’t tell who had spoken up, but you didn’t care much as you just hit your stride. “How about you get in the car and try to do the things these racers do? I bet you wouldn’t even last a few minutes on these streets. It must be so peaceful, watching from the sidelines with your big mouths as long as you’re not the ones in action, am I right?”

“Hey!”

Little did you know that the voice had come from behind you. Only when you felt an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to a chest whose scent smelled very familiar, it dawned on you that no one in the group had tried to speak up, but it had been Jaehyun who was standing behind you, most likely all this time already.

But he wasn’t mad, even though your cheeks were burning. “Listen to my girl. If you dare to raise your voice against her again, you’ll be the ones the newspapers will be writing about the next day. Understood? Now, good riddance.” One opened their mouth to retort, but Jaehyun didn’t let him. “I SAID GOOD RIDDANCE!”

They were out of your sight quicker than you could process, and Jaehyun let go of your shoulder the same moment.

“Come,” he urged you, and you silently followed him to the car. “I have to show you something.”

After you were driving for a little while all in awkward silence, you finally dared to ask, “Where are we going?”

“I’ll show you the truth.”

From the way his lollipop clicked against his teeth, you could only sense Jaehyun’s anxiety, and you wondered what got him so worked up even though he had won the race. You could only think of one reason. Perhaps, today was the day.

“Does it have something to do with what happened back then?”

“Yes.”

“Did I say something wrong earlier?”

Immediately, the clicking noises stopped, but he gripped the steering wheel even tighter. “You’ve gotten everything wrong.”

Your stomach dropped and you suddenly felt so nauseous. “Jaehyun… what was wrong about it?”

He was visibly upset now. “How can you say all these things about me?”

“These.. things? What did I say that was wrong? I don’t understand. I meant every word and I don’t care whether you heard them or not, because they are the truth.”

“You don’t know the truth.” He added, “Yet.”

“Even if… There was nothing wrong with what I said. You don’t need them to win, you don’t need spectators and betters. You only need yourself and your team. Everything else doesn’t matter.”

He didn’t reply, but kept his eyes fixated on the street in front of him. Not much talking, but many kilometers later, you suddenly came to a halt in a narrow street under a light post in a quiet neighborhood in the suburbs. To your left and right were single family houses and nobody was in your field of vision at this ungodly hour.

“Is this…?”

He took the lollipop out of his mouth and inhaled deeply. “This is where it happened.”

“Oh. Jaehyun…” You had been prepared to be taken here, but now that you were actually at the location, you didn’t know what to say.

“This is the spot where I collided with a pedestrian.” Even though he didn’t stutter or pause, you still realized how much mental strength it had taken him to not only bring you here, but to also speak about the incident - probably for the first time ever since it had happened. “He didn’t die on the spot. He survived, actually. That much, I know after I asked around in the hospital. I don’t know who he was, where he was going, whether he had family or other people who cared. I just called for an ambulance, drove my car away and remained hidden until they arrived. Then, I fled. This is the truth.”

You couldn’t deny that you were relieved he didn’t do a hit and run. You were also relieved that nobody had died and that the truth behind the accident was something that wouldn’t shake your friendship to the core. Of course it was bad, and he knew it himself. He’d always known and deeply regretted it, every single day. You saw it clearly now.

“I believe you.”

In moments of panic, humans were indeed most likely to do things they were not proud of, things totally wrong they wished to change later if only they could travel back in time. Things, they would have handled differently if they hadn’t panicked or were too scared. Jaehyun wasn’t an exception, although the baggage he had to carry was heavier than most else’s.

Humans were not perfect. For him, it all started with his not so perfect father and the not so perfect life he was living, leading him to do not so perfect things to save what was still salvageable.

“For one hot minute,” Jaehyun continued, “I really thought about leaving him there and fleeing as fast as possible. I couldn’t go to jail like my father and leave my mom and sister all to themselves, dropping them entirely too. I couldn’t get caught, so I did my best to prevent this.” He laughed, bitterly. “After all, I am what people think of me. So your words mean nothing.”

“My words mean nothing?” It hurt. “It’s easy to tell someone how to behave when the incident has already taken place. But at the end of the day, we can never be sure how we, ourselves, would have reacted or what we would have thought at that moment. You thought about your mom and sister, but you thought about the accident victim too. You wanted to do the best for both. So you reacted accordingly to what was best in your mind.”

“Still, I’m not the person you painted me to be. I nearly killed someone in a race. And you know why? Because I thought taking a shortcut through a neighborhood would make me win the race back then. It’s not forbidden, but this is the reason we racers usually never do that.”

That was why he had been so reluctant to go through your neighborhood at your very first accidental race together. And he still wouldn’t, no matter how much he trusted you. What had happened back then was still sitting deep within him - justifiably.

“I am running illegal races with you,” you started. “I have always known that you wouldn’t work with the law. And I am neither! So what does that make us?”

He sank his head and placed his hands on his lap. “You speak so highly of me, but in reality, I am a very bad person.”

“You’ve introduced me to your sister and mother, Jaehyun. If this is where a bad person grows up, then the entire world is rotten and beyond the point of saving. But people like you give me hope.”

“Why would a person like me give you hope?”

“Because, despite your situation, you still have so much love inside of you that expresses itself in so many forms. That’s why you’re loved too, by many people.”

Silence engulfed you, and you thought that Jaehyun would drive away after sometime again, but he didn’t, so you accompanied him in this quietness as long as it helped him process the past.

“You know why I wanted to take this shortcut?” he eventually spoke up quietly, and you shook your head. “Because I wanted to end the race abruptly and rush home… That night, my sister got very sick and my mom wasn’t home. I already announced that I would drop out before it happened.”

That was something the newspapers and no one else had ever mentioned. Of course, people always focus on sensational facts. It was easier to tell a story and transfer emotions when the main feeling an article would lure out was hate against someone.

It still had been a crime, this was a fact. And he could still go to jail for that. But you believed that the man who cared about his family so much and who was able to care about strangers too, was still very much haunted by his past, far more than he wanted to let slip through his facade.

If he hadn’t had a family to take care of, things would be entirely different. But he trusted you enough now to tell you all this and not fear that you would go behind his back.

My girl… you remembered. Had he truly meant it? Had you proven to him your undeniable loyalty just earlier?

“Jaehyun…”

Slowly, your hand wandered to his lap on top of his. Against your expectations, he grabbed yours and squeezed it tightly.

____

When Jaehyun wanted to drop you off at your building much later, the tension between you was still palpable, and you didn’t know how to make it vanish.

Perhaps, only time was needed - for him to believe that nothing had changed between you, and for you to settle with the fact that the guy who caused your heart to jump, just only a little bit, had done something grave in the past that you had to work through as well. After all, it still had been a crime.

“Jaehyun…” You wanted to end the night on a positive note, but he didn’t let you finish the sentence.

“Our ways will part here and now.”

You thought you had misheard. “Pardon?”

“I can’t demand a goody two-shoes like you to help a criminal like me,” he said coldly and stiffened in his seat. “And I surely won’t help a goody two-shoes like you write about my criminal record anymore now that the truth was inevitable to come forward with. So it ends here. Now.”

You knew where this rooted from: doubt and guilt. But during your entire career path, you had dealt with a lot of people who suddenly changed their minds on a topic or got cold feet.

“That won’t happen, Jaehyun,” you claimed. “You don’t have another navigator as good as me, no one and nothing can come close to the connection that you and I have.”

“It’ll be fine,” he obliged. “Now, go.”

“No,” you refused. “I will stay.”

“I SAID GO!”

“AND I SAID I WILL STAY!”

“Gosh!” he yelled. “Why can’t you be obedient for once towards me and leave before I hurt you too?!”

You both froze when it dawned on you what he had just said. You almost didn’t dare, yet you had to make sure that what he had said was indeed real.

“You’re afraid to hurt me?”

“I deceive my mom when it comes down to my activities and my studies. If she ever finds out, she’ll be hurt. I hurt my sister by not always being there for her whenever she needs me. I hurt my team for expecting them to be there for me although they have their own struggles. And I hurt you, because I cannot be the person you expect me to be. I only hurt the people I love.”

You took a deep breather and waited a few heartbeats in case Jaehyun wanted to chase you away again. But he didn’t. He just sat there in the driver’s seat, shoulders slumped, bangs messily falling into his eyes and the lollipop stick not moving a bit.

“You want to protect your overworked mom from more worries, you want to provide a good future for your sister, and you split the win evenly among the team for them to help their families too. If I don’t expect a friend to be exactly like this, then what else?” you confessed.

But Jaehyun didn’t like this answer, it was written all over his face. You were scared that you had said something wrong.

“Friends?” he suddenly croaked.

“Yeah, friends,” you repeated slowly. “Aren’t we… friends?”

You had seen him as your friend all along, though one who made your cheeks warm when he called you “my girl” and your heart swell when he touched you. But now, it hurt you that he had never felt even the slightest of the same connection. Fair enough, everyone needed their own space, and with Jaehyun’s past, it was his own right to decide whether to ever make friends again.

You had just hoped…

Cherry.

That was the taste of Jaehyun’s lollipop, he never chose another flavor.

Though, it tasted different from his own lips than from the candy directly.

You were asking yourself how this sweet taste could calm him down when all it did to you at this moment was making your heart race and nearly jump out of your chest. Perhaps, because this time, you tasted the lollipop’s sweetness on his tongue rather than in your own mouth, and he made sure that you experienced every taste bud this flavor had to offer.

Lollipops were very sweet already, and although Jaehyun was a fast and restless street racer, his kisses were much sweeter than candy. Admittedly, you hadn’t expected him to possess this side, but now that you thought about it, the signs had already been there whenever you observed him eating the candy.

Jaehyun’s fingers curled on your back when you motioned forward, away from your seat and more into his welcoming hug. The dashboard between you hindered you from embracing fully, causing you both to giggle at some point, but you continued kissing with your arms slung around his neck, for very long even after the cherry taste had vanished.

You weren’t hurt anymore over the fact that Jaehyun didn’t see you as his friend. You had never been friends. You had always been more than that.

____

Jaehyun’s victim had been a 45-year-old party chairman - that much you had found out through your connection to different journalists and a few demanding calls. The fact that after the incident, only silence followed and no details were revealed, not even about the gender and the age of the victim, had gotten your alarm bells ringing. And now you knew why.

A famous politician involved in a street racing accident, but no one had mentioned his name? Something was not right with this story, you didn’t need to be a professional to recognize this.

“I need his record,” you then said at the hospital’s reception.

Your editor-in-chief had given you this employee’s contact, assuring you she was more lenient in data protection when she saw the right amount of money. And your boss had been very happy to pay her the requested amount the moment you told him what you were after.

“This is exactly the kind of story I was looking for,” he had complimented you. “Good job. Now, go after it.”

You had left the building right away, making your way to the hospital the chairman had been admitted to after the accident.

“Here is a copy of his record,” the woman at the reception whispered to you. “All is well, he got out after two weeks. There is one interesting thing though… but look for yourself.”

“Thank you.”

You took the papers, and too excited to drive all the way back to the office, you looked through them right then and there after having found a quiet spot in the waiting room.

There was nothing abnormal at first for a car accident. It had left him with deep grazes, a dislocated arm, two broken ribs and a concussion. It sounded quite bad, but very mild for the fact that a car had hit him, and not at all life-threatening. So the accident had not been that severe as Jaehyun had made out to be in his panic.

Perhaps, that was the reason the party chairman had never been named in the news. But on the other hand… newspapers got to write articles about important politicians all the time, and just this once, his name had been left out? This didn’t sound like something a newspaper would do under these circumstances.

The more important the name, the more clicks and sales the news generated. They must have been bribed to keep his name entirely out of all news revolving around this incident. You were wondering yourself why. Given all facts, no matter how macabre it sounded, this kind of accident would even play into the party’s hands.

A very important politician who got hit by a street racer and admitted to the hospital with fractures? It would even be a headliner with the conclusion to go harder after such illegal activities.

Everything just doesn’t sound right. Something was being kept buried that no one should know about and could possibly threaten the party’s reputation. That much, you were already sure of.

… but what could it be?

You gasped when your eyes passed the passage that gave you a single answer to all your questions.

Patient was heavily intoxicated.

Whether it were drugs or alcohol, you didn’t know. But you were going to find out soon as you returned back to the office and made a call to the police.

____

“How high is the possibility that this program is actually a virus?” you asked and looked over Yuta’s shoulder who was currently typing something into his laptop.

“Very low, but it’s still new, so we never know what will happen anyway,” Taeyong answered on his friend’s behalf and stretched out on Yuta’s bed in whose home you had all gathered today. “Can’t you detect it if it’s one?”

“What do you think I’m currently trying to do here?” Yuta rolled his eyes. “I’m a programming student, not a wizard.”

“Okay, sorry? Jeez.”

“Doyoung said that with this program, you will also get the coordinates of all cars in your ten kilometer radius that use a GPS, so you can plan the route and the car’s speed even more predictively,” Yuta explained instead. “I’m still trying to figure out how.”

“The race is in two weeks. You should hurry.”

“I know, Taeyong. You think these last weeks I’ve only been sitting around?” Yuta gave his friend a scowl. “If it’s a new program, even used before its beta phase, it’s not so easy.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Okay, enough guys!” you interrupted their bickering. “Taeyong let Yuta work and peace and rather go through the city's plan for next week with me to mark all new construction sites, okay?”

In unison, they both said, “Fine.”

Taeyong turned to you while you started your own laptop to leave Yuta alone, and Jaehyun and Johnny were currently outside to maintain his car. You felt so included like never before in your life.

You’ve always said you didn’t grow up with a family. But sometimes, a family wasn’t something that you necessarily grew up with. Family also didn’t need to be bonded by blood. Sometimes, you lost family along the way, sometimes you gained one. And everyone would always welcome you into their family.

In your case, you gained a family in the form of a strong friendship that you had never experienced before in your life. Sitting here, analyzing maps with Taeyong while Yuta was silently typing away and Johnny and Jaehyun would soon come upstairs to talk about the next race after which you would all order food and then watch a movie together…

This was your own definition of family. This feeling of being cared for, trusted and loved without expecting anything in return, so much that it almost felt like your heart was going to burst. Your team was your family.

“I want to show you a place,” Jaehyun said when you were sitting in his car when all the work was done later that evening.

“Don’t you need to go home as usual?”

“My sister is having a sleepover at a friend’s house.” He smiled. “So I think my mom will enjoy a little more alone time to rest better.”

“Okay, then let’s go!”

Jaehyun stopped the car only much later after you had driven up a mound with a path so narrow, you feared the vehicle wouldn’t make it despite all its tuning. But against your expectations, you arrived at the top in that very same car, and the view over the entire city was splendid.

“I didn’t know such a place existed!” you called out and ran around the viewing place. “Jaehyun, I can see the entire city, and we’re not even on a mountain!”

“Do you like it?” he asked, following suit.

“I love it!”

“And I-”

“Hm?” You turned around to him with the biggest smile on your face. “What is it?”

He shook his head with a soft look on his face. “Nothing.” Then, he stepped close to you and hugged you from behind. “I’m happy you love it. It’s my favorite place. After the incident with my father happened, my sister and I came here a lot, because it made us forget reality for quite a while.”

“Thank you for sharing this special place with me.” You felt him kissing the nape of your neck and you shuddered pleasantly. “It really means a lot.”

The true meaning of it was revealed to you by him right after, “I spent most of the time here before my comeback. I wanted to give up on racing entirely. One night, I didn’t come home and my sister went to look for me which took her all night. I lost track of time, and I probably felt so ashamed returning to my family. When My sister found me here at the early hours of dawn, looking like a ghost and having cried all the way to this place, I knew that I had to do everything to protect my family. That’s when I dropped out of university and decided to race again. One day, I don’t want to do this anymore. One day, I’ll be free.”

You loosened yourself from his hug, shifted around and embraced him now from the front, body to body. “You’ll be one day, Jaehyun.” He gently brushed his fingers through your hair. “One day, you can provide your family the life they deserve and can finally live the one you have dreamed about as well.”

“But do I deserve it after everything that I’ve done?” He sounded full of doubts. “I’m not sure.”

You responded, quite confidently, “You do.”

“Actually,” Jaehyun changed the topic, “This car was my dad’s. He owned two, a big, elegant one to show off at work, and this one for his free time. It’s the only thing that was left, because it was registered to my mom’s name before I changed it to mine.”

You were curious about one topic. “Why did you never sell it? You only started racing after his arrest, right? Why have you never exchanged it for money?”

“I thought about it, a lot, in fact,” he clarified. “Maintaining a car is a very expensive hobby, after all. Apart from the fact that races became my source of income as it makes money fast and much, I think a part of me can’t also fully let go of my father.” He chuckled, but rather bitter and full of regret. “Isn’t it ironic? I think of it like my father repaying the debts he caused. It's satisfying.”

A wicked thought, but you liked the way he thought about it.

“Hey,” you then said, grinning, “do you want to get back at him once more?”

____

“Close your mouth and suck.”

This time, Jaehyun didn’t mean the lollipop he had put into your mouth, but something entirely else.

Luckily, the front seats of his car were able to be raised back all the way, so he was now lying almost flat on his back, his hands gently but determinedly having guided your head to his loin while you were sitting between his angled legs. You did as you had been told and sucked him off like a lollipop.

Your arms were propped up against the edges of the seat with your head bobbing up and down in a regular rhythm, but your tongue did the most work whenever you paused your neck movements just to indulge him with your proficiency.

“Jesus Christ,” Jaehyun cursed and put his forearm over his face so that his facial expressions would be hidden from you. It was like he didn’t want you to know how much control you had over him, but this was for no avail anyway as his swearing gave it all away, “No fucking way…”

It was certainly not your first time sucking him off, so it wasn’t like you didn’t know what he looked like enjoying this kind of pleasure. You found it rather cute how he still thought he could hide this side of him from you.

Your tongue rolled over the tip of his dick, leaving a trace of saliva where it passed. Making sure you covered every angle with your motions, you halted them when you opened your mouth entirely and slowly took in the majority of his length until you felt like you couldn’t do more.

Jaehyun let out a groan that made you smile inwardly, and it only got louder when you let him pass by your lips, but didn’t let him slip out entirely. Instead, you sucked on the tip like the cherry lollipop he often offered you.

You made sure to alternate between sucking and taking him into your mouth almost entirely, and when your left hand wandered to his warm thigh, you felt how tense he had become due to the arousal you made him feel. Instead of letting your hand go back though, Jaehyun stretched out his own to grab your fingers and intertwined them.

His nails dug into your skin and his thighs became very tense, closing around the sides of your face when his release was near. He came in a long spur directly into your mouth, and you swallowed it all down, including cleaning him up - with your tongue of course.

Jaehyun reached out to your face while you were licking over your lips, and you smiled at each other before his own gradually grew more wicked.

“You know what?”

“What?” You wiped with the back of your hand over your lips.

“I also never had sex in this car. Wanna change that?”

He didn’t need to ask twice.

Although it was still very narrow in the vehicle, Jaehyun had swiftly managed to change your positions so that you were now lying underneath him and he was kneeling in front of you in a crouched position. You giggled amusedly when you watched him taking off his shirt as he tried to do so without bumping into anything, but this had been an impossible task from the very beginning. Luckily, you had undressed yourself before already, so that he didn’t need to take care of that part too.

You assumed Jaehyun still needed a bit of time until he could go in fully again, but what would come before that, you had never expected. Your fingers were desperately gripping onto the door handle while your other hand was holding onto the seat belt that slowly dug into your flesh. But this slight pain passed by you almost unnoticeably when another feeling had taken control over your entire body and mind already.

You had already experienced how skillful Jaehyun was with his tongue whenever you kissed, which was long before indicated by the way he played with lollipops in his mouth. Of course he would put this skill into use elsewhere too.

But that he would be this good… You shuddered again when you came the second time in the span of a few minutes after Jaehyun had draped his hot, wet tongue all along your folds, causing your back to lift off from the seat and moaning his name over and over again.

And even then, he didn’t stop. He came to face you after cleaning off his mouth, and kissed you for a long time until you had entirely calmed down before he crawled back to his original position and squeezed his fingers into your bum again to bring it closer to his face.

With the tip of his tongue, he searched for the sensitive bundle of nerves, and you indicated that he had found it when you let out a light squeal. His lips enclosed the bud and you felt all your blood vanishing from your face when he started sucking on it. Oh god, you thought to yourself, you were surely going to pass out.

But he didn’t let you cum this time. Before you released, Jaehyun stopped and flipped you onto your stomach as swiftly as the narrow space allowed him to. Instinctively, you had already brought your bum up to give him better access, and you bit down into the flesh of your arm on which you had your chin rested when you felt him sliding into you from behind in one long motion.

The sound of his groin slapping against your cheeks mixed with your moans filled the car, and luckily, you had been the only ones on this view point at such a later hour. You had only had sex with Jaehyun once in your home, and you had never defined what that was between you. Maybe, you were too dense to speak it out and too naive to actually believe it, but you loved him.

Ironically, you only realized that when you decided to change positions and Jaehyun was constantly bumping his head on the ceiling and you got on top. You were settled on his hips, his length buried deep inside you, but you didn’t move yet.

You let your fingertips wander over his chest, taking your time, and he suddenly grabbed them, led them to his mouth and kissed the tips. When you gazes locked, you were sure.

Yes, you loved him. With all his flaws, his burdens and his past. Perhaps, you had never experienced this kind of love, which was why you had always been reluctant and unsure, but if this wasn’t love, you didn’t know what was. You just hoped that at one point, he would come to feel this way about you too.

“What is it?” he asked with worry when you made no intention of continuing. “Is something wrong? You want to stop?”

But you shook your head. “It’s just… I don’t want this moment to pass.”

Even in the semi-darkness, you encountered Jaehyun’s smile. “I feel the same way.”

Slowly, you raised your hips and slowly came back down to his groin. Jaehyun tried very hard to remain in eye contact with you, but when you did that several times more, he lost his composure again. You propped your hands up against his hard chest and picked up your pace, slamming onto him over and over again in a fast pace.

When you ran out of breath, you alternated the fast motions with sitting on his lap and just letting your hips rotate in different directions and forms, which very much pleased Jaehyun as well by the way he didn’t stop moaning at this part as well.

With time though, your stamina gave in, you slumped over him, eventually let yourself fall onto his chest, because you were too exhausted to go on anymore.

“Want me to finish?” he asked and stroked your shoulder to which you could only give a slight nod.

He kept you locked to his hips with his hands holding onto your sides very tightly and started thrusting upwards. You felt like he had knocked all the air out of your lungs, that was much much power he still possessed. Luckily, for you, you didn’t need to do anything anymore.

He was holding you as you laid on top of him, biting into his shoulder as he thrusted in and out of you with much force, which you really liked. Your thighs tensed around his sides and you whimpered gibberish into his ear, so close to cumming again.

Jaehyun let you release yourself first with a suppressed scream that partly still found a way to escape your lips, and your entire body shook as you felt your high flooding to every fiber of your body. He himself didn’t take much longer and you held him while he experienced his own orgasm, pressing you so close to him as though he was afraid of being parted from you ever again.

When you were getting dressed, he suddenly dropped, “I could get used to it.”

“Doing nasty things in your dad’s old car?” you joked.

But his expression remained serious. “No.”

You didn’t know what he meant.

____

You had written two different versions of Jaehyun’s story.

The first was the one he had read himself and approved of. There were only a few details and personal information sprinkled in here and there about the Falcon while you were trying to fill the emotional gaps with anecdotes and quotes from the other team members under an alias that they were willing to share. You were even successful in interviewing a few spectators and it would include the outcome of the race.

Overall, the less personal and official version gave a good overview over this illegal sport, and you were truly satisfied with this tame version. It was sufficient enough, intriguing enough and informative as well as emotional enough. At other magazines, the story would have made the headlines, you were sure of that. But for the magazine you worked for, enough was only good enough. You had to be better than enough, you had to exceed.

With this version of the Falcon’s story, you certainly weren’t. It wasn’t headline-material like your editor-in-chief expected after all the work you had put into it.

So you had written another version of this story.

One in which you talked about the Falcon’s past, his family, what had really happened back then before his career arose again and the relationships between you all. Yes, even between the two of you. And you had even come forward with the truth about the politician after hard research. This version of the story was personal and vulnerable, and it was the truth.

Jaehyun had gotten to read it as the first and only one.

“It wasn’t.. entirely my fault?” he had asked in disbelief when you gave him the story to read.

You had wanted to wait until you had gotten your facts straight, had enough proof, and then came over to his house to lay it out all in front of him. First, you were unsure whether he would like it, to have had you dig deep into his past.

But if he came to hate you and started to hate himself less instead, then it would have been worth it nonetheless. From one moment to the other though, you clearly saw in his eyes how much of a burden got lifted off his shoulder. Sure, the fact that the politician had been intoxicated didn’t change the fact that Jaehyun was way over the tempo limit, but he hadn’t been the only one at fault.

The politician had been intoxicated with drugs to the point of not being able to walk properly and had remained in the middle of the street, too far gone to think and speak straightly when Jaehyun had passed by.

“No, it wasn’t entirely your fault,” you assured him.

And with that certainty, you both decided to move past this as this case - to both parties luck, fortunately - had long been decided to be buried under the rug anyway.

Jaehyun didn’t come to hate you, you felt it in the way he hugged you close and never seemed to let you go after this revelation. He was, in fact, utterly grateful that you had never let go of this topic.

It was a step closer to him being free. From the very beginning, you knew which version you would publish after the race against the Cheetah. You had begged your boss to postpone the release for another month for you to include this race, and he had happily agreed - even to hold off the senior editor position.

____

“Are you nervous?”

You looked at Taeyong who took the seat next to you. Somehow, you weren’t nervous at all, even though tonight was Jaehyun’s big race against the Cheetah with so much money involved unlike ever before.

Later, you would also finish up the story with the outcome of the race and send it over still this night for the entire country to read. Perhaps, you were more nervous about this than the competition itself since you fully trusted your gained skills and Jaehyun himself. You wouldn’t treat this other than all the races before.

“I’m cool so far,” you said. “I just don’t know if it’s good or bad.”

“I hope it’s good. Jaehyun is probably more nervous than he lets slip.”

“I can hear you.” It was Jaehyun’s voice through your headsets.

“Good!” Taeyong exclaimed. “This wasn’t supposed to be a secret.”

You giggled just in the moment Yuta came over to you and put a usb on your desk. Just a few days before, you both had figured out how the new navigation system worked.

“Just plug it in and do as I told you.”

You nodded and reached for the stick. There were only ten minutes remaining. You had never seen this many people wanting to watch a race before and the tension was sizzling, not only between the teams, but between the spectators too. As far as you had heard, the bets were almost equally split as though no one could decide who would win in their eyes. The Cheetah’s team was in another building, and you wondered whether they were still nervous with the amount of times they had already won so war.

“Hey,” you suddenly heard Jaehyun through the headphones.

“Yes?”

Apparently, he had muted himself for Taeyong since he didn’t respond, but typed something into the computer and then turned around to talk to Johnny and Yuta.

“If something happens,” Jaehyun spoke, “no matter what, will you be with me until the end?”

“Of course.”

“No, I mean it.”

You frowned. “Mean what?”

He sighed deeply as if he was struggling inwardly trying to find the right words. “Will you be with me… until the end?”

“Of course!” you replied happily.

“No! I mean... shit.”

What did he want? “I don’t get it.”

“I love you.”

You were stunned.

It was the first time he had said this to you. The first time someone had said this to you. For how long had he been feeling this way already? Was there a chance he’d been in love with you for as long as you loved him too? You were long lost for words and before you could even inhale to say something back, Taeyong was by your side again.

“You guys ready?”

“Yes,” Jaehyun answered quickly as though nothing had ever happened.

“Then get ready.”

____

The moment the race started, you got to witness with your own eyes why the Cheetah was called the Cheetah. Jaehyun was already a remarkable racer, but his rival was immaculate.

You wouldn’t be Jaehyun’s navigator though if you hadn’t grown together throughout the past weeks. You were his additional eyes, ears and mind. Whatever he lacked or hadn't perfected, you carried out together, making him even stronger so that as of right now, he could easily take it on the Cheetah. You were going to win, that was how much trust you had in you both.

Midway through the race though, which was a real head-to-head contest that had eventually shaken off a part of your tranquility and replaced it with a bit of nervousness because of a few instances from which you quickly recovered nonetheless, Jaehyun started to panic.

“Shit, we didn’t see this coming!”

He complained about a construction site that had not been on your screen, but only popped up now. As of this instance, he was in advance, being in front of the Cheetah. Now, it was on you for how long he could hold that position.

“Don’t worry,” you tried to calm Jaehyun down while your heart raced almost as fast as the car itself right now. “I got you.”

“Why didn’t the new navigation system that Yuta gave you see it coming?” It sounded almost like an accusation and Taeyong shot a meaningful look at you from the side. “There are construction vehicles all around it!”

“Hey.” You didn’t raise your voice, you just wanted Jaehyun to snap out of his mental deadlock since he was too into it. “Stay calm.”

Sometimes, this happened. And if he was too panicked, he’d lose focus and make mistakes. That was why you were here. By now, you knew how to handle them and not let him irritate you or vice versa.

“I’m sorry.” Jaehyun had instant regrets. “I just want to win, I need to win.”

“I know. But to win, you have to trust me.”

You could only imagine his fingers gripping onto the steering wheel like his life depended on it, the knuckles first turning red, then white.

“I can’t lose,” he breathed and repeated like a mantra, “I can’t lose.”

On the screen, you perceived that he wasn’t as fast and sharp with his driving anymore, the Cheetah drawing closer to erase the remaining meters between the two cars. The vehicles appeared on the screen as dots on a map, the two that represented the racing cars now almost melting into one. Your entire team had gathered around you and were listening to you speak, only you and Taeyong knowing the details of your driver’s panic so far.

“You won’t lose, because I’m here with you, Jaehyun,” you assured him slowly, aware that in such kind of situations, you had to pretend to be calm to keep the driver at peace, even though you were tense as hell too. “It’s me, okay? I love you too, and I will be with you until the end. I know the meaning of this now, and of course I will.”

Silence - not only on the other side of the headset, but also in the hall among your team.

“Please say something,” you addressed to Jaehyun while ignoring all the other members’ grins. “This is kind of really embarrassing now.”

“I-I… I can’t,” he stuttered. “I’m… too happy.”

You smiled. Even though you were only connected via voice and there were other people standing behind you, you felt more connected to Jaehyun like never before.

“Are you ready to win this game with me now?” you asked him.

You felt his confident grin in every fiber of your body, it had given him the boost he needed. "Absolutely."

“Hey, we’re here too!” Johnny interrupted you. “What about us?”

“Get lost.” Jaehyun returned back to his grumble, but everyone knew that he didn’t mean it this way.

When you all broke out into a laughter together that lifted off the tension, even just a little bit, you finally felt like you had long reached the finish line. Not in terms of the race, but in terms of other things.

Trust, friendship and even love.

Because even if you had been among them only for a few weeks, you couldn’t imagine a better feeling than the warmth they caused you to experience right now with Johnny putting his hand on your shoulder in a comforting gesture, Taeyong smiling at you as he pointed at something on the screen, and Yuta rolling his eyes, seemingly not minding, but silently enjoying the entire situation.

This was it. This was your family. There was no deeper connection than you had with your team. You were going to win.

____

And you did.

Jaehyun crossed the finish line first.

Jaehyun won against the Cheetah.

Jaehyun was crowned King of the Streets.

…

But he didn’t last on the throne for long.

Only eight hours.

____

“King of the Streets”

… was the headline of your story that you finished late at night and sent over to your editor-in-chief so that it could still be printed for next month’s issue with the intention to be published the morning after.

____

“Congratulations.”

“Pardon?”

You were sitting in your boss’ office, the same chair, the same desk, the same window and the same view in sight. A few weeks ago, this had meant everything to you. You had wanted this, so badly, and you would have done everything for it. Now, it meant nothing anymore.

You hadn’t seen the new issue yet, that was not why you had come here. In your hands, you were holding a notice, but it had got nothing to do with what you had handed in the night before.

“‘King of the Streets’? I couldn’t have thought of a better title.” Your boss the issue in front of your eyes, but you rarely paid attention to it. “It’s great that you went with the way of leaving out the guy’s real name and even the politician’s name. Honestly, if I didn’t know who it was myself, I wouldn’t be able to guess. Now, people will get invested and do some digging. Congratulations on your promotion to senior editor!”

“Pardon?” you repeated.

You hadn’t written about the politician as agreed on. In fact, you had left out the entire storyline about the incident. That was why you had been so sure the story wouldn’t make headlines, and in your hands you were actually holding your resignation notice. You didn’t want to become senior editor. You wanted to quit.

With trembling hands, you reached out to the newest issue and looked at the headline. Indeed, this was your title “King of the Streets” with a stock photo that showed cars by night in front of a skyline. Your breath shortened when you searched for the right page and you felt like the air was being cut in your lungs when you stumbled over the story and started reading.

This was not your article. At least not the one that had been supposed to get published. It was the one only Jaehyun had gotten to read earlier, his very own, personal version. You felt sick in your stomach. How was this possible? Had you been hacked? Had someone secretly gotten access to your laptop?

“I… I sent you this?” Your voice shook with each syllable.

The editor-in-chief nodded. “Only a few minutes before the boring, second one. Of course I went with the first one. Who wouldn’t?”

“I didn’t send you this!” you nearly screamed. “How could you have published this?!”’

“Please calm down, Miss. This was sent from your very own email.”

“Show me,” you demanded and smacked the issue back on the desk. “Show me the mail!”

He sighed deeply and murmured something about short term memory, but you didn’t care much about his shenanigans anymore. Either way, today was the last day you’d ever interact. You’d just leave, what could he possibly do about it?

When your ex-boss shifted the desktop into your direction, you directly noticed, “This is not my work mail.”

It was your usual mailing name from a random provider, but neither your work mail address or your private one. Everything was similar except for the domain, indicating that someone had made this up on purpose.

“Yes, but I figured you might be using another mail, because you weren’t at home or didn’t have access. It was the big competition, so it was possible, right? Aside from that, this is your topic and writing style, even signed with your name. How could I have doubted it? I mean… this is your story after all, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

There was nothing you could say to defend yourself in front of him. You had written this all yourself, and the fact that it had gotten leaked wasn’t his problem. But someone else’s…

“I have to go,” you said.

“Well, when will you come back? We have to talk about your new position’s details.”

You laughed bitterly and didn’t forget to drop the letter on his desk. “I won’t come back.”

You didn’t care about your belongings. You just grabbed your bag, jacket and laptop and left the office without saying goodbye to anyone. The only thing on your mind right now was that you had to talk to Jaehyun and explain everything to him.

The more surprised you were to find him already sitting in the lobby. You were stunned, but as you continued your movements towards him, Jaehyun looked up, and your blood froze. He wore the biggest scowl on his face, and hidden behind it was the one emotion that hurt you the most: disappointment.

“Jaeh-”

“How could you?!” he yelled and arose from the coach, but he didn’t approach you. “I trusted you!”

You were assured it wasn’t because he was afraid he'd lose himself. He just couldn’t look you in the eyes as disappointment came forward more and more, revealing his true feelings. He couldn’t keep the angry facade up for much longer upon meeting you, the person he loved. But you still saw. Jaehyun was utterly hurt, and it was caused by this very same person.

You didn’t need to explain yourself, it wouldn’t change anything. You had betrayed and disappointed him like his father had, and there was no excuse for it. His entire past and deepest conflits had just been revealed to the country, and even though it wasn’t you who had published the story, you were the one who had written it.

Telling Jaehyun that it hadn’t been sent in by you wouldn’t change a single thing. The deed had already been done and there was no going back. You were just another person he had entirely lost faith and trust in, and there was no way for it to be restored. At least not right now, not immediately.

Jaehyun clenched his fists and pressed through gritted teeth, “You promised to me, I trusted you.”

Every syllable he directed at you pierced directly through your heart. You shouldn’t have written anything in the first place, it should have just stayed between the two of you. What had you thought while writing all of this? That you were doing him a favor? For what? No, it wouldn’t change anything, and it wouldn’t make him less sad and disappointed if he knew that you weren’t the person who had published it.

So you simply said, “I’m sorry, I should have never written this story.”

“I’ve always known you journalists were selfish bastards after all,” he hissed.

No heartbreak that you had ever experienced before came close to what you were feeling right now. At this point, you thought that you had been left by so many people in your life that you would need to entirely shut down.

Jaehyun didn’t speak it out, but you certainly sensed that he was going to leave you now, too. This was what you got for always being so nosy, for wanting so much and giving everything for it. In the end, when you reached your aim, everything didn’t matter when you lost every person that meant the world to you along the way.

“Get lost! Keep out of my sight and don’t ever dare talking to me again!”

When Jaehyun turned around without looking at you one more time, it felt like you were dying. So many people had walked out of your life already, and the man you loved the most being one of them hadn’t been in your book before. But now, it was very much real. It felt hurtfully real.

“Miss, are you okay?” the receptionist asked when she was approaching you.

You hadn’t noticed how your notebook had fallen on the floor, paper flying around everywhere. You were still looking after Jaehyun, petrified, while the young woman started to collect the sheets by your feet, but you barely noticed her. How was one to function, when they had lost what they loved the most?

Not much later, the receptionist was holding your arm after you had broken down crying in the middle of all your belongings. There was no one else anymore who could have emotionally supported you anyway, so who did it now was irrelevant to you.It didn’t help one bit though.

____

“Jiyeong?”

“Can I come in?”

It had been two weeks since Jaehyun had walked out of your life and you quit your job. Every minute of the day, you were hoping that he would come by to talk it all out. Not once had you hoped that his sister would do so instead of him.

“Sure.”

When she took off her shoes, walked past your small entrance and into your room, her eyes widened. “Why the many moving boxes? Are you…”

“I’ll be going away.”

“Where to?”

You smiled, but remained quiet, and Jiyeong immediately understood.

You didn’t want her to know and no one else either. Not because you were afraid that she or someone else would tell anyone, but because telling anyone at all would open the possibility of getting haunted by your past again. And this time, you just really wanted a clean cut.

“When are you leaving?” she asked instead, not even mildly offended to your relief.

“Next week.”

“I wish you all the best.”

“Thank you, Jiyeong. I really appreciate that.”

“Please don’t say this so easily.” Her expression changed into a pained one. “You’ll hate me from now on.”

“Why would I possibly hate you?”

She didn’t reply immediately, but nervously stepped from one foot on the other. She barely dared to look into your eyes, kneading her fingers nervously. “Because it was me.”

You were confused. “What?”

Even a bit quieter, she confessed, “It was me who sent the story to your boss.”

You were lost for words and still in hope you had heard wrong. “You sent the published story to my magazine that night?”

Slowly, Jiyeong nodded. “Yes. I found the story still open on my brother’s laptop when I went into his room to look for a charger. I couldn’t look past it, I really needed to read it. And it was so beautiful. My brother is just so deeply misunderstood, I was so relieved someone else saw it. So I wanted the entire country to know too.”

It was a lot for you to take in, and you still couldn’t believe this was real. “Did you create a fake mail account in my name and send it to my boss this way?”

“Yes. The mail from you with the article was still open, so it was easy to secure a similar address. I just acted on my personal intentions and disregarded your and my family’s feelings. I didn’t know what I would cause by doing that. I didn’t know I would not only get our mother worried, but hurt my brother and you too. I deeply apologize.”

“Jiyeong…”

“I thought,” she interrupted you, “I thought everyone would finally see my brother the way my mom, I, his friends and you see him. That he’s more than all that people paint him to be, and that the incident back then was different from everyone’s make up story. Never have I thought that I would not only ruin the lives of the people involved too, the least his or yours. I tried to change it up and make it as anonymous as possible, but I’m only writing in school, I don't have any real life experience, I’m still a child. I didn’t want all that, that was not supposed to happen! What was I thinking?!”

Her voice gradually grew louder and more upset, and when she hit the last sentence, she was close to tears.

You remembered the time when you were a teenager. There had been some grave mistakes you had made and many words you had said that you would want to have taken back immediately, but the deed had already been done and feelings had been hurt, including yours. Sometimes, the guilt gnawed on you like a parasite that never stopped being hungry.

You had never wanted to become a person who made someone else live with that feeling forever. In front of you just stood a teenage girl who had wanted to do the right thing and who just didn’t know what the right thing was. So you stretched out your arms and pulled her into an embrace. Jiyeon begged you over and over again to not hate her or her brother. You loved both of them dearly, how could you?

When she left after sharing a bottle of ice cream with you to soothe your both shaken up feelings, you also learned that Jaehyun had been informed about Jiyeong’s misconduct directly after he had come home the day the story was published - so two weeks ago.

This entire time, he knew. He had known all along and he never contacted you.

You hoped so badly that Jaehyun would still come. You were even still holding onto the slightest sliver of hope the day you moved away from Seoul, until the moment you closed your empty apartment door behind you.

But he never came.

It was just as you thought: It didn’t change anything, whether you or anyone else had sent in the story. The outcome would have always been the same.

So, if Jaehyun had decided to move on, then you would too.

Even though you had lived one of the best times of your life in that city, now it bearded nothing but a sorrowful past and broken dreams.

You wanted to move on, too.

____

2 years later

Moving out of a city didn’t simultaneously mean continuing on.

You had first needed to learn how to start life all over again.

It hadn’t been easy to begin again in Daejeon. It had taken quite a bit of time to find an affordable apartment, although the city was much less populated than the capital. It had even taken you much longer to find a job that fitted you more than the last one, and only recently had you settled with a new friend group.

Overall, life was going pretty well for you now.

Were it not for the fact that you still missed Jaehyun with every fiber of your heart.

After your published story, many newspapers had made follow up articles, even leaking the party chairman’s name. Of course he had then been fired from his position and the party would not make it to be one of those with the highest votes anymore.

Not a word was lost about the Falcon though. It was like he had never existed.

But you knew better.

Jaehyun had stopped street racing entirely and had enrolled back into university for his last year. He had taken the last race’s prize money to pay off the family’s debt - his entire team had left their amount to help him out this time, including you. This had allowed him to sell his car and start working part time in an electric shop.

It hadn’t been by far as much as he had earned as a racer, but they had made ends meet with honest work.

You were wholeheartedly happy for him when Taeyong had told you all this one day when you had met in Daejong a year ago.

“He misses you very much too,” he had said, and you had smiled lightly.

“I thought he hated me.”

“Did you forget what he said during his last race?”

That he loved you.

“I will never forget.”

Jaehyun had won the biggest race in his whole career, but he still wasn’t entirely free. Being crowned King of the Streets, having won a lot of money and becoming popular as well as getting your love - all that hadn’t set him free from his past.

“But now, it doesn’t matter anymore,” you had added, speaking to Taeyong.

He had wanted more time not only for, but also with his mom and sister. Being a good son and brother like his father could have never been.

Jaehyun couldn't put his life on hold to leave his family eventually, too. You had understood, so you had quietly accepted all this, letting him go and focus on the things he saw as important now. Where it had been racing and winning before, his priorities had entirely shifted.

If your love wasn’t part of this anymore but had made him realize this, then what more could you ask for?

By now, another year later, Jaehyun must have graduated from university already and his sister must be a sophomore in high school. Every now and then, you thought about them and prayed for their safety, but your life wasn’t on hold anymore.

“Miss, your interview partner is waiting in the lobby.”

“Okay, thank you.”

You took your notebook from your desk and walked out of your office. The room wasn’t as big as the one in your old company and the view was not as splendid, but you were editor-in-chief for the city's biggest magazine. You could write about things you really cared about like politics and things going on in town, nobody pressured you to cover topics that required you to do criminal things.

The company fitted your personality, your morals. It was perfect for you.

A week ago, you had gotten a request from someone who claimed to have a really good story for you. Even after telling the person via mail that your magazine didn’t take on this kind of sensational story, the person was being persistent, so you gave in and were open to hear what they had to say.

“Good morning, I-”

The last words got stuck in your throat and your breath caught simultaneously. You let your notebook nearly slip from your hands upon encountering your today’s interview partner.

“Good morning.”

He smiled the smile you had lured out of him only after a few weeks of knowing each other. In these two years, he hadn’t changed one bit. He looked more mature and admittedly also more relaxed, the scowl entirely gone. His clothes had changed into more sophisticated ones as he wore black dress pants and a white button up.

“Life’s been treating you well,” he added. “I’m happy for you.”

His deep, soft voice let you nearly melt again, but you were a professional, so you regained your composure real quick.

“I heard you have a really good story for me Mr. Jeong,” you smiled. “I’m really looking forward to it.”

____

Jaehyun wanted you to publish a story.

This time, with him and with his name written all over it.

“I don’t want to hide anymore, I don’t want to have secrets. I want to come clear, not only with myself, my family and friends, but also with everyone involved. I’ve already gathered permission from everyone, and even though it admittedly took me very long to reach this conclusion, I’m a hundred percent sure I want to do it. And most importantly, I want you to do it.”

It would be his personal story, from his own point of view where he would talk about his past, his father’s wrongdoings, his struggles and what he had been up to since his final race. He asked you to sell this story to your old company for a wider audience and for a follow up.

Legally, he weighed himself secure since he had talked to a few layers before making this decision. It was all for his conscience. If this helped Jaehyun finally move on entirely, then you would happily do it for him.

“Back then, during my last race, my navigator had never used the new system. I only found out much later.”

You paused your writing and looked up. You had settled yourselves in a conference room to work on this story without any interruptions. “Why did she never use it, Mr. Jeong?”

“She had so much faith and trust in our connection, she was sure she could do it without, that was how much she believed in me.”

You lowered your head and pretended to write, but out came only gibberish. Your heart was racing. You always fondly thought back to that time. “She must have been a real baddie,” you joked.

“She was.” The corners of Jaehyun’s lips curled upwards. “I don’t regret anything except for one thing.”

“Which is…?”

“Letting her go.”

You were asking yourself why you suddenly couldn’t see anymore as your vision was very blurry. When you wiped the back of your hand over your eyes, you realized that you had started crying, and the tears had stained the writing on your paper.

“I have one more question for you,” you only brought out.

“Yes?”

“Have you married yet, Mr. Jeong?”

The pause that followed almost tore you apart as you closed your eyes and prayed inwardly.

“I’ve been waiting for a special person to return to Seoul,” he nearly whispered. “When she didn’t, I went to search for her.”

You looked up to him, tears still burning on the brim, but somehow, you didn’t feel sad anymore. You felt more overwhelmed with this entire revelation that caused your heart to finally flutter again.

You had never stopped loving Jaehyun.

“And… what if that person doesn’t want to go back to Seoul?”

Jaehyun stretched out his hand and laid his palm against your cheek, wiping away your tears. It felt so familiar and warm, a feeling you had deeply missed. Even though there was still a respectful distance between you that had built up in the past two years, the connection was as deep and intense as ever.

It was at this moment that you realized Jaehyun had never stopped loving you too.

“Then, I’ll go wherever she goes.”

3K notes · View notes

byeoltoyuki · 6 months ago

Text

DENIAL

↳ Pairing: San x reader

❧ Genre: enemies to lovers, enemies with benefits, fluff

❧ Words: +6k

❧ Warnings: blowjob, unprotected sex, pussy slapping, mention of orgasm denial and spanking and being tied.

❧Summary : You swore it was a one-time thing. Get him out of your system and never see him again. If only it was that simple.

❧ A/N: Surprise! I’m not dead! I’ve been barely active on tumblr for the past few months but I never stopped wishing to have time to write some more. Hope you enjoy it as much as I did while writing. Comments are always appreciated ♥

“It’s the last time.” You swore against San’s lips, biting angrily, pushing him against the nearest wall, tearing his shirt off, as if it was entirely his fault. When really, it was mainly yours.

This thing, whatever it was, between the two of you, was supposed to be a one-time thing. You were supposed to get him out of your system, maybe also prove that he wasn’t worth your time, and preferably ignore his existence for the rest of your life. So how the hell did a one-time thing turned into two, then three, then ten?

Simple.

San was a walking sin. Handsome (sadly) face with a sharp jaw. Pretty eyes, pretty smile and devastatingly cute dimples. And his body. You shuddered just at the mere thought. Strong muscles that could crush you if he wanted to. Strong hands that often find its ways either around your throat or on your ass.

To sum up, San was a temptation you couldn’t ignore no matter how hard you tried.

“I believe you said the same thing the last two times.” He reminded you, a smug grin on his face. Oh how much you wished you could wipe this grin from his face – but you couldn’t. San held power over you. He knew exactly what to say, where to kiss, where to touch to turn you into an addicted mess, begging for more. Always making sure you would crawl back to him.

There had to be something wrong with you. There was no other explanation.

Annoyed with yourself and a little with him, you shut him up with another kiss, trying to win at least one battle – the only one you stood a chance. There was nothing sweet about the way you kissed. No, you poured both all your resentment and need into the kiss. You pressed yourself harder against him, pulling at his hair which made him chuckle against your lips, completely unfazed with your annoyance.

“Nice attempt, kitten.” San cooed at you, his hands slowly sliding down your body, stopping at your butt. He gave it a strong squeeze that made you bite on your lips to prevent a moan to escape. “But we both know I win again.”

You were dying to protest, to prove him wrong. But it would be lying. Because ever since you met, he kept winning against you.

Six months ago

The bar was crowded and loud. So many people had gathered there for different reasons in the middle of the week. You and your friend were one of them. It was supposed to be a good night. A night to celebrate another victory of yours, another success. And yet, you were far from celebrating. Quite the opposite.

You emptied your glass in one go and groaned. “I can’t believe she chose this Choi’s design.” You complained, still baffled that you had failed. You were one of the best in your field and you had spent endless hours working to satisfy a potential client. You were so confident in your design, convinced your client would adore the outcome. And she did. She did admit it. It was a tough decision and yet, you lost to a guy you had never met or heard before and it irked you to no end, hurt in your ego.

“As much as it pains me to admit, he’s good.” Yeji said and winced instantly as you gave her the stinky eye. She held up her hands in defense. “Don’t look at me like that. I warned you he’s good, you choose not to listen.”

Yes, you made a terrible mistake and you were perfectly aware of it. It wasn’t in your habits to underestimate an opponent whether it was their first time or not, but lost in your own little world, you did exactly that and now were paying the price.

“Fuck.” You buried your face in your hands. It wasn’t the end of your world and definitely not of your career but it still stung.

“Come on, I don’t think it’s a bad thing.” Yeji began, “This project would have taken a lot of your free time. Now you can concentrate on something else.”

“Guess so.” You agreed. “I’m gonna get another drink.” But before you could do that, a commotion behind you attracted your attention as a group of men entered the bar. You didn’t intend to stare (and you were definitely not the only one staring right now) but it was impossible not to. The four of them looked incredibly handsome in their suits and had a powerful aura around them.

Well shit. Your eyes followed them as they went for the only empty table in the back of the bar. You eyed them, one by one, your gaze stopping at the tallest of the group. You watched him, unable to take your eyes off him, as he took off his jacket and slowly rolled the sleeves of his white shirt, exposing strong and veiny arms.

Yeji coughed beside you, trying to attract your attention to no avail. For a short moment you felt like in a movie; the moment where everything and everyone stopped existing except for you and this stranger. It was a ridiculous reaction, you thought later, but there was something about him that had you completely bewitched. Maybe you had a kink for men in suits and you weren’t aware of it. Or maybe it was his aura along with the nice smile.

“YN,” Yeji’s voice sounded so far away despite her being so close. “You should probably stop looking.” She quickly added, sounding a little nervous which should have been a warning but you barely registered her words.

He, sensing probably your eyes on him, looked your way. He stared back, his gaze so intense you gulped. But then, he smiled, showing his cute dimples and you swore your heart missed a beat. Yeah, you somehow ended in a movie.

“You’re drooling.” Yeji mocked.

That got your attention and you quickly looked away. “I am not.”

Yeji burst into laughter. “That got your attention huh.” But quickly sobered as she glanced at the man who was still staring at you, curiously. “Just so you know, this man is Choi San.”

You were grateful your hands were empty because you would have dropped your glass. “What?” You looked back, eyes wide. This beautiful stranger, the man that made your heart skipped a beat couldn’t be the man who won against you. No way. You refused to believe your friend.

Until the said man winked your way, his smile turning into a knowing smirking as if he knew exactly what Yeji had told you. As if he knew, you just found out his identity and were not happy about it.

Fuck my life.

Back to present

San grabbed your hips and in a blink of an eye you found yourself crushed against the wall. He pressed his body hard against yours, letting you feel all of him. Letting you feel just how badly he was also craving you. You couldn’t help but arch and moan as you felt his hardness against you. He pushed his leg between your knees and forced them apart. Your body moved on its own, you grinded shamelessly against his thigh, trying to ease the ache between your legs.

He tsked. “So needy.” And yet he didn’t stop you. “So beautiful, love.” San dragged his lips from your lips, to your jaw, to your throat, leaving no inch of flesh untouched. “So responsive.” Biting, licking, marking you. No matter how many times you told him not to mark you, he still did as if he wanted the whole world to know exactly who you belonged to. As if he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t forget that no matter how much you tried to escape him, there was no way out.

Your whole body thrummed with need, with desire. You believed you could die if he didn’t touch you. It should be illegal to feel so much need for someone.

“Tell me, love. What do you want?” He asked as he bit on your tender flesh.

Desperate and on fire as you were, you were ready to accept anything he was willing to give. “Anything.”

He chuckled against your skin. “My lips?” And he sucked a spot. “My tongue?” And he licked. “My fingers?” You felt him slip his fingers right under your dress, toying with your flesh. “Mmmmh, no panties tonight, love? You knew how it would end.” For someone who behaved as if San was the bane of your existence, you certainly came prepared for this to happen. Hoping he would bring you to his place and ruin you.

“Please, please, please.” You begged, half delirious with need. His fingers were so close to your aching pussy. You just couldn’t wait any longer.

“Use your mouth, love.” He advised you. “You usually have no problem with using this pretty mouth of yours. Especially to tell me how much you hate me.” He pressed the palm of his hand to your cunt and hummed in satisfaction. “And yet look at you. So desperate.” And he slapped your pussy.

You arched your back as a loud moan escaped your lips. It was not enough. You couldn’t take it. “Just fuck me. Please.”

San hiked your legs around his waist, his grip on you strong, bruising, possessive. You loved every second of it. You buried your head into his neck, biting, leaving marks in return. For once, it wouldn’t be just scratches on his back that you would leave.

Holding you with one hand, he took out his cock with the other and nudged against your pussy. Despite his own need and wish to ravish you and make you scream his name, he couldn’t help but tease you.

You whined in response. “Bloody hell, San.”

“Admit that you don’t hate me and I’ll give it to you.” He challenged you.

And you couldn’t believe he would ask something like that. You could talk about your hatred (or lack of it) any other time but no, he chose this moment. The urge to kick him was strong but San pushed the tip of his hot and hard cock inside you and you lost the wish to fight right away.

Fuck it. You needed him to fill you up more. “I don’t hate you.”

The smile he gave you unsettled you. His smile was genuine and so happy, you forgot how to breath. But before you could dwell on it, San buried himself to the hilt.

“Fuck!” You threw your head back.

This.

Him inside you, hard and warm. So incredibly full. You just couldn’t get enough of it.

“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath. He was trying hard to control himself and not just pound into you. He wanted to tease you more, to watch you fall apart around his cock. But then, you clenched around him and he growled. “Don’t do that.” It came out more desperate than he intended, exposing just how affected he was. He could play the powerful man all he wanted, but once inside you, there was little control left.

“Fuck me, please.”

San closed his eyes and took a deep breath before, finally, unleashing the beast. His grip on your thighs tightened to the point, you knew it would leave marks later, and did not care. He fucked you against the wall, his every thrusts powerful, going deeper and deeper. Your nails dug into his shoulders, holding for your dear life as whimpers escaped your parted lips.

You took everything he gave you, mewling, arching, begging for more. “Please, don’t stop.” It was still not enough. You didn’t comprehend why you needed so much more from him, but there was no reasoning. Not when your whole body sang in response to his cock.

“No chance.” He reassured you with another sharp thrust. “This,” and another strong one. “is mine, kitten.” And he growled louder, his pace not slowing down. In fact, it turned harder. Punishing.

And it felt divine. Every inch of him just made you feel so alive. There was no stopping. Every stroke of his cock brought you closer to the edge. Your mind blanked. You could barely breath. Your body trembling. And you still wanted more. More pleasure. More of him.

And he could tell. “Come for me, love.”

How could you not obey when his voice sounded so sweet? So full with something you almost believed to be love. Electricity shot through your body and you cried out his name. Tears leaked from the corner of your eyes as your orgasm hit you in waves.

San fucked you through your orgasm, seeking his own release. San’s thrusts grew sloppier. He hissed between his teeth and finally he came with a deep groan. He pressed his forehead against yours.

None of you spoke. The only sound in the room was your pants and probably the roars of your hearts.

“I’m never letting you go.” He promised.

***

You woke up in the middle of the night, feeling all hot and squeezed tightly. It took you a moment to realize where you were and who was lying half on top of you. You weren’t supposed to be sleeping in his bed. In fact, you were supposed to be back at your place, in your bed. But you were drained after your late-night activity.

One round turned into two than three. You couldn’t have enough of him and San obliged. He fucked you in his bed, hands tied behind your back, at his mercy, ass red with all the spanking (who cared if you wouldn’t be able to sit straight for a day or two). He fucked you again in the shower because you couldn’t be a nice girl and keep your hands to yourself when he tried to clean you.

Get the hell out of here! A little, panicked voice ordered you. But as if sensing your attempt at fleeing, San’s grip on your body tightened to the point you couldn’t move your limbs at all. Even in his sleep, he was aware of your intentions. Even in his sleep, he wanted to keep you close and safe in his arms.

You tried a few times but failed every single time. Resigned, you turned in his arms so you could face his sleeping form. San looked so relaxed, his face so soft and the little pout unleashed the butterflies in the stomach.

Shit. I’m in trouble. Big trouble.

You didn’t want to feel so much for this man, but with every passing day it became harder and harder. Obviously, sex was great and addicting, but it wasn’t the only thing that made you come back for more.

Three months ago,

You sighed and cursed yourself for the hundredth time tonight.

They say ‘beauty requires sacrifice’ – you agreed but hated it nevertheless. Nothing was better than comfortable clothes. But tonight, and every time you had a party where you could spot potential clients, you did your best. And tonight, you looked particularly good. You had outdone yourself, whether it was with your dress or your shoes or your makeup. Everything was perfect. Not that you had any ulterior motives. No men you were trying to seduce. And especially not the diabolically handsome one who, and it hurt to admit, chose not to come tonight. It was unusual. San attended the same parties you did which made avoiding him quite difficult and not end in his bed even harder.

You shook your head. “Stop thinking about this asshole.” You scolded yourself and slowly walked towards the balcony, hoping it would be empty and you could take your shoes off for a moment. Heels were great, it made you look hot, but it was a pain in your ass. You regretted them a lot.

You met few people from the party on your way to the balcony; some were too lost in their conversation, some seemed to be lost in a seduction game and some smiled at you. You tried your best to ignore the pain and smile back.

But finally, you reached your destination. You sighed loudly in relief as you found the balcony empty. Just perfect. You leaned against the railing and slowly reached your feet and started rubbing. It soothed you but only for a moment. The wish to just take them off was strong but you couldn’t possibly walk back bare feet.

“What a sight.” A very familiar voice echoed not very far from you.

All your pain vanished instantly as you raised your head and found San leaning against the doorframe, watching you intensely. Your heart leaped in joy at the sight of him which should have appalled you but right in this moment, you barely cared. He looked dashing in his white cream suit. He could be a model and you wouldn’t be surprised.

San eyed you from head to toe, slowly, making sure to memorize the sight in front of him. “I’m surprised no men tried to approach you. You’re gorgeous, love.”

You weren’t waiting for someone’s approval, but his words along with the hunger in his eyes, pleased you more than you were willing to admit. Your words failed you, so instead of trying to say something, you simply stared back and enjoy the view.

A tiny smile grew on San’s face at your lack of reaction. Slowly, he moved toward you and only then you noticed what he was holding in his hand: a pair of flat shoes. Your shoes. You didn’t remember leaving a pair at his place which made you question how he got them in the first place.

“What – How?” You mumbled; eyes wide.

San didn’t answer right away. He stopped in front of you and then, slowly, his eyes locked with yours, got on his knees. You forgot how to breath for a second, unable to look away, unable to speak.

Your treacherous mind couldn’t help but imagine what he could do to you. Your treacherous body forgot all about the pain and instead tingled with desire.

You watched him as his hands found your ankles and a soft gasp escaped your lips. He rubbed your ankles gently, his warmth spreading through your body.

“San-“ Whatever you were about to say died on your tongue as he massaged your left ankle a little stronger – you moaned at the relief. Embarrassed with how easily he made you moan, you clasped your hand over your mouth. San, instead of teasing you like he usually would, only smiled.

“Hold on to me.”

You hold onto his shoulder, your knees feeling suddenly weak. Not because you couldn’t stand properly but having San on his knees, taking care of you and being so gentle? You were a mess and not the kind you were used to. You could probably melt into puddle if you let him be this sweat with you. And that was dangerous.

“I thought you weren’t coming.” You told him to distract yourself from some intrusive thoughts.

“I wasn’t planning to.” He admitted and helped you slip your foot in your so much more comfortable shoe. “But then I thought about missing you in this gorgeous dress.” And then he did the same with your other foot. “And I just couldn’t.”

For a moment you stayed like that. You watching him and wondering how he could be both so evil (at least in your opinion) and so sweet. And San with his hands on your body.

“Couldn’t let another man have you.” San ended up saying as he slowly stood up. His hands didn’t part with you. No, they travelled from your ankles to your legs, to your thighs, hiking your dress in the process causing goosebumps all over your body. “You know why?”

You did know why. Or at least, you could easily guess what he was about to say. You asked anyway, “Why?”

San’s smile went from gentle to wicked and you had no doubt you were in (kind of delicious) trouble. One hand possessively held your waist, the other reached for your hair. His hand tangled in your hair before pulling harshly – a desperate moan escaped your lips. “You’re mine.”

You expected a possessive and dominating kiss. You expected some teeth clashing and a fight for dominance. Instead, he pressed his lips against yours. Softly. Gently. His mouth melting against yours. And so did you. You went completely soft in his arms.

Boy was trouble and there was no escape for you.

Back to present

Despite your rocky beginning, San was probably one the sweetest human being you had ever met. It pained you to admit it but you could no longer hide your feelings behind your hostility. He was gentle and caring. Every little gesture, every little thing he did for you without you expecting him to do, made your walls crumble and your heart yearn for him.

Two months ago,

The advantage of creating your own company with your friend, meant you were the one to decide how to dress, without anyone criticizing. If you decided to come to work in your pajamas the only look you would get would be a shrug from your friend. Which exactly was your case today.

You were exhausted and your body ached. Everywhere. You had San to thank for that. And maybe also yourself. You weren’t planning to provoke him or be a brat, but the temptation was too strong, and you paid dearly for that.

You tried to shake off the image of you under him, sweaty, panting, trembling, begging for him to let you come, your hands tied to the bed with his belt, your skin red and covered with marks. His marks.

You tried to forget the image of him nestled between your legs, digging his fingers into your skin as he teased you. As he feasted on you. Endlessly. Mercilessly. He pushed you to the edge for what felt like hours but never letting you come. No matter how much you begged. How much you cried. Because San had learnt everything about your body. He knew how much you could take. And he showed you.

You groaned and slammed your head on your desk. How were you supposed to have any work done today if you couldn’t concentrate?

“Cute office.” As if summoned just by your mere thoughts, San commented.

Startled, you almost fell off your chair, letting out a little, and very unflattering, yelp. You gawked at him, completely taken off guard and embarrassed. “What the hell are you doing here?” You didn’t intend to sound so hostile, but your tired brain was not cooperating.

San only chuckled and walked inside your office confidently. It was unfair that you looked so not composed and tired while he looked so handsome and relaxed. There was no justice in this world. Or maybe he wasn’t a human (which, in your opinion, would explain a lot). “Plushies, really?”

You cleared your throat and tried to compose yourself. So what if you had a few plushies scattered all around your office? To some it seemed childish, but really, they were the best moral support you could ask for. Plus, they were cute. “Yes. They keep me company.”

“Aren’t you full of surprises.”

You chose not to comment. Instead, you watched him closely and finally noticed what he had brought you.

San followed your gaze and smiled. “I figured you’d need some coffee after the night you had.” And he looked too damn proud when he said those words.

You huffed but couldn’t ignore the smell of coffee as he got closer to your desk. Whatever embarrassment you had felt previously vanished as he set the cup on your desk.

You slowly reached for the cup, eyes not leaving him. “For your information, I feel perfectly fine.” You were not.

San laughed at your poor lie. He sat at the edge of your desk and hovered over you. “You’re a terrible liar, love.” He pointed at the lovely, red mark around your wrist.

You hurried to pull at your sleeve to cover the mark, but San grabbed gently your wrist and brought your hand closer to him. You thought he wanted to inspect and admire his work and probably tease you and remind you why you got tied in the first place (news alert: you couldn’t keep your hands off him when he specifically told you to be a good girl and not touch him). He did none of that.

San peppered your wrist with kisses, the warmth of his lips tickled your skin. At this gesture, butterflies erupted in your stomach. He had absolutely no right to be this gentle and sweat with you. You wanted to argue and tell him to stop but your mouth refused to cooperate. Your whole body (the little traitor) surrendered to him.

Whatever game the two of you were playing, you were now convinced, you wouldn’t come out unscathed.

Back to present

Gently you reached for his face and pushed back some strands that fell over his eyes. You realized, in that moment, that you had made your choice. You could stop running.

Because San was worth the risk.

***

San was no longer in the bed.

You stared blankly at the empty spot before slowly reaching for his side, patting the spot. It was still warm. You rolled to his side and pressed your face to his pillow, inhaling his addicting scent. You still couldn’t believe that you had stayed the night. But oddly enough, now that you had admitted to yourself that there was no avoiding San – it felt nice.

It felt right.

A tiny smile spread on your face. When was the last time you felt so satisfied? So in peace? So happy? You couldn’t remember and maybe because it had never happened before.

Lazily, you threw the blanket off your body and got out of bed. You grabbed San’s shirt from the nearest chair and put it over your body. It was tempting to just walk out of his room naked and tempt the devil, but your body ached in reminder. There was no way you could have another round.

The moment you stepped out of his room, you easily guessed where to find him. A delicious smell was spreading in the hall. San was making breakfast and your stomach grumbled in response and delight. You had the privilege of trying his food. Once. You smiled at the memory. He had promised to take care of you. And he did.

He always did.

One month ago,

You had been told many times that you were a stubborn woman. You would love to refute this statement but sadly, it was true. Today was just another example of your stubbornness. You were sick, coughing for your dear life and a little feverish. But did it stop you from working from home? Absolutely not. Bundled up in your fluffiest blanket, a cup of tea with honey on your table, you pushed your limits. Didn’t matter that you received at least ten messages from Yeji, threatening you if you didn’t get any rest. You laughed at her attempt, even when she threatened with sending you San to deal with you. You didn’t really think she would reach him. Could reach him.

That was your mistake.

Music in your headphones you weren’t paying attention to your surroundings. And why would you in the safety of your home? Why would you when you lived in a friendly neighborhood, without stories.

Until you felt strong arms around your body.

Until your heart missed a beat.

You screamed, as loud as your lungs allowed you to while being sick.

You fought for your life, kicking, and screaming as the intruder lifted you from the couch as if you weighed nothing. It was a sad way to go, you thought, alone, at home, looking like a mess in your damn pajamas. You could already imagine the headlines.

Or maybe you wouldn’t die. Maybe, whoever was holding you tightly against a very solid torso, wanted to kidnap you. It was better than death, right? Right?

“For someone supposedly sick, you have too much energy, love.”

Your body froze instantly at the warm and friendly voice.

You knew that voice.

You loved a little too much that voice.

You opened your eyes and gawked at a very amused San. He shook his head, smiling fondly; his dimples on full display - your hand hitched to poke his cheeks.

Realization dawned on you.

One, you should definitely not underestimate ever again Yeji’s threats.

And two, you were not going to die today. Except maybe of embarrassment. Your face heated up in embarrassment and you buried your head into his chest, trying to hide, trying to forget the very unlady scream that had left your mouth.

San laughed softly and pressed his lips against your forehead. “It’s okay. I promise not to tease you about this little incident.” Seemed too good to be true. San never forgot about your embarrassing moments. Never. “For the next few days at least.”

“Knew it. Asshole.” You cursed under your breath and slapped his chest for good measure. Not like it hurt him anyway but you felt a little better afterwards. You cleared your throat, “How about you put me down now?” Thought for a second and quickly added, “And maybe explain why and how the hell did you get inside my place?”

San huffed in response and pressed you a little tighter against him. “Why? Isn’t it nice? In my arms?”

“No. I hate it.” You lied through your teeth.

In fact, it was more than nice. Too fucking nice.

It felt right.

And safe.

San was warm. And gentle. And smelled too damn good. You forced your body to obey and not to move. You forced yourself not to rub your nose against his neck. It worried you a little how badly you wanted to do it. Your fever is the reason. That’s why.

San laughed heartily at your blatant lie. “Yeah sure. Whatever floats your boat, love.”

Your ego demanded that you defend yourself but any words you were about to say died on your tongue as San carried you straight to your room. It was his first time at your place and yet he looked like he belonged. That was another worrisome thought.

“Wait-“ You protested at the sight of your bed. Your brain finally caught up with his intentions. “I’m not staying in my bed!” And you wriggled in his arms. You didn’t mind if he dropped you (what a little pain right?), but there was just no way you would go back to bed when you have lot to do.

“Yes, you are.” San threw you on your bed, making you squeal in the process.

You recovered quickly, glaring at him as angrily as you could manage, ready to jump out of the bed. San pushed you back with one hand. One, strong enough, push and you fell right back.

“Don’t even think about it.” He warned you. “I’m glad to know I’m not the only one you refuse to listen to.” There was no doubt he was referring to Yeji but you ignored his remark (and took note to curse your friend later for not minding her damn business).

“Yes. You’re not special.” You grumbled and pulled the blanket over your body. You refused to admit that being in your bed felt nice, your body instantly melting in your sheets.

“YN.” You winced at the use of your name. San almost never used your name. He loved using different pet names that most of the time pushed your buttons (and yet they grew on you). Hearing your name coming out of his mouth brought very unwanted feelings. “You’re a stubborn little thing, but it’s okay, I like it.” He hovered over you and brushed few strands of hair from your face. “Be a good girl and rest. I’m going to take care of you.”

Back to present

You thought you couldn’t take another round. Well that was your thought before finding San in the kitchen.

Fuck my life.

If you thought that San in a suit was hot, this San in grey sweatpants and shirtless and cooking was a sight you would never forget. Who cared about breakfast when you had such a sweet meal right in front of you? And who cared that your body was begging you not to jump on him?

To hell with food. You had a better idea.

Without making any noise, you approached him. You pressed your lips to his shoulder, then to his back, enjoying the taste of his skin on your lips. You expected to startle him but San only chuckled and glanced over his shoulder.

“Hello love.”

You only hummed in response, too busy peppering his back with kisses.

“Food is almost ready.” You bet San knew exactly what kind of meal you wanted and yet he played pretend.

You hummed again while your hands travelled from his shoulders to his arms, hands to settle then on his hips. Before you could explore further, San grabbed your hands and turned to face you, trying to look stern. Nice attempt, you thought. But his eyes betrayed him.

You batted your eyes innocently but refused to let go so easily.

“You won’t stop, will you?” He asked, resigned.

You licked your lips in response. San let go of your hands and you smirked in victory. Slowly you lowered yourself on your knees. You grabbed his pants along with his boxers and pulled, freeing his cock. Your mouth watered at the sight of your prize. Long and thick and begging for attention.

You grasped him with both hands and stroked. Slowly, gently, taking your time. You savored the feeling, the moment. The power you had over him. You loved letting him take control over you, but you also delighted in watching him come apart because of you. Because of your touches, your mouth, your tongue. There was just something so hot, so sexy, watching him throw his head back, his eyes closed, lost in his own pleasure.

You pressed your thighs a little tighter, feeling just how easily you got wet and you had barely touched him yet.

Slowly, you licked his cock. Up and down, savoring the taste of him. His hips bucks in response and you hid your smirk. It was game on.

You slid his length down your throat, moaning at the feel of him inside your mouth. San was thick and long and hard and you still weren’t fully used to him. But who cared? A little challenge was always welcoming. You took him as far as you could – your eyes watered.

“Fuck, kitten.” He groaned as his hands sank into your hair, grabbing tightly. You moaned around him in response, loving the slight sting of pain. “You’re so good to me.”

You usually weren’t but you didn’t correct him. You also didn’t tell him how much you wanted things to change between the two of you. But it was okay, you had lots of time before you. And right now, the most important thing for you was to please this beautiful man, this lovely and sweet human-being.

You bobbed your head and licked and sucked, confidently, eagerly. With every swirl of your tongue, his grip on your hair tightened. You bet he was trying hard not to let go and just fuck your mouth.

Every little groan, every pants only fueled your own desire. You were yourself so turned on you fought the urge to slip your hand between your legs and take care of your own needs. Not this time, come on.

“Just like that.” He encouraged you.

You moaned in response, eyes blurry with tears as you stared back at him. And what a sight. San chocked. He was barely holding on. You so eager, teary, your mouth full of him.

Your mouth and hands worked in tandem. You increased your pace, sensing he was so close to his release. And you wanted it. You wanted him to come down your throat. You wanted to show him you could be a perfect, little girl if given a chance.

“YN-“ He warned you and tried to push you off him.

You didn’t budge. You held stubbornly and let him explode with a roar inside your mouth. He watched you with bright eyes as you swallowed everything. He watched as you slowly released him and licked your lips, glowing in delight and satisfaction.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” But despite his words, he smiled. He grabbed your arms and lifted you from the floor. You barely had time to recover, his lips were already on yours. Sweet, gentle and yet also demanding. He parted your lips with his tongue and deepened the kiss, tasting himself on your tongue, moaning into the kiss.

You melted in his arms, into the kiss. This was the best morning ever and you wished you had done it sooner. How many mornings like this did you miss because of your own stubbornness? Because you refused to admit how you truly felt? It was ridiculous and you punched yourself mentally for that.

San pulled back. He held your face between his hands, staring more seriously at you. “You stayed.”

Oh. Maybe you were about to have the talk after all. “I did.”

If San was frustrated with your answer, he didn’t show it. Ever the patient man. He simply nodded and stroked your cheek. Slowly. Lovingly. His eyes never left yours. “You never did before. Why now?”

Your heart beat loud and strong inside your chest, you bet he could hear it too. “I-“ Why was it so hard to be honest? Why was it so hard to confess how you truly felt? It shouldn’t be. Not with him. And yet, you couldn’t formulate a proper answer.

Fortunately for you, San saw through your struggle. “Let me tell you this, YN. I want it all. I want you. Your heart, your body, your soul and everything you’re willing to give me.” And there, the dimples were back as he smiled at you. “I want your smiles and your lovely giggles. I want your anger and your tears. I want to spend my days and nights with you. And I want to wake up by your side every single day. Do you want it too?”

There was only one possible answer and as he finished his confession, you couldn’t help but give him the warmest smile you could muster. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“I want it very much.”

#ateez smut #ateez #san #san smut #choi san #ateez x reader #san x reader #ateez fluff #denial

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uhdrienne · 4 months ago

Text

ᯓᡣ𐭩 the embodiment of grace and deviousness

⛓️ pairing: seungcheol x f!reader ⛓️ genre: sfw, fluff, angst, mafia au, soulmate au ⛓️ word count: ~8k ⛓️ warnings: mentions of violence, weapons, open wounds. do not interact if it can be triggering! there's going to be cursing too because seungcheol is a grumpy one :") ⛓️ summary: as an author, it's almost poetic that your soulmate tattoo would be a flower. actually... half a flower. a snapdragon, to be exact. the petals on your arm, the vines on seungcheol's. it's even more cliche when you meet him on valentine's day. to you it means grace, but for seungcheol, he still has zero idea on what flower his tattoo is. he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious at all, but during this season of love, you're about to figure out exactly what this all means for you and him, the leader of the city's most dangerous mafia.

author's note: suuurprise! to commemorate my first valentines' on this platform, here is a fic, part of @ddeonghwa-s Secret Cupid Event 💌 thank you so much to @ddeonghwa-s for putting this event together, and of course to the wonderful @kpopflowerfield for giving me this opportunity to write for you, i hope you like this as much as i did💘

here is the event masterlist! do support the works of all other authors too, all of them are so so amazing <3 happy valentines' day!!

depending on the POV, italics signify either the author's writing or Seungcheol's thoughts <3

"Territory 13 is acting up again, sir."

"Are they?"

"They're giving trouble. Threatening to cut off our chain supply in the north."

“Hm.”

“We’ve lost a few men fighting them for the past few days. The situation doesn’t seem to be de-escalating, so we reported to you.”

“Nowhere else we can push to weaken them?”

“They seem to have it figured out, sir. They outnumber us at every turn.”

"Well, we can't have that, can we?"

"No, sir."

"You have three hours till dawn. Take the men you need and get it settled. It won't be pretty if I don't get better news by then."

"Yes, sir."

"Go."

He swings his chair around to the fading sky of the night, nursing his glass of amber. He looks down to his full sleeve of black, red, and blue ink. Zinnias, dahlias, rhododendrons, and in the centre, like the highlight of a Naturalism painting, a whorl of vines and small, green leaves, linked to the vines of other flowers. He has no idea what it means, has had no idea since the day he got it. Ever since, all he's focused on is getting it covered, blended in with other flowers on his skin.

What is the point of such a mark on his skin, he wonders for the umpteenth time as he runs his hands over the permanent imprint, if the universe won't show me what it means?

He glances at the corner of his screen. 1:30am. 14 February. Hm.

He looks away.

"I'm sorry, I don't think we can proceed with cover design and vetting for you, ma'am."

"Oh... Not possible? At all?"

"I'm afraid not, ma'am. Your drafts weren’t given the green light from our Head of Publishing, and our team can't exactly spare the manpower to help you right now."

"...I see. And there’s no one else I can look for? Or….. any contacts you may have?”

“We can try, ma’am, but we can’t promise anything. It’s busy period for us publishers at the moment.”

“Ah. Well, thank you anyway. I hope we can work together in the future."

You put your phone down and sink back into your chair, covering your face with your hands. Your most recent creative co-director pulled out two days ago, another graphic design deal fell through, and now this publishing company. At this rate, you don't know if your book will even ever reach the local bookstore across the street.

You blow out a breath, look down at the only black ink on unblemished skin, the one that's been there since the day you turned 20 years old.... the petals of a snapdragon.

Your phone lights up with a text from a friend, and as you unlock it, the date catches your attention.

14 February. Happy Valentines' Day to you.

Your final straw comes when you're walking home from your office the next night. You rub your tattoo, which has been irritated the whole of today. You have no idea what it means, just that it can't be good for your soulmate bond. But you've never been concerned for him, not the slightest bit, since the day you got the tattoo. Because he's not something you're looking for right now.

Then you hear scuffling, a familiar thing here in the rougher area of town where you live. Your only intention is to walk past and ignore everything. From prior experience, that's the best survival tactic you have: Don't go looking for trouble, and it won't find you.

A man appears on the sidewalk and walks towards you. You walk faster, calculating the distance it takes. Two hundred metres and you'll be under the safety of the street lights. One hundred and fifty. One hundred. The man seems to be getting closer.

You hear a thud. Fuck. What was that?

You squeeze your eyes together and turn around. It sounds stupid, but you'd like to at least see the face of your captor before you see darkness. You read novels about this. When a character gets out of a captor's grasp, they can never tell the police what the kidnappers look like. If now is your time, you won't go down making the same mistake.

Except there isn't a captor nor a body bag. It's just another man, hands in pockets, bending down to survey the unconscious lump on the concrete ground just behind you. He looks at you, the exact moment that you too meet his eyes. And you feel it. At the worst possible time in your life, ever, for crying out loud.

Hundreds, maybe thousands of volts of electricity. A rising and a pop in your head, a sizzling burn on your forearm. Who knew a soulmate bond snapping into place could be this painful? You choke out a gasp as the pain sears, brands itself into your arm. The outline of the flower appears in full glory, the vines entwining itself around your arm as it links with the petals. It's beautiful and horrifying, and you watch as the flower you've been waiting for finally, finally blooms.

Before long, the bloom appears on your forearm. A snapdragon.

The man seems to feel the same thing, as he doubles over in pain, pupils dilated in shock and clutching his arm. His face is covered by his hood so you can't see what he looks like, but he turns and runs, and before long he's disappeared into the darkness.

A few minutes pass before the pain finally subsides, and in its place comes a wave of exhaustion. You sink on the concrete, careful not to stir your unconscious stalker, who's still lying on the ground motionless.

You've found your soulmate. On the day of love.

You touch your mouth when you feel a smile creeping up your face.

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

Seungcheol opens his door, barks an order to his guard outside not to disturb him unless "someone is bloody dead", sinks down on a couch and grabs a whisky. He downs it, the burn of the alcohol close to nothing as compared to that of the flower sitting oh-so-innocently on his forearm. He'll never forget the way the snapdragon petals appeared, as if they were burnt into his skin.

He stares at it, remembers the girl who gasped in pain just as he did. He never meant for this to happen. He was only passing by and saw a man from one of the local, problematic gangs sneaking up on you. He only meant to get the man away as he usually would for anyone else, because his principles, despite his rough line of work, never permitted him to disrespect women. He only meant to do one thing and go on his way. He only felt his arm burning right before he turned onto that damn street.

He glares at his arm, like the ordeal is its fault. His hand is shaking. It never shakes.

He didn't mean to feel his bond snap into place, never meant to meet you. He takes another long swig. This is the worst timing ever, he thinks darkly.

Meeting your soulmate on Valentines' Day can't be pure coincidence. If there wasn't a sign before that this was your chance, there very well was now. The next day you come up with a mission plan.

Find the man who is apparently my soulmate

...........

And that's when you sit down and have a good think. What are you even going to do when you do find him, anyway? Get together with him purely because he's meant for you, as the universe dictated? What if he's a rude jerk? What if he's ugly? What if... oh god, what if his breath stinks?

What if... he doesn't like you?

You continue writing on your notepad, absently, mindlessly writing sentences and paragraphs like word-vomit. Before long, you look down on the page to see almost a full journal entry, like you always do when you're anxious or stressed.

"Great," You mutter. "May as well write a book about this."

You enter the bookstore, waving at the little old lady who runs it.

"Good morning," She hums. "What are you looking for?"

You smile, thumbing through the different books on the shelf. "Morning. Something about flowers, maybe? I'm doing research... for a book I'm writing."

She nods. "Perhaps a book that explains the flower on your arm?"

You chuckle. Nothing could ever get past her eyes. "You caught me."

The lady laughs in return. "That," she says, hobbling out from the counter to rummage her inventory, "is a snapdragon. Yours is lovely -- a nice shade of red."

You smile. "Does its colour represent something, too?"

The old lady pulls down a thick book, flips through it and sweeps off the dust on the cover. "Every colour has its representation, but it's also your choice to decide what it means to you." She passes you the book. "In Chinese culture, it means prosperity. It's a lucky colour. For others, it could mean passion and love. It could also mean danger, perhaps courage..."

"Wow," You mumble, flipping through the book. "One colour and thousands of meanings?"

The old lady shrugs. "Colours and nature existed way before we did," She takes the book from you and goes to wrap it up in construction paper. "Is that the tattoo that brings you to your other half?"

"So the world says," You shrug, as you pay for the book. "I had the petals first, so the stem and leaves appeared when I met him, but I don't know where he is... or even what he looks like."

The lady nods in understanding. "I wouldn't worry. You'll find your way back to each other. I'd think that's what the tattoo's for."

"Do you know about them? What do they do?"

"Some stories say they help soulmates detect when one is in danger. Other stories say the closer you are, the warmer it feels... I've never tried."

Huh. You nod. "Thank you. So very much."

There is a soft shimmer of fascination in the old lady's eyes as she waves you goodbye. "I have faith that what's meant for you will come to you in due course, dear. Have a good day now."

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

Seungcheol hasn't stopped glowering at his tattoo all day. It looks... out of place. The petals aren't supposed to be there. It looks like an outsider, a strange feeling he can't place. If this is the bond acting up, he surmises, it fucking sucks.

He needs coffee to cure the pounding headache building up.

He orders someone to get his coffee, and as he sits to wait, he taps at his keyboard impatiently, trying to figure out how the tattoo had built up.

The petals came later, he thinks. Is that supposed to mean something?

When his right-hand man, a freckled, tan man comes in with the coffee, Seungcheol is still none the wiser on the phenomenon. So he lowers his guard (for once, he thinks bitterly, for a soulmate bond of all things), and asks the man who's currently laying his coffee cup down. "Lee."

Lee looks up. "Yes, sir?"

"What do you know about soulmate bond tattoos?"

Lee looks visibly excited. "Did you get yours, sir?"

"Asking for a friend," Seungcheol deflects immediately. "So, what do you know about it?"

"I have one, sir," Lee says, and rolls up his sleeve to reveal a... half-faded anchor tattoo. "I was so.... it felt so strange to meet my other half."

"Strange. What was it like?"

Lee shrugs as he sets down a serviette. "Can I speak freely?"

Seungcheol waves at him to go ahead. He's usually the man who acts like he has a stick up his ass, but this time, he wants to find out everything he can about having a soulmate. Just so I don't drag the poor girl down with me for no good reason, he reasons to himself.

"It wasn't all good feelings," Lee explains thoughtfully, hands pausing mid-air. "My soulmate... he was an underground weapons dealer. And you know people in our circle, we don't do feelings. They're liabilities, it's another thing enemies can use against us." He chuckles bitterly. "That was one of the only things we had in common."

Seungcheol doesn't miss the way he's speaking in past tense. "You don't have to explain yourself," He says cautiously.

"No, that's okay," Lee says. "It was a while back. See, I have fading scars to prove that."

"What did it... feel like?"

"It started fading and it hurt so much, I knew something was wrong." Lee shows his arm again.

"What happened?"

Lee shrugs. "He died in an underground turf war. One of those."

Seungcheol makes eye contact. "Did you at least have good days with him?"

Lee looks at him, then looks away. "We did. Almost left the circle for each other, but..." He shrugs again. "Time just wasn't on our side."

"No," Seungcheol agrees. "It wasn't."

His fists clench. So this is what could happen to both parties who were in the circle, nevermind a civilian. He nods. "Thank you for telling me."

Lee gives him a half-smile. "So is this about your tattoo?"

"Y- No, for my friend," Seungcheol replies, cursing himself at the slip-up.

"I see," Lee says, the mischievous glint in his eyes returning. Seungcheol knows Lee doesn't believe him. As his right-hand man for years, how could he not see through Seungcheol? He starts walking towards the door. "Well, tell your friend that if there's anything I learnt, it's that time is a bitch. There's going to be a lot of fear, and it won't be pretty. But... take it from me," He smiles sadly. "It's going to feel worse when you don't treasure time and lose them. After all...." He opens the door. "I lived to tell the tale."

When the door closes behind him, Seungcheol leans back into his chair and rubs his temples.

"Some soulmates you find in the lecture hall of your school. Some you find along the way of life. Some... are pre-ordained by the universe, in the form of a snapdragon tattoo.

But are these... pre-meditated, pre-planned people meant to stay?"

You put down your pen.

You're curious. At the world, for giving you a person. How that system came about. About your soulmate. What he's like, what he looks like.

But there's no straightforward way to find him. No instruction manual that tells you where to go and what to do.

You decide to take a walk that evening. No distance limit. Just wherever your feet takes you.

And it brings you to this cafe on a street you've never been, with soft music and oak furniture, and a smiley, freckled and tan man behind the counter grins at you. "Welcome to Choi's."

"Hello," You say, smiling a bit. "Could I get a latte, and... that croissant? It looks amazing."

"Of course," He says, before turning to another burly staff that just appeared. "Get her a latte, will you?"

The staff nods, and disappears behind the coffee machine.

You take a seat, and hum as you wait. When the pastry and drink appear on your table, you thank the staff and look down to see the milk foam in the shape of a heart. Mmm. You take a sip, already feeling a lot better.

The bell jingles, and a man steps in, hands in his pockets. and heads for the counter. By force of habit, you look up and send him a cursory glance. And then you freeze. The man has rolled up his sleeves as he speaks to the staff, as if they already know each other, and on his arms....

A full tattoo sleeve of flowers. Zinnias, dahlias, rhododendrons, and in the centre, a whorl of vines leading to the most prominent flower. It looks fresh, like it was inked in a mere five minutes earlier.... in a shade of brilliant red... a snapdragon.

It's him.

The man must have excellent situational awareness because he acutely notices someone staring at him and he turns to you. Your shell-shocked face, your trembling hands... and his eyes fall on your forearm.

Choi Seungcheol had never felt this thunderstruck, not even when he found out half his men had been bought over by rivals years ago. He knows he'll never forget this feeling.

So he does the next best thing. He excuses himself from his staff and leaves.

So you get up and run after him.

Seungcheol's in the middle of cursing himself and the world out when he hears your voice calling for him.

"Sir...?"

He can pretend he doesn't know you're calling him. Sure. He can do that. Keep on walking, Seungcheol.

Until he hears running, and a tap on his shoulder. Ah.

He swallows, closes his eyes, and turns around. "Yes?" He asks coldly.

Ah. So he's not in the habit of making conversation, you think. "I'm really sorry about this, but can I...."

"Can you what?" Seungcheol replies, even though he already knows what you're going to say.

"Can I see your arm? For a second? I just wanted to make sure I wasn't seeing wrongly."

"No, you may not."

You cringe. Silence dwindles between both of you. "Uh... right."

Seungcheol reaches for his car key. "Why do you want to see my arm, love?" He casts a cursory glance at your arm. "To see if I'm your soulmate?"

You look down, then at him. "...Yeah. I got this tattoo, and I don't know what my soulmate looks like, so..."

"So you're trying to find him in me, huh?" Seungcheol doesn't mean to be rude, but this is the only way to get you off his back, at least until he knows how to move forward. The least he can do is to warn you. "News flash, love. I'm just a man who enjoys flowers. But me as your soulmate?" He chuckles and presses a button. From a distance, his car makes a beeping sound and unlocks. "I highly doubt it. You'll need to know who we are before you enter our world."

"And who are you?" The words come out before you can stop them.

Seungcheol supposes it doesn't hurt to establish who he is, just so you'll have enough sense to stay away.

"The mafia, love," He says softly, as he walks towards his car. "I'm the leader, here. I'd advise you to stay away from me, soulmate or otherwise."

When his car pulls away, you sigh and look at your tattoo.

The biggest joke the universe could have pulled on you. Making a mafia leader, out of 8 billion other people, your soulmate.

When he reaches home, Seungcheol reaches for his phone. When Lee answers, Seungcheol gives him a long list of things to do, for the cafe and for the mafia.

"Has anyone caught on the cafe yet?" He asks.

"Nope," Lee answers. "It was a good front to keep track of the public, but it seems like a normal cafe to them. So I'd say everything's fine, boss."

"Good."

"Anything else?" Lee says.

"....One more thing." Seungcheol says, sighing through his nose. "A girl came to the cafe tonight."

"...Uh-huh."

"The girl in the white cardigan and jeans."

"Right."

"Warn her not to divulge who we are and what the cafe really is. With any luck, she'll figure out that the cafe is protecting us."

"Protecting us..." Lee gasps. "Sir, you told her who you are? Why?"

"To get her to leave me alone," Seungcheol mutters. "Anyway, just tell her to zip her mouth. I don't care how you do it."

He regrets the words once they exit his mouth. "Just don't hit her or anything. We're not in that business."

A soft laugh comes over the phone. "She your soulmate or something, boss?"

Seungcheol pinches his nose. "So she thinks. Just because we have a matching..."

An idea hits him. "Do me another favour."

"Name it, boss."

"Find out where she was last night. Just to make clear something for me."

"You got it."

A knock on your door sounds in the middle of the night. When you open the door, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you flinch when two burly guys flanking the same freckled, tan man from the cafe last night step in your doorway.

"Uh...you're from the cafe, aren't you?"

"I thought a familiar face might help matters," The freckled man says. "My name's Lee. And you?"

You introduce yourself cautiously, but you look at the two men. "So... what the man said yesterday was true? You're not really a cafe, are you?"

Lee shrugs. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with, anyway." He nods to the men. "We just came here to give a little warning."

You have a feeling you already know. "What warning?"

"Don't pry, and don't tell," Lee says, still smiling, but you sense the underlying threat within. "I don't know what business you have with us, but it should end now." He nods at you. "For both yours and our good."

The burly man on the left makes a point of nodding towards your home. "We know where you live, and we can find you no matter where you go. Don't complicate things for yourself. You won't like what comes next."

And they leave, leaving you shaking in the doorway. Anger courses through you. Your soulmate sent people after you to push you away.

You don't know everything about soulmate bonds, but what you do know is that soulmates are drawn to each other: to protect, and to take care of. Either your soulmate is very, very clueless; or he just doesn't want anything to do with you. You have to find out which answer it is before you decide whether to let go of him or not.

Alright, Mr. Mafia Boss, you clench your teeth. I don't have to deal with your mafia directly to get an audience with you. Let's see how far this game can go.

Moonlight slants through his ceiling-to-floor windows. Seungcheol grits his teeth as he watches the surveillance that Lee found for him. You, walking home the night of 14 February, around 10pm, going faster and faster as that son-of-a-bitch followed you. His arms rest on his chair as he sees himself appear and knock the guy out cold.

He sighs. So it really was you. He'd recognise that face anywhere.

He looks at his tattoo once more, hating how perfectly it entwines with the rest of his tattoos. So much for covering it up. He turns his arm around again and again. It's exquisite, but it lies there like a burden.

And it picks the perfect timing to start burning. Seungcheol grunts in pain, clutching his arm as it burns, sears with the same pain it did that night. He doesn't know how the system came about, but what he knows is this: You're in danger. And as annoyed as he is about this whole situation, he has to find you. If only to make the pain stop.

He reaches for his telephone, and when the other line picks up he hisses: "Find her. Now. Scour all the surveillance in the city. I don't care what you have to do, but find her."

He can hear his man barking out orders in the background, and he shakily puts the phone down. Lee comes bursting into the room, grabs Seungcheol's arm to check on him. Normally, Seungcheol would have the head of anyone who dared to touch him without permission, but given Lee's position in this predicament, he allows him to.

"Is it supposed to be like this?" Seungcheol groans out. "It hurts like hell."

"Yup," Lee mutters. "It is. Looks and seems exactly like mine whenever Bri got into danger."

"Danger--" Seungcheol scowls and tries getting up. "You mean she's injured?"

Lee shrugs. "I don't know if it extends to normal minor situations, but whenever Bri got into a fight, I'd feel my arm burning."

"Her, fight. Don't make me laugh," Seungcheol scoffs, then grunts again as another wave of pain hits him. "She looks like she couldn't hurt a fly."

"We've located her, boss," Another man comes into the room, holding a laptop towards him.

"Where?"

When silence answers him, he hisses. "I didn't ask you this question for you to not fucking reply. I asked where?"

"The border of Territory 7, sir."

"What the hell is she doing there? Is she an underworld member, too?" Lee wonders out loud.

Seungcheol pushes himself up off his seat, wincing as his arm throbs slightly. "Fuck if I know. But I guess I have to find her if I want this pain to stop."

"I'll get men and go with you," Lee starts, but Seungcheol waves him off. "No need. We don't need to stir up a fuss, not when the territories are already misbehaving these few weeks. I'll get her, and... figure it out later."

You're tapping your foot as you wander the edges of the city's largest turf. It's well-known that civilians shouldn't pass by here if they want to get home alive and well, but with the recent news of unrest stirring in such turfs, you figure that it's the best way to seek Seungcheol out. It's stupid, but it's your best bet. Plus, you figure that the nearer you are to danger, the better.

You must be near a group of militants on patrol duty, because you can hear hushed orders and boots crunching. You sigh and look at your watch.

"Are you actually stupid?"

You raise your head. "So it worked. So nice of you to join me this evening."

Seungcheol storms towards you. "So you tricked me?"

"Wasn't a trick." You mutter. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"You are a nutcase," He seethes, as he grabs your arm and starts dragging you away. "Do you have any idea what would happen if anyone caught you? These few places are red-light districts now. You're not supposed to be here."

"I wouldn't know. You came anyway."

Seungcheol lets you go and huffs at you. "Go home, and don't get any more stupid ideas. Yes, I'm your soulmate. Yes, my tattoo is also a snapdragon, and I guess I can sense when you're in places you shouldn't be because my arm fucking burns, okay? Got your answer?"

"No," You say defiantly. "I haven't found out one thing. Why were you so desperate to deny that you weren't my soulmate? But you still came running anyway."

"This," He hisses, stepping closer to you, "is a pain in my ass. I can't work if my tattoo's going to start hurting every half hour. So for god's sake, please stay out of anything that doesn't concern you. Do not run into a lion's den to get an audience with me."

"So you're going to give me a way to contact you?" You shrug. "Sure, if that will keep me from making rash decisions."

Seungcheol furrows his brows. "What gave you that idea?"

"Well, you can't think I'm going to let you go after all of this, do you?"

What??

"Did I not make myself clear en-"

"Oh, you did," You say. "Like you said, you came running because you could sense I was somewhere I shouldn't be. So you can't stay away no matter how much I piss you off, can you?"

"I nev-"

"That's how soulmates work, Mr. Mafia Boss." You say smugly. "We can't stay away from each other, like a moth can't stray from the light."

Seungcheol scowls at you and then proceeds to maintain a ten-second glaring competition until he blows out a breath.

"Ten more reasons why I hate this bond so much," He mutters, before pulling out a business card and shoving it into your hands. "I've got ground rules. Don't call me for stupid reasons. Do not call to ask me out privately. Do not give my number to anyone for any reason. No exceptions, unless you want a bullet through your brain."

"Did you just threaten to shoot me...." You peruse the business card. "Choi Seungcheol?"

"Yes, and what about it?"

"You know nothing about being a gentleman."

"Never said I was one. Get in the car."

"You''re going to shoot me in there? With the expensive leather?"

"I will if you don't keep your mouth shut and start moving."

You zip it and follow him.

Success. You've met your soulmate. (You're sitting in his car, too.)

He said you couldn't call. But texting exists, so.... You're determined to bug him until he takes notice.

"It's me."

He leaves you on read.

The next day you add another message. "I guess I'll write to an empty chatroom. I'm doing good, I just had a sandwich for breakfast and I'm going to continue writing now."

5pm: "I'm done with my next chapter. Trying to find an illustrator for the cover. I'm craving soup."

11pm: "goodnight! hope your work or whatever's going well. You can't tell me anything about what you're doing?"

And so it continues, for a full three days, with silly texts about a sentence error you wrote, or a funny thing you ate, or asking him what he's doing at work, until you get a single response from him that has you rolling your eyes: "Be quiet."

You do not, to Seungcheol's chagrin, keep quiet.

He didn't think you could talk so much to someone who never replied. In a week he'd all but figured out your life pattern: wake up, eat, write (he had no idea what you were writing), find publishers and illustrators, take a walk maybe in the late afternoon, eat again, and write until it was time to sleep. You lead an awfully idyllic life compared to him, he thinks as he closes your text.

You also seem to have a love for soup, he realises. The weirdest fucking craving.

And croissants from his fake cafe. You sent him photos of it across the week, and he wonders how you never get tired of the damn thing. Your food cravings change from soup to something else every now and then, getting more bizarre with each one. (Pasta with pickles? Really?)

It was cute. (He cursed himself out after thinking about it.)

And so it goes for two more weeks until Seungcheol decides this has to stop. He texts you back for once, and you're elated as you read his text.

"Be ready Saturday night. Zip it for now, will you? I'm trying to work."

You're waiting outside your house when he pulls up. You already know that he knows exactly where you live, so you never bothered texting him your address. You get in once he stops the car, his grumpy face still on full display.

"Thanks for taking me out," You say, smiling at him, and he grunts as he pulls out and steps on the accelerator. "Isn't that exactly what you wanted?"

You shrug. "And you gave in. Is that a soulmate thing?"

"I will drop you off right this second if you say 'soulmate' one more time." He threatens.

He rubs the sleeve covering the skin on which his tattoo lies, and you frown. "Is it causing you trouble? I haven't gone anywhere weird recently, though."

"No. And you better not have."

He doesn't say much after that, simply drives about twenty minutes to a sleek, al fresco restaurant. The neon lights, warm-looking space draws you in, and when you read the menu outside while waiting for him to park...

"Soup? So you did read my texts!"

"You won't shut up about it. A little hard to miss it even if I wanted to."

You chuckle and flip through the menu. "So what're you getting?"

"You pick, you're the one craving soup of all things," He mutters absently. "Don't really care. Just came to get a message across."

"What is it?"

"Sit first before I tell you."

And so you do. He lets you get tomato soup and grilled cheese, pasta and a soda, and says absolutely nothing. He eats a little, rolling his eyes at the amount you inhale. Finally, you put down your fork. "So what did you want to tell me?"

He swallows his water before putting the glass down. "Just one thing."

You cock your head. "I'm listening."

"Why are you contacting me personally, so often? I'm sure I said not to do that."

"You said not to call," You reply, smiling. When he looks like he's about to protest, you smile again. "So I texted."

"You're fucking impossible," He mutters.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"Nothing. Anyway, stop that. I'm a busy man."

"I know. That's why I text, like, three times in a day. It's not a lot, is it?"

His hand comes down on the table, not loud enough to cause a scene but firm enough to catch your attention. "I don't have the time to entertain you, Miss Y/N. You know who I am, and that was my fault, and I think it would do you good to remember that."

"Pulling the mafia leader card on me, again?" You sigh and shake your head. "I don't know what you do, and you won't tell me. I write about people like you and mobsters. You're exactly what I write in my books."

"I am not one of your little book characters," Seungcheol hisses back. "I am not a work of fiction or something you pull out of your imagination and twist about like your plaything. I am real, and I am someone who can hurt you if I want to. And I don't owe you any information. Stop bothering me, got it?"

"Is that why you brought me here?" A surge of confidence and defiance grips you. He couldn't have taken you out to somewhere he knew you'd enjoy for no reason.

He scowls. “I can go wherever I want. Don’t read too much into it.”

You grin. “Sure.”

He nods.

“So can I continue messaging you?”

He groans. “Did you not get any of what I just said?”

You shrug. "Guess you’ll have to tell me a few more times.”

He sighs loudly, and his fingers drum the table as he seemingly goes deep into thought. The scowl is almost becoming a permanent fixture on his face, you think.

After a long moment, he groans and utters: “Next Sunday. 6pm.”

He takes you out two more times. The next Sunday, to a small restaurant you chose. This time he ate better, the consistent strain in his forehead almost easing as he bit into the lasagna.

He answered your questions, albeit grumpily, and when you got off his car that night, you thought, as you opened your journal up again, that he was finally, finally warming up to you.

But the next time he brings you out, he is visibly in a stormy mood, barely making conversation and stabbing his meat with his fork.

“Is there something wrong?” You ask.

“No.”

And there the conversation ends.

As dessert rolls in, you try one more time.

“So… how’s work lately?”

“Fine.”

“Ah.”

Please talk. Please.

“You know, I always wonder what a mafia boss does,” You pick up your spoon. “Like, order kills or something?”

Seungcheol picks up his glass. “I remember telling you not to ask about what I do.”

“And you don’t have to give me a full answer,” You shrug. “I’m just asking for a general idea. I thought it’d be nice if I got to know what you do.”

Seungcheol sits back in his seat. "Don't read too much into what I do, love." He takes another sip of water. "You can't honestly think I'm interested in you enough to reveal myself after a few meals. You said you're a writer. You shouldn't be this easy to lie to, you know that?"

Yeah, screw this.

Any confidence you had sizzles out. Easy to lie to. He thinks you're a gullible, small girl eating up every morsel of attention he deigns to give you when he feels like it. Red-hot, burning humiliation and shame rise in you.

After a long pause, you nod. "Alright. Fine. I get it. I apologise for occupying your time."

He surveys you for a second, then nods, like he just made a good business deal. "Just so we make things clear with each other."

"Crystal," You reply, no warmth in your words. "I think I finally got what you wanted to say. I thought you just weren't used to this... idea of having a soulmate, so I wanted to warm you up to it. But now I see you never wanted one in the first place."

Seungcheol furrows his brows just a fraction.

You push your chair back. You're careful not to look or seem angry, in part not to show him you're affected, and also to just... save face. He already embarrassed you. No need to do it again in public. "Take care, Mr. Choi. Thanks for putting up with me, anyway. It won't happen again. I’ll get the bill."

Soulmate, my ass.

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

It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

It wasn't supposed to turn out this way.

Glass meets the plaster of the wall. His tattoo lies there, barren, lacking its usual warmth even though nothing was taken away.

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

Ladies and gentlemen, this is perhaps how the story goes. He pushed her away, and she realised how the universe’s plan, this whole concept, had utterly failed. There were never meant to be pre-ordained people. People change, and oftentimes they disappoint…

The journal remains open, the last sentence discontinued.

T w o M o n t h s L a t e r

Soft, oozing vocals of Clara Bow fill your apartment as you pack your writing materials. You're done writing for the day.

You glance at the clock. Nine p.m. In time for a snack and TV before you head to bed.

When you turn on the TV, the news catches your attention. Another territory struggle, another turf battle for control. You shake your head and switch the channel. Typical.

As you settle down into the cushions with chips and a glass of white wine, sudden searing pain, hot and white and agonising, shoots down your arm. You gasp and grasp it in your other hand, almost keeling over at how painful it is.

Something is wrong. Very, very, wrong.

You sink to the floor, clutching your arm and sweat starting to bead your forehead. It hurts, your arm hurts, everything hurts.

Is Seungcheol in trouble?

His name card. Right. You can just find out for yourself, and if he asks, you could just say the tattoo's causing you a lot of pain. Yes. That's it.

You stagger to your drawers to find his card, messing everything up in the process. You fumble for your phone and dial his number, again and again and again, but all you’re greeted with is a beep and an automated voice instructing you to leave a message.

You don’t know what to do. No emergency contact, no one you can find… hell, you don’t even know where he is. As you’re standing, getting ready to run out and search, there's a pounding on your door.

You barely make it to the door and open it, and there stands the freckled, tan man whose name you never got. He looks awkward, eyes racing to your tattoo. "I'm sure you must be in a lot of pain," He says. "Mr. Choi ordered me to check on you."

"Check on me?" You almost wheeze. "What's going on that my arm hurts this badly?"

Lee shakes his head. "Not right now. We will talk in the van."

"Of course you can't say." You snap, patience wearing thin, temper as riled up as the pain in your arm. You're done with his secrets. "I can't know what he's doing, I can't know where he is, or if he's alive or dead, even if the pain he's causing may very well kill me too."

"You won't die," Lee says, a little more kindly. "If this comforts you, my soulmate's gone, and I'm still here."

Your anger evaporates a fraction. "I'm sorry about that."

"No need to be." Lee sighs, then reaches his own arm out. "Hold on to me, I won’t do anything weird. I'll take you to him. He's going to be a bitch when he sees you, but... I think it would be good for both of you. More often than not, distance breaks things apart."

"He's enough of a bitch even when I'm around," You mumble, but you take his arm anyway as he helps you out.

Without much effort, he gets you into the van he came in, and barks out an order to the curious men inside to drive into what he calls "The Heart".

"What's the Heart?" You ask, as he passes you a canteen of water to drink from.

"It's what it sounds like. The heart of our territory." Lee explains, eyes trained in front. "Mr. Choi's there when we... have scuffles, and that's usually the place where security is tightest, so he can be near to us to get updates and give orders, and still not get into danger."

"So he is a leader."

"He is, and one of those you wouldn't want to cross. He's quick with his work, and he can resort to getting his hands dirty if he has to. His network and connections are... frighteningly impressive, to say the least."

"Funny how I'm hearing it from you and not him," You huff as you lay your head back, trying not to think about the pain.

"He hasn't had the experience of telling people about his life, Miss," Lee chuckles. "But I figured you'll know eventually, so better sooner than later, right?"

"Sooner than later?"

"You're meant to stick around him, Miss. For the good and bad. You're his soulmate, after all."

"I don't know if we'll get there." You sigh, and close your eyes. "Is he badly hurt? Will me being there even help matters?"

Lee shrugs. "We'll find out."

Lee gets six men to flank you both as he walks you in. Up ahead, there's a building seemingly made of unforgiving steel, it's blank canvas looming in the dark red, streaked sky.

"That's the Heart?"

"That’s the one. Unpenetrable, Miss. Let's go in."

You pray for all your sakes it really is as Lee takes you up into the elevator. When he opens one of the (almost) hundreds of similar doors to lead to an empty, cell-like room, and inside sits Seungcheol, with a red fabric pressed---

"You're bleeding," You blurt. The pain in your arm subsides just a fraction, perhaps jarred by the sensation of finally, finally, meeting him.

He looks up, eyes twisting in furious shock as he glares at Lee, and then you (you don’t know why). "Exactly which part of my order did you not understand, Lee?"

Lee bows his head in apology. "I'll never take away a chance to meet your soulmate away, you know that, sir."

Seungcheol scowls hard, and you're almost afraid he's going to shoot Lee there and then.

"Get out."

Lee smiles, ushers you in and walks out. "I'll be back in half an hour to report. I'll call for the doctor again."

You bend and peel aside the fabric. Once white, it's now soaked red, it's warmth unsettling. There's blood, so much of it, and on his once unblemished skin now contains a mess of open flesh, blood, and a...

A bullet.

"A gun." You mumble.

"Try not to throw up." He replies, ever-so-gently nudging you away. "This is Armani."

"You jerk."

His face twists in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." The anger is returning. "You say all sorts of fucking nonsense to keep me away, and we meet again months later because you're shot. And that may be a normal day for you, Mr. Choi, but us civilians don't go about our day-to-day expecting a bullet hole to appear in our skin."

His hand clenches up.

"This is why I said everything I did," He snarls in return, putting more pressure on his wound. "I knew I would never want you to try to handle what I am!"

"You never let me try," You hiss. "You refused to tell me anything, to let me see what your life was like. No, you chose to shut me out! And don't you dare tell me what I can or can't handle."

He huffs. "I see no reason in dragging you, or anyone else, in when it isn't needed."

"Yet Lee brought me here tonight." You point out. "He knows something you clearly don't."

"Lee is a nosy fucker." He snaps.

"He's someone who's experienced it all. His soulmate is gone, Seungcheol."

"And look at the pain it caused him. At least if anything happens to me, it's no love lost for you."

"Shut up."

"What?"

"I said shut up. Sometimes people want to help you. Sometimes people wouldn't actually mind, I don't know, going into this Heart place to check on you. Sometimes, you need to get it into your thick skull that I actually want to be here, to make sure you don't die while this stupid snapdragon is burned into me!"

His eyes meet yours.

"But you won't get it!" You chuckle. "You send men to check on me when I’m in pain, but I doubt you have any intention of finding me after all this gets better."

"You think I wanted to?" He shoots back.

"And you think I had it all settled for me? That I was better off not knowing the person that was meant for me, this whole time?"

"I never wanted that." Seungcheol insists hotly. "Look at my world, it's a mess, a violent place, a--"

"And there has to be a reason I'm the one picked out!" You defend. "Do you have any idea what snapdragons stand for?"

When he doesn't reply, you continue. "It stands for grace and strength. I can handle all of this. I'm not meant to measure up with your headstrong personality anyway."

"Then what are you meant for?" He asks, tone now soft, dejected.

"To complement you," You reply. You've never been this sure in your life. "To make up for the traits you lack. I'm not supposed to be as strong, or as fierce as you are. I'm meant to... ground you. That's what soulmates are. To... allow each other's strengths to shine and make up for what they don't have yet."

Seungcheol goes quiet.

"And you?" He asks, after a long pause. "What do I complement you in?"

You survey him again. "That's something I can't discover yet, because you won't let me."

“So what do you suggest?” He continues.

“No more hiding. Show me who you are. No restraint, I don’t need you to keep anything secret.”

“What if you end up like Lee?”

“Then it would have been a life well spent, at least.”

Seungcheol grunts with effort as he leaves his seat and stumbles to you. "And if I obeyed, and let you in?"

You look at him square in the eye. "Then it would be my honour to stand with you... or in the shadows, or wherever you make me stand."

"This sounds a lot like an induction of one of my men," Seungcheol murmurs. "I don't want that."

"Then what do you want?" You ask softly.

Seungcheol looks down at you, emotions warring in his eyes. After a while, he slumps and turns away. “Fuck. I can’t do this to you.”

“Tell me what you want, Seungcheol,” You say quietly. “You order people around for a living. I’m telling you to be honest with me, too.”

"…You. With me. Wherever you, or I, want to be."

You shrug a little as he cups your face. "I can live with that."

"You better," Seungcheol mumbles, as his mouth finds yours at last, burning more than any wretched tattoo, warmth spreading to your fingertips. "After everything you just said... I don't imagine you're going anywhere for a while."

February 14, 2026

The doctor came to patch him up. His hand squeezed yours hard as the bullet was finally pried out of him.

It's honestly a blur to you now when you think about it, but all you remember is his eyes boring into yours, his unwavering, callused grip on your hand.

"The snapdragon symbolises strength and grace reflected in their tall, strong stems, blooms and resistance to colder temperatures. Others believe they also represent deception and deviousness.

She embodied grace. She was his missing piece, the trait he needed to complement his headstrong nature. But he also needed someone strong enough to stand with him, through every obstacle his work throws him in. And she... she needed his courage and unwavering will to stand with her through it all."

You put the pen down. Mmm. Not too bad for a closing chapter. You send a text to the new publishing house that you contacted two weeks ago. They had seen your draft, and they loved it. Two weeks from now, when everything is settled, you promise yourself, you will show Seungcheol. He'd been curious for a while now about what holed you up in your writing room.

"Love?"

You look up from biting into your croissant. "Well, look who's back from Sicily. How did the meetings go?"

Seungcheol smiles and opens his arms. "Not too bad. I suppose the love you share for novels, along with the Don's* wife, was a selling point. She was most keen on sending you," He cocks his head to the pile of books at his feet, "this. She said it'd make a good Valentines' gift, since I've been poor at accompanying you these few months."

"That sounds perfect. We're both suckers for romances."

As you sink into his embrace, the tattoo once again burns, but it's not the passionate, red-hot zealous heat. It's warm, comforting, like a hot chocolate in winter.

He sighs. "Happy Valentines', love. I'm going to lose my girl to a bunch of fictional mafia men again?"

"You know it."

"I still don't understand why. You have one right here, next to y-"

"Softer! Do you want the whole town to hear you?"

fin.

*Don = the highest role in an organised crime family

thank you for reading 💟

main masterlist

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kxsagi · 22 days ago

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“𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐲”

a/n: based on this!

it’s honestly unfair how famous you are.

not just “front row at fashion week” famous or “gets surprise flowers from designers” famous. no, you are the woman. the woman of the decade. the woman of the century. the woman everyone either wants to be, wants to marry, or wants to be adopted by. it’s global. international. peasants know your name. politicians have posters of you in their offices. pop stars write songs about you and your career. your wedding at twenty was televised and momentarily broke peace treaties in three countries because no one wanted to miss it.

and despite all this, you still look like you’d throw hands if someone touched your man without permission.

you married young, and to a man whose name can silence entire stadiums. a man just as disgustingly in love with you as you are with him. the kind of love that makes people sigh dreamily and gag a little. mutual. sickening. soulmate-coded. the internet has never recovered.

so when you walked onto that late night interview show in your sunglasses and million-dollar smile, the audience erupted. cheers, tears, screams of “MOTHER!” and “SHE’S HERE!” filled the room. you waved like a benevolent queen, high-fived a teenage fan in the front row, and sat down with the grace of someone who knew the world revolved around her and her alone.

the interviewer blinked at you like they couldn't believe you were real. “i have to say, you look stunning tonight.”

you laughed, low and easy. “thank you. i stole this outfit from coco chanel herself.”

the crowd screamed again.

the interview went smoothly at first. questions about your upcoming projects. your career milestones. your recent appearance at the met gala where you’d made headlines for not blinking once during the entire red carpet. the fans ate it up. the comments online were already calling you mother, icon, CEO of their hearts.

and then, mid-way through the interview, the host leaned forward with a little glint in their eye.

“so… we’ve all seen the fan edits. the montages. the insane compilations. i have to ask… how’s your sex life with your husband?”

the audience sucked in a sharp breath.

your lips twitched.

“oh, naughty,” you hummed, voice dripping with amusement as you crossed one leg over the other. “buttttt i won’t be saying anything, because i’ve seen the fandom edits. i know what y’all are capable of. i’m not giving you another frame to turn into a ‘me x my husband moaning in 4k’ tiktok.”

the crowd exploded. half of them screamed. the other half cried. one person fainted.

the host choked, laughing. “wait, wait. you watch the edits?”

“of course,” you replied smoothly. “i have to see what my digital doppelgänger is doing. sometimes the plots are better than actual TV shows.”

a fan in the audience shouted, “IS YOUR HUSBAND JEALOUS?”

you smirked. “jealous? he makes fake accounts just to defend me in the comments.”

that was the end of the interview, essentially. nothing else mattered. the internet went feral. the words 'naughty but no moaning tiktok sorry’ trended worldwide. fan accounts posted clips of the moment on loop, edits rained down within hours, and despite your very clear warning, the fandom somehow went harder than ever.

there were now more suspiciously well-edited videos. some with you and your husband in soft domestic bliss, others labeled “you can’t tell me they didn’t do it in the kitchen after this interview.” some of them were too well-edited. you scrolled a bit through tik tok days later, narrowed your eyes, and muttered, “that audio was fake. i did not say ‘daddy’ like that.”

your husband passed by, peeked at your phone, and mumbled, “i kind of like that one. they gave me a six pack.”

“as if you don’t have one.”

the fanbase? oh, it's unhinged. there’s the main fandom, the professionals who have followed your rise since you were eighteen and treat you like royalty, and then there’s the reader x character fandom, a subculture so passionate they’ve created an entire parallel timeline. you’ve seen it all. fanfiction with 300k words. hand-drawn comics. romantic timelines. detailed analysis on your zodiac compatibility with your husband (as if you weren’t married for four years now).

and you? you love them. adore them. blow kisses and comment emojis and once personally called out a stalker in the dms like:

❌ you. in the bushes yesterday. blocked.

✅ everyone else. you may continue to thirst in peace.

the world can’t get enough of you. neither can he. your names are etched into pop culture history like an eternal love spell. and even though you tried to warn the internet… somewhere, in the depths of fandom editing hell, a new video is rendering.

title: “reader x husband – ‘naughty’ scenes the interview DIDN’T show 😭💥💍🔥”

you sigh, drop your head back, and mutter, “gosh. i love being famous.”

and the comments?

“THEY’RE NOT JUST A COUPLE. THEY’RE A RELIGION.”

“i want a love like that or i’ll perish.”

“her and her man are SO unserious. goals.”

“mother is mothering again.”

god help anyone who thinks they can match your energy.

you’re the woman. and he’s your man. the world’s just lucky to witness it.

characters: any boy from blue lock 😚💙

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock oneshot #woman of the century

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reiderwriter · 1 year ago

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🧺 Any More 🧺

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge 2024

Requested: spencer realizing that he’ll never love someone as much as he loves you. (whether that be because of a case or what have you), his mind is absolutely blown with how much he worships you and how much you love and care for him and he shows you that with the softest most sickeningly sweet sex you and him has ever done. <3

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI! Discussions of case details, case burnout, very close friends to lovers, oral (f receiving), vanilla sex (p in v penetration). Discussions of mental health, and two idiots in love.

A/N: I'm hitting the prompt Vanilla for this one, so please don't be scared off by the KinkBingo tags! I had a lot of fun writing this one (and adding Pride and Prejudice quotes into the smut scene because HELLO). Let me know what you think in the replies~♡

Masterlist || Bingo Board

You hadn't seen Spencer in 100 days. Which in the grand scheme of things wasn't that long, trapped in the purgatory of a ‘what if’ the way you had been for the last eight years.

You'd lived without him for longer than 100 days before. He'd been in prison, you'd been on assignments, you'd lived an entire life before meeting him, but now somehow 100 days was too much time, and you were exhausted. You understood why Spencer had to take some time away from you, from the team in an official capacity after everything he'd been through. You supported him even.

But when even your free time didn't overlap anymore, you wondered if your relationship would ever be the same again.

Spencer was a friend, your best friend, probably. You'd arrived on the BAU team, he'd rattled off some statistics, stammering the way through them, and you'd immediately warmed to the man. He was brilliant, funny, and fiercely loyal, and you tried your best to protect him even when the job seemed designed to break people like him into thousands of little pieces.

You'd tried to convince him to leave before, after Maeve had died. You didn't want to see him heart broken again, but no one else had seemed to agree.

“Reid needs purpose,” they'd said. “Reid needs something to do.”

What Reid needed was to not end up dead before he had a chance to be happy, and happiness didn't come often in your field of work.

You'd been almost vindicated a year later when he'd been shot again, almost fatally. Vindicated, maybe but distraught and inconsolable. Morgan had to carry you screaming and clawing out of his hospital room multiple times. It sounded stupid enough to yourself that it was only then you realized your feelings for the man.

You wanted to be Spencer Reid's happiness, which was why you were so lost without him.

He was coming back on Monday, and at least you had the weekend to sort your feelings out about everything.not just about him, but about the job you'd found didn't fit you well enough anymore, about the team you loved like family, about the relationship you knew would likely never come to fruition.

You dumped your bags at your door when you'd arrived in your house that night, pushed yourself into your bedroom and let yourself collapse on your bed, balling up into as cozy a position as you could. You didn't even bother taking your jacket off, you just let your brain haze over and sleep rush in.

Three quiet raps at your door lifted you up and out of bed again, not an hour later.

You grabbed your phone, grabbed the second go-bag you kept at your house, put your shoes back on, and opened the door, expecting Emily and a new case.

“Where are we going?” You said, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, not even looking up at your guest.

“Hopefully, nowhere? I brought takeout.”

Your eyes widened then, taking in all 185cm of Doctor Spencer Reid, tweed jacket and plastic bag full of chow mein included.

“Spencer,” you breathed out, like a sigh of relief, letting the bag drop to the floor next to the first one and letting yourself into his arms.

He held you carefully there for a second before leading you back into the apartment, wrapping an arm around you and ruffling your hair. It was brotherly, and it made you sick to your stomach.

“What are you doing here?”

“Emily said you were back from a case,” he started, unpacking the takeaway from the containers. “And it feels wrong to eat this without you.”

You rolled your eyes and followed him into the kitchen, pulling two forks out of the drawer nearer you and stabbing them in the top of your two cups.

“Hey, I can use chopsticks now,” he said, defending himself against an inside joke. Spencer was always useless with his hands.

“I don't care if you can use them, I care that they don't accidentally end up stabbing me,” you said, taking yourself back to your bedroom, Spencer following.

“You'd hardly die from being stabbed by a wooden chopstick, maybe a papercut or a splinter but-”

“But you're just bad enough that I don't want to risk it.”

You kicked off your shoes again and climbed onto your bed. Spencer followed.

“Remind me again why we aren't sitting on your couch?”

“Uncomfortable.”

“Or at your breakfast bar?”

“Glorified filing cabinet right now. Eat.”

He shook his head but complied, leaning back against your pillows as you both began carefully eating. Silently, you pulled your laptop onto your bed, opened it up, and pressed play on a movie, one you'd seen more than once, and you'd forced Spencer to watch before as well.

In a comfortable, friendly silence, you finished your food. You stretched out in a yawn once and then curled into his side, letting his mumbling voice, repeating the movie lines as they were spoken, lull you softly into sleep.

Spencer knew he had to leave, but he couldn't bring himself to wake you. The movie had finished hours ago, he'd closed the laptop and turned off the bug lights, but he couldn't leave.

Unlike you, he hadn't counted the days that you'd been apart. He hadn't needed to. He knew you'd be waiting there for him when he returned, knew you'd give him a smile and a pat on the back, and immediately start bouncing ideas off of him. It was what he loved about you.

As he laid next to you in your bed, a place he'd absolutely been before, his heart thumped. Just once, but hard.

Even in sleep, you looked exhausted. Your shirt was crumpled, hair a mess, you were still wearing makeup, and he knew he'd probably get an earful for letting you sleep like that in the morning. You were a mess, and he still wanted you.

The thought came to him suddenly, another painful thump of his chest echoing in his mind. He rubbed absent mindedly at his chest as if experiencing heartburn. In the dim light of the room, he let his head drop to the pillow and wrapped two shaky arms around you and pulled you in closer.

The two of you were a picture - both in suits, both with badges still somewhere on your person, both dearly clinging to the person they feared losing the most.

When you woke the next morning, it was actually the afternoon.

“Spencer,” you groaned, melting under the heat of his embrace. Somehow, during the night, he'd rolled on top of you, pressing you into the bed with a delightful pressure, head nuzzled into your neck, arms tucked around your waist.

“Spencer, we should get up,” you said again, forcing your eyelids apart as your mascara tried to glue them together.

“Mmmmhh,” he groaned, moving to pick himself up off you for a minute but lowering himself again. If asked, he'd blame your hand in his hair, stroking the rogue curls gently, as if he were a prized pet and you their carer.

“Spencer, its 2pm.”

“On a Saturday.” You laughed at how pouty his voice sounded, but he complied and rolled off of you slightly, arms still wrapped around you.

“Come on. Get up. I've got some clothes that might fit you, let's get you out of the tweed.”

He huffed but nodded and lifted himself halfway to upright, eyes still closed lazily as he let in the light millimetre by millimetre.

“God, my face feels horrible,” you said, itching at your nose. “How did we even sleep so long like this? My belt is still on, Spencer, my belt.”

“If you were still wearing a weapon, then I'd be worried,” he smiled.

You shot him a sarcastic look and finally detangled yourself, only to clasp his hands and pull him forward as well, letting him trail you to your closet.

“Here, change in the bathroom,” he nodded and walked away, following directions with eyes still closed, as if it were really his apartment and not your own.

100 days without him, and it was as if it had only been 100 hours. Your entire body chemistry changed when he was around, the stick holding your spine rigidly in place, dissolving into calm, into a smile and a free giggle. It felt right again, and you almost forgot you'd ever felt wrong.

After briefly changing, you swapped place with Spencer, who'd exited the bathroom with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth and wet hair.

“Dry it for me?” He asked, sitting on your couch, and you nodded your ascent. A shower and a quick change later, and you were doing just that.

As much as he tried to keep his head upright, it kept lolling onto your thigh, yawns stretching out of him as he nuzzled closer to you.

“Spencer, you're like a big kid, keep your head up.”

“I'm not a kid,” he laughed, hooking his arms behind your knees and nuzzling closer into your soft sweats. “I'm just tired.”

“You're right. A child would probably be better behaved.”

“Our child would be,” he sighed, but you'd already turned the hairdryer back on, drowning out everything. Everything but that thump again. A child, he was thinking about children, and more importantly, he was thinking about your children. With him.

He'd always imagined himself with a family, knowing it would ultimately stay in his imagination. But for a second, his visions changed. It wasn't just a child or two. It was you. Thump.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

He only released the image when you finally pushed his head off of you and stood, turning away from him to get a glass of water from your kitchen.

“So, any plans today? Books to read, papers to mark, undergrads to run away screaming from?” You let the ice water cool your hot cheeks, but kept your back to him. You were hot, embarrassed, and you were looking at him in a sickeningly sweet way that could only be described as love struck or struck dumb.

“No, no, I finished all my obligations at the college yesterday,” he said, following behind you and picking up your cup when you set it down, taking a sip himself.

“I was… I was actually hoping we could spend some time together? Unless you had plans, which is totally fine-”

“No, Spencer, yeah, I have no plans, that's…. Well I have to do laundry, which is a bit boring but, no. No plans.”

“Laundry?”

“Two week case in Florida, I don't know how you didn't smell me yesterday, Spencer. I'd be running for the hills.”

He laughed and stepped away again, grabbing the two go bags by the door and coming back into your space.

“How about we get this done now so we can spend the day in a Who-Trek marathon?”

“Make that a Who-Greys Anatomy Marathon, and you have yourself a deal.”

He pouted again, and you snorted at the sight, taking another sip of water to calm yourself before you could react safely to that face.

“Come on, you know you've been dying to know what happens next at the Grey Sloane Memorial Hospital.”

“I thought it was called the Seattle Grace Mercy?”

“Oh we better get to that laundry now. You have a lot to catch up on.”

Grabbing a bag in one hand and his free hand in your other, you made your way down to your building's laundry room. But despite the man by your side and the relaxing day threatening to stretch ahead of you, a gloom caught you in the corridors.

You'd worked for two weeks, practically solid. You'd killed a man two days ago, or at least someone on your team had multiple shots having been fired. Another day on your job, another unsub felled, and everyone else was content with this just being a part of the job description.

It felt like each step towards the laundry room, each thing you did that was normal, that was regular, threw back in your face the pain you endured to save lives.

The bag in your hand weighed you down, pulling you lower and lower by the second.

You reached the laundry room, and you found the weight almost unbearable, stopping just before you could step in. You didn't have to think about what came next though, because suddenly the bag was out of your hands and Spencer was sorting your laundry for you.

“It's a Saturday, so your neighbour's won't complain if we separate the darks and lights into two machines, will they?” He asked, not looking up at you as he worked pouring out the fabric softener and the detergent. “Y/N?”

You hadn't noticed the lightness in your body until the tears hit your cheeks, the weight gone with his support.

“Y/N, what is it? What's wrong?” He said, hands cupping your face, because of course he was immediately at your side.

“I-I can't do it, Spencer…” your voice shook, pitching upwards, your vision blurring with tears.

“Can't do what, Y/N? Talk to me please, let me help?”

“I can't do laundry!” You said, finally bursting into a full fit of tears and burying your head in his waiting chest.

“L-Laundry?” He said, trying not to laugh, but the smile slipping out anyway now you were holding him.

You only sobbed again, nodding into his shirt, aware you were probably leaving snot all over it but not being able to care. It was your shirt anyway. You would just have to add it back to your laundry pile.

The thought set you off on another wave of sobs, and Spencer set about comforting you again. Keeping an arm wrapped around you, he put his quarters into the machines and set them off before quickly ushering you back up the stairs into your apartment.

“Y/N? Y/N, please talk to me,” he begged, smoothing your hair out of your eyes as you tried to gather yourself.

“I don't…. I can't….” You took a breath again, aware of the way your breathing hitched in your chest as you did.

“I don't think I can do this anymore,” you said, and his eyes widened quickly.

“This? Y/N, if you mean this as in us, then I can't-”

“This job,” you clarified, hands digging into the soft flesh of his arms further as he held you, finally sitting back on your couch.

“The job. Okay, the job. That's okay. We all feel like this at some point.”

You sniffed again and refused to meet his eyes.

“But this isn't like the other times this - It's like my whole b-body is protesting, and I can't sleep, and if I don't, then I might get sloppy and an unsub could-”

“Y/N, focus on my voice. You're spiralling. Listen to my voice, let's take some breaths, and think about this for a second.”

He guided you through some breathing, a hand on your back tapping out beats even as his voice grew quiet.

When you finally relaxed, you were sat on top of him, his hand rubbing circles into your back.

“I think it started when you left,” you whispered. “When you went to Mexico, and then, you know,” you've voice thickened, and you couldn't get the words out.

“And then these last 100 days they've just been…difficult.”

“100…difficult,” he echoed, almost breathless as he listened to you.

“It's like I can't do it without you. I never had to try to do it without you, and now I get what people say when they say this job is shitty, because it is when your best friend isn't there.”

You gave him a weak smile and wiped away your tears, trying to climb from his lap. But his firm arms held you still, and you didn't really want out anyways.

“When I get home, everything is different, and I can't make myself do anything. If you weren't here, I wouldn't have done that laundry. I'd let it sit and avoid it for weeks. Do you understand?”

“Y/N, lots of people feel depressed sometimes-”

“It's not - Spencer, I don't think this is something I can medicate my way out of. I don't know what to do because I can't do my job without you, and I can't be happy doing my job, and if I leave my job I'll be without you and then-”

Your voice cracked again.

“And then I still won't be happy.” The words were barely a whisper, but they were a plea, too. You weren't sure what for.

“You can't be happy without me?” He asked, but it was more a statement than anything else. Spencer felt horrible in that moment as his chest rattled, gleeful that he was your happiness.

“I love you,” he said, outloud finally after eight years.

“I love you, too, Spencer, but-”

“No, Y/N. Listen to me. I. Love. You.” The thumping of his heart set the tempo for the choir that was his senses to begin singing, as he finally leaned forward and kissed you.

“I love you, and I don't care if you're working at the BAU or if you're avoiding laundry at home. I, god, you're amazing and wonderful, and you're a human being, and you've our yourself under so much pressure for the last decade to keep me alive, to keep all of us alive really and….”

He took another breath, leaning into kiss you one more time.

“And you deserve a break.”

“W-When we take breaks, people die.”

“Did anyone die when I was teaching for the last three months? When JJ went on maternity leave?”

You shook your head, but your brain was still a mess.

“You all had reasons, I-”

“You have reasons, too. Y/N…. Y/N, let me be your reason.”

For a moment or two, Spencer truly thought you were going to say no. He thought you would get up and walk away, or better yet, ask him to leave and never come back.

So when you pressed your lips to his, he was sure that this was a dream.

But to you, it was salvation. Spencer Reid's love was the lifeline you'd been thrown, and it was buoyant enough to make you start floating.

His hands kneaded the flesh at your hips as he pulled you closer still to him, his tongue slipping into your mouth to explore every part of you there.

“Y/N… love…you,” he mumbled with each spare breath he caught, and you only detangled your lips to hear him say it again as he pressed similarly heated kisses against every inch of your exposed skin.

When Spencer's mind lost its ability to create original speech, he leant back on a lifetime of information, of learning love through books and people and marathons with you.

“I know that all I know right now is that I love you. And I know that I always will,” he whispered, lifting you and carrying you back to the bed you'd only crawled from an hour hence.

A hand slid under your shirt, and slowly pushed it over your head, letting it slowly drop to the floor as he held you tenderly.

“To me, you are perfect.”

His mouth found one nipple, and he gently kissed, then suckled at it, hands softly caressing your stomach, feeling along every ridge of you as you writhed under him.

“Of all the FBI Units, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine.”

“Spencer,” you said, voice still thick with tears, but these ones more tender, more joyful.

His hand eased your sweats over your ass and off, his hips settling between your legs as if he found the place he was made to lie forever.

“The truth of it is, I’ve loved you from the first second I met you.”

His mouth trailed lower until his tongue hit your clit, brushing against it languidly, as if it was his deepest desire to taste you and nothing else ever again.

His tongue flattened and flicked and pushed inside of you as you replayed his words again and again and again. You found yourself repeating them with him.

“I love you,” you echoed as he pushed a finger inside of you.

“I.. love you,” you gasped as he added another.

“I love you,” you screamed as your back arched up off the bed, finding your pleasure in his tongue, just ad you'd found love in his words.

“You have bewitched me body and soul, and I love….” He freed his cock from his pants, and took it in hand.

“I love…” With another kiss, he pressed the tip of it against you, asking for permission silently as you nodded your head.

“I love you.” He pushed in slowly, but it wouldn't matter how he did it because now you knew how he felt, and you didn't want to return to a time of not knowing.

Hooking your legs around him, Spencer dropped his forehead to yours and looked you directly in the eyes as he began moving. In and out, he thrust, mouth open in a moan of pleasure, likely mirroring your own.

The poetry, the movie lines, they were gone now, and Spencer was left with nothing but you, and love, and love for you.

“Spencer,” you moaned out, and he felt his chest swell. Pride. His name on your tongue, his body pressed to yours, claiming you as his ad you claimed him as yours.

He came with a shudder and you were not far behind, his undoing sending a shiver up your spine as his fingers grazed your clit again.

You sat panting for a minute, still attached, still forehead to forehead.

You weren't sure if it was him who giggled first or if it was you, but you were glad it was one of you.

You spent the rest of the night, the rest of the weekend, wrapped in his warmth, dressed in his love, taking each day a step at a time as you basked in his adoration.

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foreveia · 4 months ago

Text

fourteen ⤨ oikawa tooru

⨭ genre; fluff

⨭ pairing; oikawa tooru x fem!reader

⨭ word count; 6.5k

⨭ descriptions; as much as you love romcoms, you're a realist and recognise just how illogical true love is—unfortunately for you, fate has other plans.

⨭ warnings; profanity

⨭ a/n; my 2025 motto has been to just write and not worry too much about perfectionism, so here's my mess of an oikawa fic. it's acc unreal i have finished three fics in a week's time lol who knows how long this creative streak will last but wtv. in the meantime, enjoy :)

song i listened to writing this: 'plot twist' by niki

one.

During your four-hour layover in SFO, you decide that 4AM flights are only slightly less inconvenient than paying full price for a flight at noon. Because right now, it’s honestly just eerie: San Francisco International Airport (full-government name because you fear this might actually be where you die) is completely empty, largely dark, and very, very desolate.

You sigh and glance around the lounge, which is dimly lit and suspiciously quiet except for the distant hum of a floor polisher somewhere beyond the gates. Every shop is shuttered, every PA announcement echoes into nothing, and the only signs of life are a few overworked employees slumped behind their counters; you’re the only one at your gate, your phone charging via one of the blue-light towers, headphones blasting at maximum volume. You’re trying to drown out the unnerving feeling in your chest with Gracie Abrams and SZA—it’s not working in the slightest, actually making you increasingly wary of your vulnerability.

But whatever. You’re a #brokecollegestudent, so obviously you’re willing to risk your life for a good deal.

Honestly, you should really be asleep. That was the plan, after all: you had it all mapped out—get here, find a quiet corner, conk out, wake up only when it’s absolutely necessary. Instead, your brain is running on fumes and bad decisions, vibrating horribly in your skull because you’re an idiot and didn’t realize how paranoid you get when you’re sleep deprived.

You groan, stretching your legs out in front of you. “Kill me,” you mutter under your breath.

“First time traveling?” a voice pipes up, obnoxiously chipper for the time of night.

You freeze mid-stretch. You are not alone.

Slowly, you turn toward the source of the voice.

Sprawled across the lounge chair opposite you, looking for all the world like he belongs here, is a guy—tall, lean but broad-shouldered, stupidly good-looking even under the sickly fluorescent lights. Tousled brown hair, sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie that are clearly designer but worn like he doesn’t give a damn. His legs are stretched out like he owns the entire damn lounge, and he’s got this lazy, almost smug smirk on his face, like he’s enjoying whatever show you’re unknowingly putting on.

You narrow your eyes. “Excuse me?”

He gestures vaguely at you, at your very obvious state of suffering. “You look like you’re miserable right now.”

“I am,” you say. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing,” he shrugs, then tilts his head. “Just figured misery loves company.”

Your brain is still catching up to the fact that this man—a stranger, an audacious one at that—has just decided to start a conversation with you, unprompted, in the middle of an empty airport. You eye him cautiously. “You do realize there are approximately four million other places to sit, right?”

He grins. “Yeah, but none of them have you.”

You blink. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Depends.” His smirk widens. “Is it working?”

“No.”

“Damn,” he says, without an ounce of actual disappointment. “Guess I’ll have to try harder.”

You scoff, shaking your head as you glance away. God. Of all the people to be stuck in airport limbo with, you had to get the charming, insufferable kind. The kind that probably coasts through life on natural athletic ability and the kind of face that gets him out of parking tickets. The kind that’s entirely too comfortable stretching out in a public lounge like it’s his personal living room.

He’s watching you, you realise. Like he’s waiting for something.

“What?” you sigh.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he says.

“I don’t remember you asking one.”

The corner of his mouth twitches like you’ve just mildly amused him. “First time traveling?” he repeats.

You roll your eyes. “No. Just first time being stuck in an airport at an hour when no one should be conscious.”

“Ah,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “A rookie mistake. 4AM flights are a scam.”

You snort. “And yet, here you are.”

“Touché.”

You take another glance at him, this time really looking. Something about him tugs at your memory, like a song you’ve heard before but can’t place. The messy hair, the easy confidence, the way he’s practically radiating I’m used to being the center of attention energy.

Then, in a flash, it hits you.

“Oh,” you say, recognition clicking into place. “Wait—you’re Oikawa.”

His eyebrows lift slightly, a flicker of interest crossing his face. “You know me?”

“You’re that volleyball guy,” you say, pointing vaguely at him. “The one who’s, like… unnecessarily famous.”

Oikawa grins. “Unnecessarily?”

“I mean, it’s volleyball,” you deadpan. “I didn’t even know people could be famous for that.”

His expression morphs into something between offense and wounded pride. “Ouch. I think I might actually cry.”

“Please do,” you say. “It’ll entertain me.”

He clutches his chest theatrically. “You’re ruthless.”

“I’m tired,” you promptly correct. “And delirious. And currently stuck in an airport with a man who’s trying to convince me he’s a big deal.”

Oikawa scoffs, but there’s something amused in his gaze, like he’s enjoying this. “You’re not a fan of sports?”

“Not really,” you shrug half-heartedly, looking back down at your beat-up Filas. You’re not lying; even so, you’ve seen his games on TV before (you watch the Olympics after all—you’re not a total basket case). He’s a flirt, a player with double meaning, and you would really rather avoid getting involved with anything complicated. “I’ve never been into jocks.”

“Never been into jocks,” he echoes, shaking his head. “And here I thought I could be your Peter Kavinsky.”

“No, thank you. I would never write you a love letter.”

Oikawa laughs at that—an actual laugh, not just the smug little chuckle you’ve gotten so far. It’s rich and warm, and you hate the way it makes your stomach flip just slightly. Who even are you right now? This whole situation is so unbelievable that it makes you more confident.

You cross your arms, looking him up and down. “So what’s your excuse?”

“For what?”

“For subjecting yourself to this hellscape of a layover,” you say, gesturing at the ghost town of a terminal around you.

He sighs, dragging a hand through his already messy hair. “Came back to visit some old teammates in California. Now I’m heading home.”

“Japan?”

“Bingo.”

Your brain is slow, groggy, and running on fumes, but something about that answer sticks. “Wait,” you say, frowning. “What flight are you on?”

Oikawa glances at you, like he knows exactly what you’re about to realize. “4:00AM to Haneda.”

You stare at him. “No.”

His grin is almost devious. “Yes.”

Your stomach drops.

Fourteen hours. Fourteen whole hours, stuck on a flight. With him.

Oikawa watches the realization dawn on your face, and for the first time since he sat down, he looks genuinely entertained.

“Well,” he says, stretching his arms over his head. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

You are going to lose your goddamn mind.

two.

For all your romcom consumption, you never stopped to consider what you would do if coincidence and chance conspired against you in that manner. You figured if fate was ever going to meddle in your love life, it would be in an incessantly normal way—maybe a slow-burn situation with a coworker, or a friend-of-a-friend you never noticed until one fateful night.

Not… this.

Not staring at seat 14A like it’s a death sentence, because your boarding pass is crumpled in your fist, because of course when you finally find your row, Oikawa Tooru is already lounging in 14B, looking far too pleased with himself.

He glances up as you approach, then breaks into the most shit-eating grin you’ve ever fucking seen.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls, leaning back like he just won the lottery. “Fancy seeing you here.”

You stop dead in the aisle, refusing to believe what your own two eyes are telling you.

“Are you following me?” you blurt, because there is absolutely no way the universe would do this to you.

Oikawa, ever the dramatist, clutches his chest. “Sweetheart, if I wanted to follow you, I’d at least be more subtle.”

“Show me your ticket.”

He raises an eyebrow but pulls out his boarding pass with a flourish anyway. You squint to read the text, half-hoping that you would find some spelling error that could place either of you somewhere else. But nope: his ticket reads 14B in big, bold letters, right next to Oikawa Tooru and Gate 11.

You exhale slowly, pressing your fingers to your temple. Jesus fuck. He manifested this, with his snarky commentary and all about being stuck with him; you would say that you’re gonna kill him for this, but evidently, karma is real and terrifying.

Oikawa, meanwhile, is having the time of his life.

“What are the odds?” he muses, tucking the ticket back into his hoodie pocket. “Out of all the seats on this flight, I get to sit next to you.”

“This is a nightmare,” you mutter.

“Nightmares are scary,” he says. “I’m a delight.”

You glare at him and shove your bag into the overhead bin with slightly more force than necessary. He watches, thoroughly entertained, as you lower yourself into your seat like you’re walking into a trap.

The cabin fills with the usual pre-flight chaos—flight attendants directing traffic, the hum of passengers settling in, the occasional thud of an overhead bin slamming shut. You try to focus on that, on anything other than the man currently making himself comfortable in the seat beside you.

Maybe if you ignore him, he’ll get bored.

Oikawa leans an elbow on the armrest between you, tilting his head slightly. “So,” he says. “What’s your in-flight entertainment plan?”

“My what?”

“You know, what’s gonna keep you occupied for the next fourteen hours?” He gestures vaguely to your bag. “Movies? Reading? Soul-searching?”

“Sleeping,” you say immediately. “It’s four AM. Like a normal person.”

Oikawa tilts his head, considering. “See, I would believe you, but you already look wide awake.”

You scowl at him. Because unfortunately, he’s right—your body is so far past exhaustion that sleep is a distant, unattainable dream. You sigh and shift in your seat, pressing yourself closer to the window.

He grins, victorious. “You should talk to me instead.”

You let out an actual laugh—short, sharp, disbelieving. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because I’m fun.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Same thing.”

You shoot him a flat look. “I don’t like you.”

“And yet, you still haven’t put your headphones in,” he points out.

Damn it. You hate that he’s right. Again.

You huff, finally fishing your headphones from your bag and shoving them into your ears with exaggerated finality. Then, just for good measure, you turn to the window and squeeze your eyes shut.

Oikawa doesn’t say anything else. For about thirty seconds. Then, right as the plane begins to taxi down the runway, you hear him say, way too smugly for your liking, “you’re gonna talk to me eventually.”

You pretend to be asleep. You can feel him watching you, like he’s waiting for you to crack, like he knows something you don’t.

Ugh. This is gonna be a long flight.

three.

By hour three of the flight, you’ve come to realise that Oikawa has a surprising love for the classics.

Trust: you weren’t actively trying to notice his choice of in-air films, but your periphery and conscience betray you, and you become acutely aware as your seatmate cycles through The Proposal and Crazy Stupid Love (two objectively incredible films). He cues 10 Things I Hate About You next, which is probably your favorite movie of all time; you adore said movie so much that, despite all of your previous complaints and window-seat protests, you eventually lean into the seat rest separating you two and watch along.

Not openly, obviously. Not in any way that would give Oikawa the satisfaction of knowing he’s captured your attention. You angle your face toward the window, feign a vague disinterest, and sneak quick glances when you think he’s not looking.

Spoiler: he notices immediately.

“You know you could just watch with me,” Oikawa says, not even bothering to take his eyes off the screen. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say flatly, keeping your gaze stubbornly trained on the clouds outside.

“Uh-huh.” He shifts in his seat, casually turning the screen toward you. “C’mon, if you’re gonna steal glances, at least commit.”

“I wasn’t stealing anything,” you huff, but it’s weak, and you both know it.

Oikawa smirks, and—against your better judgment—you give in, finally glancing at his screen properly to watch Kat Stratford dancing drunkenly on a table. He offers you one of his earbuds, which you take very, very tentatively. You would be deeply unhappy about the proximity if your love of Hypnotize didn’t trump it.

You sigh, leaning your cheek against your palm. “This movie is so good.”

“Right?” Oikawa grins, clearly pleased with himself. “Pretty bold of you to call me insufferable when you clearly have taste.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “What does that mean?”

“It means you love this movie, I love this movie—therefore, you and I have more in common than you’d like to admit.”

You scoff, but there’s no real bite to it. “Liking 10 Things I Hate About You is just basic human decency.”

Oikawa presses a hand to his chest, mock-flattered. “Oh, so now you’re calling me decent?”

“No, I’m calling the movie decent. You’re a fluke.”

He gasps dramatically, then shakes his head, muttering something about how you wound him. But his smile lingers as the film plays on, and maybe—just a little bit—you don’t find his presence as unbearable anymore. He’s too distracted watching Joseph Gordon-Levitt pine to be truly annoying.

Somewhere between the next few scenes, you relax completely, not even pretending to look away anymore. You’re leaning in slightly now, watching the moment where Patrick buys Kat a guitar, and it takes an embarrassingly long time for you to realize that Oikawa’s staring at you instead of the screen.

You blink. “What?”

He tilts his head, amused. “You’re, like… really into this.”

You scoff, flicking your gaze back to the movie. “I just appreciate good cinema.”

“Oh, so you’re a romcom person.”

You hesitate—because there’s something about the way he says it, a sort of curiosity that feels deeper than just casual conversation. It could be interpreted as judgmental, but somehow, the way he says it doesn’t seem to be. Still, you brush it off, nodding begrudgingly. “Yeah. So?”

Oikawa hums, glancing back at the screen as if weighing his words. Then, without looking at you, he says, “Do you think this stuff actually happens?”

“What, grand romantic gestures?”

“Yeah. Stuff like this. The running through the airport thing. The whole public love confession in front of the entire school thing. Do you think it’s real?”

You consider it for a moment, shifting in your seat. “I think… I think people want it to be real,” you admit, watching as Patrick and Kat kiss in the movie’s final scene. “Like, deep down, even the most cynical people kind of want to believe that this kind of thing could happen to them.”

Oikawa doesn’t respond right away. He just watches you, his expression unreadable.

Then he asks, voice softer this time, “And do you?”

The question settles in your chest, heavier than it should be. Do you believe in grand gestures? In someone showing up unannounced at your door, confessing their feelings in the pouring rain? In someone looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world worth fighting for?

If you’re being honest, you’re a hopeless romantic at heart. It’s why you love the genre so much—because despite all your cynicism, despite every realist take you’ve ever had, a part of you still wants to believe in love that lasts. You just don’t think it’s likely. People fall out of love with each other. Feelings fade. Real life is rarely as cinematic as the movies make it seem.

You exhale, suddenly too aware of the way Oikawa’s watching you, like he sees right through you.

“I think it’s… nice in movies,” you say carefully. “But in real life, people just disappoint you. It’s not worth taking the chance and getting hurt.”

Oikawa studies you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to your utter surprise, he smiles—small and knowing, the kind that makes your stomach do something weird.

“Well,” he murmurs, leaning back in his seat, “maybe you just haven’t met the right person yet.”

Your breath catches. You hate the way your heart stumbles over itself, just for a second.

You force yourself to roll your eyes, turning back toward the window. “Gross,” you mutter, hoping he doesn’t hear the slight waver in your voice.

Oikawa just chuckles, hitting play on When Harry Met Sally.

“Talk to me when we hit the part where Meg Ryan fakes an orgasm,” he says, stretching his arms behind his head. “Then we’ll really see where you stand on romance.”

You shake your head, biting back a reluctant smile.

And as the flight drags on, you realize—with a sinking feeling—that you don’t actually mind sitting next to Oikawa Tooru as much as you thought you did.

Oh God. That can’t be good.

four.

Halfway through the scene where Harry and Sally are in flight, you decide, after much internal conflict, that you’ll allow yourself to like Oikawa for this flight and this flight alone. It’s harmless. A temporary indulgence. You can enjoy the anonymity, let yourself sink into the moment, and then disappear once the plane lands. Maybe you’ll see his Olympic gameplay on TV one day, mention it offhandedly to whoever you’re with at the time, and then promptly forget about him.

Because here’s the thing: if you let yourself, you could probably fall for people pretty easily. You keep your guards up because it’s safer, but you imagine that love is like getting sucked into a black hole—you either fall forever, or you hit the ground so hard it shatters you. And if there’s one thing you know about yourself, it’s your tendency to self-sabotage: you don’t remember a single relationship you’ve had where you didn’t walk away first. You really would prefer to keep your romantic fantasies in fiction; it hurts less.

You never realized that Oikawa could share this conviction.

He doesn’t say anything when you shift slightly toward him, resting your arm on the seat rest between you. He doesn’t comment when you fully give in, watching When Harry Met Sally with him like it’s something you’ve been doing forever. He just lets it happen—like he expected it, like he knew you’d cave.

You don’t like that. But you do like the movie.

The scene in the airport plays, Sally meticulously laying out her travel quirks—I like the aisle seat, so I can stretch my legs. I don’t like to eat between meals, but I always want something sweet after dinner. You smile to yourself. You’ve always loved the specificity of it: how she knows exactly what she likes, how she doesn’t compromise on it.

“I feel like dating you would be exhausting,” Oikawa muses abruptly, arms crossed over his chest.

You tear your gaze away from the screen just long enough to give him a withering look. “Excuse me?”

He gestures vaguely in your direction. “You’re too—” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Particular.”

You scoff. “And you’re not?”

“Not in the same way.” He shifts slightly, smirking. “You’d analyze me to death. Pick apart every little thing I do.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You say that like you wouldn’t be a terror to date.”

Oikawa grins, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Thinking about dating me, are we?”

“I’m thinking about how insufferable you’d be,” you correct, turning back toward the screen.

“Mm. You sure?”

You shoot him a look.

He sighs, dramatic as ever. “Shame. I’d be great at it.”

You snort. “Doubt that.”

His smirk widens. “That sounded a lot like a challenge.”

“It’s not.”

“I think it is.”

“Oikawa.”

He chuckles, finally turning back to the movie, and for some reason, you feel yourself relax again. The teasing is easier now, lighter. You don’t hate it.

And, despite yourself, you sneak another glance at him before looking back at the screen.

The movie plays on. Harry and Sally are walking through Central Park in the fall, debating the age-old question of whether men and women can be just friends. You know every word of this scene, could probably recite it in your sleep.

“I love this part,” you say, before you can stop yourself.

Oikawa glances at you, intrigued. “Why?”

“It’s just—” You pause, searching for the right words. “It’s the conversation. The way they both believe so deeply in their own side of things. And they’re both right, in different ways.”

Oikawa hums, tilting his head. “So, which one are you?”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

“Do you think men and women can just be friends?”

You hesitate. You’ve thought about it before, obviously—you’ve had guy friends, you’ve had moments where those friendships blurred at the edges, where you wondered if they were really as platonic as you claimed.

“I think it depends,” you decide finally. “Some people can. Some people can’t.”

Oikawa watches you for a beat, his expression unreadable. “And what about us?”

Your breath falters; the question feels heavier than it should. You force yourself to scoff. “We’re not even friends.”

He laughs, and you hate how warm the sound is. “Cold.”

You shift in your seat, trying to ignore the way your stomach flips. “I just mean we met, like, five hours ago.”

“Five very meaningful hours,” he says, nodding seriously.

You shake your head, turning back to the screen—just in time for the diner scene.

“Oh, here we go,” Oikawa murmurs.

You grin. “Cinematic excellence.”

Sally fakes an orgasm, loud and unashamed, right in the middle of Katz’s Deli. You try not to look at Oikawa as you laugh, but his presence is suddenly overwhelming, like you can feel him beside you even without looking.

“She’s got a point, you know,” he says.

“What?” You glance at him.

He gestures to the screen. “Half of dating is just making people think you’re having a good time.”

You scoff. “That’s your dating experience, maybe.”

Oikawa raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You’re a playboy.”

He groans. “I knew you were going to say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

“It’s outdated,” he argues. “Was I kind of a flirt in high school? Sure. But I grew out of that.”

You snort. “Did you?”

Oikawa turns to you, expression softer now. “I did,” he says, and you don’t know why, but the look in his eyes and the way his voice wavers make you believe him.

There’s something almost sad about it, how under his layers of bravado and grandiosity, he seems just the slightest bit lonely. You don’t say anything. You just watch him, the way his jaw tenses slightly, the way his fingers drum absentmindedly against the armrest.

“I don’t know,” he continues, voice quieter. “Never really met someone who gets me like that.”

You hesitate. Then, before you can think better of it, you mumble, “I get that.”

Oikawa looks at you. Something shifts between you. Not huge, not dramatic—but something.

You clear your throat, turning back to the screen. “The best part of this movie is the ending, anyway.”

He watches you for a second longer, then smiles slightly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, watching as Harry races through the streets on New Year’s Eve, heart in his throat, words spilling out in a desperate confession. “Because he realizes it’s real.”

Oikawa hums. “And you don’t think real love is like that?”

You hesitate. You really don’t want to answer that question, not right now. So instead, you shrug. “Like I said, it’s nice in movies.”

Oikawa doesn’t push. But as the credits roll, he glances at you one last time, something unreadable in his gaze. He’s not entirely convinced by your answer, and you both know it, even if he isn’t saying it aloud.

five.

Oikawa’s phone password is his own name, which is a fun fact you discover as your flight nears hour ten.

You don’t even mean to find out—really, you don’t. He dozes off halfway through Crazy Rich Asians, phone balanced precariously on his knee, screen still lit up from whatever mindless scrolling he’d been doing before sleep claimed him. He’s slumped in his seat, arms crossed, mouth slightly open in a way that would be embarrassing if he were anyone else. But he’s Oikawa, and people like him have a way of looking effortless even in sleep.

The moment the phone slips, it’s like slow motion. It free-falls, landing with a soft thud on the armrest between you. Oikawa startles awake, lashes fluttering, hands fumbling to catch it a second too late. His fingers curl around the device, flipping it over with bleary concern, only for the screen to glare back at him—locked.

And that’s when you see it.

You don’t mean to. It’s just…right there. The exact moment his fingers trace out the unlock pattern, it clicks into place, predictable in a way that makes you snort.

“Oikawa.”

He turns toward you, still shaking off the drowsiness. “Huh?”

“Your password,” you say, fighting a smirk. “You really chose Oikawa?”

He yawns, unbothered. “And?”

“And that’s… so predictable.”

He stretches, spine arching lazily before he slouches back down, as if the conversation itself is something he can’t be bothered to put effort into. “Predictable or genius? You tell me.”

“Predictable,” you say immediately. “What if someone tries to hack you? Your name is the first thing people would guess.”

Oikawa grins. “Exactly. It’s so obvious that no one would actually think I’d use it.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “I bet all your passwords are just variations of your own name.”

He makes a noise of vague offense, rubbing a hand over his face. “That’s an outrageous accusation,” he says, clearly lying.

You narrow your eyes. “Your Netflix account—Oikawa123.”

He lets out a small, amused breath. “No comment.”

“Instagram? KingOikawa.”

“Hey, now—”

“Banking password?” You pause, then shake your head. “No, don’t answer that. I don’t even want to know.”

He chuckles, tipping his head back against the seat. “You’re awfully interested in my passwords, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m interested in the fact that you’re a narcissist.”

“And yet,” he muses, smirking at you, “you’re the one paying so much attention to me.”

Your lips part, an immediate retort on the tip of your tongue—but nothing comes out. Because damn it, he’s right.

Somewhere between hour one and hour ten, between watching him cycle through romcoms and pretending not to care, between brushing shoulders and arguing about the best scene in 10 Things I Hate About You, between the countless small moments where his presence started feeling less like an inconvenience and more like something else entirely—you started paying attention. And he knows it.

You let out a slow breath and turn toward the window. “I hate you.”

Oikawa laughs softly. “No, you don’t.”

You don’t respond. You’re too tired to lie.

***

At hour eleven, your seat neighbor learns something about you, too. It’s not even because you tell him, but because he notices.

The plane has dimmed its lights, casting everything in muted shades of blue and gray. The hum of the engine is steady, a low vibration beneath your feet. Most of the passengers have settled into varying stages of half-sleep—some curled against their window seats, others with neck pillows wedged awkwardly under their chins.

You, on the other hand, remain awake.

You lean against the window, knees drawn up slightly, arms folded. Your gaze is unfocused, staring out at the endless stretch of dark, empty sky. Exhaustion clings to you, but sleep never comes easy—not on planes, not in cars, not anywhere that isn’t familiar.

Oikawa shifts beside you, the rustle of fabric breaking the silence. Then, softly, he asks, “you don’t sleep well on planes, do you?”

You blink, a little surprised. “What?”

He nods at you. “You’ve been sitting like that for a while now. You look exhausted, but you’re still awake.”

You hesitate, because he’s right. You’ve never been good at this—at shutting your brain off, at forcing comfort where it doesn’t exist. Your body stays tense, your thoughts wired for worst-case scenarios, always preparing for turbulence that might never come.

“It’s fine,” you say, voice quieter than before. “I’ll sleep when I land.”

Oikawa watches you for a moment, then, without a word, grabs his hoodie from his lap and balls it up into something vaguely pillow-shaped.

“Here,” he says, placing it between you.

You frown at it. “What?”

“You’ll be more comfortable,” he says simply. “Try it.”

Your gaze flickers to his, searching for the inevitable teasing remark, the smugness, the gotcha. But for once, it’s not there. Just an easy, offhanded kindness.

You swallow. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” he says, cutting you off before you can argue. “Just take it.”

After a moment of hesitation, you do.

And when you finally let yourself lean into it, letting the exhaustion settle into your bones, you hear him murmur—softer, barely audible— “See? Told you I’d be good at this.”

Because you’re actually significantly more comfortable and way too tired to argue, you just snuggle into the fabric and ignore your thumping heart.

***

At hour twelve, you wake up to warmth.

It’s subtle at first, just a gradual shift from the hazy quiet of sleep to the soft awareness of something unfamiliar. You’re warm, comfortable in a way you shouldn’t be, your head still heavy with lingering exhaustion.

Then, slowly, the details start to register.

The weight pressed lightly against your shoulder. The faint scent of something clean and familiar—fabric softener, maybe, or whatever detergent Oikawa uses. The steady rise and fall of breath, slow and even.

Your pulse stutters.

He’s leaned into you, his head resting lightly against your shoulder, body angled just slightly in your direction. His breathing is deep and even, completely at ease. At some point in the last hour, he must have drifted off.

And instead of moving away—you stayed. Your brain short-circuits. You should move. You should definitely move. But you don’t.

Instead, you sit there, utterly still, heart pounding with something you don’t want to name. Because this—this—is not how Oikawa looks on TV.

The Oikawa you’ve seen in interviews is all sharp angles and practiced charm, leaning into the cameras with a knowing smirk, effortlessly collecting attention like it’s his birthright. The Oikawa on the court is even sharper—brilliant and untouchable, playing with a confidence that borders on arrogance, eyes burning with something that makes it impossible to look away. Even after a game, drenched in sweat and exhaustion, he still performs—laughing, winking at the reporters, throwing casual remarks over his shoulder like he knows the whole world is watching.

But right now?

Right now, he’s none of those things.

His expression is unguarded, free of the practiced ease he wears like armor. His brow is smooth, his lips parted slightly, his breathing soft and steady. There’s no smirk, no carefully placed bravado—just quiet, unconscious stillness.

And it unsettles you. Because this is real.

This is not Oikawa under stadium lights or Oikawa playing to the cameras. This is just him, asleep against your shoulder, completely unaware of the effect he’s having on you.

And maybe that’s what makes it worse.

You exhale slowly, careful not to move too much, not to wake him. Your gaze drifts downward before you can stop yourself, just enough to see the way his hand has fallen between you, palm up, fingers lightly curled. For a second, just a second, you have the insane urge to reach out.

You don’t. Of course, you don’t. But the thought lingers, settling somewhere deep in your chest, unwelcome and impossible to ignore.

You turn your head toward the window, watching the faint glow of city lights far below, hoping the view will quiet whatever this feeling is.

It doesn’t. And still—you don’t wake him.

For some reason, you let him stay.

six.

There’s approximately one hour left before your plane is due to land, and you’re beginning to realize that you don’t actually want it to end.

Maybe it’s the absurdity of the whole situation, or maybe it’s because of your sleep-deprived delusions, but you like Oikawa. You don’t want to—really, you don’t. It would be infinitely easier if he were just another stranger you made small talk with before forgetting the moment you stepped off the plane. But no. He had to be annoying and charming and stupidly perceptive. He had to watch romcoms like he actually gives a damn about them. He had to see through you, easily and effortlessly, as if he simply understood you.

And now, because the universe is cruel and loves to humiliate you personally, you’re sitting here in the final stretch of this flight, hyper-aware of every single second ticking down, not wanting it to be over.

Oikawa doesn’t seem to share your existential crisis. He’s been quiet for the last twenty minutes, scrolling lazily through his phone, one elbow propped against the armrest between you. Every so often, he glances up at the in-flight map, watching as the little airplane icon inches closer to Tokyo.

You hate that it makes your stomach sink.

You shift in your seat, pressing your temple against the cool window, staring out at the early morning sky. You wonder if this is how romcom characters feel in that inevitable third-act moment, when they realize they’ve accidentally gone and caught feelings. When they recognize, with dawning horror, that the person they were supposed to be indifferent to has somehow carved their way into their life.

The difference, of course, is that those characters always get a happy ending.

You don’t know what you get.

The PA system crackles overhead. A flight attendant reminds everyone to prepare for descent. Around you, there’s the familiar rustle of people adjusting in their seats, pulling out jackets, stretching the stiffness from their limbs.

Oikawa shifts beside you, adjusting his hoodie. “Almost there,” he murmurs.

You hum, noncommittal. You think he’s going to leave it at that, but then he glances at you, eyes sharp despite the sleep still clinging to his edges. He tilts his head slightly, like he’s studying you. “You okay?”

Your grip tightens on the armrest. He notices too much. You should’ve known that he would see it—the way you’re staring too long at the window, the way you haven’t snapped at him in a while.

You force yourself to scoff. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Oikawa smirks like he knows something you don’t. “No reason.”

You hate that. You hate how easy he makes it look, the whole watching-you-like-you’re-a-puzzle-he’s-figuring-out thing. You hate that part of you wants him to keep looking.

You exhale slowly, turning back toward the window. The seatbelt light dings on. The plane begins its slow descent, the city below coming into sharper focus.

It’s almost over.

***

Airports are supposed to be soulless places. That’s what you tell yourself, at least, as you walk through the terminal—bleary-eyed, exhausted, your carry-on digging into your shoulder. Your brain is already working on a plan: get your bag, get through customs, forget Oikawa Tooru exists.

That plan lasts approximately five seconds before you hear it.

A cheer. Loud, unmistakable, coming from somewhere near Arrivals. You glance over, along with half the airport, and that’s when you see them.

A couple, standing in the middle of the terminal like a goddamn movie scene. One of them—tall, dark-haired, a duffel slung over his shoulder—is staring at the other like he can’t quite believe she’s real. The girl—small, blonde, practically vibrating—throws her arms around his neck and kisses him so dramatically that the people around them actually applaud.

You blink. “What the fuck.”

Oikawa appears at your side, hands in his hoodie pockets, watching the scene unfold. You can feel him glance at you, the smirk already forming.

“Well,” he says, voice smug, “would you look at that.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“You know what.”

He hums, still watching the couple, who have now dissolved into an absolute mess of forehead kisses and whispered I missed yous. It’s excessive. It’s dramatic.

It’s also… kind of nice.

You hate that you think that.

Oikawa stretches, tilting his head toward you. “So?”

You frown. “So, what?”

His smirk widens. “Do you believe in it yet?”

Your heart does something stupid. Because the question—it’s not just a callback to your in-flight debate. It’s not just him poking fun at your skepticism. It’s softer than that. More curious. Hopeful, even.

Do you believe in grand gestures? Do you believe in love that doesn’t disappoint? Do you believe in something real?

The answer forms before you can stop it.

“…I think I’m starting to.”

Oikawa stills. Just for a second. Then, slowly, his grin shifts into something real.

You exhale, turning back toward the baggage claim, but before you can walk away, something stops you. Maybe it’s the exhaustion. Maybe it’s the high of stepping off a fourteen-hour flight and still feeling wired.

Or maybe it’s just him.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you reach for his hoodie pocket.

Oikawa blinks. “Uh—”

You pull out his phone, type in his password, and create a new contact in his list. You quickly type in your number, and pause for a second, considering, then—just to be an ass—save your name as oikawa hater. Then you hand it back to him.

Oikawa takes it, glancing between you and the screen, lips curling into something almost incredulous.

“Wow,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m actually speechless.”

“A first for you, I’m sure.”

He huffs out a laugh, eyes flickering back to his phone. He stares at your contact name for a second too long, like he’s memorizing it. Like he wants to. And then he locks his screen, tucks it back into his hoodie, and glances at you—grinning, smug, a little bit victorious.

“So,” he muses, as the baggage carousel hums to life. “Do I get to keep my title as your Peter Kavinsky now?”

You roll your eyes, biting back a smile. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“You like me,” he says in a sing-song voice. “What happened to love only being good in movies?”

And maybe it’s just your imagination. Maybe it’s the jet lag, or the weird 6AM haze of existing between time zones. But as you step toward baggage claim, you swear—just for a second—Oikawa looks at you like the answer to that question might matter more than anything else.

Honestly, nothing is confirmed. He might never text you, or even if he does, who knows if you two would even make it past the first date. The world could end tomorrow, or he could completely forget about you, the way you thought he would. There’s always the chance that you’ll get hurt anyway. But he deserves to hear it. You, against all odds, want him to know.

So you turn, meet his eyes, and say, completely honestly, “Maybe you’re worth taking a chance on.”

⨭ closing; i wrote this instead of paying attention in my lecture lol i don't really know how i feel about this one yet but here's to hoping it'll grow on me when i'm not so tired from a long day of uni classes </3 let me know yalls thoughts but pls don't be mean :') thank u and love u all

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