Synopsis. When both Gojo twins want you for Valentine’s Day, do you:
A. Choose the frat boy extraordinaire you’re in a messy situationship with.
B. Choose the cute nerd that tutors you but is too afraid to confess.
C. Choose both of the above.
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader (x Gojo Satoya)
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, GOJO TWINS, nerd!Gojo, frat boy!Gojo, college AU, they both want you, Iove triangles, yearning Gojo(s), tutoring, FWB situations, parties, frat!Gojo is slightly toxic, named twin, fights (over you), Valentine’s Day, getting them BOTH, oraI (f + m), handj’s, fírst times (nerd!Gojo), they do you but NOT each other (pls), spítting, chokíng, manhandIing, breath pIay, p talking, p sIapping, frat!Gojo is MEAN, TONGUE PlERCINGS, possessive, cIit bíting, cervíx smoochin, vírginíty Ioss (nerd!Gojo), prem. ejac, SAME DAMN TIME, heavy overstím, fuIl neIsons, fighting over you during it, DP, anaI, SAAAAAME DAMN TIME, science Ianguage, nerd!Gojo’s SENSITIVE, big stretches, big finishes, creampíes, cùmpIay, surprise at the end, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 14.5k
A/N. Y’ALL HAVE BEEN BEGGING FOR THIIIIIIIS- inspired by this art by the absolutely amazingly talented @/toriiartz_ + all the Iovely comments (Tonycries is listening…)
Gojo Satoru and Gojo Satoya.
The Sun and the Moon. The storm and the morning dew. The sweetness of spring flowers and the burning hand of summer skies—many things could be said about the Gojo twins.
Perhaps not everything so poetic: to most, they were those infamously handsome set of twins that sauntered about campus as if paid to be there (and to your left—keep your eyes peeled and you might just catch a flash of white hair). Of course, that campus tour would have to oscillate between libraries and frat parties at a worrying rate…
To others, they were the valedictorian of the Physics Department and the President of Delta Jujutsu Pi. To others, the region’s best Digimon player and the region’s best ragers.
Maybe someone could convince Gojo Satoru to do some research on how two men with the exact same face could be so different from one another?
But to you, they were your tutor and…the one you were currently in bed with-
“Oh…fuck, that was good.” Gojo Satoya hisses, pulling out of you with the loudest squelch.
You could feel the slick driiiibblin’ down your inner thighs. And he’s gnawing down on his pinkish lower lip- wishing to hear the music as he surges upwards n’ swirls that even pinker tip around your entrance.
Around and around.
You’re shaking as he does so, and he’s only pulling your hips further down against his.
“Just a little more f’me, baby.” Long fingers tightening at your waist, Satoya ruts his toned torso off of the bed. His pale lashes flutter at the sensation of you trying to clench, gracing you with such a smug smile that you’ve grown to both love and get irritated by.
You’re been riding him for what seemed like hours by now- and you’re that half his fraternity brothers were ready to break down the door with noise complaints.
Then again, they were likely used to this.
Because Gojo Satoya was always just so insatiable with you.
It’s been a few months since you’d been fucking Satoya - just an on and off little rendezvous that had started one night at one of his own parties. One of the many, many parties you’d dragged your roommates to.
Delta Jujutsu Pi was known for them. And according to the (many—you’d long since learned not to underestimate his popularity) personal recounts and Instagram stories, one minute you’d been challenging the frat president to beer pong but with vodka- and the next you both had been pressed against the mansion’s wall. Lips on each other’s.
When you’d woken up the next morning, it was to a pounding headache and Satoya’s steady heartbeat. Arm cushioned underneath your head. Leg thrown over his waist.
No clothes.
The two of you had gasped- straight into a kiss which tasted faintly like last night’s berry punch bowl.
And what was meant to be a one-night stand turned into exchanging numbers, turned into meeting up the next weekend, turned into hanging out several times a week and meeting each other’s friends, turned into a long and dragged out…something of which a ‘relationship’ was not something you’d use to describe it. It was many things but not that.
It was like the thick and cloying sweetness of the punch bowl that night, but also the bitter taste of vodka-jealousy that shot through whenever Satoya winked back at someone else.
You knew you had no right to be jealous- it’s not as if the two of you were anything committed. No expectations. No strings attached, right?
But then again, that didn’t stop the lines from blurring. It didn’t stop you from going out on dates with other men in retaliation, and it didn’t stop him from blowing your phone up all night whenever you did. You always did unmute him by the end of those nights, however, if only to complain about your latest date.
It didn’t stop him from throwing those parties he was notorious for and inviting everyone he knew and their sister- flirtations galore. But it also didn’t stop him from coming right back to you—time and time again, no matter how much you blocked and swore at him.
Didn’t stop a single thing.
Throughout it all, you’d say that the only silver lining was getting to know Gojo Satoru more in-depth.
Of course, knowing that the two were related, you’d coaxed his number out of Satoya to convince Satoru to tutor you. Which, expectedly, had turned into more of a friendship—one that was only sweetened by how openly you gawked at the man during your tutoring sessions.
That was your introduction to both brothers- worlds apart from one another.
The magnetic and heart-racing Gojo Satoya, the shy and studious Gojo Satoru. The older one by two minutes and the younger one.
The messy one and the one who’d been here to witness just how messy the latter was.
In more ways than one.
Eventually, Satoya was drawing the cutest lil’ hearts against your clit. That blushing tip of his cock moving ‘round and ‘round that sensitive spot, he hums at the smears of sheen he’s making—“Maybe we should go again…”
“Maybe you should let me go to class now.” You’re countering back.
His smile grows wider, “Maybe I shouldn’t.”
“Toya-” Your breath hitches, n’ you’re pushing back on his toned chest. It was just so defined from all those hours he spent at practice, and you’re taking more than a bit of pleasure feeling his pectorals. “-make me miss one of Professor Yaga’s lectures again and I’ll be referring him to you.”
Satoya shudders. “That man hates me.”
“Can’t imagine why…” You thought of all the classes he’d missed for matches- and perhaps being a loudmouth doesn’t help, either.
With the haunting thought of Yaga in his mind, Satoya lets you extract yourself from his arms and head to the bathroom to freshen up. By the time you’re heading back, he’d already tied-off the condom and chucked it in the bin, in the process of pulling on his fraternity-merchandise boxers (why did they even make those?)
He’s jumping in bed with you once you’re laying back down. Tugging his arms ‘round you—no one would ever believe it, but Gojo Satoya was a cuddler after sex.
The white-haired man whispers about everything and nothing as you two relax.
“Oh yeah- that reminds me.” He hums at some point, lifting his head up just a little from the crook of your neck. “I’m having a party this weekend, you should come.”
“This weekend?” It wasn’t a surprise that the frat was throwing yet another rager- and Satoya didn’t really have to ask you, either. He knew that you’d show up anyway. More of a formality than anything, as if he wouldn’t just sulk in a corner if you didn’t end up coming- before taking over the dance floor once Kendrick Lamar came on, of course.
Satoya nods sluggishly, the room still thick with sex.
But you’re turning to face him with a raised brow. “Like- this weekend?” He’s climbing up onto his elbows in confusion at your tone. “Toya, it’s Valentine’s weekend.”
“Oh.”
“You seriously didn’t know?”
“Oh.”
He runs a hand through his rumpled white hair. “So that’s why chicks n’ bros have been giving me chocolate all week- and here I thought I just got extra handsome.”
He pauses.
“Have I gotten extra hands-”
“Satoya.”
“Alright alright.” Satoya raises his hands in surrender, letting his head fall back onto the pink-cased pillows. “So uh…”
It was obvious when he didn’t know what to do with what you were throwing - hints often didn’t work on Gojo Satoya. Which was interesting to find out, because you’d always assumed that Satoru would be the oblivious one (and to a large extent, he was). But a sheer lack of committed relationships and an overt surplus of flirtations meant Satoya wouldn’t understand a hint even if you banged him upside the head with one—he’d merely look up at the sky and wonder whether it was hailing.
Though that’s not to say that he wasn’t intelligent - certainly not, you’ve witnessed his pre-tournament planning, the way he’d lead your university team, the NBA drafter that reportedly had an eye on him, how he managed good scores on most exams despite rarely attending class.
No, Gojo Satoya was just…so good at giving hints that it seemed to have balanced out by not being to receive them—yours, at least. Strangely enough, he seemed to never get your subtlety.
All but yours.
As if he couldn’t see, as if he saw but couldn’t believe.
And so you sigh. “No- no, that’s my mistake. I just assumed we’d be doing something for Valentine’s Day.”
“…Girl, the party?”
“Nevermind.”
And as Satoya launches into yet another monologue - about his most recent training regiment and the upcoming frat rush - you’re reaching over to the bedside cabinet. Grabbing your phone, it takes a few taps for you to interrupt the white-haired man-
“Actually, Toya—” Catching his attention. “I might not be able to make it to the party. Or at least not all of it.”
He sits up urgently, “Huh? But why-”
“Plans.”
“With what bastard-”
“That bastard is your brother.” And as his jaw drops, you’re turning your phone screen to flash the conversation at him. Satoya’s blue eyes narrow as he reads onwards-
You: psssssssst
Nerd-jo (Gojo brother #2): ?
You: do you have any plans for valentine’s day?
You: wanna hang out?
Nerd-jo (Gojo brother #2): ???!!!11??1!111!!??!?!
Nerd-jo (Gojo brother #2): My apologies.
Nerd-jo (Gojo brother #2): Typo.
Nerd-jo (Gojo brother #2): But yes, I would be delighted to spend time with you.
Just about the gist of it-
“—and I haven’t spent time with Satoru in a bit now so-” You were saying—and he knows, by the way. These days, Satoya had been intentionally meeting you during times he knew that his busybody brother was free from the clutches of his damn books. Just like he knew that Satoru had been meeting you during the times that Satoya had been out from practice.
‘Tutoring’ his ass- tutoring didn’t mean Satoru needed to have you over. To his apartment.
To the place mere feet away from where he knew his brother stuffed a hoodie you’d left behind underneath his pillow.
Fucking tutoring-
“Sure thing. Have fun.” Metal in his tone. Metal in his gaze locked in on you—he’s pushing your phone down to the mattress and leaning over to kiss you. Tongue piercing scraping the edge of your lips- “But just know that I’ll be a hell of a lot more fun than my brother.”
.
.
.
It’s Valentine’s Day when the sudden slam! thunders across the library.
Gojo Satoya with chest puffed out in his letterman jacket, with his forearm banged down on one of the tables. He leans over the polished mahogany and stares straight into the eyes of a man that looked like his mirror image.
White hair.
Blue eyes.
Those same unfairly pretty features- one of which was twisted into a scowl. And the other—nothing but cool indifference.
Gojo Satoru arches a stark white brow and meets his brother’s eyes. “Can I help you?”
“You can help me by fucking off-” Satoya spits. And had they been anyone else, then the gapes and gasps and stares - even the stray camera that was peeking out - would have unnerved them. But the Gojo twins were used to the attention by now.
The only difference was that where one basked in it, the other shunned away from it.
And though the tips of Satoru’s ears flush bright red—he never was the type to back down from his brother. Satoru’s jaw clenches, “Though you may be known for such philandering proclivities, I can assure you that I am not much the same.”
“And I can assure you that my fist will meet your ugly face-”
“We have the same face.”
“-if you don’t call off that date you have with my girl.” Satoya pants out. Breathless with fury.
Though there was a smile on his face- and he has the audacity to turn and wave - to fucking wave - at some of the gawking on-lookers. Shooting that charming Gojo smile that was bound to make them think this was an act of brotherly jest.
It makes the other man perk up.
“Whose girl?” Satoru asks.
Satoya freezes. “Huh?”
But his younger brother cocks his head, almost as though he’d just found the answer to a particularly tricky question. “Whose girl?”
The frat president rears back. Without warning, he reaches out and grasps at the lapels of the other’s stupid Star Wars hoodies—“You heard what I said.” Glower permanent on his face, “You’re smart. Figure it out.”
Satoru narrows his eyes, glaring at the man through his glasses. “Don’t have enough of a brain to figure it out yourself?”
“I’ll tell you what I do have…” Smile wicked. Leaning into whisper, “And it’s something that you won’t stick in her even in your wildest fuckin’ dreams-”
“You fucking-”
“Ahem.”
A cough.
Not the annoying, grating voice of his brother (thought both the brothers).
But rather…something sweeter. Softer. Stern in a way that made both their cocks prick up just a tad-
They’re snapping their heads over to stare at you—you with your eyes narrowed, and your foot tapping. They both feel a lurch in their stomach as they wonder just how long you’d been standing there - just how much you’d heard.
They both gulp.
Your gaze takes its time travelling up the vision before you: the older brother with his fingers dug into the other’s hoodie, the younger brother with his fists clenched as though he was about to punch the other. Both their forearms pop with veins that decorate their muscles- even Satoru with his bulky frame covered in his soft clothes. “Gojo Satoya…”
The man in question plasters a smile across his face, “Yes, baby?”
“Let go of him-”
His fingers unclench.
Satoru is slumping onto his chair.
Satoya turns around and starts walking to you in an instant- “Baby, what are you doing here~?”
“Tutoring, because someone made me miss another one of Yaga’s classes.” Holding up your bag in emphasis, and at least Satoya has the decency to look sheepish.
“Aw, you know m’sorry about that.” He answers, sounding utterly unapologetic.
“Right…” Not that you believed him a single bit. Your narrowed gaze drifts past him and ends up resting on the slightly-ruffled man sitting at the table. “What are you even doing here? I didn’t think you knew the way to the library.”
“Hey!”
In the slight distance, Satoru stifles a laugh.
Satoya whips behind to glare at him- before turning back to you. “Just ah- you know, extending the invite to my party tonight.” And before you could interrogate him on why exactly an invitation constituted of having one’s hand at one’s brother’s throat—he’s turning to the little audience you’d gathered and yelling out. “And you fuckers are invited as well.”
The cheers are drowning out your questions.
“Toya- what-”
“Mmmm—” Before you’re getting cut off by his mouth on yours. Tongue piercing cold. “That new lip gloss of yours tastes good, baby.”
But how strange it was that once he’s breaking away from the slightly-heated kiss, you find Satoya’s eyes on none other than his own brother. Staring at the expressionless man as he claims your lips as his own.
His own.
Satoya leaves the library with a smack on your ass.
And you’re left off-kilter by the whole ordeal, wobbling on weakened legs to the chair opposite Gojo Satoru. Head down. Books open. Fingers twitching ever-so-slightly. There was a strange air about him, as unpiercing as concrete, that reminded you of however Satoru was when he was taking a particularly tough exam. He doesn’t meet your eyes as you take your seat before him, pulling out your books, your laptop, your excuses.
The chair screeches much too loud in the awed library.
“Honestly, I don’t know what’s the matter with him.” You’re sighing, “He’s been strange all week.”
Satoru doesn’t answer, but you continue.
“And he knows that I have that thing with you tonight- he knows that but he still keeps insisting I go to that damn party.”
He still doesn’t say a word.
“I’m not going, of course.” You start to open one of your notebooks, “I promised I’d spend time with you, Satoru. It’s just so calming to be with you—”
In his peripheral vision, he can see you start to rub your temples. And he can’t help but jolt—he would never make you feel like that.
And maybe that’s what makes Gojo Satoru lurch up from his seat and kiss you.
Kiss you.
Soft.
Fleeting.
Barely even a graze- his face burns the prettiest sunset pink. Hot enough that he’s sure steam emerges from his parietal bone, that his eyes tear up, that he feels feverish. Something inexplicable bubbles up from all the way deeeep within his core, and it expels as a few wobbly apologies murmured against your lips.
Before you’re grabbing ahold of his chin n’ tugging him to you.
“Th-that was my first kiss…” He whispers.
You smile.
.
.
.
Gojo Satoya’s party would be in full swing by now.
You’ve found that they usually peaked after midnight, with most of the fraternities joining and the music concocting into one booming heartbeat. The pulse of youth. It shook the walls of the Delta Jujutsu Pi mansion, it seeped into your very circulatory system and left Satoya’s parties addictive—it would have you in his bed by the end of the night, without fail.
But time spent with Satoru was the exact opposite.
In the best way.
Even sitting next to Gojo Satoru had his warmth seeping into every particle of your being, and it left you buzzing with his soothing energy. Like dipping into a hot spring. Like taking a loooong nap during a scalding summer.
It was the same relaxing sort of feeling after a sip of wine.
Like you could speak about anything and everything with him. Like you could make as many mistakes in his presence as you liked. And it wouldn’t matter—he would still wobble out that familiar, crooked smile.
It seemed as though the more of those stern, sterile layers you cracked through- the more you wanted to surge through even more. With much more gusto than Satoru would argue that you put in during your tutoring sessions, you admit (but what he doesn’t know is that you might just…organize a few more than you actually needed). Just a few more.
Just to see him.
And Satoru was smart, you had a nagging feeling that he knew. But he let you stumble your way through your notes anyway.
He left you drunk on the proximity of him, while his brother left you exhilarated.
You suppose you had Satoya to thank for that.
Because he was the only reason you actually encountered Satoru. Just one encounter before you’d actually bothered him into giving his phone number, prompting your tutoring sessions.
Before, you’d only seen Satoru in a blur of white hair n’ Pokemon hoodies- racing about from class to class.
He was always the first - both to class, and to the top of the grades list.
The stark opposite of his brother, who’d gotten into Tokyo Jujutsu University on a basketball scholarship. Satoru had three papers published under Nature, several student lectures under his belt, and a dorm lined with more trophies than atomic specks of dust. It was also agreed-upon by most in the department that he’d been picked personally by JAXA to work there the second he graduated.
And you’d always assumed that the man would be the uptight type - most people with so many accomplishments would be so. Though his brother, Satoya, with his equally impressive athletic accolades—it’d still been a surprise to find that Gojo Satoru was rather…shy.
He’d blushed furiously the first time he’d met you - in the unfortunate circumstance of walking inside Satoya’s room without knocking. Right when his brother had his head between your legs.
Though Satoya had laughed himself hoarse, it’d taken you forty-five minutes to get the bespectacled man to stop apologizing to you. And then only five to convince him that no- you weren’t dating his brother.
You remember the glare that Satoru had leveled at him then, pushing up his bangs to help it. “Figures.” He’d scoffed, whilst Satoya had calmed down just enough to stop his snickers. “He wouldn’t have been able to woo you like that anyway-”
“Woo? Woo—telling me about wooing-” Satoya had dramatically flailed into Satoru’s arms then, hand at his chest. “Dost thou knoweth anything about bagging the baddie? And here I thoughteth thou wast a virgin-”
“Sh-shut up—!” He’d thrown Satoya off, eyes flickering urgently between you and his brother. And it wasn’t long before the last you’re seeing of the blushing, babbling mess of Satoru was a stomp towards the door.
The slam of it.
Before it’s opened again just a crack-
“And in Shakespearean terms, I would technically be a maiden!”
You giggle just thinking about it.
And it makes the man in question look over with a quirked brow, sweater matching the same shade of pastel pink that he blushes. “S-sorry, I’m probably boring you-”
“Not at all.” You’re cutting him off in an instant. Fervently shaking your head, you join Satoru down upon his bedroom floor—carefully avoiding the blocks and pinches of Lego that were scattered around him like a blood spatter. It had been a slow, almost strangely sensual night - he’d invited you to his apartment where he’d cooked dinner for you.
A traditional Japanese course of dishes that he’d learned from his mother, he told you. Topped off ice cream homemade through the principle of freezing point depression.
He’d planned to make a strawberry shortcake, he said. But it seems in his frenzy to make everything perfect, he’d lost track of time and ended up with sweet-smelling char—sure, you’d come over to hangout with Satoru before. But to hangout on Valentine’s Day…
This was territory uncharted for Gojo Satoru.
Hell, he’d had his first kiss just the other day.
And so you’d been led inside his apartment- now a wonderland of the sweetest fairy lights and crooning tunes playing from one corner of the space. There, Satoru was the perfect gentleman—giving his arm out to walk you the mere few meters to the decorated dining table, tucking in your chair, plating his creations for you.
Made just how you liked them. How did he even remember?
It was a wonder to Satoru himself how he didn’t bumble or trip over his own two feet. And before long, the two of you had finished dinner and numerous conversations- carrying them over inside his bedroom.
Where he’d…pulled out a brand-new Lego set and gotten to work on it.
You’d found it more interesting to watch him - that focused furrow between his brows, the way his tongue stuck out ever-so-slightly - from the foot of his mattress. Unable to catch a glimpse of the box before Gojo stuffed it underneath his bed, you were only left to wonder just what it was he was building with so many reds and pinks.
He’s staring up at you unsurely now, and you insist. “I wanna see you build this, Satoru.”
“Are you sure?” He lets the long green spindle drop from his hands. Tugging down on the thick sleeves of his sweater, “I know that Toya has his party tonight and I p-promise I won’t be upset if you wanted to go there instead, y’know?”
“But I decided I’d spend Valentine’s Day with you.” You insist, “And spend Valentine’s Day with you—I will. I don’t need any party.”
“But-”
“Satoru.”
He’s giggling shyly to himself.
He takes the half-built piece of Lego in his hand and gets back to work on it—and you find yourself inching even closer to him. Knees pressing against crossed knees. Shoulders against shoulders.
“What are you building, by the way?” You ask. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Lego pieces like that…”
Concentrating on the miniature pieces through his ivory bangs. “You’ll see, sweetheart.”
And you don’t know whether it’s the smile on his lips, the dimple at the end of his grin, or that little pet name he’d given you—sweetheart—that made your heart race. Feeling your heart flip in that small but noticeable way it did whenever Satoya was around. Both of them? Whatever will you do with yourself.
It isn’t long before Satoru’s Legos start to form a clearer picture, and he’s working nimbly with the pieces.
In just a few minutes he has his body hunched- partially obscuring your view from the final touches to his creation. And soon enough, he’s pushing his glasses up his nosebridge, leaning back and thrusting out a bouquet of the most beautiful flowers you’ve ever seen. Plumes of rose and red and creamy white.
Little ferns on the side. Little hearts in the centers of his daisies.
He flushes fever-red as you take them from him. “F-for you.”
Satoru’s tone breaks at his confession.
“Satoru, they’re…” You’re breathless. The tip of your finger runs down the delicate petals that he’d spent time assembling, “I-I don’t even know what to say.”
“It’s for you.” He repeats, slightly firmer this time. “It was always for you.”
You’re snapping your head up to meet his determined blue eyes. So intense that they almost sparkled- “What do you…”
“Everything I do is for you—and that’s hard when I’ve always…” Satoru cuts himself off short. Slightly shaking his head, “But you deserve better than him.”
“Satoya?”
“Yes—” Breathed out as if he’d been wanting to say this for forever. “It’s hard when you look at my brother like…that- and I know that this isn’t my place. I know that this isn’t right of me to say. I know that this is selfish of me to request, but if you could just see…”
“See?”
“See that you deserve better than him.” His hands clasp your own around the ever-lasting stems. “And that- this isn’t fair of me to tell you let alone ask…but if you could just see that I—”
“What- that yer fucking shit at confessions?”
But of course, who else would it be but Gojo Satoya?
Pushing Satoru’s bedroom door further open and waltzing into the space- his towering frame almost seemed too large for the small space, almost left you breathless. Even though you knew that there wasn’t much of a height difference between the two-
Satoya’s hand on your wrist is instant. He bends down to meet eye-level with his brother on the floor, “Honestly, little brother, I would’ve had more respect for you if I’d walked in here and you were fuckin’ my girl right now.” He tugs you to his chest. “But here you got to her before me.”
“Feels good to be first, older brother.”
Suddenly they’re both on their feet - and so are you. Pressed between them—attempting to push away the two brothers from each other. From Satoya spitting, “That was supposed to be me giving those flowers to her- you knew. You fucking knew-”
“You thought she’d wait around forever?” Satoru crosses his arms. “And what were you doing on Valentine’s Day, huh?”
“Oh, grow up-”
“You grow up. While you were throwing one of your damn parties I-”
“I cancelled that damn party.”
That makes everyone pause.
And Satoya continues. He was looking right at you now- “You think there’d be anything to celebrate if you aren’t there beside me?”
And you can’t help but notice that there’s something slightly more…tender in Satoya’s tone. Something slightly more vulnerable- almost broken. There’s a sincerity in his eyes that makes him look younger, and it makes you squirm.
Something that Satoru’s sharp eyes pinpoint instantly- and he’s reaching out to tug you to him. This time being wrenched from his brother’s grasp and to you, “You can’t do that- you can’t just barge in here and try to disrupt what I’ve been wanting to do for so long—”
“And you think I haven’t?”
“What makes you think-”
“I knew her first-”
“I knew I loved her longer-”
“I know I loved her better-”
Satoru hisses. Pointing an accusing finger at the other man, “Says the man without the balls to even confess.”
“Says the damn virgin who only wishes he could touch her.” Satoya’s voice grows louder. He takes a step closer, and Satoru doesn’t back down. “Don’t act so high and mighty when you and I both know about the hoodie underneath-”
“Don’t you fucking dare-”
“Can you both shut the fuck up?!”
Your exasperated tone breaks through the argument- leaving the room ringing with silence thereafter.
And so you finally say your piece—“You guys…” Massaging your throbbing temples, the Lego bouquet was still in your hands- and you’re just now realizing that the t-shirt you’d been wearing was Satoya’s. Both of them on you. Around you. “How about we solve this like the civilized adults that we are?”
Satoya scoffs, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. “Tch- yeah, and how do you suppose that?”
“Though I’d be more than happy to hear you out, sweetheart, I can’t promise to conduct myself according to such methodology.”
And so you tell them.
And the silence after is deafening—
“You want us to what-”
“Anatomically, is that even-”
“No way.” Satoya stabs a finger at his brother. “I don’t wanna see this fucker’s two-inch-”
“Mine’s likely bigger than yours-”
“Fucking right-”
“Want to bet?”
It’s only a few minutes later before both brothers have their hands on you- have their mouths dragging down your neck. From the front, from behind. One of them kissing down your spine. One of them nibblin’ on your collarbone—and you can only flutter your eyes closed and fucking moan at the sensation.
Two hot, needy mouths on you.
All over you.
Someone - it must be Satoru - leans his head down and captures your mouth as his own. He lavishes the soft edge of his tongue between your wettened crevice, and gaaasps as you’re opening your mouth for him.
Clearly never having kissed anyone so deeply- anyone like this at all—he whimpers as he’s shyly meeting your tastebuds with his. “S-sweetheart-”
“Oh, lemme show ya how it’s done.” Physically pushing his brother away with a hand on his face- Satoya cranes his neck from behind you. A hand clasping your throat and tuggin’ you to meet his ravenous lips—“This is how you kiss a girl.”
And before he’s smoochin’ you, he purses his lips and spits a great dollop of saliva that falls gently into your maw.
Sloppy.
Satoya barely spends the time wipin’ the excess splatter away before he’s roughly shoving his tongue inside. Swirling his textured tastebuds across every single inch of you—letting his curvaceous tip tickle the back of your throat.
Whenever Satoya kissed you, it almost felt as if he was fucking you with his tongue.
Again and again. And his wet muscle scrapes the sides of your mouth as he’s jostling it back and forth- leaving you weak in the knees.
“See?” He scoffs at his younger brother. “Gotta kiss her till she’s stupid.”
“How uncouth.” Satoru pushes his glasses up. “Let me try.”
And then the other twin takes over- how dizzying it was to have a man with the same features, but with such different mannerisms. Satoya relentlessly leaves half-moon nail marks on your skin when he sets you free, but Satoru leans in and cups your face like a delicacy—even as his brother scoffs at the act.
“She likes being fucked dirty, lemme tell you.”
Satoya’s lewd remark is lost to the way that Satoru purses his pretty plump lips and spits—
More like drools.
A lecherous stream of spittle that ends up fallin’ onto your tastebuds- and he watches with widened eyes as you take it all in. All of it. Throat bobbing as it hits every orifice, Satoru feels it deep down in his cock once you tilt your head back and swallow-
Looking straight into both their eyes as you do.
“O-oh my-”
“Fuck.”
“I think m’gonna cum just from that.”
Satoya looks at Satoru, and they exchange a silent conversation with their gaze. Both murky blue-eyed and narrowed down at you- you’re given absolutely no warning before you’re being scooped up in a tangle of their strong arms. Satoya on your waist. Satoru cushioning your head.
They’re sprawling you out on Satoru’s bed and barely letting you hit the second bounce before they’re on you-
“Let me.”
“I hardly think that’s-”
“And which one of us does this pretty pussy like better?” Satoya pretends to cup his ear and listen - not to you, not to his brother. He’s listening to the drenched in-betweens of your legs, where if you press your thighs together then it lets out a faint squelch! “Exactly.”
Grumbling, Satoru decides to let Satoya have the bed space between your thighs.
The mattress dips where you needed them the most, and you’re feeling hot breath against your cunt. Scorching. Simmering. Taking your attention for the slightest second before you peer up at Satoru- smiling at the pouty man.
Wordlessly, you’re beckoning him with your hand.
And he seems to startle- before following your every word. Your every action. Your every syllable.
Gojo Satoru thinks he would kill a man just to have you look at him like this—always.
With your lashes fluttering up at him as he nears, with your fingertips eager to touch him- it feels like torture as soon as he’s near enough for you to play with his drawstrings. Your fingers curving into the soft cotton of his sweatpants, your palm skidding down the looooong cylindrical print of his dick. It was just so long and thick that it made you gape.
That it made your mouth water.
That it made your digits dip just below the hemline of Satoru’s grey sweatpants-
And Satoya - gruff at the attention you were drowning his brother in - decides to then drown himself in your wet pussy—he’s like a man starved. Barely leaving enough time to shove apart your legs, barely leaving enough time to push your panties to the side-
In fact, he doesn’t push your panties to the side before licking up your entrance.
Feeling for that cute vertical line of your slit through the drenched fabric. Satoya was lapping and tuggin’ apart both the underwear and your pussylips.
Lavishing just a flick of attention down your clit before he dives into your role.
Rough. Ruthless.
Rarely wasting a single second- rarely even waiting for you to accommodate his size. He just flops his lengthy muscle between your thickened folds, licking up the first few inches of your channel, before reaching back n’ fucking you in hard, rapid thrusts.
Again and again.
He’s pressing the silver orb of his piercing into every tender lil’ spot inside you.
And though Gojo Satoya was the mean type in bed, never have you known him to be this…greedy.
“S-sweetheart—” You didn’t even realize that you’d been momentarily rendered stunned by the sheer primal streeeeetch between your legs. Not until Satoru’s gasping tone permeates the air, and he’s jerking his hips up cutely. “Sweetheart, please-”
“Heh.” Satoya snickers into your cunt. The vibrations are zapping forces of electricity right up your spine-
Satoru ignores him. “I need you.” He confesses—and the sheer desperation in his voice is enough to make you buck, and to make Satoya grumble in annoyance. The older brother uses one hand to latch onto your pretty hips, roughly draggin’ you right back down onto the creaky bedsprings. That ancient furniture protests as you’re being pinned down.
And so does Satoru-
But Satoya’s cutting him off, “I don’t care what you do- but do not fuckin’ move her from my mouth.” His frigid tongue piercing sticking against the top of your clit and making you squuuuuirm. “I haven’t eaten all night.”
And your clouded mind is almost about to ask what he means-
Before he’s slitherin’ his tongue back down and flickering in and out of your hole- sliding across every hidden inch of you. Letting his prominent nose crush up against your nub.
“And this pussy’s always so tasty—”
“Fuh-fuck—!” It’s Satoru that breaks the lecherous slurps n’ squelches this time- through the cacophony, his voice rings out so prettily. Because just then you’d properly pulled down his sweatpants and taken the nerdy man’s thiiiiick, throbbing cock in your hands.
Your lips part.
Long. Rock-hard.
So hard, in fact, that this might as well have been the first time in his life that Gojo Satoru has ever been hard. It feels as though he was buuuuuurning up all the way from his globular red tip, splurgin’ out wads of precum that coat a sheen down your wrist. Gliding down to your elbow.
Actually- it wasn’t just sappy precum. It was globular beads of gleaming white that are escaping n’ escaping out of him the second you’re touching him.
Pretty round balls flinching. Every part of him was just the most innocent pink.
He throws his head back as he empties out volume after volume of his seed- so much in just a few seconds. Though not as much as he would like to, because in a split-second, Satoru reaches his hand down and plugs his leaking hole up with a thumb.
“Awww…” You’re pouting in disappointment. The excess of his cum drivels down your arm, creating patterns between your fingers.
He looks down at the sight of your voice and- fuck, he can’t handle it. He’s looking away.
Satoru can’t help but whimper. “Fuck, don’t say that. I th-think m’gonna cum again—”
“Already?” Satoya scoffs.
“Shut up.” Satoru bites back. And he might have all the endurance he needs to last all night with a textbook and his notes in front of him, but the studious man was now fighting for his life—whispering formulas underneath his breath just to bate his impending high again. So close. “Euler’s method of sequence consists of…”
But the more you’re feeling him, the harder Satoru grows.
He lays out heavily across your palm, the girth of his erection making you falter. A heft to him that makes you clench ‘round Satoya’s mouth—and the other man can’t help but grunt. He leaves a man spank! on top of your clit that leaves you squealing. “Are you focusing on me or my brother, baby?”
Barely managing to gurgle out, “B-both?”
By now you’d wrapped your fingers around Satoru’s swollen cock- giving his bulging tip slow n’ steady pumps. He chases your hand with rhythmic bucks.
But Satoya wasn’t done just yet-
After a single slide of his piercing, you’re feeling yet another slap. Rudely smearing his fingertips ‘round your clit- “Hmmm, I don’t think that’s good enough. Isn’t that right, Satoru?”
“Sh-shit—” Satoru shivers at the feeling of eyes on him. “I believe that’s right-”
“Mhmm—”
“W-what do you…” And it leaves your head dizzy to register just how fast the two brothers had gone from fighting to friends—to toying with your body together. They were meeting eyes and briefly nodding.
And it’s the last thing you’re seeing before Satoru tucks a hand underneath your chin and tilts your gaze up to his. “Forgive my disrespect, sweetheart.”
He wraps his larger fingers ‘round your own dominant hand- the one that’d been jerking off his cock. And with it all nice n’ tight, Satoru squeezes your hand at his base and starts thrusting—rutting. Like an animal in heat, he’s fucking the circular space your hand made as if he wishes it was your cunt.
“But the one you should be focusing on is me.”
Throwing a jealous look down at his grinning brother- mouth all glowing with slick. The bespectacled man tuts and reaches down to sneak his free hand underneath your t-shirt.
Dipping underneath your bra and directly groping your tits-
“Heh, look at you.” Satoya rolls his half-lidded eyes—already looking so murky with the juices of your pussy. More n’ more of it dripping down his chin as he’s thrashing his pierced tongue between your pussylips- faster n’ faster.
And the thing about Satoya was that he didn’t care if it made you squirm.
He didn’t care if it left your body restless.
He didn’t care- in fact, it was all the better if he could overstimulate you with only a few sloppy strokes. And with both Gojo twins - one babble away
Suddenly, you’re swearing that the circular metal of his piercing was hittin’ straight into one of your best spots. G-spot throbbing with pressure- and it’s making you plant your feet onto the edge of the mattress and buck-
And get draaaagged back down by Satoya’s ruthless hands. Stuck to you like adhesive.
“You seriously think I’d let my dinner escape so easily?” He asks, more to himself. His rasping tone makes a primal part of you open up, and the frat president giggles at just how much wetter you’re getting. “Awwww, look how much wetter she’s getting f’me.”
Peeking up at his brother and watching him flinch. Possessive, possessive.
Satoru pinches your right nipple. Capturing where you were softest between two fingers, he teases that peak. “There is not enough evidence for that conclusion.”
And Satoya has to admit that he feels your cunt glistenin’ even more at Satoru’s ministrations. “I don’t do any of that science shit-”
“You don’t do anything-”
“Except eat my girl out goooooood.” Dipping his tongue in and out—this time, Satoya was expanding his tastebuds and showin’ off the sheer layers of your juices that stuck to him. He always did have an incredible length to him, shovelling properly in, in, in. “Jealous?”
Satoru shivers as the crown tip of your thumb rubs down his cockhead’s slit. “N-no, because her mind’s on me anyways-”
“You fuckin’ wish.”
You almost forgot just how competitive the two could be - united in ruining you, but breaking apart at the very seams. It both bothered and turned them on to think about havin’ to drag your attention away from the other man, to think about accelerating their pace until it was nothing but a blur—Satoru’s cock clasped between your fingertips, Satoya’s tongue dipping in and out of your hole.
Fishing out so many ribbony wires of slick that it’s formulating a puddle down below. He just knew your pussy so well, and Satoru just had this utter need to him that was-
“It’s me that you want, right?” Satoru leans down to hush against the shell of your ear- his scorching hot breath setting your entire body alight. “It’s-”
“Now that’s just playing dirty.” In retaliation, Satoya slaps your clit one more—and it makes you see stars. Just because that makes your fist tighten around his brother’s cock, he lands at least three more sharp spanks before lashin’ his tongue piercing against your clit once more. A few more times as if to soothe the sting, “Didn’t know you had it in you, Satoru.”
“Oh, please…” Satoru looks away. “That’s why she should’ve been with me from the start-”
“Now that’s pushing it.”
Two more direct slams of his fingertips against your cunt- that part of you felt just as raw as your walls by this point.
You’re bucking up against the dampened sheets- “Please- oh…”
“What’s that?”
“What is it, sweetheart?”
“I th-think I’m gonna-”
“Shush, baby.” To your shock, Satoya shushes you both. Right before you could finish your sentence- he merely lugs his gaze back down to admire your pretty pussy
And you were almost sure you were hallucinating, because there was no way, there could be absolutely no way…but Gojo Satoya was fucking your cunt with his mouth and nodding along to every noise he produces.
Humming at the slurps, affirming at the squelches.
Almost as though he was in deep conversation with your soppin’ wet core, Satoya licks a few more times up your crevice. Before he’s finally looking up with a faux-apologetic grin, “Sorry- she’s chatty today. My pussy says she’s about to cum.”
Your jaw drops-
“Toya, you’re fucking filthy.”
He slips his metallic piercing against the roof of your cunt, thud-thud-thud—! Probing in so deep as if to say that he knows he is- and his brother bucks up even harder into your soft palm. So needy. “Th-that’s not possible.” Satoru gasps out, pushing his condensation-filled glasses further up his nose. “According to my research, there is no linguistic nature of the genitalia-”
“This is why yer a fuckin’ virgin.” Satoya rolls his hazy eyes.
Before you know it, the older of the two brothers leans upwards and bites his canines around your clit. That throbbing nub was stuck between his perfect lips- he counts a few heartbeats from your cunt, before wrenching his mouth back. Murmuring deep into your pussy—“Watch and learn as I make her cum, little brother. She’ll be thinking of me as I make her cum.”
“Sh-shit, Toya…”
Blue eyes meet bespectacled blue eyes- and Satoru’s gaze narrows. “She’ll cum because of me.” His fingers - so honed from all his sharp note-taking - finds it easy to twist n’ turn your nipples in all the ways you liked.
He was alternating between both, flickering his thumb around your soft areolas.
“That’s the spirit.” Satoya says, almost talking down. “But m’doing it first-”
“I disagree-”
“At least use her mouth.” Muffling against your pussylips, Satoya’s mouth opens up so wiiiiiide to engulf every part of your dripping wet cunt. Like Satoru, he was following an alternating method that has his textured tastebuds hittin’ the inside of your channel one second, and counting the throbs of your clit the next.
Satoya raises an unimpressed brow, “Well? What’re you waiting for? I told you she’s a dirty girl-”
“Shut up, m’not delaying…” Though he was. He really, really was. Satoru hesitates - not because he didn’t want to—fuck, how he wanted to.
How he really, really wanted to.
But he’s on his sixtieth formula by now and already about to explode- already dribblin’ out milky wads of precum. It was growing thicker and more incessant by the second, and Satoru could feel himself trembling, he could feel his heavy balls start to clench—
And yet that smug look on his brother’s face is enough to spur him into action.
Satoru jerks his hips just a little too hard on purpose- and all it takes is the tiniest glide between your puckered lips for him to shatter.
Into all sorts of zillions of pieces. Into looooong ribbony wires of cum that dribble down like a waterfall from the agitated red divot at his tip.
It’s letting out all sorts of lecherous noises as he cums—and soon enough your vision’s flooded with white. Just the most gleaming layers of his ivory sap that drench you, and at this point you can’t quite worry about it getting everywhere n’ all into your hair- because Satoya’s quirking his tongue just right to make you cum.
To tip you over the edge.
Those waves of pleasure break across every inch of your being- leaving your limbs trembling. Toes curling. Spine arching - making it all the more easy for Satoya to grab your hips in one hand and make you rut against him. He’s lashin’ out thorough strokes against every inch of your clit, the tip of his tastebuds resting teasingly on your clit.
Feeling for just how much your hole quivers for him- and you’re quiverin’ away just enough, Satoya fucks you through the peaks of your high. Peak after peak.
His younger brother elongates those white-hot whizzes of pleasure by twisting your nipples. Toying. They were just so sensitive after so much contact, making you shake into him.
Your tongue sticks out to taste more of his salted caramel seed.
And your head clouds with raw carnal pleasure, “P-please, it feels so good—” Lips wobbling, both brothers lean in to see which name you’re ending your sentence off with. “-Gojo.”
They’re sharing looks with each other.
And then they’re looking at you.
“Now now, we can’t have that.” Satoya croons.
“If that was a question during our practice tests, sweetheart, you’d get zero marks.” Satoru breathes out, finally having caught his breath. Though he still slightly trembled with the aftershocks of his orgasm, swirlin’ the roundness of his cockhead down your mouth—“Shit.”
He pulls away before he cums yet again.
“Newton’s first law of gravity…”
“Fuckin’ virgin.” Satoya repeats. “Pussydrunk from just- hah, that-”
“I beg your pardon-”
“Pussydrunk from just that-” He’s spankin’ down on your clit with his tongue- “Isn’t that right, baby? He should be more like- mmpf, me—” Struggling to get through the constant thrashes of his tongue, the way his jaw unhinges further. “Should be more in control-”
“Fuck-” Fucking his pierced tongue back into your struggling channel - it makes you gasp.
“Should be more—fuck, nonchalant. Heh.”
“Toya, again-”
“Should be more…mmmm.”
And it’s then that you’re realizing that Gojo Satoya wasn’t planning to finish his sentence - he wasn’t planning to even pull away. He was further reaching between your legs and gasping as he fucked your cunt with his mouth again and again and again-
“Move.”
When pushing doesn’t work, Satoru grabs ahold of Satoya’s hair and wrenches the man away from your pussy—fuck. You could feel yourself growing unfairly wetter at the surprising forcefulness to the nerdy man.
Before long, Satoya’s been pushed aside whilst the bespectacled twin fits himself between your legs.
Satoya raises a brow as if waiting-
One impatient tick that turns into something of impressive nature—because without warning, Satoru spits. Messy, just like his twin had.
“I have to wash him off.” He murmurs, watching the line of spit fall vertically down your slit. Before he lurches his face into your cunt soooo far deep that you’re sure he wouldn’t be able to breathe. And he’s eating you out like he doesn’t need to.
Doesn’t care to.
White brows furrowing, a moan cracks at the back of his throat. Fingers tightening. Blue eyes going wide. There’s an electric current that runs through Satoru’s body- like the first taste of your treacly pussy had him seeing heaven itself.
Those pearly gates were openin’ up wide for him—and so were your legs.
And it’s on pure animal instinct that he jerks himself even closer. Unfastening his maw, he’s sloshin’ his wet muscle inside again and again.
And again and again.
His first time tasting pussy, and he was gone already.
The length of Satoru’s tongue was about as incredible as Satoya’s, though slightly less flexible. But it was that lumbering inexperience of his that made his entrances feel so good - constant, with no rhyme or reason other than sticking inside so sloppily that it made your eyes roll to the back of your head.
“I need to…oh.” Satoru gasps out into your pussy. Grabbing your quivering flesh even tighter- “I need to—ngh, fuck.”
“Need to what, Toru?” You’re asking in that pretty voice of yours.
And it’s damn near enough to make him cum again- urging his body to rut against yours. “I need- fuck. I need to r-remember my studies…”
“Your studies?”
“Hah- you studied?” Satoya snickers out from somewhere above you. “Nerd.”
It gives you a good jolt to realize that he’d somehow walked right up to where your body was laid, making the bed creak once he rests his thick kneecaps against the mattress. The area beside your head dips as the older brother inches closer—
Satoru nods belatedly at your question. “I r-read about this during one of my…long and lonely nights.” Peering up at you through his long lashes, something unreadable in his eyes. “Fucked my cock raw learning about how I’d make you feel good.”
Rutting. Humping the mattress.
“I read about it in medical journals- I even read about it on sex forums.” He pants out, “And I—I fucking took notes…” Looking around his room as though to grab them right now. “But now, I just can’t remember…”
Plastering those slick lips of his against your entrance—and then whimpering as he pulls away- for but a mere second before he lands back down. A few more open-mouthed kisses prior to the entire sequence repeating.
Like he was struggling not to lose himself to your cunt.
Like he was struggling not to kiss n’ kiss his swollen mouth against your pussy - you were just too addictive. He was fighting with himself to actually wrench away from your sloppy hole n’ clear his head. The valedictorian was stumped.
He stares down intensely at your drivelling pussy, his glasses frames crushing against your folds.
Pouting against your clit at this little dilemma- meanwhile Satoya comments something about how it was a miracle that Satoru found the clit in the first place.
“Pussy so good ya can’t even think.” The older twin is tittering down at you.
And it’s the last thing you’re hearing—before suddenly whatever noises erupted in your throat are being fuuuucked back down.
With a singular stripe of his rotund cockhead. Thick and aching.
Pounding away at the back of your neck. In those brief moments that you’d been distracted, the other brother had tugged down his ripped jeans and boxers. Bearing your lips with his thickening tip - from up-close, it seemed as though Satoru might actually have been longer.
But Satoya was heeeefty and fat enough that he always left your thighs pressing together.
That flared tip of his glistens in the dim light, it perfectly illuminated the patterns of his veins. So many of them coverin’ the circumference and length of him, whirling their way ‘round and ‘round and—and now you were feeling those very same patterns indent in the back of your throat.
The nerd was longer while the frat boy was thicker.
Satoya pulls his hips back and leaves you gasping- “Heh…”
Just to watch how you’re ruined on his fat fuckin’ cock.
You’re barely blinking before suddenly Satoya’s hounding figure finds itself climbing properly onto the bed- with each of his incredibly thick legs straddling your face. Muscles flexing whilst Satoya crushes you between his thighs and fucks that pretty mouth of yours.
With harsh, humpin’ thwacks! of his tannish cockhead. He tastes like a slightly sweeter version of his brother, you feel sinful admitting - and that wonderous part of your brain thinks that it might be because of Satoya’s better diet as an athlete-
Thwack! Thwack!
“Oi—” He’s slammin’ the rounded edge of his tip down on your tongue. One hand on your chin to gape your jaw wide enough for him, “Don’t zone out w’me, baby.”
“I wasn’t…” You mumble stubbornly.
“Yeah, right.” Satoya snickers. He’s then back to bumpin’ away his swollen cockhead at your throat- reaching for that lil’ dangly thing that he always loved to play with.
It was just obscene how much your lips were stretching and gaping around his thick size.
Smearing your pretty lipstick down his shaft—shit, he might just get that shit tattooed on his cock. Decorating every solid inch of him with the looooong sensual fucks he was planting into your dewy wet mouth. “See that?” Satoya calls over his shoulder, “My girl was fuckin’ bored with you eating her out.”
“Erm- actually—”
“Shut up and do yer job.”
Satoru pushes his thick glasses up his nose- “Fuck off.” Pretending he doesn’t hear his brother’s chuckles. And you have to realize that Gojo Satoru wasn’t the valedictorian for no reason - he was nothing if not determined. And if he was an academic weapon, then surely he could be a weapon between your legs, too?
Somehow, he’s so pussydrunk that he whispers this between your legs. Almost as if a promise to your pussy.
And right—there was another reason he was valedictorian.
He had a damn good memory.
“Th-the Gräfenberg spot is typically located on the anterior vaginal walls.” He’s rattling off- now removing his greedy mouth (but only with a few extra kisses) to reach up with shivering fingers. Satoru’s slender fingertips pry apart your swollen folds, pressin’ inwards sensually.
“Oh—” You’re gasping as much as you could - though it was so difficult with Satoya’s cock stuffing your orifice.
And Satoru gapes at the quivers of your pussy- “About two to three inches up the mucosa, it’s part of the prostate system that—” The rest of his sentence gets swallowed up by Satoya grabbing either side of your sweaty head and using it as leverage. Digging his neat nails into your skin, he ruts down into you like he’s furious-
“And has a theorized structure of vascular networks causing sexual stimulation.” He rasps out, mouth now moved to gulp at your pretty clit. Satoru watches his brother fuck your poor maw- and his two fingers start matching his pace. Meeting it.
Hard and frenzied.
You’re feeling one prod at the back of your throat, and then another into the deepest depths of your cunt.
Velvety walls clamping down on Satoru’s digits as though trying to memorize him in there—his pretty fingertips. Souring every inch of you. Faster and faster, he gets more ravenous to find that gooey spot inside that he knows would make you feel good-
“Need any help, little brother?”
Satoru scowls, “Never.”
“Heh, alright.” Satoya responds, “But just know that m’not going easy on my girl.”
“I’m not going easy on my girl, either.”
And then it happens- all in one go.
Satoya bottoms out until your nose presses against the curls of white at his base.
Satoru pumps his fingers into your throbbing g-spot.
And he realizes by the way you’re clenching.
Immediately. He jerks his nimble fingers back and thrashes in just a few more times- targeting that one bundle of nerves. And perhaps it’s in their genetics, because both Satoru and Satoya are able to aim every movement to perfectly strike that spot.
That round, throbbing spot.
He’s scrapin’ his fingertips on the wettened area of it—“I found it…” Breathless, as if he couldn’t believe it himself. “I really found it- it’s right here—” Demonstrating by making a long slide down that sweet spot, “Right on this part of the adventitia that has this little- fuck.”
“Ngh—fuck, that feels good.” You’re muffling out between gasps. Satoya’s furiously hard cockhead hittin’ your throat once more. He fills you up with both his dollops of pre and his inches-
“Tch, beginner’s luck.” Satoya scoffs. “Now, the real challenge is getting that pretty pussy to cum- you see, I’m her favorite so-”
“Uh-huh.” Satoru nods - not at his brother. But down at your pussy—“Really? Because she says I’m her favorite now.”
“D’you copy during your exams, too?”
“Are you a sore loser during your games, too?”
With barbed words exchanged from both sides, they’re both toying with your pretty body. So cute and overstimulated like this- so it’s no surprise that with only a few more strokes of Satoru’s fingers, and with a few more thrusts of Satoya’s cock, you’re falling apart all over again.
All because of them.
Push after push.
Rub after rub.
Fucking you through the riotous peaks of your orgasm.
Since this was your second in a short amount of time, they were sharper n’ more unpredictable than before.
The only thing you can do is lean back into the rickety mattress and take everything you’re given, those bursts of pleasure turning nearly unbearable every time Satoru bruises your pretty g-spot. Memorized its place. Studied it.
Digging past your elastic walls like he’d go even deeper if he could. He wonders how much further till your womb…
Meanwhile Satoya reaches behind him to slap your poor, puckered nipples.
They were ripe after his brother’s groping earlier, and all the other man has to do is spank you around a little to make your body writhe. “P-please-”
“Awww, don’t cry, my poor baby.” Satoya’s roughened fingertips then move to wipe your tears. Gently dragging his knobbled tips down the side of your wet face- “How’re you gonna suck my cock if you’re crying?”
At this, your jaw drops. And Satoru can’t help but startle out a laugh—“You’re a fucking animal, you know that?”
“I know.”
“Be nice.”
“Nah.”
And to your surprise, Satoru isn’t reprimanding him anymore - he’s simply peeking up and taking pleasure in the sight of you havin’ every inch of your mouth ruined. Until your lips were swollen. Until your nose tingled at the scratch of his unruly white happy trail—and Satoya himself can’t help but trek his left hand down and piiiiiinch your nostrils closed. Still shoveling his cck at a frenzied pace.
Just to watch you squirm.
Satoru hums something interested.
And pinches your clit—
You think you might be shattering into your third high of the night, your fourth.
Either way, all you know is that a few seconds have passed by the time you’re blinking your hazy eyes open again - cunt sensitive, throat shot - and staring down at the vision of Satoru and Satoya who’ve regrouped themselves to the foot of the bed now.
They’d both climbed aboard now, and it dipped with pressure.
It’s as if you were seeing double.
You stare wide-eyed at the men who looked so-very alike: their mouths swollen n’ dripping with your slick, their cocks dripping with their own.
Messy white hair.
Glazed blue eyes.
It was impossible to pick which one was more handsome- both so attractive in two completely different ways. Both so attractive even when they were…playing rock-paper-scissors?
“Rock-”
“Paper-”
“Scissors-”
“Shoot-”
“I win.”
Satoru holds up the paper in retaliation to Satoya’s rock—and the other man looked as though he could so-very-conveniently punch the other man with it. Satoya’s brows furrow, eyes flickering over from his brother to you. “I’m sorry, baby. Your Toya tried-”
“Hey-”
But the other man is merely sighing as he finds himself thrown next to you, taking off his jacket and coaxing you into his big arms. And how could you deny?
Satoya was chiselled until it was almost unfair- how could a man in real life possibly look this good? It was almost Herculean in nature, with the most luscious pecs and abs that could go on for daaaaays—there was a natural attractiveness to them that drew your eyes. And you could already feel your mouth watering at the thought of being wrapped up in him- which, of course, makes the older twin flex up at Satoru.
Despite cumming in your mouth moments prior, Satoya was rock-hard. Just the slightest cap of creamy white covering his mushroomy tip.
One that he’s swiping on his thumb and reaching up to press between your lips. “Drink up, now.” He’s cooing down at you, pushing in the rest of the remnant sap across your face. Gojo Satoya had left a mess. “Yer gonna need it with this fucker-”
“Oh.” At Satoru’s protests, you turn to him. “But I think he’ll do great- won’t you, Toru?”
Satoya looks at you incredulously, “Baby, he’s a virgin—you think he’ll be able to fuck you like he deserves-”
“I fear it has slipped your mind that I’m right here-”
“And he talks like that.”
Satoru pushes those glasses of his - now lacquered in a layer of your sweet, sweet sap - up his nose. For perhaps the first time tonight, he’s speaking out in an even tone. “Spread her legs f’me, big brother.”
“Eugh, get away from me.”
“I’m going to punch you.”
“Tch—” Satoya scoffs- but makes to rest his hands on your legs. He’s easily maneuvering you to sit against that toned chest you loved so much - your back against his front, your head falling back against his collarbone.
Practically a full nelson.
Both sets of his fingers dig against the flesh of your inner thighs- wrenching those trembly limbs open. And you’re helping him do so with a whimper- “Not too eager now, baby.” Satoya hums against your ear, “Satoru here’s gonna fuck you. And after that…this pretty pussy’s gonna be happy to feel me.”
As Satoru settles himself between your legs, Satoya’s hands dip higher and higher. The curvature of his fingertips tracing patterns across your sizzlin’ skin, he’s just about to reach between your pussylips and press on your clit when-
“Satoya.” Satoru’s voice sounds huskier than ever.
The sudden change in tone is what makes you turn your head- but it’s the sight of him that makes you keep your head tilted.
Satoru had tugged off his soft sweater by now—and what was underneath that soft sweater was anything but…Nearly as chiselled as his older brother, Satoru cocks his head to the side and watches your reaction.
Watches you gawk at the fine lines of his defined muscles, the way his biceps flexed as he throws his sweater off to the side. Toned pecs. A firm v-line.
Now, you’d always assumed that Gojo Satoru was the somewhat lanky type- perhaps somewhere in the middle? He was tall and broad, but those loose clothes of his made it hard to determine anything other than the fact that he had really good shoulders. What an utter shock to realize that he had more than just good shoulders-
“It’s my N-New Year’s Resolution.” Satoru’s voice pipes up, this time in the softer, more familiar tone that you knew was his. You’re ripping your eyes away from his body (quite the difficult task) to meet his shy gaze. “I’ve been working out.”
Your jaw drops, “But it’s still February?”
“Genetics.” Satoya pipes up from behind you. Looking at Satoru- “And unfortunately we are related.”
“Shut it.” It seems that Satoru’s brash side only ever came out when he was with his brother - and he’s narrowing his blue peripherals at your core. “And spread my girl’s legs wider. I won’t fit between them otherwise.”
“Aye aye, captain.”
It’s not long before your hamstrings are being stretched as far apart as they’d go—and the burning pleasure in your limbs are almost as satisfying as the one between your legs. The one at your very dewy pussy that squelches as Satoru perks his hips closer.
One hand guiding his thick tip, the other pressing down on your right thigh.
“Fuck.” He gasps once his furious, red cockhead slides between your pussylips- just a few liiingering slides uuuuuup and down.
Satoru’s head falls forward. His body arches into yours.
He’s letting out a slew of curses every time he’s ruttin’ his hips against yours- not even properly fucking you, just sandwiching his thickened shaft between your pussylips. Feeling the way your sodden lips were swallowing him up—clenching.
Your hole wanted him so badly.
“Fuck fuck fuck-” the feeling of your inner mucosa. Satoru stumbles across his movements, properly positioning his tip now to actually push inside your entrance. There’s a line of drool gliding down the corner of his mouth. “Fuck.”
Over a million words in the English language, over 500,000 words in Japanese. Over 370,000 words in Modern Chinese, over 40,000 words in Classical Latin, and over 10,000 words in Swahili - and that’s not counting the languages that he wasn’t fluent in.
An abundance of words, and yet he can’t truly describe what he’s feeling when he first enters your pussy.
A sudden shiver scatters goosebumps across his body, and he’s straining his arm against your legs—you swear you could almost hear the slurp! of his precum emptying straight onto your pussylips. Inside. The sensation of feeling a pussy - your pussy - for the first time was almost too much for the inexperienced man, and he’s bucking.
He’s humping.
Probin’ aside your pussylips and stretching out your entrance into a wiiiiide ‘oh’. Though his brother might have been thicker than him, Satoru himself wasn’t exactly slender.
Though smooth n’ curved in just the way that let him slip inside—
“Fuck- you’ve taken my virginity.” He’s acting like an animal. “Quantum Field Theory—” A slurring sentence leaving him with every single thrust, it almost sounded as though he was drunk. “Electromagnetism-” He’s reaching so deeply inside of you with his curvaceous pink tip, just the crowned edge of his cock that was aiming to claim every spot inside you. Every hidden spot. “Fluid dynamics- Navier–Stokes equation is the application of F = ma to fluids-”
“I have another fluid dynamic for ya…heh.” Satoya grubs against the side of your temple. With a burst of scorched laughter, he’s leaning himself back against the mattress - and taking you right along with him.
And Satoru can’t help but chase your cunt with feral need.
Barely letting Satoya rest before he’s takin’ over your slick entrance to swirl n’ swirl his tip inside. Mazing inside. Mouth watering as his older twin rests his hands underneath your thighs and peeeels your legs even further to their sides.
It makes you squeal as you feel a sudden splosh! escape from your quivering cunt. “O-oh—now that’s just unfair.”
“Unfair?” Satoya scoffs. “What’s unfair is this fucker cumming early.”
“Huh?” Satoru cranes his head to look down at wherever nonsense- oh.
Oh…he really had cum early.
Creamy white sap froths your entrance like icing. Gluing against either side of your thighs, dribbling down the line of your slit. Every time that he’s lurching his cock in just an inch, a splurge of it glazes his rude cockhead and trickles down his shaft. From there, it looked as though your cunt was wearing the prettiest gloss upon your folds- and Gojo Satoru would definitely agree.
And it’s only then that the realization hits - to both you and the utterly pussydrunk Gojo Satoru - that he’d cum just from feeling your pussy.
Sometime during the first touch up your slit, n’ the first time he had thrusted—and of course, what else is one to do but admire their handiwork? What else is one to do but reel their hips back just a little and thrust and thrust—
Making Satoya giggle at the sheer force. He’s being pushed back against the damn headboard with every single sodden thrust into you- “Easy there, little brother.”
“Fuck off. Ejaculation is simply a natural process of the urethral meatus in response to stimulation- so what?”
“I’m just saying…” And with a single flick of his thumb, Satoya has your clit pulsing between his fingertips. “Keep going like that and yer gonna wear yourself out before you can ruin her—”
“Wh-what do you mean?” At this, Satoru looks up through his thick bangs.
“Cheh, didn’t yer damn research tell you this?”
And you’re watching the exchange like a tennis match - except you might just be the ball.
“S’not just fucking her like a madman.” Satoya lectures. As if to prove his point, he’s drawin’ a cute heart on top of your sensitive nub and making you shrill—then looking up at Satoru as if to say ‘see? “You’ve gotta know when to- fuck, toy with her pussy. You’ve gotta know when to drive her so wild with pleasure that she can take your cock properly- bottomed-out yet?”
Satoru looks down. “Not yet.”
Satoya nods, looking more serious than you’ve ever seen him—except maybe when he was in the middle of some basketball tournament. The finals. Rubbin’ on your clit loooooong and slow- “Mmm, now try fucking this pretty pussy fast.”
“Mhm.”
And he does—fuck, he does.
The contrast between the frat president’s fingers on your clit - and the nerd’s cock between your trembling legs - was almost too much to handle. Your poor brain muddles up, and you’re bucking up into him—“Toru—Toya. Fuck.”
“See?” Satoya grins.
Satoru nods with an even wider grin.
“Now try going slow.”
This time, Satoya goes frenzied on top of your clit whilst Satoru’s fucking you in hard, thorough thrusts. Solid. Sudden. They were ones designed to reach the very back of your cunt, and you’re feeling the slamming pressure of each one in your throat-
Just trying to fit himself inside—
“Her- her epithelium, I can feel her stretching so much-”
After a few more minutes of this, Satoru’s hearing your cunt stutter out the loudest, most lecherous slurp! yet…
And he’s staring down with his half-lidded blue eyes to realize that he’d just bottomed-out. For the very first time in his life.
For the very first time, point-blank.
Bulging peripherals rolling to the back of his head, he swears he feels heaven in the way your sopping wet walls squeezed all of him. Every ridge and curve and even the rare vein—just a single clench more n’ he’s gonna start cumming deep into your womb.
Tears streaming down his cheeks, “Fuh-fuck.”
“I know, right?” Satoya muses from behind you. You’re whimpering as he lets go of your clit to reach a palm up- and Satoru meets the high-five with only slight wariness.
“Right on.”
And then it’s both of their urges to pleasure you.
Both working together. Both trying to one-up each other—before Satoya plants a loud smack! on top of your swollen folds.
And that will usually have Satoru startling at the sheer noise- gaping at how that only made you feel wetter ‘round his cock. “She really is a dirty fuckin’ girl…”
“Told you.”
Satoya’s thick fingertips travel from circling your clit to juuuuust a little further down, down, down. There, he teases your pussylips a little - rubbed raw from all the contact you’ve had tonight - down to your asscheeks.
Perfect and pretty.
Satoya gives them a little smack! before proceeding to spread them apart.
“Don’t tell me you’re…” Satoru sounds reproachful, but you could see the slight twitch of his lips.
“And so what?” The other twin plasters his lips to your temple, “If my pussy’s been taken over by my brother—then at least gimme that other cute hole, baby.”
Satoru shrugs, “As long as that thing isn’t touching me- eugh.”
You’re nodding, “Please-” Staring up into their two beautiful faces - one in front, one behind. “I want you both.”
“Dirty girl.” Satoya hums.
“Dirty girl.” Satoru agrees. “Can’t get enough of the Gojo twins, can you?”
You’re shaking your head.
Satoru smushes your cheeks together with one of his hands, tilting your face up to his. “Say it f’me, sweetheart?”
“I c-can’t…get enough—” And if you were in any other state right now, then you might just’ve been embarrassed at how whiny you sounded. “-of the Gojo…oh.”
And at that very moment, you feel Satoya’s thick, rounded cockhead pierce through your other hole.
It starts off slow—almost soothing. Just the silken globe of his erection, that mushroomy tip that passes through with little to no resistance - your body was always so pliant with Gojo Satoya. He takes pride in that fact.
But then comes…the rest of him.
How sinful that the more thicker of the twins was going into through your asshole- you could feel the tightness of your rim struggling to accommodate him. Feeling his prominent veins rub up against tender spots inside that you had no idea even existed, feeling his raw thickness inch inside and leave you sobbing.
“Oh my god—” You’re keening out at the feeling of Satoya easing inside. “T-Toya—”
And hearing you scream out his brother’s name- well, Satoru couldn’t fall too far behind, right? He was always the first in class, the first in the Physics Department, the first of the twins to pound your pretty pussy tonight - and he’s taking advantage of the fact.
He’s planting his heels down on the rickety mattress and shovelling.
Letting the reddened, swollen tip of his cock maze inside as if a searchlight aiming to find your most tender spots.
And perhaps it was muscle memory from earlier, perhaps it was sheer carnal nature—but it takes only one or two strokes for Satoru to probe deep inside and locate your g-spot. To ready his gluttonous tip and press a passionate welcome smooch against it.
You’re jolting as though struck by a million volts of electricity. “Toru—”
Like music to his ears, Satoru looks smugly down at his brothers. To which Satoya merely rolls his eyes and spreads his capped knees- in a single second, he’s arching his hips off the dampened mattress and puuuuushing that throbbing cock of his between your ass cheeks.
Bottoming out.
With both twins fully stuffed inside you - and with both twins reachin’ for the sweetest nerves inside - it’s no surprise that you find yourself sobbing out of pleasure.
Overstimulated on their lengths already.
You’re throwing your head back and babbling- “Toru—Toya.” Repeating their first names as though you were a broken record player, that in itself being one with one very favorite syllable: To. “To- fuck…To—”
Two simultaneous whacks! into your deepest depths leave you scrambling to pick up your thoughts. And your ability to speak.
“To—”
You’re arching against Satoya’s ripped front, and you press right into Satoru’s toned chest. Stuck in-between two brothers who just couldn’t seem to get enough of you—and they’re sharing a wide-eyed look with one another that doesn’t go unnoticed.
You flit your own teary gaze between the two, attempting to figure out what it meant.
And they always do say that some twins have telepathic abilities, don’t they?
Perhaps that’s what’s happening right now- because both unspoken and at the exact same time, Satoru and Satoya are recoiling their hips backwards.
Then returning with the hardest, most honed ruts.
Barely even hammering inside- just pure, carnal half-thrusts given just to drive you wild.
Thrust after thrust.
Probe after probe.
They don’t wait for one another, merely trusting that the other will catch up. And they don’t back down, either—every rugged hit pushed into your depths only seems to spur the other brother into reciprocating that strike twofold.
They’re learning the power of teamwork through your pussy?!
Satoru snags his flared tip on the crevice of your g-spot, whilst Satoya spends his time pummeling your ass. He was stretching you out in ways you don’t think you’ve ever been stretched out before - anal wasn’t something you did with him. And now…now he’s groaning at those cute clenches of your walls as though he was slowly falling in love with them.
The rugged texture of his thumb matching n’ contrasting with whatever calculated pace that Satoru was drilling into you. The bespectacled man has no shame reachin’ one of his thumbs down and swirling it in the excess leaks of his cum, collecting it all onto his fingerpad, he forces it between your pussylips and back into your hole.
Not a single drop wasted.
Satoru raises his cum-glazed fingertips up to his own mouth- and sucks.
“And ya call me the filthy one?” Satoya snickers.
“Aren’t you?”
“You’re a secret freak, weirdo-”
“Says the public freak.” Satoru flickers his eyes down to admire your cunt- he couldn’t believe that it’d taken this long since he managed to have you. To taste you. To feel you.
But now that he had you clenchin’ around his swollen shaft like this, and now that he had your pussylips coated in all his cum, Satoru knows he needs to have you again. He needs to love on you with his cock like this again—he’s sure he’d die if he didn’t. He’s sure of it.
And that damn brother of his-
“I know yer cursing me out mentally.” Satoya’s voice echoes through the heady bedroom. His grip grows more possessive underneath your thighs, and that blushin’ red tip of his even more ravenous to activate your nerves. There was a reason that the two of you had continued a…somethingship for so long.
And one of the main reasons being that he just had so much chemistry with your body. That he’s leaving you breathless, like you left Satoya every single fucking moment he was with you. “Ya get this look on your face- jealous I could have her first, huh?”
“Doesn’t matter what’s first—” Satoru grunts. Pampering your gooey depths with a dollop of precum, “It matters who’s last.”
“Yeah, and that’s gonna be me-”
“That’ll be me-”
“Yeah, right.” Satoya starts—and in your hazy mind, you’re registering that they were about to start fighting again. But how could you bring yourself to stop them- when they’re shattering every coherent thought in your brain with their bludgeoning cocks. Faster and faster. How long can a truce really last? “A virgin that doesn’t know her pussy as well as I do-”
“And which one of us is- ngh, making her feel good with her pussy now?”
“You think you’re even half as good as me?” Satoya sounds condescending. “Man, I hate to break it to ya- but you’re just for tonight. I’m gonna be there for her every night—”
“Every night until she gets a boyfriend, that is.” Satoru cocks his head with a dimpled smile. “Me.”
“She’s out of your league, nerd.”
“She’s out of yours, too-”
“Boys.” It’s with the most significant effort - every single ounce of will in your body, actually - that you’re managing to keep your voice steady. And both men turn their matching blue eyes to meet your half-lidded gaze.
Just so botched from all the times you’d been crying out in bliss tonight. It sounds scratchy once you say- “Just sh-shut up and make me—”
“Fuckin’ cum.”
“Reach your orgasm.”
They already know the answer before you utter it.
And it doesn’t take much for them to work in a frenzied rhythm on your cunt n’ your ass - staking their claim before the other. It was dizzying to be sandwiched between them. Because they’re probing into your every sweet spot, they’re dragging across your slick channels, they’re furrowing their brows to concentrate before they themselves cum—and before long, they’re pushing you straight into your nth high of the night.
Cumming.
It takes over you swift and flashing - you think you see stars dance before your very vision. Toes curling. Body arching into them.
There weren’t as many peaks during this orgasm as you had during your last few. And it isn’t long before feeling those zaps of electricity taper off- leaving your mouth babbling, and your throat hatching in sobs.
Again and again.
Satoru and Satoya fuck you through the brief tremors of your high—their dual tips entering both your channels. No doubt that your poor g-spot n’ clit were bruised by their touching by now. Stirrin’ about your insides, pumping out heeeeeaving hot messes of cum straight into your womb and deepest insides - it sloshes about as you’re bucking.
Fucking back into both of them.
The wads of their ropey seed stick to your every nook and cranny, creating a sheen between your legs that splatters all over. So much more than you ever thought possible for you to fit - because both of them had so much stored up.
Both of them had so many pangs of pleasure that could only be achieved by ruttin’ into your glossy wet pussy. Long and hard. Hot and cloying to your insides. They were the best orgasms of their entire life.
All because of you.
Filled to the brims until those brims couldn’t handle it anymore. Globular tips only fucking those leaking wads even deeper. Creamy with sap n’ droooooling out all those glazing wads into your deepest innards- even the slightest movements make you feel the splashes inside of you.
The most lecherous sounds escape you as they finally finish off their incredible waves of bliss. Balls finished clenching and sucked all dry—
Satoya’s peering down at the mess they’ve made of you, “Next round, I want her pretty pussy- but you’ve gotta wash that nasty stuff out.”
“Oh, fuck off-”
“And we’re taking turns.”
“Taking turns on what—?”
It’s a voice you’ve never heard before, then again, it’s not a voice you register as completely unfamiliar—there was something about it. Something about the pitch of it. Something about the lilting words. Something about that sort of rich voice that both the Gojo twins shared
And so some part of you hears the connection before you see it.
Before an exact clone of the twins above n’ below you on the bed walks through those bedroom doors.
White hair.
Blue eyes.
Those exact pretty features that made people stop on the roads, hoping for a second glance.
Except…this Gojo donned a sort of cowboy hat on his head - his button-up snug and revealing a sturdy build. His boots polished till they gleamed, and his arms all tanned—sun-kissed. It really did suit the two bouquets of flowers in his hands. If Satoru was spring, Satoya was summer, then he would be autumn - how he reminded you of the sturdiness of fall trees and the warmth of seasonal pumpkin beverages. The scent. The sight.
His jaw drops.
And so does yours- “Th-there’s another one of you—?” You’re shrilling between the two twins- no, you suppose they’d be triplets now?!
Satoya shrugs, “Multiple too many.”
“Multiple- so how many are there really…” And then you shake your head, almost fearful to hear the answer. “Why didn’t you tell anyone-”
“To be quite frank, it’s simply that no one asked.” Satoru answers this time.
Meanwhile, their brother lingers awkwardly at the door—he’d turned away respectfully as soon as he realized what he was seeing. Though he doesn’t make a move to re-enter the living room, torn between actually making that escape and wondering whether he was actually hallucinating or not—
That is, until you’re beckoning him over.
Within the next few minutes, Gojo Satohiro has his back leaned against the wooden headboard n’ you between his legs. Your back turned to him, your cunt swallowed up his eeeeven thicker red cock in the most lecherous swerves, bumps, and grinds.
Reverse cowgirl.
“Giddy uuuuup, girlie.” Satohiro coos as he juuuust perks his hips and ends up stroking your g-spot - the fastest one to find it. His bulbous mushroom tip finds permanent residence smoochin’ away at that tight spot. “C’mon- just a little harder now. You got this.”
“I’m- I’m trying—” Thighs aching. Moaning.
And he’s punishing you with a sudden spank of calloused fingertips- right where your right ass cheek was still sore from all the contact with Satoya. “Not trying hard ‘nough for me, sugar.”
His slight country accent (was that Kansai?) made your cunt grow even wetter- and the oldest of the Gojo brothers could feel it—
“Let me treat the lady.”
Maybe that’s why, before long, he’s pushing you down head-first into the pillows. Fingers planting yet another slap to your ass cheeks, cock bludgeoning away- in control now, Satohiro had the penchant to alternate between torturous slow paces n’ fast speeds that left you moooooaning—
Grabbing at Satoru’s pillows for dear life-
You’re ending up slipping your hand underneath. Pulling out something soft and…warm and…familar.
“What the hell is my h-hoodie doing here?”
The two other men seated - boxers-on and five feet apart from one another - in one corner of the room jolt—and all eyes fall upon Satoru.
At least, all eyes except Satohiro’s.
He tugs the fabric out of your hand and loops it around your eyes like a blindfold.
“Hey girlie, how ‘bout we take turns fucking you n’ you try to guess which one’s which?”
"i promise myself, while drinking a glass of water in the morning, to tell you. i'll confess what has been on the tip of my tongue tomorrow. you are pretty." — pretty u by seventeen.
୨ pairing ୧ : park sunghoon x fem!reader.
୨ synopsis ୧ : he wouldn't necessarily call himself talkative. sunghoon is just a normal college boy with normal hobbies and interests, so of course he likes talking about those, and he especially likes talking about you— but talking to you? it's an entirely different challenge. and he knows he has to man up and speak up before you get sick of his silence.
୨ genres ୧ : college!au, classmates!au, slow burn-ish, strangers to lovers, lowkey loser!sunghoon, romance, very fluffy, light angst, but a whole lot more comfort, a bit of jealousy, sunghoon is a stupid dumb idiot lover boy. ✮ featuring: enhypen's 02z + heeseung, ive's gaeul and liz, and seventeen's jeonghan.
୨ warnings ୧ : suggestive content, making out, swearing, pet names, alcohol consumption, parties, brief mentions of blood, unintentional self injury, poor attempts at humor, sunghoon is kind of emotionally constipated but in a good way. sunghoon's taller than reader. lmk if i missed anything!
୨ word count ୧ : 18.3k words.┆read the teaser here.
୨ from ! 🐰 yan ୧ : my first written work !! i normally write smaus so writing a full oneshot has been daunting. this is my literal brain child so i hope you guys love it as much as i do. i would love to get feedback via asks/replies !! (pls be nice) ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡
𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏 ✾ 𝙍𝙀𝘽𝙇𝙊𝙂𝙎 are appreciated.
TODAY MARKED THE FIRST DAY OF YOUR FOUR YEARS IN COLLEGE. you walked past your university’s gates, chin tipped up and proud with a book held close to your chest, thin silver glasses framing your face, and a smile that you spent an entire hour practicing in the mirror yesterday.
you wore the best outfit you could, but not in a trying-hard overdressed kind of way, just enough effort to make you memorable. you wanted to make a good impression, after all.
if you could look lost enough, maybe a senior would notice you. maybe he’d ask for your schedule, walk you to class, make light gossip about the professors you have and in a few years, he’d propose to you in the same spot by the gates, and you’d say i do, and live a happy married lif—
clank!
you get snapped out of your sweet little daydream as pain shoots through your shoulder, down your left arm. “fuck.” you whisper, head snapping up to shoot a frustrated glare at the thick pole in front as if it’s the one who bumped into you.
the impact was hard enough to have your book and glasses falling to the floor with a thud, and definitely hard enough to leave a bruise tomorrow because even merely moving your arm makes you wince.
thankfully, the area was mostly empty— which meant your dream of being a college cool girl was still in play —save for a tall guy just a foot beside you.
shit.
he’s already kneeling down to pick your things up and before you could even bend over to help, he just looks up and gestures to you to stay still by pointing to your outfit. “skirt.” is all he says, his voice deep and quiet.
you’d normally blush at the gentlemanly gesture but instead, you do it out of pure embarrassment.
god, this wasn’t the meet-cute you imagined.
he hands you back your book and your glasses, freshly wiped of dirt from the hem of his faded black hoodie. you slip it on your face again and bow your head out of shame, stepping aside to escape this nightmare of an embarrassment, but before you could even attempt to, he tugs on the sleeve of your cardigan, showing you his open palm like he's telling you to stop.
and against your better judgement, you do.
the stranger slips one of his backpack’s straps off his shoulder, fishing a box out of it and begins scribbling away with a pen cap trapped between his teeth.
you took this time to look at him— really look at him. tall, lean physique, sharp features, fair skin. he wore a pair of black thick-rimmed glasses that framed his kind-looking eyes really well. he’s stylish, no question about that.
and painfully handsome, too.
the pen is closed with a faint click and he slips it back into his hoodie’s pocket and you take that as a sign to stop checking him out lest you embarrass yourself further.
his lips purse into a straight line and his thick eyebrows furrow closer as he gives the box an intense stare, the soft eyes from a while ago turning more serious and stressed as it turns to you, back to the box, and back to you again.
the suffocating silence is shattered by two men shouting from a distance, the shorter one of them comically jumping and waving his hands in the air.
he turns to look at the source of the noise and lets out a small grunt, handing you the box and before jogging away without another word.
you stand there dumbstruck, watching the three boys interact for a while before turning on your heels, slipping the box between your chest and the book. that was odd.
you walk to class with a sore shoulder and cheeks that still feel warm from the whole ordeal. upon finding your room, new faces give you polite smiles or nods of acknowledgement and you do the same. once you're seated and settled, you put the book down on top of your desk.
the forgotten box falls on your lap, urging you to take a closer look at it.
menthol pain relief patches.
you flip the box around and you're greeted by a pastel yellow post-it note stuck on the back.
“for your shoulder. please be careful next time.”
he probably thinks you're a loser with no depth perception. and he wouldn't be wrong for thinking that, but it doesn't stop your cheeks from heating up for the nth time this morning.
you convince yourself it's okay. that your university is big, and you surely you won't meet him again. the fact disappoints you a little bit, but at least you're saved from having to face him after what happened.
you press your fingers against your forehead in stress.
first day in and you’ve already made a fool of yourself in front of a man. not just any man but a handsome one. a very important distinction.
developing a crush feels on him feels pathetic. he just gave you muscle relief patches, an act of kindness that was just a little bit above the bare minimum. and he only said one word to you, for gods’ sake. but you’ve never been one to think logically, so while your lecture starts, your head starts drifting off and it’s already incorporating the good-looking, tall stranger in your romantic fantasies.
turns out, the man in your dreams wouldn’t be a senior, nor would he be gossiping with you about your professors.
instead, you’d be sharing them.
during your third class of the day, the handsome stranger walks in the lecture hall with his two friends in tow and you immediately recognize him because of the glasses. his hands are stuffed into his hoodie as he settles on a seat a couple of rows in front of you, still as intimidating as he looked like when he gave you the box.
you learned of his name when the professor called him to read a passage in the book.
park sunghoon.
you think it’s a pretty name— fitting for a pretty boy like him.
sunghoon’s voice was steady while he read, smoothly pronouncing every word, clearing his throat after a mistake and resuming with the same composure. the speed at which he spoke was just right, slow enough to enunciate every syllable but not too much to bore whoever chose to listen.
"mr. park, care to share your thoughts on what you just read?"
sunghoon only stood straighter, his natural confidence in his voice making you swoon in your seat.
“i don't believe the fable's moral lesson to necessarily be applicable in real life where businesses and industries have become fast-paced. should the readers need to have a takeaway, they should focus on what the hare lacked— humility. his over-confidence is the ultimate reason for his downfall, being a creature that has already been given natural talent and an advantage on the terrain—”
just like that, your small happy crush turned into full-blown attraction. his voice? his eloquence? damn. it’s like he’s trying (and succeeding) to make you want him.
you wish you had sat in front so you could look at him more. you could only imagine how stern he’d look, how his thick brows would meet together making him look even more gorgeous when he’s focused. but for now, you could settle for the view of his back while trying your best to listen to your professor, and not to the voice that suspiciously resembles sunghoon's playing in a constant loop inside your head.
he’s in the rest of your classes today too, which makes the task of focusing twice as hard. you feel like a creep with the way your eyes naturally gravitate to him every time you hear his voice, or when you see a tiny bit of movement from the corner of your eye.
so when it’s almost time to go home, you do the most un-creepy thing you can think of: wait outside the door.
a student, and another, they all step out one by one. then he finally walks out, laughing at something his friend said before freezing mid-sentence as he catches sight of you standing with a familiar box laid out on your palm.
he looked surprised for a moment, before gripping on the single strap hanging on his shoulder, shifting uncomfortably before raising a brow like he was waiting for you to speak.
“oh! i, uh.. i already put some on my shoulder and on my arm a while ago. there’s too much in the pack and i figured i could give it back to you since i don’t really have any use for it.” you explain, pushing it towards him.
one of his friends gasps at the sight, quickly throwing a punch to sunghoon’s shoulder which he receives with a quiet hiss.
“what the fuck, hoon? i was looking for that! you know i have try-outs later!” the boy shouts, his australian accent thick and evident as he snatches the pack from your palm. “tch, can’t believe you lied to me.”
sunghoon gives him a cold stare, taking the patches away again before whispering something to the other boy which resulted in the rowdy blonde getting dragged away by his collar. he flipped the box over once, twice, and raised an eyebrow, seeming to notice that the post-it note was not there anymore.
“is this what you’re looking for?” taking the neatly folded paper from your pocket, you place it on top of the box. “i’m sorry for taking it. i thought it was for me. unless you also have other friends who regularly bump into poles while actively daydreaming and you actually meant to give that to someone els—”
sunghoon cuts you off with his index finger pressed on his own lips. he gives both back to you before flashing you a small smile, one that causes your poor little heart to thump faster.
“for you. keep it.” his words are clipped but you can feel the kindness behind them.
say something, anything, to keep the conversation going.
“i’m y/n, by the way.” you hold your hand out.
“i know. i’m sunghoon.” he murmurs, looking at the hand extended towards him before shaking it.
you sense the slight hesitation but the contact makes you giddy nonetheless. it’s as sweet as it is short lived because sunghoon quickly lets go, hands returning to the safety of his hoodie’s pocket.
“huh? how’d you know? i don’t remember the professor calling me. wait- did he take attendance? shit, i forgot to say present—”
the chuckle he lets out is low and breathy, making the words halt in your mouth. sunghoon shakes his head and his eyes do a quick scan of you before pointing to the small sticker that reads 'yoon y/n's!' on the book you've been holding.
"oh."
another beat of awkward silence.
“uh.. what’s your schedule?” you ask with a kind smile, following sunghoon as he starts walking towards your building's exit, trying not to dwell on how he started walking slower, at the perfect pace for you to keep up with his long strides.
he fishes for his phone to show you the picture and you do the same, eyes looking at your screen then his. “we share most classes! all the ones in the afternoon.” you smile victoriously, and sunghoon releases another quiet chuckle, nodding along.
before you know it, you’ve reached the gate where his friends are waiting. he pauses, squinting his eyes at the duo who suddenly stopped talking to look between you and him, teasing grins plastered on their faces which just made sunghoon rub his temple.
“oh? who is this? a new friend?” the black-haired friend asks, a smirk on his lips while raising an eyebrow at sunghoon.
“y/n.” sunghoon says, pointing to you. “jake.” he points to the blonde boy with an aussie accent, before turning to the tanner friend with a jawline so sharp you’re convinced you’d need more than menthol patches if you touched it. “jay.”
sunghoon must have told them about what happened this morning because they looked at you, eyes scanning you up and down with anflash of amusement showing in their eyes.
“hi.” you give them a shy wave and they return it with a welcoming smile, their hands gently shaking yours.
jake pulls sunghoon away, huddling on one side while whispering, their heads occasionally turning to you every now and then with synchronicity.
“what do you mean that’s her?”
“jake, pipe the fuck down!”
“are they… talking about me?” you turn to jay with raised eyebrows and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like he's grown familiar to this scenario. “looks like it. please forgive jake. he’s normally more… discreet when he’s curious about someone.”
yeah, there’s nothing discreet about jake pointing his finger at you with a wide smile. sunghoon, on the other hand, is insistent on pushing jake's hand down with a pretty pink flush on his cheeks, looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. very cute.
“do you guys share all your classes?”
“yeah, we share an apartment so we were together when we chose our classes.”
“so i’d take it that you guys are close?”
jay gives you a nod, eyes fond while he looks at his best friends. “met in middle school— and we’ve unfortunately been inseparable since then.”
“that's cute. must be nice to have people you can rely on already. college is kinda scary.”
“you have us!” jake whispers from beside you, making you scream in surprise at his sudden presence. sunghoon shoots him a sharp glare, tugging on your cardigan for the second time today to pull you by his side.
the golden retriever looking boy presses his palms together, whispering a small apology before handing you his phone.
“sunghoon told me you have afternoon classes with us! so you can give me your number and just reach us whenever. not to brag but i’m the most popular in this trio. i'll text you whenever there’s a party. i'll getcha connected to people in no time.” he adds with a wink, pulling a laugh out of you.
“i think i’ll stick to texting you for home work.” you reply with a roll of your eyes, punching your number in jake’s phone nonetheless.
a few more friendly words are exchanged before they wave you goodbye because jay and jake are going to your college’s basketball try-outs. sunghoon isn’t interested but is supposedly "required by law" to go because he’s their moral support.
you laugh and give both of them a fist bump for good luck before walking away, failing to catch sunghoon’s lingering stare as he watches your figure disappear.
that night, you buried yourself under your duvet, congratulating yourself for surviving your first day of freshman year and making three new friends on top of that.
just then, your phone vibrated.
💬 from: unknown number — this is sunghoon. :)
your friendship with park sunghoon slowly blossomed from that day onward. though your first meeting was full of chaos, the following months were anything but.
much like him, it was calm. respectful, even.
you would give each other a smile when you passed by one another in the mornings, he’d shoot you a text to let you know he reserved the seat next to him when you were running ten minutes late in the afternoon, or you'd remind him of tasks due the next day.
he even offer to accompany you to the university’s library when your friends weren't available, headphones on and only taking it off to tap on your shoulder when he notices you dozing off.
one day, you asked him to grab lunch with you under the pretense of not having anyone to eat with, and then it became routine.
usually it would be just you and sunghoon but the boys would tag along every now and then. he would be noisier during those lunches, and you relished it because that’s the only time you get to see him be so comfortable and rowdy.
you pondered what the cause could be, and eventually landed on a theory during one of your sociology classes.
deindividuation, as your professor called it.
she said being part of a larger group can lead to a sense of reduced personal responsibility and accountability which then causes individuals to feel less inhibited and more likely to engage in behaviors they might not otherwise, including speaking loudly or interrupting.
she basically described sunghoon to a perfect t.
because your friendship with him is quiet. his half of the friendship, to be specific.
you mostly got to know him through mere observation– his habits, things he enjoyed and things he disliked. if you didn’t discover things yourself, his friends would be the one offering sunghoon's information to you like when jay told you he has a younger sister he adored, or when jake told you that he once wanted to go to antarctica, a dream that he left behind after he took an interest in photography.
if you were to type out every word he's said to you for the entirety of your friendship in a continuous line, you’d probably be able to fill four pages of a document in arial 11. maybe five.
if you remember correctly, his longest running sentence is “please walk on the inside part of the sidewalk next time, angel— it’s dangerous.” a yet-to-be defeated record of fourteen words. it was also the first time he called you by a pet name and it had you screaming into your pillow as soon as you got home.
initially, you thought it’d be better to converse with him through text. and it was an improvement, yes– but only by a few notches. you’d be able to make twenty pages with the words he said through the phone, but there were still days where he’d just reply with one word.
or a single emoji.
but sunghoon isn’t nonchalant. far from it, actually.
he laughs at your jokes— he even giggles when it's done to his type of humor. if he sees you stressing out during a pop quiz, he’d slyly push his paper towards you to let you copy his answers. and he already knows to take his sweater off and hand it to you before history class because the heater doesn’t work well in that classroom.
almost always, he’d walk out of the classroom with his bag slung on one of his shoulders and yours on the other with the finesse of someone who's used to being reliable. you’ve never had to open your own water bottles or push through doors either because sunghoon would be the one doing it for you. all of that while wearing a proud smile.
and barely any noise.
when you ask him questions, he’d either hum to affirm, shake his head no, or shrug if he didn’t know the answer. if he’s the one asking you questions, he just gestures with his hands or fingers to get his message across.
one morning when you went to class in a new hairstyle, he pointed to it with raised brows. “ah, just wanted to try something new.” you explained. his reply was a smile and a measly thumbs up.
all that to say, he's an acts-of-service rather than a words-of-affirmation type of guy.
you always try to fill that awful silence between the both of you with endless rambles, and like the reliable person he is, he always listens with a hum here and there to let you know that he was still following your story about how your neighbor scared you shitless by trying to open your door in the middle of the night.
"—he shook the knob so hard i had to call an emergency locksmith. it’s literally the second time he did that this week! and he doesn’t even have the decency to pay me back for the fee!”
by the time you end your tirade, you’re slumped over the café’s table, cheeks squished flat on the smooth surface. he just chuckles and taps on your head with a finger and you raise it slightly. sunghoon places a sheet of tissue down and leans back, allowing you to press your face against the table again, but hygienically this time around.
“you care for my skin more than i do.” you grumble, blowing the stray hairs away from your face.
he does it like it’s routine— because it is.
the first time you did it, he shook his head in slight disappointment. “you’ll get acne.” he said, voice flat while pointing to his cheeks. so after months of it happening, he learned to always have tissues in his bag just in case you decided you wanted to have another ranting session.
a few minutes pass and you hear him groan before reaching over to show you his watch. two thirty-seven pm. “man. fuck history class.” you sigh, starting to pack up your things while sunghoon's already a few steps past the cafe door.
“hoonie, wait for me!” you whine, running to catch up and he pauses, looking at you over his shoulder.
he only resumes his strides when he hears the familiar taps of your footstep beside him, making him smile to himself as he shoves his hands in his pocket, walking back to class with the cold autumn wind that pushes leaves of gold and orange past his feet.
this is what he does. if he wanted to go somewhere, he’d guide you to the destination by walking instead of telling. sometimes, because you moved at the pace of a snail, he would need to tug on your shirt or on the end of your jacket to help you keep up.
he never actually touches you. not intentionally. the usual skinship he’d initiate is a tap on your shoulder, or on the back of your hand. if he was feeling extra touchy, the most he’d give is an affectionate pat to your head.
if you remember correctly, that has only happened seven times so far.
there was also that one time he touched your cheeks for a brief moment, but you don’t think that counts because he only did it to push your head away when jake jokingly leaned towards you with a kissy face.
“sunghoon!”
two heads turn around to see heeseung, a sophomore, approaching with a basketball pinned between his hand and hip. he’s a good friend of jake and jay, and by association, sunghoon’s.
“mind if i take him away for a bit?” heeseung asks you, the usual charming smile on his face as he taps on sunghoon’s shoulder. you nod and shoo them away, but not without sunghoon pointing to an empty bench first.
you head over there, one leg crossed over the other as you observe the bright smile on sunghoon’s face. words like “girls” and “after party” are thrown, and you already know it has something to do with the boys’ basketball match this weekend.
but their words translate more like faint buzzing because you’re too busy dwelling on the way sunghoon interacts with heeseung. it’s something that has been bothering you for a good while— the way he becomes much more animated when he talks to someone. the way sentences don’t sound strained leaving his mouth.
it’s like everyone has access to a button that activates talkative sunghoon.
everyone else but you.
the theory of deindividuation didn’t apply to him anymore. maybe it never did.
he wasn’t technically popular, no. he was still an introvert who preferred staying on the sidelines but from what you’ve seen, anyone who was brave enough to go up to him and make friends, he accepted without protest.
weren’t you already friends with him? so why can’t he be like that with you?
your mind reels back to the time you caught him talking to a senior on the way to your next class. they were having a conversation about the cameras he liked and his history with photography, and it made you wonder for a second whether he had an identical twin his friends forgot to tell you about. you could hear the childlike fascination as he talked, voice practically dripping with enthusiasm.
so when you asked him about cameras later that same day and all you got was a simple 'i like them', it simply broke your heart.
you've spent days thinking about why he couldn’t open up to you the same way he did with others. you’d scroll through your texts with sunghoon and it's always polite. always curt. always “how’s your weekend?” but when you ask him the same question, he’d reply with “just okay.” before turning the conversation to something about you again.
maybe he wasn’t interested in you. not in that way, at least. because why would he? he, who would make people stare whenever you walked the hallways together. he, who made every student in class stop whatever they were doing just to listen to him whenever he recited.
he, who hugged acquaintances yet can’t seem to stand the thought of his hand grazing you, his friend.
it made you overthink whether you truly were a friend to him or just another overzealous classmate forcing your unwanted presence.
you don’t even realize you’ve started tearing up until you see sunghoon kneeling in front of you, eyes full of worry as he looks into your glassy ones.
“angel? w-what’s wrong?” he asks, a hand reaching up but he bites his lips and brings it back down to his side.
you turn your head to the side and force out a laugh. “where’s heeseung?”
“he left. tell me what’s wrong.” he says, placing a hand on your knee. he doesn’t need to tell you, because you could tell how uncomfortable he was from initiating that simple touch.
“it’s nothing. just… i think some dust got into my eyes.” you rub your eyes with your curled fist, exaggerating a few blinks before you gently push his hand off your knee. not even a second passes and you already miss the warmth of his touch. it's pathetic.
“there. it’s gone now.” you hum, pulling him up by his bag’s strap. “let’s go? mr. shin will kill us if we’re late.”
he looks like he wants to say something. but he doesn’t.
he never does.
instead, he strips off his white hoodie and hands it to you, looking at you with expectant eyes. he just stands there, your bag in his hand with the same expression until you relent and throw his hoodie over your head while rolling your eyes.
you walk to your history class warm and smelling like a pleasant mix of sunghoon’s cologne and laundry detergent.
your exit plan hasn’t even started yet and you’re already failing.
three weeks.
three cruel and agonizing weeks of sunghoon missing your presence.
he thinks it started that weekend. like heeseung suggested, he texted you an invite to the frat party to celebrate the boys’ win. he never really got a reply but he did see you arrive safely which put him a little more at ease.
you greeted him with a breathtaking smile and the same little wave he started looking forward to receiving everyday— his biggest motivator to attend and do well in class despite the hell that it is.
you wore a short ivory white dress, blessing him with far more skin than he usually saw within the confines of yours classrooms, your hair done up to show the smooth curves of your neck and the sharp angle of your shoulders.
all he could think about is dirtying your exposed skin with marks so the annoying boys in your class would get the hint to stay away from what's his, and he hated it. you don't even know it but you make something deeply covetous stir inside him.
you’re already beautiful in his eyes, but that night you truly looked like an angel, and he wanted nothing more than to kneel and follow you towards the light.
jiwon and gaeul snapped him out of his trance by dragging you away to the other side of the house before he can even get a word in, and all sunghoon could do is pray that you don't leave with someone else.
the after party went on. drunk people leaning against the kitchen counter, a random couple sucking each others’ faces off on the recliner by the entrance, and jay crying “foul” when he lost another round of beer pong. for the sixth time.
sunghoon looked at his phone, brows almost meeting together as he stared at your conversation. still left on read, still no reply, but he decided to send you another one anyway.
💬 to: angel y/n. — your dress looks nice. :)
“why’s my y/n-ie not here?” jake approached him, red solo cup in hand.
“first of all: she’s not yours. second: you’re already slurring your words, jaeyun. sober up before we get to the car, i beg. i don’t want my car to smell like vomit again.” sunghoon grunted, trying to push the boy off as jake leaned against him for support, face pressed on his shoulder while whining about how much he wanted to see you.
“why? you gonna try to kiss her again?”
“if it’ll annoy you. like it always does.” jake snaps back, a drunken smirk on his face.
sunghoon rolled his eyes, taking jake’s cup and pushing him with enough force to make him land on the couch.
“you didn’t even get to kiss her sober. what makes you think your wasted ass can do it this time?” the laugh he let out is light, yet traced with a bit of venom.
looking at jake all sprawled out on the couch and giggling like a man without a care in the world made sunghoon sneer. even thinking about that memory makes him want to knock jake out. but he knows his best friend’s teasing is only done to get a reaction out of him, to press on a particularly sensitive bruise— the bruise being his feelings for you.
“hoon!” he turned, seeing jay from the kitchen pointing to a girl. he approached them with ease, flashing the stranger a smile. “he’s my friend who wanted to get something done.” jay said, charming as ever, palm pointed to sunghoon.
“this is the minha, the artist i told you about. let me know when you guys agree on something, yeah?” he pat both their backs and made his exit, probably to tend to jake who was wasted and still trying to dance.
the girl turned to him with a gasp, excitedly showing the jewelry on her hand and fingers. they talked about the bracelet he wanted to be made, noting colors he did and didn’t want to include, even passionately showing her reference pictures.
in the middle of his conversation, he raised his head to look for jay but caught you instead, unreadable eyes moving from him to his new-found friend. he took a step back from her and one towards you but you vehemently shook your head, raising a hand to make him stay in place.
you gave him a smile, one that looked a little forced, a little too disingenuous and foreign in a kind face like yours.
you mouthed ‘i’m heading home', thumb pointing to the door before waving goodbye. “wait. i— i’ll be back.” he says to minha, running and pushing his way through the crowd of bodies. when he stepped out of the front door, gaeul's car had already sped off, leaving nothing behind but a cloud of dust.
💬 to: angel y/n. — i didn’t get to say goodbye. :(
the three bubbles popped up on his screen. after a few minutes of watching it appear and disappear, you replied.
and so ensued the twenty one days of sunghoon’s torture.
the absence wasn’t loud. it wasn’t immediate. it was a gradual pull, like flowers in a vase slowly losing their petals and vibrant color to their unnatural environment.
you were gone, but not entirely.
though a part of him thinks it would have been more merciful if you just left outright, because the moment he starts noticing things, it’s like he can’t stop. it's the type of cruelty only you could do to him.
you didn’t sit beside him anymore, opting to return to your previous spot behind him during classes. no more loud cheering by his side when he attended the boys’ basketball practices after class. and just to rub salt to his open wound, you made gaeul and jiwon replace him in your usual lunch spot.
that was the final straw— the thing that let him knew he somehow, some way, truly fucked up.
now he can’t even use classes as an excuse to see you because of course, of course, it had to happen right before the holiday break. not only was there an emotional distance, but a physical one, too. he can’t text you either— not without looking stupid or desperate. the last message he sent read “okay. good night, y/n.” which was a reply to your dry “i think i'll sleep, sunghoon. night! :)”
no more lunches, no more affectionate reminders of homework deadlines, and no more nicknames. things changed. and the shift, though unnoticeable to others, was strong enough for his best friends to speak up.
“i swear to god if you sigh one more time, i’ll actually mix bleach in your coffee to put you out of whatever misery you’re in.” jay grunts, throwing the couch pillow to sunghoon, unfazed and still busy fiddling with his phone despite getting hit square on his arm.
jake takes a peek from behind the couch, a plate of their shared dinner in hand, laughing as he sees sunghoon pathetically typing and deleting different variations of 'how was your day?' into his phone without actually sending anything.
“is our y/n-ie still not talking to you?” he teases, moving to the sit on the floor, right between his best friend’s legs. the nickname rolling off jake's tongue makes sunghoon's brow twitch in irritation.
“still? i thought they were okay? didn’t she visit us during a game?”
sunghoon’s head snaps up to look at jay. “she did?”
they nod. “the one we did before break.”
“without me?” he says this time, voice pitched up in disbelief.
they give him another nod.
“said she just wanted to drop by and watch us. sat with a long-haired blonde guy.” jay mumbles, giving him a shrug.
“yeah. he seemed awfully close to her if you ask me. arm around her everything. i’m surprised they weren’t making out.” jake adds, making the other laugh as he creates horrible slurping sounds with arms wrapped around himself.
sunghoon takes the pillow from earlier and smashes it across the side of jake’s head. “you’re disgusting.” he huffs, storming to his room, feeling his heart drop lower and lower with each stomp of his feet.
he hears nothing but static, clouded eyes burning holes on the framed photo atop his bedside table: a candid shot he took using his favorite film camera of you laughing so brightly that your eyes turned into crescents.
the mere thought of someone else seeing you in that light has dinner rushing back out his mouth.
you’ve made peace with your friendship with sunghoon.
you've long accepted that it won’t turn into anything more. at some point, you were able to tune out the girls that hang around him, not caring whether they'd confess. he rejected every single one of them anyway, and you know you wouldn't be any different than those pretty crying faces if you tried.
you only cared when people approached him to have a friendly conversation because sunghoon would happily give them a memorable one. that's what made you jealous.
hell, he even got your friends. gaeul mentioned natto once and sunghoon yapped about the delicacy like a day-one fan. he shared his favorite fashion brands with jiwon too– complete with a detailed explanation on his preferences and favorite collections.
granted, he wasn’t on the best terms with them right now because they were the ones who had to pick up the pieces of your heart when you started crying halfway through the drive back to your apartment after that cursed party.
you stood there long enough to see him laugh and giggle in amazement at whatever amazing thing the amazing girl was showing him on her phone, stood long enough to see how casually he held her hand and raised it to his face to look at her accessories. your eyes read his lips, 'you’re so cool', right before he saw you.
gaeul held you in her arms as soon as you curled up in your bed, jiwon on the other side shushing you while stroking your head. “i just— i don’t get it.” you grunted, brashly wiping your wet cheeks with the back of your hand, the mascara-stained tears staining your bedsheets as they dropped freely.
“why he’s– why doesn't he doesn’t talk to me like that? but.. he looks at me like he likes me and— and he does things for me he doesn’t do with other people!”
you were inconsolable, hiccuping in between sobs and screaming more words that your friends don’t understand anymore because you’re crying too much. they just exchanged tired looks while rubbing on your arm until you were exhausted enough to sleep.
the morning after, while pressing frozen spoons on your swollen eyelids, you were determined to treat him as he did you— sweet and kind, but from a safe distance. close enough to keep your friendship with him together, but far enough so you wouldn’t have to feel your heart get stomped on when you hear him ramble about his passions to someone else.
he still attempted to ask about you through texts, tried to talk about the weather, or your progress on a project. he never brought up the topic of this weird drift in your relationship and neither did you.
at first, you replied within the same hour, then the same day, then after three days and so on.
ignoring him became easier when you went back home because you couldn’t see him, couldn't feel the hairs on your nape stand straight whenever his inspecting gaze was stuck on you. you could put your notifications on mute and pretend you fell asleep when he shoots you another text to ask what's keeping you so busy.
half-way through the holiday, the ringtone you set specifically for sunghoon stopped ringing and you knew he stopped trying to reach you.
were you sad? were you relieved? you didn't know.
but what you do know is that you have to keep up this act. so even after the second semester started, you diligently stuck to your new routine. nods in the hallway, civil hi’s and ‘hello’s in the classroom, hoping and praying that your feelings would slip away the same way you were slipping from him.
you marked today’s date with another x — thirty six days since the rift, twenty nine days since the texts stopped.
ten days since random letters started appearing.
you didn’t think he was trying to hide it. and if he did, he was doing a shit job because you were able to recognize his penmanship with just a glance— sunghoon had an odd way of writing the letter y, after all. a different kind of neat with a little flick at the end.
some days, the letters would be slipped in through your locker, and on busier days, it would be on your desk accompanied with food. the drinks varied, but the pastry stayed the same. an almond croissant from your favorite café— the one you used to hangout with him.
“i don’t know what i did, but i hope you know i’m sorry.”
that’s the first letter he wrote. written in a plain piece of yellow pad, contrasting the way it’s elegantly wrapped — in an ivory envelope with a small heart sticker sealing it. you made your friends read it, too. and gaeul cackled loudly, teasing you for immediately turning soft and wanting to run back into sunghoon's arms.
“you’re seriously folding as quick as he folded that half-assed letter.” she said in amusement, chopsticks roughly poking through the seaweed roll on jiwon’s lunch box. the blonde just rubbed your shoulder in understanding, shooting the older girl a glare. “don’t blame our y/n! she’s just a girl in love.”
"hopeless romantics, the two of you." the other girl replied with a shake of her head.
since that day, the letters have improved. still in the same off-white envelope, the same red heart-shaped sticker. the content was different each time, but they made your heart race all the same.
“your hoodie today looks comfortable. i hope you’re staying warm.”
“i’ve been thinking about how you're the only one that who understands me even when i don’t say a lot. i'm grateful for that.”
“i saw you crying today behind the bleachers. you said it was just from a yawn. it must have hurt a lot if you couldn’t tell anyone. next time you want to yawn again, just call for me, okay?”
“i look at you a lot, but i think of you even more. what do i do with you?”
you push the small calendar inside your locker and sigh softly as you peel the heart sticker off, eyes reading through today’s letter.
“it was drizzling today and i felt so much more sullen. it made me realize how much i keep searching for the voice, the presence that made everyday brighter. i miss you, y/n.”
you hate how your first instinct is to look around. to check if you’ll see the same annoyingly handsome, glasses-wearing face that’s been haunting you for the past month. but of course, he isn’t there. so you fold the letter again.
another one added to the collection of the letters that you keep safely in your room so you can read it again later tonight.
away from the crowd of students flocking to their lockers, sunghoon stands with a soft smile on his face as he watches you slip the envelope in your bag. when you close the metal door shut, he takes it as a sign to walk back to jay and jake, hands in his pocket, grinning in victory.
“she didn’t throw your corny letter away this time?” jake howls and sunghoon’s smug expression falls into one of panic, making him smack the boy in the back of his head.
“she never did, idiot. and keep your voice down.”
jay raises his eyebrow. “i don’t understand why you don’t just talk to her. surely it’s easier to just do that rather than… writing all this extra shit every night. who are you? shakespeare?”
sunghoon just sighs and shakes his head, his thumb reaching up to scratch his adam’s apple. “you don’t understand, and pray that you never do. because this shit? it ain’t easy.”
too much projects still left in your to-do list, too many passive-aggressive comments from useless group mates that you chose to ignore for the sake of keeping the peace, and one-too-many snide remark from a stranger in the women’s bathroom about how ‘interesting’ your shoes are.
needless to say, it's been a rough week.
most of the students have gone home by now. your girlfriends bid you goodbye an hour ago and you stayed behind, opting to work on your essay in an empty classroom because your head wouldn't work if tried to finish it at home. the fact that you'd have a meaningful rest tomorrow gave you the last push you needed to press submit.
tired footsteps echo down the empty hallway as you use your remaining energy to trudge towards your locker. it opens with a bleary rattle and you find a square box laid atop an envelope.
it’s been a while since sunghoon left you one.
you push the heavy books inside before reaching for the black suede box, the fuzzy material tickling your fingertip as you push the top open.
inside, a bracelet. fine silver chains alternating with four round glass beads– pink and green blooming from the center like ink dropped in still water. a flat silver rectangle hangs in the center with the corners of it smoothly rounded out, and embellished with detailed carvings of flowers around the edges. on the back, an engraving of your name.
why would he do this?
you carefully return the bracelet inside its case and reach for the envelope with pursed lips. you close your eyes and let out a shaky exhale.
you need to prepare yourself for what you're about to read. if this one's as sweet as his past letters, your resolve— the tiny amount left of it —wouldn't be able to hold you back, especially considering how worn out you are.
"you must have been having a hard time lately— the y/n who’s precious to sunghoon. i hope we can talk again because i want you to tell me that today was tough.
i want to be the one you lean on— and the one who tells you that you’re doing a good job regardless.
i know you’ve been suffering through a lot, and i want you to know that i’m here.”
the corner of the paper crumples in your tightening fist as you tilt your head up to keep your tears from smudging more of the black ink. you stand in place, trying your best to control your breathing, teeth biting down on your chapped lips as your eyes run over the last words.
“you’ve worked hard, angel. i'm proud of you.”
your shaky hands close the locker door, forehead leaning against it as you hold the letter close to your chest, quietly sniffling with your head hung low, hot tears falling directly on the dirty tiles. “he saw me. he always sees me.” you whisper to yourself, shoulders shaking as your pained cries begin to overtake your body.
there's a faint warmth radiating on your back and your nose picks up notes of sandalwood and leather cutting through the sterile scent of alcohol mixed with floor cleaners.
sunghoon.
he towers over you, body trapped in between his and the cool metal of the lockers as if to hide you from invisible prying eyes. his sturdy arms flip you around, one hand moving to your head to carefully guide it towards his chest, and the other wrapping around you to give your back gentle soothing pats.
as always, he doesn’t say anything. just wraps you in his arms while his fingers comb through the ends of your hair.
the two of you stand there until your loud cries are replaced with small hiccups.
there's a small, shameful whine that leaves your lips when sunghoon pulls away from the hug, but he leans in again, long legs slightly folding to match your height until his face is just a couple of inches away from yours. behind the thick black glasses, his dark orbs gaze into you with worry written all over his face.
you can’t help but feel irritated at how good he looks despite the cheap fluorescent lights hanging overhead.
still as handsome as the first day you saw him— just a little rugged this time around. he looks tired. frazzled. perhaps just as exhausted as you. the dilated vessels turned the whites of his eyes pink, and there’s a faint blue tint on his under eyes that make him look like he’s been losing sleep.
a selfish part of you hopes you’re the reason for it.
“i wanted to comfort you, and yet i still managed to make you cry.” he says with a sad smile, both hands cupping your cheek while his thumb brushed away the tears clinging to your lashes. “i’m sorry, angel.” he whispers before hugging you again, making you sigh in comfort.
you missed hearing that nickname. you missed his voice, his face, his scent, even his stupid glasses.
you just missed sunghoon in general.
the days you stayed apart drove him crazy too. it gave him the courage to hug you tighter, foregoing his fears and anxieties as he squeezes you in his arms. “i missed you. i think i still do, even now.” he whispers, lips brushing on the crown of your head.
sunghoon held your wrist as he walked outside your department's building to an empty bench.
the pink and peach tones in the sky have disappeared, replaced by the artificial neon orange from the street lamps. the trees are starting to grow their leaves back too, but the cool breeze still nipped at your skin like leftover air from winter trying to leave.
it was cold, but not painful nor unbearable. just enough to keep you alert, aware of how warm your side is from how close sunghoon is sitting beside you. aware of how he made more room by throwing an arm behind and casually resting it on the bench’s backrest so he could cuddle closer.
it feels like whiplash, the way he can’t keep himself from playing with your fingers when a month and a half ago, his obvious choice would be to hold the ends of your shirt like touching your skin would burn him.
and it does. it still does.
but who could blame sunghoon? he was an addicted man who got a taste of your touch and firmly decided he’d rather get simultaneously run over, stabbed multiple times, and be set on fire than spend another moment without him holding you or vice versa. kick him too while you’re at it.
he doesn’t care as long as he can feel you.
“i’m sorry.” he says again, voice as gentle as the way he’s squeezing your index fingers’ knuckles, both pairs of eyes looking at everything else but each other.
you let out a bemused laugh. “do you even know what you’re apologizing for?”
he's stays mum, tongue running across his lower lip and you catch the faint pink color tinting the shell of his ears.
“i don’t. b-but… i do know that whatever i did was enough to push you away from me." he says eventually. "i hope you know it was never intentional. i— i wouldn’t ever ever do anything to hurt you. i understand if you don’t want to tell me what... wrong i did, but i can promise that if you do, i’ll do my best not to do it again.”
his shy mumbles contrast the way he bravely pushes his fingers between yours, the now-interlocked hands resting on his thigh moving up and down as he anxiously bounces his leg.
laughter shatters the solemn atmosphere, causing his head to snap to its source, the evident frown on his face growing deeper. “are you— did you just laugh at my apology?” sunghoon asks with an incredulous expression, making you laugh even harder. still, he can’t help his lips from quirking up at the sight.
he likes this. he likes holding your hand and hearing you laugh.
“it’s just— 'm sorry.” you pause, trying to swallow down another fit of giggles trying to burst out. “i just think it’s funny. that’s a new record.”
“what record?”
“the record of most words you’ve said to me at once. the previous one’s fourteen words, i think.”
sunghoon stares, head tilted to one side in confusion.
“think about it, sunghoon. classes and group lunches aside, you’ve never actually spoken to me properly. it’s never a conversation, it’s almost always just single words.” you let go of his hand only to lay yours on top of his and giving it a couple taps. “or stuff like this.”
“—it’s like... like you have a word limit. but only when it comes to me.”
the muscle on his jaw twitches as he sees the little smile on your visage falter, the slight crack in your voice mirroring the one growing in his heart. he wants to object, to defend himself but he knows he wouldn’t have anything proper to say.
“at first i thought it was just because you were shy— but i’ve seen the way you talk to your friends, to my friends.. everyone. everyone loved talking to you, and you seemed to have fun talking with them too. i just don't get why you treat me so different."
sunghoon's hand grips on his own thigh to execute a punishment upon himself. until it hurts, until it stings. but he bears it because he knows it's too light compared to the hurt you've had to silently carry throughout your time with him.
"it sucks that you don’t like me enough to share your hobbies with me, sunghoon. that i have to know you through our mutual friends rather than getting to know you from what you say to me. i—” a pause. “i just gave up because i knew i’m not worth your time, or your effort to speak. that's why i stayed away.”
“y/n… angel, it’s— it’s not like that. i swear.” he cups your cheek to make you look at him. you were still smiling, and yet he saw the sadness in your eyes. the uncertainty.
he hates himself for being the cause of it.
“then what is it, sunghoon? why don’t you talk to me?”
“because—” sunghoon takes a deep inhale and purses his lips before finally confessing. “because i don’t know how to.”
just as the weight is lifted from his shoulders, he feels an even heavier one get dropped back down. he knows there’s no going back. not when you’re looking at him with dissatisfaction in your eyes.
“there’s a reason why i resorted to writing letters instead, y/n. it’s just that… just— y-you— i’m— fuck!” exasperated, he pulls his hand away from you, using it to rub on his temples instead.
then one travels down and you see as his fingers starts to scratch the base of his neck, nails digging deep into his skin.
it's one of sunghoon’s habits you’ve noted— an ugly one. the first few times it happened, you tried to talk him out of it, told him how scared you were that he’d hurt himself, but he told you it was to help ground him when he feels frustrated.
like the stubborn man that he is, sunghoon continues to scratch harder and harder, half of his face scrunched up irritation. and true to your fear, he lets out a wince when a thin red gash on the space between his collarbones started to bleed red.
“sunghoon, stop.” you sigh, his wrists tightly trapped in your hold.
when he turns his head to look at you, he looks like his world has collapsed in itself. he's devastated. broken.
“i.. i want to explain. i swear, i just—” he closes his eyes tight, hands curling into tight fists under your hold as his chest puffs from how heavy he's breathing. you gently pry each finger open to see deep crescents on his palms. a frown is etched on your lips at the sight, and you know sunghoon’s not faring any better with the way he slumps against you, head rested on your shoulder.
“they won’t come out..” he finally says after prolonged silence, his voice thin and raspy.
“what won’t, hoon?”
“... nothing. please let me—” his breaths are trembling, and though you don’t see it, you could feel him holding back from scratching at his neck again.
“whatever it is can wait. just.. don’t. don't do that again.” you mumble, letting go of one of his hands so you could wrap your arms around his shoulder, your palm running up and down his tensed arm while he messily wipes the bleeding scar with his sleeve.
he waits until his breathing turns even before he speaks again.
“are you.. doing anything tomorrow, angel?”
“hm. no. why?”
“i… missed you. it’s been so long since i last talked to you.”
“that’s weird. i clearly remember that i was the only one doing all the talking.” you reply with a nudge to his shoulder, hoping your teasing voice is enough to lighten the atmosphere.
“hey! don’t be a smart-ass. you know what i mean. it’s been.. what? like, forty one? maybe forty two days since we hung out properly.”
you lean away from his side.
“you’ve been counting too?”
“too? so you also did it?” he raises his brow, the previous frown growing into a teasing smile as soon as he sees your expression, like you're glitching between the choice of fight or flight.
“would you look at that. seems like the misery over winter break was mutual.” he says, tone a little too proud for your liking, so you choose fight. you take the soft skin of his cheeks in between your fingers, pinching and stretching it with a whiny sunghoon trying to push your hand away.
you succumb to his pained pleads to stop.
you lean in closer to soothe the skin with your thumb while laughing under your breath and sunghoon’s eyes slowly flutter close at the touch, head tilting closer to your hand as if to encourage you to continue.
“this is nice.” he whispers, raising his hand and laying it on top of yours to keep it there.
you want to ask him what stopped him from asking for your touch because it wouldn't even take a heartbeat for you to say yes. you wanted to know why you weren’t given the privilege of seeing him this needy, this vulnerable and bare. yet you kept your mouth shut.
“the university is a place for learning, kids. not dating.”
the sweet little moment is interrupted by an older man, a security guard, pointing his plastic baton at the two of you. “and it doesn’t look like you’re in grad school either, which means you’re not allowed to loiter in university grounds.” he adds, making sunghoon stand straight, head tilted forward to give him an apologetic bow.
“we’re sorry, sir! w-we didn’t notice the time. we’ll be heading home. i promise.” his taller body instinctively steps once to the side, covering you like shield.
the guard tilts his head, brows raised at the odd couple in front of him but his eyes soften as soon he sees the dopey smile on sunghoon’s face when his hands blindly reach out behind him in search of yours. “i better not catch you staying here after-hours again, alright? now go. scram!”
sunghoon turns around and smoothly slings your bag over his other shoulder like he always used to, your hand held firmly in his as the both of you run to the exit gates giggling like children.
“girls. he just texted me. said he’ll pick me up in an hour.”
you set your phone screen-down on your vanity. jiwon’s behind you, scrolling through pinterest in search for a proper hairstyle inspo and gaeul’s lying on her stomach on top of your bed, busily typing away as she tries to cram her essay.
thank god you had the foresight to finish it yesterday because one, that meant you got to reunite with sunghoon— who apparently waited for you by the lockers that day —and two, because he was serious about hanging out today.
he double, no, triple checked that you actually wanted to go with him while he walked you to the bus stop, refusing to let go of your hand until you safely got in.
“i can’t believe that doofus finally got the courage to ask you out. we were wondering how long he’d take.” gaeul chirps up, fingers still busy tapping on her keyboard.
“finally? what do you mean finally? and what you do mean we?” your hands pause from applying your blush, head craning towards your bed to stare at your dear friend who just stares back with a straight face.
“oh, y/n. don’t be dumb."
"i'm serious!"
"jake and jay? us? we’ve all seen it since we started hanging out. you’re the only one who gets mister congeniality all nervous and speechless. now look in the mirror before i accidentally burn your cheek.” jiwon says, carefully taking your curling wand and a section of your hair.
“it’s so cute, it’s almost pathetic. but i’m still mad at him for making you cry like that, you know. he better make it up to you today, or else i’m gonna drag his stupid ass through the school field. by his ears.” gaeul says with a face that let you know she intends to follow up on her words.
jiwon continues to hum whilst curling your hair and you try your best to keep your hands from shaking as you apply your gloss.
when you look in the mirror, you can't help but ponder how much your body knew you needed sunghoon because you’re glowing. you look well-rested despite only catching three hours of sleep because of how badly you anticipated this date.
meanwhile sunghoon, alone in his car, is practically vibrating in excitement. or nervousness. he doesn’t know, really. he thinks he stopped being able to differentiate which feeling is which since he saw you that day.
he spent those thirty minutes routinely checking his rearview mirror: is something stuck between the gaps of his teeth? he flossed again just in case. is his hair styled correctly? didn't prevent him from running his fingers through it a few more times. should he put on his coat or would that look too much? fuck, what if he over dressed and you think he’s cringe?
god, he wasn't even this jittery with his exes.
it's different because he's never actually hung out with you without the excuse of classes or other university-related events. it's different because he's never actually seen you outside the usual café you spend free periods in or under the flashing strobes of the college frat house.
it's different because it's his first date with you, and he's adamant not to make this the last.
ding.
💬 from: my angel. — hoonieeeeee ! i’m almost done. :D
he glanced at his watch.
fifteen minutes left.
enough time for him to drive once around your block, get out of the car, walk to the passenger’s side and coolly lean against it while pretending he wasn’t an inch away from having a mental breakdown a few moments earlier.
and when sunghoon finally sees you walk out in a satin dress, he’s convinced he might actually have one.
“hey there, big guy. you look handsome today. well.. you always do. but today especially! i really like your fit!” you say, adorning that bright smile that sunghoon found so captivating.
the plan to look cool immediately got crushed.
he tried to stand up straight, he did. but he ended up leaning again on his car— not to look charismatic. rather, he needed to, because he was barely feeling his knees. his heart was racing, his breathing turned short, and he began feeling the all-too-familiar prickling sensation in his throat.
“don’t go quiet on me again, or i’ll ignore you. forever this time.”
he looks more made-up, different from the usual hoodie and jeans combo you always saw. still knee-buckling attractive, but clean. khaki trousers adorning his long legs, thin black belt around his hips and a loose blue-colored polo with thin stripes, the sleeves folded to accentuate his forearms.
there’s a small sense of satisfaction that comes to you when you realize your outfits make you look like a couple. it seems gaeul made the lucky choice of getting you to wear a baby blue today, but you’ll just thank her for that later.
“your hair’s.. n-nice.” sunghoon says, a bashful smile growing on his face. “o-oh! and– and i have this!” he opens the rear door of his car, and you hear it slam again before he turns around to present you with a bouquet of flowers.
white petals with vivid yellow blooming from the center, wrapped in crumpled iridescent foil and pastel blue paper.
“daffodils. the lady at the flower shop said it symbolizes new beginnings. and— a-and i want that. a new beginning. with you.” he stammers awkwardly, nibbling on his lower lip as his hands push the bouquet towards you.
you can only coo at his words, fawning over how cute and small he looked right now despite his height. so fucking adorable, this one.
pushing past the bouquet, your arms find purchase around his torso and you squeeze him in your arms. it takes him a second to return it and you feel him release a sigh, one done out of relief and longing, before leaving a gentle kiss on your hair as he lets you go.
sunghoon opens the passenger seat of his car for you with his signature shy smile, tipping his head to the side.
“get in, angel. i have a lot of making up to do.”
he takes you driving around first, wanting to spend a little more time together with you in the privacy of his car before he shares you with other people. one hand on the wheel and the other keeping yours warm, he aimlessly drove around while narrating how he spent his winter break with his family.
his dad took him and his two honorary siblings, jay and jake, to a skiing resort. his mom bought him a new camera as his holiday present, and he casually slipped in wanting to test it out next time with you.
in between those stories, sunghoon admitted that his younger sister was the one to suggest the idea of leaving you letters. the confession leaves his lips in between sheepish laughter, resulting in both your cheeks turning pink.
your heart felt full listening him be so engrossed in his stories, at one point even letting go of the steering wheel to imitate how jake wobbled in his snowboard. sure he still stuttered every now and then, still held himself back from cussing too much on the off chance you’d get turned off, but those are tiny details you’re determined to work through with him.
he asked about you too, and you talked about the boring train ride back to your old little town, how the place looked like it was frozen in time with the same faces, same remarks about how you look like a carbon copy of your mom. sunghoon just listens intently, a smile on his face as he steals glances of your face from time to time.
you also talked about how you spent a week trying to get dye stains off your hands when your older brother painstakingly made you dye his blonde hair to black in preparation for the new season.
sunghoon’s hand tighten around yours. blonde.
“what about.. uh.. dates? did you go out with anyone while we weren’t in contact with each other?”
“hm. not that i recall? there were a few boys in my town, but i know they’re just messing with me.”
sunghoon’s right hand leaves yours to grip on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white and lips turning into a straight line as he stares at the road ahead.
perhaps he’d been mistaken. maybe this is just how you get when you’ve grown closer to someone. maybe the hand holding or the comforting touches you gave him were ones you also gave to other people. maybe you had taken his invitation as a hang out rather than a date and that’s why you agreed despite having someone else waiting on you.
“the boys saw him, you know. if— if you’re still talking to him then… t-then what are we doing right now?”
the change in his tone isn’t lost on you, nor the hardened expression he wears. from the side of his eye, he catches the befuddled look on your face like you genuinely cannot remember the accusation being true.
“him? who? i— hoon, what are you talking about?”
the mere memory of his friends’ words, of that man, urges sunghoon to pull over to the side of the road so he can face you because when call him an presumptuous loser and friend-zone him, he at least wants to see your pretty face do it.
“jay said he saw you come to their game with a guy. long hair. blonde. said he was clinging on you like a damn shirt.”
when you laughed at his confession yesterday, he’ll admit he found it cute. but when you do it today, it does nothing else but make his scowl look more sour.
“is this little laughing-at-sunghoon thing a habit you’ve developed over winter break? because this isn’t funny to me.” he glowers, brows furrowing as your laughter increases in pitch, palms repeatedly slapping against your knee.
“you—” your fingers point to him with a snicker, face looking pained as you try your darndest to hold back a laugh but it comes out anyway.
sunghoon crosses his arms over his chest, thick eyebrow cocked up while gazing at you with an unamused expression. “y/n. i’m serious. if you have a guy back home, you can tell me. it’ll break my heart, yes, but i don’t want to take part in whatever open relationship you guys hav—”
“sunghoon, that was my brother.”
“what?”
“tall guy. long hair. blonde. my brother.”
“that was... jeonghan hyung?”
“yes, dummy. jeonghan just wanted to take see at how the basketball team was keeping up now after he graduated. he’s an alumni, remember? you know he had blonde hair. you even hogged my phone all to yourself when he facetimed me that one time.”
it’s your turn to have your arms folded on your chest, tilting your head with a little sass, lips curled in a smirk. wordlessly, his body snaps to the front and he attempts to start the engine again, but you clutch his wrist just in time.
“no— you can’t just say that and ditch the conversation. you’re gonna explain yourself right now, park sunghoon.”
the sound of his full name said in such a stern voice makes him squirm in his seat.
“i– i was jealous, okay? what more do you want me to say?” he grumbles, looking out the window while weakly attempting to shake your hold off of him, letting out a grunt that barely sounds like your name as you refuse to back down.
he sighs in defeat, and you can see the sharp tic of his jaw tensing up.
“you weren’t talking to me. barely even looked my way. of course i was worried when my friends started talking about how you went to their practice without me. with a new guy, at that. it just.. the thought didn’t make me feel good. c-can we leave it now? this is embarrassing.”
a satisfied smile pushes your cheekbones up as you turn the keys, giving his shoulder a pat.
“drive, big guy.”
sunghoon made a reservation for the restaurant you mentioned months ago in passing. it’s nothing upscale or expensive. no wines or steaks. just the regular korean food you’re used to, but elevated just a little bit to make it taste more contemporary rather than home-made.
but you didn’t really care for that. the sole reason you wanted to go was their aesthetic: the dining area looked like the inside of a greenhouse with its sunroof ceiling, leaves and flowers hanging from wooden beams, and the lighting was just warm enough to set the ambience.
a hand on the small of your back courteously guided you towards your seat, and you’re too enamored by the interior to notice sunghoon staring at you with eyes full of admiration, his elbow resting on the table so he could comfortably continue to look at you in silence while you take in every detail of your surroundings.
true to his words, sunghoon makes up for his shortcomings.
he refills your drinks, debones the meat for you, constantly fills your plate before your food even runs out, and he apparently even paid for the meal in advance.
throughout the meal, sunghoon indulges you in short stories, letting you take on the role of the listener rather than the yapper this time around. he's telling you about penguins in antarctica and you hum, taking a sip of your drink when you notice one tiny, yet very clear difference in him today.
he wasn’t wearing his glasses.
you know he has a collection of them, and he switches things up every now and then. from thick boxy clear glasses, to the trendy ones you’ve seen models rock on social media.
your favorite pair would have to be the rimless silver ones he wore during your department’s post-exam party because they make him look unreal— like a real-life manhwa character. but he usually wore the good ol’ reliable thick black ones to lectures.
the glasses had their charm but without them, he’s a different kind of handsome. his features look sharper, especially with the warm lighting casting shadows from his tall, unobstructed nose bridge. his eyes look clearer and more expressive too.
on the side of his chin, a tiny mole. and then another one. black dots mapped out across his fair skin, all varying in size and but your eyes lock on the distinct one under his eye, and one on the side of his nose, right below where his glasses’ nose pad would sit.
no wonder you didn’t see it.
“you’re checking me out? so blatantly?” sunghoon pipes up, and you notice how the mole under his eye moves when he raises an eyebrow at you. it makes you giggle, reaching forward to poking the round dot under his eye.
“i didn’t know you had moles.” you mumble, rubbing on the skin with extra gentleness before leaning back. “kind of reminds me of someone i met when i was a kid.”
“hm? do tell.”
“ah, it’s nothing. there used to be this kid in my hometown who had moles like yours. god, that was years ago. i was really young— around eight or nine years old, i think. i met him at a playground where older boys were making fun of him for it.”
“let me guess. you defended him from the big bad bullies and he fell in love with you?”
“defended him, yeah. jesus, they were assholes. the memory is hazy, but i tried to comfort him by chasing him around and stuff. i tried to go back to the playground again the next day after my classes, but he never came back.” you poke at your left overs with your fork, the distant memory making a grin dance on your lips.
“but falling in love? highly doubt it. told him my name but i never got his back. all i remember's his cute moles. he might as well have been an imaginary friend.”
“i say defending a kid like that can definitely make them fall for you.”
“are you speaking from experience, mister?”
"partly."
you smile, cupping your hands behind your ear, making sunghoon chuckle as he wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin.
“when i was a kid, i used to be so timid— waaaaay way worse than i was with you.” he says, and the way his eyes widen when he extends his words make you giggle.
“never talked to my classmates, always stayed at home. even my cousins who visited can’t get a word out of me. my parents tried making me do hobbies to get me out of my shell. you name it, i did it. and it helped, but only by a little. then they thought maybe going to the city might help my introversion. my little sister was growing up, too, so they started looking for a place here in seoul.”
your elbows perch on the table, chin resting above your interlocked fingers as you give him a dreamy nod. “mhm. and then?”
“and then the day before we moved, i decided i’m gonna try playing with the kids from my town. just to give it a last shot. except they teased me a lot because i wasn’t talking. they made fun of my moles, too. but then—” sunghoon pauses.
“this strange girl came shouting. i’ve never seen her before. think she went to a different elementary school, but she fought the boys off even though they were taller than her. she threatened to throw rocks at their heads and pull their hair out. and you know what? they looked scared. i think that was the first time i saw genuine fear.” he says, breaking out in a fit of giggles.
“picture this: i was half a foot taller than her but she was reprimanding me and pushing me to stand up straighter, saying i should learn how to speak up and fight back. that no one would fight my battles for me but me. since then, i started doing it— practicing my speech skills and self confidence. eventually, i stopped cowering whenever strangers approached me and i learned how to speak without my voice shaking. it's all thanks to her.”
when his monologue is over, sunghoon just grins at you like reminiscing alone was enough to comfort him. you feel a little irritated, jealous of the way he speaks so affectionately of her memory.
but at the same time, you can’t help but smile back. that's how you feel about your own little friend after all.
“so you fell in love?"
"i wouldn't be so hasty to call it love. perhaps admiration. deep admiration."
"don’t tell me you never told her your name like my old friend?”
his chuckle is mirthful as he shakes his head. “oh believe me, i did. swear on it. either she didn’t hear me, or she’s deaf because she just started calling me ‘pengoo’ instead of my name.”
pengoo.
it’s familiar.
you squint your eyes once more as you see the dimple on his cheek appear, the indentation becoming deeper as he flashes you a knowing smile.
pengoo, pengoo, pengoo.
wait.
“his shirt. that was the shirt he was wearing...” you trail off in a whisper, the words barely audible as you point your hands at sunghoon, and he just smiles even wider, nodding his head slowly.
you sit there in stunned silence, hands crossed over your mouth as you stare at the sunghoon whose look of pride turned into concern, nervous of the crystal clear shock on your face. he's cautious as he offers his open palm on the table, skittish and biting his lip when you still refuse to hold his hand.
he calls out your name with such gentleness that you’re transported back to that day— to the little, but still taller boy who had tears in his eyes, looking ridiculous and snotty while sporting a white shirt with a penguin patch.
the one who you affectionately called 'cookies and cream' for the specks of black splattered across his face, whose tears you wiped using your special barbie handkerchief, whose arm you scribbled your name on with your glittery purple pen that he wanted to taste because it smelled like grape juice.
though the memory isn’t as clear as it was to you years ago, he was a constant in your life. whenever you encountered people who leaned more towards timidity, it's him who appeared in the back of your mind. the nameless friend who you never saw again after his worried mom fetched him from the playground.
except he's not nameless anymore, and he's sitting right in front of you.
the salty tears burn when you try to hold them back, but they're insistent on coming out so you hang your head low and attempt to contain your sniffles. panicked, sunghoon gently holds on your arm and guides you outside of the restaurant to a more secluded spot in the front lawn.
“y/n.” he calls out again, pale hands gently squeezing on your hips as he bends down, trying to take a peek of your face that you insist to cover. “angel… did i make you cry again?” he sighs and you shake your head, quickly taking him in your arms, hugging him like how a mother would her child who’s come back from war.
“my pengoo.. my pengoo.” you choke out in between stifled sobs, stroking his head. his arms wrap around your waist, lifting you off of the ground for a moment as his face settles on the crook of your neck, nose brushing against the skin as he whispers back.
“it’s me. pengoo’s here. you're okay. i'm not leaving.” his words do nothing but make you cry harder, tears staining his shirt and fists crumpling the fabric on his back.
“i can’t believe it’s you. i–”
"do you want to talk about this somewhere else, angel?” sunghoon asks in a soft voice, a tone he reserved only for you, carefully wiping your damp under eyes.
a nod is all he needs.
the travel is silent aside from the small little sniffles you do and the faint melody from the car’s speaker. your eyes blankly stare outside, the view of the buildings just as blurry as the thoughts and memories running in your head. meanwhile sunghoon’s trying his best to console you, his thumb lazily rubbing the skin on the back of your hand while stealing glances every now and then.
“where are we?” you croak out when the car comes to a halt. sunghoon opens the car door, his fingers nimble as they take your seatbelt off for you. “a park near my neighborhood. in one of my favorite spots to rest my head which you need to do.”
his hand return to yours so he can pull you towards the picnic area.
sits down on a bench and you elect to sit on the wooden table itself, head craning as you take in the new environment. the place is beautiful. quiet, serene and full of trees that it looks like a modern glitch in the middle of a forest.
“you’re not gonna kill me for knowing your secret, are you?” you sniffle, feet gently nudging the side of his thigh with a soft chuckle.
“no people, no witness. i’m sorry, y/n. can’t have people knowing i was a loser back in the day.” he says in a gurgled voice after looking around, playfully pinching your arm which makes you squeal and swat his hands away.
in the middle of play fighting, your eyes catch the swing set nearby and you remember him again. pengoo.
the flashback is so clear you could almost see a younger version of yourselves: you, pushing him on the swing, and him using his voice properly for the first time to scream ‘stop!’ when his seated body lifts too high off the ground.
you turn to sunghoon, the real, grown sunghoon, and he’s already looking up at you with one hand resting on your covered knee, giving it languid strokes with his thumb.
"penny for your thoughts?"
“why, hoon? i mean.. if you knew all along, why didn’t you tell me?” you reach for his cheek and his eyes close at the contact, letting out a soft sigh of comfort. he holds it in place, tilting his head to leave a light kiss on your palm.
“i’m sorry. if you want me to be honest, i had no plans to let you know. i wasn’t even aware you remembered that day. for all i knew, i was just one of the strangers who got bright little y/n’s help.”
“you… you grew up so well.” salty tears blur your vision again as you lean down to press your lips against his forehead.
“i couldn’t have done it without you. that was a significant event in my formative years— i seriously can’t imagine what kind of life i’d live if i hadn’t met you that day.” he stands up so he can tower over you, looking down to wipe the wetness from your eyes.
“you're my savior. my angel in every sense of the word.”
you walk around the area holding each other’s hand, going over your first meeting— the actual one — the one you had before you met again as grown ups.
he tried talking his parents out of moving, and though they were surprised at his sudden enthusiasm, they ultimately refused because the new house in seoul was already paid for. he waited for you that morning, until the last second— until his parents were yelling at him from the car. 'i think i left a piece of my heart in that playground.' are his exact words.
his search didn't stop there. night and day he bothered his parents to contact anyone they could from their previous town, to ask if anyone had a child with your name. but because his parents were like him— aloof and private, nothing really turned up.
but he was a kid determined to keep you alive and present in his mind so when he met you again that fortunate morning in university, he immediately knew it was you without even hearing your voice.
every day he stayed by your side was spent in awe, marveling at the woman you’ve become.
there wasn’t much difference, physically nor emotionally. obviously you’ve matured and grown into your features— but you still talked in the same cadence, spoke your mind with just as much enthusiasm, and still cared for people the same way you did to the young boy in the playground.
still the same girl who’d get him too flustered to talk properly.
“so jay and jake knew about me the whole time too?” you ask after arriving at the parking area and sunghoon lifts you up to sit on the hood of his car. he nods, comfortably settling between your parted legs as his hands rest on your thighs.
“of course. they were the first to know about my childhood crush after all.”
“childhood crush, huh. what about now? am i still a crush?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him and he rolls his eyes, the cute little dip on his cheek becoming more evident.
“you know the answer to that already, angel.” he replies, pulling you closer to him by your hips and your arms naturally loop around his neck like they were always meant to be there.
you don’t know whether it’s the long day you’ve had, or the insane revelation of who sunghoon has been this whole time, but your head’s starting to spin.
perhaps it’s his cologne, how it’s starting to smell is stronger and stronger as his body leans closer to yours. or maybe it’s the way you feel too warm in your own skin whenever his eyes drop to your lips, and how he his sharp fangs poke out when he bites his in return.
it’s like the air turned heavy in a matter of a few seconds and the cool breeze is doing nothing to thin out the tension in the wide empty space.
from this close, you could hear his breath get slower, thicker, eyes never leaving your mouth. he brings a hand up to cup your cheek and your breath hitches when his thumb brushes over your lower lip.
sunghoon closes the distance first.
the kiss is sweet and gentle but filled with yearning and just a little bit of hesitation. your lips are the softest too, practically erasing any memory left over from the other irrelevant girls he’s kissed before. and you’re so damn sweet.
despite every inch of his body wanting to have more, he does the gentlemanly thing to do and breaks the kiss but not without biting on your plump lower lip first. when his eyes finally focus, your cheeks are flushed, tinted a rosey color like your slightly swollen lips that reflect the distant street lights.
sunghoon's grip on you is as tight— just a hair above bruising. it’s taking everything to hold on his self-control, to not take you for himself right then and there.
he just had you back. he doesn’t want to scare you away by being so forward with his need and indecency.
but it’s so, so hard to behave when you’re like this, so small and flustered, looking up at him with half lidded eyes and your lower lip trapped between your teeth.
so when he feels you attempt to press your thighs close, his instinct tells him to pull you even closer to keep them open, the movement making your dress ride up, the slit on its side exposing more of your skin.
and you whine—either from his touch or from the cold air— but sunghoon doesn’t care. not anymore.
the noise you make is more than enough to snap whatever’s left of his restraint and he leans down to capture your lips again. but it isn't soft this time.
it's sure.
it's hungry and handsy.
still full of yearning, but mixed with the raw, physical need to be closer to one another.
your heads tilt to opposite sides, lips weaved together while letting out small whispers of sweet nothings in between.
sunghoon takes your lower lip in between his again, sucking on the flesh while his hand slip underneath the slit of your dress, palm rubbing up and down the skin of your upper thigh, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
while his lips keep your mind fuzzy, he busies his hand by trailing it higher and higher beneath the loose fabric of your dress until you feel his thumb graze your bare hips, just a fraction of an inch below where your panties are resting, making you gasp against his mouth.
a chance opens up for sunghoon to snake his tongue past your lips, and he greedily takes it, determined to explore every possible inch. you taste like decadence. like the coffee ice cream you had for dessert combined with something celestial.
it's fucking heavenly.
you try to fight him back with your tongue, and for a while, he lets you. convinces you that you’re winning when you try to push your tongue against his, pink muscles twirling together in a dance full of lust and wanting, but sunghoon eventually grows tired of it and he gives your thigh a reprimanding squeeze, making you moan again, providing him the perfect opportunity to take over the messy liplock.
you take the small bit of revenge you can by threading your fingers through the jet black locks on the back of his head, tugging on it once, twice, until he’s growling your name against your open mouth.
his lips wrap around yours, your tongue graze on the sharp end of his canines, his fingers wander near the plump of your ass, and you kiss until both of you are literally seeing stars.
you part, heaving oxygen back in your deprived lungs and your foreheads meet with eyes still in steady contact as your heavy breathing mingles.
sunghoon’s hands never leave your thigh or your cheek. rather, he gives them a final brush with his thumb before stealing a quick peck, damp lips brushing against your skin until it reaches your jaw, giving the spot a kiss as well.
“perv.” you say, raising your thigh a little just so you could push sunghoon’s hand away. “first kiss and you’re already feeling me up?”
“okay, y/n. let’s pretend your eyes weren’t my arms the entire time i was driving. i know you like how veiny they look.” he replies after leaning back, the same canines that were grazing on your tongue a while ago now in full display as he flashes you a cocky grin.
“i.. you noticed that?”
“i did. i notice a lot of things about you.”
“like what?”
he's quiet for a moment.
“like how you’re starting to shiver.” his muscular arms lift you up and safely bring you back down to the ground.
“i think it’s time to get you home, angel.”
a cacophony of cheers erupt in your classroom as the announcement blares from the speaker. an early dismissal due to seniors needing several classrooms to prepare for something you didn’t care enough to pay attention to.
all you knew was you needed to get out as soon as possible so you can see sunghoon again.
from: pengoo. 🐧— heard the announcement yet? :)
to: pengoo. 🐧 — yep!! i'll just grab a few things from my locker and head there. see u! ♡
from: pengoo. 🐧 — see you, angel. :)
the two of you made the university garden your official hang-out spot. specifically the one near the big ginkgo tree where the both of you have spent hours under either people-watching, eating or reviewing.
and stealing kisses from each other, of course.
so when sunghoon asked to meet you there this morning, the answer was an automatic yes.
just as you sit down on the picnic mat, you see him appear from behind a tall shrub, bag slung over his shoulder and a big plastic bag hanging from his hand.
“did i take too long? i'm sorry, angel. it was lunch rush and there was a line in the restaurant and jake was arguing with a girl and—”
“hoon. i just got here. it’s okay.” you say, chuckling at his never-changing nervous demeanor.
he leans forward to give your lips a chaste peck, an apology leaving his lips again before he busies himself by taking your lunch out of the plastic and making sure your bottle is uncapped and your utensils are cleaned before tending to his own food.
a fond smile creeps on your lips as watch him try to talk about his morning in between bites. he really has improved since that date. gone is the boy who shied away from your touches, and replaced by one who openly asks for a hug and whines when he doesn’t feel your hands on his whenever you walk together.
his hand is always in yours when he drives both of you to school (despite the fact that he has to drive 20 minutes earlier to do so.) his arm consistently curled around your shoulder or your waist when you walk to class together. you always tease him for it too, but he just takes it with a smile because he knows it’s true.
he’s whipped for you.
after you eat and clean up, you offer to keep the picnic mat in your locker but sunghoon mentions he wants to stay for a bit more, and you appease him, letting him lie down with his head comfortably laying on your plush thighs while you lean back, palms pressed on the mat to support yourself.
silence envelops the both of you, but it doesn’t make your head run through a million thoughts anymore. it isn’t tense this time.
your eyes wander to him again— your not-quite-boyfriend boyfriend.
your finger pokes at the mole at the side of his nose out of habit, the glass beads in your bracelet reflecting bright spots on his smooth skin. you go from one mole to the next, moving it down the sharp bridge of his nose, then to his jaw, and you giggle upon feeling sunghoon shiver under your featherlight touch.
you move your middle finger down his neck, choosing to poke at the peak of his adam’s apple before noticing the pink lines on his neck.
again?
before you can even point it out, sunghoon’s voice cuts through the silence.
“i feel like pengoo whenever i’m with you.”
you sit up properly. “pengoo?”
he gives you a nod and you stare, giving him a look that spells ‘i don’t know what you mean’, making him smile.
“whenever you’re around… it’s like i become that kid again. the one that can’t speak or think properly. i don’t know, it’s weird. the same girl that gave me the confidence to talk being the same one i can’t be around without making a fool of myself? i can’t even give you a proper compliment for god’s sake.”
that’s true. he always compliments your outfits, or your accessories, or compliments you through implications. things like “you’re making everyone stare.” or “that cute puppy looks just like you.” but nothing that’s actually a straight forward compliment.
you never had the courage to bring it up to him, partly because you’re afraid he might find you too needy, but also because deep down, you know the words he did say already took a lot of courage from him.
“i don’t.. really mind. not that much.”
“don’t lie to me, angel.”
“i’m serious!” you laugh, fingers forcibly pushing the edges of his frowned lips upward. “i do have a question though.”
“what is it?”
your fingers ghost over the exposed skin on the base of his neck, fingers gently pressing on the spot between his clavicles, tracing over the faint red scratches over it.
“have you been scratching your neck again? why do you do it when you know i don’t like it?”
“angel… i just—” he sighs softly, reaching for your hand. “i get frustrated.”
“you always say that. but there has to be a way for you to release your frustrations without scratching? the scar from last time isn’t even healed yet.”
below you, sunghoon releases a soft sigh and raises a hand to poke at the same spot on your neck. “what is this?” he asks.
“my neck…?” you reply cluelessly, to which he just shakes his head, poking at the skin again flinch from the ticklishness of his touch. "what's inside here?"
“my throat?”
he finally nods, pointing to his own. “they get stuck here.” he opens his mouth, tongue sticking out and points to it as well. “and here.”
“they? hoon, you have to stop talking in riddles. you know i’m stupid.”
sunghoon runs a hand over his face and sits up, moving behind you until you're settled between his legs, back comfortably leaned against his firm chest.
“okay. i’m doing this.” he whispers mostly to himself before squeezing you in his arms as if to reassure himself. “don’t interrupt me, okay? because if i don’t get this out completely, i might not be able to say it at all.”
you press your palms on the arms wrapped around your waist and nod.
“you see those those?” sunghoon asks, and your eyes follow the direction of his finger pointing at the different florae.
the green leaves of the bushes look even brighter next to different bundles of spring-born tulips— colors of white, red and vibrant yellow scattered throughout the garden.
you're unsure of where this conversation is headed, but nod anyway.
“it’s like i have that inside me. a garden— of words.” he says slowly, taking pauses between every words.
“at least that’s what i started telling myself after i left years ago to aid me in my quietness and it helped. a lot. i realized that i don’t really have to give people anything of value, and it made talking easier. if i don’t like someone, i can give them dead leaves or even weeds. but if i do, i can give them grass or the most common roses and it’ll do. maybe even an arrangement of better flowers for the people i want to keep in my life.”
he stays quiet for a beat, and you can feel his nose poke on your skin as his lips press on the exposed skin of your shoulder. “but you… you know you mean a lot to me, right?”
you reply with a hum, eyes glued to the leaves and petals swaying in the wind.
“i'm slow to speak because i take so long walking through the garden. because it's so difficult to choose what to give to you. because i want to pick and gather only the prettiest flowers— the prettiest, kindest words —for you. i want them to be neatly arranged and looking just as beautiful as the way you appear to me. because you’re precious to me... and you deserve nothing less.”
the words tug on your heartstrings in a way you’ve never felt before. to be adored and admired so much to the point of speechlessness wasn’t something you’ve ever experienced, or frankly, ever expected.
so when he speaks of you in such a way, it overwhelms your chest with a sense of safety— of knowing your heart is safe with him.
and the way he says it too: voice low, shaky, and starkly different from the composed sunghoon you usually hear in classes.
it's then that you realize the apprehension you saw you wasn't done out of malice.
sunghoon only did it because he wanted to protect something dear to him.
he shifts and pulls his hands away from your waist only to sit cross legged in front of you. it seems like you aren’t the only one feeling vulnerable because when you see him, he looks just as flustered.
his cheeks are rosy and his ears are in an even deeper shade, almost matching the petals floating above the grass.
“don’t laugh at me for this, okay?” a defeated chuckle leaves his lips and he reaches for your hand, threading his fingers through yours before looking you in the eye. "jake and jay know about how much i've been rehearsing."
"hm?"
“i’ve dreamt of meeting you again, you know? so when i saw you on our first day, i told myself that i’ll do it. i’ll show you my gratitude. i’ll show you i’ve changed. that i’ve grown. that i’m not the sickly and shy kid in the park anymore.” sunghoon pauses. “so every night in front of my mirror, i rehearse the different ways i could talk to you— and it worked. it always goes smoothly.”
“but i’ll see you again in the morning and it’s like the hours i spent practicing rush out the window— because.. b-because i’ll hear your voice, and you’ll laugh, and you'll smile. and you’ll look at me the way you are right now… and it’s like all the bouquet of flowers get stuck here.” sunghoon explains, finger accusatorily pointing to the still-healing scar on the skin above his throat.
“it feels like their thorns are piercing me from the inside, angel. it sucks and it’s frustrating. and the only way to relieve it is to scratch, but they won’t come out even if i do. and then i’ll beat myself up over it, go home, and the cycle will repeat itself. and— you’re doing that smile again. s-stop it!” he stammers, finger now angrily pointed to you.
you chuckle because you don’t even know what kind of smile he means and sunghoon just sighs, reaching for his neck again, palm over his throat like he’s trying to relieve the itch without scratching.
he looks annoyed and irritated, nose scrunched up as he clears his throat one, two times.
“i— i love you, y/n.”
the three words he’s been itching to confess for months, now breaking free from the tip of his tongue.
both of you freeze in your spots.
you can’t believe the words he just said, and he looks like can’t believe it either.
“i love you.” sunghoon repeats, gnawing on the flesh on the inside of his lip while his hands squeeze on the base of his neck as if physically forcing the words out. “i think you’re so cool. and you’re pretty. but even that isn’t enough. beautiful is the closest i can get, but i hope you get what i mean a-and… fuck, i should’ve just written a letter.”
an intense battle of eye contact ensues, his free hand curled tightly atop his lap as he takes a deep breath in.
“i— i’ve admired you since i was a clueless kid in the playground. liked you s-since you talked to me on our first day. and i’ve loved you since our first kiss, but i was too much of a pussy to say it then because i didn’t want you to think i only loved you because of it.” he grunts, knuckles pressing on his temple. “and i’m sorry that i don’t talk much because every time i do, it just makes you cry and i don’t want to see you crying because it breaks my heart too—”
the speed at which his words come out begins to pick up, making it barely understandable so you call out his name in an attempt to slow him down but he just looks at you with determination in his eyes.
“no! listen to me. i know i’ve had my moments, and i’ll probably keep having them, but i want you to know that i love you. sincerely. you’re precious to me, y/n. and i don’t want you to doubt what i feel any longer so believe me when i say i’m trying my best right now, even though i’m babbling.”
he pauses just to take another inhale, and when he finally speaks again, both his voice and his eyes turn softer. so soft you can't hear his words.
"i'm sorry, hoon. i didn't quite catch that."
"y/n. will you please be my girlfriend? you can say no, o-of course. i'm just throwing the idea out there but if you think i haven't proved myself yet then i'll be fine just waiting, i swear i c—”
you swallow the rest of his words in your mouth as you press your lips against his, eyes closed while you grab sunghoon’s hand by his wrist and guide it to your nape.
he lets out a meek sound of surprise but you can immediately feel him melt into you, fingers tightly holding on the neckline of your shirt as his soft, pillow-soft lips locked against yours in a slow but passionate kiss.
when you pull away, sunghoon’s eyes are glassy and you can see love pouring out from the way the beautiful chocolate brown orbs gaze into yours.
you leave a gentle peck on the mole under his eye— a thing you’ve picked up after multiple make out sessions —and lean back to appreciate the full view of a flustered sunghoon.
“i love you too.” you finally reply with an elated smile. “and i’d love to be your girlfriend.”
if humans had the chance to have heart-shaped eyes, you’re convinced sunghoon would have it at this moment.
his cheekbones are pushed all the way up, pearly whites flashed at you before he tackles you down into the picnic mat with a tight bear hug making you giggle loudly as he rolls the both of you from side to side while pressing kisses all over your face.
“hoon!” you squeal while wriggling in his hold and he relents, standing up to run in a wide circle around the garden, arms spread out wide while yelling.
“she said yes! y/n’s mine! my girlfriend!”
thankfully, the few people meters away only flash the two of you confused looks before going about their business.
"can't believe you're my girlfriend now." he giggles breathlessly as he ends his run in front of you, only to wrap his arms around your figure once more, lifting you off the ground and spinning in place while professing his love at the top of his lungs.
it’s dizzying to be his, literally and figuratively. but you wouldn’t have it any other way. you're his, and he's yours.
you love park sunghoon.
from the thorns, to the long stems and rough leaves, up until the prettiest petals that are finally able to leave his soft lips.
but sunghoon is determined to spend the rest of life growing his garden until he can find the words that'll convince you that he loves you more.
BONUS SCENE:
"let me get this straight. you're telling me that you got jealous of me.. so you made my little y/n cry three times?" jeonghan's voice is low, face void of any emotion as his arms cross over his chest across the both of you.
"technically it's seven, if we count the times i cried over winter break too." you mumble, meekly raising seven fingers.
sunghoon turn to you with wide eyes in disbelief. why would you throw your boyfriend under the bus? during his first time personally meeting your brother, no less.
"y/n, what the hell?"
jeonghan's hand slammed on the table, making the both of you flinch. "don't look at her. look at me. i was asking you a question, and now you're going to explain."
he thought jeonghan was cool— and he still does— but he reminded sunghoon so much of you whenever you get stern, and it's like deja vu of the time you got serious with him during your first date.
"no, i— it wasn't necessarily because of that, hyung. i just so happen to have made her cry after i got jealous so it isn't really a cause-and-effect scenario—"
"love, you're getting a little off track..."
"he said he wanted me to explain—"
your brother's giggles echo throughout your family home's dining area and he shakes his head, leaning over to tap on sunghoon's shoulder. "nah, man. i'm just fucking with you. but you knew i had blonde hair so you really should've known better."
"i.. y-yes, sir! i mean hyung! sir— i.. i mean... yeah." he sighs in defeat, head hanging low in an apologetic bow while jeonghan just nodded in acknowledgement.
"but if you make my little y/n cry again, i'll make sure you really won't be able to use that throat of your ever again, got it?" the way your brother's able to make those words sound sweet make even your heart race, your hand finding sunghoon's underneath the table to give it comforting pats.
"and you're sleeping in my room. no nicknames or pda as long as you're under the yoon household."
your boyfriend's eyes travel between you and your brother and he only grips your hand, nodding.
he can't wait to go back to seoul.
୨ from ! 🐰 yan ୧ : aaaaaaaaaaa!! it's finally done. i'm gonna cry. ૮₍˶ ╥ ‸ ╥ ⑅₎ა i saw the video of i-lander sunghoon dancing to pretty u again and i just had to. if you can't already tell, this is heavily inspired by the song and the confession part is heavily inspired by it! i'm thinking of writing shorter drabbles of other members so just shoot me an ask if you have an idea. < 3
when the boy who always calls you "angel" refuses to admit his feelings, you're left with no choice but to say yes to someone else—forcing him to realize too late that losing you was never part of the game.
blue lock masterlist.
leave a little stardust on my ko-fi
starring. nagi seishiro x fem!reader ft. mikage reo
genre: fluff, romance, mild angst, cupid!reo, reo is stressed, nagi's so dense
wc: 10.3k
author's note: this was actually supposed to be written in full on angst but i decided to change the plot and might still post the full on nagi angst hehe
you first met nagi seishiro through your best friend, mikage reo — hakuho high school’s golden boy.
if there was anyone who could juggle soccer captaincy, straight a’s, an overflowing social life, and still find time to tease you before homeroom, it was reo. he had the kind of smile that made people trust him too easily and the kind of confidence that made teachers both adore and resent him.
everyone adored him.
but you never did — not like that.
you and reo had known each other since you were five, since he’d tried to share his pudding at daycare and got it smeared across his designer uniform when you slapped it away. from then on, it was chaos and camaraderie, late-night calls for math homework, popcorn fights during cram sessions, and long car rides in the mikage family limo with your knees knocking under shared blankets.
you were like siblings — something even reo’s fangirls at school refused to believe.
“why would i date reo?” you’d asked once, horrified. “that’s like dating my cousin.”
reo, overhearing it from across the hall, only shrugged. “that’s her way of saying i’m the more attractive one.”
it was all harmless teasing — always had been.
but then came him.
the day reo introduced you to nagi, you had no expectations. you were just tagging along to another of his after-practice hangouts, this time near the gym’s side benches, where he said a “new recruit” was waiting.
you weren’t prepared for the tall, white-haired boy who barely spared you a glance when you arrived.
“this is nagi seishiro,” reo had said with a proud grin, clapping a hand on the stranger’s shoulder. “monster on the field. zero social skills. doesn’t care about anything except games.”
nagi looked up from his phone — not because he wanted to, but because reo had nudged him. his eyes were dull, like nothing around him sparked much interest. the only life in him came from the game lighting up his screen.
reo gestured to you. “this is angel.”
you blinked. “excuse me—”
“it’s what i call her. don’t question it.”
nagi’s gaze lingered for a second. “angel, huh.”
his voice was flat, disinterested. but oddly enough… he repeated the name like it mattered.
that was all he said before looking back down at his phone.
you’d never met someone so unimpressed with the world.
and yet—somehow—you found yourself drawn to him anyway.
maybe it was the way he moved like everything was too much trouble, yet still found his way next to you. or maybe it was the quiet comfort of his presence, how even in silence, he never made you feel alone. there was something hypnotic about his stillness. as if chaos couldn’t touch him—and when you were around him, it couldn’t touch you either.
it started subtly.
nagi never called you by your name. just angel.
not once had he asked if it was okay. he just picked it up the way someone picks up a new favorite song—without effort, without question. it was like a default setting in his brain. automatic. natural. like he couldn’t imagine calling you anything else.
it didn’t help, though. not when he kept giving you mixed signals.
nagi might’ve looked distracted all the time, his gaze often glued to his phone or drifting to the clouds during class—but he always paid attention to you. he remembered the details you told him: your favorite snack during exam season, the exact way you liked your tea, the movie you wanted to watch next. once, you’d casually mentioned how your feet always got cold in the library, and the next time you studied together, he brought an extra pair of fuzzy socks like it was no big deal.
he didn’t say much. never did. but he showed up in ways that made your heart ache.
like the way he’d always wander over to you after hours of football practice, the sky fading pink above hakuho high’s rooftop or the sun casting long shadows on the back field. sweaty and slow-moving, he’d drop his duffle bag beside you with a grunt, flopping onto the grass like gravity had finally won.
sometimes he’d tug at your sleeve in that lazy, silent way of asking for attention—head resting on your thigh as if it were the most obvious pillow in the world. no warning. no asking. just trust.
and you always let him.
you’d card your fingers through his soft white hair, and he’d hum, quiet and content, almost like a cat purring. the world seemed to dull when he was like that—when his breathing evened out and his body melted into yours like he belonged there.
sometimes, he’d shift closer, burying his face into the crook of your neck, voice barely a whisper.
“sleepy, angel.”
just two words. but you’d feel them for hours after.
you’d sit there frozen, breath caught in your throat, heart thundering like it was trying to break out of your ribs. and he—unbothered, eyes half-lidded and heavy—would fall asleep to the sound of your racing pulse.
he didn’t realize what he was doing to you.
or maybe he did. you could never really tell.
because when the sun dipped low enough, and the rest of the team started filing out, nagi would lift his head, yawn, and walk off like nothing happened. like he hadn’t just cracked your heart open with one word, one look, one casual lean into your shoulder.
it wasn’t fair—how someone so unattached could still have that kind of power over you.
it wasn’t fair that you started hoping he’d do it again.
because every time he touched you like that—every time he called you angel in that soft, half-asleep tone—it felt like a dream you weren’t allowed to wake up from.
and yet, you never stopped waiting for the next time.
oh, but it didn’t stop with lazy afternoons and fleeting moments of closeness. not even close.
there were other moments—quieter ones, tucked between school and soccer practice, when it was just you, reo, and nagi heading off-campus for food. reo would always act like he was treating royalty, leading you both with swagger and flair, his platinum card practically flashing in the sunlight.
he’d announce, “my treat, obviously,” before you even stepped into the restaurant. mikage reo: hakuho high’s golden boy, heir to the building you were sitting in, and yet still the same loud, dramatic idiot you grew up with.
but your focus was never on him.
because nagi, without fail, would always slide into the seat beside you. even if reo sat next to you first, nagi would stand there, towering, blinking once before saying, “move.” and reo—used to his antics—would just sigh and scoot without complaint.
he didn’t even try to hide it anymore.
and every time nagi settled beside you, your heart did that stupid thing again—tripped over itself, stumbled into your ribs, and reminded you that you were already too far gone.
it always happened the same way.
you’d be mid-bite or mid-conversation when suddenly, his fingers would find yours beneath the table. not a brush. not an accidental touch. a full-on interlock. as if your hand was made to fit into his.
sometimes, his grip was light, absent-minded—his thumb rubbing lazy circles against your palm while he focused on his rice bowl. sometimes, it was firmer, grounding. like he needed to hold on to something, and for some reason, that something was always you.
one time, he caught your hand before you could even sit down, pulling it into his lap casually.
“your hand’s warm,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded with that usual drowsy calm. “and soft.”
like it was the most obvious observation in the world. like it meant nothing.
but it didn’t mean nothing to you.
it never did.
because every time he said something like that—quiet and thoughtless, like a dream slipping through your fingers—it burrowed deeper into your heart. and left you wondering: does he even know what he’s doing to me?
across the table, reo would catch your eye with a smirk.
he’d rest his chin in his hand, grinning like a fox. “you two should just date already,” he’d say one afternoon, loud enough for nagi to hear.
you choked on your drink.
nagi didn’t even flinch. “too much work,” he replied without missing a beat—but his grip on your hand didn’t loosen.
your stomach twisted. and reo? he looked at you knowingly, as if he could see the spiral in your mind before you even admitted it to yourself.
you wanted to believe there was something there. that the touches meant something. that the nickname wasn’t just a habit. that the way he leaned into your shoulder and closed his eyes wasn’t just comfort—it was you.
but nagi never said anything.
and you were too scared to ask.
because what if it really was just who he was? what if the closeness you treasured so deeply… wasn’t special to him at all?
you hated how much the uncertainty hurt.
hated how you still looked for his name on your phone screen.
hated how your heart reacted to every small thing he did—like it hadn’t learned how to protect itself.
because no matter how casual he made it seem… holding nagi’s hand always felt like the closest thing to home.
and maybe that was the most dangerous part.
because when something starts to feel like home, you forget it was never promised to you. you start expecting it—counting on it—imagining things that were never said out loud. you start building a future in the quiet spaces between words he never meant for you to read into.
you told yourself you were fine with the silence. that you could live in the in-between. but your heart knew better. it ached louder every time nagi pulled you a little closer… and said nothing at all.
so now—suffocating in feelings you never meant to have—you were sprawled like a corpse on the oversized couch in reo’s ridiculous penthouse living room.
hakuho high’s golden boy, born with a silver spoon and a rooftop garden, was currently snacking on something that cost more than your weekly lunch allowance and watching you fall apart with the patience of someone used to your drama.
“fuck it!” you screamed into one of his designer pillows, muffled but heartfelt. “i hate him. i hate his stupid hair, and his lazy slouch, and the way he breathes like the world is boring and calls me angel like he didn’t just short-circuit my entire central nervous system.”
reo didn’t even flinch. “so,” he said casually, tossing another popcorn kernel into his mouth, “you’re saying you’re fine.”
you let out a long, wounded groan into the cushions. “you ruined my life, mikage.”
“oh, is that what i did?” he said, utterly unfazed. “you were so normal before nagi, huh? always emotionally stable, never crying over how ‘his voice sounds like fresh snow falling on a winter night.’”
your head snapped up. “i never said that.”
he smirked. “you did. last week. when he called you at midnight to ask what time practice was and you replayed the voicemail six times.”
your cheeks burned. “that’s… not the point!”
“no, you’re right. the point is, i introduced you two. i should get matchmaking royalties.”
you sat up, dramatically throwing off his fancy blanket. “you should’ve never introduced him to me, reo!”
reo gave you a shit-eating grin. “why? because he’s hot, mysterious, emotionally unavailable, and clearly soft for you? yeah, sorry. that’s on me.”
you groaned and flopped back onto the couch. “he’s not soft for me.”
“oh, right. my bad,” he said, mock-serious. “he just randomly holds your hand during lunch, naps with his head in your lap, and only calls you angel. totally meaningless.”
“it feels meaningless when he never says anything about it!”
reo got up, made his way to the mini fridge, and tossed you a can of something carbonated and unnecessarily expensive. “sei’s weird,” he said, plopping back into his seat. “he doesn’t talk much, but he doesn’t exactly do all that with everyone.”
you cracked open the drink and took a long sip, sighing. “i feel like i’m going insane.”
“no, this is just karma for every time you made fun of me in middle school when i had a crush.”
you threw a cushion at him.
he caught it easily. “look. you and nagi? it’s a slow burn. like, glacial. like, two rocks eroding in a riverbed over several centuries.”
you gave him a look. “you’re not helping.”
“i am helping,” he said smugly. “i’m listening to your crisis, offering top-tier beverages, and reminding you that he called you angel during conditioning drills, which means even when he’s sweating to death, you’re still on his mind.”
you paused. “you think?”
reo leaned back, his expression softer now. “i know.”
you stared at the ceiling. “then why hasn’t he said anything? why hasn’t he… done anything?”
reo hesitated for a beat, then shrugged. “he probably doesn’t know what he’s feeling yet.”
you blinked. “how do you not know you like someone?”
reo looked at you knowingly. “have you met nagi?”
“…fair.”
the two of you sat in silence for a bit, the city lights from the floor-to-ceiling windows spilling across the marble floors. the penthouse was too fancy, too big—but in this moment, it felt oddly safe.
then, quietly, you said, “i think i like him.”
reo didn’t tease you that night. he just smiled—crooked and quiet—and let the weight of your words settle in the silence between you.
“yeah,” he said. “i know.”
and for one brief moment, you felt lighter. like something in your chest had finally been named, and now you could breathe around it.
but that peace didn’t last.
because after that night at his penthouse, reo didn’t just return to being your best friend.
he became your personal tormentor.
not in the mean-spirited way—not really. but in that classic mikage reo fashion, he took your emotional meltdown, filed it under “important best friend information,” and proceeded to use it for sport.
subtle at first.
a comment here. a smirk there.
“your boyfriend’s under the tree again,” he’d say casually during soccer practice, flinging his towel over his shoulder and pointing across the field with his chin. “probably waiting for you to come fan him or something.”
you didn’t even bother responding the first few times. but reo? he thrived on reactions. so the quieter you were, the more relentless he became.
“he’s literally using your hoodie as a pillow right now,” he snorted during one break. “what is he, a stray cat? did you feed him once and now he won’t leave?”
you tried to ignore him, really, you did.
but it was hard to play it cool when nagi seishiro—cool, aloof, half-asleep nagi—kept gravitating toward you like you were the only person on the planet worth orbiting.
when he’d wander over during water breaks, barely say anything, and drop to the grass beside you with a heavy sigh.
when he’d tug at the hem of your sleeve like a child, muttering, “move a little, angel,” so he could comfortably lay his head on your lap.
the first time he did it, you froze.
you had no idea what to do with your hands, with your face, with the ridiculous tempo your heart had launched into.
and when he nuzzled into the crook of your neck and whispered, “warm. ‘m comfy here,” you were sure you’d ascended into another dimension.
reo, from several feet away, didn’t miss a beat.
“are you serious right now?” he called out, deadpan. “you’re using her as a human mattress? sei, we’re in the middle of practice.”
nagi, eyes still closed, responded with a half-lidded shrug. “we’re on break.”
reo turned to you, hands on hips like a disappointed parent. “why do you let him do that?”
you glared at him. “do i look like i can stop him?”
reo opened his mouth, then paused, expression flickering to something amused and oddly fond. “you don’t, actually. which is kinda impressive.”
from then on, he only got worse.
during lunch, he made a habit of sliding nagi’s bento closer to you before anyone sat down.
“feed him,” reo would say, like a waiter taking your order. “or he won’t eat. apparently your hands make everything taste better.”
nagi, seated beside you like it was law, didn’t even look up from his game.
“true,” he said flatly, holding out his chopsticks expectantly. “angel feeds me better.”
your face combusted.
reo nearly fell off his seat from laughing.
and somehow—somehow—this became routine.
if nagi didn’t get to sit next to you, he’d just drag his chair over. if you were holding your phone, he’d take it and lean against your shoulder while scrolling aimlessly. if you were quiet, he’d lean into you, cheek against your hair, and murmur, “tell me something. i like hearing your voice.”
every small thing turned sacred. every tiny touch set you on fire.
and reo? he stoked the flames.
it was like living in a dream you weren’t allowed to name. a day-by-day slow-burn that left you suspended in something warm and fragile. you didn’t know if nagi meant any of it the way you hoped he did. he never said anything. never changed his expression. just kept calling you angel and reaching for you like you belonged to him.
and the worst part?
you kept letting him.
you wanted to believe it meant something.
you needed to believe it did.
but the not-knowing—it festered. the what-ifs, the maybe-he-does, maybe-he-doesn’t… they turned every smile into a battlefield, every silence into a storm.
you didn’t realize how exhausted you were from hoping until it all came to a head on a regular, sleepy afternoon at hakuho high.
the sky was bluer than usual. the breeze was soft. you had a bottle of your favorite drink in hand after a long lecture, your thoughts drifting—mostly about how quiet nagi had been lately. distant, even.
you were behind the gym, just starting to unscrew the cap of your drink, when someone approached you.
“hey.”
you blinked up, surprised. he was a third-year—tall, broad-shouldered, sharp features softened by the slight smile he wore. you recognized him vaguely. vice-captain of the basketball team. the type girls whispered about in the corridors.
“i know this is sudden,” he started, scratching the back of his neck, “but… are you dating nagi seishiro?”
your grip tightened around your drink. the question hit harder than it should have.
you blinked. “huh?”
“you guys are always together,” he said, shrugging. “it kinda looks like it. i didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes, so i figured i’d ask first.”
you didn’t know how to answer.
because no—he never asked you out. but yes—he held your hand like it meant something. he napped on your lap. called you angel. looked for you in crowds.
but that wasn’t love, was it? at least… not the kind that gets voiced.
so you shook your head.
“no,” you said softly. “we’re not.”
the word sat heavy on your tongue, like something bitter you were finally forced to swallow. even saying it aloud—confirming that there was nothing between you and nagi—hurt more than you thought it would.
the boy blinked, surprised. “oh. then… reo?”
you blinked back, caught off guard. “what?”
he laughed nervously, raising both hands in surrender. “sorry—just, the way you and mikage always bicker. i figured maybe you two were, you know… childhood friends-to-lovers or whatever.”
you stared at him like he’d just grown a second head.
then came the deadpan: “heck no.”
it was more disgust than denial, and it left your mouth before you could filter it.
the guy laughed again—this time, genuinely. “alright, alright. just checking.”
you rolled your eyes, cheeks flushing. “reo’s like… my brother. that would be disgusting.”
“that clears things up.” he smiled, easing a little. “then… maybe we could go for coffee this weekend?”
there was a pause.
and then, before you could give yourself a reason not to, you nodded.
“sure,” you said. “why not?”
it wasn’t a confession.
it wasn’t a first kiss.
but it was the first time you admitted—if only to yourself—that maybe you couldn’t wait around for nagi forever.
what you didn’t know, standing there in the soft shadow of the school gym, was that someone had seen the entire thing. from the moment the boy asked if you were dating nagi, down to the way you wrinkled your nose at the mention of reo.
and that someone’s stomach dropped like a stone.
because while you were saying no…
nagi was across the path—hearing every word like it was a slap to the face.
he didn’t stick around to hear your answer to the guy’s next question. he didn’t want to. couldn’t. something in him recoiled the moment he saw you standing there—with him—smiling the way you usually smiled at him.
he walked away, fast and quiet.
the weight of his limbs was heavier than usual. his hoodie felt too warm against his skin, and his hands stayed shoved deep into the pockets like he was trying to bury the strange, twisting ache crawling up his chest.
he went back to the soccer field, eyes blank, lips pressed into a line.
he didn’t speak.
didn’t even look at reo when the other boy offered him a water bottle.
he just stood in the grass, shoulders stiff, waiting for the whistle to blow.
why would he feel like this?
you can date who you want. you’re your own person. you always were.
and besides—you were right.
you two weren’t together.
you weren’t his girlfriend.
you were just… his angel.
his nap partner. his hand to hold. his favorite seat under the sakura tree after a long day of classes. the one who laughed at his flat jokes. the one who listened even when he didn’t respond. the one he could always find in the stands, no matter how far away.
his… friend.
that’s all it was, right?
just a friend.
so why did the idea of someone else having your attention—the thought of you laughing at someone else’s bad jokes, someone else’s hand holding yours—make his throat tighten like this?
why did he feel like his chest was full of static?
why did practice suddenly feel impossible to focus on?
why did everything burn?
he was nagi seishiro—apathetic, unbothered, uninterested in everything except convenience and quiet. he didn’t do emotions. didn’t care about people.
and yet…
why?
why did it feel like he was about to lose something he didn’t even realize he was holding?
the thought wouldn’t leave him alone.
it echoed in his head, over and over, louder than the screech of cleats against the turf, louder than the whistle, louder than reo yelling plays from the opposite end of the field.
you’d said it so clearly. so easily.
“no, we’re not.”
you weren’t lying. but something in your voice—he couldn't forget it. it didn’t sound like relief. it sounded like… surrender.
why did that hurt so damn much?
he pressed forward in the scrimmage, a pass skimming just past his foot because he moved a second too late. his reflexes were off. his instincts dulled. the field felt too narrow. his jersey clung to his back. the usual lightness in his body was gone, replaced by a heavy, dragging weight he couldn’t shake.
he missed another pass.
and another.
he shoved his hands into his hair in frustration, growling quietly, “tch.”
a few teammates stared. they didn’t say anything, but the tension rippled.
nagi didn’t care.
no, that was a lie.
he did care.
that was the worst part.
for the first time in a long time, he cared too much and didn’t know how to handle it.
across the field, reo watched carefully.
he had known nagi since first year. knew the way his best friend moved, the tempo of his rhythm on the field, the lazy but calculated precision of his mind. he’d watched nagi play sick, play exhausted, even play pissed off—and still look good doing it.
but this?
this wasn’t the usual indifference.
this wasn’t fatigue.
this was nagi unraveling.
quietly. subtly. but painfully.
he could see it in the way nagi’s shoulders stiffened with every misstep. the way his hands balled into fists whenever the ball rolled too far. the way he didn’t even look toward the bleachers—where you usually sat watching, sometimes waving, always smiling.
you weren’t there today.
and reo had a feeling nagi knew exactly why.
but the worst part? he didn’t do anything about it.
not the next day.
not the day after that.
not even when your eyes lingered on him longer than necessary—waiting, hoping, hurting.
instead, nagi distanced himself.
no explanation. no text. no lazy “angel” in the hallway, no sudden weight of his head on your shoulder like he used to do after class. he didn’t take the seat next to you during lunch anymore, even when reo subtly saved it. he didn’t offer you sips of his convenience store soda, or absentmindedly thread your fingers with his under the cafeteria table.
it was as if someone had pressed pause on everything that felt safe and familiar.
and you noticed. of course you noticed.
how could you not?
the boy who once made you feel like the center of his world was now acting like you barely existed in it.
you tried to brush it off at first—told yourself he was just tired from soccer, or spacing out like he always did, or maybe he just needed time. you knew nagi could be… detached. aloof. he was never the type to chase or cling. that was just how he was.
but this? this was different.
he wasn’t just distracted.
he was avoiding you.
the realization settled in your chest like a weight you couldn’t shake off, especially when reo—your oldest friend, your partner in chaos since grade school—confirmed the one thing you dreaded to hear.
it was late in the afternoon when it happened. you were at the mikage penthouse again, your designated post-school escape on days that felt too heavy. you were lying on your back, legs tossed over the armrest of reo’s imported italian couch, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.
reo was scrolling through his phone beside you, one socked foot pressed against your shin lazily. the room was quiet except for the faint hum of the central air and the occasional clink of ice in your untouched drinks.
“he knows the vice captain asked you out.”
your stomach dropped.
you turned your head slowly toward reo, your voice barely above a whisper. “nagi?”
reo nodded, still scrolling. “he was nearby when it happened. didn’t say anything, but i saw his face after. he walked back to the field like he was ready to murder someone.”
you sat up fully now, heart pounding. “is that why he’s been avoiding me?”
reo sighed like it physically pained him to deal with the emotional incompetence of his best friend. “most likely. i mean, it’s either that or he suddenly forgot how to function around people—which, okay, is also a possibility with him.”
you swallowed, the pieces falling into place too fast for comfort. “but… why would he avoid me?”
reo finally looked at you, his expression unreadable for once.
the teasing had fallen from his features like snow off a rooftop—quiet, unexpected. his voice, when he finally spoke, came soft but firm.
“because he’s a dumbass.”
you blinked. “i—what?”
he raised an eyebrow at you, like he couldn’t believe he had to spell it out.
“he likes you, idiot.”
the words hit you harder than they should have.
they knocked the air out of your lungs and left you staring at reo like he’d just casually told you gravity stopped working.
“i—” your mouth opened, then shut again. you shook your head. “no. no, he doesn’t.”
reo let out a slow breath, dragging a hand through his perfectly styled hair. “yes, he does. he just doesn’t realize it the way you want him to yet. that doesn’t mean it’s not there.”
you frowned, your voice quieter now. “then why is he avoiding me?”
reo studied you carefully. “because he’s never felt this kind of thing before. he’s confused. freaked out, probably. and when sei gets overwhelmed, he doesn’t push forward—he hides. retreats.”
you looked away, your fingers curling into the hem of your sweater. “it hurts.”
reo’s gaze softened. “i know. and it’s killing me watching both of you act like this when it’s so obvious you mean the world to each other.”
you sighed, slumping back against the couch cushions. your heart felt heavy, bruised in a way that wasn’t physical. like something was wilting inside your chest—soft and unseen, but so achingly present. “what do i do, reo?”
he didn’t answer right away. for once, he wasn’t being theatrical or smug. no exaggerated hand gestures or sarcastic comments. just silence, and a look in his eyes that said he was weighing his words carefully.
finally, reo spoke. his voice was gentler than you expected.
“i’m not playing favorites here, but… you already did your part.”
you blinked. “what?”
“i mean, come on,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “you like him. you know it. i know it. hell, half of hakuho probably knows it. you’ve shown him in every way that counts. it’s not your responsibility to make him see that he likes you back.”
your lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.
reo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, gaze fixed on yours. “sei’s not good with emotions. he feels things, yeah—but he doesn’t always know what he’s feeling. he zones out, pulls away, avoids it like it’s a hard level in a game he doesn’t want to clear.”
your heart stung. “then what if he never clears it?”
“then that’s on him,” reo said, and there was no hesitation in his voice this time. “not you. you’ve been patient. you’ve been honest, even if you haven’t said the exact words. if he lets you walk away without realizing what you mean to him… that’s his loss.”
the words echoed in your chest, louder than you wanted them to.
because deep down, you didn’t want to walk away. not even a little. not even when he made you feel invisible. but reo was right—loving someone didn’t mean setting yourself on fire to light their path. and maybe… maybe it was time nagi realized that.
you closed your eyes, trying to blink away the sting behind your lashes. “i hate this.”
reo offered a soft laugh and nudged your knee with his. “i know. love sucks sometimes. especially when it comes with a six-foot-tall emotional brick wall.”
you cracked a smile, just barely. “thanks for the reminder.”
he grinned. “anytime, angel.”
and despite the ache still lodged somewhere in your ribs, his words settled into your heart like a gentle promise.
that no matter how messy this all became, you weren’t completely alone in it.
reo was there—annoying, overconfident, occasionally too invested—but always in your corner. he never let you spiral too far without yanking you back with a half-serious joke or a reality check disguised as sarcasm. and knowing that… made breathing a little easier.
you stayed in his penthouse longer than you meant to that night. he made you tea without asking, switched the mood lighting to a calmer tone, and played some playlist he called “healing for the emotionally exhausted.” you didn’t even have the energy to roll your eyes.
you stared out the window while the city lights blinked back at you like stars—distant and quiet. your thoughts drifted again to nagi. to the way his hair fell into his eyes when he leaned over his phone. the weight of his head when he laid it in your lap after practice. the warmth in his voice when he murmured, “sleepy, angel.”
you clutched a pillow to your chest and sank deeper into reo’s velvet couch.
had it always been this one-sided?
or was nagi really just scared?
you didn’t know.
but tomorrow… you were going to try. even if it wasn’t with him.
then the day of the date came.
you didn’t wear anything flashy—just your usual clothes with a touch more care. hair brushed out, light gloss on your lips, perfume you knew reo teased you about for being too sweet. you stared at yourself in the mirror longer than usual before heading out, trying to convince yourself this was fine. normal. just a simple afternoon. just… something new.
the vice captain was already waiting near the front gates of hakuho, dressed neatly in the school’s after-hours uniform with a pleasant, easy smile. he wasn’t nagi. his energy was steadier, more grounded. not sleepy or unpredictable—but warm in his own right.
he greeted you with a polite, “you look nice,” and offered to carry your bag.
you smiled. tried to mean it.
but something in your chest tugged.
you walked to the nearby café together, talked about classes, mutual friends, upcoming tournaments. he was kind. charming, even. you knew girls at school talked about him a lot—and it wasn’t hard to see why. he was attentive without being overbearing, curious about your thoughts, laughing easily at your jokes.
but it wasn’t nagi’s laugh.
it wasn’t nagi’s quiet stare.
it wasn’t nagi at all.
and the vice captain could see it.
maybe not immediately—but somewhere between you pushing food around your plate and your gaze flickering toward the glass windows every time a white-haired figure passed, he figured it out.
he set his drink down gently and leaned back.
“you still like him, don’t you?”
you froze. the words landed softly, not like a confrontation, but like an observation. a truth laid bare.
you looked at your half-eaten dessert, then slowly nodded. “yeah,” you whispered. “i think i always have.”
he chuckled—low and not bitter. just amused in a tired sort of way.
“well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “i kinda figured when you spent the first ten minutes watching the sidewalk instead of me.”
your cheeks flushed. “i’m sorry—”
“don’t be.” he held up a hand, waving it off with a smile. “seriously. i knew what i was walking into. guess i hoped maybe you’d give me a chance to make you forget him.”
you looked at him—really looked at him—and saw no resentment in his expression. just understanding.
“i really appreciate that you still came,” he added. “even knowing your heart’s kind of… already somewhere else.”
you swallowed around the lump in your throat and nodded. “thank you. for being kind.”
he smiled. “he better realize what he has before someone else does.”
and somewhere across the city, under the molten streaks of the setting sun, nagi seishiro was pacing the length of hakuho high’s empty soccer field. the sky above him glowed in soft orange and deep violet, but he didn’t look up once. his feet dragged across the turf like his body was moving on its own—slow, heavy, as if weighed down by something he couldn’t shake off.
reo’s voice still echoed in his mind, sharp and impossible to ignore.
"you feel something, don’t you?"
nagi hadn’t answered. he didn’t know how. because how do you name a feeling you’ve never bothered to understand?
he wasn’t built for messy emotions. he preferred ease—predictable gameplay, soft pillows, long naps. but you? you weren’t easy. you were the one variable he hadn’t figured out. the one thing that made his chest ache when you smiled and made his head go silent when you laughed. he didn’t understand it. didn’t try to.
not until he saw it.
that day.
you were standing behind the gym, light bouncing off your hair as you spoke to the vice captain. nagi hadn’t meant to linger. he was just walking by—heading to grab a juice box or waste a few more minutes before practice.
but then the vice captain asked you something. and nagi stopped.
“are you dating nagi seishiro?”
it was a simple question, harmless to anyone else. but to nagi, it sounded like a pin being pulled from a grenade. his steps faltered. he didn’t turn around, didn’t breathe too loudly, just stood half-hidden behind the wall’s edge, frozen like a bug caught in amber.
you hesitated. just for a beat.
then your answer came, soft and unsteady. “no. we’re not.”
and nagi couldn’t explain why that answer—the very truth he’d never had the guts to change—felt like a sucker punch to the chest.
he left before he could hear what came next. because in his chest, a feeling he’d spent months ignoring had finally started screaming. and it didn’t sound like indifference. it sounded like jealousy. like regret.
and maybe—just maybe—like heartbreak.
he never knew your answer.
not from you.
but by the time lunch ended and the hallways quieted, he didn’t have to.
whispers chased him like ghosts—fragments of your name laced with quiet gasps and knowing smirks.
“she said yes.”
“to the vice captain, right?”
“she finally gave up on nagi, huh?”
each word chipped at something inside him. something he'd never named, never dared to look at too closely.
and now it was bleeding through the cracks.
practice came like muscle memory. but there was no rhythm. no focus. his passes were too hard. his touches too sharp. a snap in his movements that wasn’t like him. he missed a shot he’d normally sink with his eyes closed.
reo said his name—twice, maybe three times—but nagi didn’t answer.
eventually, they left him there. even reo.
the sun dipped lower, dragging shadows across the field, and still, nagi didn’t move. his limbs sprawled carelessly across the grass, as if exhaustion had pinned him down and frustration had tied the knot. he stared at the sky, expression unreadable, fingers tangled in blades of green.
everything felt wrong. off.
his chest was tight again, like it had been all day. like he’d swallowed something too big, and now it wouldn’t leave.
she said yes.
to someone else.
the thought circled like a vulture.
you found him alone on the soccer field, long after the others had packed up and left.
the lights from the school building flickered faintly in the distance, casting long shadows across the grass where nagi lay stretched out like a boy made of bone-deep exhaustion. his jersey clung to his skin, a streak of sweat running down his temple. his eyes, however, were still wide open—staring up at the sky like it could answer the ache twisting in his chest.
he didn’t look at you when you approached. but you saw the way his hand twitched in the grass. like he knew you were coming.
“nagi.”
your voice didn’t tremble, but it came out quieter than you’d expected. you stood above him for a moment, waiting, hoping—but he didn’t respond.
you slowly sat beside him, knees drawn up to your chest, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve.
“i said yes,” you said after a long silence, eyes on the horizon. “to someone else.”
he didn’t move. but his jaw shifted, the tiniest tick beneath his cheekbone.
“i said yes to a date because i was tired of wondering what this was,” you continued, voice starting to shake despite your best efforts. “tired of waiting for you to say something. anything.”
still nothing. only the sound of distant cicadas and the dull thud of your heartbeat in your ears.
“do you even remember what you said the day we met?” you asked quietly. “you didn’t say my name once. just called me angel. like it was automatic. like it didn’t matter who i was, just that i was there.”
you laughed bitterly under your breath, your fingers clenching. “i tried not to let it mean anything. i tried not to hope. but then you’d rest your head on my shoulder and whisper like i was your safe place. you’d hold my hand and tell me it was soft, warm. you made me feel like i was… something.”
your breath hitched. you turned to face him fully, and finally—finally—nagi turned his head to look at you.
his expression was unreadable. but you could see it—the fear just beneath the surface. the conflict. the guilt.
your voice cracked when you spoke again. “do you like me, nagi?”
the question hung between you like smoke.
he blinked. once. then again. and slowly, he sat up, arms bracing behind him.
“i don’t know,” he said.
your chest caved in.
it wasn’t anger that flared in you. it was heartbreak. the slow, sinking realization that the boy you wanted so badly didn’t even know if he wanted you back.
“you don’t know,” you repeated, breathless, eyes burning.
he looked away, fingers digging into the grass. “it’s not that simple.”
“it is,” you said, voice shaking harder now. “it is that simple. you either feel something for me or you don’t. and if you don’t, that’s okay—” your voice broke. “—but you can’t keep treating me like i’m your world if you can’t even figure out your own heart.”
nagi’s head snapped back toward you, eyes wide, as if your words had physically struck him.
“you can’t nuzzle into my neck and fall asleep on my lap and whisper ‘angel’ like i’m the only one who matters—and then say you don’t know. that’s not fair.”
he opened his mouth, but no words came out.
you took a shaky step back. “i let myself believe you did. i let myself fall for you—slowly, painfully. every time you remembered the little things i said, every time you showed up even in your quiet way, i thought maybe…”
you trailed off, swallowing hard. “but you never said it. you never gave me anything real to hold on to. and now i’m the idiot who said yes to someone else, but all i can think about is you.”
he was silent. still. his silver hair caught in the breeze, eyes locked on yours like he wanted to say something—needed to—but couldn’t bring himself to cross that threshold.
you shook your head, blinking fast. “i can’t do this anymore. i can’t keep waiting for someone who doesn’t even know if he wants me.”
you turned.
and this time, nagi didn’t stop you.
but as your figure disappeared across the field—shoulders trembling, arms wrapped tightly around yourself—something inside him cracked like ice splitting under too much weight.
and for the first time, nagi seishiro wasn’t sure if he was tired…
or if this was the first time he was finally awake.
because something in your voice had snapped him out of the haze he’d been living in—the gentle fog of comfort he’d built around himself like a second skin. you were gone now, walking away from him, and yet your words still echoed in his ears louder than any stadium ever had.
you can’t treat me like i’m your world if you don’t even know your own heart.
it rang like a siren in his skull.
the soccer field felt too open after that. too wide. too cold. his limbs buzzed with restless energy he didn’t know what to do with. so he moved on instinct, feet dragging him away from the grass and the guilt and the silence you left behind.
the next time he blinked, he was standing in front of reo’s building.
the mikage tower—an architectural flex of polished glass and inherited legacy—loomed above him like a monolith. nagi hadn’t even realized where he was heading until the security at the front recognized him and let him through wordlessly, like he belonged there. maybe he did. he came here often enough. but today, the elevator ride felt different. the music sounded too sharp. the walls too reflective. he could see himself in them—eyes unfocused, jaw clenched tight.
by the time he reached the penthouse, the door was already swinging open.
reo looked like he’d been expecting him.
“figured you’d show up eventually,” reo said, arms crossed loosely over his chest, eyes sweeping over nagi with a familiar, no-bullshit expression. “you looked like you were about to combust during practice.”
nagi walked past him in silence, dropping onto the nearest couch like a sack of limbs. he stared at the ceiling as if the answers might be etched into the marble tiles.
reo shut the door and followed, sitting across from him. “so… you wanna talk?”
“no,” nagi muttered.
reo leaned back, exhaling through his nose. “alright. you wanna sulk here until you rot into the cushions, then?”
“maybe.”
silence stretched between them, thick and electric.
then nagi spoke again, voice low, like he hated even admitting it. “she went on the date.”
reo blinked. “you mean you let her go on the date.”
nagi’s eyes narrowed. “i didn’t let her do anything. she can do what she wants.”
“she wanted you, dumbass,” reo snapped, sitting forward now, arms braced on his knees. “she waited—waited—for you to pull your head out of your ass. you were the one who kept acting like she mattered and then saying nothing.”
nagi ran a hand down his face, dragging his palm over his eyes like he could rub the thoughts away. “i didn’t know i liked her.”
reo scoffed. “you knew. you just didn’t realize that’s what it was. you’ve never cared about anyone like that before, so you didn’t recognize it.”
“i felt…” nagi trailed off, words catching in his throat. “like something was ripping out of me when i saw him ask her. i wanted to hit something. or sleep forever. i didn’t like it.”
“that’s what jealousy feels like, sei,” reo said quietly. “that’s what heartbreak feels like when you’re too late.”
nagi let his head fall back, a low groan rumbling from his chest. “she said she liked me. and i told her… i told her i don’t know.”
reo stared at him like he’d just confessed to committing a felony.
“the fuck?” he hissed, dragging a hand through his already-mussed hair. “why did you say i don’t know, idiot?”
“i panicked,” nagi muttered, his voice flat and low, like he hated himself for it. “she was standing there, looking at me like—like i meant something, and i just… froze.”
reo scoffed, launching himself off the couch to pace across the penthouse. “unbelievable. you—you lay in her lap. you call her angel. you hold her hand like it’s the only thing grounding you to this planet and then when she finally tells you she likes you, you give her i don’t know?”
“i didn’t mean to,” nagi said, scrubbing a palm over his face again. “i didn’t think she liked me like that. i didn’t know i felt that way—until she walked away.”
“bullshit,” reo snapped, rounding back to face him. “you knew. you’ve always known. you just didn’t want to know because then you’d actually have to do something about it.”
nagi flinched at that.
reo’s voice softened just a little. “you think i didn’t notice? the way you’d act around her? you’re not subtle, man. you’d go quiet when she laughed with someone else. you’d light up when she brought you those caramel milk drinks from the vending machine. you’d look at her like she was the only goddamn person in a world full of people you couldn’t be bothered to care about.”
nagi’s throat worked around something thick. he stared down at his hands like they were foreign to him. “i didn’t know i could feel like that,” he murmured. “i didn’t think i was built for it.”
reo sighed again, slower this time, and sat back down beside him. “no one is. not really. but when it’s her… when it’s someone like her… you figure it out. or you lose her.”
and that—that—was what scared nagi the most.
he could sleep through classes. he could ignore most people. he could drift through life half-awake.
but the idea of you walking away for good? that terrified him more than he knew how to admit.
because it wasn’t indifference he felt.
it wasn’t confusion.
it was love.
and now—he might’ve already been too late.
you hadn’t spoken to him since the last time he left you with nothing but silence. three days had passed, and the distance between you and nagi had grown so vast, it may as well have been oceans. not a glance. not a breath shared. not even the subtle magnetic pull that used to hum beneath your skin whenever he was near.
it was like he had vanished.
or worse—you had learned how to exist without him.
you didn’t yell. you didn’t pout. you didn’t cry. but you also didn’t smile when he passed by. you didn’t look up when he walked into the room. and if you were forced to stand within arm’s reach, like during practice or at lunch, you kept yourself composed with a sort of numb grace that cut him deeper than any outburst ever could.
he had never known how much he craved your attention until it was gone.
and now, here he was—locked inside the clubroom with you because reo, fed up with watching you both suffer in silence, decided to take matters into his own hands.
the door slammed shut behind you. a soft metallic click confirmed it was locked.
“reo?” you said sharply, turning back.
“i’m not opening it,” came reo’s smug reply from the other side. “not until you idiots talk. or make out. either one.”
“reo!” you growled, rushing to the handle. it didn’t budge. “this isn’t funny!”
“not meant to be,” he said. “consider this an intervention. figure it out. i’ll be back… eventually.”
and then his footsteps faded.
you stood frozen for a moment, facing the door, before you slowly turned to face the boy across the room.
nagi stood by the windows, bathed in fading sunlight, his white hair catching every bit of golden glow like a halo. but he didn’t look like an angel. not now. he looked exhausted. haunted. like someone still trying to understand why the hell his chest wouldn’t stop aching.
he didn’t look at you.
so you stayed by the door, arms crossed. a wall of silence stretched between you, heavy and brittle, ready to snap.
“say something,” you finally muttered, your voice tired, your throat sore from swallowing your feelings for days.
he flinched. you didn’t miss it.
“i didn’t ask him to do this,” he said quietly.
“but you’re not stopping it either.”
another silence.
you took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “then let’s get it over with.”
he finally turned. his eyes met yours.
“i didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said.
you laughed—but it wasn’t amused. it was hollow. “but you did.”
he stepped forward, cautious. “when i said i didn’t know… it wasn’t because i don’t feel anything.”
you narrowed your eyes, but said nothing.
“it was because i felt too much,” he admitted, voice quieter now, almost like he was afraid it would break if he raised it any higher. “i didn’t know what to do with it.”
“and what, you thought silence would make it better?”
“no,” he whispered. “i thought if i said it out loud, it’d ruin everything. i was scared.”
you blinked at him, your heart aching all over again. “scared of what? that i’d say it back?”
he opened his mouth, then closed it. his jaw clenched.
“i liked it,” you said, voice cracking. “the attention. the nicknames. you holding my hand. laying on my lap. acting like i was the only person who mattered. i liked it—because i liked you. but you don’t get to do all that and then tell me you don’t know.”
you weren’t yelling. you weren’t crying. but your pain filled every word.
“you don’t get to act like i’m your whole world, nagi, if you don’t even know what i am to you.”
that landed like a punch to the gut.
he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. his voice was low, almost hoarse. “i do know now.”
you didn’t move.
he took another step. “i know i’m stupid. that i missed the moment i should’ve told you. that i let you walk away.”
still, you didn’t say a word.
“i thought i was okay with being your friend,” he whispered, gaze dropping to the floor. “until i saw someone else try to be more.”
he looked up then, and his eyes held the kind of desperation that only comes when you realize something too late.
“i heard people talking. saying you said yes. that you were going out with him. and i swear—my chest hurt so bad i couldn’t even breathe.”
you finally moved. just barely. your fingers curled into the hem of your shirt, grounding yourself.
“i don’t want to be just your almost,” you said.
he froze.
“i don’t want to keep waiting for maybes. i confessed, and you froze. and that told me everything i needed to know.”
“i was wrong,” he said. “i was scared. but i’m not anymore.”
you looked at him, eyes searching. “then prove it.”
the silence that followed wasn’t awkward.
it was thick—full of history, full of missed chances, full of every time he called you angel like it meant everything and nothing all at once. nagi stood there like he’d been thrown into the eye of a storm he created, a thousand unsaid words flashing behind those pale lashes and sleepy eyes.
but there was nothing sleepy about the way he looked at you now.
slowly, like the weight of your words had finally dragged him back to earth, he took a step toward you. his gaze dropped briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes, checking—once, twice, maybe even a third time—for hesitation.
there was none.
so when he reached out, his fingers brushing the side of your face, it felt like the world tilted. his touch was tentative at first, like you were made of something he wasn’t sure he deserved to hold. and then—he kissed you.
it wasn’t rushed. it wasn’t perfect either. his lips were warm, unsure at first, like he was still learning what it meant to feel everything he’d avoided. but the moment you leaned into him, he melted.
his other hand found your waist, sliding around to hold you steady as if he needed the anchor. your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself in the heat of him.
“i’m sorry,” he breathed against your mouth. “i should’ve said something sooner.”
you kissed him back, just as soft. just as broken.
“you didn’t,” you whispered. “you never do.”
nagi pulled back just enough to look at you. his eyes were clearer than you’d ever seen them—open, raw, like the wall between you was finally cracking. “i didn’t know how,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “it was easier to pretend. that if i didn’t say anything, i couldn’t lose you.”
you blinked at him, chest tightening. “but you did.”
that broke something in him.
he kissed you again, harder this time—but not in a way that hurt. it was desperation, barely concealed by the tremble in his hands as they held you close. his lips moved with a kind of apology his voice couldn’t carry.
“i’ll make it up to you,” he muttered between kisses. “i swear, angel… i’ll make it up to you.”
his forehead fell against yours, breaths mingling as his arms slid around your waist tighter, like you might disappear again if he loosened his grip.
“i didn’t mean to hurt you,” he whispered. “i just—every time i saw you with someone else, i felt like i was choking on my own heartbeat.”
your eyes watered. “then why didn’t you say anything?”
“because i thought i could live with just being your friend,” he confessed, voice cracking. “but i can’t. not anymore. not after hearing you say yes to someone else. not after realizing that someone else might get to hold your hand. kiss you. call you theirs.”
you closed your eyes, tears clinging to your lashes.
“do you still want me?” he asked, his voice suddenly small. uncertain. like a boy rather than the prodigy the school worshipped. like someone afraid he’d ruined the one thing he wanted most.
you nodded.
and he kissed you again.
this time it was slower. not desperate—but deliberate. tender. like he was tracing every inch of what he could’ve lost. his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, his lips moving with careful reverence.
“you feel like home,” he whispered against your skin, voice breaking. “i didn’t realize it until i walked away from the one place i ever felt safe.”
you held him back just as tightly.
then—
click.
the door creaked open behind you, light spilling into the dimly lit clubroom. you both turned your heads slightly—breathless, lips pink, tangled in each other—only to find reo leaning against the doorframe with a smug smirk plastered across his face.
“well, shit,” he drawled, arms crossed. “i was joking when i said you two better kiss.”
your face burned, and you turned toward the wall, hiding your expression in nagi’s shoulder. nagi didn’t even flinch. he simply pulled you closer, wrapping both arms around your waist and resting his chin on your head like he’d claimed you completely now—and didn’t care who saw.
reo raised an eyebrow and backed out of the room with both hands lifted. “you’re welcome, by the way. that’s the last time i play matchmaker for emotionally repressed athletes.”
the door shut behind him with a soft click.
silence settled again—but this time it was warm. safe.
nagi didn’t let go.
he just held you like he’d waited his whole life to.
and in the quiet that followed, with your heartbeat finally slowing, you whispered into the space between his collarbone and jaw, “then don’t let me go again.”
his answer came in the form of another kiss—slow, aching, sure.
this time, it didn’t feel like the end of anything.
it felt like the very beginning.
bonus scene.
reo sauntered out of the kitchen with a plate of fruit and two croissants balanced in one hand, his expression so smug it bordered on criminal.
“wow,” he said dramatically, flopping onto the couch like it was a throne. “so you finally confessed. in my club room. after months of the most agonizing, tension-filled friendship i’ve ever had the misfortune to witness. honestly? about damn time.”
you sat curled up on the other end of the plush couch, mug of cocoa nestled in your hands, half-tucked into a throw blanket that definitely wasn’t yours. your face flushed at the memory, and you ducked your head, hiding behind the steam. nagi was sprawled across the floor with his head resting in your lap, white hair messy, fingers lazily interlaced with yours as if he refused to let you go even in sleep.
“reo…” you muttered. “you’re never going to let us live it down, are you?”
he grinned over the rim of his juice glass. “absolutely not. this is what i live for. i carried this friends-to-lovers campaign on my back like atlas holding up the sky.”
nagi grunted softly, shifting closer to your stomach and nuzzling in. “too loud…”
reo rolled his eyes, but fondness softened the motion. “still a baby,” he said under his breath, before turning back to you. “anyway. you’re welcome.”
“for what?” you asked warily.
reo gestured with both hands like he was presenting fine art. “for being the only reason you two aren’t still stuck in the ‘will-they-won’t-they’ stage while making everyone else around you suffer.”
your cheeks burned hotter.
nagi, still barely awake, mumbled against the hem of your hoodie, “didn’t wanna suffer anymore.”
reo raised a brow. “oh, so now you talk about your feelings?”
another grunt. nagi tugged on your hand and pulled it close to his chest. “told her everything last night.”
reo looked at you with mock horror. “everything-everything?”
you laughed into your mug. “reo.”
“i mean, i did say make out as a joke,” he continued, dramatically reclining back into the couch, “but you two took it as a challenge.”
nagi tugged the blanket you were using, covering part of himself with it like a turtle burrowing deeper. “didn’t hear you complaining when you left.”
“oh, i was mentally high-fiving myself all the way to the vending machine,” reo said smugly. “finally. emotional constipation, cured. you’re welcome.”
you gave him a dry look. “should i get you a medal or something?”
he beamed. “please do. make it engraved. cupid mikage, or something with sparkles.”
despite your embarrassment, you smiled. it was easy now. so much lighter than yesterday. your shoulders didn’t feel weighed down by the ‘what-ifs’ anymore. just quiet, humming contentment.
nagi stirred again, his hand slowly brushing circles against your palm. “don’t leave today.”
reo snorted from the other end. “bro. she’s wearing my hoodie and holding your soul. she’s not going anywhere.”
you playfully kicked reo’s foot. “you’re such a menace.”
“hey,” he said, mock-wounded. “i locked you two in a room so you’d stop emotionally blue-balling yourselves. that’s love.”
nagi pulled your hand to his chest again and mumbled, barely audible, “you’re mine.”
you blinked, glancing down at him.
“hmm?” you murmured, brushing his bangs out of his face.
“mine,” he said again, slower. “you’re… mine.”
reo gagged from across the room. “i’m right here, guys. show some mercy to the lonely rich kid who third-wheeled your entire relationship into existence.”
you laughed—fully this time. a soft, real, bright sound that filled the room and made nagi shift to look up at you like it was his favorite melody. he pressed his face against your thigh and closed his eyes again, satisfied.
and for once, with reo’s chaos and nagi’s sleepy weight grounding you, everything just… clicked.
the tension was gone.
the fear, the doubt, the silence—it had all broken the night before.
now, there was only this: morning light, your favorite people, a stupidly expensive penthouse, and a love that had finally found its way home.
SUMMARY ! you depart on a mission to win your boyfriend the biggest teddy bear in the arcade after catching some stranger try to snatch him away.
PAIRING ! beomgyu x f!reader
WC ! 0.8k
GENRE ! est relationship, fluff, crack, jealous reader T-T
a/n: thank u so much for enjoying my work nonnie!! i cant say no to writing gyu content so <\3 hope u enjoy!
your stomach dropped. your eyes gaped. your jaw detached from your face and touched the ground at the sight of some.. some homewrecking pest giving beomgyu — your beomgyu — a humongous teddy bear with a stupid little smile on her face.
all you wanted was to take a quick break in the arcade’s (rather unsanitary) restroom, but of course, oh-so-heavenly-sculpted-by-the-lord-himself choi beomgyu had to be your boyfriend.
resembling a grumpy old man who’d just caught some children playing on his recently trimmed lawn, you maliciously stomp your way over just in time to hear your boyfriend’s polite words.
“it’s really cute and fluffy! just.. i do have a girlfriend—“ damn right he does. “—and i don’t really think i can accept— oh, there she is!” beomgyu pauses with an adorable smile as he meets your eyes, and it almost calms your wildfire-esque rage down. almost.
the girl scans you up and down awkwardly, watching as you practically laser-beam her plushie in half with your gaze alone. “um.. well it was nice meeting you gyu.”
gyu. gyu?!
only beomgyu’s close friends could call him that, who did she think she was?
you watch in horror as your boyfriend calmly waves back as the stranger walks off before nervously turning to you. “hi,” he starts shyly, hiding behind his new teddy bear — the one you didn’t win for him!
you take a deep breath and begin travelling through the arcade, gripping the boy’s soft hand with newfound determination. “don’t ‘hi’ me right now,” you deadpan, “i’m about to win you the biggest teddy bear on this goddamn planet and we’re burning that one at dawn with pitchforks and satanic chanting.”
the both of you already had a bag full of tickets from the past few hours of the date, and you were sure the giant purple bear at the front desk was only a few hundreds away. if you could just find a certain game, you were confident you could win it for him.
beomgyu snickers, “i knew you wouldn’t like this, but hear me out baby.” you send him a quick glare, disapproval already visible in your expression. “remember that spot on the living room shelf that we’re always complaining about? this big guy can finally fill that empty space!”
“yeah, and serve as a daily reminder of when some random chick tried to snatch you up at the arcade while i was pissing,” you grunt, to which beomgyu doesn’t reply to (he’s actually just scared of making you any madder).
once you arrive at the destination you were searching for, you promptly stop and dig into your pocket for your arcade tokens. the hammer game was simple; all you had to do was slam the hammer down as hard as you could and make the little ball hit the very top of the tower, emitting a ding from the shiny bell on the side.
however, in the background, someone seems to hold no faith. “baby, there’s no way you can do that,” beomgyu giggles. “seriously, you don’t need to win me another one.”
for the last time, you turn around and send him a frown. “if some pretty guy gave me a teddy bear while you weren’t there, how would you feel, gyu?”
his smile drops, “i’d run over and punch his desperate ass.”
“exactly,” you reply simply as you thrust a coin into the slot, squinting as the machine lights up obnoxiously in your face. it offers you two chances (what a rip off), and beomgyu shifts nervously as he takes in your serious face.
after your question, he could understand why you acted the way you did, but the way you gripped the toy hammer tight enough to snap still scared him to no end.
without hesitation, you take a deep breath and bring the hammer up before slamming it back down onto the buzzer as hard as you could. beomgyu’s neck aches as he whips it up to watch the little red ball nearly hit the bell, but fall back at the last moment.
hissing in annoyance, you crack your fingers. “bullshit!”
beomgyu flinches at your cursing, anxiously grasping the teddy bear tighter in his arms. “you can do it angel,” he cheers quietly.
for the second time, you hold the hammer with a deep exhale, face contorting as you hit the buzzer with as much force as your body allows. you close your eyes, and it’s quiet for a moment before a boisterous dinging sound reaches your ears and fun music starts blasting from the machine.
beomgyu gasps, throwing the teddy to the side to pull you in for a hug, “holy shit! you actually did it, that’s my girlfriend!”
you smile while hugging him back, soon pulling away to retrieve your well earned tickets. “can’t believe that worked,” you murmur gleefully.
beomgyu wraps an arm around your waist slyly. “me neither, but that has to be the hottest thing you’ve ever done. or like, top three at least. and i think the girl saw as well.”
you freeze, smile growing even bigger, “wait, seriously!? that’s the biggest win of the day!”
the girl wasn’t watching. in fact, beomgyu caught her rushing out in embarrassment as soon as you showed up earlier. but he thinks it’s worth lying about it to see the proud, giddy expression on your face as you skip away to buy him that giant purple teddy bear.
if u enjoyed, reblogs n’ comments are appreciated <3
opening my followers every day and blocking the pornbots like a humble farmer pulling weeds from the vegetable garden. wiping my brow of sweat at my labours in the sweltering sun
the unhelpful guide on what you should not do to make your crush notice you: the sketchbook by @ dearhee 🎬 🎹 🎧
stuco president jungwon, i think highschool/college au?
cat hotline by @ faelyncore 🎬 🎹
idol au, strangers / friends to lovers
chipped glass by @ cersworld 🎬 🎹 🎧
idol au
note : i don’t actually know the genre :( i just guessed fluff + angst
beware !!! : vivid mentions and descriptions of anxiety and panic attacks, misgendering, illegal and unprofessional tattoos and piercings, vivid mentions and descriptions of suicidal thoughts and ideation, etc.
a project and a guitar by @ giyyuzz 🎬 🎹 🎧
high school au, strangers to lovers
diamond league by @ jayflrt 🎬 🎹
gamer au, streamer au
beware !!! : swearing, suggestive jokes
idol crush! by @ enhas-bestie 🎬 🎹
idol au
recall by @ seungstarss 🎬 🎧
high school au, bad boy jungwon
our beloved leaders by @ tzyuki 🎬 🎹
idol au, enemies to lovers
how to get a boyfriend in a week by @ seosracha 🎬 🎹
my (accidental) demon roomate by @ ddeonuism 🤍 🎬 🎹 🎧
college au, supernatural au
note : this one is SUPER funny LOL
beware !!! : it is EXTREMELY suggestive ( yn makes a lot of sexual jokes )
someday by @ h4chi 🤍 🎬 🎹 🎧
“strangers” to friends to lovers
note : THIS IS LITERALLY MY FAV I LOVE IT SO MUCH
beware !!! : swearing, mentions of food, suggestive jokes, sometimes using seulgi pics for reference
twitch rivals by @ soobnny 🤍 🎬 🎹 🎧
streamer au, exes to lovers, enemies to lovers
note : THIS BROKE MY HEART FR.. left me empty for days. cried a little.
cyber by @ seosracha 🎬 🎹
idol au, best friends to lovers
WANT TO READ :
runaway bride by 246sn 🎬 🎹 🎧
idol au, pro figure skating au
romance 101 by @ theebaragi 🎬 🎧
college/university au
note : i’m not sure if there’s fluff, author didn’t list it
mc in trouble by @ d-arai 🎹 🎧
idol au, brother’s best friend
note : series is ONGOING
blowing up my heart by @ tzyuki 🎬 🎹 🎧
college au, exes to lovers
stereotype by @ ninihoons 🎬 🎹 🎧
highschool au, classmates to lovers
beware !!! : contains slight slut shaming
fake love by @ crythvv 🎬
playboy sunghoon
note : i actually don’t know what genre this is
misery business by @ ctrlemis 🎬 🎹 🎧
idol au, fake dating au
jealousy, jealousy by @ nikihoon 🎬 🎹 🎧
fake dating au
trees in fall by @ lunarlxve 🎬 🎹 🎧
college au, slow burn
stupid cupid! by @ yeongwonie 🎬
college/university au, enemies to lovers
note : i don’t know what genre this is
beware !!! : contains d!ck jokes
celebrity crush by @ cersworld 🎬 🎹 🎧
idol au
beware !!! : a lot of swearing, mentions of bad mental health and mental health conditions, mentions of injuries, mentions of food, toxic friend(s), etc.
sorry i’m an anti romantic by @ sankyeom 🎬 🎹 🎧
college au, fake dating
note : guessing fluff + angst
beware !!! : swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, jokes about death/suicide, jokes such as “i’m going crazy,” mentions of sex/one night stands (nothing explicit), very mild sexual jokes
behind the scenes by @ liliansun 🎬 🎹 🎧
strangers to enemies to friends to lovers ( very simple ! )
crush culture by @ seosracha 🎬 🎹
idol au, strangers to lovers
MAil by @ prettywon 🎬 🎹
note : idk what genre :(
beware !!! : jokes about violence, underage drinking, medical drug intake
note : i will be continuously updating all the recs ! this is really just one big masterlist of all the series i want to read and have read for my own convience, but i’m glad to share it all with you too! good fiction should be shared :)
i’m literally always on my phone in school and at home so you can probably expect fast updates and what not :) feel free to send me recs in my asks! also, guess who my bias is from this list lol...
SUNMARY: Sunghoon wasn’t expecting to be sent to the mortal world by his “father”, much less being forced into attending college (he’s a demon! why would he need to?!) and being accidentally summoned by a clueless human almost had him marching straight into Hell to have a word with its ruler. Only he couldn’t, because he was already bound to you by a fucking paper-cut sealing your contract which means he can’t just leave the mortal world without taking something of yours in return.
IMPORTANT NOTE: please do read everything on here thoroughly!
GENRE: college au, social media au with occasional written parts, modern supernatural (?) au, “and they were roommates”, horror themes (but not really?), slice of life, mystery, thriller, light angst, fluff, humor and crack (you know the drill 🤣)
WARNINGS: y/n has little to no verbal filter (she’s kinda crazy... and dumb), Sunghoon is tired despite not needing sleep, swearing, dirty/inappropriate jokes (you have y/n to blame mostly), light sacrilege, light blasphemy (idk what to say except this is a smau abt demons) if you wish to proceed, read at your own discretion. I’ve laid out what you’re going to expect already.
FEATURING: ENHYPEN, Aespa's Karina, IVE's Wonyoung, TXT's Yeonjun and Soobin and brief appearances of other idols.
STATUS: completed
START: JAN 02, 2022
END: APRIL 11, 2022
TAGS USED: #asks.demon.roomie👹 #demon.roomie.things👹 (in case you want to filter them so I wont clog your dashes <3)
A/N:this is for all the monster fuckers out there!! /hj there will be some world-building in this and i hope there is as just as much plot like before 🤩 keep in mind this is all fictional and none of this represents the idols in real life. Also any info about the occult/supernatural may not be accurate and some elements here are my own interpretations and/or twists hehe.
PROFILES 1 | PROFILES 2
PROLOGUE: and so it begins
PART I: vore?
PART II: nefarious plans
PART III: a full essay? in these trying times?
PART IV: RONALD MCDONALD???
PART V: dumb b*tch allegations
PART VI: so mote it be (written)
PART VII: oh sweet Hecate
PART VIII: SOOBIN ENOUGH
PART IX: look at us
PART X: hoonie my roomie (written)
PART XI: foul creature
PART XII: demon fact(s)!
PART XIII: Kaneki Ken
PART XIV: brocolli kid
PART XV: S.S
PART XVI: not a serial killer
PART XVII: fucking goldfish
PART XVIII: bronies look away
PART XIX: brittle bones
PART XX: Furries.
PART XXI: demon ROOMIE fact(s)!
PART XXII: scooby dooby doo!
PART XXIII: human sacrifice 🙌🏼
PART XXIV: tamed that what?
PART XXV: lesbian lesbianer lesbianest
PART XXVI: fond
PART XXVII: manners maketh man
PART XXVIII: a furry gathering
PART XXIX: Operation S.O.S
PART XXX: see you in the dark night (written)
PART XXXI: and the truth comes spilling out (written)
PART XXXII: blessed or cursed? (written)
PART XXXIII: balls
PART XXXIV: bad daddy behavior
PART XXXV: let me in… LET ME IN!
PART XXXVI: please wrap it up
PART XXXVII: you’re so beautiful (written)
PART XXXVIII: don’t mince the cojones
PART XXXIX: MILFS?
PART XL: Monster Mash
PART XLI: summer what?
PART XLII: Y/N gone wild (not clickbait)
PART XLIII: tumblrina
PART XLIV: Sunghoon’s slow descent to madness
PART XLV: the girls are fighting
PART XLVI: arts and crafts
PART XLVII: something smells 🤥
PART XLVIII: mother (fucker)
PART XLIX: four of crows 🦅
PART L: i found the devil; i found him in a lover (written)
PART LI: mortal peril
PART LII: the twilightifaction of ynhoon
PART LIII: humanoid cephalopod
PART LIV: me & sunoo when
PART LV: i’m srs.
PART LVI: babe wake up!
PART LVII: girl is a gun (written)
PART LVIII: because you’re mine, i walk the line (written)
SYNOPSIS ! expecting a suspension at most after punching your friend’s bully, you found yourself being assigned as the new boys soccer team manager. not only did you know absolutely nothing about sports, but you now had to deal with nishimura riki, the team’s star winger, absolutely hating your guts. you’d never believe someone if they told you you’d soon be enjoying your new role as manager, and dating nishimura riki, all in the same month.
PAIRING ! soccerplayer!nishimura riki x manager!f!reader
WC ! 9.8k
GENRE ! e2l, high school au, fluff, slight angst
WARNINGS ! yn punches someone, you also get punched and knocked out, lmk if there’s more
a/n: hi loves! keep in mind this is my first long lengthed fic, so it may not be perfect. i still had fun with it though, so bare with me as i learn and experiment! i hope you enjoy soccer player niki as he took me lots of time and preparing <3
choi beomgyu talks too much.
you don’t know if you’d consider the puppy-faced boy a friend; the only time you get to see him is near the end of lunch break at his locker which is found right next to yours, yet somehow, he manages to tell you all the gossip around the school in those few minutes of grabbing supplies for next period. today seemed to be no different.
“—i swear i saw them making out in the boy’s bathroom, but you didn’t hear that from me. anyways, did you know that kim jisoo from the grade above us is leaving? i knew her parents were like, having some issues n’ stuff, but apparently..”
sometimes, you just have to tune choi beomgyu out. occasionally, you offer a quick ‘mhm’ or ‘wow’ to ensure him you’re absolutely enthralled by his stories, even though in reality you’d rather be sticking a kazoo up your ear.
“—so yeah, i just feel bad for her. oh,” beomgyu pauses his movements in his locker, strangely focused on something to his right. “looks like chelsea’s messing with byeol again.”
“mhm,” you add absentmindedly, shoving your binder under your arm.
wait, what did choi beomgyu just say?
you snap your head to your locker buddy, frantically walking around him to follow his gaze. “hold on, what?”
byeol has been your best friend since you both met in the school’s photography club. you always had each other’s back, it was known to everyone that the two of you were close by the way you were almost always found together at breaks. however, you couldn’t always be there for byeol. your friend has been getting harassed by this ‘chelsea’ chick for weeks, all because byeol had submitted a photo to the school newspaper where she was in the background, making a rather unattractive face.
no matter how many times byeol apologized for the mistake, chelsea refused to forgive her for ‘ruining her high status’ around school. petty insults in the halls, taking revenge pictures of her in class, pushing disguised as ‘friendly nudges’,and much more were daily occurrences you had to witness your poor friend go through.
“why can’t you just report her?” you had asked one day.
“because y/n. snitches get stitches, everyone knows that.”
well, it definitely seemed like she was going to be getting stitches, snitching or not. you could barely make out byeol’s chestnut brown hair pressed against a locker, chelsea standing menacingly in front of her. other students were slowly forming an audience around the two, some pulling out their phones and whispering to their friends. you quickly readjusted the books in your arms, speed walking over to the girls.
“oh, bye y/n!” beomgyu calls from somewhere in the background, cluelessly unaware of the fuming expression slowly creeping up your face.
by the time you reach your best friend, chelsea has her nailed to the locker, repeatedly pushing her into it. “seriously, you’re so pathetic!” she barks, “can’t even fight back, god.”
your jaw ticks, throwing your stuff to the ground to make your presence known. when byeol notices you, she gasps, frantically throwing her hands up. “y/n! i-i can explain—“ you gently move her to the side, walking up to chelsea, and before you stop to think about the consequences, throw a solid punch to her chin.
gasps and screams circulate the halls as the students watch you glare down at your classmate who has now fallen to the ground from your jab. chelsea lets out a strangled cry, hiding her face and cradling her slowly bruising chin in her hand. “what the hell, y/n! why would you do that?!” byeol yelps to your emotionless face, shaking your shoulder.
satisfied, you grab byeol’s wrist, dragging her next to you to pick up your stuff. you ignore the many recording phones following your steps, focusing on the floor tiles in front of you. “c’mon bee, we have chemistry.”
byeol nearly trips trying to keep up with your pace, gawking at your side profile in utter shock. “h-hey! don’t call me that cute name after you just punched someone! and not just anyone, y/n. that was kim chelsea, you do know that right you crazy idiot!? you might get suspended!”
you finally let out a sigh, looking at the girl blankly as you continue walking to your class as if nothing happened. “what was i supposed to do, byeol? watch my best friend let herself get walked on like every other day?”
“w-well, she had a reason this time. i forgot to buy her lunch.”
you scoff in disbelief, “nice one.”
“no, seriously, y/n! it’s my way of paying back for that awful picture in th—“
“in the newspaper,” you recite with a roll of your eyes, “from like three weeks ago! jesus, bee. nobody fucking cares anymore but her! she has no right to treat you like dogshit even when you’ve apologized a gazillion times now.”
byeol scratches her head nervously, staring down at her neatly strapped shoes. “was that really three weeks ago? aish,” she huffs.
L/N Y/N, PLEASE REPORT TO THE PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE IMMEDIATELY.
“oh no,” byeol mutters, suddenly reaching over and shaking both of your shoulders aggressively, “y/n you big nincompoop, look what you’ve done! if you get expelled i’m gonna be all alone in this hellhole!”
you giggle slightly, finding yourself a bit too calm even for your standards as you place your own hands on top of hers comfortingly. “don’t worry, i’m a top student, they wouldn’t do that. i’ll probably be back here in like, five minutes okay? there’s no punishment that can bother me.”
add that to the list of famous last words.
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“i never thought i’d see you here, miss l/n.” the principal sighs, watching you settle down in the chair across from her.
“i’m sorry,” you pause for a moment before correcting yourself, “i’m sorry for disappointing you, mrs. lee.”
the woman raises an eyebrow at that, calmly lacing her ring-attired fingers on her desk. “i see. so you’re not sorry to chelsea, who is currently getting treated by the school nurses?”
“no ma’am. i would never harm anybody without a good reason.” you choose your worlds carefully, as it is not your position to be the one to tattle on chelsea, no matter how much your desires tell you to. a picture of byeol flashes through your head. your poor, naive best friend. you think any punishment would be worth helping her.
the principal seems to catch your memo quickly, nodding in understanding. “i believe you, y/n, and i can trust that you understand what you did was wrong. however, a punch is a punch, and your actions have consequences.”
“i understand too, and i’m ready to take whatever it is,” you reply confidently, nodding to the older woman in anticipation.
at your words, mrs. lee reaches next to her and opens up a yellow portfolio, holding it tightly in her hands. “very well. i decided to hold off on a suspension, as luckily enough, there was something else that desperately required someone responsible, organized, and smart like you, dear.” you curiously raise an eyebrow at that, watching as she opens up the portfolio and slides it across the desk to you. “to atone for your incident with chelsea, you will become the new boys soccer team manager.”
you freeze, unable to comprehend what was just said. you were ready to clean the bathrooms for the next few months, have detention every day for the semester, maybe clean up the mess everyday in the cafeteria. there was no way you just heard what you thought you did. in a last ditch prayer, you swallow. “i-i’m sorry, what was that?“
you swear you see the evil woman’s lips quirk a bit in some kind of amusement. “you will be the new boys soccer team manager for the year. the season starts in only three weeks, and it’d be much too difficult for mr. kwang to run the team without any help.”
did she say the year? “but- but ma’am, i don’t know anything about soccer,” you exclaim desperately, examining the papers inside the portfolio. there were all sorts of criteria and things you’d be agreeing to if you signed the contract, including missing full school days to travel with the team and attend games. just the thought of missing class to watch a bunch of sweaty, teenage boys kick balls around made you sick to your stomach. perhaps punching kim chelsea wasn’t worth it after all (sorry byeol).
“you’ll learn quickly just like you do academically, dear. and anyway, you’ll mainly be doing other things like preparing advertisements for the team, organising games and practise dates, assisting the team members, and helping mr kwang with anything else he needs,” she lists off on her fingers, gesturing to the ballpoint pen in front of you as a reminder to get signing, as you didn’t exactly have another option.
organising games? preparing advertisements? and what did assisting the team members even mean? you didn’t want to know, or even hear the words ‘boys soccer team’ ever again. yet you found yourself picking up the pen, reluctantly scribbling down your now permanently inked signature onto the dreaded contract.
what on earth did you get yourself into?
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“you’re the new what?!” you quickly cover byeol’s mouth, hiding her lips from the apple juicebox now being choked in her grasp. the students around the cafeteria glance at the two of you suspiciously, especially curious after the whole chelsea affair.
you remove your hand to reach into your daily bag of animal crackers that you never forget to bring to school, munching away with a glare. “geez, we don’t need the whole school learning my dirty secret that fast.”
“dirty? y/n, don’t you get what this means!?” byeol inquires, looking somewhat envious as she sips her juicebox. you give her a strange look, languidly reaching for your water bottle. “for the whole school year, you get to not only watch, but hang out and talk with the hottest boys in the school! punching chelsea is the best thing you’ve ever done!”
you ponder for a moment, contemplating her words with another handful of crackers. “okay, but it’s not just hot guys, bee. i have to organise and attend every one of their dumb little ball games which also means missing whole school days.” byeol doesn’t seem phased by your response before you add the next part. “and, i probably won’t have time for photography club anymore.”
she deflates at that, reaching her hand into your bag to steal a few crackers for herself. “now that does suck. promise you’ll still try to come to some meetings?”
“no promises.”
her face suddenly brightens again comically, wiggling her eyebrows. “oh and, you have to introduce me to park sunghoon. well actually— introduce me to all of them. but especially park sunghoon!”
you sigh, lazily throwing your now empty cracker bag into the garbage, “you’re too good for those out of control jocks, bee.
byeol quirks her eyebrows to you, pushing her hair back. “we’ll see about that when you end up falling for one of those soccer boys. it’s inescapable being with those handsome faces all year.”
“i’m slightly offended that you think this lowly of me.”
your best friend stands up from the cafeteria bench, giving her juicebox one last, dramatic sip. “fine, but when you do fall in love, remember this conversation!”
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two days after signing your life away to the soccer team would be your first day meeting them. you were to be at the school’s field right after dismissal for practise, 3:15 sharp. your backpack was all ready, prepared with absolutely anything you may need: a water bottle in case mr kwang decides to make you do any sort of physical activity, your animal crackers (obviously), a flashlight since you weren’t exactly sure how late you’d be at practise, your camera to take pictures for photography club, and much more.
this didn’t exactly mean you were ready though. you had absolutely no idea what you were supposed to do, there was no team manager training courses. and not only were you going to be inspected like a piece of meat by a bunch of attractive boys, but you also had to watch them play soccer all afternoon.
with a million thoughts going through your mind, you make your way closer to the soccer field than you’ve ever been in your life, pushing open the black gate surrounding the perimeter. for whatever reason, there were rows and rows of girls in the bleachers watching the boys practise, all giving you angry, disapproving looks as you step onto the field. the grass is fake, you realise, noticing the bits of black tires hidden in the plastic turf. you’re going to love finding those in every crevice of your poor shoes. when you look up, heat rushes to your cheeks as you meet the eyes of practically the entire soccer team on you, probably wondering why on earth some random girl with a backpack bigger than her has just walked onto their home field.
you scan your eyes over the team, finding a few familiar faces. #19 was sim jaehyun, or jake, who was known for being an absolute playboy, yet still managed to pull a new girl each week. he was quite funny though, you could appreciate his jokes even from afar in class.
when #12 turns around, you immediately recognise the handsome profile of park sunghoon. not only did he play soccer, but he was an amazing figure skater, or so you heard. byeol would probably faint at the sight of him now, dripping with sweat despite practise starting only minutes prior.
that’s definitely lee heeseung, you notice his pink hair miles away paired with his #20 jersey. he was amazing at everything, academic wise he was another top student, yet he still somehow made time to be in almost every sports team the school had to offer, also placing as one of the best players. you wouldn’t be surprised if he had a big role on this team as well.
out of the corner of your eye, you notice a pale boy with black, curly hair staring daggers into your side, soccer ball held between his fingers tightly. when you turn your gaze towards him, he stubbornly whips back around. #10, nishimura, his jersey reads.
“ah, right on time as expected, y/n!” at their coaches loud voice, the team gets even more interested, pausing their movements with the balls at their cleats.
“oh no, another chick from the nerd emporium.” you hear park jay mutter with his hands on his hips.
“i don’t mind the journal club girls. they always get flustered so easily, it’s hilarious. and look, at least she’s pretty cute,” jake shrugs back.
you hold in the urge to roll your eyes, grinning as mr. kwang shakes your hand. “it’s nice to finally meet you,” you chirped.
“no, no! the pleasure is all mine. we’re going to have such a fun year together,” he chortles, bringing you right to the middle of the field. the sudden, loud screech of a whistle makes you jump slightly, observing cautiously as the boys run over like a bunch of herded sheep. they messily form in a line, a few of them mischievously bumping each other's shoulders before they notice your presence, slowly looking you up and down. you gulp. one thing byeol was right about was that they were all hot. and very sweaty.
some of the boys offer you little waves, which you softly offer in return. a few of them smile at you or offer a quick nod when your eyes meet, crossing their arms tightly over the school’s purple jerseys. the nishimura boy from earlier though, looks at you with a bored, almost angry frown, finding the turf more interesting than anything you have to offer.
you don’t get a chance to wonder why when mr. kwang suddenly wraps a big arm around your shoulder. “boys, meet the new member of our team!”
it was silent for a moment, the team all exchanging weird looks. “coach, it’s just another journal club article, right?” a shorter boy with bright red hair and cat-like features asks.
“not quite, captain.” at the nickname, you glance at the bright yellow pad on the red haired boy’s arm. it didn’t take a genius to figure out he must be the team’s captain. “this is l/n y/n, our new team manager!”
“what?” nishimura speaks for the first time, his face finally sparking with some emotion, though he didn’t sound too pleased.
“she’s our manager?” jake points to you with an amused giggle.
mr. kwang proudly ruffles your head, promptly destroying your once tidy hairstyle. “you betcha, sim! for the rest of the year too, so get used to her being around. now, i need to get her organised. keep doing those drills!” he blows the whistle around his neck again, watching as all the boys quickly jog back to their positions. though, you can still feel most of their eyes on your back as you walk over to the bench with their coach.
“so, y/n. i know you don’t exactly want to be here.” when he sees you try to speak up in defense, he raises a hand. “it’s okay, my feelings aren’t hurt.” you both laugh, sitting and watching the boys train around the field. “it’s just, i think you might find yourself enjoying this job if you really give them a try.”
you rest your face on your hand, giving his words a thought. “maybe. it’s just, this is all a bit overwhelming, y’know?”
mr kwang pats your shoulder, “of course it is, and that’s okay. but i’m sure with a few weeks, you’ll get the hang of things and find yourself enjoying it out here on the field! just give the team a chance and make the best out of your new family, okay?” you offer a small nod, watching as he pulls a white whistle and a clipboard out of his duffel bag. “consider this my welcome gift to you,” he announces proudly, offering the items to you.
you quickly take them, looking at the man in surprise. “oh, thank you sir! what’s the whistle for?”
“anytime you need to get their attention, of course,” mr kwang winks, gesturing to the boys. “it’s pretty fun watching them run over to you like a bunch of dogs playing fetch, you’ll see for yourself shortly.” suddenly, he gets up, seemingly remembering something important. “oh, and come with me, dear!”
you swiftly get up to follow him into what seems to be the team’s locker room, throwing your new whistle around your neck in the process. it’s not very tidy; random pairs of knee pads and socks are scattered around the room carelessly, and multiple shorts and jerseys almost make a trail leading all the way to the showers nearby. not to mention it reeked of sweat, and well, teenage boys. mr. kwang quickly notices the disgusted crinkles on your face, laughing out an apology on behalf of the mess.
though your expression quickly turns to one of shock when he continues past the locker rooms and through the hall that leads to two black doors. one reading ‘coach kwang’ and the other reading ‘manager’. the inside was just as surprising, gasping as he ushers you into a neatly organised office with multiple, tidy shelves and a big desk. “what the- is this for me?” you mutter in denial, gripping your clipboard tighter.
mr. kwang smiles, offering you a key attached to a purple lanyard. “yes of course! there is going to be quite a lot of work when it comes to organising the team’s events and advertising games, so this is just a private space that can always be available if needed.”
“thank you so much, i’ll use it well!” you bow gratefully. wait until byeol hears about all this, she’s definitely going to want to see for herself.
after mr kwang led you around the rest of the building and fed you helpful advice along the way, the both of you ended up back outside where the boys seemed to be having a water break.
“there they are!” a cute blonde haired boy you recall as sunoo sings, making the rest of the team’s heads turn to see you.
heeseung is the first to walk up to you, offering his sweaty hand out politely. “it’s nice to meet you, manager,” he says smugly, smirking down at you.
you offer him a challenging tilt of your head, shaking his hand firmly. “you too, lee heeseung.” you do your best to keep up a cool exterior, even though you’re slightly freaking out on the inside from all the attention. this was completely different to the feeling of all the eyes after punching chelsea. it felt more like you were being inspected piece by piece, especially by the nishimura boy, who’s sitting cross legged on the ground with his waterbottle. you’re yet to find out his first name, but you had a feeling he had no interest in telling you by the icy glare he throws your way. what on earth have you ever done to him? you don’t think you even have a single class with the boy, not to mention speaking to him.
“manager,” sim jake calls out your new nickname cockily, pushing his hair back. “out of all of us, who’s the most attractive?”
out of pure instinct, your eyes travel to nishimura for a split second, quickly looking back to jake. damn it, y/n! what was that? out of all the boys, you choose the one that hates you? it was already too late, as the rest of the boys immediately followed your split second glance to their teammate. “niki? seriously manager, i’m way better looking than him,” sunghoon remarks disapprovingly.
you hurriedly raise your hands in defense, “wh-what? i never said i chose him!”
nishimura, or niki, seems almost repulsed by the discussion at hand, still refusing to even look at you as he gives his teammates a disgusted look.
“cute,” jay laughs along with a few others at the growing blush on your cheeks, sipping his water.
suddenly, the red headed captain lets out a sigh, reaching over to pat your shoulder. “you idiots are scaring her, shut up.” he suddenly leans closer to you, warm breath fanning your ear. “welcome to the team. i’m the captain, yang jungwon. i hope we can be friends.” he smirks slightly at the redness of your face before backing up again.
honestly, what was even happening anymore? were you in a drama? a romance webtoon? you originally insisted you were never one to fall for such charms, yet here you were, a flustered mess over a few attractive faces. “uh-“ you gulp, “it’s nice to meet you too— all of you. i’ll do my best to help the team.”
“how’d you become our manager anyway?” heeseung questions, a few of the boys nodding in agreement. at this, niki’s head raises in interest for the first time, awaiting your response carefully.
you swallow nervously, unsure if you should tell them the truth. if they were going to be your ‘family’, you might as well show some honesty. “well uh, no offense, but i’m not here because i want to be. i know nothing about soccer,” you begin.
niki scoffs at that, rolling his eyes, “of course you don’t.” he only glares coldly when jake elbows his side.
“i’m here as a punishment. for-“ you look down, feeling embarrassment about what you did for the first time all because of niki’s scrutiny. “for punching kim chelsea.” sounds of surprise circle the team at your confession, and you watch in worry as niki’s jaw clenches, his fists tightening at his sides as if he’s holding himself back.
do.. niki and chelsea know each other?
“that was you!?” jungwon gasps, nervously checking on his younger, black haired friend. he then walks over to him and whispers something into his ear, soothingly patting his back.
“no way,” jake mutters.
your eyebrows furrow, finally making eye contact with niki for the first time with a sudden urge to defend yourself, “i didn’t do it for fun! i—“
“just be quiet,” niki spits, throwing his blue hoodie and bag over his shoulder before walking off the field, away from the team without another word.
“yah, nishimura! get your ass back here and apologize!” jay barks with no result.
“there’s still twenty minutes of practise, bro!” sunghoon adds.
jungwon only sighs, looking at you pitifully. “sorry about him, it’s.. it’s a long story. i think you two should figure it out alone.”
“i only punched chelsea to defend my friend, who she’s been bullying for weeks straight,” you finish saying what niki didn’t let you, frustratedly pushing your hair back.
the boys seemed flabbergasted by this discovery, exchanging shocked glances. “yeah, you really gotta talk to him,” jake acknowledges.
day one as the soccer team manager, and you think you’d rather be dead.
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the news of your recently gained title spread like wildfire around school by the next morning. not only were random girls asking you for information about the team members all day, but the boys themselves constantly waved or said hi to you in the halls, earning you a handful of jealous glares from said girls.
you nearly choke in confusion when you open your locker to see about twenty letters piled up in a small mountain, some decorated to grab your attention and stand out more than the rest. you cautiously look around for a moment before grabbing one of the letters, opening it up carefully.
dearest y/n (aka the manager),
i know you don’t know me, but i have handwritten this letter in search of desperate help regarding yang jungwon. what is he like with his friends? does he smell good? he’s an amazing captain to his team, right? please, i have to know what i need to do to reach his heart. shall i prepare flowers and a teddy bear? some new cleats? please send advice, i need to get him to notice me.
sincerely, min yeji.
jesus christ. was this seriously what all these letters were for? you’ve only spent a day with the team so far, and this was the result? how were you supposed to know if jungwon preferred flowers or cleats?
“y/n!” as if your morning couldn’t get worse, the biggest yapper himself, choi beomgyu appears out of thin air. “i heard you’ve been assigned the boys soccer team manager after you got in trouble with the principal for punching-“
“hi beomgyu. yep, thanks for the summary.” you cut in, smiling passive aggressively.
the brown haired boy doesn’t get the memo, smiling back enthusiastically while raising a nosy eyebrow at your letter tower. “you sure are popular now, huh? what’s with all the letters?”
none of your business, choi beomgyu. “yeah, i kinda have a fanclub now.” technically, that wasn’t a lie. in your peripheral vision, a familiar nest of black curls walks by, the same blue hoodie from practice thrown over his uniform. nishimura riki. for some strange reason, you feel a sweep of butterflies rush through you at the sight of the boy who would probably rather spend his time with a wet sock than with you.
‘remember this conversation when you fall in love!’ the teasing voice of byeol snaps you out of your trance, slamming your locker shut and rushing to catch up with him.
“bye, y/n!” beomgyu says in the background once again. his dumb voice truly sounds like deja vu, instead you might be the one getting punched this time around with the face niki makes when he sees you walking next to him.
“the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snarls, speeding up his pace in an attempt to lose you.
“listen, i don’t know why you care about chelsea so much,” shit! why did you start with mentioning her of all things? niki immediately growls in annoyance, purposely pushing through groups of people in the halls. you run to catch up to him, apologising to the students you nudge along the way. “but- but you need to let me explain.”
“get away from me. i don’t need to be seen with someone who hurt my friend out of jealousy,” he states firmly.
you freeze, looking at his expressionless side profile. “jealousy? what are you even talking about? just let me tell you my side. please, niki.”
without even considering your offer or sparing a glance, niki enters his classroom, slamming the door right on your face.
“what the fuck!” you curse furiously under your breath. making a fool out of yourself just for some dumb soccer boy’s approval? what’s your pathetic reputation come to?
no. if nishimura riki wants to try and hate you that bad, then so be it. but you’ll never be one to turn down a challenge.
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niki hates the fact that through his whole history class, he’s too busy thinking about l/n y/n to process anything that’s being taught. he has never been so interested in a girl before, definitely not someone like you who he was supposed to hate. for some reason, he didn’t like when you laughed and high fived his teammates in the hallways. he didn’t like how you now sat next to jungwon in maths, and he had to deal with seeing you guys whisper in each others ears for the whole hour. and in the hallways just now? you looked so cute running to catch up to him, so desperate to try and get his attention.
guilt rushes through him for thinking of you in such a way. no! that is not why he’s thinking about you. you’re not cute at all.
but what did you want to explain? why you punched one of his closest friends? he already knew everything, chelsea wouldn’t lie to him, right?
he recalls rushing into the school nursing room when he heard what’d happened, wanting to check on his friend. “geez, it’s bruising bad. did you accidentally bite your lip when it happened?” he had asked worriedly, cupping chelsea’s chin as if she were a fragile vase.
she sniffles, holding his wrist in her grip tightly. “mhm, it hurts so bad, ki.”
niki frowns, biting his lip. in his opinion, his friend’s being in pain was more painful than if it was his own. anger flows through him as he continues to inspect the girl’s wound. “who did this?”
“l/n y/n,” she doesn’t hesitate even a bit, eyes turning to slits, “it-it’s cause she’s jealous of me i guess. she always hated me for my looks, i don’t know.”
and ever since that day, niki had gone on a mission to find l/n y/n.
yet the minute he saw you walk on that field with your dumb, giant backpack, he knew he would never be able to punch you back.
niki groans, ruffling his black locks with his free hand while wondering how on earth to get you out of his head.
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two practises until the season begins and surprisingly, you were getting along with the boys well (apart from a certain someone). you’ve learned a few important things about not only the team members, but also soccer itself: heeseung usually plays a position called striker, which is the highest position on the field and the most common spot for scoring goals. niki and jake were the main left and right wingers, and are usually the ones assisting heeseung in scoring. jungwon explained to you how nobody stays on the field for too long, everyone gets breaks by subbing for each other on and off the bench. you were pretty proud of your growing knowledge of the sport considering you started from nothing, and you were even more excited to show the team what you’d been working on.
ignoring the daily glares of the female spectators on the bleachers, you trail onto the field and over to where the boys are practising. “manager!” jake waves at the sight of you, a big, goofy smile growing on his face. at your nickname, the rest of the boys look up, waving to you as well. niki simply stares at you, rolling his eyes stubbornly.
“hi, y/n!” jungwon greets, kicking the ball at his feet over to you.
you yelp, nearly stumbling over it. “yah, i’m not your teammate!” you awkwardly do your best to boot it back in his general direction, luring an amused chuckle out of the captain. anyone could tell sports were not your thing by that single interaction. “anyways, all of you c’mere.” for the fun of it, you demandingly blow your whistle along the way.
“i think we heard you just fine,” jay teases, watching you set your backpack down on the bench.
sunghoon sighs, crossing his arms. “you know how she gets with the whistle. it’s almost as scary as mr. kwang when someone forgets to turn the showers off.”
“very funny,” you pout, pulling out your clipboard along with a bag of animal crackers.
“so what’re we all here for,” heeseung inquires, “an animal cracker mukbang?” a few snickers are heard around the team as some boys decide to take a seat on the turf.
“geez, you guys are so impatient. here,” you show them the papers you’ve printed, proudly gesturing for jungwon to pass them around.
“what’s this— wait,” jungwon’s eyes widen, scanning the documents over. “y/n, is- aren’t these players from the team we’re going against for our first game?
you smirk, shoving a handful of crackers into your mouth. “yep, spent a few hours researching all about ‘em. their most probable starting lineup, goalie’s weak spots, each players positions and things to watch out for, and more. all on those papers.”
“that’s our manager!” a new voice praises. mr kwang looks pleased as he walks over, placing a hand on your shoulder happily. “very well done, y/n. this will be a big help when planning our strategy.”
“holy shit, this is insane,” jay mutters, flipping through the pages slowly. even niki has nothing to complain about, studying them over his hyung’s shoulder.
“language, and that’s enough. all of you back to your drills! let’s go!” mr. kwang barks, blowing his whistle and winking at you as all the boys practically sprint back to their spots in fear.
the next half an hour you spend writing stats about each of the boys and how they’re playing during practice. every once in a while, one of them will jog over to the bench and you’ll hand them their water bottle, all while stuffing your face with animal crackers (jake stole a few at one point, and you were not pleased).
“water,” a deep voice mumbles. you pause your writing, looking up to find niki staring down at you, all sweaty and wet. the boy looks like an angel, his skin glistening beautifully under the sun as he pushes his moist bangs away from his forehead. for a moment, you just admire him, mouth parted slightly. “geez, get a hold of yourself.” he impatiently makes his way behind you to where the water bottles are, chugging down the refreshment obnoxiously. it almost feels like he’s showing off now, purposely throwing his head back and displaying his adam’s apple as it bobs after every sip.
niki catches your spying as he finishes the drink, scoffing in amusement. “why don’t you take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
you gulp, sheepishly looking back down at your clipboard. “i wasn’t looking at you.”
“mhm. you have crumbs on your lips by the way,” he comments. you lift a hand to try and wipe them off, but to no avail according to the annoyed look niki sends your way. he rolls his eyes, walking over and bending down in front of you.
oh god, this was bad, very bad. why is he so close? his moles are even more endearing up front, and you can feel his breath fan your face as he lifts a hand to your lips, slowly wiping the crumbs off with his thumb. “need me to do everything for you? i thought you’re my manager.” heat rushes to your cheeks, unable to form a reply.
and with that, niki turns around, walking away as if nothing happened.
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the next few days flew by with little difficulty— or at least, in the nishimura riki department. you decided to not confront him about his stunt at last practise, but that wasn’t fully your choice; you’ve been discovering the hard way that trying to balance school and being a team manager was like trying to play two instruments at the same time. first you’d have your classes full of new assignments, then you stay after school to get manager work done, and then you go straight from your office to the library to study, and by the time you get home it’s already dark and dinner is left cold on the counter for you.
byeol was not happy with your newly packed schedule either, especially now that photography club was out of the question. but there was no time to worry about your friend now, practise was starting in five minutes and your precious animal crackers were nowhere to be found. the search to find the snack would be much easier if there weren’t hundreds of letters stuffed in your poor locker daily. you were seriously getting sick of throwing out notes asking what perfume park sunghoon used.
“y/n.” that voice sounded awfully, unpleasantly familiar. you whip around from your locker, locking eyes with a frowning kim chelsea.
your eyebrows furrow, inspecting the bruise on her chin. “chelsea.”
she seems to get even angrier at your nonchalant response, eye twitching as she reaches out to shove you against your open locker, making the letters inside sprinkle to the ground. your right shoulder slams against your locker shelf, making you hiss out in pain. “seriously, you want to do this again?” you snarl, now holding your aching shoulder.
“how the hell did you become their manager?” chelsea barks, throwing punch after punch in your direction. her throwing speed clearly isn’t very promising, as it takes you no effort to dodge out of the way before every strike. “yah, tell me!” she screams, moving back as you try to grab her wrists and calm her down.
what’s with the deja vu? students have formed around the both of you again, pulling out their phones and calling their friends over. you swear you can see beomgyu’s fluffy brown hair in the crowd, but he doesn’t look very excited by the fight. he looks almost.. worried for you.
while you’re distracted, chelsea rips her hand away from your restraint, landing a solid punch to your jaw. ouch. as soon as the contact is made, the room starts spinning. it seems you’ve fallen to the ground by the blurry groups of students looking down at you. for some reason, you can’t hear their screams much, almost like you’re underwater. the lights are extra bright now, and everything just keeps twirling around like a beyblade until it all goes black. wait.. is that byeol? you recognise her chocolate hair even if it’s unclear and fuzzy. and hold on.. wasn’t that niki who was kneeling down next to you..? you’re too lightheaded to know for sure.
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ah, so this is what kim chelsea felt like only a few days prior. your lips were dry and chapped, and you felt like you’ve slept for a week straight. there’s a screaming ache on your right shoulder, and your jaw hurts every time you open your mouth.
oh right, you were shoved. and punched. by kim chelsea.
you smack your lips, pushing yourself up from the school clinic’s bed to find byeol on her phone, kicking her feet in the air like a child next to you. she gasps when she notices your movements, rushing over to your side. “you’re awake! you were out for a whole two hours you big, stupid, idiot.”
you chuckle at her relentless insults, pulling your friend in for a much needed hug. “thanks for staying with me. and what do you mean? this time it was all chelsea.”
“i know, i know, but you always find a way to make me worried! can’t you go just one week without getting in a fight?” byeol complains, reaching down to hold your hand in hers.
“sorry, bee.” shit, realization hits you like lightning. “wait, i missed soccer practise! that was the last practise before our first game this week, and i had so much planned for training and—“
byeol squeezes your hand, laughing at your strange choice of priorities. “y/n, calm down. you literally have injuries all over you, why are you worried about the soccer team? i’m sure they’ll be fine.” byeol suddenly smirks, as if she knows something you don’t. “speaking of, this one black haired boy seemed really worried about you. after he yelled at chelsea for a bit, he piggybacked you all the way here.”
“seriously?” your eyes widen. niki helped you?
byeol nods in confirmation. “i went too, of course! i was like, the most worried about you. just for the record, i was much, much more worried than your boyfriend.” you smack the girl’s arm, making her let out a mischievous snicker. “but yeah. along the way he asked me a bit about what happened, so i told him how chelsea was well- making me buy her lunch and constantly pushing me—“
“bullying you,” you correct sternly.
“yeah,” your friend gulps. “which is why you punched her n’ all that. then he went really quiet. also, he wanted to stay with you but he had practice.”
you sigh. while you made it out with a bruising jaw and sore shoulder, at least niki knows the truth. for some reason, you find yourself beaming at the thought (then proceeding to hiss in pain at the ache in your jaw).
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four days after chelsea (who hasn’t been seen since) punched you was the next time you saw niki. your shoulder had healed completely, while your jaw was still getting there in due time. over the four days, you’ve been putting up the advertisements you and byeol proudly made to bring in more people to the upcoming game, sticking them to the walls all around school.
“y/n!” for the first time since you’ve met him, niki says your name with an adorable smile on his face. though you were a bit confused, your heart can’t help but beat loudly at his cute expression. he jogs over to you, cheekily throwing an arm around your shoulder. “what’re you doing?”
how could this be the same boy who was so cold to you days prior? “oh, so we’re friends now?” you ask, half serious.
niki swallows, turning his gaze away from you. “look. i’m- i’m really sorry for not giving you a chance to tell your side of the story and being well, a dick. i really should’ve heard you out before treating you like that.”
you nod in approval, looking back down to tape another advertisement to the wall. “it’s okay, practises will be much less tense now without you staring holes into the back of my head.” when you don’t get a response, you open your mouth to speak before you're suddenly pushed against the wall, arms caging you on either sides of your head by the taller boy.
he has a small, cocky smirk on his face at your dumbfounded expression when he leans closer. “y/n?”
your swear your chest is going to explode, butterflies running wild at the sight of niki’s face being only inches from yours. thank god the hallway was empty, or the blush on your cheeks would only get much worse. “ye-yeah?”
he tilts his head, looking down at you with an unreadable glint. “out of curiosity, do you still think i’m the most handsome on my team?”
seriously? what kind of question is that?! you do your best to stay calm, turning your head away from him nervously. “uh, maybe,” you mumble.
niki doesn’t seem to approve of your answer, bringing a hand to pull your chin back towards him. you swear you see his eyes flicker down to your lips for a second, but they’re back to staring straight into your soul before you can act on it. “maybe?“
you know what he wants to hear. “fine. yes, i do. you happy?”
“very. i knew you had a crush on me.” he grins smugly, releasing you from the wall.
“wh- i didn’t say that!” you blush more realizing that you never denied his claim.
niki seems to catch on to this as well, snickering under his breath. “want some help with those?” he gestures to the posters.
that’s how you ended up spending another thirty minutes running around school with niki, laughing and talking as you put up his game’s advertisements.
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niki tunes out the constant bickering of the boys circulating the changeroom, focusing on tying his cleats. it was finally game day, and he was more than ready to show off in front of you be back on the field with his teammates. it was a home game, so niki had the advantage of being able to start warming up earlier while their opponents were busy driving here. he wondered what you were thinking, probably on the way to the field now. were you excited? did you want to watch him play? were you planning to cheer for him?
suddenly, he’s been smacked on the head with something hard. “ow! what the hell, bro?” he looks down to see the weapon of choice, jake’s knee pad.
“we’ve been trying to get your attention, but you were too busy having your little main character moment.” jay sniggers with a few others, tying on his own cleats.
niki rubs the spot he was hit, cursing. “the fuck are you talking about?”
“don’t try to act all innocent,” sunghoon smirks, pulling off his t-shirt to change into his jersey. “i caught you two lovebirds putting up those posters, giggling and flirting in your own little world~”
niki feels his cheeks heat up slightly, shyly looking back down at his cleats. damn it, how the hell did he not catch sunghoon spying on the both of you? “we weren’t flirting,” he mutters defensively.
“mhm, not even when you pinned her to the wall like in some cringy kdrama?”
jungwon gawks in surprise, “our little niki did what?!”
“with his hands next to her head n’ everything. i’m so proud,” sunghoon laughs teasingly, ruffling the boy’s hair.
niki only groans, hiding his face in his hands shyly. “do you guys ever shut the fuck up?”
“you love us.”
jake wiggles his eyebrows, “true, but he loves y/n more.”
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you cheerily skip over to the soccer field, humming to the song blasting through your earbuds. ‘it’s more than like, L 다음 또 O 다음 난 yeah! you and i, it’s more than like, what’s after like?’ only moments later you end up turning off your music, as it’s overthrown by the sound of screaming and cheering from the bleachers. there was no school today in celebration of the first soccer game of the season, explaining the rows and rows of students holding signs up and taking pictures. some have jerseys that they’ve bought from the concession, and you send a harsh glare to one girl with niki’s name on hers.
“y/n!” you know that voice anywhere, searching the crowd before finding byeol waving to you, holding a sign with your name on it. it has hearts and little stars all around it, messily colored in with shades of pink and red.
classic byeol, you snicker. “yah, what is that? i’m not the one playing!” you yell over the cheers, secretly feeling your heart burst from adoration.
she smirks proudly, blowing a kiss to you. “i know, i’m only here for you though.”
before you can reply, two arms abruptly pull you backwards into a sturdy chest, warm breath heating your earlobe. “should i be worried about her stealing you from me?”
you turn around in the embrace to find niki smirking down at you, dressed in his black shorts and purple jersey. from the bleachers behind, you hear a few surprised gasps and angry whispers. you raise an eyebrow, “and when did i give you permission to own me in the first place?”
niki grows his signature smirk again, pulling you tighter against his body. “when you admitted to having a crush on me.”
“damn, that was good,” you hear byeol say somewhere in the background.
you scoff, pushing him away (mostly because if you stayed that close to him any longer you’d inevitably explode) and dragging him back to his team, who seems to be in the middle of doing a stretch led by heeseung.
“manager!” sunghoon and jay both grin, eyes narrowing down on your hand intertwined with niki’s.
jungwon easily notices too, but doesn’t comment on it, only smiling cutely as usual. “hi y/n!”
“hey, you guys ready to win?” you grin, releasing niki’s hand to pull out your clipboard. the boy pouts at the loss of contact, reluctantly jogging over to his team to continue stretching.
“never been readier.” jake sighs, completely confident and relaxed.
“great, then let’s do attendance.” you click the back of your pen, beginning to call out the names of every player. “heeseung?”
“here,” he quickly replies as you check off his name.
thankfully, every player on the team seemed to be present as you continued down the list. “and lastly, sunoo.”
“here!”
“perfect,” you praise. something felt wrong, though. like.. something or someone was missing despite the flawless attendance.
“hey guys,” heeseung uttered, watching the opposing team make their way onto the field. “the game starts in five minutes and coach kwang still isn’t here.”
at the striker’s words, everyone frantically looks around, realisation hitting. “shit, you’re right! how did we not notice he was missing before?” jay exclaims.
niki looks at you with desperate eyes. “if we don’t have a coach, doesn’t that mean we have to..”
you gulp, nodding in confirmation. “forfeit.”
“what? it’s the first fucking game of the season, we can’t,” jake wails, ruffling his hair anxiously.
luck clearly wasn’t on your side, as the referee begins making his way over, holding his whistle sternly. “we’re ready to begin, where’s the coach?” he asks, closely scanning his eyes over your team.
the boys all look around awkwardly before jungwon steps up as captain. “uh, we’re actually still waiting for him, sir. do you think we can get an extra few minutes?”
the referee sighs, glancing at his watch. “you have five minutes.”
so you waited. one minute became two, two became four, until time was already up. mr. kwang was nowhere to be found, and you were stressed, so stressed that not even your animal crackers could calm you down. niki laid across the bench, head in your lap with his eyes closed. you massage his scalp, playing with his curly locks in an attempt to calm yourself down while the rest of the boys make themselves busy picking at the turf or lazily dribbling a ball around.
the referee starts making his way back over to you, checking his watch once again. “time’s up. do you have a coach, or are you forfeiting?”
as jungwon opens his mouth to announce the team’s surrender, niki shoots up from his spot on your lap. “we have a coach,” he states confidently. everyone whips their heads over to the boy, watching as he points to you with full determination. “she’s our coach.”
jake and sunghoon burst into laughter, while the others exchange mixed expressions. meanwhile, you’re having a mini panic attack, staring daggers into the side of the boy’s skull. niki expects you to pretend to be a coach? being manager was hard enough, you knew absolutely nothing about coaching! mr. kwang, why are you doing this to me?
“ma’am, is this true?” it was clear the referee was a bit unsure and judging you (which was fair considering you looked more like one of the boy’s nerdy little sister if anything), but there wasn’t much he could do without proof.
you glance at niki, instantly giving in when you see his puppy eyes. “y-yes, i’m their coach.”
“alright then, please send your starting lineup onto the field.”
the millisecond the referee has gained enough distance, the team lets out a synchronized sigh of relief. “i hope you guys know what you’re doing, or this is going to be a disaster,” you scold specifically niki, running a stressed hand through your hair.
“don’t worry manager, we got this under control!” jake chirps, happily running onto the field with the rest of the team following close behind.
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you don’t know how you’re going to survive watching soccer games all year. you’re praying it isn’t because the boys are trying to figure out most of the plays and strategies without coach kwang’s guidance, but it was a close tie; 1 to 1 with only five minutes left. jungwon and sunoo were doing an amazing job on defense, but the forwards were having just as much trouble as the other team trying to get anywhere close to the net.
you ran out of animal crackers to soothe your worry, so now you were anxiously clicking the back of your pen, watching as the other team sprinted down the field with the ball. the guy chooses to go down the right side of the field and as he approaches, jungwon leers, watching his feet carefully. “c’mon won, you got this,” you mutter under your breath.
the enemy winger suddenly pretend to go right, and as jungwon swiftly plunges out to match his direction, he swerves and runs left, right towards the goal. “shit, shit!” your foot begins tapping, watching jungwon cuss under his breath in defeat. jay, the goalie, your last hope, quickly bends his knees, his gloved hands out in preparation.
sunoo desperately tries to run in and stop him, but it’s too late as the enemy already takes a shot. it was like slow motion, jungwon and sunoo running to try and block the ball with their body, jay jumping to his right and reaching out for the ball milliseconds before it finds the net. “yes!” you cheer, watching your goalie protectively hold the ball to his chest, releasing a stressed exhale.
two minutes on the clock, it was now or never. jay throws the ball towards sunoo, who then passes it on to niki up on left wing. this was probably their last chance to solve the tie before time ran out. niki sprints down the field, getting past the opponents winger before kicking it over to heeseung. the striker runs faster than ever before, speeding right past the defenseman with a focused expression. you were clicking your pen even faster now, glancing back to the clock. 1 minute and 27 seconds remaining. “heeseung!” niki shouts, raising a hand to signal that he was open for a pass. the pink haired boy obeys, kicking the ball over and giving niki the opportunity to shoot.
“please, please niki, you can do this.” you’ve now left your spot on the bench, hovering closer to the sidelines for a better view of the intense match.
just as a defenceman runs in to check him, niki slams the ball up into the air, aiming straight for the left corner. it was so precise, in fact, that not even the goalie could reach high enough to stop it. the minute the ball hit the goal, screams were heard, spectators probably crying, being much too dramatic for a school soccer game yet here you were, hollering in pure joy as niki gets jumped by his teammates with a big goofy smile on his face. and just like that, the buzzer rings loudly with perfect timing, indicating the end of the game and another symphony of happy shouting and applause surrounds the field.
you were so blissed by relief you barely noticed niki pulling away from his teammates to run over and give you a big, sweaty hug. though due to his height, he ends up lifting you off the ground a bit, shaking you around like a stuffed toy. “that- that was amazing!” you hug him back happily. “you were like, like running so fast, and then that guy tried to stop you but totally failed because you were just that good!! and that shot?! the poor goalie had no ch— mmph!” oh. before you could finish your sentence, nishimura riki was already pushing his lips onto yours. they were soft and plush, molding against your own wonderfully under his cute nose that gently brushed yours. his kisses were a bit (very) messy, but it was really just because he was so overjoyed. scoring the winning goal and kissing you in one day? double whammy if you ask him.
you’re the first to pull away, arms still around his neck as you catch your breath. before you can stop to think, the first thought that comes to your head tumbles out of your mouth. “can we do that again?” you inwardly slap yourself out of embarrassment.
the boy bursts into laughter, throwing his head back teasingly. “wow, you really like me.”
you scowl, “no shit, sherlock. but whatever, i guess i’ll go kiss jungwon instead.”
“hey, why am i a part of this lover’s quarrel?” jungwon magically appears behind you with a raised brow, the rest of the team happily following behind.
“manager,” sunghoon interjects, “rate niki’s kisses from one to ten.”
niki groans, “you guys are so annoying.”
“hmm,” you pretend to think, making niki glare at you in offense. “maybe.. a three?” you smirk.
“wh- a three?!” niki whines. the boys burst into laughter, shoving their teammate back and forth. “and i was gonna ask you out,” he pouts sadly.
you tilt your head, pondering for a moment. “if you buy me some animal crackers, maybe i’ll say yes.”
“animal crackers and bowling, then?” he compensates.
you smile, “deal.”
with that, niki fist bumps the air, screaming a victorious “let’s go!” before running to the changeroom. of course, not before kissing you one last time for the road. you chuckle at his childish antics, touching your lips in an attempt to process what’d just happened.
okay, maybe being the soccer team’s manager wouldn’t be too bad.
you’ve reached the end hurray! if you enjoyed, reblogs n’ comments are always very appreciated and motivating for me to keep writing!
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