#why is my entire life a learning curve

[the-siphonophore]

Just realized that flaring up with exhaustion sickness also leaves me overstimulated for several days

[coffee-and-geto]

“HOW CAN I LOVE WHEN I’M AFRAID TO FALL?”

“I fell in love with you as soon as I saw you, as soon as you covered me from my father, as soon as I heard your laugh, saw the amazing mother you are, and realized I never wanted you to leave this house.”

pairing: CEO! satoru gojo x f!reader

summary: to your almost regret, your life as a single mother seems to be weighing more and more heavily on your worn-out shoulders. so what could be better than pretending to be the CEO’s girlfriend of the business you work for, knowing that his father is the general manager?

warnings: +18 only, smut, nsfw, her daughter is called hinata, fake dating/single mom tropes, angst, mother insecurities, fluff, reader’s ex is a jerk, unprotected sex, sex (p in v), overstimulation, pussy drunk (satoru), nipple play, fingering (f!receiving), oral (m), this fic is (really slightly) inspired from the french book ‘un printemps pour te succomber’ by morgane moncomble, including therefore small similar dialogues, (pls guys learn french only to read this masterpiece!!), fanart by @/ilameys on twt.

wc: 10,154

“Can I taste the frosting?”

Your lips curve into a smile. “Of course, angel.” You crouch down and hand the spatula coated in pastel pink frosting to your five-year-old daughter. Her little fist wraps around the handle, and joy spreads across her angelic face like rays of sunshine. “So? How is it?”

“It’s so good!” she exclaims, and you chuckle.

“I’m glad you like it.” You glance at the clock in your kitchen. “I’ll put the frosting in the fridge. While the cake bakes, go back to playing, and I’ll call you to help decorate the cake as soon as it’s ready, okay?”

Hinata nods, blowing you a kiss that you return after a moment of surprised hesitation, your lips forming an “O”. Amid delighted laughter, she skips away, and you turn back to face the bowl of cake batter.

Why does it have to be so hard?

Every birthday, you hold back tears because who said ‘single mom’ doesn’t rhyme with ‘baking your own birthday cake so your daughter can sing to you’? But what hurts more — this, or seeing your flesh and blood envy her female friends who have their dads in their arms and their mothers content with their families?

The silence of loneliness can sometimes be louder than company.

“Happy birthday! Happy birthday, mama!” your daughter sings, clapping her hands as you blow out your candles in the warm, yet dimly lit, living room. “Come on, come on! Let’s eat the cake!”

With a knife, you cut two slices, one for each of you, and it only takes a few more minutes for both your mouths to be covered in pink frosting, with laughter echoing in the room. The heartache, briefly chased away by the short-lived joy, returns later that night when your daughter snuggles up in your arms in your double bed, which seems to be missing something.

Fuck, being a single mom is tough, you think as you wipe away the tears flooding your cheeks with the back of your hand. No one to support you, all the responsibilities fall on your shoulders, and now doubts about your daughter start invading your mind: “What if she blames you later for not having a father?”, “What if she thinks you’re a bad mom?”, “Do her friends at school say anything about you being the only unmarried woman among all the parents in her class?”

These thoughts have never stopped, not even during your pregnancy, whether about the weight gained or lost, or the changes in your body. Are these regrets? But how could you regret bringing such an angel into the world? Maybe it’s more about the lousy partner who left you the second he found out you were pregnant.

Probably the second option.

°°°

“WHERE IS MY SON?!”

A male voice thunders across the entire floor of the company. You jump, turning to one of your colleagues over the small partition set up for employee privacy. “Who’s yelling like that?” you whisper, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I heard it’s the new general manager…”

Your frown deepens. “Is that why they handed me the summary of our sales figures to drop off at the office upstairs?” To prove your point, you lift the massive stack of documents.

Your colleague presses his lips together, his eyes widening in a way that already gives you the answer. “Oh God, you’re the one in charge of that? Good luck. It’s to be delivered to the new director.”

A sigh escapes your lips.

For a start to the workweek, it seems you’re about to face the stormy mood of the new boss, who apparently brought his kid to the office. What a perfect beginning.

As usual, the upper floor is deserted, as it’s generally reserved for executives with direct ties to the company’s CEO. Few people take the elevator to reach the top floor of the skyscraper. Arriving in the lonely hallway, it should be a simple task to knock on the boss’s office door, drop off the elephant-weight stack of documents, and leave.

So why does the sound of running footsteps seem to be getting closer and closer behind you?

In a flash, a man dressed in a navy blue suit rushes past you, bumping your shoulder. He nearly topples the threatening stack of papers, but you manage, at the last second, to catch everything before you lose your balance. The young man opens the door to the women’s restroom, and before entering, he glances over his shoulder.

Never in your life have eyes made such an impression on you.

Two cerulean blue orbs lock onto yours with a mischievous aura. A smirk tugs at the corner of his thin, pink lips. From his pale skin to his albino hair, the man exudes charm and beauty from every pore. The sheer allure of his appearance leaves your brain too stunned to react, numbing it. How can someone be this handsome?

“SATORU!”

His serene and amused expression vanishes instantly, and you jump in response. Replaced by an exaggerated look of fear, he addresses you, “Cover for me. If he asks you, you never saw me!” And his tall, slender body disappears into the women’s restroom.

More footsteps echo down the hallway, this time from a second man, just as tall and physically similar to the young man you just encountered — though slightly older, with wrinkles lining his face and a mix of albino hair and silver from age. You have no time to react except to straighten up against the wall.

His blue eyes, more gray and stern, settle on you as he approaches. “Did you see a man? A tall idiot running around and flirting with any woman he sees,” he grumbles the last part, his eyes thoughtfully fixed on the light carpet.

You shake your head robotically. “No… I—”

“Never mind,” he cuts you off with a dismissive wave of his hand — as if your answer is irrelevant and he’s heard it at least twenty times before. He sighs and scratches at the stubble on his chin. “Who are you, anyway?”

“An employee, sir.” You gesture to the stack of documents that’s beginning to make its weight known in your arms. “I was asked to drop this off in your office.” The tone of your voice almost pleads with him to let you in and relieve you of the annoying burden.

“The report? Ah yes, of course.” You sigh in relief as he unlocks the door with his keys. “I suppose you’re wondering who I am?”

“The new general manager, I guess?” you reply, raising an eyebrow. You drop the heavy stack onto the desk and exhale deeply. “We heard you on every floor.” You can’t help but chuckle at your own remark, offering the director an apologetic smile.

He rolls his eyes, but a light chuckle still rumbles in his chest. “You’re right. It’s because of my son.”

His son?

You repeat the word aloud, confused, and he clarifies. “My son is the new CEO of this company, and I almost regret my decision to give him that position.” He shakes his head, his gaze drifting toward the blue sky visible through the large window, then refocuses on you. “I apologize in advance. He’s going to be a real handful.”

“I understand. I think we’ll manage to put up with him,” you add with a smile.

In the end, this new boss doesn’t seem as strict as your colleagues have been saying, and his story about his son is more amusing than anything. You cough slightly into your elbow and clear your throat, murmuring an apology.

“Are you sick?” the director inquires.

“A little,” you admit reluctantly, feeling embarrassed as you adjust the mask on your face. “Sorry. I couldn’t stay home.”

“No problem.” He crosses his arms over his chest and sighs. “Well, I think I have some work to do. See you later, I suppose.”

You don’t hesitate to leave the boss’s office and quietly step into the women’s restroom. “Is… someone here?” you murmur in a hoarse voice.

The creaking of a door answers you, and the general manager’s son emerges from a stall, looking cautious. He looks like a little boy checking to see if his hiding spot in a game of hide-and-seek has been discovered, which makes you stifle a discreet giggle. He turns to you and offers an apologetic smile. “Sorry about earlier. I didn’t hurt you, did I, sweetheart?”

The nickname catches you off guard, and warmth floods your face. “N-No, I’m fine. You’re the new CEO, right?”

“Satoru Gojo, at your service, pretty girl.” He winks, a reminder that he’s quite the flirt.

You introduce yourself in return, running out of things to say, your hands nervously clasped by your sides.

“Pretty name,” Satoru murmurs. He closes the stall door behind him and exhales, shaking his head. “Phew! That was a close one! Thanks again!” He strides toward the exit with one last charming smile in your direction, leaving the restroom and a lingering scent of cologne behind him.

°°°°

“Why aren’t you answering?”

“Damn it, you’re so annoying with this!”

“There’s no point in moving every few months, I’m going to find you.”

“For fuck’s sake, answer my messages! I told you I need you! I swear I’ll help you raise Hinata this time.”

“I made a mistake, so let me fix it by answering my fucking messages! I know you’re reading them!”

You swallow hard, your throat tight, and press the “block this contact” button on your phone. It’s the fourth time this month. He’s been harassing you with messages and finding a way to contact you no matter how many numbers he uses, even when you change yours. The same goes for your address, as apparently changing apartments is no longer enough to escape him.

You know he’s in debt — one of the many consequences of his excessive gambling, even when you were still in a relationship with him. Smoking, drinking, and of course, downing tobacco like it was water, only to charm you while hiding this lifestyle to get you into his bed, then fleeing the moment you were pregnant.

So now that he needs a woman and a child to escape his debts, he’s reaching out to you — the woman he abandoned after promising marriage (without a ring, of course), got pregnant, and deserted, only to come crawling back to you.

“Mama? You okay?”

Your daughter’s concerned little voice pulls you out of your daze. The cartoons playing on the TV haven’t had the desired effect — they’re not distracting her from the anxiety that’s been gnawing at you day by day. Maybe today, it’s showing enough for people to notice?

“I’m fine, angel,” you reassure her with a perfect smile — perfectly fake, because that’s something you’ve learned to anchor over time.

You pat the empty spot on the couch next to you, and she nestles under your arm. “If you say so…” Hina murmurs, clutching her worn-out bunny plush.

The state of the plush catches your attention, and a pang of guilt stabs at your heart. What kind of mother lets her daughter carry around a stuffed toy in such poor condition? Maybe you are a bad mother? Otherwise, why would Hina deserve such a pitiful situation? She deserves so much better than you…

“Little angel?” you murmur as she wraps her tiny arms around your waist and nuzzles into your belly. “Are you okay?”

“I love you.”

And the three little words sound… unreal.

Hot tears blur your vision, and it takes every bit of strength you have to whisper back, “I love you too, Hina.”

°°°°

3:00 PM.

In less than an hour, you’ll need to pick up Hinata from school.

Normally, you avoid lingering at work. You go through your usual routine as an employee, nothing special or fun — a hello, goodbye, see you tomorrow to colleagues without worrying about what’s happening around you or the gossip, even when it involves coworkers getting together.

The only change: now it’s you who gets stuck with the task of delivering all the documents to the general manager. According to one of your peers, he doesn’t seem to be strict or threatening when it comes to you. So this time, you’re tasked with delivering an additional file about the production of a new product on the market to both the CEO and the general manager. For the second time, you head up to the highest floors of the company headquarters to knock on the CEO’s door — it’s the closest. But no one answers.

No surprise, since the director’s son spends his time running through the hallways to avoid his father and shirk his responsibilities, right?

You’re about to knock on the Director’s door, but a familiar gust of wind brushes your face with a soft, fresh breeze. Satoru Gojo appears beside you with a charming smile and glances at what you’re holding.

“H-Hello, sweetheart. How are… you?” he greets, slightly out of breath from yet another chase with his father.

“I’m fine. Here.” You hand him one of the folders, and he takes it, pretending to read it. “The next meeting—” But he grabs the second document and, before you can react, opens the door to his office and casually tosses them inside before shutting the door.

“SATORU GOJO! KEEP IT UP, AND I’LL DISOWN YOU!” The boss’s voice echoes through the entire floor as he appears from behind the emergency exit door. “YOU!” He points a finger at you, standing right next to him. “Still bothering our employees?” He grumbles, his jaw clenched so tightly that you can hear his teeth grinding.

“That’s not true, father!” Satoru protests, feigning outrage. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. “You’re chasing me while I’m just saying hello to my girlfriend?”

You freeze, turning your head toward him, as lost as the Director, who squints his eyes. “Your girlfriend? Since when—”

“I was going to tell you,” Satoru continues, shaking his head, his fingers squeezing your waist while you remain paralyzed. “Here’s my new girlfriend.”

“Are you lying to me and dragging some poor woman into your childish games?”

In the back of your mind, you note that he doesn’t seem to recognize you despite the last time you saw each other.

“What? I’m telling the truth! Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” And he leans in to plant an affectionate kiss on your cheek.

Your heart almost stops for a second. But you quickly snap back to reality under the insistent embrace of his arm and his hand around you. “Y-Yes…”

What kind of mess have you gotten yourself into?

“Well, if you’ll excuse us, father, my darling and I are in a hurry.” He leads you away before you have time to protest and heads toward the elevator with you.

Once the doors close, Satoru takes your hands in his and leans toward you. “I can explain everything.”

If his cerulean blue eyes hadn’t been so persuasive, you would have exploded right there and then to yell at him.

You, the girlfriend of the CEO of the company you work for? Did this really have to happen to you? You can already picture your termination letter under your nose as you exit the back of the building. A glance at your watch tells you that if you don’t hurry, you’ll be late to pick up your daughter.

“You’re in a rush?”

“I have to pick up my daughter before I’m late,” you reply curtly, “and look at the mess I’m in now!”

“I know, I know…” Satoru rubs the back of his head, right where his immaculate undercut is. “Maybe I can explain on the way? Where’s your car?” He looks around the parking lot, his eyes searching.

The question — however mundane — makes you blush with embarrassment. “I… take public transportation…” you mumble, pouting.

He furrows his brow, as if you just admitted to showering with maggot-infested soap. “Excuse me? I don’t take public transportation.”

“Well, I do.” A hint of defiance returns to protect your pride.

How could he possibly understand when he lives like a rich man, without worrying about grocery shopping, paying bills, and of course, taking public transportation during the week to avoid wasting gas because it costs an arm and a leg! But for him, that must not be part of his daily life, especially since he’s one of society’s privileged.

“Let’s take my car then.” He says this without waiting for you, as you remain standing there. He pulls out his keys and opens the passenger door. “What are you waiting for?”

“But— I— Are you out of your mind?” you burst out. “I’m not getting in that car! I’m supposed to pick up my daughter, and now I’m pretending to be your girlfriend! In front of your father!” You emphasize your words with wild, energetic gestures.

He bursts out laughing.

Cute.

“No chance. We’re going to pick up your daughter and clear this all up. And please, stop refusing to get into a car that’s way better than those buses that reek of sweat.” He rolls his eyes, and you note how much he resembles his father when he does that.

“I have an errand to run anyway,” you persist.

“And that doesn’t change the fact that I want you to get in this car,” Satoru chuckles.

Taking a closer look, the car is as luxurious as the ones you dream about at night — yours, by comparison, looks like a junk heap ready for the scrapyard. Reluctantly, you climb in, Satoru’s chivalrous demeanor not going unnoticed as he snickers at your surrender. He quickly gets in, asks for the address of the school, and sets off after starting his car, which smells just as good as he does. You feel like a piece of trash in the middle of this little universe he inhabits.

“My father bugs me every day to find a woman,” Satoru murmurs at first, one hand resting on his thigh, clad in business suit trousers, his eyes fixed on the road over his round sunglasses. “That’s one of the reasons I avoid him.”

“And why involve me?” you snap back.

“Well, to be honest, it was partly impulsive. I met you the other day, and then, in the moment, I just wanted my father to leave me alone.” He has a half-smile that makes you swallow hard, and he gives you a knowing look before returning to a serious expression. “I’m sorry for dragging you into all this.” A pause. “I just hope you’re not married, otherwise—”

“No, I— No.” You close your eyes for a moment, the innocent question burning like a fiery arrow piercing your already aching heart. Did you just hear a sigh of relief? “And your father doesn’t seem to have recognized me since the other day,” you can’t help but point out.

“The mask.” Satoru grips the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. “He didn’t recognize you because of that. He’s always had a bad memory and poor eyesight.”

“But you recognized me.” You focus on the road’s scenery to avoid confronting his mesmerizing eyes. “I’m not going to wear my mask forever, you know? And I don’t want to keep pretending—”

“Please,” Satoru whispers, placing a hand on yours, sending a shiver down your spine. “Just until he and my family get off my back.”

“I’m sorry, but—”

“How much do you want?” He asks immediately, as if he just remembered something.

“What? No! I don’t want your money!” you protest as quickly as he did. “No, I…” And you groan, sinking into your seat.

Holy shit!

“What have I gotten myself into, seriously…” you moan, crossing your arms over your chest, a grimace distorting your features.

“Please. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’ll do everything to make it just a minor detail… I’m only asking you to change your name in front of my father when you pass as my girlfriend, wear a mask, and change your hairstyle at work — if we want to avoid suspicion. He won’t suspect a thing, I swear.” He pulls into the school parking lot and parks quietly.

Thoughts bombard your already exhausted mind, and you massage your temples. Why does this have to happen to you and no one else?

Satoru murmurs your name, making you lift your head. “It will only be a few family events, just for appearances, nothing more. I won’t bother you any further.”

You sigh, and the sound of the bell signaling the end of classes rings out. “I need to think about it. Thanks for the ride. Have a nice—”

“Come back. I’ll take you home,” Satoru suggests, pressing the button to unlock your door.

What’s the point of refusing?

You nod, finally getting out of the car to go pick up your daughter, who runs toward you as soon as you reach the gate.

"Mama!" She jumps into your arms.

You return her embrace, heading towards Satoru’s car. “Did you have a good day?”

“So much fun! I made you a drawing!” She’s practically bouncing as you reach the car.

Noticing your daughter’s confused look, you clear your throat. “Uh… A-A friend of mine is giving us a ride home, okay?” She blinks innocently and waits for you to open the car door, which is almost as tall as she is. Hinata gets in as you do, and you cough slightly. “This is Gojo. My friend.”

“Hello, princess.” Satoru turns his head over his shoulder with a big smile. “What’s your name?”

“Hinata,” she replies, her legs gently swinging.

“Very pretty.”

“Thank you.” She blushes and tries to hide a smile.

On the way, you try to fill the awkward silences with small talk until you arrive at the supermarket.

You had promised to buy Hinata a new stuffed animal since last night after spending hours worrying that you weren’t being a good mother. Again.

“That one!” Hinata almost runs towards a bunny plushie that’s twice the size of her head. She grabs it with her little arms and gives it a hug.

Satoru and you reach the aisle, and out of habit, you check the price under the albino’s watchful eye. Your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when you see the amount, and you place a trembling hand on Hina’s shoulder. “Angel, I think it’s—”

“…Perfect,” Satoru finishes, his large hands taking the plushie from your daughter’s tight embrace to check the price tag with its shocking number. “Do you like it, little one?” he asks, looking down at her.

Hina nods energetically. “Yeah!”

“Then we’ll take it.” Satoru hands the plushie back to her and turns towards the checkout lane, already reaching into one of his pockets for what looks like… a wallet.

You react immediately, your hands finding their way around his arm. He doesn’t push you away at all and even smiles at the contact. “Gojo… No.”

“It’s Satoru to you, sweetheart,” he whispers gently. “And why not? It’s just a stuffed animal,” he scoffs. He takes Hinata’s hand so she can place the plushie on the conveyor belt.

“No, it’s not nothing to me,” you persist through clenched teeth, embarrassed that the cashier might be paying attention to your conversation.

Satoru shrugs. The cashier scans the plushie, and he uses contactless payment to pay for it. With your hands still around his arm, he places one of his on top, an intimate closeness.

“I could get used to this,” he murmurs near your ear, making you turn beet red. But he can’t continue as your daughter clings to Satoru’s leg like a koala, showering him with a thousand thank-yous for the gift. “You’re welcome, little one.” His hand gently ruffles her hair. He grins, now turning back to you. “It’s on me. You don’t owe me anything.”

Your discreet protests, so Hinata doesn’t suspect anything, come to an end when he drops both of you off in front of your home. Hinata commented that Satoru’s car looked like the one from the movie Barbie: Princess Charm School she had seen recently. He unlocks the doors as you get out of the car. Satoru’s hand catches yours, slipping a piece of cardstock into it. His contact details are on it.

“Just in case,” he mouths silently.

Nevertheless, you slip the business card into your pocket and respond just before closing the door, “I accept.”

°°°°

“And no funny business, okay? Never run in the hallways, if he tells you to wait, don’t move an inch, and—” You stop yourself as you notice your daughter is more interested in admiring the elegant decorations of the office hallways with wide, doe-like eyes and an adorable, slightly open mouth.

To your great misfortune, Hinata’s preschool is on strike for a while — which means almost all the teachers are absent. So how do you take care of your daughter when you can’t afford to miss work? By bringing her to your fake boyfriend’s office, of course! You quickly make your way toward Satoru’s office, Hinata following with her hand in yours. But just as you raise your fist to knock on his door, two large hands land on your shoulders, nearly scaring the life out of you.

“Hey, hey!” You whip around abruptly, a new mask on your face — just as the plan intended.

“Satoru…” you grit through your teeth. Hinata looks up at him and grins. You sigh.

“What do I owe the pleasure of all this lovely company?” Satoru asks, not taking his eyes off yours while giving Hinata a high-five.

As usual, he’s dressed in a luxurious suit — probably worth the rent of the apartment you live in — his slightly tousled albino hair and the familiar scent of cologne filling your nostrils. You catch yourself staring a little too long, and mentally kick yourself when his curious gaze turns mischievous.

He just realized you were checking him out, damn it!

“Hinata’s school is on strike. I need you to watch her for the day, if that’s not a problem, and since you seemed so insistent on returning the favor I’m doing for you…” you mumble, avoiding his gaze. “I see you’re spending your day roaming the offices rather than staying in yours…”

“No problem at all,” Satoru replies automatically, a pleased smile on his lips. “Ready to go to the CEO’s office?” He picks up Hina, who giggles and clings to him like a koala.

It’s your turn to smile in relief. “Thank you so much. I have a meeting with your father in an hour, and I’ll come get her at noon and again at the end of the day.” The sight of the two of them close together makes your heart melt — and for once, you don’t blame yourself for seeing Hinata happy to be with someone else.

°°°°

5:00 PM.

You’ve sent a message to Satoru asking where he was, since knocking on his perpetually empty office seems to be pointless. The meeting with the other company members about organizing the launch of a new product was particularly painful, but one thing is certain: the general manager didn’t recognize you with your more subdued hairstyle and the mask plastered on your face.

“Come to the parking lot like last time.”

And that’s the last message from Satoru (you gave him your number during lunch).

In the empty parking lot, only Satoru’s car is present, and you cast a curious glance through the windows. The two troublemakers give you a grimace — tongues sticking out and faces scrunched up. You sigh as the passenger door opens automatically.

“Satoru, you don’t have to—”

“Hina said yes and that she wants to come to my place,” Satoru cuts in with a mocking expression.

Reluctantly, you get in, your heart pounding in your chest with all sorts of panicked thoughts. However, Satoru doesn’t seem to share your reservations and starts driving as soon as you’re settled.

“So, this means you’re coming to my place,” he says, hands on the wheel and a quick glance in the rearview mirror, “and I’m inviting you to dinner.”

“No—”

“Mom! Please, Satoru is being too nice.” Hinata complains. You glance back, and she looks at you with wounded, pleading puppy eyes, arms crossed over her chest.

You grumble, slumping back against your seat as they both cheer in victory.

“By the way, I’m stopping by your place so you can pack. We’re invited to a family wedding, and my father invited us.”

“WHAT?”

°°°°

You place a box with your gift on the designated table for presents, and an arm wraps around your waist. “You look stunning,” Satoru murmurs against your neck, his lips brushing against your skin, which breaks out in goosebumps.

With a flushed face, you turn your head. “Satoru…”

“What? Just because we’re pretending to be a couple and barely know each other doesn’t mean I can’t speak the truth.” He pauses. “Well, actually, we do know each other a bit, don’t we? We’ve had dinner together.” He chuckles at your half-grimacing, half-deadpan expression, pulling you closer as music fills the wedding reception hall.

You turn your head along with him toward the back of the room, where the bride’s bouquet is about to be thrown. A tight smile curves your lips — this is one thing you’ve dreamed of. Dreams have always been just that — dreams in your life, and even when love comes knocking at your door, it’s only passing through, just like your situation with Satoru.

His father didn’t notice anything, and since Satoru lives alone in a villa, it’s hard to say no when he offered for you to stay with him until he’s settled, with your own room and a staff available 24/7. He even had a tailor make a custom dress for the wedding you were both invited to. Hinata is looked after by a lovely nurse, and you’re enjoying a life you’ve always dreamed of. So why not make the most of it despite your past?

A Satoru who’s too comfortable with you isn’t so bothersome given the time you’ve spent together lately — both at the office, acting as a couple in front of certain people, and sometimes showing affection to each other to appear believable, even though they haven’t asked for kisses yet, so—

A fluffy and soft object lands right in the middle of your face and falls into your arms. You search for what seems to be a petal in your mouth and suck in your breath at what you realize it is.

The bride’s bouquet.

A gulp forces its way down your throat as the whole room applauds because… you’ve been hit in the face with the bouquet? Not to mention the lamentations of other female cousins who had jumped with all their hopes to catch it… But why you, who hadn’t asked for anything?

“Sweetheart?” Satoru mutters, his chest still pressed against your back. His tone is so sweet, nonchalant, as if you’ve been a couple for years. “My father is watching us, and I think he’s expecting me to do something.”

You swallow and nod, dreading what might happen next. Will your heart stop beating when Satoru says:

“May I kiss you?”

Never, ever, has anyone asked you that question. Not even your ex.

So, with a nervous nod, you allow him to capture your lips in a soft, languid kiss. His tender lips taste like the cotton candy children eat at the fair. They cherish yours with every movement (which you can’t help but return in kind). Each press sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

When the kiss ends, Satoru places one last kiss on the corner of your lips and clears his throat. “This is the first time I’ve wanted to marry my girlfriend.” His warm breath ignites your body.

Has your heart exploded?

If not, why can’t you breathe?

“Awww… How adorable you are with your pretty girlfriend, Satoru!”

An elderly woman approaches you both, supported by her old cane, and you note her albino hair, similar to Satoru’s.

“My dear aunt…” Satoru smiles widely without breaking away from you.

“You make a lovely couple,” Aunt Gojo continues, giving you a wise look.

“Oh, thank you.” You immediately bow and introduce yourself. Satoru’s hands squeeze your waist, and he chuckles at your manners.

“Take good care of her, you idiot,” the aunt finishes before drifting away, a tap of her cane on Satoru’s head making him sigh and rub his sore skull.

“Well, at least we look convincing, right?” he adds.

“Yes…”

Of course, he said that because he saw his aunt before you! Don’t think he said it because he meant it or—

“By the way,” Satoru takes your hand in his and leads you to the center of the dance floor, “I meant what I said before my aunt interrupted us.”

And you’re at a loss on how to interpret his playful wink.

°°°°

“WOW! Hinata, you’re so rich!”

“Is this your dad’s castle?”

Hinata takes Satoru’s hand and faces her friends in his chic living room. “It’s my daddy’s!” She nods proudly and runs off with them toward the games and festivities organized for her birthday. The children run everywhere, scream, and burst into laughter throughout the room. The perfect atmosphere.

It’s exactly what you’ve always dreamed of giving Hina.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you murmur to Satoru, who, despite your comment, shakes his head joyfully.

“I’m glad she likes it,” he replies.

“I wasn’t talking about the party.”

He freezes and turns his head toward you. “Didn’t you tell me you’d never been married?” he dares to whisper, possibly afraid of hurting you.

“That’s true. My ex left after learning I was pregnant with Hinata.” You exhale the breath you’ve been holding, the weight of the secret finally lifted.

Maybe he won’t want to keep pretending to be your boyfriend after this…

“You can still tell me his name, you know, sweetheart?” Satoru moves closer to you, wrapping his arm around your waist, as if it’s completely natural for him, but there’s a tension in his touch. “I can take care of him and—”

You shake your head to dispel the tiny bit of resentment that’s urging you to say yes. “It’s okay. Thanks for agreeing to pretend to be her father. I know it’s going to be a bit of a hassle for a while, but she cares a lot—”

“Nuh-uh.” He places a kiss on your cheek, then another on the side of your neck, causing you to shiver. “She’s already talked about it in my office.”

You open your eyes wide. “What…?”

“Hinata likes you much more than you think… You’ve suffered too much,” His other hand glides over your stomach, and his thumb traces affectionate circles on your waist.

“Thank you,” you breathe, leaning into his touch. And for a moment, the weight on your shoulders completely lifts. “We haven’t had the best birthdays recently, so I’m happy to see Hinata get what she wants.” Your eyes rest on your daughter, dressed as a fairy, waving her glittery wand at one of her friends dressed as a witch. “So, thank you for everything.”

“No need to thank me, sweetheart. But which birthday are you talking about? Yours? When was it?”

Embarrassed, your mouth feels dry. “...A while ago.”

Satoru pulls you tightly against his chest, wrapping his strong arms around you, his nose buried in your hair. “You’re such a strong woman… I can take care of you if you want. You and Hina will live like princesses, and if you want to sleep with her or have your own room, that’s no problem for me.”

“What? No, Satoru, you’re joking…”

“I’m not joking,” he insists, his gaze diving into yours — and for a second, sincerity fills his cerulean eyes.

With your mouth slightly open, you whisper, “We barely know each other, and—”

“Mama! Papa! We need to break the piñata!” Hinata rushes over to you, not paying any attention to how close you are to Satoru, and grabs each of your hands.

“Yes, angel, we’re coming,” you respond to your daughter with a weary smile, before glancing at Satoru, who is no longer looking in your direction.

Why are his ears so red?

°°°°

You place the last birthday decoration box in a corner of the living room as Satoru asked and straighten up with a grimace from your aching back. “Geez…”

The upper floor of the huge house is strangely quiet, and you furrow your brows. Could they have gone downstairs?

“Hinata? Satoru?” you call out as you walk through the hallways.

The evening darkness makes it hard to see clearly, and only the faint beam of light escaping from the kitchen door guides you.

“Are you there?” you ask, gently pushing the door open, and what you find leaves you stunned.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” the two of them exclaim, holding an enormous cake between them.

A few candles illuminate the underside of their beaming faces, party hats perched on their heads. The kitchen is a huge mess, counters covered in flour and frosting, and dishes overflow from the sink, threatening to topple over.

You stand speechless as they continue to sing your birthday song. Your nostrils and eyes start to itch strangely. Why is your vision suddenly blurring? It looks like transparent waves just above your lower lashes, threatening to overflow if you dare to blink. Yet, you can’t escape it.

Not when they set the cake on the table and pull you into a hug while your nose runs, tears roll down your cheeks, and your choked-up throat is on the verge of bursting into sobs. Satoru keeps kissing your hair, never stopping for a second to comfort you with sweet and reassuring words, his hand drawing circles on your back. Hinata wipes your tears while her own roll down her little cheeks.

Seeing you cry has always been contagious for her.

The moment gives you a glimpse of what your life would be like if you had a complete family, and Satoru’s words echo in your mind. How could he be so perfect in just a few weeks of knowing him?

Once the emotion passes, a few minutes later, you eat your birthday cake with laughter and cheer, accompanied not just by the one person who now means everything to you, but by both.

°°°°

“Watch out, Hina. You have applesauce on your chin,” Satoru chuckles, his hand grabbing a napkin to wipe the excess food around the child’s mouth.

The heartwarming scene makes your heart swell. You definitely don’t regret going out with Satoru and Hinata to have a meal at a chic terrace in their company. The family atmosphere finally gives you a glimpse of the life you’ve always hoped to live. Hinata growing up with a loving father and mother, and you, loved and supported by an ideal partner. Why not reconsider Satoru’s proposal, then? He’s the first man to think of you, even after your birthday had passed some time ago.

“I’m going to the restroom,” you murmur to Satoru, who nods in response, a wry smile curling his pink lips.

But why did it have to be on this day that a man finally approaches the two people you care about just as you slip away? He clearly waited from afar for you to let your guard down around your daughter so he could show up right in the middle of the table, facing a little girl — his daughter, technically — next to a man who isn’t her father.

Satoru slowly raises his head toward him, brows furrowed and wary. “Can I help you?”

Your ex says your name. “Where is she?” he mimics asking as if he didn’t know.

“What do you want with her?”

“To talk to her. I have the right. And you’re with my daughter, just so you know.” He crosses his arms over his chest, trying to appear threatening, but Satoru remains stoic, more contemptuous than anything else in the face of such a scruffy, unshaven nuisance.

“She’s not here; you can leave,” Satoru responds. And out of protective instinct, he pulls Hinata’s chair closer to him, his eyes narrowed. Satoru understands perfectly that your ex is back to claim his rights over his daughter, just as he’s been harassing you with messages about it.

“Excuse me? When my daughter is in the arms of a stranger? I could call the police immediately and we’ll sort this out very quickly,” your ex retorts sharply. He takes a step toward a lost Hinata, her big doe eyes blinking innocently between the two men. Of course, she doesn’t recognize him.

An altercation begins between the two, which naturally attracts the attention of other diners around. And you walk into the middle of the scene, frozen in shock at the sight of your ex hurling threats at Satoru.

“She’s taking my daughter, so I’m taking her back! And it’s not a bastard like you who’s going to help her regain my rights!” your ex spits with venom. His icy eyes find yours, terrified, your hands trembling and your complexion as pale as a sheet. He’s about to address you with the same angry speech, his face flushed with rage and a vein ready to burst at his temple.

Do you get déjà vu?

“‘Your daughter’?” Satoru repeats with a deadly gaze and a jaw quivering with rage. “She’s been sitting next to me for over an hour, I’ve been feeding her for over an hour, she’s been calling me by my name for over an hour, and you’re talking about ‘your daughter’? At this point, whose daughter is she... yours or mine?”

Your ex, publicly humiliated, opens his eyes wide with hatred. “You little son of—”

“Sir, we ask that you leave the terrace; you’re disturbing our customers,” a security guard declares firmly. He’s accompanied by another colleague, and when your ex protests, they grab him by the arm and escort him away amidst his shouting and the murmurs of other customers who keep staring at the three of you.

You move closer to Satoru, who immediately stands up upon seeing you — having not realized you were there — and can only offer you an apologetic look. “Let’s go,” you silently mouth (your throat too tight to dare let a sound escape, fearing it might break before you say anything), taking the hand of a silent and lost Hinata. “I’ll pay the bill and—”

“It’s already taken care of; we can go,” Satoru gently interrupts, following you to his car.

And it’s on the silent drive back that you realize something.

You’ve officially fallen in love with Satoru Gojo.

°°°°

“Look, Mom, Dad and I made a drawing for you!” Hinata proudly holds up a colorful picture with three easily recognizable characters on it.

“Did you brush your teeth?” you ask as you take the drawing to admire it, just as much smiling as your daughter. She nods and then does a little twirl to show off her new pajamas that Satoru gave her earlier in the day. “It’s beautiful. You’re so talented,” you chuckle, leaning in to plant a kiss on her cheek.

Satoru appears in the doorway of Hinata’s room, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest, a perpetual playful smile curving his lips. “Ready to go to sleep?”

“Yes, and I showed our drawing to mama,” Hinata asserts, bouncing on her bed.

“Oh yeah? Did mama like it?” Satoru asks softly, his eyes now locked with yours.

“Mama loved it and thanks Daddy,” you whisper, your voice quivering with emotion that threatens to spill over.

Half an hour later, Satoru and you find yourselves in the hallway with a sleeping Hinata and her little lullaby snores.

Satoru wraps his arm around your waist as usual and buries his face in your neck. Your heart is already racing, and your breath catches when he says, “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” The embrace is a simple hug but with unspoken words easily guessed.

“For everything.” Satoru sighs, and for a split second, you hope he’ll let you speak, but no. “I didn’t mean to make a scene and—”

“And you think I’m going to blame you for protecting us? That I wasn’t touched by what you said about Hina?” you mumble near his ear. The closeness gives you another chance to see his ears turn red. “Is Satoru shy?” you giggle, open to teasing. He hums, hiding his face so you don’t see his expression.

“I love you.”

You blink, because you must have heard wrong. “Huh?”

“Marry me.” And he’s already on his knees before you, eyes pleading. That usually confident cerulean blue is now so submissive, so close at hand… But the sudden turn of events leaves you stunned. “I want to be your husband, not just have you as my wife. I want to raise Hina with you and give you everything you need.” Not letting himself be distracted by your stunned expression, he continues, “Want my money? I’ll give it to you. My house? It will be in your name. Want my body? It belongs to you. My heart? It’s already yours.” And he starts kissing the backs of your hands desperately. “I love you, I love you… Please, marry me…”

“Satoru… You—” you stammer, backing away, your brow furrowed. Everything is a jumble in your head, both from his touching declaration but also because it’s all moving too fast for you. “You… love me?” you manage to whisper.

He crawls to you and wraps his large arms around your thighs, almost choking with desperation. “I fell in love with you as soon as I saw you, as soon as you covered me from my father, as soon as I heard your laugh, saw the amazing mother you are, and realized I never wanted you to leave this house.” He whispers your name like a divine invocation. “I’ve fallen in love with you more than just once.”

You don’t immediately respond, and that’s okay in his eyes. He doesn’t want to pressure you, just for you to know the truth and for him to be completely transparent with you.

“It’s okay if you don’t share my feelings; I just want you to know that—” But he’s cut off by your rush toward him on the floor as you press your lips to his, pulling him into the dance of your lips that one gives to the other in a long, passionate kiss. “God… I love you so much…”

“I love you too, Satoru,” you murmur against his mouth between kisses that turn into moans as he slides his warm, wet tongue between your lips to request access to your mouth.

Both of your breaths become ragged and heavy. Satoru takes the opportunity to lift you by the underside of your thighs and lead you to his bedroom, carefully closing the door behind him without breaking the contact of your swollen, desirous lips. He gently lays you on the king-size bed with silver satin and frost-blue sheets.

With a tenderness of loving slowness, Satoru breaks the kiss. “Do you want to continue?” he asks, his voice husky. You nod timidly, but he shakes his head with his mischievous smile — finally back. “Nuh-uh. Your words, sweetheart.”

“I want it, Satoru,” you reply after a sigh of exasperation so adorable in his eyes that it makes him laugh, then he places a light kiss on the corner of your lips.

“Alright… Gonna take care of my beautiful girl, the best, the most wonderful mother, and maybe future wife—” He places a finger on your lips. “Oh no, you’ll answer that later if you want, when I have something concrete for that occasion.”

You sigh in frustration because the answer is already on the tip of your tongue, but it soon turns into a moan as he kisses the side of your neck with such deliberate slowness that you really wonder if he’s going to tease you to the limit. His hands roam over your clothed chest, exploring your already hardened nipples. His lips find their way to your collarbone, marking it with love bites and hickeys that elicit muffled moans from you.

“If you knew how long I’ve dreamed of doing this…” Satoru comments with a touch of affection, his fingers deftly undoing the buttons of your shirt. “Exactly how I would act with my wife—”

“And your father?” And he chuckles again.

“We don’t care about him.” He casually tosses your top aside to tease your sensitive, erect nipples through the fabric with his thumbs. “Such humble underwear… Would you like me to buy you something more daring?” he purrs, pulling on a strap to snap it against your gooseflesh-covered skin.

“Would you do that?” You bring your lips to his, and he immediately responds to the kiss. You also remove his black turtleneck sweater to reveal his toned, muscular torso. An adventurous hand glides over his chest, making him groan slightly, and then stops at his lower abdomen where a vein runs lower down. You place a kiss there with a small, sly smile.

For the first time, you’re about to make love with someone.

“Hmm? Satoru? Have you ever thought of me in outfits like this?” Your nimble fingers unbutton his pants, revealing a prominent bulge in his fly.

“Sweetheart, don’t—” he hisses between his teeth from the sensation of the slight friction between his erection and your eager fingers as they pull down his pants to caress and rub his dick through the thin fabric of his boxer. “Your hands feel so good…” He breathes softly, his hands stroking your bare arms with a feather-light touch.

“Answer my question…” you purr, your nails pulling at the underwear to free his hard, twitching cock. The tip is perfectly reddened, with veins coursing along its pale length of 8 inches. Almost automatically, your mouth waters, and you waste no time kissing the slit of his already glistening tip with pre.

“Babe, don’t tease…” Satoru closes his eyes and lets your hand wrap around his length, begging to be touched. “F-fuck— Yes, yes, I’ve thought about it, about buying you the most expensive and luxurious lingerie— ah!” he almost whimpers. You take a little over 2 inches of him into your mouth to stroke the base. “But also in those maternity clothes— oh god… C-can you really blame me?” He rolls his eyes and can’t help but buck his hips toward you, his body pleading for your mouth to take care of him.

You withdraw his cock from your mouth to whisper, “So you’re a naughty boy, hmm?”

“I won’t last if you keep this up— hgnn…” he whimpers completely, his dick splitting your mouth in two as you take him all in. Your head starts to bob back and forth, and he is so close that he spills moans of your name. “G’nna cum, baby, don’t—”

You hollow your cheeks, and the next moment, he cums in your mouth, long, thick ropes of his release filling your already full mouth with his shaft. You hum under his orgasm and swallow slowly. You slide his dick out of your mouth with the same rhythm to smile at a Satoru with ears as red as his cheeks.

“F-fuck, sweetheart,” he pants, his calloused finger wiping away the mixed cord of your saliva and his cum with a swipe of his thumb.

“M-hmm… You taste so sweet…” He doesn’t let you continue and crushes his lips against yours, tasting himself on your mouth. “I want you, Satoru…”

“I’m yours, princess.” He helps you quickly remove your remaining underwear so that you’re completely naked in front of him, knees resting on the expensive mattress. He kneels at the foot of the bed, and his fingers explore your sensitive, already dripping cunt.

“So wet for me… Did I do this to you just with my cock?” His fingers spread your swollen folds to gather your fluids and rub your throbbing, needy clit.

Your nails dig into his arm as you lift your hips under the sharp pleasure. “Satoru, it feels good…” you gasp in a whimper. His forefinger and middle finger spread your wetness all around your intimacy. “Please don’t tease…”

“Not tease? Weren’t you doing it, sweetheart? What a nerve,” Satoru scoffs, tapping his finger at your entrance. “Can I?”

“Please…” You wince as you move your hips down for more. And that’s exactly what he does, immediately inserting his finger into you, cursing.

“You’re so fucking tight… and so wet,” he curses, his finger moving in and out of you with careful softness. “I can already fuck you without making you cum first.” He stops finger-fucking you and looks up at you. “Is that what you want, love?”

You nod before arching your back on the bed. Satoru climbs onto the mattress and helps you wrap your legs around him. “That’s it…” He takes his length in his hand and teases your responsive cunt with the tip to get it wetter.

“Don’t tease, Toru, I swear…” And he smirks.

“Toru?”

“Sorry, I—”

His tip presses against your tight, pulsing entrance, and he grins. “I want you to moan that nickname while I fuck you, ’kay?” He grips your hips to pull you closer to him, and with one swift movement, he slides into you, a groan escaping from behind his lips as your deliciously tight, warm, gummy walls wrap around him as if you were meant for him.

The stretch causes a slight discomfort at first, and you almost cry in relief when Satoru notices. He patiently waits for you to adjust before starting a slow, deep rhythm inside you.

You widen your lustful eyes, tears forming at their corners. “Ah! Toru… Jus’ like that…” Your eyes roll back as the tip of Satoru’s dick hits the back of your cervix, making you shiver and tighten around him. “Fuck… s’deep…”

“So fucking perfect, so fucking mine,” Satoru groans, his hips rocking into you without ceasing to swell between your gummy walls. His chest rises and falls in a breath as ragged as yours, asking for more every time you moan for him to go deeper. (He discreetly rolls his eyes and babbles incomprehensible words — completely pussy drunk.)

And that’s exactly what he does. He slams back in brutally, making you cry out his name with each thrust. “Shhh… You don’t want Hina to hear us, right? So keep quiet, baby…” He helps stifle your gasps and moans of pleasure by capturing your lips with his, alternating between fast, rough thrusts and slow, gentle ones in your hole that he fucks shamelessly.

Blood rushes to your ears, a rare sensation you haven’t truly felt the last time you were with someone. It wasn’t just about carnal pleasure between Satoru and you — but about love. The fusion of bodies loving each other and providing mutual pleasure, even as they burn for each other— physically and emotionally.

One of Satoru’s hands slowly slides to one of your breasts and teases a sensitive nipple. The arch in your back encourages him to detach his mouth from yours to capture the other nipple with his wet lips. The growl he lets out sends a wave of intense shivers through you, making your eyes roll in overstimulation.

“P-please, Toru, please, I’m already close,” you whimper against your trembling palm — a feeble attempt to contain your sweet sounds as he speeds up his hip movements in your sloppy cunt — the sound of his balls slapping your skin filling the room. Your words are punctuated by the tightening of your walls around him, swearing he could cum inside you just from hearing you beg.

“Cum on my cock, baby, cover it,” he coos, giving another kiss to your abused chest. The clenching of your jaw with your teeth dug into your lower lip forces you to groan. “Want me to fill you up?” And you nod, tears showing your imminent orgasm. “Anything for you, my beautiful girl.” His hips slam against yours, and his fingers continue to tease your breast, rubbing your puffy clit.

Satoru’s own breath becomes heavier, more labored as he keeps singing praises while you gasp, his lips pressed along the line of kisses he’s placing down your jaw. “T-Toru, Toru, cumming!” you cry out as your walls spasm around his cock while he reaches his peak and fills you with his hot, liquid release, warming your lower abdomen. You see blinding stars illuminating your vision.

He hisses almost gutturally, his nails digging into the flesh of your hips. “Oh god… S-Squeezing me while I’m cumming too…” He closes his eyes for a moment, letting his peak subside at the same rhythm as yours, his forehead damp with sweat resting against your chest. 

Only pants and groans escape your lips, each one accompanied by difficult swallows and the feeling of your sweaty bodies pressed against each other.

“How was it? Did I make you feel good?” Satoru asks immediately, once his breath has returned.

The concerned questions touch your heart so deeply that you lift tearful eyes to him. “Are you going to leave, after this?”

His expression falters, and he gently withdraws from you to envelop you in his embrace. “No, baby, of course not… I won’t, I swear on my life I won’t leave you… I’m not him. I’m the one who hopes you won’t leave…” he whispers hurriedly. “Don’t think about that. I’ll always be here, for you and for Hina…”

You sniffle, your eyes red. But Satoru smiles tenderly, wiping away your hot tears. “Save your tears for later, sweetheart.”

“Why?” You clear your throat.

He sighs, the aftermath of the effort from the activity settling on him, and places a chaste kiss on your sweaty temple. “Did I tell you that my father invited us to dinner tomorrow night?”

“No,” you shake your head, “but what’s the link?”

“Don’t you understand?” he murmurs in your ear, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll understand in time.”

°°°°

“I see. So it was an unexpected encounter.” Gojo’s father nods, shrugging his shoulders. “But I wonder how a woman like you can have feelings for such a fool…”

Satoru chokes on a piece of meat he’s chewing and takes a sip of his water. You stifle a giggle, with some steamed vegetables speared on your fork, just waiting for you to devour them. For a man who appears so stern and strict, Mr. Gojo is quite a wealthy man who spends his days reprimanding his son for not doing this or that.

Yet, there’s a certain paternal camaraderie between them — a father-son relationship, if you will.

“That’s not true,” Satoru retorts, his voice still gravelly. He has an adorable pout on his lips, like a child wrongly scolded.

“Yes, like you’re not a womanizer,” his father retorts, rolling his eyes.

“It was so you’d leave me alone,” with furrowed brows, he wears a mischievous smile at his father’s incredulous expression, “but sweetheart came into my life,” he continues, looking at you with a tenderness he has rarely shown.

“I hope you manage to put up with him until… well, until you decide to marry — if that’s what you choose,” his father sighs, turning his attention back to the dish in front of him.

“Satoru isn’t a bad person, you know,” you start gently. “He is certainly a thoughtless brat with grotesque immaturity,” Satoru almost spits out his water this time, and you continue with a wry smile, “but he has a great sense of attention and unmatched generosity. I believe he will be a good husband, I assure you.”

“I must admit,” he says with a wise smile, his wrinkles less pronounced.

Satoru casually says your name, “Yeah, yeah… By the way, could you pass me the salt, please?”

You freeze, while Satoru’s father suddenly looks up with an incredulous expression. “Who?”

And you smack your forehead with the palm of your hand.

°°°°

The cries of a newborn fill the room as, breathless and on the verge of fainting, the midwives congratulate you, bringing your second child wrapped in clean blankets at your request.

“He’s beautiful…” Satoru murmurs as he approaches you, leaning down to the tiny baby with his albino hair and blue eyes — his exact likeness. “Thank you, my love, thank you, thank you, thank you…” His voice breaks as you raise a weak, exhausted hand toward him, but with a serene smile on your lips as you whisper how much you love each other.

He immediately wraps his fingers around yours, your wedding rings sparkling as they brush together like stars sealed for eternity.

a/n: how i love desperate men, hihi! 🤭 hope you all enjoyed this one-shot!

tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422 @whathappenedtobees @drippymcdrippison

[that-sarcastic-writer]

You’ve got my body, flesh and bone

Obsessed!Rafe x nerdy!girl!reader

Summary: something was different about you, and rafe can’t stop thinking about you ever since you came home from college. He knows you want him, too, even if you don’t show it

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, penetrative sex, p in v, unprotected sex, cream pie, oral (fem receiving), fingering, obsessed behaviors, pervy behaviors (I think?), Rafe is down bad, reader is secretly naughty, dom!rafe, spitting, choking, bit of degradation, Rafe is rough and she likes it.

Wrote this with s2 Rafe in mind but he’s not as psychotic🥰 reader also wears glasses, hope you like being blind

WC: 5.5k I’m so sorry

A/N: NOBODY LOOK AT MEEEEE. Anyway I couldn’t help myself. Rafe and Drew are in my mind all day and I need them so bad so I wrote it! I dedicate this to the reason of my insanity @bloodibambiidoll love you doll for feeding me into crash out Rafe😩. This was heavily inspired by her own Rafe fics so def check her out!

Also tagging my other rafe baby @babygorewhore🩷

There weren't a lot of things in this world that Rafe didn’t have. His whole life, anything he wanted, he had, at the palm of his hand. Whatever he wanted, he could do. And he fucking loved it. He didn’t know what it was like to crave something to the point of madness. Until you came around. 

He didn’t know what it was, that feeling deep inside his gut. He didn’t know if it was lust, or desire, or if he truly felt something for you. Perhaps he felt all three. But one thing he knew for certain. If he didn’t have you soon, he was going to cave someone’s face in. It didn’t help that you shot him down every time. The more you ignored him, the more he craved you. Albeit he knew he had a chance in high school and he didn’t take it then. But even he knew he was a prick then. More than he was now, anyway. Deep down he couldn’t blame you for not giving him a chance now, he didn’t want you when you were all quiet and had those ugly glasses, so why should he get you now that you were more confident and stopped giving a fuck what people thought about you? He had to admit, college made you hot as fuck. 

Rafe didn’t know it at first, but the first time he saw you at a party, your hair all pretty, your laugh so contagious he heard it across the room, your clothes hugging every curve of your body perfectly. His jaw fucking dropped. He almost didn’t believe it was you at first. Until he heard whispers about just how fucking hot you had gotten after college. He didn’t know it then, but his sanity was going to go downhill from there. 

That was a month ago, and he still couldn’t get you to give him the light of day. It was almost like you were running away from him, every time. And it pissed him off, really, it did. He craved your attention like he never before. Maybe he was getting soft. Or he was going insane. Either one.

The worst part? 

You were doing it on purpose. 

You caught on pretty quickly. After the first couple of times of catching Rafe blatantly staring at you whenever he saw you, you were curious. It wasn’t entirely outlandish, you were like an exotic animal, having come back to the island after graduating early from university. You didn’t change much, you just learned to manage your social anxiety and started putting more effort into your appearance. You didn’t understand why everyone made such a big deal out of you. But you ignored it for the most part. 

But you couldn’t ignore Rafe. His presence was intoxicating. Even if he didn’t approach you directly. You knew he was there. But you never made an effort to talk to him. You only ever talked to Sarah when you saw her. She was the one that pointed out Rafe in a corner, Topper talking his ear off but Rafe wasn’t paying listening to a word being said, he was looking at you. You, of course, brushed her off with the excuse you gave everyone. 

“He'll get over it, just give it a week.”

He did not, in fact, get over it. 

He thought you didn’t notice, but he followed you on instagram. Of course you noticed. How could you not? Your account was public, but you occasionally looked at who followed you. And the second you saw Rafe fucking Cameron followed you, you almost fainted. Suddenly, the stupid crush you had on Rafe at sixteen came flooding right back. You refused to get your hopes up, but the thought of Rafe quietly stalking your social media never left your mind.

You had no proof, but over the course of a month, you posted on your stories way more than you ever did in college, because you knew Rafe would see them. If you went to a party on Figure 8? Insta story. If you went to the beach? Swimsuit selfies. Felt pretty and did your makeup? Insta story. And what did you notice? Rafe always coincidentally seemed to end up at the exact place you were at. He never came alone, obviously. But he always hung out nearby, always within your line of sight. 

You were driving him mad, certainly. There's no way it was legal for you to wear a swimsuit like that. It actually made his blood boil knowing there were other guys blatantly eye fucking you. Only he should be allowed to do that. He angrily sipped into his cup, silently fuming as he had to stand and simply watch you laugh and run around with your friends, walking past him every time you got drinks for the bar. 

He swore he saw you grin at him one time, a devious and flirty look in your eyes when you made eye contact with him. And he was ready to grab you by the arm and drag you to his car and fuck you right then and there. But he decided against it. Somehow he had enough self control. But it was wearing thin the longer his torture dragged on. 

“Girl, what did you do to Rafe?” Your high school best friend asked you when you came back with your drinks. You frowned, tilting your head innocently. 

“To Rafe? Nothing. I haven’t even talked to him since I came back.” You answered with the truth. Though you purposely ignored what she probably meant. 

“He’s been like glaring at you the whole night. He hasn’t moved from there all night and he’s just looking at you.” She pointed out, more quietly now. And you couldn’t help but subtly shift your eyes in his direction. And indeed, your eyes met with his piercing blue ones. You’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t race the slightest bit when you caught him looking at you like that. He was looking at you exactly how you desperately wanted him to look at you in high school. 

“No idea what you mean. He’s probably just annoyed I’m hanging out with Sarah and her boyfriend. He probably thinks I’m encouraging her hanging out with the pogues.” You mumbled into your cup, shrugging as you quickly averted your gaze from Rafe. You weren’t sure if you wanted to convince her, or yourself.

“You’re better than me, because if Rafe Cameron looked at me like that I’d be dragging him to my car so fast.” She snorted and you almost choked on your drink. “I think you’re the only girl on this island he hasn’t fucked.” 

“Thank God for that.” You responded a bit too quickly, hoping to hide the slight bit of hurt her words brought to you. You always knew you weren’t good enough for Rafe. You always pretended not to care, but you’d be lying.

You left alone that night. And Rafe couldn’t hold back the urge to follow close behind you. He didn’t know when he got in his car after you. Or when he started driving to your house. Or when he got out of his car. He wasn’t sure why, it wasn’t like he was going to knock on your door. Or maybe he would. He ran a hand over his face, squeezing his eyes shut as he swept his hair away from his face, exasperated. The very small, but still present, rational side of his mind told him to get the fuck out. And he was going to, until he saw you emerge from your room on the second floor, and you stood right in front of the large window cell. He panicked, running to hide from sight, behind a large tree, but he didn’t leave, he didn’t want to. 

His jaw dropped, his eyes blowing wide open at the sight of you, untying your bikini top and just letting it fall, right then and there. The sight shot straight to his cock. What the fuck were you thinking? What if someone saw you? The thought of you exposing yourself like that made his jaw lock, but his now hard cock in his shorts was much more evident. He couldn’t look away. He was pissed he couldn’t see below your stomach, especially when he saw you crouch as you presumably took off your bottoms, too. 

Rafe almost moaned at the thought. 

And just like that you were gone. And you didn’t come back to the window. It almost felt like the universe was playing a cruel fucking prank on him. Now he had to drive home with an uncomfortable hard on in his shorts. That pissed him off even more.

~~~~~~

This became a habit for Rafe. He would aggressively scroll through your instagram page multiple times a day, hoping that he’d find out where you were for the night. But not in a weird way. He just wanted to see you. But he still hadn’t found the way to get you to talk to him first. He was starting to see the flaw in that plan. But alas, he couldn’t talk to you himself if he didn’t know where to find you. And sometimes, he’d find himself just standing outside your window, hiding behind that same tree. Sometimes you’d sit by the window cell, play around with your hair, sometimes you would read. And sometimes, you’d walk around completely naked, in full view of Rafe. How many times he all but sped home to rub one out was actually embarrassing. 

Rafe was tired of this little game. Though he didn’t quite realize it was a game at all. You had no proof, but you knew. That one time you caught him nearly running back to his car was proof enough for you. So you kept going, until he snapped. You didn’t anticipate just how fast he would break. 

“Guess who showed up.” Your friend whispered in your ear. You casually glanced over your shoulder to find none other than Rafe, with Topper and Kelce right behind him like lost puppies. It had to be criminal how hot this man looked. The polo shirt he wore was hanging on by a thread under his biceps and you had to force yourself to tear your eyes away. 

“Yeah, so? He shows up to every party.” You shrugged, pretending not to catch on to the blatant connection. She rolled her eyes at you. 

“Oh, so he casually shows up to the one party you’ve come to all week? Don’t you think it’s a little odd?”

You shrugged again. You were sure it was a coincidence. Sure it wasn’t because you posted a selfie of your pretty makeup and your pretty dress with the location of the party you got invited to. And surely the way Rafe was staring at you right now had nothing to do with the way your dress accentuated your chest perfectly, showing enough but still leaving some to the imagination. But it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen them before. 

“Nope. Anyway, want a drink?” You smiled at her innocently, completely ignoring her Rafe interrogation. She shot you a pointed look, surely she would grill you about it later, but she relented nonetheless. 

With a smile you skipped over to the bar, your dress riding up ever so slightly as you leaned over the wooden bar to speak over the loud music. Rafe nearly dropped his beer, his eyes going from your hair down to your ass. He couldn’t take this anymore. 

“Yeah, whatever bro. I’ll be right back.” He cut off Topper as he went on about one thing or another, he didn’t wait for a response and he approached you in long strides. He sniffed softly, running a hand through his hair before opening his mouth. 

You heard your name spoken in a deep voice, with a drink in each hand, you whipped around, not expecting to run straight into a solid, muscled chest. 

“Hey—oh fuck,” Rafe cursed when the drinks you were holding spilled all over his shirt, and over the front of your dress. You gasped loudly, nearly squealing when the ice cubes slipped down your chest. 

“Rafe! What the actual fuck.” You almost screamed at him, desperately attempting to wipe off the alcohol soaking your dress, the front now sticking to your tits. Rafe wanted to say something, maybe apologize, but he was mouth agape at the sight of your soaked chest, it took him a minute to process. 

“Shit, my bad. I didn’t mean to,” he swallowed, his own shirt starting to stick to his chest. Which didn’t slip past  you, even in your anger. But you couldn’t think about that right now. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Yeah, alright. I’m sure you totally didn’t want to embarrass me by spilling drinks all over me. Grow the fuck up, Rafe.” You huffed, feeling everyone’s eyes on you. You could feel your face fluster with embarrassment and you had to force yourself not to cry. You had tried so hard to remove yourself from the old you, the one everyone made fun of, the one that got asked out to prom as a prank, the one everyone stared at in disgust. And you felt like that girl all over again. 

Rafe didn’t even have time to argue, you were running off before he could get a word in. He groaned, discomfort settling in from his shirt sticking to his skin. 

“Way to go bro. You didn’t have to embarrass the freakshow like that though.” Rafe sneered in disgust at your high school nickname and he rolled his eyes, shrugging off the casual hand on his shoulder. 

“Shut the fuck up before I shove broken glass down your throat.” 

If there was something in this world that Rafe could never have, it would be patience. And this little game had his sanity wearing very thin. 

He didn’t know exactly when he ended up at your front door, fist pounding loudly as he called your name. His bike was somewhere on the lawn, he didn’t bother to hide it this time. He swore if you didn’t open this door right now he would kick it open. He stepped back, his jaw tight as he waited a few seconds before doing something more drastic. Then, the door swung open. And there you were. 

“I swear to God Rafe.” You sighed loudly, crossing your arms over your now slightly damp chest, having somewhat dried off the front of your dress. Rafe was taken aback by the appearance of your glasses, however. He hadn’t seen you wear them since you came back. Were you always this cute in them? 

No, focus. 

“You didn’t even let me talk back there! I didn’t mean to run into you like that, I swear.” He took a step closer, slightly leaning down to talk close to your face. You couldn’t help but stare at him, eyebrows furrowed with mistrust. 

“Oh right, so was it just a coincidence that you were standing right behind me like a wall?” You shot back, shooting him a suspicious look. He rolled his eyes at you, sighing heavily. “If you wanted to look at them better you could’ve just asked! You didn’t have to knock drinks all over my dress.” 

The words left your mouth in a haze. Fast and angrily as you motioned your hands around. You didn’t realize what you said until the look in Rafe’s eyes shifted. Going from confused to downright sinful. He tilted his head at you, crowding your personal space with his big fucking body. You realized then that you really fucked up. 

“What’d you say?” He asked, his voice low as he made you step back into your house. He followed you, his face close to yours and you swallowed. 

“Huh?” Play dumb, sure. 

“Uh-uh, don’t try to be all innocent now. What the fuck did you say?” He repeated, one of his large hands coming up to grip your jaw. You swallowed, your lips pulled into a pout. 

“You really weren’t that sneaky.” You finally admitted, throwing all logic out of the window knowing you both got caught red-handed by the other. Though Rafe didn’t look embarrassed or even remorseful, if anything he looked pleasantly amused. Impressed even. 

“Well, shit.” A grin pulled at his lips as he laughed, a rush of adrenaline flowing through his already amped up body. “You little whore. You were striping in front of your fuckin’ window on purpose, weren’t you?”

“I didn’t know for sure but, I heard your bike a couple of times.” You shrugged, trying to hide the devious smile on your lips. Rafe scoffed humorously, in utter disbelief. “You following me on insta was kind of a given, too.” 

“You are..” He leaned down, his soft lips mere inches away from yours as he blew out a chuckle, “A dirty little slut. You have any fuckin’ idea what you’ve been doin’ to me? Hm?” He squeezed your jaw between his fingers, forcing your head back to make sure your eyes were on him. 

The words that left his mouth made you rub your thighs together, heat forming between them at the thought of being this close to Rafe, knowing he was on the brink of madness, all because of you. You could see it in his eyes, that utter need to fuck you, take you over and over, or else he would go insane. 

“Thought I wasn’t your type.” You shot back, pettiness lacing your tongue. A groan of annoyance rumbled in his chest. 

“I didn’t know I was your type.” 

“You’re everyone’s type, since when are you humble?” You mocked him with a small laugh, but it quickly died in your chest when his fingers fell to your throat, and he dug his fingers with the faintest pressure. You nearly moaned. 

“Well you’re my type right now. Your tits sure fuckin’ are.” He bit his lip softly, making sure his eyes were on yours when he spoke again, “bet your pussy is my type too. Lemme find out, hm?” 

If you weren’t wet before, you sure were now. You nearly moaned out loud, his words alone bending you to his will. Not that it would take much work. 

Rafe didn’t get to say another word, you were pulling him down by the back of his neck and you kissed him, and you kissed him really fucking hard. He liked your intensity. He craved to find out just what else you were hiding behind your innocent and sweet girl facade. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, his fingers lacing into your hair to force your head back for him. And you happily let him. His other hand shamelessly grabbed at your ass, squeezing it as he kissed you. You couldn’t help but moan into his mouth.

“My bedroom is—“ you were breathless as you muttered against his lips. Rafe chuckled, cutting you off as he effortlessly hoisted you around his waist. 

“I know where your fuckin’ room is.” Of course he did. 

You giggled as Rafe tossed you on your bed, biting your bottom lip as you watched him pull his polo over his head and your jaw fell wide open at the sight. 

“Dude why are you like, so hot? Fuck.” Your eyes were big as you nearly drooled at the sight of his muscled torso. He was so ripped it was unbelievable. Rafe smirked at you, happy to hear that you were stroking his ego. He quickly joined you in your bed, straddling you as he hovered over you. 

“Yeah?” He leaned down, lips curved up into a grin as he pressed an open mouth kiss to your lips. You nodded as his tongue laced with yours, a string of spit connecting your lips when he pulled back. “You should've just talked to me then. Could’ve had me much sooner. You got any fuckin’ idea how long I’ve been wanting to fuck you stupid?” 

“How was I supposed to know? You didn’t want me before. I didn’t know.” You pouted, a bit of hurt laced in your voice. He rolled his eyes at you, long fingers coming to squeeze your face. You held your breath as his blue eyes pinned you.

“No, you just wanted to punish me. You wanted to parade yourself around Figure 8 with your pretty little dresses and your innocent little smile. But then at night you’d strip yourself naked in front of your window.” He huffed out the words, frustration coating his tongue. You shrugged. “You wanted to act like a slut, so I’ll fuck you like one. But first, I wanna taste your pussy.” 

The way your body shuddered when Rafe moved down the bed to settle between your legs was embarrassing. You were already shaking and he hadn’t even touched you. You held your breath in anticipation as he reached underneath your dress, tugging your panties down your legs. Rafe grinned at the blue lacy panties that matched your white and navy blue flowy dress. You pretended not to notice him casually shove the lace into his back pocket. 

“Take off your dress. I wanna look at your tits.”  You totally would punch any other man for speaking to you like this, but Rafe? He could speak to you in any way he wanted, especially when he was in between your legs, nearly drooling at the sight of your already soaked cunt. 

You complied, unzipping the side of your dress before pulling it over your head, to reveal that you were indeed not wearing a bra today. Rafe nearly groaned at the sight. 

“Fuck baby. You’re such a slut, did you plan this?” He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words were replaced by a gasp when he dipped his head and licked a stripe between your folds without a single warning. 

It was actually embarrassing how quickly you were falling apart. You were a sobbing shaking mess as soon as he started to circle his tongue around your clit, sloppy sounds leaving his mouth as he moved his head up and down. Rafe was enjoying this as much as you were, how many times he fantasized about shoving his tongue into your cunt, what you would taste like, how you would sound like for him. It was driving him insane. He was groaning and moaning as he lapped at your soaking cunt. 

“You taste so fuckin’ good baby. You got any idea how many times I went home to rub one out thinkin’ about your pussy?” He groaned, spitting on your clit as he looked up at you, catching the way your back arched off the bed as your eyes rolled back into your head. “Should’ve just taken you. You would’ve let me, right doll? If I slipped in through your window and fucked this sweet little pussy in the middle of the night, wouldn’t even care as long as you got some dick, right?” 

His words slipped past you, only the feeling of his tongue back on your clit. You couldn’t think straight, your pussy was pulsing, it just felt so good, you didn’t remember the last time a man ate you like this, with such intensity and fervor. Rafe looked up at you again, amused by the way you squirmed and writhed on the bed. With a grin, he wrapped both arms under your knees and folded them damn near against your chest, spreading you open for him. And you couldn’t run away either. 

“I asked you a question.” He spat into your clit again, this time watching as the string of saliva ran down your clit before licking it. 

“Ah! Rafe! Fuck—y-yes! You can do whatever you want to me!” You sputtered, your voice breaking into a cry when he slipped his tongue into your hole. His nose bumped your clit as he fucked you with his tongue and you were nearly digging your nails into his scalp as you clutched his hair. You wanted to come so bad. “Please Rafe. I’m gonna come.” 

Rafe groaned into your pussy at your words. His tongue was replaced by two thick fingers and he curled them perfectly, enough to have you thanking the Gods for having your own house separate from your parents' main house. 

“Oh, fuck yeah. You look so pretty begging me to let you come. Say it again, say it again just like that f’me.” His eyes never left you as his tongue was back on your clit, his fingers slipping and curling inside your throbbing cunt in the most delicious way possible. You couldn’t even form a thought, let alone a sentence. You sobbed, your pussy pulsing around his thick fingers. 

“Please Rafe! Wanna come!” You didn’t have to say it twice, the second Rafe hummed at you, his tongue lapping at your swollen clit as his fingers fucked you raw, you were over. You were a shaking mess as you came, all you could do was gasp and cry as his fingers fucked you through your orgasm, and he happily continued to basically make out with your cunt.

“That was so fuckin’ good baby. You were so good f’me.” He grunted into your thigh as he lazily wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Your eyes were screwed shut, heaving as you were still jolting from the aftershock. When you opened your eyes again you found Rafe already hovering above you, his blue eyes staring down at you with devious intentions. 

“You totally look so fuckin’ hot with those glasses. You should like suck my dick with them on.” You blinked at him, mouth slightly open which made him grin at you. “Not right now, I wanna be inside you now.” 

Rafe didn’t waste any fucking time in pressing your knees to your chest, your glistening pussy on full display and ready for his cock.

“I’m gonna fuck this pussy like I fuckin’ own it.” He spat, his jaw slightly falling open as he slipped into you. Your eyes rolled back almost instantly, the feeling of his cock stretching you was better than you could have ever imagined. He was so fucking big, too. “All these fuckin’ assholes lookin’ at you and I’m the only one that gets to fill this pussy, you got that?” 

You nodded harshly as he bottomed out, and without a warning he pulled out only to slam back into you, his cock damn near splitting you open. You threw your arms around his neck, your fingers lacing around his hair as he slammed into you, filling you deeper than anyone ever has before. 

“Just you Rafe! It’s always been you!” You grabbed his face, pulling him into a messy kiss. Your words made his cock twitch and all he wanted right then and there was to keep you here, beneath him, stuffed with his cock and never let you leave. 

“Why didn’t you come back sooner, huh? This pussy is so perfect, so tight. Just f’me. Want you all the fuckin’ time baby.” He grunted into your mouth, both arms caging you in as he drilled into you, his cock so deep you could almost feel him in your fucking guts. 

A string of pathetic sounds, a string of uh-uh-uh’s left your lips as he damn near folded you in half, your cute nails dragging down his back, surely to leave red angry marks. Rafe grunted in delight, his large hand coming to grab your throat. He definitely didn’t miss the way you pussy clenched around him then. 

“Shit, you’re so fucking hot, yknow that? Such a pretty little slut f’me. You’re gonna let me use you, hm? Do whatever I want with you?” He squeezed your throat, forcing your head up and down in a ‘yes’ gesture and you moaned, eyes screwed shut. “Mhmm, exactly. Open your fuckin’ mouth.” 

The sound that left your throat was so pathetic Rafe laughed. You did as you were told, opening your eyes as you opened your mouth, you watched him with glazed eyes as he leaned down and spat straight into your mouth. He watched you jaw slacked as you happily swallowed, feeling the bump under his fingers. 

“You’re so fuckin’ nasty, I love it.” He leaned down again, his fingers tightening around your throat as he spat into your mouth again, but this time he kissed you, it was so messy and sloppy and you fucking loved it. “Act like a slut, I’ll treat you like a slut.” 

“Mhmm yes! I’m such a slut, just for you.” You choked out, your throat raw and sore from the grip he had on it. He shuddered at your words, his cock twitching as he dropped his free hand to rub harsh circles around your clit. Your eyes rolled so far back you actually looked like you were spasming. “O-oh god. I’m gonna come—! Please Rafe—!” 

“Ohh, feels so good, doesn’t it baby? You wanna gush all over my dick huh?” He spoke right into your cheek, his sweaty cheek pressed right against yours as he held you by your throat, your glasses getting squished by him and you were praying to the Gods that he didn’t end up breaking them. 

“Please, please, please Rafe!” You sobbed, your soaked cunt pulsing around his cock, your thighs sore and shaking as you hanged on by a thread, so close to reaching your limit. 

“That’s it doll, squeeze the fuck out of me, come all over my cock, just like that.” He rubbed your clit and drilled into your already abused hole until you were gushing, you whole body shaking as you fell into a fit of sobs. Rafe wasn’t one to come just like that, but the sight of you so utterly fucked out and sobbing almost made him spill right then and there. 

“Ah! Rafe!” You whined as he kept fucking you, his rough hips and harsh pace not once slowing down, driving you to the point of overstimulation. You squirmed, almost as if you wanted to run away from him. He tisked at you, releasing your throat to grab your arm, holding you down as he gripped the headboard with the other, damn near crushing you with his big fucking body. 

“Oh, where the fuck are you going, huh? Who said you could run away? Nah, you wanted it, so now you take it like a good girl.” He reveled in the way you took his cock, jaw agape, eyes screwed shut and forehead screwed into a frown of pleasure. 

You were practically done for when he carelessly shoved your face to the side, damn near knocking your glasses off your face. His lips sucked marks on your neck as your pussy convulsed around his cock for the second time. Your head was spinning so hard and your vision was so blurry, you didn’t even know what planet you were on.

“Hmph! Rafe!” You yelped but he cut you off, a particularly sharp thrust making you slide up the mattress. 

“Shut up. I’m gonna fill you. Gonna ruin every other man for you.” He spat, his voice raspy and his hair falling in front of his eyes as he chased his high. 

“Please Rafe, give it to me. Want it so bad!” Well that fucking did it. A moan rumbled in Rafe’s throat as he spilled himself inside you. His eyes were screwed shut and his mouth hung wide open. He snapped his hips, one, two more times before he sat still with a long breath. 

You laid speechless, blinking softly as you tried to slow your racing heart, and process that this actually happened. Sixteen year-old you would totally freak out. Rafe Cameron just fucked the life out of you. Rafe was looking down at you with a pussy-drunk look, his eyes slightly closed and his lips were parted. Not that you could see him that well. Your glasses were so smudged and foggy all you could see was blurry shapes. 

“I just fucked you dumb and you’re making that face?” Rafe narrowed his eyes at you as leaned on his forearms, holding up his weight as your legs fell to either side of him. You frowned at him, confused. 

“What face?”

“You’re pouting and shit.” He smirked, squeezing your face between his fingers and you shot him a pointed look, groaning. 

“I forgot to take off my glasses. They’re all dirty now. Can’t see shit.” You rolled your eyes, pulling your face away from his grip as you took your glasses off and tossed them on your nightstand. 

“Well you looked cute and shit so. You’re fine.” He pressed a kiss to your pouty lips before laying down beside you, the feeling of your mixed release making you hiss softly. 

Rafe lied with an arm behind his head and he couldn’t help but grin when he caught you looking at him with your lip pulled between your teeth. He nudged you over with his head and you happily settled underneath his arm with your head resting on his chest. You didn’t take him for a cuddling type but you’d happily take this.

You sighed heavily, just wanting to rest your sore muscles for a bit when you heard him speak again. 

“So are you gonna follow me back on insta now or what?” 

[girlgenius1111]

learning curve

alexia putellas x reader [& r's nephew] r gets custody of her 5 year old nephew when her brother gets into trouble. alexia insists on sticking around even though r gives her an out. it's a new and entirely stressful situation for r, but alexia makes it a bit easier. fluff, angst, etc. this is a kidfic.

—

How was it possible? That the most ordinary of days could be just one phone call away from shattering life as you knew it. 

You should have known, really. Should have seen it coming. You were happy for the first time in a while. Happy in your career, in your relationship. Of course something would come along to change everything. 

It was a pleasant day off, the day you got the call. A slow morning where Alexia woke up way before you, but didn’t get up. Instead, she let you sleep in her arms, completely content to just… be there with you. You’d made breakfast together, Alexia’s voice raspy from lack of use, pressing kisses to your shoulders, your face, your neck, as if she couldn’t help it. It was purely and entirely happy. 

Your phone rang just after breakfast. It was an unknown number and you never answered unknown numbers but something about the call made your stomach drop. You clicked the answer button and gave Alexia an apologetic smile, walking out of the room. 

“Hello?” You greeted, tapping your foot impatiently when no one said anything right away. Alexia had put on her favorite show, and as much as you pretended to despise the soap, you were hooked. 

The robotic, pre-recorded message that began startled you.

“This call is from a person currently incarcerated in prison. All calls are logged and recorded and may be listened to by a member of prison staff. If you do not wish to accept this call, please hang up now.” 

It wasn’t shocking, not really. You’d gotten calls like this before, but not for a few years. He used to call a lot, when he first started getting into trouble, asking for money for a lawyer. At the time, you hadn’t had any to give him. Eventually those specific calls stopped. You still heard from him, but not through a call being recorded by a prison. 

He hadn’t been arrested in 5 years. And now… the stakes were much higher. 

“Hello?” The deep voice of your brother came over the line, sounding utterly defeated. 

“Leo.” You sighed. “What happened?” 

“I fucked up. I… Will wanted to start football. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t pay for boots for him. I just wanted to get him something nice.” Leo choked out. You could hear the emotion in his voice, and ignored the pang in your chest as you pictured the little boy just two years older than you, lip trembling as he promised he’d take care of everything. 

“Leo, why didn’t you call me? And ask for help?” 

“I didn’t want to bother you. You’re busy and I should be able to provide for my son. I shouldn’t have to ask my little sister for help, I should have it figured out.” 

“So… this is better? Getting arrested for petty theft and then calling me for help?” You asked sarcastically, though you understood him more than you’d admit. The need to be independent, completely self sufficient. The sinking feeling you’d get when you had to ask for help with something… you still felt that, too.

Your brother was quiet for a moment. Long enough that dread started to build up inside of you again. 

“It’s not petty theft.” He said finally. “It’s grand theft. And accessory to assault. The guy I was working with went a bit rogue.” 

“Jesus.” You sighed. “How long?” 

Another long silence. 

“How long, Leo?”

“10-15 years.” 

You could practically see the tears falling from his eyes in your head, and you knew just by his tone he wasn’t calling for money. Not this time. You could see Alexia out of the corner of your eye, hovering in the doorway uncertainly. 

“I… I signed the papers, to give you custody of Will. To make it easier to take him back to Spain with you. He’d be yours, and I know it’s a lot to ask, and if I had any other option, I would, but the only other option is putting him in the system, and I don’t want that for him. I don’t. I’m so sorry to ask this of you, really I–”

“It’s okay.” You breathed. “It’s alright. Of course, I’ll take him. Of course I will.”

Alexia moved closer, resting a hand on your shoulder once she noticed the tears in your eyes. You let her anchor you, suddenly very sure that this was it with her. Today had been the last nice day you’d have with her, and you hadn’t even known it. 

 But there wasn’t a question of whether you’d do it or not. 

“Are you sure? With your career and–”

“I can make it work.” You said. “I’ll make it work.” 

“Okay.” Leo replied, sounding overwhelmingly relieved. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wish I–” 

“I’ll be there as soon as I can to get him.” You cut in, unwilling to hear another apology. It wouldn’t fix anything.

 Leo gave you the name of the woman to call, before saying goodbye and hanging up. Even after the call ended, you remained frozen, thinking through all the details, all the things you needed to do, unsure where to start. 

“Amor?” 

Right. That’s where you had to start. 

You turned to Alexia, your face completely impassive. It was the face you made when the team lost and you were upset, or when you got hurt and didn’t want to cry. It was you running from vulnerability, and it had been a long time since Alexia had seen you make it towards her. She’d thought you were past this. 

“My brother was arrested. I’m getting custody of his son. Will. He’s 5. I’m going to bring him back to Spain with me.” You spoke robotically, eyes fixed on a point on the wall just beyond Alexia’s shoulder. 

“Oh… oh wow.” Alexia breathed, nodding her head slowly as she took the information in. 

“It’s a good thing I didn’t get rid of my old apartment. I’ll move my stuff when I get back, you don’t need to worry about any of it. I’ll move back in there and–”

“Why would you do that?” Alexia interrupted, her face twisted with confusion. You looked at her for a moment, her brown roots growing out and the oversized t-shirt she had on. It was soft, your favorite for her to wear because you loved the way the fabric felt on your skin when she held you. 

God this was hard.  

“I… I won’t do this to you, Ale. I won’t. You don’t need this, but I have to–”

“No. Stop. We are not breaking up, and you are not moving out.” 

You turned away from her when you saw the tears in her eyes, clenching your fists tightly and taking a few slow deep breaths. She was making this so hard, but you should have known she would. 

“Alexia,” you began, your voice abruptly cutting off when the midfielder gently grabbed you by the shoulders and turned back towards her. 

“No. No.” She repeated, shaking her head over and over. “Do you love me?” 

You exhaled sharply, desperately wanting to wipe the tear off her cheek. To cradle her face in your hands, and kiss her frown away. You should lie, that would be the best choice. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. 

“I do, Ale. I love you so much. That’s why–”

“Then that’s it. You love me and I love you and people who love each other do not break up.” Alexia said firmly, her lip trembling even as she bit it to make it stop. 

“Alexia, please. It’s okay. You don’t have to do this with me, I could never ask you to.” 

“You are not asking. I am telling you. I am not going anywhere, and neither are you. You bring Will here and we’ll figure it out together. Together, amor.” 

She moved closer, her hands cradling your cheeks, wiping your tears away just as you’d wanted to do with hers. Somehow, she was convincing you. Like she always did. Whenever it felt too unbelievable that she loved you, whenever you became absolutely convinced that you’d tricked her or something, and tried to leave for her. She always convinced you to stay, because she knew you never really wanted to leave her. 

“It’s gonna be a lot.” You murmured, your hands finding their way to her waist, your body giving in before your brain did. “It’s gonna be really hard, especially with work.” 

“We can do it. Together.” Alexia promised, leaning forward to dust a kiss across the tip of your nose. “I love you. I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to do it together, okay? Don’t push me out. Please.” 

“Okay.” You allowed, finally giving in and leaning into her. She wrapped her arms around your body, squeezing so tight it almost hurt. 

“Promise me? No pushing me away.” She whispered into your ear. 

“I promise.” You breathed the words back, knowing, somehow, that you wouldn’t break this promise. Never before had you gone back on something you’d promised Alexia, and you didn’t intend to start now. 

—

The plane ride had been long, and though you were already exhausted, you hadn’t slept a wink. You were wide awake when the plane took off, and wide awake when it landed hours later. Some sleep would have really done you some good, but there was nothing to do about that now. 

It was really an amalgamation of all of your least favorite things. The social services office was just as bad as you remembered it. Just as… lonely, regardless of how incredibly crowded it was. It was overly beige, from the walls down to the outfit the woman sitting across from you was wearing. Susan. Even her name sounded beige. Then, there was the paperwork. An endless pile of it on the desk in front of you. Your hand was starting to cramp from signing, and all you wanted was to see Will. Physically see him, make sure he was okay. He was somewhere in this building, surrounded by strangers. It was impossible not to picture him, all small and scared in an office, wondering if you were really coming for him. 

You remembered that feeling. No one had ever come for you and Leo. 

But you were here for Will. You were here for him, and it didn’t matter too much that he barely knew you; at least, that's what you told yourself. 

You were his aunt that lived far away in Spain, that sent at least three presents for his birthday every year, and three more for Christmas. You talked to him on the phone every so often, and Leo liked to send a picture of Will wearing your kit every few months. He liked dinosaurs and crafts, and he adored your brother. Will’s mom had never been in the picture; you’d never met her, never even gotten Leo to tell you her name. It was just the two of them, and you knew it was hard. You didn’t know it was this hard for your brother, though. You’d have stepped in much sooner if you’d known. 

Signing the last piece of paper, you inhaled deeply and slid it back across the desk towards Susan. 

“Okay! That’s everything in order. It would be a lot more complicated if your brother hadn’t signed over his rights. Great foresight of him, to have the paperwork all ready!”

Yeah. Great foresight. Leo clearly possessed that. 

“I’ll go get Will! Like I said before, he’s been having a tough time, but the minute he arrived here he asked for you, telling us he was supposed to make sure that his Aunt came for him if anything ever happened to his Dad. I think he’ll settle once he finally sees you.” 

Susan smiled kindly, stepping away from the desk and briskly walking down the hall. 

The words settled something in you that worried Will wouldn’t want to go with you, while at the same time, making you so incredibly frustrated. Leo could make sure to prepare Will for this exact situation to occur, yet he couldn’t avoid committing felonies? 

Before you could think too hard about what to say or do, there he was. Walking slowly down the hall next to Susan, a blue dinosaur clutched tightly to his chest. His brown hair fell messily around his head, in a way that reminded you of your brother. He was small, wearing a sweatshirt and shorts and a pair of velcro shoes. Small and scared, his face creased with anxiety and fear, even as he approached you. 

“Here she is!” Susan said encouragingly, gently nudging Will closer when he came to a stop just in front of you. He was gazing up at you with wide, unsure eyes, and you could see tear tracks on his cheeks, his eyes red and puffy. He was so small. 

It was instinctual, something you didn’t even know you possessed that had you kneeling down and opening your arms. Will’s forehead un-creased just slightly, and he rushed forward, wrapping his arms tight around your neck. 

“Hey, buddy. Everything’s okay now. I’ve got you.” You whispered, holding tightly to the little boy that was clinging onto you as if you were the last stable thing in the world. And you supposed you were; in his world at least. 

Will exhaled shakily. For the first time in two whole days, he felt just a tiny bit safe. He didn’t know you well, granted, but his Daddy had always told him that if there was an emergency, to make sure to call you. He’d taught Will how to click your contact and call. Will hadn’t been sure you’d come. You lived far away, and he barely ever saw you. The two of you were strangers practically. But Leo had always told Will that you’d come for him if he needed you. And Leo had never broken a promise to Will before… Well not until the other day, he’d waited in the office at school for a whole hour after the bell rang. When someone came for him, it wasn’t his Dad. It was a police officer with a mustache and a mean face, and all Will could do was cry, and make sure that the police officer knew he had to call you. And though the details Will had been given were few, he knew his Dad had been bad and he was in trouble. Big trouble. The police officer had sounded all angry and stern when he’d told Will this, softening only slightly when Will asked when he’d get to see his Dad again.

The police officer hadn’t answered, instead telling Will that he was being taken to the social services office, where he’d wait to figure out what the next steps were. 

Will had waited for you, and even though the nice lady had told him you were coming, it took a while. More than one day, but he couldn’t quite remember. It felt like forever. 

But now you were here, and you’d given him a hug that felt like the hugs his Dad gave him, and he didn’t feel like he had to try to be brave anymore. Your arms didn’t loosen around him even as you stood up, and Will let himself relax. Just for a moment. 

—

“We going to Spain?” Will wondered, gripping two of your fingers when you held out your hand towards him. He trotted along next to you as you headed from the social services building down the block to your hotel. 

“Yeah. Barcelona.” You affirmed. Luckily, Will had been able to talk to Leo on the phone, and Leo told him what the plan was. 

“Bar-sa-lonuh? Or Spain?” 

“Barcelona is a city in Spain.” You clarified. “We’ll go there on a plane tomorrow morning.” 

“Is it a big plane?” 

“It’s a pretty big plane. Have you ever been on a plane before?” 

Will shook his head, brown curls blowing backwards slightly in the wind.

“It’ll be fun. We’ll get snacks and… pick out a few movies to watch. And you can sleep if you want to.” 

“Snacks and movies?” Will repeated. 

“Yes! Does that sound fun?” You tried to sound excited even though there wasn’t really anything you were dreading more than the long flight with a five year old. 

Will just shrugged, his hand tightening around your fingers. You shifted the strap of his big duffel bag so it was further up on your shoulder, stopping just outside the hotel and bending down so you were eye level with him. 

“I know it’s a lot of change, Will. And I know you don’t know me very well but–” 

“My Daddy said you’re nice. And that you’ll take good care of me.” Will whispered, tearing up as he remembered the phone call he’d gotten to have with his father this morning. Leo had called you right after, himself trying to hold it together as he explained he told Will that you were coming for him. 

“I’m going to do my very best to take good care of you. We’re gonna figure it out together, alright?” 

Will nodded slowly, taking a deep breath and rubbing at his eye with his fist. “Alright.” 

You figured that was the best you’d get, for now. 

—

“Tia?” Will whispered. You turned, finding him all tucked into one of the double beds, the covers pulled up to his chin. He was so small, the dinosaur pajamas he’d pulled out of his duffel bag a bit too big on him. ‘Dad said I’d grow into them if I ate my vegetables’, Will had said. Your brother was many things, and a good father was one of them. He was giving you a huge responsibility and huge shoes to fill. 

Refocusing on Will and not how much he looked like your brother, you smiled, walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“What’s up, buddy?” You asked, hesitating for a moment before reaching and out brushing one of his curls away from his face. His whole body relaxed at the motion, and he looked a bit more confident as he opened his mouth to speak again. 

“Do we have to go to Spain? We… we can’t stay here?” 

Your heart twisted in your chest. You thought of your brother's words on the phone the past few days. He’d repeated it a few times, as if knowing the doubt you’d carry. 

You can’t leave Spain. You have a career and a life there. Will speaks a bit of Spanish, and he’ll adjust. He needs to be with you, and you need to be where you’re going to be happy. That will be the best thing for him.

Leo spoke with a wisdom in his voice that used to infuriate you, but you’d decided to trust the big brother voice, this time. Because he was Will’s dad, and he knew what Will needed. 

“We have to go to Spain.” You confirmed. Will frowned, an unhappy look on his face that tore at your emotions. “I know, it’s going to be an adjustment. But your Dad told me to take you there, and he always knows best, right?” 

Will looked conflicted. “I like it here.”

“I know, I know you do.” You paused, thinking once again back to your brother's advice. 

Talk to him like he’s a person, not a baby. He’s a smart kid, he’ll understand. 

“I play football in Spain. It’s my job there, so that’s where we have to be for now. But you’ll like it, I promise. It’s warm and sunny and it has really good food. Alexia is there, and I know you’ll love her, and she’s so excited to meet you in person.” 

Thankfully, Will had met Alexia over facetime before, and knew that you were together. You didn’t have to introduce the idea to him, as he’d somehow already seemed to know it wouldn’t just be the two of you when you arrived in Spain. 

Will looked doubtful, and you could see the anxiety clearly written across his face. His features were so like Leo’s, and it was the same face your brother always had when he was nervous about something. The same face you had when you were nervous about something. 

“Why don’t you ask me questions about Spain? And I’ll answer them, and then you’ll know more before we get there.” 

Will was a talker, that much you knew. And so the questions began, about the food in Spain, about school in Spain, about the team you played for, and whether there were dinosaur toys there. Question after question, until you laid down on the bed next to him, eyes barely open. 

“Do you live in a house in Spain?” Will asked, his energy still in full force as he asked what felt like the 500th question of the evening. 

“An apartment, but you’ll have your own room.” 

“And Alexia lives there?” 

You nodded groggily. 

“Does she speak Spanish?” 

“She does, but she also speaks English.” 

Will hummed. “My Dad was teaching me some Spanish for when we met Alexia. He said your tia taught you both Spanish and that's why I call you tia because that’s Spanish for aunt.” 

At this, you cracked a smile, forcing your eyes open as you nodded. “That’s true. We lived with our tia for a while and she taught us Spanish.” 

“Is it hard to learn? I’m not very good.” Will wondered, his questions seemingly endless. 

“Mmm, not hard. You’ll pick it up quickly, especially at school and with Alexia helping you with it.” 

“Is she nice?” 

“She’s very nice.” You promised, eyes flying open when you realized you had a text from Alexia you hadn’t yet read or responded to. Will yawned hugely as you pulled your phone out of your sweatshirt pocket, and you smiled down at him again. 

“Go to sleep, buddy. I can answer more questions tomorrow.” 

With a small grunt of agreement and another yawn, he rolled over. Right into you, his head resting against your arm. It was indescribable, the soft feeling that filled your heart. Soft adoration, even as you stilled the left side of your body completely so as not to disturb him. 

You didn’t know much about kids, but it seemed you knew enough. For now. 

Finally, you opened Alexia’s text, tears pooling in your eyes as you read her words. 

Amor! I hope everything is going well. You’re doing great already, I am sure of it. I stopped at the store and got a few things for Will. You said he likes dinosaurs, sí?I love you, I’ll see you tomorrow. I can’t wait to hug you. 

God, you couldn’t wait to see her. It wasn’t very odd for the two of you to spend a night apart, but something about this felt different. You missed her deeply, fully, needed her to hold you and promise everything was going to be okay. The anxiety of how this whole new life would work was almost overshadowed by your excitement to see her again. 

Almost. 

—

Will was a pretty well behaved kid, you’d learned. Very sleepy when he woke up in the morning, but he snapped right out of it when you asked him what he wanted to download to watch on the plane. He very eagerly selected three disney movies, and you realized with a pang to your chest that all three were movies you and your brother had grown up on. 

All three were Leo’s favorites, if you remembered right. 

And now they were Will’s. 

Not being the biggest fan of crowds, the airport clearly made your nephew nervous. He fidgeted his little hands together, walking so close to you that he ran into you every time you stopped. His hand would dart out to grab onto the hem of your t-shirt whenever anyone got too close to him, and he almost cried when the security agent made him walk through the metal detector by himself. 

You figured this made sense, that after his whole world had been turned upside down, of course he’d attached himself onto the most stable thing he could find. That happened to be you. It was just… odd. Something you weren’t used to. The checklist you’d made on your phone helped, reminding you to ask Will if he had to go to the bathroom, if he was hungry or thirsty, if he had any more questions about the plane. It was more than terrifying, honestly, that you were suddenly fully responsible for this small boy. 

There was stress, of course. But there was also something so… incredibly different in the way Will pressed his face to the glass of the plane window, staring wide eyed as the plane took off. For every moment you worried you were messing up, even in the first 24 hours, there were 10 moments where Will rested his head against your shoulder or reached for your hand, or offered you one of his animal crackers with a smile that had you convinced that for your nephew, maybe you could do this. 

—

“I can walk, Tia.” Will mumbled, squirming slightly in your arms. 

You chuckled, rubbing his back softly. “It’s okay, buddy, it’s crowded and I know that makes you nervous.”  

You’d picked him up a moment ago, after noticing how terrified he looked at the massive crowds making their way through the airport. It was a struggle to wrangle both of your bags in one hand, while holding Will in the other, but you didn’t want him to be uncomfortable. You took two steps towards the exit before you had to stop and readjust, wishing you had another pair of hands here to help. 

Alexia had texted that she was there, and though you’d assumed that meant she was outside in her car, your eyes met hers across the bustling baggage claim before you had to take another step. 

Your whole body practically sagged with relief, your bags falling to the ground where you stood as Alexia made her way over to you both, a concerned and sympathetic smile on her face. 

“Mi amor,” she greeted, softly kissing your temple and pulling you into as much of a hug as she could manage with Will still in your arms. 

“Hi.” You choked out, almost in tears at the sight of her. Here, in front of you, at the perfect time. With a smile on her face, already reaching for your bags. 

“Hi, Will.” She said gently. 

Will peaked out from where his face had become hidden in your neck, relaxing a bit when he saw the semi familiar face. 

“Hi.” He whispered back, turning his face back in towards you and shutting his eyes. 

“He’s tired.” You explained, but Alexia just waved you off, beginning to lead you from the airport to the parking garage. It was much easier now that you only had to worry about carrying Will, who was quickly becoming dead weight in your arms as he drifted off. 

“Of course he is, it has been a long few days. I bet you’re exhausted too. We can go home and go right to sleep, sí? We can worry about anything else tomorrow.” 

You nodded your agreement, not even wanting to contemplate the state of your to do list at the moment, though it was getting harder and harder to ignore. 

As you arrived at the car, you shouldn’t have been surprised by the car seat perfectly installed in the back of Alexia’s car. You’d mentioned needing one to her, but for some reason… you half expected her to forget. Or get the wrong one. You weren’t sure why, but it was just something that you thought you’d have to do. 

Yet when you opened the door to the back seat, it was all done for you. The perfect size for Will, buckled in correctly and everything. You carefully deposited him in the seat and buckled him in, before turning to Alexia, once again with tears in your eyes. 

“Thank you for getting that.” You mumbled, shutting the car door as quietly as you could. 

“Of course.” Alexia said easily, her lips curving into a smile as she opened her arms for you. You practically collapsed into them, gripping tight to your girlfriend as she did the same to you. 

“I missed you so much.” You cried. 

“I missed you too, mi amor. You have no idea.” Alexia whispered back, her hand threading through your hair as she just held you for a moment. Eventually she leaned down to press her lips to yours. You kissed her back, taking in the feel of her hands as they cupped your jaw, her fading blonde hair tickling the side of your face. 

When you pulled back from the kiss, she was still gazing at you so lovingly it made your heart burst. 

“Let’s get you both home.” She suggested, and you nodded your agreement, needing nothing more than to be home in that moment. 

—

The relief you felt when you finally stepped back into your apartment wasn’t complete relief. Because you were home, but everything was different. There was a whole other person that had to fit into your life now, and you didn’t even know where to begin carving out a space for him. There was figuring out a school that could accommodate a five year old that spoke very little Spanish. Then there was finding childcare for when training didn’t perfectly align with school, or when the team was traveling. Would you bring Will with for away games? 

The issues you needed to address were seemingly endless, but most urgently was that the extra bedroom was not fit for a child. It had a double bed, which would work for now, but didn’t leave much room for anything else. What did a kid even need in his bedroom? 

Toys, of course. 

Books. 

A desk? 

A dresser? Or would the closet be enough? 

God he would need more clothes. 

And food that he'd like to eat. 

And shampoo and conditioner for kids. Those were different from adult hair products, right? 

That was most urgent, you decided. Making your home a home for him. 

“We should go shopping tomorrow.” You murmured, shifting Will in your arms a bit as you headed for the guest bedroom. He’d fallen asleep in the car and it was night, so it made sense for him to keep sleeping. 

What time did kids his age go to bed? 7? 8? You had no idea. Another question to answer. 

With a gentle hand on your back guiding you down the hall, Alexia hummed in agreement, but you missed the small smile on her face. “I bought a few things.” She reminded you. 

Your assumption was that a few things were a pair of pajamas, a new toy. A book, maybe? But when Alexia stepped around you to push the bedroom door open, your jaw dropped. 

A few things, apparently, was an entirely redecorated room. A beautifully redecorated room. The walls were no longer white; instead they were painted a soft green. A wooden twin bed sat in the corner, a green canopy hanging the tall headboard and footboard. The bed was covered in a green comforter, a soft throw blanket, and 4 different pillows. A long shelf sat just under the large window, filled with toys and books. There was a separate toy box next to the bookshelf, overflowing with even more toys; cars and books and dolls and stuffed animals. Everything. Wall decor, a rug, a dresser, a cozy chair in the corner next to a lamp. 

Alexia had thought of everything. And if you’d had any doubts about her dedication to this, to you, to Will, you no longer did. Alexia had done what you’d been too preoccupied to think of and made Will a space that was entirely his own, a place he could feel safe and comforted. She’d made your home his home without a second thought. 

Without a word, you walked further into the room, choking back a sob as you laid a still sleeping Will down carefully on the bed. He shifted in his sleep, snuggling close to the soft pillows as you draped the throw blanket over him. 

When you finally turned back towards your girlfriend, she was hovering in the doorway, chewing on her bottom lip as she gazed at you worriedly. 

“Too much?” She whispered. 

You barely held back the scoff that would have been much too loud, crossing the room quickly and throwing your arms around her. 

“No. Perfect. You're perfect. Thank you.” You mumbled into her neck, pressing kiss after kiss to the skin you found there. Alexia tightened her hold, walking the two of you backwards and out the door so you didn’t wake Will. 

“Are you crying?” Alexia asked, her thumb tracing across your cheek bone as she leaned back from your embrace. 

You sniffled pathetically, leaning back in to press your forehead to Alexia’s chest and steady yourself. 

“I was just so overwhelmed and you did this and it’s perfect Ale. Thank you. Thank you.” 

Alexia pressed a kiss to the top of your head, squeezing you tightly. 

“You don’t have to thank me. I promised, no? I’m here. We are doing this together.” 

“I love you.” You cried, overwhelmed with love and wonder at what an incredible person your girlfriend was. You’d already known, but she always found a way to surprise you, doing something so absurdly kind and thoughtful that you were struck all over again with how good she was. 

“I love you too.” Alexia replied, swaying the two of you back and forth gently. 

There were still a lot of unknowns. A lot of problems to solve and things to figure out. But you’d never been more sure that you could do it. It wasn’t ideal, but you had Alexia and that was certainly ideal. 

—

JUST finished this so PLEASE tell me if you catch a typo also planning more parts to this but i'm VERY open to ideas if you have them :)

[forlix]

𝐚𝐜𝐞・h.h.

— volleyball superstar and your personal hell hwang hyunjin proposes a trade-off you can't refuse: his matchmaking services for a passing anthropology grade. the plan is foolproof in theory; in practice, it is something else entirely.

words・15.2k

pairing・volleyball player!hyunjin x tutor!reader (gn)

genres・college!au, sports!au, fake enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn. two polar opposites sharing one soul. a seungjin fic if u squint. loosely inspired by the manga/anime haikyuu!!

warnings・mentions of anxiety, fear of failure, heartbreak, loneliness, and self-image. course language and callous banter (as always) ft. suggestive flirting and one kms joke. some of the referenced players and coaches are real; this fic is not.

playlist・collision by stray kids・value by ado・waiting for us by stray kids・eternity by bang chan・dreaming by smallpools・fly high!! by burnout syndromes

a/n・writing this felt like returning to my roots tbh. i love volleyball and i love sports aus and i love, love hwang hyunjin. thank u to my sahar for bringing this fic to life with me, as always; i can no longer write for him without also writing for you. i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i adored writing it. happy late birthday, our jinnie, our hyunjin, our forever ace; you are so unbelievably loved ♡

“Not a word out of you,” you say, tossing your backpack onto the floor of the lecture hall with a heavy-handed flick. “I’m serious.”

Hyunjin glances up at you with a frown. “When did people stop saying good morning?”

Your lack of an immediate comeback tells him the situation is dire. He observes you for a moment, his mouth falling open, hanging still, then curving into a slow, serpentine smile.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Please, angel.”

“No! Leave me alone.”

Hyunjin slumps back into his seat, thinking hard. The solution occurs to him with a poke of his tongue into his cheek. “Coffee on me for a week.”

At this, your hands stop rummaging in your bag. You cock your head, your interest piqued. Got you. 

When you finally humor him and turn around, you’re flinching like you’re in pain, eyes closed and breath held and all. He giggles and leans in for a closer look. Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes if he wasn’t so flummoxed by the state of your forehead.

“What the hell did you do?”

“Tried to cut my own bangs,” you sigh. “It didn’t go very well and now I look like Rock Lee.”

Hyunjin lets out a forceful laugh. “You’ve seen Naruto?”

You open your eyes. Only then does Hyunjin remember how little distance he left between your faces, when he’s staring straight into them and all the strange, starry speckles they hold.

The air between you curdles like sour milk.

Things are awkward between you often, he’s realized recently. What’s more, he didn’t think he was capable of being awkward with anyone anymore until he met you. It was your ill-fated seat that he chose to sit next to on the first day of ANTH 111, your ill-fated lap onto which he chose to spill his Americano, and the rest was history (or, in this case, anthropology). His tongue ends up in sailor’s knots with every smart-aleck comment and pitiful laugh you’ve given him since. Maybe there’s more to it, maybe there isn’t—Hyunjin doesn’t think about it much. He doesn’t like thinking in general.

You pull away from each other in unison. You clear your throat, glancing elsewhere. 

“Of course I’ve seen Naruto,” you quip, and everything is normal again. “Why do you seem surprised?”

“Because you’re so scholarly.”

“I am not scholarly.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You go to a park to play chess with old people on weekends.”

“I need to get my steps in somehow.”

“You didn’t know what Urban Dictionary was until I told you to look up—”

“God, I learned so much about you that day."

“Your favorite social media platform is Quizlet,” he bursts, exasperated. “Quizlet.”

“It is not.” An introspective pause. “Or is it?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Hyunjin throws his feet up on the chair below him, jabs in your direction with a bandaged finger. “There is no way you enjoy watching 2D men beat each other up in your free time. I don’t buy it.”

“Honestly, I thought you’d have more to say about my current appearance than my hobbies.”

He does, though. Matter of fact, he’s been curating a list since this conversation started: Vector from Despicable Me, Dora the Explorer’s hot older sibling, Spock. You face-planted into a lawnmower. You mistook a paper shredder for a hat. It goes on.

But then his head turns. Your eyes meet again. He’s reminded that it’s hard to sustain an inner monologue and look at you at the same time, Vector resemblance and all.

He reaches up, nudges a lock of your hair over a centimeter or so, and gives the patch of forehead a gentle flick.

“Watermelon,” he mumbles with a sickening smile.

You divert your attention to your lecture notes with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You’re getting soft.”

He spends the entire lecture daydreaming about tropical coastlines.

“I only get coffee from that one place on the east side of campus, by the way,” you say as you’re strolling out the building together, “and I get it a very specific way. Can you handle it?”

“Your faith gets me out of bed in the morning,” Hyunjin deadpans. “I’ll handle it, love. Text me your order.”

All of a sudden, you position your hands close to your stomach, the lapels of your jacket casting them in shadow. Your fingers begin to move in a sequence that he’d recognize anywhere.

“Body flicker jutsu,” you whisper, and then you’re scurrying off without another word—but you do glance back at him to gauge his response. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the main quad’s busy thrum.

Hyunjin gapes at your retreating figure for so long that phosphenes start prancing around his field of view. Then he heads to the gym. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Hyunjin stops lacing up his shoes to see Coach Bang standing on the court’s sideline with a grim air about him. He glances at his captain, confused.

“Don’t look at me,” Minho says mid-stretch. “Godspeed.”

“Thanks, cap.” Useless.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. It’s all fluorescent lights and spotless white walls, the only decorative fixture a picture of his siblings, parents, and dog in front of the Sydney Opera House, framed and facing him atop his desk. Hyunjin once snuck the thing into the bathroom, an innocent plot to satiate his curiosity, and promptly discovered the man’s propensity for violence. He’s packing beneath those dry-cleaned polos, by the way.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “You can read, right?”

“Yes, coach,” he sighs. Everyone’s expectations for him are subterranean.

From: Park Jinyoung «asiansoul_jyp@snu.edu» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «cb97@snu.edu» Subject: Not good See email from Hwang’s antopology professor below . He submitted the complete script of the Trolls movie instead of his mid term paper and now he’s failing the class . Not good . Sort out ASAP JP Sent from my iPad

Bang snatches up his mouse and scrolls, his ears turning scarlet. “Wrong email.”

“Yep.”

From: Kim Kyeyoung «kyeyoungkim@snu.edu» To: Park Jinyoung «asiansoul_jyp@snu.edu» Subject: Regarding Hwang Hyunjin To Director of Athletics Park, I am writing to inform you that, as of yesterday, Mr. Hwang Hyunjin has a D- (64.9%) in ANTH 111: Cultural Anthropology, due to his submission of the complete script of a kids’ movie instead of his midterm paper. It is disappointing to see Mr. Hwang trivialize and ridicule my class to such a degree. Please see to it that he reorganizes his priorities lest his Student-Athlete Participation Agreement do so for him. Regards, Kim Kyeyoung Professor of Anthropology

“That’s bullshit!”

“We’re in agreement there.” Bang folds his arms over his chest, throws his foot over his knee. “Do you know what your Student-Athlete Participation Agreement says?”

“Does anyone?” Hyunjin scoffs. Bang whips out a form and brings it to eye level, the thing covered from top to bottom in microscopic Times New Roman. “No way you just had that.”

“I had it delivered ten minutes ago,” Bang confesses, then clears his throat and begins to recite. “All student-athletes must complete the academic term with a C or higher in all courses, should they wish to continue their participation in athletics thereafter.”

Hyunjin stiffens. “What the fuck? I’ve never heard—”

“If any Department of Athletics personnel,” Bang continues, raising his voice, “have reason to believe that a student-athlete will not be able to satisfy this requirement, they are encouraged to utilize resources such as academic advising or peer tutoring in guiding said student-athlete back onto the correct path.”

He shoves the piece of paper across his desk. “Read that name aloud for me.”

Hyunjin stares at the signature at the bottom of the page, scrawled so carelessly that most of it deviates away from its designated line. There is a rare hollowness in his chest that he recognizes as anxiety. With it comes a glimpse of a life without volleyball, the question of what little of him would remain.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” he says under his breath.

The office goes silent. Bang tucks the form back into his drawer. It closes with a gentle click.

Then comes the yelling.

“The Trolls movie? Trolls?! Are you fucking with me, Hwang?”

“It was a cultural reset! The pinnacle of modern media! How’s that for anthropology?”

“BAD!” Bang explodes, gesturing to the email emphatically. “VERY, VERY BAD!”

Hyunjin slumps over, dejected.

“You’ve never had trouble with school before.” He leans over his desk imposingly. “What the hell happened this semester? What changed?”

Nothing is the first answer that comes to mind, but Hyunjin’s pulse spikes like a lie detector. Upon the inside of his eyes replays a scene of a certain someone with watermelon bangs doing teleportation jutsu at him from a few yards away, wearing a smile made of some kind of space dust that astronomists haven’t discovered yet.

He grits his teeth, annoyed. This is what happens when he thinks.

“Beats me,” he fibs. “Typical junior year stress, maybe.”

“Does any of it have to do with Piazza?” 

Hyunjin shudders.

It just might, actually.

Modesty has no place in the career he’s had: high school national champion turned ace hitter in both the South Korean U21 roster and regular rotation for Seoul National University, the best collegiate volleyball team in the country. His name has lived at the top of ranking lists and the center of gold medals since he turned old enough to qualify for them; the press believes him the instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution. It’s a mouthful, he knows.

It was never a question that he would go professional; the question was who he should talk to and where he would go.

At the start of the school year, Bang, acting in place of the agent he was advised to find and never bothered to, gave him a list of people to reach out to. On the very top was none other than Roberto Piazza, the chairman and head coach of Allianz Milano, one of the most eminent club teams in the world—and current home to Hyunjin’s personal idol, outside hitter Ishikawa Yuki.

Hyunjin thought his poor coach had finally succumbed to his old age. The thought of stepping onto the same court as Ishikawa felt sacrilegious, let alone donning the red, white, and navy blue of Allianz Milano with him. But Bang slapped him on the back of the neck and reminded him that going professional was equal parts preparation and opportunity; he was never going to know the answers to questions he didn’t ask. Hyunjin was coerced to fire off an introductory email despite his reservations.

Piazza replied within the week.

For the last five months, Hyunjin has been fighting with tooth and nail to manage his expectations. He scrolls past the team’s social media posts like they burn his eyes. He replies to Piazza’s emails right before working out with Changbin under the assumption that whatever the shredded libero does to him will eviscerate his brain. If his world is made of dreams, this is the one at its very core, imbued with destructive potential the second it became attainable.

But that’s the last five months. The last five weeks have been you kicking him in the shin because he’s laughing (or trying to make you laugh) and the professor is staring; you listening to him rant and rave about volleyball when he knows you couldn’t care less about the sport; you relaying the contents of your class readings like hot gossip, your eyes wild and hands flying around because you can’t contain your excitement. You, you, you.

He cards a hand through his air, regaining focus. “You know how I feel about Piazza.”

“Expect the worst, hope for the best.” Bang’s chair skids backwards as he stands up. “I think it’s a good approach.”

Suddenly, he is directly in front of Hyunjin, low enough to meet his eyes. His hands rest upon his shoulders firmly.

“But hope is hungry, and it will consume you if you let it,” he says. “Do not let it, Hyunjin. I’m not asking.”

Even while being squeezed to a pulp and regarded with the cold intensity of a statue, Hyunjin can’t help but feel anchored, somehow, to the floor of this miserable office. Protected.

Bang lets go of him. “I’m not asking you to find a tutor by the end of the week, either.”

Hyunjin groans. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.”

A set of bandaged fingers appear in your periphery to place a paper cup onto your laptop. Accompanying the smell of fresh coffee is that of smoky rose, as decidedly douchey as ever.

“I thought you said your order was complicated.”

You look up from your phone to see Hyunjin plop into the adjacent seat. His long, caramel-colored hair is damp and unstyled in the aftermath of a morning shower, droplets of water pearling on the lapels of a navy blue windbreaker, layered over a white long sleeve. You recognize the outfit by now as game gear.

“Was it not?” You ask.

“It was an Americano, love. I walked up to the cashier and placed an order for an Americano.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you could handle that much.” He flips you off as you squint at the cup. “Someone wrote their number on the lid, by the way.”

“What? Really?”

“No.”

He shoves you hard enough for your upper body to drape over the opposite armrest; you’re still cackling by the time you’ve straightened up again.

“Why did you get this, anyway?” Hyunjin grumbles. “I thought you had a sweet tooth.”

“I do, but you don’t.”

Only then does the fool understand that you had no intention of charging him in coffee just for a haircut reveal. He takes back the coffee hesitantly.

“Thanks,” he says at last. “Nice of you.”

“I know, right? Hated it,” you respond, and he almost chokes on his first sip.

You almost choke on nothing when Kim Seungmin materializes in the aisle adjacent. He holds out a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “Yo.”

Hyunjin dabs it up mid-sip. “I fully forgot you were in this class.”

“Well, I’m due for my weekly appearance.” Seungmin slips into the seat directly below you, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hi,” you say, somehow managing to stumble over the single syllable the word has. You thank your lucky stars that you fixed your hair yesterday.

You like Kim Seungmin. Not just in the cutesy, crushy way, but in the “I would relinquish all of my rights for you” way where you spend every waking moment cursing out whatever stroke of misfortune placed Hyunjin in the seat next to you instead of him. He’s funny, gorgeous, and talented—a vocal performance major with a student-athlete contract—and you think your infatuation is more than justified. Hyunjin thinks it’s hilarious.

You side-eye your blonde adversary, prepared to see one of three things: a suppressed laugh, a dramatic eye-roll, or a mature kissy face that usually results in the first option. You’re met with something far more worrisome.

He’s thinking.

That can’t be good.

Suddenly, his phone screen lights up with a text that temporarily wipes the conspiratorial gleam from his eye. Hyunjin scans it over and groans. “Can this guy do his fucking job?”

“He wouldn’t have to if you didn’t quit,” Seungmin answers. “I’ll never forget you, Manager Hwang.”

“Shut up.” You peer at Hyunjin, silently requesting an explanation. “Our captain is forcing us to help him look for a new team manager. We need one for playoffs because of some stupid U-League rule—Seung, why do you look morose?”

“I’m mourning.” Seungmin does look morose indeed. “Hyunjin committed larceny last year and our coach punished him by making him our team manager for the rest of the season. It was so funny.”

Hyunjin slides down his seat. “It was the worst experience of my life.”

Neither man seems inclined to elaborate on the mention of larceny. You choose to digress. “Can I ask why?”

“He had to be responsible,” Seungmin whispers. “For other people.”

The top of Hyunjin’s head stops right next to your armrest. You reach over and pat his hair in faux sympathy. “Poor thing.”

“Hardass refused to do it again this year, so now we’re recruiting.” Seungmin props an elbow upon the back of his chair, looks at you contemplatively. “I don’t suppose you have four hours to spare every day.”

Hyunjin scoffs from below you. Loudly. “This one? Team manager?”

“I can see it.”

“I can see killing myself, maybe.”

The next time you reach for him is to hit his forehead. A crisp smack resounds around the barren lecture hall. Hyunjin cusses into his seat cushion.

“Seems like a great candidate to me,” Seungmin muses, and the warm smile he gives you mirrors onto your face before you can think better of it. God, it’s pretty. You wonder how it would feel pressed against your own.

Hyunjin is now completely out of sight and halfway onto the floor. “I miss when you didn’t come to class, Seungmin.”

Eighty minutes later, you’ve just emerged from the classroom when Seungmin calls out to you. You come to such a sudden halt that Hyunjin almost trips over you, but you barely notice him stumble, utterly enraptured by the hand Seungmin brings to the strands of hair by your ear, the fingers that dust your cheek as they pluck a small piece of lint from out of the tresses.

“Sorry.” He flicks it away with a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t unsee it.”

You manage to thank him just before your whole body ceases to function. Hyunjin sidesteps the two of you, yawning.

Seungmin excuses himself not too long after you reach the main quad. You also turn to leave, sparing Hyunjin a curt farewell in the process. He hooks his pointer finger around the handle at the top of your backpack and lugs you backwards with infuriating ease.

“I didn’t like that at all,” you say.

“I don’t care. I have something to tell you.”

“You have a kid, don’t you?”

“Wha—huh? Who do you think I am?”

“The one-night-stand’s poster child. The champion of the contraception industry.”

“Yeah, contraception industry. It’s right there in the name.”

You suppose you can’t argue with that.

“What do you have to tell me?”

A shadow of hesitation flits across Hyunjin’s face. Your smile falters. Is it possible that you’re about to have a serious conversation with him for the first time? Maybe you should’ve saved the secret son bit for another time.

“I’m failing anthro.”

So much for a serious conversation. 

“Come again?”

He repeats the mystifying statement.

“You’re joking.” The look on his face says otherwise, though, and your eyebrows disappear into your hair. “You’re failing anthro?”

“I just said that, yes.”

“You’re failing anthropology?”

“Mhm.”

“Just so we’re clear—you’re failing Introduction to Cultural Anthropology?”

“Yes. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

This is the best day of your life. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Yeah, well, our professor has no media literacy,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Hyunjin clears his throat. “Anyways, I was thinking—”

“Wow! Congratulations. That’s a big—oomf—”

Hyunjin puts his entire hand over your face. Your mangled noises of protest go unacknowledged.

“I was thinking,” he continues, pushing your head around like a stick shift, “you and I can work out some kind of deal.”

You shove his wrist off you with a revolted groan. “I think I just ate some athletic tape.”

“Happens. You wanna hear the deal or not?”

“Does it involve ingesting more sports equipment?”

“Do you want it to?”

“Just tell me the deal, boy.”

“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “If you help me pass this class, I’ll set you up with Seungmin.”

Your head performs a triple-axel on your neck. You are unable to respond for what feels like multiple hours. Finally: “I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”

“On which part?”

“All of them. Everything.”

Hyunjin sighs, then scans the courtyard. His gaze settles on the student union a little ways off. “Are you hungry?”

You pick up a sandwich and a smoothie in a state of nervous stupor. One would think it’s the prime minister you’re about to have lunch with and not an imbecilic left-side hitter eating from three different entrees at the same time.

He’s chosen a table a few yards away from a planter of flowering cherry blossom trees. You feel jealous eyes on the side of your face as you take a seat across from Hyunjin, but they don’t know that his telephone pole legs still bump against yours even with them drawn as close to your body as anatomically possible. Or that he’s drawing up a literal Ponzi scheme on your sandwich wrapper. You wager you’ve had better company.

“You like anthropology. I like listening to you talk about anthropology.” He traces over the wrapper’s left corner. “And I kinda want you to boss me around. That weird?”

“Yes, definitely,” you mumble around a mouthful of bread. “Go on.”

“Conclusion one: you should be my tutor.” He taps in place as if applying a finishing touch, then swaps to the opposite side. “You also like my teammate, but he’s neck-deep in volleyball and music this semester, which makes him hard to get a hold of—for most people.”

“Let me guess. Not for you.”

“Ten points to Ravenclaw.” His British accent is nightmarish. “Seung and I live in the same building. We get dinner when we go back from practice together. Conclusion two: you should come with us.”

“To dinner or to practice?”

“To both. Which brings us to my third and final conclusion—”

He slams a fist onto the center of the wrapper.

“—you should manage our team.”

“I knew it!” You slam the table as well, your smoothie wobbling upon impact. “You’re trying to swindle me! You can’t pay for my labor with more labor. What do you take me for?”

“It’s not labor, dumbass! Ask our last manager! He didn’t do shit!”

“Yeah? Who was your last manager?”

“Me!”

Oh, right. “But you hated it!”

“I hate everything that isn’t playing volleyball. Try again.”

You fold your arms over your chest. “You said you’d kill yourself if I managed you.”

Hyunjin starts balling up your sandwich wrapper. “It’s true. I thought about you and my coach getting along and promptly got a rash. But it makes so much sense: you do whatever you want during practice, tutor me afterwards, and then you and Seung can eyefuck over ramen or something. My coach hops off my dick, you hop on Seung’s—”

“STOP!” A girl drops her receipt not too far away, startled by your outburst. “Stop right there. I get it. Stop.”

“It’s a good plan.” He slings the paper ball towards the nearest trash can. It drops into the hole without so much as a brush against the rim. “You know it is.”

You’re loath to admit that you do. “When did you even come up with all this?”

He flicks a thumb in the direction of your anthropology class. No fucking wonder he’s failing.

“What is this, mock trial?”

The owner of this voice is the third man you’ve seen today donning that navy windbreaker, white long-sleeve combo. He has a face that reminds you of your neighbor’s cat from back home, sleek and sharp and only slightly sinister. There’s a dash of humor in his expression as he approaches your table like he’s enjoying the company of a court jester.

“Slamming tables like fuckin’ tariff lawyers,” the cat-man hums, lifting a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “I could see it from all the way inside.”

“Captain!” Hyunjin crows, dabbing him up without missing a beat. They really do that like breathing. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”

“Really? I thought you’d be avoiding me like the rest of our homunculus team.”

“I would never.”

“You did. Yesterday. When you saw me and started running in the opposite direction.” He pauses for emphasis. “As fast as possible.”

“Well, that was yesterday. Today is a new day.” Hyunjin tosses you a proud glance. “And today, I bring you a new team manager.”

You stiffen. “I haven’t—”

“Is that so!” When the stranger smiles at you, you feel the same satisfaction you did every time the cat let you scratch her on the chin. “Music to my ears. What’s your name, cutie?”

You catch Hyunjin’s eye across the table; he nods enthusiastically as if saying go on, then. You briefly picture yourself strangling him with his own athletic tape. You then picture yourself hopping on Seungmin’s—

Rigidly, you throw a hand out to the cat-man, your face aflame.

“Y/N,” you grumble. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

He shakes on it heartily. “Likewise. I’m Minho. Welcome to the team.”

“Yes, welcome to the team,” Hyunjin parrots, looking positively jolly. You gnash your teeth together so hard your jaw throbs.

He’s lucky that his proposal holds so much water. He’s lucky that you don’t plan to strangle him until after you try that eyefucking thing.

You do kick him under the table, though.

The team has five weeks to prepare for the Korean University League, the biggest college-level volleyball tournament in the country. You have five days to learn how the hell athletic tape works. You can’t tell which is the bigger endeavor.

“I’m going to cause him irreversible skeletal damage,” you tell Changbin.

The team’s libero is twice as kind as he is talented, a full-time sweetheart working part-time at the university’s sports medicine clinic. Only your first week on the job and you’ve already decided he’s the only person on Earth you would permit to usher you through the gym at 6:45 A.M., a roll of athletic tape pressed to your back like a pistol.

“You will not,” Changbin answers. “One, because this won’t involve his skeleton, and two, because I wouldn’t ask you to help if it did.”

“You’ve misunderstood me,” you return as the two of you stop in front of an examination room. “I want to cause him irreversible skeletal damage.”

“Oh.” He opens the door with a frown. “Oh dear.”

Inside, Hyunjin is sitting cross-legged on top of a taping table, fitted in a loose gray tee and athletic shorts. He watches in pessimistic silence as you enter the room and beeline straight towards the shelf on the right. You slip a thick binder into your hands and bury your nose inside it without so much as a greeting.

“I am going to get maimed,” Hyunjin tells Changbin.

“Have some faith, both of you,” Changbin replies sternly. You find the pages you’re looking for and begin poring over them like you’re cramming for an exam. “You’ll be fine, Jinnie. Y/N studied.”

“Studied?” He repeats. “For this?”

“I’m pretty sure Quizlets were made.”

“Three, to be exact," you interject, sticking out your hand. “Now tape me.”

Hyunjin mouths the words tape me in baffled silence. The latter obliges your request with a smile. “See? What could go wrong?”

The answer to that, actually, is a lot. Especially after Changbin gets called away to help stretch out a teammate named Felix who allegedly “sprained his ass,” leaving Hyunjin to you and your binder.

You detect no smoky rose in the air around him today, just the subtle smells of cedar and cypress—laundry detergent or shampoo, maybe. Figures he doesn’t wear that insufferable cologne to practice.

“Go easy on me, yeah?”

While Hyunjin’s tone is teasing, yours is downright somber.

“I can’t promise anything.”

With that, you turn your palms face-up in a silent request for his hand.

A few strands of hair fall into your face as you lean in for a better look. It’s the first time you’ve seen his fingers untaped; they’re pretty, long and slender and surprisingly manicured, but also battered in their delicacy, the veins running over the back of his hand and forearm prominent, his bottom knuckles discolored from the healing bruises they bear. His hard work is palpable upon the smooth skin as evidently as if tattooed.

Hyunjin says your name in close proximity. You respond with an absent hum.

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

“No. Maybe a little.” You let his hand fall free and go to rummage for supplies. “Fine, yes. Very.”

“But you made Quizlets. You’re prepared for anything.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You realize only after spotting the gentle smile on his face that he’s making fun of you. “I hate you.”

“Actually,” he hums, “I think you care about me, love. That’s why you’re nervous.”

“Nonsense—I care about disappointing Changbin. That’s it.”

“And me. And hopping on Seungmin’s dick. All these things don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

You try to tackle him. Hyunjin catches your hands a few inches away from his face, fingers closing around your wrists with obnoxious agility.

“Have you lost your mind?” You whisper-shout, your face on fire. “Don’t bring that up here. I’ll maim you for real.”

The laugh that explodes out of him throws his entire body backwards, turns his eyes to crescent moons and his mouth into a little rectangle. You hate that you don’t hate when that happens.

“My bad, my bad. It slipped out. I won’t—”

One incremental shift of Hyunjin’s body later, you find that you’re precariously, alarmingly close to one another.

So much so that you notice the mole beneath his left eye for the first time, that you're nearly cross-eyed looking at it. That the tip of your nose actually brushes against his before you pull away with a quiet intake of breath. 

Things are awkward between you often, you’ve realized recently. You’re both professional yappers, always quick to digress, quick to find a new topic to bicker about before the awkwardness marinates. But hours later you’ll look back on the interaction and still remember how the air shifted: like a layer of dust had been blown away and something untouched and unknown was discovered just underneath.

Since you’ve met him, Hyunjin has spent more time on your nerves than on your mind. You’re not exactly losing sleep over such a circumstantial acquaintance; you know that his presence in your life will end the way it began, naturally and anticlimactically and inside the ANTH 111 lecture hall. Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed when your heart and stomach launch into an elaborate gymnastics routine in the wake of something he says or does, just as they’re doing now.

Hyunjin glances into your right eye a moment, then your left. The mole just below his left eye disappears when he smiles, the expression soft, saccharine, and sincere. How anyone casually looks the way he does is beyond your abilities of comprehension.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Your face continues to burn, now perhaps for different reasons. “What for?”

He lets go of your wrist, sweeps the lock of hair that keeps getting in your eyes behind the cuff of your ear.

“Caring about me.”

Then he flicks your forehead. You recoil with a quiet ow.

“Now stop stalling and tape me, dumbass.”

“Okay,” you mutter, rubbing the injury tenderly. “No need to get violent.”

It turns out the arduous taping procedure described in the instruction manual is for serious hand injuries. Hyunjin splints his fingers together for support, not rehabilitation, so it takes all of five minutes for him to talk you through his process. You finish taping both of his hands with nineteen minutes to spare. So maybe the Quizlets were overkill.

As you’re walking him down to practice, you take his hand and lift it to eye level, scanning your craftsmanship dubiously. “It’s not too tight, is it?”

“It’s perfect.” He swivels the hand around and grabs onto your entire face, the sensation by now eerily familiar. “Want another taste?”

You shove him down the stairs that remain. Unfortunately, there are only two. “You are truly grotesque.”

The gym has come to life since you arrived earlier this morning, now illuminated by shining ceiling lights in addition to the sun spilling through high, narrow windows. Most of the team has yet to step onto the court, still stretching or jogging along the sidelines: Minho and Coach Bang are talking strategy on the bench, the coach taking notes on a handheld whiteboard every now and then; Changbin is leaning over a recumbent Felix below the scoreboard, presumably trying to fix his ass.

The only one already with a ball in hand is Seungmin, setting to himself by the net. Once, twice, thrice straight up in the air, and then he glances in your direction and sends the fourth towards the left side of the court in a buoyant arc.

You only glean bits and pieces of the next few seconds. Hyunjin is at your side one moment, making a break for the net the next. His arms draw backwards in perfect synchrony. Feet hit the floor with laserlike intent. His entire body unravels like a fraying chrysalis as he rises to meet the ball, pounds it over the net and into the ground at an angle so clean that the sound of its landing resounds within your ribcage. It rebounds over the railing of the second floor and barely misses the doorway of the examination room you just emerged from.

Hyunjin drops lightly back onto his feet, following the ball’s tumultuous trajectory with proud eyes. A leftover breeze tosses a strand of hair over the bridge of your nose, and time starts moving again.

“Oi, this isn’t your backyard! Go pick that up!” Their coach booms, though his words lack their usual bitterness after what he just witnessed his ace hitter do.

Hyunjin swivels towards Seungmin first. “Crazy bitch. What the fuck was that?”

“Lower and faster. Further from the net too,” Seungmin returns. “How’d it feel?”

The grin on Hyunjin’s face reminds you of a wildfire, untamed and all-consuming and frightening in its fervor. “Like we just won everything.”

He tousles your hair as he jogs past you and back up the stairs to fetch the volleyball. Seungmin waves at you with one hand and palms another ball into his other. His face is warm and bare, his slim build flattered by his volleyball gear. You’ve witnessed few people so nice to look at and even fewer things as elegant as his setting form. But you are still thinking about Hyunjin—and you can’t move.

It is debilitating, watching somebody do the very thing they were destined for.

A little less than a week later, Hyunjin is approaching hour three of spewing hot garbage into a Word document when he decides to give up and call you. 

“Hello?” He immediately starts laughing. “Where the fuck are you?”

You poke the top of your head into the shot of your ceiling, gesturing to your headband. “My face is preoccupied at the moment.”

“Oh, you have to show me. Please.”

You flip your phone up for no more than half a second. A camera shutter goes off, followed by a shriek so loud that it peaks your mic.

“Motherfucker!”

He basically sprints to his camera roll. His prize: you with your face slathered in cleanser, hair pinned back by a Miffy headband, looking like the abominable snowman if he liked cute merchandise.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “I’ll treasure this forever.”

“You’ll be punished, Hwang.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You brandish your middle finger at him in response. He props his phone up against his computer screen with a chuckle. 

“Aaanyways, I have a thesis statement to run by you.”

The first thing you did as Hyunjin’s tutor was help draft an email to Professor Kim, begging her to let him resubmit the two essays he royally botched. She replied with a lengthy quotation from her syllabus, specifically the section that talked about (and prohibited) resubmissions, but ended up making an exception for Hyunjin on account of the “truly piteous timbre” of his email. You fell out of your chair laughing when he read you her response.

“You should’ve opened with that.”

“I tried, hello? Someone distracted me!”

“Read. It. Before I change my mind.”

You spend a few minutes at most on the thesis itself, advising him to avoid passive voice, answer the prompt, establish a refutable argument, the works. Then he asks you a question about the research topic itself, allusions to the afterlife in Ancient Egyptian artwork, and the tutoring session takes a turn into what feels like a podcast episode.

You talk about the God of Death, Anubis, and his connections to the underworld; the elaborate, lavish funerary rituals intended to ensure the souls of the dead traveled safely; the vibrant murals that flanked their final resting spots as pictorial requests for divine protection. And you talk about them all with such confidence, such eloquence, that it’s as if you’re leading him through a history museum rather than talking to your phone as you do your skincare. He could listen to you for hours. He does, actually.

Around 1 A.M., Hyunjin stops typing mid-sentence when you come into frame for the first time, collapsing into your bed with a sigh of relief. Your eyes are soft and sleepy as they blink at your screen, strands of damp hair clinging to your cheeks. He feels his heart physically shift inside his ribcage when your mouth stretches into a yawn. It is the same sensation as the time you shot him a smile over your shoulder and he couldn’t move for ten minutes.

With that, his attention span has run its course.

“Baby,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s stop here, okay? You seem tired.”

You open your mouth as if to protest, only to yawn again.

“I suppose I am. Will you keep working tonight?”

“I think so. I hit my stride.”

“Text me if you have questions, then. I’ll respond when I wake up.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smiles. It copies onto Hyunjin’s face incurably quickly. 

“I had my doubts about this tutoring thing, you know.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, you told me this class was the closest thing to daily naptime you’d experienced since preschool.”

“It really is.”

“You also told me you would rather slam your tongue in a car door than read more than three sentences in one sitting.”

“I really would.”

“And you once referred to academia as ‘Virgin Village.’”

“Didn’t you come up with that?”

“No, hello? I live in that village.”

He grins. “I know. I just wanted to hear you admit it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, don’t threaten me with a good—”

“What I’m trying to say is that I didn’t think you would take this seriously, but I’m happy to be proven wrong.”

Hyunjin leans back. “Well, turns out I might give a fuck about anthropology after all.”

“Really?”

“No.”

You pretend to punch him through the screen. It’s so cute that he forgets to think before he opens his mouth next.

“But I do give a fuck about you.”

There’s nothing crazy about the statement. You’re friends, sort of. You manage his team. It would be strange if he didn’t. But the seconds that follow are terrible, a silent prophecy of something disastrous, like a cloud of rubble before an avalanche, the standstill during a star’s final breath. And Hyunjin’s heartbeat is hounding against his ears like a performance of traditional taiko.

He says good night in a haste. The call ends. He stares at the wall of his bedroom in a muddled haze for who knows how long.

Then he opens his texts.

Hyunjin: We have team bonding tomorrow btw Hyunjin: Don’t forget Y/N: i forgot. Y/N: pick me up at 6:45? Hyunjin: 🫡

He picks you up at 7:53.

You approach his car with your fists balled and your eyebrows knitted together like a mean old curmudgeon and he’s walking too close to your lawn.

“His fault,” Hyunjin says before you start yelling.

Minho simpers at you through his open window. “Hey, you! So glad you could join us!”

You fix the man with a judgmental glare as you slide into the backseat. “Aren’t you the captain? Why are you this late?”

“Whoa, okay. I would’ve scheduled this for earlier if I knew right now was honesty hour.”

“You did schedule it for earlier,” you say. “You scheduled it for way earlier.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me, Minho.”

“I can too. Tell ‘em, Hwang.”

“I want nothing to do with this.”

When you step through the doors of the arcade, you’re met with a surge of sensory input that you haven’t experienced in years. The air hangs thick with the smells of greasy concessions; everywhere you look are flashing screens and neon signs, stuffed animals and fading posters; clamoring against your ears are the sounds of games being won or lost, of balls being pocketed or launched, and of a horde of fully grown men spectating a match of Dance Dance Revolution so passionately (and loudly) that they’ve scared everyone away from that side of the room. You recognize the current competitors as Changbin and Jeongin.

“I’ll go pay,” Hyunjin says. “How much time do we want?”

“Infinity,” Minho answers. Hyunjin doesn’t move. “Two hours.”

He flashes him a thumbs-up. “And you?”

“I’m okay, I think.”

“No you’re not,” the two men answer in perfect unison.

You glance between them warily. “I don’t mind watching, seriously. I don’t even know how most of these games work—”

“There’s Tetris,” Hyunjin cuts in.

You purchase an hour.

One would imagine the point of the evening is to break the SNU men’s volleyball team, not to bond them. You’ve never seen so many strained blood vessels in your life. Nor have you heard of half the insults they spew at each other as the night goes on. Felix has to pay a fee for lodging an air hockey puck in the side of the MarioKart machine. Changbin loses at skee-ball and has to down an XL slushie like it’s a shot. It’s a scary amount of boyishness expressed in scary ways.

But they’re happy. You’ve picked up on it when they’re on the court, noticed the raw elation they emanate just from playing together. Yet, their closeness has never been more evident to you than tonight. The men are either laughing or making someone else laugh, arms draped over each other at all times, equally happy to celebrate victories as they’re eager to punish losses. It dawns on you at some point that you’re glad to be here with them, grateful to be a part of something so special—especially because there’s Tetris.

“Have you ever considered going pro?” Hyunjin asks over your shoulder.

You waited until most of the team was distracted to slink off to your beloved machine. Hyunjin tagged along, undoubtedly with the intention of making fun of you, only to be rendered speechless by your mastery. He’s been watching in a state of stupor, forearms propped against the back of your chair.

You don’t respond for a while, too focused on a precarious patch to even blink, let alone partake in conversation.

“I already did,” you finally answer.

“Sorry, what? You played professional Tetris?”

“In middle school. Then I got bored and switched to backgammon.” You pause. “Then I got bored again and switched to chess.”

“How do you look like this with these hobbies?”

Your run ends a few minutes later with a somber sound effect. You turn around in your seat with an anguished groan. “I think I’m washed.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You just set a new record by three hundred thousand points.”

“It’s a small pond,” you say, and an idea occurs to you. “Do you wanna try?”

“I get the feeling I don’t have a choice.”

“Then you’re smarter than you look.”

“Well, you look—”

His eyes move between your shoes and your face, and then his voice is an inaudible mutter as he sinks into your seat. You think you hear something along the lines of unfair.

“What was that?”

“Ugly. I said you look ugly.” He cracks his knuckles. “Now let’s break some fuckin' blocks.” 

When Hyunjin learns that the pieces can be rotated (so six or seven attempts later), a man walks into the arcade. 

He has hair the color of dark chocolate, the face of a fairy prince—and he’s with someone. The two of them appear arm in arm, laughing at something he said. He looks at this person the way astronomers do to the sky.

Something shatters inside you like old porcelain.

Your hands loosen around the back of Hyunjin’s chair. You can’t watch. You can’t think. You can only feel a void of disappointment rip open, stretch over you like an elongating shadow.

“Seung!” That’s Jisung, you think. “You made it!”

“Yo, sorry we’re late.” That’s Seungmin. That is undoubtedly Seungmin. “Dinner took longer than I thought.”

“Min, are you sure I’m allowed to be here?” You don’t know who this voice belongs to and you’re not sure you want to. “I feel like I’m intruding—”

“Hwang,” you say suddenly. “I have to go.”

He turns around, confused. An unattended block falls into a terrible spot on the screen behind him. ”Already?”

“I forgot I had an important call to make.” You turn away, training your eyes on the patterned carpet. “Sorry. I’ll see you around.”

You have touched Hyunjin’s hands many times. He’s asked you to tape his fingers every day since the first; he likes the way you cut off his circulation, says it helps him hit harder. But you never hold his hand so much as you examine it, the act stiff and unfeeling, cordoned within the professional pretense of athletic treatment. 

Now, Hyunjin catches your hand like a gardener repotting their favorite flower: delicately, careful of leaving its roots intact and petals untouched, but firmly, securely, so the flower continues to stand tall even when it’s been extracted from the soil, not even a speck of dirt slipping through the cracks between their fingers. That is the image you conjure when he slips his between yours, his metal rings cold where his fingertips are warm.

He says your name. There is a pinch of pain in the word, and you know that he knows.

“Do you want to be alone?”

You have never been asked such a thing—you have never asked to be asked such a thing—but, for some reason, the question brings tears to your eyes. 

“Yes, please,” you whisper, and you pull your hand away.

When you stalk past him, you hear Jisung notice you, call out to you, a note of worry in his question. You also count three pairs of eyes on your back: one concerned, the next confused, and the last you are wholly incapable of meeting. 

Unknown to you is the fourth pair fixed upon the top of the Tetris machine, where you’ve left your phone.

You emerge into the parking lot. The frigid air stills your mind for a fraction of a second, the last moment of mental quietude you will allow yourself that night.

Hyunjin’s right; the team manager doesn’t have to do much.

Coach Bang allows you to come to whichever practices and games you feel like, during which you might at most lug around a ballbag or fill someone’s waterbottle before holing up somewhere to do your own thing. But you like the people you work for too much to do so little for them, so you attend everything  your schedule allows. 

Last week, you could be found helping Minho put up the volleyball nets before practice, your laughter echoing throughout the spacious gym as he complained to you about his biochemistry professor’s distinct “cabbage scent.” Or running to grab materials for Changbin as he treated his teammates’ injuries like you were assisting an orthodontist giving someone a root canal. The dinner invitations you extended to Seungmin were always turned down, but his teammates were more than happy to assist you and Hyunjin in your quest to establish the best kimbap joint in the area once and for all. You even had a heart-to-heart with Coach Bang during one of the team’s water breaks, in which you managed to get half a smile out of the guy; Hyunjin was convinced that was his way of asking you to elope. You spent more time in the gymnasium those ten days than you had your entire college career.

Then came the arcade.

Five days have come and gone. You haven’t attended practice since, but you still see Hyunjin every morning at anthropology. The two of you sit in uncharacteristic silence for most of the lectures. You’ve taken the best notes of your life. He doesn’t mention the previous weekend; he doesn’t mention much of anything. 

In person, that is.

That Friday afternoon, you’re reading on the terrace of the library when you receive a text. It’s from Hyunjin, a two-minute voice note. You hesitate for a moment, stick a pencil into the gutter of your textbook to save your place, and slip your earbuds in. You listen to it.

Then you listen to it again.

And again as you wrap up your study session and go home. Again as you cook yourself dinner and load the dishwasher. Again as you shrug on a jacket and pocket your keys, setting off on the familiar trek to the gym.

As for what you plan to do there on a Friday night, long after the team has finished practice, you haven’t the slightest clue. You continue to move regardless, fueled by the feeling that there is where you need to be.

Coach Bang is leaving the building just as you’re approaching it. He halts in his footsteps and raises his eyebrows when he notices you. The man has always been difficult to read, but his face is exceptionally opaque now. Maybe it’s the shadowy landscape; more likely it’s the uneasiness that began to mount within you once you noticed the lights in the gym were still on.

“It’s been a while,” he greets.

“Coach,” you return, lowering your head. “I want to apologize for—”

“Save it,” he says, not unkindly. “There’s nothing to apologize for, alright? The team is lucky to have you.”

You manage a grateful smile. “I’ll be back starting next week.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He starts to walk away, stops himself, and glances into the illuminated building. “I would give him some space, by the way.”

Your uneasiness morphs into anxiety as you watch his broad back retreat into the shadows. You remain outside the gym for a few minutes more, accompanied by the distant melodies of cricket chorales and the muffled squeaking of shoes against laminated hardwood, the harsh sounds of flesh meeting leather.

Briskly, you walk home, rummage around, and return to the gym ten minutes later with your textbook tucked beneath your arm. This time, you unlock and enter the building without a moment of hesitation. 

Hyunjin is positioned multiple yards behind the service line, rotating a volleyball in his hands. A high toss, two resounding steps, and a collision like the crack of a whip. The previous ball has barely landed in the furthest corner of the court when he’s picking up the next, retreating to the same spot to do it all again. His tank top is the color of charcoal over his sweaty skin, his hair auburn where it’s plastered to his neck. He’s alone.

You only catch sight of Hyunjin’s face when you descend the stairs. His expression is crystalline, hardened with concentration and fortified by courage, but fragile all at once, rendered delicate by fatigue and fear, spilling from his every seam and splintering off his person like a broken vase. You recognize it as clearly as if you were looking at a picture of yourself from the worst years of your life.

“I was told to give you space,” you call out, and Hyunjin drops the volleyball he’s holding.

His lips fall apart. Nothing comes out of them. The only sounds to follow are your footsteps as you make your way towards the bleachers, a vertical wall of plastic now that they’ve been retracted for the night. You fold your legs into a criss-cross as you take a seat at their base.

“Is this enough space?”

More silence. You gesture to the volleyball nervously.

“Don’t make me go further, please. I’m not ready to die.”

Finally, this earns you a smile. It’s not much, but it loosens the nervous coils in your heart, permits your lungs to contract once more, and it remains on his face as he swipes the ball back into his hands. You open your textbook.

The rest of the night elapses in turning pages and soaring volleyballs. You don’t care for minutes or hours; you give him all the time in the world, as he did you.

The only time you glance at the clock on the wall is around midnight, when Hyunjin hobbles to the middle of the court and collapses. You’re worried at first. Then he rolls onto his back and releases a guttural groan into his hands, and your held breath comes out a laugh. You set down your book and stand up.

There’s a lake of perspiration forming around him. You pay it no mind and flop onto the floor, your eyes instantly narrowing beneath the fluorescent lights. 

“How do you see under these things?”

“I don’t,” he returns. “I complained about it to Coach once.”

“And?”

“He made them brighter.” Sounds about right.

Hyunjin spends the next few minutes catching his breath, his chest rising and falling in your peripheral vision. You sift through your mind for phrases of consolation or gestures of support and come up empty. You wish you had Hyunjin’s way with words.

But you think about the way his smile reached his eyes as he thanked you for caring about him, the tenderness with which he caught your hand at the arcade, the I give a fuck about you he blurted before ending the study call. You think about the voice note. It’s not that Hyunjin has a way with words; it’s that he’s brave enough to break the silences that you can’t, like he perceives your anxiety for the aftermath, shouldering the responsibility so you won’t have to.

This cannot be his burden alone.

You inhale. “What’s on your mind?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer right away. You give up on squinting and close your eyes. The lights are still bright enough to dance around the murky darkness.

“I don’t think I know how to put it into words.”

You nearly laugh; you know how that feels. “Don’t think, just talk. I’m here.”

The same advice you gave yourself seems to work on him as well.

“Do you remember Ishikawa Yuki?”

His role model.

“He’s currently playing for a club team in Italy called Allianz Milano.” He blows out a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to their coach, Roberto Piazza, for the last six months.”

The gears in your head creak in their effort to process the implications of these words. “Holy shit, Hwang.”

“He emailed again, this morning. Said he was coming to the tournament later this month, he’s excited to see me play in person, whatever. And it hit me, finally, that this is all real. Like, this is actually happening to me. I spent all of today freaking out and asked Coach to let me stay back after practice. Usually, it wears out my brain if I tire my body, but it only half-worked today. I couldn’t wrap my head around anything. I still can’t.

“I am who I am because of that man, and now…I have a shot at playing with him. I keep asking myself why I’m not—not happier. I should be bouncing off the fucking walls, no? If I told my past self that this would be happening to him one day, he—he would—”

You open your eyes, confused by the sudden silence.

Hyunjin is sitting up next to you, staring intensely into the bleachers. You first notice the tip of his tongue prodding into his cheek, then his shuddering breath. He lifts a hand to his face, pressing against his eyes.

You stop thinking after that.

You sit up with him. When you settle your fingers around his wrist, he allows you to pull his hand back to his side. But he turns away as if trying to hide from you; he squeezes his eyes shut as if that would obstruct your view of his pain.

You reach to cradle his face, bringing him back to you. The cuff of your sleeves wipe at the saltwater on his cheeks, push the hair off his forehead with gentle sweeps. The two of you are close, close enough that your lips would meet the space between his eyes if you so much as lost your balance. His gaze traverses to your face, but you resolve not to meet it. You know you will traipse into uncharted territory the moment you do.

“Don’t fight it.” You trace over the hill of his cheek. “Healing becomes easier if you let yourself hurt. Trust me, Hyunjin.”

His first name should feel foreign on your tongue, yet you suspect the syllables have accompanied you all your life.

“You don’t have to continue if you can’t.”

“S’okay.” Hyunjin lifts your hand away from his face, presses a kiss to the base of your palm. “I want to.”

You feel yourself stumble ungracefully into the uncharted territory from before; does he do the same?

“I used to play volleyball on this expanse of cracked blacktop, behind my primary school. It was pretty brutal on my feet—I blew through so many different pairs of sneakers my mom almost made me quit.” He smiles at the memory. “But every time I came close to quitting, I’d go home and rewatch the same USA vs. Poland match from the 2008 Summer Olympics I asked my dad to record, and I’d promise myself it would be me on some other kid’s screen someday.

“That kid would tell everyone who’d listen about how cool I am. That I’m a secret superhero. That I’m living proof humans can fly if they really, really try—just like I talked about the volleyball players I grew up watching on my TV.

“The other day, Coach told me that hope would consume me. I thought it was just some senile drivel at the time, but..I think I get what he means now. I would do anything and everything to make that kid proud—even if it meant losing myself.” He lowers his head, auburn strands falling into his eyes. “That’s what’s on my mind.”

Amidst the ensuing pause, a storm approaches. It does not come in the form of rain or snow, sleet or hail, no; it is a gathering of words unsaid and emotions unacknowledged, all emerging from the deepest chambers of your heart in synchrony. The same entities you used to scapegoat for all the times things were awkward between you and Hyunjin when you were the culprit all along. You and your blind cowardice.

The storm tears open the seam of your lips. You do not resist; it’s long overdue.

“Every time Changbin sees you, he turns into a smitten schoolgirl,” you say. “He is physically unable to contain how endearing he finds you. He told me so himself.”

Hyunjin looks at you with widened eyes. You think you can see your own reflection in them, and you are the spitting image of a lighter dropped into gasoline, unstoppable in your vehemence.

“Jeongin comes to you for advice before anyone else,” you continue, “even for things related to school—which I still find hard to believe, I’m not gonna lie. But you have his best interests in mind, and it shows in everything you do for him. Of course your opinion matters more than anything in the world.

“I know you think he can’t stand you, but you are the reason Coach Bang loves this job, why he loves this sport. It’s written all over his face every time he calls you something mean, every time he makes you run another lap, every time he looks at you. You’re like a son to him. Everyone sees it but you.”

“Then there’s me.” You pause to catch your breath. “When I think about what my life used to be, I remember a lot of things. I remember loneliness. Insecurity. I remember my books and my backgammon boards and the way I taught myself to disappear inside them so the world would never find me. I remember avoiding mirrors like a vampire because I didn’t like seeing my own reflection. I remember feeling like I had to put on someone else’s personality every time I left the house because nobody would want to know me for me. All I ever wanted was a place where I could be myself, love myself, without consequence. I have yet to find that place.

“But I found a person. Someone who wouldn’t know time and place if they kicked his dick into his body. Someone who thinks instant ramen is high in nutritional value because it comes with dried vegetables. Someone who sweats the same amount of rain the Sahara Desert receives yearly—your body is not normal, by the way.”

Hyunjin giggles; it is soft and short, a small, tearful huff into the quiet air that makes you feel like you’re flying.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you say. “Your sense of humor sucks and your taste in coffee is so boring and you are the one with no media literacy, not Professor Kim. But I love spending time with you. I love who I am when I’m around you. And none of that has to do with volleyball.”

The next time you blink, you discover that he’s not the only one with tears in his eyes. How long has that been going on?

“There’s so much about you to be proud of, Hyunjin.” You give him a watery smile. “That kid will be spoiled for choice.”

When Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, you fall into each other like going to bed after a long day. Your face burrows into the crook of his neck in your embarrassment; he is laughing and crying at the same time when he mumbles something into your shoulder: “I knew you cared about me.”

You are so happy for the comedic relief you could sob. It helps that you already are.

“How the fuck are you still sweaty?” You choke out, and you think you like his cologne after all.

Six days later, Hyunjin opens the door of his apartment.

A fun-sized flurry of black and white barrages into the hallway outside and almost runs headfirst into the figure waiting there. You fall to your knees like you’ve just been gravely wounded, emitting an ear-piercing wail to match. All it takes is a few good head scratches for Kkami to stop yipping bloody murder and start whining for attention instead. 

Upon minute five of watching you and his dog cuddle in the hallway directly outside his home, Hyunjin sighs.

“Can you come inside, please? My RA will think I’m doing some freaky shit again.”

You side-eye him as you walk into his apartment, Kkami perched happily in your arms. “What, exactly, does freaky shit entail?”

He smirks as the door falls shut. “You want me to tell you or show you?”

You turn to Kkami, disgusted. “Your owner’s a bit of a pervert, my dear.”

Kkami licks you on the chin. Hyunjin’s eyes narrow to slits.

“Traitor.”

Naturally, Hyunjin’s parents chose the eve of his final anthropology exam—and the week before the tournament that will determine the trajectory of his career—to ask him to look after Kkami for a few days. He nearly canceled their plane tickets himself, but his impromptu roommate is currently ransacking your face with kisses on his couch, and he thinks your laugh complements his studio better than any decoration. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” He calls from the kitchen area.

You meander over, Kkami (still) perched happily in your arms. “What do you have?” 

“Alcohol.” He opens his fridge far enough so you can peer over his shoulder. “Americanos.”

He stops speaking.

“Is that all?”

“Yes. Wait—and apple juice.”

“You are about to be a professional athlete.”

“What the Italians don’t know won’t hurt them. You want apple juice, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

“Maybe. Can you open it for me? My hands are full.”

Hyunjin does so with far less reluctance than he feigns. You thank him jubilantly, popping the straw into your mouth.

“Let’s get this over with.”

At 10:32 P.M., all is calm. You are sitting on the floor, your back against the side of his mattress. Hyunjin is where the universe intended: curled up in bed, both him and his laptop lying on their sides. You have studied eight out of ten units in only two and a half hours, and the night is still young. Kkami is but a fluffy, sleepy Oreo by your waist.

At 10:33 P.M., the Oreo begins to retch.

You startle a foot into the air. Hyunjin is out of bed and on his feet in the blink of an eye, the very image of a dog dad on duty. He grabs three different things off the kitchen counter with one hand and scoops up the long-haired chihuahua with the other, and then he’s kicking open the door.

Seungmin appears out of thin air carrying two heaping bags of groceries. Hyunjin nearly knocks him and a month’s worth of fresh produce down four flights of stairs.

“Hyun—Kkami?” Seungmin swivels. “Yo, what the fuck is—”

Hyunjin is already out the door.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin squats off to the side, pouring fresh water into a portable dog bowl. A little ways away, Kkami is throwing up ebulliently; a set of footsteps approaches.

“What is this thing?” Seungmin squats down next to Hyunjin, picking up the piece of patterned fabric lying on the grass. 

“Kkami gets sad after throwing up,” he sighs. “His blanket makes him feel better.”

Seungmin watches the chihuahua for a few moments, a soft flinch crimping his features. “He ate too fast again?”

Hyunjin rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. Nobody’s gonna take his food from him.”

Seungmin laughs. “I didn’t even know he was on campus.”

“I picked him up last night. My parents are traveling for work—they say hi, by the way.”

“I say hi back. I miss your mom’s cooking.”

“Me too,” Hyunjin says, smiling. “She would love to cook for you again—she’s always saying you’re too skinny.”

“She really is.”

A beat passes; it is then that Hyunjin has an epiphany.

Seungmin was the one who put a volleyball in his hands for the first time. Back then, Hyunjin was the lesser troublemaker between the two of them—a concept that neither of them can wrap their heads around to this day. Seungmin suggested they use the clotheslines in Hyunjin’s backyard as a makeshift net, despite Hyunjin’s dissuading; half of Hyunjin’s father’s wardrobe caught on fire, Seungmin had a black eye for a week, and nobody knows what happened to that volleyball. The two of them have been attached at the hip ever since.

It is a crazy thing, having your best friend as a teammate; a singular flick of the wrist or a point of his shoe and Seungmin will know exactly Hyunjin wants the ball down to the net’s fraying fibers; Hyunjin will be exactly where Seungmin needs him down to the flecks of paint on the volleyball court. Hyunjin has always been Seungmin’s hitter—Seungmin, always Hyunjin’s setter. Nothing will ever change between them so long as that remains the case.

At least, that’s what Hyunjin used to think.

Learning that Seungmin was in a relationship was as much a wake-up call for Hyunjin as it was for you. At first, he was just fucking pissed; how could Seungmin be so stupid as to turn down someone like you, especially when Hyunjin had shot his mouth off about his wingman services? More importantly, how long had his best friend of eighteen years been in love, and why was he the last to know? 

Only now, as they wait for his nine-year-old chihuahua to finish barfing, does Hyunjin realize that he can’t remember the last time he and Seungmin talked. Not “talked” as in a brief exchange inside the locker room or the lecture hall, about a new approach he wants to try or what Seungmin got on number four or if he wants a ride to practice—“talked” as in talked, about Hyunjin, about Seungmin, about the eighteen years they shared, about all the years yet to come.

Hyunjin sees his setter every day; he stopped looking for his friend a long time ago. 

“Yeonwoo, right?”

He senses surprise in Seungmin without having to look at him. But he also senses a smile, a subtle show that Seungmin recognizes what he’s trying to do—and forgives him.

“Yeonwoo,” Seungmin affirms. “We’re in the same songwriting intensive this semester.”

“Also a singer?”

He shakes his head. “Piano player. Performed at the Carnegie Hall in the United States at, like, seven years old. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so talented.”

“Wow, that’s—hi, old man. You done?”

Kkami walks over with his head hung low and tail between his legs, and Hyunjin hurries to drape the pup in his favorite blanket, pulling the bowl of water in front of him in tandem. Seungmin runs a hand over the top of Kkami’s head as he hydrates.

“You’ve suffered,” he tells him solemnly, and Hyunjin snorts.

“As I was saying—that’s crazy to hear, coming from the most talented person I know. You guys looked so good together.”

“Thanks. It’s weird. I’m happy.”

“You deserve it. You really do, Kim.” They exchange smiles, and Hyunjin gives Seungmin a playful nudge. “When are you introducing us?”

“The arcade wasn’t enough?”

“Don’t insult me.”

“Whenever you want, then.”

“Dinner with my mom, dinner with Yeonwoo,” Hyunjin recounts. “I’m holding you to it.”

“Bet.”

They shake on it. If Hyunjin wasn’t already reassured by Seungmin’s smile, he knows by his clasp around his hand that they’ll be okay.

“What about you?” Seungmin asks. “Are you together yet?”

Hyunjin knew this was coming. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Seungmin strings his hands together, letting them dangle in the space between his knees. “Someone you have questions for that you’re too scared to ask. Someone who’s lived in your mind since the day you met. There’s someone like that, isn’t there?”

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek. 

Ever since that night on the gym floor, Hyunjin’s been having these dreams. By the time his alarm goes off in the morning, every detail of the dream has eluded him, leaving behind only a ghost of emotion, akin to the breeze that grazes your face moments after walking past another person.

But then he’ll get out of bed, and walk to that café on the east side of campus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, he’ll order a vanilla latte with extra sweetener, then turn around to see you standing five feet away, holding an Americano and trying not to laugh. And he’ll just know, with everything in him, that you are where his head goes when he’s not keeping watch.

He still addresses you by the pet names you hate. He still finds any excuse to be close to you; he still pesters you like a child with a crush. But now, he calls you his baby like one wishes on a star; his eyes drift to your lips every time you’re within two feet of each other; he makes fun of your likes and dislikes only because he’s happy to know about them at all. Ever since that night on the gym floor.

It’s impossible for nothing and everything to change at once. Two people teetering on the precipice of something cannot withstand a gust of wind so powerful. He’s already hanging off the ledge, losing his grip; where are you?

Next to him, Seungmin lets out a soft laugh. “There is.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say.

“It might’ve been me, at some point,” he hums, returning his hand to scratch the back of Kkami’s ears. “But it has always been you, Hyun.”

Four floors above them and inside Hyunjin’s place, you are pacing between his fridge and his bed, nervously awaiting his and Kkami’s return.

Something catches your eye, wide and flat and hung on the wall by his bathroom door. You approach it curiously, your lips pulling into a fond smile the moment you realize all that’s in front of you.

Many of the photographs are of Hyunjin: him in his preteens, dead asleep in bed while dressed head to toe in volleyball gear, braces visible because his mouth is open; an action shot taken at what must’ve been a U21 match, the South Korean flag stitched into the shoulder of his jersey; him with half a birthday cake in front of him and the rest smeared all over his face. There are headlines, too: Underdog team earns district’s first high school volleyball state title; Hwang Hyunjin proves himself worthy of “ace spiker” label at South Korea V. Croatia U19 match; Coach Bang “Christopher” Chan leads Seoul National University to second consecutive KUL championship. There’s one—Who is Hwang Hyunjin? Meet the twenty-year-old instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution—beside which he’s written the singular word “mouthful.” You laugh; you agree.

But pinned to the corkboard is also a photograph of Minho, surrounded by stray cats in the alleyway outside a K-BBQ restaurant; his parents cradling Kkami in an apple costume; his high school volleyball team silhouetted against a pretty sunset. Him and Seungmin as kids, covered in grime and scrapes but beaming nonetheless; him and Seungmin at age nineteen, stadium lights on their backs, unadulterated elation on their faces as they charge towards each other, beaming still. Changbin piggybacking Felix through the hallways of the gym, neither of them wearing a shirt; Jisung offering Coach Bang a beer while the latter looks direly unamused (you make a mental note to ask about that one later); what looks like a Rock Lee cosplayer grimacing in the middle of your anthropology classroom.

You rush forward as if decreed by gravitational force. Not too far away is another picture of you, in which you boast a Miffy headband and a face full of foaming cleanser. Then another, your eyes narrowed like that of a sniper taking aim as you’re playing Tetris; you with so many volleyballs piled into your arms that you can’t see your own face; your cheeks squished by a bandaged hand after you lost a bet about pandas (they can swim); you clutching your stomach on the library floor, brought to hysterical tears by Professor Kim’s email. You, you, you.

You bring your pointer finger to this last image, tracing it over the curve of your own cheek. You see a dimple on your face you didn’t know you had. You realize it only comes out for him.

It has always been him.

The front door opens. A man with telephone poles for legs and a long-haired chihuahua in his arms appears behind it. You sense in him that something has changed since you last saw each other. The two of you lock eyes. 

It’s not awkward this time.

Multiple yards behind the service line, Hyunjin is rotating a volleyball in his hands. It feels solid and sentient, an extension of himself held in cotton-clad fingers. He knows how this story will end.

He moves his eyes to his best friend’s back. Four fingers flash back at him twice, signaling a high lob set to the left, the very play they’ve practiced tirelessly for the last five weeks. The breath Hyunjin blows out of his cheeks seems to crystallize in the air, almost solid in all its exhilaration. 

He bends low and throws high. His arms drop behind his body like a spread of feathered wings; his feet fall into place below him like a meteor shower, two consecutive strikes against the earth that fissure its mantle. The lights overhead are bright. His palm pulls taut when it slams into leather. He knows how this story will end.

The volleyball tears towards the ground. It trembles as if scared by all that it holds: the guarantee of a flawless denouement, the catalyst of a radiant future. Hyunjin’s heart is beating hard enough to crack his ribs when he lands back on the ground, when the volleyball lands in the furthest corner of the court. He’s not scared at all.

He balls his fingers into fists.

“JUST LIKE LAST YEAR, BACK TO BACK ON AN ACE—”

An arm seizes Hyunjin’s neck; another drags him onto the floor. His head thuds onto the hardwood with a sound he hears over the whole world detonating. His vision fills with the faces of the people he cares for most, some covered in tears and others rivaling the ceiling with their blinding smiles. He can’t feel most of his body; his sweat drips into his mouth. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

“—DEFENDING THEIR TITLE FOR THE THIRD CONSECUTIVE YEAR—”

His eyes find Seungmin’s among the fray. Their hands clap together with such force that Hyunjin cusses at the impact. Seungmin’s gaze burns into his with a ferocity that Hyunjin plans to take to his grave. His setter. His best friend.

He says something inaudible, but Hyunjin reads the words off his lips, and his eyes fill with tears: we win everything.

“—YOUR NATIONAL CHAMPIONS: SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY!”

Hyunjin’s post-game interview is a lawless affair. He is allowed at most half an answer before a new teammate is barreling over with an animalistic screech or a new friend is screaming congratulations from out of frame.

The reporter is visibly agitated by her final question, unpursing her lips to ask: “Is there anyone you’d like to thank?”

Hyunjin exhales. “You want the short answer or the long—”

Changbin seizes him by the head. Hyunjin bursts into a peal of high-pitched laughter as the libero litters kisses all over his face, nearly crumpling to the floor in his attempt to escape.

“Love you,” he yells before hurrying off. 

“Love you too, Bin.”

Hyunjin turns a sheepish smile to the reporter.

“The short answer,” she deadpans.

He starts counting off his fingers. He thanks his family—his first and last teammates, his eternal anchors. His other family, his actual teammates, the best boys he’s ever known. His coach, who will let him call him Chris someday. His best friend and setter, Kim Seungmin, who set a clothesline on fire once and changed his life forever.

In the distance, a figure emerges from the locker rooms. There’s a navy blue SNU banner draped over your shoulders, two overflowing duffel bags in your hands. Jisung and Jeongin run over to take them from you, and the smile you give them is wide and flushed, a remnant of the elation you shared from afar. The three of you start walking out of the gym.

Hyunjin thanks you.

You didn’t ask for the position, he tells the reporter, but some idiot roped you into it, and they’re all so grateful that you decided to stick around. You know the team better than they know themselves—it’s hard to believe you’ve been with them for five weeks instead of five years.

What are you like? What aren’t you like, is the better question. You’re caring, smart, strong; you see so much goodness in the people around you, all while unaware that it is your warmth that brings it out of them. Flowers only bloom in the sun’s doting radius, and so did he.

You have the sort of soul that incurs the scorn of the stars. They are the only ones to deserve you, they'd argue; you’re wasting your potential among humans when you belong to the sky, and they’d be right.

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek, suddenly annoyed.

“Why the fuck am I still talking to you?” 

“Pardon?” The reporter returns, but Hyunjin is already vaulting over the bleachers, making a mad dash for the exit. She gives her cameraman an affronted glare. He shrugs.

He explodes onto the concrete, looking around in a frantic haze. He finds the blue banner heading toward the team bus and flanked by his teammates with ease.

He calls out to you.

You glance backwards. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the area’s busy thrum. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram again, but he’s used to this feeling by now. Jeongin and Jisung make themselves scarce.

You’re beautiful. God, you’re fucking beautiful. That was the first thought to enter his mind when he spilled an iced Americano on your lap all those months ago and you looked at him like he hailed from another planet. And it is the first thought to enter his mind now, when he runs up to you and cradles your face in his hands, his touch infinitely, impossibly gentle, and you look at him like he’s everything that has ever existed, everything that ever will. 

Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes—if he didn’t have something far better to do.

“Tell me now if you don’t want me to do this,” he whispers.

A stupid smile crosses the face of the smartest person he knows. “My lips are sealed.”

Hyunjin kisses you. He kisses you until the banner around your shoulders is wrinkled under his touch, until your hands are tangled in his hair and aching his scalp, until the breaths you take are breaths you share, passed between your mouths like a puff of smoke before they’re colliding again.

He kisses you until he’s crying, again, until he’s no longer tasting your lips but your grin, and he kisses you only harder when those scornful stars start to dance before him, for you are his, not theirs, and he’s really won everything, now.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Six months later, Hyunjin sees Coach Bang standing a few yards away with a grim air about him. He stops in his footsteps and glances at his captain, confused.

“I know nothing,” Seungmin says, walking away. “Good luck!”

“Thanks, cap.” Hyunjin swears he’s had this exact exchange before.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace still reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. But there are two picture frames on his desk now: one of his family in front of the Sydney Opera House, the other of a band of boys clad in navy blue, draped over one another in exhausted bliss. The latter lends the room a much-needed sense of vitality. Too bad it still houses a rusty cyborg.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “Read.”

From: Nicola Daldello «ndaldello@pvm.com» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «cb97@snu.edu» Subject: Re: Allianz Milano V. Pallavolo Perugia practice game Christopher, Allow me to apologize for my delayed response as I shared your request with Chairman Piazza. It is my great pleasure to inform you that we would love for Mr. Hwang Hyunjin to participate in our practice game versus Pallavolo Perugia. The match is scheduled for Monday, October 7th, 5-7 P.M. CET in the Giurati Sports Centre in Milan. Mr. Hwang will be playing for Allianz Milano as an outside hitter alongside Mr. Matey Kaziyski, Mr. Osniel Mergarejo, and Mr. Ishikawa Yuki. Please let me know of your availability to call regarding Mr. Hwang’s travel logistics. His transportation and lodging costs will be paid for by the club. I’m looking forward to speaking with you and welcoming Mr. Hwang to Italy once and for all. Yours, Nicola Daldello Assistant Coach, Allianz Milano

“I told you, some opportunities just present themselves,” Bang says, turning his monitor back around. “As for next steps, I need a holistic calendar view of your entire month of October, including social ev—Hwang, is that foam coming out of your mo—NOT ON MY CARPET! HWANG!”

In a park about a ten minute walk away, a small crowd of elderly people are scattered across a few stone tables, hunched over the fading chess boards painted into the granite surfaces. Mrs. Choi whisks away Mrs. Baek’s king with a triumphant yelp.

“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! That opening is unbeatable!” She swivels towards you, shaking a fist threateningly. “You! Get over here. Your reign is over.”

You are sitting cross-legged in the shade of a broad magnolia tree, clearing out your storage. You tried to take a picture of a particularly rotund pigeon to send to Hyunjin earlier and couldn’t even do that. It was then you decided you couldn't live like this anymore.

“As excited as I am to beat you again, Mrs. Choi, I need ten more minutes,” you call back. 

She presents you with an unpleasant hand gesture. You turn your attention back to your phone, grinning. Two new notifications sit at the top of your lock screen.

Hyunjin: Omw now. Sorry had to talk to Chris Hyunjin: Same park? Y/N: yes Hyunjin: Who’s our opponent today Y/N: mrs. choi Hyunjin: Not that bitch again Y/N: ?

He’ll be here in eight minutes.

You return to the task at hand. You’ve already cleared out your apps, your documents, and videos; all that’s left is the audio files. You conduct a quick mental review. Surely you’ll live without your downloaded music and accidental voice memos.

Instead of hitting the “delete” button, you extract a pair of tangled earphones from your jacket pocket.

You go back to your texts with Hyunjin, open the shared attachments tab, and scroll for a long time before you find the voice note he sent you seven months ago.

He finds you a sobbing mess.

“Hey, hey, whoa.” He’s on his knees in an instant, gathering your hands into his, a world of concern in the brown of his eyes. Your earbuds fall out and clatter onto the cement below. “Baby, what’s happening? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you say in a flustered haste. “Yes, I’m okay. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s happening.”

“Did that hag do this to you?” He asks this question so seriously. “I’ll beat up a senior citizen, I don’t give a fuck—”

“No!” You let out an ugly laugh through your tears. “No, no. Leave Mrs. Choi alone.”

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

Eventually, your vision clears enough for you to look at the man kneeling in front of you. His roots grow out longer every day, his hair by now nearly equal parts gold and black. A spot of sunlight infiltrates the magnolia leaves and lands on his left eye, turning it the hue of melted bronze.

Your fingers drift to the sides of his beautiful face as you lean in close; he smells like a combination of smoky rose and tropical coastlines.

“I’ll tell you later,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hairline. 

He is dissatisfied with this, hooking a pointer finger beneath your chin, guiding your face back to his. He laves the saltwater from your lips, your tongue, and then you’re smiling again, barely able to remember why you cried in the first place.

You rest your foreheads together. “Have I told you that you look like a bumblebee these days?”

He smiles. “Does that make you my flower, then?”

“Because you’re irresistably drawn to me?”

“No, because I wanna put my pollen in—”

You shove him away. “You are grotesque.”

He returns in a flash. “You love me.”

You kiss him again. And again. And one more time for good measure, during which you mumble I do against his lips, and then you remember something.

“Why did Coach hold you back, by the way?” You pull away, tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Are you in trouble again?”

“No, no. The opposite, actually.”

Your brow furrows. “The opposite? What—”

“In this lifetime, please,” Mrs. Choi hollers from the chess tables. You roll your eyes. Hyunjin smiles helplessly.

“Duty calls, my love.”

“Tell me your thing later too?”

“Of course.”

You dust yourself off and stand up, making your way to the battleground. But not before you whisper to Hyunjin, “now watch me beat up a senior citizen.”

He laughs with his whole body, his eyes the shape of crescent moons, his mouth a little rectangle.

“Hypocrite.”

Hyunjin: [1 Audio Message]

This is my seventh take and I’m not recording an eighth. What you get is what you get. I don’t care anymore.

I understand if you don’t wanna talk about what happened at the arcade. I wouldn’t, either. I just wanted to say that you don’t have to do this tutoring thing anymore. I won’t be able to fulfill my end of our deal, so…yeah, it wouldn’t be fair to you. You’ve already done so much for us. For me.

As for team manager, you’ll have to talk to Minho and Coach Bang if you wanna quit. Doesn’t sound like a fun conversation, I know—but if that’s what you decide, I’ll have your back. They don’t scare me. Well, they do. But only sometimes.

You’ve been…distant, this week. I’ve known peace and quiet for the first time since we met, and I fucking hate it. I realized I couldn’t care less if you’re my tutor or my team manager or whatever—I just don’t want you to be a stranger. Maybe that’s selfish of me to say, but I’m tired of pretending the idea of losing you doesn’t terrify me. It does. It really fucking does.

I’m gonna end this here, because I almost just stopped recording on accident and I’ll genuinely commit homicide if I have to do all this again. Sorry that this got so long, and…I’m sorry about everything. You deserve better.

Come back to me whenever you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting.

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© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

[just-aake]

Detecting Love Part 2

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Sequel to Detecting Love. Can a spy who's been trained to lie her entire life show the person with the power to detect lies the truth what it means to be loved?

Warnings: fluff, light angst, hurt/comfort

Words: 5171

Natasha Romanoff lies.

Now, that’s to be expected, considering she is one of the greatest spies in the world. Ever since she was a child, she has been trained to be able to deceive everyone she meets.

Lying comes as easily to her as breathing, and deception is woven into every fiber of her being.

A charming smile here. A flirty wink there. 

Sweet words flow from her lips like honey.

Making everyone fall in love with all of the different false personas that she created for herself.

With a life and a past as shadowed as hers, it makes sense why she never even dared to imagine finding a person who can tolerate, let alone embrace, someone like her.

Then, she met you.

With your unique power to literally see through lies, you can detect the truth from her even when she’s at her most convincing. And despite learning about who she was and how she is, you accepted her unconditionally, not just as a friend, but as a partner.

For Natasha, being with someone who can truly see her is scary, and yet, that feeling is also better than breathing itself.

The two of you have been dating for several months now, and Natasha has never been happier.

Even if she sometimes occasionally struggles to express her affection openly in public.

As the two of you stroll through the compound, her eyes drift down once again in contemplation to your hand swinging casually at your side.

As if sensing her silent deliberation, you suddenly ask her curiously.

“Do you want to hold my hand?”

Natasha straightens at your question and faces forward, responding promptly in an even tone, “No.” 

Now that is sure to sound honest to anyone else who heard it, but you’re different.

Natasha makes sure to trail back slightly behind your line of sight in an attempt to hide the glow she knows you’d probably see around her.

You don’t comment on her evading action, but a faint smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you maintain your pace toward the Avenger’s personal elevator.

The two of you stand side by side, waiting for the elevator to arrive when Natasha suddenly feels the back of your hand lightly graze her fingers before quickly pulling away.

She narrows her eyes in suspicion at you, but you maintain an innocent expression, your gaze fixed on the decreasing numbers above the elevator doors.

Facing forward once more, Natasha is about to dismiss the action as an accidental touch when she feels it again – the fleeting brush of your hand against hers. 

This time, she doesn't hesitate to shoot you an accusing stare. Yet, you continue to feign ignorance, your expression a perfect mask of innocence. 

A couple of seconds pass before your hand makes contact with hers for the third time. 

Before you can retract your hand, Natasha swiftly catches it and intertwines your fingers with hers before letting out a defeated huff.

You don’t utter a word about her actions, but a subtle smile curves your lips, exposing your amusement at her reaction. 

With a soft squeeze of her hand, you pull her into the elevator, the door closing shut behind the two of you.

It's moments like these that remind Natasha why she fell for you — your ability to see past her lies, even the most trivial ones.

Once the elevator door slides open to the private floor, the two of you are met with sounds of a heated argument between the Asgardian Avenger and his visiting brother.

“I know you did it, Loki! This is not the first time you’ve taken and hidden a treasure of mine!”

“Oh, would you stop being so dramatic? We're talking about a mug, not some enchanted artifact.”

You raise a questioning brow at her, silently asking her whether you two should come back at another time, but Natasha shakes her head resolutely in response, not willing to let anything prevent her from missing her morning coffee.

As the two of you walk past the brothers, Thor finally notices the new presence in the room.

“Y/n!” he calls excitedly. 

His hand lands on your shoulder, catching you in place between the two of them which in turn pulls your hand from her grasp.

Thor’s other hand points accusingly at his brother.

“Is Loki lying about taking my mug?”

Realizing that you’re being dragged into the middle of the argument, your eyes dart to Natasha for help, only for her to give you a thumbs up in encouragement as she takes a sip of the coffee that she just poured from the freshly made pot.

The other Asgardian crosses his arms and snickers derisively at his brother.

“Do you really think that this simple mortal can expose the literal god of mischief? I didn’t take your stupid mug, and she can’t prove any—”

“He’s lying,” you answer plainly, seeing the red aura surrounding the Asgardian.

Loki shuts his mouth in surprise, blinking at you for a moment in disbelief, before pointing at you with a disdainful look.

“I don’t like her,” he states bluntly.

“Ah ha!” Thor exclaims victoriously. “You did take it!”

The two continue with their arguing as you discreetly sneak away to Natasha’s side.

She hands you a cup of coffee which you accept with a soft thanks before an alarm on your phone rings, showing your reminder for the day. 

You groan lightly in disappointment, causing Natasha to raise a questioning brow at you as she raises her cup for another sip.

“I have some interviews to get to this morning, so I’ll have to see you later,” you tell her before pressing a quick kiss goodbye to her cheek.

“I love you,” you whisper against her skin.

Swallowing her sip quickly, Natasha turns her head towards your direction, the reciprocating words also on her tongue.

“I—”

But you’ve already rushed away around the corner, disappearing from view. 

“…love you too,” Natasha finishes in a soft disappointed tone, her lips twisting at your action. 

Public displays of affection aside, Natasha has no problem wanting to tell you how much you mean to her.

But for some reason, you always seem to conveniently find ways to escape whenever she’s about to say those words to you.

“Now I’m no expert on relationships, but that right there was some cunning evasion tactic,” Loki comments, smirking at Natasha. “It appears that she’s not really interested in receiving such words from you.”

A slap on Loki's shoulder propels him forward a couple of steps as Thor reprimands, “Stop trying to cause problems for them, Loki.” 

He then turns to Natasha with a firm nod. 

“Don’t listen to him, Nat. Y/n loves you.”

Of course, she knows that. 

You whisper those words against her skin every morning when you think she’s still asleep and then again against her lips when you wake her up. 

The problem is that it seems that she never gets the chance to return the gesture before you find some way to rush away from the room or keep her mouth otherwise occupied and distracted.

A thud on the counter pulls her from her thoughts as Loki leans against the table with a mischievous grin.

“That girl can detect lies, right? Then why don’t you just tell her that you don’t love her, and then she’ll see the truth. That should be easy enough for you. After all, lying is your specialty,” Loki remarks before a smug expression forms on his face. 

“Unless that is, the truth is that you don’t actually love her,” he taunts.

Natasha glares at him silently, refusing to fall for his baiting provocation. Not wanting to give the trickster god any more amusement, she quickly downs the rest of her coffee and leaves for the meeting room, deciding to try again with you later.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

With the briefing finishing early, Natasha decides to visit your office during this break in between her meetings. Conversations flow around her as she walks past the front desk toward the administrative part of the building.

“I’m sorry, miss, but I can’t let you enter without an appointment.”

“Well, is there any way you can just send a message to Y/n to let her know I’m here?”

Natasha’s head snaps up from her tablet at the sound of your name and curiously turns to the person who said it, only for her eyes to widen slightly in surprise at their identity.

Your ex-fiancée 

Stopping in her tracks, Natasha redirects her attention to the two of them.

“What did you need to see Y/n for?” she asks.

Your ex turns to her at her question, and an expression of amazement crosses her face.

“Oh, wow, you’re Black Widow.”

Brushing off her awed exclamation, Natasha crosses her arm expectantly as she repeats, a slight tone of protectiveness entering her voice.

“Why are you looking for Y/n?” 

Noticing her serious gaze and intimidating demeanor, your ex fidgets with her hands nervously as she responds.

“It’s kind of a private matter with an old case that I need her help with,” she explains.

Despite being the one who broke your heart, your mutual break up with her meant that the two of you are still somewhat friends, and as much as Natasha wants to, she can’t prevent your ex from seeking you out, especially since it seems she needs your help.

With an internal displeased sigh, Natasha gestures with her head towards the direction of the elevators.

“I’m heading over to her office right now if you want to come with me,” Natasha offers, nodding at the receptionist reassuringly to indicate that it’s okay, before walking away without another word. 

Natasha hears your ex scramble to follow quickly after her once she processes her words.

As the elevator doors close with the two of them inside, Natasha pulls out her phone to send you a warning text.

I’m on the way to your office with your ex.

A read message quickly appears under her text, indicating that you have seen it, and then a text bubble promptly pops up as you respond.

?!?!?

“So, do you and Y/n work together often?” your ex asks, trying to fill the silence with casual conversation.

Natasha looks up at her question, tucking her phone away. She crosses her arms and leans back against the elevator walls, adopting an intimidating posture, as she gives her a hard stare.

With a calm yet assertive tone, she tilts her head curtly and replies with the truth. 

“She’s my girlfriend.”

An awkward silence fills the small space after her answer, and your ex’s eyes dart around the enclosed space, seemingly realizing she’s essentially alone with the Black Widow who just revealed that she is in a relationship with you. 

Sensing her nervous energy, Natasha relaxes her posture, offering a more friendly demeanor.

“Relax, if I was going to do something, I would have done it already,” Natasha reassures. 

Your ex nods hesitantly, acknowledging Natasha’s attempt to diffuse the tension. After a moment of contemplation, she gathers the courage to speak up again. 

“So, you know about Y/n and her ability?” your ex asks, her voice tinged with curiosity.

“Yes,” Natasha confirms, adding, “And about what happened between the two of you.”

The revelation hangs heavy in the air, plunging the elevator into an uncomfortable silence once again. 

Honestly, Natasha knows she shouldn’t keep putting your ex in these awkward positions with her responses. 

However, just because you are on friendly terms with her doesn’t mean Natasha has to be, especially considering she never held any goodwill toward the woman before.

Natasha redirects her focus to the digital display above the door, silently cursing and blaming Tony for the sluggish pace of the elevator. 

“I-I honestly did love her,” your ex confesses, breaking the silence once again.

At her statement, Natasha regards her with a raised eyebrow, silently prompting her to elaborate on her sudden declaration.

"I mean, Y/n’s great. It’s just…it got hard to imagine being with someone who always knows if you’re telling the truth or not,” your ex explains with a small sigh, offering a tiny sympathetic shrug before asking. “I’m sure you understand that feeling too, right?"

Irritation flares in Natasha’s chest at your ex’s words, her protective instincts surfacing in defense of you.

"Maybe the fact that she can see someone for who they truly are is what makes being with her so special," Natasha counters, her voice firm with conviction.

The remainder of the elevator ride passes in tense silence until the doors finally open with a ding, signaling their arrival at your floor. 

Throughout that time, one part of the conversation continues to bother Natasha, and she finds herself asking, wanting to know the answer.

“Did you tell her often?”

“What?” your ex asks, blinking in surprise and caught off guard by her sudden question. 

Natasha presses her lips together momentarily in displeasure at the topic before clarifying, “Did you tell Y/n that you loved her often, you know, before your feelings changed?”

“Oh, um, kind of,” she admits, a faint chuckle escaping her lips. “It’s actually kind of funny. Y/n would always have this cute little shy smile whenever I said it, so I ended up saying those words to her a lot.”

The irritation in Natasha’s chest intensifies at her answer, and her feelings must be evident on her face because your ex starts waving her hands frantically in a slight panic.

“But I’m positive Y/n won’t react the same way if I said it now,” she adds quickly.

Instead of responding, Natasha leaves the elevator without another word. 

Your ex’s reassurance does little to ease the irritation that she feels at not yet having been able to say those words to you herself.

The two of them arrive at the door of your office, only to find it locked with the lights turned off.

Just as Natasha is about to text you to ask you about your whereabouts, you emerge from around the corner, skidding to a stop in front of her.

Confused at your flustered state, Natasha gives you a questioning look as she asks, “Why are you rushing?”

You take a couple of deep breaths to catch your breath before answering.

“Because…I didn’t want to…to leave you waiting.”

Natasha feels her heart flutter at your words, her posture relaxing for a moment.

“…wow…you look good, Y/n,” your ex comments.

Natasha’s body immediately tenses again at the reminder of your ex’s presence, and she becomes further annoyed when she takes in the state of your appearance that prompted the remark from your ex.

You are in your usual workout outfit, a standard black tank top, showcasing your body with a gleam of sweat still on your skin, evidence of your workout session.

As if sensing Natasha’s increasing irritation, your ex gestures awkwardly in fear toward the waiting area some distance away.

“I’ll just wait over there.”

Natasha watches your ex walk away with a slight glare in her eyes. 

When she turns back to you, her expression instinctively softens with affection and curiosity.

“Where were you?” she asks.

“My last couple of interviews had to cancel, so I decided to go train for a bit,” you answer with a slight shrug. “You know, since you suggested that I try training whenever I’m bored and have some free time.”

Natasha's lips twist slightly in conflict at your response. She's happy you took her suggestion to heart, but now she's also upset that it led to you appearing in front of your ex in such a state.

Gesturing toward your ex, you ask, “Did she say why she’s here?”

Natasha sighs and shakes her head.

“She only mentioned that it was an old case that you can help her with.”

“Okay,” you say, nodding in understanding, probably already knowing what she’s referring to. 

Then you look at Natasha with a cute tilt of your head. 

“After I finish up with her, do you want to go out for some lunch?”

A small smile forms on Natasha’s face, her earlier irritation melting away at your suggestion. 

However, she knows she might not have enough time to wait and go out before her next meeting.

“How about I go ahead and pick up some takeout first, and then we can have lunch in your office when I return?” Natasha offers as a compromise.

You smile at her in response and press a soft kiss against her cheek.

“It’s a date.”

As you’re about to move past her, Natasha presses her hand firmly on your shoulder, stopping you and pushing you back to your original position.

You give her a questioning look in confusion.

“Did you take my hoodie again?” Natasha asks accusingly. 

Your eyes dart guiltily to your office before you mutter under your breath with a soft pout, “Maybe.”

Natasha nods slightly in contemplation, her eyes glancing at where your ex was waiting and then back to you.

“Put it on,” she says plainly.

You raise a brow at her in confusion and gesture to your body.

“Nat, I’m covered in sweat. I didn’t get a chance to hit the showers before you texted,” you explain.

“That text didn’t mean that you should come here all hot and sweaty in front of your ex like this,” Natasha remarks pointedly, crossing her arms.

A teasing grin pulls at your lips as a look of understanding crosses your face.

“You think I look hot right now?” you ask happily.

“Seriously?” Natasha deadpans. 

Unbothered by her signature intimidating gaze, you pull her closer by the loops on her belt and lean in with a slight tilt of your head.

“Are you jealous?” you tease lightly, your bottom lip caught in between your teeth as you try to hide your pleased grin.

Natasha rolls her eyes, though her lips quirk up briefly in amusement. She knows whether she responds truthfully or not, you probably already know the answer without the help of your ability, so she responds instead.

“Keep it up, and I’ll just come back with one takeout box for myself,” she warns.

You laugh lightly at her response, nodding your head in concession.

“Alright, I’ll put it on,” you promise, before leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips. 

As you pull away, you whisper, “I love you,” the words brushing softly against her lips.

Natasha’s eyes had fluttered closed at the touch of your kiss, but they snapped open when she remembered she wanted to say those words back to you too.

However, to her disappointment, before she realized it, you had disappeared from her side. 

Turning around, she finds you already in your office, putting on her hoodie.

A mocking chuckle sounds beside her, and she turns to see Loki leaning casually against the wall.

“Oh, you didn’t even try that time,” he taunts.

Without hesitation, Natasha raises her wrist and shoots a widow bite at him. It flies through his body, dispersing the apparition that he had left there.

Groaning in annoyance at his presence, Natasha quickly leaves to go get your lunches before he can reappear and provoke her further.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“So this is the one lie detector that you can’t beat,” Fury comments with intrigue, as he examines your file.

Natasha closes the folder promptly and takes it from the table in front of him, stating firmly, “Her name’s Y/n, and no, you can’t have her. She’s just going to help review the list of potential recruits for you. Nothing else.”

She gives him a pointed look, stressing, “Especially not any SHIELD interrogations.”

Leaning back in his chair, Fury chuckles amusedly and raises a brow at her.

“Protective, are we?”

Before she can affirm the lengths she would go to minimize the risks you have to take, the door slams open, and you stroll in, giving her a wave and a charming smile. 

You stop in front of her, taking her hand suddenly in yours and giving it a light swing. 

“Ready to get started?” you ask. 

Natasha’s eyes narrow in suspicion. Something about your behavior was off and unlike you. 

She examines your expression critically, and then in one swift, fluid motion, she grabs your wrist and upper arm, pivots on her heel, and shifts her weight, seamlessly flipping you over her shoulder. 

With a resounding thud, Natasha slams you down onto the meeting table, the impact rattling the room.

Fury whistles lowly with a slight wince, a mixture of sympathy and admiration in his tone.

“Tough love, huh?” he remarks to her.

Natasha rolls her eyes at his comment and shakes her head, reaching to her side to grab something. She takes one of “your” wrists and snaps a golden cuff onto it. 

Immediately, the figure on the table shifts from your face and form to Loki’s. 

His eyes glare at her as he gathers his bearings, giving a slight grunt of pain when he moves.

“As if this woman knows anything about love,” he scoffs, standing up from the table with a groan.

Fury hums curiously at the sight of the trickster god, turning to Natasha.

“Who let him in here?”

Natasha sighs as she crosses her arms, replying, “Unfortunately, Thor and he are on friendly terms at the moment.”

Loki raises his hand and waves his finger at her in reprimand.

“Exactly. Now, is this any way to treat a guest of yours?” he taunts with a smirk before his eyes drift to the cuff on his wrist. His expression falls in recognition. “Where did you get this?”

A smirk forms on Natasha’s face as she answers, “Thor lent it to me when I asked. Since I know better than to just take his things.”

The cuff in question is an enchanted artifact that temporarily blocks the magical abilities of the wearer as explained by the god of thunder.

Loki scoffs in disbelief, placing one hand on his hips while waving his other wrist at her. 

“Hilarious, now take these off,” he demands.

Natasha’s smirk remains fixed as she shakes her head.

“I don’t have the key,” she admits, tapping her chin thoughtfully before revealing, “It must still be with Thor. But I’m sure you’ve already apologized to him for earlier, so you’d have no problem asking him to release you.”

Loki scowls, his expression darkening with disdain, and then he swiftly turns toward the exit.

“It’s no wonder that girl doesn’t want to accept any love from the likes of you,” he spits out angrily.

Natasha’s lips twist downward at his words, but before she can respond, a knock on the door interrupts the tense moment. 

Taking a calming breath, she calls out, “Come in,” already knowing who it is.

You open the door at Natasha’s invitation, only to dodge out of the way as Loki storms past you out of the room, muttering angry curses under his breath.

Turning back to Natasha, you notice the telltale red aura fading from around her and wonder what was the lie that you assume she had just told him.

As you approach her, Natasha’s contemplative, sullen expression quickly shifts to a neutral one when she catches your concerned gaze.

Before you can question her about it, Fury claps his hands firmly, looking between the two of you.

“Alright, let's finish this quickly then.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Seated on your sofa, Natasha hugs a cushion pillow closer to her chest, seeking comfort as Loki’s harsh words echo in her mind.

Is it just a coincidence that you manage to avoid her every time she’s about to say those words to you? Or is it possible that the truth is you don’t actually want to hear those words from her?

You place a bowl of popcorn on the table in front of her, snapping her out of her spiraling thoughts as you finish explaining what your ex needed from you.

“So, I just need to submit my notes on the case so that the court can close it out,” you explain.

Natasha hums absently in acknowledgment, but her mind drifts back to her insecurities.

Was Loki just messing with her or were all of your previous evading actions really on purpose?

Unable to bear the uncertainty any longer, Natasha decides to settle this once and for all.

As you take your seat next to her and start the movie, Natasha initiates her plan. She quickly maneuvers herself over your lap, straddling you as her hands rest on your shoulders, pressing you firmly against the sofa with her body.

Your hand automatically rests on her waist and begins tracing light patterns against her side, but your lips twist into a small pout of confusion as you remark, “As exciting as this is, I thought this movie was your favorite.”

Natasha closes her eyes briefly, internally groaning at your adorable words and how incredibly in love she is with you. 

If only you could hear it from her for once.

Determined to not fail this time, she tries again.

“I lo—”

Her words are cut off, swallowed by you, as you pull her down into a deep kiss. 

Instinctively, she melts against your body, sliding her hands to caress the back of your neck, pulling you closer to deepen the kiss as she gets lost in the feeling of your lips moving against hers. 

Then, realization hits her, and she snaps her eyes open and pulls away. 

“Hold on, I’m trying to tell you that I—”

“I know,” you interrupt, your hand covering her mouth to stop her mid-sentence. 

That’s when Natasha sees it.

The fear in your eyes.

“I know,” you repeat, giving her a look of understanding before swallowing nervously. 

You close your eyes as your head drops to your chest, a sad chuckle escaping from you. 

“You know, in all my life, I have never been afraid to discover if someone was lying to me,” you admit, shrugging lightly. “I’ve always known that people can lie, so it’s never really surprising or hurtful when it happens.” 

You let out a weary sigh and look up to meet her gaze with a sad smile. 

“Except for that one time.”

Natasha knows what moment you are referring to — the night your powers revealed that your ex no longer loved you.

The memory flashes in your mind, vivid and raw, as if it happened only yesterday. The betrayal, the heartache, the crushing realization when the red aura appeared around her after she uttered those fateful three words to you.

Your attention returns to the woman in front of you, the one who helped heal your heart. The one who now holds it. 

The one who also has the power to hurt you in the exact same way, even though you know she won’t.

“I love you so much, Natasha,” you say with breathless adoration and honesty, but your expression pinches in fear as you continue, your voice trembling slightly. “But I don’t think I'm ready to hear it from you yet. Just…not those exact words.”

You sigh sadly, understanding how unfair your words are to her, and your chest tightens guiltily as you apologize, “I’m sorry. Look, I’d understand if you want to leave.”

You look away from Natasha, your mouth pressing together tightly, fighting the urge to cry. 

The silence stretches out in the room before Natasha gently cradles your face, bringing your gaze back to her.

“You make me happy,” Natasha declares firmly.

You give her a confused look at her words.

“Wh-what?”

Ignoring your question, Natasha continues, asking meaningfully, “Am I lying?”

Your eyes observe her for a moment, but you don’t see any indication of a red aura appearing.

“No,” you answer in confusion.

Natasha nods before continuing, “I don’t mind that your powers reveal truths about me, like the moments when I want to hold your hand or when I’m jealous.”

She tilts her head at you in question.

“Am I lying?” she asks again.

Still not seeing any red aura appear around her, you shake your head at her in response.

Natasha rests her forehead against yours, letting out a deep breath, before continuing, “I’m afraid that one day…” she pauses, taking in a shaky breath to prepare herself for what she’s about to admit out loud. 

“…one day you’ll wake up and decide that because of who I was, who I am now is not enough for you to stay with me anymore.” 

Your eyes widen in surprise, and you go to reassure her, “I wouldn’t—”

“Am I lying?” Natasha interrupts, not wanting you to worry about comforting her at this time.

Your eyes soften sadly when you see the vulnerability and fear in her eyes at her words. 

You reach up to cup her cheek, your thumb caressing her face gently in comfort as you whisper, “No.”

Leaning against your touch, Natasha lets out a steadying breath to compose herself for the final part of her point.

“So when I say I can wait…” she pauses, looking into your eyes with a serious and determined expression, making sure you can see the sincerity of her next words. 

“…I’ll wait for as long as you need so that one day I can say those words to you…am I lying?”

You watch her carefully for a moment, but nothing appears to counter her claim. Realizing her intentions to reveal her feelings in another way, your heart fills with love and adoration for her as you answer with a soft smile. 

“No, you’re not lying, Natasha.”

She gives you a gentle grin and cups your face, pressing a soft kiss against your lips before admitting, “That’s because when I’m with you, Y/n, it never feels like I’m living a lie.”

A breathless, awed gasp escapes from you at her words, and you can’t help but pull her in closer, her red hair falling around you like a curtain.

“I love you,” you whisper against her lips, the words filled with genuine adoration for the woman.

Natasha smiles softly at your words and closes the distance between the two of you once again, her kisses tender and filled with all of her unspoken feelings. Her lips move against yours with gentle urgency, conveying everything she can’t yet say aloud.

The warmth of her touch, the sincerity of her kiss, and the way she holds you protectively — all of it reassures you. 

It doesn’t matter that those three words haven’t been spoken explicitly — her actions, her presence, the look in her eyes says it all already.

Natasha may be considered one of the greatest spies in the world thanks in part to her exceptional ability to lie, but even she can’t hide the truth from you.

Without needing to hear her utter those fateful three words aloud, you already know the truth in your heart.

That Natasha Romanoff truly loves you too.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: Thank you for reading and for all the love that you all gave to the first part! I hope you enjoyed this one too!

[vnti-vnxiety-recs]

NCT Dream as crybaby tops (M) ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

wrote this while procrastinating instead of working on learning curves 2 hehehe.

These will give you whiplash how fast the tone changes from each member LOL. inspo from this tiktok (If you don't have tiktok anymore it just says “who actually likes crybaby tops who apologize mid thrust?”)

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, overstimulation, dacryphilia, toxic relationship, cock ring, mature, MDNI

Mark

Mark was a sentimental man who cherished every little moment. This year, for your anniversary, you didn’t do much; you simply spent the entire day together, spoiling each other and watching movies. Later that night, he prepared dinner for you, and while you showered, he decorated the room. Rose petals adorned the new silk sheets, and candles flickered along the windowsill and dresser.

As soon as you stepped out of the shower, smelling heavenly, he laid you back against the mattress. He wanted you to feel all of him—his heart, mind, soul, and body—it was all yours.

“I love you.” The words were passed back and forth between you two as he showered you in adoration.

He didn’t realize he was crying until his vision started to blur, your face becoming fuzzy behind a veil of tears. He loved the way you looked beneath him, believing you were the prettiest person in the world. He moans, the sound coming from deep in his chest. He wanted to be closer, needed to merge with you, to feel you deep inside his very being. The depth of his love moved him to tears, and he couldn’t stop crying.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffled, and you couldn’t help but giggle at him through your own moans of pleasure. He wiped at his tears in embarrassment, but you cupped his face and kissed him deeply.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re safe with me,” you said, your voice breathy as he continued to thrust into you, not slowing down despite his tears. “I love you.”

He vowed to make sure you would never forget it.

Renjun

Renjun liked to think of himself as a patient man, but the truth was, he had no tolerance for games. You, on the other hand, thrived on them. You drove him crazy, always pushing him to the edge, seeing how far you could get beneath his skin. Your relationship was rocky, constantly on again off again. You two had a long and messy past but couldn’t keep away from each other long enough to heal from it.

You were perched on the edge of his counter, swinging your legs and flashing a dazzling smile as he raged at you. "You think this is funny?!" he shouted, frustration etched on his face. You shrugged nonchalantly, and he gripped his hair in exasperation. He blew out a breath, trying to calm himself down. “You can’t take shit seriously.”

Renjun cried when he was frustrated and that was why you do what you do. You laugh as you see the tears begin to well up in his eyes. You loved seeing him break down, loved the way his entire demeanor changed when he was humiliated. His chest huffs in annoyance but you notice the bulge straining against his sweats, he loved this just as much as you did. He loved being humiliated.

He yanks you off the counter and into his room, tossing you onto the bed roughly. 

“You come into my life again and again and you ruin everything,” he complains while undressing you. His lips connect to yours in a hot breathy kiss. His words were angry, but his eyes betrayed a different story – a hunger that burned bright.

There were times when Renjun swore he was done with you, that he'd finally had enough of the games and the drama. Times when he vowed to block you, to move on. You knew it was all just a show to make you think he was serious but you knew he'd always come crawling back.

He moved over you, his body hot to the touch when you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. You moaned, feeling him sink deeper into you. You moan desperately in his ear, the way you clenched around him had him gripping your waist tighter. 

Other times he loved you, despite the chaos you brought into his life. In these moments, he was helplessly, hopelessly yours.

And when his anger settled, he would apologize, his body still moving with a rhythm that left you breathless. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Please don't leave me. I take it back – I didn't mean it." Tears fill his eyes as he apologizes over and over again between each thrust.

You would always have him exactly where you wanted him.

Jeno

He didn't like being mean, and he truly hated yelling, so he felt terrible for getting onto you. The way you immediately deflated and your smile faltered almost made him want to jump off the balcony.

“I’m sorry, baby. Just let me get it for you,” he said, helping you down from the counter. It was partly his fault; you had asked him to stop putting the flour on the top shelf. It was all the way in the back of the cupboard and you were so proud of yourself for not needing his help. You had climbed up to get it while you were cooking together. You didn’t notice the hot stove right next to you, and nearly burned yourself in the process.

He just didn't want you to get hurt, so he apologized throughout dinner. You had assured him a hundred times that it was fine, but he felt the need to make it up to you. He showered you with affection, peppering your face with kisses, offering an apology with each one. You were having ice cream for dinner, and when you offered him some, he cheekily replied that he wanted you for dessert. You didn’t stop him when he dropped to his knees.

He eagerly tasted you, his mouth full but still managing to mumble “sorrys” against you. As your hand moved through his hair, sweeping his bangs back, you watched him devour you. Warm tears streamed down his face, smudging against your thighs. He could taste the salt of his tears mixed in with the sweet juice of your pussy.

“What’s wrong, baby?” 

He didn’t know why he was crying; he just hated that you looked so hurt earlier, and it was because of him. 

Later, when he had you pinned against the mattress beneath him, it was you who was crying, as he took you again and again.

Haechan

Haechan didn’t know what the word “enough” meant. He was never satisfied and could never get enough of being buried deep between your warm walls. After a long day at work, all he wanted was to unwind and lose himself in you. When you looked up at him, leaning above you, it was clear he had achieved just that.  He was completely gone, caught in a trance from the way you sucked him in. He couldn’t bring himself to pull out. 

Overstimulation sent tremors through your body, but you welcomed everything he gave you, knowing how much he needed this.. His eyes were glazed over as he fucked  into you, mumbling incoherent praises against your shoulder when he hid his face between your neck and shoulder. He had cum already but couldn't stop, you felt too good. 

“I’m sorry, baby. Please… it feels so good,” he begged, feeling you start to squirm as the overstimulation became overwhelming.

He had fucked himself to tears between your legs, shaky moans escaping his lips in embarrassment. His eyes watered, his bottom lip trembled, and yet he couldn’t stop. He looked so pathetic that you couldn’t help but clench around him even harder.

He looked surprised for a moment before a smirk spread across his face, sniffing back the tears. “Pervert,” he teased. “You like seeing me cry, don’t you?”

You showed him just how much you enjoyed it by flipping him onto his back and riding him until he was gripping the sheets.

Jaemin

Jaemin loved coming over to your apartment just to be with you. Whether you sat in comfortable silence for hours, watched movies, or yapped away, he didn’t mind as long as he got to spend that time with you. Tonight, there was nothing on the agenda—just an old Lifetime movie playing on TV while you both scrolled through your phones. His head rested in your lap as you sat up against the headboard, one hand scrolling through your phone while the other played gently in his hair.

“Can I tell you something?” you asked, setting your phone down.

Jaemin tossed his phone onto the bed and looked up at you with curiosity. “Go for it.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” you warned.

Jaemin already had a smile breaking through, and he chuckled softly.

You tugged on his hair playfully. “Stoppp! I’m being serious.”

He sat up, grinning. “Of course I’m going to laugh if you specifically tell me not to!”

“Are you done?” you asked, half-smiling.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

“I think it’s hot when guys cry in bed,” you admitted.

Jaemin’s eyebrows shot up in surprise; he wasn’t expecting the conversation to go that way. A look of confusion crossed his face. He couldn't imagine crying in bed—why would he feel sad getting fucked?

“Am I weird?” you asked after a pause.

“No, I guess I just don't understand,” he replied genuinely. “Why would I be crying in bed?”

“Because it feels so good,” you explained.

He tilted his head, considering your words. “I don’t think that’s possible. I doubt I would cry.”

“Bet?” you challenged. “I could so make you cry.”

“I’d like to see you try,” he teased back.

The next time he came over, you sent him straight to the bedroom. You had sat him against your headboard, grinding down against his clothed cock as you slowly built him up. You stop your makeout to undress and to pull out your surprise. He shuddered as you put the cock ring on him. Stubborn like a Leo, he insisted that a cock ring wouldn’t make him cry, but you shushed him and pulled him on top of you. As you kissed him, your hands roaming over his skin, you raked your nails softly down his back to coax him into letting his guard down. You were going to ruin him.

As he slipped between your legs, the cock ring seemed to fade from his mind. He was focused on thrusting into you and the way your hips were grinding against him. You pulled him down into another kiss, this one deep and slow as you swirl your tongue around his distractingly.

You slyly reached for the remote under your pillow and turned the cock ring up to the second notch. Instantly, his hips jerked in response, and his mouth dropped open. “Shit! Fuck princess,” he moaned desperately, grinding against you. He bites down on his bottom lip and a shiver runs down his spine.

“Come on, Jaem, don’t stop,” you encouraged, gripping his waist, pushing his hips back and forth to help him find his rhythm.

He buried his face in your neck, trying to pick up speed. Broken moans filled your ears, sending heat through you. Each time he bottomed out, the cock ring buzzed against your clit, making your toes curl. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into you and pinning him down.

The cock ring vibrated deliciously, pushing tightly against him, and the sensations left Jaemin dizzy. As you reached your climax, you squeezed around him, and he lost himself in the moment, eyes rolling back as he came too. His body trembled, and when he looked down at you, tears filled his eyes. 

“I’m so sorry,” He slurs. “Fuck I couldn’t hold it.” Voice sounds wrecked as he thrust weakly, riding out his high. 

Once he had enough, he finally tapped out, and you stopped the vibrations. You unwrap your legs from around his waist, allowing him to pull out, breathless and spent. You watch as he collapses next to you, his chest heaving with each ragged breath, a mixture of shock and pleasure etched across his face.

“I told you so.”

[kwanisms]

Kinktober 「10:10」 — j.yunho

» ateez menu | yunho menu | kinktober masterlist «

➮ wereleopard!Yunho × fem!Reader wc: 3.3k summary: Yunho hadn’t been on a date in ages when he managed to land a date with his cute coworker, Y/N. Cue one awkward first date and a handful of other successful ones, Yunho feels like he’s starting to settle into his growing relationship. The only thing holding him back is that his girlfriend is so small and it drives him mad with the desire to pin her down and unleash his inner beast. He finally comes clean when Y/N asks him why they aren’t more intimate. genres/themes/au: angst/fluff/smut; supernatural, horror, thriller; non idol au, monster idol au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, reader is smaller than yunho by a lot mention of alcohol consumption, supernatural and horror themes, mentions of: caffeine consumption (coffee lol), office dynamics, work relationships, coworkers to lovers, leopard mating habits in the wild (lol); sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! taglist has been moved to reblogs join my taglists! kinktober taglist is closed! Strikethrough means I cannot tag you.  MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED.

a/n: i had a lot of fun with this one and like i mention in the smut warnings under the cut, Yunho's cock is... less than human lol. if that bothers you, don't read this. I'm not called monsterfucker for no reason! i don't really have much else to say about this so thank you for reading and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), size kink, praise (f receiving), unprotected sex (use condoms pls), use of pet names (baby, babe, sweetheart, kitty, little one, etc), dom!Yunho, sub!Reader, Yun has a huge d!ck (because of course he does), biting (f receiving), scratching (f receiving), non-human genitalia (because he’s a werecat, he has a barbed d!ck. Does it make sense? No. Do I care? Also no. don’t like it, don’t read it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i’m not responsible for your media consumption lol), I think that’s all but just let me know if I missed something. kinks: Size kink + praise dialogue prompt: ❛❛ Try to stay quiet for me, kitten. Can you do that? ❜❜

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Being a werecat had its advantages and its disadvantages.

For instance, Yunho was extremely agile, light on his feet, and fast despite his large stature. All positives in his book. He was always the fastest and most graceful in gym class. Everything athletic came naturally to him. 

The cons were it was rough on his dating life. In his teens, he didn’t even bother dating because he was too busy with school and sports but when he finished college and started working, dating became a strange and foreign landscape for him.

Until he met you of course.

When he first encountered you in the break room, he froze upon seeing your tiny frame at the coffee maker. He’d been working at the office for six months by that point and he’d never seen you before. The moment you turned away from the counter, stirring your mug of coffee, and your locked eyes with him, Yunho knew it was all over for him.

You were quite possibly the most beautiful person he’d ever seen, your light makeup and soft lip color. The cream and black button down blouse with sheer sleeves and the tight black pencil skirt that hit just below your knees, hugging and showing off your curves had him weak in the knees.

He was doomed before you even opened your mouth.

You quickly introduced yourself, stepping forward to shake his hand. The feeling of your tiny hand in his was one he would not forget easily. You were so small compared to him. It ignited within him the desire to protect you from the entire office. 

He learned you were part of the IT department while he worked in human resources. You were a transfer from another location of the same company and had just started a few days ago. Yunho took you under his wing immediately despite having only been there a few months but he knew if he didn’t act now, someone else might beat him to it.

You started taking your lunches together and sending messages back and forth. Yunho started to show you around the city when you were off work and you became fast friends.

That friendship for him blossomed quickly into a work crush but he never in a million years thought you might also like him and so when he overheard you telling another coworker about your work crush, his heart sank, thinking you had developed feelings for someone else.

It wasn’t until he heard you say his name that he perked up and realized that you liked him back.

It took him an embarrassingly long time to work up the courage to ask you out and when he finally did, you accepted his invitation for dinner immediately. He’d worried himself so much with you potentially rejecting him, despite knowing you had a crush on him, that he didn’t even have a plan in place for the date but he quickly mapped it all out, scoring a reservation at a really nice place near the river.

Dinner was amazing, the food was spectacular, the conversation was flowing as was the wine and afterwards, the two of you found yourselves walking by the river, admiring the lights of the city. Yunho wanted more than anything to hold your hand and when he finally took the plunge and took your hand in his, he was a goner.

The date ended with him walking you to the bus stop and you had ask him to bend down so you could kiss his cheek before boarding the bus bound for home. Yunho had ridden that high for the rest of the weekend leading into the following Monday and safe to say, he was already smitten.

One date turned into two, which turned into another and soon the two of you agreed to be exclusive. There were thankfully no rules in place that prohibited dating coworkers so long as the two parties weren’t in the same department which you and Yunho were not so it was allowed.

Months flew by and while your relationship progressed romantically and emotionally, physically was another story. That’s not to say you hadn’t kissed. Of course you had. Yunho loved nothing more than kissing you, especially when you were perched on his lap but it never progressed past that.

Yunho was afraid of hurting you. He was quite large, not just in stature. His nature as a wereleopard also meant that he was a great deal more… animalistic. He didn’t have normal human parts. Just like a male cat had spikes on its penis, Yunho had similar protrusions, albeit not as sharp but he knew that it couldn’t be comfortable, having those raking against the inside of your body.

On top of that, he was afraid he might be too rough with you. So as much as he didn’t want to, he often pulled back when things got a little too heated.

It was no different as he sat on your couch, having come over with take out on a Friday night, your designated date nights. That night it was a night in with take out and a show the two of you had gotten into together. Empty takeout containers sat on the coffee table along with a half empty bottle of wine and empty wine glasses.

The tv played softly in the background as you sat perched on Yunho’s lap, fingers twisting through his hair gently as your lips moved against one another, tongues meeting in a languid dance, neither seeking control. His large hands held your tiny waist as you moaned into his mouth, grinding lightly against him.

Yunho had started the evening with an erection, covering it with one of your blankets while you ate and watched TV but when you climbed on top of him, he couldn’t hide it anymore as it strained against his pants, begging for release. When you rolled your hips again, pulling away to leave a trail of kisses down the column of his neck, Yunho finally spoke up.

“Baby,” he croaked, voice hoarse from having not used it in a long while. “Hmm?” you hummed, kisses down to the spot where his neck and shoulder met, a sweet spot of his. You pulled the collar of his shirt away to kiss and nip at the spot, making his mind go blank briefly.

“I-” Yunho let out a moan as your tongue ran along the exposed skin. “I should probably get going.”

You raised your head, lips brushing against his ear. “Why?” you whispered. “Tomorrow is Saturday,” you reminded him. “We don’t work tomorrow.” You pressed soft, wet kisses on the underside of his jaw, one of your hands sliding from his hair down his chest. “You could finally sleep over,” you murmured as your hand continued its path, one that was heading right for the front of his jeans.

“I-I…” Yunho was grasping for a reason to not spend the night despite the fact that he so desperately wanted to. God did he want to spent the night so fucking bad. He wanted more than anything to take you to bed, make love to you and wake up next to you in the morning.

“Please spend the night, Yuyu,” you cooed softly, fingers moving to undo the button of his jeans. Yunho snapped out of it and firmly pushed you back, holding you steadily on his lap as he looked at you with wide eyes. You stared at him in confusion. He could only imagine what was going through your head.

“It’s not a good idea,” he finally said. Your expressions shifted from confusion to dejected as he rejected your advances yet again. ‘Fuck. Don’t look at me like that.’ He hated telling you no, especially when he wanted the exact opposite. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said softly. “It’s just…” he trailed off, knowing there was no easy way to explain his reluctance to you.

Never did he expect that you thought the problem was you.

“Do you not want me?”

Your question paired with the crestfallen look on your face made his heart break.

“You think I don’t want you?” he asked softly, moving a hand to cup your cheek. “Baby,” he said with a sigh as you leaned into his touch. “I want you so bad. I want you so bad it hurts,” he continued. “I’m just trying to protect you.” Your eyes opened to look at him. “Protect me?” you asked. “From what?”

Yunho let out a heavy sigh. “From me.”

Your brows knitted together in confusion. “I don’t understand…” you whispered. Yunho took a deep breath before speaking. “I’m not normal, Y/N,” he started, taking your hands in his, pressing his palms against yours before lacing your fingers together. “I’ve told you about the curse,” he explained, looking up as you nodded. “That you’re a wereleopard,” you replied.

“Well, there are things about me that look human and for the most part, I am rather ordinary,” he continued to explain, looking down at your intertwined hands. “But in some ways I’m quite… odd.” You let out an impatient noise, pulling your hands from his and pushing his shoulders back so he was leaning against the back of the couch, you leaning against him as you twisted your fingers into his hair, playing with his locks. “I’d say extraordinary,” you argued with a smile.

Yunho couldn’t help the smile that rose to his face. “You’re sweet,” he said softly, giving you a quick kiss. “But I’m serious,” he added, smile falling. “I wish I could explain it,” he continued with a sigh. “But it’s difficult.” You pressed a couple kisses to his lips and cheek. “Then show me,” you suggested. “Please Yuyu?” you added when he opened his mouth to protest.

“Baby, I don’t want to freak you out. It’s… weird.”

You frowned, sitting up and looking at him. “You are many things, Jeong Yunho, and weird may be one of them but that’s never deterred me before, has it?” you asked, tilting your head. Yunho smiled again, a chuckle rising up from his chest. “No, I suppose it hasn’t.” The smile returned to your face.

“Then just show me,” you repeated. “I promise I won’t go running for the hills.”

Yunho sighed and nodded, guiding you off his lap. “Just, promise me you won’t… freak out?” he asked as he started to undo his jeans. You nodded. “I promise, babe,” you replied, eyes wide with excitement as he undid his jeans, pulling the zipper down slowly. He raised his hips, pushing his jeans halfway down his thighs. 

You could see his cock already straining against his underwear, a dark patch of precum staining the fabric. It made your mouth water and soon you wanted more than to just see it. Yunho took a deep breath before sliding his hand into his boxers, pulling his cock free and your eyes widened as you took in the sight.

It was not what you were expecting. It was mostly human shaped, flesh colored with a bulbous head darker than the rest. A small bead of precum seeping out of the slit. The shaft was pale, veiny like most cocks but what set it apart from the rest were the small bumps around the base of the head. You leaned in closer to inspect, seeing that the bumps were actually pointed.

You looked up at Yunho. “Can I touch it?” you asked softly. Yunho looked surprised by your lack of disgust and that you were more curious and willing to touch him. He nodded, moving his hand to the base of his cock as you reached out a small hand, fingers wrapping around his cock just under the head.

Seeing your tiny hand on his cock nearly sent him over the edge but he managed to keep his composure as your fingers moved, dancing lightly over the head of his cock. “Oh,” you said, sounding surprised as you rubbed the pad of your finger over the spines of his cock. “I thought they would be sharper,” you murmured. Yunho was struggling to keep his breathing steady as you wrapped your fingers around his cock once more. He let out a hiss, head falling back onto the couch cushion.

Curiously, you leaned over, giving the very tip of his cock a lick, cleaning the precum that had gathered there. Yunho let out a gasp, hips bucking as you sat back up, giving him a cheeky smile. “It’s not weird,” you finally said. “I think it’s actually neat,” you added, glancing down at his cock. “I wonder what it feels like,” you added, fingers brushing the spines once more.

“You wanna find out?” Yunho asked, his voice dropping an octave. You looked up at him, meeting his dark gaze. Wordlessly, you nodded. “Yes,” you breathed out as he held out a hand. “God yes,” you exclaimed, taking his hand. He pulled you back onto his lap, pulling you into a kiss as you settled against his cock, the underside pressing against your cloth covered crotch.

“Fuck,” Yunho groaned as you kissed down his neck, fingers moving to undo the buttons of his shirt. Once you had it undone, you pushed the material aside, exposing his toned chest and abs. “C’mere,” he said, grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you into another heated kiss, tongue sliding against yours messily. “One second,” you murmured, pulling away.

Yunho watched as you climbed off him, tucking your thumbs into your shorts and slowly pushing them down, along with your underwear until it fell to your feet. Stepping out of them, you quickly removed your shirt and climbed back onto his lap as he shrugged his own shirt off, having removed his pants and underwear while you were stripping.

“Wait,” Yunho said as you grabbed his cock, lining the tip with your slit. “I need to prep you, baby,” he said as you sat down, sinking on his cock. You let out a moan, taking the head of his cock with ease. “Fuuuuck,” Yunho moaned, head falling back as his hands gripped your waist tightly.

He underestimated how wet you were as your walls enveloped him. “So big,” you moaned, pausing halfway down his shaft. “It’s okay,” Yunho cooed. “Take your time, little one.” You moaned, resting your forehead against his, your hot breaths mixing together as your body slowly adjusted to the massive intrusion.

As you sank further, taking more of his thick cock inside you, the bumps added to the sensation. Each inch stung, a dull burn as your cunt stretched around him. “Fuck, taking me so well, kitty,” he purred, reaching up to cup your cheek. “Can you take more?”

Without answering, you sank further until the tip of his cock was pressed against your cervix. You had taken every single inch without prep like a champ and Yunho would not forget it. Nor would he let you forget it. “Such a good girl, taking all of my cock. It’s like you were made for me.”

Your walls squeezed around him. “Fuck, you’re so tiny,” he said, as his hands moved up your sides. “Such a small little kitty taking my cock like a good girl.” The praise went straight to your core and you wanted more. As you raised your hips, you let out a strained moan, feeling the spines at the base of his cock head lightly rake against your walls.

“Oh holy shit,” you gasped, freezing. Yunho’s hands steadied you. “Are you okay?” he asked breathlessly. You nodded. “It’s different,” you answered. “But I like it.” You continued, more of his cock sliding out of you as the spines scratched the inside of your cunt. You sank back down on him, moaning loudly as the tip of his cock hit your ceRvix.

“F-fuck!” Yunho groaned, fingers digging into your skin as you started to move faster, bouncing on his cock, each pull dragging the spines against your walls and making you cry out. It didn’t hurt but it was definitely a much different feeling. It took ‘ribbed for her pleasure’ to a whole new level.

Your thighs started to burn as you tried your best to keep up but Yunho could tell you were getting tired and your legs were going to give out any moment with the way they were shaking. “Stop,” he gasped. “Let me.” Yunho easily turned, depositing you onto the couch on your back and was sliding back into your walls, as he pushed your thighs to your chest.

You cried out as he thrust into you roughly, feeling the spines on his cock drag against your walls. “Yunnie!” you whined as he fucked you against the couch, the room filling with the sound of his hips hitting yours with each thrust. Your hands moved to his back as he pounded into you, the feeling of his hard cock ramming into your cervix making you cry out.

Yunho let out a growl as he felt your nails raked down his back, the feeling spurring him on. Just as quickly as he started, he pulled out of you. He easily maneuvered you onto your stomach, re-entering you from behind and stilling there as he peppered kisses along your shoulder.

“Try to stay quiet for me, kitten. Can you do that?”

You nodded eagerly but the moment he started moving, you were unable to keep quiet as he slammed into you roughly. He never expected you to actually keep quiet but he thought he might as well try seeing as you had neighbors. They would just have to deal with the noise.

You pushed back to meet his thrusts, making him groan into your neck. You cried out in both pain and pleasure as you felt his teeth sink into your shoulder, his hips never faltering as he fucked you roughly. It was much more raw and animalistic than you’d ever had it but you loved every second of it.

“F-fuck,” you cursed. “M’gonna cum, Yunnie!” 

Your whimpers and moans urged him on, hips snapping against your ass with a renewed vigor as he pushed you towards your orgasm. “That’s it,” he breathed in your ear, letting go of your shoulder and leaving a deep impression of his teeth in your skin. “Cum on my cock like a good kitty.”

Your walls spasmed around him as you came with a cry of his name. He didn’t stop, chasing his own high as he thrust harshly into you until his own orgasm finally washed over him, releasing his cum into you with one final thrust. You let out another moan as his seed filled your cunt and he stayed there, making sure every last drop made it into your spent hole.

As you lay there, panting and covered in sweat, Yunho littered kiss after kiss along your shoulder, licking the spot he’d bitten down on before kiss up your neck and cheek as you turned your face towards him. “That’s why you were keeping from me?” you asked breathlessly with a chuckle.

Yunho laughed, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I thought you wouldn’t like it,” he admitted. “I can be an animal in bed, or in this case, couch.” You laughed again, letting out a sigh. “Next time, let’s do it on the bed,” you murmured. “More space.” Yunho chuckled. “Give me five and I’ll be ready to go again.” You lifted your head, turning to look at him.

“Again?” you asked, eyes wide. You were exhausted. How was he not? Yunho chuckled as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “I told you,” he replied. “I’m not entirely like normal men. I’m a wereleopard.” He turned your face towards him, pulling you into a kiss as you felt his cock start to harden within your walls.

“And in the wild, leopards mate up to over two hundred times over a few days,” he added between kisses. He pulled back to look at you with a devious smile.

“And we have all weekend, sweetheart.”

©️ kwanisms 2024 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works. All graphics made by me.

[lacroixqueen]

knee deep in the passenger seat of the honda odyssey (18+, deadpool x reader)

Summary: you and wade are on a ~secret undercover mission~ in a honda odyssey and smut ensues obviously

Pairing: annoying deadpool x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Tags/Warnings: car smut, dubcon, noncon, rough, stakeout

Fun Fact: first car I learned to drive in was a honda odyssey

You were stationed just on the outskirts of a busy beach boardwalk on a hot summer day. For some godforsaken reason, your boss decided to pair you up with none other than Wade himself on a stakeout mission. Your target was supposed to be the leader of a major corporate crime ring out on vacation with his family. The only description was that he was 5’6, looked like an average father, and was wearing a Hawaiian print shirt. 

That being said, you were fully prepared for being here all fucking day. 

Wade also brought up the brilliant idea of renting out a blue Honda Odyssey so that it will “look more believable” and “help us blend in” with the “American middle class”. 

Also, this entire mission, he has been unable to keep his eyes or hands off of you. It was annoying, really. He was so goddamn needy.

You were perched on the backseat, elbows placed on top of the armrest so you could peer out the window with your binoculars. 

Deadpool was laying on his side on the car floor, happily munching on a bag of snacks he stole from the convenience store earlier.

“If you are going to be here, can you at least help keep watch,” you said, unphased as he continued to crunch loudly on the concerningly neon yellow chips.

“And miss out on this view? No thank you!” he replied, wit as sharp as ever. He giggled pervertedly to himself as he admired how the bright yellow sundress you had on accentuated the curve of your waist and the arch of your back. And how the sunlight poured through the window just right so he could see the contour of your hips and thighs perfectly. He liked the way it glinted off your long hair that cascaded over your neck and shoulders like water. He could watch you forever like this. You were like a Renaissance painting to him. 

“You know, I don’t understand why you even agreed to come in the first place,” you mused to yourself. “Like, are you really that bored? Don’t you have anything better to do besides pestering me.”

“And miss out on an opportunity to spend the entire day with Y/N?” he chuckled. “You underestimate my priorities. Besides, being an absolute menace to you and people in general is one of my life’s greatest joys! It’s like snorting cocaine off a drag queen’s ass for the first time in a gay bar. You just can’t get enough of it. Only.. it’s better. And more sustainable!”

“You are unbelievable,” you scoffed. “Also, I highly doubt you are cool enough to do that.”

“You don’t know everything about my life,” he bantered back. “Besides, when was the last time you ever went out?”

“I go out!”

“No you don’t.”

“Whatever.”

“Or.. I have an even better idea. I can take you out,” he suggested, embellishing his request by blowing you a kiss and breaking out the jazz hands.  

“In your wildest dreams, Wade,” you muttered, sitting down on the back seat and cleaning the lenses of your binoculars.

He saw this as a challenge to move closer to you, kneeling at your feet like he was your lap dog. “Aw come on Y/N, don’t be like this,” he begged, placing his gloved hands on top of your knees, gently massaging the sides of your legs with his thumbs. “I know you like it when I give you attention.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “Don’t flatter yourself, Wade. I’m just here for the job. Nothing more, nothing less. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to-”

“Oh, but you are not excused,” Wade cooed, softly prying your legs open so you were beginning to spread apart, much to your dismay. “You see, wearing a sundress on a hot summer day, and on a beach boardwalk nonetheless, is easily the sluttiest thing someone can do.”

“You aren’t exactly the one to slutshame me,” you snapped back. “Aren’t you the one sleeping with a different person every night and then forgetting their name the next morning?”

“That’s not true, I’m a virgin!” Deadpool protested as he dipped his head underneath the hem of your skirt. “I’ve never given myself to anyone before.”

“If you’re going to lie, at least make it convincing,” you said. “H-hey what are you even doing down there?”

You could feel his leather-covered fingers slyly dancing over the fabric of your panties. 

“Oooh, I like this one a lot!” he beamed, tugging at the lacy waistband of your underwear. “Yellow stripes! And those cute little bows too. Y/N, you’ve really outdone yourself this time. Where did you even get something like this? Victoria’s Secret? No, too bougie. Target? Oh, I know I know. Shein.”

“Can you please stop?!” you exclaimed, trying to push him away, but he was holding onto your thighs with an iron grip. “We are working right now and in public for God’s sake. I always knew you were indecent but this is genuinely taking it to another level.”

He narrowed his eyes. “So it is Shein.”

You decided to ignore the accusation. 

“Relax, Y/N,” he whispered, pressing his index finger onto the outline of your clit and rubbing over it in teasingly aching circles. “No one can see us. We are parked far enough away. Also, who would even suspect anyone is getting laid in a Honda Odyssey? And if they do, I’ll just tell them I was doing your annual pap smear out of the goodness of my heart. Or better yet, just let them watch! I mean, it’s a boardwalk for crying out loud. People are here to be entertained!”

“You are ridiculous,” you sighed, ultimately giving him the upper hand without even realizing it. You leaned back into the headrest, trying not to overthink even though your mind was beginning to race. 

You felt him pry your panties to the side, and squeeze onto the sides of your labia between his index and middle finger. The smooth sensation of his leather glove running over you was enough to elicit a soft cry from your lips. This only encouraged him more. 

You whined as he slowly spread your labia apart with his two fingers, causing you to stretch and twitch. You could feel yourself losing, giving in to him. It was a part of yourself that you were not necessarily proud of, but knew would eventually fold to his antics. 

“Why are you so tight..” he mused to himself, retracting and then spreading his fingers, over and over again to entice you. “Like this has got to be a world record. I doubt I could even fit a needle in there.”

“Wade!” you cried. “If you’re going to go through with this, can you at the very least shut the fuck up for just once in your life?”

“Aww, she’s being so mean,” he cooed, ignoring you altogether. “Wouldn’t you agree? She’s being such a bad girl.”

“Yes, she’s being just awful!” he said in a high-pitched voice, contorting your pussy as if to pretend it was talking back. “You should really teach her a lesson for acting this way.”

“Ugh, thank you so much for always having my back,” he replied. “See? Even she agrees that you are being unreasonable!”

You were beside yourself at this point, forfeiting the battle and just gazing fondly out the window, allowing the sun to shine over your face. 

He poked his head out from underneath your dress just in time to catch this moment. 

“You know, you really are very pretty Y/N,” he commented. “Like, as in, I could absolutely see you on the cover of a magazine or a movie poster. Something classy. But not too much where it feels overdone, like those car commercials where the models are spraying themselves with a water hose. Just. Demure, you know?”

“Just shut the fuck up and eat me out already,” you replied, visibly annoyed at this point. 

Wade obediently dove back under your skirt, lifting up the bottom of his mask and blowing hot air gently onto your clit. He planted a soft kiss over the top of it, ensuring that both of his lips fully engulfed your most sensitive part. He smirked to himself when he noticed your legs instinctively resting themselves over his shoulders. 

You sighed as you felt his tongue flicker mischievously over your warm petals, his thumbs rubbing the divots of your inner thighs like they knew exactly what they were doing. He kissed every part of you so carefully and thoughtfully, as if he wanted to make sure you felt taken care of. His gentleness pleasantly surprised you, as you were unsure he was even capable of being so delicate. 

You felt one of the straps of your sundress slowly beginning to slide off, as you lightly placed your hand on top of his head, encouraging him to go even harder. You tossed your head back when he pierced your hole with his hot tongue, softly saying his name over and over again in affirmation. 

He liked to tease you, occasionally slowing down for an extended period of time, only for you to say “Keep going! Why did you stop?” He particularly enjoyed watching you blush and become so frazzled you couldn’t even form a proper sentence while he went down on you. But he liked seeing you get exasperated and worked up when he purposefully paused even more. He loved to elicit every type of emotion from you with his tongue. It made him feel like he had power over you.

Next thing you know, he had you pushed up against the car seat, with your dress rolled up to your waist, pounding into you for what felt like hours. He liked to use the seatbelt to wrap around your neck, choking you enough so you could barely catch your breath. 

“W-Wade,” you stammered, wet pussy dripping all over the Honda Odyssey as he continued to ram relentlessly into you. From an outsider’s perspective, the vehicle was shaking very suspiciously. “We should.. probably.. get back to the mission..”

“And miss out on the big finale?” he asked, his hand gripping onto the curve of your waist. “Now why exactly would I do that?”

“B-because i-if we don’t, I.. we, the target..” you sighed, unable to string together a coherent thought because he was so damn rough you could hardly think. 

You yelped as he smacked your ass with enough rigor to shake the backseat. 

“Something that always bothered me about you, Y/N, is that you are always so worried about the stupid shit,” he muttered, sliding his hand over your backside to prepare to spank you one more time. “You never.” Slap. “Fucking.” Smack. “Listen.” 

“So when I tell you that you need to relax..” he continued, one of his hands reaching over and gripping the back of your neck. “You are going to relax. Okay?”

“Y-yes sir,” you stammered, gripping onto the shoulder rest of the back seat for dear life, as he began to increase his speed and intensity again. 

“That’s a good girl,” he said, smiling to himself. “Isn’t that right?” He tilted his head to the side as if to strike up a casual conversation with your pussy. “She’s being such a good girl, huh?”

He proceeded to mimic choking and sputtering noises. 

“That’s okay, I know you have your mouth full,” he responded, trying not to laugh too hard at his own joke. 

As he was about to push in even deeper, the walkie talkie in the front seat suddenly went off. 

“Hey, is anyone even there?” the voice called out. “We’ve been paging you for hours. I’ve got eyes on the target right now. Six o’ clock. Don’t fuck this up. Over.”

You both froze mid-motion, looking towards the front of the car and then once back at each other. Without needing to exchange a word, you both sprung back into action. Wade tossed you your panties and you quickly pushed your dress straps back on over your shoulders. You managed to crawl your way over to the front, since your legs were hardly functioning at this point. Sluggishly, you picked up the walkie talkie and brought it up to your mouth. 

“Heard,” you said wearily.

[formulawolff]

vi. morning confessional - t.w.

pairing: female driver! x toto wolff

word count: 2.5k

warnings: i typed this entire chapter on my phone while i was at work, so if there are any spelling errors, oopsies! cursing, age gaps, power imbalances, yearning, tons of yearning, oral (f! receiving), mentions of sex, teasing, slight praise kink, slight size kink, yadayadayada

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rays of sunlight filter through the curtains, causing you to stir. scrunching your nose, a yawn takes hold. at the action, his arms instinctively pull you in closer, smothering your face in his chest.

“good morning.”

“good morning beautiful girl,” his voice is thick with sleep, and oh so sexy, “how did you sleep?”

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“better than usual.”

“me too,” soft lips connect with your temple, “what time is it?”

yawning once more, you roll over, plucking your phone off the nightstand.

“8:38 a.m.”

“shit.”

“somewhere to be?”

“yes,” the team principal groans, rubbing his eyes, “unfortunately i am running very late for it. i’ll just let my assistant know i can’t make it.”

“oops,” you shrug, collapsing back into his arms, “why can’t you just stay every night?”

“you know why, schatzi,” he murmurs, squeezing you, “this is going to be a long two weeks.”

“awww,” you tease, ruffling his hair, “is someone going to miss me?”

“you have no idea.”

“we’ll be in japan. that will surely be exciting,” you begin to run your hand through his hair, melting as his lashes flutter.

“and you know what comes after japan.”

“miami,” you suck in a breath, “that still gives me some time to consider everything.”

“just don’t overthink it,” one eye opens, “if you overdo it, you’ll start to reconsider every little thing.”

“i know,” you exhale, “it’s just overwhelming. i don’t like disappointing people either.”

“oh i know,” toto leans in, the tip of his nose brushing yours, “you tend to put on this facade that you’re selfish, doing things only for your gain. however, i have learned that deep down, you’re a huge people pleaser. that’s why you’ve been dragging your feet in giving me your answer. you don’t want hurt james. you don’t want to disappoint the team. most of all, you don’t want to face the backlash that will follow.”

your lower lip trembles, tears welling up in your eyes. they threaten to spill over, and his brows furrow, “oh schatzi, i didn’t mean to hurt your—“

“no,” you sniffle, “i just hate that you’re right.”

“you don’t have to spend your life pleasing others, you know,” his arms engulf you in an embrace, rubbing circles on your back as you weep into his chest, “you’re allowed to make decisions for yourself. you need to do what you feel is best.”

“but there’s just one thing that i can’t shake,” the words are barely coherent, but he hears them anyway.

“and that is?” he inquires, kneading into your shoulder blades.

“i want to be with you at mercedes. i’m just scared that if something happens between us, i’ll regret my decision.”

“us?”

your eyes snap open, panic settling in, “i-i, um, i — i didn’t mean anything by that, i just—“

“you want an us?” fingers grasp your chin, tilting your head to meet his gaze.

“i-i mean,” your voice falters, “isn’t it inevitably going to happen if we keep seeing one another? one of us is going to develop feelings and we’re going to—“

lips crash into yours, nearly knocking the wind out of your lungs. it’s a passionate kiss, needy and brimmed with hunger. fingers tangle in your hair, tugging at the roots as you whimper, his tongue licking along your lower lip. he sucks on it, the hand on your back delving lower and lower, gripping the curve of your ass.

a noise rumbles in the base of this throat as you suck on his tongue, the kisses growing sloppier and messier by the second. the noise is guttural, almost like a growl.

he pulls away momentarily, panting slightly, “who is to say that the feelings aren’t already there?”

“toto you don’t—“

“i do,” shifting his weight, he pins you to the bed, “like i said, i didn’t have a crush. i can’t stop thinking about you. every single time i think about racing, or my drivers, or even mercedes in general, my thoughts wander to you.”

as he takes you in, you can’t help but gaze into his eyes, your hand reaching out. fingers brush his cheek tenderly, tracing the lines that scoured his face. his lashes flutter at your touch, his chest heaving as your fingertips wander, memorizing every minuscule detail.

your fingertips land on his lips, “i just need to know one thing.”

“what is it, love?”

“this offer, signing me as a driver to mercedes. is it business or is it personal?” preparing for the worst, you feel yourself instinctively shy away.

yet, he isn’t fazed, maintaining eye contact, “do you want my honest answer?”

“of course i do.”

“personal. completely personal,” there’s a glint in his mocha depths, an emotion you couldn’t quite read.

“ever since i saw that photo of you, signing that contract with williams, i knew i wouldn’t be able to resist you. i tried, i really tried to maintain my distance. to stay away. but i can’t. there’s something about you that draws me in. i don’t quite know what, but i know that i need you by my side. at mercedes, where i can make you a world champion. my world champion. i would make my golden girl a world champion.”

“toto,” you begin, but he continues, pressing a finger to your mouth.

“yes, it would be good for mercedes to sign on a driver with your talent. our reputation would benefit. you have the qualities of a mercedes driver. but this isn’t about business. this is personal. it always has been. it always will be.”

“i-i,” you stutter, the temperature of the room elevated as toto’s mouth inches closer and closer to yours, “i don’t know—“

“you don’t have to say anything right now,” his voice is low and thready, consumed with desire, “i know it’s a lot. there’s a lot to consider and a lot at stake. but for now, just focus on me. can you do that for me baby?”

nodding meekly, anticipation takes a hold as he lowers his head, mouth connecting with your heated skin. the kisses travel further and further down, his hands finding yours, intertwining your fingers together.

“so beautiful,” he whispers, “so, so, so breathtaking.”

“so are you—“

a moan fills the space as his mouth envelops your clit through your panties. he groans at your reaction, knuckles turning white as you squirm, gripping your hands tightly.

“take them off, please.”

“so you do beg,” he taunts, his breath hot as it fans against your inner thighs, “what do you need again, schatzi?”

“i need you,” you whimper, dripping with desire, “i need you, toto wolff.”

“i’ll take care of you baby,” his pupils are dilated, blush tinging his cheeks, “just relax, and let me take care of you.”

at the sight of you beneath him, aching for his touch, toto nearly unravels.

was he dreaming? or was this heaven?

god, you were so fucking beautiful like this. all needy and desperate. between your thighs, he couldn’t help but notice the wet spot pooling in your panties. goosebumps riddled your arms and legs, yet your skin was so soft and warm.

you were practically inviting him in.

and how could he resist?

“is this okay?” the team principal tugs on the hem of your panties.

“yes,” the corners of his lips curl into a smirk at your quick response, “please, toto.”

dragging the fabric down your legs, he relishes how they glow in the morning light.

every part of you was so beautiful. every. single. part.

“open your legs,” strong hands grasp your thighs, the command sending a shiver down your spine, “i need to see that perfect pussy.”

you can’t help but obey, shielding your face instinctively as he situates himself, mouth merely centimeters from your drenched pussy.

if your body was an altar, toto was prepared to worship, savoring and praising every inch of you until there was nothing left.

“don’t hide,” he tuts, “i want you to watch.”

“but—“

a hand, your hand, covers your mouth as his tongue delves between your folds, your back arching. fingertips dig into your hips, holding you in place.

toto was a starving man. and fuck, did you taste so fucking good.

he couldn’t get enough, the tip of his nose brushing against your clit as his tongue explores every inch of you. his tongue applies pressure to your clit as he sucks lightly, swirling in circles as you buck your hips.

“oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”

toto didn’t have to ask if you were close. he could sense it, the way your muscles were beginning to tense up. the way your hips rocked back and forth, practically riding his tongue. the way your voice was growing louder and louder, yearning for more and more.

already this close and he had barely even started?

fuck, was he going to have fun with you.

“toto,” there it was again, his name from your lips, “toto, i’m going to — you’re going to make me cum.”

“you deserve it,” he pulls away, mouth and chin glistening, “you deserve it baby. cum for me. be a good girl and cum for me.”

the words coax you to the edge, and you feel a finger wedge its way into your tight hole, your walls stretch, adjusting to the size of his finger. just as you get used to one, he shoves another inside, pumping them in and out, curling once they’re inside.

the euphoria crashes over you like a tidal wave as his mouth plants kisses over your clit, practically making out with your pussy. you feel your walls close in, the pleasure wound up tightly in your lower abdomen.

“toto,” you’re almost breathless, “i-i’m going to cum.”

moans flood toto’s ears as you orgasm, your thighs squeezing against his ears. your muscles twitch and shudder, juices dribbling down his chin.

pressing one last kiss to your pussy, he catches his breath, wiping his chin.

before you know it, two fingers are pressed against your lips, “taste yourself.”

opening wide, your tongue dances along the digits, licking them clean. toto watches in awe, a fiery hunger burning within.

it took every fiber of his being not to just spread you open again, filling you up, claiming you.

claiming what was rightfully his.

“oh my god,” you exhale, scrambling to muster a single coherent thought, “that was—“

“you’ll get more.”

your back meets with the mattress once again, hands on your head, “holy shit.”

“never had a man make you cum like that before?” you want to slap the smug smirk off his face.

but you stop yourself, feeling a frown form as he plucks his clothes off of the floor, shoving his legs into his slacks.

“leaving so soon?”

“i have to go,” relief ripples from your head to your toes as you sense his disappointment. he was just as upset to go, “i want to stay baby, but i have about sixty-two missed calls and seventy texts. they’re wondering where i am and i need to get going.”

“that’s all right,” reaching for own phone, you wonder if you were in a similar predicament.

you couldn’t quite remember, but you were sure you had missed a few meetings. one of them was more than likely with the press. one was probably a team meeting before the next destination.

“what’s going to be your excuse?”

toto pauses momentarily, leaning over to give you a swift peck, “the answer is simple. they won’t get one. they don’t need to know where i was.”

“someone’s grumpy,” you giggle as you notice the prominent frown.

“yeah i am.”

“and why’s that?” you arch a brow.

“because i want to fuck the shit out of you,” the casual delivery has you reeling, your heart fluttering as he shoves his arms into his dress shirt.

“i want to watch you cum again and again and again. but i can’t. i have to go about my day as if i didn’t just taste pure ambrosia on my tongue. i have to sit there and answer phone calls, emails, my team, and act like nothing ever happened.”

“is it hard for you?”

“of course it’s hard,” toto runs a hand through his hair, and you pick out the tightness of his jaw as he speaks, “i want to tell someone. i want to tell someone how the most beautiful woman in the world has me wrapped around her finger. how i’m putty in her hands. but i can’t.”

“toto, i—“

“i hate to interrupt you,” he crosses over to the bed once again, scooping you up in his embrace, “but i really have to go. i’ll text you, okay? maybe we can rendezvous at some point in these next few weeks. i’ll fly you out. you wouldn’t have to pay a single penny.”

“okay,” you nod, inhaling his scent one last time, attempting to memorize the way his arms feel around your frame. it was far too quick, toto pulling away, tousling your hair.

“be a good girl for me. i’ll see you soon.”

“i’ll see you soon, toto.”

and just like that, he was gone.

biting your lip, you curl up on the mattress, throwing the comforter over your body.

you shouldn’t cry. not over this.

but why did you feel that urge? why was it becoming increasingly more difficult to focus on anything other than the team principal?

yeah, you had a crush on him. that was years ago, when you were a teenager. that was innocent, a young girl swooning over a man nearly three times her age.

now, that crush was developing into something much more. something far more complex that you could have ever imagined.

you were falling head over heels for toto wolff, whether you liked it or not.

and you couldn’t fight it, no matter how hard you tried to push those feelings away. you had tried to seal them away in a box, throwing out the key.

somehow toto had found that damn key.

he was the key, really.

and who knew what would happen if you opened the lid to that box.

however, there were far more pressing matters.

picking up your phone, you scroll through your messages, notifications, and emails.

there was nothing too crazy you missed, just a quick debrief before you all left for home for the next week or so.

although, one particular text caught your eye.

it was james, sent about fifteen minutes ago.

good morning, american girl! i’m not sure if you’re aware, but the fia has made their decision concerning your tussle with george. it’s not good, but it’s not bad either. i figured you were probably not feeling up to the team meeting since you got pretty banged up from the crash. get some rest, then give me a call when you can.

also, is there a reason why toto wolff approached me yesterday? he was asking about your contract. do you have any idea what that was about?

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[rebornofstars]

i think maybe the only way out of this mindset is to change what i define as success. when i'm rereading the story i wrote two years ago or looking through the sketchbook i was obsessed with when i was 12 i have to just grit my teeth and acknowledge that it taught me something new. even if it's just not that good. what matters is i have made something in the first place. what matters is not that i've failed to make my magnum opus, but that i've lifted the foundations a little higher for the next attempt. it's just something i have to live with. if that gap between what it is and what it could be was any smaller, i wouldn't care about it so much. finding new ways my current abilities can be improved is what gives me a sense of success, but it can become bitter when i look back at something i'm no longer in a position to edit. because i thought it was done, right? i thought it was good enough. i was blind. but the success isn't that. the success is that i had fun. the success is that i'm free to do something else now. the success is that it exists at all in the first place.

do u ever look back on something you created that you were really passionate about, and it's like. not as brilliant as you thought? like, it isn't terrible, but you know that you have the potential to do better, and you don't want it to represent your ability to Do The Thing anymore. i know it's the nature of progress and that the whole point of practicing The Thing is to get better at The Thing by pushing past your previous limits, but i find it a bit sad sometimes that i can never be entirely proud of what i've made because the goalposts are always moving. i can pass the old standards but i'll never reach the new ones

[enderlovez]

Big Secret

Spencer Reid x BAU Reader WORD COUNT: 2100+

Summary: You've tried to hard to keep your daughter a secret from Spencer after her father left, but what happens when this secret finally comes to light?

Content Warning: fear of abandonment, abandonment of pregnant woman, reader gets anxiety

A/N This was requested, and I'm not to sure how I did here. There'll probably be a bunch of mistakes because I'm really tired right now.

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

The first time Spencer asks if something's wrong, you almost laugh. Not because you find it funny in any sense of the world, but because there is something wrong, and you can't find it in yourself to tell him.

He's studying you with those piercing eyes, like he can read every thought you've ever had. His brow is furrowed in that way that makes him look younger than he is, and for a split second, you wonder if he really can hear your thoughts.

"You've been a little off lately," he says, the concerns in his voice too subtle for most people to notice, but you hear it. "Is... everything okay?"

You smile, forcing the curve of your lips to stay steady. "Everything's fine, Spence. Just a lot on my mind, you know?"

It's the truth. Sort of. Work is, as always, chaotic as hell. But there's something gnawing at you, something you can't make yourself say out loud.

Spencer doesn't push, but you know he's watching, waiting for you to say more on your own. That's the thing about him—he's patient, a quality you greatly admire. But when he wants something, he tends to get it.

You've had a few drinks together after work, spent quiet hours in coffee shops, talking about cases, about books, about life. You think you're starting to let yourself like him.

You think he might be starting to like you, too, even though the lines between friendship and... something more are still blurry, and you haven't yet figures out how to cross them without making a mess.

Then, of course, there is the little secret of your daughter—the very secret that keeps you up at night, wondering if you've already ruined whatever future could happen.

"Is everything really fine?" Spencer asks again, his voice a little softer now, like he's trying to coax the truth out of me without making it feel like an interrogation. It feels like one anyway.

You nod quickly, maybe a little too quickly. "Yeah. Really. Just... personal stuff."

He watches you for a beat longer, clearly not entirely convinced, but also not going to press for more. Spencer isn't like that. He respects boundaries. He respects you, in a way that makes your chest tighten every time he looks at you, like you're something he can lose if he doesn't handle you with enough care.

And maybe that's it. Maybe you're afraid of him seeing the part of you that isn't as easy to love, the part that you're still learning to love yourself.

Maybe that's why you've kept Isla a secret, but you've never mentioned her in passing conversations, or even when he asks about your life outside the job.

You want him to see you as someone who can go out for a drink after a case without having to worry about a three-year-old waiting for her mother to come home.

But that's not you. You've got Isla. You've got your little girl, and one day, Spencer's going to have to know, as terrifying as that thought is to you.

You're not ashamed of your daughter, you could never be ashamed of your little girl.

But the last man who found out about her—her own father—ran for the hills before she was even born. The thought of Spencer doing the same, of him walking away the second he finds out about Isla, has been eating away at you from the first time you went out together.

You tell yourself it's not about him being a bad guy, because he's not. Spencer's kind and thoughtful and he doesn't seem like the type of man to judge.

But it's not like you can help the fear, that he might not want a woman with a child, especially one as young as Isla. She's the center of your world, she will always come first, and you can't risk losing Spencer for the same reason you lost Isla's father.

"Are you sure?" Spencer's voice cuts through your thoughts, soft and insistent. He's still looking at you, like he's waiting for the truth to slip from your lips, like he knows it'll happen eventually. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it a little difficult to breathe. His words, so simple, so caring, somehow makes the weight on your shoulders heavier.

What would it feel like to tell him?

To let him in, to share this huge part of yourself with someone who could very well walk out of your life when he finds out?

It's easier to just nod and pretend everything's fine. It's easier to lie, to keep him at arms length, than risk him seeing who you really are—a mother, sure, but also someone who's terrified of being left again.

But Spencer doesn't deserve that. You know he doesn't deserve that, to keep wondering what's going on inside your head when he's done nothing but be there for you, day after day.

"I..." You hesitate, your breath catching in your chest. "There's something I should tell you, but it's really... it's going to complicate things."

Spencer doesn't say anything right away. He just watches you, and for a brief moment, the distance between you feels impossible to manage. You take a step forward, closing that space as best you can.

"You don't have to tell me if you're not ready to," he says finally, his voice so gentle that it almost breaks you. "You never have to feel obligated to tell me anything, I just want you to know I'm here if you wanna talk."

And right then, something shifts.

You're not entire sure what, but something deep inside wonders if maybe—just maybe—it might be time to tell him about the life you've tried to hard to keep hidden. About your precious little girl, and about her father who she's never known, and about the fears that keep you awake at night.

About the little girl who's waiting for you at home, her smile the only thing that keeps you going when everything else is so shaky.

"I have a daughter," you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "She's three. Her name's Isla."

He blinks, processing, before his expression softens. He doesn't say anything at first, just watches you with (gorgeous) eyes of his that feel almost like they can see right into your soul.

You hold your breath, waiting for his reaction. You're expecting him to step away from you, to give some polite excuse and walk out the door.

But instead, he surprises you. "I'd really like to meet her, if that's something you'd be okay with."

You blink at him, feeling your heart skip a beat. "You... you would? You want to meet Isla?"

Spencer smiles, just a little, but it's blindingly bright in your eyes. "Of course, I want to meet the little girl who obviously means so much to you."

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

You stand outside your apartment door, fingers nervously playing with the strap of your bag, suddenly feeling like you're about to do something you can't undo.

Which, you are, but that doesn't stop your heart from thumping uncomfortably, or your stomach from fluttering with anxiety.

Spencer's standing beside you, his eyes scanning the hallway, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looks calm, maybe even a little curious, but you can tell he's waiting for you to make the first move, to invite him inside where everything will change.

It helps knowing that, if you happen to change your mind, he'll leave the second you ask him to.

The familiar hum of the building's old pipes is the only sound between you. You're about to let Spencer see Isla. You're about to let him into this part of your life you've kept so carefully hidden. And it is terrifying.

It's one thing to share a drink or talk about drinks. It's an entirely different thing to show another person the most vulnerable part of yourself.

The next door over swings open, and your neighbor, Maria, steps out. She looks up from her phone when she spots you, waving with the hand that's holding Isla's favorite stuffed bunny—she probably left it there at some point.

"Hey, just finished feeding her a few minutes ago," Maria says with a smile, but there's a hint of urgency in her voice as she checks her watch. "I was just 'boutta call you, gotta head out. You good here?"

You nod, forcing a smile as you take Isla's stuffed animal from Maria. "Yeah, thanks. She's been good today?"

"She's always good, she's a sweetheart," Maria says before turning on her heel, heading towards the stairs with quick steps. She glances back at you once to make sure you're alright before she's gone.

You watch her go, your breath catching in your throat as you unlock the door.

Every part of you is screaming that this isn't a good idea, that you're making a huge mistake by letting Spencer in, but you push those thoughts away as best you can, forcing yourself to step inside and gently pulling him by the sleeve of his jacket.

"Come on in," you say, trying to sound casual, but the words sound all wrong in your own ears, and they surely sound the same to Spencer.

Spencer hesitates for a moment before stepping through the doorway. The second his foot crosses the threshold, something in the air shifts, though neither of you can name what it is.

Isla's small shoes are lined up neatly by the door beside yours, and you can hear her humming softly from the living room. It's the sound of home.

Some of the anxiety fades away. It's more strange than anything to have Spencer here, where it's all real and in front of him.

You move towards the living room, trying to steady your breath. There, sitting on the floor with a coloring book spread out in front of her and a variety of markers and pencils at her side, is Isla.

Her hair's a bit messy, the way it always gets after a nap, but her wide eyes light up the moment she notices you.

"Mommy!" Isla calls, her little face breathing into a grin as she scrambles to her feet. She's barely two and a half feet tall, one of her little hands clutching her stuffed bunny tightly, the other wrapped around your legs.

You plop down on the sofa and ruffle her hair affectionately, a soft smile gracing your lips.

And then, she sees Spencer.

For a moment, Isla just stares at him, wide-eyed and quiet. Spencer's already crouched down, his hands resting gently on his knees, not moving, simply waiting for her to decide if she'll approach him or not.

You hold your breath, watching the moment unfold in real time—you've never had to share this part of your life with anyone. You've never had to share her with another person. And for a brief moment, you're more worried about how she'll react.

And then, like she's made up her mind, Isla takes a few tentative steps toward Spencer. She looks up at him, her face a picture of innocent curiosity, and before either of you can say anything, she reaches out, quickly offering him her stuffed bunny.

Oh, thank God.

Spencer looks at the bunny, then back at her, his expression softening. "Thank you," he says, his voice gentle, as it's as if a part of you clicks into place. Like he's not only accepted you, but now, he's accepting Isla, too.

He's accepting your baby, and you feel like you're going to cry.

She smiles up at him, and for a second, it feels like everything's going to be okay. He doesn't look at her like she's an obstacle, or like he doesn't know what to do.

He looks at her the way he always looks at you—with patience, and something else that you have a hard time naming.

Isla giggles, her small hand still holding the bunny, as then she shyly crawls into your lap, hiding her face against your chest.

Spencer chuckles, the sound low and warm, as he sits down beside you, observing the interaction. You rub your hand up and down Isla's back and press a firm kiss to the top of her head.

After another quiet moment, Isla crawls off you again, sitting back on the floor in front of her coloring book.

"So, uh, do you like coloring?" Spencer asks, his voice carefully light, as he looks over at Isla, who's now holding a crayon like it's the most important thing in the world.

She nods solemnly, but then grins up at him. "I like pink," she says, matter-of-factly, and then she goes back to her drawing.

Spencer's eyes twinkle with amusement. "Pink's a great color," he agrees, and you can't help but smile.

Maybe this isn't so bad after all.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

ivyyyyyyyy i think a frostbite with barty and "tell me three reasons why I should put up with you." "well, for starters, I'm cute." would be super adorable in your style <333 congrats again mwah

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀────۶ৎ cute

synopsis: ever since you met barty, he’s been a dramatic menace. you’ve learned to deal with it, but when you ask for three reasons you should put up with him, he’s determined to prove he’s worth the tolerating—starting with the fact that he’s cute content warnings: excessive dramatics (courtesy of barty), fluff, and one (1) very smug boy who takes being called cute way too seriously prompt ➺"tell me three reasons why i should put up with you." "well, for starters, i'm cute." author's note: thank you for celebrating with me, love!! <3 hope you like it ♡

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 1,112

You sigh, looking over at Barty with an eyebrow raised, fighting the urge to roll your eyes as he leans lazily against the wall, his hands stuffed in his pockets. You’re not sure what he’s done this time to drive you up the wall, but he’s certainly acting like he hasn’t just spent the last twenty minutes making it his life’s mission to be a menace.

“Tell me three reasons why I should even put up with you,” you say, arms crossed and giving him an unimpressed look.

Barty’s eyes spark mischievously, clearly ready to meet your challenge with enthusiasm. He straightens up, putting on a look of mock-seriousness as he dramatically flips an imaginary lock of hair over his shoulder, like he's about to deliver a line from a play.

“Welllllll,” he begins, drawing out the word as if he’s really contemplating it, “for starters, I’m cute.” He flashes you a grin that’s as smug as it is endearing, the corners of his mouth curving up like he’s already won.

You can’t help it—you scoff, rolling your eyes at him as you cross your arms tighter. “Yeah, sure, you’re cute.”

To your surprise, Barty’s face lights up in a way that’s so genuine it makes you falter for just a second. His eyes glint with excitement, and he practically beams at you, looking like a kid who’s just been handed a massive candy bar. “Oh! So you do think I’m cute!” he practically shouts, clearly reveling in the supposed compliment.

You can’t believe how easily he’s fallen for that, and a smirk tugs at your lips. You’re not going to let him have his little victory so easily. “If by ‘cute,’ you mean overly obnoxious, a bane to my existence, an insufferable little gremlin with no respect for personal space, then yes. You’re adorable,” you say, layering each word with as much sarcasm as you can muster.

Barty gasps, clutching his chest dramatically like he’s just been mortally wounded. “How could you?!” His voice cracks as he stumbles backward, casting you a wounded look as if you’ve stabbed him with betrayal itself. He clutches an invisible wound on his chest, stumbling back to collapse onto the couch like a tragic hero in the final act of his life. “Obnoxious? A gremlin? A bane to your existence?! How could you say such hurtful things? I thought we had something special!”

By now, you’re laughing despite yourself, trying to cover your mouth as a few giggles slip out. Barty peeks from under his hand, clearly pleased to have gotten a reaction out of you, his face breaking into a victorious grin as he sees your shoulders shaking with laughter.

“See?” he says, dropping the act entirely and flashing you that ever-smug grin. “That’s reason two: I make you laugh, and you know you love it.” He wiggles his eyebrows for emphasis, looking at you with such exaggerated confidence that it’s impossible not to laugh harder.

“Oh, Merlin,” you mutter, trying to compose yourself even as he gazes at you with the utmost satisfaction. “I don’t know if I ‘love’ it, but you sure do keep things interesting.”

Barty pretends to be offended, once again clutching his chest like he’s barely holding himself together. “Only ‘interesting’? Treasure, please, don’t shortchange me,” he says, rolling his eyes in mock despair. “I’m magnificent. I’m a vision. A one-of-a-kind gem in your otherwise humdrum life. Who else brings the kind of sparkle, the absolute pizzazz, that I do?”

You try to keep a straight face as you reply, “Pizzazz? The only ‘pizzazz’ you bring is when you manage to knock over three things in a row and try to play it off like it was intentional.”

He gasps again, this time managing to look somehow even more insulted. “You think I’m clumsy?” he asks, eyes wide with faux horror. “No, no, my love, that’s just me leaving a mark on the world, showing my… my undeniably charming presence.”

“Oh, is that what you’re calling it now?” you reply, trying to fight back a grin. “And here I thought it was just you being a klutz.”

Barty sniffs, lifting his chin with a dignified air. “Well, I don’t expect you to understand the intricacies of my charm, Treasure. It’s a rare gift, one that mere mortals such as yourself might struggle to comprehend.”

“Rare gift?” you echo, chuckling as he leans into his own grandeur. “If anything, it’s a rare torture.”

He laughs, clearly enjoying every second of your banter. “Oh, admit it,” he says, leaning forward, “you’d be absolutely miserable without me. Who else would provide you with endless entertainment, constant compliments, and the kind of delightful companionship that I do?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, trying to look as unimpressed as possible. “Endless entertainment, maybe. As for companionship… I think I could find quieter, less ego-inflated options.”

He gasps yet again, stumbling back into the couch as if he’s been struck. “Quieter? Quieter? How could you even suggest such a thing? The silence would be deafening, and you’d be haunted by the memory of my delightful voice, echoing in the void.”

“Haunted by your voice? That sounds more like a nightmare than a fond memory,” you say with a grin, unable to keep up the unimpressed act much longer.

Barty pauses, noticing the way you’re smiling at him, and his expression softens for a moment, a genuine glimmer of happiness slipping through his playful mask. “Alright, reason three,” he says, his voice lower and a little gentler. “I make you smile, and I know that’s worth something.”

You try to stifle your reaction, but the warmth in his voice catches you off guard, and you find yourself unable to hide your smile.

“You think that counts as a real reason?” you ask, half-jokingly, even though you’re fully aware that it’s a perfectly good reason.

“Of course it does,” he says, leaning in closer with a look of triumph. “So, tell me, have I convinced you?”

You give him a long look, trying to keep your face serious but failing as a smirk creeps in. “Fine. Maybe you’re not entirely unbearable,” you admit.

He grins, looking as overjoyed as if you’d just handed him the world. “I’ll take it!” he says with a flourish, sweeping you into a dramatic bow. “It is a privilege and a pleasure to be tolerated by you.”

Laughing, you give him a playful shove. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, it’s far too late for that, Treasure.” He winks, flashing you that smug grin again, and you know, despite the constant teasing, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

© iamgonnagetyouback ⋆.˚ please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my work.

[bullet-prooflove]

The Destroyer of Men: Declan O' Hara x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989

Declan doesn’t intend to fall in love you. It happens over a series of months while you work alongside each other at Corinium.

The destroyer of men is what Rupert Campbell-Black calls you because it was you that tanked his first marriage with pictures of his numerous affairs.

The best damn private investigator in the country is what Declan calls you after you dig up the truth behind that film star’s sex tape.

Tony hires you exclusively after that, sends you delving into the sordid lives of the rich and famous. Your official job is Research Consultant but they call you The Hound because you have a knack for sniffing out a secret. After all you were the one to learn that Maud was going to leave him, it was you who had run into her outside the solicitor’s office when you were hunting down information on another client.

The divorce should make him bitter, closed off, but it doesn’t because Declan comes to understand he didn’t fail at his marriage, he gave Maud everything he could. It just wasn’t enough, because nothing would ever be enough for Maud. He should have learned that early on especially after the first time she fucked Malhar.

His life, he finds is infinitely better without Maud. There’s no forlorn ghost haunting The Priory with it’s insane moods, driving the family further into debt. His girls are much livelier, much happier especially Taggie who starts to flourish with her catering career without her mother’s cruel words. Every morning he wakes up to a smile on his face, his daughters laughter ringing in his ears as Taggie creates something wonderful and Caitlin reads out the newspaper.

He tells you about it one night when you’re tucked together in his office, going through the information packet on Rupert Campbell-Black, days before his interview.

“I’m the happiest I’ve ever been and that’s because of you.” He whispers as his thumb trails over the apple of your cheek. “Thank you.”

“Well that’s the first time anyone has ever thanked me for ruining their marriage.” You tell him, your lips brushing over the base of his palm as his forehead comes to rest upon yours. “I suppose it did come with some benefits.”

He fucks you that night, your legs spread in front of dressing room mirror, his face buried in the curve of your throat as he watches you take every inch of his cock. Fuck you’re beautiful, a little wild, a little untamed, everything he’s spent entire nights imagining. The noise you make when you come, it’s the most exquisite sound he’s ever heard. His grip on your throat tightens, his eyes locked on yours as he spills his release, hard and deep.

He keeps you spread in front of him, his cum leaking out of you as he kisses a heated trail along your neck until your clenching around him and Declan, he has no choice but to fuck you all over again because you, you make him completely insatiable.

“Come home with me tonight.” He murmurs into your ear, his arms wrapping around you, cradling you close. “My girls are away and I want…”

He wants more than just a fuck in the dressing room, he wants you, all of you.

“Tell me.” You mumble, reaching behind you, your fingers threading through his unruly curls, tugging just enough to make his hips arch, his cock thrusting deep.

“You.” He whispers, his eyes meeting yours once more in the mirror. “I just want you.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[ckret2]

Loved the comic above the chapter. It was glorious and this is now my headcanon XD. The art is great too! What's the new programs you got? Had to ask before I dive into this chapter!

-🥸

new program is Affinity Designer, for vector art. My hands are shaky as hell (it's amazing how many weird-ass symptoms ADHD has that you don't hear about until you dig deep) and that makes it a pain in the ass to get my lineart looking as smooth as it does—i'm hoping using vector art for lining will speed up my workflow.

Right now while I'm still getting the hang of it I think it's slowing me down lmao. Got to learn how to deal with entirely new problems from the ones I used to have, like, "why does this damn program keep randomly switching between clicking on the layer I want and clicking on some totally different object group, when i choose a layer in procreate it stays on that damn layer until I tell it otherwise" and "why does drawing a new line sometimes apply the line style I wanted and sometimes apply a line style I used like twenty layers ago for no reason"

But once I've worked out the bugs I'm hopeful it'll speed things up.

Like, this! Look at this. I made a Bill and saved it as an asset. Have a generic Bill.

And now I never need to draw Bill again in my life.* (*this is hyperbole.) I can just slap that asset down, bend some things, rotate some things, and turn it into...

... whatever pose I want.

His body and hat are always the right shape and it's easy to deform them however I want and then instantly un-deform them with one button; his bricks & tie & eye are already applied; his limbs are always the exact same thickness, his feet are always the same shape, it takes one click to put his joints into perfectly smooth swoopy curves at the joints, and even the glow effect is always already applied

and man, I know stuff like an automatic glow is no big deal to people with fancy-pants high-end art software like Adobe Whatever, but I don't have Adobe Whatever, I have Procreate and you have to manually make your glow layers and if you redraw the image you've gotta redo the glow from scratch. Never again!!

You wanna know what I had to actually hand-draw to change the first image into the second image?

That's it.

My two issues are—one—because I'm so new at this, it takes a lot of time twitching around individual nodes and figuring out clever little ways to layer objects to get the right effect that a pro wouldn't have to spend on it, and—two—because vector art is SO precise and smooth, it tends to drain some of the personality and "character" out of the art. Like,

the angry Scalene on the left "looks better" just in terms of having clean consistent lines and pixel-perfect gradients and no sketchy corners—but the one on the right has a better angry face, it's more visually appealing and more intense. There's a lot more rage in those scrawly uneven fists than there is in the smooth flawless fist. I spent a lot of time fussing over her expression on the left and still couldn't get it to look as good as the one I did months earlier with Procreate, because in procreate you can just draw the lines but with vector art you manipulate the curves in strange and esoteric ways.

So I've gotta work to bridge that gap.

and then by god I'll be unstoppable.

[iwaoiness]

oikawa has always been a pretty and handsome boy. since he was little, his charm created a wave of adoration, especially among adults, pulling them into his orbit before they even realized it. and when puberty hit him, when he surpassed 1.80m, when his muscles became chiseled, when he learned to tame his hair and his smile, the one revolving around him was the entire world.

except iwaizumi.

iwaizumi, whose life is so intertwined with oikawa's, who’s seen him vomiting noodles through his nose, who’s spent hours sitting by the bathroom door with his gameboy and an extra pack of toilet paper during toorus gastroenteritis, who’s witnessed his utterly unmanageable bedhead for an entire day, who’s endured his silliest tantrums and indulged his most random whims like camping in the backyard to hunt for stars.

hajime, somehow, has grown immune to his charm. except for one moment each day when his immunity completely crumbles, when his eyes refuse to look away from oikawa.

it's the sunset. there’s something about the sunset light that makes tooru ethereal. the soft orange glow kisses his face, bringing out the faint freckles on the bridge of his nose, painting his skin in gold, and casting the shadows of his long lashes across the curve of his cheeks.

and the way he scrunches his nose slightly at the light because it bothers him, the gentle crease between his brows, and his eyes, his damn eyes. hajime could write a whole doctoral thesis about those fucking eyes.

big, almond-shaped. a doorway to a soul hajime has visited countless times. he doesn’t like calling them brown, because they’re so much more than that. they’re the color of earth, of redwood bark, of creamy chocolate, of desert dunes, of sweet honey.

and when the angle of the sunset hits them just right, bark gains definition, dunes glow, honey drapes over the chocolate, earth damp. his eyes turn almost translucent, fragile under his half-lowered lids, and they’re the reason hajime stops paying attention to whatever tooru is saying.

honestly, tooru really shouldn’t talk to him when he looks like that if he actually wants hajime to listen. he shouldn’t be so pretty, so ethereal, so sweet, so unreal, so sublime, when the sun kisses him. actually, the sun shouldn’t kiss tooru at all, it’s not fucking fair.

which is why hajime interrupts tooru rambling by grabbing him by the collar and pulling him in for a kiss.

sunkissed? nope, thank you. tooru deserves being iwa-kissed. now that is fair.

...

i just thought about how tooru looked under the sun and how iwa would definitely simpe like crazy

u can find me on my ao3, my bluesky and this is my carrd 🍉