🩰🧸🌙

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

“You and Matsuda-San are friends?”

That was how everyone, no matter their age, would react when you brought up Matsuda Kota casually in conversation. You were quite the persona since middle school. Going against the dress code to fit your gyaruo style. Kota, however, was quiet.

Some labeled him an ‘emo’ but he just had long black hair and mostly wore black clothing. At least that’s what he would say. His hair was so long that his bangs regularly covered his face.

You wore black clothing too—but they were often paired with bold pieces. You wore black eyeliner to make your eyes pop. It was only in university when you were able to go full out in being a gyaruo—a male version of a gyaru. Though you were on the more simple side of the aesthetic.

The full makeup and outfit took so much effort that you only did it on rare occasions. Or whenever you were in the mood to sit in front of a mirror for over an hour.

Your parents were lacking in the usual strictness that older Japanese people were known for. So you basically wild out—a stark contract to Kota whose parents were so overly strict it was concerning.

That’s probably why he spent most of his time over at your house. The two of you met in middle school. By pure accident.

You were sent to your homeroom teacher’s office for being caught with eyeliner. After a stern talking to and being shoved outside of the room with some wet wipes—you were too busy wiping your eyes to notice Kota standing in front of you.

It was only in middle school that you were taller than him. You bumped right into him, causing him to crash to the ground. His bento box spilling all over the floor.

“Woah! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.” You kneeled down and carelessly began scooping up the food with your bare hands, dumping them into the bento box. “Five second—”

“I’m not eating that.” Kota rudely interrupted you.

You blinked, finally glancing up to look at him. He had an ugly bowl cut and thick rimmed glasses that looked too big for his face.

“Pfft—!”

Your lips clamped shut as you quickly covered your mouth. Eyes wide while Kota’s narrowed.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing. You look ridiculous too.”

Kota huffed. He roughly grabbed his bento box from your hand and walked away. You stood up and looked to your left, seeing your reflection in the window.

He was right.

The makeup was all smudge—giving you perfect raccoon eyes. A laugh left your lips. It was honestly a look. You rushed after Kota and wrapped your arm around his neck. He grunted and tried to push you off but you used your height to rest your chin on his head.

“Since we both look ridiculous, we should hang out!”

Kota groaned. “What are you—?”

“My name is Togami (Name). But you can call me (Name), no one calls me Togami.”

“We just met, why—”

“Because it’s sooo boring. My name is so much better than Togami. Don’t you agree?”

“Well—”

“Anyway, what’s your name?”

“Matsuda Kota, why—”

“Can I call you Kota?”

“Are you going to keep interrupting me??” Kota yelled out, stopping you both in your tracks. You stared down at him before grinning slyly.

“Sorry, Kota-kun~ keep talking, keep talking. I think I really like you!”

“I didn’t give you permission—”

“Lunch’s almost over! Hurry, we don’t want to be late for class!”

“I said stop interrupting me!”

The rest was history. Which led to where you are now. University. You were able to dress up more and didn’t have to worry about getting in trouble with teachers for a little bit of eyeliner.

You and Kota decided to rent an apartment together. With your parents' help mostly. They were retired and had a decent amount of savings. Kota paid for everything else that your parents didn’t cover. You were just there to decorate the apartment.

Kota really didn’t care about that type of stuff. His bedroom was bare. Really bare. It looked exactly how it looked before you both moved in. The decoration he had in there was from you. Though he rarely allowed you in his room.

The apartment was covered in a lot of furry furniture. Black, brown, and gold. Leopard print… it was a mess but also somehow worked for the chaotic vibe you were going for. Your bedroom was the only real mess.

In any case, you and Kota lived together fairly well. Despite everyone being shocked that the two of you were even friends. You were outgoing and nice–Kota was quiet and a little bit rude. Everyone called you by your first name… no one but you could call Kota by his first name.

It actually got you into hot water once with Kota.

“You can call me (Name), I don’t mind!” You proudly said, grinning at your clubmate. You and Kota joined the photography club to kill some time. The club was meeting at a restaurant as a way to get to know everyone.

Everyone said their introduction. Kota’s was as bland as ever while you were practically bursting with excitement. You were sitting beside some guy–you couldn’t remember his name–and was telling him that he didn’t have to be formal with you.

A loud clink of glass hitting the table startled everyone even with the bustling sounds of people excitedly chatting. Eyes were all on Kota. His beer glass had a small crack on the bottom, the yellow beer slowly seeping free all over the table. He calmly grabbed some napkins and dabbed at the liquid.

“Uh, waiter!” The club leader waved someone down and pointed to the pointed glass.

You only watched Kota, blinking as he seemed to not even react to anything. Not when the waiter carefully took away the glass. Not as a few other clubmates wiped away the mess. Not when a new beer glass was placed in front of Kota.

Kota only grabbed a skewer of meat from the shared plate in the center of the table. He took a small bite, his gaze not even flickering over to you. It took a minute before everyone began to talk like normally, as if nothing happened.

As soon as the club leader had mentioned that everyone should start heading home–you were roughly grabbed by the arm and tugged to stand up. Everyone watched in silence as Kota grabbed your coat and backpack without a word.

He draped your coat around your body, buttoning it without allowing you to properly put it on. Your arms were restricted but he didn’t seem to care. Kota nodded his head at everyone, wrapping an arm around your waist and guided you outside.

“Kota. Kota, I can’t move my arms,” you tried to push your arms through the sleeves but Kota kept pulling you forward. His hand tightening his grip on the curve of your hip. “Kota!”

He hummed. “Does everyone need to call you by your first name?” His words suddenly stop you in your tracks. It was only now that he actually stopped as well. You both were far from the restaurant by now.

“I let everyone do that.” You muttered, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Maybe you shouldn’t.”

“Where… is this coming from?”

Kota looked you in the eye. There looked to be something there… the need to say something. Something that could possibly change things. But he only shook his head.

“Forget it.” He removed his hand from your waist, finally allowing you to properly wear your coat. You follow behind him as you slip the coat into place. His words swirled around in your head but you didn’t say anything.

You still allowed people to call you by your first name. At least the people you had already allowed to but for some reason, anyone new had to call you by your last name.

Nothing was said. It just happened.

But you couldn’t forget the one time Kota had overheard you introducing yourself to a new member of the photography club.

“Hi, I’m Togami (Name). You can call me Togami or Toga!” You said, smiling wide as you excitedly shook their hand. Your gaze flickered to Kota who was standing right beside you and his expression was pure smug.

A small smirk tugged on his lips. Big enough that even another member noticed and asked Kota what he was thinking about to smile like that.

Kota only hummed. “Nothing.”

That was really the only time Kota had ever been mean towards you. Or at least angry. Afterwards he didn’t use any force on you again. Which really made you wonder what upset him that badly.

But you never brought it up again.

“If you want at least a B, you’ll need to get an 80% on the final exam, Togami-San.”

You groaned, rubbing at your face. Your grades in college were decent. Could be better but decent. Your parents were just happy you weren’t flunking. The fact you even went to college surprised them and your entire family.

It wasn’t like you didn’t care but you didn’t go above and beyond like others. You studied like twice a week. Each time before an exam you studied a bit and somehow that allowed you to continuously get Bs and A minuses.

Good enough. Some would kill for that.

However your studying method was proving to be useless for one class. The one class where you had your first ever D.

Organic chemistry.

Now why are you taking organic chemistry?

Well because you’re dumb.

Dumb enough to not realize that you signed up for the wrong class until it was too late and you had to continue taking it. You were a literature major! Why would you ever need organic chemistry?

“It’s okay, (Name)-Chan~” Hinata, your classmate, gave you a wide grin. “Maybe you should do tutoring.”

“Tutoring?” Another one of your classmates chirped in, Genki. He was a fellow gyaruo who put more effort into everyday makeup in comparison to you. A true legend. “What (Name) needs is a miracle.”

Hinata rolled her eyes. “Don’t make it worse. You’ll stress him out. I know someone who took organic chemistry as a freshman and actually passed with a 99%!”

“99%? Woah,” Genki’s mouth dropped while you perked up at her claim. “How—? That professor is strict. How'd that kid pass?”

“Don’t know but he was even the teacher assistant last year. He’s good, really good. But he doesn’t just tutor anyone.” Hinata turned her gaze over to you. “You might have to really beg for it.”

You frowned, “beg…? Ah, it can’t be helped. I’m not failing that final exam!” There was no way you’d let this class ruin your semi perfect record of As and Bs. “Where can I find him?”

“He’s an engineering major! My friend said he’s currently a teacher assistant for engineering 101, class should be ending right now. Go stop him before he leaves!”

The thought of having to beg some stranger to hopefully pass your class was a little stressful. Technically your whole life was up to this one dude.

And judging by how Hinata had described him—he wasn’t exactly the helping type.

He already reminded you of Kota.

Ah, Kota.

A giddy smile pulled on your lips at the thought of him. It’s already been three years of living with him and you had begun to realize you had a crush on him. Nothing serious at the moment but it certainly was something.

You found yourself doing more things for him. Making him lunch or dinner. He wasn’t a breakfast person so you never forced that. Two days ago you even bought him a leather jacket that reminded you of him. Though you still haven’t given it to him yet.

You’ve given him things before. Especially not an expensive leather jacket. It was around ¥291,500. Nothing cheap at all. But it was real leather with fluffy fur around the collar.

Perfect for winter that was right around the corner.

Thinking about Kota, you began wondering what you should make him for dinner. You stood outside the classroom door just as students began to walk out.

“(Name).”

“Kota?” You blinked, looking over to see Kota standing right beside you. Your head tilted as you blinked. “You’re taking this class as a junior?”

Kota fixed the strap of his bag as he raised an eyebrow. “I’m the teaching assistant.”

“Ah!”

Well looks like luck was on your side after all.

You grinned and rushed to his side, grasping his arm with your hands. “Kotaaaa~”

Kota only hummed and looked down at you. The height difference wasn’t by much. Your head was the perfect height to rest on his shoulders—which you constantly took advantage of.

“Can you tutor me? In organic chemistry? I heard you passed the class and I need to get an 80% on the final exam to even pass the class. Please, please, please—”

“Sure.” He interrupted you.

You blinked.

That was really easy.

Well, getting him to tutor you was easy but he wasn’t an easy tutor at all.

“If you can’t even memorize this then don’t even bother showing up to take the exam.”

“Kotaaaa.”

“Try again.”

It had only been a week and you were pooped. Kota didn’t let up. Each day after dinner, you’d spend almost two hours sitting at the dining table as he tutored you. No breaks, no days off.

And yes you were certainly learning and retaining information… but you were also tired.

“67%,” he said, placing the mock final exam he made you take on the table after grading it. Despite his rough tone—you knew he was semi happy about your progress in just one week. “I’ll test you again next week.”

You sighed. Better than nothing. You used to get 20-30% on the exams. This was an improvement.

Kota cleaned up the dining table while you placed your head on the table. You were only going to close your eyes for a second. But soon you found yourself in bed. Hands tugging up your shirt.

“Kota?” You groggily whined, placing your hand over his. His hand was larger than yours. He stopped what he was doing and leaned away a bit.

“You’re awake?” He asked. You felt his hand slipping away but you quickly tightened your grip. With sluggish movements, you tugged his hand up, making him gently cup your face.

He didn’t stop you nor did he say anything. If you weren’t struggling to even stay awake, you would’ve noticed his thumb gently rubbing circles on your cheek.

“I got something for you.” You whispered.

“Like what? Is it a thanks for tutoring you?”

You weakly shook your head. “No. It’s…” your voice trailed off, eyes struggling to stay open. “It’s just for you. Because I like you. It’s underneath my bed.”

“Don’t fall asleep.” He gently tapped your cheek. “You still have makeup on.”

“I like you… didn’t you hear me?”

“Mhm.” Was all he said in response.

The rest of that moment was a blur. You remembered feeling makeup remover wipes on your face. Kota grabbed the box from underneath your bed but he didn’t open it in front of you. Your eyes were basically closed by then.

He whispered something and then you were fast asleep.

Another two weeks passed. It was uneventful. Kota continued tutoring you and you made significant progress. Your little puppy crush was beginning to grow by the minute. Especially now that you two were spending most nights together.

You didn’t have to ask about the jacket because not even a day later you saw him wearing it. It made you so giddy that you almost laughed right in front of Kota. Luckily you managed to hold it in.

Despite organic chemistry being the worst class you’ve ever taken—you certainly had to thank it for allowing you the opportunity to be near Kota for such long hours.

However there was something you began to notice.

Kota didn’t allow you in his bedroom.

At first you didn’t notice because well it’s not like he comes into yours. You both were close but still wanted the bedrooms to be your own personal space. But now that you two were studying together for a long period of time… you and Kota would sometimes study in your bedroom.

It was a mess, obviously, but Kota didn’t seem to mind.

But it was like his room was off limits before you could ever ask.

Nothing was wrong with that per se… at least at first. Until you finally realize it when Kota always keeps his door locked. The door was always closed and even locked sometimes.

That’s strange, right?

Was he hiding something?

What would someone like Kota have to hide? He’s such a normal guy at the end of the day. You were the one that had more to hide but your day was basically left wide open at all times. Even when you were changing.

Like right now.

You slipped on your boxers, yawning. The thought of looking for some pajamas felt like a hassle. Your body was tired and even struggling to stand up straight.

“Where did I put it…” you whispered mostly to yourself, rubbing your shirtless chest. It was certainly a sight to behold. Your makeup was only semi cleaned off, your eyeliner was being stubborn and your lips were stained from left over lipstick. It’s kind of why you never wear lipstick that often.

It always stained your lips.

Just like your clothes, your pajamas were also heavily influenced by gyaruo clothing. You even dabbled a bit in more feminine pajamas. Simply only because male pajamas were boring half the time.

You knelt down and grabbed your silk shirt. It was plain black but felt nice to sleep in. “Pants… where’s my pants?” You spun around, now facing the doorway when you finally noticed that you weren’t alone.

Kota was watching.

He looked like he had just finished taking a shower. Hair still damped while the towel laid around his neck. An old beaten up white t-shirt and black sweatpants. His bangs covered his right eye entirely.

You gulped. Your own semi nudity was the last thing on your mind. Just the fact of seeing Kota in clothes that didn’t cover his body entirely. Nothing baggy that hid his muscles. You were allowed to see everything.

Almost everything.

Your bottom lip caught between your teeth. You didn’t even realize just how bad you were ogling him. Though it seemed to be mutual when you glanced up at his face.

Kota was staring at you. Really staring at you. His gaze flickering from your thighs to your chest. You still hadn’t slipped the shirt on yet.

Feeling yourself heat up from his strong gaze, you slipped the silk shirt on. That finally broke the spell as Kota quickly looked away. He began quickly drying his hair.

You finally found your pants, right near your dirty hamper. They were actually shorts. A matching pair to the shirt. You stepped into them and it was basically the same length as your tight boxers. These were one of your more feminine pajamas.

“Well,” you spoke, blinking slightly as you glanced over at Kota. “Uhh,” your lips pursed together. Hands wringing together. “Can I ask you something, Kota?”

He hummed. His eyes still focusing on anything but you.

“Can we… maybe study in your room one day?”

That caught his attention. His eyes snapping over to you. “Why?”

You froze. This was probably one of the first times Kota ever pushed back against a request of yours. Usually you could just say one word and he’d do it without hesitation. Not even asking why you want to do a certain thing.

It wasn’t always like that—that behavior didn’t start until high school.

“Oh well…” your voice trailed off. There was technically no reason. Or really any good reason. “Uhm, I just… want to change the environment.”

“We can study at the library.”

“Kota.” A pout on your lips. “I don’t wanna. I like being at home.”

“Then we can study on the balcony.”

That did sound nice.

You sighed. “Then… if I pass with an 89% can I celebrate in your bedroom?”

Kota raised an eyebrow. His face was neutral but you could tell he was getting agitated. The slight twitch in his upper lip, the way his grip tightened on the towel. “89%? That’s high.”

“Yeah, so if I do that good, then you have to grant my wish.”

“Why do you want to do that? Be in my room so badly?”

You were nosy, that was certainly the main reason.

But instead of saying that…

You said, “because I want to be in your scent.”

Which, in hindsight, was one of the stupidest things you had ever said.

I want to be in your scent? What did that even mean?

It was one of the strangest things you’ve ever said. And you were known for being weird to Kota.

Oh well—you couldn’t dwell on it too much because to your shock, you did it.

“How??” Hinata and Genki stared at the final exam paper in shock. There, written in bright red ink, was the percentage 90. You had done better than you had even thought was possible.

You simply smirked. “I managed to get that tutor you told me about.” Was all you said before heading straight home.

Kota was home, luckily enough. You had bought some take out and a case of beer. A smug smile on your lips as you walked over to where he was sitting on the couch.

He closed his book as soon as he saw you. His gaze solely focused on you. Your cheeks felt a little hot from his gaze but you straightened your posture. You placed the food and drinks on the center table.

“I took the exam.” You reached into your bag, excitedly pulling the exam paper out. The paper was folded as you handed it over to him. He took it, you excitedly sat down beside him and inched close, wanting to see his exact expression once he saw your score.

Kota opened the paper and despite the fact his face didn’t move an inch, you could tell he was proud. “Amazing.” He simply said, placing the paper on the center table. “How do you want to celebrate?”

You pursed your lips, eyes looking to where Kota’s bedroom was located. There was nothing else that needed to be said. Kota got the hint immediately.

Kota’s bedroom was the exact same as you remembered. The last time you had seen it in its full glory was maybe a month after you both moved in. To say it had no personality was an understatement.

It didn’t feel lived in if it weren’t for his studying material all over his desk. You plopped down on his bed as he sat at his desk, placing the items you brought on the surface. He glanced over at you with an unamused expression.

“This is all you wanted to see?”

You eagerly nodded your head. “Well yes.”

“You’re weird.” He opened a bottle of beer with a bottle opener. “Enjoy my scent.”

Your cheeks felt hot.

Kota’s room really was uneventful. He didn’t even have a tv. You stuck to watching something on your phone. About an hour or two passed when Kota excused himself to the bathroom.

You only huffed and moved to rest more comfortably on the bed when you felt something poke your back. It felt like a notebook. Underneath his pillow was a small little notebook—a diary was your first thought.

Now, did you originally plan to snoop around Kota’s room? No, you did not.

But now that you had the opportunity to possibly read his diary were you going to miss it?

No.

While you might be able to understand Kota’s expressions after spending so many years with him—it was too tempting to be able to read about his thoughts.

𓂃 𝖨 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗒 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗎𝗉 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖨 𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗐’𝖽 𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖼𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝖨 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗁𝗂𝗆

What?

𓂃 𝖧𝗈𝗐 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗃𝖺𝗆𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝖿𝖿𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗌 𝗆𝖾? 𝖧𝖾’𝗌 𝗌𝗈 𝗇𝖺𝗂𝗏𝖾, 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝖽𝗎𝗆𝖻, 𝖨 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖽𝗎𝗆𝖻

Who was he talking about? Jealousy bubbled deep within you. Who was lucky enough to be the object of Kota’s affection? It wasn’t like he talked to many people that weren’t you.

𓂃 𝖨 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖨’𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗅𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝗄𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖾, 𝖨 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝗎𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗆—𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗀𝗈𝖽 𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝖽𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀

“What are you doing?”

You gasped as the diary was roughly ripped from your hands. It was there you came face to face with an overly pissed Kota. A first. The last time you ever saw Kota this angry, his face actually showing the full emotion, was back in middle school.

Your stomach began to twist into knots. The idea of angering Kota this much hadn’t even crushed your mind. Sure you were pushy sometimes but you never wanted to ever make him feel this way.

It was silent. Your mind raced a mile a minute. But nothing left your lips.

Kota let out a humorless laugh. Another first. He stared down at you. “Are you weirded out?”

“Huh?” A soft gasp left your lips. Your eyes flickering up to stare at him. He towered over you. You sat on your knees on the bed.

He waved the diary. “You read what was in this.” His voice sharp. “You’re weirded out, right? You want me to leave don’t you?”

“Why—? Why would I want that?” You quickly moved to stand up but Kota grabbed your shoulder and shoved you back down. It should’ve upset you that he put his hands on you but you felt your cock twitch in your pants.

“Stop acting dumb.” He carelessly tossed the diary behind him. His eyes never left you. The intensity in his eyes scared you but also made you incredibly horny. Who knew he could act like this? “You read it, you saw what I wanted to do. Degrade, feminize, and dumbify—you saw it, didn’t you? Don’t spare my feelings.”

You quickly shook your head. “I wouldn’t… I wouldn't judge what you… do in your free time.”

Kota froze. He raised an eyebrow before leaning further down. You leaned back until your back bumped into the wall, effectively caging you in.

Your heart was beating so fast you were sure he could hear it. You clamped your legs together. Why was this actually doing something for you?

“How did you get that 90% on the exam?” He finally spoke.

“Huh?”

“You. I want to degrade you.” His hands pressed on either side of the wall, gaze harsh. “I want to make you pretty, only to ruin you for anyone else. Who else would I ever want to see naked beneath me?”

“…huh…? Kota…?”

Kota sighed. “I’ll move out as soon as possible.” Was all he said as he began to pull away.

“Wait—!” You grabbed his shirt and tugged him back towards you. The force causing him to accidentally bump his nose against yours. “Ow,” a whine left your lips but you quickly pushed through the pain. “Why… why are you going to leave me?”

“Did you not understand a word that I said?” Kota responded, his tone exasperated.

“I did. I did and I don’t mind. I like you! Didn’t you know that? I told you…”

Kota tilted his head. His gaze focused solely on you. “You always tell me that you like me. Was I supposed to believe that one time was different?”

You frowned. “Well I did mean it differently. I meant that I like like you.”

“You like like me?”

“Mhm.”

Kota laughed. You were seeing a whole new side to him. “Do you like me enough to let me do whatever I want to you?” He asked, his voice deep. There were simple words but somehow they felt heavy in your chest. It didn’t feel like it was a simple easy thing to agree to.

He seemed mad but not that mad that you thought he would’ve been. It felt different. A scary different. But not scary enough that you didn’t nod your head in agreement to his words.

“I need to hear a yes.” He said.

“…Yes.” You whispered. “I really like you.”

For the first time ever, Kota’s lips pulled into a wide smirk.

Your cock twitched at the sight.

You would’ve never expected that Kota would be the kinky type. Honestly you ever really expected that he’d be into sex… or anyone really. He didn’t seem like the type. It’s why you didn’t expect anything to happen from your feelings.

But here you were, hands tied together above your head with Kota’s belt. Undressed—your boxers being the only clothes you were allowed left.

Kota didn’t say anything at first. He had silently tied your wrists together, manhandling you to rest on the bed. His hands gripped your skin. It felt harsh and rough but it didn’t scare you.

“Kota…” You whispered.

He was silently taking in your body. His hand slowly tracing up and down. As his hand reached your inner thigh—you let out a gasp. Your legs clamped together as your cheeks heat up and feel hot to the touch.

“Kota… are you mad?”

“No,” he answered. His hand squeezed your thigh before he reached his other hand and grasped your other leg. He easily parted your legs open, it happened so fast you didn’t even register it until your legs touched the bed.

Kota sighed. His gaze flickered up to look you in the eye. “I’m not going to do everything I ever wanted.” He said. That somehow disappointed you. “I don’t want to rush this… not now.”

“Rush?”

“(Name),” he whispered your name as if he was worshipping you like a God. So soft and tender though his eyes held a certain hunger that made your stomach clench. “I’ve always wanted you to cry on my cock—letting your makeup mess up your face.”

“Really?” You couldn’t help but grin. “Is that why whenever you saw me with my makeup a mess, you’d get quiet?”

Kota didn’t respond. He moved to sit between your legs. “When we moved in together, I thought I’d have to deal with you bringing in random people to have sex… or maybe even get a boyfriend. How lucky am I that you aren’t able to date anyone?”

“Hey, I was single on purpose!”

“Sure.”

You frowned but before you could say anything else Kota pushed your legs forward. A strained grunt left your lips. The stretch was a little unnatural—not a position you’ve ever done before.

“Since it’s our first time, I’ll be nice. Okay?”

“You’re a virgin?” You muttered, blinking slightly.

“Aren’t you?”

“Ah,” you quickly looked away, biting your bottom lip. “Not… exactly.”

It was silent.

Too silent.

“Kota…?”

The sound of fabric tearing caused you to cry out in shock. You looked over to see Kota focused solely on your legs. Your boxers were torn open, the cool air teasing your hole. Embarrassment shot through your body when you realized Kota would have a perfect view of a certain something in your ass.

Finally, your little secret was revealed.

“(Name)…” Kota chuckled, his voice deep. His index finger circled around your sensitive rim. Your body shook from the touch. “Is this a butt plug?”

So, it wasn’t as if you expected sex today. You had just wanted to be a little… adventurous today. After your exam you had actually come home first before going back out to buy the food and beer. Just for fun.

It was a small plug. Only stretched you a little bit to where you could feel it if you shifted just right. But other than that it didn’t feel like anything was inside you.

Really the only thing you expected tonight was using your dildo late at night as you imagined Kota fucking you instead. Luck was really on your side today.

“Did you wear this all day? Even when you took your exam?” Kota grasped the edge of the plug, slowly tugging it out. You gasped—tugging at the restraints around your wrists. “Did you masturbate like a pervert, hoping no one would notice you rocking in the chair, trying to focus on the exam while making sure the plug hit your prostate?”

With a simple shift, the tip of the plug pressed directly on your prostate. A loud moan left your throat. You wanted to tell him that he was wrong. That he was making stuff up. Degrading you.

But the continuous, slow rub against your prostate took over your thoughts. All you could focus on was gasping and moaning in response. Nothing else could escape your lips. Your cock twitched. It was still covered inside your tight boxers.

“Kota,” you mewled.

“Such a slut. Is that why you’re so flashy?” He asked, pressing down on your prostate. “You want everyone’s attention on you. Not just your looks but also from your sex appeal? So perverted, Togami (Name).”

You sniffled. Your wrists tried to break free from the belt but somehow it was wrapped tightly. You could only bring your hands down to try and cover your face from Kota’s intense stare.

“Am I not enough?” Kota moved up, his body now towering over you. His free hand grasped your wrists and tugged your arms to rest above your head once more. “Do you need everyone else’s attention? I’m not enough for you?”

You quickly shook your head. The words escaped you—only broken wet moans leaving your parted lips.

“Fine.” An almost pained laugh left Kota. “They can look…” he leaned down, his breath teasing your face. “But you’ll always be mine. Only I can see you, touch you, and ruin you, do you understand?”

Kota pulled back when you didn’t respond. His glare sharp as he roughly pulled the butt plug out. He tossed it behind himself. “Answer me with words.”

“Mhm, ngh,” you nodded your head. It was hard to speak, your throat was already dry. You haven’t even been fucked yet and you already felt tired. “Yes.”

“Good girl.”

You let out a shuddered moan. Your legs wrapping around Kota’s waist. It felt so sinful for you to be practically nude while Kota was still dressed. He was wearing a black sweater and black pants—his usual winter clothing.

“You’re perfect for me, (Name)… I don’t even need to prepare you.” Kota unbuttoned his pants. His gaze focused solely on you. “I won’t be nice. I’m going to fuck you and if you manage to cum, good. If not…” his voice trailed off.

The thought that he wasn’t even going to try and make sure you would come too. To just use you for his own pleasure… made your whole body shiver.

Shit, you were really learning new things about yourself.

Kota was never known for being particularly nice. Sure he did nice things for you but that never meant he wasn’t a little rude to you still. Even if you were his favorite person. He had no issue degrading you. And it was shocking to yourself that you didn’t mind it at all.

He didn’t fuck you nice and slow. He didn’t slowly ease inside you or anything like that. Your hole was still dripping from the lube and allowed for a semi easy entrance. Though his cock was bigger than your small butt plug.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. The stretch felt otherworldly. Kota grasped your face, pushing your head down into the pillow as he began thrusting in an easy rhythm.

The slap of skin filled the room. Your gasps and moans came out in rough staccato. Toes curling as you bite your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

“K-Kota…” you cried out.

Kota pushed your head further into the pillow as his thrusts began to pick up speed. He was unforgiving—obviously chasing his own orgasm. True to his words he didn’t aim for your prostate nor did he touch your cock.

He was fucking you got his own pleasure.

“Mhm?” He grunted out. His thumb brushing against your lips, pushing them apart. “Does it feel good? Are you enjoying yourself?”

Each thrust sent a shock throughout your body. The sound of skin slapping, bed creaking from each thrust into your tight heat. It was sending you into a frenzy. You could’ve sworn that he was purposely avoiding your prostate. Just barely teasing it to cause a shiver in your body before ignoring it once more.

It was degrading. He was treating you like a toy.

You smiled slightly, eyes glancing up at Kota. He was a sight to behold. His eyes almost fully covered from his long bangs. He was sweating but still hadn’t made the effort to take off his sweater.

The jeans rubbed against your ass, chafing the skin. You’d certainly cry about it later but now it only served to make you moan. Every little thing he did that only served to please himself and not you… made your toes curl.

“Hey,” Kota cut in. “I asked if you’re enjoying it?” His voice deep and held an air of dominance.

A strained laugh left you, punched out in tandem with a particularly harsh thrust that almost sent you hitting the headboard. Your bottom lip was cut. A little bit of blood coated both lips and some on your teeth.

“Yeah,” you breathed out. Your eyes struggled to stay open, fingers curling to grip the pillow beneath you for a sense of purchase. “Love it so much.” An almost exasperated laugh left you.

Kota’s thrusts slowed down. His grip on your face almost loosened. He certainly didn’t expect such an answer from you. The willingness to accept his behavior as if it was a normal thing. A thing that you readily craved and enjoyed.

A perverted smirk pulled on his lips.

It was one of the widest smirks you’ve ever seen from him. With his eyes practically hidden behind his bangs—his smirk was the only thing you could use as a way to see what he was thinking. With that smile alone you knew he was happy.

Proud even.

This… was exactly what he wanted.

And how lucky was he that you wanted it just like him.

The last of his thrusts were almost cruel. He positioned his hips so his cock would tease your prostate. Barely a touch that was enough to even count as anything. You almost cried at the teasing—it was too much.

Your cock was weeping in your boxers. But you didn’t beg for Kota to start pleasuring you as well. No you enjoyed how he was fucking you. This was too fun. Better than anything you could’ve originally imagined.

Kota released his grip on your face, both hands reaching to grab your waist. He held your body still against the bed. Keeping you still as he delivered his last, harsh, heavy hitting thrusts into your ass. Each thrust earning a loud accompanying cry from you.

Hot wet cum released inside you. The fact that he didn’t even ask if he could only made you shivered in delight. A weak gasp left you. Kota spanked your ass as he pulled out. The cum slowly seeping out of your hole.

“You look beautiful like this.” Kota hummed, “next time I want to see you in full makeup when I fuck you.” He said. He grabbed your boxers, tugging them off when he stopped.

A soft humorless laugh left him.

“You actually came?”

Two fingers touched the lower half of your stomach. White cum leaking from your cock. Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment. You didn’t expect that this would lead you to cumming in your boxers.

But here you were.

“Of course a slut like you would come untouched.” Kota leaned over you, gently freeing your wrists from the belt. He captured your lips into a hungry kiss—not allowing you to take any sense of control.

You didn’t fight it.

You enjoyed it all.

“Young Master, it is time to rise.” Alfred said from beyond the confines of your room, the sky outside a dark tint with strokes of orange which only just began to show.

Forcing your heavy body up you reached for your phone on your side table, clicking the side button the time showed ‘6 am’ which made you groan, “Come in..!”

The hinges grated together as the door opened, then revealed Alfred, plate of breakfast in one hand, the other used to hold open the door. “Your early breakfast.”

“Right, thanks Alfred..” you grabbed the tray from him, resting it on your lap while scrolling through your phone, Alfred disappeared back through the opening of your doorway, pulling the door with him.

Tiredness heavy on your eyelids, you forced yourself awake, eating as quickly as you could to try wake yourself up, downing the water that accompanied the meal you put the tray to the side and stretched. Stepping out of bed, you left to cross the hallway to the bathroom, empty and cold.

You brushed your teeth, looking at your reflection in the dusty mirror after which you showered, body jolting at the cold water as he heated up and became more comfortable to stand in.

From in the distance of the hallowed halls, you heard Tim, being in a quieter part of the manor meant you were able to hear almost every little sound when you focused enough. Finishing your shower you crossed the hallway again, getting ready for your day trip to Metropolis.

Taking a glance at the time, almost forty minutes had passed since you first woke up. It took another thirty for you to get dressed and to open up your room, curtains flung open as you dragged them to the side, the light leaked into your room, warming your skin while simultaneously blinding you.

By the time you had your shoes on it was 7:10, the bus for your trip left at 7:45 before school started— Oliver basically drilled that time into your head because he didn’t want you nor Isla to miss out. Just as you were packing your bag, your phone rang, a memorable ringtone.

You hit accept while packing, Isla calling out in a tired voice, “Ugh… I had to sleep early for this..” she yawned, the sound of the city in the background.

“You’re there already?” Her groggy hum reached your ears, “Yeah.. mom had to drop me off early cause’ of work.. and it’s so cold here!” She squealed, you could simply imagine her hugging herself while waiting in front of the school for Oliver who was probably on the bus to school by now.

“Don’t freeze before I get there, gotta hang up, I’ll see you soon.” You said, Isla sarcastically laughed ‘ha ha’ before hanging up on you. Listening to the hallway, you felt no presence of anyone.

Having heard the front door shut a good twenty or something minutes ago, you crept down the hallway, making sure not to run into any family when you knew that wasn’t going to happen because of their patrol schedule. Only Duke ever got up at a normal time because he didn’t work at night unlike the other vampires in your family.

Approaching the main area you saw Alfred preparing breakfast, the steam wafted over to your senses, the warm and welcoming smell of fresh food sizzled while he moved his wrist, flicking the pan with precision. “I presume you’re heading off to school now, young master ?”

“Mhm, I’ll see you tonight, remember I won’t be back until eight or sometime around there!” In response he hummed, the quiet buzz in his throat, a sound of agreement. “Don’t forget your allowance.”

“Right, thanks Alfred.” You ran to the counter, picking up the cash and hiding it away, unfortunately your dad forgot to get you a bank account as you grew up and without a parents signature you wouldn’t be getting one anytime soon— a conversation you were desperately trying to ignore having with the man. Alfred took it upon himself to take a portion of Bruce’s wealth every week to gift you, he had access to it for a reason after all.

Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge you quickly ran past him and down the hall, calling out a quick “goodbye!” To the man before leaving and running past the gates.

Down the rough concrete pathways, turning the corners, Gotham grew more prevalent in presence the deeper you went into the city, heavy mist shower from the early morning air.

Past the visible air you saw the bus, just now pulling up to the bus stop, the doors opened and you nearly ran into the sigh pole hard, thankfully you seemed to have inherited some of your fathers swiftness, grabbing the metal pole you let it catch you before you tripped. The bus driver passed you an amused grin as you scanned your bus card, halfway down the aisle you caught Oliver waving to you.

“Here!” He said, moving his bag away from the seat he was saving for you, “Saw you almost eat the ground, you alright?”

On cue you yawned, head leaning back and stretching your legs forward under the seat in front of you, “Mhm, just close to falling back asleep.”

“Stay awake, you can sleep on the drive over.” Oliver settled his hand over your head and rubbed the top of it reassuringly before pulling away. It took all your power to not fall back asleep, fighting against the hefty weight of sleep that tried to lay over you.

By the time you arrived, Oliver had to hold your shoulders to stop you from swaying, stepping out in front of the school while the cool breeze dabbed your skin, eye opening. If that didn’t wake you up, the loud bang nearby certainly did.

You and him looked to the side, and spotted Isla, hand slapping the window before shifting from hitting to waving. Mouthing the obvious words “come here!”

Before you managed to walk over, you were stopped by Oliver’s hand still placed on you, “Wait Uhm..” he hesitated, you tilted your head to the side, urging him to continue. “Sure your family is okay with you coming with us to Metropolis for the day?” Oliver added, hand on your shoulder, ever the worry wart over you and Isla.

“It’s for a school trip Oli, Bruce signed the papers, come on.” You said, walking pat him with your bag slung over your shoulder towards the bus, Isla waved eagerly from the window where she sat, running to the bus when in showed up to quote ‘get the best seat’ which basically just meant the window seat closest to the back.

You two stepped onto the bus, walking up the two old steps and greeting the driver who was one of your usual patrons through daily life. “OVER HERE!” Isla screamed as if you weren’t only ten feet away.

“We hear you Isla calm down!” Oliver said, walking past you to try and shush her, embarrassed from the attention drawn the both of you filed into the seats beside her, him taking the middle spot between Isla and you.

“Alright, Isla, tell Oliver that I’m not gonna get in trouble for coming on this trip.”

“You’re still on that??” She frowned, dramatically forcing her body limp, head landing on the window with a ‘thunk’, between you Oliver hugged his back closer to his chest, “stop it! I was just saying!”

Your arm wrapped around his shoulder, pulling him into a side hug, “And I appreciate you worrying, but seriously. It’s fine.” You assured, reluctantly he softened and leaned into the hug, it didn’t take much for you to encourage him to drop it. At least verbally, he’s likely to still worry internally.

Isla threw you two cheap packets of gummies from her bag, “Go, I have a ton, I even got cookies!” Oliver thanked her, tearing open the plastic packaging whilst you tucked yours away into your bag, still full from the breakfast Alfred made you.

Your phone buzzed, a singular message from Alfred reading:

ALFRED: Please have a pleasant day.

[ME]: I will, thank you.

Tucking it into your pocket, you leaned closer to your friends the more people piled onto the bus. Isla talking about something regarding her least favourite teacher while Oliver refuted everything she said about said teacher, and you piping up to add your own opinion.

Soon the bus became crowded, forced to squish closer with your friends, bags being abandoned under your seats to save space.

Ten minutes into the trip, you passed out, on Oliver’s shoulder while Isla poked at your cheek till he stopped her, unbothered by the world around you.

─── ´ˎ˗

Duke continuously glanced towards the empty spot at the table, a spot usually occupied by you. No one else seemed to question it other than Dick who joked that you must’ve been rising later than usual, to which no one argued

Not an impossibility, so everyone moved on with their morning, until breakfast ended and Bruce grew semi-annoyed at the fact you still weren’t up on a school day. “Damian” he said, drawing the youngest members attention, Bruce’s eyes glanced towards your spot at the table and then to the stairs, clearly urging him to wake you up.

A regular occurrence, perhaps because you were the only blood related siblings but he usually handled trivial matters when it came to you which added to his annoyance concerning your presence.

“Do I have to?” His voice gruff with morning drawl and discontent. Bruce tilted his head forward, raising a brow in a way that meant ‘yes’ with no room to argue. Damian’s fist dropped onto the table as he stood, an act to show his displeasure in the order before turning and heading upstairs.

Steps reverberated off the walls of the empty hallway, passing doors one by one, all of which held the sanctities of each and every one of his siblings. Yours laid dead centre of them all, yet remained the least important, he knew it, hard to miss.

With a snarky word on his lip he raised his fist to bang on the wooden threshold of your room, “Hey, wake up. Thanks to you I’m missing breakfast.” They hit the door but not you, evident from it remaining shut.

Brows furrowing in frustration, he slammed the base of his fist against wooden aperture, shaking from the pressure. “Hey, I SAID WAKE UP!” He shouted impatiently, “I swear to..” his hand wrapped around the handle, twisting it, lock clicking as it retracted.

It opened, dust kicking up in its wake, he squinted in an attempt to prevent it from touching his eyes, stepping into the room. It took not even a second to realise two things.

Number one, you weren’t here, and number two, you haven’t been for a while. Your belongings? Gone, dust covered most every inch of the room, and it was abandoned, like a guest room except not even Alfred had come close to it.

“The hell..” the words muttered under his breath, he turned and left almost as soon as he entered, slamming the door behind him, footsteps heavy on the ground.

From downstairs, Cassandra was the first to notice it, walls weren’t as still as they should’ve been, moving to look at the stairs, Damian came storming down. Her head tilted questioningly, yet he ignored her, stepping towards Bruce.

“Real funny, making me wake them up all for them to already be gone. Now my food is cold.” He snarked, sitting in his rightful place and eating his now semi-warm breakfast, Stephanie looked up from her plate.

“What do you mean Damian?” She asked, placing down her dull cutting knife beside her now finished plate, across from herself he scoffed, ignoring her and stabbing amok at his food, not even bothering to eat it, appetite gone.

Dick placed a hand onto his shoulder, shaking him mildly, “Hey, pretty sure she asked you a question.” His voice wavered from the side-eye he received, still not removing his hand, he gestured with his other to Stephanie— still waiting for an answer.

His eyes rolled, dropping his utensil onto the plate, the sharp clang sound caused everyone to stop eating. “Damian, what is this about.” Bruce questioned, posture straightening against the back of his chair, spin levelling up.

“It means, they aren’t there, room basically abandoned, you didn’t tell me they moved rooms.” Underneath his breath he added, “stupid, all of it..” it was that which caught his dads attention even more.

Bruce, without missing a beat, stood up, abandoning the table, Dick, ever the first in the family, followed on instinct. Which in turn caused everyone else to act, joining the two with Damian coming up behind them all.

Approaching your room, he held his arm back to keep everyone from crowding the opening of it. Opening the door, it dragged across the floor, unbothered by the dust, Bruce took the first step in, using his skills to learn something from the empty room. His eyes glossed over the cleanly made, untouched bed. The dust covered shelves.

He walked to the closet, opening it only to find a handful of old clothes he hadn’t seen you wear in a while. How long is a while?

Bruce tried to recall.

Everyone dispersed into seperate parts of the room, Stephanie to your dresser, opening the drawers of it, specks of dust being released. Empty, all of it. Dick tried your bed, finding anything but there was nothing to be seen.

Duke hovered by your desk, it was an old one, came with the room. Numerous knick-knacks and old papers dated back months laid in it, nothing with substance. “Clearly they haven’t been here in a while..” he hesitated, “Would Alfred know where they are?”

Bruce looked at him, considering the words before nodding, “Possibly, he should be in the kitchen.” Didn’t take too long for everyone to move down to the first floor, meanwhile Alfred stacked dishes into cabinets, his ears picked up the steps quickly.

As they usually did when anyone tried to enter his kitchen, his body titled askew to the doorway. Bruce appeared first, the band of vigilantes behind him, before he managed to take a step in, Alfred raised his hand with a brow ajar from the other.

“Master Bruce, I’m sure I’ve told you that your presence is not required in the kitchen.” He reminded, Bruce retracted his raised foot, placing it back down just before the point of the kitchen.

A rough, detached sound cleared from his throat, “Alfred, now may be needed as an exception.” Without letting the others interrupt, he explained your disappearance, the lack of a used room.

And the butler ever so consistent at his job, listened. Humming under his breath while doing so, Bruce huffed once he finished, hand rubbing the base of his chin, “If you know what they’re up to, please tell us.”

Now that, was his mistake.

“School,” he replied plainly, Duke stepped forward into the kitchen, not having been banned from it yet. “School?”

“School, Master Duke.” Alfred repeated, continuing his duties of stacking the dishes, truthfully, they did simply ask what you were doing, not where you were. Had it been a separate circumstance, he’d have told them, but this man was no dolt, you asked him very clearly to refrain from telling them. Maybe you hadn’t meant literally, but the family wore slightly on his nerves the more they treated you as if you hadn’t existed, so let him have his fun for once.

Dick pulled his phone from his pocket, unlocking and scrolling through. Stephanie leaned closer to him, catching a glance at the screen, “Tim? You’re texting him?”

“He’s at school early today, saw him when he left! I’ll just get him to stop by their class and make sure everything’s alright!” He said, the positive tone calmed the nerves of everyone else, Bruce shook his head firmly is agreement, “Good idea.”

He hit call at that moment, stepping away from group. And a from a distance Tim received the call, sitting at his desk in class before it even started, the space between his brows folded together. Picking it up he pressed answer, holding it to his ear.

“Dick? Why’re you calling me, I’m at school?” From the other side of the screen, through the speak Dick’s voice sounded, “Drop the attitude little bro! I know your first class isn’t for another thirty minutes!”

“Why do you know my schedule??” Tim looked at his phone as if Dick could see the confusion on his face, Dick clicked his tongue, “we are from a family of detectives Timmy, you of all people should know that finding someone’s schedule is the easiest part.”

Tim rolled his eyes, imagining his brothers’ scantily present smug smirk, “Fine, you called because you need something right?”

“Right!” And like those words were the catalyst, he launched into a dramatic reenactment of that morning without him. Tim caught the more important parts, ignoring the obvious embellishments, by the end he managed to piece it together.

You, room abandoned, somewhere at school, perfectly not confusing at all. He coughed into the speaker, making Dick shut up, “Okay, I got it, now what do you want from me specifically?”

“Can you just go to their class and make sure they’re alright?” Tim thought for a minute, yeah, he would surely do that. Except, he didn’t remember where your class was, or who your teacher is.

Clearly his throat awkwardly, he admitted this fact to Dick, “Yeah, of course I’ll do it but.. do you know what their class is?”

Silence on the other end, then nervous laughter— more airy than an actual sound, “I.. aha, I thought you’d know..!”

“…” Tim sighed, phone held tightly in his right hand, the left rubbing his forehead like this entire situation gave him a headache. “It’s fine, tell Bruce that I’ll check it out!”

“Thought you didn’t know their class—" “I don’t, but I’ll stop by the teachers office, check it out, and go from there, it’ll be fine since I’m family.” At the time he didn’t say it, but the word family when referring to you felt foreign, like the bitter after feeling following the time you’d bite your own tongue.

Dick praised him for the idea while the taste lingered on his tongue, cutting him off early and saying he’ll text him when he has answers. Tim turned to his classmate, “Hey, if class starts early tell the teacher I’m just checking on family.”

“That an excuse or a real reason?” They asked.

“Real, I don’t skip for fake reasons, and thanks.” He said before leaving the classroom, from behind him his classmate called out a ‘you’re welcome’ playfully. Being a Wayne came with that, people becoming more easygoing around you, whether for something or just because they think they know you, since they know your name.

Tim walked down to the first floor of the high school, accidentally shoulder checking someone on the way down and apologising without pausing his steps. A few people passing by greeted him, he replied politely, still never taking a moment to stand still.

Coming across the teachers lounge, he knocked on the already open door as a minor warning to not surprise them before walking in, one of the teachers obviously recognised him, waving. “Mr. Timothy Wayne, how may we help you?”

He smiled at the teacher, “Just need to double check something about my sibling’s—" there was that bitter feeling again, “—forgot their schedule, mind checking for me?”

“Are you talking about Duke? I’d be sure to check that for you.” He said, but Tim shook his head, explaining who he was really here about.

A guilty, diffident look appeared on his face, Timothy, ever the detective, called it out. “Apologies Timothy, I just wasn’t aware you had another sibling at this school, I’ll get their schedule right now for you.”

No way, that was ridiculous! How could a member of the Wayne family fly under the radar this much? Did he have a part to play in this, did everyone else? His head shook side to side, shaking away those thoughts, tugging at his bag strap with sweaty palms.

“Oh, there it is. I had a bit of trouble finding it because the attendance list only just came in, their class is currently on a field trip, left this morning not even an hour ago.” He said, Tim breathed a sigh of relief, “Geez.. I was worried honestly, where’s the trip to? Museum? Art gallery?” He asked.

“No, it’s for social studies so they went farther, to.. Metropolis for the day.” Frozen, stilled, Tim couldn’t move, brain processing the information. “Are- you sure??” The teacher nodded.

The next few moments were a blur, excusing himself, he walked out of the room. Footsteps leading him not back to class, but to the exit, cold Gotham air hit his skin. His phone buzzed, probably Dick asking for an update, but he was lost in thought, no way you went to Metropolis without telling anyone.

Why would you?

With unsteady hands, he took his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it to look through Dick’s messages.

Dick Grayson: hey, got any answers?

Dick Grayson: Tim Tim?

Dick Grayson: Feels like it would’ve been quicker to send Duke at this point

Dick Grayson: kidding but fr what’s the hold up?

It took a minute, then two for him to put the words into a sentence, it wasn’t that you were on a school trip. It’s that you didn’t tell anyone, you never cause trouble, now on a random morning that changes?

He held his phone back up, typing with both hands.

[ME]: They’re going to Metropolis, I’m coming home now

Ignoring the array of messages he was definitely gonna get, he hailed a cab, almost running onto the streets to do so, the sound of horns honking drew him back. The cab pulled up right in front of him, nearly landing on the curb, he opened the door, jumping into the backseat and fumbling with his wallet for cash, “Wayne Manor, please.” He said, handing the driver a solid hundred.

The trip didn’t take long, he zoned out for most of it. Tim knew people, he had information on them, he understood them through it. You never acted out, you were quiet— unnoticeable some times, but never a troublemaker, you just weren’t.

He knew that, he repeated it in his head. Like insanity, it continued until the driver spoke up, “We’re here.” Tim’s head tilted upward and to the side, out the window was the manor, “Thanks” he said while opening the door.

The cab drove off, he felt the heat from its engine on his ankles, bag clutched between his fingers, promptly his legs ran to the door, opening it to reveal the room full of his waiting family.

“You’re here!” Stephanie shouted, walking up to him, “Dick said they’re in metropolis, were you serious?!”

“Of course I was serious Steph, why should I lie about that?” He sighed, heading past them to the batcave, “Come on, I’ll check out their location and make sure they’re alright.”

“He has their location?”

“He has everyone’s location Duke” Stephanie said, following Tim down to the batcave along with everyone else. Cold, clean floors greeted them, their shoes tapping against it. Tim trekked to the console, chair squeaking across the floor adjusting to his weight, his feet stretched forward, dragging himself and the chair forward, hands instinctively touching the keyboard. “Just give me a minute- Dick stop hovering!”

“But Tim-Tim!” The older complained but was pulled back by Damian, the youngest who mocked him for his immaturity. Bruce stood beside Timothy, watching the screen, but something about it distended outward to grasp their attention. “Uh—" "uh?? That doesn’t sound good.." Stephanie said.

“No, it’s fine I just can’t get a read on their location..” he fingers tapped several different keys, searching for something. “You can’t find someone??” Dick’s voice rasped in panic, the man did have a tendency to overreact at times, Damian just kicked his shins for him to calm down, hunching over he complained about Damian and vice versa but everyone ignored them.

“Why can’t you find them?” Bruce asked, stepping forward. “Uh, best guess, they probably turned off their location for whatever reason.” God, you really weren’t helping his ‘you aren’t a troublemaker’ thing.

Stephanie felt more aware of her breathing, expression tensing, “alright, but why would they do that? Think they’re maybe not actually on a school trip?”

Across the room, Duke shook his head side to side, “I know I haven’t been here as long as everyone else, but that’s not like them, is it?”

‘No, it really isn’t.’ Bruce thought, “Not telling anyone, disappearing, is this some kind of rebellious phase?” He wondered aloud, Dick gasped, “You really think it’s just a rebellious phase?!”

“Not impossible, your rebellion phase consisted of running off to Bludhaven wasn’t it?” Grumbling under his breath, Tim couldn’t try searching for you in Metropolis since you likely hadn’t arrived yet, pin pointing your exact location was difficult. Ignoring Dick’s protest and everyone’s sudden yelling, without another thought he grabbed his phone, quickly texting his best friend.

[ME]: Kon, need to ask you something

Kon: TIM! What is it? You needa favour? You’ll owe me yk, just kidding, but also what’s up?

Giving Conner a short rundown of what happened, he later ended the message with a quick-

[ME]: Mind just checking things out for me when they get there, make sure they actually are on a trip?

Kon: I WOULD, but I have school too! Wait, are you skipping?

[ME]: situation calls for it doesn’t it?

Kon: fine, but Bruce is vouching for me, don’t want Clark getting mad that I’m skipping!

Tim turned to Bruce for concurrence, the man agreed without hesitation.

[ME]: done and done

Kon: cool, I’ll watch out for them, think I have time for a movie before hand?

[ME]: Kon, I swear

Kon: obviously kidding! you can count on me!

“Kon is actually going to be the reason I get grey hairs..” he huffed, leaning back in the chair, the back of it creaking, from behind him Duke came to his side, “So, everything okay?”

“Yeah, I got Kon to wait up for them, see if they’re actually in Metropolis, just gotta wait.” His legs straightened, pulling up his body to stand, “I’m going to wait in my room till he replies, better go over some cases while I have the free time.” Tim said, before leaving to his room.

His dismissal of the situation threw Duke off guard, but when he looked around everyone seemed to have come to the same conclusion. Just wait for everything to be okay, “Steph, is this… usual?”

“Is what usual?” Pieces of her hair swept around in the air as her head turned to face him, “I mean, just waiting like this?” And Stephanie, who was originally going to nod, paused.

Maybe for them it was, someone goes off the grid? Usually hero stuff, look at Jason— he disappears for weeks at a time off who knows where. But what would you be doing missing?

Her canine tooth bite into the inner corner of her lip, “Dammit, I think you’re right.. let’s just trust Conner and Tim right now.”

“Trust who with what?” “DAMIAN— stop just appearing!” Just as he was about to reply to her, Dick wailed from behind him, Stephanie and Duke leaned to the side, looking past Damian.

On the ground laid Dick clutching his arms around his waist, “YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO KICK ME THERE-" “you wouldn’t shut up!” He retorted, taking the opportunity, Bruce then appeared, scolding both of them with his ‘dad voice’ while the two uninvolved with the situation quickly ran away from the batcave with unintelligible yelling fading into nothing.

Unbeknownst to them, somewhere in the house Alfred Pennyworth held the answer to their assumptions, and unbeknownst to you this would later become your problem.

─── ´ˎ˗

Stirring awake, you felt the shaky driving of the bus, blinking slowly to adjust your eyes, Isla called out from the other side of Oliver, “Oh finally you’re awake! Settle this now, who’s better? Red Hood or Nightwing!?”

“I just woke up, please don’t start now..” you said, adapting to the background noise, outside the window behind Stephanie’s head, you saw the unfamiliar town, “We there yet?”

“You sound like my brother..” Oliver said, handing you a snack bag which you declined by gently pushing it away and shaking your head, “and to answer your question, no, but teacher said another twenty minutes.”

Smiling at your friends, you pulled your bag up from the ground to hold in your arms, “Anyways, you’re both wrong, the original Batgirl is the best.” Barbara was the only one in the family who really treated you like you existed so it’s clear she’d be your favourite. Maybe because you were both technically civilians for the better part of the day ? You can’t read her mind.

“You always say that, I thought you didn’t like heroes but seems like you’re just biased to the one!” Isla argued, her messily painted nail pointed at your nose with a playful grin. “I don’t like heroes, but I respect Batgirl, is that a crime?”

“Well my favourite is Red Robin!” Someone from the front of the bus spoke up, “Nah, Superman better!” And that started the whole debate, all the attendees of the trip talked over each other, noise over noise. Isla yelled her own preference, joining the frey with everyone else, Oliver meanwhile put on his earphones, annoyed by the commotion, Isla crawled over you both awkwardly to reach the walkway, talking with everyone else while the teacher sighed and let her head hit the window in defeat.

Turning your head downward you unzipped the front pocket and took out your phone, the screen lit up— no new messages, not surprising. Putting it away, you pressed your back further into the uncomfortable hard seat, leaning your head back to relax, melting into the atmosphere.

The surrounding sound faded and muddled, screening it out of your focus. And before you knew it, you fell asleep again.

For ten minutes before arriving at Metropolis. The bus pulled to a stop, pushing forward then back into park, the shudder of it shook your body and whisked you into consciousness. “Everyone, settle down!”

Facing the noise, in the middle of the aisle was your teacher, holding up her clipboard and tapping it with her fist to get everyone’s attention, “You aren’t children, calm down or we will turn around!”

“No you won’t!” Someone yelled, “Yeah, this is a public school, they won’t waste money for a trip to cancel it!!” Another added, funny how people can suddenly make good points despite just squawking over Green Lantern or Wonder Woman and who had the best costume.

The teacher had given up by this point, she closed her eyes and breathed, “Alright everyone, just.. please stop, we’ll take attendance then you’ll all leave in your set groups, remember to carry your id’s incase you get lost!”

Thankfully she managed to reign everyone in and called off her attendance once again, checking everyone was there before stepping off the bus and watching everyone leave. You, Isla and Oliver walked off last, standing in the crowd of students, listing off the rules for your trip, your teacher handed everyone a worksheet which no one was going to use— and reiterated, “If you get lost, just show the nearest resident your id and ask for directions! And don’t be rude!”

“Alright teacher!” Oliver said with a smile, hand raised, she showed him an appreciative expression, “thank you Oliver, and now everyone, you may go explore!”

Basically everyone dispersed the second she said that, some people left in pairs, some in trios, and others in groups of four. You and your trio sat at a nearby park, going over your work.

“So what’s the assignment again?” Isla asked.

“Just learning about Metropolis, finding landmarks, different locations and asking locals some questions, social study things.” You answered while Oliver pulled out his notebook, re-reading his notes.

He nodded, “Right, I was thinking we walk around the city, landmarks shouldn’t be too hard to find since they’re probably tourist spots, so why not check out some other places while everything is still quiet during school hours?”

Isla and you agreed, Oliver usually took the initiative in group projects just because he actually liked doing so, and both you two were fine with following his instructions. “How long do we have again?”

Oliver looked at his notebook and then back at you, “We leave at six I think, maybe six thirty so we can be back by seven because it gets dark at eight.”

“And when it gets dark that’s when Gotham really becomes Gotham!” Isla jumped in, the three of you laughed at her words, it was a bit dark but you learned to joke about the city after living in it your entire lives.

“Are you gonna visit your dad while we’re here?” She shrugged, hugging your arm while walking side by side between you and Oliver, in response to your question she said “Probably not since we should focus on school, I’ll see him next week so it’s fine!”

“He lives on the outskirts right?” He asked, Isla shook her head up and down, hair bouncing with her action, “Yup, so I don’t know much about it the inner city!”

Your voice laced with sarcasm spoke up, “Ah, there goes our cheat sheet..” she gasped, clinging closer to your arm her voice shrilled, “Is that all I am to you!? Simply a cheat sheet!?” Her hands slipped from your arm to the ground, “Betrayal!”

Oliver pulled her arm, trying to get her back up, “Isla come on! You’re making a scene!” Her head turned to look at him, deadpanned.

“There’s not even a soul here! If you mean the lady walking her dog, crazy thing, she walked away!” Using her free hand she put it to her head, mimicking an exploding motion, expression shifting into a mocking surprise one.

“Okay, I love the theatre production going on but we should probably start doing the work we’re here for.” You said, tugging up Isla as she stood with a pout on her lips.

“Buzz kill, I was really getting into the dramatics!”

“You’re always dramatic” Oliver joked, putting his hands on your and hers shoulders, pushing you both forward, “Now come on, I researched a few places we can visit!”

Walking with your friends against the large city of metropolis, getting lost in the tall buildings and crowds of people, turned around and back again, it was a better than any moment you’d ever spent with your supposed family.

─── ´ˎ˗

Tim rubbed at his cheek with one hand, the other attached to his mouse clicking through files. A buzz on the side of his desk broke him out of focus, groaning he opened it— annoyance dissipating when he read the message he’d gotten.

Kon: saw them! Got off a bus with a lot of other people, a trip like you said

Relief flooded out of his body in the form of a long sigh, at least you weren’t off doing drugs or anything.. he’ll think about why you didn’t tell anyone later. His thumb swiped his screen to exit his and Conner’s chat, tapping the group chat and typing a quick message.

Tim: got the text from Kon, they really are just on a trip

Bruce: Thank you Tim

Dick: GOOD WORK TIM-TIM!

Damian: why are you telling that to Tim, it was the Kent one who did the work.

Tim: let me have this Damian.

Stephanie: As long as everything’s alright then I’m relieved!

Duke: same!

Jason: what happened and why is everything talking like someone was missing

Stephanie: maybe you’d know if you weren’t off wherever in the world like Carmen sandiego!

Jason: Ok.

Dick: damn. Just ‘ok’? Not even ‘okay’??

And away from the manor, the greasy smell of a Bat Burger restaurant hit him, Jason glared at his phone while standing beside his motorbike. “The hell..” he sighed under his breath and kept reading the chat, Duke the ever helpful soul was the one who told him what happened.

How you went missing temporarily. The mention of you made him cringe at the screen, he had nothing against you, but you were basically a stranger. And acknowledging you as part of the family made him feel, off, partially the reason who stopped talking to you after returning from— well, the dead.

Bruce never acknowledged you, when he was younger he felt bad, tried to compensate for that by spending time with you even after you seemed like you didn’t care at all. One time he asked you, and the entire interaction confused him, a troubled kid to an even younger kid, how was he supposed to decipher what you meant then?

Reading Duke’s final message of ‘don’t worry, good thing they’re safe!’ Jason couldn’t help the words he ended up replying with.

Jason: Wasn’t worried

Stephanie: wow, rude.

Jason: just the truth

Cassandra: what truth

Stephanie: CASS!!

Cassandra: hi

Dick: when did you land??

Cassandra: 30 minutes ago

Bruce: Your ETA?

Cassandra: 20 minutes out

Bruce: Confirmed.

Dick: for the love of GOD please type like a normal person Bruce.

He watched as the chat so easily swayed away from the topic of you, being away from the family made him more observant overtime. Of discrepancies that someone like Tim should’ve noticed, and he knows Cassandra saw it too.

“Fuck this..” he said to himself, throwing his phone in his pocket and settling on his bike. He placed his helmet on, gloved hands grabbing at the handles and revving up his engine to head back to his singular apartment. Jason couldn’t waste anymore time thinking about this.

─── ´ˎ˗

“Oli can we please take a break..! We’ve been walking for hours, I NEED sustenance!” Isla said, hanging onto Oliver’s shoulder dragging him down with her. You meanwhile agreed, stomach growling after the hours without food, it had been over at least seven or soemthing hours..

“She’s right Oli, please don’t make us starve for your GPA!” You said, dragging down his other shoulder, the three of you collapsing to the ground as he tripped over his own feet. “Oh my god you both are so dramatic..!”

He tried sounding annoyed, but you and Isla both knew the sound of when he agreed and was just playing the strict guy. You both laid over him, you draped over his shoulder while Isla was on his legs, a weird jenga tower that the people around you chuckled at.

From the corner of your eye you saw a patrol officer who looked really close to scolding you three for public disturbance though so you all collected yourselves and stood up. Oliver awkwardly apologised to the crowd, face red from the blood rushing into it.

Isla meanwhile— grinned and bowed like she just put on the performance of a lifetime, and you just stood between them. “Okay, get up you two I need food” you said, grabbing their arms and pulling them away from the scene.

“Well now you’re gonna thank me for being a nerd because I happen to know of a place nearby that has fries and milkshakes!” He said smugly, pulling out his phone for directions. Isla gasped, “No way, my FAVOURITE combo, hurry hurry! Let’s go!”

She beamed at you, taking out her Polaroid camera that she used for photographing your trip from her bag and snapping a celebratory selfie with it. Later captioning it ‘Oliver’s nerdiness being valuable!’

Oliver led you three to the place, a quietly lit alley that had a few food trucks lined up. In Gotham this place would’ve been a set up for a drug deal, but in Oliver’s reassurance, this really was a regular place.

He fact checked it, because of course he did.

Isla started snapping photos of the entire place, ready to add to her album of pictures, making sure not to exclude you nor Oliver from them as she treasured the entirety of her surroundings.

“Oh, my— seriously Oli there’s crepes too!?” She squealed, shoving her camera into your hands and running over to the truck, already looking through her little wallet of change and passing some cash out of it to the owner while reading the menu.

“I’m gonna go buy us some fries, can you get the milkshakes?” Oliver said, already rummaging through his bag for change, you meanwhile nodded, putting Isla’s camera into your pack and grabbing the money you got earlier from Alfred. “Got it, the usual?”

His head shook, “Actually they have a raspberry one I wanna try, mind getting that for me?” From the crepe truck Isla said, “I’ll take my usual! Hey guys, regular or not regular crepes because I’ll just pile on your favourite things?”

“Non-regular!” You said, “Regular!” Oliver replied, your words overlapping yet Isla gave both of you a thumbs up anyways, indicating that she heard you.

Looking at the cash in your hand, you held it low, a habit because you shouldn’t ever hold up a wad of cash in Gotham. Nearing the milkshake truck, the person manning it, a kind looking twenty-something year old asked what you’d like to order. Repeating your friends words and then your own thoughts about what you wanted he nodded at you, stepping away to start working on them.

The distant sound of the air fryer from Oliver’s side, the piping sound of whipped cream from Isla, and the sudden roar of the blended from yours mixed into a barrage of noise that prevented you from noticing a certain someone.

The blending blocked out any outside sound, waiting for the milkshakes, and thankfully they were made sooner than you thought.

The worker placed a red and white blended one in front of you, and then another with mass amounts of sprinkles and pink syrup, emptying your hands of your possessions into your bag, you carefully lifted up your arms and nabbing the hard plastic, coldness numbing into your palms and fingers.

Yet instead of turning to see your friends you turned and—

“Well, hello there!”

“AH-" the milkshakes fell from your grasp, the world paused as your heart palpitated from the fright. Your eyes focused quickly writhing a second and the person you saw wore a great big smile, similar to the man who protected this city like your dad did with Gotham.

“Conner—??” God you really can’t escape any semblance of your life for longer than a day.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

And that is the first chapter done, I hope it wasn’t too cluttered and rushed. I tried establishing the world and a few characters viewpoints but I may have written too quickly without rereading.

The format I know is a little different from usual neglected!reader fics as the family usually becomes a focus later instead of so early but I just like writing the pov switch, hope it’s okay.

Also, I’m aware the ages make no sense, I’m sorry, let’s chalk it up to reality-warping shenanigans.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

T A G L I S T

@maradcrs @pennyisangstyhelp-blog @eveeevelyn @yoruuuen @princesslang @mariana11zx2 @artsukin

-> Thank you to the people who supported the prologue, I hope the rest of the series lives up to ideas and expectations. Yet please remember I can’t meet them all, so I appreciate you all, and I hope it’s alright. I’m sorry if I missed tagging anyone, but multiple accounts said that they weren’t available.

♫ NOTE: If you’d like to be added to the taglist please make sure your settings allow you to be tagged prior to asking. If I reply “🩶✔️” then you’re added. That’s all, thank you.

You always knew your families were too close.

The kind of close that made sleepovers feel like second homes. The kind of close that made your mom call Jake her “panganay na hindi ko nanganak” (my eldest that I didn’t give birth to) and his mom call you “my future son-in-law.” You never took it seriously—until they brought it up again this year.

“If you two are still single by graduation, we'll arrange marriage you. Para kampante kami na hindi kung sino-sino lang ang makakatuluyan niyo (So we’ll be assured that the two of you won’t end up with just anybody).”

They laughed.

You didn’t.

Jake? That traitor smiled like it was a promise.

You're sitting on the third step of his porch now, iced coffee melting beside you as you try to process the weight of what graduation now means. Jake lounges next to you, lazily flipping through something on his phone, as if his entire future isn't being hijacked by a half-joke and a mom with a wedding Pinterest board.

“Do you even care they’re trying to legally bind us like a teleserye plotline?” you mutter, eyes fixed ahead.

Jake shrugs, his accent slipping soft and lazy like honey in the afternoon heat. “I’ve had worse offers.”

You shoot him a glare. “So you’re really okay with marrying me?”

His eyes don’t leave the screen, but you hear the grin in his voice. “I mean… you’re cute.”

“Jake.”

Finally, he looks at you. And it hits you, just like it always does when he does that thing—like he's looking through you, not at you.

“I wouldn’t mind,” he says, quieter this time. “Not if it’s you.”

Your stomach tightens. Not from butterflies, but from dread. You’ve heard those words before. From boys who didn’t mean it. From boys who wanted you when it was convenient. From boys who said things like “I’d date you if I wasn’t straight” while their hand was still on your thigh.

And Jake? Jake had the face, the body, the fuckboy rumors. Ateneo engineering major, soccer varsity, tiktoker aura, hotdog-arm-showing-cropped-shirt-wearer. He was the guy moms warned you about and the guy you once fell asleep thinking about, years ago, before you taught yourself to stop.

You can’t let yourself be one of his experiments.

Which is why you say, “Good. Because I found you someone.”

He blinks. “Huh?”

“Sophia,” you continue, grabbing your phone. “Fourth year din (too). Business major, sa Ateneo rin (in Ateneo too). I met her through Jay—she’s pretty, smart, and actually wants a relationship. And she’s not a guy you grew up bathing with.”

Jake snorts. “First of all, you bathed with me.”

You smack his arm. “Second, I’m serious. You want a girlfriend? Date her. You guys are in the same org, same barkada (group of friends). She asked about you, you know. Said you’re cute.”

At that, he perks up. But not in the way you expect.

Not with interest.

With suspicion.

“She asked about me? Or you offered me to her?”

“…What’s the difference?”

“Big difference, M/N.”

You ignore the way your name sounds in his voice, like a secret only he gets to say.

Jake leans in, smirk curling just slightly. “You trying to set me up to save yourself from marrying me?”

“You’re damn right I am.”

Jake’s face softens for a second. “So desperate to not end up with me, huh?”

You scoff, roll your eyes, and shove your phone screen toward him. “Text her. Before I do end up with you and my life becomes a Wattpad tragedy.”

But as Jake reads her contact info, something shifts.

His jaw clenches just a little. His fingers tighten on your phone.

And behind that teasing grin, you miss the flicker of hurt.

He’s been in love with you for years.

You just never let yourself believe it.

And now?

Now you’re handing him off.

On purpose.

To someone prettier.

To someone safer.

To someone not you.

“You said he’s a what now?”

Sophia’s voice crackles over the call, amused and slightly suspicious.

“An Englishero,” you say again, flopped stomach-down on your bed as you scroll through Jake’s old photos to send her. “Like… full Aussie when he wants to be. Grew up back and forth. Accent comes out pag gusto niyang magpa-cute (when he wants to act cute). Which is always.”

Sophia laughs, low and impressed. “Okay, wait, this is him with the soccer jersey, right? The thighs??”

You smirk. “Yup. Also, he’s single, slightly stupid, and—get this—our parents are tryna arrange marriage us if we don’t find someone by graduation.”

“…Girl.” Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “So you’re setting him up with me so you won’t be forced into a love team marriage?”

“Exactly.”

She hums. “Is he okay with this setup?”

“Babe, he doesn’t even care who he ends up with.”

You don’t mean to say it with so much bitterness. But it’s there. Hanging. Like a splinter.

Sophia, ever perceptive, doesn’t comment on it. Just replies, “Well, if he’s cute and dumb and speaks like Timothee Chalamet, I’m in. When’s the date?”

Later that day, you’re at PUP, stretched across a patch of grass on campus, trying to ignore the weird gnawing in your chest. Megan’s painting her nails beside you while Jungwon and Ni-ki argue over whether K-drama engineers are ever realistic.

“You’re giving him away why again?” Megan asks, not looking up.

“I’m not giving him away,” you mutter.

“You literally matched him with a girl who looks like she walked out of an influencer meet-and-greet.”

“I’m just… stopping a marriage before it happens.”

Jungwon sips from his taho. “A marriage that only happens if you’re both still single. Which means…”

You glare. “Which means nothing.”

Ni-ki smirks. “You like him.”

You throw a leaf at his face. “I don’t. I liked him before. A long time ago. Then he started getting girls left and right like a walking Ateneo fuckboy.”

“And yet,” Megan sings, “here you are, still bitter.”

You fall dramatically to the grass. “I am not bitter. I’m just… responsible. Jake needs someone stable, sweet, with an MBA in the making. Not me, a stressed-out philosophy major who overthinks every facial expression.”

“Babe,” Megan says, “you literally wrote a 3k-word paper on why Jungwon’s side glance last week meant he was going through an existential crisis.”

“…It was meaningful.”

Meanwhile, across Ateneo, Jake leans against a locker as Jay eyes him with that older-brother-who-knows-you-too-well face.

“So you’re really going on this date with Sophia?”

Jake shrugs. “She’s hot. I mean, yeah.”

Jay squints. “Right. You sure you’re not doing this to get closer to M/N?”

Jake’s smile falters.

“I mean,” Jay continues casually, “setting up a date to prove he doesn’t like you is a classic romcom move. Very When Harry Met Salome of you.”

“That’s not even the title—”

“Jake.”

Jake sighs. “I’m doing this to make him see I’m serious. He thinks I flirt for fun. He thinks I wouldn’t want him. I’m trying to prove a point.”

Jay raises a brow. “You sure it won’t backfire? What if he actually lets you go?”

Jake’s silence says everything.

The date happened around 7:14 PM on High Street, BGC.

You’re not there.

But you are watching from Sophia’s Instagram story like a stalker with a WiFi connection and a bruised ego.

They’re sitting at a rooftop bar. She’s laughing. He’s doing that smile—the lazy one, where his tongue peeks out and his dimples go nuclear.

You toss your phone aside. It hits your pillow.

But of course, your friends have no chill.

Megan sends you a selfie: “Lurker era 🤭”

Jungwon sends a meme: “You when he looks happy with someone else 👉😃🔪”

And then—your phone vibrates.

Jaeyun 🐶:

she’s cool. thanks for setting me up, M/N.

You stare at the message too long.

Type.

Erase.

Type again.

You:

no prob! hope you’re having fun lol

Delivered.

Read.

No reply.

But what you don’t know?

Jake’s staring at his screen too.

Sophia’s talking. Laughing.

But Jake?

He’s not listening.

Because all he’s thinking about is how you never once asked him if he wanted to be set up.

And how everything you’re doing to push him away just makes him want you more.

“So,” Sophia says after a beat, setting down her wine glass. “You’re really into him.”

Jake nearly chokes. “I—what?”

Sophia smirks, propping her chin on one hand like she’s watching a good drama. “Come on. You’ve looked at your phone fifteen times, and every time I mention his name, your eye twitches like you’ve got an allergic reaction to your own feelings.”

Jake sighs. “Is it that obvious?”

“To everyone but him, apparently.”

He leans back, defeated. “He thinks I’m just… playing around. Like I’m not serious. Like I’d date anything in a skirt—”

“Well, that’s rude. I’m wearing pants.”

Jake grins weakly. “You’re not the problem. He is.”

Sophia tilts her head. “Then maybe he needs a push.”

Jake frowns. “A push?”

Sophia leans in, eyes glittering. “What if we make him realize what he’s missing? Play along. Make it look like we hit it off. Post a few stories. Hang out a few times. Make him think you’re slipping through his fingers.”

Jake hesitates. “You’d help me with that?”

Sophia laughs. “Babe, I live for drama. Besides, I’m not even into guys.”

And that’s when Jake stares at her, blinking.

“You’re—”

“Yup.”

“Does Jay know—?”

“No. I like seeing him suffer.”

They clink glasses.

The next day, you were a clueless fool at Megan’s house, biting your nails as Sophia posts a photo of her and Jake laughing at a café.

The caption?

guess we weren’t so different after all 💙

Megan stares at you like you’ve lost brain cells. “Okay, if you tell me one more time that you ‘don’t care,’ I will throw your phone into the rice cooker.”

“I don’t,” you mutter, refreshing the story again.

“M/N.”

“What?! I don’t! I just—ugh—it’s weird seeing him with someone else, okay?”

Ni-ki, sitting cross-legged on the floor, raises an eyebrow. “So you admit it.”

Jungwon leans in, voice flat. “You’re in love with your best friend, and you’re too dumb to realize it.”

You shoot him a look. “Shut up.”

“No, you shut up.”

You groan, flopping onto Megan’s bed.

Megan cocks her head. “If you don’t like Jake, why does your whole body glitch every time you see them together?”

You don’t answer.

But your silence is loud.

You thought to yourself: Maybe I just don’t like people getting close to Jake.

That’s it. That’s the whole explanation you allow yourself to believe.

Because Jake’s been yours for so long—not in a romantic way, obviously. Just… emotionally. Practically. Historically. He was the one who called you “[Nickname]” before anyone else. The one who knew which shade of taho syrup you hated. The one who sat through your rants about metaphysics like it was the season finale of a K-drama.

You don’t own him.

But sometimes, it feels like he belongs to you.

Meanwhile, Jake’s pacing in front of Sunghoon and Jay while Sophia scrolls through your latest IG story—just a photo of a book and coffee, but she zooms in on your reflection in the mug.

“His ears are red,” she says smugly. “He’s spiraling.”

Sunghoon blinks. “So wait… you're fake-dating her to make him realize he likes you?”

Jake shrugs. “Basically.”

Jay sighs, rubbing his temples. “This is the most unnecessarily complicated gay pining I’ve ever seen.”

Sophia grins. “You’re welcome.”

You’re still processing that mental lie you keep telling yourself when Megan ambushes you during your Friday breakdown hour.

“Dress up,” she announces. “We’re going out.”

You blink from your laptop. “I have a paper due—”

“It’s Jay’s house party. Everyone’s going.”

“I don’t want to see everyone,” you mutter, eyes flicking briefly to Jake’s latest story. A selfie with Sophia, captioned:

Study date. or not 🤫

Megan arches a brow. “You’re going. Ni-ki already laid out your outfit. He said he’s bringing the slutty cologne.”

“You mean your cologne—?”

“Details, babe. Get ready.”

10:38 PM. You arrived at Jay’s party. It was loud. Too loud. You didn’t expect to feel this off.

The music’s bumping, the crowd is hot, and there’s a beer in your hand that someone definitely refilled without asking. Ni-ki’s glued to your side like a chaos gremlin in a mesh shirt, flirting with anything that breathes and dragging you around for damage control.

“Okay, smile,” he whispers, arm around your shoulder. “Jake just walked in.”

You freeze. “What?”

“Just act natural.”

“What does that mean?”

“I dunno, pout and look expensive.”

You barely manage to compose your face when Jake appears in the corner of your vision. Navy shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy—he looks like every bisexual crisis rolled into one man.

You wave awkwardly.

He stares.

His eyes drop to where Ni-ki’s hand still rests around your waist.

And he moves.

Straight toward you.

“Yo,” he says, voice a little tight. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

You force a smile. “Didn’t plan to. Megan and Ni-ki kidnapped me.”

Jake nods once, glancing again at Ni-ki’s hand. Then—he laughs, kind of awkward, kind of forced.

“Hey,” he turns to you, “can I talk to you for a sec?”

Before you can answer, his fingers curl gently around your wrist, tugging you out of the living room. Not roughly. Just firmly enough that your breath catches.

“Jake—where are we—?”

“Just here,” he mutters, leading you to the empty hallway upstairs. “Away from whatever that was.”

You stare at him. “What was what?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Ni-ki. You two were kinda… close.”

You frown. “We always are. You know that.”

Jake shrugs. “Still.”

Still what?

Still weird?

Still yours?

You don’t say it. He doesn’t either.

Instead, he blurts, “You’re free this weekend, right?”

“…Why?”

“My soccer game. Finals. You should come.”

You blink. “Since when do you invite me to your games?”

He shrugs again, suddenly avoiding your gaze. “Just thought it’d be cool if you were there.”

You narrow your eyes. “Is Sophia coming?”

Jake doesn’t flinch, but his voice flattens. “Don’t think so.”

“Oh.”

“And wear my jersey,” he adds, more casual this time. “I’ll bring it.”

You laugh. “Why would I wear your jersey?”

His eyes flick to yours. “Why wouldn’t you?”

And god, there’s something about the way he says it. Not flirty. Not teasing.

Just serious. Quiet. Hopeful.

You swallow the heat in your throat. “Fine. Just… don’t expect me to cheer like a fangirl.”

Jake grins. “You don’t need to. Just be there.”

Later that night, Jake drove you back home after picking up his jersey from his condo unit.

You stare at the jersey now sitting on your bed.

Still smells like his cologne. Like summer and vanilla deodorant and a boy who’s always been too close for comfort.

You hold it to your chest, pulse skipping.

It’s not a big deal.

You’re just… helping your best friend.

Who maybe fake-dated someone to make you jealous.

And maybe succeeded.

You’re not nervous.

Okay—you are, but you’re hiding it under your hoodie as you walk toward the Ateneo soccer field, Jake’s oversized jersey rolled into your backpack like a secret you weren’t sure you were ready to wear.

SIM 15

His name. His number.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. You’ve worn his hoodies before. Shared towels. Slept head-to-chest with him in a cramped tent on a field trip once. This? This is just cotton.

So why does your heart feel like it’s about to choke you?

The bleachers are already filling up when you arrive. Girls with signs. Loud teammates. A few players stretching. Jay waves you over with a stupid knowing grin. You pretend you don’t see him.

But someone else does see you.

“Ohooooo?”

You turn and find Sophia grinning like the cat who caught the gay rat.

“Is that a jersey I see?” she teases, walking over, iced coffee in hand and bisexual superiority in her step. “Let me guess… Sim. Number 15.”

You try to sound casual. You fail. “He gave it to me. Said I should wear it.”

Sophia leans closer. “M/N, baby. I know this wasn’t part of the plan, but are you sure you’re not already dating?”

You flush. “We’re not.”

“Mmm. But you're wiping his sweat and wearing his number like a K-drama love interest in the final arc.”

“That’s just muscle memory!”

Sophia smirks. “So is love.”

You’re saved from further teasing when the crowd bursts into cheers. The players are lining up. Blue and white uniforms, the Ateneo logo shining proudly.

Then—Jake.

Your eyes find him instantly.

He’s walking out of the dugout, hair pushed back, cheeks already flushed from warmups. He scans the crowd once, twice—then spots you.

And he lights up.

Not in a “hey bro” kind of way. In a sunshine breaking through clouds kind of way.

You instinctively lift a hand in a weak wave.

Jake jogs over.

Just before entering the field proper, he pauses near the sidelines where his teammates are huddled.

You’re too far to hear what he says, but you see it—he gestures subtly in your direction. The boys look. Smirk. Nod. One even whistles.

You freeze.

Jake looks back at you, grinning.

You have no idea what just happened.

The game starts.

You try to pay attention.

You fail again.

Because Jake keeps stealing glances.

Because you keep noticing.

Because every time the ball comes near him, he goes beast mode, and suddenly your throat is dry and your brain is wondering if watching soccer is supposed to feel like foreplay.

The crowd roars every time he scores or blocks. You don’t know the rules, but you know he’s playing like he’s got something to prove.

And between every play, every whistle, every break—he comes back to you.

“Water?” he pants.

You hand it to him without thinking, unscrewing the cap before he asks.

Then: towel. You wipe his sweat off his forehead. Neck. You even push his hair back, like your hands remember the way before you do.

Jake blinks up at you, breathing hard.

“Thanks,” he murmurs.

You barely nod. “You’re welcome.”

He grins. “You’re good at this.”

“At what?”

“Being mine.”

You laugh. Nervous. Stupid. “Shut up.”

But you don’t stop wiping his sweat.

And he doesn’t stop looking at you like you’re his home base.

Halftime.

Jake’s coach calls for a break. He jogs over again, this time less sweaty and more giddy.

“You okay?” he asks, crouching by your feet.

You nod. “You're winning.”

He nods too, eyes scanning your face. “So are you.”

You frown. “Huh?”

Jake leans in slightly. “You’ll get it eventually.”

Before you can ask what the hell that means, he’s running back onto the field.

You sit back.

Your fingers curl around the hem of his jersey on your body.

His name. His number.

His eyes.

His everything.

And maybe… you’re starting to realize:

This is not just soccer.

This is not just friendship.

And maybe, just maybe…

You’ve been in love with Jake Sim all along.

The final whistle blows.

And the crowd erupts.

Ateneo wins. 3-2. Jake made the final goal—some dramatic, cinematic, slow-motion shit that you only half saw because you were already on your feet, screaming without meaning to.

People are cheering. Teammates are piling on each other. Someone pops confetti into the sky like it’s a graduation.

But Jake?

Jake doesn’t join the huddle.

He turns.

Locks eyes with you.

And runs.

Straight.

At.

You.

Your heart leaps—no, it rockets to your throat as Jake barrels across the grass like you’re gravity itself.

“Wait, what—Jake—Jake—JAAKE—!”

It’s too late.

He lifts you.

Full arms-around-your-waist, feet-off-the-ground, twirling you in the air like a scene out of a drama you’d clown anyone else for watching.

And all you can do is laugh. Loud and helpless. “Put me down, you idiot!”

Jake doesn’t listen. He’s grinning like a man who’s never been this happy, cheek pressed briefly against your temple, the world whirling with every spin.

The sky is glowing. The team is yelling. You’re still laughing when he finally sets you down, but his arms don’t leave your waist.

He’s flushed from the game, breathless, and his eyes…

His eyes don’t move from yours.

“We won,” he says.

You grin, dizzy. “Obviously.”

“No, I mean—” he leans in just a little, voice low, “I won.”

You blink.

Jake gestures vaguely to the crowd, the team, the field.

“But this?” He tugs the hem of his jersey on you. “This is what I really wanted.”

You just looked at him, unable to hide the smile slowly creeping up your lips.

Half an hour passed, the field’s mostly empty now.

The crowd has filtered out, confetti trampled into the grass, teammates showering in the locker room, coaches yelling about stats that no one cares about anymore.

But you’re still here.

Waiting.

Just like Jake asked.

You sit at the edge of the field, grass tickling your ankles, Jake’s jersey still clinging to your back like it belongs there. Which it does. But you haven’t figured that out yet.

Then—

Heavy footsteps.

And a louder, heavier thud.

Jake collapses right beside you. Or rather—on you. Half his body sprawled across your lap like you’re a human pillow and he’s earned the right to melt into you like this.

You freeze. “What the hell, you’re all sweaty—”

“Shhh,” he groans, voice muffled against your stomach. “Just let me die here for like five minutes.”

You snort. “Drama queen.”

Your fingers move without thinking, brushing through his damp hair, soothing him like you always do when he’s tired, like you’ve always done, long before you realized what it meant.

“You played hard,” you say quietly. “You should rest.”

Jake hums, snuggling in closer. His arms loop around your waist like it’s instinct. Like his place has always been here. With you.

He exhales, lips brushing the side of your shirt. And then, barely audible—

“Your name sounds good with mine.”

You blink.

“…What?”

Jake doesn’t lift his head. Doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t play it off.

Just repeats, softer this time:

“Your name. With my last name. M/N Sim.”

Your brain short-circuits for a second.

Then you laugh. Nervous. Uncertain. “You’re delirious. You need Gatorade.”

But Jake doesn’t laugh.

Instead, he nuzzles deeper into the curve of your neck, his breath warm against your skin, his voice low and serious.

“I’m not kidding.”

You freeze. Your hand in his hair stills. Your heart does too.

“Jake—”

“Don’t overthink it,” he whispers. “Just… let me be here. With you.”

And you do.

Because you can’t move.

Because your body feels like it’s housing something too big to name.

Because maybe—deep down—you do know what he meant.

But you’re not ready.

So you pretend you didn’t hear it right.

You pretend he’s just tired.

While he—buried in your neck, clinging to you like a lifeline—waits for the day you finally hear him right.

Later, both of you decided to go to his place.

Jake’s condo smells like citrus body wash and laundry softener when you step in.

The kind of scent that always hits you in the face when you realize: oh. he lives here. Without you. Without anyone else. Just him. And that ghost of a what-if that’s been lingering between you for months.

He tosses his gym bag to the corner, already barefoot, shirt slightly damp from the post-shower rush. You haven't even taken your shoes off yet, and he’s already wrapped his arms around you from behind.

“Jake—let me order food first,” you protest with a tired chuckle, your phone barely staying in your grip as he sways you side to side like you're slow dancing with gravity.

“Mmm,” he mumbles, face buried into your shoulder. “Can’t we just eat air and each other’s company?”

“...That’s the gayest thing you’ve ever said.”

“And yet you’re still here,” he grins against your neck.

You sigh, but you’re smiling—because how can you not?

You open the delivery app, scrolling through options. Jake doesn’t let go. Instead, he leans more of his weight on you, arms still looped around your waist like you might disappear if he blinked.

“Want anything specific?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Anything you like. I’m starving.”

“You should lie down.”

“I am lying down,” he says, squeezing tighter. “Horizontally. In spirit.”

“You’re literally vertical—Jake—fine, just—just let me press order—”

He finally lets you go with a groan, flopping dramatically onto the couch like a defeated prince.

You finish the order, take off your shoes, and toss your phone to the side.

When you walk over, Jake pulls up the blanket and lifts one eyebrow. “You staying over?”

You hesitate. “I wasn’t planning to.”

He shifts to make space. “Stay.”

Just that.

No teasing. No smirk. No “just kidding” energy.

Just that word.

Stay.

And so you do.

You curl into the space beside him, unsure where to put your hands. He solves it for you by tugging you into his chest, arm draped around your waist, legs tangled like it's second nature.

It is second nature.

Because you’ve done this before.

Movie nights. Sleepovers. “Accidental” naps.

Except this feels different.

He’s warm.

He’s quiet.

And you can feel his heart beating against your back.

“I like this,” Jake murmurs sleepily.

You glance over your shoulder. “What, cuddling me like a giant koala?”

“No. Well. Yes,” he hums. “But mostly… you. Here.”

You don’t know what to say.

So you don’t say anything.

You just let his fingers trace light shapes on your side, his breath settle into a slower rhythm, his body soften behind you.

Minutes pass.

Then—

Barely audible, as his breathing evens out:

“Feels right… having you like this.”

You don’t think he meant for you to hear it.

But you do.

And it settles in your chest like a stone tossed into a quiet lake.

The food arrives around 8PM, still hot, a little greasy, and smelling like home. You lay it out on the coffee table while Jake shuffles over in the softest hoodie known to man—hood up, hair still damp at the tips, like he couldn’t even be bothered to towel it fully.

He plops onto the floor beside you with a dramatic sigh, face hitting a pillow.

You laugh. “Seriously? You couldn’t even sit up?”

“I scored three goals,” he mumbles into the fabric. “I’m basically an athlete-slash-legend-slash-crippled.”

“You’re a baby-slash-annoying,” you retort, already mixing rice and ulam (dish) into a bowl.

He peeks up at you with the most tired, most adorably helpless expression ever manufactured.

“…Can you feed me?”

You blink. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” he pouts. “I’m so tired, M/N. My legs don’t work. My arms are floppy. I’m dying.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart is already crumbling into soft goo. “Fine. But only because you look like a dehydrated pug.”

You scoop some food into a spoon and turn to him.

“Say ah.”

Jake grins like he’s won something major. “Ah~”

You feed him the first bite.

And the second.

And before you know it, he’s practically melted against your side, chewing slowly, head resting on your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“It’s a good thing you’re not in nursing,” you mutter, giving him water after the third spoonful. “You’d be excellent at patient manipulation.”

He hums, mouth still full. “I don’t want anyone else taking care of me.”

You pause.

Spoon halfway to his mouth.

Your brain stutters.

Jake doesn’t even notice. He just opens his mouth expectantly.

You recover, awkwardly stuffing food into his face. “God, you’re such a brat.”

He swallows, then says, “Only with you.”

Your heart does a triple backflip in your chest.

You don’t answer. You don’t even breathe. Because you can’t.

Instead, you keep feeding him until his eyelids start fluttering closed between bites, until he leans more into you, heavier now, drowsy warmth radiating off him in waves.

You set the bowl down.

He turns his head into your neck again.

You let him.

And suddenly it’s quiet again. Just the hum of the air conditioning, the smell of leftover food, and Jake—tired, full, clinging to you like you're the softest place in the world.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “For staying.”

You whisper, “Always.”

And you mean it.

Even if you still don’t know what this is.

Even if you’re not ready to name it yet.

Moments later, you don’t remember falling asleep.

You only recall Jake mumbling thanks between bites of chicken, his eyes slowly drooping like a toddler post-fiesta, and the now—

He was curled against you on the couch, arms around your waist, cheek resting right over your heart.

Your fingers are threaded in his hair. His legs are tangled with yours. You’re half-covered by a throw blanket, the room glowing soft with the warm hue of the overhead lights you forgot to turn off.

And for once?

You don’t feel the need to move. Or explain. Or leave.

Because Jake’s here. Breathing slow and warm and safe against you.

You close your eyes.

Peace.

Until—

Click.

The front door unlocks.

You blink.

Wait. Wait.

Jake definitely told you no one else had the spare key.

The door creaks open.

You shoot up slightly, trying not to dislodge Jake (spoiler: you do), and squint toward the hallway—

And there, standing frozen in the doorway with a brown paper bag in one hand and his entire soul leaving his body, is—

Jay.

He stares. You stare.

Jake mutters something like “M/N… five more minutes…” and curls back into your chest.

You look down, then back up.

Jay’s mouth opens. “...So.”

You whisper-scream, “It’s not what it looks like!”

Jay raises a brow. “You mean the part where my best friend is cuddling you like you’re a body pillow he’s married to?”

You flail slightly. “He was tired! I fed him! He told me to stay—!”

Jay walks inside, gently placing the paper bag on the counter. “So you fed him, let him cuddle you, wore his jersey, and stayed the night—platonically?”

You bury your face in your hands. “I hate you.”

Jay just laughs. “You know, Sunghoon and I had a bet.”

You glance up, panicked. “Please don’t say what I think you’re about to say.”

He grins. “He said Jake would confess first. I said you’d crack first. But now? I don’t even know if you realize you’re already dating.”

You whisper, “We’re not.”

Jay points. “M/N. He is literally purring on your chest.”

You glance down.

Jake, half-asleep, nuzzles against your collarbone with a sleepy smile. “Mmm... love you.”

Jay pauses. So do you.

You both slowly look at each other again.

Jay’s grin drops.

Your brain combusts.

You whisper, “He’s asleep. He didn’t mean that.”

Jay raised a brow. “Or he meant it so much that it slipped past his sleep filter.”

You blinked rapidly in gay panic

Jay picks up his bag. “I’m leaving before you both kiss and make me a godfather. Lock the door. And for the love of God, tell him you love him back when he wakes up.”

Then he walks out. Just like that.

You look down at Jake, who’s now breathing softly against you again.

And suddenly… everything feels a little too real.

You didn’t sleep well after. Next thing you knew, it was already morning.

Birds are chirping somewhere outside. The sun’s shining through the kitchen window. Your skin still smells faintly like his detergent. And there’s this heavy feeling in the air—like something’s about to happen. Like the silence is charged.

You’re at the stove, still wearing his jersey, flipping eggs while Jake moves around behind you, slow and sluggish. Sleepy.

And clingy again.

Because every few minutes, his hand lands on your waist like it needs to remember you’re there. Like if he lets go, he might wake up and you’ll be gone.

You don’t think about it too much.

Because you can’t.

So instead, you reach for distraction.

Small talk. Neutral territory. Safe space.

Big mistake.

“So,” you say casually as you plate the eggs, “how are things with Sophia?”

Silence. Like—you could hear the egg yolks scream.

You glance over your shoulder.

Jake has stopped mid-step, a spoon in his hand, halfway to his mouth.

“…What?” he says, voice low.

You blink. “Sophia? You two have been hanging out a lot. Just wondering how that’s going.”

He drops the spoon. Like, actually drops it. It clatters loudly against the counter.

Jake turns to you. His jaw is tight. His hands curl into loose fists at his sides.

Then, suddenly...

“Is it really that bad?”

You freeze. “What?”

Jake steps forward, expression tight. “The idea of marrying me. Does it disgust you that much?”

Your mouth goes dry. “What are you talking about?”

He laughs once, sharp and humorless. “You’ve been trying to set me up with Sophia for weeks. You act like the thought of us—me and you—is some kind of joke.”

You stammer. “I didn’t—Jake, I didn’t mean it like—”

“Then how did you mean it, M/N?” His voice cracks a little. “Because every time I try, every time I get close to showing you how I feel, you brush it off. You joke. You call me clingy. You treat this”—he gestures between you—“like it’s just a game.”

You stare. Heart pounding. Mind blank.

Because deep down?

You knew.

You knew what it looked like. What it felt like. What he was trying to say without saying it.

But you weren’t ready to hear it.

Not out loud.

And now…

Now he’s standing there, hurt leaking from his voice like a bleeding wound, and he still—still—hasn’t confessed.

Because he's terrified.

Because maybe he thinks if he says it out loud, he’ll lose you completely.

You take a breath.

“Jake…”

He shakes his head, stepping back.

“Forget it.”

And just like that—he turns away.

The rest of the day is weirdly quiet.

Jake doesn’t bring up the conversation from breakfast. He doesn’t storm off or give you the cold shoulder either. Instead, he… acts normal.

Too normal.

He puts on a show like nothing happened—like he didn’t basically bleed in front of you emotionally while you stood there holding a plate of eggs and confusion.

You both lounge on the couch, a movie playing in the background. You don’t remember what it’s about. Something with guns. Or swords. Or dragons?

You wouldn’t know. Because your brain is still stuck on his voice this morning.

“Is it really that bad?”

He said it like a punchline. Like a plea. Like a door closing.

And you? You let it close.

Because you're scared.

Because if he says he loves you, everything changes.

And if you say it back?

You're not sure you know how to survive that.

Little did you knew, Jake was about to snap.

It starts like any other family dinner.

Your parents. His parents. Jake. You. A long table. Fancy restaurant. Cold aircon. Slightly overpriced sinigang.

They’re laughing. Swapping stories. Asking about school. Careers. The future.

You’re halfway through your juice when Jake’s mom smiles across the table and goes:

“So… graduation’s coming soon.”

You stiffen.

Jake—calm, composed, chewing like nothing’s wrong.

“Mm,” his mom continues, “you both remember the deal, right? If you haven’t found anyone by graduation—”

“We marry each other,” you finish weakly, laughing like it’s a silly little inside joke, even though it’s the reason you once considered setting him up with the entire Ateneo population.

Your mom chuckles. “We’re not forcing anything, of course, but—”

“Actually,” you cut in quickly, “Jake’s already dating someone.”

Jake’s fork clinks against his plate.

“Oh?” his dad raises a brow. “Really?”

You nod too fast. “Yup. Been a while. Super happy. Yup.”

Jake swallows.

The table turns to him.

His eyes meet yours.

And that’s when he does it.

That’s when he throws the whole damn match into the gasoline-soaked mess you’ve made.

Jake smiles. Calm. Easy. Deadly.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’m dating him.”

BOOM.

The silence is instant. Like you just said you were moving to Mars together.

Your soul leaves your body and slaps you on the way out.

You choke. “I’m sorry—what??”

Jake looks at you. Innocent. Smiling. “You didn’t want them to think we were single, right?”

“JAKE.”

“Oops,” he says, shrugging like this isn’t the emotional equivalent of being drop-kicked off a cliff.

Your dad looks confused. Your mom is smiling way too hard. Jake’s mom is gasping into her hands like she just won a bet. His dad looks like he already pulled out a wedding planner from under the table.

You’re losing it. “I meant Sophia! You were—Sophia was—!”

Jake turns back to the table. “Sophia’s a friend. M/N’s… more.”

More.

You almost launch yourself into the atmosphere.

“Oh my god,” you mutter. “You’re serious.”

Jake leans closer, grinning now, whispering just loud enough for only you to hear:

“Now you have to deal with it. Since, you know, I’m your boyfriend publicly.”

You shoot him a glare so sharp it could pierce armor.

He just leans back, smug. Like he didn’t just hijack your entire life with one sentence.

Meanwhile, your mom is already pulling out old baby photos. Jake’s mom is giggling. Your dad is Googling marriage license requirements.

Jake sips his water like he didn’t just detonate a bomb and walk away unbothered.

You stood up and gripped his wrist, practically yeeting him out the restaurant door, weaving past waiters, ignoring the old ladies watching like it’s a telenovela.

“Jake. Outside. Now.”

“Was it the public confession or the marriage approval committee I should be worried about?” he teases.

You shove the door open. It swings with drama.

And when you both step outside—quiet street, sun already dipping low, the city humming around you—you turn.

You’re seething. Flushed. Breath short.

“You’re insane.”

He smiles. “Insanely in love with—”

You slap a hand over his mouth.

“No.”

You look around like someone might still be eavesdropping.

“I told you I was using Sophia to get them off our backs. You didn’t have to go full Wattpad on me in the middle of family lunch, Jake!”

He licks your palm.

“JAKE—!”

You yank your hand back. And then—without thinking—your fingers fly up and tug at his hair. Not too hard. Just enough to release the sheer, chaotic frustration burning through you.

Jake freezes.

Then, slowly, he smirks.

“Okay, wow,” he says softly, grabbing your hands before you can even recoil, locking your wrists in his gentle grip.

“Getting feisty, aren’t we?”

“Don’t start with me—”

Before you can pull away again, he leans down and—kisses your knuckles.

Just like that.

Soft. Purposeful. Unfair.

You blink.

Your brain fully bluescreens.

Your soul does a cartwheel off the roof.

He’s still holding your hands when he says, “If you’re going to attack me, at least let me enjoy it.”

“Jake—”

“I meant it, you know.”

You pause.

“…The public confession or the hair-pulling kink?”

He laughs.

But then he quiets. His smile drops just slightly.

“I meant it when I said you’re mine.”

Your heartbeat stutters.

“And I’d say it again. In front of our parents. Our friends. The waiter. Your future therapist.”

“Jake—”

He leans in closer. Still holding your hands like he’s anchoring you.

“I know you’re scared. I know you don’t think this makes sense. But I’ve loved you since we were dumb kids sharing snacks and getting scolded for doodling on each other’s arms.”

You swallow. Hard.

He smiles, gentler now. “So yeah. You can hiss at me. Pull my hair. Pretend this is a game. But I’m not playing.”

Then he lets go and steps back.

“I’ll be inside,” he says. “If you’re ready to stop pretending.”

And with that—

He leaves you standing outside. Heart pounding. Hand still tingling from his kiss.

Tail puffed like a cornered cat who maybe—just maybe—wants to be held.

After a few minutes of composing and giving yourself a very lengthy and rather aggressive pep talk, you return to the table like nothing happened.

As if you didn’t just almost combust in the alley because your best friend turned fake boyfriend turned real heart attack kissed your damn hand and called you his.

Your mom raises an eyebrow. “Everything alright?”

You smile. Too wide. Too bright. The kind of smile that says "I am 5 seconds away from committing a crime."

“Yep,” you chirp. “Just needed air.”

Jake’s already seated. Looking entirely too pleased with himself. His hand is resting across the back of your chair when you sit beside him—casual. Familiar. Possessive.

You subtly swat it away.

He grins.

“So,” Jake says loudly, drumming his fingers on the table, “should we talk venues?”

You blink. “What?”

“The wedding,” he says, like it’s obvious. “I’m thinking beach? Or garden? I know you like plants. We could do something earthy. Maybe get Megan to design the invitations.”

Your fork clangs against your plate.

“Jake,” you mutter under your breath. “What are you doing.”

“Brainstorming,” he replies cheerily. “It’s not every day I get to plan my wedding to the love of my life.”

Your mom gasps. Jake’s mom is crying.

You smile through your teeth. “Can I speak to you outside again?”

Jake winks. “Already did that. You tried to maul me.”

Your face twitches.

He leans closer, voice low so only you can hear, warm and amused against your ear. “You look cute when you’re trying not to commit a felony.”

You hiss through clenched teeth, “I will bite you.”

“Promise?”

You stare ahead, silently praying for divine intervention.

Your dad raises his glass. “To Jake and M/N!”

Everyone cheers.

You are dying inside.

Jake is glowing.

Dinner wraps up with Jake still acting like he just won The Bachelor. His mom is glowing. Your dad is laughing with Jake’s dad. Sophia texted you “i’m gonna kill you but like romantically 😍.”

You’re sweating through your shirt—well, Jake’s shirt that you borrowed once and eventually ended up not givingg back—and silently vibrating with secondhand anxiety.

You’re about to make a clean escape—grab your bag, pretend you left your charger at home, maybe fake your death—when you hear it:

“Anak (Son),” your mom says, smiling too sweetly.

“Can we talk for a bit?”

Oh no.

You sit down again. Your palms sweat instantly.

She waits until everyone else is distracted—Jake’s still entertaining your dad with an exaggerated soccer story—and then turns to you.

And asks, gently:

“So… how long have you been in love with him?”

BOOM.

Immediate internal malfunction.

“W-what?” you cough. “No—I’m not—we’re just friends!”

She tilts her head. “He calls you babe.”

You flail. “That was one time—!”

“He kisses your hands.”

“He started it—!”

“You feed him.”

You freeze. “Okay, low blow.”

She leans in, voice soft, eyes serious.

“M/N. I’ve watched you two grow up together. Since you were kids, you’ve always looked at Jake like he was the sun. And I used to wonder if it was just you being close. But now…”

She pauses. Gives you that look—the one that sees straight through your soul.

“…You still look at him that way. And he’s never looked at anyone else like he looks at you.”

Your breath catches.

“I’m your mother,” she says. “You can lie to everyone else. Not me.”

You stare at your lap. Hands fidgeting. Voice small.

“…What if he’s better off with someone who isn’t scared?”

She places a hand over yours.

“He’s not asking for perfect. He’s asking for you.”

Your chest tightens.

You blink back the sting in your eyes.

And suddenly, her voice is gentler. Teasing.

“Besides, anak (son)… you think he’d let anyone else wear his jersey?”

You laugh. Quietly. Wetly.

“…He’s so annoying.”

She smiles. “Yes. But he’s yours, isn’t he?”

And this time, you don’t deny it.

After everyone bid their goodbyes, you step outside.

Jake’s already there, sitting on the curb like a model in a sad music video. The street lights paint gold over his skin. He’s spinning a bottle cap between his fingers like he’s been waiting—not just today, but forever.

He sees you and grins.

“Your mom give you the full ‘so when are you marrying my son’ talk?”

You cross your arms.

“I don’t like you.”

Jake blinks.

Then slowly—so slowly—he smiles.

The kind that tugs at the corner of his mouth, smug and soft and devastating.

“You done lying for the night?” he says.

You feel your face burn.

“I’m serious,” you mumble, shifting on your feet.

Jake stands.

And then he steps in close.

Not enough to touch. But enough to feel the heat from his body. Enough to make your knees consider betraying you on the spot.

“Okay,” he says, nodding casually. “You don’t like me.”

“Right.”

He smirks. “Then you won’t mind if I kiss you tomorrow.”

You choke. “What?”

“Just saying. If you don’t like me, it won’t matter, right?” He shrugs. “You won’t care if I kiss you. Or if I keep texting you goodnight. Or if I make you coffee the way you like it. Or if I call you mine in front of people again.”

You stare. Mouth slightly open. No words, only malfunction.

Jake leans in—just barely—and adds, in a whisper.

“I’m still going to make you mine, M/N.”

Then he steps back.

“Anyway,” he says cheerily, “see you tomorrow!”

And he leaves.

Just like that.

You’re left standing in front of the restaurant, face on fire, heart pounding, your brain short-circuiting like a faulty karaoke mic.

You yell after him, “I SAID I DON’T LIKE YOU!”

Jake, without turning around:

“Sure, babe!”

You scream internally.

And maybe—just maybe—a little externally, too.

You get to campus early.

You’re calm. Composed. Dressed in neutral colors and a will to survive. You’ve successfully ignored Jake’s three good morning texts, his “hey babe” voice note, and the meme he sent of Layla holding a sign that said “Stop saying you don’t like him. You’re literally in love with him.”

You’re fine, until you reach the gates of PUP.

And see him.

Wearing your department shirt.

Yes. Your PHILOSOPHY DEPARTMENT shirt.

You freeze.

He waves. “Hey, batchmate!”

“Jake,” you hiss as you reach him. “What are you doing here?”

“Wearing your shirt. Embracing your world. Becoming your destiny.”

“I’m going to scream.”

“Want me to wear your ID next?”

You swear your vision tilts.

“I have class,” you mutter, trying to sidestep him.

He follows. “Same. It’s called Advanced Flirting: Seduction Through Emotional Warfare.”

“Jake.”

“What, I’m just being a supportive fiance.”

“Stop calling yourself that—”

“I will when you admit you love me.”

You almost trip.

Later that day, your friends spot him waiting by your building with food.

Jungwon stares. “You still think he’s not in love with you?”

Megan just eats a fry. “Should we start planning your prenup?”

Ni-ki whispers, “Tell him to take the shirt off.”

You glare. “He’s testing me.”

Jake pops a fry in your mouth before you can finish.

You choke. He smirks.

“Eat well, babe. You’ll need energy. Loving me takes work.”

You scream internally.

But also… your heart skips.

Because no matter how loud your denial is—he’s louder.

Later that night, you're pacing in your room, your phone buzzing like hell. Twitter is on fire. Jake posted a soft photo—your side profile, blurry, sunlight caught in your lashes, your lips parted as you sipped from your coffee.

my favorite view 🥱💙

Your friends filled the comments.

@sunghoon: OK BOYFRIEND

@megan: M/N???

@jungwon: oh this is getting out of hand

@niki: LITERALLY SAID YOU’RE NOT IN LOVE?????? THIS???

Out of spite, you commented:

@m/n: JAKE DELETE THIS. NOW

And then moments later, your phone rings.

Sophia.

You answer.

“Hey—”

“I’m going to kill you.”

Your brows furrowed. “What did I do?!”

“Stop denying your feelings, for Christ’s sake, M/N! I can’t take any more of Jake’s rants about you!”

“What—I—Weren’t you, guys, supposed to be the ones dating?! You two seemed to hit it off—”

“We were faking it, duh!”

You pause.

“We wanted to watch you squirm and admit—verbally and truthfully—that you actually like him! But Jake wasn’t kidding when he said that you’d rather get hit by a comet than talk about feelings!”

You hear a door slam in the background.

Then suddenly, your group chat starts BLOWING UP.

Jungwon: emergency call now

Ni-ki: im adding megan

Megan: this better be about M/N’s mess

Sophia: it is.

Within 20 seconds, you're on a Google Meet of doom.

Ni-ki looked at you like he was judging your entire existence. “Do you hate happiness?”

Megan: “Genuine question. Do you think love is a government scam?”

Jungwon: “We have receipts. He’s been in love with you for years. Years, M/N.”

You run a hand down your face. “Okay, okay. I get it. I might like him.”

They all whined.

Ni-ki: “MIGHT??????? MIGHT??????????”

Megan: “You literally moaned his name in your sleep during a field trip, and I have it on audio.”

You choke. “WHY DO YOU HAVE THAT?!”

Sophia leaned closer to the camera. “You’re the only person who doesn’t realize this is real. Jake’s not playing. He hasn’t been playing.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Jungwon speaks, softly. Seriously.

“You’re going to lose him if you keep pretending you don’t want him the way you actually do.”

The silence hits different.

You blink, eyes a little glassy.

“...What if I don’t know how to want him the right way?”

Sophia’s voice is calm. Sure.

“You just have to stop running away from it.”

Another ding.

Jake.

It’s a picture. You and him. His hand half-visible in the foreground, your head resting against his shoulder. Taken today. You didn’t even know he snapped it.

“I think you’re my favorite thing.”

And for the first time…

You wonder why you’ve spent so long pretending you weren’t his too.

you should feel bad. you do. you know it's awful. know you're using satoshi in a way that disgusted you to your very core— but what did it matter?

he probably fucked more girls than you could count. probably had them in this position. squeezing their thighs and calling them his babydoll while he rubbed their clit and told them to cum for him.

you knew guys like him too well. unfortunately well. you wouldn't be fooled again. so really— were you in the wrong for imagining his nerdy twin?

you're sure it didn't matter to satoshi anyway. as long as he had a warm pussy to fill and a hit for the night. guess you're both using each other, huh?

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ was eating up all of your attention. he thought he'd have to go back to chasing you down again after that night. but to his surprise, two days later you were giving him eyes in an empty hallway and batting your lashes.

. . . should he really be at fault for the way he shoved you into the lockers with a hand buried in the back of your hair and a hand squeezing your ass? could he really be the one to blame when he crashed his lips to yours and shoved his tongue in your mouth when you were looking at him so sweetly?

"babydoll," he groaned, whined, as he sucked on your tongue. "keep looking at me like that and I'm gonna make sure we get expelled."

and when you nipped at his lip piercing and called his name so softly? he just had to dive back in and kiss you until your knees were shaky. not caring in the slightest for the footsteps that stopped at the foot of the hall.

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ for the second time, has never wanted to break his brother's jaw more.

or should he blame you? surely you knew by now that he took this hallway to get to quantum physics class. surely you knew that there was a chance he'd walk down this hallway and catch you face-fucking his brother. right?

the assignment sheet he'd been reviewing in his hand crumpled. fist shaking and jaw tight. fine. fine. if you wanted his brother so bad? you could have him.

it's hopeless anyway. satoru wouldn't even know how to treat you if he had the chance. too inexperienced. too emotionally inept.

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ made sure to avoid you like the plague. he never should have let impulse take over. never should have kissed you in that library. fucked you on his fingers so clumsily and made you realise how useless his hands were when they weren't practising equations and flipping through textbooks.

he hated how he still wanted you. how he still thought about you. how he'd bury his face into a pillow and hump on another until he was grunting and cursing your name into the fabric. until he was whimpering it— like some pathetic boy who got his candy stolen.

"I hate you—" he huffed, voice shaking as his hand still had the nerve to squeeze around his tip and rub another pitiful spout of cum out of him.

"I hate you. I h-hate you— fucking hate you." his head tips back, breaths fogging his glasses that hang off his nose. thighs twitching from three orgasms spilled all over his sheets just because he can't get you out of his fucking head.

what did it matter? you're the kind of girl only satoshi would know how to please. and it seemed you knew that.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ was confronted by his best friend, sukuna, one thursday morning. yanked into some empty classroom with his helmet still tucked under his arm and cursing at the pink haired jock.

"the fuck's your problem?" he grumbled.

"should be asking you that shit." sukuna huffed.

he found out very quickly what sukuna was on about. asking if he was okay, if he was on something, if he finally gave in to peer pressure and decided to snort a line of some shit because he absolutely was not acting like himself. not looking at girls, denying numbers, missing parties. it wasn't like satoshi. not the campus heartthrob who just had to smile and wink a pretty blue eye to get whatever he wanted.

"you've been all over that girl." sukuna said. "you've never been this hooked. heard you last night too."

satoshi had to bite back his smirk. right. he had you bouncing on his cock last night. grinding your hips up into his and whimpering for him to help since he's just too big and your poor pussy's struggling. wait—

sukuna's rough hand shook him by the arm. "see? you're fucking spacey. what the hell's going on with you?"

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ got a firm talking to. got told he was actually falling in love— and that vulnerability scared the piss out of him. love? he didn't know how to love— not really. girls liked his dick and his bike and the filthy things he'd whisper in their ear when no one was looking. but love. . . fuck.

the way his heart was hammering said it. the way his chest fluttered when sukuna brought you up.

"what the fuck do I do?" he mumbled, hating how soft his voice was as he raked a hand through his white tuffs. "yeah— okay, maybe I like her. but what the fuck do I do?"

"take her out. maybe somewhere to eat. somewhere fun. can't be fucking her every time you meet up." sukuna flicked his arm.

satoshi winced. then considered it. maybe he could finally take you for a drink like he'd first offered. or maybe a party? a midnight ride?

"yeah well, she wants to fuck me whenever we meet up." he mulled, then shrugged. "guess I can combine the two. maybe that's just her style, y'know?"

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ thought about it a little more than he'd like to admit. spaced out in his classes, spent his lunch scrolling through food joints, hell— he even made a note on his phone. he wasn't good at this stuff. wasn't sure when last he went out on a date. girls usually wanted him for his body and that was it. they cried on his dick and scratched up his back but he never really offered them to hold their hand in some romantic coffee shop or whatever.

it hit him in the dead of night. when he was in bed and on his routinely hour of thinking about you. he phone has buzzed with a gallery memory. a picture he'd snapped from the photo album, of a kid him and satoru at a fair with their parents. satoru was hugging some big stuffie while satoshi lingered behind with a half-eaten funnel cake.

and that's when it hit him. . . a fair. they're fun, there's food, they're cute. that's what the couples in the movies do, right?

he sent you a text immediately. then flopped his phone down onto his chest and grinned at the ceiling like an idiot.

well. until a cold realisation washed over him, and he had to call up his best friend in the dead of night to awkwardly ask for some pointers.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ couldn't believe it. you actually agreed. you were actually standing right beside his bike and holding the helmet he'd handed you. with a cute little dress on and that lip gloss he had the urge to smear in heated kisses. but he held back.

"so you just had another helmet lying around?" you asked, brow arching as you fiddled with the straps.

"nah." he waved his hand. "just snatched one from the store."

he blinked at the look you gave him, then grinned as he took the helmet. plopping it on your head and clasping the strap beneath your chin. "meant I bought it baby. whatdya take me for? a delinquent?"

he flipped the visor up. crooned at your little glare and stroked his thumb on the side of your neck. "you really want me to answer that?" you huffed.

"don't look at me like that."

"or what?"

he pressed his lips to your temple. hand squeezing on your waist as he hoisted you up against him.

"or I'm gonna have to do some nasty things to you right over my bike, babydoll."

he always loved how flustered you got. the way you shoved at his shoulders and huffed at him as you turned away. but despite his wide grin and his low words— he didn't want any of that tonight. he just wanted to take you out. treat you right. if you initiated, well, he guessed he couldn't deny you but. . .

tonight he wanted to try to love you the way that you deserved. just for tonight.

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ sent you a text. he couldn't help it. he saw you leave capmus with satoshi. saw the way you were bickering and he was grinning. what, were you off somewhere to fuck like rabbits again? off somewhere to forget about how it was his dick you were begging for in the library? the insecurity, the hurt, it all spilled over into harsh thumbs and harsher words.

gojo satoru: he's good for you. you're both whores.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ got you whatever you wanted at the fair. sweet treats? drinks? that oddly shaped teddy bear that he caught you glancing at when you passed one of those overpriced ring toss games? he made sure to win it for you. had no problem catching the rig in the game. he remembered when his parents would take him and satoru to these fairs and his dad would win the prizes. satoru often got them but— whatever. satoshi didn't wanna focus on that now.

all he cared about was the way you tried not to smile as he victoriously handed you the deformed plushie. "guess that means you owe me a kiss huh?" he hummed, leaning over you like some lovesick puppy.

he didn't catch the way you hesitated. nor the itch in your palms. he was too distracted by your gloss on his lips and the kiss that he melted into. shoulders sagging and heart fluttering as you hooked your arms round his neck. pulled him in deeper. gripped his hair.

he was all dazed. so drunk on your lips and the idea that he was here. kissing you at some fair with butterflies in his stomach and his heart in his hands. he didn't even process your mouth that slipped to his ear.

"I spotted a photobooth not too far. wanna go make some memories?"

as you nipped on his lobe. his chest fluttered.

wait.

that didn't sound very cutesy romantic.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ wasn't aware that the only reason you pushed him into that photobooth and climbed into his lap was because you were thinking of his brother. had no idea that satoru had even texted you. that the only reason you started humping on his lap and whining his name into his ear was because his twin had pissed you off and your pussy was throbbing for satoru. not him. but satoru.

he was a fool, really. gripping your waist and drowning on your lips. groaning into your tongue as he bucked up into you. catching on your clit just right and gripping the back of your neck as your pretty moans pitched.

"hah— gonna get us caught." he mumbled. too high on the way you ground on his cock to focus on how he was distracted by lust rather than love. on how you'd turned a sweet kiss into a filthy makeout session in a photobooth.

"that what you want? wanna get caught bouncing on my dick?"

his words were muffled by your heated lips. the hot tangle of your tongue and the dirty grind of you hips. blissfully unaware that you just needed him to shut up so that you could imagine his twin while you ground yourself to an orgasm.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ felt his knees shake as you both eventually crawled out of the photobooth with a strip of filthy pictures. unbeknownst that it was a testimony of you wanting his body because he looked like a man who actually held your heart.

he still folded it. fixated on the perfect shot of you both kissing. then tucked it away in his wallet.

he should have known better. he really should have.

but he was so lost in the fantasy of this date. in the idea that he was doing well for once— treating a girl in a way he never has before. outside of sex. outside of what his fingers, tongue or dick could do. no technique, just tenderness. he gave you his jacket at some point in the night. his heart throbbed at how pretty you looked in it.

yeah. satoshi was a bit oblivious to the way your hands were all over him at the haunted house attraction. he had to push you against one of the walls and kiss you stupid. but it's just because you needed him so bad— right?

yeah. he didn't think much of the way your hand crept on his lap while you both sat down to share a sundae. he just slipped his fingers down and wrapped them around yours. gave you a little squeeze.

he surely wasn't paying attention when you'd kissed him hard as the ferriswheel stopped at the top. all he heard was the fireworks above. all he felt were your hands pushing under his shirt. the way you climbed back into his lap and gripped the back of his hair.

no. satoshi didn't care. all he cared about was that you were kissing him. and it was beneath the fireworks. doesn't get more romantic than that, right?

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ was all loopy as he drove you both back home. his head spinning cause your head felt so warm laid between his shoulders as he steered the bike back to campus. he skipped a red light. didn't even care about the speeding ticket that'll probably await him.

all he cared about were your arms looped around his waist and the fluttering in his chest.

he walked you up to your dorm. told you to keep the helmet, and the jacket. smiled— not grinned or smirked or anything smug of sort.

he smiled when he told him goodnight.

"don't I get one last kiss?"

he couldn't help it. he was greedy for what he thought was his.

and here you both were now. with him pinning you to the opened door. hands gripping your thighs that plushed on his waist. his mouth on yours. hot and hungry and the kind of desperate need that he hasn't felt before with any other girl.

your hands were in his hair again. they always were. holding your mouths together as you rutted your hips into his.

"babydoll," he groaned, withdrawing so that saliva webbed both of your lips. a few messy strings caught on his tongue piercing. his white lashes fluttered over blue eyes practically shaped into little hearts. "you don't know what you do to me."

his breathing was ragged. something clenched in his chest. then lodged in his throat.

something he couldn't quite name but wanted to say anyway as he looked into your glassy eyes and felt your hot cunt throbbing on him through his jeans.

he sucked in a breath. one large hand cupped your face and tilted it up. he drew closer. breaths bated. heart stuttering. "I—"

bzztt!

he cleared his throat. something told him to pull his phone out. the text floating on his screen had him blinking.

toru: dude I need your help.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ set you down. smooched you for good measure and apologised. called you his babydoll one last time and told you he had an emergency. satoru never texted him for anything. and as much as he'd love to spend another night between your thighs— his brother came first.

he rushed off. leaving you panting and with a heavy stone in your heart as you shut your door and pressed your back into it.

did you really just do that? did you really just use a man because he had the face of your rival who you fell in love with? because his voice sounded just like satoru's when he said the right thing in the right tone?

you looked at the helmet in your arms. remembered the jacket wrapped around you.

you felt sick.

but you shoved it down. told yourself that satoshi only wanted sex. that you'd never love someone like him. that this was fair transaction.

as you plopped the helmet on your desk and drew a heavy sigh. still hot and bothered between the legs as you flopped onto your stomach into your bed. pulling your pillow closer and burying your face into it with a muffled, exagerated whine at your own heart.

his jacket still felt so warm around you.

sleep. you just needed some sleep. needed to stop thinking about the twins that you were caught in some messy triangle with. your eyes hung heavy. fluttering shut as your breath slowed. body easing into the sheets. you allowed sleep to drift you off somewhere warm.

that was until. you felt a weight press down on top of you.

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ was shaking. actually shaking. his hands were shaking as they snatched your waist. his knees were shaking as they shoved into the bed. he watched you panic. watched you squirm. watched you jerk up— only to freeze when you saw him.

"sat— satoru?"

and he kissed you. harder than he had in the library. harder than in any of his dreams. it was clumsy and fervent. a clash of teeth and tongue.

the worst part? you kissed him back. fuck. you kissed him back. you want him. some part of you wanted him. even though you keep giving yourself to his bastard twin.

he gripped the back of your hair. shoved your face down and rutted his hips against your ass. slow, and rough and haphazard as groans caught in his throat.

he lurched down. nose pressing into your cheek and his cock throbbing against the back of your thigh.

a part of him thought his heart would stop from how hard it was beating. thought he'd pass out from pure hyperventilation with how heavy his breathing was.

his voice was ragged. it didn't sound like him. he didn't feel like himself. didn't know what he was doing— only that he was so. fucking. tired. of seeing you with satoshi.

"you wanted it?" he jammed his hips harder into yours. grinding in frantic bucks. "then you're gonna take it."

teeth clenched. eyes glossy behind his glasses. he shoved your head into the pillow further and nearly whined at your muffled moans as he pressed his panting mouth against your ear.

jaw ticked. breath jagged.

"even if I don't know how to give it. you're gonna fucking take it."

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/cursed-carmine. art cred: @/_teaforgods (ig).

♡ ₊˚‧ enjoyed this piece? consider joining my patreon or commissioning me <3 I appreciate all the support!

basically, that guy is always out every day, and as much as you’d love to join him, he’s just too fast

he’s a busy god, but he will always find time for you, as little as that time may be

hermes most definitely tries to get his duties done as quick as possible so he can spend his time with you

but he always seems to be late :(

he will make it up to you tho!!! he loves you and he will do whatever he can to make sure you know that!!

loves giving you gifts from whatever jobs he has been working for the day, such as flowers or cool looking stones he had found along the way

the type of guy to find heart-shaped rocks and keep a collection for you

you have a box full of knick knacks that he had given to you over the years, which also has a medallion that he had made for you when he asked you to accept him as yours

he is a kind god to you, and whilst his work is serious, he enjoys the comforting slow moments that the two of you share

when he hears that you have something planned, maybe a small picnic or a a simple night of reading, he can’t help but dote on you for being so sweet

he is in no rush to be up and out of your room, in fact he’d much rather stay indoors all day with you, but when duty calls he must answer

hermes isn’t one to just let you do all the planning, though

on the very special occasion that he has more time off to spend with you, then he would be preparing something for the two of you

he would love to surprise you with a dinner (that hestia definitely didn’t just conjure up for him) one night and watch your face light up

life before hermes might’ve been quiet for you, but once he crashed himself towards you, life has been filled with crazy things

when you were first on olympus, it was in the middle of a fight between ares and apollo and you had to sit and watch as hestia and athena tried to make them stop

he was a bit embarrassed but you assured him that you didn’t mind

he was worried that the life he lived wouldn’t be right for you, that he’d scare you off and you’d go and live the rest of your life without him

but you held his hand and told him that you welcome his hectic life, and you even told him that you were excited to see what lies ahead for you both

he promised you that from then on, he would protect you

he wants nothing more than for you to have a peaceful life

that being said, of course you’d have to face some problems whilst being amongst the gods

one or two times a month, hera and zeus will be arguing and all of olympus will shake

sometimes, ares will annoy his half-siblings to no end

either way something is always happening, and hermes makes sure you are safe (with a good view to watch if you want to witness the drama lol)

whilst he’s away, you keep track of all the things that happen in his absence, like if hephaestus has created something new, or if dionysus has thrown another extravagant party for no reasob

he’s more than happy to hear about it as he relaxes in your arms

your voice soothes him, and how you go into detail makes hermes feel as if he was there himself

he’s often able to read you, like when you’re upset or you’re excited to tell him something

you two rarely fight due to that fact, but there have been a couple times

once was when he was in a fight with enyo, ares’ sister who was just as ferocious, for some unknown reason, and you had spoken up, stood in between them to try and diffuse the situation

whilst it worked, and enyo no longer felt any joy in beating up hermes as ares did, the messenger god was upset with you, saying that you could’ve gotten hurt but you didn’t care as long as he was okay

he would overcome his anger after a bit, but he only asked you to be careful

you admitted that it was a stupid attempt, but it was successful and that’s all that mattered, and you saw his look of relief when you said wouldn’t put yourself literally in harm’s way again

another time, he had attempted to speed through a date with you in order to another job that he had to complete

you had spent a week preparing everything only for it all to be finished up in less than an hour

you went to bed upset that night and hermes collapsed beside you out of pure tiredness, only realising you were angry when you refused to turn over to see him

ended up apologising for the night, promising that you two could redo everything how you planned, whilst holding you and relishing in your warmth like he always wanted to do

you caved and forgave him since, at the end of the day, you know he’d never do that on purpose, but you just needed to have your angry moment done with

but overall, you two have quite the happy relationship

you spend nights with hermes, talking of plans for the both of you and discussing his work for the day

he is more than happy to just listen, he likes to have all of his attention on you

if you’d let him, he’d lay his head on your lap and listen to you read the thousands of scrolls from his library

sometimes he’ll kiss you in between sentences, yearning for the contact after memorising every factor of your gorgeous face

his favourite place to kiss you is your cheek, since he can feel you smile at the contact

additionally, he’ll kiss your knuckles as a sweet greeting

your laughter fuels him for the day, and he rushes home to meet with you again

if you’re not waiting in your shared bedroom, then you’re either in the garden or in his library, making yourself busy

on the rare occasion you aren’t, then he believed that you’d be with one of his siblings, most likely apollo, artemis or hephaestus

you do miss being surrounded by other mortals, but you had to admit the olympians were intruging

a handful of times hermes has found you writing poetry with apollo or learning how to shoot with a bow and arrow with artemis

it warms his heart to know that you get along well with them

he is also incredibly thankful that you always welcome him home with a smile, an embrace and a sweet kiss

you make every day less stressful simply by being there with him

he tries to quietly get out of bed in the mornings so you don’t wake, but he knows you’d kill him for not at least kissing you goodbye

most times you’re awake as he puts on his gear

he lets you watch when he hears you call out to him, and he laughs at your passing comments on his appearance

he calls you ‘my love’ or ‘my darling’ a lot of the times, and you melt every time

he enjoys it when you call him ‘handsome’, ‘lover boy’ or ‘dear’

first time you called him by anything other than his name or title, he couldn’t focus on anything you were saying and instead smothered you in kisses and the tightest of hugs

if you’re ever playfully mad at him, then he’ll use all the sweet pet-names he knows to make you smile and laugh

he’s let you try on his helmet and wear his invisibility cloak a few times now, chuckling when the hat suited specifically for him wouldn’t fit on your head

you like to scare hermes by using the cape every now and then

first time you did, he screamed so loud that everyone thought he was getting attacked and rushed to help, but was met with the sight of you laughing your ass off and hermes with an embarrassed blush over his face

sometimes, he will leave little notes around the bedroom or library for you to find

they’re often little jokes and riddles, but sometimes he’ll pour out a piece of his heart for you to read

you keep these notes in the same box as the trinkets

he’s not one to get easily jealous

if there’s anyone that has tested his patience when it came to your affection, it would be dionysus, who always offers you a glass of his best wine and seems to gravitate towards you during festivities

once, dionysus had gotten close enough to whisper a joke in your ear, and as soon as hermes, who was across the room, had heard your sweet laughter, he raced towards you two and sat directly in the middle

you were happy to see him, now holding his hand tightly, and dionysus was none the wiser to the messenger’s attitude, opting to now whisper to hermes for the rest of the night as the two of you joked about

he knows that dionysus is just being friendly, but to have someone else elicit such a reaction from you rubbed hermes the wrong way

you don’t tend to get jealous very often as you’re close with hermes’ circle of friends and family, however you did get irritated with a loyal mortal follower of hermes

they had been leaving him offerings at his temple for weeks at that point, asking for the grace of their god to be bestowed upon them, reaching out for hermes to take them as a prize

hermes found it delusional, and it fuelled your annoyance knowing you couldn’t do anything about it

your lover eased your mind as he sent messages to the follower, denying his offer and requesting he stay loyal to all gods and goddesses and stay true to his own morals, he did not wish to take them in any way, shape or form

he likes to sleep with his head against your chest as he hugs your waist, enjoying the feeling of your hands in his hair and the sound of your heartbeat

if you’d like to switch spots, he’s more than happy to do so as well

something about the way you look when you sleep on his chest makes his heart melt

since his hair needs to be taken care of before he goes out, hermes allows you to braid it if you want, and teaches you if you want to learnt how to do it

he once spent a whole day doing his work with a neat bow attached to the end of his braid, courtesy of you

you also like to brush his silky hair after he bathes, drying it for him and letting him sit in front of you as you comb it out

often times he will return the favour and comfort you, opting for massages or kisses

he might even steal apollo’s lyre to serenade you, playing it masterfully to your shock as you never knew he was the one who gifted apollo the instrument

the guy just wants you to know that he loves you, and he’s willing to do whatever he can to make every day happy for you

“baby, please,” he tried again. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to make you mad.”

you furrowed your eyebrows, but still didn’t spare him a glance. he sighed.

“i’ll never do it agai—”

“do you even know why you’re apologizing, isagi yoichi?!” you asked, exasperated. your boyfriend froze on the spot when hearing his full name, because of course he didn’t. 

as far as he knew, you were having a great day together. he bought you breakfast from your favorite bakery, you made a delicious lunch and then you two went out shopping. he even gifted you with a beautiful necklace after an enthusiastic shop employee offered to show him some pieces—

oh.

“you got jealous of the saleswoman?”

“blah blah you got jealous of the saleswoman? heck yeah I did!” you impersonated him with a high pitched, sarcastic voice that showed just how mad you were. “she was all over you, yoichi, and you didn’t do anything!” 

he swallowed thickly, daring to approach you on the couch. he hugged your frame, despite the crossed arms in front of your chest making it a little hard.

“i’m sorry, darling. i didn’t even notice she was being inappropriate because you’re the only one i pay attention to. and i always figured people would never dare be so bold if you’re by my side and we’re clearly together.”

his sweet words coated you, making you glance away, knowing that looking at his puppy eyes would end you for good. 

“you should have done something anyway.”

“i know. i totally should, and i’m sorry i didn’t. i never meant to make you feel bad or let people disrespect you.” he rested his chin on your shoulder, breath shuddering right on your ear.

the sincerity in his voice was enough to chip away your anger, and you visibly relaxed in his embrace. yoichi held a breath of relief, knowing he still had to be careful.

“i’m sorry, baby. it won’t happen again. forgive me, please?” he placed a sweet kiss on your cheek, and god, how could you keep being mad like that?

damn isagi yoichi and his genuine blue eyes.

you uncrossed your arms, embracing his instead, and finally looked at him with love again.

“fine. but just because you’re so charming, ‘ichi.”

he chuckled. “you’re the charming one. i’m totally under your spell, darling.”

and when your lips met, yoichi hoped to keep living just to have more of you.

NAGI SEISHIRO

people would often ask him if his detached, nonchalant persona ever got in his way through his life. seishiro would always say no, because everything and everyone he did care about understood his lazy way and inability to do… pretty much everything.

that didn’t mean he never made the effort, though. as much as nagi liked to live like a sloth and just go on with his life playing video games, there were still things in his life that were worth it. like football. his friends. and you, of course. 

ever since you met, seishiro discovered that being with you wasn’t a bother. and after he fell in love and you became a couple, he found himself eager to indulge you, even if it meant going out of his way. his friends congratulated him and expressed genuine happiness to see how much he improved, and that, along with your beautiful smile, filled his heart with joy. 

however, no matter how much he tried, he was still…

“nagi seishiro.” 

a shiver ran down his spine with the sound of your voice, and not the good kind. he had never heard you sound so stern, so angry, so… disappointed, even. enough to leave a sour taste in his mouth. so much so he immediately lifted his eyes from his console, only to find your harsh gaze.

“ehh? wha’ did i do, angel? don’t say my name like that,” he pouted, crawling towards your body splayed on the bed. 

even when you tried to fight his embrace, nagi took advantage of his large frame to engulf you and lay his head on your chest, so you wouldn’t walk away in case you got any angrier.

“babeeeee,” he whined, hugging you tighter.

“let go of me,” you said, and he just shook his head. “you deserve it. you weren’t even listening to what i was saying, were you?”

what a hassle. he really wasn’t listening, but… well, he got way too focused on beating the last boss. could you really blame him? 

he heard you scoff. “oh, my bad, i should have known it was the last boss. it’s more important than me anyway, right, nagi?”

fuck. fuck. fuck. did he say that out loud? he sounded like a dick. you had every right to be mad and call him by his full or last name. 

nagi lifted his head from your chest to look at you, feeling his throat tighten with the sight of your teary eyes. guilt gnawed at his chest when seeing how upset and frustrated you were. 

“eh, ’m sorry, pretty thing. i got too caught up ‘n didn’t notice you were talking t’me.”

“am i that invisible to you?” a tear almost rolled down your cheek. seishiro shook his head, a little more exasperated than usual. 

“huh? ’f course not, angel. y’re never invisible. all i see is you. y’re the most important to me,” he held eye contact, and even though you wanted to tear your gaze away, seishiro’s eyes were more magnetizing than ever, even if your view was a little blurry.

you knew your boyfriend wasn’t the type to lie, since he always claimed it was a hassle. you knew you were important to him, but his lack of consideration still hurt. 

“i’ll apologize as many times as you wish. ‘m sorry for not listening and making you feel bad. i never wan’ you to feel bad, pretty thing.” 

nagi used his strength to roll around and switch your positions, in a way you were on top of him instead. he started caressing your hair in a soothing motion, making your eyelashes flutter. “y’can talk as much as you want. i promise i’ll listen t’you.”

your eyes welled with tears for a different reason, and you hugged the striker as hard as you could. even if he faltered, seishiro never failed to make up to you and make you feel loved.

“promise, sei?”

“promise.”

ITOSHI SAE

although sae wasn’t exactly smart in the emotions field, he always knew when you weren’t happy with something. you scowled, huffed and rolled your eyes, keeping an eerie silence that was only broken when absolutely necessary. 

at that moment, he was sure you weren’t happy with him.

you both kept to yourselves while still at the event, masquerading any problems for the cameras. sae had a hand at the small of your back and he could feel how stiff you were. the midfielder wouldn't admit that seeing you so uncomfortable around him made his heart pang.

at the limo, the path to your shared penthouse was quiet, and you brushed him off when he tried to hold your hand. sae could only stare at his window with furrowed brows, itching to dissipate this awkward atmosphere. he never liked when you were mad, especially at him.

he expected some sort of explosion when you got to your apartment, but you kept your glaze off him, trying to walk to the bedroom for your night routine without even sparing him a word. 

nuh-uh. that wouldn’t do. 

he held your wrist before you could go, and lightly pulled you so that you were facing him. your eyes widened with the sudden movement, but narrowed as soon as landed on his face. 

“why are you mad?”

you scoffed. the audacity of this man. 

“you know exactly why i’m mad, itoshi sae.”

shit, the government name? you were really fucking angry.

“i wouldn’t be asking if i knew,” he answered, immediately regretting it when you glared at him, as if saying that wasn’t the right answer. “i-i mean… i didn’t realize what was wrong, amor.”

you walked closer to your boyfriend, making him release your wrist. despite his typical stoic face, sae was clinging to your every word.

“itoshi sae, you can not talk to your little brother like that!” you nearly growled on his face, surprising him. “you were very rude and condescending, and that’s no way to speak to rin!”

he frowned. you were mad because of rin? the little green monster inside of him threatened to grow, but he forced him to stay put. sae didn’t want to anger you further, so he simply let his hands slither to your hips, pulling you closer to him.

“i don’t think i was rud—” you lifted one eyebrow, and he rolled his eyes. “fine. i might have been kinda harsh.”

“and?” you crossed your arms.

he sighed. “i will apologize.”

“i’m serious about this, itoshi sae. i will ask rin—”

“i’ll tell him i’m sorry, okay? no need to keep talking about rin.” he interrupted, palms traveling to your ass while he nosed your neck. he planted a small kiss under your ear, huffing a minty breath that made you shudder. sae smirked. “and no need to keep calling me by full name, either. what happened to ‘cariño’?”

you held onto his biceps for some grounding, but still didn’t budge. 

“you weren’t very sweet today, so it’s not fitting.” 

he pouted while hiding in your neck, taking full advantage that you couldn’t see him, but was quick to withdraw to face you once again, touching your noses. one of his hands cradled your jaw, and you sighed with the pathetic effect your boyfriend had on you. 

“perdóname, amor?” he whispered against your lips, eyes sincere like you knew he could be. your poor little heart could never resist him when he was like this, rarely vulnerable and eager for you.

you gave a long exhale, arms moving to tangle around his neck. and folded.

“as long as you make it right, mi cariño.”

© 2024 itoshiexx. do not plagarise, translate, or repost any of my work on here or other sites.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　𓆩♡𓆪

The collar was black. Supple leather, lined in deep velvet. Not flashy. Not harsh. Nothing sharp or ornamental. It wasn’t a trophy. It was a promise.

You fastened it slowly around Aventurine’s throat, adjusting the buckle until it sat snug against his skin, resting in the hollow between his collarbones. His breathing had grown shallower with every click, every brush of your fingers. But he didn’t pull away.

He didn’t stop you.

And now—now he knelt.

He looked beautiful like that. Not just in the aesthetic sense, though he always had a way of appearing curated, even when undone. No—this was deeper. He looked like something offered.

The room was low-lit. Heavy drapes. No mirrors. No performance. Just you and him, framed in candlelight and silence. Your voice was the only thing allowed to break it.

“You’re trembling.”

His eyes flicked up, fast. Shame tightening his jaw before he could stop it.

“I’m not—”

“You are,” you said gently. “And that’s okay.”

He exhaled like the air had been trapped in his chest for years.

You reached out, brushing his hair from his forehead, slow. He didn’t lean into it, but he didn’t pull back. Still learning. Still testing the depth of the space you’d carved open between you.

“I want to hear you say your safeword.”

“…Now?”

“Yes.”

His lips parted, then closed again. A flicker of pride, of resistance. Not defiance—just fear dressed in finery.

You tilted his chin up, thumb dragging along the edge of his jaw.

“Say it for me, Aventurine.”

“…Citrine.”

The word hung in the air. Soft. Almost delicate. Like it didn’t belong in his mouth.

“Good,” you murmured. “That word is power. Not weakness.”

You saw it flash in his eyes. That old wiring. That ache. The way he’d been taught that power only came through performance or control, through being sharper, cleverer, faster.

And now here you were, asking him to surrender.

You reached for his shirt. Silk, crisp, fitted. The kind of thing he wore like a second skin. You undid the buttons slowly, not ripping or demanding, but unwrapping him like something valuable. Something earned.

By the time you slid it off his shoulders, his breath had quickened again.

“Color?” you asked softly.

He blinked. “Huh?”

You smiled. “Give me your color.”

“…Green.”

Safe. Uncertain, but safe.

You trailed your fingers down his chest—bare, smooth, too still.

“I want to see you move when I touch you. Not freeze.”

He swallowed hard.

You leaned in, lips brushing just beneath his ear. “You don’t have to be perfect here. You just have to be mine.”

He shivered.

“…Yes, Master.”

There it was. That subtle quake beneath the surface. Not fear. Relief.

You reached for the tie you’d laid on the bed earlier—rich crimson silk, soft and long. A blindfold, if needed. A restraint, if wanted. But tonight, just a tether. You looped it gently around his wrists behind his back—not tight. Just a suggestion.

“Sit back on your heels.”

He obeyed.

You let the silence stretch, letting him feel the leash of your presence even without a word. Your gaze burned into him—watching the way his chest rose and fell too fast, the way his fingers twitched behind him, even restrained.

Then you spoke. Low. Commanding. Steady.

“Say it.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Say… what?”

“Who you are.”

His throat bobbed.

You took a step forward, letting your fingers trail beneath the collar at his throat.

“Say it, Aventurine. Who do you belong to?”

“…You.”

“That’s not enough.”

He shuddered.

“I belong to you,” he whispered. “I’m… I’m your slave.”

The words cracked on the edge of something old—something raw.

And you knew. That this wasn’t the first time he’d said it. But it was the first time he wasn’t punished for saying it wrong. The first time he wasn’t being used like a toy to be broken and left behind.

This was the first time he said it and wasn’t afraid.

You stepped around him slowly, trailing your hand across his bare shoulder as you did.

“You’re mine,” you said, voice smooth as heat. “Because you asked to be. Because I said yes. And now… I’m going to show you what that means.”

You stopped behind him, let your hand drop lower, brushing the curve of his spine.

“You’re going to listen.”

Your hand slid lower—over the waistband of his slacks, down to his thigh.

“You’re going to obey.”

You knelt beside him now, brushing your lips over his temple.

“And if I touch you and you shake, I’ll hold you.”

He let out a small sound—too raw to name. You felt his breath stutter. His entire body leaned just slightly into yours. Like the tension in his shoulders had finally started to give.

“Color?” you asked, voice warm.

“…Green,” he whispered.

You smiled.

“Good slave.”

His eyes fluttered shut. His lips parted. And for the first time since you’d collared him, Aventurine didn’t look composed.

He looked free.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　𓆩♡𓆪

You guided him onto the bed slowly. Not forced. Not posed. You didn’t bend him—you invited him. And he followed.

The sheets were dark—deep maroon silk, soft enough to slide against bare skin without a sound. The collar caught the light in a subtle gleam as Aventurine lowered himself down, legs folded beneath him, arms still behind his back. You sat in front of him, letting the room fall to quiet.

He was breathing a little too fast again.

You reached out, cupping his jaw in one hand. His lashes fluttered.

“Color?”

“…Green,” he whispered.

Your thumb stroked his cheek. “You’re doing beautifully, treasure.”

His breath hitched again, this time from something that almost sounded like relief.

You leaned in and kissed him. Soft. Just once. And when you pulled away, you saw the dazed flicker in his eyes.

You didn’t ask for more yet. You just started touching him—slow strokes of your fingers over his chest, his arms, his thighs. Mapping. Worshipping. Letting him feel like something sacred.

“You’ve been holding yourself together for so long,” you murmured, tracing the hollow of his hipbone. “You don’t have to anymore.”

Aventurine’s body twitched under your touch, heat flashing across his face. He was already hard—aching against the front of his slacks, pulse pounding through him in quiet, desperate waves.

You kissed his collarbone, then lower. “I want to see what you look like when you come apart.”

He made a noise—small, breathy.

“I want to see how messy I can make you.”

Another whimper. This one sharper.

You undid the button on his slacks. Pulled the zipper down with slow, steady fingers.

"You’ve kept yourself so clean," you said. "So controlled."

You slid his pants down, along with his briefs. His cock sprang free, flushed red, already leaking.

"But this isn’t clean," you whispered, wrapping your hand around the base. “This is filthy. Needy. And it belongs to me.”

He shivered violently. You felt his knees twitch beneath him.

“You’re mine, Aventurine.”

He nodded. “Y-Yes, Master.”

You pumped him slowly—light pressure, thumb teasing over the slit. You kissed down his thigh as you worked, feeling the tension begin to fracture.

"That’s it," you whispered, lips brushing his inner thigh. “Breathe for me, pretty boy.”

He did. He tried. He was panting now, head tilted back, fingers clenched behind him like he didn’t know where else to hold the sensation.

“Such a good thing,” you crooned. “So obedient. So sweet. So ready to break.”

Your tongue flicked over the tip. He jerked—gasped.

"Color?" you murmured against him.

“…Green,” he rasped. “F-fuck—green—”

You hummed in approval, then dragged your tongue up his shaft, slow, tasting every drop he’d spilled.

"Look at you," you whispered, mouth just above his cock. "So wet already. You’d let me ruin you with just my tongue, wouldn’t you?"

He moaned—loud.

So you took him in. Not all the way. Just the head. Just enough to pull a shudder from his hips before you pulled off again.

“Not yet,” you murmured, hand stroking him again, firmer. “You don’t get to cum until you beg.”

You leaned up, lips brushing his ear.

“And not like a businessman,” you whispered. “Not like a negotiator. Like a whimpering little thing.”

His cock twitched in your fist.

"Say it."

“I—”

"Say what you are.”

“…Your p-pet,” he gasped.

You squeezed.

"Not good enough."

“I’m your—your toy—your slut—”

"Good," you growled. "Getting closer."

You tugged his head back by the collar, made him look at you.

"You’re mine, aren’t you?"

“Yes—yes, I’m yours—please, Master—please let me cum—"

And then he choked on a sound. His whole body jerked.

And the word fell from his lips:

“Yellow.”

You froze.

Not in fear. Not in failure.

In readiness.

Your hand left his cock instantly. You released the collar. Your voice softened.

“Hey.” You cupped his cheek. “You did perfect. You’re safe.”

His breathing was erratic. His eyes were glossy. But he wasn’t panicked. Not quite. Just too much. Overwhelmed. Drenched in sensations he’d never let himself feel before.

“I didn’t want to stop,” he said, voice breaking. “It just—just hit too fast—”

You nodded. Kissed his temple. Held his jaw steady.

“You did everything right,” you whispered. “I’m proud of you.”

He shivered. A small sound leaked from his throat—frustration. Shame. Something old.

You held him.

“You said yellow,” you murmured. “Not red. That means we slow down. We breathe. We check in.”

You reached for the silk tie around his wrists, undoing it gently.

He was trembling now.

And when he whispered, “I’m sorry,” you cut him off immediately.

“Don’t apologize,” you said. “Not for taking care of yourself. Not with me.”

He went quiet. Eyes searching yours.

“…So we can still—?”

You smiled.

“We’re going to continue. If you want to. And this time?”

You leaned in, kissed him slow, deep, open-mouthed.

“I want you to give me your surrender.”

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　𓆩♡𓆪

He was still shaking when you brought him back to the bed.

Not from fear. Not from regret. From how much it was.

He let you hold him without asking. Let you kiss the top of his head, run your fingers down the back of his neck, cradle him in your lap like something precious. And when your hand slid to his thigh again—he opened his legs without hesitation.

“I want you inside me,” he whispered. “Please.”

Your fingers traced the line of his inner thigh, featherlight. “You sure?”

His breath caught.

Then, “Yes, Master.”

You smiled, leaned in, and kissed the side of his mouth. “Then I’ll give you what no one else ever did.”

He blinked, eyes fluttering.

“What’s that?”

You kissed his throat, tongue dragging over the edge of the collar.

“Time.”

You laid him out like he was something sacred—chest to the sheets, legs parted, cheek resting against a silk pillow. He looked wrecked already. Hair wild, skin flushed, cock twitching against his stomach. He still had the collar on.

Your hand ran down his back slowly, fingers trailing the curve of his spine. You watched his hips twitch in anticipation.

And then you whispered, “I’m going to stretch you open now.”

Aventurine shuddered.

“Not like them,” you added, voice low and warm. “Not fast. Not hard. Not careless.”

You pressed a kiss to the small of his back.

“Like this.”

Your hand slid between his legs, parting them more. You took your time with the lube—warm, slick, worked between your fingers before you ever touched his hole. You let your thumb rest against the rim, not pushing, just being there.

“Breathe for me,” you whispered. “Color?”

“Green,” he rasped. “Fuck, I’m green—just—please.”

You slid one finger in. Slowly. No resistance. Just heat. Just a shaky, desperate moan beneath you.

“That’s it,” you murmured. “That’s my good boy.”

He gasped into the pillow, his whole body tensing—then softening.

"You're so tight," you praised. "So soft inside. You were made for this."

You curled your finger, watching the way he arched, hips twitching.

“M-Master—”

You hummed, kissing the dip of his back.

“I know. It’s good now, isn’t it?”

He nodded, whimpering.

You took your time. You didn’t rush the second finger. You didn’t stretch him to watch him squirm—you stretched him because you wanted him to be ready. You wanted to give his body the chance to welcome you.

Not endure you.

Aventurine was panting now. His cock leaked freely onto the sheets. Every twist of your fingers sent a sob through him.

“You’re doing so well,” you whispered. “Letting me open you. Letting me feel how warm you are inside. This hole is mine now, isn’t it?”

He moaned—wrecked, high, humiliated.

“Yes, Master—it’s yours—just yours—”

You slipped in a third finger, carefully, watching his back arch as he cried out.

But he didn’t say yellow.

He didn’t say stop.

He pushed back.

You grinned.

“Oh, you’re greedy now,” you murmured against his ear, one hand reaching around to grip his leaking cock. “You want it all, don’t you?”

He whimpered. Nodded. Twitched in your hand.

"Say it."

“P-please,” he sobbed. “Please fill me—break me—fuck me full—I want to be yours inside—please, I need your cock—”

You laughed—low, hot, proud.

“Oh, my sweet little slut.”

He gasped—choked on it.

You leaned down, kissed the back of his neck. Then whispered, “You like being called that now, don’t you?”

“…Y-yes—”

“You like being my toy. My slave. My obedient little hole.”

His whole body seized.

“F-fuck—!”

You pulled your fingers out—slow, careful, teasing.

He sobbed at the loss.

You lined yourself up, pressed the tip against his stretched, slick entrance.

He pushed back instantly.

"Greedy thing," you growled. "Beg for it."

“Please, Master—please—fuck me—ruin me—make me your cumdump—please—”

And you gave him exactly what he asked for.

You sank in.

All the way.

Slow. Measured. No brutality. No rush. You slid into him inch by inch, letting him feel it, letting him open around it, letting the stretch burn sweet and thick as your cock filled his aching hole.

Aventurine gasped—his voice a cracked moan as his body trembled beneath yours.

“Oh, f-fuck—” he choked out, knuckles white as they dug into the sheets.

You leaned down, one arm braced beside his head, the other gripping his hip tight, keeping him spread open as your cock bottomed out, balls resting snug against his skin.

“There it is,” you whispered into his ear. “Feel that? That’s me, inside you.”

He whimpered. You felt the clench around you—tight, slick, hungry.

“This is what you needed all along. Not a man who takes. A man who fucks you like he owns every inch.”

You pulled back—slowly—and thrust in again, long and deep, your cock dragging against the sweet spot that made his legs shake.

He moaned—loud, broken. His cock throbbed untouched against the sheets.

You kept the rhythm slow, heavy, grinding deep with every thrust, pushing the sound out of him with every roll of your hips.

“Y-you’re so deep,” he gasped. “I—I can feel you in my stomach—Master—please—”

You kissed his neck, teeth grazing the collar. “You’re taking it so well. My pretty little whore.”

He shuddered. “Yes—yes—call me that again—”

You thrust deep—he jerked, crying out.

“Say it.”

“I’m your whore,” he whimpered. “I’m your obedient whore—use me—please—just—”

He clenched around you, hole fluttering, walls pulsing like he was already about to cum.

You grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling his head back.

“Don’t cum,” you growled into his ear. “Not until you break for me.”

Aventurine whined, a high, needy sound, mouth open, drool slipping down his chin as you kept fucking into him—slow, deep, deliberate.

“Faster,” he sobbed. “P-please—Master—please fuck me harder—need it—need you to ruin me—”

You slammed in hard. He screamed.

“Oh, that’s it,” you growled. “You like it now, don’t you? You like being fucked stupid.”

“Y-yes—yes, I do—please—don’t stop—”

You pulled the leash tighter, using it to anchor him as you began thrusting fast, hard, pounding into his slick hole until the slap of skin-on-skin echoed with every deep, bruising thrust.

“You gonna cum like this?” you hissed. “Face in the sheets, used, leaking, begging?”

“Yes—yes—I’m your cumslut—I’m yours—only yours—”

His words collapsed into gasping cries, voice breaking every time your cock slammed into that same aching spot deep inside.

You reached under him, fisted his cock—already wet, throbbing, twitching.

“You want to cum, slut?”

He nodded frantically, tears slipping down his cheeks.

“Then fucking ask.”

“Please—Master—please let me cum—let me make a mess for you—please—”

You grinned.

“Cum for me, slave.”

He screamed.

His body seized, hole clenching so tight around your cock it almost pushed you over the edge. His cum splattered across the sheets in thick, hot streaks, and he collapsed beneath you—shaking, moaning, drooling, trembling with every aftershock as you kept fucking him through it.

He was babbling now. You didn’t need to understand. It was all yours.

You growled low, thrusting one last time and spilling inside him, hot and thick, grinding deep as you filled him to the brim. He sobbed into the sheets—completely broken open, your cum leaking from his fluttering hole as he whispered, “Thank you, Master,” again and again.

You kissed his shoulder.

“You did so well for me,” you murmured. “So good. So obedient. So mine.”

He made a small sound—something close to a sob—but there was no fear in it.

Only peace.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　𓆩♡𓆪

You didn’t let go of him. Not once. Not when he came undone under you, not when his body collapsed into aftershocks, not when his sobs started—quiet and broken, into the silk sheets.

You stayed inside him, shallow and warm, one hand on his waist, the other splayed across his chest. His breath came in shivers. His body twitched with every small pulse of aftershock, still spread open, still marked by you.

And still, he whispered, “Thank you, Master.” Over and over again. Like a prayer. Like a child afraid of silence.

You kissed the back of his neck. Gently. “You don’t have to thank me for not hurting you.”

His fingers curled in the sheets. He didn’t answer right away.

You pulled out slowly. Your cum dripped down the inside of his thighs, hot and wet, and he didn’t move. He just exhaled—long, cracked, like the last of his performance was melting out of him.

You left only briefly. Warm towel. Cloth. Water. When you returned, he hadn’t shifted.

He was still kneeling.

Silent.

Shaking.

You moved behind him and eased him into your lap. Chest to back. He folded like he’d been waiting to. You wrapped your arms around him and held him there—wet, ruined, open—and he let you.

You cleaned him gently. Slow, soft, reverent. Not possessive now. Not hungry. Just present.

“I want to hear your color,” you whispered.

“…Green,” he breathed. “Just… slow.”

“Slow is good.”

Another breath. Then, quieter: “I don’t want to go back to my room.”

“You won’t.”

You tightened the towel around him, pressing your palm over his heart. The leather collar was still warm under your fingers.

“Does this still feel good?” you asked, thumb brushing it.

“…Yes.”

“Does it still feel like a leash?”

“No.”

“Good.”

You tilted his face toward you. His eyes were red, wet, shining.

He swallowed.

“I kept waiting for it.”

You blinked. “For what?”

“For the part where you stopped asking,” he said. “Where you just… took.”

Your breath stilled.

He looked down, shame creeping like old blood into his voice. “They didn’t ask. Not after I was sold. The first ones just—”

You adjusted your hold—firmer now. Grounded.

“I know.”

“There was a man who called me by my serial number,” he said. “Said names were for people.”

You didn’t speak. You held him tighter.

“I used to think… if I offered it first, let people use me, I was in control. If I moaned loud enough or spread my legs fast enough, maybe they’d forget I didn’t want it.”

His voice cracked. His jaw clenched.

“But none of them ever stopped.”

You found his hand. Laced your fingers through his.

“…And you did.”

You didn’t say of course. You didn’t say I’m not like them.

You said: “You said yellow. So I slowed.”

And something inside him shattered.

He didn’t break pretty. He broke real. Face crumpling, shoulders shaking, tears falling hard against your skin as he buried his face in your chest and wept.

Not from shame.

From being seen.

You rocked him gently. Back and forth. Holding him through every sob, every tremor, every time he tried to apologize only to collapse again.

“I didn’t think I could ever be like this again,” he whispered.

“Like what?”

“Soft.”

You closed your eyes. Kissed his hair.

“You’re not soft. You’re just safe.”

His breath hitched.

“I don’t remember the last time I felt wanted,” he said, voice thin, “without needing to win something first.”

“You didn’t win me,” you murmured. “You let me hold you.”

His lashes fluttered. His voice dropped to a whisper:

“…Was I good?”

You cupped his cheek, thumb wiping a tear from his flushed skin.

“You were perfect.”

He laughed. It broke halfway. “I look pathetic right now.”

“No,” you said, smiling. “You look mine.”

He flinched—just slightly—but he didn’t deny it.

You kissed his nose. Brushed his damp hair back.

“Can I ask you something?”

“…Anything.”

“What do you want me to call you now?”

You didn’t rush it.

“You can keep Aventurine. Or Slave. Or…” You paused. “Kakavasha.”

He blinked.

His breath caught in his chest.

“I haven’t heard that name in so long,” he whispered. “It feels like it belongs to someone else.”

You nodded. “It does.”

He looked at you, startled.

You smiled.

“But maybe… that someone still lives here.” You placed your hand gently over his heart.

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His throat worked. His lashes fluttered.

You leaned close, nose to his cheek.

“Until you decide… I’ll call you what I see.”

He swallowed.

“And what’s that?” he whispered.

You kissed the edge of his collar.