what i’m thinking about today : peter learned that to be high king was to be the first to charge & the last to retreat many , many years ago . the fact that movie peter abandoned so many of his people after the raid in prince caspian is most definitely something that haunts him until death , and i wouldn’t be surprised if a part of him believed he should have stayed in there with them . the thought of leaving while he still could probably wasn’t even something that crossed his mind until caspian brought him a horse , because he was so preoccupied with trying to get everyone else out .
❤︎ SYNOPSIS: eijirō feels like he’s going insane. he wants to fuck his best friends girlfriend, but, like, also his best friend? is he the asshole?
❤︎ CONTENT: f!reader, alternate universe - modern!au, slight perv!kiri, domestic fluff, eiji feeding kat grapes on the beach (no i wont elaborate), semi-unsanctioned voyeurism, blowjobs, penetrative sex, riding…18+, minors and ageless blogs DNI.
❤︎ XOXO, PUMA: i need perv!kiri like i need air. eijirō cry count: 7
❤︎ NOW PLAYING: this is why, paramore.
read on ao3 | 5k words | masterlist.
r/AmItheAsshole
u/redredriot
AITA FOR HAVING WANTING TO FUCK MY BEST FRIENDS’ GIRLFRIEND?
okokok. hear me out.
i [26M] have a best friend and roommate [also 26M]. i’ve known the guy since high school and we’re pretty close (obviously, best friends) but hes like, my best-best friend, yk? the bestest. i love the guy (platonically) and idk what id do without him, so i really dont want to fuck that up.
now. my best friend has a girlfriend. shes super sweet and nice and makes him so happy. like soooo happy. like i didnt realize my bro could be so happy. but thats besides the problem. the problem is that she moved in. and shes a good roommate, im not complaining about any of that, but also like…shes hot…?
which is fine. its sooo fine and cool and i would never do anything that got in the way of my bros relationship. i love him!! (platonically) but the problem is that she lives here. she eats in our kitchen and takes naps on the couch and walks around with no bra and tiny shorts and i’m LOSING MY MIND
i feel bad. i definitely FEEL like an asshole bc its like im j some misogynistic asshole that cant stop viewing women as sex symbols, but i swear its not my fault. i literally found one of her panties in my laundry load im going to cry.
but yeah. AITA??? i feel like the asshole depending on the day. is there a help line for this???
suckmyclituchiha
dude, no. NTA as long as you keep it in your pants.
notthatkentakakura
Mmm a little? I feel like you shouldn’t have a crush on your best friends girlfriend…
gogogokudolls
NTA. I fear we’ve all been there, my guy
6ixeyes
How gay are you for your bro????
Eijirō’s moving out. That’s the only logical course of events.
“Katsuki—! Oh my God—”
Eijirō groans, sinking a head into his hands. He threads fingers through his bright red hair and tugs. He’s going insane—he’s going to be in a straight jacket in two years if he doesn’t leave right now, this isn’t even fair, this is—
“Oh fuck, right there, right there, right there—”
What is the fucking point of walls. What is the fucking point, when it sounds like you’re right here.
Maybe, you guys don’t realize he’s home. Which is fair—by the time he got back, you two were already hidden away in Katsuki’s room. He should send a text, or knock on the door to be like hey, shut up please, or at least, put headphones in. But, no—instead, he chooses to torture himself, listening to you whine on his best friend’s cock.
“Yeah, Baby? You like that?”
The headboard slams hard enough to rattle the wall, and Eijirō debates on crying. He wants to see. He wants to see so bad that it hurts.
He suffers that night, just like he does all the others. Reddit doesn’t help, and neither does the throbbing between his thighs.
Eijirō likes to make breakfast. It’s the only meal he can make, really, other than chicken and rice. And broccoli—he can make broccoli. But, since you moved in, he likes making breakfast for a different reason.
“G’mornin’, Eiji.”
You come in yawning, bleary eyed and bra-less, just the way he likes. He doesn’t let his eyes drift the expanse of your thighs for too long—just enough to remember until tomorrow morning. Until he sees you in those shorts, again.
“Hey! How’d you sleep?”
Because, he slept horribly. He fell asleep halfway through the sex marathon, and doesn’t know if he had a wet dream, or heard you past the fuzz of slumber. Either way, he fell asleep at two and woke up at six, wholly unrested.
“Mm…good…” You stumble over to the fancy coffee machine he bought for Katsuki’s birthday last year. You maneuver around the kitchen with half a mind, and Eijirō tries to avoid burning breakfast. God forbid Katsuki wakes up to the smoke alarm in a panic, worried the world is on fire. You open the fridge to get water, nearly hitting yourself upside the head with the door, and Eijirō snorts, catching your forehead from his spot by the island.
You sniff, blearily blinking up with a nod as a thank you. “What’cha making?”
“Pancakes,” he grins, gesturing to the freshly poured griddle. “Try not to concuss yourself before then?”
“No promises,” you mumble past a sleepy smile, and its cute enough to make his heart hurt. He returns it, hoping it comes across less endearing than he feels. You shuffle closer to watch pancake batter bubble under the heat. “Ugh, pancakes are gonna hit. Thank you.”
You let out a moan, one that sounds a little too similar to what he heard through the walls last night. He focuses on flipping the pancakes with an unsteady hand, refusing to feel the edges of your molecules when you get too close.
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” he preaches with a laugh, and you nod vehemently in agreement. The coffee machine starts to whirr.
“Yeah, ‘n if not for you, I’d be having straight coffee for breakfast.”
“That’s…horrible,” he realizes aloud, and you snort in response, collapsing your face into his arm. His arm, which is, now, nearly pinned between your breasts—and Eijirō wants to cry for the twentieth time this week. “You should definitely not do that.”
“But, I don’t even like breakfast,” you whine, jutting out a bottom lip. Eijirō takes a very deep breath, before flipping the last pancake. He fucks it up, and the battered side folds in half.
Then, he remembers what you just said, and frowns. “You eat it, though—I’ve seen you.”
“I eat your breakfast,” you argue sleepily, and the coffee machine beeps for attention. You leave to grab the full cup, leaving his right side much colder than you found it. “You cook good breakfast.”
Eijirō isn’t fully sure what you mean by that, but beams nonetheless. “Thank y—”
Katsuki stretches in the kitchen doorway. Languid like a cat, with arms above his head, and groaning loud enough to startle. He’s shirtless, and Eijirō does not see the purpling hickey on his neck. Does not.
Katsuki waltzes over to you and drapes himself across your shoulders, eyes swollen and voice rugged from sleep. He steals a kiss from your cheek before asking, “Coffee.”
You hum, lifting the mug closer to his collapsed self. “Want some?”
Katsuki scrunches a nose and shakes his head, only for his face to end up in your neck. “Not from you.”
That earns him a gasp and a flick in the forehead, both of which Katsuki takes in stride. He snickers into your skin, biting behind your ear until you yelp, with a hand tight around your hip to ensure you don’t squirm to far.
And, it’s sickening.
It’s sickening, because these are the moments when Eijirō doesn’t quite know who he wishes to be—you, or his best friend. Katsuki mutes a smile in your skin, and Eijirō wants to feel it, but he also wants his hand on your hip, and he wants, he wants—
“Oi, Shitty Hair—the pancakes are on fire.”
Eijirō looks down at charred circles he once called pancakes. He wants to cry.
With a snort, Katsuki moves past you to grab a plate. Then, he’s nudging Eijirō in the shoulder, and the redhead starts plating the useless ones with a pout.
“I can’t believe I messed up the first batch,” he whines, because now they’ll have half the amount they normally would for leftovers. And, he was sort of hoping to not cook breakfast tomorrow. (Though, he’s not as sad about it as he’d like to be—which makes him even more annoyed with himself, in turn.)
Katsuki just rolls his eyes, setting the burnt plate aside, probably to let it cool before throwing it away. “What the fuck was so fascinating outside?”
Eijirō’s eyes flicker to the window he was allegedly looking out of—he doesn’t really remember, to be honest—and irritation floods his being tenfold as he huffs, “Dude, literally nothing. Literally zoned out.”
Which is a half-lie—he did zone out—and luckily, Katsuki’s back is turned to grab the bowl of batter, so he doesn’t have to look him in the eyes. Eijirō can lie, as long as he isn’t looking Katsuki in the eyes.
But, Katsuki turns around with a knowing smirk, like he does know it’s a lie. That makes Eijirō doubt his lying capabilities.
“Uh-huh,” he hums, and starts pouring pancakes in perfect circles while barely looking. Which, Eijirō thinks is wholly unfair—he has to really lock in, and even then, they come out vaguely dinosaur shaped. Don’t ask him why. He doesn’t know.
“Ooh! I want a heart pancake!”
Katsuki eyes finally leave Eijirō—thank God, he can breathe now—to narrow at you. “…Baby. I just poured the last one.”
But, Katsuki knows you’re not going to let up, as does Eijirō. You have that look in your eyes when you want something, and want it now.
Before you can even open your mouth, Katsuki’s warning, “Wait for the next batch.”
You whine and melt, propping your chin onto the island counter with the biggest pout known to man. The most effective pout, because Eijirō would fold for it time and time again, if he had the chance.
“But, I want it now,” you whimper, and while Katsuki sighs out of his nose, Eijirō has an idea.
He walks over to a small cupboard, the one with the straws and syrup cups, and dips a hand between both for a container of toothpicks. Thanks to Katsuki, they always have some on deck—because, every time they go out to eat, Katsuki is convinced he has something in his teeth, and simultaneously convinced that everyone is lying to him, including his phone camera. So, Eijirō sacrifices one of Katsuki’s holy toothpicks to bend a bubbling pancake into a heart. It only kind of works.
“Fuckin—no, Shitty Hair, y’gotta start from the middle an’ go down—”
“No! Start with the edges first! If he takes too long, my heart is gonna have a round bottom!”
“…Y’know who else has a round bottom—”
“Finish that statement and you’re fired, Katsuki. This is serious business.”
Eijirō Kirishima cannot function under this conditions.
“Guys,” he chokes, looking down at what is now a squiggly mess of pancake. It looks nothing like a heart, but definitely an accurate depiction of how Eijirō’s heart feels—squishy and out of shape and useless. Like an amoeba. Or a blobfish.
Yeah. His heart feels like a blobfish.
“I give up.”
He releases the cake-covered toothpick, and it sticks to the counter in a quietly depressing splat. Katsuki huffs, shoving him out of the way to snatch the toothpick and try himself. And, try he does.
But, the issue is that the pancakes are cooking quick—the others have already been flipped and now, they’re almost ready. Meanwhile, the flailing heart shaped pancake is burnt around the edges and gooey in the middle, but they’re still committed.
Eventually, the three of you look at the burnt ball of dough with a sigh.
“We tried. On that front, we get an A, right?”
“If you look at it from the side and squint your eyes…it, like…kind of looks like an actual heart, so I say yeah.”
“…It looks like shit.”
You all prepare to eat the successful pancakes in a dejected silence. You end up cutting a heart out of your pancake instead. Eijirō eats the corners.
6ixeyes
How gay are you for your bro????
redredriot
um. probably gayer than i should b.
6ixeyes
Wait, srsly
Beach is bad. Beach is horrible—Eijirō will never beach again.
‘Guys, I wanna go to the beach,’ you said. ‘It’s so hot today, it’ll be fun,’ you said. ‘Eijirō’s going to be so miserable, and have to fight a hard-on the entire time,’ you didn’t say. He should’ve seen it coming.
Because, if he can barely handle you in pajamas, how the hell is he supposed to be chill while you practically prance around the sand in a bra and panties. He’s going to cry.
And, Katsuki—Katsuki isn’t helping one bit.
“God, fuckin’ look at her,” he groans, adjusting the sunglasses on his nose. You’re in the water alone, because Katsuki refuses to (’I’m not gettin’ fuckin’ wet just to have fuck-ass sand stick to me—no.’) and honestly, Eijirō would join you if he wasn’t suffering. “Ain’t she a pretty li’l thing.”
And like, what is Eijirō supposed to say to that? What is the socially correct thing to say when your bro is frothing over his girl. Do you agree, and possibly look like you want to fuck her, or do you not agree, and by proxy, call his girlfriend ugly?
Eijirō decides not responding is the safest option. He focuses on the self-help book in his lap, but he’s can’t read right now. The words rearrange into something accusatory, and it’s undeniable:
YOU ARE THE ASSHOLE.
Fuck.
“Don’t know how I bagged that,” Katsuki mutters to himself, before reclining underneath the umbrella. Because he burns too easy, and the sun makes him sleepy, and—why does Eijirō know this? He doesn’t need to know this.
“Awh, c’mon dude,” he shoves Katsuki in the shoulder from his seated spot in the sun. His words come out stilted and awkward, because how do you let your bro know he’s a catch without letting him know you’d probably be down to suck his dick. “You’re, like…hot. You guys are the same level of hotness.”
Katsuki snorts, and rolls his head until it’s facing Eijirō. He cracks an eye open. “D’you think I’m hot?”
Eijirō chokes on air. What kind of question is that.
“I mean,” he blows a raspberry and shrugs, and suddenly, can’t look at his roommate. He watches the horizon until you shift into frame, and then, he switches to the sky. “Yeah, of course, Dude. You’re, like, an objectively hot guy.”
“Objectively,” Katsuki repeats, and Eijirō’s eyes dart to the side just in time to see that quiet smirk from earlier return, from breakfast when Eijirō lied before, and he’s starting to worry Katsuki might be onto him. Which is not good. Not good at all.
“Yep, mhm.” His eyes squint into the sun, in hopes it’ll burn his retinas and give him some form of brain-fried amnesia. That would be great. When it doesn’t work, Eijirō finds himself rummaging through the snack bag instead, hoping that stuffing his mouth shut might keep him from saying anything stupid.
“Oi,” Katsuki perks up. “I want fuckin’ grapes.”
Eijirō laughs, nearly collapsing his face into the snack bag when the arm he rests weight on starts to wobble. “Lucky for you, we brought ‘fuckin’ grapes.’”
“I know, that’s why I said it, Dumbass,” Katsuki faux-bristles. “Feed ‘em to me.”
Eijirō swallows.
“Uh, no Dude, feed them to yourself,” he snorts (and very proud of how he played it off, thank you) and grabs a protein bar out of the bag, along with a Ziploc bag of grapes with a melting ice pack in it. He drops them at Katsuki’s side, but Katsuki knocks them over like a petulant cat.
“My hands are sandy,” he says like it’s obvious, and lifts them up. Respectfully, they are not sandy—but ‘sandy’ to Katsuki means that his hands can feel the ‘sand dust,’ or whatever he said, and Katsuki is stubborn. Eijirō knows he won’t have his grapes untainted.
“Then get Y/N to do it,” he grunts, teeth preoccupied with tearing the label away from his protein bar. “She’ll be out soon, I think.”
“No,” Katsuki groans, loud and useless, and grabs the bag of grapes at his side to chuck them at Eijirō’s head. And, chuck them he does—it gets Eijirō in the side of his face, and the flaxen blond snorts at the sound. “Her hands‘re gonna be all sandy and salty. You do it.”
Eijirō scratches his scalp and sighs.
Eijirō Kirishima, at twenty-six years old, is being forced to feed his Bro grapes on the beach like Katsuki is Cleopatra, while you frolic in the water, half-naked and mouth-watering. What series of events led him here, exactly?
“Then just, like…eat it out the bag, or something.”
Katsuki’s eyes narrow beneath his aviators. “If you don’t, I’m telling Y/N that you think she’s hot.”
Eijirō stiffens.
“Fine. Fine, fine, fine, fine, fine—fine,” Eijirō huffs, and feels his face go hot as he scoots closer. Katsuki gives him a self-satisfied smirk, like he enjoys watching his best friend fumble like an oaf. Over him—over you.
This is so not fair.
Katsuki crosses arms behind his head while Eijirō pops the Ziploc open. Eijirō’s not exactly sure how to go about this, but once he picks a firm grape with no strange squishy spots (Katsuki will have a fit), Katsuki’s lips part, and Eijirō just…drops the grape right in there. Katsuki’s jaw pops as he chews with a nod, like the redhead did good in finding a grape he deems decent enough. It makes him feel all warm and gooey, like a chocolate cookie fresh out the oven, and because Eijirō can blame that feeling on the sun, he lets himself bask in it a bit.
It gets quiet, save for the crashing of waves, music from teenagers seated not too far from them, and the occasional pop of a grape. It’s kind of nice—he finds a rhythm, and space in between Katsuki’s chomps and grabbing grapes to nibble on his protein bar, which is gone quick. He must be hungrier than he thought…We should get actual food soon.
Eijirō zones out, thinking about possible food options and how, honestly, he could go for any of them. Then, he feels something round in his hands, and turns to Katsuki, who’s staring at him with a scrutiny that makes Eijirō think he’s got something on his face. He purses his lips, trying to figure out what Katsuki wants for based off expressions—and finds nothing. He finds nothing that he wants to see, and everything he doesn’t—from the sweat forming in Katsuki’s cupids bow, to freckle in his hairline that darkens with the sun, to the curve of his brows and color in his cheeks.
“…What?”
Katsuki blinks himself out of whatever that was, and the lax expression on his face turns into a scowl as he points.
“Grape.”
redredriot
why does that even matter tho
6ixeyes
Ngl, bc I’m going thru somn similar and tryna figure it out LMAO
redredriot
oh damn my condolences bro
For the third time today, Eijirō would like to know how the fuck he got into this predicament.
You come out the water like a…a fucking beach goddess, water clinging to your form like a sheer dress with sand as an jewelry. The sun seems to agree, as it douses you in something ethereal, something just for you.
Eijirō wants to tear his hair out. He’s already suffering because of one set of sweaty tits, he doesn’t need another—
“What are you guys doing?” You snort after getting enough to see Eijirō hover another grape over your boyfriend’s mouth. The redhead pouts.
“I’m being forced into servitude!”
“I see that,” you laugh, and instead of sitting next to Katsuki, you sit next to Eijirō. He tells himself it’s because you need to dry off, and he’s sat in the sun—not that Katsuki minds, seemingly content on consuming grapes from Eijirō’s hand for the foreseeable future. You squish your wet side into Eijirō’s to get a look in the snack bag, and he shivers for all the wrong reasons.
“Ah! You’re cold!”
Plays it off well, though.
“Sorry,” you giggle, but don’t move until you pull out a fruit roll-up, snatching a grape on the way back. “Damn Kat, you ate all the grapes—fat ass bitch.”
Eijirō didn’t even notice, and looks into his lap—where you just had your hand, mind you—to a severely empty bag, now mainly left with undesirables.
“Oh, right, it’s fat ass bitch now, but later it’s ‘oh my god, Kat, your muscles—oh my god, Kat, you’re so big—oh my god—”
Eijirō is going to die.
Katsuki mocks your voice with an unsteady and nasally falsetto, causing you to reach behind Eijirō, balancing a hand on his shoulder while you try to wack your boyfriend in the head. You miss due to range, and because Katsuki sways his head right with a cackle.
“That is not how I sound,” you hiss, resigning yourself to the other side of Eijirō, even though you could easily walk over to give Katsuki a piece of your mind. He shrugs, eyes flitting to Eijirō, and, uh oh, why is he—
“Oh, that’s totally how you sound,” but he’s looking at Eijirō, like he could confirm, and he doesn’t think the blond talking about how you sound outside the bedroom. Fuck. “Right?”
He’s not asking you—he’s asking Eijirō.
And Eijirō, poor Eijirō, quickly looks out to sea like it’ll put a partition between him and this conversation. Maybe, he should try to burn his retinas again. Maybe, he didn’t try hard enough.
He plays dumb.
“Don’t include me in your couple’s quarrel, Dude!” He says, but its more to the sky. “I’m not even here. I’m a ghost. I’m invisible.”
“Well. In that case,” Katsuki grunts. You squeal as your arm gets yanked in Eijirō’s peripheral, falling behind him and into the sand with a thump. “C’mere.”
“Kat—mmph!”
Who knew kissing could be so loud?
If Eijirō lets out a tear, it’s because his fucking dick hurts.
AITA FOR HAVING WANTING TO FUCK MY BEST FRIENDS’ GIRLFRIEND?
u/redredriot
edit: kay my bro is kinda hot but that just makes things SO MUCH WORSE WHAT DO I DO???????
bigdaddytamaki
petition to be a third!
sasakilovesmiyano
Plot-MF-Twist, I’m so invested.
kusuo_saiki
Get a therapist.
redredriot
THATS WHAT YALL ARE FOR
komicommunicatesverywell
Or get a girlfriend!
That night, Eijirō commits a sin.
It’s not his fault—he’s pent up, because you guys are pent up. He had to drive that fucking car, dammit, and had to ignore the fact that he enjoyed watching you and Katsuki makeout in the rearview mirror more than he should.
And, it’s not his fault again, because you and Katsuki decide to fuck in the living room—the living room that his door faces. It’s like you’re trying to kill him, at this point.
So. Maybe, he leaves his door cracked. It’s not like it matters—moonlight spills through the window above his bed, and barely illuminates te edges. While you engage in foreplay, Eijirō gets ready for bed (skips brushing his teeth, because he’s impatient, and so, so horny) and by the time he’s sliding under the covers, you’re sat comfortably between Katsuki’s legs with a full mouth.
“Fuck yeah, Baby—just like that.”
Tucked under his duvet, Eijirō shucks his boxers down to his hips and grabs himself. His eyes flutter at the feeling, underwear and cock soaked enough that anyone lacking context would assume he already came. Meaning, the slide is easy, and he peeks through the doorway and into the lovingly lit living room.
Eijirō shouldn’t be doing this. He also shouldn’t be obsessed with the way his best friend’s cock fits in your mouth. Not all the way, but enough to make you tear and choke and gag. All Eijirō can really see is the back of your head and Katsuki’s blissed out face, both of which he thinks is wildly unfair.
Katsuki shivers, and it’s a full body affair. Eijirō’s hand wraps tight around the base of his dick because, jeez. Give a guy a warning before you do something really hot next time?
Katsuki lets out something akin to a whimper, which was not a sound he thought his bro could make. But now, he wants to hear it again and again, and possibly occasionally be the reason, every once in a while.
You’re not any better—you’re humming around his cock like you’re the one getting a blowjob, and it’s messy, Eijirō can fucking hear it, and it’s driving him insane. Katsuki grabs ahold of your hair and tugs, causing you to mewl, fall further down his cock, then choke. Katsuki groans and Eijirō stifles his own, praying to every God out there that he remains sane after tonight.
It’s a losing battle.
“Yeah? Y’like imagining that this is his cock, huh?” Katsuki takes control, moving your head at his will, and Eijirō’s arm flexes to match the pace. You whine, and Katsuki chuckles. “Dirty fuckin’ girl.”
You huff, irritated, and pinching Katsuki in his inner thigh, which earns you a jolt and a groan. Wow, Eijirō’s learning so many new things today. Like how you get cock drunk easy, and that Katsuki’s a pain slut. And Eijirō, who will never have any use for this information, stores it anyways.
Katsuki tips his head back and moans at something, and for a moment, Eijirō worries he’s been seen. Only for a moment—the ice in his blood is gone as quick as it came as Katsuki’s eyes flit back to you, and melts straight into his dick. No, despite what his dick says, he does not want to be caught—because that would be very, very bad.
As time goes on, he seems to care less about getting caught, too preoccupied with getting his fix. Which, makes him sound like an addict, but it’s not his fault, you guys are fucking right outside his door.
Eijirō nearly cums when Katsuki pulls you off his dick. Debates on it, for a good while.
Your mouth is swollen, with teary eyes to match the gloss of spit and pre-cum on your lips. Eijirō knows, because Katsuki pulls you up and sits you right on his dick, with your back pressed flush to his chest. And, like, Eijirō’s imagined this moment—the moment where he finally sees you naked—but figured it’d be some panicked walk in, a time when he wouldn’t be able to take in all of you and regret it, and most definitely not this.
Your bathing suit is still on, but barely. It’s misshapen and askew and doesn’t cover what it’s supposed to, covers the exact opposite of what it’s supposed to, actually. Eijirō bites back a groan.
“F-Fuck, Kat—’s too big,” you huff, wiping at the corners of your lips like you might be drooling. Are you drooling? Or is it leftover from the fucking amazing head he just watched you give his best friend?
Katsuki coos, clutching you tight to his body like you might scramble. His other hand holds your thigh open, enough that Eijirō can see your entrance stretch around Katsuki’s cock, and he wants to scream.
“You can take it,” he insists, low and heavy, but still loud enough for Eijirō to hear. You whimper and collapse into his chest, and the hand that holds you upright drifts, tweaking and pinching where it deems fit. “Y’wanna put on a show, don’t you?”
That’s the first time Eijirō catches it. A show for who?
You nod, but push at the couch cushions like you regret letting Katsuki in to begin with. Is this how you look every night? If so, Eijirō’s going to need you two to start fucking on the couch more often, ASAP.
“K-Kat, I can’t—”
Katsuki’s free hand finds your clit then, and whatever you were going to say is left to the wind, molded into something choked and garbled and completely unintelligible.
“What’s got you all worked up?” He snorts, like he’s any better, like he isn’t flushed to his chest and fluttering his eyes every time you shift just right. Eijirō squeezes the base of his dick.
You clumsily shove your boyfriend in the side of the head, who’s thrusts never falter. “Fuck you, you know why—Oh my god, Kat, slow the fuck down—”
“No,” he huffs with petulance, before, if anything, speeding up. “You’re greedy—you can take it.”
“It’s—” your leg kicks, seemingly involuntary, and Katsuki laughs at it. “That’s different.”
God, you whine is the same during sex and in the kitchen. How the fuck is he supposed to hear that the same again.
“How,” Katsuki chuckles, and pinches your clit. You squirm and tuck your head in his neck. “How the fuck are you supposed to take both of us when you can barely take me, huh? It’d be worse with Eijirō’s fat ass on top of you—shit—”
Now.
Eijirō has three thoughts, all of which he thinks at the exact same time:
hey! he’s not fat! he’s well-muscled with the right amount of squish!
damn kat…you think his ass is fat, though?
wait. why are we saying his name, why are we saying his name, why are saying his name—
The third thought is the loudest and lasts much longer than the rest, lasts perpetually, actually, and Eijirō almost cums at hearing Katsuki say his name. His actual name—not Shitty Hair, not Fuck-Face or Dumbass, but Eijirō—and while having sex, no less! With his girlfriend! What the fuck is this?!
You moan even louder, like you like that idea, like that’s something you could be into, and Eijirō doesn’t know what to make of that. Katsuki doesn’t seem to care, and Eijirō doesn’t know what to make of that, either. All he knows is that he’s cumming regardless, despite his best efforts, biting tight into the fat of his hand with a strained groan that he really, really hopes no one heard.
He’s so confused.
He still watches, though—watches you cum on Katsuki’s cock twice before he’s stuffing you full with a groan of his own, eyes trained on the gap between Eijirō’s door. Like he knows Eijirō is still watching, even if you two have been fucking for over an hour.
Eijirō waits until you both peel away from the couch and pad into the bathroom before moving a muscle. He finally gets up to close the door, and scrapes at the dried cum on his stomach with an old t-shirt until his skin turns red, and frowns as he watches it flake. What the fuck. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck—
He needs to update Reddit. He needs to know what to do.
AITA FOR HAVING WANTING TO FUCK MY BEST FRIENDS’ GIRLFRIEND?
Part 2
Summary: The three times Penelope tries to solve a Spencer Reid riddle and the one time she (and the team) meet the reason behind all the changes
Trope: Fluff! Just fluff and team banter!
w.c: 4.0k
a/n: For some reason, my earlier post on this disappeared dunno why. But this is a very self indulgent fic as reader’s background is basically based on the industry I work in. I had a lot of fun writing the team banter and I hope you enjoy it too! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💗
The first clue presented itself on a dull Wednesday night as the team, minus Hotch and Rossi, were leaving the bullpen after a full day of pushing papers. Penelope in all of her sunshine and colorful glory was buzzing about these accessories that she once spotted on a storefront window.
“I saw a pair of earrings and a matching necklace that would look so good with that top you bought the other day, JJ. You know, the blue one with those soft sleeves—they would look great with it. It’s tres boho chic.”
JJ smiled, opening her mouth to reply, but Spencer beat her to it.
“Did you know that boho chic was actually a response to political and social movements?”
“Wait, what?” Emily interjected.
He took her disbelief as a sign to continue on. “Yeah, yeah. There’s an article written about it in Vogue—softness and femininity historically appears in moments of political stress and war. Just like in the 70s with the hippie and anti-war movement that defined their style as a generation.”
They all piled into the elevator and turned to face the boy genius like he grew another head. For all they knew, this could be a clone and a very bad one at that. The Spencer Reid that they knew had absolutely no interest in the realms of fashion.
Penelope was the first to break the silence. “Vogue?”
“Kid, what gives? Just the other time, you didn’t know how many shoes a woman owns and now you’re some kind of expert?” Derek asked with both eyebrows raised.
“Did not knowing activate some kind of button that made you want to read about it?” Emily added on, feeling like she was in some kind of TV prank show.
“What?” Spencer licked his lips, nervous with all the attention on him. He felt like he was about to slip something up that he had been keeping to himself for a while now. A hidden precious gem that was you. “I—I like to read.” A believable excuse except his voice went up an octave, giving him away.
The three women shared a look.
“But you read academic textbooks and classic literature,” JJ stated.
Penelope added on. “Not fashion magazines.”
He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “I don’t discriminate when it comes to reading. If it’s interesting—” he shifted his weight one side to another, thinking that the ride down on the elevator seemed to be taking slower than usual. “—I’ll read it.”
Penelope narrowed her eyes. She was no profiler but she could smell a lie from a mile away way. That wasn’t the whole truth. Dr. Spencer Reid was hiding something.
“Okay, see you tomorrow!” he squeaked out as he ran out of the elevator once it hit the lobby.
She turned to the three profilers, stunned with the boy genius’ erratic behavior. “Huh, did anybody else get the feeling that Spencer was hiding something?”
“Maybe, but the kid does read a lot. Maybe he just ran out of books.” Morgan shrugged.
The other two profilers tilted their heads and slowly nodded in agreement. It wasn’t far off on something Spencer would do. He did once pick up a pamphlet in the airport to read as mentioned before to her by Derek, granted it was for a case but still, Penelope couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else.
So when she arrived home that very same night, she propped up her laptop and got to digging. Boy Genius was hiding something big and Little Miss Oracle of Quantico can find anything with her tech skills. She’ll get to the bottom of this mystery, once and for all.
———
Spencer was glad to be coming home to your presence. Having spied the lights still on from the outside of the apartment, he took the steps two at a time, excited to see his 2nd favorite person after his mother—you.
“Spence?” You called out, having heard the mahogany front door open. “Is that you, baby?”
“Hey, love. I missed you,” he deposited his satchel to the nearby sofa and ran to give you a hug.
You burrowed yourself into his arms. All the muscles in your body relaxing as you caught a whiff of his cedar wood perfume—the same scent you’ve gifted to him during the early stages of dating. “I missed you too. How was your day?”
“Better now with you,” his words coming out muffled as he refused to detach himself from the embrace. “Actually, I almost slipped up today.”
You extricated from his arms to give him an inquisitive look. The slight scrunch on your nose and raised brows made his heart flutter. How expressive, free, and trusting you were. It reminded him of your first encounter. How you teasingly asked him if he was a serial killer when he offered you a ride home in the pouring rain and how you easily accepted regardless.
“Yeah? Did any of them catch on?” you probed as you pulled him by his belt loops to the direction of the bedroom.
He laughed, finding your aggression cute. “No. At least, I don’t think so.”
“Maybe we should schedule dinner with them sometime,” you coyly suggested as you slowly started to unravel his tie. “I mean, we’ve been together for over a year now and I have moved into your apartment, under the guise of watering your plants while you’re away. Which is a lie, by the way—”
“I have plants!” he protested. His hands divesting you out of his sweater, bringing to view his favorite silk set in deep purple that accentuated your skin and the blush on your cheeks.
“—that I brought over, Spence,” you quipped back. “But don’t worry, I won’t spill how the intelligent FBI agent fooled naive me into moving in with him.”
There was a glint in his eyes that sent shivers down your spine. “Love, I wouldn’t exactly call you naive—” his voice going an octave lower. “—not when you’re looking at me with those tempting eyes of yours.”
Giggling, you leaned in for a kiss, one that he quickly took over. His calloused dominant hand wrapped around the back of your neck, effectively caging you in while his other cradled your cheek—a stark contrast to the other. Kissing Spencer had always felt like a religious experience that you never want to part from.
Reluctantly pulling away, you caught glimpse of his need for you. His hazel eyes now dark as ink, nostrils slightly flared, teeth sinking into his lower lip, and his dominant hand dug into the fleshy nape of your neck. It made you feel desirable, like the goddess that he would call you when he’s on his knees tasting nectar from the source.
The discussion of inviting the team out for dinner was long forgotten. No other words were spoken as you pushed him on the bed—only the cries of his and your name and moans of ‘yes’ echoed well into the night.
***
The second clue was uncovered when Spencer walked into the cold windy bullpen with new black cardigan adorning his lithe body. It was non-descriptive to the untrained eye but for fashion enthusiast Penelope Garcia, she knew what those four white lines on the sleeve meant—luxury label and priced well above their pay grade.
She narrowed her eyes. The Spencer she knew wouldn’t dare spend his salary on anything besides limited first edition books. Something was truly up and she planned to get to the bottom of it as her initial online search turned up nothing.
“Reid, that’s a really nice sweater,” she complimented, throwing in her bait.
He smiled. The thought of who gave it to him warmed his heart. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks Garcia.”
Her sparkly pink kitten heels clacking on the floor as she came closer. “Can I see it?” she innocently asked.
The request threw Spencer off the loop but thought nothing of it as he shrugged and handed it to her—still warm from body temperature.
Her squeals caught the attention of the other profilers filling into the office.
“What is it, baby girl?” Morgan deposited his bag on the table and stationed himself beside her. “It’s Reid’s new sweater. Are you seeing something I’m not seeing?”
Garcia rolled her eyes. This was why females are considered more observant that their sex counterpart. Her chocolate thunder was a profiler but how could he not notice what she was deducing?
“Huh,” Emily surmised. “Based on the fibers, it’s definitely not polyester. Possibly a 100% wool, what do you think, JJ?”
“It says here on the tag—100% virgin wool,” she read out loud. “That makes it very expensive, right Garcia?”
The colorful tech analyst smiled. Her girls could never let her down. “Right you are, girlfriends! But it’s not only that, this—” pointing at the four stripes on the sleeve. “—this is a signature Thom Browne detail. Their prices go up to at least 600 dollars—” they all turned to Reid who seemed clearly agitated. “—now why does our boy wonder have a piece that could buy at most five cute heels?”
With his vast intellect, he couldn’t think of a way to weasel out of this impromptu interrogation. He couldn’t very well say that it was a gift now could he? If he did, that would lead to another hard hitting question ‘from who?’ He raked his hand through his curly hair, taking the same path as yours did just earlier as you gave him a kiss goodbye.
When you gifted him the cardigan from your last New York business trip, he really thought nothing of its material equivalence, besides feeling grateful and loved. It was proof that you paid attention to even the littlest details about him.
“Hey Spence, I got you something,” you looked up at him with sparkling eyes. The first thing you had done when you got home was run into his arms. A simple act that healed his aching heart from missing it’s other half.
You reached into your luggage, enthusiastically pulling out the black clothing wrapped in tissue paper like some magician pulling out a rabbit from a hat. “Here you go!”
“A new sweater!” He exclaimed.
You rocked on your heels, looking bashful as you explained the reasoning behind it. “I noticed you fidgeting when you wore the cardigan JJ gifted you last Christmas, the polyester fibers used on it must have been really itchy so I got you a new one—” your eyes widened at how your explanation could be taken the wrong way. “—not that her gift wasn’t great! No, it was very cute! It’s just—I want you to be comfortable and protected during your cases in cold states. Polyester is a good insulator of heat but wool is still the best.”
He loved how unabashed you rambled about your interests. That was one of the first things he piqued his notice. How you liked to share your knowledge about the fashion industry that you work for but never coming across as stuck up or snobby, you just genuinely wanted to educate anyone who had a wrong perception of the billion dollar commerce. Admittedly, he was one of them but hearing you rave about it’s nitty-gritty details and socio-economic movements changed his mind. It also helped that a beautiful and intelligent woman, such as yourself, was educating him.
He pulled you in for a kiss, stopping all the worries that ran through your head. “I love it. Thank you.”
“It’s nothing at all, baby. I like taking care of you. Just like how you take care of me,” you reasoned. “Plus I got it on sale courtesy of the magazine connections.”
A tap on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie. It was Penelope with an eyebrow raised at the subtle smile that graced his face while he replayed the moment in his head.
“Okay,” Morgan drawled. “What’s got you smiling, Pretty boy?”
“Nothing,” he squeaked out, turning to see Hotch make his way across the office. Spencer hurriedly collected his things and started to move even before their unit chief could call their attention.
“We have a case,” Hotch announced.
The remaining BAU members all looked at each other, silently communicating about Reid’s irregular demeanor, before piling into the conference room for another grueling scene of murder.
“He’s been acting weird,” Garcia rushed out. “Definitely hiding something. What do you think, Em?”
Emily nodded. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“A girl?” JJ guessed.
“Yes, must be a special one for him to keep secret for so long,” Garcia surmised. “Do you think he’ll hate it if I go further digging around to find out who she is?”
“Further?” Emily clarified.
JJ laughed. “Probably, let’s wait for him to volunteer the information. Okay, Garcia?”
She sighed, shoulders drooping, before nodding in agreement.
***
The third clue was quite literally handed to Penelope Garcia on the jet after a case when she accompanied the team.
“Cold Alaska is so not good for my skin,” she grumbled as she rummaged her bottomless bag for her favorite hand cream. “I love going with you all on trips rather than being stuck in my own tech cave but the weather wasn’t it.”
Morgan chuckled. “Aw c’mon baby girl, don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy our time together?”
“You, my sculpted hunk, and the fireplace were the highlight,” Penelope turned to the other female profilers. “My beauties, do any of you have lotion? I think I lost mine.”
Before JJ or Emily could even utter a word, a tube made its way to her lap courtesy of her seat mate, Dr. Spencer Reid.
“Reid, since when do you carry lotion?” Emily inquired.
He shrugged. “Hand cream has it’s benefits besides from moisturizing the skin, it also provides an additional layer of protection. Depending on it’s properties, it can also repair and undo damage.”
The females all shared a look. This was another unexplainable behavior from their resident genius.
“We know that,” JJ stated. “We just thought you didn’t.”
His brows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, besides from the fact that you’ve never shown interest about skincare before, isn’t it a stereotype for men not to know? Unless—” Emily slyly smiled and nodded at Garcia to continue.
“Unless you have a girlfriend that we don’t know about,” Garcia bounced on her seat.
Hook, line, and sinker.
Spencer’s eyes widened in alarm. He didn’t realize he was walking into a trap before it was too late. “What makes you say that?”
They laughed.
JJ started. “Besides from you suddenly being knowledgeable in fashion—“
“—or having a pricey sweater you’d never buy for yourself—” Emily added on.
“Or, or—“ Garcia reached out to touch his hand. Which made Spencer react with a high pitched call of her name. “—having a shea butter lotion with rough hands!” She waved the tube up in the air. “Plus, this is half empty. So either it’s not working which I doubt since this is a good brand or you keep this in your bag for a special someone to use!”
Derek chuckled. “Baby girl, you could be a profiler at this point.”
“Oh tell me something I don’t know,” she quipped back. “So Reid, want to tell us the truth?”
He sighed, finding no escape. “Yes, yes I have a girlfriend.”
The girls all shrieked with laughter and their own corresponding questions of who is she? How did you meet? How long has this been going on? What does she do for a living? Is she pretty? Oh I bet she is!
“Looks like that cat is out of the bag,” Rossi nonchalantly stated.
Four sets of eyes turned to look at one of the BAU founders. “Rossi, you knew about this and didn’t tell me?” Garcia gasped, a hand to her chest at the thought of betrayal.
He laughed. “I caught them on a dinner date once and our boy wonder over here—“ nodded in Reid’s direction. “—begged me not to out him yet, said he wanted to be the one to tell the team the news but that was like what, six months ago?”
“Six months ago?” Emily repeated.
“Wait, wait. Hotch, don’t tell me you also knew?” Morgan asked.
The unit chief smiled. “She was added to Reid’s emergency contact last February.”
“February? That’s almost a year ago!” JJ sputtered out.
The tech analyst turned to glare at the youngest member of the BAU. “Reid, you better start spilling all the details or so help me, I will stalk all your digital footprint when we land until I find out who she is, where she lives, and what her deepest darkest secret is.”
“What about hearing it all from her, instead?” He rubbed the back of his neck. The secrecy had gone on for so long and there was no time like the present to introduce his chosen family to his chosen partner—hopefully until the end of time. “She wants to treat you all out for dinner tonight.”
All four nodded vigorously as they watched him pull out his phone and send a quick text to which you readily replied and agreed to.
“My man,” Derek sighed. “Can’t believe you got a girlfriend without me being your wingman.”
“Answer me at least this, is she pretty and does she make you happy?” Garcia asked. No matter how nosey she may be, she only wanted the best for Spencer and if the recent lightness and smiles were all caused by his mystery girlfriend, she already approved.
“The prettiest,” Spencer gushed out. “She’s my own personal sunshine.”
The three girls melted into their seats. Their youngest was all grown up waxing prose over his lover.
“She makes you sappy too,” Derek teased.
***
[EXTRA - When the mystery was uncovered]
Spencer had never felt any more nervous that this moment as he, with the rest of the team minus Hotch and Rossi, wait for your arrival. He sat with his back to the restaurant entrance and his cardigan laying on the empty seat beside him as a reservation mark. His eyes had been going back and forth to his idle phone and to the conversation the team was having.
Morgan noted his state of distress and chuckled. “You okay there, lover boy? She’s still coming right, your mystery girlfriend?”
“Yeah, yeah. She said she was on her way 9 minutes and 24 seconds ago and based on the route and traffic, she should have been here 45 seconds earlier. Just worried that something might have happened.”
Penelope leaned in, picking on her bubblegum pink choice of drink as she did. “You know, if you just told me her name I could have tracked every movement by now and you wouldn’t be sitting here worrying.”
“What—no Garcia, I don’t want her tracked plus she didn’t want you to know everything about her even before meeting her,” his voice going up an octave in your defense.
She shrugged. “I’m just saying. I mean we don’t know a single thing about her—”
“We do know she exists and you’ve been together for almost a year now,” Emily interjected.
“Actually, it’s been more than year—one year and 124 days to be exact.”
“Buttercup, all I’m saying is we don’t even know how she looks—” Garcia gasped, having spotted a passerby on the window and what she was wearing. “Oh my gosh, that maroon coat is to die for and that textured leather bag—I wonder if I could track her down and ask where she got it.”
“Oh she’s pretty,” JJ noted.
Derek smirked. “Baby girl, tell me if you plan to ask her ‘cause I wouldn’t mind asking for her number.”
The tech analyst’s eyes further widened as she noted the attractive woman going inside the restaurant.
“You weren’t kidding about that coat, Garcia, it looks really nice,” JJ appraised.
Emily squinted her eyes, taking note of the garment in question. “It looks high quality, probably vintage and—is she going near us?”
“Oh gods, she is! Act natural, act natural!” Penelope chanted as she repeatedly slapped Derek’s arm.
The stranger stopped behind Spencer. “Hey handsome,” your melodic voice was a siren that called to his every being. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Penelope’s jaw dropped as she took in Derek’s flustered reaction.
“Me?” He pointed at himself, getting picked up in such a public setting was new even for him—the ladies man of the BAU.
You laughed. “Well, you too but I was more of talking to this lover of mine—“ you bent down, kissing your boyfriend’s cheek. “Hey, Spence.”
A series of gasps were heard all around the table.
The youngest stood up and turned to give you a soft kiss on the lips. “Hey, Y/N. I was starting to get worried.”
“I missed the train, sorry I forgot to send an update,” you explained as he helped you into your seat.
Promptly seating back down, he angled his body to yours—all attention on you as if you were the only one in the room. And in a way you were, with how molten his doe eyes stared, alternating between yours and your painted lips that begged to be kissed.
He always felt breathless when you were near. It was as if he found his very own Aphrodite to worship here on earth. Spencer was no believer of fates or destiny but he would pray and light a candle if he needed to, just to keep you his. Your intelligent mind complimenting his, your outgoing personality that draws anyone in, and your face that could launch a thousand ships.
Those eyes that could read the deepest crevices of his fiber of being. Those cheeks that begged to be caressed by his calloused hands. Those soft lips that deserved to be kissed and devoured until you, in turn, were as breathless as he was. He suddenly wished you both were anywhere else but here—specifically in the confines of the apartment where he was free to express his love, devotion, and adoration until you scream his name and beg him to stop. His hand, having found it’s way to your thigh, squeezed the flesh three times—communicating his promise to have your hair laid around you like a halo as you lay under him, bare and writhing with need.
The blonde on the other end of the table cleared her throat, cutting through the tension.
“Okay, Spence,” she smiled. “Mind introducing us to your girlfriend?”
He brought your hand to his lips, leaving a series of sweet kisses on your knuckle. “This is Y/N, my girlfriend. Y/N, this is the rest of the team. Morgan—“ he gestured to each one. “Emily, JJ, and Garcia.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you!” You exclaimed. “So sorry we’re only meeting now. We wanted to stay in our little bubble for as long as we could plus this handsome FBI agent—” you nudged Spencer’s shoulder. “—wanted to keep me to himself. But where’s Aaron and Dave?”
Emily whispered under her breath. “Aaron? Dave?”
“They had prior commitments, love. They did send their regards and Rossi wants to invite you to the next gathering at his mansion,” Spencer explained.
“Love?” Penelope squeaked out. This was really starting to feel like Twilight zone for the team members.
You nodded. “I’ll definitely plot it on my calendar. Now, I heard you had some questions for me?”
“How’d you two meet?” JJ asked.
“When was the first date?” Emily inquired.
Penelope brought out a pen and paper. “What’s you social security number?”
Derek snorted at that. “Do you have any other siblings?”
Spencer’s eyebrows raised further and further up with each question while your shoulders shook with laughter.
“She has all the time in the world to get to know each of you,” Spencer laid out. “No need to make it sound like an interrogation.” He was wishing to keep you forever, if you’d let him.
You smiled as you caressed his cheek, having caught on to the veiled meaning behind his words. “Yeah?”
Tags: idol au, slow burn, texting, sexual tension, gym buddies, teasing, oral sex, unprotected sex, dom chan, forbidden sex
Word count: 6.2k
Summary: You met him at a private gym,all sweat and focus and carefully hidden glances. You knew who he was the second he stepped onto the mat, hoodie pulled low and jaw set, but you pretended not to. And that? That caught his attention. Now you’re spotting each other in more ways than one. A late-night stretch becomes a text thread at 1AM. A harmless “good set” turns into a “come over.” But there’s only so long you can keep pretending. And he’s only one kiss away from breaking every rule he swore to keep.
This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!
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The gym was nearly empty. The low thrum of ambient music played over the speakers, but it was faint, background noise to the sound of your own pulse as you caught him watching you again.
Bang Chan.
You’d pretended not to notice him the first time when he walked in, hoodie up, face low, but that unmistakable energy radiating off him in waves. You’d been watching from the corner of your eye ever since. Not obsessively. Not obviously. Just… curious. Cautious.
He was always here before you. Always working out in silence. Always keeping to himself. But his eyes always found you.
And you, like a stubborn little masochist, made damn sure not to give him the satisfaction of catching you looking back.
Until now.
You reached for your water bottle at the same time he did, both of you ending up at the tiny hydration station tucked in the far corner. No one else around. Just the two of you and the electric buzz of something unspoken stretching between your bodies.
You glanced up. He was already staring. He didn’t look away.
“Hey,” he said, voice rough from exertion. Or nerves. Or both.
Your heart spiked.
You swallowed, playing it cool. “Hey.”
There was a second of silence. Not awkward. Heavy. Like he was choosing his next move with care.
“I’ve seen you around here,” he said.
You shrugged, like it was no big deal. “Yeah. Same.”
A flicker of something lit behind his eyes. Interest. Surprise. Maybe even relief.
“You never came to say hi.”
You smiled, just a little. “Didn’t think you wanted me to.”
He blinked. “What makes you say that?”
You looked up at him, dead in the eye. “You keep to yourself. Seemed like you liked it that way.”
He let out a quiet laugh, short and breathy. Scratched the back of his neck, and for a second—just a second—he looked disarmed.
“Guess I’m just used to people treating me like I’m not a person,” he said.
You tilted your head. “I treat everyone like a person.”
“Even when you know who they are?”
You didn’t answer. Just smirked and took a sip of your water.
He leaned in, not enough to cross a line, but close enough to feel it blur.
“Well,” he said softly, “I think I’d like to know who you are.”
Your breath caught. But you didn’t flinch. Didn’t run. Just held his gaze and let the tension coil tighter.
“Maybe you will,” you said.
And then you turned and walked away, leaving him watching, smiling, and probably cursing himself for not saying more.
But he would. Tomorrow. Or the next day. Because now, you’d opened the door and neither of you were going to be able to pretend anymore.
You felt his eyes on your back the whole walk back to your mat.
It was different now.
Before, it was cautious curiosity. Polite distance. Now, it was… hungry. Not in the vulgar way. In the interested way. Like he’d finally seen something behind your silence that made him want to look again. And again.
You shouldn’t have turned around. You should’ve kept stretching, pretending nothing happened. But you glanced anyway.
And of course, there he was. Mid curl, arms flexed, shirt sticking to his chest. But his eyes weren’t on the mirror. They were on you.
You blinked and looked away, letting a smirk slip before biting it back.
So he was gonna play this game now? Cool. You’d play better.
The next few days blurred into a pattern, one that neither of you had to speak aloud. You showed up. He showed up. He’d work out near where you were, casually adjusting his routine to match yours. You’d stretch a little slower, take water breaks a little longer. Nothing over the line, but everything under the surface.
Until the day he showed up late.
You were midway through deadlifts when the door buzzed and he strolled in, damp hair pushed back, tank top clinging in all the right places. You caught him in the mirror. He was already looking for you.
You didn’t wave, but you smiled.
And when he walked past you, towel slung low around his neck, he didn’t say anything. Just leaned in enough for his arm to brush against yours and muttered “Need a spot?”
Your breath caught.
He didn’t wait for an answer. Just took position behind you as if he’d always been there.
You bent again. Slower this time. More aware of his presence behind you.
His voice came low, warm against your ear. “Straighten your back just a bit more. Like this.”
His hand grazed your lower back—light, barely there, but enough to make your breath hitch.
You glanced up at the mirror. His eyes were on you. Not your form. You.
“You always this helpful to strangers?” you asked, keeping your tone teasing.
He chuckled. “Only the ones who don’t treat me like a celebrity.”
You stood upright, turning just enough to face him. The look you gave was challenging. Flirty and Dangerous.
“Good thing I’m not just any fan, then.”
He grinned, slow and sinful. “No, you’re definitely not.”
—
It was a Tuesday, raining and unusually quiet at the gym. The kind of day that blurred your focus and made your limbs ache faster than usual. You almost didn’t come. But the thought of possibly seeing him again had dragged you out the door.
Chan was already there. Hoodie on, headphones in. But the moment he saw you enter, he pulled one earbud out, the corner of his mouth tugging up like he’d been waiting.
“Hey,” he said as you approached your usual machine. “Didn’t think I’d see you today.”
You gave him a teasing look. “Why? Missed me already?”
He chuckled, head dropping just a little as if you’d caught him off guard. “Wouldn’t say no to that.”
You blinked. Okay. That one hit.
The tension from last time hadn’t fizzled. It just simmered under the surface, flaring back to life every time you locked eyes, every time he stood just a little too close, every time he chose to stay in your orbit when he had every reason not to.
After the workout, you were wiping sweat from your forehead when he spoke again, his voice low and casual, but with purpose.
“You do smoothies?”
You looked up from your water bottle. “Like… protein ones?”
He nodded once. “There’s a spot nearby. It’s quiet. Nobody’s ever there this time of day.”
You knew exactly what he meant. He couldn’t be spotted, not with someone. Not like this. It wasn’t just about privacy. It was about reputation. Rumors. Photos. One wrong move and the internet would combust.
Still, you smiled. “You ask all the regular gym girls out for secret smoothies?”
His grin was slow, almost bashful. “Nah. Just the ones who pretend not to know who I am.”
You tilted your head, considering. “I could say no.”
“You won’t.”
You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks were already warming. He wasn’t cocky, just sure of what he wanted. You.
And honestly? You were curious to see what Chan looked like outside the walls of this gym. Away from the dumbbells and discreet tension. In a quiet smoothie shop, somewhere only the two of you would exist, if just for a moment.
“Lead the way,” you said.
And the smile he gave in return? Downright dangerous.
The smoothie shop was tucked between a laundromat and a closed-down nail salon, nondescript enough to be forgettable. Chan pulled his hood further down as the door chimed behind you, his eyes scanning the room like second nature.
Only one older man sat in the corner, glued to his phone. No one else.
Perfect.
Chan slid into the farthest booth, motioning for you to sit across from him, his gaze never straying far from the entrance. You could see it—how second-nature this was for him. Always looking. Always calculating. Always cautious.
“You sure this place isn’t crawling with fans?” you teased, unzipping your jacket as you settled in.
He leaned back with a half-smile. “I’ve been coming here for three years. If it’s crawling with anything, it’s dust.”
You laughed softly, picking up the menu. Not that you needed it, your brain was too busy buzzing. The tension was different now. Before, it was sweaty gym air and loaded glances. Now it was… intimate. Close. Real.
You both ordered. Silence stretched while you waited, not awkward but simmering.
You rested your chin on your hand. “So… do you do this often? Drag strangers into smoothie shops under the cover of night?”
He raised an eyebrow, fingers tapping lightly on the table. “I told you. You’re not a stranger.”
“Still pretending I don’t know you, remember?” you smirked.
“That’s the part I like,” he said, voice low. “You look at me like I’m just a guy. Not… him.”
Your pulse stuttered.
“Should I stop?” you asked.
“No,” he said quickly. “Don’t.”
His stare lingered a second longer before he cleared his throat and looked away.
The smoothies arrived.
He sipped his, then pointed at yours with a teasing smirk. “That’s a weird combo. You sure you can handle that?”
You sipped it slowly, eyes locked with his. “I can handle a lot.”
His lips parted, but no words came out. Just that quiet breath he took through his nose, sharp and deliberate, like he was grounding himself.
“Right,” he said eventually, chuckling. “Noted.”
Minutes passed. The air between you grew thick again, denser than before. Each brush of his foot under the table felt intentional. His eyes? Wandering, lingering.
“You ever wish,” you said slowly, “that you could just be normal? Sit across from someone and not worry about who might be watching?”
His jaw tensed, eyes dropping to his smoothie. “Every day.”
You reached across the table, your fingers grazing his, barely there, but enough to make him look up sharply.
“No one’s watching right now,” you whispered.
And in that second, Chan looked at you like he was seconds from doing something reckless.
Like kissing you. Right there. In the dim back booth of a dusty smoothie shop where the real world couldn’t reach him.
Instead he slid out his phone from his pocket and pushed it towards you. “Put your number in there”
“Say please?” You teased, a famous line of his.
Chan chuckled, his dimples flashing as he threw his head back. “Pretty please?”
—
[9:13 PM] Unknown Number:
hey. smoothie girl.
[9:13 PM] You:
you stalking me now?
[9:14 PM] Unknown Number:
nah. just wondering if you survived that weird drink you ordered.
[9:14 PM] You:
barely. pretty sure it melted my insides.
[9:14 PM] Unknown Number:
tough. you looked cute pretending you liked it tho.
[9:15 PM] You:
…you calling me cute?
[9:15 PM] Unknown Number:
i mean. i am a fan of honesty.
—
It had been three days since the smoothie shop, three days since the last time you went to the gym and saw him, but he hadn’t stopped texting you. Rather he texted at odd and quiet hours, like your messages were an escape.
You were just about to start a drama marathon when his text came in late that night.
[1:02 AM] Bang Chan:
you up?
[1:03 AM] You:
maybe.
[1:03 AM] Bang Chan:
wanna come over? dorm’s quiet. just me and a movie.
[1:03 AM] You:
thought idols weren’t supposed to invite strangers over.
[1:04 AM] Bang Chan:
you stopped being a stranger the second you gave me your number.
—
His dorm was quiet. After finding your way over there from the location pin he sent you, you stood outside the door nervously. You knew the moment you knocked that it was really happening.
Before you could actually rap your knuckles on the door, it swung open like he was already waiting for you, or like he watched you come up on his ring camera.
You stepped inside, trying to act like your heart wasn’t jackhammering inside your chest. Chan closed the door behind you with a soft click, and just like that, you were alone. With him. In his space.
He padded past you, hoodie slung low, sweatpants hanging way too comfortably off his hips. “Make yourself at home,” he said, voice casual, like he hadn’t just invited you into the forbidden zone of every STAY’s wildest dream.
You sat on the edge of the couch, gripping your knees. “This place is nicer than I expected.”
“You thought we lived in a shoebox?” he laughed, flopping down next to you with an easy sprawl—too close, legs slightly parted, arm brushing yours.
“No,” you said, gaze flickering to the TV. “Just… smaller.”
He tossed you a sly grin. “You nervous?”
You scoffed. “Why would I be?”
“Dunno,” he shrugged, leaning in just enough to make your breath stutter. “You keep looking everywhere but me.”
Oh, shit.
You forced a laugh, tugging your sleeves down over your palms. “It’s called having manners.”
“It’s cute,” he said, voice lower now. “You trying so hard not to look.”
You did look then—just a glance—and regretted it instantly. His hair was messy, lips pink, thighs spread like sin itself. There was something unguarded about him here. No stage lights. No pressure.
Just him. And it was dangerous.
“So,” he said, picking up the remote. “Wanna watch something?”
“Sure.”
He scrolled absently, not even watching the screen. “You always this composed?”
You raised a brow. “You think I’m composed?”
“I think you’re trying,” he murmured.
The remote clicked. The movie started. But you couldn’t focus. Not when he slouched lower, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. Not when his knee bumped yours every few seconds, like he was testing your reaction.
You exhaled, slow and shaky.
Don’t stare. Don’t gawk at the man. He’s just a guy. Just a friend. Just—
He reached up to ruffle his hair, exposing the line of his stomach for half a second.
—You’re screwed.
You didn’t even notice how close he’d gotten until the back of his hand brushed your thigh reaching for the popcorn bowl.
You froze. So did he.
“…Sorry,” he mumbled, but made no effort to move away. If anything, his hand lingered a second too long before he grabbed the bowl and placed it between you like a flimsy barrier.
You could smell him now. Clean. Warm. A hint of cologne that made your stomach twist into a knot.
Focus on the movie. Focus on the movie.
You shifted, crossing your legs, but even that sent a new wave of awareness rippling through you. The way his eyes flicked to the movement didn’t help.
“You’re quiet,” he said softly, voice a little raspy like it always got late at night.
“I’m watching the movie,” you replied, even though you couldn’t remember a single thing about the plot.
He smirked, head falling against the couch cushion as he turned toward you. “Are you sure you’re not just overthinking because you’re sitting on my couch in the middle of the night?”
“I’m not—” you started, but your voice cracked, completely betraying you.
His smile widened.
God, you hated how sexy that was.
You tried to look away, but then his hand came up—slowly , carefully—and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. It was soft and intentional.
You held your breath.
And then he let it linger, fingertips grazing the curve of your cheek for just a beat too long. It felt like a dare.
“Your hair keeps falling into your eyes,” he murmured.
“Thanks,” you whispered, but it came out too quiet. Too needy.
He leaned back like nothing had happened, but there was something different in the way he looked at you now. Like he knew. Like he felt it too.
And then… his arm stretched along the back of the couch. His fingers didn’t touch you. Not yet. But they hovered close enough to set every nerve in your shoulder on fire.
The silence pulsed. Your head tilted back, brushing against his arm just barely and neither of you moved.
Then his voice, lower this time: “You’re warm.”
You didn’t trust yourself to answer.
The movie played on, forgotten. You stayed like that, hearts ticking louder than the sound system, breathing the same air, tension pulling tighter and tighter like a string ready to snap.
And when your eyes fluttered shut for a second—just a second—his thumb ghosted over your shoulder in the lightest, most dangerous stroke you’d ever felt.
Your eyelids felt heavy, your thoughts foggy and not from sleep.
Chan hadn’t moved his arm from behind you. If anything, it had dipped lower. His fingers were now resting on the top of your shoulder. Barely there. But present. Warm and real.
You shifted again, trying to adjust the way you were sitting because your whole body felt too aware. And the moment you moved, your leg brushed his again, longer this time. You gasped.
He didn’t flinch. Instead, he slowly turned his head toward you, his cheek now just inches away. “Comfortable?” he asked, voice a few octaves deeper than it had any right to be.
“I—yeah. Totally,” you lied, voice cracking like you were thirteen again.
He gave a slow, amused smile.
And then—you watched him stretch. Like really stretch.
His arms went above his head, shirt riding up just enough to expose a teasing sliver of toned skin, and dear God, did he know what he was doing? Because the exhale he let out? That low, satisfied grunt? That was not fair.
You turned your face away like a coward, cheeks burning, fists clenched in your lap to keep from doing something incredibly unwise like crawling into his lap.
“I should go,” you blurted suddenly, standing up way too fast.
You were halfway to the door when his voice stopped you.
“Wait.” It was gentle. But firm.
You turned halfway, heart pounding, eyes wide.
He stood up too, slower, calm—like a lion circling prey. His hoodie slipped slightly off one shoulder and his hair flopped into his face. When he looked at you, it wasn’t the usual soft Chan you’d come to know.
This was the man who commanded stages. The one who could tear you apart with a look.
He stepped closer. One pace. Two. You didn’t breathe.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he said, and his voice had dropped to a murmur again. “If I did… just tell me.”
You blinked, throat dry. “No, it’s not— it’s me.”
He tilted his head. “You?”
“I’m… trying really hard not to make a fool of myself right now.”
That made him smile—slow, lopsided, dangerous. “Because of me?”
You wanted to crawl into the floor. “Don’t look so smug about it.”
He chuckled, gaze dragging slowly over your face. “I’m not smug. I’m just—” he stepped even closer now, voice a whisper— “surprised.”
“Surprised?”
“That you’re the one fumbling,” he said. “Because I’ve been fighting the urge to kiss you for three nights now.”
Time stopped.
You blinked. Your brain stuttered. “What—”
“But I won’t,” he added quickly, stepping back, saving you from yourself. “Not unless you ask.”
And just like that, he left you dangling on the edge of madness.
—
You avoided his texts for almost a day. Not because you didn’t want to answer. But because you couldn’t look at his name on your screen without reliving that moment—his voice, the way he stood too close, the quiet confession.
And when you finally did respond, it wasn’t with words. Just a single emoji.
The knife. 🔪
He sent a skull back. Then followed it with:
“You alive?”
You typed and deleted at least three different replies before finally settling on:
“Barely.”
A beat later, his response popped up.
“Come over.”
Your fingers hesitated over your screen.
“Why?”
This time, he left you waiting. And when the reply finally came through, your pulse jackknifed.
“Because I’m done pretending I don’t want you.”
—
The apartment—because it would be delusional to call such a place a dorm— was quiet when you arrived. A little too quiet.
No music. No signs of life. Just the soft hum of the hallway light and your own heartbeat thudding like a warning drum.
And there he was. In a sleeveless black tee, damp hair pushed back like he’d just come from the shower. His jaw looked sharper than your willpower, and the glint in his eyes—God, that glint—told you everything you needed to know.
He stepped aside, letting you in without a word. You passed him, trying to act unaffected. Failing.
The second the door shut behind you, the energy shifted.
You turned to face him, trying to speak, trying to breathe, but Chan tilted his head and slowly closed the distance between you.
“You really came,” he murmured, voice low and tight, like he was hanging on by a thread.
You gave a breathless nod. “You asked me to.”
He just smirked.
The air crackled between you two. You opened your mouth to speak, but he was already stepping closer, so close your back met the wall before you even realized you were backing up. His arms caged you in, palms pressing to the wall on either side of your head, and you could feel the heat of him everywhere.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he whispered, leaning in until his mouth brushed your jaw—so lightly it made your knees shake. “How hard it is… not to touch you.”
Your hands twitched at your sides.
“I’m right here,” you whispered back. “Why aren’t you touching me.”
He paused, just long enough to make you ache, then exhaled a soft laugh, something dark and amused.
“Be careful what you ask for, baby,” he murmured, one hand slipping to your waist, gripping it. “Because once I start…”
His lips finally found your neck “…I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”
His mouth trailed down your neck, hot and slow, and you could feel his breath when he paused—hovering right over your pulse point like he was deciding whether to bite or bless you.
You bit your lip. Let him hover a second too long. Then tilted your head back and let out a soft, calculated sigh.
He froze.
Chan pulled back slightly, eyes narrowing as they met yours—suspicious, like he sensed the shift in energy. And you? You smiled.
“What’s wrong?” you asked, your voice like sin wrapped in silk. “Don’t tell me you’re nervous.”
A dangerous chuckle rumbled in his chest.
“Nervous?” he echoed, one brow arching, licking his bottom lip like he was trying not to laugh. “Oh, baby girl…”
You trailed a single manicured finger down his chest, slow enough to give him goosebumps.
“Because I think…” you whispered, rising onto your toes so your lips brushed his ear, “you like when I pretend I don’t want you.”
He sucked in a breath. His grip on your waist tightened, a warning.
You pulled back with a coy little smirk and turned your back to him—turned your back to Bang Chan, who had you pressed to a wall seconds ago—like you hadn’t just dared a lion to pounce.
You took a seat on his couch like you owned it. Crossed your legs slow enough to make him twitch.
“Come on then,” you said, eyes dancing. “Show me what happens when you stop pretending.”
The silence was sharp.
Then he moved. Fast.
You barely had time to blink before he was in front of you again, one knee on the couch, the other wedged between your thighs, and that smirk?
Gone. Replaced with a look that could ruin lives. His fingers tilted your chin up.
“You really wanna play this game with me?” he murmured.
Your pulse stuttered. But you smiled anyway. “Only if I win.”
That did it. Chan leaned in, lips brushing yours but not quite kissing—not yet. Just enough to drive you insane.
“Oh, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough with restraint. “You have no idea what you just started.”
You should’ve backed down. You knew that. But something about the way Chan looked at you, like you were a secret snack he wasn’t allowed to want, made you reckless.
His lips hovered so close, barely a breath separating them from yours, and you could taste the heat between you. But still, he didn’t kiss you. Didn’t even blink.
“You’re enjoying this,” he said quietly, eyes flickering between your lips and your gaze.
You shrugged, feigning innocence. “You’re the one getting all worked up.”
His jaw flexed. Without warning, his hand slid down to your thigh, palm flat and firm. His fingers curled just enough to remind you how large his hands were, how easily he could pull you apart.
But he didn’t. Not yet.
“You think I’m worked up?” he asked, tone deceptively calm. “You’re the one squirming.”
You scoffed, shifting slightly. “Please. I’m relaxed.”
“Oh yeah?” His hand tightened just slightly, a subtle press at the inside of your thigh that made your breath hitch. “Then why can’t you sit still?”
Your skin ignited where he touched, but you refused to let it show.
Instead, you leaned forward until your lips were at his ear, your hand trailing up the side of his neck, nails dragging just enough to make his breath catch.
“You’re the one who invited me here, Chan,” you whispered. “If I’m squirming, it’s because you want me that way.”
His expression dropped, something dark and delicious flickering through his eyes like a lit match. His hand moved again, bolder this time, gripping your thigh with intent, with purpose.
“Careful,” he murmured, lips brushing yours with unbearable restraint. “Keep teasing me like that, and I’ll stop holding back.”
You swallowed hard. But you didn’t move away. “You promise?”
There was a split second where you could feel him decide. Then his hand disappeared from your thigh. And he stood up, walked to the kitchen like nothing had happened, leaving you blinking, breathless and aching.
“You want something to drink?” he called over his shoulder.
You stared after him, absolutely dumbfounded. “…Excuse me?”
He glanced back with a smirk. “Just giving you a chance to cool off.”
The audacity
You blinked. Once. Twice. Still not entirely sure that man just left you aching and needy on his couch to ask if you wanted juice.
That smug bastard.
You pushed yourself up, heart pounding. The audacity. The teasing. The restraint. You were still pulsing between your legs and he was over there, casually opening the fridge like he hadn’t just threatened to ruin you with nothing but his voice and his hand on your thigh.
Oh, hell no.
You padded toward the kitchen, slow, purposeful. He didn’t look back, pouring water like he hadn’t just driven you to the brink of madness.
“Are you serious right now?” you asked, voice low.
He turned, one brow raised. “About the drink? Dead serious. You looked thirsty.”
You scoffed, stepping closer, gaze narrowing. “You’re not nearly as smooth as you think you are.”
That smirk he gave you?
Illegal.
“I’m smooth enough to have you chasing after me.”
Your breath caught, and that’s when you snapped. You grabbed his shirt, fisted the fabric right at his chest, and shoved him back until his hips hit the counter.
“I’m not chasing,” you whispered, your face inches from his. “I’m hunting.”
He exhaled sharply, and for a second, you thought he might let you have control.
But then—whiplash. His hands were on your waist, spinning you in one swift motion, and your back slammed gently into the fridge. Cold metal. Hot body. And Chan, right in your space, one hand planted beside your head, the other gripping your chin.
“You really think you can play this game with me?” he growled.
You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. “I know I can.”
He laughed—low, dark, spine-tingling.
“You don’t even know what I am yet,” he muttered, his hand sliding down, fingers grazing your pulse. “You think I’m some soft boy because I smiled at you in the gym?”
He leaned in closer, nose brushing yours.
“I’m the reason people lose their minds. I’m the reason girls forget their own names. And if you keep testing me…” his hand drifted lower, ghosting over your stomach, “you’ll find out exactly what it feels like to beg for mercy with my name choking in your throat.”
Your knees nearly gave out.
“Then show me,” you breathed, eyes burning into his.
He stared for a second, eyes wild, chest rising.
Then—He didn’t kiss you. He pulled back. Turned. And walked away again.
But this time? His voice came like thunder over his shoulder.
“Next time you come over…” he said, heading toward the hallway, “don’t plan on walking out.”
You stared at his retreating back like he’d just punched you in the chest. Your lungs refused to cooperate, your thighs clenched tight, and your heart was galloping like it was trying to outrun your shame.
He left you again. Again. With a promise this time, and a voice like sin dragging nails down your spine.
“Next time you come over…”
—
You couldn’t sleep that night. Not a damn second.
And maybe that’s why, two nights later, you were standing in front of his dorm door with trembling fingers and no excuse for why you were there. You didn’t text. Didn’t call. You just… showed up.
The door opened before you could knock. Like he’d sensed you.
Chan stood there, shirt loose, hair a little messy, lips parted like he hadn’t expected you, but also like he absolutely did.
No words.
He just stepped aside and you stepped in. The click of the door locking behind you felt louder than it should’ve.
“Couldn’t sleep either, huh?” he said, voice already dipping into that octave that made your blood fizz.
You turned, mouth parted to say something, anything… But he was already in front of you. Not touching but just staring.
“I tried to be good,” he murmured.
You swallowed.
“Chan—”
“I tried,” he repeated, stepping in, forcing your back up against the nearest wall. “Tried to think with my brain and not my dick. But you keep showing up like this…”
His fingers found your waist. Slid under your top like they belonged there. His lips hovered at your jaw.
“…like you want to be ruined.”
You gasped—soft, shaky—as his thigh slid between yours.
“Do you?” he whispered. “Want me to ruin you?”
“Yes,” you breathed, too fast. “Yes, Chan—please.”
That was all it took.
He kissed you like you were oxygen and he’d been drowning. His mouth devoured yours, his tongue slid deep and fast, and his grip on your waist turned possessive. You whimpered, arms thrown around his neck as he hoisted you up, pinning your thighs around his hips.
“You don’t know what you’ve just started,” he groaned, walking you backward through the hallway.
“You said not to come over unless I was ready,” you managed between kisses. “I’m ready.”
His laugh was dark and breathless.
“Oh, baby.” He dropped you onto his bed like you weighed nothing, his shirt already halfway off. “I’m about to show you what ready looks like
The moment your back hit the mattress, you knew you were fucked.
Literally. Figuratively. Emotionally. Physically. Spiritually. Every kind of -ly there is.
Chan stood at the edge of the bed, shirt gone, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, eyes dragging over your body like he already knew what you tasted like.
“You don’t get to act shy now,” he said, voice dark silk. “Not after coming here all hot and bothered, begging me with your eyes like some kind of desperate little thing.”
Your thighs clenched.
He noticed. Of course he noticed. He crawled over you slow, caging you in like a predator, mouth grazing the shell of your ear.
“You’re dripping already, aren’t you?”
You whimpered, actually whimpered, and his chuckle made your whole body thrum.
His hand slipped beneath your waistband, fingers teasing, brushing the damp fabric between your legs.
“Fucking soaked,” he groaned, pressing harder. “You came here like this? Wet for me?”
Your head tipped back as his fingers slid past the barrier, stroking straight down your slit like he had every right to be there. Like your body owed him.
“Look at you,” he whispered. “All worked up from a few little texts. A smirk in the gym. Me telling you not to touch me.”
His fingers dipped in, just barely.
“That what gets you off, baby? The chase?”
You grabbed his wrist, thighs trembling. “I want more.”
Chan’s gaze snapped to yours, and suddenly he wasn’t teasing.
He spinned.
Hand wrapped around your throat, not tight but just firm, grounding. He leaned in until his forehead rested against yours.
“You want more?” he asked, thumb grazing your bottom lip.
You nodded, breath shallow. “All of you.”
And that was it. The dam broke.
Clothes flew, yours first, then the rest of his. His mouth was everywhere. Your neck, your breasts, down your stomach, between your legs. You sobbed when he licked you for the first time—slow, devastating—and again when he sucked your clit like he planned to stay there all night.
But he didn’t. He came back up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes blown wide with hunger.
“You’re gonna take me so well,” he muttered, lining up. “I know you are.”
And when he finally pushed in? You cried.
Stretched open, filled to the brim, held down by the weight of him and the raw want in his every movement. He didn’t go slow. Not at all.
He set a pace that had you gasping, clutching at his sheets and nearly breaking a nail. Thrusts deep and precise, hips snapping hard enough to rattle the headboard.
“You feel that?” he growled in your ear. “That’s me. All of me. Every inch. Giving you what you came here for.”
You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even think. You could only feel your body trembling beneath his, his name falling from your lips over and over and over.
“Say it,” he demanded, hand tangled in your hair. “Say who’s fucking you.”
“You, Chan—fuck, you—!”
“Louder.”
“Bang Chan!”
His lips crashed into yours, swallowing your cries as your orgasm slammed through you. You clenched around him so tight he groaned against your mouth, following you seconds later, hips stuttering, heat spilling inside you like a goddamn promise.
You laid there after, wrecked and panting, eyes fluttering shut.
Chan didn’t speak. He just curled an arm around your waist, pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, and held you all through the night, like you belonged in his arms.
—
The sun crept in slow, warm and golden, draping across bare limbs tangled in navy sheets. You stirred against the pillow, the soreness between your thighs making you wince, but not in a bad way. No. In the kind of way that made your lips curl faintly, cheeks heat at the memory of last night.
Chan lay beside you, one arm slung lazily across your waist, his face soft and unguarded in sleep. Hair tousled. Lashes brushing his cheekbones. Breath low and steady.
And then, like he felt your gaze, his eyes blinked open—still heavy with sleep but sharp enough to pin you the second they met yours.
“You’re still here,” he murmured, voice all husky and cracked from sleep.
You smiled. “Didn’t think you’d kick me out.”
Chan let out a quiet breath, half a laugh, half something darker. “I’d never kick you out,” he said. “If anything, I—”
His words broke off when he shifted, thigh brushing against yours under the sheets, and froze.
You watched him smirk slowly, eyes dipping to where your bodies touched.
“You’re wet.”
Your breath caught. “Chan—”
“You woke up like this?” he asked, voice dipping impossibly lower as he leaned in, brushing his lips against your shoulder. “Still soaked from last night?”
Your stomach flipped. His hand moved down, skimming your side, ghosting over your hip, until his fingers slid between your legs without hesitation, finding the truth of it.
You gasped.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “You are.”
Your thighs parted instinctively as his fingers moved, slow and purposeful.
“Need me again already?” he asked, teasing, but there was a hungry edge to it. “Didn’t get enough, baby?”
You whimpered, hips rolling into his touch.
Chan kissed your neck, your jaw, your lips, each one messier than the last, until he was back on top of you, settling between your legs like he owned the space there.
And then he lined up, feeling even harder than last night, and he pushed in. No warning. Just slick, hot stretch and that perfect pressure that punched the air from your lungs.
“Still so tight,” he groaned. “So fucking good.”
Your fingers clawed at his back. “Please—”
“Shh,” he breathed, forehead pressing to yours. “I got you. Just take it.”
His thrusts were slower this time, deeper, harder, more intentional. He kissed you like you were air, touched you like you were made for him.
And when you shattered beneath him again, loud and messy and too much. He held you close and spilled inside you with a low, guttural moan. It took a minute for the world to stop spinning.
When it did, he didn’t pull away. He stayed there, warm and weighty and buried inside you, as he brushed your hair out of your face and stared at you like you’d just rewritten everything he thought he knew about desire.
Then, he said it. The words that changed the rhythm of your pulse entirely.
“You’re mine now.”
You blinked.
“I mean it,” he whispered, thumb stroking your cheek. “Not just for last night. Or this morning. Or the next time I get you all worked up.”
You swallowed hard.
“I’m not gonna share you,” he said, voice steady, soft but serious. “So if you’re here… you’re mine.”
You stared up at him, still breathless and still trembling, and you nodded. Because there was no going back now, you didn’t even want to.
You were his.
And you fucking loved it.
Authors note: Hey guys! Sorry its been a little slow, I’ve been really busy working on other stuff, but i was clearing out my notes and found this fic that i didn’t get to upload from months back, touched it up a bit and voila!!! I hope you enjoy it!!
enjin claims he’s no loverboy, but you know the truth.
the smell of cinnamon tinted on his skin. the long ring of smoke exited through his peach colored lips. his hair weaved from gold, long strings of amber always threading through your fingers. the taste of honey whisky on his tongue, the flavor always making way to your lips somehow.
his fingers always interlaced with yours. his jacket always slung over your shoulders. his arms always hooked underneath your legs the moment the slightest sigh releases from your mouth when you walk. a stupid, teasing grin whenever he tries to kiss you.
you call him annoying. he says he knows.
yet somehow, you find yourself with his arm hung over your shoulders, carrying him out of the bar again.
“honestly, how many times do we have to tell you to not drink excessively the moment you finish a job.” you mutter, wrapping your free arm around his waist for support. he’s scarlet faced and cloudy-eyed, the smell of whisky tinting each breath.
“you’re so pretty…” he mumbles, completely ignoring your question. you roll your eyes, but you can’t help the hint of pink dusting your cheeks.
“answer my question.”
“maybe i do this on purpose. maybe i know that you’ll always end up volunteering to take me back to hq,” enjin slurs, a knowing smirk crawling onto his face.
you narrow your eyes. “i’m not going to anymore, now that you’ve decided to point it out. you’re welcome.”
“you wouldn’t dare.”
“i would.”
a pause. enjin glances away. finally, his sun colored eyes reach your once more. “we should get married.”
you stiffen, entire body freezing. your grip on enjin almost slips; “you’re not funny.” you assert. “just focus on going back to hq for now.”
“i’m serious!” he exclaims, sliding out of your grasp. he stands in front of you, arms stretched out like an idiot trying to explain something. “we’d be so perfect together and you’re so pretty n’ no one else ever comes get me when i’m drunk.” he elaborates.
you furrow your eyebrows before you sign, a small grin on your lips. he’s so drunk out of his mind that he won’t remember this tomorrow anyways. “alright, alright. we’ll get married or whatever.” you joke. his foggy eyes light up.
“seriously? dude, you’re amazing.” he reaches for your face, almost as if trying to kiss you.
you grip his hand before he can reach you. “as i said, back to hq.”
“huh…oh, yeah.” enjin murmurs. suddenly, his body goes slack, the whites of his eyes now a bit too obvious.
how in the world does he fall asleep in this situation?
you facepalm. of course, what did you expect? this is enjin, an already dumb guy, and he’s drunk. he’s just a few steps above a dunce now.
you reluctantly drag him back to hq, ignoring whistling and teasing comments from the older members and curious glances from the younger members.
———
“so, about last night…”
you knit your eyebrows together. “wow, shocking. you still remember. maybe your liquor tolerance is getting better.” your tone is dry. enjin grins.
“how could i forget?” he drawls in a singsong voice. “sooo, when’s the wedding?”
a few people are staring at you both. riyo sends you a smirk, as if saying “i already know”.
“never.” you shoot back. “just forget it. i was just joking.”
“uh-huh.”
you walk away, and when he’s out of sight, you drawl out a long sigh.
god, he’s never going to let you live this down.
meanwhile, enjin whistles as he skips to semiu with a beam like a schoolgirl in love. “hey, do you think they would look better with white flowers or yellow flowers?”
a/n: thank you for this new commission!!!! I'm so happy you like my fics so much aw (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) ‹𝟹 anyway, I hope your name isn’t mia…
words count: 8.6k
anime m.list || ao3 || ko-fi
The last bell rings, and your classroom empties fast. Students push past each other, laughing, complaining, running out. You pack slowly. You always take your time because you know what happens when you walk out late.
He’s there.
Same hallway. Same wall. Same posture… arms crossed, back straight, one foot against the wall.
Draken doesn’t look like he belongs in a school hallway. His uniform jacket is open, and he’s wearing sneakers the teachers hate. His tattoo stands out in the sun coming through the windows.
His eyes find you the moment you step out.
“There you are,” he says, relief slipping into his voice “Thought you got locked in again.”
“That happened ONE time!” you remind him.
He smirks “Yeah. And ever since then, I check.”
You walk toward him. He pushes off the wall and stands next to you like you’re leaving together, even though he wasn’t in class and has no reason to be here.
“Skipping again?” you ask.
“I wasn’t skipping,” he lies easily “I was… supervising Mikey.”
“You mean Mikey dragged you to the roof to nap?”
“…No comment.”
You laugh, and Draken’s eyes soften in that quiet way he tries to hide.
He walks with you toward the stairs. His steps match yours without him thinking about it.
“You good today?” he asks “Teacher said you looked pale during math.”
Your face heats “Why did the teacher tell YOU that?”
He shrugs “Because I was standing in the hallway and she knows I listen more than Mikey.”
You cover your mouth to hide a laugh “Wow. High praise.”
Draken’s lips curl “I guess.”
As you both walk down the stairs, he asks quietly, “Did someone bother you today?”
“No,” you say “Why?”
He doesn’t answer right away. His brows pull together, and he looks a little… irritated?
“Some first-years were talking,” he says finally “About you.”
Your stomach flips “Talking how?”
Draken looks straight ahead “Doesn’t matter. I told them to shut up.”
“Draken—”
“What?” He glances at you “They were annoying.”
You try not to smile “You didn’t scare them too much, right?”
“I didn’t touch them.” his voice softens “I just didn’t like how they talked about you.”
Your heart jumps.
You reach the shoe lockers. You kneel to change your shoes, and so does he, even though he didn’t wear school shoes today. He does it anyway, just to crouch next to you.
“You going straight home?” he asks.
“Probably. Why?” you try to sound normal and casual, not like your pulse is going crazy.
He picks at a loose thread on his glove “I was thinking… maybe I could walk you. If you want.”
You look at him. His face is turned away, but you can tell he’s nervous. Draken… nervous. It makes your chest warm.
“Well,” you say softly “If you want to.”
He scoffs “If you want to.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You’re the one making it complicated.”
You look at each other.
Then—
“DRAKEN! I BOUGHT PAN!” Mikey’s voice explodes across the hall as he runs full-speed toward you, mouth full of bread.
Draken groans “Oh my god—”
Mikey leaps onto Draken’s back, almost knocking him over.
“Eat this!” Mikey tries to shove a half-eaten piece of bread into Draken’s mouth.
You laugh, hiding your face as Mikey clings to Draken like a happy child.
Draken looks at you through Mikey’s arms, with an embarrassed, helpless smile he only ever shows you.
“Tomorrow?” he asks over the chaos.
Your smile is small but sure “Yeah. Tomorrow.”
The next day is long and boring. Classes feel heavier because you keep checking your phone. Draken usually waits for you after school.
Your phone buzzes right when the last bell rings.
Draken: I can’t make it today. Toman has a meeting.
Draken: Sorry.
You read the message twice. Your heart sinks a little.
You text back: Is it a dangerous meeting?
He replies fast.
Draken: No. Just talking. Nothing crazy, I promise.
Draken: Don’t worry.
You stare at the screen. You bite your lip.
He tells you not to worry… So, of course, you grab your bag, leave school, and walk straight to the Toman meeting place anyway.
You don’t tell him. It’s not really a surprise, but you also don’t warn him.
The meeting spot is an empty parking lot behind an old building. Motorcycles line the walls. Voices echo inside.
Before you go in, someone steps out.
“Mitsuya?” you call.
He blinks, surprised for a second, then smiles warmly “Oh? Y/N? Didn’t expect to see you here.”
You nod “Um… I came to see Draken. Do you know where he is?”
Mitsuya smirks, amused “Yeah. Come on.” He gestures with his hand in that calm, friendly way of his.
You walk beside him, and the two of you talk easily. Mitsuya is relaxed, chill as always. It feels normal.
But the second you enter the meeting area, the room goes quiet.
Draken sees you.
He stands in the middle of the group, arms crossed, listening to someone talk but the moment you walk in with Mitsuya, he freezes.
His eyes widen just a little. Then they soften. Then they panic, just a bit.
Mitsuya nudges Draken with his elbow and says loudly, “Here’s your boy.”
The whole group explodes.
“Oooooh—”
“Ken-chin, you didn’t tell us!”
“Draken’s girl came to pick him up!”
“Look at him, he’s blushing!”
“I AM NOT!” Draken snaps, ears turning pink anyway.
You cover your face with your hand “Oh my god…”
Draken groans, grabs your wrist gently, and pulls you toward the exit.
“Don’t listen to them,” he mutters under his breath “They’re idiots.”
“They’re funny” you say.
“They’re annoying” he corrects, but he’s smiling a little.
Outside, the air is cooler. Draken stops walking once you’re far enough from the noise.
He looks at you, confused and soft at the same time “Why are you here? I told you I couldn’t walk you today.”
You shrug “Well… you have to walk me home.”
He blinks “I literally just said—”
“But,” you interrupt, “if you’re busy… I brought you something to eat.”
You hold up a small bag of food you bought on the way. He stares at it. Then at you. Then back at the food.
“You… brought me lunch?”
“Yeah,” you say, suddenly shy “You keep missing meals.”
Draken looks down at the bag like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen.
Then he clears his throat and tries to act cool “Uh… thanks. You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to” you say quietly.
That gets him.
His expression changes, it softens in a way you rarely see.
He opens the bag, peeks inside, and his shoulders relax “Taiyaki? You remembered.”
“Of course I remembered.”
He takes a breath, then says, “The meeting’s done anyway. Mikey already ran home.”
“So… you’re free?” you ask.
Draken looks at you for a long moment with a warm, careful, happy look.
“Yeah,” he says “I’m free.”
You smile “Good. Walk me home, then.”
He steps beside you, close enough that your hands almost touch.
“Yeah,” he says again, voice lower this time “I’ll walk you.”
And he does. All the way.
Class ends. People rush out. You pack your things slowly, like always, expecting to see him leaning on the wall outside your classroom door.
But today… He’s not there.
No tall figure. No braid. No soft “There you are.”
Your stomach drops a little.
You pull out your phone to text him while walking down the stairs.
Are you coming?
You don’t send it yet. You reach the bottom of the stairs, turn the corner and you stop. Because he’s there.
Draken stands at the entrance of the building, talking to a girl you’ve never seen before. She’s pretty. She’s smiling up at him. And they’re standing… close.
Your steps freeze for a moment.
You stay where you are, pretending to check your phone, but really you’re watching them. You’re waiting for the conversation to end.
Draken doesn’t look uncomfortable. He doesn’t look happy either. Just stuck, listening politely.
Finally, the girl bows slightly and walks away.
The moment she steps aside, you move forward like nothing happened.
Draken sees you and straightens up “Hey—”
“Who was that?” you ask, eyes following the girl as she leaves the school grounds.
He raises an eyebrow “Jealous?”
You punch his shoulder lightly “Why would I—” you cut yourself off before you say too much “Why would I be jealous? I was just asking.”
“Sure.” he says, smirking.
You try to walk past him, but he quickly steps to your side and falls into pace with you like he always does.
“I was coming to you,” he says, voice calmer now “Then she stopped me.”
“What did she want?” you ask without looking at him.
He shrugs “Asked me if I’ll ever come back to class. So I guess she’s a classmate? Maybe she’s the class president, I don't know.”
You blink “…You don’t know your class president?”
“I don’t know anyone in class,” he mutters “I don’t go that much.”
Fair enough.
You keep walking, but Draken clears his throat loudly, like he wants to change the topic fast.
“So,” he says suddenly, “Mikey tried to steal a stray cat this morning.”
You give him a look “Draken, that has nothing to do with—”
“He tried to put it in his bag.” Draken continues.
You sigh “Did it scratch him?”
“Yeah. He deserved it.”
You roll your eyes, but inside, the tight feeling in your chest starts to fade. He’s walking close again. He’s talking like he always does. He’s Draken. Your Draken… even if he doesn’t know it.
Still, as you reach the school gate, you can’t help glancing one more time in the direction that girl walked.
Draken notices.
“…Don’t think about her.” he says quietly.
You look up at him.
He stares straight ahead, hands in his pockets, voice low “She doesn’t matter.”
Your heart skips a beat.
You don’t answer but you don’t need to.
He walks you home anyway.
The next day, you notice Draken isn’t waiting for you outside your classroom.
Instead… you spot him at the entrance, talking with the girl again. The same girl. Pretty, confident, laughing at something he says.
You swallow. Your chest tightens, but you do what you’ve done since yesterday.
You wait.
And after that day it becomes every day, the same routine. You wait for the girl to leave, then approach him. You never interrupt. You don’t say anything. You tell yourself it’s fine, he’s Draken, he’s free to talk to whoever he wants, but it still hurts.
Today is no different… until it is.
You notice the girl reaches out and lightly touches his arm. His head tilts slightly, caught off guard, but he doesn’t pull away.
Something inside you snaps.
You walk forward, steady, even though your stomach feels like it’s twisting.
“I’m here,” you say softly but loud enough for them to hear “Sorry I always make you wait for me.”
Draken freezes, looking at you with wide eyes “Huh…?”
The girl glances at you, confused, but you step closer to Draken, gently closing the space between you two.
You turn to her with a polite smile “I’m Y/N.”
She straightens, still smiling, and introduces herself “I’m… uh, Mia.”
You nod once “Are you his classmate?”
Mia hesitates, then nods “Yes… we’re in the same class.”
You tilt your head, curious “Are you the class president?”
Mia frowns, confused “No… why?”
Your eyes flick to Draken for a moment. He’s looking at you, still confused. You glance back at her “Oh… okay. Nice to meet you. I have to go now, excuse me.”
You step past them and start walking away.
Draken doesn’t move.
You stop for a split second, expecting him to fall in step beside you, like he always does. But he doesn’t.
Your chest tightens. You realize, for the first time, that maybe you took it for granted that he would always follow.
You keep walking anyway, forcing your shoulders to stay straight. But inside, it stings more than you expected.
The day after your encounter with Draken and Mia, you head toward the school entrance again, hoping maybe today would be different.
But there they are.
Draken, standing near the gate, talking with Mia. And this time… she’s carrying a bag.
From the way she holds it, you can guess what’s inside. Food. She’s probably asking him to eat together.
You freeze.
Your stomach twists.
Without thinking, you duck behind a pillar, hiding. Your heart beats too fast, your hands tremble slightly.
Mia smiles, showing him the bag “I brought lunch. Want to eat with me?”
Draken looks down at the bag, blinking slowly. He’s quiet for a moment, and you can see him thinking.
He doesn’t say no immediately.
Anger and frustration mix in your chest.
Why didn’t he just say no right away?
You pull out your phone quickly and type a message.
I had to leave earlier. Took my dog to the vet.
It’s a lie. You didn’t even have a dog. But you don’t want to meet him after this. You can’t.
You press send and look at them again.
Draken glances at his screen, his eyes flicking down at it. Then… he looks up toward the spot where you usually wait for him.
Your heart stops.
He doesn’t see you.
Mia laughs softly, tugging at his sleeve. He smiles and nods, and together they start walking away.
You watch them go.
Your chest aches. You were so close to seeing him, to talking to him, to being with him today as you always used to, but instead… he’s leaving with someone else.
You stay hidden for a while, letting the bitterness settle.
When the hallway is empty, when the laughter fades and the noise dies down… you finally step out.
You walk home.
Alone.
Sad.
The kind of sadness that’s quiet and heavy, wrapping around your chest and refusing to let go.
You tell yourself tomorrow will be different, but right now… all you can do is keep walking.
The next morning, you stare at your phone a little too long.
What should I say?
Finally, you type: I’ll hang out with my friends after school today.
It’s a lie. You don’t have plans. You’re not going to meet anyone.
But you need a reason to not see him, to not deal with him and Mia again.
School drags on slower than usual.
You stay in class, pretending to study. Glancing at the clock every few minutes.
Everyone leaves eventually, one by one. The halls empty.
Even Draken and Mia are gone.
You stayed longer than anyone else, waiting, hiding, avoiding. And still… he doesn’t know.
Now, everyday, after school, you find excuses to avoid the entrance. You tell yourself it’s for your own peace, but a small voice in your head whispers that it’s for something else: to avoid seeing him with her again.
You don’t meet him at the stairs. You don’t meet him outside.
You just go home.
What hurts most is not just Mia, not just seeing him with someone else.
It’s that he never asks.
He doesn’t text. He doesn’t check if you’re okay. He doesn’t even notice that your paths no longer cross like they used to.
It’s as if he doesn’t see that you’re gone.
You keep telling yourself he’s busy. That he’s just caught up in Toman things.
But it still stings.
Every step you take toward home feels heavier than the last.
You realize… maybe the hardest part isn’t Mia.
It’s being invisible to him.
It’s break time, and the hallways are crowded with laughing students. You decide to grab a drink from the school vending machine.
You turn the corner… and there he is.
Draken. Standing there, like he’s been waiting for you all along.
Your stomach tightens. You try to walk past him toward the machine.
“Are you finally free today?” he asks, stepping slightly in front of you.
You hesitate, then try again to slip past, but he moves just enough to block you.
You sigh, exasperated “No.”
He raises an eyebrow “No? Then what are you doing that’s keeping you so busy?”
You glance around quickly, desperate for an escape.
Then you spot Chifuyu, talking with some boys, probably classmates of his.
A plan forms in your head.
“Hey, Chifuyu!” you almost yell, walking toward him “Is it okay if we meet five minutes after the bell rings today? I have to talk to a teacher before we go.”
Chifuyu looks confused, but before he can answer, you whisper urgently, “Please help me out… I’ll explain later.”
He nods calmly, understanding immediately “No worries. I’ll wait outside your classroom.”
You smile at him and nod quickly “Thank you! See you later!”
Then you turn back and there’s Draken.
Still staring.
Still standing in the hallway like he hasn’t moved a muscle.
Your heart skips a beat.
You take a deep breath, straighten your shoulders, and walk past him to the vending machine.
You select your drink, press the button, and grab it.
And this time… he doesn’t stop you.
He just watches quietly from the same spot.
You glance up at him, catch his eyes for a second, and see that faint mix of surprise and… something else.
You sip your drink slowly, trying not to let him see how much your chest is still racing.
Draken stays there until you turn away completely, then finally moves.
For now, you’ve won this little standoff.
After the last bell, you pack your bag slowly, waiting for the hallways to empty a little. You step out and there he is.
Chifuyu.
Standing against the wall, hands in his pockets, looking casual but also… kind of worried.
You blink “Didn’t think you’d come for real…”
He smiles lightly “I’m too curious. And it looked like you needed someone to talk with.”
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding “Yeah… thanks.”
You walk beside him toward the stairs, feeling oddly safe. Chifuyu doesn’t pry. He just follows your pace.
But as you reach the exit you both stop, because you see them.
Draken and Mia, standing at the exact same spot they’ve been for days. She’s talking to him with that soft smile, head tilted, voice sweet. Her hand brushes his arm again, and Draken just… lets her.
Your chest tightens, you feel something drop inside you.
Chifuyu follows your gaze. He notices how Draken isn’t pulling away. He notices how Mia leans toward him like she has the right. He notices how you swallow hard and look away.
“This…” you say quietly, unable to keep the bitterness out of your voice, “…this is the problem.”
Chifuyu nods slowly “Yeah. I see it now.”
You don’t stay another second. You turn around and walk away, your steps fast and sharp. Chifuyu follows you immediately, matching your pace.
But what you don’t see, as you pass by Draken and Mia without stopping, Chifuyu slows down for a single second as he turns his head just enough to look at Draken with an expression that says: “What the hell are you doing, man?”
Draken’s eyes flick from Mia… to you… to Chifuyu’s glare.
Confusion flashes on his face.
But Chifuyu doesn’t wait for him to respond. He quickly catches up to you again, walking at your side as if he’s been doing it forever.
Draken stays behind, frozen for a moment.
And… his chest feels tight. Like something important is slipping through his fingers, and he doesn’t understand why.
When you and Chifuyu finally leave the school grounds, the quiet hits you first. A soft kind of silence. One that makes everything feel heavier… but also somehow safe.
Chifuyu doesn’t rush you. He just walks at your side, hands in pockets, waiting for you to talk.
You take a deep breath.
“I guess… I should explain.” you mumble.
Chifuyu gives a tiny nod “Only if you want to.”
You do want to. So the words start coming out. You tell him everything.
How Draken used to wait for you every day. How the routine made you feel close to him. How Mia suddenly appeared. How he didn’t push her away. How he didn’t even notice you disappearing.
How much it hurts.
Chifuyu listens without interrupting.
When you finish, your throat feels tight.
“I know he’s your friend…” you say quietly “Family, even. And I know you have this Toman moral, or whatever, to follow… loyalty and all that.”
Chifuyu tilts his head a little “Yeah, we do.”
You look at him, eyes serious “Please don’t tell him what I told you. Please. I don’t… want him to know.”
Chifuyu stops walking.
You turn to face him, worried you said something wrong, but he’s just frowning thoughtfully.
“I won’t tell him,” he says “I’ll keep all of it to myself.”
You let out a small breath of relief.
“But,” he adds, “I am gonna give you some advice.”
Chifuyu crosses his arms, looking like some mastermind strategist in a crime drama.
“Okay,” you say, “hit me with it.”
He nods like he’s about to drop ancient wisdom passed down from his ancestors.
“First,” he says seriously, “you should ignore him harder.”
You blink “…What?”
“Yeah,” he continues, completely confident “If ignoring him made him look confused today, imagine if you do it for a whole month. He’ll freak out. Men fear silence.”
“…A month?”
“You wanna make him suffer or not?”
You stare at him, speechless. This boy is supposed to be smart.
He keeps going.
“Second idea,” he says, holding up two fingers, “you should get a fake boyfriend.”
“What? NO.”
“Just hear me out.” He points at himself slowly, like he hasn’t thought this through “I could—”
“No.”
He freezes “You didn’t let me finish.”
“I didn’t need to.”
He squints at you “You’re kinda rude.”
“You’re kinda insane.”
He coughs, offended, and looks away dramatically “Fine. Scrap idea two.”
“Please scrap idea two forever.”
He clears his throat.
“Okay then,” he says, suddenly serious again, “here’s the third plan.”
You brace yourself.
“You should show up tomorrow with a giant lunchbox and give it to someone else.”
You stare at him.
“Like… who?”
He shrugs “I dunno. Mitsuya? Takemichi? A kid? Anyone.”
You raise a brow “And that helps how? It’s just like idea two…”
Chifuyu nods confidently “Trust me.”
“I don’t…”
“If Draken sees you giving food to someone else, he’ll be like, ‘Why isn’t she giving me food?’ And then—bam—he realizes he likes you.”
You let out a long exhale “So your plan is… starving Draken until he understands his feelings?”
Chifuyu blinks “…Basically, yes.”
“…wow.”
“What?”
“I thought you were smart.”
Chifuyu places a hand dramatically on his chest “I am smart!”
“Then why are your ideas so stupid?!”
He gasps “They’re not stupid. They’re creative.”
“They’re dumb.”
“They’re effective.”
“They’re DUMB.”
Chifuyu pouts like a kicked puppy, but only for a second. Then his expression softens.
“Look,” he says quietly “All jokes aside… I get it. It hurts. Seeing someone you like with someone else hurts like hell.”
You drop your gaze a little.
“But,” he continues, “Draken isn’t doing it on purpose. He’s an idiot, not evil.”
“…I know.”
“And he’s definitely not over you.” Chifuyu adds “I saw his face when he watched you leave earlier. He looked… lost.”
Your heart stutters.
“You think so?” you ask quietly.
Chifuyu nods “Yeah. And if he doesn’t get his head straight soon… I’ll kick his ass.”
You snort “Please don’t. He’s too tall for you.”
“Fine. I’ll kick his shins.” He smirks “He can’t block those.”
You laugh, small but real, the first one in days.
Chifuyu smiles too.
Then he nudges your arm lightly “No matter what, you’re not alone, okay? Don’t carry this by yourself.”
You nod softly.
And for the first time in a while… you feel like you can breathe.
The next day is Saturday, so school is closed. Still, you wake up early, because you have something to do.
Or… someone to thank.
You remember everything Chifuyu did yesterday… listening, staying with you, making you laugh even with his terrible plans. He didn’t judge you. He didn’t push you. He didn’t betray your trust.
So you prepare a small lunch box for him, and grab a manga volume you know he’s been looking for. Then you head to the place Toman usually meets on weekends.
The moment you enter, you feel dozens of eyes on you.
You sigh.
“Great,” you whisper to yourself, “middle school fangirls energy again…”
Chifuyu is the first to notice you “Y/N? What are you—?”
You hold out the food and manga to him “This is to thank you. For yesterday.”
He blinks, surprised “Seriously? This is for me?”
“Yes,” you say, smiling “You deserve it.”
Behind you, Draken sees everything.
He doesn’t get jealous. He knows Chifuyu wouldn’t cross that line with you, and not with him.
And that’s exactly why Draken’s stomach knots up.
Because if you’re going to Chifuyu instead of him… then something is really wrong.
Something he hasn’t noticed. Something he should’ve noticed.
He watches you quietly, jaw tight.
Chifuyu pulls you a little closer and whispers, “So you went with the fake boyfriend idea?”
“NO!” you yell, exhausted by his nonsense.
Chifuyu bursts out laughing, holding his stomach. Even some of the captains look over, confused.
Then he stops laughing, leans slightly, and whispers again “Anyway… he’s staring.”
You don’t need to look to know who he means.
“Everyone here stares…” you mutter “Every time I walk in here it’s like walking into a room full of middle school fangirls.”
Chifuyu snorts “Except the fangirls have tattoos and bikes.”
“Exactly.”
You straighten your bag and step back.
“I’m leaving,” you say.
“This…” you hand him another bag “…these are sweets for everyone. Give it to them.”
Chifuyu looks at the bag “For… everyone?”
“As an apology,” you say, shrugging “For making you go against Toman morals yesterday, or whatever you call that.” Your smile softens “So, thank you again.”
You wink at him in a funny friendly way and so you turn, wave at the others, including Draken, and walk out.
Behind you, the captains gather around Chifuyu like excited crows.
“You got sweets?”
“She made that for us?”
“Aww damn she’s so nice.”
“You got more than us… you lucky bastard—”
But Draken isn’t interested in the sweets. He just watches you walk away, his expression unreadable.
Something in his chest tightens painfully.
Because… you’re not looking at him. You’re not smiling at him. You’re not talking to him.
And you didn’t even come here for him.
His fingers curl into fists.
Mia’s face flashes in his mind… and suddenly it feels wrong. Stupid. Pointless.
And he realizes something he should’ve seen from the start: He’s losing you.
Not to another guy. Not even to Chifuyu.
He’s losing you because he wasn’t there when you needed him.
And now… He doesn’t know how to get you back.
Monday feels heavier than usual.
You walk through the school gates with your headphones on, determined to ignore everything, especially your own feelings. You head toward your classroom, hoping to slip in unseen, unchanged, unnoticed.
But of course… nothing goes the way you want lately.
You turn the corner and nearly bump straight into Draken.
He stands there like he’s been waiting, like he knew exactly where you’d be.
Your heart jumps, but you keep your face neutral.
“…Morning.” you mutter, stepping aside.
He opens his mouth, clearly about to say something, but before he even gets the chance…
“Draken-kun~~~~!”
Mia.
You don’t even turn toward her voice, you just close your eyes for a second, breathe out slowly, and try not to groan.
She appears beside him like a glittery shadow, grabbing his sleeve, smiling up at him like she’s the main character.
“Did you wait for me? We should walk to class toge—”
“No.” Draken says immediately, tugging his arm free.
You almost look at him for that.
Almost.
But then Mia notices you and her smile tightens “Oh. You’re here too.”
“Unfortunately…” you say, monotone “Don’t mind me.”
You start walking again. You don’t have the energy to deal with her, and honestly, you don’t want to deal with him either. If he doesn’t dislike her company, then who are you to interfere?
Behind you, Mia giggles nervously and clings to his arm again “Draken-kun, don’t go after her again. She’s been so weird lately, maybe give her some space.”
Draken pulls his arm away so sharply that even Mia stops talking. And when you glance back, his eyes are on you, not her.
They follow you with a frustration that could crack cement.
You keep walking. You’re almost at the staircase when you hear “Y/N.”
You pretend you didn’t.
“Y/N.”
You walk faster.
“Y/N!”
His voice is sharper this time, and you stop, mostly because everyone in the hallway is staring now.
Slowly, you turn around.
He’s right behind you, breathing hard like he’s been holding everything in for days. People watch the two of you with wide eyes, whispering. Even Mia freezes a few steps back, her expression uncertain.
“Why…” Draken says, jaw tight, “…are you avoiding me?”
You fold your arms “I’m not.”
“Bullshit.”
Your eyes widen slightly, Draken doesn’t snap. He doesn’t raise his voice. Not at you.
“Every time I try to talk to you,” he continues, stepping closer, “you disappear. You leave. You act like I’m not even here. Like I did something but you won’t tell me what.”
His voice isn’t angry. It’s strained. Thinner than usual. Almost… hurt.
You swallow.
Behind him, Mia looks stunned, like she never expected him to chase after anyone, let alone you.
“I—” you start.
But he cuts in.
“And yesterday,” he says, “you came to the meeting… for Chifuyu.”
People murmur at that.
Chifuyu, who is also in the hallway, flinches like he wasn’t prepared to be mentioned.
Draken’s eyes stay locked on yours.
“You waved but you didn’t even look at me.” he says quietly “Not once.”
Your lips part. You want to say something… anything, but your mind goes blank.
He steps even closer, lowering his voice so only you can hear “Just tell me what I did.”
You tense.
“I can’t fix it if you won’t talk to me,” he says “I’m not a damn mind reader.”
His words hit you harder than you expect. Because up until now, he looked calm… annoyed, maybe, or confused, but now he looks desperate.
That’s what makes you freeze, and he sees it, and something inside him finally snaps.
“Y/N…” he breathes, “just stop running away from me.”
The hallway is silent.
Even your heartbeat seems loud.
This is the first time Draken has ever raised his voice because of you. The first time he’s ever chased you. The first time he’s ever looked at you like losing you is something he genuinely fears.
And it leaves you speechless.
Because the one thing you promised yourself was to not make things complicated.
And here he is… making it impossible.
For a moment, no one moves.
The hallway is frozen, like every student simultaneously forgot how to breathe. You included.
Mia is the first to sputter back to life “D-Draken-kun… why are you— this isn’t— she’s obviously just—”
Her voice shakes, but she pushes forward anyway “You shouldn’t let her talk to you like that. I mean, she’s the one who’s been acting weird, so if she doesn’t want to talk—”
“Mia.” Draken doesn’t look at her. Doesn’t even blink in her direction.
His tone is flat and dead cold.
Every student nearby shivers like someone opened a freezer door.
She forces a laugh “I’m just saying! I mean… you don’t need to go after her. I’m right here, I—”
“I said,” Draken repeats, jaw clenching, “Mia.”
Finally, slowly, he turns his head.
You’ve never seen him look at anyone like that.
Not with anger or irritation, just complete, sharp, merciless clarity “You need to stop.”
The hallway gasps again.
Mia’s smile falters “Stop… what…?”
“Talking.”
Her face goes pale.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he continues, tone low but cutting straight through the noise “You don’t know what’s going on. And right now, you’re making it worse.”
Your breath catches.
He isn’t defending Mia.
He isn’t protecting her feelings.
He’s defending you.
In front of the whole hallway.
And Mia finally steps back.
A few students whisper…
You feel your throat tighten.
Everything is too loud and too quiet at the same time. You want to move but your legs feel rooted.
Then Draken turns back to you and the moment your eyes meet, something in his expression softens, enough that only you see it.
“Come here” he says.
Not a command but a request presented with a sense of exasperation.
You still can’t move.
So he moves instead.
He reaches out, carefully, and takes your hand. Fingers sliding between yours like he’s done it a thousand times, even though he never has.
The hallway collectively stops breathing.
Mia’s jaw drops. Chifuyu’s eyes nearly fall out of his skull but he smiles. Someone actually squeaks.
But Draken doesn’t care.
His grip is warm, steady, desperate in a way he won’t admit aloud.
“Let’s talk,” he says, voice quieter now “Not here.”
You nod before you can think.
He pulls you gently, guiding you, like he’s afraid if he lets go, you’ll bolt again.
Down the hallway. Up the stairs. And then the rooftop door squeaks open.
The cold air hits you instantly and wakes up all your nerves.
Draken lets go of your hand only when he closes the door behind you… and locks it.
You stare at him.
He runs a hand through his hair, pacing like he’s trying to untangle every knot in his brain.
And then he stops in front of you.
“For real,” he says, voice low and heavy, “just tell me why you’re avoiding me.”
Your stomach knots.
He waits.
For once, he doesn’t try to guess. Doesn’t make assumptions. Doesn’t try to fix it with some blunt sentence.
He just waits for you, but your voice doesn’t come out, so he continues.
“Every day,” he says quietly, eyes on yours, “I look for you. I wait for you. I check my phone. And you’re just… gone.”
You inhale sharply.
He steps closer.
“And you let Chifuyu help you.” There’s something almost wounded in that tone “You always come to me. Always. So what changed?”
Your heart twists.
He exhales, frustrated.
“Did I do something? Did I piss you off? Did I—” He cuts himself off. His jaw clenches. His shoulders rise with a breath he holds like he’s bracing for impact “…Did I make you feel like you’re not important to me?”
The wind stings your eyes, this is the first time you’ve ever heard his voice shake.
He runs a hand down his face.
“You’re driving me crazy,” he mutters “I don’t know how to fix something when you won’t even look at me.”
You swallow hard.
Your eyes sting again.
The weight of everything… all the days of avoidance, the lies, the jealousy, the hurt… presses on your ribs until you can barely breathe.
He notices.
His expression softens again, that same softness he hides from everyone.
“Y/N,” he says gently, stepping closer still, “I’m right here. Just tell me what I did.”
Silence.
You can feel every emotion you've buried threatening to break through your chest.
And Draken waits, eyes locked on yours, like your answer is the only thing that matters in the world right now.
You look away first, your heart is pounding everywhere, in your throat, in your ribs, in your fingertips.
“I’m fine.” you whisper.
Lie.
A weak one.
But it’s the only thing you manage to push out.
Draken’s jaw tightens “Try again.”
You swallow “I’m just busy—”
“Y/N.”
Your name sounds like a warning. Not angry… just impossible to lie to.
He steps closer. You take half a step back.
He notices.
His voice drops even lower “…Why are you moving away from me?”
Your chest aches.
You force out another lie, even though your voice cracks, “I’m not—”
“Stop.” he isn’t yelling, but his voice hits you like a punch “Just stop.”
Your breath shakes.
He takes your chin gently to guide your eyes back to his.
And you break a little more because of it.
“Look at me” he says quietly.
You do, even though it hurts.
He searches your face like he’s reading every thought you’re trying to bury.
Then he exhales, slow and frustrated “Why won’t you trust me with whatever’s going on?”
You feel the pressure in your throat, the sting behind your eyes and the fear of saying something that hurts worse.
So you go for another lie “Really, Draken, it’s nothing…”
And that’s when his calm snaps.
“Nothing?!” His voice rises, raw and sharp “You disappear. You avoid me. You act like seeing me is some kind of problem. You don’t talk. You don’t text. And you think that’s nothing?!”
The wind steals the air from your lungs.
You whisper, “It’s not your fault…”
“That doesn’t make it better!” he shoots back “Because if it’s not my fault, then what? You just don’t want me around anymore?”
You flinch and say nothing.
His voice softens instantly, his anger turning into fear “…Is that it?”
Your eyes widen “No! No, it’s not— I didn’t—”
“Then what?!” he pushes “What could possibly make you think you have to run away from me?”
You open your mouth but nothing comes out. You know you can’t lie anymore.
Your voice finally cracks “Because you didn’t need me anymore.”
His entire expression freezes.
Your breath shakes.
“You had Mia,” you whisper, trying to keep your voice steady, failing miserably “You didn’t wait for me. You didn’t come find me. You didn’t even notice I wasn’t there anymore. You just… let her take up all your time.”
Draken blinks, stunned.
“And I know it’s stupid,” you continue, wiping your eyes with your sleeve “And maybe I’m dramatic or whatever, but every time I saw her with you… every time I saw you let her talk to you, or let her touch you, or that you didn’t meet me because she stopped you—”
Your voice breaks “I felt like I didn’t matter.”
He stares at you like someone just knocked the world out from under him “…Y/N.”
You shake your head, backing up again “I didn’t want to bother you. I didn’t want to get in the way. And I didn’t want to be the clingy girl who gets jealous and ruins everything…”
“Ruins what?” Draken snaps, stepping toward you “You think you could ruin anything?”
Your throat tightens.
He continues, voice rough with disbelief, “You think you being upset is annoying to me? You think I wouldn’t choose hearing your stupid jealousy over dealing with that girl for ten minutes?!”
You blink. He’s breathing hard now.
“Why didn’t you say something?” he asks, voice dropping “Why didn’t you just tell me you felt like that?”
“Because it’s embarrassing,” you choke out “And I didn’t want you to laugh or think I’m ridiculous—”
“Have I ever laughed at you?” he says, hurt “Ever?”
You lower your gaze.
Silence.
Then he steps closer and takes both your hands in his big, warm, trembling ones.
He lifts your hands to his chest, pressing them over his heartbeat like he wants you to feel it.
“You matter to me,” he says quietly “More than anyone.”
Your breath stops.
“And it scares me that you didn’t know that.”
Your knees almost give out.
He continues before you can talk “I didn’t shut Mia down fast enough because I didn’t expect her to act like that. I didn’t ignore you on purpose. I didn’t stop waiting for you. I just… I messed up. I didn’t realize how it looked. I didn’t think you’d ever think you weren’t important to me.”
Your heart twists painfully.
“And the fact that you did think that?” his voice cracks “That hurts more than you hiding from me all this time.”
You open your mouth, but he shakes his head slightly and steps even closer, forehead almost touching yours.
“Y/N,” he breathes, “I’m angry because I care. I’m angry because you didn’t come to me. I’m angry because you thought I wouldn’t choose you.”
Your lips part.
Then he finally confesses, “I like you,” he murmurs “Way more than I should. Way more than I know how to handle. And watching you walk away from me every day felt like someone was ripping something out of my chest.”
Your eyes burn.
You whisper, “You… you like me?”
He huffs a laugh… frustrated, breathless, unfairly soft “I thought it was obvious.”
“It wasn’t!”
“Well it is now,” he mutters, cheeks slightly pink “And I’m not letting you run away again.”
He lifts one hand, wiping your cheek with his thumb.
“Your turn,” he says gently “Say it back.”
Your breath catches.
“I like you…” you whisper.
“Louder.”
“I like you, Draken.”
He closes his eyes for a second, like he needed to hear it, like he’s been waiting forever.
Then he leans his forehead against yours and whispers “Good. Because you’re stuck with me now.”
Your breath is still uneven. Your cheeks are still wet. Your heart is beating so hard you’re sure he can feel it through your joined hands.
Draken’s forehead is still resting against yours, his fingers warm on your cheek, his other hand still clutching yours like he’s terrified you’ll vanish again.
Neither of you speak.
The confession hangs between you… hot, heavy, impossible to ignore.
Then you notice the way his gaze drops.
Slowly. Almost shy. From your eyes… to your lips.
Your stomach flips so hard you almost lose balance.
He sees your reaction. His thumb brushes your cheekbone again, gentler this time, like he’s memorizing the shape of you.
“Y/N.” he murmurs.
You look up.
His voice drops even lower, like the words are almost too dangerous to say out loud “Can I…?” he doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to.
Your fingers tighten around his shirt.
And that tiny movement, that little pull, is all he needs.
He leans in slowly at first, giving you every second to stop him if you want to, but you don’t.
Your breath mixes with his. Your hands slide up to his chest, then to the sides of his jacket. His nose brushes yours and your eyes flutter shut and then he kisses you.
It’s not rough. Not rushed. Not anything like the Draken everyone else sees.
It’s soft. Warm. Careful in a way that makes your heart burst open.
His lips move slowly against yours, almost hesitant, like he’s afraid to hurt you or take too much. His hand cups the back of your head, steady and protective, and he pulls you in with a gentle firmness that feels like: I finally have you and I’m not losing you again.
You make a tiny sound and he reacts immediately, kissing you deeper, pulling you closer, pressing his forehead to yours between breaths.
Your hands climb up to his neck, fingers brushing the shaved side of his head, and he shivers.
“Careful…” he murmurs against your lips, voice rough, “If you do that, I won’t want to stop.”
You smile, breathless, and pull him back in.
He soft sighs into your mouth and kisses you again, slower this time, like he wants to memorise every second.
Time stops.
Only when you finally pull away for air does he open his eyes, and he looks wrecked. Good wrecked. Like one more kiss might actually kill him in the best way.
He touches your face again with both hands this time, thumbs brushing your cheeks, and he whispers “…Don’t ever walk away from me like that again.”
Your voice is soft but sure “I won’t.”
He nods slightly, forehead touching yours again.
“Good,” he exhales, like a promise, “because I’m not letting anyone else have you.”
Then he kisses you again, slower and softer, like he has all the time in the world.
Draken walks you back down the stairs, one hand still holding yours like he’s afraid you’ll fade if he lets go.
At the classroom door, he squeezes your hand once.
“I’ll be here when class ends” he says quietly.
You smile “Okay.”
He hesitates for a second, then leans in and whispers against your ear “Don’t run away again. Please.”
Your cheeks burn. You nod fast. He smirks and lets you go.
The second the bell rings, your heart jumps.
You check your hair in your phone reflection (twice), shove your books into your bag (messily), and speed-walk out the door.
Draken is right there, leaning casually against the wall, talking with Chifuyu and Takemichi.
He looks up the second he hears your steps and he softens, with a tiny, private smile only for you.
You walk toward them quietly so you don’t interrupt, but Chifuyu sees you first.
“Oh! Y/N!” he grins, waving way too dramatically “Draken told us the good news!”
You blink “The… good news?”
Takemichi nods excitedly, almost sparkling “A-Ah— congratulations! Really! I’m glad!”
Then Chifuyu throws his arm around Draken’s shoulder and announces “Now you don’t need me to pretend to be your boyfriend anymore!”
Your jaw DROPS.
Draken chokes on his own breath.
Takemichi turns red.
You punch Chifuyu’s shoulder… not softly “CHIFUYU! I never wanted that! Your ideas are stupid!”
Takemichi bursts out laughing like that was the most correct sentence he ever heard.
Even Draken is smiling… an amused, fond smile he tries to hide behind his hand.
Chifuyu rubs his shoulder “Owww! Okay okay, but you did come to me for emotional support, so I still win.”
You glare. He grins.
Then Chifuyu nudges Takemichi “Come on. Let’s give them space.”
Takemichi nods and they both walk off, whispering and giggling like middle-schoolers.
Leaving you and Draken alone.
Draken doesn’t waste a second.
He reaches for your hand gently and starts walking with you toward the gates.
“Let’s go,” he says, voice low and warm “Before someone else interrupts.”
You smile and squeeze his fingers.
But as soon as you step outside the main doors…
She’s there.
Mia.
Standing stiff, holding a notebook to her chest, eyes locked on Draken like she’s been waiting forever.
Her smile dies the moment she sees your joined hands.
“Draken-kun,” she says softly, voice trembling, “can we… talk?”
Draken stops walking.
You slowly try to pull your hand away, but he tightens his grip immediately. He won’t let go.
Mia’s eyes flick to your hands again, then she forces a small smile “I didn’t know you were… with Y/N-san. You didn’t tell me anything, so I kept thinking—”
“Mia,” Draken cuts her off, his tone is calm, but firm “We need to clear something up.”
She stiffens.
He steps a little in front of you, not to hide you, but to shield you from whatever she might say.
“I should’ve said something earlier,” he admits “But I wasn’t interested. Not in the way you thought.”
Her fingers tighten on her notebook.
“But… you always let me talk to you. You walked with me. I thought that meant—”
“I was being polite,” he says gently “Too polite, maybe. I didn’t realise I was giving you the wrong idea.”
You feel him squeeze your hand again, like he wants you to know he means every word.
Mia bites her lip “Then… why her? What does she have that I—”
“It’s not a competition,” Draken says immediately “But she’s the one I want.”
Your heart stops.
Mia’s face falls, a tiny crack in her expression, and she looks down at her shoes.
“Oh…” she whispers.
She swallows hard. Her shoulders slump.
“I didn’t know,” she says “I… I thought maybe if I tried harder, you’d see me.”
You feel a pang of sympathy, because she looks genuinely hurt, not angry.
Draken softens his tone just a bit “I’m sorry for not being clear earlier.”
Mia nods slowly “I understand.”
She bows slightly to both of you, even though her eyes are watery.
“Good luck.” she says quietly.
Then she turns and walks away.
Slow. Sad.
You watch her go, feeling strange and heavy.
Draken waits until she’s completely out of sight before he turns back to you.
He brushes his thumb over your knuckles.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
You nod. Then you whisper the truth “I’m happier than I’ve been in weeks.”
He leans in, his forehead touching yours again, voice low enough that only you can hear “Good. Because I meant it, I’m not letting you go again.”
Then he kisses your temple and pulls you closer as he walks you home.
EPILOGUE — Mikey Finds Out
Mikey is sitting on the hood of his bike, legs swinging, chewing on a dorayaki like it’s the most important task of the day.
He looks up the second Draken approaches.
“Yo. You’re late.” Mikey says with his mouth full.
Draken crosses his arms, expression somewhere between tired and strangely… peaceful “I had to talk to someone.”
Mikey narrows his eyes like this is suspicious enough to require immediate interrogation “...Who? And why does your face look like you won a fight and lost one at the same time?”
Draken sighs “I didn’t fight anyone.”
“Lame.”
A pause. Draken stares at him, then finally just says it because there’s no point dragging it out with Mikey “It’s about her.”
Mikey stops chewing.
Blink.
Blink blink.
“…Y/N? The girl you always get weird about?”
Draken turns away, rubbing his neck “I don’t ‘get weird.’”
“Bro, you literally do.” Mikey replies without hesitation.
For a moment Draken doesn’t answer. Mikey watches him carefully now, the way only someone who’s known him practically forever can.
And then Draken says it, soft but firm “She’s my girlfriend now.”
Mikey freezes. His eyes go blank like someone pulled the plug from his brain. Draken waits. Mikey continues to freeze. Draken waits more.
“…Mikey?”
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEH?!?!?!?”
He explodes like a firecracker, falling off the bike hood with a loud thud. Draken’s entire soul leaves his body out of embarrassment.
“You WHAT?! WHEN?! HOW?! WHY WASN’T I INFORMED?!” Mikey shouts from the ground, arms flailing like a dramatic sea creature.
“I don’t need to announce my relationship statuses!” Draken shoots back.
“Yes you do!! I’m the leader!! That means I should be told EVERYTHING!” Mikey insists, climbing back up like he’s scaling a mountain.
Draken snorts “It literally doesn’t.”
Mikey ignores him completely, stepping uncomfortably close to peer up at his face “You like her that much?”
Draken’s chest tightens, but he nods “Yeah. I do.”
Mikey’s expression softens instantly, the switch from chaos goblin to earnest friend so abrupt it’s emotional whiplash.
“Good,” he says simply “You deserve someone who looks at you the way you look at her.”
Draken looks away, ears pink “Shut up.”
Mikey grins “Nope! Also, you need to go on a double date with Takemichi and his girl. Immediately.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Draken groans “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re in love.” Mikey sings.
But eventually he stops and nudges Draken’s arm lightly, voice warm and sincere “I’m happy for you. Really.”
Draken lets out a long breath “…Thanks, Mikey.”
Mikey smirks “Now tell me everything. Every detail. I want the whole story. Start with the rooftop. Takemichi and Chifuyu told me there was yelling.”
summary: you and steve harrington don't get along. you think he's a grade a asshole, and he thinks you have a stick up your ass. but, after nancy tells him that she doesn't love him at tina's party...you start seeing him differently
pairing: steve harrington x henderson sister! reader
word count: 1.6k
warning(s): swearing, plot inaccuracies (im too lazy to cross check so don't come for me), RE-EDITED!!!!, sassy!steve, angst...
a/n: hi guys welcome to my first fic! for the sake of the plot, dustin found dart the night before halloween ok thanks! keep seeing tiktoks about steve X henderson sister, so I thought I would satisfy my own wants and write it myself! This will turn into a series, so yes, I know I'm leaving y'all hanging, but it will be well worth it! also, so sorry for lack of spice....but we will get there do not fret <3
"You better pay me back!" you yell from the driver's seat. Dustin slams the car door in your face, taking the last quarters you had from your emergency cigarette fund with him. You sigh as you watch him run into the arcade, shaking your head at him. You put the car back in drive and head to the fabric store to pick up some extra lace for your Priscilla Presley costume. Tina's party is tomorrow night.
────────────────────
"Yeah, Nance, I'm definitely going," you say into the phone, gripping it firmly between your shoulder and ear while your fingers move the needle and thread through the fabric of your costume. With a final snip of the scissors, you cut the last thread and proudly hold up your hand-stitched creation, a wave of satisfaction washing over you as you admire your handiwork.
"Will you be there?" you ask, a quizzical note edging into your voice. It surprises you, with her usual caution, that Nancy Wheeler would actually go to a party known for its chaotic mix of drugs and alcohol.
"Steve wants to go," Nancy replies, her tone casual. You can't help but roll your eyes at the mention of her boyfriend. Setting your costume down on the nearby chair, you let out a small sigh.
"Look, Nance," you say, rising to your feet and grabbing the phone with both hands as you stride towards your bedroom window. Unable to ignore the flickering streetlamp casting shadows in your room, you try to articulate your concern. "You shouldn't feel obligated to go just because he wants to," you say carefully, steering clear of using his name directly, knowing how complex your feelings about him are.
Over the past year, you and Nancy have grown closer, especially in the wake of Barb's tragic death and the concerning events your brothers keep finding themselves in. Honestly, Steve has been the primary obstacle between you and Nancy; you've always found him to be insufferable, a somewhat oblivious rich kid who fails to grasp the realities of life.
"I know, it's just…," Nancy hesitates, and you can hear the weight of her thoughts. "With everything that happened last year, I just don't want to miss out on anything, you know? I want to be part of it all."
You let out a soft sigh of understanding, the empathy growing within you. "Yeah, I get it," you agree as you make your way back to your bed, sitting down on the edge and looking around your room, the familiar surroundings bringing you some comfort. "Well, whatever you choose to do," you say, injecting a playful tone into your voice, "I'll be by the punch bowl if you need a break from your boyfriend."
A light laugh escapes Nancy, and the sound brings a smile to your lips, lifting your spirits. "Yeah, okay… maybe I'll find you there," she responds, her voice lightening up.
"Goodnight, Nance," you say warmly before hanging up the phone, a sense of contentment wrapping around you.
No sooner have you set your phone back down on the nightstand than a loud thud jolts you from your thoughts. "Sorry!" you hear Dustin's voice echoing through the door. You roll your eyes at his antics, turning off your bedside lamp and letting the warmth of your blankets soothe you as you reflect on the evening's conversation.
────────────────────
"You'll wait for me by the punch bowl, yeah?" Nancy asks you, both of you leaning against the wall of lockers, getting ready to head home.
"Yup," you say, "don't worry, Nance," you laugh, "it'll be fun, promise."
"Okay," she breathes, "you're right."
You smile and nod at her as she turns to leave, slightly skipping to catch up to Steve, who has been staring daggers at your interaction since Nancy stopped to talk to you.
They both turn and walk out the doors, Steve's arm sliding over Nancy's shoulder. You scoff, staring at the back of his head like it would make him trip if you stared hard enough.
────────────────────
You sip thoughtfully from your red Solo cup, the vibrant punch inside almost matching the hue of your lips as you take care not to spill the sweet liquid onto the white fabric of your dress. Tommy's voice rises above the chatter in the room, his frustration palpable as he moans about his history grade. "I just don't understand why he gave me a D! I mean, why would I care about the Cold War? Russia has nothing to do with me!"
You roll your eyes, fixating your gaze on the dwindling contents of your cup as a familiar exasperation washes over you. With a gulp, you finish off the punch in a single swig and then fill your cup again—because why not? Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Nancy making her way towards you, her hand waving enthusiastically. At the same time, the other drags a slightly reluctant Steve Harrington along behind her.
"Sorry, Tommy," you say, allowing a hint of sarcasm to lace your words as you fill up a second cup. "I have to go." You turn on your heel before he can respond, striding toward Nancy with a bright smile.
"Hey, Nance!" you greet her warmly, wrapping her in a quick hug before offering her a cup of pink punch.
"No, really, thanks, I didn't want any," Steve chimes in, a hint of irritation clinging to his tone. You shoot him a withering glance, deliberately ignoring his snark, and focus back on Nancy.
"I love your costume!" she exclaims. You twirl in delight to showcase the details of your outfit. "Did you make it yourself?"
"Yup!" you respond cheerfully, feeling the effects of the mystery punch begin to lift your spirits. But just as your mood starts to ascend, Steve bursts in with his cluelessness.
"I'm confused," he states, a furrow deepening between his brows.
"Like always…" You mutter under your breath, taking another sip from your cup to stave off his idiocy.
"Who are you supposed to be?" he continues, genuinely perplexed.
Nancy's eyes roll skyward as she rubs her forehead in disbelief, clearly exasperated by Steve's lack of awareness.
You turn to him, holding your palm out dismissively, "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response."
He lets out a scoff before shifting his attention back to Nancy, "Can we go now?"
She offers you a sympathetic glance as she begins to back away. "I'll see you later, yeah?"
You nod, a warm smile playing on your lips. "Yeah."
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The infectious beat of "Out of Touch" by Hall and Oates echoes through the house as you lose yourself in the music, dancing with the new boy from California who seems to be enjoying your company just as much as you want his. But out of the corner of your eye, you catch Nancy storming out of the room, her expression tight and urgent.
"Give me just a sec," you smile at your Billy, placing a playful hand on his chest before slipping away to follow Nancy, curiosity prickling at your consciousness.
You make your way through the pulsating crowd, navigating the throng of party-goers, when someone suddenly collides against you, causing you to stumble. "Watch it, dude!" you drunkenly shout over the pounding music, struggling to regain your footing, which proves challenging in your 4-inch heels and the punch you've consumed.
Once you manage to steady yourself (mostly), you glance up to find Steve extending a hand to help you, not realizing who he ran into.
"Where's Nance going?" you ask, your cheeks flushed, but your concern quickly deflated when you see his indifference.
"I don't know, and I don't care," he reacts, a scoff escaping his lips.
"Whoa," you laugh, the sound airy and slightly tipsy. "What's got your panties in a twist?"
He runs a hand through his hair, his agitation clear. "Just drop it, Henderson." He starts walking towards the exit, souring the atmosphere and piquing your interest.
"Hey, wait, where are you going?" you call out, your voice laced with unexpected playfulness from the drinks. Without knowing why, you follow him despite your sour feelings toward him.
Outside, Steve heads straight for his car, purposefully ignoring your voice.
"Come on, Steve! Why are you being such a party pooper?" you whine, ending up leaning against the driver's side of his vehicle as if it might provide some kind of stability.
Suddenly, you stumble over a rock hidden beneath the leaves, the uneven terrain making you falter again. Just as your knees begin to buckle, you feel something supportive wrap around you—Steve's arms securing you in place.
"Come on, Henderson, just…" he sighs, assessing your inebriated state. A hesitant smile tugs at the corners of your lips, encouraging him to relent, "…just get in the car."
He guides you to the passenger side and gently eases you into your seat. "What are you doing?" you mumble through half-closed eyes as he guides you into the seat. He makes sure your feet are tucked safely inside before shutting the door with a click.
Steve jogs around to his side, getting in and starting the engine, rubbing his forehead in annoyance, not believing the circumstances he is currently in. He cranks the heater up full blast, being mindful of the chilly October air nipping at your skin. As he glances at you, your head rests comfortably against the cool window, your eyelids heavy and fluttering as sleepiness creeps in.
He lets out a soft sigh, instinctively reaching over to grab your seatbelt and buckle you in before pulling out of Tina's driveway.
