wonderland.

The 4th year at Hogwarts had ended so abruptly, death eaters had invaded the Triwizard tournament, Cedric Diggory was almost murdered, and apparently you-know-who has returned, at least that was according to Professor Dumbledore and Harry Potter. Ever since the tournament, everything has been up in flames, but you convinced yourself that next year will be much better or at least hoped it would be. After all you were now the girlfriend of the infamous Mattheo Riddle, who decided to confess all of a sudden to you on the first day of 5th year.

OK, maybe not confess, more like an emotionally constipated mess that consisted of him calling you annoying for occupying his head 24/7 and how he liked you since 3rd year—because of that one time you punched Malfoy for calling Luna Lovegood a lunatic. You never knew violence could get the guy, but c’mon we are talking about Mattheo Riddle here, he isn’t a normal person. That goes without saying that you accepted his ‘heartfelt’ confession and begun a new era, dating Mattheo. Which leads us to this point, at the Astronomy Tower, you and your beloved boyfriend quarreling over who was the most dependent on physical touch, while him being very adamant on refusing the title of “Clingy Boyfriend.”

“Are you kidding me?” Mattheo said exasperatedly as he shakes his head chuckling, “Never have I begged for attention in my entire life! If I recall correctly, you were the one insistent on holding my hand everywhere.” You were annoyed at this point, “Never begged for attention my ass!! You interrupted my conversation with Neville just the other day!” “And all because he was what, ‘Breathing at me weirdly,’ what the hell does that even mean?!” you exclaimed while air quoting what he had said just a few days ago.

You honestly thought that Mattheo would have been more of a distant person when it came to dating, at least that is what you assumed when you watched him from the sidelines for 4 years. Oh, you could not have been more wrong, this boy is always within a few inches of you if he can help it, and his issues with being away for more than 5 minutes has been insane. If any other guy that was not him were to take up your time and attention, Mattheo would stare them down as if they had the guts to steal his most prized possession. You had no problem with this at first; on the contrary it was rather amusing. But it started to get annoying when he followed you everywhere, especially when you tried to sneak away to train defense spells with Harry and the others, which you’ve accepted you’d probably would not attend… at all… Love that for you. 

Back to the present… 

“What about that one time a first year gave me flowers, and you decided it was the perfect moment to snog me right then and there,” you said in an attempt to prove your case, but we all know how stubborn this man is, and no form of proof would work on him. 

“I needed to show him that you’re mine. Can’t have other guys thinking you’re single,” he stated dismissively waving his hand back and forth as he adjusted himself against the wall. 

You narrowed your eyes and stared at him as though he had grown a pair of heads.

“Mattheo… For the love of- He is 11! What the fuck do you mean?!” You yelled. 

“Who am I kidding. I bet you wouldn’t even last a week without touching me,” you declared quite confidently as you crossed your arms. “Actually, scratch that, I’m not that cruel. You wouldn’t last a day.” 

There stood Mattheo and his ego, glaring straight at you, pushing himself away from the wall as he strides towards you. “You have quite a mouth, love.” He approached you with only a few inches separating your personal bubble. “I’m up for the challenge,” he says with a lopsided grin, "of course, only on the condition that you admit that you can’t stand being away from me when I win,” he teased with a smile that sang soon-to-be-winner. 

Scoffing and lightly shoving him away with one hand, “In your dreams, Riddle.” You turned away as a blush crept across your cheeks, making your way to leave the Astronomy tower. 

“Prepare to lose, babe!” He exclaimed loudly from where he stood. 

Walking to your common room, there was a couple of students muttering about a new rule. You couldn’t help but feel curios, so you interrupted the conversation, “Hey, what’s going on?” a young 1st year whom you’ve known to be typically quiet answered, “Professor Umbridge made another decree, we are no longer allowed to play music whilst studying.” She looked down fiddling with her sleeves, “it is not fair, I cannot focus without my songs,” she said devastatingly with a sigh. 

“I don’t understand why the Ministry sent that old bag, she’s been controlling our lives since they appointed her headmistress,” your roommate standing to your left added quite dejectedly, “bet she’s going to ban the way we sleep next.”

“Y’know that doesn’t sound so bad, maybe then I wouldn’t have to tolerate your loud snoring,” you said with a smirk. 

“Oh, sod off, what is it with you and the way I sleep! Honestly-“ she hmphed while crossing her arms, but then a thoughtful look grows on her face, “What if she bans romantic relationships?” she says, “the whole school would have to feel the wrath of Riddle, and that is not a future I’m looking forward to,” she adds scratching her cheek. 

“It’s a possibility, I’m just glad she hasn’t enforced any rules that could isolate Mattheo, since with the whole situation and all…” you muttered in remembrance of you-know-who’s last appearance, “anyways, I’ll see you guys later, I need some rest. Matt’s been giving a bloody headache all morning…” you said with a mutter for the last part. 

“You two have an intense study session up there or something?” your roommate said with a snicker and raising eyebrows, “Shut up!” you flipped her off . The 1st year stood confused with her head tilted, “how could studying be so intense, and why revise in the astronomy tower? The wind will blow the papers right of the platform, wouldn’t the library be a wiser choice?” she asks in confusion as to why anyone would think to study in such an unconventional area. 

Your roommate stared right at her with a blank face, and thought to herself ‘God dammnit, I’m left with a pipsqueak!’ “Why is it desirable to study in the tower,” the child asked once more. 

“Because it makes it easier to do multiplication, now get yer ass outta here before my brain combusts,” she answered hurriedly with an annoyed tone and swats her hand towards the door. 

The young 1st year retreats to her dorm with a thoughtful expression, ‘The astronomy tower will enhance our ability to perform multiplication? That is immensely helpful magic, Hogwarts is certainly amazing!’ 

Within the chambers of your dorm house, you laid across your bed with arms sprayed on both sides. Thinking back to your conversation with your lover, the way he smirked like he won your little game, the way he whispered into your ear, the heat of his gaze, the way he-

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” you yelled to yourself as you rolled back and forth across your bed, your cheeks flaring up in a bright pink that resembled peaches. That night you tried not to think about him at all, for the sake of winning this challenge between the two of you. Did you fail, oh yes. Yes, you did. Barely lasted 5 minutes before you started to dream of him by your side. At least you felt calm in your sleep, just until you could see the real him again in the morning.

The sound of obnoxious clapping had woken you from your daydream, you shook your head regaining focus. You had almost forgotten that you were in DADA class, students aligned in their seats, with a look of boredom and dissatisfaction plaguing their faces. A student behind you sighed and whispered to his desk mate, “what’s the point of defense against dark arts, if we won’t even practice the spells.” His desk mate replied, “we’ll just have to bore them to death with the book index,” he snickered.

You smiled about yourself at their conversation, “Speaking without permission is prohibited in class!” Professor Umbridge spat, “Another act like that and you will be sent to detention,” she adds with an eerie smile across her face. The duo sat straight feeling intimidated and apologized, you were sick of how Hogwarts has changed ever since her arrival, it created a pit of needles in your stomach just watching the wretched woman talk. 

As you thought to yourself, you felt a hand move atop your thigh as the feeling of a calloused thumb graze across your skin. You look up from your page and see Mattheo with his head leaning in his hand with a disinterested look on his face. He yawns for a moment and gazes to the side, making eye contact with you. He raised an eyebrow with a wolfish grin, the look on his face told you that he was planning to tease you throughout class. You whispered in a very hushed tone, “Focus Mattheo, otherwise you’ll fail the exams,” he stared back unimpressed, “Princess, be serious with me, you’re not actually learning anything from this shit-show,” he replied quietly with his head turned to your ear. 

You peeled his hand off your thigh and set it on his lap, “Hands to yourself, Riddle. Unless you want to admit defeat,” you whispered back with your eyelashes waving at him. He grumbled some incoherent words—­­­something about a stupid bet and stubborn girlfriends— as he crossed his arms over the desk and pretended to focus on whatever Professor Umbridge decided to blab about this time. 

You weren’t entirely happy with this bet, you enjoyed the physical attention Mattheo gave you, though you were too stubborn to admit it now, and he wasn’t any different. In the hopes of your boyfriend giving up soon, you push on through the day despite the painful absence of his touch. 

The time for lunch had finally arrived, hungry students crowding the entrance of the Great Hall. You decided to sit beside Luna that day, due to not fully trusting yourself that you wouldn’t lay a finger on Mattheo. Luna had brought up another discussion of nargles and their love for jellies, you hadn’t been completely focused as your gaze was owned by Mattheo as he lightly shoves the food in his plate. It seemed that Draco was trying to gain his attention on a subject, but Mattheo’s gaze remained downwards with an expression that read bored and uninterested in anything that wasn’t the poor tatters of meat on his plate. 

“Are you listening?” Luna asked. 

“Huh? Oh, sorry Luna. Guess I lost focus there,” you muttered an apology as you tried to remember whatever Luna had last mentioned about the Nargles. 

“It is quite alright. It must be Wrackspurts fogging your mind again, you should get them cleaned,” she said dreamily. 

You blinked in slight confusion but chuckled at the thought of what these creatures would like, “I certainly hope there aren’t any Wrackspurts,” you said as you continued with your meal. 

“Did you know that Wrackspurts invade the minds of the lovesick,” she said matter-a-fact. 

“Is that right? Well,” taking a sip of pumpkin juice before continuing, ”I can assure you, Luna, I am not lovesick,” you said while flattening the fabric on your lap. 

“Very well, but if you wish to check for Wrackspurts, you can visit my dorm for a proper cleaning,” she offered, standing from her spot. 

You stood from your seat at the table and intertwined your arm with Luna. As you made your way to leave the Great Hall you took one more glance at Mattheo, that was when you saw him stare piercingly, eyes following your every movement since you left from your spot. Before you avoided his gaze, you decided to stick your tongue out at him in a petty attempt to annoy him, then leave the hall. 

He groans and lies his head on edge of the table; Theodore takes notice in his friend’s misery. “What’s up with you?” He asked in an uninterested tone as he ate his meal. 

“None of your damn business, Nott,” Mattheo says in a begrudged tone.

“Bet it has to do with your little girlfriend. I haven’t seen you snog her once this morning.” Draco adds smugly.

“What part of ‘none of your business’ did you lot not understand?” he says annoyed, lifting his head from the table. Mattheo retreated from the table, not taking another second with a group that would find enjoyment in his touch-less tragedy.

The rest of your day went on as expected, class after class, revising in the library, and ending the day off with dinner in the Great Hall. To you displeasure, Mattheo was nowhere to be seen, not with his buddies on the Slytherin’s table nor anywhere near you. It might have just been his way to deal with this entire bet; his annoyance from the lack of you was quite painstakingly obvious, which sent a wave of pride through your heart, only you could have such a hold over Mattheo Riddle.

But to think no more of him, you ate away at your mashers and chicken before heading back to the dorms for rest. Though, you weren’t prepared for what was to be enacted in the morning.

Ruckus and overlapping mutters were what drew you in as the new morning came, another day, another will to live as they say. Well, maybe not for Mattheo anymore. The striking newly created decree on the wall was hung up just to bother Riddle’s existence.

Boys & girls are not permitted to be within six inches of each another. 

The big full-stop at the end punctuated that there was certainly no room for discussion on this new rule. Not when Umbridge was here. So, how did Mattheo handle all this, you might ask?

“Fuck my life…” Banging his head against the desk, Draco beside him looking rather unimpressed at how a simple rule could get Mattheo so dejected. It wasn’t very in touch with who he was to let a stupid decree by a lady in clashing pink, but Matt had tried so many times to even lightly caress you, and for every single time, somehow Umbridge was there with a wand in hand ready to sting his touch away.

He hated it. Despised it. And was ready to go to war with that woman if it meant he could hold you again. Mattheo figured Umbridge was targeting him in some way, ever since she started her days at Hogwarts, she had kept Riddle under her radar. In class, during lunch, and even checking the attendance of Gryffindors and Slytherins every night. It was utterly suffocating and he could no longer take another second with her in office.

Therefore, the only possible way for your sneaky lover to ever meet his darling Juliet, he would need to sneak out during unholy hours. Could you believe he’d do something like that? Why yes. Though once you find out about this entire plan, you would feel bad for Theodore and Lorenzo for duping the teachers.

It was one past midnight when you received an owl at your door, a little paper that read ‘meet me at the tower.’ Only Mattheo would dare to break you out of the dorms at this time, you thought to yourself. As he wished, you escaped to the tallest tower in Hogwarts, and as expected a shadow of a lover greeted you. This would have been the best time to rub his little game like salt in his wounds, teasing him about how a rule that practically banned him from touching you must have been absolute hell. You couldn’t wait to hear his defiant excuses. I mean, that was what you imagined would happen.

Before long, Mattheo met you in the center of the tower before you could reach him. Treading towards you in long steps until untimely claiming your lips in a burning seal. His hands wandered without destination on your body, clenching to your beautiful self like it had been months if not years since he last caressed your figure. His bold greeting took an extra few seconds for you to render, by then you joined and played back with your tongue against his. Nothing else could matter more than your being in Mattheo’s grasp. Tonight was a mark to Riddle’s pride; he was not made for days without your warmth and touch. He craved it like a moth to a flame, and he would rather burn than to be void of it for any longer.

For once in his life, he just might help Potter out to drive that pink hag away.

tags | @nottendo @viperify @el-anythingrlly @sparklyredhrt

Because not only is your boyfriend a nerd who spends nearly every single minute of his free time combing through a massive pile of books and documents, no, he's also a needy freak, contrary to the belief of perhaps… everyone else.

Believe it or not, he enjoys being on top of you more than he enjoys being on top of every class—he said so himself after all, intoxicated by the feeling of your sweet pussy squeezing around him, his mind hazy with lust.

But still, they were his words.

And Tom lives up to them. No matter how tired his eyes are or how much his back aches from being hunched over books all day, he still finds time for you, finds the energy to rut his thick cock into your warm walls, even if gently and awfully slowly so.

Today has been no different. You've been in his dorm for hours while he is preparing for an upcoming Potions project, which he's only aware of because he's Slughorn's favourite student and he let him know. Claiming he needs to be ahead of everyone else if he wanted to score another Outstanding, Tom naturally hasn't rested since.

You do not try to argue with him anymore, try to tell him that even if he started two weeks after everyone else, he'd still receive just the same grade.

Instead, you've been watching him, splayed across his huge bed, which he has the honour of owning as a Prefect and Head Boy, distracting yourself with a novel (non-educational, obviously) until he had enough and joined you. The sun had just started to set at that point, weak rays bathing his dorm in a subtle golden glow. Tom crossed the bed, crawled over you, and fit his body perfectly between your legs, resting his head on your chest.

And now, just a few minutes later—all of his usual innocence has evaporated at last. His hips rut his full-blown erection against your lower tummy, his hot breaths coming fast and laboured as his face stays buried in the crook of your neck.

"So good to me," he whimpers, one of his warm hands on your thigh, holding you open for him, the other interlocked with yours. "So patient."

You hum in agreement, angling your hips upwards so as to encourage him to finally get on with it—and Tom gets the hint, although a little differently than you anticipated.

He flips up your skirt, having it pool around your waist, and then sits back and studies you. His gaze is fixed on the damp spot that has formed on the cotton lining of your panties, swallowing the urge to be inside you.

"So pretty," he murmurs, his thumb brushing along the length of your slick underwear, tracing your slit through the fabric until he reaches what he knows to be your clit—applying gentle pressure, circling slowly with just the tip of his thumb.

Tom observes your every reaction—from the way your lips part for a silent gasp to your hips bucking off the bed, chasing his touch, begging him for more. And if he is being truthful with himself… neither does he have the patience to wait any longer.

He hurriedly tugs his trousers and underwear down his legs, carelessly discarding them somewhere on the floor before he hovers over you again, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips—but as soon as you hook your fingers into your panties, he grabs your wrist and stops you.

"Don't undress," he whispers, looking down at you with his gentle, brown eyes, placing your hand beside you. "I'd like for you to keep them on for now."

You meet his gaze with a confused expression, but you nod nonetheless—anything if he finally lets you feel him.

His head dips to brush kisses down the side of your neck, and the next moment his body lowers to rest on top of yours—his cock perfectly nestled between your thighs, rubbing against your clothed pussy with every slight twitch of his hips.

"Tom, please, I—" you whine, wrapping your legs around his lower back, pressing yourself up against him. "I've been waiting so long, please don't— oh—"

"Shhh," Tom murmurs with a strained voice, nipping at your throat gently, grinding his length along your soaked panties, the head of his cock brushing over your swollen clit with every tender move of his hips. "Need you like this. It'll feel so good, I promise. You trust me, right?"

You nod eagerly, trying your best to concentrate on the blissful, tingly feeling in your core whenever you feel the slightest friction where you desire it most. "Yes, Tommy. Please, more."

He hums lowly in approval, his hands at the back of your head, tilting your head towards his to kiss you thoroughly this time. "Good girl. So perfect, allowing me to have you like this."

You open your mouth to respond, though the only sound that leaves you is a broken moan, thighs trembling as he sets a cruel pace, making sure to give your clit just enough attention to make you soft and pliant beneath him.

Tom continues with this for what feels like an eternity—rutting his hot, thick erection against your pussy, swollen and dripping with need at a cruel, slow pace. Your arousal has long soaked through the thin cotton fabric and inevitably coated his cock in a glistening layer of your combined arousal, his precum adding to the mess where your bodies are tightly connected.

You're so drunk on the feeling of his cock grinding over your pussy, you at first don't even recognise the warmth of your climax building low in your tummy—but he does.

Because it is not solely you whose senses are screaming for more.

Tom craves the feeling of your slick pussy, of your tight heat embracing him, pulsing around him—and so, he gently tugs your panties to the side, watching as his cock disappears between your glistening folds.

He nearly comes then and there just from the sweet, wet warmth of your skin on his, groaning as he slips upwards with ease, his hips stuttering at the increased sensitivity. "Fuck, darling— what on earth are you doing to me?"

His tip reappears to bump against your sensitive bud, having you moan in pleasure, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, holding his gaze. "Don't— don't stop."

Tom shakes his head, lips parted as his breathing grows heavier with each passing second, and brushes a kiss on your jaw. "I wouldn't dream of it."

And then, a split second later, his pace quickens—he's grinding against you with purpose now, mumbling strings of praises while he makes you watch his swollen cock make a mess of your pussy, gliding between your folds as though it had belonged there all this time.

The room fills with your combined sounds of pleasure, with the slick noises of him gliding between your puffy, sticky folds and his endless praises for you.

When you get too wet, he uses his thumb to keep himself from slipping out, and you nearly lose it at the increased pressure and precision.

If he doesn't stop this soon, you'll lose your damn mind.

"Tom, I need you inside— inside, please," you cry out, your climax approaching fast while you can't do anything but take what he's currently giving you—perfectly angled thrusts right over your clit, which have you seeing stars.

But Tom has different plans.

He sits up just slightly, letting his cock slip free to guide it lower towards your entrance—but instead of pushing inside, he merely lets his tip bump against your drooling hole, with three or four shallow thrusts. Enough to give you an idea of what he'd feel like inside—heavy and leaky, thick veins bulging beneath his skin and stretching across his entire length, yet not to actually push inside.

Damn him.

As hopeful as you were—the feeling is gone as soon as it came.

"I want you to come for me," Tom rasps, grinding against your sloppy folds again. "Just like this. Nothing else—just me, here."

"You're— oh God, you're impossible," you whine, but cannot deny that your orgasm isn't far—and Tom knows it.

With every rough thrust, his hand guides himself to where you need him most, and within minutes he has you right where he wants you—on the very brink of your climax, begging the waves to consume you whole.

Tom too is close, breathlessly whispering praises as his head dips to your neck once more. "So beautiful, sweetheart, so good to me— always so patient and pliant, I— fuck—"

His thrusts falter then, cock twitching between your sticky folds, a throaty groan escaping him when ropes of thick, white cum paint your glistening pussy opaque white. It's so much, you can feel it seeping down the length of your slit, gathering at your neglected hole before it drips onto the silk comforter beneath you.

Tom allows his senses to return to him before he lifts himself off you, appreciating the mess between your thighs—and when you try to close your legs, he stops you.

"Just a little bit longer, darling. Show me how pretty you look," he says, and you obey.

His fingers trace the white residue, smearing it where it belongs—in between your folds and over your clit. You whimper, back arching off the bed at the touch, and just like you've wanted it all along, two of his long, slender fingers gently slip inside your warm walls, using his cum as additional lube—not that you need it, but the mere sight of it has his cock hardening once more.

Tom curls his fingers just right—rubbing over that perfect spot inside you while his other hand takes care of your puffy clit.

"Tommy, mmph— fuck!"

A smirk tugs on his lips at the state of you—all fucked out even though he never let you feel him inside you in the first place, his fingers eliciting the sweetest moans from your bite-swollen lips, teary eyes staring up at him.

Just how he likes you.

"Come for me, pretty girl. Show me how good you can truly be."

thank you so much for reading! <3 feel free to reblog and leave feedback! :3 — masterlist. | oneshots.

©2026 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own.

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yall vs me (ily baby)

Questions. You hated them these days.

“Oh so you’re dating Enzo now?”

“Wasn’t he with…?”

Questions. And worse, doubts. People were doubting you, and whether or not you really were Enzo’s type. Sure, you hadn’t been exclusive for that long yet, but people, after his last relationship, turned to you with expectations you felt like you couldn’t jump.

You almost wanted to bring this issue to him.

Almost.

But you didn’t, because you were afraid he’d say he loved you more but his eyes would show otherwise. You hated the thought of seeing anything of her lingering on his mind, in his life.

Anyone would have sworn you were in love with her if they’d known how much you’d been thinking of her.

Somehow, this girl did not leave your mind for more than an hour at best, because there was evidence everywhere that this girl had once lived between the walls of the same castle as you. She graduated last year, which made her two years older than you. One year older than Enzo.

It’s not even a big age gap, neither between them, nor between you and her. But it was just perfectly enough to make you feel like a kid. While she was probably already having adult problems, you were still having Quidditch bruises and curfew.

Her name was everywhere — in yearbooks, on goblets and medals in glass cabinets (turned out she had been extraordinary in Potions and Herbology), and in overheard conversations. There was a picture of her you had seen in Slughorn’s office — bright eyes, shiny hair and a proud smile — that made you realise you’d only see this girl a few times while she had been studying at Hogwarts. You couldn’t help but wonder if Enzo had ever stopped by to look at her since they’d broken up.

No wonder she had earned a spot on The Shelf, though. Slughorn still talked about her essays.

Prefect.

Head Girl.

Fuck, you knew she was a Virgo, too. So neat, so detail-oriented, what other sign would achieve so much without breaking in the process?

”Why would he even settle for a Quidditch player when he had her?”

Enzo, in the meanwhile, was clueless. Clueless about how his ex-girlfriend’s passive presence ruled your every day, about how obsessed you were becoming with her and with finding the answer to this one question: what made him choose you after he had someone so close to perfect?

“What’s on your mind, beautiful?” he ran his fingers through your hair as your head rested on his lap. The common room was quiet, only a few students had been out here, the rest were probably in their dormitories. Your notes of Quidditch strategies lay on your chest discarded, though you should have been breezing theough them instead of internally obsessing over a girl you had never spoken to.

“Huh?” you mumbled. “Oh, uh, nothing.”

”’Beautiful’. Did he call her that too?”

He frowned at you — he knew you better than this. “C’mon, Y/N, lying? You know you’re terrible at that,” he teased with a soft smile.

He was crazy about you, but that somehow made it even worse. Because if someone could love a simple girl like you this much, imagine how much he could have loved someone so accomplished. You were so blinded by something that had already passed that you slowly forgot to get out of your own head and live what was yours — his love.

“So, what’s bothering you, baby?” he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead.

You almost said it out loud.

Almost asked, ”Did you love her like this?”

But refrained last-minute and sighed, “I’m just stressed about Quidditch.”

His expression softened and he gave you a reassuring look, “You’ll crush Hufflepuff, my love. Don’t you worry a second.”

You tried giving him a grateful smile, but could only stretch your lips as far as am awkward pout.

He smirked nonetheless and leaned closer to whisper, “Let me just take your mind off of it for tonight,” and before you knew it, you were already led by him, hand in hand towards his dorm room.

It didn’t slow your racing thoughts down, though — in fact, it had only made them worse.

”Is she good in bed?”

”Does she give great head…”

”Do you think about her— no, I’m fine, it doesn’t matter.”

You couldn’t stop thinking about her and her and her, even as his fingers worked inside of you, even as your mouth was sliding up and down in sync with your hand on his cock.

You wished to forget about her, for one night at least.

You knew he loved you.

But why was it not enough for you to understand that a sunflower was never supposed to compete with a lily?

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” his voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

You were lying in bed side-by-side, but you rushed to put clothes on, feeling less than anytime before, feeling like he deserved soft, spotless skin over fading scars and blue-green bruises.

“Yeah.”

“Then why do I feel like you’re somewhere else?” he kept running his fingertips up and down your arm soothingly.

You chewed on your lips, helpless, torn between saying it and staying quiet. Because if you said it… there were too many possibilities. He could either blow up on you. Be mad at you. Tell you you were insane. Or worst-case scenario: admit she was still important to him. More important than you, and that you could never take up as much space in his heart as she had.

Or, if you stayed silent, it could open the already existing hole and turn it into a gaping chasm between the two of you.

So you decided to speak a few silent seconds later, “I sometimes wonder if you miss her.”

“Who?”

“Your ex.”

He could tell he frowned, even without looking at him, “Florence?”

“Yeah.”

“You think I do?” he asked, not accusingly, not mad, just surprised.

“Well, I mean…” you sighed, there was no going back now. “She seemed nice.”

Liar.

She seemed everything, effortlessly. She for sure was well-read — she had been a Ravenclaw after all. She was talented at every subject, good with the kids she tutored, and probably was the life of every party. She was it and he was trying to convince you he didn’t miss her?

You felt so young seeing her on every corner you turned.

He sighed, then, and pulled you into his chest. He smelled like cedar and sandalwood, and something so uniquely him. “Yeah, she was nice,” he started. “But there was a reason we broke up. You think I love you because you remind me of her. I love you because you don’t.”

“Really?” your voice sounded almost hopeful.

“Really,” he kissed the top of your head.

The reassurance felt like a hot shower after a long day — nice, easing your mind, but still burning your skin just slightly.

You let out a soft sigh as you felt yourself relax into him, and laughed at something he said.

His reassurance worked. For about five minutes.

Because Florence Fawley was still a lily.

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That fateful night replayed in your head, more bitter than any bottle of alcohol. You had just gone off to use the loo when you realized you had left your purse, and was about to retrieve it until you overheard their conversation.

“Can’t believe you actually pulled it off,” Cormac’s friend slapped him on the back, handing him another bottle of beer.

“Dating the most unavailable girl in our year,” his other friend chimed in. “Well, a bet’s a bet,” he continued, as he reached for his Galleons.

“I told you I could do it,” Cormac smiled smugly. That charming smile that once unleashed butterflies in your stomach, now looked wrong. It made you want to hurl your insides. He held his hand out and proudly closed his fist around the gold coins. 

Everyone laughed good naturedly, toasting beers with Cormac, as if it was just a silly little prank. It seemed like everyone was in on the joke, except for you. You stormed in, grabbed your purse and splashed a cocktail on his face.

The only thing you could do to save your last shred of your dignity was walk away. The past week had been a blur of tears, sleepless nights, and pity parties, you were pretty sure you were only standing out of spite.

You felt so delirious in fact, that you swore you could see Cormac from the distance. He had his arm around a pretty girl and they were headed towards you. ‘How much have I drank?’ Your eyes wandered to your empty hand in confusion.

You hadn’t even gotten the chance to drink anything before the tears caught up with you. So…your hallucination? Oh, it was real. Heat rushed to your cheeks in realization and even without having drank alcohol, you sobered up anyway and stood straight. You swiped at your tears ferociously and thanked the makeup gods for waterproof mascara and eyeliner.

‘How the hell is he even here?’ You wondered as you searched for the exit. He never went to Slytherin parties, yet there he was.  As you frantically searched across the room, your eyes landed on Lorenzo Berkshire who stared back at you. You smiled widely wanting to pretend everything was normal, but in your panic you looked like a serial killer clown who was out to get him. Your eyes fell to the floor in horror.

Just when things couldn’t get worse, two very familiar shoes stepped in front of you. Cormac. Your heart thumped against your chest, each beat carrying a memory that burned like acid. Promises you once believed in, hands intertwined everywhere you went, secrets shared in the quiet of night. It was all a lie. 

You took a deep inhale. “No,” you spoke before he could say anything and spun so fast, crashing into a hard chest that smelled like expensive cologne. You froze, until you felt strong hands wrap around your back.

“There you are, I’ve been looking for you,” a warm voice said above you, and the way his chest vibrated was as comforting as a purring cat. You looked up and blinked in confusion, it was Lorenzo Berkshire.

Before you knew what you were doing, you heard yourself respond, “I’m here.”

“Come on, let’s dance,” he said, moving his hand around your shoulder and guiding you deeper into the dance floor. 

He held you close and whispered in your ear, “Hi, I’m your hero. It’s nice to meet you.”

You laughed at his audacity, the tightness in your chest loosening for the first time in days. “And I’m the girl with the serial killer clown smile. Aren’t you afraid I’d murder you?”

“If I were to get murdered, it wouldn’t be so bad if the last thing I saw was your pretty face,” he quipped.

You scoffed, “I find your sense of self-preservation alarming.”

“Well perhaps I need saving too.”

You stared at him and he continued, “this night has been a bore. Focus on me,” he took your hand and brought it to his side. “Cormac’s looking-”

“Then kiss me,” you tell him, determination burning in your eyes.

Enzo smirked, he didn’t need to be asked twice. His lips crashed into yours, soft and warm, as his cologne enveloped you. You explored his mouth with curiosity, excited to feel something other than sadness or shame for the first time in a week. You could get lost here, wrapped in his strong arms, and forget everything. But you couldn’t let yourself be that foolish again.

You broke the kiss first and saw Cormac staring dumbly. It felt like a win, though what the game was, you weren’t sure. Enzo held your hand, “come on, let’s get out of here.” You followed him, walking briskly, exhanging stupid smiles. 

You giggled when you reached the door of his dorm room. “Thank you,” you looked at Enzo. “We have actually met before, we had potions together.” 

“Ah,” Enzo nods, fumbling with the door of his dorm room. “Well, I could get to know you in lots of ways,” he winked, holding the door open.

You crossed your arms around your chest and slowly walked into his room, suddenly conscious now that you were alone with Enzo. He seemed sweet back when you were classmates in potions, but his reputation told a different story these days.

 “Why did you save me, back there?”

“I saw a gorgeous girl with a wild smile, how could I resist?” he shrugged with a playful glint in his eye.

You chuckled, “it’s just the two of us, you can drop the act. And you know what happened, huh?” Your eyes dropped to the floor again, shame burning your cheeks pink.

“Hey,” he said, holding your chin and gently lifting it up to look into your eyes. “I wasn’t lying, you are very pretty. And yes, I’ve heard but you shouldn’t be embarassed. What Cormac did to you was really shitty. He’s the one who should feel terrible, not you. ”

“But I was the stupid one who fell for it,” tears welled in your eyes again and you took a deep inhale, willing the tears back. 

Enzo swiped his thumb across your cheek, wiping off the tear that escaped.

“I can make you feel good,” he offered, looking intently into your eyes. “Get lost in me tonight, like that kiss earlier. Don’t tell me you felt nothing.”

You laughed despite the heat that burned in the pit of your stomach. “You’ve done enough for me tonight. Thank you, I’m sure it’s amazing. I’ve heard stellar reviews and everything,” you put two thumbs up to punctuate the statement. 

“Stellar reviews?” Enzo smirked, “don’t you want to find out for yourself?”

“But it’s all a mess, I don’t know. I don’t want to drag anyone else into this.” You stood to leave, but Enzo placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Okay, that’s fine. Let’s at least see this through, give it a couple more minutes. Can’t have anyone thinking I’m a quick shot, don’t want to ruin my stellar reviews.”

“The least I could do is keep your reputation intact,” you agreed, sitting beside him again. 

“So,” he said, clapping both hands together. “Tell me everything shitty about Cormac, so we can hate him together.”

You grinned at him, took a deep breath, and launched into it. You spoke about his annoying habits. You gagged together at the way he’d use his fingernail as a toothpick and then eat whatever food he got out. Scowled at the way he forgot about plans you made, and made fun of the way he obnoxiously referred to himself in third person.

“I’m insulted,” you said as the laughter died down, “that I got fooled by him.”

“Doesn’t it just make you angry instead of sad?”

You nodded, and he continued. “You saw how shocked he was earlier, he probably thought you’d be crying over him. What if we stuck with this for a while and made him suffer?”

“Sounds fun, but what’s in it for you?” you examined him.

“Like I said earlier, I’m bored. Let’s cause some mischief.”

You held your hand out, “deal.”

“Deal,” he agreed, but instead of shaking your hand, he kissed the back of it. 

“S-so, got any ideas?” you asked, ignoring the shot of electricity from his kiss.

“If Cormac wanted so badly to be the center of attention, then so be it.” Enzo smirked and you leaned in, intrigued by his idea.

“You know, there is a Gryffindor party tomorrow where he’ll be celebrating his birthday,” you chimed in, scheming revenge together.

“That’s it then,” you both grinned at each other minutes later, your plan in place.

Enzo moved closer and you closed your eyes instinctively. You held your breath as your heart beat faster. His fingers gently brushed your hair, messing it up slightly. 

“Come on, I’ll walk you to your dorm,” he said, holding out his hand to help you up. 

Enzo zipped up the dress he got for you and you marveled at your reflection. In your color coordinated outfit, you truly looked like the perfect couple.

Hand in hand, you strode into the party and innocently smiled at the shocked faces that stared at you. Just last week, Cormac and his friends were laughing at you. By the end of tonight, you’d have the last laugh. 

With Enzo, you danced and chatted the night away. It was surprisingly easy to tune out the crowd when you were with him. Alarm bells went off in your head, and as long as you heeded their warnings, you reckoned you’d be fine. You spoke about the latest gossip, current events, and discovered a shared interest in fashion. A fresh heartbreak was all the reminder you needed to keep yourself safe and distant. 

Cormac’s cake was lit and everyone around him sang happy birthday, you and Enzo shared knowing smiles and you barely suppressed a giggle. Just as Cormac blew out the candles, you cast wingardium leviosa, causing the cake to levitate and smash onto his face. He quickly threw it away, sputtering icing and cake.

“Happy birthday, Cormac!” you clapped cheerfully, piercing through the stunned silence around you. “I’ve got another gift for you,” you declared, throwing a gift box onto his feet. “Here’s to getting what you deserve,” You tapped your wand and glitter exploded beneath Cormac, spreading across the room. All around you, there was shrieking and coughing as the pesky glitter shone and lodged itself everywhere it shouldn’t.

“That’s my girl!” Enzo raised his hand and you gave him a high five, except he caught your hand upon contact and led you sprinting forward, away from the chaos. With his other hand, he snagged a bottle of champagne. Your maniacal laughter trailed behind you, you had never felt so free. 

The night air greeted you as you caught your breath, providing a cool relief from all the excitement. 

“Look at you, bad ass,” Enzo beamed at you proudly.

“Did you see his nostrils flare in disbelief? He couldn’t even talk because he was busy sputtering cake and glitter!” 

“Everyone else got a fright with that explosion. That’ll show ‘em not to mess with you,” he agreed, leading you into the garden, where he sat comfortably on a bench.

“Thank you,” you said, settling down beside him.

“As much as I love a good revenge plan, this was mostly your idea,” he said, popping off the cork of the champagne. “So let’s celebrate!” He handed you the bottle and you took a swig, the bubbles fizzed and warmed you.

“To revenge,” you said, handing him back the bottle.

“So there is credence to that serial killer clown smile,” he commented, amused.

“Should have run when you had the chance.”

“Too bad, I’m stuck with you now,” he said, handing back the bottle with a huge grin that said it was anything but.

“So next week, you’re playing a match against Gryffindor. I have an idea,” Enzo leaned in as you proposed your plan.

Draco clutched the golden snitch in his hand, thrusting it in the air to signal victory. The crowd cheered wildly and you found yourself sprinting towards Enzo, who was already headed towards you. You crashed into his outstretched arms and he lifted you up, echoing your laughter.

“Congrats!” You managed to say, in between catching your breath.

“Only the best for my girl. We won because of you, though don’t let Draco hear that,” he winked at you as he placed you back down. “A kiss for the champion?” He leaned in closer and whispered in delight, “Cormac’s fuming.”

You felt giddy with pride and triumph. Cormac was so used seeing your creative signs dedicated to him, that he lost focus when he saw your sign was for Enzo this time. So much so, that he flew into Harry by mistake, giving Draco the space to catch the golden snitch.

You giggled and closed the distance between you, tasting sweet revenge on his lips. Enzo responded skilfully, living up to his reputation as he wrapped his arms around you again, one hand cupping the side of your cheek.

It still felt surreal to have someone in your corner, yet it felt too good to question or analyze too much. Things just felt easy with him. Besides, it was all pretend. Was this how easy it was for Cormac to fool you?

“Are you okay?” Enzo said, pressing his forehead against yours. 

You blinked, not sure when you had broken off the kiss. “Yes,” you assured him, even though your tone was unconvincing. “Congrats again,” you beamed and in a lower tone, “thank you. One day, I’ll find a way to repay you.”

“Oh?” Enzo said, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

Heat rushed to your cheeks, “n-not that way!” You said defensively.

Enzo laughed off his hurt. “Just kidding, dummy,” he messed up the top of your hair again like he did last night. You stuck your tongue out in response and Enzo laughed for real this time. “I’ll figure it out,” you said vaguely, and he brushed it off with a wave as he left for the showers.

Turns out, Enzo was the perfect fake boyfriend. He showed up every morning with flowers, walked you hand-in-hand to all of your classes, and you alternated meals between yours and his friend group. You cheered for him in all his quidditch matches. He even bought you a necklace with his initial and made out with you in hallways whenever you saw Cormac.

On weekends, you partied together, had brunch in Hogsmeade, and went shopping together. Little by little, you acquired trinkets. Scented candles that helped you relax, a jar of candy you mentioned that you liked in passing, and stickers he got just because they reminded him of you. He was starting to take up more space in your room and in your life.

You hadn’t even realized a month had passed. And with that, the talk changed from Cormac’s bet to your glittering revenge, and Enzo’s dedication. He had never been with anyone for this long before and everyone stared on curiously, some bitter with jealousy.

Tonight’s party was underway, everyone buzzed with alcohol and excitement, when Mattheo had announced a game of 7 Minutes in Heaven.

Wanting to avoid being on Enzo’s bad side, he naturally paired you two together, while he spun a bottle for everyone else.

“Go on you two love birds, show everyone how it’s done,” he smirked, motioning towards the closet, starting the game with you two.

You and Enzo shared a knowing smile as you closed the closet door behind you. It was more snug that you thought, Enzo laid down a coat from the closet so you could sit together, bodies pressed side by side.

“So, how have you been?” Enzo asked, pressing his shoulder against yours.

“Not too bad,” you admitted, giving him a wide drunken smile. When he didn’t say anything else, you continued, “The whole thing with Cormac feels like a lifetime ago. The betrayal stings, of course, but it’s more of a dull ache than a sharp, stabbing pain. Does that make sense?” You chuckled self consciously.

Enzo nodded, you had been closed off for most of the time you spent together, he was pleasantly surprised to hear you open up. It didn’t hurt that alcohol also did its work to grease your wheels. “Time heals wounds?”

“More like, sweet revenge and a fake boyfriend.”

It was his turn to laugh, “that, I do understand.”

“You know, they targeted me because they assumed I was unavailable. I mean, it’s true, I didn’t really date before. But I was honestly just waiting for the right person to sweep me off my feet. I thought I was being smart about it. Instead, I was knocked down my feet,” you sighed bitterly. “It really helped, the whole revenge thing, because then I was no longer the victim. I was someone who learned to fight back and stand up for myself.”

“My bad ass,” Enzo said proudly before going quiet again, listening. “So why didn’t you date much?”

“My mom and I love romance novels. So I had high expectations. You know, grand gestures and declarations of love. Cormac did it all and I thought ‘this is what I was waiting for’. Until of course I realized, it was all for show, just how we did. Even romance novels, they were written for entertainment.” You paused.

“What do you think now?” Enzo asked, wanting to hear more.

“I think love is subtler. It’s this sneaky little bastard, just comes up on you when you least expect it. It’s not some flashy expression, it’s who is there when you need them. The person you could be friends with, and feel safe with. You have fun together and have these inside jokes. No matter how long you’ve spent together, you still want more. Kind of like-” you. You never said the last word aloud.

Oh. Realization dawned on you at that moment. It had taken a drunken night for you to realize what your sober mind had been running away from for weeks. You had fallen in love with Lorenzo Berkshire.

Your heart beat quickly, drumming up uncertainties and fears. Resident play boy who could act love so well, there were times you had believed it. Fooled yourself into thinking you were more than just good friends. 

You got lost in his laughter and drowned in his sweet, vibrant presence. His sharp edges made you feel brave. Like you could fully be yourself, and more - a bolder version of you. 

“Enzo, I” you started, then jolted together when a knock resounded. “Last two minutes,” Mattheo announced, “make sure you’re decent when we open this door. Or not,” he snickered.

The interruption seemed fateful, knocking some sense into you. You couldn’t, would not, risk getting hurt again. Sure, you had survived Cormac, but it was mainly with Enzo’s help. What would happen if he hurt you? Who would help you then?

You didn’t dare think about it. Enzo reached out to toussle your hair, bringing you out of your thoughts. You leaned in and painted your desires on his neck, your lipstick marking him as yours, if only under the guise of fake dating.

“What did you want to say?” he asked, his eyes searching yours.

You cleared your throat, buying time to switch topics. “You don’t really remember me from potions class?”

Enzo smiled sheepishly, looking left and right, while he thought of his response. “Actually, I do. It” he began.

The air suddenly grew cool as light filtered through and Mattheo opened the closet door. He grinned at your toussled hair and Enzo’s lipstick stained neck. “Nice one,” he gave Enzo and then you, a high five.

“I’m not feeling very well. Don’t worry about me, you should stay and enjoy the party,” you mentioned to Enzo and before he could reply, you quickly walked back to your dorm room.

“You really tired out Y/n,” Mattheo told Enzo, wrapping an arm around his. “Come on mate, help me with this game. It’s rare to see you a free man these days.”

Enzo looked longingly at you, wanting to follow, but figured you’d be fine tomorrow. Besides, someone needed to make sure Mattheo didn’t get into too much trouble.

Enzo kicked himself inwardly for letting you go that night. In the days that followed, he hardly saw you despite going to your usual spots. It was almost as if you were ignoring him, but he couldn’t for the life of him, figure out what he had done wrong.

By the fifth day, Enzo was losing his mind. With his charm and some skilfull bribing, he had managed to get your location from one your friends.

At the library, you scribbled your notes onto parchment until your pencil hovered idly at the words. You couldn’t stop thinking of Enzo since your big realization, but didn’t know what to do with your feelings.

Your longing had been so intense, you swore you could smell his perfume as if he were right beside you. An unseen force knocked your pencil to the table, clattering and rolling away.

Oh. Enzo was right beside you. 

“H-hi,” you greeted him with a whisper, pasting on a wide smile that didn’t reach your eyes, pretending everything was fine.

“The serial killer clown smile is back,” Enzo commented curiously.

“As you can see,” you said, picking your pencil back up. “I’m busy, let’s talk later” you went back to writing when your pencil was knocked off again by his pencil, like an impromptu fencing match. 

“Sure, I’ll come back never,” he said sarcastically.

“You are such a stubborn boy,” you whispered, annoyance creeping its way, as you picked up your pencil and continued ignoring him again, hoping he would get the hint and leave you.

“I am a stubborn boy,” Enzo agrees, knocking the pencil off your hand again.

“Oh that’s it, shove it just one more time,” you started, picking it up again, “and I swear-”

He knocked your pencil off your hand again, but you were ready this time. You parried and clashed your pencil with him.

“I-is this because you haven’t had it for a while? You know, you can go on nightly trysts with other women, right?” you whispered agressively.

“Oh come on, you’re reading too much into this. Stop ignoring me, what’s wrong?” he responded, combatting your pencil.

“The pencils are…very phallic,” you said, determined to knock his pencil from his hand.

He made a disgusted face, “you pervert! I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“You’re the one waving that pencil around,” you replied, not responding to his question. The more off topic you could keep things, the better.

“Do you want it?” Enzo said, smirking and thrusting his pencil suggestively.

“No, I don’t!” you screamed, pushing your chair back as you quickly stood up. It clattered on the ground and echoes resounded through the bookshelves.  Heads turned towards you and curious stares swarmed from all corners.

The librarian walked towards you and just before she opened her mouth, you held a hand up. “I’m sorry, Madam Pince,” you kept your tone cool despite the emotions bubbling in you. You calmly picked up the chair and slid it back in, then grabbed your things, “I’ll see myself out.”

Enzo followed in tow, giving Madam Pince an apologetic smile.

Once you were out the library, you turned towards Enzo. “Great, now I can’t study.”

“Great, now you have time to talk to me,” he said in triumph.

When you walked away in irritation, he matched your steps. “Did I do anything wrong?” he asked and the sincerity in his tone caught you off guard.

“No, I just don’t understand,” you muttered, almost to yourself.

“Understand what? Let’s talk about it,” Enzo persisted. “Come on, Y/n, don’t make me beg. Please, please, please, ple-”

“Why are you being so kind to me? Why is it so complicated? Why do I feel so much?” The words tumbled out.

Enzo blinked, gathering his thoughts. “What I wanted to tell you that night, was that of course I remembered you from potions. If anything, it’s me you don’t remember, at least not fully.”

“What do you mean?” you tilted your head to the side in confusion.

“During exams, I accidentally dropped a vial of ingredient. It was a mixture of two other ingredients, that I didn’t have. It was over for me, but you were there in the next table. You discreetly handed me your vial with a generous smile.

I asked if you were sure. You just casually shrugged and said you could make it again. I asked if you wanted anything in return, and you just told me to do my best and not to drop anything else, of course.”

He studied your surprised expression,  and the memories flooded back at once.

Enzo contined, “I was floored. All my life, everyone always wanted something in return. Even the girls that gave ‘stellar reviews’. They were after it for the prestige and so I played, it was all a game.

But not with you. You wanted nothing in return. You even forgot about the whole incident. So all this,” he motioned between you, “it’s my way of returning your kindness all those years ago. You never owed me anything.”

Your eyes teared up at the sincerity of his words. “I messed up,” you admitted as a lump formed in your throat. “I know it’s all pretend, but somewhere along the way, I fell for you.”

It was only right you laid your cards on the table, since Enzo did it. He made you feel brave, strong enough to push past your worries and fears. You realized then, deep in your romance-loving heart, some things were worth the risk. Some people were worth the risk.

You shook your head. “I know, it’s foolish. I told myself I wouldn’t. I know your games and your reputation, but then I got to know you beyond that. The lines blurred and it felt real. I hid because I was embarassed.”

Enzo cupped your cheek. “Thank fuck it wasn’t just me.”

“What?” a small laughter escaped your lips.

“I liked you since potions class, Y/n, but I didn’t want to pursue you. Those other girls wanted something in return, it was different. I didn’t want to cheapen your kindness by…approaching you that way. I didn’t know how it could work, so I just watched you from afar.

Fake dating…this whole thing…it was my way in. But somewhere along the line, it stopped being fake to me too. I even told Blaise about our arrangement, and he laughed. He said ‘why do you think it looked convincing? Because you weren’t acting, you idiot.’ But I didn’t know how to tell you, until now.”

“You mean to tell me, the only ones we were fooling, were ourselves?” you scoffed, shaking your head at the irony.

“So let’s stop being fools,” Enzo declared, “and do this for real?”

“For real, this time,” you reached up and hugged him, letting yourself get lost in his embrace and his cologne that now smelled like home.

“You like me, even with my serial killer clown smile?”

“Especially with your serial killer clown smile.”

“Shut up,” you punched him playfully on his shoulder. “No actually, tell me more,” you grinned up at him.

He grinned back, took a deep breath in, and launched into it.

✿ Masterlist | ✿ Lorenzo Berkshire Masterlist

standing just outside the white chalk lines. shaggy raven hair that never looks styled, stubble he clearly forgot—or chose not—to shave that morning. his infamous scar pulling at his lips as he shouts. he wears the same black team jacket unzipped, sleeves rolled up his thick forearms. when he folds his arms or gestures sharply toward the field, you always catch his muscles shifting beneath the fabric, veins flexing making it so impossible to ignore.

it’s just a photographer’s eye for striking subjects. for sure….

he beautifully contrasts against the chaos of the game…even if he’s shouting, or breaking his clipboard…. still, you capture him mid-shout, mid-thought, jaw clenched as he’s holding the entire team together.

and then later, when the photos run, and his photos dominate the highlights more than the actual goal, well, you pretend not to notice how often your name sits beneath them in a small, neat printed font.

he doesn’t know you. you’re just another person with a camera on the sidelines. you’re just another face in a sea of professional press badges, not just one of the universities many photographers. but you know him. you know the way his brows pinch when one of his players gets injured, the way his mouth twitches when his team scores, and the way he exhales with relief when the game ends.

and you keep clicking the shutter button—

“again?!” the head editor exclaims. “you didn’t get the goal?”

“I did!” you huff, glaring at the senior grad student who basically runs the entire school newspaper.

“not the first one, the final goal! the one scored by the universities ace! sukuna—“

“god forbid i missed a shot, I basically got everything else, plus I’m not the only one taking photos on the pitch. don’t you have other photographers?” you tsk, arms crossed.

he glares at you behind his desk, clicking through the photos you’d uploaded. “you got every single expression of the damn coach,” he mutters under his breath, clicking through one of toji shouting, then another of him spitting on the grass, then another of him scratching his jaw—

you nibble on your cheek, slouching slightly in the seat.

“you hate when we use someone else’s photos,” he adds, licking his teeth as he finally gets to your photos of the actual players. and they were spectacular. the action shots were perfect, you can see the sweat dribbling down their foreheads.

“because it’s my job,” you mutter, glancing at your editor who frowns when the photos return back to the head coach.

“unbelievable,” he mumbles, exhaling slowly as he sits back in his seat. “you’re killing me.”

your heel kicks the floor. this wasn’t a first. this happens almost every time. your lens just happens to drift away from the ball and fall on the head coach.

even with fans shouting in the stands, and the other cameras flashing in the other direction. your camera can’t help but find coach toji in the chaos. he was just as important as the team. he’s acting like toji isn’t mentioned a million times in the articles! god forbid you want him getting his flowers. but your editor wasn’t very appreciative of your sympathies.

“we’re going with these three, and taking one from the other photographers for the final goal you didn’t get,” he sighs, showing you your three photos, one of the team celebrating, another of satoru gojo sprinting across the field with the ball, and of course, the final — and in your opinion the best — of head coach toji standing with his muscular arms crossed at the start of the second half.

your editor rolls his eyes turning his screen back to him. “if you bring another folder and it’s seventy percent of this damn coach, I’ll drop you and pull noah up.”

the threat has you lowering your head and muttering a hesitate okay, because at the end of the day, you were the only photographer that worked full time for the paper, and you go to every single match. the rest are focused on other stories, or working their way to become editors.

while you liked photo-journalism more. it helped, that on weekends, you got someone to admire. and your editor was not the only one that’s noticed.

“what the hell, you’ve got to be kidding me,” geto huffs, snatching the paper from gojo as he sits on the pitch. “why am I never in these damn fucking articles??” he huffs with anger

“score more goals,” gojo sticks his tongue out, just to get kicked harshly by his friend.

“I fucking scored this game,” geto snaps, grumbling even more as he flips through the paper, seeing the team celebrating.

sukuna chugs his water behind them, “my picture sucks ass,” he grumbles, spitting the water right beside their goalie making him jerk back in annoyance. “you didn’t score, but I get the shit picture?” he snaps lowly at gojo.

geto frowns, “I scored, and at least you get a picture.”

gojo chuckles, pointing at the next photo, making the entire team roll their eyes simultaneously.

“some things never change,” one teammate, yuno, mutters. his hands are on his hips as him and the rest of the team glare at the immaculate, pristine, jaw-dropping photo captured of their strict, grumpy, nicotine addicted head coach, toji.

sukuna snarls as geto looks like he’s going to fucking tear out his luscious black hair. “fucking unbelievable.”

gojo snorts even louder, snatching the paper just to wave it from his place on the ground towards toji, who’d just gotten off the phone. “coach! you’re mogging the cameras again!”

toji’s brows pinch until he notices the photo. and it’s always the same reaction from the head coach. his eyes scan over the photo, then they fall down to the same printed name underneath. “not bad,” he casually says, handing back the newspaper like it’s nothing.

but the entire team is seething, with the exception of gojo laughing his ass off.

“I finally figured out who your secret admirer is,” gojo announces, “it’s definitely the cutie with the charm on her camera and stickers on her flashlight.”

geto raises a brow “how d’ya know that?” the rest of the team immediately huddle in.

gojo clears his throat.

“for the last few games I’ve been purposely fixing my shoes or drinking water on the sidelines where they’re all huddled up. obviously I ruled out all the old farts, then I narrowed it down to the ladies. then i crossed out the outside press, but it’s hard since I can’t see all their press badges—but then i noticed,” gojo holds up the newspaper, slapping his index finger on your name beneath the photo. the entire team have basically memorized your full name by now. “she was the only one still photographing the field, BUT it was pointed at coach,” gojo points to toji.

“AND,” gojo continues, “she had this cute little charm on her camera, and this sticker. and it’s definitely your secret admirer,” gojo confidently smiles.

however, geto scratches his jaw, glancing at gojo then the newspaper. “so which one was her instagram?”

oh right, gojo rubs his neck in disappointment.

your name under a majority of the game’s photos started catching the teams attention a couple months ago. your credentials at the bottom of the article was always signed with your first and last name. however, when the team caught on to your not-so secret admiration for their coach, and neglect of the rest of team, they tried stalking you.

yet, they couldn’t find a single social media handle. not your instagram, twitter, tiktok — even your linkedIn was just the default linkedIn pfp. and the school paper website didn’t have a photo for you. either way, the team was on a mission.

“I don’t think her socials are even under her name,” gojo admits, making the team groan.

toji, silently watching the ordeal transpire, claps his hands, breaking the gossip. “enough, continue your drills unless ya wanna stay till sunset!”

once the team finally finishes practice and began packing their gear. neither one of them notices the students enjoying the nice weather on campus, or the girl that take a detours to walk past the field.

your eyes easily fall on your perfect subject. his hand cracks his neck as he stifles a yawn, kicking the soccer ball towards one of the players as they kick it up, tucking it under their arm.

it was a routine….one that you found yourself subconsciously doing on practice days. you would follow the path down from the quad, until you reach the second soccer field on campus, mainly used for practice and training.

your bag hangs off your shoulder along with your camera — the lens was downsized to your fixed 24mm and the flash wasn’t on — that’s usually how your camera is when you aren’t at events, or games.

it isn’t uncommon to watch the schools infamous soccer team practice. especially when half of them are also part of a fraternity. hell, on the other side of the field were a few girls fawning over the sweaty players.

in other words, you don’t stand out. and you’re unbothered by the hot players that glance your way as they pack their bags. well, until a certain white haired player is squinting across the field, before muttering a quiet “no way…”

geto gives his friend a look, lifting his duffle over his shoulder as sukuna wipes his face with the hem of his jersey, “what?” he grumbles.

gojo’s bag hit the grass. he locks eyes with you. then he does the worst thing imaginable. he shouts your name.

the entire team snap their necks in your direction. gojo suddenly leads the pack of six foot whatever college men across the field — their bags drop, cleats half untied, some bare foot. but all on one mission.

you.

the color immediately drains from your face. your body freezes like a deer in headlights. and when the entire team of sweaty, built, hot men crowd the waist-high fence that separate them from you. you’re ultimately stuck.

“you’re-you’re—“ slightly out of breath and pumped full of adrenaline, gojo heaves out your name. not just a first name, no—your full government name. “right!?”

you eyes lazily drag between the men, fixing the strap of your bag, your camera clinking against the side, drawing every man’s attention to the little charm gojo had just described less than an hour ago.

“yeah,” you manage to exhale, shifting your balance. “did you need something?”

“yeah,” the low voice of the hot headed team captain interrupts. he hadn’t ran with rest of the players, instead he walked up, casual and full of loud confidence. finally making his way across the field, energy drink in hand, glaring right through you as he continues. “why the fuck was my picture the only one not taken by you? it looks like shit.”

you exhale, about to answer when another one cuts in.

“why haven’t you taken one of me? the game last month was my debut and you didn’t get me going on the pitch—“

“I liked that shot you got of me when—“

“can you get my good side next time—“

“why did you—“

“can you—“

“you didn’t get my goal!” geto manages to dogpile. all the men yell complaints and compliments, overwhelming you with critiques. until you’re frowning, glaring harshly at the group of men you’d watched from a distance since your freshman year.

“I don’t work for you guys,” you finally snap. your words are cold making the men frown. “I work for the schools paper, and they choose the photos, not me.”

“and yet coach is in every single one of em?” geto bites back, and that’s when they all catch the slight surprise that crosses your face.

gojo smirks, leaning over the fence, getting close as he tilts his head. “seems like a majority of your photos have our coach. it’s like your editor can’t help but be forced to put him in.”

you feel your stomach churn, glancing between the sharp sapphire eyes. “that’s not how it works,” you mutter.

you did not expect your first interaction with the soccer team to be this. accusing you of favoritism. you can practically feel all their eyes on you, like they knew exactly who you are, even if this is your first time speaking to them.

“sure looks like it,” sukuna drawls, smirking wide when he sees you shift uncomfortably. “you like our coach or somethin?”

“of course she does,” geto’s smooth voice cuts in. “do you get all hot lookin at coach toji?”

you swallow thickly, pushing down the heat crawling up your neck to glare at the men. “you guys are disgusting,” you spit, but the men don’t falter, instead they continue gloating and poking.

“we just wanna get to know you. you’ve been takin’ our pics for months, we can’t have a chat now?” geto cuts.

they were quietly impressed with your composure. your poker face would’ve been perfect if not for the slight fidgeting you’re doing with your bag and camera strap. either way, your glare was mean, unwavering until—

“cut it out.”

the sharp voice slices through the team. then, one strong palm shoves gojo into geto, and the rest of the team topple on each other like dominos. the head coach plants himself between the fence, his team, and you.

“i forget you’re all a couple children,” toji tsks, his arms are crossed standing like a lone knight keeping a pack a wolves from a poor princess.

your heart slams against your rib cage. all your composure evaporates into thin air, struggling to catch your breath. this was the closest you’ve gotten to the head coach. you can practically smell the mixture of his cologne and natural musk. your cheeks grow hotter by the second, completely dazed and loosing all other senses, unaware that practically half the team noticed your sudden shift.

gojo elbows geto eyeing the way your pupils basically turn into bright pink hearts. even your lips look more glossy from the drool collecting in your mouth.

they’d never seen anything like it, and for their coach of all people?!

you’re caught up in gawking at the huge man, eyeing his wide shoulders, the veins straining from his compression shirt, his shirt clinging to every muscle that could break you in a blink of an eye — that you miss his short lecture towards his boys to quit scaring off a young woman, all to end with him shouting—

“ten more laps!”

the team’s eyes bulge, jaws dropping in shock, and quickly follow up with a spew of complaints.

“ya heard coach!” sukuna, the hot-headed captain, interrupts. and if the team wasn’t scared of their coach, they definitely had a reason to be with their captain. they ultimately drop their things and start their laps. however, sukuna hangs back at bit, “I didn’t even say sh—“

“you were late to practice, so you were gonna do the laps anyways,” toji cuts, earning a loud tsk from the tattooed captain. his duffle drops on the floor dramatically, eyes flicking towards yours, which — no surprise — haven’t left the coach’s profile, and with his own groan, his cleats hit the grass starting his lap.

with the entire team running laps….you’re left alone.

coach toji doesn’t move.

instead, he leans against the fence, strong arms crossing. you’re barely a foot behind him, close enough that the scent of grass and dizzy cologne reaches you when he shifts his weight. close enough that your brain short-circuits again.

then he looks over his shoulder.

it’s not rushed or sharp. it was an easy turn of his head, his dark emerald eyes flick to you with calm, assessing. and up close, he’s worse. he’s broader than he looks from the sidelines, his stubble shadowing his jaw feels unfair for a sunday morning. sunlight catches the edge of his cheekbone, and the curve of his mouth makes you stare shamelessly especially when it lifts just slightly. he’s amused by something you’re not aware of yet and you don’t even notice.

your heart stutters.

you practically forget how to stand or how to function like a grown ass adult, instead you feel like someone who’s just had their fantasy materialize directly in front of them.

heat rushes to your face, your chest tightens, and you pray, desperately, that your expression isn’t as transparent as it feels. you focus on keeping your hands still, even as your pulse flutters wildly under your skin.

and toji’s gaze lingers. he takes you in like the way someone experienced does, without staring, without shame, just a brief glance that drifts. from your fidgeting fingers, to your necklace trapped between your pretty cleavage, to the tank top that hugs your chest, to the zip up hoodie falling off your soft shoulder. to your lips, wet from the amount of times you’d lick and bit them.

and you still don’t notice it! you’re too busy trying not to melt into the grass beneath your feet. all you register is how hot the space suddenly feels, how solid he seems standing there.

from the field, a player snickers mid-lap. a majority watching the entire interaction, waiting for someone to make a move. gojo snickers as geto analyzes.

you don’t hear any of it, all you know is that the knights are real, and he’s right in front of you, and your carefully maintained composure never stood a chance. especially when his eyes meet yours and his deep, husky, voice sinks into your bones.

“been wondering who was seein’ me like that, sweetheart.”

you were gone.

s-s-s-sweetheart!?

your heart bursts, veins burning through your skin as your lips part, words falling into the void as your brain struggles to reply.

and he finds it adorable.

college girls are cute, but you, you’re a little pervert. how many photos have you taken of him? and for the past year too? he’s wondered just like his team had, who was behind all those photos. who was oogling him while the best team in the nation was playing right before their eyes?

at first, he was bothered, confused even, how big of a stalker did you have to be to take his photos for months and not introduce yourself?

but now he sees it. the way you’re struggling to find words. the way your eyes flick between his — surprised even that you’re not shying away from eye contact, but instead, struggling to just respond. like the words are right there, but your dumb brain is getting fried just by his presence. cute.

“I’ll try an’ wink next time.”

he just hammers the nail straight into your heart. your face bursts into flames as you let out a strangled hum like whine, face burning even more. unfortunately, your audience isn’t as silent. instead a few had caught your reaction and were bursting with laughter. a few whistling at their coach.

“she’s too young for ya, coach!”

“get someone y’er own age!”

“coach, the shy ones are the freakiest!”

the last one — somehow — snapped you back to reality. your glare cut through the field, immediately hitting one of the players making him burst out laughing along with the others around him. your face pulls into a scowl, heart hammering at the teasing you’re receiving from the team. who even are they? they don’t know anything about you!

shy?! you?!!! you scowl in annoyance, eyes rollin—

“ignore em, sweetheart. they’re just being dicks.”

fuck.

your face burns hot again, heart hammering against your ribs as you stutter out another nod, fingers gripping your bag as you glance at the head coach again. his green eyes were unbelievably dark, just staring at them, you felt like you were getting dizzy.

the scar on his lip twitches up, leaning an elbow on the fence, his eyes flick down to your camera. “what kinda camera is that?”

your eyes widen, looking down like you’re surprised it’s there. but it seems like he flicks a switch in your brain with that question, because now you’re fumbling to hold the delicate thing in your hands. then you hold it out for him.

a small puff of air leaves his nose in amusement. you’re cute. he turns, reaching his hand out, just for your small ones to place the expensive camera in his. the same one you’d deny your friends from even holding, afraid they’ll drop it.

b-but if coach toji holds it…if he wants to hold it…who…who are you to stop him!!!

your blush only breaks out across your body once you feel your hands brush his, eyes so bright and big even he can see the hearts explode from your irises, fuzzy pink flowers glowing around your head like a cartoon.

“looks expensive,” he finally takes his eyes away from you to momentarily examine the camera. it was nice, sony. “bought it yourself?”

you nod, smiling as you rock on your heels. “it was…” oh first words, toji’s eyes flick to you, eyeing your glossy lips as they part. “my first big purchase,” you glance at the camera then back up at toji as you point with your manicured index finger, towards the camera. “it’s nice…right?”

well fuck me.

toji chuckles internally. he really can’t read you. from rude (to the team), to shy, to snappy (to the team), to demure, to charming—all while looking up at him like he’s some shinning knight and not a coach, albeit for the best team in the nation, but still.

his lips curl up, his internal switch already flipped when he shooed the team away, and the smooth voice of his poured out like second nature. “very nice, sweetheart.”

you nod, enthusiastically.

god, you were a cutie.

“and you take such good pictures with it too, you’re a natural,” the sweet words just keep pouring from his mouth like honey, and you’re eating up every drop. your feet manage to carry you closer to the fence…closer to him.

you wet your glossy lips, leaning close to point at the camera, “it also takes video here…I initially wanted to do more videography, but I stuck with photos. but it’s a nice perk with the camera…and I can shoot in raw and jpeg, so I can edit them afterwards if I want, and uh and I have other lenses too. this one is a fixed one, so it can’t zoom, but I have two other ones that zoom, I usually use those ones for work…like during your….games.”

your rambling was one of, if not, the most attractively adorable things you could’ve done at this moment. especially when you’re oblivious to the light flush that settles in the coach’s stomach as he eyes you down.

his gaze flicks between your fingers on the camera, and your profile from his height. your hair lightly brush’s back from the wind exposing your neck, your perfume reaching his nose.

“can I try takin’ a pic?”

your face bursts hot, you feel like it’ll melt off as you gawk up at the head coach, before nodding your head frantically, a wide smile pulling at your lips. you try to clear your throat as you turn the camera on for him and take the lens cap off.

“good?” he asks.

you just nod again, biting your cheek feeling how wide you’re smiling it almost hurts, but you can’t take your eyes off the way his big hands handle your camera. your biggest crush ever is using your camera!

you contain a squeal as he stands straight. he brings the camera to his eye, before lowering it again, confused. your eyes widen momentarily before realizing he’s struggling and quickly stepping up again.

you lean over the fence. and toji purposely avoids coming down to your height. instead, he watches you hold the fence to stand on your tippy toes, the other gently holds his wrist to ask him to lower the camera just a bit from his eye so you can instruct him. fuck, the confidence to touch him when you were just a jittery mess a second ago.

“the shutter button is here. if you half press it, it’ll auto-focus for you—“ you move to the front of the camera flipping some switch, “jus’ turned it on. but just press down all the way and it’ll take the picture,” you say, mistakenly glancing up from where you are, just to realize that coach toji’s face is inches from yours. his warm breath fans against your cheek, his scar so close, his lips right there and his eyes….

you were beyond gone. the steam immediately comes off your face as your eyes turn into big giant hearts. you’re so easy to read it should be illegal.

you fall back on your heels, allowing toji to attempt again. what you weren’t expecting was for him to point the camera at you.

well considering the wider lens, I guess he wants to shoot something closer for more satisfaction. but it caught you slightly off guard, your cheeks flame once more, heart stuttering, but your face immediately lights up.

his lips curve up behind the camera, watching you give him a cute smile, angling your head to tip to the side a bit. people that automatically smile when a camera is pointed at them is definitely a cute trait.

he takes a few quick photos, before pulling the camera back. “how do I see ‘em?”

this time he lowers the camera for you, but keeps it close to his body so you’re still leaning over and up beside him, albeit with the fence between you both.

“ah the sun was behind me,” you realize now looking at the photos. toji hums like he knows what that means (he doesn’t) but he clicks the button to go to the next picture and same thing.

“let’s do it again,” he says, already pulling the camera back, but your finger quickly reaches out, easily flipping it back to view mode before moving back. toji watches you glance up at the sky, before moving yourself in front of the sun. “smile f’er me, sweetheart.”

you were smiling, but now—toji chuckles through his nose at your reaction. he knows exactly what he’s doing. he takes one photo, than another.

your smile turns more pose worthy, not so big, but just as beautiful. “you’re a natural,” he comments, with full honesty.

your cheeks flush, waving your hand in front of you, “don’t glaze me.”

toji snorts, “jus’ saying what I see, not my fault you pose like a model.”

a model?!

toji notices the way you bite your cheek and the way your hands fidget with your bag. “put the bag down, sweetheart.”

your heart skips again, the nickname electing a response from you every time. but you oblige, setting your bag on the ground. now without anything to fidget with, your hands carefully clasp behind your back, your navy hoodie completely off your shoulder, exposing the casual white tank top. his eyes glance at the swell of your tits that your bra pushes up. and the sliver of skin that peaks at the bottom.

the wind was like a perfect accessory, blowing a warm spring breeze in your direction brushing your hair again.

you do your best to pose casually, smiling at the camera, eyes low as you stare into the lens, heart beating erratically as you wait for coach toji to finish.

your breath catches momentarily. cheeks stinging and lips parting like a deer in headlights, because you notice it. just briefly, the way toji lowers the camera from his eye, gaze tracking down your figure, eyeing your thighs, then your hips, then your tits.

he’s definitely checking you out.

you glance away, flustered, unaware that toji was now clicking the library to view the photos he’d just taken.

“I think I’m a pretty good shot,” he compliments his nonexistent skills, but the light hits you so well.

you smile watching him look at the photos. eyes glued to his lazy smirk, stomach hot and heart fluttering at his short comments. he’s so handsome, you glance at the curve of his nose, the stubble on his cheek. he’s so so pretty.

your mind was getting dizzy, all because coach toji is in front of you, but it made you completely forgetful that if he keeps clicking next, it’ll eventually reach—

“oh.”

you first notice the slight raise of his brows, then the scar on his lip twitching wider, then the greens of his eyes darkening.

“did ya’ submit these too, sweetheart?”

your brows furrow for half a second, then it clicks. you lunge forward.

this can’t be happening!

you immediately cover the screen and take the camera as you hear the coach chuckle. of course you’d forgotten that you had these on your sd card.

staring back at you is a photo of toji’s fat bulge from the game. you managed to catch the moment he reached down to itch himself, grabbing it. if he saw this one he definitely saw the three before this of the closeups of his lips, his big biceps, his ass when he was fixing his shoes.

your heart is beating in your ears, skin sizzling with embarrassment as your vision starts to narrow. your eyes flick up to the coach in horror, flustered beyond speech. “it’s not—“ you struggle to explain, “you weren’t supposed to see that. I was just taking one—then I someone bumped so like, the camera went down—“

the rambling was unlike the one before, this one was much more uncoordinated, fueled by your humiliation, anxiety, and desperate attempt at defending yourself to him, so that he doesn’t think you’re some creep.

“I wore that shirt from the match two weeks ago. not this one….” his head tilts, arms folded across his beefy chest. “why do you still have ‘em?”

the older man is quite unbothered. instead, his chest grew hot, and his mind wandered off imagining this hot college girl laying in her bed, staring at pictures of his crotch with her small fingers playing with her wet little pussy. his eyes flick to your chest again.

your eyes are wide, glancing at your camera.

“I just forgot to format the card,” you quickly reply, pretty chest rising and falling. “I always forget, and I realize after when I’m exporting the photos or run out of storage—I delete them, i-i swear!”

he snorts, head tilting, “you swear?”

you nod frantically.

his emerald eyes narrow, tongue poking out to wet his lips, touching his scar. his eyes flick to the camera in your hands. you’re quite the actor…

“okay, I’ll take your word then. you wouldn’t lie to me…?” his gaze was intimidating, the darkness of his pupils felt like a black hole pulling you in. but somehow you manage to shake your head.

“no, sir.”

toji holds eye contact, before tearing it away to reach for his phone, “good girl.”

your heart beats in your throat, threatening to tear out, but you step forward, eyes big and sad. “sorry, coach.” there’s a slight waver in your voice, the man’s eyes widen briefly, chuckling under his breath as he brings a hand up to the crown of your head.

“don’t worry about it, keep taking photos of me. ya’ make me feel important,” his comment is punctuated with a flirtatious wink, shooting another arrow straight into your heart.

you were lovestruck the entire trip home. and so unbelievably grateful.

you talked your way out of such incriminating evidence. because how could coach toji know that in truth, you have an entire album of photos just like the ones he saw, that you pull out almost every night to help you cum.

you really should be an actor, you think, blushing at the way he called you good girl. the way he looked at you, the way his fingers brushed yours on the camera —ahhhh, you bury your hot face in your hands.

you were in shock for days, heart slamming against your chest and face heating up every time you thought back to the moment.

you were so in your head that you hadn’t even noticed the two athletes walking up behind you on your way out of class, crossing the quad.

it’s like that thing that happens. when you’re finally introduced to someone for the first time, then you’re suddenly seeing them everywhere. that’s how geto and gojo felt. you’d been under their noses the entire time.

with a lecture of over two hundred students, of course they’d spot you when you entered today. gojo elbowed his friend, nodding in your direction. geto’s eyes nearly popped.

“what the hell?” geto leans forward, the two men closely watch you enter the lecture hall, walking a few rows down before slipping in. geto’s eyes narrow at the camera you carefully place in your lap as you take out your ipad.

it was like the cards were being dealt out for him perfectly.

“wait, I don’t get it,” gojo huffs catching up to his friend as the lecture hall empties.

geto tsks, “what’s not to get? I’m gonna bribe her into taking photos of me next game. I’m fucking tired of being some fucking blur—“

“you’ve gotten some photos man—“

“well i want more. ones where I’m actually scoring,” geto huffs, brushing his bang back in frustration.

once the two men hit the pavement outside, they spot you. gojo is tagging along for the fun, while geto is set on a mission. one he conjured up mid-lecture the second he saw you. it was perfect. genius—

“what?” your face scrunches in mild disgust. the two men baffle at your reaction, especially at the way you’re looking up at them with narrow, and irritated eyes. your expression isn’t hard to decipher, it’s basically screaming, why tf are you talking to me?

geto licks his teeth, exhaling through his nose, “you heard me fine, sweetheart—“

“don’t call me that.”

his jaw clenches, repeating his line without the pet name. “the next two games are the semifinals and then the finals, so I’ll give you access through our manager to join press during the media window two days before the matches—“

“I already have access to that through the school paper,” you give him a look, immediately ticking him off.

“let me fucking finish will you—“

“you’re taking forever and I’m being cornered,” you snap back, rolling your eyes at the pretentious athlete. geto bites his tongue, as gojo gasps.

“you’re not being cornered!” he states, just to exchange a look with geto as they both see that they’ve steered you off the pavement and against a tree. “no—we’re just talking.”

you exhale, glancing back at geto, “whatever, just finish.”

geto licks his lips, continuing, “you’ll also get access to our locker room strategy meeting or whatever, and behind the scenes access — you only do photos, no video or interviews?”

you shake your head, heart beating just a little quicker because now you’re starting to see the perks. bts access is the one thing university teams can deny since they don’t like any outsiders butting into their strategies or taking them out of “the zone.”

that also means you can see….coach toji.

gojo and geto both notice the realization crossing your face, especially when your lips part, much more glossy than before. unbelievable.

“but,” geto snaps you back, your eyes darting up to meet his, “you better take some good fucking shots of me during the game. if I’m not in the fucking paper and insta page, then no deal.”

you gasp, “dude, you’re literally acting like I’m the one in charge of that?? it’s my editor that picks the photos to put in the articles.”

geto tsks, “yet somehow coach is in every single one.” your jaw clenches, stomach heating up. “take more photos of me so it’s inevitable. got it?”

your lip curls in annoyance, eyeing geto, just for gojo to suddenly but in—

“but also take some of me, i look so hot in them and i like reposting them on my insta,” gojo flashes you a smile.

your frown deepens, “there’s other photographers. you guys know that right?”

“yours are the only ones they choose and they look better than whoever took sukuna’s,” gojo snorts, remembering their captains complaints.

nevertheless, geto and gojo wait for you to agree, both men standing with their arms crossed, blocking the spring sun from hitting you.

then a certain captain happens to pass by, noticing his two teammates, and frat brothers.

“the fuck are you guys doing?”

the men whip their heads as sukuna steps up, bag slung over his shoulder wearing a backwards baseball cap. and with a quick explanation from his friends, sukuna tsks glancing at you and adding.

“coach always showers before or after our games.”

and it was that one bit of information that automatically has you saying: “deal.”

—

you don’t rush setting up. you check your flash, bouncing it once off the ceiling to make sure it won’t wash anyone out. your fingers move with muscle memory, standing in these rooms plenty of times for the school paper, along with other journalists from the school paper especially for media days, post-game scrums, pre-season press.

so this isn’t new territory.

the room is packed, though. there’s national outlets mingling with campus press, and clusters of journalists already talking. you hear familiar phrases float past as you move, many talking about the teams unbeaten streak, their goal differentials, their historic season.

familiar names are easily getting tossed around. captain sukuna coming up first, always, and his leadership, and the way he commands the field. gojo’s speed follows after, and his natural talent and eye for goals, then geto’s consistency, his intelligence and composure. someone mentions scouts again, plural this time, and how a few clubs have been hovering around those three all season.

you barely react because you’ve heard all of this before, and it was impressive of course, you enjoy it. however, what does get you, embarrassingly, is his name.

every time coach toji is mentioned—his tactics, his discipline, the way he rebuilt the program and incorporated new strategies —you feel heat creep up your neck. it’s a soft and traitorous blush that you’re grateful no one’s looking closely enough to notice you smiling.

you keep your eyes on your camera, pretending to fiddle with a setting you don’t actually need to adjust, reminding yourself that he’s just part of the team. a very effective, very respected part of it.

then finally, the noise dips and the conversations fade into an expectant quiet as the side door opens.

the players file in first, with sukuna at the front, expression unreadable, gojo already grinning, geto calm and observant as ever. everyone’s cameras lift, and recorders click on. and then he steps in behind them.

coach toji, in a suit.

your face breaks into a hot mess, heart skipping a beat as you eye him through your lens. it fits him too well. dark, sharp, shoulders filling it out like it was tailored perfectly. no team jacket today, no morning stumble. no, he looked clean, with polished shoes, and authority. he guides the team forward eyes sweeping the room calmly.

your flash fires once, professionalism wavering again. how can it not when your knight is walking into the room and reminding you exactly how out of reach he is.

the entire team easily spots you in the front row for the first time. your charm hangs from your camera strap, along with the little sticker on your godox flash. they all know who you are now, so their wasn’t any hiding the way they’d purposely glance at your camera lens, giving you their best shots.

many of the questions are being directed towards the coach, your eyes focus on his reaction, lens zooming close as he rolls his dress shirt over his forearms. your camera flashes and your cheeks warm. you do this every time. acting like it’s your first time seeing the coach in a suit even though he wears one every semifinals press. but you can’t help it!

journalists throw questions without breath, firing rounds until the set time is up.

“photographers only, please.”

the room clears out fast. chairs scrape back, and laptops snap shut. you step forward instinctively, already lifting your camera. the players shift back into place. sukuna straightens, his expression resetting into something stoic. gojo cracks a joke under his breath that earns him a look. geto adjusts his sleeves, calm as ever.

toji moves standing just off to the side at first, arms crossed, smooth dress shirt crinkling over his taut muscles, and unforgiving across his shoulders.

the manager gestures. “let’s get the team all together first.”

cameras flash as the team pose, all in their uniform. you move easily getting their shots, unaware of the emerald eyes watching your every move.

coach toji noticed you the minute he stepped into the room. however, he remained composed, knowing how many eyes were on him. but now, his eyes sweep over your figure.

your grey dress pants hugging that right ass, and those hips. the tight dress shirt hugged your frame, with the top buttons undone allowing some of your cleavage to be revealed along with your necklace stack. business casual, but he’s sure half the team is looking at your tits. your pretty anklet catching the light as you move in your kitten heels.

“coach with sukuna,” the manager says.

toji steps forward.

you track him without thinking, framing the shot as he places a hand lightly at sukuna’s back, guiding him a half-step to the left. your shutter clicks, noticing how easily he steps into your frame, how naturally he fills it. his height just a hair taller than the hot headed captain, at least in your eyes.

“alright, another group photo,” the manager says.

toji turns, motioning the players in with two fingers. his eyes briefly catch yours making your eyes widen. the team clusters around their coach, heads bowed slightly, listening even though there’s nothing to hear. he speaks low anyway. you circle to the side, careful, capturing the curve of his shoulder, the way his jaw tightens when he focuses.

toji’s gaze lifts again, slow and deliberate, landing on you.

why does he keep doing that?!

it’s brief. just a glance that lingers a fraction longer, his eyes flick from your face to the camera in your hands and back again, like he’s remembering the photos he saw on your camera.

you feel heat blooming under your skin, pulse kicking hard enough to throw you off guard. you steady your hands, inhaling subtly, pretending you don’t feel the way the air shifts when he turns slightly…when he ends up closer than before, just at the edge of your frame.

“okay, we’re good,” the manager calls.

the team breaks, the players disperse, but toji stays put for a beat longer, adjusting his sleeve, posture relaxed again, unreadable.

you lower your camera only when it’s over, breath leaving you in a quiet rush you didn’t realize you were holding. you don’t see him glance at you when you step back to check your photos. you also don’t notice the small, satisfied curve of his mouth.

not until you’re feeling a gentle, firm, hand on your waist, and a low voice right against your ear, “say hi next time. you’re not a stranger anymore.”

your body immediately catches on fire, eyes snapping to the man like a magnet, heart slamming against your ribs as you watch him pull back, emerald eyes meeting yours.

“right, sweetheart?”

your face stings, as you nod quickly, heat pooling deep in your stomach, feeling his thumb caress your hip over your shirt. your lips part, mind dizzy as you glance as his strong forearms, he’s towering over you, slightly leaning down to speak to you in quiet whispers.

“I’ll see c’ya tomorrow, yeah,” he gives your waist a squeeze as he greets you with a kiss to your cheek like some gentleman. then he walks away. and if you weren’t a mess before, the casual glance he shoots over his shoulder has a third arrow piercing your heart.

you couldn’t contain it anymore. you were consumed by this man. every waking thought was spent daydreaming about him— his voice, his eyes, his hands, his demeanor. it was intoxicating.

all for you to show up in the lockerroom, the next day, hours before the match. the team is either dressed in their uniforms, or still shirtless, huddling around the white board as they prep for the game.

geto was the second to notice you, after gojo. both their eyes twinkling as they walk up to you. “they gave you the pass,” geto nods to the press badge around your neck.

you nod, glancing around the lockerroom. it felt tense, the aura suspenseful as the time ticks closer to when they walk onto the pitch.

“get your vip shots, but you better get my photo,” geto hushes in your ear.

“and mine!” gojo blurts, just as a certain coach is stepping out of the steam.

and you feel it. the towel wrapped low around his waist, skin still slick with water that traces unhurried paths down his sculpted torso. his hair is darker when it’s wet, heavier, droplets slide from it and disappear along the hard lines of his shoulders.

your eyes catch his muscles moving when he walks, hard mass, that shifts beneath skin without effort. you swallow thickly, body heating up, stomach fluttering as you catch the trail of dark coarse hair leading down from his navel, and disappearing beneath the towel. your eyes follow it to the bulge you know is under there. your cheeks sting at the thought of it.

you were utterly shameless. as if the two men standing beside aren’t still talking to you. but they immediately recognize the shift in your attitude and notice the steam leaving your face. gojo stifles a laugh, as geto sighs. you’re hopeless.

your eyes follow the scars you’ve never seen before. the old pale marks catch the light, etched across his side, his pecs, and back, proof of some life before this one. then he turns just enough and your heart stutters, and your panties soak.

ink blooms along his ribs where the towel dips. the tattoos are sharp and intimate, black against his skin that’s still flushed from the heat. you’ve photographed him dozens of times, from every angle, but you’ve never seen a peak of a tattoo.

“how wet are you right now?”

the comment snaps you back, glaring straight at the crystal ocean eyes narrowed in amusement.

“don’t talk to me like that,” you huff, “I’m working.” your attitude really is night and day when it comes to anyone else and toji.

gojo blushes, “I love mean girls.”

you roll your eyes.

“what’re you two doing? get the fuck over here,” sukuna snaps.

the team huddles as the fifteen minute timer starts. and that’s what you should be photographing, but instead you glance back. toji is now pulling up his pants, wet hair still dripping down the expanse of his back. his eyes catch yours for a second, gaze flicking to your camera, taunting…

his hand subtly cups his crotch, squeezing his girth just to present you with a size, one that has your lips parting with a shaky exhale, heart pounding as you glance between his emerald eyes and the way his forearms flex when he fixes the waistband of his boxers, pulling the material down just a bit that you catch more of the thick patch of hair at his base seeing a peak of it, before he’s fixing himself again.

and once he zips his pants up, glancing at the team as they huddle for some words from the captain before coach steps in, toji walks to you. just a few feet away, your eyes widen in surprise, heart stuttering as you watch him lean down to greet you with a kiss to your cheek, again!

he’s acting like you’re familiar even though this is just your third interaction with him…but maybe you are…

“thought I told you to say hi next time,” he says against your ear, pulling away.

your face heats up, “you were….changing.”

“so?”

you gulp, eyes flicking between his, heart pounding. he’s so close. your breath catches when his scent hits your nose, sandalwood, oak and something deeper under it. his stubble is darker than yesterday, rougher along his jaw, and you realize you’ve been staring for too long when the heat creeps up your neck.

he doesn’t move away though, he stands beside you, attention forward on sukuna as he speaks. focused, and so aware of you’re attention he has to hold back a smirk. and maybe he doesn’t mind messing with you, so his hand remains at your lower back, light, almost absent, but there.

your stomach flips, attention gone. you try to listen, you do. sukuna is talking about positioning, about discipline, about not getting sloppy or something and the room is locking in around you, everyone leaning in. these would be great photos—but all you can think about is how close he is.

how his hand hasn’t moved, every small shift makes your pulse jump. you keep your eyes forward. you don’t trust yourself to look at him again.

and that gives toji the opportunity to take you in. his pupils dilate just a fraction as his gaze travels down your body. his eyes zero in on the multiple open buttons of your tight dress shirt. you’re not even hiding yourself, and the sliver of skin that peaks between your pants and shirt doesn’t help.

his hand remains over your clothes, heat settling in his stomach when you take a deeper breath and your tits push up, and his eyes shamelessly look down your shirt from his towering height. fuck, he wants a look at that pretty ass too—

“coach! you’re up!” sukuna’s voice cuts through everything, snapping toji back. your gaze whips with it, catching him off guard as you wait for his next move like anything he touches is gold.

he controls himself, giving your waist that same squeeze before his hand leaves you just like that.

you push down the feeling that hits immediately, sharp and cold. but now you can finally breathe properly when he steps away. he moves past the players without rushing — a few of the boys let their eyes roam over you— toji adjusts his sleeve ignoring the feeling bubbling up when he notices them. and then he’s at the front.

he doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t need to now, but he usually gets to that point around the halfway mark. but this was the first time you’re seeing him speak in private…and when he speaks, they all listen—every single one of them.

gojo notices, gossip second nature to him. but the quick glance your way already has a grin tugging at his mouth before he nudges geto. geto follows his gaze, then sukuna does too, just briefly—and it’s obvious. painfully obvious. the way your expression softens, the way your attention doesn’t wavers. it’s written all over you.

“she’s actually really hot,” gojo comments.

though you wish you could stand there forever, the time finally comes for the team to head to the pitch, and that’s when the chaos begins.

not just on the field…but off it.

the press box is packed, bodies press against you shoulder to shoulder. the field below is relentless. everything fast, and aggressive, and loud enough that the noise bleeds through everything. you always forget how overstimulating and exhilarating semifinal matches are. but you remember the deal you made with the three stars.

your camera moves with them, tracking their plays, snapping multiple shots of them without hesitation, and then catching the moment when things go wrong...

sukuna gets taken down hard during a penalty shot—and there’s no whistle. no call.

you’re already shooting when the other team pushes, then scores, and the stadium erupts, but sukuna is on his feet, shouting. the goal should be discounted. the captain was known to be a hot head, but even you could see that the tackle he received was completely brushed off by the ref and he was right.

everyone watches as the team moves forward in defense of sukuna, but also holding him back. the other side meets them just as hard. the crowd shouts as they watch the players shove, yell, and slam into each other—and through it all you keep shooting. you catch toji too, voice cutting through the chaos as he orders his players to pull sukuna back.

the press talk amongst themselves as halftime quickly breaks up the argument. your feet quickly carry you out of the press box, towards the locker room.

“no locker room access.”

your jaw tightens immediately irritation flaring hot and sharp.

“I have a different badge,” you show the security guard your press ID. the one geto gave you.

“no press allowed, do i need to repeat myself?” the man snaps.

your irritation ticks at your side. fine. whatever. the second you step back, your mind is already running, already circling back to geto. you scoff under your breath, shaking your head as you pace along the corridor, camera swinging lightly at your side.

seriously? all that talk, all that stupid ass convincing, and for what? you were supposed to be there. that was the whole point! you roll your eyes, heat building the longer you think about it, every step feeding into this petty irritation instead of cooling it. were you overreacting —yes, but whatever—if he’s not holding up his end, then why should you?

by the time you make it back up, you’re done. done thinking about it, done entertaining it, done with their stupid deal.

the second half starts and you fall back into rhythm. camera up, focus sharp, and attention on only one thing now, the ball….

gojo and geto drift near the press box occasionally, clearly expecting something, acknowledgment, a photo, but you don’t even bat an eye. not a look, not a flicker, hell, they might as well not exist.

it’s almost satisfying. almost.

the final whistle blows and the stadium erupts, the first leg ended in a draw, preparing for next game to see who’ll continue. cameras around you go wild, capturing every second of it. the quiet annoyance of both teams, the noise in the crowd. but you don’t. you lower yours, expression flat, already turning away. it’s petty. a little unfair, but still, you walk.

“you’re not coming to the locker room?” gojo’s voice follows you, footsteps quick behind yours as you head in the opposite direction.

“why would i?” you snap, sharp, not even slowing. “am i even allowed,” there’s an obvious clip in your tone that has gojo confused.

“what’re you talking about?”

“deal’s off.”

huh?!????

gojo barely has time to react, before you’re walking away.

baffled and utterly confused, gojo makes his way back to the locker rooms. the energy is stiff, sukuna is grumbling under his breath about how embarrassing it was to end their first leg in a draw, geto is lounged beside his bag scrolling on his phone, and toji is in the corner talking to the managers. ugh, does no one care that their personal photographer isn’t taking photos of them???

they do care.

especially when the next paper comes out and the article is filled with photos taken by other people, not you!

“WHY THE FUCK DO I LOOK LIKE THAT!??” sukuna shouts, entire body fumming as they all sit outside during practice. sukuna is not the only one pissed, geto is practically seething because there isn’t even a single photo of him or gojo.

“what is this girl’s problem?! i thought you idiots made a deal with her?!” sukuna snaps, already in a foul mood, but now it’s worse.

geto licks his teeth, jaw ticking, “we did.”

“I told you guys she was pissed that she didn’t come in during halftime,” gojo throws, as if anyone was listening to him after their shitty match.

“so she throws a tantrum because she didn’t see coach’s dick during halftime?” sukuna clips.

“she looked super hot when she was all pissed though,” gojo throws, “she’d definitely go for me after she realizes how old coach is.”

“what’s wrong with you?” geto rolls his eyes, confused how gojo can talk about your looks when you screwed them over. even if he maybe also finds you attractive, it doesn’t negate your shitty attitude.

gojo throws his hands up in defensive, “I’m just calling dibs now.”

toji, just a few feet away, strides over after noticing the group no longer doing drills. “what’s the hold up!” he grunts, also in a shit mood because of the embarrassing match and then overheating what gojo had said.

“your stalker fucked us over,” geto snaps, eyes burning into the school paper. “she didn’t even get a pic of you.”

gojo’s eyes light up, “oh shit, yeah—she’s definitely over you!”

the paper then hits toji’s chest, his brows furrowing as he holds it up. his eyes glance over the sports section, and just as geto had stated, there wasn’t a single photo of him, unless you’re counting the wide shot of the field and you see him standing in the corner, but it definitely was a starch contrast from the streak you’d created.

“so?” toji tosses the paper like it’s nothing, “you guys playing for the cameras or because you want to win?!”

the men baffled, gasp and scoff. “we want to win!”

“then get off your fucking asses! I don’t have time to be doing this shit with you all!” he snaps aggressively, uncharacteristically pissed off, whether it’s because of the teams misdirected frustrations, or something else. either way, the school paper is long forgotten beside their bags and the team is splitting into practice teams.

it doesn’t matter…

it doesn’t matter that you made a deal with suguru geto and satoru gojo. and the captain pushed you to seal that deal with the information about coach — and they broke it. none of it matters! you still should’ve taken those photos, especially when you’re receiving an earful from your editor, and then sulking through the week of classes.

“what’s your problem,” your friend, shoko, cuts in, snapping you back to the campus day festival. you were once again sulking on the picnic bench, ice cream melting in the cup as you stare off.

“you’re gonna get annoyed…” you mutter, brows pinched in agony.

for most passing by, they immediately steered clear of you, not only did you carry a lethal rbf, your words of “agony” really translates to, you’ll rip someone’s head off and if looks could kill, everyone would be dead. it was quite funny, considering how you’re pretty sweet when you want to be, shoko quietly thinks. still, most would rather avoid you, thanking the heavens that you stay behind the camera so you don’t interact directly with people.

“don’t start,” shoko groans, piecing together the not so subtle mystery.

you frown, “i didn’t even say anything!” you whine even more, glaring at your ice cream. your pretty camera sits on the table beside you, collecting dust when you should be photographing this event. “I just screwed myself over,” your tongue laps at the dripping ice cream.

“agreed.”

your glare snaps to your friend, to which she brushes off with a shrug.

“you should’ve taken those photos,” she starts.

“I know…”

“then you would’ve made your editor happy,”

“I know…”

“and then you wouldn’t have to do this event.”

“I know.”

“and you’d have more weird pictures of coach toji.”

your heart drops. eyes snapping to shoko. “what?!”

shoko goes mute. suddenly realizing what she said. “nothing.”

“pictures?” you repeat, “I have weird pictures of the coach?? I don’t—why would you even say that??“ you’re not subtle at all. and shoko feels guilty at your horrible lying skills, but still…she confesses…

“you uploaded photos to your drive, when we’d study together,” she tries to hold in her laugh as heat crawls up your neck, “like more than once.”

you glance away, eyes flicking over your camera, “that’s it?”

shoko raises a brow. “yeah…what do you mean?”

you look back, “like that’s how you know, it’s not like you heard from someone else or anything?”

shoko shakes her head, “no, who else would know?”

your cheeks are burning at this point, and it was written all over your face now. the realization hit shoko in seconds. “no…” you’re silent. “does the coach know about your photos?”

you don’t want to make eye contact.

“how?!!”

even though it happened days ago, why is it now starting to feel even more embarrassing. maybe because of your cool headed friends reaction— “it was an accident.”

“how did he find out though?” shoko pushes.

you cringe, “well…” you swallow, “when I first spoke to him, remember…” shoko nods, “I let him use my camera because he was interested.” you pause, reliving the humiliation all over again. “then he kept swiping to see the pics, and just found them…” your hands slap your face, “that’s not bad!”

shoko is getting second hand embarrassment, “dude.”

“STOP IM GONNA KILL MYSELF!!” you cry out, humiliation seeping from your pores.

shoko is trying not to laugh, but it’s quite hard not too, especially when you’re groaning like that. “what was his reaction?”

“I obviously said it was an accident, and he was like whatever and seemed fine,” you explain quickly, trying to cool the situation. “It’s not bad!”

“okay okay!!” shoko laughs, trying to calm your reaction. however, shoko knows about your huge crush, what she didn’t know is about a deal her two friends made with you. heck, she didn’t even know that you interacted with them. not until those two men are standing directly behind you, sweaty and pissed. “what the hell—“

“I guess you don’t know how to keep your word,” geto spits, bag dropping aggressively on the bench beside you.

you jump, then, your eyes flick over your shoulder, immediately rolling them when you see them. you turn back to shoko.

geto snaps. “there wasn’t a single photo of us!”

“not my problem,” you scoff, attitude returning in seconds, shoko completely used to it. but she’s shocked that you know gojo and geto. “not like you guys even played well.”

gojo’s vein bulges, “we played fucking good, we didn’t lose!”

“you didn’t win,” you shrug, cold.

that’s when gojo and geto both glance up at shoko. shock crossing their expressions. “you know her?!” they both point down at you.

shoko raises a brow, “she’s my friend.”

“she’s a bitch—“ geto spits, just to receive the worst glare of his life from you, but he just rolls his eyes. “how the fuck do you know each other?”

“I just told you she’s my friend. you’re the ones that screwed her over.” shoko takes your side.

gojo gasps, “we didn’t screw her over! she screwed us over! you saw the paper this week—not a single highlight!”

you glance at shoko, ignoring the men behind you, “how do you know them?”

“we went to high school together,” shoko throws with a bored wave.

frustrated, geto straddles the bench facing you, his hand falls on top of your camera, immediately making you snap your attention to him.

“hey—“

“listen. our deal was that you get access and then we get photos, you didn’t finish your job,” he keeps a grip on your camera. shoko frowns.

“you guys didn’t give me access—i got like ten minutes before the match, then I couldn’t even go in during halftime where everyone was pissed, so what’s the point?” you snap, getting in his face.

“the point is that has nothing to do with me!” geto shouts, your eyes pierce his in two, but neither of you back down.

“it literally does though!”

“guys,” shoko and gojo attempt at intervening, but neither of you will back down. especially when geto won’t let go of your camera.

“let go,” you seethe, hand on the camera as geto flexes, grip strengthening around it.

your heart pounds against your chest, the hot spring sun beats over the four of you, sweat building on your neck while geto scoffs. “you better take those photos of us this week—“

“or what?” you glare, “are you seriously threatening me?” you were dripping with ego and confidence, except for the fact that your eyes kept darting to your camera, your poor, expensive, beautiful camera—

“is this your first time being threatened—“

“the fuck.”

the deep, intimidating voice breaks the argument in seconds. geto’s eyes widen as he feels the gravity taken away from him and being lifted off the seat. the collar of his jersey tightens around none other than toji’s brutal grip.

your eyes break into hearts, grasping your camera before it clatters back on the table, glancing up to see geto gripping his coach’s forearm.

“since when do you fucking shout at girls. you?!” toji barks, baffled. sukuna sure, gojo maybe, but geto?!

“I wasn’t fucking shouting, we were talking,” geto tsks, neck red from embarrassment.

toji shoves him back. geto slams on the bench. you hadn’t realized it but they all looked like they just finished practice, geto and gojo both still in practice uniforms and duffle bags, and coach toji wearing his usual black cargos, and that compression shirt that left nothing to the imagination.

geto scowls, rubbing his back in pain.

“you were shouting, that’s why i came over—“

“she was shouting at me!”

“so what!?”

the table is quiet. a few passerby’s glance over before quickly walking away. it isn’t a shock to know how unbelievably hot your face is right now. especially when coach toji continues his stern lecture to geto.

“you’re defending some girl that can’t keep her word, mind you,” geto mutters, flashing you a glare—his breath catches. you’re not even looking at him!! shoko stifles another laugh along with gojo, because you really were, truly, unbelievable.

how can you look at someone like that?!? like he’s some idol?! him! a musty ass college coach?!

but none of it mattered, not when toji’s attention shifts to you!!! a warm heat floods between your legs, as your lips part. then suddenly, you glance away…

“I actually did shout too…” you confess, taking accountability. “and kinda screwed them over.”

gojo, geto, and shoko, stare at you in shock.

toji sighs, like some grown ass man (which he is), his hand settles on his hip as the other scratches his hair like he’s surrounded by immature children and figuring out what the fuck to do with you all. so he decides to confess too…

“i told security not to allow any outsiders.”

your heart drops.

“including you.”

oh shit.

the three audience members immediately glance at you, and what none of them, not a single one, expected, is to suddenly see the your eyes tear up.

toji felt a sharp twist in his gut, eyes widening for a moment, before sighing. “it wasn’t personal.”

your throat feels dry, unable to look away until now. a tear hits your camera. “how is that not personal,” you whisper, bottom lip trembling.

shoko’s brows pinch in hurt, at least out of everyone, she knows how much and how long you’ve liked this man. and then sulking and now— she knows you’re absolutely shattered.

“I needed the team to focus, and you’re press,” he states like some cold fact, and that hurt even more.

your grip tightens on the camera. “but…” your not a stranger anymore…. but you can’t get the words out…your heart pounds loudly in your ears, the heat surrounding you felt suffocating, and your head was growing dizzier by the second. and the only thing spinning in your mind was how fucking embarrassing this is.

“don’t be upset.”

you manage a small nod, though another tear falls on the camera, and your body freezes. “how can i not be upset?” your small voice catches toji off guard.

you’re standing up, eyes hot with tears, walking past the esteemed coach.

“wait,” he catches your wrist, “if you have something to say don’t just run away.”

you’re fuming, your pretty chest rises and falls, the disappointment turning into built up anger, “I don’t have anything to say right now, and it’s stupid—“ your hand twists in his grip. “let go.”

he does.

you’re practically heaving, tempted to turn away, especially when the dryness in your throat gets worse. the stinging behind your eyes burns like hell as you try to rip your gaze away from the towering man. you really are stupid…

toji wets his lip, head tilting as if disinterested, but the cooling in his chest says otherwise. why does he have a weak spot for women?

“we can talk.”

his words hang in the air. a silent, open invitation for her. it’s a clear sign of his guilt for making this cute college girl cry. he was too blunt, forgetting she isn’t one of his boys.

your hand comes up to the bridge of your nose, quietly recentering yourself as this older coach watches. your shoulders rise with a deep exhale, then inhale.

pull yourself together…

you nod. cute.

you swallow the embarrassing lump in your throat, clearing your throat. “can we talk while walking…I have to work,” your usual clipped tone used for everyone except him, comes out, but he can hear the slight shakiness.

“sure.”

gojo, geto, and shoko are left in utter shock. it’s not until you and toji completely disappear into the crowd, do they slowly exchange looks.

“what…”

“the fuck,” geto finishes shoko’s sentence.

gojo stares baffled, “did we just set them up?!”

geto’s brow jumps up, “why is he always saving her like some knight?? and he was the one that screwed us all over!!”

gojo shakes his head in agreement, “nah for real, what the hell, blaming us but it’s all him.”

geto slouches back in the picnic table, rolling his eyes. “still,” he tsks, “she didn’t have to be so bitchy and not take our pictures. isn’t it her fucking job—“

“hey!”

“ow!” geto feels a slap upside the head from brunette, her eyes harsh. “what the hell!”

“don’t call girls bitches what’s wrong with you?!” shoko huffs, baffled by geto’s attitude.

gojo snickers beside the man, “he’s been like this since he met her.”

“I haven’t,” he grits, rolling his eyes at the thought of you. “she’s just a—she just gets on my nerves.”

“really because she reminds me of you,” shoko cuts him off. geto’s eyes widen, as gojo breaks into a loud laugh.

“WHAT?!”

“oh god BAHAHA she does!” gojo’s obnoxious laugh sounds like knives stabbing his ears.

shoko hums, “she has that rbf look, intimidating, very blunt, but also so cute with her friends.”

“cute?” geto frowns.

gojo smiles, “it comes out when you’re hanging out with ussss.” gojo and shoko dramatically strike a cute pose. geto tsks.

the campus was packed with students and faculty roaming to booths and small events. it was the university’s 102nd anniversary, and as memorable as it is for the students to enjoy the activities during this nice spring day, you couldn’t bring yourself to give a shit.

not only did your editor scream at you all week, still pissed about the shit photos you took during the match, he also threatened removal if you didn’t take good photos during this event. and now, after sulking with shoko, then procrastinating some more, you decided you’d be able to take such fanatic pictures while your idol and crush trails beside you….sure.

toji lets out another sigh, hands in his pockets as he stands to your left watching you snap some shots of laughing students beside a booth.

“it’s not a big deal,” you mutter, behind the camera. toji notices the twitch in your fingers. “I overreacted, so it’s whatever.”

toji wets his lip, “sukuna and a couple others jus’ get jumpy with cameras.”

you hum, looking at the photos you just took. “I understand.”

“I didn’t know about this deal you did with geto,” toji admits, hand instinctively coming to your waist and guiding you away from some unaware boys shouting and laughing. your cheeks flush, stepping away from his hand. toji notices. “we didn’t have a good game anyways.”

“I know, so it whatever. not a big deal,” you sigh, heat crawling up your neck. this is so embarrassing, so embarrassing! ugh you really don’t know how to keep a cool head at all when it comes to this coach. you overreacted during the match, then blamed geto for screwing you over, then almost cried because the coach locked you out on purpose, and now—

“I feel bad.”

your heart stops.

toji glances at your manicured nails holding your camera, your cute necklaces dangling on your exposed chest, cleavage glistening from the heat. but then his eyes flick up, and you’re staring at him like he’s holding the entire world.

“I didn’t mean to make you upset,” his voice is softer, gentler, nothing like how you’ve heard him for months, shouting, harsh. your stomach heats up, face stinging.

his hand, unexpectedly, comes up, feeling your hair between his fingers. “you work hard, and all your pictures come out so nice…” the compliment hits your heart. “but I couldn’t risk the boys getting distracted.”

your face suddenly twists, lips pursing and jutting out just a bit, your brows pinch. your dewy makeup makes you look like a fucking doll, he thinks. “I was jus’ gonna take photos in the corner, not interview them,” you reply harshly.

“you saw how they are when they talk to you,” he cuts in. your brow quirks, noticing his sharp inhale. “sweetheart, you’re hot.”

your face bursts into flames, pupils turning to literal swirls, and brain getting fried in seconds.

what?!

your reaction was priceless. toji controls his smirk, thumb brushing your adorable cheek, glancing at your glossy lips then your eyes. “I know you’re a professional, but most of those boys aren’t, y’ understand?”

you nod, cheeks sizzling, you’re surprised his thumb isn’t burning.

“so you see why I couldn’t allow you in the locker room then, and i won’t next time,” he watches you nod again. god, you’re fucking precious.

then, your tongue wets your bottom lip before speaking… “are they the only ones that would’ve been distracted?”

shit. can a grown man really pop a boner that fast?

toji’s chest heats up, glancing between your pretty eyes filled with hope. this isn’t the first time a younger girl has crushed on him, and it also isn’t the first time he’s nice to one. but what really got him, is the way you’re maintaining eye contact, almost afraid to look away, and you’re holding your ground against him.

“no,” he admits, “they’re not the only ones.”

oh. your lips curve into a smile toji hasn’t seen before, and his hand flexes in response. you look like you’re going to eat him alive right there, and he’d let you, no questions asked—

“that’s good to hear,” you pull away. you touch your heated cheek with the back of your hand, wetting your lip as you glance over the coach’s flushed face. “your cheeks are red.”

what?! his eyes bulge, catching you off guard as you break into a loud laugh.

“tch,” he looks away, his own hand rubbing down his face. it really is burning out here. but even so, his emerald eyes look through his fingers at this pretty college girl laughing at him and he doesn’t know why his chest warms at the sight.

“I can buy you ice cream. I feel bad now that you had to explain yourself when I was just being the unprofessional one,” you start, already leading him to the nearest ice cream booth.

your camera hangs over your shoulder as you point to your favorite flavor than glance up at him, he points at the cookies n cream. “oh! I love cookies n cream,” you say, reaching for your phone to pay.

ding.

your eyes widen as toji pays instead.

“wha—it was supposed to be my treat, man,” you huff, accepting the cone he gives you, hand on your lower back as he guides you away from the booth. neither of you batting an eye to the multiple people gawking at the renowned coach of their soccer team, walking around with the hot, rude, student photographer.

“as if I’d let you pay,” he snorts.

your brows pinch as you take a lick of your ice cream, the cool sensation leveling your body temperature. your eyes narrow at him as he enjoys his ice cream, grateful to have something that cools the heat building up under his skin. “so not fair,” you mutter.

“how come?”

the two of you walk across the quad, sun still beating down.

“I wanted to use it as an apology,” you say, “I said that.”

“you don’t need to apologize,” he shrugs, casual, unbothered. you huff again. this time toji smiles, scar twitching up. “you can pay next time.”

your heart skips a beat, stomach doing a stupid flip.

“….next time.”

toji catches the smile behind your cone, his eyes trailing over the ice cream coating your tongue, your pretty hand wrapped around the waffle as your bracelets clank around your wrists.

“there’s other things you need to apologize for,” he coolly says, finding a bench and dropping his weight, eyeing you as you sit close beside him. unashamed.

your brow quirks, eyes narrowing, full body facing him, “what other things?”

toji shrugs, “we can talk about it next time.”

“but I can’t just be left in suspense, that’ll give me anxiety?!”

toji snorts, loud. his big tongue is finishing the ice cream so quick he’s already eating the cone. “don’t be anxious,” he says with his mouth full.

you tsk, rolling your eyes, and you don’t notice the twinkle in the older coach’s eyes. he can definitely see geto’s point about your attitude, but if he leans over—

your eyes go wide. stomach flipping.

he takes a bold bite of your ice cream, emerald eyes shut, and thick lashes kissing his flushed cheeks. your heart feels like it’ll break from your ribs, then, he opens his eyes. he doesn’t pull away yet, instead his tongue cleans his lips, humming in low delight. the heat around you wasn’t helping your own body temperature as it skyrockets.

“taste’s sweeter than mine,” his voice his huskier than before, catching you by surprise, and the heat pools between your legs.

“i—“ you can’t even form words! your eyes won’t tear away from his lips, and your chest is moving erratically because he’s so close.

“do you want a taste of mine. I took a bite without asking yo—“

his words cut the minute your lips press against his.

shock prevents him from reacting, eyes going wide. you gave in so quick, sure he was teasing, but still. he could feel the certainty in your kiss, along with the warmth, and anxiety. after a long ten seconds you pull away—

you pant against his lips, chest rising and falling, brain scrambled. “i jus’…” your heart is beating loudly in your ears. mind trying to keep up with what your body just did. you kissed him. you kissed the coach. the one you’ve been idolizing and photographing for months—

“we can do it again.” his free hand tilts your chin up, lips hovering over yours again. his breath is warm. “kiss me.”

you do.

this time you’re a little bolder. your lips connect with his, soft again, sucking his bottom lip, skillfully. slowly. he brushes your jaw with his thumb, humming in delight just like he did with the ice cream. but the sound goes straight to your core. completely unbothered by the rowdiness of the uni day activities around you. your free hand rests on his thigh, leaning more into the kiss.

“open,” you murmur against his lips. you can feel the the shit-eating smirk that breaks his face, groaning just low enough to make the heat furiously spread under your skin.

then, his lips part.

his tongue immediately connects with yours. caressing the wet muscle. he tastes the ice cream, delving a little more. it was just so easy taking control, and your little whines are too sweet for him to stop. his jaw opens wider, taking the lead as you follow. his hand cups the side of your face, unexpectedly possessive, ignoring the alarms sounding off in his head.

you had a crush, you’re fucking adorable, and you kissed him. plus, you make these cute sounds when he shoves his tongue against yours, thumb pressing into your cheek. how could he resist?

your grip against his thigh tightens, his back is pressed fully against the bench, while you were practically leaning over him, trying to swallow him whole.

“breathe,” he mutters, lips hovering close, waiting for you to inhale. his scar quirks up, you’re so cute. his thumb brushes your cheekbone again, eyes glancing between your fluttering lashes. “if we keep kissing, I’ll have a problem.”

your face burns, eyes darting down to the tent pressing up near your hand. and unlike toji, you let your second ice cream of the day melt and fall to the ground. you were a mess. you carefully lean back in your seat, the sudden space between you allowing you to take another deep breath. being near coach toji is intoxicating. it’s not that you didn’t feel like yourself, but you definitely throw all common sense out the door when he’s in front of you.

“are you staying to see the booths and stuff?” you clear your throat, trying to ease your erratic heartbeat.

toji finds it cute. his hand once cupping your face, slides down to brush the hair off your shoulder, fingers brushing the multiple earrings that dangle from your piercings. you’re much more stylish than he is…your accessories, the cute tank top that hugs your breasts, and embroidered low rise flared jeans.

“nah, gotta drive back home so i can take my son to practice.”

toji eases, not a single thing can bother him. it was a routine, the subtle throw away line about having a son that scared off many young women, or had them wanting a one night stand with the older dilf. so his eyes flick over you, the second he finishes his sentence.

your freeze.

your blood runs cold, eyes flicking down to his ring finger.

even if you’re looking, you know he isn’t married. you know. you’ve been photographing him for months, and not a single time have you ever seen him daunt a ring on his finger.

“there’s no one waiting for him at home?” you question, wetting your lip.

toji’s fingers slide from your earrings to the dried ice cream on your chin. “nah, if I’m late he’ll go to his friends house.”

you nod, anxiety slowly dissipating. “how old is he?”

“ten.”

your eyes light up, “my nephew is just a year older, that’s when they get really fun to hang out with,” your voice is so light and sweet, toji has to shove down the weird somersault his stomach does.

“really?” toji is not convinced. “all my son does is give me attitude and bully everything i do.”

you laugh, waving your hand, “yeah they get super opinionated, but it’s funny—trust trust he’s just doing it because you’re an easy target.”

“I’m an easy target.”

you nod, waving a hand again, “your his dad, my brothers and i were the same to our parents.”

brothers? toji doesn’t comment how that peaks his interest, but he naturally asks, “how many siblings do you have?”

“three older brothers,” you nod.

damn….toji hums, that explains your attitude and how you can handle geto’s bitchy moods. what also quietly settles in his mind is how your oldest brother would probably be around his age, considering your nephew is a year older than megumi. is that why you’re easily holding a conversation this long…maybe the age gap isn’t that big then…

“they were so freakin bossy, definitely why i pushed to dorm away from them,” you huff, toji zoning back into your rambling. it was cute watching you talk mindlessly, hands waving making your bracelets clank against each other. the sweat glistened across your skin, making you look eternal, which is amusing since you’re just talking.

but still, toji is the one to lean up this time. his hand settling on your waist as a anchor and he presses a firm kiss to your warm cheek.

your glossy lips part in shock, heart stuttering again. unbothered, toji casually stands up, towering over you as his hand gently settles atop your head. “i have’ta get going, but I’ll see you next week for the match. I’ll also let em know you can come in before and after the game, but not during halftime. okay?”

you nod.

“I’ll see ya’ sweetheart.”

and with a wink, he solidifies the fourth arrow straight through your heart.

—

it was very likely that your entire week looked like sunshine and rainbows, all because you had a full on make out session with your idol on a park bench. you couldn’t bring yourself to care much about anything else—well except for your job. you had to scramble to get photos after toji left, afraid of staying on your editor’s bad side.

luckily you pulled through, and convinced him to keep you on for the semi final match this coming weekend.

which leads you to your current blissful state. watching toji speak to the team in the locker rooms. unlike last time, you grabbed different shots, smiling every time toji glanced at the camera, but frowning any time any of the other boys looked.

“surprise surprise, couldn’t stay away too long,” gojo coo’s after the team breaks to finish changing.

“don’t bother me or I won’t take photos of you,” you throw, eyes flicking up at the tall man.

gojo pouts, “but I’m just talking to you,” his words drag.

geto is scowling a few feet away, jaw tightening and relaxing, until he finally comes up to you. your attitude shifts, eyes narrowing up. geto holds eye contact, chest rising with a subtle inhale. but once he exhales, his shoulders ease, and his eyes close, the fakest smile you’ve ever seen graces his naturally attractive features.

“I’m looking forward to seeing your photos after the game.”

your lips purse, brow quirking. “yeah…”

geto leaves. shortly after, the team gets called out. gojo utters the same line geto had just said, but much more cheerfully, all while toji walks up to you. brow furrowing at the two athletes as they walk towards the exit.

“they still bothering you?”

your eyes light up the moment you see him. “s’ fine,” your pretty lips pull into an easy smile, unexpectedly warming the coach’s heart. is it that easy to smile because of him?

“I’ll tell them to fuck off again,” his voice is naturally deep, hand subconsciously roaming up to the strap of your camera.

you smile, “okay.”

god, you’re really cute. his hand cups your cheek, leaning down and easily locking lips with you.

you’re immediately caught off guard, but his hand is so firm on your cheek, you just melt. your lashes flutter shut, leaning in more. he’s so big and tall. your cheeks sting, humming against his lips, trying to fight off the butterflies in your stomach. but it’s worse when he pulls away, and your heart leaps into your throat as he brushes his rough thumb against your lip, dragging the spit across the plumpness.

“I’ll c’ya after.” he winks.

you barely feel your feet when you step back out onto the field. your camera in hand, strap tight around your neck, everything exactly where it should be, and still, your entire body is giddy.

toji….toji toji toji—

you press your lips together, trying to fight it down, but it’s useless. your mouth keeps twitching, threatening to break into a smile and you can’t help it! he kissed you. twice now! like it was nothing—

you snap a shot.

sukuna’s first goal. the team and stadium erupts, and you’re already capturing it, body moving before your thoughts can catch up. you don’t need your editor screaming at you this time, so you shift angles, crouch lower, shoot through. geto lines up for a penalty shot, and you catch that too. the strike, the follow-through, and the way the net snaps back as the ball hits. you don’t miss a second of it.

but…inevitably…your lens drifts…to him. you can’t help it!

toji’s on the sidelines, where he always is. his sleeves are pushed up again, pacing, shouting, running a hand through his hair. you catch the flex of his arm, his biceps bulge and you feel heat pooling between your legs. you catch the drag of his palm across his broad huge chest, the set of his jaw when gojo almost tackles into another player.

you shouldn’t be taking this many photos of him. you know that, but you take them anyway. your chest feels tight with every picture, cheeks still burning, and your smile impossible to get rid of.

halftime comes and goes, and you don’t even try to get into the locker room this time. instead, you linger with the rest of the press, nodding along to conversations, camera hanging loose in your hands. you don’t care. not really. not when your mind keeps replaying it—his hand on your face, the way he looked at you after, the wink.

the second half starts and you’re back in position immediately. getting more action shots of the players—ugh but you keep stealing other moments too…small unnecessary ones. his biceps when he folds his arms. the scratch of his chest. the tilt of his head as he watches the field.

your thoughts don’t stop. why did he kiss you? why did he kiss you again? what is that supposed to mean? is he going to kiss you again??

the spiral doesn’t fully come to an end until the pitch breaks out into celebration. the team is off to the finals!

managers and the rest of the team flood the pitch as the stadium breaks out. you do your best to get the best shots of the team together, and you stay after to capture them talking to journalists, and press. unaware of the coach that slips away.

you follow the team and a couple managers back to the locker room as they continue celebrating. you can’t help the smile about how happy they are, they played well.

“how was the match?” geto corners you quickly.

“good,” you nod casually, fixing your flash. “you guys played really well.”

geto’s brow quirks. that’s nice….his lips purse. “I scored.” he mutters, glancing at the multiple piercings on your ear as you tuck a hair behind it.

“yeah, it was a nice shot,” your eyes flick over your camera before glancing up to meet his eyes, testing, “you wanna see?”

his eyes narrow again, “no.”

he’s quick to ignore your eye roll, as he points over his shoulder. “coach is calling for you.”

you can’t control the way your head whips to geto, then following the direction he’s pointing at. you don’t hesitate, your legs carry you across the locker room, and into the steamed shower room.

your heart hammers against your chest, putting the lens cap back on your camera and carefully sliding it off your shoulder, afraid to step further in until you put it back in your bag.

a single curtain is closed. shower running.

“coach toji?” your voice echos.

there a beat of silence, then…

“that you, sweetheart?”

you flush. controlling the smile that breaks your face as you hum, “yeah.”

the shower is still running, steam collecting in the room. your heart is beating erratically, you barely register anything aside from the fact that coach toji is definitely one hundred percent fully nude just a few feet away. his clothes are laid on his duffle on the bench beside the door.

“sweetheart?”

you jump. “yeah?”

“you gonna come in?”

you blink. again, then once more. then— “WHAT?”

your screech bounces off the tile floors, making you shrink at how loud you are. but it was a normal reaction. he just asked you if you wanted to come in? how else would you react—

“leave your things by my bag,” he doesn’t even react, like what he’s saying is the most casual kind of flirting. the kissing was one thing, but this…

your camera is zipped back in your bag, and in seconds, you’re peeling your panties off standing completely naked in the middle of a shower room. goosebumps break out, necklace and bracelets still on as your nipples harden.

what’re you doing, seriously?

one, this is highly unprofessional (whatever). two, you haven’t even gone a date with this man. and three, w-why would he even ask you to come in?!?! does he like you?! he does—he has too—

your bare feet pad against the steamed tiles until you reach the curtains. your hands won’t stop shaking, face burning hot, and lips parting as you let out a shaky exhale. then, you slowly pull back the curtains—

“come in before someone sees you,” is what you hear just as you’re being dragged into the steaming water, curtain pulled closed behind you.

the steam wraps around your skin instantly, thick and suffocating. your pretty nipples perk up in seconds. and standing right in front of you is the 6’5 two hundred pound man. water cascading down his body in slow, steady streams. you don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing until your chest tightens, and your hands hover close to his forearm.

you’re so close.

your gaze is eye level with his broad solid chest, rising and falling slow and controlled like none of this affects him. like you standing in front of him naked is something he expected. but your too dazed to care. especially when you follow the droplets sliding over his muscles, catching the shallow lines as you continue going lower, and lower. the heat pools more obviously between your legs as you see the thick patch of dark coarse hair…then you see it.

your face burns hotter, stomach flipping hard making you even dizzier.

his cock twitches under your gaze. your knees almost buckle just at the sight. it’s huge. you have to suppress a whine, lashes fluttering as you feel a strong hand cup your chin.

“say hi first,” his voice is unbelievably deep, tearing your gaze away from the monster between his legs. his dark forest green eyes sink into you.

“hi.”

shit. he bites back a groan, eyes trailing down your naked body. nipples already perky and standing all pretty for him. his hand comes up, cupping the side of your face as he leans down, lips colliding with yours.

you whine immediately. your lips move together, tongues colliding as your hands slide up his muscular chest, feeling the deep ridges of his abs as he holds the side of your face, dominating the kiss.

it was overwhelming, the shower box, his body heat, his cock touching your thigh, it was all making you dizzy in the best ways possible. he pulls away, letting you catch your breath, but he stays close, brushing his lips over yours like it’s not enough. because it isn’t.

“did anyone see you come in?” he husks, hand still cradling your face as the other brushes your naked waist, pulling you closer. your skin is so soft under his palm.

“no,” you shake your head adorably, tongue poking out to wet your lip, “I don’t think so.”

the older coach hums, his hands freely roaming your side as he nudges your nose with his. “good,” is all he adds before he resumes the heated make out.

your tongues collide and caress, jaw falling slack as you moan a little louder when he grips your ass. groaning into your lip when your arms lock around his shoulders, wet chest pressing against his. you were such a sweet tasting girl.

his hand nudges your thigh. “jump.”

you gasp when he easily picks you up, back already pressed against the tiled wall. the hot water cascades down his back as he continues kissing you. “were you mad at me?”

you pull away, breath hot as you glance at his features. he’s so handsome, your hand cups his face, pushing his drenched raven hair back. “why would I mad?”

“because I kept ya out during halftime.”

you shake your head, lips curving as you trace his wet eyebrows, chest rising and falling. “no,” you drawl, wetting your glossy lips again. “I was jus’ confused about how much you kiss me.”

his scar tugs up, biting back a smirk threatening to break free. “you kissed me first.”

“that one time.”

“you started it,” he leans close, lips brushing yours, “so you can’t blame me for getting hooked.” his eyes are lidded. “it’s really hard for me to break bad habits.”

this time you kiss me.

you’re so unbelievably hungry for this man’s affection, you can ignore all the blaring red light going off in your head. he’s so hot, he’s so big, and he’s so fucking sexy! your mind has been completely and utterly fried and you don’t care.

“fuck, you’re dripping,” toji husks, his finger collecting your juices from your pussy, groaning at how turned you are. “kissing me makes ya feel that good? your cunt always dripping like a fountain?”

“yeah-aah—“ your lips part as he shoves a finger inside. he groans against you, chuckling at the choked whines leaving your pretty lips, your nails dig crescents along his shoulder.

his lips trail down your neck, tongue flattening against the wet skin and licking until you squirm a cute whimper. his smirk is impossible to hold back. he sucks a dark bruise as another finger pushes in your fluttering hole.

“c-coach—“ you gasp, lips so wet from spit. you try to look down at his fingers pistoning inside you. every muscle on his body flexing, keeping you up like you weigh nothing, while fingering you against the little shower wall. “fu-fuck, I’m gonna—cu-uhm—“

it really is too much for your obsessed brain.

coach toji’s fingers are inside you. he’s kissing you like he’s hasn’t pleasured a woman in years. and his groans are going straight to your pussy—

“I wan’…coach—“ your whine drawls a little longer, thighs shaking, and arms locking around him, head falling to neck.

the older man chuckles close to your ear, voice deep and husky as you fall apart, in his arms. hugging him like he’s your savior. his fingers curl, slowly pumping you through your orgasm. “that was quick. my baby hasn’t cum in awhile?” he says as a matter of a fact, but you just hug him closer, lips pulling away to trail kisses up his neck. your fingers coarse through the back of his head, grasping them as you kiss the corner of his mouth.

“it’s b’cause of you, toji.” you kiss his scar, panting as he pulls his fingers out and lifts you up suddenly, hooking his arm under your knee.

“you want a good fucking princess?”

you nod frantically, cheeks dewy and stinging, as you glance over his face then his chest, then you feel his cock between your slick folds.

“it’s a big stretch,” he mutters against your lips. “you saw.”

you nod, nervous stirring at the way he’s preparing you. but you don’t break away. you doubt you physically can, when your mind is only screaming his name over and over.

“I can take it, coach,” you nod, determined.

“you’re so fucking cute,” he snorts, a light blush dusting his cheeks as he kisses your lips in quiet reassurance. “ever take a cock this big?”

you shake your head, water droplets falling from the tips of your hair. your pretty necklaces still wrapped around your neck, all wet and glistening between your perky breasts.

“it’ll hurt,” he strokes himself underneath you, thumb running over his tip multiple times before lining it with your pretty clit and teasing you. “then you’re gonna cry.” you gulp, nodding along. “then you’re gonna tell me to stop—“

“I won’t!”

he snorts. “it’s okay if you do.”

you shake your head, “I won’t I’ll be okay. okay coach? I can take it, I wan’ you inside me. please.”

the tug to his heart is immediate. how can it not be when this cute hot girl is begging him to fuck her? but he can’t even formulate this emotional string that’s tying him to you. the only physical response coming out is this fucking erection that feels like the most painful shit he’s experienced, twitching after he first spoke to you and then again when you kissed him. surely it’s disgusting….an older man like him getting that quickly turned on…

but maybe it was the way he’s only felt this tug in his chest one other time in his life, and even if it didn’t end the way he wanted, he never regretted pursuing his baby mama.

so he’s all in right now.

“deep breath, sweetheart.”

you inhale sharply, just as toji pushes his engorged tip past the tight rim of your pussy, and you suddenly clench—

“shit!—“

your eyes widen, “I don’t feel anything,” you mutter, glancing down to see his ears burning a deep shade of red.

“your cunt squeezed me too early and shoved me out,” he wets his lips, as he crashes his lips against you. “relax, baby,” he husks.

you whine against his dominating mouth, lower body relaxing as he lines up again and the moment you ease up, he snaps his hips in.

“angh!—“

your jaw slacks, and he continues kissing, groaning at the unbelievable tightness that’s squeezing every corner of his tip.

“Mmm so warm, took me in good,” he groans, rocking his hips and grabbing a handle of your ass. “you’re gonna make me feel good?”

you nod, lips connecting with his, it’s messy, teeth clashing, spit mixing.

toji’s guttural groan echos through the shower, bouncing off the tiles as he rocks his hips, going in inch by inch, until he’s finally shoving his entire length deep inside your cunt with one mean thrust.

“fhuck—“ he chokes, jaw slacking as you clamp around him again. “full?”

you nod, brain scrambled as you glance at your tummy, cheeks stinging at the obvious bulge. “keep going,” you pant, securing yourself better as he grunts, pulling out and snapping his hips back.

it was mind numbing, toji holding you up with his strong arms hooked under your knees, hands gripping each ass cheek as he ruts into you like a beast in heat. the squelch and clapping was deafening as it bounced off the walls, the steam enveloping you closer as your whines flow right into his ear.

“nghhh—gettin’ me worked up,” thrust. “when you squeeze me,” thrust. “with this tight.” thrust. “fucking.” thrust. “cunt!”

his massive cock is stretching you in ways you never could’ve imagined. his blunt tip slams into your cervix with every thrust. your thighs shake, eyes filling with unshed tears as your nails dig into his tough skin.

“m’ s-sorry—haah ah coa—ahh! it feels s’ fuhh—fuh’me ple-easee—ahh!” your pretty lips were so glossy, drool coming down as water droplets fall from your pretty breasts with each vicious slam of his hips.

he was unforgiving. and his laugh like groan didn’t help your pussy from fluttering and tightening around his chubby cock. you can feel every thick pulsing vein and ridge. it was numbing your brain to mush. your fingers curled into his hair, tugging as he gives your ass a mean, violent, spank!

“angh!” your eyes bulge, a wave of heat crashing into you.

toji laughs, gripping your ass as he quickens his pace. “admit it,” he husks, voice condensing, and eyes dark with lust. “this is what ya’ wanted.” you’re falling apart around his cock, and he’s not slowing down, even as the tears finally break, making you look even more irresistible. you’re gasping like you can’t breathe. “you always wanted the coach to fuck you. taking those dirty photos of my bulge—nghh!” thrust. “imagining how big my dick is.” thrust. “how big is it baby, tell me.” thrust!

you were fucked dumb.

your face is flushed, eyes glossed over, as you whine like a full blown slut. and even with your two orgasms in a matter of minutes. your mind was still screaming one thing: toji.

“c’mon baby, I know you’re still with me,” he snorts, ears red, and body flushed with sweat as he feels his climax edge closer. “tell me—fuck—how big is it?”

your stupid brain catches his words, and your fingers dig into his neck as you gasp and moan, the stimulation of his massive cock slamming into you was ruining you. mentally and physically. it was humiliating. but still…

“haah—fuh its’ it’s so big— i wan’ you to cum in me! please —wan’ your cum so bad, wanna feel your big fat cock cum inside my pussy toji—ahh!”

anothet sharp spank takes your breath away.

toji is at a loss.

his grunts grew louder and thrusts sloppier, until finally, he gave you one final thrust, and stilled. his ass tightens, body pressing you into the tiled walls, face buried in your neck, and teeth sinking into your shoulder. toji completely unravels in the shower, holding up a pretty college girl that whines so beautifully in his ear he thinks he’d never cum this hard again, but sure enough—

your adorable whine has him rutting shallow thrusts into your pussy, like a fucking dog. his cum pumping out as he continued stuffing you full, purposely milking out ever drop as his dark wet pubes rubbed against your puffy clit.

you both catch your breath. your lashes wet from tears, as the water from the shower head fills the silence. after a moment, toji pulls away from your neck, his lidded eyes, hypnotizing as he stares up at yours.

you don’t know why you suddenly feel shy. your cheeks burn as the emerald irises bore into your own. lips parting, and a gentle hand coming up to his cheek. you brush back the raven hair flattening against his features, smiling softly when his full face comes into view.

and he could’ve sworn you looked like an actual angel at this moment.

your eyes twinkled above, face illuminating in the dark shower, and body glistening like you’re an eternal being.

“toji…” the soft call has his heart doing something it hasn’t done in years. and that has his soft cock twitching inside you. “I’m,” you lean closer, arms wrapping around his shoulder, lips hovering near his, breasts smushed against his chest. your confidence comes back the moment you feel the man lean closer..but you continue. “I hope you don’t think…i wanted to have sex…just because i thought your dick was really big.”

toji blinks.

then he does the worst thing ever.

he laughs.

your cheeks sting, watching his head fall back in loud laughter. your hand flys to your face, embarrassed. “I’m being serious!” you yell.

toji laughs louder, body shaking as he lifts you up, his cock slipping out. he carefully sets your shaky feet down on the wet tile. the height difference returns, making you even more ticked off, your little attitude was oozing out, and his slick cock couldn’t help but twitch against his thigh at your pouting.

god, you’re fucking hot.

he brings your attention back to him. hands cupping your face, tilting your head to look up at him. your brows are pinched together, and lips pulled in a subtle scowl.

toji smirks. “don’t worry, I know you also took pictures of my face.”

you flush, rolling your eyes. “those were accidents.”

“so you just wanted pictures of my dick?”

your eyes widen, “no! i told you they were all accidents.”

toji clicks his tongue, leaning down to your level, making your tummy flip “you’re fucking cute, but let’s not lie to adults.”

“I’m an adult though,” you raise a brow, pushing back, and god if that wasn’t the hottest thing ever.

but still, toji’s easygoing smile remains on his playful lips, “it’s embarrassing. i understand,” he softens the blow as your face heats. it was humiliating when he found those pictures, “taking photos of the coach like that. but now’s the time to take some accountability.”

you lick your teeth, eyes boring into him, narrowing. but it’s toji. toji is asking. and you can’t hold back any longer…

you exhale, glancing away, even though he’s still cupping your face. “yeah, obviously I took those photos on purpose,” your eyes meet. “happy?”

water is still running down his shoulders as he keeps your face tucked carefully in his hands like you’re something precious despite the grin threatening to split across his face again.

but then toji smirks. “ecstatic.”

your eyes narrow immediately, “you’re so annoying.”

he huffs another laugh under his breath, quieter this time, thumbs brushing over your heated cheeks. standing this close to him is ridiculous now that the adrenaline’s settling. he’s huge. his broad chest still damp against yours, muscles flexing every time he shifts, towering over you while you stand there completely naked except for the necklaces you’re wearing. the little gold chains glisten under the shower head, delicate against flushed skin, and toji’s eyes flick down to them for a second before returning to your face.

that look in his eyes makes your stomach tighten all over again. he knows he’s not trying to be mocking, or casual like before. it’s fondness.

“those shots were real creative, sweetheart,” he says, voice rougher now. “nice and close too.”

you groan, immediately trying to shove his chest, but he barely moves. “oh my god, can you let it go already?”

“can’t,” he answers easily. “been thinkin’ about it for weeks.”

your face burns hotter. weeks?!

toji watches it happen in real time, watches the attitude crack just enough for embarrassment to slip through, again. and it does something terrible to him. you’re sharp with everyone else—cool, hard to impress. he’s seen it. seen the way you brush off gojo and geto without a second thought. but with him? you melt.

even now, glaring up at him with your brows pulled tight, lips still swollen from kissing, legs trembling from the multiple orgasms, trying so hard to stay irritated while your body keeps betraying you. it’s fucking adorable.

“don’t look at me like that,” you mutter weakly.

“like what?”

“like you know things.”

his grin widens instantly. “but i do know things now.”

what proceeded after was the thirty something year old coach, dropping to his knee and lifting your leg up, burying his face between your legs like a starving man. your lips part in shock.

but still, as toji works your pretty body to another orgasm, tongue shoved inside, cleaning this little pussy up, jaw slack as he gulps down his own cum. your fingers thread through his hair, tugging whenever he’d give your clit a mean rough suck, cheeks hollowing. his hand, grips your ass from behind, squeezing and slapping as he pleased, until you were falling apart.

afterwards, he cleaned you up. this time with some soap. his big hands roamed your body, every crevice and curve, hands massaging your breasts as he had your back pressed to his chest, chuckling when you’d whine. thumbs tugging playfully. hand rubbing between your legs, head tucked in your shoulder as he watches your smaller hands hold his forehead, face hot.

“toji,” you whine, embarrassed, as he teasing a finger against your hole again.

“what,” he smirks, watching your reactions, “I’m jus’ cleaning you up.”

he’s a fucking perv. but still, he teases you through the whole shower, keeping you close to his body and even letting you wash his back, admiring the muscles and ink that decorate his skin.

eventually, he steps out first, keeping you inside so he can grab an extra towel. his own wrapped around his waist.

that was the start of all of it.

three months later….

you and shoko are sitting out in the quad. table covered in assignments and forgotten laptops. all while you explained to shoko how your weekend went.

“no, we definitely got along. megumi is so cute!” you gush about the ten year old, describing how your first meeting went. toji had spoken about you enough to prepare megumi, waiting until the right time to introduce you both.

and now, you’re going to every single one of their soccer games, toji and megumi’s.

and eventually, after another hour passes by. a group of athletes comes walking down the path. covered in sweat, holding their duffles, and behind them is a very hot coach, already breaking into a smile when you jump up.

“toji!”

it was a routine. your arms thrown around his shoulders, as he lifts you up with one hand. zero regard for any pda, as he kisses you deeply. smiling as you hum, pecking him over and over.

“why do you guys look like that?” shoko grimaces, looking at gojo and geto who look far worse than the rest of the team that leave.

geto scowls, glaring at his best friend, “fucking coach overhead him again.”

shoko shakes her head, rolling her eyes, at the white haired idiot. “you need to stop—“

“it’s been three months and she’s not over that old man?!”

“he’s not even that old!” shoko defends.

but gojo scowls harder, glancing over his shoulder at you laughing and talking, hands animated, like the man in front of you was holding the world. “it’s always the mean girls.”

shoko frowns, “you’re messed up in the head.”

but even geto narrows his eyes when toji wraps a possessive arm around you, glaring up at the two players.

it was clear as day.

you’re his.

a/n: this was LOONG overdue, mb guys!!! but i hope you all enjoyed it!!! ahhhh i love coach toji sososososo much—like its a serious problem, i cant make reader behave normally when its toji, like she has to be obsessed with himmm

Sixth Year

Hogwarts Castle — Scottish Highlands, Scotland

Sixth year was supposed to be simple.

Study hard. Pass your N.E.W.T.s. Try not to get murdered by Hermione Granger's increasingly aggressive study schedules.

Reasonable goals, honestly.

Unfortunately, Hogwarts rarely cared about reasonable goals.

Breakfast in the Great Hall smelled like burnt toast, strong coffee, and the collective suffering of students surviving on four hours of sleep. Sunlight streamed through the enchanted windows overhead while owls swooped between tables delivering letters, parcels, and occasionally mild chaos.

At the Ravenclaw table, you were busy attacking a piece of toast with far more hostility than it deserved.

Across from you, Ginny watched for a moment before setting down her pumpkin juice.

"Why do you look like someone's spat in your coffee?"

You looked up immediately.

"Because Binns assigned us three essays before nine in the morning."

Ginny snorted.

"You love essays."

"That's not the point."

"You color-code your notes for fun."

"That's also not the point."

A few seats away, Hermione finally looked up from the alphabetized monstrosity she called a planner. She scanned the two of you over the top of her parchment before letting out a long-suffering sigh.

"Honestly, both of you sound ridiculous."

Ginny pointed dramatically across the table. 

“See? She gets it.” 

“No, I don’t,” Hermione corrected. “You’re enabling her theatrics.” 

You pressed a hand to your chest in mock offense.  

“Hermione Granger accusing me of theatrics is rich considering you once cried over an Arithmancy grade in fifth year.”

Hermione looked scandalized. 

“I got a ninety-eight.” 

“Exactly.” 

Ginny burst out laughing while Hermione narrowed her eyes at you over the rim of her teacup. 

“You’re never letting that go, are you?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

Truthfully, breakfast with Hermione and Ginny had become one of your favorite parts of sixth year. Hermione brought structure. Ginny brought chaos. You mostly contributed sarcasm and snacks.

The arrangement worked surprisingly well.

“You’re both avoiding the real issue,” Ginny announced suddenly. 

You frowned. “What real issue?” 

“The fact the Lorenzo Berkshire has been staring at you for the last five minutes.” 

You nearly inhaled your coffee.

Hermione immediately glanced toward the Slytherin table with all the subtlety of a Bombarda spell. “Oh dear.”

“Oh dear?” you repeated weakly.

“He’s absolutely looking at you.” 

You grimaced. “Maybe he’s looking at someone behind me.”

“He’s not,” Ginny said.

“He could be.” 

“He winked,” Hermione informed you helpfully.

You closed your eyes briefly.

Across the room, the Slytherin table erupted into laughter. 

You still did not look over.

You refused to give him the satisfaction.

That was exactly what he wanted.

Lorenzo Berkshire had the sort of laugh that carried across a room. Loud enough to turn heads, charming enough that nobody seemed to mind. Unfortunately, half the female population of Hogwarts appeared to find that endearing.

The truly irritating part was that he was objectively attractive in the same way fire was objectively hot. Widely acknowledged. Scientifically verifiable. Potentially dangerous if handled incorrectly.

He was tall in a lazy sort of way, as though he'd never quite realized how much space he occupied. His uniform was perpetually untidy, sleeves rolled carelessly to his elbows and tie loosened just enough to suggest he'd either come from Quidditch practice or a terrible decision.

Sometimes both. 

Girls liked Lorenzo because he flirted shamelessly and made them feel chosen. Boys liked him because he was reckless and somehow impossible to genuinely dislike. 

You disliked him anyway. 

Mostly on principle. 

Hermione gathered her books neatly into her bag before standing. “Come on. We’re going to be late for Charms.”

“We meaning you,” Ginny corrected. “Some of us weren’t cursed with responsibility.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes fondly. “You’re impossible.” 

“So I’ve been told.” 

The three of you moved through the crowded corridors together while students rushed toward class around you. Hermione walked with purpose like she always did while continuing a conversation about N.E.W.T.-level coursework.

You listened with half your attention until Hermione suddenly stopped speaking mid-sentence.

“What?” 

Hermione's eyes flickered over your shoulder.

The look alone made your stomach sink.

"You've gained a shadow."

You already knew who it was before you turned.

Sure enough, Lorenzo appeared beside you a second later, grinning like he'd been personally invited to persistently annoy you.

You let out an immediate groan. “Go away.”

Instead of being offended, Lorenzo looked absolutely delighted.

“Good morning to you too, little raven.” 

“I’d rather drink Acromantula venom than be called pet names by you.” 

“That’s oddly specific.” 

“I’ve had time to think about it.” 

Ginny made a loud, delighted sound of laughter, while Hermione—traitor that she was—looked far too entertained for someone who was supposed to be the voice of reason.

Lorenzo glanced between the group before focusing back on you. “You always this friendly in the morning?" 

“Only with people I dislike.”

“Ouch.” 

“You’ll survive.” 

“I don’t know,” he said thoughtfully. “That one might’ve actually hurt.” 

You finally glanced at him properly. “You’re literally smiling.” 

“Maybe I enjoy it.” 

“Well, that’s concerning.” 

“The insults build character.” 

“You seem overdeveloped already.”

That earned a real laugh from him—warm and surprised like he hadn’t expected you to keep up with him so easily. 

Regrettably, Hermione noticed it too.

You saw the exact moment something clicked in her expression. 

Merlin help you. 

Hermione Granger with an idea was one of the most dangerous creatures alive. 

“You know,” she said mildly, “I actually think you two would get along if you stopped bickering for one second.” 

You and Lorenzo answered at the exact same time. 

“No, we wouldn’t.”

The synchronicity alone was enough to send Ginny into hysterics.

Lorenzo looked vaguely offended.

“You wound me, Hermione.”

Hermione smiled innocently. 

“Pity.” 

“The bullying in this castle has become outrageous.” 

“You started it,” you informed him.

“Did I?” 

“Yes.” 

“When?” 

“Approximately every time you speak.”

The thing was, Lorenzo shouldn't have been that attractive while carrying three textbooks under one arm and grinning like an idiot.

Yet somehow, tragically, he was. 

By the time you reached the Charms classroom, you were already aiming for your usual seat by the window. Safe. Predictable. Strategically far away from distractions. 

You had just settled in when Lorenzo dropped into the seat directly beside you.

You turned slowly to look at him.

“There are other chairs.” 

“But this one’s closest to you.” 

A strangled noise came from Ginny behind you. Hermione looked one second away from completely losing it. 

“You’re insufferable,” you informed him.

“Only for you, love.” 

Professor Flitwick clapped his hands together excitedly once everyone settled down. 

“Good morning, class! Before we begin, I’ve decided students could benefit from collaborative seating arrangements this term.” 

Your stomach sank.

Then he called your name.

“You will be seated beside Mr. Berkshire.”

For a moment, the world genuinely felt unfair.

Actually unfair.

Somewhere across the room, Theo Nott made a choking sound while Mattheo Riddle laughed into his sleeve.

Lorenzo turned to you with the expression of someone who had just won the lottery.

“Oh,” he said, delighted. “This is going to be fun.” 

At first, it was just Charms.

Then it became study groups that you hadn’t exactly agreed to but somehow always ended up attending anyway.

Then, somewhere between shared parchment and late-night revisions, Lorenzo Berkshire stopped being an occasional nuisance and became a permanent fixture in your life.

It started, technically, with tutoring.

Or more accurately, it started with Lorenzo repeatedly refusing to leave you alone until you finally gave in out of sheer exhaustion.

“Just one hour,” you warned, already gathering your notes as you met him in the library later that week. You made a point of sounding firm, like there was any chance that would matter.

Lorenzo leaned back in his chair looking entirely too pleased with himself, as though he had just won something important.

“Knew you’d say yes.”

You didn’t even look up as you flipped open your book. “You know nothing about me.”

That finally made him pause. His gaze flickered toward you, and something about his expression softened in a way you weren’t prepared for.

“I think I’d like to,” he said.

It was simple. Casual, even.

It shouldn't have affected you the way it did.

Unfortunately, it absolutely did.

The first session was supposed to last an hour.

It turned into three.

Three turned into six over the course of the week.

And before you really had time to notice what was happening, Lorenzo had developed an alarming habit of appearing wherever you happened to be studying.

The library.

Empty classrooms.

Even once by the Black Lake between classes, as if he’d simply materialized there by coincidence and not intent.

At some point, you stopped asking how he kept finding you.

Then, somehow, it became normal for him to sit at the Ravenclaw table during breakfast, claiming he needed help with assignments he very obviously already understood.

“You realize you’re actually smart, right?” you asked one evening while going over Charms theory with him, watching him scribble notes with exaggerated seriousness.

Lorenzo looked up immediately, scandalized. “That’s a horrible thing to say to someone.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He placed a hand over his chest like you had wounded him deeply. “Don’t ruin my reputation.”

Despite yourself, you laughed.

The sound made something in the air shift.

Lorenzo went very still for half a second.

“What?” you asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing,” he said too quickly, already looking back down at his notes.

But after that, he looked at you differently.

Study sessions became routine.

Library corners tucked between shelves where no one bothered you. Empty classrooms after hours when the castle had gone quiet. Late nights in the common room when the fire burned low and time seemed to stretch.

You learned things about Lorenzo that didn’t fit the version of him people talked about in the corridors.

The strangest part was that he never seemed interested in proving them wrong.

Around everyone else, Lorenzo performed. He was charming because people expected him to be. Confident because it was easier than admitting when he wasn’t.

But around you, he was different.

Softer.

Almost like he had forgotten he was supposed to be pretending.

Beneath the charm and the arrogance, he was funny in a way that didn’t feel performative when it was just the two of you. Clever in a way people overlooked because he preferred deflecting with jokes instead of proving himself.

And he learned things about you too.

That your sarcasm wasn’t just attitude, it was armor. That you were sharper than you let people assume. That you could keep up with him—word for word, thought for thought—without ever really trying.

What surprised everyone else was how easily he started fitting into your life.

Lorenzo had always been someone people noticed. He entered rooms loudly, left them louder, and somehow managed to make every conversation revolve around him.

But with you, he stopped trying so hard.

He didn’t need an audience.

He didn’t need everyone laughing.

He just sat beside you in the library, stole your notes when he was bored, argued with your theories, and somehow became the person you expected to see whenever you walked into a room.

Somewhere in all of that, something shifted.

You weren’t sure when it happened.

Maybe it was during the nights when everyone else had gone to bed and the castle felt like it belonged only to the two of you. Maybe it was the way he started remembering small things without thinking—how you took your coffee, which quills you preferred, when you stopped talking because you were tired rather than because you were finished.

Or maybe it was simpler than that.

Maybe it was just the way he could make you laugh after a bad day without even trying.

The first time you noticed something was different was when someone else made him laugh.

It was ridiculous, really.

Lorenzo laughed with everyone.

That was what he did.

He was charming and easy and impossible not to like.

But when you saw another girl leaning against the doorway of the library, smiling at him the same way half the school did, something uncomfortable twisted in your chest.

You hated that you noticed.

You hated even more that he noticed you noticing.

Whatever it was, the result was the same.

You stopped dreading seeing him.

Then, worse than that, you started looking for him.

Which was a problem.

Because Lorenzo Berkshire was exactly the kind of person you had spent years convincing yourself you would never fall for.

Too charming.

Too confident.

Too impossible to ignore.

It was dangerous.

Very dangerous.

“You’re staring again,” you said one evening without looking up from your parchment, though you could feel his gaze from across the table in the library.

“I’m thinking,” Lorenzo replied easily.

“That’s concerning.”

“I think you’re pretty.”

Your quill nearly slipped from your fingers.

Across the table, Lorenzo was watching you like he already knew exactly what he’d done, and worse, like he was enjoying it.

“You can’t just say things like that,” you managed, forcing your attention back to your notes.

“Why not?”

The question came softly, almost genuinely curious.

“Because—”

You stopped.

Because what?

Because it made your chest feel tight in a way you didn’t have a name for? Because Lorenzo Berkshire flirted with half the school without consequence and you refused, absolutely refused, to become another girl who misread it? Because you had no interest in being someone he could smile at once and forget the next day?

You pressed your quill harder against the parchment than necessary.

Lorenzo leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table, still watching you.

“Cute,” he said.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

He said it so easily, so confidently, like it was simply a fact he’d already decided for both of you.

And the worst part was how sure he sounded.

Like he might actually be right.

The weeks that followed only made things worse.

Study sessions stopped feeling like something you endured and started becoming something you actually looked forward to. Somewhere between arguing over essays, sharing notes, and pretending not to laugh at Lorenzo’s increasingly ridiculous commentary, spending time with him became easy in a way you hadn’t expected.

The days seemed to pass faster when you knew you’d see him afterward. Shared jokes slipped naturally into conversation, inside references appeared without either of you remembering where they started, and small habits formed so quietly that neither of you ever acknowledged them aloud. 

Yet somehow, despite all of that, the thing that unsettled you most was how normal it felt.

Lorenzo would save you a seat without asking. You would bring an extra scone to class because you already knew he’d forgotten breakfast. He’d lean over your shoulder to read something and remain there a second longer than necessary. You’d catch yourself looking for him whenever you entered a room.

And somewhere in between all of that, lingering glances started lasting a second too long to comfortably ignore. 

By the time Lorenzo invited you to a Slytherin party, saying no felt strangely impossible.

Which was how you ended up making what would later prove to be a catastrophic decision.

The Slytherin common room looked nothing like the library where most of your time together had been spent.

Everything glowed beneath low enchanted lighting that cast shifting shades of green across the stone walls, making the room feel both softer and more dangerous at the same time. Music pulsed through the space while clusters of students crowded the room, dancing, laughing, and making the sort of decisions they would almost certainly regret by breakfast the following morning. 

You stayed near the drinks table for as long as you could, fingers wrapped too tightly around a cup you weren’t even really drinking, wondering at what exact point your life had brought you here.

“You look terrified.”

The voice came from beside you.

You turned slightly to find Lorenzo leaning casually against the wall, looking completely at home in the chaos surrounding him. One shoulder rested against the stone while a familiar smile tugged at his mouth, as though he found your discomfort endlessly entertaining.

“I am terrified.”

His grin widened.

“Of me?” 

“Of Slytherins.”

Lorenzo dramatically pressed a hand against his chest.

“That’s offensive.”

“You people are deeply unsettling.”

The laugh that escaped him was warm and entirely unapologetic. 

Within minutes of arriving, the evening had already unfolded exactly as you’d expected. Pansy had offered you a shot with the enthusiasm of someone conducting a highly unethical scientific experiment. Theo had kissed you directly on the mouth for reasons he refused to explain and then disappeared into the crowd laughing. Blaise had taken one look at you before solemnly warning you to avoid the cupboard near the stairs without offering any additional information whatsoever. 

You still weren't entirely sure whether he'd been joking. 

Amidst the chaos, Lorenzo stayed close as though you might disappear if he let you out of his sight for even one second.

"You know," he said lightly, stepping closer as the crowd shifted around you, "you're here voluntarily." 

You let out a quiet laugh.

“Not my finest moment,” you admitted.

That earned another grin.

"No," he agreed. "But definitely one of my favorites."

Your eyes narrowed.

"That wasn't even remotely smooth."

"It worked though."

Before you could argue, his gaze drifted over you for a moment before returning to your face.

"You look nice tonight."

The words were casual. The effect was anything but. Your pulse stumbled hard enough that you immediately hated yourself for it.

"Don't do that."

His brow lifted innocently.

"Do what?"

"Say things like that and then act innocent afterward."

Something flickered briefly across his expression before disappearing beneath a grin.

"I'm never innocent."

"That's exactly the problem."

His smile softened slightly.

"And yet," he murmured, voice quieter now, "you still came here with me."

You hated how much warmth that sent straight through your chest.

As the evening wore on, the noise gradually blurred together into something distant and indistinct. Time stopped feeling particularly linear. Music, laughter, conversations, and movement all folded together until the entire night felt hazy around the edges.

Through it all, Lorenzo remained beside you.

Sometimes it was a hand settling briefly against your lower back as he guided you through a crowded room. Sometimes it was his fingers brushing yours when he passed you another drink. Sometimes it was the way he leaned slightly closer whenever he spoke, forcing you to pay attention even when you were determined not to.

None of it should have mattered.

Unfortunately, all of it did.

Every touch felt intentional.

Every glance lingered just a fraction longer than necessary. 

By the time you realized how isolated you had become from the rest of the party, you and Lorenzo were already standing near one of the quieter staircases, far enough away from the crowd that the music sounded distant.

The sudden quiet felt strangely intimate.

Earlier that night, when you’d been overwhelmed by the noise and the crowd and far too many people asking questions, Lorenzo had noticed before you said anything.

He always did.

He had quietly handed you a drink, guided you somewhere less crowded, and never once made you feel like you were difficult for needing a moment.

That was the dangerous thing about him.

He made it very easy to forget what everyone else said about him.

“You trust me?” Lorenzo asked quietly.

The question caught you off guard.

Not because the answer was difficult.

Because it wasn’t.

You did.

Somewhere between late-night study sessions and conversations that stretched long after they should have ended, Lorenzo had become the one person you never questioned.

“Yeah,” you admitted.

His expression changed slightly.

Like he hadn’t expected that answer.

Like your trust meant more than he knew what to do with.

Lorenzo kissed you carefully the first time.

Like he was giving you every opportunity to pull away.

Like he wasn't entirely convinced this was real either.

Your fingers curled into the front of his shirt before you even realized what you were doing. His hand settled gently against your waist, steady and warm, and neither of you seemed particularly eager to be the first one to break apart.

The second kiss carried far less caution.

After that, everything became a blur of racing heartbeats, stolen breaths, and the quiet sound of his laughter against your mouth as though he still couldn't quite believe any of this was happening.

Later, when he led you through dimly lit corridors toward his dormitory, you knew you should've felt nervous.

Instead, you felt safe.

Which was somehow far more dangerous.

Because boys like Lorenzo were never supposed to feel safe.

They were supposed to be temporary. Exciting. The kind of mistake you laughed about years later while your friends reminded you they had warned you from the beginning.

Yet every time you looked at him, he seemed impossibly careful with you, as though he was handling something fragile, as though breaking your trust would be the worst thing he could possibly do.

When you finally stepped inside, he rested his forehead briefly against yours.

"Are you sure?"

The question was so quiet it almost hurt.

You hesitated, only for a second, but it was enough.

His expression softened immediately.

"You don't have to do anything," he said at once. "Seriously. We can just sleep. I don't mind."

That shouldn't have affected you as much as it did.

You laughed softly instead, mostly because your heart was beating too fast and you had no idea what to do with your hands.

"I'm fine."

Lorenzo studied your face carefully, like he was searching for something hidden there.

"You'd tell me if you weren't?"

"Yeah."

His thumb brushed lightly across your cheek.

"You nervous, little raven?"

"Just a little."

His smile softened.

"You don't have to be. Not with me. Never with me."

That should have been reassuring.

Instead, it made your chest tighten in a way you couldn't quite explain. Maybe because it sounded sincere. Maybe because, somehow, sincerity felt far more dangerous than charm ever had.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the sudden nervousness twisting in your stomach, but the words slipped out before you could stop them.

"I just... haven't done this before."

The silence that followed settled between you almost immediately.

For perhaps the first time in your life, Lorenzo looked completely stripped of every defense he possessed. The usual smirk was gone. So was the teasing confidence he wore so effortlessly. All that remained was a brief, startled stillness.

"Oh."

You immediately regretted saying anything.

"Please don't make it weird."

His eyes widened.

"Weird?" he repeated. "Sweetheart, I'm trying very hard not to go into cardiac arrest right now."

Despite yourself, you laughed.

The sound seemed to pull him back to earth. Some of the tension eased from his shoulders as he exhaled slowly, and when he looked at you again, his expression had softened even further.

"Do you trust me?" he asked again.

The question felt different this time than it had before.

Earlier, it had been easy—something asked between laughter, lingering glances, and almost-kisses. Now it carried a weight that made your chest tighten.

Because this wasn't flirting anymore.

And the awful truth remained exactly the same.

You trusted him completely.

Probably more than you should have.

"I trust you, Enzo."

Something shifted in his expression at that.

Whatever traces of teasing or performance remained seemed to fall away entirely. He reached for your hand slowly, deliberately, giving you every chance to pull away before his fingers finally curled gently around yours.

"We go slow," he murmured. "And if you want me to stop, I stop. Alright?"

You nodded.

"No pretending you're fine if you're not."

"I know."

"You sure?"

A faint smile tugged at your lips.

"You ask that a lot for someone with such an enormous ego."

His laugh was soft and genuine.

Then he kissed you again, and this time everything felt different.

The kiss was slower, more careful, carrying a tenderness that made your chest ache. There was something almost reverent about it, as though he was taking his time, memorizing every detail instead of rushing past the moment.

And somehow, that felt more dangerous than anything else.

Because none of this felt casual anymore.

That was the problem.

Lorenzo Berkshire was supposed to be fun—a crush, a fleeting mistake, a cautionary tale you laughed about later.

Instead, he felt real.

Terrifyingly, undeniably real.

And afterward, tangled together beneath dark green sheets while moonlight spilled across the floor, Lorenzo brushed a strand of hair away from your face with a gentleness that didn't match a single rumor you'd ever heard about him.

"You alright, little raven?"

You nodded sleepily.

His smile softened.

It was the most unguarded you'd ever seen him.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

The silence didn't feel awkward. It felt suspended, as though the world had briefly paused and forgotten to keep moving.

His fingers traced absent patterns along your waist while you rested against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

Eventually, his voice broke the quiet.

"You're thinking too much again."

You smiled.

"How can you tell?"

His fingers brushed lightly between your brows.

"You get this little line right here."

Your stomach flipped.

"You notice a lot about me."

A faint smile touched his mouth.

"I notice everything about you."

You turned slightly to look at him.

His hair was messy. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion. His shirt had vanished somewhere into the room without either of you remembering exactly when.

He looked unfairly beautiful.

And for reasons you couldn't fully explain, that realization scared you.

Not because you were afraid of him.

Because you were afraid of what this was becoming.

Somewhere between shared study sessions, stolen glances, and Lorenzo remembering exactly how you took your coffee without ever needing to ask, this had stopped being simple.

And judging by the way he was looking at you now, it had stopped being simple for him too.

That realization settled quietly between you.

And eventually, despite everything, you fell asleep anyway.

When you woke the next morning, sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains, washing the room in a pale, uncertain glow. For a few disorienting seconds, you remained suspended somewhere between sleep and memory, your mind struggling to place the unfamiliar warmth surrounding you.

Then Lorenzo shifted beside you.

His arm tightened instinctively around your waist, pulling you closer against his chest, and your breath caught immediately. The movement was so natural, so unconscious, that it felt intimate in a way you hadn't prepared yourself for.

Merlin.

Everything from the night before came rushing back at once.

His hands tangled in your hair. The softness of his voice whenever he asked if you were alright. The way he had looked at you afterward, with an expression far too sincere for someone like Lorenzo.

That was the part that lingered—not the kisses or the nerves, but the quiet tenderness in his eyes afterward. Something soft and unguarded that felt almost impossible from him, and somehow made your chest ache whenever you thought about it.

Like you mattered.

Like he was seeing something worth keeping.

Panic followed almost immediately.

Because Lorenzo was beautiful and funny and effortlessly charming in the way certain people simply existed in the world without trying. He was the kind of boy girls wrote poetry about in secret journals and cried over behind closed dormitory doors.

And you—

Godric.

You were already halfway in love with him.

The realization settled heavily in your chest, stealing the remaining traces of sleep. Dangerous didn't feel like a strong enough word for it. Dangerous implied there was still time to stop. This felt much worse.

This felt inevitable.

Carefully, you slipped out from beneath his arm, moving as slowly as possible while gathering your clothes from the floor. Every sound seemed amplified in the quiet room. The rustle of fabric. The creak of a floorboard. The nervous rhythm of your own heartbeat.

Lorenzo stirred once behind you, shifting deeper into the pillows, but he didn't wake.

You paused despite yourself.

For a moment, you simply looked at him.

Morning light softened the sharp edges of him. His dark hair was a mess against the pillow, his face relaxed in a way you almost never saw when he was awake. Without the constant smirk and easy confidence, he looked younger somehow. Less like the boy everyone knew and more like the one you'd slowly gotten to know over the past few months.

The one who remembered how you took your coffee.

The one who saved you a seat in the library without mentioning it.

The one who always seemed to notice when you were having a bad day before anyone else did.

For one reckless second, you almost climbed back into bed.

You almost let yourself stay.

Then common sense arrived and ruined everything.

You told yourself you only needed air. Five minutes to think. Five minutes to get your emotions under control before you did something completely humiliating, like confess your feelings to Lorenzo Berkshire after one night.

You weren't leaving him. Not really.

You just needed a few minutes to breathe, to untangle the mess of thoughts and feelings that had somehow taken over overnight. A little distance, a little clarity, and then you'd come back.

At least, that was what you told yourself.

You made it halfway down the corridor before realizing your necklace was still sitting on his bedside table.

With a quiet curse under your breath, you turned around.

The castle was unusually quiet for a Saturday morning as you retraced your steps, your shoes barely making a sound against the stone floor. By the time you reached the corridor leading to his dormitory, your embarrassment had faded enough that you were already mentally preparing yourself for the inevitable teasing.

You were only a few steps from the door when voices drifted through it.

You immediately recognized Mattheo's.

“Well, well,” he drawled, sounding far too amused for this hour of the morning. “Where’d your little raven disappear to?”

There was a pause.

A pause long enough that your heart almost betrayed you.

Because for one impossible second, you thought maybe he would say something.

Something that sounded like he missed you.

Something that sounded like last night mattered.

Inside the room, you heard movement. The rustle of sheets. Someone opening a drawer. The easy, familiar chaos of boys stumbling through another morning.

Then silence.

A brief pause settled over the room, as though everyone was waiting for an answer.

You should've kept walking. You should've turned around and given them the privacy of a conversation that was never meant for your ears.

Instead, you froze where you stood.

And then Lorenzo laughed.

The sound reached you before the words did, familiar enough that your chest tightened instinctively. Yet there was something different about it now. Not cruel, not deliberately unkind, but careless in a way that made your stomach sink. It was the easy, thoughtless laugh of someone who had no idea they were standing on top of a landmine, completely unaware of the damage they were about to cause.

"Don’t know,” Lorenzo said.

The answer came too quickly.

Too casually.

Like he was trying harder than usual to make it sound like he didn’t care.

“Don’t care.”

For a moment, your mind refused to make sense of the words. They seemed to hang suspended in the air between the door and the corridor, disconnected from meaning, disconnected from the boy who had spent the last several months tearing down your walls and becoming an essential part of your life.

There was a strange pause before he continued.

The kind of pause that made you wonder if maybe, for one impossible second, he was going to say something else.

Something honest.

"I got my dick wet and another name in the black book. That's all that really matters."

The world didn't shatter.

That would have been easier.

Instead, it felt as though something inside you simply went silent. Every thought vanished at once, chased away by a sudden rushing noise in your ears that drowned out everything else. Somewhere inside the dormitory, Mattheo laughed. Someone said something in response. A few more voices joined in.

You barely heard any of it.

The corridor suddenly felt impossibly long and strangely unreal, as though you were standing outside your own body watching the scene unfold from somewhere far away.

Because the worst part wasn't even what he'd said.

It was how effortlessly the words had left his mouth.

There was no hesitation. No discomfort. No indication whatsoever that the night you'd spent replaying in your head since waking up had meant anything to him beyond a passing amusement.

Of course.

Of course you'd gotten it wrong.

You had mistaken something real for something temporary.

And somehow, that hurt worse.

You had taken every smile, every lingering glance, every moment of softness and built an entire story around it without realizing you were the only person living inside that story.

Lorenzo had never promised you anything.

He had never asked you to fall for him.

You had simply filled in the blanks yourself.

Another name in the black book.

The phrase echoed relentlessly through your mind, growing sharper each time it repeated itself. Not a girl he cared about. Not someone worth remembering. Just another story. Another tally mark. Another name scribbled into a collection that meant far more to him than you ever had.

You stood there for another second, perfectly still, afraid that if you moved too quickly whatever fragile thing was holding you together might finally splinter apart.

Then, before anyone could open the door and find you standing there, you took a slow step backward. Another followed after that, and then another, each one carrying you farther away from the room, farther away from the boy you'd trusted far more than you should've.

And before anyone could hear it happen, you walked away and let your heart break somewhere else.

The next Charms class felt unbearable in a way you could never have prepared for.

You arrived early, choosing a seat near the middle of the room where it would be easy to stare straight ahead and pretend you weren't waiting for something you already dreaded. The classroom gradually filled around you with the usual morning noise, students chatting as they unpacked books and compared homework, but none of it managed to settle the knot that had been sitting in your stomach for two days.

Lorenzo arrived a few minutes later.

He looked exactly the same as he always did. Relaxed. Effortlessly composed. Infuriatingly handsome in a way that now felt almost cruel. There were no visible signs that anything had changed for him, no indication that the night replaying endlessly in your head had followed him into the daylight at all.

Then he saw you.

His expression shifted immediately, the easy smile disappearing almost as soon as it appeared.

"Hey," he said carefully as he slid into the seat beside you. "You disappeared pretty quickly the other night."

You didn't look at him.

Instead, you kept your eyes fixed on the front of the classroom, your posture rigid and controlled. The distance between you felt deliberate now, every inch of it carefully maintained. You were suddenly grateful for the desk separating you because it gave your hands somewhere to hide while your pulse hammered beneath your skin.

Beside you, Lorenzo frowned.

"Y/N?"

Slowly, you turned your head.

And when you finally spoke, your voice came out calm enough to surprise even yourself.

"Well," you said evenly, "you got an easy fuck and another name for your book."

The effect was immediate.

Every trace of color drained from his face as though someone had physically struck him. His entire body went still, eyes locked on yours in complete disbelief.

"In the end," you continued quietly, refusing to let your voice shake, "that's all that really matters, right?"

For the first time since you'd met him, Lorenzo looked entirely stripped of the things that usually defined him. There was no charm, no confidence, no easy grin waiting to smooth everything over. There was only horror.

"You heard that?"

You looked away before he could see anything else in your expression.

"No."

The lie was pathetic. You both knew it.

He leaned toward you immediately, panic flashing across his face. "Wait—"

"No."

"It wasn't—"

"I genuinely do not care."

The words tasted bitter the second they left your mouth. You cared so much it felt impossible to breathe around it.

"That's not true," he said instantly.

His voice sounded different now. Tighter. Stripped raw of all the effortless confidence he usually wore like armor. For once there was no performance in it, no carefully crafted charm. Just uncertainty and something dangerously close to desperation.

"You think I meant that?" he asked.

You stared straight ahead at the blackboard.

"I think," you interrupted quietly, "that you should leave me alone."

And for once, Lorenzo had no clever response.

No joke.

No charm.

No perfectly timed smile to make everything disappear.

Because he had spent months convincing you that he was different.

And somehow, in one stupid sentence, he had proven he wasn’t.

"Little raven—"

"Don't call me that."

The words landed harder than you intended, sharp enough that he physically flinched.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then Professor Flitwick swept into the classroom, and whatever chance there had been to fix it vanished.

Lorenzo tried anyway.

He cornered you after class, apologizing before you'd even made it through the doorway. He found you after dinner. Waited outside the library. Appeared after Quidditch practice with increasingly frantic attempts to explain himself.

You ignored every single one.

At first he seemed convinced he could fix it if he just found the right words. Then the days stretched into weeks, and the determination slowly faded into something quieter. Eventually, painfully, he stopped trying.

The year moved forward without him in it.

You stayed with Hermione and Ginny, building a life out of routines and coursework and friendships that didn't require you to think too hard about what you'd lost. Lorenzo stayed with Theo and Mattheo, surrounded by laughter that sounded too easy to mean anything and girls who still looked at him like he hung the stars.

Sometimes, despite your best efforts, you caught him looking at you across classrooms or crowded corridors.

The expression was never the one you remembered.

The smugness was gone. The flirtation too.

Instead, there was something heavier in its place. Something that lingered a little too long to be casual and looked far too much like regret.

It didn't matter.

At least that was what you told yourself.

Because regret couldn't change what you'd heard.

Regret couldn't make you unhear it.

And regret certainly couldn't put back the pieces of something you'd been foolish enough to believe was real.

Then he graduated.

Then you did.

Then life happened the way it always does, carrying you forward whether you were ready or not.

Years passed. Cities changed. People came and went.

And eventually Lorenzo Berkshire became something you learned to lock away carefully, buried beneath distance and time and the stubborn insistence that you were perfectly fine without him.

Until Hermione got engaged.

And suddenly, after nearly a decade of pretending he was just a memory, the boy who broke your heart at sixteen was standing across a ballroom looking at you like he had never once forgotten how to hold it.

🐚TAGLIST

You smiled, your heart heavy with emotion, as you watched your best friend join her life with Draco's in an unbreakable vow.

You felt a swell of happiness at how sweet and sacrosanct the moment was, completely in awe of the beauty of it; weddings were always emotional, but this was the first for your group of friends, and in many ways it felt like it marked the start of a new chapter of your lives.

You glanced down the row of seats to see each of the boys dressed impeccably, dazzlingly handsome in their tuxedos. Blaise and Theo were watching intently, though Theo was tugging at his collar, and Enzo was slouched in his seat, arms crossed, impatiently waiting for the open bar at the reception though even his gaze was locked on the couple at the front of the room.

Finally, your eyes came to rest on the boy next to you. Mattheo was sitting rather unusually still, breathing calmly with the faintest hint of a smile on his lips that made your heart flutter. It was nice to see that despite all of their antics, there might be something in each of these boys that made them realize how special this was.

Your attention was pulled back as Draco began to speak his vows. He was the picture of calm, but you knew him well enough to hear the shake in his voice, his nerves.

"I pledge to honor you, love you and cherish you today and every day. Today I say 'I do' but to me that means 'I will'. I will stand by your side in the good and the bad. I bind myself to you, your happiness, your success, and your smile."

In a moment you felt the warmth of Mattheo's attention and turned to see him looking at you as Draco's soft whispers continued, though Mattheo didn't look away, instead, he was searching your face, drinking you in, like perhaps he was imagining saying those same words to you one day.

You blushed furiously as you felt goosebumps rise on your skin and your breath caught in your throat.

"I promise to be your guiding light in the darkness, your protector, a warming comfort in the cold, and a shoulder to lean on when life is too much to bear on your own."

Mattheo smiled at the words as he looked at you, eyes twinkling, like he was saying them to you in his mind, like he was sure, now, that that's exactly what he wanted you to hear him say. You felt tears line your eyes.

"You are my every dream come true. And if you give me your hand—"

Mattheo extended his palm to you subtly, mirroring the vow with one of his own. You glanced down and gently set your palm in his, tangling your fingers together as he grasped you tightly.

"—I will give you forever."

Your eyes lifted to his in surprise, but he didn't so much as flinch, instead, he let his smile swell on his perfect lips in a way you felt somewhere deep in your chest as he gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

His mind flickered for just a second to the small velvet box tucked in the back of his dresser, of the emerald and diamond ring inside of it, and then he tugged you toward him, pulling you close as he ducked his head, his lips softly brushing your ear as he whispered, "I love you pretty girl."