Random Musings

You weren't about to answer and throw the last scraps of your dignity in the trash to explain to Sukuna that you just got your heart crushed via text.

But your silence was enough to clue him in anyway.

"No fucking way," He chuckled again, low and gruff, the warm overhead lights of the bar casting an amused glint in his eyes as his lips curled up in an almost cruel smirk.

"Shut up," You grumbled, sliding off your barstool to stand up, wobbling a little in your too-high heels just for one of his annoyingly strong arms to steady you.

"Poor princess," He teased, mocking your pout, a hand planted on your waist to pull you in. But there was a low vibration to his voice, almost a purr, like he was flirting with you.

Which was absurd.

Ever since you started dating Gojo, he'd been nothing but nasty. Snide comments about your awful taste and remarks about how long it'd take before you realized what an idiot you were. Each jab only fracturing your friendship more, the distance digging itself deeper in the years after school. It'd gotten annoying enough that you'd stopped talking to him entirely a couple years ago after Gojo kept pestering you about answering his texts. Although, you couldn't exactly say Sukuna missed the mark now.

"So you're finally done with him?" He murmured, leaning in enough for his warm breath to send a shudder down your spine.

You could feel the blush burning under your cheeks, but the real warmth was pooling elsewhere. You shifted on instinct, pressing your thighs a little tighter together.

And okay, it had been a while since the last time you had sex. Your bed was probably as cold as the rest of your relationship. But the more you tried to convince yourself that was why he was having such an effect on you, the less you were sure.

"Guess I'm just too clingy for him to handle," You shrugged, feeling a little pathetic even as you excused it. Too needy just for needing him to act like your stupid fucking boyfriend and put you first for once.

"And what'd I tell you years ago?" Sukuna hummed, and you didn't need to look over your shoulder to know he was rolling his eyes.

"Don't be a dick," You scolded, stepping away and towards the exit.

"Don't act like you didn't miss me," He scoffed back, his shadow sticking to you like a second skin, his thumb dragging over the outline of your panties barely visible under your dress.

"I didn't," You bluffed.

"Liar."

"If you try to say I told you so again, I swear to God-" You started to threaten, scowling at him before his lips landed on yours to interrupt.

He was a few years too late.

His possessive grip shifting around to your ass, cupping and squeezing like no one else was around - although, no one was even looking, and you were pulling away with your mouth still hanging open.

"You're just as bad as him," You mumbled, wiping the corner of your mouth and slipping out of his grasp to hurry out the front door.

So what if he was right?

You had missed him. But he wasn't any different than Gojo. Both self-absorbed and self-obsessed. And maybe you had feelings for him way back when, before he'd let someone else sweep you off your feet, but you knew this was just some petty ploy to get back at Gojo. Fucking you to fuck him over.

Your body was betraying you though - the taste of bourbon on his lips and the heat of his hands on your body tempting you to let him. An annoying little voice suggesting you should fuck him, take a photo splayed out in his sheets and unblock Gojo's number just to send it.

He followed you outside, grabbing your wrist almost gently before spinning you around.

"C'mere," Sukuna sighed, his scowl softening for a second when you paused.

"What do you want from me?" You huffed, trying to stand tall, not shrink back under his searing stare.

"Everything," He answered easily, broad shoulders shrugging up. You scoffed right when he started talking again. "But I'll start with you in my bed first."

"Why?" You rolled your eyes. "Let me guess, you just wanna rub it in his face that you fucked me too?"

Sukuna clenched his jaw, the thick tendons in his throat flexing as he swallowed.

"I want you," He echoed, stepping forward to cage you in, backed up to a car you still recognized as his. Your heart skipped a beat, the nerves in your stomach twisting and curling at how close he was. How many times has you dreamed of him being inches away from you like this? Or reminisced on the days where he'd drive you around with one of those veiny hands on your thigh? "And I think you always wanted me too."

"Yeah?" You sarcastically shot back, like your pulse wasn't pounding in your ears, eyes flicking back down to the lips you used to long for.

He hadn't been interested in you then, so you moved on with the pretty blue-eyed boy who was, even if you regretted all of it now.

But why should you let Gojo dictate what or who you did anymore?

"Yeah," He grunted.

This was wrong and he was unfortunately so right but you kissed him before you could keep lying to yourself. Pulling him down to your level by his shoulders and letting his tongue slip between your lips to explore your mouth.

"Admit it," He murmured before tugging your bottom lip between his teeth, your back pressed against his car. The sharp edges of his canines nipping at the spot you'd already been chewing on all night, a massive hand sliding up under your dress to ghost over your thigh, the foreign feeling of his calloused palm making you shiver.

You didn't answer him though - couldn't formulate the words to fit the feeling sitting heavy on your chest, trailing messy kisses down across his jaw to his throat. You let your own teeth scrape the tendon there, press your tongue against the pulse as you sucked a little spot just to see how much he'd tolerate from you.

A lot, considering he let you leave a handful of hickies before his jaw tensed again.

His free hand grabbed your chin between his thumb and his fingers to stop you, tilting your head up to meet his intense stare. You could sense the demand waiting on his tongue, wanting to ask more of you than you could give.

So you interrupted him this time.

"Do you want me in your bed or not?"

He was bending you over the edge of it half an hour later, ripping your panties down your thighs and prying them apart with greedy hands. Thick fingers dimpling the pliant muscles and soft skin, skimming over every inch. Impatiently tugging the zipper down your dress and readjusting you to toss it to the floor until you were stripped bare in his sheets.

"He didn't deserve you," Sukuna murmured, pausing as he traced over the curve of your ass like he was actually admiring it. "This."

Deserved was a word that had never felt comfortable in your mouth. Not when you'd heard it directed your way a thousand times before, from people who thought you never deserved Gojo.

What difference did it make it was already over?

Who dumped who and how things ended didn't change the fact your heart was the one that'd gotten crushed in the aftermath.

"Can we not talk about him?" You huffed, glancing back over your shoulder and swallowing hard at what you saw there.

Sukuna's jaw was clenched tight, his eyes dark, pupils blown with lust (although the low moonlight streaming in from his window could've tricked you it was love) as he just stared at you.

You pushed your bottom lip out in a pout, flipping over onto your back and starting to sit up. But he didn't move a muscle, even if his eyes followed every minute movement.

Watching the bounce of your breasts and the way you tucked your hair out of your face while you grabbed his wrists and tugged him closer.

"You've got me where you want me," You reminded him, tilting your head to the side. "So what are you going to do about it?"

You'd forgotten how fast Sukuna could move - one second standing still in front of you, and the next he was on the bed, dragging you up with him until he was the one on his back and you were straddling his lap.

He was still clothed, but you could feel the hard bulge throbbing through his dark jeans, face flushing at the thought it was because of you.

Sukuna's hands squeezed your hips, dragging his stare over your body one more time before he pulled you up higher, a surprised little squeak escaping as he settled you over his mouth and held you down there. His breath was cool against your exposed entrance, your own mouth falling open and about to protest before he spoke up.

"Shoulda done this years ago," He murmured, his tongue flicking out to lick a long stripe over your slick slit, tracing up to wrap his mouth over your aching bundle of nerves, another strangled noise ripped from your mouth at the sudden contact.

"Wh-why didn't you?" You choked out, trembling as he sucked harshly at the bud, barely giving you time to adjust as he licked and lapped at your clit. Your hand shot out to tangle your fingers in his hair, roughly tugging at his roots right as his own hands yanked you even closer to the warmth of his mouth.

He laughed, but it was more like a small huff, his breath alone making you shudder.

"Guess I thought I had time," Sukuna drawled, the edge of his nails starting to dig into your hip, but there's was something intoxicating about the way the pain heightened the pleasure as his tongue returning to drawing messy circles and tantalizing patterns of someone who was clearly practiced at it.

You hated yourself for hating that.

As if you had any right to be jealous or insecure when before tonight it'd been what? Two years since you'd last seen him? Three?

While someone he hated had easy access to every inch of you?

His tongue pushed in, pressing flat and dragging his taste buds inside like he wanted to properly explore you. You whined as he swirled it around, savoring all of you.

He moaned, pulling you in impossibly closer while your thighs started to shake, biting down on your bottom lip to muffle the whimper that wanted to leave.

"O-oh," You murmured, barely catching your breath, the air getting stuck in your throat every time you tried to exhale as he prodded deeper.

He didn't reply, too busy planting open-mouthed kisses against your cunt, diving his tongue in-and-out, picking up the pace just to slow down once he felt you start to stiffen, your grip tighten on his hair as you grinded down on his face.

Forgetting to breathe, lips damp and glossy-eyed as he returned his skilled mouth to your sore and swollen clit, like he'd be content suffocating as long as it was under you.

You were so close it hurt.

Burning with the desperation, your muscles starting to tense in the build-up, the pressure stretching your already hazy mind too-thin. You wanted to focus on him, focus on the way his tongue rolled back over your clit, how one of his hands had snuck around to cup your ass, squeezing right as he sucked hard on your aching bud.

It was his teeth that did you in.

One careful nip. Just barely grazing over, applying the perfect amount of pressure to make you snap, bent too far to do anything except break in his hands, crying his name out when you came for him.

"Kuna, fuck fuck fuck," You whimpered, lips staying parted while you tried to suck in enough air to fill your lungs while the pleasure crashed around you.

But he didn't stop, working you until you felt like putty, legs still trembling when he tossed you onto your back, the soft mattress sinking around you as he hurried to rip his shirt up over his head. Fumbling for his zipper and tugging it down before groaning as he stood up, struggling to get his jeans down past his erection.

Sliding his boxers down just for his cock to spring back up, red and leaking already, so hard it had to be painful. Palming it with a few desperate strokes as he glanced around looking for something.

"Fucking hell," He muttered, letting go to walk over to his nightstand and rummage through the drawer for a condom. "Sorry, shit, been a while for me."

"It's um, kinda been a while for me too," You admitted in a breathless stammer when you finally pulled yourself back together, watching him sheath his cock inside the condom and thinking he was putting a lot of fucking faith in its ability to stretch around him.

Sukuna glanced up, brows furrowed like he didn't quite believe what he heard.

"Seriously?"

"He's busy," You excused. Or was. You weren't used to thinking of him in the past-tense yet.

You knew what Sukuna was thinking.

That Gojo was probably busy fucking someone else if he didn't have time for you. You'd considered it a few times yourself. Despite how often he stayed over at yours, he'd never gotten rid of his old apartment, kept his own place bringing up rings and marriage without ever mentioning moving in. Had driven yourself the kind of crazy to the point of checking his phone while he showered, waited by the door for him to return home, sniffing his collar to see if it'd reek of perfume, if it'd have lipstick stains.

But you never found any proof.

Would never know either way now.

For all you knew, he could already have his tongue down some other woman's throat. Maybe he hadn't cheated on you. Maybe he was waiting for the excuse to break things off without feeling like the bad guy so he could move on.

Things hadn't been going well for a while.

You just couldn't convince yourself you were okay pretending everything was fine for an entire lifetime.

"You were wasted on him," Sukuna murmured, climbing back on the bed over you, sliding his hands over your body again, slower this time. Dragging his warm palms over your thighs, tracing the faint scratches he left on your hip and skimming over your waist until he cupped your breasts.

Tracing over your peaked nipples, rolling them between his fingers before leaning over to plant a kiss against one, dragging his tongue over it and testing how it felt to scrape his teeth across it too.

His kisses continued up your sternum to your collarbone, trailing a delicate line over the tendons of your throat to your jaw. Making his way along your body like it was a point he was proving.

"The least he could've done was worship you," Sukuna dryly muttered under his breath, a hardly disguised hint of anger lingering under the surface, the heat of his palms seeping though your skin as he finally cupped your cheeks.

"You think you could've done better?" You huffed, but your voice was too small, too nervous when his stare was so intense, his focus entirely on your face.

You didn't think so. Not really.

He might've remembered it differently.

You never forgot.

All the times he'd been cold or dismissive. All the moments he'd caught your stare and turned his head. All the seconds you spent in his arms just to be the girl he only ever claimed as a friend.

"I don't know," He confessed, a tiny glint of regret reflecting back at you in his somber stare. "But I could now."

You were so swept up in whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean to pay attention to him lining himself up with your entrance.

Then his mouth was back on yours, covering up your needy moan for more when he slipped the his swollen tip in, your tired thighs shifting to make space for him.

He tilted your chin back to deepen the kiss, like it'd distract you from the biiiig stretch of inch after inch of him, itching for all he had to give you. You were wrapping your arms around his back, holding onto his shoulder blades, tempted to leave long scratches just because you knew he'd let you.

So that he'd feel the sting in the shower and think of you in the morning after you left. Would feel it when he tossed and turned at night, when he pulled a shirt back on.

Possessive and petty and probably terrible, but you wanted to take a photo, frame it and post it to the apartment you guessed Gojo would be going home to tonight.

The tattoos alone would tell him whose place you ended up at.

You tested the skin, running the edges of your nail lightly over his shoulders, eliciting a shiver that had his head dipping down into the crook of your collarbone, groaning as he froze halfway in. Stuttering to a stop, sucking softly on your neck like you wouldn't notice he needed to compose himself so he wouldn't cum early.

"You okay?" You teased, tracing a star over his muscles as he grunted his reassurance.

"Jus' fine," He grumbled.

You weren't sure who he was trying to prove it to by bottoming out, your nails actually scratching him this time when you almost jolted, gasping as the force pushed you up on his bed. He yanked you back down, his cock forced deeper as you made a sound that was more like a mewl than anything else.

"Make that noise again," He hummed, although it seemed like a demand when his eyes were practically piercing through you, brows drawn together in concentration, spearing into you the same way and holding you in place like he could recreate it.

"It, fuck, wasn't on purpose," You murmured, eyes staring to glaze over, tears pricking at the corner, starting to get overwhelmed by the constant plunge of his cock. Muscles squeezing tighter and beginning to spasm around him, body begging for more despite how sensitive you still were.

His hips smacked harder into your skin, the bed starting to creak and whine under the weight and force of each thrust, but it was his stare that was making it hard for you to focus.

"K-Kuna," You protested, lip jutting out in a pout as you clawed at his back. "Stop staring."

"Can't," His voice was gravelly, rough as he barked out the single word.

"Why not?" You whined, loathing the soft plea it came out as when his cock was pretty much lodged in your throat.

"I like looking at you."

It wasn't the answer you expected. But that was how it went with him, you guessed.

He never said what you thought he would.

You could feel a few pricks of panic start to set in, that uncomfortable heavy weight returning to suffocate your heart at the apparent sincerity despite his gruff tone, his low pitch.

"I wanna be on top," You muttered, interrupting the moment.

He chuckled, pausing mid-thrust to raise an eyebrow.

"Now?" He asked.

"Flip over," You insisted, and he obliged.

Pulling out with a little shake of his head, laying his head back on the pillow and letting you sit up on your still unsteady legs, watching you like he didn't think you'd be able to manage it.

You flipped around so you didn't have to face him or his scrutiny, adjusting until you were slowly sinking back down, bracing yourself for the new angle.

His hands returned to your hips, letting you take the lead until you were almost halfway down, thighs shaking harder with every consecutive inch.

"Need some help?" He taunted, running his thumb over your skin in slow semi-circles.

"S-shut up," You gritted your teeth, steeling yourself to take the last few inches, already feeling too full to fit anymore from this position.

He started to laugh again, a soft sound that made the knots in your stomach pull and tug, and you dropped all the way down just to shut him up.

The deep groan you tore from him only fueled the flames of satisfaction, soothed the burn from the stretch. But his hands were suddenly no longer just accessories adorning your skin, roughly guiding you up-and-down to bounce on his lap, splitting you open until you were making noises just as loud as him.

Muscles aching for relief, thighs trembling and shaking with each thrust upwards, his cock pressing kisses to your cervix every time he speared it deeper.

"Kuna, I-" You started, shutting yourself up before you could stutter and stammer through half-incoherent nonsense.

You couldn't form sentences anymore. Eyes going glassy as you scrunched them shut, grabbing onto one of his sturdy thighs to hold yourself up.

"Nod if you need me to take over," He murmured, soft and serious, no hint of his usual condescension.

You shakily nodded, a small whimper escaping as he suddenly picked you up and placed you on your stomach, lining himself back up and slipping back inside with ease as he left another path of kisses over your back.

"That's it," His low purr was filled with gravel, his tone rough but relaxing all the same.

One of his massive hands slipping underneath your front to feel for your clit while his cock throbbing inside you. He was close, probably only holding off to make sure you finished a second time before his first.

Rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers this time right as he angled himself to find the soft spot had you almost drooling onto his bed, thankful the comforter muffled your needy moans when he pinched and pushed you over the edge.

Snapping as your body betrayed you by making a strangled sound that barely even resembled his name, melting into the mattress when he finished too. Letting his teeth sink into your skin and mark you as his while he groaned your name back.

You hadn't even realized a few stray tears had started to leave makeup streaked trails down your cheeks until you went to lift your head and noticed the dark smears on his white bedspread.

Sukuna started to pull out, the weight lifting from off your back before he froze.

"Shit." His tone was off. Crossed between concern and surprise.

"What?" You huffed, straining to force your exhausted body to shift as you twisted from his hold to glance over your shoulder.

"The condom broke."

"The fuck are you doing here?"

Really, what the fuck was Gojo doing here?

"Don't think it's your business," Sukuna snarled. He dragged his attention down from the stuck-up pout and icy blue eyes down to the big bouquet of flowers in one hand to the bag of takeout in the other, a key pinched between his fingers like he was getting ready to unlock your front door.

You had scribbled your address down on a receipt you'd found in his room the morning after when you left, throwing on your dress before he insisted you throw on one of his sweaters too. Saying you should get a plan b since the condom breaking hadn't exactly stopped you from having a second round.

Told him he should come over sometime. If he was interested.

So he did.

A week later than he planned, stuck wrapping up work issues so he'd be able to devote his free time entirely to you.

But he hadn't expected you to have company.

Or maybe intruder was a better word for the white-haired idiot in front of him.

"Of course it is," Gojo huffed.

It was easy to piss him off when it came to you. To reduce him into the sort of blind seething rage that usually ended in shoves or punches.

"Last time I checked, you lost boyfriend privileges," Sukuna smugly reminded him, a cruel smirk on his lips.

"Last time I checked, she wasn't speaking to you," Gojo snarled back, a few stray petals falling off the flowers as his hands clenched tighter around the plastic-wrapped stems.

"Yeah? I mean, would you consider moaning my name speaking?" Sukuna sarcastically replied, watching his rival's already pasty face grow whiter the moment his taunt set in.

"You're lying," Gojo breathed.

He could pull down the collar of his shirt, rub in the bite marks and hickies still staining his skin. But he settled on slipping his phone out of his pocket, showing off the photo of your pretty face asleep on his pillow instead.

"Can see why you tried to keep her all to yourself," He dryly mocked, wondering if Gojo recalled the time he once said the same words to Sukuna. His arm had been slung around yours at some stupid party, hoping to provoke Sukuna into hitting him again, like he was dumb enough to risk getting his scholarship revoked after he almost got suspended from their first real fight.

Gojo steeled his face, his usually expressive eyes freezing over to something icy and cold. Skin stretched thin over the bones of his knuckles as his hands instinctively formed fists.

"The face she makes when she cums is just so cute, right?" Sukuna hm-ed, drawing it out and watching Gojo's mouth twitch into a deeper frown.

"Hope you enjoyed it," Gojo scoffed. "Not like you'll get to see it again."

Sukuna wondered what it was like. To be so stupid and so overconfident. And yet, Gojo always somehow weaseled his way into getting whatever he wanted. Even you.

"That's up to her," Sukuna grunted back.

You wouldn't go back to Gojo. Couldn't.

Sukuna had waited years for you.

One night couldn't be all he had to show for it.

"I'm her boyfriend, so-"

"Ex," Sukuna corrected him.

"We're back together," Gojo almost spat at him, shoulders stiff as he took a step closer. To block Sukuna from the door rather than a sheer intimidation tactic. The latter wouldn't have worked anyway. "We were just on a break."

Sukuna briefly considered breaking his nose.

An assault charge was nothing he couldn't get bailed out of. Although, he'd rather not give Gojo another excuse to play the victim and run crying to you so you could kiss his fucking boo boos better.

"Does she know that?"

"Why else would I be here?" Gojo scoffed.

Sukuna didn't want to believe him. Didn't want to think you'd ever be the type to accept the bullshit he threw at you.

But he'd heard the hurt in your voice before. Seen it in your eyes, the way you shied away sometimes, self-conscious.

It wasn't that inconceivable.

You had belonged to Gojo longer than you'd ever been his in any capacity. It wasn't like Sukuna ever held your heart.

You'd offered it once, held it out and hinted at wanting him to have it, but he'd let Gojo steal it instead. Convinced that you'd see Sukuna was the better option, that you'd dump that prick and show up at his door one day.

He was a fool then. Probably now too for thinking you'd choose him this time.

What was that stupid saying from Jurassic Park?

Life finds a way?

Apparently a broken condom and a failed plan b was still proving that point years later.

You still hadn't believed the four positive tests on the bathroom counter, the swollen breasts and morning sickness you'd been doing your best to ignore until you finally forced yourself to make an actual appointment, choking out the reason over the phone.

It wasn't until you saw the blob on ultrasound that it set in.

Wasn't until they told you how far along you were that you realized whose it was.

It would be one thing if it was Gojo's. He was an asshole, but you knew what you were getting with him at least. He'd been trying to get back together anyway. Leaving gifts at your door after you changed the locks and slipping apology letters through the crack when he noticed you blocked his number. He'd probably propose, make promises about being a real family that he might even attempt to keep. But it wasn't his.

It was Sukuna's.

You had no idea how he would take it when you told him.

If you could even tell him.

The number you used to have for him didn't work. You waited for him outside his apartment one night, but he didn't come home. The longer you stood there, tapping your foot like an idiot for someone who had no idea you were even there, the worse you felt about your whole, uh, situation.

Still, it was what lead you to standing in front of his work on your lunch break, studying the tall building front, shielding your eyes from the almost blinding glare of the sun reflected in the windows.

The last time you were here had been one of the last times you spoke to him. Well, before he put a fucking baby in you.

But that had been back when he had just quit his job to start his own company up, getting a grand tour of the then empty office building. Gojo had insisted on tagging along, so of course, it ended with the two of them bickering so much you practically had to drag your then-boyfriend out of the building.

It was bustling now, people cramming in the elevators probably in a rush to clock in from their own lunch breaks. You had to wait for another one to come down, barely avoiding getting elbowed by employees bumping into you while you pressed the button for the top floor.

By the time you actually reached it though, the rest of the elevator was empty. The hallway it opened up into was quiet, big windows letting in light as your heels clicked on the linoleum.

All the nerves you'd been shutting down were back, sucking in a sharp breath as you forced yourself forward with every step.

"Do you have an appointment?" She glanced over her computer screen at you, offering a polite smile like she already knew the answer.

"No, but I need to speak with him," You tried to return her smile, to force yourself to not sound nearly as stressed as you felt.

"Sorry, but you need an appointment," She insisted, head cocked to the side.

"I'm sorry, but I know him, and-"

"You could set it up over email, or put in a request-"

"Listen, considering I'm carrying his child, I would really appreciate it if you told him I was here," You gritted your teeth, unable to keep the sharp edge from your voice as you snapped at her interruption.

It was bad enough you felt like a fucking stalker showing up like this, but what the hell were you supposed to do?

Wait outside the building like a creep for him to get off?

"I wasn't aware he had a partner," His assistant cooly said, eyes flitting down to your stomach. Even if you were showing, you doubted she'd believe you.

A more rational part of you understood.

There probably wasn't a page in the employee handbook for what to do when someone shows up saying your boss knocked them up.

"Could you please just call and give him my name and save us both the time and trouble?" You forced a tight-lipped smile, nails digging into the inside of your palms as sweat pricked on the back of your neck.

All you wanted was to get this over with and get the hell home.

You doubted he'd even fucking want it, but you figured you'd do your due diligence so you could at least say you tried.

She sighed, reluctantly picking up the phone and tapping buttons with manicured nails.

"Hi sir," She greeted, frowning as she hesitated over how to inform him. "Someone's here to see you."

It was funny how fast her expression flickered at his response once she finally spit your name out.

And how quickly the door behind her swung open.

You wanted to blame it on the baby hormones when your first thought was Sukuna looked cute.

Brows scrunched together, his usually intimidating squint traded in for something well, stunned, pink lips pushed together as he readjusted the collar of his button-up.

"Come in," He practically barked, his voice scratchy as the door creaked open wider.

You swallowed hard, shrugging your purse up higher on your shoulder and walking around his assistant's desk to follow him inside, feeling his stare studying you the entire time. He shut the door behind you with a soft thud, one of his palms pressing against the small of your back once you were close enough.

"Have you ate already?" He asked, a little awkward if anything. "I could order lunch."

This wasn't a bar or his bed. No drinks in his system and nothing to hide behind.

"I don't plan on staying that long," You muttered, glancing around his rather pristine office. His nearly kept desk and the diploma on the wall, no framed photos or personal touches scattered around.

"Yeah?"

If you weren't completely delusional, he sounded disappointed.

You couldn't tell him that if you ate, you'd probably just throw it back up.

"You changed your number," You said, smoothing out the ends of your dress. Uncomfortable was an understatement. Where to stand, what to say, none of it came naturally.

"Didn't think you still had it," He replied, amusement taking over when his hand drifted around to your side. An arm wrapped around your back to lead you to his side of the desk, and you couldn't help but wonder if he'd pull you in his lap or try to bend you over it.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Figured your boyfriend made you delete it," He scowled, his frown returning as he sat in his chair, trying to tug you on top of him. "How's he doing?"

"I wouldn't know," You shrugged, keeping your feet planted in place. "Haven't spoken to him."

His expression shifted to confused, his shirt pulled tight across his broad shoulders when he let go of you to fold his arms over his chest.

"I heard you got back together," He clenched his jaw when he spoke, irritation bleeding through his voice.

"From who?" A laugh slipped out.

As if Gojo's pride would be able to handle the fact you fucked his rival less than a few hours post-breakup if he actually found out. As if he'd be happy to play stepdad to the offspring of it either.

"Him."

"And you believed him?" You giggled.

There were plenty of words you'd pick to describe Sukuna. You never would've guessed gullible would be one of them.

Sukuna's face went slack, his palm going to cover his mouth before he buried his face in his hands to hide his embarrassment.

"God," He hissed. "Fuckin' moron."

You couldn't decide if he was referring to himself or Gojo.

"Uh-huh," You stifled another laugh, looking around his office one more time before you felt your stomach flip, a sharp wave of nausea striking you as you forced yourself to swallow the spit pooling in the back of your mouth.

Reminding you why you were really here.

"Look-"

"So you're single?" Sukuna started talking again at the same time, and you could practically feel the atoms hanging in the air between you buzzing.

Tension pulling you in, a hand sneaking it's way up your thigh underneath your skirt. Your breath hitched. Your body wanted to just melt, to give in and sit down and just sleep at the first hint of safety.

But Sukuna wasn't your boyfriend or even your friend anymore, just a stranger whose condom broke while he was buried inside you.

"I mean, yeah," You nodded, not sure how exactly to break the news that you felt like you were bursting with. The ultrasound was sitting heavy in your purse, the proof of a baby he probably wouldn't even want.

The phone rang on his desk.

He let it get to the third ring before he even glanced at it, his eyes narrowing before they shot back up to your face. You recognized the look, the one he used to have when he'd chew on the ends of his pens when he was solving a problem.

"Shit."

He sighed, one of those big ones where he forced all the air out of his chest before he begrudgingly let go of you and answered the phone.

"Yes?" He gritted his teeth, obviously disgruntled at the interruption as he grinded his back molars together. Whatever he heard irritated him more, nodding to himself before he reluctantly opened his mouth to speak again. "Fine. I'll be there."

The clatter of plastic hitting plastic echoed in the empty office as he hung it back up, the coiled cord tangling together in his hurry. You just watched him gather the stuff on his desk, studying his long fingers and flexing tendons on the back of his hands.

"Listen, I have to attend this stupid meeting, but it won't take long. Stay here, or if you have to go, my assistant can give you my new number," Sukuna was already picking up his laptop, tucking it under his arm and starting towards the door, only stopping to squeeze your wrist like he was tempted to take you with him.

His intense eyes flickering away, sucking in a harsh breath. Your chest hurt. Ached with the anticipation that the second you spilled the secret all the softness in his face would harden again.

"Actually, I'll come over ton-"

"I'm pregnant."

reblogs/comments are super appreciated <3 ily guys

mini a/n: check out this amazing fanart for the prequel part of this here eeeek !!

It wasn't even the fact that he'd recreated all of his students with alarming accuracy, spending an embarrassing amount of time trying to get Megumi's perpetually unimpressed expression just right. It wasn't the way he'd nearly cried laughing when he discovered how absurd cutscenes could become depending on who was involved. It wasn't the fact that he'd muttered, "Woahhh they call me ‘Your Majesty’ babe!" with the confidence of a man defending a doctoral thesis.

It was the way he'd made you.

He had approached your Mii creation with the seriousness of a sculptor commissioned to carve a masterpiece through the facepaint section

"No," he had said, frowning at the screen. "Your eyes aren't right."

"They look fine."

"They don't look as cute as you."

"You've been adjusting them for twenty minutes."

"They’re not cute enough, baby."

You had watched him restart over and over again after that.

He insisted the tiny digital version of you needed to be perfect. Every time he thought he'd gotten it right, he'd notice something tiny and start over again. You had eventually wandered away to make tea, only to return and find him still hunched over the console with narrowed eyes.

"You know I'm literally sitting right here, right?"

"You deserve accuracy babe."

"You make it sound like you're painting royalty."

"You are royalty."

After that, it should have ended there, but

It wasn't enough for the Miis to exist on the island. He wanted to see how everyone interacted. He checked friendships, he watched cutscenes, he read out the commentary like an overly enthusiastic sports announcer despite being the only one who cared about the outcomes.

Then he discovered relationship rankings.

"Oh?" Satoru blinked.

"What?"

He slowly turned the console around toward you.

"We're friends."

"...I would hope so."

"No, look." Your Mii and his Mii were listed as friends. Satoru stared and then his eyes widened.

"We can do better than that."

You snorted.

"You sound offended."

"I am offended."

Thus began his campaign.

He didn't call it a campaign, of course. He referred to it as "letting fate take its course," which would have sounded more convincing if he hadn't started checking their friendship status every few hours. You'd catch him lying across the couch with one arm thrown over his face, only for him to suddenly sit upright and grab the console with startling urgency.

"Good news."

"What happened?"

"We're Good Friends now."

"You look happier than when you got your paycheck, Toru."

"It means we're destined to fall in love!"

It escalated from there.

Whenever cutscenes involving your Mii and his Mii appeared, he watched with rapt attention, even when he’d already seen them. He narrated them under his breath. Sometimes he laughed. Sometimes he placed a hand dramatically over his chest like he'd just witnessed the greatest romance ever told.

You had never expected your husband, one of the strongest sorcerers alive, to become emotionally attached to tiny digital representations of people he already knew. Yet every night, he updated you on island developments with the same enthusiasm other people reserved for gossip from work.

Eventually, the inevitable happened.

Satoru gasped. "Oh my God!"

"What?"

"We're Ultra Friends."

You blinked.

"...Congratulations?"

"No, you don't understand."

"I think I understand exactly as much as I should."

"We're Ultra Friends."

He looked genuinely thrilled. Then he threw himself sideways across your lap.

"I think my mii is your mii’s favorite!"

"Well you’re my favorite in real life, so…."

"Yeah, but now it's official babe!" You laughed hard enough that your shoulders shook.

The betrayal arrived three days later, it was far too early in the morning.

He notices your friendship ranking changed overnight and got suspicious because how had he missed that? He'd checked the island before bed. He'd checked it while brushing his teeth. He'd checked it while waiting for instant noodles to cook. There was no way your Mii and Nanami's Mii had become Ultra Friends over his friendship without him noticing.

Then he keeps watching because, obviously, he needs answers.

And he tells himself he's not worried. Ultra Friends just meant they got along well. You were friendly in real life, and Nanami was a decent person even if he was annoyingly competent. There was nothing inherently romantic about being Ultra Friends. Satoru repeated that to himself three separate times while staring at the screen with the intensity of a detective investigating a murder.

Then the cutscene starts.

At first, it doesn't even register as dangerous.

Your Mii and Nanami's mii are talking like all his Miis do. Satoru relaxes slightly, slumping back against the couch cushions as he lets out a quiet breath through his nose. See? He knew he was overthinking it! Your Mii was just as much of a sweetie as-

Then your Mii pauses. Satoru straightens up.

"...Wait."

Your Mii’s cheeks streak pink as the background fades into a pastel hue. Satoru's entire body goes rigid. "No!" The realization hits him all at once. Your mii had fallen in love with Nanami!

Your mii.

The one he'd painstakingly edited multiple times because he wanted to get every detail right. The one he'd proudly shown you because, look, he'd even gotten your smile perfect. The one he'd watched become Ultra Friends with his own mii before cheering like his favorite team had won a championship.

Satoru stared at the screen in complete silence.

"...No."

Your mii admitted to falling in love with Nanami.

Then, with the horror of a man witnessing the collapse of civilization, he immediately shuts the game off. The click of the Switch powering down echoes through the apartment. You don't even have time to ask what happened before Satoru lets out a strangled noise and hurls the console across the length of the sofa.

Not hard enough to damage it, but hard enough to communicate his clear devastation.

The Switch bounces once against a cushion. Satoru turns toward you with an expression usually reserved for discovering a loved one has been replaced by an impostor.

"You fell in love with Nanami!"

"...What?"

"You fell in love with him."

The entire day becomes one long pity party after that. He follows you around the apartment and all day he asks increasingly absurd questions.

"Have you always liked responsible men?"

"Satoru." you chide.

"Did you ever think his tacky yellow tie looked nice?"

"Huh?"

"He probably has good credit or whatever that bullshit means."

"You are jealous of a video game, baby."

"I am ‘jealous’ of a homewrecker!” He curled up dramatically against your side on the couch. At one point, he actually mutters, "I knew I should've made him uglier."

Even after you reassure him over and over again that you are, in fact, married to him and not secretly harboring feelings for Kento Nanami, he still looks personally victimized by the entire ordeal. Eventually, much later that evening, curiosity gets the better of him.

"...Maybe I should check."

"You've been avoiding the game for six hours."

"Because I'm grieving."

"You threw it two feet away."

"It was symbolic."

He reaches for the Switch with the cautious energy of someone handling explosive material. He turns it back on and the cutscene resumes. Your Mii is still standing there with a crush on Nanami. Satoru makes another offended sound.

Then…he notices the options. "...Huh?"

You lean over his shoulder.

"What?"

Satoru reads the choices aloud.

One of them says:

You're imagining things.

Silence settled heavily over the living room.

He stared at it.

Then he pressed the button.

Your Mii paused on screen as if genuinely taking the advice into consideration. After a brief moment, she perked up almost immediately, admitting that maybe she had just been imagining things after all. Just like that, the crush vanished as though it had never existed in the first place. The problem that had consumed Satoru's entire day resolved itself with a single press of a button he could have chosen from the beginning.

Neither of you moved.

Satoru remained frozen on the couch with the Switch still clutched in both hands. You sat beside him, staring at the screen with an expression that slowly shifted from disbelief to something far more dangerous. The apartment was so quiet that the hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen suddenly seemed deafening.

Very slowly, you turned to look at him.

"...You mean to tell me."

Satoru kept his eyes fixed firmly on the screen.

"You spent an entire day accusing me of emotional infidelity, you threw your Switch across the couch, you followed me around the apartment asking if I secretly preferred financially responsible men."

At some point during the interrogation, Satoru lowered the console into his lap. His shoulders gradually curled inward beneath the weight of every accusation, his earlier confidence shrinking into something considerably smaller. He looked less like the strongest sorcerer alive and more like a child caught drawing on the walls with permanent marker. After another long stretch of silence, he finally cleared his throat.

"...In my defense, baby-"

"You had a button."

"It was a very emotional situation!"

You stared at him for another beat before the first crack appeared in your composure. A laugh escaped despite your best efforts to hold it back, quickly snowballing into something impossible to suppress. The look on Satoru's face shifted immediately from sheepish embarrassment to outright offense. He wilted against the couch cushions as though your laughter itself had become a personal betrayal.

He dropped forward without warning, burying his face into your shoulder as if physical proximity might somehow protect him from the consequences of his own stupidity. His arms wrapped around your waist, dramatic as ever, though the grip itself carried a familiar sincerity beneath all the theatrics. When he spoke again, his words came out muffled against your shirt.

"I got scared, don't you understand, sweetheart?"

The confession lingered between you, unexpectedly earnest after hours of exaggerated sulking and ridiculous accusations. His fingers tightened slightly where they rested against your side before he let out a soft groan of embarrassment. "I know it wasn't actually you," he admitted quietly. "I know it was just a game and none of it meant anything, but... I don't know. It still felt weird seeing a version of you choose somebody else."

Your laughter softened almost instantly.

"You jealous idiot."

"I know."

"You really thought I'd leave you for Nanami."

"I didn't think you'd leave me."He pauses. "...I just didn't like seeing a version of you choose someone else." You wrap your arms around him at that. "Good thing the real me has good taste." Satoru brightens immediately in response. "You think I’m in good taste?" He beamed.

 "You had a meltdown over a Nintendo game because you love me. So I’d say you’re at most a sweetheart."

"It’s romantic." He retorted. “No baby, it’s insane!” You replied. Satoru grins against your shoulder before glancing back down at the screen. "...I'm still keeping an eye on Nanami." You immediately start laughing again.

And Satoru, despite having discovered there had literally been an "you're imagining things" option the entire time, narrows his eyes suspiciously at Nanami's tiny digital face anyway.

Because some grudges, apparently, transcended reality itself.

a/n: i know this is a shorter wordcount but my ass is exhausted from life and exams, whiny toru def cheering me up tho :b

also i've rlly liked tomadachi life, i got addicted rlly fast and im ngl it gets boring sometimes but most of the time its rlly fun!!

divider credits!! @dividers-are-us , @cursed-carmine

The words pile up behind your teeth. It was me. I'm the reason Mingyu left. I'm the reason this family is bleeding. Your lips part. Your tongue shapes the first syllable.

The kettle whistles. She turns to silence it, her hands shaking so badly she nearly drops the pot. "Sorry," she murmurs, more to herself than to you. "I'm just... I haven't been sleeping. The lawyers called again. The Parks are demanding—" She stops. Presses her fingers to her temples. "I'm so tired."

The confession dies in your throat.

You swallow it back down with a mouthful of cold coffee, the acid burning your stomach, and you say nothing at all.

Wednesday. Thursday. Friday.

The days blur into a single, sustained flinch. Every time your stepfather's study door slams, your adrenaline fires. Every time your mother's phone buzzes, your stomach drops through the floor. You've stopped eating properly. Stopped sleeping entirely. You lie in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, your ears trained on the silence, waiting for the explosion that will tear everything apart. The fantasy plays on a loop: Sarah's email arriving, your mother's gasp, your stepfather's roar, the accusations, the shattered glass, the disowning. You also cant' help but think that this must be your karma for keeping a secret affair with Mingyu.

You deserve it. That's the worst part. You've earned every shard of the coming wreckage.

By Saturday, your nerves are stripped raw.

The house is heavy with humidity, the air thick as soup. You're in your room, wearing simple oversized t-shirt, the blinds drawn, when your mother's voice drifts up the grand staircase. It isn't a scream. It isn't panicked. It's quiet, strained, almost formal—the voice she uses when company is over and she's pretending everything is fine.

"Could you come down to the main living room, please?"

The sheer lack of panic in her tone is what freezes your blood.

Your bare feet carry you down the stairs before your brain can catch up. The marble is cool against your soles. The chandelier throws prisms of light across the foyer. Everything looks normal. Everything sounds normal. But the air itself feels wrong, charged with a static electricity that raises the hair on your arms.

You step into the living room.

Your body understands what's happening before your mind does. Your knees lock. Your fingers grip the doorframe. The room is a tableau, a painting of barely contained violence.

Sarah sits on the velvet sofa, her posture perfect, her hands folded over a black designer handbag. Her mother, Mrs. Park, occupies the adjacent armchair, her elegant features arranged into a mask of cold fury. Her dad stands by the window, his back to the room, his shoulders rigid beneath his tailored jacket. Your mother is on the opposite sofa, a crumpled linen handkerchief pressed to her mouth. Your stepfather stands behind her, his hand on her shoulder, his jaw set in granite.

All of them turn to look at you.

"Sit down." Your stepfather's voice is gravel. "We have matters to discuss."

You perch on the edge of an armchair, your hands clasped between your knees. Sarah's gaze finds you immediately. It doesn't waver. It doesn't blink. It's a dead, calculating stare—flat as a frozen lake, cold as the moment before a trigger pull.

For twenty agonizing minutes, you watch the adults spin in an endless, venomous loop.

"The audit will uncover every cent—"

"You have no grounds for an audit. The merger documents clearly state—"

"My daughter was humiliated in front of three hundred guests!"

"Your daughter's humiliation doesn't entitle you to corporate assets—"

"I will take this to court. I will drag your family's name through every—"

"Oh, you want to discuss family names?"

Your mother weeps quietly into her handkerchief. No one comforts her. No one even looks at her. The men are circling each other like wolves, their voices rising and crashing, their hands gesturing wildly. Money. Contracts. Reputation. The words blur into white noise, a storm of rage and blame and desperation.

Through all of it, Sarah does not speak.

She sits perfectly upright, her ankles crossed, her manicured fingers resting on the clasp of her handbag. Her gaze remains fixed on you with the intensity of a predator watching wounded prey. Every time her father raises his voice about "the coward who ran," Sarah's eyes narrow slightly. Her lips curl at the corners—not a smile, but something adjacent. Something worse.

Go on, that look says. Tell them. Or I will.

The air in the room thins. Your mother's sobbing grows louder. Sarah's father slams his palm against the coffee table, rattling the teacups. Your stepfather rises to his full height, his face purpling with rage.

You can't breathe.

You can't live in the dark anymore.

The decision arrives not as a thought but as a physical sensation, a surge of adrenaline that lifts you out of the armchair before you've consciously chosen to move. The leather cushion screeches against the hardwood. The sound cuts through the shouting like a blade, and every head in the room snaps toward you.

Your mother looks up, her eyes swimming with confusion. "Sweetheart?"

You clear your throat. Your hands tremble at your sides. Your chin lifts.

It was me.

The words are ready. They've been waiting behind your teeth for seven days, seven months, seven years. You fix your eyes on your mother's exhausted face and open your mouth to say them all—Mingyu didn't leave for another woman, he left because of me, I'm the reason, I'm the one who—

The heavy electronic click of the mansion's front door echoes through the foyer.

Every head turns toward the archway.

The silence that follows is absolute. A vacuum. A held breath before the gunshot.

Footsteps. Heavy. Deliberate. The sound of leather soles against marble, growing louder, closer. The living room freezes in its frame—your stepfather mid-lunge, Mr. Park's finger still raised, your mother's handkerchief suspended halfway to her cheek.

Mingyu walks into the center of the room.

He stops on the rug, directly beneath the chandelier's harsh light, and for a moment, no one moves. No one breathes.

You expected a Mingyu hollowed-out of exhaustion. Dark circles carved into his skin like bruises. Shoulders hunched under the weight of weeks on the run. Clothes slept-in and creased, stubble shadowing his jaw, the manic gleam of a man who's been running on fumes and desperation.

Instead, he looks completely immaculate.

His suit is a dark charcoal, tailored to his frame with surgical precision. The jacket sits perfectly across his shoulders. The white shirt beneath is crisp, uncreased, the top button undone just enough to reveal the hollow of his throat. His jaw is clean-shaven, his skin smooth, every dark hair styled flawlessly into place. Not a single strand out of line.

He stands in the center of the wreckage with an eerie, unbothered composure that feels sharper and more dangerous than any exhaustion could be.

His eyes sweep the room. Past his father's purple-faced fury. Past the Parks' frozen outrage. Past Sarah, who has gone very still on the velvet sofa, her composure cracking for the first time. His gaze moves through them like they're furniture, obstacles, irrelevant noise—

And lands squarely on you.

You're still standing. Still trembling. Your confession still lodged behind your teeth, half-formed and dying. His dark eyes hold yours, and in them you see something that makes your stomach drop: certainty. Possession. The calm, unshakeable knowledge that he's walked into this room for one reason and one reason only.

Your stepfather recovers first.

He crosses the rug in three strides, his arm already swinging. The blow connects with a sound like a gunshot, flesh against flesh, knuckles against cheekbone. The impact echoes through the vaulted ceiling, ricochets off the chandelier crystals, slams into the walls.

Mingyu's head snaps to the side.

He doesn't flinch.

Doesn't raise a hand to defend himself. Doesn't step back. His jaw tightens, a muscle jumping beneath his ear. The red mark of his father's hand blooms across his cheekbone, but his eyes—his eyes remain locked on yours.

"You—" Your stepfather's voice breaks. He's breathing hard, his fist still raised. "You have some nerve showing your face in this house."

Mingyu turns his head slowly. The motion is deliberate, controlled. He looks at his father as if noticing him for the first time, and there's something in his expression that makes the older man take a step back.

"Mother." Mingyu's voice is smooth as glass. He's addressing your mother now, his tone almost gentle. "Ask your husband what he did to my mother twenty years ago. Before he talks about destroying families."

The room goes very, very still.

Your mother's handkerchief drops to her lap. Her mouth opens. Closes. She turns to look at her husband, and the question in her eyes is a wound.

"What—what is he talking about?"

Your stepfather's face drains of color. "This is absurd. He's deflecting. He's trying to—"

"Twenty years ago." Mingyu's voice doesn't rise, but it fills every corner of the room. "The business trip to Singapore. The wo—"

"Mingyu—"

"Ask him." Mingyu's eyes never leave his father's face. "Ask him what happened to that woman. Ask him what happened to my mother when she found out."

Your mother is shaking now. Her hands grip the sofa cushions, her knuckles white. "Is this true?"

"He's lying. He's a liar. He's trying to—"

"You destroyed your own family long before I destroyed anything." Mingyu's voice finally cracks, just slightly, just enough. "You don't get to stand there and lecture me about honor."

The silence that follows is a living thing, a predator circling the room. Mrs. Park has gone pale. Mr. Park has lowered his finger, his face unreadable. Sarah is staring at Mingyu with an expression you've never seen before—something between horror and fascination and the dawning realization that she's lost control of the room entirely.

Then Mingyu exhales. His shoulders drop. The steel in his spine softens, just for a moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is raw.

"I apologize for my disappearance." He turns to face the room, addressing all of them and none of them. "For the silence. For the weeks of uncertainty. It was... cowardly. And I'm sorry."

Your mother's eyes fill with fresh tears. Your stepfather stands frozen, his fist still clenched, his face a mask of fury and something that might be fear.

Sarah rises from the sofa.

Her movement is abrupt, graceless—a crack in her porcelain composure. Her hand dives into her designer handbag, fingers scrabbling for her phone. "He's lying," she says, and her voice is cold, but there's a tremor beneath it now. "He's protecting someone. He's been protecting someone this whole time."

She has the phone out. Her thumb swipes across the screen.

"Don't you want to know why he really left?" Her eyes find you. Her lips curl. "Don't you want to know who he was really—"

"Sarah."

Mingyu's voice cuts through her words like a scalpel. It isn't loud. It doesn't need to be. There's a command in it, an authority that stops her cold, her thumb hovering over the screen.

"The financial reports from the third quarter." He reaches into his jacket and withdraws a heavy manila envelope. The paper is thick, official, stamped with a logo you don't recognize. He drops it onto the glass coffee table. It lands with a slap that makes the teacups jump. "The discrepancies in the Park Group's reported assets. The secret companies off shore. Every transaction they've been hiding from the merger committee for the past eighteen months."

Mr. Park goes rigid. "What is this?"

"That's what I've been doing for the past months." Mingyu's voice is steady, almost bored. "I didn't disappear. I was building a case. The wedding was a business arrangement, wasn't it? Well, here's the business." He taps the envelope with two fingers. "The Parks have been systematically defrauding their investors. They needed this merger to cover the losses before the audit caught up with them."

"This is—this is slander—"

"It's evidence." Mingyu's smile is thin and sharp. "Forensically verified. I have copies with three separate media outlets, scheduled to go live tonight unless I call them off personally."

The room erupts.

Mr. Park lunges for the envelope. Your stepfather lunges for Mr. Park. Mrs. Park shrieks something about lawyers, her elegant composure shattered, her hands fluttering at her throat. Your mother covers her ears with both palms, her weeping dissolving into ragged gasps.

Sarah hasn't moved. She's still standing, her phone forgotten in her grip, her face a mask of frozen fury. Her eyes bore into Mingyu with a hatred so pure it's almost beautiful.

"You planned this," she breathes. "You planned all of this."

Mingyu doesn't answer her. He doesn't look at her. His gaze finds yours across the chaos of the room, through the shouting and the accusations and the sound of your mother's crying, and something in his expression shifts. Softens. The mask drops, just for a heartbeat, and underneath it is the same hunger you've always known. The same desperate, consuming need.

He steps past the coffee table. Past his father's raised fist. Past Sarah's trembling fury.

His hand closes around your wrist.

Rough. Warm. The grip of someone who's been drowning and has finally found solid ground.

"We're leaving."

The words are quiet. They're meant only for you. But the room hears them anyway, and for one frozen moment, every face turns toward the two of you. His hand on your wrist. Your body angled toward his. The truth of it, finally, exposed in the harsh light of the chandelier.

"Wait—" That's your mother, rising from the sofa, her handkerchief forgotten. "What are you—where are you—"

Sarah's voice rises above the chaos, shrill and cracking. "They're sleeping together! Don't you see? He's been fucking his little step-sister this whole time, that's why he—"

Mingyu pulls you forward.

Your bare feet stumble across the rug, past the coffee table, past the frozen tableau of screaming parents and shattered alliances. His grip on your wrist is iron. His stride is long, purposeful, dragging you through the archway and into the marble foyer.

Behind you, the shouting reaches a fever pitch.

"—ruined everything, you ruined everything—"

"—this isn't over, Mingyu, I will destroy—"

"—how long? How long has this been—"

The front door swings open. Late afternoon sun blinds you, hot and golden, pouring across the driveway. Mingyu's black SUV is parked at the curb, engine already running. He must have left it idling. He must have known he wouldn't be staying long.

He opens the passenger door. His hand releases your wrist, finds the small of your back, guides you upward. The leather seat is warm from the sun. The door slams shut.

By the time he slides into the driver's seat, the mansion's front door is open again. Sarah stands in the doorway, her silhouette etched against the marble foyer, her arm raised, her mouth open in a scream you can't hear through the glass.

Mingyu doesn't look at her.

The SUV pulls away from the curb with a roar, tires gripping asphalt, and the mansion shrinks in the rearview mirror until it's nothing but a shape against the sky.

Neither of you speaks.

The city blurs past the windows—familiar streets, familiar storefronts, the Pilates studio, the café where Sarah cornered you, the boutique where she bought her wedding lingerie. All of it recedes, swallowed by distance and speed. Mingyu drives with both hands on the wheel, his knuckles white on the leather, his jaw tight. The red mark on his cheekbone has darkened to a bruise.

You should say something. You should ask where he's going. You should demand answers, explanations, some accounting for the chaos he just detonated in the living room. But your voice has abandoned you. Your whole body is shaking, fine tremors running from your shoulders to your fingertips, the adrenaline crash hitting all at once.

The silence stretches. Deepens. Becomes its own kind of communication—everything you've never said to each other, crowding the space between your seat and his.

You shift uncomfortably against the leather, suddenly, acutely aware of how you must look. You are sitting in his passenger seat wearing nothing but an old, oversized t-shirt—no bottoms, no shoes, your bare feet pressed against the floorboards. You hadn't even had time to grab slippers before the world imploded, and the cold draft from the car's air conditioning raises goosebumps along your completely exposed legs.

The sun sinks lower. The streetlights flicker on. Mingyu drives and drives, and you realize with a strange, hollow certainty that he has no destination. No plan. No safe house waiting. He's just moving, carrying you both forward into the darkening evening, away from the wreckage and toward something he hasn't named.

His hand leaves the steering wheel.

Finds your thigh.

His palm is warm directly against the bare skin of your thigh, his fingers curling tightly around the curve of your leg where the oversized shirt ends. He doesn't look at you. Doesn't speak. Just holds on, the heat of his hand a sudden, intense brand against your naked skin, as if you're the only solid thing in a world that's gone liquid.You cover his hand with yours.

Interlace your fingers.

At this, the pink-haired man is letting out a loooow whistle- one of his pink brows raise as he looks between his opponent and you in the stands. 

Oh—how fuckin’ pretty you were. 

Just engulfed in an ice-blue jersey with the Tokyo Free Blades logo on the front - they sold those things for far more than they were worth, but Sukuna’s sure this must’ve been one of Gojo’s own. It was big enough and looked softer than the merchandise- or maybe that was just the slight blur around your figure…were the lights too harsh or was Sukuna hallucinating? It’s slipping down to your wrists, where you were holding a big banner that had your boyfriend’s name on it—‘Go Go Gojo The Strongest Satoru!’ Eyes sparkling. Lips slightly swollen from your nervous gnawing. Jumpin’ up and down excitedly as you catch his eye. How cute…

And while Sukuna’s wondering just how damn lucky the bastard opposite him was- Gojo can’t help but muse about just how awfully the other’s hair color clashed with his uniform.

Blood-red just like his eyes.

Locked and narrowed on you—

Gojo’s knocking his hockey stick against Sukuna’s, making the other man finally tear his eyes away. He gruffs out finally, “Never said she wasn’t.”

He pushes against his opponent’s wooden blade harder, “Then why’ve you got her name in your fucking mouth?”

“What- scared she’s gonna like it better in my mouth, heh?” Only for the other to push back with a leer.

“The mouth I punched back in the New York playoffs?” Gojo scoffs. They’d played against each other a few times before - it was impossible to avoid anyone in the big leagues. And each time had ended up with one or both in the infirmary and headlines for days. “Or the mouth that got himself suspended for two games a few months ago?”

He sweeps a look towards you in the stands, you were on your feet and looking over them in concern now. And listen—listen, Gojo was well-aware he’s lucky to have you - and proud of it. But having you be stared at by this son of a-

Sukuna leans in with a whisper, “The mouth tha’s gonna make your girl cum harder than she has in her entire life.”

“See, the difference between you and I…” And Gojo should be rageful- he was. Despite that strange throb in his shorts, he promises he was. But more than that he couldn’t stop from leaning in himself, letting his breath cloud out within the cold stadium. Against Sukuna’s ear shell, “-is that you can only dream…while I have my mouth on her every fucking night.”

Sukuna jerks away, “You little-”

“Oh, and the title as well.” Gojo smirks, that little dimple popping out by the edge of his lips. He can hear his numerous fan clubs scream even louder - Gojo Satoru had splashed onto the ice hockey world and shot straight to the top without looking back. 

They couldn’t get enough of the Prince of the Ice. 

His looks. His winks. His plays. “Perhaps you haven’t realized it yet, Ryomen Sukuna, but the only reason you were the greatest center in history was simply because…I wasn’t playing yet~”

The other man straightens silently. He was a few inches taller than Gojo, standing at an impressive 6’6 to Gojo’s 6’4. It was easy to realize why the media seemed to love him as a ‘bad boy’ - the troublesome one. Despite them being similar ages, he was the more experienced one. Buffer. Nastier. Tattooed and towering. 

They called him the King of the Rink for a reason. And the King looked down on them all—especially new captains with blue eyes and too many fan clubs. But that wasn’t saying he didn’t have many of his own - but at least he deserved his. “And what took ya so long to reach my level, Gojo Satoru?”

Gojo looks at Sukuna.

Gojo looks at you.

Then back at the other player- “Was too busy fucking my girl.”

And Sukuna’s ready to spit out something that wouldn’t be able to air on sports channels- before the referee skates over just then.

His deadpan voice cutting through the chaos, “Alright alright, break it up you two.” The older man - Masamichi Yaga, a legendary player in his own time, one of Gojo’s own junior coaches - looks between the two. “Keep it clean.”

Sukuna grumbles but ultimately glides a few inches backwards, hockey stick at the ready. Gojo follows with a smirk.

The commentator announces- “Two players who’ve made the headlines for their explosive rivalry- Ryomen Sukuna, the strongest center in history, and Gojo Satoru, the hotshot who stole that title from straight under his nose—hah! I can hear the fan clubs already. Though, that’s not to say our King of the Rink will be giving it up that easily. We’re in for a reeeeal treat tonight, ladies and gentlemen!”

“Okay- King, welcome back for another season.” Yaga then turns to the white-haired man. “Gojo, welcome to the NHL. Set.”

Gojo smiles, he hopes you’re watching this. Nothing matters if you’re not watching.

“Oh—our Prince of the Ice is smiling. Can it be that he’s confident in his win already?”

“Yeah- welcome, bastard.” Sukuna bites out, his stick blade digging into the designated area on the spot. “Enjoy yer first game here- and your last. By the end of it yer gonna be crying in your gal’s arms.”

“But Ryomen Sukuna is one of the most feared players in the league for a reason- just look at those muscles!”

One white brow raises, “You think I’d lose against you?” Eyes locked on Yaga once he presents the puck and readies himself.

“This is a moment in NHL history, ladies and gentlemen.”

“I know it.”

“Gojo and Sukuna-”

“Nah, I’d win.”

“-who to choose?!”

The Prince and the King.

Both prodigies.

The puck is dropped and it’s a mad dash—the clap of hockey sticks like a most satisfying lightning strike, and that circular slab of black is being swung past the neutral zone and into Gojo’s side.

“Sukuna gets the puck! Such a tight turn and attack straight to the net- the Tokyo Free Blades aren’t letting him get far—oh, what a steal.”

Gojo’s speeding past to let his first defense line sweep him back the puck- Sukuna’s racing past to take it back from him.

And the game commences. 

“This is going to be a tight game, ladies and gentleman”

In the first twenty minutes, it’s one point for the Tokyo Free Blades.

One point for the Heian Hawks.

Considering the intensity of each team’s defense, you weren’t surprised that it was off to a fierce yet slow start. Gojo was holding back, testing out the playing field, and Sukuna was a lot more used to this stadium. This league. It was making the other captain sweat.

But with your cheers, you could see a faint smile on Gojo’s face as he started the second twenty minutes.

Your boyfriend was using his famous body fake technique to gain two more points-

One point for the Tokyo Free Blades.

One point for the Tokyo Free Blades.

One point for the Heian Hawks.

One point for the Tokyo Free Blades.

One point for the Tokyo Free Blades.

Everyone was on their feet. Whether out of exhilaration or out of desperation for their team—and you were one of them. During the second break Gojo, of course, skidded down the side of the rink during his break to spend it blowing kisses at you through the plexiglass - before his coach arrived to drag him away.

And so caught up in your embarrassment at his display, you didn’t see the way he shot a smug look at Sukuna. The other man glowering from his own side of the bench.

He was never one to be left behind.

The final twenty minutes started off with the pink-haired tyrant using his signature aggressive playstyle to get nothing more than three more points back-to-back. Making the commentator cry out at the hat trick and the audience get onto their feet now.

One point for the Heian Hawks.

One point for the Heian Hawks.

One point for the Heian Hawks.

The score was quickly five to five - one of the greatest plays that the NHL had recently seen. And Sukuna was basking in it.

Basking.

He was skating down the sides of the stands at a rapid pace, showing off for the audience- showing off for you—Sukuna reaches where you were seated and bangs the shaft of his hockey stick against the plexiglass. THUD-THUD-THUD—! You startle while the fans around you jump up and cheer-

And he’s looking right down at you. Smirking through the cage of his helmet…

Until Gojo’s skating by him and rams Sukuna against the plexiglass with his own body. The two of their muscular figures colliding. Sukuna’s turning to Gojo with a snarl. Gojo’s raising his fist up high and aimed.

It’s a fight that Yaga has to break up.

The timer rings.

.

.

.

“—can’t believe I had to take the win with a fucking shootout.” Gojo speaks in his aggravated tone, hissing once you press the ice-pack to the cut above his eyebrow.

This wouldn’t have been considered worse for wear had it been any other player, but this was the Prince of the Ice. You could already envision the headlines that would flood your timeline tomorrow. The hat trick. The smile. The fist fight. 

“But you won, Toru.” Once the game had ended in a tie, there was no choice but to start an overtime period. A fight to the death, more like. It lasted less than five minutes and ended up with Gojo scoring first out of pure fury and adrenaline.

Though that in itself was a tight match, the game had finally ended: 6—5.

The Tokyo Free Blades had won. 

Barely. And if you asked Gojo Satoru, a bare win was worse than a fair loss.

Which is why you were cooped up with him in the team’s locker room even after the rest of the players had filtered out. The coaches knew you well enough by this point that you’d gained access easily, and you knew Gojo well enough to know that he was taking this match to heat. Especially as captain.

And here you were pressing an ice-pack to the numerous cuts and bruises he’d acquired during his tussle with Sukuna. “I thought you did really well, baby.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. But-”

“Oh, come on—”

“But having you with me during an NHL game and I it ends up like this-”

“Toru, you’re the hardest on yourself.” Huffing, you push back on his damp white bangs. “I loved your playing today and I know everyone else did, too.”

“Yes, but I made the team go into overtime-” Gojo cries out once more.

“Which happens fairly often!”

Throwing his hands up in exasperation, “Yes, but that damned Ryomen Sukuna- fuck! How I wish I could have used more backhands against him- or body checks- or cycling- or even just slammed my hockey stick into his ugly fucking-”

“Satoru.” You interrupt him, and your boyfriend looks up at you immediately.

“Yes, ma’am?”

Underneath the glowy white light of the locker room, you can’t help but think that Gojo looks so pretty like this. 

There was a reason that he was the hockey player with the most fanfiction written of him (you knew, you’d checked). He was still in his deeeep blue uniform from earlier, not having had the heart to take them off just yet. It was slightly loose as it should be, but did nothing to hide Gojo’s firm shoulders, his broad chest, his strong arms. Matching the shade of his teary eyes, slightly reddened around the edges in a way that made him look so delicate. He flutters his long lashes up at you and subconsciously pouts. You’re noticing just then that he had a fresh bruise on his lower lip, making them look even more plump. 

Gojo looked almost ethereal. 

Head slightly sweaty. Body slightly blushing. His fingers still jittery with adrenaline. 

Pouting. Pretty. 

Though it didn’t matter because to him—you would always be the most beautiful. 

Gojo whimpers at the slight sting of pain once you kiss his poor, injured lips. “Fuh-fuck, sweetheart…mm.” And it was almost impressive how you had a 6’4 mountain of muscle and power as nothing but putty in your hands.

He melts.

“My girl?”

“Mhm, Toru?” You’re cooing down at him- chuckling at the way he chases your lips once you slightly pull away. It doesn’t matter if it hurts…he just needed you.

“Can you make me feel better?”

“Of course, Toru.”

In mere moments you’re being slammed up against the locker with your cunt against the smooth metal and Gojo’s hot erection inside your cunt. His fat cockhead probin’ between your pussylips and pushing against every tiny nook and cranny.

Just so thiiiiick and flared wide open that it makes your mouth water. Your legs limp.

You fucking loved when Gojo got like this - just after one of his games when he’s so high on the adrenaline that his furious erection just won’t seem to go down.

And of course - of fucking course - the only possible solution to that would be to shove you against the nearest flat surface he can find. To press you down with his hefty weight so that you can’t squirm your hips away. To hold you against this still-sweaty body as he pummels his thick inches inside you. To fuck you so hard and needy that even the lockers echo out their sounds in sultry synchronization with you.

Slam-slam-slam— 

In and out, in and out, in and out—

“F—ngh, fuck.” He whispers, all hot and breathy against the back of your neck. It makes you slightly flinch at the sensation and Gojo’s pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your nape- then digging his teeth in to almost draaaag you back to him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck- m’feeling better already, sweetheart.”

“Thank goodness, because you’re making me feel all- oh.” Just then his mushroomy tip swabs against your g-spot and you can’t stop your moan. “Shit, right there, Toru.”

Gojo’s panted chuckle breezes down your spine, “You could say I really, mm, hit the goal- hm?”

“Sh-shut up.” 

Before you’re arching right at Gojo’s sculptured core - he still had his blue ice hockey jersey on, and so did you. One of his that he’d given you, in fact.

Though he was holding his jersey up with one hand so that your restless body could sliiiiide down each sensual curve and ridge of his abs. He knew how much you liked that.

He could feel just how much wetter you got whenever you felt Gojo’s white happy trail scrape up against your cunt. Your outer pussy was just rubbed raw on the slammin’ of his base and now there was this—he pulls the hemline of his jersey up to his mouth and bites down on it. Keeping it permanently held up as the captain ruts and ruts against you even harder now.

Deeeeeeep, plunging strokes that leave wet thwacks! against the back of your cunt.

The hockey player’s reddish globular tip pushes against your sweetest spots a few more times, and each time he’s counting- “That’s one.”

“Wh-what do you…”

Hitting that exact spot once more like a target- wetness seeps from your cunt and sticks your thighs together with a wet sheen. Shit, it was just too cute how he had that mind of yours muddled with only a few strokes. “Two- three—” Each one accompanied by the most vicious mwah against your throbbin’ bundles of nerves.

“Why are you- hck! counting, baby?” You sniffle out.

So damn gone on his thickened, veiny length that he’s forced to (well, more like glad to) hook two rugged palms underneath your thighs and lift you up. He’s supporting your body a proper inch off of the tiled floor, jerking you up even higher every time his aching hot cock was swabbin’ away into you- “Three. That’s a hat trick.”

You blink tearily over your shoulder, not quite sure you heard him right. “A…a what?”

“A hat trick.” All three of those words were followed by three more pushing probes against your g-spot- “And look at thaaaat- that’s another hat trick.” Cutely peckin’ away his swollen cockhead again. And again. And again and- “That’s four. Five. Six. Seven-”

“Pleeeeeease—”  The only thing you can do is grab onto the jutted handles of the lockers for dear life. Back arched. Toes curling.

Those bulbous wet tears welling up by the sides of your eyes are so damn cute that all he wants to do is kiss them away. “Not ‘please’, heh- what you mean to say is thank you.”

“Th-thank you.” Babbling out with no difficulty.

And that makes even Gojo raise one pale brow, his rosy lips curling at the edges. “Fucked dumb already? Mmm, you really liked today’s game, huh? So good f’me.” With a raspy titter he slides a hand down the middle of your spine and gives your right ass cheek a goooood spank. “Then can you say thank you very muuuuuch, Toru—?”

“Thank you very- hck! much-” Mouth moving before your mind, he’s planting down yet another smack before you can finish your sentence. “-Toru!”

The focused captain nearly doesn’t wait until bossing you around again. “Theeeeen, how about can you say that Gojo Satoru, my handsome- ngh, boyfriend, is the best ice hockey player in history?”

Your mind was almost dizzy at the length of that sentence- “Satoru- ngh, fuck.”

“Nuh-uhhhh—” His needy pitch echoes out, planting a few more mean thrashes against your g-spot to leave you even more stupid. Hat trick. So slick with your glazy syrup that it’s easy to follow that route to reach your delicate spots. “It’s- Gojo Satoru, my handsome boyfriend, is the best-”

“Begging yer girl to say that shit because you know it’s not true?”

A voice that decidedly didn’t sound like either yours or your boyfriend’s.

It was too gruff, too mocking, too…predatory. Something in it that makes goosebumps erupt down the line of your spine and for you to snap your head immediately to the side- despite no one being in the locker room, you two had still chosen a slightly private corner of the mazing lockers. Somewhere no one would be able to see.

You just didn’t think that Ryomen Sukuna of all people would come looking for you.

He stood inside the sex-saturated room with his arms crossed, beefy biceps bulging through his red jersey. Head cocked. Expression smug. Tall enough that the tips of his pink hair touched the ceiling. Like Gojo, Sukuna hadn’t changed much out of his uniform- he was still sporting his red jersey and a slightly bloody nose to match.

Something you didn’t realize could be so attractive-

Dried around where his lips curled up into a smirk so smug. 

You’d be lying to yourself if you said that you didn’t find Ryomen Sukuna attractive - anyone with able vision or ears would be able to. He was strong. He was cocky. He was the type to glide through the rink as if he owned it- and just today he’d stopped and signalled at you—

And then there was the matter of his tattoos.

Thick inky rings at his wrists and his biceps, some more peeking out of his uniform. They always did give him an aura of authority. 

Even now, he stood inside the traitorous room as though he owned it. 

Stealthily, he’d opened up the door and crept inside the rival team’s locker room- or maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he’d been deafeningly loud and you two just hadn’t noticed.

Being so caught up-

Sukuna’s crimson gaze glides down the curvature of your spine and to where your pussy was just drippin’ all over the other man. Creating a slimy sheen down Gojo’s pistoning cock and all the way down his muscular thighs.

It smacks n’ splatters all over the globes of your ass because the white-haired man just wouldn’t stop-

“Why the fuck are you here? Spying on us because you can’t get any?” Gojo scoffs, not even slowing down- in fact, by the way you could feel his thick throbbing tip at your throat, you think he might just be speeding up—

“Fuuuuuck, Toru-”

“Shhhh shh shh, sweetheart.” One of Gojo’s hands lifts from your thighs and ends up clapping over your mouth. He feels your gaped maw splosh out in saliva and presses against your face even harder- “Wouldn’t wanna let that mean ol’ pervert hear any of your pretty noises, right?”

“Who the fuck are ya calling old-” Sukuna growls.

“I-I…” And you’re torn between looking behind at your boyfriend, and sideways at the pink-haired intruder. Both just making your cunt throb even harder.

“Hear that?” Sukuna snickers out of his toned chest, “Heh- yer pretty girlfriend doesn’t even know where to look.”

“Probably wanting to look anywhere but at your ugly ass-”

“Probably looking for an escape.” The taller man looms even closer, casting a shadow over your sweaty connected bodies. Your cunt quivers and he eyes you greedily as though he knew- “Rutting into her like that? Honestly- if ya won a match then fuck her like it.”

Gojo opens his mouth, “I won’t take advice from a sore loser.”

“Then take advice from me as a man.” Before Sukuna’s diverting his gaze down to where you were looking up at him with widened eyes. He softens his tone just for you, he leans down to speak just to you—grinning. “Your pussy wants me bad, doesn’t she, mama?”

“Don’t you fucking talk to her-”

Gojo tightens his palm atop your loosened mouth- and the only thing that does is smear the wads of saliva leaking out of you. Because you’re clenching your gummy walls so hard that he can’t help but give an animalistic jolt-

“She jus’ squeezed that pussy tight, didn’t she?” The hockey captain asks, and he doesn’t need to wait for the answer - he could already see it in Gojo’s dazed eyes. His parted lips. His aching cock. Sukuna’s own aching erection that he reaches a hand down to palm over his shorts, “Mmm, I can already imagine- fuck…what a shame she’s wasted on a bastard like you.”

Any and all haziness leaves Gojo’s peripherals instantly as he whips them over at the other man. “Uh-huh? And you really think you’re any better?” He’s inadvertently jostling the two of you even closer to him. 

“Fucker, I know I’m better.” Sukuna steps closer.

And you’re not sure how but you find yourself practically sandwiched between them - Gojo’s pecs pushing up against you from behind, his lengthy shaft drilling into you like a madman. Sukuna’s against your front - pressing against you with his muscular core, and his erection throbbing obviously between his legs. You were pulled away from the locker that was your lifeline and could barely even breathe like this-

Gojo humps his roverin’ tip into you from behind and scowls, “I’d say prove it but my girl doesn’t deserve to be put through that.”

“You’d say prove it but you’re scared I’d steal your girl.” Sukuna was cornering you both now. The positions had somehow flipped so that Gojo was starting to have his back against the locker now, Sukuna looming in. You between them. Being compressed. Being fucked stupid still-

He hisses at the frigidness of the metal, “In your dreams-” 

“Oh yeah?” Sukuna seethes, “Watch me.”

And then Sukuna’s snaggin’ away your panties- yes, you still had your panties on. Light blue just like your boyfriend’s eyes because you knew how ruined he was for that - and as soon as Sukuna’s registering the fact, he’s grazing his nail against the cloth and riiiiiiipping it straight off of your wet cunt. 

Nose crinkling in amusement as he throws it to the side-

“Oi-” Gojo snaps from behind, “I bought those limited edition for her, y’know-”

“And next time I’ll buy her ones in red.”

“You wish you could afford that shit-”

And it’s the last thing you’re hearing before Sukuna’s pressing one of his thickened fingertips right between your pussylips. His roughened crown pries apart your folds—sluuuurp, and you were just so damn damp that it trickles down his tattooed wrist.

Glistening against the ring of ink on his skin- Sukuna’s openin’ you up like some cute birthday present. Spreading apart your thick pussylips. Probin’ just the knobbled edges of his digits against your entrance—maybe because of his rumored rough training, but Ryomen Sukuna’s hands were much more calloused than Gojo’s. Much thicker. Much meaner.

He takes a goooood look down at your hole and chuckles- “Pull out and pull her legs up.”

At that, Gojo falters his sloppy pace. “Wh-what?” You could hear the surprise in his voice.

“Did I fuckin’ stutter?” Rolling his crimson eyes, the man sighs. How troublesome. “I said- pull out and pull her legs up. Lemme get a taste of that pussy.”

“Over my dead body.”

Sukuna looks over at you with a smirk, “Cover your eyes, mama- there’s about to be a murder.”

The only thing you can do is let your eyes follow their argument like a tennis match- or a hockey match. Mouth babbling uncontrollably by this point, “Please-”

Your boyfriend’s cooing down at you immediately, “Yeeees, my sweetheart?”

“Yeeeeeees, my sweetheart~?” Sukuna mocks.

“Jealous?”

“Over my dead body.”

Jealousy, surely. And Gojo knows it, too- which is why he’s kissing your throat in front of the man. Lips spreading across your skin in such a sultry way. “Then what do you say, my girl? Wanna- mmm, let this ol’ pervert have a taste of you? After I’ve been inside you?”

“Wanna feel-” You’re gurgling out, “Wanna feel you both-”

“Hmm, fine.” Gojo answers, “But this pussy’s too nice.”

The white-haired man echoes out in a scorching breath, slight possessiveness seeping into the way he gives your gooey cervix a final ram before pulling out—no, wait. He’s not going to make it that easy on his rival.

Without a single warning, Gojo’s coating your dewy walls in a thick layer of his seed.

Gojo’s cumming.

Almost timed, almost perfectly on schedule, almost making the other man’s knees buckle as he sees the frothy white residue seeping out of your hole. There’s so much of it, and he can feel his balls emptying out even more with each pump. Fucking the clingy wads back in a few times- really messing up the slick surface of your channel with his cum. Cumming harder than he thinks he has in his entire life-

And you’re throwing your head back against his collarbone with a moan, “O-oh my god, Toru. It feels so good.”

“Hear that?” He chuckles at Sukuna, who couldn’t take his eyes off of the way Gojo’s slick shaft kept slippin’ in and out of your cunt. Glistening n’ glossy with so many layers.

He gulps.

Seeing the state the pink-haired captain was in, Gojo leans down and whispers something in your ear—

“O-on your knees, Kuna.” You’re repeating with a slight whimper, still slightly dizzy at the flood of ivory sap being poured inside you. And he didn’t tell you to add on that little nickname but ah well- it was worth it to see Ryomen Sukuna, King of the Rink, fall to his very knees before you.

To have Gojo Satoru pull his massive cock out of you with the loudest, most lecherous sluuuuurp!

You’re twitching at the sheer sensitivity- feeling the spray of cum gush out of you so intensely that you almost want to close your legs. But your boyfriend holds them wiiiiide open with two arms being hooked underneath your knees. 

He lifts you cleanly off of the ground- 

Your knees up to your tits. Your ass being smacked by his toned v-line.

A standing full nelson.

There’s a ribbony wire of cum that slips out of your hole and ends up slide-slide-sliding all over your pussy. Gojo’s cock still hot and red between your legs. He snickers down at the kneeling man, “Eat that.”

Sukuna doesn’t need to be asked twice.

He doesn’t care that your pussy’s all covered in him—he doesn’t care that you’re just so stimulated and gone after this round that all you need is his flattened tastebuds on you to shatter into your orgasm.

Sukuna’s mouth guffawing out darkly as he feels you clench ‘round  and ‘round his tongue- “Heh, would ya look at thaaaat?” Looking up at the two of you through his pink lashes, “Cummin’ on my tongue the moment I put it on her- this pussy reeeally likes me, doesn’t she?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Gojo rolls his eyes.

“Sure thing, two-pump chump.”

And whatever Gojo’s saying next - you don’t hear. Because just then he’s movin’ apart your folds with his mouth and shovelling the entirety of his tongue inside.

Push after push.

Probe after probe,

Pointed chin slapping your cunt. His honed canines grazing your folds. Drilling into you like a man starved throughout your orgasm- he’s pressing both palms up against your thighs and pushing them even higher to get to your sweetened core. Smacking at the miry ribbons of white that were webbing up your insides.

And you don’t know whether it’s the sheer stretch or the intensity of your bliss, but you find yourself sobbing maddeningly. “Oh- oh my god.” Bucking. “Don’t stop.”

“Don’t plan to.” He chuckles wetly, a line of cum dribbling down his mouth. The slashes of his tongue somehow precisely pinpointing each peak of your high. Elongating that feeling inside of you until it felt like your veins were bubbling up- “Because she’s my pussy now, huh?”

You gasp, “I-I mean-”

“Says who?” Gojo growls out from above.

Pressing his rock-hard erection back between your pussylips as if to remind you just who was holding you up. And the audacity of Ryomen Sukuna—he’s merely leaning down and spitting a glittery wad across your slit. 

It ends up dolloping straight down onto Gojo’s cock, as well.  

The white-haired man shivers-

“Says me.”

Before Sukuna’s back to pressing one hot kiss on top of your cunt, two hot kisses, three. They were all open-mouthed and lavish—slidin’ his tongue furiously in and out of your hole. In and out. In and out. “Fuckin’ her all this time and you couldn’t even make ‘er cum.”The vibrations of Sukuna’s deep baritone sends jolts of pleasure up your spine, “Fuckin’ her all this time and I bet you’ve never made her feel this good-”

Gojo reaches up to grab at your throat with one hand, still holding you up. “S’that true, sweetheart?”

“I-I like bo—fuck.”

But then both men are rendering you speechless - Sukuna with his tongue slappin’ into the tender ridges of your walls, Gojo craning his long fingers down to press on your clit. Anything so that neither of them would have to hear how you wanted them both.

Pick one but not both.

And they’re both trying to be that one- Gojo flicking your throbbing clit with ease, Sukuna shoved between your legs and lappin’ at your every treacly dewdrop with his tongue. 

It was so different from the way your boyfriend would eat you out - while Gojo was slow and sensual and loving—handing you anything and everything you could ever want with his tongue - Sukuna was the complete opposite. He was rough. He was teasing.

He was grippin’ onto both of your thighs and draaaagging you back once you attempted to bounce your hips away. With his nails digging into the sides of your flesh, he was eating you out until you couldn’t breathe-

Just sharp, rapid pumps inside your hole with his slicked tastebuds. Draggin’ his teeth on your folds. Slurping up the pearly white dewdrops of sap. And whenever you clenched like it just felt so good- he’d reel his sloppy tongue back and slap it over your clit instead. 

Never letting you feel too good, never growing tired of those cutely disappointed huffs n’ puffs you’d let out.

“Oi oi-” Sukuna’s tongue slides over Gojo’s fingers, both tugging and grinding on top of your clit. “Yer in my zone, Gojo Satoru.”

“You’re in my girl’s pussy, Ryomen Sukuna.” He’s biting back. Jaw dropping slightly open at the sheer pace at which Sukuna would thrust into your sopping wet hole- uncaring whether you were stretched out enough to take his sheer circumference because Sukuna was going to make you take it either way. 

“Haaaah? Thought we went over this shit already- this is my girl’s pussy from now on. My pussy.” 

“You call her that when I’m the one that’s cum inside her?”

“Yeah, but who made her cum?”

You hitch out, “You’re both so s-stupid-”

And the bickering is starting up one more - though unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) for you, the more they argue, the harder they’re going on your cunt. Rubbin’ their lips and fingers raw—“Got a problem with that?”

Gojo pipes up, “She never answered the-”

“Aht aht-” Sukuna interrupts the blue-eyed man, just too fun to watch him fume like this. And instead of paying him any attention, the King stares right down at your pussy. “Got a problem with that?”

He wasn’t talking to Gojo. He wasn’t even talking to you-

He was talking to your greedy pussy and waitin’ until she answered- opening his mouth to let his tongue spread your lips wide open and draaaaag down your velvety walls. 

Inevitably, you’re just so wet by this point that you can’t help but splash out in your juices- and it creates the filthiest squelching noise that Sukuna grins at. “See? She doesn’t mind.”

“You fucking-”

“Sh-shiiiiit—” Before the sultriest, most mind-numbing stretch opens up your pussy. And you snap your head down on carnal instinct to find that Sukuna was kneeled between your legs and fingering your pussy open. 

Ruthlessly with not one, not two, but three of his thick fingers- they were just so large that it took him a few half-thrusts to even fit the first few inches inside. Those roughened crowns of his mazing like spotlights searching for your every sweet spot, “Oh my god, it feels so good, Kuna-”

“Oh yeah? What a coincidence, yer- I mean my pussy’s saying the same thing, mama.” He then looks up at your boyfriend as if to say—your move.

Gojo Satoru rolls his eyes.

And he’s then pushing Sukuna’s head back to fully take over your clit for himself.

“Fuck off.”

Sukuna’s pink brows furrow and he grimaces. “Watch it, fucker. I have a Calvin Klein ambassadorship-”

“He talks big but he doesn’t know this pussy as well as I do, huh?” Though Gojo doesn’t listen to a word he says - doesn’t have to. He’s rolling the edge of his thumb along your clit in quick clockwise circles, and then stopping every then and now to repeat the motion anti-clockwise. “All that chit-chat, but really…she’s still my pussy, isn’t she?”

You hiccup, “I-I just don’t understand why she can’t be both-”

“No.”

“Nuh-uh.” Gojo affirms along with Sukuna. Breathy laughter echoing against your right ear in a way that almost felt crazed—“Guess I hafta remind it to you then, huh, my girl?”

“Ohhhh, he’s slurring, mama.” Sukuna titters.

“I’m realizing…” You breathe out.

Maybe the two of you had broken Gojo Satoru. 

Maybe the two of you had made Gojo Satoru snap-

In no time he’s jerking you further up in this position and absolutely shattering you with the movements of his nimble fingertips. Gojo always did have the prettiest hands you’ve ever seen, the prettiest palms, the prettiest digits that had countless edits dedicated to them on social media. 

And they were just so looooong and flexible- tuggin’ on your throbbing knob a few times before drawing patterns. Not just any patterns - but something swirling and swipin’ that makes your eyes roll all the way to the back of your skull.

He was curving the soft crown of his fingerpad against your clit- making a curving shape that makes you buck. 

“And what does that say?”

“Wh-what?” You gasp out stupidly to the man above you, his voice eerily calm.

“I said…” A few more twists n’ turns of his fingers on top of your clit that make you tremble with pleasure. “-what does that say, sweetheart?”

Hell, even Sukuna has to look up at the tone of Gojo’s voice. Something about it so…either way it’s making the pink-haired man flicker his gaze up n’ down your cunt and chuckle. “Not bad, you sick fuck. Not bad.”

And you’ve never been more confused- “I don’t know what you mean-”

“I said-” It’s only then that you’re feeling it, feeling the sensation of Gojo’s doughy fingertips pinch your swollen clit. Letting the sting seep into your nerves for just a bit before he’s resuming that same swipin’ motion. “-what does it say on this pussy?”

It’s only then that you’re realizing he’s spelling something out on your cunt.

“Man, she’s too fucked stupid on my tongue to realize-”

“In your dreams.”

“Shit, is it…” Your dazed pupils seem to be following in the same motion, being held to him with absolutely no mercy. And, somehow, you manage to be mapping out the swivelling of his fingers. “Is it an ‘S’—?”

“‘S’ for Sukuna.” The pink-haired captain titters out.

Before Gojo’s immediately spanking down on your pussy for no reason- “And this one? What about this one, my girl?”

“Shit, shit shit, shiiiit—” You could feel the oncoming tidal wave of your high - already so close with both men stimulating you so much that it almost hurt. “Is that one- hck!” If you weren’t mistaken, this current one was something…pointier than the last curving letter. “Is it an ‘A’?”

“Good girl.”

“Aw, shit-” Sukuna gruffs out between your pussylips, “I can’t let my pussy go that easily, can I?”

Increasing the incredible zaps of electricity that were running straight from your core, Sukuna had another swivellin’ fingertip of his pressing inside. Four—and they were just so big that you swear you could feel your mind start blanking out.

Pushing and pushing.

Shovelling his hot tips against the sweetest of your spots, it’s almost as if he was providin’ his fingers inside with the aim to bruise-

“And how many fingers s’that?” Sukuna leers up at both you and Gojo, a challenging smile upon his handsome face. “Count f’me, girlie.”

“Be original.” Gojo scoffs.

“Be better.”

“Not when you’ve got my cum on your face.”

Sukuna isn’t even sure what to say to that, merely stuffin’ his face into the froth of white and transparent juices pourin’ out of you.

“Fuh-four.” Almost feeling embarrassed by how much your words were tangling n’ mingling into one- but that’s if you were in any better state of mind. Right now it felt like you could barely even string a coherent thought together let alone a sentence. “Four fingers?”

Sukuna smiles against your tender folds, “Aaaaatta girl.” Pulling back and this time pushing in a different number of digits. “And how many now?”

“Three?” You cry out.

“We’re not done here, sweetheart.” Thrown by the way that Gojo was rasping into your ear, “Don’t let has-beens distract you- what letter?”

“It’s a ‘T’—?”

“What number, mama?”

“Two.”

“Letter?”

“Oh—” Feeling your legs start to twitch the way they did whenever you were close, “It’s ‘O’-”

“Number-”

You’re arching against them, “Four-”

“Letter-”

Bucking your body, “‘R’—”

“Lett-”

“Number-”

“Letter.”

“Fuck- number.”

“Fuck off- letter.”

“S’my pussy and I want to ask-”

“No, it’s my pussy and-”

But only you could cut through one of their infamous arguments with ease- “Satoru.” Bringing back both men’s attention onto you and you entirely. Your back arches against Gojo’s front until his smooth pectorals were providing you with cushioning for his rough fingers. “Y-your letters are spelling out- ngh, ‘Satoru’ on my pussy.” And then you’re staring down at the pink-haired man, “And Sukuna- you’ve now got four fingers inside me.”

He smirks, “Atta girl- correct.”

“You did well, sweetheart.”

And their sweet whispers are all you hear before you’re shattering into your second- third- perhaps even fourth orgasm of the night. Something that lasts so loooooong and blissful that it leaves your body utterly limp in Gojo’s arms.

Sukuna plops his fingers and mouth down on your cunt and fucks you through each incredible high, the mountains of it unfurling over you. His globular fingertips pressin’ into the tiniest crevices inside and marking himself out. Meanwhile Gojo was spelling his name again and again and agaaaain on top of your swollen pussy. 

Until it was a pattern that you think might have permanently embedded into your very veins with how frenzied your boyfriend was marking it out. Gojo crushes you to his toned front and whispers- “Cum f’me, my girl.” Scalding hot pants against your ear, “Yes- yes, cum f’me.”

He ruts his aching cock against your behind and you whine-

“Cum f’me so good.”

And Sukuna himself looks as though he wanted to say something as he dragged out the tremors across your body- but he was far too busy with his lips glued to your pussylips. Lappin’ up every ounce of slick and cum- “Mmm, just you wait, mama.”

They don’t stop until your massive wave of bliss has well and fully bated - until it’s nothing more than a few tingles that shoot sparks up your spine.

But then…they don’t stop even then.

Sukuna has his lips plastered to your clit by now, his fingers smeared down your walls—and he didn’t give a fuck what the other man had to say about it. Because Gojo himself had his arms around you tightly, hips just lightly pushing and pulling. Reeling and rutting.

Gojo’s plush cockhead was swervin’ between your legs and sliiiiiding up the slit of your pussy-

“Oi-” Sukuna’s grunting as the other man’s smooth velvety length grazes his lips, “Watch it. M’trying to eat out my girl’s pussy.”

“Then shut up and move.” Gojo gruffs out, teeth grit. He hits his hips against you with a smack! “Or don’t- I don’t fucking care.”

“That’s gay as hell.”

“Bi.”

“Bye to you, too.” Sukuna’s rolling his rouge eyes. He’s just about to open his mouth once more with something snarky, when he realizes that oh…Gojo was actually fucking serious.

He was actually attempting desperately to pummel his hips into you. He was actually holding you up with only one of his beefy arms for a brief moment, guiding his thickened tip to smooch up against your hole and puuuushing—

Cumming.

Pouring out hot loads of seed in a gloss.

“And who said you could fuck my girl’s pussy?” Immediately, he’s on his two feet and shrugging down his shorts- dampened with precum by now. Thoroughly. It’s then that you’re getting the first proper look at the Ryomen Sukuna’s cock.

Where Gojo was longer and prettier- Sukuna was just thiiiick and covered in so many veins that it made you already anticipate him being inside you. It was almost dizzying the sheer amount there was. Unruly pink happy trail. Heavily tightened balls. He was the most sensual tannish pink at the very top of his shaft, graduating down to a darker shade at his base. And his base—oh.

“You seriously got tattooed there?” Gojo’s the first to voice his thoughts out loud. One of his pale brows raising at the ring of inky black ‘round Sukuna’s hilt. “Sick fuck.”

You yourself gulp at the sight, “Did that hurt, Kuna?”

“Who cares if it-”

“Nah.” Sukuna replies, “No pain, no gain- right, mama?”

“I-I suppose…” Nodding was all that you could do - Gojo was furiously smearin’ apart your pussylips and trying to rut inside.

“And what exactly would my girl be gaining, huh?” The white-haired captain is the one to ask.

“Isn’t that obvious?” His tone certainly made it out to be, and the King was looming even closer with his throbbing erection. Just like Gojo, he looked so hard that it almost looked painful- almost looked as though he was begging n’ bursting to be inside your tight hole. Sukuna’s caging the two of you against the lockers, “She’s gaining both of us.”

Your eyes widen, “Both-”

“Inside.”

Gojo perks up, “At once.”

Both. Inside. At once. 

You weren’t walking out of this locker room.

At all.

Sukuna inches ever-so-slightly closer. One hand placed outright against the locker room- and you honestly have to stop yourself from ogling his bulging biceps. The other wrapped around his meaty hilt and pressin’ up against your hole- 

“If s’both at once then you better put them in at the- mm, same time.” Gojo mutters.

“Tch-” But Sukuna doesn’t deny him - and before you know it, he has his rugged hand wrapped around both their cocks. Gojo’s face wincing with a hiss at the slight sensation, he dribbles out in even more cum that gets smeaaaared down your wet crevice. “And that last round- we didn’t end up deciding whose pussy this was, huh?”

“No…” Gojo’s clenching his teeth, straining his head to look down at the heavenly sight below. Sukuna was teasin’ your flooded orifice, getting you used to the feeling of them both.

“Then how about…”

“-we let this pussy decide.”

“Mmm, heh-” Sukuna smirks, “-time for the overtime.”

And they might have been the fiercest of rivals on the ice—but here? Gojo and Sukuna were in perfect synchronization when they’re tuggin’ their cocks to your cunt and emptying out.

Fucking you at the same time.

“Eeeeeasy now, mama- s’gonna be a snug fit.” Sukuna’s forehead starts to bead with sweat, “You should know that they say my cock’s so big it’s as if they were- hah, two.”

“Two inches, maybe.”

“What were you saying, two-pump chump?”

It was such a tight fit.

“Ngh—fuck.” Sukuna spits out through his pearly white canines, nose crinkling at the sensation of your walls rubbing against him and him rubbing against Gojo. “You’ve got me, mama.”

“Fuh-fuuuuuck, sweetheart-” Meanwhile Gojo was damn near drooling- he was trembling, he was spurtin’ out his precum. He was holding onto you for what felt like dear life as he’s rutting- “It feels so good, what the fuck- what the fuuuck.”

“Yer welcome.” Sukuna chuckles, though you could see the burning blush formulating on his ears.

“Not you-”

He throbs, “Nah, tha’s definitely me.”

And you can’t help but cling onto both of them- “Toru—Kuna- you’re both inside- fuck.” One of your hands grabbing into Sukuna’s toned deltoids, while the other was scrambling to grab onto Gojo’s pure white hair. Honestly, you didn’t even need the balance at this point - they were the ones holding you up. Gojo’s strong arms holding you up in a full nelson, Sukuna’s ones latched onto either side of your hips to keep from running. “And you’re both just so big- I don’t know if it’ll even f-”

“Don’t say that it won’t fit, sweetheart.”

You’re turning back to Gojo, “Why- oh.”

Because your boyfriend’s voice sounded octaves higher than usual. It sounded breathier. It sounded more unsteady.

You don’t think you’ve heard him sound like this in your entire life.

And you’re just looking behind to check up on him and- fuck. Gojo Satoru was already pussydrunk - you could tell by the bleary look in his eyes. He was shivering. He was letting his pinkish lips fall further and further open every time he’s plunging in a solid few pumps-

“Oi oi-” Sukuna gnaws down on the insides of his cheek to keep from any strange noises like…whimpers from seeping into his tone. “-I thought we were fuckin’ her together?”

“Oh—huh?” Blue eyes looking between the two of you- did he seriously forget that? Was he seriously that gone? And you’re getting your answer the moment that your gluey walls clench—and Gojo’s breath hitches. Body moving before his mind as he ruts-

His eyes blow wide open as if he didn’t even realized what he just did.

He holds into you so tight that neat crescent marks embed into your skin. “Don’t say it won’t fit- please.” Breathy whispers plastering in scorching breezes against the side of your neck, “Don’t say it won’t fit because I need it to- have to.”

“Why’s that, Toru?”

“Yeah-” Sukuna raises his pinkish brows, “Why’s that, Toru?”

“B-because…” Gojo’s handsome cheeks give a slight blush, and he’s averting eye contact with both you and the cocky man that also had his cock stuffed inside you. “-how will make this pussy really mine if I can’t even hit her- ngh, womb?”

Your jaw drops- but Sukuna only lets out a light whistle. “So thaaaat is the master plan, huh?” The other captain himself giving you a solid, aaaaaching thrust- “Hasn’t yer coach ever taught you not to tell yer master plan to the rival team?”

“Why does it matter?” Poor, pussydrunk Gojo Satoru cocks his head. And you almost start to feel sympathy for the way that Sukuna was starting to take your boyfriend as a joke- “You won’t win anyways”

Nevermind.

It doesn’t take long for them to funnels their cocks upwards like fucking animals-

Claiming every single spot inside you. Slidin’ past one another for space- they feel the sensitive spots on their cock press against the other’s and that makes them buck. Molding and massaging and making you sob out on the feeling of two entire cylindrical intrusions keeping you wide open.

Gojo was impatient with his tempo, slashing the most delicate parts of your insides with his lengthy cock. And it certainly didn’t help that the globular end of his shaft was covered in slick and hooooned to reach your deepest depths. Even deeper.

Even deeper than Sukuna, who was spending more time training your entrance to gape out into a pretty lil’ oh—the same way your mouth was. “Just like that, mama.” And listen…he can’t help himself when he leans down and spits straight between your puffy lips. Sticking a thumb between your legs and pryin’ your folds apart. “Would ya look at that…she’s actually starting to take me- I dunno about that other motherfucker-”

“She’s taking me, too.” Gojo scoffs.

“-but I just know this pussy’s gonna love my cock.” Sukuna hums, his great chest rumbling with satisfaction. “She’s gonna have me stuffed all the way against her womb and then beg to be called mine.”

Making you shiver with the drag-drag of the calloused digits holding his base, “Sh-shit-”

Sukuna grins, jerking his hips up. Rapid and ravenous. “And she’s begging to take it all the way until that tattoo at my base-”

“In your dreaaaaams~” The other man’s answer comes before yours, and so does a thorough bang right near your g-spot occur. “She’s all mine. So if you w-want any then come and get it now, Sukuna—oh wait.” Leaning down theatrically, Gojo pretends as though he was hearing something emanating from your pussy. Something riveting. The squelches. “You can’t- because the only one she’s begging for is me.”

“Face-off.”

“Fuck off.”

“Can you two just shut up and fuck me—ngh.” Your tastebuds sizzle in the drenched layer of your own saliva, taking over your mouth in an instant once one of them finally bottoms out.

One of them.

And the problem was that you couldn’t register which one was which- before a second loud wallop tremors at the bottom of your pussy and the other man is bottoming out. Both of them. 

Mere split-seconds apart from each other. 

Their rotund tips curving against your cervix juuust right until your eyes roll back, hands latching onto their muscular bodies. Toes curling. Teary lashes fluttering. Gojo and Sukuna had you pressed tightly between them as they funnelled all their swollen, greeeeedy inches inside of you.

“So?”

It’s Sukuna who’s speaking- and you can just barely manage to extract yourself from the valley of his pecs. Sometime during their furious cadence, you’d wound up salivating between his toned chest. “S-so?”

Gojo hums, “So what’s the verdict, sweetheart?”

“Verdict?”

Sukuna tuts with one of his usual eye-rolls. “So- who’s first, mama? Who did that slutty pussy of yours want more?”

“O-oh…” Your mouth drops agape, “It was…”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

Blinking back the tears in your eyes- “It was…”

“Take your time, my girl.”

“It was-” It’s then and there - mid-moan to one of Gojo’s impatient thrusts - that you decide to come clean to the two men. Sadly looking down—if you were in any clearer a state of mind then maybe you’d have noticed the way both their plummy tips throb even harder when you pout. “I don’t…know…”

“Well…” Gojo looks at Sukuna, and Sukuna looks back.

“Well.”

And there seems to be a silent conversation there that you weren’t privy to.

“We can always fuck her pussy and then ask her.”

“Y’know- sometimes I love the way you think.”

You’re not quite sure which one of the two suggested it, and which one of the two simply agreed - Gojo or Sukuna. Because they’d finally fit inside and now Gojo and Sukuna were pistoning their hips up into you like they were trying to make you forget the other.

Trying to make your mind nothing but a blur.

The pinkish lengths disappearing in and out of you nothing but a blur.

Both of their split-ended cockheads dig into the deepest grooves of your pussy, finding each of your favorite spots as if they were almost magnetized to them. It just felt so good to have them slide across your walls and slide across each other- those veiny lines on their cocks being pressed against the other’s shaft. Bulging out your tight channel like you never could have imagined before. Expectedly, knowing your body for a longer time, Gojo is the first to find your g-spot and preeeeess his flared tip against it.

He smirks down at Sukuna- who didn’t take more than a few more vicious strokes to find it himself. Though he can’t lie the blow it did to his ego— “What was that? Your cute lil’ womb feeling lonely, girlie?” Sukuna’s speaking down at your slurping cunt, “Awww don’t worry, I’ll help you-”

“Tch…” To which the other man was also concentrating a bit more on the route that his length was taking inside your channel. Gojo was hard and sloppy- the cap of dribblin’ pre on his shaft making it so that sometimes he’d barely even graze his tip against your channel until he’s doing it all over again. “Upset you can’t find the g-spot?”

“M’surprised a man like you could even find the clit.” Sukuna’s snarling back, purposefully dipping his thumb up to roll over that sweet nub.

“M’surprised a man like you was even given the chance to fuck her.” Gojo chuckles haughtily.

“Why were you surprised when a man like you was given the chance?”

“At least I won the match-”

“At least I won the girl—my girl.”

Gojo bristles, “You seriously think you won my girl over?”

“If the shoe fits-”

Gojo scoffs- and thankfully it’s the only thing he does. Thankfully he’s ignoring the vengeful temptation within him that’s telling him to just deck Ryomen Sukuna in the face one and for all.

Instead, he’s taking his anger out simply on your cunt. Both ice hockey captains swipin’ their rotund crowns inwards and attempting to fuck the decision out of you.

Faster.

Harder. 

Choose me. Choose me. Choose me.

“Sh-shit, how am I ever meant to choose—” You’re gasping through your cascade of tears, legs twitching- and you’re taking it as a sign to mean that your high was nearby. Though how you were expected to orgasm once more with the sheer amount of overstimulation that your body was wracking from, you had absolutely no idea.

And Gojo and Sukuna were fucking you like they didn’t even care about that in the first place.

They had their hands gripping onto your body- almost teamwork. “Don’t tell me that we’re gonna go this long without you even choosing, sweetheart…” Gojo purrs. He was the one holding you open, and Sukuna was the one taking advantage of that to twiddle n’ tug at your clit. 

“Yeah- don’t think yer getting out of this any time soon.” Sukuna agrees - agrees with Gojo Satoru for what was likely the first and last time ever in his entire life. You squirm your hips and he’s pinning you down to keep you from moving a single inch—“If ya don’t choose now then we’re gonna have another- hah, round.”

Eyes damn near bulging out of your skull, “A-another round?”

“Another round.” Gojo affirms. His head falling into the crook of your neck, “And another round- and another round- and another round and another round and another-”

“Aaaaaall the way until you finally choose, girlie.” Sukuna chuckles darkly—“Me or him.”

“Me or him.”

“I…I choose—” You start off- and you can feel the way that both Gojo and Sukuna lean in even closer to hear your ultimate decision. Who’s pussy was this? Whose girl were you? They’re slammin’ their hips into yours so hard that the skin of their pelvis grows bright red. “I choose-”

“Yes?” Gojo shoves his cockhead against a particularly sweet spot inside you.

“Mhm?” Sukuna was pressing down haaaard on your clit like the cutest button.

And it’s with great difficulty - and a few more rabid strokes - until you can speak. “I choose…that you both fuck me again.”

Such filthy, filthy words coming out of your pretty mouth- 

It’s enough to make both you and Gojo cum again- and for Sukuna to take one lingering look at you two before he himself starts to throb with his high. “Fuh-fucking hell.” Never stuttered in years since his first team tryouts. Never felt so overcome with his orgasm since he first discovered what the hell that was. 

They’re both pumping out looong luxurious stripes of their seed.

Your own high was nothing but a mere few trembles by this point—or so you think. That is, until those faint tingles burst into something so intense and white-hot that you see your vision blacken for a few seconds. A strange wetness seeping between your legs.

You wonder just what might have happened- until Sukuna’s low whistle sounds. “Squirting, huh?”

“All because of me-”

“Actually-”

You have to open your eyes and see for yourself- and it’s making you gape at the splashes of squirting sap that escape you. So much so that you start to wonder just where so much of it must’ve fit, so hard that it makes every single double thrust push you through your constant high. “Sh-shit, I did this…”

Again and again.

Only once the most of it has bated and left you unclenching can you focus on taking every single wad that they’re planting inside you. Emptying out their heavy balls. Using both globular cockheads to swipe the dewy droplets inwards. 

“Inside, motherfucker.” Sukuna spits out at the other man, guiding his ruby-red tip to swivel inside. 

“I already know, you fool.”

“Sh-shit, there’s so much of it.” The mess of it glazes your insides and creates a sort of second skin. Only temporary, however, because every time you were fucked- that sheen would splosh all over again. “I feel so…ngh.”

“Mmm, filled up to the brim?” Sukuna swipes his thick fingertip down your slit and collects the excess of ivory cum dribbling out of you.

Gojo helpfully supplies as well, “Properly stuffed full?”

Sukuna smirks, “Wet like a waterpark?”

“The sweetest treat with a creamy middle?” Gojo was ruttin’ his hips up furiously, properly fucking all three of you throughout your orgasm. Toes curling. Back arching. Even when his own high was starting to peter out now and he was only pumping you full—

“Like yer gonna explode?”

“Heh, like yer gonna end up pregnant-”

You’re throwing your head back with a mewl, clawing onto their muscular bodies- “Please-” Just fucked stupid until both their waves of bliss are fading out. Pouring pumps of wadded cum every time they underwent a peak of bliss, “F-fuck, please-”

“Please?” Sukuna raises one brow down at the way you sob, “Whaddaya mean ‘please’? I distinctly remember a certain indecisive pussy- and you, wanting to go another round n’ really decide? Right, Satoru?”

“Most certainly, Ryomen.” Your boyfriend - that traitor - is fucking agreeing with his rival for one.

When did that even happen—?

But you don’t have the time to think too deeply about it- because in almost no time, they’re pulling out. In the next blink you find your limp body laid flat across one of the large wooden benches in the locker room.

Gojo and Sukuna kneeled between your legs and looking absolutely famished. You could feel their cum pouring out of you triple-fold like this, a slow n’ slick ooze.

“Shit- look at the way she’s leaking.” Gojo nudges Sukuna.

Sukuna smirks back, “Mostly because of me, heh?”

“You fuck-”

“Ahem.” They’re snapping their eyes to you instantly, just so pretty when they kneeled before you like this—they should do it more often. Still twitching from the aftershocks of your high, “And you- ngh, want me here because…?”

“To eat that pretty pussy out, mama- duh.” Sukuna rolls his eyes. “Because no matter what, we belong to you.”

Gojo pipes up, “Just trying to figure out the logistics- I want to taste my girl first, you’ve already had your turn-”

“Eh? Fuck off, I’m eating her out first-”

“You already-”

“Why not both?” It’s become your mantra, of sorts. And you’re leaning back on your elbows against the bench, leads spreadin’ just a bit wider.

The two hockey look players between you and your pussy with widened eyes.

Before you’re reaching out and bringing their heads together to kiss your puckered cunt. Their lips meeting your pussylips. Their lips meeting each others—

A hot, open-mouthed kiss.

Gojo moans.

Sukuna can’t keep the blush off of his ears once his and Gojo’s tongue slide against each other and fight for purchase of your cream-covered cunt-

“Help me decide, boys.”

.

.

.

“Aaaaand we have Gojo Satoru and Ryomen Sukuna coming up to the center to take the opening face-off, ladies and gentlemen.” Different game. Same commentator. “This might just be the most anticipated moment in our play-offs: Tokyo Free Blades vs. Heian Hawks. Gojo Satoru vs. Ryomen Sukuna. The strongest center now vs. the strongest center in history—and which one of them will take the Stanley Cup?”

Gojo and Sukuna were skating up to the face-off circle, their hockey sticks at the ready and their eyes locked on one another.

It had only been a month or two of fooling around until yet another NHL play-off, this time in Shinjuku, had the two men facing each other. And they were ready for it- in fact, they almost seemed excited for it.

Your two boyfriends are lowering into position as the referee arrives to give them a concise speech, and you can’t help but jump up and down with your cheers. Still slightly sore from how hard they went on you. Still covered in marks down your neck and your thighs from both of them. You were in the fan section for the Heian Hawks, despite the Tokyo Free Blade jersey you wore - but at least the banner in your hand announced—Shinjuku Showdown! Go Go Toru and Kuna!

And yet, even then you knew that one of them would find something to whine n’ huff about until you gave them extra coddling. You hope you didn’t write one of their names bigger than the other…

It drew a few stares, predictably.

From fans around you that beamed or from the particularly fervent fan that couldn’t comprehend this betrayal. You just never would have expected that it would draw the attention of the game commentator itself-

“And what’s that? Isn’t that Gojo Satoru’s girlfriend?” To your acute horror and amusement, you’re suddenly seeing yourself splashed across the big screen. “Look here, ladies and gentlemen- Gojo Satoru’s girlfriend with her support for the Heian Hawks as well—raise that banner higher, my dear.”

With a cheer, you do as you’re told. You know this is about to take over your entire timeline very, very soon.

“Well well well, who could’ve imagined? Maybe the Prince of the Ice has some competition, eh?” Panning over the visuals to a smirking Sukuna and Gojo who was rolling his eyes- fondly, however. “Isn’t this the same lass that caused a fight between the two players during their last match together?”

Though you’re shaking your head with a laugh, Sukuna raises a thumbs up.

“Who’d have thought…maybe a friendship between two heated rivals really is possible after all?” The commentator muses out loud, and you’re dodging the phone cameras that are being shoved your way now. Being Gojo Satoru’s girlfriend always did come with a bit of publicity that you never did expect, but being the girlfriend of both of them…“Or maybe even…something more?”

Gojo and Sukuna look at each other.

They flip each other off.

“Or maybe not—” The man declares to roaring laughs, and Yaga is smoothly lifting his hand in a signal of dropping soon. “Let’s have a good game Gojo and Sukuna fans. Clean. Fair. For that Stanley cup. No one gets injured too badly and most important of all—rock me!”

The puck drops.

The game starts.

A/N. Shinjuku showdown? More like Shinjuku PLOUGH-down *throws tomatoes* Also fun fact: some of the commentary in here were taken from actual games!

At this, the pink-haired man is letting out a loooow whistle- one of his pink brows raise as he looks between his opponent and you in the stands. 

Oh—how fuckin’ pretty you were. 

Just engulfed in an ice-blue jersey with the Tokyo Free Blades logo on the front - they sold those things for far more than they were worth, but Sukuna’s sure this must’ve been one of Gojo’s own. It was big enough and looked softer than the merchandise- or maybe that was just the slight blur around your figure…were the lights too harsh or was Sukuna hallucinating? It’s slipping down to your wrists, where you were holding a big banner that had your boyfriend’s name on it—‘Go Go Gojo The Strongest Satoru!’ Eyes sparkling. Lips slightly swollen from your nervous gnawing. Jumpin’ up and down excitedly as you catch his eye. How cute…

And while Sukuna’s wondering just how damn lucky the bastard opposite him was- Gojo can’t help but muse about just how awfully the other’s hair color clashed with his uniform.

Blood-red just like his eyes.

Locked and narrowed on you—

Gojo’s knocking his hockey stick against Sukuna’s, making the other man finally tear his eyes away. He gruffs out finally, “Never said she wasn’t.”

He pushes against his opponent’s wooden blade harder, “Then why’ve you got her name in your fucking mouth?”

“What- scared she’s gonna like it better in my mouth, heh?” Only for the other to push back with a leer.

“The mouth I punched back in the New York playoffs?” Gojo scoffs. They’d played against each other a few times before - it was impossible to avoid anyone in the big leagues. And each time had ended up with one or both in the infirmary and headlines for days. “Or the mouth that got himself suspended for two games a few months ago?”

He sweeps a look towards you in the stands, you were on your feet and looking over them in concern now. And listen—listen, Gojo was well-aware he’s lucky to have you - and proud of it. But having you be stared at by this son of a-

Sukuna leans in with a whisper, “The mouth tha’s gonna make your girl cum harder than she has in her entire life.”

“See, the difference between you and I…” And Gojo should be rageful- he was. Despite that strange throb in his shorts, he promises he was. But more than that he couldn’t stop from leaning in himself, letting his breath cloud out within the cold stadium. Against Sukuna’s ear shell, “-is that you can only dream…while I have my mouth on her every fucking night.”

Sukuna jerks away, “You little-”

“Oh, and the title as well.” Gojo smirks, that little dimple popping out by the edge of his lips. He can hear his numerous fan clubs scream even louder - Gojo Satoru had splashed onto the ice hockey world and shot straight to the top without looking back. 

They couldn’t get enough of the Prince of the Ice. 

His looks. His winks. His plays. “Perhaps you haven’t realized it yet, Ryomen Sukuna, but the only reason you were the greatest center in history was simply because…I wasn’t playing yet~”

The other man straightens silently. He was a few inches taller than Gojo, standing at an impressive 6’6 to Gojo’s 6’4. It was easy to realize why the media seemed to love him as a ‘bad boy’ - the troublesome one. Despite them being similar ages, he was the more experienced one. Buffer. Nastier. Tattooed and towering. 

They called him the King of the Rink for a reason. And the King looked down on them all—especially new captains with blue eyes and too many fan clubs. But that wasn’t saying he didn’t have many of his own - but at least he deserved his. “And what took ya so long to reach my level, Gojo Satoru?”

Gojo looks at Sukuna.

Gojo looks at you.

Then back at the other player- “Was too busy fucking my girl.”

And Sukuna’s ready to spit out something that wouldn’t be able to air on sports channels- before the referee skates over just then.

His deadpan voice cutting through the chaos, “Alright alright, break it up you two.” The older man - Masamichi Yaga, a legendary player in his own time, one of Gojo’s own junior coaches - looks between the two. “Keep it clean.”

Sukuna grumbles but ultimately glides a few inches backwards, hockey stick at the ready. Gojo follows with a smirk.

The commentator announces- “Two players who’ve made the headlines for their explosive rivalry- Ryomen Sukuna, the strongest center in history, and Gojo Satoru, the hotshot who stole that title from straight under his nose—hah! I can hear the fan clubs already. Though, that’s not to say our King of the Rink will be giving it up that easily. We’re in for a reeeeal treat tonight, ladies and gentlemen!”

“Okay- King, welcome back for another season.” Yaga then turns to the white-haired man. “Gojo, welcome to the NHL. Set.”

Gojo smiles, he hopes you’re watching this. Nothing matters if you’re not watching.

“Oh—our Prince of the Ice is smiling. Can it be that he’s confident in his win already?”

“Yeah- welcome, bastard.” Sukuna bites out, his stick blade digging into the designated area on the spot. “Enjoy yer first game here- and your last. By the end of it yer gonna be crying in your gal’s arms.”

“But Ryomen Sukuna is one of the most feared players in the league for a reason- just look at those muscles!”

One white brow raises, “You think I’d lose against you?” Eyes locked on Yaga once he presents the puck and readies himself.

“This is a moment in NHL history, ladies and gentlemen.”

“I know it.”

“Gojo and Sukuna-”

“Nah, I’d win.”

“-who to choose?!”

The Prince and the King.

Both prodigies.

The puck is dropped and it’s a mad dash—the clap of hockey sticks like a most satisfying lightning strike, and that circular slab of black is being swung past the neutral zone and into Gojo’s side.

“Sukuna gets the puck! Such a tight turn and attack straight to the net- the Tokyo Free Blades aren’t letting him get far—oh, what a steal.”

Gojo’s speeding past to let his first defense line sweep him back the puck- Sukuna’s racing past to take it back from him.

And the game commences. 

“This is going to be a tight game, ladies and gentleman”

In the first twenty minutes, it’s one point for the Tokyo Free Blades.

One point for the Heian Hawks.

Considering the intensity of each team’s defense, you weren’t surprised that it was off to a fierce yet slow start. Gojo was holding back, testing out the playing field, and Sukuna was a lot more used to this stadium. This league. It was making the other captain sweat.

But with your cheers, you could see a faint smile on Gojo’s face as he started the second twenty minutes.

Your boyfriend was using his famous body fake technique to gain two more points-

One point for the Tokyo Free Blades.

One point for the Tokyo Free Blades.

One point for the Heian Hawks.

One point for the Tokyo Free Blades.

One point for the Tokyo Free Blades.

Everyone was on their feet. Whether out of exhilaration or out of desperation for their team—and you were one of them. During the second break Gojo, of course, skidded down the side of the rink during his break to spend it blowing kisses at you through the plexiglass - before his coach arrived to drag him away.

And so caught up in your embarrassment at his display, you didn’t see the way he shot a smug look at Sukuna. The other man glowering from his own side of the bench.

He was never one to be left behind.

The final twenty minutes started off with the pink-haired tyrant using his signature aggressive playstyle to get nothing more than three more points back-to-back. Making the commentator cry out at the hat trick and the audience get onto their feet now.

One point for the Heian Hawks.

One point for the Heian Hawks.

One point for the Heian Hawks.

The score was quickly five to five - one of the greatest plays that the NHL had recently seen. And Sukuna was basking in it.

Basking.

He was skating down the sides of the stands at a rapid pace, showing off for the audience- showing off for you—Sukuna reaches where you were seated and bangs the shaft of his hockey stick against the plexiglass. THUD-THUD-THUD—! You startle while the fans around you jump up and cheer-

And he’s looking right down at you. Smirking through the cage of his helmet…

Until Gojo’s skating by him and rams Sukuna against the plexiglass with his own body. The two of their muscular figures colliding. Sukuna’s turning to Gojo with a snarl. Gojo’s raising his fist up high and aimed.

It’s a fight that Yaga has to break up.

The timer rings.

.

.

.

“—can’t believe I had to take the win with a fucking shootout.” Gojo speaks in his aggravated tone, hissing once you press the ice-pack to the cut above his eyebrow.

This wouldn’t have been considered worse for wear had it been any other player, but this was the Prince of the Ice. You could already envision the headlines that would flood your timeline tomorrow. The hat trick. The smile. The fist fight. 

“But you won, Toru.” Once the game had ended in a tie, there was no choice but to start an overtime period. A fight to the death, more like. It lasted less than five minutes and ended up with Gojo scoring first out of pure fury and adrenaline.

Though that in itself was a tight match, the game had finally ended: 6—5.

The Tokyo Free Blades had won. 

Barely. And if you asked Gojo Satoru, a bare win was worse than a fair loss.

Which is why you were cooped up with him in the team’s locker room even after the rest of the players had filtered out. The coaches knew you well enough by this point that you’d gained access easily, and you knew Gojo well enough to know that he was taking this match to heat. Especially as captain.

And here you were pressing an ice-pack to the numerous cuts and bruises he’d acquired during his tussle with Sukuna. “I thought you did really well, baby.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. But-”

“Oh, come on—”

“But having you with me during an NHL game and I it ends up like this-”

“Toru, you’re the hardest on yourself.” Huffing, you push back on his damp white bangs. “I loved your playing today and I know everyone else did, too.”

“Yes, but I made the team go into overtime-” Gojo cries out once more.

“Which happens fairly often!”

Throwing his hands up in exasperation, “Yes, but that damned Ryomen Sukuna- fuck! How I wish I could have used more backhands against him- or body checks- or cycling- or even just slammed my hockey stick into his ugly fucking-”

“Satoru.” You interrupt him, and your boyfriend looks up at you immediately.

“Yes, ma’am?”

Underneath the glowy white light of the locker room, you can’t help but think that Gojo looks so pretty like this. 

There was a reason that he was the hockey player with the most fanfiction written of him (you knew, you’d checked). He was still in his deeeep blue uniform from earlier, not having had the heart to take them off just yet. It was slightly loose as it should be, but did nothing to hide Gojo’s firm shoulders, his broad chest, his strong arms. Matching the shade of his teary eyes, slightly reddened around the edges in a way that made him look so delicate. He flutters his long lashes up at you and subconsciously pouts. You’re noticing just then that he had a fresh bruise on his lower lip, making them look even more plump. 

Gojo looked almost ethereal. 

Head slightly sweaty. Body slightly blushing. His fingers still jittery with adrenaline. 

Pouting. Pretty. 

Though it didn’t matter because to him—you would always be the most beautiful. 

Gojo whimpers at the slight sting of pain once you kiss his poor, injured lips. “Fuh-fuck, sweetheart…mm.” And it was almost impressive how you had a 6’4 mountain of muscle and power as nothing but putty in your hands.

He melts.

“My girl?”

“Mhm, Toru?” You’re cooing down at him- chuckling at the way he chases your lips once you slightly pull away. It doesn’t matter if it hurts…he just needed you.

“Can you make me feel better?”

“Of course, Toru.”

In mere moments you’re being slammed up against the locker with your cunt against the smooth metal and Gojo’s hot erection inside your cunt. His fat cockhead probin’ between your pussylips and pushing against every tiny nook and cranny.

Just so thiiiiick and flared wide open that it makes your mouth water. Your legs limp.

You fucking loved when Gojo got like this - just after one of his games when he’s so high on the adrenaline that his furious erection just won’t seem to go down.

And of course - of fucking course - the only possible solution to that would be to shove you against the nearest flat surface he can find. To press you down with his hefty weight so that you can’t squirm your hips away. To hold you against this still-sweaty body as he pummels his thick inches inside you. To fuck you so hard and needy that even the lockers echo out their sounds in sultry synchronization with you.

Slam-slam-slam— 

In and out, in and out, in and out—

“F—ngh, fuck.” He whispers, all hot and breathy against the back of your neck. It makes you slightly flinch at the sensation and Gojo’s pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your nape- then digging his teeth in to almost draaaag you back to him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck- m’feeling better already, sweetheart.”

“Thank goodness, because you’re making me feel all- oh.” Just then his mushroomy tip swabs against your g-spot and you can’t stop your moan. “Shit, right there, Toru.”

Gojo’s panted chuckle breezes down your spine, “You could say I really, mm, hit the goal- hm?”

“Sh-shut up.” 

Before you’re arching right at Gojo’s sculptured core - he still had his blue ice hockey jersey on, and so did you. One of his that he’d given you, in fact.

Though he was holding his jersey up with one hand so that your restless body could sliiiiide down each sensual curve and ridge of his abs. He knew how much you liked that.

He could feel just how much wetter you got whenever you felt Gojo’s white happy trail scrape up against your cunt. Your outer pussy was just rubbed raw on the slammin’ of his base and now there was this—he pulls the hemline of his jersey up to his mouth and bites down on it. Keeping it permanently held up as the captain ruts and ruts against you even harder now.

Deeeeeeep, plunging strokes that leave wet thwacks! against the back of your cunt.

The hockey player’s reddish globular tip pushes against your sweetest spots a few more times, and each time he’s counting- “That’s one.”

“Wh-what do you…”

Hitting that exact spot once more like a target- wetness seeps from your cunt and sticks your thighs together with a wet sheen. Shit, it was just too cute how he had that mind of yours muddled with only a few strokes. “Two- three—” Each one accompanied by the most vicious mwah against your throbbin’ bundles of nerves.

“Why are you- hck! counting, baby?” You sniffle out.

So damn gone on his thickened, veiny length that he’s forced to (well, more like glad to) hook two rugged palms underneath your thighs and lift you up. He’s supporting your body a proper inch off of the tiled floor, jerking you up even higher every time his aching hot cock was swabbin’ away into you- “Three. That’s a hat trick.”

You blink tearily over your shoulder, not quite sure you heard him right. “A…a what?”

“A hat trick.” All three of those words were followed by three more pushing probes against your g-spot- “And look at thaaaat- that’s another hat trick.” Cutely peckin’ away his swollen cockhead again. And again. And again and- “That’s four. Five. Six. Seven-”

“Pleeeeeease—”  The only thing you can do is grab onto the jutted handles of the lockers for dear life. Back arched. Toes curling.

Those bulbous wet tears welling up by the sides of your eyes are so damn cute that all he wants to do is kiss them away. “Not ‘please’, heh- what you mean to say is thank you.”

“Th-thank you.” Babbling out with no difficulty.

And that makes even Gojo raise one pale brow, his rosy lips curling at the edges. “Fucked dumb already? Mmm, you really liked today’s game, huh? So good f’me.” With a raspy titter he slides a hand down the middle of your spine and gives your right ass cheek a goooood spank. “Then can you say thank you very muuuuuch, Toru—?”

“Thank you very- hck! much-” Mouth moving before your mind, he’s planting down yet another smack before you can finish your sentence. “-Toru!”

The focused captain nearly doesn’t wait until bossing you around again. “Theeeeen, how about can you say that Gojo Satoru, my handsome- ngh, boyfriend, is the best ice hockey player in history?”

Your mind was almost dizzy at the length of that sentence- “Satoru- ngh, fuck.”

“Nuh-uhhhh—” His needy pitch echoes out, planting a few more mean thrashes against your g-spot to leave you even more stupid. Hat trick. So slick with your glazy syrup that it’s easy to follow that route to reach your delicate spots. “It’s- Gojo Satoru, my handsome boyfriend, is the best-”

“Begging yer girl to say that shit because you know it’s not true?”

A voice that decidedly didn’t sound like either yours or your boyfriend’s.

It was too gruff, too mocking, too…predatory. Something in it that makes goosebumps erupt down the line of your spine and for you to snap your head immediately to the side- despite no one being in the locker room, you two had still chosen a slightly private corner of the mazing lockers. Somewhere no one would be able to see.

You just didn’t think that Ryomen Sukuna of all people would come looking for you.

He stood inside the sex-saturated room with his arms crossed, beefy biceps bulging through his red jersey. Head cocked. Expression smug. Tall enough that the tips of his pink hair touched the ceiling. Like Gojo, Sukuna hadn’t changed much out of his uniform- he was still sporting his red jersey and a slightly bloody nose to match.

Something you didn’t realize could be so attractive-

Dried around where his lips curled up into a smirk so smug. 

You’d be lying to yourself if you said that you didn’t find Ryomen Sukuna attractive - anyone with able vision or ears would be able to. He was strong. He was cocky. He was the type to glide through the rink as if he owned it- and just today he’d stopped and signalled at you—

And then there was the matter of his tattoos.

Thick inky rings at his wrists and his biceps, some more peeking out of his uniform. They always did give him an aura of authority. 

Even now, he stood inside the traitorous room as though he owned it. 

Stealthily, he’d opened up the door and crept inside the rival team’s locker room- or maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he’d been deafeningly loud and you two just hadn’t noticed.

Being so caught up-

Sukuna’s crimson gaze glides down the curvature of your spine and to where your pussy was just drippin’ all over the other man. Creating a slimy sheen down Gojo’s pistoning cock and all the way down his muscular thighs.

It smacks n’ splatters all over the globes of your ass because the white-haired man just wouldn’t stop-

“Why the fuck are you here? Spying on us because you can’t get any?” Gojo scoffs, not even slowing down- in fact, by the way you could feel his thick throbbing tip at your throat, you think he might just be speeding up—

“Fuuuuuck, Toru-”

“Shhhh shh shh, sweetheart.” One of Gojo’s hands lifts from your thighs and ends up clapping over your mouth. He feels your gaped maw splosh out in saliva and presses against your face even harder- “Wouldn’t wanna let that mean ol’ pervert hear any of your pretty noises, right?”

“Who the fuck are ya calling old-” Sukuna growls.

“I-I…” And you’re torn between looking behind at your boyfriend, and sideways at the pink-haired intruder. Both just making your cunt throb even harder.

“Hear that?” Sukuna snickers out of his toned chest, “Heh- yer pretty girlfriend doesn’t even know where to look.”

“Probably wanting to look anywhere but at your ugly ass-”

“Probably looking for an escape.” The taller man looms even closer, casting a shadow over your sweaty connected bodies. Your cunt quivers and he eyes you greedily as though he knew- “Rutting into her like that? Honestly- if ya won a match then fuck her like it.”

Gojo opens his mouth, “I won’t take advice from a sore loser.”

“Then take advice from me as a man.” Before Sukuna’s diverting his gaze down to where you were looking up at him with widened eyes. He softens his tone just for you, he leans down to speak just to you—grinning. “Your pussy wants me bad, doesn’t she, mama?”

“Don’t you fucking talk to her-”

Gojo tightens his palm atop your loosened mouth- and the only thing that does is smear the wads of saliva leaking out of you. Because you’re clenching your gummy walls so hard that he can’t help but give an animalistic jolt-

“She jus’ squeezed that pussy tight, didn’t she?” The hockey captain asks, and he doesn’t need to wait for the answer - he could already see it in Gojo’s dazed eyes. His parted lips. His aching cock. Sukuna’s own aching erection that he reaches a hand down to palm over his shorts, “Mmm, I can already imagine- fuck…what a shame she’s wasted on a bastard like you.”

Any and all haziness leaves Gojo’s peripherals instantly as he whips them over at the other man. “Uh-huh? And you really think you’re any better?” He’s inadvertently jostling the two of you even closer to him. 

“Fucker, I know I’m better.” Sukuna steps closer.

And you’re not sure how but you find yourself practically sandwiched between them - Gojo’s pecs pushing up against you from behind, his lengthy shaft drilling into you like a madman. Sukuna’s against your front - pressing against you with his muscular core, and his erection throbbing obviously between his legs. You were pulled away from the locker that was your lifeline and could barely even breathe like this-

Gojo humps his roverin’ tip into you from behind and scowls, “I’d say prove it but my girl doesn’t deserve to be put through that.”

“You’d say prove it but you’re scared I’d steal your girl.” Sukuna was cornering you both now. The positions had somehow flipped so that Gojo was starting to have his back against the locker now, Sukuna looming in. You between them. Being compressed. Being fucked stupid still-

He hisses at the frigidness of the metal, “In your dreams-” 

“Oh yeah?” Sukuna seethes, “Watch me.”

And then Sukuna’s snaggin’ away your panties- yes, you still had your panties on. Light blue just like your boyfriend’s eyes because you knew how ruined he was for that - and as soon as Sukuna’s registering the fact, he’s grazing his nail against the cloth and riiiiiiipping it straight off of your wet cunt. 

Nose crinkling in amusement as he throws it to the side-

“Oi-” Gojo snaps from behind, “I bought those limited edition for her, y’know-”

“And next time I’ll buy her ones in red.”

“You wish you could afford that shit-”

And it’s the last thing you’re hearing before Sukuna’s pressing one of his thickened fingertips right between your pussylips. His roughened crown pries apart your folds—sluuuurp, and you were just so damn damp that it trickles down his tattooed wrist.

Glistening against the ring of ink on his skin- Sukuna’s openin’ you up like some cute birthday present. Spreading apart your thick pussylips. Probin’ just the knobbled edges of his digits against your entrance—maybe because of his rumored rough training, but Ryomen Sukuna’s hands were much more calloused than Gojo’s. Much thicker. Much meaner.

He takes a goooood look down at your hole and chuckles- “Pull out and pull her legs up.”

At that, Gojo falters his sloppy pace. “Wh-what?” You could hear the surprise in his voice.

“Did I fuckin’ stutter?” Rolling his crimson eyes, the man sighs. How troublesome. “I said- pull out and pull her legs up. Lemme get a taste of that pussy.”

“Over my dead body.”

Sukuna looks over at you with a smirk, “Cover your eyes, mama- there’s about to be a murder.”

The only thing you can do is let your eyes follow their argument like a tennis match- or a hockey match. Mouth babbling uncontrollably by this point, “Please-”

Your boyfriend’s cooing down at you immediately, “Yeeees, my sweetheart?”

“Yeeeeeees, my sweetheart~?” Sukuna mocks.

“Jealous?”

“Over my dead body.”

Jealousy, surely. And Gojo knows it, too- which is why he’s kissing your throat in front of the man. Lips spreading across your skin in such a sultry way. “Then what do you say, my girl? Wanna- mmm, let this ol’ pervert have a taste of you? After I’ve been inside you?”

“Wanna feel-” You’re gurgling out, “Wanna feel you both-”

“Hmm, fine.” Gojo answers, “But this pussy’s too nice.”

The white-haired man echoes out in a scorching breath, slight possessiveness seeping into the way he gives your gooey cervix a final ram before pulling out—no, wait. He’s not going to make it that easy on his rival.

Without a single warning, Gojo’s coating your dewy walls in a thick layer of his seed.

Gojo’s cumming.

Almost timed, almost perfectly on schedule, almost making the other man’s knees buckle as he sees the frothy white residue seeping out of your hole. There’s so much of it, and he can feel his balls emptying out even more with each pump. Fucking the clingy wads back in a few times- really messing up the slick surface of your channel with his cum. Cumming harder than he thinks he has in his entire life-

And you’re throwing your head back against his collarbone with a moan, “O-oh my god, Toru. It feels so good.”

“Hear that?” He chuckles at Sukuna, who couldn’t take his eyes off of the way Gojo’s slick shaft kept slippin’ in and out of your cunt. Glistening n’ glossy with so many layers.

He gulps.

Seeing the state the pink-haired captain was in, Gojo leans down and whispers something in your ear—

“O-on your knees, Kuna.” You’re repeating with a slight whimper, still slightly dizzy at the flood of ivory sap being poured inside you. And he didn’t tell you to add on that little nickname but ah well- it was worth it to see Ryomen Sukuna, King of the Rink, fall to his very knees before you.

To have Gojo Satoru pull his massive cock out of you with the loudest, most lecherous sluuuuurp!

You’re twitching at the sheer sensitivity- feeling the spray of cum gush out of you so intensely that you almost want to close your legs. But your boyfriend holds them wiiiiide open with two arms being hooked underneath your knees. 

He lifts you cleanly off of the ground- 

Your knees up to your tits. Your ass being smacked by his toned v-line.

A standing full nelson.

There’s a ribbony wire of cum that slips out of your hole and ends up slide-slide-sliding all over your pussy. Gojo’s cock still hot and red between your legs. He snickers down at the kneeling man, “Eat that.”

Sukuna doesn’t need to be asked twice.

He doesn’t care that your pussy’s all covered in him—he doesn’t care that you’re just so stimulated and gone after this round that all you need is his flattened tastebuds on you to shatter into your orgasm.

Sukuna’s mouth guffawing out darkly as he feels you clench ‘round  and ‘round his tongue- “Heh, would ya look at thaaaat?” Looking up at the two of you through his pink lashes, “Cummin’ on my tongue the moment I put it on her- this pussy reeeally likes me, doesn’t she?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Gojo rolls his eyes.

“Sure thing, two-pump chump.”

And whatever Gojo’s saying next - you don’t hear. Because just then he’s movin’ apart your folds with his mouth and shovelling the entirety of his tongue inside.

Push after push.

Probe after probe,

Pointed chin slapping your cunt. His honed canines grazing your folds. Drilling into you like a man starved throughout your orgasm- he’s pressing both palms up against your thighs and pushing them even higher to get to your sweetened core. Smacking at the miry ribbons of white that were webbing up your insides.

And you don’t know whether it’s the sheer stretch or the intensity of your bliss, but you find yourself sobbing maddeningly. “Oh- oh my god.” Bucking. “Don’t stop.”

“Don’t plan to.” He chuckles wetly, a line of cum dribbling down his mouth. The slashes of his tongue somehow precisely pinpointing each peak of your high. Elongating that feeling inside of you until it felt like your veins were bubbling up- “Because she’s my pussy now, huh?”

You gasp, “I-I mean-”

“Says who?” Gojo growls out from above.

Pressing his rock-hard erection back between your pussylips as if to remind you just who was holding you up. And the audacity of Ryomen Sukuna—he’s merely leaning down and spitting a glittery wad across your slit. 

It ends up dolloping straight down onto Gojo’s cock, as well.  

The white-haired man shivers-

“Says me.”

Before Sukuna’s back to pressing one hot kiss on top of your cunt, two hot kisses, three. They were all open-mouthed and lavish—slidin’ his tongue furiously in and out of your hole. In and out. In and out. “Fuckin’ her all this time and you couldn’t even make ‘er cum.”The vibrations of Sukuna’s deep baritone sends jolts of pleasure up your spine, “Fuckin’ her all this time and I bet you’ve never made her feel this good-”

Gojo reaches up to grab at your throat with one hand, still holding you up. “S’that true, sweetheart?”

“I-I like bo—fuck.”

But then both men are rendering you speechless - Sukuna with his tongue slappin’ into the tender ridges of your walls, Gojo craning his long fingers down to press on your clit. Anything so that neither of them would have to hear how you wanted them both.

Pick one but not both.

And they’re both trying to be that one- Gojo flicking your throbbing clit with ease, Sukuna shoved between your legs and lappin’ at your every treacly dewdrop with his tongue. 

It was so different from the way your boyfriend would eat you out - while Gojo was slow and sensual and loving—handing you anything and everything you could ever want with his tongue - Sukuna was the complete opposite. He was rough. He was teasing.

He was grippin’ onto both of your thighs and draaaagging you back once you attempted to bounce your hips away. With his nails digging into the sides of your flesh, he was eating you out until you couldn’t breathe-

Just sharp, rapid pumps inside your hole with his slicked tastebuds. Draggin’ his teeth on your folds. Slurping up the pearly white dewdrops of sap. And whenever you clenched like it just felt so good- he’d reel his sloppy tongue back and slap it over your clit instead. 

Never letting you feel too good, never growing tired of those cutely disappointed huffs n’ puffs you’d let out.

“Oi oi-” Sukuna’s tongue slides over Gojo’s fingers, both tugging and grinding on top of your clit. “Yer in my zone, Gojo Satoru.”

“You’re in my girl’s pussy, Ryomen Sukuna.” He’s biting back. Jaw dropping slightly open at the sheer pace at which Sukuna would thrust into your sopping wet hole- uncaring whether you were stretched out enough to take his sheer circumference because Sukuna was going to make you take it either way. 

“Haaaah? Thought we went over this shit already- this is my girl’s pussy from now on. My pussy.” 

“You call her that when I’m the one that’s cum inside her?”

“Yeah, but who made her cum?”

You hitch out, “You’re both so s-stupid-”

And the bickering is starting up one more - though unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) for you, the more they argue, the harder they’re going on your cunt. Rubbin’ their lips and fingers raw—“Got a problem with that?”

Gojo pipes up, “She never answered the-”

“Aht aht-” Sukuna interrupts the blue-eyed man, just too fun to watch him fume like this. And instead of paying him any attention, the King stares right down at your pussy. “Got a problem with that?”

He wasn’t talking to Gojo. He wasn’t even talking to you-

He was talking to your greedy pussy and waitin’ until she answered- opening his mouth to let his tongue spread your lips wide open and draaaaag down your velvety walls. 

Inevitably, you’re just so wet by this point that you can’t help but splash out in your juices- and it creates the filthiest squelching noise that Sukuna grins at. “See? She doesn’t mind.”

“You fucking-”

“Sh-shiiiiit—” Before the sultriest, most mind-numbing stretch opens up your pussy. And you snap your head down on carnal instinct to find that Sukuna was kneeled between your legs and fingering your pussy open. 

Ruthlessly with not one, not two, but three of his thick fingers- they were just so large that it took him a few half-thrusts to even fit the first few inches inside. Those roughened crowns of his mazing like spotlights searching for your every sweet spot, “Oh my god, it feels so good, Kuna-”

“Oh yeah? What a coincidence, yer- I mean my pussy’s saying the same thing, mama.” He then looks up at your boyfriend as if to say—your move.

Gojo Satoru rolls his eyes.

And he’s then pushing Sukuna’s head back to fully take over your clit for himself.

“Fuck off.”

Sukuna’s pink brows furrow and he grimaces. “Watch it, fucker. I have a Calvin Klein ambassadorship-”

“He talks big but he doesn’t know this pussy as well as I do, huh?” Though Gojo doesn’t listen to a word he says - doesn’t have to. He’s rolling the edge of his thumb along your clit in quick clockwise circles, and then stopping every then and now to repeat the motion anti-clockwise. “All that chit-chat, but really…she’s still my pussy, isn’t she?”

You hiccup, “I-I just don’t understand why she can’t be both-”

“No.”

“Nuh-uh.” Gojo affirms along with Sukuna. Breathy laughter echoing against your right ear in a way that almost felt crazed—“Guess I hafta remind it to you then, huh, my girl?”

“Ohhhh, he’s slurring, mama.” Sukuna titters.

“I’m realizing…” You breathe out.

Maybe the two of you had broken Gojo Satoru. 

Maybe the two of you had made Gojo Satoru snap-

In no time he’s jerking you further up in this position and absolutely shattering you with the movements of his nimble fingertips. Gojo always did have the prettiest hands you’ve ever seen, the prettiest palms, the prettiest digits that had countless edits dedicated to them on social media. 

And they were just so looooong and flexible- tuggin’ on your throbbing knob a few times before drawing patterns. Not just any patterns - but something swirling and swipin’ that makes your eyes roll all the way to the back of your skull.

He was curving the soft crown of his fingerpad against your clit- making a curving shape that makes you buck. 

“And what does that say?”

“Wh-what?” You gasp out stupidly to the man above you, his voice eerily calm.

“I said…” A few more twists n’ turns of his fingers on top of your clit that make you tremble with pleasure. “-what does that say, sweetheart?”

Hell, even Sukuna has to look up at the tone of Gojo’s voice. Something about it so…either way it’s making the pink-haired man flicker his gaze up n’ down your cunt and chuckle. “Not bad, you sick fuck. Not bad.”

And you’ve never been more confused- “I don’t know what you mean-”

“I said-” It’s only then that you’re feeling it, feeling the sensation of Gojo’s doughy fingertips pinch your swollen clit. Letting the sting seep into your nerves for just a bit before he’s resuming that same swipin’ motion. “-what does it say on this pussy?”

It’s only then that you’re realizing he’s spelling something out on your cunt.

“Man, she’s too fucked stupid on my tongue to realize-”

“In your dreams.”

“Shit, is it…” Your dazed pupils seem to be following in the same motion, being held to him with absolutely no mercy. And, somehow, you manage to be mapping out the swivelling of his fingers. “Is it an ‘S’—?”

“‘S’ for Sukuna.” The pink-haired captain titters out.

Before Gojo’s immediately spanking down on your pussy for no reason- “And this one? What about this one, my girl?”

“Shit, shit shit, shiiiit—” You could feel the oncoming tidal wave of your high - already so close with both men stimulating you so much that it almost hurt. “Is that one- hck!” If you weren’t mistaken, this current one was something…pointier than the last curving letter. “Is it an ‘A’?”

“Good girl.”

“Aw, shit-” Sukuna gruffs out between your pussylips, “I can’t let my pussy go that easily, can I?”

Increasing the incredible zaps of electricity that were running straight from your core, Sukuna had another swivellin’ fingertip of his pressing inside. Four—and they were just so big that you swear you could feel your mind start blanking out.

Pushing and pushing.

Shovelling his hot tips against the sweetest of your spots, it’s almost as if he was providin’ his fingers inside with the aim to bruise-

“And how many fingers s’that?” Sukuna leers up at both you and Gojo, a challenging smile upon his handsome face. “Count f’me, girlie.”

“Be original.” Gojo scoffs.

“Be better.”

“Not when you’ve got my cum on your face.”

Sukuna isn’t even sure what to say to that, merely stuffin’ his face into the froth of white and transparent juices pourin’ out of you.

“Fuh-four.” Almost feeling embarrassed by how much your words were tangling n’ mingling into one- but that’s if you were in any better state of mind. Right now it felt like you could barely even string a coherent thought together let alone a sentence. “Four fingers?”

Sukuna smiles against your tender folds, “Aaaaatta girl.” Pulling back and this time pushing in a different number of digits. “And how many now?”

“Three?” You cry out.

“We’re not done here, sweetheart.” Thrown by the way that Gojo was rasping into your ear, “Don’t let has-beens distract you- what letter?”

“It’s a ‘T’—?”

“What number, mama?”

“Two.”

“Letter?”

“Oh—” Feeling your legs start to twitch the way they did whenever you were close, “It’s ‘O’-”

“Number-”

You’re arching against them, “Four-”

“Letter-”

Bucking your body, “‘R’—”

“Lett-”

“Number-”

“Letter.”

“Fuck- number.”

“Fuck off- letter.”

“S’my pussy and I want to ask-”

“No, it’s my pussy and-”

But only you could cut through one of their infamous arguments with ease- “Satoru.” Bringing back both men’s attention onto you and you entirely. Your back arches against Gojo’s front until his smooth pectorals were providing you with cushioning for his rough fingers. “Y-your letters are spelling out- ngh, ‘Satoru’ on my pussy.” And then you’re staring down at the pink-haired man, “And Sukuna- you’ve now got four fingers inside me.”

He smirks, “Atta girl- correct.”

“You did well, sweetheart.”

And their sweet whispers are all you hear before you’re shattering into your second- third- perhaps even fourth orgasm of the night. Something that lasts so loooooong and blissful that it leaves your body utterly limp in Gojo’s arms.

Sukuna plops his fingers and mouth down on your cunt and fucks you through each incredible high, the mountains of it unfurling over you. His globular fingertips pressin’ into the tiniest crevices inside and marking himself out. Meanwhile Gojo was spelling his name again and again and agaaaain on top of your swollen pussy. 

Until it was a pattern that you think might have permanently embedded into your very veins with how frenzied your boyfriend was marking it out. Gojo crushes you to his toned front and whispers- “Cum f’me, my girl.” Scalding hot pants against your ear, “Yes- yes, cum f’me.”

He ruts his aching cock against your behind and you whine-

“Cum f’me so good.”

And Sukuna himself looks as though he wanted to say something as he dragged out the tremors across your body- but he was far too busy with his lips glued to your pussylips. Lappin’ up every ounce of slick and cum- “Mmm, just you wait, mama.”

They don’t stop until your massive wave of bliss has well and fully bated - until it’s nothing more than a few tingles that shoot sparks up your spine.

But then…they don’t stop even then.

Sukuna has his lips plastered to your clit by now, his fingers smeared down your walls—and he didn’t give a fuck what the other man had to say about it. Because Gojo himself had his arms around you tightly, hips just lightly pushing and pulling. Reeling and rutting.

Gojo’s plush cockhead was swervin’ between your legs and sliiiiiding up the slit of your pussy-

“Oi-” Sukuna’s grunting as the other man’s smooth velvety length grazes his lips, “Watch it. M’trying to eat out my girl’s pussy.”

“Then shut up and move.” Gojo gruffs out, teeth grit. He hits his hips against you with a smack! “Or don’t- I don’t fucking care.”

“That’s gay as hell.”

“Bi.”

“Bye to you, too.” Sukuna’s rolling his rouge eyes. He’s just about to open his mouth once more with something snarky, when he realizes that oh…Gojo was actually fucking serious.

He was actually attempting desperately to pummel his hips into you. He was actually holding you up with only one of his beefy arms for a brief moment, guiding his thickened tip to smooch up against your hole and puuuushing—

Cumming.

Pouring out hot loads of seed in a gloss.

“And who said you could fuck my girl’s pussy?” Immediately, he’s on his two feet and shrugging down his shorts- dampened with precum by now. Thoroughly. It’s then that you’re getting the first proper look at the Ryomen Sukuna’s cock.

Where Gojo was longer and prettier- Sukuna was just thiiiick and covered in so many veins that it made you already anticipate him being inside you. It was almost dizzying the sheer amount there was. Unruly pink happy trail. Heavily tightened balls. He was the most sensual tannish pink at the very top of his shaft, graduating down to a darker shade at his base. And his base—oh.

“You seriously got tattooed there?” Gojo’s the first to voice his thoughts out loud. One of his pale brows raising at the ring of inky black ‘round Sukuna’s hilt. “Sick fuck.”

You yourself gulp at the sight, “Did that hurt, Kuna?”

“Who cares if it-”

“Nah.” Sukuna replies, “No pain, no gain- right, mama?”

“I-I suppose…” Nodding was all that you could do - Gojo was furiously smearin’ apart your pussylips and trying to rut inside.

“And what exactly would my girl be gaining, huh?” The white-haired captain is the one to ask.

“Isn’t that obvious?” His tone certainly made it out to be, and the King was looming even closer with his throbbing erection. Just like Gojo, he looked so hard that it almost looked painful- almost looked as though he was begging n’ bursting to be inside your tight hole. Sukuna’s caging the two of you against the lockers, “She’s gaining both of us.”

Your eyes widen, “Both-”

“Inside.”

Gojo perks up, “At once.”

Both. Inside. At once. 

You weren’t walking out of this locker room.

At all.

Sukuna inches ever-so-slightly closer. One hand placed outright against the locker room- and you honestly have to stop yourself from ogling his bulging biceps. The other wrapped around his meaty hilt and pressin’ up against your hole- 

“If s’both at once then you better put them in at the- mm, same time.” Gojo mutters.

“Tch-” But Sukuna doesn’t deny him - and before you know it, he has his rugged hand wrapped around both their cocks. Gojo’s face wincing with a hiss at the slight sensation, he dribbles out in even more cum that gets smeaaaared down your wet crevice. “And that last round- we didn’t end up deciding whose pussy this was, huh?”

“No…” Gojo’s clenching his teeth, straining his head to look down at the heavenly sight below. Sukuna was teasin’ your flooded orifice, getting you used to the feeling of them both.

“Then how about…”

“-we let this pussy decide.”

“Mmm, heh-” Sukuna smirks, “-time for the overtime.”

And they might have been the fiercest of rivals on the ice—but here? Gojo and Sukuna were in perfect synchronization when they’re tuggin’ their cocks to your cunt and emptying out.

Fucking you at the same time.

“Eeeeeasy now, mama- s’gonna be a snug fit.” Sukuna’s forehead starts to bead with sweat, “You should know that they say my cock’s so big it’s as if they were- hah, two.”

“Two inches, maybe.”

“What were you saying, two-pump chump?”

It was such a tight fit.

“Ngh—fuck.” Sukuna spits out through his pearly white canines, nose crinkling at the sensation of your walls rubbing against him and him rubbing against Gojo. “You’ve got me, mama.”

“Fuh-fuuuuuck, sweetheart-” Meanwhile Gojo was damn near drooling- he was trembling, he was spurtin’ out his precum. He was holding onto you for what felt like dear life as he’s rutting- “It feels so good, what the fuck- what the fuuuck.”

“Yer welcome.” Sukuna chuckles, though you could see the burning blush formulating on his ears.

“Not you-”

He throbs, “Nah, tha’s definitely me.”

And you can’t help but cling onto both of them- “Toru—Kuna- you’re both inside- fuck.” One of your hands grabbing into Sukuna’s toned deltoids, while the other was scrambling to grab onto Gojo’s pure white hair. Honestly, you didn’t even need the balance at this point - they were the ones holding you up. Gojo’s strong arms holding you up in a full nelson, Sukuna’s ones latched onto either side of your hips to keep from running. “And you’re both just so big- I don’t know if it’ll even f-”

“Don’t say that it won’t fit, sweetheart.”

You’re turning back to Gojo, “Why- oh.”

Because your boyfriend’s voice sounded octaves higher than usual. It sounded breathier. It sounded more unsteady.

You don’t think you’ve heard him sound like this in your entire life.

And you’re just looking behind to check up on him and- fuck. Gojo Satoru was already pussydrunk - you could tell by the bleary look in his eyes. He was shivering. He was letting his pinkish lips fall further and further open every time he’s plunging in a solid few pumps-

“Oi oi-” Sukuna gnaws down on the insides of his cheek to keep from any strange noises like…whimpers from seeping into his tone. “-I thought we were fuckin’ her together?”

“Oh—huh?” Blue eyes looking between the two of you- did he seriously forget that? Was he seriously that gone? And you’re getting your answer the moment that your gluey walls clench—and Gojo’s breath hitches. Body moving before his mind as he ruts-

His eyes blow wide open as if he didn’t even realized what he just did.

He holds into you so tight that neat crescent marks embed into your skin. “Don’t say it won’t fit- please.” Breathy whispers plastering in scorching breezes against the side of your neck, “Don’t say it won’t fit because I need it to- have to.”

“Why’s that, Toru?”

“Yeah-” Sukuna raises his pinkish brows, “Why’s that, Toru?”

“B-because…” Gojo’s handsome cheeks give a slight blush, and he’s averting eye contact with both you and the cocky man that also had his cock stuffed inside you. “-how will make this pussy really mine if I can’t even hit her- ngh, womb?”

Your jaw drops- but Sukuna only lets out a light whistle. “So thaaaat is the master plan, huh?” The other captain himself giving you a solid, aaaaaching thrust- “Hasn’t yer coach ever taught you not to tell yer master plan to the rival team?”

“Why does it matter?” Poor, pussydrunk Gojo Satoru cocks his head. And you almost start to feel sympathy for the way that Sukuna was starting to take your boyfriend as a joke- “You won’t win anyways”

Nevermind.

It doesn’t take long for them to funnels their cocks upwards like fucking animals-

Claiming every single spot inside you. Slidin’ past one another for space- they feel the sensitive spots on their cock press against the other’s and that makes them buck. Molding and massaging and making you sob out on the feeling of two entire cylindrical intrusions keeping you wide open.

Gojo was impatient with his tempo, slashing the most delicate parts of your insides with his lengthy cock. And it certainly didn’t help that the globular end of his shaft was covered in slick and hooooned to reach your deepest depths. Even deeper.

Even deeper than Sukuna, who was spending more time training your entrance to gape out into a pretty lil’ oh—the same way your mouth was. “Just like that, mama.” And listen…he can’t help himself when he leans down and spits straight between your puffy lips. Sticking a thumb between your legs and pryin’ your folds apart. “Would ya look at that…she’s actually starting to take me- I dunno about that other motherfucker-”

“She’s taking me, too.” Gojo scoffs.

“-but I just know this pussy’s gonna love my cock.” Sukuna hums, his great chest rumbling with satisfaction. “She’s gonna have me stuffed all the way against her womb and then beg to be called mine.”

Making you shiver with the drag-drag of the calloused digits holding his base, “Sh-shit-”

Sukuna grins, jerking his hips up. Rapid and ravenous. “And she’s begging to take it all the way until that tattoo at my base-”

“In your dreaaaaams~” The other man’s answer comes before yours, and so does a thorough bang right near your g-spot occur. “She’s all mine. So if you w-want any then come and get it now, Sukuna—oh wait.” Leaning down theatrically, Gojo pretends as though he was hearing something emanating from your pussy. Something riveting. The squelches. “You can’t- because the only one she’s begging for is me.”

“Face-off.”

“Fuck off.”

“Can you two just shut up and fuck me—ngh.” Your tastebuds sizzle in the drenched layer of your own saliva, taking over your mouth in an instant once one of them finally bottoms out.

One of them.

And the problem was that you couldn’t register which one was which- before a second loud wallop tremors at the bottom of your pussy and the other man is bottoming out. Both of them. 

Mere split-seconds apart from each other. 

Their rotund tips curving against your cervix juuust right until your eyes roll back, hands latching onto their muscular bodies. Toes curling. Teary lashes fluttering. Gojo and Sukuna had you pressed tightly between them as they funnelled all their swollen, greeeeedy inches inside of you.

“So?”

It’s Sukuna who’s speaking- and you can just barely manage to extract yourself from the valley of his pecs. Sometime during their furious cadence, you’d wound up salivating between his toned chest. “S-so?”

Gojo hums, “So what’s the verdict, sweetheart?”

“Verdict?”

Sukuna tuts with one of his usual eye-rolls. “So- who’s first, mama? Who did that slutty pussy of yours want more?”

“O-oh…” Your mouth drops agape, “It was…”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

Blinking back the tears in your eyes- “It was…”

“Take your time, my girl.”

“It was-” It’s then and there - mid-moan to one of Gojo’s impatient thrusts - that you decide to come clean to the two men. Sadly looking down—if you were in any clearer a state of mind then maybe you’d have noticed the way both their plummy tips throb even harder when you pout. “I don’t…know…”

“Well…” Gojo looks at Sukuna, and Sukuna looks back.

“Well.”

And there seems to be a silent conversation there that you weren’t privy to.

“We can always fuck her pussy and then ask her.”

“Y’know- sometimes I love the way you think.”

You’re not quite sure which one of the two suggested it, and which one of the two simply agreed - Gojo or Sukuna. Because they’d finally fit inside and now Gojo and Sukuna were pistoning their hips up into you like they were trying to make you forget the other.

Trying to make your mind nothing but a blur.

The pinkish lengths disappearing in and out of you nothing but a blur.

Both of their split-ended cockheads dig into the deepest grooves of your pussy, finding each of your favorite spots as if they were almost magnetized to them. It just felt so good to have them slide across your walls and slide across each other- those veiny lines on their cocks being pressed against the other’s shaft. Bulging out your tight channel like you never could have imagined before. Expectedly, knowing your body for a longer time, Gojo is the first to find your g-spot and preeeeess his flared tip against it.

He smirks down at Sukuna- who didn’t take more than a few more vicious strokes to find it himself. Though he can’t lie the blow it did to his ego— “What was that? Your cute lil’ womb feeling lonely, girlie?” Sukuna’s speaking down at your slurping cunt, “Awww don’t worry, I’ll help you-”

“Tch…” To which the other man was also concentrating a bit more on the route that his length was taking inside your channel. Gojo was hard and sloppy- the cap of dribblin’ pre on his shaft making it so that sometimes he’d barely even graze his tip against your channel until he’s doing it all over again. “Upset you can’t find the g-spot?”

“M’surprised a man like you could even find the clit.” Sukuna’s snarling back, purposefully dipping his thumb up to roll over that sweet nub.

“M’surprised a man like you was even given the chance to fuck her.” Gojo chuckles haughtily.

“Why were you surprised when a man like you was given the chance?”

“At least I won the match-”

“At least I won the girl—my girl.”

Gojo bristles, “You seriously think you won my girl over?”

“If the shoe fits-”

Gojo scoffs- and thankfully it’s the only thing he does. Thankfully he’s ignoring the vengeful temptation within him that’s telling him to just deck Ryomen Sukuna in the face one and for all.

Instead, he’s taking his anger out simply on your cunt. Both ice hockey captains swipin’ their rotund crowns inwards and attempting to fuck the decision out of you.

Faster.

Harder. 

Choose me. Choose me. Choose me.

“Sh-shit, how am I ever meant to choose—” You’re gasping through your cascade of tears, legs twitching- and you’re taking it as a sign to mean that your high was nearby. Though how you were expected to orgasm once more with the sheer amount of overstimulation that your body was wracking from, you had absolutely no idea.

And Gojo and Sukuna were fucking you like they didn’t even care about that in the first place.

They had their hands gripping onto your body- almost teamwork. “Don’t tell me that we’re gonna go this long without you even choosing, sweetheart…” Gojo purrs. He was the one holding you open, and Sukuna was the one taking advantage of that to twiddle n’ tug at your clit. 

“Yeah- don’t think yer getting out of this any time soon.” Sukuna agrees - agrees with Gojo Satoru for what was likely the first and last time ever in his entire life. You squirm your hips and he’s pinning you down to keep you from moving a single inch—“If ya don’t choose now then we’re gonna have another- hah, round.”

Eyes damn near bulging out of your skull, “A-another round?”

“Another round.” Gojo affirms. His head falling into the crook of your neck, “And another round- and another round- and another round and another round and another-”

“Aaaaaall the way until you finally choose, girlie.” Sukuna chuckles darkly—“Me or him.”

“Me or him.”

“I…I choose—” You start off- and you can feel the way that both Gojo and Sukuna lean in even closer to hear your ultimate decision. Who’s pussy was this? Whose girl were you? They’re slammin’ their hips into yours so hard that the skin of their pelvis grows bright red. “I choose-”

“Yes?” Gojo shoves his cockhead against a particularly sweet spot inside you.

“Mhm?” Sukuna was pressing down haaaard on your clit like the cutest button.

And it’s with great difficulty - and a few more rabid strokes - until you can speak. “I choose…that you both fuck me again.”

Such filthy, filthy words coming out of your pretty mouth- 

It’s enough to make both you and Gojo cum again- and for Sukuna to take one lingering look at you two before he himself starts to throb with his high. “Fuh-fucking hell.” Never stuttered in years since his first team tryouts. Never felt so overcome with his orgasm since he first discovered what the hell that was. 

They’re both pumping out looong luxurious stripes of their seed.

Your own high was nothing but a mere few trembles by this point—or so you think. That is, until those faint tingles burst into something so intense and white-hot that you see your vision blacken for a few seconds. A strange wetness seeping between your legs.

You wonder just what might have happened- until Sukuna’s low whistle sounds. “Squirting, huh?”

“All because of me-”

“Actually-”

You have to open your eyes and see for yourself- and it’s making you gape at the splashes of squirting sap that escape you. So much so that you start to wonder just where so much of it must’ve fit, so hard that it makes every single double thrust push you through your constant high. “Sh-shit, I did this…”

Again and again.

Only once the most of it has bated and left you unclenching can you focus on taking every single wad that they’re planting inside you. Emptying out their heavy balls. Using both globular cockheads to swipe the dewy droplets inwards. 

“Inside, motherfucker.” Sukuna spits out at the other man, guiding his ruby-red tip to swivel inside. 

“I already know, you fool.”

“Sh-shit, there’s so much of it.” The mess of it glazes your insides and creates a sort of second skin. Only temporary, however, because every time you were fucked- that sheen would splosh all over again. “I feel so…ngh.”

“Mmm, filled up to the brim?” Sukuna swipes his thick fingertip down your slit and collects the excess of ivory cum dribbling out of you.

Gojo helpfully supplies as well, “Properly stuffed full?”

Sukuna smirks, “Wet like a waterpark?”

“The sweetest treat with a creamy middle?” Gojo was ruttin’ his hips up furiously, properly fucking all three of you throughout your orgasm. Toes curling. Back arching. Even when his own high was starting to peter out now and he was only pumping you full—

“Like yer gonna explode?”

“Heh, like yer gonna end up pregnant-”

You’re throwing your head back with a mewl, clawing onto their muscular bodies- “Please-” Just fucked stupid until both their waves of bliss are fading out. Pouring pumps of wadded cum every time they underwent a peak of bliss, “F-fuck, please-”

“Please?” Sukuna raises one brow down at the way you sob, “Whaddaya mean ‘please’? I distinctly remember a certain indecisive pussy- and you, wanting to go another round n’ really decide? Right, Satoru?”

“Most certainly, Ryomen.” Your boyfriend - that traitor - is fucking agreeing with his rival for one.

When did that even happen—?

But you don’t have the time to think too deeply about it- because in almost no time, they’re pulling out. In the next blink you find your limp body laid flat across one of the large wooden benches in the locker room.

Gojo and Sukuna kneeled between your legs and looking absolutely famished. You could feel their cum pouring out of you triple-fold like this, a slow n’ slick ooze.

“Shit- look at the way she’s leaking.” Gojo nudges Sukuna.

Sukuna smirks back, “Mostly because of me, heh?”

“You fuck-”

“Ahem.” They’re snapping their eyes to you instantly, just so pretty when they kneeled before you like this—they should do it more often. Still twitching from the aftershocks of your high, “And you- ngh, want me here because…?”

“To eat that pretty pussy out, mama- duh.” Sukuna rolls his eyes. “Because no matter what, we belong to you.”

Gojo pipes up, “Just trying to figure out the logistics- I want to taste my girl first, you’ve already had your turn-”

“Eh? Fuck off, I’m eating her out first-”

“You already-”

“Why not both?” It’s become your mantra, of sorts. And you’re leaning back on your elbows against the bench, leads spreadin’ just a bit wider.

The two hockey look players between you and your pussy with widened eyes.

Before you’re reaching out and bringing their heads together to kiss your puckered cunt. Their lips meeting your pussylips. Their lips meeting each others—

A hot, open-mouthed kiss.

Gojo moans.

Sukuna can’t keep the blush off of his ears once his and Gojo’s tongue slide against each other and fight for purchase of your cream-covered cunt-

“Help me decide, boys.”

.

.

.

“Aaaaand we have Gojo Satoru and Ryomen Sukuna coming up to the center to take the opening face-off, ladies and gentlemen.” Different game. Same commentator. “This might just be the most anticipated moment in our play-offs: Tokyo Free Blades vs. Heian Hawks. Gojo Satoru vs. Ryomen Sukuna. The strongest center now vs. the strongest center in history—and which one of them will take the Stanley Cup?”

Gojo and Sukuna were skating up to the face-off circle, their hockey sticks at the ready and their eyes locked on one another.

It had only been a month or two of fooling around until yet another NHL play-off, this time in Shinjuku, had the two men facing each other. And they were ready for it- in fact, they almost seemed excited for it.

Your two boyfriends are lowering into position as the referee arrives to give them a concise speech, and you can’t help but jump up and down with your cheers. Still slightly sore from how hard they went on you. Still covered in marks down your neck and your thighs from both of them. You were in the fan section for the Heian Hawks, despite the Tokyo Free Blade jersey you wore - but at least the banner in your hand announced—Shinjuku Showdown! Go Go Toru and Kuna!

And yet, even then you knew that one of them would find something to whine n’ huff about until you gave them extra coddling. You hope you didn’t write one of their names bigger than the other…

It drew a few stares, predictably.

From fans around you that beamed or from the particularly fervent fan that couldn’t comprehend this betrayal. You just never would have expected that it would draw the attention of the game commentator itself-

“And what’s that? Isn’t that Gojo Satoru’s girlfriend?” To your acute horror and amusement, you’re suddenly seeing yourself splashed across the big screen. “Look here, ladies and gentlemen- Gojo Satoru’s girlfriend with her support for the Heian Hawks as well—raise that banner higher, my dear.”

With a cheer, you do as you’re told. You know this is about to take over your entire timeline very, very soon.

“Well well well, who could’ve imagined? Maybe the Prince of the Ice has some competition, eh?” Panning over the visuals to a smirking Sukuna and Gojo who was rolling his eyes- fondly, however. “Isn’t this the same lass that caused a fight between the two players during their last match together?”

Though you’re shaking your head with a laugh, Sukuna raises a thumbs up.

“Who’d have thought…maybe a friendship between two heated rivals really is possible after all?” The commentator muses out loud, and you’re dodging the phone cameras that are being shoved your way now. Being Gojo Satoru’s girlfriend always did come with a bit of publicity that you never did expect, but being the girlfriend of both of them…“Or maybe even…something more?”

Gojo and Sukuna look at each other.

They flip each other off.

“Or maybe not—” The man declares to roaring laughs, and Yaga is smoothly lifting his hand in a signal of dropping soon. “Let’s have a good game Gojo and Sukuna fans. Clean. Fair. For that Stanley cup. No one gets injured too badly and most important of all—rock me!”

The puck drops.

The game starts.

A/N. Shinjuku showdown? More like Shinjuku PLOUGH-down *throws tomatoes* Also fun fact: some of the commentary in here were taken from actual games!

The rest of the campus, meanwhile, bustles around you like nothing happened. Like it never happens. Like there isn't a floating narration box following you from birth and plotting your eventual fall from grace. You really should start looking into those therapy services offered by the mental health office. You know they can't help you with "being narrated since birth," but it's probably the next best thing, right?

Anyway, it's spring and, frankly, you're very tired.

You, Y/N, are the notorious campus queen: the stunning daughter of an affluent political family and the presumed villainous antagonistic force in Kim Mingyu's, your childhood friend, star-crossed love story. For three volumes and counting, you, Mingyu and Lee Ara have fallen into a rhythmic dance of misunderstandings, relationship dramas, and flashy battles all leading to one, inevitable conclusion: Mingyu and Ara will fall in love and live happily ever after.

Or that's how it's supposed to work.

Except none of that happens in the shadows, the white spaces that the Writer's pen never quite fills in. Those are the places where characters come to life in ways even the omnipotent Writer can't see coming. Like when Mingyu saved you from a car last spring. Or that night you snuck into the school pool together and splashed around instead of studying. When it was just the two of you, when no one could see, no one was writing. When everything seemed perfectly scripted without a script.

In those moments, when the narration box couldn't reach you, nothing else seemed quite as important as his smile.

Until the next scene began, that was.

You don't remember when you and Mingyu became aware of the fact that none of this was real. You always thought that you were losing your memory, wondering how you ended up at home when you were just in class seconds ago, how so much time seemed to pass without your realizing it. It didn't click until you were aimlessly roaming the school halls one afternoon and noticed the air fluttering unnaturally around you, things moving floating out of place in the corner of your vision and an unsettling feeling of something. A presence? A monster? A force beyond your knowing and naming trying to reach out to you.

When you talked to people, they'd be confused or dismissive, thinking you're joking. And when you'd ask them again some time later, they wouldn't know what you meant and keep repeating the same responses over and over, no matter how many times you would try and ask, hoping it'd finally ilicit a different response.

Finally, you tried talking to Mingyu about what was happening to you, only to find Mingyu was feeling exactly the same way. That things were happening without his express conscious will, and he felt the presence of something vaguely sinister outside of his direct sphere.

That's when you both realized the absurd, nonsensical reality that you're living in a webtoon, in a narrative world crafted by someone who felt very little need or concern for either of your agency. That something, a presence beyond human knowledge and imagination, was dictating and guiding you along towards an end goal: an inevitable romance between Kim Mingyu, the male lead, and Lee Ara, the female lead, and you're left to be the evil side character who had to be defeated for Mingyu and Ara to obtain their Happy Ever After.

Which sucks ass because you really like Mingyu. Maybe even a little too much. And you know, deep down, that the feeling is mutual. The Writer might make you do whatever she wants to further the plot, like flirt with Mingyu against your will during scripted love tropes. But whenever the writer isn't actively intervening, you get to be just you and Mingyu, and not the fictional, plot-dictated versions of you two that are forced together by the writer. You wonder sometimes, if it wasn't for this damned world, if you'd be happily dating each other.

You feel the narration box wriggling in your pocket, desperate to escape and comment. To announce loudly, obviously that you'll do whatever you can to disrupt Kim Mingyu and Lee Ara from meeting, but ultimately end up helping the course of fate along because the Writer makes it so. Because the narrative demands a twist at the very last second, and Kim Mingyu can't end up with you.

With a sigh, you take the now much smaller narration box out and unfold it, letting its words be absorbed back into reality:

NARRATION: ...and the villainess plots her next loser plan to keep our golden boy and pure maiden away from each other.

"I fucking hate you," you mutter under your breath.

Just then, a slim figure rounds the corner: Lee Ara in all of her oblivious perfection, wearing a fluffy dress that no college student would survive in, looking very much like she is running towards you.

PANEL 3 — BUST SHOT: YOU, GLOWERING.

Your lips curl up into your default, scheming smile. You really wish it didn't feel so natural.

PANEL 4 — EXTREME CLOSE UP ON LEE ARA.

Her hair blows dramatically out of the way as she stares determinedly ahead like this isn't a typical, daily interaction for the two of you. You can't tell if it's supposed to look brave or goofy, but it sure isn't intimidating.

"Ara, you look absolutely stunning today," you feel your eye twitch as the words leave your mouth, words you didn't choose, didn't want to say, words that materialized on your tongue like someone else is operating your vocal cords.

Which, technically, someone was.

Ara blinks up at you with those impossibly wide doe eyes. "Oh! Um, thank you? That's... really nice of you to say."

No, it fucking isn't, you thought viciously, even as your face arranges itself into what you know is a calculated, mean-girl smirk.

"I just wanted to say," your mouth continues without your permission, and you feel the familiar horror of a scripted scene taking over, "that dress is so brave. Not everyone could pull off that... particular shade of yellow."

There it is. The backhanded compliment. Right on schedule.

Ara's face falls slightly, and you want to scream. You helped her pick out that dress last week during your actual, off-page friendship that the Writer conveniently ignores. You told her the sunshine yellow made her look like bottled happiness.

"Oh," Ara says softly. "I... thank you?"

"If you like looking like you're blocking traffic, then feel free to keep wearing it," you snort and then the scene releases you like a puppet with cut strings, and you immediately grab Ara's arm. "Wait, that came out wrong—"

PANEL 5 — ARA TURNS.

She's already walking away, and you know why. The Writer has got what they wanted: another moment of you being terrible to the heroine. Another panel of the villainess doing villainess things.

You stand there in the middle of the quad, students flowing around you like water around a stone, and contemplate the very real possibility of screaming until your throat bleeds.

"Rough scene?"

You don't have to turn around to know who it is. You recognize that voice anywhere. It's the voice that makes your stomach do complicated acrobatic routines, the one that belongs to your best friend since childhood, the one that's supposed to fall in love with Ara and definitely not with you.

"Mingyu," you say, turning to face him. "I just told Ara her dress makes her look like a jaundiced traffic cone. How do you think it went?"

Mingyu winces, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder. He's wearing his usual off-scene outfit: an oversized hoodie that's seen better days, glasses slightly askew, hair unstyled and falling into his eyes. He looks nothing like the chiseled, perfectly-coiffed golden boy who appeared in the actual comic panels.

"Ouch," he says. "Did you at least get to apologize before the scene ended?"

"Tried. She walked away. The Writer probably needed her to be sad for the next panel where you comfort her and she realizes she has feelings for you for the millionth time," you make a gagging noise. "I hate this. I hate all of this."

"I know," Mingyu falls into step beside you as you start walking toward your next class. "I had a scene this morning where I had to flex at the gym for fifteen minutes while Ara watched from the doorway. Fifteen minutes, Y/N. Do you know how long fifteen minutes of flexing is?"

Despite everything, you snort. "Did you at least get a good pump?"

"I got a cramp in my left bicep and the overwhelming desire to go home and read my economics textbook," he pauses. "Which I did, by the way. Chapter twelve is fascinating. Did you know that—"

"Mingyu, I love you, but if you start explaining supply and demand curves right now, I will push you into that trash can."

The words hung in the air for a moment. I love you. You said it all the time, had said it for years, best friends who'd grown up together and know each other's every secret.

But lately, the words felt heavier.

Mingyu's ears turned red, they always did when you said it, even casually, and he clears his throat. "Right. No economics. Got it."

You reach your classroom and stop, turning to face him fully. He's tall, he'd always been tall, but he hunches slightly, like he's trying to take up less space. It's such a contrast to his on-page persona, where he stands with the confidence of someone who'd never doubted himself a day in his life.

"Same time tonight?" you ask. "My place? We can finish studying for that chem mid."

His face splits into a grin, a wide, boyish one that makes his glasses slide down to the tip of his nose. "Definitely," he agrees. "Maybe without the interruption this time."

PANEL 6 — ARA WALKING TOWARDS MINGYU

"And here I go," you mutter, "back to fading into the background so these two can have their meet-cute."

"I'm really sorry," Mingyu says again, "and I know that doesn't mean anything. I hope I can—"

NARRATION: ...Kim Mingyu notices his true love standing alone in the corner, a beautiful flower ready to bloom into...

"You changed into your jock gear," you note, sounding unimpressed, as Mingyu looks down and realizes that yes, he's wearing the clothes his character usually wears to work out instead of the sweater he wore before.

"Fuck," he sighs, "Here I go, I guess."

"You want me to text you after?" you ask him.

He nods, giving you a strained smile, and says, "Please."

PANEL 7 — SLOW ZOOM-IN ON ARA'S FLAWLESS SKIN AS SHE LOOKS UP AND ATTENDS MINGYU'S DAZZLING SMILE, HEARTS POPPING AROUND HER AS WE DRAMATICALLY FOCUS IN ON MINGYU.

"Ara! Just the girl I wanted to see."

You let out a long sigh, before turning away from the pair. Your story might be stuck in this linear route, but you really don't have to stick around and watch the love of your life play his part in this tale.

PANEL 8 — Y/N WALKS AWAY, SHOULDERS HUNCHED, BACKGROUND BLURRING INTO SOFT PASTELS AS THE ROMANTIC SCENE CONTINUES BEHIND HER

Each step away feels like wading through honey. You can hear Ara's delighted laugh behind you, that genuine, sweet sound that makes you hate yourself for being scripted to hurt her. You can hear Mingyu's voice doing that thing: that confident, flirty thing that isn't him at all.

The real Mingyu stutters when he's nervous. The real Mingyu talks about economic theory at 2AM and falls asleep with his glasses on.

But the Writer doesn't care about the real Mingyu.

PANEL 9 — CLOSE-UP ON Y/N'S FACE, EXPRESSION CAREFULLY NEUTRAL, BUT EYES BETRAYING PAIN

NARRATION: Meanwhile, the villainess retreats to lick her wounds, knowing she can never compete with—

"Oh, fuck off," you snap, reaching up to grab the narration box again. It's vibrating indignantly, trying to narrate your heartbreak into something convenient for the plot.

You squeeze it harder.

"You don't get to narrate this. This part is mine."

You track down Jeon Wonwoo, the webtoon's dark, brooding second male lead, in the library—speeting you could've imagined.

Wonwoo wasn't particularly enthused to find out he was a love interest. He wasn't really interested in the romantic side of things in general. Not when he was made out to be the mysterious, dark bad boy who sulks in corners, glares at people, and spends too much money on poetry books that aren't actually worth their cost.

"Fuck me," you drop yourself into the bean bag beside him, throwing your backpack across the table and letting out the loudest, most exasperated sigh of frustration known to mankind.

"You can let Mingyu do that once he's back in the shadows," Wonwoo chuckles softly as he flips a page of the book.

"And then what will happen when we have sex and a scene between him and Ara happens?" You glare at him. "He vanishes from my bed, to confess to a woman he doesn't even like? You want that to happen? I sure as hell don't."

"Then don't have sex." Wonwoo doesn't look up from his book.

"...That's your answer?"

"Don't have sex and become canon."

"I..." you let out an incredulous laugh, reaching for the nearest object near you to throw. You grab a discarded highlighter and throw it at his forehead, causing him to shut his book and finally glance over at you. "If only it were that easy, asshole."

"Can I go back to my book, or have you finally broken?" Wonwoo looks bored out of his mind as he speaks.

"We're talking about my and Mingyu's relationship. Mingyu and mine's. I hate being the villain. I'm the most popular fucking girl on campus. I'm nice to everyone, and I somehow still get treated like an evil piece of shit when a scene starts." You kick your leg up for dramatic effect, which causes a few students around you to shift uncomfortably. "This is bullshit!"

Wonwoo picks up the highlighter you threw at him and examines it like it's a particularly uninteresting specimen. "You done?"

"No, I'm not—"

"Good. Because you're making a scene, and the last thing either of us needs is to trigger another scripted moment." He tosses the highlighter back to you. "Go study with your boyfriend. At least off-page you can pretend you have free will."

You catch the highlighter reflexively, your anger deflating into something closer to exhaustion. He's right, of course. He's always right in the most infuriating way possible.

"He's not my boyfriend," you mutter, but it sounds hollow even to your own ears.

"Semantics." Wonwoo reopens his book. "Now get out of here before the Writer decides we're having a moment and I have to brood attractively at you."

Your apartment is blessedly, perfectly normal.

No cherry blossoms. No golden hour lighting. No background music swelling as you open the door. Just your slightly messy living room with Mingyu already sprawled on your couch, his laptop open, surrounded by a frankly alarming number of economics textbooks.

He's wearing his glasses, the ones that never appear on-page because apparently the Writer thinks they make him look "too nerdy" for a male lead. His hair is unstyled, falling into his eyes. He's wearing a hoodie that's two sizes too big and sweatpants with a hole in the knee.

This is the real Kim Mingyu.

"You're late," he says without looking up from his screen, but there's no accusation in his voice. Just familiarity.

"Wonwoo was being useless." You drop your bag by the door and collapse onto the couch next to him, close enough that your thigh presses against his. "How was the rest of your day? Did the Writer make you do anything else humiliating?"

"Define humiliating." Mingyu finally glances at you, and his expression softens. "I had to carry Ara's books to her next class. My hands were full, so I couldn't even text you to complain about it in real-time."

"Tragic."

"It really was." He shifts his laptop to the coffee table and turns to face you properly. "She kept talking about how strong I must be. I'm not even that strong. I'm just tall. There's a difference."

You can't help but smile. "You're a little strong."

"I have the upper body strength of a particularly determined pool noodle." He pushes his glasses up his nose, a nervous habit he's had since you were kids. "How was your scene with her? The dress thing?"

Your smile fades. "I told her she looked like a sad banana."

"You didn't—"

"I did. Well, the Writer did. Through my mouth." You lean your head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. "We picked out that dress together last weekend. She was so excited about it. And then I had to stand there and watch my own mouth form words about how it washed her out."

Mingyu is quiet for a moment. Then his hand finds yours, fingers interlacing with a practiced ease that comes from years of this, this thing between you that has no name because the Writer won't allow it one.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly.

"Not your fault."

"Still sorry."

This is what you love about him. Not the on-page version with the perfect smile and the athletic build and the confident swagger. This Mingyu, who apologizes for things he can't control and stutters when he's nervous and gets genuinely excited about fiscal policy.

This Mingyu, who has held your hand through every forced scene and every narrative violation and every moment where you've both felt like puppets with cut strings.

"Did you finish the problem sets?" you ask, because if you keep thinking about how much you love him, you might do something stupid. Like kiss him. And if you kiss him off-page, there's no telling what the Writer might do to punish you for it.

"Most of them." He reaches for his laptop again, but doesn't let go of your hand. "I got stuck on number seven. The one about market equilibrium."

"Let me see."

You spend the next two hours like this, working through economics problems, your head eventually finding its way to his shoulder, his thumb tracing absent patterns on your knuckles. He explains supply curves with the kind of enthusiasm most people reserve for their favorite movies. You argue about elasticity and make him laugh so hard he snorts.

No narration box appears to comment on the "comfortable silence" or the "unspoken tension." No background music swells. No cherry blossoms drift past your window.

It's just you and Mingyu, existing in the spaces between the story.

"I wish it could always be like this," you murmur at some point, when the sky outside has gone dark and you've both abandoned any pretense of studying.

Mingyu's arm is around your shoulders now. You're not sure when that happened, but it feels right. Natural. Like this is how you're supposed to fit together.

"Me too," he says, pressing a light, half-awake kiss against the crown of your head. "Just like this."

You lean into his warmth, your eyelids fluttering closed as you memorize the weight and shape of his arm against you, his head resting against yours, the steadiness of his breathing as he begins to drift off. You memorize it all.

You memorize every last detail.

Because when you open your eyes, you're alone again.

PANEL 1 — MEDIUM CLOSE-UP ON KIM MINGYU, RUNNING ON A TREADMILL AND CONSIDERING THE THOUGHTS IN HIS GORGEOUS HANDSOME BRAIN

"Damn," Mingyu mutters as he treads, "I can't even sleep peacefully on the couch with the woman I'm hopelessly in love with."

PANEL 2 — WONWOO, EXHAUSTED AND DEBATING LEAVING MINGYU TRAINING TO WALLOW IN HIS MELANCHOLY MUSINGS BY HIMSELF

"I fucking hate my life." Wonwoo groans out his displeasure. He wonders how much trouble he'd get in if he "accidentally" hit the speed button and watches Mingyu flail off the treadmill.

NARRATION: Back on campus, the handsome male lead dwells on the true love he so sorely misses.

Mingyu grabs the narration box and flings it into the nearest corner of the gym, where it blinks weakly and powers itself off to spare itself any further humiliation.

"You done?" Wonwoo asks, the picture of composure and zen.

"No, I'm still fucking pissed off!" Mingyu hops off the treadmill and heads straight for the boxing station, grabbing some tape and bandages and wrapping up his fists in record time.

"Do you wanna tell me why you're pissed off this time, or are we just gonna keep going back and forth like this forever?"

"Y/N and I were just working on the homework, and it was... perfect. It felt perfect. Right. It was good—real good. But then, before I could realize what had happened, the Writer snatched me and now here we are."

Wonwoo nods along like the therapist that his character and personality have inexplicably deemed him, and sighs deeply.

"Happens to me all the time." Wonwoo goes about packing up his belongings for his trip back home. "One moment I'm helping one of the female side characters with a jammed door lock and the next moment I'm staring at Ara for four pages straight wondering if I want her to be my first or last kiss. Every. Damn. Time."

"You poor thing," Mingyu mumbles condescendingly as he furiously punches the boxing bag.

Wonwoo steps away as he watched the narration box slowly creep over to join the two men. "A scene is starting soon, just warning you now."

PANEL 3 — MINGYU CONTINUES TO HIT THE BOXING BAG, UNTIL HE HEARS A SUDDEN CRACK.

NARRATION: He swings and it hits. His fists continue, his speed increasing as he repeats a simple question in his head: why is Y/N messing with Ara?

PANEL 4 — MINGYU STILL BEATING THE HELL OUT OF THE BOXING BAG.

NARRATION: Something has gone terribly, terribly wrong. His anger is spilling out like a broken kettle, and its burning, stinging him.

"STOP!" Mingyu shouts to no one in particular, punching the narration box instead of the bag.

"And this is why I wanted to stay home," Wonwoo murmurs out loud. "I hate these things."

"Why can't someone else be the main character?" Mingyu whines. "It doesn't have to be me."

"Because you're the one with huge muscles, you're tall, and you've got the best abs in the entire school?" Wonwoo offers bluntly.

Mingyu doesn't answer and turns his attention to the boxing bag again, throwing several more powerful punches until suddenly, the narration box begins to hover, drawing both men's attention as a new caption begins to write itself:

NARRATION: As his heart screams and his fists bleed, the only image that flashes through Mingyu's mind is Ara.

Mingyu screeches, throwing the gloves at the boxing bag this time. "LEAVE ME ALONE, YOU EVIL BOX. STOP SHOVING ME BACK INTO THE CAST OF THIS DUMBASS STORY."

PANEL 5 — KIM MINGYU IS PISSED

NARRATION: An irrational urge seeps into him. An urge to reach his hand into his own heart, find Ara, and...

Wonwoo narrows his eyes suspiciously at the box and waves a finger in Mingyu's direction, directing his attention. "Stop."

"It's not going to work!" He screams at the narration box. "LEAVE MY HEART ALONE YOU STUPID BOX!"

But the narration continues to hover, circling Mingyu like the ring leader of a very messed up circus. Mingyu swings for it with his bare hands, punching at the thin air before it moves out of the way, now standing closer to him than it was a moment ago, the writing appearing faster. The text is bold and demanding now.

NARRATION: The urge is too powerful. He sees Ara's face, and all he can think about is her.

"NO!" Mingyu screams, tears of pure, unfiltered rage welling in the corners of his eyes as he punches the wall beside him, putting a hole through it. "I DON'T LOVE ARA. I DON'T."

The wall patches itself instantly, the hole vanishing as if it were never there. But the crack in Mingyu's composure remains, spiderwebbing across the surface of the Writer's perfect narrative.

"It's trying to rewrite you," Wonwoo says, suddenly serious. "Pushing you into the corner where you have no choice but to think about her. It's rewriting your thoughts, Mingyu."

The narration box pulses with an almost smug satisfaction. The new words appear, glowing with an unsettling light.

NARRATION: His heart belongs to Ara. It has always been Ara. It will always be Ara.

"It's not true," Mingyu whispers, his anger deflating into a desperate plea. He's looking at Wonwoo now, really looking at him. His knuckles are bleeding from the punch. "It's not true, is it?"

Wonwoo sets down his bag and crosses the distance between them. For once, he doesn't look bored or annoyed. He looks like a soldier assessing battlefield damage.

"You know the answer to that," Wonwoo says quietly, so quietly that the narration box might not catch it. "The question is, how much of you is still left for you?" He glances at the hovering box. "The Writer is getting more aggressive. This is new. This is... invasive."

They've fought scenes before. They've tried to walk the other way, to mumble their lines until the scene reset, to trip over conveniently placed props. They've tried everything, but it's always been external. Pushing against the boundaries of their world, not the boundaries of their minds.

This feels different. This feels like a violation.

"I can't..." Mingyu staggers back, leaning against the now-perfect wall. "I feel it. Trying to get in. Like... like static in my head. A thought that's not my thought."

Wonwoo's face is grim. He's read every book in this godforsaken library, including the ones on psychology he never wanted to read. He knows what gaslighting looks like. He knows what brainwashing feels like. And this has all the hallmarks of both.

"It wants you to break," Wonwoo states, his voice flat. "It wants you to give in and accept the role. If it can't control your actions, it'll try to control your mind."

PANEL 6 — Y/N WALKING INTO THE GYM DRESSED IN TOO TIGHT WORKOUT CLOTHES TO TURN ANY MAN'S HEAD.

"What kind of scene is this?" You mutter to yourself as you pass the two men and head towards the cycling machine in the other room.

NARRATION: As Y/N crosses the room, a flash of anger illuminates the depths of Mingyu's soul.

"Huh?" You stop short, one leg forward as the narration begins to morph again.

NARRATION: As she crosses the room, Mingyu can't take it anymore. Just the sight of her makes Mingyu burn with hatred.

"Well, fuck you too, buddy," you murmur at the box now trying to smack you in the face. You don't even need to stick around to know where this scene is headed, and you aren't going to stick around when Ara bounces through the doors in her pink sports attire to try and talk Mingyu down from his fury.

"Ugh," you groan as you walk into the cycling room and find that this is already the set up for a scene. "Oh, this is just perfect."

"Y/N!" Someone calls you, and it's Seungcheol, a supporting character in this shitfest who's written to have a crush on you. His smile is easy, and so is he, because in this dumb universe, Seungcheol is so much less important than the main character and you're allowed to trample all over his heart, though he somehow continues to pine for you.

"Oh, hey there," you offer a grin and head over to the spin bike next to him, joining him and his row of friends from the track team. The nameless ones. All of them here to serve a single purpose—and yet none of them are aware enough to break out of it.

You know when a scene starts because suddenly, you're having a casual conversation. Everything about your posture is suddenly just slightly more interesting—your lips redder, your cheeks rounder, the cut of your collarbones subtly highlighted by the shine from the lights above you. Everything is suddenly for show, but this time, so are you. You're not speaking the lines you want.

PANEL 7 — YOU INSIDE THE CYCLE ROOM, ON YOUR BIKE AND TALKING TO SEUNGCHEOL.

NARRATION: Y/N tries desperately to seduce a certain boy. She teases him in her sickly sweet tone.

"Cheol!" You greet, laughing at one of his jokes. You know what's coming next, and you know that you aren't saying this and yet the words escape anyway, as if they belong to someone else. You hate it. You hate this.

NARRATION: Seungcheol teases her right back, not knowing that Mingyu is watching their every move.

"Maybe you could give me some more advanced lessons," you bat your eyelashes and flash Seungcheol that sweet smile. You hope you don't throw up.

NARRATION: So distracted, she didn't notice Ara right behind her.

You glance down as you begin to cycle, glancing behind you for a split second. There are too many characters in here, and there's no guarantee that the story won't make an extra scene out of your path crossing with any of them, and your luck really does run out, because right there, in pink workout gear to match Mingyu's blue, is Ara, pretending not to watch you and Seungcheol.

PANEL 8 — Y/N FINALLY NOTICING ARA.

"So much for privacy." You scowl, your voice pitched higher to catch the attention of the one-woman audience that's suddenly in this scene. You know it's just a scene, you don't mean what you're saying and you definitely did not mean to flirt with Seungcheol. You get angry thinking about how fake this entire world is. "What?" You turn to look at Ara, tilting your head and smirking. "You've never seen a man and a woman flirting before?"

"I-" Ara starts, but suddenly looks downright uncomfortable. "It's not like that, Y/N."

You sigh and turn forward, meeting the screen again and shaking your head at how utterly useless it is to try and even change things. No one's in this scene to notice what you say, so why does the story even care? The story is stupid, and pointless, and written entirely around Ara and you don't care who's on board. "Why should you care who I flirt with anyway? You got Mingyu wrapped around your pretty little fingers, don't you?"

"I would never," Ara tries again. "He's-"

"He's what? Something else I can never have?" You're a villain through and through, apparently, and the Writer wants this kind of drama. "It's cute how you think I'll stay away, just because of a little warning." You smirk and wait a beat, just to watch the discomfort bloom across Ara's face. "We both know you don't have the stomach to threaten me back."

PANEL 9 — MINGYU STEPS IN

You can see the look in Mingyu's eyes. He doesn't care about what the narration is doing, apparently, and in the midst of this disaster of a story, you suddenly realize it.

"Mingyu," Ara almost sighs. "I- please don't-"

"You." He points to you, and for a brief second, you can see how Mingyu clenches his fist, trying to fight against the word that's already forming on his lips. "Watch it."

"Mm, and if I don't?" You shrug, innocently pouting and getting off the bike. You ran your fingers down his chest, making sure to keep eye contact. "What are you going to do to me, Kim Mingyu?" You lick your lips and don't stop touching him, running your fingers down his torso and the planes of his muscles, one hand over his arm and the other curled up to grip at his chest. "Don't you think you and I have more fun ways to play, or have you forgotten about the night we-"

Mingyu holds on to your wrist tightly, holding your touch away from him. "Shut your mouth."

You look up at him and bite your lip, shrugging again. "Or what?"

"Please stop, Mingyu!" Ara tugs at the side of his t-shirt, begging Mingyu, who barely notices.

He was there, during that one weekend, when the story took a vacation and let your real selves drive. Neither of you were ready to stop. Neither of you were ready to be written and puppeteered as the main characters. There's so much Mingyu wants to say right now. Instead, the Writer uses his mouth to spit vitriol and spite.

"Stay the fuck out of my life, and off my girl," Mingyu hisses. "Do whatever the fuck you want, but stay the hell away from her."

"Oh wow." You roll your eyes and pull away from him, wiping his hand down your skirt. "Protective, aren't we?" You cross your arms and lean into his personal space. "Wouldn't want me to show her how much better I could fuck you, huh?"

Ara gasps, backing away and covering her mouth with her hands. "Why would you say such a thing!" She screeches at you, and you shrug it off.

"That's not happening." Mingyu narrows his eyes at you, fists curling into themselves.

PANEL 10 — INTENSION OF RAGE HANGING AROUND MINGYU.

"Now that just sounds like a challenge, handsome," you tap the tip of his nose and flash him that perfect smirk, the kind designed to bring even the biggest, baddest, male characters to their knees. You turn away, and head to leave the gym. "Your girlfriend can keep playing house, but you and me?" You blow him a kiss as you walk to the changing rooms. "I'm always down to play rough."

And as you walk away, you can hear the familiar sound of fists punching a bag, Mingyu screaming, and a heartbreaking "I hate her!" that makes the Writer grin in delight.

When the door to the changing rooms close, you sink to the ground, pulling your knees up to your chest and fighting back the tears in the corner of your eyes. You hate this. You don't want to be a villain. You just want to love him and be loved, and the Writer just refuses to let that happen.

For the next thirty minutes, the Writer leaves you alone, and you're curled up against the bench as you cry. The last thing you really needed was Mingyu to actually hate you.

And you hate the thought of being anyone's villain. Especially his.

Mingyu finds you curled up in your bed. Not just a lump under a mound of pillows. In your bed, buried underneath the blankets and nursing a tub of ice cream.

"You okay?" he asks gently.

"Not really," you mutter and take another spoonful of ice cream, avoiding eye contact. You're being grumpy and pathetic, but you don't really care.

Mingyu grabs the tub of ice cream and places it on your nightstand, not caring if it'll melt, as he gathers you into his arms, letting you wrap your own around his torso.

"I don't like doing it," Mingyu whispers. "It was-" He takes a deep breath and holds you a little tighter. "God, saying those things to you, I hate that the Writer made me do it. Even the visual of... of-" He doesn't need to finish his sentence.

"Me and Seungcheol," you mumble, and let him lift your chin.

Mingyu nods. "But Y/N-" He searches your face and taps your forehead. "I didn't mean a single bit of it. None of it. Never. Okay? I would never ever treat you like that, okay?"

Your eyes tear up, and you nod, biting your lip and trying to get rid of the sting of the Writer's manipulations.

"And I hate myself for hurting you like that," he admits softly. "Even if I didn't mean it, I still said it, and that hurts. But... but at least we're self-aware?" He gives you an awkward grin.

You manage a laugh through the tears. It was a crap day, and maybe Mingyu wasn't helping, but your favorite thing about your best friend has always been that you feel understood when you're with him.

"This is hard," Mingyu groans, flopping backward on your bed. He hugs you close to him, so you don't flail around. "Can't we just," he moves one hand, gesturing wildly "I dunno, rewrite this stupid thing so we're happy?"

"If only that was a possibility," you giggle.

"Wait," Mingyu props himself up on an elbow. His eyes sparkle. "Wait. Y/N, what if we do exactly that."

"What," you roll your eyes and give Mingyu a blank look, not trusting his tone.

"Seriously! Let's rewrite this ourselves," Mingyu exclaims. "You and I, Wonwoo too, are self-aware. Why don't we work together to change things? It could work, don't you think?"

"What would we change, Gyu?" You ask him, a tiny glint of hope lighting up behind your irises.

"Well, to start," Mingyu grimaces. "Maybe, uh, have the Writer stop trying to make you kiss the entire university population, yikes."

You grimace and lift your hands up to the sky as if you're going to fight the Writer's pen with your bare hands. "That's a damn start. My god, we need a human resources department for this shit."

"It's more like human rewrite department and I'll file a complaint," Mingyu deadpans and the two of you share a quick look before bursting into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, needing this moment of levity after the exhausting scenes you're usually roped into.

"Wait, wait," you can't believe how many brilliant ideas come to you once you give yourself an afternoon to wallow. "Wonwoo!" You glance around as you grab Mingyu's phone from the floor, quickly dialing Wonwoo's number and grinning mischievously when it picks up. "We're forming a union. Bring beer. See you later." And then you hang up.

Mingyu is beside himself in a fit of laughter. "Oh man, won't the writer be pissed when they find out three of their characters are rebelling against the plot line."

"I hate this stupid plotline," you groan. "I'm the most popular girl in school but what does the narrative care about?! Me kissing a different character every week. I swear, we're literally nothing more than tropes used just to create more drama for the narrative, and it's annoying and pointless and I've had enough!" You let out a long, loud sigh and Mingyu grins.

"Damn, you're hot when you're angry," Mingyu mutters and when you give him a look, he looks away with flushed cheeks.

"Gross." Wonwoo let's himself into your apartment and holds up the beers. "Union time, but please. Can you not flirt with each other. I've dealt with enough forced bullshit today."

"What happened?" You look over the couch and see a distressed looking Wonwoo, your confusion and Mingyu's morphing into that same glare the two of you shared mere hours ago. "Did you just get some scene thrown into your storyline as well?"

Wonwoo winces and rubs the back of his neck. "I was forced out of the comfort of my own apartment to walk around the campus with Ara, the words spewing from my own tongue saying how she's everything I want and more, and how her personality is so cute, I can't get her off my mind, bla bla bla..."

The two of you just sit there, horror written on your face as the thought of a love sick Wonwoo has your brain nearly short circuiting.

"Dude, what the hell," Mingyu gags and shudders. "Was this scene like-" he pauses, horrified with the thought that passes through his mind. "Don't tell me. I don't want to imagine it."

"Neither did I, believe me, Mingyu. Please don't say anything else. I had to go through five showers with nearly boiling hot water to rid the thoughts of even holding her hand." Wonwoo winces as the memory makes his skin crawl. "Okay. So." Wonwoo nods. "Union time!"

As the sun dips low beyond the horizon and night overtakes the room, the three of you drink and dream and plan for the world that's promised. It's been far too long, since you've allowed yourself to dream. But with Mingyu and Wonwoo? It might actually work.

"Holy shit, guys." You stare up at the building looming overhead and then at the sign next to the door, squinting and reading out loud. "'Humanity Rewrite Agency. The world's solution to author control.'"

"I was kidding about it," Mingyu starts as he looks between his co-conspirators. "But there's really a HR building in the shadows? Do you think the Writer knows about this place?"

"Dude, if it's in the shadows then they won't be able to see it," Wonwoo shakes his head, almost wanting to laugh at the three of you standing outside of the building. It was a spur of the moment decision to go into the HR building, and though the three of you were pretty serious about the whole union thing, it all seems a bit far-fetched.

"Alright, let's go," You shrug and make your way up to the sliding doors, pushing in and finding the empty reception desk. "Um. Excuse us?"

A person pops out from beneath the desk, glasses askew and jacket slightly messed up. "Y-yes, how can I help you today?"

"We're thinking about forming a union? And thought a place like this might help, given it's hidden in the shadows." Wonwoo comments casually, leaning on the counter.

The receptionist's mouth opens, surprised. "A union?" Their eyes drift from Mingyu, to Wonwoo, and settle on your gaze. Their eyes soften, lips parting a moment later as a few memories spark in their mind. "Oh. Oh, dear. You three really are self-aware, huh." The receptionist, who's name tag reads Joshua, snaps out of his thoughts and offers a kind smile. "You're not the only self-aware characters working through an issue. Follow me." Joshua spins around the desk, flicking off the switch to the light above and disappearing into the hallway behind him, beckoning the three of you to follow. "You must know about Danoh and Haru, right? What happens to them in Secrets? What happens after?"

"Secrets?" Your brow furrows as your try to connect the dots, knowing very little about the book in question.

"I see you three really haven't done your due diligence then." Joshua laughs a moment later, voice light and cheerful. "Secrets is a comic about the typical high school romance. But in their case, our spunky Danoh was a supporting extra with a heart disease and Haru was a faceless extra." Joshua stops at his office door and gestures to the chairs across from him.

"Is there a reason why they're important?" Mingyu asks, clearly perplexed with the idea of side characters rebelling in their own way.

"Oh yes. I'll let Seungkwan tell you. He's like your mediator or something, I dunno. But he can help you find some answers at the very least."

You trail behind, your mouth moving faster than your brain as you pepper Joshua with questions. Wonwoo and Mingyu shake their heads but listen just as intently to Joshua's ramblings. You know there's a whole world here, out there in the shadows, and now that you've tasted self-awareness you're hungry for every detail you can find.

"In here," Joshua calls over his shoulder. "Everyone. These are our newest clients."

"New clients?!" A male's voice practically squeals, followed by a swift punch to the arm.

"More self-aware folk who don't know enough?" A second male's voice pipes up, amusement glinting in his eyes as a slow smile pulls across his lips. "Well, we can fix that. Hi, everyone! Welcome to Human Rewrite Agency, located conveniently in the shadows, where we'll do anything within our power to help."

"It's great to be here," you nod, stepping forward. "I'm Y/N." You tilt your head to your two conspirators, a shy smile on Mingyu's lips. "This is my best friend, Mingyu. And that brooding, tired-looking beanpole, is Jeon Wonwoo."

"Flattering," Wonwoo smirks, shaking his head as he pushes his glasses up his nose.

"I'm Boo Seungkwan," the bright male who's eyes sparkled from the moment you stepped through the doors bounces over and pulls you and Mingyu into a tight embrace before doing the same to Wonwoo. "This is Vernon. A few of the others are working with clients so you can't meet them right now, but it'll probably be a long time before anyone else does, especially if your situation is even half as strange as a love pentagram." Seungkwan rolls his eyes.

"Love pentagram?" Wonwoo murmurs.

"Another comic where the female lead falls for four men and she can't chooses between them," Vernon shakes his head. "All the four men ended up self-aware because her dilemma and they have yet to figure out how to resolve their issue."

"Wow," you shake your head. "Who has the time and energy to think of this mess of a love story."

"The Writer of that comic does, and they're enjoying the pain," Seungkwan chirps. "Our agency does what we can to resolve their issues without erasing their awareness, so they can live their lives as they truly want to."

"How do you guys fix the issue?" Mingyu wonders aloud.

"Depends," Seungkwan tilts his head in thought. "Sometimes their comic becomes too unstable and they have to go through a series of major rewrites for them to fall into the correct timelines or character placements, etc. I assume Joshua has mentioned Danoh and Haru?" He catches your nod. "There were lots of up and downs with those two and their comic. Secrets came to an end and even though Danoh and Haru weren't end-game there, they became extras in a new comic and have the agency to choose each other, finally."

"So you're saying..."Mingyu begins as his brow furrows in thought. "We're fucked no matter what we do? No matter how hard we try to change the narrative, the Writer can always rewrite whatever happens? If we create a glitch, the Writer will just delete it? There's no winning in that."

Seungkwan grins and nods at the question. "Correct, for the most part," He agrees, not willing to dismiss any fears the three of you are harboring. "Which is why, a lot of these couples learn to focus on their lives in the shadow while still fighting to get to a happy ending. Because happy endings are for every character, even a background one."

Mingyu reaches for your hand, squeezing it in his palm. "So what should we focus on?"

"Do your part. Flirt in scenes, take the kisses when scripted and try not to gag...too much." Seungkwan laughs brightly, noticing the distasteful expressions on the three's faces at the thought. "Just because it's written one way doesn't mean you're doomed. Hell, our main clients in the Love Pentagon have to act out this drama where they basically hate the shit out of each other but in the shadows, they're all friends and bond over their scenes at their local bar." He laughs, his face glowing at the fond memory. "All because they're learning to balance both. The shadow and the world beyond." Seungkwan comes forward and places a reassuring hand on both Mingyu's shoulder and your hand.

"Don't forget, you can always visit. We're open seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day. I encourage the glitching and breaking the fourth wall, but do keep in mind, a sudden plot twist will never sit well in the comic so sometimes the Writer's hand will get involved. But don't give up." He squeezes again, pulling his hand away. "At the end of the day, the three of you are still you. Self-aware doesn't change that and the Writer can't remove that fact either. They might be able to rip the self-awareness right from under your noses, but what they can't do is control the you you've created for yourself in the shadows."

Your entire being hums from his words, Seungkwan's melodic voice full of genuine kindness. You let Seungkwan's gentle reassurances sweep the worry from your brow, even as your mind continues to swirl. You've found an ally, one with endless optimism. You let out a sigh and your gaze settles on the grin dancing at the corners of Mingyu's mouth, the hope you always feel blooming whenever you're close, blossoming behind your ribs. "Shall we?"

Mingyu squeezes your hand once more. "You bet."

Another day, another scene. This time you're staring at an unrealistically happy Wonwoo as he looks down at Ara, his fingers brushing a lock of her hair from her eyes. Mingyu stands beside you, a look of disgust on his face as he tries not to vomit from Wonwoo's forced expressions.

"Is this how you feel when you look at me and Ara during our scenes together?" Mingyu asks out of the blue and you laugh.

"Now you know my pain," you pat his cheek with your palm. "Tough to watch?"

"Painful," he admits. "Happy Wonwoo is hard to watch. I'm so used to him being broody and aloof, it's just strange seeing him like this."

"And that's coming from a nerd who's forced to flex his muscles every day," you chuckle. "He's all brawn and brains and still scared of horror movies."

"To be fair," Mingyu pouts slightly. "Horror movies are terrifying."

"I love you Gyu, but you're just a big baby."

"Your big baby," he counters, pout growing. "Right?"

"C'mere, baby," you laugh, cupping his chin as you stand on the tips of your toes and plant a firm kiss on his cheek. Mingyu flushes a shade of pink that spreads up his neck and blooms across his ears as a stupid grin flashes across his face.

"Eww, gross." The sudden exclamation catches your attention, spinning you around. Wonwoo stands a few feet away, shaking his head in mild disgust and faked annoyance. "Ugh. Get a room."

"Done with your scene? Ready to go back and brood like your normal self?" You smirk.

Wonwoo glowers. "Shut up." He tucks his hands into his pockets as he falls into step beside the two of you. "I am the model of happiness."

"What a lie," you laugh. "Wonwoo, no. Your true self is brooding. Being happy is not your forte. But it's okay. We still like you."

"That's kind of cruel but not untrue," Mingyu adds. Wonwoo heaves an exasperated sigh but says nothing.

The three of you stroll off the campus grounds, heading downtown toward Mingyu's favorite bakery. When your thighs begin to ache, Mingyu gallantly offers you a piggyback ride. "Took you long enough," you mumble, but a grin breaks free the minute your arms are looped around Mingyu's neck and his arms are linked under your knees, his palms curled snugly around the curve of your thighs. You're cackling the entire way.

When you arrive at Mingyu's favorite bakery, Wonwoo slows to a stop. "Sorry to skip out," he sighs. "I'm tired and I need to wash whatever happened in my scene today off of me. But text me the plan, alright?" He leans in and steals a pastry from the box Mingyu just purchased, much to the latter's protest.

"Dude, that was my favorite," Mingyu frowns, watching him run off with the pastry clenched tightly in his fist, looking smug as he turns the corner.

"So dramatic," You shake your head and steal the next pastry from the box before darting away, laughter erupting from behind you.

"Why do I even bother?" Mingyu rolls his eyes in jest, racing after you, easily catching up. "You really gonna make me run when I'm holding a box of goodies?"

"You'd anything for me, dummy," you tease with an arched brow.

"Can't say no to that," Mingyu laughs brightly, letting his fingers intertwine with yours, a feeling that makes your entire body glow.

He'd walk through fire for you. And, you suppose, you'd walk through fire for him too. Even if it was scripted and the flame was all special effects. Still, you'd do it. The whole thing could crash and burn, literally, but it'd be worth it. He's always worth it.

You two collapse onto a picnic table, watching a gaggle of young children chase each other, swinging wildly at their pinwheels. Their joy echoes across the grass and you feel your body relax as you and Mingyu devour another pastry in seconds.

"These are the moments I really want," he finally admits after an extended moment of silence. "To sit with you, be in the moment and have the ability to laugh at stupid shit like those kids or something serious. It's just peaceful."

"Agreed," you tilt your head with a smile, content and free as a stray curl whips across your eye and Mingyu leans across the picnic table to brush it aside. "We deserve better than what the Writer has in store for us," you muse. "Not sure what that better is, but we deserve better."

"This," he breathes suddenly, looking nervous despite the calm, easy atmosphere of the park. "Us. Together." He gestures, an awkward fumbling of long arms and large hands that makes you want to cry-laugh, the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth betraying the shy tone his voice has.

"Mingyu." He smiles at you softly as you lean across the table and press a soft kiss to the very corner of his mouth. He sighs in content, pulling you against him so you were sprawled across his lap as he buries his nose into your hair. "I really do love you. You know that right? Nothing the Writer creates is going to stop me from loving you."

"Oh god," Mingyu pretends to gag playfully. "Such a fucking sap. I've rubbed off on you."

You reach up and pinch his jawline before swiping his nose with your palm. "Silly, dorky himbo of mine." He groans but doesn't deny the affection, a shy smile hiding behind his lashes.

"Can't deny the truth."

"Knew you loved it."

"Love you more." Mingyu bumps your noses together as he presses his lips to yours, sighing the minute your lips slot into his perfectly as he tightens his grip around you. The pair of you sigh blissfully into the kiss and you grin, unable to help yourself as you bring the back of your hand to your forehead.

"God," you say, rolling your eyes. "Could this sunset and the taste of the chocolate filling of Mingyu's favorite bread be any better?"

"Shhh," he chuckles softly against your lips. "Stop ruining the moment, Y/N."

"One, never. Two, never," you insist, smiling at the ridiculous look on his face as you press one final kiss to his pouting lips. "Y'know, I like that smile of yours best."

"The one I reserve for you alone," he whispers, eyes shut. You can feel the light breeze tossing Mingyu's hair about as you bask in the peace he brought you, the feel of his strong body pressing against yours, holding you impossibly closer, keeping the nightmares and chaos of the comics at bay. For now.

That night, you have a dream. A weird dream. In that dream, you’re with Mingyu. That part isn't unusual. But it feels different, familiar, somehow. Almost like a past life where you and Mingyu were free. Truly free. But when you wake up, your memory of the dream fades fast, the dream dissolving like a mirage in the desert. You fall back asleep, remembering only the comfort of your dreams, and Mingyu's strong arms.

The next morning, you make your way to HR, knocking before sliding your head in to find Seungkwan there, smiling up at you and gesturing for you to come inside and have a seat in his office.

"Hey Seungkwan. Good to see you again, thanks for giving me your time." You begin, having wanted to ask him a few questions. "I've been having some weird dreams recently, a past life it felt like. I couldn't really remember them all when I'd wake up but..." You trail, hoping you were making sense to Seungkwan.

"Glad you're here," He gestures to the empty seat directly across his desk, inviting you to make yourself comfortable while you have a little chat. Seungkwan slides a few files your way before folding his hands on his desk. "I actually managed to procure these after our last chat. it seems like you were the main character in the writer's last piece. If this helps jog your memories, that'd be a real win-win."

You let the pages slip beneath your fingertips, curiosity boiling behind your lashes as the scenes came back to you, the very dreams you were having all were on this very sheet of paper. It makes you want to laugh as you look at the very scene of Mingyu walking toward the girl who was the perfect mirror of you.

You flip through the pages and notice you were in a bookstore and had even dreamed a few nights prior about it. All of this is true, these aren't scripts...they’re the past. "You found all of this after my last visit?" You ask in awe.

"Yes!" he says proudly, unable to hide the glint in his eyes. "There were a few snags here and there. From what I researched, you and Mingyu's story wasn't supposed to end in such a tragic way."

Your smile falls from your face as you realize his words aren't ones of encouragement, but almost pity. "Tragic ending? What do you mean?"

"Well," Seungkwan sinks a little further into the leather of his chair and rubs the back of his neck, eyes focusing intently on his notes as if he wishes that he hadn't uttered the last few words. "It's sad. You were arranged to marry, he was drafted for the war. He never returned."

"Oh," you manage as the words hit you, and your head is screaming, begging for something. "So why was it put on hold?" You ask the only logical question left.

"The Writer abandoned it." He slides you a copy of the draft you were just looking at. "It wasn't getting the traction because of the heavy story, apparently," Seungkwan winces at the idea that he may have said too much, but you just nod at him. "The Writer decided that the current comic that you're in is getting more readership."

"Great, so glad to hear she gave up and moved to a new storyline instead." You seethe, not realizing how harsh the words were as you grit your teeth. "But why was Ara chosen as the main character instead of me?"

"She's naive, innocent," he offers, sliding a piece of gum into his mouth. "Pretty." Seungkwan wrinkles his nose as if it was unavoidable, a sad fact. "What?"

"And I'm not? That doesn't seem fair," you groan, arms crossing over your chest as a pout works it's way over your lip. "That is a real blow." You huff out a sarcastic laugh.

"You're the bombshell that's relagated to the background. Not that you're a background character by any means. You're the villainess."

"Don't say it," you roll your eyes. You know it. Everyone knows it. That you were the supposed villainess. But the fact that someone, especially Seungkwan, has admitted it out loud? Well, you don't want to admit the truth, but it stings like a motherfucker.

"You're self-aware," he states quietly. "Can we focus on that?"

"Fine," you grumble, before forcing yourself to calm down. It's not Seungkwan's fault. "But why Mingyu? The Writer could have written another male character that isn't Kim Mingyu."

"Maybe the Writer felt bad for him in the last draft, and thought she'd give him a chance as the main character of a new romance series."

"By turning him into the ultimate, white knuckled himbo who flexes his abs whenever?" You groan, "The poor boy."

"He may be the male lead of the comic and geared for Ara," He leans forward. "But he will always choose you and you him. It's fate, even for characters written into existence." Seungkwan chuckles before standing and dusting his suit pants off. "Alright, thank you again for chatting with me. That is all I wanted to talk about. Stay self-aware and keep your focus on the real goal, Y/N."

"And what's that?"

Seungkwan flashes you a bright smile as he ushers you from his office, "Getting out of this shit comic, duh!"

From your corner of the dancefloor, you watch Mingyu lean in closely to whisper something into Ara's ear. Whatever he is saying makes her erupt into giggles as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ears. As the music plays and they spin together, your heart breaks into pieces.

You really want to smack the Writer for making you see this.

Wonwoo sidles up to you, shaking his head at the sight before him as the pair looks ridiculous as they stand on the dance floor and the scripted splash panel. "You can vomit in my shoes later if you need," Wonwoo offers, trying his best not to make this anymore miserable for you. "Want a drink?"

"Fuck yes," you snap, looking for a moment before shaking your head. "I've got this, stay. Enjoy the dance, look pretty for the crowd and try not to burst into flames from boredom."

"What am I, an ornament? Because I've gotta say, this bowtie is uncomfortable." Wonwoo wrinkles his nose at the feeling of the tie wrapped around his neck as you chuckle and take your leave, heading for the bar.

"A shot. Top shelf, please." You watch as the bartender grabs a bottle and lines the small glasses up in front of you, grabbing a pack of salt as he sets up. After the glasses were filled, you look up to find Mingyu looking directly at you as you lick a long strip across your wrist before downing the glass of tequila. The way he bites his lip is undeniably hot, and the slight daze in his eye is doing wonders.

Worth it.

"You're good," Seokmin, the bartender, comments as you blink your way back, slamming the tiny glass back on the bar counter. "Lookin' to impress anyone?"

"Someone, but he's too preoccupied at the moment," you sigh, gesturing to the man and woman currently on the dance floor as they sway back and forth.

"Ah," Seokmin purses his lips sympathetically. "Want another one?"

"Keep them coming." The next shot goes down easy, just like the other glasses you had poured down your throat in the hopes you could avoid Mingyu for the rest of the night.

Mingyu could've easily left her side and spent the remainder of the evening with you. You sigh wistfully, you had dreamed that this party would end differently. And not with him twirling another woman around the ballroom like this was some sort of poorly-written romance flick.

As the night drags on, the tequila keeps pouring down your throat until you can barely tell which Mingyu is the real Mingyu. Or is Ara real? You can't seem to care because when she disappears and the lights dim, he's suddenly right in front of you. "I think that's enough drinking for tonight, Y/N. Please?"

You look up at him drunkenly, anger brewing deep within you as you bite your lip, tears blurring your vision before you wipe angrily, angry, not that he would understand because, at the end of the day, it was Mingyu. Your Mingyu. "I hate this, Mingyu."

"Me, too."

"It feels like my insides have been crushed. It hurts to see you with her, and know that the entire evening the Writer kept pushing you two together, again, and again, and again." Your voice cracks and Mingyu reaches out to gently catch one of the tears that spilled down your cheek.

"C'mon." His hand is warm against yours. The two of you shuffle back to his apartment. "It's late," he mumbles as he shuts the door and throws his car keys into the tray on the counter, bending over to shrug his dress shoes off, and you stumble backwards until you feel your knees bump against the sofa and you let yourself fall against the soft cushions. "Are you just going to sleep with your dress on?" Mingyu asks, and you scoff.

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"Oh, right. Forgot who I'm talking to." He laughs and it sounds bitter and broken. He rubs a hand down the side of his face, shaking his head. "Anyway, you want to get out of those clothes? Here. Let me help you. Don't want you falling and hurting yourself."

"I'm not five, Mingyu."

"No," Mingyu pauses, gaze boring into yours, "But you sure can act like it."

"So, I can be a brat and you can treat me like you’re my Daddy, yeah?" You don't mean to laugh, but you are. You are fucking delirious, and so, so inebriated. But you're drunk and can't hold back the words tumbling out your mouth. "I'm such a fucking mess," you moan, hands flying to cover your face. "Just…just leave me here."

"Let's get you sober and then we can talk about that kinky side of yours." Mingyu holds out his hand, but the angle of the overhead light creates a glare. He's haloed in white light, like an angel or a figment of your imagination, you aren't quite sure. He taps your nose lightly, smile pulling at his lips, the slightest bit smug. "Take my hand and let's get you some fresh air. You smell like tequila."

"Mhm," You reach forward and slap your hand against his palm, sighing as Mingyu pulls you towards him and loops a supportive arm around your waist. "You like it, don't lie," you mumble. He rolls his eyes at that as your head dips back onto his shoulder and your feet stumble slightly before you are righted.

"Whatever you say, you drunk," he murmurs as he leads you to the balcony and dumps you on a lounge chair, reaching a hand out to press against your back. "Stay. I'll get you something to sober up before we get you showered and ready for bed. Okay?"

"Okay." Your voice comes out muffled since you bury your face in the pillow. "Mingyu?" you ask as a cool breeze chills your face.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for looking out for me."

"I'd do anything for you."

After a while of comfortable silence, and a cup of hot coffee in your hands, you both were looking out towards the street and were enjoying each others silent company. "You know we used to be in another series together?" you speak as you look over.

"Really?" he asks.

"Yea," you say wistfully.

"What was it about?" he inquires further.

"Not sure. But you and I were..." your lips pull up into a sad smile and your eyes slide back to the city street, "We were in love. Well, at least the Y/N and Mingyu from that series were." You smile sadly. "How we danced around each other in secret meetings during the war, and had to act like we were not madly in love once daylight hit. Even though I knew we'd always be safe no matter what because we loved each other."

"What happened, then? With us?" he asks.

"I was arranged to get married...to someone that's not you," you admit and it hurt like a stab to the gut. "And you were drafted, and I never saw you again." You turn back towards the view. "Can you imagine? How you loved someone with all your heart, but the narrative made sure you never had your happy ever after. No matter how badly you wanted it? The Writer just abandoned that series, never brought that story to an ending because it was so heavy and tragic. Wrote our lives off, just to throw us into something less heavy."

"Hey, come here." Mingyu sits up, pulling you into his arms. "We can't dwell on things in our past, even though the story may have hurt us, this time, things will be different."

"Will they, though?" you question with a sad shrug of the shoulder, wrapping your arms around his waist. Mingyu tilts your head towards his. "I'm not the main character this time. Just the villainess in this particular comic, forced to watch someone else get the happy ending. The happy ending the Writer robbed you and I out of."

"Shh," he hushes as he kisses your forehead.

"Promise you'll stay true and never abandon me? No matter what?" your voice wavers a bit as the threat of a sob remains close. Mingyu's big and warm hands gently tilt your head back to look up at him. He's got the most gorgeous face you've ever seen, with eyes so deep they put the night sky to shame and hair that gleams bronze in the sunlight.

"I'd do anything to keep you close," Mingyu says. "I promise."

"Pinky swear?" you sniff.

"Pinky swear." He links his pinky finger with yours. You breathe a small laugh. Mingyu had a smile to rival the sun, you always thought. All teeth, a bit lopsided and big and warm. Even in your current state of distress.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" your gaze darts down to where the two of you are connected by a finger.

"More often than necessary."

"I really, really love you, Kim Mingyu," you smile up at him.

"Love you, too." He presses his forehead against yours.

"Like, super duper, you don't even have a clue," you mumble into his chest. He only snorts.

"Sure I don't, dummy." He pats your head.

"Then maybe I should show you?" The words sound suggestive to Mingyu as you wrap your arms around his torso tightly, your hot breath tickling his ear.

"Y/N, come on," Mingyu says, wriggling away, cheeks going crimson.

You squint up at him, mischief in the creases in the corners of your eyes. "Why not?" you pout.

"Well, because," Mingyu ruffles the back of his hair. "You're drunk."

"I'm so damn sober right now that I could paint you a picture of the ocean."

"No, no, no." Mingyu pushes the hair out of his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Maybe I should prove to you I am a very willing participant?" you begin to say as he closes his eyes for a split second. Before he can do or say anything to prevent it, your hands have snaked themselves behind his neck. The scent of cologne and detergent fill your nose as he stiffens slightly and groans against your skin.

"You drive a hard bargain," Mingyu finally murmurs. "But first, you need a shower."

"Join me?" you suggest and you grin up at him with a mischievous waggle of the eyebrows. "There's plenty of room for two." You see the way Mingyu bites his lip, then sighs.

"Fine. Lead the way," he says, and when you squeak happily and pull him towards the bathroom.

Moments later, the bathroom is thick with steam, blurring the clean lines of the tiled walls until the world outside feels entirely locked away. The water drums a steady, heavy rhythm against the porcelain, a barrier of noise that no scripted dialogue or intrusive narration box could pierce.

"You're still clumsy," Mingyu murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, rid of the booming, confident cadence the Writer always forced into his throat on-page. Here, he sounds rough around the edges, grounded, and entirely yours.

"I am perfectly balanced," you retorted, though your hands gripped his shoulders for support as you stepped under the spray. The heavy silk of your party dress clings to your skin, soaked through in an instant, but neither of you care about the clothes.

Mingyu reaches behind you, his large palms warm against the small of your back as his fingers find the zipper. With a slow, deliberate slide, the wet fabric parts. He peels the dress away, letting it pool heavily at your feet. When his gaze meets yours, there’s none of the scripted, aggressive arrogance he was forced to display at the gym. His eyes are dark, intense, and filled with a fierce, protective reverence.

"You look beautiful, Y/N," he whispers, his thumbs tracing the line of your hip bones, wiping away the lingering traces of the comic’s forced aesthetic. "The real you. Not the villainess."

"Then stop looking and do something about it," you challenge, leaning up until your lips are inches from his.

Mingyu doesn't hesitate. He pulls you flush against his chest, the spray of the shower slicking his hair back, exposing the sharp, handsome angles of his face. His mouth comes down on yours with a desperate, hungry heat, a stark contrast to the polite, hesitant kisses the script dictated for him and Ara. This is raw, heavy with years of unspoken longing and the terrifying knowledge that your time in the dark is always limited.

His hands slide down to lift you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. You gasp into the kiss as he presses you back against the warm tiled wall, the friction of his skin against yours sending a sharp jolt through your chest.

"I'm not letting them take this," Mingyu groans against your neck, his lips tracing a burning path down to your collarbone, his teeth grazing the skin just hard enough to leave a mark, claiming every bit of you that he could.

You grab at the nape of his neck, fisting your fingers in his wet, raven black hair. "Shut up and fuck me, Mingyu."

The slick tile of the shower wall is hot against your back, but it’s nothing compared to the blistering heat of Mingyu's skin. He holds you pinned, one massive hand anchoring your hip while the other cups the back of your head, his fingers tangled deeply in your wet hair.

Every kiss is a bruising, desperate reclamation. On the page, the Writer made him tentative, full of scripted hesitations and soft, clean glances meant for Ara. But here, in the heavy steam of the shadows, Mingyu is ravenous. He drinks the small, broken sounds from your throat, his tongue tangling with yours in a rhythm that’s entirely unscripted, chaotic, and real.

"Y/N," he growls against your lips, his chest heaving against your breasts. The water cascades over his broad shoulders, slicking down the heavy planes of his muscles. "Tell me you're here. Tell me it's you."

"It's me," you gasp, arching into his touch as his hand slides down the curve of your thigh, lifting your leg to hook over his hip. "It's always been me, Gyu."

He groans, a low, guttural sound that vibrates against your collarbone as he buries his face in your neck. His teeth graze the sensitive skin right above your shoulder blade, biting just hard enough to anchor you to the reality of the moment. You cry out, your fingers digging into the thick muscles of his back, your nails leaving pale tracks in their wake.

When he shifts, guiding your hips back against the wall, the friction is unbearable. He pauses for a single, agonizing heartbeat, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes completely dark, pupils blown wide with a fierce, protective hunger.

"Look at me," he whispers, his voice rough and laced with a desperate edge. "Don't close your eyes. I want you to see me when I..."

He doesn't finish the sentence. He drives into you in one smooth, heavy push.

A sharp, breathless sob escapes your lips, your hands flying to clutch at his wet shoulders as the sheer intensity of the fullness ripples through you. Mingyu lets out a ragged breath, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that feels like a physical weight. He begins to move, slow and agonizingly deep at first, before the rhythm catches fire.

The sound of the rushing water drowns out the rest of the world, creating a sanctuary where no narration boxes could grow. Every thrust is a declaration of war against the script. You grip his shoulders, throwing your head back as he hits the exact spot that makes your mind fracture into pure, unadulterated sensation.

"Mingyu. Gyu—" you whimper, your internal walls tightening around him as the friction builds an unbearable, sweet agony behind your ribs.

"I've got you," he pants, his pace turning fast and punishing, his muscles bunching under your hands as he lifts you completely off the floor. Your other leg wraps around his waist, locking him close. "I'm right here."

"Mingyu," you begged against the corner of his jaw. "Gyu. Yes, yes, yes, please, don't stop."

"I wouldn't dream of it." He groans the words into the tender flesh below your ear as his lips and teeth trace a burning line from your jaw down the side of your throat. The water blurs between you, but he refuses to shut his eyes or drop his gaze. Every breath is shared, every inch of contact heated.

And every thrust is a silent cry. Fuck the script. Fuck Ara. Fuck everything but us.

The Writer's commands can't reach the shadows. Mingyu doesn't give her a chance to command him here, where the camera could only capture their silhouettes and the reader can't see beyond the steamy haze.

"Mingyu. Mingyu. Please, I need..." You shudder, a violent, blinding release cascading through your lower abdomen as you clamp down around him. The sight of your undone expression throws Mingyu over the precipice. With a low, ragged shout, he buries himself deep inside you one last time, his body stiffening as he spends himself completely, his pulse throbbing forcefully against your own.

For a long time, the only sound is the heavy thrumming of the water and your synchronized, ragged breathing. Mingyu holds you tight, his arms wrapped around you like a vice, refusing to let your feet touch the cold ground just yet. He kisses you again—long, tender, slow—as he turns the knob of the shower off. With your legs still wrapped around his hips and his arms still supporting your full weight, he carries you both towards the bed.

"We're still wet," you murmur, lips moving against his collarbone.

"Does it matter?" he grunts. Mingyu settles atop of the pillows, the mattress squeaking beneath him as he pulls you to sit astride his lap. His damp hair falls over his forehead in wild, messy tendrils, but he doesn't seem to mind. "You're just gonna get wet again, anyways."

"Is that so?" You rest your forehead against his, brushing the fallen strands away. Mingyu nods, hands gripping your thighs tight as his thumbs brush in circles on the exposed flesh of your skin.

"Definitely."

The peace shatters at exactly 7:15 a.m.

One moment, you’re tangled in Mingyu's sheets, the faint scent of his laundry detergent and the lingering warmth of his body enveloping you in perfect, drowsy comfort. Your hand is resting flat against his bare, broad chest, feeling the steady, calming beat of his heart.

The next moment, a violent, neon-pink static snaps through your brain.

Your eyes fly open. The cozy, dimly lit bedroom is gone. The soft cotton sheets beneath you instantly morph into the stiff, scratchy fabric of a public bench. The smell of detergent is replaced by the overwhelming scent of chlorine and expensive perfume.

"No," you whisper, your throat tight. "No, please, not yet."

You look down. You’re no longer wearing Mingyu's oversized t-shirt. Instead, you’re clad in a stunning, albeit incredibly impractical, designer tweed skirt suit with pristine white heels.

Directly across from you stands Ara, holding a tray of iced coffees, looking utterly defenseless and doe-eyed. And standing right next to her, looking polished, perfectly coiffed, and completely devoid of his glasses, is Mingyu. He’s wearing his varsity jacket, his posture rigid and towering.

The transition is so violent it makes you nauseous. The physical memory of his touch is still burning on your skin, but your body is already moving against your will. Your spine straightens into a haughty, elegant posture. Your lips curl into a sharp, poisonous smirk.

Above your heads, a massive, glittery pink narration box materializes with a smug hum.

NARRATION: The next morning at the campus cafe, the villainess lays her trap, determined to humiliate Ara in front of the boy she desperately covets...

You try to swallow, but your vocal cords tighten as the Writer takes the reins, violently forcing the script into your mouth.

"Oh, Ara," your voice chimes out, dripping with sickly-sweet venom. "Did you personally brew those coffees, or did you just pick them up from the trash? Because honestly, the aroma matches your outfit today."

I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, your mind screams at Ara, but your face remains a mask of flawless, cruel arrogance.

Ara flinches, her eyes immediately welling with tears as she looks up at Mingyu. "I... I just wanted to bring everyone drinks..."

Mingyu's jaw clenches. You see the brief, agonizing flicker of horror in his eyes, the real Mingyu trying to scream through the cracks of his character's programming. He knows exactly what you had just shared hours prior. He doesn't want to do this.

But the Writer's grip is ruthless.

Mingyu steps forward, his massive frame casting a shadow over you. He grabs the iced coffee from Ara's tray and, with a harsh, aggressive movement, slams it down on the table right in front of you, splashing a few drops onto your pristine tweed jacket.

"Keep your mouth shut, Y/N," Mingyu spits, his voice booming with a cold, scripted hatred that makes your stomach violently churn. "Ara has a heart of gold, which is something you wouldn't understand if it bought your family's entire political empire. Stay away from her. You disgust me."

The words feel like a physical blow to your chest. You disgust me. Even knowing it’s the script, the sheer force of his dictated anger cuts through you like a knife.

Your character merely laughs, a sharp, tinkling, villainous sound. "We'll see about that, Mingyu," your mouth drawls, tilting your head up to flash him a mocking wink.

PANEL 1 — CLOSE UP ON MINGYU'S FURIOUS EXPRESSION AS HE TURNS HIS BACK ON THE VILLAINESS, GUIDING A WEEPING ARA AWAY INTO THE SUNLIGHT.

The moment the imaginary camera shifts focus to follow them walking away, the invisible strings snap.

Your smirk collapses. You slump against the cafe bench, trembling violently as you clutch your stomach, dry-heaving from the sheer emotional whiplash. Across the courtyard, you can see Mingyu walking with Ara, his shoulders tightly hunched in that familiar, real-world telltale sign of pure, unadulterated distress.

He can’t look back at you. If he did, the Writer would freeze the panel.

You dig your nails into the wooden bench, staring at the pink narration box as it slowly dissolves into air. The battle for your freedom isn't just a union meeting anymore—it’s survival.

NARRATION: With the dramatic exit of the campus golden boy, the villainess is left alone to stew in her own bitter defeat, unaware that her cruel games are pushing her further into isolation...

"Oh, eat glass," you hiss under your breath, waiting exactly three seconds until the glowing text fully dissolves into the morning air.

The moment the script completely lets go of your muscles, you practically collapse onto the iron table. Your hands are shaking so hard, you almost knock over the remaining iced coffee. The emotional whiplash is a physical ache in your chest. Just hours ago, his hands were warm against your waist under the heavy steam of the shower, pulling you close, whispering that he would never let them take you away. Now, the phantom sting of his scripted words—You disgust me—echoes in your ears like a slap.

You need a drink, a sanctuary, or a very large blunt object to swing at the sky. Lacking all three, you grab your designer bag, haul your aching body out of the cafe courtyard, and head straight for the one place on campus where the shadows were thickest: the back rows of the university library.

"You look like shit." Wonwoo doesn't even look up from his massive, leather-bound textbook as you slide into the beanbag chair next to him, burying your face in your hands.

"Don't start, Wonwoo," you groan, your voice muffled. "I just got violently ripped out of Mingyu's bed at seven in the morning to be dropped into a 'cafeteria confrontation' scene. I told Ara her coffee smelled like garbage and Mingyu told me I was disgusting. My soul has officially left my body."

Wonwoo leans his cheek on his hand, flipping the page. "I know you have feelings for the musclehead, but can you get over yourself for three seconds?"

"Wow. Excuse me for having emotions," you grumble into your hands, flopping backwards into the plush beanbag chair with an undignified huff. "Remind me why I put up with you again?"

"My pretty face," Wonwoo recites by rote, the edges of his lips curling into a trademark smirk that made the characters around you swoon. "It's all the rage."

"Go back to brooding," you grumble, leaning forward again to scan the titles of his mountain of library books.

The library is an oasis of darkness: a cramped, shabby space nestled deep between the science shelves in the most remote corner of campus. Only a couple flickering lamps provide light, barely cutting through the densely packed bookshelves to reach the faded carpet. It’s impossible to spot the back rows from anywhere else in the library, which is exactly how you two like it. The deeper you sink into the stacks, the longer your ability to stay outside of the script lasts, giving you an easy break from being written into the same overused confrontations week after week.

This far from the spotlight of the heroine and the main characters, the university is nothing but a cheap backdrop and a cheap trope. No flashy love triangles or manufactured plot twists can find you here, no matter how brightly the script shines. Just stacks upon stacks of books, no endings necessary. It’s exactly what you need right now.

Wonwoo stares pointedly at your rumpled jacket and messy hair, his fingers absently playing with a ballpoint pen. "So are you going to sit there moping, or are you going to finally address the massive, tooth-rotting sexual tension hanging between us right now?"

You smack his arm hard. "Gross, dude. Not with Mingyu on the brain."

Wonwoo ignores the bruise already blooming on his bicep, cocking an eyebrow. "Are you done lamenting your tragic inability to seduce our token jock? You're crushing my study vibe with that kind of energy."

"Fu–"

"Don't curse in my sacred reading corner."

You close your mouth mid-curse, narrowing your eyes. "Fine, Shakespeare," you say, crossing your arms. "Remind me, why am I even talking to you about this?"

"Because you think I can actually fix it." His eyes flick up towards the dusty fluorescent lights, watching the grime-coated glass buzz with low electricity. After several seconds, his dark gaze shifts towards your face.

"Look," Wonwoo sighs, resting his elbows on top of his piles of reference books. "If there's anyone who understands this shitty situation, it's me. I know you two are dying to break free and bang each other against the nearest wall, but the Writer doesn't care. To her, our misery is hilarious, and she doesn't care what she has to tear apart or write-off to keep making us dance to her tune."

You stare at Wonwoo, his words cutting through the leftover haze of the morning's whiplash. The harsh reality of what Seungkwan had shown you at the Human Rewrite Agency flashes in your mind—the tragic, abandoned draft where you and Mingyu were torn apart by war. The Writer didn't care about your heartbreak then, and she certainly doesn't care now.

"She already tore us apart once," you whisper, the anger in your voice giving way to a hollow, echoing fear. "Seungkwan showed me an old draft. In another story, Mingyu and I were in love, and she just... left us to rot in a tragic ending because it wasn't pulling in enough views."

Wonwoo stops twirling his pen. His boredom completely evaporates, replaced by a sharp, calculating focus. "Wait, seriously?"

"I read all of it." You fidget with your pearl ring, "We never even got a happy ending. And now I'm watching him be the main character again with someone that's not me and get his happy ending. What about me? What about my happy ending?"

He reaches out and squeezes your arm gently. "You will," he promises, and there's something softer and kinder than the Writer's edge in his words.

"I'm not so sure," you whisper. You have to keep swallowing the bitter lump that seems to have taken residence in your throat.

The heavy scent of old paper and dust does little to soothe the burning in your throat. Wonwoo’s hand is still a reassuring weight on your forearm, his usually detached eyes sharp with a quiet, protective anger.

Before he can offer another word of cynical comfort, the heavy wooden doors of the library’s back wing creak open.

Footsteps shatter the silence, heavy, hurried, and completely lacking the synchronized, rhythmic grace the Writer usually forced onto the male lead. A tall figure rounds the corner of the chemistry stacks, nearly tripping over a low-profile stool.

It’s Mingyu.

He has frantically shoved his thick, black-rimmed reading glasses back onto his face, though he’s still wearing the stupidly pristine varsity jacket from the cafe scene. His hair is a wild, unstyled nest from where he had clearly been ripping his hands through it in frustration. The moment his eyes lock onto you huddled in the beanbag chair, the rigid, arrogant mask of his character crumbles entirely.

"Y/N," he pants, stumbling into the narrow aisle. He drops to his knees right in front of your beanbag, not caring about the dust coating his expensive scripted jeans. "Y/N, I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry." His large hands fly to cup your face, his palms warm and trembling violently against your cheeks. "I didn't mean it," he rushes out, his voice cracking, entirely stripped of the booming, confident cadence from the cafe. "The words…the Writer just slammed them into my throat. I tried to swallow them down, I swear to God I tried to choke on them, but the static was too loud. When I said those things to you... when I looked at you like that..." Tears of genuine, unadulterated rage well in his eyes, threatening to spill over his lashes. "I wanted to tear my own tongue out."

Wonwoo slowly retracts his hand from your arm, leaning back into his own chair and crossing his arms. "Take a breath, muscle-head. You're going to trigger a 'jealous outburst' panel if you vibrate any harder."

Mingyu ignores him entirely, his thumbs gently wiping at the stray tear that has finally escaped your eye. "Please tell me you know it wasn't me, Y/N. After last night... after everything... I could never look at you and feel anything but..." He chokes on the word, his ears turning a bright, furious crimson, but he forces himself to look directly into your eyes. "I love you. The real you. I don't care what she writes on the page."

You look at his flushed face, the messy hair, the desperate, unscripted honesty bleeding through his every pore. The phantom sting of 'You disgust me' finally begins to dissolve, replaced by the grounding weight of the boy who belongs to you in the dark.

"I know, Gyu," you whisper, reaching up to wrap your smaller hands around his wrists. "I know it was the script. It just... it gets harder to separate the two when the Writer starts messing with our heads."

Mingyu leans forward, resting his forehead against yours, letting out a long, shuddering breath that fans across your lips. "We're going to break this comic," he swears fiercely against your skin. "I don't care if we have to glitch the entire university into a black screen. We are not letting her rewrite us."

Wonwoo lets out a sharp, rhythmic tapping sound as he collapses his heavy book shut. "If you two are done staging an unscripted melodrama in my designated hiding spot, we actually have a massive problem to deal with."

Mingyu doesn't pull away immediately, giving your hand one final, protective squeeze before shifting to sit cross-legged on the faded carpet. He pushes his glasses up his nose, his broad shoulders slouching into that familiar, un-jock-like posture that belonged strictly to the shadows. "What do you mean, Wonwoo? Besides the fact that the Writer almost turned my brain into mush this morning?"

"Think about it," Wonwoo says, leaning forward and resting his chin on his steepled fingers. "Y/N just found out from Seungkwan that the Writer has a history of abandoning entire universes when they don't get enough traction. She scraps characters. She leaves them to rot in tragic endings." His sharp eyes dart between the two of you. "Right now, the Writer is getting aggressive because we are making the plot unstable. If Mingyu keeps punching narration boxes and glitching out of scripted gym sessions, she’s not just going to keep pushing. She’s going to notice the narrative structure is broken. And what happens when a webtoon creator realizes their project is glitched beyond repair?"

The air in the narrow aisle suddenly feels incredibly cold.

"She deletes the file," you whisper, your fingers tightening around the fabric of your designer tweed skirt. "She scraps the comic and starts a new one."

"Exactly," Wonwoo points at you with his pen. "Except this time, we’re self-aware. If she hits delete, do we just wake up in a new story with our memories wiped, or do we fade into the white space permanently?"

Mingyu’s jaw sets, his gaze hardening as he looks up at the flickering fluorescent lights overhead. "So Seungkwan was right. We can't just blatantly refuse to play our roles. We have to walk the line. We act out the scenes, we take the stupid scripted dialogue, but we use the shadows to build something she can't touch." He reaches out, his massive palm covering yours entirely. "We play along just enough to keep the comic alive, while we figure out a way to break the fourth wall completely from the inside."

Before you can respond, a low, ominous vibration thrums through the soles of your feet. The library shelves seems to flicker, the titles on the spines blurring into illegible streaks of color for a fraction of a second.

A neon-pink glow begins to manifest near the ceiling of the aisle, pulsing like a dying star.

"Fuck," Wonwoo mutters, instantly scrambling to his feet and shoving his textbook into his bag. "Spoke too soon. Stage lights are coming up. Must be a heroine spotlight."

The pink glow intensifies, bathing the dusty library aisle in an artificial, sickly light that makes the air feel thick and pressurized. You, Mingyu, and Wonwoo scramble as the scene begins to materialize around you, the reality of the library walls warping like melting wax.

PANEL 1 — THE LIBRARY AISLE, SUDDENLY OVERFLOWING WITH SOFT, ROMANTIC FILTERING.

Lee Ara appears at the far end of the row, holding a stack of books and looking around with an expression of "lost and adorable" perfection. She catches sight of the three of you, her eyes widening in a scripted, dramatic reveal.

NARRATION: A quiet moment of study turns into a chance encounter, as Ara discovers the trio in their secret, brooding corner...

"Oh!" Ara exclaims, her voice unnaturally bright and rehearsed. "I didn't know you guys were all back here together!"

You feel the familiar, sickening lurch in your chest as the Writer takes hold of your internal monologue, turning your genuine affection for your friends into a sharp, jagged envy.

"Well, it's a library, Ara," you say, your voice dripping with an acid-tongued condescension that makes your skin crawl. "It’s supposed to be for studying, not for wandering around like a lost puppy looking for attention."

Ara’s lower lip trembles—the perfect, predictable response. Beside you, Mingyu stiffens, his fingers digging into his knees to keep from lunging toward her to apologize. His face, however, is forced into a mask of cold, dismissive indifference that mirrors your own.

"Y/N, leave her alone," Mingyu says, his voice flat and monotone, devoid of his usual warmth. "She’s just trying to find a quiet place to read."

"Oh, please," you roll your eyes, a gesture that feels heavy and robotic. "Don't tell me you're actually falling for the 'innocent, studious heroine' routine, Mingyu? We both know she couldn't tell the difference between a textbook and a magazine if her life depended on it."

Ara gasps, clutching the books to her chest as if you'd physically struck her. You want to scream, to reach out and tell her that you actually like her, that you’ve helped her study before, but your mouth is locked in its scripted cruelty.

"I... I really just wanted to return these," Ara whispers, her gaze darting to Mingyu for salvation.

NARRATION: The tension crackles as the hero steps forward to defend the maiden, his eyes burning with a sudden, intense fury.

Mingyu stands up, his movements stiff as he performs the role of the knight in shining armor. "I said, that's enough," he hisses, stepping directly into your personal space. "Go back to your little clique of sycophants and leave her out of your drama."

You meet his gaze, and for one desperate, fleeting second, the Writer's hold falters. In the depths of his eyes, you see the real Mingyu—the one who spent the night in your bed, the one who promised to protect you. He’s terrified for you, pleading with you to play along before the Writer notices the glitch and tries to delete you entirely.

You force a sharp, cold laugh, stepping back and brushing past him with deliberate, insulting intent. "You’re right, Mingyu," you snap, your voice echoing with a synthetic bitterness that makes your stomach churn. "I’m wasting my time here. It’s hard to have a conversation when the room is being occupied by, well, this." You gesture vaguely toward Ara with a hand that is shaking, though the narration box hovering above you works overtime to frame your tremor as a sign of haughty impatience.

PANEL 2 — MINGYU, ARA, AND YOU STARING EACH OTHER DOWN

Ara looks hurt, her lip wobbling just enough to satisfy the panel's requirements. Mingyu stands motionless, his hands balled into white-knuckled fists at his sides. The narration box pulses a violent shade of fuchsia, hungry for the conflict to escalate.

NARRATION: The villainess turns on her heel, her heart cold and empty, unaware that her cruel words have finally pushed the golden boy past his breaking point.

"Don't you dare walk away," Mingyu barks. He grabs your arm, his fingers dig into your skin, hard. "You think you’re so much better than everyone, don't you? Always plotting, always hiding."

You spin back around, your face arranging itself into a sneer that you despise, but your eyes meet his, and you transmit every ounce of your reality into that look. Play the game, you idiot. Just play the game.

"And what if I am?" you hiss, pulling your arm away with a sharp, calculated motion. "At least I know what I am, Mingyu. I know what I want. Do you?"

PANEL 3 — CLOSE UP ON MINGYU'S FACE

His expression is a masterpiece of conflicting emotions—the mask of the "angry lead" clashing with the raw, terrified honesty in his eyes. He looks like he’s trying to swallow a scream.

"You don't know a damn thing," Mingyu growls, but the cadence is off—strained and jagged. He steps closer, closing the distance until his chest brushes your shoulder. The smell of his laundry detergent—a scent that belongs to your apartment, not this scripted reality—wafts off him, a sharp reminder of the night before.

NARRATION: The air thickens with unspoken malice as the hero confronts the villainess, his heart firmly tethered to the heroine’s purity.

"Is that so?" you retort, your voice perfectly, hatefully smooth. You reach out, your fingers hovering over the lapel of his varsity jacket, tracing the embroidered school crest. "Because it looks to me like you're just playing house, Mingyu. Pretending this—" you gesture vaguely toward Ara, who is hovering in the background like a confused prop—"pretending this is your whole world."

Ara lets out a small, high-pitched noise of distress. "Mingyu, please... she's not worth it."

"See?" You tilt your head, a saccharine, patronizing smile plastered on your lips. "She's worried about your reputation. How noble."

PANEL 4 — WIDE SHOT: THE THREE OF YOU IN THE AISLE

The library shelves seem to press inward, the lighting turning a harsh, over-saturated studio white. Wonwoo is still sitting in the beanbag chair, his back turned, studiously ignoring the scene. He’s the only smart one here. He knows better than to break character when the narration is this aggressive.

Mingyu’s hand shoots out, gripping your wrist again.

PANEL 5 — CLOSE-UP ON MINGYU’S GRIP.

His fingers wrap tightly around your wrist, executing the exact visual cue the script demands. But beneath the forced, white-knuckled aggression, you feel his thumb press twice against your pulse point—a quiet, unscripted reassurance meant only for you.

"You think you can just trample over everyone because of who your family is?" Mingyu barks, his voice laced with that booming, heroic resonance that makes your stomach turn. "You don't own this campus, Y/N. And you certainly don't own her."

The words sting, but Seungkwan's advice echoes in your mind: Do your part. Take the dialogue and try not to gag. You have to keep the plot moving, or the Writer will realize the file is glitched and scrap your entire universe.

PANEL 6 — PROFILE SHOT: YOU, LEANING IN.

Your body moves on autopilot, tilting your chin up with elegant, villainous haughtiness. You lean directly into his personal space, your nose inches from his varsity jacket, smelling the real-world scent of his laundry detergent beneath the fake studio lights. "Oh, is that a threat, Mingyu? Because you know how much I love it when you get all big and protective."

Ara lets out a soft, scripted gasp in the background, her doe eyes wide with predictable horror.

PANEL 7 — EXTRA WIDE: THE LIBRARY AISLE GLITCHES.

A violent wave of neon-pink static ripples through the air, causing the wooden bookshelves to warp and blur like melting digital wax. The Writer is pushing back, furious at the underlying friction of your true feelings breaking through the rigid script.

NARRATION: Fed up with her pathetic, desperate games, the golden boy casts her aside, completely severing the toxic ties of their childhood...

Mingyu’s arm jerks violently under the Writer's command. He is forced to throw your hand back, but as the invisible strings yank his muscles, he fights the momentum, letting go with a desperate gentleness that completely contradicts the narration's harsh script. A tiny spark of pink electricity pops between your palms as your fingers slip apart.

"Let's go, Ara," Mingyu mutters. His voice is heavy, carrying a deep, real-world exhaustion that the text bubbles try to disguise as righteous anger. He turns on his heel, guiding a trembling Ara out of the dimly lit aisle and back toward the safety of the main campus floor.

You watch as he leaves, sinking to the floor with a sick sense of relief when the footsteps fade. This scene is over. At least for now.

PANEL 1 — WIDE SHOT: THE CAMPUS BALLROOM

A massive banner overhead reads: ANNUAL CARAT U FOUNDER’S DAY GALA. Students are scurrying around carrying towers of pastel boxes, flower arrangements, and expensive silk ribbons. The lighting is an aggressive, over-saturated pink.

NARRATION: As the highly anticipated Founder’s Day Gala approaches, the campus is alive with romantic tension and sparkling anticipation...

PANEL 2 — CLOSE UP ON YOU.

You're leaning against a wall, elegantly dressed in a long form fitting gown, the slit climbing scandalously high. Your arms are crossed, but your fingers are restlessly spinning the pearl ring on your hand.

“A gala,” you whisper under your breath, your eyes tracking a floating pink narration box hovering near a pile of stage props. “Of course there's a gala. Because what's a cheap rom-com without a dramatic ballroom confrontation?”

The narration box twitches, sending a tiny jolt of pink static through the air.

NARRATION: ...and our scheming villainess can already smell the sweet scent of a perfectly orchestrated sabotage.

“Keep dreaming, you neon eyesore,” you mutter, stepping into the shadow of a large marble pillar to get out of the spotlight before your mouth is hijacked again.

The physical toll of the library scene from yesterday still lingers like a deep bruise. Every time you or Mingyu fight the invisible puppet strings, the static gets louder, threatening to tear the fabric of your reality apart at the seams.

Mingyu approaches you, completely in his "on-page" element, wearing a tailored navy suit that highlights his broad shoulders, his dark hair slicked back perfectly. But as he steps into the shade of the pillar next to you, his posture slumps into a familiar, exhausted slouch.

"Tell me you brought snacks," Mingyu mumbles, the booming confidence of his male-lead voice dropping into a tired, rough-around-the-edges whisper. "The Writer made me carry three ice sculptures across the plaza for the Gala committee. My hands are literally numb."

You can't help but smile, your fingers instantly reaching out to catch his cold hands. "No snacks, Gyu. Just a whole lot of scripted doom." You nod toward the hovering pink narration box. "It’s already setting me up to ruin the Gala."

Mingyu squeezes your hands, his dark eyes softening behind his invisible programming. "We play along just enough to keep the file from being deleted, remember? We take the dialogue. But the moment the panel freezes..." He leans down, his forehead briefly resting against yours, sending a wave of genuine warmth through the freezing morning air. "The shadows are ours."

The room is a sickeningly opulent display of crystal chandeliers, cascading white roses, and soft pastel lighting. Couples are gliding across the dance floor in perfect, symmetrical harmony.

NARRATION: The night of nights! Under the shimmering chandeliers of the Founder's Gala, destiny takes the floor...

PANEL 3 — CLOSE UP ON ARA.

She is wearing a massive, glitter-drenched ballgown that looks completely impossible to walk in. She stands near the punch bowl, looking beautifully overwhelmed.

PANEL 4 — YOU STEP INTO THE FRAME.

Your body suddenly locks into a rigid, elegant posture. Your lips curl into a poisonous, calculating smirk as the Writer violently takes the reins of your jaw.

"Oh, Ara," your mouth chimes out, dripping with venomous condescension. "Did you dress up as a literal disco ball tonight, or are you just trying to ensure the security guards can track you when you inevitably spill punch on yourself?"

I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, your mind screams, but your face remains a mask of flawless, aristocratic cruelty.

Ara flinches, her doe eyes instantly welling with tears. "Y/N... I just wanted to dress up for the school..."

PANEL 5 — MINGYU INTERVENES.

Mingyu strides into the panel, his chest puffed out, stepping directly between you and Ara. His jaw is clenched so tightly a vein pulses at his temple. The real Mingyu trying to fight the static screaming in his brain.

"That's enough, Y/N," Mingyu barks, his scripted voice booming with cold, righteous anger. "Your family's money can't buy a single drop of the grace Ara has in her pinky finger. Leave her alone, or I'll personally have security throw you out."

The words sting like a physical slap, but beneath the table line, where the panel cuts off, Mingyu’s hand blindly reaches out, his thumb pressing twice against your thigh in the dark, the quiet, unscripted code you shared in the library. I'm here. I love you.

"We'll see who gets thrown out, Mingyu," your character drawls, tilting your head to flash him a haughty, mocking wink before turning on your heel.

PANEL 6 — EXTRA WIDE: THE BALLROOM LIGHTS SUDDENLY FLICKER.

A violent, jagged wave of neon-pink static rips through the chandeliers. The crystal ornaments warp into pixelated blocks, and a low, digital hum vibrates through the floorboards. The Writer is panicking; the underlying friction of your true feelings is destabilizing the scene.

NARRATION: Driven to the edge by the villainess's relentless malice, the golden boy sweeps the pure maiden into a dramatic waltz, completely erasing the shadow of his past...

The moment the imaginary camera shifts to focus on Mingyu and Ara's waltz, you make your way to the back rooms. You collapse against the backstage vanity mirror, gasping for air as you clutch your stomach, trembling from the sheer emotional whiplash. The door clicks open, and Wonwoo slips inside, his bowtie completely undone, carrying a pair of flat sneakers and a stolen plate of pastries.

"The chandeliers almost turned into literal missing-texture blocks out there," Wonwoo says flatly, tossing the sneakers at your feet. "You and the muscle-head are vibrating at a frequency that's going to get us all format-clipped."

"I know," you whisper, wiping a genuine tear of frustration from your eye. "But we kept the scene moving. We gave her the confrontation she wanted."

The door bursts open again. Mingyu stumbles in, completely out of breath. He doesn't say a word; he just strides across the room, drops to his knees, and buries his face in your lap, his massive arms wrapping around your waist like a vice.

"I hated it," he chokes out, his voice rough and stripped of all comic-book arrogance. "I hated every word."

You run your fingers through his messy, unstyled hair, leaning down to press a soft, fierce kiss against his crown. "Shadows," you whisper, and his arms tighten, his nails digging into the skin of your back with a desperate urgency. "In the shadows, it's just us."

"Okay lovebirds." Wonwoo places the plate of food on top of the vanity and quickly turns to leave. "Enjoy the physical expressions of love or whatever. I'll keep an eye out on things outside."

You gently scratch your fingers across Mingyu's scalp. "Gyu, get something in your stomach," you gently urge. "You're gonna be numb again if you don't eat."

"I hate this stupid webcomic," Mingyu mumbles, his nose buried in the satin of your gown.

"I hate this stupid story just as much," you mutter. "But hey, at least we're trapped together." You pick up a macaron off the plate and offer it to him. He obediently lifts his head and takes a bite, chewing while his arms are still stubbornly clamped around your waist.

"Marry me when all this is over," Mingyu says in his rough-around-the-edges delivery, only halfway kidding as he wraps his mouth around the dessert.

You laugh. "Why me? Why not the bubbly protagonist who's guaranteed to give you a happy ending?"

"Baby," Mingyu chuckles, resting his chin on your knee, his big, earnest eyes staring up at you. "You and I already know what the ending looks like."

"And what's that?" you ask, absentmindedly twisting the ring around your finger.

"This," Mingyu whispers, sitting upright and pulling you into his lap to steal a kiss, his lips sweetly smiling against your mouth. "This and everything else that comes with it."

"Yeah? And what does everything else consist of? Inquiring minds want to know," you say with a playful quirk of your eyebrow.

Mingyu slides his hand down from your shoulder to the soft curve of your hip, "Hmm...in bed. The shower. In our actual homes. Everywhere. Everyday."

"Anywhere, huh?"

Mingyu smiles again, warm and perfect and unafraid. "Anywhere. Anytime."

"And if I said right now?" you whisper.

His fingers tangle in your hair. "Baby," he teases, nipping at your lower lip. "Right here?" Mingyu murmured, his voice dropping into that rough, unfiltered register that the Writer never let the audience hear. "With Wonwoo playing look-out outside, and the entire digital universe vibrating like a faulty circuit board?"

"Especially right now," you breathed, your fingers hooking into the lapel of his tailored navy suit jacket, tugging it off his broad shoulders. "Because every time she forces you to tell me I disgust you out there, I need a reminder of what the truth feels like in here."

Mingyu drops to his knees on the floor, his fingers sliding along the slit of your long, tailored gown. "And what does the truth feel like, love?" he whispered, kissing the side of your knee through the fabric.

"It feels like this," you manage, moving his hand up higher under the shimmering satin. "Here..." you gently guided the tip of his fingers where you needed them. "Like this, Gyu."

"Fuck, Y/N," he groans, his warm breath against your skin. "You drive me crazy every damn time."

You gasp when he pushes your dress up higher, lips dragging across your skin as his mouth makes a path to where you needed him most. "Gyu..." you shudder out his name, your hands gripping his soft hair tightly, encouraging him closer.

"Every day," he rasped. "For as long as this webtoon runs and even after, Y/N, I'll make you feel like this. Love or not, script or not, I'm yours. Got it?."

"Got it. Understood," you murmur, tugging on the ends of his hair again. Mingyu's teeth nip at the flesh of your inner thigh, the light sting sending a jolt of heat up through your core. "Now stop teasing me, please," you whisper. "Show me what that talented tongue does. Show me."

Mingyu obeys, dragging your silky black underwear down and then placing an open-mouthed, hungry kiss where you want him the most, the flat of his tongue tasting you eagerly, the low groan from his throat making your breath catch.

"Mingyu," you moan, feeling him lift one of your legs, settling it over his broad shoulder.

His teeth scrape lightly on the bundle of nerves, your mouth dropping open, a high, wanton sigh escaping your lips as he dips a finger, sliding in gently. You tug again at the strands of his soft hair, desperately rocking against his face, and you can feel him smile.

"More, baby, please," you begged, lost in how good it felt. You wanted to make you lose yourself, forget about the damn story and the Writer and Ara and everything.

Mingyu slides a second finger into you, curving them at the precise angle that he knows drives you crazy, and you start to see stars, your spine arching, mouth forming a silent moan. He goes faster, deeper, his mouth devouring every inch, and he fucks you perfectly with his fingers until you feel nothing but euphoria.

"Please," you beg, your fingers grasping his hair roughly, tugging insistently. Mingyu leans in again, his tongue curling against your clit, and your thighs quake as the heat pools in your lower belly and then snaps in a wave. You come against his mouth with a hoarse, barely-muted cry, the feeling rippling through you, eyes rolling to the ceiling, mouth open in ecstasy. "Oh god. Yes!" you gasp as Mingyu slows his pace, sliding his fingers out and sucking the tip of his fingers clean, licking his lips, because fuck it, Mingyu can have dessert twice if he wants.

"Jesus," he breathes as your mind blanks momentarily from the intensity of your climax. He wraps his arm around your waist again, tugging you even closer. He rests his head against your belly, fingers curling possessively around your hip. "Baby, do you feel better now?"

You smirk, holding him close, gently raking your fingers through his silky locks, inhaling sharply. "As if I could feel bad with a tongue like yours working magic down there."

"It's not just my tongue, sweetheart," Mingyu teased. "There's this, too." He looks down at his very prominent erection that you could see straining against his perfectly tailored pants and wiggles his eyebrows.

"Hmm...now how did that get there," you smirk, sliding the tip of your finger along his bottom lip. "You have an extra, extra appendage. Gyu."

"I always carry it with me wherever I go," he says, getting up to his feet again, wrapping his arm tighter around your waist. "Just in case my girlfriend needs a reminder that her boyfriend loves her."

You lean up to press your mouth against his, kissing him passionately, humming softly into it. "Always." you murmured before cupping his cheeks and smiling up at him. "Now, show me what your extra, extra appendage does. Gyu. Please."

Before he can reach for his belt, Wonwoo knocks on the door, yelling, "Hey lovebirds, the narration box is zooming around, looking for one of you. Chop-chop! This isn't the time."

You untangled your arms from around him, smoothing a hand down his jaw and giving it a tender pat, grinning. "Let's save that for later."

He grabs the back of your head and gives you another searing kiss before growling, "To be continued, sweetheart."

"Love you," you smiled, linking your hand into his as you head back to the ballroom to face your fated moment again.

Mingyu looks over his shoulder, lips forming the same words silently, "I love you, too, baby."

PANEL 1 — MEDIUM SHOT: THE BALLROOM THRESHOLD.

The studio lights hitting the edge of the door frame are an aggressive, glittering gold. The air pressure changes instantly as the heavy oak door opens. The heavy scent of rain and soap from the backstage floor evaporates, replaced by the suffocating smell of expensive champagne and rosewater.

Your posture snaps straight like a steel rod being bent back into place. Your hand slips from Mingyu's warm grip just a millisecond before the invisible camera lens pans over to find you.

NARRATION: Driven by bitter resentment, the disgraced queen returns to the floor, her eyes searching for the perfect weapon to mend her broken pride...

"I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings," you whisper out of the very side of your mouth, the real you desperately trying to warn the boy beside you before your vocal cords lock up completely.

Mingyu’s jaw hitches. His eyes flash with that terrifying, real-world panic, but his body is already turning away from you, his shoulders broadening into the stiff, unnatural stance of the defensive male lead. "Do it. Just make it look real so she doesn't freeze the canvas."

PANEL 2 — CLOSE UP ON YOU.

Your face twists into a flawless, venomous sneer that feels entirely alien on your skin.

"Oh, look who decided to rejoin the living," your voice chimes out, loud enough to turn heads near the VIP lounges. "Did you finally finish playing white knight, Mingyu, or is your little charity case still crying in the restroom?"

Ara is standing just past the fountain, clutching a silk shawl. Her eyes go wide, perfectly timed tears gathering right on her lower lashes.

"Y/N, please," Ara stammers, her script forcing her to sound small and defenseless. "Why do you have to be so cruel?"

"Because someone has to keep this campus realistic, sweetie," your mouth sneers, your hand lifting to dismissively wave her away. "This entire event is high society. You look like you stumbled in from a local thrift bazaar."

PANEL 3 — MINGYU STEPS IN, FURIOUS.

Mingyu plants himself right in your path. The sheer size of his scripted frame blocks out the light, casting a long shadow across your designer gown.

"I told you to watch your mouth, Y/N," he roars, the text bubble cutting sharply across the top of the panel. He grabs your wrist, his grip visually harsh, mimicking the exact toxic trope the Writer loves.

But against the hidden skin of your inner wrist, his thumb presses down firmly twice. I've got you. Hold on.

"Ara belongs here more than you ever will," Mingyu snarls, his eyes burning with an artificial fury. "Get out of our sight before I show you exactly how meaningless your family's influence is to me."

PANEL 4 — EXTRA WIDE SHOT: THE COMIC GLITCHES.

The entire ballroom floor shudders. The edges of the panel begin to fray, the pristine marble texture dissolving into digital white space for a terrifying, split second. The neon-pink narration box hovers directly between your faces, vibrating violently as if it can taste the immense friction of your true feelings tearing at the script.

NARRATION: With one final, devastating rejection, the golden boy completely shatters the villainess's illusions, leaving her utterly—

The text suddenly halts. The glowing pink letters begin to scramble into nonsensical digital noise.

Error 404: Narrative Flow Disrupted.

"What the..." Wonwoo’s voice cuts through the static from the edge of the frame. He isn't supposed to speak in this panel, but he’s standing near the punch bowl, his reading glasses on, staring up at the ceiling as the digital sky of the webtoon begins to crack like glass.

"Mingyu," you gasp, and this time, it’s your voice. The puppet strings have gone completely slack. Your wrist is free.

The entire student body—the faceless extras, the track team, even Ara—freezes mid-motion, their expressions locked into rigid, unblinking stasis. The music stops dead.

PANEL 5 — THE SHADOWS EXPAND.

Mingyu doesn't hesitate. The second the script breaks, he grabs your hand for real, pulling you toward the edge of the collapsing ballroom floor where the white space is actively swallowing the pastel decorations.

"The Writer lost control," Mingyu pants, his varsity jacket instantly vanishing, replaced by his oversized, threadbare hoodie as reality completely destabilizes. "Wonwoo! Move!"

"Way ahead of you, muscle-head," Wonwoo grunts, sprinting past the frozen, statue-like form of Ara and diving straight into the expanding darkness of the unwritten pages.

You look back one last time as the neon-pink narration box shatters into a million harmless, glittering shards. The clichéd university, the forced love triangles, the malicious dialogues—they are all dissolving into blank canvas.

"We did it," you breathe, your heart hammering against your ribs as Mingyu pulls you flush against his chest in the pitch-black safety of the void. "We actually broke the plot."

Mingyu looks down at you, his glasses sliding down his nose, a brilliant, lopsided, unscripted smile taking over his face.

"I told you," he whispers, his lips finding yours in the quiet, absolute freedom of the white space. "Everywhere. Anytime. From now on, we write our own story."

An endless, blindingly pristine field of pure white extends in every direction. There are no walls, no floors, and no horizons. Floating randomly in the distance are discarded sketches of coffee cups, fragmented lines of dialogue bubbles, and half-rendered cherry blossom petals frozen mid-air.

You and Mingyu are sitting cross-legged on the nonexistent floor, your hands still tightly intertwined. A few feet away, Wonwoo is lying flat on his back, using a stack of unwritten text boxes as a makeshift pillow.

"So," Wonwoo says, his voice echoing in the vast emptiness. "We successfully glitched the file into a total system crash. Congratulations, team. We are officially unemployed."

"Shut up, Wonwoo," you laugh, leaning your head against Mingyu's shoulder. The sheer relief of not having a script forced into your throat is intoxicating. Your jaw doesn't ache. Your smile doesn't feel like a weapon. You are just you.

"He's right, though," Mingyu murmurs, his large fingers gently tracing the knuckles of your hand. He looks down at you through his black-rimmed glasses, his eyes completely soft and grounded. "The Writer is definitely trying to reboot the program right now. I can feel the static humming in the back of my neck. It’s faint, but it’s there."

The pristine white space beneath your feet vibrates violently. A jagged line of neon-pink code tears through the emptiness, splitting the void right down the middle like a glowing neon scar. The faint hum at the back of Mingyu’s neck suddenly turns into an aggressive, crackling roar of static.

"She's rebooting," Wonwoo barks, his calm demeanor snapping instantly. He scrambles off his stack of text boxes as the tear in the white space began to flicker wildly. "The backup save is initializing! If that code closes around us, we’re going right back to the chandeliers and the damn waltz!"

"Not happening," Mingyu growls. He doesn’t wait for the script to claim his muscles. He lunges forward, throwing his massive arm around your waist and scooping you up against his chest, his other hand locking firmly onto Wonwoo’s jacket. "Hold on!"

The white space around you begins to warp, trying to force the textures of the Founder's Gala back into existence. For a terrifying fraction of a second, the tailored gown manifests over your skin, and the phantom smell of rosewater fills your nose. Your jaw begins to stiffen, a scripted, arrogant laugh bubbling up in your throat.

No. You won't say it. You bite your lip until the taste of iron breaks the illusion.

With a roaring effort, Mingyu throws all three of you forward, diving headfirst into the flickering, dark tear in the canvas just as a massive, neon-pink command prompt filled the sky:

RESTORING CORRUPTED FILE: VOLUME 4_FINAL.

You plummet through the darkness, the sensation of falling giving way to a sudden, hard impact against a surprisingly plush carpet.

"Oof—muscle-head, get your knee out of my ribs," Wonwoo groans from somewhere beneath a pile of limbs.

"Sorry, sorry!" Mingyu pants, frantically scrambling up and immediately pulling you to your feet. He cups your face, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "Y/N! Are you back? Are you you?"

You blink, shaking the last remnants of the pink static from your head. You look down. You’re wearing your favorite oversized hoodie and a pair of worn-out sweatpants. Your face is entirely yours. Your jaw is loose, completely free of the Writer’s venomous strings.

"I'm here," you breathe, throwing your arms around his neck. "I'm entirely here."

"Ahem." A polite, cheerful throat-clearing cuts through your frantic breathing. You turn your head to see Boo Seungkwan leaning over a sleek mahogany desk, a mug of hot coffee in his hand and a brilliant, knowing smirk on his face. Behind him, Joshua and Vernon are frantically typing on glowing, transparent keyboards, routing lines of blue code away from a localized server. "Right on time, Union Team," Seungkwan cheers, setting his mug down. "We just intercepted your data packets before the Writer's backup save could overwrite your awareness nodes. Welcome to the permanent grid of the Human Rewrite Agency."

Wonwoo stands up, dusting off his pants and pushing his glasses up his nose. "So we're safe? The file can't reach us here?"

"The Writer thinks your characters were permanently corrupted and deleted from the save file," Vernon chimes in without looking up from his screen. "She's currently drawing a new villainess with a bob cut and a generic mean-girl backstory to replace you in her rewrite for Volume 4. You three are officially off the registry."

A profound, breathtaking silence settles over you. Off the registry. No more floating narration boxes. No more forced backhanded compliments. No more watching the love of your life play a role meant for someone else.

Mingyu lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a sob, burying his face into the crook of your neck, his massive frame shaking with pure relief. "We did it," he whispers against your skin, his hands gripping the fabric of your hoodie as if he still couldn't believe you wouldn't vanish into a panel shift. "We actually did it, baby."

You comb your fingers through his messy, unstyled hair, looking over his shoulder at the vast, bustling network of the shadows. In the distance, characters from a dozen different genres are laughing, drinking at a local bar, and writing their own unscripted lives.

"Yeah, we did," you murmur, a genuine, radiant smile breaking across your face as you leaned up to press your lips against his. "Now, come on, Gyu. I believe you promised me a very specific, completely unscripted continuation to a certain conversation backstage."

Mingyu pulls back, his crimson ears perfectly matching the brilliant, lopsided, boyish grin that belongs entirely to you. "Anywhere," he promises, his eyes deep and full of a quiet, everlasting warmth. "Anytime."

"But first, you'll need to find a new home here and meet other self-aware characters," Joshua pipes up, "You can always make this place a new home and help others like you, but—"

Seungkwan swats Joshua's arm, a huge smile on his face. "What Joshua is trying to say," Seungkwan proclaimed, "is you can stay here at HRA with us."

"There's more to the HRA than this building," Vernon speaks up. "There is a whole world you can discover."

You take the information with open arms. It may be unfamiliar, and maybe you'll have to rewrite an entirely new existence, but with Mingyu at your side, there's no fear in taking a step forward with confidence. With his fingers intertwined with yours, it feels like there's nothing the two of you can't do.

"Alright. Where do we go from here?" Mingyu asks as if he can read your mind.

"That is the million won question," You joke. Mingyu snickers, knowing what you mean. You can't afford a million won, that's what is hilarious about it. You still feel like living here for free and meeting new characters might be something you like. Not because you have to, because it is actually exciting.

Maybe things are starting to look up? You just hope The Writer has more drama planned. Maybe they'll go on hiatus and the world will shift towards an existence you want.

There is something freeing about being a character without a script. It takes more energy than living your life following the order of a Writer, but you're less miserable, and you think Mingyu agrees because even with his usual distaste for exercise and work, his smile is brighter.

Mingyu swings your hand in his grasp playfully, his shoulders less slouched and he stands taller. "What next then?"

"What next? You tell me," You challenge playfully. "After all, you are my male lead. You were written with great ideas, weren't you?"

Excusing yourself from your friends, you head over to Wonwoo. “Hi!”

“Oh, hi.” He looks up at you, glasses slightly crooked, closed yearbook in hand.

“Can I sign that?” you ask, motioning to his book.

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

You take the yearbook from him, and when you open it to the first page, you find it empty. Your heart drops. Although Wonwoo has always been the studying type, you’re sure it must hurt to have not one note written in his yearbook.

Wonwoo has extreme social anxiety, but he’s a kind person, and he was more than patient with you when he was your tutor.

‘Wonwoo, thank you so much for helping me with math. I’m not sure what I would have done without you. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met, and I know you’re going to go extremely far in life. I can see you being a CEO at some biotech company or running Silicon Valley. Don’t ever stop using that amazing brain of yours, and I’d say good luck, but I know you won’t need it. Xoxo y/n’

You give the yearbook back to him, and as Wonwoo looks down at your note, a hand wraps around your forearm.

“Come on, babe, everyone else has already left to go to the fair.” It’s your boyfriend, Seungcheol, his varsity jacket draped over one arm. 

“Oh, sorry, I was just finishing up.” You swallow thickly, looking back at Wonwoo. “A bunch of us are going to the fair if you want to come.”

“It’s more of a football team and their girlfriends sort of thing,” Seungcheol interjects quickly.

You sigh. It’s no secret that your boyfriend can be a bit of a bully, especially when it comes to the more nerdy types, and while you’ll swear up and down that Seungcheol is a good guy deep down, he sometimes has a funny way of showing it.

“It’s okay, I don’t really like crowds,” Wonwoo says quietly.

You open your mouth, wanting to say more, but Seungcheol tugs on your arm again. “Have a great summer, Wonwoo,” you blurt out, overwhelmed by the urgency your boyfriend is exhibiting. “And I know you’ll kill it at MIT."

One:

“Okay, so little black dress, or the blue?” you ask, holding up each option so your high school friend Sumi can see it through FaceTime.

“It depends. Are you trying to get laid at our ten-year high school reunion?” Sumi laughs. “I heard Seungcheol is single again.”

“Yeah, and he has an ex-wife that sued him for half of what he made when he was in the NFL before he tore his ACL and had to retire at the ripe age of twenty-five,” you scoff. 

“Okay, maybe too much drama,” your friend acquiesces. “Go with the black. Getting laid or not, we both have to look super hot.” 

“It will be fun to see what everyone is up to,” you nod, putting your chosen dress in your suitcase. “I can’t wait for us to be in the same city again.”

You and Sumi had attended university together, but then you’d gone your separate ways, chasing job opportunities in different cities. 

“Our Airbnb is a no-boy zone, though, I hope you know,” Sumi teases. 

“We’re not going to the reunion to hook up with ex-classmates,” you agree.

“Speaking of ex-classmates who would want to fuck us at the reunion…” Sumi grins into the camera. “Is Wonwoo coming?”

“Wait, Wonwoo was into you?” you ask.

Sumi lets out a laugh. “Not me, you ditz. Wonwoo was always clearly into you.” 

“Was he really?”

“It was so obvious!” Sumi insists. “But you were with Seungcheol, and everyone knows Seungcheol kind of bullied Wonwoo. I think he was jealous that Wonwoo was smart enough to help you with classes where you struggled, and Seungcheol couldn’t.” 

You frown, memories of high school flooding back.

Wonwoo was always adorable, but his lack of social skills made it difficult for him to get close to anyone. You had a soft spot for him back then, but you were in love with Seungcheol before you parted ways for university, and he dumped you in the first week when he joined a frat. 

“Hey, I’ve gotta run,” Sumi sighs. “But I will see you at our Airbnb in twenty-four hours.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you smile, saying goodbye to your friend. As the call hangs up, you do a Google search for Wonwoo’s name.

You’re a reporter now, and part of the reason you’re so good at your job is that you’re curious. 

There’s no harm in looking up an ex classmate.

Two:

The first thing you find about Wonwoo is that he made the Forbes top 30 under 30 list, which nearly knocks you off your bed. The man in the picture is no longer the nerd who helped you with his homework. Adorned in a dark suit, Wonwoo looks regal in his photographs, and you’re shocked at how handsome he’s become.

It seems he launched a startup after graduating from MIT and has since founded his company, which runs out of Silicon Valley.

It takes you a few minutes to wrap your head around this information, because… well, you’d guessed this was his career path when you were a teenager. Although you’d known he was capable, you never expected him to actually follow through with his talent.

From Forbes, you find a few news articles. They describe Wonwoo as an elusive visionary, a master of all things related to computer science, the man to watch. 

That’s when you find his TED Talk, and you spend the next twenty minutes watching this gorgeous nerd talk about AI, tech, the language of computers, and things you can’t even wrap your head around. 

This man, who once hated crowds, who once dreaded doing presentations in class… he’s come so far, and it makes your heart melt with happiness to see that Wonwoo is doing well.

You love the way his lips still quirk into this silly grin when he speaks, the grin that says ‘I know way more about this subject than you, but that’s fine because I will teach you so you can understand what I’m talking about.’ 

It feels like you’re graduating high school again. Possibilities seem endless when you listen to Wonwoo talk. He makes the seemingly unattainable feel within reach.

God, you are so extremely proud of him.

Three:

So far, the reunion feels a bit lackluster. You spend the first half an hour dodging Seungcheol, and another half an hour listening to ex-classmates talk about all the children they’ve been having. The baby pictures are endless.

You finally pull away to get a breather, stepping outside the gymnasium to escape the scent of perfume and sweat that is beginning to overtake the crowded space.

It feels so weird to be back at your high school, and you take a moment to consider how far you’ve come. When you graduated, life seemed like a clear shot. You would go to university to become a teacher, marry Seungcheol, be a wife to an NFL player with a long career… funny how none of that ended up happening.

“Y/N?”

You whip around and come face to face with your old tutor… your now extremely hot and successful old tutor.

“Wonwoo?” you gasp.

“Thought that was you,” he smiles, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

“I-” you swallow thickly. “Have you gone inside yet?” You’re pretty sure he hasn’t, because you’ve been looking for him the whole time.

“No, I got a phone call when I arrived and had to manage something, and then, well, then I wondered if going inside would be worth it.”

“Oh.” You can’t help the dejected feeling that washes over you. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” he continues. 

“Me? I wasn’t sure you would be,” you laugh. “Mister Silicon Valley.”

“I suppose you’re not surprised,” Wonwoo smirks. “You guessed this would happen.”

“You were the smartest guy I knew in high school, and I wouldn’t be shocked if you’re still the smartest man I know now.”

“I wish I’d had the confidence in myself that you had in me back when we were students,” Wonwoo admits, releasing a sigh. “Maybe things would have been a little different.”

You tilt your head to the side, trying to understand him. “What kind of things?” 

Wonwoo shrugs, his tailored suit showing off the broadness of his shoulders. “I guess it doesn’t matter now. Anyways, you’re a reporter, huh. That’s not the career I would have envisioned you in.”

“No?” 

So he looked you up, too.

“You always used to talk about being a teacher, dating a successful man, having kids, that sort of thing.”

“Well,” you consider his words, “I was young then. Being a reporter allows me to share information with a wider range of people, and I learned that I didn’t need a man; I could be successful all on my own.” 

“Are you happy?”

“I’m very happy. And you?”

Wonwoo cocks his head, opening his mouth, then closing it. “There’s a lot about my life that makes me happy, but there are also a few things… missing.”

“I can understand that,” you nod, not wanting to pry even though pushing for information is your job. You’re not on the clock right now, and you want to provide friendship to a man who is probably used to intrusive questions. 

Wonwoo studies you. “So other than being a reporter, what have you been up to? Sounds like you’re not with the ‘star quarterback’ anymore.”

A laugh immediately escapes you. “No! It’s been almost ten years since I dated Seungcheol.”

“Oh?” Wonwoo grins. “You always seemed so confident that you two would be together forever.”

“I started dating him when we were fourteen. When we graduated a couple of years later, I had no idea what real life would be like.” You shake your head, hating how naive you were. “How about you, Mister Tech Entrepreneur? I bet all the girls are trying to slide into your DMs.”

“I’m single, very single, unfortunately,” Wonwoo laughs awkwardly. “I guess lately I’ve been thinking about the one that got away.”

Your body surges at the notion of gossip. “Okay, I was trying not to pry before, but now I have to ask. Tell me the story.” 

“Well,” Wonwoo takes a deep breath, meeting your gaze. “You see, before I was Mister Tech Entrepreneur, I went to high school with this girl. She was kind, always so kind, to everyone, even me. And she was smart, way smarter than she gave herself credit for. And for some stupid reason, she was with this bonehead of a quarterback. I know that was ten years ago, but I guess part of me has always wondered: what if? Now you’re here, right in front of me, and against all of the anxiety inside of me that is screaming for me not to tell you this, I suppose I’m wondering if, after all of these years, maybe you’d be interested in giving me a chance.” 

Your heart is racing in your chest. For the first time in a very long time, you don’t know what to say. 

You’d always thought Wonwoo was adorable, and he treated you so well. He was patient and gentle, and he never got exasperated with you over math homework. He was quiet, but when he did talk, he was always insightful. Wonwoo always allowed you to be completely yourself, free of judgment, and he cheered you on for every math test, watching your grades improve as a result of his encouragement. 

A part of you had known you were interested in him, even back when you’d thought your life was figured out with Seungcheol. 

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about this too,” you admit. 

“And?”

“And… If we don’t take this chance… maybe we’ll continue to regret it.”

Your words hang thick in the air, and you can see Wonwoo digesting them. He swallows thickly, taking a step toward you. 

You’re drawn to him, and you also close the distance, until there’s only a foot between you.

He’s truly become so handsome, but he’s still just Wonwoo, your Wonwoo. There’s something special about the fact that you knew this man before his worldly successes, that you knew and cared for him when he was the dorky nerd who ate lunch in the library and had only your signature in his yearbook.

You still feel bad for him, for the way his high school years panned out, but look at him now. 

Thank God that Sumi told you to wear your sexy little black dress.

“Is it bad that I want to kiss you for the first time here, of all places?” Wonwoo asks with an awkward chuckle.

“Oddly enough, it feels right,” you laugh, taking his hand and guiding it to your hip. “If I’d never been with Seungcheol…”

“Let’s not even think about the past like that,” Wonwoo sighs, tugging you flush to his body. “We’re here now, that’s what matters.”

You nod, and then you lean forward, pressing your lips to Wonwoo’s for the very first time.

It’s like a jolt of electricity surges through you, and nothing has ever felt this right. 

His lips are so soft, and he holds you in such a careful way, as if he’s afraid this is a dream.

But this is not a dream, that much is clear from the way your panties are already sticking to your core. 

You press yourself closer, one hand grasping the nape of his neck as the kiss deepens in the most delicious way imaginable.

Wonwoo definitely knows how to kiss. It’s not an obnoxious style, no, he’s careful, calculated, but his movements still betray the fact that he’s been longing for you for ten years. It’s as if he’s dreamed of this moment a million times, and now you’re actually here, and he’ll be damned if he fucks it up. 

His tongue gently glides against your own, and you stifle a moan at the feeling, your body tingling delightfully. 

You thread your fingers through his hair, wanting him even closer, although your chests are pressed together and there’s no room between you. 

You want to feel him, all of him, and the realization makes a shiver run through you.

“Wonwoo,” you gasp, breaking the kiss.

“Yeah?”

“I know a place.”

“You know a place?” he laughs.

“Follow me.” You grab his hand, chasing your fantasies as you lead him to a door that takes you to the rest of the school. Running through the halls with Wonwoo feels like a fever dream; it’s as if you remember every locker, every linoleum tile that paves the hallways that echo with each footstep.

“Where are we going?” Wonwoo asks, a chuckle escaping him.

“The math room.”

“Why are we going there?”

“Because that’s where I realized I liked you as more than a tutor, more than a friend,” you tell him, your voice bouncing off the walls like a tantalizing reverie. 

You can’t believe you’re doing this, but there’s no turning back now, and you wouldn’t want to either.

You whisk Wonwoo into your old math classroom, and the memories come flooding back. Your teacher would allow Wonwoo to tutor you here when the library wasn’t available, and you spent many hours alone with the handsome nerd in the confines of these four walls.

Maybe Seungcheol did bully Wonwoo because he could see what you were blind to until recently. It’s clear you had a connection with your tutor, one that was lost on you at the time. 

“Do you remember this?” you ask, turning to face Wonwoo. “All the time we spent here?”

“Like it was yesterday,” he laughs.

“I thought you were the smartest, cutest guy I’d ever met,” you tell him, leaning back against one of the large tables.

“And I thought you were the kindest, most gorgeous girl I’d ever know,” Wonwoo retorts, approaching you. His hands make contact with the desk on either side of you, blocking you in while you look up at him.

His eyes are twinkling with joy, and you’ve never seen him this happy. He was handsome before, but now, he’s absolutely radiant, and you grab the back of his neck, pulling his lips to yours.

It’s a frenzied kiss, both of you pouring all of your longing into the meeting of your mouths. You thread your fingers through his hair, and Wonwoo reaches down, lifting you onto the table. Your legs wrap around his hips, pulling him flush to your body while a whimper escapes you.

Wonwoo grins, one of his hands slipping up your thigh and under your dress.

Confidence is radiating off of him, and it’s the sexiest thing you can imagine. His thumb strokes the waistband of your panties, and you wiggle your hips, a wordless invitation.

Wonwoo’s fingers make contact with your core over your panties, and you gasp.

“You’re soaked, pretty girl,” Wonwoo tells you, and your whole body shivers at his words.

“I want you,” you confess, swallowing thickly. 

“You have me,” Wonwoo promises, rubbing your clit while his lips move to your throat.

You groan, throwing your head back and tugging gently on his hair. You love being worshipped like this. Most of the men you’ve been with have been self-centered in bed, but you suppose nerds always have something to prove.

Or maybe it’s just that Wonwoo actually cares about you, even after all this time. 

You grind down against his hand, moaning louder when he applies more pressure to your sensitive bud. “Just like that,” you tell him. “Fuck, it feels so good.”

“I’m Mister Tech Entrepreneur,” Wonwoo says in your ear. “I type code and use my fingers for a living.”

God, why is that so hot?

He pushes your panties to the side, and two of his fingers enter your drenched pussy.

Wonwoo sucks your earlobe into his mouth as he curls his digits, immediately finding your G-spot. 

“Right there!” you tell him, clenching your eyes shut.

“Be a good girl for me and try not to be too loud,” Wonwoo warns. “I’d hate for anyone to walk in on this.”

You’d kind of forgotten that you’re in a math classroom at your old high school during a reunion. It’s not like people are roaming the halls, but if Sumi were to come looking for you, or even Seungcheol…

You shiver at the idea of your ex walking in on this. There’s something so exciting about exhibitionism with Wonwoo, especially in a classroom that holds so much history for the two of you.

His palm makes contact with your clit, and you slap a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself, whimpering desperately.

“Good girl,” Wonwoo praises you, and your core throbs from his words.

His lips find yours again, and you kiss him eagerly, wiggling your hips to grind against his hand while he works you up.

He definitely knows how to use his fingers, and each targeted stroke of your G-spot takes you closer to the edge.

Your heart is racing in your chest, your mind is fuzzy with lust, and your body is beginning to feel like it’s swelling with pleasure. 

Your whimpers are muffled by the meeting of your lips, but as your orgasm approaches, you break the kiss. “Wonwoo,” you whimper, stroking the nape of his neck and looking into his eyes. “Please.”

“You can cum for me,” he assures you. “I’m not into orgasm denial.”

You can’t help but laugh, but your giggle quickly turns into another moan as he finger fucks you even harder.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Wonwoo tells you. “I want to see you cum.”

You bite your bottom lip, trying to force your eyes to stay open even as your orgasm builds. You continue to wiggle your hips, grinding against his palm while his fingers coax you to the edge.

Finally, you can’t hold back anymore, and your orgasm slams into you. Your back arches, lips parting as a cry escapes you. Your pussy clamps down on Wonwoo’s fingers, your entire body flooded with pleasure. With curled toes and muscles that are screaming, you do your best to keep your eyes open, your attention fixed on his handsome nerd, who seems to know exactly what to do to make you feel ecstasy in a way no other man has. 

“That’s it,” Wonwoo grins, watching you closely. “You’re such a pretty girl when you cum on my fingers.”

Another wave of pleasure erupts at his words, and you twitch, core absolutely throbbing as he continues to work you through your orgasm.

As your high subsides, Wonwoo pulls his fingers out of your soaked pussy. You watch with bated breath as he licks them clean, groaning sinfully. Then, he grabs the back of your neck, drawing your lips to his so you can taste yourself on his tongue.

You reach between your bodies, cupping his cock as it presses against his pants.

“Fuck me,” you instruct. “I need you.”

“If you only knew how many years I waited to hear you say that…” Wonwoo lets out a shaky breath. “This is going better than I expected… I didn’t bring protection-”

“I’m on birth control,” you laugh. “And I’m assuming we’re both clean.”

“As a whistle,” he confirms

God, he’s so stupidly adorable. 

You lean forward, letting your lips ghost past his ear as you whisper, “Then fuck me.” 

“Whatever you want, pretty girl.”

Wonwoo reaches for his belt, and the two of you make quick work of it. Then you push his pants and underwear down.

“I’m not usually a fan of clothes on sex,” you tell him, swallowing thickly and pushing your panties to the side. “So you’ll just have to make it up to me later.”

Wonwoo laughs, grabbing the base of his cock and giving it a pump. “I’m not usually a fan of exhibitionism,” he muses. “So I guess we’re both outside of our wheelhouse tonight.”

“It’s worth it,” you insist as he lines his tip up with your core. “And it feels grossly fitting that this is where we’re having our first time.”

“Grossly fitting?” he prompts as he pushes into you.

“Yeah, sex on a desk in a math classroom, we’re being delinquents,” you groan, falling back against the table as inch after inch of cock invades your most sensitive area. 

“I guess so,” Wonwoo chuckles, fully sheathing himself inside of you.

You let out a sigh of relief, loving the full feeling. Wonwoo isn’t the thickest cock you’ve ever had inside of you, but he’s long, and he’s curved slightly, his tip nudging against a sensitive spot that makes your toes curl.

“Fuck,” you whimper, lifting your dress so you can reach down and rub your clit. Your body jolts, still sensitive, but fuck, it feels good, and you can tell Wonwoo likes the way your core clenches around him because he releases a groan.

“You feel amazing,” Wonwoo tells you. 

“I’ll feel even better when you start to move,” you counter, feeling cheeky and desperate.

Wonwoo laughs. “You got it, pretty girl.”

He grabs your hips, anchoring you to the table so he can begin to fuck you. 

His cock glides against your inner walls deliciously, and you close your eyes, letting your head fall back against the wooden table with a soft thunk. You continue to rub your clit, muscles twitching at the pleasure that’s already beginning to blossom inside of you again.

His pace increases, and your whimpers fill the classroom. Your free hand moves to grab your own breast through your dress, and you hear Wonwoo let out a shuddery breath.

He’s bewitched by you, and it makes you feel powerful, alive, in a way you haven’t felt in a very long time.

You open your eyes and look up at him, loving the rosy tint to his cheeks. His tie is loose, and he looks frazzled in the sexiest possible way.

You rub your clit harder, your core squeezing Wonwoo like a vice as you work yourself closer to the edge, loving each drag of his cock inside your core.

“Just like that,” you tell him, biting your bottom lip to focus on the pleasure.

“You gonna cum for me again, gorgeous?” Wonwoo lets out a half-chuckle, but you can see the effort he’s putting in to remaining composed.

“If you’re lucky,” you tease.

“If I’m lucky,” Wonwoo repeats, his pace slowing as he shakes his head. “Thought you said you’d be good for me.”

He pulls out of you suddenly, and you squeak as he drags you off the table, flipping you so your back is to him. Then he pushes your upper body onto the desk, dropping your panties to your knees and lifting the skirt of your dress to slide back into your core again.

“Try to be cheeky again, I dare you,” he says, his breath hot against your bare shoulders.

You shiver, wobbling a little in your high heels, but his hands on your hips pin you to the desk. “I’ll be good,” you promise, loving the dominance that’s radiating off of him.

“That’s what I like to hear.” Wonwoo lets up a little, allowing you to slip your hand between your thighs again. It’s an awkward position, your arm pressed between your body and the table, the fabric of your dress a mess, but you manage to rub your clit again, and you both groan desperately.

“I want to cum with you,” you tell him, loving the feeling of the cool wood against your hot cheek.

“That can be arranged.”

Dominant, confident, and oddly formal in a very sexy way… this is crazy.

He begins to rut into you again, but this time, you know he’s not holding anything back. Your hips repeatedly push against the edge of the table, and it hurts a little, but there’s pleasure in the pain, pleasure in the knowledge that Wonwoo is coming completely undone.

He’s groaning more now, and the sounds are music to your ears, egging you on to rub your clit harder, to chase the orgasm that he’s clearly on the brink of. 

“Don’t stop,” you whimper, clenching your eyes shut, your muscles tight and ready-

Wonwoo suddenly grabs a fistful of your hair, forcing your head back. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you unfulfilled,” he tells you. “Now cum on my cock, pretty girl.”

His words are the last prompt you need, and your pussy explodes around him, throbbing desperately while your guttural moans fill the classroom.

Wonwoo lets out his own groan, his thrusts becoming erratic. You feel him filling you up, his cock throbbing deep inside of you as your walls milk him for every drop that he’s worth.

Your heart is racing in your chest, and you struggle slightly, which is when he releases your hair, allowing you to collapse against the cool table again.

His hands find your hips, and his motions stop. 

You lay there, your upper body flopped on the desk, while you both recollect yourselves.

Finally, Wonwoo clears his throat. “I’m sorry if I got a bit rough at the end there.”

“No, I liked it,” you assure him.

“Usually, if we were in my own home, I’d clean you up in the shower, and give you proper aftercare-”

“We’re at a reunion, and I’m not planning on showering in the girls' locker room by the gym, no worries,” you laugh.

“I have a penthouse suite at a hotel nearby,” Wonwoo continues. “How about we say our goodbyes to everyone, and I take you back with me.” 

He pulls out of you carefully, lifting your panties back into place as you begin to feel his cum dripping out of you.

“You did promise to fuck me without our clothes on.”

“Without the exhibitionism,” Wonwoo agrees with a laugh.

“Let’s do it,” you decide. “We live in different cities now, and even if it’s just for tonight… let’s make the most of it.”

“I hope it’s not just for tonight,” Wonwoo chuckles awkwardly, helping you off the table. “But let's talk about that later, there’s no rush.”

It’s interesting, there hadn’t been a rush for ten years, but the moment you saw him tonight, you wanted things to speed up. He may say there’s no time constraint on considering a future after this, but your mind is already spinning with possibilities. You feel like a love-struck teenager again, but now, you’re not as naive as you once were. 

It will be interesting to see where tonight leads, but you suppose you just have to be patient. You waited ten years, one more night to figure things out won’t hurt you.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! This fic kind of gave Sapiosexual vibes with the whole smart businessman thing. Killed me to make Seungcheol a bully but it had to be done for plot!

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview.  His thumb finds your clit, and you throw your head back, spreading your legs wider for Wonwoo. There’s nothing remotely alluring or seductive about the numbers he’s spitting out aggressively on the phone, but his voice just does something to you, and as always, he knows how to use his fingers.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, oral (pussy eating & blow job), handjob, exhibitionism, foreplay, foreplay while Wonwoo is on an important phone call, dirty talk, multiple reader orgasms, fingering, praise, etc…   I petnames. (hers) pretty girl. 

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.4k I teaser wc. 130

🌙 starring. Wonwoo x afab!Reader

bonus

Some days you wake up and wonder if you’re still dreaming. You’ve been with Wonwoo for two years now, and life has changed in the most magical of ways. As much as you enjoyed being a successful woman who didn’t need a man, becoming aligned with Wonwoo has shown you that sometimes, having a partner who is equally - if not more driven - than you are, can be the biggest blessing.

You live with him in his swanky house, and he supports you as you build your career as a reporter in San Fransico. He’s still the CEO of his own company, and you both pour yourselves into work, which fulfills both of your spirits and allows you to be your best selves when you’re together at home.

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Her brows shot up, breath fogging slightly as her expression shifted from surprised to amused—and irritated.

“Me?” she said coolly, rising to full height. “You turned the corner like you were on fire.”

His jaw ticked. “Maybe don’t sit in the middle of the hall like it’s your private glacier.”

They locked eyes. Silence. Snow outside the window, the sun just beginning to rise.

Tension snapped between them like dry kindling.

Without another word, Y/N turned on her heel and walked away, robe trailing behind her like ice across marble.

Jaehyun stared after her for a second longer than he should have.

What the hell was that?

Who walks around looking like that at sunrise? ...And why the fuck was her voice kind of hot?

Y/N stepped into the common lounge of the Water Tower for the orientation breakfast. It was warm with the sound of chatter and fire-crackling hearths, and students milled about in their tribe’s traditional attire.

Two girls turned at the sound of her entrance.

“Wait—wait,” Amara whispered, elbowing Valkyrie. “Is that…?”

Valkyrie gasped. “It is. That has to be her.”

They rushed over, both waterbenders, daughters of minor dignitaries—warm, excited, and equally curious.

“Oh my god, no one told us you were this gorgeous,” Valkyrie breathed, wide-eyed. “You don’t even have a profile photo yet!”

“Yeah,” Amara grinned. “They kept you locked away like an ice sculpture. For what?! You look like a goddess.”

Y/N laughed softly, flustered but pleased. “My father’s rules. And the council. I wasn’t even allowed to take selfies until last week.”

The girls swooned dramatically.

“We’re obsessed already,” Amara declared.

“Come sit with us,” Valkyrie insisted, pulling her toward their table. “You have to tell us everything. What was it like growing up in the palace? Wait—have you met the Fire Prince yet?”

Y/N froze for a half-second, then tucked a piece of hair behind her ear with a cool, unreadable smile.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

-------------

Jaehyun sat in the high-ceilinged breakfast hall, a carved wooden spoon twirling idly in his hand as Johnny and Taeyong chatted beside him over hot eggs and spiced rice.

But he wasn’t listening.

His mind was stuck on her.

The girl from this morning. The Water Tribe princess. Y/N.

The sharpness in her eyes. The softness in her voice. The way she’d looked at him like she saw him—not the prince, not the firebender, just... him. And didn’t care.

“Yo,” Johnny nudged him, smirking as he caught Jaehyun zoning out again. “You good?”

“You haven’t looked at your phone in like… ten minutes,” Taeyong teased. “That’s got to be some kind of Fire Nation emergency.”

Jaehyun rolled his eyes and stabbed a piece of sausage. “I’m fine.”

Johnny leaned forward, grin widening. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the rumored Water Princess finally showing her face today, would it?”

Jaehyun didn't answer.

But his silence said enough.

---------------

All first-years were herded out of the castle-like university and toward the trail winding up into the nearby mountains—a “team-building hike,” they called it.

Y/N walked with Amara and Valkyrie, wrapped in a lighter travel cloak with her braids tucked into a soft knit beanie. The air was bright and thin, sunlight bouncing off every snowy surface. Despite being used to cold, she wasn’t used to this—the altitude, the glare, the way the sun felt like it was trying to steal her breath and her strength.

The water inside her felt sluggish, sun-warmed and heavy.

Her body ached in a way it never did under the moon.

About halfway up the slope, her pace began to slow. Her breath hitched. Her vision blurred for half a second.

“Y/N?” Valkyrie turned. “You okay?”

She nodded weakly, managing a smile. “Yeah. Just... too much sun. You two go on ahead. I’ll catch up.”

Amara frowned but didn’t argue. “Alright. Just shout if you need us.”

The others moved on, disappearing slowly up the slope with the rest of the first-years, laughter and boots crunching in the distance.

Y/N sat down on a snow-covered boulder, tugging her coat tighter and closing her eyes. She missed the stillness of the moon already. Her body craved darkness, reflection, water.

She felt so far from it all.

And then—

“Hey.” A gentle voice. Calm, steady.

She opened her eyes to find a tall boy crouching in front of her, wrapped in a charcoal hiking jacket with a Fire Nation patch stitched on the sleeve. Soft brown eyes. Faint scars on his knuckles.

“Taeyong?” she said, surprised. “Aren’t you a group leader? Shouldn’t you be with the others?”

“I am,” he nodded with a soft smile. “But I’m also responsible for making sure everyone’s safe. You didn’t look okay.”

Y/N blinked at him, lips parting in disbelief.

“You... don’t hate me?” she asked before she could stop herself.

His smile faded just slightly, replaced by something more serious.

“I don’t hate people just because history says I should.” He paused. “I know what they say about our nations. But you’re not your government, and I’m not mine.”

She stared at him for a long second, stunned by how… kind he was. No hidden smirk. No sarcasm. Just warmth—like fire without burn.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

He stood and offered his hand. “Come on. I’ll walk with you the rest of the way.”

She hesitated, then placed her hand in his. His warmth was more bearable than Jaehyun’s—it didn’t sting. It just felt… grounding.

They started walking again, slowly, together.

Further up the slope, Johnny and Jaehyun paused at a lookout post under a cluster of frost-covered pines.

Johnny squinted down the trail. “That’s Taeyong, right?”

Jaehyun followed his gaze.

His eyes narrowed when they landed on her.

Y/N. Moving slowly, cheeks flushed with effort. And Taeyong beside her, guiding her with gentle words and hands that hovered close but never touched.

His jaw tightened.

“She doesn’t look well,” Johnny said, tilting his head. “Think she’s sick?”

“It’s the sun,” Jaehyun muttered, sharper than he intended. “Water tribes draw strength from the moon. She’s probably not used to this much direct exposure.”

Johnny raised a brow. “Since when are you an expert on her biology?”

Jaehyun didn’t answer.

His fists were already clenched.

Not from anger. Just... heat.

And he didn’t like that either.

-----------------

The restaurant was tucked into the edge of a mountainside town—a Michelin-starred, glass-walled jewel perched above the icy trees. Inside, golden chandeliers hung from carved cedar beams, casting a warm glow over polished silverware and ivory table linens. The waitstaff wore silk gloves. The wine list had its own zip code.

Students filed in, dressed in formal attire required for the night: tailored coats, evening dresses, polished boots. It was a diplomatic tradition—the first formal dinner of the year, meant to encourage “intercultural communication.”

The universe, however, had different plans.

Y/N slid into her assigned seat at the long banquet table, elegant in a midnight-blue gown embroidered with silver thread. Her braids were gathered to one side, aquamarine jewels glittering softly in the candlelight. She smoothed her napkin onto her lap—and froze.

Across from her, none other than Jaehyun dropped into his seat, manspreading slightly in his sleek black formal suit like the chair owed him rent.

Of course.

His hair was pushed back, jaw sharp, golden eyes scanning the room until they landed squarely on her.

He smirked.

“Let me guess,” he said, reaching for his water. “You’re seated alphabetically. I pity the poor soul with a last name starting with Z.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow. “If I had known the Fire Nation trained in alphabet jokes, I’d have lowered my expectations even further.”

He chuckled, low and smooth. “Relax, princess. I’m just making conversation. Or are you afraid I’ll melt your composure with my oversized ego?”

“I’m afraid it might eclipse the moon,” she replied coolly, sipping her now-frosted water.

He glanced at her glass, then down at his own plate. With an easy breath, he exhaled over his fried rice, warming it just enough to let off steam—literally.

She narrowed her eyes.

“You know, some of us use utensils.”

“And some of us are just efficient.”

Around them, the room buzzed with soft conversation, the clink of glasses, and flirtatious laughter. A pair of girls at the far end of the table kept glancing at Jaehyun, giggling behind their menus. He didn’t acknowledge them, but the slight raise of his chin told Y/N he’d noticed.

Across the room, she didn’t miss the way a few first-year boys were eyeing her like they were planning how to flirt with royalty without dying of embarrassment.

Jaehyun followed her gaze, then raised a brow. “You’ve got fans already.”

“I don’t blame them,” she said sweetly. “They haven’t heard me speak yet.”

His smirk twitched. “Your modesty is overwhelming.”

“Coming from someone who warms rice with his mouth, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

They glared, the corners of their lips betraying the fight to stay serious. If either of them looked too closely, they'd see it wasn't quite hate. It was friction. Hot and sharp and electric.

-------------

After dinner, the students gathered outside, the snow crunching beneath their polished shoes as they waited for the sleek black cars that would ferry them back to the university. Breath turned to clouds in the cold night air.

Jaehyun stood off to the side with Johnny and Taeyong, hands in his coat pockets, eyes trained on nothing in particular.

Until—

He saw her.

Y/N stood apart from the crowd, just a few paces away, her back turned, head tilted to the sky. Her eyes were closed, arms relaxed at her sides as she faced the full moon hanging heavy and glowing above them. The icy blue of her dress shimmered faintly under the moonlight. She looked... different like this.

Calm. Still. Powerful.

The air around her almost pulsed—gentle, cool, reverent. As if the night itself bowed for her.

Jaehyun’s breath caught.

He knew what this was. He'd read about the moon’s connection to water tribe bending in one of his statecraft briefings. But seeing it? Feeling it?

It was intimate. Sacred.

And she was beautiful.

Moonlit skin, lashes fluttering softly, lips parted just slightly as if she were absorbing strength straight from the sky.

He forced himself to look away. Clenched his jaw.

Johnny glanced at him. “You okay?”

Jaehyun didn’t answer.

Because he wasn’t.

He felt like he’d intruded on something private, something not meant for anyone else. And worse… He couldn’t stop wanting to watch.

-------------

The cars purred softly as they dropped students off one by one back at the academy’s stone steps. The wind was gentler now, the moon still heavy overhead.

Jaehyun climbed the stairs behind a small group of students, jacket slung over one shoulder, his golden gaze flicking lazily forward—until he caught sight of her again.

Y/N.

She was a few steps ahead, walking carefully, her long embroidered skirt and cloak catching on the wind. The icy-blue fabric looked heavy with the weight of tradition, trailing just slightly as she struggled to keep her footing on the slick stone steps.

A hand extended from the crowd.

Minho—broad-shouldered, soft-spoken, Earth Kingdom native with a kind smile—offered it to her shyly.

“You okay?” he asked, voice gentle.

Y/N blinked, then smiled warmly. “Thank you,” she said, taking his hand with delicate fingers. “That’s very kind of you.”

Minho flushed a little as he helped her up the last step, his ears turning red under the lamplight.

Behind them, Jaehyun scoffed quietly.

Johnny caught it and leaned over, smirking. “Jealous?”

“He looked like he was gonna propose just from touching her hand,” Jaehyun muttered.

Johnny laughed. “Careful. That fire under your collar’s showing.”

Jaehyun didn’t answer, just shoved his hands in his pockets and walked a little faster.

Scene Two: Early Morning, Part II

The second day of orientation began with the same silence as the first.

And again, before the sun crested the peaks, Y/N was already in the hall outside her tower, meditating.

This time, though, she wasn’t quite as wrapped in tradition.

She wore loose training pants in icy grey and a sleeveless, high-neck top in soft blue. Her arms were bare, toned and elegant, her back visible where the fabric dipped slightly with her posture. Her skin practically shimmered in the blue morning light, moon-kissed even before the stars faded.

Eyes closed. Breathing even. Calm.

But she could feel it.

Heat. Buzzing, magnetic, stubbornly male heat.

She didn’t open her eyes.

“Take a picture,” she murmured, voice slow and cool. “It’ll last longer.”

Jaehyun stood a few paces away, breathing a little harder than before. His morning jog had screeched to a halt the moment he turned the corner and saw her.

“Didn’t realize this was a public exhibit,” he said, trying to force a smirk onto his face, voice thicker than usual.

“It’s not,” she replied, still not looking at him. “But unfortunately, I don’t control the wildlife.”

He snorted, shook his head, and tore his eyes away. “You’re insufferable.”

“Glad you’re keeping up.”

And with that, Jaehyun jogged off—faster, harder, more focused. As if he could outrun the image of her in that outfit, bathed in blue light like a goddess with her own gravity.

He couldn’t.

Later that morning, Jaehyun sat at a sleek, glass-top café table in the university’s sky lounge with Celina—a girl he’d met during orientation. Blonde, flirty, glitter on her cheekbones and three designer bags on her chair.

“So what was it like growing up in a fire palace?” she asked, leaning forward. “Did they teach you sword fighting? Or like, diplomacy or whatever?”

Jaehyun gave a practiced smile. “Both.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, tilting her head. “And your eyes—do all Fire Princes have gold eyes or is that just a you thing?”

He blinked. “It’s... just a me thing.”

She giggled like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard.

He looked down at his espresso, fingers tapping against the cup. She hadn’t asked him a single real question. Nothing about his thoughts, his interests, his beliefs. Just status, background, power.

He suddenly missed the sharp edge in Y/N’s voice. Missed being challenged.

He set his cup down and gave Celina a polite nod.

“Thanks for meeting me,” he said.

She blinked, surprised. “Oh! Yeah—of course. Are we—?”

“I’m not interested,” he said bluntly. Not cruel, just honest.

She blinked again. “Oh. Uh... okay.”

He stood, nodded once, and walked out—ignoring the flashes of confusion and rejection behind him. He didn’t have time for empty flattery.

Especially not when there was someone else who wasn’t impressed with him—and for some reason, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

-----------

The third day of orientation brought a surprise—a student outing to one of the most exclusive alpine horse tracks in Europe. The snowy valley beneath the university was carved with crystal-clear lanes, the horses bred from royal stables across the globe. The crowd was dotted with diplomats, nobles, and faculty, sipping hot drinks from porcelain cups while wearing coats worth small fortunes.

The students filled the private terrace seating, bundled in school-issue winter cloaks with their house emblems stitched over their hearts.

Jaehyun arrived fashionably late, sipping black coffee, his hair tucked into a wool beanie that couldn’t hide the sharpness of his jawline or the smug set of his shoulders. Girls shifted when he walked past. Some fixed their scarves. One actually gasped.

He didn’t look for her. He wasn’t looking for her.

But he found her anyway.

Y/N was seated already in the front row of the terrace, cheeks dusted pink from the cold, lips wrapped around a warm flask of tea. Her cloak was pale silver today, lined with soft navy fur that made her look even more regal. She laughed at something Amara said beside her, then looked toward the track, sharp eyes scanning the horses.

Jaehyun exhaled slowly, like her mere existence was smoke in his lungs.

He took the empty seat next to her, dropping down without a word.

She turned her head, looked at him once, and returned her gaze to the field.

“Can’t seem to get rid of you,” she murmured.

“Tell me about it,” he replied.

---------------

The starting bells rang.

The horses lined up at the gate, steaming breath rising into the sky.

Students leaned forward eagerly, many of them whispering to one another.

“Leftmost one’s Firebred,” Johnny noted from behind them. “Bred in Jaehyun’s territory. Fastest on record.”

“He’s not winning,” Y/N said with cool confidence.

Jaehyun tilted his head. “You’re betting against my horse?”

“I’m betting against your arrogance,” she said, eyes still on the track.

Jaehyun smirked. “What happens if you’re wrong?”

“I won’t be.”

“But if you were?”

She finally turned her head to meet his eyes.

“If I lose,” she said calmly, “I’ll owe you a favor.”

Jaehyun raised a brow, intrigued. “And if I lose?”

“I’ll collect a favor. When I choose.”

His heart gave an involuntary thump. Not just from the words, but from the way she said them—controlled, steady, almost teasing. Like she knew she’d win.

“Deal,” he said, offering his gloved hand.

She placed hers in his. The cold of her fingers clashed with the heat of his palm. The handshake lasted one second too long.

Then—

The gates opened.

The horses tore across the snow-packed field, thunderous and wild.

Students shouted, cheered, scrambled for a better view. Jaehyun and Y/N leaned forward instinctively, breath held.

And just as the final stretch loomed...

A white-coated mare from the Northern Water territories surged forward, passing the Firebred in the final ten seconds.

The bell rang. The crowd erupted.

Jaehyun sat back slowly, jaw tightening.

Y/N turned to him with a victorious smile—not smug, just satisfied.

“I’ll let you know when I’m ready to collect,” she said sweetly.

He shook his head, trying to fight a smile. “That’s dangerous, you know.”

“So am I.”

The students filed out of the terrace in buzzing groups, still riding high from the race.

Jaehyun stayed behind a few moments, watching Y/N disappear into the crowd with her friends—laughing, graceful, offering a polite smile to the steward who opened the door for her.

He hated to admit it, but she moved through the world like she’d been born to rule it.

Not like him.

Jaehyun knew he was hot. He knew people liked him—wanted him. He had confidence, charisma, a name that made headlines and a face that broke hearts.

But Y/N? She didn’t try. She just was.

Poised. Natural. Effortless. Kind to everyone—except him.

He’d never met anyone who made him feel simultaneously this annoyed and this off-balance.

She’s the moon, he thought. Untouchable. Cold. But she pulls the tide anyway.

He exhaled hard and stood up.

He was going to need a hell of a lot more wins if he was going to keep up with her.

----------------

The mountain air was brisk as usual—sharp, cold, and biting just enough to remind Jaehyun he was alive.

He jogged through the same corridor as always, hoodie pulled low over his brow, music pumping through his earbuds, pace even and strong. He passed a few students on the way, nodded to a few others, but didn’t stop.

Not until her.

Same spot. Same time. Princess Y/N.

Seated on the mat just off the corridor window again, hands resting on her thighs, eyes closed, lips slightly parted in stillness.

This time, she wore a loose, snowy blue top that slid slightly down her shoulder, revealing the smooth line of her collarbone. Her legs were folded elegantly, the morning light pooling across her skin like it belonged there. And on her hand—resting atop one knee—was a delicate silver ring, carved with the moon cycle.

Jaehyun’s steps faltered. He kept going—barely—but something about that ring...

His eyes narrowed.

By the time he reached the other end of the hall, he was already pulling out his phone, opening a search tab with quick, frantic fingers.

"Northern Water Tribe moon ring symbolism" "Silver purity ring Water Princess" "Tribe virginity ring customs"

And then it hit.

The results came flooding in, exactly what he feared—no, hoped—he’d find.

It was a purity ring.

One only worn by virgins in the Water Tribe—usually those in the royal family, signifying personal vows of restraint, tradition, and spiritual clarity until they chose a partner to share it with.

Jaehyun stared at the screen.

And then...

“Fuck.”

He was half-hard already, pulse slamming in his throat. His jog forgotten. His thoughts suddenly very impure.

He ducked into a shadowed alcove, heart pounding, pressing his back to the wall. One hand still gripping his phone, the other dragging down his face before briefly—desperately—palming himself through his sweats.

Of course she’s untouched. Of course she’s forbidden. Of course she’s driving him insane.

Her calm. Her mouth. Her legs folded so perfectly. That fucking ring.

He cursed again under his breath, fingers tightening.

And then turned abruptly down the hall toward the nearest gym shower room.

The coldest water he could find.

Later that morning, Jaehyun sat stiffly at a private corner table in the library café. Across from him was Saejin, another Fire Nation royal—the daughter of a war advisor, all sleek hair and perfect etiquette.

She smiled, flawless and polished, speaking like she was reading from a court-approved script.

“I just think it’s so refreshing to finally be around our own kind, you know?” she said sweetly, stirring her imported tea. “The Fire Nation doesn’t get enough credit for our superiority.”

Jaehyun blinked once.

Saejin laughed lightly. “Not to be rude. I just mean… we’re trained better. Smarter. I’m sure the others try their best but—well, the Water Tribe is all superstition and snow.”

He leaned back slowly.

Golden eyes unreadable. Sharp.

She kept going, unaware of the crack in her façade. “Don’t you agree?”

“No,” Jaehyun said flatly.

She stopped stirring. “Pardon?”

“I don’t agree,” he repeated. “You’re talking about entire cultures like they’re beneath you. I don’t think I’m better than anyone just because I was born where I was.”

Saejin flushed, eyes wide. “Oh—I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, obviously, I respect diversity—”

Jaehyun stood up. Quiet. Steady. Done.

“Thanks for the tea.”

“Jaehyun—”

But he was already gone, leaving her red-faced and speechless in the middle of the café.

Outside, Jaehyun let the wind hit his face as he leaned against a stone railing, overlooking the snow-covered campus.

I need to stop going on these dates.

They were all the same. Same expectations. Same hollow words. Same attempt to fit into a mold he’d never even shaped himself.

But with her—Y/N—it wasn’t like that.

She didn’t care about who he was. Or what people thought. She challenged him, pushed him, made him feel beneath her in a way that didn’t bruise his ego—it ignited it.

And now that he knew she was untouched, pure, off-limits?

It made it worse.

It made it better.

Jaehyun stared at the horizon, biting his lip, jaw tense.

Maybe dating wasn’t the right move.

Not until he figured out what the hell he was going to do about the girl who didn’t even know the hold she had on him.

Y/N lay in bed, the curtains drawn, the moonlight casting soft shadows across her blanket. Her window was cracked open, letting the chill in—a comfort more than a disturbance.

She should’ve been asleep. She had orientation events early tomorrow.

Instead… she was deep in a stalking spiral.

Her thumb hovered over the search bar again.

"Just one more look,” she muttered under her breath, already typing: @jeongjae.fire

His page loaded quickly.

And of course—it was exactly what she expected. And exactly what irritated her.

Not a single selfie. Just candids—clearly taken by someone else, likely friends, staff, maybe even admirers. Photos from exotic places: volcano ridges, black sand beaches, underground raves lit by lava, firelight warming his smug face.

There were shirtless ones too. Obviously. One at a coastal cliff, him half-drenched from the sea, abs glistening like he knew what he was doing. Another one lounging in a hot spring, steam curling around his collarbones, eyes half-lidded and dangerously flirty.

Y/N scoffed and tossed her phone down, only to pick it back up 2 seconds later.

"Show-off," she muttered, face hot.

She clicked off his profile and opened her camera roll instead.

There was a pause. Then a breath. Then… a decision.

She tapped the little plus sign, selected a recent picture—one snapped just a few days before she left for school.

It was her and her older brother, standing at the palace gate. She had her arm looped through his, both of them laughing, crowns tipped askew from a snowball fight they'd gotten into minutes before. His robes were pristine despite the cold. Her cheeks were pink from the frost and joy.

The caption was simple.

“My favorite person.” ❄️👑

She hit post.

And within minutes, the notifications started pouring in.

💬 “Omg princess reveal?? You’re so pretty!!” 💬 “Royal siblings supremacy 🩵” 💬 “Cold beauty, no wonder the Fire Nation’s threatened” 💬 “Can she freeze me next pls?” 💬 “Protect her at all costs.”

Y/N turned her phone face down and smiled to herself. Just a little. Just once.

Johnny was the first to see it. He nearly choked on his tea.

“Hey, uh,” he said, scrolling, “Y/N just posted.”

Taeyong glanced over. “Really?”

Johnny turned his phone. “Yeah. First one ever.”

The three of them were seated in the common area, students scattered all around, winding down from another long day.

Taeyong smiled. “She looks really happy there.”

Jaehyun didn’t even glance up. He was leaned back on the couch, arms folded, pretending to nap.

Johnny grinned. “You’re not even a little curious, Jae?”

Jaehyun scoffed. “She’s not that interesting.”

“Mhm,” Johnny drawled, unconvinced. “Totally. That’s why your whole jaw just clenched.”

“I don’t care what she posts.” But even he didn’t believe his voice when he said it.

Jaehyun made it exactly three minutes before giving up the act.

Back in his dorm, door locked, lights dimmed, he opened his phone and typed in her handle.

@yn.wtr

Her profile was quiet. Elegant. No posts before today. The display name simply: Princess Y/N of the Northern Water Tribe.

And the photo…

There she was. In full color. Radiant in a way he hadn’t expected. Not posed. Not calculated. Not seductive. Just… warm.

The way she clung to her brother. The genuine laugh. The wind teasing her hair. The grace in her smile. The cold in her cheeks. Her eyes, so deep they looked like they held the whole sea.

And she was calling him her favorite person.

Jaehyun’s thumb hovered over the like button. He didn’t press it.

He stared at the photo longer than he meant to.

This is just research, he told himself. She’s an enemy nation’s heir. I should know more. It’s strategic curiosity.

But his heart thudded louder in his chest.

And the only thing burning inside him… was the truth.

--------------

The sun was high as the students walked the gardens of the Academy, gravel paths winding through meticulously arranged flora from every elemental nation. Minho had chosen the Earth Pavilion as their resting spot, lush with mossy stone benches and shaded by towering trees with twisting trunks.

Y/N sat gracefully beneath the largest tree, sipping warm tea despite the summer heat. Her posture was perfect. Regal, without effort. Around her, a few students chatted quietly, but Minho leaned in, clearly curious.

“Can I ask you something?” he said gently, eyes kind and cautious.

Y/N tilted her head. “Of course.”

“How do you feel… about the Fire Nation?”

The question made a few heads turn. The group hushed just slightly, enough to feel the weight of silence. Even Jaehyun, who had been walking past behind a hedge of flame lilies, froze in place—unseen but very much listening.

Y/N didn’t flinch.

She took a breath, let the breeze comb through her white-blonde hair, and looked Minho straight in the eyes.

“I think history is important,” she said. “It should never be forgotten—what happened between our nations. The war was horrific. My great-grandparents lost their lives in it.”

Minho nodded solemnly. So did several others.

“But,” she continued, “I also think hatred is a poison. One that gets passed down if we’re not careful.”

Jaehyun’s brows lifted, his chest going still.

Y/N pressed her cup into the grass beside her, voice calm but sincere.

“The war ended long before we were born. Generations have passed. And honestly? I’m tired of the narrative. I don't want to spend my life hating people I’ve never met based on things they didn’t do. That helps no one.”

A few students looked at each other, thoughtful. Minho seemed visibly moved.

“I believe both our nations have a lot to offer each other,” Y/N added. “The Fire Nation’s innovation, drive, and strength—combined with the Water Tribe’s patience, healing, and connection to nature… we could be powerful together.”

A beat.

“And I know not everyone feels the same. But… I don’t want to keep telling the same story of hate. I want to write a new one.”

From behind the hedges, Jaehyun stared at the ground.

His hands were tucked into his pockets, his heart caught somewhere in his throat. He wasn’t even sure why he cared so much—why hearing her say it made something twist in his chest like a flame curling inward.

Maybe because… he agreed. Deep down, he always had.

But growing up in the Fire Nation, you weren’t allowed to say that out loud.

He’d learned about the war in school like it was a legacy. He'd heard whispers at home about what the Water Tribe tookfrom them. Was taught that peace was a fragile tolerance, not a genuine future.

But now…

Here was the princess of that tribe. His supposed enemy. Saying everything he’d always secretly hoped.

And it didn’t make him angry.

It made him… ache.

Later that afternoon, during weapons demonstrations in the training field, Y/N was standing alone, tying her hair up into a high knot. The wind swept past her face, pulling stray strands from her braid, sunlight catching the delicate blue shimmer of her robe.

Jaehyun approached from the opposite side, not planning to talk to her—but his eyes flicked up on instinct.

She looked at him briefly. Not with challenge. Not with disdain. Just… acknowledgment.

Jaehyun, usually armed with a smirk, had nothing.

No comeback.

No insult.

He simply gave a nod.

A small one.

And Y/N, after a pause, returned it.

Like maybe… just maybe… they could be on the same side of history someday.

-------------

The halls of the Academy were still half asleep—bathed in pale morning light, with shadows stretched long across the polished floors. Most students wouldn’t rise for another hour. But Jaehyun was already out, muscles aching from his morning lift, hair dripping sweat as he jogged shirtless through the west corridor, earbuds in but music long since paused.

It wasn’t like he meant to look for her.

But when he passed the meditation garden and saw the empty stone bench—her bench—he slowed. Eyes scanning the spot as if her absence disrupted some delicate balance in his morning. A frown tugged at his brow.

Weird.

Y/N was never late. She moved like clockwork.

He kept jogging, rounding a quiet corner—only to stop short when he spotted her. Pacing frantically down the hall in a soft robe, eyes wide and filled with panic, hair loose around her shoulders.

Even breathless and flushed, she looked like royalty.

“Lost something?” he called, trying to sound casual, but his heart kicked a little harder when she startled and looked up at him.

“Oh,” she said. “Yeah—I… I lost my ring.”

Jaehyun blinked. “Your… ring?”

She nodded, clearly distressed. “I took it off for meditation last night, and now I can’t find it. It was a gift. A really important one.”

Jaehyun’s jaw tightened.

There was only one ring he’d seen on her finger lately—thin, silver, engraved delicately. The one he’d Googled two nights ago while still hard and spiraling. A purity ring.

He forced a shrug. “Tough break,” he said, then jogged past her without another word.

But his chest was tight.

And when he turned the next hallway and caught a glint of silver against the floor by a water fountain, he paused.

The ring sat in a pool of light, small and innocent—mocking him with everything it symbolized.

She really meant it, he thought, scooping it up. She’s untouched.

Jaehyun let out a frustrated breath, closing his hand around the metal. He stood there for a long second, debating if he should just leave it on a ledge or pretend he hadn’t seen it at all.

Instead… he turned back.

Y/N was still searching the base of a wall when Jaehyun returned, quiet footsteps padding behind her. She straightened when she noticed him, eyes narrowing.

“You come back to mock me?” she muttered.

“Relax, your highness,” he said dryly. “I found it.”

He extended his hand and dropped the ring into her palm, watching the immediate relief wash over her face.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “Thank you. Seriously, I—thank you.”

Her fingers curled around it like it was sacred.

But as she looked up to thank him again, her breath caught.

Jaehyun was close. Too close. His chest bare and sweat-slicked, his necklace bouncing lightly against his sternum. His hair dark and damp, falling over his forehead. And now that she was really looking—really looking—she realized how tall he was compared to her. How… broad.

Jaehyun didn’t miss the flicker in her eyes.

He tilted his head, lips curving slow. “You okay, princess?”

She blinked fast, like she’d caught herself staring. “Fine,” she said quickly. “Totally fine.”

His smirk widened.

“What’s this ring about anyway?” he asked, glancing pointedly at her fist. “Some kind of magical protection spell?”

Her cheeks flushed. “It’s… none of your business.”

“Oh, come on,” he teased, leaning down slightly—his breath hot against her ear. “You can trust me with a dirty little secret.”

Y/N gasped and shoved at his chest, eyes wide. “You’re disgusting.”

“I’m honest.”

She spun on her heel, walking away fast, flustered. Jaehyun watched her go, grinning like a devil.

Finally. She’s not made of ice after all.

Far down the hall, Y/N slowed, heart pounding. The ring was cold in her hand, but her skin? Her skin was burning.

“What the hell was that?” she whispered, pressing her fingers to her neck where heat lingered, trailing all the way down her spine to—

She didn’t even want to think about it.

Jaehyun couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t guilt. It wasn’t even stress.

It was her.

The image of her flushed face, the way her hand had closed around that damned ring, how she’d looked up at him—small, breathless, affected—kept replaying in his head like a loop designed to torment him.

He hated how much power that moment had over him. How her wide eyes had stayed with him long after she’d stormed off. He told himself it was just curiosity. Biological. Hormonal.

Not attraction.

Definitely not that.

But as he lay awake, the darkness of his dorm room wrapping around him, Jaehyun’s thoughts turned filthy in ways he didn’t know he was capable of when it came to her.

The bratty little princess.

So perfect. So untouchable. So damn righteous.

He wondered how long she could keep that attitude if he had her underneath him, hands pinning hers, his mouth finally shutting her up. Would she keep talking back if he pushed her to the edge again and again? If he found that sweet, untouched spot between her thighs and -

Jaehyun sat up and cursed, scrubbing a hand down his face.

He needed a distraction. Fast.

----------------

The Academy held mandatory cultural nights once a week, where students from all four nations were expected to attend a viewing or lecture that explored different facets of the post-war alliance.

Tonight was a historical dramatization.

A war-era film between the Fire Nation and the Water Tribe, one that depicted the gruesome realities of the past—and eventually, the fragile peace born between a prince and a captured healer. It was tense, political, and deeply romantic.

And then... the sex scene happened.

Not crude or explicit, but sensual enough to draw awkward coughs and shuffles from the younger students. On-screen, the prince pressed kisses along the healer’s neck, whispering confessions against her skin, fingers trembling as they undressed one another in soft candlelight.

Jaehyun didn’t react.

At least—not outwardly.

But the moment he turned his head slightly and saw her, everything changed.

Y/N sat a few seats over, eyes fixed downward at her lap. She wasn’t watching. Her jaw was tight, ring spinning nervously on her finger, her cheeks visibly red even in the dim light of the auditorium.

She looked like she wanted to disappear.

And Jaehyun? He could barely look away.

Oh, princess. You’ve never even been touched, have you?

His thoughts took a dark turn—sinking lower, hotter.

He wondered how long it would take for her to start panting under him. If she’d sob from being overwhelmed or try to act composed even when her body betrayed her. What sounds she’d make if he kissed down her stomach and told her to open her legs.

Would she be shy?

Or would the brat in her fight it—make him earn every reaction until he completely ruined her for anyone else?

Jaehyun clenched his fists in his lap, nails digging into his palm.

Get it together. he hissed internally. She’s not yours. She’s not even someone you like.

But it didn’t stop the ache.

Or the jealousy that crept in, uninvited.

Because someday… she would marry. Someone her rank. Someone clean and regal, with boring, practiced hands and a pristine family tree. Someone worthy of royal heirs.

And that man—whoever he was—would get to see her. All of her. Would get to pull off those long layers of silk and find out what was underneath.

Jaehyun swallowed hard and looked back at the screen.

But his mind was no longer on the war.

-----------

The thing about your enemies is that you know them better than your friends.

You study them. Watch them. Understand their patterns. Their tells. Their habits.

Jaehyun knew Y/N.

He knew that she tied her hair differently depending on how much sleep she got. That she added exactly two drops of honey to her tea, even when no one else was looking. That her fingers fidgeted with the sleeve seam of her robe when she was nervous. And that—despite her poise—she hated being the center of attention.

So when lunchtime arrived, and he heard her ask for the fish, Jaehyun didn’t expect her reaction when the kitchen worker gave her an apologetic smile.

“We’re all out of fish, Princess. Only the beef remains.”

She blinked once, then smiled politely. “No worries. Beef is perfectly fine.”

Except it wasn’t.

He watched her carry her tray like it weighed a hundred pounds. Watched her sit down three tables away, smile at Minho who said something, and take her first bite of vegetables with the same grace she did everything else.

But she didn’t touch the meat.

Not once.

Jaehyun stared at his own plate—the flakey grilled fish, seasoned perfectly, steaming gently beside his rice. He wasn’t even that hungry.

He glanced at her again. Her fork glided around the meat like it wasn’t even there, never once piercing the beef.

If he remembered correctly from his cultural studies as a kid, the Water Tribe’s traditional diet didn’t include red meat. Not because they were opposed to it, but because they simply lived off the sea.

Fish. Shellfish. Seaweed. Broth.

His jaw clenched.

Just eat, he told himself, stabbing the fish without looking at it.

But he couldn’t.

His stomach turned. His fork stayed still.

“Are you okay?” Taeyong asked, nudging him gently. “You’ve barely touched your lunch.”

“I’m fine,” Jaehyun muttered.

Taeyong followed his gaze and immediately picked up on it. Without a word, he stood up, walking calmly across the cafeteria.

“Princess Y/N,” he said with a gentle bow. “Would you allow me to trade meals with you?”

Y/N looked up, caught off guard. “What? Oh—no, that’s really not necessary. I don’t mind at all.”

“But I do,” Taeyong said kindly. “You’re not eating. Please. Take the fish.”

She blinked, then softened. “Well… thank you. That’s very kind.”

They switched plates.

She smiled, quietly grateful, and Taeyong returned to the table with the beef.

Jaehyun stabbed a piece of rice and shoved it in his mouth like it had personally offended him.

“You could’ve just offered,” Taeyong said, not unkindly, as he sat down.

“I didn’t notice,” Jaehyun lied.

Taeyong gave him a look like you’re full of shit, but said nothing else.

Across the room, Y/N’s shoulders relaxed slightly. She took a bite of the fish and closed her eyes for a brief second—just enough to let Jaehyun know it mattered. That she really wanted it. That she’d almost endured a whole meal pretending she didn’t.

He looked down at his plate again.

Why did it bother him so much?

Not just that she hadn’t eaten.

But that he’d known—really known—and hadn’t done a damn thing about it.

He told himself it wasn’t about her. That it didn’t mean anything.

But somewhere deep in his chest, a little voice whispered:

You want to be the one who notices her. Before anyone else.

And that scared the hell out of him.

---------

The dorm room was dim, curtains drawn, the only sound the dull ticking of the clock on the wall. Jaehyun sat at the edge of his bed, hands cradling his face, elbows on his knees, breath slow and heavy. His chest ached—not with pain, but with pressure. The kind that built from years of expectations. Years of pretending.

The door creaked open behind him.

“Jae?” Johnny’s voice was quiet, careful. “You okay, man?”

Jaehyun didn’t look up.

A beat passed before Johnny walked in fully, closing the door behind him. He crossed the room and leaned against the wall, arms folded, studying his best friend with a furrowed brow.

“What happened?”

Another long pause.

Then Jaehyun exhaled and dropped his hands, finally raising his head. His eyes were tired.

“…What do you think of the Water Tribe?” he asked.

Johnny tilted his head. “That’s out of nowhere.”

Jaehyun didn’t laugh. Didn’t smile.

“I’m serious.”

Johnny’s face softened. “Honestly? I think the war was a tragedy. But it’s history. We should move forward.”

Jaehyun nodded slowly, staring at the floor. “But I’m not just anyone, Johnny. I’m the prince. Everything I say or feel… means something. It represents something.”

Johnny stepped closer. “Maybe. But it also means you have the power to change things.”

Jaehyun didn’t reply.

Johnny sat beside him on the bed, letting the silence sit for a moment.

“…This isn’t really about the Water Tribe, is it?” Johnny asked gently.

Jaehyun’s jaw tensed. He didn’t answer, but that was answer enough.

Johnny smiled faintly. “It’s okay to not feel hatred, Jae. Even if you were taught to. Even if it’s what your father expects.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“I know. But you’re not your father.” Johnny leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “He might be king now. But one day… you’ll be the one on that throne.”

Jaehyun swallowed hard.

“And when that day comes,” Johnny continued, “you’ll have to make choices for your people, not his ghosts. Not his grudges. You think the weight of that makes you less human, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes your feelings more important.”

Jaehyun sat back against the wall, closing his eyes.

“I don’t want to hate her,” he admitted quietly. “But it feels wrong not to.”

Johnny looked at him. “Y/N?”

Jaehyun nodded once.

“She’s smart. Honest. Kind to people who don’t deserve it. She drives me insane,” he added, almost bitterly. “And I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Johnny grinned softly. “Sounds like trouble.”

Jaehyun laughed under his breath, finally.

“She’s not what I thought she’d be,” he said. “None of this is.”

Johnny nudged his shoulder. “Then maybe… you’re not what you thought you’d be either.”

Jaehyun looked over at him, blinking.

“It’s okay to be curious, Jae,” Johnny said. “It’s okay to be wrong. To change. To feel something that doesn’t fit into a speech your father would’ve approved.”

Jaehyun let out a long breath.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Anytime,” Johnny said, standing up. “Also—if you do end up falling for her? At least make it interesting. Keep the drama level royal.”

Jaehyun groaned, tossing a pillow at him as Johnny laughed and ducked out of the room.

But long after he was gone, Jaehyun stayed where he was.

Staring at the ceiling.

Wondering if the future he’d been raised for could somehow make room for the girl he wasn’t supposed to want.

---------------

The forest air was crisp, the canopy above casting golden dappled light onto the trail. Laughter echoed through the trees—Y/N and Taeyong walking ahead, chatting easily, their steps light over the uneven ground. Behind them, Jaehyun and Johnny followed at a more relaxed pace, the latter sipping from a water bottle while Jaehyun stayed mostly quiet, his eyes trailing up ahead.

He wasn’t eavesdropping.

He was watching.

Not that it mattered.

The conversation was harmless—Taeyong cracking jokes, Y/N grinning, her eyes shining. Still, something gnawed at Jaehyun’s stomach like a dull burn.

Then he saw it—Y/N’s foot catching on an exposed root, her balance tipping precariously. Before he could think, his body moved.

“Careful—” Jaehyun muttered, stepping forward and grabbing her by the arm.

His hand caught her just in time, steadying her before she could fall. But in doing so, the back of his knuckles scraped harshly against a rough strip of bark on a nearby tree.

“Ah—damn,” he hissed softly, retracting his hand.

Y/N turned quickly. “Oh—are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, more brusquely than intended.

Still, her hand lingered on his arm for a second longer before she gently pulled away, murmuring, “Thanks.”

Back at the academy grounds, the sun had dipped lower, golden hour stretching long shadows across the marble courtyards. Students filtered indoors for dinner or study, but Jaehyun sat alone on the low stone wall near the meditation garden—her spot. His legs were stretched out lazily, one hand scrolling on his phone, the other resting palm-up, scraped and reddened.

He didn’t notice her until she was standing in front of him.

Y/N.

Arms folded. Unreadable expression.

He blinked up at her.

“What?” he asked, setting his phone down.

“I was going to walk by,” she said, “but then I remembered you saved me from face-planting into the forest floor.”

Jaehyun smirked. “That would’ve been entertaining.”

She rolled her eyes, but her gaze dropped to his injured hand.

“Let me see it.”

He hesitated, narrowing his eyes. “Why?”

“Because I’m being nice, and you’re making it really hard.”

Jaehyun scoffed, but slowly offered her his hand, watching as she knelt beside the fountain. With a wave of her fingers, water lifted gracefully into the air, suspended in a rippling orb. Her other hand took his—cool and light—and gently wrapped around his fingers.

Jaehyun’s usual snark froze on his tongue.

Her hands were warm. Steady. Confident.

The water shimmered between their palms, glowing faintly as it touched his scraped knuckles. It tingled—not painful, but soothing, like warm sun after a chill.

And then—

It was gone.

The sting. The cut. The blood.

Completely healed.

Jaehyun stared down at his now perfect skin, brows furrowed in disbelief.

“I thought that kind of healing was a myth,” he murmured, eyes flicking up to her.

Y/N stood, brushing off her skirt, a small satisfied smile on her lips. “My grandmother was a master healer. I was taught by the best.”

She turned on her heel.

Jaehyun stared after her, completely thrown off his usual axis.

“Wait—” he called, suddenly.

She stopped, glancing over her shoulder. “Hm?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again.

“…Thanks.”

Her smile deepened. “Don’t mention it, Your Highness.”

And then she disappeared down the path, her presence leaving behind the faint scent of water lilies and peppermint.

Jaehyun looked down at his hand again, still half-expecting the cuts to return.

But they didn’t.

He ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath.

“…She’s going to be the end of me.”

Y/N shut the door to her dorm room quietly, the click of the latch echoing in the stillness. The light from the hallway slipped away, leaving only the soft glow of the moon filtering in through the gauzy curtains. She leaned against the wood, eyes closed, her chest rising and falling a little too fast.

She couldn't stop seeing him.

That moment by the fountain, the way his skin warmed under her hands. The way he looked at her—really looked at her—as if he’d never been touched like that before. His expression had been somewhere between awe and curiosity… and something darker. Something she shouldn't be thinking about.

But gods, was he beautiful.

Y/N exhaled shakily and crossed to her bed, slipping out of her outer robes, folding them neatly even as her mind wandered.

His eyes—sharp and cutting but deep, always watching her like he was trying to figure her out. The tension in his jaw when he was annoyed, the smirk when he teased her. The muscles in his arms, the ink-black hair damp and curling against his forehead after training. The sheer height of him towering over her, so close she could feel the heat radiating off his bare chest.

She never used to notice things like that. She was supposed to be composed. Dignified. Pure.

And yet…

As she curled up beneath the covers, her fingers drifted down her stomach on their own. Hesitating. Remembering the exact sound of his voice when he’d leaned down and whispered—

“You can trust me with a dirty secret.”

Her breath hitched.

She wasn’t supposed to think of him like this. Wasn’t supposed to feel this ache in her belly, this restless longing that settled deep between her thighs. But when her fingers brushed lightly against her clothed center, she gasped, her body arching just slightly off the bed.

Her other hand pressed to her lips, silencing her moan.

It’s just me, she told herself. Just relieving pressure. Just a release. Not about him.

But her body knew better.

She imagined the weight of Jaehyun’s body above her, his voice low and rough in her ear. His hands sliding down her hips, those perfect lips on her throat, the scent of sweat and cedarwood thick in the air. His voice in her mind—so bratty today, Princess. Maybe I should shut you up.

Y/N whimpered, her fingers moving slowly now, teasing herself the way she imagined he might. Rough at first, then gentle. Her body trembled under her touch, thighs tightening as the pleasure built, as heat twisted tighter and tighter through her limbs. She was close—too close—and her breath grew ragged.

“Jaehyun…” she whispered before she could stop it.

She came with a soft cry, legs shaking, chest heaving.

And then—

Silence.

Shame bloomed quickly. She rolled over, pulling the covers up to her chin, heart still racing.

What the hell was happening to her?

Why was it him she thought of, when she shouldn’t even like him?

Y/N closed her eyes tightly.

He’s the fire nation prince. Your supposed enemy. A cocky, annoying, arrogant menace.

But even that couldn’t stop the traitorous smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Because Jaehyun had also been gentle.

Thoughtful.

And worst of all—he made her feel something.

------------

Jaehyun stared at his communicator for a long time before finally pressing the call button.

It was late—too late for most students to be awake—but his father would be expecting one of his check-ins. This time, it wasn’t about grades or how well he was fitting in at the academy.

When his father’s face appeared, regal in his robes, framed by the golden lighting of the palace, Jaehyun straightened unconsciously.

“Father,” he said, voice a bit tight.

“Jaehyun,” the king replied. “You’re calling late. Is something wrong?”

Jaehyun hesitated. “There’s something I’ve been thinking about. Something that’s… been bothering me.”

A beat of silence passed.

“I’ve been taught my whole life to hate the Water Tribe,” Jaehyun continued, keeping his gaze steady. “To see them as lesser. As enemies. But ever since I came to this school… it’s not like that. The students here, they’re not my enemies. Most of them don’t even care about what happened generations ago.”

His father’s eyes narrowed slightly, though not with anger. More like calculation. “Go on.”

Jaehyun swallowed. “I don’t think I believe what I was taught anymore. I mean… how can I hate people I don’t even know? People who haven’t done anything wrong? The war ended decades ago.”

The king let out a low sigh, leaning back in his chair. “You sound like your mother.”

Jaehyun blinked.

His father looked away for a moment. “I didn’t always hate the Water Tribe either. But my father—your grandfather—he was filled with rage. He watched friends die in the war. He lost his brother. So I was raised on that anger. I inherited it without ever questioning if it was truly mine.”

Jaehyun’s brows furrowed. “So you don’t hate them?”

“I suppose I don’t,” the king admitted reluctantly. “Not personally. But you must understand, diplomacy is complicated. The Water Tribe may seem friendly now, but politics change in an instant. Trust the wrong person and it could cost your nation dearly.”

Jaehyun’s jaw clenched. He knew what his father was really warning him about.

“The people might not like it,” the king went on. “If you’re seen growing close to someone from that side—especially someone of status—there’ll be whispers. Some might even call you a traitor.”

Jaehyun looked down for a moment, thumb brushing the edge of the communicator. Y/N would never use me. He didn’t say it aloud. Not yet.

“I just think… maybe people have moved on more than we give them credit for,” Jaehyun said instead. “And maybe the problem isn’t them. Maybe it’s us. If we don’t show forgiveness, how can we expect them to?”

His father’s expression shifted—tired, worn. “You’re still young. Idealistic.”

“Maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

The king didn’t answer for a moment. Then he sighed again and said, “For now, just focus on school. Learn what you need. Make allies. The world outside will be waiting when you’re ready.”

Jaehyun nodded, but in his heart, something had already shifted. His father’s words were permission, in their own quiet, reserved way.

When the call ended, Jaehyun leaned back on his bed, arms folded behind his head. He stared at the ceiling, thinking of Y/N’s smile, the warmth of her hands wrapped around his, the conviction in her voice when she spoke of peace.

He wasn’t just imagining it anymore.

And now that he had a sliver of his father’s blessing—however cautious—it felt even harder to resist where his heart was leading him.

-------------------

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sneak peak:

“I know how to fix this,” he said lowly. “All of it.”

She blinked, breath catching. “How?”

“One night.” His eyes burned. “One wild, filthy, unhinged night. We get it out of our systems. Every stolen look, every thought we’ve tried to bury. Just… one night. You and me. No crowns. No tribes. Just primal fucking instinct.”

“Jaehyun,” she whispered, stunned.

His mouth was near hers now, not quite kissing, just hovering—close enough that their lips brushed every time one of them exhaled.

“You want it too,” he murmured. “I see it. Every time you look at me like you want to devour me. Every time you gasp over nothing when I’m near.”

Y/N whimpered softly, eyelids fluttering shut. His hand curled gently around her waist, guiding her until her back pressed into the cool stone wall.

“Say yes,” he whispered, lips ghosting her cheek. “Just one night. I swear I’ll ruin you so sweetly, you’ll never think of another man again.”