#this is like..... a fraction of a fraction of a second

[pin-k-ink]

PLAYING PRETEND ⋆✦⋆ bokuto koutaro

synopsis ➸ you’ve been the one to help bokuto out of tight situations all your life, but now he’s put you in the toughest spot yet. with his team eager to meet the girl he’s “been dating for years,” you’ll have to pull off the act of a lifetime—and bokuto’s loving every second of it.

tags ➸ childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, posséssive behavior, fluff, praise kínk, semi-public, heavy petting, dírty talking, cunniłingus, unprotécted séx, overstimúlation, manhándling

wc ➸ 25.3k (i’m sorry i’m reverting back to writing lengthier stuff)

You groaned as the shrill trilling of your phone cleaved through the velvety silence of the night like a fog horn. A glance at the display confirmed it was well past midnight - definitely past any reasonable hour for civil human interaction. Only one person would have the audacity to disturb your slumber at this ungodly hour.

Squinting against the harsh LED glare, you felt your lips tug into a disgruntled frown as Bokuto's stupid, gorgeous face filled the screen. Of course he wasn't just calling - the human embodiment of chaos always insisted on FaceTiming, never content until he could fully bombard you with his exaggerated expressions and mile-a-minute vocal acrobatics.

"For the love of God, Bokuto..." you grumbled, scrubbing the heel of your palm across your bleary eyes as you accepted the call with a resigned tap. "This had better involve a level four or higher crisis, otherwise I'm finding flight details to drop-kick you into the nearest active volcanooooohhh my god, what is that look?"

Through the slightly grainy camera feed, Bokuto's distinctive gold-colored irises blew wide in a parody of theatric innocence, chin already trembling precariously as he arranged his cherubic features into that impossibly pathetic pout he knew you were powerless against. The disarming effect was only amplified by the casual tangle of silvery-streaked locks framing his visage and the oversized tee riding low enough to showcase the sinewy definition of his bare collarbones.

"Don't give me that look, I know exactly what you're doing," you fired back, squaring your shoulders in a valiant effort at steeling your defenses against the impending barrage of whining and guilt-tripping sure to come. "There's no crisis dire enough to justify you faceplanting into my DMs looking like...like that at this time of night."

"C'monnnn, don't be so grumpy!" Bokuto whined, the faintest hint of a whine already creeping into his dulcet tones as he blinked those ridiculously long, feathery lashes up at you from beneath the messy sheaf of pale fringe draping across his brow. "I just really needed to see my favorite person in the whole wide world's pretty face, that's all! Is that so wrong of me?"

You snorted at the blatant placation attempt even as you felt your initial irritation softening fractionally against your will. Leave it to Bokuto to put that honeyed-rasp of a voice and those achingly earnest puppy-dog peepers to devastating use from the get-go.

"Spare me the nauseating theatrics, Bo," you deadpanned, shaking your head in exaggerated exasperation. "You and I both know there's approximately a zero percent chance you'd willingly go this long without demanding my undivided attention for some fresh nonsense."

Bokuto's boyishly handsome features scrunched into an exaggerated pout at your bald-faced dismissals, all put-upon petulance and ruffled feathers in a display so quintessentially 'him' that you couldn't quite fight off the warm fluttering taking up residence in your chest. The sort of helpless, reflexive fondness you could only ever seem to muster for this unrepentant goof of a human being.

"Aww, but I'm being so good tonight!" He pressed out his lower lip even further, fluttering those damnable lashes until they practically bristled. "I haven't even mentioned how distracting my butt looked in those new compression shorts for our last game, have I?"

You choked on a startled bark of laughter at that before quickly stifling the sound, eyes sparking in a fresh blaze of undisguised amusement as you shook your head.

"And just like that, we're officially off the rails into Bokuto Chaos Territory. Well done, dude - solid fifteen-second delay on taking us there this time! I think that's a new record for you."

Grinning unabashedly now, Bokuto simply shrugged those broad shoulders in an artfully cavalier manner. It was impossible to miss the way the fabric of his shirt pulled taut across the impressively sculpted contours in the process - evidence of the punishing regimen his role as a professional athlete now demanded. But the undeniably roguish flare of his smirk ensured you had no doubts as to whether he was entirely aware of the effect he was having.

"What can I say? I aim t'please - especially you, babe. You know you're the only woman I'll ever willingly melt for like this."

The wink he punctuated that observation with - sly and effortlessly charming – nearly caused you to swallow your own tongue as you choked on an incoherent grumble of chiding. But he was already pressing on before you could formulate an appropriately withering rejoinder, all boyish eagerness and showman's flair.

"Listen, I wouldn't have dared to disturb the beauty regimen of the literal love of my life except this is an official, code red, four-alarm crisis in desperate need of your guidance!"

You sighed through your nose, squeezing the bridge of it between your thumb and forefinger in a futile bid at staving off the headache you could already feel brewing between your temples. Right, because of course this was all leading toward one of Bokuto's utterly absurd requests inevitably spiraling out to cosmic levels of mayhem and chaos. As usual.

"Fine," you grunted in feigned resignation, locking eyes with his screen depiction. You felt another small thrill at the sight of him leaning in hungrily, clearly hanging on your every word and reaction. "Go ahead and lay this so-called 'crisis' on me, Koutaro - just try to be slightly more coherent with the details this time. I'm fresh out of patience for wading through your usual mile-a-minute mouth dribbling tonight."

The mirth swiftly drained from Bokuto's expression at your gruff demand, his handsome features crumpling like a deflated balloon. You immediately recognized the telltale signs - lips pursing into a mulish downward curl, shoulders slumping heavily, those normally vibrant eyes going dull and shuttered.

"Uh oh, looks like someone's Emo Mode is kicking in early tonight," you drawled, unable to resist prodding that particular bear just a little. "Whatever could have trampled all over your sunshine-y disposition this time, hm?"

Bokuto fidgeted, worrying his full lower lip between rows of straight white teeth. His gaze skittered away from the camera, drifting somewhere over your shoulder before finally returning to pin you with an unmistakably stricken look.

"It's really bad this time, okay?" His voice emerged hushed, raspy in a way that plucked straight at the protective heartstrings you'd carried for him since childhood. "I did something incredibly stupid, and now I desperately need you to agree to an absolutely massive favor to get me out of the hole I've dug myself into."

You arched one eyebrow coolly, regarding him through narrow slits of growing exasperation. This was hardly the first instance of Bokuto landing himself up shit creek without a paddle thanks to his penchant for reckless word-vomiting. More often than not, you found yourself recruited into whatever foolish messes he stumbled into like a moderating life raft, tasked with the unenviable job of buffering the chaos and keeping him tethered to reality before everything went utterly pear-shaped.

"Lay it on me then. Can't be any worse than that time you convinced half the Fukurodani squad you were an actual descendant of Athena and could communicate with barn owls telepathically."

Your words seemed to jog something in Bokuto's prodigious memory, because he instantly bristled with an affronted squawk.

"Hey, that wasn't all my fault and you know it! Yukippe is the one who planted that stupid seed in my head about having 'superior avian DNA' or whatever!"

You shrugged one shoulder indolently, the ghost of a taunting smile playing about the corners of your mouth as you drank in the chagrined flush stealing across Bokuto's cheekbones. For all his blustering displays of hot-blooded machismo, the guy was still just an overgrown kid at heart - so delightfully easy to fluster when called out on his adorably skewed flights of fancy.

"Sure, sure. And I suppose she's also responsible for you spending three straight months insisting we all address you as 'Grand Duke Koutarov' until Akaashi finally caught you raiding the home ec kitchen for expired bird seed?"

The sheepish chuckle that rumbled from Bokuto's throat in response was answer enough. You smirked, satisfaction curling hot in your belly at having seized the teasing ground even as he attempted to rally with one of those boyish pouts specifically engineered to bend you to his whims.

"Okayyyyy, maybe that one got a little out of hand," he hedged slowly, raking one hand through the wild thatch of salt-and-pepper locks tumbling into his eyes. The motion only made him look more adorably tousled and inviting - lush mouth slack and bee-stung, those biceps cording with well-trained definition beneath the snug fabric of his worn tee.

Not for the first time, you found yourself dragging your attention away from dissecting every arresting detail of him with conscious effort. A futile battle, that, as your eyes were perpetually drawn back to mapping those razor-sharp cheekbones and heavy-lidded bedroom stare with undisguised appreciation.

Friends you might be, but you'd have to be legally brain-dead to somehow miss just how devastatingly, panty-scramblingly gorgeous Bokuto Kotaro had become with age and athletic refinement. The thought caused a sudden flush of warmth to bloom beneath your chest, accompanied by a series of highly unbecoming images you swiftly banished to some dark, neglected recess of your mind.

"But this is way worse than any of that stuff, I swear!" Bokuto pressed ahead with renewed urgency. The slight wheeze of desperation underpinning his words was enough to snare your focus anew, brow furrowing in spite of your attempts at preserving a lofty detachment. "The guys on my team, the Jackals...they've been giving me so much shit lately about never having had a serious girlfriend before. Just relentlessly harassing me over being some kinda hopeless bachelor still at my age."

You rolled your eyes at that, already feeling a fresh swell of exasperation mounting as you sensed where this was likely headed. Of course the emotionally stunted jock culture surrounding professional sports would latch onto something as childishly reductive as romantic experience to rag on one of their star players about.

"So let me guess," you cut in dryly before Bokuto could really get the waterworks flowing in full force. "Rather than taking the high road or simply telling your idiot teammates to mind their own business, you decided to spice things up by dumping out some fresh batches of bullshit instead, right? Claimed you've secretly been in a torrid love affair for years with some lucky mystery woman to get them off your back?"

As the words left your lips, Bokuto's expression morphed into one of comically exaggerated horror - liquid mercury irises blowing wide until they seemed to compose nearly the entirety of his face, plush mouth dropping open in a strangled uh wuh uh noise of shocked dismay. You snorted indelicately at the sight, rapping one knuckle against the screen in a chiding gesture.

"Bingo," you crooned with a roll of your eyes, already sensing the meltdown rapidly reaching critical mass. "God, for an actual adult who's supposed to be the shining beacon on an internationally ranked sports franchise, you can be such an utter child sometimes."

Bokuto gaped at you for a long stretch of incredulous silence before finally seeming to recapture the power of speech, sputtering and flailing his way back onto what you assumed was meant to be some sort of defensive tack.

"How-how do you always just...just know me so freakishly well like this?!" He threw up his hands in an explosive burst of frustration, hair flying in wild disarray with the sudden motion. "I haven't even told you the critical details yet and you're already riding my case like some omniscient psychic dictator! It's almost scary how well you've got me pegged after all these years, babe."

Despite his blustery indignation, you easily detected the undercurrent of fondness that lurked just beneath the gruff protestations. Hell, you'd have to be utterly dense not to pick up on just how much your longtime connection meant to the human embodiment of chaos currently squirming under your scrutiny.

"First of all, take about five deep breaths and quit channeling that patented 'Emo Mode' overdrive of yours," you instructed crisply, leaning back against the pillows to better regard him with a level stare. "All that over-emoting is going to cook off what few functioning brain cells you've got left at this rate, Bo."

Bokuto opened his mouth - no doubt to argue that exact point – but swiftly snapped it shut again at your quelling look. He visibly swallowed...then complied, sucking down several exaggerated gulps of air that expanded his powerful chest and slumped shoulders with each shallow inhalation. Already, you could see some of the manic desperation smoothing from the sharp angles of his face, tension ebbing in miniscule increments the longer you allowed the silence between you both to linger.

"Good, much better," you praised at last when his expression had notched back down to something closer to his normal temperature. "Now lay it all out for me plainly, why don't you? What exactly did you tell your poor, misguided teammates that has you desperately calling me at...three in the morning, completely hysterical?"

There was a beat of anticipatory pause where Bokuto seemed to wordlessly gather his bearings. Then, summoning his courage, he finally raised those golden irises to yours again with an earnestness that had your breath catching somewhere beneath your breastbone.

"Okay, look...I may have...possibly...kinda told them all that I've been secretly dating you for a couple years now?"

You stared at Bokuto in stunned silence, letting the weight of his admission fully sink in. He'd told his professional volleyball teammates...that you two were secretly dating? A sort of disbelieving laugh bubbled up from your chest.

"You're joking, right? Please tell me you're joking and just messing with me like usual."

But the sheepish expression on Bokuto's face said it all. He rubbed at the back of his neck, unable to meet your incredulous gaze through the camera.

"I really wish I was..." he mumbled, mouth turned down in an exaggerated pout that bordered on what you recognized as his "Emo Mode" warning signs. "The guys just wouldn't let up about my love life - or total lack thereof. One thing led to another and the next thing I knew, I was telling them about this totally real, super serious girlfriend I've been dating on the down-low for years now."

You pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling the first stirrings of a tension headache coming on. Classic Bokuto - always digging himself into unnecessary holes without a second thought.

"And let me guess," you said dryly. "This 'totally real, super serious girlfriend' you claimed to have just happened to be me?"

Bokuto's eyes went wide and pleading, somehow making himself look even more pitiful through the camera lens.

"Who else was I gonna say, babe?" His voice took on that unmistakable wheedling tone you knew all too well. "You're, like, the only lady I know, apart from my mom. We've been thicker than thieves since we were little kids! You really think I'd name some random chick as my ride-or-die when we both know you're the only woman on this entire planet I'd ever trust with that kinda responsibility?"

You tried to keep your expression impassive, but felt your resolve slipping at the naked earnestness shining in those gold-colored eyes. Bokuto always had been able to worm his way under your skin with surprising ease, toeing the line between charming vulnerability and outright manipulation like a goddamn artiste.

"Using our friendship as an excuse for your latest boneheaded move is pretty low, even for you," you chided, though the words lacked any real bite.

Bokuto barreled on before you could properly muster your scolding, somehow managing to crank the pathos up even higher.

"C'mon, c'mon, just hear me out here! There's no way I'da thrown some poor, unsuspecting lady's name under the bus for the guys to make fun of her." His eyes took on a sudden, almost manic gleam as another thought seemed to occur to him. "And you already know how they are - if I didn't give them someone real to gossip about, those vultures would've grilled me to the bone over making up some imaginary chick!"

You opened your mouth, ready to eviscerate him over that particularly glaring logical leap, but he didn't give you the chance. The words started spilling from Bokuto's lips like an uncorked geyser.

"Not to mention that if it wasn't you, they one-hundred percent would've demanded I get this supposed lady-friend of mine to official team events and stuff!" Golden eyes went comically wide, imploring you to see reason. "Can you even imagine how awkward and horrible that would've been, lying through my teeth about dating some poor random civilian and then trying to drag her into all our invasive professional shit?? You'd have murdered me for real if I did that to somebody, babe!"

He paused just long enough to suck down a deep gulp of breath, one calloused palm reaching up to rake back the artfully tousled strands of sweat-damp hair falling across his forehead. Somehow, the simple grooming motion only amplified the artfully-mussed air of boyish charisma and vulnerability Bokuto seemed to effortlessly exude like a damn cologne. You felt your mouth go suddenly dry at the sight as he continued in a softer, more entreating register.

"What was I supposed to do, babe? You know you're the only girl in my life I'd ever feel comfortable dragging into this craziness like that. The guys already give me no end of shit, but at least with you they'd know not to push too far with the comments or disrespect." His lips quirked in a small, wry smile that made your heart perform an honest-to-god pitter-pat against your ribcage. "I mean, you'd probably terrify them into proper behavior after one glance if we're being real here."

You snorted indelicately at that, mostly just to disguise the way your pulse had kicked up a notch as his familiar charm offensive slowly wormed its way beneath your defenses. He grinned back at you - all warm affection and playful mirth...right up until that smile faltered around the edges and his gaze abruptly dropped from yours.

"But if you're, like...actually bothered by me using your name like that, I totally understan-"

"Oh, can it with the sad puppy-dog eyes and simpering theatrics," you found yourself grumbling before Bokuto could fully launch into another one of his patented shame-spirals. He immediately brightened, head snapping back up to refocus on you through the screens with obvious delight.

"Wait, so does this mean...?"

You threw up your hands in a decidedly unladylike display of exasperation. "I'm saying I'll play along with your latest bout of delirious self-sabotage for now, sure. God only knows what fresh nightmare I'd be signing myself up for if I left you to flail and sink on this one alone."

Bokuto was already vibrating with unconstrained jubilation, though you tried to press on before he could properly erupt into loud celebrations.

"But hear me loud and clear on this part, Koutaro - the last time I cover for one of your fabrication frenzies, you got it? Because I sure as shit am not dealing with any awkward, 'oh golly, this is my pretend girlfriend I've been lying to everyone about' meetups with your teammates or anyone else. This ends with our weird little charade and that's it, understood?"

Even as you were voicing that hard ultimatum, you could already feel your sternness weakening in the face of Bokuto's uninhibited excitement. The man was literally glowing at you through the screen - all sunshine smile, glittering eyes radiating fondness and affection with every ounce of his focus zeroed in on drinking in your gruff rebukes like they were the sweetest poetry ever composed. Despite yourself, you felt that now-familiar fluttering sensation begin to bloom behind your breastbone anew at the rapt, unrestrained devotion he aimed in your direction so effortlessly. Like you were the only other person in his entire universe.

So when he nodded enthusiastically, looking for all the world like an eager golden retriever puppy receiving head scritches from its favorite human, you couldn't quite summon the full breadth of your usual scolding.

"You got it, you got it! I swear on every last possession and ounce of pride remaining to my name, this is just going to be a one-time, little white lie to get the guys off my back!" Bokuto was positively effervescent now, eyes sparkling with mischief and adrenaline at having already begun plotting multiple steps ahead as usual. "Though... now that you've agreed to go along for the ride, I guess there is one more little, tiny, easily accomplished favor I'll need to cash in from my self-proclaimed partner-in-chaotic-crimes..."

You eyed him warily even as your stomach performed a telltale swoop of premature trepidation. "I'm already regretting this, but go ahead - lay it on me. What fresh hell am I signing up for this time?"

The roguish wink and toothy grin Bokuto flashed you in response sucked the air directly from your lungs. For an eternally suspended breath, he simply let the moment stew and thicken before finally detonating the words you already knew would irrevocably spell your ruination.

"So...how'd you feel about joining me, Tsumu, Shoyo, and Omi-Omi for a fancy team dinner out next weekend—?"

"Absolutely not!" The words burst from your lips before you could even fully process the audacity of Bokuto's latest request. "There's no way in hell I'm putting myself through that kind of awkward third-degree just so you can perpetuate this little white lie further, Bo."

Bokuto's sunny expression immediately crumpled into one of theatric dismay, liquid gold irises going wide and pleading in that sickeningly effective way of his. You simply shook your head, mouth set in a flat line of adamant refusal as you held up a forestalling hand.

"Don't even try hitting me with those ridiculous puppy-dog peepers, you manipulative little gremlin. Your jackass teammates already know me as the surly old friend who's been putting up with your chaos since we were literal children together." You arched one pointed brow at him through the camera. "What exactly do you think their reactions are gonna be when I waltz in playing the part of your supposedly super-serious, ultra-intimate girlfriend persona you've been feeding them? Use those last few functional brain cells you've got left for once, dude."

Bokuto gnawed petulantly on his plump lower lip, handsome features scrunching into an exaggerated pout that did absolutely nothing to diminish his patently boyish appeal. If anything, the calculated vulnerability he projected with those mannerisms only seemed to amplify the sudden, hot flare of inappropriate interest smoldering low in your belly.

"They don't know the half of how...intensely close we really are, though," he wheedled, giving you pause with the obvious implication woven into those words.

You swallowed hard, mouth abruptly dry as cotton at the unexpected suggestiveness suffusing his tone. Your eyes raked helplessly over the screen, tracing the sharp vee of Bokuto's collarbones where they strained against the stretched collar of his shirt, the corded definition of his biceps cradling the phone like they were specifically designed to wrap around something far more...intimate.

"I m-mean," he stammered on with a sheepish chuckle, one hand darting up to scrub the wild thatch of silver and onyx locks into even further disarray. "Based on what I've been...embellishing for them, my so-called girlfriend and I are pretty uh...physical? Active? In that department, if y'know what I mean."

The hot flush you felt crawling up the back of your neck at his unsubtle insinuation could have seared flesh from bone. Still, you refused to allow Bokuto the satisfaction of giving in so easily, straightening your shoulders in a determined facade of composure.

"That's exactly why I'm not indulging this latest bout of lunacy any further, Koutaro. I know you - which means I know for a fact there's no line of depraved fabrication you wouldn't eagerly blur or outright barrel straight past when it comes to spinning wild fantasies these days." You aimed a narrow look at him through your lashes. "So spare me any further salacious teasers or implications about what sort of freaky role-play scenarios you might have regaled your poor teammates with already. I don't need those kinds of visuals seared onto my mind permanently."

A brief look of consternation flickered across Bokuto's handsome features at your rather forceful shutdown there. But he seemed to rally almost immediately, scooting forward until his face practically devoured the entire screen in an ill-advised attempt at looking more earnest and irresistible. The heavy-lidded effect it lent to those simmering, golden eyes only succeeded in stoking the inner maelstrom of conflict currently churning through your abdomen.

"C'mon, babe...Please?" The entreaty emerged with such unguarded sincerity and naked vulnerability that you felt your adamant refusals swiftly begin to buckle. "I wouldn't ask this of you if it wasn't absolutely dire, I swear! Those jackasses are going to eat me alive if I don't produce something to substantiate at least part of my tall tales soon. And after all these years, you know damn well you're the only person in this whole world I'd ever trust to have my back like this!"

When you simply held his intent stare in stubborn silence, Bokuto seemed to deflate slightly. His shoulders slumped, that full lower lip jutting out in an incredibly unbecoming - or was it terribly, inappropriately appealing? - pout.

"Please, kitten?" The pet name, coupled with the raw sincerity radiating from every pore of his being in that instant, punched straight through your defenses like they were wet cardboard. "For your old buddy Bo? Just this once, I swear..."

You swore your heart actually stopped beating for a solid ten seconds. That ridiculously saccharine, syrupy endearment falling from Bokuto's lips and somehow managing to ooze so much implicit affection and warmth...it was like he'd detonated some sort of primal hormone bomb deep within your limbic system. All rational thought processes slammed to a screeching halt as you tried and failed to parse how or why those two simple, nonsensical syllables could fill you with such molten, unfettered want in the span of a single heartbeat.

Bokuto must have easily misread the stunned silence gripping you in that moment, because his expression slowly collapsed towards utter dejection. As he hunched over and prepared to cut the video call short in obvious defeat, you finally found your voice again.

"Hold your horses there, Casanova," you bit out in a strained rasp, startling his forlorn gaze back up to the screen. "I didn't actually say no yet, did I now?"

His eyes went comically wide at your admission, lips parting in a silent 'oh' of surprise. You sighed heavily, already resigning yourself to the inevitable as you pressed onward.

"Give me one good reason why I should bother indulging this charade, and I'll..." Your throat clicked in a convulsive swallow. "I'll consider going along with whatever fresh hell you've cooked up this time. But I want the full, unvarnished truth - no more cutesy lies or dodging around shit. You got me?"

Bokuto nodded so vigorously for a moment you were concerned he might give himself whiplash. The hand not clutching his phone immediately lifted to rake back through his hair again, leaving the sweat-damp tendrils in a state of wild disarray. You had a sudden, visceral vision of your own fingers tunneling through those tantalizingly mussed silver strands, nails lightly scoring his scalp and sending delicious shudders ricocheting down his powerful frame.

"Okay, honesty, got it." He seemed to collect himself with a series of bracing breaths before locking you with that same earnest, searingly direct look from before. "The truth is, having you there - even just as some goofy pretend girlfriend prop - would make this so much more bearable for me. Those guys on my team...they don't pull any punches when it comes to the trash talk and digs, y'know?"

Something inside you twisted at the uncharacteristic thread of insecurity lacing Bokuto's low timbre just then. You could picture it all too vividly - the sorts of crass ribbing and vulgar teasing a pack of hypercompetitive athletes on the same professional team could devolve into. Especially directed towards the raw nerve that was Bokuto's conspicuous lack of any legitimate romantic experiences. It was the sort of environment that could swiftly become brutally emasculating and toxic for a sensitive soul like his.

"But with you there?" Bokuto's gorgeous eyes crinkled at the corners as a secret, unguarded smile tugged at one side of his sinful mouth. "They'd never dream of trying to back me into a corner or single me out for too much ridicule, babe. Not with the infamous 'queen of cutting a bitch' herself standing guard, no sir."

You narrowed your eyes, ignoring the sudden pang of flattery blossoming unexpectedly in your chest at the open admiration in his tone.

"So that's it? You just want me there as some sort of human shield to keep your idiot teammates from teasing you too hard about your deeply lacking dating resume?"

Bokuto chuckled, biting his lush lower lip in a way that briefly derailed your train of thought in the most unacceptable of fashions. "Well it sure as hell wouldn't hurt matters, that's for damn certain. But nah, that's not the real hook I had in mind to try reeling you in on this one with."

You were already shaking your head in resignation before he even continued. "Figures you'd have some sort of angle all primed from the start, you lovable gremlin. Fine, hit me with it - what exactly is this 'hook' you've been saving to sweet talk me into compliance, hmm?"

The achingly roguish grin and sly, heavy-lidded look of self-satisfaction that split Bokuto's features at that instant made your mouth go abruptly dry all over again. He leaned back slightly, posture going deceptively relaxed and loose as he let the sudden tension thicken to a stifling degree.

"Simple," he purred finally, voice dropping a whole sinful octave that had you squirming against your will. "I agree to take you on an all-expenses paid weekend getaway to that super-exclusive hot springs retreat you've been drooling over for literal years. Just me and you indulging in all the revitalizing treatments, massages, private mineral baths overlooking the scenic mountaintops...the whole nine yards, no questions asked."

You gaped at him mutely, all the air forcibly expelled from your lungs in the wake of that bombshell. It was quite literally your single most deep-seated, unrealized pleasure fantasy - to spend an entire decadent weekend soaking in steaming hot pools and pampering yourself senseless. The ultimate indulgence in pure self-care and indulgence that always felt too extravagant to justify splurging on solo.

But with Bokuto's open-ended offer of companionship and corporation on the table?

"I fucking knew you'd been wanting to take a trip to that ritzy place ever since they opened," Bokuto crowed triumphantly, already sensing victory within his grasp through your pole-axed silence. "So, whaddya say babe? Fancy joining me for a little...getaway after our charade of a date night? Just a lowkey spa weekend between old friends, no frills or strings attached!"

You swallowed hard, mouth still working furiously to rehydrate itself as you leveled him with a pointed glare. "You absolute bastard, using my own weaknesses against me like that," you growled without any real venom, already knowing your own resistance was crumbling like a sand castle before an oncoming tide. "Aren't you ashamed, resorting to such blatant and shamelessly manipulative bribery to get your way?"

Bokuto feigned innocence, widening his already owlish gaze and splaying one hand over his chest in a show of mock contrition that only served to stretch the soft fabric of his shirt obscenely tight across the sculpted contours of his pecs.

"Why, I haven't the faintest idea what you could be implying, kitten," he returned in that same sinfully lowered octave. "All I'm offering here is the pleasure of my charming company as we indulge in a little self-care and relaxation between two buddies."

You narrowed your eyes in a vain attempt at deflecting just how thoroughly your restraint was already crumbling into so much meager rubble. Bokuto simply watched you steadily, all quiet confidence and devastating charisma. The silence seemed to thicken perceptibly with each loaded second allowed to tick by, growing thicker and heavier until it practically condensed into something palpable blanketing the line between you.

"...fine. You utterly irredeemable gremlin," you growled at last, feigning outrage even as your pulse kicked up a notch. "I'll play along with this ludicrous little 'couples night' charade of yours. But only because the thought of finally indulging in that weekend away sounds far too enticing to pass up, you hear?"

Bokuto's expression positively radiated incandescent triumph, all sunny smiles and pleased self-satisfaction at having properly worked you around to his way of thinking. You aimed one final scathing glare at the screen, hating how even that token display of irritation only seemed to encourage the roguish curl quirking his full lips.

"You mark my words though, Bokuto Koutaro - I fully expect you to square things appropriately after I've endured whatever humiliating circus act you're undoubtedly orchestrating, understood?"

You were unable to resist adding a deeply sardonic note of emphasis to the final word, letting your gaze trail unrepentantly over his sculpted torso in a way you absolutely knew couldn't be mistaken for anything but overt admiration. To his credit, Bokuto didn't balk or flinch from the insinuation, simply lifting one shoulder in an artfully nonchalant half-shrug as he pitched his voice low once more.

"Don't you worry your gorgeous head over making me pay up with interest afterwards, gorgeous. As far as I'm concerned, having you on my arm for the night is reward enough in itself." He winked to punctuate that bold declaration, tongue darting out to subtly wet his lips in what had to be the most lascivious move in his repertoire.

You coughed harshly in an ill-concealed attempt at swallowing past the renewed surge of heated interest sluicing through your core just then. "Yeah, well at least I know what kinds of illicit activities will really hold your interest when it comes time to start squaring things." You eyed him with deliberate meaning until Bokuto started squirming under the weight of your gaze. "Should make for a decadently relaxing weekend afterwards for the both of us...don't you agree?"

His unrepentant bark of laughter assured you the double meaning was well and truly received, much to your immense shameless satisfaction.

"Alright, alright - you've played your trump card and mercilessly fleeced me, you ruthless little sexpot. We'll call it an evening for now, yeah?" The dimpled wink Bokuto favored you with made your toes curl pleasantly against the sheets. "I'll swing by to pick you up around 8 tomorrow night, since it's closer to your side of town. Sound good?"

"Works for me," you replied, aiming for a breezy nonchalance despite the warm buttery feeling currently turning your internal organs into the consistency of freshly-churned batter. "I'll start mentally preparing myself to bask in the full hot mess of awkward embarrassment you're no doubt going to be eagerly courting at this fated dinner party now."

Bokuto chuckled richly, the sound going straight to your already overheated hindbrain like a pavlovian trigger.

"And I'll start plotting out all the ways I can thoroughly woo you into forgetting whatever lingering reservations or inhibitions you've still got tucked away beneath those defenses of yours!" His signature double-pistols and a wink chaser were enough to elicit an indelicate snort of amusement despite yourself. "Trust me babe - after tomorrow night, you're gonna be falling head over heels for this old charmer in no time!"

It was an idle boast, you knew. Just the latest in a long string of harmless, mostly affectionate innuendo Bokuto loved to sprinkle between your long-running bouts of playful banter. But without consciously willing it, the barb still struck something soft and vulnerable in your core - setting off a series of shockwaves that left you feeling profoundly off-balance.

Fortunately, Bokuto followed up that loaded declaration with a jaw-cracking yawn and exaggerated stretch without seeming to notice your brief discomfiture. "Oof, look at me just flapping my gums away and keeping the both of us up past our bedtimes. Don't worry, I'll cut the theatrics for now and let you get some shut-eye, gorgeous."

You bit the inside of your cheek, simultaneously relieved and somehow a touch disappointed at him bowing out for the evening so abruptly. Some deep, twisted part of you had obviously desired to keep poking at that undefinable new tension building in the ether between you. To prod and see how far you could stretch those suddenly blurring lines before something inside you inevitably split apart.

"Have a good night, Bo," you finally settled on with a slow exhalation, offering him what you hoped came across as an easy smile. "Don't go suffering any 'crisis of conscience' cold feet between now and your little date night, you hear? I agreed to tag along with minimal fuss, so you'd better deliver on those promises afterwards too."

Bokuto's resounding laugh and million-watt smile were a soothing balm in the wake of your parting teasing remark. "Minimal fuss, she says - did you hear the absolute earful of protestation and stubborn refusals before I broke you down, you gorgeous hardass?"

You aimed an imperious look at him, which only seemed to egg him on into further impish delighting based on the way his eyes danced in fond reminiscence.

"But no worries, no worries my lovely! Your devoted Bokuto will definitely come through with flying colors tomorrow, guaranteed!" He leaned in close to the screen, the full-force effect of that smoldering golden stare almost palpable even from such a distance. "Sweet dreams, kitten. I'll be seeing you in the flesh again soon, and don't you worry - I'll definitely be making good on those promises of mine to thoroughly sweep you off your feet and then some."

He'd barely finished the sentence before you were ending the call with an impatient huff and a roll of your eyes. Your heart was pounding a furious tattoo against the cage of your ribs, blood singing with adrenaline and anticipation as you stared blindly up at the ceiling and tried to parse exactly what the hell you'd gotten yourself into this time.

"Fuck me," you finally managed to choke out, burying your face in your hands and releasing a muffled scream of exasperation and sheer disbelief.

It was bad enough, agreeing to go along with his wild schemes. But having the audacity to imply you would somehow emerge from this little escapade...changed? That was where the line had finally been drawn in the sand.

Still, a small, traitorous corner of your mind couldn't help but entertain the notion, wondering just what sorts of shenanigans a little dose of fresh perspective and genuine, open vulnerability might bring out in your long-time friendship with the most endearingly frustrating person in your life.

You rolled onto your side with a huff, willing the intrusive thoughts to quiet down so you could try and get a decent night's rest for the evening. Still, something small and insidious lingered, sending a shiver racing down the length of your spine and a soft sigh gusting from your lips as you closed your eyes and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

Tomorrow was bound to be a very interesting night.

The jarring crash of splintering wood and shattering glass sent you bolt upright in bed, heart pounding a staccato rhythm against your ribcage. Disoriented eyes swept the shadowed confines of your bedroom, struggling to make sense of the sudden cacophony echoing down the hall.

A dull thud and muffled cursing offered the first clues, quickly followed by the unmistakable stomping gait of oversized feet rapidly approaching. You barely had time to fully register the situation before your door exploded inward with enough force to rip it clear off its hinges.

"Up and at 'em, sleeping beauty!" Bokuto bellowed from the doorway, chest heaving beneath his snug t-shirt like he'd just run a marathon. Predictably, he didn't even pause to take in your deer-in-headlights expression before barreling straight for the bed in a flurry of limbs.

The sheer velocity of his leap carried Bokuto sailing completely over the mattress in an impressive foot-to-foot broad jump. You watched with horrified fascination as he seemed to hang suspended above you for one ludicrous, protracted moment - hair wild, eyes sparkling with unconstrained glee. Then his considerable mass reconnected with the center of your bed in an earthshaking crash, springs and frame groaning in abject protest.

The resulting shockwave instantly transformed your bedding into a veritable tsunami of linen chop. One heartbeat you were cocooned in the drowsy warmth of your comforter, blinking up at Bokuto's maniacal grin in bewildered silence. The next, you were freefalling gracelessly off the far side of the mattress as an entire continent's worth of bedding detonated across the room in a feathery maelstrom.

"Mmmffrrbphh?" Your muffled, dazed noise of confusion wafted up from the crumpled tangle of sheets you'd somehow become hopelessly ensared within. Bokuto simply cackled gleefully at the sight, utterly unbothered by the carnage he'd just wrought on your formerly peaceful sleeping sanctuary.

"C'mon, c'mon - time to rise and shine, princess!" he crowed in that boisterous drill-sergeant voice of his. "We've got a loooong day of pampering and preparing ahead of us before tonight's main event, you know!"

You finally managed to wrestle the top sheet away from where it had cinched around your head like a thick woolen gag, hair thoroughly mussed and cheeks ruddy from your impromptu bout of exertion so early in the morning.

"What in the fresh hell are you-" you broke off with a jaw-cracking yawn, scrubbing knuckles against your aching eyelids as you slowly regained your bearings. "Wait...tonight's main event?"

Bokuto snorted a laugh, folding those ridiculously long legs into a pretzel on your mangled mattress without a care in the world. "Don't tell me your brain's already forgotten all about the momentous commitment I secured from you just last night? This is zero hour for Operation Woo the...uh...wait, what was that ridiculous name I decided on again?"

You pinched the bridge of your nose to stave off the sudden migraine blooming between your temples. "Bokuto, I swear to every deity in existence - if you broke into my house at the asscrack of dawn just to enact another one of your depraved little rom-com scenarios, I'm going to strangle you with my bare hands before we even leave this bedroom."

At your venomous mumbling, Bokuto's expression morphed into an exaggerated look of wounded innocence that might have been comical...if he wasn't already beginning to paw through the giant duffel bag lying at his feet. You watched through slitted eyes as garment bags, jewelry boxes, and all manners of beauty products began spilling out in an unceremonious pile onto your exposed lap.

"What...is all this?" you grumbled, snatching up a particularly suspicious-looking lace and satin bundle with mild trepidation.

"This, my dear, is our ticket to nailing down a completely irrefutable and mouth-wateringly believable performance tonight!" Bokuto punctuated the statement with deep, dramatic flair, setting aside a glistening Louboutin heel with enviable reverence. "After our little pre-game chit chat last night, it became clear to me that simply relying on your natural goddess-like looks wouldn't be enough to properly sell us as a hot-and-heavy lovebird couple to the team."

You eyed him dubiously even as another negligee tumbled haphazardly into your lap, rich silks pooling in glossy rivulets like captured moonbeams. "Yeahhh, because dressing me up like an extra from an extremely upscale escort service promotional shoot is clearly the most discreet strategy..."

Bokuto aimed a pointed look your way, eyebrow quirking ever so slightly. "Would you just trust me for like, five whole minutes here, babe? If I'm gonna parade my ultra-sexy girlfriend around tonight, I need to ensure she's dressed to truly bring the house down, you know?"

Despite yourself, you felt a reluctant warmth beginning to bloom in your chest at the genuine eagerness radiating off him in waves. It was so endearingly, quintessentially Bokuto - leaping headlong into even the most ridiculous of situations with absolutely zero doubts or hesitation once he'd committed himself. Just the same earnest enthusiasm and unrestrained passion that had first endeared him to you as semi-feral children, and which continued fueling your bond as friends to this day.

Still, you refused to make things easy on your chaotic best friend. Heaving an overly dramatic sigh, you allowed all the lingerie to spill from your lap in a glossy avalanche before pinning him with a pointed look.

"Fine, you tireless menace," you groused with a weary shake of your head. "I suppose I have no choice but to entrust the inevitable humiliation of my self-respect to your clearly questionable tastes tonight. Just don't expect me to go silently if we get mistaken for high-end prostitutes at this stupid dinner and I snap someone's arm off in my fury..."

The blinding grin Bokuto flashed you was radiant enough to scald retinas at twenty paces. "Oh man, this night is gonna be better than I ever dreamed! Just you wait, babe - I'm gonna have all those disbelieving losers tripping over their own dicks trying to figure out how someone like me could possibly score someone as gorgeous as you." His gaze abruptly turned heated and playful, devouring you in a way that sent tingles rippling across your skin in warning. "And that's before we even break out the sexy evening wear I picked up for the real pièce de reconnaissance or whatever!"

You fought not to squirm under the molten appraisal sizzling through his eyes. How was it that Bokuto could so effortlessly elicit that restless, fluttering sensation in the pit of your stomach with nothing more than a few words and smoldering looks these days? You'd always prided yourself on not being the kind of foolish, simpering girl who got hot and bothered by a pretty face and charming tongue alone.

With an indelicate snort, you reached across the scattered refuse to thwack him sharply in the shoulder, startling a laugh from the raucous bird himself.

"Eyes off the goods there, Bo...at least until tonight's so-called 'main event' gets underway." Despite your best efforts at maintaining an appropriately chiding frown, your lips twitched dangerously in a suppressed grin. "Because if you think I'm gonna let you get away with upstaging the entire production after all this unforgivable racket you've brought to my poor morning routine..."

"Rest assured, the unassailable Queen of Ice shall be granted her day upon the throne for all to kneel and grovel before!" Bokuto declared with a flourish, puffing out his broad chest in silly pomp as he pressed one hand over the steady thrum of his heartbeat. "Why, I swear upon mine own honor as a devoted - if tragically misunderstood - leading man that tonight shall be a night of pure enchantment to remember! One that we shall..." He paused, gaze growing suddenly soft and honeyed around the edges as it swept across your features, "...one that we shall remember for all our days, my love."

You swallowed convulsively at the intensity behind those words, suddenly robbed of any pithy retort or defenses against the riptide of emotion swelling up between you in that crystalline moment. Everything seemed to recede into a kind of molten, surreal detachment as Bokuto's sculpted features impossibly blurred and sharpened into searing clarity all at once.

Then you were both inhaling sharply, the charged bubble fragmenting apart as Bokuto launched a throw pillow directly into your nose with a muffled 'whoomph'.

"But first thing's first - a morning round of Rocky Road for the soon-to-be leading lady tonight!" he crowed with deafening enthusiasm. "No way my girl's going to war looking like a molted barn owl straight off the rack, am I right?"

And just like that, the spell of palpable tension weighting the atmosphere between you dissipated into the same lighthearted ribbing and raucous antics that had defined your friendship for so long now. You huffed out an exasperated laugh at Bokuto's antics, already bunching up the skirts of your nightdress with every intention of flinging it back in his smug face.

Tonight's theatrics could wait a little longer, you supposed. For now, there was still time for one final lighthearted sparring match before the curtain rose on whatever fresh madness your human hurricane had planned.

"Come onnnn, just put it on for a quick second!" Bokuto whined from his sprawled position across your bed. "I wanna see how the full ensemble looks all put together!"

You shot him an exasperated look over your shoulder as you carefully lined your eyes in front of the vanity mirror. "For the hundredth time, Bo - no. I'm not going full glam until right before we have to actually leave."

He groaned loudly, throwing his arm over his eyes in a dramatic display. "But babe, that's like two whole hours from now! How am I supposed to bask in the vision of loveliness that is my beautiful date if you insist on keeping yourself all covered up?"

"By exercising a little thing called patience?" you fired back dryly. "Maybe lookup some techniques for it between obsessively pestering me every five minutes."

"Ugh, you're so mean to me," Bokuto pouted, peeking at you from beneath the crook of his elbow. "Withholding your breathtaking beauty behind those drab sweats...it's like torturing a man stuck in the desert without any water!"

You snorted at the melodrama, carefully applying another layer of mascara. "Keep laying it on that thick and I may have to take those designer dresses back for a refund. I don't need you staining them with all your pathetic drooling later."

"You couldn't get a refund if you tried," he shot back smugly. "I made sure to have them all permanently altered and tailored to your measurements for the full wow-factor."

You paused, makeup brush hovering as you turned to pin him with an incredulous look. "You're joking."

Bokuto simply grinned, all bravado and mischievous charm. "Does this incredibly handsome face look like it's joking right now?"

Groaning, you shook your head and went back to your makeup, muttering under your breath. "I swear, between the fancy clothes and all the custom tailoring, you must've dropped like ten grand on this whole act alone."

"Well, what can I say?" His tone took on that silky, smug quality that always made you want to smack him. "When I go all out for my gorgeous girl, I don't do anything half-assed."

You rolled your eyes so hard it was almost painful. "I'm not your girl, Bokuto. This is all an elaborate act, remember?"

His responding pout was audible. "Why do you have to go and harsh my vibe like that, babe? Can't you just let a guy get into character for one night of delicious, scintillating roleplay with his dream partner?"

"By deluding yourself into somehow making this real?" you countered, finally feeling satisfied enough with your makeup to start getting dressed. "I think the only delusion happening here is in that perpetually thirsty mind of yours, pal."

"Mmm, you know just what to say to get a fella all riled up," Bokuto rumbled, the bed creaking as he shifted around behind you. "Promise me one thing - you gotta let me see the full shebang at least thirty minutes before we have to be out that door. Give a guy a little time to pick his jaw up off the floor and reassemble his composure..."

You bit your lip against a grin as you shimmied out of your sweatpants, very aware of the weight of his eyes tracking your movements now. "We'll see how convincing you are at playing the part later. For now, just sit tight and try to control yourself until I put the whole look together, okay?"

His wounded groan made you chuckle softly to yourself. Slipping into your robe, you turned to catch Bokuto propped up on one elbow, eyes already gleaming with familiar exaggerated pleading.

"You're lucky I already vowed to be on my best behavior tonight," he muttered, gaze roaming frankly over your silk-wrapped frame. "Otherwise I might've had to take drastic measures to see that beautiful body out in the open well before our scheduled curtain call..."

You threw a decorative pillow at his face without hesitation, fighting a losing battle against your smile. "Down boy! Save all that simmering tension for when the cameras are rolling - I'm pretty sure your idiot teammates will smell even a whiff of real steam and instantly know I'm not your actual love interest."

"Oh ye of little faith," Bokuto tsked with a wink. "By the time I work my irresistible magic on you tonight, those clueless dingbats won't know whether I'm just an incredibly committed method actor or if they've actually glimpsed the face of true love incarnate. You'll see..."

The sheer overconfidence in his tone was enough to set you laughing all over again as you grabbed your dress ensemble and headed for the bathroom to change. "Keep telling yourself that, Casanova. I'm still holding you personally responsible when this all inevitably blows up in our faces!"

His responding whoop of protest was drowned out by the click of the door shutting between you. Surrounded by the quiet of your bathroom, you allowed yourself a small moment just to take a few centering breaths, garment bags pooling at your feet.

Despite all the teasing back-and-forth... despite your very rational, very loud internal voice screaming about how insane this entire farce was...you couldn't quite ignore the steadily growing bubble of warmth and giddy excitement slowly inflating in your chest.

Bokuto's particular brand of irreverent, untempered enthusiasm had always been nothing short of infectious to you. And after the sheer excess of thought and funds he'd poured into making tonight as lavish and extravagant as possible for your benefit?

Well, you supposed you could find it in yourself to get a little overinvested in selling the real-life romantic fantasy too. At least for one night of shameless indulgence between you and your best friend.

With that firmly in mind, you finally allowed the dress bags to slip open and spill their contents across your waiting arms.

"You've got to be kidding me..." The hushed utterance barely contained the appropriate degree of reverent awe as Bokuto took you in from across the room. "I mean, I knew you were gonna be a knockout when I saw the full look in person. But holy smokes, babe...you're on an entirely different level from anyone else on this whole damn planet!"

You felt your cheeks heat despite yourself at the sincere appreciation brimming in his voice. Studiously avoiding his molten gaze, you twisted to examine your reflection more critically in the floor-length mirror.

The oxblood evening gown skimmed over your curves in an elegant swath of liquid silk that shimmered and flowed like a living entity with each minute shift. The neckline plunged just enough to tease without being outright salacious while the daring thigh-high slit allowed tantalizing glimpses of skin to wink at admirers as you moved. Overall, the deep crimson shade provided an aesthetically striking contrast against your complexion, practically smoldering in an effortless display of confidence and refined beauty.

"It is a pretty swoon-worthy look, I'll give you that much," you allowed with a small smile as you tried to slip into the towering rhinestone-studded heels to complete the overall effect.

You could feel the weight of Bokuto's gaze like a physical brand everywhere it raked across your body. An indecent part of you thrilled at the rapt, appreciative way he seemed to drink in every exposed inch of skin - unconsciously leaning forward like a man entranced.

"Forget swoon-worthy," he husked after a protracted beat, voice dropping an entire octave deeper in a way that zipped electric tingles down your spine. "That look is straight up...no, wait. This requires more creative adjectives than my poor tongue can properly supply justice to in the moment."

With that vague declaration, Bokuto simply launched himself off the bed and pad-thumped his way over to you in a few loping strides. You opened your mouth to offer some sardonic rebuttal, only to choke on your words entirely as he effortlessly sank to one knee at your feet, broad shoulders level with your waistline.

Smoldering galaxies of molten amber stared up at you from beneath a messy fringe of slate and silver, flickering with a tantalizing heat that made your mouth go abruptly dry.

"What...are you doing?" The question rasped out weakly, all the smooth bravado sapped from your tone.

Bokuto didn't answer verbally - he simply reached out and ever-so-gently clasped your ankle, thumb settling into the hollow just below with exquisite tenderness as his gaze continued searing a path up the length of your body. By the time your eyes reconnected, there was an electric charge crackling in the humid air between you, whipping every molecule of oxygen into a volatile brew.

"Let me, please," he finally breathed, the entreaty so hushed and heavy it landed squarely in your core like a physical blow. "Just...just let me have this one moment to drink you in before I have to share this unreal vision with the rest of the world, okay?"

Your tongue felt thick and clumsy against your palate when you tried to formulate a response. Heat blossomed across the bridge of your nose and high planes of your cheekbones as those long, deft fingers performed exquisite tortures along the sensitive regions of your ankles and calves. Bokuto's smoldering stare remained trained on yours all the while, glittering through his lashes like shards of black ice and molten gold swirled together in a cosmic tempest...

"Uh...y-yeah. Yes, okay..." You finally tore your gaze away with concentrated effort, fighting the sudden tightness coiling in your belly at the naked adoration splashed across your best friend's features. "Just...don't go getting too many wild ideas about taking this role-playing thing past its acceptable limits."

Bokuto's responding chuckle was a low, throaty rumble that seemed vibrate against the bare skin of your legs in a most precarious way. "Rest assured, my love...what's happening between us in this moment is no mere act or play for show."

Your head whipped around so fast your upswept hair bounced and thrashed with the force. Bokuto's angular features had been wiped carefully blank into an expressionless mask, though his eyes still simmered with a naked heat that bordered on reverence.

Before you could recover enough to properly call him on the seemingly innocent comment loaded with ambiguity, he drew in a long, shuddering inhale through his nose. Squeezed your calf just firm enough to betray the intensity of the moment weighing upon him.

Then, seeming to shake off the unsettling weight of his own mood, he aimed that signature boyish grin up at you and bounced agilely back to his feet with new lightness.

"But enough seriousness for the time being, am I right?" His eyes crinkled at the corners with sincere mirth. "Tonight's meant to be a celebration for us both - one that I intend to kick off with an absolute bang once we hit the streets and show off this impossible union for all the world to behold!"

Despite the lingering maelstrom of emotions still settling over you like an intangible haze, you couldn't quite stifle the breathless giggle that bubbled up in response to his renewed exuberance. Unable to resist one final joshing remark.

"So what you're saying is, this is officially the moment where my descent into unwitting arm candy status goes completely off the rails?" you teased lightly. "I should savor these last shreds of dignity before you strip them away entirely with your usual hurricane of chaos, right?"

Bokuto's responding cackle of delight was deep and infectious, swiftly dragging you fully free of the heated thrall you'd both temporarily spun into just moments ago. He swept a low, gallant bow worthy of Shakespearean theater, extending one arm in an exaggerated beckoning flourish towards the door.

"My dear lady, would that I could promise your pride and reserve will remain fully intact throughout our festivities!" He deepened his voice into a ridiculously affected baritone dripping with mock gravitas. "But I fear yours truly must admit to harboring...ulterior motives for tonight's escapades that may strip you bare of all remaining propriety and discretion by the final curtain!"

You were already giggling helplessly at his theatrics, one hand pressed over your abdomen as peals of laughter tumbled freely forth. Bokuto took the opportunity to stride forward and link your free arm through the crook of his elbow, guiding you with exaggerated courtliness towards the door and whatever jubilant mayhem beyond awaited your arrival.

"C'mon, milady," he murmured against your temple, the graveled tenor of his voice sending shivers coursing across your skin. "Let's blow the roof off this joint, just the two of us taking the world by storm. What d'ya say?"

Your answering grin, wide and radiant with all the boundless eagerness of pure, unfettered joy, was all the response either of you needed. Tonight was yours for the taking, for better or worse.

And as your fingertips burrowed into the solid expanse of muscle cording Bokuto's bicep more snugly, winding him just a smidge tighter against your side...you found yourself struck by the sudden, heady certainty that neither of you had any intention of doing this night by halves.

The sleek car idled curbside, tinted privacy windows shielding you from the curious glances of passersby as you leaned towards the mirror. Dabbing one final layer of glossy crimson across your lips, you pursed them experimentally before nodding in satisfaction.

"Okay, I think that's as good as it's gonna get," you announced, snapping your compact closed with a definitive click. "Unless you want me adding another coat of…"

Your teasing words trailed off as you finally glanced over at Bokuto...only to find him openly staring at you with an expression of such open, naked wonderment that your breath caught in your throat.

He was leaned back into the plush leather seat, one forearm looped casually across the empty space as he watched you with rapt, childlike adoration crinkling the corners of those expressive eyes. There was no heat or suggestion in his features, just an almost painfully earnest awe that reminded you so viscerally of the way he used to idolize you as snotty, scrappy children playing in the park across from your building.

For one suspended heartbeat, Bokuto looked less like the wildly successful pro athlete about to put on a staged performance for his team...and more like that wiry, silver-haired whirlwind of endless enthusiasm and boundless adoration that he had been all those years ago.

"Hello? Earth to Kou?" you prodded after clearing your throat roughly. "You still with me over there or did I accidentally hypnotize you into some sort of trance with my goddess-like glow?"

Bokuto blinked rapidly, the moment shattering apart like delicate spun-glass at the wry prompting of your voice. He shook his head sharply, silken strands of silver and black dancing across his brow as his expression cycled through a dizzying range of micro-emotions before settling on sheepish chagrin.

"Sorry, sorry!" One calloused palm rasped across the chiseled cut of his jawline, thumb smoothing over the plush swell of his lips. The small, compulsive adjustment only served to draw your gaze helplessly down to drink in the soft give of that lush mouth yet again before snapping your attention back up. "I didn't mean to get all weird and spacey on you like that. You just..."

He paused, adam's apple bobbing convulsively as he visibly struggled to collect his thoughts into some semblance of coherency. You arched one brow expectantly, tamping down on the sudden fluttering unease blossoming beneath your breastbone.

"I just what, Koutaro?" Aiming for casual nonchalance was more of a struggle than anticipated with the heated weight of his smoldering appraisal prickling along your sensitized skin once more.

"You just...look really, really pretty tonight." Bokuto bit down on that full lower lip briefly, as if physically shackling the rest of whatever thought wanted to tumble forth next. His lashes dipped for a single slow blink before those liquid mercury eyes refocused on yours with renewed intensity. "Like, inhumanly gorgeous to the point that I genuinely worried for a split second about bursting into flames levels of pretty."

Your mouth curved into an amused moue despite your best efforts at preserving neutrality. Leave it to Bokuto to somehow ricochet between flustered sincerity and casual wisecracking with such effortless smoothness.

"Thanks, I think?" You aimed for a playful roll of your eyes, though the heat blooming across the bridge of your nose hinted at the lingering effects of his unvarnished compliment. "Glad to know my efforts at achieving 'ethereal siren' levels of beauty paid off enough to stun even a chaos prodigy like you into temporary speechlessness."

Bokuto huffed out a quiet chuckle, shoulders relaxing incrementally back into that sinuous sprawl against the seat. "It's not an act or exaggerated flattery, babe. You really do take my breath away looking like...well, like anything."

Another long, weighted pause as his eyes roved over the elegant lines of your body hungrily - a physical caress you felt all the way down to your core.

"Makes it a lot easier to sell the whole 'deliriously smitten leading man' act I've gotta put on tonight, that's for damn sure."

You hummed noncommittally, fingers toying with the ornate pendant nestled between your breasts as a welcome distraction from the steadily spiraling tension in the air between you both. Eventually you found enough equilibrium to shake off the tangible charge and pivot towards a more practical line of questioning.

"Speaking of selling this act..." You cast a sidelong glance at Bokuto, noting the way his posture imperceptibly tightened like a coiled strand of tensile steel cable. "We should probably get our story straight on a few key details before waltzing into the lion's den, don't you think?"

Bokuto regarded you steadily for a heartbeat before seeming to cotton to your pragmatic line of thought. He rapped the knuckle of his index finger lightly against his temple twice, inclining his head in a silent request for you to continue unpacking those thoughts.

"Well obviously your boneheaded teammates aren't going to resist the urge to start grilling us over the standard dating trivia the moment we make our entrance." You ticked off on your fingers as you continued. "Things like how we met up initially after losing touch for so long. Who finally caved and shot their shot to kickstart the romance between us. How long we've been keeping our relationship under wraps and why. That kind of gritty, embarrassingly intimate stuff that idiotic meatheads always zero right in on when they think they've sniffed out a chance for invasive gossip, y'know?"

You paused to regard Bokuto expectantly, only to find his expression had rapidly collapsed from genuine interest into a veritable deer-in-headlights mask of panic. His eyes had blown wide enough to dominate the entirety of his features, knuckles whitening around the plush grip of the door handle beside him.

"Oh fuuuuuuuuuuck..." The grated moan dragged itself past his suddenly bloodless lips like the pained death rattle of a newly birthed black hole swallowing him whole. "I didn't...oh my god, I'm such a colossal idiot! How did I not even stop to think about basic background and story logistics like that before charging in ass-first?"

Well, that certainly wasn't the response you had anticipated from your customarily unflappable partner in chaos. You stared at Bokuto in mounting disbelief as he visibly descended into a whirlwind shame spiral before your very eyes.

"Shit, no - this whole thing is going to unravel into a total trainwreck before we even make it through the door now!" His voice steadily escalated towards hysterical yodeling, free hand tugging mercilessly at platinum streaked strands. "Those vultures are going to sniff out the first hint of discrepancy in our cover story and proceed to rip me a massively gaping asshole sideways for the next decade at minimum! Oh god, why didn't I have you help me hammer out some plausible backstory details ahead of time? Why am I such an inconsistent, scatterbrained himbo with the planning skills of a lobotomized lemur at all times?!"

At that, you could no longer bite back the peals of laughter bubbling up from your chest. Bokuto froze mid-tirade to goggle at you, clearly shellshocked by the mirth rippling across his companion. Wiping away the first few tears pearling at the corners of your eyes, you finally managed to draw a full breath and calm yourself enough to speak clearly once more.

"Honestly, I don't know why I expected anything less from you in a crisis situation like this," you chuckled with a bemused shake of your head. "You'd have ended up spontaneously combusting from all the convoluted storytelling lies you tried weaving by yourself guaranteed."

Bokuto opened his mouth, no doubt to defend his honor, when you smoothly reached out and grasped him by both whiskered cheeks. His plush lips puckered adorably in your squishing hold, eyes going owlishly perplexed as the scathing commentary seemed to momentarily die on his tongue.

"You daft, ridiculous man-owl," you crooned fondly, drinking in the boyish features you knew better than your own reflection at this point. "Why else did you think I bothered bringing up hammering out backstory logistics in the first place, hm? Did you really think I'd allow us to blunder into this big scene without having some plausible fallback cover story all teed up on my end?"

Realization dawned in Bokuto's widening gaze even as you allowed your grip on his cheeks to relax fractionally, smoothing those plumped swell of his lips out beneath your touch.

"That's right, my adorably fretful barnowl," you practically purred, unable to resist skimming the calloused pad of your thumb across that lush mouth in a tantalizing graze. "Your ever vigilant partner in crime has us fully covered here too. Just leave the talking to me this time around, yeah?"

You punctuated the reassurance with a conspiratorial wink that had Bokuto's posture relaxing back into the decadent sprawl he seemed to favor instinctively. There was an evenness and unhurried certainty creeping back into his bearing as well - the sort of quietly determined and centered confidence that had underscored even the wildest, most over-the-top productions you two had dreamed up back in your teen heydays.

"As per usual then?" he husked finally, tongue darting out to wet those lips you'd just caressed in an unconsciously sensual motion that caused every fiber of your being to suddenly throb with heated awareness. His features had cycled back through that delicious transformation from hangdog uncertainty to assured incandescence before your very eyes - the alpha-owl persona you knew and adored so unreservedly slotting smoothly back into the driver's seat once more. "You hold the reins while I'm left to follow your indomitable lead into whatever madness awaits, gorgeous? Just the pair of eternal partners kicking up fresh chaos in harmony as we've done since we were kids?"

You echoed his slow, delicious grin with one of your own - equally indulgent yet underscored by that same current of feral, unignorable heat simmering between you. This was familiar territory, comforting in its inherent unpredictability...yet charged with undeniable electricity neither of you had ever dared name or fully give voice to up until now.

"Something like that," you husked back, voice already taking on a husky, heady alto you barely recognized as belonging to your own throat. "So what do you say, oh esteemed leading man?"

You didn't wait for his breathless nod of acquiescence before surging forward in that same, emboldened motion. The hand already cupping the stubbled definition of Bokuto's jaw slid upwards to frame his enviably sharp cheekbones, thumb grazing the razor-cut hollow just beneath with smoldering intent. Your lips hovered a sliver's breadth from searing themselves against the corner of his own in a filthy brand - close enough to share each scorching exhalation in one heated tangle.

"Shall we go remind that ingrate squad of judgmental jackals just what kind of unrestrained havoc a force of nature like us is capable of conjuring?" you practically growled, holding his blown-wide stare captive even as the energy crackling between your mingling breaths thickened to intoxicating degrees. "And give them all a little...private show we know they've been utterly dying to catch a tantalizing glimpse of behind closed doors for months now?"

A heartbeat ticked by with agonizing slowness as Bokuto simply stared at you slack-jawed, throat clicking in a convulsive swallow. One, two shuddering blinks later, and his jaw clenched with resolve as a guttural rumble tore itself loose from his chest.

"On your lead, partner...let's give these chucklehead civilians the night of their goddamn lives."

His wolfish smile, pure smoldering sin and white-hot charisma, was your only warning before he surged across the scant space separating you. You inhaled sharply at the sudden weight of his mouth blazing a trail of liquid fire along your jaw and throat - lush and seeking in a way that nearly had you whiting out from the searing onslaught of sensation.

No, there would be no holding back this time. No restraints or filters imposed as you two utterly annihilated every last barrier in your path. Not tonight.

Tonight was for raw, visceral consumption in its most primal sense. And you were both starving.

The low hum of conversation and soft music greeted you as the maître d' ushered you through the elegant double doors into the main dining room. Bokuto's broad palm pressed reassuringly against the small of your back, guiding you forward with an effortless confidence that paradoxically helped settle your nerves.

Despite all the risqué teasing and charged tension in the car, there was still something incredibly grounding about his solid presence at your side as you took in the opulent surroundings. This was your oldest friend in the world after all - the one person you'd always been able to rely on through every wild antic and scheme, no matter how outlandish.

"There they are," he murmured against your temple, the rumbling timbre of his voice stirring tingles across your skin. You followed his subtle nod towards a partially secluded booth near the back where three figures sat sprawled amid the tasteful low lighting.

Even from this distance, it was impossible to miss the unmistakable crown of fiery red locks belonging to Hinata Shoyo. He was turned in profile, but the animated way his hands gestured as he spoke marked him like a human exclamation point amid the group.

At his side sat the impressive bulk and perpetual furrow of Sakusa Kiyoomi, arms folded across his broad chest as he watched Hinata with ill-disguised bemusement. And lounging opposite them both with an ease borne from sheer confidence and charisma...

"Well I'll be damned," Atsumu Miya drawled as he caught sight of you both across the dining room. "The mighty Kou-kun actually did manage to snag himself a real life girlfriend after all this time!"

You felt Bokuto tense fractionally at your side, thumb rubbing an absent circle against the exposed skin of your back before he huffed out a soft snort. When he spoke, though, his tone was light and warm in a way that made your heart swell unexpectedly.

"Don't look so surprised there, Tsumu," he chuckled, guiding you both closer to the booth until you stood directly beside the table. A disarming grin split his handsome features, radiating the sort of sunny charm that made your breath catch each time unexpectedly. "Were you really doubting my unbeatable charm for so long, buddy? That's just cold."

Atsumu was quick to return the teasing jibe, leaning back with a dramatic roll of his eyes and smirk curling one side of his mouth. "Well can ya really blame a guy for keepin' his expectations low when it comes to your romantic prowess, Kou-kun? Yer not exactly batting a thousand when it comes to putting the moves on people, if ya know what I mean."

Despite yourself, you couldn't help the small laugh that bubbled free at the exaggerated tete-a-tete clearly being indulged between old friends and teammates. Hinata was quick to pick up on the shift, immediately swiveling in his seat to face you both with sparkling interest.

"Whoa, Atsumu! Is this the girlfriend Bokuto was telling u-" His warm brown eyes raked over you assessingly before widening in clear awestruck surprise. "Oh my gosh, you're-! I mean, I didn't realize you and Bokuto-san were actually, you know, dating and everything!"

You arched a single brow at that in silent query, though inside you felt a small swell of flattery blooming unexpectedly. It seemed Bokuto was quite the notorious gossip to his teammates when it came to the epic saga of your relationship, regardless of how frequently skewed facts were indulged upon.

To his credit, Bokuto looked the very picture of perfectly charmed embarrassment when he ducked his head, shooting you a sheepish sidelong look from beneath tousled silvery lashes. The tips of his ears had begun to redden ever so slightly in a rather endearingly boyish tell, one you'd seen countless times over the years.

"Well, I'll admit I may have waxed a bit poetic in singing my partner's endless virtues over the years," he murmured, carefully avoiding your teasing scrutiny as he addressed the others. You didn't miss the almost imperceptible tightening of his palm against your lower back at the gentle ribbing, though - nor the way it somehow managed to steady and center you despite the fleeting rush of nerves spiking through your system.

"But in my defense, how could any mere mortal hope to properly capture the full essence of such an ethereal, untouchable vision in mere words alone, gentlemen?" The crooked grin Bokuto flashed next set your pulse to skittering in a dangerous pattern, every fiber of attention narrowing to the way his thumb resumed those absent caresses against your spine. "Isn't that right, my radiant guiding star?"

You huffed out a soft breath at the unexpected endearment, equal parts charmed and exasperated despite yourself. Of course he would be utterly incorrigible about playing the devoted, overly effusive paramour to the hilt already.

"First of all, you don't get to melt me into a puddle with all your overwrought poetry that easily, Casanova," you fired back in a mild tone, though you made no move to step away from his side or dislodge the hand pressed so tenderly to the curve of your waist. "I happen to distinctly recall swearing off letting you ruin my makeup before we even got properly seated tonight."

Atsumu's bark of delighted laughter cut through the charged moment, startling you out of the impromptu staring contest you'd found yourself locked in with Bokuto's heated gaze. The blonde setter leaned forward eagerly, elbows resting atop the pristine linens as he grinned between you in open amusement.

"Aw damn, I like her already!" he chuckled, grey eyes sparkling with impish mischief. "Anyone who can verbally run circles 'round ol' Kou-kun that smoothly while still lettin' him slobber all over them with that ol' Casanova charm routine is a total winner in my book."

The tips of your ears warmed at the transparent, if playful, insinuation behind his words...though you couldn't quite hide the pleased tilt your lips took in response either. It seemed Bokuto's teammates were already wholeheartedly adopting you as part of their eccentric inner circle, and your confidence was quickly being bolstered by the unexpected warmth and levity being fostered around the table.

"She really is a regular gem though, isn't she?" Hinata chimed in brightly when the laughter tapered off. He leaned across Sakusa's impressive bulk with earnest eyes locked on you, one small hand extended in greeting. "We haven't gotten the chance to be properly acquainted yet, but Bokuto never stops talking about you! I'm Hinata Shoyo - it's so awesome to finally meet you in person!"

You clasped the proffered hand in a firm shake, unable to resist the infectious sincerity radiating off the diminutive redhead in waves. "It's wonderful to meet you as well, Hinata. Though I have to admit, I already feel like I know each of you gentlemen rather intimately after all the tales and boasting Bokuto has subjected me to over the years."

At that, you slid him a sly sidelong glance, lips curving into a soft teasing smile that seemed to stop Bokuto's breath in his throat - if the almost imperceptible tightening of his grip against you was any indication. "I'm afraid he truly has exceeded every acceptable boundary when it comes to gushing about his friends in excruciating detail."

To his credit, Bokuto didn't balk or try to deflect the gentle jab, simply basking in your approving look with open affection crinkling the corners of his eyes and mouth. Hinata straightened up with an impish grin, clearly picking up on the unspoken dynamic playing out so intimately between you.

"Well hey, if he runs his mouth off constantly singing your praises, I think that just means we were all secretly kind of hoping you two lovebirds would finally make things official eventually, right?" Another disarmingly sunny beam flashed in your direction, setting your pulse to tripping in earnest now. The implicit familiarity and warmth with which Hinata already folded you into their motley little group was both blindsiding and intensely heartwarming in equal measure. "I mean, Bokuto-san’s been carrying a crazy obvious torch for you since forever ago, from the way he never shut up about you!"

A flush crept up Bokuto's neck at that perfectly innocent disclosure, mouth twitching in a suppressed grimace of embarrassment. You couldn't resist darting a sly, utterly unsubtle look of silent query in his direction. He purposefully avoided your searching gaze, shoulders hunching almost imperceptibly as if preparing for the worst.

Just like that, the teasing banter around the table shifted from playful jocularity to something infinitely more loaded - weighted with an undeniable new gravity that had Atsumu and Hinata's grins faltering slightly. Even Sakusa's formidable mask of indifference slipped fractionally, one elegant brow lifting beneath the fall of inky curls obscuring his pale visage.

A thick, rapidly solidifying quiet descended over the group before you finally managed to rally, forcing a breezy chuckle from somewhere deep in your chest. The sound seemed to shatter the moment's strange tension back into something altogether warmer and more recognizable to you all.

"Well then, I apologize in advance for disappointing the lot of you on that particular front," you offered with an easy smile aimed first at Hinata, then around the table. You capped the quip off by leaning your weight subtly into Bokuto's solid frame, earning a sharp intake of breath from your partner as his stare locked onto yours again. "But I can promise the long, arduous waits and unspoken pining ends tonight for our dear Bokuto. We're both far too emotionally evolved and secure in our commitment to keep dancing around the obvious any longer, isn't that right darling?"

The endearment dripped off your tongue with smooth, sugared sincerity despite the open wink you aimed Bokuto's way. To his immense credit though, he rallied admirably - entire demeanor shifting back towards his usual unflappable swagger and roguish charm as he slid an arm securely around your waist.

"You heard the woman, boys. No more need to keep up this weary facade of us being anything other than the deliriously smitten item we truly are," he rumbled, lips curving into that lopsided smirk that did utterly unreasonable things to your pulse point. He dipped his head fractionally until you could feel the silken caress of his hair whispering against your cheek, mouth a scant breath from your own as he murmured softly. "Isn't that right...my heavenly flame?"

You held his heated stare levelly, throat clicking in a steadying swallow before arching one brow in silent invitation. An inviting curve graced your lips at the brief flicker of something ferociously intent that flared across Bokuto's expression before he turned his focus back on the others with a disarmingly sunny grin.

The comfortable cadences of conversation resumed around you in that moment, though you remained hyper-aware of the solid weight of Bokuto's palm spanning your hip. Of the occasional gusts of his warm breath stirring gossamer tendrils against your cheek and throat each time he leaned in to punctuate a story or witty retort to the ongoing banter.

Just as you had predicted, you realized with a sense of burgeoning satisfaction. The two of you seemed to have thoroughly and irrevocably secured your roles in this little dramatic facade.

Though judging by Bokuto's occasional sidelong glances and poorly concealed looks of open adoration directed your way when he thought you weren't paying careful attention...you got the distinct impression your partner in chaos was no longer playing merely for show.

Not when the tender sweep of his thumb against your wrist had taken on an unconsciously sensual caress you felt reverberating straight to your core.

Or when his luminous gaze threatened to strip you bare to your deepest foundations in unguarded moments whenever your eyes inevitably found themselves locking and holding with electric intensity once more...

No, there was no doubt about it. Despite your carefully laid plans and meticulous choreography preparing you for this very evening, Bokuto Kotaro was officially steering this emotional upheaval somewhere entirely unscripted and irrevocable.

And you couldn't quite decide whether you were utterly elated or terribly apprehensive at the thrilling prospect of seeing precisely where the detour he was plotting might take you both next.

The soft murmur of conversation and clinking silverware filled the air, punctuated by Atsumu's occasional bawdy joke or Hinata's bright peals of laughter. You fielded their friendly interrogation about how you and Bokuto first started dating with well-practiced ease - embellishing backstories and twisting innocent anecdotes just enough to maintain plausible deniability.

"So lemme get this straight," Atsumu leaned back, eyeing you both with an appraising look. "You two crazy kids knew each other all the way until high school, but never actually got your acts together until running into one another again randomly a few years later?"

You nodded, feeling Bokuto's thigh press solidly against yours beneath the table. "That's right. All those years of unresolved tension and lingering feelings finally just...combusted one night when we reconnected over drinks."

A roguish grin split Atsumu's features as he wiggled his brows suggestively. "I'll bet. Dontcha just hate it when all that pent up unresolved sexual tension hits ya like a sledgehammer to the nuts and you can't do anything but rip each other's clothes off for a—?"

"Atsumu!" Hinata cried, looking scandalized as he swatted his teammate's arm. You stifled a laugh as Bokuto shifted uncomfortably, a hint of pink tingeing those defined cheekbones.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Sakusa's usual impassive mask slipping slightly, mouth twitching as if resisting the urge to sneer outright at the vulgar banter. Those dark, piercing eyes found yours across the table and held them in a quietly scrutinizing stare. You met his silent appraisal head on, features schooled into neutrality.

Under the table, Bokuto's hand found yours, fingers threading together and squeezing tightly. You slanted him a look of silent understanding, trapping his other hand against your thigh in a reciprocal gesture of reassurance. The slight tremor you felt betrayed his nerves at being placed under such unyielding scrutiny, but he squeezed back fiercely all the same.

"Well, if Kou-kun is even half as good at deliverin' the goods behind closed doors as he is at performin' on the court, I'm sure things got nice and wild for you crazy lovebirds that night," Atsumu continued breezily, utterly uncaring of the atmosphere's shift towards tension.

To your surprise, you felt Bokuto tense sharply beside you, fingers tightening around yours in an anxious grip. Bewildered, you watched as that bright, sunny confidence seemed to bleed from his expression in real time - golden eyes going dim and shoulders slumping infinitesimally.

And just like that, you recognized the warning signs solidifying into place with a lurch of your stomach. Emo-mode, the bane of your existence.

You opened your mouth, about to cut in with some smooth deflection before matters could escalate any further. But you were beaten to the punch by a small, derisive scoff from Sakusa's side of the table.

"As if someone as emotionally stunted as Bokuto could ever hope to satisfy a real woman properly," he drawled, dark eyes glittering with unveiled disdain. "He's clearly still just an overgrown, emotionally-incontinent child playing make-believe at being a mature, capable adult."

The table fell into a shocked hush, charged and bristling in the wake of Sakusa's blunt dismissal. You could practically see the shutters slamming down behind Bokuto's eyes, mouth tightening into a flat line as every vestige of lightness drained from his demeanor.

"Oh come on, Omi-kun! That's a bit harsh, don't you thin-" Hinata began placatingly, only to halt when you waved a dismissive hand in his direction.

"Save your breath, Sho," you said easily, not even sparing Sakusa a glance as you shifted closer to Bokuto's side. "If Omi-kun wants to project his own intimacy issues all over the place, I say we just let him get it off his chest."

Bokuto stiffened slightly beside you, so you threw an arm around his broad shoulders and leaned fully into his personal space. With your free hand, you trailed your fingertips along the sculpted line of his pec through the thin fabric of his shirt, feeling the firm muscle jump beneath your teasing caress.

"Although..." You drawled, letting your nails rake lightly over his chest now. "If the brooding man is really that curious about Kou's prowess behind closed doors, I'm more than happy to give a full review right here and now."

You punctuated the loaded statement by slanting a boldly challenging look at Sakusa, lips curving into a smirk at the way his perpetual frown deepened ever so slightly in response to your brazen flirting.

"Let's just say that despite how childish this one can act around you sad sacks," you continued blithely, giving Bokuto's pec an indulgent squeeze that had his breath hitching audibly. "He's anything but immature when we're tangled up together in private."

The tips of Atsumu's ears went cherry red, jaw dropping open in a small 'o' of shock. Hinata looked equally aghast, hands flying up to cover his flaming cheeks as an embarrassed giggle slipped free. But Sakusa...Sakusa was the real prize, straightening in his seat and openly staring at you both now with what could only be grudging interest glinting in those obsidian eyes.

Feeling emboldened by his apparent investment in the conversation's tawdry turn, you slid your palm up to cup the solid weight of Bokuto's bicep, giving an appreciative squeeze that had the thick cords of muscle jumping beneath your fingers.

"Am I right or am I right, big guy?" You aimed the husky endearment directly at Bokuto, enjoying the way his complexion immediately took on a ruddy hue high across those razor-sharp cheekbones.

He blinked a few times, seeming to shake off his stupor with visible effort before settling you with a playful, smoldering look that went straight to your core in a dizzying rush of heat.

"Well, you know how I always strive for excellence in everything, babe," he rumbled, lips quirking into that lopsided grin that showed off his sharp canines. He dropped his voice another sin-cured register, gaze burning into yours from beneath his lashes as he continued. "Wouldn't wanna half-ass anything and disappoint a passionate woman like yourself, now would I?"

The promise behind that bedroom rasp was utterly unmistakable. You felt a shiver tingle deliciously down your spine at the overt suggestion, pupils blowing wide as you drank in the sight of your usually boisterous partner positively oozing rugged masculinity in that moment.

Somewhere between your parted thighs, you became aware of a telltale throb of heated interest making itself known. You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to squirm as prickles of arousal ghosted beneath your skin in delirious waves.

"Mmm, well I certainly can't argue with the results," you managed after a moment, pitching your tone into one of artfully feigned indifference despite the molten lava simmering in your veins now.

You slid one palm higher, knuckles grazing Bokuto's stubbled jaw in a searing caress as you held his blazing stare steadily.

"Pretty sure I've never once had cause to be anything less than...fully satiated and left quivering in the aftermath of your efforts, lover."

The blunt insinuation hung heavy in the air, dripping with unsubtle promise. Bokuto looked like he was two seconds away from spontaneously combusting right there at the table - eyes blown wide, chest heaving beneath the thin fabric of his shirt as his Adam's apple bobbed convulsively.

You simply arched one brow at his stunned expression, finally leaning back in your seat with a picture of nonchalant composure. As if you hadn't just been openly insinuating about the devastating prowess of his lovemaking mere moments ago.

Atsumu coughed roughly into his fist, still looking faintly scandalized. Hinata just kept darting bewildered glances between the pair of you, seemingly at a total loss. But Sakusa...

Sakusa regarded you with those impenetrable dark eyes for a long moment, carefully schooling his features into an inscrutable mask once more. Then the barest hint of a smirk quirked the corner of his mouth as he inclined his head a few fractional degrees.

"I'll give you this much - that whole overtly crass flirting act you've got going on takes a surprising amount of gall I didn't think you'd have in you," he remarked in that low, disaffected drawl of his. His smirk deepened by a few molars as he fixed Bokuto with a pointed look. "Though I suppose keeping up with this rambunctious headcase on a daily basis would require a significant lack of shame from anyone."

The backhanded compliment hung there, loaded with unspoken implication. You simply hummed softly in response, offering Sakusa a serene smile as you toyed with the stem of your wineglass.

"Why thank you kindly, Omi-kun. I'll take that as basically the closest thing to a glowing character endorsement I'm likely to get out of you for the foreseeable future." You tipped your glass at him in a small, mocking toast. "I do so appreciate the subtle acknowledgment of my brazen nature as being a core component of what snared such a virile, unapologetic peacock like my dear Kou in the end."

Sakusa snorted indelicately at the oblique dig, but let the matter slide in that same graceful display of aloof detachment he excelled at. Just like that, the brief undercurrent of simmering tension evaporated back into the comfortable warmth and easy banter you'd been immersed in all evening.

Hinata must have picked up on the new lightness settling back over the table, because he immediately turned to you both with a toothy grin and gleam of curiosity dancing in his warm brown eyes.

"So what was it that made you finally realize you were in love with each other?" he asked brightly, pushing his plate aside to lean across the table eagerly. "I mean, you said you two knew each other forever growing up, but was there like...a singular moment or event where you both had that huge 'oh crap, I'm head over heels for this person' epiphany?"

You felt Bokuto tense almost imperceptibly at your side, shoulders squaring beneath the weight of Hinata's innocent questioning. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched his features rapidly cycle through a range of micro-expressions - surprise, nervousness, that telltale hint of panic that always preceded his infamous Emo Mode onsets...

Quick as a flash, you reached beneath the table and tangled your fingers through his, giving a gentle squeeze of reassurance. Already, you were racking your brain for some plausible, romantic anecdote to spin Hinata's way and defuse the tension before—

"Yeah buddy, there sure was!"

Bokuto's voice rang out, clear and strong and utterly devoid of uncertainty as he squeezed your hand in return. You froze, scarcely daring to breathe as you watched his face utterly transform - melting from apprehension into that achingly earnest warmth and sincerity he always managed to project as clear as the summer sky.

"Sure, we knew each other practically our whole lives before then," Bokuto continued easily, locking eyes with you as a small, impossibly tender smile bloomed across his face. "But I don't think either of us realized just how deep our bond extended past mere friendship or sibling-like affection until this one fateful afternoon back in our middle school days..."

As if in a trance, you watched Bokuto's gaze drift into the middle distance as his deep timbre washed over the table - rich and hypnotic in a way that raised gooseflesh across every inch of your skin. You were so enraptured that you barely registered the way Hinata, Atsumu, and even Sakusa seemed to lean imperceptibly closer as well, helplessly drawn into the gravity of Bokuto's recollections as he continued.

"It was the first real warm, sunny day kicking off spring that year if I'm remembering right," he murmured softly, brow wrinkling slightly in concentration. "You came over to my place straight after classes let out wearing that cute yellow sundress with the white daisies printed all across the skirt - the one you always said brought out the warmth in your complexion even though I thought you looked lovely in anything..."

He shook his head with a soft chuckle, swiping his thumb almost unconsciously along the plump ridge of your knuckles. You could only stare, utterly transfixed by the impossibly tender aura radiating off Bokuto as he recounted these seemingly mundane details from your shared childhoods.

"Anyway, I remember being so pumped to show off this new trick I'd finally gotten down for hitting my jump serve properly after weeks of struggling with it. We biked over to the neighborhood court I used to frequent constantly those days, remember? The one tucked away behind that old batting cage that was always deserted on weekday afternoons?"

You felt your brows furrow slightly as Bokuto's rich timbre washed over you, pulling you deeper into the recollection unfolding. The court he referred to rang a vague bell, but you couldn't quite place the specific details he seemed to recall with such vivid clarity.

"When we got there though, I noticed the whole area had been totally swept up and cleaned out - not a single loose pebble or speck of sand marring the cracked surface." Bokuto shook his head in amazement, eyes growing distant. "Which was wild, because that place was usually a total wasteland by that point most days after school. Every nook and cranny would be just littered with junk from the neighborhood brats always convening there, y'know?"

You nodded slowly, a strange sense of disquiet beginning to unfurl in your chest as his words conjured those stray flashes of familiarity that simply wouldn't quite coalesce into full memories just yet.

"But there you were, already standing there by the net with this cute little flushed face and that ridiculously oversized broom clutched in both hands!" Bokuto punctuated this observation with a rich chuckle, one palm not currently entwined with yours coming up to rasp along the stubbled cut of his jaw. "I remember putting the pieces together right then and just...staring at you in total awe, because you'd clearly busted your cute butt to make sure the whole area was polished up to perfection just for my sake before I even got there!"

A strange thrill shot up your spine at the sincerity brimming in his voice - the naked awe and affection he aimed your way as those warm amber eyes heated to simmering levels once more. Despite yourself, you found yourself leaning infinitesimally closer as if drawn into the gravity well of his recollections against your will.

"You played it all off with that trademark prickly bluster, of course," Bokuto continued with a sly grin that did funny things to your heart rate. "Insisting you just wanted to make sure I wasn't going to crack my skull open while trying new move."

He shrugged one solid shoulder, gaze searching yours with impossible warmth and tenderness. "But I knew the real truth even back then, babe. I could see it in the way you were watching me so intently with those bright, hopeful eyes - in the slight pink tint dusting your cheeks whenever I caught you staring at me while I ran through my warm up tosses..."

A soft, private smile bloomed across his features then, luminous enough to stop your breath in your lungs. "That was the very moment I realized you were so, so much more to me than just my oldest friend or surrogate sibling, you know? It hit me right then and there that you'd gone so far out of your way to do something so simple yet incredibly thoughtful and heartfelt, just to make me happy."

You could only stare mutely as Bokuto's larger palm found yours atop the table linens, engulfing your fingers in his calloused grasp with devastating tenderness. Every nerve ending in your body seemed to spark to blistering life at the contact - a lightning rod of awareness sharpening until it felt like you could discern each individual callous striating his palms, the subtle scent of fresh sweat and citrusy body wash that always seemed to cling to his sun-kissed skin...

"That was when I finally understood how deep my feelings had grown for you - how they were swiftly eclipsing the realm of childish affection or friendship entirely." Bokuto's voice emerged hardly above a hushed murmur, pitched for your ears alone despite the proximity of his teammates. He regarded you with burning intensity, as if willing you to see the truth blazing naked and exposed in every word. "You became my universe that day, babe. My every waking thought and source of joy, just like that..."

His stare lifted to lock onto yours with renewed intensity, clearly expecting some form of reciprocation or affirmation from you. But the words seemed to wither and die on your tongue as you took in the complex whirlwind of emotion swirling through those achingly familiar irises - so much raw gratitude and reverent affection bleeding through that molten golden glow that you swore you could actually feel the waves of heat undulating off him in physical pulses.

Bokuto huffed out another quiet chuckle at your continued, shell-shocked silence, swiping his thumb in one last caressing arc along your knuckles.

"Yeah, guess I'm probably starting to sound a bit loopy, huh?" His nose wrinkled into that boyish grin you'd always found so irresistibly endearing, though his gaze remained soft and terribly earnest as it clung to yours. "But hopefully that at least gives you sad sacks a little glimpse into the sorta stuff that made me realize real early on I could never hope to find a more perfect partner in crime than my best bro growing up."

You swallowed hard, mouth feeling like you'd attempted to swallow an entire handful of hot coals. The utter rawness and vulnerability etched into every nuance of Bokuto's expression sent ripples of scalding...something thundering through your nerve endings with dizzying rapidity. You struggled to place the torrential maelstrom of foreign sensations roiling in your gut - flickering fragments of nostalgia, affection, heated admiration all sluiced together into a conflagration of feeling that threatened to utterly consume you alive before ever finding solid definition.

Distantly, you registered the loud clatter of Hinata dropping his fork against his plate, the dull thud of Atsumu's boots striking the underside of the table in a startled jostle. But not even Sakusa shifting almost imperceptibly forward, dark eyes glittering with veiled intensity could penetrate the electric, encompassing bubble that had enveloped you and Bokuto in that singular, scorching moment of communion.

It wasn't until his gaze finally slid away, softening into something vaguely sheepish as he reached up to rub at his nape, that you managed to suck down a shuddering lungful of air. The simple, intrinsically Bokuto-esque gesture jarred you back into your surroundings enough to shake off the entrancing, suspended stupor clinging to your senses like rapidly evaporating ether.

"Anyway," he mumbled around a self-conscious chuckle, the tips of his ears dusting with a faint ruddy blush. "Maybe that was laying the sappiness on a bit too thick, huh? You know me though - always been an overly sentimental, heart-on-my-sleeve kinda romantic when it comes to the people who really ma—"

"No."

The soft, slightly hoarse denial seemed to startle Bokuto, effectively derailing the beginnings of his sputtered, babbling attempt to defuse the heavy tension still weighing over the table. He visibly startled, gaze darting back to yours with open surprise etching creases between his dark wings of brow.

"No, Kou...no that wasn't too thick at all," you managed, the words scraping themselves from your sandpaper throat against your will.

You'd meant to continue, to offer some form of coherent response in the wake of the emotional whiplash he'd just wrought upon you. But your lungs seemed to seize in protest instead, breath catching behind the blazing tightness squeezing through your chest as you simply stared back at your very best friend and confidante of nearly two full decades now.

In that breathless, ineffably charged beat of silence...you realized with sudden, gut-punching clarity that no matter what ridiculous, convoluted fiction or fable you spun to fool his teammates and their own jagged edges, Bokuto Kotaro would forever remain the greatest, most undeniable truth grounding every facet of your existence.

And in the flickering banked embers radiating from those beloved golden depths...you belatedly understood that you'd arrived at an event horizon where there could no longer be any hope of denying or restraining the inevitability of you both hopelessly, irrevocably colliding together in a spectacular Singularity.

"Hey..." The intimately hushed cadence of Bokuto's gravelly murmur lanced through the crackling tension like a lightning strike, searing your already overheated nerves into scorching new focus. "You okay over there, babe? Not gonna go spacey and float off on me after I unloaded all that nostalgic sap all over the place, are ya?"

His words registered, but only dimly - muffled and distant as though filtering through several layers of dense atmosphere. All you could seem to fully comprehend in that moment was the sight of that gentle, self-deprecating grin tugging one corner of his plush lips upwards. The way it softened those typically sharp, hawkish features into an expression so open and lushly affectionate that you felt your pulse trip over itself anew, stomach swooping inexorably with its own treacherous gravity.

"Kou, I..." The confession began thick and tremulous behind the vice squeezing your throat shut. Unbidden, you felt the corners of your mouth tilt upwards, mirroring his fond look completely against your will. "I...shit, I have no idea what I'm doing anymore, do I?"

Bokuto's grin gentled further at the admission, seeming to thaw even the final vestiges of tightly-coiled restraint lingering in the austere lines of his shoulders and posture. With a familiarity that spoke of two souls sharing the most intimate of proximities across countless lifetimes, he leaned in incrementally closer - that fiercely open gaze flickering between your eyes, settling briefly upon the telling dip of your pulse fluttering like a trapped hummingbird above your collarbones, skating hungrily across the plush curves of your mouth before meeting your stare once more.

"Just keep being you, babe," he murmured simply, the words hanging in a low, resonant thrum between you for a fraction of eternity before the world beyond seemed to catch up and snap back into focus once more. "That's always been more than enough to leave this poor sap hopelessly bewitched…"

The rest of the meal passed in a warm blur of laughter, stories, and easy camaraderie. Bokuto settled back into his usual over-the-top antics alongside his teammates, regaling the group with increasingly wild tales that had you all cracking up between bites.

You found yourself able to relax as well, basking in the affectionate familiarity permeating the atmosphere. Every now and then, you'd catch Bokuto flashing you a sidelong look, all quiet smiles and unguarded warmth shimmering in his ridiculous pretty eyes. It made something soft and fragile unfurl within your chest each time.

Before you knew it, the waiter was dropping off the check with an understated flourish. Atsumu craned his neck, whistling low at the total while Hinata made a noise of dismay at the exorbitant pricing. Only Sakusa looked unsurprised, already reaching for his wallet.

"C'mon guys, we all know this fancy-schmancy place was Koutarou's pick in an attempt to properly woo his lady love," he drawled, sliding his credit card free. "At least let the lovebirds cover this one since I'm sure the evening's 'festivities' are far from over, if you catch my drift."

Atsumu cackled at the sly dig while Hinata just sputtered awkwardly, ears blazing red. You simply rolled your eyes, though you couldn't quite smother the small grin tugging at your mouth.

In the end, Sakusa did insist on covering the hefty bill himself, waving away the others' half-hearted protests with his typical aloof assurances. Bokuto nudged you with an elbow and a conspiratorial wink while leaning close.

"Looks like you played the saucy seductress role a bit too convincingly there, gorgeous," he murmured against your temple, the words curling deliciously down your spine. "I think our prickly friend might've been genuinely flustered by your raw sexual charisma for once."

You made a small noise of amusement, though you let your hand drift beneath the tablecloth to rest atop his thigh in mocking reprimand. Almost instantly, Bokuto's teeth sank into that plush lower lip in a silent display of barely-restrained want that only amplified the simmering heat already starting to coil between you.

"Play your cards right, and I might even give you a more...intimate encore performance later, lover," you purred back, delighting in the way his eyelids fluttered shut briefly against your blatant provocation.

That delicious weight hung between you, thick and heady - until Atsumu loudly cleared his throat nearby. When your gazes snapped back up, the others were regarding you with varying degrees of disgruntled amusement and fond exasperation written across their faces.

"God, save it for the honeymoon suite you two!" Atsumu groused without any real bite. "If you're gonna keep eye-humping each other like that right in front of us, at least give us a head's up to vacate first, yeah?"

Hinata dissolved into a fresh round of flustered giggles while even Sakusa rolled his eyes skyward, fighting a smile of his own. Amidst the playful ribbing, you and Bokuto exchanged a sidelong look charged with renewed electricity - one that screamed of promises to be indulged very soon.

Eventually, everyone rose from the table in preparation to depart. You moved to follow, only to pause as Bokuto leaned in once more.

"Hey, did you maybe want to call it a night?" he murmured close to your ear, careful to keep his expression neutral as the others milled about nearby. "Or did my charming leading man act leave you craving a bit more one-on-one private time with yours truly later?"

You sucked in a sharp breath at the clear implication behind his words, well aware of the heated look he was undoubtedly aiming your way without even needing to meet his stare fully. For a brief heartbeat, you seriously considered agreeing - envisioning the two of you departing in a tangle of heated breath and roaming hands, rushing back to whichever private sanctuary you could find first to finally indulge this whirlwind of simmering desires between you...

But then good sense prevailed. With visible reluctance, you shook your head.

"As tempting as that sounded, I think decorum demands we make at least a token appearance for a bit longer if your rowdy friends have plans to continue this raucous evening elsewhere," you sighed, hating the small pout that tugged at Bokuto's lips unbidden. "At least for a little while, anyway."

He seemed to consider arguing, eyes darkening to molten gold in a way that promised deliciously deviant intentions should you change your mind. But in the end, Bokuto simply slipped his car keys from his pocket and pressed them into your waiting palm with a wolfish grin.

"In that case, gorgeous...do me a favor and go ahead and get the engine warmed up for me, yeah? Give us something to look forward to later when this whole charade inevitably winds down finally."

The sheer heat lacing his voice sparked tingles of anticipation straight to your core. Swallowing hard, you simply nodded wordlessly and accepted the keys from his calloused grasp.

You aimed for nonchalance as you retrieved your purse and swept from the restaurant's dimly lit interior, though the anticipatory thrum buzzing beneath your skin made it impossible not to throw a lingering look over your shoulder as you reached the foyer. Bokuto caught the silent summons instantly, liquid mercury gaze searing you in a wordless caress that only amplified the dizzying high building steadily within your bloodstream.

As you finally stepped out into the cool evening air, glass doors swinging shut behind you, it was impossible not to feel as though you were crossing over some indefinable threshold into uncharted territory. Already, you could feel the first pangs of restless need gnawing at the edges of your composure with each unhurried stride carrying you towards where Bokuto's car idled in the adjacent lot.

By the time you settled into the soft leather driver's seat, inhaling the clinging remnants of his cologne's earthy notes, the maelstrom of questions threatening to unravel your hard-won restraint threatened to boil over completely. You sank back against the headrest and blew out a shaky breath, fingers twisting in the hem of your dress.

What was happening here, in all actuality? This insane evening had started off as nothing more than a flimsy facade to indulge Bokuto's latest bout of unnecessary chaos. But then he'd begun conjuring those shockingly candid personal recollections with such heartfelt vibrancy and naked sincerity, leaving you rattled down to your core.

You worried your lower lip, suddenly desperate to know if everything about those stories had been genuine confessions from the secret chambers of Bokuto's heart...or merely another deceptively convincing act for the benefit of his teammates' prying eyes and probing questions.

God, but if he had been telling the truth behind all of it - laying his most sentimental inner self bare for your appraisal like some raw, exposed nerve ending quivering in the elements...what did that mean for the delicately balanced status quo of your relationship stretching back decades?

Uncertainty thrummed like a living thing, feeding off the echoing residue of Bokuto's words that only continued searing across your unsettled psyche with each passing minute. You needed answers, needed validation one way or another before allowing yourself to be swept any deeper into this rip current of escalating tension and undeniable...something that you could no longer ignore simmering between you.

Heaving another fortifying exhale, you sank your fingers into Bokuto's familiar leather seats and forced yourself to be patient. He would return soon enough with whatever plans the others had undoubtedly concocted by now. Then you would corner him, would demand the vulnerability you glimpsed tonight be laid bare once more in the name of unraveling this Gordian knot binding you into constricted agony the longer it went ignored.

For better or worse, you'd finally unearth the bedrock truth dwelling at the heart of this steadily shifting storm tonight...

Eventually, the spill of electric amber light announcing the return of the restaurant's revolving doors drew your gaze upwards. Sure enough, that familiar hulking silhouette soon emerged through the soft glow, the rest of his teammates filing out behind him in a loose cluster.

You watched, breath stilled somewhere in your throat, as Bokuto half-turned to exchange parting handshakes and backslaps with the others. Even from this distance, his smile shone like a supernova against the backdrop of Tokyo's glittering twilight skyline, brimming with boundless charisma and magnetic charm to the very last.

As if sensing your focus, he suddenly turned those molten irises your way across the distance separating you. The wink he favored you with was teasing and playful...but beneath it simmered a searing promise too heated to be anything less than entirely sincere and undisguised.

Your pulse kicked up another fevered notch in response, thighs clenching with restless anticipation even as Bokuto threw his head back in a rich peal of laughter at some parting jibe. When his shoulders finally turned and he began loping across the pavement in your direction, it almost felt like a physical phenomenon - as if the whole world had shifted slightly off its axis to better align with the singular gravity he projected.

Before you could even begin formulating greetings or pleasantries, Bokuto was already hauling open the driver's side door and ducking inside in one languid, graceful motion. The breath you'd been hoarding escaped in a shuddery exhale as his clean, crisp scent and physical presence overwhelmed your senses in an intoxicating rush.

He settled in beside you with that same unhurried nonchalance, shooting you a sidelong grin that did unspeakable things to your pulse point. A heavy pause lingered, thick and heady as he simply drank in your expression with lidded eyes.

"Well, babydoll..." Bokuto rumbled at last, tongue darting out to wet those lush lips in a tantalizing sweep you couldn't tear your eyes from. "I gotta say, we absolutely crushed that little performance back there, huh? Even those hardened skeptics couldn't deny our raw chemistry by the time the check rolled around, am I right or am I right?"

It took you a steadying inhale before you could unstick your tongue enough to respond properly, pulse thrumming wildly against the exposed hollow of your throat.

"Koutaro, did-"

The soft snick of his palm lifting cut off your faltering question before it could fully form. You held your breath, frozen in the act of leaning unconsciously closer as his calloused fingertips grazed your jawline in a whisper-soft graze. The tender stroke traveled downwards, mapping the delicate arch of your cheekbone and the slight dip in your cupid's bow with rapt intensity.

"You were magnificent, you know that?" he breathed out in a low, gravelly husk that had tingles erupting across every inch of your sensitized skin. "Everything about your raw confidence and that simmering sensuality you project...God, it drives me crazy just being in the same room as you most days."

His eyes slid shut on the final syllables, those impossibly long lashes fanning across the razor-sharp vees sculpting his high cheekbones. In the neon wash of the parking lot strobing across his face, his handsome features looked nothing short of transcendent - a true archetype of primal masculinity and searing intensity given living, sentient form before your very eyes.

You couldn't breathe. Could barely manage to swallow past the molten lava scorching the backs of your eyes and squeezing your throat into a vise as you drank in the sight of Bokuto Kotaro kneeling utterly at the altar of some unnameable, overpowering compulsion currently beckoning between you both.

When his eyes finally flickered open once more, the full force of that smoldering gaze struck you like an electrical charge directly to the solar plexus. Later, you might try to convince yourself that the rasping whine of pure, desperate _want_ that punched itself free from your chest had been another's entirely. But in that suspended eternity, it was impossible to deny or refute the pathways Bokuto's heated, worshipful regard ignited in your core.

Incrementally, his free hand lifted to join the other - twin callused brands scalding along the planes of your cheeks and jaw as he cradled your face with infinite reverence. You shivered helplessly at the covetous drag of his thumbs along the sleek columns of your throat, everything narrowing to the pounding of your pulsepoint being mapped and reverently traced by his deft, seeking touches.

"Kou..." The single syllable cracked and fractured on your tongue with all the strained resonance of fracturing stone. His name emerged ragged and desiccated with want, heavy with a lifetime of implications neither of you seemed willing or able to confront fully, even now.

You searched his heated gaze, feeling the world narrow until only the two of you existed within that smoldering vortex. Muscle by muscle, you forced your lungs to expand on a shuddering inhale, summoning your voice back from wherever it had fled.

"Was all that stuff you said back there..." You swallowed hard, mouth suddenly arid. "About those childhood memories and feelings...was it all real? Or just a convincing act for your teammates?"

A heavy pause lingered as Bokuto's expression cycled through a series of indecipherable micro-shifts. Just when you thought he might dodge the question entirely, his lips twitched toward that achingly familiar lopsided grin.

"What, you think I'm some sorta savant who can whip up heartfelt, introspective soliloquies full of poetic detail and raw truth on the fly?" One thick brow arched upward, eyes sparking with playful challenge. "You overestimate me, babydoll."

You held his pointed stare, refusing to be deflected so easily this time. A tense moment stretched out until Bokuto's expression sobered, shoulders slumping almost imperceptibly.

"No...no, you're right. That stuff back there about us as kids and how much you meant - mean - to me..." He exhaled roughly, fingers resuming their restless caresses along your jaw. "Every single syllable was the unvarnished, god's honest truth, gorgeous. I'd never lie or pull punches about how I really feel when it comes to you."

The naked sincerity in his tone struck you like a physical blow, causing your breath to stutter. You watched, mesmerized, as Bokuto's throat clicked in a convulsive swallow before pressing onward.

"All those things I reminisced about - the way you used to cheer me on through every little triumph or setback, be my fearless partner on whatever new misadventure we got tangled up in every other week...the way you saw me, really saw me through that kaleidoscope lens of yours that made me feel like the most important person in the whole goddamn universe?"

He shook his head slowly, eyes gleaming with something suspiciously like moisture in the low lighting.

"How could I ever fabricate or pretend about shit that fundamentally shaped who I grew into both on and off the court? Stuff that still sustains me and grounds me on my worst days when the rest of the world gets too blurry to make sense of?" One hand strayed upwards to thumb reverently at your cheekbone, featherlight and utterly intoxicating.

"You're my gravity well, [Y/N]. The warmth and sanctuary that this vagabond soul knows it can always return to without fear or reservation..." A lopsided, tender smile that pierced you straight through the heart. "So yeah, every unguarded, embarrassingly sincere word I spilled back there came straight from the most vulnerable and sacred chambers of my heart. You believe me now, don't you?"

The silence that greeted his softly implored question thrummed between you with heated weight. You could only gape at Bokuto, suddenly robbed of any other response beyond staring into those beloved sunburst irises gleaming with so much unspoken emotion and naked truth.

After several suspended eternities ticked by, you found your voice once more - slightly hoarse, but no less adamant in its conviction.

"So...you're telling me you're in love with me?" The words seemed to vibrate across your parted lips with the force of revelation. "After all this time as friends, as partners in every possible sense of the word...you've been carrying feelings for me all along that go far beyond that?"

Despite the enormity of your quietly uttered question, Bokuto didn't flinch or deflect. He simply held your gaze steadily, lashes dipping in a slow blink of wordless acknowledgment before those slender shoulders rolled in the smallest of casual shrugs.

"Well, duh," was his only verbal response - as succinct and casually devastating as a point-blank gunshot at close range.

The next few heartbeats stretched into an eternity of utterly bewildering suspension. Then, before your conscious mind could even begin parsing the rippling magnitude of Bokuto's admission, you were already moving. One second, you were gaping at the unshakable object of your oldest friend and eternal confidante laid emotionally naked before you. The next, your body acted of its own furious volition - launching itself bodily across the cramped interior until you collided with Bokuto in an explosive tangle of gasped breaths and roaming, frantically searching hands.

The first brush of his parted lips against yours detonated like a cosmic shockwave, shattering apart the last remnants of restraint and repression between you in one incandescent, full-bodied eruption. Bokuto groaned into the heated seal, falling back against the door with bruising force as his calloused palms came up to cradle your face.

You drank in the sound like a woman dying of thirst, slanting your mouth over his with desperate greed until your noses mashed and you could taste his sharp whimper on your tongue. Wasted years of rigid refusal and tamped-down desires pooled in your gut like molten lava, scalding every fiber of control you scrabbled to cling to until you could do nothing but surrender utterly to the sensation of Bokuto's lips searing themselves against yours with unbridled passion.

His arms wound around your arching spine, pulling you bodily into the cradle of his powerful thighs until you were both reduced to a tangle of thrashing, heated limbs. A low, visceral groan tore itself free from the deepest recesses of Bokuto's chest as your fingers sank into the feathery strands at his nape - swallowing down the sound greedily as you mapped every ridge of his full mouth in hungry reacquaintance.

Neither of you could be certain how long the two of you remained fused together like that, hips undulating against one another as hands roamed with frantic, impassioned urgency. Everything narrowed to the slick velvet seal of Bokuto's mouth, the warm salt of his skin beneath your lips and tongue as you dragged them reverently along his jaw. He trembled against you with barely restrained ardor, fingers clutching in your hair with possessive insistence as he gasped your name like a tattered prayer between each plunging reclamation of your lips.

By the time the dizzying need for oxygen forced you to draw apart, you both were utterly disheveled and wild-eyed - panting harshly with swollen lips and pupils blown wide by an entirely different brand of intoxication than either of you had experienced before. Bokuto stared up at you with naked hunger etched across his beloved features, thumbs sweeping along the sharp vees of your cheekbones with almost religious devotion tingeing his motions.

Unable to resist, you ducked forward to seal your mouths together once more in a far more tender, unhurried meeting full of wordless reassurance and affection. An undercurrent of new, unexplored intimacy and tenderness that had your very bones seeming to dissolve into boneless rapture with each torturously slow glide of tongue and caressing press of lips.

Bokuto sighed against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you both with raw longing. His big hands came up to cradle your face, fingertips brushing the soft baby hairs at your temples as he savored the languid glide of your mouths moving together. There was no rushed hunger or desperate need in his motions - just a willingness to fully immerse himself in this new level of intimacy blossoming between you both.

You nipped at his plush lower lip, tugging gently until he parted for you with a soft groan. The first sweep of your tongue against his was electrifying, stoking embers low in your belly as you mapped the slick velvet heat. Bokuto rumbled wordless approval, one hand sliding down to fist in the hair at your nape to angle your head aside for deeper exploration.

The next few moments stretched into a heated eternity of simply rediscovering one another through this new lens. There was no urgency beyond taking your time tasting, feeling, surrendering to the simple act of making out with a heady, smoldering intensity. Bokuto practically liquefied against you with each pass of your seeking tongue, broad chest vibrating against yours with quiet whimpers and gasping exhalations of pleasure.

Eventually, need for air forced you to part, sharing humid breaths between your slick, swollen lips. Bokuto immediately ducked in to mouth along the sharp line of your jaw, lips brushing against your racing pulse point. A full-body shudder ripped through you at the sensation - so new yet so familiar and thrilling all at once.

"God, babydoll..." he rasped, teeth grazing the juncture of your neck and shoulder. "You have no idea how many times I dreamed about getting to do this with you over the years."

You whimpered at the husky confession, tilting your head aside to bare more of your throat in blatant invitation. Bokuto took full advantage, suckling heated kisses and teasing nips down the long column until your fingers were fisted in his shirt, breath sawing harshly.

Then he was nosing aside the strap of your dress to blaze a path across your clavicle and into the soft swell where your breasts strained against the fabric. You arched into him with a soft keen, nipples tightening into aching points as he laved and tasted his fill.

"Fuck, Kou..." It took concentrated effort to form words when his wicked mouth was latching onto your arousal-flushed skin, tongue swirling tantalizing patterns. "If this is anything like those dreams of yours, how the hell did you ever keep your hands off me this long?"

He pulled back slightly, meeting your heavy-lidded stare with burning intensity. His pupils were blown wide, lips swollen and slick from your earlier kisses.

"Barely," he admitted, voice already wrecked. "It took every ounce of self-control not to shove you against the nearest surface and finally get my mouth all over you some nights."

The naked, unfiltered honesty in his tone was like a lightning bolt straight to your core. You surged up to reclaim his lips in another scorching, bruising kiss that stole your breath away. Bokuto groaned, broad palms smoothing down your sides to palm your ass in a firm, possessive grip and rock you against the rigid line of his cock straining in his slacks.

You gasped, nipping at his lips as you ground down against the delicious friction. "Take me to the backseat, I can't wait anymore."

He grunted, sucking a mark at the join of your neck and shoulder that would surely bloom into a dark bruise. The idea of wearing his claiming marks so openly only ratcheted your arousal higher.

"No can do, gorgeous," Bokuto rasped when he finally pulled away, giving your thighs an apologetic squeeze. "I've dreamed of getting my hands and mouth all over every gorgeous inch of you for far too long now. So no way in hell am I doing this in a cramped backseat, got it?"

You wanted to protest, feeling dangerously close to spontaneously combusting with how badly you needed him against you. But the raw honesty and tender promise shining in Bokuto's gaze had you melting back against the leather seat.

"Vision is you spread out for me in a big bed, all flushed and squirming while I take my sweet time unwrapping you." His voice dropped to that gravelly bedroom timbre that had goosebumps erupting everywhere. "Get to taste every sweet little inch, work you apart with my mouth until you're sobbing for me to bury myself so deep inside you'll never doubt how crazy gone I am again."

God... You swallowed hard against the renewed gush of slick arousal between your thighs, nipples visibly straining against the thin lace of your dress now. Bokuto watched you hungrily, smirk curling as he raked his gaze over your disheveled state.

"So keep that pretty little ass firmly planted in that seat, babydoll" he instructed, voice dropping into that commanding register that brooked no argument. "We're headed straight to your place so I can properly take you apart piece by delicious piece. No more waiting or holding back, yeah?"

You could only nod breathlessly and grip the seat as he threw the car into drive and pulled out from the parking lot.

No more waiting indeed. And now that this thrilling new boundary had finally been crossed...you were utterly aching to let your best friend and oldest confidant absolutely worship and ravage you in ways you'd both been denying yourself far too long.

The door had barely clicked shut behind you before Bokuto was on you again, broad palms cradling your face as he sealed your mouths in a searing, open-mouthed kiss. You whimpered against his insistent exploration, legs already feeling shaky as he walked you backwards down the hallway.

"Bedroom," he growled between searing nips at your lips. "Need you underneath me right fucking now, babydoll."

You nodded dazedly, moaning into the velvet glide of his tongue slicking against your own. The backs of your thighs hit the mattress and you allowed yourself to topple back, dragging Bokuto's solid weight down atop you with a muffled thump.

He immediately slotted one thick thigh between your parted legs, the ridge of his erection grinding deliciously against your aching core through too many layers. The rough drag of his slacks sent electric shocks zinging straight to your clit with each circling roll of his hips.

"Fuck..." Bokuto panted harshly against the heated brand of your neck, sucking fresh marks into the sensitive skin there. "Been going crazy thinkin' about getting you just like this - flushed and squirming and so turned on from my mouth alone, baby."

You keened at the blatant promise audible in his deep rasp, arching up against the delicious weight pinning you to the mattress. Bokuto growled approvingly, breaking away to hastily shuck his shirt over his head and revealing miles of tanned, defined muscle for your hungry gaze to roam over.

"That's it," he groaned, bracing on one forearm to mouth along the swell of your breasts peeking over the neckline of your dress. "You have no idea how many times I've envisioned undressing you nice and slow like this, gorgeous. Now I finally get to feast my eyes and hands on every luscious curve without any more fucking around."

True to his word, he tugged the zipper of your dress down with maddening slowness, peeling the fabric open in increments to reveal your bra and the toned planes of your abdomen. You shivered at the sheer heat and hunger in his gaze as it raked over your bared skin with scorching intensity.

"That's it, babydoll..." Bokuto encouraged with a ragged grunt, guiding you to sit up so he could peel your dress the rest of the way off in a whispery slide. "God you're so fucking gorgeous. A vision straight from the most delirious, hungry wet dreams of mine..."

You were left in just your matching black lace bra and panties, nipples peaked and straining against the delicate lace. Bokuto sucked in a sharp breath at the sight, irises nearly swallowed by pupils blown wide with naked lust.

"Stay just like that for me while I strip these last layers off, yeah?" he murmured, leaning in to ghost kiss-swollen lips along the swell of your breasts and down your sternum. "Need to be able to look my fill before I absolutely devour every bare inch and relearn your body with my mouth in a way I only dreamed of until now..."

You could only moan brokenly in response as Bokuto drew back just far enough to hook his fingers in the waistband of his slacks. With a few deft movements, he shucked the last of his clothes off as well until he knelt before you in all his naked glory - a living sculpture of sinewy, powerful muscle and undeniable masculine beauty.

Your gaze instantly dropped to where his thick, flushed cock curved up towards his abdomen - mouth watering at the prospect of finally getting your hands, lips, tongue all over him in return. Bokuto didn't miss your heated appraisal either, if his cocky grin was any indication.

"All yours, beautiful..." he growled in a voice made to rumble filthy promises against your slick heat. "Soon as I've had my proper taste first, that is. Want you falling apart around my tongue before I even think about sinking into that gorgeous body for real this time."

With that, he surged forward again, guiding you to lie back as his lips trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down the valley between your breasts. Your back arched on a gasping whine as he tugged the lace cups aside and swirled his tongue around one peaked, aching nipple before drawing it into the wet heat of his mouth to suckle with shameless greed.

"Oh God, Kou!" The sharp suction was a lightning bolt straight to your clit, hips jerking up against his iron grip pinning you in place. Bokuto grinned around the tightened peak, releasing it with a soft pop before turning his attention to the other side.

You were positively squirming beneath him, thighs clamping reflexively around his hips by the time he pulled away with a final lick and kiss to each pebbled peak. He chuckled low and filthy, pressing a chaste kiss between the valley of your breasts before continuing his downward exploration.

"So damn beautiful..." Bokuto murmured, hooking his thumbs into the lacy band of your panties and peeling them off in one smooth motion. You were already soaked beyond belief, pussy swollen and aching for him to touch and claim and make you come harder than you ever had in your entire life.

He hummed in appreciation at the sight, settling his shoulders between your quivering thighs and gripping the back of each in a firm, implacable hold. Before you could utter a single sound, Bokuto ducked down and buried his face between your legs, the first long swipe of his tongue against your dripping slit eliciting a shattered, broken keen from your chest.

"Fuck!" The filthy curse ripped itself from your throat, head tossed back against the pillows as your thighs instinctively tried to clamp around his ears. Bokuto was having none of it, though - grip unrelenting as he held you pinned in place with your legs spread wide for his ravenous assault.

His tongue licked into you in a hot, unyielding glide that had you writhing and clawing at the sheets. The first flick of that wickedly talented appendage against your aching clit had your hips bucking sharply, but Bokuto's hold was absolute. All you could do was submit to his mouth's determined, skillful exploration of every sensitive dip and crevice, the molten heat building low in your belly cresting impossibly higher.

"Shit, Kou..." You choked out, the first flutters of orgasm already tightening your lower belly. Bokuto growled wordlessly against you, latching onto your clit and suckling hard enough to send you hurtling towards the edge with a strangled cry.

You were right there, poised on the knife's edge and ready to fall into ecstasy at the first nudge of his fingers filling your clenching channel. But before the first waves of release could crash over you, Bokuto released his hold on your throbbing bundle of nerves and eased away with a parting lick that left you sobbing.

"Kou, please! Please, I'm so fucking close, I need -" You couldn't even finish the sentence, reduced to a trembling, quivering mess beneath the scorching heat of his gaze as he stared down at you from between your thighs.

"I know, babydoll," he assured in a husky rasp, calloused fingers rubbing soothing circles against the delicate skin of your inner thighs. "But I've got every intention of making you fall apart so many times tonight that you'll be feeling the aftereffects for days. So no need to rush the first time, yeah?"

He punctuated the filthy promise with a languid lap from slit to clit, tongue curling against the pulsing bud until you were squirming once more. Then, without further preamble, Bokuto buried his face between your thighs with an utterly ravenous growl, spearing his tongue inside you in a deep, relentless thrust that had you seeing stars.

You writhed beneath his unyielding hold, completely helpless to his ministrations as he fucked you with his tongue and laved sloppy kisses and teasing flicks against your swollen clit. Every nerve ending felt like it was on fire, the pressure building low in your gut until you were absolutely certain it would combust at any moment.

Your entire body felt like a taut wire, the tension coiling tighter and tighter with each plunge of his wickedly talented tongue. Bokuto growled against you, the vibrations reverberating through your slick folds and straight to the aching, throbbing bud at their apex.

"I - oh fuck, Kou!" You could barely form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence with the way his mouth was driving you relentlessly towards the precipice of release. "Please, baby, I need you to -"

You couldn't even finish the plea before he was latching his lips around your clit, sucking hard enough to send you toppling over the edge with a strangled, gasping cry. Bokuto didn't relent - not even as he tongued against the throbbing bundle and lapped up every gush of fresh arousal coating your soaked inner walls.

Stars exploded behind your tightly shut eyes, the waves of ecstasy rippling through your quivering limbs until you were certain you'd melt right into the mattress. But Bokuto was relentless - the insistent pressure of his mouth not easing up for even a second as he carried you straight through the aftershocks and up the next cresting wave with a single-minded determination to reduce you utterly boneless and mindless.

By the time the sensation was overwhelming and you managed to tug weakly at his hair, the next release slammed through you like a freight train. The second orgasm was even more intense than the first, leaving you a shuddering, gasping heap as Bokuto finally withdrew and pressed a parting kiss to the sensitive flesh.

He hummed in satisfaction, the vibration thrumming through your hypersensitive core and drawing a shuddering whimper. "So fucking perfect for me, babydoll...you have no idea how long I've been wanting to watch you fall apart just like that on my tongue. Gonna spend the rest of the night taking my sweet time getting you off in every way possible, you hear?"

The gravel-laced promise had your inner walls clenching weakly, pussy already aching for more despite the two intense releases in quick succession. Bokuto grinned, pressing another soft kiss against your swollen, throbbing clit before easing away and crawling up your still-trembling body.

You immediately reached for him, fumbling weakly with his jaw and neck until his lips sealed over yours. The first brush of his mouth was electric, tasting of the musky sweetness of your release as his tongue delved between your lips to reclaim every corner. You moaned, wrapping yourself around his broad, powerful form with a desperation you'd never felt before.

"Want to touch you," you managed to gasp out when he finally pulled back with a husky groan, pupils blown wide with naked hunger. "Need to feel you against me, baby."

Bokuto grinned, dipping down for another searing kiss before obliging. You were a mess of tangled, sweaty limbs, but neither of you cared as he settled his weight atop you. His cock throbbed against your aching, throbbing core, the slick, rigid heat of it rubbing against your slick, swollen flesh in the most delicious friction.

You both groaned in unison at the sensation, bodies slotting together perfectly. Bokuto ducked in to kiss you senseless again, teeth tugging on your bottom lip and tongue plunging past the seam to lick and stroke against yours. His thick, muscular frame felt like a shelter above you, pinning you in place and shielding you from everything but him.

"You have no idea how long I've thought about this moment, gorgeous." He ground down against your sopping slit, the tip of his cock brushing teasingly against your swollen, throbbing clit. The jolt of electricity nearly had you coming right then and there, thighs clenching around his waist.

"I've fantasized about getting to taste you, make love to you, hear you screaming my name until you lose your voice." Bokuto's words were punctuated by the slow, torturous roll of his hips. Each thrust brought his rigid shaft to slide along the drenched cleft of your pussy, the tip teasing your entrance with each pass.

"You're so fucking beautiful when you come apart, babydoll," he growled, lips ghosting across the shell of your ear. "Just the sexiest thing I've ever laid eyes on. And now I get to see it over and over again, every day from here on out. Fuck, I'm the luckiest man alive."

His words had a fresh surge of arousal pulsing through you, the need to have him filling and stretching and claiming your body beyond anything else. Bokuto groaned as you clenched around nothing, a fresh bead of precum smearing against your dripping folds.

"Kou," you moaned, nails digging into the taut flex of his shoulders as his cock slid through your soaked core once more. "I need you. Inside. Right. Fucking. Now."

He smirked, sealing your mouths together in a filthy, bruising kiss that made you see stars. Then he was reaching between your bodies to angle his cock, the tip kissing your entrance. The anticipation was a physical ache, but still Bokuto held steady - staring down at you with that molten intensity.

"I love you," he breathed, voice thick with emotion. You swallowed hard, a fresh wave of affection and desire and lust swamping you as his gaze pierced straight to your soul. "I've loved you for years, babydoll. And I intend on making you mine, in every way possible."

You nodded breathlessly, wrapping yourself around him as much as humanly possible. Bokuto dipped his head down, pressing a searing kiss to your temple as he began to sink inside with a single, powerful thrust.

Both of you moaned at the sensation, bodies locking together perfectly as his cock sank to the hilt inside your sopping, clenching heat. You'd never felt more full in your entire life - stretched and aching around him in the most delicious way.

Bokuto didn't give you any time to adjust before pulling out and sinking back into the wet clutch of your walls, the angle so perfect it was like he was made to fit you. His lips captured yours in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss, his next thrust punching a ragged cry from your lungs.

You clutched at his broad shoulders, the muscles bunching and flexing beneath his golden skin with each powerful snap of his hips. Bokuto was relentless, driving into you with a single-minded focus that sent shocks of ecstasy jolting through your core with every brush against the spongy bundle of nerves inside.

It didn't take long for your climax to build, the molten heat pooling low in your gut. You were reduced to a whimpering, writhing mess beneath his iron-willed determination to claim and wreck and own you. The pleasure was almost too much, and when Bokuto dropped his hand to thumb rough circles against your clit, you were utterly undone.

You sobbed, the dam of pleasure cresting and crashing through your trembling form. Bokuto didn't let up though, not even when the intensity was on the verge of becoming overwhelming. His thumb never stopped the firm, steady pace, drawing you higher and higher until your entire body was alight with pleasure.

"You have no idea how beautiful you look right now, babydoll," Bokuto growled in a voice that was pure sex and sin and everything in between. "Falling apart and coming around my cock like this is the best goddamn view in the world. And now I get to have it all the time, every day for the rest of our lives."

You nodded frantically, unable to even formulate a response as he continued to grind and rut against your tender, swollen core. Another release was imminent, and he knew it too - the pace of his thumb ratcheting up until the pressure was white hot and ready to combust at any moment.

Bokuto sealed his lips over yours, swallowing down your cry as the final release slammed through you. Your orgasm was even more powerful than the others, leaving you breathless and reeling and feeling completely wrecked. Bokuto was still rocking into you, chasing his own high now, and it wasn't long before he was following right behind you with a roar and a flood of warmth against your still-pulsing inner walls.

"Fuck!" he snarled, pumping into you with short, hard thrusts. His cock twitched, the thick length twitching and throbbing within your clenching depths. You felt the warm gush of his release coating you from the inside, clinging to your gummywalls as he buried himself as deep as humanly possible.

Aftershocks trembled through you both, and Bokuto slumped atop you in a sweaty, tangled heap. You welcomed his weight, arms wrapping around his neck and tangling in the damp strands of his silver hair. Neither of you spoke for several long moments, content to bask in the afterglow and each other's presence.

"So..." Bokuto murmured eventually, rolling the two of you so he could cradle you against his chest. You looked up to meet his amber gaze, noting the satisfied, self-satisfied grin. "Think you'll be ready for round two soon?"

You blinked, then arched a single brow in an incredulous expression. "Seriously? Already?"

He chuckled, the rumble vibrating against your cheek where it rested above his heart. "Well yeah. We've got years of sexual frustration to make up for, don't we? So we should really get started on that."

You huffed out a laugh, swatting playfully at his chest. "Fine, you ridiculous man. But we're gonna have to take a shower and hydrate first. I need to have my strength up if we're gonna do this properly."

Bokuto smirked, one large palm splaying across the bare swell of your ass. "Well, I suppose we can get some food and water in us. Then maybe round two can involve that shower, eh?"

You snorted, the sound trailing off into a squeal as he rolled you both off the mattress and carried you to the bathroom bridal-style. Bokuto was already sporting an impressive semi, and when you glanced down, the sight was enough to make your pussy throb with renewed need.

"Well then," you managed, licking suddenly dry lips as Bokuto set you down in front of the mirror and caged you against the counter. "I guess round two is starting early then, huh?"

His grin was positively predatory, and when his teeth latched onto the curve of your neck, you gasped in a mixture of pleasure and pain. His voice was a dark rumble, a promise that you felt straight to your core.

"That's the idea, babydoll."

[etahpots]

1 direct eye contact with driver zooming toward you while crossing the crosswalk. find out if the driver is distracted, operating a cell phone, screaming at some kid, if they're distracted then an accident may likely happen soon. 2 no fear. the road$ were de$igned around car$/tran$portation, but one can OWN that cro$$walk. pede$trians have the right of way, and an accident = lawsuit/money/etc. have cell phone ready to record license plate numbers and faces of drivers while crossing crosswalk. 3 invest in some high vis equipment, or carry a large sword and shield. anyway for you to stand out will ensure you get seen and avoided by cars that ass-ume they can run right over others without consequences because they ass-ume they need to get to the next intersection a fraction of a second faster versus not lose their entire life/savings/family by murdering/massacring strangers. 4 don't listen to me, don't obey me, do what you feel is necessary with your life. with my life. if i see someone needing to cross a crosswalk. i walk ahead of them infront of a car about to murder some stranger for no reason, and then i wait for that individual trying to cross the crosswalk, and we cross together. drivers of cars can learn to slow the fk down or else get used to dealing with individuals like me that find it insanely disrespectful to ignore crosswalk laws/rules/regulations/respect/understanding.

drew over something i wrote for a class and liked :] sorry the cars are lowkey ugly, its because I fucking hate cars and cant be bothered to learn what they look like beyond ominous hunks of metal

edit: transcript of the poem by itself under the cut

6 Tips for Crossing the Road

Look both ways

The road is for cars. 

Make sure to look for them before crossing. Even when you have the right of way, cars have a lot of safety features and you have none. 

Use designated crosswalks 

The road is for cars. 

So is the crosswalk but, under brief and temporary conditions, you can use it too! Never jaywalk, never walk in the road, just hope there is a clear and functional sidewalk. 

Cross at the light

The road is for cars. 

There are rules and signs for them, but that can only go so far. Walk quickly and hold your breath and hope that the light doesn't turn. Make eye contact with drivers as their cars teem with potential energy, rumbling with disdain at the inconvenience of your crossing. Try to ignore the cloud of exhaust that you are in and they are above. 

Leash your pets

The road is for cars. 

Obviously. 

To you, it may be natural to sacrifice so much space to them but to your dog, it is not. His instinct is to explore freely. You must curb it. Modern US car models have such high hoods that the average child, let alone dog, is obscured. Even on the sidewalk, hold the leash tight because the sidewalk (if you are so blessed) is next to the street and the threat still looms.

Look out for road kill

The road is for cars. 

And no one was there to leash the deer. 

Or the raccoon. 

Or the cat. 

Did you know that the most reliable sample method for wildlife in an area is looking at the roadkill? 

Remember these tips

The road is for cars. 

Cars are everywhere. In the city. In the suburbs. In the country. In the woods (the US Forest Service manages more roads than the entire Ministry of Transit in China.) Cars are everywhere because there are roads to bring them there, which is great if you are a car and want to get from place to place fast without worrying about the in-between. 

Unfortunately, you are not a car. 

You are an animal. 

You are in-between. 

So remember to look both ways. 

[joelsrose]

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

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[spacenmonsters-ynot]

I love how similar yet different the boys are.

At first, you think Charles is the Loud One and Edwin is the Quiet One. But as you keep watching, you know that it’s kind of the opposite. Edwin is the Loud One because he is more demonstrative of his true feelings while Charles bottles his up.

Then there is the jealousy. (Beautifully shown, I must say)

Edwin outright expresses his displeasure with Crystal’s presence. Charles goes silent, but then subtly pokes at Edwin later, telling his best mate that they need to keep focus. (A tiny bit hypocritical there, Charles, I’m just saying)

(I don’t really count the confrontation at Point No Point about the Cat King as jealousy on Charles’ part. I posit that it’s more about anger fueled by frustration than jealousy)

They both do not handle complex emotions well. Charles shuts his down behind a smile while Edwin just diverts his attention to a case. But Edwin changes just enough that he becomes more willing to confront his own emotions. It seems like Charles doubles down on shutting them out.

I wish we could’ve seen how Charles’ little repression game was gonna stand up in the second season. And I wish we got to see if Edwin praised and complimented Charles more to express a fraction of his feelings or tried to stiff-upper-lip the situation in the hopes of not making Charles uncomfortable.

(I’m not trying to insinuate Edwin’s “in love” feelings would be his only motivator to express his feelings, because these boys are the picture of devotion, whether platonic or romantic. I’m partial to the thought that it’s a mixture of every type of love, just Love in general)

[heeluvv]

𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐘 𖦏

pairing ✠︎ officer! park sunghoon x catwoman! reader

genre ✠︎ smut

warnings ✠︎ gun play kink, power play, etc.

natty's notes ✠︎ (request) mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

the door creaks open, the dim glow from the streetlight outside casting jagged shadows across the floor. his boots are heavy against the wood, the familiar weight of his holster pressing against his side. everything looks the same at first glance—framed wedding photos still on the wall, the scent of dinner faint in the air—but something is off.

your husband, sunghoon, trained for moments like this, stiffens. his fingers twitch near his belt, eyes scanning the living room. cushions slightly out of place. a drawer left open. the window near the back slightly ajar. his heartbeat is steady, but the tension coils in his muscles. someone’s been here.

his grip tightens on his baton, but then his hand shifts, reaching for his holstered gun. with a steady motion, he raises it, the cold metal catching the dim light as he levels it toward the darkness. his voice is firm, commanding. "who’s there?"

silence. the kind that makes the hair on his arms rise.

then—a flicker of movement.

his grip tightens on his gun as he follows the shift of a shadow. he moves swiftly, trained feet making no sound as he rounds the corner toward the hallway. the bedroom door is slightly open, a sliver of darkness waiting beyond it. his pulse quickens.

he pushes the door wider, stepping inside, gaze sweeping the space. and then he sees you.

perched on the windowsill, body clad in tight black, curves accentuated under the dim light. the glossy cat suit clings to your form, a black mask teasingly covering your eyes. his breath stutters for a fraction of a second before realization dawns.

he exhales, slow and deep, the tension rolling off him like a wave. so this is what you’re doing.

his lips curl into a smirk as he crosses his arms, tilting his head slightly. “well, well. what do we have here?”

you remain silent, playing the role, eyes flashing with mischief behind the mask. your legs dangle slightly from the windowsill, a small bag hanging from your fingers as if you had just looted the house.

he takes a step closer. deliberate. slow.

“breaking and entering?” he muses, voice dropping to something lower, something darker. “that’s a serious crime, you know.”

you shift slightly, feigning an attempt to escape, but he’s faster. a strong hand grips your wrist, the small gasp you let out making his smirk deepen.

“thought you could rob a cop’s house?” he murmurs, his other hand tilting your chin up. “bold. but foolish.”

his thumb brushes against your jaw, lingering, before he pulls away, stepping back. he removes his baton with a slow, calculated ease, placing it onto the nearby dresser. his eyes never leave yours.

“i should cuff you,” he muses, reaching into his belt, the metal glinting under the dim light. with a swift motion, he snaps the cuffs around your wrists, the cold bite of steel sending a shiver up your spine. “take you in for questioning.”

your lips part, the anticipation thick in the air.

he steps closer again, this time towering over you. his gaze darkens as he pushes you gently onto the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight. his fingers trail over the cuffs securing your wrists, testing their hold. a slow smirk plays on his lips. “but i think a more... immediate punishment is necessary.”

his free hand slides down your arm, fingers ghosting over the fabric of your suit, the warmth of his touch seeping through. you swallow hard, pulse racing, heat creeping up your spine.

you wanted this game, and now he’s playing along.

his grip tightens slightly, authoritative yet teasing. he steps back, reaching for the gun still holstered at his hip. with slow precision, he pulls it free, the weight of it heavy in his hand. the metallic sheen catches the dim light, the air thick with an unspoken tension.

he tilts his head, letting the barrel trace lazily down your shoulder, the cold kiss of steel against the warmth of your skin making you shudder. "breaking into a cop’s house, stealing what's mine… you really don’t think about consequences, do you?"

your breath catches, pulse erratic as he trails it lower, just enough pressure to make you hyper-aware but never enough to truly threaten. his finger rests firmly on the side—off the trigger, controlled, deliberate.

he sets the gun down onto the bed with deliberate care, the weight of it sinking into the mattress as his focus shifts entirely to you. his hands, warm and rough with experience, trace the curves of your body, feeling the way the tight leather clings to every dip and swell. his fingers ghost over your waist, up your ribs, before trailing back down, savoring the sensation of the suit molding against your form.

before you even register what’s happening, a sharp tug steals the breath from your lungs. the unmistakable sound of tearing leather fills the room, the pressure of his grip splitting the material with an unforgiving rip. the tear is jagged, running from your collarbone down, slicing through the barrier of fabric until it parts between your legs. cool air rushes against your exposed skin, a stark contrast to the heat pooling within you. a gasp tumbles past your lips, raw and unfiltered.

he chuckles, a deep, rich sound vibrating in his chest. satisfaction gleams in his dark eyes as he picks the gun back up, the weight familiar in his grasp. without hesitation, he lowers it, the barrel tracing the soft plane of your stomach, the metal an icy kiss against your overheated skin.

"sung—"

"shh..." his voice is a hushed command, firm yet laced with amusement. "i didn’t give you permission to speak."

his gaze locks onto yours, unwavering, filled with an intensity that sends shivers skittering down your spine. his free hand finds your thighs, fingers pressing against the tender flesh before prying them further apart. he takes his time, dragging out the anticipation, reveling in the way your breathing quickens.

"should we see how well you’ll take this punishment, kitten?" he muses, voice deceptively soft as he slides the gun lower, the cold steel now nestled against your clothed slit. the contrast is dizzying—the sheer dominance of the action against the cool, unyielding pressure of the metal. your body reacts on instinct, a shudder rolling through you as the sensation heightens everything, makes you hyper-aware of every shift, every movement he makes.

his thumb presses against the gun’s side, applying the slightest pressure, just enough to tease. your pulse thrums in your ears, your fingers twitching against the restraints, a delicious tension coiling deep in your core. he watches you, smirking as he drinks in every reaction, every stuttered breath, every quiver beneath his touch.

"that’s a good girl," he murmurs, his voice molten, dripping with authority. "let’s see how much you can handle."

his rough fingers grasp at your flimsy panties, tugging them aside carelessly to expose the slick folds of your pussy. the chilly air and the vulnerable position send shivers across your skin. your body tenses as you feel the cool, unforgiving metal of his gun pressing insistently against your heated core.

a soft, shocked gasp escapes your parted lips at the foreign sensation. part of you is screaming to protest, to beg him to stop this lewd violation—but a darker, needier part of you yearns for it. the subtle yet very real danger only seems to heighten the taboo thrill.

"already so fucking wet for me, aren't you?" his voice is a low, taunting rumble as he drags the gun torturously up and down your dripping slit. the metal is coated in your slick's wetness now, glinting lewdly. "i bet you love this, you dirty girl.."

you can only whimper and squirm in response, conflicted. "officer..p-please.." you beg breathily, straining your neck to look up at him with wide eyes. but heavy cuffs bite into your wrists, keeping you pinned in place at his mercy.

he meets your gaze with a dark, sinful smirk, clicking his tongue. "i don't think so, kitty. bad girls who break the rules need to be punished.." he trails off as he presses the gun more firmly to your entrance. then, in one sudden, brutal thrust, he buries the icy metal deep inside your tight sheath.

your eyes fly open wide in shock at the sudden penetration. the cold, hard length of the gun feels like nothing you've ever experienced—it's a sick, perverted kind of pleasure, stretching you almost painfully as he begins sliding it in and out. you can't help but choke out wanton moans and whines, bucking your hips to meet him stroke for stroke. in some distant part of your mind, you know this is depraved, it's so very wrong...but god, it feels so good.

"such a pretty pussy, baby.." breathes, his eyes trained on the place where the gun disappears into your dripping folds with each powerful thrust. every movement send shockwaves through your body, igniting your nerves. "f-fuck—don't stop! please.." you readily agree, tugging uselessly at your restraints.

sunghoon bites his lip, clearly just as affected. he doesn't know how longer he can last like this. the way your greedy pussy grips the metal, the obscene wet sounds as he pounds it into you. it's almost enough to make him cum untouched.

his free hand skates up your bare thigh, calloused fingers gathering up your abundant juices. then, without warning, he finds your swollen clit and flicks it roughly. your legs jerk and twitch, a cry tearing from your throat. "s-sunghoon! fuck yes, please!" you're barely cognizant of what you're saying anymore, lost in sensation.

but he clearly takes it as encouragement. he doubles down, fucking you harder, faster with his cold gun. you keen and writhe beneath him, your body pulled taut as a bowstring. release is so close you can taste it.

but do those who get caught really think they'll get what they want?

natty's notes ✠︎ okay anon i hope you enjoyed this! (also my inbox is filled with requests, tysm for those, i'll see how many i can get done, lots of love and kiss for you all, mwah!) also idk if the warnings are correct but who cares >.<

[spidori]

Just because I think it would be hilarious and fitting, I vote Danny also breaks Bruce's nose. It's probably a case of punch-to-the-gut with an uppercut follow-up when B doubles over from being winded by the first one, but I have a might need for Bruce to be sporting the same consequence for the same mistake.

I also need his first thought when he regains consciousness to be something along the lines of "oh, so that's how he did it." Which I'm thinking basically translates to Danny's fighting style being extremely weird because of his unique mix of some training from his mom, lots of learning to fight by brawling, doing so almost entirely with non-standard opponents with their own completely unique styles, and his unique biology removing most of the bodily limits that martial arts are built within and to address. All told, Danny just doesn't fight like anyone else whether they be human, ghost, meta, god, new god, or literally anything else Batman has encountered in his near-abyss-deep well of fighting experience.

Give him a few moves, and he'll be able to get a feel for how Danny fights and respond just as fast as he does to any other fighter, but that first shot? For a fighter with that much experience, turned into muscle memory, then turned into lightning fast responses faster than thought, to not recognize something? The whole finely honed and tuned system just gets stuck. Sure, from the outside it only takes a fraction of a second to reboot, just a tiny stutter really, but Danny has speed built from fighting against ghosts not bound by the limits of mortal bodies. That split second is all he needs to slip in that first body blow.

Is Batman gonna hold this against Danny? Not as anything more than gentle ribbing. If anything, he'll recognize that Danny probably used to be some sort of vigilante or escaped meta cage fighter and want to provide support, especially when he sees Danny apologizing so genuinely.

Does Danny know that? Absolutely not!

Danny's flight or fight response has quite the hair trigger for a few select phrases most being things vlad would say

One such being his full name a bit odd but there's a reason he always asks to be called danny

So really it's not his fault after joining the school in gotham he had been introduced to his class and he'd told them to call him danny

And he hadn't heard him all he'd heard was someone calling him danial and putting a hand on his shoulder

So really he can't be blamed for how he reacted he told everyone not to call him Daniel and he snuck up and called him daniel

How can he be blamed for breaking Damien waynes nose

[hoe4hotchner]

Honey and wildflowers | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!reader | WC: 0.9k | CW: Fluff, exhaustion, i dunno beekeeping.

The dirt road stretched ahead of him, dappled with golden sunlight filtering through the thick canopy of trees. It was the kind of place where time seemed to move slower, where the wind whispered through the leaves instead of howling against glass and concrete. The SUV’s tires crunched over the gravel, kicking up dust as Hotch navigated the familiar path. The one he had taken oh so many times before.

The drive had been long, but not long enough to clear his mind of the past week’s weight. The cases had been brutal, they had burrowed under his skin and still refused to let go. He had felt it pressing down on him in the few quiet moments he had had, the ones between case briefings and interrogations, where his mind wandered somewhere softer—somewhere like this. Somewhere like you.

When he pulled up in front of the small red cabin, he barely had time to shut off the engine before the door swung open.

You stood there on the porch, bathed in the late afternoon sun, your hair messily tied back, wisps escaping to frame your face. You wore denim shorts and one of his old button-ups, the sleeves rolled up, the fabric draped loosely over your frame. His breath caught for a second—he hadn’t realized just how much he had needed to see you until this moment.

"Aaron," you said, your voice was soft, almost uncertain, like you hadn’t expected him to actually come.

His grip on the door tightened for a fraction of a second before he stepped out. "Hey," he said, his voice lower than he intended, rough from exhaustion.

Before he could say anything else, you closed the distance between you. Your arms wrapped around his torso, your body pressing into him with a warmth that he had been craving for weeks. The scent of honey and wildflowers clung to your skin, something sweet and familiar that filled his lungs like fresh air after too many days trapped in an unventilated office. "I missed you," you murmured into his chest, voice barely above a whisper.

His hands slid over your back, pulling you closer, grounding himself in the way you fit against him. "I missed you too," he admitted, the words slipping out effortlessly.

You leaned back just enough to look up at him, your fingers brushing over his jaw. Your touch was gentle like you were searching for something in his face, tracing the exhaustion he knew was written in bold letters across it.

"You look tired," you observed, your brows knitting together in concern. "Long week," he replied simply, not wanting to burden you with the details that haunted him.

Your lips pressed into a soft, knowing smile. "Then you're in the right place."

You tugged him inside, your fingers laced loosely with his as you led him through the doorway.

The cabin was exactly as he remembered—warm, rustic, filled with traces of you. The scent of fresh bread lingered in the air, mingling with something floral–Ah, a fresh bouquet from the garden. A few of his books sat on the coffee table next to your favorite mug, and a light breeze drifted in through the open window, carrying the distant buzz of bees.

"You hungry?" you asked over your shoulder, already heading toward the kitchen.

"Starving."

You grinned, your back still to him as you pulled out a jar of golden honey, placing it on the counter. "Good. I made bread this morning, and there's honey from the hives."

He raised an eyebrow as he shrugged off his jacket. "You're still beekeeping?"

You turned to look at him, amusement dancing in your eyes. "You say that like I ever planned to stop."

Hotch let out a chuckle, something that felt so foreign to his cords after the kind of week he’d had. The sound made your smile widen as you nodded toward the door leading to the backyard. "Come on, I’ll show you."

He followed you outside, the sun casting everything in gold. The hives stood in neat rows, bees lazily drifting in and out, their low buzz filling the silent space between you. The wooden frames were thick with honey, they were leaning against a makeshift worktable.

"You ever gonna put me to work?" he asked, watching as you inspected one of the frames with ease.

"Maybe," you teased, not looking up. "You up for it, city boy?"

Hotch stepped closer, his hands finding your hips as he leaned down, his lips brushing just below your ear. "For you?" he murmured, his voice low and warm. "Always."

You sucked in a breath, but before you could react, a loud bark shattered the moment. Hotch barely had time to turn before a familiar ball of fur barreled toward him, a tennis ball clutched between its teeth.

"You still have him playing fetch?" he asked, glancing down at the dog, who wagged his tail expectantly.

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "He's obsessed."

The dog trotted closer, dropping the ball at Hotch’s feet before stepping back, waiting.

Hotch bent down, picking it up and tossing it a few feet away. The dog did not chase it. Instead, he tilted his head, his eyes locked onto Hotch with an almost comically expectant stare.

"He wants you to chase him," you explained, biting your lip, amusement clear in your expression.

Hotch let out a slow exhale, rubbing a hand down his face. "Of course he does."

You laughed then, the sound was bright and full of something lighthearted, something he had missed more than he could put into words. Before he could say anything, you leaned up on your toes and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek.

"Welcome home, Aaron," you whispered.

His chest ached at those words.

Home.

It wasn’t just a place—it was you.

[favefandomimagines]

Now That We Don’t Talk - Alternate Ending (j.b)

Summary: now that we do talk…

AN: here is ‘Now That We Don’t Talk’ with its alternate ending!! Spoiler alert: it’s fluffy lol please read the original work before reading this one!! The lead up is exactly the same as the OG, the ending is just different

Now That We Don’t Talk - Original

The cameras loved them.

They were the kind of couple that seemed plucked straight out of a Hollywood script—Joe Burrow, the golden boy of the NFL, and Y/N, a star who shined just as brightly in her own field. Every magazine, every sports network, every gossip blog had something to say about them. America’s sweethearts, they were called. The kind of couple that made headlines for simply existing.

But what the world saw—the perfectly timed red carpet appearances, the viral social media moments, the dazzling courtside dates—was only a fraction of what their relationship really was.

It all started at a charity gala in Los Angeles.

Joe wasn’t the type to be impressed by fame. He wasn’t the guy who got starstruck, wasn’t the one to fawn over celebrities just because they were on the big screen. Football was his life—his focus. His teammates had to practically drag him to the event, insisting that it would be good PR.

Y/N, on the other hand, had been born for nights like this.

She thrived in the glitz and glam, the cameras, the flashing lights. It wasn’t that she was shallow—far from it. But she understood the game. She knew how to command a room, how to make people laugh, how to charm even the most cynical of hearts.

And that included Joe Burrow.

She noticed him before he noticed her. He was leaning against the bar, dressed in a sleek black tux, perfectly put together but somehow completely unaware of just how good he looked. His jaw was sharp, his lips pressed into a small, amused smirk as he listened to one of his teammates ramble about something.

Y/N was intrigued.

Not because he was Joe Burrow, the star quarterback. But because he was the only person in the room who didn’t seem desperate to be seen.

So, naturally, she made it her mission to change that.

"You're either really mysterious or really bored," she said as she slid up next to him at the bar, her voice laced with playful curiosity.

Joe turned his head, startled for a split second, before a small smirk tugged at his lips. He knew who she was, of course. It was impossible not to. She was everywhere—movies, music, magazine covers. She was the kind of famous that made people feel like they knew her, even if they didn’t.

"I'm neither," he said smoothly, taking a sip of his drink. "But that was an interesting introduction."

Y/N grinned, twirling the straw in her cocktail. "Well, you looked like you needed rescuing."

"From what?"

"From the serious case of ‘I don't belong here’ that’s written all over your face."

Joe let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You caught me."

It was easy after that.

Too easy.

They talked like they had known each other forever, like they had been waiting for this moment. It didn’t matter that their worlds were different—his ruled by playbooks and stadium lights, hers by movie scripts and flashing cameras. For that night, none of it mattered.

By the time the gala was over, Joe had Y/N’s number saved in his phone under a simple “Trouble”—a joke, but also a warning to himself. Because something about her felt dangerous in the best way.

||

From that night on, they were inseparable.

At first, they tried to be discreet. It wasn’t about hiding—it was about protecting something before the world could ruin it. They wanted to figure out what they were before the headlines did.

But it didn’t take long for the world to catch on.

The first time they were seen together was at a Bengals game in Cincinnati. Y/N had shown up in the stands, wearing his jersey, sitting beside his mom, cheering like she had been a fan forever. The cameras caught her—how could they not? The biggest pop star in the world was at an NFL game, losing her mind every time Joe completed a pass.

The internet went into a frenzy.

That night, Joe texted her: You made my mom’s entire year, you know that?

Y/N: Good. She’s my favorite Burrow.

It was effortless between them.

Joe loved how she made him laugh, how she pushed him out of his comfort zone without ever making him feel like he had to change. Y/N loved how steady he was, how he never let the fame get to his head, how he made her feel safe in a way she never had before.

They traveled the world together. Italy in the summer, where they drank wine on balconies and got caught by paparazzi on a yacht. The south of France in the offseason, where Joe learned (very poorly) how to dance on a rooftop with her.

And through it all, they loved each other fiercely.

||

There were things the cameras never saw.

Like the time Joe showed up at one of her concerts in disguise.

He wasn’t one for big public displays, but he wanted to see her perform without the pressure of being Joe Burrow in the front row. So he threw on a hoodie, a baseball cap, and sunglasses, and stood in the VIP section like a regular fan.

Y/N spotted him from the stage instantly.

The next morning, there was a viral video of her grinning mid-song and blowing a kiss toward the crowd. The internet went wild trying to figure out who she had been looking at.

Joe texted her after: That was for me, right?

Y/N: Nope. Definitely the guy next to you in the Bengals hat.

Joe: Liar.

Or the time she surprised him after a game, waiting in the locker room tunnel when he least expected it.

He had played a rough game—bruises forming beneath his jersey, exhaustion heavy in his bones. But then he saw her standing there, arms wide open, eyes shining with something softer than the spotlight.

“You did amazing,” she whispered against his shoulder.

And just like that, the rest of the world faded away.

||

For a while, it was perfect.

But even the most golden of couples have their breaking points.

As Joe’s season intensified, Y/N’s career soared higher than ever. There was always something—a game he had to focus on, a movie she had to fly out for. Their time together shrank, their conversations turned into quick check-ins rather than deep talks.

The missed calls, the exhaustion, the unspoken hurt—it started building.

There were nights Y/N fell asleep alone, staring at the empty space beside her, wondering if this was what love was supposed to feel like.

There were nights Joe sat in his locker, scrolling through social media, seeing Y/N at events he should have been at but couldn't because football always came first.

They were still in love.

But love wasn’t enough.

And for the first time, they both started to wonder—

What happens when you realize the person you love the most... is the one you’re slowly losing?

||

At first, the differences between them were exciting.

Joe was all about structure—early mornings, strict schedules, a life ruled by game plans and discipline. Y/N was the opposite. She thrived in the unpredictability of her world. Late-night studio sessions, spontaneous flights to Paris, impromptu performances under neon lights.

They were yin and yang.

And for a while, it worked.

Joe loved how she brought color into his life, how she could make even the most ordinary moments feel cinematic. Y/N loved how grounded he was, how he kept her sane in the madness of fame.

But what once felt like balance slowly became friction.

It started small—missed phone calls, text messages left on read, a growing list of "Sorry, I can't make it" and "Wish you were here."

They promised it would be temporary.

"We just have to get through the season."

"We just have to get through filming."

"We’ll make time soon, I swear."

But time never came.

Y/N’s career was exploding—new projects, new opportunities, a world waiting for her. She was everywhere. Award shows, red carpets, magazine covers. When Joe turned on the TV, she was smiling in interviews, dazzling the world like only she could.

But she was never with him.

And he was never with her.

||

The first time it really hurt was the premiere of her new movie.

It was supposed to be a huge night—her first leading role, a moment she had worked for since she was a teenager.

Joe had promised he would be there.

But the night before, his coach called an emergency meeting. A must-win game was coming up, and the team needed to focus.

Y/N, I’m so sorry. I have to stay for practice.

Yeah. I figured.

Soon, I promise.

But soon never happened.

That night, she walked the red carpet alone. Smiled for the cameras. Gave interviews. Pretended she wasn’t aching inside.

And when she got back to her hotel, she turned on her phone to see Joe’s Instagram story—

A picture of him at the Bengals facility, throwing passes under the stadium lights.

She stared at it for a long time.

Then she put her phone face down and went to sleep.

||

The next big fight came after one of Joe’s biggest games.

It was an away game against Kansas City, a prime-time Sunday Night Football matchup. The kind of game that everyone was watching. Joe had played phenomenally—four touchdowns, a game-winning drive in the fourth quarter. The kind of performance that cements a quarterback’s legacy.

Y/N wasn’t there.

She wanted to be. She had planned to be. But a last-minute industry event pulled her away.

Joe called her after the game, still buzzing with adrenaline.

“I saw the highlights!” she said, her voice bright but distant. “You were incredible.”

He exhaled. He wanted her there.

“It would’ve been nice to see you in the stands.”

Y/N bit her lip. “I know. I tried, Joe, I really did. But—”

“There’s always a ‘but.’”

Silence.

The kind of silence that held too much weight, too much unsaid emotion.

Y/N sighed. “What do you want me to say? You miss things too, you know.”

“I know,” Joe said quietly. “And I hate it.”

The next day, there were headlines: Joe Burrow celebrates huge win, girlfriend nowhere to be found.

She tried not to let it sting.

She tried not to notice that he didn’t text her goodnight.

||

It was after an argument—one of those quiet, devastating fights that lingered even after the words stopped.

Y/N had left for an event, and Joe had stayed home.

He sat on the couch, flipping through channels, half-watching some meaningless TV show, when his phone buzzed.

A text from a teammate.

Damn, your girl is everywhere tonight.

Joe frowned, opening Twitter.

And there she was.

Standing next to some famous actor, both of them smiling under the bright lights. Her hand rested on his arm. It was nothing. But at the wrong angle, the wrong moment, it looked like everything.

The next morning, when she came home, she found him sitting at the kitchen counter, staring at his coffee like it held all the answers.

He didn’t look up when he spoke.

“Are you happy?”

Y/N stilled, setting her purse down. “What?”

Joe exhaled, finally meeting her gaze.

“Are you happy?” he repeated. “With me. With...this.”

Her stomach twisted.

“What kind of question is that?”

“A real one.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Because the truth was—she didn’t know.

And Joe? He could see it in her eyes.

Neither of them wanted to say it out loud, but in that moment, they both knew—

The love was still there.

But the timing? The world they lived in?

That night, Y/N climbed into bed beside him, curling into his warmth like she always did.

Joe wrapped an arm around her out of instinct, but something had shifted.

Neither of them spoke.

Neither of them said, "We'll fix this."

Because for the first time, they weren’t sure if they could.

They just laid there in the dark, both pretending they didn’t feel the weight of what was coming next.

And for the first time in their relationship, the silence wasn’t comfortable.

It was the sound of something breaking.

||

It happened in the offseason.

They had both known it was coming for weeks, maybe even months. The missed calls. The late replies. The exhaustion in their voices when they did talk. Everything that once felt effortless had turned into something they had to work for. And while love was always worth fighting for, neither of them could deny that they were fighting more than they were loving.

But even with all the signs, knowing doesn’t make it easier.

It was supposed to be a night to fix things. Joe had just come back from a much-needed vacation, and Y/N had cleared her schedule for the weekend. They agreed on dinner at a quiet restaurant, away from the flashing lights, away from the outside world.

But from the moment they sat down, the air felt different.

Joe tapped his fingers on the table, his mind somewhere else. Y/N stirred her drink absentmindedly, barely touching her food.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.

This wasn’t them.

Y/N sighed, placing her fork down. “Joe…”

He looked up, his blue eyes tired in a way they never used to be.

“We can’t keep doing this,” she whispered.

His jaw tensed, his fingers curling into a fist on the table. He had known this was coming. He had felt it deep in his bones for weeks, but that didn’t mean he was ready to hear it.

“We’re just… not the same anymore,” she continued, her voice careful. “I feel like we’re always missing each other, even when we’re in the same room.”

Joe exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “So that’s it? You’re just giving up?”

Y/N’s throat tightened. She didn’t want to give up. She wanted to hold onto him, to tell him that they could fix this if they just tried a little harder. But how long could you keep holding onto something that was already slipping through your fingers?

“I don’t want to walk away,” she admitted, tears burning behind her eyes. “But Joe… when was the last time we were really happy?”

Joe swallowed hard, looking away. That question shouldn’t have been so hard to answer.

Y/N reached for his hand across the table, squeezing it gently. The way she always had. But this time, he didn’t squeeze back.

“I love you,” she whispered.

His eyes flickered to hers, something raw and unspoken flashing behind them. He loved her, too. He always would. But love wasn’t enough.

He let out a long breath, nodding slowly.

“I love you, too,” he said. And just like that, it was over.

They didn’t make a scene.

They left the restaurant separately—Joe through the side door, Y/N through the front. The paparazzi were waiting, cameras flashing as they shouted questions she didn’t have the energy to answer.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Joe.

She swallowed, pulling it out to see the text.

Get home safe.

She blinked hard, willing herself not to cry.

Y/N: You too.

She wanted to say more.

Wanted to tell him that she didn’t regret a second of it. That she would always root for him. That he would always be her favorite story, even if they didn’t get a happy ending.

But instead, she tucked her phone away and got into the car, leaving behind the only person who ever made her feel like home.

Joe didn’t go straight home.

He drove around the city for hours, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

His phone buzzed again. A text from Ja’Marr..

You good?

He stared at it for a long time before finally typing back:

No.

That night, he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Every part of him ached—but not in the way it did after a brutal game. This was different. This was the kind of pain that sat in your chest and refused to leave.

For the first time in his life, he had lost something he couldn’t win back.

Y/N didn’t sleep that night.

She sat on her couch in a hoodie that still smelled like Joe, knees pulled to her chest, phone clutched in her hand.

She kept expecting a call. A text. Something.

But it never came.

And she didn’t reach out either.

Because deep down, they both knew—there was nothing left to say.

The worst part wasn’t the breakup itself.

It was everything that came after.

It was waking up and realizing there were no more good morning texts waiting on her phone. It was scrolling through Instagram and seeing a picture of Joe at practice, looking focused, looking fine—like she hadn’t just walked away from him.

It was reaching for her phone after a bad day, only to remember that he wasn’t hers to call anymore.

For Joe, it was even worse.

Football had always been his escape. The one thing that never let him down. But even in the middle of practice, between drills and film sessions, his mind would drift to her.

He’d hear a song playing in the locker room—one of hers—and his stomach would tighten.

He’d catch himself reaching for his phone, tempted to text her, only to stop at the last second.

He’d drive past a place they used to go, and suddenly, it felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Love doesn’t just disappear overnight.

It lingers.

It haunts you.

And no matter how much they tried to move on, there were still nights when they both lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if they had made the biggest mistake of their lives.

But they never reached out.

Because they both knew—

It would hurt too much to talk.

||

Joe didn’t think about her.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Training camp started, and he threw himself into football harder than ever. Early mornings, late nights, extra drills—anything to keep his mind busy. The media praised his focus. Locked in. Unshakable. Ready for the season of his life.

What they didn’t see was the way his thumb hovered over her contact some nights.

Or how he still wore the bracelet she gave him—a simple leather band, hidden beneath his wrist tape.

Or how, when the team played in Los Angeles, he caught himself looking for her in the crowd, even though he knew she wouldn’t be there.

Y/N, on the other hand, convinced herself she was free.

She threw herself into work, into new projects. New music, new opportunities, new people. She let herself be photographed at industry events, wearing the kind of radiant, effortless smiles that made it look like she had never been in love with Joe Burrow.

But behind closed doors?

She still hesitated before playing his highlights when ESPN aired them.

She still wore his oversized hoodie when she was home alone.

And sometimes, when the world was quiet, she’d catch herself thinking about calling him. Just to hear his voice. Just to see if he was okay.

But they didn’t talk.

Not when she was nominated for a Golden Globe.

Not when Joe led the Bengals to another playoff win.

Not when they were in the same city, just blocks apart, but worlds away.

It happened at a charity gala in New York.

Y/N hadn’t planned on going, but her team convinced her. A good PR move. A chance to show the world she had moved on.

She had spent the night mingling, smiling, doing what she did best—commanding the room.

And then, she felt it. A shift in the air. Like someone was watching her.

She turned her head, and there he was.

Joe Burrow, across the room, standing near the bar, his hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey.

Her breath caught in her throat. He looked… different. The same, but different.

The suit was sharp, the same cool, composed expression on his face. But there was something in his eyes—something softer.

For a moment, it was like time folded in on itself.

Every late-night conversation. Every whispered “I love you.” Every fight, every apology, every moment that had made them them.

Joe’s grip on his glass tightened.

Their eyes met, held. And then—just like that—he looked away.

He turned, said something to the person beside him, took a sip of his drink.

Like she wasn’t even there. Y/N felt something crack inside her chest.

She knew this was how it was supposed to be.

They weren’t together anymore.

They didn’t owe each other anything.

But wasn’t it strange?

That after everything, they were just two people in the same room, pretending they had never been anything more?

She didn’t look at him again for the rest of the night.

And when she got home, she locked herself in her hotel bathroom and cried for the first time in months.

The headlines started soon after.

Joe Burrow Spotted in NYC, No Y/N in Sight—Are They Finally Moving On?

Y/N Looking Radiant at Charity Event Amidst Joe Burrow Breakup Rumors

Has Joe Found a New Leading Lady? NFL Star Seen with Mystery Woman.

Y/N didn’t click on the articles.

She didn’t let herself wonder if Joe had really moved on.

She focused on her work.

She poured herself into writing new music.

And for the first time in months, she felt something close to herself again.

Until one night, when she found herself sitting at her piano, fingers hovering over the keys, a melody forming before she even realized what it was.

The words spilled out before she could stop them.

“…Did you get anxious though, On the way home?, I guess I'll never, ever know, Now that we don't talk.”

“You grew your hair long, you got new icons… and from the outside, it looks like you’re trying lives on.”

She pressed her lips together, trying not to cry.

Even when they weren’t speaking, Joe was still in everything.

Joe saw the song before he heard it.

He was sitting in the Bengals’ film room, scrolling through his phone during a break when he saw the trending topic.

Y/N Y/L/N’s New Song: Is It About Joe Burrow?

His stomach tightened.

He should have ignored it.

But instead, he put his AirPods in and hit play.

The first notes hit, soft and aching, and suddenly, he wasn’t in the locker room anymore.

He was back in the car with her, driving down the coast with the windows down.

He was in their hotel room in Italy, tracing circles on her skin while she hummed the melody to a song she hadn’t written yet.

He was on the phone with her at 2 AM, whispering ‘I love you’ before hanging up.

And then he heard the lyrics.

You grew your hair long.

You got new icons.

And from the outside, it looks like you’re trying lives on.

Joe exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face.

It was about him.

It was always about him.

And wasn’t that the cruelest part?

That even after all this time, after all the nights they had spent apart, after all the silence—

They were still haunting each other.

||

The night of NFL Honors should have been a celebration.

Joe had spent the evening shaking hands, giving interviews, and sitting through speeches about some of the greatest moments in football. People congratulated him, smiled at him, told him how great he was.

But he felt empty.

Because the one person he wanted to share it with—wasn’t there.

He had spent months pretending he had moved on, convincing himself that throwing himself into football would make him forget. But no matter how many games he won, how many records he broke, none of it mattered if he couldn’t share it with her.

Y/N.

Joe let out a breath as he sat on the hotel bed, running a hand through his hair. His phone was in his palm, the screen illuminated with her name.

Y/N.

He had never deleted her contact. Never even considered it.

And before he could think better of it, before he could talk himself out of it, he hit call.

It rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then it went to voicemail.

Joe swallowed hard, waiting for the beep.

Then—

"Hey."

His voice was rougher than he expected. He cleared his throat and continued.

"I don’t know why I’m doing this," he admitted, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I guess I just… I needed to say this. Even if you never hear it."

He exhaled, his free hand gripping his knee.

"I’m sorry, Y/N. For everything. For not prioritizing us, for all the times I made you feel like you were on the outside looking in. I know you’d tell me it’s not all my fault, and maybe you’re right. But I played a big part in it. And I hate that."

His voice dropped slightly.

"I still love you. I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you, because you were it for me. The one who made all the bad stuff feel like a small footnote compared to the good. And maybe I never said it enough, maybe I never showed it enough, but… it’s always been you."

Joe exhaled, his jaw tightening.

"And I know I don’t deserve anything from you—not after New York. I should’ve talked to you. I should’ve tried. But I knew if I came up to you, if I even looked at you too long, I wouldn’t have been able to hold it together."

He let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head.

"I’m not asking for anything. I just… I needed you to hear this. I needed you to know all the things I never got to say that night at the restaurant."

He paused, then softly—

"That’s it, I guess. Take care, Y/N."

And then, before he could second-guess himself, he hung up.

He set his phone down beside him, staring blankly at the muted TV playing some sitcom he wasn’t even paying attention to.

Now, all he could do was wait.

Joe had just about given up when his phone vibrated on the nightstand.

He sat up quickly, his heart hammering.

Y/N.

He grabbed the phone so fast he nearly dropped it before answering.

There was silence for a beat. Then—

"Hey."

Her voice was soft, hesitant.

Joe swallowed. "Hey."

She let out a small breath. "I got your voicemail."

Joe nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. "Yeah. I, uh… I wasn’t expecting you to call."

Y/N sighed. "I wasn’t expecting to, either. But… I wanted to."

Joe ran a hand over his face, his chest feeling too full and too empty all at once.

"Y/N, I meant everything I said," he told her. "All of it."

"I know," she whispered. "And… I’m sorry, too. For everything I did. I wasn’t perfect, Joe. I made mistakes, too."

He closed his eyes, letting that settle.

She hesitated before adding, "I guess I’m just surprised you called."

Joe let out a quiet chuckle. "Yeah. Me too. But I finally had the courage, and I just… I had to do it."

There was a pause.

Joe swallowed hard.

"I love you," he murmured. "And I’m sorry."

Silence.

Then, barely above a whisper—

"I love you, too."

And just like that, the weight he had been carrying for months finally lifted.

They weren’t fixed. Not yet.

But they weren’t over, either.

And that was enough.

||

It felt like a dream.

Joe stood in the middle of the field, his jersey stained with sweat, his heart still pounding from the final whistle.

The Bengals had done it.

Super Bowl champions.

Confetti rained down, the crowd roared, and cameras flashed as he stood there, taking it all in.

Then—

She was there.

Y/N.

She had been in the stands, watching, waiting.

And the moment she reached him, he didn’t hesitate.

Joe wrapped his arms around her, lifting her slightly off the ground as she let out a breathless laugh.

"You did it!" she said against his shoulder.

Joe pulled back, looking down at her, his eyes shining with something more than just victory.

"We did it," he corrected, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

She smiled up at him, the confetti catching in her hair, the stadium lights making her eyes sparkle.

Joe cupped her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek.

"I love you," he said, the words feeling even more right than they did a year ago.

Y/N grinned. "I love you, too, Burrow."

Then, in the middle of the biggest moment of his career, in front of millions of people watching—Joe kissed her.

And suddenly, the championship ring, the MVP trophy, the confetti—none of it mattered as much as this.

As much as her.

Because, in the end—she was the biggest win of his life.

[k1nky-r0b0t-g1rl]

sorry but the anon was right. You're 22 you have no right to complain. There's 34 yesr old trans girls in Russia who will die living as men because they didn't get the chance to transition

oh yea right cant complain about anything because someone might have it worse right?

fall over and hurt yourself? well other people have been shot so don't complain

get into a car crash? well other people have had their houses burn down so don't u dare complain

dying in a hospital bed? well some people die much younger than you so how fucking dare you complain

also im assuming this is about that like months old anon telling me not to complain about my childhood because "gay drama is the same at all ages"

get your head out of your ass for a fraction of a second and maybe consider that when im complaining and wishing for a better childhood a part of that is wishing for a world where *everyone* has a better childhood and overall life?

maybe my yearning for a childhood where i wasn't a husk of a person desperately wishing i had the strength to kill myself is also yearning for a world where no one has to die as someone they aren't

god forbid a trans woman complains about literally something as simple as "yea i wish i wasn't a suicidal mess as a kid"

maybe you should go do something about that trans girl in Russia, maybe you should help the trans people around you if you apparently care so much, maybe send her some money or offer to take her out for lunch

maybe do fucking anything other than harass a 22 year old on the internet for wishing for a better life.

[luvfae]

Scenario 29 with thanos?

TRUTH OR DARE

scenario prompt: 29, truth or dare

parings: thanos/choi su-bong x f!reader

warnings: swearing, steamy make out

The barracks were dimly lit, the only real illumination coming from the occasional flicker of the overhead lights and the distant glow of guards patrolling the upper levels. Most players were either whispering amongst themselves or trying to get what little sleep they could before whatever fresh hell awaited them the next day. But not you.

You were sitting cross-legged on your bedroll, knees knocking against Thanos’ as he smirked at you from across the tiny space between you.

“Truth or dare?” he asked, voice low enough that only you could hear.

You hummed, tapping your chin in fake thought. “Truth.”

Thanos rolled his eyes. “Boring. Fine—why’d you agree to play this game with me?”

You shrugged. “Seemed fun.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Alright, your turn.”

“Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

You glanced around, biting your lip. “Uh… do twenty push-ups.”

He blinked at you. “Seriously?”

You nodded.

He sighed but dropped down anyway, knocking them out like they were nothing. When he was done, he sat back, grinning. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” you said without thinking.

A slow, wicked smirk spread across his lips. “Take off your socks.”

You frowned. “What?”

“You heard me.”

You rolled your eyes but tugged your socks off anyway, tossing them aside. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic. Your turn.”

“Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

You thought for a second. “Do a handstand against the wall.”

Thanos gave you a look like you were testing his patience, but he did it. Effortlessly.

“Truth or dare?” he asked the second he landed back on his feet.

“Dare,” you said, still amused.

His grin widened. “Lose the hoodie.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why?”

“Because I dared you.”

You hesitated but sighed, pulling your hoodie over your head and tossing it aside. You were left in your top, but now you were catching on.

“Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Thanos said easily.

“Do ten jumping jacks.”

He snorted but obeyed.

Your turn came around again. “Truth or dare?”

You hesitated, but damn it—you weren’t about to back down. “Dare.”

“Shirt.”

Your jaw nearly dropped. “Are you serious?”

He shrugged, all nonchalance. “A dare’s a dare, señorita.”

Your cheeks burned, but you shook your head. “Truth.”

His smirk faltered.

“Oh, come on,” he groaned.

“You’re making me strip!”

“And?”

“And I’m not gonna keep playing if you’re just using it as an excuse to get me naked!”

Thanos leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “That’s the fun part.”

You shoved his shoulder, biting back a smile. “Perv.”

Thanos was still smirking, all cocky and self-satisfied, and it made something in you snap. If he wanted to play dirty, you’d play dirtier.

You leaned in, your lips dangerously close to his ear, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper.

“Truth or dare?”

His breath hitched for half a second before he recovered, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “Dare.”

You let a slow, wicked grin spread across your lips. “Take off your jacket.”

His smirk didn’t waver, but there was something darker in his eyes now. Without breaking eye contact, he reached down, unzipping his jacket, dropping it beside him.

“Your turn,” he murmured. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

His tongue swiped over his bottom lip, his gaze trailing down your body like he was debating something. “Take off your pants.”

You fought back the urge to shiver. He was testing you, pushing to see how far you’d go. Fine. Two could play that game.

You didn’t hesitate. You lifted your hips just enough to slide your sweatpants down, kicking them off before sitting back, legs still folded, your bare thighs exposed under the dim light.

Thanos’ Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze flicking over you before he snapped back to his usual smugness.

“Not bad,” he muttered.

Your turn.

“Truth or dare?”

His smirk deepened. “Dare.”

You bit your lip, pretending to think before you leaned in just a fraction closer, your breath fanning against his cheek. “Kiss my neck.”

For the first time since the game started, Thanos hesitated. Not out of nerves—no, you could feel the tension rolling off of him. Like he wanted to, badly, but was still deciding whether he should.

Then he moved.

His lips brushed against the side of your throat, warm and teasing, his breath hot against your skin. He didn’t rush—he let his mouth linger just long enough for your breath to hitch before he finally pulled back, his eyes gleaming in the dim light.

“Your turn,” he murmured, voice rougher than before. “Truth or dare?”

You held his gaze, your pulse pounding, refusing to back down now. “Dare.”

A slow grin curled his lips. “Sit on my lap.”

Your stomach flipped.

He was upping the stakes, testing just how far you were willing to take this.

Fine.

You crawled forward, swinging a leg over his thighs and settling into his lap, your hands resting on his shoulders as his own immediately went to your hips, holding you there. His grip was firm but not forceful—like he was seeing if you’d stop him.

You didn’t.

Instead, you leaned in, brushing your nose against his.

“My turn,” you whispered.

His hands tightened.

“Truth or dare?”

He exhaled a slow breath, his lips just barely ghosting over yours.

“Dare.”

You smirked.

“Do whatever you were thinking of doing just now.”

For a second, Thanos just stared at you, his grip on your hips tightening like he was holding himself back. Then his eyes darkened, his resolve snapped, and he crashed his lips into yours.

The kiss was rough, hungry—like he’d been waiting for this, holding back for too long. His hands slid up your sides, gripping your waist as he pulled you even closer, pressing you flush against him.

You gasped against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours, coaxing, teasing. You met his intensity, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.

His hands roamed, fingers digging into your thighs before sliding up, brushing against your bra, his touch scorching against your skin. You shivered, rolling your hips just slightly, testing him, teasing him.

Thanos growled against your lips, his hands grabbing your waist as he flipped you onto your back, pressing you into the thin mattress beneath you. His body hovered over yours, his mouth moving from your lips to your jaw, then lower, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat.

You arched into him, your breath hitching as his teeth scraped over your pulse point before he sucked a deep bruise into your skin.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your neck, his voice rough. “You have no idea what you just started.”

You smirked, tilting your head to give him better access. “Then don’t stop.”

Thanos groaned, one hand sliding up your thigh, his fingers teasing the edge of your underwear. His other hand slipped down your chest, his palm hot against your bare stomach.

Then—

A loud bang echoed through the barracks, the sound of someone getting slammed against the wall, followed by a sharp cry of pain.

You both froze.

The sounds of a fight breaking out snapped you back to reality. Guards would be here any second. If they caught you like this—

Thanos cursed under his breath, pulling back just enough to look at you, his breathing heavy. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.

You swallowed hard, still trying to steady your own breathing. “We should—”

“Yeah.” His voice was tight, reluctant. He didn’t move right away, though, his eyes lingering on you like he wasn’t quite ready to stop.

Neither were you.

But for now, you had no choice.

[reveriebae]

You Wrote That For Me, Didn't You? [Part 2]

pairing(s) : Idol!Yunho x Atiny!reader

word count : 4915

summary : The night spirals as Yunho’s teasing and touch drive you to the edge, overstimulating you until you're begging for more, leaving you craving every sinful second.

genre : smut

warning(s) : explicit content, overstimulation, dirty talk, power dynamics,mentions of fanfiction and smut, cunnilingus and oral fixation, along with mild degradation. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N : I noticed y'all love this so much, so enjoy this little treat:)

Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!

🪐smut under the cut🪐

You didn’t go home that night. Not because you didn’t want to—because you couldn’t.

Every time you closed your eyes, Yunho’s voice echoed in your head.

"Don’t stop writing. I like seeing what you come up with."

It haunted you. The way he had looked at you, touched you, spoken to you. Like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he had already decided what would happen next.

And deep down, you knew it too.

Because just as you had convinced yourself to forget it, to push the encounter to the back of your mind as nothing more than a fever dream—

Your phone buzzed.

A text.

Unknown Number: "Room 1709. Conrad Seoul. Don’t keep me waiting, baby."

Your stomach dropped.

You shouldn’t have gone.

You should have ignored it, deleted the message, and gone home like a good girl.

But instead—

You were standing outside the hotel door, heart hammering, fingers hovering over the handle.

You knew what this was. Knew that the moment you stepped inside, there was no going back.

And yet—

You pushed the door open.

The room was dim, the only light coming from the city skyline pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The air was thick, warm, carrying the faint scent of expensive cologne.

And then there was him.

Yunho stood near the window, hands in his pockets, his silhouette cast against the glass.

He didn’t turn around immediately. Instead, he let the silence stretch—so suffocating, so unbearably tense that your breath caught in your throat.

Finally, he spoke.

“I knew you’d come.”

Your fingers curled into fists. “How did you get my number?”

Yunho let out a soft chuckle, finally turning to face you. His expression was unreadable—half amusement, half something darker.

“Does it matter?” he murmured, stepping closer.

You should have stepped back.

You didn’t.

Yunho watched you carefully, his gaze dipping down, taking in the rise and fall of your chest, the way your body betrayed you with every shallow breath.

Then—

He reached out, fingers skimming along your wrist, slow and deliberate.

“I read everything you wrote about me,” he murmured. “Every filthy little fantasy.”

Your throat went dry, is he gonna punish you?

Yunho’s fingers curled around your wrist, pulling you closer—so close you could feel his breath against your skin.

“I think it’s time I see if you meant it.”

Your breathing was uneven.

The air in the hotel room felt heavier now, charged with something dark, something undeniable. Yunho hadn’t even touched you properly, yet your body was already betraying you—heat pooling low in your stomach, legs pressing together, fingers twitching at your sides.

And he saw it.

He always did.

Yunho’s lips twitched, eyes flickering between yours before he leaned in just a fraction closer. “You still haven’t answered me,” he murmured.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

“Answered what?” you managed, voice barely above a whisper.

His grip on your chin tightened—just a little, just enough. “Aren’t you going to let me test them?”

You knew what he meant.

Every filthy detail you had ever written. Every desperate, depraved fantasy where you had turned him into something dangerous, something relentless. Where he had taken you apart in ways you had never even experienced in real life.

And now—

Now he was standing in front of you, giving you the chance to live it.

Your throat bobbed.

“…Yes.”

It was soft. Almost too soft. But Yunho heard it.

And he smirked.

His other hand lifted, fingers brushing along your jaw—so gently it made your skin ache for more. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice like velvet. “I knew you’d be obedient.”

The praise sent a jolt of arousal straight through you.

Yunho noticed.

His smirk deepened. “Ah,” he chuckled, his fingers ghosting lower, down the column of your throat. “You like that, don’t you?”

You bit your lip.

A mistake.

Because Yunho’s gaze dropped instantly—to your mouth, to the way your teeth sank into your bottom lip like you were trying to hold back.

That flicker of restraint vanished.

Before you could even react, Yunho moved—swift, deliberate. His hand slid behind your neck, pulling you flush against him, and then—

His lips crashed against yours.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle.

It was claiming.

His tongue swiped along the seam of your lips, demanding entry, and when you gasped—when you whimpered—he took full advantage, deepening the kiss, drinking you in like he had been waiting for this for far too long.

His grip tightened, fingers tangling in your hair, and the heat of him, the sheer size of him, had your knees buckling.

Yunho noticed.

And he loved it.

His free hand dropped, sliding around your waist, pulling you hard against him—against the solid heat of his chest, against the unmistakable hardness pressing into your stomach.

You moaned. You couldn’t help it.

Yunho growled.

“Fuck,” he murmured against your lips. “You sound even better than I imagined.”

He didn’t even give you a second to process before his mouth was on yours again—hungrier this time, more desperate. His teeth scraped against your lower lip, his grip on your waist tightening as if he wanted to pull you inside him.

And you let him.

Because Yunho wasn’t just testing your fantasies anymore.

He was rewriting them.

Yunho didn’t let up.

He kissed you like he was starving—like he had waited too long for this moment and wasn’t going to waste a single second. His tongue swept into your mouth, claiming, teasing, until you were dizzy from the sheer intensity of it.

Your fingers clutched at his shirt, desperate for something to ground you, but Yunho wasn’t giving you a chance to catch your breath.

His hands were already moving.

Sliding down your sides, gripping your waist, exploring like he had every right to.

And then—

A gasp tore from your lips as Yunho yanked you even closer—so close you could feel him, the hard press of his body against yours, the heat radiating off him in waves.

He groaned, low and rough, his lips trailing from your mouth down to your jaw.

“Mm,” he hummed, his voice thick with amusement. “You’re shaking.”

You were.

Because Yunho wasn’t just touching you—he was devouring you, piece by piece, taking his time, making sure you felt everything.

His teeth grazed your pulse, sending a shiver down your spine.

Then—

He bit.

Not hard—just enough to make you whimper, your hands fisting in his shirt.

Yunho chuckled against your skin, his tongue flicking out to soothe the sting.

“Sensitive,” he mused, his grip tightening on your waist. “That’s cute.”

His fingers dipped lower.

Trailing down your stomach, teasing, threatening.

You gasped, your body tensing in anticipation, but Yunho—

Yunho stopped.

A slow, wicked smirk curled on his lips as he pulled back just slightly, his eyes locked onto yours.

“Say it,” he murmured.

Your breath caught. “Say… what?”

Yunho tilted his head. “You know what.”

Your stomach flipped.

Because you did know.

He wanted you to ask.

To admit that you wanted it.

Your cheeks burned, your pride screaming at you to hold out, to make him work for it—but Yunho saw that hesitation.

And he wasn’t having it.

His fingers ghosted over the waistband of your jeans, teasing, torturing.

“You wrote all those filthy little things about me,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, “but now you’re too shy to say it?”

Your entire body trembled.

Yunho laughed.

A deep, pleased sound, like he was thoroughly enjoying this.

Then—

He leaned in, his breath hot against your lips.

“Be a good girl,” he whispered.

His fingers dipped lower.

“Tell me what you want.”

You couldn’t breathe.

Not properly. Not with the way Yunho was watching you, waiting—so patient, so in control.

His fingers hovered just over the waistband of your jeans, not moving, not pressing any further. Teasing. Taunting.

You knew what he wanted.

But you were still struggling to say it.

Yunho sighed—a slow, amused sound—before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze.

And then—

He lifted his hand.

Right in front of your face.

You froze.

Your stomach plummeted.

Because you knew what he was doing.

Your obsession with his hands wasn’t a secret.

Not to yourself. Not to your readers.

And apparently—

Not to him.

“You like these, don’t you?” Yunho murmured, flexing his fingers slightly, watching the way your eyes locked onto the movement.

You swallowed hard.

His hands were ridiculous.

Big. Veiny. Strong. The kind that could wrap around your throat, your waist—your entire existence—and make you feel small.

And he knew it.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “You wrote about them so many times,” he mused, curling his fingers slowly, making you watch. “I wonder—”

His palm ghosted over your stomach, fingers spreading, pressing lightly against the fabric of your shirt.

“Were you thinking about them when you touched yourself?”

A broken whimper escaped your lips.

Your thighs squeezed together, your body screaming for more, but Yunho—

Yunho was enjoying this too much.

“You want them on you, don’t you?” he murmured.

Your breath hitched.

His hand shifted, fingers tracing just under the hem of your shirt.

You whimpered.

Yunho laughed.

“I knew it,” he whispered.

Then—

His fingers moved.

Yunho’s fingers moved—slowly, deliberately, like he knew how much it was killing you.

Your breathing hitched as his hand slid under your shirt, palm warm against your bare skin. His fingers traced over your stomach, featherlight, teasing—so agonizingly slow that you swore he was doing it just to watch you squirm.

And he was.

“Mm,” he hummed, voice deep, thick with amusement. “I can feel you shaking.”

Your lips parted, a soft whimper slipping free before you could stop it.

Yunho groaned.

“You love this, don’t you?” His voice dropped lower, rougher. His palm spread wider, fingers pressing into your skin just enough to make you feel his strength. “You love my hands on you.”

You did.

Too much.

And Yunho knew it.

His thumb brushed along your ribs, his fingers dragging lower—so close, yet still not enough.

Your head tilted back, lips trembling as a frustrated whine built in your throat.

Yunho laughed.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “Are you getting impatient?”

Your fingers curled into his shirt, gripping tight as you nodded.

Yunho smirked.

“So desperate,” he mused, his fingers trailing even lower. “And for what?”

His lips brushed your jaw, a soft, teasing kiss.

“For my hands?”

You let out a whimper.

Yunho groaned.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his grip on your waist tightening. “I should make you beg for them.”

Your stomach flipped.

Because the worst part?

You would.

You would beg.

And Yunho knew it.

His fingers flexed against your skin, slow, purposeful—reminding you of what they could do. Of what they were capable of.

And then—

His other hand came up, fingers wrapping around your throat.

Not tight. Not squeezing.

Just holding.

Just reminding you.

Your breath caught.

Yunho leaned in, his lips grazing yours, his voice barely a whisper—

“Say it, baby.”

His thumb stroked over your pulse, slow, teasing.

“Tell me how bad you want them.”

Your whole body was burning.

Yunho’s hand was still wrapped around your throat—not tight, just there, just holding you, reminding you of the sheer size of it. The way his fingers nearly spanned the entire width of your neck, the way his thumb rested just over your racing pulse.

And you couldn’t focus on anything else.

Not with his other hand still ghosting over your stomach, still teasing, still making you ache for more.

But he wasn’t moving.

He was waiting.

Because he wanted to hear it.

Your pride screamed at you to hold out, to fight the urge to give in too easily. But Yunho—

Yunho saw your hesitation.

And he laughed.

“Oh, baby,” he sighed, his grip tightening just slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to make your breath hitch. “Still trying to be stubborn?”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

Yunho grinned.

“You were so bold when you wrote about me,” he murmured, tilting his head, his eyes mocking. “So shameless.”

His thumb stroked along your throat, slow, deliberate.

“But now?” He smirked. “Now you can’t even speak?”

Your stomach flipped.

Yunho knew.

He knew you were already gone, that you were seconds away from crumbling completely.

And he wanted to watch it happen.

His fingers flexed, his grip tightening just a little more. “Say it,” he murmured.

A soft whimper slipped free, your body trembling beneath his touch.

But Yunho—

Yunho wasn’t satisfied.

His hand moved, fingers trailing down, tracing over your collarbone, your shoulder—so slowly, so purposefully that you swore he was doing it just to make you suffer.

And then—

He lifted his hand again, right in front of your face.

Let you see it.

His fingers flexed.

And you broke.

“P-please,” you breathed, your voice shaking.

Yunho’s eyes darkened.

His hand twitched, but he still didn’t move.

“Please what?” he murmured.

Your face burned.

You swallowed hard, your fingers clenching in his shirt as your pride crumbled under the weight of his gaze.

“Please,” you whispered. “Touch me.”

Yunho groaned.

His head dropped, his lips brushing against your temple as he exhaled sharply. “That’s cute,” he murmured.

His fingers brushed your jaw, tilting your chin up until you were forced to meet his gaze.

“But I think you can do better.”

Your pulse spiked.

Yunho smirked, his hand shifting again, his palm pressing flat against your stomach now, warm and firm.

“You’ve been obsessed with my hands for so long,” he mused. “You’ve written entire paragraphs about them.”

His fingers spread, pressing into your skin.

“You know exactly what they can do.”

You whimpered.

Yunho grinned.

“So beg,” he murmured.

His lips ghosted over yours, teasing, taunting.

“Beg for them like you mean it.”

You weren’t breathing right.

Couldn’t.

Not with the way Yunho was looking at you, eyes dark, lips curved into that slow, mocking smirk.

Not with the way his hands were still hovering, still teasing, still refusing to give you what you needed.

And definitely not with the way he was making you say it.

Your fingers dug into his shirt, trembling as you swallowed back your pride—what was left of it, anyway.

“P-please,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath.

Yunho sighed.

Like he expected better.

Like he wasn’t impressed.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly. “That’s not begging.”

His fingers traced your jaw, tilting your chin up just enough to make sure you were looking at him.

“That’s just asking nicely.”

You bit your lip, your cheeks burning, your entire body on fire.

But Yunho—

Yunho wasn’t moving.

His hands were still right there, still so close, but he wasn’t giving you anything.

And you were crumbling.

Your pride was slipping through your fingers like sand, and Yunho was just watching it happen.

And he loved it.

Your lips parted, your breath shaky. “Please,” you tried again, voice cracking. “Please, Yunho, I—I need you.”

Yunho hummed, his thumb stroking over your bottom lip.

“Getting better,” he mused.

Then—

He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear.

“But you can do more.”

Your body trembled.

Because you could.

And he knew it.

Yunho pulled back just enough to meet your gaze again, his eyes sharp, expecting.

His fingers flexed, his other hand still resting so lightly against your stomach, teasing, torturing.

And you—

You snapped.

“Please,” you whimpered, desperate, wrecked. “I need your hands on me, Yunho, please.”

Yunho groaned.

Deep, rough, like your words had gone straight to his cock.

His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers finally—finally—pressing firmly against your skin.

“Fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself. “That’s cute.”

And then—

He laughed.

Soft, dark, pleased.

“See?” he murmured, his thumb stroking slow circles over your skin. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You whimpered.

Yunho’s smirk widened.

His other hand finally—finally—slid down, wrapping around your thigh, squeezing just enough to make you feel it.

“Good girl,” he whispered.

Then—

His fingers moved.

Yunho’s fingers moved.

Slow. Deliberate.

Spreading over your waist, pressing into your skin—just enough to make you feel him. Just enough to make your whole body tense, waiting, anticipating.

His lips brushed against your ear, his breath warm, teasing. “So sensitive,” he murmured, his fingers dragging lower. “Is this what happens when you spend all your time writing about me, baby?”

Your stomach flipped.

Because—

Yes.

It was.

And Yunho knew it.

His hand slid beneath the waistband of your jeans, fingers dipping lower—slow, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to torture you.

And then—

His fingers brushed against your clothed cunt.

Your whole body jerked.

Yunho groaned.

“Oh, baby,” he muttered, his voice thick with amusement. “I barely touched you.”

His hand shifted, pressing just enough to make you squirm.

Your breath came out shaky, your thighs squeezing together instinctively—trying to find more, trying to chase anything.

But Yunho—

Yunho laughed.

"That desperate already?" His fingers flexed, teasing, his lips grazing the side of your neck. "You wrote so many dirty things about me, baby. So many things about my hands.”

His fingers dragged up, just enough to brush over your tits.

And you whimpered.

Loud.

Too loud.

Yunho grinned.

“Oh,” he sighed, mockingly sweet. “That’s cute.”

Then—

His fingers pressed down on your nipple, circle it above the fabric of your clothes teasingly.

Your whole body arched, your breath catching in your throat as his hand moved, slow, precise, like he knew exactly what would ruin you.

Your fingers clutched at his shoulders, nails digging in, your mind spinning.

And Yunho—

Yunho groaned.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured, his voice rough, his hand moving in slow, teasing circles. “You’re already shaking?”

Your breath hitched, a broken whimper slipping free before you could stop it.

Yunho’s grip tightened.

His other hand came up, cupping your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“Say it,” he muttered. “Say you need my hands.”

You gasped, your body trembling, your mind barely holding on.

“I—I need them,” you breathed, barely able to get the words out. “Please, Yunho, I—I need your hands on my—”

His fingers pressed harder.

Your words cut off into a choked gasp.

And Yunho—

Yunho just smirked.

“Good girl.”

Then—

Yunho’s fingers moved down under your jeans.

Slow.

Precise.

Like he knew exactly what would ruin you.

His eyes stayed locked on yours, watching, studying every little reaction—every shiver, every gasp, every time your lips parted like you wanted to say something, but couldn’t.

Because there were no words for this.

For the way his fingers pressed into your clit moving in slow, devastating circles.

For the way his grip on your jaw tightened, making sure you didn’t look away—making sure you had to see the smirk tugging at his lips.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, his voice low, dark, mocking. “You’re already falling apart, aren’t you?”

Your whole body shook.

Because he was right.

You were barely holding on, barely keeping yourself together as his hand worked you over, torturing you with those slow, teasing strokes.

And Yunho—

Yunho was eating up every second of it.

“You’re so cute,” he muttered, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Acting like you’re shy, but you wrote all those filthy little fantasies about me.”

His fingers pressed harder, his pace shifting just slightly—just enough to make your back arch, to make your grip on his shoulders tighten.

Yunho groaned.

His lips ghosted over your ear, his voice barely a whisper—

“Is this how you imagined it, baby?”

Your breath hitched.

Yunho smirked.

“Or is it better?”

His hand moved—faster, rougher, sending a sharp, electric rush through your entire body.

And you—

You broke.

A whimper tore from your lips, desperate, breathless, humiliatingly loud.

Yunho groaned, his fingers stilling for just a moment, his grip tightening as he watched you fall apart.

Then—

His lips brushed against yours.

Soft.

Barely there.

And he smirked.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured. “We’re not even close to done.”

His smirk widened, his thumb brushing over your lips, slow, teasing.

“You’re so cute,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement. “You act so shy, but you’re already soaked for me.”

Your breath hitched.

Yunho grinned.

“Oh, baby,” he sighed, his fingers dragging down, teasing along the waistband of your jeans. “You’re so easy for me.”

Then—

His hands slid down, gripping your thighs, parting them effortlessly.

And then—

His fingers dipped lower, inserting his middle finger inside your aching hole.

You gasped.

Your whole body tensed, your fingers clutching at his arms as his hand moved, slow, precise, knowing.

Yunho groaned, his lips ghosting over your ear. “So desperate,” he murmured. “Is this what happens when you spend all your time writing about me, baby?”

You couldn’t breathe.

Your whole body was burning, shaking, completely at his mercy.

And Yunho—

Yunho was loving it.

His fingers pressed in, stretching you, filling you—so slow, so controlled, making sure you felt every single movement.

And you—

You whimpered.

Loud.

Too loud.

Yunho groaned.

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered, his grip on your thigh tightening. “You’re taking me so well.”

His fingers curled—just right—and your back arched, a sharp gasp tearing from your lips.

Yunho laughed.

“Oh, baby,” he sighed, his lips trailing down your neck. “We’re not even close to done.”

He moved.

Faster.

Deeper.

Yunho’s fingers were merciless.

Deep.

Precise.

Every stroke, every curl, perfectly calculated to ruin you.

And he knew it.

His other hand held your thigh open, firm, unyielding—making sure you couldn’t close your legs, couldn’t escape the way he was torturing you.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, his voice low, dark. “You’re shaking.”

His thumb brushed slow, lazy circles over your clit, teasing, taunting.

And you—

You broke.

Your whole body tensed, your fingers digging into his arms, your breath catching in a sharp, broken gasp—

A choked moan tore from your lips, your whole body trembling, burning, as Yunho worked you through it—dragging it out, refusing to let up until you were completely, hopelessly wrecked.

His smirk deepened, his fingers slowing, teasing out every last twitch, every last whimper.

Then—

He pulled his hand away.

You barely had time to catch your breath, barely had time to process—

Before Yunho was shifting, gripping your thighs, dragging you closer.

His hands pressed against your hips, holding you down, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

And then—

He looked up.

His eyes dark.

Hungry.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, his breath ghosting over your skin. “You’re not done yet.”

Then—

His mouth moved.

A sharp gasp tore from your lips, your whole body jerking as his tongue slid slow, deliberate, tracing over your drenched pussy.

Your fingers clutched at the sheets, at his hair, anywhere, trying to ground yourself—trying to breathe.

But Yunho—

Yunho wasn’t letting you.

His tongue worked you over, slow, controlled, his hands gripping your thighs, keeping you still.

And when you tried to pull away—when the sensation got too much—

Yunho just groaned.

His grip tightened.

And then—

He sucked.

Your whole body snapped.

A broken cry ripped from your throat, your back arching, your hands desperately trying to find something—anything—to hold onto.

And Yunho—

Yunho just laughed.

Deep.

Dark.

Completely in control.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “You taste so fucking sweet.”

Then—

He kept going.

Yunho’s mouth was relentless.

Sucking.

Licking.

Fucking devouring you like he had no intention of stopping.

And he didn’t.

Your whole body shook, overstimulated, raw, your thighs trembling against his grip—but Yunho just pressed you down, keeping you spread open for him, making you take it.

“Y-Yunho—”

Your voice was wrecked, breathless, shaking.

He just groaned against your skin, the vibration shooting through you like an electric shock.

You jerked.

Tried to move, tried to escape—

But Yunho growled.

“Oh, baby,” he muttered, his voice dark, amused. “Where do you think you’re going?”

His tongue flicked over your clit, slow, teasing—making you flinch, making you gasp.

“You’re too sensitive, aren’t you?” His fingers dug into your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. “But you can take it.”

His mouth closed over your clit again.

And then—

He sucked.

Your whole body snapped.

A scream tore from your lips, your back arching, your hands flying to his hair—pulling, desperate, trying to stop him.

But Yunho just groaned.

“You taste too fucking good,” he muttered, voice muffled against your skin. “You think I’m stopping now?”

Your breath was ragged, your thighs shaking violently—but he was still eating you up, still licking, still sucking, still pushing you higher even though you were already gone.

And you—

You sobbed.

Overwhelmed.

Wrecked.

Completely ruined.

Yunho moaned, dragging it out, sending another sharp shockwave through your entire body.

Then—

He finally pulled away.

You could barely breathe, your whole body trembling, the aftershocks still rolling through you.

And Yunho—

Yunho just grinned.

His lips were swollen, shiny with your arousal, his eyes dark and ravenous.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, dragging his fingers over your thighs, slow, teasing. “You’re fucking ruined already.”

Your chest heaved, your mind spinning—but before you could recover, Yunho was moving.

Shoving his jeans down.

Fisting himself, slow, deliberate, letting you see how fucking hard he was.

“Turn over,” he muttered, voice rough, demanding.

Your stomach flipped.

But your body obeyed.

Shaky, unsteady, completely at his mercy.

And Yunho—

Yunho groaned.

His hands gripped your hips, his thumbs pressing into your skin, holding you in place.

And then—

The blunt, thick head of his cock dragged against your pussy.

Your whole body tensed.

Yunho chuckled.

“Oh, baby,” he sighed, pressing just a little harder. “You’re still fucking shaking.”

Then—

He pushed in.

Slow.

[revehae]

marionette (r. fantasies)

warnings: smut, noncon, choking, forced relationship

wc. 765

anton doesn’t sense the fear and urgency chilling your bones to the point where you all but sweat yourself.

you wish he would. but he doesn’t. and if he does, he doesn’t comment on it. as if even he knows better than to go against your boyfriend. 

if you can even call him that. sungchan is not your boyfriend. that is what he tells the world, but if it was up to you, you would not be forcing a smile as you stand to his side with his arm draped over your shoulders as he looks at you almost affectionately. 

almost.

but anton does notice the red mark on sungchan’s forearm as it dangles over you. when asked about it, sungchan responds, “oh, it’s nothing. i was exercising too hard.”

you almost bristle in anger at the lie, but the memory of what really happened flickers in your head and you stiffen in something much closer to fear. though only for a fraction of a second, because you dread what will happen if one of sungchan’s friends become suspicious.

they can never know the truth, even if it haunts you. even if your body still aches with the memory. sungchan’s weight on top of you, ignoring your defiance, the way you told him you didn’t want it and begged him to spare you just this once. 

he didn’t. you are starting to think that remorse is something jung sungchan is simply not capable of. 

“can you at least slow down?” you choked out, aching for mercy. 

your eyes were misty, a bright glare in them from the shiny, hot tears that burn your eyes routinely. it was too much for you; it always is. the constant, creaking motion of the weary bed beneath you was a testament to the vigor of which he pounded into you, as if he was using every bit of his strength simply because he could.

you wouldn’t have been surprised. sungchan is flashy like that. it’s there in the way he flaunts his bulging arms and toned abs online after working out, the way he drives his obnoxiously loud, fast cars, the way he only sports the most extravagant clothes, and in the way he always shows you off.

sungchan ignored your cries, having gotten used to tuning them out. it was like second nature to him. “take it,” he hissed, big hands clamping down onto your thighs with enough force to bruise your already sore skin as he kept them spread. 

you whimpered, legs pushed beyond what was comfortable, but you knew better than to move. you clung to his forearms, not to draw him closer, but to desperately attempt to anchor yourself. holding him tight, your fingers scraped his skin, making his face twist in a wince.

“god, you bitch,” sungchan snapped, jerking his hand away from your thigh and repositioning it around your throat. he watched your eyes widen, your fingers flying up to meet his. “you’ll have to be dead to stay fucking still for me, is that it?”

your body went rigid for a moment. your heart was hammering. shaking your head the best you could, you tried to whisper a weak, “no,” but the sound came out as a faint squeak with the same quietness as a broken toy. your throat bobbed as you tried to breathe, hands uselessly prying at the ones around your neck.

but his grip didn’t slack. instead, you noticed his fingers clamping down onto your windpipe, sucking the life out of you like a noose. sungchan stared into your eyes silently as he pushed you further and further, forcing the breath out of you second by second, and for a moment you were convinced he would actually do it. 

maybe sungchan was, too. the intensity of his eyes locked on yours, no soul in them, no empathy, was more paralyzing than his grip on its own. but ultimately, he slackened his hold, tugging at your hair, and leaned low as he threatened, “then, you better fucking listen.”

the feeling of sungchan’s hand slipping down to your waist jolts you out of the cold memory.

you fidget with the black turtleneck you’re sporting as you force yourself to lean closer into sungchan’s side and throw anton a forced smile as you reply, “yeah, you know how he gets. always on grind mode when he hits the gym.”

because in spite of what sungchan does to you now, if anyone ever finds out about who he is when the two of you are alone, he will be a billion times worse.

[badkitty3000]

Look But Don't Touch

A Five x female reader one-shot; 4.5k words, sequel/request

Anonymous asked: After I read your latest post and reached the last bit... I'm gonna be greedy yet desperate if you will... 👉👈🩷🩷🩷Can I beg and ask if you please continue the subway dirty shenanigans right where you left off?? at Max's, where some filthy, sexy filthyyyy party can happen for us???? Please?? I can get on my knees like she did on the train if I have to cuz I'M BEGGIIIIIIIIIIING

Link to post this is referring to here!

Summary: Five takes you to a mysterious deli he swears you will love

Warnings: Smut, masturbation, slight Daddy kink

As you walked along the chilly subway platform, holding Five’s hand, and listening to the clip of your footsteps echo off the grungy, tiled walls, you replayed what had just occurred since you entered that train not so long ago.

I convinced Five to take me on the mysterious train to who knows where

I gave him a FANTASTIC blow job that really I should win some sort of award for

He left me high and dry (well, not dry)

We stopped at some weird ass diner that appeared out of nowhere

I was told not to worry about my cum-stained dress or the fact that I am not wearing anything underneath it

What the fuck is going on here?

You glanced worriedly over your shoulder as the train you had just emerged from took off and disappeared into the dark tunnel.

“Uh, Five? The train just left.”

He continued, unhurried, and didn’t even glance in your direction as he answered. “Another one will be along.”

You nodded, trusting he knew what he was talking about. Not that you had much choice in the matter. As you neared the entrance of Max’s Delicatessen, there was something eerie about it, and it wasn’t just that it happened to exist inside this weird timeloop subway station.

When the door to the restaurant opened, a man walked out. Not just any man. Your man. The same one that was standing right next to you and suddenly pulling you in with an arm around your waist.

“What the…?” you murmured, your jaw dropping.

The other person that looked exactly like Five was hurrying in the direction of the platform you had just left. As he passed, he gave Five a quick nod, pausing for a fraction of a second to look you over before giving you a sideways smile, and then he was off again.

You watched him go, absolutely flabbergasted, and then looked at Five.

“What is going on?”

Five didn’t answer your question. But he did look awfully mischievous as he leaned in to kiss you, running both of his hands down your back before cupping your butt cheeks, pulling your short dress up a little bit in the process. 

“Remember…” he said softly while his long fingers trailed down the side of your neck. “You are mine and only mine.”

You nodded dumbly, not knowing what you were agreeing to. Leading you forward with a hand on the small of your back, you entered the diner, where you stopped dead in your tracks about two feet inside the door.

“Holy shit,” you whispered, right before every single clear green eye in the place was on you. 

You felt like you had just been led into the lion’s den, except that these lions were all in the form of the man whose cock was in your mouth just a few minutes earlier. You’d had dreams like this before. Very, very naughty dreams. But this was undeniably real.

You licked your lips and let out a breathy laugh. “Damn.”

Five… your Five… put a protective arm around your shoulders as he steered you in the direction of one of the booths in the back. Tripping over your own feet as he pushed you along, your head swiveled around, taking in your surroundings. The longer you looked, the more you realized there were slight differences in each man, even though they were all clearly a version of Five.

Some were dressed impeccably in their full three piece suit, sipping from cups of coffee as you walked down the aisle, while others were in various stages of dress, with their jackets thrown over the backs of seats and shirt sleeves rolled up. There were even a few that looked like they had seen better days, completely disheveled, with their hair a mess and ties hanging loosely over untucked shirts.

You noticed one Five had faint streaks of gray in his hair, around the temples, giving him a very distinguished look as he watched you with interest. Another sat at a booth next to what you knew was his beloved mannequin, Dolores. A haughty-looking, bespectacled Five glanced up from his newspaper, rolled his eyes, and got up and left.

As you were shuffled into one of the red vinyl booths, Five pulled you onto his lap, which was odd, considering there was plenty of space to sit next to him, but you were too busy marveling at the handsome face that was nearing your table.

“I wasn’t sure you’d figure out how to make it back here,” the other Five noted casually, setting down his coffee as he slid into the bench seat across the table.

It was so surreal seeing an exact replica of Five, sitting across from you, eyeing you up with that same hungry look your Five always had, and sounding just like him; right down to the gravelly tone of his voice. The main difference was that this one had a pencil tucked over his ear.

 Five’s hands were on your hips, stroking them lightly as he spoke to his doppelganger.

“Of course I did, idiot,” Five sniped back, moving his hands lower to your bare thighs. “Shouldn’t you be waiting tables or something?”

The other Five shook his head. “I’m on break.” Then he turned to you with a smile so familiar it gave you goosebumps. “Hello, darling.”

At the same time that you let out a little gasp at his greeting, Five’s fingers dug deeper into your flesh. His breath warmed the side of your neck as he gently pushed your hair to the side and brushed his lips under your jaw. You closed your eyes, your lips parting, as you wiggled against him.

“What is happening?” you asked quietly.

You had been talking to your Five, who was busy rubbing his cheek against your hair and kissing your shoulder as he massaged your inner thighs, but the Five sitting across from you answered.

“Why don’t you come over here and I can show you,” he said with a smirk while his hand disappeared beneath the tabletop.

Your Five’s head snapped up. “Don’t even think about it, asshole.”

Your eyes fluttered shut again and you let out a little moan when Five started to pull down the straps of your dress, letting them hang off your shoulders. It was like you were hypnotized, as his hands roamed all over your body and his mouth trailed hot lines over your skin. You didn’t seem to care that it was happening in front of a room full of… well… him.

Another Five that had been sitting in a different booth, wearing a full, neatly pressed suit, abandoned his half-finished crossword puzzle and sidled over. He stood next to the table and watched as Five squeezed your tits together.

“He came all over your pretty dress, didn’t he, honey?” Crossword Five shook his head. “We might all be the same person in here, but some of us have manners and know that’s no way to treat a lady.”

“Back off, fuck face,” Five growled back at him. “You know the rules.”

Crossword Five laughed, putting his hands in his pockets as he leaned casually against one of the tables. “Hey, you brought her here. You knew the risk. Besides, Waiter Five here has already started jacking it.”

Waiter Five smiled devilishly at you from across the table, his left hand hidden from view but clearly busy doing something. “Just enjoying the show.”

When he unzipped the back of your dress, exposing your bare breasts as it fell around your waist, Five spoke hotly next to your ear. “I can read that dirty little mind of yours, darling, so just remember what I told you.” His fingertips grazed the stiff peaks of your nipples. “You can look but don’t touch.”

“But… “ you started weakly as you turned your face to kiss along the line of stubble under his jaw. “But, it’s you.”

Crossword Five and Waiter Five both grinned and nodded. “Exactly,” they said in union.

Ignoring the other two, Five began massaging your tits roughly, squeezing and pinching at your nipples until you made a sharp whimpering noise. “I’m going to make you come right here,” he said huskily as he kissed your shoulder. “And they’re going to watch and wish they were me.”

“Again… they are you,” you said with a little laugh, meeting Waiter Five’s eyes. 

You found that looking into the same eyes and face of the person that was quickly working you into a frenzy was very strange but you didn’t exactly hate it. In fact, maybe it was turning you on a little bit more.

Five’s cock was starting to wake up again as you rocked your hips against him, which just added to your growing desire for him.

One of his hands dropped between your legs while the other continued to play with your tits. His fingers found the wet, warm area that he had been too-long in neglecting, and you squirmed against them.

Leaving the intense gaze of Waiter Five, you dropped your head back against the shoulder of your Five, raising your arm up to stroke the back of his neck with your hand. When he began to toy with you, sliding his fingers up and down and over your swollen clit, you whined next to his ear.

With a sharp bite to the side of your neck, Five had you moaning his name out loud. 

“Oh god, Five!” you cried out as you unabashedly shoved his hand harder between your legs while you thrust your hips faster.

At the sound of their name being moaned so wantonly, the other Fives started to close in, sauntering over like a pack of perverted, suit-wearing zombies. But instead of wanting to eat your brain, they clearly would have liked to eat something else.

As you continued to fuck Five’s hand, your juices dripping down onto his pant legs, you opened your eyes. At least two of the other Fives had unzipped their pants and were already starting to stroke their hard cocks. Crossword Five, who seemed to be a little less brash, was watching intently while palming the front of his fine, wool slacks. You could hear a few quiet groans from around the restaurant.

“Do you like that, sweetheart?” Five asked teasingly.

You nodded, turning your head to catch his lips with yours as he plunged two fingers inside you, making you clench down around them. “I like when you watch me get off,” you told him in between ravenous kisses. “And there’s a lot of you watching.”

Placing a second hard bite to the other side of your neck, Five gave you another warning. “I’m going to mark you up so all these fucking vultures can remember who you belong to.”

With your whimpers growing louder and your body starting to thrash around on Five’s lap, the other Fives increased their level of debauchery, too. Waiter Five was still watching you, his emerald eyes boring into you as you came closer to reaching your peak. Five was busy marking up your neck and shoulders while his fingers pushed sloppily in and out of you, so you took the chance to break a little of the rules.

Slipping off one of your shoes, you extended your leg under the table. Waiter Five’s eyes widened as your bare foot slipped up the inside of his leg, feeling the warmth and firmness of his thigh, and coming to rest against the prominent bulge of his crotch. He had not started jacking it quite yet, because his cock was still packed away, but it was very clear that it was dying to be let out. His hand caught your ankle as you wiggled your toes against his dick and he inhaled a sharp breath.

“You’re going to get yourself in trouble,” he whispered to you with a cocky grin. 

You smiled back at him as he pressed your foot to his clothed dick and rubbed your calf with his hand. Before you could decide how far you wanted to take your little under the table foot fuck, your Five was pushing you over the edge with a few dirty words in your ear and a thumb against your clit.

“Fiiive!” you cried out, which released a frenzy of deep moans and groans across the deli.

With Five holding you tightly against him, your body trembled in his arms while the other Fives watched enviously, but also proudly, knowing it was still their name you were calling out in your moment of ecstasy. Waiter Five let out a low grunt as you teased him just a little more with your foot before lowering your leg.

Breathing fast and hard, with your dress completely useless in covering anything on your body, you took a better look around you. It was the weirdest, most depraved thing you had ever seen in your life. All of the Fives in the deli were now honed in on you. 

You could see now the different stages of arousal they were in. Most of them had their hard dicks out already, stroking them slowly while alternating between making eye contact with you and closing their eyes with a quiet moan. The distinguished looking Five with the graying hair was boldly standing with one foot on a bench, casually yet purposefully undoing his belt and pants to get to work. 

One of the more slovenly Fives in the back was already mid-orgasm as he pumped his fist furiously, letting go of an impressive stream of cum that landed in a sticky puddle at his feet. Another, obviously plastered Five, was clearly suffering from whiskey dick as he mumbled sadly to himself and slid down the wall. The Five that had been sitting with Dolores was in the process of shoving the poor mannequin lady under the table and between his legs.

Crossword Five was still leaning against one of the booths to the side, nonchalantly rubbing at the front of his pants with a condescending smirk on his face.“I like to prolong the pleasure, not just shoot my wad in ten seconds like these other animals,” he told you.

From a supply closet towards the back came another Five, wearing a wrinkled white dress shirt and pants with several buttons undone at the neck and the sleeves rolled up. On his hip hung a spray bottle of some kind of cleaning solution. He was wheeling a mop bucket and whistling a tune, completely oblivious as to what was currently happening in the main dining area. He stopped abruptly, his eyes landing on the fresh wet patch of jizz on the floor in front of him.

Janitor Five groaned and threw his hands in the air in frustration. “Can’t I get one fucking day off?”

“Sorry, man,” the Five who had made the mess told him with a shrug as he zipped his pants back up and ran a hand through his messy hair. “You know how it is.”

You giggled at that, but then Five turned your face to his with a hand on your chin. Despite the fact that he had spilled his cum all over your dress earlier, he was raring to go again with his straining erection still pushed between your legs.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” he told you in that tone that made you almost slip right off his lap. With a rough kiss that had you aching for more, he whispered “Think you can handle a little more for Daddy?”

Waiter Five gave you a knowing grin, and then you heard the clink of his belt buckle as he started to unleash his cock under the table. 

Already salivating at the thought of what was next, you shimmied off of Five’s lap and out of the booth. Pushing your dress all of the way off, you realized you had left one of your heels under the table when you were teasing Waiter Five. He noticed before your Five could, and he calmly handed the stray shoe over to you with a smile. You mouthed “thank you” and gave him a little air kiss that only he saw. While you slipped your foot into your other shoe, Waiter Five slipped his hand into his pants.

Standing there, completely naked aside from a pair of black stiletto pumps, and surrounded by a room full of the most gorgeous men (man) you had ever seen, another rivulet of moisture slithered down your leg. 

They may have been different versions of the one you were devoted to, but they all had the same sharp, angular jaw; the same sculpted chest and toned arms; the same long and slender fingers that made you salivate just by looking at them. You knew how each one of them kissed, and how they fucked, and the sounds they made when you did certain things to their body. You knew how their cock tasted and how it felt inside you. 

Holy shit, you wanted them. All of them. But that, you had been told, was against the rules.

That was the thought that was running through your head when you were pulled from behind and pushed face first onto the table directly next to the one where you had just been fingered. It was definitely your Five that did it, because you’d know that excited, raspy groan anywhere. Your legs were pushed apart as you propped yourself up on your elbows.

The rest of the Fives were in full jerk-off mode now, with some of them already nearing the end and others just warming up. But nearly every single one of them had their dick out and their intense green stare set on you. Watching their strong, slender hands work their thick shafts was driving you crazy and you wished your Five would hurry up and just fuck you already.

“Hurry up and fuck her, already!” Janitor Five yelled out from the back, after looking at you with a lecherous smile. He dropped his mop and started hurrying to open up his pants. “Hey, honey, the special of the day is Man Chowder. Let me fix you up a bowl.”

“God, you’re such a disgusting creep!” the Five from behind the service window scoffed.

“Why don’t you go back to jerking it into the mayonaise Brisket, you fucking asshole!” Janitor Five shot back, whipping out his dick.

“Shut up!” Five hissed from behind you, right before you heard his belt buckle hit the floor along with his pants. “God, I love this ass,” he gritted out, rubbing your butt cheek and giving it a light slap.

Five eased inside of you, slowly, while you gripped the sides of the table. You let out a shaky sigh as he filled you up and bottomed out; his hips flush against your backside. As he began fucking you, deliberately and rhythmically, you closed your eyes and bit down on your lower lip.

When you turned your head to the side, you locked eyes with Waiter Five, who was still sitting in the booth next to you and stroking himself under the table. One corner of his mouth turned up, clearly enjoying the fact that you were watching him and vice versa. 

You liked being able to study his face as he worked his dick over, sliding his fist tightly over the shaft, just like you had seen your Five do in front of you before. You liked being the reason he was hard and leaking, with his breath growing more rapid and ragged by the second. And you loved the fact that you could look into his beautiful face while still being railed from behind by another version of him.

“Oh, shit… Five!” you cried out, as he slammed into you abruptly, leaning over you so that his upper body covered your back and he held himself up with his hands on the table. 

“Say it again, baby,” he said softly as he sucked another mark onto your shoulder.

“Yeah, say it again,” Waiter Five demanded, making you wilt under his piercing gaze.

You raised your head, taking in the other Fives. They were all beating their dicks furiously, hair hanging in their eyes, and their brows creased in concentration. 

“Fuuuck…. Five,” you moaned.

That did a few of them in right there, with the familiar sounds of their grunts and groans filling the room as they came into their hands, onto table tops, or the floor. 

A loud whimper escaped your lips as Five suddenly pulled out, leaving you stretched and empty. It didn’t last long, though, before he was pulling you up and spinning you around with his hands on your waist as he boosted you up onto the table. Standing between your legs, he kissed you hard, biting at your lips with a hand at the back of your neck.

When he entered you again, it was with one hard push that had you clinging to his shoulders to keep from sliding backwards. Five held your legs around his waist with a hand under each thigh, letting you lie back onto the table.

“Fuck, I love you,” he hissed, almost angrily between gritted teeth as he slammed his hips into you again.

“I love you, too,” you moaned. You looked over to see that Waiter Five was still locked on you as he beat his dick under the table. You smiled a little and then turned to your Five again. “Baby, please…,” you pleaded, in between sharp gasps. “I want your cum inside me and his covering my tits.”

Five let out a deep growl as he slammed into you with more force. But the beautiful, pornographic noises you were making had him wanting to give you whatever you asked for.

“Fine,” he rasped. “He can come on your tits. But that’s it.”

It hadn’t even occurred to you that these Fives would be able to blink too, but that’s exactly what happened as soon as Waiter Five got the green light. In one flash of blue, he was kneeling on the seat next to you, his hand around his cock as he shamelessly stroked it harder and faster. 

Now you could look at both of them at the same time. Your Five had his head thrown back while he fucked you hard, his hips thrusting manically while his fingers dug sharply into your sides. Waiter Five’s long dark lashes fluttered against his cheeks as he closed his eyes with a low groan.

“God damn it, I want to absolutely wreck that pussy,” the Five called Brisket groaned pitifully from the kitchen, right before he came all over his food-stained apron.

“Excuse me, but I’m going to go take care of this in private, like a gentleman,” Crossword Five declared as he made a beeline for the bathroom, his pants still painfully restricting the giant hard-on he had refused to release.

With the sounds of skin on skin slapping filling the room, and the groans of all of the Fives growing louder, you couldn’t hold back any longer. Watching as your Five’s dick drilled mercilessly into your hot core, you grabbed onto Waiter Five’s shirt, bunching the material into your fist as you felt yourself tip over the edge.

“Oh god!” you cried out as your body started to seize up with rippling waves of pleasure. “Five… YES!”

That seemed to end both of them as well, and Five filled your pussy with his cum while Waiter Five covered your tits with long, thick ropes of his own. Your climax continued on, aided by the fact that two versions of the sexiest man alive were losing themselves all over you.

Five let out a long, shuddering curse as his dick twitched out the last few drops inside you. “FUUUCK!”

Waiter Five’s wrist finally slowed when he was completely empty, and you both smiled hazily at one another, breathing heavily as your muscles began to relax again.

When Five pulled out, and you were able to right yourself again, you witnessed the insane phenomenon of a dozen other Fives reaching their ends, spewing out load after load of cum while groaning and milking themselves dry. You noticed the pervy Janitor Five had shot his load into the mop bucket.

You leaned your head on Five’s chest as you both caught your breath. He stroked your back and kissed the top of your head.

Waiter Five worked his way out of the booth, shoving his dick back in his pants and buckling his belt. He pushed his hair off his face before grabbing a stack of napkins and offering them out to you.

“Sorry for the mess, but I aim to please. And my aim is pretty fucking good.”

You laughed, taking the napkins and wiping your chest off as best you could while Five bent down to pick up his pants that were around his ankles. “Yes it certainly is. I asked and you delivered, so thank you.”

“Alright, enough chit chat,” your Five said before handing you your wrinkled and dirty dress that had been balled up on the floor. “I need to get you out of here before these shit heads get a chance to chub up again.”

You gave a little pout as you pulled your dress over your head, turning so that he could zip you up in the back. “Are you sure we can’t stay a little longer? I like it here.”

“I know you do, darling. But we only bring our girls here once, as a kind of tradition.” He turned you around to face him, lifting your face to his. “Once is enough… so don’t get any ideas.”

You smiled and kissed him softly. “Oh, I have plenty of ideas that will forever live in my head after today. But don’t worry. I’m perfectly happy to go home with you and only you.”

“Glad to hear it.”

As you were being led towards the door again, Janitor Five called out to you, plopping his mop onto the floor with a splash. “Anytime you’re hungry for more of my delicious trouser gravy, honey, just come on back. Daddy will serve you up something really special.”

There was a loud, disgusted groan from all of the other Fives and one of them threw a salt shaker at Janitor Five’s head, which he dodged with a cheeky grin. Smiling to yourself, you took one last look over your shoulder as the door to Max’s closed behind you. You caught Waiter Five’s eye, who winked and flashed you another gorgeous smile while you blew him a kiss.

Looping your arm through Five’s, you rested your head against his shoulder as you walked towards the waiting train that had just rolled into the station.

“So, are you sure this was a one and done deal?” you said with a giggle.

Five shook his head with a smile and led you onto the train. Pinching your ass and pulling you onto his lap as the train started to move, he grinned. “And risk losing you to that jerk Waiter Five? I don’t think so.”

“But maybe you could… I don’t know… share?” you teased, running your fingers down the length of his tie.

Five sighed heavily, but he was smiling as he placed a soft kiss to your lips. “You should know better by now, my love… Daddy doesn’t share.”

I have to give props to my homegirl @kaybreezy3000. She is the one who gave me the idea for this sexy plot. She is also the creator of the pervy Janitor Five in this story, because he was also featured in our collaboration deli fic World's Collide. He is such a sleeze bag and I love him dearly! 🧹❤️

I am tagging those that liked my 'coming soon' post about this fic. If you don't want to be tagged or you want your name off of this, please just let me know!

@hufflepuff4992, @dorkyfangirl24, @thesilvertheorist, @losingmymindforsoobin, @raymondeus, @sansara2462, @clownstillwritesfanfic, @jana0509, @fireheart13x, @sdherself, @tuanputri-magui, @fivehargreevesnumber1fan, @voteforevilthoughts

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage - Glass House

Nanami Kento x F!Reader x Gojo Satoru

Summary: It begins with a knock at the door, and Nanami is met with an unexpected visitor: drenched & seemingly lost. As the rain pours outside, he reveals a haunting truth—he believes he has seen someone from their past, someone they both thought was gone forever. As the night unfolds, the two confront that linger in their memories, grappling with the shadows that refuse to fade. With tension building & emotions running high, Nanami must navigate the other's unraveling mind while facing the specters of their shared history. A/N: Welcome to the midnight edition of 'Who’s at the Door?'—where the answer is always a drenched Satoru with a side of existential crisis! Grab your umbrellas and prepare for a downpour of feelings! Can be read as an alternate universe to Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage.

It starts with a knock at the door.

Soft. Unhurried. Almost polite.

Kento frowns. It’s past midnight. He wasn’t expecting company.

The air is thick with rain, heavy and humid, clinging to his skin as he approaches the door. His fingers hesitate over the handle for a fraction of a second before he unlocks it and pulls it open.

Satoru stands there.

He’s drenched, white hair plastered to his forehead, raindrops clinging to the sharp edges of his cheekbones. His sunglasses are missing, his blindfold nowhere to be seen.

And his eyes—

His eyes are empty.

Kento has seen many versions of Satoru. The smug bastard. The reckless idiot. The insufferable genius. The god among men who pretends to be untouchable.

But he’s never seen this one before.

Satoru looks through him. Past him.

Like he isn’t even there.

Kento steps aside without a word, and Satoru enters, leaving a trail of water in his wake.

The door clicks shut. The silence stretches.

Kento watches him, waiting.

Satoru doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just stands in the dim light of Kento’s apartment, dripping onto the hardwood floor, staring at nothing.

Then, softly—so softly Kento almost misses it—

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

Kento exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. "Satoru—"

But Satoru shakes his head, cutting him off.

"I don’t mean curses. Or spirits. Or things that can be exorcized."

His voice is quiet. Frayed.

"I mean the kind of ghosts that live in you. That rot inside your bones, whisper in your head, keep you up at night."

Kento stares at him, his gut twisting. "Satoru, what happened?"

Satoru tilts his head, his lips curling into something that is not quite a smile.

"I saw her today."

A chill runs down Kento’s spine.

Her.

They don’t talk about her.

Not anymore.

It’s been five years. Five long, silent years.

"You didn’t see anything," Kento says, carefully measured. "She’s gone."

Satoru hums. "That’s what I thought, too."

His fingers twitch at his side, his nails scraping against the seam of his pants.

"But she was there, Kento." His voice dips lower, something eerily soft. "I swear on my life—she was standing right there."

Kento inhales sharply.

"Where?" he asks, even though he’s not sure he wants to know.

Satoru’s smile is razor-thin.

"In our house."

Kento’s breath catches.

He hasn’t stepped foot in that house in years. Neither of them have.

Not since the accident.

Not since her.

"You’re seeing things," Kento says, but the words feel hollow in his mouth.

Satoru laughs, but there’s no humor in it. "Yeah? Maybe." He tilts his head again, like he’s listening to something Kento can’t hear. "Or maybe ghosts don’t need permission to haunt you."

Kento clenches his jaw. He refuses to entertain this. Satoru is unraveling, slipping between his fingers, and Kento needs to pull him back before he falls.

"Gojo—"

"You should come see for yourself."

Kento stills.

Satoru looks at him, and for the first time since stepping inside, his eyes are on him, not past him.

They are wide. Hollow. Desperate.

"Please," Satoru murmurs.

And Kento, against his better judgment, nods.

---

The house is exactly as they left it.

The dishes still sit in the sink. The books remain on the coffee table, untouched. A pair of shoes near the door—the ones she never got to wear again—collect dust.

Nothing has moved. Nothing has changed.

But the air is wrong.

It’s cold. Stifling. Choked with something neither of them can name.

Satoru steps inside first. Kento follows.

The floor creaks beneath their weight.

Satoru moves like a sleepwalker, aimless and detached, trailing his fingers along the dusty furniture, his expression unreadable.

Kento watches him carefully.

"Satoru," he says, voice quiet. "She’s not here."

Satoru stops.

For a long moment, he says nothing.

Then—

"She never left."

Kento exhales sharply. His patience is wearing thin.

"She’s dead, Satoru." His voice is firm. Final. "And you’re losing your mind."

Satoru turns to face him. His lips part like he wants to argue, but then—

A sound.

A sharp, high-pitched giggle.

Kento’s heart lurches.

His blood turns to ice.

His eyes snap toward the staircase at the end of the hall.

The shadows shift. A flicker of white—a dress, a glimpse of pale skin—before it disappears.

Kento’s breath comes fast and shallow.

No.

It’s not possible.

He swore he buried this. Swore he buried her.

His hands tremble. His mind races.

"Satoru," he says, barely above a whisper.

But Satoru isn’t looking at him.

He’s looking at the stairs.

And he is smiling.

A real one this time.

Soft. Gentle. Loving.

"Satoru," Kento repeats, panic lacing his tone.

But Satoru doesn’t hear him.

Or maybe he does. Maybe he just doesn’t care.

Because before Kento can stop him—before he can move, before he can blink—

Satoru takes a step forward.

Then another.

And another.

Until the darkness swallows him whole.

The door slams shut.

Kento is alone.

And the laughter in the walls does not stop.

The door won’t open.

Kento yanks at the handle, his knuckles white, his breath sharp. The wood doesn’t budge. His heart slams against his ribs, his ears ringing with the echo of the door slamming shut.

"Satoru!" he calls.

Silence.

The shadows at the top of the stairs ripple.

Kento swallows. His pulse is a steady, suffocating drumbeat in his throat. He turns back to the door, tries again, but the handle is ice-cold beneath his grip, and the lock refuses to turn.

He is trapped.

His stomach twists.

Satoru is still upstairs.

And something else is, too.

Kento forces himself to exhale, to think. This is a house. A house cannot trap a man. This is not a nightmare. This is not a curse. This is reality, and reality can be unraveled with logic.

But Satoru—

Kento’s grip tightens.

Satoru is not logical.

Not when it comes to her.

And now, he is gone.

Kento steels himself. He steps away from the door and towards the staircase, each footstep echoing like gunshots in the empty house. The air thickens. His skin crawls.

He knows this feeling.

It’s the feeling of being watched.

His breath is slow, measured. His fingers itch at his sides.

If he listens carefully, he can almost hear—

Laughter.

Soft. Whispered.

Not hers.

Not quite.

The second-floor hallway is dark, but Kento doesn’t stop. He walks forward, his jaw locked, his hands clenched.

He follows the laughter to the bedroom.

The door is open.

Inside, Satoru stands with his back to him, facing the dresser.

Kento exhales. "Satoru."

Satoru doesn’t move.

Kento steps closer. "We need to go."

Satoru’s fingers trace the surface of the dresser, collecting dust.

"She was right here," he murmurs, voice eerily soft. "That night."

Kento’s blood runs cold.

"Satoru—"

"She was wearing white." Satoru’s voice is distant, like he’s somewhere else entirely. "You remember?"

Kento remembers.

He remembers the rain outside. The smell of wine. The way she looked at both of them with tired eyes and whispered, Don’t fight.

---

The storm had been relentless that night, wind howling through the old wooden beams, rain pelting against the windows like a thousand tiny fists demanding to be let in.

She had been in white.

Not by choice. It was a coincidence. A cruel one.

Kento remembers the dress, how it clung to her frame like an omen. How her bare feet were silent on the floor, how the flickering light caught the glint of her engagement ring as she reached for him.

"Don’t fight."

But they had.

Satoru had been pacing, livid, laughing in that sharp, reckless way that meant he was two seconds from breaking something.

Kento had been standing by the kitchen counter, knuckles white around the edge, words like knives in his throat.

"You always let him do this."

"And you always let him get to you."

"He’s a selfish bastard, and you—"

Kento never finished.

Because the shatter of glass had cut through their argument like a gunshot.

Kento remembers turning his head.

The blood. The dark crimson splatter staining the floor.

Her body crumpled beneath the kitchen table.

And Satoru—

Satoru standing there, still as death, fingers loose around the heavy glass ashtray that had been on the counter just seconds ago.

It had happened too fast.

One of them had moved.

Maybe it was her—maybe she had stepped between them, hands raised, desperate to make them stop.

Maybe it was Satoru—maybe he had grabbed the ashtray in anger, slammed it down, missed his mark.

Kento doesn’t know.

He only knows that when he reached her, her pulse was slipping, her lips moving soundlessly.

And Satoru—

Satoru had just stood there, his fingers stained red, his eyes impossibly wide.

He didn’t run.

Didn’t cry.

Didn’t move.

Kento was the one who called the ambulance.

But by the time they arrived, it was already too late.

And Satoru—

Satoru was already gone.

---

But they had.

Because they always did.

Kento clenches his fists. "She’s gone."

Satoru lets out a slow breath. "Yeah," he murmurs. "She is."

And then—

He turns around.

Kento’s heart stops.

Satoru’s blindfold is gone. His brilliant, otherworldly blue eyes stare directly into Kento’s. But they are wrong.

There is no light in them.

Only reflection.

A mirror.

Kento sees himself in them.

And behind him—

Something moves.

Something white.

Something with long, tangled hair and hollow, blackened eyes.

Something smiling.

Kento doesn’t turn around.

He doesn’t breathe.

Satoru tilts his head, his expression unreadable.

"You should have listened to her," he says.

Kento opens his mouth. A protest. A prayer. A curse.

But then—

A hand touches his shoulder.

Cold. Soft.

Familiar.

And then—

Darkness.

---

The house sits undisturbed for another five years.

No one enters. No one leaves.

The dust thickens. The books remain untouched. The shoes near the door continue to collect dust.

Some say the house is abandoned.

Others say, if you stand outside and listen carefully—

You can hear laughter.

Not one voice.

But two.

And if you look through the second-floor window—

You might see a man in white.

And another in black.

Standing side by side.

Smiling.

A/N: Remember, if your friend shows up at your door in the middle of the night looking like a drowned rat and talking about ghosts, just kick them out.

All Works Masterlist

Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth @austisticfreak @helloxkittylo @itoshi-r @kodzukensworld @revolvinggeto @luringfantasy @xx-tazzdevil-xx @unaaasz @thebumbqueen @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni

[heeluvv]

OMGGG do u know that enoclock enhypen posted last thursday and jake was wearing the glasses like ughhhhh he looks like a nerd that’ll beg u to call him good boy 😽 i was wondering if u could write something like that?

he looked so good on this episode 😩 (did it a bit differently since it reminds me of class time but i hope you still like it)

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐁𝐎𝐘 ྀི

pairing ￫ sim jaeyun x reader

genre ￫ smut

warnings ￫ handjob, blowjob, p in v, unprotected sex, etc.

natty’s notes ￫ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

the moment the door clicked shut behind you, the air shifted again—heavier, charged. jake turned to you, eyes dark with something unreadable. something hungry.

you barely had time to process before he closed the distance, his hands finding your waist, pulling you flush against him. his breath was warm against your lips, teasing, lingering.

“i’ve been thinking about this all day,” he admitted, voice low, barely above a whisper. your hands slid up his chest, feeling the way his heart pounded beneath your touch. “yeah?”

he nodded, exhaling sharply. “mhmm.” his grip on you tightened slightly. “you drive me crazy.” a slow smirk tugged at your lips. “good.”

he let out a quiet, frustrated sound, his fingers digging into your sides. “you’re so mean.”

“and you love it,” you teased, letting your nails scratch lightly over the fabric of his shirt. his breath hitched. “i do.”

he leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips before pulling back, watching your reaction. his gaze was laced with something deeper than desire—something desperate.

“what is it, jake?” you murmured, playing with the hem of his hoodie. he swallowed hard, his body tense as if he was holding back. “tell me,” you coaxed, fingers brushing up his spine. he exhaled shakily. “i love it when you take control.”

your smirk widened. “is that what you want?” he nodded quickly, pupils blown wide. “yes.” you traced your fingers along his jaw, tilting his chin up slightly so he had no choice but to keep his eyes on you. his lips were parted, breath uneven, anticipation clear in every fiber of his being.

“say it properly.” he hesitated for a fraction of a second before whispering, “i want you to take control.”

satisfaction curled in your chest. you tangled your fingers into his hair, tugging slightly, and the small, breathy whimper he let out sent heat pooling in your stomach.

you leaned in, lips brushing against his ear as you murmured, “good boy.” a sharp inhale. his hands gripped your waist tighter, his whole body trembling slightly as he pressed against you.

“please—” his voice cracked slightly, and you felt him shudder under your touch. “say it again.” you tilted his chin down, forcing him to look at you. his eyes were pleading, desperate.

you hummed, brushing your thumb over his cheek before whispering, “such a good boy.” a soft, broken groan left his lips, and he buried his face into your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

“i love it when you call me that,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whimper. you chuckled, running your fingers through his hair soothingly before tugging again just to hear that little sound he made when you did.

“then be good for me,” you murmured against his skin. and just like that, he obeyed.

jake let out a shaky breath against your neck, his grip tightening on your waist as he pressed himself closer. the heat radiating from his body seeped into yours, sending a shiver down your spine. you could feel the tension in the way he held himself—his restraint, his need to obey, to let you take control completely.

you ran your fingers through his hair again, this time softer, soothing, before letting your nails scrape lightly against his scalp. jake shuddered, tilting his head into your touch like a starved man.

“such a good boy,” you murmured again, feeling the way his breath hitched at your words. his hands trembled slightly as they gripped at your shirt, holding on as if he needed the anchor.

“please,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. you tilted his chin up, forcing him to meet your gaze. his eyes were blown wide with need, lips slightly parted, breath uneven.

“please what?” you asked, teasing. he swallowed, his fingers flexing against your waist. “please… more.” a slow smirk spread across your lips. “more?”

he nodded frantically, his desperation evident in the way he looked at you. you leaned in, brushing your lips over his but not quite kissing him. just enough to make him chase after the contact, his breath growing heavier.

“you’re so needy,” you whispered against his lips. jake let out a quiet whimper, his body pressing even closer to yours. “only for you.”

your heart skipped a beat at his words, but you didn’t let it show. instead, you dragged your fingers down his chest, feeling the way his muscles tensed under your touch. “i like it when you beg,” you murmured.

jake exhaled sharply, his lips barely brushing against yours as he whispered, “i’ll do anything for you.” your grip on his chin tightened slightly, and his breath hitched. “then be a good boy and stay still for me.”

he nodded instantly, his hands dropping to his sides, waiting—waiting for your next move, waiting for you to give him exactly what he craved. and you intended to make him wait just a little longer.

“good boy,” you said again, watching the way his whole body reacted to your praise. jake’s head dropped forward, his forehead resting against your shoulder as he let out a shaky sigh. “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

you smirked, running your fingers through his hair one more time before tilting his chin back up. “and yet,” you murmured, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth, “you wouldn’t have it any other way.” jake’s breath caught in his throat, his fingers twitching against your hips as he fought the urge to move.

“never,” he whispered. and you knew he meant it.

you pushed him onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he landed with a quiet gasp. his chest rose and fell rapidly, his dark, hooded eyes locked onto you with a mixture of desperation and anticipation.

your hands worked quickly, fingers fumbling with the buttons of his jeans, the metal of the zipper cool against your fingertips as you dragged it down. he sucked in a sharp breath, his hips twitching slightly, eager yet obedient beneath your touch.

the fabric gave way easily as you tugged his jeans down his thighs, exposing more of his toned legs, his skin warm under your fingertips. the moment you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs and pulled them down, his arousal sprang free, hard and aching, a clear testament to how much he wanted this—how much he wanted you.

a broken whimper escaped his lips, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him as he tried to control himself, tried not to reach for you despite the overwhelming need clouding his mind. his lips parted, voice barely above a breathless whisper.

“please, y/n…”

his voice was laced with raw need, a desperate plea that sent a thrill down your spine. his eyes searched yours, silently begging for your touch, your approval—anything you were willing to give him.

you smirked, letting your fingers trail teasingly along the inside of his thigh, watching as he shuddered beneath your touch.

“such a good boy,” you murmured. the way he whimpered at your words only made you want to ruin him even more. you leaned in close, your breath warm against his ear as your voice dropped into a sultry whisper.

“are you gonna be a good boy for me, jakey…?”

your fingers wrapped around his length, your touch firm yet teasing, just enough to make him tremble beneath you. his body jolted at the sensation, a sharp inhale slipping past his parted lips as you slowly dragged your hand along his shaft, your grip deliberate, torturously slow.

his thighs tensed beneath your touch, his fingers gripping at the sheets as if grounding himself, but it was no use. the sensation of your warm hand stroking him, teasing him, was already unraveling what little restraint he had left. his head fell back against the headrest, his lips trembling as soft, broken whimpers spilled from his throat.

“oh god, yes… please,” he begged, his voice shaky, desperate, each word laced with pure need. “i-i’ll be your good boy… please, y/n…”

his breath hitched as your grip tightened slightly, your thumb swiping over his tip in a slow, torturous motion. his entire body shuddered at the sensation, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his muscles taut beneath you.

you smirked, reveling in the way he melted under your touch, the way his body responded so easily, so beautifully to you. “that’s my good boy,” you murmured, pressing a feather-light kiss just below his jaw, feeling the way he shivered from even the slightest touch.

his whimper was soft, almost pleading, his hips instinctively bucking up into your hand, desperate for more friction, more of your touch—more of you.

“patience, baby,” you cooed, your lips ghosting over his flushed skin. “good boys wait, don’t they?” his hands clenched the sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white, his body visibly straining against his own desires.

“y-yes,” he stammered, his voice barely a breath. “yes, i’ll w-wait—i’ll do anything, just please…” you chuckled, your grip on him tightening just enough to make his entire body tremble.

“that’s more like it,” you whispered and the way he whimpered in response only made you want to push him further.

your thumb traced slow, deliberate circles around his swollen tip, smearing the beads of precum that gathered there, making his length glisten under the dim lighting of the room. the more you squeezed him in your grasp, the more he trembled beneath you, his thighs tensing, his body barely holding itself together.

“y-y/n!” he choked out, voice high and desperate, a mix of pleasure and restraint battling within him. his fingers dug into the sheets, gripping them like a lifeline, his knuckles turning white. “please, please…”

even as his body quivered, his hips twitching with the overwhelming need to thrust into your hand, he forced himself to stay still, obeying your earlier command. it took everything in him, but he wanted—no, needed—to be good for you.

you smirked at his struggle, at the way he held himself back so obediently despite his clear desperation. “so fucking needy, baby…” you murmured, your voice thick with amusement and something far darker.

before he could respond, before he could even process your words, you leaned in, letting your tongue dart out to flick against his slit, tasting the slickness that had gathered there.

his entire body jolted violently, a sharp, wrecked moan spilling from his lips. “oh fuck!” he cried out, his head tilting back against the headrest, exposing the smooth expanse of his throat, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

his breath was ragged, his chest heaving, his entire body trembling beneath you as if he was barely holding himself together. you hummed against him, your tongue swirling around his sensitive tip before licking him clean, savoring the way his body reacted so beautifully to your touch.

“so sensitive,” you mused, dragging your nails lightly down his thigh, feeling the way his muscles clenched beneath your touch. “p-please,” he whimpered again, his voice nearly breaking, his hips twitching ever so slightly as he fought against the overwhelming urge to move, to chase the friction he so desperately craved.

you pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a teasing smirk. “please what, baby?” you cooed, tilting your head as you watched him fall apart before you.

his eyes fluttered open, pupils blown wide with desperation, with raw, unfiltered need. “please… more,” he pleaded, his voice barely a whisper. “please, y/n, i n-need more…”

your smirk deepened, and you leaned in, letting your lips brush against his tip, your breath warm against his already overstimulated skin. “only if you keep being my good boy,” you murmured.

his breath hitched, his fingers clenching the sheets even tighter. “i will,” he swore, his voice breathless, wrecked. “i’ll be your good boy—just, please…”

and how could you deny him when he was begging so sweetly?

you finally gave in, parting your lips and taking him fully into your mouth, the warmth of your tongue wrapping around him as you hollowed your cheeks, drawing him in deep. the reaction was instant—his whole body tensed beneath you, his back arching slightly as his hands flew to the sheets, fingers curling around the fabric in a vice-like grip.

“y/n! oh my god!” he whined, voice high and broken, filled with pure, unfiltered pleasure. his head tipped back against the headrest, his brows furrowed tightly, his lips parted as he struggled to catch his breath. his chest rose and fell rapidly, his skin flushed, his entire body trembling as he tried to hold himself together.

but you could feel it—the way he was falling apart under your touch, the way his thighs tensed beneath your hands, the way his breath came in ragged gasps, desperate and pleading.

you hummed around him, letting the vibrations course through him, and the sound that tore from his throat was nothing short of sinful.

“oh fuck,” he gasped, his fingers twitching, fighting the instinct to grab onto you, to push your head down further, but he resisted. he was being good, just like you told him to.

you took your time, moving slowly, dragging your tongue along every inch of him, tracing the veins that pulsed under your touch, savoring the way he throbbed in your mouth.

his breath hitched when you swallowed around him, his entire body jolting, a broken moan spilling from his lips. “y/n, please,” he whimpered, his voice raw, needy. “please, i c-can’t…”

you pulled back just slightly, letting his tip rest against your tongue as you looked up at him, his face twisted in pleasure, his jaw clenched so tightly as if he was holding back everything he wanted to do.

“can’t what, baby?” you teased, your voice dripping with amusement as you wrapped your fingers around the base of his length, stroking him slowly, deliberately.

he whined, his hips jerking just slightly before he forced himself still again. “c-can’t last,” he admitted, voice shaky, eyes squeezing shut as if he was embarrassed by how quickly you were unraveling him.

you smirked, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to his tip, letting your tongue flick against him again just to watch the way he trembled beneath you. “then be a good boy and hold it for me,” you murmured, tightening your grip just slightly.

he whimpered, his entire body shaking, but he nodded. “yes—yes, i-i’ll try,” he stammered, his voice wrecked, desperate, completely at your mercy.

and that only made you want to push him even further.

your mouth moved over him with purpose, lips stretched around his aching length, tongue tracing every ridge and vein, flicking teasingly against his slit before wrapping around him again. the taste of him was intoxicating, slightly salty, mixed with the sheer heat of his arousal, making you moan softly around him, sending vibrations straight through his core.

his reaction was immediate—his back arched off the mattress, his body a trembling mess beneath you. his fingers dug into the sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white, desperate for anything to ground him. his thighs tensed, his muscles twitching as he fought to keep himself still, just like you had commanded him to.

your hand slipped lower, cupping him, massaging his balls with just the right amount of pressure, rolling them gently in your palm. a deep, broken whimper tore from his lips, his hips jerking involuntarily, the pleasure overwhelming his senses.

“fuck, y/n,” he gasped, his voice shaky, breathless, almost completely wrecked.

you hollowed your cheeks, sucking on him harshly, taking him even deeper until he was hitting the back of your throat. you held him there for a moment, swallowing around him, and the way he sobbed out your name made your own arousal throb between your thighs.

“shit, shit! i c-can’t—oh my god, i—” his words broke off into a loud, desperate moan, his entire body shaking uncontrollably beneath you. “i’m gonna cum, y-y/n!”

his voice was high and breathless, his body trembling so violently it was as if he was coming apart at the seams. his chest heaved, sweat beading at his forehead, his hair sticking slightly to his damp skin. he was so close, so unbearably close, his body on the edge of release, but still, he waited—still, he held back, clinging to the last thread of control he had left.

you pulled back just slightly, your tongue flicking against his tip, tasting the precum that leaked from him, feeling the way his cock twitched in your mouth.

“not yet, baby,” you murmured against him, lips brushing over his sensitive skin. a sob-like whimper escaped his lips, his hands fisting the sheets harder, his body wracked with shudders.

“p-please,” he whimpered, voice barely above a breath, his entire body shaking with the force of his restraint. you smirked, stroking his thigh soothingly, knowing exactly how much he was struggling to hold himself together.

“just a little longer, baby,” you cooed, your voice teasing yet firm, your grip on him tightening just slightly. he let out a strangled cry, his body thrumming with overstimulation, his breaths ragged and uneven.

but he obeyed. because he wanted nothing more than to be good for you.

you slowly stripped off your clothes, letting each article slide down your body, the anticipation in jake’s eyes growing darker with every inch of skin revealed. his breath hitched, his lips parted as he watched you, completely mesmerized, his hands gripping the sheets as if he was barely restraining himself from reaching out and pulling you onto him.

once you were bare, you climbed over him, your knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his waist. his eyes were locked onto you, pupils blown wide with hunger, his lips slightly swollen from all the whimpering and gasping he had been doing for you.

“fuck,” he breathed, his hands hesitantly resting on your hips, fingers twitching as if he wanted to grab hold of you, to guide you down onto him, but he was still being good, waiting for your permission.

you smirked, leaning forward just enough to brush your lips against his, teasing him with the warmth of your breath. “so obedient,” you murmured, your fingers tracing down his chest before you reached between your bodies, aligning his throbbing cock with your entrance.

his entire body tensed beneath you, a sharp, desperate gasp escaping his lips as he felt the wet heat of your core pressing against his tip.

you didn’t give him a warning—you simply sank down in one slow, deep motion, taking him to the hilt, the stretch making your head fall back, a loud, breathy moan spilling from your lips.

“oh fuck—” your voice cracked slightly, your fingers digging into the firm planes of his chest as you adjusted to his size, the way he filled you up so perfectly, stretching you open in the most delicious way.

beneath you, jake was a mess. his mouth fell open in a silent moan, his head pressing back against the pillows, his fingers gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks.

“oh my god,” he choked out, his voice trembling, his body trembling, his self-control snapping thread by thread as he felt the tight, wet heat of you wrapped around him.

you rolled your hips experimentally, grinding down onto him, and his entire body shuddered beneath you, a strangled whimper slipping past his lips.

“fuck baby,” you moaned, biting your lip as you lifted yourself slightly before bouncing down onto him again, the motion sending a deep, electric pleasure coursing through your veins. “you’re so fucking big…”

your hands pressed firmly against his chest, using him for balance as you set a steady rhythm, your hips moving fluidly against his. every time you sank down onto him, he let out the most wrecked, beautiful moans, his eyes glazed over with pure bliss, his fingers digging into your hips as he tried to hold himself together.

“y/n—” he whimpered, his voice breaking, his hips bucking up involuntarily, unable to stop himself from chasing the pleasure you were giving him.

you let out a sinful moan at the sudden depth, your walls clenching around him, making him curse under his breath. “does it feel good, baby?” you teased, leaning down slightly so your lips hovered just above his, your breath fanning over his swollen lips.

he nodded frantically, his grip tightening on you. “yes—fuck, yes, it feels so good,” he panted, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before opening again, locking onto yours, completely wrecked, completely devoted to you.

you smirked, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before whispering, “then be a good boy and take it.” he groaned loudly, his hands flying up to grip your waist, his body shuddering beneath you as he surrendered completely, letting you use him, letting you take everything you needed—because there was nothing he wanted more.

each bounce sent waves of pleasure crashing through your body, the force of each movement more powerful than the last. your thighs burned from the pace, but the sheer pleasure that coursed through your veins drowned out any exhaustion. the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with the broken moans and whimpers spilling from jake’s lips.

he was completely lost beneath you—his head thrown back, his lips parted in desperate, shaky moans, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you were sure there would be marks in the morning. his body trembled under your touch, muscles tensing with each downward motion, his cock pulsing inside you as your walls clenched around him, tightening with every bounce.

your own release was teetering on the edge, the pleasure building rapidly, white-hot and overwhelming. the way he stretched you, filled you so perfectly, had you spiraling toward your climax at a dizzying speed.

“fuck, baby…” you moaned, your voice dripping with need as you leaned forward, pressing your hands against his chest, nails digging into his flushed skin. the feeling of his pounding heartbeat beneath your fingertips sent another thrill of arousal through you.

his eyes cracked open, dazed and glossy, barely able to focus on you through the haze of pleasure drowning him. he looked wrecked—his cheeks flushed, sweat beading at his forehead, his lips trembling with every breathless moan he let out.

you leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, voice thick with lust, “you’re gonna cum with me, right, baby? you’re gonna be a good boy and cum with me?”

a strangled whimper tore from his throat, his entire body shuddering violently at your words. his fingers twitched against your waist, his grip tightening, his hips bucking up into you involuntarily, desperate for more.

“y-yes,” he stammered, his voice barely a breath, completely overwhelmed. “yes, please, i-i’ll be good, i’ll be your good boy—”

his words cut off into a sharp, broken moan as you clenched around him again, your own pleasure tightening like a coil about to snap. “fuck, jake,” you gasped, your rhythm faltering slightly as the pleasure became too much, too intense.

he whimpered beneath you, his nails digging into your skin, his body shaking as he tried so hard to hold back, to wait for you like you told him to.

“please,” he choked out, voice wrecked, pleading, eyes squeezing shut as he teetered on the edge. “i can’t—please, let me cum, please—” you smirked, pressing a teasing kiss to his jaw, your breath warm against his sweat-dampened skin.

“then cum for me, baby,” you purred.

and the moment those words left your lips, he shattered.

natty's notes ￫ hoped you enjoyed!

[sickskz]

ily 😭

i was looking for skz sickfics and then i found you, i’m so happy

can you do sth with han being anxious after a concert and it makes his stomach hurt?? i’m not creative at all, lol, but sth like that, and soft comfort cause he’s a bbg

Thank you so much! 🥹 Here is a fic where Han's anxiety gets the best of him (and his stomach) after a performance. I went all in, so be prepared for a full on panic attack ✋🏽

“Breathe with me”

Sickie: Han

Caretaker/s: Chan, Lee Know

___________________________________________

Han Jisung felt his head swim with heat as they stepped off the stage. The lights of the concert hall were still dancing behind his eyelids, and the final note from the speakers still clung to his mind like a faded echo. 

The concert had just ended, and the loud cheers of fans was still ringing in Jisungs ears as he removed his ear pieces, breathing heavy and body slick with sweat.  

He was quicker than usual to get backstage, weaving through the others in his rush to get away, to get out of the blinding lights and escape from the thousands of eyes staring at him. He loved his fans, more than anything. But right then and there, it was all too much.

The adrenaline from the performance was starting to wear off, and what replaced it was much less pleasant. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, the anxiety. It started building into a knot that settled deep in his chest and made his stomach churn sourly. 

This time, it was just a lot worse. 

Why?

All because of that stupid mistake. 

It was just a small slip of his foot during their performance of DOMINO, barely throwing him off beat for a fraction of a second. It wasn’t a grave mistake, it didn’t ruin the performance, but it had burned itself into his memory. Even though it seemed to go unnoticed by the audience, it was all Jisung could think about. 

The moment it had happened, he’d felt the pang in his chest, but the intoxicating thrill of the cheers had kept the anxiety in check. 

Now that the loud audience died into a faint buzz in the background, the fear washed over him with a vengeance.

Jisungs breath quickened as he staggered past unsuspecting staff, his eyes wide and unfocused. His chest tightened with trepidation, and his stomach twisted so forcefully that he had to stop himself from crying out. 

He rounded a corner and collapsed down against the nearest wall, both hands clutching at his stomach as he grit his teeth in a pained grimace. He tried to take deep breaths, tried to steady himself as his vision blurred around the edges, but it wasn’t working. 

Stop. Calm down. 

Nausea rose in his throat, and before he knew it, his body lurched forward with a gag. Jisungs vision dipped as a harsh heave rolled through his shoulders, spilling his dinner across the black floor between his legs. The bile burned in his nose, and it certainly didn’t make breathing any easier. 

A voice called out to him, echoing in his ears as his surroundings slowly caught up to him. 

Oh my god. 

“Han- Han! hey” Chans voice became clearer once he placed a hand on Jisungs shoulder, pulling him back down from the panicked haze. Just for a fleeting second. “Are you alright? Hey, Hannie, look at me”

Jisung looked up, frantic, and he saw the concerned etched into Chans face. Lee Know was beside him, his own expression matching that of their leader. 

“I-“ Jisung tried to speak, but his voice faltered, words blocked by the lump of nausea still lodged in his throat. Tears welled up in his eyes, making the other members nothing more than blurry figures looming over him. “I-I messed- I messed up. I-I couldn’t-“  

His chest was too tight. His lungs didn’t work. He couldn’t breathe right. 

“Hey, hey..” Chan interrupted his stuttering softly, crouching down in front of him.

A few tears trickled down his cheeks as the first sob bubbled up his throat. Jisung squeezed his eyes shut, the shame making his skin burn.  

“I-I didn’t me-mean to- god, I’m so sorry! Domino- I-I just- I couldn’t-“ Jisung gasped, his voice breaking as he tried to speak. 

“I-I ruined it, I’m so- I’m so sorry. I-I-I-I can’t - I can’t” he doubled over, gasping for air. His stomach twisted again, the nausea almost making him choke on his own spit.

Chans face shifted, sympathy flickering in his eyes. They had seen this before, they knew what was happening. 

“Shh, shh, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. You didn’t ruin anything. Try to breathe” Chan said calmly, hoping his words could be of comfort. 

Jisung was mortified. He wanted to- no, he needed to disappear. 

Everything felt so distant all of a sudden, blurry almost. He heard Chan speak, but his mind couldn’t latch onto anything, the panic swallowing any rational thought he’d ever had. 

“Han, listen to me. You need to breathe. It’s okay, you’re okay” Chan said softly, reaching out to carefully settle his other hand on Jisungs knee, trying to ground him somehow. 

Jisung could hardly hear him over the sound of blood rushing in ears. His breaths were coming out too fast, too shallow, and his shirt felt like a tightrope around his chest. He was starting to feel lightheaded. 

“I’m sorry- I’m s-so sorry” Jisung choked out between sobs, his voice thick with the nausea still swirling in his stomach. “I-I couldn’t keep it to-together. H-hyung, I’m so-sorry-“

“Stop.” 

 Lee Knows voice was caring, but still firm. It made Jisungs flinch, just a little.  

“Hey, you have nothing to apologise for” Lee Know continued, his tone even softer this time. Almost like he was speaking to a frightened kitten. “Seriously, Han-ah. You were amazing out there.”

But Jisung couldn’t stop. He couldn’t hear him. He couldn’t breathe. 

The apologies were among the only coherent words that spilled from his lips, mixed in with the erratic breaths and distressed sobs. “I-I’m sorry. I don’t-I don’t wanna b-be like this-“

He could hear Chans voice speaking to him again, something along the lines of ‘it’s okay’, but he couldn’t hear anything else. 

The moment of his missed stepped played over, and over, and over again inside his head. The moment he miscalculated his step, the slight stagger that no one seemed to notice but him. 

The cameras… the cameras would notice. The cameras always noticed.

Jisung willed his mind to stop, to please stop taunting him, but it was unrelenting. The weight of his own thoughts was crushing him, so heavy it stole any remains of air from his lungs.

Chan reached out to place his hand on his shoulder, but Jisung jerked himself away with a flinch that left their leader frozen in place.

“Stop- please-p-please stop!” Jisung suddenly wailed, startling all of them. He reached his trembling hands up to cover his ears as his knees pulled to his chest, curling him into a tight ball. 

Disappear, disappear, disappear.

Chan and Lee Know exchanged a worried glance, their own hearts sinking with the realisation that Jisungs mind was too garbled and disjointed to process anything they were saying. 

Lee Know exhaled slowly and sank down to the floor beside Jisung, facing him. 

“Come on, Jisung-ah..” he murmured, voice soft. It wasn’t a command, just a quiet invitation. “Breathe with me.” 

As expected, Jisung didn’t react to his words, his body trembling and face paling thanks to the steadily declining amount of oxygen to his brain.

Luckily, Lee Know had an ace up his sleeve.

He gently, carefully reached for one Jisungs hands, prying it away from his ear. 

Jisung resisted for a moment, eyes wide with terror, but Lee Knows touch remained steady and insistent. He guided Jisungs shaky hand down to rest gently against his chest, making sure to keep his own breathing calm and collected. 

Jisungs breath hitched for a moment as he felt the rhythmic rise and fall of Lee Knows chest under his fingertips. It wasn’t a lot, but it was something. Something safe, something real. Something to anchor him through the storm. 

Lee Know kept his hand lightly above Jisungs, keeping him in place as he exaggerated his own breaths, in and out. “That’s it. Breathe with me” he repeated, trying to discern if his words could reach him this time. Thankfully, they did. “In..”

Jisung inhaled shakily. His breath still came in short, shallow bursts, but he tried. He really tried. He shut his eyes tightly, eyebrows pinched as he tried to focus on nothing but the sensation of Lee Knows chest expanding and deflating with each controlled breath. The nausea still swirled in his stomach and his head was spinning, but the feeling grounded him.

“Out..” Lee Know coaxed, letting his hand follow the movement as the air slowly left his lungs. “Good. You’re doing great. Keep breathing.” 

Jisungs sobs started to subside, his breathing slowly becoming a little less erratic. His fingers still trembled against Lee Knows chest, but the steady rhythm of his breathing was beginning to work its way through the wall of panic. 

Slowly, but surely, the world stopped crashing down on him. Jisungs breathing was still ragged, he still gasped out small sobs, but everything seemed a little less overwhelming.

Lee Know stayed with him, his presence patient and unwavering. He didn’t know how much time had passed by the time he was able to look around him again, but when he did, Lee Know offered him a reassuring look. 

“There you go..”

As the world around him came back in pieces, Jisung was made acutely aware of the strong hand at the back of his neck, gently rubbing his muscles as the tension subsided. Chan. 

“That’s it. You’re okay, Hannie. You’re okay. We’re here.” Chans voice spoke softly beside him, the hand traveling up to gently run through the sweaty hair at the back of his head.

Jisung could feel his breath coming in easier now, his lungs no longer burning with the inability to breathe. For a while longer, they just sat there. No words, just steady and calming breaths. 

Jisungs head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton, and his stomach still rumbled uneasily under his shirt, the dull ache still present. He slowly withdrew the hand on Lee Knows chest, settling it against his own gut in an attempt to soothe it.

“I’m sorry..” Jisung murmured again, voice weak. His head lolled to the side, gently bumping against Chans shoulder as the older wrapped his arm around him. 

“I’m so sorry…” his voice wavered, like he was going to break out in tears again.

“Yah, I thought I already told you to stop apologising.” Lee Know chimed in, though there was no real bite in his words. “You have no reason to” He scooted over to sit against the wall on Jisungs other side, his hand gently coming to rest on his thigh. 

Jisung couldn’t help the choked up, shaky chuckle that slipped past his lips at Lee Knows feigned annoyance. The familiarity of it felt strangely comforting. As he leaned into Chans touch, he felt that his heart was still jittery in chest, but beating at a much less concerning pace.

“I-I can’t help it” He whispered softly, his voice barely audible. “I hate feeling like this… It’s just too much sometimes. I-I need to be better”

Lee Knows hand remained on his thigh, squeezing it softly in silent support. “Why do you need to be better? Han-ah, you’re already more than good enough..” he said softly, raising a brow as his mind worked around his words. “We all make mistakes, it doesn’t make us any less.”

Jisung bit his lip, turning his head to press his face into Chans shoulder, hiding away from Lee Knows piercing gaze. He mumbled something unintelligible against the fabric of Chans shirt, and Lee Know raised his brow further.

“Come again?”

Jisung twisted his head only enough to be heard. “You don’t..”

“I don-“ Lee Knows question trailed off as he caught up to whatever it was he was going on about. He couldn’t help the lopsided grin his lips pulled into, affection warm in his chest as he shook his head disapprovingly. “That’s not true and you know it. I’ve made plenty mistakes.” He scoffed.  

“Yeah, do you not remember the three.. four times Lee Know has almost accidentally done the splits on stage?” Chan quipped, earning a halfhearted flick to his forehead from the dancer. 

Jisung felt his lips twitch slightly at that, but he could suddenly feel himself waver again, emotions bubbling up in his chest. He let out a pitiful whimper as he pressed himself further into Chans side, his fingers curling into the fabric of his leaders shirt. Chan reciprocated by giving his shoulders a reassuring squeeze, tilting his head so his cheek gently rested against Jisungs damp hair. “It’s okay, take it easy.”

Jisung sniffled pathetically, shaking his head as he sobbed again, the noise muffled into Chans shoulder. The oldest sighed softly, pulling away so Jisung wouldn’t start suffocating himself.

Chan placed a hand under his chin, tiling his head up so he could meet his eyes. “Han-ah…” he said tenderly, giving him a small dimpled smile. 

“Agh, s-stop.. don’t look at me li-like that” Jisung shook his head, drawing back with a  petulant whine as new tears trailed down the already red streaks on his face. 

“Dammit, hyung, wh-what is wrong with me?” He groaned out, exasperated, as he tried to stifle the small sobs. Why couldn’t he stop crying? This was exhausting.

Chan clicked his tongue, ruffling Jisungs hair affectionately as he hid himself away. “Nothings wrong with you.. you’re overwhelmed, exhausted. It happens to the best of us” he assured him, ever so caring as he rubbed his hand over his back.

“Yeah” Lee Know chimed in. “It’s been a long week.. tonight just tipped you over the edge, and that’s fine. I knows it’s hard to believe, but you are human, you know?” 

Chan ran his fingers mindlessly through Jisungs hair, letting his breathing settle again as the tears came to a halt. He was probably all dried up by now. Dehydrated for sure. His eyes burned.

“You know..” Chans voice seemed pensive, like he’d been brewing on something to say for a while. “You really need to stop treating yourself like you’re worth any less than the people you love.” 

Jisungs swallowed hard, a little caught off guard.

“You always tell us not to be too hard on ourselves, but then you go tear yourself up over the smallest mistake? If it were me, you’d be the first to tell me it was okay” Chan continued, a small sigh leaving his lips.

Jisung lifted his head a little, looking at Chan with a deadpan expression. With his puffy, red-rimmed eyes and the salty streaks burning on his cheek, his attempt to be earnest was nothing short of endearing. 

“Tch, that’s bold coming from you, hyung..” Jisung muttered tiredly, before letting his head fall back down again.

Chan paused, then laughed softly, a sheepish smile creeping onto his face. “Hey, this isn’t about me.” he complained, earning a small smile from Jisung. “I mean it, though. Go easier on yourself, you deserve that.” Chans voice was serious again, and the younger rapper gnawed at the inside of his cheek. 

He didn’t answer, and he didn’t know whether it was because he was too tired or if deep down, he knew Chan was right.

Lee Know poked his side, making Jisung jump and send him a halfhearted glare. The dancer just smirked, holding out a water bottle for the younger to take. “Here, drink. Gotta fill up the tear storage again before you turn into a raisin.” 

Jisung huffed at the teasing but took the water bottle anyway, twisting the cap off with trembling fingers. He took a few long sips, the cool liquid soothing on his throat. Then he paused, looking slowly around the hall as he heard the sound of footsteps around the corner. 

Jisungs breath caught in his throat again, his whole body stiffening as the memories seeped back into his mind. 

He had thrown up on the floor. Not just a little. All his stomachs contents. Right there, on the floor. Now, as he glanced at the same spot, it was… cleaner than before.

Embarrassment crept up to him, warmth spreading across his cheeks as he contemplated which was worse; throwing up on the floor, or not being coherent enough to notice when someone had cleaned it up. 

The memories sent a new wave of anxiety and shame washing over him.

“I-oh my god” he choked out, hiding his face in his hands. “I can’t believe…” he trailed off, cheeks red and eyes pleading as he looked up at Chan. “Hyung, you…. get me out of here, please?”

Lee Know and Chan shared a glance, and Chan ruffled Jisungs hair affectionately. “No problem. The car is already waiting on us.” He promised. As Jisung braced himself to stand on his jelly like legs, Lee Know held out his hand and Chan gently supported him with an arm arounf his waist. 

“You know what, Han-ah?” Lee Know spoke up, and Jisung looked at him, still a little dazed. 

“Try not to think too much. I think I like you better dumb” The dancer continued with a smirk, and Chan suppressed a chuckle into his hand.

Jisung blinked a couple of times, mouth hung open as he processed the words. Then, he gave a soft, breathless laugh. 

“Yeah… yeah, me too.”