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[em1i2a3]

Banquet

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Bull Rider!Fem!Reader

Summary: You’ve been in the circuit scene for as long as you can remember but when you move to Wabang and become the newbie, you’ve got a lot to prove especially to your top competitor, Rhett Abbott.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, Angst, Enemies to Lovers (✨competition edition✨), Drug Use By Reader (Painkillers), Alcohol Use, Mentions of Bruising and Injuries, Mentions of Blood, Swearing, Violence? (Cause Bull Riding is BROOOTAL), There is a very brief moment of sexual harassment,

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up), Rough Sex, Fingering, Oral Sex (female and male receiving) Scratching, Spitting, Riding, Some Body Worship/Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Semi-Public Sex, Handjob, Breast Play.

Author’s Note: I gotta thank the Reddit page r/bullriding because holy crap I got to know so much about the world of Bull Riding and honestly the stories there and the videos were so cool to watch. I wanted to make this as accurate as possible so being able to get the insider info without having to go crazy over it was great! Anyways! Happy RAF my friends <3 I hope y’all enjoy this new instalment :D (sorry for the late-ish update, I got caught up watching Oasis content lol)

Word Count: 15,057

Bull riding was your whole life.

Ever since you were a kid, you’d roamed the edge of the arena, with boots caked in red dirt, and kettle corn dust sticking to your sun-chapped fingers. Summers in South Dakota were ruthless–long, dry, and blistering–but you didn’t care. You followed your father from town to town like a shadow, sitting on metal bleachers that burned your thighs through your jeans, watching the bulls kick up dust beneath riders twice your size. You were too young to understand the full weight of the danger, but even then, you felt it: the thrill, the rhythm, the unspoken poetry in those brutal eight seconds.

The circuits became your church, your home, and your obsession.

So when you were finally old enough to ride, you had told your father.

”I wanna get on,” Your jaw was set and your arms were crossed over your chest, with dust still streaked across your neck from tying down flanks that morning, “I know the risks…I’ve seen them all before, I ain’t stupid. I just want to try it out.” Your father had paused his gardening work, looking up at you through the afternoon sun. He didn’t raise his voice, nor did he argue right away, but the silence said enough to you. You could see it in the way he looked at you, staring like he was trying to memorize the version of you before the bruises, before the fractures, before the eight-second freefalls and the way the dirt would cling to the inevitable blood that you would spill.

He tried to talk you out of it. Not because he didn’t think you were tough enough–but because he knew exactly how strong willed you’d have to be. He said circuit life was a man’s world, and that a girl like you wouldn’t get special treatment. He also made it clear that there was a huge possibility that they wouldn’t accept you unless you networked a little more.

“You ain’t gonna get no softness out there, Y/N.” He told you, shaking his head. But you didn’t want softness. You wanted the chance to feel the adrenaline in your veins when that gate opened, the thrill of the buck, the excitement of the ride. You didn’t care about privileges or treatment.

So for six months, you worked the scene like your life depended on it–because in a way, it did.

You shook every hand, remembered every name, stayed late after events to help load chutes or sweep stalls. You offered help before anyone had to ask, learned how each rider liked their gear handled, how they marked their bullsheets, how they taped their wrists. You weren’t just a familiar face who stood around and chatted–you became useful. Dependable.

You mucked out trailers in the rain, held gates open in the cold, said yes to every odd job, every chore, every coffee run or feed delivery. Not because you had to, but because you were already playing the long game. You made yourself unforgettable, not by talking loud, but by showing up.

Some of the guys tried teasing you, and thought you were a buckle bunny at first. But then you started helping out on ranches. Fixing busted fencing. Brushing down bulls after transport. Tightening cinches with quiet confidence and a grip strong enough to make them blink in shock.

They stopped calling you ‘sweetheart’ after that.

And one night around a bonfire after a county fair, one of them tossed you a beer and said, “You ever think about ridin’ for real?” And you had smiled, already half a step ahead.

”More than you know.”

By the time you finally got your father to agree–begrudging, tight-lipped, but no longer saying no–your name was already circulating. You had enough people in your corner to vouch for your grit, enough calluses to prove you weren’t just playing cowgirl. So when you showed up to the local circuit, people nodded. They weren’t surprised in the slightest.

Bull Riding School was the next step. Mandatory. Grueling. Brutal. You showed up with your mouth shut and your sleeves rolled, ready to work. The instructors were hard-asses. They didn’t go easy on you–not because they didn’t believe in you, but because they did.

And you made it real clear, real quick, that you weren’t there to flirt or flinch or back down.

You were there to ride.

You didn’t talk unless spoken to, didn’t boast or exaggerate. You studied backlogs of competitions late into the night while the others passed beers and shot the shit. You memorized flanks, muscle tics, buck patterns. You knew the names of the bulls before your instructors even called them out.

By the third week, the trainers started making comments.

“She’s got hands like glue,” One said, shaking his head as you dismounted cleanly from a particularly mean brindle. “Like she knows where he’s gonna twist before he even does.”

You weren’t flashy, but you were relentless. You moved like a shadow in the chute–still, quiet, composed. And the second the gate flung open, you came alive.

They called it uncanny. The way you moved with the bulls, not against them. The way you didn’t panic when they whipped left or snapped back hard–you just adjusted your core and made sure you loosened up before gripping tighter onto the ropes

While other people your age were buried in textbooks or prepping for scholarships, you were strapping on gear that weighed as much as a grown man and launching yourself onto a creature bred for violence. You broke bones, popped joints, hit the dirt so hard once you saw stars–but you always got back up. Even when it hurt…Especially when it hurt.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t complain.

You learned to bite your tongue until the pain passed.

And that was what made people respect you.

When you joined the circuit for real, you weren’t a novelty anymore.

You were competition.

You didn’t win every ride, but you damn sure made them earn their wins. You placed. Then placed again. And before long, you weren’t just holding your own–you were climbing the ranks. Fast. Too fast for some.

You could hear the murmurs after a ride: She’s got something to prove. She’s only here because she’s a girl and people are curious. Let her fall once good and she’ll quit.

But you didn’t.

You got back in the chute every single time.

And when you started stacking belt buckles like poker chips–hard-won, sweat-soaked, blood-dented buckles–those same people started getting real quiet.

The crowds knew your name. The girls in the stands screamed when you showed up because you were seen as somewhat of an inspiration. Parents pointed at you from the bleachers and whispered to their daughters. Even the old-timers nodded when you passed.

Then just as you were truly gaining momentum…Wabang came out of nowhere.

A place with quieter skies, meaner bulls, and a circuit that didn’t give a damn about what you’d earned back in South Dakota.

You didn’t plan to leave, but when your father called you out to the porch on one late September evening–face tight, jaw ticking–you knew something was wrong. His words were careful. Simple.

”Your grandmother’s real sick…I gotta go to Wabang to take care of her. You know how Uncle Darren doesn’t do much for her…” You had sat on one of the rocking chairs nursing a beer in one hand, and popping one of your painkillers into your mouth with the other, washing it down with the stale ale. He offered you an out, he said you could stay behind to keep riding, to keep chasing the gold. But you shook your head before he even finished the sentence.

”I’m sure I can chase the gold somewhere else…” You said firmly, “I’m not going to let you go alone.” So you packed up all your gear and left behind the only place that had ever felt like home. It gutted you to leave the circuit. To hug your riding buddies goodbye with red eyes and raw knuckles, to strip your name off the draw sheets and hand your spot to some scrawny new kid who’d never tasted blood on the back of a bull before. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t the plan.

But sometimes, family called louder than ambition.

Still, your people didn’t let you go empty-handed. They made calls. Pulled strings. Sent emails and texts and a few firm recommendations that reached all the way across the plains to Wyoming’s Wabang Regional Circuit. The committee over there ran a tight ship, rougher than what you were used to. Leaner, grittier, less forgiving.

But they agreed to let you ride conditionally of course.

They didn’t care about your buckles. Your stats. Your glowing praise from South Dakota. As far as they were concerned, you were just another newbie trying to find footing on their dirt. Another out-of-town wildcard who needed to earn their keep.

It didn’t matter. You’d done it once. You could do it again.

What mattered was that you were back in the chute. Back in the dirt. Back where you belonged.

But Wabang wasn’t South Dakota.

The crowds were colder, the eyes on you sharper. Here, the circuit wasn’t just a family–it was a hierarchy. Tight-knit and territorial. Every rider knew every rider, and outsiders weren’t welcomed so much as tolerated.

You walked into the bullpen the first weekend with your duffel slung over your shoulder, the late sun slicing through the slats in the walls like firelight. Your boots were caked in three states’ worth of arena dirt, your jeans stiff from overuse, your plaid shirt rolled up to the elbows. You didn’t smile much. Not when every eye in the pen dragged over you like they were looking at a misprint.

You heard the whispers–that’s her? The South Dakota rider? Heard she’s good, but–

But.

There was always a but when it came to you.

The arena owner–a wiry older man with creased skin and a nicotine rasp–had greeted you just outside the gates and gave you the rundown. Quick, clipped. Professional.

“Locker room’s through there,” He’d said, nodding toward the left hallway. “Ain’t separate for men and women. You got a problem with that?” You shook your head.

”No, sir.” And he huffed.

”Didn’t think so.” You followed him past the arena doors, down the concrete corridor where the walls were stained with age and old sponsorship stickers peeled at the corners. The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and from down the hall, you could hear the sounds of boots stomping, a bull snorting in the pen, and someone laughing too loud.

The door to the locker room creaked when it opened.

And there he was.

Rhett Abbott.

He stood at the far end of the locker room like he’d been carved straight from the land that raised him–rugged, quiet, and hard-edged from the inside out. His long-sleeved blue plaid shirt was tucked neatly into the waistband of his dark, dust-scuffed jeans. The shirt clung to his broad frame in all the right places, sleeves pushed up just enough to show the veins in his forearms, the rough brush of stubble trailing along his jaw. His calloused hands worked slow, steady as he buckled his Kevlar vest into place across his chest–like he had all the time in the world.

And maybe he did.

Because Rhett Abbott didn’t rush for anyone.

He had a reputation even in South Dakota–your old circuit buddies had whispered his name like a warning and a dare. He wasn’t just a rider. He was the kind of man bulls remembered. The kind of man who didn’t blink when hooves cracked skulls and jaws snapped like rope. A cowboy with a haunted look in his eye and the kind of quiet that made everyone else shut the hell up when he entered a room.

And those eyes?

God, those eyes.

Clear and piercing blue, like glacial water that could cut right through you. They were striking even from a distance, but up close–when they landed on you, just then—it felt like standing on a fault line, like something was about to shift.

“Abbott,” The arena owner barked, voice gravel-thick. “This here’s Y/N. The South Dakota transfer.” Rhett didn’t say a word, nor did he offer a hand or a smile or even a blink. He just stared at you, expression unreadable, fingers flexing once against the buckle of his vest as he locked the strap into place. His gaze swept over you like he was measuring the threat–boots to chin, eyes narrowing faintly as if he’d already made his judgment and didn’t think much of what he saw.

You returned the stare without flinching.

”Nice to meet you,” You said evenly, offering the barest nod. There was tension in his silence. Heavy, taut, deliberate. The kind of tension that didn’t crack–it coiled.

His eyes stayed on yours.

Unmoving.

Daring.

And then, finally, his voice slid out low and rough as gravel. “We’ll see.”

“Well,” the owner grunted, already halfway through the door, “I gotta get back to my work. You can go on and get ready–the rest of the riders’ll be here in due time. Abbott’ll show you the draw sheet when you’re done gettin’ situated.”

You nodded politely. “Thank you, sir.”

He waved a hand, more dust than grace in the gesture. “Don’t thank me yet.”

Then he was gone, the door thudding shut behind him with a hollow slam that left the locker room humming with silence again–thick, loaded silence.

Rhett hadn’t moved.

Still stood like a statue in denim and dust, arms crossed loosely over his chest now, mouth drawn in a line that was neither welcoming nor dismissive. Just waiting.

Watching.

You dropped your duffel onto the bench with a solid thud and crouched to unzip it, not sparing him a glance. Your fingers moved with practiced rhythm–pulling out your vest, the dark navy one from bull riding school, faded along the edges but sturdy as hell. A gift from your instructors. You slid it onto your lap like armor.

Gloves. Mouthguard. Wrist wraps.

And then–rattle.

The familiar click of plastic against plastic.

You didn’t look up, but you felt the subtle shift of the room. A sound like that didn’t go unnoticed.

Rhett’s head tilted. Just a little. You caught it out of the corner of your eye. His brow lifted, and his lips tugged–just slightly–into something that wasn’t quite a smirk but damn sure wasn’t neutral.

“Painkillers already?” He said, tone even, drawl low. “Ain’t even touched the dirt yet.”

You looked up at him slowly, popping the cap off the bottle like you were opening a soda, and held his gaze as you shook one into your palm. “Old injuries, been doing this for a long time.” He hummed, like that told him everything and nothing all at once.

“Or maybe,” He added, pushing off the wall with the lazy grace of someone who didn’t do anything unless he wanted to, “You’re just prepping for the fall.” You tossed the pill back and dry-swallowed it. Hard. Deliberate. Wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

“You spend as much time worrying about your own rides,” You started, rising to your feet and fixing him with a look that dared him to push again, “Or are you already obsessed with mine?” His jaw flexed. His boots shifted.

Then he walked forward.

Not quick. Not aggressive. Just enough to close the space between you until you had to tilt your chin slightly to hold your ground.

“I watch for threats,” He said, voice barely above a whisper. “Keeps me sharp.”

”Oh…So I’m a threat to you?” That grin finally came–slow, crooked, lopsided and infuriatingly handsome, but he didn’t answer. You scoffed and shook your head, reaching down to pick up your wrist straps.

”Don’t worry, Abbott,” You said coolly, wrapping one hand with slow, steady precision. “I’m not here to take your spot. You can still sign belt buckles after the event if you want.”

“That so?” He muttered, circling around to the opposite bench but never taking his eyes off you. “Funny. You talk a lot for someone who ain’t made the draw yet.”

“You talk a lot for someone who’s clearly rattled.” His eyes narrowed at you, brimming with interest–with curiosity that was sharpened by the bite of his ego. He sat down on the bench opposite you, watching as you slipped on your vest and tightened the buckles with efficient, practiced pulls.

“You ride clean,” He said suddenly.

You glanced at him, startled by the shift in tone.

Still guarded, still competitive–but honest.

“You got clips out there,” He continued. “I’ve seen ‘em. Brindle out in Sioux Falls. Big bastard. You held like your boots were nailed to his sides.”

You paused, eyes narrowing slightly. “Didn’t think you did your homework.”

“I don’t.” He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “But new blood gets attention. Especially when it’s making noise before it even gets a number on the board.” The words should’ve felt like a compliment. But from Rhett Abbott, they sounded like a warning. You stood slowly, mouthguard in hand.

“Well,” You started, stepping past him, close enough that you brushed against him, “Hope you’ve been watching real close, Abbott.”

”Why’s that?” You glanced at him over your shoulder, a smirk playing at your lips.

”Cause maybe it gave you some pointers on how to get your spot back after I embarrass you tonight by dethroning you.” Rhett let out a low, surprised laugh–rough and full of gravel, like it hadn’t been used in a while. The sound bounced off the concrete walls and wrapped itself around your spine, warm and taunting. He leaned back slightly on the bench, his eyes cutting toward you with that same infuriating smirk, like he was already carving out space for your loss in his mind.

“That massive ego ain’t gonna get you anywhere here,” He drawled, shaking his head. “But good luck tryin’, sweetheart. You’ll need it.” You turned fully toward him, sliding your mouthguard into your back pocket, your brow lifting in mock thought.

“That the same line you feed every rookie before they kick your ass in the rankings? Or just the ones you’re scared of?” His gaze didn’t waver. Not even a little.

“Oh, I ain’t scared,” He said, slow and low, voice syrup-thick. “Just curious how many seconds you’ll last before you’re face-first in the dirt wonderin’ what the hell you got yourself into.”

“I’ll last more than eight,” You said flatly. “And I won’t be the one wonderin’.”

That made something in his jaw tick again–interest, challenge, something a little darker. He stood up then, rising to his full height, the bench creaking behind him, the air tightening between your bodies like it was caught in a vise.

He stepped forward. Just enough.

Not touching.

But near enough that you could smell the saddle soap on his vest, the sweat in the cotton of his shirt, the faintest trace of tobacco on his breath. His eyes flicked down to your chestplate, then back to your face.

”You may ride good,” He started, “But this place? It’ll chew you up if you walk in thinkin’ you’re the queen of the goddamn circuit.” You stared up at him, unflinching.

“I guess I’ll give it something to chew on then.” The silence between you burned after that. It wasn’t flirtation. It was something hotter. Something rawer. The buzz of two predators circling, tension strung tight between challenge and curiosity. Respect wasn’t given, not in Wabang–and not by Rhett Abbott. You’d have to rip it out of him like a tooth.

But God, it was gonna be fun trying.

He looked at you a second longer–searching, maybe–and then exhaled through his nose, slow and begrudging.

“Draw sheet’s taped outside the office door,” He muttered, stepping around you. “You’re sixth.” You turned just as he opened the door, watching the set of his shoulders, the confident, ground-eating stride, the twitch in his jaw like he wanted to say more but wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.

He stopped in the doorway just before leaving, glancing back at you over his shoulder.

“Oh,” He added casually. “Your bull? Leviathan. Mean son of a bitch. Most riders can’t last five.”

You grinned.

“Guess I’ll make it six.”

And then he was gone.

——————————

The air was crisp and dry, and the spotlights above the Wabang Regional Arena cut through the dark like white fire–searing over dirt churned from the night’s earlier rides. The stands were packed, voices rising in waves of excitement and tension, spilling beer and adrenaline as the announcer hyped the next event into the echoing mic.

“Next up…Randy Ellis ridin’ Deadbolt!”

The name crackled over the speakers as Randy adjusted his vest and hoisted himself over the chute. The crowd whooped, the clang of metal gates and the low growl of a restless bull filling the air. You didn’t watch. You were already headed toward your own chute–toward the pen holding Leviathan.

Your boots hit the dirt heavy. Intentional. You kept your shoulders squared, your expression unreadable, and your black Cattleman’s hat low over your brow. Your vest was secured, your wrists were wrapped, and your gloves were tight. All that was left was the ride.

As you approached your chute, the men flanking the rails turned at the sound of your steps. One of them–a lanky guy with wind-chapped cheeks and a whistle tucked into the front pocket of his flannel–cocked his head at you.

“You’re Y/N?”

You climbed up the railings like you’d done a hundred times before. Balanced, steady, sure. “Yep,” You replied, tossing a glance toward the snorting mass of muscle in the pen. “Is this Leviathan?”

The bull was massive.

Easily upwards of 2,500 pounds, built like a damn freight train, with dark brindle hide that shimmered with sweat under the lights. His eyes rolled white in his skull, and his hooves stomped restlessly against the planks, muscles twitching with every taut, coiled breath. His horns curved like a devil’s crown, one chipped from a previous fight. You could feel his energy from here–bubbling, hateful, wild.

One of the gate guys blinked. “Yeah,” He said, slowly. “But…You’re new. Ain’t no way they gave you a bull ranked an eight.” He glanced at the others, then back at you, brows knotting. “That’s just cruel.”

You shrugged, brushing sweat from your brow with the back of your glove. “I’m experienced,” you said evenly, eyes locked on Leviathan. “I can handle him.”

The guy let out a short, disbelieving whistle, shaking his head. “You got brass ones, I’ll give you that.”

You didn’t reply. Just climbed over the railing with practiced ease, slipping your mouthguard from your back pocket and biting it down between your teeth. The noise of the crowd faded as soon as you lowered yourself onto the bull’s back.

Leviathan snapped against the metal of the chute, sides heaving, rope already pulled taut beneath him. But your movements were quick–clean. You swung your leg over, settled low, tucked your knees in close, and adjusted the rope across your gloved hand. You shifted gently, loosening your core, feeling the way he moved beneath you like a living earthquake.

“You’re signin’ your own death wish, little lady,” one of the handlers muttered behind you.

You didn’t flinch. Just sucked in a breath and spoke around your mouthguard.

“Then I better make it worth it.”

You closed your eyes for a heartbeat. Focused. Centered.

This wasn’t South Dakota. This wasn’t some hometown draw with familiar bulls and family watching from the bleachers. This was Wabang.

And Wabang didn’t want you to win. They wanted you to bleed.

“Chute five, y’all. Leviathan with the newbie–Y/N L/N!”

The roar from the crowd was uncertain–half eager, half waiting for a crash.

You leaned forward, tightened your grip, and with your free hand, gave the nod.

The gate flung open.

And hell broke loose.

Leviathan launched like a bullet from a gun, his back legs kicking skyward as his front hooves jackknifed into the dirt. The momentum cracked through your spine like a whip, but you held tight, low and steady, moving with him–not against. You could barely hear the crowd through the static in your ears, the pounding of blood, the scream of instinct, the echo of your name in the chaos.

One second.

Two.

He twisted hard right, then back left. You shifted your weight, rolled your hips.

Three.

He jerked his head down and tried to slam his ass into the chute gate. You didn’t bite your tongue–you gritted it.

Four.

Your shoulder popped. You didn’t care.

Five.

His back legs buckled mid-air, an old trick to jolt riders. Your thighs held firm.

Six.

You could hear him grunting, feel the breath rip through his nostrils.

Seven.

He spun in a tight circle, then kicked forward with all his fury–

Eight.

The buzzer sounded.

And you didn’t fall.

You launched yourself off clean, hitting the dirt and rolling, boots scrambling as you came to your feet, mouthguard clenched between your teeth and chest heaving.

The crowd exploded.

The noise hit you like a wave–some cheering, some shocked. Some standing with beers half-raised, jaws open like they didn’t quite believe what they’d seen.

You stood there in the center of the ring for just a second, sweat dripping down your back, dust sticking to your cheeks, pain flaring in your ribs where you knew something pulled. But you smiled through your damn mouth guard anyway.

Up in the catwalks, framed by metal rails and sharp arena light, Rhett Abbott looked like a storm that hadn’t broken yet. Eyes burning cold, fingers tight around the neck of his beer, unmoving except for the way his jaw ticked. Like something was eating him alive from the inside out.

And if you didn’t know better, you’d have called it jealousy.

But you tore your gaze away before he could see you linger.

Instead, you gave a short, theatrical bow toward the crowd—sweat-slick and battered and glowing like you’d been baptized in dirt. You waved once, sharp and dismissive, then turned and headed for the exit, boots dragging a wake of red dust behind you.

You spat into the gravel as soon as you cleared the tunnel, blood-tinged saliva hitting the ground with a soft pat.

Your body ached like hell. Your ribs throbbed. But your heart was singing.

You slipped your mouth guard into your vest pocket and muttered under your breath with a grin curling against your cheek.

“Must be havin’ a lucky night–”

“Lucky,” Rhett grumbled, suddenly there, voice rough and tight.

You froze mid-step, turning your head slowly. He was leaning against the wall like he’d been waiting for you. Shoulders drawn, expression sharp, his hat pulled low over his brow—but not low enough to hide the scowl in his eyes.

He looked at you like you were a splinter lodged in his palm.

Unwanted. But too deep to pull out.

“Well damn,” you said, cocking your head as you took him in. “Abbott. You come all this way just to ride my belt, or you here to choke out a ‘congrats’?”

His lip curled faintly. “Didn’t realize there was anything worth congratulatin’. You stayed on. Big deal.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Eight seconds on Leviathan’s back says otherwise.”

He stepped forward. Slow, deliberate. The kind of step that said he wasn’t gonna shoot back–not yet–but if he did, it’d hurt.

“You think one ride makes you a name around here?”

“No,” You shot back, crossing your arms over your chest, “But it sure as hell makes you look over your shoulder.”

That hit.

His eyes flicked, just once, like a muscle had twitched without permission. He bit back whatever smart-ass line was about to come out, jaw flexing hard enough to crack stone.

“You’re cocky as hell, you know that?”

You smirked, “You’re actin’ like a man who’s got something to lose Abbott.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why’re you down here, all worked up about my ride?” He took another step forward. Close enough now that you could see the sweat at his temples. The way his chest rose and fell like he’d run to catch you. Close enough to smell the dust and heat still clinging to him like a second skin.

“You had one good ride. Don’t let those South Dakota buckles weigh your head down.” Your smirked.

”Face it, Abbott–you hate that I proved you wrong.” His nostrils flared.

“You’re not gonna last,” He said.

“I already did.”

“Yeah, just tonight you did.”

“That’s all it takes, right?” You stepped into his space now, voice like velvet over broken glass. “One night. One ride. And suddenly the golden boy’s out here growlin’ in the dark, tryin’ to convince himself he’s still top dog.”

“You’re not competition,” He snapped.

“Then why are you so pressed, sweetheart?”

That shut him up for just a second.

Then he laughed. A bitter, breathless sound, like it scraped its way out of his chest against his will. He turned his face slightly like he couldn’t stand to look at you straight on, shaking his head with a crooked, vicious smile.

“You got fire,” He admitted. “But fire burns out fast when you don’t know how to control it.”

“Maybe,” You said, stepping even closer–your boots nearly toe to toe with his. “Or maybe it burns hotter when someone keeps throwin’ fuel on it.”

Your eyes locked. No blinking. No breathing. Just heat. Hot enough to taste.

And then–

A voice echoed from the arena tunnel behind you both: “Abbott, you’re up in two!” He didn’t move. Didn’t look away. But something in his gaze shifted–tightened. Like he’d remembered where he was, who he was supposed to be, and the fact that you weren’t supposed to be under his skin.

You tilted your head slowly. “You should get ready.”

“I am ready.”

“Right.” You let your voice drag, taunting. “Don’t trip over that pride on your way in.”

He stepped back with a sharp inhale, that wild smirk tugging again at the corner of his mouth. “Enjoy your little moment, South Dakota. Next ride, you’ll be eatin’ dirt.”

You grinned. “If it’s dirt from your spot in the rankings, I’ll savor it.”

He turned with a shake of his head, muttering something under his breath as he stalked back toward the chutes.

You didn’t ask what it was. You didn’t need to.

Because if Rhett Abbott hated you now? That meant you were exactly where you needed to be.

The concession stand was tucked under a flickering floodlight, the cooler humming behind a bored teenager chewing a hard piece of gum, her lips smacking loudly. You ordered a Coke, voice scratchy from dust and exertion, and twisted the cap off with your teeth as you walked away, the soda cold enough to sting your throat. You needed the caffeine more than the sugar. Your whole body was buzzing, but not in a good way–not anymore. The adrenaline was gone, and pain was blooming in its absence.

You didn’t go back to the locker room for your pills, not yet at least, you needed to wait a bit longer before your next dose, so you would just have to grin and bear it. The bleachers groaned as you climbed them, weaving past shouting fans and wide-eyed kids still holding bags of cotton candy. You kept your head down, your hat low, until you found an open spot on the edge of the aluminum seating–close enough to the arena for a decent view, far enough from the cluster of families not to be bothered.

You sat slowly.

Carefully.

And still your tailbone felt like you slammed it into the cold metal, a sharp crack of pain erupting through you as your jaw clenched. You winced hard, hissing through your teeth as you took a quick sip of soda to mask it. The bruises would set in tomorrow. Your ribs were already throbbing with every inhale. You shifted your weight to your hip, keeping one hand wrapped around your Coke and the other braced behind you on the bench.

It was worth it.

Every goddamn second of it.

The announcer’s voice echoed through the arena again, sharp and loud as the next name rang out like a gunshot.

“Rhett Abbott ridin’ Ironjaw! Let’s see what the local legend’s got tonight, folks!”

You tipped your head just enough to get a clear view of the chutes—and there he was.

Rhett stood in the narrow alley behind the pen, vest snug over his broad chest, his shoulders flexing as he adjusted the rope across Ironjaw’s flank. The bull was pissed already, hooves scraping against the dirt floor, muscles rippling beneath slick hide. Rhett didn’t flinch.

You narrowed your eyes.

Every movement he made was precise, economical. Like he knew the bull before he even got on it. The way he patted Ironjaw’s side with a flat, firm palm, the way he crouched to check his wrap, the way his jaw clenched as he rolled his wrist and tested the slack—calm. Controlled. No wasted motion. No hesitation.

You hated that it was impressive.

Because it was.

But that didn’t mean he was better than you.

Not yet.

He climbed onto the railing with that same unbothered grace, like he’d been born in a chute. Then he eased onto Ironjaw’s back, slow and steady, settling into the saddle as if it were a goddamn rocking chair.

Your Coke bottle creaked in your hand as your grip tightened.

You wanted to see how he moved when the gate opened. You wanted to see if he could ride clean like you had–or if he just talked like he could.

The chute boss gave him a nod. Rhett shifted, gloved hand gripping the rope, legs tightening around the bull’s broad back. The noise in the crowd swelled–chants, shouts, someone whistling from the far end of the stands.

Then–

The gate flew open.

Ironjaw launched into the arena like a shot.

The crowd screamed.

And you sat there, still as stone, watching every goddamn second.

He moved like he wasn’t separate from the bull. Not fighting the chaos–riding it. Every buck met with counterweight. Every twist matched with a subtle shift of his hips, a sharp adjustment in his core.

You realized it before anyone else did.

Right there in the middle of Ironjaw’s third spin, Rhett’s center of gravity shifted just a fraction too far forward–just enough to throw his balance off when the bull twisted the other way. He tried to correct it, tightening his core like a seasoned pro, but it was too late. His grip held, but his seat was gone.

And then–

Wham.

Ironjaw bucked hard, and Rhett’s body was flung sideways, spine bowing mid-air like a cracked whip before he slammed shoulder-first into the dirt. The arena let out a collective, resounding:

“OHHHH–“ A mix of awe and sympathy. The kind of sound people made when someone landed just wrong.

You winced instinctively at the sound of impact, the grit of your teeth matched by the fizz of your Coke bottle between your lips. Your ribs ached in solidarity. But even through the sympathy, a smug little grin curled at the corner of your mouth. Because there it was. The moment. The crack in the golden boy’s armor.

Rhett groaned as he rolled onto his knees, planted one gloved hand in the dirt, and pushed himself up, slow and stiff. The bull had already been wrangled and was halfway down the pen when he stood upright, brushing red dust off his vest like it personally offended him.

His jaw was clenched, hard. His chest rose and fell like he was chewing on the failure, trying to swallow it whole.

You took another long sip of Coke, watching from the bleachers as he yanked off his glove and slapped it against his thigh hard enough to make a few spectators flinch. His hat was tilted low, covering his face, but not low enough to hide the embarrassment in his posture.

The announcer tried to save him a little–

“Tough break for Abbott tonight, folks. That bull’s meaner than sin and twice as smart! Four seconds! Let’s hear it for the local legend anyway!” A few people clapped, loyal to his name.

But you didn’t.

You just sat there like a queen on her throne, bruised but proud, your Coke bottle sweating against your thigh.

Four seconds.

You’d doubled it.

And that’s all that mattered.

He walked back toward the tunnel, muttering something to one of the gate guys, and you didn’t miss the twitch in his jaw when he glanced up toward the stands.

He saw you.

Saw you smirking.

Saw the satisfaction radiating off you like perfume.

And it hit him–

You’d won.

Not the event. Not the night.

But the first real punch of this fight?

That belonged to you.

The tension between you two had been all bark and no bite until now–but now? Now it was personal. Now he had a reason to glare at you across the chutes. Now he’d ride harder. Sharper. Meaner. Because you were the threat.

Not the bulls.

You.

You rose slowly from the bench, your back aching like hell, but the adrenaline and spite kept you upright. The crowd buzzed as you made your way down the steps again, slipping through the crush of spectators still high on beer and dust.

By the time you reached the rear corridor, Rhett was stalking toward the locker rooms with his helmet swinging at his side and a scowl cut deep into his face. You didn’t slow down–you matched his pace stride for stride, the echo of your boots following his.

“You alright?” You asked, feigning innocence. “Looked like Ironjaw gave you a little love tap there.”

He didn’t stop walking, nor did he look at you. But he did answer. Through gritted teeth.

“Don’t push it.”

You grinned. “Just asking. You know…’Cause you looked real good for those four seconds.” That stopped him. Dead in his tracks. He turned to face you, eyes narrowed and jaw tight, the muscles in his neck tense as a bowstring.

“You think this is a game?”

You blinked slowly. “I think it’s a competition. Or were you expecting I’d kiss your bruises after?”

“You got lucky,” He muttered. “That’s all.” You tilted your head at him.

”Maybe you oughta start prayin’ for some of it for yourself.” For a second, neither of you moved. The hallway pulsed with tension–the low hum of the floodlights, the smell of blood and sweat and dirt hanging between you. His chest was still rising and falling fast, vest creaking with each breath. He was pissed, and not at the bull. At you.

And you loved it.

“You got no idea what you’re messin’ with,” He growled. You stepped in closer, close enough to see the flecks of arena dirt clinging to his stubble, to smell the blood on his breath where he must’ve bitten his cheek on impact. You smirked up at him, lips curling slow and sharp, a predator in worn denim.

“You’re gettin’ so frustrated, Abbott,” You teased,, voice honey-slick and dangerous. “You scared a girl’s gonna swipe up all your titles?” That flicker behind his eyes–it flared. Blue fire, all storm surge and pride, rising too fast to catch. His mouth opened like he had something smart to throw back, something smug to spit–but all that came out was a low, bitter scoff, hot and cracked like dry wood snapping under a boot.

“I can’t wait,” He hissed, stepping close enough for his shadow to cut across your boots, “to see you get whipped from a fuckin’ bull. Face-first in the dirt. ’Cause now?” His voice dropped. Rough. Mean. Real. “You’re just askin’ for it.”

You held his stare without blinking, pulse thumping in your ears. His breath was ragged. His teeth clenched.

You smiled–slow, and lethal. Like you already knew something he didn’t.

“That’s wishful thinkin’.” You stepped past him, letting your shoulder brush his with deliberate weight, soft enough to sting.

“See you next week, Abbott.”And you didn’t look back. Not when your boots echoed down the corridor. Not when he stood there, fuming, jaw ticking, watching you go like you were a ghost he couldn’t exorcise. Not when the silence behind you vibrated with swallowed curses and bruised pride.

——————————

The next few weeks turned into a battleground.

Not just in the chutes, but everywhere.

You and Rhett were at each other’s throats like it was a second job. He was the constant thorn in your side, and you were the splinter under his nail he couldn’t dig out. Tension followed you like smoke–thick, choking, and just a spark away from catching fire.

In the arena, the rivalry was brutal. You both took every draw like it was personal. Every gate swing, every eight seconds, every dismount had teeth. He’d ride clean, and you’d ride cleaner. You’d land high scores, and he’d storm out with a jaw like cracked stone and ride harder the next week. The scoreboard became a battlefield of inches, bruises, and grit. Your names started climbing neck-and-neck.

And outside the arena? The war didn’t stop.

The more social you got with the rest of the circuit crew, the more you ended up circling the same watering holes, the same post-ride hangouts, the same campfire gatherings that Rhett haunted like a shadow. You didn’t mean to wedge yourself into his world–but it happened all the same.

It was hard to make friends outside the rodeo. So you took what you could get.

After weekend rides, the crew always ended up at The Handsome Gambler–a half-dive, half-cowboy shrine of a bar tucked off a dirt road that hadn’t seen a real renovation since the early 2000s. The beer was always cold, the jukebox barely worked, and the pool table leaned a little to the left–but it was home for a lot of them.

And, eventually, it became home for you too.

You’d walk in, bruised and sweat-slick, toss your gloves on the bar and sink into the booth with a hiss of pain, a Coke or whiskey sour clutched in one hand while the guys grilled you about your South Dakota days.

“How many buckles we talkin’?” One of the younger riders asked, eyes wide and eager like you were a damn legend in the flesh.

You smirked, biting into the rim of your glass. “Twenty-two. All clean. No DQs.”

That got a few low whistles. A head shake. Someone muttered “Christ…” under their breath. One of the older circuit boys tapped his knuckles on the table like he was impressed.

And Rhett?

Rhett would be posted up at the bar, standing off to the side like a damn ghost with blue eyes and a bottle of Shiner in his hand. Most nights, he kept close to his older brother, Perry–who, unlike Rhett, was friendly as hell and had no problem throwing you a smile.

“Hell of a ride today,” Perry had told you once, clinking his beer bottle against your Coke as you limped past him with your vest slung over your shoulder. “Leviathan again, right?”

You nodded. “Round two.”

He gave a low laugh. “Bet that pissed Rhett off real good.” And it had. You knew it did. You felt it.

The longer the weeks stretched, the more it became a game of watching Rhett try to pretend he wasn’t watching you.

He’d stare across the bar whenever you laughed too loud, especially if it was at something another rider said. He’d roll his eyes when your name got brought up in ride recaps. You caught him jawing to his buddy Dusty once–something low and sharp, just after you sank an eight-second ride that had the whole stands buzzing.

You’d walk past him at the bar and his gaze would slice through you like a knife through warm hide. Every once in a while, he’d mutter something just loud enough for you to catch:

“Don’t get too comfy, South Dakota.”

To which you’d fire back over your shoulder, without missing a beat:

“Keep practicing fallin’, Wabang.”

The crew lived for it.

They took bets on your tension–whether it’d end in a fistfight or a hookup first.

You weren’t sure yourself at this point, and you didn’t know which one you wanted. Sometimes you guys got so close it seemed like you were going to either kiss or throw hands. But the longer you stayed in Wabang, the more something in the air crackled between you two. Not just hatred. Not just competition. It was something hotter. Heavier. Like whatever fire you lit under Rhett’s skin had started burning in reverse–turning inside out and sparking something neither of you were quite ready to name.

————————

The locker room door slammed shut behind you.

You weren’t limping–but you weren’t walking straight either. Your shoulder had taken a pretty bad hit, or maybe it was your ribs. It was hard to tell considering your entire side felt like it had been steamrolled by a freight train. It had been a while since you’d been thrown off a bulls back, but this certainly was a grim reminder of how bad it was to be thrown face first into a pile of dirt.

Slowly, you made your way to the sink and spat into the white porcelain, pink-stained foam swirled down the drain and you grimaced. Of course it wasn’t the first time you coughed up blood after a bad throw, and it wouldn’t be your last. It was a normal occurrence.

But when the door creaked again behind you, you didn’t have to look to know who it was, and his voice was confirmation of your assumptions.

”…You alright?” You didn’t answer right away, you just wiped the corner of your mouth with the sleeve of your flannel, licking the blood that stained your lips. You saw him step closer to you in the mirror, a look of concern on his face.

”I’m all good,” You said flatly, “Just a bit of blood, it’s a normal occurrence.” His brows ticked up, the faintest flicker of disbelief crossing his face.

“Really?” You met his gaze through the mirror, eyes tired but unyielding, and gave a short, sharp nod.

“Yeah. Really.” Rhett didn’t say anything for a beat, just studied your reflection like he was still trying to figure you out. Like every answer you gave him only led to more damn questions. But he didn’t press.

You turned away, crossing the room with slow, deliberate steps, your hand grazing your ribs as you moved toward your duffel bag. The locker room echoed faintly with the hum of the overhead lights and the distant clang of boots from the arena tunnel. You crouched just enough to unzip your bag, wincing as you reached inside and pulled out the orange-capped bottle.

You shook a single pill into your palm, popped it into your mouth, and dry-swallowed it like you’d done a hundred times before. No grimace. No hesitation. Just another part of the routine.

Then, without looking up, you held the bottle toward Rhett.

“Want one?” You asked casually. “It’s just a stronger version of Tylenol, nothing serious or addicting or anything…” He let out a soft breath–half huff, half chuckle–as he shook his head.

“I’ve got stronger. Thanks for the offer though.” You nodded once and tossed the bottle back into your bag, zipping it shut with a slow pull. Your fingers lingered on the worn canvas for a second, the tension between you and Rhett thick in the silence.

“You still goin’ out with the crew tonight?” He asked suddenly.

You glanced up, a brow arched, like it was a stupid question. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Rhett shrugged, all feigned nonchalance, but his eyes betrayed him–there was something quieter behind them. Something unreadable.

“Thought I’d ask, that’s all.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just stood there for a moment, watching him. He’d leaned back against the lockers now, arms crossed loosely over his chest, shoulders still dusted with dirt, the bruise forming high on his cheekbone blooming like a storm cloud. But he wasn’t looking at you anymore. His eyes had drifted down to the scuffed tile beneath his boots, like he didn’t want you to catch him thinking too hard about something.

You tilted your head, voice quieter this time. “You plannin’ on bein’ there?”

He hesitated–just for a breath. Then: “Yeah. Think so.”

You gave a small nod, pulling your flannel tighter around your ribs. “Good. Maybe I’ll buy you a drink.” You smirked faintly. “Y’know…As a consolation prize.”

His eyes snapped back to yours, narrowing slightly. “I don’t need a damn consolation prize.”

You stepped closer, lips quirking. “No? Then maybe I’ll let you buy me one. Since you didn’t eat dirt tonight.”He rolled his eyes but didn’t stop you when you brushed past him on your way to the door. Didn’t say a word as your shoulder bumped lightly against his chest. But just as you reached for the handle, his voice followed you. Low. Rough. Barely above a whisper.

“…Don’t ride hurt tomorrow.”

You paused, and turned your head just enough to meet his gaze over your shoulder.

“I always ride hurt,” You reply softly. “That’s the job.”

Then you opened the door, and left him there, still watching.

—————————

The Handsome Gambler smelled like stale beer, sweat, and a little too much aftershave. The jukebox was hiccuping through a George Strait song it had played three times already, and the floorboards creaked every time a boot shifted the wrong way. You walked in bruised but upright, your body already stiffening with the ache that was sure to bloom worse by morning. The adrenaline was gone now, leaving only a dull throb along your ribs and a hot sting behind your shoulder blade. It hurt to breathe deep, but you didn’t flinch. Not here. Not now.

You were still wearing the same flannel you’d had on since the draw sheet dropped hours ago. It clung damp to your back, sleeves rolled up to your elbows, a dark stain of dust and old blood smudged near the seam on your right arm. Your collar was crooked, your hair an absolute mess beneath your black Cattleman’s hat, but none of it mattered. You walked like you were untouched. Untouchable. A shadow of dirt and fire threading through the crowd.

A few of the boys waved you over from the far booth–beer bottles raised, one of them already gesturing for shots like this was a victory lap. You nodded back, lazy and half-cocked, but didn’t join them just yet. Instead, you made your way to the bar.

Rhett was propped against the far end of the counter. Long frame stretched just enough to make the stool creak, one boot hooked under the rail while the other was planted steady on the ground. His shirt clung to him in places from the ride, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows like he always wore them, showing off those rough forearms like he didn’t even know the effect they had. Or maybe he did.

He didn’t look at you completely, but you knew he had seen you walk in. You felt it. The weight of his gaze crawling up your side like a whisper–slow and deliberate, but not indulgent. Just…Watchful. As if he were cataloguing bruises. Measuring pain. Waiting to see if you’d limp or stride.

You didn’t limp.

You stepped right up to the counter, two seats down from him, and flagged the bartender with two fingers.

“Whiskey and Coke please,” You ordered, voice scratchy from dust and too many half-swallowed yells. “Tall.”

You needed the burn. Something to dull the coming storm in your bones. Something to keep your spine straight while the ache made camp beneath your ribs. You let your hand rest on the edge of the bar, the other pressed lightly to your side where the bruises were blooming ugly and deep.

That’s when you felt it.

A hand. Sliding low along the waistband of your jeans. Fingers curling in too close.

“–Saw you at the circuit,” A voice said behind you. Older. Greasy. Familiar with bad decisions and cheaper whiskey. “You ride like an absolute professional.” You stiffened. His palm skimmed just enough to raise your hackles. “I wonder,” He continued, voice warm with sleaze, “If that skill gets transferred to the bedroom.”

Your jaw clenched so hard your teeth ached. You shifted your weight slightly, not enough to cause a scene but enough to plant your heel where it needed to be in case you wanted to drive it through his instep.

“Were you ever taught about keepin’ your hands to yourself?” You asked, voice flat. Cold.

He laughed. A low, ugly sound, like gravel caught in the back of his throat. You could smell him now–cheap tobacco, sour sweat, something sharp like tequila gone warm.

“C’mon now, sugar,” He drawled. “Don’t get all uptight on me…I’m just trying to make conversation.” You turned then, slow and dangerous, the heat in your eyes enough to make a lesser man wither. Your lips parted to deliver something sharp enough to cut bone–

But another voice cut through first. Low. Lethal.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you…”

It was Rhett, still seated. Still holding his beer. But his gaze was hard enough to freeze fire. He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to.

“Pretty sure there’ll be blood on the floor, and it’s most definitely not gonna be hers. Or mine.” The guy paused, shifting his weight just slightly. You felt the air change–less sure now. Less cocky. But still stupid. He looked over his shoulder, eyes flicking toward Rhett.

“What’re you, her belt bunny? She’s a grown woman. She can speak for herself.” Rhett’s lips curled around the mouth of his bottle, slow and deliberate. He took a sip–unbothered. Then he stood. One smooth movement. Tall. Broad. Dangerous in a way that didn’t need yelling or fists. Just presence.

Rhett’s boots scraped against the floor as he rose, slow and deliberate. He didn’t move fast, didn’t need to–just stepped off the stool like he had all the time in the world, beer bottle still in hand, eyes pinned to the man like a loaded gun with the safety off.

You clocked the change in his posture instantly–shoulders tight, jaw locked, fire flickering just behind those glacial blue eyes.

He was coming toward you.

But before he could get more than two steps in, you held out a hand, palm open.

“Rhett,” You said sharply. Calm. Even. “Take it easy. Sit back down.”

He froze. One foot still half-lifted like he’d been about to lunge. His jaw clenched visibly, his nostrils flaring as he stared at you like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to listen–or if he even could.

You didn’t give him the chance to argue, you just turned slowly back to the man.

He was still standing too close, that dumb, sleazy grin barely faltering under the weight of what he thought was bravado. Your drink still hadn’t come yet, and you could feel the ache in your side starting to curl deeper under your ribs. But this? This you had energy for.

Your hand shot out.

Not to slap him. Not to shove.

You grabbed his wrist.

And squeezed.

Hard.

You didn’t say anything at first–just watched his smirk start to falter as the pressure settled in. You flexed your fingers, tightening until you felt bone shift slightly under your grip. His eyes widened.

“Y’know how much grip strength you need to stay on a 2,500-pound bull?” You murmured, voice soft as molasses and sharp as a thorn. “Now imagine I use that same strength…on your wrist. Hmm? Sound good to you?”

His face paled. His arm twitched beneath your hold.

“Okay okay,” He blurted, voice cracking just slightly. “I’m sorry–shit, I’m sorry.”

You held him there for a second longer, just long enough for it to sink in, then let go with a little shove that sent him rocking back on his heels.

You smiled. Wide. Mocking.

“You should be.” Then you jerked your chin toward the other end of the bar.

“Now go back to your friends, creep.”

He opened his mouth like he might say something else–but thought better of it. Instead, he muttered a sullen, “Jeez,” and slunk away with his pride limping behind him, disappearing into the crowd without so much as a backward glance.

The bartender slid your whiskey and Coke toward you just as the moment ended. You grabbed it almost immediately, and took a long sip without flinching, exhaling slowly as the burn spread through your chest.

“Put her drinks on my tab.”

Your hand paused halfway to your mouth, the glass cool against your fingers.

You glance sideways.

Rhett was still leaning against the counter, one elbow hooked over the edge, a bottle of Shiner raised to his lips. He took a slow sip, then licked the foam from the corner of his mouth with the kind of casual grace that shouldn’t look nearly as good as it does.

“You don’t need to do that, Abbott,” You said, turning toward him just enough for your shoulder to brush the bar.

He shrugged, bottle tapping lightly against the wood. “Decided to take you up on the offer of buying you a drink… Problem?”

You swallowed hard and the whiskey burned less than the look in his eyes.

“No problem at all…” You murmured, straightening your spine and taking another slow sip of your own drink to keep your hands busy.

There’s a beat of silence. Not uncomfortable. Not yet. Just thick.

Then–

“Mind if I sit beside you?”

Your eyebrows lift–surprised, amused, maybe even a little curious.

You glance at the empty stool next to you, then back at him.

“Go right ahead.”

Rhett slides off his stool and takes the seat beside you. His denim brushes your thigh when he settles. He’s warm. Smells like leather, dust, and the faintest hint of beer. His vest creaks faintly when he leans back, legs spread just enough to take up too much room without even trying. You tilt your head toward him, lips quirking.

“You tryin’ to coddle up to me now? Just ‘cause you witnessed me eat shit in front of a crowd?” He gave you a look. Steady. That sharp-edged Rhett Abbott stare that always comes with a side of condescension and a slow drag of those glacial eyes across your face.

“No,” He said simply. “I’m welcoming you to the club.”

You blink. “The club?”

“The Wabang Club,” He muttered, tapping the neck of his bottle on the bar once. “First time you got thrown here.”

He pauses, just long enough to make you look at him.

“No more raging ego now.”

You scoff. “That so?”

“That’s so,” He replied, turning his head slightly toward you. His knee shifts beneath the bar, bumping yours–intentional, but barely.

You hum into your next sip. “Doesn’t mean we’re not still competitive.”

“No,” He agreed, smirking faintly, “but I’d say we’re on the same level now.”

“Uh huh,” You said, tongue clicking against your teeth as you lean in just slightly. “You still think I’m gunnin’ for your title, Abbott?”

He turns, and for the first time all night, he really looks at you.

“Think?” He pressed lowly, voice like a lazy threat. “I know you are.”

The whiskey hits your bloodstream with a heat that has nothing to do with liquor and everything to do with the way his voice drips across the syllables. You glance at his hands–battered and rough, thumb idly brushing the condensation on his bottle. He smells like sweat, grit, and something you can’t name but want more of. You wonder if his hands would feel like rope burn or salvation on your skin.

You lean just a touch closer, eyes still on his mouth.

“Maybe I just like givin’ you a hard time.”

His lips twitch. “You do that real well.”

You tap a finger against your glass. “Think you can handle more of it?”

His jaw ticked. His gaze dropped once–quick and dirty–to your lips, then back up again. The smirk turns into something darker.

“You keep flirtin’ like that,” He muttered,, “And we’re gonna stop pretendin’ we hate each other.”

You tilt your head, a smile playing at your mouth. “What if I like to pretend?”

He leaned in–closer now, voice brushing your skin.

“Then maybe it’s time you found out how much better the real thing feels.”

The words hit low. Between your ribs. Between your thighs.

The music fades behind you, the bar buzzing soft with other conversations, the rest of the world dropping out until it’s just you and Rhett. You finish your whiskey in one long swallow and set the glass down slowly. You glanced over at him again, glass empty in your hand, breath tight in your chest–and you didn’t know what the hell washed over you. Maybe it was the whiskey, warm and heady in your veins. Maybe it was the throb of your bruises making everything feel sharper, more real. Or maybe it was the way Rhett was looking at you now–jaw tight, lips parted just slightly, blue eyes dragging over your face like he was trying to memorize it. Whatever the reason, you said it before you could second-guess yourself:

“…Is your truck parked out back?” Rhett’s eyebrows ticked up, just a little. His grip around the neck of his bottle tightened.

“…Yeah,” He replied slowly, voice rough around the edges. “It’s out back.” You pressed your tongue against the inside of your cheek. Then, licking your bottom lip slowly, you lifted your chin.

“Is it parked somewhere…Hidden?” That made him let out a soft huff of a laugh. Quiet and dark.

“You want me to show you?” You nodded once. He watched you for a beat, jaw flexing. Then he set his bottle down and flagged the bartender, slipping some cash across the wood.

“Keep the change.”

You didn’t say a word as he turned and walked toward the back exit, and you followed a step behind–both of you moving like you’d been building to this for weeks.

Because maybe you had.

The back door creaked as Rhett pushed it open, the night spilling in around your boots–cooler air, the scent of grass, the faint hum of cicadas vibrating somewhere out in the dark.

He led you across the gravel lot without looking back.

And there it was.

His truck.

Parked beneath a clutch of trees, mostly swallowed by shadows–perfectly isolated. Like he’d known all damn day you’d end up back there with him. The windows were fogged just from the day’s heat. The bed was empty. The cab was dark.

Rhett stopped beside it, boots scuffing against gravel, and turned to you.

He tipped his hat back slightly, the faintest curl playing at his mouth.

“So,” He said slowly, “Did you ask me all those questions just to see my truck?” You smirked, stepping into his space with your chin tilted up, your voice dripping with challenge and need. “Or…” He murmured, eyes dragging down your body, “Did you wanna test the shocks?” You glanced at the truck. Then back at him.

And smiled.

“I think we can give the shocks a run for their money.” You paused, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, your voice dropping to something sultry and honest “…I’ve always wanted to sleep with a fellow bull rider.” That did it. His jaw twitched. He didn’t lunge Didn’t rush.

He just grabbed the edge of your flannel, pulled you in slow and rough, like what was going to happen had already been decided. Like he’d been thinking about this since the day you walked into the Wabang locker room with your vest slung over your shoulder and that fuck-you smirk on your face. He tipped your hat back with a curl of his fingers, slow and deliberate, eyes flicking between your lips and your eyes like he couldn’t decide which he wanted to get drunk on first. Then he reached up and did the same to his own–tipping the brim of his hat back just enough to reveal more of that stubborn brow, the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the dust-smudged trail of stubble that shadowed his jaw. And then his hand was on your cheek.

Big. Calloused. Warm.

It didn’t fit the rest of him–the rough words, the sharp jabs, the bruised pride that bled through every look he’d ever given you in the ring. But his hand…It cupped your face like he gave a damn. Like you weren’t just some rival he couldn’t shake, but something worth holding onto.

Then he kissed you.

Not hard. Not fast. But deep.

Gentle, at first. Like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth before he ruined it. Like he was trying to taste the part of you that hadn’t yet been touched by blood and bruises. You breathed in sharply through your nose, spine stiffening–not because it was bad. Because it was too good. Because Rhett Abbott wasn’t supposed to kiss like this. Wasn’t supposed to melt against you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he blinked too long.

But then You slid your hand up the front of his shirt, fingers curling into the collar, dragging him closer like you were starving and he was the only thing on the menu. And just like that, the kiss changed.

Heat surged between you in a crackling burst, the slow burn of it combusting into something greedy. His other hand fisted the side of your flannel, dragging your body hard against his as your back slammed gently against the cool metal of the truck’s passenger door. The jolt of it made you gasp into his mouth, and he took advantage of it–slipping his tongue between your lips with a groan low in his throat, all heat and rough intent.

You barely registered your hat falling off. Didn’t care. All you could feel was the hard line of his thigh between your legs, the pressure of his hips pinning you in place, the maddening scrape of his stubble as he kissed you like he wanted to wear your mouth for the rest of the goddamn night.

Your hands clawed at his shirt, bunching the fabric at his chest, trying to haul him even closer. But he was already there–pressed flush to you, his body molded to yours like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space.

He kissed you like he hated you.

Like you were the thorn in his side and the only thing that made him feel alive.

His hand moved from your cheek to your jaw, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip before he nipped at it with his teeth–soft, then sharp, like he wanted to leave a mark. And you responded with a muffled curse, your fingers diving into the back of his hair, tugging hard enough to make him hiss through his teeth.

“Fuck,” He muttered against your mouth, breath hot and ragged. “You don’t fight fair.”

You grinned, even as you gasped. “Neither do you.”

“Good,” He growled, pressing harder into you. “Then we’re even.”

His hand slid down, past your ribs–over bruises he’d noticed but hadn’t commented on–until it landed on your waist. And then lower. Gripping your ass through your jeans and dragging you up slightly, grinding you against the seam of his thigh like he wanted you squirming. Like he wanted you begging.

You arched into him, your lips parting on a breathless moan as the friction sparked lightning between your legs. Your head fell back against the truck door with a thud, and he didn’t waste a second–ducking down to kiss along your throat, biting the skin just hard enough to make your breath stutter.

“You think this is what everyone was bettin’ on?” You rasped, your voice gritty with lust. “That we’d end up fuckin’ in the parking lot instead of throwin’ punches?”

He laughed against your collarbone–rough and amused, like gravel sliding down a slope.

“Pretty sure nobody bet we’d make it past a punch.” His mouth trailed down to your shoulder, kissing the curve there through your shirt like he was already trying to undo you. “But I’ve been thinkin’ about this for weeks.”

You gripped his jaw, forcing him to look at you again.

“Then stop talkin’ and show me what you’ve been thinkin’.”

“Gladly,” Rhett growled, voice rough with promise as he fished his keys from his pocket and popped the lock. The soft mechanical click barely registered over the pulse thrumming in your ears.

He opened the passenger door and held it like a gentleman might–if that gentleman had just kissed you like he planned to wreck you and every thought you’d ever had. You climbed up into the cab without hesitation, grateful as hell to find that the front seat was a bench. No console, no separation. Just space to spread your legs.

The second you slid in, Rhett slammed the door shut behind you, the echo like a warning shot. The keys hit the dashboard with a sharp clatter as he settled in beside you, his body heat already wrapping around you like smoke.

You didn’t wait. Your fingers found the buttons of your flannel and worked them open, fast and reckless, each pop of fabric louder than the breath you were sucking through your teeth. Beside you, Rhett was shrugging out of his plaid in one fluid motion, the sleeves peeling off his forearms, the collar catching in his hair.

“You on birth control?” He asked, his voice low and firm as he whipped the shirt into the backseat.

You nodded, hands already sliding your shirt off your shoulders. “’Course I am.”

His mouth quirked in a smirk, eyes sharp even in the darkness. “Most recent STD test?”

“Clean,” You said without missing a beat,“You?” Rhett grunted, reaching down to yank his undershirt over his head in one quick pull. The fabric stretched tight across his chest before it gave, revealing smooth muscle, scarred skin, and a line of dust still clinging to the hollow beneath his collarbone. You caught the bull rider tattoo on his chest, and smirked at it–talk about dedication.

“Clean as a whistle, sweetheart,” He said, voice a rumble. You shoved your flannel off the rest of the way and let it fall to the floor, revealing your black bra beneath. The cotton clung to your ribs, sweat-darkened and stretched over the bruises that marbled your skin like art.

Rhett’s gaze dragged down your body like a hand.

“Jesus Christ,” He muttered, breath catching. “You look so fucking good.” He surged forward, one hand bracing the back of your neck while the other slid around your waist, fingers splaying over bruises he didn’t shy away from. His mouth crashed into yours again, hotter this time–less curious, more carnal. His lips dragged over yours in a filthy rhythm, all teeth and hunger and grit. Your moan was muffled by the way he took your bottom lip between his teeth, biting just enough to make you gasp before he soothed the sting with his tongue.

His chest pressed against yours, bare skin meeting sweat-slicked heat. You could feel every inch of him–hard lines, warm flesh, the swell of his thighs spreading wider as he settled between your legs. His calloused fingers ran up your sides, ghosting along the edge of your bra, fingertips brushing your ribs so gently it made your core ache. You dragged your nails down his back just hard enough to leave a mark, and he hissed, teeth gnashing as he locked into your mouth.

He tasted like Shiner, dust, and danger.

Your hands gripped the waistband of his jeans, tugging him closer until his hips were pressing flush against the heat between your thighs. He groaned–low and broken–his forehead pressing to yours.

“You want this?” He asked, voice barely more than a growl, his hands cradling your thighs now. “’Cause if I start, I’m not stoppin’ ‘til you’re beggin’ me to.” You nodded, breathless, and drunk off his voice and the whiskey you had.

“Then start, Rhett.” He didn’t wait any longer. He shoved your bra up with both hands, fingers hooking beneath the band and dragging it until your breasts spilled into the open air. His mouth followed immediately–hot and reverent. He sucked one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it while his thumb toyed with the other, switching sides as you arched against him. The ache between your legs was molten now, and the need for him pooled low and fast in your stomach. Rhett groaned against your breast as he lightly bit down on your nipple, just enough to make you arch with a gasp, your back pressing into the cracked leather seat. His tongue soothed over the sting with a slow, deliberate swirl before he shifted and gave your other breast the same treatment–bite, suck, soothe. A rhythm that made your thighs clench instinctively around his hips.

“You got the prettiest fuckin’breasts I’ve ever seen,” He muttered against your skin, voice reverent and ragged. “Swear to God.” His hands framed your ribs, fingers splayed like he couldn’t hold enough of you at once. You reached for his belt, your hands shaking with urgency, and he lifted his head just enough to watch you work. Your fingers brushed over the buckle, then popped it free. You heard the clink of metal before you undid the button of his jeans and slid the zipper down with aching slowness. Rhett’s breath hitched–his hips twitching forward like your touch knocked the air out of him.

“Shit,” He hissed, dragging his mouth from your chest with a groan. “You keep doin’ that and I’m gonna finish in my fuckin’ jeans.” He shoved them off in one fluid, frustrated motion, yanking them down his thighs along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, flushed and hard, veins prominent and glistening with pre-cum. You only had a second to admire him before he was leaning forward again, mouth at your ear.

“Your turn,” he rasped, hands already moving to the waistband of your jeans. “Lift your hips for me, sweetheart.” You obeyed without hesitation. He stripped them down fast—jeans and underwear dragged in one heated motion down your thighs, past your knees, all the way to your boots.

“Christ,” he muttered when he saw you, spreading your thighs with both hands, his thumbs brushing over the crease where your legs met your core. “You’re already soaked.”

You bit your lip, eyes heavy-lidded. “I’ve been soaked since you kissed me.” That made him groan low, head tipping forward until his breath hit your inner thigh.

“Lean back against the door,” he said, voice low and commanding now. “I wanna taste you.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You shifted, twisting just enough to brace your shoulder against the cool metal, your legs falling open even wider. The truck’s cab was tight, warm, filled with the scent of sweat and sex and desire, but all you could think about was him–between your thighs, breathing like a man about to lose his goddamn mind.

Rhett didn’t hesitate.

He buried his face between your legs like he’d been starving for it. His tongue licked a hot stripe up your slit before his mouth closed over your clit, sucking it into the heat of it with a groan that vibrated through your entire body. Your hand shot into his hair—fingers twisting in the thick, sweat-damp curls at the base of his skull.

“F-fuck–” You gasped, your head thudding softly against the window. His hands wrapped around your thighs, holding you open, anchoring you to the seat like he wasn’t gonna let you squirm away no matter how hard you tried.

He worked at your core like he was memorizing it. His tongue circled your clit, flicked it, flattened against it. He moaned against you like he was drunk on the taste, the sound low and wrecked, sending sparks racing up your spine.

“You taste so goddamn good,” He breathed between licks, voice muffled by your heat, “Could do this forever.” Then he slid his fingers to where his mouth was, sliding one thick digit into you, slow and deep, curling just right. Your hips bucked. You sobbed out his name. And Rhett? He just chuckled against your clit, cocky and wrecked all at once.

“You’re fuckin’ soaked for me,” he groaned, pushing in a second finger, thrusting them in rhythm with the strokes of his tongue. “Goddamn…You’re squeezin’ me so tight already, darlin’. You this desperate for my cock too?” You cried out, back arching. The truck creaked beneath you, the windows fogging more with every pant, every moan, every slick, filthy sound echoing in the tiny cab.

Rhett’s tongue never stopped. He alternated between slow, broad strokes and sharp, focused flicks, always listening to your body, adjusting when your grip in his hair tightened, when your thighs trembled. His fingers pumped harder, faster, curling with every thrust, pressing deep into that perfect spot until you were gasping, moaning, begging.

“Please, Rhett. Don’t stop–fuck, don’t stop–” He doubled down. His mouth sucked your clit like he owned it. His fingers fucked you deep and good, until all you could do was scream for him, thighs clamping around his head as your orgasm slammed through you like a lightning strike.

You came with your hands tangled in his hair and his name breaking on your tongue, your body quaking with release. And Rhett? He groaned like it was his orgasm too–lips never leaving you, licking through every wave, every twitch, every sobbed breath until you were panting and shaking and damn near boneless in the seat.

Rhett was still crouched between your thighs, his breath hot and ragged, his chin wet with the aftermath of your orgasm. He looked like a man possessed–wide-eyed, jaw flexing, pink tongue flicking out to swipe the taste of you from his bottom lip. You could barely speak, your chest rising and falling like you were still trying to find gravity again.

He ran his hand down the outside of your thigh, fingers trembling slightly from the restraint it took to not climb on top of you right then and there. His voice came low, rough, utterly wrecked.

“How was that?”

You let out a breathless, trembling laugh–more of a sound than a word, your hand rising to brush sweaty hair from your face.

“Jesus Christ,” You whispered, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, “I haven’t been to church in a while…But I think I saw God when you were down there.” He smirked, leaning in again, one hand braced on the seat beside your hip. You sat up slowly, your body still humming with aftershocks, and reached for his face with both hands. You dragged him up toward you until your mouths met again, and this time, you kissed him like you needed to taste what he’d done to you. Like the only way to ground yourself was to lick yourself off his tongue.

You moaned into him–low and breathy–as your hand drifted between your bodies, fingers trailing down his bare stomach until they curled around the hot, thick length of him. He gasped, startled, his hips twitching forward into your palm.

“Fuck–” He hissed, the word nearly broken in your mouth.

You stroked him slow at first. Deliberate. Your thumb ran over the bead of pre-cum slicking his tip, spreading it down his shaft as you pumped him lazily. The veins throbbed under your palm. He was thick. Hot. Heavy in your hand. And he was falling apart fast.

He groaned into your mouth, pulling back just slightly to pant, his forehead pressed to yours. One of his hands came up to cradle your cheek, thumb stroking along your jaw as his other hand braced against the door behind you.

“You’re filthy,” He breathed, voice catching as you twisted your wrist. “You gonna spit in my mouth next, sweetheart?”

You smirked, your breath mingling with his.

“You want that?”

He nodded once. Short. Desperate.

“Yeah.”

“Ask for it, then.”

His voice dropped to a rasp. “Spit in my fuckin’ mouth.”

You leaned back slightly, cradling his jaw in your free hand, and parted your lips slowly. A thin string of spit slid from your mouth to his, catching the light as it dropped onto his tongue. His eyes didn’t close–he watched you do it. And when your saliva hit his tongue, he let out the filthiest moan you’d ever heard, eyes fluttering shut for just a second.

Then he surged forward, pulling you into another kiss–wet, dirty, deep. He licked into you like he couldn’t stand for a single drop to go to waste. His tongue slid against yours, his hands gripping your thighs again as if he didn’t trust himself not to pin you down and fuck you right there.

You pulled away, panting. Your lips were slick, his face flushed. He looked completely undone.

So you slid down.

Not far. Just enough to shift your weight to your knees on the truck bench, tilting your body until your mouth hovered just above his flushed, leaking cock. You held his eyes the whole way down.

His breath caught.

“Wait–what’re you–”

But you already had him in your hand again, your tongue darting out to lick a slow stripe along the underside of his shaft. He groaned–loud and rough–one hand flying to your hair, the other bracing against the seatback behind him.

“Fuck,” he moaned as you took him in–slow, steady, inch by inch until your lips wrapped around his tip and your tongue swirled against the head. You sucked gently, letting your saliva mix with his pre-cum as you worked him deeper into your throat.

He lost it.

“Jesus Christ, you’re–fuck– unreal,” he gasped, his head falling back against the headrest. His hips twitched up into your mouth, and you hummed around him in approval, the vibration making him curse again.

You bobbed your head slowly, hand wrapped tightly around the base of his cock, stroking what you couldn’t take. His thighs trembled beneath you, and his grip on your hair tightened with every ragged breath he took.

“Gonna–shit–gonna cum if you keep that up,” he panted, his voice strangled.

And just when his voice cracked–“I’m close, Y/N, I’m–”

You stopped.

You pulled off him with a pop of suction, lips swollen, chin wet, eyes dark with sin.

He looked like you’d just punched him in the chest.

“What the fuck?” He gasped, blinking at you with genuine disbelief, his cock twitching in your hand. You let out a soft, slow laugh as you wiped your lips with the back of your hand and climbed up into his lap like you’d planned it that way from the start.

“You look real upset, Abbott,” You murmured, dragging your hands up his bare chest as you straddled him. His cock pressed hot and hard against your inner thigh, wet from your mouth, throbbing with need.

He didn’t say anything–just grabbed your waist in both hands like he needed to steady himself, like he couldn’t believe the way you moved on top of him. His palms dragged over your ribs, thumbs grazing your bruises before settling low on your hips, kneading the flesh with enough pressure to make you gasp.

“You gonna tap out already?” You teased, voice all sugar and sin. “Or you still got a little fight left in you?”

He let out a low growl, jaw tight, his eyes dragging over your face like you were a goddamn vision.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” He muttered. You grinned, leaning in just close enough to brush your lips over his–barely a kiss, more like a dare.

“I can’t miss out on the possibility of showin’ you my riding skills now, can I?” That earned you a wicked smile, crooked and sharp, slow as sin. His grip on your hips tightened as he tilted his head back to look up at you, blue eyes flicking over your face, your bare chest, the way your thighs bracketed him like he already belonged between them.

“Gonna be more than eight seconds, sweetheart,” He rasped, breath fanning against your collarbone. “Think you can handle it?” You hummed, your hand sliding between your bodies, curling around his cock again as you guided the tip to your slick heat. You dragged him through your folds, letting him feel just how soaked you were for him before pausing at your entrance.

“I think I can manage just fine,” You whispered, voice syrup-thick. “Might even beat my personal record.”

And then you sank down on him–slow, tight, inch by inch. Rhett’s head thumped back against the headrest with a guttural moan, hands gripping your hips like he was trying not to lose his mind. You took him deep, your walls fluttering around him as you bottomed out, a ragged breath escaping your lips as your head fell forward.

“Fuck, you’re big,” You gasped, thighs trembling. “Feels like you’re fuckin’ splitting me open.”

His hands slid up your waist, over your ribs, one of them curling around the side of your neck–just firm enough to make your breath catch.

“You feel like heaven,” He muttered against your jaw, voice wrecked. “Tightest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever felt–God–you were made for me.” You rolled your hips slow at first, just enough to get a rhythm. Your breasts bounced with every motion, sweat already gathering at the small of your back, the sound of skin against skin echoing filthy in the cab. The windows fogged up even more, the air thick with heat and tension and the wet slap of your bodies coming together.

Rhett let out a harsh exhale, eyes locked on where you were joined.

“Look at you ridin’ me,” He growled, his thumb brushing your jaw, his other hand dragging down to slap your ass, hard. “Just like you were born to fuckin’ do it.”

You rode him harder, faster, grinding your hips down with each bounce, your fingers digging into his shoulders for leverage. The truck creaked with every thrust, the shocks protesting under the rhythm of your bodies.

“You like watchin’ me take it, huh?” You panted, voice ragged. “Like the view from down there, Abbott?” His grin split wide.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ do,” He rasped. “You look so good like this. Full of me. Drippin’ down your thighs. Fuckin’ me like you’re tryin’ to break me.”

His hips bucked up to meet your thrusts, and suddenly he wasn’t letting you lead anymore–he was matching your rhythm, slamming into you from below, his hands gripping your ass tight enough to bruise.

The shift sent you crying out, your hand flying to his chest, nails scraping across his pecs.

“God, Rhett–”

“That’s it, sweetheart,” He panted, one hand rising to grip the back of your neck again, rougher now, possessive. “You gonna cum like this? Ridin’ my cock in my truck? Is that what you needed all along?” You nodded, gasping, your whole body starting to unravel. He reached between you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight circles as he kept fucking up into you, faster, deeper.

“C’mon,” He whispered, his breath hot against your ear, “Cum for me. Wanna feel you squeeze my cock, wanna watch you fall apart.” You did. You came with a broken sob, your whole body seizing as your orgasm crashed over you like a bull out the gate. Your walls clamped around him, squeezing so tight his rhythm stuttered, his groan splitting the air as he chased his own release.

And then he was cumming too–deep inside you, with a loud, helpless curse, his cock twitching against your walls, coating them in his warmth.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-take it all, Y/N, take all of it–Jesus–” You both collapsed into each other, slick and shaking and gasping for air. His arms wrapped around you tight, his lips dragging lazily over your neck as you slumped against his chest. The cab was silent except for the sound of your breathing, the creak of the seat as you shifted, and the faint hum of cicadas outside. After a long moment, Rhett let out a soft, stunned laugh.

“Well,” He said, voice hoarse, “That’s one way to settle a rivalry.”

You smirked against his collarbone, your body still trembling.

“Should’ve done that from the beginning. Could’ve saved us the trouble.” He lets out a small laugh and kisses your shoulder.

“It wouldn’t have been the same without the intense build up.” He comments, and you sigh and reply.

”I can’t help but…Agree with you there.”

[spatialwave]

hii i love your writing style so so much 😭😭 can i ask for another namgyu smutfic with him calling fem reader "noona"? thank you!! 🤍

.｡ﾟ✰..｡ after you return home from voting to end the games, you spend your days rotting with namgyu... who still refuses to call you noona.

pairing: namgyu x fem!reader word count: 2k tags: mdni, smut, switch!reader + switch!namgyu, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, p w plot, the fic where reader convinces namgyu to call her noona. notes: ty for asking this was soooo fun to write!!! this fic is my apology to @nmgyuuu + anyone else who was personally victimized by the finale of keys and knives. 😭 i'm sorry forgive me <3

Deciding to leave the games had been the best choice you’d ever made—period. You, Semi and Minsu had to do some real convincing after Mingle to get Subong and Namgyu to vote to go home, and surprisingly, the vote swung in your favour by only two.

A tempting offer came shortly after, and about three days after, everyone received the opportunity to go back. The same card. Same phone number.

You hadn’t gone back, and you made sure Namgyu stayed, too. Subong, though, had decided to go back—his debt was too high for only a measly three-hundred million won to take care of. You didn’t blame him, and you just hoped he made it out alive. 

“Namgyu,” you whined, standing in your apartment as you opened your fridge. The light of the appliance lit you up in the otherwise dark space. “Did you eat my leftovers? I was saving those.”

Namgyu sat on your couch, eyes glued to his phone as the stench of weed filled the air. A half-smoked joint lit on an ashtray on the table that he’d forgotten about, slowly burning. Controllers lay askew over your coffee table—both of you had the pleasure of rotting alone for a bit now. You preferred it over what you’d just experienced not long before.

“I got hungry,” he said, putting his phone aside and looking over the back of the couch so just his eyes were visible. “Forgive me, baby?”

“Baby?” You scoffed, shutting the fridge with a loud thud as you decided that you could afford to get something else delivered. Your debt was paid off, and so was Namgyu’s—having been the best girlfriend you could be after pooling your funds together and paying it all off. 

“What’s wrong with baby?” He asked, his eyes so heavy from the weed that he could barely keep them open. Glossy and red. He was always so goddamn high, but it was better than the shit Subong had got him hooked on.

“I’m not your baby. I’m your Noona.”

Namgyu rolled his eyes, cheeks pink at the mention of the honorific. He scoffed, already a bit worked up at the mere mention of it, reminded only of the teasing he’d received from Subong during the games.

“I’m not calling you that,” he retorted, falling back onto the couch with a huff. He returned to his phone, unaware of how you crept towards him until you were able to slide over the back of the couch and straddle him.

“Why can’t you say it?” You whined, smiling as his phone dropped onto his chest and then tumbled out of reach to the floor with a soft clatter. He was forced to look at you, already worked up from your position over him.

“You were born three weeks before me; you're barely older than me,” Namgyu mumbled, hands on your hips as his needy hands already started sliding up and down your bare thighs, thankful for the sleep shorts you loved to wear.

“Say it,” you hummed, watching him as you gently rocked back and forth. He was already so hard, his erection building under the sweatpants he wore and pressing against you. It was the perfect amount of friction as you rutted, small movements to stir him.

He whined, fingernails scratching at your thighs. His cock twitched, already leaking precum and staining his sweatpants as you humped him slow enough to milk out those desperate sounds. He was always such a pathetic mess, always begging you for more—and you loved it. Having the upper hand was always fun, and although he sometimes went on a power trip and dominated you until you were bruised, fucked out and begging for more, most of the time, you found yourself nestled on top of him.

So, wasn’t it time you earned some respect?

“If you don’t say it, I’m not letting you fuck me.”

Namgyu’s eyes softened in an instant, his hands pushing underneath your shirt and rubbing against the soft expanse of your hips and waist. “Let me fuck you,” he whimpered, “Come on. You can’t do this to me and not let me fuck you—“

He was rutting back against you desperately, knowing you couldn’t say no to him. Not when you were so wet it was leaking through your layers of clothes.

“Noona,” you said, hands pressed to his chest as your fingers bundled the fabric of his shirt, “Come on, baby. Say it. I know you want to. Just this once.”

Namgyu groaned, your wet heat making it impossible to think straight. He could feel the way you were sliding against the fabric between you. Choking on his breath as you pulled aside your panties and shorts so your bare pussy was flush against his cock, covered only by a thin pair of sweatpants that you wanted off so bad, but you could be patient. 

“Fuck me,” he groaned deep in his throat, nails catching onto the skin of your hips. A few more rocks of your hips, and he felt like he might cum.

“Not until you say it,” you grumbled—and with that, you pulled away. You were satisfied with yourself as you crawled to the other side of the couch and relaxed back. Legs spread. Shorts and panties doing a horrible job of keeping you covered.

His mouth watered as he watched you. Eyes fixated between your legs as he licked his lips. It was one honorific. Just one word. He could say it, right?

It’s not like you were doing it to humiliate him. If anything, you thought it was hot, especially in these circumstances.

It took him a bit; a few moments fleeted by as he just stared at you. Then, he pushed forward and settled himself between your legs. His mouth inches from your cunt. One more lick of the lips…

“Is this okay, Noona?” He asked, voice coming out in a quiet crack. The weed had always mellowed him out so much more, making him way more introspective and aware of everything. With you, though? It was never bad. You always made him feel so good. It was easier than expected and rolled off his tongue in a way that made you shiver.

Nodding, you sunk lower onto the couch and reached down—fabric pulled aside. You gave him access to your pussy, wet and dripping.

You whined when he licked you, a single swipe from your entrance up to your clit. A few more motions of that until he focused on your sensitive nub, which was beginning to swell and pulse with each flick of his tongue, and each suck of his lips.

“Shit. Babe. Say it again,” you sighed, head lolling back onto the armrest. 

Namgyu pulled back, his chin and lips wet, as he looked up at you. “You like it, Noona?” He asked coyly, unable to overthink it anymore. Not when your juices were dripping so sweetly onto his tongue each time he said it. “You taste so good. God, so fucking good I can’t get enough.”

You mewled when he hooked his arms under your thighs, reaching up and around to keep them apart. He devoured you until his face was wet with your heat, juices running down his chin every time he pulled back for a breath. With only his tongue, he lapped you up until you were gasping for air, and his fingers buried into his messy black hair, releasing so hard you managed to squeeze your thighs through his strong grip.

On your hands and knees, still on the couch, Namgyu fucked you from behind.

Somehow, calling you 'Noona' and seeing the way you reacted gave him too much confidence for his own good. You let him have it, especially when his cock penetrated you so deep you knew you’d be walking crooked for days.

“How’s my cock, Noona?” He asked you, hands grabbing at your ass—slapping. Once, then twice until it was reddened into a handprint. “Answer me.” He slapped again.

“S’good,” you slurred out, head tilted to the side so the couch cushions didn’t swallow it. You tried to look up at him, but you didn’t have the energy. 

“You like it when I call you that?” Namgyu teased you, “You become such a good little slut when I say it. I thought it would make you so proud and dominating, baby. Instead, every time I call you Noona, your pussy tightens and begs me to fuck you harder. Maybe I should start using it all the time, hm? What do you think?”

You whimpered, his words sending chills up your spine. His cock stretched you as his balls slapped your sensitive clit. There was no response except for pathetic little sounds, and Namgyu was so very pleased with himself for putting you in this state.

“Want me to fuck you so hard I put you in your place? Hm, Noona?” 

You earned another spank when you didn’t answer, quickly choking out a meek ‘yes.’ His pace picked up, somehow faster than you thought was possible. His hands grabbed tight at your hips, leaving imprints of where his fingers and rings touched your body.

“Can I cum inside?” Namgyu asked, the first time he sounded so desperate since he’d flipped you onto your hands and knees. “Please, Noona, let me cum. I’ll be better next time, just this time, please. I wanna watch you take it all.”

When he wanted something, Namgyu begged. He wasn’t too proud. Begging to you made his cock twitch in excitement—a reaction only you’d solicited.

You were a mess, unable to respond to his pleas and begs. You squeezed around his cock a few times, hoping that was enough to let him know you were okay with it, and it was.

“Pretty Noona,” he whimpered, fucking you in an erratic pace that showed how close he was. It was overwhelming, with his hands grasping at your skin and his cock stretching you to your limits—you had been fucked so good you couldn’t even speak.

It wasn’t until Namgyu leaned forward and reached around you, a gentle finger finding your clit and rubbing circles, that you came. A sharp gasp caught in your throat, your cunt tightening hard around his thick cock as you pressed your hips back and met his pace a few times until you nearly collapsed. He was right behind you, choking on a moan as he sputtered out ropes of hot cum inside you, filling you so much you knew it would be a pain to clean up.

After he fucked you through his climax, unsteady and shaky thrusts, Namgyu finally collapsed against your back, sighing into your hair as he shifted to settle next to you on the couch. You rolled to lie half-beside and half-on top of him, unmoving and breathing heavily.

“Fuck,” he whispered. He reached between your legs, touching gently through your sticky folds and over your swollen clit. You squirmed, trying to pull away, but you had no room. “Can I fuck you again, Noona?” He asked, and you were surprised that he was using the honorific again. 

You clenched around nothing, causing some of his cum to escape your pussy. His fingers felt it and began to push it back inside you at a lazy pace.

Namgyu kissed your neck, breathing heavily as he inhaled the scent of sweat and lingering vanilla on your skin. He spread his fingers, scissoring them inside you—playing with his cum. You squeezed around him again, whimpering and wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Don’t stop calling me that,” you whispered to him. “Mmm,” he grunted tiredly, lips catching against your neck, “Fine. Noona.”

A/N - read on ao3!

[pitchsidestories]

Lost in Translation II Hannah Hampton x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 1502

summary: Reader barely speaks English. She learns her language, just enough to make her smile, and maybe steal her heart. requested

author's note: Hi there, just a quick note to say this isn’t meant to make fun of anyone who struggles with a new language. It’s more about the feeling of alienation that can come with starting over in a new country. We hope you enjoy the fic. <3

disclaimer: everything in this fanfiction is purely fictional and nothing corresponds to reality.

Your heart pounded in your chest.

One last breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. This was no big deal. All you had to do was open the door and then…

Your mind blanked. And then what?

What were you supposed to say again?

One more breath. Right. You got this. You’d prepared for this.

You pushed open the door to the locker room and immediately, twenty sets of eyes turned to look at you. This had felt way less scary during your first tour of the Chelsea facilities, when the place was empty.

“Hello, my names is… y/n.”, you managed to press out.

As soon as the words left your mouth, you flinched about how odd your voice sounded. You didn’t sound like yourself, too stiff, too foreign.

A woman stepped toward you, a polite smile on her face as she said: “Welcome to the team. I’m your captain, Millie. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask. I’m here to help.”

You frowned slightly. That was not what you had learned in your English classes so far. You guessed she was greeting you but you weren’t exactly sure what any of it meant.

“Slower… please.”, you asked her, trying to ignore how much your Italian accent bled through every word.

Lucy raised an eyebrow at Millie: “I think she doesn’t speak English yet.”

Millies eyes widened in understanding. Nodding, she quickly turned back to you: “Sorry. I’m Millie. I’m the captain.”

That, you understood.

“La capitana, okay.”, you nodded back.

“She’s from Italy I think.”, Keira said thoughtfully.

Lucy looked around the room: “Does anyone here speak Italian?”

The other players shook their heads or shrugged.

You had no idea what was going on and that realisation immediately started to sting. These were the people you were supposed to spend every day with from now on and you already felt so left out. Maybe this whole transfer had been a mistake.

“I don’t think so.”, Niamh concluded.

Lauren grinned: “No Italian, Bronze? I thought you were so good with languages?”

“I never played there!”, Lucy shot back. “But maybe she understands Spanish, Portuguese or French better than English.”

She turned to you, expectantly. But you could only shake your head, no idea what she had just said.

Millie groaned dramatically: “Where is Russo when you need her? But we can’t ask an Arsenal player for help.”

“Why not? At least until she settled in.”, Keira chimed in.

“I’ll learn some Italian.”, Hannah announced suddenly, all eyes including yours turned to her.

“No, Keira. And thanks, Hannah. That’s the spirit.”, Millie said, giving Hannah a grateful nod.

Lauren’s voice dripped with scepticism: “It’ll take forever to learn Italian.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic, LJ!“, the blonde goalkeeper replied with a roll of her eyes.

“I’m realistic.“, Lauren shot back, folding her arms.

It had been a few weeks since you joined the Chelsea team. On a rare free evening, your apartment slowly filled with teammates you’d invited for a home-cooked Italian dinner.

Watching them settle around your table made your chest feel warm. It almost felt like home , a rare sense of belonging on this cold, rainy island.

“I hope you like it... it’s my nonna’s recipe.“, you said shyly, smiling as you put the self-made noodles into the boiling water.

The rich aroma of tomato sauce filled the air, making mouths water and stomachs rumble.

Hannah had just arrived. She wrapped you in a warm hug, her arms, as always, surprisingly strong.

“Ciao, y/n. Salsa di pomodoro?”,she asked with a grin.

“Si.“, you beamed at her.

Lifting her chin proudly, she announced: “Imparo l’italiano.”

“Eh, Hannah, you’re learning so fast.“, you observed, genuinely impressed by how determined she’d been to stay true to her word since the day you joined.

Lauren snorted:“She’s such a nerd.”

“No, she just wants everyone to feel welcome., Sjoeke said warmly. “I even taught her some German.”

Wieke leaned in light-heartedly: “That’s good. Dutch isn’t too far off from German.”

“Sooner or later she’ll be able to talk to everyone,” the red-haired defender added in a matter-of-fact tone.

Sighing softly, Guro looked between the two of you:“I think it’s really cute. Also... have you girls noticed how they look at each other?”

“Don’t even start.“, Lauren groaned playfully.

But Catarina smirked: “No, I noticed it too.”

“Ever since she first walked in.“, Millie added dreamily, twirling her fork through the air.

Hannah ignored the teasing. Her attention was entirely on you. Her blue eyes sparkled in the flickering candlelight, soft and focused as if the noise around her had faded into silence.

“Maybe we could... imparare... uhm... insieme?”, she asked, a little hesitantly.

You grinned:“Ah, sure... I like that. Molto.”

The goalkeeper looked at you, her voice low and fond: “Maybe you don’t need it anymore. Your English is getting molto buono.”

“You're always kind.” You felt flattered by her observation, a slight blush rising to your cheeks.

Hannah shrugged nonchalantly: “I'm just being onesta.”

“Of course.“, you chuckled, a little nervously.

The blonde raised an eyebrow:“Do you need help with anything?”

“No, sit down, it's almost ready.“, you replied, waving her off gently.

You quickly placed the pasta and sauce on the table, muttering with a small smile: “Buon appetito, everyone.”

While everyone began to dig in, you noticed Hannah still looking at you.

“Grazie mille.”, she said with a polite smile.

You bit your lip and looked down as you sat at the table, unsure how to respond.

Thankfully, Lucy chimed in: “That tastes great, y/n.”

Yes, you were new and struggled with the language but you could tell she meant it.

“Thank you, Lucia. For me, it’s like il sapore of home.”, you italo-englished your way through the sentence.

Lucy gave you a wry grin: “Trust me I get that.”

“I knew you would.”, you giggled, turning back to your pasta.

Your teammates really loved the dinner. The room was filled with laughter and beautiful mess of Italian, English and exaggerated hand gestures. You eased into it. For the first time in weeks, the feeling of homesickness almost lifted from your chest because it felt all so familiar all of a sudden. You didn’t expect to have so much fun that night.

They were showing you, in every small gesture and effort to include you that you belonged in this team. You were wanted and it was freeing, on and off the pitch.

So a few days later, when Chelsea won the FA Cup, you truly let yourself enjoy it. The celebrations went on until the early hours of the morning and sleep was the last thing on your mind.

In a quiet moment, you stood of to the side, sipping your drink. You let all the emotions of this season wash over you, grateful to have a minute to yourself when Hannah seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

In her typical sunshiny manner, she beamed at you, holding out her glass.

You clinked yours against hers, smiling up at her: “We will see each other in Svizzera, va bene?”

It was less of a question and more of a promise. She had become such a central part in your life in London that you knew you would really miss her during the summer break.

She nodded: “Va bene. I can’t wait.”

“I’ll miss you.”, you admitted in a rush of boldness.

“I will miss you too.”, Hannah said, her voice softer than usual.

“And the team too.”, you added quickly, suddenly shy.

The grin was back on her face: “I hope not as much as me.”

Was that really flirting? Or were you just misunderstanding again? It didn’t matter, you took the risk.

“Hannah? Have you ever been in Italia? You could practice Italiano there…”, you said, blinking innocently at her.

She smirked: “Is this an invito? Because I will say yes and come visit you.”

You nodded: “It is.”

“I will be there. And you will have to show me everything.”

“Prometto.”, you said. You hadn’t realised how close your faces had gotten. Your noses almost touched. You would only have to lean forward and your lips would have met. You allowed yourself that sweet little daydream. It would have been so easy, just letting your bodies do the talking. No other translation needed.

Sjoeke let that little dream bubble burst.

Her cheeks were flushed with excitement and alcohol as she called for you: “Come on, girls. You don’t want to miss the sunrise!”

“We’re coming.”, Hannah replied, looking surprisingly flustered too.

She took your hand in hers, fingers intertwined like it was the most natural thing in the world as you walked toward the pink-orange sky. Electricity buzzed through your whole body.

Because this right here didn’t need any words. This you understood.

[sereia4skz]

hihi! could i please ask for a daddy!innie? with age regressor reader? where, bc he’s always been treated as the youngest and the baby, isn’t quite sure how to help when reader regresses, but it’s super fluffy as she helps him figure it out? and maybe at the end he does something for her on his own and it’s super cute? love your works!!! <3

drabble | little lessons

pairing: caregiver!jeongin x little!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: age regression (non-sexual), use of caregiver/daddy titles, pacifier use, plushies, soft baby talk, insecure!Jeongin

word count:

masterlist: A-Side (texts) | B-Side (written)

Jeongin’s knee bounces under the table, thumb swiping back and forth across the rim of his mug. He hasn’t taken a sip of his tea in five minutes.

You’re curled up on the couch nearby, wrapped in your favorite blanket, pink pacifier bobbing gently with each breath. You’ve been in headspace since this morning, soft, quiet, and clingy, even more than usual. Your favorite plushie, the one he won for you at that awful street fair claw machine, is tucked under your chin like a shield.

He knows what this is. You’ve explained it before. Age regression. It’s something safe for you, something warm. It helps with the bad days. He wants to be good at this. He wants to be your safe place. But… he’s never been anyone’s caretaker before.

He’s always been the baby, the one who gets cooed at and teased and protected. He’s not used to this.

You peek over at him, big doe eyes blinking slow and sleepy behind your stuffy. You shift under the blanket like you’re unsure. Your hand reaches out but doesn’t quite stretch far enough.

“Daddy?”

It’s barely a whisper, just a puff of air around your paci, but Jeongin hears it like a song. His heart squeezes. He sets down his mug and crosses the room to kneel in front of you.

“Hi, baby,” he says softly. “You okay?”

You nod but wrinkle your nose. “You… far,” you mumble.

“I’m sorry, sweet pea. Wanna cuddle now?”

You nod again, a bit faster. He smiles and lifts you into his arms like you weigh nothing. He sits down on the couch and lets you curl into his lap, your legs over his and your cheek against his chest. His hand rubs slow circles on your back, grounding you. Your plushie ends up squished between you both like a tiny soft barrier.

It’s quiet for a while. Then, your fingers tug gently at his hoodie sleeve.

“Daddy’s... not smilin’,” you mumble. “Did I do s’methin’ wrong?”

His heart drops.

“No, no, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong,” he promises, kissing the top of your head. “I’m just thinkin’. That’s all.”

You frown, pacifier falling from your lips to rest on your chest. “Thinkin’ makes Daddy sad?”

Jeongin chuckles softly. “Sometimes.”

He waits a beat. Then he sighs, finally brave enough to say it.

“I just… I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

You blink up at him. “Huh?”

“I wanna take care of you,” he says gently. “Be a good Daddy. But I’ve never… done this before. I don’t know what you need sometimes, and I get scared I’ll mess it up.”

Your little hands grab his hoodie tighter. “But you’re already a good Daddy…”

Jeongin leans back, touched, but also confused. “Yeah?”

You nod, cheeks puffing up in that little pouty way you do when you’re being very serious. “You hold me lots. You talk nice. You always make me snacks and put my plushie in the dryer when she gets wet. And you tell me you love me all the time.”

A smile finally cracks across his face. “That’s… a lot, huh?”

“S’a lot,” you confirm with a decisive nod.

Jeongin kisses your forehead. “Okay. Thank you, baby. That makes me feel a lot better.”

You beam.

And then you light up with another idea.

“Wanna teach Daddy?”

He blinks. “Teach me… how to help you?”

You nod shyly. “Can show you what I like. So you won’t be scared no more.”

Jeongin lets out a breathless little laugh. “Okay. Deal.”

“Pinkie promise?”

He grins, holds out his pinkie, and lets you wrap your tiny finger around his.

From there, the day turns into a lesson.

You show him your regression box, the one he’s seen you keep tucked in the closet. You pull out your coloring book and favorite markers, soft jammies, the pink sippy cup with the sparkly lid. He takes mental notes the whole time, even going so far as to pull out his phone and write a few things down.

“Does Daddy have a favorite color marker?” you ask as you both settle onto the floor to color.

“Hm… I think I like this blue one,” he says, holding it up. “It reminds me of the sky when you’re having a good day.”

You stare at him with wide eyes. Then you get up and crawl across the floor just to smoosh a kiss to his cheek.

He blushes like a cherry.

After snack time (apple slices and a little chocolate milk), you tug his hand and guide him to the bedroom. You hand him your bunny onesie with the floppy ears and whisper, “This one, please.”

He gets the hint.

“You want Daddy to help dress you?”

You nod, going a little quiet and shy again.

His voice lowers to a soft murmur. “Okay, sweet pea. Arms up.”

He’s gentle, moving slow as he helps you into the onesie, zipping it up and smoothing the fabric over your tummy. You peek up at him, eyes fluttering, clearly content. When he brushes your hair out of your face, you lean into his palm like a kitten.

He carries you back to the couch and lays you in his lap, humming quietly while you suck on your paci and hug your bunny close. You start to drift off, fingers curled around his sleeve.

“Love you, Daddy,” you mumble sleepily.

His heart just about bursts.

“I love you too, baby girl.”

That night, after you’ve gone to bed, small and soft and wrapped in your blankets, Jeongin sits on the couch for a long time, scrolling through parenting blogs and regression-safe caregiver tips. He even messages Chan for advice (though he plays it off like it’s for a “friend”).

He learns the difference between little space and being childish. He finds a list of bedtime routines that could help. He adds a reminder to his calendar: pick up more bubble bath & dino nuggies.

The next morning, you’re still feeling little when you wake up, but something’s different.

You blink sleepily at your bedroom door.

There’s a small pink sticky note taped to it. You crawl out of bed and pad closer to read it.

⋆｡°✩

Welcome to Little Day! Daddy made a plan for you! 💕

Morning Snuggles (with me!) Breakfast: Strawberry pancakes & juice Activity: Coloring time (Daddy found a new book!) Movie: Your pick (I’ll make popcorn!) Bathtime: Bubbles & toys ready Cuddles & bottle Bedtime story (you can pick 2!)

⋆｡°✩

Your eyes go wide.

Downstairs, Jeongin waits in the kitchen, already in an apron, flipping pink-tinged pancakes on the stove.

When you peek in shyly, he turns around and grins, soft and proud.

“Good morning, my baby,” he says. “Did you see the surprise?”

You nod slowly, fox plush in your arms.

He crouches to your height and opens his arms. “Come here.”

You run into his hug like it’s instinct.

“Daddy made your whole day special,” he murmurs into your hair. “All by himself. Just for you.”

“You’re the best,” you whisper, voice high and sleepy and full of wonder.

He squeezes you gently. “Nah. I’ve got the best little girl. I’m just finally catching up.”

taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o @hug4helios @oksullen @rileylovescats @dreamyfelixx @yxna-bliss @turtledove824 @enhacolor @skzz0213 @hannahlue @purplelady85 @velvetmoonlght @inishij @bangchanspineapple @straykids4lifeee @peskybirdysya @gnabsss

taglist pt2: @zayn-210 @wolfhallows4 @katsukis1wife @sammhisphere @bangchanspineapple

[thewayilikemycookie]

📞┆Too Busy Being Yours .ᐟ

Spencer Agnew x gn!reader

Summary: When you are feeling overwhelmed, Spencer is there to comfort you in every way he can.

Word count: 684

You could count with your fingers the amount of times you’ve zoned out during this video alone. It was a ‘don’t win Mario party’ scheduled at the end of the shoot day and you were sitting next to Spencer and Chance, who were both bringing the energy for this video.

“Hold” Alex called “Scott needs to fix an issue with your mic, Chance, can you come over here? And you guys can take five.”

Spencer instantly tuned to face you “You okay?” He asked with sympathetic eyes

You looked at his concerned expression and tried to speak your feelings, but no words came out. You decided to simply bury you head in the crook of his neck and reach for his hands. You felt as if he understood your thoughts immediately, shifting his position to comfort you.

You felt him place a soft kiss on your head. And though you were eternally grateful for his sweetness and wanted to thank him, you couldn’t even formulate a coherent sentence at the moment.

“You got this” He whispered and the tenderness of it all made you look up

“I love you so much” you said

“I love you more” He softly smiled and laid a final kiss to your forehead

You managed to survive the rest of the video, getting second place overall, profusely thanking Shayne for getting first, as you dreaded the idea of wearing the cone for the next one.

After you took your mic off, you walked towards Spencer “When are you leaving?” You asked

“I gotta fill out a few requests for the art department” You frowned at his answer “why?” “Cause I want you to come home with me” you frowned, reaching for his hand

“I’m sorry baby,” tucked in a strand of your hair “but their deadline is today”

“Can I wait for you then?” You asked

“You’re welcome to,” he smiled “but I would feel a little guilty to be the one to keep you waiting”

“I would wait until eternity for you, Spencer Agnew”

You laid down on the games pod couch while you waited for him, using the time to read your book. After Spencer was done, you both made your way to his apartment and he did everything he could for you. He ordered your favorite food for you, landed you makeshift pj’s for when you’re done with your shower and put on a cooking competition show, knowing you loved them.

Now, you were curled up on the couch right next to him, wearing one of his hoodies (which you suspected he chose because he likes seeing you in his clothes) and eating your favorite food.

“isn’t it crazy how you’re always joking about being misogynistic but then you do all of this for me”

“It’s just a joke though, I would never treat a woman like that, specially you” He looked over at you with a smile

“I know. You’re one of the good ones,” you smiled back at him “the best.”

“Isn’t that the bare minimum?” He laughed

“treating someone well, yes,” you explained “but ordering their favorite food and watching their favorite show, I don’t think so”

Spencer nodded, but he didn’t agree with you exactly. In his mind, he would do all of it and more without any hesitation if it means you would feel at least a little better. If he loved someone, he would make sure to show them that through every single way he could.

When he noticed you were starting to drift off, Spencer asked you if you wanted to go to sleep, to which you said yes. You tried helping with the dishes, but he told you not to worry.

So you got into bed with Spencer holding you tightly and started to drift off again. After you fell asleep, he kissed your head once again. If he felt like you needed it, he would do it all over again tomorrow, then the next day, then the day after.

Maybe it was a little surrealistic, but he was too busy being yours to care.

A.n: Inspired by Hozier’s cover of “Do I wanna know?”. Also I’m sleepy so idk if this is good, hope you have/had a good day, love ya!! <3

[lacyspressotv]

hii

here’s a request for a sabrina fic:

maybe brina gets a bit nervous backstage because it’s her biggest crowd and reader comforts her <3

this is such a cute request!! i hope you like it!! sorry it's kind of short

you're scared, i'm nervous

pairing : sabrina carpenter x female!reader

about : sabrina is about to perform for her biggest crowd ever and she's nervous, so you comfort her

type : comfort/fluff

word count : 584

cw : none

Watching Sabrina on stage, you'd think she's nothing but confident. And for the most part, she is. She knows she's talented and she knows the people who come to see her love and support her. But this time, the crowd is bigger than she's ever performed for and she can't help but feel a little bit nervous.

You're with her backstage, just like you always are before and after her shows, sitting beside her. You're sitting in silence but it's easy and soft and peaceful and you could never get tired of it.

But this time, Sabrina seems a little uncomfortable. You know exactly what's wrong, you know her better than anyone. She doesn't say anything about it, but you can tell by her face that she's nervous.

You gently put a hand on her shoulder, a gentle expression on your face as you look at the girl beside you. "Are you alright?" You ask softly.

Sabrina looks up at you and nods, a small smile on her face at the gesture. She always appreciates your efforts to make her feel comfortable. "Yeah, I'm okay. It's just a really big crowd. And I know I've performed in front of huge crowds before, but this is the biggest one yet." She says, her hands resting in her lap.

You nod. You don't relate to the problems she has, but you can understand them. Anyone would be nervous in her place.

"It's okay to be nervous," You say. "I would be nervous too."

Sabrina laughs softly, tilting her head slightly so it rests against yours. You smile and slide your arm around her waist in a comforting gesture.

"And you'll do great," You add. "Even if you make a mistake, which you won't, it'll be okay. It's just your fans out there, they love you no matter what."

"I know," Sabrina says with a little nod. "It's just hard not to be nervous anyway. They're all watching me, they all see everything I do on stage."

"And they love everything you do on stage. I mean, from back here, I hear how loud they are and how much they love you," You say. "And even if they didn't, I love you and I'm here for you, no matter what happens at this concert."

Sabrina smiles, moving so she can look at you. "You're the best, you know that? I don't know what I would do without you." She leans in for a soft kiss, smiling against your lips. "Really. Thank you."

"Of course." You say, smiling back. "Now get out there and kill it."

Sabrina nods, getting to her feet. She leans over and kisses you one more time, then she straightens her outfit and heads out to where she'll walk onto stage.

You sit backstage the whole concert, watching her from the side. She's amazing, she always is, and you can't help but feel proud. When she gets back, she has a smile on her face as she runs over to you.

She throws her arms around your neck, hugging you tightly. "You were right, I did it! It was amazing, I'm so glad you told me it would be alright!" She says, pulling back to look at you, a soft expression coming over her face. "Thank you, so much, for encouraging me. I knew I could do it but I needed to hear it too."

You smile, brushing her hair out of her face. "Anytime." You say, placing a gentle kiss on her lips.

[nanaluvsyouu]

I love you, for now and forever.

Asakura Jo x Fem!Reader

English is NOT my first language and I've got ADHD so please excuse any grammatical mistakes and please do let me know so I can correct them!

Warning: angst, reader gets called stupid, mention of blood

Not proof read.

Word count: 4.615k

A/N: I ended up changing the entire story because I didn't like it, which is why it took so long to be posted, sorry guys 💔'

IT'S FINALLY HERE. Thank you for being so patient!

Likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

xoxo,

A <3

You ran into your boyfriends arms as you engulfed him in a bear hug, kissing him all over his pretty face as you giggles burying your face into the crook of his neck. He only giggled back as he gave you a kiss on the forehead, getting you off him. You pouted when your feet hit the floor, he only ruffled your hair as he walked towards Fuma in the kitchen putting rice in a bowl to eat for lunch.

His hair was sticking to his forehead from sweating in the scorching heat outside. You noticed he rolled his sleeves up as you started blushing seeing his pretty arms. Nicholas caught your gaze as he made a disgusted face putting his cup in the sink. Rolling your eyes at him you entered the kitchen clinging onto Jo's waist.

"He's not going to disapeare, you know that right?" Fuma asked, putting rice into a bowl for you. You let go of Jo as you took the bowl from Fuma walking towards the table, sitting next to EJ who was taking a nap, his head rested on his arms on the table. You poked his cheek with your chopsticks causing him to open his eyes to give you a glare, even when glaring he looked absolutely adorable. You giggled softly as you pat his head, he only turned his head to the side, continuing his nap.

Rolling your eyes you started to eat your rice ocasionally glancing at your boyfriend who was invested in his conversation with harua. He was leaning against the wall as Harua sat on the shelf dangling his legs.

Sometimes you envied Harua for getting more attention from your boyfriend than you ever have. You wished Jo would look at you at you and give you a smile like you always did, but he never spared you a glance.

You knew he didn't mean to upset you, but you couldn't help but feel hurt from the lack of attention and affection from him. K noticed the shift in your mood as he approached you, sitting where EJ was sat previously. He only shook his head slightly with a tight lipped smile.

"Harua, the man who has everyone's attention." You looked at K with a confused expression not understanding what he meant. "I lost my girl to Harua's cuteness as well."

You let out a hearty laugh as you nodded. "What can we do about it anyways? We can't even compete with Harua's cuteness." You saw the way K was deep in thought, you were about to ask him what the matter was when he did aegyo. You made a gagging noise as you lightly hit his shoulder. You both laughed as you started having an aegyo battle.

Seeing the aegyo battle Maki decided to join in. Rather than cute you three looked posessed. EJ walked towards the table only to turn back around and walking to where he originally was as he saw the aegyo battle taking place.

Jo was finally done with his conversation with Harua. He turned around to face you only to let out a snort seeing you making a questionable face at K. You blushed realising your boyfriend saw the ugly face you made.

"What are you three doing?" Jo asked from across the room, now leaning against the counter, a cup in his hand as his other hand was gripping the counter. He looked so attractive, you wish you could engrave this picture into your veins.

"Imaging being this whipped." Maki whispered, giving you a slight wink as he walked to EJ who was sat at the window sill. You only stook your tongue at him as he flipped you off. You rolled your eyes facing Jo who tilted his head slightly smiling at you.

"Right, I hate this." K exclaimed getting out of his seat putting his hands up walking out of the kitchen. You only scoffed as he walked out.

You couldn't remember what exactly happened. All you remembered was you tried to hug Jo only for him to dodge it, walking to the fridge. You ignored it thinking maybe he just wanted to eat food. You knew exactly how much food meant to him so you didn't take it to heart.

Fuma had invited everyone to his house for a group brunch, it was meant to be fun and it was really fun until now.

Jo was staring inside the fridge for too long and you started to miss his skin on yours although that was a rare occurance unless he was sleepy or sick.

Thinking about all the times you've tried to be physically close or affectionate to him you couldn't help but frown realising that he had never initiated physical contact and whenever there was physical contact he always stiffened up or pushed you away.

You decided to go into the living room and watch whatever show was on with Taki and Nicholas. You sat down between Nicholas and Taki who had a lesbian guard between them, rolling your eyes you moved the pillows to the side and sat between them.

The show wasn't entertaining, but there was a scene that had a lightbulb momemt going off in your head.

You smiled to yourself, which nicholas noticed and had you being hit with a pillow in your face. You gasped feeling the impact on your face. You picked up a plushy, you assumed to be Jo's, and threw it at Nicholas. You smiled when the plushy hit him his neck and he froze, the victory was short lived when he threw the Plushy back at you. You screamed for Taki to help you, who was too busy recording you both cheering you on.

Before you could let go of the plushy Nicholas also had his hands on, it was ripped into two pieces.

Jo entered the room hearing the scream you had let out for Taki only to be greeted with his Plushy being ripped in two pieces.

Taki tried to explain what happened, only for him to be ignored as Jo picked up the two pieces, tears filling his eyes as he stared at you with anger and hatred in his eyes.

You flinched seeing the look in his eyes. He rarely ever looked at you and whenever he did it was usually filled with love and happiness. The look Jo had on his face now, the happiness that was no longer in his eyes and was now filled with absolute rage had you squeezing Nicho's hand, who only squeezed it back in reassurance.

"Nicho, Taki, out." Jo said, his voice lower and deeper than ever before. On a regular day you would've swooned over his voice, but due to the current situation you couldn't help but feel some tears prickle your eyes. You didn't mean to upset Jo, and you didn't expect Jo to be so upset over a plushy being ripped. You vividly remember Maki and Harua playing with the plushy you had given Jo only for one of them to yank it from the others hand a little harsher than he should have causing it to rip. You had stood up to tell them off only for Jo to grab your arm shaking his head at you. You had scoffed as you sat back down. He didn't react, in fact he didn't even care that the plushy had been ripped. Seeing him so affected by this plushy being ripped into two pieces had you trying tounderstand his reaction, maybe it was given to him by someone he cared about? Maybe it was something Mint really loved. You looked back at him who was now sat on the table in front of you, the show still playing in the background as he held the two pieces in his hands.

"Are you seriously this stupid?" He asked, glaring at you. "Do you seriously not understand what personal space is or what?" Your eyes widened hearing those words leave his mouth. The tears were now spilling from your eyes as you looked at you hands being unable to look at your boyfriend.

"I'm sorry." You tried to keep your voice from breaking. You had never cried in front of Jo before and none of your arguments had been this big either.

Jo looked at your trembling figure, his eyes sofeting as he sighed sitting next to you. "I'm sorry baby, I shouldn't have said that." He was now holding you in his arms as the tears started to freely escpae your eyes onto his chest. You sobbed grabbing onto his shirt, scared that he'd dissapear. H eonly shushed you as he stroked your head patting your back.

After a few minutes you wiped your tears off your face as you finally looked at him. Jo's heart broke seeing your eyes look so puffy and red, but even when you looked absolutely vulnerable he couldn't help but admire your beauty. You looked absolutely stunning, your lips were slightly swollen as your eyelashes were clumped together and a hint of rosiness on your nose.

"I'm sorry Jo. I promise I'll respect your personal space." Jo only tutted you as he hugged you once more.

"You do know what personal space is. I don't know why I said that." He sighed letting you go. "I was just a bit annoyed that you were all being so loud and I just said those words without meaning to okay?"

You only gave him a slight smile as you put your head on his shoulder. You didn't realise when you fell asleep and you didn't know how you got in the guest room. Smiling to yourself as you realised Jo's arms were wrapped around you, and his legs were over yours hugging you like a Koala. You giggled slightly as you got out of his embrace.

Observing the room you realised you were in Fuma's guest room. The amount of Pokeom things were a little painful to the eyes, but you smiled finding them cute. His love for them was something you always envied. You wished you had something you were passionate about that was something that people would associate with you.

"Y/N?" You turned around to see Jo rubbing his eyes as he stretched another arm asking for cuddles. You only shook your head as you took some of the clothes that Fuma had put on a chair for you and Jo and the towel and entered the bathroom to freshen up and get ready for the day.

You could hear Jo whining as he got out of bed waiting for you outside the bathroom. After finishing your shower you quickly put on your clothes as you left the bathroom, finding a blowdrier to dry your hair. Jo entered the bathroom and started washing his face and brushing his teeth as you dried your hair.

Your movements stopped when you started remembering what had taken place the day before. Although Jo had apologised and told you he didn't mean those words you couldn't help, but feel hurt.

Maybe the plan you had come up with watching the show would have to be tweaked slightly.

Sighing you turned the blowdrier off, organising the space like it was before. Making the bed, you left the room entering the Kitchen.

This time it was Yuma making the breakfast, you inahled the smell, your mouth watering as you went up to Yuma giving him a backhug. He flinched feeling someone hug him. He smiled when he realised it was you.

"How was your sleep?" He asked, feeding you a piece of toast he was in the process of making for everyone. You took a bite, smiling to yourself as you let go of his waist.

Jo entered the kitchen a moment later, smiling seeing you and Yuma enjoying the breakfast. He saw the way your eyes didn't look at him. You always noticed Jo and always looked at him even if he was busy with someone else. He pouted slightly as he approached you both. Jo couldn't help but notice how you didn't look away from Yuma when he put his chin on the top of your head.

Fuma, Maki, Nicholas and K entered the kitchen a while later. Maki jumped on your back causing you to fall onto Nicho's chest. He grabbed a hold of you, steadying you.

K grabbed Maki, making sure he wouldn't get hurt. You thanked Nicho as you got off his chest, turning to face Maki you only glared at him as he made puppy eyes towards you.

You ignored Maki as you looked at Jo who was staring at you and Nicho with a strange look in his eyes. Choosing to ignore the foreign look in his eyes you continued your conversation with Yuma who was now talking about how it took him 3 tries to finally get the toasts to not burn. You luaghed and started having random conversations as Nicho stayed near you both and the rest sat at the dining table. Nicho, Taki and you presented the breakfast to them.

Maki started to fake cry seeing the variety of food in front of him. Taki had made toast, omlet, pancakes, waffles as well chow mein and chicken rice.

After the rest of the members entered the house and came into the kitchen everyone started to eat the food as they continued to praise Yuma's cooking skills. He only smirked as he struk some cringe anime pose. You cringed seeing him.

You clung onto Nicho who was sat in between you and Jo as he stroke your head. Smiling you leaned in closer to Nicho. He was like an older brother you never had, although at times he acted more like a younger brother.

Whilst you were clinging onto Nicho, Jo was glaring at the elder. You should've been clinging onto him, not Nicho.

After everyone was finished with their breakfast and some people started to head home, you, fuma and nicho stayed back helping yuma clean up. Jo was sat in the living room scrolling through his phone as he ocasionally glanced at you only to be greeted by the sight of Nicho touching you in some way. He fully trusted you and knew you saw him as an older brother, but that didn't mean that Nicho saw you in the same light. He kept looking at you hoping you'd notice him glancing at you with his signature puppy eyes only to get really sad as he realised you were too invested in yout conversation with Nicho.

He got annoyed by the change in your behaviour and decided that if you're going to avoid his affection and cling onto Nicho than he'll do the same.

-

You originally didn't notice the change in his behaviour. He wasn't an affectionate person and therefore him not initiating affection was normal. What wasn't normal was him avoiding you, usually he'd dodge your affection, but avoiding you all together was unusual.

It started off small. In the morning he would be out of bed before you, you ignored that thinking maybe he had to go somewhere early with someone, which wouldn't be the first time.

However it started to get bigger.

He would avoid being around you. If you were to be sat on the same table as him he'd get up, even if he wasn't finished with his food, and leave.

It stung.

You kept wondering what you had done to elicit this response from him. The only think you could think was the argument. Maybe this was his way of making you respect his personal space, by avoiding you.

You rubbed your temple, hoping the massage would make your head throb a little less so you would be able to finish your assignment. It had been 1 week since Jo had started avoiding you. You took this as a sign to avoid him as well. it was more difficult than you had imagined.

Jo's presence was always near and so tempting. You knew that even if you did approach him he'd avoid you, but a part of you had wanted to jump on his back and not let go and make him look at you.

Affection was something you needed or else you felt like you would internally combust.

Sighing you closed your laptop, pulling your hair slightly as the tears started to form in your eyes. Nothing was going according to plan. Jo was avoiding you, the assignment made no sense. No matter how hard you tried to focus and concentrate you kept getting distracted, you knew all you had to do was just focus, but how could you when the fear of having lost Jo was plagueing your mind?

You felt a hand on your shoulder, a glimmer of hope arose. Turning around to face the owner of the hand you couldn't help but sob. He panicked wiping your tears as he put your head on his chest as you clung onto his waist.

He shushed you as you cried harder and louder in his chest. Nicho's hands only kept comforting you as you let yourself fall apart in his arms. You looked up at him as he wiped the tears that were threatening to fall. This scene was not unnoticed by Jo who stood outside your door with a tub of ice cream in his hands. He froze seeing the intimate scene in front of him, a part of him broke inside him. Maybe he had been doing too much, maybe he was making you feel unloved rather than jealous and clingy towards him. All he wanted was you to notice him and only have your eyes on him. He went too far and now he was scared that he may have actually lost you to Nicholas.

In that moment seeing you holding onto Nicholas, with a look of uncertainity in your eyes, he decided in that moment that he would stop avoiding you and start showering you with love and affection like you deserved.

-

It took him three extra days to muster up the courage to initiate physical contact. Just as he approached you to help your cross the road, Maki showed up grabbing your hand as he looked around to make sure it was safe and took you to the other side of the road. Jo saw the way you smiled at Maki as you gave his hand a squeeze, a silent way of thanking him.

He didn't lose hope, he decided to open the door for you and hold your hand to help you get out of the car since you were wearing heels. However, like before someone else had done that. It was Taki, not only did he open the door, lend you his hand to get out, he also complimented you saying you looked like a goddess.

Jo scoffed looking at Taki, goddess seriously, what did he want? Y/N, too bad because you were his and he was going to keep it this way.

-

You were back at Fuma's house who was now making lunch for everyone and you were his little assistent helping him cook. He saw you trying to reach for something you couldn't quite reach, he smiled to himself as he started walking towards you only wanting to beat the shit out of K who had come out of nowhere and got the item you needed with ease as he gave you a small wink. Jo's internal self started to malfunction, what was he meant to do.

He saw the way K left as he gave a smirk to Jo. He ignored him as his face lit up seeing you struggling to open the jar. He flexed slightly as he reached your shoulders to take the jar out of your hands only to be beaten by Yuma who smiled at you as he opened the jar. He cooed at you as he pat your head, giving you the jar back.

Jo started feeling faint. He was doing his best to touch you in some way, but someone kept coming in his way.

He saw another opportunity as you almost touched the hot stove only for Fuma to swat your hand away, observing it making sure you didn't hurt yourself.

You were his and that's all that mattered, it seemed as if you were forgetting it sligthly, he was to blame for this, but it was now his mission to make sure you remember whose girlfriend you were.

Fuma, Yuma and you were setting the table. You accidentally dropped a plate causing it to break into smaller pieces. Jo panicked seeing you trying to pick them up, he quickly ran to the storage room to pick up a broom and run back to you only to want to beat him up with the broom in his hand. Why on earth was Harua helping you and why on earth was he smirking at Jo? Why has everyone been smirking at him?

You pricked your finger against a glass shard causing slight blood to start showing up on your fingers. Jo quickly dropped the broom as he rushed towards you, kneeling down, he saw another pair of hands squeeze your finger with a tissue. His eyes started twitching as he looked at the owner of the hands to see EJ looking at you with concern written all across his face. Jo scoffed seeing EJ play the role of a nurse that he should be for his girlfriend.

-

He was going to rip his shirt and become hulk at this point and start smashing everything. So far everyone except Taki and EJ had smirked or winked at him and he was started to question whether they were trying to seduce him or his girlfriend.

As everyone satrted having dinner you started choking on a piece of food. Jo tried to find the jug only to see Nicholas pouring you a glass of water. As much as Jo wished he was mistaken he knew he wasn't, everyone was staring at Jo as they all gave him either a smirk, a wink or avoiding his eyes laughing to themselves.

Jo lost it. He slammed the table as he got up leaving the kitchen leaving behind a very confused Y/n and smirking andteam members who only told Y/n to approach Jo and see what's wrong.

"Jojo...what's wrong baby?" you craefully asked, sitting next to him.

Jo didn't answer he just kept his head in his hands looking at the floor. You lifted your hand to touch him, you hesitated for a while before deciding not to touch him. He noticed your action and sighed. He got his hands off his head as he slightly turned his head to face you. Your eyebrows were furrowed as you looked at him with concern and worry.

His sobs took you both by surprise. Jo didn't feel himself tearing up and you had never witnessed him so weak and vulnerable. He covered his face with his hands as he turned his face away from you. Jo never wanted you to witness him so weak and fragile. He hiccuped slightly as he wiped his tears.

"Jojo, come on, tell me what's-"

"Why didn't you touch me?" He asked facing you again, dried tears on his face. His eyes red and puffy. You were too stunned by his question because in all honesty you yourself didn't know. Was it because he had complained about you not respecting his personal space or was it because you feared that if you were to touch him he'd shatter completely and you wouldn't be able to pick the pieces up?

"I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

Jo stared at you for a few seconds. He saw the way your eyes were now looking at his chest, avoiding his eyes and teh way you satrted to fiddle with your shirt. He sighed as he grabbed both your hands to keep you from stretching your shirt.

"How would that make me unconfortable?" He saw the way your body tensed and you looked towards the door. His grasp tightened around your hands, scared that you'd run out of the door if he let go.

"You avoided me for over a week Jo. You told me I didn't repsect your personal space." You sighed mustering up the courage to look up at Jo who was staring at you with concentration. "I know you had said that you didn't mean those words, but after you started avoiding me I felt like...I don't know, like you were done with me and my affection. I was scared that if I touched you, you would leave me." You sighed, blinking to keep the tears from spilling.

Jo sighed a sigh of relief as everything started to make sense.

"I wasn't avoiding you because you didn't respect my personal space." He chuckled as he gave you a soft kiss on your lips. "I was avoiding you because I was mad...I was jealous of how you started being affectionat towards nicholas and started ignoring me, and I couldn't help but feel jealous."

You blinked.

You both stared at eachother as you started making sense of the entire situation.

"So you started avoiding me because you saw me being affectionate with Nicho?"

"You were crying in his chest..."

"Oh my god. I was crying because you were avoiding me!"

"Well I- I don't know, I was just angry."

"This was so immature of you Jo. You know I see Nicho like an older brother." You sighed getting your hands out of his grasp. "I was giving you space and that's why I started spending time with Nicho because I thought my affection made you unconfortable."

Jo stared at you not blinking. He closed is eyes, head falling on the wall behind the sofa.

"All this time I thought you didn't love me anymore, but you were just respecting my space."

"That's why communication is key Maki." You both snapped your head to face the door, K was stood next to Maki who looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

"You still think your girlfriend is in love with Harua bro." Maki replied, getting K's arm off his shoulder. K rolled his eyes at the younger as he smiled at you both.

"Harua was right. Making Jo's life slightly miserable did make them sort their iddues out."

You stared at Maki and at K with confusion written all over your face. You turend to face Jo who only blinked at the two, the gears in his head turning.

"Oh my god, the smirking and winking and oh my god. You all have been making it hard for me to help Y/N just to get us to talk?"

Maki only smirked as he nodded, his arms folded on his chest.

"You guys pissed me off so much." You flinched slightly at Jo raising his voice. K only smiled as he looked at you both.

"Well at least you both have sorted it out. Also Jo, thank Harua for his plan. Eventhough you hated it, at least you and Y/nnie are finally talking and have sorted your issues." He said, quickly approaching Jo as he pat his back. "Me and Maki are going to the store, do you guys want anything?" He asked getting his key out of his pocket.

"A restraining order against all 8 of you." Jo said glaring at K who only laughed as he left with Maki.

"Don't ever avoid me again baby." You said to Jo who pulled you onto his lap, hugging you firmly.

"I won't princess. Promise you will only ever be affectionate towards me and not spend as much time with Nicho?" He murmured, resting his chin on your shoulder. You only giggles as you looked at Jo pouting, pinching his cheeks.

"Promise."

taglist: @luvyuuma @astrae4 @haniithepooh @bibi-in-luv @sami-dear

[mohntilyet]

bats eyelashes do you have any resources on tyche’s backstory. if not would you like to talk about her <3 anything about her in fact <3 i love her so and i especially love her with lucanis even though i know she is going through the horrors tm as soon as veilgaurd ends and she has to deal with his whole crow family. feel free to talk about her emotions over that whole ordeal too because I’m very interested in it and I like your thoughts about how it would down!! just shaking my cup at you atp spare tyche pls. much love!!

tyche is. yeah. “i’m the only normal person here” is a thought she has had multiple times throughout this game and it’s only true to an extent. because everyone else around her just leads very intense lives. a woman who thinks the only way out is through but instead of finding a path out she thinks she can just chainsaw her way out of the hedge maze if it gets her to her destination faster. chronically unable to say “i love you” and avoids getting attached. this whole thing was meant to parallel solas a little and the talk they have in the fade where she’s like “…was there nobody in the inquisition you care about” is almost desperate. solas picks up on that like it’s a surprise tool that will him him later

(rest under the cut because i literally just keep going sorry anon)

particularly, a big thing for her is her family, her life in rivain, and how she spends most of this game tearing herself up about it and refusing to get them involved in this ‘saving the world’ bullshit she’s doing. woman who writes to her mother and says “everything is fine. this is the easiest job i’ve ever done. the elven gods are stupid as fuck btw” and the letter is about weisshaupt LOL .. one of the craziest things in vg for me was finding out just how many personal quests involved the companion’s families, because the more she saw her friends lose the more it solidified this idea in her mind that she has done the right thing by isolating her family. she’s usually very direct but this is the one thing she’s very touchy about.

the ‘tevinter slave’ thing that a lord of fortune rook mentions to me is a full out lie told by tyche so no one goes digging into her business. she originally went into this thinking “they less we know about each other, the better. i have a life to get back to after this” and then fails miserably at trying to stay detached and finds herself really liking everyone AND fully inserts herself into their business. she can’t just hear things like “my brother is being manipulated” “my mom doesn’t care about me” “my grandmother is gone” “my baby skeleton son who has done no wrong” “the dwarves need us” “i have to save the griffons. the identity crisis doesn’t matter so much” “i love my hometown and i can’t save it” etc etc and not desperately want to do something to help

sort of meta wise as well because people have critiqued how it’s always rook helping, but not the companions asking rook if they need anything. not to me. not if that was on purpose. a kind of, “i can fix this, and then we can all go home. because that’s what i want, of course. nevermind how these guys have changed my life. i’m sure the hole in my heart doesn’t mean anything”. AND its HEAVY on the lucanis romance. every moment she spends with him, the worse she falls in love, and the more she’s convinced there’s nothing but tragedy to come when he leaves her for the crows. the nuclear level fallout that almost occurs when lucanis says he’ll stay with her as long as he can hold off the crows is so bad. she takes her own duties so seriously and doesn’t expect herself to be what changes things, for anyone. not even necessarily because of low self esteem, but that she is the most pragmatic woman alive, and to a fault <3

you can imagine the weeks when she’s trapped in the fade prison when her family actually shows up like “minrathous just got nuked and my daughter is nowhere to be seen. something has to be wrong. what the fuck happened” and everyone gets about a month to come to terms with the fact that tyche has lied for the better part of a year (not sure about veilguard timeline. i think its minimum 4 months) and unfortunately have to find out a lot more about her through her siblings, and get to stew on that information for a while. i picture awkward conversations and maybe some bickering, and it’s lucanis who is like “well right now she’s dead. so can we focus on getting her back so we can actually talk with her?” <- man who bared his whole life to her and found out she didn’t do the same. i love self sabotage. i think they have a very long talk when she gets back, and the last minute sex has to be shifted a bit in my mind to make some room for what tyche assumes will be a break up speech that turns into a declaration of love and patience. this rewires her brain

aaand the crow stuff (sorry it has taken so long to get here) makes more sense to everyone and how tyche has reacted when they see how much of a unit her family is. tyche can’t picture the kind of betrayal and fighting because she has never experienced it. there’s probably some longing from lucanis here (🌀🌀 oooh you wanna leave your fucked up home sooo bad 🌀🌀) . illario in particular to her is absolutely unthinkable, and despite my adoration for him, tyche hates his guts <3 she also is very close with her grandma and doesn't at all understand caterina, but she's also primed to expect the best from family and it doesn't totally compute what caterina has done until lucanis (or illario. the angst potentials of it coming from illario compel me) actually spells it out for her and then the family dinners get REALLY bad

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | oneshot smut [18+]

title. around the clock

Hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision.

ᰔ pairing. babysitter/boxing au - underground boxer & babysitter!gojo x college student!reader (f)

ᰔ summary. when underground boxer gojo satoru becomes a little strapped for cash, he gets a day job as a babysitter for a five-year-old kid named yuuji who most definitely has adhd (but that’s besides the point). the kid’s mom gave gojo two rules, and two rules only: don’t accidentally kill my son, and do not flirt with my daughter. he’s pretty sure he’s got a good hold on the former, but he’s got no self control over the latter.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, smut, casual sex, lil bit of fluff, lil bit of crack, slight age gap (reader’s 22 & gojo’s 27), cum play, creampie, unprotected sex, praise kink, slight degradation, gojo is a sleazebag that cares?, sort of porn-coded smut except there’s a lil bit of lore so it’s kinda porn w plot, uhh having sex with risk of getting caught, gojo beats people up at night & then plays father figure to a 5 y/o during the day, mentions of violence/alcohol/drugs/blood/cigarettes

ᰔ word count. 12.6k

a/n. hiiii friends jeez it feels like FOREVER since i've posted some good ol' smut (still has plot tho xd)...hopefully you enjoy n see ya at the bottom! lmk if i missed any warnings! if you asked to be tagged but didn’t get tagged it’s bc you have your tags off aaa :( even when some ppl tried to fix it i still couldn’t tag them i’m sorry!!

alsoooooo so very much love to @starmapz for beta reading this for me :”) really helped me w my posting nerves haha. she is also a wonderful jjk author pls go check out her works!! 💕 ART CREDITS: @/3-aem

➸ masterlist

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): heyy um i’m sorry if this comes off kinda rude i just am kinda bad with this but i was wondering if you could text my mom for questions about yuuji’s care instead of me?

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Oh 2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Yeah, sure

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sorry i know my mom doesn’t know much ab how to take care of him bc i was the one that took care of him for a while but i just really want to separate myself from that guardian role now that i’ve transferred to NYU yknow? :/ i think it’s not my place anymore. i just wanna be big sis now haha

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: I get it. Sorry if I was making you uncomfortable with my texts

2:48pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): no no not uncomfy by it, thanks for looking after him. it’s just i’m kind of busy n stuff so it can be distracting 

2:49pm Gojo Satoru: Ok, got it

2:52pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): and it was kind of an issue with his last babysitter

2:53pm Gojo Satoru: Oh?

2:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeahhh like he would keep textinf me n stuff uhh kinda weird things… i told my mom about it and she was super pissed so she fired him

2:55pm Gojo Satoru: Weird things?

2:56pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah he was always “accidentally sexting me” n like he sent me a dick pic once sooooo yeah

2:56pm Gojo Satoru: Who tf 2:56pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll go beat him up

2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): oh no no its fine lol 2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): please dont beat anyone up 2:58pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i’m not saying you’re like him tho i just think maybe less texting unless its an emergency okay?

3:00pm Gojo Satoru: Are you sure because I will totally go beat him up for you

3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO I DONT WANT YOU TO BEAT ANYONE UP FOR ME 3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): also no offense but you dont look like you could beat someone up

3:01pm Gojo Satoru: WHAT 3:02pm Gojo Satoru: Tf you mean “no offense” that’s literally the most offensive thing you could say to a guy

3:04pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeaa i mean you have muscles ofc but in the ‘ohhh i wanna look good for instagram’ way and not like real man muscles yknow

3:06pm Gojo Satoru: Ok princess next time you visit home and go on one of your stupidly large grocery hauls I’ll make sure you carry all those groceries in by yourself 

3:06pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): I WAS JUST JOKING 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): YOURE SO STRONG TY FOR ALWAYS CARRYING THE GROCERIES INSIDE 3:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): PLEASE KEEP CARRYING MY GROCERIES INSIDE

3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Nah 3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Should we be texting right now? I’m not sensing any emergencies here

3:11pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): pls. my groceries :(

3:16pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll let the kiddo know you say hi 👋🏼 

The irony of it all was that, if Gojo really wanted to, he absolutely could beat the shit out of someone. And he has, hundreds of times, pseudo professionally. Although that isn’t something he’d admit to you, out of fear that you might relay that info back to your mom who would then become mortified that she’s entrusted her five-year-old son’s life to the hands of an underground boxer. 

But he needed the money. A night-time job didn’t really make daytime money, not when they could easily replace him with the next dude the second he gets knocked out of the ring more than twice, let alone if he let it happen once. And although he sometimes made large sums, it wasn’t stable income. He needed a back-up plan, and so babysitting it was. 

The babysitter working nights at unsanctioned dojos and gyms located in the back of cartel blocks, knocking teeth out of men twice his size, would put any decent mother into a coma or induce some episode of syncope, hence why it wasn’t something he put on his resume before he got hired. Not that he even needed to provide a resume; your mom seemed desperate to cover the position as fast as possible, that promotion at work was moving faster than she wanted to, and Gojo’s beneficial attribute that he possessed as a candidate to look after her son, compared to all the other potential hires, was that he had a penis.

He likes the kid. Yuuji. He’s got kind of a short attention span, and makes Gojo weary of his age. Hold up, that makes him sound like he’s geriatric, he’s really only the ripe old age of twenty-seven, but the immortality and infinite stamina that a five-year-old boy has on him is enough to have him huffing and puffing at the end of every single evening shift he takes on with the rascal. 

Fighting is all sprint, and no stamina. Sure, there might be some more seasoned boxers that might disagree with him, but for someone as young as him in the field, it’s the tactic he’s been forced to gain. If he draws a fight on for too long, he'll get killed by a forty-two year old man with steroids clogging up his adipose tissue and enough  testosterone to grow a full-body beard by the time the sun starts to set. No, his strategy is to knock them out within the first fifteen seconds. Use their weight against them, and whatnot. A tactic he’s found has worked, since he’s been undefeated thus far. 

He can never wrap his head around it. The drug lords that run the rings who’ve gained millions the night before from selling crystal meth only to lose it all the night following in the second Gojo hooklines a solid punch to their betting boxer’s chin, making them see God & their Momma before they tap out (if they’re even able).

He doesn’t pocket much money from it, not anything compared to what the men who bet on him end up making at least, but it’s a decently solid sum. How lucrative it really is depends solely on what he thinks the value of his life is.

It’s not unheard of, boxers dying in the ring. Turns out, rich drug dealers care very little about the sheep they’ve captured to perform their entertaining little stunts. But Gojo wasn’t doing all of this to feel some sense of work-life pride, no, it was just sustenance. When basic needs are not met, humans resort to the most animalistic of all behaviors, and while he’s not proud of what he does, he can’t deny the fact that it’s turned him into an adrenaline junkie that gets a rush in his veins every time he knocks a jaw loose.

But balance was key. And hence why he’s a boxer by night, babysitter by day. For at least four days a week, he gets to pretend he’s the king’s most trusted appointed knight, or he’s the radioactive tyrannosaurus rex that wants to tyrannize all the other dinosaurs, or maybe he’s the evil power ranger (he always forgets which color that one was) that is determined to make the world a living hell by smashing mr. potatohead against the bunk bed post a billion times for all the other toys to see. Or whatever other imaginative hyperfixations Yuuji imposes on him in the later afternoon once he’s had his bowl of spaghetti-O’s and is ready to play. Lately, the kid’s been really into space. They’ve got all sorts of space toys these days. Back in Gojo’s day, he just had a good ol’ Buzz Lightyear.

“One rule, that’s it: don’t accidentally kill my son. Actually, one more rule. Don’t flirt with my daughter.” 

There’s a part of Gojo that believes your mom kind of knows he’s up to shady shit at night, otherwise why else would she clause for him to not flirt with you if she didn’t read the slight swell to his eye and the healing gash across his cheek as anything other than this boy is trouble and I want him nowhere near my too-good-for-him daughter of reproductive capacity since that’s the exact tale of how I became a single mother in the first place. Or maybe he inherently looks like he’s up to no good? He’s not sure which angle is more offensive, and which one was more flattering. Well in any case, she entrusted Yuuji’s life to him, despite acknowledging the plausibility of harm, and that means she overall thinks positively of him, right? ……right?

The first night he met you, it was awkward to say the least. Gojo spends most of his nights performing deadly stunts for middle aged men with potbellies, and most of his days hanging out with a five-year-old (one who he’d argue is his only friend at this point). Sure, he’s got some people he sees occasionally back in his high school hometown when he can brave hearing about how everyone’s in college now or doing a masters or they’re working respectable nine-to-five day jobs meanwhile he has to lie to his Pops that he’s been working in insurance for the past two years. Listen, in fairness, he probably makes the same amount of money as an insurance broker would anyways, but he can’t exactly own up to the identity of his craft. 

Anyways, the point is, he’s not used to seeing other people his age anymore. There’s the occasional hook-up with girls he hasn’t seen since Mrs. Tracy’s homeroom period back in sweet two-thousand-sixteen, or his twice-a-year hangout with Suguru where he only learns the day of where he's visiting from since the guy moves around more than Gojo can keep up with. But save for that, he mostly just sees your mom and then Yuuji. 

So seeing you standing in the kitchen for the first time when he went to put Yuuji’s half-finished GoGurt back in the fridge was startling to say the least. When the sight of a woman startled him, he knew he needed to start getting out again.

You were on your tiptoes, reaching up to grab at something over the fridge, and wearing these ridiculously short shorts to where he could see the curve of your ass, his line of sight trailing down the skin of your bare legs. He couldn’t see anything of your form above your shorts, given you were wearing an extremely baggy t-shirt with NYU on it in big bolded university letters. As far as he knew, you were a senior at NYU, studying psychology, made dean’s list consecutively for the past three years given the way your mother posted all your stellar transcripts up on the fridge (he gets that she’s proud of her daughter, but doesn’t that kind of stuff usually end in grade school?) But other than that, it was all the information he had on you.

“Here,” he said, pressing his front to your back, maybe just to get a feel, as he reached over to you to finally grab the box of cereal you were swatting for, the one that he purposefully placed at the back because Yuuji learned how to climb counters recently. “Is this what you want?”

He had heard you gasp, spinning around on your heel fast, staring up at him with wide eyes like you weren’t expecting some random man to be in the house right now, and your first instinct ended up being to grab the knife out of the kitchen knife block and lunge it straight at his torso.

If it wasn’t for his boxer reflexes, he’d have ended up at the ER that evening. Or dead. All depending on the strength you could pack into a stab. But instead, he deflected it, though not without a gash to his torso through the fabric of his shirt, one that you spent the rest of the evening profusely apologizing for and eventually mending to with cotton balls and neosporin. 

“I didn’t know you were my little brother’s babysitter,” you mumbled with a small wince on your face as you dabbed ointment on the wound while he pulled the hem of his shirt up to his shoulder. He’s never had an injury tended to before. It was nice.

“It’s fine, I get it, totally acceptable response to seeing a random dude in your house.”

He remembers the curl of your eyelashes while you stared down at his bare upper half, something he imprinted on his memory rather than the concern in your face as your fingertips traced the scars across his chest. He hoped they made you feel better about the one you just slashed into him, because after all, what was one more? 

He knows he shouldn’t have, but he kissed you that night. Two minutes before your mom came home, and right after you bid him goodnight with one more apology, he backed you up against the door of your bedroom, his hands on your hips pulling you towards him, and his lips pressed against yours. Something seamless, from candid conversation that was heading towards an end, to full fledged making out against white-painted wood, his teeth nipping at your lip and he wondered just how touch-starved those university boys were leaving you given the desperate way you’d clinged to his shirt for dear life as he deepened the kiss.

The moment only lasted one minute and fifty-seven seconds, and in the remaining three, your mother’s key pushed into the front door and he had to pull away. Always, on the dot, 10PM, she was home. It was how he knew he had two minutes left to make a move in the first place.

So much for no flirting.

6:57pm Gojo Satoru: Bahahah I accidentally forgot where yuuji’s epipen is 6:58pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 6:59pm Gojo Satoru: Turns out this can-o-soup was just covering it in the cabinet

7:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): ??? why did you need to find his epipen

7:08pm Gojo Satoru: Oh he accidentally took a bite of my pad thai 7:09pm Gojo Satoru: I freaked cuz I thought it had peanuts in it but I remember I asked for it without any  7:09pm Gojo Satoru: shit’s crazy

7:10pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY THE FUCK DIDNT YOU TEXT ME????????

7:12pm Gojo Satoru: YOU SAID YOU DIDNT WANT ME TEXTING YOU UNLESS IT WAS AN EMERGENCY ?

7:13pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): SATORU YOU THOGHT HE ATE SOMETHING W PEANUTS IN IT AND YOU FORGOT WHERE HIS EPIPEN WAS THATSS A FUCKIGN EMERGENCY

7:15pm Gojo Satoru: THE KID IS DOING FINE HES ALIVE JESUS LEAVE ME ALONE 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: See. he’s chill 7:17pm Gojo Satoru: with intact airways might I add 7:18pm Gojo Satoru: Also isn’t he a little too old to still be watching baby sensory videos?

7:20pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah my mom thinks he has adhd :(

7:22pm Gojo Satoru: oh

He tried to keep his word though (although he doesn’t recall ever giving it) out of the respect he had for your mom. She was a hard-working lady, single mom of two who went from working three jobs to now being a major administrator at a big law firm near the outskirts of town. It was an underdog story if he’d ever heard one, and he loved an underdog story. 

But a little texting here and there wouldn’t hurt, right? Or so he thought, until you told him to cut it out with the contact. Maybe you were just trying to be the good one in this situation. After all, hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision. Still, he’ll eventually get your replies to his which shirt should Yuuji wear to the park? and look, the toothfairy gave him the butt of a joint and a couple thumbtacks for his front tooth. he’s ecstatic texts, although in a less timely manner than before when you weren’t trying to preserve propriety. And when you’d occasionally visit every other weekend, he’d do his best to keep his hands in his pockets, and you’d fill up your nights with hangouts with your hometown friends to avoid spending too much time with him at the house. A silent agreement to not fuck each other, it was. 

4:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): send pic of yuuji pls i miss him :(

5:04pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo]

5:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): IS THAT BLOOD?!?!?!?!

5:09pm Gojo Satoru: chillllllll it’s fake. We’re working on his halloween costume

5:09pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY DOES IT HAVE BLOOD?!?!?!?!?!?

5:10pm Gojo Satoru: He wants to be a baby xenomorph and I'm his parasitic host. You know that iconic chestburster scene from the old school alien movies? yeah

5:12pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): satoru please for the love of god just dress him up as a dinosaur or something

5:13pm Gojo Satoru: I’m not the one that came up with the idea, okay? It was him

5:14pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): because you let him watch adult swim with you before putting him to bed. you’ve deranged his brain.

5:14pm Gojo Satoru: He needs it. Builds character.

Gojo was living a double life, and if someone asked him, he’d say it was less of a Clark Kent way and more of a Bruce Wayne way, although in reality, he knows it’s close to neither. He’s no superhero with a concealed identity fighting crime, he’s a con artist that’s tricked a hard-working woman into hiring him just because he’s trying to save up enough money to get the fuck out of this godforsaken town, given he’s not knocked dead before then for the crime’s amusement.

But Yuuji looks up to him now. And Gojo’s grown attached to him too. He taught the kid how to tie his own shoes and piss inside the actual toilet like a real man. And that kid’s the only thing that’s made him question any of this. Maybe that’s what dads feel, suddenly held to all this impossible responsibility and the pressure to stop doing stupid shit so that you’ll stick around to see your kids get older. The thought that there are eyes on you now, eyes that are innocent and hopeful and learning, and because they know nothing at all, you feel the responsibility to protect them from everything. For fucks sake, remind him to never become a dad. 

“Do you like my sister?” Yuuji had asked him out of nowhere one afternoon after he just got home from preschool, stacking a blue cube over a yellow one at the dining table.

“Uhh,” Gojo starts. He wondered if your mom had put a wire on the kid, so his answer was as diplomatic as he could manage. “Yeah, she’s cool. You’ve got a cool sister.”

“But. But.” Yuuji stutters, trying to find his big boy words. He stretches up higher to reach the top of his stack of blocks, but he only has so much arm real estate at the age of five. “Do you like her like you wanna kiss her?”

Gojo grabs the block from the kid’s hand, for a moment questioning Yuuji’s decision to want to put a blue block over another blue block, but he figures aesthetics are the least of a kid’s concern, and so he places the block where Yuuji wanted it. 

Why does the kid know what kissing is anyway? Do kids know that kind of stuff at that age? Isn’t a kiss to a five-year-old just something their mom gives to them before they head off to preschool for the day? And not something that happens between adult men and women? Maybe he should stop watching that adult swim in front of him.

“No. I don’t want to kiss your sister,” he says, again, because he is suspicious of a wire. It was a lie and then some, because he wants to do a lot more than just kiss you.

Gojo lifts the RedBull he was nursing up to his lips and watches Yuuji in the corner of his eye as the kid stares at his growing stack of blocks with a concentrated expression on his face, his chubby fingers squeezing tightly into little round dimpled balls, like he’s putting together all his tiny brain cells together to form another coherent thought before turning to face Gojo on the chair.

“It’s ok. You can kiss her if you wan’ed to. You can marry her too,” Yuuji says.

Gojo almost spits out his RedBull. He barely manages to swallow it, a broken cough immediately leaving his throat when some of the liquid goes down the wrong pipe and he’s smacking a fist against his chest to knock the sanity back into himself.

“Where the fu—…where the flip did that come from?” he asks, blinking back tears from the rasp in his throat.

Yuuji’s small shoulders sulk as he sits back on his heels. “I want a papa.”

Oh fuck that hurt. Jesus christ, there was nothing more sad than that. Yuuji has literally never known what it’s like to have a dad, since his had left before he was even born. Gojo’s not really close to his old man by any means, but he had still been a fatherly figure in some pivotal moments when he had needed it growing up. Kids need their dads. And he’s seen enough people lose their way without one to know that the value of them is really underestimated.

He’s also kind of shocked that Yuuji really did think of you as his motherly figure. Maybe since it had always just been him and his dad, Gojo learned how to self sustain from a young age, and he and his dad became accustomed to just looking after their own interests to avoid the headache of tending to one another. My land is my land, and your land is yours, and there was the occasional Saturday night spent together with his dad’s millions of beer bottles emptied dry on the carpet in front of the 1992 box TV as the two shared a greasy pizza from the place down the street. That was the extent of family solidarity that he knew.

But he can’t imagine being barely eighteen and having to take care of your little brother all by yourself because your mom was too busy trying to put food on the table and was too poor to hire a babysitter. Your mom tried so damn hard to keep you away from the single teenage mother life, but somehow ended up giving it to you by proxy in the end anyway. It was no wonder you wanted space now that Yuuji’s a little older and your mom can afford a babysitter. No matter how much you might love your sibling, being their effective guardian out of pure necessity had to have taken a toll.

Gojo clears his throat before he speaks. “Buddy. If I married your sister, we’d be brothers. I wouldn’t be your dad.” 

Yuuji’s eyes light up at the word brother. “Brothers? Me and you?”

“Yeah. Bros.”

The kid giggles, all bubbly with cheeks rounding fully and eyes sparkling. Gojo reaches out to ruffle at his hair before Yuuji gets down onto one stubby leg at a time from the chair then bolts towards the kitchen.

“Juice!!” he yells somewhere around the corner out of sight.

Gojo sighs, staring at all the toys he pulled out for Yuuji to play with, all left in a scattered mess across the table. He gets up out of his chair and heads towards the fridge. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get you your juice, you little demon.”

The conclusion he comes to, and it might read like an obvious one, is that kids don’t really know the reality of life, hence why adults hide so much from them. 

This is what he thinks of tonight when he wraps his worn out boxing tape around his hands and his wrist, tightening it with his teeth, and he can smell the sweat and grime from them. The back of the underground gym had an old dated locker room, and as Gojo stretches his neck side to side while sitting on the stiff metal bench, he eyes the peeling red paint of the locker in front of him, blurring vision making it look like spilt blood. 

His phone pings with a text. He shuffles inside his duffle bag to look for it while his other hand scratches at his bare chest.

1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): hhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): omgomgomg sor y i’m 

He blinks at the screen, confusion flashing across his face. He types one letter, but then he sees three dots and a speech text bubble in the bottom left, so he waits for you.

1:09am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i drunk :(

The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly. 

1:09am Gojo Satoru: Yeah I can tell

1:10am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): at a apartyyyy

His eyebrows raise slightly, the thought of you tipsy on some frat party couch flashing through his mind, yet of all things you could be doing at that frat party, you’re texting him? Must be a really boring party.

1:11am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): whyyy are you aawake?

1:12am Gojo Satoru: Couldn’t sleep 1:12am Gojo Satoru: Don’t you have a midterm in the morning?

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): wtf hwo do you knwo that

1:15am Gojo Satoru: Your mom keeps your schedule posted on the fridge

1:15am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): im so fucked;’;(((

He snorts. He’s got a bit more life experience than you, five-ish years to be exact, more than enough time to master the no-hangover hangout, but just before he can offer you some advice, he sees another text from you. 

1:16am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): can i tell u smething 

His gaze flits up to the ceiling briefly, and he hears commotion outside the thick walls of the locker room. The previous fight was over, and fast. The guy must’ve been knocked out in under twenty seconds tops, which means that Gojo was next up against whatever superbeast just beat him up. 

1:17am Gojo Satoru: Sure

He stands up, placing his phone down on the bench before he flexes the muscles in his arms a couple times to get the blood flowing into them. And there’s the noise of another ping. Actually, four.

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sonetimes 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i thikn of  1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): when u kisse me 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): *kissed me

His eyes widen slightly, irises dry to the ashy cigarette smoke from outside lingering in the air, and his heart rate picks up a bit. An adrenaline junkie with close to no fear in his veins due to the way his amygdala’s been fried to a crisp from years of boxing, yet he’s got his breath hitched from the memory of your soft lips against his. It makes the blood rushing through the muscles of his arms rush somewhere down south instead.

Loud banging on the door of the locker room jolts him out of his trance, and he’s stiff around the edges once more.

“Satoru! You’re up, man,” he hears Danny, the fight coordinator, yell at him from the other side of the heavy & poorly-installed steel door.

Gojo sighs, glancing down at the texts on his phone. To respond, or not to respond. You’re off your face, clearly chatty from the alcohol, and he knows for certain you’ll regret every life decision you’ve ever made once you wake up in the morning and see the self sabotaging behaviors you’ve engaged in tonight. He knows that responding to you might put you at ease rather than straight up ignoring you, but the feeling will pass, and he has a match to win with no more room left to stall.

He makes his way out the locker room, pushing past the crowded halls of people underneath dim flashing club lighting, some dudes angrily jerking to face him when he pushes past them with a stiff shoulder, only for their eyes to widen when they see just exactly who pushed them. 

There’s strippers in the ring, doing some routine for pre-match, and Gojo narrows his eyes at the man he sees laying back over the rubber boundary rope, head tipped back up to the ceiling with a wicked grin on his face. So that was his opponent? He’s never seen the guy before. Was he from a different district? Different district talent was tough, you had no background info on them, while they’ve been preparing to be here for weeks. Hence why boxers tend to do better when they visit a different district than they do in their own. There have been rules made to limit these types of fights, mostly over outrage that it was unfair to bid on them, but they were also usually more entertaining to watch. Gojo’s got a sick feeling to his stomach as the strippers clear the ring.

“Hey,” Gojo calls out, grabbing Danny by the back of his collar and dragging him towards him and away from the girls stepping down onto the floor, “what’s in for this fight?”

Danny glances up at the ceiling. “Tarp’s bettin’ tonight, so it can’t be anything less than ten grand for you. I’d say tops fifteen?”

Gojo narrows his eyes further, then glances off into the ring again. The man stands up, and Gojo gets a better look on his face. He’s got short hair, neon green in color with a dark fade underneath and tattoos all over his face. But those eyes. They were freakishingly red, and it made him uneasy. He knows the type. The type of boxers that do this to genuinely hurt people for thrill. Make no mistake, Gojo understands he’s made himself out to be like that too, gaining some kind of rush out of this profession, but this type of fighter was different. The type to literally continue smashing a dude’s face into the floor until they’re a bloody mess even minutes after the winning call, and no referee to stop it because that’s the kind of action the spectators wanted.

Danny reads his line of sight. “That’s Gale. Newton’s new boxing toy. Came outta nowhere about a month ago. He’s undefeated so far in his district, and Newton specifically wanted to see you up against him tonight,” Danny tells Gojo, resting his elbow up on his bare shoulder. “Chances are he’ll compete with Tarp for final bid if you win this one. I’m talking twenty-five grand in the next if you can knock him out in this.”

“Uh-huh,” Gojo acknowledges, rolling his shoulder so Danny’s elbow falls from it. Forget the money, he just wants to make it out of this alive.

He sets his foot up on the square, ducking through the dividing boundary straps and the tacky caution construction tape that the gym thinks creates an exciting ambience. He hears the static of the speakers as the announcers call out Gojo’s name, then this other guy, loud bass club music booming through Gojo’s chest as he tries to take a few deep breaths through the thick air of this low-ceiling arena. 

The dim overhead lights flickered, casting shadows over the makeshift ring, and the crowd pressed tight around at every perimeter area, yelling and pushing, one even tosses a beer bottle on the square and it shatters, spreading glass all across, a few shards reaching Gojo’s feet and he looks down at them with a shudder. A fight immediately breaks out in the crowd over something related or possibly entirely unrelated, and he’d have no way of knowing as he swipes the shards away with his heel.

The influential men always sat up on higher seating, off towards the back in their own VIP section where they suck in the smoke of fat cigarettes and peer through 100% tinted sunglasses to assess the boxers they’ve bid thousands on. The light reflects off the golden grills of their teeth with every snarl at any passerby that gets too close, like a lion in its den. That’s what the sanction was called. Lion’s den.

Gojo sighed, eyeing the twisted grin of this Gale guy across from him. Was that his real name? Usually, foreign district guys get nicknames. Gojo’s always thought the nicknames were tacky, and he’s accumulated some of his own over the years, but to his ears, none of them ever really landed, although The White Fox admittedly was kinda nice. Reminded him of throwback shooting games. 

He sucked a breath in through his teeth, holding his hands up in front of his chest in weak fists, storing energy in them in the form of pure anticipation alone, and then the bell rang.

His opponent lunged towards him immediately, fists flying in a barrage of reckless strikes, and Gojo’s eyes momentarily widened in the briefest moments of hesitation he had been allowed before ducking and dodging every one of this guy's shots, then jumping a step back to create distance.

Fuck. He was fast. Not just boxer fast, athlete fast. There was a difference. And it wasn’t a good one to be up against.

Gojo picked up light on his feet. He couldn’t win this one fast, that much was certain. One single careless or reckless move, and he’ll get tackled. He knows that by the malicious look he sees on that guy’s face, grin wide like he’s some cannibalistic beast. 

Stepping back towards the center, Gojo purposefully set himself up for Gale to swipe a vicious hook towards his head, before Gojo last minute ducked down, crouched to the floor, and swung his leg out to knock the guy off balance by his ankles, and he falls onto his back with a loud thud!

There’s a moment of momentary silence from the crowd, right before Gojo put the man in a torso-lock, twisting him in a way a human body should absolutely not be twisted, hearing the grunts of pain and the crack of spine even through the shouts of the crowd.

He can hear it. Kill him! Knock his fucking teeth out! Snap his neck like a goose, man! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM!

He feels like throwing up. 

Gojo looks up at the referee, who wasn’t really a referee, just there to run the clock when there was action and only barely stop it before near death. “This is enough, right?” he asks.

The referee nods. “1-0, next round.”

Gojo lets go of his opponent, leaving him there to heave for a moment before he gets up onto his feet again. Just needs one more, and he’s a winner. Ten grand in his pocket, and he won’t have to come back here for a couple weeks.

Gale gets up, swiping at the spit that had trickled out the corner of his mouth down to his chin, and he had an enraged look on his face. The second the bell rang for the second round, he exploded forward towards Gojo with even more fervor than before, gritted expression with a thirst for violence fueling the storm of punches he was throwing towards Gojo but he tried to remain calm, light on his feet, swiftly duck and avoid before he can find another opportunity to clear a sharp, clean jab right to the ribs—

sometimes, i think of when you kissed me

Gojo misses his strike, leaving his guard wide open, and Gale takes the opportunity to land a solid punch straight to his jaw, sending his mouth guard flying straight out of his mouth into the air, and knocking him backwards onto the ground with a thud and then he finds himself staring up at the rusting metal ceiling and a ringing in his ears that almost matches the roar of the crowd.

His head is in a haze, dizzy like where one second could feel like a millennia. He feels a soreness underneath his chin, a pain that radiates to his mouth, and he briefly swipes his tongue over his front teeth to make sure he still has all of them. 

What the fuck was that? That intrusive thought. There’s no intrusive thoughts allowed in life or death situations, not when he was always just one smash to the head away from a permanent concussion. But, fuck, he can’t help it. Can’t help thinking of you. Even when his vision has gone blurry and he should really be weary about what happens next in this ring, his mind’s just thinking about you, at some frat party, tipping back shots of tequila and waiting for a text-back in response to your tipsy ones. Were you even waiting up on him? Have you already passed out on the couch, or were your friends dragging you back to your dorm? Or are you fucking some other dude right now? Has he got his hand up your top, squeezing at you, sleazily feeling you up before spilling beer all down your shirt, and are you kissing him back with the same enthusiasm, your phone now somewhere long slipped between the cushions of the couch and out of sight?

Even though it’s still sore, he tenses his jaw. Grinds his teeth, even. Tasting blood somewhere along the line of his gums, he realizes his lip is split. He licks at it, the flavor of copper more rich on his tongue, and he clenches his fists tightly. Why’s he thinking of that right now? It just pisses him off, the thought of you with some other dude. Maybe that’s what he needs to win this fight. Spite. Although he’s not sure why the guy across from him at the ring has to pay for it.

He lifts his head up off the ground, and while it felt like years he had been down, a glance at the timer tells him it’s only been a solid four seconds. A solid four seconds that his opponent had to fully charge a lunge towards him with the look of death in his face, raising his elbow up into the air in time with his leap, ready to come straight down, and Gojo’s eyes widen at the sight above him from where he’s still lying on the wood.

“Shit—” he cusses, rolling his body over to the side so that the dude falls straight down onto the floor rather than elbow Gojo in the fucking ribs, and then he gets back up on his feet. 

Stakes were high, he has to end this, he has to end this now, and he flexes the muscle in his right bicep, channeling everything he has into this one blow, and before Gale even really has a chance to turn around and face him again, Gojo’s already three-fourths set up a knockout undercut that he drives straight up the guy’s chin, with so much force it has him lifting up off the floor, a vertebrate stretch to his spine before he’s sent flying backwards and slammed against the tight rubber lining of the ring to where he was half hanging over it.

The room fell silent for a split second, then erupted in a roar as the referee fell to one knee beside Gale, checking him for any semblance of consciousness, and when he found none, he waves the match off. 

Gojo’s eyes flit up towards the lion’s den, the only opinions that he really needed to care about were sitting in those mahogany chairs with glasses of scotch swirling around in their hands, and he sees some of them looking straight at Gojo before leaning towards one another and discretely talking about something he can’t make out because he doesn’t know how to read lips.

He feels someone tug at his arms from behind, pulling him to crouch down and he balances back on the balls of his feet. He glances down through the ring at the floor. Danny was leaning against the wooden surface of it. “Dude. Go.” He jerks his head towards Gale, who still laid there sprawled across the now stretched out rubber perimeter bands. “Go fuck him up. Knock a few more teeth out, I don’t know, get some more blood out of him.”

“What?” Gojo huffs, yanking his arm away from Danny’s grip. “The fuck are you saying?”

“I told you, man, Newton’s here and he’s got his eye on you. Go give him a show,” Danny says, “do it.” And when he sees clear frustration on Gojo’s face he sighs. “Twenty-five grand, consider that, will you?”

Gojo sneers at the man, an awful taste in his mouth as he spits blood towards Danny’s feet. “Go fuck yourself on his cock if he wants a show that bad.” And then he ducks underneath the bands and hops back down onto the floor, pushing past people who were trying to grab at him and pull at him and lift him up and even throw him down until he made it through flashing hallways and back to the locker room.

He shuts the door behind him, sliding the bolt lock into the frame so no one can follow him inside, and then he leans his weight back against the chilling steel before tipping his head back until it hits the surface too.

He lets out of a few deep breaths, then stares down at the sting he finds over his knuckles. Red and blistering from the last punch he delivered, and he’s almost certain he broke a bone in his hand. Fuck. It was bleeding across the cuts, too. He had to figure out a way to get it all healed by tomorrow, as if that was humanly possible, just because he doesn’t want Yuuji questioning him about it.

Yuuji. For fucks sake, when has he ever thought about the kid this much? When has he ever thought about much of anything when he’s out here or in the ring? He’s a babysitter by day. He’s a “part” of your family when the sun is up and normal functioning society is breathing their lives into the clean air. That’s it. He’s no five-year-old’s caretaker in front of all these primetime drug lords, and he certainly shouldn’t be thinking of you when facing big, burly men he’s aiming to rough up, all within the dead hours of night. So then how come these thoughts are on his mind at all times, twenty-four-seven, around the clock?

He heads further into the locker room, glancing down at the bench where he’d left his phone, then picks it up, neck craned all the way down to glance at the screen as he holds his phone by his hip because he doesn’t have any energy to pick it up any further towards his eyesight. 

He sees your messages. You never sent any follow-up ones, just your horrendously typed out sonetimes, i thikn of when u kisse me *kissed me across the span of four texts, and Gojo runs a tired hand down his face.

He tips his head back to groan at the ceiling, guttural with no basis other than a release of all the pent up frustration of every sort, then he types in a couple messages to you,

3:23am Gojo Satoru: That’s nice 3:24am Gojo Satoru: I think about fucking you all the time 

—and then tosses his phone into his duffel bag to call it a night.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You’re awoken to your alarm blaring heavily, and you whack your arm across your nightstand table beside your tiny twin-size bed to hit the snooze button, then rub your eye with a loose fist while smacking at the residual taste of alcohol you have on your tongue. 

“Mm…” you mumble to yourself. And then the thirst hits you. The overwhelming, intense, unquenchable thirst that leaves your mouth feeling like the Sahara desert before you grab your twice-dented Hydroflask from the nightstand, twist the cap off and chug about twenty ounces of water in one breath. 

You let out a deep exhale and fall back into bed, your hand resting on top of your water-filled tummy, and you stare up at the ceiling of your dorm. 

Last night was horrible. You knew you shouldn’t have gone to that frat party, especially given you have an exam in—you checked the time on your phone—about an hour, and an hour was not enough time to recover from the raging hangover headache that’s pounding through your head. But your roommates insisted you went, and so go you did. You never knew what to expect, always torn between shaving your pussy before you go or throwing on a stained pair of sweatpants to keep the guys away instead. Sometimes, it was a combination of both. But last night, you ended up drinking more than you usually do, and that always led to poor, poor, poor decisions, in which all the sense of pride you had in yourself was washed down with the puke that you hurled into the upstairs toilet. 

You grab at your phone again, briefly seeing that your friends had sent you some photos from the night. You immediately swiped off to the side to dismiss the notifications, because as far as you were concerned, you never wanted to see those photos in your life.

And then, in the briefest of moments, you saw a familiar name in your notifications that made you heart skip a beat.

Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter)

With an immediate gasp, you pulled your phone to your chest and held it there, blinking up at the pale yellow ceiling, your heart picking up in rhythm.

Oh fuck.

That was right.

You drunk texted him last night.

You drunk texted your little brother’s hot babysitter.

Fuck.

Mortified was an understatement, possibly because you don’t even remember what you said, and so you don’t even want to see what he replied with.

You groan, rubbing both your hands across your face then kick your sheets back with your feet like a child having a temper tantrum because you were so embarrassed you had even texted him at all last night. I mean, he was hot. A little older than you, really gorgeous eyes, tall, and, yeah, you gave him shit for the Instagram muscles thing, but that’s only because you thought he’d find it cheeky that you were trying to humble him despite the fact that he’s more toned and ruggedly sculpted than any other man you’ve ever met. You didn’t want to have a flustered schoolgirl attitude because it would just seep through to his ego.

In any case, he was hot, there was no denying it, so can you really blame yourself? But still. There was collateral with this. You had to see him every other weekend. He knows your family, even your extended since they invited him to Thanksgiving dinner a couple weeks ago. A high-risque drunk text recipient if he ever was one (of course he has been, look at that face). Why couldn’t you have just drunk texted ECON160 guy from last semester who Clit DJ’d you underneath your desk at the back of the lecture hall instead?

The thing that made you nervous about Gojo Satoru was that he was just so…confident? Like, in that I was raised to be this way confident and not that I fought inner demons my whole life to barely end up this way confident, y’know? Never had to fake it ‘til he made it, he just was. At least that was the kind of energy you got from him, and unfortunately for you, it was nerve wracking but enticing all at the same time.

You sigh. “Stupid. Stupid. Stuuuuuupiiiiidddddddddddd. You. Are. So. Stuuuuuupiiiiddddddd,” you sigh, running your hands through your hair to grip at the strands.

You pull your phone away from your chest, and finally brave yourself to read the texts from your notifications screen, but not without blurring your vision a little to further stall. And then you finally refocus it to read them. The first one you see has you gasping—

3:24am Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter): I think about fucking you all the time 

It has heat spreading across your cheeks, and you blink at your screen, then quickly swipe up to read the previous messages with rushed glides of your index finger on the screen to see that he had sent it to you in response to your barely coherent texts about how you still so often think about that time he randomly pressed you up against the door of your bedroom to kiss you that night you first met him.

I think about fucking you all the time

At 3 in the morning? He decided to send that text at 3 in the fucking morning? That was the devil’s hour. What’s he trying to tell you? 

Oh come on, you’re not stupid. And you know he isn’t either. The sexual tension was palpable, it was there since the day you two met and you almost stabbed him, and also everytime you were visiting the house, and his shoulder brushes against yours when he’s trying to get past you in the kitchen, or when you’ve got Yuuji in your arms and the kid is clinging to Gojo’s sleeve because he wants him near him at all times. There’s even sexual tension over the phone, in those stupid texts he sends you all the time about meaningless child care stuff, and honestly, those little updates made your day.

But… you don’t know much about him, and your mom would kill you if she ever found out you wanted him. And she’d probably pulverize him if she found out he ever made a move on you. Cremated without leaving a trace behind would be an understatement. She thinks he’s no good and she thinks you’re too good. You know she’s warned him before to not get close to you, as if she was pre-emptively expecting him to try to get in your pants like it was some canon force of the universe, hence why he’s probably so fucking awkward around you whenever she’s there too. Like if he accidentally got caught staring at your ankles, your mom would light him on fire, so he’d rather not risk it by just avoiding looking at you at all.

Your mom has always been protective of you. Your father was a deadbeat, one she thought she loved, only to watch him leave. And she had to raise a baby all by herself. He re-entered your lives right before you graduated high school, knocked up your mom again with Yuuji, and guess what? Left again without a trace. To be doubly humiliated by a man is a fate you wouldn’t wish on any woman, but that’s exactly what your mom went through. It was a wake-up call for her, though. No more living paycheck to paycheck like you had been your whole lives up until Yuuji was born. The kid doesn’t even know how lucky he is with everything he has right now. Your mom worked her way up the corporate ladder and made something of herself and now you guys were comfortable, so it was safe to say she had some sort of right to look after her daughter, of whom she simply doesn’t want to follow in the same naive footsteps of her youth.

You get it. She wants to break the generational cycle. But it made being with men tough on all fronts, let alone dating. You could never bring a guy home because he’d never be enough, even if he cured cancer or could make you orgasm while doing a sixty-nine handstand. And while her overbearing paranoia over what you do or where you are or who you’re with has since dimmed slightly since you officially moved out to finish your last year of higher education at NYU, you can still feel her disappointment from a hundred miles away when you’re making out with some random frat guy on his beer-stained couch at eleven AM on a Tuesday.

But you got to college. You’ve already made it this far. You’re on dean’s list. You graduated high school as salutatorian. You’re the most highly decorated cello player in the state. You won Miss County pageant when you were sixteen for your philanthropic efforts towards feline leukemia. You did online community college for three years so you could stick back after high school and help your mom raise Yuuji, which meant that you had to forfeit your scholarship to Cornell. You’ve spent your whole life being good, you just wanna be bad for a little bit.

And if bad meant fucking the hot and mysterious babysitter, then so be it. 

You pick your phone up, begin blasting what the hell by Avril Lavigne on your dorm room bluetooth speaker, then type a message to him that says—

10:34am you: do it then

—then shove your phone under the sheets and belt out the lyrics aaaall my life i’ve been good, but now, ahhhh i’m thinkin’ what the hell!!! while kicking your feet and clutching your pillow.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Gojo has no clue what divine entity has overcast their gratuitous spirit over him on this blessed Monday afternoon, but he’ll thank them for it later once his balls are empty. 

He’s got you on your back, sprawled across the couch in the living room, the first fuck being a rushed one that you offered him with before he has to go pick Yuuji up from circle time at preschool, which wasn’t ideal, but he’s delirious at the sight of you underneath him right now. Your little NYU shirt, a tighter one this time, bunched up over your bare breasts, otherwise entirely naked other than the flimsy panties dangling at your ankle, and the view of the tip of his cock looking hot and heavy against the velvet of your cunt, slowly pushing in, feeling the warmth of your walls squeeze around him paired with the sweet moan that leaves your lips, makes him fall forward with a bracing hand dug into the cushion by the side of your head because the sensation feels so fucking good he can hardly keep himself upright.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunts, pushing himself in further to try and bottom out but he’s still got a couple inches he needs you to take, and so you curl your hips upwards towards the cieling to make more room for him, practically putting yourself into a mating press and soon enough he’s balls deep, “you on any birth control?”

“Uh-huh,” you moan, eyes closed and head tipped back with one hand squeezing your own tit.

“I can cum inside then, yeah?” he asks you, pushing your knees to your chest, slowly drawing his hips back and you squirm underneath him.

“Let’s get there first, and then we’ll discuss,” you breathe out.

“I’ve been there for the past ten minutes, baby. I could cum at any second with the way you look and feel,” he informs you flatly, because it was just the truth and you had to know it, then he feels himself twitch inside, slowly working up to a languid rhythm, almost fearfully like your mom’s going to pop out somewhere around the corner with a camera crew ready like one of those retro TV shows just to humiliate him on national television for not keeping it in his pants like she’d told him to. 

“Harder,” he hears you whisper, and he rolls his eyes shut to just focus on the feeling. The feeling of your nails grazing down the skin of his chest and his abs, tracing the scars he’s collected over the years, and he feels you tightening around him. He leans down to kiss you, fucking you properly now with the squeak of the couch springs echoing across the room, your hums of moans seeping through his lips until he’s fully taking them on with an open-mouthed kiss of sloppy tongue. 

The fact that it was wrong felt right to him, and he realizes in this moment he’s lost all sense of control. He wasn’t just an adrenaline junkie that liked to rough up dudes, he was an adrenaline junkie that wanted to fuck you against all better judgement or moral compass. The way your tits were bouncing, the slap of skin on skin, his balls slapping against your ass while you wrap your legs around him tighter, all convincing him that any consequence made it worth it.

“Good,” he groans the praise, pinning your hands above your head as he rams his hips against yours, your cute moans and squeals sounding like literal music to his ears and he feels heat spread all the way up his neck, “goooood, keep squeezin’ me like that, fuck.” He slows down momentarily, just to take a moment and watch, really look and see the way his length disappears inside of your pretty self with every push forward, and then he works back up to a relentless pace that has you tipping your head back with a slack jaw and eyes closed tightly shut, sprained expression of pleasure spread across.

“Oh, oh my god, Satoru—” you mewled and he felt dizzy from the sound of his name from your softly parted lips.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” His hand finds it’s way between your legs, calloused pads of his fingers brushing against your clit and you jolt underneath him, gasping as your hand shoots out to dig your nails into his bicep for purchase. “I’m gonna cum, better tell me where you want it.”

“In me,” you moan, “nowhere else.”

He presses his mouth against your cheek in a lazy smile, “Atta girl,” he drawls before pushing your ankles down as far as they’d go near your ears, folding you in half and then reigns all hell into your cunt. He should really care a bit more about your pleasure, but testing your flexibility like this with both his hands holding you down was doing sinful things to his brain, and besides, you had yourself covered with the messy circles you were rubbing over your clit. It was hot to see that too, your nimble pretty fingers so close to the place where he was pounding into you. 

“Oh shit, shit, shit—” he grunts when starts to see blistering white in his vision, balls straining with a pleasure that was almost painful. The moment he finishes feels like hot flashes in his brain, a heat like the cum he begins to paint inside your walls in time with your release, thrusting over and over and over, each one more staggered as he lets off a long, drawn out groan that comes from deep within his chest with the feeling of you milking him dry and the sound of you enjoying every second of it. He can’t remember the last time he came this much or this hard and even after coming down from the high, he feels the remnant pulse of your orgasm around his now half-flaccid dick.

He leisurely pulls out, hearing you let out a soft whimper as he marvels at the sight of his cum slowly dripping out of you and down towards the couch, before he scoops it up with a couple fingers and pushes it back inside. You grip his wrist tightly, but you weren’t stopping it, that motion of him plunging it all back into you.

“Want a taste?” he asks, casually.

“Mhm,” you nod, face looking flush.

He pulls his fingers out of you, coated with sex, then plugs your pussy with the fingers of his other hand because he kinda likes the idea of you walking around all day with him inside of you, so he doesn’t want it getting out. He’s then pushing his other fingers past your lips, pleased to find he’s met with not even so much as a grazing of teeth, and he grins, “bet you take a dick in your mouth as good as you take it down here.”

Your furrow your brows at him, the pout of your lips seen in the way they were puckered to lick his fingers off clean, and when you release the suction with a smack of your tongue and his fingers were wet from your saliva now, his eyes narrow with desire. You push his face away with the heel of your palm to his forehead. “Flattery won’t make me suck your dick.”

“Alright. So? How is it?” he jerks his chin towards your face, pushing against your hand with his forehead until he’s hovering over you again, “taste good?”

“It’s cum, Satoru.”

He shrugs. “Bad?”

“No,” you say, and you can’t make eye contact, “good.” You sigh. “Hot. I don’t know. Salty, sweet. I’m the sweet. You’re the salty. And this conversation is obscene.”

He kisses you, capturing your lips softly, tongue darting out to taste what’s on yours. “I like it that way. Dirty. Nasty. Obscene, whatever.”

There’s the slam of a car door heard from the driveway, and the two of you instantly make eye contact with round eyes.

“Sa—” you stutter, “Satoru.”

He gets up off the couch in a panic, and heads to the window of the living room fully butt-ass naked, then peers through the blinds to see—

Your mom was making it up towards the front door, rustling with her keys in her purse. And the last thing he sees before he turns around to face you is her pushing the keys through the lock.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” he cusses, finding his boxers off of the floor, hopping on one foot with his cum & slick coated dick flapping around and slapping against his thighs unceremoniously as he tries to get one leg in through them and then the other. You’re trembling as you hook your panties back into place, pull your shirt back down your torso, and even in his extremely panicked state, he’s still sad he can’t freely stare at your tits anymore. You’re rummaging for your skirt in a haste, looking everywhere for it, and he finds it underneath the coffee table before tossing it to you and then he side-to-side hops towards the coat closet while he pulls his sweatpants up over his ass, in time for you to quickly run and shut the door of the closet closed just before the front door of the house swings open.

The inside of the coat closet is dark, barely enough space in there for a six-foot-four two-hundred-and-twenty pound man, but it’s better than being balls deep inside his boss’s daughter on the couch when said boss just came home from work.

He hears conversation on the other side of the door, albeit muffled, and he presses his ear to it to hear better while he tucks his dick into his boxers from where it was hanging over the waistline.

“Mom! You…you’re home so early,” he hears you squeak out.

“Yes,” your mom says, “The rest of my meetings today are online, so I figured I’d come home when there’s less traffic.”

Gojo feels you lean against the coat closet door.

“I see, I see, how was your day at work?” you ask with a tremble in your voice.

“Fine.” And then nothing. The silence could mean that was all she had to say, since your mom wasn’t really a woman of many words, or it could be a silence that means she’s suspicious about something. “Darling, why is your skirt flipped up and tucked into your panties? Your whole butt is showing.”

Through the wood of the door, he hears you softly gasp. “Oh, um, I just went to pee. Must’ve—…must’ve got caught when I pulled it back up.” 

“I see,” your mother says, and Gojo can hear her dropping her heels down near the shoe rack at the entrance. “You know, I really don’t like those short skirts you wear often. Maybe it’s just your generation, but I think it looks tacky and cheap.”

“Mom,” you say, in as stern of a voice as you can manage without sounding embarrassed.

Your mother sighs. “In any case, where is Satoru? I still would like him to go pick up Yuuji. I don’t have the patience to sit in preschool & daycare traffic right now.”

“Oh gosh, I don’t know,” you chirp, and then he hears you let out a small oh no before you lean even more weight against the door, this time somewhere lower, and he realizes you’re pressing your ass against it. His eyes narrow with a small frown, and then he realizes— his cum must still be trickling down your thighs. You couldn’t put your panties on fast enough. 

Shit. That’s hot. A little fucked up, but hot. He feels his dick harden against the fabric of his boxers, and he rests his forehead against the door, fringe stuck to his forehead with sweat as he slips his hands down his sweatpants and then gives his cock a firm squeeze. The thought of you discretely swiping his cum up your inner thigh and smearing it against your thin panties so your mom doesn’t catch sight of it dripping down your legs has him slowly working up to a rock-solid erection, and he almost lets out a broken grunt from the feeling.

“What?” your mother says, “what do you mean you don’t know?”

“I’ve just been watching TV this whole time,” you say, “last time I saw him…he was…um, in the backyard pulling weeds?”

He lets out a small scoff through his nose at your cover-up. Cute. And not bad. 

Your mother sighs loudly, and he glances down at the strained veins on his dick as he tugs it through his hand, the tip rearing and appearing flushed and dripping with precum. God, you were just on the other side of this door. Less than a few inches away, and he’d be inside of you. 

“I’m going to take a shower. Go find him and tell him to pick up Yuuji soon. But before then, change into something less revealing,” your mother says in a more or less detached tone, and he can hear the stomps of her footsteps up the stairs from above him in the coat closet.

The two of you wait at least a solid minute, and just when the coast is clear, he hears you turn the knob of the coat closet and slowly crack it open.

“Okay, I think she’s in the shower, I hear the water running,” you whisper at him, “you can go now—” You glance down towards his groin, your jaw dropping. “What—…Satoru, why the fuck is your dick staring at me right now?!” you whisper-hiss at him.

He pulls you into the coat closet, pushing your front against the door to where it clicks shut, and you gasp when his hands pin your wrists crossed behind your back and his dick presses into the plush of your ass.

“You talkin’ to your mom while your pussy’s stuffed full of my cum was the single hottest thing that’s ever grazed my lizard brain,” he tells you, flipping your skirt up and hooking your panties to the side, his index finger briefly brushing against your entrance to find it still leaking from the way your walls were pulsating from his words. And then he aligns his tip to your entrance. “Now keep quiet while I do this, ‘kay?”

“Oh—” you gasp, your cheek pressed against the door as you arch your back and push your ass out for him, “okay—” you say, barely vocalizing the first syllable before he’s already stuffing himself inside of you with one solid glide of a push, making you yelp loudly and he has to instantly cup a hand over your mouth.

“Shhhhhh,” he hisses at you, immediately starting to pound you from behind, “told you to— fuuuck,” he catches sight of his length covered with a mix of your glassy arousal and his white cum, now starting to cream at the base of his cock, “jesus christ—” he breathes out, squeezing the flesh of your ass harshly with his other hand and you let out another yelp, “I told you to fuckin’ keep quiet.”

“I’m—mff,” you muffle against his palm, “I’m trying but,” your hips move back in time with his, “feels good, feels too good,” you mewl, and his hand desperately yanks up the fabric of your shirt so he can squeeze at your breast.

“Yeah?” he grunts, hypocritical for telling you to keep it down when he was slamming his hips against your ass with so much fervor he wouldn’t be surprised if the sound was reverberating across the entire house, “you like it when I fuck you while your mom’s all clueless just up the stairs?” His rhythm falters, feeling his release building, and his hand reaches in front of you to rub your clit, making you drop your head against the door with tightly closed eyes. “Gets— you—wet, doesn’t it?” he torments you, his lips near your ear as he slams his hips against you harshly with every enunciated syllable. 

“Mhm, mhm,” you easily agree, or maybe that’s because it’s all you can really articulate, and he angles his hips up so his balls slap more fervently against your clit, making you scream into his palm while he picks up the pace of the circles he draws on your clit and in one, two, three— beats of his pounding heart, he feels you come undone around his cock, gushing wetness leaking out of you, he can feel the mess of fluids splattering on the skin of his thighs due to each of his heaving thrusts as he cusses out a fuuuuuuckkk before spilling his cum inside of you, a short-lived and thicker release this time that has you mewling from overstimulation, and in a few following thrusts, he’s given you everything he had to give.

His eyes open, he wasn’t even aware he had shut them in the first place, and he glances down at where the two of you were joined. Rings of arousal coat the length of his half-pulled-out dick, and the second he retreats all of it, a bulging push of his cum seeps out of you, dripping and pooling all over the hardwood floors.

“Holy shit, I wish I could take a picture of this,” he says, taking a step away to commit the sight to memory, your legs trembling and still slightly spread, ass pushed out and when you wiggle it a little, he lets out a huff of an exhale because he just can’t believe how sexy you are. Are all college girls like this? He’s never been to college, his old man’s been trying to get him to go for years, but maybe this is what finally convinces him.

“No pics,” you breathe out once you catch your breath, standing up straight slowly, “that’s my one sex rule.”

He takes a step closer to you, flipping your skirt back over your ass while you shimmy your shirt down to cover your chest. “That’s the only rule you have? Anything else goes?” he asks.

You spin around to face him, his eyes briefly flitting down to the still exposed skin of your midriff. “I have a feeling I’d be making up more specific rules if it was with you.”

He smiles, his hands grabbing your hips before pressing you up against the door again. “I also had a rule. It was to not fuck you. Wait, no, to not flirt with you. Which, technically, I didn’t do.”

You blink your eyes at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused, “I didn’t.”

“Huh—” you scoff, “how do you think we got into this situation in the first place?? You didn’t just say wanna fuck? You were insufferably flirty with me.”

“Nahhh nah nah nah nah, baby, that’s not flirting,” he tells you, thumb running circles over your hips, “that’s, like—…I don’t even fuckin’ know how it worked on you to be honest, I was just being stupid.”

“Oh okay so I’m stupid.”

“I never said you were stupid?”

“Well you said you were being stupid so me falling for it must mean I’m stupid.”

“Pshhh. You’re cute. Pulling weeds, by the way? Adorable.”

Your hand slowly roams up the front of his shirt, the fabric bunching at your wrists until you uncovered up to his collar bone, and you stare at his skin. He tries to not let the way his heart’s beating faster show through the heave of his chest. 

“Why do you have all these scars, anyway?” you whisper to him.   

“Too many girls tryna stab me,” he tells you.

You roll your eyes. “Seriously.” Your thumb traces the one you had left on him. 

“I—” He stops himself.

Does he tell you? Should he tell you? What, just because he’s seen you naked and you took his dick like a queen he’s supposed to open up to you about these things now? He doesn’t know. Maybe he could? Maybe you already suspect what he does at night. And if not, at the very least, I’m an underground boxer might make you think he’s hot? At the very worst, you’ll report him to the cops and he’d get fired as your little brother’s babysitter then thrown into jail, but not before the busted cartel gets him first.

“Maybe I’ll tell you some other time,” he says, his hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling it from his chest, “no hyper personal details until you’ve had my dick in your mouth at least once or twice. That’s my one rule.”

You snort. “I could’ve guessed that rule from a mile away.”

He hums. And then there’s the sound of steps creaking down the stairs above the two of you.

You both make eye contact, eyes widening, internally yelling at each other: how the fuck did we get into this situation twice?!

This time, Gojo opens the door and stumbles out of the closet, leaving you inside of it, just in time for your mom to come down the stairs.

“Satoru. I was looking for you,” she says as she rounds the post. “Have you picked up Yuuji? He has to go for his swimming lessons soon.”

“Ah, nope, was just about to head out,” he says, letting out a cough to diffuse tension, “sorry, I was—” he points his thumb over his shoulder to behind him, “…pulling out some gnarly weeds.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I see. Well, thanks. If you want, I can add a gardening stipend to your paycheck. Let me know.” And he’s not sure how to respond because he’s not sure if she’s joking. 

He heads out the door, the keys to your mom’s minivan in his palm as he throws them up into the air and catches them a couple times. And just before he gets inside the car, he turns on his heel to face the house and pulls his phone out of his pocket to type in a message for you.

3:22pm Gojo Satoru: Send over those me-specific sex rules soon

.

.

.

[the end]

a/n. hope u enjoyed im shitting bricks posting this bc i haven't posted a oneshot smut since february but thanks so much for reading i appreciate u!! i got way too invested in the whole underground boxer thing 😂😂 but the fact i managed to keep everything under 12k is an accomplishment to me bc if u read my other fics you know i’m a yapper LOL i have another kind of a similarly written smut oneshot n it’s a lil angsty (totally different au tho) i’ll probs post that one next but yea i really like, hmm, i really like exploring entire characters within a short amount of time i enjoy writing the obscure lore drops xd it’s been kinda fun so far anywho much loveee hope to see u around! <3

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@beabadobeee @air3922 @timetoletmyimaginationfly @chiyokoemilia @jotarohat

@sirencholia @sorcerersseestars @horisdope @to-dabi @staoru

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[inkedbybarnes]

blind date

bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: convinced that bucky will never like you back, you agree to a blind date arranged for you to forget about him.

word count: 3.7k

warnings: fluff. two idiots pining over each other (i know, i know. i love the trope). blind dates (they honestly scare me). boundaries being crossed. not so gentleman of a blind date. protective & grumpy bucky (yes, that's a warning!). pet names such as doll. lowercase writing. not proofread.

notes: happy 500 followers to us! hehe. sorry it took long, i waited until i reached that milestone and we finally did! we're growing in our small delulu home, and i love it. <3 i hope you enjoy this one!

dividers by @cafekitsune

comments, reblogs, and likes are highly appreciated. thank you! ♡

“come on! tell me more about this mystery guy.”

natasha plopped down the couch beside you while she held a pint of ice cream in her hand and a spoonful on its way to her mouth. you were talking about the blind date that sam arranged for you, and she hasn't stopped asking questions since you mentioned it.

“there's really nothing to tell besides that he's a guy looking for a date and that he's friends with sam. i'm actually surprised that sam set this all up, but i trust him, you know? maybe it'll be nice,” you answered, ignoring the fact that sam suggested this to help you get over your not-so-little crush on a super soldier.

your phone beeped, showing a message sent to you by your teammate. “speaking of the devil, sam just sent me the details but i'm really not sure if i should go. it doesn't feel right.”

“and leave the poor guy waiting? not happening." natasha stuck her spoon into her pint and set it down on the coffee table. “you feel that way because you like someone already, but nothing's going to happen if we'll sit here waiting. you're either giving this date a chance or ask bucky out. it's time you finally go out there and see someone. aren't you sick of us yet?"

“i'm quite sick of you, that's for sure.” you joked, having natasha as your room neighbour and basically your best friend. if you weren't spending your time sleeping in your room, you'd be spending it with her. “i just don't think i should be going on dates when i know i'm technically not emotionally available for others yet.”

“oh, you can't be sick of me. i'm great company." natasha replied confidently. “then why did you agree? we all know, besides barnes, that you've liked him for so long. plus, he's never been with anyone for ages. the two of you makes sense.”

you gnawed on your lower lip, hesitant to tell nat the reason why you agreed to this stupid date, but she was your best friend and also one hell of a spy to even try and hide it. “he told me that he found someone similar to bucky and that i might want to meet him. we agreed to let it be a blind date to avoid the mess of telling them that they're meeting an avenger.”

“i knew it. you're going on a rebound date!” she jumped on her seat, as if she'd solved the winning numbers to the lottery. “there was no way you'd suddenly go on a blind date without a catch. you're too hung up on bucky!”

“keep it down!” you pulled her back into the couch, nervously looking around the room to see if anyone was close by. “i'm pretty sure rebounds only apply to people i've dated. bucky's hardly a candidate for that list.”

“you've liked him for way too long that it basically feels like you had a relationship, and i'm pretty sure he likes you too,” natasha said. “trust me, my guts? golden.”

you winced at the thought. there had been zero signs that bucky liked you back. as much as you trusted natasha and her instincts, this was something you couldn't just assume.

“i don't think so, nat. i've given him enough hints. it's either he's too dense about it or he's just not interested. maybe it's just how it's supposed to be, and i can't keep myself stuck with maybes forever.” you sighed, deciding to finally go to the blind date. “help me pick an outfit?”

“like you even have to ask?” she smiled, dragging you to your room while you were still left with uncertainty in your heart.

the restaurant was one of those hole-in-the-wall places in downtown new york. it had a lot people dining inside, their noise easily heard from the outside, yet the ambiance already felt warm and welcoming. you wondered if sam suggested the place or the guy you were about to meet.

you sighed, giving your chest one last tap since it wouldn't stop beating so fast. it was a wonder how your heartbeat remained stable during a risky mission, while a harmless date had you this nervous. although with that, you felt human.

“okay, let's see where this goes,” you muttered to yourself, glancing at your watch that had a tracking device in it, as requested (or ordered) by your best friend.

natasha initially opted to come with you and seat somewhere far, but you told her that you didn't need it. so, she settled with a tracking device, as if you weren't an avenger who could defend yourself. you couldn't find it in you to complain, since this was natasha's own way of showing that she cared.

you entered the restaurant, eyes wandering around the room despite not knowing exactly what to look for. the only details you were allowed to know was that “joseph” knew where to take you, so you assumed that person was one of the staff that you had to look for.

once you found a waitress that didn't look too occupied, you approached her with a smile. “excuse me, may i know where joseph is?”

the lady looked up at you, recognition evident on her face. you were slightly worried that she knew your identity, but she gave you a warm smile and held your arm gently. “oh, he's right there by the counter. let me take you to him!”

she escorted you towards the man handling the counter that seemed to be where the orders were taken. he was shouting various orders behind him while arranging the food on the counter. by the looks of it, he could be the manager or the owner of the place.

“she's here!” the lady beside you exclaimed, catching the full attention of joseph.

“ah, there's our special guest for tonight!” joseph walked around the counter to hug you, as if you knew each other for a long time. “come, come! we have the best spot reserved for you. it's right outside where you can enjoy the view while also having some privacy, eh? your date already arrived, but no worries. he wasn't waiting for too long.”

you were rendered speechless as he took you to the patio, not expecting your date to arrive first, and most importantly not expecting to see him right away. you thought you were early enough, but it seems that your date was an earlier bird than you were.

once outside, all you could see was an empty patio with one man sitting not so far from where you were standing. you hated how you could only see his back and not his face, since he was facing the opposite direction. although, you immediately noticed how he was dressed similarly to bucky.

similar haircut, black boots, and a black jacket. while you weren't sure if they actually looked alike, sam wasn't kidding about them having some similarities.

“how come it's empty out here?” you asked with genuine curiosity. the restaurant was oozing with customers tonight, and they could surely use the extra space outdoors.

“well, uh...” joseph scratched his head, smiling awkwardly as he looked for an answer. “oh, well, stop worrying about that! you're here to go on a date and nothing more! let us worry about that ourselves, hm? come, let's not make your date wait for too long.”

you both walked towards the only table occupied, taking a deep breath before joseph announced, “your date has arrived!”

the man turned around, eyes widened at the sudden noise, but he eventually smiled once he looked at you.

“hey, nice to finally meet you.” he stood up, extending his hand. “i'm martin.”

one look at him and you knew that your heart stubbornly stayed with someone you shouldn't be thinking about.

“i still can't believe that i'm on a date with an avenger.”

you were barely done with your meal despite being here for more than an hour, and martin hasn't been able to stop gushing about your whole avenger sideline. while you understood his excitement, this wasn't the type of date that you hoped for.

“you think i could tell my friends?” he asked, suddenly nudging his chair closer to you that he was basically sitting beside you. “they probably won't believe me, so will it be okay if we took a picture?”

oh, so that's why he moved closer.

“sure.” you forced a smile. “but don't get too close, maybe? i'm.. i'm not that comfortable yet.”

as if you said nothing, he placed an arm over your shoulder, pulling you even closer to him. you've been through worse situations than this, but you were highly uncomfortable having your boundaries crossed.

bucky wouldn't do something like this. how did sam think that any of his behaviour was similar to him?

martin already had his phone out, capturing pictures and squeezing your arm, when you decided that this isn't what you wanted, but before you could open your mouth, you felt someone pulling his arm off of you, causing martin to scream.

“what is wrong with you!?” martin shouted, standing up and stepping away while he held his aching arm. when you turned around, you felt your heart stop to find the person you least expected to be here, but wanted the most to be with.

“bucky?”

he did not look at you, his eyes still fixated on martin, nostrils flaring as he took a step closer, standing in front of you as if he was shielding you, while martin took the same amount of steps backwards. “she clearly said no. what the fuck was so hard about understanding that?”

“look, man, i don't know what you're doing here, but i think this is between me and her,” he said, his eyes showing fear as he watched the ex-assassin approach him, hearing the gears of his metal arm whirring.

“give me your phone.” bucky ordered. “now.”

martin immediately fished for his phone, nearly dropping it, and gave it to bucky. “w-what are you going to do?”

“no, this is what you're gonna do,” bucky started, crashing martin's phone with ease and carelessly throwing it to the side. “this date never happened, your friends will hear nothing about tonight, and you will get out of here before i finish counting to three. one...”

in a snap, martin was already out of your sight. if you hadn't known martin before this, you would think he idolised pietro with the way he ran so fast.

“are you okay?”

forgetting about bucky for a split second, his voice jolted you out of your thoughts. you looked up, your heart racing, to find him right in front you.

“what are you doing here?”

“that doesn't really answer my question, doll. answer mine first, will ya? then i'll answer yours.”

“i'm okay, but i can take care of myself. you didn't have to scare the guy.” you sighed, trying your best to look displeased when in fact this has been the happiest you've been tonight. “so? why are you here?”

“well, it's really hard to explain...”

“you better try, barnes, because i am very confused right now,” you said. “one moment i'm on a date with someone, then suddenly my teammate, who i told nothing about said date, appears and crushes the phone of the guy i'm with?”

“natasha told me about it.”

you frowned, not surprised with natasha's gossipy nature, but confused about what she could've said that made him go all the way here.

“i was looking for you since you're always with us during dinner, and nat told me that you were on a date. i couldn't help but ask where and with whom, but she said that she had no idea, that it was a blind date. she was more than glad to tell me where you were, so i came here looking for you.”

“why?” you asked, confused and suddenly hopeful at the same time. although, you tried to keep your hopes down, not wanting to set yourself up for a heartbreak.

“what do you mean why? that's it. i was just worried, and now you're okay. can we go home?”

he turned his back on you and walked away, you were quick enough follow him, still unsatisfied with his answer.

once you've reached a dark alley where he had his motorcycle parked, you sighed and decided to ask one more time.

“what are you actually doing here, barnes?” you asked. “i want an actual answer or i'm walking home.”

“it doesn't matter,” bucky answered shortly, frustration. written on his face. “why did you agree to this anyway? doesn't feel like something you'd do.”

“you have no idea about what i feel and what i want to do,” you answered. “and you still haven't answered my question.”

“i don't know, okay? i don't know. i just..” he sighed. “i heard the word date and everything didn't make sense. all i knew was that i wanted to follow you here and stop whatever you were doing. i didn't like it.”

“what gives you the right to stop me from going on a date?” you asked, your head jerked back in disbelief. “and why would it even bother you? this is the first time someone went on a date in the team. so what makes mine so different?”

“what do you think?” he asked, his gaze challenging and curious, waiting for your response.

you stood in silence, his question causing a sudden drift in the conversation. you could feel the tension in the air.

“sam made me go to a blind date as well,” he spoke again. “i just remembered that he was asking me where i'd take someone on a date. days after that, he said he found a girl that i might like, and that i should go on a date with her, he suggested that it should be a blind date, knowing that i'm an avenger and all.”

“why didn't you go?”

“i couldn't. i wasn't interested. i knew it wouldn't work.”

“why?”

“because i already like someone.”

your heart sank, a lump forming in your throat as the reality set in that the person you've been pining for was already interested in someone else.

so much for going on a date to forget about him.

“what about you?” he asked. “why did you go?”

because of you, you idiot.

“trying to get over someone,” you simply answered.

“you were seeing someone?” he asked, completely clueless, but suddenly looking uneasy. “i never knew you were in a relationship. i guess, we're not that close, but i thought i'd at least know abou—”

“what? no!” you replied, voice rising as you spoke. "god, i agreed to this date because i wanted to get over you!"

the words slipped out of your mouth, your eyes widening in surprise as you accidentally reveal the feelings you had kept hidden.

bucky blinked, silence hanging in the air. the confession felt heavy between you as you waited for his response.

“i didn't agree to going on a blind date because i have feelings you,” bucky finally spoke, taking a deep breath before continuing, “because i knew i wouldn't enjoy it knowing i'd be thinking of you anyway, because as convinced as i was that you had no interest in me, i'd rather keep my eyes on you than on anybody else.”

“wait, wait, what? you like me?” you repeated in a slightly disbelieving tone, searching his face for confirmation.

“why would i follow you all the way here if i didn't?”

“because you care? and it might be dangerous to go on a date with someone i've never met?” you guessed. “i mean, i think you'd also do it for everybody else, as grumpy as you look like on the outside, you can be a softie sometimes.”

“if i had no feelings for you, i wouldn't be here. you're an avenger for christ's sake. some random guy would be like a training dummy for you,” he answered. “and no, i wouldn't be doing this for anybody else. if the situation's that dangerous, maybe, but a date? you're all adults. you know what you're doing.”

you couldn't help but giggle at his answer, which earned you a glare from him. “what?”

“nothing.” you shook your head. “you sound like an old man lecturing the younger generation.”

“are we completely ignoring the fact that we like each other?”

“that's the only thing on my mind right now.” you admitted. “are you sure about what you just said? it could be the hunger talking.”

instead of answering, bucky took his phone out of his pocket, swiping and tapping on it a few times before taking your hand and placing it on your palm.

“what am i supposed to—”

“just read it.”

choosing not to argue with him, you grabbed the phone with a frown. his messages with natasha were on the screen, starting from their messages from nearly four months ago. you scrolled through their messages, and while they lasted for months, they were all short and straightforward.

three months ago

bucky:

did you arrive safely?

romanoff:

since when did you start asking?

bucky:

?

romanoff:

yes, we arrived safely.

bucky:

👍🏻

romanoff:

really???

two months ago

bucky:

is she okay?

romanoff:

ohhh, that's why you keep texting.

bucky:

answer

romanoff:

geez, barnes.

yeah, she's okay.

bucky:

ok

one month ago

bucky:

she's sick?

romanoff:

yeah, wanna visit her?

you're basically immune.

bucky:

i have a mission

romanoff:

oh yeah

oops

bucky:

are you busy?

romanoff:

nope

why?

bucky:

take my place

romanoff:

no thanks, barnes.

bucky:

i'll take your next task

and the next one as well

romanoff:

why can't you just take this one?

bucky:

nothing

romanoff:

a reason or i'm not doing it.

bucky:

she's sick

i want to stay

romanoff:

oh my god

you're such a sap

fine i'll talk to steve

bucky:

ty

romanoff:

you're using abbreviations now???

bucky:

👍🏻

one week ago

romanoff:

movie night later, don't ditch us again

bucky:

busy

romanoff:

she planned this one

she's worried you won't come

bucky:

i'll bring snacks

romanoff:

i love knowing your weakness

bring popcorn!

bucky:

she prefers pizza over popcorn

does she like popcorn?

romanoff:

nope, but some of us do.

bucky:

ok

romanoff:

so you're bringing popcorn?

bucky:

no

once you were done reading, you returned his phone back to his hand. “you do like me,” you said, the confession finally sinking in.

bucky nodded. “and you like me too.”

“where does that leave us?” you asked, hoping. “are we.. dating now?”

“no,” he answered quickly.

you felt that ache returning in your chest, but before you could say something, bucky already sensed your worries and he wasn't letting you slip away that easily.

“no because i want to do this right. i want to take you out on a date first, bring you flowers, play music and ask you for a dance, all that stuff that you deserve,” he explained, bringing his warm hand to your cheek. “but trust me that it won't take long before i call you mine. i don't think i have the patience for it at this point.”

“you promise?” you rose to your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around him. “i don't want to wait that long either.”

“you won't,” he replied, leaning into you, his lips brushing against your nose before pulling you in a kiss. “i promise.”

this was supposed to have a lil bonus when they got back to the tower, revealing the team's true involvement with the blind date, buttt i might just do it some other time as a snippet/part 2 instead. i still have a few to write anyway, woops.

if you have any requests for bucky, send them my way! 💌

[delugyu]

by a string

summary: Yeonjun’s got a lot on his plate. Not only does he have to worry about being a star student, but he also has to be the city’s web-slinging hero. And a lab intern. And a semi-decent roommate. And a little bit in love with you.

pairings: yeonjun x fem!reader

word count: 18.9k

tags: fluff, smut (mdni), some angst, spiderman!yeonjun, his webs shoot from his actual wrists like tobey maguire’s spiderman, college au, yeonjun is a cute awkward charming nerd, inaccurate science stuff sorry, blood, physical violence, lots of spidey shenanigans, campy weird action scene teehee, small arguments

smut tags: making out, heavy petting, webs as cuffs LOLLL, thigh riding, edging, fingering, praise, unprotected sex, cum eating, oral (f rec.), yeonjun is so playful and such a tease

notes: omg she’s finally here!!! i am so excited to get this out to u guys hehe<3 tysm for all the love on the teaser, i hope spideyjjun steals ur heart. enjoy the fic !!!

Saving the city can suck sometimes. Homework sucks significantly more. If Yeonjun had the option to zip through the city chasing some bad guys instead of sitting here trying to finish his calculus assignment, he’d be flying out his window in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, responsibility is a virtue, and Yeonjun cannot swing through the city for no good reason.

The one good thing about this tedious, awful calculus homework is that if it’s hard enough, he always gets a text from you. His body springs to life when he hears his phone buzz, rushing to pick it up and check the notification.

[you] have u done the calc homework

[you] how do you solve #4 :(

Do most of your conversations revolve around your shared class? Yes. Does Yeonjun ever get tired of teaching you the concepts? No, never. In fact, he stretches out his explanations as long as possible to keep you talking to him longer. Yeonjun never knew before that math talk could make his heart flutter.

“So, does that make sense?” he asks after a long-winded explanation. He’s almost out of breath after spewing out so much math jargon, but being on a call with you for ten minutes has similarly breathtaking effects.

“Yeah. Thanks, Yeonjun.” He bites back a giggle upon hearing your words. “You should seriously be teaching this class,” you say with a laugh.

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t—I mean, I’m—I’m more of a science guy,” he stammers out, lips tightening into a thin line at the embarrassment of stumbling over his own sentence. “Our professor’s pretty cool, too,” he adds as if that saves him at all.

“Is he? Maybe I should start going to his office hours,” you muse.

Oh. Well in that case, your professor sucks. Yeonjun can’t have you stop coming to him for math help; you’d never talk to him at all if it came to that!

“He’s not that cool,” Yeonjun says. You laugh, and he huffs out a short chuckle too.

“Noted. I’m gonna go now, but thanks for helping me. You’re the best.” Your praise goes straight to Yeonjun’s head, making him feel like the greatest man to ever live. He doesn’t even feel this accomplished after going out on his little spidey-missions.

He’s a beat too late to say goodbye or good night to you, the call already hanging up as he opens his mouth to speak. He melts into a puddle over his desk, sighing out as he plays back his conversation with you in his head. He thinks you have the prettiest voice he’s ever heard. You’re so smart, too. He never has to over exert himself to get you to understand, though he would happily do that for you.

He jolts up as his roommate walks into his dorm. Yeonjun glances at him quickly as he straightens out his posture, picking his pencil back up and returning to his homework.

“Hey,” his roommate, Soobin, greets quietly. Yeonjun didn’t know Soobin prior to this semester, but he’s been pretty nice. He’s very quiet, but very respectful of Yeonjun’s space. It’s much appreciated, considering Yeonjun’s hiding a few of his red and blue spandex suits in his closet.

“Hey. How was your day?” Yeonjun asks, only half-interested in the conversation.

He watches Soobin shrug from his peripheral as he slides off his shoes. “Normal,” he answers.

Yeonjun nods. “Cool.” The conversation kind of dies after that, which is fine. Soobin isn’t the most extroverted person, and Yeonjun doesn’t push him to talk more than he’s willing to. He sometimes forgets he even has a roommate with how quiet it gets in the room.

Yeonjun regains his focus a minute into the silence. His eyes widen when he realizes that there’s now a doodle of your face on his calculus homework—when did that get there..? His face heats up as he grabs an eraser from his desk’s drawer. Thank god he didn’t do this assignment in pen.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Yeonjun’s not really paying attention to the professor, finding more interest in taking quick glances at you. You’re wearing a different bracelet today. It’s really pretty—maybe he should compliment you on it. Is it weird to lean in and tell you that? Are you close enough where he can compliment you without looking weird and creepy?

He rests his head in his hand and starts doodling in his notebook, mindlessly scribbling on the page while he waits for the lecture to end. He thinks of quick conversational things to say, something to discuss in a few minutes when it’s time to pack your bags and leave. Interesting class, right? Who would’ve thought—Yeonjun looks up at the projector to see the professor’s notes—the shell method… would be so cool… Maybe he shouldn’t say that, actually.

He’s honestly better off not trying to strike up a conversation with you at all; the chances of it leading to total and utter embarrassment lean greatly towards one hundred percent. He just wishes he had a little more spine, or that he was naturally a little cooler. The only interesting thing about him is something he can’t even talk to you about, or with anyone at all.

Yeonjun barely registers it when the professor dismisses class. He steals one last glance toward you, lips parting like he finally built up the courage to speak, but the words build up in his throat and die on his tongue. He seals his lips and focuses his gaze back on his own things, closing his notebook and shoving it in his bag. It’s not worth it. He decides he’ll just keep his mouth shut.

“Hey Yeonjun?”

Yeonjun almost jumps out of his seat, and he has to fight away his nerves as he turns to you. You’re packing your things back into your bag, not even looking at him. A part of him thinks he might be hearing things until your eyes meet his, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah?” he responds, voice coming out strained. He clears his throat.

“We’re friends, right?” you ask. He blinks, feeling like this is some kind of trick. He analyzes your face, making sure there’s nothing snide or teasing hidden in your question. You look honest enough, which puts him at ease.

“Yeah, for sure.”

“I hope that’s not sarcasm,” you say, getting up from your seat and adjusting your bag over your shoulders.

“It’s not! Really, we’re friends,” he reassures. You walk past him and he follows, leaving the classroom and entering the busy hallway.

“Well, good. I wanted you to go with me somewhere.” Your statement is wildly cryptic, and it leaves Yeonjun’s mind whirling with the possibilities of what you might offer.

“Right now?” he asks. “I-I have class…” As much as he likes you, he really can’t risk dropping his grade due to missed attendance.

You laugh, “No, tonight. There’s this party, and I”—you keep talking, but Yeonjun barely registers it. He’s never partied in college before. What would he even do at a party? He can’t handle his drinks well, and he’s not sure how well he’d blend into that kind of environment. He’s scared he’d make a fool of himself.

As you leave the academic building, you turn to Yeonjun, raising a brow in question. You must have asked him for his confirmation. Yeonjun forces his brain to rack up a response.

“Could you text me the details..?” Yeonjun asks. You relax a little at his words, nodding happily. You pull out your phone, ready to text him now. Yeonjun feels his heart pounding. He catches sight of the time on your phone, noticing he’s only got five minutes until his next class. The hall he’s supposed to be in is at least a three minute walk from here.

“There,” you say, awarding Yeonjun with a grin so bright that being late to class might just be worth it. “I really hope to see you there.” You tilt your head a little, and Yeonjun feels starstruck.

“You will,” he promises mindlessly.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Yeonjun feared he might’ve been in trouble when his professor asked him to stay after class. Turns out, it’s something much worse.

“Yeonjun, do you think you could help in the lab later today?”

Yeonjun doesn’t think much before he nods. “Yeah, of course, how much later?”

“Around 6 this evening,” his professor answers. Yeonjun’s heart drops. That would be perfectly fine any other day, but he promised to go out with you today. Of course the party would start at the same time Yeonjun’s professor wants him to stop by the lab.

“I’m not sure I have the time,” Yeonjun says quickly, suddenly fidgety and feeling antsy to leave the room. “I’ve got this… thing to do.” His professor doesn’t look too convinced. Yeonjun wants to facepalm himself. Yeah, great excuse.

The professor sighs, but Yeonjun starts up again before his professor can say anything. “I can come in earlier! I’m free right now, so I could just go over after this.”

“The cells we’re working with need a full 24 hours in culture for the sake of our research. Are you sure you can’t push your plans forward? Or back?” he asks.

Yeonjun’s stomach twists with guilt. He knows he shouldn’t let his professor down. Yeonjun’s kind of counting on him to write his recommendation letter for a graduate program, too.

“I’ll push the plans back,” Yeonjun says, giving in. He hopes the dejection isn’t too evident in his voice. His professor smiles and pats Yeonjun’s shoulder in thanks. He half-listens as his professor gives him the usual rundown of what to do during and after the process, nodding along and holding back the frown that tries to tug at his lips.

When Yeonjun finally leaves the building, he lets out the heaviest sigh of his life. His shoulders sag, and he feels like he might be the unluckiest person in the world. You finally give him attention outside of just asking for homework help, and the universe just had to intervene. This is laughable. It’s also stupid. Annoying. Frustrating.

There’s a pout etched onto Yeonjun’s face as he walks back to his dorm. He’s got a couple hours until he needs to go to the lab, so maybe he can take a nap or tidy up his room a little. His head hangs low, gaze transfixed on the sidewalk, kicking along a small pebble that keeps him company on the way.

He only picks his head back up as he walks past a certain field of grass, one he often finds you sitting in. Sometimes you’re on your laptop, sometimes you’re taking notes in a textbook, but most of the time you’re just lounging and doing nothing. It’s almost inspiring. Yeonjun would probably benefit from relaxing and decompressing more.

You’re there, sitting cross-legged on the grass, peaceful and silent. You look up suddenly, making eye contact with Yeonjun. His face flushes, but before he can turn his head in embarrassment, you raise your hand and wave. Yeonjun almost stops in his tracks. You’re waving at him, acknowledging his existence yet again.

He smiles and waves back, failing to tame his heartbeat as he takes the sight of you in. He’s forced to look away when he nearly stumbles over the pebble he’s been kicking around—“Oh, shit!” he utters, quietly enough to not draw attention to himself.

He glances back at you casually, making sure you didn’t witness him tripping. Fortunately, you’re on your phone, no longer paying him any mind.

Back at his dorm, Yeonjun stands by his closet, contemplating what exactly to wear tonight. He also has to make sure his outfit is lab-friendly, so the loose sweater he’d been eyeing is a no-go. He sighs, looking at himself in the mirror. Maybe the t-shirt and jeans he’s wearing now will suffice.

Time passes slowly, slow enough for Yeonjun to clean his half of the room, make himself a small meal in the communal kitchen, and even read a chapter ahead in his calculus textbook. He almost feels relieved when his alarm sets off to go to the lab, eager to get his work over with.

He’s determined to get this done quickly enough to still see you tonight. The thought of letting you down the one time you ask him to hang out is almost painful. He imagines the frown you’d wear next time he sits next to you in class. He can’t let that happen; he has to make sure he gets to you.

He throws on his lab coat and adjusts the goggles to fit onto his face. He sighs as he grabs containers of various chemical compounds from the cabinet, leaving them on the counter as he fetches the other materials he needs. With everything set out in front of him, he grabs the petri dish of cells and glances at the procedural note his professor left.

Yeonjun’s done this enough times to get into the swing of things, so he’s not too concerned with double checking his every move. His bigger priority is getting this done as fast as possible so that he can get to you. Lab work is never particularly fun or interesting, so he passes the time thinking about you.

The smell of the chemicals burns Yeonjun’s nose a little, and he wonders for a second if he’d been zoning out too much. He picks up the procedural note and glances over the measurements again, making sure he’s been adding the right amounts of everything. If he does something wrong and messes with the cell culture, he risks not being allowed back in the lab. He should probably slow down a bit, even if it means making you wait longer.

He’s more careful throughout the rest of the process, pushing back the worries that he might’ve messed something up. He continues to reassure himself that everything’s okay as he finishes up his work, placing the lid back on the petri dish and storing it away. He writes the date and time on a piece of tape that he sticks onto the lid, then finally lets his body relax as he steps back.

He cracks his knuckles to alleviate the stiffness that had been building there and rolls his shoulders back, groaning at the soreness of his muscles. All the fine motor movements from working in a lab does a number on his arms and fingers.

He hears a rattle, and he turns quickly to make sure he didn’t knock anything over in his haste. His eyes scan the room, but nothing looks amiss. He shakes the feeling and sheds himself of his lab gear, eager to head to you at the party already.

It’s been over an hour, and the thought of you waiting so long for Yeonjun’s arrival strikes guilt inside his chest. He opens his phone to find the path he needs to walk to get to the house the party’s being held in, eyes bugging out when he sees that it’s a twenty minute walk from the lab. Shit, by then you’ll have been waiting an hour and a half for him to show up!

He groans, trying to think if there’s a better way to get to you. The buses around campus don’t stop at the street he needs to get to, and it’s not like he has one of those electric bicycles or scooters that everyone seems to love. He wonders now if it might be a worthy investment. He pouts and throws his head back, totally drained from everything happening today. His eyes land on the tops of the academic buildings and the tall trees overhead. Maybe there is another way to get there after all.

No, he shouldn’t. That would be way too reckless. He’s already gone through the whole power and responsibility spiel, and he’s not in the mood to get himself in trouble for acting rashly. But if no one sees…

He turns his head and scans for people in each direction. No one’s around. No one would know, and he really needs to get to the party before he makes himself look like an asshole. He checks for anyone one last time, then aims his wrist towards the sky.

“Yeonjun! What’s up!”

Yeonjun startles and brings his arm back to his side hastily. He whips around to see who’s talking to him and lets out a breath when he sees his friend who had just exited the lab building. “Taehyun, hey man,” he says, ignoring the anxious pounding of his heart. That was way too close. Lesson learned.

“Didn’t catch you at the physics meet last week. Everything alright?” Taehyun asks. Yeonjun really hopes this conversation doesn’t take too long. The last thing he needs is another ten minutes piled on top of how late he already is.

“I’m good, I was just”—controlling a fire set by some idiot arsonist, then trapping said arsonist with his webs until the cops arrived—“uh, kind of sick.”

Taehyun hums and nods. “Well, we missed you bro, hope you’re feeling better. I’ll see you around!” Yeonjun waves and returns the smile his friend gives him, then walks as fast as he can to the location you sent him. He manages to get there in fifteen minutes instead of twenty, only at the expense of heavy breathing like he just finished a marathon.

When he gets to the entrance, there’s two men Yeonjun has never seen in his life guarding the door. He almost scoffs. What is this, some kind of nightclub?

“You got the money?” one of the guys ask.

“What?” Yeonjun scrunches his brows and leans his head forward a little, thinking he might have misheard him.

“No money, no entrance,” the other man says.

“Dude, come on!” Yeonjun whines.

“House rules. Stop wasting our time and get out of line.”

“No, no, I’ll”—Yeonjun sighs, reaching into the back pocket of his pants to fetch out his wallet. “How much?” he asks. The men tell him, and he bites back the complaints that almost push past his lips. Yeonjun slaps the bills into the guy’s open palm. They finally open the door for him, and Yeonjun steps inside.

He’s taken aback by how many people are cramped into this place. The house is pretty big, but there’s at least a hundred people mingling around, which makes space tight. He squeezes past the crowd with muttered apologies, but no one seems to pay him any mind. He scans every room for you, but it’s a little hard to do it efficiently when there’s so many faces to check. A part of him fears you might’ve left already.

He pulls out his phone, ready to text you and ask, before he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns at the action and smiles when he’s met with your pretty face. “Hey, you!” you exclaim. “I thought you bailed on me.” There’s no real bite to your words, but it still makes Yeonjun frown.

“I’m sorry. I had to do this lab thing, and”—

“It’s alright, don’t explain. You’re here now!” you say. “Did you have anything to drink?”

Yeonjun shakes his head. “I don’t drink much.”

“Me either,” you say. You look out the window, then grab onto Yeonjun’s hand. His brain short-circuits, and he has to stop his eyes from going all dumb and wide. “It’s kinda stuffy in here. Let’s go outside.”

Yeonjun puts up no fight as you lead him out the back door, walking out into the yard. There’s almost as many people out here as there are inside, but the lack of walls means there’s more space to move. It’s much more breathable.

He takes quick glances at your face, trying to decipher what you’re staring so hard at. Your gaze is fixed on a small group of people just sitting and laughing. All the guys have girls in their laps, and a few girls stand around them, sipping their drinks. They all look happy. And drunk.

“Did you want to join them?” Yeonjun asks. He doesn’t know any of those people, but he’ll go if that’s what you’d like. It’s not like there’s much else to do when you’re not drinking or dancing.

The LED lights that line the house reflect in your eyes, making them dazzle extra bright. Your eyes dart to the group one last time before you shake your head. “Nah. Let’s just sit down and talk.” Yeonjun gladly obliges.

You find an empty spot to sit at, looking up at Yeonjun after you situate yourself. He laughs a little, “You really like sitting on the grass, huh?”

You smile at him and pat the ground next to you. “Don’t act like you’re too good to connect with nature.”

“It’s more about getting grass stains on my pants,” Yeonjun says, but sits beside you anyways.

You turn your head to him, and something about seeing your face this close makes it hard for him to keep eye contact. It’s quiet for a few seconds before you speak up, “So how come you said yes to the party?”

Something about your question strikes fear inside Yeonjun. Did you find him out? Do you know he likes you? Maybe this is some kind of humiliation ritual you’ve set him up for.

“Cause you asked,” he answers, voice a little meek as he fidgets with his hands in his lap.

“And if it was someone else who asked?”

Yeonjun thinks for a second, but he can’t come to an answer. “I don’t know. Like who?”

You hum and look into the crowd of people. Your head turns back to him after a couple seconds. “Like Yerim,” you say.

Yeonjun laughs as if the scenario is ridiculous, mostly because it is. Yerim would never even give him the time of day. She’s notorious for being cold to anyone who she isn’t interested in. Somehow, that seems to attract a bunch of guys to her. Not Yeonjun, though.

“No chance I’d go,” he says.

“So what makes me different?” you ask.

A lot of things. You’re nice, and you’re smart, and you’re down to earth, and you’re a beacon of warmth. Everything makes you different.

“Cause we’re friends,” he says instead. He wants to punch himself after the words leave him. This was his chance to flirt with you, yet he couldn’t even muster up the courage to give you a single compliment.

You nod. “I’m just asking cause… well, I guess I’m just surprised you agreed to come.” Your eyes meet his, warm and kind. “Thank you for that, by the way.”

Yeonjun’s stomach does flips when you look at him like that. “You’re welcome.” It goes quiet for a moment, so he continues, “I think this was worth handing over the last of my cash for.”

You burst out laughing. “They made you pay?! Why didn’t you just say you’re here with me?”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” he says. He bites his tongue after the words leave him. Who is he to assume there will be a next time? He hopes you don’t call him out on it.

“We should just go somewhere else next time. There’s a lot of places downtown that I want to visit,” you suggest, bumping his shoulder with yours. Yeonjun almost explodes.

“We should do that then,” he agrees. He’s not sure what suddenly drew you to him as more than some kind of tutor, but he thanks the universe for bestowing him with all this luck.

“There’s that bakery that opened a couple months ago,” you mention.

Yeonjun lights up. “Oh my god, I’ve been wanting to go there too!”

You squeal in excitement and clasp your hands together. “Let’s do that next. Tell me you’re free on Sunday,” you say.

“I don’t know, things come up last-minute sometimes. I’ll let you know.” It’s hard to make plans when he’s basically living a double life. Then again, he did agree to going out with you tonight on a whim. He’s not very consistent with his rules. He pushes the thought back.

Your eyes land back on the group of people hanging out and laughing. Yeonjun frowns, and he wonders if he’s not entertaining you enough. He doesn’t want to keep you from having fun.

“Why do you keep looking at them?” he asks, curious and soft. He hopes he’s not prying.

“They’re just some friends,” you answer.

“Oh. Why don’t we go say hi, then?” he offers.

You pull your lips into a tight line. “I’d rather not.”

“That’s alright,” Yeonjun says. You give a small smile in appreciation.

“What about you?” you ask. He tilts his head, not knowing what you mean. You continue, “Who’s in your friend group?”

Yeonjun laughs awkwardly and shrugs. “I mostly hang out with the physics honor society,” he admits.

“That’s cool. You must have a good bond.”

“We do,” he says. “How’d you meet your friends?”

You smile at him, and something in your face tells Yeonjun that it’s a complicated story. You sigh dramatically and lean back a little, “I met them at parties. Does that surprise you?”

Yeonjun’s not sure if that’s a rhetorical question. “No. You’re friendly. I can see why people come to you,” he answers.

“Thanks,” you say, voice a little quieter.

“Are you friends with your roommate?” he asks.

“I don’t have one. I live in a single dorm.”

Lucky. If Yeonjun had the extra money to spare, he’d be dorming alone too. It would definitely make heading out as Spider-man easier; he’d just be able to change in his room and jump out his window. Assuming no one is around to see, that is.

“That must be nice,” he says.

You shrug. “It’s alright. What about you? You got a roommate?”

“Yeah. We’re…” Yeonjun struggles to find a word to describe his relationship with Soobin. They’re not exactly friends, but they’re peaceful with each other.

You laugh and finish the sentence for him, “Roommates and nothing more.” There’s a lilt to your voice when you say that, and you wiggle your eyebrows like that’s supposed to suggest something.

“Ignoring your insinuations, yeah, pretty much.”

“I’m just kidding,” you say. He’ll let you make jokes at his expense all you want, it doesn’t bother him. Especially not when it means he gets to see you all giggly and happy. He thinks that you look the prettiest like this. Yeonjun would stare at you smiling up at him forever if he could.

The sound of a guy calling your name pulls Yeonjun from his stupor. He blinks at the man standing before the two of you, then looks at you with scrunched brows as if to ask who is that?

His unspoken question is answered the next second. “Hey, Kai,” you say. When Yeonjun gets a better look, he realizes that this is one of the dudes in the group you kept looking over at.

“Who’s this guy?” Kai asks, jutting his chin toward him.

“I’m Yeonjun.” He goes to hold out his hand for Kai to shake, but quickly puts it back down upon realizing that might be weird.

“Oh, Yeonjun from calculus. I know you,” he says.

“I didn’t know you’re in that class too,” Yeonjun muses.

Kai laughs, “I’m not. Y/n just talks about you.”

Yeonjun nearly melts. You talk about him. This is the best day of his life.

“Anyway,” Kai continues, looking at you again. “I need a couple more people on my beer pong team. You guys down?”

Yeonjun turns to you to gauge your reaction. He can’t really tell what you're feeling, not even when you face him as you contemplate your answer. Yeonjun shrugs, as if to tell you that he’s down for whatever you want to do.

“I think I’m good,” you say.

“Ah, alright, you bummer,” Kai jokes, stepping back and sending you a bright smile. “Continue your convo with the calc lord, I insist.” He’s gone after that, jogging off to the rest of his friends, setting up the game.

“Calc lord?” Yeonjun repeats, amused.

Your laugh is accompanied by a roll of your eyes. “He means it nicely, I swear.”

“Well, depending on how well he does in this game, I might start calling him beer pong lord,” Yeonjun says. You push at his shoulder as your laughter continues.

Yeonjun already knew he likes you a lot, but as the night goes on, he finds out that you’re even better than he thought. Conversation unfolds easily with you, even if Yeonjun’s answers are dorky and awkward at times. He feels exactly how he thinks you look when you sit in the grass alone: content and peaceful.

He’s not sure how many minutes or hours have passed when you ask him to walk you back to your dorm. All he knows is that tonight could have stretched into infinity, and that would’ve been fine. He follows you into the building, then into your room. He’s not sure why. It just feels right.

“Thanks for bringing me back,” you say. Yeonjun smiles and nods. He leans against the wall and stares out the window. You live on the top floor of your building, so the view’s pretty different from Yeonjun’s second story view. This would be a fun room to swing out of.

“Do you need anything else?” Yeonjun asks. A smile slowly takes over your face, and you cross the room to stand in front of him. You blink up at him, and something about it feels flirty. If he wasn’t biting his tongue so hard, his thoughts would have slipped right past his lips: you look cute.

You break the short moment of silence with a giggle. “Just for you to promise me we’ll hang out again,” you say, voice barely over a whisper.

Yeonjun has to remind himself to breathe and be normal. “I promise,” he says. He even holds out his pinky to seal the deal. You curl your pinky around his, accepting the playful gesture.

“Did you want to stay?” you ask. You look out the window, then back at him. “I’m okay with sharing my bed.”

That definitely flusters Yeonjun. “Oh, no, I’m—I was gonna just walk back to my dorm or something. Or take a bus. I don’t know. Thank you, though.”

You laugh. Hopefully not at his sputtering and rambling, but Yeonjun has a feeling that might be why. “Alright, then. Good night, Yeonjun.”

Your soft voice has Yeonjun wanting to backpedal and say he’ll stay the night, but he swallows down the words. He smiles at you as he backs away toward your door. “Good night,” he says, standing in your doorway.

“Yeonjun,” you call, stopping him before he could leave. He turns, waiting for your words. He’s surprised to see that you look a little shy. “I’m really happy I asked you to come with me. Tonight was fun.”

Butterflies erupt in Yeonjun’s stomach, and he feels like he could float from how giddy he is. “I’m happy too,” he says.

He steps out into the hall, thoughts lingering on how overwhelmingly good his time with you was. His mind is clouded with rosy memories of his night with you, and he finds himself repressing the urge to twirl around and jump for joy. He’ll probably be skipping all the way home, imagining all the possibilities of what could come next between you.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

It’s Sunday, and Yeonjun knows exactly why you’re calling. He stares at his phone, then back at the man in front of him tangled up in webs. Yeonjun shoots another web over the guy’s mouth.

“Sorry, gotta take this,” he says. “Stay right here.” He slings himself onto a branch of a tall tree nearby, just to make sure no one can listen in as he accepts your call.

“Hey Yeonjun!” Your voice is so cheerful that it makes Yeonjun giggle. He even swings his feet in the air as he sits on the branch.

“Hi Y/n,” he greets, hoping his voice isn’t too muffled through the mask of his suit.

“Did those last-minute plans end up showing, or are you down to try out that bakery?” you ask. Yeonjun frowns, hating to let you down when you sound so happy.

“I’m really busy today, I’m sorry,” he says, shoulders sagging from how awful he feels. He’s got a whole lab procedure to write once he’s done sorting out the crime scenes of today.

“No worries, maybe we can go after class sometime.”

He frowns. “I wish I could, but I got another class right after ours. Let me check my schedule, I might be able to”—

“Are those sirens?” you interrupt, and Yeonjun looks out to the street. He’s grown so accustomed to the sound of those things that it didn’t even register. “Where are you?” you ask.

“I’m… uh,” Yeonjun stammers, focusing on the cops getting out of the car and making their way towards the criminal.

He tunes into the cops’ conversation. “Looks like Spider-shit’s been here already,” one of them comments in a gruff voice.

The other cop huffs out a laugh. “He’s always meddling in with petty crimes. What do you think this guy did?”

“Jaywalking?” The cops chuckle.

“Not like he can explain with that over his mouth.” He points to the web Yeonjun placed on the man a minute ago.

Yeonjun scowls. He’s not sure why the cops hold so much scorn for him, but if they’d like to know, then the petty crime that Spider-shit helped stop was an armed robbery. If these guys were a little better at their jobs, he wouldn’t have to meddle in all the time.

“Hello?” you ask, and Yeonjun reels his attention back to his conversation with you.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m just coming back from the store. Crazy stuff going on today.”

“Oh. Well, stay safe,” you say.

“Thanks, I will.” He sees the cops looking around, probably trying to spot him, so he flattens his back against the tree and tries to talk a little quieter. “I’ll see you in class, I gotta go.”

“See you!”

Yeonjun sighs once the call ends. His suit doesn’t even have pockets, he just carried his phone with him today in case you contacted him. Stupid? Mildly. Inconvenient? Very. He had one less hand to work with when dealing with today’s crime culprits. To hear your voice, though? Worth it. He smiles like an idiot as he swings over to the next nearest building, making his way back to his dorm.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Yeonjun’s professor accompanies him to the lab today, overseeing the procedures for the day. The feeling of his professor watching over his shoulder is more nerve-wracking than any day spent fighting crime on the streets. He’s usually careful with his work in the lab, but he’s extra, extra careful on these days.

He pauses when he retrieves the petri dish of cells. He briefly considers the possibility that he’s crazy and just seeing things, but Yeonjun’s pretty sure that the clump of cells just moved. Like, uncanny movement. He holds his breath.

He stares at the clump, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. It doesn’t jerk around anymore, so maybe it was just his imagination. Fear still creeps up his neck at the idea of the research going wrong. He remembers feeling like he messed up at some point last time he was here, and the realization is making his skin grow clammy.

“What is it?” his professor asks, taking a step closer to Yeonjun.

“Nothing, I was just thinking,” he quickly responds, keeping his voice calm and steady. He brings the petri dish to the table and does his best to forget what he saw earlier. Yeonjun fears how his professor would react if he told him something unprecedented might be occurring. It happened so quickly that he can’t even tell if his mind was just playing tricks on him. Maybe he’s just extra nervous today.

He wipes the sweat off his palms onto his lab coat, bringing the necessary materials to the table to continue the research. His professor reads off the instructions slowly, and Yeonjun pretends he doesn’t feel his stomach twisting as he works with the cells.

He tries to calm down as he walks back to his dorm, but there’s a permanent chill shooting down his spine. There’s no way the clump should have moved like that—it shouldn’t show any observable motion at all, not without some kind of electrical stimulation.

Maybe he just jerked the dish too harshly. He was pretty nervous, so it would make sense. He must have been shaking and just didn’t realize. That would explain it. That would put Yeonjun at ease.

He can try to convince himself that everything’s fine, but he can’t stop the anxious thrum of his heart. Apparently the fear reads on his face, too, because Soobin’s quick to notice it when Yeonjun enters the dorm.

“Are you okay?” Soobin asks. Yeonjun’s not sure what must have given himself away. He pays more attention to breathing slowly and talking casually.

“I’m good,” he answers. He doesn’t expect Soobin to push the subject considering how quiet he always is, but Soobin’s gaze isn’t leaving Yeonjun. He must be really concerned.

“Did something happen?” Soobin asks. Yeonjun sinks into his desk chair, covering his face with his hands as he groans. “Sorry,” his roommate apologizes, turning away from Yeonjun to look at his laptop instead.

“No, you’re good, it’s just…” Yeonjun sighs. He might as well get this off his chest. “Some lab thing.”

Soobin nods, not asking any further. Now that Yeonjun’s started though, he doesn’t feel like stopping.

“I think I might’ve fucked up,” Yeonjun admits.

“How?” Soobin’s playing some video game on his laptop as he talks, which actually puts Yeonjun at ease. It feels less pressing, less like an interrogation or a confession and more like a normal conversation.

“The cells I’m working with are being weird. I don’t know. I don’t even know if I saw it right. I just feel crazy now.” Yeonjun rubs his palms against his eyes in frustration and exhaustion, soothing the headache he’s got building up.

Soobin hums. The little shooting sounds and animated voices coming from Soobin’s game fill the room until Soobin speaks again, “Did anyone else see?”

“No. My professor was there, but he didn’t notice.”

Soobin shrugs. “You’re probably fine then.”

Honestly, Soobin’s nonchalance to the situation eases Yeonjun’s worries a lot. He knows he can get in his head sometimes, especially when it comes to doing everything right, so to hear he’ll be fine lifts a weight from his shoulders.

“Yeah, probably,” he agrees. He basks in comfortable silence for a minute now that his heart isn’t beating so hard.

“By the way, have you bought more laundry detergent yet?” Soobin asks.

Ah, shit. “Tomorrow, I promise.”

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Being Spider-man is tasking, but it’s usually pretty cool. Not everyone gets to zip around the city and restore peace in people’s neighborhoods. Not everyone, however, has to worry about getting stabbed by a criminal in the middle of the night.

Yeonjun always stays until the cops arrive. It almost feels essential, just to make sure justice gets served. This time, he can’t.

He has to stop himself from groaning too loud when he feels the knife pull out from his side. The man in front of Yeonjun is already stuck to the side of a building, held there with a thick layer of web, so there has to be someone else. He turns around to look at the perpetrator, but the world moves a lot slower than normal.

Yeonjun blinks hard, focusing on breathing and staying conscious. The coward who stabbed him is wearing a ski mask, and he’s running away quickly. Yeonjun can’t let him leave. He moves forward and ignores the searing pain that sets his body alight. He straightens out his shaky arm and aims his wrist at the man, but the web that shoots out is just as weak as Yeonjun is.

Frustrated, Yeonjun growls and forces himself to move faster. It burns, he’s never felt any kind of pain like this, but he can’t let this man walk free. He can’t let this man stab another innocent person. Even with his staggered pace, limping as he tries his best to catch up to the man, he advances quickly.

He breathes hard and holds the air in his lungs as he aims again at the man, brows furrowed with angry determination beneath his mask. He lets out a loud grunt as he shoots his web out, and finally, it lands. The criminal falls as the web captures his ankle, keeping his leg stuck to the ground.

Yeonjun huffs as he traverses the rest of the way toward the man, nothing but fury in his veins as he shoots another web out. This one’s bigger, covering the man’s back and securing him to the pavement. He picks up his head and looks at Yeonjun with fear in his eyes, but he doesn’t care. He can’t. All he feels is pain and anger and pain and pain and so much fucking pain.

Yeonjun’s not the vengeful type, but getting stabbed really tests a person’s limits. He shoots more webs over the guy, making sure he won’t be able to move a muscle until the cops arrive.

Yeonjun doesn’t waste his breath making snide comments, though he does have a few choice words for him. He takes off the man’s ski mask and resists the urge to deck his face. He’s got fear etched into his expression, but Yeonjun finds it hard to feel sorry for him. The man starts begging for his life, and Yeonjun scoffs. Of course he’s not going to kill this man—no matter what, he doesn’t end people’s lives. A city’s hero shouldn’t get to decide who lives and dies.

Yeonjun stumbles away after finding a passerby to call the police. Now that the adrenaline’s gone, Yeonjun feels less mad and more scared. He’s really bleeding now; his hand comes up soaked when it presses against the wound. What the hell does he do? He can’t die like this.

He can’t go to the hospital with a stab wound. There’s no way for him to make up some alibi that wouldn’t just trace Spider-man’s identity back to him. He hisses through gritted teeth as he frantically scans his surroundings, looking for somewhere to go. The only thing that’s coming to mind is you, and it’s aggravating. He could be dying right now, and all his useless mind can do is think of you. Maybe it’s all the blood loss, and he’s just getting delirious, or maybe it’s a sign. It’s not like he has many good options right now.

There’s not enough time to think about it. He zips through the city and back onto campus as fast as he can, ignoring the splitting pain in his side that shoots up his body every time he moves. It’s getting harder to breathe, suddenly feeling suffocated by his mask, but he has to hold on. He’s not far away now.

He remembers the view from your window. He remembers exactly which room to shoot himself up to. He adheres himself to the wall outside your room and pulls his mask off, leaning his forehead onto the cold glass of your window with a sigh of relief. He catches his breath and knocks with a shaky fist. He’s really sorry for having to wake you up at this hour, but he has a feeling you’ll understand.

He doesn’t wait long. You're trudging out of bed and making your way toward the window, tired eyes blinking slowly. You look really cute. Everything is spinning around him, but he focuses on you. You’re still groggy and out of it until you meet Yeonjun’s eyes through the glass. As soon as you see him, it’s like you wake up immediately.

He watches your jaw drop, your frantic hands racing to open your window. His vision is nearly blacking out, and he tries to blink away the dizzy feeling in his head the best he can.

“Yeonjun?!” you squeak as he drags himself through your window and into your room. He can’t even hold himself up anymore, weak body collapsing to the floor. He groans and leans against the wall, clutching his side. He ignores the sickening feeling of blood dampening his hand, sticky and warm against his palm and between his digits.

You pick him up by the underarms, grunting as you heave him toward your bed. He notices how shaky your arms are, and he tries his best to pick up his own weight, even if it hurts like hell. He’s burdening you enough as is coming here so late.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know who else to go to,” he says, catching his breath as you guide him to lay on your bed. He’s half-aware of how bloody and dirty he is, but you seem fully ready to let him stain your sheets. Concern and confusion fill your wide eyes, and Yeonjun can hear every word that you don’t say.

Luckily, you save the unnecessary questions for later. “What do I do?” you ask. Your hands tremble as they peel the shirt of his suit up, just enough to expose his midriff and the nasty damage to his side. You gasp upon seeing how bad it is, hardly able to stomach it, opting to look into his eyes instead.

He wants to respond to you, if not to answer your question then just to comfort you, but breathing is enough of a chore on its own right now; talking seems almost impossible. Watching you panic about this is shattering him. He makes an effort to move his arm out toward you, just to hold your hand and reassure you, but he doesn’t have enough strength.

You lift from the bed and open up a bottle of water, pouring some of the cool liquid over his head. It’s relieving against his burning skin and keeps him from losing consciousness. It also makes him realize how dehydrated he is.

“Please sit up,” you beg, placing a hand underneath his head to lift it a bit. He comes up just enough to drink some of the water you feed to him, swallowing down the rest of the bottle. He collapses back against your pillow once he’s finished, feeling much better just from that.

You come back with another bottle of water and pour small bits at a time over the gash in his side. He hisses and tenses up each time it hits his skin, but he knows you have to do this. He doesn’t want to make it harder by thrashing around and complaining, so he bites his tongue and keeps his body stiff.

The sheets soak beneath him as you continue emptying the water bottle over the wound. He should help you clean up after this; he doesn’t want you dealing with his mess all alone. A few minutes pass before you discard the plastic bottle and grab a t-shirt from your dresser.

You press the bunched up cloth against his injured skin gently, and he holds back any grunts that threaten to slip out. It’s like you can sense his pain despite his efforts to hide it, because you keep murmuring apologies to him.

“I’m okay, don’t be sorry,” he reassures. He doesn’t think you believe him, judging by the way lips stay tugged into a frown.

A quietness falls over the room. You pull your t-shirt away from his body and observe the wound, and your fingertips on his torso send electricity throughout his body. It doesn’t hurt so much now.

“You’re not bleeding anymore,” you point out.

He hums. “That’s good.” Your hand grazes the skin just outside the gash. There’s a soothing effect in the way your fingers glide against him, pressure so light that it’s barely there.

“You need stitches,” you say quietly, like you hate to break the news to him.

Yeonjun doesn’t mind. “You got a needle?” he asks. You fidget with the fabric of Yeonjun’s suit as you sigh and look away.

“I do,” you say. You don’t sound too confident, though. He doesn’t know what to do to make you feel better.

You grab his hand like it’s second nature to do so, and the action would be romantic if only you didn’t have that nervous look on your face. He can practically feel your heart pounding, and he’s dying to let you know that everything’s okay.

“I trust you,” he breathes out. He makes sure he’s looking you in the eye so you can see how much he means it. He’s risking everything by trusting you, but he’s not scared. He feels safe even with his life in your hands, his secret identity in your knowledge. If there was something more sacred and dangerous to give up than that, he’s sure he’d be okay lending that to you too.

It feels much more real when you have your needle and thread in hand. Yeonjun can’t contain his noises anymore, whimpering in pain when he feels the sharp tip pierce his skin.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you say quickly and desperately. “I’ll do it fast.”

He hisses as he feels the thread start to tug his wound shut. He throws an arm over his eyes, as if not watching you treat him will stop the piercing feeling. All his muscles are tensed up no matter how much he tries to relax, but he keeps his breathing steady and lets you do your work.

It’s not too long before you’re tying off the final knot and discarding your needle onto your nightstand. You run your thumb over the stitch, gentle and slow. Yeonjun takes his arm off his face and fixes his gaze on you, watching you scrutinize your work with scrunched brows.

“It feels fine. You did perfect,” he says, wanting to keep you from judging yourself too harshly. He wants to thank you, but the words feel so awkward building up in his throat.

“I don’t have a big enough bandage to put over this,” you say, still fixated on his injury. Yeonjun tries to sit up, but your hand on his shoulder eases him back down. “Don’t move too much.”

“Y/n…” he starts, but you give him a pointed look, and he decides to shut up and listen. He relaxes against your mattress.

“I wish I had some clothes to change you into,” you mutter after he pulls the shirt of his suit back down. The spandex isn’t super comfortable against his fresh stitches, but it’s easy to ignore in comparison to the searing pain of the open wound. He’ll have to throw out this suit; it’s bloodied beyond repair, and he has plenty of back-ups anyway.

“It’s alright,” Yeonjun says. You shuffle on the mattress until you’re laying down beside him. “Aren’t the sheets wet?” he asks, surprised at how unfazed you seem.

You let out a small laugh, and that frown finally leaves your face. “I don’t mind. I wanted to lay down.”

“I’ll buy you new sheets,” Yeonjun promises. “And a new needle. And I’ll explain everything to you, I swear. Please don’t”—

“Yeonjun,” you cut off. He shuts his mouth. “That stuff doesn’t matter. Are you okay now?”

He nods. “I’m okay.”

“That’s all I care about.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence. Yeonjun stares at the ceiling and wonders how much this is going to change things between you. He has some hope that this will make you two even closer, but a small part of him fears that you won’t want to associate with him anymore. He wouldn’t blame you; it’s not like being close to Spider-man isn’t a riskless situation. He doesn’t regret coming to you tonight, though.

He feels your eyes on him a moment later, and he can only bring himself to look at you for a second before returning his gaze to your ceiling. You must find that funny, because he hears you chuckling beside him.

“You know, I wasn’t expecting this when you said you’d hang out with me again.” There’s a softness in your voice that makes Yeonjun feel lightheaded. Not the losing-too-much-blood kind of lightheaded, but the oh-god-I-really-like-her kind—this one’s much more preferable and much more welcome than the former.

“I’ll have to make it up to you,” he says.

“How do you plan on doing that?”

He turns his head to face you, and something feels awfully domestic about getting to lay this close to you in your bed. It’s hard to breathe when you’re smiling at him so eagerly, when there’s a glint in your eyes that tells Yeonjun you’re having fun. There’s an itch all the way down to his bones that begs him to push forward and kiss you already, but he resists.

“I’ll find a way,” he whispers.

The room gets quiet again, and Yeonjun supposes he should leave. It’s not like he can wait for the sun to rise and walk out of your room in his bloodied Spidey-suit glory. He’s not sure what time it is right now, but he knows that if he doesn’t leave soon and get some sleep, he’ll be passing out in his classes.

“Thanks for fixing me up,” he says, pushing himself off your bed and stretching his limbs. He feels beyond sore, wincing at the pain that shoots through his body. You sit up immediately, scrambling to stop him.

“You’re leaving? Are you crazy? Stay here!” you insist, trying to drag him back to the bed. He turns his head to you and smiles, and something about the silent plea in your eyes lights up his heart. He keeps his feet on the ground and resists your efforts, even though he wants nothing more than to spend the night with you. It’s just not smart and not worth the risk.

“I can’t,” he says. You pout and stand before him, blinking up at him so prettily that he almost changes his mind. “It’s dangerous.”

“I know. I just wanted to keep you.” That makes Yeonjun giggle.

“Sorry. Maybe next time.”

You swat his chest. “Don’t let there be a next time. You almost scared me to death.”

“I’ll make sure to tell the next knife-bearer you said that,” Yeonjun jokes. It gets the laugh that he was hoping for out of you.

“Well…” you start, eyes darting between his own. He barely has time to register it when you press a kiss against his lips, your movement so hesitant and shy. It’s soft. It’s sweet. It’s over before he knows it. He blinks at you dumbly—it’s all he can do to not pass out like a dork in front of you. Your smile is just as soft and sweet as your kiss was. “Just stay out of trouble,” you finish, patting his chest gently.

“I’ll try.”

“I guess I’ll see you in class, then,” you say.

“Yeah,” he agrees. He should go now. He should make use of his feet and back away, but he stays planted in his spot. You sway girlishly in front of him, hands clasped behind your back.

“Good night,” you whisper. Yeonjun can’t help it—he pulls your face in so he can feel your lips on his again, more properly this time. They’re pillowy and dreamy, and Yeonjun could just melt into you. He doesn’t linger longer than he has to, backing up just enough to see your face. You mirror the glee that he feels in his own expression.

“Good night,” he echoes. He backs away and grabs his mask, slipping it back on. He opens your window back up and slings himself to the nearest tree. Each time Yeonjun looks over his shoulder, he sees you leaning at your window smiling right back at him. His heart does a little flip. On second thought, maybe getting stabbed is kind of cool.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Despite how well last night went, Yeonjun wakes up with a heavy weight on his shoulders. Every ounce of confidence that his interaction with you last night might have given him is completely gone the moment he remembers it, and sheds away at itself further when he notices you skipped class. A dreadful thought creeps up his spine: are you avoiding him?

Maybe you woke up regretting it all. Maybe you realized how ridiculous and stupid getting involved with Spider-man is, and you’re just protecting yourself before you can be burdened further. The classroom feels hot and suffocating, and fresh air sounds really nice right now, but Yeonjun stays put in his seat. He doesn’t want to make a scene and start freaking everyone out. To the best of his ability, he pushes his fears down and saves his panic for later—preferably for after he talks to you and gets some answers.

He doesn’t even open his notebook in his last class of the day. He shows up just for attendance purposes, then zones out staring at his desk for the rest of the hour. Time passes far too slowly; Yeonjun’s itching for the lecture to end so he can talk to you already. He’s practically running out of class as soon as it’s dismissed, but finds himself slowing down the moment he’s outside the building.

He’s pretty sure he knows where to find you. The bigger issue is figuring out what the hell he’s going to say. Is there any way to start this conversation without being awkward? Hey, thanks for saving my life last night. Also I am indeed that hero or whatever taking care of criminals in the city, hope you don’t mind! He feels so lame.

It’s wishful thinking to hope that you won’t care about what happened last night—well, except for the kissing part, but that’s probably not as important right now. He’ll push aside that conversation until the more important one happens.

He wants to run away the moment he sees your figure in the distance, sitting exactly where he thought you’d be. His tongue suddenly feels like lead, too heavy and useless to try talking to you. He gathers his breath and walks across the field, not letting himself back out now. You deserve to be given a little peace of mind. He’s sure today must have been confusing for you, that clarity hit you like a train this morning the same way it did to him.

You look over your shoulder when he reaches you, staring up at him and squinting your eyes from the sun. “How’d I know you’d come find me?” you ask, half-amused.

Yeonjun gives you a short laugh, unsure of himself as he sits on the grass beside you. It feels a little like he’s invading your space. He’s seen you sitting alone on this field as if it was all yours so many times.

“I thought I should thank you again,” he says, a little shy. He feels like he owes you a lot for last night. The whole city probably owes you a lot for saving him, honestly.

You look at him with a small smile, leaning your head on your bent knees. “Mhm. Shouldn’t I be thanking you, Spider-man?” There’s a teasing quality to your voice, and it makes Yeonjun laugh nervously. He should probably address that.

“I really hope you won’t tell anybody.”

“I won’t. I’m still finding it hard to believe anyway,” you say. Your sentences are all laced with a tiredness and exhaustion that Yeonjun can’t help but to feel at fault for. “It’s just weird to know it now.”

Yeonjun hums. He can sympathize with you on that—it must be really bewildering to know your classmate is the one swinging around town shooting webs at criminals. He just hopes you can forgive him for dragging you into this.

“Spider-man’s a little less cool now, huh?” he jokes, keeping his voice quiet even though no one’s around.

Your smile is full and genuine, and Yeonjun’s heart skips a beat. “I always thought he was a little lame,” you answer. Yeonjun’s ego bruises at that. You continue, “But I think he’s kind of interesting now.”

He can only hope that you don’t see the blush that takes over his face. He looks away to hide it, but he feels your gaze on him. “I don’t know if I’m that interesting,” he says, acting all humble. It’s clearly bait, and he hopes you’ll catch it.

“I can be the judge of that. Let me get to know you more,” you offer. Yeonjun bites his cheek to stop himself from grinning at this massive win.

“Well, we still have that bakery to go to,” Yeonjun mentions, and judging by the way your eyes gain a new sparkle, you seem to like the idea.

“You don’t have any more classes today, do you?” You already look ready to go.

Yeonjun doesn’t bother hiding his excitement anymore, letting his smile take over his face. “I don’t.” You’re standing up the next second, and Yeonjun’s quick to follow.

The bakery is a cute, cozy little place near some other restaurants downtown. There’s no seating inside due to the lack of space, but that’s made up for by the giant row of sweet selections to choose from. Yeonjun’s stomach rumbles in anticipation as his eyes jump around to look at each confection.

After buying your treats, you lead Yeonjun to a nearby bench. You both open your pastry boxes and bite down on the baked goods eagerly. You hum in satisfaction, nodding at the taste. “Wow, we should go here again,” you say, going in for another bite.

Yeonjun chose a sweet cheese bread, which he completely devours within a couple minutes. You don’t eat as fast as him, but he doesn’t mind waiting for you. He makes conversation in the meantime: “How come you skipped class today?”

You laugh a little around your mouthful of food, swallowing before you answer, “I barely slept. There was no way I could’ve focused if I went.”

Yeonjun hums in understanding. “I barely slept too,” he says.

“But you still went,” you add. “I guess you’re better than me.”

Oh god, he hopes you didn’t take it that way. “Not at all!” he rushes to say.

You smile and pat his shoulder. “I know. You’re just a star student, that’s all.”

Is that a compliment? Yeonjun blushes anyway. “I like to do well,” he says.

“I mean, considering everything you’re balancing, yeah, you are doing pretty well.”

Yeonjun laughs awkwardly in response, barely able to take your praise. He’s pretty sure you’re alluding to what you found out about him yesterday. “Thanks,” he mutters, all humble.

“Do you wanna talk about last night?” you ask, finishing your last bite.

“Sure,” Yeonjun answers, feeling a smidge of nervousness returning to him. It’s quiet for a few seconds. “Did you have any questions?” he asks. He feels more bashful than anything else, but it’s better than coming off as braggadocious.

You hum in thought, pouting your lips while you conjure up some ideas. “Was that your first kiss?”

He’s completely taken aback by your question—and a little embarrassed, quite frankly—and he scrambles to spit out a response. You’re stifling your laughter before he can even get his defense out. “No! I had my first kiss in, like, high school!”

“I’m just teasing,” you admit. “You’re a good kisser.” The compliment goes to Yeonjun’s head, playing in a loop while he floats on cloud nine. You liked kissing him. He should do it again and again, just to keep you happy. And for more selfish reasons, too.

Your voice breaks through his thoughts when you speak again, “Do you feel better today? Are you healing alright?” The joking tone leaves your voice, replaced with genuinity and care.

“I feel fine,” he answers. He pulls up his shirt to show you the wound, all stitched up and starting to heal over.

You wince. “Good thing I finished my food already. That killed my appetite.” Yeonjun laughs at your grimace and releases his shirt, falling back into place. “You should really put a bandage over that,” you suggest.

“I don’t have any.”

You shake your head in disbelief, though your amusement reads on your face. “You should be more prepared.”

Your concern is cute to Yeonjun. “I know,” he says.

“So who stabbed you?” you ask.

He shrugs. “No clue. He’s probably in a cell now.”

“Did it hurt?” you ask, though the answer is obvious.

“Like hell,” he says.

“How’d it even happen?” Honestly, Yeonjun’s not too sure about that either. He can usually sense imminent danger before it comes, but maybe he was too focused on the crimes he’d already been dealing with.

“He came up behind me while I was handling another criminal,” he answers.

You hum, getting off the bench and tossing your trash in a bin nearby. You start walking off then, and Yeonjun follows mindlessly. “Must be tough being Spider-man,” you say.

“Careful how loud you say that.” Yeonjun tenses as someone walks past the two of you, praying they were out of earshot when you said that. He sighs in relief when he sees the person had headphones in.

“Right, sorry. There’s just so much I wanna know now.” You turn a corner, taking a path leading back to campus.

Your curiosity excites Yeonjun, and he’s ready to answer whatever question you come up with. Some of his stories have serious entertainment value to them.

“Ask me, then,” he invites. You twist your head to smile up at him for a second.

“How’d you get like this? Were you just born this way?”

Yeonjun laughs at the idea. He swings his head around to make sure no one’s around when he answers, “No, a radioactive spider bit me.”

“When did that happen?” you ask. Yeonjun reminisces the first few weeks after the bite, thinking back to those initial feelings of fear and dread when he realized something had happened to him.

“In high school,” he says. It was super bewildering back then to change so drastically, yet be forced to act so normal. It’s much easier now—he’s had years to adjust—but he was a teenager when it first happened. That’s a lot for a kid to take on. He had to act like he was the same Choi Yeonjun his classmates had grown up with, and not some mutated superhuman dealing with the stresses of his new identity. Of course, he did that whole Spider-man thing to himself, but it was the right thing to do. He doesn’t regret it.

“Does anyone else know?”

“My uncle did, but he’s gone, so now it’s just you.” He looks at you, lips twitching upward.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you apologize, voice growing soft. He realizes that you’re in front of your dorm building now, and he supposes this is where he should leave. His eyes dart between yours, like he’s waiting for you to tell him to go. To ask him to stay.

“Are you doing anything today?” he asks. Maybe he sounds desperate. He doesn’t really care.

“Catching up on some work,” you say.

“I’ll give you my calculus notes.”

You smile. “That would be nice.”

Yeonjun didn’t even take notes in calculus today. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

“Can I stay?” He’s teeming with hope and bravery today. You open the door to your building and signal him inside, and he has to hold back the victorious giggle that almost escapes him as he trails behind you.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of questions and answers. Yeonjun’s never talked so openly about being Spider-man before, and a part of it feels healing. You study hard while he rambles about stories of the little things he’s done throughout the years. Some are funny and make you cackle, and some draw your attention away from your textbook so you can look at him in shock. It’s impossible for Yeonjun to wipe the grin off his face—not when he bids you good night, not when he walks back to his dorm, not even when lays in bed to sleep. His heart never lets up on that jittery rush it has for you.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

A quintessential part of the college experience, Yeonjun’s come to find out, is trying out all the different ramen brands to see which one is the best. He’s a fan of whichever one he’s chowing down on right now, and a 5-pack of this barely puts a dent in his bank account. Seems like a winner.

He glances over at his dorm’s door when it opens, curious to see that Soobin brought someone over. Yeonjun isn’t bothered by that, though; if this guy is anything like Soobin, he’s not worried about getting annoyed.

“You can remember to buy ramen but not detergent?” Soobin asks, chuckling. Yeonjun chooses to read that as a joke instead of a passive aggressive comment.

“Ugh, dude, I keep forgetting, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. Yeonjun points at Soobin’s friend and continues, “This your friend?”

“Yeah, I’m Beomgyu,” the friend introduces. Something about him looks a little familiar.

“Nice to meet you,” Yeonjun greets with a nod.

Soobin grabs some clothes from his closet then turns to the door. “I’m gonna go change and then we can head out,” he says to Beomgyu, then heads off to the bathroom.

When the door shuts, Yeonjun returns his attention to his ramen and ignores Beomgyu’s presence as best as he can. That doesn’t last too long, though, cause soon enough, Beomgyu’s breaking the silence: “Are you still hanging out with Y/n?”

Yeonjun turns in his seat to face Beomgyu. He’s not sure how Beomgyu would know that, but Yeonjun entertains the question nevertheless. “Yeah. You know her?” he asks.

“She’s my friend,” he says. “Kind of.”

Yeonjun already feels something weird in the air. He’s waiting for the turn that this conversation is bound to take. He finally pieces together why this guy looks so familiar; he’s one of the boys at the party in the group that you kept looking over at. Now Yeonjun’s really curious.

“Why do you ask?” The question comes out a little hesitantly.

“I’m telling you this man-to-man, I think you might be getting played,” Beomgyu says.

Yeonjun’s immediate reaction is only confusion. How would you be playing him? You’ve been nothing but sincere with your feelings—or, that’s what it seemed like, at least. Now Yeonjun’s doubting himself. A part of him doesn’t believe it and doesn’t want to indulge in this conversation any further, but he’d start spiraling whether or not Beomgyu explains himself now. Worry swirls in Yeonjun’s stomach.

“Why?” he asks despite himself.

“This is just what I’ve heard, but apparently she had a thing with Kai, and he started talking to another girl, so she wanted to get back at him. I don’t know, though.”

Kai. That boy who came up to you at the party. Yeonjun remembers him.

He doesn’t want to show how much those words affect him, but shit. Hearing that hurts. His body feels weightless, like he’d be falling over if he wasn’t sitting at his desk. He nods as he exhales slowly, keeping his heart from going haywire.

“Huh,” is all he says. Soobin comes back the next second, and Beomgyu heads out with him after that, and the world keeps spinning on, but Yeonjun feels trapped in that moment. He waits to wake up in a sweat, hoping this is all some nightmare that’s going to end, but the wake never comes. He’s forced to deal with his whirling thoughts instead.

None of this can be true. It wouldn’t make sense. You kissed Yeonjun. You said you were interested in him. If this was all a lie, how will Yeonjun ever trust anyone again? When he came to you bleeding out, you saved his life. When you found out his secret identity, you kept it safe. Yeonjun miscalculated something that night—there is something more sacred and dangerous to trust you with than those things: his heart.

He doesn’t even want to finish his ramen anymore. His fingers brush against the wound that’s healing pretty well thanks to you, and a thought crosses his mind. The night that you kissed him was the night you found out he was Spider-man. An especially sickening question starts to haunt him. Did you only start liking him because of that?

Yeonjun feels played. He’s always known that he was a fool, so he doesn’t know why he’s so surprised, but really? Beer pong lord?

Five minutes is hardly enough to process the information Beomgyu dumped onto Yeonjun, but that’s all he gets, because now his alarm is going off and telling him to go over to the lab. He drops his head to his desk with a groan. It’s like an anchor’s been tied to his heart, sinking further and further until it makes him his stomach churn.

The fresh air feels good in Yeonjun’s lungs as he walks over to the lab. A permanent pout is etched onto his lips, unable to stop thinking about you. Good things. Bad things. Everything. Each memory hurts now.

He probably looks like some depressed college kid, walking around with his hood up and head down. He should be less pathetic, pick himself up and get himself together. It’s not like you two were really anything anyway. A kiss doesn't always mean something to everyone. Maybe it’s his fault for assuming that for you, it did.

It’s not just that, though. Yeah, kissing you made Yeonjun feel alive in a way that only swinging through the city could compare to, but there’s so much more to you than that. It’s the way you talked to him, the way you cared for him, the way you looked at him. How the hell do you fake that kind of connection? Hurt splits him at the seams like he’s being torn in two, but he keeps walking like nothing’s wrong.

“Yeonjun!” He recognizes that voice immediately. He pulls his eyes off the sidewalk and catches sight of you walking up to him. He almost forgot that he walks past your little field on the way to his lab.

It feels like he’s the one keeping a secret, palms clamming up as you stand in front of him. He stops in his tracks to allow you the conversation. “Hey,” he says.

“What are you up to?” you ask. He fidgets with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Should he just act normal? Should he let you get away with using him? When he thinks about it like that, it puts a sour taste in his mouth.

“I’m headed to the lab. Got some stuff to do, and it’s time sensitive, so…” he trails off awkwardly, looking off into the distance instead of at you.

“Oh, okay,” you say, sounding a little dejected. Yeonjun shouldn’t be feeling bad for you right now, but he can’t help it. It makes his chest clench to hear the joy leave your voice. “Maybe we can hang out after? Just to study or something,” you offer.

Yeonjun sighs, “Maybe.”

You’re quiet for a second as you assess him. “Are you okay?” Concern fills your voice, and when he brings his vision back to you, he can see it in your eyes too.

“I’ll talk to you about it later,” he says.

You frown, taking in his flat expression. You must gain some insight from that, because then you’re asking, “Did I do something?”

He wants to hold his head, feeling defeated and frustrated and sad and a million other different things. He’s not sure how to label it. He’s never felt emotions this complex before, probably because he’s never liked anyone this much before.

“Oh god, did I?” you repeat, more fear in your voice at Yeonjun’s lack of a response. It strikes him and deflates his will to be dismissive about it, not wanting you to sit here worrying for the rest of the day. Curse his soft heart.

“Just come with me,” Yeonjun says, continuing on the path to his lab building. You follow beside him, taking long strides to match his quick pace. He notices you struggling to keep up, so he slows down, even though it might make him a few minutes late.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. He can feel you looking at him, but he keeps his eyes ahead.

“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for,” he mumbles.

“Tell me then,” you plead. The thought of having to talk about this with you makes him feel sick. He doesn’t know if he can even choke up the words without getting nauseous.

“Let me clock into my lab first.” The rest of the walk is silent; you keep quiet even as you enter the room with him, watching him take off his sweatshirt and put on his lab coat. You’re quiet even as he goes through the study procedure, not even lingering near him to see what he’s doing. He feels a little cruel for it, wondering if he’s just torturing you by forcing you to stand silently and worry about what he must be upset at you for.

He steals a glance at you. You’re leaning against the wall by the door, so many steps away, keeping so much distance. He bites his lip and looks away, figuring it’s time to start the conversation.

“I want to talk to you, but I don’t want you to lie to me,” Yeonjun says, breaking the long stretch of silence. He walks toward you, stopping before he gets too close.

“I won’t. I’m not gonna hide anything from you.” It’s funny you say that.

“Do you like Kai?” His question catches you off guard, your frown leaving your face.

“No,” you answer.

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay. So why did Beomgyu tell me you used me to get back at him?”

He watches you stiffen at the question. “How do you know Beomgyu?” you ask.

“Please just answer me,” Yeonjun says. He doesn’t want to run around in circles, he just wants to hear the truth from you.

“I don’t like Kai anymore.” Something about that sentence hits like a stab to the gut. Yeonjun would know the feeling.

He tsks and shakes his head, ready to walk away and end the conversation, but you continue, “Please let me say the whole story.” Yeonjun sighs and meets your eyes. He decides to hear you out, only because a part of him is dying for you to make this right.

“Go ahead,” he says.

“I invited you to the party because you’re my friend, and I think you’re cute, but also for really petty, stupid revenge. It was so dumb and I’m so sorry, I feel so fucking bad for that now,” you explain. Yeonjun thinks back to how excited he was when you asked him. He remembers the rush of butterflies, the nervousness that pooled in his stomach, the adrenaline through his veins when he realized he finally had your attention.

You continue, “But I swear on my life, Yeonjun, the second we went outside at that party, I realized how unfair it was. I wanted to make Kai jealous, but when we were standing out there, I couldn’t do it. You’re a good person, and I felt fucking awful, and I didn’t go through with anything, and I’m glad I didn’t. You gave me one of the best nights of my life that day. I mean that. Seriously.”

There’s sincerity in your eyes, so Yeonjun knows you’re not lying. The ache in his chest is dull now, but still there. He can’t believe you planned to use him as some pawn to get back at Kai.

“Why’d I have to hear it from someone else? Why couldn’t you tell me yourself?” he asks. It’s pathetic how his voice carries more heartbreak than anger.

“Cause I didn’t want you to misunderstand and leave!” you explain, desperate. “Yeonjun, please. I don’t care about Kai anymore. I haven’t even talked to him since the party.”

Yeonjun wishes he could feel comforted by your words, but all he feels is hurt. He has this terrible thing where he can’t stop asking questions that will only batter him worse. “So you didn’t really like me?”

You take a step closer to him, placing both hands over your heart. Yeonjun’s not blind; he can see the fear in your eyes, the worry that he might walk away. He doesn’t have it in him to relieve your stress right now.

“I always liked you. I like you more every day,” you answer. There’s honesty in your words, which Yeonjun appreciates. It doesn’t quite melt away his insecurities, though.

Yeonjun can’t bear looking at you any longer, dropping his gaze to the floor and stepping back. He’s ready to leave, thinking he needs the night to himself to stare at the ceiling and contemplate this whole situation.

You stop him before he can get too far. Your hand hooks onto the sleeve of his lab coat, shaking as you cling to him. It’s so pitiful that it ruins the monstrous image Yeonjun’s trying to fit you into in his mind. Against his better judgment, his eyes meet yours again.

He’s about to speak—maybe to console you, to get some of that sadness out of your eyes—but the sound of glass breaking behind him makes him turn with wide eyes, searching for the damage. He’ll be the one stuck replacing any broken equipment; he can only pray that it wasn’t a more expensive piece.

His eyes flit across the room, but he finds nothing. Is he seriously losing his mind? Every time he’s in this lab, there’s something new giving him a mini heart attack. He brushes this off as some kind of paranoia. He considers talking to his professor about taking a break from the lab, just until he can restore his sanity.

“Let’s just head out of here,” Yeonjun says, unable to rid himself of the chill down his spine.

“Do you still like me?” you ask, unable to move on from the conversation. You stay planted in your spot as Yeonjun takes off his lab gear. He groans internally at your question—of course he still likes you. Do you think his feelings are so malleable? His adoration for you feels like an immovable boulder. He can’t even stay mad at you for as long as he wanted to, though he tries not to let you win too easily.

He sighs out your name instead of answering. He waits for you at the door as he throws his sweatshirt back on, and you trudge forward with a pout. Once his sweatshirt is slipped over his head, he catches sight of something behind you, heart stopping entirely.

“What the hell—?!” he emits, eyes growing wide as the cell clump he’d been working with expands out past its storage spot, spilling out onto the floor. The broken glass earlier must’ve been from the petri dish—shit, he should’ve checked. It’s discolored now, so dark it’s nearly black, and growing more rapidly than it should be able to.

You spin on your feet to see what Yeonjun’s looking at, yelping when you see the growth. You back up quickly and bump into Yeonjun’s chest. “What’s happening?” you ask, turning your head back to look up at him.

“I don’t know,” he answers. He has to think fast, because it doesn’t look like the cell replication is stopping any time soon—if anything, it looks like it’s growing exponentially. The clump is a goo-like substance, slowly spilling out further and further onto the floor, looking something like tar as it expands out. “We’ll have to trigger rapid apoptosis,” he says.

“How do we do that?” you ask. Yeonjun’s not sure either, so he doesn’t bother to answer. He opens one of the cabinets and pulls out all the different liquid chemicals he can find. One of these is bound to do something.

You hold yourself and watch him carefully, still looking shy and desperate and nervous from your argument. Yeonjun’s not sure why you seem to be more bothered by him not reassuring you that he likes you than by the clump that grows behind you. Your attention remains on him the whole time.

“Are you mad at me?” you ask.

“No,” he answers sharply and quickly. He has bigger issues to be worried about than staying mad at you.

“I promise I wasn’t lying. I won’t talk to Kai ever again.”

“Why are we having this conversation right now?!” Yeonjun asks, frustrated.

“Because it’s important to me that you know!”

He ignores you in favor of unscrewing the lid to one of the acids, hoping it could digest the cells. When he pours it onto the clump, a loud hiss rings through the room and smoke comes up from the mass. It doesn’t seem to dissolve the cells, though.

He emits an exasperated groan, opening the lid to another chemical substance, and you rush to do the same. He can’t stop to think about how dangerous this is, too focused on controlling the problem before it gets irreparable. You and Yeonjun pour chemicals onto it at the same time, and it seems to react. The tar-like blob thickens now, erecting itself up from the floor languidly.

You and Yeonjun back up, watching with fearful eyes as it stands. It moves like it’s alive, like it’s a living organism. It’s eerily silent for a room as you two stare at the mass in shock. Then, rapidly, it comes charging at you, attaching itself to your cardigan as you shriek. Yeonjun acts fast, running to you and grabbing your waist, adhering his feet to the floor to keep you from getting dragged any more. You shed your cardigan quickly before tugging it back from the blob. It tears from how harsh you pull it, but you don’t seem to care, chucking it to the opposite side of the room.

This is an unfortunate time to see you in a tight-fitting tank top. Your chest heaves from the panic of being grabbed by the organism, rising and falling as you start to steady your breath. You look over at him, and he finds himself blushing and removing his gaze from you in embarrassment. God, now he’s the one struggling to focus on the bigger problem.

Yeonjun directs his wrist at the blob, shooting a web at it to keep it from charging at you again. The web sends the mass flying back until it collides with the wall. Though it can’t remove itself from the confines of the web, it still slowly grows, and it will be able to expand enough to attack again soon. Still, this should buy you two some more time.

“You should leave,” Yeonjun says, coming to you and cupping your face. His eyes beg you to go, strung up on the possibility of you getting hurt.

“I won’t,” you say, grabbing onto his wrists.

“Please. You’re too important.” His hand strokes through your hair like you’re something precious.

You take his hand and kiss it. “You are too. I won’t leave.”

He sighs. He knows he’s not winning this, there’s too much determination in your words. Before he removes his focus from you, he thinks he should tell you one last thing. “Just so you know, I like you too.”

You’re barely able to hold back your smile, but Yeonjun can’t stay and watch your reaction. The mass continues to grow over the confines of the web, and he has to find a way to control it before it overcomes the binds. He opens the binder that holds the descriptions of all the lab materials, hoping he can find something useful in there. His eyes flit across the words, scanning for the chemicals that will be his saving grace.

He stops when he reads the description for nitric acid. The words digest and dissolve kick his body to life, hope stirring inside of him. “Come here with the nitric acid!” he shouts over his shoulder.

“Which one is that?” you ask hurriedly, scanning through the different bottles of chemicals.

“It’s in a brown translucent bottle. Quick!” Before he can panic further, you’re racing to his side with a bottle of the acid. Yeonjun quickly pours it over the mass, watching it shrivel when the liquid hits its surface. A weight lifts off Yeonjun’s shoulders when he realizes he finally found something that works. The bottle doesn’t hold nearly enough, though, because Yeonjun empties it out before he can melt the organism completely.

He turns to you expectantly, and you’re rushing back to the counter where all the chemical substances are held. You’re turning each to read the labels, growing more aggravated as you fail to find another container of nitric acid. You curse as you swing the cabinet doors open, checking if there’s any stored away in there.

You pull out a bottle from the cabinet, reading it quickly. “Would sulfuric acid work?” you ask, looking at Yeonjun like you need him to say yes.

“It would react with the nitric acid,” he answers. You groan.

“You think I know any of this stuff?!” You go back to searching through the cabinet.

“Yes! You’re, like, the smartest girl I know!” Yeonjun exclaims, equally as frustrated.

“You must not know a lot of girls then,” you huff. You finally pull out a bottle that seems to match, running over to Yeonjun. He takes it from your hands and pours the liquid over what remains of the clump, watching it dissolve until all that’s left is a murky puddle on the floor. He plops the nitric acid onto a table, finally letting himself take a full breath. He tastes the chemicals swirling in the air, but he can’t bring himself to care about any toxins filling his lungs. He’s worn out, crouching down in exhaustion with a groan.

When he picks his head up from between his arms, he searches for you. You’re bent over one of the tables, head tucked between your arms as half your body rests over the surface. You must be just as drained as him. He stretches his body out as he stands back up, then approaches you at the opposite side of the table. He rests his elbows onto the tabletop, leaning forward to be closer to you.

“You get feisty when you’re working under pressure,” Yeonjun teases, breathless laugh escaping him. You lift your head to look at him, and he can see how you hold back your amusement.

“I could say the same about you,” you respond. You seem winded, still breathing hard as you push yourself off the table and pick up your cardigan from the floor. You hold up your cardigan and examine the damage. It’s stained and ripped and looks disgusting. You pout. “This was my favorite one…”

“Don’t worry, you’re pretty good at stitching things back up,” Yeonjun says, coming up to you and taking the cardigan from your hands to tie it around your waist. You look up at him, something fond shining in your eyes.

“I guess I am,” you say, tugging on Yeonjun’s sweatshirt to pull him closer to you. You wear a dopey smile as you stare at him, hands resting on his shoulders, and Yeonjun really hopes that you do what he knows you’re both thinking about right now.

You don’t leave him waiting long; your hand comes to his jaw to bring his face to yours, and the next second, Yeonjun’s having the best kiss of his life. It feels like a reward after the shitshow that today’s been. For it to come to this, he’d relive it a dozen more times.

“Wait,” Yeonjun says, pulling back. “Are we dating now?”

“Haven’t we been dating?” You look at him like he’s a fool, and it endears Yeonjun endlessly.

“I mean, boyfriend-girlfriend dating,” Yeonjun explains.

“Oh, I’ve already told, like, three people that you’re my boyfriend.” There might be real hearts in Yeonjun’s eyes right now.

“Good,” he says, coming in for another quick kiss. “I’m all yours.” His words are uttered against your lips, since he can’t seem to pull himself away from you.

You gladly accept his kisses, and he has to keep himself from getting too drunk off your taste. He has to remember he’s still in a lab with a bunch of chemicals filling the air—it’s probably a good idea to get out. Even though he doesn’t want to, Yeonjun steps back and looks around at the mess throughout the room. Given everything that happened, it’s not awful. A mop would take care of ninety percent of the problem.

“We should clean this up,” he sighs.

“Yeah,” you agree. Neither of you make a move. You start laughing after a few seconds, and Yeonjun returns his attention to you with a cheeky grin.

“No, let’s just leave,” he suggests. He’s exhausted. He’ll explain everything to his professor tomorrow, he can’t take any more of this today.

“Should we go back to my place then?” you ask. Yeonjun does a very poor job of hiding his excitement. He wants more than anything to hold you to his chest and zip across campus to get to your dorm, but alas, he does the smart thing instead. A ten minute walk has never felt more like ten hours in his life, and seeing your dorm building finally come into view has his heart racing in anticipation.

Yeonjun’s all over you the minute your door closes behind him. He doesn’t let your lips disconnect for a second—not to talk, not to breathe, because nothing’s more important than tasting your lips on his.

Your back falls to your mattress, and Yeonjun’s mind briefly wanders to the last time you two were here. Having you sprawled out beneath him is quite different than you patching him up above him. In a way, that moment felt like the start of something bigger between you. The initial spark came long before it, but that night is what caused fire to catch. He feeds the flame now, fingers untying the cardigan at your waist and throwing it to the floor. Your shirt’s the next thing to go, and he only pulls away long enough to shed the cloth off of you.

His mouth on yours is ravenous and unwilling to waste any more time. He feels up your stomach, cherishing the warm flesh with eager fingers. He trails his hands up to your chest, feeling your breasts over your bra. You gasp when he squeezes experimentally, and it encourages him to continue, movements growing hungry.

You break away from the kiss, panting for air while Yeonjun latches onto your jaw. He’s insatiable, sucking your skin and placing kitten licks over the mark after. He hovers his face over yours, biting back his grin when he sees how hazy your eyes have become.

You catch his face in your hand, cupping his jaw and thumbing his cheek. The action makes his heart soar, and he leans into your warm touch. Your smile turns from soft to wicked when you push your thumb between his lips, and he engulfs the digit without a fight.

“I like you,” you say as he sucks your thumb, blinking up at him adoringly like he’s not doing some lewd act right now. He swirls his tongue around you before popping it out of his mouth, kissing your fingertip then taking your hand in his own.

“I like you too.” His free hand goes behind your back to search for your bra clasp, fumbling with it clumsily until he gets it to disconnect. You pull the material off, and Yeonjun’s cock twitches in his pants when he takes in the sight of you. A part of him feels wrong for doing this, like this is too dirty, but a larger part of him can’t wait to indulge in you. He’ll just make sure to take you out for dinner after.

Yeonjun throws his sweatshirt and shirt to the floor, pride swirling inside him when he sees the way you ogle at his skin. You lay your hand over his chest, trailing your fingers over the expanse teasingly. He takes your wrist and drags your hand away.

“You don’t deserve to touch me. I’m still upset about Kai,” he says. It’s a lie, but he’s in a playful mood. Your hand makes its way back to his chest despite that, so he grabs it and brings it to the bed, shooting a web over your wrist so you can’t move it. He giggles. The whole web-slinging thing comes with some perks.

“Oh, come on,” you sulk as he does the same to your other wrist. He leans back for a moment, looking down at you all proud. A few different sights flash through his mind, endless possibilities of how he could make the most of your hands being restrained. Maybe he should punish you for ever liking Kai in the first place, keep you on the edge until you’re chanting apologies into the air. He could also just indulge in your body greedily, taste every inch of you without your hands pulling him away. The ache in his pants grows at the thought.

You sigh in satisfaction when his hand meets your clothed core. Your hips grind against his hand, and he allows you to use him to find your pleasure. Your hands close into fists as Yeonjun lets you ride his open palm, still fighting against your restraints.

“How much do you like me?” Yeonjun asks. His free hand holds your waist, fingers brushing against your skin gently.

“So much,” you answer, never abandoning your rhythm. “You’re so smart, and handsome, and funny, and—nngh—and good to me…” Yeonjun’s hand travels from your waist to your chest in reward, thumb rolling over one of your nipples.

“Yeah, I am good to you. I stay with you even though you’re mean to me.”

You shake your head at his statement. “I’m not mean to you,” you say.

He laughs at how you try to control yourself, how serious your tone gets. Your hips slow, so he takes measures into his own hands and moves his palm against your cunt instead. If he presses down hard enough, he can feel how wet you are even through your pants.

“You are,” he says. “You use me to get other men.” He knows that’s not true now, but a part of him is still a little bruised by the idea. He figures that airing out his insecurities like this might help him, and it makes him feel less vulnerable.

“No! That’s not true!” Yeonjun ignores you and takes off your pants, letting them join the other articles of clothing on your floor. He short circuits when he sees the wet patch on your panties. A sense of shame must fill you then, because your legs clamp shut to block his view.

“Hey, be nice,” he says, opening your legs back up. He holds you open as he presses his knee to your folds, and he can feel your arousal even through the fabric of his sweatpants. He’s squealing internally, overjoyed to have you soaking for him, but he keeps his calm on the outside.

Your hands push against the webs again, shaking the mattress a little. You pout at him. “I want to touch you,” you whine.

“Sorry about that,” he says. He matches your pout as his hands smooth down your legs, lazily exploring your flesh. He grabs your hips and positions them up a little so that you’re pressing into his thigh. He hears the moan that gets caught in your throat as he drags your cunt against him, holding back a satisfied smirk.

“Should I tell you what I like about you?” Yeonjun asks, something silky and smooth in his voice. You nod, rolling your hips over his thigh. “Say pleaseeeee,” he prompts.

“Please,” you echo. He giggles.

“Again.” He’s having fun.

“Please, Yeonjun,” you beg, sweet voice dripping with need.

He releases your hips so he can pull off your panties, tugging you back onto him once you kick the cloth off your ankles. He can really feel how wet you are now, and it makes a knot form in his stomach. He wants you more than anything.

“I like how pretty you are,” he starts, leaning over you to press kisses against your neck. “And I like how cool you are.” His mouth travels a little lower, sucking at your collarbone. “And I like how I can talk to you for hours and never get bored.” His lips smother your chest, just above your tits, familiarizing himself with every inch of your skin. Your hips buck against him when he presses his thigh more firmly between your legs. “And I like how wet you get,” he laughs.

His mouth finds your breasts then, tongue swirling teasingly around one of your buds. Your nipples perk up, begging for his attention. He drags his tongue over to your other mound, sucking at the swell of flesh, moaning against you. The taste of your skin in his mouth makes him feel high.

You whine, hips rolling more fervently against him, chasing your approaching high. Yeonjun busies himself with delivering kitten licks to your nipples, watching the way they glisten with his saliva after he runs his tongue across them a few times. He peels himself off of you when your rhythm gets unsteady, not wanting you to cum yet. There’s a look of betrayal on your face as he disconnects from you, not touching you at all anymore.

“Yeonjun,” you moan, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him in. “I need to cum.” Your needy cunt grinds against the tent in his boxers, hungrily trying to get yourself off. He lets you have your fun for a minute, enjoying the feel of your warm, wet slit coating his clothed cock, before holding your hips still and keeping you from moving. That doesn’t stop you from digging your heels into his back, pushing him harder against you.

He removes your legs from him, holding you open as he plunges two fingers into your cunt. Your heat takes him in so nicely, the slide of his digits inside you made so easy from how slick your cunt is. You arch your back, moaning out as he curls his fingers inside you.

“Tight girl, gotta stretch you out,” he says, scissoring his digits to prepare you. Your arousal pools out of you, dripping onto the mattress as Yeonjun fucks you on his fingers. “Need to get you ready for me.”

“Mhm, need your dick,” you say. You look so helpless like this, laying back and letting Yeonjun fuck his fingers into you however he wants. He increases his speed just because he can, knowing you can’t pry his hand away, grinning when you emit a surprised gasp. Your walls start tightening around his fingers, a warning of your orgasm, and Yeonjun pulls his hand away before you can get there.

You’re whining his name again, thighs clamping shut to relieve the pressure. He shushes you as he tugs his boxers out of the way, stroking his cock as he watches the way you tremble. Poor thing.

“You want me to fuck you?” he asks. Your legs spread open immediately in invitation. He watches as a glob of arousal drips out from your core.

“Yes,” you breathe out. He pumps his shaft a few more times before bringing it to your folds, letting your wetness coat his tip. “Put it in,” you beg, jerking your hips up. He ignores your plea, bringing the head of his cock to your clit to tap on it a few times. The stimulation sends a buzz through you, and Yeonjun coos at you sweetly.

“Want you to feel so good,” he says, aligning his tip to your hole and starts pushing in. You throw your head back and groan, and he gives your neck a wet kiss. “Wanna be the best you’ve had.” He sinks in slowly, letting your walls adjust to him inch by inch. You feel like heaven around him, and his fingers dig into your hips to keep himself from losing his mind. He wants to meld himself into you.

He grinds his pelvis against you when he bottoms out, steadying his breaths so he doesn’t lose himself too quickly. His moans are deep and airy, while yours are whiny and pathetic. He trails a hand up your body until he’s cupping your face, bringing your attention to him. You look dazed, and he wants to watch you fall apart. He needs to see your perfect face scrunched up with pleasure, eyes glassy and mouth open, going stupid from how fucked out you are.

He presses a light kiss against your lips, then leans his face into the crook of your neck. He finally starts pulling back, slamming back into you with a whimper. Your cunt takes him so readily despite how tight you are, your arousal making him glide in and out of you so easily.

“Gonna be perfect for you,” Yeonjun promises. “Be a good boyfriend. Fuck you every day. Keep you happy.” He lifts himself up to watch your mouth fall open as he thrusts into you. He presses against your stomach to feel himself inside you, moaning whorishly when he does. It makes him fuck you harder, desperation coursing through his system.

You can barely speak from how far gone you are, stuttering out curses and whimpers of his name. He brings his thumb to your clit, rubbing at the swollen bud to get you clenching around him. He groans at how tight you get, sucking him in like your body was meant to take him.

“Need you to cum now,” Yeonjun says, feeling his high looming over. “Gotta feel you milking my cock, let me see it.”

“Kiss me,” you say breathlessly, mouth hanging open as you wait for him to take it. He obliges eagerly, shoving his tongue into your mouth with a needy whine. He licks into you as if this will coax your orgasm out, and it does. Your walls clamp around him, and he’s barely able to move from how tight you get. He circles your clit diligently, only letting up when your body jolts in overstimulation.

He pulls out soon after, only having to stroke himself a few times before he’s spilling his seed onto your stomach. He groans as he milks himself for every last drop, hand shaking as he releases the last of it. You look hot painted with his cum; he bites his lip and squeezes your thighs, needing more and more of you.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he says, making you turn your head away shyly.

“Thanks. You are too.” His stomach flips, feeling proud that he earned your praise. He lowers himself to your torso, lapping at the milky strands of his cum. He cleans you nicely, swallowing down his own release until your stomach’s coated in only his saliva. He brings himself to your slit to lap at it languidly, loving the little whines you emit at the sensation.

“Did so good for me, thank you,” he murmurs into your cunt. He pushes his tongue into your entrance, slowly fucking the muscle inside you. You sigh and roll your hips against his face, relaxed and melting into the feeling.

“Y-you’re good too,” you praise. He licks his way up to your clit, taking it into his mouth and letting his tongue roll over the bud. He likes to hear that he’s being good for you, it makes him feel like he’s worthy of you. He thrives off your happiness, so he feels content as he pleases you with his mouth.

He never wants to let you go. He wants you in his arms forever, he wants to stay in this room and live the rest of his life with just you by his side. This much is enough for him. He glides his hands down your thighs, letting his fingers lightly drag along your skin. He opens his mouth a little more to taste more of you, to kiss your folds more hungrily. He presses the tip of his tongue to your bud, focusing the pressure right against it until he hears you mewl.

“Right there!” you gasp out, pressing yourself further into Yeonjun’s face. He hooks his arms around your thighs to keep you in place, making sure you don’t jolt away when your orgasm creeps up on you. He flicks his tongue over your clit repeatedly, feeling your thighs shake in his grasp. He doesn’t stop until you’re releasing on his face, coating his mouth and chin with your essence.

He detaches himself after a minute, licking his lips and letting go of your legs. He sits up and smiles at you, taking in how pretty you look. He holds your jaw so he can kiss you, and he can’t help but to giggle into the kiss. This is so surreal. He would have fainted if he knew one month ago that this would be happening to him.

“Hi,” you say when he finally pulls his face from yours. This feels like a dream.

“Hi,” he echoes, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He cherishes the smile you give him.

“So when does this dissolve?” you ask, tugging at the webs holding your arms in place. Yeonjun scratches his neck bashfully. That's enough of an answer for you. “Yeonjun…” you sigh, body deflating.

“Less than two hours!” he rushes to say.

“Two hours?!”

“It’s not that bad. I think we can pass the time,” he says, failing to hold back his smile.

Your eyes flit down to his stirring cock. “I guess I have nothing better to do,” you give in. Yeonjun sees right through your nonchalant act, but he lets you get away with it. He has better things to busy himself with than arguing about that.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

You bring Yeonjun to the market after learning about the laundry detergent debacle. You place the item in your basket, shaking your head at him as you do. “I can’t believe your roommate had to tell me to get you to buy this.”

Yeonjun raises his hands in defense. “I get busy sometimes,” he says.

“With coming to my dorm every other night?” you ask with a raised brow, walking into the next aisle.

Yeonjun drops a candy bar into the basket alongside the detergent. “No, with lab stuff, and class stuff, and Spidey stuff,” he corrects. He picks up a bottle of your favorite drink as he passes by it on the shelf. “And with girlfriend stuff,” he adds sweetly.

“Right,” you say unconvincingly, smiling as you nod your head.

Yeonjun grabs a pair of sunglasses off a rack, placing them on his face and turning to you with a grin. “How cool are these?” he asks, pointing at himself.

You laugh and lift the sunglasses up so they rest on his head. “So cool,” you answer. You tilt your head to check the price on them. “You should totally spend the last of your money on them.”

He pulls the glasses off his face to check the price tag, eyebrows raising in reaction. He puts them back on the rack. He can’t get rid of the smile on his face as he watches you shop, endeared and swooned by every little thing you do. It’s small moments like these that make him feel like the luckiest guy on earth.

“We should get bandages. I can’t believe you don’t have any,” you say, looking for where the item would be in the store.

“There’s a lot of things I don’t have. I’m operating on a limited budget,” he explains. It’s not like he can tackle a job on top of everything else he does. He’s grown accustomed to his ways of living, accepting that he’s become the male college student stereotype.

“I’m glad I stepped into your life then,” you say, throwing a box of bandages into your basket. “I’m actually scared you’d die without me.”

Yeonjun can’t help but to laugh at that. “I would die without you,” he agrees. He follows you as you continue walking around the store, aimlessly searching for anything you might need. You stop when you feel your phone buzz, pulling out your phone upon receiving a notification, checking it curiously. He reads the message over your shoulder; it’s an alert from your local news station about some rescue mission for a bunch of dogs that ran loose from their shelter just now. You turn to him with a knowing smile.

“That’s your cue, Spider-man.”

notes: god i loved writing this so much…. i hope u like spideyjjun just as much as i do<3 i would love to hear ur thoughts if u have anyyy!!! tysm for reading hehe

taglist: @ambsphoria @bananasdiary @beaabz @beomgyusluver @beomsdoll @brrytears @bumgyuz @dawngyu @enhastolemyheart @estrnrea @fancypeacepersona @fatbixchwithanopinion @heejamas @heesmiles @insanityz @i4tzy @jellyyjn @kejingken @lilbrorufr @lovesickchoi @mrsjohnnysuh @raspberrii @sanscupid @saraalovestxt @soobinieswife @starrynightgyu @starstrucktae @taebatu @taysfairies @tubatukimoa @tyongyuta @usuallyunlikelyfox @verco @vvjolyneee @xylatox @younbeanz @yourenzoo @yunverie 🤍

© delugyu 2025, do not translate or reupload

[fayes-fics]

Eden

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Seeing you with other Bridgerton offspring has an interesting effect on your new husband...

I couldn't resist using a Season 3 gif cos hello.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, breeding kink, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, vaginal sex, creampie, ie filthy babymaking. Also, the smut is bookended by fluff; yeah, that probably needs a warning, lol.

Word Count: 4.2k

Authors Note: This is a very belated request fill for @victoriaholland (HERE) and Anon (HERE) about Benedict with a touch of baby fever. I decided to combine the asks as I saw a way to weave them together. Sorry for the delay, but well at least babymaking seems appropriate for spring hehe. Thank you to @colettebronte for being an awesome beta, as always. Err, Enjoy! <3

Daphne’s latest child is beautiful; you delight in his joy as he bounces on your lap, learning the strength of his sweetly chubby legs, little fists wrapped tight around your fingers. 

Looking up, you catch your husband's eye from afar, his stare intense across the gardens of Bridgerton House as you sit under a tented shelter upon a picnic blanket. The rest of the family are scattered around, playing games or chatting, but you are quite content minding the little one while his nanny takes a few moments to eat lunch.

“Is everything alright, my love?” You inquire as Benedict draws closer. 

“Yes… I….” He seems a little flustered. 

“Are you sure?” 

You pull a funny face for the infant, who breaks out into the most adorable infectious giggles that has you grinning from ear to ear and hugging him into your body, swaying with him. 

“Are you alright? Minding the child?” He checks, his voice a touch odd.

“Oh yes. We are more than happy, are we not, my little prince?” You talk in a vaguely silly baby-talk voice, addressing the child in your arms as much as Benedict. 

Again, the child peals with delighted noises and spit bubbles enthusiastically, looking up at Benedict eagerly as much as you do.

“Well, that is wonderful news,” he blusters, and you could swear he is out of sorts, breathless almost. “I shall… leave you to it,” he adds, giving you a bow and then withdrawing as the little one wiggles out of your arms.

“Ignore your Uncle Benedict; he is being a silly billy,” you whisper conspiratorially once the man in question is out of earshot.

The response is babbled nonsense as the child bashes one wooden brick against another.

“I quite agree,” you state sagely before breaking into a goofy grin.

——

“Please?” Hyacinth wheedles.

“No, Hy,” you sigh without even looking up.

“Ugh, you are no fun!” she scowls, crossing her arms defiantly.

“What is all this?” Anthony clips as he strides into the drawing room, Benedict on his heels, as Hyacinth flounces dramatically across the room. 

“Your little sister is angry at me because I will not allow her to drink the punch; it has brandy in it,” you explain cooly.

“Quite right, too!” Anthony chimes as Hyacinth rolls her eyes.

“Listen to y/n, Hyacinth, and do as she says,” Anthony lectures, and you feel grateful for his support, effectively neutering her rebellion. “Despite a temporary lapse of judgment when choosing a spouse, she is otherwise one of the most sensible people in this family.”

“Hey…!” Benedict protests.

“Please…” Anthony withers, twisting towards him. “Brother, if there is one thing us Bridgerton men know how to do, ‘tis to marry a woman entirely too good for us. And well done on that, by the way.”

You smirk at Anthony’s hilarious way of putting his brother - your husband - in his place, catching Kate’s eye with a wink as she enters the room carrying her baby. 

“Y/n, come and meet the future Viscount; he’s awake at last,” she calls to you. 

You are immediately on your feet and grinning, taking the tiny bundle from her arms and cooing at the sweet little boy. The baby opens his enormous brown eyes and observes you for a second before breaking into a one-toothed grin and happily waving his fists at you.

“Oh, he really likes you!” Kate enthuses, delighted.

“As I do you, little one,” you smile, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

You look up to see Benedict with that same look on his face as earlier. A tempest, almost an energy over his being. It’s almost as if he is… aroused?! Which is most odd.

As you hand the baby back to Kate, giving him one final kiss, Benedict is suddenly by your side. Announcing to the family that there has been a change of plan and, regrettably, you will not be able to stay for dinner, his arm an insistent tug around your waist.

——

“Why did we not stay for family dinner as originally planned, my love?” 

Your question is soft, only just audible over the noise of the carriage as you trundle over the cobbled streets of Mayfair a few minutes later. 

“I decided that we should perhaps dine at ours this evening…” his voice adopting that deeper edge which always causes butterflies in your tummy. His hand lands on your knee, a heavy weight that feels portentous. He slides closer on the bench seat.

“Why might that be?” your ask turns breathy, entirely without you meaning it to.

“I want to be alone with you,” he murmurs, unmistakably pitched to arouse. 

The carriage seems to notch up a few degrees as the rocking motion presses your side rhythmically into his. The sound of the wheels and hooves is so loud. He twists to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pulls your back against his flank. 

“All day today, I have watched you,” he rumbles, hand warming the skin around your clavicle, fingertip brushing in circles. “You are so very good with children, darling. Seeing you so naturally with the babies and how you handled Hyacinth… you would be the perfect mother.”

You blush a little at his praise. “Thank you, my love. I would like children one day. Your children. Imagine a child with your eyes. They would be quite the most beautiful,” you sigh wistfully, leaning back into him, his hand feeling heavier on your skin.

Benedict chuckles modestly. “And what of your beauty? Would a child version of you not be the most fetching?”

You giggle and turn your head sideways to nuzzle against his jaw. “I think we would indeed make beautiful babies together, Benedict.”

“I agree,” his voice a tempting lilt, fingers skating downwards over the swell of your breast now, slipping inside the fabric and making you gasp as he tweaks your nipple. “And I think we should start as soon as we get home.”

“Did seeing me with babies suddenly make you want your own, Mr Bridgerton?” Your hand flexes on his knee as he toys with your breast.

“Oh yes darling, it made me want to take you right there…” he asserts, finally admitting those looks he gave you were indeed pure arousal.

You reach up and run your hand into his hair, fingers flexing on his warm scalp as you pull his face to yours.  “And suddenly, it appears I am no longer hungry for dinner…” you whisper flirtatiously, your cupid's bow brushing his stubbled upper lip.

He groans, and his passionate kiss is plundering, a tingle running over your limbs, just as your carriage comes to a shuddering stop outside your townhome. 

Uncaring of the neighbourhood or any prying eyes, Benedict sweeps you out of the carriage in his arms, carrying you bridal style over the pavement and through your front door.

“My wife and I are not to be disturbed,” he announces crisply and loudly to the staff as you enter the hallway.

Leaving no room for doubt about his plans by pulling you into a searing kiss for all to see before ascending the stairs rapidly. He practically growls as he kicks open the door to your master bedroom door and slams it shut again with his foot. 

“Benedict…” you stammer, heart pounding at how overwrought he is. 

You have never seen him like this. Commanding, crackling with an energy that has your body simmering. He is usually so sweet, affable, and kind. Every time you have been intimate since your wedding night a few weeks ago, he has been a complete gentleman: loving and so very tender. The grip he has had on you tonight feels different. This is something primal—like a switch has been flipped at a basal level in his being.

He places you down onto your feet before the roaring fire, his face intense.

“Wife…” The way he says it makes you feel a flush creep over your skin.

“Husband…” you respond in kind, belly fluttering with excitement.

“Take off your dress,” he orders, his dilated pupils shining in the firelight.

This is new. Usually, he is the one to remove it slowly and softly from your body. 

“I cannot, the buttons…” you confess, signalling behind you. You would need your ladies' maid to unhook them from between your shoulder blades.  

He moves closer, seeming so much taller; his ragged breaths dance in the tendrils of your hair as he reaches around behind your shoulders. With a rough tug that makes you startle, he tears the fabric asunder, the sound of tiny pearl buttons skittering across the polished wooden floor behind you as you gasp in surprise.

“There…” he smirks dangerously, “problem resolved.”

You are speechless as he withdraws a pace, looking at you expectantly. You follow his order, a slight quake in your hands as you push the frayed dress down your body, still a little shocked by his strength. Then you reach for the crisscross lacing of your stays, feeling the weight of his stare as each loop relents, his eyes hungry, his body heaving with deep breaths his fitted jacket taut with each inhale. You peel the item away, leaving just your thin white cotton chemise.

“Rip it too,” you plead before you realise it, enthralled by this assertive demeanour.

With a noise in the back of his throat, he takes a pace forward again, and you stare up at him, enchanted. He grasps the fabric above your breasts and then rips it loudly from your chest all the way to your ankles, the sound echoing up the walls. Again, his strength has your knees weak. As the torn pieces flutter from your body, you want to bathe in the hungry sound he makes as he realises you are clad only in white knee-high silk stockings, no underwear to be seen, the warmth from the fireplace swirling around your intimate area. 

As you stand almost naked before your imposing husband, him still fully dressed, there is a knot low in your gut. But it’s not fear; it’s something else entirely—desire. Trembling, breathless and wanting. An elemental wish to be thoroughly taken.

He steps forward, eyes glittering, and his fingers plough roughly between your legs, making you gasp.

“Eden,” he proclaims, his fingers snagging over your swollen pearl of a clit with almost rough strokes, the callous where he holds his paintbrush abrading your folds. “A wonderful, lush, wet garden. Just waiting to be planted.”  His words are hypnotic and low, questing fingers being coated with a dewiness that is entirely of his making.

“Please…” you whimper, squirming on his touch, captivated by this version of your husband, wanting to submit to him, a burning need low in your belly. His fingers slide faster, making a lewd, wet noise. 

“Are you going to let me?” Benedict croons. “Plant my seed inside you?”

Until now, he has always been careful to complete outside your body. A slightly bereft feeling every time - the wonderful moment cut short as he leaves you suddenly empty, a warm splash upon your thighs, tummy or spine. The idea he will stay inside you is alluring in a way you don’t fully comprehend.

“Yes, please, husband,” your nipples puckering almost painfully against the wool of his lapels as he crowds into you. 

“Good. Get on that bed right now,” Benedict orders roughly, pointing at your four-poster bed as he tugs off his jacket.

You scramble to obey. Feeling under a spell. Being naked save your stockings feels illicit as you lay back into the soft pillows and watch as he undresses, staring you down the whole time. 

You slide a hand between your legs instinctively as more of his toned body is revealed. He growls at the sight, you biting your lip and watching him, his torso bare, his trousers clinging to his shapely legs, to his swollen cock. He bends to remove his shoes, and the sight of his broad shoulders flexing is enough to make you moan. As he stands back up and hooks his elegant fingers around the trouser buttons, a smug look on his handsome face that he is doing this to you.

“Husband…” you call out to him, writhing on your fingers shamelessly now, one hand shooting up to brace your movements against the headboard, flushing warm down to your toes.

With a few dextrous flicks, the buttons relent, and his trousers drop to the floor. His naked body is always a delicious sight, but tonight feels more, every sense heightened, moaning again as he takes a step towards you, thigh muscles flexing, his cock standing proud to attention.

Again, a soft plea falls from your lips, your eyes raking every plain of his tempting form, feeling yourself swell under your fingertips.

“Not yet,” he clucks, the arrogance somehow more beguiling as you bite your lip. “I think I want to watch you come, my darling. All by yourself. I hear female pleasure can aid with conception after all.”

“Will you not touch me?” you petition, reaching your other hand imploringly towards him.

“No darling, I shall watch,” his lopsided grin deadly. 

He wraps a strong fist around his own cock, pumping slowly, a bead of moisture gathering at his tip, glistening in the candlelight as he does. 

“Now, use both hands, please. Place your fingers inside yourself,” Benedict instructs as you blindly follow, a languid buzz in your brain—you would do anything he told you to right now.

Planting your feet squarely on the bed, you drag your ankles up higher towards your bottom, letting your legs fall open wider to give him a better view as your other hand slides down. You plunge two fingers into yourself, your hips canting off the mattress with a staccato breath at the sensation of yourself, so hot and tight.

“That's right,” he endorses, a leisurely movement of his hand up and down his cock as he watches you from a few feet away. “‘Feel yourself, darling. Tis paradise, is it not?” that trademark rumbling voice skittering over your skin, goosebumps raising down your arms just at the tone. 

“Come closer,” you appeal breathily, wanting to smell him, feel his heat, his flesh—anything.

He shakes his head, smirking wider as his refusal spurs you on, desperate to come. Mewling as your fingers speed up, one circling your clit, the others buried as far as you can, wishing instead it were his long, graceful fingers reaching places you are unable. Watching him squeeze his own cock hurtles you fast, already aroused from the moment he slid a hand into your dress in the carriage. 

Unable to fight the tide in your body, you screw your eyes shut and call out his name as your pussy starts to convulse around your own fingers, toes curling into the sheet, your muscles all going stiff, your hips again raised as you feel the tide break. A gush of wetness runs down your palm and your bottom cheeks as your mind floats away. Distantly, you can hear him speaking, but it’s fuzzy as you flop back down, sated, your legs going flat, too shaky to balance.

You startle as a warm hand circles the wrist of your fingers still inside yourself, bringing you abruptly back into the room. Benedict looms over you, his chest heaving, that power still there.

“What was that?” your query drowsy, lips dry.

He chuckles richly. “I said that was spectacular,” he repeats, bemused. “But also that I want you to paint your nipples with your arousal, my love, for me,” he commands, tugging your hand so your fingers slide out of yourself.

You do as bidden, still floating down from the high, smearing your own warm juices onto your puffed areolas.

“Perfect..” he intones.

In one swift, athletic move, he mounts the bed. You cry out as his warm mouth encloses your left nipple, groaning lewdly as he licks you clean of your arousal, his tongue a heavy, warm, wet weight curling around your sensitive bud, his lips tugging gently, reawakening those synapses only just recovering from your orgasm. 

“Why do you always taste like heaven?” his dusky question is rhetorical, his breath gusting over your sternum as he swaps to your other breast to meter out the same treatment. He has you moving under him again as he settles his body over you more firmly, your hips tilting up to feel his hard cock graze your inner thigh. “I wonder if you will still taste like heaven when you are heavy with my child?” he hums thoughtfully as he teases your nipple with the tip of his nose, one hand cupping your empty belly. “I dare say even moreso, ripe like a vine, bearing fruit…” That sonorous voice teases over your skin as he moves slowly upwards to nuzzle your neck. “My fruit….” he adds, possessive as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth, so loud now right by your ear.

His hands wind around your thighs as he shuffles position so he is kneeling between your legs, his ropey thighs spread wide under yours…

“Are you ready for that, my love?” he pauses until you nod almost imperceptibly; you squeak as he suddenly hauls you down the bed, hips onto his lap, your pelvis now higher than your head upon the sheets. Your stockings unfurling down your legs where he quickly plucks at the ribbons holding them aloft.

“Good, because I am more than ready for you,” it almost sounds like a warning.

Then, with a solid thrust, he spears into your body, the invasion toe-curling, your fingers grasping his muscular forearms that are clamped around your waist. It is a primal position, and he begins to thrust with no mercy, his cock feeling huge and heavy, a strong weight that drags heavily over your walls as your pussy clings to him. Your eyes flutter closed as you whimper his name, powerless to do anything but take his thrusts, draped across his lap as you are.

“Look at me,” he demands raggedly. And you do, his handsome face contorted with effort as he slams into you, a little bead of sweat forming on his brow. “Look at me while I fuck a baby into you, wife.”

He’s never spoken to you like this before, clipped, harsh. It seems appropriate that he would be almost desperate in an act so elemental, so of the earth—to create life. Stoking a fire deep in your core that is a clarion call for him, a frisson running over your skin at the idea you are being impregnated. Bred.

You know neither of you will last long with this almost frenzied coupling, the tendrils of your arousal already swirling so soon after your last, his near-brutish handling precisely what you need, your swollen pearl slammed into his flat abdomen with every stroke he takes. The sheets roll under your shoulder blades as he keeps the same position, your hips high, a mounting that you cannot and do not want to escape, knowing he is leaving fingertip bruises around the dip of your waist, marks you will carry secretly with pride just for him.

You moan his name, so close again to that ephemeral bliss, thrashing your head from side to side as if willing the pleasure to break and wash over you.

“Come on, come for me, milk me, darling. Take what you need, take my seed,” his voice a deep wrecked purr, the lines of his body tense, craving release as much as you.

That command is what breaks the dam for you, an almost violent ricochet fanning out from where you clench around him, his cries muffled behind the rushing noise in your ears, every part of you convulsing in a pleasurable wave. And then, in a floating haze, for the very first time, you feel your husband come inside you, a warm bloom that coats your walls. It's an intoxicating feeling; you never want him to come anywhere else ever again.

“That's it, well done, my love,” he croons, eyes still shut as he shudders with little aftershocks, not leaving your body—as if he wants to stay inside you always.

——

As the embers in the fireplace glow white, you lay in post-coital bliss, bodies dewy from exertion. Benedict rests his head upon your stomach as you card your fingers leisurely through his hair.

“Do you believe we may have made a baby, darling?” he hums, pressing his ear to your belly button as if listening for a heartbeat.

“I am certain of it, husband; you were so very thorough with your attentions,” you assure as he takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. “I hope our baby has your face,” you opine.

“Even if it is a girl?!”

“Thou art as pretty as thou art handsome, Mr Bridgerton,” you quip.

He laughs, carefree, crawling behind you and pulling you into a spooned embrace. “Be careful with such provocation, wife; I may not be done with you after all,” he jests idly. “I, on the other hand, hope our child looks like you, even if it is a boy.” he posits, crowding into your back, his lips warm on the shell of your ear.

“Why?” you laugh, frowning, twisting to look back at him.

“So that I may love them as much as I do you,” he breezes nonchalantly as if what he says is not the sweetest thing you can imagine, causing a tart, sudden spike of want through your body, even as you lay sated.

“Be careful, husband,” you volley back, coquettish. “Or I may not yet be done with you.”

There is a sharp, approving intake of breath, and his hand slides low from your belly into the thatch of hair at the apex of your thighs.

“Is that a promise” he rumbles, your gasp loud as his fingers expertly drag against your clit.

“It is whatever you want. Just do not stop,” you rush out, your hand curling around his bicep, feeling a rigid mass slide hot against your bottom. “Again, husband,” you appeal breathily. “Impregnate me again.”

“With pleasure, wife,” he growls, surging into your body with a force that again steals the very breath from your lungs.

The pinkish light dawn is streaking over the ceiling above when you both finally succumb to sleep after many more vigorous attempts at babymaking. The last one, perhaps the most desperate, you pinned against the headboard, him fucking into you so hard from behind that a jagged crack appears, spidering up the wall from where the bedframe slammed into it. A flaw which he steadfastly refuses to get fixed, claiming it to be the most profound art—a souvenir and ode to a momentous night.

——

9 months later

Benedict’s lips mash against your sweaty brow as he keeps lauding you with praise, excitement and pride evident in his every word. You flop back onto the bed, exhaustion deep in your bones, your body turned inside out, hurting in a way you have never known.

But it was all worth it.

What feels like only moments later, in your shattered, addled state, the doctor and nurses depart. Your husband perches on the bed next to you, his face a picture of wonderment. Holding not just one but two bundles of joy in the crooks of his arms. One girl, one boy—fraternal twins.

“My love, we have created the most beautiful creatures on all of this earth,” he attests partisanly, his voice profound with emotion, his eyes pinging from one swaddled face to the other as they sleep soundly.

You shoot him a watery but ironic smile. “I suppose, dear husband, that is what happens when you spend a whole night impregnating me. You succeed twice over.”

His brow raises pointedly, his tongue shooting out to pass over his bottom lip. “Are you suggesting next time around, wife, we keep going for three days straight? So that I may have a brood of eight by the time we are done?” Deploying his bedroom voice that he knows full well makes your knees weak.

“Do not say such things in front of the children!” you chide, swatting his knee where it touches your thigh. “And no, I am not carrying six of your progeny at once; that is simply preposterous!”

“Four?” he petitions with a wink.

You roll your eyes affectionately, settling back into the mound of pillows. “A maximum of two at a time is my final offer, Benedict Bridgerton,” you respond drolly.

“Entirely reasonable,” he chuckles contentedly, dropping a kiss onto each of their foreheads before handing both to you so delicately, as if they are the most precious bundles in the world. 

Which to you both, they are.

Join my taglist HERE

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @notanotheruniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[that-one-girl2020]

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader Pt. 5

A/N: Thank you for the 1,000 followers! That’s kinda crazy but I guess I shouldn’t underestimate the kpop fandom. Anyways, you guys voted so all the Saja Boys will be getting the trauma but it kinda turned into trauma bonding…? Let me know what you think of their backstories, I tried hard to get the right balance of ‘I-need-this-and-I-want-it-desperately’ and ‘I-later-feel-shame-or-guilt-for-this’ while also keeping to their individual personalities.

This part is kinda long because we finally get to the reader actually singing! I was tempted to use ‘Free’ from kpdh but that’s Rumi and Jinu’s song and it didn’t fit the MC’s feelings and thoughts so I had to find a song that fit.

Speaking of, thanks to @ghastlyjewel67-blog for the inspiration for the second song!

TW: Self mutilation (scratching), toxic parental figure (thanks Celine), death threat (just a little), insecurity and low self esteem.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 6 || Part 7

Word Count: 5,661

(Reminder: Baby = Jum, Romance = Chungae, Mystery = Hyeon, Abby = Kwan)

“(Y/n)?” You looked up at the call of your name. Oh yeah. You were trying to get some air so you went for a walk.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” You asked the group of disguised Saja Boys numbly. Or, maybe it wasn’t that you felt numb at that moment, but you were actually feeling too much at once.

“What’s wrong, darling?” Chungae asked softly. You didn’t know why they seemed to have such worried looks on their faces as they joined you on the bench, Chungae on your right, Hyeon on your left, Jum on Hyeon’s left, and Kwan and Jinu crouching in front of you.

What you also didn’t know was that they had scrambled to the park as soon as they had learned from Derpy and the bird that you were in the park, distressed.

“Nothing, I’m fine boys,” You tried to reassure them, smiling at them.

Then Hyeon silently reached towards your face, his finger gently swiping your cheek and pulling away to show the tears that had gathered on his finger.

Surprised, you reached up to your own face and realized that it was wet. ‘Had you really been crying?’

As if you realizing you were crying had opened the floodgates, your body shuddered as you tried to laugh and wipe your face, “Oh.”

Chungae and Hyeon pulled you into their arms, Jum reached over to hold your hand and squeezed it comfortingly, Kwan and Jinu rested their hands on your legs, letting them know they were there with you.

“I’m sorry,” You couldn’t help but apologize. “I just… I just don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Don’t apologize, babe,” Kwan said, squeezing your thigh lightly.

“Never apologize for what you feel,” Hyeon growled softly, wrapping his arms around you tighter.

“Just… tell us what you’re thinking about,” Jinu softly recommended.

The tears came faster and you shook harder. It felt like all that was keeping you together was the feeling of the five boys around you. “I… I don’t want the Honmoon to be completed…!” You choked out, your body shaking and the air in your lungs stuttering as you tried to breathe through your crying.

With a soft surge of demon magic, you were somewhere else, an apartment on a couch with the boys in the same position as before. They thought you would want a little privacy right now…

Being with the boys, surrounding you with safety and comfort, helped you to feel safe enough to open up the chest of shame and weakness you kept locked in your chest. “If the girls seal the Honmoon, I don’t think I’ll be allowed to stay on this side of the barrier. And I’ve given everything… for the Honmoon to be completed because that’s what’s always been expected of me. I’ve given my blood, sweat, tears, my dreams, my soul for it but it’s never. Been. Enough.”

The boys couldn’t help but hold you closer, their hearts clenching at the sight of you so… distraught? Broken? In despair? Whatever the word for it was, they hated it.

They wanted to d̴̮̗̟̱̆̆̈́ē̵̥͎̠̮͊̽̍́̃̋͘s̵̱̅͛̇̉̈́͜ṯ̵̾ŗ̴̲̘͋ọ̴͕̙͒̎̆ý̵̡̱̠̻̟̰̹͈̕̕ whatever it was that was making you so sad but they couldn’t.

All they could do was hold you together in their own tainted hands and listen.

“And I don’t want to lose any of you either,” You continued, the words and the tears coming faster, “But I think the worst part is that I’m afraid that if I tell Rumi or the other girls that I like the part of my father that I have, the part that loved a Hunter that was meant to kill him? I’ll be betraying them, and my Aunt Celine, and my mother’s memory…”

They were quiet. What could they say to comfort you? To reassure you that you were so much better than them? They, who were nothing but monsters in the dark, made up of their own mistakes and shame.

“When I was human,” Jinu spoke softly, squeezing your ankle as he looked down to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes. “My family was poor and the only thing I had to my name was a bipa so I busked the streets to make money, try and give my mom and sister a better life. But it didn’t get me anywhere, and that was when I first heard Gwi Ma. His power, it changed my life overnight. But it came at a cost. When I was welcomed into the palace by the emperor for my singing, my mother and sister were cast away. I left them. And still, I ate my fill everyday, sleeping comfortably in silk blankets until the patterns started spreading and dragged me to the demon realm to serve under Gwi Ma.”

The other boys shared small glances with each other. And then, Hyeon spoke, “I… I was… insecure. I had someone I loved but I couldn’t help but feel like I wasn’t enough. I wanted more. We would go on walks together and other people would approach her and I would be pushed to the wayside. So, Gwi Ma made me beautiful and I finally felt like I had her attention. I was so happy and I couldn’t help but want more and more. She left me, and not long after, the patterns took over. That’s why, I don’t like showing my face anymore…”

You nuzzled your head against Hyeon’s to give him comfort and his lips quirked up appreciatively.

Kwan sighed, “I wasn’t entirely honest when I told you my deal with Gwi Ma… Yeah, I wanted strength after I lost my family. But I didn’t want it to protect, I wanted it to destroy. I became the strongest so I could desecrate those that killed my family… I became a monster. Even now, I still feel like that same beast sometimes.”

You didn’t like the self deprecating look he had—hypocritical, you know—so you nudged him with your foot softly. He looked up and the two of you shared soft, sad smiles.

Chungae grimaced, pulling away from you slightly, “I’m kind of like Hyeon… I lived with my relatives who were matchmakers and so I was surrounded by love all the time. But it never felt like it was directed at me. So, as I got older and no one showed interest in me, I started getting jealous. I wanted to love and be loved so badly, I didn’t understand why no one loved me. Gwi Ma helped me and, suddenly, people were clamoring for my love, some even fighting each other for it. I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t until the patterns took over.”

You pulled him back close, leaning your head against his shoulder as you held his hand with the one Jum wasn’t holding.

Jum rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I don’t have the same backstory as you guys, I was born in the demon realm, y’know. I’ve never known any different. I guess… if anything, I wish I was born a human in the first place. I wish I didn’t have to leech off the souls of others just to sustain myself.”

It was quiet as the six of you processed what was shared. You couldn’t help but chuckle, “Wow. What a big mess we are.” You smiled when it got a few light laughs, the tear tracks starting to dry. “Did you guys know, I wanted to be a singer when I was younger?”

They blinked at the sudden change of topic but followed along as it made your smile grow from sad to some broken reflection of joy. “Why didn’t you?” Jinu asked curiously.

You shook your head, “My Aunt Celine told me it was a useless skill for me.” You rolled your eyes, “Focus on supporting your sister and protecting her secret, she said.”

Kwan scoffed, scowling, “What a load of bull.”

You hummed neutrally in response, “Maybe.”

Jum leaned over to you, “Will you sing something for us?”

Your face flushed suddenly, “Wait, what?”

Chungae nodded in agreement to Jum’s request, “Yeah, please (Y/n)?”

Hyeon nuzzled closer as well, obviously he wanted you to sing too. Jinu and Kwan looked at each other in fond amusement. The five had known each other for at least a century, but they had never felt as close with each other as they did right now with you.

You sighed, “Alright fine.” You looked up in thought, your head tilted back to rest against the back of the couch. Then you closed your eyes and opened your mouth.

“Tell me once again~ I could have been anyone, anyone else~ Before you made the choice for me~ My feet knew the path~ We walked in the dark, in the dark~ I never gave a single thought to where it might lead~”

Your voice wasn’t professional after years of neglect, the vocal training your aunt had given you long depleted. But it was soft and it was sweet and it was raw. It was you. The boys could feel each emotion you put into the song and they couldn’t help but gravitate closer to you.

“All those empty rooms~ We could have been anywhere, anywhere else~ Instead, I made a bed with agony~ My heart knew the weight~ Ten years worth of dust and neglect~ We made our peace with weariness and let it be~”

As you sang, your chest warmed as the song spilled from your lips. It felt right, like something that had jarred a long time ago was finally slotting back into place.

“The moon will sing a song for me~ I loved you like the sun~ Bore the shadows that you made~ With no light of my own~ I shine only with the light you gave me~ I shine only with the light you gave me~”

You wanted to cry again. Was this really how you felt about Rumi and your Aunt Celine all this time? Deep in your heart?

“Name your courage now~ We could have had anything, anything else~ Instead, you hoarded all that's left of me~ Swallowin' your doubt~ Like swords to the pit of my belly~ I want to feel the fire that you kept from me~”

The boys listened closely to every note that spilled from your lips. Because music was probably the language they understood best now. They couldn’t help but ache for you. The longing and the heartache and the bittersweet love you sang of.

“The moon will sing a song for me~ I loved you like the sun~ Bore the shadows that you made~ With no light of my own~ I shine only with the light you gave me~ I shine only with the light you gave me~ I shine only with the light you gave me~ (I could have been anyone, anyone)~ I shine only with the light you gave me~ (I could have been anyone, anyone)~”

The last notes faded into the silence of the apartment. The boys moved closer, surrounding you in their love and appreciation.

“That was… beautiful, (Y/n),” Jinu complimented you softly.

“Sing more often,” Hyeon commented, nuzzling his nose in the crook of your neck and breathing in your scent.

You laughed softly, your heart more settled now. You were still nervous for the Honmoon to be sealed, but right now? Your boys were surrounding you in a bubble of warmth and safety.

”Thank you, boys…”

~~~

It was time. The Idol Awards had come.

You had come back to the tower that morning to see the girls already awake and in the living area.

“(Y/n)!” Zoey greeted you energetically so early in the morning. “Where have you been? We all agreed that Takedown wasn’t the right song for sealing the Honmoon, so we’re going to be performing Golden tonight!”

You froze. You would be happy to never listen to Takedown again but on the other hand… All your hardwork for their outfits and visuals: down the drain…

Your smile strained, the relaxed feeling in your chest lingering from your time with the boys faltering. You felt like scratching the bandages Jinu had carefully reapplied over your arms this morning. “Oh. Great. I’m just gonna go… replace your Takedown outfits with the Golden ones.”

You turned to go to their wardrobe. The girls grimaced as they watched you go. Oops…

“Sorry, (Y/n)!” Rumi called after you, feeling bad that she had inadvertently given you more work this morning.

Rumi should talk to you, she knew that. But the deal she made with Jinu wouldn’t directly affect you, it was between her and him. It wasn’t worth adding more stress to your plate. She was going to protect you.

So here you were, hours later at the Idol Awards stage. You were waiting in the girl’s dressing room, the girls having joined you a little bit ago as you waited for the Saja Boys to perform first. Bobby was keeping track of everything, waiting to get the girls for their cue.

You couldn’t help but side eye Mira as she whaled on a punching bag with a poster of abs on it. “I. Hate. Abs!” She raged. You looked away. ‘Okayyyy then… They must’ve run into the boys on the way here…’

Suddenly, Bobby burst into the room, “Girls, the Saja Boys are fighting.”

You gasped, your chest tightening as you swallowed thickly. ‘What could they possibly be fighting about?’ You thought worriedly. You hoped they wouldn’t hurt each other and that they would be alright.

“That means you're on now!”

“Okay. This is it. For the fans,” Rumi took the lead, the three of them smiling while you couldn’t help but scratch your arm anxiously, your mind still stuck on the boys. The girls huddled and you remained on the sidelines.

“For the world.”

“For us.”

Bobby led the charge out of the dressing room and towards the stage, “Yes! We win this, and then we celebrate with Itaewon corn dogs!”

You followed Rumi out, unable to help but call after her, “Wait, Rumi!”

She turned to you, fixing her microphone. “What is it, (Y/n)?”

‘Please don’t seal the Honmoon. I’m scared. I don’t want to do this. Please don’t take them away from me.’

You smiled at her, hoping it wasn’t as broken as it felt. “You’re gonna do great. You’ve got this.”

Rumi smiled softly, taking your hand, “Thank (Y/n). Come on.”

Your smile fell as Rumi turned and you quietly followed her. Why did you have to be such a coward?

The girls took their places and you felt your chance to stop them slipping through your fingers like sand. You followed Bobby to the screen showing the livestream of the performance, he noticed your down energy.

“Hey, don’t worry, (Y/n), they got this! They’re gonna do great!” He tried to reassure you.

You gave him a small smile, “Thanks Bobby.” You turned back to the screen.

“I was a ghost, I was alone, hah~ 어두워진, hah, 압길속에 (Ah)~Given the throne, I didn't know how to believe~ I was the queen that I'm meant to be~ I lived two lives, tried to play both sides~ But I couldn't find my own place~ Called a problem child 'cause I got too wild~ But now that's how I'm getting paid, 끝없이 on stage~”

The girls started off perfectly, their choreography on point and their vocals hitting every note. Bobby was following along next to you, doing the choreography and mouthing the lyrics as he did. You couldn’t blame him, you usually did it too when the two of you were watching the girls perform together. But today, your mind was too occupied…

“I'm done hidin', now I'm shinin' like I'm born to be~ We dreamin' hard, we came so far, now I believe~”

Zoey and Mira swiftly exited the stage to give Rumi her solo, everything going according to plan.

“We're goin' up, up, up, it's our moment~ You know together we're glowing~ Gonna be, gonna be golden~ Oh, up, up, up with our voices~ 영원히 깨질 수 없는~ Gonna be, gonna be golden~”

Rumi went up on the gold aerial ring, swinging over the crowd as she sang. Bobby cheered as we watched her perform, “Yes, Rumi’s crushing it!” Rumi landed on stage again, but as she was about to finish the post-chorus, the lights on stage went out.

You blinked, turning to Bobby who was checking his clipboard with confusion. “Bobby, what’s going on?”

He shook his head, looking back up at the screen with a concerned furrow in his brow, “I don’t know. Is that Takedown?” And yeah, you would know that opening anywhere. It was definitely the intro to the diss track.

Mira and Zoey were suddenly next to Rumi as soon as the lights went up, Rumi being the professional she was, immediately went into the choreo for the song despite obviously being surprised.

“So sweet, so easy on the eyes, but hideous on the inside~ Whole life spreading lies, but you can't hide, baby, nice try~ I'm 'bout to switch up these vibes, I finally opened my eyes~ It's time to kick you straight back into the night~”

You frown when Mira and Zoey break from the choreo, pushing at Rumi’s shoulders as they start circling your sister with nasty smiles and dark eyes.

“Why? No,” Bobby whispered, just as alarmed as you at the sudden turn on Rumi by the other girls.

“‘Cause I see your real face and it's ugly as sin~ Time to put you in your place 'cause you're rotten within~ When your patterns start to show~ It makes the hatred wanna grow outta my veins~”

You gasped as Mira and Zoey started grabbing at the jacket covering Rumi’s arms. Your stomach dropped and your heart went up your throat. ‘They knew…?’ And Rumi was just as horrified, covering her arms as Mira and Zoey tossed the tatters of her jacket aside.

“I don't think you're ready for the takedown~ Break you into pieces in a world of pain 'cause you're all the same~ Yeah, it's a takedown~ A demon with no feelings, don't deserve to live, it's so obvious~”

Mira and Zoey got up in Rumi’s face, saying something that the microphones couldn’t pick up. But it made Rumi distressed as she pulled at her hair and frantically tried to cover herself until she finally screamed.

“Ś̸̢̬̭̓̿̋͗T̸̥̓͋̂̉̎̕͘O̸̝͔̗̬̯͉̼̥̲̓͜O̶̰̭͍͉̥͍̜̻̝̪̔͐ͅO̸̡̢͉͍̬͇̝͓̾̂Ó̶͓̗̬̓̂̍̿͑̑͝Ō̴̯̯̒P̵̢̻̟̺̙͎̠͔̝̦͛̈́͗̅͊̈̑͘͝!”

You got the glimpse of her patterns glowing as they spread up her neck and to her face before the power of the building was taken out, the lights shattering as the screen went black. But you could still feel the power of Rumi’s voice reverberating in your chest.

For a long moment, all you could do was stare blankly in horrified silence. Rumi’s secret was out. Mira and Zoey found out and exposed her…

“(Y/n), did you know about Rumi’s…” Bobby searched for the right word, “Marks?”

“We were born with them,” was all you could tell him, still stuck on processing what had just happened. They had scorned Rumi.

‘What would they do to you then?’ Your mind hissed.

You shook yourself from your despair, “I have to go find Rumi!”

Bobby called after you as you took off, “Wait, do you even know where you’re going?! (Y/n)—!” He was distracted by his phone going off with a notification.

~~~

You were lost. You had run in a random direction because you didn’t know where the stage entrances were and now you regretted it. You could hear your sister yelling in the distance and then a guy yelling back. Was that Jinu? A pulse of demon energy went out around you, the familiar power of your sister vibrating in your chest so you followed it.

“Rumi!” You turned a corner to see your sister standing by herself. “Rumi! Are you okay?!” A stupid question but it was the first one on the tip of your tongue.

“Go away, (Y/n).”

You didn’t listen, worried and scared for both yourself and her. “Rumi, it'll be fine!” You tried to smile and reassure her but it just made you look manic you were sure. You reached out a hand to her shoulder to turn her around to look at you, “We just gotta explain that—“

”I said, g̸̳̯̙̜̈́͌̿ơ̴̪̝̳͚̲̔̇̓̋͝ ̴̠̺̯̾̀͌́͛͘͜a̶̜̬̗͓̓ẘ̶̛̥̞̠̠͝a̷̮̹̼̻̣̾͗̒̿y̵͔͕̝̺͇͒́̕̚,̵͔̣͐͆͆͆̎ ̷̫̼̼͍̼͚͊͝͝(̴̠̤͛͐̒͋̚͜͠Y̷̗͇̫̺̪̼̌̍/̸̯̥̱̕n̴̫̖̅̃)̶̗̩̲̬̂̄!”

Rumi turned, her voice pulsing out as she swung her hand. Her now clawed nails caught on your face and raked across your cheek, from your left ear almost to your nose. In shock and surprise of the sudden pain, you fell back.

“Rumi…?”

Rumi turned. And left. Demon magic trailing her every step as it consumed the Honmoon behind her. And you were left in its debris without a second look.

No. No no no no no n̵̺͍͆o̷̭̮̓…̸̟͇̹̽

“Rumi…!”

She didn’t turn around and she faded into the shadows.

“Don’t leave me…”

~~~

“Girls!”

“Not now Bobby,” Mira growled weakly, Zoey still numb beside her.

Bobby didn’t listen, running up to them, “What was that out there? Was it because of the new scandal with (Y/n)?”

His words shook Mira and Zoey from their feelings of betrayal, shaking their heads to look at him. “Wait, what?”

Bobby frowned, “Uh, yeah. The PR team just notified me.” He held up his phone which Mira quickly snatched. “Some blog just posted a bunch of photos of (Y/n) and the Saja Boys…”

Mira scrolled through the page, Zoey looking over her shoulder. And there they were. Pictures of you and the individual boys, walking in the park, eating at cafes, restaurants, food stalls, sitting and listening to music together, the arcade, it kept going on. But the real kicker was the last picture. You were on a park bench, surrounded by all the boys, leaning on each other and basking in their presence. You looked happy with them. Intimate.

Mira growled, clenching Bobby’s phone in her hand, “That—that… Traitor!” Mira shoved the phone back in Bobby’s arms and stomped away, the feeling of betrayal echoing deeper in her chest like a chasm.

“Mira, wait!” Zoey chased after her, her own feelings of betrayal and hurt being pushed down in favor of going after Mira.

“Wait, girls!” Bobby called after them but he was left behind.

~~~

You sniffed, trying to keep your tears to a minimum. If anyone could help you find Rumi, it was Zoey and Mira. You just had to explain to them that it wasn’t Rumi’s fault, that she just wanted to be normal and go with them to the bathhouse.

“Mira, Zoey!” You spotted them near one of the exits. Your skin was on fire, you were desperate to scratch for relief but you couldn’t, not when Rumi needed help.

“Thank goodness I found you!” You smiled in relief, “Look, I need your guys’ help to find, Rumi, she disappeared and she was in a really bad state. And I know what happened on stage, but she—“

“(Y/n) stop. Just stop pretending!” You were cut off by Mira’s demands.

“Mira?”

Mira had just wanted to leave. She just wanted to mourn her broken family in peace but you just had to show up. “Stop pretending to be on our side.”

“What?” You tilted your head at her, confused about what was going on. Was this because you were part demon too? You looked at Zoey to try and understand what Mira meant but the younger girl just looked away from you with a hard expression. “I am on your side.”

“Oh yeah? So why have you been hanging out with the Saja Boys? Looked real cozy to me,” Mira crossed her arms, moving into your space.

You blinked. How did they know about that? “Wait what?” You shook your head, the important thing was that they knew now. “Okay, yeah, I’ve been hanging out with them but—“

“But what, (Y/n)?! You’re choosing the demons over us? Did you even want the Honmoon to be sealed?”

You couldn’t answer her, swallowing thickly as you looked down shamefully.

“That’s what I thought. Go away, traitor. If you choose to fight on Gwi Ma’s side, then next time we see you… we’ll have to kill you,” Mira turned and left you there. Zoey looked at you and you pleaded at her with your eyes but she made her choice. She followed after Mira.

~~~

You had one more hope left.

Aunt Celine lives in the outskirts of the city, in the middle of a forest. It was a secret place where Hunters had been trained for centuries. Aunt Celine had raised you and Rumi so surely she would have a solution now.

You ran. You ran as fast as you could and then you noticed you were running faster than was possible for a human. Had your patterns spread that much? Tears were dripping but you wiped at them to keep your vision clear. Not yet. Don’t lose hope yet.

You made it in record time. The house was dark so you made your way to the one other place she could be. The old tree with the ribbons of past Hunters hung from its branches.

“Aunt Celine!” You cried, tears dripping down your cheeks.

Aunt Celine was on her knees before the tree, a distraught look on her face. Her eyes were wide but she had a look like she was a thousand miles away. “Leave (Y/n).”

“Please Aunt Celine, you have to help me find Rumi. I don’t know who else to go to! I don’t know what to do anymore, please!” You pleaded with her, falling to your knees in front of her so you could take her hands in yours.

She pulled her hands from yours, standing and backing away from you, a frown on her face as she avoided looking at you. She never could stand looking at you.

“You can’t do anything, child. You failed.” Her words stabbed into your chest, leaving you struggling for breath. “You failed in protecting Rumi’s secret. I knew you were more like your father. I should have thrown you out when we found out you couldn’t connect to the Honmoon.”

As Celine stumbled away, weak on her feet as she left you behind, always being left behind. You could only stare sightlessly at where she had been. Your heart was pounding in your ears, only a little louder than the sound of your own haggard breathing.

Why…?

You had hoped that they would accept you. Always. Mira. Zoey. Rumi. Celine.

Why?

That you could be happy one day to just be yourself and do what you want to do.

Why?

That you could be loved and accepted for who you are, demon patterns and all.

Why?

Why couldn’t they comfort you and stay? Keep your heart safe? After all you’ve done, helping them become who they are, cooking and cleaning for them, supporting them from the background, giving up your dream for them, pushing down who you are, why can’t they just see you?

Ẃ̷̛̞̩͖̥̲̜̭̩͉̹͉͎͔͚̲̖̙̝̮̅͌͐̆͋̑̈͗̏͝͠h̵̛̭̪̝͖̬̀͂̂̃̇̀̅͊̀̈́͊̑ͅy̷̛̰̭͓̫̗̭͍͎͔̭̺͔͍̖̭̩̯̯͉̓͌͐̉͆̈́̇͆̔͗̑͋̇͒̆̑̚̕̕͠͝?̷̥͍̭͖̭͚̫̲͖̦̑̈́̈́̓̋̇͛̈́͠

~~~

The boys were quiet as they waited for the time of their final performance. They stood around the roof of a building, watching the crowds of people march towards the Namsan tower. They would have to return to Gwi Ma soon but they couldn’t help but feel heavy. Even with the success of their mission so close at hand, the prize they worked hard to gain for Jinu, their minds lingered on you.

They didn’t know what backlash you had gotten from them exposing Rumi’s demon patterns to the world. And then they had deepened the feeling of betrayal in the two Hunters by leaking those photos of you and them. They felt guilty. They didn’t want to hurt you, just the Hunters. But Gwi Ma threatened to increase the volume of the whispers in their head when they wavered after you spent the night at their apartment.

Because when they were with you, vulnerable and open to each other, they hadn’t heard a single whisper, none of them. And that was precious to them. It gave them hope for themselves, that maybe they didn’t have to go through with Gwi Ma’s plan. But that hope was crushed. Turned to ash by Gwi Ma’s threats.

Hyeon turned when he heard the soft poof of demon magic, gasping when he saw you standing on the roof. “Princess?” He called softly and the other boys turned as well, their faces falling at the sight of you in the state you were in.

Your hair was wind blown, your eyes red. The nice clothes you had worn for the Idol Awards did nothing to hide the glow of your demon patterns beneath them. There was a bleeding scratch across the left side of your face, stretching from your ear almost to your nose. One of your eyes reflected the too familiar demon color of their own. Your face was blank. Withdrawn.

“(Y/n)…” Chungae called softly, the five of them gathering in front of you, hesitating to reach out to you. But what right did they have to touch you anymore?

“Please don’t leave me. Leave me alone.”

They frowned at your words, fists tightening at their sides. What a terrible temptation your words gave them.

“Babe,” Kwan sighed regretfully, “You don’t understand…”

“I don’t care.”

“Princess,” Hyeon tried to reason with her even though it sent a dagger through his heart to try and push her away. “We betrayed you.”

“I. Don’t. Care.”

Jinu snapped, his own regret and guilt getting to him, “We’re the ones that exposed that you were spending time with us! We made the scandal! We betrayed you—!”

“I don’t C̶̨̡̰̯̥̪͙̠͙̹̘̺̈́͂̋̾Ȧ̵̠̖̠̲̮̤̣̭̮̥̱͗̆̓̈́R̵̮̱̖͚͙̬͐́͂̈́͛͊E̶̩̲̰̬̱̎ͅ!̷̨̧̜̺͕̣͕̦̌̐̔͐̓̔̔̈́̄̕”

The boys took a step back in surprise at the sudden distortion of your voice. You suddenly came alive from the broken doll you had appeared as, the numb chasm crashing together into rage and despair and sadness.

“You may have orchestrated the situation but they’re the ones who reacted the way they did!” You wailed, your tears falling anew. Jum couldn’t handle it anymore, the usually cool maknae frowning as he stepped forward to hug you. You pressed your face into his shoulder, your body shuddering as you cried.

“Mira and Zoey said they would kill me the next time they saw me! And Aunt Celine said she always knew I was too much like my father and she should have thrown me out years ago! And Rumi… Rumi, she hit me and didn’t even regret it!”

The boys circled around you, offering what comfort they could in the situation they felt they created. It felt like their hearts were being ripped apart from the inside out.

“I just want to be loved and accepted and safe. And being with you guys makes me feel more safe and loved and accepted than I have in years.”

The boys just held you closer, not answering you. They didn’t want to pull you into their darkness. They were selfish and greedy beings, but for you? They couldn’t be selfish.

Your mouth opened to express yourself in the only way you could at the moment. “You and I are tangled as these sheets~ I'm alive, but I can barely breathe~ With your arms around me, it feels like I'm drownin'~ If I reach for somethin' I can't keep~ How bad could it really be?~”

You looked up at them, turning in their arms to meet their eyes one at a time so they could see the honest look in your eyes as you sang.

“So, baby, let's get messy, let's get all the way undone~ Come over, undress me just like I've never been touched~ Baby, I'm obsessed with you and there's no replica~ Maybe if it's messy, if it's messy, if it's messy~ Then you know it's really love~”

The boys still hesitated but you could see the look in their eyes slowly coming apart. So you went on, telling them how you felt.

“I want all of your complicatеd~ Give me hell and all of your worst~ Whеn the party's over and I'm screamin', "I hate it"~ How bad could it really hurt~ If tonight we just let it burn?~”

As the next words came, you truly felt settled in yourself in a way you hadn’t before. You were sure of this decision, being with them. And you slowly turned in a circle, your hands running across their chests and their jaws, making sure they met your eyes as your patterns glowed brighter and spread faster as you accepted them as part of you. Your eyes both glowing amber, and your hands lengthening into claws that matched their own, your skin darkening inhumanly.

“So, baby, let's get messy, let's get all the way undone~ Come over, undress me just like I've never been touched~ Baby, I'm obsessed with you and there's no replica~ Maybe if it's messy, if it's messy, if it's messy~ Then you know it's really love, love~”

The boys were breathless, speechless as you transformed right before their eyes. For them, the patterns were a form of shame and guilt but when they saw them on you? They were beautiful. Like power crawling across your skin, filling your eyes with fire. Like seeing a goddess coming into herself.

“You're pullin' back and I'm runnin' for the door~ You're sayin' those words and it just makes me want you more~ A second chance with our hearts on the floor~ Guess it's love~”

Giving in, the boys pulled you closer, circling you like planets stuck in your orbit. The center of their universe. They let their human guises fall so they could match you, show you that they accepted you and you weren’t alone. So you could see every ugly part of them. Your clothes fade to black, matching their robes as they hold you close, arms tangling for their hands to hold whatever part of you they could put their hands on.

“So, baby, let's get messy, let's get all the way undone~ Come over, undress me just like I've never been touched~ Baby, I'm obsessed with you and there's no replica~ Maybe if it's messy, if it's messy, if it's messy~ Then you know it's really love~ Love~ (Then you know it's really) Love~ Love~”

I’m sorry. The angst was necessary. Have some outtakes to soothe the angst.

Outtakes:

Mystery: *Barks at a fan*

Fans: *Bark back*

Mystery: *shook*

…

Bobby: “The Saja Boys are fighting!”

The Saja Boys: “How dare you use my new face cream without asking?!” “It was on my side of the room!”

…

Celine: *Being the terrible parental figure that she is*

The Saja Boys, Mira, Zoey: *Cracking knuckles and readying weapons* So you’re the one.

…

You: *Answers the phone* “Hi guys, what’s up?”

The Saja Boys: “Oh, just trying to prevent a murder.”

You: “Oh…? How so…?”

The Saja Boys: *Staring at Celine* “Self control.”

…

You: *Searching the crowd* “Where’d the girls go?”

Rumi: “I got this.” *Cups hands around her mouth* “RUMI AND (Y/N) WERE BORN MISTAKES!”

Mira and Zoey: *Violently clamoring over people like feral animals* “WHO SAID THAT?!”

Rumi: “There they are.”

Abby: *Summoned on the top of a pole* “HUH?! I’LL RIP OUT YOUR LIVER!”

Baby: *Appearing with support candy* “Don’t listen to the idiots, beautiful.”

Romance: *Casually holding an ax* “Who said that? I just wanna talk.”

Hyeon: *Suddenly appears behind you to wrap his arms around your waist* “Grrrrr…”

Jinu: *Plotting some dramatic evil revenge plan* “Say that again?”

Derpy the Tiger: *Smiling eerily*

You: *Tearfully* “Guys…”

…

Rumi and Jinu: *High fiveing* “Yay, Platonic Soulmates!”

…

I also got carried away and made a short playlist for this little series.

Tag list: @brights-place @itmechaosartist @reni502 @chin-chii @cultish-corner @enerofairy @mama-m1na @akariis4snowball @gremlinartstudio @shynotded @shadowmoonlight0604 @omgsuperstarg @neigesprincess @sleep-7372 @hurts-my-brain @kiwibackie @gh0stied3ath @naysha140 @theferretkids @lelantyuu @sexyindependentdowntospendit @hornehlittleweeblet2 @moonymoo1 @moochiwoochi @cheolright @crescent-z @prorpy @mey-archive @cami1qx @nerdalicios @xxsadlovexx @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @blackheart34 @anonymousewrites @scarletrosesposts @justanindiangirl12 @beexboo @tatsuri-zomushiki @call-me-nyxx @queenofviolenceandnerds @randomfan218-blog @jaybbygrl @unholycheesesnack @ocean-mochi @iviorienne @confusedparticle @otakusimp1 @nosbaby07 @fries11 @ri-eveowe @1950schick @libdarkheart @yourjustassaneasiamx @the-bookish-artist @anduinandwrathionlover @eternallyrosyfire @lysira340 @lansy-4 @strayharmony943 @maximumtrashchild @bleufu1 @minepugs @valeriele3 @arieslucy @nisarelle @suzieq1948374

[dollwrites]

ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔ ｔｙｐｅ ┊ v-day weekend blurbs ( caleb )

ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔ ｗａｒｎｉｎｇｓ ┊ smut ( minors dni ), fem!reader, mirror sex, exhibitionism ( filming ), caleb gets rough, size kink, praise kink, stand-fucking, all characters featured are aged 18+

ｉｍｐｏｒｔａｎｔ ┊ i stared at caleb doing one handed pushups for like a minute solid and hit a blinker. here’s the result. please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

“Hey, no moving…” you murmur in a pointed, accusatory tone the very moment you feel Caleb’s hips buck forward. your breath caught in your throat as he does; his cock notching another inch into your silken core none-too gently. “I told you to let me do it.” puffing out your lower lip in a childish pout, you cast a glance over your shoulder, peering up at a grinning Caleb, raising both arms, palms out in mock defeat.

you blinked, needing to pause to look over his countenance. sweat-dampened brown tendrils stuck to his forehead and against his temples and the very edges of his cheeks. speaking of his cheeks, there were violet in hue, with diamonds of perspiration glistening against the apples. his jaw slung, swollen lips parted to accommodate his heavy breathing, you could even see the vein on the side of his neck bulge and throb when you clench up, milking his cock in a warm vice.

“What’s the matter? Do I play too rough for your movie?” he challenged with a smile.

“Always,” you reply, squirming on your feet to welcome in his fresh, thick inch. it took some stirring, and a whole lot of primal pleasure as his heavily veined cock rubbed against your sensitive, spongy walls, to find a comfortable enough position for you to keep going. the hand gripping your phone tightens it, and you look back to the mirror, standing less than six feet from it, to ensure the angle was still perfect. you raise the phone just a quarter of an inch higher, and spread your legs wider. “I want it to be… pretty.” you settled on an almost laughable adjective, but it seemed the most fitting, as you glance up at him from the glass. the two of you lock eyes, and you shudder at the eroticism of it all. you were clad in lacy lingerie ( though, however skewed it may be, it still counted ), your makeup done, and you had chosen the best possible setting and position to ensure that you would be able to review the footage while you railed yourself on his cock— looking into the mirror. but, it wasn’t simply for your own vanity, and you remind him of that as you start to move again, pushing your ass back and forth to take the familiar inches. “You know,” you continue, trying to be as casual as possible as you explain, though your sentence is continuously marred by choking gasps and happy moans, “f—for when you’re away in Skyhaven— shhh—shit! — you’ll have something… ahhh… nice to watch…!”

“Sorry, baby girl,” his words were thick and slurred with the ever-so-subtle etching upwards of his mouth in a crooked grin. “Just couldn’t help myself, wanted to get that cute, lil’ yelp outta you. Won’t happen again, promise.” but even as he drew a cross over his heart, you could still see that twinkle of mischief in his eye. one of your brows quirk up, as if to say: i don’t believe you, and Caleb reads it immediately. with a husky chuckle, he shook his head. “Lil’ thing’s so damn suspicious.” however, he still hooked his arms behind his back in submission. widening his own, already imposing stance, you feel like a worm dangling on his hook between the gap he provided. then, he straightened his back, standing at attention. his biceps bulge, the hard and thick muscle pads of his arms dancing beneath his skin as he flexes them, more for you than anything else. it was a silent reminder of his strength— the power he was willingly giving up to you. “There, that better, baby?” he asked, his gaze softening as it roved over your back. the clasp of your bra was still held together, even though the shoulder straps had been discarded, and the weight of your breast spilled out of the loosened cups, swaying hypnotically with every move you make. still, that clasp taunted him, and he had the sudden and wicked urge to lunge forward and unclip it with his teeth rose to the surface of his resolve. he resigned, however, grinding his teeth together as his eyes followed the shape of your spine downward, instead.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he praised quietly, his brows knit close together. your pace was slow enough to frustrate him beyond measure, a steady rhythm that was a sweetly agonizing form of torture he’d only ever endure for you. “Takin’ my big cock just how you want it,” Caleb let out a low growl. against the small of his back, his fingers twitched and jerked with the desire to grip your hips tight enough to leave their shape imprinted in your skin. he shook away the thought, and clenched his fists tightly. “Fuck yourself on me, baby girl, take whatcha need.. Ah-hah, that tight, little cunny ready for another inch? Because I’m dyin’ to give it to her.” Caleb’s thighs tightened, a dull tingle settling against the base of his spine.

“You’re already so deep,” you whine back, glancing down between your legs. your cunt drooled as you speared yourself on to Caleb, over and over, and you use your free hand to dip between your thighs and scrub at their apex, strumming your swollen clit to the same speed of your riding, mewling in pleasure. “I— I can cum, just like this…” you trail off, your eyeline fluttering back to the phone screen. you could see the contortion of pleasure on your own face, and you had to admit, it was sexy to watch yourself get closer and closer. you had no doubt that Caleb would spend many a lonely night, watching this video over again, gripping his greedy cock and wishing to feel your tight cunt instead.

“Lil’ fucking tease…” he growled into your hair on the crown of your hair. the scent of your shampoo still lingered there, and it made his eyelids flutter. “I need more.”

and just like that, your control of the situation, and of Caleb, dissipated. he sucked in a ragged breath, large hands releasing themselves from their subservient position and grope at your thighs, hooking against the backs of your knees to sweep you off your feet.

“Caleb!” yipping in surprise, your phone slips from your grasp and clatters on the floor between his feet. fortunately, with this new angle, the video captures the visage of you, spread open, and Caleb already rutting like a man possessed into you. his balls, though tight with impending orgasm, are still heavy enough to spank against your clit as he pulls your body down to meet his rabid thrusting. “That’s—!”

with your knees dug into your own chest, your eyes follow the shape of your spread legs, and the mesmerizing, helpless flop of your stocking-clad feet in the air. it felt good, really good, to be fucked so animalistically, to be locked against his powerful body, at the mercy of his whims.

“Just hush up and take it now, baby girl. You’ve had your fun,” Caleb chuckles as he lowers you down to meet the upward pounding, his hips snapping against yours. “— made your cutesy, lil’ video, you got to ride for a lil’ bit, but now you get to just sit pretty and take exactly what I’m gonna give ya.” Caleb pulled you flush to his lap, burying himself balls-deep in your weeping cunt with a happy snarl tearing through his throat. his eyes flick to the mirror, “Look how precious you are, all dolled up, gettin’ ruined, all for me?” your gaze follows his, and your cheeks warm as humility rises within them. he’s right, though. even you couldn’t help but be wooed by your fucked-out state, babbling as he bounces you up and down on his cock. then, Caleb chuckles, a rough and strangled sound in comparison to his usual timbre. his gaze had listed downward, to catch the sight of the camera on the floor, capturing your decimation from a most sordid angle. “Oh, fuck yeah, I’m gonna love watchin’ your puffy, lil’ pussy get stuffed full from this angle.”

[chaussetteblanche]

and they were roommates

pairing : Spencer Reid x fem!student!roommate!reader summary : you are Spencer Reid's roommate, the team finds out about you when a case brings them to the university you study at word count : 2.5k warning : canon-typical violence A/N : the university is a random one I picked in Virginia, bear with me because I don't know how US university systems work, thanks :) I think this is a part one, there may be a part two or even more, idk, but tell me what you think !

part 2, part 3, part 4

"I- I'm sorry, what university did you say?" Spencer's frantic tone was immediately noticed by his colleagues. Suddenly, he seemed hyperaware of everything in the room. The loud AC, Derek's pen-clicking and the overwhelming smell of Emily's coffee. "Mary Washington University," JJ answered swiftly, eyes narrowed as she sent Reid a confused glance. The man in question mumbled a few words under his breath and shot up, grabbing his coat and scarf. "We need to go." His tone, unusually urgent, left no space for debate or questioning. He was out the door within seconds, followed closely by Morgan and the others.

When you'd applied for Mary Washington University, you had known you would have to get an apartment. You lived too far away to even consider taking the numerous trains and buses and subways to get there. So, when you had been accepted into your first choice of universities, you'd started apartment hunting. Or roommate-hunting, to be more precise.

To say you had been unlucky would have been quite the understatement. You'd visited four apartments so far and could not even consider living in one of them for a second. The first had been full of frat boys who made your skin crawl, the second was with an old, far right-wing couple, the third had been two sisters who'd yelled at each other for the whole time you were there and the fourth had been so crowded your were certain it was neither sanitary not legal for another person to live there. With the deadline of university starting and having to move all your things, you were starting to get quite anxious. But call it chance or fate, one day you stumbled upon an advertisement for an apartment in a nice neighbourhood with one person who seemed quite normal. This person was a state-employee (which meant a stable salary and that meant you wouldn't have to compensate for rent) who travelled often for work and liked to keep mostly to themselves. Not one for big parties, they preferred a night-in and rarely had people over.

So you'd put on your big-girl pants and had walked over to what you hoped would be your last apartment visit. You hadn't been expecting such a young person to open the door because of the way the advert had been written and because of what it said. "Hi, I'm Dr. Spencer Reid." You noticed he didn't hold his hand out and mirrored his behaviour. "Hi! I'm here for a visit!" You introduced yourself somewhat shyly, feeling intimidated. This man was at the most five years older than you and he was already a doctor?

He showed you around the apartment, which you liked very much. The rooms smelled like books and tea and everything was kept very clean. On the whole, it was tidy, even if a few books or articles were stacked in some odd places. The bedroom you'd stay in was large and luminous. After the tour, he made you a cup of tea as you discussed formalities.

"Uh, so, you’re a student, right?" he'd asked politely as he added a worrying amount of sugar in his earl grey. You bit back a teasing jest. You hoped maybe one day you'd get to place where you could comment on his daily sugar intake. "Yeah, um, I'm studying English Literature and Cinema." You stirred your tea, looking around the kitchen. Even though it was painted a dark, forest green, it still seemed luminous in the afternoon sun. "Oh, that's super interesting! I’ve always found texts in Middle English particularly insightful! I- I read the Canterbury Tales when I was about 10 years old. It’s fascinating the way in which issues which were already current then are still very present today, like in the Wife of Bath’s tale, for example-“

He cut himself off, leaning back into the couch. He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks dusted pink. “Sorry, you probably don’t want me to ramble about what you already know.” “No, I think it’s amazing that you would know that, actually. What else did you like in the Wife of Bath’s tale?” Spencer seemed to brighten up at your words and thus ensued a lengthy discussion of the avant-garde themes evoked by Geoffrey Chaucer. You were fascinated by his knowledge and found his passion especially endearing. Lots of your professors weren’t even that passionate when talking of late 14th century literature.

After discussing rent, which you would afford by waitressing at a local bar, lightly touching upon political subjects (on which you seemed to agree on), he finally told you that he was an FBI agent. "Excuse me?" you spluttered, leaning backwards in shock. "I'm a profiler with the BAU, the Behavioural Analysis Unit. I can show you my badge if you want." He stood up and reached for his bag, but you stopped him in his tracks. "No, no, that's okay, I believe you. I'm just surprised, that's all, sorry." His expansive knowledge of so many things seemed fitting for an agent of the BAU. After realising you were the first person who didn't demand his badge as proof of his profession, Spencer granted you a small smile. "You don't need to apologise. I- I know it can be a bit... off-putting." He sat back down and looked you in the eye. "Is that a problem for you, living with a federal agent?"

You thought about it for a second. As a general rule, you weren't a big fan of cops. Even more generally, you didn't believe in the structure of today's society. But that was a big topic. Plus, a profiler wasn't really a cop, was he? "No, that's not a problem for me."

You'd moved in a month and a half later. Things had been slightly awkward at first and you'd had to figure out what kind of dynamic Spencer and you had. But eventually, you’d found your rhythm.

When Spencer left for work, you took care of his plants and sent him pictures of Geoffrey. Geoffrey was the cat you’d found on the street and taken in. He was named after Geoffrey Chaucer, author of the Canterbury Tales, your first common point of interest. Spencer had been reluctant at first, but you’d taken him to the vet, where he was tested and vaccinated, and the man had finally accepted him into your shared space. Now, he loved the little creature. Sometimes, you’d call him to ask how he was doing and whether he was safe. He’d always reply that yes, he was doing fine and no, he wasn’t in any danger, don’t you worry. He’d ask how you were doing and if you were staying on top of uni work and if you’d eaten and if Geoffrey wasn't being too annoying. As an orange cat, he had his particular tendencies.

When Spencer was at home, you'd always look forward to getting back from class. There was always that sense of comfort and ease when he was around. You had found a lovely routine quite easily. You'd both work or study, then cook, eat together and afterwards maybe you'd watch a movie or something. You were at a point where you could comment on his daily sugar intake, which he's started correcting since meeting you. He loved the Big Bang Theory and though you weren't such a fan, you loved the little laughs he let out and all the corrections he'd make. In general, you liked when he talked. Even more generally, you liked him. You also liked Friends and though Ross got on Spencer's nerves, he enjoyed being able to discuss it with you afterwards. The two of you got very close without even noticing.

Sometimes, you'd remember he wasn't just your roommate, but also a man. He'd make you a cup of tea and you'd stare at his hands a little too long while he stirred the honey in. Or he'd help you reach for a cup with his impressive height, his front just skimming your back with a shiver. He'd tell you to breathe and sit down when you were upset about something. A few times, he drove you home from a night out with your friends and laid his hand on your knee. He was the only one who remembered how you'd told him you wanted to kiss him.

With you, Spencer discovered many things he had never experienced before. A healthy, comforting and peaceful routine. A supporting, non-judgemental, healthy friendship. Easy laughter in the middle of the night and tired "good morning"s at dawn. Butterflies in his stomach whenever you touched him. A budding romance which kept him awake at night.

So when that was threatened, he just about lost it.

"Oh my God." "I can't believe this." "Is this a prank?" "Did someone call 911?" "What about her parents?" "Oh, that's sick."

Voices swarmed around your head, making you dizzy. Your hand rested over your mouth as you stared at the body strewn on the lawn. Much of the student body stood next to you, just as shocked. Mary Goldman had been her name. You'd crossed her just this morning in the main hall and had exchanged small smiles. You had thought that she looked really pretty today, but hadn't told her. You regretted that now. At the moment, her mascara had run down her cheeks and dried and her lipstick and been smudged. Bruises and cuts decorated her bare arms and legs and a big red stain sat on the side of her stomach. The contrast between her dead body and the green, thriving grass beneath her was haunting.

You turned away, feeling sick. You felt your friend's hand on your shoulder, a small source of comfort anchoring you to reality. Facing the road as you turned, you were surprised to see three big black SUVs speeding towards the crowd. You'd been expecting an ambulance, or cops. Not whoever these guys were. They screeched to a stop, drawing everyone's attention. A small dozen of people stormed out, all dressed differently though they all held the same aura of importance, knowledge and authority. You turned back to your friends. "Who are these-"

You stopped mid-sentence when you heard your name being called out urgently. You'd have recognised his voice amidst a thousand others. He spoke your name like no other. You frantically looked around, pushing your way to the large vehicles. When you finally spotted him, tears started pricking your eyes. "Spencer," you breathed in a half-sob. His eyes ran you over once, twice, assessing any damage. When he saw there was no physical wound, his shoulders sank in relief. He opened his arms and you rushed inside his warm embrace almost reflexively. Neither of you noticed the numerous pair of curious eyes observing your intimate exchange.

"Oh my God, Spence- What- What are you doing here?" you'd cried into his cardigan. You buried your face into his neck, inhaling the comforting scent he always bore. He wrapped an arm around your waist and another around your shoulders, holding the back of your head in a consoling manner. "We're- We're taking this on as a case, sweets. Are you all right?" He knew it was a stupid question but all the emotions and tension were barely wearing off and he didn't know what else to say. You pulled away but he kept you at arm's length, holding your cold, shaking hands in his warm, steady ones. "I- Yeah, it's just- I- I saw her this morning! How could she- Why would someone do this to her? To- to anyone?!" Spencer cooed and pulled you into another tight hug as you continued to ramble through your tears. When you'd eventually calmed down thanks to his words of reassurance, he pulled away softly.

Spencer understood what you meant perhaps more than anyone. The sadness, the shock, the anger, the need to understand. He gently wiped away the mascara under your eyes with his thumb. "I know, I- It's- Even I don't always understand, sweetheart, so don't- Why don't you go home? I'd come with you but-" You nodded, biting your lower lip. He gave you a sad smile. "I promise I'll join you as soon as this is over. You- you can make yourself a cup of tea and process all this and pet Geoffrey, okay? Classes are going to be cancelled either way." "I don't want to-" The look in his eyes kept you from arguing further. You nodded, giving him another hug. Before you left, an older man came over to you.

"I'm sorry to bother you, miss. I'm Agent David Rossi. I just had a question-" "Rossi," interrupted Spencer with a stern tone you'd never heard before. The older Agent raised an eyebrow at him. "Just one question." He turned back to you. "At what time did you say you saw the victim?" You inhaled shakily, running a hand over your face. "Uh, it must have been around quarter to eleven. I think- Yeah, somewhere between ten thirty and eleven." "Thank you, miss." You didn't miss the glance shared between the two men before Rossi retreated.

"Who was that?" asked Emily as soon as you'd left and Spencer had joined them behind the police tape. "No one," Spencer brushed her off as he kneeled next to the victim. Strangely, he hated the idea of someone who knew you dying. It felt too close to home. "C'mon, man, you lost your shit this morning, a girl you clearly know very well runs into your arms, you snap at Rossi and you expect us to believe you?" Derek raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. Spencer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking up at the rest of the team. All were staring at him patiently. He stood up, swallowing.

"That was my roommate." He informed the team of your name and of how you'd been living together for a few years now. "Spencer, you've been living with a woman for years and you've never told us?!" Derek was all but hysteric. Hotch reminded him that everyone was entitled to a private life. "So, are you dating or something?" Emily prodded again. Spencer hesitated a second before answering. "No." Derek scoffed, appalled. "You mean to tell me you've been living with a beautiful woman like that for years and nothing's ever happened?!" "Not everyone is like you, Morgan," Emily reminded with a teasing smirk. Derek sent her an unimpressed look. "Look, let's all grill Spencer later, we have a case to focus on right now." Rossi, ever the voice of reason, directed everyone's attention back to the corpse laying next to them.

Needless to say, the BAU team did not need to interrogate Spencer or attack him with incessant questions to find much out. They'd seen by his behaviour that very morning how much he cared about you. They'd seen how relieved he had been when he'd seen you safe and sound. They'd noticed you'd only started crying when you'd seen him, a big sign of trust. They had never heard him call another by pet names such as "sweets" or "sweetheart". They'd read both of your body languages like a children's book and translated it easily.

Love. Comfort. Peace. Ease.

[meowmewmews]

𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

minors don’t interact!!!!! 18+ only mature content under tab

synopsis : sol was obsessed with you the moment he laid eyes on you. you were his soulmate. he’d make sure no one else would touch you. he is the only one who can satisfy you. don’t you know that?

warnings : yandere, masturbation, obsessive behavior, stalking, somnophilia, cnc, dubcon, predatory behavior, smut, long word count, drugging, grinding, penetration, very rough sex, whiny submissive Sol at one point, and dominant Sol at another point.

author’s note : if you just want to read smut skip to sections with the 🍋 icon

long word count (11.7k+ words) i mean this might as well be split into different chapters but i don’t want to do that, also i decided to change him referring to you as pumpkin to something else sorry. gave him a tongue piercing because it sounded fun >:3 also i hate tumblr formatting so read on ao3 if you want . (gloomy_kitty)

also not 100% lore accurate

thanksss to my friend who proofread this for me!!

Sol was obsessed with you and had been since you first arrived at the school. The moment his scarlet eyes landed on you something strange was awakened within him. It felt like love at first sight—no it was love at first sight. Did you remember your first encounter? No, it was so long ago you probably hadn’t. He did though, he remembered how he felt so vividly. His heart pounded in his chest, butterflies fluttered in his stomach, and his breath hitched making it difficult to breath the moment he had seen you. That cute library assistant that worked on campus. He remembered how he had walked up to you at the counter, asking for a book for class. How you went out of your way to help him find it, not complaining a single time.

“You absolutely need this book for your class right?” You asked him, sighing in defeat after nearly an hour of searching the library.

“Yes, but if you can’t find it don’t w-“ Sol began, a bit irritated that this was required for his passing grade. But he’d just ordered it online and prayed it arrived on time before finals.

“No. I know we have it. Don’t worry I’ll find it. Just give me another day. Here write down your info and I’ll give you a call once I do.” You said determinedly, sliding a sticky note and pen towards him. “O..okay.” He mumbled and wrote down his information. He fully expected you to not ever find the book or just forget to call him to let him know of your findings. But the very next morning he received a call from an unknown number. “Hello?” He answered.

“Hi this ______ from the school’s library. I found the book you were looking for. It’s reserved at the front desk. If I’m not here just let whoever is at the counter know your name.” You said, he could tell that you were quite happy.

Sol’s eyes widened in shock, you really found it. He responded back with a simple thanks and during a free period he went to the library. There he saw you shelving away books, a content expression on your face. Awkwardly he walked up to you clearing his throat, when he realized you had an earbud in. You jumped in surprise, dropping the book you were holding. Then, at the same time you and Sol reached down to grab the book. Your hand on top of his for a brief second before you pulled away. It felt like a bolt of electricity shot through him. “Whoops! Oh hey you’re the guy from yesterday!” You laughed quietly as he handed you back the book. With that you checked him out reminding him that late fees would occur if he didn’t bring it back on time. You explained how you stayed over an hour after your shift to find what he was needing, then it turned out it was in the completely wrong genre! A historical book tucked away with comics, how egregious!

When Sol asked why you did that you shrugged, simply saying, “I don't want anyone to fail their first semester because I was too lazy to find a book for them. It’s my job after all.” You flashed him a smile. As you handed it over your fingers brushed over him for another brief moment. That same electric feeling coursed through his body. It was that moment something had awakened inside Sol. He was obsessed now.

That memory played in his head for over a year, he had found out your first name. One day when sitting in the library “studying” he overheard you telling a blonde girl about how excited you were for your art class in the fall then you explained what period it would be. Since there was only one introduction to art class that fall semester for the period before lunch, he was going to enroll in art class regardless so might as well make sure he was in yours. Everything had been planned out. Sol didn’t leave any detail forgotten.

He got to class early, sitting in the back of the classroom. He placed his backpack on the chair next to him and anyone he tried to sit next to he glared at, causing them to scurry away. Now he just needed to wait for you to arrive, you’d have to take the only available seat open next to him in a full class.

Like he planned There were no more seats left in class, you had arrived a bit late, only barely beating the bell. He watched as your eyes darted around the classroom looking for somewhere to sit, then a relief look washed over your cute face when you spotted the open seat next to him. Quickly you made your way over pulling out the chair, “Is this taken?” You asked him, already beginning to slip off your backpack.

“N..no.” Sol replied avoiding your gaze, he was focused on his sketchbook, his pencil tapping against the book as he tried to control his breathing. “Oh thank god.” You sighed in relief, finally taking your seat. Rummaging through your backpack you pulled out all the essentials you’d need for art class. It worked. His plan went perfectly!

Sol found it difficult to concentrate on the professor’s words as he discussed basic art fundamentals, he just kept glancing over at you. Your perfume smelled so intoxicating, it drove him wild. The way you studiously jotted down notes was so adorable. Then class ended much to the man’s horror, he hadn’t written down a single thing but most importantly you gathered your things to leave without saying a word to him. He lingered in the classroom a bit, slowly shoving his sketchbook back into his backpack.

A couple days passed before he could see you again, and the whole time he found it difficult to think about anything else other than you. Sol was a bit angry at himself for not even speaking to you, that was his chance to reintroduce himself. He would talk to you next time, he promised himself.

The next class came and you were once again in the same predicament as last time. Arrived to class right before the bell went off and the only seat opened was next to the same guy as before. Not that you minded, he seemed nice enough. “Hey.” You greeted him quietly as you sat down before taking a seat. “Hi.” He returned your greeting quietly. He once again didn’t speak to you and that cycle went on for some time, before finally he had an excuse for the two of you to speak. He wasn’t sure why he kept shying away from you. Shit, he could barely even concentrate in class.

Then the next class came. “Everyone, please pair up with the person beside you, I want you and your partner to discuss today’s chapter.” The professor mumbled as he took a seat back down at his desk, immediately kicking his feet onto the desk and tapping away on his phone.

Turning around with a sigh you looked at your partner with a smile, “Hi. Thanks for always saving me a seat. I’m ______.” You introduced yourself, then gave the dark haired man an encouraging nod to speak. I know what your name is. He thought. Sol rubbed the back of his neck, nervously avoiding your eyes, his gaze fixated to the side. “Yeah it’s no problem. I’m..Sol.” He introduced himself back, hoping that maybe you remembered him.

“Nice to meet you, Sol.” You chimed in reply, holding your hand out. He looked at your hand, then back at you before he shook your hand back. “Yeah, same.” He said, a small smile making its way to his pierced lips. The moment your hands touched, he felt his heart do a leap, and without meaning to he held onto your hand for a bit longer than usual. Though upon realizing that, he quickly pulled his hand away. Either you didn’t mind or just didn’t notice it, as you immediately turned your attention back to the textbook. So you didn’t remember him, that was okay it’s not like he ever went out of his way to speak to you at the library.

“So, this chapter…” you began as you pushed the textbook to the center of the table so you both could share. Sol didn’t speak too much, he was more interested in what you had to say, he nodded attentively and hummed in acknowledgment when he agreed with something you said. The professor didn’t seem too interested in teaching class, so the reminder was spent just conversing. You giggled as Sol said something as you playfully slapped his arm, “What, no way? You did not!” You quietly exclaimed as Sol told you a story. He nodded, “Yeah I really did. It’s embarrassing but it’s the truth.” He laughed softly. Every single fucking thing was so adorable about you; your name, laugh, appearance, personality, every single thing was so adorable. Then just as Sol was about to open his mouth to speak again, the bell rang.

Jumping up in your seat, you pushed the chair back, quickly gathering your belongings. “I gotta go, Sol. But you’ll save me a seat again right? I really enjoyed talking to you.” You asked, looking at him with the cutest expression. “Yeah of course.” He reassured you. “Thanks, you’re the best!” You said and with that, you rushed out of the classroom.

As Sol finished gathering his own belongings, he noticed something sitting on your chair. Your jacket was left behind. He grabbed it and quickly walked out of the classroom to see if he could catch up to you, but of course you were nowhere to be seen. ‘I’ll hold onto it. Give it to her next class.’ He thought to himself.

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“Woah, that's a cute jacket! You seeing a cute girl?” Hyugo asked his friend. The pair sat at their usual spot on the rooftop eating their lunches. Sol rolled his eyes, “No. The girl who sits next to me in art left it, I’m going to give it to her next class. I just didn’t want it to get lost.” He explained as he continued to eat. He could bring it to you at the library where you worked part time but no, he just wanted to hold onto a bit longer. It was a cute jacket, he couldn’t lie - it was black with striped sleeves and an adorable black cat patch was ironed onto the front. It suited you perfectly.

“Aren’t you so sweet?” Hyugo teased, causing his friend’s face to heat up. Sol grumbled under his breath as he just ignored the comment and continued to eat, only causing the other to laugh. As the bell rang, signaling that their final class of the day would begin and marking the end of their lunch break, the pair stood up. Sol gathered the bento boxes, placing them in his backpack.

“Are you doing anything after class?” Hyugo asked before they parted ways. Sol wasn’t, but he needed to spend some time alone, there was an issue he needed to take care of. “Yeah.” He simply responded. “Aw okay, I’ll just go to the arcade by myself then.” He shrugged before walking off.

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It was dark already when Sol arrived back to his small studio apartment, the short winter days meant it would always be night when he got home. The dark haired man sat his bag on a chair, taking out the bentos to wash. He remembered your jacket was still in his hands, so carefully he placed it on the top of the couch. And so he did his usual evening routine; cleaning dishes, cooking dinner and lunch. The television was playing a show he really had no interest in watching, but it was good background noise.

But he just couldn’t stop thinking about you, eyes flicking to the jacket on the sofa as he prepared his and Hyugo’s lunches. Sol felt the crotch of his pants tighten uncomfortably against him, he swallowed the lump that formed in his throat as his heart rate accelerated. But he remained focused just hurrying to finish dinner as soon as possible so he could shower and lay in bed. Tomorrow was early classes after all.

Finally after some time Sol had showered and flopped onto his bed, an exhausted sigh escaping his lips. He closed his eyes as he tried to focus on anything other than you. But his boxers were so incredibly tight, his erection wouldn’t go away no matter what he tried to do. It felt wrong to touch himself to you, so resisting the urge Sol finally fell asleep. Tonight at least he was able to resist the urge.

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The next day of classes came and nothing extraordinary happened. Sol couldn’t spot you anywhere, he supposed he would have to wait until tomorrow to see you and return the jacket. His evening routine was more or less the same, but as he laid in bed tonight, the urges were getting harder and harder to resist.

Sol tried to squeeze his eyes shut, trying to think of anything else other than the raging erection in his pants right now. His gaze kept flickering to your jacket, he was reminded of how amazing you smelled. He just wanted to smell the perfume again, there was no harm in that…right? Quickly getting out of bed, he snatched your jacket from the couch, immediately pressing it to his nose. Oh god, you smelled so fucking good. He was intoxicated by the scent, his eyes rolling back as he took in your smell, and without even realizing what was happening, his hands trailed down his torso until they slipped under the waistband of his boxers. His long slender fingers immediately wrapped themselves around his erection.

Sol began to pump his cock, a whimper leaving him as his thumb grazed over his tip. Precum was already pooling at the slit, his face still buried in your cute jacket. He could only imagine what it would feel like to have his face buried in your hair, neck…your pussy. He fantasized how amazing you would taste as his face was between your thighs, he’d make you feel so good. He had wanted you for so long now.

“_____…._______….” Sol whimpered your name, scarlet eyes fluttering shut as his pace quickened. At this point he was panting heavily, a complete mess and if your mere scent was doing this to him, he couldn’t imagine how he’d act during the actual act. His cock twitched in his hand and legs trembled; he collapsed onto his knees. He was now thrusting himself eagerly into the palm of his hands, precum lubricating his cock. Sol’s moans echoed throughout the apartment and he felt the warm sensation building up in his core, then with one final thrust he came loudly. “Oh fuck ______!” He cried out, his cum making an absolute mess of his boxers.

Riding out his orgasm he finally came to a stop and dropped the jacket onto the floor. His chest moving up and down as he tried to catch his breath, the whole of his body was a hue of red and warm to the touch. Dark hair sticking to his face from the beads of sweat that had formed. He made sure to toss your jacket onto the couch before he removed his hand from his boxers. A wave of embarrassment and guilt washed over him when he saw sticky cum coating his hand. I shouldn’t have done that. It felt so good though. He thought with a sigh as he stood to his feet. I should go wash up.

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Class was the next day, and that meant Sol could finally see you, he could return your jacket. He waited until after class, when you both were in the hallway. A part of him debated on not giving it back, he wanted it forever, to always have you with him, but he decided against it and it was worth it. The look on your face when he had handed you your jacket back was worth it. “Oh my gosh, Sol. I was so worried I had lost my favorite jacket forever. Thank you so much!” You exclaimed as you hugged him briefly, before you slipped it back on. “Yeah..of course. I tried looking for you yesterday to return it but I couldn’t find you anywhere.” He explained. A tinge of red evident on his pale features as he was reminded of what he did the night before with it. He violated your poor jacket, but of course he would never tell you that.

You shook your head, waving your hand dismissively, “Sorry about that! I was in such a rush to leave. My other job needed me to cover a shift.” You explained. You had another job besides the library?

But he didn’t mind; he was just glad he could keep your jacket safe from anyone else. Fumbling in the pocket of your pants you pulled out your cell phone, “We should exchange numbers! Just in case one of us needs to get into contact with each other.” You suggested, swiping your finger across to unlock the device. He watched as you typed away on the screen before handing it to him.

Sol’s heart was beating so quickly now, you were really asking for his number? He looked a bit uncomfortable, like he was rejecting your offer, because you began to pull away your phone looking at the floor embarrassedly. “S-sorry. I shouldn’t ha-“ you began but he cut you off, gently snatching the phone from your hand. And within seconds he typed in his number, he already noticed you made a contact name for him. Sol ☀️

But something else caught his attention as he felt the phone vibrate in his hand.

Crowe 🐦‍⬛ : You’re still coming over tonight, right?

Something inside of the dark haired man awakened when he saw that text. He froze in place, his blush that tinted his features now went away. Who the hell is Crowe? He thought bitterly. Your boyfriend or a coworker? He only snapped out of his thoughts when you retrieved your phone back, your thumbs danced across the screen then he felt his pocket vibrate.

“Did you get it?” You asked curiously, tilting your head so cutely to the side. “L-let me check.” Sol quickly said and pulled out his phone. His boring black phone background was illuminated with your text.

Unknown: hii! it’s ______ :D

Without a moment of hesitation he saved your contact. ______ 🌙

His contact was saved with a sun by his name so it only made sense that you were the moon. With that, you two said your goodbyes and Sol watched as you walked down the hall, he stood in his spot with a small smile on his lips.

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It was the weekend which meant Sol would do his weekly cleaning of his apartment. Loud music echoed throughout the apartment as he cleaned, humming softly to himself. Something caught his eye as he was vacuuming under the couch, a small piece of rectangular plastic glittered as it caught the light from the ceiling fan. Crouching, he picked it up and his eyes widened instantly when he realized what it was. Your ID had fallen out from the pocket of your jacket, he assumed. And all of your information was on it.

“______ ______..” Sol whispered your full name. He didn't know what it was before. Your address was there too, and it looked recent, judging from the picture and expiration date. The card shook ever so slightly in his fingers as he was practically salivating that he would now be able to find so many more things about you.

Halting his cleaning for the day, he shut off the music and instantly opened up his laptop to begin searching your name online. Hours had passed, day turned into night. Sol’s scarlet red irises were glazed over, his lips dry and mouth a bit parched. He hadn’t left his laptop screen in hours, too engrossed with finding out every single detail about you. Your social media wasn’t private, how foolish of you. And he scrolled through the dozens of pictures you had posted, finding out everyone you associated it with. The page refreshed and a new picture was posted. You are with a group of people at what looked like a bar, with the caption: Love my friends!! Tonight was so fun, let’s do it again!! :D

Sol remembered the text from this “Crowe” earlier and he began to examine the picture, trying to find out who this Crowe was. His eyes narrowed when he saw the man next to you in the picture. A long haired brunette with tan skin, he swore he had seen that face before. This Crowe was behind your frame, hands resting on either of your shoulders. To anyone else they would have assumed that you and the man were friends, nothing in the pose indicated anything romantic, but to Sol it was too much. He didn’t want to see another man behind you touching you like that. Standing up he slammed his laptop shut and decided he needed to go to bed before he got too consumed by his jealousy and anger.

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As days turned into weeks, then eventually into months, Sol and you grew closer. You were regularly texting and hanging out. He had found out that your lunches consisted of junk food, and that was even if you brought lunch to campus. So he decided to start prepping your lunches, and even dinners as soon as he found out you ate cup noodles nearly every night. God, you were cute albeit a bit useless, he didn’t mind cooking for you, it only made him feel wanted - and the look on your face every time you ate his meals just made him filled with so much joy.

You were so kind and introduced him to your friend group, Crowe was kind enough and he kept his hands off of you in Sol’s presence. But he knew that man looked familiar, and Crowe looked at him with suspicious eyes and a fake smile. Sol only remained cordial with your friends though, if they made you happy he’d pretend to be friendly with them. But the man never returned your ID, it was his now. You complained about having to buy a new one, but he made sure to slip some extra cash into your backpack one day when you weren’t looking. The text he received that night was so adorable. “Omg Sol I found some cash at the bottom of my backpack. I’m eating good tonight! >:3”

It was so worth it. But Sol had a dirty secret that he couldn’t tell a living soul. He was slipping sleeping medication into the dinners he made you, he made a copy of your apartment key, and he was letting himself into your home every night. It was all in an attempt to make sure you were safe!

“My neighborhood is so unsafe. I really need to find somewhere else to live. There’s been so many recent break ins and assaults, and I live at ground level.” He remembered you complaining.

“You can stay at my place, _______. It’s a decent neighborhood. Lots of old people, so it’s quiet.” He offered.

“Sol! No, I can't do that. You already do enough for me. I got new locks on everything and alarms.” You retorted with a pout. He knew you wouldn’t change your mind, you weren’t that type of girl. You were independent, but that was okay. Sol would still keep an eye on you. Knowing you kept a spare key hidden away, he found it and while you were at work he had a copy made, then placed the key back without you being none the wiser.

Tonight wasn’t any different, Sol waited until you were asleep and he slipped into your quiet, dark apartment. He could navigate your home in the dark. That's how familiar he was with the layout, but the dim street lights also did aid him. Your bedroom door was slightly ajar and he quickly made his way in.

The streetlights illuminated your room, he saw your sleeping form on the bed, one hand hanging off the side of the bed and your blankets messily thrown on top of your body. In fact, the blankets barely covered any of your body. You wore an oversized t-shirt and the cutest panties - the shirt was raised and exposed your bare torso. “Were you waiting for me dear?” He whispered as he knelt down at your bedside. Folding his hands on the edge of the bed, he rested his chin on top, his gaze was so loving - but there was something so dark about the way he looked at you. Raising a hand up, Sol’s slender fingers brushed aside the hair on your face. “So cute…” he breathed out.

You shifted, your eyes squeezing shut as a quiet groan left your lips. When you moved through, your shirt lifted just a bit more, revealing your breast partially. Sol felt his face grow warm and he tried to avert his gaze, but it was like you were practically begging for him, looking so cute and innocent. He choked back a moan as he felt his dick get hard, his fingers wrapped around the wrist of your limp hand and he placed his cheek into your warm palm. His eyes fluttered shut as he let out a content sigh, “You're asking me to do something, huh dear?” He mumbled. That had to be it or why else were you wearing such an outfit is that why you left your bedroom door opened? You were inviting him in, right?

Sol leaned down to press a kiss to your exposed neck, he nibbled softly at the skin. A quiet whimper escaping you as your brows furrowed. So cute. He thought, still nipping at the skin, leaving a faint red mark. His hand trailed down your neck until his fingers reached your breast, he gently massaged it for a brief moment. Another quiet whimper came from you. He let your hand that was cupping his cheek fall onto the bed for a moment, as his fingers fumbled with the belt of his pants and with a swift motion his dick was out. Already hard from anticipation, he positioned himself in your hands, he laced both your and his fingers together. He let out a moan feeling your fingers wrapped around his dick.

His whole body shuddered in pleasure at the feeling, and he buried his face between your breasts to quiet his moans as he began to rock his hips back and forth. His sensitive tip fucked your palm as he moaned out your name from between your breasts. Tears pooling at the corner of his closed eyes as pathetic needy whimpers left him.

“You’re mine. Mine..you’re mine ______. I love you so much.” He cried as he felt himself about to cum. Then, with another thrust he came hard into your and his laced hands. As he calmed his breathing down he slowly lifted his head up, you were still asleep, oblivious to the lewd act he just made you do. “You’re so beautiful, dear. You feel so perfect.” He whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

Standing up he pulled his pants back on, then walked to the bathroom to wash his sticky hands. Grabbing a rag he wet, he walked back to clean up the mess he left on your hands. “Crowe..the paper...” you mumbled in your sleep. Sol’s scarlet eyes widened in shock at the name, why were you talking about him when he was right here. His fists clenched and eyes narrowed, a dark cloud casting over his face. “You really ought to stop talking about him, dear. Crowe doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t understand you like I do.” He hissed through gritted teeth. You were just confused - that’s okay, Sol was patient. He leaned down to press a kiss against your lips once again before wishing you a good night. With that, he quietly slipped out of your apartment.

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The final day of class before winter break came the next day. You and Sol sat in art class together, sketching your final assignment. The classroom was quiet as everyone worked. You kept glancing at the dark haired man next you, a faint blush on your face as you remembered the brief dream you had of him last night. You dreamt that he was having sex with you, you heard his moans as he fucked you. Then, just before the dream actually got good, your mind decided that all of a sudden you were going to dream about you and Crowe finishing up your finals paper for English class that you had done earlier yesterday. God! Why did his stupid pretty face have to ruin the best dream you ever had!

Class couldn’t end any sooner and the Professor motioned for everyone to turn in their assignments. He reminded the students to check their emails during the winter break to see their grades. You quickly stood out of your seat, the chair nearly falling back as you fumbled with putting your things away. Sol noticed that something was off about you, you wouldn’t look at him at all. Surely you didn’t know what he did with you last night, right? He slung his backpack over his shoulder as he watched you as you zipped up your backpack. “Want to go to the arcade?” He asked you suddenly, “Hyugo and I are going since classes ended early today. Like right now.” He added.

Snapping your head up, you actually looked at him for the first time today. Your eyes meeting his, “O-oh…umm. I’d love to but I don’t have any…money.” You mumbled, voice trailing off at the end. “Campus library let go of all the part timers a few weeks ago, remember? And my other job cut my hours. So it’s tight right now.” You sighed sadly. “I wasn’t asking you to pay. I just asked if you wanted to come with us?” He said.

Sol noticed a strand of hair hanging in front of your face so reached a gentle hand up to brush it aside, tucking the strand behind your ear. “I’ll pay. You know I’ll always take care of you, ______.” He reminded you with a kind smile that made your heart flutter. It was something he always told you, you weren’t sure why he was so kind to you when you had nothing to offer him in return. You were a broke college student who couldn’t even cook your own meals. A faint blush dusted your cheeks as you shyly looked away, “O..okay. Then yes, I want to go.” You shyly said as you tugged at the sleeves of your favorite jacket.

“Alright, good. Here I’ll carry your bag. Hyugo should be waiting at the entrance.” Sol said, taking your bag from you with a swift motion. You tried to protest but he was already walking ahead so you were more focused on catching up to him.

The walk to the arcade didn’t take long, but you were shivering from the cold winter breeze. Sol noticed you shivering and he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, bringing you close to him. You looked up at him before looking away shyly. Once inside the arcade, the three of you played games for some time. You pointed at a claw machine, wanting to win the cute cat plushie, you tapped at the glass before looking back up at Sol with big pleading eyes. “Aw, it's so cute. Do we have enough coins to win it?” You asked excitedly. Sol patted his pockets and sighed, shaking his head. “No, but I can go get some more if you’d like?” He asked, he just wanted to see you happy.

Hyugo nodded, “Yeah let’s play some more games! Oh, let’s get some food too. I’m starving!” He exclaimed, nudging Sol’s side. Sol looked at you, waiting for your answer. “That sounds good to me. While you two do that, I’m going to head to the bathroom. I’ll meet you back here.” You said. The pair nodded and with that you went your separate ways.

You found the restroom. It was located in the back of the arcade and once done, you hummed quietly as you made your way back to the claw machine with the plushie you wanted. But you unbeknownst drew unwanted attention to yourself; you hadn’t even stepped a few feet back out of the bathroom when you were immediately cornered by a much taller and bigger man than yourself. He backed you in between two large pinball machines, leaving you trapped. “Hey sexy. You got a boyfriend?” He slurred, it was obvious he was drunk. He had both of his arms on either side of your head so you could barely move. “Not interested.” You spat as you tried pushing him away, but to no avail. That seemed to only anger him more as he lowered his face to be at eye level with you. “Come on, don’t be like that. I’ll treat you nicely.” He said, though this time his voice was much darker. The stench of alcohol lingered with every breath he took. You turned your face to the side, but that seemed to only anger him and this time he grabbed your jaw roughly in his hands, forcing you to look at him.

“Don’t turn away, sweetheart. Just come on let me sh—“ he began, but suddenly his hand was ripped away from your face and you closed your eyes, fully expecting to get hit. You heard shouting and skin hitting skin, you still kept your eyes shut, flinching with every sound. The noise of the arcade was too loud and you slid down the wall, covering your face with your hands as you buried your face against your knees.

“Don’t you fucking touch her! I’ll kill you!” You heard a familiar voice shout, it was then you uncovered your face and your eyes widened in shock as you saw Sol fighting with the man, both with bloody noses. Hyugo pulled Sol away while a random person held back the other man. The two men were still shouting curses at one another, though you were so overwhelmed you could barely understand what they were saying. You noticed Hyugo was having trouble holding back Sol, so you quickly scrambled to your feet and stepped in front of the dark haired man, pressing your hands against his chest. “Sol! *Enough!*” you pleaded, tears forming in your eyes. The drunk man had lost his balance at some point and fell to the floor, but he was still threatening you and Sol. The man called you every name in the book, and he was mocking you - but you didn’t care. You just wanted to get out of here. There was a terrifying look in Sol’s scarlet eyes and it turned your blood cold. “Sol *please,* let’s just go.” You pleaded with him once again.

As soon as Sol heard your voice waver, he stopped and his eyes widened in a mixture of horror and guilt as he realized that you were crying. He cupped your face in his hands, shaking his head, “No, no, no. Please don’t cry. I’m done. We can go.” He said in a panic, “He didn’t hurt you, right? He didn’t touch you?” He asked. You shook your head, “No. I’m okay.” You reassured him, just wanting to leave. Your lip quivered as you looked up at him and you simply nodded, taking his hand in yours as you dragged him out of the arcade. Though when Sol was certain you weren’t looking, he turned back to the man and spat at him before he followed you out.

Once outside you wiped your tears away with your jacket sleeve, smearing your makeup a bit in the process, but you didn’t care. You didn’t dare let go of Sol’s hand, afraid that if you did he would turn back and actually kill the man. Hyugo sighed, rubbing his temples, “We should leave before the cops get called.” He mumbled. Sol clicked his tongue in annoyance, “We didn’t do anything wrong. That low life touched ______. I just defended her.” He spat back. You tugged Sol’s hand, “I want to go home.” You sniffled. “I’ll walk her home. You go ahead, Hyugo.” He said. The blue haired man raised a brow, by the way he looked at his friend you sensed that maybe he didn’t want to leave him alone. “You’ll call right? As soon as you dropped ______ off at home?” He asked, his brows furrowing.

Sol had already wrapped his arm around your waist, your and his backpack slung over his shoulders. “Yeah, I will. See you later.” He said pulling you along to walk off in the other direction. Hyugo just nodded watching as you two walked off.

Sol didn’t let go of your waist for the whole walk home, he held you protectively, glaring at anyone who looked in your general direction. Once you arrived back at your apartment you fished around in your jacket pocket for your keys, eventually finding them and unlocking the door. “Do..do you want to come in?” You asked Sol shyly. You were really inviting him inside! He felt his heart skip a beat and he swallowed nervously, “Sure.” He smiled and stepped inside after you, setting down the bags onto a stool by the door.

You untied your sneakers and left them at the door before you looked up at the tall man. “Do you want tea? Coffee?” You asked him.

“What do you want? I can start the water.” He asked you back.

“Tea sounds good. Something relaxing.” You replied, motioning him to follow you into the kitchen. You poured water into the electric kettle on the countertop as you reached into the cabinets to grab two cups. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to change real quick.” You smiled before walking off towards your bedroom to change. Sol already knew where everything was located, so he grabbed two tea bags, setting them into the ceramic mugs as he waited for the water to boil. Then a thought ran through his mind as his hand absentmindedly rested on his front pocket. You didn’t get to eat the dinner he made you for tonight which meant you wouldn’t sleep well.

So before the water was done boiling he pulled out a small bag in his pocket, and broke apart the sleeping pill, letting it dissolve in the hot water. He just wanted to make sure that you’d be able to sleep tonight was all.

When you walked back out of your room, your tea was already made and Sol was sipping on his as he leaned against the wall. He looked at your outfit, did you wear something like that on purpose to tease him? You wore tight shorts, a tank top, your favorite jacket unzipped, and the cutest bunny shaped slippers. “Thank you so much, Sol.” You smiled at him as you held the mug in your hands and slowly sipped on it. He nodded, “Of course. Anything for you.” He said returning your smile. You chatted with him for a while it was obvious that you were just stalling, you didn’t want him to leave. You were still shaken up from earlier, from both how Sol reacted and to what may have happened if he wasn’t there to save you from that man.

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You sat on the couch, legs crossed as some random show played quietly in the background. Sol sat across from you, you both had long finished your tea. He could tell you were getting a bit more sluggish, “I’m sleepy, Sol.” You yawned. “You should go..it’s getting late. Hyugo is probably worried about you.” You mumbled, rubbing your eyes with your sleeve. Sol frowned, “It’s okay. I don’t mind. I want to make sure that you’re okay.” He replied back, he didn’t want to leave you alone.

“I’m okay. I just don’t want to be alone..” you sniffled. “I think someone has been breaking into my house.” You then said, flicking your gaze up to look at him with a worried expression. Sol froze, his breath hitched in his throat. “W..what? Why do you think that?” He asked, trying to remain calm. Folding your hands together in your lap, your eyes darted around before landing back on him, “Sometimes things are out of place.” Is all you said, “So please don’t leave me alone.” You then pleaded, suddenly leaning over towards him on all fours.

Sol’s eyes flickered to your face and to the gap between your shirt, he could see you weren’t wearing a bra and he shifted awkwardly in his spot on the couch as he tried to remaining eye contact with you. Placing a hand over his crotch, he let out a cough, a dark red blush making its way to his pale features. “Okay. I won’t. I’ll stay as long as you want me to.” He responded, a look of desperation in his eyes. You smiled, feeling butterflies in your stomach when he said those words. Then your mind wandered back to the dream you had last night, you sat back legs now folded underneath you.

“Can you come lay down with me in bed?” You asked him, looking away shyly. “I don’t think I’ll be able to stay up much longer. Plus it’s more comfortable than staying out here.” You added. Sol found it hard to even speak now, he nodded and bit his lip. You stood up and began to walk towards your bedroom, turning off the lights along the way. Before you rounded the corner you noticed that he was still sitting on the couch, “Are you coming? You don’t have—“ you began only to be cut off by him springing up, “I am.” He mumbled shyly as he followed you into your familiar bedroom.

Your bedsheets were messily strewn about on your bed, like always. Clothes tossed haphazardly throughout the room, he watched as you shrugged off your jacket, tossing it on the vanity chair and you kicked off your slippers. You crawled into bed, pulling the sheets over your cold body. “What do you usually wear to sleep, Sol?” You asked him curiously, waiting for him to come lay down as yet another yawn left you.

“My..boxers.” Sol replied shyly, rubbing the back of his neck as he avoided your cute gaze. “You can sleep like that here. I don’t mind.” You mumbled motioning with your hand for him to come lay down. “A-are you sure?” He stammered, already unbuckling his belt, his hands shaking a bit in anticipation. “Mhm.” You hummed reassuringly, squeezing your legs together tightly. Sol wasted no time in taking off his clothes, it was a shame the room was so dimly lit so you couldn’t see him. He sat at the edge of the bed, still unsure of what he needed to do.

You tugged at his wrist, “Lay down with me. Under the blankets.” You encouraged him in a sleepy voice. He let you pull him down onto the bed, his heart was racing so fast he found it hard to breathe. As you both now laid under the covers he could feel your body heat, you were so close to him. Your bed wasn’t big by any means, so your bodies were practically touching. “I really like you, Sol.” You suddenly said, you weren’t sure why you blurted that out, maybe it was your drowsy drugged state that made you say something you didn’t mean to.

Sol’s eyes widened in shock as he turned his head to face you. He could make out your soft features from the dim city streetlights that peaked through the curtains. Your hand now was on his chest, you could feel how fast his heart was beating. “You take care of me. You’re so kind. I’ve never had anybody care for me like you do.” You mumbled, leaning over until your noses touched.

Sol raised a shaking hand to cup your face, his thumb caressing your cheek. “I’ll always take care of you, ______. I’ll be here. No matter what.” He whispered back. His words were so kind and gentle, yet there was darkness in which he spoke. You blushed and looked away, your eyes closing shut as you finally closed the distance between your lips. You were a bit unsure on how to kiss him, not wanting to mess with his lip rings too much, but as soon as your lips met something clicked inside the raven haired man.

He returned your kiss desperately, not wanting to stop. Were you really doing this? Was this seriously happening?! He thought. It was a shame you were half asleep, but it still didn’t stop you from your next move. You rolled onto of him, your legs straddling his waist as you cupped his face in your hands, kissing him with inexperience. It wasn’t like Sol minded though, he was also just as inexperienced. His hands were on your waist, fingernails digging into your soft skin as he let out a needy whimper when he felt you grinding against his dick.

“Do you like me, Sol?” You asked him, breaking away from the kiss for a few moments as you continued to grind against him. When he took too long to answer you paused and lifted yourself up about to get up. Feeling utterly rejected by him, humiliated. But his hands slammed you back down on top of him. A crazed look on his face, “Y-yes I do. I like you. You’re my soulmate, ______.” He desperately spoke, his eyes flickering trying to read your expression. All you heard was “yes”, as you began to fade in and out of consciousness, despite desperately trying to stay awake.

“G..good.” You mumbled against his lips, beginning to grind against him again as you cupped his face. Sol returned your kisses as he let out whiny moans of your name, begging you for more. He wanted to feel your pussy, god knows how long he had waited to fuck you. His hands let go of your hips and now tugged at the waistband of his boxers. He managed to slip them off and when he felt how wet your panties were a pathetic whimper left his lips. He pushed your panties aside and now he could really feel how wet your pussy was. His dick pushed between your folds, you shivered as you felt his tip slide over your clit. “S-sol.” You whimpered his name.

Oh god, just you saying his name so lewdly was almost enough to push him over the edge. “A-ah.” He cried out as he felt your pace quicken. He loved the way you were using him, like he was nothing more than a toy for you to hump to reach your orgasm. The head of his dick was so sensitive and he felt your clit rubbing against it. “I..I’m gonna cum.” He warned you. Sol’s fingers digging into the plush skin of your thighs as he bucked his hips upward. “I-I wanna fuck you…please. Feel your pussy…please.” He begged, biting your lip. But you ignored him continuing to grind against his hard dick as your moans became a bit louder, your thighs shaking. You could feel yourself about to cum, but Sol suddenly let out a yell. “A-ah ahh ______.” He cried as his hot cum shot out. He threw his head back, eyes squeezing shut as tears pooled in the corner of them, his back arched, and fingernails scratching your thighs enough to leave a mark and draw some blood. His body shook under yours.

You felt the warm sensation rising from your core, your clit becoming more sensitive by the seconds. Sol’s thick cum now providing more lubrication. His whimpering of your name and pleading was enough to push you over the edge and moments later you joined him in his orgasm. You cried out his name as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, holding onto him tightly as you rode out your orgasm. Honestly you weren’t sure if you were or not, your mind was so hazy. Then you suddenly came to a stop, your body shaking a bit as your eyes closed shut.

Sol caught his breath, his hands rubbed up and down your back and he realized you had fallen asleep. The medicine had taken its full effect. He wrapped his arms tightly around you pressing a kiss on top of your head a content smile on his lips. “You’re mine. Mine…you’ll never have to be alone again.” He mumbled against your hair. His scarlet eyes gazing at the ceiling as you were fast asleep against his chest. At some point he fell asleep still holding onto you, with his dick between your thighs.

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You had awoken the next morning a bit groggy, you realized you were in bed with someone and you stared down in horror as you realized that you had slept with Sol. You only remembered bits and pieces of the nights before, and your sticky panties confirmed that you two had been intimate in some way. You wiggled out of his strong arms as quietly as you could and rushed to the bathroom, grabbing your phone careful to not wake him up.

After you cleaned yourself up and changed, you sat on the ledge of the bathtub typing away rapidly on your phone.

Crowe I NEED YOU NOW!!!!

What’s up? You okay?

NOOO. I think I just messed up. I think I ruined a friendship.

Woah calm down, ______. Is this about him?

YES. Can we meet up at the cafe? Please. Right now.

Yes. I’ll be there in a few.

Thanks.

With that you clicked your phone shut and quickly got dressed into your clothes from yesterday, not wanting to disturb Sol’s sleep. You peeked into your room and still saw him resting. You left the house getting your wallet and keys and tossing them into your jacket.

Sol woke up not long after you had left the house and when he didn’t feel your presence he immediately shot up in bed, panic beginning to set in. Where were you?! He grabbed his phone getting ready to dial your number when he saw a text appear on the screen.

I’ll be back soon. :3

He calmed down a bit, laying the phone in his lap as he ran a hand through his messy hair. Why didn’t you tell him you had somewhere to go? Why would you leave alone in the morning after everything that had happened last night? It was then he felt a bit angry, wondering why you were sneaking around. Snatching his phone back up he called you but you kept ignoring his calls, finally though you answered.

“Hello.” Your voice came through on the other end, there was also another voice on the other end too. It was one he recognized. It was Crowe. He felt himself grow even more angry as jealousy filled him. Why the hell are you with him?!

“Who are you with?” Sol asked, his voice as sickly sweet.

“Shhhh be quiet. Yeah, hi Sol, I’m with a friend. Don’t worry, I’ll be back home soon.” He heard you shushing Crowe. His grip tightened on the phone, if he squeezed any harder he may have shattered the screen. “When will you be back? Where are you?” He asked, this time his tone wasn’t as sweet.

“Sol…please don’t worry about it. I promise I’ll be back home soon. I gotta go.” You reassured him before hanging up.

Sol was furious, he slammed the phone face down onto the night stand, the glass screen shattering. Why is he interfering? Why does she keep hanging out with him? Doesn’t he know ______’s mine?! So many jealous thoughts flowed through his head as he quickly got dressed. He freshened himself up before he left your apartment, storming on the busy streets. What you hadn’t known was that Sol had installed a tracker on your phone many nights ago. He was really trying to give you the chance to tell him where you were without having to resort to using the tracker, but you wouldn’t tell him. He had no other choice but to use it, and make sure you were okay. He had to make sure that filthy Crowe wasn’t touching you. And he needed to show the brunet who you belonged to.

It was a rainy day and he didn’t care if he got wet, he was determined to find out where you were. The tracker led him to a busy coffee shop where he saw you and Crowe sitting near the window. His scarlet eyes met bright blue ones, belonging to the last person he wanted to see. Sol’s eyes narrowed, and all the brunet did was return a sly smirk before mouthing something to you. You whipped your head around just as Sol stormed into the coffee shop, immediately making his way to the table you two sat at. He tried to maintain his composure, his chest rising with every deep breath he took as he glared at the man sitting across from you.

“Sol? H-How did you know I was here?” You asked him in shock. He ignored your question continuing to glare daggers at Crowe, who sipped on his coffee nonchalantly. “Hey there. Care to join us?” He asked with a polite smile, motioning with his hand to the available seat.

“No. ______, we’re going home. Now.” Sol demanded, now turning to look at you. He grabbed your wrist and you tried to jerk away, “Ow, Sol!” You cried out, which caused him to immediately drop your hand. “Are you okay?” He asked, his angry expression now etched into worry. You frowned, rubbing your wrist, “Y..yeah. I told you I’d be gone later. Please stop this.” You pleaded, looking at him with big eyes.

“You should be gentle with her, Sol.” Crowe scolded half heartedly. “______, you should go. Don’t keep him waiting. We can talk soon, I have to get to work anyways.” He smiled warmly at you.

“But I—“ you stammered, but the brunet cut you off with a wave. “Seriously, it’s fine. Just remember what we talked about, okay?” He winked, it was purposeful, he was trying to get under Sol’s skin and it was working.

Sol grabbed your wrist a bit more gently this time as you stood up, “We’re leaving. Bye.” He spat, glaring at the man as he dragged you out of the coffee shop. All the while Crowe watched with furrowed brows and a forced smile. He didn’t like Sol, he didn’t like him at all. But whatever made you happy, he’d tolerate.

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Sol was dragging you down the street as you squirmed under his tight grasp on your wrist. The whole time you demanded to know what had gotten into him! This wasn’t the Sol you knew. Ever since the arcade, you noticed a sudden shift in his personality, it was instantaneous. As you two arrived back at your apartment, he shoved you inside with a forceful hand, slamming and locking the door shut. “What the hell is wrong with you, Sol?!” You screamed at him as you tossed your phone, keys, and wallet onto the kitchen counter.

Sol’s eyes were narrowed still as he walked towards you, instinctively you stumbled backwards until you found yourself with your back pinned against the wall with nowhere to go. His tall frame towering above you. “What’s wrong with me? You’re the one sneaking around with that bastard.” He hissed as he slammed his palms on either side of your head, pinning you between his arms. “I’ve tolerated him long enough. Doesn’t he know you belong to me?! I’m the one that’s caring for you and protecting you. While he does nothing.” He snapped angrily.

You cowered beneath him, beginning to grow a bit scared, “Y-you’re scaring me, Sol.” You whimpered. He clicked his tongue in annoyance; he didn’t like you pretending to be innocent in all of this. Perhaps you and that bastard needed reminding of who you belonged to. Sol crashed his lips against yours roughly, you felt his tongue trace the bottom of your lip. But when you were tightening your lips together to deny him, he bit your lip causing your lips to part open in surprise and with that his pierced tongue forced its way into your mouth. One hand on your jaw forcing your head to tilt up. You tasted like coffee and sugar, he didn’t mind at all though. It suited you.

You cried against him. He was being so forceful it was terrifying. He pulled away panting heavily, a string of saliva connecting your and his lips. His hand was still firmly holding your chin. “I don’t think you realize, dear. That you’re mine. No one else can have you. Ever. I won’t allow it.” He muttered. He noticed that your eyes were watery and a sympathetic smile made its way to his pierced lips. “Aww..please don’t cry, baby. I don’t want to make you cry. I promise I’ll make you feel good. You just need to be reminded that you’re mine.” He said in a gentle voice as his thumb wiped away your tears.

“I’m scared.” You whimpered.

Sol leaned down to press a much more gentle kiss to your lips, “You won’t be for long. You’ll be feeling so good in a minute.” He purred and with that he picked you up holding you so gently in his arms bridal style as he continued to kiss your lips. Once inside the bedroom he tossed you onto the bed and hovered over you beginning to tug at the waistband of your pants. “N-no Sol.” You whined but your arousal said otherwise. The truth was you were so turned on by him. You had wanted him in this way for so long.

Sol ignored your pleas and within a couple minutes he had you stripped of your clothes. You laid on your back on the bed as you looked at his nearly naked body, he stood only in his boxers. And now with the sun peeking through the blinds basking the room in a bright light you saw just how big Sol was. His body was well toned, just perfect. You saw the erection in his pants and you swallowed nervously at just how big he was. You weren’t sure if he was even fully hard yet.

You didn’t get to stare at him for too long though as he got to his knees, kneeling in front of your legs. “I’m going to make you feel so good dear. You won’t ever think of anyone else but me.” He said it almost came out as a warning. His slender hands pushed your legs apart and the look of pure lust was on his face. You tried to cover yourself up with your hands but he wouldn’t let you. “So pretty.” He whispered. God, he dreamt for so long to be buried between your thighs eating you out.

You jumped when you felt Sol’s tongue licking your pussy, the muscle dragging slowly between the slit. You felt the cold metal piercing drag along sending a shiver up your spine. He let out a moan as he tasted you. God, you tasted better than he could have ever imagined. He pushed your legs further apart and spread open your pussy, you squirmed a bit at being so exposed. Your hands balled up the fabric of the bed sheet beneath you as you felt the ball of his piercing roll over your clit, causing you to let out a loud moan. You knew you messed up when you gave him that reaction, because he immediately began to suck at your sensitive clit, rolling his piercing over it every single time causing you to moan louder. His tongue moving from teasing your clit to probing your wet hole. He wanted to taste every bit of you, this was pure bliss for the raven haired man.

“So good.” Sol praised. It was hard to focus as he sucked the sensitive bud, your head spinning as your legs quivered. He wouldn’t let you close your legs, no matter how much you tried. His tongue worked so expertly, he knew exactly how to get you whimpering under him. “Sol!” You yelped when you felt his tongue enter you, causing your hips to buck and your back to arch. It was such a strange feeling but god it felt so good. He was trying to fuck you with his tongue. Your hands tangled in his dark loose hair as you tilted his head back up to focus on your clit. “I-I’m gonna..” you gasped, squeezing your eyes shut as the warm sensation began to build more and more. Your breathing became more frantic and with another roll of his pierced tongue against your clit, your legs closed, Sol’s face still between your thighs as you held him there cumming all over his face. You were practically screaming his name as he continued to suck on your overstimulated clit. You begged him to stop, so he did and instead decided to clean you up.

Sol’s tongue lapped up every last bit of your juices, you tasted so amazing. He was drunk off of your scent—taste. Everything about you drove him crazy. He could spend the rest of his life buried between your thighs, licking your pussy and letting you cum all over his face. He was yours to use. “N-no more. Please.” You begged, your body falling limp.

Sol gave you one last taste, his tongue swiping up the full length of your pussy before he sat up. He licked his wet lips, “See..I’m the only one who can make you feel this good, dear.” He said matter of factly. He stood up pulling down his boxers revealing his hard dick. When you looked at him you nearly choked on your own spit. How the hell were you supposed to take him? He hadn’t stretched you out with his fingers to prepare you. “I-I can’t take you without—“ you began. But Sol leaned forward kissing you, shutting you up. “It’s okay. I’ll be slow.” He mumbled against your lips.

His tall frame towered above you, it was so intimidating, the way he looked at you with half lidded eyes and a small smile on his face. His arms were on either side of you pinning you between him. You felt the tip of his dick poke at your entrance. Sol continued to gently kiss you as he pushed himself inside you, he let out quiet whimpers as slowly filled you up. His body shuddered at the sensation, your tight pussy was everything he had ever dreamed off. “Fuck…oh god you feel so good, ______.” He moaned as he sat up now. Placing his hands on your inner thighs, he spread your legs apart as far as he could without hurting you. He wanted to see how well you took him.

Inch by inch Sol sank into you, it was agonizing how slow he went but by the look on his face he was savoring every moment. He was panting quietly trying to control himself, he did want to hear his soulmate after all. You squirmed under his strong grasp as he filled you up beyond belief. You weren’t ready to take him, he was so big it hurt. “S-Sol.” You cried, tears pooling in the corner of your eyes as you felt the tip hit deep inside, causing you to flinch in pain.

“It’s okay. You’re doing so well, dear.” He praised you. And without warning Sol snapped his hips back and slammed back into you, causing you to yelp. He couldn’t resist himself as he began to roughly fuck you. His fingernails digging into the soft skin of your thighs and quiet moans left him. He stayed quiet because he wanted to hear your sweet sounds.

He watched the face you made as every single time he hit that sweet spot of your pussy. The way your lips parted as you moaned his name and the how your back arched as he fucked you. The way your breasts bounced up and down with each thrust. He noticed the creamy white ring forming on the base of his cock. You felt so perfect, it was as if..”We were made for each other, ______.” He whispered. Sol let go your thighs, confident that you’d keep your legs spread out. He now cupped your breasts, fingertips lightly teasing your perked nipples as he watched you shudder under his touch.

Sol frowned, “Something’s missing.” He said in between pants as he continued to relentlessly fuck you. His pace was not slowing down at all, you were exhausted already, your pussy ached from how hard he was slamming into you. You weren’t sure you’d even be able to walk in the morning. “W-what?” You asked confused by what he meant but he didn’t answer you, instead leaned down to bite your neck. You cried out in surprise. He actually bit you. He nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin on your neck, not caring if he hurt you. After all, everyone needed to know you were his.

Your hands tangled in his hair as you squeezed your eyes shut, tears now running down your face. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he slipped one hand between your thighs. You body twitched when you felt the pad of thumb rub your clit, all the while he never stopped fucking and marking you. He let out a low laugh when he felt your body twitch underneath him.

Sol could tell you were close to coming, by how your breathing became more erratic, how you held him closer. “Are you going to cum for me, dear?” He asked. You didn’t say anything, which annoyed the dark haired man. He sat up, ripping himself from your grasp and stopped rubbing circles against your sensitive clit. “You need to answer me.” He growled and just to emphasize the point, he pulled nearly all the way out before he snapped his hips forward. You cried loudly, biting your lip and nodding eagerly, “Y-yes. I wanna cum for you, Sol.” You whimpered, looking up at him with the cutest expression.

Sol smiled lovingly at you, satisfied with your answer, “You’re so cute when you beg, dear.” He spoke gently and with that he returned to stimulating your clit. Your mind was hazy as you felt your orgasm building up, you were only focused on one thing and that was coming. Your hands reached up to dig their fingernails in the skin of his bicep. “You’re so close. I can tell. Just cum for me. Please. I want to feel it so bad.” Sol begged in a whiny, desperate tone as he quickened his pace. And just like that you practically screamed his name, your body shaking as you came around his cock.

You orgasming and screaming his name was the most beautiful thing Sol had ever witnessed. He had dreamt of this moment for so long, it was better than he could ever imagine. He felt your pussy tighten around him and soon after he was coming too. Sol threw his head back as his dick twitched, coating your insides with thick cum. He was buried deep inside you, holding your thighs firmly so he could adequately fill you up. “You’re so beautiful. So pretty, full of my cum.” He mumbled, gazing down at you now.

Sol gently pushed your legs apart as he pulled out of you and watched in awe as his cum leaked out of your tight pussy. It was a heavenly sight. He sighed in satisfaction, flopping down onto the bed as he wrapped his arms around your tired body, pulling you onto his chest. You buried your face into the crook of his neck as you clung into him tightly. “No one will ever make you feel this good, dear. You were made for me. We’re soulmates.” Sol said barely above a whisper as he gazed at the white ceiling. “You’re mine. I won’t ever let anyone come between us. Ever. I love you so much, ______.” He said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. His embrace tightening around you when he said that.

There was something threatening about the way Sol spoke. You were a bit scared, but you had no reason to be, right? He just loved you and you loved him. “I love you, Sol.” You sniffled. Sol just smiled at your words. He finally had you all to himself.