#which he framed at the end here like it’s a great thing

[haeiheart]

accidentally falling back — lee jeno by @haeiheart [part one out of two]

summary! You were bored, a little tipsy, and way too online—so you tweeted a dramatic ranking of your exes, complete with oversharing and emotional damage. You didn’t think they’d actually see it, much less respond. But only one caught your eye. The quiet one. The one who never said much but always seemed to say the right thing. And somehow, Lee Jeno’s reply does something no one else’s could: it makes you feel everything all over again.

pairing! ex! lee jeno x reader

genre! exes 2 lovers, slow burn?, second chance, fluff, angst (that ended up on the 2nd part because i exceeded the word count for one blog post oops T - T)

warnings/mentions! reader interacts with other ex dreamies! sakura (lsrfm) and jiwoong (zb1) as y/n best friends! they both painfully want each other! kind of stupid break up? jeno is a cutie (a real one at that) very sulky asw, not exactly miscom… but beware of the arguements that eventually happens. nct frat once again (bye i cant help myself), some 127 members appear!!!

notes! this is a continuation of “ranking dreamies as ex bfs! post!” I wasn’t planning to give it a written fic continuation but i caved in after someone asked for it which i will gladly give to yall!! i hope you enjoy the two parts i had to make because this was too long that it exceeded the word limit… also this was not proofread so umm hopefully there’s no embarrassing mistakes. here is the twitter thread also the context behind this fic -> here!

word count! 24.1k out of 34.6k

part two continuation -> here!

You didn’t mean for it to go viral.

Honestly, you thought only your two friends would see it. Maybe thirteen if your mutual with the backpacking addiction was online. But apparently, the internet had other plans, because within an hour your phone was buzzing like it owed someone money.

It was just supposed to be a dumb ranking. A “haha, let’s traumatize myself for content” kind of thing. Seven exes. One tweet. A little chaos. A little emotional bleed through. Cathartic, right?

Wrong.

Because not only did they all see it…

They responded. Publicly. With alarming speed. Like they had Twitter notifs on for your account or something though which would be weird and a little flattering not gonna lie.

But only one response made you stop breathing for a full six seconds.

Lee Jeno.

Of course it had to be him. The emotionally mysterious, manhwa protagonist type ex who barely spoke but still managed to make you feel like every word was worth framing. The one who kissed you once and left you mentally derailed for a week. The one who broke up with you in a single sentence and haunted your Spotify algorithm for months.

And now he replied.

Publicly.

With punctuation.

You were so screwed.

You’re still sitting on your bed in full shock paralysis with a hoodie half on, hair a mess, phone in your lap like it just delivered your death sentence when the knock hits your front door.

It’s followed by the very specific, dramatic sound of your front door unlocking with your spare key, which means one thing:

“Y/N, open up before I throw your customized pillows at your face!”

Oh great. Kkura is here.

And right on cue:

“I brought snacks. Also, you’re a menace.”

That’s definitely Woongie.

You barely have time to sit up before they storm into your room like you’ve summoned them with a psychic cry for help. Which, in fairness, you kind of did. Kkura had texted you thirty seven times in the span of three minutes the second she saw the tweet, and Woongie sent a single “i’m on my way” with a fire alarm emoji.

“You do want him back,” they say, deadpan, in sync, with the audacity of people who know you too well to lie to.

You bolt upright with a dramatic scoff that doesn’t do much to hide the heat climbing up your neck. “That’s not the point.”

Kkura raises an eyebrow, her long lashes fluttering like she’s seconds from staging an intervention. She crosses one leg over the other, perfectly composed as always, like this isn’t her fourth unannounced visit this week to check if you’ve finally unraveled. “That's exactly the point, babe. You tweeted it to be chaotic, but you were feeling things. And now that he responded like a calm, emotionally stable adult, you’re panicking.”

“He replied like a man who knew exactly what he was doing,” Woongie adds from where he’s now casually sitting on the edge of your desk, surveying the situation like a therapist who’s both amused and slightly disappointed. “That’s the scariest kind of ex. The ones who reply once but it leave you spiraling.”

You sink deeper into your comforter, like maybe if you cocoon yourself tight enough, the crushing weight of your actions will disappear. It doesn’t. Jeno’s reply is still pinned to the top of your notifications, simple and polite, the kind of message that would seem harmless to anyone else, except you know him. And if there’s one thing Jeno never does, it’s post without intention.

“He was always good at that,” you mutter into the fabric, barely audible. “Saying so little and making it sound like everything.”

Kkura softens a little, just enough for her voice to lose its edge. “You loved that about him.”

And there it is. The truth you’ve been swallowing for weeks—months, if you’re honest. The reason you’d ranked him first, even though doing so made your heart twist in ways you weren’t ready to name. Because out of everyone, he was the only one who left quietly. No arguments. No screaming. Just a quiet goodbye in the rain and a hand that lingered on the door handle a few seconds too long.

Woongie leans forward, eyes searching yours like he’s trying to decipher how far gone you are already. “You know he didn’t just reply for fun, right?”

You shake your head slowly, voice barely above a whisper. “Then why did he?”

There’s a beat of silence. Kkura shrugs, then nudges a plastic container toward you. “We brought strawberry mochi and spicy ramen in case this turned into a spiral. Which it has. So congrats.”

You snort, despite yourself. It’s not much, but the laugh breaks the heaviness sitting on your chest, just a little. You take the mochi, chewing slowly as your friends settle in around you like they always do when your life takes a nosedive. Kkura starts scrolling through your mentions with quiet horror, while Woongie opens your laptop like he’s about to file your taxes and clean your digital footprint.

And for the briefest second, it feels safe. Like you can pretend this is just another tweet gone wrong, another dumb thing you’ll laugh about next week.

Until your phone buzzes again.

Not a like. Not a retweet.

A text message.

From Lee Jeno.

[Jeno]: hey y/n?

[Jeno]: is this still your number?

[Jeno]: ummm it’s jeno

[Jeno]: sorry to bother you but i take it that your tweet means it’s safe to reach out (.◜◡◝)

Your fingers tightened around the phone before your brain could even begin to catch up. The words on the screen were simple. Harmless, even. A string of curiosity wrapped in soft phrasing, like he wasn’t sure if he was still allowed to speak to you. Like he wasn’t the one who left. Like six months didn’t carve out silence between you so heavily, it still echoed when you tried to sleep.

You froze. Not in a dramatic, cinematic kind of way. There was no shattering sound effect or rush of wind. Just stillness. A pause. The kind that made your heart skip, not from excitement, but recognition. Recognition of a voice you hadn’t heard in months, but still lived somewhere in the back of your mind. Familiar. Quiet. Careful. Jeno.

Your memories with him were not a highlight reel of grand gestures or perfect timing. They were quieter than that. Softer. The kind of moments that didn’t look like much from the outside but stayed with you anyway. The way he always waited for you to unlock your door before driving off. The way he remembered your coffee order after hearing it once. The way he’d say your name when you were spiraling, slow and low like he was anchoring you back to the surface.

Six months with Jeno felt longer than it should have. Maybe because you’d let him see parts of you most people never even noticed. And maybe because, for the first time in a long time, you hadn’t been scared to be quiet with someone. There were days where neither of you talked much, just sat together in that easy kind of silence people write poems about. And it had been enough.

Until it wasn’t.

And now here he was. Texting you like it hadn’t taken every ounce of pride to keep your distance after the breakup. Like you didn’t spend nights convincing yourself you were fine, that what you had wasn’t meant to last, that people like Jeno didn’t come back.

But he had. Or he was trying to.

You reread the message. Again. And again. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard, and somewhere beneath all the confusion, hurt, and the hint of something that could be hope and you realized: Jeno had never been the type to reach out unless he meant it. Which could only mean one thing.

This wasn’t just a message.

It was the start of something. He was starting something.

Something you weren’t sure you were ready for.

But your heart was already answering the question you hadn’t asked out loud.

Yes. It was safe.

“Okay, she’s been staring at her phone for, like, five minutes. Do we intervene or let her spiritually ascend?”

Jiwoong’s voice cut through the quiet like a pebble skipping across still water, light, amused, but not without concern.

You blinked, fingers still curled around your phone. The screen had gone dark, but Jeno’s message might as well have been burned into your eyelids. You didn’t even hear them come in.

“I vote we shake her,” Kkura added, already moving to sit on the edge of your bed, eyes narrowed like a detective trying to figure out if you were having a breakdown or just doing your usual post-existential-tweet routine.

“I’m fine,” you said, your voice a little raspier than intended. The words barely came out before Jiwoong snatched the phone from your hand with a dramatic gasp.

“Lee Jeno,” he announced like he’d just solved a murder. “Of course it’s him. You know, I was betting on Mark.”

“It’s always Jeno,” Kkura muttered, nudging you with her shoulder. “Mark’s nice but he gave you valid reasons to leave. Jeno’s the one who messed you up because he is nice and left minimal room for faults.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it. They weren’t wrong.

The thing about having friends like them. Jiwoong with his observational wit and dramatic flourishes, and Kkura with her unfiltered realism softened by affection, was that they didn’t let you go insane alone. They also didn’t let you romanticize a boy without dragging you back down with a sigh and a snack.

“I didn’t expect him to actually text,” you said finally.

“Well, you did tweet about him in front of the entire internet like he was a mysterious love interest in a coming of age film,” Jiwoong said. “That’s basically a summoning ritual.”

Kkura leaned back against your headboard, her expression less teasing. “How do you feel about it, though?”

You hesitated. You didn’t know how to sum it up. The confusion, the flicker of hope, the old ache stitched into something new.

“I feel like…” You exhaled, “Like I just opened a door I locked for a reason. And now he’s standing on the other side, asking if he can come in again.”

Neither of them said anything for a moment. Jiwoong looked thoughtful. Kkura chewed the inside of her cheek.

“Well,” Jiwoong said, “if he does come in, he better take off his shoes. And not track any of his emotionally unavailable dirt onto the carpet.”

Kkura snorted, and you laughed for the first time that afternoon. It was small, but it loosened something in your chest.

It had been a week. Maybe two. Time had gone weird like that. Days folded into nights too easily when you were constantly checking your phone for someone who texted you often but never said the thing you were waiting to hear.

Yes, you texted Jeno back. It wasn’t witty or brave. It was a plain message, the kind that read too simple and felt too heavy. Something like “Hey. Yeah, it’s still me.” And since then, there had been messages exchanged. Not every hour. Not even every day. But enough to keep him in your head more than you’d like to admit. Enough to make you hesitate before opening each one.

Still, neither of you had said it outright, but you were both avoiding the question that hovered over all the small talk. When do we see each other again?

You weren’t sure who was more afraid to ask.

But the universe didn’t care about your pacing or your avoidance strategies, which is why it decided to serve you karma in the form of a poorly sealed iced Americano and one particularly clumsy turn.

The spill happened fast. You had turned, your arm bumped something, someone, and the cold drink soaked into soft grey fabric before your brain could fully register what just happened. And then your heart dropped.

Because of course it was one of them.

“Jaemin?” you blinked, stunned and frozen mid-step.

He looked just as surprised, blinking down at his now coffee-stained sleeve before his eyes lifted to meet yours. But instead of irritation or exasperation, there was a smile curling at the edge of his lips.

“Well,” he said casually, “that’s one way to say hi.”

You didn’t laugh right away. You were too busy panicking about the stain and the fact that you were now face to face with another ex. Not just any ex. Jaemin. The one with the most complicated folder in your emotional archives.

The flirt. The charmer. The one who could sweet talk anyone into a good mood and then disappear before you figured out what he was really thinking. Your relationship with him had been fun, fast, a little unhinged and ultimately unsustainable. You were oil and vinegar: entertaining together, but nothing stable ever came from the mix.

Still, time had done its thing. The awkwardness wasn’t sharp anymore. If anything, the sharpness had melted into something you could actually smile at, which you did, slowly, once you realized he wasn’t angry.

“I owe you dry cleaning,” you said.

“You owe me lunch,” he corrected, still smiling. “Come sit. I was just about to get something sweet to offset my very bitter day.”

That was how you ended up across from him, elbows resting on the little round table, hands wrapped around a new drink as he peeled off his jacket and draped it behind his chair like he wasn’t wearing an iced beverage two minutes ago.

And honestly? It wasn’t bad.

Jaemin had always been good at talking. Not just smooth talking but talking. Listening, too. He asked about what you were doing these days, how your apartment was holding up, if you still made those late-night playlists when you couldn’t sleep. You were halfway through telling him about how Jiwoong’s shower once exploded mid winter when you caught yourself laughing a little too loud and realized something:

You didn’t hate him.

And maybe more importantly you weren’t hurt by him anymore.

He was a chapter you could finally reread without bitterness, which felt oddly comforting. He still flirted a little, but it didn’t mess with your head this time. It just made you roll your eyes and play along because that’s who he was, and who you used to be with him.

But you weren’t that person anymore. Not fully.

Somewhere in the middle of that realization, your phone buzzed on the table. You didn’t reach for it right away, but you didn’t need to check either. You already knew who it was.

“You know,” Jaemin said, tipping back slightly in his chair as he took a long sip from his new drink, “I can’t decide if I’m just really lucky, or if you’re in your revisiting your ghosts era.”

You looked up, brow raised. “Is that your subtle way of asking why I haven’t ghosted you yet?”

He grinned. “Nah. If anything, I’m flattered. Out of all your exes, I’m the lucky chosen one who gets to share a table with you again.” He leaned in just slightly, eyes gleaming. “I must’ve ranked higher than I thought.”

You couldn’t help but snort softly, settling back into your seat as you cradled your drink in both hands. “You got a solid three out of five, Jaem.”

“Oh?” he perked up, mock offended. “Not even a four? That’s painful.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, you only made a mildly decent rating because I remembered the time you cooked for me when I was sick. Instant two point boost.”

He grinned like he wasn’t offended at all, and you were grateful for that. There were no sharp edges with Jaemin anymore, no guilt, no tension, just the soft fuzziness of something that once was and didn’t need to be anything again.

You let the moment settle before adding, “Actually… you’re not the only one I’ve talked to again.”

His gaze flickered to you over the rim of his cup, his teasing expression shifting just enough for you to feel it.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” you said, voice quieter now. You weren’t sure why it felt so serious to say it out loud, but it did. “Jeno texted me.”

Jaemin didn’t react right away, no dramatic double take or smirk. Just a slow, thoughtful nod, his fingers tapping gently against the paper cup.

“Huh,” he said, tone unreadable but not unkind. “I figured he would.”

You tilted your head slightly. “How?”

“He’s always been the most unreadable until it mattered. But once it did, he made it hard not to notice.”

That struck something in you. You glanced down at your drink.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “He texted me the day after I posted that thread. Said he took it as a sign that it was safe to reach out.”

“And is it?” Jaemin asked, voice lighter this time. “Safe, I mean?”

You hesitated. You hadn’t figured that part out yet. But something about hearing it phrased like that made your chest ache in a strange, familiar way. You thought about Jeno’s message, the awkward yet careful way he typed it out, how you could almost hear his voice in those short sentences.

“I think so,” you said. “I hope so.”

There was a beat of silence between you, not heavy but not entirely light either. Then Jaemin chuckled under his breath, shaking his head.

“Damn. I really am just the comic relief in this arc, huh?”

You laughed, genuinely this time. “You’re the emotionally evolved ex with good banter and a sense of timing. That’s an important role.”

He raised his cup in mock salute. “I’ll take it.”

And you both sipped your drinks, a strange, gentle peace sitting quietly between the past and whatever came next.

You swirled what little was left of your drink, the ice clinking softly against the sides. Jaemin had gone quiet after your last answer, not in a heavy or uncomfortable way, just thoughtful. The kind of silence only someone familiar could share with you, where words weren’t needed immediately.

You leaned back a little in your seat and glanced at him again. “How has he been?”

He looked up. There was no confusion in his eyes. No need to ask who you meant.

Jaemin paused for a second, then breathed out a small sigh, leaning his arms onto the table as he thought. “He’s been... quieter since you guys cut it off but we’ve gotten used to it as it became the norm,” he said honestly. “Which is saying something, coming from Jeno.”

Your gaze dropped to your hands, and you twisted the edge of your napkin without meaning to.

You knew they were friends now. It wasn’t something either of them had to explain. You’d seen it online, heard about it through mutuals, noticed it in the way Jaemin occasionally spoke about “the guys” with an ease that included Jeno by default. And it didn’t bother you, not really. You had dated them in different timelines, completely separate versions of yourself, like alternate editions of a book. Jaemin and Jeno didn’t become close until after you'd cut off contact with both, when circumstance and shared routines in the same frat house wove them into each other’s lives without your presence in the equation. It never felt like betrayal. Just the natural course of things moving on without you.

“He still comes to game nights. Still brings those boring snacks he claims are healthy. Still folds his laundry like he’s in the military. But I don’t know... sometimes it feels like he’s showing up to things but not really there, y’know?” Jaemin tilted his head slightly. “I think he’s been figuring things out. Trying to feel normal again.”

The lump in your throat was sudden, unwelcome, but not unfamiliar. You nodded slowly, trying to keep your voice level. “So... he’s okay?”

Jaemin’s eyes softened. He saw right through the question. “Is this the part where I say he’s miserable without you?” he asked lightly.

You smiled a little, lips pressed together. “I mean, if it’s true, you’re welcome to.”

He gave a low chuckle, but his voice was quieter when he answered, “He’s... different. Not broken. Not miserable. But not the same, either.”

That shouldn’t have made your chest hurt. But it did. There was something terrifying about someone still being themselves without you, and something even scarier about the idea that they might not have been.

“You could’ve asked him that yourself,” Jaemin said, not accusatory, just honest.

“I know.” You glanced out the window. “But I wanted to hear it from someone who sees him now. I wanted to know how he’s doing without me.”

Jaemin didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, in a softer voice than you expected, “Sometimes I think he’s still waiting for you. Not in a desperate way, not like he’s stuck. Just... like there’s a door he hasn’t shut yet. He doesn’t say it. But you can kind of tell.”

You blinked slowly, letting his words settle.

“And you?” Jaemin asked, watching you carefully now. “Are you okay without him?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Then he added, a little more pointedly but still light, “I mean, it kinda seemed like you dated someone after him, no? Jisung?”

You blinked, caught off guard, not because he was wrong, but because you hadn’t expected him to bring it up so plainly. You nodded slowly, eyes drifting down to your fingers curled around your cup.

“Yeah,” you said, almost like you were still testing the truth of it yourself. “I did. Briefly.”

Jaemin raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t last?”

You gave a quiet laugh, not bitter, just... honest. “No. It wasn’t bad or anything. Just not right. It felt like trying to hold a conversation in a language you were still learning, doable, but exhausting.”

That seemed to satisfy him. Jaemin leaned back in his chair again, gaze thoughtful. “Guess that’s the thing about some people. You don’t even realize how fluently you spoke them until you try to speaking someone else.”

Your chest tightened just a little, like something half-healed had been poked.

You didn’t answer. But you didn’t have to.

The conversation drifted for a while after that, lighter now, touching on old classmates and mutual friends, a funny story Jaemin had about his roommate locking himself out of their place in nothing but a towel. You laughed, really laughed, and it felt oddly easy. Not like forcing a reunion, but like finding an old playlist and realizing you still remembered the lyrics.

Eventually, Jaemin glanced at his phone and then at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “So, are we doing that thing where we pretend we’ll run into each other again someday, or are you going to give me your number?”

You rolled your eyes with a grin. “Just say you missed me and go.”

He held his hand out, palm up. “Phone.”

You handed it over without protest, watching him type in his number with the self-satisfaction of someone who was convinced they were still as charming as ever which, unfortunately, wasn’t untrue. When he passed it back, you texted him a quick don’t forget to save me as something embarrassing, and watched him snort when the notification popped up on his screen.

By the time you both stood up to leave, you’d already followed each other back on Instagram, Twitter, and every other cursed app that had once been your mutual stalking grounds. It wasn’t sentimental, it didn’t need to be. Sometimes reconnection wasn’t a dramatic gesture or a second chance at something lost. Sometimes, it was just the comfort of a familiar presence sliding back into your life in a way that felt... okay.

You walked out of the café beside him, shoulder to shoulder, the past quiet behind you and something lighter, something almost peaceful, settling in its place.

The night settled softly around you, thick with the kind of stillness that only showed up when the world outside your window was asleep. Your room feels smaller at this hour, tucked in the quiet hush of 1 a.m., lit only by the string of fairy lights dangling across your bookshelf and the dim blue glow from your phone screen.

You were curled sideways on your bed, one leg half-hanging off the edge, buried in an old hoodie and a nest of blankets that smelled faintly like your fabric softener and sleep. The air had that calm weight to it, the kind that made you feel too awake to sleep, but too tired to move. Your playlist was still running, soft and r&b, looping the same beat that had been playing for the past hour. You hadn’t really been listening.

Instead, your attention was fixed on the last opened chat on your screen.

Jeno.

The conversation had been flowing on and off all day. He had a way of texting like he talked, dry and low effort on the surface, but always a little offbeat and weirdly specific. Enough to keep you amused. Enough to make you wonder if he realized how much you actually liked talking to him.

Your phone buzzed once in your hand, another message from him. You hadn’t even realized how long you’d been staring at the thread without replying.

You tucked your cheek deeper into your pillow and opened the chat.

Next thing you know you’d been texting Jeno. For hours, maybe. The conversation had wandered aimlessly, like the way you used to walk barefoot through your childhood backyard, no real direction, just one thought leading into another. Silly observations. Dumb memes. Random questions. That lowkey rhythm you’d started to fall into with him lately.

He made you laugh in that quiet, nose-wrinkling kind of way. Not loud, but real.

The latest notification lit up your screen, his name appearing like it always did now—predictable, comforting. You smiled without realizing. Your thumb hovered to type back, but another bubble popped up before you could finish.

Then your phone buzzed again.

This time it was different.

“Can I call you?”

You blinked.

Sit up just slightly, propped on your elbow. The room felt a little smaller, or maybe just quieter. You read the message again. The words were simple, casual, like he hadn’t just shifted the entire tone of the night with five syllables.

You stared at your reflection in the black mirror of your screen. Messy hair. Bare face. Hoodie you’d stolen from your sibling years ago and never gave back. You didn’t look like anything special. And yet your pulse had kicked up for no good reason.

Still, you typed back.

A minute later, your phone lit up.

Jeno was calling. Video.

You hesitated for just a second longer than necessary. Not because you didn’t want to see him but because you did.

And then you hit "Accept."

The screen flickered once, twice, then steadied.

There he was.

Jeno.

His camera angled just a bit off-center, like he hadn’t really planned it out. The lighting was warm behind him, probably from his desk lamp. His hair was slightly messy, pushed back from where he’d probably been running his hand through it. He was wearing a loose t-shirt, one shoulder slightly stretched like he’d tugged at it out of nervous habit.

The first thing he did when he saw your face was smile. And then immediately laugh.

Not a big laugh, just a quiet, breathy thing, more out of disbelief than anything else. His head dropped, his shoulder bumping up toward his cheek like he was trying to hide in plain sight.

“Okay,” he said, already flustered, “this feels way more real than I thought it would.”

You laughed, propping your chin in your hand. “You look like you just got caught doing something illegal.”

“I kind of feel like I did,” he grinned, already a little pink. “I don’t know why I’m nervous. It’s literally just… you.”

“Wow. I’m honored.”

“No, no—like, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, eyes wide. “Not just you—I mean, it’s you, but—” He broke off, groaning. “I’m going to shut up now.”

You bit back a smile, head tilted slightly as you watched him spiral. “You’re really good at digging holes, huh?”

He laughed again, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, it’s like a talent. Put that on my resume—‘Professional Embarrassment Generator.’”

There was a beat of silence. Comfortable, even if it hummed with nerves.

You shifted a little in bed, the blanket falling slightly off your shoulder. “So. First video call. Are we making history?”

He looked up at that, then gave the tiniest, shy nod. “Yeah. Kinda feels like it.”

His voice had softened a bit. Still light. Still him. But there was something else under it too. Something careful.

You leaned back into your pillow. “I was expecting you to look more put together, honestly. This is disappointing.”

He gasped dramatically, hand flying to his chest. “Ouch. I brushed my hair for this.”

“I can tell,” you said dryly, “with your five strands behaving.”

He ducked his head again, laughing into his sleeve. When he looked back up, his cheeks were a little redder.

“I almost didn’t call,” he admitted. “I was overthinking it. Like, what if it was weird. Or if I accidentally turned the camera the wrong way and you just saw my forehead for five minutes.”

You smiled. “It is weird. But in a nice way.”

“Yeah.” His voice was quiet now. “Nice weird.”

The two of you sat like that for a moment just watching each other. His screen blinks slightly every now and then, the connection softening around the edges of his face. But you didn’t mind. If anything, it made him feel more real.

He rubbed his hand over his mouth, then peeked at you again. “Can I ask you something?”

You nodded. “Sure.”

“Do you ever…” he started, then paused. His gaze dropped for a second, then lifted again, more careful this time. “Think about how different it would've been… if I hadn’t ended things?”

Your breath caught, just slightly.

The question wasn’t loud. It didn’t slam into the air like a confession, it drifted, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask it. Like maybe he’d already been carrying it around for a while and had finally run out of space to keep it.

You shifted in your bed, fingers curling around the edge of your blanket. “Sometimes,” you said. “But I try not to sit with it too long.”

Jeno let out a small breath. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a relief either. Just something in between.

“I think about it more than I should,” he admitted, thumb dragging along the bottom edge of his camera as he stared down at the screen. “Not in, like, a desperate ‘please take me back’ kind of way. Just… I wonder if I gave up too early.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Neither did he. The silence wasn’t cruel but it wasn’t light, either.

Eventually, you asked, “Why did you do it, Jeno? I mean… really.”

He blinked, caught off guard by how direct the question was. Then he smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I didn’t know how to be with you without dragging everything else with me,” he said quietly. “Like, you were this bright, warm thing. And I was just… trying to keep my head above water some days. I didn’t want to mess you up with my stuff.”

You frowned slightly. “You could’ve just told me.”

“I know.” His voice cracked just a little. “But that’s the thing, I didn’t want to make it your responsibility to carry me. I thought I was being… I don’t know, noble? Or selfless? But mostly I was just scared.”

You swallowed. The air between you was thinner now, almost fragile. But something about it felt honest in a way it never had before.

“Were you really that scared of hurting me?” you asked.

He looked up at you then. Really looked.

“I already had,” he said softly.

You blinked, and something behind your ribs shifted.

The call felt different now, not awkward, not crushing. Just open. Like a door that hadn’t been unlocked in a while, creaking open with slow, careful hands.

Jeno rubbed the back of his neck and gave a nervous little laugh, trying to shake off the weight of it. “This wasn’t where I planned to take this call, by the way. I thought I was gonna show you a dumb meme and accidentally drop my phone on my face or something.”

You smiled. “You still can. I’d honestly be disappointed if you didn’t.”

He grinned, sheepish. “Give it time. I’m still holding out for my chaos moment.”

There it was again, that softness he always carried with him. Nervous and warm. Still kind. Still Jeno.

And maybe, despite everything, this was the kind of conversation you’d needed all along. No dramatic turning points. Just two people learning how to talk again.

The call didn’t end right away, but the conversation faded into a softer kind of silence, not the awkward, fumbling kind that had followed them in the early days, but something gentler. Something earned. You stayed on the line, neither of you in a rush to fill the quiet, as if speaking too soon might undo the delicate thread that had just been woven between you.

Y/N lay back against the pillows, eyes flickering across the screen where Jeno’s face remained lit, a little blurry from the weak camera quality. His expression was unguarded in a way it had rarely been before. Relaxed, not because everything was okay, but because for once he had let it be messy out loud. And somehow, that made it okay.

It struck her then, quietly but deeply, how much more open he was now. Not louder or more confident, not some big, shiny version of himself but real. Sharper in the ways that mattered. She’d spent so much of their relationship trying to understand the parts he didn’t say, trying to read what lived behind his silences, but it was like holding smoke. Now, it felt like she could see him clearer. The lines of his worry. The shape of his care. His voice wasn’t always steady, but it was honest.

Maybe time hadn’t changed him. Maybe it had just let him breathe.

They weren’t the same people anymore, she could admit that. And they weren’t together. But tonight had unfolded like a quiet reminder that the version of them that hurt wasn’t the only one that ever existed. There was still something here. Not romantic, maybe. Not yet, or not again. But something real.

For the first time in a long time, Y/N didn’t feel like she was speaking into a version of Jeno that folded in on itself. He met her words, mirrored them back. His fears are no longer disguised as indifference. His guilt is not left to rot in silence. There was pain, yes, but also clarity. A shared understanding that hadn’t quite been there before.

And somehow, that was enough. For now.

Not quite a reunion. Not quite a second chance yet. Just two people who had once meant everything to each other learning, finally, how to speak in the same language.

You were in an outfit crisis at the moment, but it wasn’t entirely your fault. The reason being was the devil taking the form of Na Jaemin, who had suddenly walked back into your life with an obnoxious grin and zero consideration for your social anxiety. He was dragging you to fuckass frat boy parties at a college you had absolutely no connection to—except for, well, him. You didn’t even know half of the people in the school he called his “friends,” but Jaemin, as always, refused to let you off the hook.

“Come on, it’s for old times’ sake,” he’d said, as if it was a convincing argument. As if you and Jaemin didn’t have a long history of throwing yourselves into the chaos of college parties, drinking too much, and barely remembering any of it. But this time? It felt different. Maybe because Jeno was there. Maybe because you weren’t the same person who used to stumble around with Jaemin at every party like it was a sport. Whatever the reason, you were already second-guessing your decision before you even got dressed.

The outfit on your bed had been through more repetitions than you cared to admit. You tried one look but it was too casual. The next was too much. Then there was the one that made you feel like you were trying too hard, so you threw that on the floor in frustration. What was even the point? Jaemin had promised it would be “just like old times,” which, of course, was the most obnoxious thing anyone could say, especially when old times meant you wearing the same tight dress you swore you’d never wear again and pretending like you weren’t watching every guy at the party for one specific face.

You sighed, staring at the clock, already feeling late. Of course, Jaemin would be punctual for once, not that he’d care if you were fashionably late or actually late because you couldn’t decide what to wear.

When your phone buzzed, it was Jaemin, unsurprisingly, already outside your door. “I’m not waiting, Y/N. Get your cute ass downstairs, or I’ll come drag you out myself.”

You could practically hear his sing-song tone through the text, and you cursed under your breath. Why was it so easy for him to convince you to do this shit?

Reluctantly, you grabbed the simplest outfit that didn’t make you feel like you were playing dress-up and tossed it on. The moment you stepped out of your room, you were greeted by the most annoying face imaginable, Jaemin, standing in the doorway with his signature mischievous grin.

“Finally,” he said, leaning in the frame with a dramatic sigh. “You’re really making me miss our party days.”

You rolled your eyes. “We were never that wild.”

He gave you a deadpan look. “We definitely were. You forget those nights on purpose, huh?”

“Maybe I’ve learned my lesson,” you muttered, grabbing your jacket and heading for the door before Jaemin could drag out the inevitable argument.

The car ride was uneventful, aside from Jaemin’s occasional jab about how you were going to have the best night of your life, even though he wasn’t actually making the case for it. The thought of an entire evening filled with strangers, loud music, and potential awkward interactions didn’t help ease your nerves, but Jaemin was, as usual, already hyping himself up for a night of his own chaotic fun.

By the time you pulled into the parking lot of a frat house you didn’t even know existed until an hour ago, your nerves were a little more than on edge. You barely had a chance to take a breath before Jaemin was out of the car, practically dragging you behind him like it was all part of his plan.

“C’mon! You don’t even know anyone here, right? So you have to make it memorable,” he said with a smirk, his arm slung over your shoulder, steering you toward the front door.

You hated how easily he could make you feel like you had to be there.

The party was a chaotic mess, as expected. The moment you walked inside, you were hit with a wall of noise, music thumping so loud you could feel it vibrating in your bones. The air was thick with a mix of cheap cologne, spilled drinks, and the unmistakable scent of something burning that you didn’t want to think too hard about. Jaemin was already lost in the crowd before you could even process what was happening, his laughter echoing over the music. You could see him in the distance, pulling some poor soul into a dance circle while shouting something about “the last one who doesn’t dance buys shots.”

You rolled your eyes and made your way to the kitchen, where a group of people were clustered around the counter, sipping from red solo cups and chatting about nothing important. You tried to ignore the growing knot in your stomach as you looked around, wondering if this whole “old times’ sake” thing was actually a good idea.

A girl with bright pink hair waved you over. “Hey, you’re Jaemin’s friend, right?” she asked, a half-smile on her face. She had one of those names you could never quite remember, but she seemed nice enough.

“Yeah,” you said, offering a small smile back. “Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you! I’m Giselle.” She extended her hand, and you shook it. “You came with him, huh? He’s always dragging people here, like an unofficial mascot,” she continued, her voice warm but tinged with amusement. “Don’t mind him though. He’s harmless. You’re gonna love it here.”

“Harmless?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow, though you had no doubt she was right about Jaemin. “I’m not so sure.”

She laughed and leaned in slightly, lowering her voice like she was sharing some juicy gossip. “Trust me, he’s trouble, but in the best way possible. You’re definitely gonna be part of the ‘fun’ crowd before the night’s over.”

You tried to nod along, though all you could do was look around, feeling out of place among all the unfamiliar faces. The vibe was different from your usual circle, and for a moment, it hit you just how much you’d changed. These weren’t your people. But Jaemin was already off somewhere, getting into trouble, and there was no turning back now.

You tried to strike up small talk with Giselle, but the conversation never felt natural. She was sweet enough, but everything around you was so loud, the constant shuffle of feet and clink of glass distracting you from what you really wanted, familiarity. The kind that came with your old group of friends. But no. Jaemin wasn’t here for that. Jaemin was here to show you new things, drag you into unfamiliar territory, and probably make sure you had fun whether you wanted to or not.

When you noticed Jaemin across the room, getting even more animated in a dance battle with some guy in a neon shirt, you took a moment to collect yourself. There was a pressure building in your chest, not quite anxiety, but something else, a kind of anticipation you didn’t want to give in to.

Finally, after what felt like ages of dodging overly-friendly strangers and pretending you were okay with the environment, you found a small corner in the living room, near a window where the music wasn’t as overwhelming. You leaned against the wall, closing your eyes for just a second. The buzz of conversation was background noise now, but there was something comforting about the quiet chaos of a party.

You let your thoughts wander, fingers tapping absently against your cup, until you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Y/N?”

You turned around quickly, startled, and froze when you saw him.

Now, you would think the face that tapped your shoulder would be the one you’d been waiting to see all night, the one that made your stomach flip with excitement and nerves. But no. It wasn’t. Instead, the face that greeted you was one you never wanted to see again. The one face you thought you’d escaped, only to find it lurking in the most unexpected of places.

“Haechan?” you said, your voice betraying a hint of surprise as you took a step back.

He grinned, that familiar cocky smile stretching across his face, and for a split second, it was like nothing had changed. He looked the same, mischievous, a little smug, like he owned the room. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite ex,” he teased, his tone light, playful, and annoyingly familiar. “Didn’t think I’d run into you at a party like this. What, you're still hanging around Jaemin now?”

You rolled your eyes. “What are you doing here?” The question was almost rhetorical. You knew the answer already. Hewas always invited to the parties by friends from other schools. He liked to show up like he was the main event, making everything about him.

“Got invited by a friend,” Haechan shrugged, leaning casually against the wall. “I have to make the rounds, you know? Plus, I didn’t know you were still hanging around Jaemin’s chaos,” he added with a smirk.

You didn’t know how to answer that. Haechan had always had a way of making you feel like you were lucky to be in his orbit. Like he was the main character of some long, complicated, irritating drama and you were just his supporting cast, at least when you were together. You hadn’t seen him in months, but somehow, it felt like nothing had changed. The bickering, the sarcasm, the way he made everything feel so effortlessly about him, it was all there, like he had never left.

“So,” Haechan continued, ignoring your coldness, “how’s life been since… well, you know. Since we ended?” He said the word “ended” with a raised eyebrow, almost like he was challenging you to respond.

You raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze. "It’s been a while, Haechan," you said, your voice steady but laced with the underlying weariness of someone who'd been around him long enough to know how he worked. "A long while."

Haechan chuckled, that low, teasing sound you remembered all too well. "Yeah, well... it’s hard to forget the unforgettable," he said, leaning closer, as if trying to provoke a reaction. But it didn’t come. You weren’t the same person who’d let him make everything about him anymore. The annoying arrogance, the passive-aggressive jokes, they just didn’t have the same effect on you anymore.

The last time you saw him, it had been a mess of emotions, of things unsaid and doors closed for good. You didn’t hateHaechan; there was no real hatred there, just an exhausting chapter that had ended a long time ago. It was more like you’d grown tired of the person he used to be when you were together. And yet, here he was, still doing what he did best: irritating you and somehow making it feel like a reunion.

"So, what? You just show up at random parties now?” you asked, trying to steer the conversation in a direction that wasn’t going to bring up old baggage.

Haechan shrugged, the casualness in his posture belying the way his eyes still darted around, like he was always on the hunt for something to stir up. “I have my connections. I like to keep people on their toes. You know me.”

“I do know you,” you responded dryly. "You're good at that."

His lips twitched into a smirk. "And what about you? Reconnecting with Jaemin? You two seem like trouble.”

“I could say the same about you,” you shot back, your tone more playful now. It was a relief, honestly. The sting of his old antics had softened with time. It had been a long time since the two of you were anything more than exes, and despite how things ended, you had learned to be civil. He had changed a bit too, slightly less arrogant, more... self-aware, maybe.

“True,” Haechan agreed, stepping back and leaning against the counter with that same old relaxed demeanor. “But I don’t mind causing trouble. It’s who I am.”

You sighed, looking over at the rest of the party as people danced and mingled in the background. "Well, I’m not here to cause trouble," you muttered, more to yourself.

“I’m just here for the entertainment,” Haechan said, eyes glinting with that familiar mischievousness. "And to see how long it takes for Jaemin to start a dance off."

You glanced at him, your lips curling into a faint smile. “Honestly, I wouldn’t bet against him.”

For a moment, the silence between you and Haechan felt... comfortable…which was something you never expected to say when it came to him. The teasing was still there, but it didn’t feel as suffocating as it once did. Maybe it was because enough time had passed that the sharp edges of your old relationship had dulled. Whatever the reason, you realized you weren’t actively annoyed anymore.

Haechan noticed the change too. His smirk softened into a more genuine smile, like he was surprised, but also a little relieved. "You know," he started, shifting a little on his feet, "I forgot how easy it is to mess with you."

"Yeah, well," you shrugged, your lips curling into a small grin. "You’ve always been good at that."

He let out a low laugh, the kind that made you smile a little too. "I’m not that bad, am I?"

You rolled your eyes, but the tension between you two was finally gone. “You’re definitely a dumbass,” you said, but there was no bite to it. You were laughing now, genuinely laughing.

“Dumbass?” he feigned offense, putting a hand to his chest. "That hurts, Y/N. You wound me." He looked up, dramatically placing a hand over his forehead. "You know, I do have feelings, too."

"Uh-huh," you responded sarcastically, but there was no annoyance in your voice, just amusement. "Sure, you do, Haechan."

He grinned, the cocky attitude still there, but it was different. It wasn’t irritating anymore. “I always did,” he said with a wink, then paused. “Look, I know we didn’t exactly part on the best terms, but... I’m glad you don’t hate me anymore. That’s a relief.”

You blinked, surprised at the sincerity in his voice. It caught you off guard. The Haechan you knew would never have said something like that, not in a million years. He was always too busy playing the role of the annoyingly cocky ex. But this was... different.

“I don’t hate you,” you said quietly, catching his eyes. “I mean, it was annoying when you acted like you were the main character of everything, but we’re adults now. I can be civil with you.”

His smirk returned, but it was softer now, more relaxed. "Good. 'Cause you know, I’ve changed a little. Not much, I'm still the same charming guy you definitely remember. But, you know... less of the pissy attitude."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Is that a promise?"

"Maybe," he teased, but there was something in his eyes that made you believe him.

You smiled, just faintly, before your gaze wandered again, eyes scanning across the growing crowd, the shifting lights, the blur of moving bodies. You weren’t even being subtle about it, not really. You were looking for someone. Waiting, hoping. But nothing. Just strangers. Too many faces that weren’t the one you were hoping to see.

Haechan leaned in a little, his grin tugging wider as he watched you scan the room for the third time in less than a minute. “Okay,” he said, with that all too familiar smirk. “Now who are you actually looking for?”

You blinked, caught, but didn’t turn to him just yet.

“Oh, don’t even try to deny it,” he added, voice low and amused. “You’ve been doing that weird head-tilt thing for the past five minutes. Who’s the lucky guy? An enemy? A secret hookup? A crush? Should I be concerned?”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”

He gasped. “You’re deflecting. That’s worse.”

Finally, you gave in, leaning against the counter next to him, arms crossed. “Fine. There’s someone I was kinda... hoping to run into tonight.”

“Oooooh.” He grinned wider, already way too smug. “So there is someone. Is it someone I know?”

“No. You don’t know him.”

“Name?”

“Jeno.”

Haechan repeated it under his breath. “Jeno... hmm. Doesn’t ring a bell. What’s the story there?”

You hesitated, your fingers absentmindedly tapping the edge of the counter. “We used to date,” you admitted. “Broke up a while ago. Not messy. Just... complicated, I guess.”

Haechan raised an eyebrow, mock gasp now gone. “Wait. You got complicated?”

You shot him a look. “Don’t act surprised.”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugged. “Back then you always pretended like relationships didn’t get to you.”

“That was a long time ago,” you muttered. “And he wasn’t like you.”

He tilted his head. “Ouch.”

“Not like that,” you added, though a small smirk tugged at your lips. “Jeno’s... quiet. Sweet. Kind of awkward in a weirdly charming way. You’d probably make fun of him, actually.”

“Probably,” Haechan said without hesitation, but his expression was more thoughtful now. “So you’re hoping to bump into him here?”

You nodded, keeping your tone casual, but your fingers hadn’t stopped tapping. “Jaemin invited me. And he said Jeno might come.”

Haechan followed your gaze across the room once more, then back to you. “And if he doesn’t?”

You paused. “Then he doesn’t. It’s whatever.”

But it wasn’t really whatever. Haechan didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at you. Then he nudged your shoulder lightly, and to your surprise, it wasn’t in a teasing way. “Well,” he said, “I hope he does show. Not because I care, obviously, but just so I can judge if he’s worthy of your recent emotional glow-up.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling again. “You’re still such a menace.”

“And you still love it,” he replied with a wink.

The night kept moving around you, music pulsing louder, lights strobing against the high ceilings, drinks changing hands like candy. More people filtered into the frat house, most of them strangers to you, all of them louder than necessary. But you didn’t really hear any of it. Your eyes kept wandering. Every few minutes, they’d drift toward the entrance like your brain had given up pretending you weren’t still hoping.

Haechan was long gone now, dragged into a chaotic game of beer pong he swore he didn’t care about but was now shouting over like his pride was on the line. You weren’t sure how long you stood near the back of the room, nursing your drink, letting the buzz of the party blur around you.

And then—

There was a shift.

Not in the music. Not in the air, really. But in you. Because your gaze flicked toward the door out of habit, and this time, there he was.

Jeno.

You nearly choked on your drink, not because of the sight of him, but because it really was him. Not just the version you remembered from late night calls or old photos or hazy thoughts on days where you let your mind wander too far. This was present-tense Jeno, walking through the door like he wasn’t two hours late and like he hadn’t just set your heartbeat into a minor panic.

He looked good, too good, honestly. Hair is a little messy like he’d run his fingers through it one too many times. A plain hoodie layered under a denim jacket. He wasn’t trying, but somehow that made it worse. He always did look better when he wasn’t trying.

And then, as if pulled by some invisible thread, his eyes found you across the room. You blinked. He blinked. Neither of you moved.

You waved. A small, awkward one.

He hesitated, then waved back. Same awkward energy.

The people between you parted just enough for him to make his way over, and it was only when he was five feet away that it hit you just how stupidly long it had been since you were in front of each other like this, no screen, no late-night buffering or muted mics, no text bubbles... just him.

“Hey,” he said, standing slightly too stiff.

“Hey,” you replied, already fighting a smile because God, he looked nervous.

He scratched the back of his neck. “This is weird, right? This feels weird.”

You laughed, soft, unsure. “Yeah. Definitely weird.”

You both looked around at the same time, pretending to be casual, as if the wall behind you was fascinating. Then, almost at once, you made eye contact again. He smiled, small, a little crooked. The same one that used to make your chest feel warm for no reason.

You tilted your head. “You came.”

“I almost didn’t,” he admitted. “But... I kind of figured I’d regret it if I didn’t.”

There was a pause, quiet, a little charged, but still gentle. Jeno shifted his weight like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands.

“Do you wanna... maybe go somewhere less loud?” he asked. “Not like leave-leave, just... somewhere we don’t have to scream over the music?”

You nodded before he even finished. “Yeah. I was thinking the same thing.”

He smiled again, relieved, and motioned for you to follow him, his steps still awkward but the way he glanced back to check if you were behind him made something flutter in your chest.

It was weird. It was awkward.

But it was also him. And you.

And somehow, that made it kind of perfect.

The backyard wasn’t much, but it was quiet. A string of half-working fairy lights zigzagged over a fence that had definitely seen better days, and there were a few foldable chairs scattered around a fire pit that hadn’t been lit. The thump of the music was dulled by the walls behind you, replaced by the gentle hum of night air and distant shouting from inside.

Jeno stood beside you, just far enough to feel the space, just close enough for the tension to settle there between your elbows. You hadn’t said anything yet, both of you standing awkwardly still, looking everywhere but at each other. It should’ve been uncomfortable. But somehow, it wasn’t.

It was almost... peaceful.

He shifted beside you, hands stuffed in his pockets, then looked at you from the corner of his eye. You met his gaze, your expression somewhere between soft and amused.

And just as the words started forming on his lips—

“THERE you are!”

Jaemin’s voice cut through the moment like a car alarm at 2 a.m.

You barely had time to brace yourself before both of his arms swung around your shoulders and Jeno’s in one dramatic swoop, locking you in like he was about to start singing a football chant.

“There’s my two favorite introverts!” Jaemin declared, grinning wildly, cheeks flushed pink with alcohol. “God, look at you guys, so broody, so serious. This isn’t a therapy session! It’s a party!”

“Jaemin,” you croaked, your shoulder squished against Jeno’s.

“Dude,” Jeno muttered, barely holding in a laugh as he tried not to fall over. “I think you broke my spine.”

“Nonsense,” Jaemin grinned, tightening his arms. “You two needed this. Fresh air. Moonlight. Tension.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Is that what this is? Did I interrupt a moment?”

You turned your head just enough to glare at him. “I’m going to throw you into the bushes.”

He gasped, dramatically offended. “You wouldn’t dare! You love me.”

“I regret every memory I have of you.”

Jeno chuckled under his breath, and when you looked at him again, he was already smiling down at the grass, his cheeks tinted red, not just from the cold. Your annoyance with Jaemin dissolved a little at that.

“I’m gonna go make more drinks!” Jaemin announced suddenly, peeling himself off the both of you with a theatrical spin. “Don’t hook up without me!”

“You’re insane,” you called after him.

He winked. “You’re welcome.”

And just like that, he was gone, off to wreak havoc elsewhere.

You and Jeno stayed in place for a beat longer, shoulders still slightly touching from the aftermath.

“That was...”

“Very Jaemin,” you finished for him.

He laughed. You smiled. The moment had shifted, sure, but it hadn’t disappeared.

If anything, it just became a little lighter. A little easier.

Eventually, you and Jeno ended up in the conversation pit.

It sat a few steps below the main level of the backyard, a sunken rectangle framed by low, built-in benches and strung-up lights that flickered like lazy fireflies. In the middle, the fire pit glowed soft orange, flickering low but warm, as if someone had bothered to light it earlier and then promptly forgotten. The place was half-empty now, a few scattered red cups and someone’s abandoned flannel thrown across one bench. But for the most part, it was quiet. Yours.

You both sank into the bench across from the fire, the tension between you noticeably thinner now, carved out by Jaemin’s dramatic interruption and the way his ridiculous energy had somehow made everything feel... less fragile.

Jeno exhaled like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath since he walked in. Then he glanced sideways at you, a lopsided smile forming on his lips. “Okay. I actually think I needed him to do that.”

You huffed a soft laugh, curling your legs under you. “Tragic but true. His chaos really is a public service.”

Jeno leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gaze fixed on the small fire. “I was so sure this would be weird the whole night.”

“It was weird,” you pointed out, nudging his foot lightly with yours.

He grinned. “Yeah, but now it’s... I don’t know. Manageable weird.”

You nodded. “Tolerable weird.”

There was a short lull after that, the kind where neither of you rushed to fill it. Just the two of you, lit in soft orange glow, the fire crackling low between.

Then, Jeno shifted beside you, barely noticeable, like he was trying to psych himself up for something. He cleared his throat, eyes on the flames but not really seeing them. His hand moved to rub at the back of his neck, the classic Jeno Tell that something embarrassing was about to leave his mouth.

“I, um...” he started, voice a little hoarse. “You look really pretty tonight.”

You blinked, turning to him.

He didn’t look at you, at first. Just kept his eyes trained forward, brows drawn, his knee bouncing slightly.

“I mean, not just tonight. You always do. I just—” he laughed under his breath, flustered. “I don’t know why I said it like that.”

Your chest tightened in that dumb, nostalgic way. his way.

He finally glanced at you, nervous and boyish and real.

“I noticed you the second I walked in,” he admitted, a little more quietly. “Even with all the noise and people. It’s stupid, but... I guess I still do that. Look for you.”

That was the thing about Jeno. He wasn’t the loud type, never had been. But when he said things, when he meant them, it always hit in that quiet, aching way. Like a whisper that somehow left a mark.

You didn’t say anything at first. You didn’t need to.

Because even in the stillness, in the way your gaze softened and stayed on him longer than you should’ve let it, in the gentle shift of your leg brushing against his under the bench—

It was enough to let him know you heard him.

That maybe, you still looked for him too.

The fire cracked again, low and warm, painting soft shadows across Jeno’s face. He was already handsome in that quiet, clean-cut way, but right now, smiling shyly at you, cheeks flushed in the glow, he looked like the kind of boy you couldn’t unlove, even if you tried.

He wasn’t even doing much. Just sitting beside you, nerves in his shoulders, foot tapping gently against the dirt. But he looked happy in a way that felt familiar. A little more free. A little more like the Jeno you used to know, but softer around the edges. A version you hadn’t quite gotten to meet before.

And somehow, you realized, you wanted to.

“You got better at this,” you murmured, half-teasing but mostly sincere. “Talking. The awkward stammering is still there, but, y’know... you’re saying stuff now.”

He let out a breathy laugh, glancing down like you’d caught him. “Yeah. I’m trying.”

You tilted your head. “Why now?”

His fingers played with the hem of his sleeve, brushing over the frayed threads. “Because I didn’t want to mess this up. Again. Not even just with us, but... talking to you like a person. I don’t think I really did that properly when we were together.”

That surprised you a little. But not in a bad way.

It was honest. Not overdramatic. Just real.

“You weren’t that bad,” you said gently.

“I could’ve been better,” he said, then looked at you. “You deserve someone who could talk to you about things. Not just be there and hope you understood.”

The way he said it made your heart squeeze. Because it wasn’t just an apology. It was him seeing you now, not just as someone he used to date, but someone he still wanted to understand.

You smiled, a little helplessly, trying not to get pulled too deep too fast. “I think we both weren’t the best versions of ourselves back then.”

He nodded, like that thought had comforted him too. “But it’s weird, right? Sitting here now... it doesn’t feel like the past.”

Your eyes flicked to him again. He was looking at you in that way. The way someone does when they think you're beautiful, even when you're not trying. Even when all you're doing is sitting there and talking about things that used to hurt.

And you realized he looked beautiful too. But not in the shallow way. In the someone-loves-you way. In the way people start to glow when you remember how safe they once made you feel. In the way his smile made you want to keep saying things, just to keep it on his face.

“It doesn’t,” you whispered.

And for a moment, there was nothing heavy in the air. Just a feeling that something had shifted. That maybe it wasn’t about getting back what you had. Maybe it was about what you were learning now.

Maybe Jeno was becoming someone you could fall for all over again.

And maybe, this time, he’d be ready too.

Time passed the way it always does at parties like these, blurry around the edges, slipping through fingers like beer foam and laughter. You weren’t even sure when exactly you’d gotten drunk, only that your cup had been suspiciously full every time Jaemin was nearby, and that somewhere between fire pit conversations and leaning into Jeno’s shoulder when you laughed too hard, your limbs had gone warm and heavy and loose.

“One drink,” you had told Jaemin earlier that night.

To which he had responded, “Perfect! One drink... every round!”

Now, here you were, definitely a few rounds deep and being dragged, physically, by Jaemin’s octopus arms into the middle of the backyard where the music was louder, the lights a little harsher, and a rowdy circle of people had started gathering.

“Don’t you dare bail on me!” he yelled gleefully, arms thrown over both your and Jeno’s shoulders like he was the ringleader of some stupid, beautiful circus. “You’re in this with me now!”

Jaemin reeked of tequila and victory. You, of regret.

Jeno, on the other hand, looked both amused and horrified. He was pink in the cheeks, grinning helplessly, clearly not sure if he should resist or just let the night consume him.

(He chose the latter.)

Before you knew it, someone had handed you another drink, someone else was screaming rules to a game you were definitely not sober enough to follow, and someone else, probably Jaemin again, was shouting “Truth or Drink!” like it was a holy rite.

You ended up sitting cross-legged on the grass beside Jeno, who was still trying to figure out if he’d been dared to kiss someone or confess a crush. You leaned into his side, giggling, and he looked down at you with this kind of panicked softness like how did we get here?

His eyes crinkled as he laughed, the sound loose and genuine. You barely remembered what he’d said, only that he fumbled it with his usual awkward charm, and Jaemin cheered anyway like it was the most heroic answer of the night.

It was dumb. It was chaotic. It was a mess.

But it was also kind of perfect. Because somehow, somewhere between Jeno’s flushed cheeks and your shared glances, between the blurry warmth in your chest and the way he kept finding you in the circle even when he wasn’t looking—

It started to feel like maybe you weren’t just having fun.

Maybe you were remembering what it felt like to have him.

And he, you.

After that, everything else blurred.

Not like a movie blur. Not poetic or soft-focus. More like your brain had dropped the camera and you were just catching glitchy little flashes of the night, Jaemin fake crying when he lost a round, someone chanting your name, Jeno’s laugh way too close to your ear, your own voice louder than you ever remembered being.

The grass was colder than expected. Someone poured a shot wrong and it dripped down your wrist. At one point, you and Jeno were shouting and laughing about something dumb, someone’s outfit? a game rule? the way Jaemin tried to flirt with the Bluetooth speaker?

It was all a mess of light and sound and heat. Spinning. Sparkling. Too much and not enough.

And then it wasn’t anything at all.

You didn’t even remember saying goodbye. Or finding a bed. Or if you’d even made it back to your dorm or someone else’s couch. All you knew was that your limbs felt heavy, your head was swimming, and the last coherent thought that passed through your mind before the blackout hit was—

Never. Go to a party with Jaemin again.

But in the deepest corner of your drunk, scrambled brain, one memory still hovered quietly, Jeno’s arm brushing yours in the circle, his shy smile meeting yours through the chaos, like some kind of quiet tether in the loudest storm.

It stayed with you. Even in the dark.

You woke up to the worst headache of your life.

Your brain was pulsing behind your eyes, your mouth felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton and regret, and your entire body aches like you'd run a marathon in heels. The ceiling above you spun in gentle, taunting circles, and the faintest movement made your stomach lurch with the elegance of a dying fish.

You groaned. Soft. Pitiful. Dying-star-level miserable.

For a second, you debated not opening your eyes again. Maybe if you just laid still long enough, you could ascend. Or at least fall back asleep and deal with the consequences of last night sometime next year.

But then—

You heard it.

A soft snore.

Not yours.

And that's when the panic started to override the pain.

Your eyes cracked open against the hint of daylight streaming in from a cracked window, and you slowly, so slowly, turned your head. The room was unfamiliar but not unrecognizable. Posters on the walls, a neatly cluttered desk, a jacket you remember seeing on someone slung over a chair—

Then, just a few feet away from where you were (thankfully) lying fully clothed on top of a blanket-covered bed...

Jeno. On the floor. In a sleeping bag.

Sprawled out. Mouth slightly open. One arm crooked above his head like he’d just crash-landed there mid-dream.

And tall. Why the hell was he so tall even when horizontal?

It hit you then, all at once.

The party. The drinks. Jaemin’s screeching laughter. The fire pit. The circle. The moment you think you saw Jeno staring at you for a little too long, right before everything turned to confetti in your memory.

You squeezed your eyes shut and muttered under your breath, voice barely audible through the pain.

“Never. Ever. Go to a party with Jaemin again.”

But even as you said it, a flicker of something warm pressed against your headache, like maybe, just maybe, there was something worth remembering about last night. Even if it was buried under a hundred shots and Jaemin's devil-level influence.

And sleeping bag or not, Jeno being here wasn’t the worst way to wake up.

You debated going back to sleep and pretending none of this was real.

Unfortunately, your bladder had other plans.

With a wince and a groan that could rival a dying engine, you slowly swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood. Bad idea. The room tilted dangerously. You grabbed the bedpost like it was a lifeline.

Jeno didn’t stir. Still dead asleep in his sleeping bag like some sort of angelic camper who happened to be six feet tall and unfairly pretty.

You eyed the door.

Bathroom. That was your goal. You just had to find it without making it obvious that you’d woken up in a boy’s room, in a frat house, with zero recollection of how you even made it here last night.

You stepped into the hallway, squinting like a vampire. The air smelled like yesterday’s pizza and someone’s citrus body spray. The house was surprisingly quiet, save for a distant TV somewhere and a faint hum of voices.

Your plan was to locate the bathroom, do your business, and sneak back to pretend you were never seen.

What actually happened was that you took two turns, opened one wrong door (a closet full of cereal boxes—why?), and ended up walking straight into the kitchen.

Where four of the frat boys were gathered like it was the morning after a camping trip and not a rager. The only reason you recognize their names being the slideshow Jaemin had made for you beforehand which you are incredibly grateful for at this moment. 

Johnny was standing barefoot at the stove in sweatpants and a tank top, flipping pancakes like this was a resort and not a frat house. Yuta leaned against the counter with a mug in his hand, shirtless, of course, because of course he was. Jaehyun sat at the island with his hair pushed back and a banana in one hand like a casual health icon. And Winwin… well, he was seated silently, staring at a glass of water like it had personally wronged him.

All four turned to you at once.

You froze like a criminal. In their kitchen. In last night’s clothes. In a house you definitely didn’t belong in.

“Oh,” you blurted. “Uh. Sorry— I was just looking for the bathroom.”

Johnny’s face split into a grin immediately. “You’re good. Welcome to our place.”

Yuta raised his mug. “Water’s over there. Pancakes in fifteen if you survive.”

Jaehyun gave a little nod, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “You Jeno’s friend?”

You blinked. “I— uh… I guess? I mean, yeah. I mean, we… It’s not like that. I was just—”

“You stayed over?” Winwin asked flatly, still staring at his water.

You were about to stutter your way through a clarification when Jaemin came bounding into the kitchen like a menace, hair a mess, eyes bleary but mischievous.

“THERE SHE IS!” he shouted, arms out like you were a long-lost cousin. “My drinking buddy! You’re alive!”

“Barely,” you muttered as he threw an arm over your shoulder, ignoring the way you winced.

“She was with Jeno,” Jaemin told the room smugly, grabbing a cup of water for you like a weirdly competent caretaker. “Slept in his room. Nothing happened— he’s too awkward for that. But still. That’s something.”

You nearly choked.

Johnny laughed. Yuta looked like he was about to make a comment but mercifully sipped his coffee instead. Jaehyun looked amused in the most terrifyingly quiet way. Winwin blinked and looked away like not my business.

“Bathroom’s that way,” Johnny said, pointing. “Second door on the left.”

You mumbled a thank you and practically power walked out of the kitchen, cheeks burning, water in hand.

Frat boys. Too calm. Too casual. Too themselves.

But the weirdest part? As embarrassing as it was…

It wasn’t awful.

It was like stepping into a sitcom. Loud, chaotic, and far too comfortable for a stranger. And maybe… maybe that made sense.

Because if Jeno belonged here, shy, gentle Jeno, then it made sense the whole place felt strangely safe.

Even if you were now known as the girl who woke up in his room.

After finally finding the bathroom, you took a moment to splash cold water on your face and stare at yourself in the mirror.

Hair: a mess. Eyes: bloodshot. Vibe: slightly feral but functioning.

You patted your cheeks and muttered something about survival before stepping back out, intending to make a direct route to Jeno’s room and pretend none of this ever happened. But the smell of pancakes still lingered in the hallway like bait, and against your better judgment you found yourself drifting back toward the kitchen.

Jaemin was there waiting like he knew you’d return, leaning against the wall with two mugs in his hands.

“Water or black coffee?” he asked, lifting both.

You took the water. “Don’t push your luck.”

He smirked. “Wasn’t planning to. You looked like you were about to pass out in the hallway earlier.”

“Because you got me drunk.”

“Because you let me.”

You rolled your eyes but followed him back into the kitchen anyway, pulled in by the gravitational field that was this oddly welcoming frat breakfast scene.

Yuta was now flipping through a Spotify playlist on the speaker, still sipping his coffee like he had no hangover to speak of. Johnny was plating pancakes with a level of precision that made you question his frat boy status. Jaehyun was still lounging with that unreadable expression, and Winwin had somehow found a way to look peaceful and over it at the same time.

Then came the sudden sound of footsteps thundering down the stairs.

Enter: Jungwoo.

“Oh hello stranger!” he sing-songed the moment he laid eyes on you, arms already open like a long-lost relative at the airport.

You flinched.

Jaemin didn’t. “She’s new. Be gentle.”

“Oh, I’m always gentle,” Jungwoo said with a friendly grin, stopping just short of invading your personal space. “I’m Jungwoo, by the way. Resident extrovert. I talk too much but I mean well.”

You blinked at him. “Y/N. Resident hangover victim. I don’t talk much but I mean well.”

A beat passed before Jungwoo stepped forward and hugged you anyway.

And just like that, the tension broke.

You sat on one of the stools at the island while Jaemin hovered beside you, not overbearing, just present. Yuta offered you syrup. Johnny asked how you were holding up. Jaehyun raised a brow when you said “better now,” like he didn’t fully buy it, but he let it slide.

Even Winwin passed you the butter.

Jungwoo, of course, wasted no time pulling you into some chaotic conversation about weird college majors, conspiracy theories about vending machines, and how Yuta once accidentally microwaved a fork and claimed it was “for science.”

You weren’t even fully following the topics, but it didn’t matter.

You were laughing. Deep and sore from the stomach kind. The kind that made your headache feel like background noise.

The frat house wasn’t what you expected. Less beer pong, more oddly sweet domestic chaos. And even though you were still wearing your clothes from last night and smelled like bad decisions, you weren’t being judged. You weren’t an outsider.

You were Jaemin’s friend.

You were Jeno’s guest.

And for some reason… that earned you a place at the table.

“Alright,” Jaemin said, bumping his shoulder against yours after a while, “you survived initiation. You’re one of us now.”

You raised a brow. “Is that a good thing or a curse?”

“Bit of both,” Jungwoo said with a wink.

You snorted into your coffee, already dreading the inevitable teasing that would come once Jeno woke up.

But maybe… just maybe…

This didn’t feel so bad.

You were cradling your mug of water like it held the secrets to the universe when a familiar presence crept into your peripheral vision.

A sleepy-looking Jeno hovered at the threshold of the kitchen, rubbing the heel of his hand against one eye. His hair was a soft mess, flattened slightly on one side, and his hoodie was bunched awkwardly like he’d thrown it on in a daze. The quiet confusion on his face as he took in the sight of you very much awake, chatting in the kitchen with half his frat was almost comedic.

“Oh,” he blinked. “You’re… here.”

“I didn’t break in, I swear,” you said, tilting your mug toward him.

That made a small laugh bubble out of him as he stepped further in, barefoot, clearly still half-asleep.

“You disappeared,” he said softly once he was close enough, voice scratchy with sleep but amused. “Woke up and thought you got kidnapped.”

“I was kidnapped,” you deadpanned, flicking your eyes toward Jaemin. “By him.”

“Hey,” Jaemin grinned, unbothered. “You liked the pancakes.”

Jeno’s gaze lingered on you a second longer, eyes trailing from the curve of your smile to the way your fingers curled around the mug. Then he ran a hand through his hair and looked away, suddenly bashful.

“Glad you’re… okay,” he said, almost too quietly.

You weren’t sure what it was, maybe it was the way his voice softened when it was just for you, or the way his eyes briefly locked with yours before flicking away but your stomach did this dumb little flip.

Jaehyun, without looking up from his phone, spoke up at the worst moment. “Jeno, your girl fits in. She’s been roasting Jaemin with us for the past ten minutes.”

Jeno blinked. “She’s not—”

“I’m not—” you said at the same time.

Jungwoo snorted. “They’re so in sync.”

Jaemin, of course, looked delighted. “I think we all knew this was inevitable.”

Your eyes met Jeno’s again, and he was already looking at you this time with cheeks faintly pink, lips fighting a smile.

You cleared your throat. “Anyway. Um. You’re awake.”

“Yeah. I’ll… be back. Just need to… wash up.”

“Right.”

And just like that, he disappeared down the hall again, hoodie sleeves too long and socks half-off his feet. You were still staring after him even after he’d left the room.

“Cute,” Jungwoo murmured under his breath, not even trying to hide it.

You sipped your water to hide your grin.

As soon as Jeno shuffled off toward the bathroom, you slumped back into your chair and let out a dramatic sigh.

“Okay,” you groaned, “does anyone here know how to cure a hangover that feels like it was crafted in a lab by demons?”

Winwin raised an eyebrow. “Water. Sleep. Regret.”

Johnny, seated at the counter munching on a granola bar like a dad who didn’t party the night before, offered, “I think bananas help. But also electrolytes. You need something salty, something sweet, and something with a soul.”

You blinked. “Something with a soul?”

He shrugged. “It’s how I survived my years here.”

Jaehyun tossed a pack of instant ramen across the counter toward you. “Here. It’s a frat house staple. You’re welcome.”

“You guys are weirdly prepared for this,” you mumbled, catching the ramen and squinting at the instructions like it would suddenly save your life.

“We live with Jaemin,” Yuta deadpanned.

“Fair,” you muttered, then paused. “Also… Jeno’s probably more hungover than me. He looked like death’s understudy just now.”

“Oh, Jeno’s a baby when it comes to drinking,” Jungwoo added, tone light. “He gets all red and apologetic, even if no one remembers what he did. It’s kind of adorable, actually.”

You snorted. “Noted.”

Yuta stood, heading toward one of the cabinets. “Alright, you’re on nurse duty then. We’ll help prep the supplies.”

A few minutes later, you left the kitchen with your arms full: water bottles, a banana, ibuprofen, and two mystery packets handed to you with suspicious smiles (Johnny called them “magic powders,” which wasn’t comforting).

As you tiptoed back into Jeno’s room, it was quiet again, dim morning light slipping through the blinds, the air smelling faintly of laundry detergent and whatever boy-scent Jeno always carried.

He was already back inside, hair damp and shirt changed, sitting cross-legged on his bed with a towel around his neck and the dazed look of someone trying to piece together what year it was.

When he saw you with the supplies, his eyes widened slightly. “You… didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t,” you said, dropping the bundle on the floor beside him before sitting down at the edge of the mattress. “But your little frat brothers basically volunteered me as tribute to nurse duty.”

He smiled, soft, slow, like it was sneaking up on him. “Thanks.”

You handed him water and a tablet. “Take this. And if it tastes weird, blame Johnny.”

He laughed under his breath. “That bad?”

You hummed. “He said it has a soul. So. Good luck.”

He took the tablet anyway, obedient as ever, but when he glanced back up at you, there was something a little quieter in his expression. Something gentle. Grateful.

“Seriously,” he said, voice a little hoarse, “thanks. For… sticking around.”

Your heart did a quiet little roll in your chest, but you played it off with a shrug.

“Someone had to make sure you didn’t wake up in a bush.”

He chuckled, dropping his head back against the wall. “That sounds like a Jaemin thing.”

“It is a Jaemin thing.”

There was a pause that was comfortable, warm. The kind where you both sat in the silence, not needing to say much. The hangover still throbbed, sure, but it didn’t feel so bad when he looked at you like that. Like you were some kind of constant.

Maybe you were.

He was quiet for a moment, looking down at the pill now resting in his hand like he was still debating whether it was friend or foe. You tilted your head, watching the slow way he moved. His posture was relaxed but heavy. His shoulders slouched more than usual, eyes just a little glassy.

“You’re still kinda drunk, aren’t you?”

Jeno blinked. “M’not.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“…Okay, maybe a little.”

That made you smile, the soft kind, the kind that lingers even when your mouth stops moving. “Lightweight.”

He let out a sleepy, sheepish sound and leaned his head back against the wall again. “You drank more than me. And you’re not dying.”

“I pace myself. You… don’t.”

“That’s not true,” he mumbled.

“You were doing shots with Jaemin, Jeno.”

He groaned, like even the memory hurt. “Oh my god. I forgot about that. Why would I do that?”

“Because you were trying to act chill in front of a bunch of strangers.”

“I am chill,” he insisted, then winced. “Okay. No, I’m not. Whatever.”

You let yourself really look at him for a second. His skin was still a little flushed in the cheeks, eyes soft from sleep and leftover alcohol. And maybe it was the light coming in through the blinds, or maybe it was just the morning stillness making everything feel a little suspended in air — but something about him looked clearer now. Easier to read.

He looked tired, yes. Hungover, for sure. But also a little… honest. Like all the walls he usually kept up had finally dropped somewhere between the alcohol and the sleep-deprivation. And he wasn’t trying to rebuild them yet.

“You look pretty like this,” you said before you could really think about it.

Jeno’s eyes flicked to you, wide and startled, like that was the last thing he expected to hear from you this morning.

“I mean—” you paused, awkwardly fumbling for a softer landing. “Just… you’re very you right now. Like you’re not trying to be anything else.”

He stared at you for a moment longer before something in his features softened. His smile wasn’t big, but it was real. Gentle. Quiet.

“Same to you,” he murmured, voice still a little rough. “You looked pretty last night, too. Like… really pretty.”

Your throat caught, but you tried to play it off with a breathy laugh. “Okay, you’re definitely still drunk.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe. But I mean it.”

There was another pause, but this time it wasn’t awkward. Just full.

You glanced at him again. “Do you remember much from last night?”

“Bits and pieces.” He looked toward you. “I remember you laughing a lot. I remember Jaemin trying to stack empty cups on my head. I remember you and I talking by the firepit.”

Your lips lifted at that. “That part was nice.”

“Yeah.” His voice dipped a little. “It was.”

There was something different about this version of him, this quieter Jeno, still a little disoriented, a little open, but… not shutting himself off. And in a strange, hungover sort of way, it felt like you two could talk about anything now. Even the things you never touched back then. Even the parts of yourselves you’d been afraid to show before.

It didn’t feel like stepping back into the past.

It felt like you’d finally met each other in the present.

“I feel like my bones are made of rice paper,” Jeno mumbled, curled into a very loose fetal position on his bed, the blanket barely clinging to his legs.

You stifled a laugh. “That’s oddly poetic.”

“I’m serious,” he groaned. “They’re soft. Like soggy crackers.”

“Soggy crackers don’t have bones.”

He blinked at you, his lips twitching into a lazy grin. “You always have a comeback, huh?”

“Someone has to keep you grounded.”

“I’m grounded.” He paused. “I’m just floppy right now.”

You shook your head with a quiet smile and passed him the banana you’d brought from the kitchen earlier. “Eat this. Your brain needs it.”

Jeno took it with both hands like it was the most fragile item in the world. Then peeled it with slow concentration, mumbling, “You’re kind of good at this. The whole… taking care of me thing.”

“I’ve had practice,” you teased, sitting cross-legged beside him.

He smiled again, that shy, scrunch-nosed one he did when he was trying to play cool but wasn’t really fooling anyone. “I didn’t let you take care of me before, huh?”

You tilted your head at him.

“I mean,” he clarified softly, “back then. I never really let you see me when I wasn’t fine.”

That tugged something in your chest. A soft ache, but not the painful kind. The kind that made you want to pull him into a hug and tuck him under your chin like some delicate creature learning how to be held.

“No,” you admitted. “But I think you wanted to.”

Jeno didn’t reply right away. He just nodded, eyes down on his half-eaten banana like it had the answers to all his repressed emotions. Then—

“I get weird when I like someone a lot,” he blurted. “Like I try too hard to seem normal.”

You blinked.

He kept going. “And then I get quiet ‘cause I’m scared I’ll mess it up. But then I end up messing it up anyway.”

“…Jeno.”

He looked at you finally, cheeks pink, lips slightly pouty. “What?”

You gave him a small smile. “You’re being very… you right now.”

He blinked. “Is that bad?”

“No. It’s actually… really nice.”

Jeno sat up straighter, like a sleepy kitten finding its balance. “You think I’m nice?”

“I think you’re adorable,” you corrected.

He immediately groaned, collapsing dramatically against your shoulder. “Stop. I’m not strong enough for this.”

“You’re clingy when you’re tipsy.”

He hummed, not moving from your side. “Only with people I like.”

Your heart fluttered, maybe because it sounded almost like a confession. Or maybe because you knew it wasn’t just the alcohol talking. This was Jeno, in his softest form. Unfiltered. Comfortable. His weight against your side, his voice gentle, his presence warm and unguarded. This was the Jeno he never let the world see. And now he was here, leaning on you, whispering his habits and fears like you were safe.

And in that moment, you understood: he’d always wanted to be seen like this. Not as the cold, quiet guy people assumed he was. But as this shy, sweet, full of funny little thoughts and awkward bursts of honesty. Someone a little clumsy with his feelings, but not afraid to show them anymore.

You let him rest there a bit longer, letting the quiet sit between you like it belonged. Jeno was always worth waiting for. But this version of him, warm, talkative, lovable, felt like he was finally ready to be heard.

The room was still dim, sunlight barely filtering through the blinds, casting soft lines across the walls and carpet. You were both leaning back against the headboard now, Jeno freshly washed but still a little bleary, hair damp and cheeks flushed from warmth and residual tipsiness. He looked gentler like this. Sleepy, loose-limbed, and unguarded in a way that made him seem almost younger.

Your fingers were fidgeting at the edge of the blanket, just idly tracing the fabric, until Jeno’s hand quietly slipped into yours.

It wasn’t dramatic, no big lead-up, no question. Just a shy but sure movement, like he’d been wanting to for a while now but hadn’t known how to ask. His thumb brushed lightly over yours as if to test the waters, and when you didn’t pull away, he relaxed beside you.

You glanced at him, catching the soft grin curling his lips.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered.

“Like what?”

“Like you think this is cute.”

“Isn’t it?”

He groaned and tilted his head back with a dramatic sigh. “You’re going to bully me again.”

You laughed. “I’ve been nothing but nurturing to you this morning.”

“You’ve been smug.”

“I brought you a banana and Advil.”

“And you called me a clingy lightweight.”

“You are a clingy lightweight.”

Jeno gave you a sulky side eye, but the corners of his mouth twitched up again like he couldn’t hold it. “You like it though.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “Maybe I do.”

He went quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping to your intertwined fingers, the rhythm of his thumb moving again. It was steady, almost absentminded like his body had found a new kind of muscle memory with you. Something small, but comforting.

“Feels like we’re… fitting better now,” he said softly.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just let his words hang in the air, soaking into the walls of the room you’d once walked away from each other in. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was filled with the kind of peace that only came from mutual understanding, like all the pieces were finally softening into the right place.

“I think we’re learning each other better,” you eventually replied. “Or maybe just letting each other in more.”

He hummed, the sound low and pleased, before leaning his head to lightly bump against yours. “You make me brave.”

You smiled to yourself, turning slightly to nudge your nose against his cheek. “You were always brave. You just needed someone who didn’t make you feel like you had to hide.”

His ears went red again, but he didn’t hide his face this time. He just sat there, hand in yours, smile tugging the corners of his mouth, eyes soft.

There was nothing loud about it, no big declarations, no dramatic gestures. Just two people finding their way back. Quiet, natural, and easy. Like slipping into a version of home you didn’t realize you’d missed until it was right beside you again.

And neither of you said it out loud, but the way you both held on, fingers interlaced, shoulders brushing, said enough for now.

The silence was warm. Your thumb was tracing lazy shapes against Jeno’s knuckles now, and he hadn’t let go once, not even when his eyes fluttered shut for a second, like he was just soaking in the comfort of you being there.

His head rested gently against yours, breaths syncing, the kind of quiet where the world felt smaller. Softer. A private bubble that neither of you wanted to pop.

Which was, of course, the exact moment the door creaked open.

“Am I interrupting something?” came a too casual voice, laced with amusement.

Your heads snapped toward the doorway, both of you a little too slow, like being yanked from a dream. Johnny stood leaning against the frame, arms crossed, eyebrows up. The faint smirk on his face said he knew exactly what he’d walked in on.

Jeno, to his credit, tried to stay cool. But the boy could barely keep his voice level when he replied, “N-no? Just talking.”

“Right,” Johnny nodded slowly, gaze flicking down to your still intertwined hands resting in your lap. “With your fingers braided together like some heart fluttering fanfic? Classic conversation pose.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks betrayed you, warmth rushing up your neck fast enough to match Jeno’s. He had already covered his face with his free hand, letting out a strangled groan of embarrassment.

“We’re not—” he started, muffled behind his palm. “It’s not like—”

“Hey, I’m not judging,” Johnny held up his hands. “I came to drop off extra water bottles. But clearly I’ve walked in on, like, a Moment.”

You gave Jeno a look, one that teetered between should we defend ourselves and just let it die. He was too busy melting into his own hoodie, so you turned to Johnny with a sweet smile instead.

“Thanks, Johnny. You can leave the water on the desk and pretend none of this happened.”

Johnny grinned as he set them down. “My lips are sealed. But if Jaemin hears about it, it’s definitely not from me.”

Jeno let out a pitiful whine, and you reached up to pat his arm as Johnny backed out, still smug.

And just like that, your bubble had a few fingerprints on it. But when Jeno turned to look at you again, a little bashful, still pink-cheeked, but smiling, it was obvious neither of you minded.

The first few days after that awkward yet somehow sweet moment passed by in a blur, but with each one, it became easier to slip into the rhythm of their world. Even though you weren’t part of the same university, Jaemin’s frat house had quickly become a place where you felt like you belonged, at least on the periphery.

It wasn’t just the parties or the chaos that made you feel comfortable. It was the quiet moments in between. The hangovers. The random bursts of laughter. The lazy afternoons where you found yourself hanging out with the guys in the kitchen, watching them mess around and tell dumb jokes.

You’d grown used to the sound of Jaemin’s booming laugh echoing from the living room, of Johnny’s chill demeanor cutting through the stress of exams, of Yuta’s sarcasm punctuating every conversation like a clever little weapon. But, of course, Jeno was the one who had crept up on you.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. He was the quiet one, the one who hung back and watched, often keeping to himself when the group got rowdy. But the more time you spent with him, the more you realized just how much he wanted to be part of it all, how his introversion was more of a shield than anything else.

There was a softness to him, one that was reserved only for certain people, and, it seemed, that certain person might be you.

You began learning his habits, how he’d always stretch after waking up, pushing his arms above his head like he was trying to shake off the weight of sleep. Or how he always kept a spare hoodie around, just in case someone needed one, even if no one ever asked. You’d catch him humming when he thought no one was around, tapping his fingers along to some rhythm only he could hear.

And then there were the little things. His awkward smile whenever you caught him staring at you, his eyes shifting away too fast, like he hadn’t realized he was looking at you for too long. Or the way he’d quietly help with something without asking for attention like grabbing a cup of water when you were tired, offering you his hoodie when it was cold, brushing off your hair when it fell in your face.

It was in these quiet moments that you realized how much he cared. How much he really cared.

And the rest of the guys? You got to know them in different ways too. Jaemin, as always, was the loudest, but his personality didn’t just shine in the parties. When he was serious, when he wasn’t trying to put on a show, he was surprisingly thoughtful, always trying to make sure everyone felt included. You learned that despite his chaotic energy, he was one of the most self aware in the house.

Johnny, too, had a way of making you feel at ease. He wasn’t one to force deep conversations, but when he spoke, his words had weight. He made everyone around him feel like they could be themselves, and that meant more than any joke he cracked or teasing he gave.

Yuta had this quiet, almost cynical edge to him that you quickly realized was just his way of showing care. He’d never outright say something nice, but when he’d pull you aside with that sly grin, offering you a snack or joking about a class you didn’t care about, you knew he was showing you in his own way that you mattered.

It was Jungwoo, though, who became the ultimate surprise. The guy who you thought would be loud and obnoxious all the time turned out to be a mix of energy and warmth — the kind of guy who would talk your ear off but also sit with you quietly, offering a comforting presence without making a big deal out of it. He’d somehow always know when you needed cheering up, but never in an overbearing way.

And every day, you learn something new. Whether it was about their pasts, their quirks, or just the way they saw the world, it felt like the pieces of their personalities slowly pieced themselves together for you, bit by bit. You weren’t just an outsider anymore. You were part of the gang.

But through all of this, Jeno remained the one you’d come to rely on the most. As each day passed, you noticed more about him, how easily he got lost in his thoughts, how fiercely he protected the people close to him, and how much effort he put into the small things that made others feel cared for.

And every time you saw him smile, especially in those moments when his shyness melted away and he let his guard down with you, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest. You didn’t know where it was going, but there was something about him that made your heart race in a way that felt both familiar and new.

And the more time you spend near him on that creaky old couch in the living room, half listening to Jaemin yell at Jungwoo for stealing his snacks, or walking side by side to the nearest convenience store just to get drinks neither of you really needed, the more that feeling stuck with you. It followed you like a shadow. Quiet, but constant. Soft, but impossible to ignore.

Jeno had this way of making everything feel simple, even when your thoughts were anything but. He didn’t push or pry, but he listened. And when he did speak, it wasn’t filler. It was real. You found yourself looking forward to his little comments, the way he’d tilt his head slightly when you rambled, like he was actually trying to understand you instead of waiting for his turn to speak. The way he always sat a little closer now though never quite touching, but never too far either. That space in between felt... safe.

And you weren’t stupid. You noticed the way the others sometimes exchanged glances when you were around him. The smirks from Jaemin, the not so subtle eyebrow raises from Johnny. Even Winwin once muttered something under his breath that made Yuta laugh too hard for it to be innocent.

Still, no one said anything outright. Maybe they were waiting to see if you would.

You told yourself you were just friends. That this was nothing new, that people got close all the time. But you also knew better. There was a tenderness in how Jeno started waiting for you before meals, how he always found ways to check in, how his gaze lingered a little too long when you weren’t looking.

And you? You were softening too. Letting yourself smile more easily. Laugh louder. Stay longer.

It was strange. The kind of strange that didn’t feel scary. Just… unfamiliar.

So when Jeno’s hand brushed yours one evening while you were both leaning over the kitchen counter, pretending to argue about how much sugar to put in your tea, and neither of you pulled away, you didn’t look at him, but you didn’t move either. The silence stretched, warm and full.

That was the thing about him. He didn’t rush it. He didn’t need to. You were starting to fall, not just for the version of Jeno you once knew, but for the version he was now. The one that was slowly unfolding right in front of you.

And maybe, just maybe, he was falling too.

Just as your thoughts began to spiral soft, fluttery things that didn’t have a clear beginning or end, the front door clicked open. You blinked, momentarily forgetting that anyone but you had access to your apartment.

“Kkura?” you called, already halfway out of your room before she even shut the door behind her.

“Home sweet—” She didn’t even finish her sentence before you tackled her in a hug, practically knocking the suitcase out of her hand.

“You’re back,” you mumbled into her shoulder.

“You act like I’ve been gone for a year,” she laughed, squeezing you just as tight. “It was three weeks.”

“Three weeks of chaos,” you pulled away, eyes wide, face flushed with the overwhelming need to unload.

Kkura narrowed her eyes knowingly. “You have that face.”

“What face.”

“The I have something to tell you and it’s so much that I don’t even know where to start face.”

You stared at her. She wasn’t wrong.

She kicked off her shoes, wheeled her suitcase into the corner like it wasn’t about to sit there untouched for days, and flopped onto your couch like she owned the place. “Alright. Hit me.”

You didn’t need more prompting. The second you sat next to her, it was like your brain finally found the play button. You told her everything. The Jaemin invitation, the frat house party, the chaos that unfolded that night — “I blacked out, Kkura. With Jaemin. That should tell you everything.” — and then, of course, Jeno.

The way her eyes widened when you said his name alone was priceless.

“Wait. Jeno? As in—”

“Yes.”

“And you woke up in his room?”

“In a frat house, Kkura. In a frat house.”

“Oh my god, are you—” Kkura held up a hand, processing. “Are you part of a frat now? Is this a college AU? Did I miss a whole season of your life?!”

You laughed, flopping down next to her. “I’m basically a background character that snuck into the main plot. And no, I’m not in the frat—Jaemin’s just a menace who keeps dragging me to things. But they’re all nice, honestly. Like… way nicer than I expected.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Even Jeno?”

You hesitated. “Especially Jeno.”

There was a beat of silence before she raised a brow. “Uh-huh.”

You rolled your eyes and hugged a pillow to your chest. “Okay, okay, but that’s not the point. Point is, there’s another party coming up. They just finished exams, so they’re celebrating. Again.”

Kkura snorted. “Are they okay? Do they need hobbies?”

“They’re party-crazed but like… weirdly wholesome about it? It’s kind of endearing,” you said. “And they’re sweet. Loud. But sweet.”

She tilted her head. “So...?”

“So… Do you wanna come with me?”

There was a pause as Kkura considered it, then she gave you a teasing smirk. “Only if I get to wear something that makes frat boys cry.”

You grinned. “I’ll allow it.”

The mood eased after that. You were curled up in the comfort of old friendship, your heart a little lighter knowing you weren’t facing the chaos alone this time. Even though the last party had left your memory patchy and your head pounding, the thought of seeing Jeno again, this time with Kkura in the mix, felt exciting in a way you weren’t fully ready to admit.

Still, a part of you was nervous. Not because of the party itself, or even bumping into people you possibly know again but because Jeno had become something steady. And steady things had the power to shake you if they moved.

But that was something to worry about later.

For now, there was a party to prepare for. And a wardrobe to destroy in the process.

You were mid sentence, something about needing to find a top that said “I’m hot but approachable” when your phone buzzed on the coffee table.

You leaned forward and glanced at the screen.

[Jeno]: Are you free right now?

Your heart did that thing again. That subtle little flutter that made you both nervous and stupidly soft. The kind that was quiet but impossible to ignore.

Kkura leaned in, squinting. “Is that… Jeno?”

You blinked, sitting up straighter. “Maybe.”

She didn’t even hesitate and just snatched the pillow from your arms and tossed it across the room. “Go.”

“What?” you laughed. “I can’t just— what if he didn’t mean right now right now—”

Kkura was already standing, grabbing your hoodie and tossing it into your lap. “He literally said right now. You’re not gonna ghost a soft spoken cutie who somehow made it through the Hunger Games of frat life with his soul intact.”

You pulled the hoodie over your head, cheeks warming. “He’s just probably bored or something.”

“Bored of not being around you,” she shot back, folding her arms. “Go. I’ve been gone too long, I need to assess the boy who’s got you smiling at your phone like a loser.”

You stuck out your tongue at her but stood up anyway, fingers already texting back.

[You]: yeah i’m free, what’s up?

As you grabbed your bag and slid your shoes on, Kkura appeared in the hallway like a mom sending her kid off to school.

“Use protection. By that I mean sunscreen. But also, y’know, if you guys—”

“BYE.”

The door shut behind you before she could say anything else, and you tried to pretend like your stomach wasn’t flipping as you walked down the street.

You didn’t even have to knock.

The door swung open before you could lift your hand, revealing Jeno with the biggest, most boyish grin on his face, one that made your chest warm in the most annoying, fluttery way possible.

“You’re here,” he said, and stepped back dramatically like he was unveiling something.

You blinked once.

Then twice.

And then you burst out laughing.

He had set the entire room up like a movie marathon wonderland. Blankets stacked like a nest in the middle of the floor, a projector already on standby, popcorn in a giant mixing bowl, and what looked like an unnecessarily large lineup of snacks. There were also two pairs of matching slippers, one pink and one grey, set right by the makeshift blanket fort.

“Jeno,” you said slowly. “Did you… plan a theme?”

“Movie day,” he beamed. “It’s serious business.”

You stepped inside and kicked off your shoes, grinning at the sight of the pink slippers. “You got me bunny ones?”

“Of course,” he said, like it was obvious. “They looked like you.”

He bent down to grab the grey ones for himself just as Jaemin suddenly poked his head in from the hallway.

“You’re such a loser,” he announced to the room.

“Jaemin,” Jeno said without turning around, “Get out.”

“I live here.”

“Uh-huh.”

But he was still smiling, that same soft expression you’d seen before when he was quietly grateful for this little pocket of peace with you. And even if the party was looming on the horizon, and even if your heart didn’t totally know what it was doing around Jeno just yet… Being here with him, warm and close and laughing, made the idea of showing up to another chaotic frat event feel less daunting. Almost comforting.

You weren’t sure what the party would bring, but for now, it was just Jeno and a movie you were definitely not watching, and the kind of quiet between two people that felt like something was slowly, gently growing.

The house was already buzzing by the time you and Kkura stepped out of the Uber. Actually, buzzing was an understatement, it was throbbing with noise and lights and people. The lawn was crawling with students you didn’t recognize, solo cups in every hand, music bleeding out of every open window, and a suspiciously large inflatable flamingo bobbing from the roof like it had claimed it as home.

You blinked. “Did they— did they rent a fog machine?”

Kkura stared with wide eyes. “Is that a DJ booth in the front yard? What the hell kind of end of exams party is this?”

“I told you they go too hard.” You tugged her arm gently as you stepped around two people tangled in glow necklaces and what looked like matching temporary tattoos. “This is three times worse than the last one.”

“Three times worse?” she repeated, looking around. “No, babe, this looks like it’s three times international. I swear that guy in the Lakers jersey just flew in from New York.”

There were bodies packed against every wall, music so loud it buzzed against your chest, and the sharp scent of beer and perfume mixing in the air like an olfactory warning sign. Still, there was something stupidly infectious about it, the hum of celebration, the wild laughter from someone trying to climb a tree for no reason, the lights flickering from inside like a club scene about to go off.

“Where are your people?” Kkura leaned in to shout over the music.

“They live here, remember?” you said, guiding her toward the side entrance. “Somewhere in this chaos are my favorite frat rats.”

You pushed open the door, the hallway instantly swallowing you in heat and overlapping conversations. It was wild. You didn’t think you’d seen this many students gathered in one place outside of a graduation ceremony.

Soon enough you were halfway through explaining to Johnny and Yuta how you once saw a guy chug half a gallon of milk at a party and immediately regret his life choices, when someone shoulder checked you from behind.

Not a hard bump, just enough to make you stumble slightly mid story.

“Woah—” you turned instinctively, hand still gesturing in the air, only to come face to face with—

“Oh no,” you muttered under your breath.

Because there he was, in the flesh and smiling like the human equivalent of a smirk: Haechan. Hair perfectly styled, drink in hand, and that familiar look of amused mischief glittering in his eyes.

Now, you would think the person who interrupted you was the face you’d been scanning for all night.

But nope.

It was the face you never really expected to see once again... until the universe, in all its twisted humor, plopped him right back in front of you. Again.

“Y/N,” he greeted, like you’d just bumped into each other at a corner store. “You always pop up at these things when I least expect it.”

“You’re the one who popped me,” you deadpanned, one brow raising. “What are you even doing here? Again.”

Haechan shrugged, taking a sip. “What can I say? I’m a social butterfly. Got invited by a friend. I go where the good chaos is.”

Johnny, who was watching with vague interest, leaned in just enough to make it obvious. “Y/N,” he said casually, lips quirked up. “Friend of yours?”

You opened your mouth, closed it, and then sighed. “Uh... this is Haechan. We used to…date. A long time ago.” Feeling the embarrassment creep up your neck.

“Ohoho,” Yuta laughed, leaning closer with narrowed eyes and entirely too much enthusiasm. “Now this just got good.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered under your breath, glaring at them.

Haechan, the little shit, just grinned and raised his cup. “Pleasure. But don’t worry, I’m just here to admire from afar and mess with her for sport.”

Johnny gave him a knowing look. “Well, good luck, man. But don’t mess with her too much and keep a safe distance or else we might have to, you know…casually throw you out the second floor window.”

Yuta nodded. “Yeah. Casually.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly ascended. “Jesus Christ.”

Haechan only laughed, completely unbothered. “Glad to see you’ve upgraded your bodyguards.”

And for a moment, despite the teasing, the noise, the crowded house, it felt surprisingly... easy. Not tense like it could’ve been. Just playful enough to feel like maybe, just maybe, the past really had faded behind the both of you. And honestly, that was a relief.

Until, of course, the boys started muttering something suspicious about how Jeno would loooove to hear about this.

You lingered with them a bit longer, the conversation swerving wildly between roasting Yuta’s ancient phone model and Johnny pretending to be your overly concerned fake older brother, asking Haechan questions like:

“So, what are your intentions with our dear Y/N?”

Haechan leaned against the wall with a crooked smile. “Strictly to make her roll her eyes at least five times tonight. Maybe six if I work hard.”

You shot him a look. “That’s your love language, huh? Mild emotional torture?”

“Yours is biting sarcasm and selective affection, so don’t even start,” he fired back.

“Selective?” You scoffed. “I was literally the nicest to you out of everyone you’ve dated.”

Johnny blinked. “Wait, how many people has he dated?”

“Too many,” you and Haechan said at the same time, which made the group laugh.

And then, right on cue, just as you nudged Haechan with your elbow in mock annoyance, Yuta’s eyes flicked upward right past your shoulder.

“Well, speak of the devil,” he muttered, barely concealing his grin.

You turned just as Jeno appeared from the hallway, hoodie slightly rumpled from the crowd, but still as composed and tall and very much Jeno. He looked a little flushed, maybe from the warmth of the room, maybe something else, but he clocked the group in an instant.

And then his eyes landed on you.

Then Haechan.

Then... your proximity to Haechan.

You could practically see the gears turning in his brain. He was doing that thing again, quietly observing, trying to mask whatever emotion flickered across his face.

“Oh,” you said, voice tilting a bit higher than usual. “Hey. You made it.”

Jeno gave a small nod, eyes still flicking between the people surrounding you. “Yeah, sorry. Got caught helping Jaehyun fix the speaker.”

Haechan glanced between you two, a grin slowly spreading across his face like he had just realized something delicious.

“So this is Jeno,” he said, amused. “The boy you were scoping the room for back at the last party.”

You felt your soul leave your body. “Haechan, I swear to God—”

“What?” Haechan lifted his hands innocently. “I’m just connecting the dots.”

Jeno looked between the two of you, something unreadable behind his smile. “Didn’t know you two were...friends.”

“We’re not,” you and Haechan said at the same time.

Then Haechan shrugged. “Okay, we’re like... very chill acquaintances who used to date and now lightly bully each other.”

“That’s worse,” you muttered.

Johnny chuckled and patted Jeno’s back. “Don’t worry, man. We already threatened him.”

Jeno raised a brow. “What?”

“Casually,” Yuta added with a wink.

Jeno looked at you again, eyes a little softer now, like he was trying to read how you felt in the moment, not just about Haechan, but being here, with them, with him.

And it made your chest warm. Because even though this whole interaction was ridiculous, the way Jeno’s presence settled beside you again though quiet, familiar, and grounding, you felt that same gravity you always did when he was near.

“Wanna go find a drink?” you offered, gently breaking the awkward tension.

Jeno gave the smallest smile, one that felt just for you.

“Only if you promise to save me from any more surprise exes.”

You snorted. “No promises. You’re at a frat party, Jeno. Chaos is literally in the air.”

As soon as you slipped out from the crowd with Jeno, winding through the mess of limbs and laughter and bass heavy music toward the kitchen, you could feel it, that lingering energy around him.

Not tense exactly, but… quieter. Like someone had dimmed his brightness by a notch.

You stole a glance up at him. He was still walking beside you, still Jeno in all his calm and collected glory, but you could tell. His shoulders weren’t as relaxed. His brows kept furrowing every now and then. And he hadn’t made a single dumb comment about the party decorations, which was his usual specialty when he was in a good mood.

And maybe it was selfish, but you didn’t want Jeno like this, closed off and clouded over. Especially not tonight.

So once you both reached the kitchen, finally away from the buzz, you leaned against the counter and handed him a water bottle instead of the soda he’d been eyeing. He blinked, confused, until you gave him a look that said, I know you better than that.

He twisted the cap off, lips barely upturned in a thank you, and drank.

“Okay,” you said, slowly, like it was a spell. “Tell me what’s going on in that big, genius brain of yours. Because you’ve said approximately three words in the last five minutes, and two of them were ‘yeah’ and ‘okay.’”

Jeno side eyed you, chewing his bottom lip before murmuring, “It’s nothing.”

You leaned closer, bumping his arm playfully. “Jeno.”

He sighed, almost like he hated how easy it was for you to get him to talk.

“I just…” he paused, looking down at the bottle in his hand. “Didn’t expect Haechan to be that guy.”

You blinked. “That guy?”

“The one you dated.” He said it simply, but his voice was quieter than usual. “I just… didn’t think he’d be so…close.”

You tilted your head. “Jeno.”

“What?”

“Are you jealous?”

His eyes snapped up to meet yours. “No. I mean— okay, yes. A little.”

You tried not to smile. “A little?”

He exhaled, resting both hands on the counter behind him as he leaned back. “It’s not that I think you still like him or anything. I know you don’t. It’s just… when I saw you with him, and the way he was talking to you, it made me feel—” he broke off, shaking his head, “stupid. For being so obvious.”

Your heart tugged at the sight of him, shoulders drawn in slightly, bottom lip stuck out in that soft pout of his, the kind he probably didn’t even know he was doing. Jeno didn’t often wear his emotions so openly, but tonight, between the haze of lingering tipsiness and the vulnerability of jealousy, he couldn’t help it. He looked so boyish like that, a little sulky and unsure, but still trying his best to seem put together. Like he was caught in between wanting to retreat into his shell and also hoping you’d pull him closer instead.

You did. Of course you did. You stepped forward and closed the distance, standing in the space between his arms as they rested on the counter behind him. “Jeno,” you murmured, gaze soft as you tilted your head to meet his eyes properly, “you’re not stupid. And if you think you’re being obvious… then so am I.”

He blinked, the furrow between his brows easing just a little, but that pout remained, his lips parted like he was about to say something but hadn’t quite decided if he should. Still, his gaze held yours, studying your face like he was trying to memorize every inch of reassurance written on it.

“I don’t care what Haechan said. Or how long we used to know each other,” you said, quieter now, like it was just for him to hear. “He’s part of my past, yeah. But you… you’re the part that feels like home right now. The part I want to keep walking into.”

Jeno let out a tiny sound at that, somewhere between a breath and a scoff, then muttered under his breath, “That’s not fair…” He was still pouting, still refusing to drop the act completely, but his ears were turning pink and you knew he was melting inside. “Why do you always say stuff like that when I’m trying to be mad?”

You smiled, a slow, knowing one. “Because it’s cute when you pout.”

That got him. His lips twitched like he was fighting a smile, but the sulk hadn’t quite left yet.

“And besides,” you added, nudging him playfully, “do I look like someone who’d flirt by talking about water bottles and our last diarrhea trip if I still liked that little twerp?”

Jeno finally let out a small laugh, reluctant, but genuine. “Okay, yeah. That would be weird.”

“Exactly.”

He leaned in just a little, forehead nearly touching yours, voice low and uncertain. “I’m still getting used to this.”

“To what?” you asked, even though you already kind of knew.

“You. Saying things like that to me. Letting me feel this close to you,” he said, gaze dropping for a second before flicking back to your eyes. “It’s weird in a good way. Like I don’t know what to do with myself.”

You gave a soft chuckle and nudged his arm with your knuckles. “Well, maybe don’t overthink it. Just… be you. That’s the version I actually like hanging out with.”

That made him blink, slowly, the corners of his lips lifting like the compliment needed a second to register. “You like hanging out with me?”

You rolled your eyes, amused. “Wow. Groundbreaking information, I know.”

His smile finally broke through, sheepish but warm, and the tension from earlier seemed to melt off his shoulders.

“Thanks for cheering me up,” he said, voice quieter now, a little rough around the edges but more honest than before.

You shrugged, casual but kind. “It’s in the job description now, apparently.”

“Oh yeah?” he teased, his tone lighter now, almost playful. “Does that include benefits or…?”

You raised a brow at him. “Depends. What are you hoping for?”

He mock-thought about it, tapping his chin. “Hmm… occasional emotional support? Priority in your attention? Maybe mild bullying privileges?”

You snorted. “So basically everything you already get.”

He grinned, boyish and bright. “Guess I’m living the dream then.”

You shook your head but your fingers lingered in his, both of you pretending it wasn’t a big deal even though it was. And in the way he looked at you, like you were something new and familiar all at once, it was easy to feel like whatever this was… it was starting to become something more.

The night spun on with a dizzying rhythm, bass thumping through the walls like it was trying to sync with your heartbeat. Everywhere you looked, bodies swayed and drinks clinked, laughter spilling over like beer foam from red solo cups. You’d lost count of how many people were actually packed into the house by now. The place looked like it doubled as a secret portal to every college campus in the country, new faces, old ones, all dancing in that same late night haze.

And somehow, in all that chaos, Jeno kept finding you.

Or maybe it was the other way around.

Neither of you were nearly as obliterated as that first time (thank god), but your heads were still foggy, your bodies warm, your laughter louder than usual. You’d been riding a comfortable buzz for a while now, light on your feet, like gravity had been dialed down a few notches. You weren’t sure if it was the drinks or the music or the fact that every time Jeno looked at you, he did that thing where he bit back a smile and got all pink in the ears.

He was, in a word, adorable.

Also: a complete lightweight.

You watched him now across the room, cup dangling lazily in his hand, cheeks flushed a rose pink that rivaled the solo cup itself. He’d tried to keep up with Jaemin and Jungwoo earlier, poor soul, and now he was tucked near the kitchen, leaning on the counter like the tiles were the only thing keeping him from floating off the planet.

When he spotted you, his expression brightened like a switch had been flipped. “Y/N,” he grinned, stumbling a little as he crossed the floor toward you. “You’re… you’re still upright. How.”

You took a dramatic bow, nearly tipping forward. “Pure talent and spite,” you declared.

He giggled and it was the kind of sound that made your brain pause for a second. His hand found yours clumsily, fingers curling like he was trying to remember how to hold hands in the middle of a carnival ride.

“You’re pretty,” he mumbled. “Just had to say that. You’re always pretty but right now, I think it’s mind boggling.”

You snorted. “Jeno, that was barely a sentence.”

“Wasn’t trying to win an essay competition,” he pouted, eyebrows furrowed like he was actually mad about it. “Just wanted to tell you. You should know.”

You should’ve said something normal. A joke. A thanks. A flirty comeback. But instead you just stared at him, your own heart swaying under your ribs, pulled in by the look he gave you, like you were a song he’d been trying to hum all night.

“You’re really close,” you murmured.

“I know,” he breathed. “Wanna be closer.”

And that was all it took.

Maybe it was the liquor or the late hour or the way your brains were mush and hearts were soft, but your lips found each other like they’d been trying to do it all along. It wasn’t rushed or messy. It was slow, sweet at first, like a curious question. His hands didn’t even know where to land, one hovering near your cheek, the other loosely on your hip. He tasted faintly like whatever punch they’d been handing out, mixed with a bit of boyish vulnerability and something wholly, undeniably Jeno.

You kissed like you’d been waiting for the right excuse. And when he pulled back just slightly, breath warm against your lips, he whispered, “...Still not used to this either.”

You laughed, forehead brushing his. “What, kissing girls at frat parties?”

He shook his head, that smile coming back. “No. Kissing you.”

And before either of you could think too hard about it, you leaned in again, this time messier, bolder, your drunk minds quiet for once, your bodies speaking instead.

Somewhere nearby, someone whooped at the sight, and Jeno groaned, hiding his face in your neck.

“Kill me,” he muttered.

You grinned. “Later. Let me enjoy this first.”

The second kiss was different.

The first had been hesitant, like a question whispered in the dark. But this— this was the answer neither of you knew how to say out loud. There was no more fumbling. No more nervous hovering. When your lips met again, it was with a quiet kind of hunger. Not rushed. Not desperate. But deliberate. Like both of you had made the decision to lean in and just feel.

Jeno’s hand slid to your waist, fingertips curling into the fabric of your top like he needed to anchor himself. His other hand, still clumsy from the drinks, ghosted along the line of your jaw, then up— his thumb barely brushing your cheekbone as if to ground himself. You could feel the warmth of him everywhere, even in the tiny space that still lingered between your bodies.

And then he kissed you deeper.

Slower, like he wanted to memorize the shape of your mouth. His lips were soft and warm and unfamiliar in the most addictive way, moving with a shy sort of confidence, like he didn’t quite realize just how good he was at this. You responded instinctively, molding into him like your body already knew the rhythm. Your fingers found the front of his hoodie, curling into the fabric, tugging slightly, not to pull him closer, but to remind yourself he was real.

And when your teeth accidentally grazed his lower lip, when you half smiled into the kiss because you felt his breath hitch, he let out the smallest sound, something between a sigh and a curse.

It hit you all at once then: how close you were. How flushed his face had become. How the warmth between you was no longer just from the alcohol. It was something else now. Something that prickled along your skin and made your head buzz louder than any drink had that night.

Jeno pulled back barely an inch, lips parted, eyes dark under the soft glow of the hallway light. His gaze flickered to your mouth before returning to your eyes, and there was something electric in it, like a storm waiting patiently to break.

“You can’t just look at me like that after kissing me like that,” you murmured, voice low, breathless.

He blinked, lips twitching into a crooked grin. “I was about to say the same thing.

The air between you crackled. There were footsteps around the corner, laughter in the kitchen, music thudding somewhere in the living room. But here, in this pocket of space, it was just you and Jeno and this quiet, burning thing that had officially woken up between you.

Neither of you said it out loud. Not yet. But something had shifted.

And from here on out, it wasn’t going back.

You weren’t sure who moved first after that second kiss but all of a sudden, it was like the world around you melted into a blur of muffled bass, distant voices, and heat. Pure, electric heat.

Because the next kiss came harder, quicker. Teeth grazing. Breath catching. Jeno’s hands were everywhere, gentle and searching, but firmer now like he was scared to let go. And maybe you were too, because your hands slid up the back of his neck into his hair, tugging lightly, making him groan into your mouth in a way that sent a jolt straight through you.

There was no pause this time. No nervous giggle or break for air. Just mouths colliding and breaths tangled, like every moment you hadn’t kissed before this had been building into this exact explosion. Like two magnets finally snapping together after being held apart for too long.

He pressed you back against the hallway wall like it was second nature, like you belonged there and he was just finding you again. One of his hands flattened against the wall beside your head while the other gripped your waist, like he needed to hold onto something solid or he’d float away.

“Fuck,” he whispered against your lips, voice low and shaky. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Right back at you,” you gasped, not even realizing you were pulling him in again until your lips met his. Every time he kissed you, it was messier, needier, more addicting.

And then there were your bodies glued together like you didn’t know how to exist with space between you. Every slight movement sparked friction: his knee bumping yours, your fingers fisting into his hoodie, his nose brushing yours when he kissed you sideways, deeper, like he needed to taste every piece of you he’d missed.

Jeno's lips dragged over your jaw, and his hand skimmed lower, fingertips grazing the hem of your top like he was trying to commit every inch of you to memory. His breath was hot against your skin, and you could feel the ache in the pit of your stomach building fast, dizzying.

"Fuck, I can't stop," he murmured against your neck, his voice low, needy. “You taste so good, what the hell—”

And just when you were about to whisper something back, something equally wild, just as desperate—

“OKAYYYY.”

A loud, slurred voice cut through the moment like a wrecking ball, and Jeno flinched like he’d been caught stealing.

“Why do y’all look like you’re seconds away from fucking against this drywall?”

You both whipped around to see Jaemin, leaning against the hallway doorway with a half empty bottle in one hand, grinning like a menace. His cheeks were flushed, shirt untucked, eyes gleaming with every ounce of chaotic drunk energy he was known for.

“I feel left out,” he announced dramatically, blinking at the two of you. “Is it orgy time? Should I drop my pants or...?”

Jeno groaned, forehead falling to your shoulder as your laughter exploded before you could stop it.

“Jaem, get the fuck out,” Jeno mumbled, voice muffled against your skin. “Seriously.”

“You say that,” Jaemin sing songed, wobbling slightly as he pointed at Jeno, “but your hand was halfway down her back and she was grinding like it was the final boss level lap dance hour, so I really can’t be blamed for walking into the foreplay corner!”

You bit your lip, still breathless from the heat of the kiss and now completely dying at the situation.

“Jaemin,” you wheezed. “Go away before I start throwing things.”

He raised his hands in surrender but winked. “Okay okay, damn. Just… tone down the energy before someone walks in and actually gets turned on a.k.a me.”

As he turned and swaggered back toward the party, you and Jeno were left in the hallway, slightly breathless, slightly ruined, and still very much pressed together.

“...Wanna pick up where we left off?” Jeno asked under his breath, voice hoarse.

You grinned, tugging him close by the hoodie. “Thought you’d never ask.”

note: unfortunately if i continue on to the next part i fear it will be too long and exceeding the word count so i had to seperate this into two parts (beware the next part is the angst part…)

[alexanderwales]

Movie Review: A Minecraft Movie

Full disclosure: I watched a pirated version of this movie that had unfinished VFX. It showed up on a Plex server run by a friend of ours, and I had asked my son, who is nine years old and a huge Minecraft fan, whether he'd watch it at home or at the theater, and we watched the unfinished version. It said "Story by TBD" in the credits, sometimes you'd see a halo of green in someone's hair where they hadn't finished laboriously keying out the green screen ... I'll be honest, I think this really enhanced my enjoyment of the movie, because every now and then you'd get a scene where, for example, the villagers are all dressed up extras without the heads on, just some motion tracking caps. It cracked me up. I have no idea how different the movie would be with full VFX, nor what changes and cuts ultimately ended up being made. Take this review with a grain of salt.

One of the things I was really curious about when watching this movie was what kind of humor it would have, and I think my takeaway is that it's kind of all over the place. It's at least partially written and directed by the same guy who did Napoleon Dynamite, a forgotten classic, and in a lot of places you can really tell. In other places ... much less so.

My favorite joke of the whole movie was when they've gotten ahold of the mystery orb and there's a note with it that says "don't put this in the shell" or whatever, and then on the back it says "even if you're a struggling businessman who really needs the money", which is exactly the situation they're in. Stupid and meta, that's my kind of joke.

But there's also a lot of slapstick humor, people falling down played for laughs, and there's awkward humor too, where the enjoyment comes from a slightly off person being put on display. In places very reminiscent of Napoleon Dynamite, but mostly only in the "real world" portion of the movie where the first third takes place. And then there's also some "lol random" humor mixed in there.

So on the humor front, something that I was paying attention to, it's a really mixed bag, and I would say that a lot of the humor just fails to come together because of that. I think good humor needs some kind of frame to it, because humor is about subversion of expectations, and with unclear expectations, the jokes are going to land worse. That's just my opinion though.

In terms of story, the main thing I was looking for was "what's the message of this movie". And here ... I guess I would say it's "be yourself", but if that's the thematic core of the movie, I think Jason Momoa's character is a problem. He's already going on his own path, mired in the past but definitely his own person, and his problem seems to be that other people just aren't that into it. And the solution to that is ... make a friend? He notably does not do much mining or crafting.

The actual ending message of the movie seemed to be "yeah, Minecraft is pretty great, but you can take that energy you're putting into the game out into the real world" or something like that, which is how everyone gets their unrealistically happy ending. It's overshadowed by Jack Black singing and dancing, but my son really liked that part, so I guess it's hitting the target audience.

I thought it was a pretty inconsistent movie, one that didn't know what it was trying to be or say, and you know, that's probably fine. The writing was pretty poor, and I'm not sure that the movie really "got" what Minecraft is, but I also don't think it needed to.

There was a pig that waddled onto screen and he was wearing a crown, and my son yelled "Technoblade!" He said it was overall "pretty good", which isn't exactly a roaring endorsement, but it seemed like he had a good time. We neglected to throw popcorn at the screen when the chicken jockey appeared, mostly because I would have had to be the one to clean it up. My son's one criticism was that they were mostly just not very good at Minecraft, and there were times he was yelling at the screen that of course the zombies are spawning, you need to put torches up.

Oh, one other thing: I've always been a Jack Black fan, having seen Nacho Libre in theaters, but I think this movie did some permanent damage to my enjoyment of him. There was something about the singing, and the kicking, and the mugging for the camera that was just too much for me. Like I hit my lifetime quota of Jack Black.

Maybe I'll feel differently if I see it with finished VFX.

[aureumms]

Would love to hear your case on why goldenduo should be changed to neutral/negative on the DSMP wiki

thank you anon for the ask, i can now go apeshit since i have been freed from the “nobody asked for that” anxiety

so here we go (p.s., i am talking STRICTLY about c!, not cc!—they are separated here)

I’m gonna clarify two things:

First, this is literally just me yapping in a very unorganized manner, I am NOT demanding a change of the wiki, just giving my thoughts. I’m doing this just for fun, and am in no way shape or form criticizing the work of people who have spent hours upon hours making such a detailed wiki. It’s great.

Second, I am looking in between the lines for something invisible to the naked eye when there probably isn’t anything, but that’s the point. I’m like the guy you see on street corners holding up signs and spewing nonsense—I get it if you think this post will just be a huge nothing-burger of goldenboys yapping where I point at clips where they’re in the same frame and fall into a rant about the unconscious mind and its wants .

I’m gonna be honest when I say I don’t think c!Purpled technically disliked c!Tommy, even when they had their spats or whatever. Even in the earlier days when Tommy expressed disliking Purpled to his face, Purpled stated he did like Tommy. While this could be taken as sarcasm because Purpled was very sarcastic in the stream he and Tommy had a “group” for about an hour or two, I think it’s still worth nothing because Purpled is still serious at some points.

There are also some points where I believe Purpled wanted Tommy’s trust, or he didn’t want a stupid feud anymore. The first instance of this could be when Purpled was the only one who saw Tommy and Wilbur spying on the Manberg Festival, Oct. 16th 2020. Purpled saw Tommy and Wilbur, made direct eye contact with Tommy—but he didn’t snitch. He said nothing, and pretended like he saw nothing. (I so badly wished Purpled was streaming so we could have gotten his thoughts on that.) I’m also gonna make a point here that almost every instance where Purpled and Tommy fought, Purpled was almost never the initial instigator, he was merely fighting back since he felt threatened. I’m referring to when Tommy threw the first stab during the Manberg festival, and then Purpled eventually got a kill on him.

I’m gonna pick up with the Manberg vs. Pogtopia war + the Chaos War, where the info about their relationship on the wiki leaves Off. Like it states, Tommy did in fact mock Purpled for a few second because he defected to their side. And yeah, that happens—Tommy hits him a couple of times and mocks, repeating “i changed my mind” two or three times. But this doesn’t seem to really Affect Purpled. Sure, he defends himself, but he doesn’t seem too swayed since he isn’t kicked off of Pogtopia’s side. Points for that?

Here’s the thing that I’m not sure a lot of people noticed during the war though; Purpled basically made almost subconscious attempts to protect Tommy throughout. (Almost none of the clips I am going to talk about are linked in the wiki, so at the END of this post I will have a master video posted so you can look at every clip I am talking about.) The Manberg vs Pogtopia war is a TREASURE trove for these clips. First, (making a stretch here,) when everyone is surrounding Dream to get info out of him, Purpled jumps to Tommy’s side and has a bow out, pointed at Dream. He also says “thanks” when Tommy calls the rest of them cool looking, which made me cheer !

Purpled also at one point expresses he’s worried about if he made the right decision, and if he made the right decision too late, RIGHT before looking at Tommy. To me this says that he’s worried he isn’t gonna be taken seriously by Pogtopia’s side since he is a Manberg defector, and he still wants a positive relationship with Tommy. What a yearner /j

Before L’Manberg is blown to literal bits, while everyone is expressing their confusion—mostly about Philza joining and Wilbur being M.I.A—Tommy is attempting to fight Technoblade on the roof and nobody notices it. Except Purpled. He literally zooms in on Tommy on the roof, runs closer to the building he’s on, and throws two enderpearls, saying “Are we just all going to ignore that?” Before you say that he could be referring to Phil joining, that likely is not the case considering MULTIPLE people referenced Philza joining in the previous moments. Purpled is focused on Tommy and Technoblade. Focused on helping TOMMY. When Purpled eventually does teleport up and sees Tommy is no longer up on the roof and therefore no longer in immediate danger, Purpled backs off from Technoblade.

Later, when Techno has a crossbow to Tommy and Tubbo after L’Manberg has been blown up, Purpled pulls out an AXE and slowly but very surely makes his way over to Tommy’s side, like he is ready to attack Techno if he decides to shoot Tommy or Tubbo. (Neighborsduo AND Clingyduo mention) Unconscious mind folks UNCONSCIOUS MIND.

Okay, timeskip time ! I want to make a point by saying I think there was like. a flip in their perspectives. Purpled becomes the one who wants nothing to do with the possibility of a friendship, Tommy seems indifferent to the idea and/or pities Purpled + still teases him.

Post-Wilbur Revival, Tommy and Wilbur are strolling the main path when Wilbur points out Purpled’s destroyed UFO. Tommy is immediately confused and expresses that the UFO being destroyed “isn’t very right.” While Wilbur goes on about “someone’s been a copycat,” Tommy is still showing remorse and pity over the fact Purpled’s UFO has been destroyed. In fact, he says nothing negative about Purpled, and even says that the UFO was one of the staple builds of the DSMP—saying it’s “shit” that it’s been destroyed.

Now to the stream where Tommy visits Las Nevadas, WITHOUT Wilbur (for clarification.) Who knows how long it’s been since Tommy and Purpled have even spotted each other by this point. It has to have been a while, because Tommy seems delighted at the fact he’s seen Purpled again, saying “I haven’t seen this man in a fuckin’…” (he trails off.) Now while Tommy does steal two ender pearls, and Purpled punches him, Purpled doesn’t make a point to persist after Tommy throws a pearl. I think that this could add to the Neutral/Negative aspect, since while there is teasing/slight conflict, there is no ill feelings. At least on Tommy’s end, since we don’t have Purpled’s POV.

That’s all I have. Now: The clips! Thank you for reading this.

[Video time: 2:22]

[daydreamerdrew]

Iron Man (1968) #51

[tonycries]

Unmistakably Yours - G.S.

Synopsis. In which the strongest bends space and time - literally - after coming back from deatḣ, to do what he’s always wanted to do - you.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, best friends to lovers, Satoru goes a little (very) INSANE, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, manga spoilers, use of jujutsu powers, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, féral Satoru, heinous things, happy ending, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.5k

A/N. Yeahhh that poll was cooking up something devious heheh. Gege give me back my man.

Gojo Satoru was going to kill someone.

He was going to kill someone and it didn’t matter who. It didn’t matter how. It didn’t even matter if he had to haul his broken body - scarred and barely-healed - out of this stiff infirmary bed, because the great Gojo Satoru awoke and the world shook.

Because you weren’t here.

“Ah. The oh-so deadest one, I see you’re awake.” Satoru flinches at the sharp, exhausted drawl from his left. 

Slowly, he blinks away the haze in his aching eyes, desperately trying to adjust to the cold room. Shoko’s voice was too loud. The lights too bright. His waiting arms too empty - where were you? 

With a low hiss, Satoru’s body is moving before his mind, sitting up like a man possessed. Goosebumps prickle his skin as the thin blanket falls off his shoulders. Temples throbbing because the world was spinning and spinning and you-

“Calm down, Satoru.” Shoko sounds almost panicked now - as much as she could, anyway. Uselessly trying to push him back onto the mattress. “I don’t care if you’re the ‘strongest’. Sukuna did a number on you and you have to rest-”

“Where is she?”

---

It was the final nail on your coffin - that slight, steady rumble beneath your feet. So fleeting that you’d written it off as your weary brain, too goddamn tired from today. Heaving out a sigh, you rub your eyes in frustration, so fucking alone in this too-large penthouse. 

Fingers jittery, you rifle through your best friend’s closet for his box of blindfolds, because you knew he’d be complaining about the sensory overload at the infirmary if- when he woke up. Though, you think that was more an excuse for Shoko to send your wrecked self away than anything. 

Grabbing a few more than necessary, your heart lurches as you eye that dusty framed photo by his bedside. A much younger Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you - probably the last time any of you smiled so carelessly. 

One dead and the other just on the cusp of it.

He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’s the strongest, right?

Swallowing heavily, you try to put your mind to something - anything - other than the memory of that battlefield and the blood. So much blood. Everywhere. 

God, you should’ve stayed. What if Satoru-

That was when you felt it. 

The tight, uncomfortable feeling of atoms standing at attention all around you. The air was so stagnant and heavy that it was almost hard to breathe. 

You don’t know how you realize what it is - but you don’t get the chance to wonder about it either. Because the thought has barely even crossed your mind before everything else is thrown at the window at those two words. 

Hoarse, and whispered, voice ever-so-slightly cracking at the end. One you recognized, one you knew you always would.

“My love?”

Satoru.

It was a miracle that you didn’t get whiplash from how fast you whirled around to face the doorway - and it was an even bigger miracle that you didn’t trip at how your legs were carrying you to that tall, familiar flash of white hair without a second thought. 

Hell, you don’t think you’ve ever run this fast in your life, and it still wasn’t quick enough when Satoru engulfed you in his arms. Letting out a soft sigh as he hugs you tight enough that it hurt, like he never wanted to let go. 

All familiar warmth and a rapid heartbeat that matched your own. 

A shiver runs down your spine at that scent of the infirmary, tinged with something so dangerously metallic, miles away from the usual hints of pine and candy. But you only pull Satoru closer - not even realizing the tears staining his snug t-shirt, nails digging into his sculpted back. 

“S-Satoru?” you murmur wetly, as if you still couldn’t believe it - even when you were in his strong arms. 

It killed you to pull away, and Satoru wasn’t any better, pulling you firmly to his heated body with a guttural grunt as soon as you showed any signs of shifting away. Grip almost bruising, fingers tight on your hips. But you didn’t mind, why would you? 

Because the strongest was nothing under your will - he always was. And it’s only once you break the embrace just a fraction of an inch that you confirm that this actually was Satoru - your Satoru. 

“You’re here.” you breathe out unsteadily, not knowing where to look first - his heaving chest, as if he’d run all the way here, or those faint scars along his exposed skin. Jagged, running down his pale skin like he was too impatient - too distracted - to let them heal properly. Satoru’s face was scarily blank, pretty lips set in a tight grimace like every second you weren’t locked in his arms killed him. 

He doesn’t answer - like he didn’t know himself. Nervously, you raise your eyes to meet his and-

Oh, Satoru, he was here. Alive.

Looking like he was ready to make sure that no one else was.

You just wondered where they’d pile all the casualties. Too many to bury at Jujutsu High if those tiny blue flickers of lightning at the corners of Satoru’s eyes were anything to go by. 

Gaze hooded, pupils blown, he didn’t look at you with that usual warmth. No, he looked at you like a man that had crawled back from death just to rip you apart. And you had half the mind to wonder whether this was some special grade curse that had just come disguised as your best friend. 

“Are you okay?” you try again, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “Toru?”

Oh, you might as well have just signed your own will, because no sooner are the words out of your mouth before Satoru’s jolting. Like the mere sound of that stupid little nickname from high school was enough to shock him to his very core. 

Electrify him just enough to finally look at you like it was the first time. Like he was seeing you after a thousand years. “My love.”

There it was again, that quiet, strained little mantra. 

Followed very closely by the deafening slam! of the door behind him, so hard that you spy one of the hinges rattling off. Startled, you look over Satoru’s broad shoulders just to catch a glimpse of the single, large handprint charred into the wood, slight steam wafting from his hand.

Shit. He’s lost it.

Almost like the strongest has forgotten his restraint - or didn’t care about it either way. Heated, you wondered what this boded for you. 

Will you be lucky number one on his kill list? You wonder, as Satoru presses his mouth right above your pulse. Racing. Dangerous. Feeling the rapid thump! thump! thump! under his lips.

Breathing you in, dragging his nose up, up, up- He mutters into your skin, “Y’can kill me if you don’t want this.” Will you go down - if there’s anyone left to remember, that is - as the casualty that surely and officially signaled the honored one’s descent into madness? Only the second best friend he had to kill?

Or, Satoru pulls away slowly from his little haven, breath ghosting your lips as he gasps out a shaky, “No God can take me away without doing this.” Will it be something else entirely?

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. 

Because fuck, how could you not? This is Satoru, and this is all you’ve ever wanted since those late night convenience store runs in high school, hand-in-hand and teleporting away from a furious Yaga.

The same Satoru that had cockily winked at you goodbye before facing Sukuna - leaving you crying with nothing to hold onto but those cold, cold hands and wishes that you’d have just fucking kissed him before. Maybe even put aside your pride to just tell him.

But none of that mattered now, because Satoru was so desperate - drinking you in like you were the last breath of air on Earth. Like it hurt more to part with your lips than it was to be cleaved in half.

Such a mess of teeth and saliva, and you were addicted. Drunk off his sweet taste - like candy, almost, and those cheap mochi he always got from downtown - and the electricity pricking at you each time your skin grazed against his.

It almost hurt - but it hurt so good.

Gasping, you pull away for air - impossible with the way Satoru was like a madman, kissing your swollen lips again and again and-

“Toru!” you squeal, muffled through his lips. “Aren’t you-” His mouth drops into a soft oh! at the delicate strings of saliva snapping in the non-existent space between you two. Surging forward like he couldn’t help himself. “Battlefield- mmpf- now?”

With a pained grunt, Satoru finally halts, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. And if you were in any better state of mind, maybe you’d have noticed the brief flicker of blue lightning all over his body. The way the lights flicker. 

“Special curtain.” he pants against your open mouth, a muscled thigh shoving between your weakening legs. “Time barely passes in here.”

You don’t know what your head is reeling more from his words or his hands - hands that kill - caressing you like a lover everywhere. Unable to decide between your hips, to your ass, to your pretty pretty face. Kiss-bitten lips uttering, “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“So?” Satoru lets out a humorless laugh. About an octave higher than usual, like he was at the end of his rope now. Eyes hazy and glowing, looking as if it took everything in him to not just tear off that uniform and take you right now. 

“But-”

“Shut up and let me ruin you, my love.”

Your back is hitting the mattress before you can even start to wonder what the fuck is happening. One second standing at the doorway and the other all sprawled out on Satoru’s bed.

Besides yourself, you blurt out, trying to make sense of the situation to both of you two. “Did- did you just teleport us?”

“Don’t know.” he answers. And Satoru sounded like he genuinely didn’t know, as bewildered as you were. Powers acting before him - way, way before he can think - as he fists your shirt in his hands. “Don’t care.”

And you half wondered whether Satoru was even aware of what he was doing as he pulls, down, down down. 

Rip!

It tears through the air - both the sound, and the way he’s just pulling your shirt to shreds. All depravity and no repentance as Satoru throws it behind God-knows-where. Buttons hitting the floor at a maddening little rhythm to which he was slowly losing his sanity. 

He was kissing you like he was angry - taking it out on your poor clothes. Because before you know it, he’s pulling your bra off. Fingers searing on your skin, skirt just tatters on the floor. 

“Waited too long.” he groans, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “Always wanted to do this.” And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into the valley of your breasts, “Ever since I first saw you and oh-”

That was it - only one look at your panties, all flimsy and drenched - and you’re back to wondering what Satoru’s kill count would be. You shudder as his eyes widen, letting out a strangled gasp from some deep, primal part of himself. Voice so broken and starved as he muses, “-can’t believe I waited this long.”

Shit. You weren’t making it out alive.

Immediately, Satoru’s dropping further down the mattress, easily pushing your knees up all the way till they were at your breasts. 

And it was so unfair. 

Unhair how he was still fully clothed, while you were spread so shamefully. Unfair how he was sliding his underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Up and down, up and down up and- Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips before pulling, marveling at how sinfully soaked they were. 

And it was like something snapped - maybe his whatever restraint he had left, probably you by the end of this. Because just a split-second later, Satoru’s tearing right through your panties. Not even taking a second to breathe before burying his pretty face into your dripping cunt. 

Unfair how you were liking it so dangerously. Being so used. 

And Satoru knows - he thinks, with whatever rationality he has left intact - that he wants to admire your pretty lil’ cunt. To finally drink in what he’s been dreaming about for years all these lonely nights. But, no, that’s for later - for a different Satoru, one that didn’t feel like he was going to fucking die if he didn’t taste you right now. 

“Ah! Hngh- T-Toru-” you arch into his hot tongue, as he licks erratically up your folds, long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Lapping at your juices like he couldn’t stop.

“Tha’s right.” words muffled into your cunt. Throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders. “Gimme more, use me. Use me- fuck fuck fuck- yeah.”

He sounded as delirious as you were already, flinching with each word spat into your sensitive cunt. Drunk off your pussy and so messy, like he was well and fully intent on ruining you. 

And it’s all you can do to sob so needily as he swirls his tongue around your sensitive clit. Seemingly unable to decide between sucking on it harshly and dipping into your sloppy hole. In and out. Wanting everything. Anything. 

“Fuck. S’too deep. Sh-shit.”

“Oh yeah?” he’s grinning, a cruel, cold little grin. You can feel it as he rolls his tongue against your clit over and over. “S’not deep enough.”

You pathetically try to close your legs around his head in shock, as the tips of his long fingers spread open your pussy further, teasing your entrance. 

But who were you against the strongest? The one that got everything handed to him on a silver platter since birth? Except you - until now, that is.

Because Satoru’s swatting thighs back open like it was a mere inconvenience, and feel your cunt clench in- fear? Anticipation? as you realize how gently he was throwing you around like a ragdoll, in comparison to that door from earlier. 

“No.” he sounds absolutely wrecked, babbling around your throbbing clit. “Need this- need you.”

And then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, so greedily that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Drinking in your pretty gasps of his name as he roams for that one spot he knows will have you seeing stars - only the best for his girl, right? The only thing on his mind right now, like a predator starved.

You can only tug on his hair and buck wildly underneath him, inching Satoru closer to where he was desperately searching for. Close - so close. 

“Toru-” you moan, like a prayer. 

But it wasn’t fast enough. 

Not for Satoru, at least.

Even through the haze in your eyes, you could make out that brief flash of electric blue in-between your legs, eyes widening as ah-

That cheat. 

You wondered if he even knew he was using his powers right now. Or whether Satoru was too far gone at this point. Way too smug with the way he hits that one spot. Hard. 

Ah, you quiver as something so dark sparks in his eyes. Looking like a man starved, that had finally come across his favorite meal. Moving with frightening accuracy as he pumps his fingers in and out, hitting it each and every time. 

“Shit, ngh-” you let out a shrill moan, “It’s too good. You’re so fucking-” 

One hand was so messy toying with your dripping entrance - the other digging into your hips. Dragging your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. 

Hard enough that you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. If you even made it that long, that is, if the tiny shocks of electricity at his fingertips told you anything. 

Desperate. Violent, even.

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. “Fuck- m’cumming m’cumming, fuck fuck fuck-” You’re shaking as you cum, crying out Satoru’s name and delirious little moans that you’d otherwise be embarrassed of. 

And he doesn’t stop. Not when you’re blinking your vision back. Not when you’re shying away from his tongue, the stars behind your eyes too much with each flick of his tongue. 

“S’too much- too- fuck, sensitive, Toru.” you whine, big fat tears clinging to your lashes. 

Ah, there it was again. Just when Satoru was beginning to think that he might just be veering into a state of mind that could be considered sane - you have to call him that goddamn nickname again. And it’s only driving him wild. 

Well, he muses, fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt, it’s really on you then. 

You let out a fucked-out little whine as Satoru finally takes his shirt off, revealing such milky, toned skin. All sharp curves and dips like he was sculpted so meticulously, going down, down, down and- Your breath hitches at the large, pink scar standing out of his torso, so uneven and fresh that you feel a fresh wave of tears - different ones, this time. 

You take a steadying breath, eyes unmoving from the injury. “Satoru-”

“No.” Satoru’s tone is firm, so different from the metallic tinkling of his belt. He was moving now, shifting in between your legs to kiss those tears away. “Need this. Need you. Need you need you need you so bad-”

“But your…” you trail off. The words catch in your throat as he finally unbuckles his belt, pulling down his pants just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, soaked in precum. 

He was so…massive. Now, you expected your best friend to have a big dick, but this was ridiculous. He was so intimidatingly long, thick enough that you could feel the slick beading out of your sloppy hole already.

Yeah, you definitely weren’t making it out alive. 

Satoru sees it too, of course, because his cock twitches furiously. A low hiss leaving those pretty pink lips before he’s spitting on your quivering cunt. Once. Twice. 

And you know that if this shameless bastard could use six eyes to find your g-spot, then he could’ve done the same for this. But, no, he lets some of it miss, splattering against your inner thigh, smearing all over as Satoru thumbs in his saliva with your slick. 

God, he was treating you like some object. Wordlessly throwing your legs over his shoulders, dragging his weeping tip down your swollen folds. So fucking filthy. 

And then you feel like you’re been split apart - because Gojo Satoru was unforgiving. As was his aching cock. He’s barely even pressing through the first ring of muscle, and you already feel like he’s pushing all the way into your lungs. 

“T-Toru.” you yelp, glancing down at the way your pussy was stretched so lewdly around his thick cock. Quivering as he keeps pushing and pushing and- no mercy. Absolutely none at all. “Can feel you so deep inside ngh- I don’t think I can…” 

“No no no no no-” he’s panting into your open mouth. Fucking into your heavenly cunt in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to squeeze deeper inside. “Need this. Want this. Always did. God, fuck fuck fuck, you can do it-”

“But-”

God, Satoru can’t help but kiss you - to shut those cute lil’ whines up more than anything, he’s sure he’ll cum right there and right now if he didn’t. 

Because Satoru wasn’t any better. Body bowing into yours, eyes rolling to the back of his head, mouth falling into a delirious oh! as he finally bottoms out. Balls smacking your ass too hard, your pussy too tight, you too beautiful underneath him. 

Blindly, he reaches for the headboard - white-knuckling it so hard that it’s a wonder it doesn’t break. 

It does - and later you’ll find a pile of splinters behind the bed. It’s just that neither of you notice. Too high off the feeling of Satoru’s cock pushing inside you. You’re clawing at his back now, gasping for air. Letting him fold you in half to filthily lick away the tears pooling at your cheeks. 

“Shit- y’got this, my love. You gotta- ah- Breathe-” he can’t even speak properly, sharp tongue so heavy. Eyes glowing with such insanity as he rocks his hips harder into yours.

He was right - you needed to breathe. To finally wrap your head around the fact that this was Satoru - your best friend - the same one that binge-watches sappy rom-coms with you after every breakup. Every. Single. One. Somehow, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Both of you were barely-lucid at this point. And he was out of control now.

Funny, how in all his dreams when you were screaming his name - Satoru was always suave, methodical, playing with your pretty pussy like a fine instrument. Right now, he was anything but. Sloppy - like he didn’t have enough time, never would, even in this room where time slowed.

“Don’t you run away.” he grunts at the way you’re so adorably torn between running away from his cock and bucking for more more more- “Waited twelve fucking years for this. N’ m’gonna take it.”

You almost sob at the pressure as he laces his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper. Down, down, down. “S’too good, Toru. Wan’ more-”

“More.” Satoru breathes, more to himself than anything. Eyes widening almost comically, a fucked-out smile spreading all over his face. “Y’want more even when you’re filled to-” He traces an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “Here?”

“Yes.” you gasp as he reaches down to toy with your throbbing clit, drawing tight, frenzied little circles. Balls smacking your ass so painfully, thumb pressing down right where his tip was hitting your cervix - as if he used six eyes to see. “Always wanted more. Always have, Toru.”

And you swear you could see something physically snap inside Satoru. Because his eyes glaze over, grin dropping instantly from his face. 

If you weren’t so cockdrunk maybe you’d have caught the way the bedroom lights flicker, the one down the hallway bursting. 

“Always, huh?” he’s muttering, grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Wanted more like me?” Rocking into you so sloppily, cock twitching so painfully as he speeds up. Fingers just as desperate - as depraved as his hips.

And this time, he doesn’t even have to use six eyes to find that one spot. Knowing your body well enough to hit it over and over until you were sobbing. “More more more more- fuckin’ take it then.”

At this point you didn’t know whether Satoru was always this ruthless in bed or you’d just broken him. It felt so good that it was almost scary. And your delirious mind wandered into the thought that maybe the bed would break - and your bones to follow. 

Well, they would have if Satoru hadn’t been using reversed cursed technique. But you didn’t need to know that just yet. 

“Satoru-” you squeal as he only gets more erratic.  “I’m…”

“Close?” Satoru’s grunting, smacking his lips against your own.

It’s laughable, really, that muffled question - because Satoru knew you were close. Losing his fucking mind, actually, at how you were squeezing so hard around him. Balls squeezing so painfully right now, but he wanted you to cum first - needed you to cum first.

“Yeah, so close. Wan’ cum- Ah! Please-”

“Then cum. Fucking cum, wan’ed this so bad.” he’s babbling deliriously. Little sparks of lightning visible even to your glassy eyes, fingers humming with a dangerous little energy that stimulated you so good. “Yeah, yeah yeah yeah fucking cum, wanna hngh-”

And then you are. So sudden and hard that you don’t even realize it at first. Just that you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Rocking your hips into Satoru’s like such a slut. 

Oh, if heaven was really then the part of Satoru that can still form coherent thoughts thinks this just might be it. 

Because only the sight of you creaming all around his swollen cock and he’s cumming and cumming so hard that it hurts. Thick, hot ropes of cum that he can’t seem to stop. Doesn’t want to stop, and God he thinks he could cum until you beg and beg and beg it’s too much. Until you’re yelling for-

“Mercy!” you moan, head spinning with how fucking overfilled your pussy was. “Please, Toru-”

Satoru lets out a slight gasp, “Mercy?” Chuckling so cruelly at your dazed nod, “No mercy, my love. None at all.”

And God, it was so fucking hard to look at him too - eyes half-lidded and miles away, flushed and looking like he was anywhere but laid out on a hospital bed just a few minutes ago. In fact, Satoru looked like he was in heaven on Earth as he only milked his painfully hard cock on your snug pussy.

Pretty. Always so fucking pretty. 

And he kept whispering that, over and over in your ear as you both ride out your highs. Oh how he loved you.

Your eyes fly open, and Satoru knew he’d said that out loud. Shit. But, well, with the way you were immediately pulling him to collapse into your arms, he thinks he really doesn’t mind.

“Love you, love you. Love you so much. Always did, always wanted to love you- to fuck you.” You barely even notice him marking down your neck, sharp canines digging into the flesh like he wanted to break something. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood. “To ruin you.”

It was oozing out of you, both Satoru’s cum - dribbling down your legs in thick globs, pooling on the overpriced sheets below - and his power. Jolts of electricity running down all the way from your poor, abused cunt to your hazy mind. 

“So do it.” The air was crackling - crackling with intensity and the smell of jujutsu. It was in your veins, in your words as you whisper, “Ruin me. You’re the- ngh- only- one f’me, Toru. Always was.”

The lights go out. All of them - all across Tokyo, in fact. Shining so bright that it was blinding, until they burst. The last thing you see are his eyes - electrified with blue lightning, burning into your brain. 

And then it’s black. 

---

“I’ll be back before ya know it, my love.” he whispers against your forehead, cooing at the way you stir sleepily. “Gotta pest to take care of.”

Taking down that curtain wasn’t the hard part, the hard part was actually fucking regaining his senses enough to do so. 

And now, all cleaned up and fucked to sleep on his bed, you were looking so unbearably delectable that it made some part of Satoru just want to stay behind this curtain. To forget the waiting sorcerers on the battlefield. Saving the world be damned.

Well, no matter, Satoru had time. He was the strongest, right? After all, how could he give you the world if there was no world to give?

“N’ when I’m back, m’gonna kiss ya to death till you go out with me. Till everyone knows you’re unmistakably mine.”

A/N. GET IT - that unmistakable bit from the panel? 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[mostly-imagines]

Moonstruck

jason todd x reader

aka sober thoughts and all that

warnings: intoxication

Jason has a thing about drinking around you. He’d kind of skirted around it for a while when you were first dating, but after a while you’d noticed he never really has more than a drink or two regardless of how much you had. The only times you ever see him drink more is when he’s downing whiskey as a pain mitigater when he needs stitches. You’d initially assumed he just wasn’t a big drinker, but eventually you’d come to realize it was more of a matter of not wanting to lose his inhibitions around you. 

You know he’s still working on trusting himself, even sober, because he’s terrified of accidentally hurting you. But you have a hard time imagining him losing control like that in any state and you’re nearly certain he’s just being hard on himself.

You’ve been falling in and out of less than peaceful sleep for the past few hours, having trouble easing yourself while your boyfriend is still out. You at least attempted to get to bed earlier tonight because for once he isn’t out fighting crime and risking injury, though you haven’t found much more luck than usual. 

You lie on your back, half ready to give up and turn on a movie while you wait.

You’re momentarily startled to hear Dick bellow out your name, no regard for the fact that it’s nearing three in the morning and you have neighbors. He’s not much of a shouter so you’re instantly on alert, worried that he or Jason are hurt.

You fumble out of bed and rush to the living room, surprised to find your fire escape empty. You turn, proceeding towards the front door, opening it cautiously. 

“Dick? What—” You don’t need to finish your question because the second you take one good look at the two of them, the state of them is immediately clear. Dick, who’s barely standing upright on his own, supports your boyfriend's weight via Jason’s arm slinged around his shoulder.

“Hey!” Dick grins at you, far more lively than he has any business being this late at night. “Sorry, couldn’t remember which apartment was yours.”

You nod pensively, “Well the perspective’s different than when you’re coming in through the window.”

He continues on past that without thought, “I’ve come to deliver,” he says, gesturing up to Jason with a bit of a strain. You’re pretty sure there were supposed to be a couple more words at the end of that sentence but you understand well enough anyway.

You nod, eyebrows raised and try to hide a smile. “Thanks, Dick.” He shifts your boyfriend off of his shoulder to lean him up against the door frame, where Jason places a majority of his weight.

You eye him warily, not confident in his steadiness. He seems to hold well enough against the heavy door though, his eyes drifting around the tiled floor. Your attention shifts to Dick, who’s clearly satisfied with a job well done and ready to go.

You tilt your head, seeing him turn away. “You good?”

“I’m great!” He calls out with a thumbs up. You watch as he staggers away, nearly missing the exit.

You look back over at Jason, who’s already staring at you with a soft gaze. “You’re pretty,” he fawns, irises blown out and flickering all over your face.

“Oh you’re drunk drunk.” You grin, watching him stumble forward a bit.

He shakes his head, looking a bit dizzy after, “Shoulda seen Tim.”

You pause mid laugh, “…Who drove you here?”

He falters at that, gaze falling to the floor. “Uh…” He winces, “Damian…”

You nod slowly, eyes wide, “We’re gonna talk about that tomorrow.”

“He’s better than you’d think.” You’d hope so. 

Well, at least he’s spending time with his brothers.

You sigh, straightening your posture in preparation for the job to come. “Alright, come on big guy,” you pull him up from his slant against the wall, hauling him into the same position he’d been in with Dick—though you’re struggling significantly more to hold him upright. “You gotta help me out here, Jay,” you grunt, trying very hard not to fold under his weight. You swat the door shut behind you, making peace with the fact that he’ll scold you in the morning for not locking it.

He presses an uncoordinated kiss to the side of your head as you try to shuffle him along, not interested in the least in easing your labor. His self discipline isn't quite gone, but his awareness of how big he is sure seems to be. 

You wobble from the heavy weight of his arm around your shoulders, holding onto him by his waist. You manage to get him to sidestep your cat, narrowly, though Salem hisses at him all the same. Jason takes no notice. You stumble into your bedroom with only about 30% of his usual balance aiding your effort.

He collapses onto the bed the second his legs hit the frame, pulling you down with him. You lie, somewhat awkwardly, on his chest as he holds you tight—probably tighter than he would if he were sober. It feels nice though.

You lie your cheek flat on his chest, relaxing against him. “What’d you guys do? Thought you were just having an easy night.”

He takes a deep breath before answering, “Raided Dick’s liquor c—” he stops, mulling over his words. “...Bruce’s liquor that was in Dick’s cabinet.” He annunciates every word in that sentence very carefully.

You squint speculatively, “Didn’t take Dick for the stealing type.”

He grumbles, “He’s not. ‘Less it’s Bruce.”

You can’t help the smile that breaks out on your face, “Aw, you really do take after your big brother, don’t you?” 

He scoffs at that, “I don’t. I’m the one who gave him the idea.” Yeah, that sounds right.

He taps on your cheek lightly and you pick your head up to find him looking at you with puppy dog eyes.

“What’s that look for?”

“Can I kiss you?” his eyes drop down to your lips, “I really wanna kiss you.” He’s nearly whispering and you feel your heart skip several beats at the feeling of his eyes on you like this.

You press a light kiss to his lips and he practically purrs.  

You pull back, admiring the serene expression on his face. “You taste like whiskey.”

“I like whiskey,” he says honestly.

You smile, nodding. “I know. Don’t know why, but..”

He leans in for another kiss but you parry, only letting his lips meet your cheek. He frowns grimly, attempting to chase your lips. 

“Lemme kiss you,” the pout on his face is adorable and while you hesitate to deny him, you retreat, resting your chin on his chest.

You smile wistfully, tracing his cheekbone, “You’re drunk, baby.”

“‘M not that drunk,” he tells you, though everything about him says otherwise.

Your hand falls flat on his shoulder. “Your eleven year old brother drove you here.”

He shrugs, “He can drive the bat…batcar? Bat…”

“Batmobile,” you finish.

“The batmobile.” he nods, as if he was seconds away from remembering. You suspect he wasn’t. 

“Bruce lets him drive it?” you question, wholly disbelieving.

“No.”

Enough said.

“You’re gonna be hungover as hell in the morning,” you mumble, taking in his uninhibited demeanor.

He nods that off, “‘S okay. You’ll be here, right?”

You tilt your head, observing him chalantly. “Where else would I go?”

His arms snake tighter around you at that, giving you a little squeeze before relenting. 

“I wanna marry you,” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your face and tucking it neatly behind your ear. 

You blink rapidly a few times, “What?” You push yourself up on his chest, sitting up on his abdomen.

“Wanna marry you.” He repeats, eyes lidded as he breathes easy under you. “You’re m’favorite person…want you t’be my wife.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. “..You want me to be your wife?”

His lips are slightly parted and his pupils are wide as he stares up at you, taking in your features carefully. “‘Course I do.” He brings his fingers up to your cheek, touching you softly with all the wonderment of a little kid. “You’re so pretty.”

You’re quick to return, “So are you.” Especially right now.

He shuts his eyes momentarily, shaking his head morosely, “You gotta stop bein’ so nice t’me,” he lets his hand fall to rest on your thigh. “Don’t deserve it.”

“Shut up,” you lour, “You deserve it more than anybody.”

“No. Not more than you,” his hands knead at your thighs like it’s an instinct. “You deserve everything.” He closes his eyes, tilting his chin up as his head sinks further back into the pillow. “Think I’d do anything you wanted.”

“Jay—”

He continues on, “Want you t’be happy. Wanna make you happy.”

Your face falls into an expression of dazed awe, “You do make me happy.”

He dwindles at that, “No, really happy. Take care of you. Build you a house, give you babies. Wha’ever you want.”

He paws at your thighs, trying to get you to come closer again to him. You lay back down on top of him and his hand instantly buries itself in your hair, stroking softly. “You’re just…you’re so perfect…” He turns his head to mumble against your forehead, “Feel like I dreamed you, sometimes.”

You breathe deeply against the crook of his neck, eyes feeling glassy. “I love you.” It’s all you can get out, and it’s not enough, but it’s all of it. 

“I love you,” he says like he’s trying to turn it into gospel. “So much. I love you so much, so fuckin’ much.” His words start to get lost in his weary babbling.

Your chest feels full and you can distinctly feel every beat of your heart against it. Or maybe it’s Jason’s heart. But what’s the difference?

You press a tender kiss to the nape of his neck. “You’re really sweet when you’re drunk, you know that?”

He hums lowly, head lulling against yours.

You still for a second, finding his breathing has slowed and his hand has seized its movement in your hair. His soft breaths fill the air as you press a kiss to his collarbone before settling in completely. “You’re gonna love when I tell you about this in the morning,” you whisper, letting your eyes shut too.

💗 likes are the poor mans reblog 💗

[likeumeanit9497]

red pill | c.s. |

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: y/n is keeping score of a strange game between her friends when things get a little bit out of control ;)

warnings: SMUT; unprotected p in v; oral (m receiving); fingering; spanking; hair pulling; dirty talk; use of boner pillz; face fucking; 18+

notes: this has been sitting half-finished in my drafts since the triplets posted that one photo dump (iykyk) and i FORGOT ABOUT IT until today. when i first started writing this i couldn't decide if it should be a matt or chris fic but was obviously going through a chris phase when i started it soooo chris girlies this is for u. HOWEVER stay tuned matt girls because i plan on making a blue pill version;) anyways love y'all lots MUAH MUAH MUAH

“This is so fucking stupid.” Matt groaned, sitting in between his brothers on the living room couch, holding a single red pill delicately in between two fingers as though it was a toxin. “Bro you’re the one who came up with the idea and bought them.” Chris retorted, inspecting the identical pill in his own hand. “Yeah, and I have no fucking clue why I agreed to this.” Nick chimed in, his voice filled with misery. “Because you can never turn down a competition.” I replied cheekily from my place on the other couch, giggling at the boys’ petty arguing.

Leaning forward, I pulled my phone out of my back pocket — opening up the timer app and hovering my finger over the start button. “Now hurry up and take them dummies, I’ll keep score.” I peered up at them as they gave each other tentative looks, seemingly hoping that one was going to have a change of heart. When nothing but silence followed, they all seemed to unanimously commit, dropping the red pills on their tongues and chasing them down with soda. As soon as they swallowed, I started the timer and sat back; crossing my arms across my chest with a smirk plastered to my face.

After the guys had posted the video at the gas station where Matt was talking about his idea for the sex pills, I had jokingly messaged him saying that I would gladly keep score if they really did it. Taking my message seriously, Matt had secretly gone out and grabbed three pills before inviting me over tonight. Thinking we were all just going to hangout, I was shocked when I showed up to find the pills neatly lined up on the coffee table and the three brothers pacing around the room arguing. After plenty of deliberation, Matt finally convinced Nick and Chris, and now here they were; awkwardly looking between themselves and me.

“How long do these even take to kick in?” Asked Chris, toying with the can of Pepsi in his hand. Grabbing one of the packages from the coffee table, Matt examined it for a moment. “It says thirty minutes.” He replied, sighing and running a hand through his messy hair. “This is ridiculous.” Remarked Nick, shaking his head as though he was disappointed in everyone in the room. Still giggling, I stretched my legs along the couch. “Oh come on,” I whined, “Relax, get comfy, and let the games begin.”

𓆩♡𓆪

“Okay, this isn’t working.” Nick deadpanned, locking his phone and throwing it beside him. “Really?” Asked Chris, turning to face his brother. Dropping his jaw, Nick made a disgusted face. “Is it for you?” Chris smirked bashfully, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m feeling somethin’.” He replied, to which Matt and Nick both groaned. “What about you Matt?” I asked, eyeing his still-relaxed frame leaning against the couch. Jutting out his bottom lip, he shrugged. “No, nothin’.” Chris groaned beside him, and I couldn’t help but notice him adjust himself slightly. “Great, now I feel weird.” He said, grabbing a blanket and swiftly draping it across his lap. I laughed and slowly pulled myself up from the couch.

“Looks like you might end up being the loser.” I teased as I began tidying up the packages strewn around the room. “I will n-” Dropping to my knees, I collected torn up pieces of packaging that had gathered at Chris’s feet. Noticing that Chris’s words had been cut short and now the room had fallen into heavy silence, I glanced up at him through my eyelashes. His eyes — which from up close seemed glassy and dilated — were on me, his mouth open slightly from his disrupted speech, and even his breathing seemed slightly rapid as his chest rose and fell.

Noticing this, Nick threw his hands up in the air exasperatedly. “Chris are you serious? See I knew this was a fucking horrible idea.” His sharp words pulled Chris’s eyes away from me, and he winced at his brother. “I’m sorry,” He replied, his words aimed at both Nick and myself, “I don’t know what the fuck is going on with me.” He added, seeming to grow increasingly uncomfortable. I giggled nervously before pulling myself back up to my feet. “It’s okay.” I reassured him before bringing the packages to the garbage; using the short walk to recover from that oddly intense moment.

As I returned, I suddenly noticed Matt fidgeting in his place on the couch, his brows knit in what seemed to be anguish. With Nick scrolling on his phone and Chris burying his head in his hands, I seemed to be the only one noticing Matt’s sudden discomfort. I chuckled as I slid back into my seat. “You good Matt?” I asked, teasing him. His eyes shot up to mine, and I watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously. “Uh…yeah. All—all good.” He replied, his voice thick and slightly raspy.

Glancing down at my phone, I check the timer. It had been 32 minutes since they took the pills. I smiled gently. “Right on time.” I replied, shooting him a knowing look which just made him grow even more visibly restless. My comment grabbed the attention of Nick and Chris, and they turned to look at their rosy-cheeked brother. “You too?” Nick shouted, jumping up off of the couch. Matt grimaced, shrugging his shoulders again. “It’s not like I can control it.” He replied, letting out an uncomfortable laugh. Sighing, Nick began walking towards the stairs. “Whoa! Where are you going?” Chris asked him. “Nothing is happening to me dumbass! And I will absolutely not be sitting around you two anymore now that you’re both bricked up.” He sassed as he began climbing the stairs. “Good luck Y/n!” He called as he disappeared into his bedroom.

“Looks like we’re in a 1 v 1.” I said, wiggling my eyebrows teasingly. I registered the look of torment on the faces of Matt and Chris, and decided that it would be in my best interest to hold back my laughter. “Let’s see who can make it to an hour.” I added. Chris grunted as he shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “I’ll be lucky if I make it another five minutes.” He replied, his voice also more gruff than usual. “Aww c’mon, you can do it.” I encouraged, moving to place a reassuring hand on his knee but deciding against it. As the room fell back into silence, I could hear Matt’s heavy breathing permeated by the occasional soft whine.

Although I was trying to keep things light-hearted, their overwhelming arousal was growing more and more palpable. My wandering eyes flittered from Matt’s bottom lip pulled in between his teeth to Chris’s temple coated in a sheen of sweat. As I focused on their features, it was as though their chemically-induced lust was contagious. I began to feel my own heart pounding in my chest, and I noticed a dampness in my panties that hadn’t been there before. In that silent room, all of our desires suddenly fell in sync with one another, and it was growing harder and harder to ignore.

“I need to go deal with this.” Chris suddenly blurted out, his voice laced with urgency as his focused eyes stared straight ahead. “You’re throwin’ in the towel?” Asked Matt, his lips curling into a smile infused with what seemed to be an odd combination of arrogance and relief. Chris winced as he tried to lean forward, nodding his head intensely. I watched in painful silence as he folded his hands together and pressed them against his plump lips, deep in thought. Very slowly, his eyes were pulled in my direction.

I froze under his gaze, the look he was giving me was worth a thousand words. My brows furrowed momentarily, instinctually denying what his eyes were asking me, before I felt my body begin to react. Heart pounding in my ears, I leaned back against the couch and crossed my legs; dying for some relief. “Hey—what’s going on?” Matt’s voice infiltrated mine and Chris’s stare-down. Picking up on the shift of air in the room, his eyebrows shot up. “Chris, no! That’s not how this works.” He exclaimed, turning to face his brother. Still looking at me, a smirk pulled at the corner of Chris’s lips. “We never laid down any ground rules kid.” He replied, and I felt my throat go dry.

“Well…” Matt’s exasperated voice trailed off for a moment, “Well, who said you get to fuck her?” The words sat heavy in the air around us, the reality of the situation being verbalized for the first time. I couldn’t manage to get a single word out if I tried, nor did I have the power to pull my eyes from Chris’s heady gaze. Chris chuckled, pulling himself off of the couch before slowly beginning to walk towards me. “No one,” He began, his voice suddenly menacing, “That’s up to her.” He finished just as he stopped in front of me, his frame towering above me with his tantalizing bulge directly in my line of sight.

Very slowly, he leaned down so that we were once again face-to-face. I felt my cheeks burn red from the situation I had suddenly found myself in, and the desire was radiating off of me in pulses. “What do you say?” He asked, his dilated eyes flooded with amusement. I swallowed, trying my best to re-instate my own vocal chords. Just as I was about to squeak out a response, a mindless gasp fell from my lips as Chris ducked his head down; his face buried in my neck.

My eyes fluttered shut momentarily, but once they opened they immediately landed on Matt’s tense figure sitting on the couch. His eyes were wide open, showing me just how badly he was suffering in that moment. The sheer need radiating from his gaze on me was infiltrating my mind, but the feeling of Chris’s warm breath dancing against my neck made it difficult for anything else to matter.

A whisper-soft moan slipped from my lips as Chris’s tongue delicately swiped against my clammy skin, and on instinct my hands flew to the back of his hair. Noticing my pitiful reaction, Chris chuckled against my skin. “I think I have my answer.” He whispered before pulling away from my neck and instead resuming our mind-numbingly erotic staring contest.“Matt get out.” Chris ordered, not even bothering to pull his hungry eyes away from me. As soon as Matt groaned, huffing out a disappointed “Fuck” as he headed for his room, Chris’s ravenous mouth was on mine.

I sucked in a sharp breath from the sheer dominance of his mouth. Lips tumbling in urgency, I felt his tongue toy with my lips; begging for entrance. Obliging, I moaned softly as his warm tongue flicked into my mouth, running against my own in slow, intoxicating movements. “Chris.” I panted, my voice thick with lust as his rapacious mouth began travelling down my neck. His hands snaked up my body, taking their time along my bare legs and stomach before tugging against the hem of my bunched up tank.

“Off.” He growled authoritatively. Without hesitating, I threw the thin white material over my head and let it drop to the floor. As soon as my pebbled tits were exposed, Chris’s greedy hands cupped onto them; exploring their shape as his thumbs ran along my sensitive nipples. Goosebumps raised on my skin at the feeling of his covetous, almost controlling touch. His hands and mouth moved as though he had no control over them — as though they owned the body that they were exploring.

His mouth dropped down to my chest. Taking one of my nipples in his mouth, a deep moan vibrated against my blazing skin. I laced my fingers through his hair, tugging gently against his roots as pleasure surged through my body. “Fuck, I’m so hard Y/n.” He said roughly as he nibbled at my skin. Mouth watering from the need he was exhibiting so transparently, my legs widened subconsciously as I writhed for more contact. “Let me h-help then.” I replied, my voice airy from how breathless he was making me.

Chris immediately straightened up, standing in front of me. Holding the bottom of his t-shirt up between his teeth, he began fumbling wildly with his belt. As soon as the metal unbuckled, my hands flew to his jeans, my own desperation causing me to yank down his zipper and slip his baggy pants and boxers down just enough to allow his swollen cock to spring free. As soon as the cold air brushed against his leaking tip, Chris released a gasp of relief. “Fuck, need your mouth.” He muttered, his droopy eyes peering down at me as I took in the immeasurable size of his length.

As I sat frozen in shock, the silky skin of his tip brushed against my pouting lips, snapping me out of my hypnosis. I opened my mouth, granting him the ability to place his cock on my tongue. I looked up at him through my lashes, taking in his panicky and disheveled appearance as his desperate cock pulsed against my drooling tongue. Slowly, I wrapped my lips around his girth, sucking in my cheeks lightly; earning a sharp groan and an indignant thrust of his hips. My eyes stayed glued to his as I began swirling my tongue along his swollen ridge, his salty pre-cum dissolving against my satisfied taste buds.

His jaw went slack as he watched me, deep in a trance. His hands found the back of my head, where he laced his strong fingers through my wavy hair; seeming to put up a fight against an all-consuming urge to sink all eight inches down my welcoming throat. Just as his eyes darkened, seconds from losing all self-control, I gave him some of the relief he was dying for by slowly bobbing my head up and down his veiny shaft. A long hiss escaped his mouth, his eyes burned into the sight before him — into me — as I took more and more of him in my mouth on each movement.

“Fuck.” He groaned, his words clipped, as his hands tightened in my hair. Slowly, I noticed him use his grip on my head to help guide my movements; sliding my mouth along his cock in a steady rhythm. As I looked up at him, I noticed the tension rolling throughout his entire body — his abdomen flexed, arms veiny, face reddening — caused by the self-restrain he was so obviously practicing combined with the crushing arousal that he was experiencing. To help him, I relaxed my throat and gave up moving my head on my own. He noticed my sudden lack of movement, but after scanning my face in concern for a moment, quickly accepted my wordless offering by slowly rolling his hips.

He moved gently at first, his eyes trained on mine as though he was gauging where my limitations stood. With each thrust, he slid his cock just a little further down my throat, until finally my nose was pressed taut against the sprinkle of hair along his pelvis. He held me there for a moment, looking down in awe at the sight of every inch of him buried in my warm, wet mouth. As I began tightening my throat around his shaft, growing restless, his breath seemed to grow more and more ragged — until all at once his self-control seemed to vanish.

I gasped around his cock as he suddenly grabbed my head with both hands, keeping me completely still as he began pounding his cock down my throat. Tears began forming in my eyes from the sheer force of his movements. “G-good girl.” He breathed, his eyes focused on my pink lips as they stretched to accommodate his laboured thrusts. I tried to moan — the lust emitting from Chris as he face fucked me caused my panties to flood — but my vocal chords were stifled by his ravaging cock. Instead, I turned into a zombie: my glossy eyes rolled to the back of my head as strings of saliva poured from the corners of my stretched out mouth.

Chris’s breathing grew so ragged that it was intimidating. Each rough thrust drew a guttural moan from his lips, making my head spin with desire. Suddenly, my eyes flew open in shock as Chris used his strong grip on my hair to pull me back; my head now pressed firmly against the back of the couch as he drove his cock down my throat. Unable to breathe, I entered a foreign state of ecstasy as Chris planted one of his legs onto the couch to get even deeper access; pushing me to my limits.

Just as I was about to grab onto his leg and, with pleading eyes, let him know I needed a break, the most erotic moan I had ever heard fell from his swollen lips. “G-gonna cum baby.” He groaned, his eyes fluttering shut as he seemed to focus on the overwhelming build up inside of him. Flooded with arousal, I suddenly regained the ability to take his strained, erratic thrusts. “You look so fuckin’ good with my cock in your mouth.” He groaned, his words punctuated by his sharp thrusts. I released an unsteady whimper in response, staring up at his haggard face.

“Shiiit.” Chris’ voice was drawn out as he made one final thrust, letting his cock hit the back of my throat one last time before I felt his warm seed erupt; filling my drooling mouth with thick ropes of the salty fluid as his cock twitched against my tongue. I kept my eyes on his as I eagerly swallowed his cum, and watched as his glazed-over expression of bliss switched to one much more alert and hungry.

Very slowly, he pulled his still-hard cock out of my mouth with a pop. I stayed perfectly still, staring up at him with an inquisitorial look in my eyes, and flinched when I felt his thumb run along my bottom lip to collect his spilt seed before pushing it back in between my lips. After eagerly lapping up the residue, my lips were once again engulfed by Chris’s. He moaned at the taste of himself on my tongue, and his hands wasted no time before tugging down my shorts.

He detached his lips from mine, leaving me a panting mess, as his gaze was pulled to my trembling heat. Just barely concealed by my soaking wet thong, I felt my slippery walls flex around nothing from his attention alone. Chris hooked his fingers into the waistband of my thong, pulling it down my legs torturously slow as I watched his chest rise and fall. Once I was fully exposed, the cold air against my swollen clit caused me to widen my legs; begging for his warm touch.

“So fuckin’ pretty.” Chris breathed, his voice an almost-whisper, as he ran his hands along my upper thighs. Once they reached my outer-most folds, he used his thumbs to spread me apart; admiring the way my juices dripped down to his knuckles. I trembled, feeling erotically pinned down by both his powerful hands and strong gaze, dying for him to touch me. I noticed the way he was holding me so tightly, the way his lower lip was pulled between his teeth, before his eyes shot back up to mine. “Turn around.” He ordered gruffly.

Knowing that I didn’t have the willpower to refuse even if I had wanted to, I turned around. Spreading my legs wider and bending my knees, I leaned my exposed chest against the back of the couch for support as I became more and more aware of the heat radiating off of his famished body behind me. I felt the weight on the couch shift just before I felt his hand snake up my spine to once again lace through my messy hair; the warm, wet feeling of his tongue sending aftershocks along my over-reactive skin.

His chest, now completely bare, pressed against my back as his face nuzzled against my shoulder; nibbling gently with his front teeth. Arching my back, I gasped as his free hand came around to my front; finding my clit blindly before rubbing quick circles against it. A stunned moan of relief slipped from my lips, muffled by the soft fabric of the couch, as I felt my body begin to melt under his nimble fingers. “Fuck Chris, r-right there.” I breathed, engulfed in the pleasure of his steady movements.

“You’re so fuckin’ soaked baby,” He purred against my red-hot ear, “You sure you didn’t take a pill too?” His deep voice, laced with amusement, reverberated through my scattered brain. Attempting to laugh in response, I was cut short by the unmistakable feeling of his warm tip, still glossy from my mouth, pressing against my drooling slit. “Mmm.” I groaned, writhing slowly in an attempt to pull him into me.

Noticing this, Chris chuckled menacingly against my skin. “You want my cock pretty girl?” His words shot straight to my core, and aimlessly I tried to grab his poised length in my greedy hand. Tauntingly, he pulled his hips back so his cock was out of reach. “Wanna hear you say it.” He asserted, his fingers slowing against my bundle of nerves. Whining, I turned my head so that I could see his face to my right. Lids droopy, I spoke with urgency. “Please, Chris,” I felt a string of arousal slip down my thigh, “Please g-give me your c-cock.”

With a satisfied smirk across his face, Chris kept his eyes on mine as his hand abandoned my clit. Brows furrowed from the lack of contact, I was just about to let out a dissatisfied groan when I felt the heat of his cock press against my trembling core. I watched his eyes flutter from the feeling of my folds just beginning to wrap around him, and in one swift motion, he split me in half.

Gasping, I had no time to adjust to Chris’s sinful girth before he started pounding into me. My walls stretched more than they ever had before, but welcomed his cock graciously by spilling pools of arousal along its length. “Jesus Christ.” Chris moaned in my ear, overwhelming lust clear in his voice, though it didn’t seem to reign over his powerful movements. The sloppy, wet sounds of our bodies slapping together echoed throughout the living room, their provocative recoils muddling my thoughts.

Chris straightened himself up behind me, keeping his one hand knit through my hair but placing his other on my ass cheek; pressing down so that my back was arched as much as it could be. “You’re making a b-big fuckin’ mess on me baby.” He uttered, using his grip on my ass to spread me apart; admiring the sight of his cock disappearing inside of my oozing pussy. “F-feels so good.” I moaned in response, mouth going slack as I relished in the feeling of his cock squeeze through my spongey walls.

His pace began to quicken, my cunt trembling from the new rapid pace. I could barely lift my head from the back of the couch; his cock dominated every part of me. Deep, throaty groans slipped from his mouth every few seconds, his grip on my hair tightened as he struggled to keep up his pace. “Touch yourself.” He suddenly ordered, his voice rushed and gruff. With a moan, I brought my fingers to my clit where I began to draw tight circles in sync with Chris’s rhythm.

As my bundle of nerves danced between my trembling fingers, my pleasure was profoundly intensified. “Oh god!” I cried out, my voice sounding brutish to my own ears. “K-keep going C-Chris!” I felt myself begin to crumble, my climax violently approaching. As if reading my mind, he grunts from behind me. “You gonna cum?” Unable to respond with words, I nodded my head rapidly as I chewed on my bottom lip. A sharp slap against my ass caused me to gasp, my pussy starting to convulse around his rock hard length. “That’s a good girl, cum for me baby.”

His soft words worked paradoxically with his rough thrusts and stinging slap, and I was immediately hit by an orgasm so brutal, so all-consuming, that I felt my soul drift from my body. For a moment, my body stilled, void of any sign of life, as my orgasm constricted all of my senses. I felt nothing; heard nothing; saw nothing; until a wave of pleasure, the colour of blood, came screaming at me — attacking my nerves and bringing me back to life.

My legs shook, nails dug into the couch, back contorted to the point where it looked broken, as the scream of a possessed woman spilled from my mouth. Chris tightened his grip on my hair, pulling my head off of the couch and wrapping his free hand around my mouth to stifle my uncontrollable moans. As I cried out his name into his possessing hand, his movements slowed tremendously; my spasming cunt suffocating his cock. “J-Jesus.” Chris panted from behind me, struggling to keep his composure as he slowly sunk himself into me; doing his best to drive me through my high before he lost all control.

I began to gain composure over my body as my orgasm subsided — I could feel my weak limbs and filter the words that spilled from my lips. Soft moans still escaped, however, as Chris continued to fuck me slowly; hissing between his teeth as he inched closer and closer to his own high. I felt my depleted walls continue to stretch for him, and fell into a slight hypnosis from the steady movements of our conjoined bodies.

“Turn around.” Chris’s urgent voice startled me back to my senses. He suddenly pulled his cock out of me in one quick movement, and as he did, I turned around to face him. Leaning with my back against the couch, I watched as he angled himself closer to me, pumping his red, swollen cock in his hand. After a few rapid jerks, Chris let out a deep guttural moan, shuddering before spilling his warm, milky, cum along my tits. My hungry eyes flittered between his face — eyes screwed shut in bliss, puffy lips pulled apart slightly, jaw tense — and the filthy portrait he was painting across my clammy skin.

Once a pool of his seed had collected in between my full tits, Chris released one more soft grunt before opening his eyes. They focused on his signature for a moment, before drifting up to my face; a satisfied smile pulling at the corner of his lips as he took in my spent appearance. Taking a shaky breath, he leaned down to plant a soft kiss to my lips before using his discarded shirt to wipe up the mess he had made on my chest.

“Well, that turned out to be a pretty fun game.” He whispered, his words laced with humour. My eyes followed his gentle movements across my skin; watching as he took his time and made sure he left my skin seemingly untouched. Chuckling, all of my energy drained, I looked back up at his crimson-tinted face. “Let’s thank Matt.” I replied, laughing at the repulsed expression that took over his features. “You’re sick, kid.” He retorted, shaking his head, but I noticed the shameless smile creeping over his lips.

“I was kiddingggg,” I laughed, reaching for my discarded clothes, “Do you feel better though?” I asked, to which Chris dropped his gaze to his cock — still red and standing up flush against his stomach — looking back to me with a raised eyebrow as though he was saying, ‘What’s it look like?’. Chuckling, I grab my top and begin trying to put it on. “Sorry dude, I did the best I could.” Just as my vision was restricted by the material of my top over my eyes, I squealed as I felt Chris lift me up; bending me over his shoulder as he stood up.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked, my voice broken by laughter as I jokingly pounded on his shoulder. He was walking, now, and I couldn’t control my childish giggles as I tried to get my tank top off of my head. “We’re gonna go take a shower.” He replied just as I felt him begin to descend the stairs leading to his bedroom. “Maybe one more time will do the trick.”

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

[heesmiles]

PAINTED BRUISES AND PAPER WINGS - ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ H.K

》 Kai had one goal. Tutor the most popular girl on campus without getting a boner…

》 𝔱𝔵𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 & 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢…

pairings » loser tutor!kai x popular cheerleader!fem reader

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 » smut » college au

warnings » smut, pwp, tit job, pussy drunk kai, unprotected sex, oral (m rec.), not explicitly mentioned loss of virginity, mention of masturbation, corruption kink, cowgirl, choking (m rec), hickeys, innocent kai, kai wears glasses, reader teaches him how to kiss, slight sub!kai, rushed ending

« 𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔟𝔬𝔞𝔯𝔡 »

word count « 5.3k »

You swing the door open, leaning casually against the frame as if you have all the time in the world. Kai is standing there, clutching his backpack like it’s a lifeline, his glasses slightly askew on his nose. He’s got that deer-in-headlights look, the one that’s half terror and half disbelief, like he’s still trying to convince himself this is actually happening. “Took you long enough,” you say, arching an eyebrow. You’re still in your cheer uniform—not because you forgot to change, but because you know it makes him uncomfortable. The smug smile tugging at your lips deepens when you catch the way his eyes dart to your pom-poms tossed carelessly on the bed and then quickly away, like even looking too long might be a sin. 

“Uh, sorry, I, uh…” He’s already stammering, which you’ll admit is kind of adorable in a pathetic way. His cheeks flush bright red, and you resist the urge to laugh. Barely.

“Relax, Kai, I don’t bite.” You step back, holding the door open wider. “Unless you’re into that of course.” You send him a smirk, one that leaves him flustered. His lips move soundlessly for a second, and you swear he’s about to say something clever, but he just ducks his head and shuffles inside. The door clicks shut behind him, and the room feels smaller somehow, the air charged with a tension that’s equal parts amusing and intriguing. He sets his backpack down on the desk, pulling out a textbook and a neatly organized notebook. Of course he’s the type to have color-coded tabs. You lean against the edge of your bed, arms crossed, watching him like a cat might watch a particularly nervous mouse.

“You always this twitchy, or is it just me?” you ask, tilting your head. 

“I—what?” He looks up, eyes wide behind those thick lenses. 

“You heard me.” You smirk, leaning forward just enough to watch him squirm. “What, do I intimidate you?” His eyes flickered downwards only for a second catching sight of your cleavage spilling over in your cheer top. It was so quick you weren’t entirely sure it even happened. 

“No! I mean, not… really,” he says, but his voice cracks on the last word, and you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing outright. 

“Sure, Kai. Whatever you say.” You push off the bed and stroll over to where he’s awkwardly standing, flipping through his notes like they might suddenly disappear. You pluck the notebook out of his hands before he can react, flipping it open to the first page. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” 

“Wait, that’s—” He protested, his hand stretched out towards you.

“Oh, my God, is this your handwriting?” you interrupt, holding up the page like it’s a work of art. “It’s so… neat. You’re like a human printer or something.” You teased him. 

“I just like to keep things organized,” he mutters, grabbing for the notebook, but you hold it out of his reach, grinning. 

“Relax, I’m kidding.” You hand it back, and he clutches it to his chest like you’ve just handed him a baby. “Alright, let’s get this over with. What are we working on today? Quadratics? Polynomials? Something else that sounds like a disease?” 

He blinks at you, clearly unsure if you’re serious or not. “Uh, geometry, actually.” His face was tinted red with heat, an adorably shy expression on his face. 

“Great. Geometry. My favorite.” You flop onto your bed, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Alright, Professor Kai, teach me your nerdy ways.” He hesitates, glancing at the desk like he’s debating whether to sit there or risk the empty spot on the bed. You pat the mattress beside you, and his face does that adorable tomato thing again. He eventually perches on the very edge, stiff as a board, and you have to fight the urge to mess with him more. For now, anyway. 

“Okay, so, um,” he starts, opening the textbook to a bookmarked page. “We’ll start with angles.” 

“Lead the way,” you say, grinning. This is going to be fun. Not. 

After about twenty minutes, you’re already bored. Angles, lines, and proofs swirl together into one big mess of blah in your brain. You let out an exaggerated sigh, flopping back onto the bed dramatically. “Kai, this is torture. You’re supposed to be making me smarter, not putting me to sleep.” 

He glances up, startled. “Uh, well, maybe if you focused a little—” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

“Focus is for nerds,” you interrupt, sitting up and fixing him with a teasing grin. “Speaking of which, you’re like, the king of nerds, right? Have you ever even had a girlfriend?” You twirled your hair around your finger intently watching Kai get even more flustered. You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t sexy. 

His face does that adorable flush thing again, and he looks anywhere but at you. “I—I don’t think that’s relevant,” he mutters. 

“Oh my God, you haven’t!” You laugh, clapping your hands together. “That’s so cute.” 

“It’s not—” He pushes his glasses up his nose, clearly flustered. “I’ve just been… busy. With school.” 

“Sure, sure,” you say, scooting closer to him on the bed. “Too busy for girls, huh? You’re missing out, Kai. I bet there’s a whole line of girls just waiting for you to notice them.” He glances at you briefly, and for a second, you think he might actually believe you. Then he shakes his head, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I doubt that.” 

“Aw, come on. You’re, like, totally adorable in a dorky way,” you say, poking his arm playfully. “If you ever want tips, I’m available. I could totally turn you into boyfriend material.” 

“Uh, thanks, but I think I’ll pass,” he says, and you can tell he’s trying to sound confident, but the red in his cheeks gives him away. 

“Are you sure? Because I can teach you a lotttt of things.” You drawled the word out with a seductive lit, learning forward on your palms knees laid flat on the bed you both sat on. “Just say the word.” Kai nodded, licking his lips before looking down at the paper in between you two. 

He fumbles with his notebook, flipping back to the page he’d marked. “Uh, we should probably stick with the angles,” he says, his voice a little steadier now. You let him drone on for a few more minutes, but your attention starts to wander again. You catch yourself studying him instead—how his brow furrows when he’s concentrating, the way his glasses slip down his nose and he pushes them back up without even realizing it. It’s… kind of endearing. 

“Hey, Kai,” you interrupt suddenly, making him jump. 

“Uh, yeah?” he says, looking up nervously. 

“What do you even do for fun? Like, do you have hobbies? Or is it just… math and more math?” 

“I, um…” He hesitates, clearly caught off guard. “I like reading. And, uh, video games, sometimes.” 

“Video games? Really?” You sit up, intrigued. “What kind of games? Please don’t say something boring like Sudoku.” 

He actually laughs, which surprises you. “No, not Sudoku. Mostly RPGs. You know, role-playing games?”

“Roleplay, huh. Cute.” You tsk. 

“Yeah i mainly play in my freetime an-” 

“Have you ever kissed a girl?” You asked, your intrusive horny thoughts getting the best of you. 

The poor boy freezes mid-sentence. His eyes go wide, and his mouth opens and closes like a goldfish. “I—what?”

“You heard me,” you say, your grin widening. “Do you know how to kiss? Or is that something else you’ve been ‘too busy’ for?”

“I… I…” His face is a spectacular shade of red now. “That’s not really—why would you even ask that?”

“Because I’m curious,” you reply, resting your chin in your hand as you watch him squirm. “And maybe a little concerned. You’re going to need to know eventually, you know.” 

“I don’t—uh, I mean, it’s not like it’s a priority,” he stammers, looking anywhere but at you. 

You laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, Kai. You’re hopeless. Want me to teach you?” 

His head snaps toward you so fast you’re surprised he doesn’t get whiplash. “W-what?” 

“I’m serious.” You sit up straighter, your expression playful but not unkind. “Consider it part of your ‘cool lessons.’ Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. It’ll be our little secret.” 

“I—I don’t think…” He trails off, clearly torn between mortification and… something else. Curiosity, maybe? 

“Relax,” you say, your tone softer now. “It’s not a big deal. And it’s better to practice with someone who knows what they’re doing than to wing it with a girl you actually like, right?” 

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I… guess that makes sense,” he mumbles. 

“Exactly.” You grin, scooting closer to him. “So, what do you say? You in?” 

He nods almost robotically at you, his face red with heat. You smiled at him and his adorableness. “If at any point you want me to stop, just tell me okay?” 

“Alright.” His chest heaved slightly up and down. His breath was so hot and heavy it started to fog up his glasses. 

In truth, You didn’t plan on this. Not exactly. When you invited Kai over for your usual tutoring session, you didn’t think the lesson would take such a... personal turn. But here you are, sitting cross-legged on your bed, looking down at your awkward, painfully shy tutor as he tries to figure out what to do with his long legs on your bedroom floor. He’s nervous. It's painfully obvious but also you think it’s kind of cute. Kai’s got this whole quiet, scruffy puppy vibe that’s weirdly irresistible, even when he’s rambling about physics equations you’ll never understand. “Okay,” you say, leaning forward and grinning at him. “So, we’re doing this.” 

Kai looks up from where he’s fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie. “Like, actually?” he asks, his voice soft and uncertain, like he’s afraid of the answer. 

“If you want to.” You reassured. You didn't want to make him do something he really didn't want to do. 

“Ok.” He nods again. 

“So you really haven’t kissed anyone?” You asked him. 

“No. Really.” He mumbled. 

“Well,” you say, clapping your hands together. “That’s tragic, and we’re fixing it. Right now.”

Kai stays quiet keeping his eyes glued to the notebook below him. His fingers curl the ends of the papers as a distraction. “Relax,” you say, scooting closer. “It’s just practice. Like studying for a test. You’re good at that, right?” 

“This is not like studying,” he mutters, his eyes darting everywhere but your face.

“It kinda is,” you tease, grinning. “You don’t wanna bomb your first real kiss, do you?”

He groans, his head falling forward so his messy hair hides his face. “This is so embarrassing.” The action sent a bolt of pure adrenaline straight to your core, heat pooling in your stomach. 

“Aww, don’t be like that,” you say, reaching out to nudge his knee. He flinches at the contact, which just makes you smile harder. “You’ve got me, like, the best teacher ever. You’ll be fine.” 

Kai hesitates for a long moment, his fingers twitching nervously against the blanket. Then, finally, he nods. It’s barely a movement, but it’s enough. “Okay,” you say, sitting up a little straighter. “First rule: don’t overthink it. Just lean in slowly, and don’t bump my nose, okay?”

He nods again, his face so red it almost matches the physics textbook on your desk. Taking a deep breath, he leans in, his movements jerky and uncertain. His nose brushes yours, and his glasses bump your forehead, making you giggle. “Hold up,” you say, reaching out to adjust his glasses. Your fingers graze his temple, and he freezes, his breath hitching. “There. Now try again.” Kai swallows hard and leans in once more, this time slower and more deliberate. When his lips finally meet yours, it’s hesitant—soft and shy, like he’s afraid of messing up. But then, something shifts. 

Maybe it’s the way you relax into him, or maybe he’s not as clueless as he seems, but his movements become a little bolder. His hand brushes against yours on the bed, tentative at first, then firmer as his fingers curl around yours. His lips move against yours with surprising tenderness, and for someone who’s never kissed a girl before, he’s… actually pretty good at this. When he pulls back, his glasses are fogged up, and his hair is sticking up on one side from where your hand accidentally ruffled it. He looks at you like he’s not sure if he should apologize or thank you. His lips were red and stained from your lip stink. It was a sight for sore eyes. That was for sure. “Well,” you say, tilting your head and pretending to think. “That was definitely better than I expected.” 

Kai blinks at you, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to find words. “It… it was?”

“Uh, yeah,” you say, laughing. “You’ve got, like, natural talent or something.”

His ears turn red, and he looks down at his lap, clearly flustered. “I don’t know about that…” 

“I’m serious.” You say with a cheeky smile. “I’m surprised you’ve never kissed a girl before.” 

Kai doesn’t say anything at first, his gaze fixed on the bed like it’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. He’s holding his breath, you realize, like he’s still processing what just happened. You lean back a little, smirking as you nudge his knee with your toes. “Earth to Kai. You good?”

“Y-yeah,” he stammers, pushing his glasses up his nose with shaking fingers. “I’m… I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, grinning at how flustered he is. “You sure? You look like you just ran a marathon or something.”

He laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just… I didn’t think…”

“Didn’t think what?” you prompt, leaning in a little.

He glances up at you through his lashes, his brown eyes wide and uncertain. Then, so quietly you almost don’t catch it, he says, “Can we… do it again? For practice?” You blink, surprised. For someone who looked like he wanted to crawl under the bed two minutes ago, that’s a pretty bold request. But then you see the way he’s fidgeting, his fingers twisting the hem of his hoodie again, and you realize he’s just as nervous as before—maybe more. 

“You want more practice?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Kai nods, his cheeks turning pink. “I just… I don’t want to mess it up. You said I was okay, but… I want to get it right.”

You laugh, the sound light and teasing. “Wow, look at you. Mr. Overachiever even when it comes to kissing.”

“I’m serious,” he says quickly, his voice a little firmer than before. “I-I mean… if you don’t mind.” You tilt your head, studying him for a moment. There’s something endearing about how earnest he is, like he’s genuinely trying to learn. And, okay, maybe you’re a little curious to see if he’s as good as you thought.

“Alright,” you say, grinning as you scoot closer. “But you better pay attention, because I’m not giving extra credit.” Kai swallows hard, nodding as you lean in. This time, he doesn’t wait for you to guide him. He closes the distance himself, his movements still hesitant but more deliberate. When his lips meet yours, it’s like he’s more sure of himself—less scared of getting it wrong. His hand brushes against your arm, tentative at first, then bolder as his fingers trail down to your wrist. There’s a softness to his touch, like he’s still afraid of crossing some invisible line, but there’s also something else—a quiet intensity that surprises you. You let out a soft hum of approval, and that seems to encourage him. He leans in closer, his glasses briefly pressing against your cheek before he adjusts. His lips move against yours with more confidence now, and when his hand comes to rest lightly on your waist, your heart skips a beat. 

“Okay,” you murmur against his mouth, pulling back just enough to catch your breath. “That was… definitely an improvement.” 

Kai looks at you, his face flushed and his glasses slightly fogged. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you say, laughing softly as you brush a stray piece of hair from his forehead. “You’re, like, dangerously close to being good at this.” 

He bites his lip, a small, bashful smile creeping onto his face. “Do you think… we could keep practicing? Just, you know, to be sure.” 

You snort, shaking your head. “Wow, you’re really taking this whole ‘study session’ thing seriously, huh?”

Kai shrugs, his smile turning sheepish. “I just… I don’t want to forget what I learned.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no hiding the grin tugging at your lips. “Fine,” you say, leaning in again. “But if you get too good at this, you’re gonna owe me, like, a hundred bucks in tutoring fees.”

He laughs, the sound soft and a little breathless. “Deal.”

This time, when your lips meet, it’s different. The hesitancy is still there—Kai’s nothing if not cautious—but there’s also a growing confidence in the way his mouth moves against yours. His hand on your waist tightens slightly, pulling you just a little closer, and when his fingers brush against the curve of your hip, you feel a shiver run down your spine. You grabbed his other hand guiding it up to cup your breast over your cheer top. His breath hitches in his throat but his lips do not disconnect from yours. His hand squeezes gently, fondling your breast clumsily. You deepen the kiss, letting your hands slide up to his shoulders. His breath hitches, and for a split second, he freezes, but then he responds, tilting his head to match your movements.

It’s almost funny how natural it feels now, like he’s been hiding this talent the whole time. And maybe he’s still a little clumsy, but there’s something kind of perfect about that—like he’s not just going through the motions, but actually feeling every second of it. His hand falls from your breast down the expanse of your body, like he was taking in every part of you. When you finally break apart, both of you are breathing harder than before. Kai looks dazed, his hair a mess and his glasses slipping down his nose again.

“Well,” you say, sitting back and trying to catch your breath. “That was… definitely better.” Kai sits there for a moment, blinking at you like he’s trying to process what just happened. His lips are slightly parted, still red from the kiss, and his glasses are askew again, but he doesn’t seem to notice. 

You lean back on your hands, smirking at him. “You’re seriously gonna have to stop being so cute when you’re flustered,” you tease. “It’s not fair.”

He ducks his head, his hair falling into his face as he adjusts his glasses with trembling fingers. “I—I’m not…” he starts, but his voice trails off, too shy to finish.

“Not what?” you prod, leaning forward. “Not cute? Hate to break it to you, Kai, but you totally are.”

He groans softly, covering his face with his hands. “You’re just saying that,” he mumbles.

You reach out, tugging his hands away from his face. “Nope,” you say, your voice softer now. “I mean it. You’re adorable.”

Kai looks up at you then, his brown eyes wide and uncertain. There’s something vulnerable about the way he’s looking at you, like he’s trying to figure out if this is real or just some kind of joke. “You okay?” you ask, tilting your head. 

He hesitates, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. His voice is barely audible when he says, “Can we… do that again?”

You laugh, the sound soft and a little breathless. “Practice makes perfect, huh?”

Kai doesn’t laugh this time. Instead, he shakes his head, his cheeks turning pink. “Not… not practice,” he says quietly. “I just… want to.” For a moment, you’re too surprised to say anything. Kai, who practically turned into a human tomato at the idea of kissing you earlier, is asking to do it again—just because. And the way he’s looking at you now, with something like quiet determination beneath all that shyness, makes your heart skip a beat.

“Well,” you say, leaning in slowly, your voice dropping to a whisper. “How can I say no to that?”

This time, there’s no hesitation. Kai leans in, closing the distance between you, and when his lips meet yours, it’s like something clicks. He’s still careful, still soft and tentative, but there’s a new kind of intensity in the way his mouth moves against yours—like he’s finally letting himself want this. You pull away just slightly, your lips hovering over his “Did you like touching me earlier?” Your voice slightly ragged as you brought your own hand up to paw your breast. 

“Yes.” Was all he responded, eyelids heavy with lust. 

“Touch me.” You spoke with assertion bringing his palm up to your breast again. He squeezed lightly causing a small whimper to leave your lips. “Do you like my tits baby?” 

Kai’s nod was almost bobbled as he continued to fondle at your breast. You reattached your lips to his in a tangle of teeth and tongue. Your hands slide up to his shoulders, then into his hair, tugging lightly. He makes a sound in the back of his throat—half a gasp, half a hum—that sends a shiver down your spine. The hand that was on your breast left for only a brief moment before it was up and under your cheer top and his bare hand cupped at your boob under your top. “Wow,” you murmur against his lips, pulling back just enough to catch your breath. “Someone’s getting confident.”

Kai’s face flushes, but he doesn’t look away this time. Instead, he surprises you by leaning back in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s deeper, hungrier than before. It’s clumsy in a way that’s still undeniably Kai, but there’s so much raw emotion behind it that you don’t care. Your fingers tighten in his hair as you press closer, your heartbeat thundering in your chest. His glasses are getting in the way again, and you reach up to pull them off, tossing them onto the bed without breaking the kiss. Kai freezes for half a second, like he’s startled, but then he relaxes, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulls you closer. 

You can feel the heat radiating off him, his breathing uneven against your lips. There’s a tension in the air now, something electric that makes your skin tingle and your heart race. “Kai,” you murmur, your voice barely more than a whisper. 

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his face flushed and his eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them. “Is this… okay?” he asks, his voice shaky but earnest. 

You smile, brushing your thumb against his cheek. “More than okay,” you say softly. “Take it off.” You heaved, referring to your cheer top. Kai pulled back a look of bewilderment on his face before he made quick work of lifting your cheer top and exposing your bare chest to his eyes. “You're doing a good job baby boy.” 

He lets out a nervous laugh, his hands still resting on your waist. “I’m just… following your lead.” 

“Well,” you say, leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re doing a pretty amazing job.” 

Kai’s breath hitches, and for a moment, it feels like the whole world has shrunk down to just the two of you. You’re not thinking about tutoring sessions or practice kisses anymore. All you can think about is him—how warm he is, how his lips feel against yours, and how you never want this moment to end. “Can we keep going?” he whispers, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it. 

Your heart skips a beat at the vulnerability in his tone, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters. You smile, threading your fingers through his hair again. “Yeah,” you say, your voice just as soft. “We can keep going.” And when he leans in to kiss you again, there’s no hesitation, no awkwardness. 

“You know…” You trailed off separating yourself from his touch. “I can teach you other things too..” 

“R-really?” He stutters out, his eyes flicking back and forth from your face to your chest. 

“Mhm..” You hummed. You pulled back more creating a bit of distance between the two of you. Your finger poked Kai’s broad chest causing him to fall back against the plush pillows of the bed with a huff. 

“How often do you play with yourself Kai?” You asked him, licking your lips. His face turned flushed at the question. 

“Uh-..” He stumbled on the words “Couple-couple times a week.” 

“Yeah?” You hooked the loops of his pants with your fingers slowly pulling them down and around his ankles as he laid almost flat on your bed. “Do you cum?” 

“Y-yeah.” He huffed “A lot.” 

“Good, good.” You hummed. “I’m going to help you. Is that ok?” 

Kai nodded his lips parting as he watched you reach for his boxers next. 

“Since you like my tits so much… I'm going to use them to make you cum.” You yanked his boxers down with one fail swoop. “Then i’m going to fuck you, and as a prize you can cum inside me.” 

Kai’s groan rang free throughout the entire room, his chest heaving up and down in tandem with his quick breaths. “O-ok” With his erection now front and center you brought your lips forward, licking up the expanse of his dick all the way to head before leaving a light kiss on the bright red tip. 

“Oh.” Kai hissed at the small amount of contact. You let a glob of spit form in your mouth spitting out so it landed onto his length with a splatter.

“I need to get it wet.” You said sheepishly, taking his dick in your hands and pumping up and down using your spit as lubricant. Kai was flustered, his chest moving up and down and his face as bright as a tomato. 

You squeezed your breasts together before engulfing his length between them, pushing them up and down on his length creating the perfect pocket for him. 

“Does that feel good, baby boy?” You asked him, moving your tits at a steady pace. Kai didn't respond, his mouth completely agape as he pushed himself onto his elbows to watch you as you worked. 

“I said, does it feel good?” You grit out landing a quick smack to his thigh in an attempt to get him to use his words. He was a mess. 

“Yes!” He hissed “Feels s-so good.” 

“Better than your hand, huh.” You quirked, continuing to move your tits along his length. 

“Y-yes so much better.” His voice carried as a catalyst for you to keep going. His hips stuttered as you moved your tits fast along his length squeezing them together to create a tight hold on his throbbing cock. “Tight” His lips were lined with what looked like a tight lipped smile. You were surprised he was lasting this long for a virgin. You bobbed your head forward licking at his tip that poked out of your tits every once and while. A whine left his lips, high pitched and oh so adorable. 

“Close, baby?” You asked him, continuing your movements on his cock. 

“Mhm.” He mumbled watching where your tits and his cock met. There was no way his eyes were looking away from the sight. He was entranced, looking down at you with big doe eyes. His expression itself was enough to make you near your own end even without being touched. You rubbed your thighs together searching for some semblance of friction. 

“I-i’m going to cum-” Kai whined. He raised off the bed, jerking up creating more friction. “F-uck.” 

“That’s it.” You praised as ropes of his cum landed onto your tits painting them with his spend. “Good job.” You smiled, running your hands up and down his thighs in an attempt to calm him down. 

“You ok?” You asked, as he continued to breathe heavily. His nod was the only confirmation you received. 

“That was way better than my hand has ever been.” He chuckled, plopping down on the mattress. 

“If you thought that was good, wait until you feel how tight my pussy is.” You sent him a playful grin reaching for the hem of your skirt and panties in one, pulling them down until you were completely bare in front of him. Kai sat back up his eyes narrowing in on your body in all it’s naked glory. 

“Holy-” He stuttered, eyes adorably wide. 

“What?” You asked tilting your head playfully “Never seen a naked girl before?” 

“Not in the flesh.” He mumbled with red cheeks. “Only ever in porn.” 

You took it upon yourself to crawl onto the bed stopping just before him. “I assume you don't have any condoms?” 

“No..” He trailed off. 

“That’s ok.” You smiled straddling him. “I’m clean and on the pill.” You ran your hands up and down his shirt covered chest. Sitting fully naked on him, his cock resting on your thigh. You could feel the thump of his heart against his rib cage under your palms. It was cute how nervous he was.

“Are you ready?” You said, lifting his cock in your hand running your fist up and down on him. He gasped at the pleasure of your fist, licking his lips. 

“I’m ready.” He steadied his voice trying to show some dominance. You giggled at him before lifting your hips. You tapped his tip against your entrance before sinking down on him. You gasped slowly, allowing yourself to feel him all the way to the hilt. 

“Fuck.” You cursed. You steadied yourself on his chest, looking down to see him looking up at you. His mouth was slightly agape but no sound had fallen from his lips. His chest rising and falling. “You're big.” You grunted as you finally lifted yourself up, to slam yourself back down. 

“Oh god.” He hissed out. Kai grabbed onto your hips with an almost bruising grip. Moans fell from his lips like a mantra allowing himself to feel the pleasure coursing through his veins. “You feel so…warm.” 

“Touch me.” You pant grabbing his hand and bringing it to where your heat meets his pelvis. “Circle my clit- just like that.” 

Kai’s hips jerked up a surge of pleasure shooting up your spine at the sudden movement. “Oh-” 

“Keep doing that.” You hissed “Keep lifting your hips like that baby.” Your hand wrapped around the base of Kai’s throat squeezing at it. Kai’s hips lifted again, reaching places you didn't even know you could reach. His gasp was heard around the room as you tightened your hold on his neck. 

“I’m close, keep touching me.” You begged moving your hips faster against him. 

“I’m going to cum-” His voice loudly said you wouldn't be surprised if the rooms around you didn't hear. “Keep going.”

You continued your movements on him lifting yourself up and down chasing your high to the very end. 

“I’m-oh fuck.” Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, jerking your body forward onto his chest. Kai’s gasp was the only thing you heard as you felt his warm ropes of cum fill you to the brim inside of you. 

“Holy fuck.” He breathed, jerking his hips a bit more before stilling inside of you. His hands ran down the expanse of your back as the both of you fought to catch your breath. 

You sat up still inside of him, a smile reaching the corner of your lips. Kai’s eyes were wide as if he was just now realising what the two of you had done. 

“I have to admit..” You trailed off “Out of all my tutors I'd say you’re for sure my favorite.” 

taglist - (★) @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @filmnings , @dawngyu , @hyukascampfire , @saejinniestar , @notevenheretbh1, @biteyoubiteme

[riddlesbunny]

busy woman

summary: As a dedicated Ravenclaw, you have no time for distractions, not even the charming Theodore Nott… unless.

pairing: Theo Nott x Ravenclaw!Reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: Explicit smut, mentions of alcohol, fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, p in v sex, lmk if I missed anything pls 18+ MDNI

note: send requests :))

Although you aren’t a fan of stereotypes, there is no denying the sorting hat chose the perfect house for you. You take great pride in your smarts and aim for academic excellence.

Extracurriculars, as far as you’re concerned, are just that—extra. And you have little interest in anything that pulls you away from your studies. Even when your housemates try to get you to join clubs or attend social events, you usually politely decline.

You have high standards for yourself, and there is no shame in that. If you want a successful career at the Ministry of Magic one day, you need to keep a steady head on your shoulders.

However, you aren’t a total prude. One evening, curiosity got the best of you and led you to a party in the Slytherin common room. You were overworked, on the verge of being burnt out, so when one of your girlfriend’s invited you to a party you couldn’t bring yourself to decline.

To make a long story short, you ended up taking one too many shots of firewhisky and landed yourself in Theodore Nott’s bed.

Before that evening you would have considered Theo an acquaintance at best. He was in a few of your classes, you had worked on a few projects together, and even occasionally engaged in small talk. But since the party he’s barely even looked in your direction. Which was fine. Right?

Days later, as you’re busy editing your Potions essay, a shadow falls across your paper. Looking up, you meet the familiar green eyes of the Slytherin boy. He hesitates before speaking, causing your anxiety to spiral.

“Did you need something?” You blurt out.

“I need your help,” he admits, “I’m struggling in Transfiguration, and McGonagall suggested I find a tutor.”

You’re caught off guard because let’s be honest: there’s no way this is just about tutoring. Not with the way he’s looking at you, all lazy smirks and knowing eyes, like he’s already expecting you to say yes. Like he already knows you won’t say no.

And he’s right. You should say no—because the last time you let yourself get caught up with Theo, you ended up tangled in his sheets and completely at his mercy, but you won’t. You can’t.

After a long pause, you nod, “Alright. I guess,” you shrug, “you can come to my dorm tonight.”

His expression softens with relief, “thank you, bella! I appreciate this, truly.”

You sit on the edge of your bed, nervously twisting the hem of your sweater between your fingers.

You had agreed to this. Invited him, even. But now, as you wait for Theo to arrive, doubt creeps in. What if this is a mistake? What if things became more complicated than they already were? You had spent so much time convincing yourself that what happened at the party was nothing—a fleeting moment, a distraction you couldn’t afford. Yet here you were, heart racing, palms slightly clammy.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a swift knock.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stand. With one last deep breath, you cross the room and reach for the door handle, fingers trembling slightly.

And then, you open it and there is Theo, looking handsome as ever, leaning against the door frame.

“Ciao, bella signora,” he greets with a smile. Hi, pretty lady.

"Thanks for doing this," he continues, his voice deep and warm. His eyes scan over your body quickly before settling on yours again.

"Hey,” you swallow, “no problem." You try to play it cool, but your breath hitches as he moves past you into the room.

Theo brushes past you eagerly, “so, where do we start?" he asks, turning around, his dimples making an appearance. His large frame seems out of place in your small room.

"Let's sit here," you say, patting the spot next to you sit on the bed.

He sits down beside you, leaving enough space that you could mistake it for being polite. But not too much. His leg rests just inches away from yours, and you can feel the heat radiating from him.

You start by explaining the basics of Transfiguration, your fingers instinctively moving through the air to illustrate your points.

Things are going fine until it is apparent that Theo is bored. He uses his quill to pester you. Lightly brushing it against the tip of your nose, then down the curve of your jaw.

"Would you quit it?!" you snap at him but he only grins wickedly at your reaction.

“Just trying to keep things interesting, fiend for learning," he replies smoothly.

Your cheeks flush red as he drags the feather lightly across your lips. Before you know it, the quill has dropped and his hand takes its place.

Tension fills the rooms and although you want to berate him again, you don’t.

Theo slides his thumb over your bottom lip, tracing it before gently pushing it inside. Instinctively, you suck on it, betraying yourself.

"There’s the good girl I know,” he murmurs.

His thumb strokes your tongue, exploring the soft warmth inside. His other hand joins in at tormenting you, sliding up your thigh slowly until it reaches the hem of your skirt.

Theo's fingers slide higher, pressing gently beneath your skirt. Your breath hitches when he finds the damp fabric of your panties and his eyes gleam darkly, as if questioning how long you've been wet.

He removes his thumb from your mouth and replaces it with his lips, capturing them softly. You lean into the kiss, craving more as his tongue parts your lips while his hands explore your body like a sculptor, feeling every contour and curve. He slips one hand between your legs, cupping your pussy roughly through the damp fabric of your panties.

You whimper as he grips the front of your panties, pulling sharply until they rip away easily. His warm hand presses against your bare mound and he chuckles approvingly at how wet you are for him.

Two thick fingers rub along your slit, spreading your wetness all over.

"Mmm," he moans, grinding his palm against your clit. He hooks those same fingers into you, filling you up as sets a steady pace pumping his digits in and out of you.

You gasp at the sudden invasion, your hips bucking forward as his arm pins you down.

"Look at that tight little hole sucking my fingers in so greedily, who knew you were such a dirty little slut under all that prude charm?" Theo growls, before adding a third finger.

Stretching you wider as he pumps into you with vigor. "I bet you're just dying to have my cock buried deep inside you," he says, his eyes never leaving yours.

You groan in response, nodding. Theo smirks at your eagerness and slowly withdraws his fingers. He pushes you back onto the bed and unbuckles his pants, revealing his massive cock to you.

He kneels over you, your legs spread wide. You look up at him, meeting his gaze as he slowly guides himself to your entrance. He toys with you, rubbing his head against your clit and swollen lips.

“Please, Theo…”

Theo grabs your legs, folding them upwards so that your calves rest against his chest. His grip tightens, holding you in position as he teases your dripping entrance once more.

Theo looks directly into your eyes as he finally enters you, his thick cock stretching you open. A low moan escapes your lips as he sinks deeper, the top of his cock already hitting your sweet spot.

You feel yourself tightening around him, so snug that each thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through you. Theo lets out a groan as he drives into you relentlessly, the force of his thrusts causing your body to shift up the bed as wetness pools from your core and down your ass cheeks.

Your pathetic cries fill your tiny dorm room as Theo pummels you mercilessly, his heavy balls slapping against your ass with each powerful thrust.

"Fuck, I missed this pussy, bella. Y'know that? Been thinkin' about you every night since I fist got a taste."

Your cheeks burn at his words.

"So. Fucking. Tight,” he grunts through gritted teeth between thrusts.

You bite your lip, stifling another moan as Theo pushes into you even further. Sweat beading down your forehead, threatening to cloud your vision.

"Oh god... I'm gonna-" you cry out loudly, digging your fingernails into his forearms as an intense orgasm rips through you.

Theo doesn't let up, he keeps fucking you hard throughout your climax, your pussy clenching tightly around him. "Bloody Hell," he swears, pounding into you as your muscles ripple with aftershocks.

"Please, Theo I can't take it anymore!" you cry out, but he is relentless, "keep taking it, baby. Let that pretty brain of yours turn off for once.”

He increases his pace as his thumb finds its way to your clit and he works the digit in circles around your sensitive bud, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. His cock pounds into you, filling every inch of your pussy— you’ve never felt so full.

Your tits bounce wildly as Theo's tempo increases, his efforts fueled by primal desire. He drops your legs and grips your hips tightly, changing angles with ease. You’re so overwhelmed that it almost hurts. Your body tingles with anticipation as Theo continues to plunder you. Every nerve ending is on fire, your brain hazy with lust, you are nothing but a babbling mess.

That familiar feeling of euphoria burns within as white hot electricity crashes over you.

“Yes! Yes!” You chant as Theo increases speed again, lifting your ass up slightly for better penetration.

Your soaked pussy clings to him, each stroke drawing wet sounds from your joining.

"You're close," you pant, barely able to form words as his thick length fills you completely, "that’s right mi amor," Theo grunts, slamming into you with newfound urgency as he leans down, gripping your hair and pulling you into a bruising kiss.

"Cum with me, bella," he demands against your lips, "c'mon, one more, you can do it.

Your nails dig into Theo's shoulders as your orgasm rips through you like a thunderstorm, sending shockwaves through your entire body.

Theo lets out a guttural groan, his balls tightening as he releases hot streams of cum inside you. He throbs deeply within you, savoring the sensation of your snug walls milking him dry.

Theo collapses onto you, panting heavily as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He pulls out slowly, watching as his spent cock pops free from your swollen folds.

"Thank you," he murmurs, "for everything."

This was only the beginning of your very complicated relationship with Theo Nott.

[rosierin]

all giggles & glitter | atsumu miya

synopsis; (y/n) comes home drunk from a staff do and atsumu is tasked to take care of her.

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

It was almost 2 AM when the apartment door slammed open with the kind of force that made Suna lift his head from his phone and sigh through his nose.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

Atsumu, who’d been half-asleep on the couch with a blanket kicked halfway down his legs, jerked upright like he'd been shot. “Huh—wha’?”

From the hallway, Osamu’s muffled voice rang out through the darkness, dry and unsurprised. “Ya break that door, yer payin’ for it.”

“Oopsie…” came the sing-song reply.

Atsumu and Suna stared at the culprit.

There, framed by the glow of the corridor light, stood (y/n). Polaroid camera in one hand, purse in the other, dress slightly askew and glitter clinging to her face like it had a vendetta. Her hair was tousled, her cheeks flushed, and she was grinning like she had just committed a crime and gotten away with it.

She looked like a walking cocktail menu and a night of gossip come to life.

“Oh, great,” Suna drawled, locking his phone and tossing it onto the coffee table. “She’s wasted.”

“I am not wasted,” (y/n) declared immediately, pointing a dramatic, wobbly finger at him.

She took two steps forward and—promptly tripped over nothing.

Atsumu shot up like a bridesmaid ready to catch a bouquet at a wedding, but she miraculously caught herself—arms thrown out, knees bent, sticking the landing like a drunken gymnast.

“SEE?” she announced, chest puffed out proudly. “I'm so graceful.”

“Gracefully ‘boutta crack your head open,” Osamu muttered from his room.

Atsumu was already next to her, placing his hands on her shoulders to steady her. “Jesus, babe, how much did ya drink?”

“I dunno.” She blinked up at him with wide, sparkly eyes. “It was fruity, though."

Suna sighed, leaning back on the couch. “Uh oh. Cocktails.”

“Where were ya?” Atsumu demanded, not letting go of her. “Ya should’ve called.”

“I texted!”

"Who?"

Suna held up his phone. “Me. She just said, ‘imwith the grils gnighttt 🥴💞”

Atsumu leaned down and squinted at the screen, lips pulled into a thin line. “That's not exactly… reassurin'.”

“She’s been out with her work friends,” Osamu added, finally stepping into the living room in a hoodie and pyjama pants, hair sleep-mussed. “Staff do, remember? Dancin’, gossipin’, the whole nine yards.”

“Danced my ass off,” (y/n) confirmed, giving a proud nod. “There was a conga line. I led it. Guys, I was majestic.”

“I’m sure you were,” Suna said, deadpan.

“I was,” she insisted, wobbling slightly. “And you'll never guess what—Sadie actually broke up with her boyfriend—which, to be fair, she should’ve done ages ago—and then Ria told me all about the Sabrina Carpenter concert she went to last week—you know, the pretty blonde girl who sings ‘that’s that me espresso.’ Oh! And I’m pretty sure Morrigan bit a guy at one point, and—”

“She’s spirallin'',” Osamu observed.

He took another look at her, scratching his head as he surveyed the damage. “Alright, let’s get ya to bed before ya end up in the damn hospital.”

“But I’m not tired,” (y/n) whined.

“Yes, ya are,” Atsumu said firmly, already guiding her toward her room.

“No, I’m not—oh my God, my feet hurt.”

Suna raised a brow, eyeing the heels she was wearing. "Not surprised wearing those things."

She gasped dramatically and pointed at him. “You—you are not helping!”

“I wasn’t trying to,” he droned.

Atsumu crouched down and tapped her calf. “C’mon, lemme take yer shoes off.”

(Y/n) placed a hand on her hip and stared at him.

“…What?”

“Are you gonna propose?” she asked, completely serious.

Suna snorted. Osamu sighed. Atsumu turned red.

“That is NOT what I was doin’!”

She squinted. “Are you sure?”

“Just gimme yer damn foot,” he grumbled, pulling off her heels while Suna continued to watch, immensely entertained.

(Y/n) wiggled her toes in relief and let out a pleased hum. “Thanks, ‘Tsum. You’re so nice.”

Atsumu froze.

You’re so nice.

Osamu clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Breathe, lover boy.”

But Atsumu was not breathing.

Meanwhile (y/n) was already tottering toward the couch, flopping down in the middle like it was her royal throne. “You guys though—“ she gestured to Osamu and Suna. “—are being mean.”

Suna tilted his head. “You wanna know what’s mean? Dragging your drunk ass home at two in the morning and expecting us to babysit.”

(Y/n) gasped. “You like babysitting me!”

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“…Yes.”

“For the love of—Suna,” Atsumu cut in. “Put her to bed already.”

Suna gave him a long look.

“You do it.”

“She’s your childhood friend.”

“Yeah, which is why I know better than to let a drunk (y/n) anywhere near my bed.”

Osamu pinched the bridge of his nose. “Then just take her to hers.”

Suna clicked his tongue before pushing himself off the armchair. “Fine.”

He then grabbed (y/n)’s arm, but she clung to the couch like a feral raccoon. “No! Noooo, please I wanna hang out with you guys!"

“You can tomorrow—when you’re sober,” Suna grunted, yanking her up effortlessly, ignoring her protests.

“Don’t wanna sleep,” she whined.

“I don’t care.”

“I wanna eat something.”

“No, you don’t.”

(Y/n) turned her big, glassy eyes to Osamu. “’Samu… can I have onigiri?”

“Absolutely not.”

She pouted. “What if I starve?”

Osamu gave her slow blink. “Then I’ll put it on your tombstone: ‘Drank too much, begged for rice, got denied.’”

(Y/n) scowled.

Okay, so one twin was dud.

How about—

(Y/n) turned her big, glassy eyes to Atsumu. “Atsumuuu, say something.”

Atsumu panicked.

He always panicked when she got like this—when her voice went all soft and sleepy and her eyes got shiny and warm and her words came out without filters.

He never knew what to do with her when she was like this. It threw him off completely.

She was usually composed. Witty. A little sarcastic. But now she was… soft. Honest. Childish, almost. And so touchy.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and careful as he slipped his arm around her waist, gently guiding her away from Suna. “Let’s get ya comfy.”

She hummed contentedly and let him lead her down the hall, too tired to fight anymore.

Atsumu guided her up the stairs, one hand steady on her lower back, the other holding all her belongings.

She stumbled once—just a little—and he caught her easily, murmuring something soft and fond under his breath. (Y/n) didn’t quite hear it, but the warmth of his palm on her spine made her shiver.

The bedroom door creaked open, dim moonlight pooling across the floorboards. She blinked at the familiar space, like it was somehow new. Or swaying. Hard to tell.

Even so, as she stood in the middle of the room, she could tell this wasn’t hers.

“Are we in your room?”

Atsumu, already heading toward his wardrobe, nodded. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“’Cause Suna won’t have ya.”

“No, I mean… why are we in your room and not mine?”

Atsumu’s hands faltered. He cleared his throat and mumbled, “Just wanted to keep an eye on ya, is all.”

(Y/n) broke into the broadest grin. “Awwww!”

Atsumu rolled his eyes, but his ears turned a little pink.

A quiet moment passed. (Y/n) started humming to herself, rocking on the balls of her feet like she couldn’t quite stand still. Atsumu glanced over his shoulder and chuckled to himself.

Then he heard her yawn.

He turned back around. She was rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand, voice soft and slightly slurred.

“Hey, Atsumu?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re so…” She squinted at him, smiling dozily. “Tall.”

Atsumu blinked. “...Thanks?”

“You ever notice that?” she asked, waddling over to him and pressing her cheek against his shoulder blades. “You’re like. So tall.”

He laughed under his breath, trying not to combust on the spot. “Alright, c’mon. Bedtime, space cadet.”

He led her to the edge of the bed and eased her down. She plopped onto the mattress with all the grace of a sleepy toddler, swaying slightly like a buoy in the ocean.

Atsumu shook his head fondly, rummaged through his drawer, and grabbed one of his oversized T-shirts at random. It was a little wrinkled, but clean.

“Here,” he said, handing it to her. “Change into this, okay?”

She took it slowly, holding it up by the sleeves like it was an ancient relic. Her brows furrowed.

“…It’s huge.”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “’Cause it’s mine.”

(Y/n) gasped like he’d handed her a sacred object. Then—without shame—she brought it to her face and sniffed it.

Atsumu turned red. “Don’t smell it, ya weirdo!”

She giggled. “It smells like you.”

“Yeah, that’s—that’s how shirts work,” he stammered, waving his hands a little too much. “Jesus, yer so—”

“You’re blushing,” she said, delighted, pointing at him like she’d won something.

He dragged a hand down his face. “I hate drunk you.”

“No, you don’t.”

He peeked at her through his fingers. She was smiling at him—soft, sleepy, unguarded—and it hit him square in the chest.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. “No. I don’t.”

A knock at the door interrupted them. Suna leaned against the frame, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold.

“I’ll give you two some privacy,” he said, voice way too casual.

“DON’T SAY IT LIKE THAT,” Atsumu yelled, spinning around like he’d been caught committing a crime.

Osamu’s voice followed from down the hall, dry and muffled. “I’m goin’ back to bed."

(Y/n) just giggled harder, pulling Atsumu’s shirt over her head like it was the best thing that had happened to her all night. It swallowed her frame, the hem almost brushing past her thighs like a second dress.

Speaking of...

Atsumu blinked.

Then frowned.

“Yer just gonna put it on over yer dress?”

She looked up at him, her smile dopey and innocent.

He quirked a brow, mildly concerned, gesturing vaguely at her glittery, slightly wrinkled outfit. “Ain’t that uncomfortable?”

(Y/n) looked down at herself like she hadn’t even realized. She furrowed her brows. Looked back up.

“…No?”

“Yer just gonna sleep in yer party dress?”

She squinted at him suspiciously, like she was about to be tricked. “Are you making me take it off?”

Atsumu faltered, thrown off by the phrasing.

“What? No! I just—I meant—you don’t have to, I just figured you’d wanna, y’know, change properly.” He waved a hand, flustered. “It’s fine. Ya don’t have to.”

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.

Then he noticed the pout on her face.

“…What’s wrong?”

“Help me,” she said, tugging at the hem of her dress like it had suddenly become unbearable. “It’s itchy. Not comfy.”

Atsumu stared at her.

Like, really stared at her, and processed her words.

“Ya want me to undress ya?”

She let her arms droop by her sides in utter defeat. “Mhmm.”

His brain screeched to a halt.

Cogs turning. Morals clashing. Hormones threatening to riot.

This was a test. This had to be a test. And God—was he about to fail it?

He dragged both hands down his face and knelt in front of her slowly, like he was approaching a bomb with a pair of scissors and no idea which wire to cut.

“I can’t,” he said, voice firm but way too gentle. “Sober you would kill me."

She was giving him a look.

That look.

Eyes round and shiny, lips jutting out in the softest pout he’d ever seen in his life. She looked so genuinely pitiful, so impossibly cute—it was a miracle he didn’t spontaneously combust.

He almost caved when she murmured, all breathy and helpless—

“Please.”

His hands twitched toward the hem of her dress.

Then froze.

Then twitched again.

He squeezed his eyes shut, mentally reciting the rules of being a decent human being. He was not gonna be that guy. He liked being alive. He liked her trusting him.

Then, like a gift from the gods—

“Atsumu, don’t you fuckin’ dare."

Osamu’s voice rang loud and righteous from downstairs, like the ghost of judgment incarnate.

Atsumu flinched like he’d been slapped by the universe.

He stood up fast, cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair like it could somehow smooth out the chaos inside his head.

“Right,” he said, a little too loudly. “Don’t ya need to do your skincare?”

(Y/n) blinked, distracted instantly. Her pout vanished. Her eyes lit up.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, “you’re right—my skin!”

She stood with new purpose, looking momentarily sobered by the sheer urgency of her nightly routine. Then she turned and scurried toward the hallway, bumping her shoulder against the doorframe on the way out.

Atsumu let out a breath as soon as she was gone.

Close call.

Atsumu sighed again and stood, shaking his head like it could somehow reset his brain. It didn’t.

He lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching the empty hallway, then rubbed the back of his neck and wandered out.

She’d been so determined about her skincare, and considering she’d just walked into a doorframe five minutes ago… she probably needed help.

He padded down the hall and stopped just outside the bathroom. The light was on, and from inside came a flurry of clinks, clatters, and a loud “ow!”

He knocked once. “Ya need help?”

There was a pause. Then a crash. Then—

“Yes please.”

He sighed again—but it was smiling this time.

Pushing the door open gently, he found (y/n) crouched on the floor, holding the lid of a serum bottle in one hand while the rest of the serum dripped in sad little globs onto the tile.

She looked up at him with watery eyes, the very picture of tragedy. “That was expensive.”

Atsumu huffed a laugh and crouched beside her. “C’mon, princess. Let’s save what’s left for yer pretty face.”

He helped her up and carefully lifted her onto the bathroom counter like it was second nature. She let her legs swing gently while he picked up the scattered bottles, reading the unfamiliar labels with mild confusion.

“Ya got a whole science lab in here,” he muttered, uncapping the cleanser.

“Uh-huh, that's what skincare is,” she said, wiggling her fingers mysteriously. “It's more than a routine. It's a ritual.”

“Sounds dramatic.”

“Skincare is dramatic, if you think about it.”

He snorted and wet a cloth with warm water, gently dabbing at her face to clean off the remnants of the night. Glitter came off in waves.

“What's with all the glitter?"

“Morrigan and Ria wanted to be disco balls."

Atsumu let out a slow exhale. “Not surprised.”

She giggled, leaning forward so her forehead bumped lightly against his. “You’re being very sweet, y’know.”

“I’m always sweet,” he said, carefully smoothing a little serum across her cheeks.

She gasped softly. “It’s cold!”

He smiled. “It is. You keep it in the fridge or somethin’?”

“Apparently that's what you're meant to do,” she mumbled, eyes fluttering shut as he worked. “Don’t stop, though. Your hands are really gentle…”

He paused for half a second at that.

Then recovered. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm,” she sighed. “Like… real boyfriend material hands.”

Atsumu’s lips quirked up. “That so?”

“Mmhm,” she said again, more sleepily this time. “You could probably get me to do anything with hands like that.”

His hand stalled on her jawline.

“…Anything, huh.”

(Y/n) didn’t seem to notice. She was in her own little skincare dreamland. “Like if you told me to… I dunno, rob a bank? I’d be like, ‘sure, as long as you apply my SPF for me after.’”

Atsumu tried not to laugh, but it came out anyway—low and warm. “Yer dangerous when yer like this.”

“I’m just relaxed,” she murmured, eyes still closed. “You’re the one touching me... making me feel like this."

A short pause.

"Like what?"

Atsumu didn’t look up. He was too focused on the task at hand—spreading the serum evenly, making sure he didn’t miss a spot, acting like this was nothing.

That being said, he still didn’t miss the way she shifted. The way her fingers gripped the hem of the oversized shirt, twisting the fabric absently in her lap.

He didn’t tease her, though. Didn’t say the million things he wanted to. Just glanced up at her, and chuckled—soft, knowing—relishing the warm flush blooming across her cheeks.

Whatever she was thinking… he’d get her to admit it someday. When she was sober.

When he could finally ask and have her mean it.

He gently tapped her chin to tip her head up, fingers warm against her skin as he patted in her moisturiser with slow, practiced care. The act was clinical for the most part. Practical.

Until somehow, it wasn't.

Not when (y/n)'s breath hitched softly. Not when her lashes fluttered open and she looked at him—half-lidded, soft, vulnerable in a way that made Atsumu's stomach twist.

His hand lingered for a moment too long.

And then the air felt different. Thicker. Slower. A little quieter.

“You missed a spot,” she whispered, pointing vaguely at her cheek.

He leaned closer. “Where?”

“Here,” she said, tapping her face.

He raised a brow. “There’s literally nothin’ there.”

“You don’t know that,” she said, lips twitching. “You’re not the expert.”

He huffed another laugh. “Fine. Lemme just—”

He pressed his thumb gently to the spot, smoothing out the remaining product.

The silence stretched.

Then—

“Y’know,” she said, voice soft, “you’re kinda good at this. I might make you my official skincare applier.”

Atsumu grinned, stepping back and putting the lid on the moisturiser. “Add it to my résumé.”

“You’d look cute in a spa uniform.”

“Yer flirtin’.”

“I am,” she agreed cheerfully.

Atsumu shook his head, turning away so she wouldn’t see the way his ears were going red again. “Hop off the counter, you menace. Time for bed.”

“You gonna carry me?”

He quirked a playful brow. "Do ya want me to?"

Then she tilted her head, all soft and hopeful and tipsy.

“Will you actually?”

Atsumu hesitated.

Rolled his eyes for show.

Muttered something under his breath about being too nice for his own good.

And then, without warning, he bent down and scooped her up bridal style.

(Y/n) yelped, laughing as her arms flung instinctively around his neck.

He smirked down at her, trying to play it cool despite the fact that his entire nervous system was buffering. “Told ya I was sweet.”

“You’re my knight in soft cotton sweatpants,” she said dreamily.

He chuckled. “Yer heavy, is what you are.”

“Liar. I’m dainty.”

“You’re deadweight.”

Still giggling, she nestled her head against his shoulder. “You love this, really."

He didn’t answer.

Mostly because she wasn’t wrong.

He pushed open the bedroom door with his foot and carried her to the bed, dropping her gently onto the mattress like she was something fragile. She bounced once and flopped backward with a laugh, limbs spread like a starfish.

He stood above her for a second, staring.

She looked… happy. Sleepy. Safe.

“Get in,” she said, voice muffled against his pillow.

Atsumu raised a brow. “You’re takin’ the whole bed.”

She peeked one eye open. “There’s space.”

With a sigh that was more resigned than annoyed, he slid in beside her, resting on top of the blanket while she curled up underneath. Her hair was still damp from the steamy bathroom, fanned across the pillow like a halo. She started talking immediately—half stories, half thoughts—just sleepy little musings that spilled out like honey.

“I wish work let us wear comfy clothes. I’d be so much nicer if I could wear sweatpants.”

“Mhm.”

“And if customers had to bring us snacks. That should be the rule.”

“Mhm.”

She turned to face him, nose nearly touching his. “I could never work with you though.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You’d distract me.”

“Oh?”

“With your face.”

He huffed a laugh through his nose, not trusting himself to respond.

She kept talking—less coherent now, voice softening with every word. He thought she was drifting off, but then her hand slipped out from under the covers and landed lightly on his chest.

Then her head followed.

She scooted over, tucked her face into the curve of his shoulder, and let out a little sigh of contentment.

Atsumu froze.

Fully, completely froze.

His entire body went taut like someone had just hit the pause button on his soul. His heart thundered in his ears, his brain scrambled for a single logical response, and every cell in his body screamed don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t ruin this.

And then… she started snoring.

A soft, barely audible, but real snore.

Atsumu let out a shaky exhale, blinking up at the ceiling with wide eyes.

Tonight was gonna be a long night.

A very long night.

[forcaleb]

thirty minutes, they said — xavier

warnings — fluff, sleepy xavier, very minor angst if you squint your eyes hard enough, xavier is just a big teddy bear who i wanna kiss and hug and- ok i'll stop

notes — oh to have a xavier hug you while you sleep :( // tags: @sydneybee @tojicide @okkotsuprince

“don’t you think you’re working too much?” xavier asks as he lies on the couch. “it’s the weekend, and you’re working?”

“sorry, xavi,” you mumble, offering a weak apology. “jenna wants these papers done by monday, and i don’t want to deal with them tomorrow.” you sigh, rubbing your forehead. “i don’t even understand why she needs them so early. these kinds of papers aren’t due for another week.”

xavier sits up, noticing the stress on your face. “why don’t you just talk to her? i’m sure she’ll let you relax this weekend and adjust the deadlines.”

“hey, come on. this is jenna we’re talking about,” you reply with a small laugh. “she wouldn’t change the due date even if the world was ending.” you glance at him. “good for you, though—you get to relax while I do all this.”

“yeah, but i want to relax with you,” xavier whines—a rare moment of complaint. he gets up and slumps his large frame over you, his hair falling into your eyes. “come on, just take a quick nap with me, and then i’ll help you finish your paperwork. i’ll be as fast as light!”

you burst into laughter. “xavier, i don’t think that’s how the saying goes. isn’t it supposed to be ‘as quick as lightning’?”

“whatever, same thing,” he mutters, his voice muffled against you. “come on. just thirty minutes, okay? i promise.”

you look at the stack of paperwork, noting that you only have four more pages left to review. reluctantly, you give in. standing up, you watch xavier’s face light up as he follows suit. “okay, fine! but i’m setting an alarm because i know for a fact that you’re not waking up in thirty minutes.”

xavier’s face practically sparkles with excitement (maybe it’s also his evol now that you think about it). “really? okay, great! this’ll be the best nap of your life, i promise.” wiithout wasting a second, he drags you to the bedroom, pulling you into his embrace the moment he flops onto the bed.

the comfort of the bed and xavier’s arms makes you instantly relax. “this feels good,” you hum, shifting to get comfortable. “we really need to get a new chair, though. i swear the one we have is giving me back pain.”

xavier snorts, earning a glare from you. “hey! what’s so funny?”

“back pain? you sound like a grandma,” he teases. “but i agree—the chair’s seen better days. let’s go furniture shopping tomorrow and get you a new one. maybe a table to match, too.”

“really? i think the table we have now works just fine,” you say, skeptical. “are you sure we need a new one?”

“yeah,” xavier nods. “we could get a bigger table so i can put some photo frames on it. that way, if you ever go on a mission without me—which is highly unlikely—i can look at the pictures and pretend you’re still here with me.”

“that’s… sad when you say it like that,” you remark, watching confusion flash across his face. you quickly brush it off. “never mind. forget i said anything.” a big yawn escapes you, and you snuggle deeper into his arms. “why is it that i can always fall asleep so easily when i’m with you?”

“maybe i’m just really comfortable for you,” xavier says, grabbing the edge of the blanket and pulling it over both of you. “now sleep. i’ll wake you up in thirty minutes, i promise.”

you hum in agreement, already drifting off. xavier follows you into slumber just five minutes later.

(as expected, neither of you wakes up in thirty minutes. instead, you both wake up two hours later.)

[urgardenandmine]

good little boy ❆ - s. park (pt. i)

summary: sunghoon is a major fuckboy (emphasis on fuck) with a camera kink ⚠️‼️WARNING: strong language and this work is like NASTY (by tinashe) so read if you are able to handle dirty stuff⚠️‼️ genre: dirty and NASTY (NSFW) pairing: m!reader x park sunghoon word count: 2.8K

requested by @acidangel-fromasia

“look who came crawling back…”

the voice immediately gave you a headache, yet he wasn’t wrong. i mean you were now on his doorstep, wearing your decorated crocs, your camo-green sweats and a baggy black hoodie. you grumbled softly, staring at the man in front of you who wore nothing but his grey sweatpants and flashed his chiseled body. he had no care for who saw him, though probably no one did as it was the morning and everyone was now at work in school.

as you two stared at one another, being dumb college students, you both had nothing to do in your free time. you could be studying or maybe even just going to the gym and catch up on working out since class has made things out of whack for you but you decided to answer a stupid booty call from a jerk wad (who knew how to make you c-). 

the very attractive man, sunghoon, eyed you up and down. he pouted, stepping closer to you as he wrapped his arms around your waist as he looked into your eyes. he tilted his head, whining.

“aw, love~, you aren’t wearing your choker.” he stated, causing you to look away as the tip of your ears began to feel warmer. you didn’t want to give into his cute antics, just wanted some good pounding then leave. you got stiff, making sure he couldn’t lower your guard because every time you did, all you ended up with was trust issues and even more piled on. sighing, you gently removed his arms from you and glared up at him. 

“i don’t wanna wear that, park.” you spat back, causing him to whine even more as he slouched and pressed his forehead against yours. the mention of his last name caused him to feel a bit fiery inside, hearing how the boy who grips the sheets under him was gaining a backbone. sunghoon chuckled softly as he stood up right and kissed your temple, before wrapping his hand around your neck. you gulped softly, feeling his digits slightly dig on where they met your neck. he removed your hoodie, revealing your freshly washed fluffy hair and grazed his teeth on your ear.

“i guess this will have to work…” he whispered, before biting your ear softly. you tried to hold back your feelings of immense attraction yet it was evident you were getting a bit stiffer somewhere else. removing his veined, warm hands from your throat, he smiled and leaned against his door frame. exhaling happily, he smiled at you as he took in the sight in front of him. in front of him, he saw a hot and bothered fuck toy who he couldn’t wait to strip and just ruin. 

“well, come on in! why don’t we get comfortable.” he inviting teased, grabbing your hands as he led you into his house. you and sunghoon were both students who commuted and both lived at  home. the fun thing though was that his parents were rarely home, so he had the place all to himself. you took in the sight of his living room, seeing the usual couch and the coffee table. what was new was the notebooks on the table, which was weird as you knew sunghoon to be the type of boy to never study since. only time you ever saw him study was when he tried to get your attention from school and it worked, considering this is your dozen time being here in a month. 

following sunghoon up to his room, you took a small breath to prepare yourself for what was about to happen. in reality, sunghoon was a great bed partner. you couldn’t remember a time when he gave you a rough pounding or a sensual one to where you couldn’t walk. as much as you didn’t want to, you were always screaming his name and always scratching his back to where his friends thought he had a secret girlfriend. though in reality, sunghoon was the typical DL guy who just knew how to use his tool. 

walking into his room, you were met with the blinds drawn yet the sheer blinds left over the windows, letting in some light and not too much for people to see the mess about to be made in a couple minutes. his bed sheets were the usual navy blue silk linen, while his pillows were a dark blue and white flannel pattern. the rest of the room was dark, the only light source being the window. sunghoon stood by the door, letting you in to get situated as he chuckled and spanked you gently. you jumped a bit, looking back at him as you groaned. closing the door behind him, he slowly slinked off his sweats to reveal his black boxers. you looked back and saw his bulge, blushing as you rolled your eyes and stuck your hands in the hem of your sweatpants before you felt a hand grab yours, stopping you. 

looking over your shoulder, you saw sunghoon smile as he kissed your cheek and then had you take your hands out. he turned you around, lifting your chin with his soft hands as he planted his coral lips onto yours. closing your eyes, he kissed gently before turning it into a whole make out session. within a second, he wrapped both arms around your waist again as he rubbed his now solid bulge against yours, eliciting soft moans from you both as you had your arms around his neck. sunghoon began to bite your lips, moving down to your neck leaving marks, regardless of the pain he brought you. you whimpered, head rolling back as he then licked his bite marks. chuckling softly, sunghoon then pushed you onto the bed. 

crashing onto the bed, you looked down to see him now slowly undressing you. feeling the soft cotton slowly slide down your legs, you began to feel sunghoon kiss your thighs as he got closer to your clothed throbbing member. shivering, you tried to push him off you as he then glared at you, swiping your hand away as he bit your thigh gently. while on his knees, sunghoon slowly brought one hand down into his boxers and began to slowly tease himself as he teased you. 

sunghoon took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your body wash and you yourself. feeling impatient, sunghoon then used his one free hand and slowly yanked off your own boxers, seeing your rock hard dick spring into the air. though you yourself weren’t the biggest, you were palatable. sunghoon smirked, looking at you as he then used both hands and slinked both arms under your thighs, propping you up as he brought his mouth closer to your pulsing member. feeling his breath reach your tip and more, you closed your eyes and felt embarrassed as you had never seen this side of him. well, you have but you don’t remember much. seeing you not look at him, sunghoon pinched your thighs and caused you to squeak a bit. you looked down and saw him glaring at you.

“look at me, bitch.” sunghoon demanded, before having his tongue lick your tip. gulping, you made sure to make eye contact with the brown eyed boy. sunghoon took a small breath, trying to pace himself. he wanted to enjoy how he was going to ruin you. one thing about sunghoon being a fuckboy was he was a fun one, as he knew how to make sure you got close to the edge but never finished before him. looking up at you, sunghoon then engulfed your whole dick into his warm, wet mouth before moaning around you, sending vibrations throughout your lower member. you groaned, arching your back as you were sensitive. being the usual submissive person in most situations, you were barely tasted down there. with sunghoon, he owned every part of you and wanted to make sure you knew only he could make you feel this good. 

he began to bob his head up and down, his eyes now closed as he began to slobber all over your crotch as your dick hit the back of his warm throat. though sunghoon was strictly a top and you had rarely gotten head, to you both, it felt perfect with one another. though sunghoon had multiple bodies and people to choose from, he chose you every day and when he couldn’t, he didn’t mind whipping out his cock to jerk and send you videos throughout the day till you caved in. 

as sunghoon bobbed up and down, he slowly removed his mouth and began to lap at your balls, causing you to shake and hold onto his head. he saw you biting your lip and trying not to be too loud, making him annoyed. in retaliation, he began to suck on your balls, causing you to let out a loud and long moan as he smirked and then spat on your cock, stroking you softly. 

“f-fuck! sunghoon~.” you whimpered, causing him to smirk as he then removed his hand. he then lifted you up gently, seeing your hole now in front of him. in an instant, sunghoon began to kiss that area as you moaned. having both arms hold you up, he began to devour you as he moaned into your opening. you gripped the bed sheets, the silk ruffling into your hands. sunghoon then removed one hand, staring at the puckering hole in front of him as you could see his face covered in spit. he laughed, spitting on you as he then ran a finger onto you. as you looked at him, you were met with the eyes of a boy who wanted to drag you to heaven and back. slipping a finger into you, sunghoon moaned as he entered you. moaning loudly, you threw your head back as he began to stir your insides.

after what seemed to be a year of teasing (when in reality it was possibly only fifteen minutes) of sunghoon’s fingers inside your warm insides, he was now matching his tip against your hole. as you were ready to brace yourself, you heard a small beep and click. looking at him, you saaw sunghoon holding your leg and now a camcorder in his hand. bunching up your hoodie and covering your privates, sunghoon looked down at you. 

“what’s wrong little pet, shy?” he teased, spanking you as you whined softly. 

“just wondering what’s that for…” you asked, scared of upsetting him. whenever he was angry, he fucked your brains out till you were a rambling mess. sunghoon smiled, turning on the camera as he then angled it to your face and held your face in his hand. he then bent down and kissed you sloppily, moaning into your mouth as his tongue slipped into your mouth. pulling away, he showed the camera your flushed face as he grinned from ear to ear.

“just something for me to watch later, bunny. don’t be shy.” he reassured, standing back up and then pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. he slapped his hard cock onto yours, making you feel needy for it. he then tugged on your hoodie, signaling he wanted this off immediately. understanding his signal, you sat up and removed your hoodie, tossing it off to the side. he inhaled deeply, breathing slowly as he panned the camera to your body and ran a hand down your body. 

“look at my little fuck toy…” he trailed, rubbing his hard eight inch cock against your skin. setting the camera near your head, he then made sure he was in frame as he grabbed a condom and some lube. though sunghoon was rough, he wasn’t careless with you or his health. though his other partners and him were always safe and clean, sunghoon did a little more for you. he made sure he shaved, didn’t smell and as well, made sure the mood was just right. there was music playing in the back yet it wasn’t too loud as the only music he chose to listen to was your grunts and whines. along with that, he had lit a scented candle you mentioned was your favorite when you two had first met. 

grabbing your thighs and placing them around his waist, sunghoon bent down, his face close to yours as he stroked his lubed and covered cock. he lined up his dick with your hole, licking his lips as he saw how needy you were yet were trying to cover it up. he rolled his eyes, kissing you gently as he then slipped his tip in. sucking in a breath, you winced as sunghoon slowly made his way into you. not pushing any further, letting you get used to his girth once more, he lubed up his hand and began to stroke you slowly. you moaned, looking up at sunghoon. he closed his eyes, listening deeply to your noises. 

as he continued to stroke you, he began to push a little deeper in. though it hurt a bit, it felt amazing as sunghoon’s soft and now slick hands  were tugging on your hard cock. as he was halfway in, sunghoon began to kiss your neck. feeling him in you, it was a feeling you missed. you found yourself playing with your back door a lot more frequently ever since you guys began hooking up and it felt like nothing. as he was halfway inside you, you could feel the veins throbbing and how full you were. sunghoon groaned, feeling himself slip into your warm hole. kissing your neck as well as he stroked you, sunghoon then pushed himself in slowly all the way. whining, you wrapped your arms around his burly shoulders. he laughed softly, leaving a small hickey. 

after being adjusted to him, he began to move without any notice. your eyes widened, as you began to let out a string of moans as he began to do shallow strokes. you closed your eyes, feeling sunghoon throb as he began to pump you gently. turning your head towards his neck, he could feel you breathe onto him. lifting his lips from your neck, your eyes locked. in the next second, you began locking lips and making a mess of one another’s lips. 

after five minutes of slow strokes, sunghoon then placed his hands onto the sides of your ass as he began to thrust deeper and harder. 

“fuck! sunghoon!” you yelped, feeling him hit your prostate in an instant. since you two were constant fuck buddies, sunghoon knew you better than you knew yourself. smirking to himself, he looked into the camera and began to demolish your hole. being taller, he rested his head on top of yours as his chin was on your crown. as he stared into the camera, he moaned and smiled at the sight before him. he saw your legs wrapped around him as the bed was shaking. reaching over to grab the camera, he then lifted himself enough to film your face that was filled with lust and pleasure.

“good little faggot, take my cock.” he groaned, shoving it harder to where you began to shake. 

“good fucking slut~.” sunghoon sang, spitting on your face as he then took his other fingers and shoved it into your mouth. you began to suck on them instinctively, making sunghoon happy as he ruined your insides to the point where you were gripping the sheets once again. sunghoon held the camera and began to thrust into you like there was no tomorrow, grinning once more as he could feel how loose you were getting.

bringing one hand to your throat, sunghoon then began to choke you slightly. he knew it wasn’t your favorite but he loved the sight of seeing you under him and whining.

“look at my bitch with his choker. fucking perfect.” the taller man huffed out. changing the pace of his thrusts, sunghoon then slowed down and began to do deeper strokes. he pulled out till only his tip was left inside, then ramming it in. as he did so, he had elicited a loud whine from you, filling the room with only your moans and his deep low grunts. your hands began to hold onto his arm as he choked you, feeling something soon pooling in your lower area. 

“oh, f-fuck! fuck, fuck!” you rambled, arching your back as you came all over yourself. sunghoon tightened his grip on your throat, smiling as he then filmed your shaking legs and what seemed to be your never ending cumshot. he filmed a closeup of your hard cock trembling, as it spewed it’s milk.

setting down the camera, he slowed down his thrusts as he then sped up. he gripped one leg with his other free arm, still choking you as he then pressed his forehead against yours. 

“god, fucking love you, [y/n].” he mumbled, before he got back to fucking your brains out.

and he continued to do so, till you painted his sheets and yourself white and made yourself wetter than ever. sunghoon kept the camera rolling, forgetting it was ever there as he lost himself in you…

⋆｡°✩

dis shit is LONG

sorry if it got rushed at the end but SURPRISE, this is a two-parter

hope y'all enjoy my first ever smut/nsfw story!

[humanityinahandbag]

I've explored the idea of Eddie being married to Steve without knowing it before in a story before (you can read it here), but in that one, Eddie and Steve have been together for years and Eddie is just so completely blinded by pining that he doesn't know how serious the relationship is.

So now I'd like to put forth a different take on this trope for the steddie court's approval.

Steve, who is so incensed by homophobia for his best friend, Robin, that he decides to protest against Reagan by getting married to Eddie.

The only issue? Eddie has zero clue.

Steve got certified in the mail to be an officiant. Claudia works at city hall and isn't sure why Steve wanted a marriage license, but figured he'd helped Dustin so many times that she could help out with one little favor. And Steve figures that customers in Family Video, while not totally aware, count as witnesses.

So he picks a morning where the sun is shining in an especially Fuck Reagan sort of way, gets dressed in his best polo shirt and jeans, styles his hair, and goes to work.

To be clear; Steve does not think that this is legally binding.

He's thinking that this will be a fun sort of protest souvenir to show Robin. Like "Hey, bestie, soulmate, light of my life! Tack this on the wall! I'm technically gay married to my other best friend, so fuck the haters!"

And to also be clear; he knows Eddie is gay as well. No one told him. But he sees the way Eddie looks at him. He knows Eddie's got a crush (though he doesn't know that said crush has been around since reign as King Steve). Steve knows Love.

He also knows that Eddie unlocked a whole world of bisexuality for him. In fact, he's been putting the moves on Eddie for weeks now.

Eddie is just... so shy and flustered and nervous.

Thankfully, Steve is great at romance. He can seduce. He can use the Harrington Techniques.

And he thinks that a fake marriage license might be just the ice breaker to show Eddie. Proof that he's not homophobic. So much so that he's into dudes. Maybe even get in a good laugh. Get Eddie to chill out and stop acting so skittish and just let Steve kiss him already.

(And maybe, yunno, let Steve do other things to him that probably involve candles and flowers and maybe some smooth jazz).

So to Steve, this is a two for one solution.

He gets to protest homophobia with a fake marriage license for his best friend Robin, and he gets to show the guy he likes (and who likes him back) that he's totally into him with a cute little down with Reagan ice breaker.

It's a win win for everyone.

So one day, when Eddie comes into Family Video, the poor metalhead very nearly dies on the spot when Steve, smile bright enough to light a room, pushes a paper towards him and asks him to sign.

And Eddie, lovestruck and beside himself, doesn't even register what Steve is saying. Steve is perfect and wonderful and funny and smart, and he's asking Eddie to sign something, and Eddie barely even looks down at the document before he's scribbling his name.

Steve does explain. Of course he does.

Eddie just... isn't really listening.

He does however listen when Steve asks Eddie out at the end of his shift and Steve gets to watch the other boy turn pink as a summer sky when he says yes.

And that's that.

Steve has a first date to look forward to and a fake marriage certificate to turn in. He gives the paper back to Claudia and asks if she can stamp it. Make it look real. He'll frame it when he gets it back.

The issue is, Claudia is really good at her job. And Hawkins is currently experiencing the aftermath of a Diet Apocalypse and doesn't notice the fine details of everything moving through their local government. So the paperwork processes; laws be damned.

It's definitely a fun surprise when Steve opens the mail one day (before he's even gotten to take Eddie out), and finds out that he's somehow, legally, the first gay marriage in Indiana. Or most of the United States, really.

Which is... definitely something.

But Steve loves Love. And so he processes the news pretty quick and then walks into work with the energy of an especially confused but cheerful golden retriever. "Hey, Robin!" he'd say, reading through the letter again. "You remember how I made that marriage license for you?"

She laughs fondly. "Yeah, dingus. It was sweet."

"Anything for you," he says, sincerely. And then; "You remember how I'm going to take Eddie out? And you agree? You think he likes me back?"

She snorts. "He's totally obsessed with you. I'm pretty sure we've skipped a few stages over like and moved right onto love."

Which is great. Because when Steve falls, he falls hard. He's a guy who loves Love. It's great to find someone who loves him back the way he wants!

"Awesome," beams Steve. "So do you think I should tell him we're actually legally married before or after I take him to the movies?"

[mixingandmelting]

Ok so there comes a time in every relationship where your partner annoys you and then you have to decide if staying with them is worth it cuz you love them more than the person’s flaws? Now for the batboys, what normal annoying things from their partner do you think would annoy them? And on the flip side, what do you think the bat boys would do to annoy their partner without meaning too? (Example: One of the things about Dick is that he has organised mess and he gets incredibly stressed out if someone moves his stuff around without telling him. It’s as basic as his shoes being cleaned and placed a couple of feet in the open from where they were for him without telling him, he feels like an asshole and apologises after once he cools down, but this actually upsets him in canon comics.) (for example for reader: it can be he has an annoying sneeze that goes through you when you sit next to him)?

His Pet Peeve vs His Bad Habit

A/N: Ended up making this somewhat a two-part post since let's be real, all of them would be guilty with crashing unannounced which i posted here😂

Dick:

Pet peeve that you do: touching his stuff

Others have said he's terrible at putting things away, he simply calls it an organizational mess. It works for him so why should it matter to anyone else? 

Can’t handle anyone moving his things. Absolutely, genuinely, no matter who it is

Called and texted you multiple times before over this whether it’s his shoes being placed a few inches away where he usually places them, his cereal boxes in the wrong order compared to how he usually has them placed

“Where are my keys? What? Why would you place them in my desk’s drawer? They belong on the couch-”

There are reasons why he placed things the way they are. It’s not hard to not touch and leave them be

Vents out his frustration and irritation but never to the point of crossing the line since you only move things when you’re helping him out with cleaning his place out especially if he neglects doing some house chores ( laundry, dishes, making his bed, everything)

Bad habit that annoys you: naming things after his vigilante code name

He’s known to be witty and charming with his word play, most of the time being cute or funny. But when it comes to naming, in general, it’s a mess

The name he gave to his boat, motorcycle, car, and weapons are of the following: boat wing, wing cycle, nightbird, wing dings. Yes, this is all canon and it should be telling how great his naming senses are

You swore and even made a bet against his friends that he was the one to give the name Bitewing to the cute pitbull. You later called Tim and Babs to express your disappointment towards them, saying they knew better 

You tried not to shed a tear from how proud you were for Dick to name Bitewing with a reasonable and normal civilian name: Haley. It wasn’t Nugget or Gray - it was an actual memorable and good name

Begged him to not have the plane he planned to have either “night” or “wing”. No Wing Plane, no Night Flight, please. Something normal. He never listens and goes it for it in the end

Jason:

Pet peeve that you do: Incorrect grammar and messes

He’s special because he has two: incorrect grammar usage and his place being messy

Unlike Dick who hates people touching his stuff in general, Jason’s more keeping his space clean

Seriously, anyone who breaks into his room should know how meticulous he is, where even his weapons are hanging on the walls in fancy oak wood frames with red velvet cushioning underneath for aesthetics

He’s gentle but looks like a cherry when he reminds you to make sure you’re not leaving your laundry on the ground or used napkins on the table - like there’s a dirty hamper and trash can for a reason and it’s not for decoration

Irritates him to no end when people misuse words and grammar where he’ll annoy the other person until the correct it including you

Yes he will do the cliche can vs may (“Can you? As in are you able to? Or may you as in you need permission”), use asterisks below your text with the correct word because if it annoys you think about how he feels when you make those errors

Bad habit that annoys you: Messy eater

With him being a fan of eating hand-held foods, favorite being hot dogs and ice cream, he frequently gets food stains on his clothes

Slouches on his chair or couch, ketchup slipping off and onto his shirt and munching without a care while you’re staring at the guy who’s also a clean freak regarding his private space

Lost track how many shirts he ruined, annoying you and himself 

Though sometimes it was appreciated when he’d get up and take off his shirt to wash out the fresh, new stain at the kitchen sink ;)

But most times you threaten to get him a bib or be those pretentious, stereotypical rich people where they stuff a corner of their napkin into their shirts while shaking the numerous shirts you had to wash in a single week

Tim:

Pet peeve that you do: not following directions

He already gets agitated and stressed when no one follows the plans he spent three weeks perfecting without sleep. What makes you think he won’t be the same when you don’t read the package inserts or the directions?

Most of the time everything goes smoothly when reading them. And do you know how much time it must’ve taken to write the instructions while considering all the people they’re selling their product to?

He does admit a some are BS and make no sense

Doesn’t express his annoyance and instead stays on the sidelines, slurping from his can of Monster and lets you do your own thing knowing you’re going to fail. Then once you do and get frustrated as to why nothing is working, he rubs it in how you should’ve read the instructions

“You sure that’s right? It says here you need to insert that part first.” “I know what I’m doing Tim, I’ve done it a thousand times.” Cue the Ikea frame falling. “Maybe you should’ve read the package insert.” “Shut up.” 

Bad habit that annoys you: Napping locations

Where he takes his naps is just as bad as his caffeine consumption and lack of sleep in general

When he’s tired, like really tired, he can sleep anywhere. In the classroom, in the conference room, on the floor of the living room

You found him sleeping on the kitchen table once. As in his whole body lying on the table. How and why neither of you know other than Tim remembering he wanted to rest his head on the table

You’ve begged him so many times to nap on the bed or couch out of concern he was going to get hurt

He still doesn’t listen so you started a collection of taking pictures of the oddest places he sleeps at and on, proceeding by sending them to the group chat. It does work but only for a while since he’ll end up falling asleep after not sleeping for another whole week

Duke:

Pet peeve that you do: common sense

When leaving the room, turn the lights off. When done washing your hands, turn the faucet off. In other words, common sense

He really doesn’t get how it’s so hard to do just that. It should be natural, automatic response

After becoming a full time vigilantes, the bigger things he scratches up as the per usual daily problems but it’s the little things that get to him

Found you reading in the dark once without having the lights on before. He went on about vision impairment after flicking the switch up. He wasn’t amused when you joked how he could’ve sat next to you so you’d get both a reading lamp and body-sized pillow

Don’t get him started with dishes and how they should’ve been washed after a meal not leaving them in the sink for who knows how long

Also cereal. He believes it’s cereal first then milk, reasoning you can control the amount and ratio of cereal to milk 

Bad habit that annoys you: biting pencils 

Does it whenever he’s thinking about something deeply but can’t solve the issue

Whether it’s working on a plan, trying to figure out a case, doing homework

Problem is pencil paint isn’t all that healthy or safe to consume. Also having a pencil have smell like one’s breath isn’t that appealing 

Doesn’t matter what part of the pencil though there seems to be actual indents near the eraser end which once made you asked if a pencil tastes good

You’ve gotten him mechanical pencils and eraser toppers. Somewhat worked only for him to go back using his usual wooden pencils and bite them again

Tries to stop after you went on how harmful biting pencils are, still finds himself doing it time-to-time

Damian:

Pet peeve you do: calling him short

Don’t ever bring it up. Don’t ever mention it. He. Is. Not. Short

Height is not everything when it comes to crime fighting. Skills, abilities, and strategy beats pure physical prowess

He’s not the shortest either. He’s still growing. Drake is only 5’7” at his current age while Todd was 4’6” when he was Robin. Being  5’4” is a perfectly, acceptable height

This also includes all synonyms and phrases. Tiny, small, fun sized. His personality coming from the fact shorter people are closer to hell- 

He fumes and bursts whenever it happens. Literally will get ready wage a battle of a lifetime 

Whenever you do it, he gives you hell by pranking you in every way until you wave the white flag and admit you’re wrong. Usually that never happens and the adults end up having to step in to get both of you two stop

Bad habit that annoys you: tongue clicking

Does it to express so many emotions, so it gets confusing as to why he clicked his tongue without the full context

It could be from annoyance, dissatisfaction, or disagreement. At least you know it’s used for a negative response

Not as bad when he does it because he got stumped since then you’re just smug and getting to gloat you were right while he scowls back

But when he does it to avoid answering you out right or when he refuses to agree- like come on, use your words not onomatopoeia

Ask him if he’s doing it because he’s sulking and it gets him to stop only for it happen again as it’s part of his habit

Cue another reason for a childish war between the two of you where one has to one-up the other

[jaggedamethyst]

bucky barnes and his physical media

pairing: bucky x reader, use of she and girl once or twice

content: bucky is obsessed with physical media, especially photos…but he hates being in them. you try to change that.

notes: minors dni, slight smut but it’s honestly pretty tame here, some obligatory bucky angst. i don’t believe in proofreading I fear.

word count: 1.8k

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Growing up Bucky quickly gained a fondness for cameras. He loved to capture the images of those he loved--moments in time for which he could always look back on when he missed them.

He considered himself a confident guy and took said pictures at any opportunity he was given. He figured someone would always want to look at a face that perfect, if he could say so himself.

It was different, though, when the reflected images no longer were of the young man so keen on going to war. When the moment in time was one that could only elicit one of fear. He couldn’t recognize himself these days, not after being the Winter Soldier. The man was now adamant about not having memories that preserved him as he was now. Not when he was a shell of the man he’d known years ago.

If he absolutely had to take pictures, he was even more sure it would never be on a fucking phone. Not only are they the most fickle objects imaginable, he also hated the damn cloud. He wasn’t entirely prehistoric; he understood when people said that it was a way to store things…but a cloud. He’d had one too many mishaps with technology that things randomly disappearing from the cloud was not too far fetched in his mind. If he had to preserve something special to him it would absolutely be in an album. An album was tangible, and if it came to it, he could easily grab the stack of them in a hurry.

Physical media was absolutely near and dear to him. Whenever an old show was nowhere to be found, he clung to his DVD sets like a lifeline. The same could be said of his photo albums. They quickly became a way for him to reclaim some of the power he felt was lost with his mind. But taking pictures and storing them, to him, was therapeutic.

That's how he ended up with several albums on his shelf. Some were miscellaneous, ones that had yet to be sorted. Others solely for pictures of nature that he found calming to look at.

Nothing compared to the album he had of you, though.

An inadvertent smile would always creep up on his lips when his eyes met the spine of your album. Just the sight of your name sprawled in his handwriting was enough to make him feel warm inside. Inside were photos of you, some candid, others posed. He hated pictures, but for you he would at least attempt to stomach the feeling .

He flipped through the pages as he always did, feeling sort of proud he’d managed to take such great snapshots in time..and even more that he preserved them without the damn cloud.

Bucky made note to add more to this album; it wasn’t nearly as full as he’d like. With that, he swiftly closed the album—a gust of air causing one photo to fly out of the book. He grabbed the print that lay at his feet, not thinking much of it other than it would be returned to its rightful place among the other portraits of his girl.

As he flipped the picture, a heat quickly spread across the man’s cheeks. Oh. He definitely was not expecting this.

A selfie. Yes, that’s what it’s called. He’d learned that word a while ago. Somewhere in time he also learned that while people could be “in the nude,” they’d also referred to risqué photos similarly. Yes, a nude was how he would describe this one.

The man had seen many works of art in his day. Some of which were dedicated to his friend for his accomplishments in war. Others, of objects, like how Bucky would leisurely snap a photograph of a bird sitting stoic in a tree.

None of that compared to the polaroid he’d laid eyes on right now. His thoughts reeled in his mind, observing every detail. He knew it was hard to capture yourself in frame with these print cameras—no clear indication of what was in focus. But you were skillful.

The sun cascaded over your body, highlighting your skin in a way he’d never seen. He couldn’t see your face above your lips, but they curled in a way that seemed purposeful. How he’d do anything to see your eyes reflect the light of the sun that day. He slowly placed a finger on the photo, tracing the curve of your neck…your shoulder…your fingers.

No. He mentally groaned. The curl in your lips, a smirk, made sense now. You’d covered yourself where he wanted to see most. Hands crossed over your chest but your skin remained bare, teasing him. He felt so disgusted with himself even thinking this way, wanting to see more. It’s not like he hadn’t already, but in this moment the taunting imagery drove him up a wall.

He’s not sure when exactly he’d sat down on the couch or when his pants got to be pooled at his ankles. He’s even less certain of what time it is, but your footsteps approaching his door bought him back to reality. You’re off work.

The now strained fabric of his pants irritated him. Not only did your nude leave him extremely worked up, but he didn’t even finish before you got back.

Your voice resounded from the door, “Buck! I left the key, can you open up?”

“Coming!” He froze, an audible huff leaving his nostrils at the poorly timed reply.

He placed the photo in his back pocket before stalking towards the door.

With a swift swing, the door opened to your smile on the other side. Unlike the mischievous smirk that was printed in the picture in his pocket, this one was borderline affable. He let out what could only be described a a mixture between a scoff and chuckle.

You quirked a brow, “um, what's funny?” You rounded the space left by Bucky’s shoulders, making your way towards the kitchen.

“Nothing,” Bucky replied with a hint of sarcasm, “just had a bit of a weird day.”

“Really?” You turned to start the faucet, washing your hands before looking for something to drink. “You…wanna talk about it?”

The man felt his chest continue to rise and fall at an erratic pace. As the water continued to trickle he became painfully aware of the situation in his jeans at the present. Fuck it.

He reached for his pocket, quickly whipping the film towards your back.

He tried to level his voice in an attempt at asking his next question in the most nonchalant way he could muster. “Baby…what’s this?”

You craned your head away from the faucet a bit, “huh?” Grasping a towel, you slowly turned towards the sound of Bucky’s voice. “What’s wha- oh-”

An obvious shock appeared on your face but had he not looked close enough he would have missed it. The shift to an indifferent facial expression perplexed the man--even more when you replied in a chipper tone.

“Oh! I just got this new camera the other day at the store.” You moved past him, turning the corner and heading down the hall towards the junk closet you guys kept. He followed your movement with his eyes, stuck in place with pure intrigue. The distance and scrambling left your voice low to his ear. “You wanna see it? It's so cool and it wasn't too expensive!”

He moved back towards the couch, slouching a bit. “Sure, baby.”

Bucky twisted his head at the sound of you walking, no skipping, back towards the living room. “This thing is so easy to use, Buck. I feel like a pro like you.”

“I am not a pro,” he mumbled, his hand meeting his forehead.

He felt a hand on him, brushing his hair back. The nudge forcing him to lift his head to meet your eye. You’d knelt on the floor in front of him.

“I,” you planted a kiss on his cheek, “think you are amazing at taking pictures.” A pause loomed in the air, “but I wanted to do something for you…show you can be a great subject too.”

You placed a finger on his shoulder, urging him to lay back. “You should get comfortable, Buck…because this,” you gingerly plucked the photo from his grasp “is just the first installment to an amazing collection I think we will have.”

Bucky absolutely needed to work on his recollection skills—his ability to focus too. He again found himself with his pants down and no idea of how he’d come to be that way. This time, a cool breeze swept against his chest—his shirt somehow flung across the room. He absolutely did not mind, though.

The way in which you seemed to be skilled at everything truly blew his mind. With only a hand pumping him up and down, slowly at that, he’d found himself writhing against you. Whispers fell on deaf ears, as he’d quickly become overstimulated from his lack of release before.

“I- I-,” he stumbled as he usually did with you. There was no time when you were together when he didn’t feel at a loss for words. But here, with himself dripping all over your hands, your eyes looking at him expectantly, and your gentle lips grazing against his skin—he was struggling to even say more than one syllable.

You assured him, “it's okay, I know.” Simple words, but enough to make his insides tingle.

“Fuck…please,” he uttered your name. “I can’t-“

Your soft hands grasped his face again, a silent request for his eye contact.

It was so unfair, he knew that she knew that’d be his weakness. As quickly as it started, Bucky would finally finish. A feeling of euphoria and relief rushed the man, his skin prickly and glossed over with sweat.

“This is perfect,” he lowered his head a bit to see you back on your knees, this time holding your hands up. An arched brow raised on his face once more…you could be so damn elusive sometimes. At a further look, he could see you there, one eye closed. He searched between your hands, they were making L shapes in the air.

“Actually perfection,” you said with a flourish of your fingers. You leaned back, grasping your camera from the coffee table. “Now, be good James and don’t ruin my work.”

“I don’t know what you mean-“

Your finger met his skin, softly mixing in with the wetness now drenching his lower abdomen. He felt you marking a shape into the puddle—a heart?

Before he could even register, a flash. You’d taken a photo.

“Like I said, perfection.”

You left the polaroid beside the other on the coffee table, planting a kiss on the man's lips this time.

Bucky’s smile creeped up on his face, a happiness enveloping him.

“I think we need a new album.”

[peachversace]

fashion killa

chapter two ; and fall into you

[nsfw] — smut (18+) ; bakugou katsuki x reader

word count: 20,014 — read on ao3 — read part one on tumblr

tags: strangers to lovers, friends with benefits, pro hero bakugou katsuki, explicit language & sexual content, aged-up characters, porn with plot, model!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, mutual pining, bakugou is a soft yearning idiot who i want to eat up, kirishima eijirou is a good friend, not beta read!

summary:

Fashion Week was supposed to be simple-walk the runway, collect your check, and, if all went according to plan, spend the night with Pro Hero Dynamight. Just a little fun. Nothing more. But getting rid of Bakugou Katsuki proves to be harder than slipping out of a too-tight sample size.

Or, in which a one-night stand with one of Japan's most famous men turns into a relentless game of cat and mouse-and the worst part? You don't hate it.

notes:

the final chapter is here! thank you so much for all the love on the first chapter—it really means a lot to me. this was supposed to go up on sunday, but i didn’t like the ending, so i changed it last minute lol. i hope you guys like it and that it lives up to your expectations. thank you in advance, and happy reading!

enjoy! :D

Things get stranger after that night, but not in a way you could have anticipated. 

You and Katsuki seem to grow closer, slipping into each other’s lives with an ease that feels both natural and unsettling. It's not what you expected. You thought things would stay casual. But there’s a shift now—something in the way you reach for your phone more often, his name lighting up the screen with more frequency.

It starts with simple things. He calls you more, which surprises you because Katsuki’s never been one for chit-chat, but his voice on the other end of the line feels steady, grounding. You catch yourself waiting for those calls, anticipating the sound of his gruff voice grumbling about some villain he had to deal with or asking how your day went. It's not just calls either. Texts come in, pictures too. You send him photos of you in a photoshoot, all glammed up in haute couture, and he replies with short, dry comments, ‘Looking good,’ or ‘Too fancy.’ But you can tell he's looking, really looking. You send pictures from the gym, hair tied back, sweat glistening on your skin. And in return, Katsuki sends you his own pictures. They’re blurry sometimes, like he doesn’t know how to properly frame a shot, and he always scowls in them, half his face obscured. 

He grumbles, “Ain’t good at this photo crap,” but you can see the effort. It’s adorable, especially when he sends you pictures from bed, messy hair and bare chest, a hint of vulnerability in the way the camera captures him. You wonder if he realizes how soft he looks.

You start spending more time together too—more than you’d planned for. It’s not always about the sex now, though that’s still a big part of it. But there’s a sweetness in how you share space. Sometimes, it’s cooking together, and he’ll stand beside you, watching your every move with that sharp focus he has for everything. Other times, it’s movies, the two of you sprawled out on the couch, his arm slung lazily over your shoulders. Katsuki’s not great with words, not in the way some people are, but he doesn’t need to be. His actions speak for him—whether it’s making sure you’re comfortable or tossing a blanket over you when you doze off mid-movie.

The softness between you is unexpected. You’ve seen his gruff, explosive exterior, the way the media paints him as some sort of untouchable force. But here, with you, he’s different. He’s cuddly, something you never would’ve expected from him. He pulls you close without hesitation, his arms firm and warm, always keeping you near. You don’t question it, but it throws you off. This wasn’t what you signed up for—this quiet intimacy that feels more like a relationship than something casual. He’s not supposed to be so sweet, so soft.

One thing that surprises you most is how much he enjoys taking pictures with you. 

You’d never have guessed the gruff, no-nonsense Pro Hero would indulge in such a thing, especially when he’s always grumbling about media shoots and press. But when you’re in one of his hoodies, and you tug him down to take a selfie, your hand gently curling around his jaw, he leans in without protest. There’s this small, content smile that tugs at his lips—subtle but real, and it lights up his face in a way that makes your heart skip. You snap the picture, and he’ll grumble, “Didn’t ask for this,” but you catch him later, zooming in on the photo, his thumb lingering over the screen. There’s a softness in his eyes as he looks at the two of you together.

He’s not one for skincare, either, but when you do face masks or anything remotely involving pampering, he sits there and lets you do it, his face a picture of calm contentment. His quirk may have blessed him with great skin, but he indulges you, letting you push his wild hair back with a fluffy headband, revealing his sharp features. You prep his face, and he just watches you with half-lidded eyes, relaxed in a way you’ve never seen before. He doesn’t even protest when you lean down and kiss him in the middle of it, his lips curving into a small, lazy smile. It’s cute how unbothered he is, how he lets you do whatever you want to him.

You’ve gotten more comfortable with each other in general.

More touching, more kissing, and sex has become something deeper. It’s no longer just an outlet, no longer just physical. It’s a way for the two of you to connect, to be closer. There’s a vulnerability in how he touches you, how his hands roam your body with a quiet reverence. When he presses against you, his skin flush against yours, you feel it—the way his guard drops, the way he lets himself need you in those moments. Your head will fall back, and he takes the opportunity to kiss your neck, his mouth warm and insistent, before his firm hand finds your face, guiding you back to him for another kiss. You feel like you’re floating in those moments, lost in the press of his body, the sound of his voice, and the way he holds you as if you’re something precious.

One night, after several rounds of unraveling each other, Katsuki does something he’s never done before—he opens up. His voice is quiet, almost hesitant, as he starts to talk about the Final War. You weren’t prepared for the weight of it. He tells you about being sent to the frontlines as a child soldier, about how his heart ruptured, the physical agony and the fear that came with it. His right arm, crushed beyond recognition, left him scarred—inside and out. He talks about rehab, about how long it took him to get his arm functioning again. 

And then, in a softer tone, he admits something that surprises you: “I still wanna be number one... but I’m content, y’know? With where I’m at right now.”

You’re lying beside him, his hand heavy on your waist, and you look up at him. His face is dimly lit, and there’s a vulnerability in his expression that makes your heart twist. “I think you’re amazing,” you whisper, your voice soft but sure, your fingers reaching up to gently curl around his jaw, pulling him down for a kiss. It’s slow and sweet, and when you pull away, his cheeks are flushed, a faint pink creeping across his skin.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, embarrassed, but you can see the small, content smile tugging at his lips again, the same one he gives you in those quiet moments when his guard is down.

You smile back, your heart swelling in your chest as you kiss him again. There’s a softness to this moment, to him, and it feels like something has shifted between you. Something you can’t quite put into words yet, but it’s there, lingering in the air, unspoken but undeniable. 

But then there’s a pause, a hesitation. Katsuki’s expression changes, and when he speaks again, it’s quieter. "You’re the one that’s amazin'," he repeats, his voice low, almost like he’s afraid to say it too loudly. The way his words hang between you makes your heart do a strange little flip. You can feel the weight of them. 

You tilt your head slightly, giving him a teasing smile to ease the tension. "What, for walking in 120 mm heels or for letting you do facemasks with me?" you whisper, fingers brushing the scar on his cheek, tracing the jagged line that’s become so familiar to you now. 

He huffs, but there’s a flicker of something more behind his eyes. "Nah," he says, shaking his head. "For bein’ you. For workin’ hard as hell, doin’ all this stuff, and still bein’ able to… to put up with me."

The words hit you harder than you expect. You blink, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. You hadn’t realized he saw it that way—like he was a burden, like being with him was something difficult to endure. There’s a vulnerability in the way he avoids your gaze, his usual cocky demeanor gone, leaving just Katsuki—raw and exposed in front of you.

"You’re making it sound like I’m putting up with someone from hell," you say, your voice softer now, trying to coax his eyes back to yours.

He grumbles again, that same frustrated sound, but he still doesn’t look at you, and that’s when you realize just how much he doubts himself. How much he carries with him—his past, his insecurities, the weight of being a Pro Hero. And for the first time, you see how deeply it cuts him, how much he worries that he’s too much for anyone to handle.

"Hey," you whisper, your hand gently guiding his face back to you. His skin is warm beneath your touch, and his eyes, reluctant at first, finally meet yours. "I like putting up with you. You always think so bad about yourself. Stop doing that. Sometimes people just want to be around you, to spend time with you. It’s not weird, and I like spending time with you."

Katsuki’s cheeks flare up with a faint blush, his ears turning a little red at your words. He scoffs again, the sound almost automatic, like he’s trying to shake off the embarrassment. "You’re fuckin’ clingy," he mutters, but the bite in his tone is weak. His eyes flicker with something softer, something grateful.

You grin at him, laughter bubbling up in your chest. "Says the man that’s clinging to me like glue." You lean up on your elbow a little, your smile widening. "I have the pictures to prove it, by the way."

Before you can react, he’s turning his head and biting lightly at your fingers where they rest on his jaw, his teeth just grazing your skin in a teasing nip. It sends a small jolt through you, and you laugh softly, falling back into the pillows, your chest rising and falling with quiet giggles as you look up at him.

Katsuki’s grinning now, a real grin that lights up his face, his usual intensity tempered with affection. He leans down closer, his breath warm against your cheek, and you can feel the way his body relaxes against yours. There’s no distance between you—no walls, no masks. Just you and him, sharing the space in a way that feels... real.

"What?" you whisper, still smiling as you reach up to smooth a hand through his messy hair. "Is my skin glowing or something?"

Katsuki scoffs lightly at your teasing, though there’s a small tug of a smile at the corner of his lips. His crimson eyes stay locked on yours, searching your face with an intensity that always makes your heart race. The heat of his body radiates against you, and even though you’re joking, there’s a flicker of something deeper in the way he holds your gaze, something vulnerable he’s still not used to sharing. 

"Yeah, sure, your skin’s glowin’," he mutters, his voice rough but soft, leaning down closer. "From all those dumb facemasks you make me do." His lips brush your temple, but the grin on his face betrays his usual gruffness.

You laugh, a light sound that melts between the two of you in the dimly lit room. "Dumb facemasks that you enjoy way too much," you fire back, playfully nudging him. "Don’t think I don’t notice how relaxed you get."

He grumbles something unintelligible under his breath, but there’s no real bite behind it. His hand, rough from years of hero work, trails absentmindedly along your side, his fingers brushing lightly over your skin, sending tiny shivers down your spine. His touch is softer than you ever expected when you first got involved with him, but now it’s familiar—comforting in its warmth and weight.

His eyes soften as he looks down at you, the usual fire in them dimmed into something warmer, more intimate. "Maybe," he mutters, his voice low. "But I like you better without all that makeup anyway."

The simplicity of the statement, the raw honesty of it, makes your heart squeeze. You let out a soft, breathy laugh, shaking your head slightly as you press a kiss to his lips, slow and lingering. His hand comes up to cradle the back of your neck, deepening the kiss for a moment before pulling away, his forehead resting against yours.

There’s a stillness in the room now, a sense of peace that settles between the two of you. It feels like the world outside doesn’t exist, like all the noise and chaos of your lives as pro heroes and public figures has melted away. In this moment, it’s just you and Katsuki—no expectations, no pressure. Just the quiet, simple warmth of being together. 

"You're an idiot," you whisper playfully, breaking the silence as you tap his chest lightly, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. 

"Yeah," he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your skin as he presses another soft kiss to your forehead. "Guess I am for you."

Katsuki's words make your heart skip a beat, and you have to bite your lip to stop the smile threatening to break through. The way he says it—so casually yet so earnestly—makes warmth bloom in your chest. You’re not used to this side of him, this softness that he reserves just for you.

“What are your plans tomorrow?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he’s afraid to disturb the peace between you.

You think for a moment before replying, "Well… I have Pilates in the morning, and then I’m getting my nails done. Do you have any suggestions?" You stretch your arms lazily above your head, watching him with a playful glint in your eye.

Katsuki shrugs, burying his face deeper into the crook of your neck. His hair tickles your skin, and you can’t help but let out a soft sigh as your fingers instinctively move to scratch his scalp. The sound he makes in response—a low, content rumble—reminds you of a cat purring, and it makes you smile. He presses a kiss to your cheek, his lips warm against your skin, before mumbling, “Dunno. Whatever makes you feel good.”

You grin, already knowing what will get a reaction out of him. “So if it’s an ugly purple color, you’ll be okay with it?”

As expected, he makes a face, his brows furrowing in clear disapproval. The corner of your mouth twitches in amusement as you roll your eyes. "Don’t worry, I’ll probably go for a nude pink," you murmur, leaning in to nuzzle your nose against his. The closeness between you feels so natural now, like a second skin. "And then I have a meeting with my agent about being a brand ambassador for an upcoming label, but I’m still thinking about it. That’s all."

He hums, a low sound of acknowledgment vibrating through his chest, and then you return the question. "What about you?"

"Got the day off," he says after a beat, his voice a little hesitant as if he’s testing the waters. "Thought… thought maybe I’d cook for ya or somethin’." His fingers brush against your lower back, the warmth of his touch drawing you even closer. It’s so subtle, the way he pulls you in, but it feels like he’s trying to close any remaining distance between your bodies. "Make ya those sushi rolls you liked. The ones you had in the US."

The way he remembers something so small, something you mentioned offhandedly during a trip, makes your breath hitch slightly. It’s not just the gesture itself—it’s the meaning behind it. How vulnerable and open he’s become with you, how he always wants to do things for you, to make sure you’re comfortable. His actions say what his words sometimes struggle to—how much he cares, even if he’s not always good at expressing it.

You swallow, the emotions swirling inside you making your chest feel tight in the best way possible. "You don’t have to do all that, Katsuki," you say softly, your fingers tracing small circles along his shoulder, feeling the strength and warmth beneath his skin. "But I’d love it. You know I’d never say no to your cooking."

He grumbles, his usual tough exterior showing through even in moments like this. "Yeah, well, don’t expect it all the time," he mutters, but the way his fingers tighten slightly on your back tells you he’s already looking forward to it. He likes taking care of you, even if he’ll never admit it outright.

You lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, your lips lingering there for a moment. His skin is warm, and the simple act of affection makes him relax even more against you, like he’s letting go of something heavy he’s been holding on to. 

"I’m looking forward to it," you whisper, and the sincerity in your voice seems to catch him off guard. He looks up at you, his usual sharp gaze softened by the quiet intimacy of the moment. There’s something vulnerable in his eyes, something that makes your heart ache in a way that’s both beautiful and terrifying. 

"Yeah," he says, his voice rough but tender. "Me too."

And in that moment, with the quiet warmth of the room surrounding you, it feels like everything is exactly as it should be. The casual arrangement you once had has blurred into something deeper, something more profound. You can feel it in the way he holds you, in the way he speaks to you, in the way he cares for you. 

You never expected this to happen, but now that it has, you’re not sure you want it to stop. Katsuki has wormed his way into your life in a way you hadn’t anticipated, and it scares you, just a little. 

But when he’s this close, when his touch is this gentle, and when his words are this soft, it’s hard to imagine ever wanting to let him go.

It’s like stepping into a high-end restaurant when you walk into Katsuki’s apartment the next day, after finishing up your schedule. 

The moment you enter, the smell of freshly prepared food hits your senses, and the sight of the spread on the dining table takes your breath away. He’s really gone all out—sashimi platters laid out beautifully, with slices of the freshest fish you’ve ever seen; multiple types of sushi from nigiri to uramaki and temaki, each piece looking meticulously crafted. The fried dishes, like ebi furai and karaage, are golden and crisp, making your mouth water at the sight of them.

It’s a lot. More than you ever expected from him, especially after how shy he seemed about cooking this for you. 

But what really catches your attention isn’t the food—it’s the bouquet of flowers sitting at your usual seat.

Your breath hitches as you step closer, reaching out to touch the delicate petals. The bouquet is a stunning mix of roses, lilies, orchids, and carnations, all in varying shades of pink. The arrangement is soft but vibrant, delicate yet full of life, and you can’t help but be completely charmed by the gesture. You pick it up carefully, the scent of the flowers filling the air as you lift the bouquet closer to your face. The blend of colors is beautiful, and it makes your heart flutter.

With the bouquet in hand, you turn to look at him, your expression softening into a teasing but warm smile. "Flowers, huh?" you murmur, your voice light with affection, though there’s an underlying sense of surprise too. You’d never thought Katsuki would go this far, to do something so thoughtful and gentle.

Katsuki stands a few feet away, looking a bit out of his element, his usual confidence slightly faltering. He’s rubbing the back of his neck, a telltale sign of his discomfort with this kind of vulnerable gesture. His eyes flick to the flowers in your hands, and then back to you. His mouth twitches like he’s about to say something, and after a beat, he murmurs, almost bashfully, “It’s the same color as your nails.”

You blink, and then you realize—he’s right. The delicate pink flowers are nearly an exact match for the nude-pink shade you’d mentioned getting done at the nail salon earlier that morning. It’s such a small detail, something you didn’t even think he’d remember, let alone match. It’s thoughtful in a way that makes your chest tighten and your heart swell.

You think you might just melt right there. He’s always been sweet in his own gruff, awkward way, but this? This feels different. This feels like he’s trying to show you something more, to express something he doesn’t have the words for.

“Katsuki,” you whisper, your voice a little breathless as you take a step toward him, the bouquet still in your hands. You want to say something else, to tease him maybe, but the lump in your throat won’t let you. Instead, you just stare at him, feeling the warmth in your chest grow, spreading like wildfire.

He looks away, clearly uncomfortable with the attention, his lips curling into a small scowl. But there’s no bite behind it. If anything, he just looks a little embarrassed. “Don’t make a big deal outta it,” he grumbles, though the way his eyes flicker back to yours betrays his nerves.

But you can’t help it. How can you not make a big deal out of it? He went through all this trouble just to match a detail as small as your nails with the flowers he picked. He cooked an entire feast for you, filled with dishes you love. And all of it—all of it—is done with the kind of care and thoughtfulness that makes your heart ache in the best way.

You set the flowers down gently on the table and step closer to him, your hands reaching for his. You feel the callouses on his fingers as you intertwine them with yours, and he stiffens slightly before relaxing, allowing you to pull him closer. “You didn’t have to do all this,” you whisper, your voice soft and tender. “But I love it. I love everything. Thank you.”

Katsuki’s gaze flickers down to your hands, then back up to your face, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to figure out how to respond. He shifts his weight, looking uncharacteristically shy. “S’nothin’. Just wanted to do somethin’ nice.”

Your smile grows, and you can’t resist the urge to stand on your tiptoes and press a soft kiss to his cheek. His skin flushes under your touch, and you feel the way he holds his breath for a second before he relaxes. “Well, it means a lot to me,” you murmur against his skin, your lips lingering just a little longer than necessary.

When you pull back, his gaze locks onto yours, and there’s a softness in his eyes you don’t often get to see. For a moment, the two of you just stand there, the world feeling a little smaller, a little more intimate. The bouquet, the dinner, the way he remembered something as small as the color of your nails—it all feels like more than just casual affection. It feels like he’s slowly, hesitantly opening himself up to you in ways he’s never done before.

And it makes your heart race.

“Now, come on,” you say, breaking the silence with a grin as you tug him toward the table. “Let’s eat before this masterpiece gets cold.”

He huffs, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Sit down already.”

As you take your seat, you can’t help but feel a little giddy. Katsuki takes his seat across from you, and for a moment, the two of you just sit there, surrounded by the feast he’s prepared. There’s a warmth in the air, a sense of quiet happiness that lingers between you.

And as you pick up your chopsticks and dig into the meal he made just for you, you realize that whatever this is between the two of you, it’s something more than you ever could have imagined. Something real. Something that’s growing in ways neither of you expected.

That night feels like a memory already etched into your soul, a moment you know you’ll never forget. 

The signs were all there from the start—the flowers, the dinner, the shy glances exchanged between the two of you over the table. There was a softness in the way you spoke to each other, a quiet warmth that lingered in the air, charged with something more than just affection. 

It was inevitable, the way the night would unfold.

Now, the room is filled with nothing but the quiet creaking of the bed, the sound of skin meeting skin, and the breathless, intimate sounds you and Katsuki make together. Your hands grip the pillow beneath your head as his strong hands hold your thighs, keeping them folded around his hips. He moves with a steady, deliberate rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through your body. There’s something deeper in the way he touches you tonight—something tender and almost reverent.

Through the haze of pleasure, your eyes blink up at him, catching the intensity of his gaze. It’s overwhelming, the way his molten eyes lock onto yours, filled with an emotion so raw it almost makes your chest ache. You can’t help but tug him closer, wanting to feel his warmth, his skin against yours. He obliges, his forearms coming to rest on either side of your head, bracketing you in. Your legs instinctively tighten around his waist, your ankles crossing at the small of his back, pulling him even closer.

“Katsuki,” you gasp, the word slipping from your lips in a whisper. It’s a plea, a confession, everything wrapped in one. He answers you not with words but with a kiss—soft, slow, and wet. His lips press against yours with a tenderness that belies the strength of his body, and it makes you shiver with how gentle he’s being. There’s something different in the way he’s moving, like he’s trying to tell you something he can’t quite put into words.

Then, his voice breaks the silence, low and vulnerable. “Say my name,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your neck.

The need in his voice makes your heart stutter. You feel his vulnerability, the rawness of him asking for something so simple, yet so important. So you do—you say his name over and over, like a mantra. “Katsuki, Katsuki, Katsuki…” Each word is punctuated by a kiss, your lips brushing against his in fleeting touches. His name feels sacred on your tongue, like it’s the only thing that matters in this moment.

His eyes darken, flecks of gold and violet swirling in the molten depths of his gaze. It’s like he’s seeing straight through you, into the deepest parts of you, and it makes you feel bare, exposed. But in the best way. You’re not just giving yourself to him; you’re sharing something far more intimate, something unspoken but understood. The two of you are drowning in each other—in the kisses, the warmth of your skin pressed together, the way he holds you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

He’s exploded you, just like his quirk, and in his touch, you feel like fireworks—bright, burning, alive. Every time he moves, you feel like you’re breaking apart in the best way, only to come back together, more whole than before.

And then, Katsuki slows his movements, like he’s trying to savor every second of this. His thrusts become deep, deliberate, each one dragging out the moment as if he never wants it to end. There’s something reverent about it, like he’s worshipping you, wanting to memorize the way you feel, the way your body responds to him. It’s so intense, so real, that it almost overwhelms you. 

You can’t help but moan softly, your body arching into his as he moves within you. The sensation is slow, building like a crescendo, and you feel like you’re on the edge of something greater than either of you. You’re not just feeling pleasure—this is something deeper. His touch, his kiss, the way he holds you, it all makes you feel like you’ve become something otherworldly, like a star burning brightly in the night sky.

His lips brush against your ear, and in the quiet between breaths, you hear him whisper, “You’re incredible.” The words are hushed, almost like a secret, but they hit you hard, sinking deep into your heart. He’s never been great with words, but in this moment, he doesn’t need to be. The way he touches you, the way he holds you, speaks volumes.

And just like that, you feel yourself slipping, falling into that blissful oblivion, with Katsuki right there with you. The world outside disappears, and all that exists is this—the two of you, tangled together, lost in the feeling of each other. Time slows, the space between each breath stretches, and for a moment, it feels like you’re not just two people anymore. You’ve become something greater, something inseparable, something you never want to let go of. 

As the two of you finally find release, together, it feels like the stars themselves have exploded inside of you, leaving you breathless, weightless, and utterly content.

It’s close to dawn, and the first hints of light peek through the blinds, casting a soft glow across the room. 

You’re completely spent, bodies tangled together, exhausted after countless rounds of pleasure, yet it’s not just the physicality that keeps you close. It’s the warmth of his touch, the familiarity of it, the way his body instinctively presses against yours. Katsuki is holding you like you’re something precious, his lips brushing over your skin—your jaw, your neck, your shoulders—leaving behind tender kisses in his wake. His hands glide over your hips, your stomach, your thighs, tracing your curves with a gentle reverence that makes your breath hitch. There’s something so intimate in the way he touches you now, not just as a lover, but as someone who’s cherishing every moment.

You nuzzle closer, your head resting against his muscular bicep, pressing a soft kiss to it with a smile. His warmth surrounds you, and you can feel his chest rise and fall with every breath he takes. The silence between you is comfortable, peaceful, only filled with the sound of your shared breaths and the occasional rustling of the sheets.

In a teasing, hushed tone, you break the stillness, “You never told me what you think of my nails.” 

Katsuki huffs a quiet laugh against your cheek, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Idiot,” he mumbles, the insult carrying no real bite. His teeth sink into your skin teasingly, making you let out a startled squeak, but you laugh when you feel his lips press a soft kiss in the same spot. His voice is a little rough, but warm as he admits, “They look good.”

You smile at his response, feeling the warmth of his approval as it spreads through you. “Good,” you whisper back, your voice soft in the quiet room. You let the moment drift into comfortable silence once again, enjoying the simple pleasure of being close to him, his body still pressed to yours. The bed shifts slightly as you both move, adjusting your positions to be closer, your limbs lazily draped over each other.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, cutting through the silence, and you instinctively reach for it. You scroll through a few messages before opening the camera, catching your reflection on the screen. There’s a faint flush to your cheeks, and you can see the small marks he left on your skin—little love bites trailing down to your collarbone, proof of the night’s passion. You look at yourself, and you can’t help but smile.

You’re glowing.

Before you can dwell on it, Katsuki shifts beside you, slowly leaning in to rest his head against yours, his weight a comforting presence. Your smile softens as you press the button on the camera, capturing the two of you in the frame. He doesn’t protest—he never really does when you take pictures anymore—and there’s a softness in his eyes, a quiet contentment that’s so different from the sharp, hardened persona he shows the world. Here, with you, he’s just Katsuki, sleepy-eyed and tender, his face relaxed in a way that makes your heart swell.

You click on the video option, and still, he says nothing, just watches as you record. He leans further into you, his body language loose and easy, completely at peace in your presence. You lift your hand to his jaw, gently scratching at the stubble growing there, and he blinks lazily, his eyes half-lidded as he leans into your touch. His vulnerability is on full display, and it’s something so personal, so special, that it makes your chest tighten with affection.

Without thinking, you turn your head and press a soft kiss to his lips. He lets you, meeting your kiss with a slow, sleepy response, his lips warm and slightly chapped. The kiss is tender, and when you pull away, it leaves behind a small, wet sound that makes you smile. You press another, quicker kiss to his lips before glancing back at the camera, capturing the quiet intimacy of the moment. 

On the screen, you see him with that small, almost shy smile curling at the corners of his lips. It’s a rare expression, one that he only seems to show when he’s with you, and it makes your heart flutter. There’s no mask here, no front, just him—content, soft, and utterly at ease with you.

And in that moment, you realize how deeply you’ve both fallen into this. How much you’ve come to mean to one another. His presence feels like home, like something you’ve been missing all along. 

There’s something deeper here, something you didn’t expect, and now it feels terrifyingly real.

And that thought scares the hell out of you.

You avoid him after that night.

It’s dumb; it’s stupid; it’s insane, but after that night, the intimacy had shaken you to your core, and you’re not ready to deal with the weight of what that means. The soft way he touched you, the vulnerability in his voice when he asked you to call him by his name—those aren’t things that fit into your neat little box labeled casual. And you don’t want to face the fact that whatever this thing is between you and Katsuki, it stopped being casual a long time ago.

So, you pull away. You don’t call him, don’t text back as often, and when he tries to reach out, you tell him you’re busy. It’s not entirely a lie. Work is busy. You’ve been booked back-to-back with photoshoots for Vogue China, campaigns for Kintsugi and Chanel, and appearances for Tsukiyo. Haute Couture Week is just around the corner, and you’re drowning in preparations. 

But the truth is, it’s easier to hide behind your schedule than face the reality of what’s happening between you and Katsuki. You bury yourself in work, hoping the distance will clear your head, will give you time to sort out your feelings. Because you’re not sure what you want anymore. Do you still want something casual? Or has it become something more? You’re not ready to answer that question, not ready to confront the feelings that have begun to creep up on you.

And then, late one night, the consequences of your actions come knocking—literally.

It’s around one in the morning when there’s a knock at your door. The sound startles you, breaking the quiet of your apartment, and you instantly know who it is. You hesitate for a second, your heart racing as you walk over and pull the door open.

Katsuki stands there, still in his hero gear, covered in soot and sweat, fresh from patrol. His eyes are sharp, but there’s a softness in the way he looks at you—something like confusion, or maybe even hurt. He doesn’t waste any time.

“You avoidin’ me or somethin’?” His voice is gruff, but there’s a vulnerability in it, the kind that makes your chest tighten.

“No!” you blurt out, too quickly. Your voice sounds high, and you can’t even convince yourself. “No, I’ve just been... busy. You know how it is.”

He narrows his eyes, his expression hardening. “Busy, huh?”

You nod, trying to hold his gaze, but your heart is pounding in your ears. “Yeah. Work’s been crazy lately.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stares at you with that intense, unreadable look of his, and you feel the guilt crawling up your throat. You expect him to yell, to snap at you, but when he finally speaks, his voice is low, hesitant.

“Did I... do somethin’ wrong?”

The question hits you harder than you expect. You see the hurt in his eyes now, the way his jaw tightens, like he’s bracing for something. Your chest tightens, and you want to reach out, to reassure him, but you hesitate. You shake your head quickly. “No, Katsuki, you didn’t do anything. It’s... it’s not you, it’s me.”

His entire body tenses at your words, his eyes narrowing. “What the hell’s that s’posed to mean?”

You take a step back, rubbing your arms nervously. “I don’t think I can do this anymore,” you say quietly, almost like you’re hoping he won’t hear you.

He takes a step closer, his voice firm, almost demanding. “Do what?”

You swallow, trying to find the right words, but they stick in your throat. “This... us. I wanted things to stay casual, you know? Casual but serious? But now... everything feels different… and I don’t know if I’m ready for a relationship.”

He’s silent for a beat, his jaw clenching, his fists tightening at his sides. “So avoidin’ me was your solution?” His voice is sharp now, tinged with frustration and hurt. He’s not yelling, but his tone cuts through you.

“No, it’s not like that. I just didn’t know how to—”

“Didn’t know how to what?” He interrupts, his voice rising slightly, his eyes flashing. “Didn’t know how to tell me I’m just some fuckin’ fling to you?”

“No!” you shake your head desperately, stepping forward, but the words feel stuck, like no explanation is good enough. “It’s not like that, I just—”

“Then what?” His voice cracks, and for a moment, you see something raw in his expression. He lets out a shaky breath and takes a step back, his shoulders slumping as he runs a hand through his messy hair. The usual fire in his eyes dims, replaced with exhaustion—emotional exhaustion. He looks tired. Tired of fighting for you. “Y’know what? Whatever. Do whatever the hell you want.”

You freeze as he turns, his back to you, and walks toward the door. Your mouth opens to stop him, but no words come out. You watch helplessly as he reaches for the door handle, his movements slow and heavy, like he’s waiting for you to say something—anything. 

But you don’t. 

The door clicks shut behind him, and the silence that follows is deafening. 

You stand there, your heart pounding, staring at the empty space where he just stood. The weight of the conversation, of everything you didn’t say, settles in the pit of your stomach, and for the first time, you realize just how badly you’ve messed up. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to feel this way. But it does. And now, you’re left standing in the aftermath of your own avoidance, the silence of the room echoing with the absence of him.

And for the first time, you wonder if it’s too late to fix things.

────────────────────────

The weeks after your... breakup? Was it even that? You still don’t know how to label it, but whatever it was, it’s hard. It hurts more than you thought it would, more than you ever expected it could. You don’t cry easily, you’ve never been the type to fall apart over someone, but Katsuki—Bakugou—was different. His absence feels like a missing piece of your life, a hole that you can’t seem to fill no matter how much you try.

You find yourself crying at night, tears slipping down your cheeks as you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. It’s a quiet kind of crying, the kind where your chest aches and your throat tightens, but you don’t make a sound. It’s unexpected, this grief, this sense of loss. You hadn’t realized how much he meant to you until he wasn’t there anymore. Until the warmth of his presence, his gruff voice, his touch was gone, leaving you cold and hollow.

But you push through it. You force yourself to keep going, to focus on your work, because that’s what you do. You’ve always been good at throwing yourself into your career when things get hard, and this time is no different. Even if your heart feels like it’s been ripped out. Even if you feel like you’re walking around with this empty, aching space inside you. 

Even if it feels like... love.

But you don’t let yourself dwell on that thought. You shove it down, deep inside, where you don’t have to deal with it. Instead, you work. You focus on your job, on the constant demands of your schedule. Haute Couture Week in Paris comes quickly, and you’re on a plane before you even realize it, throwing yourself into the chaos of the fashion world.

Paris is as hectic and glamorous as always. You’re swept into a whirlwind of fittings, castings, and shows. You walk down runways draped in the most luxurious fabrics, you pose for countless photoshoots, you attend brand events where everyone looks perfect, where everyone seems to have it all together. On the surface, you look the part—you’re poised, composed, radiant. But inside, your thoughts are consumed with him.

Every time you stand still for more than a second, your mind drifts back to Katsuki. To the way he looked that night at your door, the hurt in his eyes, the way he walked away. You think about the nights you spent with him, about the softness in his touch that you hadn’t expected, about the way he kissed you with such intensity that it made you feel like you were the only person in the world. 

You miss the way he would scowl when he was embarrassed, the way he’d flick your forehead when you teased him, the way he’d grumble but still pull you closer when you were lying in bed together. You miss him, and no matter how much work you bury yourself in, that feeling doesn’t go away. 

And you do bury yourself in work. 

You walk runway after runway, your legs aching from the hours spent in heels. You attend fittings, standing perfectly still as designers adjust fabric on your body, their hands moving with practiced precision. You barely eat, following the strict diet that keeps you in shape for the shows, even when your stomach growls in protest. You push through photoshoot after photoshoot, your face a mask of calm professionalism even when your head feels like it’s going to burst from exhaustion.

By the time Haute Couture Week ends, you’re exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally. But there’s no time to rest, no time to stop and process the whirlwind of emotions that have been swirling inside you since that night with Katsuki. September is coming fast, and with it, the next fashion month. Castings have already started, and of course, you’re booked solid. Tsukiyo, Ryūmon, Dsquared2, Dior—they all want you, and you don’t have the luxury of slowing down.

You tell yourself that this is what you need. That keeping busy is good, that focusing on your career will help you forget. But late at night, when the city around you is quiet and your hotel room feels too big, too empty, you can’t stop your thoughts from drifting back to him. To the way he said your name, his voice rough but soft at the edges. To the way he held you close after everything, his hands gentle on your skin. To the way he looked at you, like you were more than just some casual fling, like you were something that mattered.

And that’s what scares you the most.

Because deep down, you know it was never just casual for him. You saw it in the way he touched you, in the way he let you call him by his first name, in the way he always made sure you were comfortable, that you were okay. You could feel it in the way he held you close, even when he didn’t say the words. Katsuki was serious about you, and that terrified you because you hadn’t let yourself believe that you could be serious about him too. 

But now, lying in your hotel bed, staring at the ceiling in the dim light, you wonder if maybe... maybe you were serious about him too. Maybe this wasn’t just some casual thing for you either. Maybe you let your fear get the best of you. Maybe you pushed him away because you were scared of what it meant to feel this way about someone.

Maybe... it’s too late to fix it.

You first meet Kirishima Eijirou at the brand event for Yūgen, a high-end luxury brand that’s slowly carving its name into the industry. 

The event is bathed in understated elegance, the kind that makes everything feel weightless, like an ethereal dream. The fragrance of Yūgen lingers in the air, soft but pervasive, the scent weaving in and out of your senses. It’s a haunting aroma—woody, floral, with a touch of something mysterious that stays with you long after you leave the room. The brand’s aesthetic mirrors that feeling, subtle craftsmanship and poetic beauty all wrapped in quiet luxury.

You’re wearing one of Yūgen’s finest designs: The Moonlit Silk Gown, a floor-length masterpiece in pearlescent ivory that moves like liquid moonlight against your skin. The cherry blossom embroidery is so delicate, it looks as though it might dissolve at any moment. The backless design leaves a trail of silk down your spine, each movement making you feel like a walking work of art, fragile but powerful. You look flawless��because you have to—but inside, you’re far from it. 

It’s been a long week. A long month, really. 

Physically, you’re exhausted. Every photoshoot, every runway, every campaign pulls energy from you in a way that leaves you hollow by the end of the day. But emotionally? That’s where the real toll is. It’s been weeks since you and Katsuki—Bakugou, you remind yourself, like a bad habit you need to kick—had your falling out, and despite throwing yourself into work, the ache hasn’t dulled. 

A vacation sounds tempting, but the thought of having time—time to rest, time to think—is too much. You don’t want to think. Not about what happened, not about the way you avoided him, not about the hurt in his eyes that still haunts you late at night. So you bury yourself in everything else—work, events, anything that keeps you moving forward without looking back.

The event is in full swing, and you’ve spent hours mingling, moving through the crowd like a ghost, smiling, nodding, talking to people whose faces blur together after a while. Celebrities, designers, businessmen, all wanting a piece of your attention. You’re good at it—the small talk, the easy charm, the graceful way you handle yourself. But by the time you finally find a moment to sit down, you feel like you’re about to collapse.

Your feet ache from the heels you’ve been wearing all night, sharp pains shooting through your legs with each step. Your head pounds from the constant hum of conversation, lights, and the weight of it all. You take a deep breath, trying to center yourself, to focus on anything other than the discomfort coursing through you. You consider finding an excuse to leave early, to escape the noise and the pressure, but before you can even act on it, a voice cuts through the noise around you.

“Hi, may I sit here for a moment?”

You blink, looking up, surprised to find a tall figure standing over you, smiling. It takes you a second to place him—Kirishima Eijirou, also known as Pro Hero Red Riot. 

He’s famous, one of the top heroes in the country, known for his kindness as much as his strength. You’ve heard about him before, mostly from Katsuki. Despite Bakugou’s endless grumbling about Shitty Hair this, Shitty Hair that, you could always tell there was a lot of affection there. Kirishima is one of Bakugou’s closest friends, a bond that goes back to their high school days. 

It’s odd, meeting one of Bakugou’s friends now, after everything that’s happened between you two. You’ve only met Kaminari and Ashido briefly, and that was back when things with Katsuki were... different. Now, you don’t know where you stand with him, let alone the people in his life. 

But it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? Not after how things ended.

“Yeah, go ahead,” you say, forcing a polite smile. Your voice is steady, though inside, you feel the familiar tension creeping back up your spine. You watch as Kirishima sits down beside you, his broad frame filling the space with a kind of easy warmth. He’s dressed in a sleek black suit, the fabric perfectly tailored to his muscular form. A golden chain hangs around his neck, catching the soft light of the room. 

He doesn’t feel overwhelming, though. Despite his large frame and the unmistakable air of strength he carries, Kirishima exudes a kind of gentleness that puts you at ease almost immediately. His presence is the complete opposite of the tension that’s been gnawing at you all night. 

“Long event, huh?” Kirishima says, his voice light, but there’s a genuine empathy in his tone. It’s the kind of voice that invites you to relax, to drop the mask you’ve been wearing all night.

You nod, offering him a tired smile. “Yeah. It’s been a long week, actually.”

He chuckles softly. “I bet. These things can be exhausting, even for someone like you.” His eyes flicker down to your gown, admiration clear in his gaze. “You look incredible, by the way. That dress... it’s something else.”

You let a tired smile curl around your lips. “Thanks,” you say softly, though the compliment feels weightless. You’ve been hearing it all evening, and the words don’t really touch you anymore. 

Kirishima smiles back, but his expression carries a hint of concern now. His easygoing demeanor is still there, but there’s something more perceptive in his gaze. 

There’s a pause, a moment of silence between the two of you, as the murmur of the event continues around you, but Kirishima doesn’t seem to mind the quiet. “You seem overworked,” he says after a moment, his voice gentle but probing.

You shrug, taking a sip from the champagne in your hand. The bubbles fizzle, but even the sharp taste of alcohol does little to break through the numbness you’ve been carrying all night. “I am,” you admit.

He raises a brow, clearly concerned. “Why don’t you take a break then?”

The answer comes to you immediately, almost on instinct. “I don’t want to,” you say flatly. “Taking a break means having time for myself, and that’s the last thing I need right now. Plus, I can’t.” You gesture vaguely, feeling the weight of your schedule already pressing down on you. “Fashion Week is in two months, and my calendar’s already packed. There’s no time.”

Kirishima hums in understanding, but there’s something unsaid in the air between you. His gaze softens as he looks at you, clearly mulling over his next words. The silence stretches, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he knows about you and Bakugou—if Katsuki ever mentioned you to his friends. Did he talk about you? Did they know you were… something, once? The thought makes your heart flutter, but it’s quickly followed by the familiar ache. You feel a lump rise in your throat as you try to push it all down.

Before you can dwell on it further, Kirishima finally speaks. “You know, I have a friend,” he says, his tone casual but laced with something deeper. “He kind of reminds me of what you’re going through. Recently, he went through something… rough, and it’s been hard on him. He’s been burying himself in work, and honestly, he’s not the same as he used to be. Not as happy, not as... alive. Like, something’s missing, you know?”

Your breath hitches. You know where this is going, but you can’t stop yourself from listening, from feeling every word sink deeper.

“The funny thing is,” Kirishima continues, his voice softening, “he never really told us about it. We found out by accident, actually—one of our friends snooped through his phone and found a picture.” He chuckles lightly, but it’s a sad sound. “He was pissed, obviously, but he didn’t stay mad for long. I think it’s because back then, he was still happy. Whatever he had, it made him content. But then… things happened.”

He turns to look at you, and his smile is sympathetic, almost knowing. “I think you understand.”

Yeah. He definitely knows. 

The weight of his words settles in your chest, heavy and suffocating. You feel the guilt rise up, thick and choking, but you force yourself to keep your expression neutral. You don’t want to show just how much it’s affecting you. “I hope your friend is doing okay,” you manage, though your voice comes out quieter than you intended.

Kirishima shrugs, his eyes flickering with a sadness of their own. “He says he is, but… I know him. He’s not.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. It’s all your fault. You can feel it—deep down, you know it. You’ve hurt him, and now he’s suffering because of it. The thought makes your chest tighten painfully. “I bet that… something he had misses him, too,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe they didn’t realize how important he was until it was too late.”

Kirishima smiles, but it’s tinged with that same sadness. “Yeah. That’s usually how it goes, isn’t it? We don’t realize what we’ve lost until it’s gone.”

You let out a small, bitter chuckle, nodding in agreement. The weight of the truth in his words is almost unbearable. You didn’t realize. Not until it was too late. And now, you’re left with nothing but the hollow ache of what used to be.

Kirishima watches you carefully, as if weighing his next words. “But, you know,” he says after a pause, “my friend, for all his gruffness… he’s pretty forgiving. He’s changed a lot since we were kids. He’s softened, in his own way.”

Your heart stutters at his words. You feel the lump in your throat grow bigger, making it hard to breathe. “Do you…” You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Do you think he’d forgive that something? If they tried to make things right?”

Kirishima shrugs, but there’s a softness in his gaze as he looks at you. “I think he would. He misses them more than they probably realize. But… they won’t know unless they try.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with meaning, and before you can say anything else, Kirishima stands up, offering you a kind smile. “It was nice talking to you. And hey, think about that vacation. It might be exactly what you need.”

You nod, too overwhelmed to say much in response, and watch as he walks away, his presence fading into the crowd.

The second he’s gone, your mind spins in a thousand directions. You sit still, your thoughts a jumbled mess of guilt, regret, and longing. You think about what Kirishima said—about Katsuki, about how he misses you, about how he might forgive you if you reached out.

Is it possible? Could he really forgive you? After everything?

Your heart races as you play the conversation over and over in your head, and slowly, a realization starts to settle in. You’ve been running from your feelings for weeks, but now… maybe it’s time to stop. 

Maybe it’s time to try. 

That’s when you make your decision. 

You’re done hiding; done avoiding the truth.

The commute to his apartment is hell. 

Everything that could go wrong, does. There’s an accident on the highway, forcing your driver to navigate the congested streets of Musutafu. The city is thick with humidity, and a summer storm has turned the streets into rivers. The rain pounds against the car windows relentlessly, and every drop seems to mock you, making you feel like the world itself is pushing back against this decision.

A few blocks from Katsuki’s apartment, the road is blocked by construction. Of course it is. Because, why wouldn’t it be? You’re so close, and the frustration bubbles up inside you until it spills over. Without thinking, you throw the door open and leap out of the car, pulling off your heels and clutching them in your hand. The rain immediately drenches you, soaking through the silk of your gown. 

But you run. Barefoot through the city streets, you run.

By the time you reach his building, you’re a sight—your silk dress clings to your skin, the once-elegant fabric now heavy and dripping, your hair plastered to your face. Your heels, still in your hand, are soaked through, and your feet slap against the slick pavement as you take the final steps to his door.

You knock, and it only takes a few moments before the door swings open. Katsuki stands in the doorway, his body immediately tensing as his gaze sweeps over you. His eyes go wide, and you can see the confusion—maybe even concern—flicker in them as he takes you in. 

You probably look like a drowned rat, soaking wet and panting from your sprint, but that’s not what gets to you. It’s him. It’s the way he looks. He’s tired. So tired. His eyes are shadowed with exhaustion, and the bags under them make it clear he hasn’t been sleeping. His broad shoulders are hunched, his usual fire subdued, and that alone breaks something inside of you. 

You did this to him.

“What the fuck—” he starts, his voice rough, but you cut him off before he can get any further.

“No. You listen to me.” You step forward, your heart hammering in your chest, your breath coming in shallow gasps from your run. “I want to talk. I couldn’t do that last time.”

His mouth snaps shut, and he blinks, clearly thrown by the intensity in your voice. He nods, just slightly, a gesture so small that most people wouldn’t even notice it—but you do. He’s listening.

You take a breath, trying to steady the storm of emotions swirling inside you, and then you begin. “I never meant to avoid you,” you say, voice shaky but determined. “I just… wasn’t ready to deal with the weight of what happened. I wasn’t ready to confront the feelings that you—” You swallow hard. “—the feelings you gave me.”

Katsuki’s eyes stay locked on yours, and you can see the tension in his jaw, the way he’s trying to keep himself calm, to hear you out.

“I always thought I wasn’t ready for a relationship,” you continue, feeling the words start to spill out faster, as if you need to get them out before you lose your nerve. “I thought I wanted something casual. But you… you changed that. You made me realize how wrong I was.” Your voice cracks slightly, and you force yourself to keep going. “I miss you. I miss you all the time. I miss your warmth, your kisses, the way you hold me close, the way you always make sure I’m comfortable, the way you’re grumpy but always so sweet… I miss everything about you.”

His breathing picks up, a faint hitch in his chest, and you notice the way his hands flex at his sides, like he’s trying to keep himself grounded.

“You were never just a fling to me,” you say, your throat tightening with emotion. “And I’m sorry I made you feel like you were. I’m sorry for everything. I was scared, and I didn’t know what I wanted, but now I do. I want you.”

You see him stiffen at those words, his expression shifting, but you press on. You have to say it all, everything.

“Today… today made me realize just how stupid I’ve been,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t know what I had until I lost you. And I’m—” You choke slightly on the words, but push through them. “I’m in love with you.”

He inhales sharply, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet hallway, but he doesn’t move. His eyes widen slightly, but you can’t stop now.

“I think about you all the time,” you continue, your voice shaking with every word. “I feel like such an idiot, because I had everything—you—and I screwed it up. I was scared, and I—I let you walk away, but I don’t want to make that mistake again. I want you, Katsuki. I’m choosing you.”

The words hang heavy in the air between you, each one carrying the weight of everything you've been too scared to admit, too scared to confront. The hallway is quiet, save for the sound of your uneven breathing and the faint drumming of rain against the building outside. Katsuki is still standing there, his broad frame taking up the entire doorway, but he's utterly still. His eyes are locked on yours, wide and unblinking, as if he's trying to process every single word you’ve just thrown at him. 

And you know Katsuki. 

You know him in ways most people don’t. He’s strong, stubborn, and often explosive, but beneath that tough exterior is a vulnerability that he hides from the world. He doesn’t let people in easily, not really. His sharp edges and brash attitude are a shield, a way to protect himself from the constant pressure, the overwhelming expectations. He’s used to people seeing him as a weapon, a force of nature. But never as something to be chosen—never as someone who could be the safe place for someone else.

So when you stand here, drenched in rain and raw emotion, telling him that you do choose him, that you’re in love with him, it shakes him to his core. You can see it in the way his breath catches, in the way his body tenses like he’s bracing for impact. His eyes, usually so full of fire, are now filled with disbelief, as if he’s trying to convince himself that this is real, that you're real.

His lips part slightly, but no words come out. It’s like he’s frozen, caught between wanting to say something and not knowing how to. Bakugou Katsuki, the man who always has something to say, who always knows how to react, is speechless. 

The silence stretches on, and with each passing second, your heart feels like it’s being squeezed tighter and tighter. You’ve laid everything out—your heart, your soul, your fears—and the silence in return feels like a weight pressing down on your chest. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and your throat tightens, making it hard to breathe.

“Say something,” you whisper, your voice trembling as the tears finally start to spill over. You can’t stop them anymore. They fall freely now, mixing with the rain still dripping from your soaked hair and clinging to your skin. “Please.”

Katsuki’s eyes flicker, his jaw tightening as if he’s fighting some internal battle. He’s never been good with words—he’s never been good with feelings—and you can see how much he’s struggling right now. The vulnerability on his face is something you’ve only seen a handful of times, and it cuts through you like a knife. 

Finally, he exhales sharply, a sound that’s more like a growl than a breath, and he takes a step forward. His hand reaches out, hesitating for just a fraction of a second before he cups your face, his palm warm against your cold, rain-soaked skin. His thumb brushes away a tear from your cheek, the gesture so uncharacteristically gentle for him that it makes your heart ache even more.

“You… fuckin’ idiot,” he mutters, his voice rough and thick with emotion. There’s no anger in his words, though—just a kind of raw frustration and something deeper, something more vulnerable. His crimson eyes are locked on yours, searching your face as if he’s trying to make sure this is real, that you’re not going to disappear on him again. “You think… you think I didn’t fuckin’ want this? That I didn’t want you?”

You blink up at him, the tears still blurring your vision. His voice is cracking in a way you’ve never heard before, and it hits you just how much this means to him. 

“I wanted you,” he says, his hand still cradling your face as he leans in closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “Fuck… I still want you.” His voice is raw, the vulnerability bleeding through with every word. “But you…” He swallows hard, his other hand coming up to grip your waist, pulling you just a little bit closer. “You pushed me away. You made me think… I wasn’t enough. Like I wasn’t worth shit to you.”

The pain in his voice is palpable, and it makes your chest ache in a way that feels almost unbearable. You shake your head, your own voice cracking as you try to get the words out. “No. No, Katsuki, that’s not—”

He cuts you off, his grip tightening just slightly, but not in a way that hurts. It’s like he’s holding on to you for dear life, afraid that if he lets go, you’ll disappear again. “You don’t get it,” he mutters, his breath hot against your skin. “No one… no one ever fuckin’ chooses me. Not like this. You think I didn’t want you to come after me? You think I didn’t want you to fight for me?”

His words hit you like a freight train, and you can’t stop the sob that escapes your lips. He’s right. You did push him away. You made him feel like he wasn’t worth it, like he didn’t matter as much as he should have. And now, seeing the pain in his eyes, hearing the hurt in his voice, it feels like a knife twisting in your chest.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, Katsuki. I was scared, and I didn’t know how to handle it, but I… I love you. I love you so much, and I don’t want to lose you again.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to find the truth in your words. Then, slowly, his expression softens, the hardness in his gaze melting away as he exhales a shaky breath. His thumb brushes over your cheek again, wiping away the fresh tears. 

“Shitty timing,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to his words. In fact, there’s something almost tender in the way he says it, like he’s trying to hold on to his usual roughness, but it’s slipping through his fingers. 

You let out a shaky laugh, your tears still flowing, but now there’s a warmth building in your chest—hope, maybe. You can feel it in the way he’s holding you, in the way his body is slowly relaxing against yours. He still wants you. He still cares.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I know.”

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The rain continues to fall outside, the world around you moving on without care, but in this small space, it’s just the two of you. Just Katsuki and you, standing in the doorway of his apartment, soaked to the bone and hearts laid bare.

Finally, he pulls you into him, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace that leaves no space between you. His chin rests on top of your head, and you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his heart beats against yours. 

“Don’t run from me again,” he murmurs, his voice gruff but laced with something soft, something tender. “I won’t fuckin’ let you.” 

You nod against his chest, your arms wrapping around him as tightly as you can. “I won’t. I promise.” 

He’s warm and so familiar, and you pull away from the embrace slowly, your fingertips grazing the sharp edge of his jaw as if grounding yourself in the solidity of him. His skin is warm beneath your touch, and there’s a slight tremor in his breath, a vulnerability that only you get to see. With your hands framing his face, you look up into his eyes—those deep, crimson eyes that burn like embers in the dim light of the hallway—and you murmur, “I love you.”

The words are soft but sure, slipping from your lips like a secret, and they hang in the air between you, filling the space with something fragile yet undeniably real. Katsuki’s breath hitches, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that betrays the storm brewing inside him. His hands, which have always been rough, steady, and unyielding, now grip your waist gently, like he's afraid you might vanish if he holds too tightly.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he closes his eyes for the briefest moment, letting the weight of your confession settle inside him, and when he opens them again, there’s a softness in his gaze that you rarely get to see. It’s raw, unguarded, and it steals the air from your lungs. His head dips, and with a shuddering breath, he captures your lips with his own.

The kiss is tender, a slow unfolding of everything unsaid. It’s not rushed or frantic—it’s a return, a homecoming. It feels like stepping back onto familiar shores after being adrift for too long. His lips, warm and firm, taste of all the things you missed, of safety and fire, of passion restrained but not diminished. His kiss is like the first light of dawn breaking across the horizon, soft yet full of promise. It’s the summer sun that melts the tension from your bones, the serene hush of winter’s first snow, the gentle bloom of spring flowers, and the quiet fall of autumn leaves—all of it wrapped into one. A constant rhythm, pure and right, grounding you in the moment.

Before you realize it, he’s pulling you into his apartment, the door shutting behind you with a soft click. Your heels clatter to the floor in the genkan, forgotten as his strong arms wrap around you, lifting you with effortless grace. Your hands find their place again, cradling his jaw, your fingers tangling in his hair as his lips seek yours with a fervor that leaves you breathless. You’re weightless in his arms, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he guides you down the familiar hallway, each step measured and deliberate, leading you toward the sanctuary of his bedroom.

The scent of him surrounds you, filling your senses—sharp and smoky, like burning embers, mixed with something inherently Katsuki. You missed this. You missed the way he feels against you, the steady pulse of his heartbeat as it thunders beneath his skin, the way his presence alone fills every corner of the space with warmth.

He lays you gently on the bed, the mattress sinking beneath your weight, and for a moment, he pulls back. The loss of his warmth is brief, but you feel it keenly until he’s tugging his shirt over his head, revealing the broad expanse of his chest, every scar etched into his skin like a map of battles won and lost. His body tells stories—of strength, of endurance, of survival—but all you see is the man who holds you now, the man who wears his heart hidden beneath layers of gruffness and fire.

Your hands move instinctively, tracing the familiar lines of his chest and shoulders. Your fingertips ghost over each scar, each ridge, as if memorizing him all over again. His skin is hot beneath your touch, and your hands curl around the back of his neck, pulling him back to you. His mouth meets yours once more, but this time the kiss is deeper, more urgent, the heat between you building with each passing second.

He welcomes you back like the dawn welcomes the night—slowly, but with an inevitability that feels like fate. His touch is reverent, as if you’re something sacred, something to be cherished. His hands, rough and calloused from years of combat, move with a surprising gentleness as they begin to peel the wet fabric of your dress away from your body. It clings to your skin, soaked through from the rain, but he is patient, his fingers working carefully, unwrapping you from the silk like a gift.

His touch is molten, a slow burn that spreads through you, lighting up every nerve. It’s like molasses—thick, slow, and deliberate—filling the space between you, pulling you deeper into the moment. Katsuki is fire, fierce and untamed, and in his hands, you feel like molten gold, soft and pliable, shaping yourself to the heat of his touch. He moves with purpose, his gaze never leaving yours as he strips away the last barrier between you, leaving you bare beneath him.

When he finally presses his body against yours, skin to skin, it feels like everything you’ve been missing. His warmth envelops you, his presence grounding you in a way that nothing else can. His hands roam over you, tracing every curve, every line, his fingers mapping out the soft planes of your body with a tenderness that contrasts with the fire that burns in his eyes.

There’s something unspoken between you now, something that doesn’t need words. His touch is a silent claim, his fingers skimming over the dips of your waist, the arch of your spine, the softness of your thighs. He knows every inch of you, and yet it feels new all over again, like he’s discovering you for the first time. His hands are steady, but there’s a quiet desperation in the way he holds you, like he’s afraid this moment might slip away if he lets go.

Katsuki’s breath is hot against your skin as he lowers himself down, pressing kisses along your collarbone, down to the hollow of your throat, each one a promise, a vow. His touch is deliberate, a slow, deliberate worship of your body, as if he’s reminding you of everything you are, everything you mean to him. His hands glide over your hips, his fingers brushing the tender skin of your inner thighs, and you arch into him, your breath hitching as you feel the weight of his love in every movement, every touch.

In his arms, you are safe. In his arms, you are whole.

He is fire and strength, and you are his, claimed by the fierce heat that only he can bring. You are molten gold, shaped and refined in the crucible of his love, and together, you burn brighter than the stars.

His lips press against yours, fueled by a newfound hunger, a kind of urgency that pulls a gasp from your throat, a soft whimper that escapes into the space between you. His hands roam your body with a heated reverence, fingers tracing the curves of your waist, the swell of your hips, until one hand dips lower, slipping between your legs. When his finger slides inside you, the sensation is immediate, raw—a sharp intake of breath echoes through him as he feels you clench around him. You’re so warm, so wet, and it sends a shudder down his spine.

You can feel the tremor in him, the restraint, the overwhelming desire bubbling beneath the surface as his forehead presses against yours, breath mingling with yours in the stillness of the room. Another deep pant leaves him as he moves his finger inside you, the motion making you arch into him, your body responding to him as if you were always meant to. But before you can even catch your breath, he pulls away, eyes burning with a fire that ignites something deep inside you, and in one swift motion, he’s pressing his hips against you, rutting the length of his cock against your slick heat.

His body trembles with restraint as he teases you, but soon enough, he can’t hold back. His hand grips your thigh, pulling you closer as he lines himself up, and then he slips inside you—slowly at first, the feeling of him stretching you, filling you, taking you inch by inch until he’s seated fully within you. The world stills, and for a brief moment, it’s just him and you—joined together as one, moving in a rhythm older than time itself.

It feels like floating—weightless, untethered, as if you’re both suspended in the space between worlds. He rolls his hips, a slow, rhythmic tide, and you meet him, each thrust a push and pull, the two of you locked in a quiet dance. It’s like the meeting of the sea and the bioluminescent sands, glowing with heat and light, each touch sparking something deep and primal within you.

You murmur his name, “Katsuki…” your voice breathless and needy, and he responds with a kiss, his lips soft but insistent as they claim yours. He thrusts into you, achingly gentle, his movements precise but tender, each one filled with care. His hips move steadily, his hands cradling your body as though you’re something delicate, something priceless. To him, you’re precious—a masterpiece he’s lucky enough to hold, a delicate thing that he handles with reverence. Every time he pulls back to look at you, his eyes are filled with something deeper than desire—something raw and unspoken, something that ties the two of you together in ways words never could. 

Your hands drift over the hard planes of his chest, tracing the scars that mark his skin—testaments to battles fought and won, to the life he’s lived. Your fingers explore the rough edges of his body, skimming over the taut muscles that ripple beneath his skin, and the stubble along his jaw that scratches lightly against your fingertips. Each touch is full of reverence, because to you, Katsuki isn’t just a work of art; he’s a force of nature. He’s beauty in its rawest form, an Adonis sculpted from lava and tempered by explosions. He’s the embodiment of power, but beneath it, you feel the vulnerability he only ever reveals to you.

Your hands continue to explore his body, memorizing every part of him. You thumb the scars along his shoulders, fingers dancing along the ridges of his abs, and as you do, you marvel at how someone so strong, so unyielding, can be so gentle, so loving. He moves inside you with reverence, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath hot and heavy against your lips. His body presses down against yours, the heat of him sinking into your bones as he thrusts deeper, driving you further into the mattress. His movements are unhurried but deliberate, each one building on the last until the tension in your body coils tight. 

And then it snaps, the pleasure washing over you in waves, pulling you under as you come undone beneath him. His name is the only thing you can manage, whispered over and over like a mantra, like a promise, your hands clutching at him as though he’s the only thing anchoring you to this moment. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes, not from sadness but from the overwhelming emotion of it all—of being with him like this, of feeling loved, cherished.

Katsuki follows you into that blissful fall, his own body trembling as he reaches his release. A broken moan escapes him, raw and guttural, his forehead pressing into the crook of your neck as he holds you close, his thrusts slowing to a stop. His breath is warm against your skin as he cups your cheeks, tilting your face toward him for a kiss that’s softer now, full of unspoken words and emotions too heavy to name.

When he pulls back, his forehead resting gently against yours, his eyes flicker open, and you see everything in them—gold, violet, amber, the brightest and most precious colors shimmering in the depths of his gaze. It’s as though he holds the universe within him, and all of it is focused on you. His lips brush against yours, the softest of touches, and he whispers in that deep, gravelly voice, “I love you too.”

The tears you’ve been holding back spill over, but they’re happy tears, and you blink them away as you smile. You press another kiss to his lips, your heart full, knowing that whatever happens next, you’ve found your way back to him. 

And that’s all that matters.

The aftermath is a world all its own—silent, untouched by the chaos that exists beyond the walls of his bedroom. 

Here, in the quiet glow of the moonlight, everything feels simple. The unspoken tension and complicated emotions that usually color the spaces between you seem to fade, leaving only this moment. It’s just you and Katsuki, wrapped up in each other, connected by something deeper than words could ever capture.

You’re cradled against him, his body solid and warm beneath you. His fingers trace slow, languid lines up and down your side, a repetitive, soothing motion that makes you feel grounded. Your own fingers mirror his, lazily drawing circles over the hard planes of his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths under your touch. The scent of him—burnt caramel, cloves, sandalwood—wraps around you like a familiar blanket. It’s intoxicating and comforting, a part of him that feels so deeply etched into you now, as permanent as carvings on an ancient tree.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The stillness is sacred. But then, as if the weight of everything unsaid finds its way to your lips, you break the silence. "You know," you whisper, your voice soft as it brushes against the darkness, “today I realized that I deserve to take a break. To stop running away from everything.”

Katsuki’s fingers still for a moment on your skin, but then he leans down slightly, a silent acknowledgment that he’s listening. His hand rests at your hip, grounding you both.

“And… and you do too,” you continue, your voice growing a little stronger, though still fragile. "Your mom’s always on you about taking a vacation, right?" You feel his chest rise sharply beneath your head, his body stiffening just slightly. You take a shaky breath, pushing forward with the thought that’s been growing in your mind. “So… I booked two tickets. In the car. On my way here. To Indonesia. A luxury vacation. The plane leaves tomorrow morning.”

For a second, the world pauses. Katsuki freezes, his hand stopping mid-motion, his entire body going still as if he’s trying to process the words. Slowly, he leans up, propping himself on his elbows, his gaze searching your face with a mix of disbelief and confusion. His fingers find your chin, tipping your face toward him so your eyes meet. “You did what?” His voice is low, rough, not quite angry but edged with a bewilderment that you rarely see from him.

You lean into his touch, your heart swelling at the feel of his calloused fingers against your skin. “I want to go away with you,” you say, your voice steady and honest. “I’m tired, and you’re tired, and I just… I want to be with the man I love. To take time for us. Away from everything.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of his breathing. His chest rises and falls beneath you, each breath coming in measured, as if he’s trying to contain the flood of emotions threatening to break through. His jaw tightens, muscles clenching as he looks at you, something raw and vulnerable flickering in his gaze.

It’s like he can’t believe it. Like he’s struggling to understand that you, here in this moment, are choosing him. That you’ve made this grand, impulsive decision for him—for both of you. His eyes dart away, unable to hold your gaze, his throat bobbing as he swallows thickly. You watch the way his emotions twist inside him, how they tangle up in his mind like a storm that he can’t quite put into words. You can see it all—the disbelief, the hesitation, the way this feels too good to be real for him.

He doesn’t speak, but the weight of his silence says everything. For someone like Katsuki, someone who’s spent his whole life being told he’s too much, too harsh, too aggressive—it’s hard to let himself be wanted like this. To be chosen. And it breaks your heart a little, knowing that this is how deep his vulnerability runs, how much he’s carried on his own without ever asking for anything.

Gently, you reach up, brushing your thumb along his jaw, guiding his face back toward yours. “You deserve this too, Katsuki,” you whisper. “You deserve to take a break. To just… be with someone who loves you.” Your voice softens, a faint crack in the quiet. “Let me love you.”

His breath stutters at those words, his eyes meeting yours again, this time filled with something deeper—something fragile. His hands tighten on your body, and for a moment, you think he might say something. But then, he just exhales shakily, leaning down to press his forehead against yours.

You can feel the tension slowly leaving his body, the weight of his resistance melting away as he allows himself to accept what you’re offering. He doesn’t speak, not yet, but his lips brush against yours in the softest of kisses, and you know he’s heard you.

It’s a moment of surrender, not just to you but to the idea that he can have this—that he’s allowed to be loved like this. And as you both lay there, tangled in each other, you realize that this is the start of something new. 

Something real. 

Something that, for once, feels like it’s yours to keep.

There has to be someone sabotaging Tsukiyo, you think. There’s no way this could happen two Fashion Weeks in a row—the final outfits not fitting again.

It’s déjà vu. Minase looks like she’s on the verge of a breakdown. The tension in the room is thick as assistants, stylists, and tailors dart around like bees in a hive, scrambling to fix the chaos unfolding before them. You’re sitting in the same spot you were last time, watching the chaos but strangely calm, Amanai seated beside you. The familiarity of it all is almost comical.

“This can’t just be bad luck, right? Someone has to be sabotaging the brand,” you muse aloud, watching Amanai get her hair touched up while your own makeup artist carefully layers shimmer onto your eyelids. 

Amanai snorts, tilting her head slightly as the stylist adjusts a stray curl. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But at this point, I’m almost used to it. Minase will just do what she always does. Cut some outfits and make sure the important ones fit. These are summer pieces anyway—more skin showing means less fabric to worry about.”

You chuckle, a tired sound that mingles with the hum of panic around you. The Spring/Summer collection is about fluidity and celestial romance, staying true to Tsukiyo’s ethereal identity. You’re supposed to embody that dreamlike essence, but right now it feels more like a fever dream than a romantic one.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. She always manages to pull something off.”

Like clockwork, Minase’s voice cuts through the frenzy. “We’re cutting some outfits!” she announces, her voice laced with an edge of barely-contained frustration. “We’ll focus on the most important pieces. It’ll shorten the show, but it’s all we can do.” She turns to one of the stylists, rubbing her temples with a groan. “At least The Celestial Ripple Dress still fits,” she mutters under her breath, almost as if she's trying to convince herself that this won't be a complete disaster.

You exhale, grateful that your outfit isn’t one of the ones causing trouble. 

With hair and makeup done, you’re hurried to the fitting room, where the assistants and tailors usher you into your first outfit of the night: The Sakura Veil Jumpsuit. It’s an airy, pastel pink piece, with floral appliqués floating on a sheer overlay. The deep V-neckline glimmers with crystal embellishments, catching the light as you move. You feel the soft iridescent embroidery brush against your skin, mimicking the delicate movement of petals in the wind.

It’s snug, but the tailors make some quick adjustments, and soon enough, you’re able to walk comfortably in it. With one final touch-up to your hair and makeup, you prepare yourself for the runway, the whirlwind of activity swirling around you like an unseen storm.

Amanai and Hanari are already at the curtains, peeking out at the venue. Amanai is dressed in The Moonlit Nomad Ensemble, a layered kimono-inspired blazer in misty gray, paired with fluid silk palazzo trousers that make her look like she’s gliding. Embroidered constellations shimmer faintly on the blazer, cinched at the waist with a metallic indigo belt, adding a regal structure to the otherwise ethereal look. 

Hanari is draped in The Ocean Mirage Dress, a sky-blue gown made of sheer layers of chiffon that ripple like water. The bodice is structured with wave-like 3D elements, flowing seamlessly into a skirt of cascading ruffles edged with micro-crystals that glitter with every movement.

Amanai turns to you, her expression calm despite the chaos. “So? Ready?”

You smile wryly, adjusting your boots. “I think so. Just hope I don’t face-plant. These boots are a little slippery, and I don’t think I can handle the embarrassment of falling in front of everyone.”

Hanari snorts, barely suppressing her laughter. “Just make sure to fall gracefully, then. That’ll still fit the theme, right?”

You all share a brief moment of amusement, but soon enough, it’s time to get serious. The smirks and giggles are quickly replaced with the practiced poise of professionals. 

Time to focus.

One by one, you step onto the runway. Hanari goes first, her gown flowing like liquid, followed by Amanai, whose ensemble glints subtly in the soft lighting. Finally, it’s your turn.

The second your foot touches the glossy floor of the runway, the world condenses into a singular moment. The backstage chaos falls away like a distant memory, and all that remains is the rhythmic click of your boots against the floor and the steady pulse of your own breath. The lights are blinding, but you keep your gaze forward, your body moving with effortless grace. You’ve done this a hundred times, but tonight, there’s something sharper about your focus, something more intense.

The audience fades into the background, their murmurs barely registering in your mind. Each step feels deliberate, every movement controlled. You feel the fabric of your jumpsuit shift against your skin, the weight of the crystals on your chest catching the light as you move. The shimmering appliqués float as if alive, and you become a part of Tsukiyo’s dreamscape—an ethereal figure, moving through a world of starlight and fluid beauty.

As you near the end of the runway, you pause, turning slowly to give the audience a full view of the outfit. You hold your head high, projecting an aura of quiet confidence. 

You turn on your heel, making your way back down the runway with steady, deliberate steps, the sound of your boots echo with each click, vibrating deep in your chest. There’s a practiced grace to your movement, but every step feels charged with a weight that goes beyond the runway. You remind yourself to stay poised, to let the outfit speak through your body, through your calm. The audience’s eyes are still on you, but their murmurs barely pierce your bubble of focus.

When you finally step off the runway, a quiet exhale of relief escapes your lips. You feel your muscles relax, but only slightly. There’s still one more outfit to showcase—the most important one of the night. As you slip into the organized frenzy of backstage, assistants swarm you with quick, precise hands, ushering you toward the fitting area for the final look: The Celestial Ripple Dress.

The jumpsuit slides off with ease, and in its place, the assistants fit the silk of the Celestial Ripple Dress against your skin. The fabric feels like liquid, molding to you as though it’s alive. The iridescence of the material shifts between hues of lavender and warm peach, flickering like the first light of dawn. The architectural collar frames your neck and shoulders, delicate patterns flowing from it like lacework, lending you a regal air. The beaded obi-style belt cinches your waist, and as you glance down, you admire the laser-cut lace at the hem, each detail a testament to the craftsmanship of the design.

It’s a vision, a dream, and as you catch your reflection, you feel like a celestial being. But the reality of what’s about to come slams back into you with the controlled chaos around you—stylists pulling at your hair, makeup artists adding touches of shimmer to your already glowing skin. You still carry a faint tan from your trip to Indonesia two months ago, and the subtle golden tone contrasts beautifully against the soft tones of the dress.

Before you can fully immerse yourself in the calm before the storm, Minase appears at your side, her energy frantic but precise. She adjusts a few last details on the dress, her fingers working quickly.

“Listen,” she starts, her voice low but urgent. “Remember what I told you. Confidence. You need to own this moment. Make sure every single person in that room sees you—sees the dress. And that final pose?” She gives you a meaningful look, her eyes wide with intensity. “It has to be perfect. You need to look like you’ve stepped straight out of the stars. When the lights dim, and you see those white LEDs flicker, that’s your cue. Got it?”

You nod, giving her a reassuring smile despite the nerves twisting in your stomach. “Don’t worry, I got this.”

Minase’s eyes flicker with a mix of tension and trust, and she nods before stepping back to allow the final touch-ups. The makeup artists dab a bit more highlighter on your cheekbones, and the hair stylists smooth out the last few tendrils framing your face, ensuring everything is in place.

As you take a deep breath, steadying yourself, the assistants guide you toward the runway entrance. Your pulse races, but the adrenaline is steadying, sharpening your focus. Around you, the backstage murmurs grow softer, almost muted against the steady beat of your own heart. Several people wish you luck as you pass, but their words blur into the background as your mind narrows into a singular focus: the final walk. Amanai and Hanari catch your eye from the side, their reassuring smiles grounding you in the moment. You return the smile, grateful for their support, but you know that no amount of encouragement can ease the pressure bearing down on you.

The runway lights begin to dim, casting the space into an ethereal shadow. The energy in the room shifts—hushed but charged with anticipation. A shiver of excitement runs through you as the white LED lights flicker, signaling the start of your walk. 

Here we go.

You step onto the runway, and the moment your heels hit the floor, every pair of eyes in the room locks onto you. The dress catches the dim light, shimmering like a pool of liquid starlight, and with each step, the fabric shifts between hues, casting soft reflections across the room. The collar frames your face, a delicate extension of your own elegance, and the beaded belt accentuates your silhouette, guiding every movement with a subtle grace.

The world seems to fall away again. It’s just you, the runway, and the audience. You walk with the kind of confidence Minase drilled into you—a confidence that commands attention, yet exudes an effortless air. The hem of the dress whispers against your legs as you move, the intricate lace catching the softest hints of light with every step.

You hear the faint click of cameras, the subtle murmurs of awe from the audience, but it all blends into the background. In this moment, you are no longer just a model walking the runway; you are the embodiment of Tsukiyo’s celestial dream, a being that belongs to the stars.

As you approach the end of the runway, you pause, turning gracefully to give the audience one last view of the dress. The delicate collar flares slightly as you move, and you hold your final pose—a celestial queen, untouchable yet mesmerizing. You feel the weight of the moment, the pressure, but also the thrill of it. The audience is enraptured, their eyes drinking in every detail, and for a heartbeat, the world seems to hold its breath with you.

And then you turn, gliding back down the runway with the same deliberate grace. The energy in the room hums, and you can feel the attention still on you, as if the entire space is caught in the glow of your presence. 

As you step off the runway, the weight of the night slowly lifts from your shoulders, and you release a deep sigh of relief. The adrenaline that had been pumping through your veins starts to ease, leaving you with a calm satisfaction. “Good job!” echoes from all around you, stylists and assistants offering you quick words of praise as you make your way further backstage. 

Minase rushes toward you, her arms enveloping you in a bone-crushing hug, squeezing tightly. You return the hug, a wide smile spreading across your face. You know you did good tonight—really good. 

The look on Minase’s face is proof of it. 

You’ve done it again. 

The afterparty is in full swing by the time you arrive. 

The warm hum of low conversation and soft jazz mixes with the gentle clink of glasses. Dim lighting washes the room in an intimate glow, as glittering gowns and sleek tuxedos fill the luxurious space. The familiar click of your heels echoes against the polished marble floor, blending into the cadence of the night. Your eyes sweep the crowd, taking in the lavish surroundings, but you're instantly drawn to Amanai and Hanari, who are comfortably seated near the bar, their faces bright with laughter.

You’re dressed in a liquid gold slip dress that shimmers like molten metal with every movement. The delicate spaghetti straps highlight your shoulders, and the draped cowl neckline adds a touch of sensuality, balancing elegance and allure perfectly. The fabric clings to your body just enough to accentuate your figure before pooling subtly at your feet in a way that feels ethereal, otherworldly. Every step you take makes the high-shine metallic fabric catch the soft lighting, creating a fluid, rippling effect as though you’re a goddess dipped in gold. Paired with minimalist strappy heels, you feel the kind of confidence that only comes with wearing something that makes you feel utterly captivating.

But before you can reach Amanai and Hanari, you feel the familiar warmth of a hand sliding against your back. You already know who it is before you even turn around. There’s no mistaking the touch, the possessive yet gentle slide of a palm against your spine, the electric tension that runs through your body when he’s near.

A slow smile curls onto your lips before you even look over your shoulder, and when you finally glance back, your heart gives a small flutter as you meet Katsuki’s gaze. His expression is amused, eyes glinting with that familiar intensity you know so well. The edges of his mouth are curved slightly upward, a rare smirk tugging at his lips as if he’s just as aware of the magnetic pull between the two of you.

“Hi,” you breathe, the word barely a whisper as you turn fully toward him.

Without a second thought, your hand comes up, fingers curling lightly around his strong jaw, guiding his face down to yours. The kiss that follows is soft, slow, and searing. There’s something intoxicating about the way his lips move against yours, the way he holds back, teasing, yet still letting you feel the depth of his affection. When you pull away, you press another quick kiss to his lips, something playful. His eyes are half-lidded, lazy but brimming with affection, a softness in his expression that only you ever get to see.

Katsuki presses a kiss to your thumb, his lips warm against your skin. You wipe the smudge of lip gloss from his lips with your thumb, a soft chuckle escaping you. “You didn’t answer my texts,” you say quietly, your voice carrying a playful edge. “I didn’t know if you’d already arrived or not.”

He lets out a tch, glancing over his shoulder toward the back of the room where his friends are lounging. “Came with Shitty Hair and the others,” he mutters, nodding toward Kirishima, Kaminari, Sero, and Mina. They’re grinning and waving at you like a bunch of excited kids. You smile and wave back, but your focus quickly returns to Katsuki.

“You did good out there,” he says, his voice almost too soft for him, but it’s laced with pride. It sends warmth flooding through your chest.

“You think so?” you ask, searching his face, feeling your heart swell when you see the genuine admiration in his eyes.

He hums, nodding slightly. “Yeah.” His tone is gruff, but the sincerity is clear.

You tease him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “So, I looked good then?”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes in that familiar way of his, but the corner of his mouth quirks up. “You always do,” he mutters, his hands slipping down to rest on your hips, his thumb brushing the fabric of your dress. There’s an understated affection in his touch, like he’s always more comfortable showing his feelings through actions rather than words.

Your fingers smooth over the fabric of his blazer, admiring the sharp, tailored fit of his all-black ensemble. He looks effortlessly handsome, dressed in a sleek black blazer with subtle metallic details that add an edge to the classic silhouette. The buttoned-up dress shirt underneath enhances his sharp jawline, and the wide-leg pleated trousers give him a sense of casual elegance. He looks sophisticated, polished, but still undeniably him. 

Your Katsuki.

“Well, you look pretty good yourself,” you say, your smile widening as you take in his appearance, your hands lingering on his chest. “Real handsome.”

He scoffs again, but you catch the faint blush dusting his cheeks, and it makes you smile even more. He always does this—acts tough, but you know how much your words affect him. His fingers flex against your waist, a small tell that he’s pleased.

He still has a faint tan from your trip to Indonesia, and the memory stirs a warm ache in your chest. It's hard to believe it's been two months since that whirlwind adventure. You can still picture the lush rice fields, ancient temples, breathtaking sunsets, traditional villages, and those perfect beaches.

Indonesia had been like a dream. 

It was everything you both needed. The two of you sat down and talked, really talked, about your feelings. Katsuki had opened up in his own gruff way, admitting how he felt after walking out of your apartment that day—how he wasn’t sure if he was just a fling or something more. You shared your own fears, how you’d been too scared to admit to yourself how much he meant to you.

And in that moment, everything felt right. 

The rest of the vacation was a dream—relaxing on the beach, hiking through the jungles, trying local food, and, of course, spending every night tangled in each other’s arms. You hadn’t realized how much you missed his touch, his voice, until you had it again. Every morning and night spent wrapped in him felt like a piece of you had been restored.

And now, you’re dating. Officially; something you hadn’t dared to hope for before the trip, and the thought still makes your heart race sometimes.

“So, I look good now as well?” you tease, a playful glint in your eyes as you step closer to him, feeling the heat radiating from his body.

Katsuki raises a brow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His thumb brushes over the golden necklace around your neck—the one with the first kanji of his name as the pendant, a gift he gave you after the trip. His other hand remains firm against your back, his touch grounding you.

“‘Course you do,” he mumbles, voice low and steady, filled with that quiet, unspoken affection only he can give.

“Sweet talker,” you tease softly, your lips quirking into a smile as you gently smooth a hand down Katsuki’s chest. His warmth seeps through the fabric of his sleek black blazer, grounding you in this moment of intimacy. 

He raises a brow but doesn’t refute it, letting your words settle with that usual gruffness, though you can see the faint trace of a smirk playing at the edge of his lips. “Let me say hi to the girls, then I’ll join you at your table, okay?” 

He nods and leans in, pressing a soft, quick kiss to your lips, and you can feel the possessiveness in the way he lingers for just a second longer than needed. His lips brush against yours with a tenderness that feels almost out of character, but you know it’s him—Katsuki showing affection in his own way. You pull away and pat his chest, turning to make your way toward Amanai and Hanari at the bar. 

You glide through the room, feeling the eyes on you once more—not from the runway this time, but from the afterparty’s crowd. Your golden slip dress catches the ambient light, shimmering like liquid gold with every step. You’re in your element, but your heart is still wrapped up in Katsuki’s touch, in the way he looks at you like you're the center of his world, even in a room filled with people.

Greeting Amanai and Hanari doesn’t take long—just a quick exchange of hugs and a few words of praise for your performance on the runway. You laugh softly as they gush over your dress, the compliments filling you with warmth, but there’s an eagerness to get back to Katsuki. 

By the time you return to his table, he already has a drink waiting for you, of course. He always pays attention to the details, even when he pretends not to. As you approach, you quickly go around the group, greeting everyone with hugs and smiles. Kirishima gives you a bear hug, Kaminari’s enthusiasm is infectious, and Mina’s wide grin feels like a mirror to your own.

“You looked so cool!” Kaminari practically bounces in his seat, his eyes wide with admiration. 

Sero, his usual laid-back self, nods in approval while toying with an unlit cigarette between his lips. He smirks. “Yeah, you killed it out there. Not surprised, though.”

You settle into your spot beside Katsuki, his arm naturally wrapping around your waist as you lean into his solid frame. His presence is comforting—like a rock in the midst of the swirling energy around you. You smile and shrug modestly. “Thanks, guys. I’m just glad that starting tomorrow, I have a few days off. A mini vacation before the real work starts.”

It feels good to let that thought settle in—time to recharge before diving back into the hectic world of photoshoots and campaigns. You’ve been looking forward to this breather for weeks now.

Kirishima, always the supportive one, grins at you. “Good for you! You should take all the time you need.” His warm, encouraging tone is typical of him, and it only adds to the sense of relief that washes over you.

Mina hums in agreement, her bright eyes twinkling as she takes a sip from her drink. “Yeah, you deserve it. Fashion Week looked intense this year.”

You nod, feeling the tiredness start to creep in, but it’s a good kind of exhaustion—the kind that comes after you’ve given it your all. “It was, but honestly, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. It’s just… fulfilling, you know?”

Katsuki’s hand tightens slightly around your waist at your words, his quiet approval always there even when he doesn’t voice it. His presence beside you, even in these small moments, is grounding. He’s never one to shower you with compliments in public, but his actions—the way he holds you close, the way he’s always there when you need him—speak volumes.

Mina leans in, her smile mischievous. “So, what’s the plan for your mini vacation? You and Bakugou jetting off somewhere?”

Katsuki scoffs, his eyes flicking toward her with mild annoyance, but you catch the subtle way his hand remains on your back, protective and reassuring. You laugh softly. “We haven’t decided yet. Maybe something low-key. Relaxing.”

Kaminari nudges Sero with a grin. “Bet it’ll involve lots of… relaxing.”

You roll your eyes, chuckling at the innuendo, while Katsuki gives Kaminari a warning glare that shuts him up quickly. “Keep talkin’, Sparky, and you’ll regret it.”

“Jeez, I’m just kidding, man,” Kaminari holds his hands up in surrender, laughing nervously. 

You smile and lean your head against Katsuki’s shoulder, feeling his body relax under your touch. “Honestly, I’m just excited to spend some time with this guy. We don’t get enough of that these days.”

At that, Katsuki glances down at you, the barest hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “We’ll figure something out.” His voice is low, private, as though the two of you are the only ones in the room.

You smile softly, leaning up to kiss Katsuki’s cheek. The subtle gesture of affection makes his face flush slightly, but he keeps his composure by pretending to sip on his drink, carefully avoiding eye contact with anyone. It’s a small, rare show of his vulnerability, the way his cool façade slips just for you. Even though he’s trying to play it off, you can feel the warmth in his posture, the way his arm tenses slightly as if to pull you closer. 

His friends, however, are far from oblivious. Kaminari and Mina are practically glowing with grins as they exchange glances, amused by the way Katsuki tries so hard to act nonchalant. Kirishima's grin is wide and genuine, clearly happy for his best friend. They know this side of him, the softer side he shows only to you, and it’s a sight they cherish—though they’d never dare tease him about it, not seriously anyway.

“I just want somewhere with a beach,” you continue, keeping the conversation flowing as you sip your drink. “Maybe Okinawa. Maybe the Caribbean. I’m still figuring it out with our schedules, too.” Your voice is light, relaxed, but the longing for a break is evident in the way you speak. The whirlwind of fashion shows and shoots, though thrilling, has left you craving some time away—a place where you can unwind and just be.

Katsuki’s thumb absentmindedly strokes your waist as you speak, his subtle way of showing that he’s listening, even if he doesn’t say much.

“But I do know that I need a break,” you laugh softly, the exhaustion creeping into your tone, though it’s balanced with a sense of excitement for whatever comes next. “Something relaxing, somewhere far away from all of this chaos.”

Kaminari nods in understanding, his carefree grin softening into something a bit more thoughtful. “No, I get it. This whole thing is a lot, and you’ve been working hard. You gotta enjoy some time off.” His words are simple, but there’s an appreciation in his tone for the effort you’ve been putting in. Hero work, modeling, it’s all a lot, and sometimes people forget how much goes on behind the scenes.

You nod in agreement, grateful for his words, and the conversation begins to shift. Soon enough, they start talking about their hero work—patrols, training sessions, recent missions. You find yourself listening more than speaking, content to let the conversation flow around you. Your hand rests on Katsuki’s thigh, the soft fabric of his trousers warm under your palm. Absentmindedly, you run your fingers up and down, feeling the solid muscle beneath your touch. It’s a comforting gesture, one that feels natural between the two of you now, and you notice how it subtly relaxes him.

Katsuki, who usually has a sharp edge in his voice when he talks, is different tonight. His gruff tone is still there—because that’s just him—but it’s not harsh. He doesn’t bark his words or throw in as many biting remarks. When he speaks, it’s with measured authority, chiming in with his own thoughts on their hero work without dominating the conversation. He’s relaxed, at ease with you at his side.

You catch snippets of the conversation: Kaminari rambling about a recent mission that went awry, Sero and Mina debating the best techniques for urban rescue, Kirishima enthusiastically talking about new training regimens. Katsuki listens, occasionally grumbling an opinion or a sarcastic comment, but you can feel the quiet respect between him and his friends. They look up to him, even when they joke around, and he, in his own way, values their friendship deeply.

Every now and then, Katsuki’s hand moves to your back, brushing against your skin as if to remind himself that you’re still here, grounding him. It’s a small gesture, but it makes your heart flutter every time.

You gaze at him—really look at him—and it hits you: your boyfriend is like a supernova. His eyes, red but gleaming gold in the light, his messy blonde hair somehow still effortlessly handsome, and the way he fills out that sleek black blazer and those perfectly tailored pants. He looks absolutely irresistible.

And then, an idea starts to take shape in your mind.

You can’t help but grin mischievously, leaning further into Katsuki's side. You press a quick, feather-light kiss against the corner of his jaw when no one's looking, letting your fingers lazily trace patterns on his thigh. Your foot slides up and down along his ankle, a slow, deliberate tease that makes him stiffen slightly, his breath catching in his throat. For just a moment, his usual composure falters, and you feel the way his muscles tense under your touch.

A wicked grin spreads across your face as you lean in close to whisper, your breath warm against his ear, "Meet me in the bathroom from last time."

Katsuki’s sharp inhale is barely audible, but you hear it, and it only makes your grin widen. His reaction is perfect—a mixture of shock and anticipation. He tries to maintain his cool, but you can feel the tension radiating off of him, his grip on the glass in his hand tightening just slightly.

You pull back as if nothing happened, your expression innocent as you stand up. "I’m just heading to the bathroom," you tell the group with a casual smile, and no one bats an eye. But Katsuki knows better. His gaze follows you, smoldering, even as he tries to act unaffected.

With a teasing sway of your hips, you walk away, knowing full well that he's watching. The sounds of the party fade as you make your way to the more secluded part of the venue, the quiet settling around you. There’s a pleasant thrum in your body, the buzz of alcohol adding to the heady anticipation that builds with each step. You move through the hallways with ease, your heart pounding just a bit faster as you turn the familiar corners.

Slipping inside the private bathroom, you take a moment to check your reflection. The liquid gold of your dress shimmers under the soft lighting, clinging perfectly to your curves. You snap a few mirror selfies, the excitement bubbling up inside you, and even take a moment to fix your makeup. 

A few minutes pass before you hear the door creak open behind you. Katsuki slips inside, his presence filling the small room immediately. His face is flushed, his usual scowl more pronounced, but you can tell he’s fighting it—his embarrassment, his frustration at how easily you get to him. It makes you laugh, a soft, teasing sound that fills the space.

"Don't look so grumpy," you tease, turning to face him fully. "You're about to get the best head ever, honey."

His ears turn an even deeper shade of red, the blush spreading across his neck, but all he can manage is a low, unintelligible grumble. He looks almost flustered, which is rare for him, and it only makes you smile wider. Before you can say anything else, he steps forward, wrapping his arms around your waist, his body pressing against yours from behind. His breath is warm against your skin as he buries his nose in the crook of your shoulder, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss there.

The warmth of his mouth on your skin sends a shiver down your spine. His lips linger for a moment, soft and deliberate, before he pulls back, resting his head against yours. He’s relaxed now, his earlier tension melting away as his eyes become heavy-lidded, the earlier scowl gone. His hands stay firmly on your waist, holding you close, and you can feel the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest behind you.

You smile at both of your reflections in the mirror—Katsuki looking uncharacteristically soft, his gaze half-lidded and affectionate, while you’re practically glowing with warmth. It’s moments like this that remind you of why you love him so much. Despite the brash exterior, the sharp words, and the gruff demeanor, he’s always so gentle with you. He’s always so careful, so loving, in a way that makes you feel treasured.

"I love you," you say softly, turning your head to press a kiss on his cheek. He lets you, his lips curving into a faint smile before he tilts his head to capture your lips in a soft, whispery kiss. It’s slow, tender, and full of unspoken affection, his way of saying what he’s never been good at putting into words. 

"Love you too," he mumbles against your lips, the words barely audible but sincere.

The simple exchange fills you with a sense of warmth, but you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face next. "Now, let’s get down to business," you say, your voice light with amusement.

Katsuki snorts, rolling his eyes, but there’s a trace of a smirk on his lips. "Yeah," he grumbles, his tone playful, "let’s get down to business."

You laugh softly, your heart swelling as you realize—this is your life now. Moments like this, the quiet intimacy, the teasing, the shared affection—it’s everything you’ve ever wanted. 

You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of it. 

With Katsuki, it’s always exciting, always a perfect blend of passion and tenderness. 

And you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

final notes:

thanks for sticking around and for reading! this was such a fun story to write, and i hope you guys enjoyed it as much as i did.

here is my ko-fi :) as some of you may know, i’ve been sick and haven’t been able to work as much, so any support would mean a lot. no pressure, of course!

again, thank you so much, and until next time!