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kithtaehyung · 10 months ago

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broken, pt. 2 (3tan) (m) | myg

title: broken (pt. 2) pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series:masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken (pt. 1) rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: the championship game lights up... and everything goes down. note: not too much to say other than thank you. this part is definitely another very, very close one to my heart. please buckle up and enjoy the ride. warnings: [spice warnings under the cut] language, angst, tension, alcohol mention & consumption, fights, basketball!yoongi🧍‍♀️, cocky!yoongi, jimin😳, tense situations, did i say angst?, long hair yoongi, crying, bro😀, reader is a real one i don’t make the rules, arguments, the chains stay on(???), …bad boy yoongi😀👍, saying softhours puts some of this lightly, bro🥲, blood/wound mentions, hurt/comfort, there’s just a lot in here y’all idek, taehyung being the best ever, …angst. drop date: february 9th, 2024, 10:37pm est word count: 17.7k my god

smut warnings: cursing, choking, light slapping, breast play, angry s*x a ha ha, crying, multiple explicit scenes y'all istg don't perceive me lol, c*nt slapping, penetrative s*x, brat!reader, protected s*x, edging, consent king ofc :), rough s*x, b*cksh*ts and a lot of them, ...unprotected s*x (yeah it's here and y'all better be responsible or so help me!!!), f*ngering, or*l (m/f rec), brat tamer!3tan yoongi!!!, reader loses themselves for a sec, but yoongi is a king, pain k*nk whewwww, kissing, so much kissing lmfao, c*m play, slight bond*ge (yoongi hands), spanking, aftercare ofc :'))

There’s no way.

How the fuck is he here? When did that horrible excuse of a guy even join a team? Had he been playing intramurals this whole time?

“No fuckin’ way.”

Your eyes find your brother standing rigid at your side, wrists tensed to hell and shoulders spiked. Did he not know he was playing, either? Judging by his smoldering question, you’re going to guess he wasn’t aware.

“Were they always on this team?”

“No.”

“I don’t remember them being on any teams.”

They? Them? So they recognize more from the court on that day you try to not think about. Shifting your vision, you start gauge reactions under sounds of the growing crowd.

It’s Yoongi that looks at you first, eyes lowering to the hand you still have on your arm damn it you should be okay about that night already. But you can’t seem to let your limb go, your fingers covering it in a weak attempt at protection and resilience.

The blaze in his eyes makes you shake. Even as you swallow your pleas for everyone to just go home, he doesn’t look away. Instead, he walks over to stand in front of your knees, motioning for you to scoot over one so he can take the end seat.

Normally, you would slightly question why he wouldn’t just sit next to you. But this time, you’re hyper aware of what he’s doing—and why. It’s so obvious that you wanna reach out and grip his sweaty hand.

Yoongi absolutely sat there to shield you.

And your heart burns and burns.

If only he could do more, be more, show more. Because with a rattled ego and tainted mind, you’re already yearning for his touch, wanting him to whisk you out of here and bring you back to the comfort of his home—just like he did that night.

God, he makes you dizzy doing absolutely nothing.

“What’s the plan,” he asks, eyes on the court and palms between his knees.

“Dunno yet.” Your brother shakes his head before looking back, eyes narrowing at the laughs on the other bench. “But I might get my ass thrown out if we—”

“Play.”

Immediately, all three of them snap their heads your way. Fuck, your arm is still…

One person cannot have this hold on you. There’s no way you’re going to let him control your every waking moment, and your determination bubbles into your commands. “Play the game and beat his ass,” you seethe, holding yourself together and aiming daggers everywhere. “Just make it quick.”

Yoongi gives you a look before Jimin snags him with an eyebrow raise.

“And you’re paying me double.”

Looking at the man beside you, it’s almost comforting seeing his attention fully on your face. If it weren’t for your ghost on the other side of the scoring table and your brother standing there, you wouldn’t hesitate to kiss him.

But you only nod, getting a huff and a lopsided curve in response before you watch him lock eyes with your brother, “What do you wanna do?”

After a long, resigned sigh, your sibling finally relents, “Fuck this shit up.”

Good. Yes. This is what you want—for you and them. “Exactly.”

Scanning around the tight circle, you notice that you have everyone’s attention.

But one person seems to send a question without any words at all. In kind, you answer the same way, wings battering your stomach when all of them send thunder to the court with lightning in their eyes.

Yoongi scoffs through a slant, carrying the air of someone you never want to mess with in your fucking life. “The fuckin’ nerve.”

Jimin hums, sliding a finger along his flexed to hell jaw. “Bold,” he adds. And his voice drop sends shivers when he turns to you,

“Don’t worry, love.”

You stare.

“This will be over soon.”

The game is… just a game. For now.

No one’s taunted hard other than a few smirks and winks, and right now it seems as if both teams are just being competitive more than antagonistic. Which relaxes you to the point where you’re cheering from the bench with the other players—and their coach that arrived late—jumping and yelling and clapping when things go in their favor.

Your brother’s slamming down dunks. Jimin’s been playing amazing defense with his quick reflexes and high stamina.

And Yoongi? Has gotten sickeningly sharp. All those late nights at the rec center are paying off in this championship and, when he scores a hard shot, the pride you feel launches you to your feet.

“Nice job, b—” Oh fuck you almost shout something that should never be public knowledge. Holding your tongue, you quickly switch it up with a hasty, “Let’s go!”

That was close. Way too close.

Get it together.

But you cannot help it right now. Seeing Yoongi facing off against the man you both wanna square up against? And making it look easy? The fluttering you feel in your belly grows double. Triple. Tenfold. His gestures, the way he acts like it’s nothing, his shrugs at their failed attempts to stop him—everything’s making you scratch proverbial walls and kick bench chairs.

And it’s not just him—the whole team has been playing excellently. Each play seems intentional; every pass and movement is strategic. If you didn’t know this was a casual rec game, you would think they’re gunning for a real, prestigious trophy.

However.

When it’s starting to be very clear who the better squad is, that’s when things start getting more than tense.

On a foul call, both sides start getting in each others’ faces. And you peg that as normal until someone on your team gets shoved and your brother immediately gets between the action.

Both you and the coach shoot up from your seats.

Shit, shit, shit. If there’s one thing your older sibling’s gonna do in this game, it’ll be finding any excuse to deck that man in the face. And once that happens, there’s no telling how many injuries are gonna walk off polished floors.

Thankfully, everyone separates without a ruckus, and timeout is called on your side. The crowd starts to yell in favor of either team, and that’s when you notice that Taehyung has been joined by Shiv and your friends. From the looks of things, all five of them are laser focused on you.

You hold a quick thumbs-up before you’re covered by hot and sweaty men huddling around the bench. And you immediately agree with their coach when he barks,

“I need you all to calm down.”

“No can do, coach.”

“Not if they aren’t.”

Shit. All of them look fucking livid, not giving any shits whatsoever if they’re willing to talk back to their leader. What’s really been happening on the court? Has it been even more tense than you perceived?

Oblivious to the context behind this matchup, their coach keeps yelling, “Look, I don’t give a shit if you have something to settle. Play the game and leave it on the floor. Understood?” When there’s charged silence, he yells it even louder.

And a smattering of agreement comes out before all of you hear an even bigger yelling session booming from the other bench. When you look over, it’s quickly noticeable that they’re getting reamed over there, too.

Jimin watches before speaking, and it seems like your coach’s pleas fell on deaf ears, “Fifteen went for my legs.”

“Saw that. Let’s switch cus he can’t guard me.”

“K.” Park swivels his head to address someone else. “You good to keep playing?”

Your brother responds with a nod, wiping his never-ending sweat. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Huh. Even though you know he’s mad, the man seems… Calm. Eerily calm. It’s reminding you of the way he acted after you came home from Yoongi’s.

And you don’t like it one bit.

But the timeout is over, and both teams eye each other on their walk back onto the court. As it continues, the gym erupts into life again, with a bit of back and forth shots racking the scoreboard up.

And Yoongi keeps scoring. And scoring. And scoring.

Which lands him in a bit of trouble when the same idiot from Dalo pushes him during a layup. After he manages to make the shot, Yoongi immediately flicks him off—which gets a whistle blown. Which also means he has to sit on the bench for a second because his coach is pissed.

Ignoring the scathing remarks being thrown, he dumps himself next to you. And you immediately feel the heat roll off of him in waves, trying hard to focus on the game. “Don’t be stupid,” you jut out.

“What?”

“Don’t be stupid. These guys aren’t worth it.”

“After what he did to you?”

The way those words leave his mouth ice you over, flares spiraling through every fiber of your being. Your reaction is so visceral that you can barely get your response out, “Yeah, but…”

Leaning on his knees, Yoongi wipes his forehead with a crinkled to hell jersey, excess sweat pinging onto his sneakers. The crowd is loud and the buzzers even louder, but they aren’t enough to drown out his bite,

“I can’t let that shit go.”

“Yoongi.”

“Sorry, doll.”

“Please just—”

Yoongi leaves the bench before you can finish, and you whip your head in a rush, hands jutting out in a desperate attempt to hold him back.

Only for him to be just out of reach.

After halftime, it’s a whole different game.

From an outside perspective, it’s as if everyone was using the first half to sniff each other out, circling around each other before deciding how and when to go in for the kill.

And Yoongi isn’t the only one that you’re starting to worry about. Jimin, your brother, and even Rohan and the other guys are on edge, playing hard and doing everything they can to keep their scoring lead.

Both you and their coach know you can’t stop whatever’s going on out there. And you’re starting to feel yourself getting angry at how your brother and them are egging the guys on.

Why are they taunting? What the hell is making them so bent on making the other team pissed? Yes, all that went down with you, but nothing else had happened since then. And they clearly aren’t listening to anyone telling them to calm down.

If they end up starting shit you are going to—the fuck!

Yoongi gets straight shoved again as he goes for a layup, and you shoot up in your chair as he hits the back wall with a thud. While the players at your side are yelling and everyone on the court starts grouping in shouts, you stay rigid, solely watching Yoongi eye his attacker—the same idiot from Dalo.

Fuck everything, you wanna rush into the fray and throw hands yourself because that looked painful.

The only thing that’s stopping you is the chilling fact that Yoongi is… Grinning.

Wiping his curved lips, he waits while the refs break up the squabble, still looking triumphant as he walks to the line to shoot his free throws. When both of them are made, he stares directly at your assaulter—as you finally call it like it is—and doesn’t stop even when the coward looks away.

A whistle blows, and the game continues to be close. Too close, too close, too close. A couple more timeouts let you see just how laser-focused everyone is, and you’re a little shaken when it feels like they forgot you were even occupying their bench.

What the hell is being said on the court? Even Jimin is brimming with anger.

But after a few back and forths, Yoongi passes to your brother for a hard dunk, basket ringing from his throwdown and shaking when he lands.

Thank god. Those points are enough. They’re gonna win.

All the pent up anxiety you’ve harbored all game releases as everyone starts cheering, and your pride soars as your boys stare down their opponents while the clock winds down.

It’s over. The game is over, nothing too serious happened, and you can all go the fuck home to eat dinner and celebrate.

Your eyes catch Yoongi throwing a rudely lopsided curve across the court. Even when Jimin comes up to push him back in excitement, his expression doesn’t change.

And you find that wildly, unfathomably attractive.

Then, as it goes, your brother comes up and they all share quick daps, eyes ablaze and not letting the losers out of their sight.

Well. All of them are infamous for a reason. You would guess their energy altogether certainly contributes to that. Because the aura you feel oozing from them fills the gymnasium all the way up to your knees.

And the sigh you let out mingles with their coach’s shake of his head.

Things are still tense as they all shake hands—or at least offer hands to shake—with the other team. The atmosphere is even a little iced when they receive their trophy.

But the way you’re currently being surrounded as your guys converse hides you from plain sight, so you feel heavily protected. Even Jimin, who’s usually cheerful even when exhausted, wields sharp eyes as he keeps glancing over his shoulder.

Honestly? You wouldn’t know what to do without them. Both your brother and all his friends, good pasts or not, are great people. They didn’t need to shield you like this. But they’re doing it anyway, because they won’t give that lowlife another reason or chance to approach you.

Yeah. Your older sibling knows how to choose his circle.

It’s making you wonder if…

Nah.

That’s still too big a reach.

When it seems like all of them and their cheering squad are gone, everyone starts making their way over to the bleachers—and you’re acutely reminded of what went down under similar looking ones the other night.

Your shivers are overshadowed by Yuri’s telltale screams to Rohan, “You were so good, baby! Are you okay?”

Reia and Dom shake their heads before focusing on you, the latter being the spokeswoman, “So what was all that for?”

“Don’t ask,” you sigh, knowing exactly what she’s referring to. “I’m just glad they won and that we can go home.”

“You’re not coming to Yuri’s?” Reia asks. “I thought we planned on that, no?”

Ah, shit. Earlier this week, you did make plans with them without really thinking about what day they were gonna fall on. But now you’re so mentally drained that you kinda just wanna go—

“Is anyone else starving? I’m hungry as fuck!”

Right. Food. Adrenaline made you forget you were starving. Glancing towards your brother, you quickly remind him, “Yeah, me. And you’re paying.”

“Ah, shit, that’s right.” As he lets out a hard groan and deals with Jimin and Yoongi’s comments, your sibling relents, “Alright, where are we going.”

“Up to you,” you shrug, stealing a little look at the man you want to kiss like hell for his performance tonight.

God, Yoongi’s so handsome. As Jimin leaves his side, he silently wipes his forehead of any excess sweat, hands and shoulders shining in the lights wait wait wait. Hold on.

Walking over, you toss any care about who notices you out the window. And as he eyes your approach, you murmur with care and concern, “Is your back okay?”

Blinking once, twice, the man nods. “Yeah, it’s all good.”

“You sure? That looked…”

Of course he decides that now is the perfect time to rake his sweaty locks back. Speaking so low that only you can hear, Yoongi reassures with a fist full of hair, “I’m fine, doll.”

Motherfucker.

Pinning down your urge to reach out and smother him, you only breathe relief. And before you move away to put some distance between, you whisper, “Thank you.”

Yoongi looks your way again. “For what?”

Swallowing what’s left of your anxiety, you sigh. “For not getting into it out there. I was about to get mad as hell, but.. Looks like they were all talk.”

“Mm.”

Honestly? It’s a miracle. The game’s over without any hitches or brawls? More relief starts blossoming in your chest, prompting a smile to grace your features. “You looked so good out there, by the way. I almost called you ba—”

“What are y’all talking about over there!”

Your mouth snaps shut as soon as you see your brother watching, but Yoongi is quick to fire off an insult, “The way you always take so long to pick something.”

“I picked already!”

“Then let’s go then.”

Laughing, you join the whole crew as you’re all the last ones to walk out. Your friends and Shiv parked in another lot since one side was already full, so you tell them you’ll meet at the restaurant.

Some other teammates decide to join, with jerseys being shucked off as everyone heads out the door. Immediately, body odor swoops into your nose, making you welcome the crisp, fresh air of night.

Scratch that. You smell oncoming rain.

Conversations cease, which only leaves the sound confirming your observation: booming, rolling thunder. Stopping at the edge of the gym’s awning, multiple heads turn up at the rumbles, watching lightning crack the sky.

In front of you, Jimin shifts his head to the side. “Still?”

And when you look at who he’s asking, you see Yoongi nod.

Weird.

But it’s not raining just yet, so all of you make your way into the lot and to your cars. As you do, you check your phone while making your way over, aiming a question at Tae, “You know where we’re going?”

“Yeah, it’s not far,” he responds, fishing out his own device. “I think we’ve been there before.”

We? Looks like things are progressing nicely over there. Since you’re lingering behind the guys, you start to take a small jab, “We, huh? Cute.”

Lips spread as tight as his eyes, Taehyung parries. “Cute? Look who’s talking, miss whipped.”

“You’re whipped.”

“No, you.”

“No, you,” you giggle out, reaching out to tickle Tae’s side and laughing as he flinches away. You chase him for a few seconds before you see his whole body freeze completely, asking a small question before going quiet.

And when you slowly follow his line of vision, your heart freefalls to your gut, smashing it so hard you feel bile sting the back of your throat.

The man from Dalo. And all the guys from the court plus some.

Surround both Jimin’s and your brother’s cars.

Fuck. Oh, fuck, there’s so many of them, standing and waiting and unflinching in the bursts of thunder inching closer and closer what the fuck are you gonna do—

“Taehyung.”

Your eyes shake.

“Get her out of here. Now.”

And you’ve never screamed so loud.

Every word rips out of your mouth before you’re promptly shushed by large fingers, icicles pinging around your heart and holding it down, “Don’t fucking do thi—!”

To your horror, Tae’s already hauling you back, voice low and firm in your ear, “Come on.”

“No! What the fuck—”

“We’re leaving.”

“Please—!”

There are so many of them. So, so many of them. Panic drowns out your words and excess leaks out of your eyes, your own storm preventing you from seeing that your best friend is just as torn apart.

“Babe, we have to go now.”

“No, let me go!”

They’re outnumbered. What if they have weapons? What if the police are called? What if something happens that you aren’t prepared for?

You’re screaming. Curses, their names, or whatever whatever you don’t even know what the fuck you’re saying because your toes are kissing the edge of madness.

Dragged a good distance away, your yells devolve into incoherency, your nose and eye sockets smashing into Taehyung’s solid forearm so hard it hurts.

Make it out, make it out, make it out. For the love of everything in the fucking universe and beyond it, make it out alive.

Some movements and backs straightening are the last things you see before getting pulled around the corner.

And when Yoongi calmly rolls one of his shoulders, you feel a wick of your soul burn out.

Panic. Worry. Panic and more panic. The car ride that Tae paid for is the blurriest muddy water you’ve ever waded through.

Truthfully, you don’t even remember blankets being pulled over your shoulder. Where even are you? Oh, you’re in a bed. Whose bed are you in because this isn’t yours. But what does it matter anyway what does anything matter anyway nothing matters there’s nothing you can do you gotta get up and go back over there get up get up go—

As soon as you yank his bedroom door open, Taehyung is there, holding you back and pushing your frantic energy back inside. “Tae, if you don’t let me—”

“Do what!”

“I’m going back!” Wrestling out of his strong hold, you bolt down his hallway, head clanging as your shoulder bumps into a wall. “We need to go back—”

“Stop!” You hear running as you burst through the living room, whizzing past the glowing television. “We have to stay here—”

No no no. There’s no way you’re staying here when you need to be back at that lot. Who the fuck would call for help if anyone needs it? When they’re gonna need it? Your vision proves so blurry you can’t even find your shoes—

Arms wrap around your waist and you fight back with a scream, “Let me go!”

“Stop and just think for a second—”

“Why aren’t you with me on this, they’re—”

“Dumb as fuck!”

Your friend’s quick comment is so sharp it cuts your breath. As you still in his firm but comforting hold, you finally stop to breathe. Breathe, breathe, breathe as you’re turned to level a look with his eyes.

Eyes that are red-rimmed and so, so raw. “They’re idiots,” Taehyung grits out. “But they will be alright.”

From the shake of his voice, you find that neither of you think that for sure.

“I need to.. To…” Your breaths are ragged, energy spent and head dizzy from your quick exit from his bed. As you come down from your volcanic high, every weight the world places on your back proves too much.

“You need to relax,” Tae advises, guiding you further back inside. And you don’t speak as he leads you past the couch, past the pictures on his hallway wall, and into the dark of his bedroom.

Maybe it’s over. Right? Maybe someone will answer if you ring them up. “Call. I need to call…”

“Shh,” he soothes again, walking you backwards away from his door. When the bends of your knees hit his bed, Taehyung lets you down slowly until you’re sitting. “I’ll do it.”

Brain fried from hyperactivity, you can only nod.

Your friend steps away to fiddle with his phone, the light illuminating his beautiful features in the night. When he holds it to his ear, this is when you hear rain and the television in the living room, noticing that it’s playing a movie he watches for comfort.

Shit. He’s going through it just like you are, and yet he’s still finding energy to calm your nerves? What have you even done to deserve him?

Guess you know how to choose your circle, too.

Going unanswered, Taehyung lowers his hand, thumb rubbing the homescreen before gripping the device hard.

Both of you are in the same boat. So steer when he can’t do it anymore. Soft but assertive, you rise to your feet, offering your embrace while calling his name, “..Tae.”

When he turns, the man wastes no time in dropping his phone to bring you in close. “It’ll be okay,” he murmurs, and you hear his words on your head but feel the trembles in his chest. “Okay?”

Feeble fingers grab at his soft shirt, and you bury into his scent while soaked and tired eyes shut.

You want to believe him. You do. You do.

But hope may be a bitch.

So you don’t.

Forever passes while you both lie still in his bed, with Taehyung holding you close and keeping you subdued with notes of honey and wood. You both try to have conversation, but it’s disjointed and manufactured, so giving up is a group effort.

You’re about to give up on a lot of things before you both jolt at Tae’s phone vibrating.

The world shifts quick as you both sit up, the call immediately being accepted and a low greeting whooshing at your side, “Hey.”

With bated breath, you hear Jimin on the line. “Hey.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, we’re all alright, but…”

We. We, we, we, all of them thank the fucking world. As your breath is held, Taehyung’s voice is solid, “Say it.”

“My eye is pretty fucked. Yoongi’s face is cut up and he’s got some nasty bruises on his—”

You don’t even remember yanking the phone to your mouth. “Where is he.”

Jimin audibly pauses on the line before having the audacity to chuckle. Irked and feeling ire bubble back to the surface, you seethe, “This isn’t funny, Park. Where the fuck is he?”

“With us.” Us. Shit. “In the car.”

Oh.

“Your brother’s here, too.”

“Ah.” That means they’re all there. They’re all heading home. “Am I on speaker.”

“Umm.. Yeah.”

As much as you’re relieved they’re all okay, stockpiled anxiety transforms into anger, your limit striking the thundering sky. “Actually, you know what? Good. Now I can say you’re all idiots and immature as fuck.”

It’s your sibling that responds first. “Hey, wait a damn minute—”

“I waited long enough!” you scream, ignoring Taehyung’s wide eyes.

You know you need to relax. But you can’t help what’s happening right now and all you feel is pain. “I know this shit isn’t new to y’all, but really? You didn’t need to do this.”

“He was gonna—”

“All you had to do was play the game! Why’d you have to make them mad? Do you even know what could’ve happened back there?” Damn it, you weren’t supposed to cry during this part, not when you just want them to know they fucked up.

And the response is dead silence. Because of course it is. But if they won’t answer you here, they’re gonna answer another, “Just tell me one thing,” you plead. “Is this gonna happen again?”

That one your brother answers with finality. “They won’t be coming around anymore.”

Gulping, you give Taehyung a glossy-eyed look before staring at his lit screen again. Trying not to let your voice waver, you accept his response, “Okay… Are you okay?”

“Me? Yeah, the hits I took were weak as fuck. I’ll get home soon so if you wanna order in tonight we can.”

“Fuck that.”

“Huh?”

What an idiot. “Bro, you don’t even know how fucking mad I am,” you accuse through gritted teeth. There’s no way in hell you wanna deal with their bullshit. Ignoring your pleas and staring harm in the face? Forget it. “I’m going to Yuri’s.”

“What? Nah, come home tonight and we’ll talk.”

“I just—No.” Taehyung has to grip your shoulder before pulling you into a hug. And you’re still steel in his arms because you haven’t been this upset in ages. “I’m not talking to any of you for awhile.”

And you mean that.

“…Fine. But go asap then. I don’t want you out late on your own.”

So you gotta listen to what he wants but when it comes to what you say, it’s crickets? Goddamn, you’re furious. “…Of course you don’t.”

And you hang up before anyone can say anything else.

You open the front door to your brother leaning against the hallway wall.

Both of you eye each other, one of you with a perfectly fine face and the other that isn’t so lucky because he’s a fool.

And no words are exchanged as you trudge your frustration to the kitchen.

Ice. Bandages. Dinner. Anger propels you through it all.

Whipping up a quick but hearty meal, you let your brother patch himself up after demanding he showered. The smells of comfort food waft through your nose as things sizzle on the stove and, through the whole process, you don’t think about anything except how upset you are.

They’re all okay. But like Taehyung so abruptly put it, they’re all stupid.

As you turn off your burner, you transfer everything to a bowl, sighing so loud it seasons the top with fire. When you approach the bar, your actions speak pretty damn loud—the dish clank shoving out a question from your sibling,

“Is there something you wanna say to me?”

“There’s a bunch of shit I wanna say to you.”

“It’s about Yoongi,” he asks, the absence of hesitation making your insides squeeze. “Isn’t it.”

But luckily for you, your rage is so potent that it overruns your fear. As soon as your brother stands up and starts to repeat his question, your correction clangs through the room,

“It’s about all of you! You say you wanna be there for me but what the fuck will doing this shit do?”

Freezing, the man waits in shock as you keep going, “Yes, that guy deserves hell. I was so scared when he grabbed me at the club.” You stop to swallow. “But I had them both there and we left.”

Fuck, this is hard. Having to relive that shit is difficult but you need your brother—and all of them, for that matter—to know how hurt you feel right now. Mustering up enough bravery to get to the goddamn point, you finally squeak out,

“If I lose them? Lose you? Because of something as stupid as a fight?” Your eyes search his, and your heart cracks when you see glassy sheen amongst his bruises. “What would I do then?”

You expect silence. And silence is what you get. It’s drawn out, loud, and telling. “We know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” he whispers, eyes lifting to meet yours with sincerity. “And we’re sorry.”

Another moment passes between the two of you, the food you made left uneaten on the counter and the rest sitting still on the stove. But you know your sibling will eat it all tonight, whether you’re there or not.

And you step forward at the same time he holds his battered arms out.

Freshly showered, he still smells like rain and exertion. But his heart beats under your chest, he’s present, and back home—things you need to stop taking for granted.

But you’re still mad. And getting things off your chest has only made you tired, so you decide that it’s finally time to go before you circle back to other scary territory brought up tonight. “I’m leaving now,” you announce as you step away. “But just think about that.”

“I will.”

“I’m serious.”

“I will.”

Staring, you take note of his cuts and injuries, wondering how the others are faring even though you don’t wanna deal with anything else. Because it hurts too much, and if you see who you’re thinking about, there’s no telling what you’d do if you were like this with your brother. There’s no telling how you’d…

No. You choose to go the easy route this time. Everyone can simmer in their sore, swelling consequences while you have a night of de-stressing with your friends.

So you leave to go pack without another word.

It’s raining.

Hard.

And even though your car is heading to Yuri’s, your heart is beating backwards. Tugging you somewhere else and not letting up.

With a ping of chill, you can’t shake it. Braking at a stop sign close to your destination, you sit in silence, letting the rain pelt every side of your vehicle and wondering what the hell to do.

Truthfully? Your brother looked like shit. But your body isn’t telling you to go back to the house, which can only mean one other place. And you know for a fact you don’t wanna talk to him, either.

So fucking upsetting. They did all that for what? You can barely keep your thoughts in a row because they keep yelling at jostling each other just like everybody did on the court. If anyone had to fight the dipshit, it should've been you.

Fuck! Your head connects with the wheel, an inner monster rumbling with the thunder because you’re so fed up with everything that happened.

Your brain is the one yelling. But your heart is begging for it to listen. Go to Yuri’s? Go to Yoongi’s. Find shelter in that warm bed of hers and sink in her plushies to comfort you?

A sigh. Maybe you can at least call him to tell him off one more time. He needs to hear what you told your brother because if you ever, ever lose him—

Your eyes burn.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

No answer.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

Pick up. What the fuck.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

…Turn the fuck around shit, shit, shit.

Curses flying, you whip your vehicle in a flash, heart pounding so loud it’s blocking out the storm. Which is morbidly impressive considering how horridly it’s pouring.

Thinking in leaps, you pivot and make another decision. Tell her and make it all quick.

Yuri: Outgoing Call

“Hello?”

“Hey, I’m not coming.”

“You okay?”

“I’m going to Yoongi’s.”

“Yoongi’s? Why?”

Ah, shit. Oh, fuck. She doesn’t know.

Banging the steering wheel, you smash your teeth, stressed as hell from braving the rain in the dark and now snitching on yourself to someone else.

Damn it. What do you say? What can you possibly even say when you’re so mad and stressed and conflicted and worried—

“Hello?”

“Because he’s the one,” you whoosh out, your vision quivering twice as much as it should. “And things went down after the game and now something feels wrong.”

“Oh, shit. Is that why y’all didn’t come to—”

“Yes.” When you say all this out loud, now it has weight. Horrifying weight on your chest and a block pushing down on the gas. You hear a bit of shuffling on the line, and you’re starting to get so anxious that you blurt, “Please don’t say anything. Please.”

“I won’t. Not about this.”

“Thank you.”

“Hang up, babe. Make it safe.”

“Okay.”

Go, go, go. Please, just get there.

Letting up, you change your speed, hoping to everything good in the world that this feeling you have is only a feeling and nothing more.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

What a strange emotion, wanting his reason for not picking up solely being because he doesn’t wanna talk to you. That is an answer you can deal with.

But you still can’t fight off the jagged pulses telling you it’s something else.

After an agonizing drive, you finally see his complex, tensing harder the further and further away you have to park.

Whipping into a spot, you screech into it before hauling your bag out, popping the trunk and desperately grabbing a plastic box you always keep inside.

And the mad dash drenches you long before you seek cover, your bones shivering shivering shivering from the chill.

Yoongi has to be home. His car is here.

But he still won’t pick up the fucking phone.

Skidding at his door, your knocks are rapid, knuckles singed from the ice cold wraps.

Answer, answer, answer. For fuck’s sake, he better answer.

After a haunting moment of silence, you decide to call one more time, head wet and bones shivering as you press the phone to your damp ear.

Finally. “Hello.”

“Open the door,” you jump into commanding, hearing nothing other than a voice that sounds so crushed and low that it crumples you inside.

“You’re here?”

“Yeah, let me in.” Fuck, your teeth are clattering against each other, whether it’s from the rain, the cold, or anger, you can’t tell.

But the reply you get is the coldest thing imaginable. And it sets your whole body aflame.

“Not tonight.”

Hell no. Hell fucking no Yoongi is not going to get rid of you that easily. Not when you have a boatload of things to say and only one dock to dump them all on, “Yoongi, I swear to god—”

“Not tonight—”

“—you don’t let me in I’m—”

“Go home—”

“I’m fucking staying out here until you open the goddamn door!”

Oh, you’re pissed. You’re so fucking pissed because this all could’ve been avoided if none of them were stupid. Or prideful. Or whatever the fuck boys decide to be when they can’t let something go.

And this man still has the audacity to give you the stiff arm, silence on the line before he rasps out another short, “I’m serious.”

“No.”

“Go home.”

“No!”

He says your name. So, so softly, before a gut-wrenching,

“Please.”

Breath shaken, you rest your forehead against chilly wood, hoping it quells the fire you feel rising from your rib cage.

You can’t give up. Not when you have so much to say. Not when you have to check on him and make sure he’s fine.

Not when you give into the strongest premonition that you need to be nowhere else but with him tonight.

You will stay. Stay, stay, stay. Even if he doesn’t want to see you.

Voice trembling in rage and concern and everything in between, you feel your eyes sear through when they close, mission boiling down to one more desperate choice,

“…No.”

You’re cold. And wet. But you will stand out here for as long as it takes him to let you inside—a night, a day, no matter what.

And for a moment. Or a few. You think he’s dead set on making you prove that.

But you finally, finally, finally hear a sigh before a lock turn, and you try to prepare yourself for what you see but he opens the door and his face comes into view holy shit he looks like a wreck—

“What the fuck,” you grit out as you rush in with vision swimming, digging into your bag for the medkit you hastily stashed and swinging off your sandals because you gotta get something in the—

A hand grips you hard, tugging you back before you even register what’s happening.

As your feet stumble back onto linoleum, your gaze snaps to the ground.

And your breath cuts like it’s your last.

Shards.

Pieces.

Thousands of wood and glass chips litter the entire open area of the living room.

And realizing where they came from strikes like lightning.

Fuck. Oh, fuck, what did Yoongi do?

“I told you, doll.”

You choke on a sob.

“Go home.”

Your breaths return before you straighten, tears flowing freely as you don’t know whether to start cleaning up the chaos or finally facing the one who caused it.

No, no, no. Get rid of it.

Throw it out, all of it, all of it.

A new fire roars to life, forging your steeling commitment as you wrestle out of Yoongi’s hold.

What did he do, what did he do?

Revving with smoke out of your ears, you burn a path to the kitchen, grabbing a trash bag before marching into the wreckage. Up go the biggest pieces first, chucked into plastic before the smaller ones follow.

Throw it all. This one, this one, and this one.

Yoongi isn’t even wearing shoes. He can cut himself up even more if this all stays where it is.

Shit, this is everywhere.

When you realize you’re gonna need a broom, you storm back into his laundry closet to yank one out and keep going. When you go to sweep, the sharpest voice cuts through your fingers.

“Stop.”

Your grit grips the tool even tighter. Because you won’t. Don’t dare look into his expression, either, because you know that one glance will melt every scream on your tongue. So you stay resolute and shoot rejection to the ground, “No.”

“Just go, please.”

“No.”

This hurts.

This really, really hurts.

Yoongi has never, ever said these things to you and it feels like a knife jabbing into the same spot over, and over again. You almost prefer three new months of no contact over whatever the hell this is.

But you have to keep going. Eyes clenching, lips wobbling, you must keep going.

Because you came here for a reason other than this mess. And he’s gonna have to do better than this to kick you back out into the rain.

“I got it.”

“Let me do it.”

“Your brother needs you.”

“Yeah, well, I already tore the fuck into him and I’m gonna do the same to you.” You harden your fist on the sweeper, tugging it more towards your shoulder with finality. And you gather all the energy you need to leave no more room for arguments, because Yoongi is going to listen, “So sit down.”

It hurts.

He wants to say shit. You know he wants to.

But he only breathes hard with eyes closed, following your orders and carrying his dark clouds to the dining room.

When he finally leaves you alone, this is when you look his way.

In sweats and a shirt, he appears fine. But with a deep pang, you notice he’s slightly limping. Judging from those knuckles, you wonder if they’re red from the fight or from hitting another wall of his apartment.

Or from whatever the fuck happened around your feet.

Shit.

While he dumps himself at his table, you clean up the pieces of his rampage, mentally noting that one plan of yours has now changed.

This one. These, too. A string here. A metal piece there.

You don’t know how long it takes you. All you know is that you’re burning inside, determined to clean everything and sweep this chaotic energy away.

One more. Two more. Another one here.

As soon as you’re done, you lug the trash bag out of the front door and don’t give a shit what happens to it now.

Keep going. There’s more that you need to take care of.

The fuel inside of you rages on, anger conflicting with anxiety and past worries and sadness for something that didn’t even happen. As you spin, you vow yourself to keep pushing until you can’t anymore.

Sniffling. Shivering. But staying strong because things could’ve gone a lot worse.

Yoongi meets you by the table, messy, damp hair shielding his features. “You’ve done enough.”

“I still need to—”

“Just.” He looks away. “Go home, doll. I can’t do this tonight.”

“Do what? I’m helping you.”

That’s what you do for each other, right? You both help each other. But now you’re not so sure because Yoongi comes back with not an acknowledgement, nor a way of relenting.

But ice.

“Who said I needed it?”

And in all the time you’ve spent with this man, this is the first time you’ve felt downright cold. “Yoongi, what?” Your eyes travel across his face, chest caving in when there’s barely any hints of vitality. “Are you serious?”

“You think I’m joking?”

“You’re kicking me out? What happened to saying you’d never do that, huh?”

“I say a lot of things.”

…Oh.

That hurt. That… That physically couldn’t have hurt any harder.

Nodding, you look away, shaking your head in disbelief because you are on the verge of losing it. “You know what? You do say a lot of things.”

Walking away, you start rearranging pillows on the couch pushed askew. “Like how perfect I am.” Picking up his books from the now non-existent coffee table. “And how there’s no one else.”

As you give the volumes a new home on his intact tv stand, you turn to face him again. “Those are just words, too, huh?”

Yoongi kicks his head back with a smile, one that cuts instead of mends. “Nah… Not tonight.”

“Not tonight what.”

“We aren’t doing this tonight.”

“The fuck we aren’t.” It’s his turn to walk away, with a slow head shake that you really don’t like. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere.” Yoongi shifts his head to the side, but not enough for you to fully see him. It’s almost as if he doesn’t want you to. “But you’re going home.”

Something’s off. There’s something completely off but all you feel is sadness and rejection in your ribcage. “So this is how it happens, huh. Now I’m just like everyone else.”

He finally faces you, miles away even though you’re just rooms apart. “You’re gonna go there?”

“I am.”

“Wow.”

That’s what he comes back with? This is gutting you from the inside out and you have no idea what’s happening but now rage is flaring into your mouth, “You think I wanted to come here? After what all of you did?”

“Do you even know?”

“No! But how the fuck would I? You don’t tell me shit!”

“That’s cus—”

Your response sears over his floors, “I can take care of myself. But none of you told me about that dude from the court. None of you.” Breath shaken, you continue dumping out all your thoughts and previous concerns, “If I had known? That whole Dalo thing could’ve been avoided and I would’ve ran.”

For a person that you’ve come to know as so warm, Yoongi’s entire aura freezes you over as you keep talking. “And today? You know how fucking scared I was? If I… I…”

All he does is stare. Why isn’t he doing anything else? Is he really flipping the switch and choosing to legitimately let you leave this time?

Fine then.

“You know what?” Giving up, you laugh—harsh, and breathy, and without any joy at all. “Forget it. You’re not even listening anyway.”

“I swear to—I just said not tonight.”

Frustration from the game, fear from the ambush after, anxiety from not hearing from them. All of it coalesces into something you can’t even control anymore. Your buffer shuts off, the monster you created seizing the reins, “No, I get it. I do! You want me gone. Sure. See you in three more months.”

Stunned, Yoongi huffs in disbelief, jaw working overtime. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I am. Trying to help you but it looks like you don’t even want that. So good fucking bye.”

And it looks like he has a beast of his own because his next response to your last attempt has you reeling back in shock,

“Who asked you?”

Dark liquid drips onto your soul.

You can only stare, unblinking and feeling like you’re in an entirely different universe. “Who asked me? Who asked me.”

“That’s what I said.”

Forget the question of who asked you because… Who are you even talking to? Who is this person standing in front of you because it’s not the Yoongi you know. It’s so jarring and hurtful and strange that you truly feel thrust into the middle of a nightmare.

You’re gonna do it. You’re actually gonna leave this time.

“You know what? Kiss my ass, Yoongi.”

God, it hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

It hurts.

You don’t even know where this is all coming from. All you know is that you’re angry and there’s no stopping the hot magma bubbling in your center.

Silence fills the room.

And it rains. It pours.

But finally, you hold a sob back before burning a shaky path to his door, wrestling with the lock before yanking it open—

Only to have it shut back in your face, so thrown when you realize you’re getting spun. Air whooshes out of you before your shoulder blades connect with wood—

And this is the goddamn breaking point. The walls you haphazardly built to keep you upright collapse and tumble. It’s so potent and blinding that you don’t even realize your hands are connecting with his chest in the weakest, saddest ways and you are outright screaming.

“God, what the fuck! I told you to—We didn’t hear from you for hours and I—I didn’t know if you were okay—”

“Whoa, hold u—”

“I thought the worst and I—didn’t even get a chance to—I finally told you want I wanted and you—Fuck—”

“Just listen—”

“Don’t ever do that again! I don’t wanna lose you and today was so fucking scary and I’m not, fucking, leaving—”

Your lips are smashed to hell, his lips bruising so hard you feel it in the back of your skull. And it’s a whole storm as Yoongi pins you against the door, leg wedging between yours and his hands gripping you like a vice. It’s intense. It’s overwhelming.

“I swear to—”

You don’t know what to do. What to do what to do what to do, and all your madness jangles as you’re yanked and slammed against another wall, breath leaping into his open mouth before you tug at his hair, digging anger through his shoulders.

“Can’t fucking listen, can you?”

“No,” you rip from your throat, shoving him back only to gravitate right back and lock lips again.

And he rips at your clothes, tearing the front of your shirt so far your chest emerges on full display. Before you can even react to the cuts on his face, Yoongi’s hand clenches around your throat, making you gargle just how you fucking want to right now.

“Shouldn’t even fucking be here.”

“When has that ever stopped us.” You groan as you get rapidly led back into something hard, and you realize it’s the dining table digging into your ass.

“He’s still home.”

“So?”

“Shouldn’t you—”

“Then kick me out!” you taunt. “For real. Let me go. Fucking do it then.”

Yoongi works his jaw before gripping tighter, making you groan and your gut flare into something primal. Nostrils flaring, he moves to grip your head hard enough to make your stomach flip but not firm enough to scare you.

Never to scare you. “You aren’t gonna leave me alone.”

Your eyes are ice.

“Are you.”

You solely watch in determination, breath harsh from your nose and billowing out like steam. Drilling your answer into his eyes, you charge the surrounding air enough to spark like the flashing sky outside.

And Yoongi cracks like lightning.

“Goddamn it.”

Everything happens at once and in quick succession. Teeth grit to hell, Yoongi pulls you upward before fast stepping you to his bedroom, slamming you through the door before you shove him right into his desk.

Things teeter and shake and clang with each impact, your storm disrupting everything in its path and creating a tornado of desire and thoughts in your brain.

Something swirls and twists between your souls, tightening and condensing into emotions darker than midnight. And as angry as you are, it’s slipping into a dangerous mania, and you’ve never been this excited for anything in your life.

“Stubborn.”

“Coward.”

Your back stings as you’re pushed back into his door, the wood smacking into the spackle of his wall. Rough lips smother yours as you claw at his shoulders, neck, hair, and you hear him growl into your mouth,

“Want me to kiss your ass? Suck my dick then we’ll talk.”

“Fuck you. I give better head than you anyway.”

His words rival the deepest growl, “Prove it.”

“Make me.”

Whirlwind. Storm. Tempest. At this point, it’s a whole goddamn high. Your body is thrumming and the only way to feed your anger is to channel it through actions.

And truth be told, you need this. You both do. With all the high strung emotions that had nowhere to go until you collided?

This is liberation.

You’re shoved onto your knees before Yoongi dives into his pants, and you’re already hungry and impatient enough to help him shrug his sweats down before he can do it himself.

“Choke on it,” he commands, holding his dick and watching as you note how hard he already is. When you waste no time taking him in, you elicit the deepest groan you’ve ever pulled from him when you fling spit onto his length.

Maybe his reaction is to your face. Because you’re still mad as fuck and you aren’t done letting him know that.

With a passing thought, you realize that this is all new. But you’re welcoming it because it’s working. Only Yoongi can bring out this passion even in anger, or maybe the two of you were going to get to this point no matter what.

“Fuck.” He steadies the bottom of your chin while you suck him off. “Uh huh. Got anything else to say?”

You flick him off, and he hums with a rumble, his cock reacting and hitting the back of your prideful throat.

“Fuck you, too, doll.” His talks devolve into hisses, grunts, moans when you slobber all over yourself, and your cunt is already dripping with your own slick. “There you go. Gonna take it all? Or are you gonna keep running that mouth?”

And you pop off before taunting, “Find out, pussy.”

And you’re swallowing him before he shoves you all the way forward, your body arching up in a gag but filled with him him him, your nose flat against his pelvis and his dick squeezing tears from your eyes and your throat overstuffed to hell and there’s no way he’s gonna forget this moment. You’re making damn sure of it.

Another middle finger raises as you’re tensing around him, and you can barely hear him above you but you do know he’s massively pleased. Tears stream down your eyes when you’re yanked off, gasping for air and being pulled off the ground.

“Holy fuck.”

Throat hoarse, you attempt speech but it doesn’t matter anyway, because his lips steal them all. And your cunt is slapped with a whole palm, making you flinch and shoot out a whine into his kiss.

Before you know it, your body hits the bed before he joins you, arms bulging as he rips your top open completely. You can’t even think straight as he teases your earlier efforts, “I’ve had better.”

“Oh, you fucking—Shut the fuck up,” you growl, a moan leaving without permission as he palms your cunt again. Just when you think he’s gonna top you, Yoongi hauls you up, hastily leading you around the bed until your back connects with another wall.

You love that shit. And you’re starting to think Yoongi is very, very aware of this fact.

“Take those fuckin’ pants off,” he orders. “And hands on the wall before I put them there.”

“Can’t make me do shit—”

Fingers grip your chin before Yoongi gets right into your face, primal instinct making you go on full alert. As his tongue prods his cheek, your whole lower body quivers. “I can. And I will, if you don’t behave.” Tapping your jaw in a warning, he hums. “Now do what I fucking say.”

Holy shit, he’s not playing around. Which only heightens your desire to peaks previously unreached, and you’re shucking your bottoms off while he yanks his drawer open for condoms. Hurrying, you fling your clothes away before planting—

Yoongi smashes his whole front against your back—pinning your whole body against the cold, rough wall—before intertwining long fingers with yours. “Good girl.”

Hitching your hips back, he sticks your ass out as you slip, and you feel his cock tease your entrance. Groaning, you grip your hands into fists as he continues to rub your cunt but never enter. Denying, denying, denying. Smacking your pussy and still not letting you feel him inside.

And it’s maddening. “Please!”

“Please what,” he asks, giving your ass a spank that has you flinching into the wall.

And, without any shred of mercy, this goes on for longer than he’s ever held out. It’s so sickening that tears start flowing from your eyes, and you devolve into saying anything to get him to fuck your brains out. Between spanks on your ass, slaps on your tits, and aggravating kisses on your back, Yoongi doesn’t let you phase him for minutes.

It’s when you choke on a sob that he finally, finally squeezes inside of you, checking for your nod before wrecking you completely.

“Oh, fuck—” Your eyes shut tight as you try to keep yourself upright, hands pushing against the wall as your legs shift with every thrust.

“This ass. Fuck.” Yoongi’s pace is relentless, hands bruising your hips and your cheeks smacking into his pelvis over and over and over. “It’s a goddamn problem.”

You’re trying so hard. So, so hard to stay on the wall. But your hands are too sweaty; they're starting to slip with each attempt. “Bed,” you command. “Bed now.”

And he obliges immediately, pulling out and yanking you back. Mouth to your ear, he both checks in while making your legs jelly, “You tapping out?”

“Break my fucking back,” you rasp in return, hearing him growl in satisfaction before burying you facedown into his bed. As he plunges inside again, you grip at his sheets, driven to the brink and reveling in all the things he’s saying to you while feeling him in your stomach.

Suddenly, you feel your arms pulled back, and you yell into his mattress as he buries himself even deeper. Everything you’re screaming makes no sense, but the phenomenal sensation you feel as you go limp renders you speechless anyway.

Yoongi knows exactly what he’s doing as he pushes his thumb into your asshole, because you clench so hard around him that he chuckles darker than dark. Careening into space, you kiss the edge of euphoria before he inconveniently pulls out, launching a sling of insults from your mouth.

“What was that?”

“I said fuck you!”

“Thought so.”

Not done in the slightest, Yoongi hauls your thighs so flush against him that you have to use your fingertips for support. Just as you’re about to argue, he rams into you from a new and impossibly enticing angle and holy fuck it feels so good you want to weep.

“Put that fucking hand down,” he growls, smacking away the fingers you didn’t even know were on your mouth. “If you wanna talk shit.”

“Fuck—!”

“Uh huh. Let it out, baby girl.”

You’ve never felt this out of control. This wild. This out of body. Your head is yanked back, your back pressing into the front of his shirt before you feel him so far into your guts that you quiver.

Now at the mercy of his tongue in close range, you hear his gravelly tone in your ear, “What’s my fuckin’ name.”

“Asshole—”

A hard smack to your tits has you crumpling with a whine. “Say it.”

“I’ll say it if I wanna say it—”

Another spank to your inner thigh and you’re gone. Eyes roll as he tweaks your nipple, and your words are almost garbled when he grips your chin from behind. “This what we’re doing? Hmm?”

You laugh breathy before you taunt, “Uh huh.”

“Mm…” Despite your laugh, you shake. “I wouldn’t do that, doll.”

“Make me. Bet you can’t.”

Tensed and veins angry, Yoongi grips both your tits before snarling, “That’s enough.”

Swiftly, he shoves you down into the sheets, muscular frame pinning you as he strokes up into you just right. Again. Again. It’s all too slow and too effective and you’re trying to stay mad but all you can feel is perfection, your back arching at his thrusts and mewling at his low growls in your ear.

“You wanted this.” Another thrust. “Talking shit.” Your jaw goes slack. “Pissing me off.”

Your groan is downright erotic. Why why why? Just knowing you’re making him this mad flutters your cunt and, from the sinister chuckle shooting into your neck, Yoongi definitely felt that.

“Fuckin’ thought so.”

When he reaches to grab your breasts, the last thrust has you crying out in a flurry of pleasure.

Every single thought is Yoongi, from beginning to end in a biblical cycle of debauchery. Exertion leaves you slick, sweat coating the expanse of your skin only to press into his bed, your mess your mess your mess. At his hands. The smacks of his cock. The rolls of his hips. Are you gone? Are you here? If he’s bruised then you feel like you are, too, and you welcome the temporary pain as Yoongi’s fingers dig ever deeper into your waist fuck one’s now pinning your head down.

The moans you let out are unending, and your thighs shake when all you get in response is a laugh of condescension.

“Look at you. Can’t even stay mad.”

“Fuck you!” You’re close, you’re close, you’re close again. Release is at your fingertips, but Yoongi yanks himself out to rip it away from your outstretched fingers. “No!”

“What, doll.”

“Please!”

“Nah.”

Body sore, you’re flipped over with no mercy as something else presses against your cunt.

Fucking hell, he’s eating you out now? Shaking, you feel Yoongi’s tongue swirl around your thrumming clit before he sucks, edging you to the point of tears and heartbreak. And it proves too much as you grab at his head, yank at his hair, because he lets up when you’re close.

Every. Single. Time.

Your madness spirals into your curses, and he relishes in your despair, continuing to lick and suck and slap your thighs with patience. “What do you say?”

“Please!”

“Mm. Not loud enough.”

“Yoongi, please.”

“Oh, we’re saying names now?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, it aches. It’s starting to borderline hurt. “I’ll be good,” you barter, beg, plead with a head spinning off its own axis. “I’ll do anything.”

“Do it yourself then.”

Later, when you look back on tonight, you’ll be embarrassed and shy to hell. But right now, you’re so over any shyness that you don’t hesitate, reaching down to rub at your clit and moaning when it’s so sensitive.

And Yoongi gets a front row seat.

His groan is gutteral. And it doesn’t take you long to quicken your pace, bucking your hips and whining to the ceiling. You’re so so so close it’s right there—

Your hand is smacked away. And after you try to wrestle out of his grip, you are a flat out, blubbering mess. “Yoongi… Please…”

“Nah.”

This is torture. And you’re frightened at how much you’re enjoying it. “I’m so close.”

“You’ll come when I say you can.”

“Please! …Please..”

“You done being a brat?”

“No! Fuck. Yes!” If you weren’t so far gone, you may have deciphered a tiny smile of amusement. But it won’t be for months later until you’ll realize that you were wrong.

Because the menacing flash of teeth you see is much too wide to be anything other than pride. “The fuck did I say? Use your words.”

You know you’re still upset. You know Yoongi is still upset. But for some reason, you feel closer to him than you have in awhile, and you wonder if lust and madness are two sides of the same coin. “Let me come. Please.”

Yoongi finally obliges with something he hadn’t pleasured you with yet. And your vision blanks as you yelp at the sensation, his slick fingers pistoning into your folds so fast you’re arching so taut. From between your quivering legs, you hear one final command,

“Then fucking come.”

And you burst, so hard you almost feel like something threatens to spew from your cunt. But all you can do is shake and thrash under his grip, so erratic that you feel like Yoongi’s starting to pin you down. Gone, gone, gone, you’re sure the veins of your neck threaten to break through your sweaty skin.

Then you feel his cock thrust inside of you, and you whip your head forward only to get your airway cut off. “Again,” he calmly repeats, flinging you back to the last time this happened.

Only this time, there’s even less room for you to make any other choice.

“I said again.”

Your body cannot fathom disobedience, pulsing and milking his perfect fit. Over, and over, and over. You hear rumbling from a dragon above, feel breaths of steam whooshing as it watches you come undone.

“Yoongi—”

A light slap to your cheek is your only warning before your chin is tugged, lips smushing into yours to swallow your straining sobs. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your body is still thrumming, inundating around his cock until your emotions spill from your core. Toes. Fingers. Everything is straining and locking in place.

“So fucking hot.” He rips your soul right out. “Shit.”

You fly through time and space, gathering emotions and feelings and spiraling spiraling spiraling. Crying. You’re crying. Full on crying you’re so overwhelmed with everything truly you were so mean to him you upset him holy fuck you should’ve left when he told you to—

“Baby.”

But you cannot stop crying, choke choke gasping on sobs.

“Babe.”

“I—I—”

Your name stabs you with a crisp shot, coupled with a firm grip on your chin, snapping you back to lucid. And Yoongi’s eyes are frantically searching your own. “Look at me.”

You do. Do you? You do. And his eyes…

They’re not angry at all. It’s pure concern. Steadfast concentration. And something reflecting your soul. “Breathe.”

“Oh, shit,” you whisper, coughing and reaching for oxygen you didn’t know you were denying. Air rushes back into your lungs as you inhale.

“There you go. Keep going.”

You do, gulping down air and hiccuping a breath or two. Your cheek is being caressed, you think. And with another pass, you know it is.

“Relax for me.” And you hiccup a sob. “Breathe, babe.”

You do, you do, you do. Yoongi kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, and you breathe more and more through it all. “You with me?”

“Always,” you answer, filter off because you are hanging by a thread and he’s holding the top. “Please don’t kick me out ever,” you hiccup. “Please, baby, I’ll do anything for you but I—could—never handle that—”

You’re tenderly hushed before lips slide over yours, attempting to swallow your thoughts and your sobs and your oncoming tears. As you flood his bed with apologies, Yoongi keeps wiping them all.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Babe.”

“You told me so many times—”

“Breathe, angel.”

You blink at the change in name, and it makes you focus just a bit stronger. Floating down from the precipice.

“I wasn’t kicking you out,” he slowly explains, kissing sweat from your forehead. His words feel like a calm, rock-filled river over your eyes. “I felt like an idiot and hated you seeing me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Just… Like this.”

“You’re perfect like this,” you hitch out, not caring about what flows out of your mouth. “So perfect. Always to me. I just wanted to help you, baby, I’m so sorry—”

He hugs you so tight more tears squeeze out.

And so do more confessions, “I… I care about you. I think a little too much. If I lost you, I wouldn’t—be able—”

“I’m here.”

“So please don’t push me away.”

“I won’t.”

“I know you don’t make promises but—”

“I promise.” Without an ounce of doubt, Yoongi places a firm, lingering kiss on your temple. “Promise. Fuck.” As he holds you tight, you feel him shake before you hear the tiniest sniff at your ear.

Oh. He doesn’t need to be like this, too. You try to move your hand up between your bodies to comfort him, but your whole limb feels gelatinous. So you simply whisper, “It’s okay, baby.”

You can’t tell how long you lie like this, with his beautiful weight on yours. But time is irrelevant when your mind is unwinding from hours of whirring, starting to finally accept the fact that everyone is okay and you don’t have to be angry anymore.

“Come on,” Yoongi rasps, voice cracked and airy. “Let’s go.”

“Hmm?”

“Shower.”

“Oh. Okay.”

You’re so thrown and dizzy from what just happened that even getting to the bathroom is a blur. What you kinda feel is Yoongi holding you upright when your legs buckle, but you don’t remember when he leaves your side to turn the water on.

As he flips on the light, your eyes squeeze until they adjust, and you watch as he tests the water while fully clothed. Air conditioning starts to give you a chill, but the shower warms up just in time because he reaches out to guide you inside.

Wait. Is he not joining you? Bleary, you grab at his shirt when he steps away, eyes pleading. “Are you coming in, too?”

Yoongi stops before he gives a shake of his head. “I’ll take mine when you’re done,” he says through a slight smile. “We’ll take care of you first.”

That doesn’t make sense. Even in your depleting haze, you know something doesn’t add up. “You can join me now. I don’t mind.” When you try to lift his shirt, Yoongi visibly flinches when you brush over his ribs.

And all the murk around your head vanishes in a snap.

He kept his shirt on that whole time. Not once did your positions allow you to see his upper body fully. And now he’s not gonna get in the shower or take his shirt off?

Your voice lowers two octaves when you reach full clarity. “Let me see.”

Unblinking, Yoongi tries to back away, “Don’t worry—”

“Let me see it, baby,” you command, breath cut until he finally allows you to lift his shirt up holy fuck those injuries look so painful tears prick your eyes. “Oh, my god, Yoongi—”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re hurt.” You feel these wounds deep in your ribs, and you tell him to get your kit what the hell he fucked you while feeling those?

Attempting to alleviate your stress, Yoongi decides to strip fully and step into the shower, ignoring your pleas to grab your med kit and promising you can take care of him when you’re done washing up.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, doll.”

“Are you sure?”

“Promise.”

And when his arms wrap around you, this is when you finally let go. Huge, chest-wracking sobs echo around tile, and Yoongi stays quiet through your cathartic release.

There’s another reason you were so upset. And it has nothing to do with any of them, but with yourself. The main reason you’ve been so riled up and frustrated is because… This is technically your fault, too.

But, unsurprisingly, he won’t let you take any blame whatsoever.

“You got hurt cus I said to play.”

“Nope.”

“I wore the outfit that day.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“And lost my friends at the club.”

“No.”

Sniffling in quick succession, you think about one other option. Some form of closure that can double as compromise. Voice soft, you suggest the last resort you have,

“How about we share it.”

Yoongi blinks twice before he clarifies, “You wanna share the blame?” When you nod, he huffs through the tiniest smile of confusion. “Mm. Then it’s our fault.”

“Okay.”

After shaking his head, he closes his eyes, molding his forehead with yours. “What are you doing to me.”

A sniffle. “Wrecking your water bill.”

His laughs join yours as you barely get your sentence out before giggling, and to feel him so close and present and here makes your worries slink down the drain.

Hands trace down your arms, walking along falling rivers before creating ponds with your fingers intertwined. “Gonna clear me out someday.”

“Duh.”

He’s himself again.

And after a whole night of chaos, you feel like yourself again, too.

That’s all you both need to feel peace.

You keep that tranquility carrying you through his room, peeking into his closet to grab the biggest shirt and sweats you can find before drying your head.

But no matter how much water you can dry, your body will keep being washed in relief. And it’s the calmest feeling, watching as Yoongi does the simplest things near his bed.

Your lips curve when he pulls up his pants; your heart beats when he grabs a tee. It’s in this moment that you admit that these outfits of his are your favorites, and you gravitate to him as he slips cotton over his damp head.

“Come on,” you softly offer as you turn. “I’ll make food and get you some ice.”

Again, Yoongi just stares with a faint smile. But his eyes are alive again, so you’re more than fine if he just follows your lead without a word.

In the kitchen, you pause amongst the appliances, the cabinets watching as you utilize your phone to find a good recipe. “What shall we eat… Stew? Or, wait—”

Looking up, you eye him in thought before choosing to focus on something else. “Actually, let’s figure you out first.”

Opening yet another tab to add to your hundreds, you type away before selecting a good starting point. “Okay, let’s see. You’re breathing fine, so no bruised ribs. Umm…”

Scroll, scroll.

“It looks really bad there, though. You sure you can move right?”

Despite asking, you go right back to your phone before Yoongi can even respond. Scrolling and clicking and reading again.

Scroll, scroll.

“Okay, so no bruised ribs, and according to this you don’t have any broken bones. And nothing fractured, either, thank god—”

“I love you.”

Time bursts.

Your chest glows.

Everything starts to beat, beat, beat in slow motion.

And you don’t even feel like you’re in the room anymore. “…What?”

You need to hear it again. You need to need to need to, because if you heard him wrong, you will check yourself and bolt right out the door.

His eyes.

Despite the battlefield on his skin, they are dripping, and sparkling, and full. The whole world suspends as he stares right into your soul, caressing it with his wounded hands and cradling it in his bruised arms.

No matter how hard the moon will try—for years, and years, and years more—it will never outshine this single, shaken, solidified admittance.

“I love you, doll.”

You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what to fucking do.

Why is Yoongi saying this now? Why is he choosing now of all times to make you the happiest person in the universe?

No.

Happiness isn’t even close to what you feel and you’re pretty sure you’re crying but nothing makes sense and your vision plunges under sunlit waters.

“And you don’t have to say anything. I know I don’t deserve to.”

What?

“I can’t be everything you want. Or need. Or whatever the fuck I’m trying to say. But I just needed you to know because I can’t fucking fight this shit anymore—”

You lunge forward before he offers his last syllable, careful to avoid his wounds and not mush his face because he would do the same for you.

And it’s all too much tonight. The lingering fear, the dying anger, the floods of relief, the joy. You can’t stop your sobs from coming out in bursts, your whole body wracking with overwhelming emotion as he grits into your skin,

“Goddamn it, I—”

“Yoongi—”

“—so fucking much.”

Yoongi loves you. He’s here. He loves you, loves you, loves you and the beats of your heart pulse orange and blue, blue, blue.

Nothing will ever compare to this moment. Nothing. You will bottle this one up in a jar to place next to all the others you have stored, and when you are lonely, or hurt, or even when you’re doing just fine, you will uncork it to surround yourself with this memory and know that everything will be okay.

He loves you.

Fuck, he loves you?

You choke out his name with a sob, and he squeezes you even harder. When you can’t reply with anything else, he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, his tears taking root and blossoming into beautiful vibrant fruit all along your rib cage.

He loves you.

Why can’t you seem to say it back? What the fuck is wrong with your tongue?

Maybe it’s because saying it doesn’t feel like enough. Like it’s laughable that there are words for this feeling because they don’t nearly represent what you harbor in your very being for this man.

There’s no way any words are enough. Not for him. Nor for you. Because right now, Yoongi needs something more. And you’re going to give him more than everything.

“Yoongi, I—”

He captures your lips in his, and you let him push you against his counter and consume you everywhere he wants to. Between his claims, your sobs have room to breathe. Which makes for a horrible showing of your attempting to say what you want to. “I… I can’t… Yoongi—”

Fingers press into the back of your head, a forehead smushing into yours and shutting you up completely. “I’m sorry,” he says, words rolling down the tracks your tears have walked. “I won’t ever be able to say that enough.”

“Baby,” you hiccup, resting a hand over one of his. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.” You squeeze his hand, feeling the lovely digs of his knuckles in your palm. His scent wafts around you like an embrace, and you know there’s nothing quite like it. At all. “You’re okay, so I’m okay.”

After he plants a warm kiss on your temple, you feel his hands ball into fists at your ears. “I just—fuck.”

There’s no telling what he’s thinking about in that brain of his. But you need him to know that there’s nothing more for him to be sorry for. All you care about is that he’s present, responding, and himself.

“Babe,” you whisper, still not believing those three words coming out of his mouth. “I’m here.”

“I know.” He sighs, smushing into your lips and holding you so tenderly, yet so tight. As he laps at your tongue, you’re more than sure he can taste your rainfall.

None of this is real. Because you can’t believe it at all. Even as Yoongi continues his journey across your neck, your shoulders, your jaw, your face, you still can’t piece together that this is truly happening.

When you feel him hard on your pelvis, you remember that he didn’t get the same release you got earlier. But you’re not gonna be the one to suggest going again, all of this will be what he decides.

And what Yoongi decides is to pull you closer, breathing you in while you do the same. His kisses are never ending, and your hands roam languidly along his shoulders, his hair, stretching across the expanse of his back. One that has held the weight of the world and then some.

His name leaves your mouth in a sigh, your back arching as softly as the kisses being planted along your breasts.

“If you only knew,” he whispers, laughing to himself as he wraps an arm around your side.

“Knew what?”

“Nothing, babe.” You gasp into his next rough press to your lips. “You’re so—fuck.”

You said you’d let him lead. But as Yoongi starts to walk you into his bedroom again, you think about his injuries and feel more concerned after knowing they’re there. So you quietly stop him as you reach his bed, “Are you sure?”

“I’ll be alright, doll,” he whispers, lowering you down and smiling so tranquilly your heart lurches. “As much as I think you enjoyed the first time, this time will be better.”

Giggling, you fight the heat from searing your cheeks as you smile. “You enjoyed it more than I did, I think.”

“I don’t think so.” Yoongi smirks, getting up. “Lemme get a cond—”

“It’s okay,” you halt him with a hand, and he freezes.

Full stop. No movement. Not even a breath. “...What?”

“We don’t…” You swallow, stomach fluttering at his expression. “We don’t have to this time.”

Because Yoongi’s eyes have not left your face. “You sure?”

Then something causes you to smile. Knowing that if there’s anyone you want to do this with, it’s this man right here and now. There’s genuinely no one else in the world with whom you would wanna share this experience, and the fact that he’s still asking makes you emotional.

Cradling his face with the most tender touch you can imagine, you confirm, “Just for a little bit.” And you add something you think he needs to keep hearing. “I trust you.”

Gulping down any extra emotions spilling from your heart’s chalice, your words come out a little wobbled. “And I want to, if you want it, too.”

“I want what you want, doll.”

“Then it’s okay.”

Clothes on or off, you still feel so shy underneath him.

But this time, you vow to shove those feelings of unworthiness to the side. Because you are fully invested in this moment above all others. And Yoongi deserves more than you can give.

When he slowly tugs his sweats from your legs, you’re already choking back tears. As he climbs on top, you await the connection you never in your dreams would’ve imagined.

And when Yoongi stares at you one more time, you know exactly what he’s asking.

“Yes, my love,” you wisp into his skin, craning up to kiss him and swallowing his last slice of doubt. Knowing you’ll say it again and again and again.

His brows pinch as he kisses you—slow, purposeful, understanding. Then he positions himself, and you can physically feel his hand brush your cunt as he does so. If he ever asks if you felt him shake, you will deny it. But only for a year or two.

As soon as you feel him—only him, solely him—you swell with a current of emotion. And it pulls you all the way under when he’s fully sheathed inside.

“Holy fucking shit.”

“Yoongi—”

“Fuck.”

Simply having him inside, with no barriers or obstacles in between? You’re already close. There’s no early explanation, but you already feel overwhelmed enough to come.

No no no. You want this to last forever, so you wait for Yoongi to gather himself because he appears to be fighting, too.

Chuckling, you ask, “You good, baby?”

And your lover snaps his gaze to your face, bangs sweeping across your cheeks and eyes unblinking. “Yeah, just...” He stares at your inquisitive expression before whooshing out a harsh breath. “Just this is about to make me bust.”

You burst into laughter before admitting you were just thinking the same thing, and his slow grin makes you want to cry. “We’re not good at this.”

“No. You’re too good at this. I can’t even move.”

“Yes, you can,” you whine. “You wreck my shit all the time.”

Feeling a twitch more prominent than ever, you giggle as Yoongi puffs out pained amusement. “Doll, if you keep talking like that, I’m pulling out.”

“Okay, okay,” you surrender, loving how out of sorts he seems. He’s fighting for his life and you’re enjoying the hell out of it.

“You’re a little too perfect right now.”

Maybe one day you will agree with him. But that day is far from reach, your head shaking in quiet disagreement.

“You are.”

“Nowhere close,” you whisper.

His nose brushes against yours. “Say that again and see what happens.”

“Is that what you tell all the others fuck!”

His shove up your cunt makes you see stars. “What did I fuckin’ say?”

“What—”

Another launch has you careening through space, lip bitten and suppressing a hearty whine. “You think there’s someone else?” Again. “Hmm?”

Again.

You’re so dazed and mind-fucked to pieces that your speech is barely audible. But your chin is grabbed as you’re snapped straight, and your eyes try their hardest to focus on slitted ones above. “You’re gonna regret saying that.”

You just laugh, whine pinging sharp into the ceiling as he shoves forward so hard your whole body shifts upward. “Oh, yeah?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond with words, thrusting up again and sending you twisting and winding towards the edge unbelievably fast. “Uh huh.”

“Make me then,” you gasp out. “Make me really sorry.”

The sound Yoongi makes comes from deep within his stomach, the rumbling hum shooting right into your veins like liquid fire.

And the full-on attack he bursts into renders you completely speechless. Everything Yoongi does pulls you deliciously in all directions—his thrusts, his chain hitting his chest, his grip on your wrists, the way he snags your chin. Everything.

“Taking me so well like this.”

“I—”

“So fucking tight.”

Fuck fuck fuck it’s habitual for you at this point, and you unhinge your jaw a split second before he smacks the side of your face. Desire lowers your lids halfway as you feel empowered, and you don’t even recognize your voice as you order him on the spot. “Do it again.”

Yoongi doesn’t stop his pace as he keeps his eyes on you.

“Do it again,” you growl, fully limp and a groaning mess when he does exactly what you want.

Fuck, the pain feels good. So good that you reach up and choke him out. But the back of your head is grabbed before you feel hungry lips smash into yours. You feel your wrists pinned again by one large palm, air chilling for a moment before a hot mouth captures one of your nipples. “Oh, fuck, Yoongi!”

“Uh uh.”

“Please—please—”

You’re still tensing as he devours your chest below his shirt, strokes now slower but just as powerful.

Your arms still haven’t been freed, but there’s something about being under his control that has you loving this position. Without question. Maybe it’s the fact that you can see him now, losing himself just as he saw you washes in the throes of passion.

And he licks, sucks, lolls his tongue all over your tits, whispered praises sinking through your bosom as he keeps a grip on your wrists.

“Baby,” you gasp. “I’m close, I’m—”

“Shit.” Air whooshes over you before you feel your arms freed and him yank himself out, and you freeze as he unloads right on your stomach, a sharp cocktail of pride and shock in your gut.

Holy fuck, Yoongi was that close? Did he hold out as long as he could? Shit, he’s breathing so hard his jewelry shakes as it dangles.

You’re still so surprised that your arms are still locked into bends, and he glances up at you from his kneeled state. “Fuck,” he laughs, and is that… Is Yoongi shy? “Thought I could hold out.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you assure through your own tiny chuckle. “Oh my god, I promise.”

He leans down to plant a heart fluttering kiss on your lips, but you hate how he looks pained on the way down.

Those hits he took… Now you kinda understand his perspective. Because now you want to avenge him in five hundred thousand ways—almost half as many ways as you want to show him how you feel.

“Stay there, beautiful,” Yoongi orders as he moves to get off the bed, wincing in passes. “I’m not done with you.”

Damn. He looks even more exhausted than before. “Baby, are you sure?”

But Yoongi walks right to his bathroom to retrieve a towel, and your eyes may as well transform into hearts when you watch him come back to you. So handsome, even now. Even when he’s simply holding a washcloth, hair completely mussed, soul sparkling and face bruised.

As he sits to clean your face before moving to your stomach, you can only observe his eyes. So experienced. Calm. At peace. When they drift to yours, it’s instinct that has you shying away. “What, love.”

Another reason to crumble inside. “I just… nothing,” you whisper.

And Yoongi finishes with the cloth before tossing it somewhere. “Tell me,” he says, lying down on the ribs with more damage. “I wanna know.”

“Come on this side,” you tell him, and he obliges without a word. “It’s a secret.”

“A secret?”

“Mmhmm.”

Yoongi settles before lifting your chin, rubbing an affectionate thumb over any tears still persevering on your cheeks. “I can keep those, you know.”

Smiling, you fold way too easily. “Okay, I’ll tell.”

When he leans in, your nervousness and excitement to tell him almost spoils your ability to do so. Like someone gifting a present while wanting to say what it is before it’s even opened.

“I love you, too,” you whisper, tears sprinting to your ducts as Yoongi freezes. When he looks at you, you can’t help but choke on a sob seeing his eyes get as red as the marks on his cheek. “And you deserve more than I could ever give.”

His eyes hold the heavens and the seas.

You’re right. Just saying it isn’t fucking enough.

You’re already liplocked again before you can think, saltwater on your face and you don’t even know whose eyes it came from.

Determined, Yoongi starts kissing a trail from your lips to your jaw, and you start to cry as he makes his own journey down the expanse of you.

All of you.

Is this what it feels like? Is all of this actually, genuinely real?

You hope so, because you feel devotion in each press of his lips, and every touch will be remembered in its own right. Its own pocket of time.

Every single stop.

It almost feels divine when his mouth reaches your folds, lapping at your essence and swirling around your clit. When you say his name, Yoongi says nothing, instead palming your thighs and eating you out like he has all the time in the world.

Swelling, you already feel close.

But the way he gets you to fantasia is so natural that you slide into your quivers seemlessly. The transition into your heaven flows like a stream, and your waves engulf his tongue and coat his mouth without trouble.

This is what it feels like. What it feels like with Yoongi.

And you wanna keep making love until only sleep can take you from him.

Your hands jut into his hair, gasping as he keeps his pace, and no matter how you squirm he is dead set on holding you down until holy fuck you’re coming again.

How? What’s happening to you? This constant stream of release is shocking you to the point of crying out, and Yoongi groans into your orgasm and prolongs it with the whole press of his tongue.

“Holy fuck, baby—!” Another wave overcomes the next, and you outright quake in his hands, eyes rolling and vision blinking white. Muscles lock as you can’t keep up with the pleasure, and you’re mercilessly let go only for lips to descend on yours.

Your tears spill into your ears as you kiss him back, wrapping tired arms over his shoulders and raking in deep.

“Fuck.” And you feel his cock lodge against your entrance, and you’re amazed how hard he is again.

Does he want what you want? Is he ready again?

As Yoongi quietly gets up to get a condom, you’re amazed that he wants to keep going after everything that’s transpired. But, if he feels like you do, he’s ready to keep going until the sun comes up three whole times.

When he sits next to you, your better half appears shy as he bites the wrapper. “Don’t take this the wrong way.”

“Oh, I already know.”

“K. But god, I fuckin’ want to.”

You bite your lip to hold back your smile, remembering what he said a long time ago and bringing it back full circle for the next thing you both wanna try. “One day.”

Yoongi only grins.

And for the next hour, your lover, your secret, your home gives you everything he has, and you come for him more times than you ever have in your life.

Every time, he drags your pleasure out, expertly tearing you down with his movements and building your confidence up with his words. He tells you you’re perfect, and he disagrees when you disagree. When you find tears on your face, he kisses those away, too. When you feel along his silver, he simply watches you in silence.

No sadness, doubt, nor anger to be found.

After you physically can’t do any more, Yoongi lies at your side, silent as you play with his hair. You do your best to stay still, not wanting to accidentally push into any of his injuries that you’re gonna beg him to get checked in the morning.

Once he’s healed? That’s when you’ll never let go. Because you want to crush him into you completely. Mold into him, just so he can feel the brevity of your highest affection.

“I’m sorry for yelling,” you finally whisper. “But I really was so mad at you. All of you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t wanna lose you.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

Yoongi stares, seeming to withhold something from you before he palms your cheek. “They were gonna follow us home if we didn’t, babe,” he reveals, snapping your heart back in two. “We all knew that.”

“Oh, fuck.” Everything hits you at once: why they stayed, why you and Taehyung had to leave. Why Tae didn’t bring you straight back to the house. And the burns at your eyes match the searing in your gut. “I didn’t… I didn’t think about that.”

When you start to cry, Yoongi sits up and hangs his head between his sweats. “You don’t need to think about shit like that,” he murmurs, sounding defeated as ever. “But we talked after you told us off. We won’t hide that from you anymore.”

Sniffling, you whisper out a thank you. But you don’t want Yoongi to feel like he has to distance himself, so you untangle him—slowly, gently–-before bringing him into your chest.

After dealing with all that and the tempest in his living room, this man still let you in. From the looks of things, there’s a lot that he had been fighting, and you’re more than appreciative that he opened his door. Not knowing how to put these feelings into words, you say the first things that come to mind. And for some reason, they feel heavier on the way out,

“Thank you for letting me in. It was raining really hard.”

Yoongi stiffens hard before holding you closer.

“Babe?”

No response. Just another batch of weighted quiet.

Worried, you tilt your head. “Hey. Look at me.”

If he stays right where he is, you’ll have to respect that decision. But he ends up pushing himself up, and as soon as you see moonlight catch on a falling tear, all your instincts reach for him, “Oh, fuck, come here.”

You surround him with everything you have, wanting every single bit of warmth birthed from his love to fill his space instead of yours. Whatever he needs, you will give. “It’s okay, baby,” you whisper, holding him so close but not nearly close enough.

Never close enough.

His face is buried in the crook of your neck, and you will let him live there whenever he needs to. “I’m not mad anymore, okay?” God, you hate how he’s still so silent. You get it, but you hate whatever made him default to this state. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

After light rain fills the room, your soul breaks at a sniffle, and you crush your love even tighter.

“This isn’t about that, doll,” Yoongi finally whispers, burying wet eyes further into your shoulder. “It’s just…”

It’s what? What’s he thinking about? Hopefully it’s not anything—

“It’s so fucking better when you’re here.”

When you choke out a sob, his body locks, words pouring from nowhere and everywhere. “I sleep better. Eat better. Fuck, I even feel better even if nothing else changes.”

“Yoongi…”

“It’s true.” Sighing, he sniffles again before letting his weight drop onto you in resignation. Or relief. “I mean that.”

“Then… Those three months…”

“One day, I’ll tell you everything,” he offers, making you wonder what the hell he’s been through in the past. And if it has something to do with that guitar he smashed to pieces. “But from now on, you can be here whatever you want.”

Many things have shifted tonight. As if an earthquake had upturned everything between the both of you, only peace has settled in its wake. A peace you had never felt before. As you brush fingers through his hair, you joke, “So I can come to those parties you host, too?”

“Those weren’t my idea, by the way. Jimin made me.” Kissing your shoulder, Yoongi continues to admit, “He was worried. And hoping you would show.”

Oh. That’s news to you.

“I knew you wouldn’t. But.” He exhales before nestling in further. “I did hope to see you, too.”

“It’s okay.” You rub the back of his neck, your fingers feeling nothing but warmth and the softness of his clothes. “It would’ve been too obvious.”

“What would’ve.”

“That I wanted you all to myself.”

“You already have that.”

When you stiffen, your words are tiny. “You know what I mean.”

Yoongi laughs soft, taking one of your hands in his and bringing it up for a kiss as you blurt, “My brother was the one that invited me. To come to those, I mean.”

The way he blinks is comical. “Huh.”

“I know.” It’s your turn to bring his hand close, kissing along his knuckles before you stare out the window behind him. “It makes me wonder if he knows.”

“What if he does?”

You snap your eyes right to his. “Does he?”

Yoongi watches your lips linger on his fingers before he tells the truth, “No.”

“Okay. But you’re sure I can stay?”

“Who do you think you bought those groceries for?”

Oh. Wait. “What?”

Grinning so sly, Yoongi reveals the plan he had all along, “I get you for a week, right?”

Oh. Holy shit. You cannot quite possibly deal with what this man is saying. That whole time you were shopping for his list… No wonder he was already done with dinner when you got there oh you’re gonna get him back for that.

Light bursts from your center as you grit out through a grin, “You sneaky little—” Pulling his tilted mouth in for another kiss, your heart pulses little pink stars as he leans in with a laugh, and you meet lips again and again until he slowly, reluctantly stops.

“One day,” he murmurs out of nowhere, and you flick your eyes to his. “I’ll be better.”

Of course he will. You have no doubts. But, just like he always does for you, you’re gonna start offering the same reassurance out loud, even if he knows it’s there.

And you can’t contain your little laughs at your own joke, despite him just staring into your face right after you crack it, “Don’t make it just one day, silly.”

Even if you’re very serious, it’s in your nature to lighten things up. Especially after hearing such wonderful news for what’s coming. Clutching a little bit of his shirt, you whisper with complete devotion,

“We’ll make it as many as we can.”

You hate how you feel him freeze, knowing what that means, what plaguing little thoughts are embedded in that tiny shift.

Yoongi’s still hesitant to accept.

Because you are, too. In many ways. But this man has been picking you up and making you stronger day after day—in both his presence and absence—that you can’t help but fight to do the same.

Does he ever think about you? Does he know that you’ll always be with him? No matter how close or far apart you are? You hope so. Because it’s so true that your heart is searing that promise into your soul, branding it as a reminder to reciprocate all this genuine love you’ve never been given before.

He loves you?

You still can’t accept that as fact.

…Maybe one day.

You chuckle to yourself, deciding to keep talking because Yoongi is still so very quiet. “At least. Until the day I get to meet my cat,” you huff in triumph. “Then I’m running away with her.”

It’s a perfect strike of a match. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You pretend to pout. “But I’m starting to think she ran away already and you won’t fess up.”

Yoongi laughs so suddenly you flinch. After a playful scoff, he tries to make you feel better, “She’s still here!”

“Lies.”

“How much are you betting, doll.”

“How much are you willing to lose, babe.”

“This much,” he finally says, pinching your sides and hissing laughter when you scream. “Maybe I’ll make you leave after all if you’re gonna be a problem.”

“You did threaten to kick me out before.”

“Huh? When?”

“That day I showed up,” you remind him through a chuckle. Thrown back to that first night, you start to see all the parallels between then and now. And how vastly different things have become. “Said you were gonna kick me out for hustling you.”

The glorious laughter from the depths of his belly makes you grin, and you cringe when his brows pinch in both laughter and pain. “I should’ve!”

He needs to get those hits healed. “You really should’ve.”

“Played me from the very start. You happy with yourself?” When you nod, Yoongi shakes his head. “Course you are.”

“You love it.”

“I do.” Your eyes meet, which proves dangerous for you because he bites his smirk before pulling you in for a kiss. “Thought I was gonna say it, huh.”

“No!” You lie. Because no, you certainly were not! “…Maybe.”

“Guess what.”

Suddenly paranoid, you give him a look, already expecting to be tricked again.

But Yoongi captures your lips without warning, curling your toes into sheets you’re now achingly familiar with. After a few passes, he shifts above, planting a hand at your side and letting his chain slide against your chest as he slots a leg in between yours.

Yet again, you think about that first night, that first time. The first of apparently, surprisingly, wonderfully unexpectedly many.

Who would’ve thought rain and a broken ego would bloom into something good? Who would’ve believed a person so close to your roots would be your home?

As he lets up with one last slow stroke of his tongue, you whisper, “What were you gonna say?”

At this, Yoongi spreads closed lips, taking his time planting a peck on your nose. “I just fucking love you, doll.”

Oh. He’s a menace and the most annoying tease on the planet.

When you can’t do anything but flee into his chest, Yoongi immediately laughs, forcing you back out of your little shell. “You can’t hide now, babe.”

“I can!”

Leaned forward in your struggle, you give him no choice but to swoop his head into your neck. Which backfires on you immensely because he decides it’s the perfect time to rasp deep against your ear, “I love fucking you, too.”

His name flies out of your mouth in disbelief and embarrassment, and his heightened amusement puffs into the burning column below your chin.

This is the moment something comes over you. Slams into you. Washes you in present nostalgia like lingering footsteps on a balcony.

And it hurts. It really, really hurts.

Instead of laughing along, you come down from your high, squeezing him like the pillow that couldn’t replicate his warmth for months. “I miss you.”

After a second, Yoongi questions, “How? I’m right here.”

You know that. You do. But with every hello there’s a goodbye, and you don’t want that this time. Especially now that your heart knows that his beats the same.

Breathy and shaken, you rest your head in his chest, hoping he doesn’t hear but does at the same time, “I still miss you.”

Strong fingers weakly press into your sides, and while you can’t see him, you know for a fact that his smile is gone. Because he also knows goodbye is coming again, and you can’t stay here forever as long as this is all a secret.

You feel a sigh wisp over your head before words that make no fucking sense follow it out, “I can’t do shit like this anymore.”

…What?

No. No no no he can’t be done just like that you both just confessed everything you need to fight say something anything anything—

“I wanna do this the right way.”

Oh.

Yoongi’s chest… It’s shaking.

Pushing yourself up, you search his eyes for answers. “What are you saying?”

When he looks at you, there’s a fire in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Or maybe it has been there all along, and he only needed a spark to set it ablaze. “I’m saying I’ll tell him, doll. Just me.”

Oh. Oh, shit. Didn’t he say not yet? Didn’t he say he needs more time? He said he’d figure it out what is with the sudden…

Your tears are automatic as Yoongi roams his gaze from one eye to the other, and he’s swallowing before taking a step. A step you didn’t think he’d make. One you didn’t have the courage to take yourself.

When he utters the words, your soul lets rain fall just as the storm resides.

And right as moonlight shines through his blinds.

“I’ll tell him everything.”

tbc. :)

so... how did it go! | join the server!

a/n: so. here we are, over two years and 250k+ words later. thank you for sticking with me if you're still here, and thank you for being the most amazing readers a writer could ever, ever ask for. if you can interact or let me know what you enjoyed/like, i would be eternally grateful. these two parts took all of me, and i'm gonna take a break for a little bit before starting on the next part. a/n 2: thank you for also being here despite the highs and lows! things have really weighed on me for awhile, which prevented me from working on this part forreal. but my mental feels a lot lighter now, and i am ready to keep running with y'all. so thank you for your support and encouragement, no matter how you show it! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

#AHHH it's finally here!#bts fic #bts reactions #bts imagines #bts fanfic #ryenwrites #*ryenfictalk #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #yoongi x you #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi x reader #3tan12 #*latest

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modanisgf · 2 months ago

Text

SO HIGHSCHOOL , HANNI PHAM

“you know how to ball, i know aristotle!”

✎ SYNOPSIS — in which hanni falls for the captain of the basketball team, despite you two being complete opposites.

✎ PAIRING(S) — yearbook/newspaper student!hanni x athlete!reader

✎ WARNING(S) — blood mentioned, injuries, kissing, lowkey rushed i wanted to get it out for her birthday 😭

a/n— ily yearbook girlie hanni pham!! also happy birthday hanni

it was unreal to haerin how her best friend had fallen in love with y/n. hanni pham of all people was deeply in love with you, someone who barely even looked her way. hanni even showed up to all your games making the excuse that it was so she could take photos for the school newspaper, but everyone knew it was just for you.

it was one of those days right now actually, hyein and haerin sighing as they accompanied hanni to make sure she didn’t do anything stupid.

you and your teammates were currently strategizing, the other team calling a timeout as your team was up by forty points.

“han what even is interesting about this, every game y/n makes like five threes and carries her team to victory. nothing else ever happens.” hyein complains, making hanni roll her eyes.

“and then she gaslights herself into thinking y/n shot them all for her.” haerin says, making hanni side eye her.

“all you guys do is complain,” hanni groans, “also i do not gaslight myself?! she really does shoot them for me.” hanni says.

“you’re insane.” haerin says simply, making hanni come back to reality.

“my bad.” hanni mutters, grabbing her camera again as the timeout concluded.

the girl had an insane amount of photos already, some of your best plays coming from this game. it was concerning how much of cameo you made in each new issue of the newspaper, it was actually something you noticed recently but you brushed it off and just thought you were having a good season.

you were running down the court waiting for a pass when a bright flash blinded you, making you groan. you looked up to see three girls in the stands, scrambling and yelling at each other. two of them were yelling at the girl with a camera on her neck, the girl having her hand over her mouth in shock.

“hanni you cannot be serious right now.” hyein deadpanned, looking at her older friend.

“I DIDN’T KNOW IT WOULD DO THAT?” hanni says, her hand quickly making its way to cover her mouth.

she would never recover from this, she looked down to see if you noticed just to see you staring directly at her making her heart drop.

“hyein.”

“hanni?”

“look.”

“oh my god.”

“i blinded the love of my life.” hanni says, sinking down into her seat.

“how do you manage to ruin everything.” haerin says, making hanni roll her eyes and ignore her friend.

your teammate hadn’t realized you weren’t paying attention, the girl throwing the ball to you for an easy shot. her jaw dropped when she saw you fall to the ground, the ball leaving a big red mark on your face.

the ref blew his whistle, calling a timeout in which all of your teammates ran towards you to figure out what happened.

“y/n what are you doing?!” yujin shouts, anger laced throughout her voice.

you didn’t even understand the girl as you just barely woke up from your small sleep, causing you to touch your head and feel blood.

“ah shit.” you curse, the pressure of your hand sending pain coursing through your body.

“y/n did you hear me?! what the hell are you doing?” yujin repeats, your other teammates concerned.

“yujin..” was all you could mutter before you saw black. you knew it was over, this was most definitely your last game of the season.

back up in the stands hanni couldn’t believe her eyes, all because of her stupid camera flash you were now injured.

“hanni, you actually just may have made the most insane fuck up of all time.” haerin says.

“i genuinely have no words.” hanni says, her eyes trained on you as your teammates carry you out the gym. the match even had to be finished early, with the lead your team had it didn’t even matter much.

if hanni even thought she had any chance with you before, it was most definitely gone now. she didn’t even know how she fucked up this bad.

—

the next day hanni anxiously tapped her fingers against her usual lunch table, danielle and minji confused at her unusual antics.

nobody knew what y/n was looking at while she was distracted, so it was a complete mystery to the two girls what had happened yesterday.

“hanni, are you good?” minji asks, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“yeah! just anxious about my spanish test.” hanni lies quickly, looking around after like she was being interrogated for a crime.

“um okay..” minji says, she knew there was no spanish test today (they had the same class..) but she chose to not question any further.

a small conversation picked up between dani and hyein, haerin sometimes chiming in with minji. hanni couldn’t even focus, she was so unbelievably worried about you.

hanni couldn’t get image of you on the ground out of her head, a lingering feeling of guilt following her everywhere. thankfully she had yet to see you, she knew she would probably break down.

hanni was also nervous that you would confront her, tell her that she ruined your life or that she was awful but she knew you wouldn’t. that was what drew her towards you. regardless of how your friends and teammates acted, you were the kindest person ever. whenever a new issue came out you would compliment her on her work, as hanni usually worked on the sports section alone. it was a simple gesture really, but coming from you it meant the world to hanni.

in conclusion the girl was smitten with you, and she wanted nothing more than to know you were okay.

—

hanni knew it was stupid. but she let herself walk into the nurses office, where you currently were getting checked on.

hanni thought it would be fine, considering they had a student nurse at the moment who she knew well. she walked in and greeted her friend, the older boy smiling at her.

“hi hanni.” huening kai greets the girl quickly, before turning back his attention to your wound.

“oh sorry kai, i didn’t know you still had someone in here.” hanni apologizes, knowing well she knew you were in there.

you stared at hanni in disbelief, you couldn’t really see her when you were on the court so her beauty amazed you. maybe it was okay that she blinded you, and also sort of caused you a major injury.

“no worries hanni! i actually need to go grab something from the main office really quickly, can you watch y/n for me?” kai says, to which hanni nods almost immediately.

“thanks! y/n keep your head down.” kai commands, noticing the way you sat up to look at hanni.

“oh yeah, sorry..” you mutter, laying back down slowly as kai left.

there was a moment of silence, before you sat up almost immediately alarming hanni.

“y/n you’re gonna—“ hanni starts, being cut off by you.

“it was you, wasn’t it.” you say eerily, further examining hanni’s face.

“huh?” hanni questions, her heart dropping to her ass. she didn’t think you would acknowledge it.

“it’s okay hanni!” you retort quickly, noticing the change in the girls demeanor.

“next time just wait until i actually make the shot.” you tease her, making hanni groan.

“it was really an accident i’m so so so so so so so sorry.” hanni mumbles just loud enough for you to hear.

“it’s fine hanni, your photos are actually really good. i use them on insta all the time.” you reassure the girl, taking her hand in yours making her unbelievably nervous.

“you do?” hanni says dumbfoundedly. (she actually knew that, she loved scrolling through your instagram, but you didn’t need to know that.)

“yeah, i mean you manage a whole section of the newspaper yourself for a reason. you always manage to catch my good side, it’s actually kind of scary.” you say, making hanni smile nervously.

“i just pay close attention you know, i love basketball!” hanni lies through her teeth, she didn’t know shit about basketball she just liked watching you play.

“oh really? who’s your favorite player?” you ask.

“um… lebron james?” hanni admits quietly, looking away in embarrassment at the way you burst out into laughter at her response.

“wow, you seem very well versed on basketball ms pham.” you say, still giggling at how unsure she sounded giving her response.

“i just— oh shut up.” hanni deadpans, noticing that you were now teasing her on purpose.

silence filled the room once again, causing you to lock eyes with hanni. you finally got to see her in all her glory, your eyes slowly scanning her face until they stopped at her lips.

she looked so kissable in that moment to you, the thought of her making you smile. what hanni didn’t know is that you were actually obsessed with her too, you’re teammates hated you for it always calling her the pretty girl in the stands.

you looked back up to see hanni staring at your lips too, making you ask a question on impulse.

“can i kiss you?”

another beat of silence, making you nervous.

“please.”

you wrap your arms around hanni’s neck, crashing your lips onto hers as she held your waist. you knew kai would be back soon but you didn’t care, you had been waiting forever for this.

the two of you only pulled away for air, addicted to the feeling of your lips on each others. though every good thing comes to an end, the two of you jumping at the sound of the door opening.

kai stood there dumbfounded, “you know what, i’m not even gonna ask.”

“um, y/n you’re free to go! after you’re done with whatever..” kai says, smiling awkwardly.

he quickly closed the door making you laugh, hanni hiding in the crook of your neck.

“never again.” she mutters into your neck.

“you sure?”

“shut up."

#newjeans #newjeans x reader #newjeans hanni #hanni pham #hanni pham x reader #newjeans hanni x reader #hanni x reader #newjeans fanfic #kpop #kpop x reader

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bnpd · 6 months ago

Text

Golden Boy ! ᡣ𐭩

"so this is gojo satoru."

you first heard of gojo when you were a freshman in high school, you first saw gojo when you were a junior, you first talked to him when you were a senior, and then you disliked him. but he first loved you when he first met you.

basketball player!gojo x photography/journalist!reader DRABBLE WORD COUNT: 3K

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST : ᡣ𐭩 NAVIGATION : ꩜

NOTE: basketball gojo is rotting my brain btw! so here’s another AU of them, enjoy. not a fic, more of a really really long drabble. posting this while you guys wait for long shot part 3! okay sorry too much yap! not proof read sorry chat

high school: 2007

you grew up with a fascination for cameras–photography as a whole–, and the idea of perfectly capturing the moment.

when you first started high school you would bring your camera and a journal everywhere. it was a small camera your parents bought to allow you to explore your life-long interest.

you were very much kept to yourself. if you didn’t have to talk to anyone, you didn’t choose to. you liked being alone, and there’s nothing depressing about that. you only had one friend, and her name was utahime.

you were a geek! not in a bad way, but in a way where you had a passion for books, writing, games, photography, you name it.

if anyone asked about you, no one would know how to answer. no one really knew much about you. with that in mind, you were still approachable, and kind.

if anyone engaged in conversation with you, you didn’t shy away—you politely engaged back.

now, things stayed like that for the entirety of freshman to spring semester of sophomore year because one day your graphics and design teacher, mr. mendez, caught you taking pictures of inanimate objects, offering you a position on the yearbook team.

your high school was huge, and names weren’t frequently known, especially not yours. but those rules didn’t apply to athletes. especially the golden boy—gojo satoru.

gojo satoru was a well-known name—gojo, itself, was a well-known name—his family came from money and they funded the entire school. you never actually met, or saw him, considering your schedules were completely different. but, in your junior year that changed. when your teacher asks you to go to a basketball game to cover the athlete section since the boy who was initially covering it got sick.

you’re frowning to yourself the entire day just thinking about having to stay after school to watch the game.

the time comes and you’re sitting at the back of the stands, holding onto your camera, waiting for the game to start. it’s a packed game. that doesn’t surprise you. what does surprise you, is how crazy everyone is going over a mere game of basketball before it even starts.

you almost jolt out of your seat when you feel someone tap your shoulder, and turn to see someone sweetly smiling at you. a boy. “I think mr. mendez is trying to get your attention,” he extends his finger, pointing, and you follow the direction of it. and, indeed, your teacher was trying to get your attention.

you sweetly mutter a quick ‘thank you’, to the boy before collecting your things, and walking towards mr. mendez.

“so, i figured you’re new to this, but when you take pictures during sports events, you’re usually pretty close to the court, standing,” he motions to the court with his hands, and you give him a confused look even though you understood exactly what he was saying, in hopes of a different alternative. unfortunately he does not give you one.

so, now you’re standing next to the court. camera, in hand, when the lights dim down just a tiny bit and cheerleaders emerge from the sides to begin their routine.

you take this as your opportunity to snap a few pictures. you capture a picture of the captain smiling, a few others of flyers mid-air, and some of the perfect routine moments.

after they finish, you find an empty seat at the very front. you think of all the things that you could’ve been doing at the moment. like reading on your porch swing, watching the sun set.

then the coach blows the whistle and finally the game is about to begin. the faster this goes, the faster you’ll be home, snuggled up in bed with your dog keeping your feet warm.

you stand to take pictures, and watch as the players emerge from the locker room, one after the other, jogging down to their designated seating area. but you don’t have a particular reaction, until you see another figure emerge, and you’re a bit struck at how handsome he is. gorgeous, even.

��so, this is gojo satoru.’

he’s smiling, and you just know he thinks he’s hot shit with the way he jogs over to the rest of his teammates. ‘we’ll see about that’ you thought to yourself.

and see you did.

he was incredible on the court—professional level good—.

you took a great number of pictures, ones where he’s doing some kind of handshake with another star player, geto suguru, another set of pictures of other players, some of gojo by himself, but your favorite one, by far, had to be the one after he shoots the final shot, and almost as if he sensed the camera, looked your way, and smiled. a cute boyish smile. you looked at your camera in shock and disbelief.

you felt your face heat up by a billion degrees.

it was the most perfect picture you ever captured. and you don’t even think he noticed because he runs back to his teammates, as if nothing had happened.

you went home that night in a bit of a daze. a new crush had developed. a very tiny, atom sized crush, but a crush nonetheless.

the next day mr. mendez asked for the pictures you took at the basketball game, yet you found yourself not uploading the picture of gojo smiling directly at the camera to the USB drive. it felt wrong.

so you kept it to yourself.

you still didn’t see him much after that. he was like an enigma to you. everyone knew so much of him.

senior year rolls around and you’re now the head of the yearbook team. you’re applying to colleges/unis, and you’re really shooting high for this specific ivy league university because of the amazing combined photography–journalism program they offered, praying that they give you the full-ride you applied for.

you’re sitting in the graphic and design room one day, editing some final touches of the yearbook, when mr. mendez calls your name, “we have a yearbook interview for the time capsule and photoshoot for the basketball team today, and i need you to be there to direct both, is that okay?”

you nod and reply with a simple, “sure”.

in reality your heart is pounding because you know you’ll have to see gojo again, and actually talk to him.

it’s finally after school, and you’re setting up the equipment for, not only, the photos, but the interviews as well.

you hear the ruffling of the setup behind you while you try to position the camera for the interviews at the right angle, you let out a small frustrated groan “mahito stop fucking around and help me–”

“mahito?” the voice asks you and you feel yourself still because that voice is not mahitos’s. you get up from your position, and you almost die in your spot when you see gojo standing there with an unreadable look on his face.

an unreadable look that studies you.

“oh, im sorry i thought-”, he cuts you off before you can finish.

“hm,” he lets out in a rude manner and you almost reel back at how condescending he looked. (canon high school gojo i fear).

‘this can’t be the same guy that I had a crush on last year’

but it was.

the worst part is, the entire time you took the team’s photos, he wasn’t outwardly mean. but he had an energy to him that put you off. one that told you he thought he was better than you. his mannerisms screamed arrogance, and carelessness.

you kept to yourself for the majority of the photoshoot, muttering occasional instructions.

the rest of the team were really nice. they’d strike up a conversation, here and there. you, of course, responded politely and engaged in conversation, returning their enthusiasm. but the entire time you felt piercing blue eyes.

you’d catch him whispering to geto, and even though you knew they weren’t talking about you, it left you paranoid.

for the interviews, you kept it polite. until you got to gojo. you hit the record button on the camera, asked him the question, and listened to him as he talked about how great and amazing he was. you found yourself drifting off.

‘there’s no way this guy is that full of himself.’

he was.

you wrap up the interviews and go home. a bit caught off guard by his behavior. it wasn't that he was mean, but why would you willingly be in the presence of someone like this? and from that point on, you disliked gojo satoru.

college: 2013

in the end, you got accepted into the ivy league you had hoped for, got a full ride, and were accepted into the photography and journalist program. you looked completely different than how you did in college (you were grateful for this). things couldn’t get any better, but they could get worse.

you found out you actually went to the same university as gojo. you didn’t realize it until you saw his huge basketball banner in the gymnasium one day. you’re not paranoid of bumping into him here. if you didn’t bump into him in high school, you definitely won’t here.

but perhaps a party.

let’s say, one of your friends invited you, and gojo definitely notices you because he finds you somehow familiar and attractive. still, he hasn’t recognized you because you’re not angled in a manner that he can see you.

so he goes to talk to you, and let’s say you don’t take it lightly. you're not rude or anything, but you reject him, and he’s shocked.

you stare at him before walking away, leaving him standing there in bewilderment.

he watches you leave, and it takes him a while as he’s standing there but it clicks. he can’t be upset that you just rejected him in front of people, nor can he be upset that you walked away from him. he’s just honestly elated to find you here.

the only thought in his head is that you’re here and he finally has a chance again after realizing his attempt in high school was not it. he didn’t know you in high school, nor did he know you now, but he thought you were the most interesting person back then. and it looks to him that you still are.

now’s his chance, and he’d be damned if he passed it up.

so he kind of finds out where you work part-time, and goes to the campus diner around the corner (where you work). it’s a late evening, and the only customers around were the old couple who visited every friday, the frequent patrons (who were college students), were all at a party that’d been advertised all week.

it was only you, the couple, and now gojo.

you don’t look up when you hear the door bells jingle, only gently shouting a “welcome!”, while you’re too busy wiping down the milkshake bottle.

gojo is a bit nervous, but he pushed forward.

he sits on the barstool by the counter you're now wiping down, sensing a presence you look up are surprised to find gojo, “hi,” gojo starts, you narrow your eyes at him a little.

“hello,” you reply back, “what can i get for you?” you ask him before reaching under the counter to grab a menu, placing it in front of him. he doesn’t touch the menu, nor look at it, he stares into you as he says, “i’d like to start off with the sweetest milkshake you have.”

since that night at the diner he would often show up on fridays, sit on the same stool, and order the same thing. if he didn’t order the same thing, he’d ask you for any recommendations. whatever you told him to get, he’d get it and completely finish it.

gradually you began to warm up to him. it blossomed into a sweet genuine friendship. after that checkpoint, he would wait for you to finish your shift, and walk you out.

when your friendship developed into something deeper—something more—he knew he had it good. he was so smitten, anyone who saw you two could tell.

your first date happened after he came to the diner one night.

“what can i get for you?” you asked him with a cheeky smile, leaning over the counter with your elbows on the table. he takes it as his sign to also lean his elbows over the counter, mirroring your stance.

satoru’s head slightly tilts playfully, eyes briefly landing on your lips before landing on your eyes again.

a pause.

“a date.”

it took him only a single date to ask you out because he knew before the first one that you were the one.

now

“daddy was mean to mommy?” your son asked, an extremely worried and shocked look on his face.

you gently laugh before settling into a smile but satoru has a big frown on his face.

satoru puts his hand on top of your son's head, “well, daddy was an idiot, i was just trying to impress your mommy,” he explains.

“daddy is a jerk!” your daughter then speaks, and satoru’s jaw drops. you’re trying to contain your laughter as satoru stands up and grabs both of your kids off the couch, throwing them over his shoulders as they squeal. your daughter lets go of the scrapbook you made, but you catch it just before it hits the ground.

you gently place it over the coffee table as you follow your husband up the stairs to the kids rooms.

they’re both squealing when satoru puts them both in their respective beds.

you watch silently from the door as he kneels between both beds to whisper something to the kids and your heart leaps as you watch their eyes light up. just like their father. he kisses them each on the forehead as he tucks them into their beds.

“mommy! we want your kiss too,” your son says. you walk over and give them both loud forehead pecks.

you’re so incredibly happy with your little family.

satoru stands up from his kneeling position to stand behind you, wrapping an arm around you.

“goodnight my little angels. sleep well, you’ll need energy tomorrow for the aquarium,” he tells them sweetly.

you turn on their night light before turning off the room light, “and don’t forget, mommy and daddy are here if you need anything,” you remind them.

“okay mommy,” you hear your babies say.

you shut the door and head to your room.

satoru is on you in seconds.

his hands move from your waist to your rear as he peppers kisses all over your face, and neck. you sigh happily into him as you wrap your arms around him.

he gives you a squeeze, and he swallows the moan that releases out of you in a passionate, and longing kiss.

“missed you so much,” he admits in between kisses. satoru had been away for two weeks for some out-of-state games, but he would call, text, and facetime you every chance he got. he’d call first thing in the morning as soon as he would wake up, while he was getting ready, during breaks at practice, before a game (always before a game), after a game (you watched every single game), on his way back to his hotel, right before bed, and even in his sleep he’d ask to stay on the phone.

you’re a bit embarrassed to admit to how many times you two had phone sex during the away games that you couldn’t go to.

before you had kids, he would take you everywhere with him, and while that is still somewhat the case. the children have school so it's a bit harder to manage to travel with him.

“me too ‘toru,” you moaned, your tone earning a tiny whine from him.

“don’t do that," he starts "you know what calling me that does to me.”

he leans in to capture your lips again, but you’re leaning away. satoru pulls you closer in an attempt to kiss you again, but you refuse again.

you settle with a quick peck on the lips.

“we need to go to bed too because we have to be up earlier.” you remind him, and he’s smiling at you, “i know what’ll put you to sleep.”

you playfully push him off, “that's what you said right before i got pregnant with our second child,” you joke.

he’s trailing after you like a puppy into the restroom as you ready yourself for bed, “maybe i want a third child,” he challenges and you look at him through the reflection in the mirror.

you take in the serious look on his face, and you stand straighter at his admission.

“'toru–” you start before he cuts in, “i’m retiring,” he starts, “i want to focus on our family. basketball is great, but it’s not my life. you are. after we win finals, im retiring.”

you turn to him completely, and pull him into a strong hug. “I love you,” you gently admit. “I love you so much more, you have no idea,” he tells you, wrapping you in his arms. he engulfed you in his safety.

you share a moment of silence, before satoru ruins the moment.

“I’m telling the kids you stalked me and secretly took pictures of me,” you pinch him.

“Ow!”

BONUS ୭ ˚

your parents had convinced you to try out for the cheerleading team in high school. and you did.

it was on a sunny afternoon, every school sports team imaginable was outside in the field. even the basketball team. they were doing their laps around the track field, which circled the current patch of grass that was hosting the cheerleader tryouts.

“alright everyone, let's get ready for toe touches,” the captain announced enthusiastically. you’re a little distracted when you briefly make eye contact with a certain white-haired boy from across the field then you remember where you are and what was just said. you felt a little out of place, “i’m sorry,” you started, “what are toe tou–”

“ready? okay!” she shouted.

you stand dumbfounded in the middle. however, you soon find out what a toe touch is as the girl beside you launches her foot into your face, knocking your head back from the force and collision. the impact is unexpected and the girls gasp.

you’re too busy on the ground to realize a certain boy also created his own commotion on the track field when he collided with his best friend, sending them both to the ground because of his momentary distraction.

feel more than welcome to submit a request <3 ᥫ᭡ join my tag list :

TAGLIST : @luvwithau : @sugacor3 : @bloopsstuff : @fushitoru : @serenityfauna : @luna-v-roiya : @rjswrld : @fartm : @manyno : @altyx : @deluluforcarlos55 : @fangirlingoverfanfic : @gojostit : @jaelahh : @nvmlolo : @lavender-hvze : @um-no-ok : @jotarohat : @plutosgold

gojo and reader loser agenda

#bnpd tumblr #gojo satoru bnpd #gojo x reader #jjk fanfic #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #basketball gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo jjk

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girlokwhatever · 7 months ago

Note

ooou could you do paige x reader who joined kks live once (like she thought she was cute and they started talking ykwimmmm)

IKWYMMMM

✩ ₊˚.🎧⋆☾⋆✧₊ ⊹ nice surprise,,

paige bueckers x fem!reader

part two

“yo, that girl’s picture is nice,”

“PAIGE… girly pop.. which one?”

paige is pointing to your profile picture and saying your username out loud to kk, who’s hosting the live.

you don’t even have your phone, it was your roommate that joined the live. she had commented a few times and paige saw, zoning in on your picture. she thought you were pretty. to be fair, you loved your profile picture. it was you in a floor-length sundress and sunglasses, holding your younger brother’s hand.

kk takes advantage of paige’s blabber mouth, deciding to add you to the live and make her friend talk to you.

your roommate is freaking out, screaming your name and running into the kitchen where you’re cooking dinner.

“GIRL TAKE YOUR PHONE RIGHT NOW-“

“what did you do-“

you look on your phone screen and see the live, the faces of your college’s women’s basketball team staring back at you. you recognize some of them easily, paige bueckers and kk are two.

your roommate, evie, is leaning over to you and whispering that “paige saw your profile picture and thinks you’re cute so they invited you to the live but it wasn’t really you it was me so i’m bringing it to you so you can get game girl-“

she’s talking so fast you hardly even register what she’s saying. you practically feel your jaw hit the floor and your eyes widen at evie, then at the live, then back to evie. she’s grinning and winking at you like she’s just won you the lottery.

“guys this is her..”

“HEYYY GIRL! my friend here, paige- PAIGE boo stop playin. anyway, my friend paige thinks you’re cute.”

“oh! hey guys!” you’re waving gently and smiling. paige practically ran off screen and you think you might do the same. you��re a little camera shy and the hundreds of people watching doesn’t help anything.

you catch the way paige is peaking her head over the side of the screen and kk pulls her back down quickly. now you’re both looking straight at each other, a silent understanding of how awkward this moment is.

“heyyy, i’m pagie,”

she’s also smiling and waving and kk is in hysterics, as is evie. as terribly awkward as this is, you think paige is very nice looking as well. her wavy hair is down past her shoulders and she’s wearing a uconn jacket with pajama pants on. you’re dressed similarly in your pj’s and a sweater. but you’re definitely embarrassed because you have on an iowa sweater you got from your dad (it’s where he went).

“so you’re an iowa fan?” kk is asking you, one eyebrow raised. you’re blushing a deep shade of red now and hiding your face by pushing your phone back towards your roommate.

what is even happening?

“no guys trust she’s uconn all the way. we watch the games all the time.” evie is answering for you, pushing the phone into your hands again. you can’t tell if you want this moment to end or not.

“that’s good cause paige doesn’t mess with iowa y’know-“

“what?! i never said that! i never said that. iowa is cool.” she’s talking to you now, probably trying to make you feel better. you think it’s sweet how panicked she is. you feel the same.

“so.. girly pops.. do you wanna date paige?”

“kk! what- what kind of question is that?!”

both you and paige are equally gobsmacked but evie is yelling out in the background that you do want to date her.

“i.. um,”

“you definitely don’t have to answer that ma, ignore her please.”

kk is dying laughing and evie is too from her seat against the counter. paige is taking the phone and walking away, yelling at kk to be quiet and stop embarrassing her. you’re laughing a bit too but cover it up for a simple smile.

paige is really cute, you think.

“hey, look, i would actually take you out on a date.. if you want?”

you’re silent for a moment, looking up at evie with shock. never did you ever imagine that paige bueckers would be asking you out on a date, especially not on a tiktok live.

“um, yeah. yes. i would like that.”

she’s got this cheesy smile on her face, turning the phone away for a second. “alright, i’ll dm you. it was nice to meet you. i wasn’t expecting this but it was a really nice surprise.”

“yeah, it was.”

later that night she’s messaging you on instagram asking for your number. she decides to facetime you, apologizing for the whole live and saying she wishes she could see you in person instead.

next thing you know, you’re giving her your dorm location and number and she’s on her way to see you. you consider yourself extremely lucky for such a nice surprise.

⋆·˚ ༘ *🔭.ೃ࿐🀥☽｡⋆𓍯 ִֶָ.

I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED THIS!!

it’s a bit different but i really like it

#paige buckets #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x reader #uconn huskies #uconn women’s basketball

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mayghosts · 4 months ago

Note

enemies to lovers with paige. buuuuut they were used to be best friends but something happened between them

-🎀

Snow Angel: Flurries (1) Paige Bueckers x reader

Summary: How does a class project repair your broken friendship, and how does a friendship turn into something more?

(TOC)

Warnings: unhealthy alcohol usage,

AN: my life is not in shambles anymore! Heres to posting multiple times a week!! I can’t believe I'm writing ANOTHER series??? Hello???

January 7th, 2024:

Sitting in the back of your Friday afternoon astronomy class, you gazed out the window, letting your eyes drift across the snow covered campus. You always had a hard time focusing in this class, mainly due to the blonde who always sat a few rows away from you. However, today was different. Paige was missing from her regular seat, which you now knew was because of the basketball game against Gerogetown. Her absence seemed to have a similar effect on you as to when she was actually present. Instead of constantly staring at the back of her head and wondering what went wrong, you stared out the window and wondered over and over where did we go wrong?

(Flashback) October 31st, 2022:

“Paigeeeee, are you ready to go?” you giggled, stumbling into your dorm living room and wrapping your arms around her neck. You swayed side to side, already feeling the buzz of the shots you had taken with Nika a few minutes ago. “Jesus, Nika! How many shots did you give her!!” You could hear the concern laced in Paiges voice as she stabilized your hips and unwound your hands from her neck. You melted under her touch, god she was pretty.

You had never been much of a drinker, all throughout highschool when you and Paige would go out to parties she would drink and you would stay sober so you could drive home. However, this year had been hard on you, and lately drinking has been your saving grace after a long day.

You were absolutely hammered by the time the party started winding down. Stumbling around in your cowboy boots and someone elses costume cape, the last thing you remember was clinging to Paiges arm she gently helped you into the back of the Uber.

Waking up the next morning, your head was pulsing and your could already feel the hangover anxiety eating away at your stomach. Squinting your eyes at the light from your phone, you opened your texts. However, you were met with a big paragraph from Nika and a short but tense text from Azzi. Nothing from Paige. Scanning over the texts quickly, you immediately found yourself calling Paige.

Your call going straight to voice mail didn't help the queasy feeling in your stomache at all.

Slipping out of bed, you dragged your feet into the bathroom to quickly brush your teeth and wash your face. The bathroom tiles were icey cold, even with socks on your feet were freezing. As you scrubbed at the crusted on makeup, you racked your brain to try and remember the events of last night. You slid your slides on, making your way out of your dorm and down the hall to Paige and Nikas dorm. Knocking quietly, you felt the anxiety eating at you again. You heard shuffling before the door opened to reveal a clean and practice ready Nika.

“What are you doing here?” her harsh tone took you by surprise. You blinked absently at her for a moment, “uhh… I just wanted to ask what happened? Last night? And see if Paige is okay, my call to her didn’t go through and-” you could see her getting more irritated as you kept talking before she interrupted you. “She dosen’t want to see you right now okay? And neither do I, you really fucked up last night and honestly your behavior lately has been ridiculous. I need to go to practice and I don’t want to see you again until you can get your shit together.” Pushing past you, she walked straight into the stairwell, letting the dorm door slam behind her.

More confused than ever, you made your way back to your dorm and crawled right back into bed. You knew you weren't really the same person you were when you met them, but you never considered the change to be a bad thing. If anything you were more confident and more comfterable in your body. So what if you go out a few times a week. Honestly, you weren't even sure if that was what she was talking about. Regardless, you spent the next month trying to fix something you didn’t understand. You scoured the texts Azzi and Nika had sent you for any details or clues, but the most you could figure out was that you said something to Paige.

You sent countless texts until yu found out you were blocked. After that you tried emails, Instagram DMs, waiting outside classes, and even tried to befriend the media girl, just for a chance to talk to Paige. However, the blonde was basically untouchable. Between her teammates constantly watching you and her persistence with blocking you on every possible internet platform, you found yourself friendless and worst of all Paige-less.

January 7th, 2024:

You were pulled from your day dream as you heard your professor say your last name “… you will be working with…” he dug his hand around in the little bucket on his desk. You assumed this was for another partner project “Paige Bueckers!” shit.

Stepping out of the lecture hall, you felt a similar sense of dread in your stomach as you dragged your feet towards the dining hall. As you walked you pulled out your phone and started drafting a text to send to Paige. Standing in line for your smoothie, you were once again met with the brutal realization that your were stilll blocked. Guess we can just start on Monday?

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makethemhoesmad · 4 months ago

Text

shit you sippin

this took days off of my life to write but at least it’s over 1k words(for the first time ever)

@bueckersstrap was the chosen one

—

some people go to the club for fun. some people go to the club for sex. i needed to forget. get so drunk i didn’t have to think about my piece of shit ex boyfriend and the bitch i walked in on him fucking. i don’t know how many i’d had at this point, but i did know that i was grasped by the hips by an attractive blonde that i thought i knew but couldn’t figure out from where.

“you here for any reason tonight,” she shouts over the music.

“y-yeah i walked in on my boyfriend fucking some other girl,” i say. i try to keep the tremor out

of my voice, staying cool and collected, for the most part. i cock my at her, grinning. she takes my chin into her palm and tilts it up, making me look right into her eyes. my god, her eyes are driving me wild.

“you into girls, baby?”

i shudder at the nickname. collecting myself, i run a finger down her arm while stating, “never thought about it till now, but i just might be.”

“cmon,” she says, tugging my arm. “i’m taking you home with me, baby that alright with you?”

i stare in shock, nodding open-mouthed. she must’ve drank much less than i had, because she leads me out to what i can only guess to be her own car, and after opening the passenger door and helping me inside, she seems to be clear-headed enough to drive.

as she pulls out of the parking lot, i look over and realize who’s car i’m in, and why i recognized her face.

“wait! you’re paige bueckers,” i say, my words slurring together slightly.

“that’s right, baby. basketball fan?”

i almost can’t answer her, all my remaining focus zoned in on her hand that is now resting on my thigh.

“mhmm,” i mumble. she rubs her thumb in slow circles on the inside of my leg. i let my head thump back against the car seat and close my eyes, only to open them a moment later when the car stops.

paige rushes out of her door to open mine, and i nearly fall flat on the ground when i climb out of the car. she pulls me into her, wrapping an arm around my waist to steady me. i zone out at the action, then trip over a doorframe and realize i’m in her bedroom.

“hey, baby, listen,” she says, sitting me on the bed and rummaging in her closet for something

“you’re, like, really drunk right now, but i really don’t wanna kick you out because i like you. so how ‘bout you put this t-shirt on and we talk about it in the morning?”

i nod, then reach back to try and unzip my dress. i can’t do it. could barely zip it up sober, so there’s no chance i can undo it in my inebriated state. i look up at paige with a pout, hoping that she’ll take pity on me.

she unzips the dress, then helps me put on the t-shirt she gave me. she sheds her shorts and top, leaving her clad in only a bra and boxers.

“god, fucking athletes,” i mutter, shamelessly raking my eyes down her body.

“what was that,” she asks, smirking. i turn red and she pulls me onto the bed with her, tucking us both under the covers. i curl my body into her, hiding my face in her chest.

“ ‘s nothing,” i say, the words muffled. she strokes a hand down my back and i whine gratefully, falling asleep almost instantly.

i wake up confused, sore, and with a boiling headache. i try to roll over, but find that i’m pinned under someone that, instead of smelling of beer and cheap cologne, smells like mint and aloe. shockingly, despite my headache i have a fairly decent recollection of last night’s events. as i’m realizing this, a few things happen. first, i realize exactly who’s bed i’m in and immediately try to free myself from her grasp out of pure embarrassment. second, the strong arms grasping me pull me down closer into the person they’re attached to. finally, said person nuzzles her nose into my neck, and says,

“how are you even prettier now?”

i push my face into the mattress

“ugh, liar. my fucking head, it hurts so bad. like, so, so bad,” i complain. she tries and fails to stifle her laugh.

“hey ma, i’m not sure if you’ve heard this, but i’ve been told head fixes headaches?” i blush, then realize she isn’t kidding when she pulls the covers off of us. she nestles her face in between my thighs, lifting her chin up to yank my panties down.

“you okay, baby,” she questions, waiting for approval. i nod weakly, and she dives in, licking a stripe against my pussy.

“oh fuck,” i moan, my fingers curling around the bedsheets. she flicks her tongue at my entrance, causing my eyes to roll back. when she takes my clit into her lips, it’s all i can do to not release right then and there.

“so good, so perfect,” she breathes while laying sloppy open mouthed kisses on my cunt. i fight to stay alert, but every bone in me wants to sink into oblivion, and when her moan vibrates my core, i do just that. i climax on her tongue, with her name on my lips, and if you had asked me my own damn name in that moment, i probably wouldn’t have been able to tell you.

“how’s that head feeling, ma?” she asks. i look at her in dead shock.

“fucking gone, babe, how can i get you back? i’ve never, like, done it with girls before.”

she grins wickedly.

“oh, baby i’ve got an idea.”

paige’s idea, it turns out, resulted in us not leaving her bedroom until 2 in the afternoon. when i finally checked my phone, i discovered not one, not two, but three missed calls from my now-ex boyfriend, and about a million texts telling me how sorry he was. i show paige, and she just about growls in frustration.

“lemme call him back,” she protests. i shake my head, turning to face her and letting her capture my lips into a kiss.

“pleease,” she whines against my lips.

“fine.”

she opens my phone and pulls up the contact now only labeled with a gravestone emoji, and clicks the facetime. he answers almost immediately, to paige showing off our current position on her couch, under a blanket with me tucked into her side.

“stop textin her, bro. she’s mine now.”

he shouts profanities through the phone, but is aggressively cut off by paige kissing the top

of my head and saying, loud enough for him to hear, “it’s okay baby, now you can be with someone that can actually make you cum.”

he doesn’t like that, but i couldn’t care less.

#paige bueckers #mutuals💀#uconn wbb #paige bueckers x reader

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loveshotzz · 9 months ago

Text

I guess it’s never really over

mechanic!steve harrington x fem!reader exes to lovers

chapter three -

This has got to be the longest crush ever

Robin’s bad date, and a late night that changes everything.

warnings: 18+ A little bit of queer and mid twenties crisis angst for Robin, with comfort obvi. Tension, but are we surprised at this point?, and a secret third thing, wonder what it could be? 😚

wc: 6.3k

authors note: Hi babies! I am taking just a week off from my posting schedule for this week long work trip I’m taking on Monday. There’s lots of conferences and I won’t have much down time. We will resume our normal posting schedule for chapter four starting 3/20 🌻🧡

series masterlist | series playlist

June -

Would you believe me if I said I’m in love?

Baby, I want you to want me.

You can’t believe you landed yourself in detention.

All your late night study sessions for the SAT’s that led to oversleeping and missed alarms finally catching up to you just like Robin warned you it would. Miss O’Donnell is the one who makes your best friend's predictions come true, handing you that notorious pink slip for walking into her class ten minutes late for the third time this week.

When you arrive at exactly 3:15, the classroom is mostly empty. Your eyes scan the bored faces of the few students joining you, hoping to at least see Eddie’s familiar head of curls. But of course, today of all days, he’s managed to be on his best behavior or just didn’t get caught.

Sighing defeated, you give Mr. Clark a tight lipped smile, ignoring the shocked look on his face seeing you in here. Picking an empty desk in the middle away from anyone, you decide to busy yourself with the Algebra homework you’ve been avoiding for the better half of a week. It’s when you lean over to unzip your backpack that you catch the sounds of sneakers squeaking against the ceramic floors.

”Ahh, Mr. Harrington. Even fashionably late to detention, I see. Your hair looks good enough to sit in silence for an hour and a half to me.” Mr. Clark announces the king of Hawkins's grand entrance with the kind of sarcasm that makes you smirk as you start arranging your things on your desk.

“That’s good to know 'cause I was doing it for you Mr. C.”

Steve Harrington always thinks he’s so charming

Snorting as you click your pen, you dare to look up only to catch ‘the hair’ looking right back at you with that golden smile that you’ve seen take even the strongest soldiers out.

Oh no.

Eyes going big, you quickly bring your attention back down to your homework, silently hoping he doesn’t take the seat next to you and land you in here next week too.

“So thoughtful of you. Now why don’t you take a seat and do some studying for that test on Monday. And maybe this semester you won’t have to worry about relying on extra credit to keep playing basketball.” Mr. Clark dismisses him, earning a low whistle from the boy who holds his hands up in surrender, Nike covered feet coming down your row.

No, no, no, NO.

You still don’t look up, rereading the same question over and over again because no matter how many times you try, you’re too distracted by the cedar and clove that invades your senses kicking them into overdrive. The whites of his sneakers catch in your peripherals when he does the unimaginable and sits next to you.

Staring at the equation with the kind of concentration that’ll be sure to give you a migraine later, it takes him a good thirty seconds before he temporarily gives up trying to get your attention to grab something that gives the illusion of studying out of his backpack.

Trying to play it cool, your stomach twists in nervous knots worse than the ones you get when Robin forces you on the janky rides at the summer fair every year. Sure, you’ve been hit on by a guy here and there, but no one can prepare you for what it’s like to catch Steve Harrington’s attention—especially for someone in your Hawkins hierarchy who would never be on the receiving end of it.

He flips through the pages of his textbook loudly, earning his first warning glare from Mr. Clark, and you decide to write your name on the top of the page so at least it looks like you’re doing something. After a couple bounces of your knee, you can feel the heat of his gaze back on you.

”Psst, hey.”

The last letter of your name comes out illegible, and you jump at the hushed sound of his voice. Taking a deep breath, you work up the courage to meet his flirtatious smirk and golden brown eyes. The sun leaking through the windows gives you a glimpse of the green that hides inside them from this close. You hate to admit that he’s just as pretty as everyone says he is.

”Hi,” you smile a little shy, offering a small wave of your pen and it lights up his whole face, making your body buzz.

”You have a highlighter I can use or something?” He keeps up his ruse, the whites of his teeth showing in a grin.

You arch an eyebrow at him, something sarcastic reminiscent of Mr. Clark flashing behind your eyes.

“What? You don’t think I’m actually going to study?” He acts shocked, slapping his giant hand across his chest and it earns the kind of giggle from you that pushes him full steam ahead.

”It’s blue, is that okay?” Giving into the bait, you try and hide the way your face warms, ducking down to dig in the bottom of your backpack.

”Are you kidding? I love blue. Favorite color actually.” Laying it on thick, you can see the way he scoots to the edge of his seat, the spice of his cologne making you bite at your bottom lip as your fingers wrap around what you’re looking for.

Sitting up in your seat, you aren’t expecting him to be so close and it threatens to steal the air right out of your lungs.

”H-here,” you manage, holding the blue writing utensil in the small space that's left between you.

Steve's eyes roam your face freely, pink tongue coming out to wet his full bottom lip before they settle back on your gaze, lids a little heavy, voice low and somehow sticky sweet.

”Thanks, honey.” He leans forward more, purposely brushing his fingers with yours when he takes it out of your grasp, “but now, I’m afraid the only way you’re gonna get it back is to let me drive you home after this.”

“I’ve got plenty, you can keep that one,” you try to stay strong, but when that second giggle slips out, you seal your fate.

”I can’t do that, this is your favorite one.” He tisks like it’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard, with a crooked grin that makes you bite the inside of your cheek.

”Is it?”

”Absolutely.”

“Are you two done? Or should we schedule a second date for next week?” Mr. Clark interrupts.

”That would actually be date number three. We’re going on two after this is over.” Steve smirks, throwing you a wink ignoring the harsh way you whisper of his name.

Yeah… you were fucked.

“I’ve got a date tonight!”

Robin sings excitedly, bursting through the front door in a wild ball of energy, successfully waking you up from your nap on the couch. Blinking slowly, as you start to recognize your surroundings, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you force yourself to sit up, wincing at your stiff neck and the fact that you dreamed about Steve Harrington again.

“A date with who?” You grumble, still a little grouchy, yawning with a stretch that pops in your back.

”This girl that I met at the record store this morning, we talked about Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos for what felt like hours. She’s just, wow, she’s so cool. Almost too cool for me, you know? She’s a senior in college-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up.” Cutting her off before she can ramble any longer, you wave your hands for her to stop: “First of all, no one is too cool for you, okay? If anything, it’s always going to be the other way around.”

“Yeah, okay, Steve.”

It takes a minute for her words to sink in about the man you haven’t seen in almost a week and a half, but when they do, the glare that settles on your face makes her laugh.

“Ha ha, very funny.” You deadpan with a tight-lipped smirk, before clearing your throat, “Well where are you guys going? Do you want me to go undercover in case you need saving? I’m fully prepared for a stakeout.”

Robin rolls her eyes, but her smile, which spreads wide enough to see all her teeth, gives away her love for your dramatics.

“No, I don’t need you to go undercover or anything. I mean, it is going to be nice knowing you’ll be here waiting for me to tell you all about it instead of having to call you and hope the city girl answers.” She teases, earning the scoff from you that she was looking for.

“I’m choosing to ignore that, and if at any point you change your mind, you know your own number.”

Earning a genuine laugh from Robin always makes your soul feel lighter, so when your joke lands and you get one, the heaviness of Steve that’s been weighing down on your shoulders eases up just a little bit.

”I’ve just never been approached in public before like that, you know? It’s not just the other girl you know is gay on campus. I don’t know, it feels good.” Your best friend’s confession makes you want to wrap her up in a hug, keeping the urge to remind her of your offer to move to the city with you to yourself for right now, letting her bask in the moment.

”Well, you're hot. Can you blame her? If you weren’t basically like a sister to me, I’d be all over it.” Wiggling your eyebrows, she flips you off, but you still catch the tinge of pink that paints her cheeks rosy.

”Please, Steve would have my head on a stake.” She snorts, purposely trying to get under your skin now.

”Robin.”

”What? I thought he was going to pop a blood vessel in his eye when I mentioned your little ‘adventure’ last week” She giggles, heading towards her bedroom.

If only she knew just how much those words were true. Your thighs meet like in the memory you can’t stop playing on a loop, palms turning sweaty, remembering the velvet of his lips so close to your neck.

”Wait! Did you ask that on purpose?!” You gasp, jumping to your feet to follow her.

”Maybe.”

”Maybe?!”

”You know what I do need help with?” She ignores you, spinning on her heel to meet your narrowed eyes.

”What?”

”Help me pick any outfit?” Pushing out her bottom lip, she gives you the kind of puppy dog eyes that no one in their right mind could say no to.

Sighing heavily, your feet drag on the carpet before flopping yourself onto her bed huffing out a “Fine” as the box springs squeak.

The rest of the day is spent going through what feels like every outfit in Robin’s possession, even getting desperate enough to try on some of your clothes despite your clashing styles. Settling on a pair of boot cut jeans, a black half crop top with a flannel shirt that you’re pretty sure she stole from Steve and the Dr. Martin’s you got her for her birthday last year, she was ready to break hearts. Blue eyes roll in the back of her head when you make her say ‘I’m the prize’ until you feel like she halfway believes it before handing over her I.D. that you’d found stuffed between the cushions of the couch in a frenzied panic to search for it only ten minutes prior.

The sun starts to set on Robin’s small apartment after she finally heads out the door, and the shadows that bounce off the white walls bring back the thoughts of Steve you’d successfully gotten rid of for a few fleeting hours.

Huffing to yourself with crossed arms, you watch the flat bag of popcorn spin around in the microwave. You can still hear the beginning Moonstruck playing on the TV in the living room, over the loud hum of the machine. Comfortable in an oversized shirt that lands just at the bottoms of your cotton sleep shorts, goosebump dot across your legs from the cool of the A/C. Your skin still tingles everywhere he touched and the week of radio silence feels worse the second time around.

The shrill sound of Robin’s phone and the first kernel of popcorn exploding in the bag overpower your ears all at once, making you jump. Mumbling cuss words under the now constant sound of popping, you try to calm your heart rate down, wandering to the living room. Your hand hovers over the phone, the realization about who might be on the other line making your stomach drop. He hadn’t called Robin yet. There’s a moment of hesitation, but you take a deep breath, letting the air expand in your lungs, silently counting to three before you grab the phone off its hook.

”Buckley residen-“

”I need you to come get me, I- I’ve made a huge mistake and I’m just so fuck - “ Robin cuts you off, the rasp in her voice cracking like she’s trying not to cry, “I’m just really embarrassed, please come get me.”

“What happened? Where are you? I’m coming, just - just tell me where you are.” Running to her bedroom to grab your sneakers with the phone pressed to your ear, you can hear her sniffle.

”Benningans, it’s the next town over. I’ll be outside -“

”Are you safe?” You panic, slipping your foot into your shoe as quickly as you can.

”I’m safe, I’m just, I’m embar- I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’m safe, I’ll be outside.” She mutters.

”I’ll get there as fast as I can, okay?” Feeling a little helpless, you try to ease the hurt that’s evident in her tone with soft reassurance.

”I’m just, I’m really glad you're here. I’ll see you soon.” She manages to get out before the line clicks dead.

Slipping your second shoe on, the realization that you don’t actually have a car to save her with, hits you like a ton of bricks.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Stomping back to the living room, your eyes find the mustard yellow address book next to the phone’s dock. Your fingers fumble through its pages, eyes squinting as you try to read Robin’s messy writing, searching for a familiar name. You find two:

Eddie and Steve.

You stare at the page, your moral compass going haywire. Despite the way he’s rented a space in your mind, the thought of seeing him alone again makes your stomach twist. Eddie would be simple. Eddie would be easy. Your thumb hovers over the first number in the one she has scribbled down for him, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t bring yourself to press it. She needs Steve.

You groan loudly, stomping your foot for good measure, before letting out a long breath through your nose, dialing his number that you knew you should have all along.

It only rings twice.

“Whatever it is, the answer is no,” Steve deadpans.

”Is that really how you answer your phone?” You scoff, doing your best to ignore the butterflies you’ve managed to stifle as they start to come alive at the sound of his voice.

“I thought this was - shit, I thought this was Henderson - erm I mean Dustin, you remember Dustin?” He stammers and you know that hand of his is running through his hair right now.

“Yeah, the middle schooler.”

“Well, he’s like nineteen now -“

“I didn’t call you to talk about Dustin, Steve,” You sigh heavily, rubbing the bridge of your nose, “Robin called me really upset from Bennigans, and I don’t have a car or any way to go get her-”

“I’m on my way.” He cuts you off without any hesitation,“Be outside in five minutes for me?”

”My shoes are already on.”

After a click, you’re left with the sound of the dial tone in your ear. You hang up the phone as warmth floods your body, easing some of your temporary worries.

Steve Harrington is making it hard to hate him.

The short walk to Steve’s BMW from Robin’s front door feels like stepping through a time machine.

One that takes you back to late nights sneaking out your bedroom window, always being extra careful not to wake your parents up so you could go make out with your secret kind of boyfriend under the stars. Those were always your favorite nights with him. The nights he’d put away the king Steve armor, those nights he’d just be Steve. A boy who just wanted to make his father proud, thinking maybe he’d stay home more if he was.

You can feel the way his eyes roam your body, the heat of his stare lingering on your exposed legs, setting your skin on fire. Suddenly more than aware of your lack of pants, only part of you regrets not changing into some leggings, but you try not to think about that too hard right now.

He clears his throat when you open the passenger door, the smell of leather and the dark woody sweet scent of oil surrounding you as you slide into your seat. The spice of his cologne tickles your nose when you close yourself in, clicking your seatbelt in place before daring to meet his eyes. The golden brown inside them shimmers with something you’d missed in the orange glow of the street light and the nerves still feel the same way they did five years ago. The only thing that hasn’t changed.

”Thanks for doing this,” you offer with a weak smile.

When he realizes you’ve put your weapons down for the night, his face softens with a crooked grin, subtle pink dusting the apples of his cheeks.

”I meant it when I said I can’t say no to you,” he starts, selfishly letting his eyes roam the smooth lines of your face that are finally not twisted up into a glare before realizing his slip up, “and Robin, my best friend obviously.”

”Our best friend, Steve.” You tease trying to ignore the tension that crackles in the empty space between you even worse than before.

”Whatever you have to tell yourself,” he winks, forearm flexing as he puts the car in drive.

Scoffing a ‘whatever’ with a playful roll of your eyes, you let your muscles relax into the familiar seat. The Police’s Every Breath You Take spills through the speakers just loud enough to be heard over the low rumble of the engine, and you become hyper aware of his hand resting on the stick shift, the tips of his fingers just close enough to brush against your thigh every time you hit a bump.

There’s a silence that falls between you once the street lights run out and his full focus shifts to the pitch black road ahead. The quiet is filled with what almost happened in his room, unspoken words that don’t dare to roll off of sober tongues. You wait until he’s too distracted looking for surprises that might run out from the woods on either side of you to let your eyes wander over and really take him in.

A white drawstring hangs low on his heather gray sweatpants that fit tight over his thighs spread wide. Your throat goes dry at the white tank top that hugs his broad chest, the gold chain that wraps around his neck getting lost in the thick patch of curls on display. You’re finally able to really make out more of his tattoo for the first time, thin, precise lines that look like feathers attached to a set of sparrow wings.

”Did she tell you what happened? I mean, is she safe?” He interrupts your greedy stare, eyes lighting up when he catches you, tucking it away for another time.

”Uhh, yeah,” you answer with a shake of your head, teeth biting down on your bottom lip with hot cheeks, “she’s safe, she kept saying she’s embarrassed but wouldn’t tell me why, just kept begging me to come get her.”

He just hums, lost deep in thought of all the things it could be, and his grip on the steering wheel tightens with worry.

“We’re only ten minutes away, so it won’t be too much longer now.”

He reassures you, but it feels like he needs it too, especially when his hand leaves the stick shift to run through his hair that looks more tousled than usual, making you wonder if he was lying in bed before this. A worried breath exhales through his nose, with a tight jaw, and you hate the way your stomach drops when both his hands find the steering wheel after he tugs on his roots a little bit.

Nervous fingers play with the bottoms of your sleep shorts, trying your best not to stare while you keep your gaze out the passenger window. Stolen glances are followed by tight lipped smiles when you’d always find him staring back. Honey and chestnut make your stomach flutter, and you think maybe some things never change.

It takes less than the ten minutes that Steve promised for the back roads to turn busy, and bright with the kind of lights a small town on a Saturday night has. A slouched frame sitting on the side of the road catches in his headlights, getting closer you see that Robin’s waves have lost all the bounce she left the house with, along with the rosy tint in her cheeks. The flashing Bennigans sign spins a block behind her, and the orange bulbs match the burning ember on the end of her cigarette that dangles from her full lips.

“Shit, it’s bad if she’s smoking,” Steve mutters, turning on his hazards as he pulls up next to her, the wheels of his car coming to a stop.

She hollows her cheeks out, taking one last drag, waving at you to stop unbuckling your seat belt as she gets to her feet. Blowing the smoke from her lungs into the wind, she flicks the half smoked butt into the street before opening the back door, sliding into the leather seats with an exasperated huff.

“Just, don’t – I’m okay,” she starts, closing the door and shutting out the whir of the traffic outside. “Turns out her boyfriend’s best friend really likes Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos too. She really thought me and him might hit it off after our talk at the record store today. I don’t want to talk about it, I just want to go home with my two favorite people and feel sorry for myself.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” Steve doesn’t miss a beat. Turning around in his seat, he flashes her his million-dollar Harrington smile. “I’m the king of feeling sorry for myself.”

Her lips twitch, but when she sees the natural roll of your eyes at the boy next to you, it turns into a full blown smile. A little shimmer came through in the dulled-out color of her eyes.

Got me up all night

all I’m singing is love songs.

“Honestly, now that I’m thinking about it, this girl sounds like a scammer, Rob. I mean, come on.” Steve snorts, rifling through her cupboards in the kitchen. Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos, what kind of game was she playing at anyway?”

Robin giggles from her place next to you on the couch, her head resting on your shoulder, the green apple of her shampoo still lingering on her curls that tickle your cheek.

“Plenty of people like those artists, Steve.” She sighs, but you can still hear her smile, “It’s fine, I’ll just stay the lonely Hawkins lesbian for the rest of my life, no big deal.”

”Shut up!”

”Will you stop?!”

You and Steve chide her at the same time, hard eyes meeting from across the living room and softening. He doesn’t even try to stop the lopsided grin that pushes up your favorite cheek and you hope Robin doesn’t feel the way it makes your skin warm.

“Whatever, I already warned you I’m going to be miserable. Gimmie a break, and you’re actually taking forever in there, by the way.” Whining, she sits up, sending a rush of fruit and leftover tobacco to your nose.

“Yeah, well, I can’t find your peanut butter,” he mutters, opening up the cabinet above the sink, the bottom of his tank top rising enough to see a sliver of sun kissed skin and a few more freckles. Why does it feel like there's always more?

”What are you even making anyway?” you ask, ignoring the way Robin’s head whips around. A smirk spreads wide across her face because you’re actually trying to make conversation with Steve.

“Just a little something that’s going to cure my best friend’s heartbreak,” he winks, the jar of JIF extra crunchy looking extra small in his grasp, twisting the cap off. “We came up with it together, actually.o biggie.”

Your gaze narrows, but he doesn’t miss the way the corners of your mouth twitch, something sparkling inside the dark gold in his eyes.

”Interesting, considering I ran to the store earlier to grab my best friend’s favorite ice cream, just in case.” You counter, something mischievous twisting up your lips. “You didn’t even think to stop and get it on our way home. Some friend.”

Robin’s smile lights up the room, very obviously enjoying the show, maybe even a little too much. Clapping her hands together, she lets out a content sigh before leaning back into the couch cushions.

”I really could get used to this,” she beams, “maybe we should have a contest, see which one of you can do the nicest things for me.”

You can’t stop the snort or the roll of your eyes that has Steve throwing his head back in a fully-bellied laugh, giving you the perfect view of his neck, and only Robin clocks the way your giggles are cut short and the secret way your eyes glaze over.

”I’m not gonna lie as much as I love crunchy peanut butter banana s’mores, I have to say Steve, the fact that she actually called you makes her the winner for the night.” She smirks, chuckling harder when you shove her with a hushed ‘Robin!’

His smile doesn’t fade as he starts to cut banana slices. Big eyes meet yours with the kind of look that threatens to melt you into the couch.

”That’s alright, I’ll be a gracious loser tonight, but just know, honey, I’m very competitive.” He warns, long fingers spreading the fruit evenly throughout the peanut butter that messily coats graham crackers.

“I don’t like to lose, so it’s fine.” Your quick reply deepens the smile lines in his cheeks, putting the finishing touches on your snacks.

“Yeah, this is definitely the life I was meant to live,” Robin gloats, nudging you, “I’m the prize, right?”

It’s your turn to throw your head back in the kind of laugh that rattles in your rib cage, too distracted to see the lovesick way Steve bites his bottom lip watching you from across the room.

But Robin does.

With a heart so full it might burst, tears threaten to spill from the ocean in her eyes, daydreaming about moments like this, only ever thinking they would be something that stayed trapped in the confines of her mind. The warming feeling of happiness wraps around Robin like a blanket when she gets to sit between you both on the couch. A distant friend she hasn’t seen in a long time, a secret she’s kept mostly to herself.

With a messy plate of half eaten treats and sticky fingers, she’s content watching Cher and Nicholas Cage fight over how much they love each other. Fully knowing that Steve is sneaking looks at you from over her head, smiling to herself at the nervous way you fiddle with your hands in your lap because of it.

Robin doesn’t fight the exhaustion that starts to make her eyelids heavy just a little halfway through the movie. It’s easy to give in when your body weight relaxes deeper into her side, and how Steve drapes his arm over the back of the couch, tucking you both into his chest with evening breaths.

You’re warm, cozier than normal, and it surrounds every part of you.

Cheek pressed against something that’s not firm enough to be the couch, you nuzzle yourself deeper, chasing the heat and the sleep that’s threatening to evade you. Your cushion starts to move, making eyes shift behind lids that aren’t ready to open yet. Lashes flutter, feeling the way your leg is slotted between someone else’s, and the warmth of a palm finds the small of your back, pulling you closer.

A deep sigh rumbles in your ear before fingertips lazily trace up and down the dip of your spine. Stubble tickles your forehead, and as coherency starts to come back to you, a softer patch of hair rubs against your cheek. The kind of spice and lingering sunshine that could only come from one person hits your senses, and the white cotton of Steve’s tank top finally becomes visible.

The shift in your breathing brings his soft touches to a halt, the muscles you’re pressed on your side against stiffening. Realizing your hands are sprawled across his chest, just under your chin, you can feel the way his heart races under your palm. He’s everywhere, and despite the way you’ve told yourself you hate him, your fingers curl into the cotton of his shirt because it feels like home. Toes pressing into his calf, you wind your leg around his tighter, and it turns timid fingertips sure of themselves, tracing patterns between your shoulder blades. You don’t dare look up at him yet, or it would make the way your own hand starts to explore his abs that twitch under your red nails real.

He feels different than you remember, there's more of him now, harder in spots that used to be soft. Your fingers get greedy, the blunt ends of your nails scratching along the outline of his happy trail, earning a low groan from him that vibrates deep in your core. Those butterflies that have made a permanent home out of you start to stretch their wings, and when they feel the soft velvet of his lips against your forehead, they tickle at your ribcage and kick up your heart rate. You wonder if he can feel it.

It’s the faintest kiss, one that you’re not sure you would’ve even felt if you were asleep, but it makes you lean in closer. Inhaling deeply, tears sting at the corner of your eyes when the familiar scent only makes you crave him more. After years spent denying the existence of his touch from your memory, it’s almost overwhelming to feel it again.

The muscles in his arm underneath your neck twitch, and the fingers that have been drawing lazy circles on your back move slowly up your shoulder. The backs of them run down your arm before they finally connect with your skin, goosebumps exploding underneath his touch in a ball of electricity that you can feel on the pads of them that start a new path up the loose sleeve of your shirt.

You fiddle with the bottom hem of his tank top, the heat of his body radiating against already flushed skin. Brave fingers dare to dip underneath only to get stopped by a large palm wrapping around your wrist

“Baby,” there's a hint of a smile and a little bit of grogginess in his voice that gives away that he hasn’t been awake that much longer than you, “I think you should at least look at me before I let you get under my shirt.”

Biting at your bottom lip, you push yourself deeper into his chest, embarrassed, feeling the gentle shake of his body when he laughs.

“Come on pretty, let me see your face.”

His affection makes your heart swell, and you know what it means if you look him in the eyes. Your nails dig into the cotton, tugging at the fabric a little while you pull yourself together, lashes fluttering against your cheeks, shaking the rest of the sleep. Lifting your head up from its hiding place, you cross the line you promised yourself you wouldn’t, but when you meet the green that shimmers in the darkness of his eyes, and the crooked grin that twists up his full pink lips, it feels good to give in.

Releasing the hold on your wrist, he’s gentle, almost hesitant, when his warm palm cups your cheek. The rough pad of his thumb traces the line of your cheekbone feather light, and you can’t help but lean into his touch. No more armor, fleeting glances, or stolen looks, not when he’s this close and even more handsome in the glow of the moonlight.

“Beautiful.” He murmurs just loud enough for you to hear, and your legs somehow wrap around his tighter.

”Yeah?” you whisper, your fingers coming up to the play with the gold chain dangling from his neck. “Why didn’t you kiss me then?”

”What?”

”Last week,”

”That wasn’t the right time,” he sighs, eyes tracing every line of your face like he’s committing it to memory, “It would have ruined it.”

“Ruined what?” You press, twisting the metal between your fingertips, heartbeat ringing in your ears.

“My chance at trying to do this the right way, the way you deserve.” He doesn’t hesitate to say it, like it’s something he’s thought about for years, and it makes your head spin.

“What about now?”

“That depends,” he hums, the pad of his thumb dragging across the slight pout of your bottom lip, threatening to steal the air from your lungs.

”On?” Your voice comes out just above a whisper. Tilting your chin up, you can still smell the peanut butter on his breath.

”If you want me to.” He breathes, the tip of his nose running along the length of yours.

Your hold on his gold chain tightens, pulling him even closer. His eyebrows pinch together when he feels the slightest brush of your lips against his, and he can still taste the sweetness of the banana.

”Please tell me you want me to.”

The desperation in his voice is enough for you to tug him down, closing what’s left of the small gap, your top lip catching against his full bottom one. Just enough to feel the familiar silk that could leave a wildfire in their wake before you finally speak.

“Kiss me, Steve.”

A groan rattles deep in his chest, and he doesn’t hesitate to do what he’s wanted to since he saw you. Applying just enough pressure to wake up every last butterfly, the tip of his nose pushes into your cheek when he slots his lips with yours. It’s soft at first like he’s testing the waters, taking it slow so he can savor it, just in case you never let him do it again.

He pulls away enough to look at you, chestnut eyes blown out wide, and you hate that you already miss his kiss. Giving into everything you’ve fought for so long, it’s your turn to capture his lips. It stuns him at first, but when you open your mouth, his body melts easily into yours, and that big hand of his moves from your cheek to hold the back of your neck. Tongue swiping boldly across your lower lip, he begs you to let him in.

Moans get hidden, muffled inside each other's mouths after you grant him access, your fingers tangle themselves inside the thick forest of his hair that’s still just as soft as you remember. Nipping at his bottom lip, the grip on the back of your neck tightens and you can feel the way he kicks up in his sweats because of it. Your own thighs threatening close when you’re reminded of what’s between his legs.

“Baby,” he warns in between kisses, feeling the roll of your hips, but you don’t miss the subtle way he tries to meet them with his own.

It’s too easy to get lost in him, and the years it took to move past him make even more sense when your tongue finds his again. Fighting for dominance, you try not to think about the irreversible damage tonight might do to you as you tug at his roots, teeth scraping together, the kiss turns more heated by the second. Years of anger and longing come out in desperate touches. His hand finds its way to your hip, the pads of his fingers brushing against the skin under your shirt, sending a shiver up your spine, letting you roll them one, two, three times before tightening his hold.

He pulls you closer, letting you win before his nose nudges against your cheek, his lips finding the corner of your mouth. Catching his breath, he trails them along your jaw before making his way down your neck. Your chest heaves, fingers turning soft and slowly running through his hair. He hums against your skin, his hand staying under your shirt, the warmth of his palm covering the small of your back, leaving wet kisses on the sensitive spot behind your ear.

”Let me take you on a date,” he whispers, leaving one more under his jaw before pulling back to look at you.

”Steve -“

”Just one,” he begs, bumping his nose with yours, smirking when it makes you smile.

”Let me sleep on it,” you sigh, ducking your head under his chin to hide. Too many thoughts trying to occupy space in your mind with a head still dizzy from his lips.

”I’ll take what I can get,” he laughs, the tips of his fingers starting up the familiar patterns that started all of this, quickly make your eyelids heavy, nuzzling deeper into his chest. You weren’t ready to think about tomorrow yet.

🌻 chapter four

#my writing #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x y/n

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defrosted69 · 6 months ago

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My Laker Star P.3 (Kang Haerin)

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Hey everyone. Here's a finale of this series. After a long sleep in this platform, I have returned briefly. I hope you all enjoy this one. And one last tip from me, I suggest you listen to the song "First Love" by Hikaru Utada throught out the story, especially at the end of this one. I promise you, you wont regret it.

(7.3k words total)

With everyone looking asleep, her light footstep led her through each room of the hostel, and she had to double-check to make sure everyone was still groggy from yesterday's schedule. She didn't have to open the third door any farther since her Unnie's heavy snoring was audible.

"Welp, at least I know she's knocked out."

She thought to herself before once again tip toeing her way to the living room. With a swift motion, she turned their TV on, sat on the couch, covered herself with her blanket and switched the program to...

The NBA channel.

"Welcome everyone to a chilly night here in downtown LA as we are in for a treat for an exciting match up between the home team, Los Angeles Lakers and hot winning team in the east, The Indiana Pacers. Tonight we'll get to see a match up of Point Guards between Y/N McDaniels and Tyrese Haliburton. "

"That's right Mike, tonight we'll get to see the NBA best passers duking it out to see who's the best passer in the NBA and lead their team tonight to victory. Will the Pacers extend their winning streak to 5 games or will they fall to the 10th seed Lakers?"

"Y/N with the ball. Bringing the ball half court. A screen from Wood and he's bursting to the lane and throws it down right at Myles Turner! Wow!"

"Oohhhh. Right at the face of Myles Turner Mike! That's all elevation. Wow! This kid is incredible man"

Haerin's eyes had never been so wide with joy as she watched you play your heart out on the court. Every shot you fired, she'd hop up and down, leaving her seat, but she'd understand she shouldn't make too much noise. Her smile never left her face while the game went on. But perhaps this was also her weakness since while she's engaged on the game, she frequently, if not always, forgets about her surroundings.

"With 12 seconds left, the lakers trail by 1 and we all know where the ball is going. Y/N is doubled team. Here we go, Austin looking, Looking, passes it to Y/N. Doubled team, crossed to the left shoot-OHHHH!! Fouled and-1, 4 point play by Y/N! How did he do that?!"

"Hehe, Your so good Y/N!"

"Oh he's cute."

Haerin flinched hearing another voice next to her. Her head has never turned so fast in her entire life and so did her member who chuckled seeing her reaction.

"U-Unnie?"

"Hmm? Why are you looking scared? Did you lose your parley?"

"My what?"

"Nothing. But why are you watching basketball? I never knew you liked that sport."

Danielle yawned slightly as she sat comfortable on their couch. She awoke inadvertently by sliding out of bed while dreaming she was leaping out of a plane. Haerin's cheering was the first thing she heard, which jolted her awake. Because Haerin seldom celebrates or cheers.

"Uhhh ummm... Uhhh.."

Haerin used her normal mental lag to make it appear as if she doesn't know, while also buying time so Danielle lost interest in the issue. Knowing that she has a short attention span, Haerin used this to her advantage, making her believe she had no knowledge.

And somehow it works.

Danielle was weary of watching Haerin say nothing and stare at her like a cat. So she did what the majority of her members do, and by that she meant herself. She pounced for Haerin, cuddling her like a gigantic teddy bear, and Haerin simply accepted her faith. In her opinion, this was the ideal circumstance for getting Danielle to stop pestering her about the channel and why she would rather watch and experience the excitement and delight of basketball alone. Even if she has members who adore her like she is their own sister, Haerin was still holding back her excitement for athletics.

As Haerin glanced at the television, she spotted you being interviewed, and her normal poker face changed into a smile as she saw the team win and you being named the game's best player. Of course, given that you are the team's top player, it is unavoidable, but your accomplishments always strike a chord with her.

Because she has followed your path as well as her own, she knows the difficulties and sacrifices you have made to become who you are. In a way, she believes that whatever you achieve in the league, she achieves as well.

She felt such a strong connection to you. It was a rare occasion in which you could relate to someone. She doesn't look up to this idol, but she can connect to their experience. You can't help but support someone no matter how different you are. Haerin was in the Kpop sector, while you were in the professional sports world. Two different worlds, yet she idolized and looked up to you because she admired your narrative and couldn't help but compare it to hers.

Many others may label her clinging, insane, or too committed to a fake link that does not exist, but Haerin thought it was genuine. The instant she saw you dribble down the court in the house Kobe constructed, she knew you were the guy she would look up to.

Despite her claims that you are her idol, as a Kpop idol, she is repeatedly asked in interviews who her idol is, but she can't speak your name without recalling a sad experience. That trauma prevents her from properly revealing who she looks up to. There were several opportunities to utter your name, but when she opened her mouth, there was only stillness and heated air.

"Hmm? Basketball? You two liked watching basketball?"

A smaller girl asked them as Hanni woke up from her deep slumber. She was ready to face whatever they had today and what she didn't expect to see first thing in the morning is their TV on and set on the NBA channel.

Of course, it's not as if they don't watch sports; it's just that they don't watch them all the time. The majority of them understood what basketball was and how it was played, but none of them were big fans of the sport in general. If Hanni classified them as fans, they'd fall within the casual group. Only heard about it and saw excerpts on Twitter or Instagram.

"Hmm? Oh no It was just there when we opened the TV. Probably Manager Oppa was watching NBA replays last night before he left."

Danielle spoke on Haerin's behalf as a cover, and she smiled slightly, grateful for Danielle's reasons. It may have been a falsehood, but Haerin appreciated her efforts to cover for her.

"Ah I see. Well I'm going back to bed. Don't tell Minji thought."

And with those words stated, Hanni returned to her room to continue her nice sleep. The group did not appear to have any planned activities for the day, therefore it was a rare occurrence when they had a day off. With their notoriety, they seldom had days off, but they used them to rest. Danielle released go of Haerin's grasp and gazed at the girl before speaking.

"Okay you gotta tell me now why you like Basketball and why are you hiding it."

Haerin's eyes expand slightly, despite her customary blank expression. She didn't expect Danielle to be that tenacious about something because she typically loses interest quickly. But this time it was the opposite: Danielle wanted to know the truth behind Haerin's passion of basketball. Her curiosity couldn't be contained, and she'd do anything to find out why.

"Because I'm simply a fan of it Unnie. There's nothing too deep to talk about it so stop whatever your thinking Unnie."

Haerin's response took Danielle by suprise litterally and figuratively for 2 reasons.

One, When Haerin said those words, Danielle noted how her brow wrinkled downwards, as if she was furious at her for asking such a question. She felt as if she had insulted her in some manner she didn't understand. All she did was ask an innocent inquiry.

Secondly, This was the first time Haerin had spoken to her in such a chilly and menacing manner. The group has been together for three years, and they recognize each other even when they close their eyes. They can readily identify who is who when given a description. Despite this, Haerin was never as frigid in her responses to any of them. Haerin's statements conveyed a hostile tone, which both scared and worried Danielle.

This was nothing the Haerin she knew about that's why she was left speechless and stunned to say anything back at her. She couldn't formulate any thoughts on how she could reply back towards her. Seeing the shocked and stunned face of Danielle, Haerin sighed a long one before standing up saying

"Sorry, I'll go somewhere for now. I'll be back before dinner Unnie."

As she rose up from her seat, she went to her room to change into a shirt and joggers, covered by a Nike jacket. She then grabbed her basketball, which was on her floor. All Danielle could do was watch Haerin depart their dorm, astonished and perplexed as to what had gotten her so defensive about the subject.

"Did I touch a sensitive topic for her? But why?"

Danielle pondered that concept as she lay flat on the sofa, looking up at the ceiling, seeking to connect the dots. And trying to find what she was seeking for.

"Well that's the end of our season. What's your plan Y/N?"

As the squad finished their final game of the season, everyone in the locker room had different reactions to how their season ended. Some believed they did well, while others felt they could have done more to strive for a postseason seed berth, but the odds were not against them because health was the clear asterisk for this squad. Many of their major players went on to miss over half of the season combined. You and Austin Reaves were the only two players on the club who never missed a game during the season, but it wasn't enough.

Add in dubious coaching throughout the season, and the entire roster wondered if their coach ever trusted them. Players who were doing admirably were suddenly forced to take DNPs due to an experimental roster that had never played together before. It felt like they were competing against each other because no one knew what sort of play style they all had. Everything was just a mix of terrible luck and dubious coaching that led to this team's season-ending ouster.

"I don't know. After the exit interview later, I'll either sleep or sleep."

"I get you man but how's you and that Korean chic?"

Austin's inquiry simply made matters worse for you, as the thought of the season ending tonight left a bad taste in your mouth. And now AR had to bring up the subject with you and Yunjin. Heck, the entire Lesserafim was something you had to consider.

Relationships are something you're not sure you're ready for. Although you are dating Yunjin, there are serious uncertainties about whether you actually loved her or were simply swept up in the moment. Obviously, everyone in Lesserafim was lovely and attractive in their own right, but there was something lacking. When you think back on your time with Yunjin, you notice something is lacking.

You don't know what it is but you wanted to know more about it.

"Still dating. I'm planning to head to Korea later on actually. Take a break or something. I need to clear my mind after all this Laker stress man."

AR could only laugh at you, knowing it was the wisest thing to do after this disastrous season. Your body needs to recuperate after working so hard for the team. It was sad that you accomplished so much to keep the Lakers afloat in the standings, but it wasn't enough. Your amazing comeback against Milwaukee, your 57 points against the Bulls, your clutch three-pointer against the Celtics, resulting in their sole loss of the season, and lastly, your 1,000 assists, making you the youngest to accomplish this achievement.

All of that effort went for naught, as the Lakers couldn't even get a whiff of the eighth spot beginning in February. Since then, the Lakers have fluctuated between the 10th and 12th seeds in the last week of the regular season. Obviously, the media was criticizing you for not being able to lead the club to victory, given that LeBron is retiring, AD's contract expires this offseason, which means he's gone, and this will now be your team.

But having 2 hall of famers on your roster, yet you can't win?

Stephen A. Smith and Skip Bayless will surely have a field day with your name tomorrow morning. But you just let the so called analytics talk whatever they want because that's what makes them relevant. All you can do is accept the criticism and be better for the next season.

As you ended your farewell interview, you informed the reporters that you attempted to accept responsibility for your mistakes this season and improve for the next. Although several individuals attempted to hint to the coaching problem, you just responded that some plays were supposed to work and others did not. Shading individuals is not something you do while you are still relatively new to the league. You are practically sealing your legacy at this time.

However, with the exit interview behind you, the disappointment lingers as you drive. Your mind was continually reminding you that you could have done better, but that is how it is. The season ended unexpectedly due to a variety of factors. Aside from the fact that the season ended earlier than intended, you may have also considered AR. Did you truly adore Yunjin? You didn't want to be disrespectful to Yunjin or anyone in Lesserafim since we were discussing sentiments. One false action and all may be ruined in an instant.

Checking your phone, the image of you and Yunjin glowed under the screen and somehow, the smile you used to have begin to disappear. Surely this was a normal feeling right? After all it's just a wallpaper.

"I need to see her"

With each stride Haerin took, the court got closer to her. Nobody in the firm, including her members, knew about this location behind their company, which was often utilized for rubbish disposal. But Haerin spotted a court with a sturdy hoop. The green patch was visible in the little gaps under the concrete floor, yet it did not upset Haerin at all.

She dribbled the ball one time before releasing a pure mid-range from 15 feet away from the basket.

Only for it to brick the basket, Haerin laughed as she missed her first shot. She waddled to catch the ball and fired it from the board for her second shot. Haerin was dressed comfortably, similar to her rehearsal attire.

As the ball swished through the net, Haerin's smile seems to get bigger and bigger at every shot she made. She was making easy shot such as Jumpers and running layup but as time goes forward, Haerin decided to intensify her shots.

As she dribbled the ball away from the basket near the 3-point line. She took one deep breath before dribbling the ball forward with her body in a propelling angle. As the ball bounces off the hard concrete ground, she crossed the ball towards her left hand and started to sprint while dribbling the ball. With the net nearing her sight, she stopped her dribble before turning her back against the net. She half shifted to the right before fully rotating to the left for a hook shot that swished through the net.

As the ball bounced off the ground she giggled as she finally done perfected one of your move. She wasn't just loving the game of basketball but she also loves the iconic moves of the NBA legends and all-star.

But despite her love of the game, she couldn't forget the painful memory that comes at the cost of enjoying basketball.

She was introduced to the sport at a young age by her uncle who's a crazy fan of basketball. She recalls the times she was invited to watch her uncle play the sport in some local gym. The joy and smile he had while playing the sport was what got her hooked. But as she picked up a ball, everyone suddenly started telling her that the sport isn't for her.

"Kid, you should play with barbie dolls and houses. This game isn't for you."

Those words from her uncle's teammate still haunts her to this day as they labeled her sport by her gender. As young as Haerin was, that was first true heartbreak for her because she felt helpless and devastated to hear those. And she would have just brushed those thoughts aside if it wad kids around her age but no, it was adults who told her to stop dreaming about playing basketball.

Her uncle of course defend Haerin to the point, everyone almost got into a scuffle only for the GYM owners to separate them apart. But despite the fight not continuing, the damage had already been done to her as all she can do was look down as her uncle walked her home.

"Say Haerin. Wanna shoot some mini hoops?"

"No need uncle, I'm not born to play that sport.."

Her uncle sighed as he regretted having Haerin watch her game. He didn't expect those dudes to call out a child like that who just wants to have fun. He ruffled her hair as Haerin pouted at that action. She had always hated it when her hair gets shuffled unexpectedly and this was no different.

"Uncle-"

"Tell me Haerin. Did you enjoy watching me play basketball?"

"Of course!"

"Do you want to play the sport?"

"But I'm not allowed to.."

Her uncle chuckled seeing her cute niece look down in shame. Life have always been a suprise to many and right now, Haerin thinking that Basketball is only played by one gender is false.

"Haerin-ah, Nobody should stop you from enjoying what you want. If it makes you happy, you should chase it and never look back."

"But Uncle-"

"Haerin-ah, Don't follow the crowd, my dear child. Instead, listen to your heart and create your own path. True happiness comes from within and when you stay true to yourself."

The smile that her uncle had that day showed her a bigger picture. Despite people wanting to pull you down, there will always be someone that will support you through and through. Haerin believed in the words of her uncle and stayed true to herself.

Basketball became her sport as she grew older, and her parents were very supportive of her. Despite her peers playing and growing up with gentle games, Haerin likes to dribble and shoot like Curry in their garden, envisioning her shots as game winners.

But as Middle school comes around, she was once again faced with adversity that had her scarred for life.

It was during their Physics Education period and their teacher wanted them to play sport games. Some groan some were smiling and Haerin had her poker face on, but internally, she was smiling ear to ear. As they all went to the school GYM. Haerin immediately picked up the basketball and what happened next was something she didn't expect to happen.

"Eh? Why are you picking up a basketball Haerin? Don't tell me your... Into that stuff."

As one of her classmate said that, everyone else followed to stare at her and at that exact moment, her heart began to act differently. Their eyes suddenly became so big and their shadows tower over her making her feel like she's surrounded by giants.

Her heart starts racing, beating erratically against her chest like a trapped bird desperately seeking escape. The air around her seems thick and suffocating, making every breath feel labored and shallow.

Her mind spirals into a vortex of irrational fears and negative thoughts, amplifying each sound and sensation until they become overwhelming.

A distant murmur transforms into a deafening roar in her ears, while the touch of fabric against her skin feels like prickly needles. Panic takes hold, gripping her tightly in its invisible claws, leaving her helpless and vulnerable.

Every attempt to regain control only fuels the anxiety further, creating a self-perpetuating cycle of fear and distress. It's as if her body is betraying her, turning against itself in this unexpected battle for sanity.

She couldn't handle it anymore as she dashed through the crowd, holding and closing ears from the murmurs that echoed through the area. Her heart beating so loud telling her to keep running and never look back. Tears falls off her cheeks as her eyes had uncontrollably started shedding her tears without her command.

But unlike before, She had nobody to run into.

Her uncle had died, leaving pleasant memories of Haerin to keep her sane in the harsh world they were living in. But her passing meant she'd lost her primary source of support and idol. Haerin was left alone to confront the world of misery and agony, and she was currently submitting to it all.

She couldn't handle everything on her own.

Haerin groaned and gazed at the ball for a few seconds before continuing to dribble away from the hoop. Since then, Haerin has kept her passion of basketball to herself, never sharing her excitement for the sport with anyone. Her parents were surprised that she wasn't sweating every day shooting hoops in the backyard, but instead watching YouTube videos in her room.

She had closed the door of enjoying the sport with others and decided that this sport is only for her to enjoy and nobody else.

It didn't matter if she would harshly push anyone who tries play basketball with her, it didn't matter if it was her own members who wanted to play with her. She would immediately decline and ignore their invitation.

dribbling the ball, Haerin shoot a long 3 pointer that sinks right into the net effortlessly. And her shot wouldn't go unnoticed.

"Nice form"

A sudden voice alerted Haerin as she flinched and froze on the spot. As the ball rolled further away from her, it stopped once it reached your foot. You kneeled down to pick up the ball and gently gave Haerin a chest pass to which she managed to barely catch. She was star struck to see you face to face with her.

"Ummm...I'm sorry to ask this but are you.. Y/N McDaniels?"

Haerin shyly asked as you laughed and nodded your head at her. Your arrival in Korea was unexpectedly faster than what you thought. The private Jet that the Lakers provided you not only drived so fast but it felt like a 10 minute ride. Technology sure is scary.

"That I am. You shooting hoops?"

"Ah yes!"

Haerin suddenly pulled her smile back immediately despite seeing you in person. But she also felt like her demeanor of playing alone changed when you arrived. It felt like she was still playing by herself and alone. She shook her head off that thought and shoot her shot, but it bricked the rim as you jumped in and grabbed the ball.

Knowing the rules, Haerin went under the basket ready for a rebound as you took the ball out and shot a wide open 3 pointer, only for it to brick as Haerin chased it down and grab it. This process continued for quite sometime with the only words exchanged between you two were "Nice one" and "My ball". Some would argue this was awkward to be in but Haerin didn't feel like it. She felt so naturally free whenever she's on the court but with someone sharing the court with her? She never thought about it until you came.

As the two of you sat down to catch your breaths, You offered Haerin an extra water bottle you had in your bag to which Haerin shyly accepted. With the two of you sitting quietly, you decided to break the ice and speak first.

"So, what's your name?"

"Vanessa Kang..or you can call me Haerin.. Sir."

You laughed at her formality with you but dismiss it since it didn't bother you one bit.

"No need to be formal Haerin. It's just us two hoopers here anyway."

"Umm...Its just your my idol and It's not easy for me to drop the honorifics."

Haerin fidgeted her fingers as she looked down. She didn't know how to act in front of her idol because, most of the time, she is the one who draws attention due to the large number of her supporters. But, right now, she's a fan and you're the idol, so the positions are reversed.

"It's fine Haerin. I'm not that old yet anyway."

"Yeah 3 years apart.."

"What?"

You blinked a couple times before staring at Haerin who's face was completely red. She just dropped an important information about you and now her identity was fully blown. Haerin gulped before turning her head to look at you with a complete red face.

"I'm guessing your a fan of mine?"

"Ummm......yes.."

Haerin soften her voice on the last part as she wasn't confident on being your fan but your sharp ears managed to hear it. You laughed full heartedly at her as she looked at you confused. Was her approach wrong that you got the wrong idea or she had something on her face?

"Sorry, Sorry I just find it cute how your being shy admitting being a fan of basketball."

"Ummm...I just don't want people to see me differently.."

Your smile slowly disappeared after hearing the words that Haerin spoke. What she said raised your curiosity as you didn't understand what she meant by it.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I just... Went through a tough time of people accepting that I like basketball more unlike other sports.."

Although you haven't heard much about her tale, her voice was enough to tell you that she went through hardship while trying to play the sport that she loved.

"Haerin, Happiness doesn't come from the words of others, it comes from the voices of your heart."

Haerin widen her eyes as your words reminded her of the words spoken by her own uncle. She looked at you as you gave her a warm smile.

"Don't let others dictate your happiness, Make it your own Haerin."

She felt her uncle's nostalgia in your words. Even if the words were altered, the message remained the same. To be joyful regardless of what others say. That was what her uncle had told her about life in general, not just hoops. She aspired to be an Idol because she enjoyed dancing to music. She wanted their music to be heard and enjoyed by their listeners.

Your comments triggered a deep memory for Haerin, and tears streamed down her cheeks. Not long later, she lost control of her tears and began weeping. You worried when you saw her break down because you didn't know what to do. You chose to softly touch her back while Haerin sobs slowly. You weren't very good at emotional scenarios like this one, and you thought it would calm her down. You didn't have your handkerchief when you really needed it.

As Haerin calmed down, she wiped the remaining tears on her eyes away before looking at you with a soft stare.

"Thanks and.. Sorry for crying out of nowhere."

"It's fine. That's okay. Maybe we can shoot hoops again to clear your mind?"

Haerin laughed at your idea, but she nodded, knowing that it would undoubtedly help her clear her mind. As the two of you proceeded to play hoops, Haerin's cat curiosity took over, and she questioned why you were here in the first place.

"Y/N, can I ask why your here in Korea?"

She said after passing you the ball in a perfect bounce pass. You chuckled at her question before releasing the shot for a 13 feet jumper.

"I'm just here to confirm something is all."

"Really? What's it about?"

"My own feelings"

Haerin widened her eyes slightly before handing the ball back to you, since this surprised her. Someone in the country seemed to have taken interest in the guy she adored. She isn't sure whether she would be joyful or sad. She may be thrilled since a celebrity like you like someone from her nation is something she should be proud of. Sadly, that wasn't her.

Haerin quickly flushed scarlet as she thought about it, because it came out of nowhere and was so strange for her to think about. Her cheeks were flaming, and her heart was beating faster as she watched you dribble the ball up to the rim. She swallowed nervously, as that unexpected notion had forever altered her perception of you.

Haerin had seen you around the corporate building for weeks, but as the days passed, the grin on your face faded, which bothered her. She wanted to ask you about this, but all she could do was shoot hoops with you to alleviate your concerns. But the more she learned about your position, the more she questioned if she was even suited to be around you. Your statements showing your perplexity and irritation with Yunjin make her feel like she's nothing more than a pillar of strength for you.

She doesn't mind it, but she wished she was in Yujin's position.

Even if she is your wall of support, she hoped that a small part of herself is what you are seeking for instead. Since the prospect of you entering her life, her attitude toward you has drastically altered. She found herself doing something she didn't often do, which surprised her members. When she shoots hoops with you, she wears everything from light makeup to red lipstick and blush. Minji observed this recently, and as the group's leader, she had to ask her why their beloved cat has been acting strangely lately.

"Haerin? Can we talk?"

"Oh, sure Unnie."

As Minji enters her room, she looked around her room to see nothing out of the usual. So she took her seat on the edge of her bed.

"I was just wondering, What are you doing outside? You seem to be going outside lately. Is there somewhere your visiting?"

Minji's questions didn't have any vile intentions in them but rather a voice, of a worried and curious leader. Haerin wanted to shake her head to deny her claims but your words rang through her head. She wanted to find that happiness and she knows she can't fully enjoy that happiness alone. She needed to take a step forward away from her comfort zone and see what lies beyond.

"Yeah, I have been playing basketball again."

"Really? That's so cool!"

Haerin couldn't believe it. Someone aside from her said that the sport she's doing is something amazing. She was expecting the usual reaction from her previous encounters of this confession yet this time, it was the opposite.

"Unnie, you don't find that... Weird?"

"Of course not! Why would I find you playing basketball weird. In fact I want to see you play. Oh, Maybe we can all play basketball sometimes! I can set up a date-"

Minji couldn't continue her statement because Haerin cut her off with a warm, tight embrace. For the first time in her life, Haerin felt relieved that she no longer needed to close the door. She felt less alone than she had in a long time. For the first time in a long time, she met someone who understood her.

"Unnie.."

"What’s wrong Haerin? Do you want to invite the members too? I'm sure they would love to play with you."

"No Unnie, I'm happy. I'm just happy and thank you."

Minji couldn't understand where Haerin was coming from, but with her appreciation, she could only see it as a positive thing. As Haerin continued to hug Minji, she realized she might need some help with the preadicament she was facing.

"Unnie, Can I ask you something?"

"Sure. What is it Haerin-ah?"

"Umm.. Is it okay.. For a girl to like a guy.. Who's like trying to like fix their relationship that don't seem to work and, she's acting as the guy's support, but he doesn't know that the girl has developed feelings for him. Or is that wrong?"

Minji pondered on this thought as this was something she wasn't familiar with. But with her expertise in watching K-Drama on the television, she has one answer for that one.

"If that's the case, I suggest the girl to stop being the guy's support because as I see it. She's becoming a rebound for the guy. Well unintentionally that is."

When Haerin heard those words, she stopped her breath for a moment as a little pain struck her heart. Being labeled a rebound is the last thing she wanted to be termed. But when she thinks back on her time with you, she was your rock, and every tale she hears about Yunjin tears her heart apart.

That wasn't happiness for her.

Perhaps it was time to listen to her Leader's advice and be the person that she has always been. A girl who loves performing in front of her fans and enjoy playing basketball.

"Yeah, Your right Unnie. Anyway I'll be at the court now."

"Okay, Alright. Be back before dinner okay? And stay safe."

Haerin chuckled hearing the words of their eldest and leader as she identically sounded like her own mother with her tone and delivery.

"I will."

With a clear understanding of what she needed to do, she made her way to the court where she had become accustomed to meeting you. With every step seeming to be loaded with the few memories you two shared, it felt bittersweet that she was willing to let go of everything in such a short period of time. During that period, she became aware of numerous things she had previously avoided.

Being able to enjoy basketball without being bothered by others, finding satisfaction in the company of others, and generally enjoying life. Despite the brief time together, she has become connected to you, which is the terrible part. She's terrified of facing you now. She is unsure how she will deal with you after this, or if it is best to simply withdraw from your life for ever.

What Hurts more is she's letting go of her idol.

The person she looks up too.

The person she admire so much.

The person she fell in love with.

And

The person that will break her heart.

Just thinking about the night hoops you played and the late-night food tour across Seoul makes her melancholy. Haerin had become a tourist during the day and a wall of support at night. Haerin was eager to be at your side, and she couldn't remember how many times she ran to the court only to be your ear and shoulder to depend on.

As this idea occurred to her, it became more difficult for her to continue her trek towards the court since her eyes were already filled with tears for you. She had never thought that loving someone could be so difficult. She never considered the possibility of love since she never took such things seriously. She couldn't understand why her Unnies were so obsessed with romantic dramas and other aspects of love.

But now she realized, what love is.

And she got the bitter part of it.

Taking a deep breath, she continued on with her walk as she spotted you sitting on the bench watching the passing cars go by. Your presence alone makes her heart flutter and make her knees go weak. As you wave and smile at her, the heat crept it's way up her cheeks as she continued her descend on the stairs towards the court. But her eyes never left you and as soon as she took one misstep, her foot slipped and was stumbling to-

"Gotcha. You alright Haerin?"

Your buffed arms managed to catch her fragile small body as she directly stared at you with admiration and with love. Her heart raced faster than it was earlier and this was a scene straight out of the romance movies. After catching herself, she immediately pushed you away standing up by herself as her action caught you by suprise

"Haerin? Is everythin-"

"Please... Let's stop seeing each other."

As hard as it is to hear someone say that to you, Haerin is the one who is most saddened. By confessing those words, she is letting go of all the memories she has with you. But, more crucially, she is willing to let you go.

"Y/N, The last few weeks has been nothing but a blast I had with you and nothing can replace those moments with anyone. You thought me what it means to be happy once again but more importantly, you helped me realize how to enjoy basketball once again."

"Haerin.."

"I became your wall of support and ear whenever you visit Yunjin and I understand that. You and Yunjin are meant for each other and probably trying to fix the relationship you two had. I don't want to be a nuisance to both of you once you two figured it out.."

As her emotions have caught up to her words, she tried to suppress the tears that was slowly falling down her cheeks as she immediately Wipes them off. With every second passing by, her heart was being torned apart.

"You know Y/N, because of you, I enjoyed things that I usually don't do. Like applying lipsticks, using the eye liner, using lip tint, applying blush on, and wearing cute clothes. Before I'm only doing those because I'm a Kpop Idol but with you, I enjoy doing them because of you. "

"Haerin.."

"I want to say goodbye, but that would be too sad and I don't want this to be the end of us meeting. So Y/N.."

A soft breeze passed you two by as her hair danced with the air showing a long haired beautiful angel crying.

"I hope to see you again."

With those last words spoken by her, her heart has completely shattered into thousand pieces. She couldn't look you in the face or else she might breakdown completely. So turning her back around, she was ready to let you go and move forward in her life.

"Preety Kang, who said this is the end?"

You smirked as Haerin stopped on her tracks. Your voice still had a huge effect on her as you took steps closer to her. Panic began to rise all over body as she didn't know what will happen next.

"You said you were a nuisance? I called you a ball of sunshine."

"Stop it..."

"You said I showed you happiness? How can you be so sure when YOU'RE my happiness."

"Please.. Stop.."

"All my life, I have watched opportunities slip by my hands. And Days I spent with you were the opportunities I didn't slip by. Because of you, I learned who I am."

"Y/N..."

"Kang Haerin. I'm not letting you go anymore. My heart beats for you and only you. If your not ready now, I'll wait and I'll keep waiting until our paths cross again. Because if Love didn't happen, I wouldn't have met you."

"......"

"Kang Haerin, The girl I love is you."

Haerin had never twirled so fast her life as she spinned back towards you and jumping into your body as you catches her. Her tears couldn't be controlled anymore as she cried her heart out not out of sadness this time. But in happiness.

"Y/N!!"

"I'm here Haerin. I'm here."

As you stroked her hair, Haerin buried her face in your chest, weeping gently as she heard your heart's lovely rhythm. She couldn't believe her modest wish had come true. For you, the decision was not simple. The way you went to korea hoping to connect with Yunjin failed. You tried your best to make your heart beat for her but despite the efforts, Haerin was the one chiming your heart.

Every time you go closer to Yunjin, your mind only sees one cat, which was unjust to Yunjin. You had to tell her the truth, but Yunjin was the first person to say farewell to you. She knew the minute you first dated her, your heart couldn't hold her. No matter how hard she tried, she could see straight through you, and when she saw you smiling genuienly, she knew someone had already stolen your heart.

And she didn't want your friendship to be broken due to one-sided passion. As terrible as it is for her, she genuinely loved you and chose your happiness above her own. She understood that love needs sacrifices, and she was prepared to make the biggest sacrifice of her own love for your love story.

You shed your own share of tears as Yunjin said her farewell to you because despite not fully loving her, a part of your heart truly did loved her genuienly and honestly. It felt heart breaking despite not truly loving her. It confuses you but with one door closes, another one opens.

As you looked at your lock screen, the picture of you and Yunjin was difficult to remove. But, knowing that you and Yunjin had failed, you pinned all of your hopes on one girl. The girl who has been with you since your arrival and is the only one who has remained in your head and heart.

Haerin, your constant companion and supporter during your time in Korea. Her temperament and beauty are too appealing not to notice her. Not only that, but she keeps you smiling and understands how to connect with you. She was everything you didn't realize you needed. You still recall the day your heart sang for her. When you were rushing away from a paparazzi at night, her warm little hands entwined around yours, and her charming grin brightened the darkness. At that same moment, you knew your heart was pounding for Kang Haerin rather than Huh Yunjin.

You were so stupid because you figured it out too late and today was suppose to be day you told her everything but it seems Haerin was the first one to beat you too it.

"Do you mean it?"

Haerin gazed up to meet your gaze, her cat-like eyes looking more lovely than ever. You nodded, stroked her hair, and returned to burying her face on your chest. Her behaviors made you laugh because they were so charming.

"I love you Y/N.."

She backed away, sneaking a quick kiss on your cheeks before whispering gently. Thinking you hadn't heard her, you bent down to kiss her forehead, making her blush even more.

"I love you too, My Laker Star Haerin. Hehe~"

You smiled wholeheartedly at her, just like Haerin did, despite her cheeks going red. Both of you were experiencing the joys of love as fate brought your hearts together.

As Yunjin looked down at the building's glass windows, she watched the guy she genuinely loved embracing a girl he deserved. Her heart ached to see you with someone else, but she knew you were the one known as "Right Person, Wrong Time." She smiled sadly as she shed one final tear staring at you.

"I hope you treat him right Haerin. Because he was once My Laker Star too."

#kpop fanfic #fluff #kpop #fanfic #newjeans #fanfiction #haerin #newjeans haerin #basketball #lakers #le sserafim #huh yunjin #jennifer huh

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sweetbans29 · 8 months ago

Text

Hey You - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x reader

Summary: You and Caitlin have a history - from growing up together to dating in high school. You both decided that it would be best to end things before going to college and that's what you did. Little did you know that seeing each other nearly four years later would have you both admitting things should have been different.

Warnings: You are looking at some angst, some suggestive themes and some fluff, nothing too crazy ;) mentions of head injury

Word Count: 6.0k

Hey You PART 2

Sweetbans Masterlist

AN: Hi and welcome! This is my first writing and would love any feedback or ideas! I hope you enjoy!

You were sitting in the backseat of your friend's car rubbing your hands on your jeans. Your friend Jamie was driving you and two other friends to the women's NCAA basketball game in Cleveland. All of you attended a university in Pittsburgh and thought it would be a fun girls' day to go watch the championship game. It was going to be iconic and deep down, you knew you wouldn't miss it for the world. You had been following the teams closely this year despite the squeeze to your heart that came with seeing her name. Looking out the window you continue to rub your hands on your pants.

Your friends all knew Iowa was home for you and that you played basketball growing up. They knew you had friends who ended up playing college ball but an injury you suffered junior year of high school caused you to shift gears when it came to college. They also knew that you and Caitlin Clark had played high school ball together - but that was all they knew on the subject. They didn't know you had grown up together and had been best friends since the first day of sixth grade or that she held your heart in high school and may or may not hold it today.

As you look out the window your mind begins to wander back to when you were young...

It was the first day of sixth grade and your family had just moved to Des Moines, IA for your dad's job. Starting at a new school at the start of junior high was not ideal but you were determined to make the best of it. As you entered homeroom - you took a seat next to another girl who wasn't completely dolled up due to it being the first day. You didn't say anything as you sat down and pulled out a notebook that was completely covered in NBA stickers. The girl next to you perked up when she looked over and saw several familiar faces, even some of her favorites.

She leans over and points to one of the players and says, "That is one of my favorites." I look up at her with a huge smile and reply, "He is great but not as great as Kobe." She nods in agreement and we continue talking about other players who made their spotlight on your Fivestar notebook.

Fast forward to freshman year of high school - you and Caitlin are at pre-season training. Both of you had a single goal in mind which was making varsity. You knew she would make it no problem, but for you, it was going to take a little more. The two of you put in the work, when you weren't at training you were either at a park practicing or at her house training. When you found out you both made varsity after all those hours of hard work you went out to get froyo to celebrate. The night ended with a sleepover at yours that included a movie marathon and many many snacks.

When you snap back to being present with your friends, you realize you are already at the arena. You take a deep breath and get out of the car with your friends to brave the lines to enter the stadium. It was amazing to see the attention women's college basketball has gotten during March Madness this year. The spotlight on all the teams in the Sweet Sixteen, then the Elite Eight to the Final Four all leading to today had brought a lot of attention to the sport and the players. Not only the spotlight on the teams but the spotlight put on Caitlin was something that never really surprised you as you knew how incredible she was and is. Seeing how much she had blown up made you proud of the player she had become but also rattled the box you had put her in that lived in the deepest part of your heart. As you are standing in line to get in, your mind takes you back again...

It was the summer before junior year and your mom and dad just surprised you with your own car. You freaked out and couldn't stop thanking them. Of course, it was their pleasure as you were almost the perfect child. Caitlin was already on her way over as you had plans to go out to get food before having a lazy day. The two of you always worked hard but on the other side of that, you both had major lazy days throughout your friendship. These lazy days consisted of movie marathons, pillow forts, naps, and all the snacks you could ever imagine. The beginning of these days stemmed from making plans one day but you were both so tired you ended up napping on the floor in Caitlin's living room, never seeing the light of day.

Caitlin pulls in and you come running out pointing at the car in the driveway. She jumps out of her car and you both freak out and jump right in. After grabbing food you headed back to yours and settled into the pillow fort you had set up before she got there. You throw on Princess Diaries and you both are knocked out within the first 20 minutes.

When you feel yourself come back to consciousness, you notice the only light in the room is coming from the TV screen. You also felt extremely hot. As you begin to move you feel a squeeze around your torso. Looking down, a smile appears on your face as you realize Caitlin is cuddled into your side and hugging you as if you were a teddy bear. Your arm is draped around her back as her head is nestled into your neck. Her breath is steady - inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. It was slightly comedic as she has a solid few inches on you but when she was curled up into your side she looked like a little girl. You slowly start to rub her back and you hear her groan and bury herself deeper into you and butterflies erupt in your stomach.

This wasn't the first time that you both had ended up cuddling next to each other on a lazy day. It had become more common over the last few months than it had been before. You noticed it was typically Caitlin who ended up cuddled into your side but every blue moon you ended up in her arms. Once one of you woke up, you would usually break apart almost immediately - secretly both wishing it would last longer. It all felt so natural that neither of you questioned it. Due to how dedicated you both were to your sport neither of you really had time for boys or relationships so you both just leaned into each other.

You continue to rub her back until you feel her fingers play with the backside of your shirt - this is your signal that she is no longer asleep. Neither of you made a move to untangle yourselves from the other and that was when you knew that the feelings you were pushing down for your best friend might be reciprocated and that alone was enough to hold her even tighter.

Later that night you took your new car and went to get ice cream. You both sat there for hours talking and laughing. That night held your first kiss with Caitlin. It was in the parking lot of your local grocery store, a pint of ice cream in the center console. It was nothing crazy but as you drove back home with her hand in your hand, neither of you could wipe the smile off of your face.

You are brought back to reality when your friend nudged you for the tickets as you were next to get them scanned. While you didn't have to worry about the drive, you were tasked with getting the tickets. Grabbing your phone, you open up your tickets for the guy to scan. As you all pass through security at Rocket Mortgage Fieldhouse, you make your way to your seats before braving the sea of spectators to grab yourself some food and a drink (there was no way you were getting through this whole event without a drink by your side).

The usher directed you to where your seats were and you were insanely grateful that you were the one to choose where you all sat. You choose the same section you always supported Caitlin in your senior year of high school...

It was the championship game junior year of high school and you were in the starting lineup. The game was going to be a tough one but you had no doubt in your mind that it wasn't yours for the taking. Everything was perfect. You were already talking to a couple schools to play in college. Caitlin and you had been dating for a few months and you were going to ask her to be your girlfriend your next lazy day which so happened to be tomorrow. Everything seemed it was going your way.

The seconds were counting down in the second quarter and the score was 38-38. If there was one thing you knew, it was that you were not going into halftime tied. You were passed the ball as the seconds ticked away. The other team had just scored, which gave your team possession with just enough time to make something happen. As you made your way down the court you scoped out the scene in front of you. The other team was doing everything in their power to avoid yours from scoring.

Your first vision played out was getting the ball to Caitlin, knowing she could make it happen but the girl defending her was doing a damn good job of keeping her just out of reach. You then scanned to my other teammate Jada who you knew was great at getting the ball where it needed to go in the nick of time. As you were about to pass it her way you took one final look at the clock and realized that time was just about out. You made the decision to take it up the middle, faking the defender that was covering you and going for a quick layup on the left side. As your last foot left the ground, before you knew it you were back against the ground with a pulsing head and pain shooting everywhere.

You don't dare move, you have no idea what just happened. There is a ringing in both of your ears and your vision is blurry and the pain - the pain has your body shutting down to protect itself. Your eyes start to close slowly as you faintly feel someone grab your arm as someone appears in your sight. It takes you a second to realize it is Caitlin - you give a small smile. Then everything goes black.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. That is the first thing you hear as you start to regain consciousness. Confusion hits almost immediately as the last thing you remember is getting ready to play the championship game. You begin to wiggle your fingers and they feel sore, now that you start to feel more - everything is sore.

Before you decide to open your eyes you try to take a deep breath. Yet another thing that is painful to do. You decide you need to open your eyes to figure out where you are and what has happened. As your eyes open, it takes a few blinks to get a clear picture of what is in front of you. You are in the hospital, in a hospital bed. The sun is shining in through the window and you start to look around to see if you can find any clues as to what has happened. There are no casts or bandages that you can see but when you make a minor move in the bed it felt like you got hit by a truck.

Your mom was in the room reading a book. When you began to move, you let out a groan which caused her to look up and quickly make her way to your side. As she gets to your bedside, your dad makes his way through the doorway.

"Baby girl, oh baby girl," your mom begins as she gives you a hug which really only causes more pain to shoot around your body but you weren't going to push her away. Your dad comes and sits on your other side and takes hold of your hand.

"Hi sweetie," your dad says. You look up at him and with your eyes try and get him to explain what had happened, knowing your mom wasn't in a state to do so.

"You were taken out seconds before the halftime buzzer went off," he began. Your eyes lay intently on him. He takes a moment before continuing. "You were going for a layup to put your team ahead going into halftime and a girl from the other team misjudged your movement and body slammed you causing you to go head-first into the ground."

It then all started coming back to you, the pain that shot straight to your head and trying to not pass out. You let go of his hand and start to feel around your head. It had a wrap around it which you didn't even think about when you were making your first assessment of what had happened. Your dad continued.

"You were rushed to the hospital due to your ears bleeding and you not waking up. The doctors determined you had a skull fracture and took you to an emergency surgery. Everything went smoothly and you are recovering well," your father says with sad eyes. If there is anything you know about your dad it is that he shares your dream of going to a D1 school to play basketball in college. The way he was looking at you right now, you immediately knew that even though the surgery went well, everything you had hoped and dreamed about was all about to change.

You continued to listen to how your parents were so happy you were alive and okay and that you should make a full recovery - even though you knew deep down that it truly wouldn't be full. You had learned that it has been almost 2 days since the game. Your parents step out of the room to give you some time to rest - even though you couldn't look at a screen that just left you sitting there with life-changing news. You looked around to see if you could find your phone to text or call Caitlin when she made her way through the door.

She looks just as beat up as you feel. As she walks up to you, she avoids eye contact which you so desperately wanted. Without saying a word, she comes up to your bedside and slowly makes her way into the hospital bed with you. You lift your arm and allow her to curl up by your side. A deep breath finally escapes your body and as you exhale you can feel her body release silent sobs.

All you can do is rub her back. Lying there with her has jogged your memory that she was the last face you saw before you blacked out on the court. Knowing her, these past two days were probably a living hell. You muster up all the strength you have to lean down and kiss the top of her head.

Not many people knew about your relationship. It was really only family and your coaches. Being on the same team, you both decided it would be best to keep your relationship between the two of you. It was a challenge at times but everyone knew the two of you were best friends so there were a lot of things that you did that people wouldn't look twice at.

One thing about Caitlin was that certain things were enhanced when you two started dating. Most of the things didn't affect your day-to-day like the amount of sweatshirts she stole doubled (which didn't bother you as you would just steal hers to replace the ones she had taken, it got to the point where it started a playful argument over a sweatshirt that she swore was here but was actually originally yours). Another that affected her more than either of us really realized was how protective she had become.

You first realized this when you got fouled at practice and Caitlin got all up into her space yelling at her. You had to grab her and pull her away which then led your coach to call for everyone to do suicide sprints. You don't even want to think about the girl who fouled you in the game and caused you to be hospitalized.

"Hey you," you say as it had sort of become your way of saying 'hey babe' without the world knowing. You feel her shift in your arms as she brings her hand up to wipe away her tears.

"You scared me," is all she says before letting out a few more silent sobs. You continue to rub her back and give her shoulder a little squeeze.

"You can't get rid of me that easily," you respond with a laugh. The laugh hurts but decide to keep quite about your pain, only quiet to Caitlin, never your doctors.

The two of you spend the rest of the afternoon cuddled up on the hospital bed. When the sun starts to go down you tell Caitlin she should head home to get some rest. She protests, of course, but ultimately folds to your request. She comes over and gives you a quick peck which leaves you unsatisfied. You grab her hand and pull her back to give her a proper kiss. As your lips part you mumble a breathy 'I love you'. It was the first time it had been said between the two of you in a manner that wasn't referring to your friendship. The smile that spread across her face lifted your soul.

"I love you," she replies as she leans down pressing her lips against yours. "Well not I REALLY don't want to go," she says with a laugh.

"One night won't hurt anyone - also you need a shower," you say making a face to try and sell the fact that you just called your girlfriend smelly. She scoffs and waves you off.

Following getting out of the hospital, it was a hard reality to face that you weren't going to be able to play ball for a long while. The journey ahead was a long one and you couldn't be more thankful that Caitlin was right by your side.

Two of your friends were coming back with beers when you snapped back to where you were. It was just about time for the athletes to come out and begin their warm-ups. Your heart began to race as you heard the announcer call the teams out.

As both teams make their way onto the floor, your eyes scan for her. As much as you didn't want to, you couldn't help yourself. It took about a whole 5 seconds to find her. Your heart stops and it feels like time slows as you see her running out and making her way to warm up. The first thing you notice is how even after four years, she starts warming up from the same spot. She is on the opposite side of the court facing where you are sitting getting ready to start her pregame ritual. You then notice, how her upper body has filled out a little more as she has matured and increased her strength training. Her hair is in a neatly pulled-back pony with a headband to catch her flyaways. She was as cool as a cucumber.

There were so many things that amazed you about Caitlin but one of the biggest ones was how calm she was before a game. Especially a game like today.

She was completely mesmerizing. You couldn't help but smile, knowing that she was living her dream. You watched her as she continued to warm up and couldn't wait to cheer her on.

The seats you had chosen were right across from Iowa's bench. every game you watched your senior year of high school was from this exact location.

As the warm-ups come to an end and they are just about to announce the starting lineup, your heartbeat begins to quicken...

Going into senior year, your relationship with Caitlin was better than ever. It was a tough journey to come to face the fact that you weren't going to play ball your senior year but you put all that extra energy into loving and supporting Caitlin. You still went to practice and your coach sort of brought you on as an assistant coach. It was great still being a part of the team.

You decided to play the role of the supportive girlfriend during games rather than sitting on the bench with the other players and coaches. It wasn't that you couldn't sit on the bench, rather it came from knowing how competitive Caitlin gets. She didn't need another person telling her how things could have been different or better, she needed someone who was going to cheer her on no matter what and get her out of her head when she got tunnel vision. She was the hardest person on herself.

Before every game when they called her name in the lineup as starting point guard and she made her way down the line of girls she got to the end and pointed to you with a smile. Then at the end of every game, you would wait down the hall of the girls' locker room and greet her when the team got out of their post-game meeting. It became your guys' things.

You weren't expecting it. It didn't even occur to you but when they announce her name and she makes her way down the court and at the end of the line she points directly in your direction and smiles. Your heart stops and she stops in her tracks, her smile dropping immediately. She does a double-take and just stares at you for a second. A small smile starts to creep onto your face and her eyes are on yours. You give her a little nod and she finally breaks away shaking her head with a smile growing on her face. She joins her team for their first huddle of the game.

Your heart feels like it is beating out of its chest. You had imagined it a thousand times since your friends mentioned wanting to go to the championship game. It was the reason you chose these seats. Even in all of the fantasizing about seeing her - you didn't imagine it to actually happen. There were thousands of people in this arena and her eyes found yours.

As the team is in their huddle, she stands up and looks back over at you. A smile now playing on her lips in full view as she can't stop glancing over to the familiar spot.

You want to go down to her and tell her to focus on her coach. Her head needs to be in this game and not turning to look up at you. Although the frequency of her looks brings butterflies to your stomach with every glance.

Once they break, the game begins and you can see Caitlin lock into the game. You cheer with all the other fans as the final game of her college career is underway.

The game is a complete nail-biter. There were times when Caitlin absolutely was killing the game, shooting her signature threes and playmaking. At other times, she let the ball slip and you knew that she would hold onto that but never let anyone see how much it truly affected her. She was really good at shaking off her mistakes in the eyes of others but you knew her too well.

As the game begins to come to an end and you can see the victory slip away from Iowa, your eyes focus on your girl. She is staying composed but you know she is feeling it. In the final minute of the game, Caitlin makes her way to the bench, hugging each one of her coaches then takes a seat with a blank stare.

Your eyes try to stay away from her but she naturally draws your attention. In the final seconds of the game, as South Carolina begins to celebrate Caitlin's eyes make their way to yours. You only hold them for a second but that was all you needed to know she was hurting.

The game ends and you see the team head into the locker rooms. Your friends decide to head to the floor to see if they can talk to any of the players (more like the player's brothers), You use this time to sneak away and try to find the Iowa locker room. You know there is no way they would let you in but you start sweet-talking the security guard. In less than 2 minutes, you were pacing in the same spot you would always wait for Caitlin after a game. As you wait for her, your nerves pick up as your mind continues to take you down memory lane...

You and Caitlin had just graduated high school and you were celebrating in your favorite fashion, with her curled up in your side. The plans the two of you had for the summer were laid out on the floor next to you. It was going to be the best summer and indeed it was until it wasn't.

It was a few days before Caitlin needed to head off for off-season training at the University of Iowa. You were hanging out at her house in her gym. You both had been avoiding the elephant in the room.

It was a conversation you both knew you needed but didn't want to have. You knew that Caitlin's only commitment was to play D1 ball which was once your dream too. You also know to do that, she couldn't have anything holding her back.

The two of you finish some conditioning which leaves you both panting and sitting on the floor.

"As much as I love you, I hate doing cardio," you say in between breaths.

"Ya well, my favorite form of cardio involves a lot less running and a lot more of you..." she says with a smile. "Caitlin!" You gasp and push her over as she bursts out laughing.

You let out a few laughs yourself but then hear her quiet down. Looking over at her, you see her whole mood shifts. She comes in and hugs your torso, burying her face in you. You scoot closer to hold her, knowing what is about to come next. It feels like hours pass before you decide to speak.

"Caitlin, you know I love you. And I want the world for you. You are and will always be my best friend," you say rubbing her back. She squeezes you even more. "We both know where your head needs to be when you head to training. You will always be my person but in this next season you need to be your teams' person."

Silence fills the space again. Your eyes begin to fill with tears and you swallow the sobs that taunt your lips. Then she finally speaks.

"You are my person," she says just above a whisper, you almost miss it.

"This doesn't mean I will stop being your person. Like I said, I will always be your person. We both knew this was coming and we have done a really good job of putting it off," you try to lighten the mood. She doesn't budge.

She lets go of you and sits up. You wipe away her tears. They just keep falling.

"I just don't like the idea of losing you," she says as she starts playing with a piece of your hair. "You aren't losing me, babe," you reply but both of you knew that wasn't true.

"This was always the plan," you start. "And I will always be cheering you on," you say with the best smile you could muster. No matter how much it would hurt you would support her until your last breath.

"So that means you will be at the championship game when I take Iowa to the NCAA championship?" her question lightening the mood.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," you say as you give her one last kiss.

You are pulled back to reality when you hear some of the players head out. Caitlin was typically the last one out of the lockers and with the way you knew she was feeling it was going to be a minute.

It is about another 15 minutes of you pacing in the hallway for the door to open again. Your head whips around to see her coming out. She looks completely defeated. She would never show this side of her to the press.

As you turn to face her, she looks up. You say the only thing that felt right.

"Hey, you."

She immediately makes her way to you. Your arms wrap around her as her head buries its way into your neck. Despite her being taller, Caitlin loved to be held as if she was the shorter one. Your heels were definitely helping.

"I really wanted that," she mumbles into you after a few moments. You rub her back like you always used to. "I know...I know."

"Your legacy is so much more than that one game and I am so beyond proud of everything you have accomplished," you begin. "And with that, I know this was one of your dreams." Caitlin stays quiet and sinks into being held by you.

The two of you finally break apart, her hand doesn't leave your arm and you can't complain. You missed her touch so much. You missed her. She keeps rubbing your arm and you feel like you will melt.

"I have to head into a press meeting, but can we catch up later? Are you staying in town?" Caitlin asks.

"I came into town with some friends, we are staying at a hotel a few blocks away. Call me when you are done with press?" You reply hopeful.

"I'll call you the second I am out," she ways with a smile. Oh how you missed that smile.

You head back to the hotel you are staying at to change into something a little more casual. Your friends checked in and told you they were going out to a bar and wanted you to meet up with them. You let them know you were catching up with an old friend and that they shouldn't wait up for you. You get ready to meet up with Caitlin - changing your shirt and shoes into something more comfortable, keeping the jeans you wore to the game. Right after you finish changing your phone begins to ring.

"Hey you," you answer as you begin to gather a few things in your purse.

"Hey babe," Caitlin responds causing your cheeks to blush and your stomach to fly. A smile is plastered on your face. "I am out of press and am going to head to my hotel, would you be up for meeting me there?"

"Of course, just shoot over the address and I will head that way," you say as your phone pings. She was already sending it as you asked.

"I will see you in a few," she says before you both hang up.

You make your way to her hotel which is surprisingly only a 10-minute walk. You follow her directions on how to get up to her room and knock on the door. The nerves begin to build up and you feel like you are back in high school. Your hands make their way to rub against your jeans, a familiar place for them today.

Caitlin opens the door with a huge smile on her face as she moves away to let you in. "I thought it would be better to meet here, a little more privacy," she says as she closes the door.

The two of you spend the next 4 hours catching up on life and how college has been. She talks about all the records she has broken and how she can finally start looking at what comes after college ball. She talks about her family and how much they miss you. You follow her by also mentioning how your parents are so proud of her and miss her as well. You continue by talking about how you are going full-time with the company you are working for post-graduation. You talk about all the traveling you have been able to do and she gets to pitch in with the travels that she has done. It was like no time as passed, I mean above all you were best friends.

As the conversation begins to die down you realize how close the two of you became. You are sitting on a couch with your legs hanging over her lap and her hands on your knee.

A sigh escapes your lips as you close your eyes and take in the moment. You feel her hand begin to make its way to your thigh.

"Seeing you in the crowd today was something else," Caitlin begins. You cut her off, "Well I made a promise once to be there if a certain someone that if they made it to the championship, I would be there."

"If???" Caitlin yells with a fake offended tone and slaps your knee. You let out a little yelp, "Okay, okay, when." Your eyes roll as she starts to draw patterns on your leg.

After another long pause, Caitlin speaks again.

"I think we made a mistake," she says not daring to look you in the eye.

If you were going to be honest, you never wanted to end things when you went to college but you weren't going to make things harder than they had to be. Long distance wouldn't have worked for the two of you. You would have managed but with her schedule and yours, it would have done more damage than good. So you didn't fight her but there were numerous times that you wish would would have fought for her on ending things.

"I think I made a mistake," she continues as she finally looks up at you. You take her hands in yours and reply, "It was the right decision at the time. We didn't know better, we were young."

You continue. "But that was then and here we are now," touching her arm and giving it a little squeeze. After seeing her and how she has filled out, you have been waiting to get your hands on her arms. "And we are both about to graduate and my plan was to come back to Iowa..."

"There is no one like you," she says as she leans closer to you. You let out a little laugh.

"No Caitlin, there is no one like you," you say as your hand comes up to cup her face. You both smile as your lips meet. It is like no time has passed, her lips are still so familiar.

After a few more kisses, you both moved to the bed. She curled up into your side and your arms made their around her. You are her home and she is yours.

"I love you," you whispered as you kissed her head.

"And I love you," she responds as you both drift to sleep, more at peace than either of you have felt over the past four years.

AN: TADA! Let me know your thoughts! And as always, thank you for your love and support 🤍

Now go check out PART 2!

#caitlin clark #cc #caitlin clark x reader #iowa hawkeyes #caitlin clark imagine #iowa wbb

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xx-like-a-villian-xx · 9 months ago

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I'd Love To Watch

You’re forced to share a room with Noah and he wonders what book you’re reading.

This one is for all my dark romance reading babes, stay slay 🥀

My ao3 is HERE

Also let me know if you want to be tagged in anything upcoming posts, (I have so many WIPs)

CW: one bed trope (ugh my fave), mentions of dark romance, fingering, Noah is a MUNCH, squirting, forced proximity (let me know if I need to add any more)

18+ MDNI | Noah Sebastian x Reader

“Are you kidding me?” You groan, staring at the second suitcase in the bedroom that you called dibs on when you arrived at the Airbnb. “Matt, who put their shit in my room?” You call out to your best friend and tour manager who walks towards you, a smug smirk on his face.

”Well Noah kept saying he would take the couch but there’s a California King in there so I told him he should just bunk in with you tonight.” He leans against the doorframe, grinning. “Call it team building.”

”Team building?” You scoff, exasperated.

All you want is one night to yourself without being stuck in a bus full of sweaty guys and Matt thinks it's funny to let the man you’ve been trying to avoid all tour share your room.

Noah doesn’t like you, it’s been clear since day one. Every time he talks to you he’s so patronising and cocky it makes your blood boil but it’s not like you can say much. You’re just their merch girl after all, replaceable. If it wasn’t for Matt you wouldn’t even have the opportunity so you keep your mouth closed and stay out of Noah’s way unless it’s important.

“Does Noah know that we’re sharing?” You fold your arms over your chest, staring at your best friend.

Matt chuckles. “More than aware, he actually seemed fine with it.” Your eyebrow raises in surprise and he laughs. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You watch Matt retreat to his room and get to work pulling your pyjamas out from your suitcase, locking yourself in the bathroom to get ready for what you now know is going to be a hell of a long night.

While brushing your teeth you hear someone shuffle into the bedroom and you groan internally. Spitting the toothpaste into the sink, you gather your discarded clothes from the day and take a deep breath before opening the en-suite door.

Noah is lying spread eagle on the bed, wearing a pair of basketball shorts with no top, scrolling on his phone. He doesn’t even acknowledge your presence when you put your things back into your suitcase. You roll your eyes, grabbing your book to sit in the window seat across from the bed for a while, quietly reading to yourself. The silence is thick and you can hear his heavy breathing, distracting you from your book.

Your eyes flick from the dark romance novel to the man on the bed, eyes trailing over the expanses of ink that cover his toned skin and you feel heat pooling in your core.

”Anyone ever told you it’s rude to stare?” His voice breaks you out of your trance and your eyes flick back to the words on the page.

You scoff. “I wasn’t staring, you just breathe really loud and it’s pissing me off.”

He chuckles darkly. “Yeah, sure thing sweetheart.”

The sound of movement reaches your ears but you daren’t look at him, lifting the book higher to hide your red face. Suddenly the novel is snatched from your hands and you scramble to grab it back from him.

”Heartless Heathens?” He hums, holding the book out of your reach as he reads the blurb then flicks through a couple of pages, eyes widening. “Jesus, Y/N. I didn’t realise you were into this kinky shit.”

Your face is tomato red, burning hot as you try to wrestle the book from his hands.

“Noah give me my book back!”

All he does is laugh, eyes flicking back and forth as he reads the page I had bookmarked. “Oh my god! ‘Does that tight pussy hurt when my fat cock stretches it out like this?’ Wow…”

His dark eyes meet yours and you squeeze them shut out of embarrassment, hiding your face with your hands.

”You like that shit, huh?” You can hear the amusement in his voice as steps forward, throwing the book down on the window seat. You want the ground to swallow you up when you feel him staring down at you.

You huff, removing your hands from your face. “Loads of people do, it’s just a book.”

“I mean, do you like that stuff? Guys talking to you like that in bed? Asking you if it hurts when they stretch you out on their cock?”

You laugh, he’s joking right? You look up at him and your mouth goes dry when you see his dark eyes, pupils blown wide with lust.

”I don’t know,” you shrug. “I haven’t been with anyone for a couple of years, I don’t really have the time.”

Noah looks taken aback at your words and his lips turn up into a smirk. “A pretty girl like you? Surely you have guys begging for a chance in every state we visit.”

You chortle, crossing your arms. “Unlike most guys, I don’t need sex.”

He scoffs, picking the book back up. “So you just read this casually?”

”Most of the time.”

”And the rest of the time?”

The hot flush returns to your cheeks, reaching the tips of your ears. “That’s none of your business.”

He starts to flick through the pages again, humming as he reads. “Can I take a guess?”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever, go ahead.” You throw yourself down onto the bed, sitting against the headboard as he paces, reading.

“I think you like this Corvin guy most, I can imagine you getting all hot and bothered when you read his parts and you can’t help but find yourself fingerfucking yourself in your bunk when everyone is asleep.” His head tilts when he stops to look at you, his eyes searching for the telltale signs of your arousal, grinning when he sees your thighs clench together. “Am I correct?”

You shake your head in disbelief. What’s his game and why is he trying to get under your skin over some book. Your underwear feels damp from the wetness that is pooling at your core from his words and you have to stop yourself from lunging at him, to either punch him or kiss him…you’re unsure which one would be more satisfying.

”C’mon Y/N, tell me.” He sits next to you, pointing at a section where the main character is riding Corvin. “Is this what you get off to?”

You feel all too hot and bothered with him sitting next to you with his shirt off, tattooed skin taunting you as he tries to coerce the secrets of your alone time out of you.

”If I wasn’t in here right now is that what you’d be doing? Getting off over your little dark romance book?”

”What’s your deal Noah? Why do you want to know about all this?” You sit up straighter and he lounges back, eyeing you humorously.

He shrugs. “It’s just cute that you read this horny stuff. I never took you as the type to get riled up by it, is all.”

”You’d be surprised.” You mumble and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

”You read worse?”

”Oh shut up, Noah. It’s just dumb fiction, why are we even still talking about this?”

He turns to his side, propping himself up on his elbow, eyes burning into the side of your head. “Because I can tell how hot and bothered you are right now and it’s kind of sexy, I must admit.”

You gulp at his words, staring straight ahead in a conscious effort not to look at him or all of your resolve might falter.

”So tell me, were you so pissed about having to share this room because you wanted some special alone time tonight with your little smut novel?”

You can feel his smirk and the tension in the room thickens, turning into a storm cloud of lust.

”You can still do it, you know.”

Your eyes finally dart to his smug face and your eyebrows furrow. “What?”

He shrugs casually. “You can still get yourself off, I could read to you if you want?”

Your swallow thickly, your core throbbing at his words. “No, that’s weird.”

Noah chuckles. “Masturbation isn’t we-“

”I fucking know that! What’s weird is you’re my boss and you’re offering to read to me while I make myself cum. Do you hear yourself?”

You can’t lie to yourself, the offer is almost too tempting. It’s not fair that the most attractive man you know is basically offering to help you get your rocks off but he hates you right? He’s always so moody and weird around you. Why is he being like this?

He sits up, scooting closer so your shoulders are touching and he leans close to your ear, his breath tickling the skin of your cheek. “Or I could tell you every wicked little fantasy I’ve had about you since you waltzed into the studio with Matt all those years back.’

Your eyebrows raise and you turn to him, his mouth just inches from yours. “You fantasise about me?”

He laughs, a smug sound that makes you want to punch him. “Oh yeah, my favourite is the one where I get to bend you over and rip apart those fishnets you love to wear, the ones with the lace flowers on.” His eyes darken as he reminisces over the lewd thoughts and your mind wanders.

How would it feel to have his hands all over you, tearing away those expensive tights that you adore? How would it feel to have him buried to the hilt inside you as he pushes your head into whatever surface he can find? Fuck its all too much.

”Noah, we shouldn’t talk about this stuff.” You try to reason with yourself but your resolve quickly disappears when his long inked finger trails up the bare skin of your thigh, stopping at the hem of your silky black pyjama shorts.

“Why? We’re both adults.” He smiles almost innocently.

”Because you don’t like me.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Since when? Didn’t I just tell you that I literally think about how I want to bend you over?”

You roll your eyes. “You literally talk to me like shit the majority of the time.”

”I like watching you squirm.” His smile is cocky and it only sends more electricity to your core because he’s right, he does make you squirm and you like it too.

A lust filled silence lingers in the air as he stares into your eyes, a smirk plastered on his lips.

”So do you still want to get yourself off, I’d love to watch.” He cocks an eyebrow and there it is, the last of your resolve leaving out the window.

”Fine.”

He’s like a kid in a candy shop when he sits up, watching you lie down on the bed. Your heart hammers in your chest as you close your eyes, trying to pretend he isn’t there. You slide the silk shorts down your legs, leaving the black lace thong on and your hand travels over the soft fabric, running over the damp patch that is only getting bigger.

You gasp when you slide your hand between the fabric, fingers slipping between your slick folds, easily finding the sensitive bundle of nerves that's been begging to be touched since you walked out of the bathroom to find Noah sprawled out shirtless on the bed. Oh how you wanted to just climb on top of him, to sink down on his cock like you owned him.

A quiet whimper escapes your lips when you circle your clit, slowly teasing yourself to the images of Noah’s cock buried deep inside your cunt. You feel him shift next to you to get a better look at your movements, how your fingers move under the dark lace of your panties. You hear him take a shaky breath and it sends shockwaves to your sensitive core.

“Does that feel good?” His voice is deep, coarse in your ear and you whine out a confirmation, moving your fingers faster over your clit. “God, you don’t know how good you sound. Do you like it when I talk to you?”

”Y-yes.” You sigh and he chuckles.

”Such a good girl.” He whispers, breath tickling your ear. “Do you want me to tell you what to do, huh? Do you want to be good for me and remove your underwear so I can see how you touch that pretty little pussy? God, I bet it’s so perfect.”

You whimper, using your spare hand to push the lace down your thighs, kicking them off as you toy with yourself. Noah leans forward, a hand landing on your thigh to pull your legs further apart and a feral groan leaves his throat when you spread yourself open for him to see just how wet you are, fingers covered in wet slick.

”Oh fuck, you look so good sweetheart. Show me how you bury those pretty fingers in there.”

You push two fingers into your core, the wet sound reaching your ears. You don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on in your life. You hear Noah’s breathing quicken as he watches you fuck yourself with your fingers, soft moans leaving your bitten lips.

”Doing so fucking well for me.” The praise feels like heaven when it meets your ears and you speed up, curling your fingers upwards. “Fuck, what I would do to bury my own fingers inside you.”

”Please.” You whine, opening your eyes to look at him, your breath coming out in pants when his lust blown eyes meet yours.

“Please what?” He smirks, tucking a piece of stray hair behind your ear as you find your clit again, rubbing your soaked fingers over the sensitive bud.

“I need your fingers inside me, please.” You’re so fucking needy and you can tell how much he gets off on it by how his smirk grows into a cruel grin and he holds his fingers against your plump lips.

”Are you gonna suck them for me? Get them nice and wet like the good little slut you are?” Your eyes roll back at his words and he gasps when your tongue swirls around the calloused pads of his fingers, soaking them with your saliva.

He pushes two long fingers into your warm mouth and you hollow your cheeks around them, staring up at him with innocent eyes that make his aching cock strain against his shorts. He pulls his fingers out with a pop and trails them down the valley of your clothed chest, down your navel to where your own fingers are still toying with your clit. Your eyes follow and your hand moves, giving him full access to where you need him most.

”You gonna watch me fuck you with my fingers huh?” He smiles sweetly, sliding his fingers up and down your drenched folds teasingly.

You nod, leaning up on your elbows to watch his slender fingers disappear between your folds, rubbing tight circles around your clit and you gasp his name, your mouth falling open at the immense pleasure. He chuckles, sliding them to your entrance to gather the wetness that pools there, moving back to your clit to play with it all too slowly.

”Please Noah.” You whine and he tuts.

”Be patient, I’ll get there. I want a better look.”

He moves to lie between your legs, pushing your legs further apart to get a good look at your glistening cunt. You can feel his breath hot against you and you could just cum right there without him even touching you, especially with how he looks up at you through those long lashes, eyes black and predatory like he wants to eat you whole.

“You’ve got such a perfect pussy, fuck.” He groans, pushes his long middle finger in, the dark ink disappearing inch by inch inside your cunt and you moan louder than expected, your hand flying to your mouth to keep yourself quiet. “Fuck, it feels so good, so soft.”

A second finger joins the first and he slowly curls them, finding that spot that leaves you seeing stars, your eyes rolling back, your head lolling back on your shoulders. His spare hand grips your inner thigh with a bruising hold and you're sure there will be bruises there tomorrow but you don’t mind, it feels like heaven.

”My mouth is so close to your pussy I can practically taste you.” He growls and your hips buck, pushing his fingers even deeper inside you. He chuckles darkly. “Do you want me to taste you?”

You sob, nodding enthusiastically.

”Use your words, pretty girl.” He hums, kissing your pelvic bone.

”Please taste me.”

He hums, his hot tongue dragging over your folds before his lips close around your clit, leaving you gobsmacked from how fucking good his tongue feels against you with his fingers fucking into you.

You’re close, you can feel that tightness building in your lower abdomen, so fucking close. His fingers curl faster, his tongue lapping over your clit like you’re the last water source on Earth and you’re falling. Your legs shake, a feral groan leaving your lips as your orgasm rips through your body like a fucking tornado. His fingers only move faster as his lips leave your sensitive clit and you're tipping over the edge again just as quickly, gushing around his fingers and the bed sheets below.

”Fuck, good girl!” He grins, lapping your sweet nectar from your thighs. “Think you’ve got another?”

You have no time to protest, he rises to slide between your thighs, fingers still buried deep inside your cunt as he stares down at you, curling them fast exactly where he knows he can drag another orgasm from you. His free hand covers your mouth when you cum again, screaming into his palm, soaking the front of his shorts where his leaking cock strains against them.

”Good fucking girl, well done!” He kisses your forehead, pulling his drenched hand away from your sensitive core to suck his fingers clean.

You stare at him in bewilderment when he smiles down at you. You’re in shock at how much you just came for a man you thought hated you half an hour ago.

”I think I need to catch you reading more.” He chuckles.

”Shut the fuck up.” You roll your eyes, pulling him into a searing kiss.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“So you two didn’t kill each other last night?” Matt smirks when you make your way downstairs in the morning, wearing one of Noah’s shirts with him freshly showered following behind you.

Folio storms past, looking a little worse for wear. “I would’ve preferred it if they did, I need to bleach my ears.” He groans, pouring himself a mug of coffee.

You blush bright red, throwing a grape at the drummer and Noah wraps his arms around your torso, pulling you into his lap.

”Guess my plan worked then.” Matt chuckles, popping a grape in his mouth with a grin.

#noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian smut #bad omens band #bad omens #bad omens fic #bad omens cult #band fic #fanfiction

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skzdarlings · 8 months ago

Text

bodyguard: the first guard | part two | chan/reader

masterlist.

(part one of the previous story.)

( read on AO3 )

A sequel to the Bodyguard. Miroh's daughter is assigned a bodyguard of her own. The past is confronted when old friendships and new enemies are pushed to the brink.

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: sequel to the bodyguard (felix/reader). this is a new reader perspective. the previously established story dyanmics: explicit violence, mentions of torture, death. chapter word count: 12,000 words.

B E F O R E

Felix is wearing itchy civilian clothes, the jeans distractingly stiff. Regardless of how many field missions he is assigned, he never gets used to undercover disguises.

“Look what I found,” Chris says, dropping into the seat beside him.

Chris looks marginally more at ease in his baggy basketball shorts and baseball cap, passing for a teenage boy on an afternoon train with his friend. They are in the passenger car outside the first class cabin, a compartment that should contain their mark but presently sits empty.

“Uh, the target?" Felix asks. “You know, the thing you just went to find?”

Chris giggles like the whole situation is funny. Felix is far less amused. This should have been an easy job: get in, kill the mark, steal back the data he took from Miroh, and get out. But so far it has been tedious.

Felix can’t even blame Chris this time. For some reason, Chris has been more accommodating lately. Chris is fifteen, almost sixteen, and Felix is twelve. They have both been active in the field for a couple years. Felix is not sure why Chris has opted for sudden compliance. He does not necessarily volunteer for jobs but he accepts them without much grudging reluctance. He will occasionally voice his worser grievances but for the most part he is keeping his head down.

Maybe it is the result of all those punishing sentences in the Cell. More than once he has been shoved down there, sometimes alone and sometimes with Miroh’s daughter. Felix would not want to spend any isolated time with her. But maybe she is intimidating enough to get through to Chris.

Whatever it is, it is working. Excluding moments like this when Chris is giggling and distracted and doesn’t seem to care about the job at all.

“Relax, Felix,” Chris says. “It’s a train. There’s only so many places he can be, yeah?”

“Well, there’s one place he’s supposed to be but he isn’t there, is he?” Felix says.

“Lighten up, mate,” Chris says. “We’re supposed to look normal. Normal kids have fun.”

Chris dumps a candy bag in Felix’s lap. Felix looks at it like it’s a bomb.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Felix asks.

Chris opens his own bag and starts eating the candy.

“That,” he says. He tosses a piece in the air and catches it in his mouth. When he tries to do it again, Felix snatches it mid-air and throws it on the floor. This makes Chris laugh.

“He was in the dining car,” Chris relents. “Four security officers. Ex-military. Piece of cake.”

“Why didn’t you say that before?” Felix asks, annoyed. He starts to stand but Chris yanks him back into his seat.

“The hell, man?” Chris says. “You gonna go ventilate the guy while a bunch of civilians are having afternoon tea? Ya think that might blow our cover? Just a bit?”

Felix frowns but he knows Chris is right. Miroh does not like a public mess. They will have to wait until the mark returns to the privacy of his cabin.

Felix does not like waiting. It is a part of a soldier’s training, but his least favourite part by far. He prefers action. With the quiet stillness comes fear, doubt.

The latter makes him sweat. He tries not to think about it. His life is his mission. Through Miroh, Felix has contributed good things to the world. Lately, it just seems like no matter what he does, the world does not stay good.

The Enemy has been dead for two years. The new enemy, his idiot heir, has holed up like a dragon guarding his hoard. He has built defences so high that not even an army like Miroh’s can breach it. There has been no retaliation, no offensive strike like the old enemy, but these deep roots are almost more sinister. Felix is starting to think this might be hopeless. That maybe Miroh is wrong. That maybe some things cannot be saved.

Felix crinkles the candy bag in his lap. He gathers himself and exhales.

“Fine,” he says. “How long do you think he will be distracted? Enough time to get the data?”

“If it’s in there, yeah,” Chris says. “Might as well check. He just started eating so we should have some time.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

Chris frowns like Felix is inconveniencing him with the job they were sent here to do.

Felix is not in the mood to argue. He shoves his candy bag in his back pocket and pushes past Chris. They make their way down the aisle. No one lifts their head, the two boys disappearing in their inconspicuous disguises.

They pick the lock to the first class cabin. Felix opens the door and looks around the room, for a moment a little stupefied by the luxury. It is all deep mahogany and gold trim. Their target is an engineer who stole designs from Miroh to sell to the enemy. The wealth of this cabin exemplifies that corruption, surely.

Felix tells himself that as he rifles through the luggage. He finds a laptop and tells Chris to stand guard while he collects the data. Chris is the better fighter but Felix is better with technology.

The laptop loads. The home screen is the mark with his family, three smiling, sunny-faced children, all younger than Felix. It gives him a queasy, uneasy feeling, a feeling that should be long scrubbed out of him by now.

He blames it on the rocking of the train carriage. Physical sensations can manipulate mental energy.

He searches through the computer storage for the stolen designs. Both Miroh and the enemy are chasing government building contracts, tying their businesses irrevocably to political power and pursing relationships therein. These plans will cinch the deal for whichever party has them. The engineer who betrayed Miroh masqueraded as a potential recruit before stealing the plans.

There is only one problem; Felix knows how to read metadata and he cannot find anything that was once on Miroh’s servers. In fact, some of these designs go back years, well before Miroh even considered pursuing these contracts.

“What’s taking so long?” Chris asks, poking his head in the room. “You’re usually a computer whiz. Is something wrong?”

“The files aren’t here,” Felix says. For the fifth or sixth time, he opens what looks like the plans. Everything except the metadata matches the description. But that metadata does not lie.

These files do not belong to Miroh.

Chris double checks the corridor before joining Felix. They look at the files together.

“Isn’t that it?” Chris asks. “It looks like the right thing.”

“Yeah, but it’s not,” Felix says, his eyes darting frantically all over the screen. “Or it should be. But these, uh, these files aren’t Miroh’s.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this guy stole the plans from Miroh. But all these files are original. They were never on Miroh’s servers.”

There is a moment of quiet. Chris is not famous for reservation so Felix looks at him. He is embarrassed to find a pitying look on Chris’s face.

“Felix,” Chris says. “Come on, man.”

It is not exactly a condescending tone, rife with too much sympathy to be so cruel, but It sounds like Chris is saying, don’t be stupid.

Felix swallows. He looks down at the plans. The realization hits him and the words come to his mouth, rising like bile.

“We’re not stealing back the plans,” Felix says. “We’re just stealing them. Aren’t we?”

“Well, yeah,” Chris says. “You didn’t know that?”

“How did you know that?” Felix snaps back, embarrassed and upset and very, deeply confused.

“It wasn’t exactly a stretch,” Chris says. “It’s what Miroh does. It’s what they all do. You haven’t figured that out yet? You?”

Felix, who has done the most assignments. Felix, who is the most successful agent in the special-ops program. Felix, who is the best only because the real best refuses to be.

He studies Chris, this older boy who seems so confident he has all the answers. Felix does not even know all the questions. He feels that weakness and vulnerability he so hates, the entirely world suddenly unfamiliar enemy terrain.

“Look, it’s fine,” Chris says. “Just take the data and we’ll leave. We’ll tell Miroh the mark got away. He cares more about the plans anyway.”

“Lie,” Felix says. “You want us to lie to Miroh?”

“It’s not a lie,” Chris says. “It’s just protecting the truth.”

Felix stares at him. Chris, on steadier feet than Felix, sighs and pushes Felix out of the way. He loads the data onto the external hard drive himself. He then makes a show of ejecting it and putting it in his pocket.

“Let’s go,” Chris says.

Felix does not get a chance to protest because the door opens. They have no time to react. In seconds, they are joined by the mark’s security team.

Felix knows how to fight. It is second nature to him. He should not need to think.

But he does. He overthinks. He gets a look at the mark before a bodyguard whisks him away. Felix thinks of the smiling faces on those children. He thinks how he is not much older than them.

There is a growing pit of anxiety inside him. It swallows him whole.

Felix and Chris fight to get away. Chris could take all these guards on his own but he is trying to avoid severely hurting them. That distracts Felix too. Suddenly, Chris’s refusal to fight does not seem like cowardice but instead it is something Felix cannot name. Something he once saw in Miroh but doesn’t anymore.

Distracted, Felix does not fight like he usually does.

The first class cabin is a private attachment at the back of the train. The fight lead onto the outside landing at the end of the car. A guard dislocates Felix’s shoulder. The next thing Felix knows, he is tumbling over the railing. He manages to grip with his good arm, holding all of his body weight to avoid getting snagged and ripped along the train tracks.

But it won’t save him. He’s going to die. The realization hits him like any other calculation in a fight, when he measures his odds and deduces his best move.

He has none. The train is moving too fast and he is at a bad angle to jump. He has one good arm keeping him alive and no way to fight the approaching guard. Chris has taken out his own adversaries and should be retreating with the data. That is what they are trained to do. The job is more important than the soldier. In a crisis, you leave the weak behind.

Felix braces himself to let go, hoping the above-average strength in his body can also withstand slamming into railroad tracks at high speeds. He suspects even if he does survive, he will be severely injured, abandoned in the middle of nowhere, and dead to the only place he has ever known.

But the guard falls back. Chris knocks him out with sharp efficiency. He then lays the unconscious man down with almost comical gentleness.

Chris runs up to Felix. Felix wants to shout at him – everything from go away and finish the job to my shoulder hurts and I need you to save me.

Chris gives no opportunity for argument or acquiescence. He shouts, “Hold on!” Then he swings himself over the railing. He wraps an arm around Felix and hauls him into his side. Once secure, he carries them back over the rail and onto the landing.

“What are you doing?” Felix asks. He cannot slow the race of his heart, seemingly tethered to the thunder of the train car against the tracks. He is not sure it will ever slow again. He thinks he might remember this moment forever.

“What am I doing?” Chris asks. He laughs for some forsaken reason. “Just doing this, mate,” he says.

He seizes Felix by his injured shoulder. Felix winces, having only seconds to brace himself before Chris shoves his dislocated shoulder back into place. Agony washes over Felix, hot and sharp, the pain rattling him worse than the actual dislocation.

“Sorry,” Chris says. “Sometimes getting better hurts more for a bit.”

The rest of the mission is a blur to Felix, lost to the throbbing ache in his shoulder and a similar pain taking root inside him.

They make it back to Miroh’s facility. Chris hands the hard drive off to an upper level agent while Felix sees a medic. The bag of candy is still in his back pocket. He sits in the infirmary a long time, just crinkling it between his fingers. He feels like his world is crashing around him.

It is days before Felix has an opportunity to see Chris again. They are in different barracks because of their age difference, the soldiers grouped by year. When Felix finds Chris in the corridor, Chris is talking to Miroh’s daughter who lives in the barracks too. They are on their way to their bunks.

Felix taps Chris on the shoulder. Chris looks at him, his laughing expression faltering when he sees Felix. He must see something in him that Felix cannot even recognize in himself.

Chris turns to Miroh’s daughter and says, “I’ll catch up, yeah?”

She spares Felix a glance and Felix feels an unusually panicked skip in his blood. It feels like she can see his mental turbulation the way Chris can. But unlike the rest of them, she has a direct line to Miroh. She might live and act like a soldier but she is more and always will be. Felix balks under her scrutiny, worried she will see his doubt and report it right back to Miroh.

Felix is grateful when she leaves. But when Chris looks at him so expectantly, Felix no longer knows what to say.

It takes a moment.

“I wouldn’t have done the same for you,” Felix finally says. It comes out as instinctively as a punch. “I wouldn’t have saved your life. I would have just finished the job.”

Chris blinks at him. He exhales on a laugh. Then he claps Felix’s good shoulder, a touch of clear camaraderie.

“I know, Felix,” he says. “I didn’t do it so you would pay me back. I didn’t do it because I thought you would do the same. I did it because it was the right thing to do.”

Felix thought he was speechless before but now he is truly at a loss. Even his long engrained instincts fail. He is out of punches.

Chris just smiles at his confusion. With one final nod, he turns and retreats to his bunk.

Felix stands in the corridor, wounded but bandaged. He stares at the place where Chris stood, like if he looks long enough then Felix will understand what Chris understands. That maybe there is a right and wrong outside of what they have been taught. Maybe things exist outside of this place.

Maybe some things can be saved.

P R E S E N T D A Y

“Ah, it’s the classic story,” Changbin says with a sigh. “A boy and a girl, forced to share a bed. He is her bodyguard. She is an heiress. Should we kiss on the lips?”

You whack him in the gut with a pillow and he erupts with giggles.

Changbin has been your so-called bodyguard for a few weeks now. It has changed little in your daily routine as your father had assigned Changbin to your department sometime before that. The special-ops program was written off as an experiment with potential for future development, though that development has long sat arrested. Bang Chan is in your father’s direct employ while Changbin has been on different teams fulfilling different missions. When you started taking the lead on projects, he served under your direction.

It is why your father is not happy. The bodyguard arrangement was meant to assert his control over you, using an agent as his eyes and hands. Miroh is not good at relinquishing power, not even to someone like him, or maybe especially to someone like him. You have always been a good, loyal, obedient soldier and daughter. Taking over projects and assuming command was inevitable. Somehow you have wronged him by doing everything right.

Lately, your work has been meagre clean-up duty. Miroh has been accruing assets and terrorizing his way into the mess left behind by his late enemy. It is making Miroh’s paranoia even worse. He has seen for himself how this powerful house fell apart just because its patriarch died. The business was left in shambles, underlings squabbling like helpless children. It was ripe for picking.

You have been cleaning whatever mess is left behind. This week you have been cleaning out some old office buildings, primarily sifting through abandoned storage for anything useful that might have been sequestered. You are spending the night at a nearby safe house, sharing a room with Changbin. The rest of your team is scattered around the house.

Seeing as your father has relegated you with menial tasks, you have taken it upon yourself to conduct your own investigations. Your findings have been on your mind all day. It is why you do not respond to Changbin’s joking with your usual wit.

“You’re quiet, murder princess,” Changbin says. “Should I be worried?”

He drops his mask on the nearby desk then unholsters his gun. He places it beside yours. It is a testament to your dynamic that you feel comfortable disarming around each other. You would certainly never do it around your father. But Changbin is different. You are not someone who seeks true friendship but you acknowledge the necessity of teamwork especially in times of crisis. You do not fully trust Changbin as you do not fully trust anyone, but he is loyal and you reciprocate that dependability.

It is why you beckon him forward. You are sitting on the bed, feet on the floor. Changbin pulls up a chair to sit in front of you.

“The enemy had a multi-level security system,” you say. “Physical in some capacities, digital in others. My father has always been more preoccupied with offense than defense, so in that regard they were always a step ahead of us. That is the part my father is interested in. That is all he sees.”

“And what do you see?” Changbin asks. His disposition changes with the severity of your words, joviality replaced with equal seriousness.

“I don’t see anything,” you say. “That’s the problem.”

He lifts an eyebrow, curious. You show him the image on your tablet, then swipe to the next one.

“The security log is missing information,” you say. “There is no trace of anything unusual transpiring the day they were all killed. No breach, no shutdown. Everything is normal until everything is gone. Someone scrubbed every last second of data from the digital system. Someone who knew the system well enough to not just delete the surface files but to clean the server entirely.”

“So what are you saying?” Changbin asks. “You think it was an inside job?”

“I know it wasn’t us,” you reply. “I know it wasn’t any of the usual players. This family had enemies in every market. If it was one of them, you’d think they would have stepped forward to assert themselves by now. Whoever it was had no interest in taking over company assets. No interest in even sticking around. Someone went to great lengths to make the entire thing look ambiguous, to leave everyone asking more questions, to turn our heads in one direction while they disappear in the other. Someone professional. Someone technologically capable. Someone whose only motivation was escape.”

His jaw is clenched as he stares at the images, but you can see the gears turning in his mind. When he meets your gaze, you sit forward.

“Changbin,” you say. “What happened on that mission?”

He does not need specification. Changbin is usually like you, pragmatic and realistic. He does not dwell in his emotions and never for so long. It has been well over a month now but he is still rankled by that warehouse confrontation with Lee Felix.

“Ah, Yongbok,” Changbin says wistfully. His eyes are downturned but his thoughts are somewhere else. “You remember him. He always needed a fairy tale to believe in.”

That much is true. You and Changbin have always been simple soldiers manoeuvring through the morally complicated world around you. You never had any delusions that Miroh was better than his enemies, simply that one or the other was inevitable. You knew you could make a bigger impact in the fight than watching from the sidelines.

Felix was competent but naïve. He believed in Miroh unequivocally which is why he blind-sided them all with his betrayal. To this day, you do not know why he joined the enemy, nor why he stayed.

It makes sense he might have naively devoted himself to a different cause.

“What fairy tale was that?” you ask. “The enemy?”

“Chris.” Changbin looks at you beneath the sweep of his dark bangs. His smile is wry. “He asked me about Chris.”

You blink back at him, surprised by the answer. After stumbling over any number of replies, you say, “That wasn’t in your initial report.”

“It didn’t seem important,” Changbin says with a shrug.

“You have a responsibility to report back everything—”

“Yes, commander,” he says dryly. He slumps in his seat and crosses his arms. “Does it matter now? I told him Chris was dead.”

Not a lie, in a way. Bang Chan was a rebellious subject in his youth, nothing like the merciless soldier he is now. The inhuman machine was wrought through inhumane treatment. You were not privy to the grittier details nor have you ever felt an inclination to investigate. You do not need knowledge of the gruesome torture that was administered. The results are the same: the rebellious boy died. He has been gone ever since he was dragged into a basement room for correction.

“Chris,” you say. The name sits heavy on your tongue. “Why would he want to know about Chris?”

“The better question is, why didn’t he want to know about me?” Changbin retorts. It sounds like a joke, his tone jumping back into comically exaggerated hysterics. But there is a tension in his shoulders that was not there before. “You know he didn’t even recognize me? Ah! The little brat! I knew him too! I wasn’t Bang Chan, no one was … But I was there. Forgetting me… We’re all that’s left!”

You tilt your head and study Changbin, as if there are more answers in his face than in his words. Your gaze drifts to the scar by his eye. He got hit today, taking a swipe meant for you. Other adversaries have sent agents to scour the late enemy’s business remains, but they are no match for soldiers of Miroh.

Changbin joked he was being a good bodyguard. In truth, he is a good bodyguard. Your security team is competent but nothing compared to him. It has made a difference, having someone so reliable at your back, even though it has painted a target on his. Your father is not happy Changbin outsmarted him. Changbin jokes about it, as he is wont to do, claiming he can’t wait for a pummelling of his own. He is probably right. Miroh has been quiet about the bodyguard assignment but that does not mean he has surrendered. He is a strategist. He is patient if it means results.

Raising children into soldiers is a testament to that patience. You look at Changbin, arguably the last true survivor other than yourself.

We’re all that’s left.

You find yourself reaching for him. It is not like you, but lately everything seems out of character. You touch his face, drawn to that scar, a scar that should be yours. You touch it very lightly.

When you meet his eyes, he is looking at you strangely. You are not a famously affectionate character, not even with him. You rip your hand back and shake your head.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, more curious than accusatory.

“Nothing,” you say. “I mean – well.” You scrub a hand over your face. The weeks have healed the worst of your injuries, but it is still littered with scars, including the ones Changbin gave you.

His eyes linger there before he sighs and drops his head. He rubs his face too.

“We’ll talk later,” you say, suddenly feeling the weight of today, not to mention the accumulative exhaustion of the days before. “It’s been a long day.” An understatement.

Changbin doesn’t argue. You separate to use the facilities and dress down for rest. You sleep in sweatpants and a t-shirt, your weapons and shoes not far. The one bed has plenty of space. You lay down first, certain that your mind is running too fast to rest, but all that exhaustion catches up to you.

You wake some time in the middle of the night. When Changbin gets out of bed, the dip and rise of the mattress stirs you. You blink awake, watching him amble over to the window. There is a cushioned seat and he plops down, his arms crossed and his eyes on the stars.

You wonder if you look that young out of combat clothes. His hair is ruffled and the black t-shirt and pants are comfortably fitted. His face looks vulnerable and open as he stares into the night.

“You’re awake too,” he says, not looking at you.

“Obviously,” you reply. You push yourself upright. “You woke me.”

“Sorry,” he says, trying to flash you one of his jovial grins but barely managing.

“You look tired,” you say.

“Thanks,” he replies with a laugh.

“You should go back to sleep.”

“I’m on bodyguard duty,” he jokes, gesturing to you. “I need to make sure no one murders the murder princess.”

You give him a dry look that makes him giggle. Naturally his humour returns at your expense. He really is the little brother you never had.

You slide off the bed and join him at the window seat. You shove and kick like bickering children until you are comfortably settled. You sit with your legs curled up to your chest, mirror images of each other. He looks out the window and you look at him.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he says, an automatic response. Then he shakes his head and sighs. “I don’t know, princess,” he says. “I don’t think you’ll understand.”

“What makes you say that?” You cannot help but feel offended even if he is probably right. You do not have heart-to-hearts, which is what this feels like, a quiet moment carved out of chaos. If everything was different, you would just be two friends talking about your normal lives.

Your life is anything but normal.

“I know you,” he answers, simple and confident. “I know who you are. Even when – well, no matter what happens, I guess.”

“Well,” the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them, “that makes one of us.”

You swallow your thoughts quickly. Your innermost turmoil cannot be entrusted with anyone. It is dangerous to even think such weakness, never mind vocalize it.

Changbin looks at you with a pinch in his brow. You look away, up at the sky. You wonder about the vantage from the stars, seeing the bigger picture of your life. Your pain and sacrifices have to be worth something. Miroh always said the world was full of shadows, dark spots no regular person could clean. He was right about that. He is definitely one of them, but sometimes only darkness can fight darkness. Or so you thought. All this business with the enemy has changed things. That darkness collapsed in on itself like a black hole, taking everything with it.

“It used to be easier, didn’t it?” Changbin asks. “Just doing what you’re told… You can tell yourself it’s not your fault, that it would have happened anyway… Maybe I was believing in fairy tales too.”

You look at each other. He just sighs.

“A part of me feels like I never grew up,” he says. “I’ve always been what I am. Maybe it’s time to stop.”

“That sounds a lot like treason,” you say, realizing how dramatic it sounds after the fact. Miroh is a businessman and this company is not a country. And yet treasonous is what it feels like, a deep betrayal to the place that raised and shaped you into what you are. It feels like treachery to even think about abandoning it after everything.

“Maybe it does,” he says. He gives you another wry smile, flicking his bangs out of his face. “Does it matter? He already wants my beautiful head off its beautiful shoulders.”

“You shouldn’t be saying this to me,” you say. You’re Miroh’s daughter. Your relationship with your father might be fraught, but your loyalty is to this house and always has been. It is the only constant in this tumultuous, violent world.

“Are you gonna tell on me?” Changbin teases, so unserious on such a deathly serious matter. He just laughs at your silent but intense stare. He shakes his head as he looks out the window. “I don’t worry about that.”

“About what?”

“You telling on me.”

That stops your heart faster than the treason.

“Why not?” you ask slowly, as if you are wary of a trap about to spring.

Changbin puts a hand in his hair, shaking out his ruffled bangs. He looks normal but also not, his strong body so clearly built for violence. It is why you are shocked when he reaches out, when he touches you like you touched him, an undemanding press of his fingers along a scar.

Your startled eyes find his. It splits your focus. You see Changbin right now, older, stronger. You also see him younger, thinner, looking at you with concerned eyes as he wipes blood off your brow.

You blink again and it is just him as he is now.

He drops his hand.

“You don’t trust anyone,” he says. “I know. Ha! I really know.” He swings around, planting his feet on the ground. He reaches into his pocket then flicks open a pocketknife.

It should make your heart palpitate, a soldier with a weapon in your proximity, especially when you are unarmed. But there is no rush of blood, no fear, no worry. You just look at him, seeing all of him, young and old. You realize there has been more than one constant in your life.

The knife catches a glint of starlight, a flash of light in the darkness.

“You and I are the same, aren’t we, murder princess?” he says. “But also not. You were raised in the pen with us but it was never the same. We’re just animals to him. Raised to the slaughter, ha! But not you. One way or another, you’re going to be someone.”

You watch as he lifts his hand. He curls and uncurls a fist. He looks down at his palm.

“When it happens,” Changbin says, “Because it will happen, tomorrow or in a month or a year or whenever Miroh decides… But when I go like the rest of them… When it’s just you and you’re trying to decide who you want to be, not who your father wants you to be… When you’re trying to remember everything and you can’t decide what was real and what was just training and what was Miroh…”

He draws a slow slice across his hand, not so deep to be detrimental to his grip, but enough to draw blood in a long, thin line. You look at this small scar as if it the deepest wound you have ever encountered.

“Just… remember me,” he says. “I didn’t bleed because I believe in Miroh. I’m your soldier, not his.”

You are at a loss for words. You do not think there are any words, none that you were raised to know. You can only stare at the little trickle of blood as it runs down his wrist and drips onto the floor.

You have always felt very alone. You learned to thrive in that solitude. Even clinging to the hope of your father’s approval proved exhausting and useless. You accepted your high promontory was a lonely one.

Not even that solitude compares to the idea of Changbin gone. Even if you go weeks without seeing him, he is out there somewhere. You both keep your heads down, get the job done. Not the best soldiers, not the worst, but the ones still here.

You let instinct override your senses for the second time that night. When he makes to stand, your reflexes snap into action. You grab him by the arm and snatch the knife. He has no time to respond, watching as you slice a similar scar on your own palm.

Your eyes meet. You are unflinching, more resolute than ever. You clasp his hand and the blood smears in a signifying pact that needs no other words.

Only when the moment settles do you say, “You’re not a half-bad bodyguard.”

His laughter comes to him slowly, none of that empty joviality but a genuine burst of it. His eyes crinkle and his smiles widens and the laughter bubbles out of him.

“I’m the best bodyguard,” he says. “And don’t you ever fucking forget it.”

In the light of day, last night’s whirlwind of dramatic emotions feel tempered. You and Changbin are able to conduct yourselves with a proper degree of soldiership. Though his words and your promise are in the back of your mind, you put it away for now.

You dress in combat gear and pack your bags for another day of infiltration, investigation, and clean-up. It is hard to say how easy or difficult the day will be. If you encounter other agents, the confrontation could complicate things, but sometimes that is better than a long day with no interesting discoveries at all.

The enemy had properties scattered all over town, some active and some not. This particular office building is a very old one, seemingly long since abandoned and turned into company storage. Some of these boxes have not been touched in decades, perhaps remnants of the business as run by the previous generation.

A thick layer of dust coats the desks and boxes. At least your masks are put to work, filtering the dusty air as you trail through the building.

“Yahhh,” Changbin whines, flicking some papers off a desk. “Today’s going to be boring.”

“Yup,” you say in accord. There is no way anyone else will be here. You doubt there is anything of value to be discovered, but Miroh will harass you if you do not complete his missions as outlined. With so much tension between you already, it is better to keep your head down and complete the menial tasks, even if it is blatant busy work.

A few of your officers are sent ahead to sweep the building. It is not a towering skyscraper but several tall floors nonetheless. Your subordinates take different floors while you and Changbin take an upper level. You begin the tedious task of rifling through the abandoned documentation.

“I’m a supersoldier, not a secretary,” Changbin gripes, moving boxes with more force than necessary.

“You’re not a supersoldier,” you say without looking up from your work. “There’s no such thing.”

“I’m pretty close,” he says, flexing and kissing his bicep.

“When you start flying, maybe I’ll consider it,” you retort, dryly.

“All right, I’m not a supersoldier,” he says. He takes off his mask to grin at you. “But I am super good looking.”

You take off your own mask to throw at him like a projectile. He squeals and ducks, then proceeds to cuss you out for the next few minutes while you smile.

Eventually he takes a seat. He props his booted feet up on a desk while sorting through some papers with absent-minded perusal.

“So tell me again about the security log,” Changbin says, evidently growing bored within minutes.

You can hardly blame him. It is why you are about to reply, but your thoughts are quickly obliterated. Gunfire reverberates in the nearby stairwell, followed by shouting and thumping. Seconds later, your warning pagers are vibrating. Your officers’ voices come through the communications software.

“Hostile enemy agents breached ground zero,” they say. “Be ready for confrontation.”

You and Changbin spring into action. Your masks are unfortunately abandoned, too far to grab in a rush thanks to your shenanigans, but your bags and weapons are within reach. You swing them on and arm yourselves, racing into the corridor to join the rest of your team.

It happens very fast. One moment, this ancient building is nothing more than a dilapidated office from a bygone era, brimming with useless nothings that no one would want. The next moment, it is overflowing with enemy agents, pouring in one after the other.

You and Changbin join the other officers in the stairwell. None of you are prepared for the sight that greets you, the sheer number of adversaries that come streaming into the building at rapid speed.

“What the fuck,” you say, realizing far too late you cannot take this many agents. You have not had anything near this problem before.

You look at Changbin, both of you shooting uselessly to stop the encroach of hostiles.

“We need to retreat,” you say in unison. You nod at each other.

The message gets passed along the communicators. There is no way to escape through the ground floor, the enemy agents chasing you up the stairwell. You take out your phone to call for back-up, relaying the message directly to Miroh’s team leaders.

“Can you at all identify the hostiles?” the man asks.

“Do we know who they are?” you shout at Changbin over the gunfire and chaos.

“Ah, well they’re not friends!” he replies.

You pause in your ascent to squint down at the approaching horde. The uniform colours are familiar at a glance, but the dog tags confirm your suspicions. It locks you in place with shock and confusion, because there is no way that makes any sense.

These agents belong to the enemy. The enemy. It explains the numbers, as only that house could rival Miroh in terms of size and numbers. But it is not possible he is conducting an offensive attack because he’s dead and his business is in shambles. There is no one to conduct an operation on his behalf. It makes no sense.

Changbin grabs you by the back of the neck, hauling you up the stairs with him.

“Not the time to stop and smell the flowers, murder princess,” he says.

“It’s the enemy,” you say. “I don’t know how or why, but it’s them.”

“We’re sending a back-up team straight to you right now,” Miroh’s leader says.

You end the call to focus on your surroundings, confusing and chaotic as they are.

You watch as several of your officers are taken down. You wince at each reverberation of a gunshot that kills them. A dozen more faces flash in front of your eyes, every child in that program with you, every enemy you have killed on Miroh’s behalf. Chris. Felix. Changbin, young, small, looking at you with concern.

The reign of fire follows you. You think you will be hearing gunshots for days.

“Get her out,” one of your officer’s says into the comms, directed at Changbin. “Leave through the roof. We’ll hold them off.”

You trip running up the stairs.

You never trip, far more coordinated than the average soldier. But you hear your officer say that and your mind’s eye is overwhelmed with the image of them dying. Because that is what will happen. You should not be bothered by it. You can train a new security team. They exist for this exact reason.

But all their faces are flashing in front of your mind. Your team, the program soldiers, the First Guard. A thunderous pain rattles down your spine, a cry leaving your lips as you are inundated with visions of death that you suddenly cannot shake.

“Up, up!” Changbin shouts, hoisting you onto your feet. “You’re better than this!”

He’s right. You are a soldier. You trained for this. You were made to fight.

You push through the pain and thunder. You get your feet back under you. You race with Changbin to the roof and trust your team to do what is best.

You slam and bolt the door behind you. You look around for something to barricade it but there is nothing. Changbin meanwhile opens his pack and takes out the rappel line and harness. You have had little use for it on most of the assignments, but it is standard tactical gear when assigned any investigation or clean-up work, as it can require getting into locked areas through sky access. You almost left them behind today, knowing the building was abandoned and you would have no difficulty getting in. You are glad you decided against that.

“Here,” Changbin says, handing you the harness. “Put this on.” He ducks back down to finish securing the line on the edge of the roof.

“They’re not gonna be able to hold them,” you say, fitting the harness around yourself. It is second-nature. You hardly need to think, fastening every buckle as you stare at that closed door. “They’ll be on us in seconds,” you say. “They’ll just follow us over the roof on the line.” You grant your odds are better on the street, that you can endeavour an escape, but that is only if you get that far. Those enemy agents are going to blast down that door like it’s made of cardboard, then they will be on you.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, your adrenaline propelling every breath. You do not have time to think twice. It is why it takes you so long to notice that Changbin has not put on a harness.

“What are you doing?” you ask when he stands, completely unprepared to rappel down the building. “We have to go! Put your harness on, idiot!”

He takes the hook and locks it onto your harness, fastening it with a few skilled flicks of his fingers. You grab his hand, stopping him.

He takes a breath and finally meets your eye. The wind blows his dark bangs across his face, opening up his expression to you. You can feel the furious scrunch of your own features go lax. Just like that, your adrenaline dwindles, all that heat turning to an ice cold block in your chest. It drops to your gut.

“Changbin,” you start.

“You’re going to go down that line,” he says. “When you’re at the bottom, I’m going to cut it so they can’t follow you. It will buy you time to get to the vehicles and get away.”

“Absolutely not,” you say. “What the fuck are you thinking? You—”

“I’m your bodyguard,” he says with that wry smile. “This is my job. Let me do it.”

“No,” you say, struggling against him. You try to unhook the rappel line but he fights back, not your usual play-fighting but deadly serious. “You can’t be serious!” you shout. “We’re the same thing! If you’re staying and fighting then I’m joining you!”

“We’re not the same thing!” he shouts back. “You’re a Miroh! You need to get out of here!”

“You’re right, I am a Miroh!” you say. “It’s me they want anyway! You put on the harness! You can still get out of here!”

“I’m not leaving here without you!”

You want to reply. The words are right on your lips: I’m not leaving here without you either.

But before you can say them, all that thunderous pain fractures your vision again. Your focus splits. You see Changbin in front of you, dressed in his combat gear with the wind in his hair.

Then everything changes.

The sunny sky darkens and the rooftop disappears. You see the colour grey. It is all around you, halfway blinding you, filling your lungs so you can hardly breathe. You blink rapidly, as if that will clear your vision, but it is just more grey and the sound of faraway voices.

Then you see Changbin again, in his combat gear but years younger. Just a teenager, all skinny cheeks and sharp angles. There is no wind in his hair. There is no wind anywhere. He is bleeding profusely from a head wound, a stark slash of red in the middle of so much grey. He says your name. You hear your own voice but it is a foggy, faraway thing. You cannot make out what you are saying. When you look down, you cannot see your body. You can only see him. You can only hear him.

“I’m not leaving here without you,” he says.

Then you are abruptly yanked out of that grey. You are back on the rooftop in the sunshine. Changbin has his hand planted on your chest, securing the last piece of the harness. You hear the thud of someone kicking at the bolted door. You look there frantically. Changbin does too. Then you look at each other.

“I told you I was the best bodyguard ever,” he says, smiling.

He whips off his glove, revealing his freshly scarred hand. He grabs your bare hand, the one with the still-tender scar. He clasps your hands together and looks at you with a desperation you have never seen before, like he is trying to tell you a thousand things with just a glance.

Then he slowly lets go of your hand.

“Sorry I can’t fly,” he says.

He shoves the middle of your chest, hard. You go tumbling over the edge of the roof just as the enemy agents break the door down.

There is nothing you can do mid-air. You can only shout his name, terrified and furious and desperate all at once. You scream your emotions out until the line comes to an end, a few feet from the ground. You unclip your harness and drop to the ground smoothly.

“Can anyone copy?” you speak into your comm, looking up at the roof helplessly. You watch as an enemy agent swings over and starts to climb down the rope. You draw your gun and brace yourself.

Then Changbin’s head pops over the edge. “Copy,” he says, then cuts the line.

You jump out of the way. Seconds later, the enemy agent comes careening into the ground. The pile of rope lands on top of him.

“Fuck,” you say. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Changbin!” you shout hysterically into your comms. “Changbin, can you copy?”

He doesn’t answer. You run over to the body, searching for something. You don’t even know what, you just know that this whole situation is wrong.

It does not take you long. You roll the body over. Though his neck is now twisted at a fatal angle, you recognize the agent. He was standing in your father’s office just a few weeks ago. His name was Agent Slump. You shot him through the shoulder.

These are not enemy agents attacking the house of Miroh, they are your father’s men attacking you.

You push away from the body, looking frantically up at the roof for any sign of further commotion. You see nothing from this vantage.

You run back into the building. You let adrenaline and instinct carry you up the stairs, taking a few at a time and ignoring the burn in your thighs. This is Miroh, you keep repeating to yourself. Your father has done this. Sending fake enemies after you. Teaching you yet another lesson. You said you could handle yourself. You said your security team could protect you. Now you are running past their dead bodies, your chest heaving from exertion and emotion. You find yourself blinking back tears. You cannot remember the last time you cried.

“Changbin,” you say into your comm, tripping on another step. Your voice comes out of the comms on your dead officers. It echoes in the empty stairwell. “Changbin, answer me, please,” you say. “It’s not the enemy. It’s my father. It’s Miroh. Changbin. Changbin.”

You are halfway up the building when you hear voices below. You stop to listen. Your vibrating phone makes you jump.

“Miss Miroh?” comes a voice, then you see one of your father’s officers at the bottom of the winding stairwell. This one is not playing a part. He is in the standard uniform. There are more officers behind him. The back-up you called like an idiot.

You do not go back down. You drop your phone and race to the roof.

“Get her,” you hear the officer say, then the stairwell is thundering with footsteps as they chase you.

You no longer know what you are doing. You do not know where you are going or what you will find. A part of you is unsurprised when the rooftop is empty, that they got away, that now your father’s men can come in and play hero.

You look around for Changbin but you cannot find him anywhere. You try to tell yourself that is a good thing, that it could be worse, that he could be as dead as your security team, just a body on this roof. You try to tell yourself that he is safe. It was just Miroh. They are probably taking Changbin back to the main facilities right now. Everything will be fine.

Deep down, you know nothing will be fine. Everything has changed.

You hear the officers behind you. You look around. The building next door is too far for a regular person to jump, potentially too far for you to jump. It will be cutting it close, but it is all you have. At this point, you halfway hope you’ll fall and your father’s men will be forced to report they let you die.

You shed the top layer of your combat shirt, getting down to the tank top underneath. You are not sure it will make a difference, but every bit counts. You back up and count a few seconds, then you take a running leap off the roof. You get a grip on the next one, though not without a lot of pain. You grit your teeth and hoist yourself up, ignoring your scraped arms as you take off running. You open a skylight and drop into the building. Another empty corridor stretches in front of you.

You decide your objective it to escape. You can confront your father after, but right now you need to prove you can handle yourself. You can get out of here.

You are certain your father’s men will have the vehicles locked in. Once you escape this building, you will have to find another—

A window behind you shatters. You duck and cover your head as glass explodes around you. You roll to get away, though your limbs are shaky from everything. When you get to your feet, it is more unsteady than usual.

You turn around. You feel that sinking feeling in your gut again.

“Oh my god,” you say. “Of fucking course it’s you.”

Bang Chan stands there, cold and ungiving like the living shadow he has become. Your father likes an agent that can both disappear and intimidate, so Chan somehow feels like a terrifyingly huge figure, looming over you, despite the fact he is not much bigger or taller. His presence is hulking, as deadly and awful as you remember. He stares at you with those dark eyes over the half-mask. He is not breathing especially hard despite the fact he just took a running leap from the opposite building and smashed through a window. His body is as steady and ungiving as his gaze.

You do not waste any more breath cursing. You turn and run.

You know it is useless but you have to try. In your head, if you get away, that is a bargaining chip. You can talk to Miroh, you can show him that you were right, you can have Changbin back, and Changbin will be fine and—

You let out an aggravated cry when Chan grabs you. You manage to rip away after a few good kicks. It is amazing what hidden strength lies in adrenaline. Your heart is pumping even faster than your last fight with him.

You duck into a stairwell and jump over the railing, landing a couple floors below. You keep doing that, ignoring the fact you can hear him copying you. If you look back, it will slow you down. You keep jumping until you hit the bottom floor.

You make it a few steps before he grabs you again. This time he is relentless, a big gloved around wrapped around your throat.

That adrenaline betrays you. It is like all your training abandons you as your terror and fury rips through you. You struggle against him, your motions jerky and frantic and poorly strategized. He pins you to the wall, using his whole body to lock you in place so you stop kicking him.

“Let me go,” you say, barely above a whisper. It makes him tighten his grip on your throat. You twitch helplessly, gripping his arm uselessly, your face pinched with anger.

You are swiftly joined by the other officers. You glare at them, still digging your nails into Chan’s arm. He does not soften his grip until he is ordered, then he puts you on your feet. You stumble, your vision covered in black spots as you suck in deep, gasping breaths. It was not even just the choking, as he did not squeeze hard enough to fully incapacitate you, but as your adrenaline dwindles, your strength does too.

You trip for the third time. Someone grabs you by the shoulders and pulls you back up. You are not sure if you are more surprised or terrified to find it is Chan, looking at you with calculating eyes. You stare back at him, this manifestation of your father’s worst, most inhumane actions. You are torn between apologizing to him and kicking him again.

Then another officer grabs you. You watch with alarm as he puts you in handcuffs.

“What the fuck?” you ask. “Who’s fucking side are you on?”

“Miroh always, of course,” the officer says. “This is for your own good. You are behaving erratically. Don’t be scared. We will inform your father that you tried to flee from your own protective officers. I am certain he will do everything in his power to ensure you cannot put yourself in harm’s way again.”

You have no more words. An animalistic cry escapes from your chest, ripping through you. Even with your hands cuffed behind your back, you dive at the officer and take him down. You bite down on his ear until you taste the metallic tang of blood. He screams under you until someone rips you off him. They hold you by the back of the neck like a poorly behaved puppy.

The officer gets to his feet. Blood is pouring down the side of his neck, part of his ear torn. You spit blood at him.

He raises his hand as if to strike you. You stand there, chin jutted forward, ready to take it.

Then you realize it is Chan holding you. When the officer brings his hand down, Chan moves you. He steps in between you and catches the officer’s wrist.

Chan says nothing. He does not need to say anything. He looks at the officer and the officer swallows.

The officer snatches his hand back and straightens his clothes.

“We’re leaving,” he says. “Guard, take your charge.”

You are looking smugly at the officer. That cockiness dissipates when Chan turns around and looks at you. It has you immediately shrinking away, then flinching when he grabs your arm.

They take you to a truck. It is one of the holding trucks, the kind they use for transporting undesirables. It is obvious they always intended to lock you in chains. You have been in metaphorical chains your whole life, and it is only taking this to realize it.

You try and slow your frantic breathing. You cannot have a breakdown right now. It will only make it harder for you when you confront your father. You are already at a disadvantage, being dragged to him in literal chains. You will be completely at his mercy, and Miroh does not have mercy.

You sit on the bench in the back of the prison truck. You expect to be alone with an officer, giving you time to strategize and think, but then it is Chan climbing into the van and sitting on the bench across from you. All the hairs on your body stand up. You cannot concentrate on anything with Bang Chan in close proximity. He moves like a wild animal, something predatory and swift about him. When they close and lock the door, your heart skips beats.

Chan says nothing. He never says anything. On the rare occasion you have been in contact, you have not heard a word out of him. You seldom have anything to do with the missions he runs. They are above even your paygrade, the worst of Miroh’s work.

You swallow. He is not speaking but he is staring. He does not remove the mask. You have not seen him without it in years. He is nothing but a soldier. An army unto himself.

Your heart skips another beat. An idea slowly forms in your mind.

You are better than average. Chan is better than you. You cannot take all these agents on your own, but you could definitely take them with his help. Of course, that is an entirely hypothetical thought. It would be absolutely, completely, severely ridiculous to even try. You are certain the best reaction you will get out of Chan is nothing, just a penetrating stare and silence. The worst would probably be a snapped neck.

You curl your hands behind your back. The scar on your palm stings. You clench your jaw.

You have nothing else to lose.

“You’re not a soldier, you know,” you say.

Just like you suspected, he says nothing. He just stares at you. The truck rattles along, jostling you so your handcuffs jingle. He moves with the sway of the vehicle, hardly affected.

Your fear turns to frustration. You heave a breath.

“Did you hear me?” you ask. “You’re not a soldier. You’re a prisoner. You’re not who you think you are. Miroh has you under his control, but it’s not real. The real you is in there somewhere. And the real you—” The words come rushing up, slamming into your furiously clenched teeth, “The real you hates Miroh almost as much as me.”

Chan stares at you. That is expected.

What is unexpected is the slow tilt of his head. It makes you shiver, instinctively cowering as he studies you. His brow slowly quirks, a questioning expression. You did not know he could make such an expression.

“Are you… listening to me?” you ask.

He straightens, but he still looks questioning. It is enough for all your desperation to rush to the surface. You fall forward, slamming on your knees in front of him. You are so scarred and bruised, it hardly matters. More important is the fact he looks down, as if he is more concerned by it, though you cannot read any more expressions on his stoic face.

“Chan,” you say. “Chris. Whatever you want to be called. If you’re in there, then listen to me, please. I know you don’t know me. We hardly knew each other at all growing up. But we did grow up together. Miroh is controlling both of us. He is going to use us to do things. He—” You curl your fist behind you, needing to feel the sting on your palm. It brings a tear to your eye.

Chan is looking at you, expressionless again, but it doesn’t matter. You have to try.

“It’s not just us,” you say. “This is bigger than you and me. I have a—I have a friend—my friend, you understand, and I—”

The van comes to a stop. Chan grabs you by the shoulders and puts you back on your bench. You screw your eyes shut and shake your head. You want to scream.

When you open your eyes, you pour all your anger in your glare. It is not directed at Chan, though he is the one to catch your gaze and hold it.

You are still looking at each other when the door is unlocked. There was only a small window providing light in the cabin of the truck. A bigger slash of golden light has you wincing.

Chan is unaffected, still staring at you. An officer opens the door wider and nods to him.

“Let’s go, guard,” he says.

Chan gets up. You watch as he struts past. He jumps out of the van and lands smoothly on his feet.

Then he reels back and punches the officer. It is quick as a snap, the unconscious body hitting the tarmac in a flash. It makes you jump, the bench rattling underneath you.

You sit, petrified, confused. Chan slowly turns. You blink at him.

He holds out his hand.

“What?” you say. It comes out a rasp. You cannot manage more words. There is no way your frantic, barely coherent pleading got through to him. This man has been tortured into compliance. There is no humanity left in him, no memories, no emotions, no hopes. He does not feel anything. He does not understand anything. He is a weapon.

He is still holding out his hand.

There is nowhere to go but forward. You get to your feet and shuffle towards him. He still does not speak, nor does he look at you with any particular expression. He just holds out his arms and lifts you out of the van. When you are on your feet, you stare at each other.

He spins you around. A gust of breath whooshes out of you. You panic for half a second, then you realize he is unlocking your handcuffs.

Never mind. He is breaking them with his bare hands. You watch as they hit the ground in a mangled heap. You turn around slowly, your knees still shaking.

Chan is calm as the other officers approach. Someone asks why you are out of your handcuffs.

Chan looks at you. You do not know why or how, but he nods.

You nod back.

You are a soldier. You trained for this. You were made to fight. It is time to remind them of that.

Your father is in his rooftop garden. Miroh has a few soft hobbies like that, gardening among his favourite. He sees himself as a cultivator as much as a green thumb, bringing more life into the world despite what life he takes. It balances for him. The ends always justifies the means.

You walk into his garden. It is obvious he is not expecting anyone, much less you. He does not have time to hide his surprise. You just fought your way through all of his security measures, battered and bruised and beaten. You have not seen yourself, but you are certain your body is a canvas of violence right now.

“Hello, father,” you say.

“Go to my office,” he replies without hesitation. “We will talk there.”

“No,” you say calmly. “We’ll talk right here. Right now.”

He is holding a watering can. He puts it down without looking and it tips over, splashing everywhere. Neither of you look at it. Your eyes are locked on each other. You both know what he did today. He is smart enough to work that out.

“Where are my men?” he asks.

“Detained,” you answer. Chan is holding them off somewhere. You still do not know why or how, but there will be time for that later. You have to solve one problem at a time.

You have no real plan. You are making it up as you. All you know is that scar on your hand is throbbing.

I’m not leaving here without you.

You touch your palm, running your finger over the scar. You do not look away from Miroh as you approach him. Your legs are weak, your knees shaking, your body in agony, but you take one step after the other. Given the stricken look on his face, you think this might be more disturbing than if you were healthy.

Your injuries might have made you equal fighters, but his arm is still in a cast, weakening him too. He will not win in a one-on-one fight. He is smart enough to know that too. It is why he takes a careful, calculating step back.

“You’re injured,” he says. “Go to the infirmary. We can talk after.”

“We can talk now,” you reply, taking another step forward.

“Whatever it is, it can wait,” he says.

“Where is he?” you ask.

You are both speaking calmly, moving slowly. The watering can is slowly leaking water, gurgling in the background. Wind moves through the flowers. You hear birdsong in the sunshine. Still, in the background, it feels like the world is screaming, the high-pitched whistle of that pot at a boiling point.

“Who?” your father asks.

“I’m not playing any more games,” you say. “I’m not playing dress-up with any little secret agents. I’m not getting in any rings and playing made-up fights with your silly toy soldiers. No more lies. No more games. No more secrets. Seo Changbin is my best officer. I want him back. Tell me where he is.”

“His time as a soldier has run its course,” Miroh says. “His body is more useful than him. The initial special-ops experiment was a failure. His genetics might unlock the key to replicating the medicant. We can try again. You should want to help me. You would know better than anyone what worked and what did not.”

Your exhaustion and emotion nearly gets the better of you. You almost hurl right in front of him, imagining all the horrifying implications of genetics and keys. You imagine them taking Changbin apart, piece by piece, experimenting on him like a slab of meat.

You keep your disgust and horror down. You take another step forward.

“Give him back to me,” you say. “Right now. I told you already. I’m not playing any games.”

“You are deeply unwell,” your father says, his tone changing as he looks at you with more scrutiny. His whole face seems to darken with the furrow of his brow. “This is not like you. Go to the infirmary.”

“I’m not asking again,” you say. “Give him back to me.”

“Why?”

Because you’re my father, should be a good enough answer. You know it will not work. You know he does not care. Miroh hates you because you are his daughter. Miroh is not scared of anyone because he knows he is the best. He is scared of himself in you. You never stood a chance.

“Because he’s my friend,” you say, because that is the only truth that matters anymore.

It makes your father laugh unexpectedly. You do not break.

“Your friend?” he asks. “Oh, well, my dear, if he’s your friend, then of course I’ll suspend all my plans and operations!” He continues to laugh.

“I already told you,” you say. “I’m not asking again.”

You fly at him without further warning. He has a half-second to react, his eyes widening as he side-steps clumsily. With your mutual injuries, it is not much of a fight. After a short scuffle, Miroh kicks at your legs, your weakest point, and you double over. He swings his knee up into your stomach and it makes you fall, curled protectively over yourself. You plant your forehead on the ground, arms around you, breathing hard.

“That is how a daughter should be before her father,” he says, looking down at you in your broken little bow.

You look up as he reaches into the lapel of his coat. He has kept his gun in the same place for years. In the same place you always keep yours when you wear a long coat.

He puts his hand there and finds nothing.

You uncurl, showing the gun in your hand. You point it, cock it, and place your finger on the trigger as you stand.

“If the next words you speak are not his exact location, I’m killing you,” you say.

“Then kill me,” he says.

He must know you are running on fumes and a half-baked plan that you did not believe would work. He is calling your bluff, knowing you like he knows himself. You will drop the gun and concede. Miroh wins. Miroh always wins.

But you are gripping that gun with your scarred hand. It sends a twinge of pain shooting up your arm. You hear Changbin’s voice in your head.

You pull the trigger.

You are not sure who is more surprised. You can feel it on your own face, dripping with your sweat and blood. You lower the gun and watch as Miroh stumbles backwards, frantically patting his chest. You wonder if he is wearing any protective layers.

It doesn’t matter, in the end. You spent the last few minutes walking him backwards. If you couldn’t get the gun, you were going to grab him and threaten him with the edge of the roof.

When you shoot him, he stumbles. He falls back. He goes right over the edge.

You stand there for a long minute. The watering can has emptied. The wind has gone still. The whole world seems to stop. When you drop the gun, it hits the concrete with a clatter. It feels very strange that the sun is still shining.

You walk to the edge of the roof. You look down. Your father has loomed over the world from this perch for years, looking over the things he has so meticulously grown.

He is laying in a broken heap at the bottom of it now.

You do not know how long you stand there. The wind begins to blow again. You feel it on your face.

Then you hear a voice. It nearly makes you jump.

“What now?” it asks.

You turn around. Bang Chan is standing there in his dark combat gear, that half-mask still fastened in place. He has finally broken a sweat, his hairline damp, and his chest is moving a little faster with breath. He is human somewhere under there. Deep, deep down. You have no idea what to do with that human anymore than the soldier.

One problem at a time.

A few more officers appear on the rooftop. Chan turns. You approach him.

“What now?” you repeat. You scoop up the discarded gun and point it at the officers. Chan draws his own and does the same. You stand side-by-side, arm-to-arm, eyes on your adversaries. “Right now,” you say, “we fight.”

You pull the trigger.

The fight begins.

#bang chan x reader #chan x reader #bang chan x you #chan x you #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanficiton #bang chan fanfiction #skz x you #stray kids x you

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todayisawthewhxlewxrld · 1 year ago

Text

"i wanna Be Cool, but only if you want me to."

"want to impress you"

synopsis// everyone knows that basketball is the way to someone's heart.

pairing// satoru gojo x gn!reader

word count// 3.8k

contents// college au, basketball au, mutual unknown pining?, friends to lovers?, gojo is a loser, obligatory this is for you and misses

notes// lu wanted a basketball au so lu gets a basketball au. also obviously inspired by the basketball scene in jjk s2 anywho this is just kinda short n goofy :p also inspired by the song i wanna be cool by super whatevr. also i have no idea how basketball works and only ever played for fun so ermmm if anything is wrong bring that up with the universe !

Shoko unwillingly finds herself sitting on a random bench in the boys locker room, her arms crossed as she glares at the two boys in front of her.

“Why did you guys drag me in here?”

Geto speaks up first: “In my defense, this is all on Satoru, and I have no part in this.”

“You still dragged me in here, did you not?”

“…Yes.”

“Then you took part in it.”

Gojo smiles as he smacks Geto on the back. “Exactly! You’re my accomplice.”

Shoko rolls her eyes. “Again, why did you guys drag me in here?”

“A presentation!”

“A presentation I have nothing to do with,” Geto chimes in as he takes a seat beside Shoko.

She briefly raises her eyebrow at Geto before directing it toward Gojo. “A presentation?”

“Yes!”

“I don’t see a projector or anything worth presenting here,” she says, looking around the room unamused.

“A presentation minus the actual presenting part...”

“So you dragged me in here just to talk to me?”

Geto leans in and whispers, “He actually wants to ask you something.”

Gojo stomps his foot like he’s about to throw a tantrum. “Geto shut up!”

“Can you just hurry up, Gojo?" She asks impatiently. “It reeks of axe body spray in here; I think it might actually kill me.”

He ignores her dramatics because, honestly, she’s not wrong. “You're coming to our game tonight, right?”

“I mean, yeah? Who isn't? It's the biggest game of the season.”

Geto adds, “That's what I said!”

“Do you know if Y/N is going?”

“Is that what you seriously dragged me in here for? Why didn't you just ask Y/N themself? You guys are friends, are you not?”

“Well yeah!” Gojo mumbles sheepishly, “But when I asked, they said maybe...”

“That means no,” Geto says quickly through a cough, as if trying to cover it up.

Gojo hears anyway and outstretches his arms toward Geto as if trying to draw attention toward him. “Exactly!” He then brings his hands in front of his face in a praying motion and begs, “Shoko, please!”

“Oh my fucking god, I don't know why you don't just ask them out already.”

“That's what I'm trying to do! But in order to do that, I kinda need them to go to tonight's game.”

Shoko glares at Gojo for what feels like forever, and Gojo glares back like they’ve suddenly entered a staring contest, and it’s Shoko who breaks eye contact first.

She sighs and pushes the hair out of her face as she mumbles, “God, you're lucky I'm tired of both of you pining after each other.”

“Thank you, Shoko!” he beams. “Also here.”

Shoko takes whatever Gojo is handing her and holds it up, her eyes slightly wide as she inspects it. “…Is this your jersey?”

He nods, fully confident within himself now that Shoko has agreed to drag you to the game, but tilts his head at her because he has no idea why she’s confused. “Yeah, I want them to wear it?”

“You make me sick to my stomach, fine.”

“Shoko, do you wanna wear my jersey?” Geto suddenly asks.

She stares at him blankly, as if to ask if he really asked her that, knowing damn well she does not like him like that and she has a girlfriend, though after a few moments he finally gets the hint.

“Oh my god, not like that; I just want someone supporting me too.”

She sighs in relief, “Oh, thank god, don’t scare me like that, but yeah, fine, I’ll wear it.”

“Wait, what the hell?” Gojo exclaims, drawing Shoko’s and Geto’s attention back to him. “Shoko, would you have worn mine if I asked?”

“No.”

“What?! Why the hell not?”

“I like Geto more than I like you.”

He glares at her and quickly points out, “You're lying; if that was true, you wouldn't be helping me!”

Shoko simply shrugs and mumbles a small “bye” before getting up and leaving.

Geto stands up and takes his place next to Gojo, softly patting his back as he whispers, “Dare I say this ends our lifelong debate on who's superior?”

Gojo shrugs his hand off of him and speaks harshly through clenched teeth, “Shut. Your. Mouth.”

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

“Why would I want to go watch a bunch of sweaty men fight over balls?” You mumble offhandedly, focusing your attention on netflix playing on your phone rather than on her.

“Ok, Y/N, first of all, there's only one ball, and second of all, did you forget Gojo is on the basketball team?”

You quickly turn off your phone and sit up, clasping your hands together in your lap. “….Have I ever mentioned that basketball is actually my favorite sport?”

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters under her breath, pinching her nose bridge. “You're so obvious; why haven't you told him yet?”

“Are you insane? Gojo is hot, and on the basketball team, do you know how many people he already has crushing on him? I'm literally just another name on that list.”

“Sure,” she nods, “But the difference is that you're his friend too; you have more of a chance than anyone else.”

You sigh and frown at her. “Doubt.”

Shoko shakes her head, knowing that you two could spend all day here in your dorm debating whether you have a chance or not, but that’s not what she’s here for, so she’ll let you believe what you want, knowing that (hopefully) Gojo pulling whatever it is he wants to pull will prove you wrong.

“Whatever, put this on,” she says, throwing the jersey at you.

You catch it, your mouth slightly agape as you stare at it curiously. “…Isn't this?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, is it?”

“Shoko.”

“Can you just trust me?”

“I'm literally just gonna look like another one of his groupies," you say, disdain and disappointment lacing your words as your eyes dart back and forth between her and the jersey.

She smiles, and it’s off-putting because it’s not her normal smile; no, you know, this is the smile she only wears when she’s about to drop a bomb on you. “Difference is that that's his actual jersey.”

You freeze.

“What?”

“I’ll save you a seat. Bye,” she says as she walks out of your dorm.

The slam of your door restarts your heart, and suddenly it and your mind are racing at 100 miles per hour, and the only thing you can do is word vomit despite the fact that Shoko is gone.

“What do you mean by that?! What do you mean this is his actual jersey?!” You run and fling open your door to yell out into the hallway, “Get back here!?”

Shoko is a good bit away at this point, but she still hears you call out for her and acknowledges that with a wave, yet she still keeps walking away, and you're stuck in your doorway with your chest heaving. You look back down at the jersey in your hands.

Holy shit.

Not only is this a jersey with Gojo’s number on it, but it’s his jersey. How did Shoko even get this? Did she just take it without him knowing? Too many thoughts are in your head, but there’s only one that keeps overlapping the others, there’s only one that’s consistent, only one that electrifies every neuron in your body:

Holy shit, this is Gojo’s jersey.

Fuck the questions and fuck the answers you know you won’t get; the only thing that matters to you right now is that you have and are about to wear Gojo’s jersey. You have to be dreaming; really, that’s the only logical answer, but holy fuck, if you’re dreaming, you do not plan on waking up anytime soon—or ever.

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

The two teams quickly start filling up the court and taking up their respective spaces as they warm up, but Gojo, being Gojo, isn't doing that. Instead, he’s standing on the sidelines, looking in at the crowd of people starting to take their seats for the game, and his heart is racing as he searches the crowd for you, and it drops when he inevitably doesn’t find you, but he’s not discouraged, not yet at least, because the game hasn’t officially even started yet, so there’s still time for you to show up.

There’s still time.

He has to keep reminding himself that the whole time he’s warming up—now that he’s actually being forced to, though it’s a half-assed warm-up—he and his coach don’t even know whether what he’s doing could be considered a warm-up in the first place. The game is about to start any second now when Geto approaches Gojo.

“Nothing?”

Gojo’s head drops as he reluctantly shakes it.

Geto hums and searches the stands for you, but when he doesn't find you either, he tries to find the next best person, Shoko, and it's quite easy to find her considering she’s wearing Geto's jersey.

“Shoko!”

She looks down from the bleachers and sees Geto staring at her as he gestures toward Gojo, and she knows he's trying to ask where you are, but in all honesty, she has no idea either. She shrugs, and even from as high up as she is, she can hear Geto groan before grabbing Gojo by the shoulders and forcing him to look at him.

“I'm sure they’ll come, dude.”

Gojo blankly stares at Geto, an eyebrow raised skeptically, as if to say, really? but before he can verbally reply, their coach comes over and removes Geto’s hand from Gojo’s shoulder to place his own hand there.

“I don't know what's going on with you, but whatever it is, fix it.”

Geto and Gojo tense up at his tone, full of nothing but pure determination. This isn't him asking; this is him demanding that Gojo get his shit together.

“This is the biggest game yet, and I'm not gonna let you and some petty college drama get in the way of that. You're our best player. Act like it.”

Gojo can only nod. His mouth suddenly feels dry, and it's like his throat is closing, but he tries to will the feeling away. Though his reaction is enough for his coach, who starts walking off.

Geto stares up at Gojo with his eyebrows knit, concern lacing his voice, “Gojo...”

Gojo shakes his head and takes a deep breath before flashing Geto his signature smile. “I'm fine, Geto; cmon, we got a basketball game to win.”

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

To be totally honest, the reason you were running so late to the game was because you were mentally shitting your pants the entire time you were getting ready. For a good chunk of time, you just sat on your bed with the jersey laid out in front of you, staring at it. Just staring at it, that's all. Because yes, even though you said fuck the questions and fuck the answers, you very much could not do that, not when too many questions and unknown answers were flooding your brain like a dam had cracked. You think you probably would've stayed like that all day and night, missing the game entirely, if not for Shoko spam calling your phone.

“What?”

“Don't 'what' me, where the fuck are you?” She snaps through the phone.

“Uh, getting ready?”

“Y/N, the game started twenty minutes ago.”

“Oh shit,” you say, hopping off your bed and quickly grabbing the jersey.

“Yeah, oh shit! Get your ass down here!”

You don't bother saying goodbye; instead, you quickly hang up, throw the jersey on as fast as you can, and bolt out the door. The halls are empty as you race through them, and you're not surprised; everyone is already at the game—everyone but you—and you speed up your pace just a smidge more. God, you're an idiot, missing the best game of the season—okay, you don't actually care about that. God, you're an idiot, missing seeing Gojo and maybe getting answers on how Shoko obtained his jersey—that's better.

You get to the gym in record time, slightly surprised at how quickly you got there, but you ignore that as you try to catch your breath before walking in and try to prepare yourself for the amount of noise that will assault your ears when you do. You can already hear how loud it is; the walls not doing very much at all to muffle the yells of people. You walk in and wince slightly at the noise as you look around for Shoko. She immediately finds you and waves her hand in the air for you to find, as does Utahime, who's sitting next to her. You smile and quickly make your way toward them, apologizing to the people you pushed through to get to them in the first place. You take your seat next to Shoko with a sigh.

“What did I miss?” you ask, leaning forward slightly just so you can look at both Utahime and Shoko.

Utahime has a small grimace on her face, and Shoko merely motions toward the scoreboard, and the minute you look, your jaw drops. Gojo’s team was losing. No. Losing isn't even the right word here; they were getting absolutely destroyed. They had zero points—none at all. You look back toward the two girls in disbelief.

“What the fuck?”

“Gojo is literally sucking so much ass that it's throwing everyone else off,” Utahime says with a shrug before glancing down at your clothes. “Are you wearing his jersey?”

You clear your throat awkwardly and look away, ignoring the smirk on Shoko's face.

“So, uh, do we know why Gojo’s sucking ass?” You ask after a brief moment of silence.

“Nope,” Utahime responds with a shake of her head.

“I do,” Shoko says nonchalantly.

Your head snaps back toward her. “What? Why?”

“Yeah, you didn't tell me either!”

Shoko rolls her eyes and ignores both of you as she loudly calls out to Gojo, who, by some grace of god, hears her over the hundreds of other people yelling for him. Gojo’s eyes immediately find hers, and he watches how she subtly jerks her head to the side, and like some angel descended from the heavens, like a god showing itself in a moment of dire, he looks and finds you sitting there in his jersey, and he can't help the smile on his face, can't help how just your presence lit a fire underneath him, can't help how just seeing you gave him his pep back in his step.

Gojo finds Geto’s eyes on the court and nods determinedly. They are winning this game, whether it's the last thing Gojo does. He's not going to look like a fool in front of you. So that's exactly what Gojo does. Once the second period starts, Gojo steals back the ball with a new sudden ease, and by halftime, he’s gotten the team caught up to the other one, starting the third period with a tie.

“How the hell did he do that? I thought you guys said he sucked!”

“Aw man, I was rooting for the other team,” Utahime says, frowning, and you have to resist the urge to chew her out in defense of Gojo.

Shoko shrugs. “He was till you know…”

You stare at her blankly. “No, I don't know, actually. Care to enlighten me?”

“No, I do not,” she says before turning to Utahime. “And don't worry, they're only tied; there's still a chance the other team will win.”

Utahime cheerfully hums as she rests her head on Shoko’s shoulder. “You’re right!”

“Don't encourage her to root for the other team?!”

Utahime sticks her tongue out at you, and before any of you can say anything else, a loud buzzer rings across the gym, indicating a point was made, and to your delight, it was for Gojo’s team. For the rest of the third period, it was just buzzer after buzzer as Gojo’s team took back their rightful place on the scoreboard, completely smashing the other team into the ground, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride swell in your chest. Watching Gojo in his element was doing detrimental things to your crush on him, only making it worse, but you can't even seem to care. Shoko looks over to you and laughs.

“I can practically see the hearts in your eyes.”

You scoff. “Shut up!”

Down on the court, they had just started their last two-minute break between third and fourth period, with the coaches gathering their respective teams into a huddle.

“Alright guys,” Gojo’s coach began, “Keep your heads in the game; we’re taking this victory home, got it?”

All the boys nod hurriedly, and the coach leaves them to do what they need to before the last period starts, but Gojo doesn’t let them get far.

“Whatever fucking happens, I'm getting that last score, got it?”

Everyone on the team exchanges uneasy glances, and Geto rolls his eyes and sighs before apologizing for Gojo.

“He just has a plan and wants to do something, guys.”

The boys nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer.

“If you guys mess this up for me, I swear to god, I will make you wish you were never born,” Gojo says with his usual smile, but in this case, all his smile does is make him seem feral.

Geto slaps Gojo across the back of his head and huffs, “He doesn’t mean that, don't worry.”

“Oh, I fucking mean it.”

“Gojo, shut the fuck up.”

Before anyone else can say anything, the timer goes off, and into the last minutes of the game they go. As the game goes on, everyone is on the edge of their seat, even if deep down they know who will win. You and Utahime are no exception to this, but apparently Shoko is.

“Why the fuck are you guys on the edge of your seats? It's obvious we’re gonna win.”

You go to glare at her but can’t even hold your stare long enough because you're so enthralled by the game. “Still, it's so nervewracking!”

Utahime laughs. “I'm only on the edge of my seat because I want the other team to win.”

“Why are you such a hater, dude?” you ask defensively.

Utahime doesn’t mind; she knows all too well about your little crush on Gojo, so she doesn’t take offense to your tone. “When it comes to Gojo, I'm always a hater.”

You finally find it in you to glare at her. “I hope Shoko breaks up with you.”

She rolls her eyes and glares back. “Oh, haha, you're so mature.”

You say nothing but stick your tongue out at her childishly, and she does the same, to which Shoko groans and rolls her eyes before grabbing both of your heads and turning them to face the game.

“You can fight after the game; there's only a few seconds left.”

Gojo glances at the time and realizes it’s now or never. He finds that Geto has the ball and calls out for him. Geto, on the other hand, hesitates to pass him the ball, with a look on his face asking if he really wants to do this, and Gojo can only nod. How could he not want to do this? This is the only thing he can do; it's not like he knows how to ask someone out the normal way, so this will do; it has to. Gojo tries to control his breathing as he makes his way to the hoop, the ball dribbling in tune with his heartbeat, and nothing matters to him in that moment except you and scoring—his surroundings completely drowning out. Everyone holds their breath waiting for him to shoot, and right before he does, his eyes lock onto yours.

“This is for you, Y/N!” He yells out as he shoots, and…

And he misses.

Horribly.

And there's no chance for him to redeem himself because the minute the ball hits the ground, the buzzer goes off, indicating the end of the game, and everyone seemingly ignores whatever the fuck he just did and erupts into an uproar at the fact that they won regardless of Gojo’s miss.

“What-“

Shoko slaps a hand over her mouth, attempting and failing to hold in her laughter. “Did he just fucking miss?”

Utahime is hunched over, her head between her knees, laughing. “Oh my fucking god, he's an idiot!”

You blink, not moving, not saying anything, but with how hard Shoko is laughing and Utahime leaning against her as she laughs as well, Shoko ends up bumping into you, and she instantly grows quiet, her head snapping toward you.

“Oh, why are you still here?”

“Huh?”

"Why aren’t you down there?” she asks, pointing down to the court.

“Am… Am I supposed to be?”

“Uh duh!” Utahime speaks up, peeking out from behind Shoko. “He made that shot for you! Well, he missed that shot for you.”

“Oh,” you say blankly. “Oh. Oh shit.”

You stood up abruptly, and with how fast you went down the bleachers, you almost tripped once you made it onto the ground. You quickly catch yourself, and the moment you look up to find Gojo, he’s already standing right in front of you.

“You're-you're wearing my jersey,” he says breathlessly, but not in a I-can’t-breathe way, more in a holy-shit-my-crush-is-actually-wearing-my-jersey way.

You swallow thickly and nod. Your gaze flickers down to the jersey before going back to his face. “I am.”

“You are.”

“What was that Gojo?”

He seems to grimace at your question. “Ah, well, you see, I was actually gonna say if I make this, you owe me a date, but that’s a really long sentence to shout, and what if I didn’t make it? That would’ve been so embarrassing.”

You laugh under your breath. “Gojo, you didn’t make it regardless.”

He frowns. “Don’t remind me.”

You smile and push a strand of hair stuck to his forehead out of the way, watching how he blushes furiously at your touch, and it makes your heart swoon. Who knew the confident number-one basketball player could crumble so readily under your touch?

“You know, I’m still more than happy to owe you a date.”

He smirks as he pulls you closer toward him by your waist and coos, “Yeah?"

“Yeah… But get the hell off of me, Gojo; you’re sweaty and you stink,” you grumble as you push against his chest, trying to free yourself.

Gojo ignores you and pulls you in closer (if even possible), his body engulfing yours as he rubs his face against yours, making sure his sweat rubs off on you too.

You struggle against his hold. “Gojo gross!”

“Sorry, I can't hear you over the people. What are you saying? Hug you closer?”

“Gojo, don’t you dare.”

You hear him chuckle before rubbing up against you again, and you groan but stop resisting, which he hums happily at before starting to pull away. You watch how his face abruptly twists into feigned disgust.

"Ew, Y/N, get the hell off of me; you’re sweaty and you stink,” he mocks as he pushes you out of his hold.

“I hate you.”

“If you hated me, you wouldn’t be going on a date with me,” he singsongily says.

“Yeah, not anymore,” you mumble with a wry smile as you start walking away.

“Hey, wait, Y/N, come back!”

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