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alygator77 · 4 months ago

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❥ masked affairs—sold to desire

℘pairing. au dom rich! satoru x fem! reader

℘summary. it's a lavish charity masquerade, and you find yourself under satoru gojo’s spell once again. tonight, he’s playing a dangerous game—a discreet, remote-controlled toy designed to tease and torment you—hula beads. as the night unfolds, you walk the fine line between obedience and defiance, but testing him could be your undoing—satoru is unforgiving, and he holds the key to your pleasure.

℘tags/warnings. nsfw 18+, smut, fluff, established relationship, billionaire satoru, reader is rich too, satoru controls/dominates you with a sex toy during a charity auction, jealous/possessive satoru, public foreplay, public sex, lots of worship and praise, penetration, creampie.

℘wc. 15.1k

℘a/n. happy spooky season ya'll 👻 this oneshot is heavily inspired by fifty shades darker. check out the mood board here. the song for this fic is 'infinity' by james young, listen here. enjoy 💕

In a room full of masks, you’ve perfected the art of wearing one—long before you ever stepped into Satoru Gojo’s world.

The lace mask lying on your vanity is almost like a second skin to you now. After all, you’ve spent years working in your profession, hiding behind smiles and carefully measured words. It’s a flawless poise required of someone in your line of work—the PR world demanded it—dealing with the rich and powerful, controlling the narrative, making sure their perfect, untouchable image remains intact.

A skill you’ve long since mastered.

And as the soft hum of the city buzzes outside your penthouse window, with the glow of the skyline filtering through the room—it serves as a quiet reminder of how far you’ve come, and where you are now.

Standing at the top.

But the weight of that truth has never really faded, has it? You—entrenched in this world—one that always demands more than it gives.

A faint smile tugs at your lips as you lift the mask from the vanity, turning it over between your fingers. Ironic, really, that someone who has built a career on managing the chaos of others, controlling every detail, would find herself unraveling in ways she hadn’t expected.

Unraveled by him.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the quiet creak of the door, and you glance up at the mirror just in time to see him lean against the doorframe.

Satoru Gojo.

It had been two years since that fateful night—the night you met him at the very same event you are both to attend, yet again. But when he had first walked into that ballroom two years ago, confident and untouchable, you hadn’t been impressed… at first—and why would you be? Men like him, with their money and their charm, were a dime a dozen in your world. You knew exactly how to handle them.

But not Satoru Gojo.

And tonight, he looked every bit his part—a presence so magnetic, so effortless—dressed in a sleek black tuxedo, tailored perfectly to his tall, athletic frame. His white hair falling in its usual tousled disarray, yet somehow, even that looks intentional—perfectly imperfect, just like him.

Ah, but it’s his eyes—those striking, icy blue eyes—that always manage to captivate you immediately. And this time, as his gaze sweeps over you slowly, you catch sight of the predatory glimmer underneath, lingering on every curve as he drinks in the sight of you.

There is a weight to his gaze, and oh, you revel in it. That’s the thing—you know exactly how to unravel him, just as easily as he can unravel you.

Taking your time, you set the lace mask down carefully—knowing full well that his eyes haven’t left you for a second, and you smooth your gown, feeling the delicate, luxurious material slide under your fingers.

The dress was a statement—sophisticated with a touch of allure. The deep sapphire-blue fabric, silky and shimmering in the dim light, hugs your curves with a neckline plunging just low enough to tease. It features a high slit running up one leg, adding a sensual edge but still maintaining an air of elegance.

And you know—oh, you know—that every detail of it is driving him crazy.

His breath catches as he finally speaks, pushing himself off the doorframe. “Wow. You’re going to make it impossible for anyone else to concentrate tonight.”

You smirk, turning just enough to catch his eyes fully.

“Good. I didn’t plan on letting anyone else have your attention tonight.”

“Mmm, funny,” he muses, stepping toward you with slow, deliberate strides.

His hands slowly slide down your arms—a touch so feather-light, it sends a shiver of anticipation through you as he leans in, his breath is warm against your ear. “Especially considering it’s been two years since you walked into that gala and made me work for your attention.”

“Work?” you chuckle softly and tilt your head slightly. “I think you enjoyed the chase more than you’re willing to admit.”

Pulling himself closer to you—you feel his lips brush softly against your neck, underlined with a low growl.

“Oh, I enjoyed it,” his voice deepens with each word. “But catching you...” he places a lingering kiss just beneath your ear. “That was my real reward.”

You inhale as his warm breath fans your skin, and you desperately try not to give away just how much your body is already responding to him.

Why? Because you love making him chase you—even to this day.

“Is that so?” you challenge.

“Mhm,” he hums.

Exhaling again, you feel his hands slide lower, resting just above the curve of your hips as his lips trail down the side of your neck, placing slow, deliberate kisses.

“You still seem a little worked up for someone who’s already caught me.” You keep your voice measured—your growing desire masked underneath a teasing edge.

He chuckles darkly.

“Can you blame me?”

Before you can respond, his words are punctuated with a slow, deliberate press of his hips, and you gasp softly as you feel the unmistakable erection pressing into your backside. Biting your lip, you suppress a moan as the sensation sends a rush of heat straight to your core.

“You feel that, don’t you?” rolling his hips, he sounds so desperate, and it’s impossible to ignore. “That’s what you do to me.”

“You’re awfully needy tonight,” you whisper, breathily.

He drops his head, placing a tender kiss on your shoulder—trailing up to the shell of your ear where you are met with a deep chuckle.

“Needy?” a shiver rakes down your spine as his voice dips lower—darker, more dangerous. “Oh, sweetheart… you haven’t seen needy yet.”

His hand slides from your waist with an agonizing slowness until it rests on the curve of your hip, and you feel his fingers trace the edge of your dress—teasingly close to the slit exposing your thigh—a touch so light is makes you shiver with anticipation.

“I’ve got something for you,” he murmurs, meeting your gaze in the vanity mirror.

Your eyes widen as you feel something cool and smooth brush against your bare thigh—small, sleek, unmistakable.

Hula beads.

Well, fuck—what a menace. With him holding the remote, you know he’ll have full control over your pleasure—completely discreet and utterly torturous.

“Just a little gift to keep things… exciting,” he grins. “I know these events can be so… mundane for you.”

Your mouth goes dry as you hold his gaze, already sensing where this was going.

“Satoru—”

“Two years,” he interrupts, dark and commanding now. “Two years since you walked into my life, and I decided I wasn’t going to let you go.” His eyes lock onto yours in the mirror, and for a moment, all you can do is stare back at his reflection, captivated by his intensity.

Slowly, his expression softens—his thumb brushing tenderly over your skin.

“Tonight’s special, love,” he says affectionately. Leaning in closer, his lips brush against your ear, and before you can react, he captures your earlobe gently between his teeth. “I want you to feel that baby.”

A gasp escapes your lips. He knows how to get under your skin—how to make every inch of you burn with need. His dominance, wrapped in tenderness—the perfect combination that drives you wild.

“I want you to wear these for me tonight.”

The heat between your thighs intensifies at his words. Swallowing hard, you nod slowly. Finally managing to speak, barely a whisper.

“Okay.”

Satoru’s smirk deepens, his eyes darkening with satisfaction as his grip on your waist tightens.

“Good. Now bend over the dresser.”

The command in his voice is unmistakable, and it sends a thrill straight to your core, making your legs tremble slightly as you obey. Slowly, you lean forward, your palms resting on the cool surface of the dresser.

“So obedient,” his hands glide up your hips, bunching the fabric of your dress around your waist. “Such a good girl for me.”

His praise makes your breath hitch, and you bite your lip as his hands move lower, spreading your thighs slightly—positioning you just the way he wants you.

Satoru’s fingers hook into the delicate fabric of your lace panties, tugging them down your legs in one smooth, possessive motion. As you brace yourself against the dresser, his touch drifts lower, tracing the sensitive skin of your thighs before circling back up—brushing softly around the curve of your ass. But your body aches for more, and finally, your entrance welcomes the light, deliberate pressure of his digit.

It's not enough though.

Fucking hell. The anticipation is coiling tight in your stomach—you were already growing wet. He was always like this—making you wait, making you want him even more.

“Satoru,” you plea, barely above a whisper.

Pausing for a moment, he chuckles—then, he allows his fingers to brush over you again, this time with a little more pressure. He lets out a low hum of approval as he feels the undeniable heat between your legs.

“Well, look at that,” he murmurs, full of satisfaction as his fingers trace over your slickness. “You’re already soaked, aren’t you?”

Your body trembles and the heat intensifies further as he acknowledges your arousal.

“I was going to prep you,” his voice drips with amusement as he pushes deeper—two fingers curling in—just enough to make you gasp. “But… I don’t think that’s necessary anymore, do you?”

He pulls his fingers out—leaving you aching and breathless. You let out a disappointed whine, your body protesting against the sudden loss of contact.

You wanted him. Now.

The desire burning throughout you is almost unbearable, and he knows it—he was going to make this night torture for you.

He chuckles again—a hand sliding up your spine, tracing the curve of your back as he leans in closer to press a tender kiss on your shoulder.

“Needy girl. I’m not done with you yet. Stay still.”

Your breath hitches, and before you can respond, you feel something cool and smooth press against your entrance—the unmistakable touch of the Hula Beads.

“Let’s make this night memorable, hmm?”

He slowly, deliberately, pushes it inside you.

Unable to suppress the soft moan that escapes your lips, he doesn’t stop until the beads are seated deep within you. The sensation is foreign, but undeniably arousing as your core clenches around them—a fullness that builds between your thighs, making your knees tremble.

You’re already aching for more, and he hasn’t even turned them on yet.

Satoru pauses for a moment, letting you breathe as he admires you—a small, knowing smirk tugging upon his lips. With careful precision, he hooks his fingers into the delicate fabric of your panties and pulls them back up.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, smoothing your dress back down. “Now, stand up.”

Standing upright feels like a challenge—your legs tremble slightly as you push yourself up from the dresser, adjusting to the pressure inside you. He steps behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him.

“You’re going to behave tonight, aren’t you?” His free hand reaches up, fingers gently brushing through your hair, caressing you as his eyes lock with yours in the mirror—a comfort and a reminder of the control he holds. “I’ll know exactly what’s going on inside you, and no one else will have a clue. But you’ll behave for me, won’t you, sweetheart?”

“I’ll try…” you respond, breathy, but teasing—a spark of defiance in your tone, knowing full well what his reaction might be.

Satoru’s smirk deepens, his grip on your waist tightening for just a second.

“Try?” he repeats, full of amusement. “Careful, sweetheart. You’re already testing me, and we haven’t even left the room yet.”

His warning sends a shiver through you as you hold his gaze with a playful challenge—but then, he pecks your cheek and steps back. Straightening his jacket, he adjusts his bowtie as if nothing unusual has happened between you. It’s a movement so smooth and controlled, an epitome of poise—but the smirk on his lips and the glint in his eyes tell you that he’s anything but composed on the inside.

Oh, he’s playing with you… and he’s loving every second of it.

“Behave,” he casts you a sideways glance, accompanied with a wink, full of mischief. “Because I’m going to have so much fun with you tonight, princess.”

❥

“Ah, there they are!” a familiar voice rings from behind, and you turn just in time to see Shoko approaching—her mischievous smile tugging at her lips, the lace mask adorning her face barely concealing that sparkle in her eyes. “y/n, Satoru—you two certainly know how to make an entrance.”

Before you can respond, she pulls you into a warm embrace—the scent of her perfume faint and comforting as you relax into her familiar touch.

“Gosh, it’s been too long,” she murmurs before stepping back to look you over with an approving nod. “You look incredible.”

Satoru jumps in—his arm slipping slightly around your waist, pulling you closer as he leans in with a low chuckle.

“Doesn’t she?” His voice is rich with affectionate pride, and his fingers lightly trace circles on your hip absentmindedly. “It’s almost unfair, isn’t it?”

The warmth of his words lingers in the air, and you can’t help but feel the flutter of butterflies in your chest as his gaze holds yours with an intensity.

Shoko’s dramatic groan breaks the spell. She rolls her eyes with exaggerated flair—crossing her arms over her chest as a playful grin tugs at her lips.

“Ugh, you two are too cute together—it’s almost sickening.”

You let out a soft laugh, glancing sideways at Satoru with a knowing smirk.

“Mmm... well, we try.”

Satoru’s smirk only widens as he holds you even tighter.

“Do we?” he teases. “I wasn’t aware we were being watched.”

Shoko rolls her eyes again, clearly unimpressed with his feigned ignorance.

“Oh, please,” she drawls sarcastically, lightly flicking a hand toward the both of you. “It’s hard not to notice when you two waltz in looking like you own the place.”

You can’t help but grin in response, shaking your head at her comment.

“Oh, come on. Says the woman who makes even casual elegance look like high fashion.”

Shoko’s smirk grows as she readjusts the shawl draped elegantly around her shoulders—her burgundy gown hugging her figure perfectly—each detail carefully chosen. She straightens up, standing a little taller as she takes in your compliment.

“Mmm…what can I say? Guess I’m a natural,” she adds with a playful wink.

Before anyone can add anything further, Suguru’s smooth voice cuts in from behind, joining the conversation as he steps up beside her.

“You’re always so modest, aren’t you, Shoko?”

His calm presence and easygoing smile blend seamlessly in the group—almost as natural as the way he drapes an arm casually over Shoko’s shoulders, while his other hand pushes back a few stray tousles of his long raven hair.

As his gaze shifts toward Satoru for a moment, a playful spark flickers in his eyes.

“But… let’s not downplay the real showstopper,” Suguru’s attention slides over to you, lingering with an appreciative glance. “y/n,” he murmurs, “you’re absolutely breathtaking tonight.”

You can’t help but blush lightly—feeling the warmth and sincerity of his compliment. You manage a soft smile.

“Aww, thanks… you’re too kind, Suguru.”

Suddenly the atmosphere shifts—Satoru’s arm tightens around your waist, and the low, unamused hum that rumbles through his chest makes his feelings on the exchange very clear.

“Kind, hm?” His gaze slides from you to Suguru, narrowing with a protective edge. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

Suguru’s grin widens, clearly savoring the reaction he’s drawing out from his friend. There’s a certain satisfaction in the way his lips curl upward—knowing full well the tension he’s provoking.

“What?” He tilts his head to the side, feigning innocence. “I’m just calling it like I see it. And believe me, everyone’s seeing it tonight. y/n’s drawing the most attention.”

For a moment, the air between the two men thickens, and Satoru’s hand tightens ever so slightly around you.

“Mhm… she always does.”

Suguru raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained with Satoru’s reaction, and without missing a beat, he saunters over—casually draping an arm over Satoru’s shoulders—a gesture that both diffuses and provokes in the same motion. Pulling his friend in slightly, he shakes him playfully with an unwavering grin.

“Oh yes, of course,” Suguru replies smoothly. “I mean, some people just have that natural charm. I’m sure half the room is probably wondering ‘who is that stunning woman on your arm.’”

Ah… the familiar dynamic between them is at play. It’s almost like clockwork—the way Suguru knows how to needle Satoru without truly ruffling his feathers. Their friendship has always been this way—filled with teasing, and light jabs—but under it all, there’s a solid foundation of trust.

Suguru is his best friend, after all.

Rolling his eyes, the grin tugging at the corners of Satoru’s lips betray him. He shrugs Suguru’s arm off his shoulders—giving him a light shove.

“Yeah, well... they can wonder all they want,” Satoru quips, casual but pointed. He shifts, and before you can react, he takes your hand, guiding you toward him in one fluid motion. Holding you close, he presses a tender kiss to your temple—the warmth of his lips sending a flutter of butterflies through your chest. “Doesn’t change the fact that she’s with me,” he murmurs.

Suguru leans back slightly, clearly amused by how things are playing out, and his smirk widens—he can’t resist throwing in one last comment.

“Ahh… but if you’re not careful… someone might just steal her away.”

The words hang in the air, and for a brief second, everything feels charged—like a storm on the horizon. You can feel Satoru’s body tense ever so slightly, his fingers tightening on your waist. Suguru’s teasing is nothing unusual, but tonight... tonight it feels different. The thought of testing Satoru right now seems almost… dangerous.

Maybe it’s the setting, the way you’re dressed, or maybe it’s the fact that you both know he’s holding more than just your hand tonight.

The remote.

Fucking hell…Suguru may think he’s getting under Satoru’s skin, but you know better. Tonight is not the night to test Satoru’s patience.

Before the tension can build further, Shoko, ever the master of diffusing, steps in with a smirk and a light nudge to Suguru’s side.

“Well, it’s good to see nothing’s changed,” she remarks, full of playful exasperation. “Still managing to get under his skin, I see.”

Suguru chuckles, his smile widening as he throws his hands up in mock surrender. “It’s a gift,” he says with an exaggerated shrug.

Satoru’s grip on your waist loosens, the tension that had been simmering, melting away like snow under the sun from Shoko’s well-timed comment.

Oh, Shoko. You could kiss her right now—tonight, of all nights, you really needed that—needed her.

Satoru hums in response, the sound low and laced with mock approval as his gaze flickers between Suguru and you—his lips curving into a teasing smile.

“If by gift, you mean an annoyance, then sure,” he murmurs.

“Eh. Same thing,” Suguru shrugs, smiling—not phased in the slightest by Satoru’s retort.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head in mock disapproval at the two of them.

“You two are impossible…” you murmur.

Before anyone can say more, a gentleman in a sharp suit approaches Satoru—tapping him lightly on the shoulder.

“Mr. Gojo, I believe the event coordinator needs a word with you about the auction details.”

Satoru’s eyes flicker briefly with irritation at the interruption, but ever the charmer, he covers it with a polite smile.

“Of course,” he responds smoothly. Before stepping away, he turns to you—lifting your hand gently into his own. His lips brush against your knuckles in a tender, lingering kiss, sending a soft warmth radiating through your chest. “I’ll be back in just a moment, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

You manage a smile as you watch him walk away, and as soon as Satoru is out of earshot, Shoko leans in closer to you—her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Sooo, how are things really?” her eyes gleam with playful curiosity. “Satoru keeping you on your toes?”

Well… that’s one way to put it—if only she knew half of it. You take a small breath, glancing briefly at Satoru as he moves across the room.

“Yeah…” a soft, fond smile spreads across your face. “You could say that…”

“Well,” she chuckles, patting your arm gently, “I’ll give you this—two years with Satoru? You deserve a medal,” she teases. “I can’t believe it’s been that long. Seems like just yesterday we were all at this gala, two years ago. Remember?”

“How could I forget?” you murmur, your voice dropping slightly as you recall that night, still so vivid. “It was... intense.”

Shoko grins, her eyes bright with recollection.

“Intense?” She shakes her head. “You two practically set the room on fire. The way he looked at you that night? I swear… I thought the whole world was going to stop spinning.”

Her words bring a slight flush to your cheeks, and you can’t help but smile at the memory.

“And now, look at you…” Shoko continues, her tone softening with affection. “Two years in, and he’s still completely wrapped around your finger.”

You bite your lip, feeling a warmth flutter in your chest.

“Well…he’s persistent, I’ll give him that,” you admit, your fingers absentmindedly twisting the ring on your hand—a gesture you do without thinking.

Ah…but it’s not the ring you want it to be.

Shoko notices the subtle movement, her eyes flicking to your hand before she gives you a knowing smirk.

“Oh, please,” she teases, flicking a hand toward you with a playful roll of her eyes. “Persistent? The man’s practically obsessed. Not that I blame him, of course.” She gestures to your gown—the fabric shimmering under the soft lights. “Seriously. You do look stunning, as always.”

You chuckle softly at her compliment—shaking your head. “Thanks, Sho.”

From the side, Suguru, who had been quietly watching the exchange, finally steps forward, his smile soft and genuine.

“Man… two years already, huh?” he remarks, rich with sincerity—his gaze shifting between you and where Satoru had gone. “You and Satoru... I never would’ve guessed it back then, but now? It just makes sense.”

You tilt your head slightly, genuinely intrigued by his words. “What do you mean?” you ask, meeting his gaze.

Suguru chuckles, a warm, low sound.

“I mean… you balance him out. He needs someone like you—someone who can handle him and keep him grounded. You keep him on his toes, but you also... well, you make him better.”

His words catch you off guard—you feel your heart swell and a faint blush paint your cheeks.

“I never thought about it like that,” you admit, offering him a soft smile.

“Well, it’s true,” Suguru replies, his smile widening as he casually shoves his hands in his pockets. “Look, I know he’s not the easiest guy to deal with, but with you? He’s found someone worth changing for.”

You blink, his words sinking in, and you feel the weight of the compliment settle in your chest. It’s not often people see beyond the surface of Satoru and his larger-than-life persona, but Suguru always had a way of getting to the heart of things.

“Thanks, Suguru. That... that means a lot.”

Shoko, sensing the tender turn of the conversation, steps back in with her usual playful demeanor—her smirk returning in full force.

“Alright, alright,” she interjects with a mock sigh, “Enough of this heart-to-heart. I’m off to find a drink before this turns into a therapy session,” she jokes, giving your arm a light squeeze before she starts sauntering off toward the bar.

You and Suguru are left standing there as you watch her go—his head shaking slightly with amusement.

“She’s always like that…” he murmurs, half to himself.

You’re about to respond, to make some lighthearted comment in return, when the world around you suddenly shifts—tilts, really, in a way that sends a jolt of warmth radiating through your core. It’s subtle, barely noticeable at first, but your body betrays you—stiffening as a wave of unexpected pleasure coils low in your stomach. Your breath catches, and before you can even process what’s happening, a soft gasp slips past your lips.

Oh, no. No, no, no. Not now.

Suguru, thankfully, doesn’t seem to notice the sudden change in your demeanor—he continues talking, oblivious to the soft hum of the Hula beads that have sprung to life inside you. But you know. You know exactly what’s happening.

Satoru.

The soft, torturous vibrations pulse through you, teasing, building in intensity just enough to make your legs wobble slightly. It’s maddening—the way the beads twist and hum with perfect, controlled precision, sending sharp, undeniable shocks of pleasure through your core—the kind that makes your knees want to give out if you’re not careful.

You swallow hard, desperately trying to maintain your composure, nodding along to whatever Suguru is saying. God… what is he even saying? His words are little more than background noise to the mounting pressure building inside of you.

Fucking Satoru.

You’ve been left alone for all of two minutes, and he’s already playing with you. Already reminding you who’s in control tonight.

Your pulse races as you glance around the room, frantically searching for him—and there he is, across the room, casually speaking with someone. His white hair catches the soft light, making him stand out even in the crowd, and his gaze is focused on the conversation—until it’s not. His eyes flick over to you, locking with yours in a way that feels like a tether between you both.

And then he smirks.

The kind of smirk that says he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

Your chest tightens as the vibrations inside you shift—deeper, more intense—and you have to bite your lip to suppress a whimper. You want to scream, to curse him from across the room, but you can’t. Not with Suguru standing right here.

“y/n?” Suguru asks softly, concerned. “You alright?”

Oh God…are you obvious?

You swallow hard, nodding quickly. “Y-yeah,” you stammer, clearing your throat. “Just… the room’s a bit, erm… warm.”

Warm? That’s the best you could come up with?

Suguru raises an eyebrow, clearly sensing that something’s off, but too kind to push it. Instead, he gives you a soft, reassuring smile—his hand coming to rest gently on your arm. It’s a simple touch that would normally be comforting, but right now, it only heightens your awareness of the relentless pulses inside you—and Satoru’s own relentlessness.

Because then, without warning, the Hula beads kick up in intensity.

The sudden surge of vibration hits you like a shockwave, and you nearly double over from the sensation as it reaches your clit. Your knees almost give out, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to gasp aloud. The vibrations aren’t just subtle anymore; they’re deep, insistent, pushing you closer and closer to the edge with each agonizing pulse.

Fuck.

Your breath hitches, and you have to dig your nails into your palms to keep yourself grounded. The wet heat building inside you feels like it’s going to explode. You glance back at Satoru—catching sight of his unwavering gaze—and in that brief, charged moment, he mouths the words to you slowly, deliberately:

You’re mine.

Your cunt drips. Oh God… he’s doing this because of Suguru—reminding you that no matter who you’re talking to, no matter who you’re with, you belong to him.

A flush of heat spreads through your cheeks, and you quickly turn your attention back to Suguru, hoping to hide the storm brewing inside of you. He continues speaking, but you barely hear him. Every nerve in your body is too focused on the pulsing hum—on the way your body reacts involuntarily to every shift in vibration.

Oh, Shoko—you could strangle her.

If she hadn’t left you alone with Suguru, maybe you wouldn’t be standing here on the brink of losing control, struggling to keep your legs from buckling under the pressure of the relentless pleasure surging through you.

Your gaze snaps to Satoru, and for a brief, charged moment, he meets your eyes. His hand slips into his pocket, his expression infuriatingly smug, as if to say, Remember who’s in control.

The vibrations surge even more—your entire body tensing. It’s too much.

You’re so close—too close. Your pussy quivers as you teeter on the edge of release, and all you can do is bite your lip to stifle the whimper that’s threatening to escape.

But just as the pressure coils and the pleasure peaks—right when you’re about to fall over the precipice—everything stops. The vibrations cease entirely, leaving you trembling and breathless—your body screaming for a release that’s been snatched away.

You blink in shock—your legs weak as your slick drips down your thigh—the sudden loss of sensation leaving you reeling.

Ready to shoot Satoru a glare, the moment you look in his direction you barely register the fact that he’s already moving towards you and Suguru with long purposeful strides—and in seconds, he’s standing beside you.

“So sorry to interrupt,” his hand slips around your waist—pulling you flush against him as his thumb brushes lightly over your hip. “But I think I’ll be stealing her away now.”

Suguru chuckles, unaware of the game Satoru’s been playing—or just how close you came to unraveling right in front of him.

“Tch… already?” he tilts his head, grin widening. “We barely had a chance to catch up.”

Satoru doesn’t miss a beat, his gaze flicking from Suguru to you—eyes dark with intent.

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll all have time for that later…” his tone is casual, but there’s a hidden edge beneath the surface, and when his eyes meet yours, there’s a dangerous glint—a silent promise that makes your breath hitch and a shiver run down your spine. “Right now,I need her,” he smirks.

Suguru raises an eyebrow, his gaze sweeping over you—lingering a moment too long as if noticing the flush of your cheeks, the way you’re clinging to Satoru’s arm a little more tightly than usual.

With a theatrical sigh, he shoves his hands into his pockets.

“Guess I’ll go find Shoko then, so I don’t have to be the third wheel.” As he takes a step back, he gives you one last playful glance. “But don’t hog her all night, Satoru,” he warns teasingly even as he steps away. “I expect to get at least one dance later.”

Satoru chuckles dismissively—his focus already shifting entirely to you as Suguru fades out of existence. “Yeah, right… not happening,” he mutters under his breath.

The moment Suguru’s out of earshot, Satoru tightens his grip on your waist, pulling your body flush against his. A slow smirk tugs at his lips the moment you feel the unmistakable evidence of his arousal—his cock, hard and unyielding, pressing into you.

“You looked like you were about to fall apart back there, sweetheart,” his lips brush your ear as he tenderly trails his fingers through your hair. “Tell me… you were so close, weren’t you?”

Your breath stutters as his hand slides slowly, possessively down your back. The heat of his touch seeps through the fabric of your dress, making your body shudder as he lingers just above the curve of your hips. Your cunt aches for the release he denied you.

“Satoru…you’re... so unfair.”

“Unfair?” he chuckles, pulling back slightly and running his thumb tenderly across your lower lip—watching your breath hitch at his touch. “Oh, princess… if only you knew…” His voice drops lower—lips ghosting over yours as he whispers, “I want to drag you away and show you just how unfair I can be.”

You bite your lip, stifling a moan—the heat pooling between your legs. Your hand instinctively rests against his chest, fingers brushing the smooth fabric of his tuxedo—feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat mirroring your own. Your lips part as you take in a shaky breath.

“Take me somewhere right now… I don’t care where, just… please don’t make me wait any longer.”

Your voice is breathless, desperate, and the moment the words leave your lips, you see the shift in his expression—his cock twitches in his pants and his eyes darken with raw desire. He clenches his jaw and breathes sharply through his nose, almost as if he’s trying to regain control. As he lowers his forehead against yours, you feel his hand drop from your hair to grip your hips possessively.

“Fuck...” he growls softly, “You have no idea how hard you have me. Every time you look at me like that...” he exhales, his fingers pressing harder into you as his gaze drops to your lips. “…I just want to take you right here.”

His touch slides lower, fingers trailing over the curve of your hip before they begin to glide back up, slipping teasingly over the small of your back. It’s an innocent enough motion to anyone watching—but the way his fingers linger, the way his body presses into yours, it sends a tingling wave of heat to your pussy.

“If we weren’t in public right now…” his voice rumbles against your skin as he nuzzles into the delicate curve of your neck, “I’d have you on your knees, begging for me. I’d make you scream my name so loud, the only thing you’d be able to think about is how much you fucking need me.”

Your knees nearly give way at the intensity of his words, but his strong arm tightens around you, steadying you. You whine as his fingers rise up to weave through your hair again, tugging gently as his other hand returns to your waist, trailing down slowly before gripping your hip again.

“Mmm… but not yet,” he whispers, dripping with control. “Not here.”

You let out a soft, frustrated groan, leaning into his chest, craving more—craving him. His infuriating smirk brushes against your skin, and he hums in amusement. He pulls you back to look at you, his hand coming up the tenderly cup your cheek.

“Come now,” he murmurs affectionately, “You’ll behave for me, won’t you, sweetheart?”

You exhale heavily, rolling your eyes despite the tight knot of desire twisting inside you.

“Yes...” you mumble.

His eyebrow arches as he leans in, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes… I’ll behave,” you huff in frustration.

A slow, satisfied smirk tugs at Satoru’s lips as he pulls back. He caresses your hair once more and presses a gentle, lingering kiss to your temple.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmurs, the words wrapping around you like a promise. “Because if you don’t… I’ll fucking ruin you later.”

Oh, you know he will—and you’ll love every second of it.

❥

The night was going smoothly. The opulent charity gala had everything: fine champagne, crystal chandeliers, and the hum of soft conversation drifting through the ballroom. Satoru had barely left your side, his hand lingering on your waist, warm and magnetic—making you feel like the queen of the event, and every glance from the elite in attendance told you the same thing.

Together, you were commanding the room.

But then… she walked in.

Mei-Mei.

Her entrance was nothing short of dramatic—icy beauty wrapped in a form-fitting, silk gown that shimmered with every step and clung to her every curve. Heads turned, conversations quieted, and the air in the ballroom seemed to shift as she sauntered through the crowd with effortless grace.

Mei-Mei was made for these kinds of events. She exuded money, and it wasn’t just in her attire; it was in her entire demeanor—the confidence of someone who wouldn’t hesitate to buy anything she desired—including people. And more than anything, that’s exactly what she wanted to project.

Her sharp, catlike eyes scan the room slowly, as if weighing its worth, and you can instantly feel the moment her gaze lands on you—and on Satoru.

Once upon a time, long before you entered his life, Mei-Mei had been Satoru’s girlfriend. And her interest in him? Well… it had never been about love.

No, Mei-Mei was a woman who measured people by their value—their status, their influence, and most importantly, their wealth. Satoru had checked all the boxes—he was power personified, and she loved the way that power elevated her—until she overplayed her hand and Satoru had walked away.

The façade had cracked—once Satoru had realized what she was truly after, how she valued his bank account more than anything else, he was through. He had never spoken much about their prior relationship, but you’ve heard enough through whispers in social circles.

But Mei-Mei? She’d never forgiven him for it—he had stolen away the life she had always dreamed for herself.

Now, as her eyes flick over you and Satoru, you catch sight of the challenge forming behind her sharpened smile as she immediately changes her course.

You can feel Satoru’s arm instinctively tighten around your waist, his body leaning slightly into yours—he’s noticed her too. You glance up at him, offering a soft smile—your silent way of telling him, you’re fine.

She’s not going to rattle you. Not tonight.

Her heels click in rhythmic precision against the marble floor as she approaches, and once she finally reaches you, her lips curl into a smile—sharp and precise—designed to appear friendly but lacking any warmth.

“Ah, y/n, dear,” she began, smooth as silk but dripping with condescension. “You look... cute tonight.” Her gaze flicks to Satoru for a fraction of a second before landing back on you. “I suppose Satoru always did have a thing for... simplicity.”

Oh… she wants to play?

Fine. You meet her eyes without hesitation—your unwavering smile poised and steady.

“Simplicity?” you echo, letting a carefree laugh slip through. “Oh, darling… simplicity is what makes elegance effortless. I suppose that’s a skill not everyone can master, hmm?”

For just a fraction of a second, you see it—her mask slips. Her smile falters, her jaw tightens, and her eyes narrow just a little too much. It’s quick, but you catch it.

Got her.

But Mei-Mei doesn’t like being outmaneuvered. Especially not by you.

Her eyes flick away from yours, turning to Satoru with a renewed smile—wider, as if trying to reclaim control. But you see through the charm; there’s bitterness behind it.

“Well,” she continues, voice dripping with false nostalgia, “Satoru and I were quite the power couple once, weren’t we?” her gaze flicks back to you. “I’m sure he hasn’t forgotten.”

As her voice drops, like a private whisper shared between ex-lovers, you feel Satoru tense beside you. His grip on you tightens as though he’s silently urging you to ignore her. But nah—you aren’t about to back down. Not tonight.

Letting your hand trail slowly down the front of Satoru’s tux, your fingertips graze the fabric teasingly as you glance up at him, offering a soft, playful smile. His eyes soften immediately, and he pulls you a little closer.

“Mmm… but memories have a funny way of fading when you’ve found something far more fulfilling.”

Satoru responds immediately, his gaze melting into yours, the tension in his shoulders easing as his fingers squeeze your waist slightly—a silent declaration of where his loyalties lie. Your voice is sweet, affectionate, and though your words are for Satoru, they’re aimed squarely at Mei-Mei.

You catch sight of her reaction in the corner of your eye—the way her fingers clench around her designer clutch a bit too tightly—a crack of frustration leaking through her forced smile.

“You know,” she starts again, this time more pointed, “men like Satoru tend to... wander. He’s incapable of settling down, so I wouldn’t get too comfortable if I were you.”

The jab hangs in the air, and you feel Satoru stiffen beside you. He’s clearly irritated now, but it’s not her words that bother you—it’s the audacity.

How dare she throw shade at him?

Your eyebrow arches, and a light, almost dismissive laugh escapes your lips. The sound slices through her words, gentle but cutting.

“Oh, Mei-Mei…” you coo, her name slipping off your tongue with a mix of sweetness and pity. “You see, some men wander when they’re searching for something they don’t have. But when they’ve found what they truly want? They stay.”

Your words hit her like a slap disguised as a caress, and you see the moment it lands—underneath the lacy mask resting on the bridge of her nose, her eyes flash, and her smile tightens. Despite her best efforts, she tries to remain composed.

“I suppose we’ll see how long that lasts.”

You smile serenely, unbothered, and tilt your head slightly, like you’re humoring a child.

“Yes, well. Satoru’s never been one to settle for anything less than what he deserves. I suppose that’s why he left you.”

The subtle shift in her demeanor tells you everything you need to know.

You’ve won.

The frustration beneath her surface bubbles to the top, and it’s barely hidden behind the sharp scoff that escapes her lips. Her exit is quick, muttering some vague excuse before turning on her heel and sauntering away with stiff shoulders. Ahh… her movements are a bit too rigid for someone who’s pretending not to care.

Your heart swells pridefully with the satisfaction of standing your ground as you watch her go—not just for yourself, but for Satoru too. Your Satoru.

You feel his grip on you tighten the moment Mei-Mei disappears from view, and before you can even process what’s happening, he's pulling you flush against him—his body warm, firm, and incredibly close.

The heat radiating from him feels almost electrifying, and his breath ghosts against the shell of your ear.

“Fuck… do you have any idea how hot that was?”

You bite your lip—the victory was sweet, but the fire in his words make it even sweeter. A wave of heat spreads through your core.

“You were incredible,” he murmurs, lips brushing your neck. “God you’re perfect… so fucking perfect.”

His praise stokes the fire that’s already building within you, and you’re keenly aware of every inch of him pressed firmly on your hip—his cock twitching against you.

“Yeah…?” you grin, snaking your arms around his neck and brushing your fingers through his hair. “Do I finally get my reward?”

A low chuckle rumbles through his chest, and he pulls back just enough to hover his lips over yours, teasingly close.

“Oh, sweetheart... you deserve so much more than a reward. I want to take you apart, piece by fucking piece.”

The intensity of his gaze and the hunger in his voice sends your mind spinning and your cunt dripping, but just as your lips part, ready to respond, the moment is shattered.

“Oi, lovebirds!” Shoko’s teasing voice cuts through the haze of desire, her playful smirk and a raised eyebrow unmistakable as she approaches with Suguru right behind her. “Auction’s about to start. Unless you two plan on putting on a show for the whole room?”

Satoru lets out a frustrated growl, his forehead pressing against yours as he takes a slow, steadying breath. His grip on your waist lingers for a moment before he reluctantly loosens his hold.

“Perfect fucking timing,” he mutters under his breath, casting a mock glare at Shoko and Suguru.

“Save it for later, Satoru,” Suguru chimes in with a chuckle, reveling in his annoyance. “There’ll be plenty of time for you two to... ‘catch up,’ after the auction, right?”

Satoru rolls his eyes but can’t help the grin that tugs at the corner of his mouth. Leaning down, he places a lingering kiss upon your lips.

“Later, kay?” he murmurs, “This is far from over.”

❥

The atmosphere in the room shifts as the auction begins—the hum of conversation fading to a soft murmur. A dim glow washes over the ballroom, casting a warm light that bounces off the crystal chandeliers and reflects in the glasses scattered across the elegantly decorated tables. You sit comfortably beside Satoru, feeling the warmth of his hand resting casually on your thigh beneath the table—his thumb rubbing lazy circles against your skin.

There’s a soft hum of anticipation as the auctioneer takes the stage, microphone in hand—his voice cutting through the ambient noise with practiced ease.

“And now, for our first item for the evening,” the auctioneer announces with an air of ceremony. “We have something truly special—a limited-edition necklace from the Gojo Jewelry Collection. This timeless piece showcases the elegance of infinity, adorned with rare, precious sapphire jewels, designed exclusively for this event.”

Satoru sits up a little straighter, his hand tightening slightly on your thigh. The rest of the room seems to follow his gaze as the spotlight shifts to the display case. And there it is—the necklace.

It gleams under the warm lighting, the infinity pendant catching the rays in a way that makes the jewels shimmer like stars. The design is breathtaking, a perfect balance of boldness and grace, simplicity and luxury.

You’ve always admired Satoru’s designs, but this one feels particularly special. It’s more than just a piece of jewelry; it’s a statement, a testament to his creativity and craftsmanship.

You can’t help but lean in closer to Satoru, admiration bubbling within as the pendant slowly spins on its pedestal, casting tiny flecks of light across the room.

“It’s gorgeous,” you breathe.

Satoru’s lips curve into a self-satisfied smirk, his eyes glinting with pride.

“Mmm, told ya it’d turn some heads,” he murmurs. “Definitely one of my favorites.”

Your gaze sweeps across the room to gauge the crowd’s reaction, and then you see her—Mei-Mei—sitting at one of the prime tables, posture immaculate, her sharp eyes already fixed on the necklace with a look of pure, calculated hunger.

Of course.

Of course, she’d want his necklace—because it’s not just about the necklace itself—it’s the prestige of wearing something tied to Satoru, a statement that she could have something rare, exclusive, and coveted.

“This necklace represents timeless elegance and endless love,” the auctioneer says smoothly, offering a subtle nod toward Satoru. “And, as a limited edition, we are thrilled to offer this piece. It’s truly one of a kind, created exclusively for tonight’s event.”

You can’t help but raise an eyebrow at that.

Oh? Is that what it represents?

Well then—who are you to let Mei-Mei walk away with it? The idea of her winning something tied to Satoru, of her flaunting that connection, fuels a competitive spark in you.

The bidding starts, and unsurprisingly, Mei-Mei is quick to raise her paddle, her face smug with satisfaction as she bids confidently.

“Six thousand!” the auctioneer calls out, voice booming through the ballroom.

Leaning back slightly in your chair, your fingers casually brush over Satoru’s hand on your thigh. He looks at you, his curious gaze meeting yours as you offer him a knowing smirk, and he quirks an eyebrow, clearly intrigued as you lazily raise your paddle.

“Seven thousand,” a soft smile graces your lips.

Satoru’s grip tightens slightly on your thigh, and you feel the low hum of approval rumbling from him. Mei-Mei’s eyes snap toward you, narrowing in disbelief—she clearly hadn’t expected you to join in. But there it is—that flicker of annoyance. Her paddle goes up again, just as you knew it would.

“Ten thousand,” Mei-Mei counters.

The auctioneer nods in her direction. “Ten thousand! Do I hear twelve?”

Without missing a beat, you lift your paddle once more, your smile growing. “Twelve thousand.”

Satoru’s eyes glitter with amusement as he watches the subtle tension building between you and Mei-Mei. His hand slides a little higher on your thigh, fingers pressing with a bit more intent as he leans in—breath warm against your ear.

“Fuck… this is seriously turning me on way more than it should…” he mutters. “You’re going to make her lose her mind.”

You bite back a grin. “Mmm, well, that’s the plan.”

The bidding continues, but now Mei-Mei hesitates, the confidence in her posture starting to falter.

“Fifteen thousand,” you say smoothly, your paddle already raised.

Mei-Mei’s lips press together into a thin line. Her eyes flash with frustration as she debates whether to push higher. After a tense moment, she raises her paddle again, but her voice lacks its earlier bravado.

“Sixteen thousand,” a hint of uncertainty creeps into her tone.

You don’t even flinch.

“Twenty thousand.”

Satoru’s fingers tighten on your thigh again, his breath hitching slightly as he leans in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“God, you’re so damn hot when you’re like this,” he growls, shifting slightly in his seat from his growing erection.

Your heart races with satisfaction as your eyes lock on Mei-Mei’s once more, daring her to keep going. But the resolve in her eyes wavers. Slowly, with a barely concealed pout, she lowers her paddle.

“Twenty thousand, going once… going twice… sold to the lovely lady in the elegant gown!” The auctioneer’s gavel comes down with a decisive crack, and the room erupts into polite applause.

As the ripple of applause moves throughout the room, it’s Mei-Mei’s sour expression that you relish in most. Ah, victory feels sweet.

You lean back in your chair, turning to Satoru with a playful, victorious smile.

“Well… that was fun.”

He’s practically beaming, eyes dark with pride and something more as his hand slips up your thigh—teasingly close to your core now.

“I swear to God… I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the rest of this auction without pulling you into the nearest empty room and fucking you.”

His words make your pussy drip, but before you can respond, the auctioneer’s voice booms once again, drawing your attention back to the stage.

“And now, we have something special for the next event. This is one of our unique auction segments—where attendees have the chance to bid for a dance with one of our lovely participants. All the proceeds will go to tonight’s charity, of course.”

There’s a murmur of interest from the crowd, a few amused chuckles as people begin to sit up a little straighter. You, however, remain mostly unbothered, still riding the high from outbidding Mei-Mei— and the arousal of Satoru’s fingers caressing your thigh underneath the table.

But then, something pulls your attention back to the stage—a faint thread of confusion beginning to weave through your thoughts as you hear the list of names being read out.

Did you… just hear your name? Wait… what?

You whip your head toward Satoru—and his expression mirrors your confusion, eyebrows raising slightly. But before you can fully register what’s happening, you catch sight of Suguru across the table—grin wide, eyes glinting with mischief.

Oh no…

Your mind scrambles, replaying the events of earlier in the night. Suguru had been chatting with you, something about the auction—while you were busy being thoroughly distracted by Satoru's relentless teasing with the Hula beads. The memories blur together, but now you realize…

Oh god… you’d been so focused on the pleasure that you barely even processed Suguru’s words. Did you accidentally agree to this?

Before you can react, the auctioneer is already moving forward, inviting the women participating in the dance auction to step on stage. And there it is—your name again, clear as day, listed among them.

Satoru stiffens beside you, his grip on your thigh tightening as he whips his head toward Suguru. A pointed look flashes across his face, but Suguru, oh, Suguru—he’s practically glowing with amusement. Leaning back in his chair, his arms cross over his chest as if enjoying every second of this unfolding chaos.

“Suguru…” Satoru hisses under his breath. “Was this your doing?”

Suguru shrugs, his smirk widening in response to the clear irritation radiating from Satoru.

“What?” he says with faux innocence. “y/n agreed to it.”

Satoru’s eyes narrow and his grip on you tightens. There’s a moment of tension as you feel him lean in closer, his breath ghosting over your ear as he growls, “…you agreed to this?”

Your mind scrambles for an explanation, but before you can respond, Suguru’s voice cuts in again.

“It’s for charity,” Suguru adds with a playful lilt. “It’ll be fun.”

His words hang in the air like a taunt, and Satoru’s eyes narrow at Suguru—his possessive grip tightening on your plush thigh as his jaw clenches.

“C’mon Satoru. Let’s see how much your girl is worth.”

As the auctioneer repeats your name over the microphone, drawing the crowd’s attention to you, you feel every pair of eyes in the room turning in your direction. Satoru leans in closer—his breath warm against your ear.

“Fine then… I hope you’re ready for this, sweetheart,” he murmurs, the teasing edge in his voice betraying the simmering tension beneath it.

Your stomach flips from the intensity of his gaze, and you hesitate for a moment—glancing between the stage and Satoru. Uh oh… the heat is rolling off him in waves—it’s clear he’s not thrilled with the idea of you being up there for everyone to bid on, but�� what is that mischievous glint in his eye?

That’s a bit… unsettling.

Reluctantly, you stand—your heart racing as you smooth down your dress and make your way toward the stage. The spotlight warms your skin, and the auctioneer welcomes you with an enthusiastic gesture. But before you can fully settle into the moment, you feel it—a soft, familiar pulse deep within you.

Fucking hell. Here?

The vibrations start low, teasing, but enough to make your knees wobble slightly as you stand in front of the crowd. You glance down at Satoru, who remains seated, his eyes locked onto you with an almost predatory gleam. His lips curve into a slow, knowing smirk as his fingers tap lightly against his thigh—a silent admission that he’s the one behind the sudden wave of pleasure coursing through your body.

He is cruel—doing this while you’re on stage.

The auctioneer wastes no time, diving right into the event as he begins introducing each woman on stage, one by one. The crowd’s attention is fixed on the participants as the bids for each woman slowly climb higher, some reaching $5,000 before being closed off with a cheerful crack of the auctioneer’s gavel.

But as you stand there—your heart thudding in your chest as you wait for your turn—the vibrations pulsing deep inside you are a constant, teasing reminder of Satoru’s hold over you.

“And now, for our next participant—y/n!” The auctioneer’s voice rings out, and the crowd’s attention immediately shifts to you. A murmur ripples through the ballroom as you stand in the spotlight, trying to maintain your composure—but the slow, torturous vibrations leave you dripping in front of everyone.

You swallow hard as the auctioneer begins at a low price, and before anyone else can react, Satoru’s hand shoots up.

“Five thousand,” he calls out, voice steady, eyes locked on you.

Before you can process it fully, another voice cuts in, smooth and confident—Suguru.

“Seven thousand,” his gaze flickers briefly to Satoru—daring him to up the stakes.

Satoru clenches his jaw, but his gaze never leaves yours. His hand goes up again.

“Ten thousand.”

Your breath hitches—this bidding is escalating so quickly it’s making your head spin, and the relentless vibrations are driving you wild.

Suguru chuckles as he raises his paddle, enjoying every second of this. “Twenty thousand,” he smirks, leaning back in his chair.

The crowd murmurs, a few gasps here and there, but no one dares interrupt this battle of wills between the two men. You bite your lip, feeling the pulse of the beads inside you grow stronger. Fuckfuckfuck… your body reacts involuntarily, and a soft gasp escapes your lips.

Satoru notices immediately and the corner of his lips twitch up slightly. His gaze darkens, and without missing a beat, he raises his paddle once more. “Fifty thousand.”

The room falls silent, and your heart drums in your chest, racing alongside the vibrations tormenting your body. Shifting your weight slightly, your pussy hums in pleasure under the spotlight—struggling to hold yourself together.

Suguru, leans back, arms crossing over his chest as he studies Satoru, clearly impressed by his boldness. Then, just as it looks like he’s about to raise his paddle again, Satoru leans forward and his voice drops even lower.

“One hundred thousand.”

The crowd gasps. The entire ballroom seems to shift—stunned by the sheer audacity of the number.

Raising an eyebrow, Suguru lets out a low amused whistle. Then, with a smirk, he raises his hands in mock surrender, chuckling under his breath. “Well, well, Satoru… looks like you win.”

As Suguru places his paddle down, the grin plastered upon his face makes it painfully obvious –he’s thoroughly enjoyed how far this has gone, and the auctioneer, momentarily speechless, quickly attempts to recover.

“One hundred thousand, going once… going twice…” he slams his gavel down with a sharp crack. “Sold to Mr. Gojo for one hundred thousand dollars!”

The applause that follows feels distant—entirely drowned out by the overwhelming sensations coursing through your wet cunt. This is torture. Your legs are weak, your pulse racing, and Satoru’s eyes are locked on you, burning with intensity.

Leaning back in his chair, a slow possessive smirk spreads across his lips.

He’s told the entire room—and you—that you belong to him.

❥

The applause disappears into background noise as Satoru grabs your hand—a grip that’s firm and relentless. There’s no time for conversation, no time for teasing words—he’s already pulling you away from the auction, weaving through the crowd with purposeful strides.

The way his body is practically humming with urgency, tells you everything—it’s an urgency that matches the pulsing throb still lingering in your clit from his playful torture during the auction.

You stumble slightly to keep up as he moves through the dim lights of the ballroom—everything blurring together as he maneuvers through tables. Once you reach the edge of the room, he guides you into one of the shadowy hallways leading away from the event.

“Satoru…” the moment his name leaves your lips, he shoots a glance back at you, dark and filled with unbridled need.

“Not a fucking word,” his grip tightens on your hand as he pulls you along. “If you say another word…” his breath hitches, “I’ll fuck you right here, against this wall. I don’t care who sees.”

Oh, he’s barely restrained—it’s a hunger that’s been building all night.

Everything fades into the background as he guides you down the empty corridor, and the moment he reaches a single door hidden at the end, he’s shoving it open and dragging you inside.

The room is dimly lit, but he doesn’t give you the time of day to take in your surroundings—no—he’s on you in an instant.

“I can’t fucking wait any longer,” kicking the door shut with his foot, his hands immediately find your waist as he presses you up against the nearest wall. “Fucking finally…” he growls, rolling his erection against you, making you gasp. “Feel that?” his lips brush against your ear as his hands slide lower, gripping your ass tightly. “That’s what you’ve done to me all night.”

“Satoru—” he cuts you off with a bruising kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips with an intensity that leaves you breathless.

Your head spins as his hands rampantly roam your body. He’s desperate for you—grunting as he pins you—the wall against your back, his cock between your legs. His forceful friction makes your body arch, and you can feel his smug smirk curling against your lips as you let out a soft, needy moan.

He pulls away—his lips grazing your jawline as he trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

“Do you know how fucking hard it was for me to sit there,” he accentuates his words with a ruthless thrust, “seeing you squirm, knowing you were soaking wet and no one else could tell?”

His lips crash back into yours, devouring you before he pulls away again.

“…watching you tell Mei-Mei off, knowing you’re mine,” his cock twitches at the memory as he grinds into you again, “fuck when you outbid her…all I could think about was bending you over that damn table to fuck you right in front of her.”

The filthy image he paints in your mind sends a surge of heat through your body, “fuck, that’s so hot…” you let out a breathless moan, your legs trembling as your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. “Need you, now.”

Another bruising kiss follows, his teeth grazing your lower lip, biting down gently before releasing it. He pulls away, and your cunt drips the moment he commands,

“Turn around.”

You oblige—moving on instinct as you spin around. Your palms press flat against the cool wall and your back arches just slightly as you present yourself to him.

Completely at his mercy—exactly how you both want it.

“Fuck, you look so perfect like this."

You hold your breath as his fingers purposefully slide over your ass, and the moment his hands find the hem of your dress, he gathers the fabric in his fists and urgently bunches it up your thighs, allowing the cool air to hit the wet fabric between your legs.

“Look at you,” he coos, tugging the dress up higher. “You’re fucking dripping, baby,” your heat intensifies as his fingers trace an outline on your pussy. “Jesus, you’re fucking soaked… wearing these beads all night… so wet for me.”

As he tugs your drenched panties down in one fell swoop, his fingers trace the slickness of your cunt—curling between the thin string of the Hula beads.

“You took them so well… now let me show you what comes next.”

You shudder as he slowly, torturously starts to remove them—the device dragging against your sensitive core, making your knees tremble. He hums in approval as the last of the Hula beads slip out.

But as you exhale shakily, Satoru doesn’t give you a moment to recover.

“—‘toru!” his hands grip your hips firmly as he forcefully guides to towards a nearby vanity—positioning himself behind you as he pushes you down in front of the mirror.

“You’ve had your fun baby, but now it’s my turn,” as the words leave his lips, you hear the unmistakable clink of his belt buckle, followed by the sound of his zipper sliding down—the urgency is evident in the way his hands work to release himself. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk straight.”

You gasp the moment his free cock presses against your bare skin, and your pussy grows more wet from the sound of him stroking himself, mixed with the shallow breaths escaping his lips.

Once you catch sight of his reflection in the mirror—cock in hand, eyes dark with lust, jaw clenched with restraint—fuck you know. He was feral.

His weeping tip lines up against your entrance.

“Look at you, trembling already…” he coos, rubbing your combined slick with his dick. “So desperate for it, aren’t you?”

Your head drops down and your legs quiver as he teases your entrance—fucking hell what is he waiting for? It’s maddening. You want to be filled, to finally feel the sweet release you’ve been tortuously denied all night.

Glancing up, you catch sight of his infuriating smirk in the reflection.

“Satoru, please hurry up,” you whine as his cock brushes against your clit.

A low chuckle rumbles from his chest. “Patience princess.”

You can’t wait.

Without his permission, you rock your hips back, and he slides in effortlessly as you take him in with one swift motion. A sharp gasp escapes your lips as his thick cock becomes soaked in your wetness, stretching you full.

Satoru sucks in a sharp breath—his grip on your hips tightening as he struggles to hold back the urge to burst inside you the very moment he bottoms out, right then and there. Your cunt is too fucking good.

"Fucking—wait, wait, wait," he hisses through clenched teeth—his cock twitching and his eyes fluttering shut as he quickly tries to steady himself.

You bite your lip, trembling as you watch his reaction in the mirror—the way he’s flexing…shuddering… oh god. How can you wait?

“Satoru… nngh,” your hips roll against him in slow deliberate motions, “haa—can’t wait anymore.”

His eyes snap open at your words, watching your reflection as his jaw clenches with unbridled restraint. He pursues his lips and exhales through his nose—and in that instant, there’s an immediate shift in him—a moment of pure unadulterated lust.

“Needy little thing…” his grip is, forceful, bruising as he growls, “goddamn it, princess…you couldn’t fucking wait. Fine.”

Oh, you’ve done it now.

Pulling back, he removes his dick just enough to slam forward with a brutal force that makes you cry out in pleasure. You drop your head on the vanity surface, gasping as he buries himself deep inside you.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

He sets a brutal pace, each thrust harder as your pussy stretches around his thick pulsing cock—it’s too much, too perfect. The pleasure courses through your veins like fire as he drives into you with a relentless ferocity, leaving you shaking.

The vanity dresser rattles under his force, and the mirror reflects every delicious second of it—your body arching, your mouth falling open, the glazed-over look in your eyes as he ravishes your cunt. But most of all, the way Satoru watches you fall apart for him—possessive and proud.

His hand moves from your hips, sliding up the curve of your body to grip your chin. You whimper as he shifts deeper, leaning forward and forcing your gaze to peer directly in the mirror.

“C’mon now, look at yourself,” he pants, ragged as his hips slam into you with an unrelenting force. “Look how fucking pretty you look taking me like this.”

The pressure coils tight between your legs and your body hums as the pleasure becomes immeasurable. You don’t even realize how your eyes begin to flutter shut—not until his grip tightens on your chin, directing it forcefully to stare at your own reflection.

“No, no. Don’t you dare look away,” he slips two fingers in your mouth and you whimper at the intrusion. “Want you to see what a good girl you are for me.”

God, your head is spinning—the sight of watching him fuck you was so… erotic.

His lips curve into a slow, dangerous smirk as he takes in the sight of you completely fucked out—desperate, needy, sucking his fingers as you try to keep your eyes open, teetering on the edge of bliss—oh his cock twitches inside you.

“Haa—yesss… that’s my good girl…so fucking pretty. Takin m’ so well.”

The rhythm of his hips becomes erratic, his thrusts harder and deeper, each one sending jolts of ecstasy rippling through you. His breath becomes labored as his chest heaves against your back, and you can tell—yes, you can feel it—you’re both so close. So fucking close.

Each plunge pushes you further toward the edge, and your moans are muffled against his fingers. The coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter until you can hardly breathe.

“This what you wanted?” his fingers slip out of your mouth, a thin string of saliva connecting them before he brings his hand down, wrapping around your throat. “Tell me,” he pants, “say how fucking good I feel inside you.”

“—haa, so good…” you gasp, “’toru I’m—"

Your words are cut off by a shuddering cry as your body spasms, the intense pleasure crashing over you like a violent wave as your orgasm slams into you. Your walls tighten around him, coating his cock with your sweet slick as your body trembles uncontrollably in bliss.

“Fuuuck—that’s it, yes baby… squeeze me just like that,” his grip tightens on your throat as his hips slam into yours with reckless abandon. “So tight… fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” He’s panting, his chest pressed against your back as the wet slaps of skin against skin fills the room.

His pace quickens and the overstimulation pushes you further, prolonging your orgasm. You feel your legs begin the weaken as you can barely hold yourself up against the vanity—his cock relentlessly hitting that spot deep inside you.

“’toru—fuck,” you cry, reeling from your climax, “need you to cum… please—”

His jaw clenches, and his breath shudders as he tries to hold back, but the sight of you, completely undone and begging drives him absolutely wild. With a low deep groan, his hands grip your hips as he rapidly chases his own release.

“God—fuck—anything for you… just for you, baby,” he rasps as the tension coils tight in his gut. “Shit—I’m gonna fill you up… fuck, take it all.”

His cock twitches violently as he buries himself deep with one final, brutal thrust. Your name falls from his lips in breathless broken murmurs as he erupts inside you—warm sticky cum filling you to the brim and painting your walls white.

“Haaa—yess… good girl… good fucking girl,” his hips stutter erratically and his head falls forward, eyes squeezed shut.

You feel his grip on your hip loosen as he finally comes to a stop, and for a moment, neither of you move, and neither of you speak—just the sound of your heavy breathing as his chest rises and falls heavily against your back.

His fingers begin to gently brush against your waist, tracing slow soothing patterns—a touch so tender compared to that relentless grip he held on you just moments before, and a warm shiver shoots through you as you feel his lips brush against your shoulder in a soft, lingering kiss.

“I fucking love you, y’know that?” he murmurs affectionately.

A warmth blooms deep in your chest, spreading outward from his words.

“I love you too,” there is both exhaustion and endearment in your voice as you turn your head slightly to meet his gaze, wearing a grin.

His still heavy-lidded eyes lock onto yours and a lazy, adoring smile spreads across his lips.

“Y’know…” he leans down to press a kiss to the curve of your neck, “I dunno what I did to deserve you but…” he nuzzles into your neck and his arms wrap around you, “I’m never letting you go.”

You lean into his touch and hum pensively, “Good. Cause you’re stuck with me.”

He chuckles softly, holding you close and basking in the moment. Then, he grunts as he lifts himself up—wincing slightly as he finally pulls his spent cock from you. The sensation makes you both involuntarily shudder.

You sigh, leaning forward on the vanity, and with a surprising tenderness, he leans down and uses his handkerchief to begin cleaning you up carefully—wiping away the evidence of your shared pleasure.

But as his fingers brush delicately against your still oversensitive sex, a small whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it. He smirks at the sound and his eyes glint with amusement, clearly pleased by your reaction.

“Sensitive, huh?” he teases, though his touch remains gentle.

Rolling your eyes, you try to hide the smile tugging at your lips by burying your face into your arms—resting against the vanity.

“Well, what’d you expect?” you huff with mock exasperation—breath unsteady as he finishes cleaning you. “After the way you were teasing me all night?”

A low chuckle rumbles in his chest as his fingers linger a moment too long on your inner thighs, grazing dangerously close to where you’re still tender.

“Couldn’t help it,” he murmurs, his voice dropping a register. "You make it impossible to keep my hands off you…"

You suck in a sharp breath and glance back, giving him a playful but pointed look.

"Careful," you warn. "Or we’ll never make it back."

That devilishly charming grin curls upon his lips as his hands slide up and down your legs. “Mmm… well maybe I don’t want to make it back.”

Your breath hitches as his fingertips graze your skin one last time—then, he reaches down for your panties, and you watch through the mirror how he pockets them before finally smoothing down your bunched-up dress.

You glance back and shoot him a look, earning you a wicked grin.

“You’re hopeless…” you mumble, shaking your head as you straighten up, but before you can fully stand, his chest presses against your back, and you feel his strong arms wrap around you, pulling you close.

A soft sigh escapes him as he buries his face in your hair, inhaling your scent deeply.

“It’s not fair... I don’t wanna go back,” he whines. “I just want to hold you… keep you all to myself tonight.”

"We’ll have all night after this," you murmur, turning to kiss his cheek softly. "C’mon… just a little longer and I’m all yours."

He groans, and you try to break the embrace, but suddenly he spins you around and his hands drift to your hips, pulling you even closer against him.

"But I dunno if I can behave for that long…" he whispers, tenderly caressing your cheek. "You say that… but I’m already thinking about sneaking you away again. Can’t help myself."

Stifling a smile, you roll your eyes as you place a hand on his chest, gently pushing him back so you can get a better look at him.

"You're lucky I love you," you say with a mock sigh, reaching up to fix the collar of his shirt and smoothing down the wrinkles in his tux.

He watches you with that same lazy, adoring smile.

"Lucky doesn’t even begin to cover it, princess."

❥

As the gala comes to a close, the party moves to the outside garden, with the warm autumn night wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. The chatter of guests mingles with the soft rustling of the trees, and the leaves have started turning shades of orange and red, but there’s still that lingering hint of summer in the air—a warmth that keeps the chill at bay.

There is a sense of awe in the way that the string lights twinkle above the garden, casting a soft glow over the crowd—and you stand beside Satoru amongst the masses, the warmth of his hand in yours.

But… for some reason there’s a certain energy radiating from him—something… different. He’s been uncharacteristically quiet during this last hour—a muted tension, almost like he’s… distracted?

“Satoru,” you ask softly, giving his hand a little squeeze. “You okay?”

He blinks, pulled out of whatever thoughts were clouding his mind, and turns to you with a soft smile.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” leaning in, his lips peck your temple, “just thinkin’.”

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity bubbling up inside you.

Thinking about what?

But before the words can leave your lips, the auctioneer from earlier approaches you, a bright smile on his face.

“Ah, Miss y/n, there you are,” he begins. “I hope you’ve been enjoying the event this year. I just wanted to personally congratulate you on your win tonight. Here is your necklace—it truly is one-of-a-kind.”

He holds out a sleek black box, and your eyes light up as you take it from him.

“Oh, thank you! I’ve been looking forward to this.”

You accept the box eagerly, your fingers moving quickly to open it, and the moment the necklace comes into view, your eyes widen. The jewels glimmer under the soft glow of the garden lights—with the intricately delicate curves and sparkling stones exuding an elegance that immediately captivates you.

“It’s even more stunning in person,” you breathe out, running your fingers over the smooth, polished metal.

Satoru peers down at the necklace in your hand, his lips curling into a subtle smirk.

“Mmm… well you fought well for it,” he teases lightly.

The auctioneer chuckles, nodding in agreement. “It was quite the bidding war. Congratulations once again, Miss y/n.” With a courteous nod, he steps back into the crowd, leaving you and Satoru alone under the twinkling garden lights.

As you turn to face Satoru, a victorious grin tugs at the corner of your lips. Holding the necklace up, you boast proudly.

“Told ya Mei-Mei didn’t stand a chance”

You’re relieved how the comment seems to make your typical Satoru return—his lips curl into a deep smirk and amusement dances in his bright eyes.

“Oh?” he raises an eyebrow, “You certainly went to war for this, huh?”

“Absolutely,” you playfully huff, lifting your chin proudly. “But, let’s be honest—you did an amazing job designing it. So of course, there was no way I was letting it go. It was all mine from the start.”

He hums softly, and just as quickly as it appeared, his cocky edge easily fades into something more tender. His gaze lingers on you, making your heart skip a beat.

“Yeah well… what can I say?” he tilts his head, “I know my girl’s taste.”

My girl.

You can’t help the gentle smile that breaks across your face, your heart swelling

“You do,” you whisper softly. “I love it.”

For a moment, the world fades away as you hold his gaze—a tenderness swirling in the familiar blue depths of his eyes. Then, he takes a small step closer.

“Here,” he murmurs, taking the necklace from your hand, “let me help you put it on.”

You nod as he moves behind you, and you hold your breath as his fingers delicately brush your skin—gathering your hair to one side. A soft shiver shoots down your spine from his touch, and he lingers while fastening the clasp around the nape of your neck. The cool metal of the necklace settles against you, but it’s the warmth of his hands that hold your attention.

After fastening the clasp with a quiet focus, his breath fans lightly over your ear as he leans in.

“There. It’s perfect.”

You raise your hand, lightly touching the pendant now resting against your collarbone, and turn to face him. His eyes aren’t on the necklace though—they’re entirely on you.

He takes a moment, letting his gaze travel over your face before meeting your own.

“You’re absolutely stunning,” he says softly, “I think it looks even better on you than I imagined.”

Your heart flutters wildly and his fingers tuck a stray lock of your hair gently behind your ear. Leaning in slightly, you melt as he pulls you in for a tender kiss. The warmth of his lips moves slowly, languidly against yours, and your hand comes up to rest against his chest—feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

Just as your lips part, your eyes flicker up to meet his. There is an intensity in his gaze that catches you off guard, making your breath hitch.

Why? Why does it feel like there is something simmering beneath the surface with him tonight?

But before you can sit on that thought any more, the speakers crackle to life, breaking the quiet intimacy and drawing your attention back to the event.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for your incredible generosity tonight!” the announcers voice echoes through the garden. “I’m thrilled to announce that this year’s charity gala has raised an astounding amount—thanks to your support, we’ve reached over two million dollars to benefit our causes!”

Applause erupts from the crowd below, and you turn your head, listening, but your eyes flicker back to Satoru, whose demeanor shifts ever so slightly as he listens. His jaw tightens, and his gaze turns distant for a moment. It's like he’s suddenly lost in thought.

What is up with him tonight?

“And now,” the announcer continues, “to wrap up this wonderful evening, we invite you to stay and enjoy the grand firework show, which will begin in just five minutes. Thank you again for attending, and have a magical night!”

The speakers cut off with a soft crackle, and the garden fills with clapping and cheers. Yet, as you glance at Satoru, he remains in his own world. Just as you’re about to open your mouth, Suguru suddenly swings into view, his arm draping casually over Satoru’s shoulder—oblivious to the lingering tension.

“There you are!” he chimes in with a grin. Satoru clears his throat, and they exchange a quick knowing glance between each other and your brow furrows as a subtle tension begins to crackle between them.

“Mind if I steal Satoru for a quick minute?” he turns, grinning to you—but there’s an undercurrent of something more serious beneath his demeanor.

Okay… is there something going on? Whatever it is, it feels like you’re being left out of the loop.

“Uh, yeah… sure,” you watch them step a few paces away, murmuring quietly to one another—catching glimpses of their expressions. Satoru looks unconventionally nervous as Suguru’s lips move quickly. Unusual…whatever they’re discussing, it’s clearly important to have Satoru on edge.

You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow as you watch the two of them.

What on earth are they plotting now?

After a few moments, they return. Satoru’s still got that charged energy, but there’s a determination in his eyes. Suguru, on the other hand, is grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“What’s going on?” you ask, eyeing them suspiciously.

“Oh, y’know, charity event stuff. Nothing too serious.” Suguru shrugs.

Riiiight… he’s clearly not going to give you any more information.

You narrow your eyes at him but before you can press further, Satoru reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. Suguru, catching the subtle tension, clears his throat and flashes you both a wide grin.

"Well, see you guys around," he says casually, waving flippantly. "I’m gonna grab one last drink before the fireworks start."

As he turns on his heel and walks away, Satoru’s hand gently tugs at yours, pulling you in the opposite direction—away from the crowd, away from the noise.

"C’mon," he murmurs, voice soft, almost hesitant.

You follow him, his hand gently guiding you towards a quiet stairwell that leads up to the venue’s balcony. But just as you approach the stairs, an event organizer steps into your path, clipboard in hand. She looks frazzled, her brow furrowed with stress.

"Oh! Mr. Gojo," she says, breathless, walking right up to the two of you. "Sorry to interrupt, but we’re finalizing some last-minute details regarding the auction earlier, and we really need—"

Before she can finish, Shoko appears seemingly out of nowhere, sliding up beside the woman with a smooth grin.

“Ah, don’t worry about them,” Shoko interrupts flawlessly, throwing an arm around the woman’s shoulders. “I’ve got it handled.”

The event organizer blinks, clearly taken aback, but Shoko doesn’t give her a moment to protest. Instead, she steers the woman gently back toward the crowd, already launching into some topic you can’t hear.

As they walk away, Shoko glances back at Satoru, giving him a subtle nod and mouthing “go” before disappearing into the crowd.

You raise an eyebrow, but before you can process the exchange, Satoru’s lips twitch into a smile as he tugs on your hand, already leading you up the stairs.

“What was that about?” you ask, glancing back down at Shoko’s retreating figure.

“Oh y’know… Shoko being Shoko,” he chuckles with a shrug, but there’s a nervousness to his laugh—something you’ve never heard from him before.

You narrow your eyes playfully, about to ask more, but the view from the top of the balcony cuts off your train of thought—leaving you breathless.

It’s draped in soft, glowing lights, casting a warm amber hue over the garden stretching out below. Elegant vines with autumn-colored leaves weave through the steel railings, and a gentle breeze carries with it the scent of the distant garden flowers—chrysanthemums, marigolds, and asters—a lingering warmth of late summer giving way to autumn.

The night sky sprawls out before you like an infinite canvas—stars twinkling faintly—but it's the stillness and beauty of this shared moment that makes your heart flutter. Then, the first firework shoots up into the air with a soft whistle.

It arcs gracefully against the night sky before erupting into a dazzling cascade of golden sparks, raining down like glittering stardust. You marvel how the garden below transforms into a dreamscape of warm, glowing embers. Then, another follows, this time a burst of deep red. The colors ripple and shimmer, fading into soft blues and purples, mixing like watercolors against the canvas of the night sky.

But as you stand there, entranced by the beauty of the fireworks, you slowly begin to realize that Satoru isn’t watching the sky at all.

He’s watching you.

You shift, turning your attention to him now, and suddenly, you feel strangely nervous at the way he’s looking at you. Your breath hitches as he steps closer, taking your hand into his own. He lifts it to his lips and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“Why aren’t you watching the fireworks?” you murmur.

The sound of the next firework shoots into the sky, cutting the quiet between you and painting the night in a burst of blue. He lowers your hand from his lips and his thumb brushes over your knuckles in a slow, deliberate motion—as if memorizing the feel of you.

“Because they’re not what I want to see tonight.”

The weight of his words makes your heart swell, and the softness in his voice sends a shiver through you—but before you can respond, he reaches into his pocket, and your eyes widen as he pulls out a small velvet box.

Just as he drops to one knee, another firework explodes in the sky behind him, casting a colorful hue of violet and silver over his features.

“y/n…” he smiles steadily, eyes fixed only on you. “I know I mess around a lot, and I don’t always take things as seriously as I should, but this… this is the one thing I’ve never been more sure about in my life.”

Your breath catches as he opens the small velvet box—revealing a ring inside that is nothing short of breathtaking. The centerpiece is a brilliant-cut diamond—flawless, sparkling, and catching the light from the fireworks above—shimmering in a thousand dazzling directions. The diamond is set within a delicate band of platinum, but what makes it truly special is the intricate design surrounding it.

The band curves into an elegant, infinity loop—symbolizing the eternal bond you share. Small diamonds are delicately embedded along the loop, creating a river of light and wrapping around your finger like a never-ending promise. But the Gojo family’s infinity design isn’t just in the band—it’s in the very shape of the setting, which cradles the diamond in a way that feels both secure and limitless, a perfect balance between strength and grace.

It’s more than a ring—it’s a reflection of your love, infinite and unbreakable, meant to last forever.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I’ve loved you from the moment we met, and every day since has been better than the last because you’re by my side. I can’t imagine my life without you, and I don’t want to.”

Your chest tightens and tears begin to well up in your eyes, blurring your vision. As his words sink into your heart, time seems to slow.

“So…” he takes a deep breath, his smile widening, “will you marry me?”

Another firework explodes overhead, filling the sky with shimmering gold and blue, but you barely hear it.

The only thing that matters in this moment is him.

Your tears spill over as you choke out the words, nodding quickly.

“Yes… yes, of course.”

And in that moment, the joy that spreads across his face is radiant—a pure, unfiltered happiness that lights up his entire expression. His hands, normally so steady, tremble ever so slightly as he slips the ring onto your finger.

With the ring in place, Satoru stands, and before you can say a word, he pulls you into his arms—lifting you off your feet and spinning you around in celebration. The sky explodes with bright colors as your shared laughter sings alongside the symphony of lights.

Your face buries into his shoulder as you laugh through the happy tears spilling down your cheeks—overwhelmed by the sheer joy of it all as you cling to him—as if nothing else in the world matters.

“I love you,” you whisper, muffled by his shoulder.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, and his eyes shimmer with emotion. Then, his smile softens, and a thumb comes up to gently brush away a tear still clinging to your cheek.

“I love you too,” he murmurs, “for infinity.”

The words wrap around you like a promise, as real as the ring now on your finger. His lips find yours, and the rest of the world fades away. The fireworks are coming to an end, and while the final bursts fill the sky behind you, painting the horizon in brilliant shades of color—it’s the warmth of Satoru’s arms, his love, and the promise of forever, that truly lights up your world—like none other.

a/n. i feel like i went through all the emotions writing this fic lol! i was in a very smutty mood, but also in a very fluffy mood 🥰 anyways, this was super fun to create—it's not entirely halloween-esque but i guess it kind of is at the same time? 😛 i do wanna thank my amazing friend @strychnynegirl for sparking all the inspiration and helping me with this 💕 she's amazing and this fic wouldn't exist without her. thanks so much for reading ya'll ✨

tags: @fushitoru @lovebittenbyevans @genshingeeksworld @myahfig4

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sunrizef1 · 8 months ago

Text

Lost in Japan

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Reader

Warnings: None, cursing

Authors Note: I was almost done with a max fic and this song overtook my mind until I finished this. Also trust, I will be using bear as a nickname for Oscar in every fic from now on.

Summary: Lost in Japan by Shawn Mendes

Word Count: 5.1k (this was supposed to be short)

Oscar was bored. Lando was off celebrating a successful weekend somewhere out in the city of Shanghai while Oscar was sat alone in his hotel room waiting for the flight McLaren has organized to get him back to England. He hadn’t won. He hadn’t even gotten a podium. So there wasn’t much for him to be exactly thrilled about. So instead, he was just scrolling through his phone, checking various social media apps before he finally landed on Instagram.

He clicked on the first Instagram story at the top of his page, which happened to be Lando’s. He ignored the pictures of him celebrating at some party, tapping through the various shots of him getting more and more inebriated. He was with Max and Charles at the party so Oscar wasn’t too concerned. He clicks through a few more people stories before landing on a specific one that makes him slow down.

Oscar stares at his phone screen, eyes glazing over your Instagram story. He’s clicking through passively, pausing as he gets to one of you at dinner the night before. He lets it play out but quickly clicks back when he notices the Tokyo, Japan tag that you’ve placed near the top of the screen.

As Oscar stares at the picture, trying to take in every detail, he’s struck by an idea. He clicks out of the app, opens up his messages and navigates to your contact, already standing up from his hotel room bed to grab his already packed suitcase.

It didn’t look like he’d be using that plane ticket back to England after all. He clicks the call button under your name, holding the phone between his shoulder and his cheek as he grabs his things, exiting the room after he slides his backpack on.

The phone rings for a bit too long, making Oscar slightly worried that you wouldn’t pick up but it does eventually connect and Oscar is met with the sound of your voice filtering through the phone speaker. The door shuts with a soft click behind the Aussie as he steps into the hallway.

“Hello, Oscar,” you hum through the phone. Oscar can practically hear the smirk on your lips even through the low quality iPhone speaker.

Oscar huffs a laugh at your tone, dragging his suitcase behind him as he walks down the hall, “Hi, y/n.”

"What can I do for you?” you ask and Oscar can hear shuffling from your end of the call. As the words leave your lips, he reaches the elevator, tapping the button on the wall to call it to his floor.

“Do you have plans tonight?” Oscar reaches the point quickly, trapping the phone back between his shoulder and ear as the elevator opens and he steps in, tapping the lobby button.

You pause for a second, proccessing the question and contemplating your answer, “Besides falling asleep in a few hours? Nope.”

Oscar hums, pulling the phone into his hands and typing impatiently into google as you speak. He finds the soonest, and nicest, flight to Japan he could, purchasing the ticket without a second thought.

“Why?”

Oscar freezes for a moment, looking up from the ticket he'd just bought to narrow his eyes at the elevator door, “I saw you're in Japan-”

“Oh, so you're stalking me now?” Oscar rolls his eyes as you laugh through your question, painting the image of your grinning face in the Aussies mind.

“Shut up, no, anyway-,” Oscar sighs, dragging his suitcase out of the elevator as it reaches the lobby, “Im in Shanghai, I thought I'd fly over to see you.”

Your silence on the other end of the line is deafening. Oscar even checks to make sure the call is still connected due to how quiet you were. Taking your lack of response as a bad sign, Oscar starts to ramble, hoping to do a bit of damage control, “Just because I'm only a couple hundred miles away and the race is over and I'm bored. Its just been so long since we were so close, especially during the season and I miss y-”

“When does your flight leave?”

Oscar, who’d frozen on the sidewalk outside the hotel, unfreezes to gesture for a taxi. It was only a five-minute drive to the airport from the place Mclaren had been staying so he hoped this wouldn't take too long. He mutes for a moment to tell the driver to take him to the airport. The driver nods, pulling away from the curb.

“Uhhhh-” Oscar navigates through his phone to check his flight details as he sits back in his seat, “Half an hour?”

“Ooh, you better hurry then,” You hum, a playful tone laced through your words, “Dont want to miss it.”

Oscar laughs happily, just glad to hear you joking along. He does find some reality in your words though, doing the math to see if he even had enough time to make his flight. He was honestly running on hopes and prayers at this point.

“What made you suddenly so inclined to fly to Japan on a random Sunday?” Your voice pulls Oscar out of his thoughts and he pauses, smiling abashedly as the answer comes to his head.

“Just can't get you off my mind.”

Oscar can’t see you. But if he could, he'd see a warm smile carved onto your face due to the warmth his statement had caused.

“I don't know Osc, I'm actually pretty tired. Might just head to bed,” Oscar rolls his eyes as you try and stifle your giggle.

“Do I need to convince you to stay awake, then?”

You huff a laugh, humming in affirmation, “I’d love to hear it.”

“Well,” Oscar starts, racking his mind for some suggestions of what to say to get you to agree to this, “You don't miss me?”

“I never said that,” You reply quickly. Oscar raises an eyebrow, head falling back against the seat as he trys not to groan.

“So you do miss me?”

You hum quietly, the sound almost too low for Oscar to hear it through the phone, “Maybe a little bit.”

The Aussie chuckles, “I thought so.”

“Can you blame me? It's been a while. I miss my favourite koala bear,” Oscar gets the sense that the words were meant to come out teasing but he can't help but notice how genuine they sound. He laughs nonetheless.

He's about to respond when the cab comes to a sudden stop and he looks out the window to see the airport in front of him.

“Shit, I'm here.”

Oscar swings his backpack onto his shoulders, rifling through a pocket to find enough cash to hand to the driver, not really considering an exact amount and, instead, just asking the driver if that was enough. When the driver tries to hand change back, Oscar leans away, grasping the door handle to swing the door open to get out. He grabs his suitcase as well, leaning down to shout back into the car.

“Keep the change, thanks mate!” Oscar shuts the door, dragging his suitcase behind him as the cab drives away.

“Such a gentleman, I take it you're at the airport now?” you tease him, a genuine questioning tilt laced in your words.

Oscar nods before remembering you can't see him, “Yeah, just got out of the car.”

Oscar rushes through the large door, holding it open for an older woman to walk through before he steps in past her. He glances around the room, trying to find airport security so he could get to his gate.

“You gonna make your flight?” you seem to be finding a lot of amusement in his frantic rushing.

Oscar huffs, pinning his phone between his cheek and shoulder to check his watch. He still had about twenty-five minutes to get to his plane.

“Twenty minutes,” he responds, walking quickly down the hall when he spots a sign directing him that way.

“Ooh! Ah, I have faith in you. If you're anywhere near as fast as you are on the track I'm sure you'll be fine.”

Oscars eyes trail over the hall, locking onto the security gates and causing him to walk a little quicker, “You watch the race today?”

You don't respond for a few minutes but when you do, your voice is a lot more calm than it had been a few moments before, “Mhm. You did good Os.”

Oscar lets out a sigh, shaking his head as a grin fights its way into his lips, “Thanks, I'm glad you think so.”

Oscar steps into the security line, grateful for the fact that there are only a few people in front of him. He ignores the weird glance the old lady in front of him sends his way as he rushes to a stop behind her, replying with a tight smile.

“Its not just me, Osc,” you reply, sensing his disdain for the days race through the phone, “Everyone thinks you did well.”

Oscar hums, stepping up a few steps as a couple of people pass through, leaving just the old lady in front of him. As he reaches the bag scanners, he pins his phone on his shoulder again to lift his bag up onto the conveyor belt, tossing his bag down beside it.

“One second,” Oscar responds, muting his phone to drop it into a bowl along with his airpods, sending them through along with his bags.

After he's put all his things on the belt, he steps away, walking through the metal detector when the agent signals for him to go.

It takes a few moments for the agents to check his bags but when they come through he pulls the suitcase off and sets it beside him, turning back to slide his backpack over his shoulders. He slides his AirPods into his hoodie pocket and picks up his phone, unmuting the call before walking away, his suitcase in tow.

“Im back,” Oscar clicks away from the call for a few seconds to check his flight details before putting the phone back to his ear.

“Did I just get sent through a security scanner?” you sound amused and Oscar can practically see your smirk just from the tone of your voice.

“Didnt want to hang up,” he grumbles, searching the signs above him for his gate, walking quickly when he spots it. A clock on the wall indicates that he's still got 15 minutes to get to his flight. He thinks about it for a few moments, quickly realizing that it was 15 minutes until scheduled takeoff and boarding would actually end in five minutes.

“Im honored-”

“Fuck!” Oscar cuts you off, too busy now sprinting down the airport corridor to think about that fact, “Shit! I'm gonna miss it!”

You don't respond for a few seconds but you eventually do, a loud laugh echoing from your throat as you take in his situation.

“Oh my god, are you late for boarding? Osc!” you laugh, the image of the driver sprinting down the hall engrained in your head.

He doesn't reply, the phone now down near his hip as he runs to his gate. The run feels like an hour but, in reality, was only actually a few minutes, the clocks on the walls ticking down as if mocking the Aussies poor planning.

He finds some kind of respite, though, as he finally gets to the gate, slowing down as he steps up to the gate agent. The lady seems surprised to see him run up but she doesn't turn away, instead glancing him up and down with a concerned look before responding.

“Hi! Do you have your ticket?” the woman is surprisingly kind about the question, especially considering she had been preparing to leave as he'd rocked up.

Oscar nods, still trying to catch his breath. He pulls his phone open to navigate to the ticket, facing the QR code forward for the agent to scan. She does so before nodding politely and leading him down the path toward the plane.

Oscar lets out a sight of relief and lifts the phone back up to his face, “I made it.”

Your laugh has calmed down but you snort at his almost war-torn sounding voice, his strife obvious due to his lack of breath, “Congrats, man.”

He gets lead onto the plane, thanking the woman who'd brought him and smiling at the flight attendants as he walks a few steps past them. He finds his seat, dropping his phone onto it to lift his phone and stow it away in the overhead bin. He grabs his phone and sits down, relaxing into the seat after setting his backpack on the ground.

“I’ll be in Japan in a few hours,” He says, running hand over his face, “See you there, yeah?”

You hum, “See you there, bear.”

Oscar ignores the nickname, pretending it didn't make him smile, “Im gonna hang up now, promise you won't be asleep when I land?”

You laugh, “I promise, Oscar. I'll even go get a red bull for some extra energ-”

“Yeah, nope. Goodbye.” Oscar interrupts before you can endorse the rival team.

“Bye koala bear,” you respond and the phone clicks softly as you hang up. Oscar sets the phone down to pull his airpods out of his pocket, connecting them in order to watch some movie for the flight.

The flights only a few hours long but it feels a lot longer than that to Oscar. It's a haze of random Netflix shows and bagged pretzels, the monotony of the flight boring Oscar out of his mind.

He's relieved when the plane touches down, his proximity to the front of the plane allowing him to stand up and grab his things fairly quickly. Its about 9 pm local time, the sky outside not shedding any light through the plane windows.

Oscar walks out into the airport, grateful to be off the cramped plane and finally move his legs again. He stops at one of the few shops still open to buy an overpriced bottle of water, pausing as he spots a bag of those haribo peach rings you like so much. He doesn't think much as he grabs the bag, throwing it onto the counter beside his bottle and offering the cashier a polite smile.

After paying, he grabs the bottle and the bag, grasping them in the same hand as he pulls his suitcase along with the other one.

He strolls through the airport, trying to rid himself of the fatigue from the race and the plane ride. The only thing keeping him from falling asleep was the thought of seeing you again.

Speaking of you, Oscar doesn't realize he has no idea where you were staying or where you were until he's stepped out of the airport doors, standing on the sidewalk with his suitcase sat next to him. He tries to recall if you'd told him anything about your Japan trip or even if he'd seen anything on your story but he comes up empty.

He clicks on your contact, pressing the phone to his ear as the call rings. He frowns as you decline, confused as to why you'd hang up.

He's just about to walk back inside to wait when a car horn honks, causing Oscar to look up in front of him.

His eyes widen as they lock onto an orange Mclaren 570s Coupe, the car shining beautifully under the street lights. As he stands and admires the car ahead of him, the window closest to him rolls down and he sees your head duck down to lock eyes with him.

“You getting in?”

He laughs incredulously, opening the passenger side door and carefully sliding his suitcase into the small storage space behind the seats.

He sets his backpack on the floor below him, flopping back into the sear and sliding his seatbelt on. He sets his water down and tosses the bag of peach rings into your lap, “Nice car.”

“Thanks,” you reply brightly, eyes widening as you observe the bag of candy before moving it into your hoodie pocket, “Thought id go all out with the rental for the few days I'm here.”

Oscar hums, glancing around the nice car, coincidentally a Papaya McLaren. He refused the urge to ask you if you'd been thinking of him when you'd picked the vehicle.

After you make sure his seatbelts on, you pull away from the airport terminal and navigate onto the main road, pressing play on your playlist to let music filter quietly through the speakers.

The car glides smoothly down the streets of Tokyo, bright lights reflecting off the sides of your face. Oscar looks your way, completely aware that your attention was locked on the road, giving him the free pass to admire you.

Your eyes dart around the road in front of you, neon lights reflected in your irises. Your teeth dig at your lower lip, chewing lightly as turn the car. You’ve got one hand on the wheel, the other one moving around between the center console and the fraying edge of your shorts. You're wearing a quadrant hoodie and Oscar can't tell if its his or if you both just owned the same hoodie. The fit didn't help, he knew you bought your hoodies oversized anyway.

You glance over as you come to a stop at a red light, grinning when you see his eyes on you.

“What?” You ask, laughing slightly as you lean back from the wheel, splitting your attention between the road and Oscars face.

Oscar shakes his head with a small smile, his own attention turning out the window as you drive through the green light.

“Have you eaten?”

Oscar shakes his head, “Nah.”

You nod, taking the next turn to pull into a parking lot, stopping the car after you find a spot. You step out and Oscar takes this as his cue to get out as well, shutting the car door gently behind him.

When Oscar gets around the car, he finds you leaning against the edge, your feet crossed as you wait for him. He steps to your side and you push off the car, the familiar beep of it locking ringing out as you walk away.

As you both walk toward the restaurant, you step into Oscar's side and he’s quick to swing an arm over your shoulder. You wrap an arm around his torso, reaching the other up to tangle your fingers with his.

He's only slightly disappointed when you have to drop his hand in order to open the door. But you keep your hand against his ribs and he keeps his arm around your shoulders, not ready to let you go yet.

The second his feet pass the threshold of the building, he's hit with some of the most delicious scents he'd smelled in his life. This late at night there isn't much action apart from a few stragglers who Oscar assumes had just gotten off work and needed a bite to eat.

An older man swings around the corner from the kitchen, faint food stains gracing his otherwise white apron. He has a huge grin on his face and it only increases when he sees you. He pushes his glasses up on his nose, wiping off the steam that had accumulated on the lenses.

“Ah! You're back again!” The man calls out to the pair of you. Although his words do make Oscar assume the man was mostly talking to you, “And you brought your boyfriend!”

You don't correct the man and after seeing the grin on your face, Oscar doesn't either.

“Yeah, he just got in from Shanghai. Haven't had dinner yet.”

“Go, go,” the man smiles, pointing toward the dining room, “Sit where you want, ill get to you in a second.”

The man waves you both toward the tables and you step out of Oscar’s grasp. He doesn't have to be disappointed for long as you wrap your hand in his to lead him through the restaurant, stopping at a booth before sliding in. Oscar slides in the seat opposite of you, his legs knocking against yours under the table.

Quickly, the man, who Oscar now assumes is the owner, comes over to the table, setting down two glasses of water and a pair of menus in front of the both of you.

“You know what you want?” The man grins as he gestures toward you, seemingly familiar to you. Oscar takes a sip of his water, letting the coop liquid run down his throat.

You nod happily, “Yeah, I think so.”

The man pulls out a small notebook to write down whatever you say and you continue by saying a few different dishes, the only one Oscar having had before being sushi. He doesn't say anything, knowing that you knew more about this place and the menu than he did.

After you're done ordering, the man walks away and strolls into the kitchen, handing the order to the woman behind the counter before placing a small kiss on her cheek.

Oscar looks back to you, a small smile on his face after seeing the couple who seemed to be running the restaurant themselves, “You’ve been here before, then?”

You nod, leaning over to take a sip from your glass, “Yeah, came here yesterday for lunch.”

Oscar hums, glancing out of the booth to look around the room. Paintings and neon signs decorate the walls and what seems to be photographs taken in the restaurant all line the wall by the entrance. Oscar can vaguely see that the photos of are different people posing, all with happy looks on their faces. He huffs a breathy laugh when he sees one of you with your friends.

The time spent waiting for your food is filled with casual conversation, Oscar asking a lot of questions about how your Tokyo trip had been so far.

You don't ask about the race. There's some kind of unspoken understanding that Oscar had run to Japan to get away from racing for once. Here, with you, Oscar wasn't Mclaren racing driver, Oscar Piastri, he was just Oscar. Or “Bear”, as you called him. A nickname that you seemed unable to let go of. Oscar pretended to be annoyed every time you said it but he couldn't deny the smile that formed every time he heard the Australia-themed moniker.

“Bear?” There it is. Oscar looks up with a raised eyebrow, deducing that you'd asked a question he hadn't answered.

“I asked if you're staying with me tonight.”

Oscar snorts before smirking, shaking his head as he locks eyes with you, “Yeah, wouldn't dream of being anywhere else.”

You blush, looking down toward the table, past meals having left vague food stains on the wood.

Before you can respond, the man returns, plates and bowls balancing in his hands. You look up politely, smiling as the man starts to place the food on the table, “Thank you so much.”

The man grins as he places down the last plate, “Of course. Enjoy.”

He walks away and you turn toward Oscar who stares vaguely at the food in front of him, “Dig in.”

You make a move for your chopsticks, looking over the food before taking a bite of whatever is immediately in front of you. Oscar glances around, not sure where to start.

Noticing his hesitancy, you pick up a piece of what you'd been eating and bring it up toward his lips, pulling back after Oscar bites into it.

“What is this?” Oscar asks as he chews, covering his mouth as he speaks. Whatever it is, it's pretty good, having a light and slightly sweet flavour. Its also a bit more rubbery than chicken, but its pretty good nonetheless.

You swallow your own bite, having scooped up some rice along with it, “Unagi. Grilled eel.”

The only indication of Oscar's surprise is his widened eyes but after a few seconds, he reaches over to take another bite, humming as he chews on the eel. You smile, moving on to grab some kind of skewer.

You slowly move through the foods, explaining each one to Oscar as he tries them.

They're all good but Oscar's favourite is the yakitori, the skewers of grilled chicken. By the time you've finished the food on the table, Oscar is about ready to pass out.

So you pay as soon as you can, Oscar grumbling about his inability to pay for the meal, lacking the proper currency. He does Venmo you when you put your phone down, though.

The owner makes playful conversation with you, thanking you for coming around and telling you you're welcome back anytime. Oscar just stands with his head on top of yours, trying not to fall asleep.

You're about to leave when the man calls you back and you turn around to see him holding a camera in his hands, “For the wall? Need to remember the happy couple.”

You laugh, glancing around to see the many many photos of various friend groups on the wall behind you, turning back around with a soft look as you nod. You lean into Oscar who wraps an arm around you, tilting his head toward you. You tangle your hand with the one on your shoulder, holding up a peace sign with your other one.

The familiar click of a camera sounds and the man smiles warmly, waving you both out the door, “Have a great time! Thank you for coming!”

You wave goodbye, stepping out of the restaurant and pulling out your keys to unlock the car. Oscar untangles from you to walk to the passenger's side and step in. You drop in as well, setting your phone down in the centre console. Oscar is staring out the window when he feels something drop in his lap and he glances down to see the bag of peach rings he'd bought you.

“Can you open that?” You ask, starting the car and putting it in reverse. You glance over your shoulder as you pull backward, one arm behind Oscars seat and the other on the wheel.

Oscar, at risk of getting caught staring, turns his attention to the candy, ripping the edge and grabbing a few pieces to throw in his mouth.

Once you've got onto the main road, you hold out a hand and Oscar drops a couple pieces which you proceed to eat.

The drive is quiet, the both of you feeling the exhaustion of the day catch up to you. You eventually pull up to the hotel, stopping the car and stepping out. Not before grabbing more candy from Oscar, though.

Oscar leans over to grab his suitcase, stepping out of the car and sliding his backpack on. He grabs his water bottle from the airport, stuffing it into the bottle compartment on the side of the bag. He looks up and starts walking, stepping by your side as you enter the hotel. You stroll through the lobby, leading both of you to the elevator.

As the elevator starts moving up, you both lean against the wall, letting the quiet music be the only sound beside a couple yawns.

The elevator dings as it passes each floor. Oscar watches as you dig your key card out of your pocket, running your fingers along the edge absently.

The doors slide open, leading you to walk out, Oscar in tow. You drift down the hall, humming along to whatever song was playing in your head. Oscar vaguely recognizes it as Taylor Swift.

When you reach your room, you scan your card and push the door open, holding it to let Oscar pass through.

He does, pushing his suitcase next to the far side of the bed. He can hear you setting your things down, the familiar clink of keys on glass ringing out in the otherwise quiet room.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom,” he says lowly, sliding past you and into the attached bathroom. He can hear you hum in affirmation just before he shuts the door.

When he emerges, you're sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling off your shoes before tossing them on the floor. You’ve taken off your hoodie (or Oscars) and its not lain over the chair across the room.

You glance up, smiling as you see the Aussie walk out, “Hi.”

Oscar huffs amusedly, sliding off his own shoes as he walks toward you, “Hi.”

You hum, looking up as he walks closer to you before leaning slightly to angle his face toward yours. You both pause for a few moments, waiting to see who'd break the stand-off first.

It ends up being you, as you pull his face down towards yours, your kiss almost searing. The kiss feels like it lasts a lifetime and Oscar almost wishes it could. He does pull away, though, just to move you away from the edge of the bed, smiling when he hears your laugh ring out after he's practically tossed you onto the mattress.

He moves up as well and before he can even get his bearings, you're pulling him back down again, hands in his hair and your lips on his.

The next morning, Oscars awoken by the sound of your quiet laugh. He rolls over with a tired groan, wrapping his other arm around your torso.

“What are you laughing at?” he grumbles, tiredness clear in his voice.

You turn to face him, looking impossibly beautiful for having just woken up. You hold your phone toward him and Oscar glances down at the screen before looking back up at your face with a questioning glance.

“Lando sent me a video this morning,” you start, closing your phone and tossing it aside to grasp his tired face between your hands, “Its quite funny.”

“What was it?” Oscar mumbles, leaning to press a small kiss on your forehead.

You lean back, looking him in the eyes and seemingly trying to hide your smirk, “It's a video of his teammate sprinting through the Shanghai airport.”

Oscar groans, trying to ignore your warm laugh, “Fuck.”

He's not really mad, not when the video was the source of your happiness right now.

There were a lot worse sights to wake up to than your happy face beside him.

——————————————————

Tags: @casperlikej @evie-119

#scheduled #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri fanfiction

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twstowo · 10 months ago

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Their Magicam Accounts[Twst]

♡︎How I think their Magicam Accounts would look and what they do in them.

♡︎This was been catching dust in my drafts for months now. Crazy

♡︎Includes: NRC, RSA and Rollo

⋆⋅☆Riddle: Owns two accounts on Magicam. The first one is only used to like or comment on posts from friends, Carter set up this account against Riddle’s will. He once accidentally posted a picture of the two of you and had a heart attack trying to delete it. The second account is a secret one where he only posts hedgehog pictures.

⋆⋅☆Trey: Has one account where most of his posts showcase his cakes, including pictures from unbirthday parties and moments of you cooking with him. His profile picture is him with that dog filter, you can’t change my mind.

⋆⋅☆Carter: Literally Owns Magicam, posting pictures every time he does something or is with someone. #Thevoicesarewinning. Comments on every post and totally knows that Riddle owns the hedgehog account. He also has a side account for stalking people. Changes his profile picture daily.

⋆⋅☆Ace: Initially only posted embarrassing pictures of people and would only take them down if they paid him. Got suspended quickly from Magicam. The second account is more relaxed, where he shares random content whenever he feels like it. He’s also the type to edit group pictures to make everyone look bad except himself, just to annoy everyone.

⋆⋅☆Deuce: Was the one who reported Ace’s first account since most pictures were of him. Has Shaky pictures, the best picture he has is one of him, Ace, and you together. Probably uses social media mostly for chatting with friends. Also, he, Ace, and you have one of those quirky couple profile pics.

⋆⋅☆Leona: Owns an account with no posts, profile picture, comments, or followers. Rarely uses Magicam, but he occasionally checks your posts.

⋆⋅☆Ruggie: Uses Magicam for selling stuff. Created a group for selling second-hand items and pins all his stuff to ensure faster sales than everyone else.

⋆⋅☆Jack: Gym pictures? Nah, I feel he’d be too shy for that. Probably has one image that he uses everywhere else just to identify himself.

⋆⋅☆Azul: Opened an account to promote Mostro Lounge, daily posts feature new dishes, prices, menus, and sales. He also has a personal account but doesn’t post (doesn’t think he looks nice in pictures).

⋆⋅☆Jade: Mushroom account, has so many followers who share his fascination. Their conversations are all about their mushroom hikes and can last for hours. Makes really aesthetically pleasing posts filled with detailed information about different types of mushrooms.

⋆⋅☆Floyd: For legal reasons I won’t say why, but his account got suspended after one week of its creation.

⋆⋅☆Kalim: Sends party invitations through Magicam, Jamil had to create a group to prevent Kalim from sending individual invitations constantly. Enjoys capturing pictures of the sky. Once posted a picture of Jamil, after it was deleted, he didn't post anything for a whole month, I wonder what happened.

⋆⋅☆Jamil: Similar to Leona, but he often checks Trey’s account for his cake posts. When he saw a picture of you and Trey together, he invited you over to cook with him but didn’t have the courage to ask for a picture of the two of you.

⋆⋅☆Vil: Posts frequently, sharing about himself and his daily routine, always looking impeccable. Regularly receives barking comments, he spends hours deleting all of them.

⋆⋅☆Rook: We all know he has a fan account for Neige. Likes posts of all the celebrities he adores. Writes extremely lengthy comments whenever he finds someone beautiful. He's been blocked so many times he's lost count.

⋆⋅☆Epel: Initially tried taking cute pictures following Vil’s advice but got annoyed as he looked too feminine. Instead, he started promoting stuff from his farm back home.

⋆⋅☆Idia: Uses an account with a weird name to hide his identity, posts about games and occasional activities. Engages in lengthy debates with anyone who disagrees with his new hyperfixation. Has a different notification ring for your posts.

⋆⋅☆Ortho: Shares many pictures of you and him and others doing silly things, sometimes posts gossips and causes huge scandals with them, to the point he decided to create an account with only gossip info. (Azul is literally taking notes.)

⋆⋅☆Malleus: This man owns a Nokia 3310.

⋆⋅☆Lilia: Creates posts about the Doramas he watches, managing a fan page to discuss them with others. Shares pictures of Silver, Sebek, and Malleus, although the latter two get embarrassed, leading Lilia to take down their pictures.

⋆⋅☆Silver: Posts images of nature and cute animals. There's only one picture of him – you took it while he was sleeping and posted it. He didn't have the heart to delete it, knowing it was you.

⋆⋅☆Sebek: Shaky hands #2. Takes pictures of his paintings of Malleus; if you scroll long enough, you might see an accidentally posted painting of you.

⋆⋅☆Che’nya: Shares pictures of people's scared faces, taken while invisible when the flash goes off.

⋆⋅☆Neige: Lost track of his posts; like Vil, he has many followers. Captures moments with the dwarfs and shares funny stories about his day in every picture.

⋆⋅☆Rollo: Has one account filled with pictures of Fleur City. His profile picture used to be a croissant, but he removed it since it looked dumb. He was blocked every magic user, except for you. Yet.

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uncookedfeeler · 5 months ago

Text

Citrus II🍋

Yuna x Reader

Tags : 7k, smut, incest, daddy kink,

Part 1

Five past eight in the morning, you arrive in front of your company, after having crossed a few blocks in the capital, at the automatic barrier, you wave to the guards to say hello and make your way to the underground car park, of course you have reserved your own space, not far from the lift, the privilege of having an important place in the company, you say to yourself; once the car has stopped, your bag in hand, you walk at a brisk pace to the lift and press the button for your floor.

Your impatience and shame are growing, you're late, which is far from your usual routine, especially when your president is probably waiting for you in your office. The reason for your lateness is even more shameful, but you're determined to put these thoughts aside during the working day.

Once you are on your floor, you pass through a second glass door, which you open with your badge. In the corner is the office of your secretary, who stands up to greet you and to warn you that the CEO is already in your office, just as you had expected.

"Hello Mrs Kang, and thank you, how long has he been here?"

"Not long, he arrived 5 minutes ago, he seems to be smiling, I think you'll be fine," she replies with a nervous smile, "would you like me to make some coffees and bring them to you?"

"No need, I'll do it myself, otherwise nothing else for the rest of the day? "

"There's a lot of paperwork to do today after the president leaves, your meetings don't start until this afternoon". You give her a thumbs up before putting your hands on the latch of your door.

Your office was a modern space filled with clean lines and muted tones. A large executive desk dominated the room; behind it, tall windows filtered soft daylight through half-drawn blinds, while recessed lights softly illuminated the dark wood cabinets lining the back wall. In the corner, a pair of white armchairs and a sofa were accented by a single red cushion.

Across from you is your chairman, a middle-aged man with short grey hair and a warm smile. His face has visible wrinkles, particularly around the eyes, suggesting a friendly mood. He is wearing a formal dark suit and tie.

“I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr Ahn,” you say, bowing 90° to him.

"Ha ha, hello director, there's no need to be so formal, just get up and sit down,”he says, pointing with both hands to the seat in front of him.

“Thank you, would you like a coffee while I'm up?”

“A short one then, my wife says I drink too much.”

You walk over to your desk and behind your chair is a piece of furniture that runs the full height of the wall, on top of which are various decorations, including your personal coffee machine.

“They all say that, but a good machine needs its fuel to work properly, doesn't it?”

“Absolutely.”

A few minutes pass as you place your respective coffees on the table between you, warning him that they are still very hot.

“I heard about the new contracts with JYP, good work Director Shin, I imagine it must have taken a lot of negotiation, they're notoriously difficult to do business with.”

“You could say that, it's not the first time they've worked with a cosmetics company like us, and it seems that their previous partnerships haven't been very successful, but with the work of the whole team, I think we've convinced them to count on us.”

“We still don't know the names of the models who will be wearing our products? if they match our latest collections well, I think it would be a great boost to our sales.”

“No information on that, the TWICE girls would be perfect, they embody the mid-twenties woman and seem to have finally lost their all-cute and pink ribbon image.”

As you finish your sentence, you see the chairman smiling after taking a sip of his coffee.

"Really good coffee, and why not ITZY, I'm sure they could certainly manage it too", the President smiles obviously as he mentions the group to which your daughter belongs.

"Yes, I'm sure", you reply with a touch of humour, the President knows very well who your daughter is and the joke shows how close you are to him.

"By the way, how is your daughter, she's appearing all over the country, she really seems to be riding on her popularity, you must be very proud of her".

"Sure, I try to keep up with her, although it's not as easy as it sounds, I imagine she'd be surprised to model for our company, I doubt she knows where I work or my position," you say with regret in your voice.

"Raising a daughter is not easy, I'll give you that, my older daughter... "Before he can finish, your phone rings to tell you that you've received a message with an attachment.

"When we were talking about the wolf, she sent me a message, sorry, go on, sir," you say, trying to get the conversation going again.

"Take your time, it's important to maintain a relationship with your children, especially when they've left home," he replies, leaning back on the sofa to take a step back.

After unlocking your phone, you click on the notification to open Yuna's message, which contains a link to a video and the message "how to grow my lemons", the link takes you to the streaming site Yuna uses and a replay starts :

"I've talked about this before, but the other day I took two lemons home to my parents that I've been growing for a long time, I'm not very good at it, so I asked my dad for help, he worked hard on them yesterday, you should have seen him, he played with them first and then he watered them generously, I think he's learning as much as I am, so I looked up on the internet how to grow them properly:

- First you need to stir the soil well with your fingers or a tool, then you need to push the seeds in deeply until they reach the end, then you need to water the soil regularly with love to increase the chances of getting a big lemon.

My two lemons have already grown well, so I'm wondering if I shouldn't put in a new seed to make a third, much bigger than the others," she said as she finished her explanation, stroking her stomach several times each time the word seed was mentioned.

Your promise to keep your impure thoughts out of your workplace, but Yuna's provocation, so innocent at first, is dangerously immoral and exciting in the right context.

"Your daughter seems to have found a passion for gardening, which is rare for young people who have only known the capital and its huge buildings," the President replies in an amused tone.

"However, I wonder if young women have an attraction for fruity things, it brings a sweet and innocent side while retaining the exotic taste of a sweet and strong flavour, should we explore this avenue for our products?" he asked, he's the President after all, so business comes first for him.

"It's hard to say, I know she had a shoot with different fruits as a concept, she doesn't quite fit the image of a young teenager, but an entry-level range for young girls with products that are easy to apply and discreet or even fragrant could be a target".

Another message appears on your screen with only the text ‘Now you know how to do it 💦🍋’.

The shock is quite brutal, you would never have imagined that your daughter would be so direct with you on this subject, after all you only really resumed your father-daughter relationship yesterday, the difference in personality between the nice, almost innocent girl you had yesterday and this morning and now, where she doesn't hesitate to tease you in public or by text message, a part of you hopes that she is just doing it for fun and not to satisfy you for fear of being abandoned again.

At no point do you want to force her down a path that won't make her happy, you've already thrown away your morals for her, now her happiness is your only concern, her wishes are your orders and pleasing your princess remains your goal in life.

You thank her for the guide and send her a sticker of a cat blowing kisses, followed by an 'I love you'. You put your phone back in your pocket to resume your conversation with your CEO as the clock ticks.

"I think we're done, I've really enjoyed this chat, I knew I could count on you to come up with new ideas, would you like to join the monthly review of their project, let's bring them the seed of your future fruity project," as the President stands up and walks towards the door.

"Sure, I'm following you"

The meeting has seemed endless, the chair and the others have taken it in turns to stimulate the discussion with their ideas, and what was supposed to be a simple project review has turned into a kick-off meeting for your project. It's past lunchtime and you've just returned to your office, completely drained of energy and with an appetite that's starting to grow. However, your position in the company means that with a simple phone call you can have a member of the kitchen staff come to your floor with your food.

"Knock, knock"

"You can come in"

"Morning, Director Shin, here's your lunch," says an athletic-looking young man as he places it on your desk.

"Sorry for the inconvenience, I've had a busy morning and my legs need a rest," you say in a moment of weakness.

"No, no, no problem, sir, I'll come back for the tray later, enjoy your meal". The young man leaves your office in a hurry.

As you pounced on your meal like a hungry hyena, this break being one of the rare moments when you let your invasive curiosity take over, you grabbed the mouse of your computer to open the search browser and typed in the name of your company as well as your first name, you had this strong feeling that you knew what was being said about you or your company, public opinion is important and you were also worried about letting your bad reputation tarnish that of your daughter in case of problems at work.

And although you didn't show her much, it was also your ritual to follow your daughter's career. All these years you have been following her journey as an adult in the industry, and it fills you with pride that today your daughter's name still appears at the top of the search rankings.

Her latest Instagram post seems to have set the internet on fire, as you click on the top trending link to see a series of photos of her in the bathroom of your house, her hair flaming red, her make-up perfectly applied to her face and her brown eyes piercing through the mirror. She's wearing a lovely black and white tank top and I'm sure you'll agree that she looks absolutely fucking gorgeous in these photos, the comments are flooding in with praise for her look, despite the occasional haters, but nothing new.

You quickly take out your phone to leave a message for your princess:

"I've just seen your photos, you're as beautiful as ever," while attaching a photo of the article you took with your phone. Once you've sent the message, you go back to your meal and your thoughts take over, you realise that this kind of little intention would have started from the beginning of her career, the simple fact of exchanging with your child and the feeling that comes from it soothes your heart and too bad if you become a clingy dad, you're going to tell her every day.

You're suddenly brought back to reality when your phone displays a notification saying that she's replied to you with a simple :

"Hihi thank you 😛, look at my little present", while a second message appears with a still blurred image, followed by a third in the conversation, Yuna had sent it as sensitive content, so you have to click on it to view it, and you're far from imagining what's revealed before your eyes: the last message served as a description with the words:

"it was just after the shower when i was getting ready to go to the company, my little lemons have turned into cherries, all i need now is your big seed 🍒" the photo is taken from a higher angle where your daughter lifts her top to reveal her small breasts and the many hickey marks still present on her body, Her left breast and nipple are well marked by your mouth, not forgetting that she's not wearing anything, and you can see her little bush underneath, with a comment at the bottom: "To 🍼 my 🧔🏻, He must 🍼 my 😻 first".

At that moment, your cock springs to attention in a flash, it shoots up through your trousers and slams against your belly, any man knows that pain and it's far from pleasant, you loosen your belt to give your raging member a little slack, this little minx knew what to do to excite someone and the hours were going to be long from now on.

The rest of the day goes by slowly, you don't dare take out your phone for fear of getting into an embarrassing situation, you still feel some vibrations in the afternoon, but like a good professional you don't even look, the hours go by until the beginning of the evening, you leave your office and go to the underground car park, you make the effort to look at your phone and all you get are trivial messages, You're a little disappointed because you were secretly hoping for more messages from Yuna, halfway there you find yourself stuck in traffic on the road and you decide to call Yuna to find out how her day went, she answers almost immediately but doesn't answer your question, but you can hear the girls chatting as if she had picked up the phone and put it on a table.

You wonder what kind of phone she uses to get such good quality, the girls' voices are easily recognisable and the sound is as if you were in the room with them.

Yeji: "Ugh, yesterday's shoot was so chaotic! I swear we almost lost our minds trying to get the perfect angle".

Lia: "I know, right? I thought we were going to end up on a blooper reels. Remember when we all turned the wrong way during that one scene?

Ryujin: "Yeah, and Yuna was the only one who actually turned the right way! I guess she has an 'inner compass' or something..."

Yuna: "Hey! I just knew what to do! Plus you stole my concept, remember!"

Yeji: "I mean, you didn't mind talking about it online, you even mentioned your dad again, you're such a daddy girl after all"

Yuna: "Not you too! Can we please not talk about my 'daddy issues' again?"

Chaeryeong: "We can't help it! It's just so weird how you don't even look at all the sexy boys around us, I wonder what you do with all those pictures of him you snatch from the internet".

Lia: “'Even though we know what she's doing, she's acting cold towards him, but in the end it makes you hot, doesn't it? you should at least try dating someone, we've all done it so far and it's like, we're not asking you to sleep with them, just get some dating experience”

Chaeryeong: “Easy Lia-unnie, you're the one taking selfies with your exes' dicks in your mouth aren't you? they never fucked you anyway so keep your advice to yourself”

Chaeryeong:“Yuna, listen, we're not forcing you to do anything, but try to use your youth to meet people, it's weird to see you alone at home all the time.”

Yuna: “Unnie, that's not the problem, I'm just afraid of being rejected and I don't know how to tell him how I feel about him, we haven't been very close since mum left”.

Ryujin: “He's your dad Yuna, of course you love him in your own way, let's just say, just tell him and you'll be free of this burden, then we can go and pick up some hot guys backstage”.

Yeji: “I don't think she likes you getting fucked in the toilets when the newbies show up, same goes for you Chaeryoung, no one's putting any pressure on Yuna, right?”

Lia: “Easy for you to say when you're being fucked by your childhood sweetheart, we're not so lucky to have someone who loves us for something other than our bodies”.

Yuna: "It hurts, doesn't it? Aren't you afraid of getting pregnant?"

Ryujin: "'Are you kidding? Wait, you've never...? not even with the toys you hide in the box under your bed?"

Yuna: ”'OF COURSE NOT".

Yeji: "Stop laughing you bitches, Yuna this ain't that serious, yes it can hurt, you have to be prepared downstairs and remember we take all the pills the company gives us and don't forget we always use condoms, DON'T GIRLS?"

Ryujin: "Don't give us shit about it, they shove it up my arse anyway, you think I'm going to let those sons of bitches touch my pussy? a good load on the face, that's what it's all about'."

Lia: "Same thing, they can fill my arse but my pussy is off limits, I love to smash their cocks and make them scream in pain when they try to pull out'."

Chaeryeong: "Fucking listen to these bitches, apart from sucking cocks when I want to, I only fuck other girls, no risk on my side."

Yeji: "See, we're all careful, protect yourself well and don't forget your pills, they help with your periods too'."

Yuna: “I'm out of pills and I don't have a condom, but it's not like I need one, is it?!!, I'm going home tonight, don't wait for me”.

Ryujin: “Don't take it like that baby, I can give you some if you want”.

Yeji: “Yuna, come back!!! “.

You hear the loud thud of a door slamming and limbs flailing as Yuna leaves.

Yeji: “ 'Well done girls, that was clearly a good time to bring her down and make fun of her and her problems”

Lia: "Sorry unnie, we didn't think she'd take it like that, I'll go and get her'.”

Ryujin: “Stay here, you're making it worse.”

Lia: “Bloody hell, how can someone like that be so ignorant of her own sexuality, do you think she likes girls instead?”

Chaeryeong: “She's got a crush on her dad, are you stupid or what, we don't say anything to avoid the subject, she's just wanted to fuck her dad for a long time, she's got photos of him on her phone, on her wallpaper, a photo of him under her pillow, the poor thing is in desperate need of fatherly love”

Yeji: “ I don't know what happened last night, but since then she's been really nervous about it, let's leave her alone, otherwise she'll go crazy and we don't know what she'll do”.

Yeji: "We'll see about that later, it's almost time. Get ready and I'll go to her, you three go with the managers. We'll go back to the company, Chaery, get her bag and phone. She left it on the table."

Calm returned to the room and before you lost the connection to your daughter's phone, you heard

"Looks like you've got work to do Daddy Shin, sorry for the trouble" and she hangs up.

This is a lot to take in, and apart from the sexual debates between the 4 girls, which did not leave you without a reaction, the hardest thing is still Yuna's problems, which confirm your fears about her feelings, your daughter is not the provocative woman she pretends to be in the message, she is a young woman who still has a lot to learn about her own love and carnal feelings, knowing that your little girl is 'pure and innocent' would make any father smile, but on the other hand, what is the harm in learning about her sexuality? The trauma that has held her back, and for which you are probably responsible, is preventing her from moving forward in her life as a woman.

You'd been thinking all day about how to punish your daughter for her insolence, but the person you'd been talking to didn't exist. With Yuna's true feelings in mind, the next logical step seemed to be to wait for her at home and assume your role as father, as a princess deserves.

When you get home, you look at the clock and realise that she won't be home for another hour or two. That gives you plenty of time to tidy up, do your laundry and take a shower. You've picked up some bad habits living alone, but now that you're sharing your home with someone else, it's time to get the ball rolling again and restore the beauty of your property.

Time flies and you've barely had time to get out of the shower and into your new clothes when you hear the door latch click. You quickly step in front of it to see a redhead running towards you, dropping her bag in the doorway and giving you a big hug.

"Welcome home, darling," you say, stroking her head as you feel her face sink into your chest and a wet feeling hit your chest.

"I'm sorry daddy, I..."

"SHhh, it's all right, I'm here."

The situation is very different from yesterday, Yuna's shell seems to have burst the moment she saw you, you feel the warmth of her body against yours as her arms wrap around you, you say nothing, leaving one of your hands on her head and the other on her back.

"Dad, I... the message... it's not .... I wan...."

"Just breathe, I'm not angry, you know,"

"I just wanted to make you happy, I wanted to show you I'm a big girl, I'm so embarrassed now"

"You don't have to make me happy, it's my job to make YOU happy, and don't bother trying to act big, you're my little princess, that's all".

Just as she seems to have calmed down, you take her face in your hands to wipe away the last of her tears before placing a loving kiss on her forehead, "I love you," you say in a low voice as if to lull her to sleep, "I will never let you down, my only daughter.

Yuna is lulled by your words and you feel the weight of her body fall on your arms, "just rest on the sofa, I'll bring you a snack, you must be tired from your day's work", she accepts without flinching as you prepare something to eat while you wait for dinner, your daughter sits on the sofa, her head resting on a pillow, looking at you, when your eyes meet you exchange a smile without saying a word.

The evening passes smoothly, while your daughter rests and eats, you finally talk about your respective days, leaving your erotic exchanges out of the conversation, she finally gets to know your job, while you finally know what happens off camera, the night is felt and you suggest she take a shower while you prepare dinner, again she accepts without concern.

"Would you like to join me?" she asks shyly.

"Yuna, your legs are shaking, you don't have to push anything, I'm not going anywhere," you reply to her completely unexpected request.

She doesn't even answer and locks herself in the bathroom, slamming the door. You really can't understand what's going on in her head, but there's no time to lose, so you start preparing dinner.

Like last night, the meal is spent in church-like silence, each of us with our own thoughts. Yuna is completely withdrawn and doesn't even look at you, which is quite an awkward situation for you as she seems so close and then suddenly so far away.

You try to break this silence in the desert and ask her if she wants to watch a film, she takes a while to answer and then accepts, saying that she has to change first so that you can start getting everything ready while you wait for her, it's a good start and the film could give you a new topic of conversation to revive the dialogue between the two of you.

While she's still in her room, you call out to her to ask what film she's interested in.

"Ruby Gillman, Teenage Kraken Please, Giselle-unnie told me it's good".

You hear through the house, you recognise your daughter, who has always loved cartoons, once you've found them on Netflix, you adjust the brightness of the lights for a subdued effect, you've prepared a blanket and something to eat.

The minutes tick by and you wonder what Yuna is doing, you don't see much, it takes so long to get into pyjamas, but you tell yourself she's probably on her phone at the same time, which often doesn't help.

You hear her footsteps behind you and when she appears behind you, you see her wearing a simple pink t-shirt, you can easily guess that she's not wearing anything underneath as it hugs her breasts.

Suddenly she's straddling you, saying, "Forget the film, I want you, Daddy," as she pushes her body into yours and lies on top of you in a lotus position.

"Yuna, please, I," you don't finish your sentence as she slaps your face.

"STOPPP REJECTING MEEEEEEEEEE' she screams at the top of her lungs as she bursts into tears over you, 'WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS, I....I....I JUST WANT YOU TO LOVE ME' WH... WHY ARE YOU HURTING ME LIKE THIS?

Your daughter lashes out at you in shock at what's happening in front of you, you grab her arms and she becomes helpless under the difference in strength between the two of you.

"Yun..."

"I just want you..." she says, her face completely ravaged by tears, the face of someone who is deeply hurt and can't take it anymore.

Something breaks inside you, all this time you've assumed she would throw herself at you, just to be like the others, just to receive the love you would have given her anyway, you've hurt her again and again until you made the same mistake you made with your wife.

Your daughter loves you more than anything and you are too blind to see that she doesn't know how else to show it, but this time you will make it right and give yourself to her.

Without further ado, you threw your lips over hers, releasing her wrists from your grip and sliding your hands from her lower abdomen to her breasts hidden under her t-shirt.

"No bra, you little rascal?"

Instinctively she puts her hands on your shoulders and fights your tongue with hers, you attack her nipples with your hand and they are already hard, the attack on her breasts causes Yuna to moan which is absorbed by your kiss, you go down her neck to place your marks while she can finally listen to her pleasure.

"Daddy, your cock, give it to me" she says as she plunges her hand into your shorts and meets your cock through the underpants, you lift her up with the strength of your legs and come to remove your underwear in one go, your cock is now naked between your daughter's thighs and she puts her hands on it.

"Put some saliva before baby," she listens to you religiously, but instead comes and gets the saliva overflowing from her pussy and applies it to your cock.

"Let me use my juices before you use yours," she says as she works your cock up and down, your shaft growing under Yuna's movements and the pleasure is truly enjoyable.

One of your hands digs into her soaking wet panties and you massage her slit with your fingers, your moaning cries joining in as you pleasure each other.

Quickly she gets up from the sofa to kneel in front of you and she begins to lick your cock with delicacy, her tongue starts at the glans and she places kisses on it, then her tongue and lips come together so that she tries to suck your sperm, her lips then go gently down the length of your cock and your cock goes slowly down her throat.

"Yuna, that's good, you're doing great," you say as you put both hands on her head to guide her, you watch as your cock disappears into her mouth as the sensations of her work send shivers down your back, from time to time she pulls out to spit on your shaft before sliding back in,

Yuna learns as she goes and her technique is perfected with each dive, after a while your breaking point comes and you refuse to finish here so you help her pull out and try to save your orgasm for later, her mouth overflowing with saliva and she looks at you with appetite.

"Sorry baby but it's my time to eat you now" you tell her as you take her in your arms and go into your bedroom where you lay her on her back on the edge of the bed, without further ado she attacks her pussy with your mouth and she presses her thighs against your head, Your tongue immediately attacks her slit, which rushes to secrete its juices, which you suck up as you go, her clit is quickly attacked by one of your hands, which takes great care to titillate the little bean, with delicacy you move up and down her slit, from time to time penetrating her entrance with your tongue to prepare the work,

The poor red girl cries out with pleasure as she experiences being devoured by her lover for the first time, she clings to your hair which she pulls when the pleasure is too great, on your side you shift into second gear and penetrate your daughter's pussy with two fingers, you feel like you're piercing a flan because the inside is so soft.

“Daddy don't stop, it's coming” your daughter cries out as she feels your third finger deep inside her, your mouth has turned into a wet wiping system as her pussy floods your mouth, you keep up the rhythm until you feel your daughter leave and in a flash her body goes rigid and her pelvis convulses under the power of the orgasm.

You lift your head and climb onto the bed to kiss your princess with a little “I love you” in her ears,

"Daddy, I want you,” she says, stretching out her arms to ask you to come inside her, “it's time to put that seed inside me,” as she spreads her pussy in front of you.

Worried, you reach over to your bedside table for a condom, but Yuna stops you.

“It's ok daddy, I'm on the pill and it's a safe day, you can pour everything into my secret garden", Yuna's naughty language excites you immensely and your cock hurts so you give in and come to lie on her entrance and gently tap your cock to soak it in her juices,

You sink gently and anxiously into your own daughter, resting your elbows on the mattress so that you can kiss her as you move inside her, every inch of her is painful and she lets you feel it as she scratches your back with her fingernails, you kiss her tenderly as your hips move up to touch her pussy,

Your cock feels the tightness of her vagina as well as the warmth and moisture from your excellent preparation work, the passage through her pussy is made without too much effort and you slide deep inside her like butter, on the other side Yuna seems to take your big cock like a champion and despite the pain she has already wrapped her legs around your waist.

You feel her warm, rapid breathing on your face as you look into her eyes, just inches apart.

"Daddy, I can feel you inside me, my little pussy just ate your big dick."

"Are you alright baby, I won't move until you're ready".

"I want to sit like on the sofa".

You obeyed her orders and gently lifted her up without pulling back to let her sit on you, you put yourself on her buttocks and she was now resting all her weight on you, the change of position made your cock dig even deeper inside her and she felt it well.

"Don't move, I want to stay connected to you like this," as she strokes her stomach trying to feel your cock, "keep eating my tits, please.

Just as your cock seems to have bottomed out, you turn your attention to her pair of little red lemons, You really loved her tits, they are not as big as some but in your eyes they are perfect, the texture of them, the feel of them in your hands and the way Yuna reacts every time you nibble on her nipples.

You decide to kiss your daughter and whisper "Shall we?" to which she only nods, you begin to rock your hips as your cock slowly emerges from her pussy and then slowly returns, never fully exiting, you carve your daughter's walls with your cock and Yuna moans with pleasure at the work of your rod.

“♥Hmm....♥Ah....♥Hmm, ah....♥ Daddy, your cock is turning me inside out, every time you push in it feels weird down there, it's a bit painful but also extremely pleasurable, I can feel your big cock pushing my sides apart and knocking on my garden gate, keep it up, I want to feel your cock ravaging me".

You pick up the pace at your partner's request, your cock seems to have done its job well as you are able to withdraw completely before impaling her again with no problem, under the force of your hips Yuna lays her head on your neck and sucks you like a baby, you let go of her breasts to lock your hold on her by circling her waist with your arms, once firmly in place you pound her with all your strength.

“♥Ah....”

“♥Ah.... DADDY”

“♥Ah....

♥Ah.... DA”

For long minutes, you hold her close as your cock slams violently into her pussy. The pleasure comes from the fact that Yuna has her head back, unable to form a sentence. Pleasure has taken over her body. You feel your orgasm building slowly. While your daughter is already on the verge of hers, you feel her legs squeeze you hard as she explodes on your cock and her fluids flow down it. Yet you don't stop your thrusts.

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Stop it"' At her command you stop and discover your daughter's face completely undressed, her hair sticking to her sweaty face and you push aside the lips that hide her eyes to kiss her.

"Let me do it now" she asks as she moves her hips on her own to embrace your sensitive cock, her movements are fast, her pussy devouring you at its own pace and you put your hands on both her buttocks to support her, you give little slaps to her delicate skin and as she fucks herself on her father's cock you feel your orgasm coming and you warn her.

"Yuna, I'm coming"

She gives you the coup de grace when she puts all her weight on her descent and your stiff cock pierces all her pussy until your balls kiss her pussy, inside your cock floods her and for the first time in her life Yuna is at the door of motherhood, her pussy sucks your sperm with efficiency and you withdraw from her.

Yuna is still sitting on your lap, your breaths heavy, your bodies full of sweat and juice, and neither of you can stand the silence as Yuna's cum begins to flow.

"Ah baby, that was amazing. You were amazing!"

"Thanks daddy, do you want some more?"

"I'm sorry darling, I'm not young anymore, my penis is withered."

You can see the disappointment in Yuna's eyes. In your youth, a second round might have been possible, but now your libido is limited to your arousal, and after emptying yourself into her, you no longer feel anything on that level.

"Daddy... Are you going to leave me like this?" says Yuna as she gets down on all fours, points her bottom at you and spreads her pussy with your cum dripping from it.

The sight of your daughter in this position would have turned any man on. You feel like it, but your desire is gone for the moment. You see your daughter wiggling her bottom, begging you to fuck her, and you're powerless to stop her.

"Dad, I'm sorry... I lied, I haven't taken the pill yet, I want a second shot or I won't take it. The longer you wait the more your seeds will fertilise my garden, look how hungry my pussy is, come and make sure you flood my pussy next to save my career."

You're at a loss for words, whether to believe her or not, but one thing's for sure, she knows how to work you because your cock has come back to life and you're going to take malicious pleasure in making her regret having put that doubt in your head.

You grab her hips and penetrate her little pussy, slamming your balls against her arse,

The gentleness of before has been transformed into a wild fuck where only pleasure is king. Your hands are firmly planted on her hips as you pound her with your pelvis, creating waves on her buttocks that will soon feel the onslaught of your hands.

"Daddy, your cock is stirring my insides, your sperm is mixing in my pussy, push hard".

Your daughter is now nothing more than a vulgar hole in your assaults, the seed of doubt she has planted in your mind has completely removed your sanity. If she is indeed unprotected, your first sperm must have done its work in spite of you. When in doubt, you prefer to flood her a second time and make sure she takes her medicine.

Go ahead daddy, make me your property, claim my pussy as your own personal garden, I'll take care of all your fruit,' Yuna's provocations rage in your mind. So you explode into your offspring's pussy again, you stand for a few seconds spasming against your daughter's ass as she collapses onto the bed, then you do the same, completely exhausted.

'Was that true about the pill, baby?

'Yes...' she says shyly. Now that all her libido has left her body, she presses you against her breasts and whispers in your ear: "It's too early to taste my juice, you'll have to give me some more water.

Your daughter is soon off to dreamland, still naked, and the bed is soaked with the fluids of your lovemaking. You make sure you look as tired as possible before you too collapse.

You wake up to a pleasant smell, but also to a body in pain. The bedroom gym session hasn't done your body any good, but your mind is at peace. As you leave your room, you see Yuna in an apron preparing breakfast. Beside her is a pack of contraceptive pills, two of which are already empty. When she sees you, she says:

"Good morning, Dad, you're going to need your strength, remember, you have to stir the soil first before you put your seed in. We're going to have to spend some time on this before you can make my pussy fertile for you."

Later, as you're driving to work, you see an important email from your CEO and a message from Yuna; you'd like to think that the email is more important, but that would be lying to yourself,

The text message is just a selfie of your daughter still in bed next to you with the message 'I've got a body full of marks, the girls are going to realise what we've done, not to mention I've still got your sperm in me 🤭"

Classic Yuna, but you'll have to get used to it. You've made a pact with a demon, but who cares, you're no angel anyway.

As for the email, just looking at the title 'Meeting with JYP & ITZY', it looks like you're finally going to meet one or more members of your daughter's group.

______________________________________________________________

#kpop smut #yuna smut #itzy smut #itzy x reader #yuna x reader

614 notes · View notes

etheraltides · 4 months ago

Text

Of Tears and Triumphs

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summarize: A quiet morning at the Cameron estate becomes a turning point as the reader grapples with anxiety and a relapse in her eating disorder journey . Rafe, noticing the distress, offers comfort and support, reminding her that nothing is ever lost.

Warning(s): Eating disorders (compulsive eating), body dysmorphia, anxiety, emotional distress (shame, guilt), mental health struggles (depression, self-image issues), substance abuse (reference to past drug use).

A/N: To anyone reading this who is struggling right now, I want you to know that you are not alone. It's okay to feel lost, to feel overwhelmed, and to not have everything figured out. Healing is a journey, and it doesn’t happen overnight. Be kind to yourself, even when it feels impossible. You are so much more than your struggles.

Remember, reaching out for help is a sign of strength, not weakness. There are people – therapists, counselors, loved ones – who can support you through this. You don't have to face it alone, and you deserve to find the peace and healing that’s waiting for you. Please, take the first step towards getting the help you deserve. You are worth it. 💙

The sun had just begun to creep over the horizon, casting a gentle, golden glow over the Cameron estate. Everything was deceptively perfect: the ocean's rhythmic crashing in the distance, the birds that chirped from the tree canopies, and the soft rustle of leaves carried by the morning breeze. Yet beneath this serene surface, a storm brewed in your chest.

You sat on the edge of the bed, legs folded underneath you, the light duvet twisted in your restless fingers. Rafe's side of the bed was empty, the indentation of his head still fresh on the pillow. He'd gone out for an early surf with Kelce and Topper, leaving you alone with your thoughts – a dangerous place to be.

The room felt stifling, the silence pressing into your ears like cotton. You glanced at the old Polaroid on the nightstand. In it, you and Rafe were beaming, arms slung around each other at some summer bonfire weeks before. Your hair was wild from the salt water, and his grin was as reckless as ever. It was weeks after your steady recover, before you tripped and the weight of guilt and shame began pressing down on you like lead.

Yesterday had started normally. You’d woken up with the soft glow of the sun filtering through the curtains, feeling almost optimistic. It wasn’t until you scrolled through Instagram that the first thread of anxiety wove itself around your chest. A picture from a girl you used to know, toned and confident in her bikini, had appeared at the top of your feed. The caption read “Hard work pays off.”

Your thumb froze mid-scroll, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Memories of skipped meals and endless calculations surfaced like unwelcome ghosts. A voice in your head, sharp and familiar, whispered, Why can’t you be like that?

The feeling followed you through the day, clinging like a second skin as your whole algorithmic seemed to sense your mind and show you all the gorgeous and thin girls in your feed. By the time afternoon came, the anxiety had grown into a suffocating mass that sat heavy in your chest. You paced the kitchen, each footstep echoing in your head. The silence was unbearable, the ticking of the clock like a countdown to something inevitable. You knew you weren’t going to settle down or forget until you did it.

The pantry door creaked as you opened it. Your fingers hovered over the neatly stacked items, trembling. Just a little, you told yourself, reaching for a handful of crackers. Just a few so I can cover this awful feeling – some good, old food comfort. But one taste turned into two, and soon, control slipped through your grasp like sand.

You moved on autopilot, the familiar numbness settling in as you grabbed chocolate bars, chips, anything you could find. Each bite was frantic, fueled by desperation and self-loathing. The last spoonful of ice cream melted on your tongue, its sweetness turning bitter as regret surged up, hot and suffocating.

When you came to, the evidence surrounded you: wrappers crumpled like discarded dreams, smudges of chocolate on your hands, the tub of ice cream half-melted on the counter. The kitchen, once a place of comfort, had become a cage, and you were the only prisoner.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you sank to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest. The weight of shame pressed down, crushing and relentless.

This morning, the mirror was your jury, and it was merciless. You tugged at your shirt, the fabric clinging to your skin as if conspiring against you. Your eyes, usually bright with laughter, were rimmed with red, dull and haunted. The internal monologue was relentless:

You’re weak. You’ve ruined everything. How could you let it happen again?

The silence in the house was shattered by the sound of the front door opening and closing. Rafe's voice echoed through the hallway, carefree and light. “Babe? You here?”

You didn’t respond, the shame was too raw, too close. You pulled your knees tighter to your chest, staring blankly at the mirror as if it would offer some kind of reprieve.

Footsteps approached and then paused at the threshold. The room was drenched in the soft, fading sunlight, but it did nothing to lift the heavy atmosphere.

“Hey.” Rafe’s voice softened when he saw you, the smile fading from his lips. Concern clouded his eyes as he took in your hunched form, your tear-streaked cheeks. He set down his phone without a word, crossing the room in three long strides.

“What happened?” he asked, voice low and gentle. He knelt beside you, resting a warm hand on your knee. The weight of his gaze was heavy but not suffocating, it was grounding.

“I messed up.” You whispered, voice breaking. “I messed up so bad.”

Rafe’s brows knitted, and he took a breath, steady and patient. “Talk to me, baby.” he coaxed. When you didn’t reply, he shifted to sit beside you on the floor, pulling you closer.

“I ate. I ate everything yesterday. I couldn’t stop.” you admitted, the words spilling out in a rush. Your voice trembled with the weight of confession. “And now I can’t stand to look at myself or… or to look at food again.”

His jaw clenched, not out of anger but out of a protective frustration. “Hey, hey” he whispered, turning to face you fully. His hands found yours, fingers weaving together with tender insistence. “Listen to me. You are not defined by one moment, alright? Not by yesterday, not by what happened.”

Tears welled up again, and you looked down, unable to meet his eyes. Rafe reached out, tilting your chin up so that you had no choice but to look at his blue eyes. “You were there for me, remember?” he said, his voice thickening. “Every time I messed up, every time I felt like I couldn’t crawl out of that pit with coke. You pulled me through. Don’t you dare think I’m not going to do the same for you. For however long it takes.”

The room stilled, the truth of his words settling into the spaces between the pain and you couldn’t help the sob that escaped your lips. You felt pathetic and mess, and yet Rafe was being understanding and loving – he was treating you like you should treat yourself.

He took your hand, placing a kiss to your palm as his eyes watched you tenderly. “Why don’t you take a nice bath?” he suggested, his voice gentle but firm. “It’ll help you feel a little better.”

You blinked at him, the exhaustion and emotional weight making it difficult to argue. Reluctantly, you nodded, and with a small smile, Rafe guided you to the bathroom, making sure you were settled before stepping out quietly, having lighten up your favorite eucalyptus scented cantle on the way out.

As the warm water wrapped around you, easing the tension in your muscles, Rafe was already in the kitchen, brow furrowed as he watched a YouTube video on his phone, the volume low so you wouldn’t hear. The video was one of those wholesome, comforting cooking channels, and he paid close attention, following each step precisely. He wanted this to be a surprise, a moment where he could make you feel seen and cared for like you had made him feel when he was struggling to keep clean.

Half an hour later, you slipped into one of Rafe’s sweaters, not wanting any fabric hugging your body. The scent of simmering herbs greeting you as you opened the bedroom’s door. Your curiosity piqued, and you made your way to the kitchen to find Rafe standing over the stove, a look of focused concentration on his face as he stirred a pot.

“Rafe?” you called, the sound soft, hesitant.

He turned, a sheepish grin spreading across his face as he caught your surprised expression. “Hey, I thought you could use something warm and comforting.”

“You didn’t have to—” you started, but he interrupted with a warm look.

“Yes, I did,” he said firmly. “It’s just a light soup to warm your stomach and keep you up. Something gentle to help you feel a little more settled.”

A few minutes later, he ladled the soup into a bowl, sliding it in front of you with a spoon. “This is going to be the best soup you’ve ever had.” He promised with a wink.

“And if you can’t eat much, that’s okay but you just gotta try, alright.” He pulled a chair, his arm sneaking around your waist as he brought you to his lap. His hand on your hip brushing a soft pattern under the fabric.

“Thank you.” you whispered, the tightness in your chest easing a little as you blinked a tear away.

Rafe pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “Always,” he said, his voice unwavering. “And remember, we’re in this together. Every single step.”

The first bite was warm and soothing and you felt your cheeks burning as he guided the spoon to your lips but his gentle whispers distracting you from feeling ashamed. He watched, eyes hopeful and patient. “It’s… really good.” you said, a small, genuine smile breaking through.

“Told you.” he grinned proudly, his lips moving to the bare skin on your shoulder. “And if we have to go through this a hundred more times, we will. We’re in this together, okay?”

You nodded, the knot in your chest loosening, replaced with something warm and steadfast. Hope didn’t feel so far out of reach.

“Tomorrow, we’re booking an appointment with the best therapist in Charleston. We’ll find someone who can help, okay? Someone who can give you the support you need.”

The sincerity in his voice brought fresh tears to your eyes. It felt like an embrace, even though he hadn’t moved further.

“You can do this, baby. You’re my tough girl, remember?” He whispered, his hand running up and down in a soothing rhythm on your back as he pressed a kiss to your lips.

#rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron oneshot #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe cameron x you

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joelsrose · 15 days ago

Text

First Date? Part 7

Hey guys! 💛 First off, I just want to say how much I appreciate all of you—the love and excitement you show for this story means so much to me! I know some of you were hoping for a longer chapter last time, and I totally get it. I love that you’re so invested but it did make me a tiny bit sad seeing those comments eeek but thats me being very sensitive and i just want to please all of you. I truly appreciate all the feedback and love, and I can’t wait to share more with you soon. Thank you for being here and for caring so much—it really means the world. ✨

previous chapters

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The scent of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the dining hall, mingling with the quiet murmur of conversation and the occasional scrape of a chair against the wooden floor.

Morning light filtered in through the high windows, casting long, golden streaks across the worn tables. Maria sat across from you, her fingers curled around a chipped ceramic mug, steam rising in soft, twisting tendrils.

She looked as composed as ever, her expression carefully measured, but you caught the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers tightened just slightly around the mug before she lifted it to her lips.

“How are you feeling?” you asked gently, leaning forward, your elbows resting on the table. “You know… about Tommy leaving?”

She shrugged—a small, deliberate movement—but her eyes wavered for just a fraction of a second before she blinked, masking whatever had surfaced. “It has to be done,” she said, her voice even, too even.

You realized then that you hadn’t even asked Joel what the patrol was for. The thought surfaced abruptly, pulling your focus. “What’s going on out there?” you asked, your voice quieter now, like saying it too loud would make it worse.

Maria exhaled, glancing down at her coffee before meeting your gaze again. “More infected near the highway,” she said, tone clipped, as if keeping it simple would make it easier. “Tommy’s gotta check it out, see if it’s manageable. If not… we’ll have to call off scavenging runs in that area.”

You nodded absently, but your mind had already unraveled, drifting to where Joel was—wherever that was. Was he safe? Was he warm? Was he hungry? Was he breathing? The thought curled at the edges, dark and treacherous, threatening to bloom into something unbearable.

Despite the anger and the hurt, despite every reason you had to turn away, there was no denying the way he had settled into you, deep and unshakable, woven into the marrow of your bones. No matter how much you tried to push it down, tried to bury it beneath layers of resentment and frustration, the truth remained—your heart was not capable of existing in a world where he did not. You couldn’t bring yourself to imagine it, couldn’t let the thought fester in the corners of your mind, because if you did, if you let it take shape, it would consume you whole.

You refused to picture him as anything but alive—breathing, walking, existing in the same world as you. You would not allow yourself to envision him otherwise, would not let the image of him broken and cold, lost to the same cruel world that had never once granted him kindness, take root in your mind.

The very idea of it sent something sharp and unbearable through you, something that made your chest tighten and your throat close, something that felt too much like grief. So you rejected it, pushed it down and locked it away, clung to the certainty that wherever he was, he was still out there. He had to be.

Maria tilted her head at your silence, a knowing smile tugging at her lips as she studied you. “What’s up with you?” she asked, her tone light, teasing. “I’ve never seen you this quiet. What, Joel finally manage to shut you up?”

The words were meant to be playful, but they landed heavier than she intended, lodging somewhere deep in your chest. The air around you felt denser, each breath a little harder to pull in. You sighed, dragging a hand over your face, fingers pressing into your temple as if you could knead away the ache building there.

“Look, Maria,” you said, straightening, forcing steadiness into your voice. “I need to switch patrol partners.”

Her smile faltered, the amusement slipping from her face as her brows drew together. “Huh?” She blinked, the sharpness in her eyes softening into confusion. “What do you mean? Did… did something happen?”

“No.” The lie was too quick, too easy, tumbling past your lips before you had the chance to stop it. You shook your head, trying to keep your expression neutral, but the tension in your jaw betrayed you.

“Nothing happened. I just—I can’t—” The words caught, snagged on something you couldn’t name. You exhaled sharply, leaning back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest as if the posture alone could make you feel less exposed. “I just need to swap, okay? I’ll take anyone else.”

Maria didn’t respond right away. Instead, she sat there, watching you, eyes narrowed in quiet scrutiny. Then, slowly, she leaned forward, mirroring your earlier posture, elbows resting against the worn wooden table. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, quieter, but it carried a weight that pressed down on you like a held breath.

"Tell me the truth," Maria said, her voice steady, unrelenting, her gaze locking onto yours with the kind of weight that left no room for evasion. "What happened with Joel?"

You shook your head, fingers curling and uncurling around the fabric of your shirt, a nervous habit you couldn’t shake, something to anchor you when the ground felt unsteady beneath your feet. "Maria," you said, her name slipping from your lips like a warning, sharp and edged, slicing through the thick, suffocating silence that had settled between you.

It wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be—there was a weight to it, something final, something immovable, like a door being shut and locked from the inside. A line drawn in the sand, not in anger, but in quiet desperation, a plea wrapped in steel—don’t push me, don’t make me say it, don’t make me open that wound when I’ve spent every waking moment trying to sew it shut.

Her lips parted, poised to argue, to press in the way she always did when she sensed something unraveling just beneath the surface, when she caught the quiet tremble in your resolve and sought to pry it open with careful hands. But whatever she saw in your expression—the silent plea, the raw, unspoken desperation you weren’t even sure you meant to show—stopped her cold. You weren’t in the mood to explain, and for once, she seemed to understand that.

The scrape of wood against wood rang out sharp in the quiet room as you pushed back your chair, the sound too loud, too abrupt, splitting the moment in two.

You stood, movements mechanical, reaching for your coat draped over the back of the chair, fingers tightening around the worn fabric as if grounding yourself in something tangible, something solid, while Maria’s gaze burned into you. You felt it, felt the weight of her questions, her concern pressing against your back like a force you weren’t ready to meet head-on.

“Just… please,” you murmured, the words slipping free before you could swallow them back down, quieter now, the sharp edge in your voice dulling but never fully breaking. It wasn’t a demand, not really, but something close to it—something that held the weight of exhaustion, of quiet surrender. “Do this for me.”

A long beat of silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, before she finally exhaled, a slow, measured breath that felt like reluctant acceptance. Her shoulders dropped, the tension easing just enough, her gaze still searching, still waiting for something you weren’t willing to give. “Okay,” she murmured at last, her voice quiet, careful, as if she were handling something fragile, something that might shatter if she held it too tightly.

You gave her a small nod, barely more than a movement, before turning on your heel and slipping out of the dining hall, the cool air swallowing you whole as you walked away.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The decrepit cabin groaned with every passing breeze, little more than a skeleton of rotting wood and splintered beams barely holding together. The air inside was thick, damp with the scent of earth and blood—some theirs, some not. Shadows danced across the peeling walls as the flame of a single lantern flickered precariously on a broken crate.

Joel and Tommy sat cross-legged on the warped floor, a battered tin of something unappetizing between them.

Neither spoke. Neither looked at the other.

The silence hung heavy, broken only by the occasional scrape of a fork against metal, the sound grating in the stillness.

Joel’s hand hovered near his thigh, his fingers curling and uncurling like they didn’t know what to do with themselves. His knuckles were split and bloodied, the dried crimson cracked against his skin, and his wrist bore the faint tremor of adrenaline not yet spent.

In the uneven light of the lantern, his face looked carved from stone—hard and unyielding, his jaw locked tight, the muscle ticking in a relentless rhythm. His chest rose and fell in steady breaths, but everything about him was taut, coiled, like a spring ready to snap.

Tommy watched him out of the corner of his eye, his own shoulders stiff and squared, every line of his body radiating tension. The silence between them was louder than words, a pressure building with every passing second.

It had been less than an hour since it happened.

Less than an hour since Joel had fucked up—big time.

They had been tracking through the woods, moving through the underbrush in a silence that should have been second nature by now, but Joel was off.

Sluggish, unsteady, tripping over roots he should’ve seen, his footing clumsy in a way that made Tommy shoot him sharp looks out of the corner of his eye. He had muttered something under his breath—something half-frustrated, half-worried—but hadn’t pushed. Not yet.

Because Tommy could tell.

Joel had been off his game all damn day, his mind caught in the snare of something he couldn’t shake, something that had curled around his ribs and hollowed him out from the inside. You.

It was always you.

The way you had looked at him that night was destroying him.

It chased him through sleep, through dreams that twisted into something unbearable the second he reached for you. It haunted the corners of his mind in the quiet hours before dawn, when exhaustion should’ve claimed him, but never did. You were there—always there—eyes wide, raw, unshielded, just before you had let those words slip past your lips, quiet, reverent, terrifying.

"I love-"

Said into the hush, carried on the breath of a moment too fragile to last. And he—fool, coward, goddamn wreck of a man—had shattered it in his hands before he even let himself hold it. Had told you it wasn’t real. Had let you tuck it away, no—forced you to pretend it had never happened at all.

And now, the weight of it was drowning him.

His head wasn’t where it should have been. It was on you—always on you.

Too busy wondering if you had eaten, if you'd remembered to stoke the fire before the cold set in, if your hands had been warm when you woke up or if the chill had crept beneath your blankets, making you shiver.

If you'd had enough coffee at home or if you'd been forced to drink the one from the dining hall—the one you never liked, too bitter, too weak. He imagined you grimacing at the first sip, pressing your lips together the way you always did when something disappointed you, curling your hands around the mug anyway just for the warmth.

He wondered if you’d taken your time getting ready that morning or if you'd rushed, still half-asleep, fumbling for your boots with that little furrow in your brow you always got when you were running late.

If you'd worn that sweater—the one he knew was soft because he’d brushed past you once, and the feeling had lingered on his skin longer than it should have.

But worst of all—the cruelest, most selfish thing—was that he wondered if you ever thought about him. And he had no right to. Not after everything, not after the way he had left. He had forfeited that privilege the second he walked away, the second he let his fear speak louder than the truth, the second he chose silence over you.

And yet, he still found himself lingering in the possibility. Still found himself wondering if his absence clung to you the way yours clung to him, curling around his ribs like a phantom limb, something lost but never forgotten. If you missed him the way he missed you—with an ache so deep it felt carved into his bones, a hollow, gnawing thing that lived beneath his skin, a hunger that had nothing to do with food.

And then—reckless, aching—his mind wandered into dangerous, delicate imaginings of you.

Soft. Small. Intimate.

He let himself imagine it. If you wore your hair to bed in that loose braid like you sometimes did on patrol, strands slipping free, curling at your cheek, at the delicate slope of your neck, swaying with each breath, soft and effortless. Or if, in the privacy of your room, you let it fall completely—untamed, unbound, spilling over your shoulders, cascading across your pillow in quiet disarray. A sight untouched by the world. Untouched by him.

And God—God, how he wanted to touch.

Not just to see, not just to admire, but to feel. His fingers threading through it, slow and reverent, tugging gently just to hear the quiet hitch of your breath.

And then—before he could stop it, before he could drag himself back from the edge—his mind wandered deeper, sinking into something unspoken, something desperate, something reverent in its ruin.

What did you wear to bed?

Something soft, something thin, worn-down cotton stretched over your skin, clinging to the curve of your body, whispering against your thighs when you moved beneath the blankets. Did it slip higher in the night, baring the plush swell of your hips, the gentle dip of your waist? Did it ride up just enough that if he were there, if his hands were on you, he could push it further with the barest brush of his fingertips?

Did the cold make you shiver? Did it pull your nipples into soft, aching peaks, pressing against the fabric, sensitive and untouched, a secret only the night knew? Did you tuck your hands beneath the blankets, pressing your palms over your arms for warmth, sighing softly as you curled into yourself? Or did you stretch out, limbs long and languid, sheets tangled around your legs, the air against your skin cool, your body flushed with heat?

Had you ever—just once—rolled onto your side in the hush of sleep and whispered his name? Had it ever slipped past your lips without you realizing, soft and absent, breathed into the pillow, lost to the quiet? Did you ever wake up gasping, heart hammering, fingers curled against the sheets as if searching for something that wasn’t there?

Had you ever dreamed of him the way he dreamed of you?

Did your hands ever drift, slow and uncertain, down the length of your stomach, lower still, seeking relief from a longing that refused to be named? Did you ever press your thighs together, sigh against the emptiness, the want curling deep inside you, leaving you restless, burning? And if you did—if you had—what did you do about it?

These selfish, cowardly preoccupations had nearly been the death of him today. Had nearly been the death of them both.

The raiders had come out of nowhere. Just three of them. It should have been easy, routine—Joel and Tommy had been through worse, had fought side by side too many times to falter. They moved like a well-worn machine, an unspoken rhythm, a brotherhood forged in blood and war. But today, for the first time in thirty years, Joel had been off.

His timing. His aim. His goddamn instincts.

He had hesitated when he shouldn’t have. Missed when he couldn’t afford to. And the price had been blood—his and Tommy’s both. They had almost died because of him. Tommy had managed, somehow, had stepped in where Joel should have, had been sharp and quick and ruthless, had been himself. But Joel—Joel had been slow. Unsteady. Somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere with you.

Now, the cabin bore witness to their silence, thick with tension and the raw weight of two men aching, bruised, barely holding together. The fight had been ugly. Joel could still feel the imprint of a rifle stock against his ribs, the deep-set ache that pulsed with every breath, a reminder of where one of them had caught him hard in the side.

His knuckles were split and bloodied, dried crimson cracked against his skin, and beneath the sleeve of his jacket, his shoulder burned where a knife had grazed too close. Tommy didn’t look much better—a cut above his brow still sluggishly weeping, his jaw darkening with the promise of a bruise, his breathing tight, measured, like he was favoring something in his ribs. They hadn’t left that fight unscathed.

Joel stared hard at the floorboards, fingers twitching against his thigh, a storm roiling just beneath the surface, something barely restrained, barely holding together.

Finally, it snapped.

The sound of the fork clattering onto the tin was jarring, slicing clean through the stagnant air, cutting through the silence like a blade to the throat. Tommy leaned forward, elbows braced against his knees, his voice low and sharp, rough with frustration, with disbelief, with something dangerously close to fear.

"The fuck is wrong with you, Joel?"

Joel exhaled slowly, the breath dragging out of him like it took effort, like it hurt. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, feeling the tension locked deep in the muscle, the ache of exhaustion woven through his bones. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet but firm, edged with warning. "Tommy. Drop it."

"No." The word came quick, firm, crackling with barely restrained anger. Tommy’s hands curled into fists against his knees, his whole body tight, shoulders squared, voice raw. "No, I ain’t droppin’ it. We almost fucking died out there. Died, Joel. Because your head ain’t screwed on right."

His breath was coming faster now, anger bleeding into something else—something deeper, something heavier. His voice cracked as he said it, just slightly, just enough for Joel to hear the truth beneath it.

"I gotta get back for Maria, Joel. You know that, right?"

Joel shut his eyes for a long moment, pressing his lips into a thin, unyielding line. He let the words settle in his chest, let them sink in, let them land square in the hollowed-out space where guilt already sat like something rotting. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t argue. Just took it. Because Tommy was right.

They could be dead. And it was his fucking fault.

But Tommy wasn’t done. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping, no longer sharp with anger but something colder, something edged with realization, with disbelief, like he was piecing it together in real time, like he was staring at his brother and seeing something wrong for the first time in a long time.

"Joel." Tommy's voice was quieter now, but no less sharp, no less cutting. "When was the last time you shot at somethin’ and missed?"

The words landed like a bullet to bone, precise and unforgiving, and Joel felt the weight of them settle deep, heavy in his chest, pressing against something raw.

Finally, Joel exhaled, a slow, fractured thing, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse, rough like gravel ground beneath a boot. "Not sure what the hell’s wrong with me." The words came low, almost like they weren’t meant to be heard, almost like they weren’t meant to exist outside of his own head.

Tommy stilled, something shifting in his expression—less anger now, less frustration, something steadier, something careful. He leaned forward slightly, voice quiet, deliberate, like he was stepping around the jagged edges of something fragile, something that might splinter if he pressed too hard.

"Jesus, Joel," he murmured, shaking his head. "What the hell’s goin’ on with you?"

Joel exhaled sharply, dragging a rough, calloused hand down his face. "I fucked up." His voice was low, uneven, barely more than a breath, like the words hurt coming out, like they had splintered inside of him before ever reaching the air. "With her."

Tommy froze, his eyes widening just a fraction as he processed the weight of his brother’s words. Joel—tough, unyielding, always carrying his burdens in silence—was admitting something. Something raw, something broken, something that didn’t sit right in the space between them.

Tomym exhaled through his nose, a soundless oh, the pieces clicking into place like a blade sliding into its sheath. His voice, when it came, was steady but careful, the kind of calm meant to keep something from breaking apart. "Alright." He leaned forward, elbows braced against his knees, his words measured, deliberate, like he was talking to someone standing too close to the edge. "What happened?"

Joel’s hands twitched, fingers flexing, "After dinner at yours." The words were gravel, scraped raw and unwilling. "I walked her home."

Tommy gave a slow nod, his expression patient but expectant, waiting, urging. "Yeah? And?"

Joel swallowed, shaking his head like he could shake off the memory, like it wasn’t stitched into every breath, every thought, every restless hour he spent staring at the ceiling, replaying it over and over. "She was drunk." His voice dropped lower, tighter, like the words themselves hurt.

Tommy’s nod was slower this time, his brow furrowing, his voice softer now, careful. "Okay. Then what?"

Joel swallowed hard. "She..." His throat tightened, voice catching, breaking on the edges. He forced the words out anyway, unraveling, fraying, something inside him splitting at the seams. "She said some things."

Tommy didn’t speak. Didn’t shift. Didn’t even breathe, just watched him with that quiet, patient scrutiny that made Joel feel like his insides were being pried open, like there was no hiding from what came next.

"Things she shouldn’t have said."

Tommy tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady, cautious. “Like what?” he asked, his voice low, careful—like he wasn’t sure if pushing would make Joel shut down or finally crack open.

Joel exhaled sharply, the breath jagged, uneven, more pain than air. He let out something that might’ve been a laugh in another life, but here, now, in this moment, it was empty, bitter, something worn and threadbare. He shook his head, lips twisting into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, wasn’t quite a grimace—just something hollow, something caught between regret and disbelief.

"She told me—"

The words caught. Lodged in his throat like a fist, like they weren’t meant to leave his mouth, like speaking them aloud would make them real in a way he wasn’t sure he could handle. His chest rose and fell, breath slow, heavy, every muscle in his body tensed like he could brace himself against the weight of it. The pause stretched long, unbearable.

Then—finally, quietly, wrecked—he let them slip free.

"She told me she wanted me to kiss her."

Tommy blinked, his brows lifting, the disbelief settling in his features before the words had even fully landed. “What?”

Joel’s voice was quieter now, rough around the edges, worn. Like saying it aloud stripped him raw, made it worse—made it real. “She asked why I didn’t kiss her at your birthday.” A bitter scoff, a shake of his head, like the memory itself was something that gnawed at him from the inside out. “During that stupid goddamn spin-the-bottle game.”

Tommy exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face, the movement heavy—weighted not just with exasperation, but with something that looked an awful lot like disbelief. He leaned back slightly, shaking his head. “Jesus, Joel.” It wasn’t scathing, wasn’t reprimanding. Just tired. “What the hell did you say?”

Joel tipped his head back against the wall, his eyes fluttering shut for half a second, like he could will himself away from this conversation, from the weight pressing against his ribs, from the ache winding its way through every breath. But it didn’t work. It never worked.

"That’s not even the worst part." His voice cracked—just slightly, just enough for Tommy to notice. Just enough for him to feel it, for his chest to tighten, for the words to stick in his throat like something barbed, something clawing its way out. His breath turned uneven, his fingers twitching at his sides as his mind betrayed him, dragging him back there.

Back to you.

To the way you had looked at him that night—drunk, vulnerable, so damn pretty, eyes glazed over, lips kiss-bitten from too much whiskey, voice soft, slurred, sweet. Sitting there, knees drawn up beneath you, the dim glow of the lantern casting golden light across your skin, bathing you in something holy.

You had ached for him. Had looked at him with wide, pleading eyes, like you were offering yourself up to him completely, giving him something raw and reckless and real, something fragile and too big to be taken back. You had already laid it bare at his feet, already given him everything, and God help him, he had stood there and done nothing.

No—worse.

He had left.

"She..." Joel hesitated, his jaw tightening, his throat working around the words like they physically hurt to say. His breath came short, uneven, as if he was choking on the weight of it, drowning in something too big, too heavy to carry. And then, finally—finally—he said it, the confession tearing from his lips like something jagged.

"She was gonna tell me she loved me."

Tommy stilled. His breath caught, his eyes snapping to Joel’s face like he hadn’t heard him right. The silence that followed was thick, suffocating, coiling around them like a vice.

"What?" Tommy’s voice was softer now, quieter—disbelieving, like the word had slipped out before he could stop it. He blinked, shook his head once, twice, his brow furrowing as if he could physically force himself to understand. "She—what?"

Joel swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his breath unsteady as he finally lifted his gaze. His eyes were raw, burning with something unspoken, something heavy and unrelenting, something he hadn’t let himself name.

"I stopped her." The words barely carried in the stillness, rough and uneven, like they scraped against the inside of his throat, like saying them hurt. "Told her she didn’t mean it."

Tommy just stared, his mouth parting slightly, something flickering behind his eyes—disbelief, frustration, something softer, something Joel refused to look at. When Tommy finally spoke, his voice was quiet but firm, sharp but not unkind. "Why?"

Joel’s fingers curled into fists against his thighs, his jaw locking so tightly it looked like it might snap. He could feel the muscles in his neck pull taut, the ache spreading down his spine, winding around his ribs like something trying to crush him.

"Because she was drunk, Tommy."

Joel’s voice dropped, rough and unsteady, something raw curling at the edges of his words. "I couldn’t let her say it. Not like that. Not when she’d wake up and regret it."

He shook his head, almost to himself now, voice dropping even lower, "She was drunk." The words weren’t for Tommy anymore. They weren’t even for you. They were for himself, for the part of him that needed to believe it, that needed to hold onto the idea that pushing you away had been the right thing.

Tommy didn’t speak right away. He just looked at him, long and hard, like he was waiting for Joel to catch up, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. His expression was unreadable, but something flickered beneath the surface—frustration, maybe, but not anger. Something quieter. Something tired. Then, slowly, he shook his head, exhaling like he didn’t know whether to laugh or curse or just sit there and let Joel drown in his own damn misery. He dragged a hand down his face, let it linger for a second, like the weight of this was just as exhausting for him as it was for Joel.

"Christ, Joel." Tommy tilted his head slightly, studying him, his gaze unreadable, searching Joel’s face like he was looking for something—some sign that he understood, that he knew.

"You really don’t see it, do you?"

Joel said nothing. Just sat there, jaw locked, breath unsteady, staring down at the floor like if he looked anywhere else, this might not matter so damn much.

Tommy huffed a quiet, almost bitter laugh, shaking his head again. He leaned forward slightly, elbows braced on his knees, voice softer now, measured, but dragging something heavier into the space between them.

"That girl," he started, his words slow, deliberate, like he needed them to land just right, like he needed Joel to feel them. "She looks at you like you’re the only thing in this whole goddamn world that makes sense to her. Like you’re the one thing she knows won’t let her down. Like you’re safe, Joel."

"She was drunk," Joel muttered, his voice brittle, strained, breaking in the middle like if he said it enough times, he might finally believe it. "She didn’t mean it."

Tommy scoffed, shaking his head, exhaling slow and sharp, like he was losing patience, like he was done watching Joel twist himself into knots just to avoid the inevitable.

"Doesn’t mean it wasn’t true," he shot back, his voice cutting through Joel’s flimsy excuse like a blade, clean and unforgiving. He leaned in slightly, his stare unwavering, piercing, seeing right through him, through all of it. "And you know it."

Joel’s fingers twitched against his knee, his jaw tight, his pulse hammering somewhere deep in his throat. "Doesn’t matter anyway," he muttered, quieter now, dull with something closer to resignation than he wanted to admit. "I talked to her the other day. She said she didn’t remember."

Tommy blinked, then scoffed again, sharper this time, full of disbelief. "And you believe her?" His voice wasn’t just cutting—it was aching, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. "Jesus, Joel. Could you be any denser? You rejected the poor girl—of course she’s gonna pretend she don’t remember. What the hell else is she supposed to say?"

Joel’s jaw locked. "I didn’t reject her," he bit out, but there was a crack in his voice, something unsteady, something that settled between them like a wound laid bare.

Tommy arched a brow, unconvinced. He leaned forward, elbows braced against his knees, voice quieter now but no less sharp. "No? Then what’d you do, huh? Did you stay? Did you tell her it was gonna be alright? Did you—"

Joel shook his head, quick, sharp, like he could shove the words away before Tommy could finish them. "No." It was barely more than a whisper, but it landed between them like a punch to the ribs.

Tommy’s brows furrowed, his voice dipping low, wary. "Joel—"

"No," Joel said again, the word scraping out of him, his breath unsteady, his hands gripping his knees like he needed to brace himself, like the weight of it all might finally crush him.

His fingers flexed once, twice, then curled in again. His voice cracked, raw and splintering apart. "I… fuck." He let out a sharp breath, pressing the heel of his palm against his temple, his shoulders curling inward like he could fold in on himself, like if he made himself small enough, maybe the guilt wouldn’t sink its claws so deep.

"I left."

"You left?" tommy repeated, slower this time, like he needed to say it aloud to believe it. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Joel?"

Tommy let out a slow sigh, long and weary, the weight of it settling between them like dust in the dim cabin light. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, gentler, but no less resolute. “Joel.” He said his name like it was something fragile, something worth handling with care. “I know you’ve been through hell. I know you think you don’t got room for anything else in your life. But you’re wrong.”

He hesitated, lips pressing into a firm line, as if he was trying to find the right words, as if they mattered more now than they ever had before. His voice dipped lower when he finally continued, steady and sure, leaving no space for argument.

“You deserve better than this. Better than sittin’ in a goddamn cabin, beatin’ yourself up ‘cause you’re too scared to believe someone could actually give a damn about you.”

Joel stiffened, his hands flexing against his knees, his shoulders tightening like he could brace himself against words alone. He still wouldn’t look up.

Tommy exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “She cares about you, Joel. And you know it.” He leaned in, his tone firm, but not unkind, pressing into the silence, forcing Joel to sit with it. “And if you’re too damn stubborn to let her in, you’re gonna regret it. Hell, you already do.”

The words landed like a blow, cutting deeper than anything else Tommy had thrown at him tonight. And Joel—Joel just sat there, staring at the ground like if he looked hard enough, he might find the answer to a question he hadn’t been ready to ask. His breath was uneven, his body wound so tight he felt like he might snap.

Tommy watched him for a long moment, expression unreadable, then sat back, his voice dipping even lower, quiet enough to be mistaken for something close to mercy.

“It’s alright to let someone care about you, Joel.” He paused, then softer, like a final offering. “It’s alright to let someone stay.”

Joel flinched, so subtle most people wouldn’t have noticed. But Tommy did.

Because he knew exactly what was running through Joel’s head now.

Sarah’s laughter—bright, unrestrained, filling every space it touched like it belonged there. The weight of her in his arms, her small hands clutching at his shirt, trusting him to keep her safe. Gone in an instant.

Tess—sharp-tongued, unshakable Tess, standing beside him, never asking for more than what he could give. A life spent fighting, surviving, and in the end, a fate she had chosen, one he couldn’t stop. Gone.

Ellie—her jokes, her sharp humor, the way she wore it like armor. The way she filled the hollowed-out space in Joel’s heart without even meaning to. Still here. Still his. But for how long?

Every person he had ever loved, slipping through his fingers like water, like dust, like something that had never belonged to him in the first place.

His breath hitched, barely audible, but enough. The ache in his chest twisted, raw and unrelenting, pressing up into his throat, threatening to consume him whole.

"I don’t—" His voice broke, rough and heavy, barely there. He shook his head sharply, like he could shake this loose, shake the ache out of his bones, shake himself free of the past clawing at his heels.

He swallowed hard, tried again. “Everyone I love ends up—” The words got caught, sticking in his throat like something jagged, something that would tear him apart if he forced it out. His hands curled into fists against his thighs, trembling slightly.

Tommy leaned forward, his voice cutting through the wall Joel had thrown up around himself, slicing through the silence like a blade. “I know you love her.” The words weren’t a question, weren’t a guess—they were fact, spoken with the kind of certainty that left no room for denial. His tone was firm, steady but insistent, forcing Joel to hear him. “Don’t tell me you don’t, ‘cause I’ve seen it. I see it every damn time you look at her. You’re scared—I get it. But, Joel…”

His voice softened, the edge giving way to something warmer, something quieter, something laced with an urgency that settled deep into Joel’s bones. “You gotta stop punishin’ yourself for things that weren’t your fault.”

Joel’s head dropped lower, his fists slowly unclenching, his fingers splaying against his thighs. They trembled, faintly, betraying the storm raging inside of him, the war he had been losing long before he had even realized he was fighting it. His voice was barely there when he finally spoke, the words dragging out of him like they were made of stone, heavy with doubt, thick with regret.

“She won’t wanna talk to me.” The words came rough, dragged from somewhere deep, like saying them out loud gave them weight, made them real in a way he wasn’t ready for. His throat tightened, breath hitching as his hands pressed harder against his legs, bracing, steadying—holding himself together by force of will alone. “Something’s off. She’s—fuck—she won’t wanna hear me out.” The thought sat heavy in his chest, suffocating, a truth he could feel in his bones even if he wasn’t ready to accept it.

Tommy exhaled, slow and even, sitting back, arms crossing over his chest. He studied Joel for a long moment, that quiet, knowing look settling on his face—the one Joel had seen a thousand times, the one that always came when he needed it least but maybe most.

"Then don’t talk."

Joel’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face, breaking through the thick haze of guilt and self-loathing. He glanced up, guarded, skeptical, his voice rough with exhaustion. "What the hell’s that supposed to mean?"

Tommy leaned in again, his tone deliberate, unwavering. “Write.”

Joel blinked. “Write?” The word felt strange in his mouth, foreign, like it didn’t belong to him.

Tommy nodded, his gaze locked on Joel, refusing to let him look away. "Put it all in a letter—every damn thing you’ve ever wanted to say to her but couldn’t. Everything you’re too scared to say out loud. Everything you regret. Everything you feel. And then give it to her."

Joel shook his head slightly, his hands tightening on his thighs, his breath unsteady. “Tommy—”

"Just let her hear you, Joel."

The words settled between them, pressing down on him, pressing into him.

He could see it now—you, sitting somewhere in the soft glow of lamplight, brow furrowed, fingers ghosting over the edge of the page as you read. He imagined your lips parting slightly, your breath catching, imagined the way your expression would shift as you took in every unspoken thing, every piece of him he had never known how to give you. He imagined your hands shaking, just a little, the way his were now.

And for the first time in a long time, Joel felt something close to hope—raw and terrifying and fragile, but there.

Joel shook his head, lips pressing into a thin line, his eyes dropping again, fingers curling into fists like he needed something to hold on to, something to anchor himself before the weight of this conversation swallowed him whole.

His breath came slow, measured, but it did nothing to steady the ache building beneath his ribs. "And what if she don’t wanna read it?" The words left him quieter than he meant, rawer, catching at the end like they had splintered in his throat before escaping.

Tommy exhaled through his nose, his expression softening, something quieter settling in his features as he leaned back, arms still crossed, gaze unwavering. “Then that’s on her.” His voice was calm, even, but there was something resolute beneath it, something steady, something Joel could feel pressing against the fragile edges of his doubt. “But at least you’ll know you tried. At least she’ll know how you feel. And maybe that’s all she needs to hear right now.”

Joel swallowed hard, his throat working around something thick, something impossible to name. He turned his face away, jaw tightening as his chest rose and fell in uneven waves, as he wrestled with the weight of Tommy’s words, with the war raging inside of him.

Because he knew what Tommy was saying made sense. He knew the truth of it. But knowing and acting—those were two different things. The thought of putting it all down, of laying himself bare, of giving you every feeling he had spent so long shoving into the darkest corners of himself—it terrified him.

Because vulnerability had always been a weakness. Something to be buried, something to be stitched shut, something to be survived. But this—this wasn’t just fear. It was something worse. Something quieter, something fragile.

Something infinitely more dangerous.

Hope.

And Joel—he knew better than to hope.

Because hope was a slow-acting poison. Hope meant risk, meant loss, meant opening himself up to something he might not get to keep. And God, he couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t stand the thought of reaching for something just to watch it slip through his fingers, of wanting something so much it destroyed him.

"I don’t know if I can do that."

The admission barely broke the silence, barely existed outside of his own head, but it was there. It was real. And it cut him open just to say it.

Tommy didn’t hesitate.

He leaned forward, pressing a firm hand to Joel’s shoulder—grounding, solid, steady, the way only a brother could be. “You can.” His voice didn’t waver, didn’t leave room for doubt. “And you should.”

Joel’s fingers twitched against his thighs, his body coiled so tight it felt like he might snap. His breath stuttered as he dragged a hand down his face, his pulse a heavy, uneven thing against his ribs, everything in him screaming to pull back, to close the door before it was too late.

But then—so did the thought of doing nothing.

The thought of letting you slip away, of knowing he had the chance to fix it and chose not to take it—that was worse. That was unbearable. That was the kind of mistake that lived in your bones, the kind you carried for the rest of your life, the kind that haunted every quiet moment, every sleepless night.

And Joel had enough ghosts already.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Patrol had been nothing short of torture.

Toby filled every silence like he was afraid of letting the quiet settle, his words tumbling over each other, meaningless stories and half-hearted jokes spilling from his mouth in a way that made your skin itch. He spoke just to speak, just to be heard, just to push back against the weight of the stillness that had never once unsettled you—not when it had been Joel by your side.

His proximity set your teeth on edge. The way his hand brushed against yours too often, his fingers grazing your arm as he stepped ahead of you on the path. He touched without thinking, without asking, without knowing—not in the way Joel had. Not with quiet certainty, not with careful restraint, not with the kind of gravity that turned the smallest touch into something felt days later.

Your mind betrayed you, pulling you back, dragging you under. Joel’s hands, big, warm, calloused, threading through yours in the hush of the forest, steady, solid, a quiet promise in the way his fingers had pressed between yours, anchoring you, holding you. The contrast of it, of him—this unyielding, gruff man, carved out of war and grief, tempered by loss—offering you something so soft without ever speaking a word. You had felt it, down to your bones.

You missed it.

He didn’t notice the way your shoulders tensed beneath the weight of his presence, how your steps edged just slightly faster, carving out whatever distance you could without making it obvious. Or maybe he did notice, and he just didn’t care. Maybe he mistook it for something else, something that suited him. The thought made your stomach twist.

You hadn’t asked for this. Hadn’t asked for Toby to be your new patrol partner. And yet, here you were, suffering through every over-familiar glance, every unnecessary touch, every empty word meant to fill the silence that had never once unsettled you—not when it had been Joel by your side. Maybe this was karmic retribution, the universe righting itself after you had been foolish enough to think Joel might be yours.

By the time patrol ended, relief rushed through you like a breath you’d been holding too long, your lungs aching with the effort. But it didn’t last. Toby, oblivious or persistent—or maybe both—stuck close as you made your way back into town, his voice still filling spaces that didn’t need filling, his presence still too much.

"I’ll walk you home," he said, like it was a kindness, like it was something you should be grateful for, like he was doing you some grand favor.

Your stomach twisted. The irritation in your chest sharpened into something colder, something heavier. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want him.

"You don’t have to." The words left you firm, clipped, sharper than they needed to be—sharp enough that anyone with even a shred of awareness would have picked up on it, would have known to take the out you were handing them.

But Toby just smiled, unfazed, enthusiasm unwavering. "I want to." He shrugged, like your words hadn’t mattered, like he hadn’t heard them at all. His voice was bright, easy, brushing off the steel in your tone like it was nothing, like he was entitled to this, to you.

The streets were quiet as you walked, the echo of your boots against the cobblestones the only sound besides Toby’s chatter. You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, hoping even he could read the signal, but still, he stayed too close. His presence was suffocating, clinging like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

When you finally reached your door, you stopped abruptly, your hand hovering over the doorknob as you prayed he’d take the hint. But Toby lingered, his boots scuffing against the ground, his posture awkward as if he were working up to something.

“Hey,” he started, his voice softening in a way that made unease coil in your stomach. “I know the last time we hung out was a bit… weird.”

Your chest tightened, dread pooling in your stomach as the memory surfaced—the movie night that had gone sideways. You’d bolted right after, mumbling something about needing fresh air, and you hadn’t looked back.

Toby chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s no big deal, right? We’re good. I just thought—”

"Toby." Your voice cut through the cold night air, sharper than you meant it to be, the frayed edges of your patience bleeding through. "Thanks for walking me home, but I’m really tired." You tried to make it final, tried to press an ending into the space between you, hoping he’d take it for what it was—a dismissal.

But he didn’t. Didn’t stop. Didn’t pause. Didn’t even hesitate.

"Fuck it," he muttered, barely audible, barely there. But you heard it. And before the words could even register, before you could react, before your body could so much as move—he leaned in. Warm. Insistent. Wrong.

His lips pressed against yours, stealing a moment that was never his to take. Your body locked, your breath stalled, something sharp and sick curling in the pit of your stomach as your mind scrambled to catch up, to process, to understand. His hands settled on your arms, gripping too firmly, his presence suffocating, closing in, closing around you. The weight of it, the sheer audacity, the way he just assumed—

You didn’t kiss him back.

You couldn’t.

Your limbs felt heavy, pinned beneath a moment you hadn’t chosen, trapped in something you wanted no part of. And yet, there you stood, caught in it, drowning in it, the wrongness of it spreading through your veins like a sickness.

And then, it was over. He pulled away, looking pleased, looking satisfied, like he hadn’t just taken something from you.

"See you soon."

His voice was light, casual, like this had been inevitable, like you had wanted it. His footsteps faded into the quiet before you could even find the words to respond, before you could scrape together the breath to tell him how wrong he was.

You stood frozen on the doorstep, the cold biting against your skin, against the places he had touched, against the places you wished he hadn’t. Your fingers lifted to your mouth, trembling, hating that the sensation was still there, that it lingered, clinging to you like something spoiled, something rotten.

Tears burned at the edges of your eyes, hot and unwelcome, threatening to spill over as the weight of it all settled deep into your bones. This was wrong—all wrong. Every part of you recoiled, your body rejecting the memory of Toby’s lips, the unwanted heat of his breath, the foreign press of his touch. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was never supposed to be like this. You didn’t want him, didn’t want this moment, didn’t want the shape of someone else’s hands lingering where they had no right to be. The disgust curled in your stomach like something spoiled, like something taken from you before you could even flinch away.

Because it wasn’t his kiss you had spent countless nights longing for, pressed beneath the blankets, fingers ghosting over your lips as if you could summon the phantom of something that had never been given to you. It wasn’t his hands you wanted to feel, warm and sure, threading through your hair, gripping your jaw, tilting your face toward his like he needed to breathe you in. It wasn’t him you ached for, wasn’t him who had haunted every soft and aching part of you, lingering in the quiet moments where your heart whispered his name into the silence like a prayer.

No.

It was Joel.

Joel, with his impossibly soft lips, so achingly pink, so at odds with the rest of him, always pressed into that thin, unreadable line, always bitten raw when he thought too hard, when he let himself feel too much. Joel, whose touch you had memorized without ever having the privilege of knowing it fully, whose warmth had brushed against your skin in the moments between longing and restraint, in the spaces where your hands had lingered just a second too long. Joel, whose stubble you had dreamed of feeling against your own tender skin, scratching against the delicate line of your jaw, leaving a burn in its wake as he kissed you like he had been starving for you, like the moment had been inevitable since the first time his eyes met yours.

You wanted him—God, you wanted him—wanted to lose yourself in the slow, agonizing press of his mouth, to whimper into him as he took what was his, what had always been his, what you would have given freely if only he had asked. Wanted to feel the way his hands—large, calloused, steady—would cradle your face, holding you there, keeping you close, like he was afraid you might slip through his fingers, like he needed to know you were real.

And standing there on the doorstep, the cold biting into your skin, your stomach twisting with the weight of a moment that had never belonged to you, never belonged to him, all you could do was press your fingertips to your lips, eyes burning, chest hollowed out and aching with a grief you didn’t know how to carry.

Because no matter how much you wished otherwise, no matter how desperately you tried to push the thought away, you knew the truth of it.

You only wanted Joel.

And Joel wasn’t here.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Joel and Tommy had made it back from patrol hours ago, boots heavy with dust, the cold still clinging to their skin. But his thoughts weren’t on the ride home or the sharp bite of the wind. They were on you. He wondered if you’d heard—if someone had told you he was back. If you’d been relieved to know he was safe, that he’d made it home in one piece. He liked to think you would be. That maybe, just maybe, you’d been waiting to see him.

He had spent the entire day drowning in the dim, suffocating quiet of his bedroom, the curtains drawn tight, shutting out the world like it might lessen the ache inside his chest. But nothing did. Not the silence, not the solitude, not the weak glow of the half-burned candle flickering against the walls, casting unsteady shadows over the wreckage of his own making.

He missed your face—missed the curve of your smile, the way your cheeks rounded just enough to make you look younger, softer, like something untouched by the weight of this world. He missed the way you looked at him, the way it made him feel something he hadn’t let himself have in too long. And now, sitting here in the thick, suffocating quiet, all he could do was hope—hope that maybe you missed him, too.

Crumpled scraps of paper littered the floor around him, a graveyard of failed attempts, of words that had never made it past the ink, of confessions that had died in his hands before they had ever been given the chance to live. His breath was heavy, uneven, dragging through his lungs as he sat hunched over, elbows braced against his knees, his face buried in his hands. His fingers curled tight into his hair, gripping at the strands like he could reach inside himself, pull the chaos from his skull, drag the words out of his traitorous, treacherous heart by force.

That goddamn heart. The old, battered, useless thing. Beaten down by time, by loss, by grief that had settled too deep into his bones, a part of him now, woven into the fabric of who he was. A heart that should have hardened by now, should have shut down, sealed itself off, stopped making a fool of him. But it hadn’t. That weak, worn-out thing had kept on beating, kept on loving, despite every reason not to, despite the past, despite the certainty that love only ever ended in ruin.

Despite you.

He felt fucking stupid.

Stupid for thinking this would be easy, for believing even for a second that he could lay his heart bare on paper when he had never been able to say it out loud. Not when it mattered. Not when you had stood in front of him, eyes wide and pleading, offering him something rare, something reckless, something he had wanted with every aching part of himself and still—still—he had let it slip through his fingers.

Every letter started the same—I’m sorry—because it was the only truth he knew, the only thing that had burned in his chest since the second he let you walk away. And every letter ended the same—ruined, ripped apart beneath the weight of his own cowardice, of his hands shaking as he scratched through the words until the ink bled so thick the paper tore beneath it.

His gaze dropped to the latest attempt—his last, failed attempt—the ink smudged and uneven, the words unraveling somewhere in the middle, buckling under the pressure of too much feeling, too much of you lodged between the lines. He had started with I’m sorry—because it was all he could offer, because it was all that he was—but the rest had turned into a tangled mess of hesitation, of crossed-out confessions and thoughts too raw to see the light of day.

It wasn’t enough.

Not for you. Not when you deserved more—deserved everything—the world, if he could rip it apart and carve something softer from its wreckage. But no matter how many times he started over, no matter how many times he picked up the pen with shaking fingers and a chest too full of things he didn’t know how to say, it always ended the same way.

He wanted to tell you.

Wanted to lay it all bare, to strip himself down to the rawest parts, to put words to the impossible and make you understand what you did to him—how you had wormed your way into the deepest, most guarded corners of his soul, how you had become something he could no longer separate himself from. But how could he? How could he possibly articulate something so foreign, so unnerving, so terrifyingly real? How could he explain the way you had upended his entire goddamn existence, cracked something open inside him that had been locked away for decades—something he hadn’t even realized was still there, something he never thought he would need?

How could he tell you—his sweet girl, his undoing—that in fifty-six years of being a man, of surviving, of standing on this wretched, merciless earth, he had never felt anything like this? That you had touched something in him that had never been touched before, something that had never even stirred, never even dreamed of waking up? That he had lived his whole life thinking he was past feeling this way, past the kind of hunger that keeps a man restless in his own skin, past the kind of longing that hollows him out from the inside?

And how could he ever admit that every night—without meaning to, without deciding to—the last remnants of his waking mind always belonged to you? That it had become a quiet, unspoken ritual, a habit carved so deeply into him that he barely noticed it anymore, like muscle memory, like instinct, like breathing. That as sleep pulled at him, as exhaustion weighed down on his bones, it was always you who filled the spaces between consciousness and dreaming. You, always you.

How could he tell you that in those stolen moments, when the world had gone quiet and there was nothing left but his own thoughts, he let himself have you in the only way he could? That his mind was greedy, starved, painting images of you in devastating detail—the soft sighs and sweet little whimpers, the warmth of your skin beneath his palms, the way your lips would part beneath his, trembling, pliant, waiting for more?

That in the darkness, in the safety of solitude, he allowed himself to sink into the fantasy, let himself imagine you tangled up in him, pressed beneath him, fingers twisting in the sheets, whispering his name like a prayer, needing him in the way he so desperately, so helplessly needed you? That he could see it, feel it—his hands tracing reverent paths over your body as though trying to commit you to memory, his lips worshipping you in slow, unhurried devotion, trailing from your temple to your cheek, your jaw, your nose, your throat, drinking you in, tasting, savoring, claiming? That he could hear the way you’d gasp his name, the way you’d shudder under the weight of his touch, the way you’d look at him—eyes wide, lips swollen, undone—like he was something worth wanting, worth keeping, worth loving?

And God help him—how could he ever admit that, for all his restraint, for all his goddamn willpower, more often than not, he was just a man? Just a weak, desperate man who unraveled at the mere thought of you, who came undone in the dark where no one could see, where there was no one to witness the ruin you made of him. That he could fight it all he wanted, could curse himself for it, could try to bury it beneath guilt and self-loathing, but it didn’t change a damn thing—because it was you. It had always been you.

How could he tell you that some nights, the ache of you was unbearable, a hollow, gnawing thing lodged deep in his chest? That he would lay there, eyes shut tight, fists clenched, jaw locked, trying so fucking hard to will it away, to pretend he didn’t feel this way, to pretend he hadn’t already lost the battle the moment you looked at him like he was something soft, something safe, something good? That no matter how many times he told himself it was wrong—how many times he reminded himself that you weren’t his to think of like this, to want like this—it didn’t fucking matter.

Because he did.

Because he always would.

And that was the cruelest thing of all—that no matter what he did, no matter how much he tried to be better, to be stronger, to be the man he was supposed to be, he would always belong to you in ways he had no right to.

Joel swallowed, the weight of everything pressing down on him, settling deep in his chest like something immovable, something that had been there for years—decades, maybe—buried beneath grief and regret and every goddamn thing he had ever lost. But beneath the wreckage, something flickered, fought—a spark of determination catching at the edges of all the things he had ruined, all the things he had walked away from, all the things he still had a chance to fix.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached forward, his fingers trembling as they brushed against the scattered pages at his feet. He hesitated for only a second, barely long enough to exhale, then wrapped his hand around the pen, lifting it with a quiet, steady resolve.

And this time, he wouldn’t stop.

This time, he wouldn’t let the fear win. Wouldn’t let himself be ruled by the ghosts of the past, by the ugly, vicious voice in his head telling him it was too late, that he had already lost you.

This time, he would give you everything. Every unspoken thought, every aching confession, every piece of himself he had spent years keeping locked away. Because he owed you that. Because you deserved that. Because if there was even the smallest chance that you would read it, that you would understand, that you wouldn’t turn away—God help him, he would take it.

Because no matter how much it terrified him, no matter how much it threatened to unravel him from the inside out, the thought of losing you—of never getting the chance to make this right—scared him more.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Tag List

@bbyanarchist @kanyewestest @locked-ness @bambisweethearts @pedritospunk @ickearmn @joeldjarin @disco-barbiexx @sherrye22 @vxrona @ashhlsstuff @dendulinka6 @ashhlsstuff @r4vens-cl4ws @divineangel222 @jasminedragoon @regalwhovianbrowncoat774 @handsintheeaire @jaxmom66 @ashleyfilm @kateg88 @tigerlillyyy

@jethrojessie @eddiemunsonsbedroom @flowerydindjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @oscarpiasstri81 @tldix @grumpygrumperton

@dendulinka6 @agnus04 @tigerlillyyy @vampiredoggies-blog @julwar67 @kateg88 @martuxduckling @guessitwillallworkout @anoverwhelmingdin @thottiewinemom @keepspassinmeby @disco-barbiexx @emisprocrastinating @cuteanimalmama @moulinrougcs @lottieellz101 @laliceee @grumpygrumperton @meet-me-backstage @spacegirl-3 @nixpat-blog @martuxduckling

@materialgirl-97 @valkyreally @suzysface @ro-nahime-things @spacelatinos4life @churchofjoemiller @peepawispunk @materialgirl-97 @6w1sdomt33th @churchofjoemiller @ccmoonshine @missladym1981 @ro-nahime-things @deansimpalagirl

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syluslnd · 5 months ago

Note

hiii ive been reading a bunch of your work for a while and i luv em ^^. can i ask if you could do a scenario where sylus discovers your s*lf-h*rm scars? if its too triggering you dont have to

sylus reaction to your self harm scars

The soft morning light filtered through the curtains casting a warm golden glow over the bedroom. You stirred slightly feeling the weight of sleep slowly lift from your body.

Beside you Sylus lay quietly his chest rising and falling with steady breaths. His presence was comforting and as you blinked your eyes open a soft sigh escaped your lips.

Without thinking you stretched out your arms letting your muscles wake up along with you. It was a lazy, comfortable movement, one you'd done countless times.

But this time, as you reached above your head, Sylus's gaze shifted. His eyes, usually so sharp and calculating softened as he watched you. He always looked at you like that in the mornings-like he was seeing something precious, something fragile. Yet today, something was different.

As your arms stretched out the sleeves of your loose shirt slid back just for a moment revealing the faint but unmistakable lines on your wrists.

Sylus's gaze sharpened immediately. His usual calm, controlled demeanor faltered just for a second but that second was all it took for his heart to twist in his chest. His brows furrowed almost imperceptibly and he stiffened beside you. His eyes flickered over the cuts-small, faint but unmistakably deliberate.

At first, his mind raced to a darker place.

Had someone hurt you? The thought was instant, primal, filling him with a flash of anger. But no-he knew that wasn't it. Sylus was nothing if not observant and as quickly as the thought came it was dismissed. This wasn't something someone else had done to you.

This was something you had done to yourself.

His stomach twisted an unfamiliar feeling of dread settling deep inside him. He wasn't stupid. He knew exactly what those marks meant and for the first time in a long time he felt... lost. Sylus was used to handling difficult situations, staying composed no matter what. But this? This was different.

He didn't know if he should say something. If he should bring it up. The air between you felt suddenly thick charged with something heavy and unspoken. You were still stretching lazily, unaware of the storm brewing in his mind.

Sylus stared at your wrists for another beat before you lowered your arms back down, your shirt falling back into place, hiding the evidence of whatever had been going on beneath the surface. You turned toward him with a sleepy smile, your eyes half-lidded with lingering drowsiness.

"Morning" you mumbled softly, unaware of the way his gaze had hardened, how his expression had tightened for just a split second before he smoothed it over with a casual smirk.

"Morning, sweetie" he replied his voice even though there was a slight edge to it that hadn't been there before. He reached out brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his touch gentle, though his mind was anything but calm.

He didn't bring it up immediately. For the next few minutes he tried to act like nothing had changed like he hadn't seen what he just saw. But it was eating away at him gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.

Sylus wasn't one to ignore things, and certainly not when it came to you. He was always so good at teasing you pushing your buttons just enough to make you blush but this... this was different. This wasn't something he could tease away.

As you lay there beside him your head resting on his chest he couldn't stop his eyes from drifting back to your wrists hidden beneath the fabric now but the image of those cuts was burned into his mind. His hand resting on your arm felt the weight of every line every mark that told a story he wasn't sure he was ready to hear.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore.

"Sweetie" he began, his voice unusually soft but there was a tension beneath it. You shifted slightly, tilting your head up to look at him noticing the way his brow was furrowed his usual calm expression giving way to something more serious.

"What is it?" you asked, your voice still groggy from sleep.

For a moment Sylus hesitated something uncharacteristic for him. He wasn't the type to dance around things but this felt... delicate. Like if he said the wrong thing everything might crack.

"I..." He trailed off, his hand brushing lightly over your arm, his fingers tracing the edge of your sleeve. "I noticed something. On your wrists."

Your heart skipped a beat your body tensing immediately. You knew what he was talking about and suddenly the lazy morning felt far too suffocating. The room, once warm and comfortable, now felt like a trap.

Sylus watched the way your expression shifted, how your eyes darted away from his, how your breathing grew just a little more uneven. His jaw clenched and he forced himself to stay calm, though every instinct inside him was screaming to ask, to demand answers.

"I'm not stupid, kitten" he said, his voice quiet but firm. "Those aren't accidents, are they?"

You felt your throat tighten the weight of his words pressing down on you. The cuts— something you had tried so hard to keep hidden to push away-were now laid bare and Sylus, with his sharp eyes and relentless persistence, wasn't going to let this go.

"No” you whispered barely audible your voice cracking under the pressure of the moment. "They're not."

Sylus closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly, as if trying to gather his thoughts.

When he opened them again his gaze was steady, though there was something darker behind it. "Why?" he asked, the word heavy with emotion. "Why are you doing this to yourself?"

You bit your lip, tears already welling in your eyes as you tried to find the words. "I don't know..." you started, but it felt hollow, like an excuse. You knew exactly why. "It just... it helps. When everything gets too much, it's like... it's the only thing I can control."

Sylus's expression faltered his usual confidence cracking as he processed your words. He had never seen you like this-so vulnerable,so lost. You, the person who was always so bright, so full of life. The one who always smiled, always laughed, even when he teased you relentlessly.

He felt guilt settle deep in his chest. Had he missed this? Had he been so caught up in his own world, in his work, that he hadn't noticed how much you were struggling? The thought gnawed at him, filling him with a sense of helplessness he rarely felt.

"You should've told me" he said, his voice low but there was an edge of frustration in it.

Not at you but at himself. "I should've been paying more attention. I should've known something was wrong."

You shook your head quickly the tears finally spilling over as you sat up wrapping your arms around yourself as if to protect yourself from his piercing gaze. "It's not your fault, Sylus” you said, your voice trembling. "I didn't want you to know. I didn't want to be a burden."

His eyes flashed with anger-again not at you but at the situation. "A burden?" he repeated, his tone sharp. "You think you're a burden to me?"

You flinched slightly at his words, and he immediately regretted the harshness of his tone. He reached out, his hand resting on your arm again, this time more gently.

"You're not a burden" he said, his voice softening. "Not to me. You never could be."

You looked down at your hands, your heart heavy with guilt and shame. "I just didn't know how to tell you. It's... it's hard. It's hard to explain why I do it and I didn't want to make you worry."

Sylus exhaled slowly, his hand moving to cup your cheek tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. "I’m already worried, sweetie" he said quietly. "and I wish you would've told me sooner. I hate that you've been going through this alone."

The tenderness in his voice broke something inside you and you couldn't hold back the sob that escaped your lips. You collapsed into his arms burying your face in his chest as the weight of everything you'd been holding in finally came crashing down.

Sylus wrapped his arms around you holding you tightly against him his chin resting on top of your head. "I'm here now" he murmured his voice steady though you could hear the pain behind it. "We'll get through this together. You don't have to do it alone anymore."

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe-just maybe-you didn't have to carry the weight of it all by yourself.

#love and deepspace #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #l&ds sylus #lads sylus #sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you

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userpeggycarter · 7 months ago

Text

hi! someone requested me to do a tutorial based on this gifset!

this tutorial requires an intermediate knowledge of gifmaking. i won’t teach you how to do gifs from scratch, there are other tutorials for that out there.

[tutorial under the cut]

THE BASICS

AN INTRODUCTION

first off, the gifset in question is based on this gifset by @/eddiediaaz and i got permission from them to explain the process. i won’t be sharing the template because it’s a near replica of theirs (that isn’t shared to the public) and i don’t feel comfortable doing so, but you can recreate it by yourself just like i did!

also, ESL, so please pardon any mistakes.

THE FONT

Circular ST (Medium & Black). download it here & here.

CLIPPING MASKS

clipping masks are the way i put images and gifs inside of shapes. i used that method in the first and second gif of the Spotify gifset as you can see here. what does a clipping mask do? basically, it links two or more layers together in a way it follows the “shape” of your base layer. ie, everything that is shown follows the “shape” of your main layer and nothing more. your base layer can be anything: a shape, an image, a gif, a text, an adjustment layer, really everything. let’s see an example:

CLIPPING MASKS & SHAPES

the original image (Gun 'n' Roses logo) is intact, as in, it’s not cut like a circle, something that cannot be undone. instead, everything outside the limits of the blue circle is just hidden. if i delete the base layer (the circle layer), the original image will appear as it originally is, as an rectangle. talking about layers, let’s see my layers panel (some things are in Portuguese, but i think you can understand):

notice the little arrow pointing downwards to the “circle” layer. that is the clipping mask symbol. the base layer always needs to be below what is being clipped. if the base layer is deleted, the chain is broken and every layer clipped will now act independently and have its original shape. you can have as many clipped layers as you want. you can also have multiple chains going on in a .psd, each one with its own base layer. to clip a layer, you just need to press ctrl+alt+G or cmd+option+G while having the layer you want to clip selected (NOT your base layer). or, you can go to LAYER > CREATE CLIPPING MASK.

CLIPPING MASKS & TEXT

let’s see the same example, but with text instead:

A TIP

because adjustment layers are clippable, you can completely gif by using clipping masks. this is very useful when you have more than one gif inside a canvas and don’t want an adjustment layer to affect everything besides a certain layer/element.

let’s take my first gif of the Spotify gifset as an example.

the circle is the base layer. the “Carol smiling” layer is my gif converted to a smart filter. above that “Carol smiling” layer, there is a black and white gradient map and two color fills of white so i can achieve the coloring you see. all those layers are clipping onto the circle layer, making my now b&w gif have the shape of a small circle as well. those layers are in a folder in the .psd of my first gif, so i don’t have multiple files sitting on my PC to assemble just one gif. i could have giffed that small gif separately and pasted it onto my canvas as well, but i like to do this way so i can adjust everything i want in real time instead of redoing a gif over and over every time i want to change something.

HOW TO MAKE EACH GIF

all gifs are 540x540px.

THE FIRST GIF

the first gif has 6 elements. the elements are: a big gif serving as a background (a close-up of Carol), a smaller gif inside a circle (a b&w gif of Carol smiling) as a profile picture and four static images for the featured artists. i giffed as i normally do (loaded screencaps, resized the gif, sharpened the gif, etc) for my background gif. to achieve the coloring, i’ve added a gradient map (layer > new adjustment layer > gradient map) purple to pink. to the profile picture, i made a 160x160px circle in the top left corner. the color of it doesn’t matter. the next step is a matter of taste: i giffed the smaller gif in the same .psd thanks to clipping masks that i explained earlier, but you can do it in a separate canvas too. for the featured artists, i made four circles with 98x98px each. for the images, i had to check Spotify for their selected PFPs. after that, i googled “[band/artist] spotify” to find the images. the PFP of bands and artists in the Spotify app are displayed in black and white, so you might have to make them b&w if you happen to find them only in color. to make the artists PFPs pop a bit more, i transformed them into smart filters and added a bit of sharpening to them (intensity 10 x radius 10). you can adjust the colors and the brightness if you want, too. the sizes of the texts in the gif are: 58px (username), 20px (top artists of the month), 15px (name of the artists), 12px (only visible to you + show all + profile) and 11px (following and follower numbers).

SECOND GIF

for the chart, i created a black rectangle (490x308px) that i set its blending mode to lighten (thus making it transparent) and i added an internal white stroke. i added the text and the little squares next to the top 6 numbers. the font sizes are: 17px (top tracks this month), 11px (only visible to you), 14px (song title, show all, top 6 numbers), 13px (artist/band, album title, length of the song). i added the album covers — that i made b&w — by clipping images onto 32x32px squares. for the coloring, i added a gradient map (dark purple > light purple).

THIRD GIF

there are three types of playlists in this gif: a Spotify original playlist, a playlist made by a user and a Mix. you don’t have to follow this formula if you don’t want to, but in the case you do, here’s how i did it: browse Spotify for an original playlist of theirs. chances are, if you google the playlist’s name, you can find its cover on Google Images. at least, i found the “All Out 80s” cover that i used in my gifset. you can also create your own. for the user playlist, just pick four songs and find their (album) covers, also on Google. create a square canvas on Photoshop and make four squares, each in one quadrant of the canvas. paste your images onto your canvas and clip the images to each square. then, add a gradient map (black + whatever color you want) to all those images and title your playlist (font size: ). save that collage as a PNG and load to your gif canvas or merge all the layers+transform into a smart filter and drag the smart filter layer onto your gif canvas. now, the trickiest one. while you can invent your own Mix, i wanted to use a real one, but i had no idea on how to find them. thanks to reddit, i discovered that, if you search “made for you” on Spotify, you will find their Mixes! some of them are very whacky and specific! i just picked the Mix that made the most sense for Carol from that (gigantic) list. before doing the next step, i would advise you to google the name of the Mix you picked to see if you are able to find the cover of it with good quality. i wasn’t able to find mine (Karaoke Mix), so i just screenshotted my Spotify app, pasted that screenshot into Photoshop and cut the Mix cover and pasted that onto my canvas. the quality wasn’t great, so i transformed the cover into a smart filter, added a bit of gaussian blur and then sharpened it (intensity 10 x radius 10). the color wasn’t what i wanted either, so i used Hue/Saturation to change the hue. because the original image for the Mix was smaller than i wanted and i stretched it to make it bigger, the quality of the text and the Spotify logo was botched. i painted over the Mix cover and created a text with the font i linked earlier to replace its now pixelated title. i also painted over the little Spotify logo, found a logo in the internet and pasted over the Mix cover about the same size of the original logo. to achieve the “3D effect” of the gif, i made my b&w gif, the base. then, i duplicated all layers and added a gradient map (black > pink) and merged all the layers of that duplicate. i made a second replica of my gif, now with a different gradient map (black > blue). i set both replicas to the ligthen blending mode. you will notice that the replicas will "disappear" and only the original b&w gif will remain. if you move the replicas a bit, that colored border will appear. this doesn't work much in very bright gifs without a lot of dark areas, btw.

FOURTH GIF

this gif used an altered (by me) version of this template. (i changed the fonts to match the rest of the gifset, too.) for the color text effect, you will have to gif with the timeline bar. take your gif’s length and do the math to find how many frames are ⅓ of it. take your lyrics’ layer and cut it into three equal parts or close to it by using the scissors icon in the timeline panel. in each third, change the color of just one line, line by line. when you play your gif, the colors of the lyrics will change like in Karaoke. you can do the same thing with frames iirc, though. i explained the timeline method because that’s the one i used in this gifset and use in general gif making. for the coloring, i added a gradient map. to make the colors pop a bit more, i add two gradient maps: the first one is in black and white, the other is in color. that adds depth to the blacks and darker colors of the gif.

FIFTH GIF

like in the Top Playlists gif, i wanted for my Daylist to be real as well. to achieve that, i listened to my Carol Danvers companion playlist (that you can listen here) for a long time until my Daylist refreshed itself. (Daylists refresh in certain times of the day — don't worry, Spotify will tell you when.) then, i just copied what it told me — the title and the genres i listened to generate such a Daylist, plus the genres i should check it out. you can invent your own Daylist if you want, but because it is generated by AI, i find very difficult to mimic its crazy titles, but you can try! you can also search in the web for other people’s Daylists if you want, but usually people don’t tell you what they listened to to get those playlists and nor what was recommended for them to listen to and i, at least, find that information important for the gifset. be aware that Daylists aren't available for every country yet (like in mine), but i found a way to work around that. the browser Opera GX offers a free "VPN" — not exactly a VPN, but it works close enough — so you can set your location to the US and listen to in-browser Spotify. i recommend not log into Tumblr while using Opera's VPN as there is a myth (that could easily be true!) that Tumblr terminates people's accounts that use a VPN. font sizes: 43px (daylist title), 13px (text), 12px ("daylist" & "made for"). for the flare effect, i searched for flare overlays on YouTube and downloaded one of those videos with 4K Video Downloader, a free software. i loaded the overlay into Photoshop and added a gradient map (purple > pink) over it, thus changing its color. i pasted the overlay onto my b&w gif and set its blending mode to screen. voila!

that's it! i hope you liked it and that i was able to express myself well. if you have any questions, feel free to contact me, i love helping people about their gifmaking questions! 💖

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thewinter-eden · 2 months ago

Text

Don't Look At Me Like That

images are mine (except middle HH pic that I got from pinterest). please do not use without permission. ATE pcs are my inspo for this series.

part 4 of the skz crack!horror series (this concludes the Hyung Line).

pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes summary: hitman!Hyunjin’s next target is you, the child of a foreign diplomat. But when he shows up to do the job and finds you ambivalent to the threat upon your life, he can’t help but ask what the hell is wrong with you.

warnings: Terminal illness, smoking, asshole family, political family, angst, unrealistic trust fund, drugs, implications of overdose, implications of involuntary overdose, assault, discussion of surgery, depictions of cysts/tumors, USD instead of Korean Won, Gossip Girl reference, some language, kidnapping.

word count: 6k

Comment a request to be tagged.

series info PART 2 INFO

The first igniting drags of your cigarette feel like a second glass of wine. For a second, you’re lighter than air and the world tips on its axis.

Your family hates your penchant for cigarettes. They call you disgusting; unhygienic; stupid.

Although, In a way, your literal toxic trait has actually strengthened your personal hygiene—a rigorous unskippable skincare routine, to fight the weathering of your face, expensive and regular dental care to prevent the yellowing of teeth, your hands under a constant layer of hand sanitizer and scented perfume to combat the clinging stench of smoke, every surface of your bedroom cleaned daily and your laundry crisply pressed and regularly washed—just because you’re a shameless human chimney doesn’t mean you intend to wear the grime of cigarette smoke as an accessory.

Not that any of that matters anymore.

You take another drag and feel your body settle into the familiar rhythm. In front of you, on the other side of your glass cage (read: bedroom window) the city stretches out in front of you, lights poking holes in the blanket of darkness that covers it.

The clock reads 6 PM.

Lifting one hand, tapping a black-polished nail against the glass, watching your arm tremble, you give a resigned sigh and blow a puff of smoke through the opening. The plume rises and disperses into the atmosphere, vanishing before your eyes.

You finish your cigarette and crush the filter into your ash tray, yanking the curtains closed. The next few minutes are muscle memory—shrugging out of your robe, spritzing it with vodka to remove the smoke smell, exfoliating your hands and arms with a sugar scrub, brushing and whitening your teeth, covering yourself head to toe in moisturizer.

All for the sake of appearances.

When you close yourself into the bathroom to change half an hour later, all you smell is coffee from the sugar scrub and the sickly sweet aroma of your flowery lotion.

“You’re coming, right?” Your best friend Lisa’s voice booms through the phone, the sound of pounding music and raucous laughter filling the background.

You’re already dressed, brushing excess highlighter and powder off your face as you stand before your mirror. “Of course I’m coming, I promised you I would. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” You take a second to check your watch.

Lisa had made plans with you to meet at the party at 8, but she always arrives early enough to be four or five drinks ahead by the time you show up. This inevitably leads to her finding someone to spend an hour in the closest lockable room with and you calling your dad’s driver to take you home.

It’s not that you don’t ever want a hook up or a boyfriend or anything, it’s just that you’re the seventeen-year-old daughter of a politician and you have rules.

You can’t be out after 11, you can’t be seen with mile-deep cleavage or thigh-high hems, and you certainly can’t be drunk in public—especially as a minor. So you smooth the fabric of the just barely appropriate outfit you’ve chosen and check your reflection one last time.

It takes a second to convince yourself that the heaviness of your eyes isn’t because of your dark liner, that the dullness in your expression isn’t obvious.

“Well hurry on over. I’ve found someone you just have to meet.”

When you arrive, you’re wading through a house that’s teeming with high schoolers, the walls reverberating with pounding music. You find Lisa near the kitchen, one arm slung around the neck of one of her friends, the other hand clutching a plastic cup.

When her eyes land on you, she all but screeches your name over the clamor and reaches for you. The girl that she was just leaning on takes the opportunity to pull away and stretch her arms upward, trying to correct the awkward hunch that Lisa had put her in. She shoots you a grateful smile and disappears into the crowd, looking for her boyfriend.

Lisa’s in your face in the next second, her breath already reeking. She catches you in a tight, sloppy hug, the contents of her cup splashing your shoulder as she trips. “I’m so glad you’re here,” She says, and if her body language says drunk, her voice certainly doesn’t. Her lipstick is smeared and she’s staggering a little but her voice is crisp and sharp. “I was worried you’d change your mind again.”

She runs a hand up the back of your neck and playfully squeezes the knot of your hair that you’ve taken the time to elegantly pin.

It’s a ritual at this point.

You have the worst habits—smoking and drinking and slipping your curfew after everyone’s asleep—but you don’t go anywhere without a Princess Grace-like appearance. Because it doesn’t matter what you do as long as you’re not shitfaced on the front page the next morning. Even if you’ve snuck out at night to meet a boyfriend, when the cameras catch you on the streets you’re perfectly coiffed and sleekly styled.

Even now, you don’t look like you’re dressed for a high school party so much as a cocktail one, but Lisa tells you it makes you look more like Blair Waldorf than the homeschooler you’re always worried you emulate.

You push her hand out of your hair and check to make sure the pins haven’t come out. “Did you get me one of those?” You nod towards the cup in her hand and her eyes light up.

She nods towards the kitchen. “I got you, babe, come with me.”

You follow her, one hand reaching for her hip to steady her when she falls off one of her high heels, and then you’re in the kitchen and the noise of the party is muffled behind the heavy swinging door.

There’s one other person in the room with you, a tall, slender guy near the sink, shoulders hunched slightly as he gazes out the window. You’re still trailing after Lisa, but your eyes are taking in the long black hair that the guy has pulled back in a half pony, the slim-cut jacket with the sleeves pushed up past his elbows, the ripped jeans that cinch at his small waist and hang loosely around his legs.

When the two of you enter, his head turns, and you see the sharpness of his jaw, the definition of his features. There’s a flutter in your chest when his dark eyes land on you, and you whip your head away, crowding yourself behind Lisa.

She’s crushing something with a spoon, dumping it in the cup she’s just poured for you. Then she spins on one heel—surprisingly stable as she does—and passes it to you. “Here.”

You stare at the powder floating on top, and then back at her. “What did you put in this?”

“Nothing heavy.” She assures you, and knocks back a couple of the tablets herself. “Just something to take the edge off. Go ahead.”

It doesn’t matter anyway.

You drink, sucking in the yeasty beer with fervor, trying your hardest not to taste it as it goes down. Before you can finish the cup, Lisa catches your arm and turns you towards the man at the window. She introduces you without giving you a chance to question her, and tells you his name is Hyunjin—the guy she wanted you to meet.

He turns to you fully, eyes tracing you head to toe. There’s a gentle smile on his full lips as he notices the blush that rushes to your face. “Nice to meet you,” He says kindly. “I think I’ve seen you on TV.”

As the words reach your ears, you feel yourself growing more guarded despite the opposite effects of the alcohol. You’re used to being recognized, you’re used to being used for your dad’s fame and fortune. You’ve been burned before, and you have no intention of using this time to be manipulated again.

So you pull yourself up into a respectful posture and prepare to treat him like the occasional politically-conscious “fan” who asks you to take a picture. It doesn’t happen often, but you do tend to be popular amongst the poli-sci students at the local college.

“He’s a senior.” Lisa says, and gives you a nudge towards him. “He’s going to study art.”

Your eyes widen just slightly, and you look over Hyunjin again. At second glance, he does look the type. He’s effortlessly fashionable, quiet, reserved—at least on first impression. You extend your hand politely. “Pleasure to meet you. Are you a practitioner or a history buff?”

At your strictly professional tone, Hyunjin laughs under his breath and steps in to take your hand, enveloping it in the warmth of his own. “A little of both, I suppose. I sketch and paint. Lisa tells me you’re quite the watercolorist?”

You blush a little at the recognition of your most intimate hobby. “I play around with it a little, but it’s just for fun.” When you notice he’s still grasping your palm, you gently pull your hand back.

Lisa grips your arm again, and leans in so close that you can smell the cologne of the last boy she had her hands on. “Why don’t you two hang out a little? You’re both the same about parties, so I figured you’d get along. Cool? I’m going to go find Mingyu.”

There’s nothing you can say to make her stay, even if you could think of the words to try. So you just watch her disappear, the noise of the party warbling strangely as the door swings back and forth behind her.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Your eyes snap back to Hyunjin. “What?”

“When I said I’d seen you on TV.”

“Oh.” You pull another long sip from your drink and wince. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

“You’re standing like you’re at a press conference.” His eyes are alive with mirth as he watches you subtly try to shuffle your posture, brows lowering.

You’re coming back to yourself, your body acclimatizing to the atmosphere and whatever it was that Lisa put in your drink, your nerves no longer responding to every little glance that Hyunjin gives you. So you just shrug a shoulder and search the kitchen for your drink of choice. “I’m not uncomfortable as long as you’re not interested in some kind of fifteen minutes of fame bullshit.”

There it is.

You drain your beer as Hyunjin chuckles behind you and rinse your cup of the vile liquid, instead filling it with about four ounces of whiskey from a glass cabinet.

Hyunjin watches your movements with an eyebrow cocked. “I’m pretty sure that wasn’t meant to be a party favor.”

You nurse the drink slowly, settling into the comfort of the initial burn. “You gonna tell on me?”

He examines you again, shaking his head. “Not if you pour me one.”

You do, and then settle back against the counter. “Why come to a party if you’re going to hide in the kitchen?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Kinda surprised your dad lets you come to something like this.”

You used to be, too. Now you just huff. “As long as I’m not a scandalous headline tomorrow, he doesn’t care where I go or what I do. And I don’t usually hide in the kitchen.” It’s true, you don’t. There’s a handful of people out there that you like to talk to, a couple of them you even like to dance with if the occasion calls for it, but right now you’re not itching to leave where you’re at.

Hyunjin’s eyebrows raise as he looks at you, and he glances towards the door. “Then why—”

“Because I’m talking to you.” The confidence comes with the whiskey. The taste of it in the back of your throat distracts you from the blush you would ordinarily be fighting if you had said those words soberly to someone as attractive as Hyunjin, and right now you’re just enjoying the way his eyes crinkle and the sweet smile explodes across his face.

It’s cute.

He’s cute.

He shuffles his feet beneath him for a second, the air between you comfortable as he lets the effects of your statement fade. When the flustered state is mostly gone from his face, he glances up at you again, almost shyly. “You’re really pretty.” And then, feeling the weight of his own words as they drop off his tongue, his eyes widen and he hastens to soften their impact. “I like your earrings.”

But you just smile, watching the pink in his cheeks as he swallows a regrettably large gulp of whiskey.

“You’re really pretty, too.” You say, and his head snaps around to you.

For a long second, he just stares at you.

It’s not often that you find yourself talking to someone you want to open yourself up to, someone you like to see so flustered, but he’s so completely enchanting that you can’t take your eyes off him and you don’t want to stop saying things that make him look at you like that.

There are only so many things that you can enjoy in a life like yours, and you want to enjoy this.

Hyunjin pours you both another drink.

You’re grateful, especially because there’s a nagging part of you telling you to go outside and smoke a cigarette, so instead you bring your cup to your lips and sip. You move to reach for a bottle of lemon juice and it puts you right next to him, feeling the radiating warmth of his side as you mix your drink into a whiskey sour.

He doesn’t move away.

Out of the corner of your eyes you catch the faintest tremble of his hand, and a smirk curves your lips.

His eyes are on you as you pinch a sprinkle of sugar into the drink and then suck the granules off your thumb.

You turn slightly, so close that you don’t even have to reach to offer him your drink. “Want to try?”

His eyes flick from yours, to the drink, and back to your face. Hyunjin’s tongue appears to swipe across his lower lip, and then he nods, taking the cup from you.

You thoroughly enjoy the swirling in your stomach when his fingers brush yours.

He drinks from your cup, face scrunching slightly as he takes in the taste of it.

At the crumpling of his eyebrows, you frown, suddenly interrupted from the sense of control you feel. “You don’t like it?”

Hyunjin lowers the cup from his lips with a look of surprise, shaking his head. “I love it.” He holds it out to you. “Would you show me how you made it?”

It’s not a complicated drink, the whiskey sour.

You find yourself smirking again, and push the cup back towards him. “Keep it. I’ll make myself another one.” And you take his whiskey from him, turning to fix yourself another drink. When he just stands there, mentally processing how he somehow ended up trading drinks with you, you know you have him.

So when he edges closer, the heat of his body flooding into your skin, you’re not surprised. You keep your hands moving, your eyes on your drink, pretending you don’t notice the way he’s suddenly leaning into your side.

“You smell good,” He says lowly, and your heart does a flip.

But you play it off casually, focused on getting the lid off the lemon juice bottle. “You like it? I’m not so sure yet.”

It’s gotta be the oldest trick in the book, but he takes the opportunity like it’s a written permission slip and then his face is at the junction of your neck and shoulder, the whisper of his breath on your skin.

“I like it,” He murmurs.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him place his cup on the counter next to you, and then both of his hands settle on your arms. His touch is light, gentle, his thumbs smoothing questioning strokes against your sleeves, asking permission.

When you tilt your head to the side, exposing more of your neck to him, it’s a yes.

His lips are on your shoulder then, his fingers wrapping firmly around your arms.

Your entire body heats up.

He’s leaning into you, trailing his mouth from your shoulder to your neck, then slowly up your throat until your head is edging back, leaning against his shoulder, giving him access. Hyunjin’s hand slides up one arm, cupping the curve of your neck as he litters wet kisses across your jaw, and his other hand reaches around to cover both of yours where you realize that at some point you abandoned your efforts to make a drink.

He turns you around and you let him, throwing your head back as his mouth leaves a glistening trail across your collarbones and up your throat, moving up to suck gently at the point of your jaw beneath your ear. “I really do like your earrings.” He whispers, and you feel him flick the dangling gemstone with his tongue.

You’re trembling under his hands, and you wish you could say it’s from his highly effective ministrations, but you know it’s not. You peel your eyes open, all but panting as his arm circles your waist, pulling you closer. His forehead drops against yours, and you watch his tongue dart out to lick his lips.

“Can we move this somewhere more private?” He whispers, and then he’s sucking at your jaw on the other side, his fingers gripping the flesh at your hips.

You can’t help a laugh. “More private than the closed kitchen where it’s just us?”

“Please?” He whimpers against your throat.

You have absolutely no reason to protest. You’re nodding, aching, allowing him to push you towards the kitchen door, because this could be it. This could be your last. He’s every fantasy you’ve ever had, the absolute embodiment of beauty and seduction, and even one night with him could be everything.

What do you have to lose?

You stand to lose more by turning him down at this point.

So when his hands guide you through the living room, your ears barraged by music and laughter, your eyes assaulted by the flashes of too much skin and way too much pda, you just lean into his touch around your waist and let him find a room to duck into.

That’s how you find yourself pushed onto your back on someone’s bed, your heart in your ears as Hyunjin straddles you, his face returning to its spot against your throat, kissing his way towards your collar.

You feel his hands trail up your sides, his thumbs sweeping at the swell of your breasts, and for a second, you panic.

You’re not sure what he’ll think of you, how he’ll react to you when he finally gets his hands on you, but you can’t even worry about it for long because he’s nipping at your throat, his hands dragging your arms above your head.

Breathing in gasps, heart hammering as he laces the fingers of one hand through both of yours, trapping your hands above your head, you arch yourself into him as his free hand comes back towards his hip.

“You really are very pretty,” Hyunjin breathes into your ear, and then he presses a surprisingly chaste kiss to your cheek. “I just want you to know that.” Still holding your hands, he settles his weight back on your hips and pulls something out of his pocket.

You frown at him, chest heaving with breathlessness, confused. “What do you mean?”

Hyunjin brings his free hand back into view, now holding something cylindrical. Bringing the end of it to his mouth, prying off a plastic cap with his teeth, you can see the object as it catches the light.

A hypodermic needle, filled with something.

He spits the cap out of his mouth, eyebrows pinched in concentration. “Don’t move, angel, this doesn’t have to hurt.”

But you’re not moving, you’re just staring at the needle, trying desperately to make sense of the complete shift in atmosphere. You’re no longer trapped in a lovers’ embrace, you’re trapped. He has your hands immobilized, your lower body caught beneath his own, completely vulnerable.

He arches his body, reaching to slip the needle into a vein in your arm, and you understand.

You understand.

A deep sigh rushes out of your lungs.

You thought you’d have more time, but at this point, what does it matter?

Just before the needle pricks your flesh, Hyunjin seems to realize that you’re not fighting him at all. His eyes flick down to you, and he finds you blinking solemnly at his shoulder, not a single emotion on your face.

He pauses.

You close your eyes, suck in a deep breath, and let it out.

There’s no fear, no more surprise, no apprehension.

Just exhaustion; resignation.

It doesn’t matter. He leans in towards your arm again, angling the needle to prod your vein. You don’t even flinch as it pricks your skin, sliding into your flesh. His thumb hovers over the plunger, but doesn’t press.

He’s never had a mark just lay there.

They’ve never just…accepted it.

He glances at your face again. “Angel…do you know what’s happening right now?” You had only had a few drinks, and the flush of your face could be from the drugs or the drink or his lips on your throat, but surely you should be a little concerned by the sheer volume of what he’s about to push into your bloodstream.

“I know,” You respond flatly. “He shouldn’t have bothered, honestly, but it’s not like he knew.”

Hyunjin’s brain stutters with confusion. “He?”

“My father,” You say, and your eyes meet his. “He wasted his money, hiring you to kill me.”

Huh.

That’s not at all how he expected this to go.

“I guess he’s paying Lisa, too, since she started with the pills.” It stings, knowing your best friend would accept cash to kill you, but you also know that your father wouldn’t have offered an insignificant sum.

Whatever he’s paying Lisa will set her up for life.

“So they’ll find me, tonight or tomorrow, just another stupid teenager who tried to have too much fun, and the two of you are just the dumb high school friends to corroborate that it was just an accident. Right?”

You don’t cry, you don’t fight, you don’t yell.

He stares at you, shocked. “You don’t sound surprised.”

“You don’t seem apprehensive about killing a girl for money.”

Hyunjin’s jaw tightens. “It’s my job.”

“So you don’t go to this high school, then.” You mutter sarcastically.

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t go to any high school.” Then he catches your gaze again. “But it really is my job. It’s not like it’s personal.”

You take a second, absorbing the reality of what’s happening to you. It’s over.

It’s over.

This is it.

Forget three months.

It’s over now.

You weren’t prepared for this timeframe, but you are prepared. You have coped.

It’s not a new idea.

So you just nod. “Okay.”

It’s like he starts to lean to finish the job, and then pulls himself back. “Why did you say he shouldn’t have bothered?”

You laugh then, a loud, inelegant burst of laughter, almost directly into his chest.

He’s startled, eyes wide, leaning back on your hips to stare down at you. “Angel, I’m literally about to kill you, why the hell are you laughing? There’s no way you’re that drunk.”

And you’re not.

The sheer adrenaline of his lips on your skin burned through that alcohol what seems like hours ago, and now you’re just sinking into oblivion, still laughing.

Finally, tears of irony in your eyes, you wheeze up at him. “Go ahead and finish it, Hyunjin, or whoever you are. It doesn’t make a difference anyway. I’m alright. Finish it.” You nod upwards, towards the direction of your joined hands, and wish that the scent of his skin wasn’t still making your head swim.

It’s really not the time to be attracted to the assassin whom your father hired to murder you.

But he’s stuck, indecisive.

Because you’re laying underneath him, sniffling past a rush of humor—of all things—completely unconcerned and telling him that you’re alright with him killing you. That you’re alright with him subjecting you to a drug overdose that’s going to be painful and terrifying and the end of your life.

At this point, you seem to be more alright with it than he is.

And then you’re smiling at him. “Thanks for being nice about it.”

His heart lurches. “What the hell.” He yanks the needle out of your skin, releases your hands, and sits back on your hips again, eyes wide and unbelieving. “I mean—what the hell? What is wrong with you?”

You roll your eyes. “He must not be paying you much if you’re willing to back out just because I’m pitiful.”

Which isn’t true, he’s supposed to be paid quite a lot for this job, but he just can’t comprehend how you’re reacting.

“Why shouldn’t he have bothered?”

You’re no longer trapped except for the way he’s straddling your hips, so now you’re just laying against an uncomfortable pair of pillows, feeling the pins of your updo poking into your neck. If he’s supposed to kill you, why won’t he just do it? You search his eyes, finding only confusion and concern.

Sighing, you reach for his hand—the empty one that used to be holding both of yours against the headboard.

Oh, how you expected a very different outcome from this situation.

He flinches as he suddenly finds you bringing his hand towards your chest, jerking it back when you lay his palm over your breast.

It’s almost comical the way his face heats up.

Clearly, his earlier show of attraction towards you had been aided by a hurriedly consumed volume of alcohol and a professionally put-on flustered attitude, but now, when you made him touch you, he seems genuinely awkward.

And, for your side of things, you were going to let him feel you up anyway, so what’s the difference now?

You quirk an eyebrow. “I’m not asking you for anything, just give me your hand.”

He doesn’t protest when you catch his hand again, his cheeks flushed pink, until you drag his fingers across the slope of your breast and they trip over a lump of flesh that’s hard as a rock. The flustered color drains from his face, and then he’s frowning, leaning in, moving of his own accord to swipe his fingers over the place once more, as though he wasn’t sure he felt it the first time.

You let him.

When he pulls his hand back into his lap and stares at you, you just smile. “Did you know, in the early days of breast cancer surgery, a woman went in to have a lump removed, and when she came out of anesthesia, she was missing an entire breast, some ribs, and like half of the muscle wall of her chest? And the fuckass doctors were like “we got it!” Like, you don’t burn down the house in order to kill a spider and then say, “Don’t worry, we got it!””

Hyunjin blinks at you, mentally parsing your unexpected rambling. “They’ve, uh…come a long way in terms of cancer surgeries, I think.”

A puff of breath escapes your lips, another sardonic laugh. “It’s too late for that. It’s in my bones, my lymphatic, everywhere. I got to it too late.” You roll your eyes and press a palm to your forehead. “So, yeah, he shouldn’t have bothered. Three months and I would have been out of his hair for free.”

A few seconds pass as you process the words you haven’t yet admitted out loud to anyone, as he processes what you’re telling him.

He’s trying to kill a girl who’s already dying.

No wonder she didn’t care.

“So, how much is he paying you?” You question lightly, eyes searching for the syringe. You assume he’ll finish the job—everybody has to pay the rent, and it’s not like you’ve got your life ahead of you anyway.

Hyunjin scrubs a hand over his face and sighs. “Three million.”

You outright scoff at that, shocking him once again. “He’s ripping you off, dude. Did he tell you why he hired you?”

“I don’t ask. I am a professional, you know.” He brings his hand to his chest like he’s offended, and allows the slightest smile to twist his lips when you roll your eyes again.

You wedge your hands under you. “Can I sit up? I need to smoke and you’re killing my back.” You wiggle your hips and try to scoot yourself back. As he lifts his own hips off of you, you raise an eyebrow. “Not that I mind.”

At that, he flushes again.

Laughing softly, you pull yourself up to sit against the headboard, dragging your knees to your chest, and watch as he sits himself in front of you, cross-legged. For the time that it takes you to slide a cigarette from your purse and light it between your lips, he’s silent, watching you.

The syringe is at his side, laying between the wrinkles in the blanket, forgotten.

“My trust fund defaults back to him if I die before I hit eighteen.” You inform him. “And it’s 25 million dollars.”

His mouth falls open. “Why the hell is your trust fund so much money?”

“When my mom was dying, my father promised her he would help her allot her estate into a trust fund for me, plus a hefty sum from his own assets as a romantic gesture. For all his faults, he’s never loved anyone the way he loved her.” You scoff, sucking in a comforting drag of smoke. You’re careful to blow it away from him, to knock your ashes into the ring tray on the bedside table instead of allowing them to fall into the carpet. “But that was fifteen years ago, and I guess he forgot that he loved her once.”

“So he wants your trust fund.” Hyunjin says, leaning forward to rest his chin on his palm. “Because he forgot he loves you too?”

Your lips pinch. “I’m just a reminder of when he used to be a better man.”

Silence ticks between you, and the smell of your cigarette permeates the air. You can’t care enough to apologize to him for your filthy habit, because if it’s the last cigarette you’re ever going to have, you might as well enjoy it.

But he doesn’t seem put off by it, instead wrapping his hands around your ankles and pulling your feet into the criss-cross of his legs so he can scoot closer to you, resting his hands on your thighs.

You’re surprised, but not displeased with the gentle embrace of your legs.

“I don’t want to kill you, angel,” He says, and rests his chin on your knees.

It’s too much, the doe-eyed boy staring at you through the dim light, holding you close to him and running his hands up and down your thighs, fingers sweeping low enough to run across your hips.

You can’t look at him.

Turning your eyes away, you knock the ash off the end of your cigarette and laugh. “That’s so kind, thanks.” You drop the rest of the butt into the tray and brush your hands together. “Alright. I’m ready. Let’s get you paid.” You scoop up the syringe and hold it out to him, eyes wide and inviting.

He takes it from you, but he doesn’t take your arm again.

In the quiet of his indecision, you can’t help yourself. Your fingers find the soft swoop of his hair falling over his forehead, letting a few strands slide through your fingers before you pull yourself together and extend your arm to him. “Do it, Hyunjin.” You say softly, ignoring the way your movements made him look at you. “If you don’t do it, he’ll hire someone else. His campaign isn’t doing well, he’s facing asset forfeiture—he needs the money. If you don’t kill me, someone else will.”

Hyunjin’s hand finds yours, his fingertips smoothing up the underside of your forearm towards that vein that he found earlier. A drop of blood has gathered where he pricked you, the trail where it dripped dry and crusted.

You’re not scared, you’re not worried.

You’re a little relieved, actually, that you don’t have to pretend anymore. Because you’ve known for months that your time is running out. You’ve known for months that no one would care even if you told them.

The pounding of the music outside the door fills the space, reminding you that you were supposed to come in here to have the night of your life, and now, instead, the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen is going to inject poison into your bloodstream and leave you to die on a stranger’s bed.

That does dishearten you a little bit.

He presses his thumb against the vein. His eyes flick up to yours. “When is your birthday?”

You cock your head curiously, wondering. “Next month.”

Hyunjin lets the vein go and sets the syringe down near his hip. “I’ll make you a deal.” He takes your other hand, too, peering into your face with sincerity. “If I keep you alive until your birthday, we split the trust fund, 70-30. Then at least you don’t let your dad win, and maybe you can see if there’s some super expensive doctor who can help you. Or something. What do you think?”

You blink. “You’re going to trade being an assassin for being a bodyguard just for eight million dollars?”

He smirks, a flash of teeth in the dark. “Seven and a half, actually. And it’s a better gig than killing a dying seventeen-year-old just so her asshole father can take her trust fund. So, what do you say?”

You’re almost a hundred percent sure there’s no doctor or surgeon in the world who can fix your cancer at this point. All the ones you’ve spoken to so far won’t even recommend radiation or chemo, because there’s no point. They keep saying things like “quality of life” and “keep you comfortable,” not, “if only you had more money.”

But it’s interesting, this deal he’s put forward.

Die tonight or spend a month with a gorgeous young assassin?

Is it even a choice?

“We split it 50-50.” You say. “All I want to do with my half is give it to cancer research.”

He’s surprised again, his mind now struggling to grasp an influx of almost thirteen million dollars, and he nods slowly. “Okay. So we have a deal?”

He’s already holding your hands, so you can’t exactly shake on it, but you nod with a shrug. “Deal.”

You’ve never seen a smile as sweet as the one he gives you after that. “Good. Get your coat, angel—you’re coming home with me.”

Eyebrows skyrocketing, you follow his movements as he bounds off the bed and scoops up your purse. “So you’re going to kidnap me instead of murdering me?”

He holds out a hand and waits for you to take it. “Are you arguing?”

You let him haul you off the bed and find yourself laughing as his arm circles your waist and he hurries you out of the room. “Not in the slightest.”

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urmum-lovesme · 29 days ago

Text

Angel Baby - Rafe Cameron x Kook!reader P14

pairing: Best Friend!Rafe Cameron x Kook!Best-Friend!reader

summary: Rafe and Reader have known each other since kindergarten, always side by side, the king and princess of Figure 8. So why now does he start feeling different towards her, when all she's ever been is his best friend?

a/n: Soooooo.. this took me agessss and it's probably cause I just don't know how to write happy Y/n BAHAHAHA . Anyways, thanks for bearing with me ya'll but Rafe and Y/n will soon (hopefully) get a change for some peace cause god knows they deserve it. This chpt lowkey made me really emotional when I wrote it cause they just deserve each other so bad. (p.s: see if you can spot the Isle of Dogs reference... (it literally isn’t even but whatever I’ll just stfu)

warnings: mentions of trauma/ptsd, mentions of s/a, court proceedings, Cooper (he deserves a TW), mentions of first period, absent parents, passed mother, swimming in the night (with very little clothes), admittance to not being okay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The steady stream of light filtered in through Y/n’s bedroom window, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat beneath her ear pulls her out from her sleepy haze, the weight of someone's arm draped across her causes her eyes to shoot open. Her breath catches, a faint tremor in her chest as the panic rises- uninvited.

Who is that…

Her body tenses slightly. Suddenly hyper aware of every muscle wanting to pull away, to escape the closeness, to shut it out before it becomes too much. The shadows of memories she’d rather not revisit tug at her mind, but then- the familiar scent, the mix of cologne and something undeniably comforting, presses closer to her. Fingers, even in sleep, curl against her skin. Not possessive, protective.

Rafe

Her heart slows, the frantic pace softening just a little. The panic doesn’t disappear entirely, but it fades, ever so slightly. She exhales shakily, letting her body relax a fraction, just for a moment, allowing herself to sink into the rare comfort of it. But even as her body relaxes, something stirs within her- his touch, his nearness, feels like both refuge and torture all at once. The intensity of it is too much and she’s not sure what she’s supposed to do with it, what she wants to do with it. She feels his breath shift, a faint murmur escaping his lips. His arm tightens instinctively around her, pulling her closer, and for a brief moment, she allows herself to linger in the warmth of it. Y/n looks down to his chest, rising and falling softly along with his breaths.

Just go back to sleep

But as her eyes closed she couldn't stop the image reappearing before her eyes, the dark, terrifying memory of the boy's frame leering over hers and- her eyes shot open.

Get off of me

She swallows harshly as she slowly begins to slip away, careful not to disturb him, not wanting to break the silence that envelops them. Her chest tightens as she slides out from under his arm, her back pressing against the headboard as she sits up on the bed, the sheets beneath her cool. The weight of his closeness still lingering in her bones, but the space between them, even if only temporary, feels like a breath she desperately needed.

Rafe stirs slightly, mumbling something incomprehensible in his sleep, but it’s enough to stop her in her tracks. For just a second, she sits still, caught between wanting to stay and wanting to run, unsure if he even notices her absence yet. Before she can completely slip away, she hears him shift in the bed, his body moving, his face pressed into the pillow as he groggily turns towards her. His voice, still thick with sleep, breaks the silence.

“You okay?”

The question catches her off guard. She wasn’t expecting him to notice, wasn’t expecting him to stir. She stops mid-motion, her breath catching in her throat, unsure if she should answer or if she even knows the answer herself. She remains still, caught in the delicate balance of wanting to stay and the overwhelming urge to run.

Why have you moved away…?

She glances at him, his face still soft with sleep, his features relaxed, hair tousled, unaware of the pull between them, but that question- the softness in his voice- makes her chest tighten. She quickly looks away, her fingers twisting the sheets in her lap, the silence stretching. She nods, almost too quickly.

“Yeah... I’m fine.”

Her voice is soft, fragile even, and she knows the words don’t carry the weight of what she’s truly feeling. Her gaze darts to the window, anywhere but at him, as if avoiding the connection that still lingers in the space between them. The silence between them hangs thick, but it’s a different kind of weight now- not uncomfortable, just heavy with unspoken thoughts. Y/n sits stiffly on the bed, her fingers twisting the fabric of the sheets, her gaze glued to her lap and the way the material crumples under her fingers. She doesn’t look at him, doesn’t even know what to say. The panic from earlier is still there, lingering at the edges of her mind, but she’s trying to breathe through it.

Rafe, still half-lying in bed, watches her closely, his brow furrowing slightly as he senses the change in her. After a beat, he sighs and shifts his position, leaning back slightly with a small smile.

“So…”

Say something man

He says, his voice light, a small chuckle following the words, desperately trying to ease the tension. Y/n finally glances up at him, but only briefly, before quickly looking away again. His playful tone feels like a lifeline, something to pull her out of her head.

“I’m actually plotting a dramatic exit right now”

She teases, but there’s a hint of something softer beneath her words. Rafe raises his eyebrows, the smile on his lips growing wider.

“Well you’ve got the ‘don’t talk to me’ energy right now if I’m being honest.”

She can’t help it- a small laugh escapes her, and the tension in her chest eases just a little. He might be making fun of her, but it’s a light, and she can’t help but return.

“No, I don’t”

She says, the words sarcastic, though there’s a trace of something deeper in her voice that she doesn’t want to admit.

Rafe shifts, leaning back against the headboard now, his arms resting loosely at his sides as he watches her. There’s something unreadable in his expression—not judging, not pressing, just waiting.

Yn exhales, staring at her hands for a moment before finally speaking up.

“I’m sorry about last night,” she murmurs, the words quiet, hesitant. “I don’t know why I did that.”

Rafe shakes his head almost immediately, about to respond, but she keeps going, voice faltering slightly.

“I’m not a violent person, I—I don’t know why I did that,”

I know you’re not

She says, the weight of it sitting heavy in her chest. It’s not just regret; it’s shame, the kind that knots up inside her and refuses to let go. All she could think of was the image of the plates, smashing harshly against the ground, the glasses cracking against the walls.

Does he think I’m some psycho bitch…?

Rafe’s expression shifts as he notices the distant look on the girls face, something softer settling in his eyes. He leans forward slightly, lips parting as he starts to speak, but before he can, the sharp vibration of her phone cuts through the air. They both glance over at the bedside table. Y/n swallows, looking at the screen.

Hale.

She feels Rafe’s eyes on her as she reaches for it, but she doesn’t look at him. Instead, she hesitates only a second before pressing the answer button, bringing the phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The car’s low hum was a fragile constant sound against the storm inside her mind. Y/N leaned her head against the cool glass of the window, watching the street lights blur into streaks of gold. Her parents sat silently in the front seats, their subdued conversation earlier having faded into the quiet tension of the drive. Her chest tightened as she thought of the courtroom, the way Cooper’s words had struck her like a whip.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Miss Y/L/N,” his lawyer had said, rising slowly to his feet as if he had all the time in the world, “my client would like to make a statement.”

Hale had objected immediately, but the judge allowed it. Y/N had frozen in her seat, her pulse hammering as Cooper stood, his hands neatly folded in front of him, as if he wasn’t the villain in the room.

“I just want to say…” His voice had been cool, almost detached, yet there was a cruel glint in his eyes as he looked straight at her.

“I don’t hold anything against her. I know she’s struggling—probably got confused. I mean, let’s be real, she’s not the first girl to regret a bad decision she’s made the morning after.”

Y/N had felt the air drain from the room. Her body had gone rigid, her nails digging into her palms as a murmur rippled through the courtroom.

“Objection!” Hale had shot to her feet, her voice sharp as a blade, “Your Honour, this is blatant character assassination and irrelevant to the case!”

The judge’s gavel had struck down, silencing the room, but the damage was done.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cooper’s words had left their mark, and even now, hours later, they replayed in her head like a broken record. The car slowed, pulling into her driveway. Y/N blinked, pulled from the memory as her father turned to her from the driver's seat.

“We need to head back and deal with the legal papers,” her mum said gently, her eyes soft with concern. “You’ll be okay, right?”

Y/N nodded quickly, though her heart felt heavier than ever. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Her father gave her hand a squeeze before she climbed out of the car, the night air biting against her skin. She stood at the foot of the driveway, watching as the taillights disappeared down the street, leaving her in silence. The house loomed before her, a familiar refuge now shadowed by the weight of everything she carried. She unlocked the door and stepped inside, flicking on the light. It wasn’t until she leaned back against the door, exhaling deeply, that she realised how tightly she’d been holding herself together.

Yn stood in the kitchen, the soft chill of the floor seeping through the fluffy socks she’d slipped on her feet. The evening had fallen quiet, save for the gentle hum of the fridge and the sound of water heating for her cup of tea. It had been a long day- too long, really- and now, in the soft glow of the kitchen light, she finally allowed herself a moment to breathe.

Raspberry or chamomile?

The heat of the mug in her hands would be a welcome comfort as she prepared to text the guys, filling them in on what had happened with the case. They needed to know, of course- especially Rafe- but it could wait just a few minutes. She dropped the tea bag into her cup and watched it sink, the scent of the tea beginning to rise.

Then, the sudden sound of the doorbell cut through the stillness of the house. Yn's eyes snapped up, startled. She looked at the clock on the wall, 21:35 PM.

Who could be coming over now?

Her heart skipped, the peaceful stillness suddenly shattered by the sound of the doorbell echoing through the quiet house again. She glanced over at the front door, feeling a moment of hesitation. There weren’t many people who came to visit her after dark, especially in the recent months. Slowly, she made her way towards the front door, her socks sliding gently over the floor. As she reached for the handle, her mind raced with possibilities.

Yn opened the door, still in a bit of a daze, and froze in place when she saw him. There, standing on her doorstep, was Rafe. His chest was rising and falling slightly, as if he’d been rushing, and there was a breathlessness to his words as he spoke rapidly.

What the-

“I’m so sorry, my community service ran over, and I tried to get out earlier so I could be there when you came out, but they wouldn’t let me go- and I know I missed it and—”

She just stared at him, completely speechless, and his rambling faltered, the words tripping over each other as he tried to apologise, to make sense of what had happened. He stopped himself, his eyes searching hers as his hand tightened around the hoodie he was holding. He let out a slow breath, a sense of dread creeping into his expression.

“How did it go...?”

For a long moment, she said nothing, just looking at him, and a heavy silence stretched between them. Rafe’s gaze darkened, his pulse quickening with worry. He let out a sigh, eyes flicking down to the floor as he wiped a hand over his face in frustration.

Shit she lost

“Angel, I’m so—”

And then he stopped mid-sentence as he noticed how the girl’s lips curled into a wide smile, her eyes lighting up with relief, and suddenly, everything clicked. Rafe stared at her, his expression shifting from panic to confusion.

“Y/N...?”

“I won the case”

She said simply, her voice a soft but undeniable true relief and pride laced in every syllable.

Holy Shit

His face broke into a grin so wide, it seemed to light up the whole doorway. Without thinking, he surged forward, pulling her into a hug suddenly, she gasped in surprise as her feet lifted slightly off the ground, spinning in a quick, joyful turn, the sheer thrill of the moment buzzing between them. He set her back down gently, arms still wrapped around her waist, his body tight with excitement and relief. Y/n placed her hands on his chest, steadying herself as she looked up at him, feeling the heat of his chest against her fingertips. He asked, his voice thick with disbelief, a laugh on the edge of his words.

“Really?”

“Yes”

She nodded, her voice brimming with relief, eyes glossed over a little with unexplainable happiness, a weight lifting from her shoulders now that the truth was out.

“I did.”

Rafe’s arms tightened around her, pulling her closer, as if to make sure this was real. His face buried in her hair, and his voice cracked slightly as he murmured,

“I’m so proud of you angel”

The words were full of raw emotion, Y/n just held him tighter, her heart racing, her breath mingling with his. They stayed locked in the embrace for a while, neither of them rushing to pull away. The air between them was thick with the unspoken understanding that this moment, this victory, was bigger than just a court case. It was the culmination of everything that had led them here- everything they’d gone through, together.

When Rafe finally pulled back, he still held her by the waist, his breath was steadying, but there was something in his eyes- an unsaid emotion.

“C’mon,” he murmured, nodding towards the living room. “Let’s get inside, yeah?”

Y/n nodded, feeling a strange mix of exhaustion and relief wash over her as they walked inside, side by side. The boy kicked off his shoes by the door, following her as they moved towards the couch; the warm, soft cushions were a welcome comfort after the intensity of the evening. Rafe sat down first, leaning back, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Y/n sat next to him, curling her feet beneath her, resting her cup of tea on the table in front of them Rafe watched Yn quietly for a moment, his brows furrowed with concern.

“So, how was it? How did it go?”

Y/n let out a soft, exasperated huff, shifting slightly on the couch. “It was... pretty bad, actually,” she said, her tone a little more solemn than she meant.

“They gave the verdict, and—” She paused, feeling the weight of it all again as she tried to collect her thoughts, “They said the original ruling was biased. And they... they overturned it. Hale was really strict with them this time. The whole thing just... it didn’t sit right with them. . . or something like that.”

Rafe nodded along, listening intently, his expression unreadable for a moment. “So they- what, they gave you the win, then?”

Y/n nodded, looking down at her tea, a small sigh escaping her lips as she took a sip. She kept her voice steady, though there was a quiet relief in her tone now. “Yeah, they did. But the process... it was so long.” She took another sip of tea, the warmth of it grounding her, and as she held the cup in her lap, she looked over at Rafe.

My poor girl

“You want some? It’s raspberry,”

She offered, her voice a little softer now. Rafe gave a small, appreciative smile as he took the cup from her, cradling it in his hands and taking a sip.

“Hm, that’s really good,”

He said, his gaze flickering back to her. “Thanks.”

Rafe took another sip of the tea, Y/n, still sitting with her legs curled underneath her, glanced over at him, her expression softening slightly as she studied him. “You know,” she said slowly, her voice a little distant as though nostalgic,

“. . .it was actually your mom who got me into drinking tea.”

Rafe paused, the cup halfway to his lips, and looked at her with a surprised expression. “My mom?” he asked, a playful grin creeping onto his face.

“I had no idea. How so?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a cold evening, the chill creeping into the house and making everything feel a little quieter. Y/n was ten, a little older, but still not quite comfortable without her parents around. They were away on a business trip, as usual, and though she knew she was safe in Tannyhill with Rafe and the other two boys, she missed the familiar warmth of her own home.

The day had been strange. She’d started her first period the day before and was feeling the discomfort that came with it. Her stomach was cramping slightly, and the homesickness weighed on her even more. Rafe, Topper, and Kelce had been upstairs, making noise, but Y/n couldn’t bring herself to join them. She felt a little off, and she couldn’t focus on their chatter. The warmth of the house was comforting, but not quite enough to shake the cold feeling she had inside. So, she made her way downstairs, her socks sliding slightly against the cold wooden floors. The kitchen was seemed empty when she walked in, and the soft glow of the light above the counter filled the room with a welcoming, warm light. But upon closer inspection, Rafe’s mom was standing by the stove, humming softly to herself as she prepared a pot of tea. She looked over when she heard Y/n’s footsteps, her gaze softening as she took in the sight of her. Y/n’s face was flushed from the cold, her eyes a little sad, and her posture slightly hunched in discomfort.

“Hey, sweetheart,” June said gently, her voice always soothing. “You don’t look so good, feeling alright?”

he stepped forward, setting the kettle aside as she noticed the way Y/n held herself. The young girl hesitated for a moment, not used to being open about how she was feeling, but then shook her head a little.

“I’m not feeling too good” Y/n mumbled, looking down at her socks. “And I’m... just missing my parents”

June’s expression softened further, her eyes full of understanding. “I know that feeling,” she said, her tone warm and kind. “Let me make you something to help you feel better.” She reached for the jar of raspberry leaf tea, her movements careful and comforting.

“Raspberry tea can do wonders when you're feeling a little under the weather. Would you like to try some?”

Y/n nodded, feeling a wave of gratitude rush over her as June filled another cup with the hot, soothing liquid. She handed it over with a soft smile, and the two of them sat at the kitchen table together, the quiet hum of the house filling the space around them. June glanced over at her occasionally, offering small words of comfort, her words weren’t just comforting- it was the kind of motherly advice that felt like it would stick with you forever. Although it wasn’t her own mom- her presence was more than enough, the warmth of the tea and her calm demeanor making Y/n feel a little more at home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n smiled as she came back to the present, her gaze meeting Rafe’s. She couldn’t help but smile softly at the memory.

“She always knew how to make people feel special, didn’t she?”

She said quietly. Rafe looked at her, clearly surprised by the story he didn't even know happened, and leaned back against the sofa, a warm smile tugging at his lips.

“She did,”

He replied softly, his voice carrying a quiet reverence for his mother. Rafe’s expression faltered for a moment, his gaze turning soft, almost distant, as the memory of his mother settled in. He looked down at the tea cup in his hands, as if searching for something to say. Y/n noticed the subtle shift in his expression. She didn’t push him to speak more, but her voice softened when she said,

“I- I see her in you every day, you know.”

Rafe’s head lifted at her words, his expression unreadable for a moment. The room seemed to hold its breath as Y/n watched him carefully, sensing the weight of the topic. He gave a small nod before speaking, his voice quieter than before.

“I think she’d be happy… we- well, that we’re still together, you know?”

Y/n’s gaze softened as she met his eyes, a gentle understanding between them. “I think so too,” she said, her voice full of quiet reassurance. A small smile tugged at Rafe’s lips as he leaned back, his shoulders relaxing a little.

“When we used to argue... when we were younger... and you’d go home ‘cause you’d had enough of me,”

He said with a slight chuckle. Y/n laughed softly at the memory, but Rafe continued, his tone playful now.

“She used to tell me I better apologise to you, because ‘ You’ll never find anyone else like Y/n’. ”

Guess you were right mom

He did a mock air-quote around the end of the sentence with a smirk. Y/n’s eyebrows lifted, surprise and amusement in her expression. “Did she really?”

Rafe nodded, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Yeah, yeah she did.”

She loved you like a daughter she just never told you

For a moment, they both just laughed together, the tension between them fading into the warmth of shared memories. Y/n smiled, the sound of their laughter lingering in the air.

“I’m glad she did,” she said, her voice sincere, her gaze meeting his with soft affection.

Rafe’s smile softened, looking at her with gratitude. “So am I.”

Y/n settled back against the arm of the sofa, her legs curled beneath her as she looked at him. Her free hand rested on the back of the couch, and her head gently tilted to rest on her palm. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the quiet between them comfortable but expectant. Rafe turned his head slightly, leaning back just a bit so he could meet her eyes, a quiet curiosity in his gaze. Y/n hesitated for just a moment, her thumb brushing the edge of her cup. The air between them shifted slightly,

“I need to tell you something”

Rafe’s brow furrowed again as he looked at her, the cup still in his hand. “Is it bad?” His voice was laced with concern, but there was a quiet tension in the way he spoke. Y/n shook her head gently, offering him a small smile.

“No, it’s actually... good news. You won’t have to do community service anymore, and the anger management class? It’s all been revoked.”

Rafe froze for a moment, staring at her with wide eyes, as if trying to process what she was saying. “What? How?” His voice cracked slightly, the disbelief clear in his tone.

Y/n let out a soft hum, her smile growing as she met his eyes. “It’s because the verdict was wrong. The court realised there was bias in the ruling. So they basically... reversed it. You don’t have to go through with it anymore cause it’s unjust for you to serve a punishment which wasn’t rightfully decided.”

For a long moment, Rafe simply stared at her, processing the news, before a slow grin began to spread across his face. His eyes softened, and he let out a breath, a rush of relief flooding through him.

“Are you serious?”

If she’s lying I swear

He asked, his voice still filled with disbelief. “I don’t... I don’t have to do any of that? Seriously?”

Y/n nodded, the relief and joy in her voice palpable now. “It’s all gone, you’re basically on a clean slate”

Rafe blinked, as though trying to steady himself. He was still a little surprised, the news sinking in. “Holy shit,” he muttered, almost to himself.

“I didn’t think...I thought I’d be stuck with that shit for ages.”

Y/n smiled, watching him carefully as she adjusted her position on the couch, her legs still tucked under her. “Well you don’t have to worry about it anymore,” she said, her voice a little softer now.

You shouldn’t have had to worry about it in the first place…

Rafe exhaled, leaning back against the couch hand covering his face momentarily, still absorbing the news. Then, slowly, the corners of his mouth lifted into a smirk.

“So what you’re saying is…” he stretched out his legs, letting out a dramatic sigh,

“I’m finally off the leash?”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Yes. Mr Rafe. Cameron, you’re off the leash.”

He grinned. “No more early mornings cleaning up beach trash? No more sitting in a circle with a bunch of guys talking about my feelings?”

“Nope.”

Thank fuck

Rafe let out a deep breath, shaking his head. “Damn. Kinda makes me wanna do somethin to celebrate.”

Y/n shot him a look over the rim of her cup. “Right. Because you need another reason to get into trouble.”

He turned to her with a slow, lazy smirk. “You wouldn’t like me if I wasn’t at least a little trouble.”

She huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “I think I’d survive.”

Rafe scoffed, nudging her knee with his. “Lies.”

Fair enough

Y/n set her tea down, giving him a teasingly serious look. “So what now? You gonna go wild? Rob a gas station? Steal a yacht?”

Rafe pretended to think about it, tapping a finger against his chin. “Mm… tempting. But nah.” He looked at her, eyes twinkling. “Apparently, I drink raspberry tea now.” He picked up her cup like it was proof, taking a sip and placing it down.

“Guess I’m reformed.”

The girl laughed, shaking her head. “Wow. Incredible character development.”

He grinned. “Right? Maybe I should send the court a thank-you note.”

He’s so stupid

She rolled her eyes but smiled as she shifted her legs beneath her, settling in more comfortably. The teasing between them was easy, familiar. But underneath it, there was something softer, something real. As Rafe glanced at her again, his smirk faded just slightly—just enough for Y/n to catch a glimpse of the warmth behind it. Rafe stretched his arms over his head, letting out a satisfied sigh.

“You know what we should do?”

Y/n raised a brow, already skeptical. “Oh boy. Here we go.”

He grinned, eyes glinting with mischief. “Go to the beach and celebrate properly.”

What on earth-

She huffed a laugh. “What, by standing around in the dark? So festive.”

He stretched his arms over his head before standing up, already acting like it was decided. “C’mon, it’s not even that late.”

Y/n eyed him, skeptical but intrigued. “Rafe, it’s basically nighttime.”

“And?” he shot back, tilting his head at her.

It’s not. . . safe

She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of her sweater. She had barely been out since everything happened. It wasn’t that she was afraid exactly, but… she just hadn’t felt like it. The idea of stepping outside, of being in the open again- it made her hesitate, just for a second.

And Rafe noticed.

His teasing expression softened just a little as he looked at her. He could see it now—the way she hesitated, the way her lips pressed together like she was already convincing herself to say no.

“You’ll be fine,” he said quietly. “I’ll be there with you the whole time.”

Y/n looked at him, expression unreadable. For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Rafe just held her gaze, steady and sure, no teasing this time.

Please say yes

Just say yes

Then, finally, she rolled her eyes, letting out a dramatic groan as she pushed herself off the couch. “Fine.” She sighed, shaking her head.

“Let’s go.”

Rafe grinned, triumphant. “Knew you couldn’t resist.”

She smacked his arm as she walked past him, but he just laughed, following her out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They drive in quiet comfort, the roads mostly empty at this time of night. Rafe’s Range Rover rumbles beneath them, the salty night air slipping through the open windows. Y/n watches the familiar streets pass by, the neon lights of late-night diners and gas stations glowing in the dark, until they fade into the open road leading to the shore.

When they finally pull up, the beach is silent—just the rhythmic crash of waves and the distant hum of wind against the dunes. The moon hangs low, its silver light casting a soft glow over the sand. Rafe kills the engine, and for a second, neither of them move, Y/n glances over at him.

“Now what?”

“Now we get out.”

Jesus

He smiles, already pushing open his door. She huffs but follows, stepping onto the cool sand. The breeze is stronger out here, but the night is relatively warm, she tugs at her sleeves as she crosses her arms over herself, a habit she’d seemed to pick up on in the recent months. Rafe, on the other hand, seems completely at ease, stretching as he tilts his head back to look at the sky.

“Forgot how good it feels to be out at night.”

Y/n watches him for a second, noticing the boys t-shirt ride up slightly exposing the sliver of skin above his belt, she turns toward the ocean, the vast darkness stretching endlessly in front of them. The water glistens under the moon, waves rolling in and out, steady and hypnotic. Rafe nudges her with his elbow.

“So? Worth getting off the couch for?”

Definitely

She exhales, pretending to think about it. “Mmm… maybe.”

He snorts. “You’re so annoying.”

No you’re not

Y/n just smirks, nudging him back. And for the first time in a while, she feels it- that quiet, weightless feeling that comes with being somewhere free.

Somewhere with him

The waves crash gently against the shore, a steady rhythm in the quiet of the night. Y/n stands just a little away from the water, arms now wrapped loosely around herself as she gazes out at the endless dark horizon. The moonlight glows against the ocean’s surface, casting shimmering ripples that stretch far beyond where she can see. She’s lost in thought, the cool air pressing against her skin, grounding her.

Rafe is beside her, hands tucked into the pockets of his cargos, watching her more than he watches the water. He notices the way she hesitates, the way she looks like she wants to take a step forward but holds herself back. He realises, not for the first time, how much has changed.

How much she’s changed.

"You okay?"

His voice is steady, but softer than usual, like he already knows the answer. Y/n blinks, as if she forgot he was there for a second, then lets out a small breath. "Yeah," she says, though it’s not entirely convincing,

"Just... taking it in."

Rafe follows her gaze out to the water, the moonlight cutting silver through the waves. "Been a while since you’ve been out like this, hmm?"

She doesn't answer right away, just shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah,” she admits eventually, her voice quieter this time.

"I don’t know why it feels... different now."

Rafe does. He knows exactly why. But he doesn’t push her to say it. Instead, he bumps his shoulder lightly against hers, a casual touch, but one meant to remind her of his presence.

"You’ll be fine," he says simply, "I’m here."

Y/n’s fingers brush lightly against Rafe’s hand, just barely there, but enough to make his stomach tighten in that familiar way he’s been trying to ignore. The smallest touch, yet it sends something warm curling through his chest. He glances down at her, a slow smile tugging at his lips before he even realises it.

"You know what we should do?"

He says, breaking the quiet, his voice laced with something playful. Y/n turns her head slightly, eyeing him with suspicion.

"What?"

"Go in."

You’re crazy

He nods toward the water, his grin lazy and full of ease. Y/n lets out a short laugh, shaking her head.

"Yeah- no."

"Why not?" He nudges her with his elbow again. "Come on, it’s just water."

She gives him a flat look. "It’s cold, it’s dark, and we didn’t bring towels genius."

Rafe huffs, tilting his head at her. "You scared?"

Y/n scoffs, folding her arms raising her brow, "Of the ocean? No."

"Then prove it." His smile is all challenge now. "I’ll do it if you do it."

She exhales sharply, staring out at the waves, contemplating. He watches her carefully, seeing the way she bites the inside of her cheek, her weight shifting slightly from foot to foot. And then, finally-

What’s the worse that could happen…?

The girl toed off her shoes, the sand cool beneath her feet.

“So? Who’s chickening out first?”

Atta girl

Rafe smirked as he tugged off his hoodie. “Not me.”

She eyed him skeptically. “Uh-huh. We’ll see about that.”

With that, she turned, pulling her sweater over her head, leaving herself in just her bra and shorts. The whole time, she kept her chin lifted, her expression daring him to hesitate. Rafe’s eyes flickered over her body for a fraction of a second before he yanked off his shirt in one smooth motion.

“Last one in has to buy breakfast,”

He announced, shoving his jeans down and Y/n laughed, kicking off her shorts.

“You are gonna buy me breakfast.”

And before he could get another word in, she turned and bolted straight for the water.

Oh, shit-

Rafe took off after her, the sand shifting under his feet. Y/n shrieked as the first wave hit her legs, the cold shocking her system, but she didn’t slow down. Rafe caught up just as she dove under, disappearing beneath the surface. He followed without hesitation, the icy water stealing the breath from his lungs. When they both resurfaced, laughing and breathless, Y/n wiped the salty water from her face.

“Cold as hell,” she gasped.

Rafe ran a hand through his soaked hair, grinning. “Told you it was a good idea.”

She snorted. “You’re actually insane.”

He swam a little closer, his smirk softening into something genuine. “Yeah… but you followed me angel.”

Shut up

Under the moonlight, with the waves rocking them gently, the moment stretched- an unspoken tension lingering between them. As soon as they're both waist-deep in the water, the mischief began. Rafe sends a small splash her way, and before Y/n can retaliate, he’s already diving under the water. When he resurfaces behind her, she lets out a laugh, half-annoyed, half-delighted. She taunts, flicking water at his face.

"Oh, you think you're funny?"

"I know I’m funny”

He grins, dodging her next attack and sending a wave right back. The splashing war escalates, both of them laughing breathlessly as the moonlight shimmers on the water. Y/n tries to get the upper hand, lunging at him to push him under, but he’s quicker- effortlessly grabbing her wrists and spinning her around. She gasps as her back presses lightly against his chest, her arms caught in his grip.

And suddenly, the playfulness slows.

The sound of the waves becomes the only noise between them. Rafe doesn't let go immediately, his hands still around her wrists, his breath warm against her damp skin. She can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest behind her, the way his fingertips just barely skim her pulse before he finally loosens his hold, his warmth breath by her ear.

Y/n turns to face him, but they’re closer than she expected. The water laps at their shoulders, their faces only inches apart. His gaze drops to her lips for just a second- just long enough for her to notice, long enough for her breath to catch.

"You’re quiet all of a sudden," he murmurs, his voice softer now.

"You are too," she counters, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, neither of them move.

Just do it

The tension hums between them, electric, the weight settling in the space where their laughter used to be. Rafe's fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to reach for her, but—

A wave crashes into them, knocking Y/n slightly off balance. She lets out a startled yelp, gripping onto Rafe’s arm to steady herself, and just like that, the moment snaps. Rafe chuckles, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his wet hair.

"Guess the ocean wants to join in."

Fuck you ocean

Y/n hums, rolling her eyes even as her heart still races and her cheeks feel hot. He smirks, tilting his head slightly, Rafe watches her for a second longer before flashing her a teasing grin.

"C’mon, let’s go further out."

Oh my god

As he swims ahead, Y/n lets out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding, her pulse still erratic. She swallows, then shakes her head.

Fucking Rafe Cameron

They drift further into the water, their movements slower now, the splashing forgotten. The moon hangs high above them, casting silver ribbons over the waves, the only sound the rhythmic lapping of the sea.

Y/n floats onto her back for a moment, letting the water cradle her, eyes slipping closed, but they shoot open again as she’s engulfed by the taunting darkness. The coolness against her skin, the weightlessness- it’s calming- but it’s not enough to keep the memories at bay. She almost forgets Rafe is there until she feels the gentle tug of fingers skimming over her wrist.

She blinks at him, as he treads water beside her. His expression is unreadable, his fingers barely linger before he pulls away, as if testing a boundary neither of them have put into words.

"D’you always do that?" he asks, tilting his head.

"Do what?"

"Slip away."

His voice is even, but there’s something underneath it she can’t quite place. Y/n lets out a small huff, pushing herself upright again arms moving to keep her afloat.

"I’m literally right here, Rafe."

Why do you always change the subject Y/n

He doesn’t respond right away, just watches her with that unreadable look again.

"You know that’s not what I meant."

I know

The words settle between them, dissolving into the sound of the waves. Y/n swallows, unsure how to answer. A part of her wants to deflect, to throw out some sarcastic remark and push past whatever this is; whatever interrogation he’s suddenly put her under. But the way Rafe is looking at her- steady, patient, like he’s seeing her in a way that makes her stomach twist- makes it harder. For once, she doesn’t have an easy comeback. She clears her throat, breaking eye contact.

"You dragged me out here to psychoanalyse me? Thought we were just having fun."

Rafe exhales a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "We are." He pauses, then smirks. "But for the record, you do tend to change the subject before I can say anything."

What?

Y/n scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. "Do not."

"Do too."

"Maybe I just don’t want to hear what you have to say."

There’s a flicker of something in Rafe’s eyes at that. "Maybe," he concedes. Then, before she can respond, he suddenly moves- disappearing beneath the water without warning.

Where did he-

Y/n barely has a second to react before she feels hands on her waist, and then- she’s going under.

She lets out a muffled shriek, the salty water rushing around her as Rafe pulls her down with him. The second she reorients herself, she shoves at his chest, kicking back to the surface with a gasp. When she breaks through the water, sputtering, Rafe is already grinning at her, running a hand through his soaked hair like he didn’t just try to drown her.

"You—!" she starts, wiping water from her face. "You are so irritating."

"That’s not very nice"

She glares, but he just keeps smiling, all cocky amusement. And even though she should be mad, even though she should dunk his head back under in retaliation, she can’t help the laugh that escapes her.

They float- shoulders brushing occasionally, water lapping softly at their skin.

It’s peaceful.

Y/n tilts her head back slightly, gazing at the stars, her mind momentarily blank. But the boys voice breaks through the silence.

"I was being genuine, you know"

Rafe says, voice quieter now. She hums in question, not looking at him just yet.

"Hmm?"

"When you drift off," he clarifies. "I notice."

. . .

Y/n finally glances at him, her expression softer now. The playfulness from earlier has melted away, leaving something more raw between them.

"I know you think people don’t notice," Rafe continues, eyes locked on hers. "And maybe they don’t. But I do."

I do

She doesn’t know what to say to that. Because the way he’s looking at her, like he means every word- it’s a little overwhelming. She exhales, eyes flickering away for a moment.

"I don’t mean to," she admits, voice barely above a whisper. "It just… happens. Out of nowhere. One second I’m fine, and the next—" She swallows.

"I just get pulled back."

Rafe doesn’t say anything, doesn’t press. He just listens. Y/n sighs, looking down at the water between them, small ripples passing through the water.

"Sometimes, I wish I could just forget it. That night. Everything that happened. But it doesn’t go away. I’ve tried so hard to just hide it in a corner of my mind but it doesn’t work. No matter how much time passes… it’s still there."

She’s still floating, still weightless, but in that moment, she feels like she’s sinking.

She's moving with more effort now, treading the waves. Rafe shifts slightly, his hand moving beneath the water. For a second, it seems like he’s about to reach for her—but he hesitates. Instead, he lets his fingers just barely brush against hers beneath the surface, his touch light, fleeting.

The water is shallow enough for Rafe to stand comfortably, his shoulders above the surface, while Y/n has to stretch a little to keep afloat. She feels the gentle pull of the tide beneath her feet, her balance wavering for a moment, neck straining slightly to keep her head above the water.

Noticing, Rafe reaches for her, his fingers wrapping around her wrist as he guides her closer. He doesn’t say anything- just pulls her in until her hands naturally find their way to his shoulders.

Y/n exhales softly somewhat in relief, her gaze flickering over his face. The water droplets clinging to his lashes catch the moonlight, and for a second, she just watches them, lost in the small details. Then, barely above a whisper she speaks out.

"I just wish I was normal again."

You are

At that, Rafe’s eyes find hers, searching, steady. He takes in every part of her expression- the flicker of doubt, the weight she’s carrying. He speaks out, quietly yet firmly,

"You are normal."

No I’m not

The space between them feels impossibly small. Y/n’s hands rest lightly on his shoulders, her fingers barely pressing into his skin, and Rafe can feel every shift, every movement. His gaze drops—just for a second. To her lips, slightly parted, soft under the glow of the moonlight, wet with saltwater.

God, I want to kiss you-

But he doesn’t.

Not after what she’s just told him. Not when he knows she’s still healing, still carrying wounds that haven’t fully closed. She needs space and he’s not going to be the one to push her. Instead, he lifts a hand, brushing the small smudge of mascara from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. His touch is gentle, lingering just a second longer than necessary.

"You just need time."

He murmurs, his voice comforting but certain. Y/n’s eyes search his, and for a moment, he wonders if she’ll pull away. But then- a small smile, barely there, find its way to her lips. She gives him a small nod, her hand now fully pressed against his shoulder, grounding herself in the warmth of his skin. Slowly, her other hand trails down his arm, the touch light, deliberate, until her fingers find his under the cool water.

Without hesitation, she intertwines them together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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hwalovs · 22 days ago

Text

Absolution, My Fine Friend (M)

Pairing; Priest! Jayce x Fem!Reader Word Count; 4.9k Warnings; Porn Without Plot (kind of), mutual masturbation, finger sucking, drooling (Jayce), he gets talked through it, misuse of the confessional, trying not to get caught, paper eating, misuse of a bible, blasphemy, religious kink, corruption kink.

Summary; Father Talis has done his best to forget the sin that permeates his office, taking refuge in the confessional. Maybe, by listening to other ask to be forgiven, Father Talis himself can earn his absolution.

First Sin; Temptation Second Sin; Absolution (currently here)

A/N; this can be read on its own, i think, but part one was a hit in my books and i couldn't stop thinking about Father Jayce and reader. Theres also a little someone on ao3 who sent the most amazing comment and I got a fire ignited under my ass so now we're here. Again, this is dedicated to my babies on discord, all of them. This wouldn't be here without them. Anywho, enjoy!

THIS IS NOT EDITED!

DO NOT COPY, REPOST ON OTHER SITES, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK WITHOUT PERMISSION!

Absolution; Formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment.

It’s customary for the Priest to wait in the confessional, sitting in the small box for the small door on the other side to open, a person to come sit down, and confess to him their sins. From there, he would listen, give advice, and pray with them before sending them on their way. It was something he had done multiple times before, finding comfort in the enclosed space. His own body heat would keep him warm, heating the small space rather quickly. Taking off his rosary, he could drag the small chain through his fingers, playing with the beads. He would think of prayers, roll a bead between the pads of his fingers, grip the small cross and lightly kiss it. He would do this for hours, sometimes someone would arrive, sometimes there would be no one.

The sun was shining brightly through the small lattice on the door in front of him, directly in his eyesight, blinding him. Gold light filtered through stained glass, casting an array of colorful rays across the pews and patrons. Eyes clenched shut, he sits taller while leaning his head back against the wood, sighing. There was an imaginary clock in his mind, constantly ticking away, bringing a faux comfort. He could hear the slight commotion of people still in the church, talking to loved ones and neighbors who were all smiles and high off of the worship he held. He needed something more to keep him distracted, the LED clock in the confessional was silent, unlike the clock in his bedroom. Its ticking filled his mind now, his foot tapping the ground along with it.

Arms moving, he moves the slowly sliding bible back into its place on his lap, the book small enough to sit idly on his thigh. It rocks back and forth in time with the bouncing of his foot, the movement bringing yet another distraction.

He wished to go back to his room, sit at his desk in his office- no, the desk in his bedroom. He hadn’t sat at the desk in his office for eight days, two hours- his eyes crack open to peek at the small LED clock in the corner of the confessional- and forty-five minutes. He prayed for the strength to sit at the mahogany desk, to write correspondence to other churches, and send letters to the people who gracefully sent donations.

Yet, perhaps he didn’t pray hard enough, didn’t kneel at the side of his bed long enough. Didn’t sit in this small box long enough. Perhaps, God has turned his nose up at him, forsaken him from the greatness of being forgiven. Even now, your ghost had its claws wrapped around his heart like a vice, whispering obscenities into his ear while he was alone. You were the one who led him down this path, and now he searched for the bright light of God with his eyes closed.

Guilt eats away at the fibers of his soul, rips him apart late at night when the image of you appears in his mind, a giggling smile on your lips as they skim across his throat. Your hands were so warm, though, dragging across his body without condescendence. He would wake up and find himself sweating profusely in his cold room the next morning, breathing heavily as his hands grip the blanket. With shaking legs, he would sit up and rip the drawer of his night stand open, glare at the blue rosary that was tied tightly around a small bible, and grab his new one.

He would drop to his knees, heart racing, and pray until the sweat on his back dried.

Even now, he thinks he can sense you in this enclosed space with him. Your scent lingering in the air around him, permeating his clothes no matter how many times he changes or washes them.

Hands gripping his rosary, he hopes the metal cross cuts into his skin. Maybe then, if he sacrificed his blood, God would see he was punished long enough. Maybe then, he could be forgiven. Your face appears in his mind, and his teeth clench. How could you do this to him? Reduce him to nothing but the filth that lines the pristine floors?

Jayce startles when the door on the other side opens, his breath quick as he shifts in place. Clearing his throat, he waits for the person on the other side to get comfortable, their throat clearing. It's silent then, both Jayce and the newcomer getting comfortable with each other. Jayce’s eyes clenched shut, your scent washing over him with newfound strength, the hair on the back of his neck stands and as if he was struck with lightning-

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

Your voice.

His heart shakes, muscles tight and his breath short. Immediately, he thinks he can zone in on your breathing, so calm and quiet. Eyes cracking open, his head tilts to the lattice, and he can see your lips curved into a smirk. It's sickening, how the sight of you can make him feel so electric. You ignite something deep within him, akin to a lighter held under a sparkler. His stomach clenches, and his leg stalls its bounce. Fingers gripping his rosary, the sudden weight of the bible in his lap taunts him.

“I’ve never confessed before, could you guide me?”

“I-” his voice squeaked out, and he snapped his jaw shut. Swallowing, Jayce looks back to his lap, gazing at the rosary. Was it just him, or did it suddenly look like the blue one he cast aside? Was the small figure of Jesus gazing with accusatory eyes? Did he know what was reeling in his mind at the sight of you?

“Father?”

His eyes shut tight, head falling towards his chest, shoulders hunched, robes tight over his shoulders, “I listen to your confession.”

It took a lot of strength to force his voice into a steady cadence. The small box seemed to be a little too small, he seemed too big to be in here. What once was comfort, was now torment. Your voice filled his side, bouncing off the wood and surrounding him.

“I give you advice, and you’ll- um,” he shifts in his spot, refusing to meet your gaze through the lattice, “You’ll be on your way.”

“Are you alright, Father?” You’re smiling, he just knows it. He can see your face behind his eyelids, how bright your gaze is, how your pupils are dilating at the sight of him so unkept.

Nodding his head, he takes one more deep breath. He couldn’t let you see him like this, he was supposed to push what happened between you to the back of his mind. Forget it, even. He was praying to God for forgiveness, and by letting you entrap his senses, he would be pushed back to step one.

“What was that?” Taunting, you hum, “I didn’t quite hear you.”

Shivering, he lifts his head and finally gazes through the lattice, meeting your sharp eyes. They’re encapsulating, looking at him with knowing. You can see him for what he truly is, a man of sin.

Yet, it was your fault he was like this, why he swallows a whine and lets his mouth open to answer. If he were to put on a strong front, you would understand why he couldn’t progress in this sinful back and forth. Couldn’t let you torment him with your pretty words, or your addicting touch.

“I’m here to listen to your confession, please just-” voice trailing off, his hands grip the rosary for comfort, but all he finds is the sharp edges of the cross.

You chuckle, head leaning against the wood, raising your hand to tap your forehead, chest, and each shoulder.

“In the name of the Father, Son, and The Holy Spirit. My confession, Father, is that I cannot stop thinking about you.”

Jayce smiles, gaze locked onto his rosary, “That’s normal- I’m your Priest-”

“No, Father,” voice quiet. serious, you shift closer to the lattice, “I think of you when my fingers are inside me, I wish they were yours-”

Muscles tight, Jayce says the first thing that comes to mind, “that was a mistake-”

“Was it? You seemed to enjoy yourself a lot, Father.”

“Temptation is a powerful thing, but you must find it in yourself to resist.”

There’s silence on the other side, your gaze assessing him. Humming, you let your head swing to the side, your own fingers rubbing across the tops of your thighs absentmindedly.

“How can I resist, Father?”

Finally, his lungs allow air in. He breathes deeply, ignoring his shaking hands. He ignores the fire in his gut, how his thighs clench together, and recites words from the book still resting in his lap, “Asks for guidance out of temptation, and for the strength to use the Word of God as a weapon.”

“Ah,” you sigh, “the Word of God as a weapon? Do you really think that’ll save me?”

There's a teasing tilt to your tone, and Jayce ignores it. Voice closer, you whisper through the lattice, “have you been saved, father?”

“I ask for forgiveness, just as you are now,” he whispers in return. Hands shaking, he lets his fingers return to fidgeting with the rosary beads. His mouth waters, wanting you to drop it into his mouth-

No, he cannot think of that. He was a holy man. Faithful to his God.

“So, you’ve confessed?”

Nodding, he bites his cheek, his skin burning, “I- I have.”

“Liar.”

White hot fear runs through his veins, and his hands unknowingly release the rosary. It clatters to the ground between his feet, and his eyes meet yours. They narrowed, disappointingly pointed his way; All of a sudden, he felt the roles reversed.

“No-”

“How often do you think of me, Jayce?”

Heart racing, his hands grip the tops of his thighs, feel the muscles beneath tighten.

His chest heaves, and his legs clench together. Pushing back that licking flame that ignited between his legs, all because of your voice. It's sticky-sweet like honey, drowning him in molasses that clogs his senses. He can feel his cock twitch, wanting your touch instead of his.

Head leaning back against the wood, he can feel a droplet of sweat run down the back of his neck, soaking into the roman collar. His shaking hands move to grip his bible, fingers sliding between the pages to seek any form of strength. He can hear it rip under the pressure of his grip, yet how else would he ground himself? His mind races, feeling your eyes staring at him through the lattice

“Does your God know you think of me as much as you do him?”

Jayces’ shuddering breath is loud, eyebrows furrowed as he wills his racing heart to calm. He must not give in. This must be another test for him, he thinks. This was God's way of seeing if he was worthy of forgiveness.

Yet, you seemed so genuine, even if you sounded teasing.

“What do you tell yourself at night? Maybe I could speak the same, so I can forget about you.”

A whine, and Jayce thinks he doesn't want you to forget him. He couldn’t forget you, no matter what he did, what he said, or tried. Stomach turning, he can see your waiting eyes, how you won’t change the subject until he gives in.

“If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us of our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.”

“Ah,” you nod your head once, “Do you want to be forgiven, though?”

He’s silent, clenching his teeth, “Of course.”

You sigh, and with a low voice you talk with a harsh tone, “then why are you still speaking to me?”

“I-” voice stuck in his throat, Jayce knows he’s had the opportunity to steer the conversation back, to not engage you in such sinful conversation. Yet, he craved it. To be told what to do, to be on his knees between your knees instead of the altar.

“Oh,” you say, Jayce freezing. Had you read him so easily?

“Oh, you’re liking this, aren’t you?”

Whining, his thighs clench. You laugh, and it makes his chest seize. Cock jumping in his robes, Jayce refuses to touch himself. There were people outside, they would hear-

“I’m liking this too,” you whisper, and he can hear the first button pop from your pants. Shoulders tense, his breathing turns rapid.

“You’ve plagued my mind everyday, Jayce, its tormenting-”

A zipper, and Jayce can feel his thighs shake. His fingers curl against the pages, and he clenches his eyes shut. You were taunting him, you wouldn’t touch yourself now, in the confessional of all places.

“You-” he whines, “you’ve been tormenting me-”

“Good,” a sigh, and he wishes to be in the small space with you, to tear down this wall to see your form in all its glory, “should we pray together, Father? Beg together for forgiveness?”

Shivering, he pushes his head further against the wood, swallowing with a dry throat.

“Lord God, in your goodness have mercy on me: do not look on my sins, but take away all my guilt. Create in me a clean heart and renew within me an upright spirit-”

Your voice starts immediately after his, repeating his words, breathy and soft. The fire, slowly swelling in his stomach, licks and burns at his chest at the sound of your sweet voice wrapping around each syllable of the prayer. He sets the bible in the small space beside him, sliding his free hands across his torso.

He moves, fingers undoing the buttons of his robes. With a shaking grip, he slowly pushes it to the side, the air wrapping around his thighs. Cock jumping, Jayce whines softly. His hands rest on the inside of his thighs, his cock radiating heat under his boxers. Chest shuddering, his back slouches, legs spreading.

“forgive all my sins, renew your love in my heart, help me to live in perfect unity with my fellow Christians that I may proclaim your saving power to all the world.”

Tone shaking, he barely opens his eyes to find you already looking at him. Your own eyes were half lidded, chest heaving as your mouth opened to copy him once more. He can barely see you, but he can make out how your shirt was pulled up on your tummy, your pants undone, your hand hidden under the fabric. Your back was arching, neck exposed to the light that seeps in.

He can’t help himself, his hands grip his cock over his boxers, hips jumping into the contact. Jayce growls, rough and gravely as he grips the base of his clothed cock.

“Jayce,” you whimper, and he moans. You sounded so heavenly, his mind reeling at the cadence.

“Do you think we’ll be forgiven?” You ask, smirking. He shakes his head, and watches as your gaze shifts to the ceiling. Eyes closing, your eyebrows furrow as you lose yourself in your own pleasure. Jayce whimpers, wanting to be the one giving you that pleasure, he wants you to be above him, using him, punishing him for being so sinful.

“Keep talking, Jayce, be a good boy.”

“Hnng- I-” he chokes, snapping his gaze to his lap. There was a rapidly growing wet patch at the tip of his cock, he grips the top of his boxers, pulling the elastic away to push it down his thighs. The fabric is tight against his skin, straining. With his cock finally free, he softly trails the tips of his shaking fingers along the shaft. Twitching, he presses his finger into the beads of pre that seeps from the tip.

“Tell me another prayer, Father,” it's harsh now, how your eyes glare at him. He bites his cheek, sparing a glance to the bible next to him, searching his mind for anything to say. All he could think of, though, was you.

“Therefore, confess your sins to- to one another and pray for one another-” he sighs, tears gathering on his waterline as he finally grips his cock tightly. His thumb swipes across the tip, and he moves his wrist once, slowly pumping his cock from top to base, and back up again, its uncoordinated, sloppy, “that you may be healed. The p- hnn- prayer of a righteous person has great power as it- it is working.”

“I want to taste you, Jayce,” you whisper. He hips jerk, and his eyes snap to the lattice separating you both. You’re so much closer, and when he leans close to look closer, he can see your pants pushed down your thighs. The soft skin of your thighs looked so inviting, spread as far as the restricting clothing will allow, your fingers circling your pulsing clit as your other hand grips onto the edge of the seat.

“You can’t,” he whimpers, much louder than he intended. He wanted nothing more than for your mouth to taste him, replace his shaking hand and bring him to euphoria once more.

“I can,” you reply with a hiss, “the gap is wide enough, let me taste you.”

Jayce furrows his eyebrows, his focus turning to how big the gap actually was, it was small enough that at a glance you wouldn't be able to decipher what was on the other side. Yet, if you looked close enough, you’d be able to tell what was what. His hand leaves his cock, gathering his sticky pre onto the pad of his middle finger, and slowly raises it to the gap in the lattice. His chest shudders as he watches you move, meeting your lips on the other side.

His moan is loud, reverberating in the space as your wet tongue wraps around his finger. You're sucking hard, teeth grazing his skin, the breath escaping your nose warm on his already scorching skin.

Your mouth is gone just as quickly as it wrapped around his digit, your tongue swiping across your bottom lip as your hand drips deeper on your cunt, no doubt pushing them inside.

“You’re an angel,” you whisper, and Jayce’s back arches slightly. His hand retracts from the lattice, immediately running the spit coated skin across his lower lip before sucking his own finger. He could taste you, the candy you ate, the coffee you drank, and he could taste himself. A tangy saltiness that lingers in the back of his throat.

He almost sobs, drool dripping down to coat his palm. When he pulls his finger away, his hands are replaced onto his cock, now glistening with the collection of his and your spit. He doesn’t realize that he’s gasping for air, his legs shaking, the choked sound of a whimper pushing from his throat.

“Be quiet, Jayce.”

Licking his lips, he clenches his thighs shut, pushing his head back against the wood. His cock was throbbing in his grip, and when he slowly rubbed his thumb across the tip, he moaned.

“I-” he swallows, throat suddenly too dry, “I can’t, I’m sorry-”

You sigh, and he can feel his stomach clench, “grab your Bible, show it to me.”

“What?-”

“Show me your Bible, now,” you hiss, and his hand leaves his cock to grab the leather-bound book. Raising it, he refuses to look at the gold writing across the front.

“Good boy, open it up for me, any page will do.”

Dropping it from your gaze, he lets the binding fall to any page, heaving as his eyes blearily look over the page. The text was so small, mixing together in a conglomeration of sentences and prayer he could no longer read. All he could think of was you you you you-

“Rip out a page, and put it in your mouth.”

Freezing, Jayce finds it hard to breathe. Rip out a page? That’s blasphemous.

“Since you love to recite God's words so much, why don't you eat them so no one can hear what's rightfully mine?”

Jayce can’t, he simply can’t. By doing this, he would never be forgiven-

Yet, would you forgive him if he refused?

You can sense his racing mind, your voice a calm beacon in the rough waves of a storm, “Tell me another prayer, Father- One more, just for me.”

Jayce breathes deeply, calming himself, “You are my refuge and strength; no matter what happens, I trust You and will not be afraid.”

“Good boy,” you coo, “do as you're told, Jayce.”

Mind over matter, Jayce forces his unwilling hands to rip a page, bringing it slowly to his lips. The pages were thin, and when he pushed it against his tongue, his spit immediately soaked through it. The ink was slowly seeping from the paper, bitter against his tongue. He looks at you, teeth chewing down onto the paper to keep it in place.

Smirking, you tilt your head, “another.”

He rips multiple pages at once, pushing them between his teeth to meet the other.

You scoff, “such a good boy, doing what you’re told. Yet, you can’t follow your own God’s teachings.”

He can do nothing but whimper around the pages, his hand dropping the bible to the ground to grab back onto his cock, jerking his wrist to the sound of your voice.

“You would do anything I ask, wouldn’t you?” You taunt, your own hand picking up its pace. Sweat shines on your forehead, lips glistening with spit as you shift in your spot, your other hand joining the one on your cunt. Whimpering, you push your own fingers inside, the other still circling your swollen and throbbing clit.

“How far would you go for me, I wonder?” A sigh, and your eyes close. Smiling at the thoughts that race through your mind, “would you leave the priesthood for me?”

His head nods before he even realizes it, your head snapping to watch him, smile widening.

With the small semblance of clarity in his mind remaining, Jayce thinks of the forgiveness he’s been begging to receive for weeks.

It’s always been you, he realizes. You’re the one he seeks forgiveness from, you’re the one who he prays to each night. Not the God whose teachings he no longer follows. Not the God who judges him for feeling emotions only you can bring him. You would forgive him, you wouldn’t judge him for his actions. He would do anything for you, he thinks. If you asked him, he would be yours- he was yours from the moment you sat on his desk.

His pleasure washes over him in waves, no longer held back by guilt. He allows his hand to squeeze, feels the bite of pleasure in his thighs.

Your whine makes his hand jerk faster, that sweet noise the only thing that he seeks out in the night. Breathing heavily, he bites down on the pages still lodged in his mouth. Some were becoming too soggy, the ink transferring onto his tongue.

“I’m so wet, Father-” you sigh, and he can hear your fingers run through your sloppy folds. It’s pathetic, how his hips rise off the seat to chase after it. He wanted to see, wanted to taste you-

“Do you want a taste? I bet you do.” He whines, tongue pressing against paper and you laugh. It's quiet, airy as you release a breathy moan. His eyes strain to watch your mouth drop open, your fingers pressing against your tongue. Eyes watering, he clenches them shut and leans his head forwards against the lattice, the wood cool against his scorching skin.

Your fingers trail down your chin, chest heaving, and you push your hand back through your folds. Your soft skin glows in the light, blue’s and pink’s coloring you Holy as your glistening fingers come back into view. Instead of raising to your lips, they slowly close in on the small openings of the lattice. Your other fingers were still inside you, he realizes, you were halting your own pleasure just to tease him.

“Why don’t you taste what I give? Rather than your God,” you taunt, glint in your eyes. Without hesitation he lets the soggy paper drop from his mouth, drool pouring from behind. Down his chin, soaking his beard. Bits of paper remain on his lips, the bitter taste of ink left behind. He can faintly hear the paper hit the floor, a wet smack, and he runs his tongue across his lip. He didn’t want anything to dilute your taste, not even his own spit.

The tips of your fingers appear on his side, and he surges forwards to meet them. His tongue touches soft skin, lips pressed against wood. You push further into his mouth, your slick coating his taste buds. It washes away the taste of paper and ink, his body shivering as his hand grips tight onto his cock. It pulses, begging for your touch instead of his.

“I wonder what God would think, you forsaking his word for such sin.”

He whines, tongue parting your middle and ring finger to taste the slick between, feeling you press down onto his tongue, sliding as far as the lattice will allow. You almost hit the back of his throat, and he pushes harder against the wood, wanting you as deep as possible.

“Fucking-” you hiss, retracting your finger and quickly licking across the tips before pushing them back between your folds. The sloppy-slick sounds louder than before, his hand trying to catch up to your rapid pace.

There's a fire growing inside him, quick and unrelenting as his hand sloppily jerks his cock. His thighs twitch, toes curling in his shoes as his lungs beg for more air. Although he was gasping, he felt like he wasn’t getting enough air.

“Don’t you fucking cum yet,” your voice growls, and he sobs. Pressure behind his eyes, scalding tears on his cheeks, his tongue searching for your taste that lingers.

“Jayce-”

“Please- I-” he whispers, hearing the horrifying sound of heels against the floor outside of the confessional. Could they hear what was happening inside? Hear how their priest was touching himself, committing a sin he was no longer guilty about?

His hand falters, cold humiliation creeping over his shoulders.

“Ignore them, puppy-” your voice borders a whisper, “keep going- tell me another prayer.”

He looks to you, sniffling lightly as his hand resumes its previous pace. Nodding your own head, you encourage him. There was a gathering heat in his gut, embers collection to prepare a large bonfire. Your gaze threw wood onto it, flames catching quickly. His thighs felt gooey, his mind blank, but he wills himself to think of any prayer, just for you.

“To all those- those that repent of in this wise- Oh, hnn- and look to J-Jesus- Christ for their salvation. F-fuck- I declare- that the absolution of sins is effected- please, oh fuck- In the name of the F-father- and of the son, oh- hnng ‘m gonna- Wait-”

“You can finish father, come on-”

“Mm- and- i can’t- h-hold-” he begs, your voice pushing him impossibly closer.

“And of the Holy Spirit, Amen-”

Fire under his skin, and he feels his release begin. A raging fire in his gut, spreading to his thighs and chest. It tingles so intensely, and his hand clamps over his mouth, biting onto his palm to muffle his strained moan. Blinding white explodes behind his eyes, and he can faintly hear your cooing voice talking him through it. He wanted to hold your hand through this intensity, wanted your calming embrace rather than the prayer that was seared into his mind. God could no longer provide comfort, for you had burned him away to make space for your own presence.

He can hear your own whines, choked moans as you, no doubt, go through your own orgasm. You bite down on your cheek to keep yourself silent, hips canting into your hands to chase that pleasure. Jayce tries to watch, but his hands feel his thighs, and can't think of anything else but the euphoria he was feeling.

Heavy breathing is what he hears when he comes back, his hands and skin covered in his own sticky release, cock still throbbing and red, yet too sensitive to continue. His abs hurt, his arm was slowly relaxing from the cramping that occurred. Licking his lips, he brings his hand closer to his mouth, tempted to taste the opaque liquid that coats him.

Feeling your eyes on him, he looks over, you’re waiting on the other side of the lattice. With shaking hands, he raises his tired arm, slides his finger through the lattice, and feels your tongue wrap around the digit slowly. Heart in his ears, he makes circles on your tongue, feeling the muscle move and chase after the cum, a smile slowly stretching across his face.

Your hand appears, your own shining fingers pushing through the gaps in the lattice, and Jayce wills his lethargic body to move to wrap his own lips around your fingers. His cock twitches at the taste of your own cum, his tongue licking away the sweet-tart taste. Your face was so close, he could feel the breath from your nose against his cheek, your body heat seeping through in the slightest. When he pulls away for air, he opens his mouth to speak.

A voice beats him to it, though, older and questioning.

“Father?”

Ice cold fear, and he tilts his head to stare at the door ahead.

#arcane x reader #smut #arcane smut #hwawrites #jayce talis #jayce talis x reader #jayce x reader #jayce talis smut #priest jayce talis #misuse of a confessional #arcane jayce #arcane imagine #jayce imagine #arcane

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nasa · 2 years ago

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Roman's primary structure hangs from cables as it moves into the big clean room at NASA's Goddard Space Flight Center.

What Makes the Clean Room So Clean?

When you picture NASA’s most important creations, you probably think of a satellite, telescope, or maybe a rover. But what about the room they’re made in? Believe it or not, the room itself where these instruments are put together—a clean room—is pretty special.

A clean room is a space that protects technology from contamination. This is especially important when sending very sensitive items into space that even small particles could interfere with.

There are two main categories of contamination that we have to keep away from our instruments. The first is particulate contamination, like dust. The second is molecular contamination, which is more like oil or grease. Both types affect a telescope’s image quality, as well as the time it takes to capture imagery. Having too many particles on our instruments is like looking through a dirty window. A clean room makes for clean science!

Two technicians clean the floor of Goddard’s big clean room.

Our Goddard Space Flight Center in Greenbelt, Maryland has the largest clean room of its kind in the world. It’s as tall as an eight-story building and as wide as two basketball courts.

Goddard’s clean room has fewer than 3,000 micron-size particles per cubic meter of air. If you lined up all those tiny particles, they’d be no longer than a sesame seed. If those particles were the size of 16-inch (0.4-meter) inflatable beach balls, we’d find only 3,000 spread throughout the whole body of Mount Everest!

A clean room technician observes a sample under a microscope.

The clean room keeps out particles larger than five microns across, just seven percent of the width of an average human hair. It does this via special filters that remove around 99.97% of particles 0.3 microns and larger from incoming air. Six fans the size of school buses spin to keep air flowing and pressurize the room. Since the pressure inside is higher, the clean air keeps unclean air out when doors open.

A technician analyzes a sample under ultraviolet light.

In addition, anyone who enters must wear a “bunny suit” to keep their body particles away from the machinery. A bunny suit covers most of the person inside. Sometimes scientists have trouble recognizing each other while in the suits, but they do get to know each other’s mannerisms very well.

This illustration depicts the anatomy of a bunny suit, which covers clean room technicians from head to toe to protect sensitive technology.

The bunny suit is only the beginning: before putting it on, team members undergo a preparation routine involving a hairnet and an air shower. Fun fact – you’re not allowed to wear products like perfume, lotion, or deodorant. Even odors can transfer easily!

Six of Goddard’s clean room technicians (left to right: Daniel DaCosta, Jill Bender, Anne Martino, Leon Bailey, Frank D’Annunzio, and Josh Thomas).

It takes a lot of specialists to run Goddard’s clean room. There are 10 people on the Contamination Control Technician Team, 30 people on the Clean Room Engineering Team to cover all Goddard missions, and another 10 people on the Facilities Team to monitor the clean room itself. They check on its temperature, humidity, and particle counts.

A technician rinses critical hardware with isopropyl alcohol and separates the particulate and isopropyl alcohol to leave the particles on a membrane for microscopic analysis.

Besides the standard mopping and vacuuming, the team uses tools such as isopropyl alcohol, acetone, wipes, swabs, white light, and ultraviolet light. Plus, they have a particle monitor that uses a laser to measure air particle count and size.

The team keeping the clean room spotless plays an integral role in the success of NASA’s missions. So, the next time you have to clean your bedroom, consider yourself lucky that the stakes aren’t so high!

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

#cleaning #cleancore #science #NASA #tech #technology

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capquinn · 3 months ago

Note

Hey I love your Dad!Quinn writings so much! They’re so cute and fluffy! Maybe you can do one about mom’s bump popping up one morning and Quinn is like mesmerized, realizes that a baby is coming and his life is going to change. But he’s so happy. Only if you want to write this. Have fun in NYC!

The hoodie slipped from his hands, forgotten, as Quinn froze in the doorway, caught in the quiet spell of the moment. His breath stilled, his gaze fixed on you — on the reflection of you in the mirror, framed by the soft morning light that filtered through the curtains. You were standing there, one hand resting on the curve of your belly, your fingers brushing over it in a way that was both casual and deliberate.

But it wasn’t the same curve he’d kissed goodnight the evening before. This was new, different.

His eyes traced the line of your profile, lingering on the now unmistakable swell of your stomach. It wasn’t just a gentle hint anymore, not the subtle softness he’d grown accustomed to seeing. It was undeniable, defined. A bump.

His bump. His baby.

Quinn’s arms hung at his sides, his hoodie now pooled in the chair behind him as his brain worked to catch up with his eyes. For a long beat, he just stared, unmoving, as the weight of it hit him all at once. His chest tightened, his heart thrumming in a rhythm he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t panic, not fear, but bigger — something that was overwhelming in its tenderness. Awe, maybe. Or reverence. A sense of this is real that felt too massive for his chest to hold.

He tilted his head slightly, as if looking from a different angle might somehow soften the impact, but it didn’t. If anything, it deepened it.

His gaze dropped to your hand, the way your palm smoothed over the firm swell like it was second nature now. He hadn’t realised how much he’d been holding his breath until he let it out, slow and shaky, his hands flexing at his sides. There was no mistaking it anymore — this was real. Tangible. The tiny life that had been nothing but whispers and plans and grainy black-and-white ultrasound images was suddenly here, making its presence known.

You glanced up in the mirror, your eyes catching his reflection, and Quinn’s heart twisted. You looked at him like you always did — a soft affection that grounded him — but now there was something else. Something unspoken, something shared. Something that said, can you believe this?

He stepped closer without even realising, the movement automatic, like gravity was pulling him to you. His hand reached out instinctively, tentative at first, brushing against the curve of your belly before settling there fully. His palm was warm, steady, fingers spreading slightly as if to take it all in. The bump was firm, more defined than he’d expected, and the simple touch made everything feel sharper, clearer.

“This is new,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion, almost as if speaking louder might shatter the fragile intimacy of the moment.

“It wasn’t like this yesterday,” you replied softly, your voice carrying the same quiet awe that was written all over your face.

“No,” he agreed, his thumb sweeping in a slow arc along the edge of your belly. “It wasn’t.”

For the first time, it wasn’t just an abstract thought in the back of his mind. It wasn’t just appointments or plans or future names whispered in the dark. It was right here, under his hand. The tiny, growing life you’d made together, tucked safely between the two of you.

His gaze flicked back up to yours, his eyes soft and bright with something unspoken. Pride, maybe, and then his lips curved into a faint, almost shy smile.

“That’s… really our baby,” he said, the words tumbling out like a confession, as though saying them aloud might help him fully believe it.

“Really our baby,” you echoed, and the way you said it, so soft but so certain, nearly unraveled him.

Quinn’s thumb brushed over your skin again, slower this time, more deliberate, as if tethering himself in the moment. He didn’t let go, didn’t even think about moving. His fingers flexed gently against you, holding on as though the world might tip if he didn’t anchor himself to this — to you.

He exhaled quietly, his voice dropping even lower as his gaze flicked back to your bump.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it,” he murmurs. “To you. To seeing you like this.” His voice caught slightly, and his eyes softened even further as they roamed the swell of your stomach, his hands cradling it like it was the most precious thing in the world.

He couldn’t take his eyes off you — off the way your body had changed, the way it was carrying something that was a part of both of you. It hit him all at once, an overwhelming wave of awe that nearly stole his breath. The guys had joked about this, their faces lighting up in a way that always seemed a little exaggerated when they said there was nothing more attractive than seeing your partner pregnant with your child. He’d brushed it off at the time, but standing here now, he finally understood. You were stunning, and it wasn’t just how you looked — it was what it meant. What you were doing.

He kept those thoughts to himself, too raw and vulnerable to say aloud, but they lingered, stirring in the quiet space between you.

“You’re just so beautiful,” he said instead, the words escaping before he could stop them. He didn’t need to elaborate — everything he felt was in the way he looked at you, his eyes soft, his expression completely open.

The sincerity in his words made your throat tighten, a warmth rising in your chest that had nothing to do with hormones. He saw it immediately — the way your eyes glossed just slightly, your lips pressing together as if to hold back an overflow of emotion. You stared down at the curve of your belly, your hand resting over his, grounding yourself in the moment.

Quinn’s heart clenched at the sight. He hadn’t meant to make you cry, but the way your reaction softened your entire expression made his chest ache in the best way. His fingers flexed gently against your stomach again, his thumb brushing over your skin in a slow, steady rhythm, his way of silently telling you that he was right here.

Your lips parted slightly, like you wanted to say something but weren’t quite ready, and he stayed quiet, giving you the space to find the words.

“It doesn’t feel real, does it?” you whispered finally, your voice carrying a quiet awe that made his breath catch.

He paused for just a moment, watching the way your gaze lingered on your belly, before answering.

“It’s real,” he said, almost to himself, as if to convince the last part of him that still couldn’t quite believe it. His fingers pressed a little more firmly, cradling the swell of your stomach with the same care he might handle something sacred. “It’s us. Right here.”

He could see the ripple of emotion in your expression, the way your chest rose in a deep, steadying breath. The way your hand tightened over his for just a second, like you needed him to hold you in the moment.

When your eyes finally met his, the look you gave him stopped him in his tracks. It was full of wonder, gratitude, and a love so profound it stole the breath from his lungs. For a moment, he couldn’t find the words, couldn’t do anything but hope that you saw everything reflected back in his gaze: the wonder, the love, the quiet, unshakable resolve that whatever came next, he’d be there — every step, every breath. For you. For the tiny life between you. For all of it.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

requests are open - let’s daydream!

#i’m so soft for a man who is head over heels in love and obsessed with his partner :(#dad!quinn #sort of? let’s just roll with it ok #also i had the best time in nyc sweet anon tysm!!!! <3 #capquinn's writing #capquinn’s requests #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader

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starlightkun · 4 months ago

Text

⏯ word count: 13.7k ⏯ genre: band au, punk band frontman!shotaro, venue manager!reader, shotaro is whipped, reader is emotionally unavailable, is it a slowish burn or is it angst?, whatever it is ur reading a starlightkun fic so there’s a happy ending :), ft. eunseok/sungchan/wonbin as shotaro’s bandmates welcome back boys & wayv as reader’s coworkers ⏯ warnings: some blood/violence (shotaro gets punched once), not necessarily a warning but since i do generally avoid describing the reader’s appearance in my fics, i wanted to give a heads up—reader works at a punk/alternative concert venue and is generally in/around that scene. reader is mentioned and/or implied to have some tattoos and piercings (other than earlobes) ⏯ extra info: set in the same universe as filler episodes, but u don’t need to read that in order to understand this one, filler eps!sungchan and sugarcoated!shotaro r just in the same band! also the title is from a 5sos song lol ⏯ author’s note: sooo after writing filler episodes and experiencing bbb/lucky shotaro, i couldn’t get punk band frontman shotaro out of my head… i fear the trajectory of my life has been altered ⏯ now playing… empty wallets – 5 seconds of summer | apathy is boring – bears in trees | dreaming girl – xdinary heroes

── ⋆⋅♫⋅⋆ find more stories from backstage at venue:hell here!

“You’re not stupid. I know you’re not.” He stood up, stepping closer to you. “You always stop yourself right before… I’m sure you think you’re not leading me on or whatever, but I know you know how stupidly head over heels I am for you, because I don’t try to hide it.”

Flipping through your keyring, you selected the right key by touch in order to unlock the rear entrance to the venue. Despite the sweltering summer heat outside, the basement was cool as always. You flipped the AC and lights on as you disabled the alarm that wasn’t actually connected to a security company, then descended the stairs. Venue:Hell, your home away from home. Actually, you were pretty sure you spent more time here than your apartment some weeks.

Your phone buzzed with a text as you crossed the threshold into the back office, and you opened it as you flopped into the creaky office chair.

[kun: attached image]

[kun: new schedule for the month. y/n, don’t forget that you’re covering the new weekly act starting today]

It was your manager, and you read over the list of events for this week with mild interest. The two of you had already discussed that you’d be taking over being point with Venue:Hell’s weekly spot. The venue had a recurring local act come in every week to perform, typically a smaller artist, to help them build a base among your regulars. These guys had recently opened for one of your previous weekly acts on a national tour and your manager liked them enough to ask them to fill in the weekly spot when the tour made a stop here. You’d had that particular night off, so this was going to be your first time meeting the band.

As you went through your usual opening checklist, other employees filtered in, starting on their tasks. The venue usually provided all the staff and equipment for the weekly act. They just needed to show up and perform.

You were with your sound guy Yangyang by his equipment when you heard your name being called from elsewhere in the building.

“Yeah?” You yelled back, walking out from behind the curtain to look around for whoever it was.

Ten, who worked the front, was approaching with four guys in tow, instrument cases in hand. Must be the new band.

“New weekly is here!” He called out.

You hopped down off the stage to meet them on the main floor. “You guys are early.”

The band looked at each other, obviously worried. One that had a guitar case on his back spoke up uncertainly, “Is that a problem? We weren’t sure—”

“No, it’s fine. I’m pretty sure it’s a first, though,” you snickered.

“You got them?” Ten asked you. “Kunhang said he needed help.”

“Go for it,” you nodded, dismissing your coworker from the group.

Looking back at the four guys that you were left with, you started your spiel. “So, I’m Y/N, assistant manager at Venue:Hell. If you ever have any questions, need anything, let me know. I’m sure Kun already explained how our weekly spot works, but you guys will perform here every Thursday at 10:00 and have a forty-five-minute slot. It’s not exactly primetime, but it’s consistent and we have a good pool of regulars. You’ll also have priority for inclusion on lineups for any special events we host. If your weekly slot ever needs to be moved or canceled, we’ll give you as much of a heads-up as we can, but sometimes it will be very last-minute. If you ever need to miss a week, we ask the same from you, tell us as soon as possible. Make sense?”

You got four hasty nods in return.

“Great, let me show you to your green room.” Just as you were about to turn around and head off, you realized something. “Ah shit, I completely forgot to ask your name. Sorry.”

The guitarist that had spoken earlier offered you a big smile. His ears were adorned with metal, and you spotted some jewelry glinting from his nose, lip, and eyebrow too. His hair sort of reminded you of a dalmatian, a light blonde base with spots of dark black streaking through it. Overall, fit right in with the scene, except for his smile, which seemed to be made of sunshine and rainbows or something cheesy like that. You swore you needed sunglasses just looking at him.

“I’m Osaki Shotaro, uh, guitar, and I sing!” He informed you cheerily. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

“Jung Sungchan, drums,” the tallest one nodded. “And our band is called Roses for Eyes, by the way. Since Taro here forget to mention that.”

He slapped his friend on the shoulder, making Shotaro wince.

“Right…” Shotaro rubbed his neck. “You-You can also call me Taro, too, by the way. Everyone does. Like boba tea!”

“Cool.” You nodded, looking at the other two expectantly.

“Eunseok, I’m the bassist,” another introduced himself. “Sing a bit, I guess.”

The last one, with dark black hair save for a single hot pink streak in his bangs, gave a small wave. “Park Wonbin. Guitar and I sing too.”

“I like the pink,” you commented, then pivoted on your heel. “Okay, I’ll show you your green room.”

“So what do you think?” Yangyang asked you as he fiddled with his equipment, and you helped him go over his checklists.

“I think it sounds fine,” you replied, checking that step off.

“I meant about the new weekly.”

“Oh, they seem fine,” you shrugged. “You worked the night they were here last time, right? What did you think?”

“Their sound’s good.”

“And Kun obviously liked them.”

“Do you think they’ll be a pain to work with?”

“Hm?” You thought on your sparse interactions with the members of Roses for Eyes, the introductions, and then Shotaro had asked you where the restroom was. “No, I think they’ll be fine. I don’t know, Yang, it hasn’t even been their first day. There’s time yet for them to turn into assholes.”

Footsteps approaching made you glance over your shoulder. It was the drummer… Sungchan, you were pretty sure. He seemed to be heading straight for you, and you looked at him with your eyebrows raised.

“Do you need something?” You asked him expectantly, listening to Yangyang call out that the next step was clear.

“Not me, but yes,” he answered sheepishly.

You held his eye contact, arching an eyebrow.

“It’s Taro,” the drummer continued. “He’s good, I just wanted to give you a heads-up that he kind of uhm, loses things a lot? Especially his in-ears.”

“Has he lost them already?” You checked your watch. “Your soundcheck is in five minutes.”

“Yeah…”

You sighed and held the clipboard out towards Yangyang, “You got this?”

He saluted you, “Yes, ma’am.”

You turned back to Sungchan, “Where’s the last place he saw them?”

“I told Sungchan not to tell you, I’m sorry,” Shotaro apologized as the two of you retraced his steps starting from the van they had arrived in.

“I told you guys—If you need anything, let me know,” you grunted, climbing over a spare amp in the back to look under the seats.

“This is just so embarrassing,” he complained, rifling through the glovebox.

“Hey, it’s your first performance as our new weekly, it’d be weirder if it went over perfectly.”

“I meant you having to search through our nasty van with me for them. Just being a few minutes late to soundcheck, I could deal.”

“It’s fine, Shotaro, I’ve done worse, promise.”

His big eyes peered at you inquisitively over the headrests of the front seats. “Like what?”

“I think we’ve scoured every inch of the inside of this thing,” you declared, wiping sweat off your brow with the hem of your shirt. “Have you checked under it?”

Shotaro was still staring at you.

“I’ll look.” You sighed and hopped out of the back of the van.

“No, I’ve got it!” He suddenly scrambled into action, dropping to his hands and knees on the gravel next to the vehicle to scour the ground underneath it.

You, meanwhile, kept your eyes peeled for the immediate vicinity of the parking lot around it. Finally, off in the direction towards the building next door, something caught your eye. You wandered over, picking up a square, black case. Flipping it open, sure enough, there was a pair of in-ears, one bright green and the other bright purple.

Walking back over to the van, you stopped next to the guitarist, who was still looking under it. “Shotaro.”

“Huh?” Thunk. “Fuck!”

“Watch your head,” you said dryly as he carefully extricated himself from under the van this time. You shook the case at him. “These yours?”

He lit up as soon as he saw the equipment. “Yes! Oh my god! Where were they?”

“Over by the neighbors.” You jerked a thumb at the building.

“Ohhh, right! There was a cat over there that I took a picture of when we got here. Do you want to see it?” He was already digging around in his pocket for his phone.

“No. Focus.”

“Right.” He reached for the case, but you snatched them out of his grasp before he could touch it.

“I don’t think so.”

Shotaro’s face turned endearingly confused. “What?”

“We’re not doing this again,” you declared. “These are mine now. When they are not inside of your ears, they’re mine. You will come get them from me before every performance and return them to me as soon as you get off the stage. If you do not need to take them somewhere else before next week, they’ll stay here with me the whole time. Deal?”

“So, Sungchan mentioned this isn’t the first time I’ve lost them?”

“Uh-huh.”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Deal!”

Roses for Eyes wasn’t half bad, from the bits and pieces that you heard while you were running around doing other stuff. You could easily understand why your manager chose them for the weekly spot. Your regulars seemed to like them, too. They had an infectious energy, kept the crowd engaged, and had good chemistry with each other on stage. After the debacle with Shotaro’s in-ears, the rest of the performance went over relatively smoothly, then you just had an open bar and dance night until midnight to deal with. Easy.

It was Yangyang’s turn to have his playlist hooked up, so you were planning on mingling to get some feedback from your regulars on the new weekly.

“Y/N!” A voice yelled out your name from elsewhere backstage, and you turned around.

It was Shotaro running at you, his guitar slung over his back. You held out your hands both in a gesture for him to slow down, and also to protect yourself in case he crashed into you. He managed to skid to a stop just in time, breathless and with a wild smile.

He held his hand out towards you, something crumpled up in his fist. “Here!”

You opened up your palm, letting him drop two familiar neon objects into it. His in-ears. “Ah, right. Thank you for remembering.”

Taking out the case that you still had in your pocket, you tucked them away, snapping it shut again. “You’re sure you won’t need these again before next week?”

“No, we don’t have anything planned.”

“Well, if anything comes up, I’m here most days. I’ll keep them in the office, so if I’m not here, you can get them from Kun or someone else with a key.”

“So what uh, what did you think?” His teeth played with his lip ring nervously.

“About what?” You checked the time on your phone.

“You know, our set?”

“God, I told Yang during soundcheck that Wonbin’s mic should’ve been turned up, but he didn’t listen to me, so we could barely hear him. But we’ll fix that next week. Is the guy always so quiet?”

“Yeah, yeah, he is.” Shotaro was still looking at you expectantly.

“Did you need something else, Shotaro?” You asked. “I was going to go talk to some people.”

“No, uhm, sorry for keeping you.”

“It’s fine.” You patted his shoulder. “And hey, we’re open until midnight tonight. You guys are welcome to stay and hang out. Staff gets half off at the bar, that includes you.”

He nodded and flashed you another smile. “Cool, thanks, Y/N.”

The next week, you were in the back office when there was a knock on the slightly ajar door, and a familiar head poked in.

“Hi.” Shotaro beamed at you. “Kunhang said you were in here.”

“Hi, Shotaro.” You minimized the window that had been up on your screen as he wandered around to your side.

“What are you doing?”

“Payroll. Which you can’t see,” you informed him, opening the top right drawer of the desk.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” You handed him his in-ear case that you had just retrieved. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” He accepted the case, but didn’t leave the office.

“Do you guys need something else?”

“No, uhm, finish your work,” he started towards the door. “But I uhm, is that new? The septum piercing?”

You touched the ring absentmindedly. You’d gotten it done over the weekend, you’d forgotten that it was new by now. “Yeah, it is.”

“I like it. Looks good on you.”

Before you could even say thanks, he had darted from the office.

Done with the payroll, you went out to the main floor, taking down the stools from the few high-tops scattered around the perimeter and setting them up at the tables. Roses for Eyes were just starting their soundcheck, providing background music of the sounds of them tuning their instruments.

“Hey, Y/N,” Eunseok’s voice came over the speakers.

“Yeah?” You called back over your shoulder as you continued setting up.

“So, did you like our set last week? Anything we can do better?”

You swore you heard snickers, but when you turned around, they were all standing at attention. “Everyone generally liked your sound. Good music to dance to. But you need some more variety in your setlist. Have a vibe-shift or two. Show people you can do more. If you can.”

Sungchan laughed as he spun a stick around with his fingers. “Is that a challenge or what?”

You shrugged. “It’s only a challenge if it’s hard.”

They all erupted into incredulous laughter, and you couldn’t help but grin too, glad that they didn’t seem put-off by your comment. You were genuinely trying to give them advice, not put them down. The band returned to their soundcheck, and you went back to your own tasks. You figured they were done when you heard a long stretch of silence as you were doing inventory of your in-house merch behind the merch counter.

“Hi.” It was Shotaro again, peeking at you from over the counter as you squatted down to count the t-shirts stacked up down there.

“Hi, Shotaro.” You held up your hand expectantly, and he deposited his in-ear case onto it. You tucked it into your jacket pocket. “Thank you.”

“Need any help?”

“This isn’t your job,” you pointed out, tapping a few buttons on the tablet balanced on your knees.

“You’re really good at that.”

“Counting shirts?” You snorted. “I’d be a lot better if I wasn’t talking while I did it.”

He chuckled. “I meant not answering the question you’re asked.”

You looked up from the shirts at him. “Hmph.”

“Did you hate our set that much?”

“Why does it matter what I thought?” You asked him frankly.

“You’re still doing it.”

You took a closer look at what he was wearing today, a neon pink longsleeve under his black t-shirt. “Your shirt matches Wonbin’s hair. Cute.”

He looked down at his sleeves, pulling them over his hands. “Ah, yeah, I guess. Do you like it? I—Hey, wait a minute!”

You laughed to yourself as you stood back up. “If you really want me to answer your question… No, I don’t need any help. I’m done now. Thanks, though.”

After Roses for Eyes’ set, Shotaro didn’t even have to find you, you were waiting just off-stage. He couldn’t hide his surprise, eyes going wide. “Oh, Y/N! Hey!”

“Hi.” You held out your hand expectantly, the case already open atop it.

He stuffed the in-ears back into it. “Thanks.”

“Thank you.” You snapped it shut and pocketed it. “And good set. I’m glad I got to actually see it this time.”

His face lit up. “Wait you—Is that why—? Thanks! You really—?”

“Hey, Taro, come on, we got places to be,” Sungchan grabbed his arm. “You got your in-ears?”

You arched an eyebrow, taking the case back out from your pocket. “You need these?”

Sungchan shook his head as Shotaro took it back from you. “Thanks…”

“Don’t lose them before next week,” you warned.

“I won’t.” He beamed.

The next day, you were at the venue early putting up some new decorations when you swore you heard the back door open.

“Ten?” You yelled out. “That you?”

“No!” An entirely different voice called back, right as the owner had descended the stairs into your view, propping his silver sunglasses up on his dalmatian hair.

“Shotaro.” You tilted your head at him curiously. “Pretty sure I haven’t been here that long. It’s not Thursday yet.”

“Not quite.” He grinned as he set a familiar case on the counter that you were currently standing on to reach the ceiling. “I didn’t lose them.”

“I’m very proud of you.” You pointed in the direction of the back. “Office is unlocked, you can put them on the desk before you head out.”

“What are you doing?”

“Decorating. We’re doing a Y’allternative Night tonight.” You held up the paper cowboy boots that you were prepared to hang up. “It’s all deejayed, no live music or we would’ve offered you guys a slot, sorry.”

“Can I help?”

“You really want to help me decorate?”

“Yeah.”

You sighed, looking down at the stack of decorations on the counter, and the others haphazardly strewn on the stage. “Ten was supposed to help but he hasn’t shown…”

“Is that a yes?” He asked hopefully.

“I can’t pay you for this,” you warned.

“That’s fine!”

“Put your in-ears away first.”

“On it!” He grabbed them off the counter and dashed away.

“So how long have you been working here?” Shotaro asked you as the two of you worked to decorate the venue.

“Few years.” You handed him the next cutout. “Mm, to the right. Yeah, good, higher. There.”

Shotaro was easy to work with, attentive, loved even the smallest bit of praise, and followed directions incredibly well. Kinda like training a dog, you figured. Though, you’d never had a dog.

“How long have you been with your band?” You asked.

“Oh, I’ve known Sungchan since I was like, seven,” he explained, scooting with you along the counter. “I used to be taller than him, you know.”

You snorted at that, genuinely trying to picture little Sungchan and Shotaro, the latter just a smidge taller.

Shotaro was grinning as he continued, “We spent like every day after school in middle school playing Rock Band. Begged our parents for real instruments for Christmas in high school. Then Sungchan met Eunseok in gym class, and I met Wonbin in art. So I guess it’s been… almost ten years? At least since we took over Eunseok’s garage after school for our first band practice.”

“That’s cool,” you replied genuinely, handing him the last decoration. “I like hearing that sort of stuff from the acts that come through here. Everyone’s got such unique stories.”

“Uhm—” He cleared his throat. “Is this good? For the-the thing?”

You looked at where he was holding the paper lasso. “Ehh… Turn it to the left a little? …Perfect, tape it.”

Shotaro hopped down from the counter and the two of you stepped back to admire your handiwork.

“Not bad.” You held your hand up for a high-five, which he eagerly accepted. “Thanks, Shotaro.”

The back door was thrown open then, Ten yelling into the venue, “I’m here!”

“Finally,” you scoffed.

“Sorry, sorry, I had to take Louis to the doctor,” your coworker rambled, obviously flustered as he rushed in. “Stupid asshole ate my charging cable.”

“His cat,” you informed Shotaro quietly, taking in the guitarist’s concerned look. Turning back to Ten, you asked, “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, one super expensive vet trip later, he’s fine, of course.” Ten seemed to notice Shotaro then. “Oh, hey, Taro. Are you guys performing tonight?”

“He was just dropping off some equipment and was nice enough to help me with the decorations,” you explained. “Speaking of—You remembered to pick them up on your way in, right?”

He pointed over his shoulder to the back entrance. “Yes, they’re in my car, will you help me with them?”

“I think we’ve got it from here, Shotaro, thanks again—”

“Uhm, do you remember how long it took last time?” Ten interrupted you pointedly.

You sighed ruefully, recalling very well. Clasping your hands together in front of you, you turned to the frontman, “If you’re not busy, would you mind helping us fill hundreds of balloons and also assemble a few cardboard cutouts? Please?”

Only one person could operate the balloon inflating machine at a time. One person would fill them with helium, then hand them off to another to tie them and release them to float up to the ceiling. Getting them back down would be hell. The third person was wrangling the custom-ordered cardboard cutouts out of the packaging and assembling them. That person was of course you. You had lost the rock-paper-scissors, and never had it in you to just pull rank when it came to this kind of stuff.

“What the hell?” You muttered, trying to cut the package open for the third time, barely crinkling the tape instead. Yanking on it, you cursed, “I swear this fucking tape is made of fucking Kevlar! What the fuck?!”

“Let me try?” Shotaro offered, abandoning his post tying balloons to join you. You huffed and let him gently take the box cutter from your hand, moving over to grant him access to the end of the box that you were struggling with.

“It’s probably that box cutter! Blade’s too dull!” Ten called out as he continued filling and tying balloons. “I think it’s older than Kun!”

Shotaro had just tried to slice upwards along the tape, but as soon as the box cutter hit resistance, it stopped, and his hand recoiled with the force. His fingers flew back down along the blade, and he dropped both it and the box immediately, letting out a long string of curses.

As soon as you saw the red welling up on his finger, you yelled out to Ten, “First aid kit!”

“Shit! Oh my god, you’re going to get fucking tetanus or something and die. Or lose your hand!” You panicked, latching onto Shotaro’s elbow. You dragged him into the nearest bathroom—the women’s room—and started running water in the sink. You yanked up his hoodie sleeves then yours, sticking both his hands under the stream. They were both bloody messes at this point.

Shotaro lit up as he looked at your inked forearms. “Cool tattoos, what—”

“So not the fucking time for a tattoo tour?!” You gestured to his own hands incredulously.

Ten brought the first aid kit in, and the women’s room that only had two stalls anyway was starting to feel cramped now.

“Go see if there’s any blood on the floor or something,” you shooed him out probably too harshly.

With him gone, you focused on washing and drying Shotaro’s uninjured hand before taking a look at the other. Only one of his fingers was cut, thankfully, but you knew the state that box cutter was in—old, rusty, and had probably never been cleaned once.

“I’ll be fine.” Shotaro was surprisingly calm as he watched you.

“You know there’s no cure for tetanus, right? Fuck, Kun’s going to kill me if our weekly can’t perform because I gave the frontman tetanus and he died.” You stressed.

“Oh, I thought you were just worried for me,” his voice was teasing, and if you hadn’t watched him injure himself and flinch in pain with your own two eyes, you would’ve wondered if he had any pain receptors, as he didn’t seem to be bothered whatsoever by you squirting soap onto the cut in that moment.

“Yeah, that too.”

“As an afterthought,” he snickered.

You pushed the shoulder of his uninjured hand. “Shut up and clean your cut.”

“Really, I’m touched.” He was still smirking as he obliged, gingerly running the tip of his thumb over the area to work the soap around the cut, the water finally running clear. You turned the sink off then grabbed paper towels and his hand, starting to dry the cut off. “Will it make you feel better if I tell you I’m upped on my tetanus booster?”

“Are you?”

He shrugged.

“Then no, that does not make me feel better,” you scoffed, inspecting the wound now that it was dry. On the bright side, the box cutter being as old and dull as it was meant that the cut wasn’t very deep. The bleeding had already stopped. As you went to grab the band-aids from the first-aid kit, you realized Shotaro was still watching you, this time with a funny smile on his face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re always so… cool. In like this unreachable, detached way. Is it bad to say I’m kind of enjoying seeing you like this too?”

“Panicking and pissed off that you’re not taking tetanus serious enough?” You shot him an unamused look, ripping open a band-aid. “Yes, I’d say that’s a strange thing to enjoy.”

“Strange,” he repeated happily. “Not bad.”

“I suppose that is what I said.” You wrapped the band-aid around the cut. “There. All better. Unless you get tetanus and die.”

“I pinky promise I won’t get tetanus and die.” He held the pinky finger of his injured hand out to you.

You eyed his hand. “I super don’t think that’s how this works.”

Shotaro shook it more insistently. You sighed, linking your pinky with his. “If you get tetanus and die, I’m going to kill you.”

“I super don’t think that’s how that works.”

Thursday rolled around, and you were actually grateful when a spotted head of hair poked into the back office that evening.

“I’m alive!” Shotaro announced cheerily.

“So you are.” You smiled, taking out his in-ears from the desk drawer, as well as the brand-new bag of Sour Patch Kids you had tucked in there. “For you. I can’t pay you with money for helping out, but I really do appreciate it, Shotaro. And I’m sorry that you got injured helping me, too. If Sour Patch aren’t your thing, let me know what you do like and I’ll pick some up for you next week.”

Anybody else would’ve thought you’d just given him a handmade sweater the way he clutched the bag of candy to his chest and looked at you with big eyes. “These are my favorites! How—Did Sungchan tell you or something?”

“Took a wild guess.” You finished up the online order you were placing for restocking your in-house merch. “Also, do you guys have merch?”

“Huh?” Shotaro was looking right at you, but clearly hadn’t heard a word you’d said.

“Merch. Shirts, CDs, stuff for people to buy. Do you guys have any? We can keep it in stock here.”

He blinked, finally processing your question. “We sold out of all our shirts on tour… and we were talking about getting new designs the next time we got some made anyway. We’ve only got a few CDs left now. So… no…”

You clicked your tongue, logging out of the computer and standing up. “Well, whenever you get to it, we can keep them stocked here for you guys. Oh, and I know a few good artists who do that kind of stuff, if you’re looking for someone.”

As you talked, you had started ushering Shotaro out of the office, shutting the door behind you. He stopped in the narrow hallway outside it, made even more cramped by the cardboard boxes of miscellaneous props, merch, and decorations stored back here because you had run out of room in your actual storage closet. He was so close you were certain you could accurately count the piercings on his ears and face if you were patient enough. You tried to take a step back, only to hit your head on the office door that you had just closed.

“Fuck!” You hissed under your breath, clutching your head. “Shotaro, you mind? Don’t you have a soundcheck to do or something?”

“Sorry! Are you okay?” He winced sympathetically, still not moving away, if anything, getting closer as he tried to check on you. “That didn’t sound good—”

“I’m fine!” You insisted. “Soundcheck! Go do it!”

“Right!” He gave you a thumbs-up, then shook his giant bag of candy. “Thank you again!”

After he had sprinted away, you let out a relieved groan, leaning back against the door and looking up at the water-stained ceiling.

“Is that sanitary?” Eunseok’s voice announced Roses for Eyes’ arrival that particular afternoon, as you sat atop the bar counter, scrolling on your phone in one of your few moments of peace and quiet around Venue:Hell.

“Kiss my ass, Eunseok,” you replied without even looking up.

“Yeah, I’ll get in line,” he retorted, making Sungchan and Wonbin laugh.

That finally prompted you to slide your gaze up, just in time to see the three of them laughing over by the stage as Shotaro flipped them all off over his shoulder, making his way towards you. He had two cups in one hand, one with a bright green straw in it, and the other without a straw, and you saw that the other three band members each had a plastic cup with a straw sticking out of them as well. You silently watched Shotaro approach, raising an eyebrow at him once he’d stopped in front of you.

“We were getting boba on our way here, and thought we’d grab you one, too.” His cheeks were a bright pink as he held the unopened cup out to you, and fished a packaged purple straw out from the front pocket of his black jean jacket.

“Who’s this ‘we’ that you’re talking about?” You asked humorously. “They all apparently think getting me boba is kissing my ass.”

Shotaro straightened up, puffing his chest out. “Actually, yeah. Fuck ‘em. I got you one because I thought it’d be nice to get you one too since you do so much for us every week. It’s uh-It’s honey milk tea, because I didn’t know what flavor you liked.”

“Thank you, Shotaro.” You accepted the cup and straw from him graciously, to a chorus of snickers from the spectators on the other side of the floor. “Honey milk tea is more than acceptable.”

“But it’s not your favorite?”

“I don’t have a favorite.” You set the cup on the bartop beside you to stab the straw into it.

“You—Hey, are those mine?” He seemed to have finally noticed the sunglasses perched atop your head.

“What? These?” You teased, tapping the plastic accessory arm on one side of your head.

“I was looking for those today!”

You took them off, offering them out towards him. “You left them here last week.”

Shotaro took the glasses just to turn them right back around, take a step closer to you, and place them back on your head, a fond smile on his face as he did so. “I think you look better in them, actually. You can hold onto them for a little longer.”

You swallowed, your chest suddenly feeling too tight for your heart, and six eyes suddenly feeling like way too many to be in the room with you two right now. You chuckled, trying to keep up the congenial tone as you once more pulled them off. This time, you folded the arms and tucked the sunglasses into Shotaro’s jacket pocket for him. “Thanks, Shotaro, but I can’t take your sunglasses. They’re really rockstar sunglasses anyway, not for someone like me.”

At that moment, you grabbed your boba tea and hopped off the bar, scooting out from between him and the counter. You avoided looking at the others, beelining for the back office.

When Shotaro had to come get his in-ears from you just a few minutes later, you gave him the same pleasant smile as usual, handing him the case. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” He tapped the case against his palm, the sound dampened by the fingerless gloves he was wearing that day. “What did you mean? When you said someone like you.”

“Wh—About the sunglasses?” You’d hardly expected him to confront you about that comment at all, much less alone now, just you and him in the office, no peanut gallery. While six eyes had felt like too many, this felt far too intimate. You somehow felt more exposed than before. “Like I said—They’re cool rockstar sunglasses, that’s what you are. You should wear them you know, up on stage, being all cool and stuff. I’m crew; no point in me wearing them while I’m sitting back here where nobody can see them.”

He frowned, but thankfully didn’t try to give them to you again. “I think you’re cool, Y/N.”

With that, he left the office.

“Hey—Woah.” Yangyang stopped midsentence, blinking at you from the office doorway.

“You’re losing your ears, puppy,” you snickered.

“I’m not a—!” He whined, catching the wolf ears that were sliding off his head just in time. “I’m a werewolf!”

“Sure,” you snorted, spinning your desk chair around to face him. “So what did you need, Yang?”

“Ten has a question about how we should set up the line out front.”

“Alright.” You stood up, smoothing out your long black dress. Today was Venue:Hell’s Halloween event, Hallowfreaks, so the whole staff was dressed up. You didn’t have time to think about a costume this time, so you just took out your Morticia Addams costume from last year.

Meeting Ten out front, you couldn’t even compliment his own “werewolf” costume, as he immediately tilted his head with interest upon seeing yours. You looked down at your dress, wondering if you had somehow spilled something on it unknowingly.

He didn’t leave you in the dark long, though. “You did a matching costume with Taro?”

“What?”

“Shotaro.”

The singer whipped around at the sound of his name. And there was no doubt as to who he was dressed as: His spotted blonde and black hair was slicked back and it looked like he had even used some kind of spray to make it fully black, he had donned a pinstriped suit and dress shoes, and drawn on a mustache to finish off the Gomez Addams look.

The initial recognition at his name being called turned to excitement as he realized what your costume was as well.

“Wait, seriously?!” He laughed, jumping up and down with elation. “That’s awesome!”

“I thought you guys would’ve done a group costume or something.” You crossed your arms.

“We were thinking about it, but Sungchan wanted to do a couple’s costume with his girlfriend. We thought it would look weird onstage if the three of us had a group costume without him, so we just all did our own thing.”

“Sensible.”

“C’mere, we’ve got to show them!” He grabbed your arm, and you let him drag you elsewhere backstage, into the green room where his other three band members were waiting around before their soundcheck. “Guys!”

“What’s this?” Eunseok grinned, pointing between the two of you.

“Taro, you didn’t mention you were doing a couple’s costume with Y/N,” Sungchan teased.

You rolled your eyes. “Not planned, you little shits.”

“Kinda weird that it happened, though,” Wonbin pointed out through a yawn. “Like, you know? What does it mean?”

“It means I was too lazy to buy a new costume and wore my one from last year, and Shotaro… I don’t know, something.”

“I like the movies,” he added quietly.

“He likes the movies!” You repeated triumphantly.

But the others were long gone, laughing and joking among themselves. Shaking your head, you turned back to Shotaro. “I’ll grab your in-ears.”

“I’ll come with.”

The venue was buzzing with excitement for the holiday, but the back office was quiet as always. You passed Kun in the hallway, giving him a quick nod as he rushed off to do something.

“Your in-ears,” you handed him the case, and a small bag of candy, “and Happy Halloween.”

“Sour Patch Kids!” His face lit up.

“Some place on my way to work was handing them out to people walking by. They’re not my favorite, so I figured I’d give it to you.”

“You don’t like them?” He questioned, ripping open the small package.

“They’re fine.” You shrugged, leaning back against the desk. “But you love them.”

He smiled as he grabbed a gummy. “Thanks.”

“This is Roses for Eyes’ first special event here, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is.” He confirmed. “Sungchan’s really excited.”

“Why’s that? He really like Halloween or something?”

“This is the first performance since we’ve had this gig that his girlfriend is going to be here for,” Shotaro explained. “She’s been on the road for the past two months.”

“She’s in the industry too?”

“Yeah, she does tour management.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your voice as neutral as possible. “Good for them.”

“Yeah…” Shotaro looked at you carefully. “But why’d you say it like that?”

Not neutral enough, apparently. You purposefully avoided meeting his gaze. “Like what?”

“Like… I don’t know. Like you had another opinion.”

“I meant it. Good for them.” You hoped at least that much came across as genuine. “I’ve been around the scene for long enough to see plenty of relationships like that end badly. Especially ones between talent and crew.”

His big eyes watched you carefully as he chewed, swallowed, and cautiously asked, “Personal experience?”

“What did I just say? I’ve seen it. Not had it happen to me,” you replied firmly. Pointing to the door, you said, “Now go do your soundcheck, Shotaro.”

You were waiting backstage for Roses for Eyes after their set. The stage was being prepared for the next live act, and the band was still energetic.

“Good job, guys,” you congratulated them as Shotaro handed over his in-ears.

“Thanks.” Sungchan patted your head as he hurried by, apparently with somewhere to be.

“He’s got to find his girlfriend,” Eunseok informed you, wiping his face with his shirt, and taking half his No Face facepaint off in the process.

You narrowed your eyes at Shotaro. “Missing something?”

“I gave you them!” He defended himself.

“Your guitar.”

He patted his front and back, eyes going wide. “Shit!”

Wonbin and Eunseok burst into laughter as Shotaro darted back onto stage, apologizing to the staff and band still setting up. The other two wandered off, presumably to put their own equipment away. Shotaro snatched his guitar from the stand and ran back over to you, panting as he tried to catch his breath.

“Okay, that’s the first time that’s ever happened,” he promised.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“I saw you in the back, during some of the set,” he was absolutely beaming at you.

“Yeah, with Kun here tonight, I can actually get some breathing room. I was able to stop and watch a bit.” You patted his arm. “Like I said, good job, mon cher.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, smiling down at his feet. “Thanks, cara mia.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, covering your mouth as you did.

“What? What’s so funny?” He asked with a chuckle.

“It is pretty funny that we accidentally did two halves of a matching costume. Everyone had a right to be weirded out.”

“Oh, yeah,” he agreed. “Weird coincidence, right?”

“Anyway, you should put your guitar away before you lose it again and I have to confiscate that as well, okay?”

“Okay, okay.”

“I’m going to put your in-ears in the office. If you guys don’t have anything better to do, Hallowfreaks is going on until 2 a.m.”

“Don’t tell me you’re working that whole time?” He asked in disbelief.

“Where else would I be?”

Winter rolled around, and you were once again crouched behind the merch counter doing inventory. Seasons change, but the pain of doing inventory never does.

“Nah, it’ll be Taro,” Yangyang insisted.

“I think it’ll be Sungchan trying to embarrass Taro,” Kunhang replied.

“Mm, could be Eunseok trying to piss Y/N off while simultaneously embarrassing Taro,” Ten gave his input on whatever the hell they were talking about near Yangyang’s sound equipment.

You poked your head above the merch counter now that you’d heard your own name. “Hey! What are you guys talking about?”

Three heads peeked around the black curtains. Ten answered your question, “We’re betting on which one of them will say something first when they get here today.”

“And none of you said Wonbin because he’ll probably be half-asleep anyway,” you guessed.

“Yep!” Kunhang nodded.

You just sighed loudly and went back to your task. A few minutes later, the back door opened, followed by the overlapping voices of Sungchan and Shotaro in a quiet but heated argument about… something indistinguishable to you. It was ended by an alarmingly loud smacking sound followed by dead silence, which prompted you to peer over the counter, a little concerned. The guys would playfight or bicker sometimes, but it always devolved into laughter.

The four of them were silent, but the angry tension was choking. You tried to quickly duck your head back down, hoping nobody saw you. But of course Shotaro did. It was only a few minutes later, after they put all their stuff down in the green room, that Shotaro was leaning over the merch counter on his elbows to talk to you.

“Hi, Y/N.” He offered you a smile, but you noticed it seemed a little strained this time.

“Hey, Shotaro,” you greeted him, not addressing the band’s entrance. Having just finished up with inventory, you stood up, groaning with relief.

The singer’s smile turned genuine then. “You’re wearing our merch.”

You looked down at the front of the hoodie you were wearing. “Oh, yeah. Don’t worry, I paid for it.”

“I wasn’t worried about that.” His eyes shined as he looked at you. “I’m—I didn’t think you’d…”

“I’ve gotta rep the home team, right?” You gestured to the building around you. “It’s super comfy, too. Come on, let’s get your in-ears.”

In the office, you grabbed the case from the desk, watching Shotaro fuss with his lipring with his front teeth, bouncing from his heels to his toes.

“Look,” you sighed. “You don’t have to tell me what it’s about… but is everything okay with you guys?”

He pulled at his fingerless gloves. “You didn’t hear what Sungchan was saying?”

“No, nothing.”

“We’ll be okay,” he reassured you. “We’ve had worse fights. I mean, not since I was like, twelve, but it’ll be fine.”

You let your uncertainty be visible on your face. “Alright, you know him better than I do. Like I always say, if you need something, let me know.”

“Thanks, Y/N. I appreciate that you’re concerned about us.” Shotaro held a hand out for his in-ears, and you placed them in his waiting palm.

A little while later, you went out to start setting up the stools to find Shotaro alone on stage tuning his guitar. You went about your business as he seemed absorbed in his own task.

“I looked it up,” Shotaro called out to you before he played a chord, then adjusted one of the tuning pegs. “There’s no cure for tetanus.”

You looked at him over your shoulder, pulling a stool down from the high-top. “I know.”

Another chord. “I know you know.” More tuning. “You said that when I cut myself with the box cutter.”

“And…?”

“How did you know that?”

“My sister’s a doctor,” you answered simply, continuing to set up the furniture.

The guitarist stopped completely, staring at you. “Wait, really?”

“Why do you look so surprised?” You chuckled, leaning against one of the tables. “Can’t believe I’m related to a doctor and work in this place?”

“No, not that.” He shook his head as if trying to shake himself out of a stupor. “You just never tell me about that kind of stuff.”

“We both lived at home when she was in med school. I helped her with flashcards and stuff when she’d study.” You shrugged and went back to setting up. “Random stuff stuck.”

The other members of Roses for Eyes came out on stage then, cutting the conversation short as they started their soundcheck.

Poking your head into the band’s green room that particular evening, you were surprised to only find one member. Sure, a couple might be out on a food run, or wandering around the venue distracting your staff, but more often than not they were all in here between soundcheck and their set.

Regardless, you really only needed one of them at the moment. “Shotaro.”

“Yes!” He immediately shot up from where he had been sprawled out on the tiny couch, facing away from the door. His dalmatian hair had finally faded, and he was now completely platinum blonde with a shorter, spikier cut.

You quickly shot your boss a text back as you also flicked through the upcoming events spreadsheet for the venue. Not even looking up from your phone, you asked, “Got Valentine’s Day plans?”

Something collided with the edge of the table as Shotaro fell off the couch at that exact moment. You glimpsed the tail end of him scrambling to his feet, rushing to answer you, “No! Not at all! Uhm, what were you—”

“We’re putting on an Anti-Romantics Event for singles that night,” you explained, reviewing the details for the event on your screen. “Mix of live stuff and deejayed. Some games, raffles, that kind of stuff too. The headliner slot is yours if you guys want it.”

Shotaro nodded fervently. “Yeah! We can do it!”

You raised an eyebrow, looking around the empty room pointedly. “You’re not going to ask the other guys? I figured at least Sungchan might be doing something, you know…”

“Right. I’ll uhm, I’ll double-check with them.”

“I’ll pencil you guys in. Just let me know as soon as possible, okay?”

“Y/N?” Shotaro’s voice echoed as he yelled your name from the main room, obviously just wandering around shouting for you. Tonight was Venue:Hell’s Anti-Romantics Event, and Roses for Eyes had ended up accepting the headliner spot. Apparently, Sungchan’s girlfriend was really chill.

“In here!” You yelled back from inside the women’s bathroom, hunched in front of the mirror with an eyeliner pen and pile of used makeup remover wipes.

“Shit, sorry! I mean, uh—Never mind!”

“I’m doing my make-up,” you snorted. “You can come in.”

The swinging door opened hesitantly, and as soon as he was able to see that you were telling the truth, Shotaro entered fully. You wiped off your latest fail with a groan, grabbing all of the used wipes and tossing them in the trash.

“What are you doing?” He asked curiously.

“I’m trying to draw a broken heart on my cheek,” you explained. “But I can’t draw on my own face for shit.”

“Can I…?” He reached for the eyeliner. You handed it over, leaning back against the sink. He gently tilted your chin up and away from him to give him better access. You looked off to the side to avoid staring directly at him as he leaned in. “So you didn’t have any Valentine’s plans?”

“Nope.”

“Me neither.”

“I figured.”

He chuckled, his warm breath washing over your cheek. “Ouch.”

You rolled your eyes. “You already told me you didn’t have any plans.”

“Right.”

“I like your necklace.” You picked up the heavy chain from where it was sitting on his chest, several miniature heart lockets hanging from it.

“Thanks,” he murmured. “I think your makeup is nice.”

“I’m a sucker for a theme.”

Shotaro took a step back to look at his handiwork, nodding proudly. “Not half-bad, I think.”

You turned to check on it in the mirror, lighting up when you saw a much more legible broken heart than all the ones you’d attempted. “Oh, that’s so much better! Thank you, Shotaro!”

“You’re welcome.”

Eyeing the rest of his outfit, you were struck with an idea. You grabbed him by the shoulders, spinning the two of you around so his back was to the sink. “Your turn.”

“Hm?” He watched you with interest as you took the eyeliner pen from him and tossed it into your makeup bag, rooting around in there for something else. Finally, you secured a compact of blush and brush, holding them up eagerly.

“Trust me?” You requested.

He smiled fondly, relaxing back against the sink. “Go for it.”

You dusted the bright-colored blush across his cheeks and nose, focusing the majority of it in the center. When you were done, you had a victorious grin on your face. He now looked like a perfect little pop punk Cupid. The rest of his outfit was his usual mishmash of black and bright neon colors—this time solely hot pink—accessorized with more black, spikes, and metal chains. The blush was just the icing on the cake, especially when you saw that he had put a teeny, tiny silver heart stud in his nose piercing.

“Perfect,” you announced with finality, putting the makeup away.

Shotaro blinked his eyes open uncertainly, and you gestured for him to look in the mirror. He laughed, nodding his approval. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I thought you were doing.”

“Let me know how many numbers you leave with at the end of the night,” you quipped.

“What?” All the humor was drained from his features as he looked from the mirror over to you.

“Uhm, I don’t know how to tell you this, but you’re the frontman of the headlining act at an event for singles on Valentine’s Day, and I just made you look ten times more edible than usual.” You patted him on the shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

“I don’t want anybody’s number.”

You were slightly alarmed at the rate that this conversation had taken a nosedive, quickly trying to gloss over the tense moment. “Of course. Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“You really think I’m edible?” He asked with a knowing smirk.

“Mm, I guess I did say something like that,” you answered noncommittally, grabbing your makeup bag. “I’ll go get your in-ears for you.”

“I’m not them.” Shotaro’s biting words stopped you in your tracks before you could even grab the door handle.

“What?”

He was still leaning back against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest as he held your confused gaze. “Whoever you’re comparing me to in your head. Whoever you think I’m going to end up being exactly like. I’m not them.”

“Shotaro…” You breathed out his name, unable to think of a quick deflection this time, hoping he would just let it go.

“You’re not stupid, Y/N. I know you’re not.” He stood up, stepping closer to you. “You always stop yourself right before… I’m sure you think you’re not leading me on or whatever, but I know you know how stupidly head over heels I am for you, because I don’t try to hide it.”

You winced, your stomach dropping to the floor. So he really did want to have this conversation. “I’m sorry. I should’ve said something. I thought… I don’t know, that I needed better words before I said anything. But saying something would’ve been better than doing this to you. I’m so sorry, Shotaro.”

“Tell me. Whatever words you do have, even if you think they’re bad,” he insisted.

“Why?”

“Because I still want to know everything about you, even if it’s the reasons you’re rejecting me,” he chuckled cynically, his eyes still shining as he looked at you.

You sank your teeth into your bottom lip as you tried to think of where to start. You knew you owed Shotaro this much, at least. Finally, you decided on, “I dated the lead singer of a band a few years ago, when I started here. I was young and stupidly in love with him and really believed him when he told me I was special. He was cheating on me the whole time.” You watched Shotaro’s eyes go big. “Every time he went on tour, even at concerts here. I think the worst part wasn’t even how many times he cheated on me, but how many times I caught him doing it and believed him when he said it meant nothing and he’d never do it again.”

“Y/N—”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Shotaro. Really,” you reassured him. “I-I don’t know if I can trust myself to not… realize when something like that is happening again. To not realize when I’ve lost myself like that. I’m sorry.”

You rushed out of the bathroom then, unable to bring yourself to hear what he said next, whatever surely sweet, reassuring, reasonable thing he would say. You couldn’t hear it, not now. You were stuck, and now you’d gotten Shotaro stuck too.

Grabbing the in-ears from your office, you were glad to almost immediately catch Kunhang in the hallway. “Hey, give these to Shotaro for me.”

He thankfully didn’t question it, and you set off to keep yourself even busier than usual. Which wouldn’t be hard, as Kun wasn’t in that night, meaning that you were overseeing the whole event on your own. You didn’t even see Shotaro again until he was on stage performing with the rest of Roses for Eyes. You were helping out behind the merch table, as the limited-edition event merch you’d gotten was apparently very popular and the bunching up of people around the counter was clogging up the small area.

“They’re killing it tonight,” Ten commented loudly to be heard over the crowd and the music, nodding towards the stage.

“Yeah,” you agreed mildly, watching the performance out of the corner of your eye as you straightened up the stock.

“They’ve been doing really well with the weekly slot, too.”

“Mhm.”

“I heard they’re planning a mini-tour in the summer, though.”

“Cool.”

“Taro mentioned anything to you about that?”

You flashed him a sharp look. “Why would he have told me anything?”

“Because you’re their contact for the slot here?” He gave you a bewildered look back. “They’d have to tell you so you could tell Kun and find someone to fill the slot while they’re gone?”

“Right. Yeah. No, nobody’s said anything to me.”

“And also, he’s got a huge crush on you.”

“God, shut up,” you groaned.

“What? It’s adorable to watch him follow you around like a lost puppy,” your coworker snickered. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed?”

“I’m telling you to shut up about it.”

“Come on, taking the theme a little too literally, Y/N?”

You rolled your eyes, opting to not engage with the conversation at all since he apparently wasn’t going to move on. The presence of the headliner on stage was finally drawing some of the crowd away from the merch line.

Giving Ten an unsympathetic smile, you started backing away from the counter, “Alright, I think you’ve got it from here.”

Ten was still grinning and shaking his head as he let you go without a fight, helping the next person in line. You continued running around the venue, helping with anything that popped up.

As Kunhang was announcing the winners of some of the raffles later in the night, you had eyed trouble at the bar. Sicheng, your bartender, was obviously trying to decline service to an insistent patron while a line of other guests bunched up around the bar.

“Is there a problem here, Sicheng?” You asked, stepping into the situation.

“Oh, Y/N,” he breathed a sigh of relief. “He’s had too many, can you—”

“I’ve got it, you keep serving people,” you reassured him. With his attention on the next people, you turned back to the other man. The guy had clearly had too much to drink, pink-faced and swaying in place. “You’ve had enough, man. How about we get you a water, okay? Or a soda?”

“No, I want another beer!” He insisted.

“No can do, sorry,” you informed him firmly. “Water, soda, or nothing. Alright?”

“Who the fuck are you to tell me no?”

“Manager of the building you’re in right now.”

“Well, manager, tell him to get me another beer.”

“No,” you repeated. “Look, dude, I know tonight can especially suck, but there’s other things to do besides drink. You are cut off. Let’s get you a water, hm?”

“No.”

“Did you come with friends? I can help get you back to them.”

He got up in your face then, and you stepped back, unwittingly jamming the bartop right into your own ribcage. “I said no, bitch.”

“I’m going to ask you to leave if you don’t calm down and get out of my fucking face,” you informed him through gritted teeth. “Come on, dude, don’t make this a bigger deal than it has to be.”

Before he could say anything else, someone grabbed the guy by the shoulder, pulling him away from you. At first you hoped that it was come friends of the guy, finally caught on to what was going on, but your blood turned cold when you saw who it really was.

“Hey, get out of her face,” Shotaro told him, rather calmly, but firmly.

In the next second, the drunk guy had swung, his fist impacting with Shotaro’s face and making his head jerk back. The crowd around you three gasped and backed up, and you felt both anger and panic flood your veins.

“You’re done!” You announced loudly. “Out! Get the fuck out! Sicheng! Call security!”

Your bartender was already on it, his walkie-talkie up by his mouth and his request for back-up coming through your own earpiece very clearly. You watched the venue’s guard who very rarely had to leave his post by the front door lumber up, grabbing the guy by the collar and pulling him through the crowd.

Shotaro was stood in the same spot, slightly hunched over as he held onto the edge of the bar, cradling his cheek. You sighed, grabbing his arm. “Come on.”

He let you guide him away from the crowd, the din of the music fading as you took him into the back office, shutting the door behind you. You gestured to the desk chair for him to sit in, and he obliged. After getting out the small first aid kit that was kept in here, you leaned back against the desk, pulling his hand down from his face to inspect the damage.

“We have security, you know,” you said quietly, cracking a cold pack and massaging it in your hands to get the reaction going.

“Didn’t seem like they were helping you,” he replied.

You grabbed a couple tissues from the dispenser on the desk, pressing them to where blood was welling up from a cut on his cheek. “Because I hadn’t called them.”

“Why not?”

“Because I was handling it.” Tossing the bloodied tissues in the trash, you applied a band-aid to the open wound before holding the cold pack out to him.

He accepted it, looking down at his lap guiltily. “I’m sorry.”

“C’mere.” You stood up and stepped closer to him, reaching for his face with both your hands.

“Hm?” He looked up at you curiously. You turned his head so you could gently press your thumbs against his cheekbone and the area around his eye where he’d been hit. “Ow…”

“Sorry. I don’t think he broke anything. You’ll probably just have some bruising for a while,” you declared softly, pulling his hand that was holding the cold pack up to his cheek. “And a nasty cut from his ugly rings.”

He chuckled a little, and you smiled back. “Learn that from your sister?”

“No, just had to break up a few fights here before.”

“Really?”

“We weren’t always such a classy establishment,” you joked, sitting back down on the edge of the desk in front of him. “We’re called Venue:Hell for a reason, and not just because we’re underground.”

“Here I thought you guys were just trying to be edgy.”

You were still replaying it in your mind, of how quick it happened, from Shotaro grabbing the guy to him getting punched. “You thought that guy was going to hit me or something, right?”

“He was getting up in your face…” He hissed and pulled the cold pack down from his face for a moment, then put it back up, wincing. “Even if he didn’t, he shouldn’t have been yelling at you like that.”

“Occupational hazard,” you shrugged. After a beat, you added sincerely, “Thanks, Shotaro.”

“Why do you call me Shotaro? To keep me at a distance?” He asked, a thoughtful frown on his face. “Everyone calls me Taro, I even told you to call me Taro. But you never have.”

“I’m pretty sure you said that I can call you Taro, not that you wanted me to,” you pointed out. Seeing the distress on his face, though, you said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it meant so much to you.”

“It doesn’t, really. But when it’s you… it hurts. Everything feels like the best thing that’s ever happened to me and the worst at the same time.”

“I…” You trailed off uncertainly. What were you even supposed to say to that?

“Like, I make you laugh and I’m fucking on Cloud Nine. And then I somehow take it too far, or say something that makes you run away and I kind of feel like I’m literally dying.” He slumped back into the desk chair with a sharp laugh, still pressing the cold pack to his face.

“That sounds awful, I’m so—”

“No, stop it. It’s not awful, and I want you to stop apologizing to me.”

“Okay.”

Shotaro sighed, looking down at his free hand as he futzed with his jewelry. “That guy’s rings were pretty ugly.”

You let out a sputtering laugh, happy for some of the tension in your chest to dissolve in that moment. “Yeah, they really were.”

That night, you got home from work in the wee hours of the morning, not even bothering to turn your apartment light on, simply tossing your backpack in the direction of your couch and shuffling towards your bedroom. You got ready for bed on autopilot, exhausted as you always were after work.

Wiping off your makeup in the mirror, you hovered over the broken heart on your cheek, recalling just how fast that conversation had gone downhill, then Shotaro getting punched later in the night. Letting out a deep breath, you finished up in the bathroom and shut that light off. After changing into your pajamas, you lay in bed alone, staring up at your ceiling. Alone. You’d be going back to Venue:Hell in less than ten hours. And after that, you’d come home again. Alone. Then go back to work. Then come home. Then go back. Then come home. Work. Home. Work. Home. Work. Home. Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone.

The line rang, and rang, and with every ring, your urge to hang up grew. Of fucking course he didn’t want to talk to you—

“Y/N?” Shotaro’s voice was foggy, and it was apparent you’d woken him.

“Taro, hey,” you said quietly, already regretting this. “I woke you up, didn’t I? Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he grumbled, and you heard the sounds of him rolling over and readjusting in bed. “Is everything okay? You’re not still at work, are you?”

“No, no, I’m home.”

“Okay, good.”

“Uhm, I just—” You were cut off by a very loud yawn from him. “Sorry, it’s really late and you’ve got to be tired. We can do this later.”

“No, go ahead. You apparently thought it was important enough to call me at fuck you a.m. in the morning,” he chuckled sleepily. “We can do it now. I won’t interrupt again. Promise.”

You took a deep breath, still staring at the inky dark expanse of your ceiling. “I just was thinking… some more… And I do really like you, and if you still… want to… Do you have plans later?”

You heard something thunk, and a loud clunk right by the mic, making you wince away from your speaker, then the distant sounds of him cursing as he scrambled around.

“Sorry, dropped you,” he apologized, sounding much more awake now. “You mean like, not for work?”

“Yeah, like, hanging out. Not at work,” you confirmed. God, is your heartbeat always this fucking loud?

“Yes, absolutely. Yes! Fuck!” He agreed giddily, and you couldn’t help but grin too.

“Okay, uhm, I have to get the venue set up for a show at seven tonight, but we could do lunch before or something? If that works for you?”

“Totally! Yes!”

“Cool.” You smiled at your screen as you checked the time. “It is way too fucking late. Just text me when you wake up and we can sort everything out then.”

“I will. Absolutely.”

“I’ll talk to you then.”

“Yes.”

“Thanks, Taro. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

After some much-needed sleep, you slowly got up, sitting at the edge of your bed, letting your feet graze the carpet below. You were home now, alone, and later you’d be going to work. But before that, you were going to be doing something else. Going somewhere else with someone else.

Speaking of, your phone rang, an incoming call from Shotaro. You picked it up, still rubbing sleep out of one eye. “Mm?”

“Was it real?” He asked in lieu of a greeting.

“What?” You chuckled. “What are you talking about?”

“Do I need a lobotomy right now, or are we actually going on a date?”

You burst into laughter, holding your phone away from your mouth as your laughter devolved into a coughing fit, blindly grabbing for your water cup from your nightstand. After recovering enough, you finally answered, “Hold off on the lobotomy for now.”

“Oh, it was real,” he let out a sigh of relief. “God, I seriously woke up and couldn’t tell if I had dreamt that whole conversation or not.”

“No, I really did call you at ‘fuck you a.m. in the morning’ last night, sorry.”

He snickered. “I said that?”

“You did.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to call me at fuck you a.m. any night, especially if it’s going to be something that good.” His grin was audible through the phone. “So what time should I pick you up?”

“We haven’t even decided where we’re going?”

“Lunch,” he said confidently. “I’ve got it. You did the hard part, let me do the rest.”

You looked at the time on your phone. “Two hours?”

“Done. Send me your address.”

“Hey—Oh my God,” you cut yourself off laughing, covering your face as soon as you saw Shotaro standing there with a bouquet of flowers. “You seriously—Oh my God.”

“What? What is funny about this?” He held them out to you even more insistently.

You accepted them, still shaking your head. “Nothing. Come in so I can put them in water.”

He obliged, quietly closing your door behind him.

“I just honestly don’t think a man has ever brought me flowers,” you admitted, opening your cabinet to try to find some kind of vessel. “I was caught off-guard. I didn’t mean to laugh in your face, I’m sorry. You’re very sweet, Taro.”

“Seriously?” He watched you bring down an old empty water jug and fill it up from your sink, then plop the flowers in there.

“Seriously.” You paused in front of him, eyes focused on his left cheek, where a bruise had blossomed out far beyond the edges of the bandage you’d applied last night. Frowning, you delicately touched just under his cheekbone. “How is it?”

“I’m fine,” he reassured you, letting you continue to inspect the wound. “Barely even feel it.”

“Liar.”

He beamed. “Maybe.”

“You know that I’m going to be kind of bad at this, right?” You asked in a lull in conversation at lunch, picking at your food with your utensil.

“At… eating?” Shotaro asked in turn, his cheeks full with his own food as he looked at you with wide, confused eyes. “You seem to be doing pretty alright to me.”

“No,” you chuckled and shook your head. “At… this.” You pointed between the two of you. “It’s been a while, and I didn’t have the best experience last time.”

He swallowed and nodded, offering his hand out across the table, palm up. “I know.” Hesitantly, you put your own hand in his, and he squeezed yours gently, a soft smile on his face as he gazed at you. “Like I said, you already did the hard part, that’s why I’m taking care of everything else today. I get how difficult it must be for you to be doing this right now.”

“Thanks.” You squeezed his hand back.

“You really don’t have to do this,” you sighed as you and Shotaro walked down the sidewalks together after lunch.

“What are you talking about? Of course I have to make sure my girlfriend gets to work safe,” he scoffed, elbowing you.

“Hey hey hey!” You smacked his arm. “We’ve been on one date, kinda. What’s with the g-word?”

“‘The g-word,’” he repeated with a snicker. “If it makes you feel better, you can call me the b-word.”

“Bitch?” You blinked at him innocently.

He elbowed you again. “Rude!”

You laughed loudly, clutching your stomach as you had to stop to catch your breath. “Come on, you walked right into that one.”

“Yeah, I did.” He agreed, watching you with a fond smile on his face.

“I’m serious though, you can’t just be throwing words like that around after one kinda-date.”

Shotaro grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers through yours as you kept walking. “And what is the difference between a date and a kinda-date?”

“I don’t know. We were just like… hanging out. You know?” You shrugged. “I don’t know, I told you I was going to be bad at this!”

He laughed. “I brought you flowers, paid for your lunch, we’re holding hands… I’m failing to see how this isn’t date behavior.”

You looked down at your entwined hands, skin heating up. “Point taken.”

You’d made it to Venue:Hell and approached the back door, taking your keys out of your pocket.

“You know what else people do on dates?” He asked slyly, tugging on your hand so you’d turn around and face him. “Kiss goodbye.”

“Talking like I’ve never been on a date ever,” you scoffed, hooking your fingers in his belt loops and pulling him closer. You smiled when you saw his cheeks turn bright pink—no blush necessary this time. Shotaro’s hands landed on your waist as you grabbed the back of his neck and slotted your lips together. The cool metal of his lip ring pressed against your skin, made even colder by the crisp weather outside. He met you beat for beat, never taking over, following your lead until you finally broke apart. The kiss was sweet, reminiscent of the boba tea you’d grabbed after lunch.

“Ah, shit,” he chuckled, hanging his head.

“What?”

“Now I don’t want to go.” He snuck another kiss to your cheek, just grazing the corner of your mouth.

“You’re a menace.” You sighed, in a similar predicament. With warning in your voice, you said, “You can hang out—”

“Yes!” He cheered.

“—until somebody else gets here,” you finished your sentence pointedly, turning around to unlock the door. “Because some people actually work around here, and you’re not performing tonight.”

“Pretty sure you’re the only person who actually does any work around here,” he teased.

“I know, which is why I can’t have you distracting everyone else even more.” You unlocked the door and disabled the alarm, leading Shotaro in by the hand.

“I’m not a distraction!”

“All you’ve been doing for the past six months is distracting me.”

“I help you!”

You clicked your tongue. “And get injured in the process.”

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, following you into the office. “It’s the thought that counts?”

“Let me change your band-aid, while you’re here,” you offered, pointing to the desk chair. “You’ve still got the same gross one on from last night.”

Shotaro peeled off the old bandage and tossed it in the trash while you grabbed a new one from the first aid kit.

“I’m going to have to tell Kun,” you said carefully, opening the new band-aid. “About this.”

He stayed still as you applied the new bandage, then asked, “Me getting punched or us going out?”

“Both.” You groaned and rubbed your face. “Ugh, I don’t even know which one I should start with. Don’t say anything until I tell him, please.”

“I will not tell anybody else until you talk to Kun,” he promised, the phrasing making you narrow your eyes.

“You already told all your bandmates.”

He folded immediately. “Can you blame me? I was excited!”

“The whole building is going to know by soundcheck on Thursday,” you lamented, covering your face.

“I’ll tell the guys I was kidding.”

“They’ll think you’ve lost it.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, probably.”

“As much as I appreciate your willingness to have your best friends think you’re an absolute weirdo loser who would lie about something like that,” you patted his shoulders, “I won’t ask you to do that.”

“I appreciate that.”

You heard the distinct clang of the back door closing, and sighed regretfully. “That’s your cue.”

“Fine, fine.” He stood up, pecking your forehead. “Pick you up later?”

“I get off at midnight?”

“So?”

“Don’t be late,” you hummed, grabbing the door handle.

It was Kunhang who had arrived, clearly surprised to see Shotaro there. “Oh, hey Taro. What are you doing here?”

“He forgot something.” You used the most reasonable excuse.

“Maybe we should just start stapling stuff to you, man,” Kunhang laughed.

“Great idea.” You grinned, patting Shotaro’s arm as you continued ushering him towards the door.

In the stairwell, concealed from your coworker’s gaze, he leaned in, whispering right next to your ear. “I did almost forget something, actually.”

You arched an eyebrow at him, and he cupped your cheek, rings cold against your skin. Your eyes fluttered shut on instinct as you let him tilt your chin, connecting your lips. Your blood roared in your ears as you scrunched his t-shirt in your fist.

The back door opened, and you couldn’t reel back quick enough. To your horror, it was Kun standing there, blinking at you as his keys dangled in one hand.

“Excuse me,” he cleared his throat, scooting right between you and Shotaro in the narrow space of the stairway. He looked back, speaking directly to the singer with you, “Nice shiner there, Taro.”

Shotaro touched his bruised cheek on instinct, giving your manager a thumbs-up with his other hand. “Thanks.”

Kun said nothing else, whistling to himself as he walked further into the venue. You looked at Shotaro with wide eyes, practically shoving him out the door as he burst into laughter.

“Goodbye, Taro!” You said loudly over his cackles.

“See you later,” he whispered back, shooting you a wink right before you slammed the door in his face.

As you turned the corner, you were alarmed to see Kunhang peering at you from his station. “What?”

“Since when do you call him ‘Taro’?”

Upon entering the back office, you saw Kun sitting at the desk, working on something on the computer. He held a familiar pair of silver sunglasses out to you without even taking his eyes off the screen. “I think Taro left these here.”

“Yeah, those are his,” you confirmed, accepting the frames from him. “Uhm, a patron at the event last night had too much to drink, and ended up punching him, by the way.”

Kun looked over at you at that information, lifting both his eyebrows in disbelief. “Taro got into a barfight?”

“He didn’t hit him back, or start it, really. Sicheng and I were trying to cut the other guy off, but he was getting pissed off.”

“Ahh, he thought he was helping you.” Your manager nodded in understanding.

“About that, we’ve only been on one date, and—”

“I don’t need to know all the details. I just don’t want to have to enter the building like that ever again, okay?”

“Heard.”

He cracked a grin then. “I will say—I like him a lot better than the last one.”

“God, don’t remind me,” you groaned and shook your head.

“And that’s the last time I’ll ever bring him up. I’m glad he’s gone.” Kun held his hands up in surrender. “Now go find something to do.”

“Ten’s not scheduled for tonight, so I’m on the front.”

“Go do that.”

“Heard.” You clicked your tongue and gave him a casual salute, heading back out of the office.

Kunhang found you again setting up the barricades for the queue out front. He squinted at you, then laughed, “Oh, those looked like Taro’s sunglasses for a second.”

“They are,” you answered nonchalantly, pushing the frames back up where they were sliding down the bridge of your nose.

“Why are you wearing his sunglasses?”

“Because he forgot them here, it’s bright as hell out, and I don’t have another pair on me.”

“That’s… reasonable.”

“You said that weird.”

“Well, here’s the thing—” Your coworker stopped where he was rearranging the barricades, facing you. “I don’t think you’ve noticed but I’m like… 99% sure the guy has a huge crush on you.”

You kept a straight face. “Really?”

“Yeah, the poor guy is like… so down bad it’s not even funny anymore. Kinda a bit sad, actually.” He sighed. “So I just think that you wearing his sunglasses… it’s gonna mess with his head, you know?”

“You think so?” You scrunched your nose, pretending to think really hard about it.

“Yeah.”

You eventually shook your head. “I don’t know, I don’t think he does…”

It was ten till midnight, and you looked between the time and the back door.

“If you’ve got somewhere you need to be, you can go,” Kunhang nudged you with his knee.

“Yeah, you’ve been checking your phone every ten seconds,” Yangyang snorted, scrolling on his phone. “Seriously, we’ve got it. We’ve done a bajillion dance nights, and Kun is here in case something goes horribly wrong.”

You ignored them, instead looking directly at your sound tech. “Hey, Yang, weird question: Do you think Taro has a crush on me?”

He burst out laughing, grabbing his sides as he keeled forward, barely catching himself on Kunhang’s leg. Still giggling, he sobered up enough to say, “Well, duh. Y/N, oh my God, I never pegged you for an idiot. What the fuck? Did you seriously not—”

The back door opened then, and you immediately spotted Shotaro descending the stairs, looking around the crowded room.

“That’s spooky,” Yangyang muttered. “Do you think he like, heard me somehow?”

“He was here earlier to see Y/N,” Kunhang said pointedly. “See? He totally—”

You simply raised your hand and waved until Shotaro saw you, immediately perking up and making his way across the venue. Your coworkers had half a mind to shut up as the guitarist stopped in front of you three.

“Hey guys,” he smiled at the other two, then pointed at the sunglasses perched atop your head. “Those are mine.”

“You forgot them here,” you informed him smugly, leaning back in your seat and taking them off. You let them dangle by the arm off the tip of your finger as you held them out to him.

“I told you I forgot something,” he teased, taking the sunglasses back. He turned the shades around, leaning in as he tucked them back into your hair. “They look better on you anyway.”

You left them there this time, grinning up at him. “I think you’re right, actually.”

“You good to go?”

“Yep.” You got to your feet, tossing your dumbfounded coworkers a goodbye over your shoulder. Shotaro’s hand found yours, keeping you close as you weaved through the crowd.

It was Thursday again, and you were backstage, monitoring the band as they got ready to go on. There was a hustle and bustle like usual, and right as they were preparing to step onto stage, you called out expectantly, “Taro? Forget something?”

“Oh, right,” he grinned and shook his head, jogging over to you. He held your face with two hands, kissing you right there backstage, his lips still sugary sweet from the Sour Patch Kids he’d been snacking on moments prior.

After he’d pulled back, you held up his in-ears and pack, which he’d given you when he needed a very last-minute run to the bathroom. “I meant these.”

You could hear the snickers from his bandmates as he took the equipment from you, rushing to put it all back on. “Yeah, that too, I guess. What if I said I’ve been losing things on purpose this entire time as a genius ploy to—”

“Go perform already! I’m sick of you!” You rolled your eyes dramatically and pushed him away, back towards the stage.

“Fine, only because you asked so nicely.” He winked, dashing back over just in time to run out on stage with the rest of the band.

“What the hell?” Ten was just off to your side, staring at you, accompanied by Sicheng. You didn’t want to know who was at the bar right now.

“What?” You tilted your head innocently, walking over to them.

“Taro just kissed you?” He looked around, bewildered. “Sicheng, that was crazy, right?”

“Huh?” Your bartender glanced between the two of you, seeming just as lost. “Have they not been dating this whole time?”

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