TROUBLE
❛ dismiss me as a kid tell me i'm barely legal, but barely legal, is legal ❜
synopsis. new apartment, new start? y/n just wants to unpack her life one box at a time—but moving day gets a lot more distracting when her younger, rugged cowboy neighbor, yuji, decides to “help.” sparks fly, boundaries blur, and with the age gap and his dangerous charm, unpacking isn’t the only thing heating up in the apartment…
word count. 5k…I think ?
warnings. cowboy!yuji (aged up) x blackfem coded reader, 18+ explicit smut
an. hii this is my first fic, i hope you like it, i'd loveee feedback
Boxes were stacked along the edges of the apartment like cardboard monuments to a life half-lived, neat in their arrangement but chaotic in their implications–a quiet testament to the life Y/N was trying to rebuild from scratch, piece by fragile piece. She wiped her hands on her jeans, the denim soft and worn at the thighs, faded from too many washes and too many days spent on her knees scrubbing floors or packing up memories she didn't want to carry anymore. The sunlight slanted through the windows in thick, golden beams, making the dust in the air sparkle like something precious, like tiny flecks of gold suspended in amber, and for a moment, she let herself breathe in the stillness, the quiet promise of a fresh start.
Then the sound of a door sliding open made her look up, her breath catching slightly in her throat.
He was leaning in the doorway, one hand lazily tucked into the pocket of his jeans–dark denim that clung to his thighs in a way that was almost indecent–the other holding a coffee cup as if he belonged there, as if he'd been invited, as if the space between them wasn't charged with the kind of tension that made her skin prickle with awareness. But his grin–the slow, cocky grin that spread across his face like honey dripping from a spoon–said otherwise. His eyes glinted with amusement, flecks of gold catching the morning light and making them look almost feral, almost predatory, and Y/N felt a heat she didn't expect creeping across her skin, settling low in her stomach like a slow-burning ember.
"You moving in alone?" His voice was slow, southern, easy–the kind of drawl that made every word sound like a caress, like a promise whispered in the dark. "That's… brave. Stubborn, even. Dangerous combo."
She straightened, lifting a box with deliberate strength, her arms flexing slightly under the weight, her jaw set in a way that she hoped looked confident rather than defensive. "I can manage," she said, her voice steady even as her pulse quickened. "I don't need anyone hovering."
He stepped further inside, not waiting for an invitation, letting the door click shut behind him with a soft finality that made the room feel suddenly smaller, more intimate. The sound echoed faintly in the empty space, and she was acutely aware of how alone they were, how the sunlight streaming through the windows cast long shadows across the hardwood floor, how the air smelled faintly of cardboard and dust and something else–something warm and masculine that she couldn't quite place but that made her stomach tighten with anticipation.
"Strangers, huh?" he said, his lips curving into that signature smirk, dimples appearing at the corners of his mouth like punctuation marks to his amusement. "I like strangers who talk back. Makes things interesting."
She glanced at him, brow raised, trying to ignore the way her heart was hammering against her ribs like it was trying to escape. "I bet you say that to all the new neighbors."
"Only the ones worth noticing," he said, his voice smooth as silk, his eyes scanning her like he was memorizing every line of her body, every inch of her face, every curve and angle and imperfection. His gaze lingered on the way her shirt clung to her waist, the way her jeans hugged her hips, the way a strand of hair had escaped from her ponytail and was curling against her neck. "And you, Y/N… you've got a spark. I'd notice it anywhere."
A faint laugh escaped her, breathless and uncertain, and she set the box down on the counter with more force than necessary, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "A spark, huh? And how would a spark like mine even catch your attention?"
He tilted his head, his hair–soft and pink-toned in the morning light, falling in messy waves that framed his face–catching the sunlight just enough to make him look almost angelic, though the mischievous tilt of his grin was anything but. "Maybe the way you handle those boxes like a general commanding troops. Maybe the way you didn't run the second I walked in." He paused, his eyes darkening slightly, his voice dropping to something lower, rougher. "Maybe the way you're looking at me right now, like you're trying to decide if I'm dangerous or just… tempting."
Her pulse quickened, her hands gripping the edge of the counter tighter, her knuckles going white with the effort of keeping herself grounded. "I handle things just fine," she said, but her voice came out softer than she intended, almost breathless.
"I can tell," he murmured, stepping closer, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body, close enough that she could smell the coffee on his breath and the faint scent of cologne–something woodsy and warm, like cedar and smoke–that clung to his skin. The air between them seemed to thicken, to pulse with something electric, something alive. "But even strong people… like a little distraction now and then."
She froze, her breath catching in her throat as she caught the glint in his eye, that predator's smile that promised mischief and danger and something she wasn't sure she was ready for but couldn't seem to resist. "Distraction?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "That's… tempting."
"Tempting?" He leaned a fraction closer, his voice lowering to a rough whisper that sent shivers down her spine, his southern drawl thick and deliberate, wrapping around each word like velvet. "Exactly the word I'd use. And if you think you're going to ignore me… well, you're gonna have a problem."
Her chest rose with a shaky laugh, her hands trembling slightly as she tried to keep her voice steady, tried to maintain some semblance of control even as she felt herself slipping, falling into the gravity of his presence. "Maybe I should. Maybe I should just… focus on the boxes."
"Focus is overrated," he said, shifting just slightly, his shoulder brushing against hers as he reached past her to lift the next box, the contact fleeting but deliberate, sending a jolt of electricity through her body that made her stomach flutter and her thighs clench involuntarily. Her breath hitched, and she knew he heard it, knew he felt the way her body responded to his touch, because his smirk widened, his eyes darkening with satisfaction.
"You don't give up, do you?" she said softly, her voice trembling despite her best efforts.
"Not on things worth having," he said, his lips curling into that signature smirk, his eyes never leaving hers, holding her gaze with an intensity that made her feel like she was the only thing in the world that mattered. "And I have a feeling… you're worth it."
The room was suddenly smaller, the air charged with something unspoken, something dangerous and thrilling and impossible to ignore. His gaze lingered longer than it should, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement, and Y/N felt herself leaning into him despite every warning her brain offered, despite every instinct that told her to step back, to put distance between them, to protect herself from whatever this was.
"Alright," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper as she let herself set the box down, her hands shaking slightly as she released it. "Maybe you can help with this one. But don't get any ideas."
"Just one box?" His drawl made the words linger like a promise, like a threat, like something she should be afraid of but couldn't help wanting. "Baby, I don't do things halfway."
"Halfway's fine with me," she replied softly, acutely aware of her own blush, of the heat spreading across her cheeks and down her neck, of how fast her pulse was racing, of how her body was betraying her with every breath, every movement. "Just… don't be overwhelming."
"Overwhelming?" His grin widened, dimples teasing, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made him look boyish and dangerous all at once. "That's my specialty."
And just like that, he carried the next box without waiting, moving with an easy grace that made it look effortless, close enough that she felt every movement, every shift of his body, every brush of his fingers against hers as he set the box down. It was deliberate, teasing, a chase made of touches and glances, smiles and words too charged to be innocent, and she found herself unable to look away, unable to resist the pull of him.
"You're stubborn," he murmured, leaning just slightly closer, his breath warm against her ear, his voice dropping to something intimate and rough. "Makes me wanna chase you even more."
"And you'd better not get used to it," she replied, her voice low, trying to sound stern even as she found herself noticing the way his eyes tracked every movement, how easily he filled the space with his presence, how the room seemed to shrink around him until there was nothing but him and her and the tension crackling between them like lightning.
"Used to it?" he whispered, a glint of mischief in his eye, his lips curving into a smile that was equal parts charming and wicked. "I don't do used to, Y/N. I do want. And I'm very good at getting it."
And that was when she realized it–she didn't want to resist. Not really. Her heartbeat quickened in a way that was thrilling, frightening, and impossible to ignore, and she knew, with a certainty that settled deep in her bones, that the chase had begun.
The scent of pine and old paper filled the air, mingling with the faint smell of cardboard and the lingering aroma of coffee from the cup he'd set down on the counter, forgotten now in the wake of something more pressing, more immediate. Yuji hoisted a box labeled "Kitchen – Fragile" with an ease that made it look like it weighed nothing, his biceps flexing under the thin fabric of his t-shirt–a soft gray cotton that clung to his chest and shoulders in a way that left little to the imagination. The muscles in his arms rippled with the movement, a casual demonstration of strength that made her mouth go dry, and he didn't even breathe hard, didn't even break a sweat, just set the box down with a soft thud and turned to look at her with that same lazy, confident smile.
"You know," he drawled, his voice a low hum that seemed to vibrate in the air between them, "this ain't exactly my idea of a first date."
"Who said it was a date?" she shot back, though a smile played on her lips despite her best efforts to remain aloof, to keep her distance. She moved past him, pushing a heavy box of books with her hip, the effort bringing a flush to her cheeks and making her breath come a little faster. The box scraped against the floor with a dull sound, and she felt the strain in her thighs, the burn in her muscles, but she refused to ask for help, refused to give him the satisfaction.
"Didn't have to," he replied, a knowing glint in his eyes as he watched her struggle, his gaze tracking the movement of her body with an intensity that made her skin prickle with awareness. He set the box down with a soft thud, then turned, blocking her path, his shadow falling over her like a blanket, warm and encompassing, making her feel small and protected and trapped all at once. "The way you're trying to pretend you don't notice me… that's a dead giveaway."
She met his gaze, a tremor running through her body that had nothing to do with the physical exertion and everything to do with the way he was looking at her, like she was something precious, something he wanted to unwrap slowly and savor. "I'm noticing you," she said, her voice steady even as her heart raced. "I'm noticing you're in my way."
A low chuckle vibrated in his chest, the sound rich and warm and impossibly attractive, and she felt it resonate in her own body, felt it settle low in her stomach like a physical touch. "Am I, now?" he murmured, leaning closer, his eyes dropping to her mouth, lingering there with an intensity that made her lips part involuntarily, made her tongue dart out to wet them without thinking. "Or am I exactly where you want me to be?"
The air thickened, charged with unspoken possibility, with the weight of everything they weren't saying, everything they were both thinking but refusing to acknowledge. His hand, warm and calloused from work she could only imagine, brushed her arm as he moved to pick up another box, a lingering touch that sent shivers down her spine, that made her breath catch and her skin flush with heat.
Her breath hitched, her voice coming out softer than she intended, almost breathless. "You really are full of yourself, aren't you?"
"Only when I'm right." His fingers trailed down her arm, a feather-light touch that left goosebumps in its wake, and she felt her body respond despite herself, felt her nipples tighten under her shirt, felt the heat pooling between her thighs. "And I'm usually right about things like this."
They worked in a rhythm after that, a silent dance of boxes and glances, of movements that brought them closer together and then pulled them apart again, a push and pull that felt choreographed, inevitable. Each time he passed, his arm would graze hers, his shoulder would brush her back, his fingers would find some excuse to touch her–a hand on her waist to steady her, a palm pressed to the small of her back to guide her, a brush of his knuckles against her hip as he reached past her for another box. The accidental touches felt anything but accidental, igniting a slow burn beneath her skin that spread through her body like wildfire, making her hyperaware of every point of contact, every breath, every heartbeat.
The afternoon light softened as they worked, the sun sinking lower in the sky and painting the dust motes in the air with hues of orange and rose, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor and making the apartment feel warm and intimate, like a cocoon separate from the rest of the world. The windows glowed with the fading light, and the air grew thick with the scent of their bodies–sweat and cologne and something indefinably human, something primal and raw.
"Alright," she said finally, her voice a little breathy as she dropped onto a stack of folded blankets piled in the corner, her legs giving out beneath her with exhaustion and something else, something that had nothing to do with physical tiredness and everything to do with the tension coiled tight in her body, the anticipation that had been building all afternoon. "That's enough for today."
He straightened, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, the movement drawing her eyes to the way his shirt clung to his chest, damp in places from exertion, accentuating the lean muscle beneath, the hard planes of his abdomen, the V of his hips disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. He looked at her, his gaze intense, unblinking, his eyes dark with something she couldn't quite name but that made her stomach clench with want.
"You're tired," he observed, his voice losing some of its playful edge, softening into something more tender, more genuine, and she felt something in her chest tighten at the concern in his tone. "You push yourself too hard."
"I'm fine," she insisted, but her shoulders slumped, betraying her, her body sagging with exhaustion she could no longer hide. "Just… a long day."
He walked over, not stopping until he stood directly in front of her, his legs bracketing hers, his body blocking out the fading light from the windows and casting her in shadow. He reached out, his fingers gently pushing a stray strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear with a tenderness that made her breath catch, made her eyes sting with unexpected emotion. The touch was feather-light, yet it seared, burning through her defenses like they were made of paper.
"Let me guess," he murmured, his thumb brushing her cheekbone in a slow, hypnotic movement that made her eyes flutter closed, made her lean into his touch without thinking. "You've been doing this all week, haven't you? Trying to prove you don't need anybody."
Her eyes searched his when she opened them again, a silent admission in their depths, a vulnerability she hadn't meant to show but couldn't seem to hide. "Something like that," she whispered.
"It's okay to need a hand, Y/N." His voice was a low rumble, laced with genuine concern, with a warmth that made her chest ache. "Especially when that hand wants to help you."
He sat beside her on the blankets, close enough that she felt the warmth radiating from his body, close enough that their thighs pressed together, the contact sending sparks of electricity through her nervous system. The scent of him–coffee and sweat and something uniquely masculine, something that made her want to bury her face in his neck and breathe him in–filled her senses, overwhelming her, making it impossible to think clearly. She could feel the steady beat of his heart, a faint rhythm against her side, and she found herself matching her breathing to his, found herself relaxing into his presence despite every instinct that told her to be careful, to protect herself.
"You're really… something else," she confessed, a soft laugh escaping her, breathless and uncertain.
"Is that a good something or a bad something?" His eyes crinkled at the corners, his smile genuine and warm, and she felt something in her chest loosen, felt the walls she'd built around herself start to crumble.
"I haven't decided yet," she said, tilting her head back against the wall, eyes closed, letting herself just feel for a moment–the warmth of his body, the softness of the blankets beneath her, the fading light painting patterns on her eyelids. "I usually don't let people… this close."
"Good." He shifted, his hand finding hers, his fingers lacing with hers in a gesture that felt both intimate and possessive, his grip firm and reassuring. "Means I'm special."
She opened her eyes, meeting his, and the light had faded to a soft twilight, the apartment bathed in shades of blue and purple, but his gaze still held that golden-flecked intensity, still burned with a heat that made her stomach clench with want. "Maybe," she whispered, her voice barely audible, the word catching in her throat. The air thrummed with a new kind of tension, a quiet anticipation that made her skin prickle with awareness, made her body hum with need.
His thumb stroked the back of her hand, a slow, hypnotic movement that sent shivers up her arm, that made her breath come faster, shallower. "You're thinking too much," he murmured.
"I think a lot," she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. "It's how I survive."
"Survival's one thing," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, rough and intimate, his breath warm against her ear as he leaned in closer. "Living… that's another. And you, Y/N, you deserve to live a little."
His lips brushed her temple, a soft, exploratory touch that sent a jolt through her body, that made her gasp softly, her eyes fluttering closed. The kiss was gentle, almost reverent, and she felt something in her chest crack open, felt the last of her defenses crumble under the tenderness of it. She didn't pull away. Instead, she found herself leaning into him, drawn by an undeniable current, by a need she'd been denying for too long. His hand moved from hers, cupping her jaw with a gentleness that belied the strength in his fingers, his thumb tracing the line of her chin in a slow, deliberate caress. His eyes held hers, a silent question burning in their depths, and she found herself nodding, giving him permission without words.
"Yuji," she breathed, the sound a soft plea, a warning, a surrender all at once.
"Just Yuji," he confirmed, his voice rough with desire, thick with want, and then he closed the last inch between them, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that stole the breath from her lungs.
It was a slow, tender kiss at first, tasting of coffee and something wild, something untamed and dangerous. His mouth moved with practiced ease, gentle but insistent, coaxing a response from her that she gave willingly, eagerly. Her lips parted on a gasp, and his tongue met hers in a soft, electric dance that made her toes curl, made her fingers dig into his shoulders as she pulled him closer, needing more, needing everything. She felt herself melt, the careful walls she'd built crumbling under the weight of his touch, under the intoxicating rush of his presence, under the sheer overwhelming rightness of being in his arms.
His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer until no space remained between them, until she was practically in his lap, her breasts pressed against his chest, her thighs straddling his, and she could feel the hard length of him pressing against her core through the layers of denim separating them. Her hands found his shoulders, clutching the fabric of his shirt as the world outside the apartment faded, leaving only the warmth of his skin, the intoxicating rhythm of their breaths, and the sweet, insistent pressure of his kiss.
The kiss deepened, shifting from tentative exploration to urgent necessity, from gentle to demanding, from sweet to filthy. Yuji's hand left her jaw, trailing down her neck with deliberate slowness, his fingers tracing the line of her throat, the hollow at the base of her neck, the ridge of her collarbone, sending a shiver of pure electricity across her skin that made her arch into his touch. A low, guttural hum escaped his throat as she responded, her fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, demanding more, needing to feel every inch of him against her.
The world had narrowed to the space between them, a charged bubble of heat and breath and desperate need. She felt the steady, powerful thud of his heart against her ribs, a counterpoint to the sudden, frantic rhythm of her own, and the sound of their breathing filled the quiet apartment, ragged and uneven. The blankets beneath them offered a soft friction as he shifted, his weight pressing her gently back, guiding her down until she was lying beneath him, his body covering hers, solid and warm and impossibly right.
"You taste like everything I've been waiting for," he murmured against her mouth, the Southern drawl roughened with desire, thick with want, and she felt the words settle in her chest like a brand.
"Don't talk," she whispered, the words catching on a breathy moan as his lips left hers to trail down her jaw, to find the sensitive curve beneath her ear, to suck gently at the skin there in a way that made her hips buck involuntarily, made her thighs clench around his waist.
His hands were knowing, confident, tracing paths beneath the hem of her shirt with a deliberate slowness that made her want to scream, finding the soft skin of her stomach, the curve of her ribs, the underside of her breasts, eliciting a sharp intake of air from her that made him smile against her neck. The last vestiges of her hesitation dissolved into a sweet, heady surrender, into a need so overwhelming it felt like drowning, like falling, like flying. She arched into his touch, an instinctive movement driven by a hunger she hadn't realized she was starving for, by a desire that had been building since the moment he'd walked through her door.
With an economy of movement that spoke of experience, of confidence, he pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his own dark and brilliant with a focused intensity that made her breath catch, that made her feel like she was the only thing in the world that mattered. There was no cockiness now, no teasing smirk, only profound desire and a question she answered with a desperate urgency, her hands pulling at his shirt, tugging it up and over his head to reveal the lean muscle beneath, the smooth expanse of his chest, the hard planes of his abdomen.
Fabric surrendered to necessity, to impatient hands and desperate need. Her shirt joined his on the floor, followed by her bra, and the cool air of the apartment met heated skin, a startling contrast that heightened the senses, that made her nipples tighten into hard peaks that ached for his touch. He buried his face against her neck, inhaling deeply, his breath hot against her skin, his hands mapping the curves and valleys of her body with reverence and hunger, with a thoroughness that made her feel worshipped and devoured all at once.
A soft, breathless gasp escaped Y/N as his lips found the sensitive spot beneath her collarbone, as his tongue traced the line of her sternum, as his teeth grazed the swell of her breast. The feeling was intoxicating–this complete, focused attention, the way his touch demanded her presence, her passion, the way he made her feel like she was the center of his universe. She felt the hard line of his muscle against her softness, the delicious friction of skin on skin, the heat of his body seeping into hers. Every nerve ending seemed alight, humming with anticipation, with a need so intense it bordered on pain.
"You are exquisite," he breathed, the words heavy and real, not a charming platitude but a statement of fact, and she felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes at the sincerity in his voice.
She reached for him, her hands exploring the contours of his back, the sheer strength coiled beneath the smooth skin, the way his muscles flexed and shifted under her touch. A fierce, possessive joy surged through her, a primal satisfaction that he was here, that he was real, that he wanted her with a consuming, beautiful intensity that matched her own.
The pace was slow, deliberate, each touch an exploration, each kiss a confirmation of something unspoken but understood. He moved with a confident patience that drove her wild, that made her want to beg, to plead, to demand more even as he gave her everything. His mouth traveled down her body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake, pausing to worship each breast, to suck her nipples into hard, aching points that made her cry out, to kiss the soft skin of her stomach, to trace the line of her hip bone with his tongue. He drew out the pleasure until the tension in her body coiled tighter and tighter, pulling her toward a fever pitch, toward a breaking point she both craved and feared. Her soft sighs turned into breathless little cries as he continued his masterful exploration, as his fingers found the button of her jeans and worked it open, as he slid the zipper down with agonizing slowness, eliciting an answering low, gravelly groan from him when he discovered she was already wet, already soaked through her panties with need.
The feeling was overwhelming, a tidal wave of sensation that swept away the boxes, the move, the past, leaving only the present–the scent of him, the heat of their bodies entwined, the glorious, shared anticipation of what was to come. Her jeans joined the pile of discarded clothing, followed by her panties, and then his jeans and boxers, until there was nothing between them but air and want and the electric charge of skin on skin.
He positioned himself above her, his eyes locked on hers, his weight braced on his forearms, his body a solid presence that made her feel safe and desired and utterly consumed. There was a final, silent moment of connection, a heartbeat where the world held its breath, and then he finally moved to join them, to slide into her with a slow, deliberate thrust that made her back arch off the blankets, made her mouth fall open on a silent scream.
A sudden, sharp "Ah!" escaped her lips, the sound quickly muffled by his kiss, a sound of pleasure and shock and overwhelming fullness as the world tilted and spun, as he filled her completely, stretched her in a way that bordered on too much but felt so impossibly right. The connection was deep, consuming, an undeniable answer to the loneliness she hadn't realized she carried, to the emptiness she'd been trying to fill with boxes and new apartments and fresh starts. The rhythm began, urgent and ancient, a dance as old as time, driving them both toward a shared summit, toward a peak they could only reach together.
The apartment was filled with the sound of their ragged breathing, with the soft, rhythmic slap of skin against skin, with the wet sounds of their bodies joining and parting and joining again. Her gasping moans mingled with his low, encouraging words, with the filthy things he whispered in her ear–how good she felt, how tight, how perfect, how he'd been thinking about this since the moment he saw her, how he was going to make her come so hard she forgot her own name. She felt herself clinging to the edge, the intensity building, building, coiling tighter in her core until she thought she might shatter from the pressure, from the overwhelming pleasure that threatened to consume her entirely.
A drawn-out, shuddering scream tore from her throat as the orgasm crashed over her, as her body convulsed around him, as pleasure so intense it bordered on pain ripped through her in waves that seemed to go on forever. It was quickly followed by Yuji's deep, explosive cry, by the feeling of him pulsing inside her, by the warmth of his release filling her as he collapsed against her, heavy and trembling, his body shaking with the force of his own climax. They lay tangled together, slick with sweat, their hearts hammering a frantic, shared beat against the quiet of the twilight room, their breathing slowly returning to normal as the aftershocks faded.
He shifted after a long moment, propping himself up on an elbow, looking down at her with a soft, possessive smile that made her chest ache with something she wasn't ready to name. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, tender and sweet, a stark contrast to the raw intensity of what they'd just shared.
"See?" he whispered, his voice still thick with spent passion, rough and satisfied. "I told you focus was overrated."
