WICKED THRONE — S. MANJIRO

raven unit II (m)

Jeon Jungkook x Reader

‒ raven unit. (m) chapter two: red hawk. ✎  [11k words]

genre: political!Au, taskforce!Au, warcrime!Au

warnings: smut, angst, gore, violence, drug mentions, alcohol mention, graphic description of violence, death, fingering, penetrative sex, dirty talk.  With your life at risk and several people around you dead, your loyal head of security makes sure your safety is taken care of when he’s out of the picture. Three ruthless, dangerous and deadly men take on the task to protect and hide you, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok and the one in command, Jeon Jungkook. masterlist. chapter one.

Continuar lendo

darlin' darlin'

mikey x reader, ran x reader

summary - mikey decides it's time to remind ran who's in charge.

cws - sex worker reader, rans gf reader, mikey cucks ran, degradation, praise, i made mikey's cock huge what do you want from me. i don't think this is hurt comfort but there could be a littol angst in that rans not thrilled mikey's fucking his girlfriend and mikey's mean about it. daddy kink, reader sings.

MINORS DNI

Mikey didn’t want to come. He didn’t want to be at another club, he didn’t want to get high, or drunk, he was still hungover from the day before, a dull throbbing at the back of his head as he leans against the bar. He rubs his eyes.

“You can dip soon,” Sanzu offers. “This’ll be a great front for us, all the tips and stuff, s’great way to clean off our money. I give him a lotta shit but Haitani was right.” Mikey massages his temples. 

“What’s that they say about a broken clock?” He orders a whiskey. “That Haitani has to be right sometimes or someone woulda put a bullet through his head by now.” Sanzu snickers. The drink comes seconds later, chilled, with one large ice cube, exactly the brand he likes. The bar is crowded, but not packed, dark wood and red velvet. The brass accents sparkle in the low light, and men in expensive suits lounge in secluded benches. The stage is empty for now, but the floor of it shines, sparkling with expectation. “How does this work again?” Mikey takes another long sip. 

“The girls come out and perform,” Sanzu explains, “They collect tips, but the men have to bid on them blindly if they want to take them home for the night. They write how much they’d spend on a night with her, but they have to guess how much they’d go for, the bids aren’t displayed, and it costs 10,000 yen to bid. Highest bidder pony’s up and takes the girl for the night. All cash.” 

“Huh,” Mikey realizes he’s finished his drink quickly, the whiskey warm in his ribs. “You’re right, this’ll be perfect.” 

“I’m sure Ran had a great time testing them out,” Sanzu smiles wickedly, “He always does.” 

“Actually,” A voice pipes up from behind them, and Haitani Ran strides across the plush carpet over to the bar, “I liked one of ‘em so much I kept her. It finally happened, I’ve been tied down.” 

“Doubt it.” Sanzu’s grin widens. 

“I’m wounded,” Ran touches his heart, “You don’t think I could be happy with just one girl?.” Mikey clears his throat and Ran gives him a little bow. “Whaddya think?” He asks, gesturing to the packed gentlemans club and reluctantly Mikey nods. 

“It’s nice.” He sighs, and leans against the bar. “Looking forward to seeing the girls.” Ran nods. 

“Not to brag but I’ve outdone myself this time.” He orders a drink and it’s in his hands seconds later. 

“So, what?” Sanzu said, “Are we going to meet this girl?” 

“Yeah,” Ran sips his scotch, “She’ll perform, but uh, don’t think anyone’s gonna outbid me.” 

“You’re willing to bet on that?” Sanzu raises his eyebrows. 

“Literally, yes. No one here would cross me.” Ran says, his lavender eyes darkening. “Plus,” he grins, “Think this one might actually tie me down. For real.” 

“I’ve heard that before.” Rindou joins the group, shaking his head at his brother. 

“You’ll know when you see her!” Ran protests, “Bet even Mikey will admit she’s fine as fuck.” Mikey is getting a refill on his whiskey, and shrugs. 

“I’m,” he pauses, “Particular.” 

“As someone who’s spent a fair amount of time acquiring paid company for you,” Ran says, a weak smile on his face, “I know.” He stretches a little, enjoying that he’s a good few inches taller than even the next largest Bonten executive. 

“I like,” Mikey starts to explain, then stops, frowning, “I like nice girls.” He finishes. 

“She’s real nice,” Ran smirks, and Mikey doesn't get a chance to respond, because the lights darken, and the light chatter of the men in the booths subsides a little. The first woman walks onto the stage, in a green satin dress that skims her curves, with eyes that glitter, the pianist begins playing a soft, jazzy song and she opens her mouth, starting to sing. Her voice is low and sensual, and she keeps her eyes mostly closed, punctuating certain phrases by lifting her gaze to the audience, gifting them with her attention. Waitresses in tiny outfits take bids from men in bespoke suits, the smoke from their cigars wafts towards the ceiling. 

“I can’t believe you managed to combine the two things that rich assholes like most,” Rindou grumbles, “Pussy and gambling.” Sanzu nods. Ran leans back on the bar, 

“Even Kokonoi had to admit this was a good idea.” He says, as the first girl finishes her song, and is led off the stage by a waiter, who leads her to the booth with the man who had bid the most money. A pretty waitress with curly blonde hair taps Ran’s shoulder, hands him a note. “She just went for 500,000 yen. Cash.” 

“Don’t forget the other thing rich assholes like,” Rindou offers, “Showing off.” The man who won the first girl makes a show of putting his coat on and leading her upstairs and out of the bar, to the rooms upstairs. A few more women perform, and they’re all talented and beautiful in exactly the way Ran likes, kind smiles, intelligent eyes, something deeper happening behind the surface, the kind of beauty that makes men want to pry their souls open, and unravel their secrets. The kind of beauty that launches ships, that starts wars.

He had a talent, begrudgingly acknowledged among Bonten, for running these kinds of establishments, the same way Kokonoi could sniff out a deal, or Mikey’s natural predisposition to landing on his feet in a fight, he’d balance the right amount of discretion and flash, of propriety and fun. Of course, usually the most beautiful women ended up in his bed, and tonight would be no different, Mikey assumes. He glances at the exit, a few more women, each more talented and beautiful than the next, had taken the stage, and he was getting bored with the exercise. He stares out at the crowd of men, who would occasionally heckle each other and push each other to spend more, and downs his drink, eyes dulling. Is this the legacy Ran was comfortable leaving? He wonders, Ran who talked often and loudly, of his desire to father children, but seemed incapable of even sticking to a regular prostitute. Did he care what he was remembered for? Mikey is so busy studying his subordinate that he almost doesn’t see you walk on stage. 

The first thing Mikey sees is your thigh, a long leg peeking out from a slit that cuts nearly up to your hip, you can’t be wearing panties, is his first thought, you must not be, and his mouth drops open as the rest of you saunters on stage. The dress is low cut, a glistening red velvet, dipping between your perfect breasts, a thin gold chain is around your neck. Your hair is impeccably styled, sweeping around your face, the soft wash of makeup you’ve applied perfectly accentuates your natural, breathtaking beauty. A hush falls over the crowd, and you part your lips. 

“Love,” you start, perfectly on pitch, tone like a whispered bell tone, “I said, real love, is like feeling no fear, in the face of danger.” The music picks up underneath you, and when you open your eyes the energy in the room crackles, deep and dark, shimmering with energy, it’s like you’re staring right through the men in front of you. Mikey closes his mouth, but not before the others notice. None of them speak though, equally transfixed by your song, a modern siren in strappy heels and winged eyeliner. “A touch, from your real love,” you sing, the corner of your mouth twitching into a smile, “Is like heaven takin’ the place of somethin’ evil,” you sway gently, one hand delicately wrapped around the microphone stand. “And I want it,” You catch Mikey’s eyes, he could swear it, “So, much.” Mikey is distracted by Ran waving a waiter over and passing her a note. He realizes, floats back down to earth after his initial infatuation, and is immediately deeply annoyed at the idea of anyone else's hands on your body, anyone else parting your thighs. 

“Told ya she was fine.” Ran mutters, shaking his head at Mikey, who comes to terms with several things very quickly, one, that you weren’t his, two, that you were Ran’s of all people, and three, that unless he acted very quickly, you weren’t going home with him tonight. 

“Darlin, darlin, darlin,” you sing, closing your eyes, clinging to the microphone stand, “I fall to pieces, when I’m with you, I fall to pieces,” your hips are almost hypnotic, the softness of your voice is addicting, “My cherries, and wine, rosemary, and thyme,” and he feels almost paralyzed, stuck watching you, unable to call a waitress over, to tell Ran to hand you over. The song ends and a waiter helps you down from the stage in your heels, leading you to the back of the room, and a chorus of boos from the men as Ran slips his arm around your waist. 

“I pay for it just like you fellas,” He says with a grin, “Simmer down.” They do, after a few good natured jabs. Mikey’s stomach turns as you blink up at Ran, who leans down and presses a kiss to your lips. 

“Angel,” He says, gesturing to the other men. “These are my colleagues and my brother, Mikey, Sanzu, and Rindou.” You extend a manicured hand, your nails are the same deep red as your dress. They each take it, and greet you. “Dinner?” He says to the other men, “Or join me in the back once  you’ve,” he gestures to the stage, “Found some entertainment?” 

“I’ll come now.” Mikey says, unsmiling, sliding off his barstool. 

“There’s nothing you think could tempt you,” Ran teases, grip on your waist tightening, daring Mikey to rip you away, “Nothing at all?” The truth was unspoken between them, Mikey knew what he wanted, and Ran knew it too, knew that the pleasure he was dreaming of was locked between your legs, knew that his only hope of ecstasy was just out of reach. Mikey shrugs. 

“I’m,” he doesn’t look at you, “Particular.” Ran’s lips curl into a smile. 

“That you are, boss.” He leads you and Mikey out of the main room into a private dining area, slightly more well lit, a bit more golden, but in sharper relief you only look more beautiful, Mikey notes, settling on the other side of you at the table. Ran settles a hand on your thigh and orders for you, without asking what you’d want. Mikey follows, quickly and the scantily clad waitress disappears. 

“I find it hard to believe you’re so particular that no one here is your type,” You say to him, when the food starts to arrive, steaming baskets of dumplings opened on the table. “Not even Lara?” 

“Which one was Lara?” He asks, reaching for a dumpling. 

“She was first, in green.” You offer, and he shrugs. 

“I guess,” he says, “I work very hard, and I’m careful about dedicating my time to people who are untested.” You nod sagely. 

“That I can understand.” Sanzu and Rindou stumble in with girls on their arms. 

“Hope you paid,” Ran says, eyes narrowing, “We can’t be ripping ourselves off.” His hand moves up your thigh under the table, Mikey’s stomach turns, but you keep your face neutral, bringing a spoonful of soup to your lips. You lean into Ran’s arm, and Mikey swears he can see a slight blush creep onto the Bonten executive’s cheeks. 

“Excuse me,” you murmur, standing and walking to the bathroom. Mikey takes another big sip of his drink, the alcohol hits him hard, and he can’t tear his eyes from your disappearing figure.

“Listen,” Ran says, cutting in on his thoughts as you round the corner to the restrooms. “She’s a good girl,” Mikey looks at his executive, not catching what he means. “You can have her, for the night.” 

“For the night?” Mikey repeats. 

“I’m seeing her,” Ran says, checking his reflection in a knife. “I can’t say I’ll like it, but if you want her, go ahead. On me.” He glances at the shorter man. “Regrettably, I’m a touch attached.” 

“I can see that.” Mikey says, taking another sip of his drink. “I’ll take her.” Ran nods, and Mikey detects traces of vulnerability in him that he’s never seen before. “And you can watch.” Ran blinks at him. “You heard me.” Mikey deadpans. “You’ll be watching.” 

“I-” 

“This is not a negotiation.” Mikey’s eyes harden, “You don’t tell me that I can have something that belongs to Bonten, I own this place, I own you, and I definitely own her.” He scowls. An unreadable emotion crosses Ran’s face. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Glad we remembered our place.” Mikey stands, intercepting you as you return from the bathroom. “We’re going upstairs.” He says and you give him the gentlest, most polite smile, and a tiny little bow. He slips an arm around your waist, leading you up the stairs. They’re dark wood, and carpeted with a lush red rug, softening the sound of Ran’s footsteps behind you. “Do you have a room?” He asks, and you nod. 

“Yes, sir.” You chirp, your tone still soft and muted, but loud enough to cut through the sounds of the conversation in the restaurant below. You feel his grip on your waist tighten as you reach the top, steadying you in  your heels. You don’t look back at Ran, your heart racing. “This way.” You take them both down to the end of the hallway, and open a heavy, dark wood door. Your room has warm, rich, red walls, and dark furniture. There’s a huge bed, covered with pillows, and sitting next to a light pink armchair is a small wicker basket of what looks like toys. You hold the door for both men, Ran has to duck his head to fit under the door frame. You let it close behind you, standing in  your dress. Mikey walks immediately to the basket, digging through it. 

“Take your shoes off.” He orders, and you’re struck by how soft his voice is. It’s not light, or kind, but naturally soft, almost muffled. You sneak a glance at Ran, who's got his hands shoved in the pockets of his suit. You bend over, undoing the buckle on the top of your strappy heel and then stepping out of it, letting out a soft sigh of relief. You fold even more to get the other one, taking both and setting them next to the bed. Mikey hasn’t turned around, but you realize without your shoes that he’s actually taller than you. Ran is gigantic without your heels, well over six feet tall, and he doesn’t offer you any comfort, doesn’t dare touch you. His face is completely unreadable as Mikey takes the basket and sets it on the floor, striding across the room and handing something to you. They’re a pair of red leather handcuffs, the silver chain glinting in low light. “Put those on him.” Mikey says, and you reach for Ran’s hand, but the blonde clears his throat. “Behind his back.” 

“One sec.” Ran says, and his voice sounds normal, but there’s just a touch of forced brightness to his tone. He slips out of his huge suit jacket, setting it on top of your dresser. He must catch something in your expression, because he gives you a little smile, “Be gentle with me sweetheart,” he teases, and that brings a little smile to your face as you walk softly behind him. Mikey watches the small interaction, jealousy broiling in his stomach. Why Ran, he wondered, why Ran, of all people who you could seem deserving of affection. Vain, lazy, snarky, what the hell did Haitani Ran have that he didn’t? He clears his throat and for the first time, fear flashes on your face. 

“I’m having trouble with the clasp.” You look at him, doe eyed, begging for help and his cock twitches in his pants. 

“Here.” Mikey strides over, closing the cuffs and taking Ran by the arm, sitting him in the silk pink armchair, in full view of the bed. Ran shifts uncomfortably, it’s been a long time since he’d attempted to exist in any way while restrained. Mikey turns his attention to you, reaching out and gently pushing some hair out of your face. “Are you nervous,” he asks, hands coming to rest on your waist, you nod, and you feel his lips on your forehead, your eyes flutter shut. “I’m not gonna let him be upset with you,” he murmurs. “He, like you, belongs to me.” You look up at him sharply, and a little smile flits across his face. “That’s right.” He breathes, “That’s right, you belong to me.” His hand slips down the satin of your dress, and dips between the slit, moving between your thighs, finding you as bare as he’d expected. “Good girl,” he praises, immediately able to feel how wet you are, gathering some arousal on his fingers before dipping two of them inside you, feeling the warmth of your little gasp on his skin. “Shhhh,” he breathes, looking at Ran, who remains impassive, sitting in the chair. “Shhh, baby.” you feel his lips on your cheek as he starts pumping them in and out of you. He nudges your clit out of its hood with his thumb, lips trailing burning kisses down your cheek, to your jaw, to the crook of your neck. “I wanna see you cum for me,” he whispers, “I want to feel it on my fingers, understand?” 

“Mhm,” you whimper, already finding it difficult to keep your thighs from shaking, the pleasure he’s providing is so steady, not building, bringing you to a cliff and leaving you there. 

“You know why I’m prepping you so good,” he says, arm around your waist tightening as your moans rise in pitch, as the sound of him fucking you with his fingers becomes wet and lewd, “Know why, baby?” You shake your head dumbly. 

“No, I,” you shudder, he cuts you off mid sentence by flicking his thumb over your bud, “I, I don’t,” 

“Can’t even speak,” Mikey says, softly reveling in the little victory, “That stupid already, all the words gone from that pretty little head?” You nod, moaning softly, holding his gaze. “That’s it, look at daddy,” he coaches, “Want you to look me in the eyes while you cum for me, understand?” He picks up the pace, forcing any remnants of a response you could have to that back down in your throat. “I’m prepping you,”  he explains, with the patience of a saint as your noises start to sound less like pleas and more like whimpers, “Because you’ve never taken a cock like mine.” Ran shifts uncomfortably in his chair, just as Mikey kisses you, drinking up your soft little sounds. “Gonna cum?” He murmurs right into your lips, “Go ahead, cum for me, I wanna feel it.” 

“Oh,” you manage, the second your lips are free, your orgasm ripping through your body, overwhelming pleasure running through your veins, toes curling as you cling to Mikey for dear life, wrapping your arms around his neck. He holds you up, grunting softly as he lays you down on the bed. He’s drunk on you, drunk on the warmth of your skin, on your sweet, musical sounds, on the way your dress splays out underneath you. He’s nearly forgotten about his subordinate when he hears the chair creek again. He glances at the taller man, half climbed on top of you, one leg between your thighs, hands above your shoulders, when his lips curl into a cruel smile. Ran’s unmistakably hard, a huge tent in his suit pants as he squirms in the chair. A laugh falls from Mikey’s lips before he can stop it, and then he decides he doesn’t care, tapping you lightly on the arm and directing your attention to your boyfriend. 

“He must like you,” Mikey muses, “To still be getting off when he’s not even touching you,” Ran looks away. “Kind of,” Mikey traces a pattern on your bare thigh, “He’s kind of pathetic looking, like this.” You blink up at Mikey, then look over at Ran. Your teeth sink into your lower lip as you consider, and both men watch, you let out a soft little sigh. 

“Can I touch him?” You ask, and Mikey considers. 

“No.” He says after a long moment. “If he’s good, maybe I’ll let him eat my cum out of your pussy, hm?” He doesn’t give you time to react, pushing you back down on the mattress with one hand on your clavicle, climbing back on top of you quickly. He yanks his shirt off, throwing it on the floor and not missing the way your eyes rake down his chisled form, he might not be taller than Ran, but fuck he knew he was stronger. He pins your wrists to the bed and kisses you, losing himself in your softness, the way your body curves up to meet his, and fuck, yes, he knows he’s got you when you grind against his clothed thigh. 

“Fuck,” you both hear, and you freeze but Mikey ignores Ran, ignores him muttering under his breath, groaning, “Fuck, I,” you look over at him, and his face is red, he’s writhing against the restraints, desperately attempting to get some friction, some sensation from his cock that’s trapped in his pants. 

“You wanna look at him so badly,” Mikey cautions, ‘I’ll make you stare at him the whole time.” Your eyes widen and you focus back on him. “He’s not here,” Mikey breathes, and you shudder, feeling the warmth of his lips on your neck. “He’s not here, and you don’t belong to him.” He pushes your thighs apart with his legs, reaching up and fumbling with his fly. “You belong,” he sucks in a sharp breath, pressing the head of his cock to your pulsing clit, pulling away so that he could watch you reach to it, this, this was his favorite part. “You belong to me.” He roughly sheaths himself inside you and you keen, it hurts, he’s easily the longest, the thickest cock you’ve ever taken, tears spring to your eyes and he kisses them away, “Shhh, shh,” he says, oozing smugness, “So pretty, such a pretty girl,” he rolls his hips against yours experimentally, still half buried in you. 

“Please,” You beg, “Please, can  you, would you go slow?” He reaches down, cupping your face, 

“Paying attention to me now, huh?” He says, and you nod emphatically. 

“Sorry,”  you choke out, feeling him push a little further inside you, “Yes, yes daddy, I’m,” your eyes roll back in your head, he feels the way you clench around him. “Paying, I’m paying attention.” 

“Good girl,” he says, pushing the last few inches inside you, rubbing at your clit before withdrawing a little and fucking you deep and slow. You feel so full you struggle for breath, hands fisting the soft pink sheets, you feel him wiping away your tears as he picks up the pace just a little. “How does it feel? You feel full?” You nod, whimpering. 

“Feels, feels so good.” you choke out, “But it’s, it’s so much.” 

“I know,” he nods at you, mocking, glancing at Ran, “I know it’s so much, so much for our pretty girl to take huh?” Ran makes some kind of strangled noise in the chair. “Should have gagged you,” Mikey continues, still in the same sweet, soft voice he was speaking to you with, but there’s a darker undercurrent to his tone. “Always running your fuckin’,” he throws his head back with pleasure, “Runnin’ your fuckin’ mouth,” he looks down at you, “You, baby,” he fucks you harder, pulling sharp mewls from your lips, “You’re more than just a pretty face huh, got a fuckin’, fuckin’ incredible pussy,” you moan in response and he chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “Whaddya say when daddy gives you a compliment huh?” 

“Th-” you manage and you feel his cock nudge your g-spot for the third time in a row and know he’s found the right angle, the one that makes your toes curl, that arches your back up off the mattress, “Thank you daddy,” you get out the words on the edge of a hushed moan, “I, I’m gonna, if you keep fucking me there I”m gonna-” 

“Greedy,” he taunts, “You wanna cum twice before I do?” He’s losing some of his composure now, you’re sure of it, the feeling of your soft, warm walls clenching around him, but he manages to look at Ran and smirk, “You shoulda taught her better manners.” You don’t dare check on Ran, not again, but the idea of his eyes on your skin, on the way Mikey’s rocking the bedframe with the force of his thrusts makes the coil in your stomach tighten. 

“Jesus christ,” you hear and you catch Ran snap the toy handcuffs like they’re plastic, not bothering to remove them from his wrists before unbuttoning his pants and pulling his cock out with a desperate urgency, “Please,” he begs, in a tone you’ve never heard before, that he’s never used with you, and that’s when you realize that he’s talking to Mikey, “Please don’t stop, fuck,” Ran shudders as he rubs the tip of his cock before fucking, “God, she’s so hot I-” 

“If you cum before I do, Haitani I swear to god,” Mikey snarls, and the tone is so sharp in contrast to how he’s been speaking that you jump, “Oh,” he turns back to you, “Daddy can be mean, yeah, so be good, be good for me.” You nod, and he hooks his arms around your shoulders, plowing you into the mattress, your vision nearly whites out when you feel him bite down hard on the shell of your ear and then growl. “I’m gonna cum inside this pussy, yeah,  you want that,” you whimper in response, “I’m gonna cum inside you,” he groans, “And I want you to cum with me, you ready,” 

“Please,” you cry out, “Please, Daddy, need to-” 

“Shut up,” he grunts, before groaning loudly, just as your orgasm breaks over you like a wave, you feel him cumming inside, feel how hot it is, feel it squirt out around his length, making your thighs sticking, your palms ache with desire, the pleasure rolls through you wave after wave, and you’re not sure how long you endure the sightless free fall, but when you blink back into your body Mikey is lying next to you. You open your eyes just in time to see Ran cum all over his hands, swearing violently. “Shh, shh,” Mikey pushes your face back to his. “Don’t look at him baby, don’t look at him.” You obey, blinking dumbly. You hear Ran stand, imagine he’s grabbing a towel from your bathroom. Mikey tucks you into his chest, rubbing the back of your head. “Are you in pain?” He asks softly, finding that the usual urge to make a hasty exit isn’t bubbling to the surface. You nod. “I thought you might be.” He presses his lips to the top of your head. You hear a loud smack and with a giggle, realize that Ran’s hit his head on the top of the door frame. 

“Jesus fucking christ.” He snaps, wiping his hands. “Are you finished with her, or,” he blurts, glancing towards the door. 

“I’ll let you know when we’re done,” Mikey says, and feels you stiffen against him, but ignores it. “Sit back down.”

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play stupid games;

summary - bakugou gets drunk and bets his girlfriend, but is there a more sinister manipulation occurring? part one.

cw - cucking, rough sex, manipulative yandere izuku, no one is well behaved, blindfolds, degradation, praise, *hurt* comfort, sub drop, angst but there is comfort, light bondage, they're all a little toxic but also are well intentioned, cum eating, voyeurism, threesome healer reader.

MINORS DNI

“Katsuki,” your voice is a whisper with a hint of pain, “You bet me?” Your boyfriend shifts uncomfortably. “You, you bet me?” 

“He did,” Shindou takes a sip of his whiskey, “But sweetheart, I’d never touch you without your permission.” You shiver, the AC at the cocktail party is blasting at your back. 

“Fuck off,” Bakugou yanks you into his body, “I’m gonna beat you in the popularity poll, and whatever I said when I was drunk isn’t gonna mean shit.” Shindou watches your teeth close over your lower lip. 

“Did you really bet me, Katsuki?” you mumble, so quietly that Shindou barely catches it. 

“Do you not fucking believe in me?” Bakugou snaps at you. You stand up and excuse yourself, and he rolls his eyes before realizing you’re serious and standing, “Wait, baby, come back I-” 

“Fuck off.” You snap, and Shindou watches Bakugou weigh chasing after you, and decide to let you go. The dark haired pro hero pats Inasa on the shoulder, shaking his head before standing. He breaks from the group at the gala table and follows you down the dark hallway, finding you where you’re leaning against the wall with your eyes closed. Shindou clears his through and offers you his drink. You down it so fast it dribbles on your chin a little, you wipe it away with shaking hands. 

“He cares about you,” Shindou starts, and you roll your eyes, “He does, alright,” he brushes some hair from your face. 

“He bet me,” you simmer, “Shindou, he just, we’ve been dating for months and he just said, yeah, cool, Shindou fuck my girlfriend if I lose a popularity contest.” 

“Are you upset because you know he’s going to lose?” He asks, smirk on his lips. You look away, scoffing.

“You’re an assole.” You shake your head. 

“Newsflash, most pro heroes are. You’re a healer, you could have worked at a hospital instead of an agency.” He touches your arm softly while you chew the inside of your cheek. “Legitimately,” he moves so that he can make eye contact with you again, “I would never touch you without your permission. You know that.” You nod. 

“I know.”  You cross your arms over your chest, something else is clearly bothering you. “Shindou I, I think I’m a good healer-” 

“Maybe the best in the country.” He counters and you shake your head. “I don’t wanna see you do that shit,” he shakes his head. “Really. You might be one of the best healers in the world, you’re absolutely wasted at their agency.” 

“You don’t have to say that.” You cross your arms. “And I mean, I had a lot of offers, but I wanted to be with my friends, the people I went to school with.”  

“I know I don’t have to say that, and yet here I am, saying it.”  He touches your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I mean,” he smirks, “I’m not gonna make it easy on either of ya, if I win.” He leans in to speak in your ear, lips brushing your cheek, feeling you shiver. “And when I take you,” you look away from him, “I’m gonna make him fucking watch.” 

“He’s not going to lose.” You protest, gently pushing him away from you. He obliges, the hard muscle you can feel under his shirt another reminder that you spent your life at the mercy of powerful people. “I believe in him.” 

“You can’t be serious,” Shindou laughs, stepping further away from you. “You’re defending him right now?” 

“I,” you swallow, and Shindou reads the genuine pain and indecision on your face. “I had a crush on him for a really long time.” You say softly, and he nods. 

“Listen,” He shrugs, giving you a soft smile. “I can’t pretend I don’t understand what it’s like to have a fantasy of a person, only for the reality to be not what you were expecting.” 

“He’s really a very good partner,” you protest, “He is, he cares for me, he’s just, I dunno,” you chew your lip for a second before finishing, “Clumsy with my feelings.” 

“He’s immature.” Shindou shrugs. “He’s a good hero, probably a good guy. But the guy’s 22, in the most high pressure situation he’s ever been in, not a good sign by the way, that he’s dealing with that pressure by going out more with his friends, but I’ll let that stand.” You look away. “You’re a smart girl, you already know all the things you need to know.” He reaches for you, tucking some of your hair behind your ear. “If you need some time to accept them, I get it.” He lets his hand fall and leaves you, standing alone in the hallway. You collect yourself, as best your able, hands trembling. You adjust your dress, take a deep breath, and make your way back into the ballroom, sitting down next to Bakugou.

“You know I only did it because it’s never gonna happen.” He says in a low growl, leaning over to speak in your ear immediately. “I love you, and I, I was just fucking around.” 

“You don’t get to fuck around like that and keep me.” You say, barely audible over the hum of conversation around you. He stiffens, he can hear his heart pounding in his ears. “I’m not breaking up with you, but if you lose, I’m gonna sleep with him.” You don’t look at him, but imagine the way his eyes would narrow at those words. 

“You can’t- “Oh, please,” you hiss, turning to him, “Tell me what I can and can’t do, I fucking love it when you do that.” His jaw sets. 

“I’m sorry.” He mutters. “I’m sorry, I was drunk, and just,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “I just, you’re everythin’ to me, okay, I wanted to prove to him I was serious so I bet something that mattered.” You hear his voice catch on the last word, and his hand comes to rest on your knee, you catch a familiar burning determination in his eyes. “I’ll be better. I’ll make it up to you.” 

“Yes,” you sigh, the little seeds of doubt starting to germinate in your chest. “Yes you will.” You look up, and Bakugou’s arm around your waist turns to iron as someone taps on a microphone and calls the annual hero gala to attention. Bakugou’s hand trembles as he reaches for his drink. The statistics are fairly predictable, with new agencies much lower on the list, but they’re doing alright so far. That’s when you do some quick math, Bakugou isn’t going to lose the popularity contest, but you were intimately familiar with the data on saves at the agency, despite only being the healer. They were down a hero, Mina was recovering from knee surgery for a few months. They were going to lose the ranking to Shindou’s agency in number of saves. Bakugou realizes a second later, swearing under his breath.

“I told you not to do it.” Kirishima mutters, inspecting his reflection in a silver plated fork. “I told you not to run your fucking mouth, didn’t I?” Bakugou scowls, studying the pattern on the rug. 

“Oh shit,” Denki flashes a boyish grin and touches Bakugou on the arm.. “Listen if you’re letting other guys have a piece of it can I -”

“It?” You whirl on him, “Are you fucking serious right now?” Denki shrinks, flashing his palms. 

“Bakubroooo protect me.” 

“Drop dead.” Your boyfriend snarls. Shindou clears his throat loudly from a few tables over, crossing his arms over his broad chest, smirking. 

_____ 

Bakugou walks you to the door of your apartment. 

“We okay?” he asks, knowing the answer. You laugh bitterly. 

“I’m just tired of you treating me like property.” You say, leaning against the door. “I mean, even if  you were drunk, I’m not yours to give out. We were friends for a long time before we started dating, maybe we-” 

“No,” he breathes, taking both your hands desperately, “No please, come on, I, fuck.” He screws his face up. “I’ll quit drinkin’, no more parties, no hero shit, I’ve been lettin’ dunce face and shitty hair drag me out because they need to blow off steam and I hate clubs and shit so I get wasted, and it’s not a fuckin’ excuse but goddamnit, please, please don’t end this, I’ll,” He looks so desperate that your heart melts. 

“Okay,” you glance down the hallway, unlocking your door. “Okay, um, come in, I won’t,” your heart aches in your chest. “You know I don’t want to leave you Bakugou.” You fidget. 

“But.” He says, hands trembling in his pockets. 

“But you hurt me. Again. So be better.” You reach out and touch his arm, he dives for you, wrapping his arms around your body, burying his face. 

“I will.” He vows hoarsely. “I will.” He rubs your back. 

“Come to bed, kats,” you say and he nods, so grateful you’re willing to hear him out that he nearly doesn’t see the message from shindou, his phone lighting up while you’re in the bathroom, and he’s lying in your bed. 

Shindou: I want you to be there. 

Shindou: to watch. 

Bakugou: I’m gonna blow your fucking brains out

Shindou: temper temper 

Shindou: bet she doesn’t like your mean streak 

Shindou: sweet little healer Shindou: does she like being overstimmed? I’m gonna find out but I thought I’d ask first. 

Bakugou: as if you could make her cum. 

Shindou: I have some unfortunate news for you. 

Shindou: just because you’ve been struggling with it doesn’t mean it’s hard. 

“Kats,” you call, and he barely hears you, “I’m getting in the shower, alright?” 

“All good,” he gunts, “I’m gonna crash, I’ll be here when you’re done.” He inhales deeply through his nose. It was going to be a long week. 

On Wednesday, Denki pokes his head into Bakugou’s office, looking a little nervous, not meeting his eyes directly. 

“Hey I uh, Shindou just put a meeting on our calendars?” Bakugou scowls, and flies to his email calendar. “Is it uh, is it what I think it is?” 

“Jesus fucking christ.” Bakugou rakes his fingers through his hair. “Who else is on it?” 

“Uhh, it’s me, Sero, and Kirishima. He cc’ed Deku but-” 

“What the fuck?” Bakugou stands, slamming his palms against the desk. “He cc’ed Izuku?” 

“Listen, maybe I’m off base but maybe this is a good reason not to bet your girlfriends pussy on your agency stats.” Denki shrugs, an evil smirk on his face. 

“Get out of my fucking sight.” Bakugou snarls and Denki squeaks, letting the door close behind him. He groans and collapses in his office chair, hands sparking when he gets a little chime on his computer, and a popup. Midoriya Izuku has accepted the invitation. 

“Are you going to look at me?” You say softly, as the elevator takes you up to Shindou’s apartment. “After I mean, are you going to be able to look at me?” Bakugou mashes his palms into his eyesockets instead of answering.

“I love you.” He says after a long silence. “Nothin’ Shindou or Deku can say or do is gonna change that.” He scowls. “Plus I deserve this. For bettin’ ya in the first place.” 

“You do.” You say petulantly. “Plus I’m sure we’ll have a safeword.” He nods. 

“They fuckin’ better.” The elevator doors open and he presses a kiss to the top of your head before stepping into the hallway, and leading you gently down the hallway to Shindou’s apartment. He knocks once and the door swings open. 

“Hey,” Shindou leans down and kisses your cheek before beckoning you inside. It’s a large apartment, dark wood and well stocked bookshelves. The couch is a luxurious leather, and there’s a purposefully unfinished exposed brick wall in the kitchen. “It’s pretty nice, right?” He stretches, you can see his chest muscles rippling through his thin gray t-shirt. “Don’t worry, ah,” his eyes flick to Bakugou, “A few years in the field and I’m sure you’ll be able to afford something like this.” Bakugou mutters something under his breath and the smirk on Shindou’s face widens. 

“Hi,” you hear, and  you round the corner into the living room and see that Deku’s already here, somehow already taller and broader than he was at your Yuuei graduation. “It’s so nice to see you!” He says, standing and taking both of your hands, giving them a squeeze. “You too Kacchan.” 

“Yeah.” Bakugou grumbles, giving a nod to Sero and Kirishima, who are sitting on the couch, Sero’s on his phone and Kirishima looks deeply uncomfortable. “You know you don’t have to stay, shitty hair.” 

“He wants to see y/n’s tits as much as I do,” Sero says, elbowing the redhead without looking up from Twitter, “But he’s pretending to be ashamed about it.” You swallow and Kirishima goes as red as his hair. 

“Are we just waiting for Chargebolt,” Shindou says, eyeing the nervousness easily readable in your expression. “Oh,” he coos, “Come here.” He reaches for you and Bakugou reluctantly lets the dark haired man pull you into his arms. He rubs your back, and you feel your anxiety dissipate just a little.. “Don’t worry, we’re gonna take good care of you, sweetheart.” 

“Yeah, don’t worry, Kacchan.” Midoriya can’t keep the hint of the smirk from his smile. “We’re gonna take perfect care of your girlfriend.” 

“Just have a fuckin’ safeword.” Bakugou snaps, crossing his arms over his chest, flopping in a chair. Deku nods.  

“You okay with the colors?” Midoriya asks, touching your shoulder, pulling you from Shindou a little. “Red for stop, yellow for less, green for fine?” You nod. 

“Gonna need you to say it for us, sweetheart.” Shindou says, and you swallow, finding your voice, but only barely. 

“I understand.” There’s a hard knock at the door and Deku lets you go, disappearing down the hallway and returning with an out of breath Denki Kaminari..

“Oh thank god,” he pants, doubling over. “I ran here after patrol.” Bakugou crosses his arms over his chest, looking anywhere but at you. 

“Nice to see you,” Deku chirps, as Denki settles on the couch. 

“Have you ever been with two men at once?” Shindou asks you, pulling your focus from your audience. You shake your head. 

“I’ve actually, um,” you bite your lip. “I’ve only been with one other person besides Katsuki. Like, ever.” 

“Awwww,” Shindou coos, “God, that’s adorable.” He straightens up, stretching a little. “Your job is easy, all you have to do is listen to us, alright, if you’re a good girl, we’ll reward you.” 

“I don’t really brat.” The words tumble from your lips before you can stop them and Deku laughs, glancing at his former classmates. 

“I have high standards, we’ll see about that.” He glances at Bakugou. “I can’t imagine Kacchan is very strict with you.” 

“Can we shut up about me?” Bakugou rasps, bouncing his knee up and down. “Get it over with.” Deku laughs, and starts slipping your jacket off your shoulders. 

“I dunno about you,” he turns to Shindou, “But I think I’m gonna take my time.” Shindou shrugs, a smirk on his lips. 

“Fine by me.” You let Deku take your jacket fully and immediately regret the little sundress you wore for ease of removal, because you already feel bare and you’ve barely gotten undressed. “I don’t want you to think about your audience at all, at least at first.” Shindou says, taking something off of his coffee table. “So I’m gonna blindfold you, is that alright?” You nod. 

“You should get used to confirming things out loud for us.” Deku interjects, “You can just say, yes Daddy,” your head snaps to Bakugou, whose fists are white knuckled. You look back to the two pro heroes.

“Ah, um,” you shiver, Shindou’s apartment is cool. “Yes, um, yes daddy.” 

“Good girl,” Deku coos, taking a moment internally to admire his own restraint, that he managed not to rip your dress off the moment that word left your lips. He rubs your upper arms affectionately instead. “We’ll warm you right up alright?” Shindou finishes tying the blindfold over your eyes and as your world is engulfed in darkness some of your inhibitions dissipate. Deku slips the first strap of your dress off of your shoulder, then the other one. You feel it crumple to the floor. 

“You’re beautiful,”  you feel Shindou’s breath on  your ear, as he draws your back into his chest. “Such a beautiful girl.” You feel his hand on your bra clasp, then feel it fall away, you have a brief moment to wonder how long it took him to learn to do that so efficiently before you feel his hands on your chest. Shindou palms your breasts, your nipples already pebbled in the cool of the air. Your mouth drops open a little when he rubs them, pinching them gently, then harder, you suck in a breath through your teeth. Izuku gently tugs your panties down your legs and you feel his fingers on your folds, parting them softly. He stares up at you, giving your clit the tiniest kitten lick. You mewl softly, and Shindou buries his face in your neck, you feel his rough tongue on your soft skin, sucking gently then biting down, in a way you know is going to leave marks, but it’s getting hard to focus, with Izuku’s teasing touches and Shindou’s hands wandering your chest. 

“Oh,” you feel your face start to warm, as Deku slips a finger inside you, “Mm,” your moan is sharp, hummed through your lips, as your legs start to tremble. 

“Right there?” Deku asks, “Oh,” he adds a second finger, “I can tell, that’s it, right there.” You whimper again, and they all watch you struggle to stay still, hands reaching for Izuku, then flitting back to your sides when you think better of it. “You can touch me,” he teases gently. “C’mon, if you want me so bad, pull my hair, show them all how desperate you are.” You whimper again. 

“Just don’t try that shit with me.” Shindou says, before sinking his teeth into your neck hard enough to make you yelp. “You’re gonna stay nice and still while I take my turn on ya, arentcha baby,” 

“Y-yes daddy,” you breathe, and Izuku starts to kiss and suck at your clit, and your legs buckle. Shindou holds you up, wrapping an arm around your waist, locking you against his body. Your back arches involuntarily, and you gasp, holding onto Izuku’s hair for dear life as your legs nearly give out from underneath you.. 

“Holy shit,” you hear, and it’s Sero, leaning forward in his seat. 

“Oh my god,” Denki manages. Kirishima leans back, face still burning, arms still crossed, to sneak a glance at Bakugou, who is studying the carpet in front of him. You let out another whine and Deku picks up the pace, 

“Oh, oh my god,” you breathe, “Oh my god, fuck, fuck,” You squirm but Deku’s hands around your thighs might as well be iron, holding you in place.

“Are you gonna cum?” Shindou asks you, and you nod quickly, desperately. “Beg. You don’t cum without permission.” He pinches your nipples hard enough to make you gasp sharply. “You belong to us tonight.” 

“Please,” you pant, twisting in his arms so that your head is tucked right under his chin, “Please please, please, daddy, please can I cum?” A shudder rips down your body as you teeter on the edge of your high. Deku’s hands sink further into your thighs, and he barely manages to resist turning around, to see the look on Bakugou’s face as his girlfriend cums on his tongue.

“Whaddya think?” Shindou looks over at Bakugou, who looks positively volcanic, “Should she get to cum?” 

“Fuck. off.” Bakugou says lowly, and Shindou grins like a jack o’ lantern. 

“That’s a no.” Shindou lifts you off the ground by the waist, pulling you away from Deku’s touch. You tremble and struggle a bit, processing the lack of sensation, the feeling of your orgasm being ripped away from you. The pro hero pins your arms behind your back before setting you on the ground again, catching you just before you reach between your legs for some relief.

“I didn’t say-” Bakugou stands angrily. 

“This is as much a test of your ability to obey as it is hers,” Shindou interrups, maddeningly calm. “If you’re not cooperative with us, she’ll pay the price. So be a good boy,” You hear Kirishima chuckle nervously at that,  “And sit back down.” Bakugou swallows, feeling Denki, Sero, and Kirishima’s eyes on his as he slowly sinks back into the chair. “There you go. Next time, just say yes, and we won’t have to do this. Or you could, you know, not bet your girlfriend.” You twitch in his arms, making a soft sad sound and he leans down and kisses your forehead. Jealousy twists in Deku’s stomach, and he makes quick meaningful eye contact with Shindou, who releases you, pushing you towards the other pro hero as you stumble on shaking legs. 

“Sweetheart,” Deku coos, catching you and rubbing your back, “Sweetheart it’s not your fault,” you sniff, “You’re being a very good girl for us.” He touches your shoulder. “Very good.” 

“I wanna be good.” You say softly, and every man in the room takes a sharp breath. “I wanna be good, for you.” 

“You are, baby,” Deku says emphatically. “I promise.” He gives you a squeeze and moves you in front of him, before collapsing in an empty armchair and pulling you into his lap, still blindfolded, poorly balanced on his knees. “Now I know you’re not used to taking a fat cock,” he says, still speaking sweetly, the way a teacher would to a student, “But you’re gonna take mine, and I don’t wanna hear-” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Bakugou snarls, unable to contain himself, “You don’t know shit about what she can take.” There’s a split second of silence. 

“Is that right?” Shindou drawls. “Hand behind your back.” You obey quickly. “I think you should see what your boyfriend’s gotten you into.” He says, slipping the blindfold from your eyes and pulling the knot out easily. Deku takes the opportunity to take his shirt off, tossing it on the ground before hooking his thumbs in his black sweatpants and pushing them to the ground underneath you. Shindou ties your wrists carefully together, letting you lean against his chest for balance while the other pro hero undresses. You blink in the light of his living room, and then look down, letting out an involuntary nervous squeak, just as Shindou secures the knot. He’s thick, and it’s long, even with prep you know the stretch will be painful. 

 “Relax,” Midoriya says, “You ready?.” You nod, and he uses his feet to scoot the chair over to an angle where you can’t see any of the men behind you, but they can see his face, watch his eyes lose focus as he pressed the head of his cock to your entrance. “That’s it, just like that..” He breathes. “Good girl.” You sigh softly, your eyes fluttering shut as he pushes farther inside you, “Let me in,” he says softly, and for a moment he can pretend that you’re alone, that you belonged to him, just like you were always supposed to. He’s pulled back to the present when you whimper. “Let daddy in,” he repeats and Shindou suppresses a chuckle, watching you sink down on Deku’s cock. 

“Oh, oh my god,” You choke out, and Midoriya makes eye contact with Bakugou he starts to fuck you, “Oh my god,” you moan this time, the pain bright in your voice. “S’so big, I’m-” Shindou reaches out and touches your shoulder, a warning. 

“It’s so big, daddy.” Deku corrects, voice honeyed and breathless, a smirk on his boyish face. 

“Daddy,” you whine, “Please,” you suck in a breath, “It’s-please can I have a second,” He nods, and rubs comforting circles in your hip, slowing his movements. 

“I’ve got you,” he says, sitting up a little and wrapping an arm around your waist. “Do you trust me sweetheart?” 

“Yes, daddy.” You whisper, and he leans farther forward, wrapping you in his arms and kissing your neck as he starts to fuck you slowly, pulling soft little musical moans from your lips. 

“I’m the number one hero,” he says and Bakugou’s nails nearly break the skin on his own palm at the genuine emotion on Midoriya’s face. “I’ll take good care of you, baby, and I would, you know, if you came to my agency, I’d take care of you.” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, even if your brain had been working, sinking his teeth into your neck, letting you gasp in pain as you take the last inch of him and cry out softly. Deku moves his hands lower, holding you down on his length while you squirm. “What’s your color baby, you okay?” 

“Green,” you say, voice half protest, half pleasure. 

“I’m gonna move,” he warns and you relax against him, eyes shut. “I’ll hold your hand, okay?” You nod, and he laces his fingers with yours, giving your hand a quick squeeze before bucking his hips up into yours. 

“OH!” You spasm in his arms, not expecting him to move so quickly, it almost feels like you’re being split open, you feel him press a reassuring kiss on your cheek. 

“So,” he groans, “Shit, Yo, she’s so tight, can barely move.” Shindou rolls his eyes at the younger man, coming to stand behind him and reaching around your body, his fingers lightly vibrating by the time they touch your clit. 

“Shh,” Shindou breathes, kissing your cheek, letting you lean back against his chest while Deku fucks you, “Takin’ it so well, sweetheart, you’re doing such a good job.” At the praise, you relax a degree, and Deku can move a little, behind your back, Shindou takes your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“F-fuck,” you choke out, “Fuck, Deku, I-” 

“Yeah?” He cuts you off, every soft roll of his hips against yours is bringing another wave of pleasure to your mind, and you’re still sensitive from your ruined orgasm earlier, still close. 

You choke out a sob, shoulders shaking, as the sensation of being filled and toyed with overwhelms your consciousness. 

“Good girl,” Deku coos, eyeing Shindou’s closeness and wanting to take back control of the situation, “Good girl, taking this, okay, if you’re good we’ll let you cum, is that what you want, to cum for us?” 

“Yes,” you say, your voice hitched and desperate. You roll your hips against Shindou’s face, but it seems like he’s used to it, expertly avoiding your most sensitive spots, keeping the pleasure just on the edge for you. 

“I kinda,” he says, “Wanna ruin it again.” 

“You’re so mean,” Deku laughs. “She’s dating Kacchan already, hasn’t she suffered enough?” Shinou laps at your cunt, pulling another soft cry from  your lips. 

“Please,” you beg, “Just, just fuck me a little harder, and I can, I can cum, I promise I-” You feel Deku pick up the pace and tighten his grip around your waist. 

“Keep begging.” He orders swiftly and you do, broken pleas falling from your lips. 

“I mean,” Denki breathes, elbowing Sero, “Are we all gonna pretend this hot as shit?” He palms his lengh. “Sorry bro, but jesus fucking christ.”  

“She’s so fucking hot like this,” Kirishima whispers, leaning forward.

“I wanna see her cry more.” Sero grins.

“Shut. The fuck. Up.” Bakugou growls, turning to his friends. 

“I mean,” Denki says, smirking, barely audible over your pleading, “This is why you don’t get drunk and bet your girlfriend.” He shrugs. “Right, I mean, I know I’m right. Oi,” he says to Deku and Shindou, “What do I have to do to have a turn?” 

“Join a different agency!” Deku says brightly, momentarily distracted. “I invited Iida and Shouto and they were so sorry they had conflicts. I made it work.” 

“Please,” you beg, feeling Deku’s cock hit that spongey spot inside you easily with every thrust, “Please can I cum, I’m gonna,” you squirm, trying to get away from Shindou’s magically vibrating tongue, “Please, I’m gonna lose it.” 

“Can she?” Deku looks to Bakugou. “Gonna let your girlfriend cum on my cock?” 

“Please Kats,” you whimper, “Please Katsuki, please, please, I’ll be good, need it-” 

“You need it?” Shindou says, dripping in condescension. 

“Yes,” you choke out a sob, “Yes I need it, daddy please.” 

“She can.” Bakugou says, eyes all over your body, on every mark they leave, every bruise, every rough touch, and a smirk slides across his face, “Cum for me, bitch.” You twitch in their arms, your orgasm ripping through you like a knife, it’s like you’ve been thrown off a cliff, the free fall is ecstatic and terrifying. Deku fucks you even harder, Shindou pulls away to watch Deku’s cock disappearing into your soaking cunt. 

“Fuck, baby,” Deku groans, throwing his head back, “Fuck you’re gonna make me, fuck, I’m gonna cum, inside,” his voice gets deeper, darker,  “Wanna breed this fuckin’ pussy,” he tightens his grip on your hips and Bakugou scowls. “Gonna cum inside, you wanna have my fuckin’ kids, you wanna have the next number one hero, right baby?” 

“Ohmygod,” you cry out loudly, not at all coherent. “Fuck, fuck fuck,” your voice carries as you keep cumming, the orgasm is a few minutes long, Deku fucks you through it and Shindou carefully keeps you right on the edge of overstimulation. 

“You belong to him, huh?” Shindou asks, while you’re still breathing heavily, choking out little sobs, Deku lifts you off his cock and sets you on all fours on the coffee table, so that Bakugou can watch the number one hero’s cum dribble out of your pussy, thick and white. “Lick that shit up.” Bakugou looks at Shindou like he’s insane. “I’ll punish her, if you don’t.” Shindou threatens. “And she’ll take it, but it won’t be pleasant. I promise.”  Bakugou swallows, looking at the way you’re already trembling. 

“Fine.” He says gruffly, and Denki inhales sharply. “Shut the fuck up.” He says again, sinking to his knees on the carpet, all the men in the room watch you soften at his comforting touch, the way  you shiver with happiness when he rubs a circle in your thigh. “Baby,” he coos, “Baby, color?” 

“Green.” You mumble, and he pauses, mouth inches from your cunt. 

“You sure?” His touches are feather light. 

“I am.” You say. “Thank you for asking, though.” 

“There’s nothin’ I wouldn’t do for ya.” He says, leaning forward and licking a stripe up your core, pulling more moans from your lips as he laps roughly at your overstimulated, swollen hole, wiping his mouth off with his hand when he’s done. Deku ghosts light patterns on your back with his fingertips and Shindou rubs the top of your head before slipping the blindfold off of your eye. 

“Hi, baby,” he coos, and you blink, getting used to the light. “I wantcha to look at your boyfriend, can you do that for me?” You nod and he lifts you, turning you around so that you’re face to face with Bakugou, still on his knees by the coffee table. 

“I love you.” The words tumble from his lips before he can stop them, just as Shindou lines himself up behind you, frowning, missing the surprised expression on your face. 

“Do you love her?” Shindou asks, the head of his cock pausing at your entrance. “Or is she convenient?” He pushes himself inside you and Bakugou watches your mouth drop open Shindou starts to fuck you. 

“I love her.” Bakugou says, staring up at the other man. “I do.” 

“Because,” Shindou throws his head back, groaning before responding, “Fuck, what a good little cocksleeve,” he slaps your ass hard, and tears spring to your eyes in front to Bakugou. “Because we both know she’s hurting,” he rolls his hips against you and you shudder with pleasure, “Her career, by staying at your agency.” 

“Fuck you.” Bakugou says. 

“I,” you choke out, “It doesn’t,” you whimper when Shindou reaches two fingers around your body and you feel your knees buckle as they start to vibrate against your bud. 

“It’s selfish,” Deku says, pulling himself out of his post orgasm haze to jump in, “To keep her there, when she has better offers.”

“What kinda self worth do you have,” Shindou says to you, touching you softly as his words rip right through your skin, “To stay with a guy who would loan you out like this, huh?” You take a shaky breath in. 

“Why,” you gasp again, trying to form sentences, as Shindou plows into you, setting a brutal pace, “Oh, oh my god,” you feel his cock filling you completely, feel the boy's eyes on your body. 

“You can touch her.” Shindou says to the men on the couch and it’s a moment before any of them reach for you. Denki’s first. He cups your breast and lets out a low whistle. 

“She’s so pretty,” Kirishima breathes, “So good,” he coos, reaching out, cupping the side of your face, stroking your teary cheek with his thumb, “So good.” Bakugou swallows, reaching within himself, wondering why he can’t offer you the same kind of validation, wondering why you’re doing this for him, why you work with him, when Deku is the number one, when Shindou does better on popularity numbers, when Kirishima was more kind, when Denki wasn’t afraid to touch you in public. You open your eyes, and see the tears in Bakugou’s, 

“I need a break.” You say quickly and all the men let you go as you leap at Bakugou, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Hey,” you say softly, “Hey baby, where did you go on me, huh?” He swallows. 

“I just,” he peels you off of him so hard that you stumble back, Deku catches you. “I just dont uh,” He stands. “I know I don’t deserve you.” His voice is barely a whisper. 

“You made a mistake.” You say, standing to meet him, cupping his face in one of your hands but he grabs your wrist and peels you off of him. 

“I,” he pauses. “I gotta go.” 

“Katsuki,” you say, your voice hitching in your throat, “Seriously I-” 

“I bet you?” He says, shaking his head, backing away. “And you didn’t dump me?” Your teeth close on your bottom lip and there’s an awkward silence. 

“I love you.” You say, and behind you Shindou pulls his sweats back up to his hips. “I love you, okay, and I-” He shakes his head, cutting you off, bile rising in his throat. 

“They’re right.” He says sharply. “You shoulda taken a good offer, and told me to go to hell.” Your eyes widen and he grabs his coat off of the back of a chair. “I’ll drop your stuff off. Don’t call me.” He nearly runs out of the room before you can summon the breath to respond. There’s an awkward pause. Kirishima stands. 

“We’ll take care of it,” he gives you a soft pat on the head and Sero and Denki nod, following the redhead out of the room. The door closes with a soft click and you turn around to Shindou and Deku. 

“Um,” you swallow. 

“Don’t do anything,” Deku says quickly, snatching a blanket off of the back of Shindou’s couch, wrapping your body in it and gathering you in his arms. Shindou collapses on the couch and Deku joins him, sitting you like that, in between them. 

“What um,” you blink a couple times, “What’s happening?” 

“Kacchan freaked out,” Deku says softly, Shindou reaches over and rubs circles in your thigh. “He’s right, though, by the way, that you sacrificed your career to work at his agency.” Your lips twitch. 

“I didn’t think I was anything special.” You mutter. 

“Oh,” Shindou says, combing his fingers through your hair, sending shivers down your spine, “You really are, sweetheart, and I could pull the stats to prove it.” You curl up in a ball on the couch. 

“Am I an idiot?” You ask, your voice is tight and small. The two men exchange a worried glance over your head.

“No,” Deku says, “No okay,” he rubs a comforting circle in your shoulder. “Listen, get dressed, and we’ll take care of you tonight.” 

“You um,” you wipe your face, turning to Shindou, “You didn’t cum, I”m-” 

“I literally don’t care,” he says, rolling his eyes, “Not to be rude but I’m a pro hero, if I wanna get laid, I get laid.” He puts a hand on your thigh through the blanket. “Stay here, okay?” He looks to Deku. “Grab her a glass of water and just take a sweatshirt from my closet.” A few minutes later you’re sipping a glass of cool water and wearing soft clothes. 

“I was pretty surprised when I heard you agreed to this,” Deku says softly, “I mean, I know you had a crush on Kacchan when you were in general studies, but uh, I was surprised he asked you to work at his agency before you started dating.” Your jaw tightens and Shindou slips an arm around your shoulders. 

“I,” you whisper, “He just, he seems so sure all the time, he’d tell me something, and I’d just believe it.” You shake your head. “Fuck, I, he just dumped me. I-in front of all of you.” The corners of your mouth force themselves downward. 

“This is sort of what I wanted to say in the hallway to you,” Shindou says, “That I know you like him, but he doesn’t,” he pauses, picking the right words, “Sorry, it’s not a problem with his personal valuation of you. It’s a problem with his professional evaluation of you.” You nod a couple times. 

“Thanks for um, taking such good care of me.” You say, standing abruptly, reaching for panties where they’re crumpled on the floor. “I should go though, I’m sure you don’t want to deal with this.” The two men stand in nearly perfect synchronization. 

“Please.” Deku says, taking a step towards you. “Hear us out.” You start looking for your panties, “Look at me.” He reaches out and cups your face, speaking with a bit more authority, and you freeze. “You’re such a good girl,” he says, and you melt into the softness of his touch, head spinning, “That’s it,” he says, seeing you relax, and he pulls you into his chest. “What if you stayed with me,” he murmurs, “And we talked about it in the morning.” 

“With you?” You glance at Shindou, who comes and stands behind you, locking his arms around Deku, trapping you between them. 

“Do you honestly have any friends who won’t take Bakugou’s side?” Deku says and your lips droop downward. 

“I don’t.” You say, knowing Mina wouldn’t, knowing Sero and Denki and Kirishima had already chased Bakugou when he’d left, rather than checking on you. The two men smell like pine and cedar, and they feel so, stable. 

“Don’t waste your time worrying about that,” Deku murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “If you wanna cry, you can cry to us, that’s fine..” You nod slowly.

“Bakugou,” your lower lip trembles, “He just left me here.” 

“He did.” Shindou says, resting his chin on the top of your head. “But we’re here.” You nod slowly. 

“O-okay, I’ll um, I’ll go with you, Deku, I,” You lose track of the sentence, still reeling. Shindou kisses the top of your head and Deku gives your waist a little squeeze. 

“We’ll take such good care of you, baby.” He says. “You can trust us.” You nod again, wiping your tears as you let them gather you on the couch. “I’ll get a blanket, we can put on a movie and order food.” He picks his phone up off of the coffee table and goes to Shindou’s bedroom. He stops, and takes a deep breath, catching Shindou’s smug expression. He just shrugs, and takes his phone out, knowing that his co workers are anxiously waiting for an update.

Deku: it wasn’t that hard. 

Iida: he didn’t? Did he?

Shouto: of course he couldn’t handle it, bakugou’s more ego than he is human being. 

Deku: kinda hate myself for suggesting this but you wanna dip early at work and come make her feel better? She’s pretty upset, and I’m worried Shindou’s gonna take our money and the healer.

Iida: it’s heroic of us, to save her from working for anyone else, but I can sense you have doubts, Midoriya. 

Shouto: she needs a caretaker. We can do that for her, keep her safe. I’m happy to ask the interns to cover for us.

Shouto: how much did we need to bribe shindou to get him to pick this fight with Bakugou? 

Deku: 10K and he can borrow her a few times a year but it’ll be worth it. We need her. 

Shouto: We do, and she needs us. She just doesn’t know it yet. 

Iida: agree. 

Deku sighs, sliding his phone back into his sweatpants pocket and returning to the couch where he tucks the blanket around you. Shindou releases you and gently pushes you towards the other pro hero. To Deku’s delight you take his hand with both of yours, leaning into him. 

“Kacchan’s an idiot.” He says softly, as Shindou gets up and walks to the restroom, tossing Midoriya a sly smile over his shoulder. You shrug. 

“I love him.” You look up at Midoriya and his heart breaks. He's never seen you this vulnerable, not in the field, not during exams, not even when someone was gravely injured. Your eyes are watery and unfocused, and your lower lip is trembling.

“It’s not your fault.” He says, hating the little string inside of him pulling him down the path of least resistance, causing his mouth to form the words he knows will make you stay. “I know how hard you’ve been trying, and he’s just not ready yet. He’s too immature.” You sniff, and remember confiding your crush to one person, and one person only, listing your reservations to a very patient Kendo Itsuka. You had no way of knowing, none at all, that Deku was standing outside the classroom listening, and that these years later he’d use your own fears against you. 

“I have been trying hard.” You warble, folding into him. He rubs your back. “I’ve been trying so hard.” Midoriya nods. 

“He never yells at you, does he?” You hear a sharp undercurrent in his voice, and feel the pro hero relax as you shake your head. 

“But even watching it, I feel like, I dunno.” You mumble, hiding. He leans over and kisses your head. 

“It’s not that late.” He offers, and if you peek through the curtains of the huge window in the apartment you can see the last vestiges of golden light shining through. The sun has not quite set. “Shouto and Tenya are going to a bar if you wanted to come out and meet them, maybe Uraraka might come by.” You swallow. 

“I haven’t seen them in a while.” You stretch. “But I should, I should um,” You blink back tears, “Did he dump me or fire me?” Midoriya winces. 

“Both, I think.” 

“Fuck.” You rub your eyes. “I wanna actually, I want to go to my office and pick up my stuff but,” you lift your head, eyes wide, “You won’t make me do that by myself, will you?” 

“Of course not,” he says, oozing sincerity, “Of course we will, how about we rip the band aid off, I can have them pick us up here?” You nod, burying your face in his chest, heart aching. 

______

You say your goodbyes to Shindou, who gives you a warm hug and a soft kiss on the forehead, and waves your concerns away when you mention promising to return his clothes. Midoriya pockets his phone when you step out into the hallway. 

“They’re gonna meet us downstairs in a car.” he says, and your eyes widen. 

“Oh oh, that’s not necessary, I don’t need anything fancy.” You shrug. “I could call an uber or-” 

“We have drivers.” Midoriya cuts you off. “So it’s no trouble really. No trouble at all.” He offers you a hand, and you take it, letting him lead you to the elevator and through the lobby, feeling him rub circles in  your palm with his thumb. The car that pulls up is sleek and black, and Deku opens the door for you before helping you climb up into the backseat. 

“Hello,” Iida greets you stiffly, and you squirm with embarrassment as you reach for a seatbelt. “I hear you had a rather difficult evening.” You glance fearfully  back at Midoriya, who flashes his palms. 

“I spared them the details.” 

“I’m just an idiot.” You mumble, burning with embarrassment, flopping in the seat next to Shouto, who pats your knee awkwardly. 

“Well,” he considers, “You’ve made a series of decisions based on how they felt, rather than thinking about them, and perhaps that’s an experience to be learned from.” You burst into tears as Midoriya closes the car door and gives Shouto a stern look. “I, but,” he says quickly, wrapping an arm around your waist, scooting you closer to him, “You don’t have to do it by yourself anymore.” He blurts. “If you want, we’ll, we can be helpful.” 

“I think what Shouto means,” Midoriya says, as you feel the engine of the car hum to life, “Is that it might be worth it to lean on your friends for a bit.” 

“All my friends are gonna take Bakugou’s side,” you snip bitterly, wiping your face on your sleeve as Iida hands you a handkerchief.

“I don’t take his side.” Shouto says sharply. “And I’m your friend.” You perk up the slightest degree at that, so he keeps going, “I’d never,” he shakes his head, huffing, “I’d never bet you. If you were mine I’m not sure I’d let you out of my sight.” That makes you laugh, you wipe some of your tears and you lean against him. 

“Bakugou’s impulsive,” Iida says gently, adjusting his glasses, “You deserve stability, both in your workplace, of course, and romantically.” He stretches his shoulder a little and through your tears and little sobs notice the pain in his face. 

“Did you,”  you reach for him, distracted, “Did you hyperextend your elbow?” he cocks his head at you, confused. “You might have, sorry,” you mutter, wiping your face and scooting across the black leather seat towards him. “Let me just,” you take his hand quickly and energy shoots from your fingertips up his arm, pooling at his elbow. He lets out a little sigh of relief. 

“I, didn’t even realize I’d injured myself.” He squints at you. “You know, if you need to find a new job quickly, perhaps you could work for us?” You blink up at him, and all three men watch and wait as your teeth sink into your lower lip. 

“I suppose,” you look down at your hands. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.” There’s a brief silence, where each man considers their own integrity, their ambition, and the mark this little lie would have on their immortal souls. 

“We could hire you,” Deku says finally, somehow managing to make it sound nonchalant, unpracticed. “On a trial basis, of course.” You look up at him eyes wide. 

“Please,” you lean forward, “I’ll, I’ll owe you forever, I, Midoriya I have rent to pay and student loan debt so I need a job.” 

“That’s what friends are for,” he says, keeping his smile light. “We’ll  help you carry your things from his office, but um, there’s the matter of where you’re going to sleep tonight?” You wince, and rub your eyes. 

“I was going to get a hotel.”

“That’s not necessary.” Shouto cuts in. “I have a guest room.” 

“We all have guest rooms.” Midoriya says, and it might be your imagination but his eyes darken just a little. “You’d be quite safe with any of us, I don’t know if it’s a good idea for someone with a powerful healing quirk to stay alone in a hotel.” 

“Of course.” Iida agrees and your phone buzzes in your pocket. You glance at it then put it. 

“It’s Kirishima.” You press your lips together. “I don’t want to talk to him though.” You let it ring, letting it vibrate in your palm. Iida clears his throat and holds his hand out. You give him the phone and a tiny warmth sparks in his chest. 

“Good girl.” He says stiffly. “I’ll give this back to you tomorrow.” 

“They’re all going to hate me for breaking his heart,” new hot tears squeeze from your eyes and Shouto pulls you into his chest, warm hand on your waist, much to Iida’s and Deku’s displeasure you curl into him. 

“Shhhh,” he breathes, rubbing your back. “No they won’t, and if they do, they’re idiots.” You manage an almost laugh and he lights up at the minor success. You refuse to lift your face from his chest, until the car pulls up to the empty hero office building, it’s so late now that the only people present are the cleaning staff. Your office is small, but there are a few personal items and a fair amount of books to be boxed up. The three pro heroes make quick work of it, with Deku snatching the framed photo of you and Bakugou at graduation and placing it face down in the cardboard box. Shouto floats to you, resting a hand on the small of your back. 

“I didn’t mean to imply,” he says quietly, “In the car, I didn’t mean to imply that you were wrong to trust your heart. I wasn’t suggesting alternative action.” You look up at him, suddenly feeling quite tired. “I was suggesting an alternative method of collecting data.” You nod slowly. 

“So you weren’t chastising me for listening to my heart.” You reach up and take one of your last books off the office shelf. 

“I was chastising you for ignoring your head.” He pats your back, taking the book from you and closing the box. “Is that the last of it?” He turns to the other two men, who nod. “You’re staying with me?” He says so smoothly the others barely notice it. “I assume that it might be awkward, after tonight to stay with Midoriya, and Iida’s all the way across town.” 

“Thanks, Todoroki.” You say softly, before either of them can jump in. He nods, the smallest smile on his lips. 

“Don’t mention it.” 

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom,” you excuse yourself and the three men stand in awkward silence until the door closes behind you. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Deku hisses. 

“Inviting a beautiful woman to sleep in my guest room?” Shouto raises his eyebrows. “I’m not sure what you mean.” 

“I mean I’ve already,” Deku blushes a little but plows forward, “I’ve already fucked her, so I sort of assumed that was me calling dibs I-” 

“Absolutely not.” Iida interrupts. “Bakugou has also slept with her, and none of us respected that claim.” His words hang awkwardly in the room for a moment. “We can’t fight over our healer,” he says seriously, “It makes the most sense for both of you to get out of my way.” 

“Out of your way?” Shouto says, eyebrows raised. “I don’t think I’ll be doing that.” 

“You’re not emotionally intelligent enough to handle her,” Iida says, with a little shrug, “And you’re too emotional and committed to being the number one hero to spend enough time with her. I’m the obvious choice.” 

“No?” Deku sputters. “No you’re not-” The door opens and you step back inside, looking a little puffier than you had when you’d left. 

“Todoroki, can we go?” You say, eyelids drooping. “I really just want to be alone.” He nods, extending an arm for you to take like a regency era gentleman, and sweeping you out of the room. He calls a separate car in the elevator with just a few taps of his smartphone, swiping away his group chat messages from his angry hero partners. 

Deku: seriously? I just assumed I had dibs. 

Iida: never assume dibs. 

Shouto: I thought dibs were “an antiquated form of dividing wealth” 

Iida: I come from a long line of people who called dibs, we just never did it so colloquially. 

Deku: we can’t let this be a problem. 

Shouto: agreed, the two of you can fuck off. 

Iida: I don’t think so. 

Deku: I also don’t think that’s the solution. 

Shouto: she’s had quite a day so I’m going to focus on her :) goodnight. 

He pockets his phone, and feels a twinge of guilt at your red rimmed eyes, but it dissipates when you sigh and lean against him as you wait for the car. Neither of you speaks for most of the drive, the silence is surprisingly comfortable. He leads you through the building,and the elevator rockets you up to his penthouse, where he takes you by the hand and sits you on his dark leather couch, taking the throw blanket from the corner and tucking it around you. 

“Sorry,” he says softly, “I have maybe an invasive question.” You blink up at him. “Have you ever, ah, I mean I don’t want to make assumptions about the nature of the activity earlier, but you’ve really folded in on yourself.” You nod, tucking your legs into your chest. “Have you, were you,” he stops himself, bringing some courage to the surface. “Was it particularly rough, generally, I-” 

“Yes.” You blurt, and he frowns, darting to his kitchen and coming back with a cool glass of water that he sets on the coffee table in front of you, before sitting on the couch next to you. “And,” you mumble, “I feel so dumb.” 

“May I touch you?” He asks, and you nod, sniffling. He sits down next to you and pulls your legs into his lap, tucking your head into his chest. “Is it incredibly rude of me to assume you subbed?” You laugh bitterly. 

“No.” You close your eyes. 

“Sub drops are uncomfortable but fairly common.” He presses his lips to the top of your head. “I’m sure you were very good,” he gives you a gentle squeeze, “Sure you were a good girl for them.” You sniff again, feeling your heart rate calm a bit. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” You shake your head, relaxing into him. 

“I just wanna talk to K-katsuki.” You get out. “But he said not to call him, so I, I can’t do that.” Shouto flips his memory to the early days of therapy back when he was maybe, sixteen, finding an old rhythm. 

“What would you want to say to him, if he were here?” 

“That I don’t care,” your voice rises a bit, “Where I work, but I,” you squirm uncomfortably. It floats to Todoroki’s mind a second before it comes out of your mouth. “Did you like me, or did you need a healer at your agency?” Shouto squeezes you again. “And is that why you bet me?” Your voice gets small again, “B-because you already saw me like an object?” 

“If I were Bakugou,” Shouto says, and then clears his throat, “I’d uh, I’d probably say something like I care for you, very much, but I’m not in a place emotionally to value you like you deserve to be valued.” You laugh lightly. 

“He’d have sworn.” 

“He would have.” Shouto agreed. “You know we get fined when we do that on broadcasts, so I’ve trained myself out of it for the most part.” 

“You were the only one who cursed as much as him in school.” You snuggle against him, closing your eyes. 

“You can sleep, but have a sip of water for me.” He says, reaching for the glass and bringing it to your lips, waiting until you’ve drunk at least half of it to set it back down, holding you tightly against his body. Your eyes flutter shut, but he can’t bring himself to stop talking to you. “Do you remember when we met?” he asks, and you think about it, so much of that day now was Katsuki, when he’d yelled at you and you’d surprised everyone, including yourself when  you’d yelled back. The way Kirishima and Mina had spirited you off to their lunch table, how you’d spent the next four years living, and breathing, and studying with them. “You ah, you helped me with my wrists.” He offers and you nod, remembering. 

“You were locking them when you were fighting,” you yawn, “Repetitive stress injury.” He nods, and you take his hand, running your fingers over the callouses. The cracked skin softens and heals in real time. 

“You don’t  have to do that.” He says quietly and you shrug. 

“Consider that one on the house.” You yawn again and close your eyes, consciousness slipping from you like a wave back into the ocean. Shouto takes a minute before taking his phone out, scrolling through the group chat messages. 

Shouto: I might not feel good about this. 

Iida: so return her to me. 

Shouto: no no I mean breaking bakugou and y/n up on purpose. 

Deku: it’s what’s best for her!

Shouto: she’s quite upset. 

Iida: so don’t sleep with her?

Shouto: I really want to though. Fuck I really want to. 

Shouto: also I think she sub dropped deku way to fucking go 

Deku: ooop I was concerned about that but she did also go through a breakup like,,, mid scene so I wasn’t sure how to proceed

Shouto: She’s sleeping in my lap. 

Deku: okay so you’re welcome??? 

Deku: fucking her only made this worse she’s so sweet 

Shouto traces your outline, and you let out the softest sound, snuggling into him. He doesn’t dare move, not when his stomach growls or when the light changes in the apartment. Eventually, when the clock blinks 12AM, he touches your shoulder softly, but doesn’t wake you all the way, just enough so that you’re semi conscious as he carries you down the hall to his guest room, laying you on the clean sheets and tucking the duvet around your body. He pauses for a moment, watching your chest rise and fall easily, the creases gone from your forehead. He wracks his brain, stepping outside the room, how long had he even been aware of you? From the first moment, he decides, from that first day, when you’d touched his arm and the pain had melted away you’d been, something to him. A friend, maybe, at first, and then, someone who was kind to him. Someone who didn’t treat him like a celebrity, or a pariah, or an object. 

That’s what’s on his mind as he pads softly down the hallway, and looks out over the city. It would be cruel of him, he surmises, not to take care of you, when you spend so much time caring for everyone else. 

_____ One Month Earlier: All Might Hero Agency

“Ugh,” Deku groans, rubbing his eyes and setting his phone on the table. “I can’t watch this.” 

“What’s happening?” Iida says, looking up from his takeout container. The three of them were working a late night at the agency. 

“I think y/n moved in with Bakugou.” Deku turns his phone around and shows the other two pro heroes. Iida sighs, and Todoroki frowns. “I just, okay.” He leans forward conspiratorially. “I’ve known him my whole life, right, and he’s better, a lot better than he was. But better, better isn’t that good, still.” 

“I remember how he spoke to you our freshman year.” Iida says. “And then he had the audacity to fail the licensing exam anyway.” Todoroki clears his throat. “And you did as well, I remember.” 

“Which one of us went rogue with intent to kill,” Shouto muses, “I can’t remember.” 

“The point,” Deku says, “Is that she took his job offer, she’s moving in with him, she works for him, I mean, she’s our friend, it’s a conflict of interest, maybe we should say something.” 

“Her friends should say something,” Iida couches, “Maybe Mina, or Kirishima, they both occasionally had level heads.” 

“I’m sure he’s made her all kinds of promises,” Deku shakes his head, “I just feel like she doesn’t realize her own potential, or what she’s getting herself into working for him.” 

“I heard,” Iida says, pausing to take a sip of his water, “I heard that she took his offer without reading it, Sero told Tokoyami who told me.” 

“Without looking at it?” Shouto wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Does she know, I mean, she got other offers.” There’s a brief silence. “I know that once she started liking Bakugou she was essentially blind to anyone else,” he covers a laugh with a little cough, “Remember when Inasa met her, he,” the laugh escapes this time. “He kissed her hand and she just said, ‘Thank you’, and went to go check on us.” 

“I do remember him being quite surprised at her indifference.” Iida smiles. “But yes, I always thought maybe it would pass but she seemed so blind to his flaws, I just assumed one of them would talk her out of it.” He frowns. “I hope, I hope he speaks to her more kindly than he did in class, at least when they’re alone.” 

“Kacchan’s not a bad person,” Deku jumps in, “I don’t think he’d hurt her on purpose, but I mean, it feels, it feels wrong that we know he’s taking advantage of her liking him to get her to work at his agency.”

“Do we know that?” Todoroki asks. “Maybe he gave her a good offer.” 

“He must have.” Iida couches. “I wonder,” he trails off, “Maybe we should check in. As friends, of course, I,” a slight blush creeps up on his cheeks, “She’s quite, ah, capable. I just think we should remind her that should this for some reason fall through, that she’s not an island, you know?” 

“Yeah,” Deku nods quickly. “We could stop by, um for lunch or something, maybe bring them a housewarming gift.” He fidgets. “I, I could text Kacchan, and see what days work but, um, he might tell me to fuck off.” 

“You’re the number one pro hero,” Iida rolls his eyes. “Just show up. She’ll be happy to see you.” 

“I’ll come.” Todoroki jumps in. “If you don’t mind, I, it’s been a while since I’ve seen her, and I know I spent less time with her than you but we still were ah,” he thinks about the amount of vulnerability it took for him to be comfortable with even your gentle touch, how he’d started to miss it after graduation, how he’d found himself looking forward to seeing you after a hard fight, and remembering you wouldn’t be there. 

“Ah,” Deku pauses, “I think um, we were close, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to see her on my own.” He laughs, “I mean, no one spent more time with her than I did.” 

“It’s true.” Iida confirms, “Especially her first year, I had half a thought that they got us a healer specifically to keep your growth with One for All from stagnating due to your reckless nature.” Deku’s face colors. “No offense, obviously.” Iida says, looking distracted. “I did always wonder if you were ever jealous, since she was so focused on Bakugou despite how much time you spent together.” 

“She um, she talked about him a lot, yeah.” Deku says, suddenly very interested in his takeout. “But it’s not like I didn’t get it, like I said I grew up with him. He’s a big personality.” The words hang in the silence. 

“You, get it then?” Iida says, “What she sees in him, I mean, because I can’t for the life of me understand it. She’s so sweet, and gentle, and he’s loud and abrasive.” There’s a silence. Deku swallows a big bite of dinner.

“You’ll tell us then,” Todoroki says, “If you pop by their apartment, you’ll tell us how she is?” 

“Sure.” Deku says, and Todoroki is struck for the first time in a long time with the reminder of how difficult it was to tell when Midoriya Izuku was lying. 

___ 

Midoriya stands at your doorway, having rung the bell at a time he’s sure is too late for you to be at the office, but when he knows Bakugou is out on patrol. He only has to wait a moment before the door swings open and he’s rewarded with your presence, soft and sweet as you had been when you were in school. 

“Oh!” Your eyes widen with surprise, adorable. “Deku, I’m so sorry, actually Bakugou’s not here,” you step aside to let him in without a second thought, of course you do. He’d only been the number one hero for a few months, it had actually taken longer than expected, but of course you trust him, everyone did.. He’s surprised, the place you’re sharing is modest, the view is nice but it’s a one bedroom with a small kitchen. 

“I’m actually here to see you.” He says, and watches your reaction carefully. You don’t betray anything, giving him a confused smile. 

“Are you injured?” You cock your head at him. “I can’t imagine anyone could land a punch on you.” He laughs. 

“No, I mean, we spent a lot of time together in school and it just occurred to me that I haven’t seen you since graduation.” He flattens his palms on your countertop. “I wanted to catch up, if it’s a good time.” 

“Well,” you take the teapot off the stove and fill it with water, when your back is to him his eyes flick to your ass, the curve of your hips in your jeans. “I can’t believe the number one hero made time for little old me.” You set it on the stove, turning the burner on. 

“Please,” he says, “You know that without your help in school I wouldn’t be number one, hell, doubt I’d be top 50.” You shake your head, leaning against the counter next to the stove as he takes a seat at your island. 

“You were always determined, there were just times that determination took a real toll on your corporeal form.” You shrug. “I put you back together and you’d hop right back out there, it’s an honor to be a footnote in your story.” You catch his eyes, they’re slightly narrowed, there’s something about the way Midoriya looks at you that makes you feel like you’re a molecule under a microscope. 

“You really think of yourself like that?” He says softly, and he watches your eyes flick to your bedroom door, to the sweatshirt discarded on a chair that’s far too large to be yours. “You think of yourself like a footnote in someone else's story?” A sad little smile flashes across your face. 

“Sorry, Deku, I won’t unload on you.” You turn away from him again, taking two mugs down from the cabinet and set them on the counter, carefully selecting a tea bag for each of them. 

“Do you call Kacchan by his hero name,” He teases gently, “I’m Midoriya, c’mon, still the same idiot who broke every bone in his body at least once when he was in college.” That gets a laugh out of you. 

“No, I don’t call Katsuki Dynamight when we're alone.” You set the tea in front of him, and Midoriya is grateful for the distraction, shocked at the way you casually drop his best friends first name. 

“Katsuki,” He repeats, unable to stop himself, and his stomach twists as you fidget nervously. 

“It’s new.” You admit. “But I like it, honestly it suits him.” 

“Huh.” Midoriya blows on his tea. “You can, by the way, unload on me, I’m pretty strong or y’know,” he flashes you a sheepish grin, “That’s what they’re saying on the news these days.” You look at him, but he sees through your polite smile, you look exhausted. “What’s up, really?” He tries. You look back at the sweatshirt on the couch. 

“He’s working hard.” You say, nearly whispering, like he can hear you. “But he’s frustrated, and I want to help and I don’t know how to get him to let me in.” You shrug. “You know this has been his dream his whole life, Midoriya, and I know he had a lot of growing up to do. Still does maybe.” You chew your lip. “I just wish he knew how much I believe in him.” 

“Yeah?” Midoriya manages, bile rising in his throat. 

“Yeah.” You sigh deeply. “Like, I know he can be a good hero, and I get that the red tape and performative shit is hard for him, but he’s so kind, deep down.” You light up, as if you’d just remembered something. “Promise not to tell him I told you about this?” He nods, and watches you flit to the refrigerator and take something out. “He’s been making me lunch every day. No matter when he gets back from patrol, when I get up there’s a bento for me.” You squirm, like the happiness inside you is fighting to get out. “He loses his temper, sometimes, but I do really believe he cares about me.” 

“Does he lose his temper with you?” Midoriya asks, keeping his voice perfectly modulated, tinged with just the edge of concern. 

“Not usually.” You press your lips together. “I know he’s frustrated.” You repeat, and shrug again. “I believe in him.” 

“And what about you?” Midoriya presses, gently, strategically. You laugh at that, genuinely. 

“What about me?” You repeat again, but continue, afraid of sounding like a parrot. “I mean, I can’t hold up a building, I can’t win a battle, pretty sure you could pin me in less than a second.” His muscles twitch at the invitation but he stays seated, sipping his tea. “I’m always going to be there when powerful people need me.” You couch. “But I’m not deluded enough to think that makes me powerful.” 

“You’re not.” He sets the mug back on the table. “But you are important. I suppose there’s a difference, isn’t there?” You nod. “I can leap through walls, and fly, and fight, and win, but at the end of the day I need you,” he catches himself, “Or someone like you to keep me in condition to do it.” You nod slowly. 

“You’re very kind to me.” You say eventually. “You always were, Midoriya.” His mouth goes dry. “I often felt alone, when we were in school. But you always took the time to talk to me, while I healed you. I appreciate that.” 

“I consider you a friend.” He smiles at you. “Not just a healer.” He watches you process that information, watches your lips twitch downward. “What, what’s up?” He pushes, just a little harder now. 

“I don’t think,” you muse, thinking out loud. “I don’t think Bakugou thought of me as a friend, until,” he watches you remember something that clearly embarasses you, “Until um,” you laugh, “Actually the story is funny, if you promise not to be weird about it I’ll tell you.” Midoriya forces a laugh, and smiles, holding out a pinky finger. 

“Promise.” 

“He um,” you lean forward conspiratorially, “I don’t think he saw me as more than the person who put him back together after a fight until he saw someone else flirt with me and decided he didn’t like it.” Midoriya rubs his chin. 

“Oooh wait, what happened?” He keeps the excitement in his voice normal, modulated.

“It was at one of the interschool events,” you giggle, and he’s transported back in time, 

He can see the way you used to hide behind your hair when you were nervous, the way you’d look after staying up all night studying, your smiling face in the stands at sports festivals. “Do you remember Shindou Yo?” Midoriya blinks, of course, of course he remembered Grand, his face was plastered all over the center of the city right now in some cologne ad. 

“I do, yeah.” He leans forward, listening. 

“While you were all competing, he sort of pulled me aside and he was asking me all these questions about my quirk, and healing, and what you were all like, and at first I thought he was sniffing around for information about his competition but then he um, he just rested a hand on the small of my back while we were talking and I realized I was being hit on.” You pause for dramatic effect. “Didn’t even take five seconds, Katsuki was there immediately, as angry as I’d ever seen him, dragging me back to the group.” You laugh. “And essentially he hasn’t taken his hands off of me since.” 

“Really?” Midoriya shrugs. “And that doesn’t make you feel like, I dunno,” he pauses, searching for the right words, the ones that will sow the doubt he’s looking to nurture. 

“It made me feel wanted.” You sip your tea. “And I’d be the first to admit he has some rough edges, and a fucking awful temper.” You shiver despite the warmth of the room and that’s it, that’s the thread Midoriya wants to pull. 

“What do you mean?” He asks, knowing already. 

“Oh,” you wrap an arm around your ribcage. “It’s hard for him to direct his anger at a source right, something goes poorly and if you’re standing too close you’ll get caught in the explosion, for lack of a better metaphor. He always apologizes though,” your smile gets a little wistful. “We’re working on it.” 

“Uh huh.” Midoriya says. “Good for you.” 

_____ Present 

Shouto can’t sleep. It’s not natural for him, and he fumbles in his drawer for the little orange pill bottle he’d regularly relied on during school, taking one out and letting it dissolve on his tongue. He feels his heartbeat slow, remembering what his therapist said about panic, and about analysis when  you were panicked. That when his body was in fight or flight mode, analysis was pointless. He breathes out slow, and wonders if you’re doing the same, if you’re dreaming of Bakugou, if you’re dreaming of the apartment you’d shared, of Shindou’s hands on  your body, of Deku’s. He sits upright in bed, sweating, tossing his thin cotton pajama shirt on the ground before flopping backwards. Even in his medically induced sleep, his dreams keep him from true rest, he wanders through disaster zones, stumbles through fires, makes his way across ruined cities, all following the sound of your voice.

pls if you enjoyed this hop in my ask box or leave a comment/please reblog

ミmy daddy didn't love me so i guess i've moved onto you

🍓 pairing: captain john price x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, daddy kink, undefined age gap, oral sex, unprotected vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, both reader and price have a daddy kink that they indulge in with very little discussion, allusions to reader having a bad relationship with her father (but nothing concrete), price uses a lot of pet names for reader and also calls himself daddy several times

title is inspired by the song peter bogdanovich by my queen CMAT

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

If there’s one thing you know, it’s that you’re damn good at your job.

You have to be in order to survive in this ridiculous goddamn base. There are protocols to be followed, risk assessments to carry out, weapons and equipment requisition requests to send off, and you have to handle almost all of it for Task Force 141. That’s one thing about working with the military – they’re all about action, and rarely have the patience to fill in their paperwork, and then when they do it’s never done properly.

You’re patient when you need to be, willing to push when you have to, and you make sure shit gets done. It’s not an easy job; you work your ass off, and it’s often thankless. Most of your job is done behind the scenes, whether that’s requisitioning on-the-fly tactical or strategic airlifts, liaising with other units, or trying desperately to smooth over any little problems that might crop up with the higher-ups. 

It’s challenging and exhausting, and you love it, but damn, it can be fucking infuriating. Working in a male-dominated environment is a little bit soul-destroying, with every condescending comment and lascivious gaze that lingers over your body. But none of that matters, because you don’t need male approval to excel at your job. You don’t need male approval for anything.

You repeat it to yourself on the daily, which is something that you’ve never had to do before. But before, you weren’t working with Captain John Price.

He’s not… rude, per se. If anything, he’s always coolly polite. But it’s obvious, so obvious, that he just barely tolerates you. He’s gruff, short, to-the-point, and never speaks to you outside of brusque orders. It takes weeks for him to start trusting you with even the most basic of files, and even then chunks of information are often redacted. And it shouldn’t matter; you’ve worked for men like him before, you know how it goes, and if anything he’s one of the better ones.

In the beginning, when you had first been assigned to the task force, Price had not been happy about it. It had been a tough transition; your assignment had been approved by Laswell in order to take some of the strain of liaising off both her and Price, but the Captain hadn’t been too pleased about it. He had seen you as a sort of interloper, a silly little pencil-pusher sent in by the brass to do the grunt work of administration that no one else wants to do.

But you work hard, you always have done. And maybe… maybe, part of the reason that you end up busting your balls so hard is because you want– no. Maybe you need his approval. You’d prefer not to think about it; it’s easier to throw yourself into your work, and pretend that you’re doing it for you.

You’re not even sure how it started, but at some point, Price starts looking at you differently. Maybe he realises that you’re competent at your job, or maybe he just needs to get used to you. Maybe, you hope, he’s finally starting to realise that you’re good at what you do; that you can be an asset to the team, so long as they actually work with you. 

Whatever it is, he eases off. Stops being such a hard-ass, starts giving you space to do your thing. Eventually, he starts delegating too — stops hoarding the work like a miser, and finally starts treating you like you’re capable of something more than just photocopying.

He’s not a bad boss, not by a long shot. He’s kind, determined, patient when it matters, with a wry sense of humour. He’s also fiercely protective over his team, and that includes you now. 

But he’s also older, by at least fifteen years, and he’s not always the most diligent with paperwork. Typical man of action, you’ve seen it a hundred times before. There’s always something more important to do, and while he’s always so cognisant of your workload and careful not to add to it, he is also all too happy to let you take the reins when it comes to bureaucracy. You like to think that you’ve proved yourself to him, but maybe he just respects competency.

That should be it.

But you’re so ashamed to admit that even when Price stops treating you like you’re a hostile target, you can’t stop hoping for his attention. Your mental chants of I don’t need male approval for anything, I don’t need male approval for anything become a daily thing, and sometimes a several-times-a-day thing.

Because the thing is, Price can be a difficult man to please. He’s always so busy that he doesn’t have time to give you the approval that you’re straining for, but when he does it gives you the most shameful warm glow in your belly. 

A brief nod or a low grunted ‘Thanks, sweetheart’ is enough to fuel you for days now. Even better is when you’re walking along beside him, briefing him on the latest update from the higher-ups, and he leans his head in towards you as he listens intensely, sometimes even laying his large palm against the small of your back. Ostensibly, it’s to lead the way and guide you out of the path of the running cadets, but it just toes the line of professionalism and you flounder under the touch.

It’s stupid. You’re stupid. He’s just a coworker, and you need to keep your issues to yourself.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You’re perfectly self-aware enough to admit when you’re in a bad mood.

You start the day tired, and when you check your reflection in the mirror first thing that morning you’re greeted with the sight of a big, fuck-off pimple on your chin. It’s big, it’s throbbing, it practically has its own fucking heartbeat. You barely restrain the urge to pick at it, though you can feel it even when you’re not looking at it.

Your mood doesn’t improve when you get to the small kitchenette by your office and find that someone has used the last of the fancy French Vanilla flavoured coffee that you’ve stocked for yourself. As if that’s not bad enough, your little stash of chocolate digestives you keep for yourself for emergency bad days have disappeared too.

You clench your jaw and continue about your business. Whatever. You can survive without your coffee and chocolate.

Your resolve falters when you see the pile of paperwork on your desk, but whatever. It’s all part of the job. A little chocolate biscuit to nibble on would definitely make your job easier, but you’re a big girl and you’re just going to have to go without.

Then you get the phone call. One that makes you want to bang your head against your desk hard enough to knock yourself unconscious so that you don’t have to deal with this.

It’s time to update the TF141 personnel files. Orders from above, since there’s been significant changes to medical and surgical history in the last couple of months from injuries on missions.

 Normally, that’s not such a big deal. It just involves updating their medical and technical files, making sure that nothing major has changed with regards their addresses or other personal information, even though a big portion of it ends up redacted anyway. 

And, naturally, updating their photographs for their files.

You start easy. 

Gaz is happy to come to your office when you text him, and he stands obediently for you as you take his picture. He’s gotten a metal plate fitted in his kneecap from the last time his file has been updated, and he sits and chats easily with you as you go through his information. He’s a sweet guy, and so easy to talk to, and you sigh with the knowledge that no one is going to make your job as simple and leisurely as Gaz just has.

After he leaves, you target Soap. He comes to your office as easily as Gaz, but he’s significantly more difficult to photograph.

He just keeps smiling, no matter how many times you tell him to quit it. 

“It’s a personnel file photograph, not a photo for your Instagram.” You sigh, irritated. “I need you to have a blank, neutral expression. It’s like a passport photo, Sergeant. It’s for a government document.”

“Can’t help it, lass.” Soap says easily, that stupid grin not even dimming. “I see a camera, I smile. It’s muscle memory.”

You think that your irritation is only encouraging him, which only worsens your mood. In the end, you don’t get a single usable photograph of him for his file. You have to give up on him, swearing that you’ll come get him to try again later. He leaves your office still chuckling, like he thinks your frustration is cute.

You have tougher targets to tackle.

The difficult part isn’t even taking Ghost’s photo — the difficult part is catching him in the first place.

You spend almost three hours trying to track him down (because he won’t read your texts and your phone calls go unanswered), wobbling all over base in your stupid high heels and somehow missing him by mere moments every time. You arrive in the gym, the mess, the firing range, even the barracks, only to see the man’s enormous broad back disappearing out of the other door as soon as you get there.

You can only assume that Soap had given Ghost the heads up that you were on the prowl with a mission and a camera, because the lieutenant is avoiding you like the goddamn plague.

So yeah. You’re in a real bad fucking mood. But you can’t help it — some days your job is entirely thankless, and your mood drops so low that you feel like going home and crying. But you can’t, and you don’t want to show weakness in front of these military idiots, so all you can do is lock your jaw and go about your business the best you can.

You go back to your office, jaw and fists clenched tight, and collapse at your desk with your head in your hands. You have to take a few deep, slow breaths to try and calm yourself, but then you make the mistake of checking your reflection and your mood sinks lower again when you see that the stupid pimple on your chin has worsened.

God, this is just not your day. You have to get these stupid files updated, or it’ll fall on your head. 

Eventually, you reluctantly stand up. There’s no point moping; you have a job to do, whether you like it or not, and your next victim is Captain Price.

You walk to Price’s office swiftly, your feet aching in your stupid heels. You wish you had worn something more sensible, but… well. Even subconsciously, you want to impress.

When you reach his office, you throw the door open and march inside without even bothering to knock. 

Price is sitting behind his desk, and his head snaps up as soon as you walk in. His expression is set in a hard scowl, though it softens when he sees who it is. You guess you don’t exactly pose much of a threat, so he sees no use in posturing.

“I need you for a moment.” You bite out, allowing the door to slam shut behind you.

You hear Price sigh, before he leans back and settles into his chair, making himself comfortable. He’s wearing the same dark compression shirt that he usually wears for training exercises or to the gym, and he’s recently groomed his beard down too. He looks good, though it takes a colossal amount of effort for you to not notice, because you have other things you need to focus on right now.

“Hello to you too, love.” He grunts, wiping a hand over his eyes. “What’s the problem?”

You struggle not to react to that, his low voice both soothing and igniting something in your blood. You take a breath, try to calm down. You’re a professional, and you’re not here to embarrass yourself in front of the captain.

“I’m updating personnel files,” You say, and this time it comes out calm and steady, “I need to take a picture of you.”

Price’s gaze lingers on you, his stern brow softening a little. For a moment, you think that maybe this is actually going to be easy. That he’ll just stand up and take the fucking picture, so that the two of you can go back to your jobs and relax for the rest of the day.

But then–

“Jesus, kid.” He sighs, already shaking his head. “I’m up to my eyes right now. Leave it ‘till tomorrow.”

For a moment, you don’t react at all. You just stare at him, letting those dismissive words settle over you. He’s already looking back at his paperwork, mission briefings and maps littering the desk, and you feel so effectively dismissed. You feel small, so silly and stupid standing in front of him in a way that you haven’t felt since you first started working with the task force. You had thought that you were past this, that you had earned some meagre sort of respect from him.

“I need it done today.” You say, and your voice comes out a little hollow to your own ears.

You don’t need male validation. You don’t. But damn, you’ve had a rough day and the fact that your captain isn’t even bothering to look at you makes you want to cry.

Price sighs, and rubs at the crease between his eyes. He looks just as tired as you feel.

“Yeah, well. I don’t have time. Tomorrow.”

You swallow, pursing your lips. He’s so effortlessly dominant, which means that his careless dismissal stings all the more.

“I have to get the whole team done,” You say, struggling to keep your voice firm. “Soap wouldn’t stop smiling for the camera, I couldn’t find Farah anywhere, and Ghost–”

Price gives a sharp, derisive snort. “Forget Ghost.”

You scowl. “I need to do the whole squad.”

“Not Ghost.” Price repeats, this time slower and with more emphasis. “Simon doesn’t do photos.”

You take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. You’ve been working alongside the task force for a while now, and you’re familiar with Lieutenant Riley’s penchant for covering his face. It’s not something you have a problem with – usually.

“There’s no reason for him to be the exception to personnel photos, Captain.” You say through gritted teeth. “Everyone else is being photographed. The task force might be covert, but Lieutenant Riley is no more–”

“Christ, enough.” Price snaps, his voice a deep boom that has your mouth closing with a click. “The One Four One is my squad, in case you’ve forgotten. I know these lads, and I’m telling you to leave it out.”

You stare, a little taken aback by the harshness in his voice. He hasn’t been this sharp with you in months, not since you had started to prove yourself competent, useful. Now, you can see the warning signs of his bad mood; the circles under his eyes are pronounced, his skin dull in the ugly fluorescent lights of his office. He looks exhausted, his skin lined and dry like he hasn’t been drinking enough water.

You realise, a little too late, that you might have been pushing your luck by insisting on something as silly as personnel file photos. TF 141 had only returned from deployment at the beginning of the week, and Price has no doubt been drowning in reports since.

“This is why I told Laswell you weren’t necessary,” His snarl is entirely unlike him, and he rubs his face furiously, his palms rasping through his beard. “I don’t need someone coming in here and making demands of my squad for– for fucking photographs.”

You inhale shakily through your nose; to your utter horror, you can feel your eyes burn with hot wet tears. It’s stupid – you’ve dealt with far crueller words from far harsher men. The nature of your job often puts you in the firing line for frustration, and when it bubbles over it’s frequently directed at you. 

But this… this feels different, for some reason. You’ve been working your ass off to try and earn some recognition from Price, to show him that you’re a valuable asset to the team, and so his sharp, frustrated dismissal of you cuts deeper than it should.

You hate that your eyes are burning like this. You don’t want Price to think of you as useless, or as the silly little girl who was put on the team by the brass who can’t even do her job right. He was just starting to think of you as competent, and it hurts your ego to have to go to him for help with something that you should be more than capable of handling yourself in the first place.

“Right,” You say, and even you’re startled by the sharpness in your tone. “Fine. Forget the file updates, then.”

You step forward, jaw clenched hard, and toss the files you’ve been carrying around all day onto his desk. They hit the surface with a smack that feels uncomfortably loud in the tense silence that’s fallen over the room.

“I’ll tell the higher-ups that you’re handling it.” You continue, your voice coming out brattier than you’d like. “Since obviously I have no idea what I’m doing–”

“Oh, don’t do that.” Price sighs, as though you’re the one being unreasonable. “What I’m saying is, if you’re going to work with the team, you have to understand the team–”

That, you think, might just push you over the edge.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” You snap out, and Price’s mouth closes. “D’you think I’m– that I’m some kind of idiot?”

Price blinks. It seems like you’ve managed to take him by surprise, as though your bad mood rivals his just enough to pull him out of his own grumpy form entirely. He opens his mouth again, but you’re not ready to hear him speak again just yet.

“I’m here because Laswell put in a request for me to work with you and your squad, Captain. I’m considered an asset to the teams that I work with,” You’re scowling thunderously, all the tension and frustration that’s been mounting all day spilling over. “And I don’t have to put up with being dismissed and unappreciated when I know that I would be respected in other squads for the work that I do.”

Price raises his hands, a frown creasing his brow. “Kid, that’s not–”

Usually, being called ‘kid’ by Price has a warm glow settling in your stomach that you’re absolutely not interested in examining, but this time it only lights an infuriated fire in your belly. 

“Don’t!” You snap, your breath juddering unsteadily. “God, you think I enjoy being treated like an idiot? You think I haven’t had to deal with this from men my whole career? My whole life? Even my father–”

To your abject horror, a lump forms in your throat and you can’t finish that sentence. Your eyes are hot with unshed tears, and you’re pretty sure your lip is trembling. 

Price stands, his stern expression slackening into something like uncomfortable surprise as he moves to step around the desk.

“Hey,” He soothes, lifting his hands. “I’m not your father.”

“I know that!” You snap, irate. You’re frustrated with yourself, embarrassed at what you’ve unintentionally given away. “I wouldn’t want you to be!”

Price’s expression flickers, as though he can’t decide quite how to react to you. You’re more than aware that you’re being childish, but you find yourself unable to temper your overreactions. In the face of your tears and your frustrated anger, Price looks like he’s at a loss.

“All I’ve done is work hard, and tried to take the burden off you to make your job a little easier.” You continue before he can interrupt again. “And all I get in return is stress, and my chocolate biscuits eaten, and breakouts, and– and–”

“Kid–”

“The only person who wasn’t an absolute dickhead to me today was Garrick,” You rage, on a roll now. “Everyone else has just been so– and look how bad my skin has gotten from the stress of having to deal with men who want to act like children–”

Price watches you with an expression that is plainly bewildered as you gesture at the stupid pimple that’s been throbbing on your chin all day. You don’t even think you’re making sense, too lost in your frustration and humiliation to be properly aware of what you’re saying. 

“Your… skin.” He repeats, a little disbelieving. 

You whirl away, agitated. You’re not getting your point across well, and Price must think you’re simply demented. 

“Hey,” He says slowly, approaching from around the side of his desk. “I didn’t mean to suggest that you weren’t doing a decent job–”

“Whatever.” You mutter, running your hands over your skirt in an attempt to straighten out the creases. “Whatever.”

It’s too little, too late. He’s always been a bit of a hardass, and you’ve always tried so hard to please him, to impress him. But you can’t bear to make a fool of yourself like this any longer.

“I’ll leave the paperwork to you. Update it, or don’t. It doesn’t matter.” You say shortly, turning on your heel and marching towards the door.

“Wait,” Price calls out. His voice is firm, echoing with the grim certainty of a man who is used to being obeyed.

But you’re not one of his soldiers, and his command falls on deaf ears. Your skin is still prickling with humiliation; you don’t think you’ve ever been so desperate to get away from the Captain before.

“Sweetheart, just wait a minute,” Price says, and this time you can hear the exasperation in his voice. “I understand that you’re stressed, that’s normal. Everyone gets stressed in this line of work. But you can’t just go and get your knickers in a twist because some of the lads are bein’ difficult–”

“My knickers are none of your business!” You yell. Truthfully, it’s more of a shriek, high-pitched and unsteady enough to have Price’s eyes widening and darting towards the door as though worried about someone overhearing from the corridor.

“Whoa, okay,” Price says with the air of trying to soothe a spooked horse. “You're right. Your... knickers... ain't my concern. But helping keep this squad running smoothly is, and that can't happen if my admin is on edge."

“Oh, give me a break!” You’re beyond on-edge now, sailing right into fury. “You ignore me most of the time when you're not on deployment, you dismiss me when I’m just trying to do my job, but now you’re telling me you need me to not be on edge?”

You’ve reached the door now, your hand clenched tight around the doorhandle as you take one last moment to turn and look at him. He’s stepping towards you, no doubt with the intent to stop you before you can leave, but you don’t plan on giving him the chance.

“Kid, just hang on a damn minute–”

“Sort the files yourself, or do whatever you want.” You bite out, yanking the door open but pausing in the doorway. “I don’t even care anymore. It’s your squad, you do it.”

Price takes a breath, visibly fighting for patience. Truthfully, you don’t know how he hasn’t lost his head with you already. He was already exhausted and in an obviously bad mood when you had stormed in here, and it couldn’t be more obvious that you’ve just made it worse with all of your frenzied anger and borderline hysteria. 

The fact that Price is staying calm and level even in the face of your stress-induced meltdown only makes you feel all the more ridiculous. You wish he would get angry, that he would snap at you like he had when you had first walked in – at least that way you could pretend that you don’t notice the way his stressed scowl had melted into a look of concern as soon as he had seen the tears welling up in your stinging eyes.

“And you don’t have to wear that stupid hat, we’re indoors!” You yell, your voice teetering on the edge of hysteria.

You just have enough time to see his hand reach up to touch the brim of his boonie hat before you hurriedly bolt out of the room, escaping into the corridor before he can stop you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

“— just thinking that maybe I’d be better suited with another team, that’s all. I heard Kortac’s liaison is approaching maternity leave—”

“That position is going to be filled internally,” Laswell’s voice is calm over the secure phoneline, a stark contrast to the shaky undertone of stress in your own. “Besides, organising a transfer like that is more trouble than it’s worth.” There’s a pause, then a sigh crackles over the phone. “You still haven’t explained what happened. As far as I can see, you were doing good work there.”

Yeah, you think sourly, because all you see is the paperwork end of it.

“... Internal conflict.” You mutter, playing with the fraying edge of your sweater sleeve. 

There’s a long pause, protracted enough that it makes you squirm. You know what she’s thinking – in your line of work, it’s impossible to avoid clashing with some of the big dominant personalities who are used to getting away with whatever they want. But you’ve always been able to handle it, well-versed enough in diplomacy to know when to stand your ground and when to bow out to avoid unnecessary strife. 

“Internal conflict.” Laswell repeats, her voice as bland as you’ve ever heard it. “Meaning?”

God, it feels like you’re disappointing your mom or something. You scrub a hand over your face, pacing in the living room of your small apartment.

“I know how it sounds,” You say, “But– they don’t want to work with me. There’s only so much I can do if I’m being met with resistance at every corner–”

“You’ve worked with resistant squads before,” Laswell interrupts. “It’s part of the job.”

“Yes, but…” You start, before trailing off. 

She has a point, of course. It is part of the job. There’s no way to professionally explain to your superior that the reason this assignment is so difficult is because you have a mortifying crush on the Captain of the Task Force. It’s making you stupid, making all the stupid bullshit that you’re usually able to look past feel so much worse, especially because all you’ve ever wanted was Price’s approval.

Another sigh. This one, at least, sounds a little more sympathetic.

“Look,” Laswell says, and this time her voice is a little gentler. “I’ve never given you an assignment that I didn’t think you could handle. Whatever is going on, you need to sort it. You’re a capable girl, and the One Four One is far from the most difficult team you’ve had to deal with. There might be some big personalities there, but nothing that you shouldn’t be able to tackle.”

“Mhm.” You grunt noncommittally.

“Sort out whatever’s going on with you.” Laswell’s tone leaves no room for argument, her suggestion falling just short of a command. “If whatever issues you’re experiencing continue, I’ll talk to John–”

“No!” You blurt.

God, you can’t think of anything worse. You’ve already made a show of yourself in front of him, the last thing you need is for him to learn that you’ve gone crying to Laswell about the whole thing. You don’t want him to think of you as any more of a useless little girl than he doubtlessly already does.

“No,” You repeat, calmer this time as you clear your throat. “I’ll… sort it. Sorry to bother you with this, ma’am.”

Laswell hums, and you can imagine her eyes narrowing. Judging by the wind whistling in the background of the call, she’s not anywhere near her cushy office. You’ve interrupted her on whatever assignment she’s on, and she’s been kind enough to listen to your silly little complaints for at least fifteen minutes of her valuable time. You feel more ridiculous than ever, and you pinch at the bridge of your nose.

“... Right.” She says. “Fine. Keep me updated on the situation. I want a sitrep by the end of the week, understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You understand what’s not being said. Laswell expects you to work your own shit out, but you can hear the concern in her voice when she demands an update. All you can do is agree. Laswell has been by your side throughout your whole career, always having a hand in your assignments and your progression, and she’s always been an advocate for you and what you’re capable of. Now, after this conversation, you feel silly for getting so overwhelmed in the face of what is a relatively minor obstacle.

“Good. I’ll speak to you then.”

You hum, wish her goodbye and good luck, and hang up the phone.

For a long moment afterwards, you sit in silence in your living room. God, how did all of this spiral into such a mess?

For the last few days, you’ve been avoiding the base entirely. You have a few PTO days built up, and you’ve taken the opportunity to just chill out. It’s the first chance you’ve had to relax properly in months, since you had started working with the task force. The space is good, and it’s needed.

You get out of the headspace of work, and reports, and files and requisitions and debriefs, and instead treat yourself with full body self-care. You exfoliate, you moisturise, you use a hair mask, you take bubble baths. You even catch up on the trashy Netflix romance series that you had put on hold for ages, just waiting for some free time to indulge.

And you almost, almost, forget about why you’re hiding away in your little flat in the first place.

But your third day off creeps around, and you can’t help but feel as though your little bubble of isolation is about to pop. There’s only so much time away from the office that you’re able to swing, and the longer away the more you feel that your position on the team is untenable. No matter how you currently feel about the task force and your place with them, you’re not willing to let your hard work go down the drain just because you’re too cowardly to face them again after your little meltdown.

So, you go back to work after your little break away.

You manage to slink into your office mostly unseen, other than polite hello’s from other admin staff as you slip through the halls. Your office is far from prime real estate when it comes to office space on base – it’s well out of the way, down several corridors that no one ever goes down, and once you get past the main thoroughfares you don’t come across anyone. Even still, it feels a little like you’re doing a walk of shame, but you walk with your head held high before you finally get your office door closed behind you. 

To your surprise, your desk is clear. Typically, any slight break away from your desk results in work piling up on it, just waiting for your attention once you get back. You don’t know what to make of the absence of work; you can’t help but wonder, somewhat uncomfortably, if Price had taken your words to heart and dealt with all of the paperwork himself.

You check the drawers of your desk too, just in case, and come up empty yet again. 

Well. Okay, then. 

You sign into your desktop, waiting for the encryption program to load before accessing your emails. There’s a lot to catch up on, so you spend the next hour or so organising your to-do list in order of urgency.

You get lost in making your little lists, allowing yourself to relax into finding order in your schedule. You barely even look up until there’s a soft knock on your office door, and by the time you’ve raised your head the door has opened and Farah has slipped inside.

“Oh,” You straighten up in surprise. “Commander. What can I do for you?”

It’s a surprise to see her, especially since you hadn’t received any email correspondence. Your office is tucked away down a remote corridor, and soldier’s usually prefer to just email you their requests rather than make the trek down.

Farah offers a polite smile, approaching your desk. “I hear you are taking photographs.”

Your smile slips a little. “Oh. No, actually, I wasn’t–”

“Captain Price said I was to be photographed,” She says, pulling the chair out opposite you and watching you expectantly. “I tried to find you yesterday, and the day before, but I believe you weren't on base.”

You shift, feeling abruptly rather awkward. “Right. I was– Price said that to you?”

“Mhm.” Farah leans back in the chair, her dark eyes alert as they track over your face. “He said that you have been stressed.”

You feel your face heat, mortified. Oh, god. How embarrassing. Has Price given the team a goddamn debrief on your little meltdown? Farah tilts her head as though she knows what you’re thinking, and a tiny smile quirks at the corner of her lips.

“That’s all he said,” She says. “That, and that we should try to make your job a little easier.”

“Oh.” You shift, embarrassed and awkward. “I– Listen, I had a… rough day at work a few days ago, that’s all. I’m not– things are fine.”

Farah just nods as though that’s perfectly convincing, and you find yourself wildly appreciative of her for a moment.

“So, then,” She says, and raises her eyebrows. “The picture?”

You can’t find a way to explain that you had thrown that particular responsibility right back at Price in a fit of pique, but it turns out you don’t have to. Farah produces a slim folder that you hadn’t noticed her holding, and you realise with another flush of embarrassment that it’s her personnel file.

“There wasn’t much to update, just a recent blood work test.” She says as she lays it on your desk. 

“That’s… thanks.” You say weakly, taking the file in hand. You flick through it briefly, feeling something in your stomach squirm at the sight of Farah’s details all filled in – Price’s handwriting is unmistakable, the small neat blocky letters standing out amongst the messy scrawl of Farah’s medical report.

You dig out your camera, still a little flustered, and direct Farah to stand against your plain white-painted wall. She’s an easy subject to photograph; she stands perfectly still, unsmiling, and you get the perfect picture after only a couple of attempts.

“Lovely,” You murmur, flicking through the pictures. “Thank you.”

Farah hums. You’re expecting her to dismiss herself, and it takes a moment for you to realise that she’s still lingering. You glance up, blinking, only to find that she’s standing with her lips pursed, obviously considering something.

“The Captain is worried about you.” She says, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Is everything alright?”

You gape at her like a moron, camera still hanging loosely from your hands. You feel uncomfortably seen; there’s no way that Farah could know what happened, but she’s looking at you with an awful lot of sympathy right now.

“What?” You squeak.

“You fought?” Farah speaks slowly, obviously conscious of overstepping her boundaries. “I don’t mean to pry, it’s just…”

“No, that’s okay.” You say hastily. “We didn’t– there was no fighting, exactly.”

She just nods, as if you’re making perfect sense, then smiles politely. She gathers herself up and steps towards the door, and you feel your head spinning as she turns to go. 

“You look tired,” Farah murmurs, low enough that you almost miss it. “When Price wants to fix things, let him.”

“Mhm.” You nod quickly without really hearing her. You’re pretty sure you’d agree to anything right now just to escape the knowing intensity of Farah’s gaze. “Yeah, of course.”

After Farah leaves, you feel like you need another day off. It’s all you can do to just sit in your comfortably padded office chair and groan like a moron, because Jesus Christ you’ve made such a mess of things. 

It was bad enough when you were pining like an idiot from afar; you’ve had crushes before, and you know that you would have outgrown it eventually. But then you had your stupid little meltdown in front of Price, and revealed more than you intended, and all of a sudden you’ve made yourself into a fool in front of the squad you’ve tried so hard to impress these last few months.

You have to try hard not to spiral. In fact, it’s a challenge not to cave and grab your phone to call Laswell all over again to demand a reassignment right this second. You have a pretty good idea of what she’d say to you in response, but still, the impulse remains.

All you can do is put it from your mind. You potter about, printing Farah’s photograph so you can tuck it neatly into her file with a paperclip, and then decide to start replying to the many emails that have built up in your absence.

The emails vary in tone, from polite enquiries to not-so-polite demands for you to solve some administrative issues, and you sigh quietly as you respond to some of the more snotty messages from upper management. And if you’re a little bit passive aggressive, then you don’t think anyone can blame you.

Your mind has finally quietened, focusing on your work as the buzz of your thoughts settle down, when another knock sounds out from your door. This one is firmer than Farah’s soft knock from earlier, and a little louder, though this time you don’t look up from your screen.

“Come in.” You call, chewing at your lip as you struggle to keep the wording of your email civil.

You’re half-expecting it to be Soap this time around, or maybe one of the recruits hoping to get you to sign off on their leave. So when you finally glance up only to catch sight of the broad, thick-shouldered figure of Captain Price stepping into your office, you think you might go into cardiac arrest.

Email abandoned, you half jolt to your feet before changing your mind mid-movement and attempting to sit back down. It ends up being a humiliating sort of jerky motion, and you pray that he somehow missed it entirely.

“Captain.” You wheeze, your voice coming out a little weak.

Price’s cool blue eyes dart over your face and then down the length of your body, and you become suddenly, mortifyingly aware of the state you’re in. You might not want to admit it, but your wardrobe definitely changes when the Captain isn’t on deployment. Instead of professional trousers, you wear your tight knee-length pencil skirts and fitted shirts, and totter around in your heels. And it’s silly, but… well, you can’t help but notice the way Price’s eyes follow you when you dress like that, and you like his attention on you.

Except today, you hadn’t been planning on running into Price. You hadn’t planned on seeing anyone, so you had dressed for comfort — you’re wearing a pair of frumpy grey wool trousers and a super over-sized soft purple sweater that practically swallows you whole. You haven’t even done your hair nicely, and you curse yourself. This has to be the least sexy you’ve looked in months.

“D’you’ve a moment, love?” 

His voice seems loud in the quiet of your office, even though realistically you know he’s only speaking in a murmur. In the quiet days you’ve spent alone in your apartment, you’d almost forgotten how lovely and low and gruff his voice is, and you feel your toes curl in your shoes at the sound of it.

It’s not as though you can refuse him, though you’re already embarrassingly aware of the way in which you had stormed off the last time you had seen him.

“Yeah.” You swallow thickly in an attempt to strengthen your voice, but it still comes out high and thready. “Sure.”

As if he had just been waiting for permission, Price steps into the room properly and closes the door behind him. All of a sudden, the room feels a little claustrophobic. Price is a big man, broad-shouldered and thickly built with a soft layer of fat cushioning those hard muscles, and you can’t help but feel as though his presence is sucking all of the air out of the room.

But still, he approaches slowly, like you’re some kind of feral cat. Those sharp eyes of his are still tracking over you; he never misses a beat, and you know that he’s taking stock of you in the same way he would for an enemy out on the field. You feel raw, uncomfortably vulnerable. You find yourself wishing wildly and ridiculously that you had worn your usual fitted shirt and pencil skirt, or at least put on a bit of makeup.

“You look rested.” He notes, coming to a slow stop just in front of your desk.

You suddenly curse your last minute choice to stay seated, because now Price’s big body is towering over you in a way that’s honestly making your head swim a little.

“Yeah.” Your voice is a little hoarse. “I guess.”

Price nods, inhales through his nose. A moment passes before he clears his throat and reaches out to place a handful of files on your desk. Despite the plain manila envelopes, you recognise them for what they are almost immediately; the personnel files for 141.

“Finished ‘em off for you while you were gone.” He says gruffly, as though it were no big deal. “Nearly had to nail Soap down to a chair for that damn photo.”

You stare at the files for a long moment, making no move to open them. You find yourself totally, utterly lost for words. 

“This is–” You start to say, and truthfully you’re not sure where you’re going with that. You think you’re about to thank him, but he doesn’t really give you the chance to.

“Why don’t we talk?” He says, and motions to the dinky little couch in the corner of the room as if he owns it.

You hesitate a moment, a little peeved about the effortless way he takes command in your own office, but relent and push yourself up from the desk. You don’t make eye contact with Price as you step around him, walking to the corner, but you can feel his eyes on you all the same.

 The couch had come with the office, and you don’t even really want to think about how old it is, but you sink down awkwardly onto it anyway. The cushions are worn and threadbare and the springs creak gratingly when you settle your weight onto it, but it’s fine. It does the job.

You’re half-expecting Price to drag the spare chair at your desk over so he can sit opposite you – you’re not expecting him to step right up next to you before he drops down next to you, sighing as his thick thighs spread wide.

You barely bite back a squeak, a little bewildered. You’re not surprised that he’s asked to talk to you. Your behaviour had been wildly inappropriate, and you couldn’t exactly protest if he’s decided to caution you or something.

But you had expected it to be a more formal affair; sitting together on the pathetic, dingy little couch in your office feels entirely too casual for the dressing down you’re sure you’re about to receive.

“Think we’re due a discussion about the other day.” He says, gentler than you had been expecting.

You avoid his eyes, though you can feel his stare boring into the side of your face. Ugh. Time to eat humble pie, you think miserably. 

“I’m sorry, sir.” You keep your voice as dispassionate and prim as possible. “My behaviour was unprofessional and entirely unacceptable, and I have no excuse. It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

It’s as professional an apology as you can manage, and you chance a quick side glance at him to see his reaction. Your stomach sinks when you see that his brow is creased in a frown, and you panic a little at the realisation that your apology hasn’t helped matters at all.

“Well,” His voice is gruff enough to elicit a little shiver from you. “I wasn’t–” He clears his throat. “I wasn’t looking for an apology.”

That finally makes you turn properly, your eyes darting nervously over his face. He’s already watching you, his blue eyes searing under the brim of his stupid hat. He’s trimmed his beard since the last time you saw him; the salt and pepper bristles of his moustache and chops are neat and shortened. He looks good, though you try not to notice. He doesn’t look as dehydrated or drained as he did a few days ago either, though he still leans into the couch with an air of quiet exhaustion.

“Paperwork has never been my favourite thing in the world,” He confesses with an air of chagrin that’s painfully endearing to you. “Always found it a pain, to be honest. Puts me right out of sorts. I was… short with you, the other day.”

You frown, making yourself small on the couch. “You said I wasn’t necessary.”

Price winces, then reaches up and pulls his boonie hat off his head so that he can drag a hand over his short-cropped hair. Though you had insulted it only the other day, it strikes you as odd to see him with a bare head.

“Shouldn’t have said that.” He mumbles, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his hat hang from his hands. “You’ve been great these last few months. Don’t know what I’d have done without you, sometimes.”

You’re stupid. It’s the only reason you can think of to explain the way blood rushes to your head and turns your face hot, your whole body going hot and prickly in response to his low praise. You fidget, glance away, and pray he doesn’t notice. 

“You know I’m no good at deskwork,” He says, and leans in a little closer like he thinks you’re not listening properly. “Don’t have the head for it. I think you’re the reason the team runs so smoothly in the first place, love.”

The flattery is being laid on a little too thick, but it works. You fall for it entirely, a warm glow settling over you like a blanket, wrapping around you tight and soothing the jagged edges of your anger and anxiety. You hate that you’re so easy to appease, a couple of sweet compliments and assurances falling from your Captain’s lips assuaging all that upset that you’ve been carrying around with you for days now.

But still, part of you isn’t quite willing to let go of the sting, the hurt that his words and his harsh tone had caused. 

“Is this you apologising, then?” You ask, watching him from the corner of your eye.

He smiles, close-mouthed. “Yeah. It is. Not doin’ too good, am I?”

“You’re doing okay.” You murmur, before deciding to try to be a bit cheeky. “But you can keep going, if you’d like.”

Price laughs, rich and warm and low. You don’t think you’ve ever actually heard him laugh in all the months you’ve been working with the task force, and the sound of it rumbles right into your bones, settling something inside of you and finally allowing you to relax. No longer tense with stress, you melt a little into the corner of the couch.

“Shouldn’t have snapped at you,” He says slowly. “You do good work. Great work. You shouldn’t feel like you’re not a valued member of the team.”

You swallow thickly. You feel too warm, your head swimming a little. His attention feels too heavy, heating your blood and going straight to your head.

“I overreacted,” You mumble reluctantly. “I shouldn’t… your hat isn’t stupid.”

That gets another bark of laughter out of Price, and he slaps a hand down onto your knee. The contact makes you jolt, eyes widening, but Price’s hand doesn’t shift. His palm is so large, spread across your thigh as his fingers curl over your knee. The touch feels almost scorching even through the thick fabric of your trousers.

All of a sudden, your tongue feels very thick in your mouth. The hand on your knee is not in any way suggestive; it’s chaste, innocent, just resting there like a reminder that he wants your attention on him (as if it could be anywhere else). But your nerves are jangling all of a sudden, every one of your senses straining towards him as you hold your breath.

“The hat isn’t the problem,” Price mutters, though you barely hear him. “I wanted to ask you about something else you said, love. Something you said about your father.”

That has some of the heat in your veins cooling, your eyes blowing wide. “I– what?”

To your bewilderment, Price’s cheeks have reddened beneath the whiskers of his beard and moustache. Despite his clear chagrin, he doesn’t break eye contact with you, his thick fingers squeezing cautiously around your knee. 

“Don’t mean to overstep,” He assures you quietly. “And– and don’t mind me if I’m talkin’ nonsense. But I know that you’ve been working so hard, and you’ve got a tough job. Can’t be easy. And I just wanted to say that if you'd like some… guidance – someone to steer you on the right path, that is– well, that I’m here if you ever want to talk."

Oh god. You feel your mouth go dry. 

It’s funny, because even though Price isn’t even yet forty, he’s always seemed so much older. Maybe it’s the weight of the responsibility that he carries on his shoulders, or the battle-hardened icy blue eyes, or the paternal sense of protectiveness that he shows over his team. He’s always been like an almost father figure for the squad, regardless of age; you’ve seen the way he’s so protective over Ghost, the way he claps Soap on the back or shoulders in praise to boost him up, the way he beams with pride when Farah excels, the way he always makes time to guide or give advice to Gaz.

It’s sweet. He’s always been sweet, so aware of the personalities on his team, even when he’s acting like that typical military authority figure. 

"Sounds like you want to be my daddy." You mean to say it in a derogatory fashion, laughing as though it's ridiculous, though when it comes out you can hear that it’s missing some of the sarcasm you had intended.

Price reacts instantly. He reels back, eyes widening, the pink in his cheeks flares into a deep red flush, and you see his chest heave as his breath catches. You hadn’t been expecting a reaction like this; Price looks as though the words have hit him like a physical slap.

“Jesus. That’s not–” He says, and the gravelly hoarseness in his voice is a shock. “That’s not what I meant.”

There’s a moment of charged silence. Fuck, what have you done? Why would you say that? Why would you say that, to the captain of your task force? Hadn’t you embarrassed yourself enough in front of him the day you had had your silly little meltdown? It’s like you just can’t keep your damn mouth shut around him, like your brain turns to mush the second he looks at you and you just lose the run of yourself.

“I’m sorry.” You blurt. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what– I didn’t mean it.”

The next silence is even worse than the last, tension humming between you like a live wire. He’s so close to you that his scent fills your nose – a blend of sweet cigar smoke, sharp gunpowder, and a heady masculine musk. You feel so fucking stupid, and more than a little panicked. You don’t think you could survive the humiliation of having to call Laswell and beg for a reassignment twice in one day just because you’ve completely humiliated yourself in front of the Captain again.

Price swallows, the sound painfully loud in the silence.

“Right.” He says slowly, before coughing roughly to clear his throat. “Mm. ‘Course. I didn’t mean to– perhaps I overstepped. Since you mentioned your father–”

“I don’t want to talk about my father.” You say swiftly.

God, you feel like your issues are out on display with a big damn spotlight. You feel so pathetic, so damn pitiful, as though your desperate need for approval and affection from an older male authority figure is written across your forehead.

But if your issues are on display, then so are Price’s, because you can’t help but notice that the vibrant red flush on his cheeks hasn’t faded. If anything, that deep flush has spread down his throat and over his chest; you can see how the skin that’s stretched over his pectoral muscles is glowing crimson beneath his shirt.

A niggling boldness begins to creep in, and you find yourself straightening on the couch. You turn, bring one of your legs up on the couch so that you can turn your whole body towards him, one of your elbows resting on the back cushion of the couch. 

Price’s eyes sharpen when your body turns towards him, and his body draws tense. Those cool blue eyes dart over you, and you’re surprised to see heat in them despite your oversized purple jumper and unflattering wool trousers. The whisper of his fatigues brushing against the fabric of your own trousers is both a distraction and an invitation, your thighs sliding surreptitiously against each other.

“What if I did mean it?” You blurt out before your courage can flee you.

Price goes so still it looks preternatural, even the breaths in his chest slowing. 

“Kid.” He says, and it sounds like a warning.

You don’t heed it, adjusting yourself so that you’re shuffling closer yet again. You don’t think you’ve ever been so close to him, his scent and his body and his heated gaze filling up your consciousness until he’s all that you’re aware of.

“What if I meant it?” You ask again, the whisper coming out low but charged. 

Price takes a breath that sounds like a groan, and it surprises you. You hadn’t expected that reaction; it sends a trickle of heated desire running down your spine, and you’re startled by how much you want him in this moment.

“D’you know what you’re asking for?” He asks, the gravel in his voice flooding wet heat between your legs. 

His carefully laced words linger in the space between you, daring you to accept, to shred the formal boundary that looms between the two of you. You get the sense that you’re walking a fine line here, that you’re getting close to the point of no return. 

“Yes.” You breathe, although you’re not entirely sure that you do know what you’re asking for. All you know is that he’s so close, and he’s staring at you with an expression of such hunger that it’s making you feel weak.

Price moves fast for such a big man, and all you can do is let out a soft sound of surprise when one of his big hands wraps around the back of your neck to pull you in. A deep, guttural sound escapes him when his lips crash into yours, his mouth demanding and greedy.

It feels like you go both lax and rigid simultaneously, before you positively light up. The hand that Price has wrapped around the back of your neck keeps you grounded, and before you can stop yourself you’re burrowing closer. It feels like the tension, your childish argument, the sexual friction – everything has culminated to this electrifying moment, where Price’s full lips are consuming yours, the hair of his beard rubbing over your cheeks and chin and keeping your nerves straining towards him.

The kiss doesn’t start out slow; it skips straight to hungry, fast and dirty, with Price’s big hands on your hip and the back of your neck, holding and guiding you. Overwhelming. 

Price’s big fucking body is leaning in, caging you against the couch. The wide shoulders and barrel-chested mass of him pressing you into the cushions is just short of breath-taking, but it’s not enough. You want to be right up against him, under his skin.

You swing your leg over Price’s, and climb up into his lap. His thighs are thick beneath you, wide and muscled, but you’re still hesitant to fully settle your weight against him. You just want to be closer, to feel the heat of him pressed against you, but the second you start moving Price grabs at your hips and pulls you down properly, uncaring of your weight.

“I’ve been–” You manage to say in between kisses, your words muffled and a little wet. “I’ve been working my ass off, for the squad, for you, and you never say or do anything–”

Price grunts, grappling with his sudden lapful of you. His eyes meet yours, and in them, you think you might see the spark of admiration, for your brave stupidity if nothing else. 

“Sh, I know,” He says as he grips at your hips under your oversized jumper, encouraging you to settle down your full weight on his thighs. “I know, love, you’ve been working so hard. What would I do without you, huh?”

And the thing is, you’re a very capable woman. You’ve had to be, in order to survive in your line of work. You know that you’re capable, you know that you do good work, you know that you help keep the wheels greased and everything moving behind the scenes for the 141, but even still, Price’s praise sinks into you like warm honey.

“Watching you walk around in those tight little skirts, Christ.” He hums, and his big palms land on your ass and squeeze there suggestively. “And those heels– completely impractical for a military base like this.”

You wheeze a laugh, clutching at his shoulders. It feels completely surreal that you’re currently perched in your Captain’s lap, with his big shovel-like hands groping your bum as he nips at your lips and confesses that he’s been watching you. It goes straight to your head, makes you dizzy, makes you wish wildly that you had worn one of those skirts for him today.

Oh, you could get used to this. Realistically you know the size difference between you two isn’t that immense, but Price is built like a man whose reality is all war, and when he shifts beneath you his muscles roll, unwittingly showing off his physique. You think you could stay here forever, feeling safe in a big man’s lap, cushioned by his body as he tells you that you’re valuable, and important.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Price groans, nipping at your lower lip before capturing your mouth wholly again. “You’re a handful.”

You’d love to argue that – you like to think that you’re perfectly measured and sensible, after all – but you’re already squirming in his lap, your legs spread wide over his thighs. Arousal pools in your stomach, makes you slick your knickers, and you can’t stop the slow grind your hips trace against his thigh.

Price’s breath shudders out of his chest, and his hands clench tight around your hips. “Hang on a sec,” He breathes, “Hold on. I’m still– I’m still your Captain–”

You think that it’s meant to be a warning, or at least a word of caution about the precarious situation you’re in regarding professionalism and inappropriate workplace relationships. What you’re doing right now is ridiculous, after all. You’re still on base, you’re in your office, and if the two of you get caught you don’t even want to think about the consequences. The fraternisation rule shouldn’t apply here, since you’re only considered part of the team by a mere technicality, but even in your lust-hazed mind you can still recognise that sitting on his lap and kissing like this at your workplace is wildly inappropriate.

But if it is a warning, it doesn’t work. The reminder of his authority only inflames you further, and a quiet whimper is torn from your throat when you rock against his lap.

He swears, and beneath you his cock stirs in his fatigues. You can feel the way it fills out where it’s pressed against the seam of your trousers, right between your legs. You reflexively squish your thighs together, tightening them around his hips.

“Christ,” He grits out like a curse. “Alright, then.”

He moves quickly, his hands secure on your back as he lunges forward, flipping you over so that you’re laying on your back on the shoddy, worn-down couch. You go so easily – 

you’re soft now, pliable and eager to please, and he could direct you anywhere he wanted.

He’s too large to be climbing on top of you on a couch like this, but somehow it doesn’t even matter. Now that he’s above you, holding himself up with those strong arms on either side of your head, he looks down on you with an expression that you don’t know what to make of. His eyes are still intense, but the lines around them are softened as he stares down, his gaze tracing your face. 

“You think I haven’t been looking?” He asks, and his voice isn’t as harsh or gritty as you’d been expecting. It’s softer now, fond, almost. “How could I fuckin’ miss you? Always so pretty, always workin’ so hard. ‘Course I noticed.”

When his fingers creep beneath your big purple jumper, you launch into helping him remove it, eagerly stripping it off so you’re laying in your bra. It’s one of your simple utilitarian ones, and you curse yourself for not wearing a sexier one.

But Price groans at the sight of your simple white cotton as though it’s premium lace. His palms are rough as they trace up your sides, the callouses on his fingers coarse against the soft squishy flesh of your belly. He leans forward and nuzzles at your ear, kissing behind your lobe before scraping his teeth along your jaw until he’s kissing messily at your mouth all over again.

“So gorgeous.” He says, his voice a low rumble that has your nerves buzzing. “I was too mean to you before, wasn’t I? Too harsh, when all you were trying to do was help.”

“Yes.” You whisper, though you feel a little bit petulant for it.

“Let me make up for it, darling,” He whispers back, and it sounds like a plea. “Hm? I’ll show you how good you’ve been.”

You’re nodding before he even finishes, desperate. God, yes. You’re not even sure what it is that he’s offering, but you know that you’ll take anything that he has to give you.

He’s looming over you, so large, as his hands fall to the closure on your work trousers. His fingers are so thick that he fumbles with the delicate button and little zip, and it takes him a couple of tries to pull it open and down. When he’s got it, he shucks your trousers off easily and tosses them aside, then stares down at you in your ugly shapeless underwear as though you’re wearing something else entirely.

Even though you’re laying unclothed and vulnerable, squirming and wanting, Price is so slow to get moving. He doesn’t grab at you, or grope greedily, or take impatiently. He acts as though he’s got all the time in the world, leisurely looking you over as though he’s committing you to memory.

“Need you to say it,” He says, strained like he’s trying to hold himself back. “Need you to say it out loud.”

“Want you to show me how good I’ve been.” You say immediately, your desire leaving no room for shame. “Want you to look after me.”

The request comes out a little bit plaintive, and Price sighs out before ducking his head and kissing you again. He’s so much more affectionate than you had ever imagined, and you feel as though you’re drowning in it. His attention is like a warm blanket, settling every craving you’ve ever had.

“I will,” He breathes like it’s a promise. “Oh, I will.”

His palms are rough and hot as they drag over your skin, deceptively gentle as he reaches your tits and pushes your bra up so that he can knead at the soft flesh there. He doesn’t even bother to unclasp it, impatient enough that shoving the cups up so to free your breasts is enough for him. 

He bends his head down, and licks a stripe over your nipple. His tongue feels scorching against you, like you’re hypersensitive to his touch, and he groans against your skin as though he’s tasting something incredible.

You writhe, hips arching up in search of some kind of friction, but Price doesn’t give it to you. He’s too distracted, peppering dozens of kisses over your tits as though they’re something precious even as his hands coast down your back to grope at your ass again where your plain cotton underwear is riding up.

“So pretty, ain’tcha?” He groans against your chest. “Fuck, even when you were walkin’ around with a face on you like a slapped arse, I thought you were the sweetest fuckin’ thing I’d ever seen.”

“Charming.” You snap, but there’s no anger in your tone anymore. In fact, you don’t think there’s a lick of anger anywhere in your whole body anymore, like Price’s hands and mouth on you have washed it all away.

All the brattiness, and the prickliness of your bad mood, is entirely forgotten now that you’re laid out and squirming beneath him. You can hardly even remember what you had been so stressed and angry with him for.

He finally reaches around to unclasp your bra, then tosses it to the side to let it slump sadly to the floor. His next target is your underwear, pulled from you roughly enough that you think the fabric might tear even as his hands cradle the plush flesh of your ass like it’s a treasure.

“Mm, so gorgeous, princess,” It seems like the name just slips out of his mouth, and you feel your whole body draw tense and hot. “So lovely, and I bet you taste even better than you look… like sugar, my sweet girl.”

Jesus Christ. You think your whole fucking body throbs, blood pounding and nerves straining as you wish so desperately for him to touch you. You can’t handle him talking to you like that, so fondly, as if you haven’t just acted like the biggest brat in the world for several days straight.

You can hardly even reconcile this man with the usual stern, gruff man that acts as your Captain, and you let out a choked whine of bewilderment as he slides down your body.

Your thighs are clamped together, shy under his gaze despite how desperately eager you are. You want this, you want him, but you can’t help but feel so mortified by the vulnerability of being nude beneath him on the couch while his big formidable body is still entirely clothed.

Price’s fingers stroke against your hip, his tone low and rich as his lips find your throat again. You can feel his tongue darting out against your skin, his hunger so palpable now that it’s infectious.

“Let daddy see you,” He croaks against the hollow of your throat. “Spread your legs, sweetheart.”

It’s not like you could ever say no to that. The request sends liquid heat shooting straight to your cunt, making you hot and sticky. You spread your thighs, and feel embarrassment flare when there’s a squelch as your cunt unsticks. And– Jesus, Price’s eyes fucking light up, and you realise that he’s clocked your reaction to his honeyed words, the way he calls himself daddy.

The kiss he gives you is claiming and hungry, consuming your lips with a fervour that leaves no room for doubt about his intentions. It’s a taste of both command and reverence — in equal measure. When he pulls away from your mouth you’re breathless, still gasping softly even as he pushes himself down the length of your body.

In the blink of an eye, he’s there — between your welcoming thighs, his hands resting securely on your soft hips, as much a lifeline as a promise of what’s to come. Your pussy is already sloppy, slick and wet in anticipation of him. He shoves his head between your thighs, using his thumbs to spread apart your folds and just look at you.

Your back arches at even the suggestion of his touch, feeling his breath ghost over the heated slick flesh of your cunt. Despite your obvious willingness, and his apparent eagerness, he doesn’t immediately touch you.

You crane your neck to see that he’s staring at your pussy as though the sight of it is earth-shattering. His gaze drinks you in, heated blue eyes taking in the sight of your swollen sticky folds, no doubt throbbing invitingly under his attention. You’ve never seen a man look so hungry, like he’s about to risk anything for it. A dark, groaned "fuck" escapes him as he kneels between your spread legs, head bowed as if in reverence.

"Daddy needs a taste, sweet girl," His deep voice a heavy rumble, vibrating against your soft inner thighs. 

It takes a beat for you to realise that he’s holding himself back, that he’s essentially asking for permission to lay his mouth on you, but then you gasp, “Yes, fuck, yes, please–”

Price takes it as the enthusiastic invitation that it is and bursts into movement immediately, reaching out and guiding your legs wider so that he can muscle in between them properly, before leaning in and finally getting his mouth on you.

You choke, hips aching as you try to spread your legs even further. Price drags the flat of his tongue along the seam of your cunt, groaning as though he’s savouring the taste of you, before wrapping his arms around your thighs to keep you all spread open for him as his tongue rasps over your sensitive flesh.

You want to call out for him, but his name stalls on your tongue. What would you call him – Price? John? Captain? Daddy? You think you would die if you said it out loud.

Then his tongue finds your clit, and your thoughts scatter. He flicks the tip of his tongue over you, back and forth, then flattens it to grind eagerly. You had thought, given the way he had taken that moment just to look at you before he’d pressed his mouth to you, that he would start slow. But instead, he gives you everything he has.

You cry out as he devours your cunt, his bushy eyebrows pulling up in delight as you give him your first moan. While your legs had spread wide in the beginning, eager to let him in, you now close them tight around his head to keep him in place. You have a brief, hazy thought that maybe this is an asshole move of you, a little like if a man were to hold your head down while you were sucking cock, but Price doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, judging by the snarl he lets out when your thighs close around his ears, he likes it.

You toss your head back against the worn couch cushions as jolts of white-hot heat spread from where his mouth is working at you, playing with you, tongue painting long, broad strokes up and down your pussy. 

Your cunt is syrupy hot, throbbing as his tongue rubs relentlessly at your clit. You’re so fucking wet, and you can’t help yourself from rolling your hips more assertively into his mouth. You’re leaking on his mouth, his tongue, your slick drenching his cheeks and his beard.

Seized by a sudden urge to watch, you clumsily raise your head so you can look down. It feels entirely illicit, watching Price’s head between your legs as he buries his face so enthusiastically into your folds. His eyes flash as he glances up, the bottom half of his face hidden entirely in your pussy as his jaw works, the soft hair of his beard tickling your sensitive inner thighs.

With a jolt, you realise that one of his hands has fallen to his lap, his trousers hastily pushed open. He’s fisting at his dripping cock, red and angry and still begging for release against the thick dark hair of his stomach. Sticky pre-cum leaks from his flushed head, pooling into his skin and clothes as his cock bobs and twitches at the sounds of your moans.

The sudden realisation that Price is getting off on this, on the taste of you and the smell of you and the way you’re whining, sets you aflame. He grunts, one of his big hand’s wrapping around his throbbing skin to pump his length to the rhythm of his tongue inside of you.

“Oh, oh fuck,” You press your lips together, stomach pulling tight as his tongue thrusts up inside of you, “Fuck, fuck, fuck that’s so good, oh god, Captain–”

“Yeah,” Price grunts, his words all wetly muffled, his arms wrapped tight around your thighs to keep you in place as he feasts on you, sucking on your clit like it’s a sweet. “I know, baby, I know.”

He’s so accommodating, so nice to you. You tilt your hips up and grind your cunt into his mouth, sighing in satisfaction as his tongue drags along your clit before dipping to lick inside of you. He barely even shifts when you hump your pussy into his face; he only opens his mouth wider, licks at you more enthusiastically as though your desperation is contagious. 

Your belly goes hot and tight, and a high-pitched whimper is torn from your throat. It feels as though you’ve been strung high and taut for months now, and your breath catches at your imminent orgasm. You’ve just been so stressed, and having Price hunched over you on the couch like this with your legs thrown up around his shoulders as he licks and sucks at you so eagerly that it has your eyes rolling in your head feels like it’s curing you.

You think, somewhat madly, that an orgasm like this, with Price’s mouth sealed over your cunt, will solve every damn problem you have right now.

“Wanna come, wanna come, Jesus fucking Christ, please please–” Your chest heaves as you scramble, one of your hands reaching down to cup Price’s head to keep him in place, face buried in your cunt. “Oh god, please make me come–”

Maybe it’s not fair to be so demanding of him, but to his credit Price responds with restless enthusiasm. You double over in pleasure as he heeds your broken little pleas, your nails scraping into the couch as you cling on for dear life. His tongue swirls over your clit quickly and with fervour, tight circles to make your vision go blurry.

You’re lost in the sensation of his hot, wet mouth in your cunt, the way he licks into you like a starving man tasting his first meal. It feels like a sensation overload, as though you’re just completely lost to your own desire, but you just want more of what he is offering. 

You grab his hair again and pull him closer, greedy with need, and he hums in affirmation as he allows you to guide his mouth to exactly where you need it. Arching your hips up, you grind into his mouth, chasing your orgasm. You groan, eyelids fluttering as you wrap your other leg around Price’s shoulders, up around his neck, and his hand snakes around your thigh to anchor you there.

Price’s fingers are gripping at your hips, surely hard enough to leave bruises there. You smile, almost deliriously; you could live with some souvenirs from tonight.

Your feeble gasps start to spiral into whimpers as that hot coil begins to tighten in your belly, and your toes start to curl. When your climax finally hits, it does so with a sense of relief that almost knocks you flat. Your body winds tight then releases, and you convulse in a wave of shudders that has you sobbing out loud.

Your chest heaves as you sob, squirming as Price licks at your clit insistently. It feels like your breath has caught in your chest, your toes curling so hard that your feet cramp. You’re panting like a damn dog as your orgasm rocks through you, until the waves of it subside and you can finally get a full breath again.

From one second to the next your nerves turn red-hot and oversensitive, and you clamp your thighs shut around Price’s ears and whimper-whine pathetically. Mercifully, he gets your unspoken message easily, and finally pulls back, chuckling breathlessly to himself as he pushes your legs apart in order to retreat.

“Fuck,” He says, and his voice comes out as harsh and gravelly as you’ve ever heard it. “Jesus Christ. Knew you’d taste sweet, knew that you’d come so pretty.”

The praise practically slams into you, ripping through you like a forest fire. It feels like you’ve lost your breath all over again, and ridiculously you suddenly feel shy. 

“I–That–” You start to say, but you still feel a little fuzzy-headed from your orgasm and your thoughts fizz away like TV static. 

“Mhm, I know, sweet girl.” He murmurs hoarsely as though you had said something coherent. 

When Price finally sits up, you blink hazily. He had been all hunched over you, crammed into the corner of the couch in order to squeeze himself between your thighs like that, but now that he’s straightening back up again you’re reminded with a tired jolt just how big and broad and strong he is.

A small, self-conscious part of your brain screams at you to close your legs. Your thighs are still spread wide, your cunt on display; you’re still all sloppy and wet, spit-slick and dripping, all puffy from the attention Price had lavished on you with his mouth.

But instead of closing your legs, you let your thighs fall open a little wider and shift restlessly under his intense gaze. Your desire makes you stupid – how could you ever experience anything as mundane as self-consciousness when he’s staring at you like that? He’s looking at you like he wants to fall atop you all over again, and you feel yourself throb – you feel so empty, your body craving something to fill you.

And Price notices the way you keep yourself all spread for him, the way you don’t make any move to cover yourself. Beneath his beard, his face splits into a wide smile, the apples of his cheeks practically glowing with pride.

“Oh, my girl, you're so pretty. Just the loveliest girl in the world with your beautiful face and your hair all wild like that.” He leans in then, and presses a hungry  kiss to your mouth. He tastes salty-sweet, the iron tang of yourself lingering on his lips. His beard is wet too, practically soaked through.

You gasp when he pulls back, overwhelmed by the kiss and the praise and the electric aftershocks of your orgasm. “Your beard is wet.” You observe dumbly.

He chuckles, as though you’ve said something terribly endearing. “Of course it is, sweetheart. That’s all you.”

You mumble a little incoherently, mostly because you’ve just spotted the way his trousers are still unbuttoned and his hard, swollen cock is jutting out from the band of his boxers. It’s angry looking, the head of it so red it looks a little painful, and you feel a sudden urge to return the favour seize you.

But when you reach out, Price is quick to grab your wrist. He transfers his grip to your hand swiftly so you don’t feel as though you’re being held down, his wide palm and thick fingers winding around yours.

“Don’t have to do that, love.” He grunts, shifting. He’s looming over you, hips tilted towards you and his wide shoulders blocking out your view of the office. “D’you think you could take me?”

It takes you a moment for your slow, stupid brain to catch up and process what he’s asking you. Then you nod swiftly, eyes widening. You're wet and sticky and so so empty, and you have no doubt your body is so ready to take him inside. 

You’re still a little limp and drained from the satisfaction of your orgasm, but you keep your thighs spread and wait eagerly for him to touch you again. He doesn’t keep you waiting long; he coos softly at you as he adjusts himself, kissing your tummy then up your sternum and back to your throat. The soft, sweet kisses distract you as he presses his hips between your thighs.

You gasp softly, your clit sensitive enough that when his cock rubs against it, you jolt. Despite the overload of sensation, you find yourself grinding back against him, so desperate for something. As if he can sense what you need, he presses a kiss to your jaw and dips a hand between your thighs. Two thick, calloused fingers circle your clit for a moment and make you whimper, only to dip lower and press inside you.

His fingers are larger than yours, but they still slip into you so damn easily that it’s embarrassing. You barely even feel a stretch, your body so eager for him that your cunt practically sucks his fingers up.

The worst part is the way Price laughs, all soft and breathy as he rubs his callous-roughened fingers into the spongey walls of your cunt. 

“Oh, fuck,” He murmurs, his lips dragging over your overheated skin. “Yeah, you’ll take me just fine.”

You burn with embarrassment, but you still don’t close your legs. It’s silly, but there’s still an element of pride as his fingers rub against the soft inside of your pussy; you want him to see how much you want him, how well you’ll take him. It’s obvious how wet you are, and you hope he’s imagining how good you’ll feel on the inside.

“Need you to turn over for me, love.” He murmurs, gripping at your hips and easing you over so that you’re on your belly beneath him. “That’s it, arse up. My knees aren’t what they used to be. Make it easy for me.”

You usually would make a joke about that, some sort of jab about being old before his time, but you simply don’t have the mental capacity for it. You’re too busy dropping to rest your weight on your elbows as you stick your ass up towards him, arching your back and hoping you look pretty.

He doesn’t waste any more time, much to your relief. Your mouth drops open with a sigh as you feel the blunt head of his cock glide between your slick folds, tapping once against your clit just to watch the way your legs jerk, then finally lining up with your entrance and pressing lightly in. His cock notches, catches, then slides in so slowly that it makes you want to scream.

“Gotta let me in, petal.” He says, using his grip on your hips to pull you back onto his cock in increments. “Relax, relax.”

You had wanted this, you’re more eager than you think you’ve ever been for anyone in your life, and yet Price is a big man and the stretch makes your breath stall in your lungs. Your cunt is sucking his cock in further with a hunger that’s almost embarrassing, even as you wince a little at the feeling of being stretched out to your limits. Though you’re wet and eager and ready, two of Price’s fingers briefly testing inside weren’t quite enough to prepare you for how fat his cock is. 

Your head is spinning. You’ve never taken a cock this big with so little stretching, but neither you nor Price are patient enough to wait. But the stretch feels good, and you find yourself wheezing like a moron as he presses inside inch by inch.

“Fuck… you alright, love?” Price breathes, adjusting his knees on the couch behind you and wrapping his hands around your hips. The motion only succeeds in shifting him far enough away to make you aware of the feeling of him sliding into you again. You both groan, and you feel Price twitch, deep inside you.

“Fuck,” You moan, breath gasping out of you. “You’re fucking huge.”

It feels like you’re learning for the very first time what it really means to be full. For a few seconds, it feels like you can’t even breathe. It feels like his cock is lodged somewhere in your belly, forcing the breath from your lungs as he nestles his way deeper into the eager clutch of your body.

“Am I– s’it too much, honey?” He asks, his voice rough and low as his hands squeeze at the flesh at your hips. “Need me to take it out?”

“No!” You blurt, and your body clenches up hard as though you’re trying to lock him in and keep him from escaping. “Don’t you dare!”

His cock still feels so big, and when you tighten up as hard as you do it almost feels as though he’s fucking impaling you. Price groans as though he’s been shot, and his head lowers so that he’s burying his face into the space between your shoulderblades. His body lowers too until his chest is pressed to your back, joined at the hips as he rocks inside of you. 

“Okay,” He grunts, and you can feel his chest expand as he takes a breath. “Okay, love, but you need to relax. You’re going to squeeze my cock right off.”

“Sorry.” You try to do as he asks, taking a deep breath and allowing your body to go limp and pliant. He grunts in appreciation, and you feel his whiskery beard rasp against your throat as he presses a kiss to your neck as if to reward you.

Your spine is still taut from the pressure of being all stretched out around his cock, and you reach back clumsily to grasp at his belly, the soft fabric of his shirt rucking up between your fingers. Price reaches back and grabs at the neck of his own shirt, tearing it over his head then tossing it aside. Your eyes are all hazy and a little blurred from your overwhelmed tears, but you look back over your shoulder and blink frantically in an attempt to get a proper look at him. 

God, he’s so big and strong, his chest furred with a layer of brown hair curling in whorls over his nipples and down over his belly. You feel yourself pulse in response, your mouth dropping open in a thoughtless gasp of desire. He’s exactly the kind of man you think of when you think of masculinity, and your belly tightens in anticipation when he presses all up against you, heavy and hot.

When he begins to pull out and press back in, the noise you make is utterly pathetic. It feels like he cleaving you in two, carving out a space for his cock every time he fucks back into you. He’s cautious at first, conscious of hurting you, but when your thighs close around his hips he grunts and begins to pick his pace up.

“Christ, you’re tight,” Price says, his voice all rough and muffled against your shoulder. “And you're all mine, love, my own sweet girl, ain’t that right? And daddy's gonna love you so good, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” You gasp stupidly, pressing your face into the couch cushions.

Typically, you find that doggy style can be a position that’s a little detached – usually, you like seeing the face of the person you’re fucking. But right now, with Price plastering his whole hairy body against your back as he ruts into you and the sweet filthy words he’s murmuring to you, this position feels so far from detached that it has your head spinning. It feels like he’s blanketing you, the heat from his skin igniting what feels like an inferno between the two of you. Sweat beads at your forehead, and you moan softly as Price begins to fuck you properly.

You’re bouncing against the couch, clutching at the cushions as your body moves under the weight of Price’s powerful thrusts. The sound of it is sloppy and wet, your bodies smacking together quick and hard. And fuck, it feels good. His cock is hitting that perfect spot deep inside of you, and your entire body jolts with pleasure every time he pounds back in. 

It’s enough to make you squeal, your nails scrabbling desperately for purchase on the threadbare couch cushions in an attempt to stabilise yourself. Your nipples are sensitive from Price’s licking at sucking at them, and your toes curl as your tits are pressed into the rough-textured cushions, electrifying your nerves to the point of almost too-much. 

The noises you make are entirely undignified, and you struggle to muffle them into the couch. Little burbling ah ah ah’s are being torn from your throat every time Price fucks into you, the sensation of his furred balls slapping against you with every thrust has your eyes rolling.

Your body is all loose and pliant from your earlier orgasm, and you whimper as though you’re being fucked absolutely stupid. It’s not that he’s fucking you all that hard, but he’s filling you up so deliciously and knowing that it’s him, your Captain, the man that you’ve worked so damn hard to impress and to please, makes you feel like you’re going to explode. Even through the haze of desire and pleasure, a little part of you is still so aware of making him happy. You keep your back arched, practically waving your ass up in the air as he fucks into you.

“Tell me how you like it, sweetheart. Tell me how it feels.” Price says in a low, rough purr. His chest is still pressed to your back even as the two of you pant and sweat as you rock together. “Tell daddy how good he's making you feel.”

Jesus Christ, Price feels like a fucking furnace against you. It feels almost as though you’ve been glued together, your skin sweat slick as he ruts into you like an animal. Your lungs are burning, and your mind is completely scattered. Getting fucked like this feels feels primal, an exchange of power through pleasure; you’re aware that he’s asked you a question, but you can hardly string two thoughts together. All you can do is squirm and whimper in below him as his weight pins you in place.

“Good,” You groan, vaguely aware that tears are leaking from your eyes and soaking the couch beneath you. Your vision is blurred, and you can’t even see straight. “I just– it’s so much–”

“I know,” He rumbles. “But you can take it, can’t you? You’ve been so good, sweetheart.”

The praise does exactly what he’s hoping for; you practically melt into a puddle beneath him. Your thoughts are slow and sluggish, and your jaw hangs open as you fucking drool. Even still, you manage to nod your head clumsily. You can take him – it feels like a point of pride to prove it now, to show off how good you can be.

Price’s rhythm is practically machine-like, and you make a quiet sound of pure appreciation when his cock slams into that gummy spot inside of you that makes you lose your breath. It’s as though he takes note of it, because from that point on he stays absolutely jackhammering into that little spot, making you see stars and have to bite your lip to stifle your moans. His balls would slam against your clit in a repeated motion that made your underbelly tighten like a coil so close to snapping.

He groans every time he sinks into you, his growls rumbling into your back and ratcheting up the intensity another notch. You feel lost in a sea of sensation, moored only by the places of contact between you and Price. Your hips are humping back against Price’s cock unconsciously, unable to help yourself and unable to get enough of him.

“I wanna come again,” You say, and it comes out in a demanding sort of whine. It’s a little humbling to hear yourself and realise that you sound so honest to god bratty, but you can’t bring yourself to care when Price is apparently in such a giving mood today. 

“You’re gonna come, love.” He promises. His voice has that tone to it, the one you’ve always tried to ignore during work because it makes you so horny. The authoritative one, when it drops just a bit in pitch, when it sounds just a little like a threat.

But despite his promise, he doesn’t change his steady pace. You’re just this side of overwhelmed, but you still need more to push you over the edge into the second orgasm that’s simmering in your lower stomach. 

“Please, daddy,” You let the name pass your lips on a whimper, finally giving in and calling him by the title he’s so clearly craving. He’s fucked all the shame out of your body at this point, leaving you with nothing but white hot desperation. “Please, please make me come again–”

“Fuckin’ Christ–”

Price’s arm reaches around your front, and you’re startled when his big palm wraps around your throat. You think for a moment that you’re about to get choked, but no pressure follows. He just grips you there, gentle and secure, before using his hold on you to pull you back against him so that he’s rutting up into you at a speed that’s overwhelming in the best way. His other arm reaches around your belly so that he can rub at your clit as he rails you into the couch. His soft grip on your throat ensures that no matter how much you try to squirm your way back into meeting his thrusts, you’re forced into stillness. 

It’s exactly what you wanted, and it has you wheezing and hiccuping out moans on every stroke. It’s better than you ever could have hoped for, and you’re nearly sobbing from the sheer sensation of it all. You feel your abdomen drawing tight, heat beginning to build rapidly in the bottom of your belly as he strokes at your clit hard and fast at a pace that matches his fucking.

You know that you’re already starting to shake, trembling from head to toe. You can’t even keep your back arched anymore, though you don’t think Price gives a shit because he just nuzzles at the base of your shoulder as he fucks into you. Between his cock and his fingers, everything just feels too much but your body is strung taut as you proverbially climb higher and higher.

“Oh god, I’m– yes, yes, yes–” You chant, your voice high and reedy and so damn needy.

Then the world falls out from under you. With one last whimpering moan, your body convulses beneath the heavy weight of your captain’s big body. Your vision practically wipes out, and you squeeze down around Price’s dick and pulse. Your whole body rocks with the flood of pleasure, the warm fuzzy feeling that makes you feel as though you’re losing your mind. You know that your hips are twitching madly, simultaneously trying to get more and less as you get overwhelmed by the feeling of him fucking you through it all.

You’re still coming down from the sweet release of your orgasm when Price practically tears himself away from you, leaving you cruelly empty and clenching around nothing. You let out a sharp sound of loss, startled that he’s pulled away so suddenly, and you find yourself slumping bonelessly against the couch now that his hands are no longer supporting you.

The wet shlurping sounds from behind you prompt you to glance lazily over your shoulder from where your face is smushed against the cushions, and you’re blessed with the sight of Price tugging his cock furiously behind you. His cheeks are bright red as he stares at the mess he’s made of you, his jaw soft and his mouth open as he pants.

He sees you looking, and whatever expression is on your face seems to be his undoing. He takes in your tear-clumped eyelashes and your dazed expression, and you can practically see the moment he hurtles over the edge. He practically snarls, his nose scrunching in a way that’s unexpectedly adorable right as his cock gives one fat pump of thick white come, then several smaller sputterings that collect in a creamy puddle right at the base of your spine, just over the swell of your ass.

You sigh, your eyelids fluttering lazily shut as you relish the feeling of his hot come hitting your skin. You still can’t manage to pull yourself together, feeling loose and floaty like you’re on another fucking planet entirely. You’re only distantly aware of his big palm rubbing gentle circles on the small of his back; you think for a second that he’s just trying to soothe you, until your fucked out brain catches up and you realise that he’s rubbing his come into you like it’s goddamn lotion. Your cunt gives a tired throb at the realisation, fluttering as though it’s sad that he didn’t come inside.

“Fuck…” You hear him rumble from behind you, then a hot heavy weight settling over you yet again. This time, he pulls you back into his arms to hold you tight against his chest. 

You go perfectly limp, curling into him and nuzzling into his sweaty hairy chest. Despite yourself, you’re reminded of cuddling with a massive teddy bear. All you can do is hum, basking in the affection and hardly able to think at this point after he’s turned your brain into a slurry of feelings without thoughts.

“You okay, love?” Price asks. You can feel his nose nuzzling against your temple, though you can’t quite summon the energy to open your eyes again. “Did I go too hard on you?”

Your legs are still shaky, your hamstrings aching and your back throbbing a little from the pounding you’ve just taken. But Price is being so lovely and soft, so gentle with you right now. His hands coast over your hips, your back, your waist, squeezing a little bit just because he seems to like the way you feel in his hands.

“Shhh,” You drawl shakily. “Don’t make me think right now.”

A low chuckle, and you feel his broad chest rumble with it where your head is laying atop him. His fingers run up the length of your spine, the touch making you shiver. He touches you like you’re delicate, a stark contrast to the way he’d just fucked you into your sad little office couch. It makes something in your belly squirm.

“Alright. My girl just needed to switch off for a while, hm?” He murmurs, and you can hear the clear undertone of amusement in his voice. “How are you going to finish out work today if you’re all sleepy like this, huh?”

That wakes you up a little, and you finally blink your eyes open again in order to look up at him. An edge of panic is beginning to creep in as awareness comes back to you, and you take a deep breath as your hands curl against his chest.

“Oh my god.” You blurt, eyes growing wide. “I– we’re at work!”

“Sharp as ever, darling.”

Not even Price’s lazy wryness can distract you now. You try to wiggle off the couch, already craning your head around in search of your clothes, but Price’s thick arm locks tight around your middle and keeps you pressed to him.

“We have to– oh my god, we have to get dressed, what if someone walks in–”

“Shh, shhh, I locked the door when I came in,” Price grumbles. He doesn’t appear too impressed with the way you’re attempting to wiggle away, but it doesn’t matter so much; even with one arm he’s perfectly capable of keeping you pinned in place against his chest. “Lie back down, love.”

Slowly, you let yourself relax back into him. It’s hard to hold onto your panic when he’s so obviously unbothered, so you end up hesitantly snuggling back up against his chest as his arms come up to close around you. Despite his encouragement, you’re unsure whether or not you’re allowed to be touching him like this. But his hands don’t stray from you, not even once, and gradually you return to your previous state of being a puddle of limbs and pliant muscle.

“That’s it, relax.” He coaxes, clearly pleased now that you’re melting back into him. 

“I have so much work to catch up on.” You grumble, though you have no intention of actually going anywhere now that he’s given you the greenlight to stay like this.

His chest vibrates beneath your cheek, and you realise he’s chuckling again. It feels good, and you sigh softly as your fingers stroke lightly over the defined shape of his soft pecs.

“You think I wasn’t capable of keeping the ship afloat for the couple of days you were gone?” He asks, one hand stroking over your flank then dipping lower to flatten his palm over your left asscheek. “I finished out those little files you were stressin’ over. No picture of Ghost for his, but like I said, that’s standard.”

You had known that he had finished updating the files for you when you had seen Farah’s, but hearing it straight from his mouth is something else entirely. You purse your lips and lower your eyes, still embarrassed about your little freak out despite his apologies. 

“Thank you.” You mumble. 

You try to hide your face in his chest again, but a large hand on your jaw stops you by tilting your head back and forcing you to look at him. A thumb strokes over your cheek, and then he’s leaning in and pressing a sweet kiss to your mouth. You respond tiredly but eagerly, still hardly able to believe that your boss that you’ve been mooning after for months is being so affectionate and intimate with you.

Price pulls back slightly so that your lips are just barely touching, breathing each other’s air for a moment.

“Ask for help when you need it, sweetheart.” He murmurs, his lips dragging over yours. “That’s what I’m here for. We help each other with the workload, alright?”

“Yeah,” You breathe, leaning in eagerly in the hopes of getting another kiss. “Alright.”

Price smiles, his cheeks going all full and round as his eyes crinkle, and you feel your heart throb so violently it feels as though it jumps right up into your throat. He leans in and kisses you again, soft and sweet as his beard rasps against your chin.

You want to stay like this forever, wrapped up so warm and cosy and safe in his arms. He makes you feel so safe, like you’re valued and appreciated, and you can’t even feel bad about being lazy because he so clearly doesn’t want to move either.

“Let me come home with you tonight,” He says suddenly, and you feel his bicep contract as he squeezes you closer. “You have an apartment off base, don’t you? I’ll… why don’t I cook you dinner, hm? Want to show you how much I appreciate all the work you do.”

There’s a pause, then he adds cautiously, “If I’m not being presumptuous, that is.”

You can’t stop the shy smile from overtaking your face. He’s so sweet, and being on the receiving end of this kind of attention from him is more than you ever could have expected. Ridiculously, he seems a little nervous as well, and you come to the slow realisation that he had been vulnerable with you as well when it came to his interests when he had fucked you.

“I thought this was you appreciating the work I do.” You say coyly, glancing pointedly at all of your bare skin pressed up against his.

“Mm. You do a lot of work, and I’m very appreciative.” Price murmurs, squeezing teasingly at your ass.

You giggle despite yourself, relishing the light-hearted air between the two of you. At the sound of your laugh, Price’s expression brightens further; it’s strange, seeing your usually stern, stressed captain being so sweet with you. You’re so used to seeing him with that flinty determined look in his eyes, or barking orders, or with his eyes sagging with exhaustion after a long deployment only to return to a pile of mission reports. Seeing him like this, with those soft eyes and a fond smile, makes your heart feel as though it’s beating out of rhythm.

“I said I’d look after you, sweetheart.” He murmurs, and this time his voice is missing that teasing undertone from before. He sounds so earnest now, almost painfully so. “You just need to let me.”

Yeah, you think to yourself as you let yourself succumb to the drowsy haze that’s been tugging at you, allowing your eyes to slide shut as you nuzzle into Price’s bare chest. You think letting John Price look after you might just be the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

"an inconvenient attachment"

Pairing: sae x fem!reader Genre: fluff with smut, fwb to lovers, minors dni! Summary: what you and sae have is completely casual— or at least it’s supposed to be. he’s fine with it at first, until he starts to realize how much he actually likes being around you. now he’s starting to wonder if casual is enough. WC: 20k+ (haha, i’m in danger) Warnings: nsfw, some pwp (mostly plot though), alcohol, casual/no strings sex (until it isn’t 😉), car sex, fingering, light choking, reader and sae are in their mid-20s, reader is also incredibly forward and kind of shameless lmao, pro!athlete sae, big time jealousy, misunderstandings, lots of pining but also lots of denial, sae being annoying and bad at feelings but also very much into you A/N: watched bluelock for the first time this past year and immediately fell victim to the itoshi brothers. consider this an ode to my suffering <3 -Dawn

Sae doesn’t really know what the two of you are to each other.

He knows you hate driving in the rain and love reading at the park, just like he knows how you take your coffee and what your voice sounds like when you first wake up in the morning, all sleepy and soft.

He also knows what you look like tangled in the sheets of his bed, just like he knows how to make you fall apart with his mouth and hands and tongue. He takes pleasure in leaving you bleary-eyed and breathless, in watching you grip at his sheets and drag your nails across his skin as you say his name again and again.

But when it comes to your current relationship, to what the two of you actually mean to each other? Sae has no idea. You’ve never bothered to put a label on it. He figures you’ve never felt the need to, even though normally you’re the kind of person who labels everything, from the colorful tabs in your planner to the glass containers in your pantry.

Not that Sae has any room to judge. He hasn’t made much of an effort to define things between you, either. He’s not one for titles or attachments, least of all romantic ones. He never has been, and that’s something he made clear to you from the beginning, long before the two of you ever shared a bed and started whatever the hell this thing is that exists between you now.

If he’s being honest, Sae didn’t really think much of you at first. He remembers meeting you, completely against his will, at a party he never wanted to attend in the first place, one that his teammates insisted on dragging him to.

In the beginning, you were just another face in the crowd, the best friend of Aina, Oliver’s notorious on-again, off-again girlfriend.

Sae never planned on seeing you again, much less actually getting to know you. In fact, he was fully content to forget you completely, but he couldn’t. And it wasn’t because he had a change of heart or because he was particularly interested in you, but because you made it practically impossible to ignore you.

You, with your ridiculous laugh and your know-it-all demeanor and your unreasonably animated way of talking. It’s no surprise that you were an instant hit amongst his teammates. They all took to you right away, captivated by your quick comebacks and witty humor, by your easy confidence and natural charm.

And though Sae will never say it out loud, he could admit, even back then, that he understood the appeal, at least in a general sense. You’re smart and funny, not to mention daring and lively, with the kind of effortless charisma that makes everyone want to be around you.

You laugh at his dry humor and unapologetic bluntness, but you also don’t hesitate to call him out when he’s being a dick. And it doesn’t hurt that you’re completely gorgeous, either, a vision in smooth satin and shimmery lip gloss whenever he sees you on nights when his teammates actually manage to bully him out of his apartment.

Soon you’re everywhere, laughing during game nights at Oliver’s place and rolling your eyes in the background of Shidou’s Instagram stories. Sae doesn’t accept their invitations to go out too often, but when he does, you’re always there, just as much a part of the group as everyone else is— even more than Sae is, most of the time.

You cheer him and the rest of the team on at games, send him new recipes to try and stupid videos he only sometimes replies to.

And inconveniently, inevitably, you start to grow on him.

Then one night, against his better judgment, he offers to drive you home from the bar, and to his surprise, you accept.

Sae’s not entirely sure why he does it. After all, it’s unlike him to inconvenience himself or go out of his way for the sake of others. But then he remembers the cheeky way you were acting with him earlier and decides it’s worth it, if only to see what you’ll do.

There’s always been a certain kind of tension between you and Sae, an unspoken chemistry neither of you has ever been able to replicate with anyone else. He’s never acted on it, of course. He’s never felt the need to, until now.

You’ve been flirting with him even more than usual tonight, brushing your hand against his arm and leaning in close to whisper in his ear. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it.

Sae has always appreciated how forward you are, how honest. You’re the kind of person who always speaks your mind, who never hesitates to go after what you want. It’s part of what makes him respect you so much.

It’s also why he doesn’t bother to stop you. Why he doesn’t push you away from him, no matter how close you get or how bold your hands become. It does something to him, he realizes, having you touch him so casually. Makes him possessive in a way he never expected he’d be over anyone, least of all you.

Still, he doesn’t take it as anything more than what it is. You’re always like this, all playful and coy, especially after you've had a shot or two. He knows better than to think it means anything. He takes it upon himself to drive you home anyway, the idea of you being so casual and touchy with any of his other teammates leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

You look unfairly beautiful sitting in the passenger seat of his car, all smooth skin and smokey eyes, jacket sliding halfway off your shoulders as you wave your hands around and tell a story he’s only half-listening to. You’re absolutely stunning and therefore annoyingly distracting, not that he’ll ever grant you the satisfaction of telling you that himself.

The lot behind your building is quiet when he pulls his car in, empty. You unbuckle your seatbelt and thank him for driving you home, but make no move to leave.

Sae notices but doesn’t call you out on it, dismissing your gratitude with his usual impassiveness. He also doesn’t stop you when you reach out to touch him. Your fingers brush against his collar, smoothing over the fabric on his shoulder.

He has makeup on his shirt, you tell him. It’s yours, of course, the shade of the smudge an identical match to the color staining your lips. It must’ve happened when you leaned in to talk to him earlier.

Sae isn’t surprised. You’re the only person he lets be that close to him, the only person he wants that close. And right now, you’re smiling like you already know, like you revel in it.

“Sorry about that,” you say, without an ounce of guilt in your voice, dragging your nail over the stain.

Sae watches the way you watch him, the way your eyes drift down to stare at his lips. There’s something wanting and possessive in your gaze, something he thinks has been there for a while now. “No, you’re not.”

“You’re right.” The laugh you give is shameless, your smile brazen as you move your hand from his shoulder to his chest, fingertips skimming against the buttons of his shirt. “I’m not.”

You kiss him, then, a heated and hungry thing as bold and unapologetic as you are. He surprises himself by letting you, tilting his head to deepen the kiss and dragging your bottom lip between his teeth, a calloused hand moving up to cradle your jaw.

Soon you’re kicking off your heels and shrugging off your jacket, tossing it blindly into the backseat and climbing over the center console. You settle into his lap like you belong there, straddling his thighs with your bare knees. He trails his lips along your throat and chest, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your heated skin and pulling down the front of your dress so he can reach more of you.

His hands push the skirt of your dress up and over your hips, palms smoothing over your skin, and you tug at his hair, pressing your body firmly against his. The movement is exactly what you both need, your hips grinding into his lap.

You both groan when the head of his cock catches against your clothed center. You roll your hips into his again, chasing the friction, his grip on your hips turning bruising.

Sae presses a hand between your legs and pulls your underwear to the side, just enough to run a finger along your slit and gather the wetness there. He lets out a strained curse and drags his teeth along your throat when he feels how warm and wanting you already are, all because of him.

That’s all the convincing he needs to fuck you open with his fingers, while you grind yourself down against his hand, making breathy little sounds in his ear that he decides he wants to hear more of. You undo the buttons of his shirt and tear the material open, hands roaming over his chest as much as the limited space will allow.

It’s not long after that you decide you want more, undoing the button of his pants and yanking down his zipper with little restraint. He mutters something about you being an impatient brat under his breath, but he doesn't stop you.

Instead, he lets you pull his leaking cock out and wrap your hand around his shaft. He bites back a groan as you squeeze him at the base and move your hand up and down in slow, even strokes, smearing precum along the length of him.

You surge forward to kiss him again, and it’s all Sae can do to meet you halfway, curling his fingers inside of you and making you gasp against his lips. You cling to his shoulders and whisper into his ear, telling him how good he feels, how badly you want him inside of you— all of him, this time, not just his fingers.

Your words go straight to his already painfully hard cock, making him buck up into your hand and reach out blindly for the condoms he keeps in his car. You end up beating him to it, fumbling for only a moment before pulling one out of your purse and tearing the packet open with your teeth.

You don’t waste any more time after that, rolling the condom down over his length while Sae slips his fingers out of you and plants his hands on either side of your waist. You line him up with your entrance and sink yourself onto him with a gasp, hips pressing flush against his as you moan and dig your nails into his skin. He tightens his grip on your waist and muffles his own moan against your lips, the kiss he presses to your mouth all tongue and teeth.

You ride him, head thrown back and lips parted, while he leans back to watch you with half-lidded eyes, taking in the sight of you fucking yourself on his cock and pushing his hips up to meet yours.

You look absolutely breathtaking, hips rolling and circling as you gasp out his name and tell him how deep he is and how good he’s making you feel. One of his hands presses against your throat while the other squeezes at your hip, helping you lift yourself up and sink back down to take more of him.

With his lips mouthing at your neck and his thumb drifting down to rub circles into your clit, it isn’t long before you find yourself tipping over the edge. He follows you almost immediately after, spurred on by the scrape of your nails against his scalp and the tightening of your walls around him.

You’re both panting when it’s over, foreheads pressed together and hearts racing as you slump against one another and try to catch your breath. You recover faster than he does and press a parting kiss to his lips that feels almost too sweet after what you’ve just done, climbing off his lap and over the console on shaky legs.

You almost slip when you do, his hand shooting out to steady you at the last second. You laugh while he rolls his eyes and tells you to be more careful, keeping his hand on your hip until finally you settle back safely into the passenger seat.

You’re both quiet as you set to work on fixing your clothing and cleaning yourselves up, redoing zippers and clasping buttons in an effort to make yourselves look presentable again.

Sae finds himself grateful for the silence. It gives him the chance to process exactly what’s just happened between you, and —more importantly— to decide what’s going to happen after.

The sex was good, obviously. Better than good. The best he’s had in a while, maybe even the best he’s had ever— though he thinks he’d rather die than be caught saying any of that out loud. He imagines it must’ve been the same for you, if the way you moaned his name and fell apart around him are anything to go by.

Still, Sae knows himself, which is why he knows better than to allow it to mean anything. He doesn’t need a relationship right now, nor does he particularly want one. He likes you well enough, in a way that makes him view you as slightly less irritating than he does everyone else— but wanting you and wanting to be with you are two very different things.

And at this point in his life, Sae doesn’t want to actually be with anyone, not even you. He doesn’t have the time for it, and even if he did, he wouldn’t have the patience.

Sure, he’s dated before, but it was never anything serious. Never anything real. All of his previous relationships —if one could even call them that— were just for show, nothing more than publicity stunts orchestrated by his PR team with models and socialites he’s never really cared about.

Most of them understood the arrangement quite well, knowing it wouldn’t last. Some of them didn’t and tried to make it into something more, but it’s never worked. Sae’s never allowed it. As a result, he’s become an expert at shutting people down, at crushing their hopes of receiving anything more than what he’s willing to give them.

He tells you as much after you’re both dressed again, fully prepared to disappoint you and the hopes you’ve no doubt allowed to build freely inside your head. He’s not cruel enough to say it in a way that hurts you —at least not on purpose— but he wants to be honest. The last thing he needs is for you to get the wrong idea and start thinking that this is going to change anything between you.

“You should know,” he starts, serious and stoic as ever, “I’m not looking for a relationship. The only thing I’m interested in right now is soccer.”

He pauses, bracing himself for your reaction, for the moment when his words finally sink in and you realize that he has no intention of taking this any further. He watches your face carefully, mentally preparing himself for what he knows is going to be the inevitable fallout.

He’s spent enough time with you by now to know you’re not really the crying type, so he’s comfortable with knowing that he at least won’t see any tears. He does, however, expect some swearing on your part, maybe even a little bit of yelling, just enough to let him know that you think he’s an asshole.

To Sae’s surprise, none of that happens. There’s no anger, no confrontation, no fallout. Instead of shouting at him and telling him to go fuck himself, the way he initially expected you to, you smile at him and slip the straps of your dress back up over your shoulders, nodding like this is exactly what you were expecting, like you couldn’t agree more.

“Yeah, I figured as much,” you say, laughing lightly, casually, as you finish readjusting the rest of your clothing. “Your emotional unavailability kind of gave it away. Well, that and your apathy, though I’m starting to think the latter is less of a relationship deterrent and more of just you being yourself.”

You aren’t wrong, of course, but the bluntness of your words still makes him scowl, which in turn just makes you laugh even more.

“Hey, I never said I didn’t like it.” You slip your heels on your feet and lean down to secure the straps, though not before sending him a teasing grin from over your shoulder. “I’ll have you know, emotionally unavailable and apathetic is exactly my type. Helps if they have pretty eyes and great hair, too.”

Predictably, Sae ignores your blatant flirting in favor of rolling his eyes. Still, he doesn’t hesitate to help when he sees you struggling to retrieve your jacket from the backseat, reaching behind him to grab it and offering it to you with ease.

“Seems like an easy way to get yourself hurt,” he deadpans, before you get the chance to thank him.

“You’re such a pessimist, Sae.” You roll your eyes at his response, but the smile you give as you take your jacket from him is grateful and genuine. “My point is, if you’re worried about me reading into things, don’t be. I’m not expecting anything from you. If we’re being honest, I’m not really looking for anything serious right now, either.”

He knows you mean it —you’re too honest not to— but he raises an eyebrow at you, anyway, examining you carefully for even the slightest hint of doubt.

“So you’re really okay with things staying the same between us?”

“Of course I am. I wouldn’t have kissed you if I wasn’t. But you have my number if you ever want to do this again.”

You gather the rest of your things before leaning over and pressing a quick kiss against his cheek. It’s light and offhanded, free of any pressure or expectations. Then you smile at him, lifting your hand to give a little wave.

“I’ll see you later, Sae.”

You leave his car with that smile still on your face and your purse in your hand. He watches you go, not taking his eyes off of you until you make it inside your building. You don’t turn back to look at him once.

And though he tries not to —though he likes to believe he’s above such baseless, lukewarm desires— he thinks about your offer on the way home.

It doesn’t take him long to make up his mind.

He texts you three days later. The messages are short and to the point —boring, he knows you’d call them— just a simple ’hey’ followed by a blunt ’wanna come over?’ that he regrets sending almost immediately after it goes through, mostly because he knows you’re never going to let him live it down.

You don’t disappoint, replying back a few minutes later with a ’damn already??’ and an ’it was that good huh 😏😌🤪’ that he pointedly ignores. He threatens to block you, you laugh at the message, and less than an hour later, you’re at his door.

This time, Sae’s the one who kisses you first, easing you onto his bed and pushing your thighs apart so he can slot himself between them. His lips trail down your neck, his teeth nipping at your throat. His hands are everywhere, roaming over your body and helping you slip out of your clothes until you’re completely bare beneath him.

He makes you cum twice with his mouth, another time with his fingers— and only then does he finally slide himself into you, hands gripping your thighs and chest pressing into yours.

Practice was cut short today in favor of a press conference Sae couldn’t have cared less about, so he has a lot of pent-up energy, which he immediately sets on using to throw your legs over his shoulders and thoroughly fuck you into his mattress.

You don’t complain about it, either, too lost in the pleasure of it all to scold him for the tight grip he has on your hips or the way he’s nearly folding you in half beneath him. You even make a joke about it afterwards, muttering something about how they should cancel his practices more often.

“But only on the weekends,” you add seriously, trying to catch your breath. “The last thing I need is my co-workers watching me wobble into my office because of it.”

Sae actually laughs, though he tries not to. You beam at the sound, only to end up flipping him off moments later, when you rise on trembling legs in search of your clothes and catch him smirking knowingly at you.

And it’s simple, he thinks, doing this with you. Simple and comfortable and not the least bit complicated, which is exactly how he likes it.

You must feel the same way, because the next time it happens, you’re the one who calls first, inviting him up to your apartment and latching your lips to his neck before he’s even fully through the door.

You never really talk about it, nor do you establish any real boundaries beyond that initial conversation you had that first night in his car, but Sae figures you don’t really need to. It goes without saying that this thing between you is completely casual, just a way to satisfy your physical needs and work off some stress whenever you both need it.

Neither of you wants an actual relationship, but that doesn’t mean you’re opposed to sleeping together every now and then, especially when the sex is as good as it’s been. So you keep at it, meeting up whenever you have some free time and fucking until you’ve both had your fill, all without ever expecting anything more.

Sae doesn’t tell anyone about your arrangement. Neither do you. You both agree it’s easier that way, in the name of keeping things smooth and uncomplicated.

He’s not ashamed of what the two of you are doing —he knows you aren’t, either— but neither one of you wants the headache of having to explain it to the well-intentioned but ultimately chronic meddlers you call your friends. So you keep it to yourselves, treating each other the same way you normally would without any extra consideration or kindness.

You both get really good at it, too, maintaining your composure no matter how many stupid and suggestive comments Shidou and Oliver make about the mystery girl he’s always texting, or how often Aina bugs you to show her a picture of the guy she swears has got you dickmatized.

Sae’s sure they have their suspicions, but he knows that he isn’t among them. As far as everyone else is concerned, you and him are just friends, even if you do have a habit of getting a little handsy whenever you think no one is looking.

It helps that you’ve been shamelessly flirting with him since the day you met, so no one ever bats an eye when they see you brushing your hand against his chest or leaning in close to whisper in his ear. Everyone just assumes that it’s you being your normal, bold and affectionate self, and that Sae —moody, stoic, emotionless Sae— will brush it off and ignore you the way he always does.

They have no idea that as soon as you’re alone, the exact opposite happens. That he’s trailing his lips along your neck and sliding his hands up your skirt, while you lock your legs around his waist and pull him in closer, the way you’ve been doing for weeks now.

Sae’s honestly a little surprised no one’s figured it out yet. More than that, though, he’s shocked that he’s still hooking up with you at all.

It’s not like him to stick with someone for so long, especially without his manager breathing down his neck to keep it up for the publicity. He thought your arrangement would last a week, maybe two weeks, tops— but here you both are, still going nearly two months later, with no signs of stopping anytime soon.

He was so sure he’d be bored of it by now, but he isn’t. He can’t be, not with you. You’re too good at distracting him. You’re even better at making him trust you.

And the more time he spends with you, the more he realizes just how easy it is to be around you.

The thing about Sae is that he’s never really been the kind of person who has a lot of friends. He has his teammates and his manager, his parents and sometimes his brother, but he’s never had someone who wasn’t obligated to be around him. Never someone who didn’t expect anything of him.

You, though— you spend time with him on purpose, not because of anything he can give you. Even if this thing between you ends tomorrow, Sae knows it wouldn’t change anything.

You’d still be there, still without expecting anything, because that’s just who you are. Because for some odd reason, you actually like being around him, despite his attitude and his indifference, despite all the things his teammates and the media are always giving him shit for.

He thinks you’ve always liked being around him, even before you started sleeping together. He knows he doesn’t make it easy, but you’re patient with him despite that, giving him space when he needs it and pushing him when he doesn’t.

And he’ll never say it out loud, but the truth is, he likes being around you, too. Almost enough to make him forget that this thing you have is only temporary.

Almost.

The first time you stay the night happens a week later.

You’re both in his bed, all bare skin and tangled sheets as you come down from your respective highs and try to catch your breath. Outside his penthouse, the rain drones on, quieting the city below you into a nearly imperceptible hum.

It’s well past midnight, so late that it’s early, and sure, Sae might be an asshole— but he’s not cruel enough to make you drive home in the rain, especially when he knows how much you hate it.

“You can sleep here if you want,” he says, without thinking much of it, right as you sit up to start looking for your clothes.

Understandably, the offer catches you off guard. Even in the dark, Sae can see the way you turn back and blink owlishly at him, eyebrows raised, like it’s the last thing you expected him to say.

It’s kind of annoying, honestly, the way you’re looking at him right now. He knows he’s far from being the most considerate person in your life, but the way you’re gawking at him like he’s grown a second head feels a little dramatic.

Not that he can really blame you for being surprised. You’ve been hooking up almost daily for two months now, but not once during that time have either of you ever spent the night at the other’s place.

Something about it feels different. More intimate, somehow, like it’s crossing a line that’s supposed to be there, if only the two of you had bothered to draw it in the first place.

Sae realizes it at the same time you do and finds himself regretting making the offer at all. He’s accepted the fact that the two of you are friends —albeit begrudgingly— but the last thing he wants is for you to think he meant anything by it.

“Or don’t,” he adds quickly, careful to keep his tone as blank and detached as possible. “It’s up to you. I don’t really care either way.”

From the corner of his eye, he watches you spare a glance at the window. The rain is still going, pouring unforgivingly against the glass, and it only seems to be getting worse.

The rumble of thunder that follows shortly after is enough to convince you to accept his offer. You shrug, murmuring a quiet thanks before laying back down and making yourself comfortable next to him.

Predictably, he says nothing in response to your gratitude. He moves over to give you some space and lets you tuck yourself back under the blanket, shutting his eyes as he settles onto his back.

When he feels your gaze on him moments later, he frowns, cracking an eye open to look at you. Sure enough, you’re staring right at him, a knowing, borderline smug smile on your face that lets him know you’re going to be completely insufferable about this.

“Don’t,” he warns, before you can even get a word out.

You have the audacity to look offended. “Wha— I haven’t even said anything yet!”

“Didn’t have to. Your face is saying plenty.”

He throws an arm over his eyes and does his best to ignore you, hoping you’ll get bored enough with his inattention to let the whole thing go.

(You don’t, of course, but he supposes you wouldn’t be you if you did.)

In the end, it’s Sae who gives in first, uncovering his eyes against his better judgment and turning to face you with a scowl.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you’re quick to reply, even as that smug little smile of yours curls into a grin. “I’m just— I’m surprised you offered to let me stay, is all. It’s not what I was expecting.”

“Yeah, well, it was either that or wake up tomorrow to a ten-minute voice note complaining about how shitty your drive home was and how close you were to death.” He turns on his side, shifting so he can face you fully. “I figured if I was going to be annoyed anyway, I might as well get it out of the way now.”

That earns him a smack to the shoulder, along with a scowl meant to convey how unamused you are with his words. He can only hope you’re too busy rolling your eyes to catch the way the corners of his lips twitch upwards, barely suppressing a smile.

“You’re a dick. And for the record, if I did decide to grace you with one of my exciting and wonderfully detailed voice notes, it would’ve been five, maybe six minutes, max.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not believing you, and you sigh in defeat, relenting.

“Okay, fine, six and a half, but can you blame me? I hate driving in the rain. It’s scary and disorienting, and I always get paranoid that I’m gonna—”

“Spin out and end up on the side of the road,” Sae says, at the exact same time you do, making your eyes widen. “I know. I remember.”

And the crazy part is, he does. He remembers because he knows you, probably better than he knows anybody else, and it’s only now when he’s lying here with you, practically nose-to-nose in the dark, that he realizes just how much.

He’s not sure how or when it happened, but it did. And now, he knows you. He really, really knows you, enough to accept your good-natured teasing and playful smugness, enough to consider your comfort and offer you a place in his bed.

And honestly? He has no idea how the hell he’s supposed to feel about that, so he ignores it entirely, the same way he ignored how his stomach fluttered and his chest warmed when you showed up with a bag of groceries and made him dinner earlier, for no discernable reason other than the fact that you wanted to spend time with him.

His only consolation is that you seem to be as surprised by it as he is. He watches as you blink at him in the dark, wide-eyed and a little stunned, like you’re seeing him for the first time.

Then you smile at him, soft and sweet, and Sae feels something in his stomach shift all over again, something warm and unfamiliar he can’t name and honestly doesn’t think he wants to.

“And here I thought sleepovers were against our unofficial rules,” you tease, nudging his leg with your own. “You getting soft on me, Itoshi?”

“You wish,” he denies, scoffing for good measure. “This is a one-time thing. I’ll be back to my usual asshole self in the morning.”

“Bummer.” You nuzzle your face into the pillow beneath your head, stifling a yawn that betrays how tired you really are. “I kind of like you like this.”

“You like me naked and annoyed?”

“No, dummy. I meant sweet and concerned. It’s a surprisingly good look on you. A rare one, but a good one.” You close your eyes, lips curling into a playful smile. “Naked’s a pretty close second, though.”

In response, he flicks your forehead with his thumb and forefinger. You make a noise of protest but keep your eyes shut, swatting blindly at his hand, and for that, he finds himself grateful. He doesn’t think he’ll ever live it down if you catch the way his lips twitch into a smile.

“Just shut up and go to sleep, you little pervert.”

For once, you actually listen to him, bidding him a drowsy “goodnight” and knocking out almost immediately after. He falls asleep not long after you do, drifting off to the sound of your steady breathing and the patter of midnight rain.

Sae wakes before you the next morning, and the first thing he notices is how much closer you are to him now than when you fell asleep.

He’s not sure how it happened, but it seems that somehow over the course of the night, you’ve managed to curl yourself into his side. Now, your head is resting comfortably on his chest, your hand splayed against the muscles of his abdomen.

Sae wishes he could blame the new and compromising position solely on you, but sadly he can’t. At least not when he looks down and finds that his own traitorous arm has wrapped itself around your waist to keep you pressed against him, one of his legs tangled with yours.

It’s cuddly and intimate and most definitely against the unofficial rules of your arrangement, but still, he can’t find it in himself to wake you. He doesn’t shove you off, either, even though he knows he should, half because he thinks he’d rather die than talk to you about this and half because he doesn’t hate it nearly as much as he thought it would.

You’re pretty like this, Sae thinks distantly, completely unprovoked. You always are, but you’re softer when you’re asleep, more relaxed. It’s different from the version of you he’s used to, the one that’s loud and a little bit unruly, who talks a mile a minute and knocks back caffeine like it’s water because she always has a million different things to do.

He never imagined he’d get the chance to see you like this, all delicate and vulnerable. He never imagined he would want to, or that looking at you would make him feel this way, warm and fond and ridiculous. Human, too, in the way he so often likes to forget he is.

He spends longer than he should taking in the curve of your lips, the slope of your cheek. He untangles himself from you as carefully as he can manage and forces himself out of bed before he does something really stupid, like brush your hair out of your face or swipe his thumb against your cheek.

Sae takes a cold shower and runs through what’s left of his morning routine, willing all the strange thoughts he’s having about you to disappear.

It works for the most part, until you come padding into the kitchen and join him at the counter like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You’re bare-faced and sleepy, dressed in one of his t-shirts and the sweatpants he let you borrow last night, glasses perched on the bridge of your nose and your hair pulled up and away from your face. He thinks fleetingly that it’s the cutest you’ve ever looked, which is not only ridiculous but also so unlike him that he has to resist the urge to vomit right then and there.

Somehow he manages, handing you a cup of steaming coffee as soon as you approach. You take it from him without hesitation, accepting the drink with a grateful smile and murmuring a quiet good morning.

If you’re surprised by the gesture, you don’t show it, too busy sipping gingerly at your coffee and letting it wake you up. Then you’re launching into your usual upbeat chatter, this time about your job and the co-worker who you swear you’re one “as per my last email” away from fist-fighting in the conference room.

It’s normal enough to distract him, allowing him to push away the memory of how you woke up this morning and all the sappy shit he’s been thinking about you as a result.

He almost forgets about it entirely, until later that night when he slips into bed and catches the scent of your shampoo on his pillow.

That’s when his mind begins to drift, completely against his will. He starts remembering all sorts of unwelcome things, like the weight of you in his arms, the curve of your lashes against your cheek, how tempted he was to brush your hair out of your face and pull you closer—

Sae huffs and flips the pillow over, somewhere between confused and annoyed, though whether it’s with you or himself, he isn’t sure.

He turns around and closes his eyes, forcing himself to sleep, but the thought of you lingers.

It’s Aina —and, by default, Oliver— who finds out first.

It happens on a Saturday morning, nearly four months into your arrangement with Sae. Aina shows up at your apartment completely unannounced, with a tray of coffee and a surprisingly dutiful Oliver in tow, carrying the rest of the bags. (Apparently, it’s an on-week for them.)

They mean to surprise you with breakfast, hoping to convince you over french toast and scrambled eggs to put a pause on your ‘no relationships allowed’ policy and agree to a double date with one of his teammates.

One could only imagine their surprise when they find you standing in your entryway with an entirely different teammate, one who apparently already has access to sleepover privileges. And with Sae in his clothes from the night before and you in your robe and absolutely nothing else, it isn’t hard for them to put two and two together and realize what you’ve been up to.

The silence that follows their discovery is the loudest Sae thinks he’s ever heard in his life. There’s an uncomfortably long moment where the four of you just stand there and stare at each other, not saying a single word.

Aina is the first to react, letting out an Oscar-worthy gasp loud enough to alert your neighbors. Her eyes go wide, jaw dropping as her gaze jumps back and forth between you and Sae, like her brain can’t fully make sense of what she’s seeing.

“Holy shit.”

Oliver, on the other hand, appears to be having the time of his life, leering at the two of you with the largest and most shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen on his face, like this is the best news he’s heard all week.

“No fucking way,” he says, two-toned eyes darting between you and Sae wickedly, before settling on you once more. “You bagged Itoshi?”

It’s a pretty spot-on assumption, Sae thinks, even if the way Oliver says it is stupid and irritating as hell. You are the one who approached him first, as well as the one who initiated things that first night you slept together. Not that it’s anyone else’s business, anyway, least of all nosy-ass Oliver’s.

You and Sae exchange glances, a silent conversation passing between you. It’s a testament to how familiar you’ve grown with one another over the past few months, where just one look is enough for the two of you to get an idea of what the other is thinking.

Having two of the loudest people you know find out you’ve been sleeping together isn’t ideal —neither Aina nor Oliver is exactly known for their subtlety— but it’s not the end of the world.

The two of you agreed to keep things quiet because you wanted your privacy, not because you’re ashamed of what you’ve been doing, so telling them won’t change much, as long as they don’t make it a big deal.

And besides, it’s not like you’re in any position to deny it, not when they’ve caught you red-handed.

Still, Aina and Oliver are more your friends than they are Sae’s, so he has no problem with you taking the lead on this one, which he attempts to communicate with a subtle nod of his head.

Thankfully, you seem to understand exactly what he means, clearing your throat and drawing all eyes back to you.

You pointedly ignore Oliver and his devilish smirk in favor of focusing on your best friend, who seems to be short-circuiting in light of the new information that’s been presented to her today. You take it all in stride, wielding that same easy confidence that Sae’s always admired in you, and nod at the tray she’s carrying.

“Is that iced coffee for me?”

Aina, for her part, still appears to be at a loss for words, but she makes an effort to answer you all the same, a confused but otherwise affirmative sound leaving her lips in response. You smile, reaching out to pluck the drink from its tray.

“Cool. Thanks.” You take a sip of your coffee before returning your attention to the midfielder beside you, offering him a warm smile and a parting wave. “Bye, Sae.”

It’s an easy out, of course, one that Sae is quick to accept, nodding at you and the stunned couple across from you before taking his leave.

The last thing he hears before your door shuts is the sound of Aina’s voice, baffled and utterly disbelieving as it rings out into your apartment.

“You’ve been fucking Itoshi Sae?!”

Her astonishment is a sentiment that carries over into the texts she sends you that same night, complete with various emojis and an assortment of reaction images she hopes will reflect her lingering shock. Oliver isn’t far behind her, though the texts he sends you are more teasing than anything else.

Still, they’re both strangely supportive about the whole thing. They even promise to keep what they’ve learned to themselves, though they still can’t quite believe it.

You show the texts to Sae the next time you’re at his place, letting him read them over your shoulder as the two of you lounge together in his bed, your back against his chest and his arm wound loosely around your waist.

The reaction images are sadly lost on him —Sae, as it turns out, really only cares about soccer, which means he has the social media literacy of a 70-year-old man— but he’s able to catch the gist.

You laugh about it together anyway, though for him it’s more of a little hum, followed by that tiny amused smirk you’re seeing more and more of every day.

“Did they seriously congratulate you for sleeping with me?”

“Yup. It’s a big deal, according to them. They’re both very proud of me.” You lock your phone and set it gently on his nightstand, twisting in his arms to face him with a teasing grin. “Apparently, I’m hooking up with the hottest midfielder in the league.”

He brushes off the comment at first, the way he seems to do with all of your obvious flirting, but he doesn’t stop you when you lift your leg and hike it over his hip.

And maybe it’s because he’s tired from practice, or maybe it’s because being around you relaxes him in a way he isn’t used to— but he ends up pulling you closer, palm smoothing over your skin and tracing a path up your leg.

“Well,” he mutters, hand squeezing appreciatively at your thigh, “it’s not like they’re wrong.”

“I dunno…” You let your voice trail off, fingertips skimming down his chest as you pretend to think about it. “I mean, ‘hottest midfielder’ is a really big title, and from what I’ve seen, your brother’s pretty hot, too.”

“My brother’s a striker, dumbass.”

“Even better. Think you can put in a good word for me?”

He shoots you a flat look, unimpressed by your joke, while you grin at him and crack up like you're the funniest person in the world. You’re still laughing when he reaches behind his head for a pillow and smacks you right in the face with it, squeaking out a “hey, wait, I’m kidding— I’m kidding!” between bursts of laughter.

And it’s ridiculous, Sae thinks, how easily the sound of your laugh softens him, how quickly it makes him forget about ever being annoyed. It shouldn’t, but it does, and right now he’s trying very hard not to think about what that might mean.

So he pushes it down and ignores it, the same way he’s forced himself to ignore how comfortable he’s gotten with you these past few months, hooking his hand behind your knee and rolling you both over so you’re laying on your back with him hovering above you.

He kisses you, then, deep and wanting in the way he knows you like, the one that leaves you breathless, half to distract himself and half because he wants to. You welcome him eagerly the way you always do, hooking your arms around his neck and tangling your fingers in his hair in an effort to bring him closer to you.

He breaks the kiss before it can go any further, drawing back just enough so that his lips are hovering above your own. You open your eyes, pupils blown out with desire, blinking at him expectantly as you wait for him to kiss you again.

When he doesn’t, you move for him, leaning up to press your lips back against his. He moves just out of reach at the last second, leaving you with a crease in your forehead and a pout on your lips that’s almost cute enough for him to give you what you want. Almost.

But Sae, as you’ve both learned, has a bit of a possessive streak. And while he’s already forgiven you for your earlier teasing, he hasn’t forgotten. And he intends, in true egoist fashion, to have the last word, even if it means having to stave off his own desires for a bit.

“You still interested in my brother?” he asks, and it’s pointed, goading. Probably the closest he’ll get to admitting how utterly disinterested he is in sharing you with anyone else.

“Wait, you have a brother?” You widen your eyes and pretend to be shocked, batting your lashes innocently before shaking your head. “Never heard of him.”

“Idiot,” he tells you, quiet, fond. Affectionate, too, if you’d listen closely enough. If he’d let you.

You merely laugh in response, bright and airy, before wrapping your arms around his neck and tugging him down to you. This time, he doesn’t pull away, leaning down to kiss you and feeling your smile against his lips.

It’s not long after that your kisses turn heated and wanting, his tongue and lips tracing a path down your neck and over your breasts. He takes one nipple into his mouth and rolls the other between his thumb and index finger, your nails digging into his back as you moan, pretty and breathless into his ear.

One of the perks of your arrangement lasting so long is that it’s made Sae somewhat of an expert at taking you apart. He knows exactly how to make you feel good, knows your body and all of its little tells, all the ways you like to be touched.

It doesn’t take much for him to have you desperate and keening, just his tongue at your clit and his fingers deep in your cunt, curling against the spot that makes your eyes roll back.

Soon you’re pulling at his hair, your arousal dripping down his wrist and chin as you whine at him to fuck you, all trembling thighs and breathy whimpers. He obliges, half because you’re practically begging for it and half because he wants you so much, it’s starting to make him dizzy.

It’s not always like this. Most nights Sae prefers taking his time with you. He gets off on seeing how needy you get, how much he can make you want him. You never beg for anything, never want for anything from anyone else until you’re here, desperate and panting beneath him.

He likes seeing you that way. He likes being the one you seek out to give it to you even more.

Tonight, though, it’s different. He’s not sure what triggered it, but suddenly he can’t stop touching you, can’t stop thinking about you and how much he wants you. He’s always attentive, but right now he feels greedy, impatient. Wild in a way he isn’t used to. He kisses you, and it’s hungry, deliberate, like he has something to prove.

He helps you to your knees and fucks you with his hands at your hips and his chest at your back, hard and deep the way he knows you like. He makes you cum with your cheek pressed into the mattress and your hands digging into the sheets, and then he flips you over and pushes your knees to your chest, sliding back into you.

He makes you cum like that, too, with his name on your lips and your hands laced with his own, pinned above your head— once, twice more until he’s had his fill and begins chasing his own release, his face pressed against your neck as he finally lets go and falls apart inside of you.

You shower together afterwards, all slow kisses and languid touches as you stand beneath the warmth of his stupidly expensive shower head. It’s softer than it should be, too soft to be considered casual.

Sae knows it, too, just like he knows he should quit while he’s ahead and pull away from you before it’s too late, but he can’t, not when the scrape of your nails against his scalp as you lave shampoo through his hair feels as good as it does.

You exit the shower looking clean and refreshed, hair damp and skin glowing as you towel yourself off. You smell just like him, the scent of his body wash clinging to your skin.

It does something stupid to his brain, knowing that. Makes his ears red and his heart race in a way he immediately tries to bury. For some reason, this time it’s harder to do.

You get dressed in his bedroom and pack your bag. You tell him you have a big meeting at work tomorrow, so you can’t spend the night. You stay for dinner anyway, letting him treat you to takeout from your favorite restaurant.

The two of you sit on his couch and enjoy your meal together. As usual, you’re the one who provides most of the conversation, Sae preferring to nod along and listen, interjecting every now and then with a surprisingly thoughtful question or a sly comment that has you elbowing him in the side.

With takeout boxes littering his coffee table and a movie you’ve both already seen playing idly in the background, his apartment feels more lived in now than it ever has before, the way it always does whenever you come over. Sae does his very best to ignore how normal it all seems, how easily your knee presses against his as you sit beside him on the couch.

When it’s time for you to leave, he walks you to the door. You thank him again for dinner and smile when he brushes you off, reminding you to text him when you get home.

Then you kiss him goodbye and he lets you, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like it isn’t a big deal, even though you both know it is.

And though he knows he shouldn’t, though he knows he’s better off pushing it down and ignoring it, the way he’s gotten so good at lately— he thinks about it for the rest of the night.

Things get a little blurrier after that.

It starts slowly, at first. An extra toothbrush by his sink, your hair ties on his nightstand. Little pieces of you scattered across his apartment that reveal just how intertwined your lives have become, even if neither of you wants to admit it.

He gets into the habit of picking you up from work. Starts showing up at your door with a bottle of wine and your favorite comfort snacks whenever he knows you’ve had a shitty week. There’s a shelf in his bathroom set aside just for you, stocked with moisturizer, cleanser, and face masks he lets you slather on his skin every now and then, on nights when he’s feeling particularly indulgent.

Your place is just as bad, if not worse. There’s protein powder in your pantry now, his hoodies hung up comfortably in your closet.

You drive him to practice when you have some free time and send him voice notes when you don’t, ones he makes a fuss about but always listens to. And whenever he has a game, you’re the first person who Facetimes him in the morning, wishing him luck and letting him know how excited you are to watch him win.

These days, you’re together more often than you’re apart. Sometimes he invites you over, and you don’t even have sex at all— you just hang out in his apartment and tell him about your day, resting your feet in his lap while his hands roam up and down your calves, and it feels like enough. Having you there feels like enough.

It gets to the point that whenever Shidou or Oliver want to reach him, they call you instead, knowing that Sae will be with you, the way he always seems to be now. It’s so humbling that for a single, horrifying moment, he considers cutting you off completely.

But Sae knows, even before the thought forms in his mind, that he won’t be able to go through with it. You’re too important to him now, too familiar. You’re his best friend, and as confusing and annoying as his thoughts about you have become, he can’t stay away from you.

He doesn’t even realize how bad he’s got it until another two months later, on the night of your birthday, when a conversation with Oliver forces him to confront the feelings he’s usually a lot better at ignoring.

The evening itself starts off normally enough. Sae spends most of it on the field with his team, in preparation for a rivalry game that’s less than a week away. The other players leave as soon as their coach dismisses them, eager to hit the showers and get some rest, but Sae stays behind for some extra practice.

He’s still at it by the time Oliver returns from the locker room. The centerback looks surprised to see that Sae’s still there, but he doesn’t hesitate to approach, joining his teammate out on the pitch.

“Figures you’d be the last one on the field,” Oliver says, greeting him with his signature sleazy smile. “You trying to make the rest of us look bad, Itoshi?”

Sae barely spares him a glance, choosing instead to focus on the row of soccer balls lined up at his feet. “I’ve never had to try to do that.”

Anyone else would be insulted, but Oliver just laughs, too used to Sae’s attitude to take it personally. “Why’re you still out here, anyway? It’s your girl’s birthday tonight. Shouldn’t you be back at your place getting ready?”

You’re not his girl, obviously, but correcting Oliver would be more trouble than it’s worth, so Sae doesn’t bother. “Why would I do that?”

“Oh, come on, man. No one’s that much of an asshole, not even you. Aren’t you coming to her party?”

Sae knows all about your party, of course. You invited him a while ago, though you made it clear it was a no pressure invitation. You knew he had that game coming up and that parties —especially the over the top and extravagant kind planned by Aina— aren’t really his thing, so you’d understand if he didn’t attend.

You’ve always been like that. Always more considerate than he or anyone else deserves. He picked up a present for you anyway, a simple necklace with a diamond sun pendant that made him think of you.

He planned to give it to you next week. Figured it would more than make up for his absence tonight, especially when he knows you’ll be busy with your friends. He’ll be shocked if you even notice he isn’t there, which is why he doesn’t feel the least bit guilty about sitting this one out.

“I’m not going,” Sae states plainly, kicking the ball at his feet and watching it land in the goal. “She said I didn’t have to.”

“Well yeah, that sounds like her, but don’t you want to? It’d be a fun way to surprise her,” Oliver points out, as if Sae really needs the reminder. “Hell, even I’m going, and she only tolerates me.”

“She knows I’m busy.” Another kick, another goal. Sae lifts the bottom of his shirt and wipes at the sweat on his face, unmoved. “She’ll be fine.”

“Damn.” Oliver whistles and crosses his arms over his chest, somewhere between incredulous and impressed. “And here I thought the two of you were finally getting serious. Shidou’ll be thrilled you’re back on the market. Adrian, too— though for different reasons.”

That catches Sae’s attention. He pauses before his next kick and shifts his gaze to where Oliver stands, narrowing his eyes.

He isn’t sure what his teammate is suggesting here, but he already doesn’t like it.

“Am I supposed to care about who that is?”

“You tell me. See, from what I hear, he’s your girl’s— my bad, I mean your not-girl’s ex. Apparently they ended on pretty good terms. Aina told me he’ll be there tonight, along with the rest of their friends.”

Oliver waits for a moment, letting his words sink in, before he grins knowingly, mismatched eyes smug and goading.

“Guess it’s a good thing you don’t care, huh?”

Sae feels himself frown, eyes narrowing into a glare as something heavy and bitter settles over his chest. There’s a sinking feeling in his gut, too, one that makes his stomach twist with discomfort.

You’ve never mentioned Adrian before. You’ve never mentioned any of your exes before, at least not to Sae, and why would you?

Contrary to popular belief, Sae’s not your boyfriend. He’s not even someone you’re officially dating. He’s just a friend you fuck regularly and hang out with after, even if it has been going on for way too long to be considered casual.

The point is, who you choose to spend your time with, romantically or otherwise, is none of his business, because you never agreed to be exclusive. And it’s not like he cares if you’re seeing other people, anyway, because he doesn’t. He doesn’t care.

He’s just a little annoyed by it, is all. Just a little irritated by the fact that Oliver would waste his time by bringing it up now, even though he knows Sae has more important things on his mind, like the upcoming game everyone else seems to be forgetting about.

That’s what Sae tells himself, anyway. What he reminds himself of even after Oliver says goodbye and heads off to get ready, leaving him alone on the pitch with nothing but his thoughts.

He repeats it inside of his head, over and over again, telling himself that it doesn’t matter, that he doesn’t care— even as the next ball he kicks misses, ricocheting off the goalpost.

So what if you’re seeing the ex you never mentioned tonight? And so what if the two of you ended on good enough terms for you to feel comfortable inviting him to your party? It’s your birthday, and you’re allowed to spend it with whoever you want.

Sae knows that, just like he knows you don’t owe him anything, least of all an explanation. And he doesn’t care— he doesn’t. He shouldn’t, because if he did, well— then that would mean he cares about you, maybe even has actual feelings for you, and that just wouldn’t make any sense, would it?

Because Sae doesn’t do this kind of thing. He doesn’t do feelings, or relationships, or anything else that puts him at risk of being vulnerable. He isn’t made for it. He never has been.

But then he thinks of you. Of your smile and your enthusiasm, of your quick comebacks and your laugh that turns into a snort whenever you think something is especially funny.

He thinks about the first time you spent the night at his place. He remembers waking up with you after and how easy it felt to hold you, how right.

You are thoughtful in a way that Sae is not, light-hearted and optimistic in a way he knows he’ll never be. You’re smart, too, smarter than anyone else he knows and more sensitive than you like to admit.

You’re stubborn to a fault, you hate admitting when you’re wrong, and you wouldn’t know how to relax even if someone paid you— but Sae can’t think of anything he’d like to do more than spend his time trying to keep up with you.

It hits him, then. The truth he’s spent the past few months trying to deny. All those sappy thoughts he’s had about you, the comfort and ease that settle over him whenever he’s around you— it’s not just because he likes spending time with you, or because he considers you a close friend.

It’s because he has feelings for you. Real, genuine feelings that he can’t ignore, at least not anymore.

It’s why hearing about your ex distracts him enough to make him miss the goal. Why the thought of you with someone else makes him feel sick to his stomach. And as much as Sae hates being vulnerable and honest about his feelings, he thinks he hates the idea of you cozying up to your ex even more.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do about it yet, or what he’s going to say to you— but what he does know is that he can’t do it here, so he picks up his bag and leaves the field.

An hour later, he’s in his car and driving up to the lounge where Aina’s hosting your party, freshly showered and handing his keys over to the valet. The necklace he picked out for you rests inside the pocket of his jacket, tucked securely against his side.

It’ll pair nicely with his confession, he thinks, if he can find the words. If his logic will allow it.

Inside the lounge, it doesn’t take him long to find you. You’re exactly where he thought you’d be, smack dab in the middle of the dance floor, swaying your hips and singing your heart out with Aina and the rest of your friends at your side.

You look incredible, all smooth skin and glittery eyes, dressed in something soft and lacey he can’t wait to help you out of. You’ve always been beautiful, but here beneath the warm lights with your hair framing your face and your lips curled into that alluring smile, you’re easily the most stunning thing he’s ever seen.

Sae spends longer than he probably should just looking at you, watching you laugh and dance out on the floor, spurred on by the music and the enthusiastic cheers of your friends. He finds himself smiling before he can really help it, tender and fond in the way only you ever seem to make him.

You do a bit of a double take when you spot him, craning your neck past Aina’s head to get a better view. He sends you a short nod as a form of greeting, and you return it with an excited wave of your own, excusing yourself from your friends to join him where he stands at the edge of the crowd.

You smile as you approach, a little breathless from all the dancing, but still so beautiful. You look happy that he’s here, but you’re surprised, too, eyes wide, like he’s the last person you expected to see.

“Sae? What are you doing here?”

It’s a fair question, considering the fact that the last time you spoke, he told you he couldn’t make it, but he raises an eyebrow anyway, like he can’t believe you’d ask. “You invited me, remember?”

“Well, yeah, I did, but I didn’t think you’d actually show up,” you say honestly, laughing a little. “I thought you were busy.”

“I was. Now I’m not.” When your eyes widen even more, your surprise giving way to disbelief, Sae’s eyebrows furrow. “Is it really that big of a deal?”

“That you’re choosing to spend your free time surrounded by everyone I know getting drunk off their asses? Kind of, yeah.” You reach out and smooth your hands over his chest, tugging at the lapels of his jacket to tease him. “I didn’t realize you cared so much.”

And Sae, too sure of his feelings to deny it, but too stubborn to agree, merely sighs, though he does nothing to move your hands away. “Look, if you want me to leave—”

“And rob me and the rest of my friends of the opportunity to ogle you in a button-down? On my birthday?” You put a hand over your heart and shake your head, looking scandalized. “That’s so disrespectful, not to mention selfish. I’m honestly offended that you even suggested it.”

He rolls his eyes, muttering something about you being the most dramatic person in the world, and you start to laugh, lips curling into that lovely little smile that lately he can’t stop thinking about.

Then you take his hand, sliding your fingers through his in a way that feels a lot more significant now that he knows he has feelings for you, and Sae feels something in his chest shift all over again, his pulse quickening beneath his skin.

“Come on,” you tell him, tugging on his hand to guide him forward, completely unaware of the effect you have on him. “I’ll get you a drink.”

You lead him to the bar and prop yourself up on one of the stools. Sae takes a seat beside you and watches as you order two cocktails— something simple for him and something sweet for yourself. The bartender makes quick work of your drinks, setting them down in front of you in record time and leaving you and Sae to chat.

“How was practice?”

“Same as always. How’s your party?”

“It’s been a lot of fun, actually. Aina really outdid herself. I’m thankful, even if it is forcing me to accept the sad reality that I’m basically a grandma now.” You let out a wistful sigh, stirring your drink with your straw. “When I was in college, I used to knock back tequila like it was water. Now it just kind of burns.”

That has him letting out an actual laugh, quiet but genuine, though he attempts to cover it up by reaching for his drink. You notice anyway and beam at the sound, unreasonably pleased with yourself, the way you always are whenever you manage to make him laugh.

He thinks of telling you that you’re the only one who can, the only person he’s ever felt comfortable enough around to do so. But the bar is rowdy and the music’s too loud, so he keeps it to himself, taking a sip of his drink and watching you do the same.

You chat for a while longer, catching each other up on all that you’ve missed in the week since you last saw one another. He tells you about the trip he took to the beach and the clothing sponsorship his manager won’t shut up about, and you tell him about the new pastry shop you tried and the comically large fruit bouquet your parents had delivered to your doorstep this morning.

And it’s easy, Sae thinks, talking to you like this. He’s never been a fan of parties, but sitting here with you, listening to your voice and hearing you laugh, it isn’t so bad.

He spent most of the drive here thinking of you and coming to terms with his feelings for you. These past few months have been filled with nothing but denial on his part, with Sae doing everything in his power to convince himself that he only saw you as the friend he was casually hooking up with, despite every one of his thoughts and actions proving otherwise.

But on the drive here, when he finally sat down to think about it, he found that what he feels for you was strangely easy for him to accept, despite the initial shock of it all.

Sae’s never been one for romance or relationships. He’s never imagined that’d be something he’d want, but looking at you now and wanting you the way he does, he knows it’s true. If he has to have feelings for anyone, he figures it might as well be you.

You, with all your sarcasm and your compassion and that soft little smile he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of.

He’s glad that it’s you.

If Sae were softer, more sensitive like Rin, he’d tell you. If he were better with words, if he knew what to say or where to start, he’d grab your hand and take you somewhere quiet and romantic, and then he’d tell you the truth. He’d tell you everything, all about the way you make him feel and all the parts of himself you make him want to give you.

But Sae isn’t like that. And while normally he wouldn’t hesitate to go after what he wants, he’s not going to risk ruining your birthday or the friendship you’ve built by telling you about the feelings he’s only now realizing he has, especially when he has no idea how to put them into words.

So he doesn’t.

He just listens to the sound of your voice and keeps his feelings to himself, pretending that absolutely nothing has changed even when it’s obvious that everything has.

Eventually, Aina and the rest of your girlfriends show up at the bar to steal you away. They’re shouting something about birthday pictures and ass-shaking that Sae only half-understands, but he doesn’t fight them on it. He knows how excited you are to spend tonight celebrating and letting loose with your friends, so he lets them whisk you away, nodding when you promise to catch up with him later.

Shidou and Oliver show up to harass him the second you and your friends are gone. They try to bully him into taking shots with them, but when that doesn’t work, they settle for setting him up with another drink instead. Then they each sling an arm around his shoulders and herd him over to the couches, where a handful of their other teammates are waiting.

The next time Sae sees you, you're back on the dance floor with your friends. He recognizes most of them, like Aina and Eri, Kenta and Misaki. The only stranger is the man standing behind you, the one Sae immediately decides he doesn’t like.

That’s when Sae notices how close this guy is to you and how low his hands are on your waist. All of a sudden, ignoring his feelings for you becomes a lot harder to do, especially now, when he’s almost positive that you’re dancing with your ex.

Sae doesn’t actually know that the man you’re dancing with is Adrian, of course. He’s too far away to hear what’s being said or to catch any names, but with how comfortable this guy seems to be with touching you, it isn’t hard to guess. He’s lean and broad-shouldered, too, with bright green eyes and silky dark hair, and well— you did say you have a type.

And when you glance over your shoulder to look at him, instead of being disgusted and telling him to get the fuck away from you, the way Sae is hoping you will, you smile. You actually fucking smile, accepting the bastard’s outstretched hand and letting him spin you around, like it’s normal, like you’re used to it. Like it’s something the two of you have done a million times before.

Quite frankly, it makes Sae want to fucking vomit.

It bothers him more than he cares to admit, watching you dance with Adrian and seeing how happy you look, how easily you welcome your ex-boyfriend’s touch. You aren’t even doing anything particularly scandalous, just laughing and letting him twirl you around, but seeing it happen still makes Sae’s stomach churn and his chest ache in a way he knows can’t be normal.

When the song changes, Aina ushers you and the rest of your group back towards the bar, ending your little stint on the dance floor. Sae finds himself grateful for the interruption, until he realizes that all it’s done is provide Adrian with the opportunity to get even closer to you, nestling himself between you and Eri.

Aina stands on your other side and waves down the bartender, but all Sae can focus on is the arm Adrian has wrapped around your shoulders, the way he leans in close and whispers in your ear.

Immediately, Sae decides he can’t watch anymore, not unless he actually wants to throw up. So instead of sticking around to see what happens next, he stands up and walks away, before the tension in his chest makes him do something stupid.

Shidou and Oliver call after him in confusion, but Sae ignores them, disappearing into the crowd without looking back.

There’s an outdoor section attached to the lounge, guarded by a set of clunky metal doors he didn’t notice until now. He pushes past them and is pleased to find the space almost entirely empty, save for the trio of smokers who are already on their way back inside, their cigarettes quickly blackening in the ashtray left on one of the tables outside.

Sae walks past them as they exit, ignoring the open chairs and couches in favor of standing closer to the balcony. He braces himself against the railing, nursing a drink he doesn’t even really want in his hand and a heaviness he isn’t used to in his heart.

It’s colder out here than it is inside. Quieter, too, though Sae hardly minds it. He welcomes the chill and the silence it brings, even if it does little to sort out his thoughts. All he knows for sure is that right now, he wants to be alone, and being out here can give him that, so he stays.

He enjoys about ten minutes of blissful silence before he hears the doors push open again. He braces himself with a deep sigh and looks over his shoulder, ready to tell Oliver to go back inside and leave him alone, but he stops himself when he sees that it’s you.

And it’s awful, Sae thinks, how easily the sight of you softens him, how happy he is to see you, even now. A few seconds ago, he was convinced he didn’t want to see anyone at all, but looking at you now, he can’t imagine ever asking you to leave.

The thought’s a little easier for him to stomach now that he’s accepted his feelings for you, but that doesn’t make it any less disorienting.

“There you are,” you say, greeting him with a warm smile and looking just as happy to see him now as you were when he first arrived. “I was wondering where you’d gone off to. I tried asking Oliver, but he wasn’t sure, either.”

Sae’s eyebrows raise at your words, his previous agitation forgotten. “You went looking for me?”

“Of course.” You join him at the railing, heels clacking against the pavement as you walk. You’re standing close enough now that your arm touches his, but he doesn’t pull away, and neither do you. “I can’t exactly fulfill my promise of ogling you if you’re all the way out here, now, can I?”

“I’m sure you would’ve figured something out,” he says, bumping his shoulder with yours, even as the corners of his lips twitch in amusement. “You’re persistent that way.”

“Can you blame me? You know what the sight of you with your shirt buttons undone does to the general public, myself included.”

“Weirdly enough, you’re not the first person to tell me that tonight.”

“Let me guess— Shidou?”

“He’s the only other person as dedicated to flirting with me as you are.”

You laugh, flipping your hair over your shoulder with a shrug. “What can I say? We have excellent taste.”

“Is that what you’re calling it?” He raises an eyebrow at you and hums, amused. “And here I thought it was just the two of you being shameless as always.”

“Only for you,” you say, voice low and playful, punctuating your words with a ridiculous wink that he shouldn’t find nearly half as endearing as he does. “Well, you and Pedro Pascal, but he didn’t show up for my birthday the way you did, so— mostly you.”

“I’m flattered,” he drawls sarcastically, making you laugh.

A brief silence follows, though it’s far from uncomfortable. It never is, not when it’s just you and Sae. You know he isn’t exactly the most talkative person, but you’ve never seemed to have a problem with that, never tried to make him into something he’s not. It’s one of the many things he likes about you.

You blink when you catch him staring at you, but you don’t hesitate to smile at him anyway. “What?”

“Nothing.” He’s quick to change the subject, clearing his throat and tearing his gaze away from your own. That’s when he notices the way you’re shivering, your arms going up to wrap around yourself as a breeze passes and goosebumps rise on your skin. “You’re cold.”

“Only a little,” you admit, expression bashful as you rub your arm, “but it’s fine. I’ll adjust. Honestly, with how hot it was inside, I probably need the—”

He doesn’t wait for you to finish your sentence, shrugging his jacket off his shoulders and offering it for you to take. “Here.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay. Really, you don’t have to—”

Your protests quickly go nowhere, Sae choosing to ignore you and all but shoving his jacket into your hands. You accept it from him somewhat unsurely, though that hesitance quickly disappears the moment you feel how warm his jacket feels around you.

You slide your arms through the sleeves and let the jacket rest comfortably around your shoulders, looking up to face him with a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

He nods in acknowledgement of your gratitude but says nothing else, too busy taking in the sight of you in his jacket and thinking about how much better it’d be if you were actually his.

Not for the first time, he thinks of confessing his feelings. He settles for bringing up the gift he got you instead, hoping it’ll be enough to make you understand.

“There’s something in it for you,” he says quickly, before he can talk himself out of it. “Inside the pocket.”

You blink, taken aback. “Really?”

When he nods, you reach inside his jacket. It takes you a moment or two of rummaging around, but eventually you find what you’re looking for, pulling out the dark velvet box that holds the necklace he got you for your birthday and cradling it gently inside your palm.

You meet his gaze briefly, eyes soft and searching, before opening the box with your other hand. You let out a tiny gasp when you see what’s inside, your eyes widening at the sun pendant that rests before you. It quite literally takes your breath away, and Sae knows, even before you meet his eyes again, that he’s done something right.

“Oh, my god. Sae, this is so— I mean, I don’t even know what to—” He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you this way before, so at a loss for words. Usually you always have something to say, but right now you can hardly form a sentence, eyes wide as you all but gape at him. “Are you sure?”

“Happy birthday,” Sae says, as softly and sincerely as he can manage. “I hope you like it.”

“Are you kidding? How could I not?”

You laugh a little, voice disbelieving as you trace your fingertips over the necklace, gentle and admiring. Sae can’t help but smile to himself as he watches you, pleased by how touched you seem to be by the gift.

“It’s beautiful. Seriously, Sae, it’s gorgeous and wonderful— and way too fucking expensive.” You snap the box closed, shaking your head firmly. “I can’t accept this.”

Your words make him frown, brows furrowing slightly as you hold the box out to him. He had a feeling you’d be difficult about this, knowing how notoriously stubborn you are, but he thought you’d at least put the necklace on before trying to give it back to him.

“Why not?”

“What do you mean, why not?” You stare at him, bewildered, an almost comically serious look on your face as you lift the box in your hands and shake it around. “Sae, there are actual diamonds on this necklace.”

He resists the urge to laugh at your expression, shrugging his shoulders and raising an eyebrow. “So?”

“So?” you repeat, giving him an incredulous look. “That means it’s probably worth more than my freakin’ apartment! I can’t take this from you.”

“You’re not taking anything. I’m giving it to you,” Sae corrects, completely unbothered, even as your eye starts to twitch in a way that makes it clear you think he’s lost his mind. “You know, like that gift thing people do on birthdays?”

He tries to make a joke, but you hardly acknowledge it, evidently too occupied with having an internal crisis about the amount of money he spent to appreciate his rare attempt at humor. There’s a frown on your lips and a crease in your brow that reassure him it’s going to take a lot more than that to convince you to accept the gift, but thankfully, Sae has already prepared for that.

“I’m not bringing it back to the store,” he says, meeting your eyes so you can see exactly how serious he is. “I already got rid of the receipt, and I’m not giving it to anyone else, so either you take it, or it goes in the trash.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the look on his face must make you reconsider, because you’re closing it before you can say anything else. Realizing that regardless of your protests, he won’t be changing his mind, you sigh, relenting.

“Fine. I’ll take it.” You’re trying your best to pout, making a show of your begrudging acceptance, but the sparkle in your eye as you gaze down at the box in your hand betrays just how thrilled you really are to be keeping the gift. “But I would like the record to show that I think you’re a psychopath. A filthy rich, full-blown psychopath.”

“You know, most people would just say thank you.”

Sae expects you to make a quip back, maybe even return his snark with an eye roll of your own, but you surprise him by taking his hand in yours, using the other to cradle the box to your chest.

“Thank you, Sae.” You squeeze his hand and smile, gratitude and sincerity hanging off every word. “I love it.”

You give his hand another gentle squeeze before releasing it and turning your attention back to the box you’re holding, a distraction Sae finds himself grateful for. He’s not sure what kind of expression he’s making right now, but if the way his pulse is racing is any indication, he doubts it’s anything normal.

He watches as you open the box and remove the necklace from inside. Once it’s been freed, you put the empty box back in his pocket and let the necklace dangle from your fingertips, turning to offer it to him again.

“Will you help me put it on?”

For a moment, all Sae can do is nod. His pulse is still racing, drumming beneath his skin with the kind of adrenaline he thought he’d only ever get while playing soccer. He ignores it as best as he can, clearing his throat and taking the necklace from you.

“Turn around.”

You do as he asks, turning so your back is facing him and holding up your hair so it’s out of the way. He brings the necklace to your throat, fingers brushing against your neck in a way that makes you shudder slightly, goosebumps rising on your skin as you lean instinctively into his touch.

The sight is tempting enough to make him want to forget the necklace entirely and bring his lips to your throat, grazing the spot below your ear he knows drives you crazy, but somehow he resists the urge, clasping the necklace shut without any further incident.

“Well?” You let go of your hair and turn back around to face him, a smile on your face as you put your hands on your hips and strike a pose. “How’s it look?”

What Sae wants to say is that you look stunning. That you always do, and that it has nothing to do with the necklace at your throat or the clothes you wear and everything to do with the way you carry yourself, dramatic nonsense and all.

What comes out of his mouth instead isn’t nearly as poetic. “It looks better on you than it would have in the garbage can.”

It’s probably one of the least romantic things you’ve ever heard, but luckily for him, you’re too used to his personality to be offended by it. All you do is laugh, brushing it off without a second thought.

“You know,” you say, in the shittiest imitation of his voice you can manage, throwing his words back at him the way he’s sure you planned to from the beginning, “most people would just say it looks good on me.”

Sae huffs out a laugh, though he still makes a point to roll his eyes at your words. He watches you grin and laugh along with him, taking in the curve of your lips and the flutter of your lashes, and finds himself speaking again, before he can change his mind.

“It does.” It’s hard to say who the confession surprises more— you or himself. He keeps going anyway, even as your laughter fades and your eyes widen. “You look—” It takes him a second to gather himself, the words awkward and stiff coming from his mouth, but just as sincere. “—beautiful. You are beautiful.”

Understandably, the compliment catches you off guard. Sae’s called you many things before —stubborn, ridiculous, dramatic, even shameless— but he’s never called you beautiful. He’s never called anything beautiful, at least not on purpose. You probably didn’t even think it was something he could do.

Maybe that’s why you’re looking at him so strangely now, his words stunning you into silence. He can only hope you know he meant them. Then he notices the shy little smile on your face and the way you wrap his jacket a little tighter around yourself and realizes you already do.

“Thank you.”

Another silence falls between you, different from before. This one is a little more intense, the air between you thick with words left unsaid, but it’s still not uncomfortable, at least not yet. Sae knows it’s true, because when he leans back against the railing, you follow, settling into the space beside him and letting your arm press against his without a hint of regret or awkwardness.

“I’m glad you’re here, Sae.” You don’t look at him when you say it, eyes on the city skyline below you, all the twinkling, faraway lights blanketed by the cover of darkness. Your voice is quieter than he’s used to, but still undoubtedly sincere. “And not because of the gift, or because of the compliment, even though those were nice, too— but because of you.”

That catches him off guard. “Because of me?”

“Yeah, because of you.” You turn to look at him then, all easy smiles and undeniable fondness. “Just you. I mean, obviously you didn’t have to be here, and I know you probably haven’t been enjoying yourself too much, but still, it’s nice.”

“What makes you think I’m not enjoying myself?”

“You’re kidding, right? This whole thing is loud music and a big crowd, neither of which you’re fond of. Besides, you told me you hated parties.”

“I don’t hate you.” The words fall from his lips before he can stop them, soft and tender and way too fucking honest. Your eyes widen, even more now than they did when he called you beautiful, and immediately he clears his throat, backtracking. “...I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh, so you do hate me, then?”

“What? No, that’s not what I—” He cuts himself off when he catches the smile you try and fail to hide behind your hand, any concern he had about hurting your feelings vanishing as he shoots you a scowl. “Oh, shut up.”

You give up on masking your amusement and begin laughing outright. Normally, the sound would annoy him, especially when done at his expense, but because it’s you, all it does is make him grow more fond, the corners of his lips curling into a smile of his own before he can stop them.

“If it makes you feel any better,” you say, your side pressing against his as you lean in close, whispering like you’re sharing a secret, “I don’t hate you, too.”

It’s nothing like an actual confession, nor can it be considered a real sign that you’ll return his feelings, but Sae hears you say it, watches the way you watch him, and suddenly he knows that if there were ever a time for him to tell you the truth, then this would be it.

But words have never come easily to Sae, so instead of saying it, instead of telling you, he decides to show you.

He brings his hand to your face, cupping your cheek in his palm with a kind of gentleness he didn’t even think himself capable of until now. He swipes his thumb along your bottom lip, his gaze never leaving yours, while you look on, startled by his sudden softness.

He knows as soon as he does it that the way he’s holding you now is something different, something real. He knows you’ll feel it, too, knows it’ll catch you off guard, even if it’s far from the first time he’s touched you. It’s why he isn’t the least bit surprised when your eyes widen, your voice a quiet, stunned murmur as you open your mouth to speak.

“Sae, what are you…”

He doesn’t let you finish that thought, closing what little distance is left between you to press his lips against yours. It’s a softer kiss than he usually goes for, every bit as tender and delicate as the way his hand cradles your cheek and filled with all the sincerity he can manage, all the longing he didn’t even realize he’d been feeling until now.

You’re breathless when he pulls away, lips parted and eyes fluttering back open to meet his, dazed, like you’re seeing him for the first time.

“What was that for?”

For a moment, Sae has no idea how to respond. You’ve always been the most observant person in the room —it’s how you found out about the ankle he sprained last month, having picked up on the strain in his voice the moment he answered your call— so the fact that you still haven’t realized he’s trying to confess his feelings for you is unexpected, to say the least.

Still, he doesn’t let it deter him, letting the hand he uses to cradle your face speak for him, thumb brushing across your cheek in a way he hopes makes things a little clearer.

“What do you think?”

You don’t answer right away, your eyes locked with his own, stunned and searching. You reach up a hand and place it over the one he has on your face, but your touch is hesitant, unsure— much like your voice is when you speak again.

“Honestly, I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to be thinking right now.”

Sae is trying very hard to be sensitive for you, but he can’t stop himself from frowning at your words. He knew telling you about his feelings —or, in this case, showing you— wasn’t going to be easy, but he didn’t think it’d be this hard, either. And though he knows it’s probably unfair of him to think kissing you like this will be enough, your reaction isn’t exactly making him feel any better about it.

“It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve kissed you.”

“Well, yeah, I know that, but you’ve never—” You cut yourself off, brows furrowing as you fix him with a serious look. “You’ve never kissed me like that.”

“Maybe I just didn’t think you could handle it.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, Sae knows, not to mention completely at odds with what he’s actually feeling, but it’s what comes out of his mouth, anyway. You frown as soon as he says it, eyes narrowing as you shake your head.

“You’re such a dick, Sae.”

“I know.” He moves his hand and brushes a piece of hair away from your face. You let him, your gaze flickering down to his lips then back up again to meet his eyes. “Do you want me to stop?”

And though he knows as well as you do that you should say yes, though you have every right to push him away and demand he explain himself properly, all you do is lean in closer, your lips hovering against his as you answer, voice low and deliberate and just a little breathless, “...No.”

He closes the distance at the same time you do, your lips meeting in another kiss that’s as longing and passionate as the first. It’s just as soft, too, soft in the way you still can’t quite make sense of, but that hardly seems to matter to you now as you tilt your head and let yourself become lost in it, one of your hands going up to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck.

Then you’re pressing your body against his, your lips moving to nip at his jaw, and it’s all Sae can do to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you closer, his mouth finding yours once more.

There’s so much more the two of you need to talk about, so much he still has tell you so that you can finally understand the extent of his feelings, but right now, all he can focus on is the feel of your lips against his own and the weight of you in his arms, steady and solid, like it’s where you were meant to be all along.

He lifts a hand to cradle your jaw, and your lips part, tongue sliding against his as he walks the two of you backwards. Your back hits the railing, and you make a needy little sound in the back of your throat that just makes him kiss you harder, one of your legs going up to wrap around his waist.

His lips are halfway down your neck when your phone starts to ring. The two of you ignore it at first, too lost in each other to pay it any real mind, and eventually it stops, just in time for Sae to make his way back up to your lips, his free hand shifting lower to grip at your thigh.

Not even a minute later, the ringing starts back up again, a loud, chiming tone that’s a lot harder to ignore the second time around. Reluctantly, Sae pulls away, though he doesn’t go very far— just enough to meet your eyes, one of his hands still cradling the side of your face.

“You should probably answer that,” he mutters, even as his other hand smooths over the skin of your thigh, his lips hovering just a breath away from your own.

“What?” you ask, dazed and distracted, your eyes still focused on his lips.

“Your phone, dumbass,” he replies, soft and amused, the corners of his mouth curling up at your reaction. “Answer it before your friends start a tequila-fueled search party.”

“Oh, shit— yeah.” The reality of his words spurs you back into action, your eyes widening a fraction as you snap yourself out of your daze. “Good call.”

You work together to untangle yourselves from each other, unwinding your arms from around his neck while Sae guides your leg back to the ground to help you find your footing. When he’s sure you won’t fall, he lets his hands drop and takes a step back, giving you space to answer the call.

You, however, seem to have other plans, your hand shooting out to grab onto the front of his shirt before he can get too far. Your phone is still ringing, even louder now that you’ve pulled it out of your purse, but you don’t seem too concerned about it, your attention focused solely on Sae.

“This’ll be quick,” you reassure him. “So don’t— don’t go anywhere, okay?”

It’s cute, Sae thinks, how earnest you sound when you say it, how serious you look as you ask him to stay. He’s never been good at denying you anything, even before he realized he had feelings for you, and now? Now, it’s the last thing on his mind. “Okay.”

Your expression brightens, lips curling up as you smile, pleased by his response. Then you let go of his shirt and swipe at your phone screen, bringing the device up to your ear.

“Hello?”

There’s a brief pause as you lean against the railing, awaiting a response. Sae doesn’t think much of it, until he hears you speak again.

“Oh, hey, Adrian.”

That’s when the tension in his chest from earlier returns full force, every muscle in Sae’s body locking up the moment your ex-boyfriend’s name leaves your lips. You don’t pick up on it, either, too focused on your conversation to notice the frown on his face or the furrow of his brow.

(He can’t tell if that makes things better or worse.)

“Yeah, I’m okay. I just stepped out for a minute,” you continue, oblivious to the tension in his frame, the scoff he just barely manages to hide. “No, I’m not, I promise— I’m with a friend.”

A friend, you say, as if that’s all you expect from him, all you want him to be. Just a friend, as if everything that’s happened between you tonight doesn’t matter.

Needless to say, it doesn’t sit well with him at all.

Is that why you told him you were okay with him missing your party? Why you looked so surprised when he showed up anyway? Because you wanted to spend the night with your ex-boyfriend instead?

Earlier, Sae thought that the longing and urgency that poured from your lips as you kissed him back meant something, that you could actually want him the way he wants you. Not just as a friend or a hookup or whatever the hell it is you’ve been doing this whole time, but as something more, something real.

He understands now that it was all just wishful thinking on his part, a fantasy he should’ve known better than to indulge. He feels whatever softness you managed to bring out of him fade away, and with it his desire to open his heart and confess his feelings for you.

The logical part of his brain, the part he usually has no trouble listening to, knows he’s overreacting. It isn’t fair of him to assume there’s something going on with you and Adrian just because you answered his phone call, just like it isn’t fair of him to assume you’ll understand his feelings without him actually talking to you about them.

Still, it’s hard to be logical when all Sae can focus on is the churn of his stomach and the ache in his chest as he watches you chat with your ex. It’s a little easier than watching you interact with him in person, Sae supposes, but not by much. He still feels ready to throw up by the end of it, frustrated and annoyed for reasons he still isn’t sure how to explain to you.

Thankfully, you don’t stay on the phone for long. Your conversation with Adrian only lasts a minute or two, and then you’re hanging up the call, tucking your phone back into your purse without any further distractions.

You reach for Sae the moment your hands are free, throwing your arms around his neck and pressing your body against his. It’s muscle memory for him to open his arms and welcome you, his hands moving to rest at your waist before he can stop himself.

“Now,” you say with a smile, earnest and eager as you lean in close, “where were we?”

You kiss him, then, determined to pick up exactly where you left off, your lips warm and soft as they move against his own. And if it were any other day, then Sae would be kissing you back without a second thought, tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you even closer.

But that was before your phone call with Adrian, before you laughed and said Sae was just your friend, right after he kissed you and held you in a way he thought would make it clear that he wanted more than that. Now it’s all he can think about, all that frustration and bitterness he felt earlier —and jealousy, he realizes now, begrudgingly, unfortunately— settling into his chest in the worst way.

It doesn’t take you long to notice his hesitance. You feel his lack of response and pull back, a look of concern on your face as you meet his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

If Sae were better, more honest, he’d tell you the truth. He’d tell you how much he hates the idea of you and your ex reconnecting, how he can’t stand seeing you with Adrian or anyone else for that matter, not because he actually knows him or because he doesn’t trust your judgment, but because he wants you to be with him instead.

But Sae can’t do that. In fact, just the mere thought of putting himself out there, of allowing himself to be that vulnerable without knowing exactly what’s going on inside your head makes him feel like he’s going to be sick, so he doesn’t.

He just shuts down entirely, closing himself off the way he always does whenever he starts feeling more than he knows how to handle. It’s probably the worst thing he can do at this moment, especially when it comes to you, but that’s of little consequence to him when he feels as raw and hopelessly human as he does right now.

“You should get back inside,” is what he tells you instead, distancing himself in the only way he knows how, though it’s the exact opposite of what his heart wants. “Your friends are waiting for you.”

At first, the bitterness in his tone is lost on you. Your lips curve into a smirk, your voice playful and coy as you lower your hands to his neck and tug at the collar of his shirt. “They can wait a little longer.”

You lean in to kiss him again, pulling on his collar so he can meet you halfway, your tongue sliding along his bottom lip. He ends up kissing you back despite himself, parting his lips so your tongue can meet his before he has the chance to think better of it.

It takes him longer than he’d like to admit to remember he’s supposed to be distancing himself from you, too lost in the feeling of your lips moving against his to recall why he was so upset in the first place.

Eventually, though, he finds it in himself to pull away, turning his head before you have the chance to kiss him again. “Something tells me Adrian wouldn’t agree with you.”

This time, you do notice the bitterness in his voice. You loosen your grip on his collar, drawing back to give him a funny look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just forget it.” Sae lets his hands drop, releasing his hold on your waist. You’re so caught off guard, you don’t even complain, your own hands falling back down to your sides as he takes a step away from you. “You can leave my jacket with Oliver. I’ll get it from him later.”

“Wait, what?” You don’t bother to hide your confusion at his sudden shift in mood, eyes wide as you stare at him in disbelief. “You’re leaving?”

“You said it yourself.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, the smile he sends you wry and humorless. “Parties aren’t really my thing.”

“Yeah, well, neither is being passive aggressive, but you seem to be doing a great job of that right now.” You cross your arms over your chest and frown, your normally relaxed features twisting into a scowl. You’re definitely annoyed by his behavior, but he can see in your eyes that you’re hurt by it, too. He thought seeing that would make him feel better, but it doesn’t. “Why are you being like this, Sae? A minute ago, we were totally fine, and now you’re acting like you’re mad at me or something.”

“I’m not acting like anything.”

“Yes, you are, and I want to know why. I mean, all I did was answer one phone call, so why are you acting so— oh. Oh, my god. Is that why you’re mad at me? Because of the phone call?”

Sae turns to scoff at you, acting as if he couldn’t care less, even though the problem is that he very much does. “You really think I give a shit that you spoke to your ex?”

“Why does it matter that he’s my ex?” You tilt your head, then, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, until slowly —despite his best efforts— the realization begins to dawn on you. All at once, your confusion disappears, replaced by a wide-eyed, knowing look that makes whatever hope he had of avoiding this conversation vanish. “Itoshi Sae, are you jealous?”

You’re right, of course —frustratingly enough, you kind of always are— but Sae thinks he’d rather chew concrete than admit it, especially when he’s already resigned himself to burying his feelings.

It’s why he kisses his teeth at your words, his lip curling up in disdain. “Tch, you wish.”

“Liar. You’re jealous as hell. In fact, I bet the whole reason you were even out here in the first place is because you saw me dance with him and got all sulky about it. That’s how jealous you are.” You’re confident enough about it to dare to take a step forward, raising an eyebrow as you meet his eyes with an expectant look. “Am I wrong?”

All Sae can do is scowl at you, irritated by both your smugness and the fact that it does nothing to change the way he feels about you. “You’re a pain in the ass, is what you are.”

And because you’re you, of course his words don’t offend you in the slightest. If anything, your satisfaction only grows, your lips curving into a smirk that’s as pleased as it is insufferable. “I still haven’t heard a ‘no.’”

Sae grimaces but remains silent, half because he’s stubborn and half because you aren’t wrong. You’ve always been smart, too smart, really —it’s one of the things he likes most about you— so of course you were able to pick up on his jealousy, despite his attempts at denying it.

He expects you to give him a hard time over it, maybe even chew him out for how immature and ridiculous he’s been acting as a result, but you surprise him by wrapping your arms around his shoulders. When he doesn’t push you away, you take that as a sign to continue, tangling your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

“You know you don’t have to be jealous, right?” Your voice is tender and comforting when you speak. There’s a certain seriousness in it, too, a firmness that lets him know how much you mean it. He wishes it didn’t affect him as much as it does. “Adrian and I used to be a thing, sure, but it’s not like that between us anymore. He and I are just friends now.”

“You mean the same way you and I are just friends?”

“Oh, wow, you really are jealous. Is that why you showed up tonight? You wanted to make sure there was nothing going on between me and my ex?”

“It couldn’t matter to me even if there was.” He tries not to sound bitter when he says it, but his efforts are hardly effective, the half-smile he forces tight-lipped and strained, even as he moves his hands to settle on your hips. “It’s not like I’m your boyfriend.”

“I didn’t think you’d ever want to be,” you admit, low and honest. And maybe he’s just imagining it, but he swears there’s a hint of disappointment in your voice, too, a sadness he isn’t quite sure how to make sense of. “I mean, back when we started all this, neither of us wanted a relationship. Has that changed?”

It takes all Sae has to keep himself from ripping his own hair out, because haven’t you been paying attention at all? Of course it’s changed. Do you really think he’d be here fighting with himself and agonizing over how to confess to you if it hadn’t?

He wants to tell you as much, can feel the words right there on the tip of his tongue, but his pride keeps him from saying them out loud, at least not until he knows exactly how you feel, too.

“Has it changed for you?”

“Not so fast, hotshot. I asked you first.”

He sighs. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously.” The look you give him is as unapologetic as it is pointed, the sternness in your voice leaving little room for argument. “You almost walked away from me on my birthday, asshole. The least you can do now is answer my question.”

It’s a fair point, he knows, especially after everything he’s put you through tonight, but Sae is nothing if not completely awful when it comes to verbalizing his feelings. He knows it most likely won’t be enough to satisfy you, but he gives your hips a gentle squeeze anyway, wrapping his arms around your waist to bring you closer. “Isn’t this answer enough?”

“Not even close,” you tell him flatly, every bit as unimpressed as he thought you’d be. “I want you to tell me how you really feel about me. And I want you to say it with your words, not just hold me or kiss me and expect me to read between the lines.”

“Words aren’t really my strong suit,” he mutters, more honest now than he’s been all night, averting his gaze to the floor.

“Try anyway.” You lift a hand and run your fingers through his hair the way you know he likes. It’s disarming enough to have him meeting your gaze once more. Your eyes are soft, searching. Patient, too, despite him, the way you always seem to be. “Come on, Sae. Is it really that hard for you to be honest with me?”

He laughs, though there isn’t any humor to it. “You have no idea.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Of course not.”

“Are you okay with me dating other people?”

“Definitely not.”

“Why?”

Sae narrows his eyes, shooting you a flat look, because you know. You have to know. After everything he’s said, everything he’s done, there’s no way you haven’t pieced it together by now. “You already know why.”

“Oh, I do,” you confirm, smug and irritating as ever, smile bright and eyes knowing, “but I want to hear you say it, anyway.” You brush his hair out of his eyes, and he watches as your expression morphs into something softer, something fond and affectionate that makes his heart stutter the way it’s only ever done around you. “For me?”

And though it isn’t easy for him, though it goes against all of his better instincts and is quite possibly the last thing he’s ever wanted to do— for you, he decides to be sincere. “Fine.”

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to find the words, urged on by the weight of you in his arms and the tender, encouraging way you’re looking at him. It’s daunting for him to be this honest, not to mention completely unnerving, especially when you both know how bad he is with words in general— but for you, he’s willing to try.

“...I like you. I really, really like you, as in I have feelings for you, and this thing we’ve been doing, this casual, no strings, whatever the hell it is— it’s not enough for me anymore. And I want— I want to be with you. For real, this time, if— if you’ll have me.”

Sae snaps his mouth closed the moment he’s able to get the words out, bracing himself for your reaction. He isn’t sure what he’s expecting from you, exactly —rejection, reciprocation, maybe some backwards, nonsensical combination of them both— but he’s determined to be prepared for it regardless, determined to appear unaffected, even if it means he has to grit his teeth to do so.

But then you’re cupping his face in your hands, gaze soft and open and filled with the kind of affection he never once imagined he’d be on the receiving end of, and any notion he had of remaining unaffected is promptly cast aside, replaced by the warmth of your touch and the tender, fond way you look at him.

You lean in, and it’s all Sae can do to close his eyes as you press your lips against his in a slow, gentle kiss. The gesture is soft and surprisingly chaste, soft like the way he kissed you earlier, back when he was trying to communicate the extent of his feelings. It doesn’t last very long, but it doesn’t need to, not when he can feel it linger even after you pull away, delicate and deliberate, important in all the ways that matter.

When he opens his eyes, he finds that you’re already looking at him, your lips pulled into that soft little smile he doesn’t think he’ll ever get sick of. Then you wrap your arms around his neck, resting your forehead against his.

“I want to be with you, too,” you say, steady and sure, without a hint of regret or uncertainty, and Sae swears something in his chest cracks wide open, every bit of affection he’s ever felt for you pouring out until it’s all he knows, all he can feel. “As way more than just casual. I have for a while now.”

“You have?” The confession catches him off guard, makes his eyes widen a fraction as he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze properly. “Since when?”

“Since your away game in France.” You say it naturally, doubtlessly, without any of the hesitation he would’ve had to grapple with to do the same thing. Not for the first time, he finds himself envying how easy you make it look, how effortless it is for you to be so honest and upfront about your feelings. “You were only gone for two weeks, but it felt like ages. Then you showed up to my apartment with pastries from that bakery your manager suggested, and they were amazing, but all I could think about was how happy I was that you were back. That’s when I knew I was in trouble.”

For a moment, Sae has no idea what to say. His away game in France was almost two months ago. You’ve had feelings for him since back then? If that was the case, then why didn’t you tell him? Had he really made you feel like you couldn’t talk to him about it?

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I wanted to, but every time I thought about bringing it up, I’d remember what we said about keeping it casual. I figured if I said something, it’d scare you off. And I didn’t— I didn’t want to lose you. I still don’t.”

You look down, then, averting your gaze, uncharacteristically nervous as you fidget with the buttons on his shirt. And as Sae watches you standing there in front of him, quiet and apprehensive in a way he’s never seen you before, he wonders if maybe he’s not the only one who’s been reluctant to be vulnerable, after all.

Things would be different if either one of you had said something sooner, he knows. If you’d been brave enough to let the other in. He imagines it would’ve saved you both a lot of time, knowing that it wasn’t just one-sided, that your feelings were returned.

But you’re still here. You both are, and that’s more than enough, he thinks. It’s everything.

(After all, Sae’s never wanted anything the way he wants you.)

It’s why he takes your chin in his hand, urging you to look up at him. For once, you don’t put up much of a fight, your eyes flickering up to meet his own.

That’s when he kisses you, soft and sweet, passionate and patient the way you’ve always been with him, the way he knows you deserve to have returned. He kisses you like he means it, like you have all the time in the world, because right now, you do. He kisses you, and he hopes you feel the promise in it, the one that this time, he won’t hesitate to say out loud.

“You don’t have to worry about losing me, dummy,” he tells you as soon as you break apart for air, breathless and sincere as he presses his forehead against yours. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

You smile at him, then, knowing how much he means it, bright and beaming as you take his hand in yours and lace your fingers together.

“I’m not going anywhere, either,” you promise, and the best part is, you don’t.

When the two of you go back inside to rejoin the party, you do it together, your hand tucked securely into his, your fingers intertwined. You’re still wearing his jacket, still smiling at him in that warm, easy way of yours. He knows now for sure it’s something he’ll never get tired of, knows he’s going to spend the rest of the foreseeable future making sure he deserves it.

When your friends see you walk in holding hands with Sae, chaos ensues. Thankfully, the two of you are more than prepared for it, braving their onslaught of wolf-whistles and too-personal questions without missing a beat.

Somehow, Oliver and Aina are the loudest of the bunch, hooting and hollering in matching degrees of shock and excitement, despite already knowing what the two of you have been up to these past few months. Shidou isn’t far behind them, though he does lament Sae’s new taken status. He wraps an arm around each of your shoulders and very seriously offers himself up to the two of you as a willing volunteer for a threesome, should you ever find yourselves in the market for one.

You and Sae take it all in stride, enduring their teasing and answering their least invasive questions until finally you decide to use your birthday authority to put an end to their pestering, declaring in no uncertain terms that they all go back to celebrating. They complain about it, of course, well-meaning and meddlesome as they are, but still they do as you ask, cooing and waggling their eyebrows at you as they take their leave.

“I’m sorry our friends are all unhinged weirdos,” you apologize as soon as everyone else is gone, blunt and serious enough to make Sae laugh. You’re sitting in his lap on the couch, the two of you tucked away in a dark corner of the lounge in an attempt at finding some reprieve from all the chatter and excitement of the night. “And that they have no concept of what it means to mind their own business.”

He hums in acknowledgement, reassuring you with a kiss to your shoulder that there’s nothing you need to apologize for. You smile at the gesture and drape your arm around his shoulders in turn, using your other hand to press your palm against his cheek and make him look up at you.

It’s only then he notices the slight crease in your brow, the worry you’re trying your best to play off with a carefree smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “They didn’t scare you away, did they?”

“Not even close.” He shakes his head and squeezes at your hip, taking your hand in his to press a kiss against your palm. “You’re gonna have to do a lot more than that to get rid of me.”

“Good.” You wind your fingers through his, that smile he likes —maybe even loves— curving its way onto your lips. Happiness has always been a fickle thing for Sae, floating just outside of his reach, but he sees the way you look at him, feels the warmth of your skin against his, and he knows— it’s here. It’s you. It’s always been you. “I’m glad.”

Yeah, Sae thinks, shifting to meet you halfway as you lean down for his lips, only this time he doesn’t have to worry about hiding or burying his feelings. This time, he doesn’t have to do anything at all except kiss you, the girl he’s wanted for too long, the one he finally gets to call his. So am I.

Written by: Dawn Taglist link

His | 2 | Yandere Bakugou x Reader

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

Story Masterlist

Summary:  You’re a petty villain, and your new villain-career is forced to an immediate halt when none other than Ground Zero captures you. He’s convinced that you’re in need of his help to change your tainted lifestyle, and you’re not going to tell him otherwise.

WARNINGS: ABUSE, INJURIES

Ground Zero’s grip on (Y/n)’s wrists twisted, shifting his hold on her and placing her back in the locked position she was previously, holding her arms together behind her with one hand. She felt Ground Zero’s weight shift as he reached for his belt once more. The clang of metal was behind her and immediately knew she was being detained. The gravel felt rough against her chin as she grimaced, looking forward at the dark alley her and the hero were alone in. She felt like freedom was just a few more paces away — maybe if she had been faster, or just had a quirk…!

Who was she kidding.

Ground Zero was not known for his mercy. He was not known for his compassion. He was not known for his gracious nature.

He was known for his ruthlessness. He was known for his hostility. He was known as the symbol of strength, and by God, did it show by just how bruising his grip was on her arms.

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This is very scary and concerning for black people. AGAIN DEHUMANIZING BLACK PEOPLE

Boack people health conditions aren't taken seriously compared to others.Many black people are scared to go to the hospital for this reason

Black women are 4x likely to die from complications of childbirth than white women in the United states.they've had experience that has unacceptably poor maternal health outcomes

SNAPSHOT PT.3 GOJO SATORU

synopsis. nobara is ill and what better way to spend your day off than trying to figure out who your teacher's high school girlfriend is?

wc. 3.5k

tags. gojo x reader, fluff, one suggestive joke, reader is in gojo's class, implied utahime x shoko, only half proofread

a/n. it's nearly midnight and im so tired and I have to be up at 6 tomorrow but I needed to get this done. I hope there's not too many mistakes <3 the ending is kind of shit but idc :) jk i do pls like it

previous part / next part

“are you sure you’ll be okay alone?”

nobara lazily lifted her head from beneath her duvet, orange bangs clinging to her sweaty forehead as she let out a series of harsh coughs. megumi winced from the doorway, inching back ever so slightly - he'd already brought in a couple bottles of water and a box of tissues, he wasn't looking to contract whatever flu-like disease she had caught.

she rolled her eyes at his not-so-subtle antics and raised a weak thumbs up. “go on fushiguro, i know how much you're dying to spend the afternoon with itadori and sensei."

“haha,” megumi uttered with the most sarcastic tone he could muster. on second thoughts, maybe being sick for a week wouldn't be so bad. with nobara gone, there was no buffer for his teacher and classmate to pester. “call me if you get worse, you know the second years are useless.” 

nobara gave the younger boy a quick salute and small smile, “yes boss.”

she dropped her head back into her pillow and waited till she heard the door click shut till she slipped a little less than elegantly out of bed. whilst yes, there was no denying that she was definitely sick, she also had a mission she couldn’t give up on.

in the three weeks, four days and an unknown number of hours since she had found the dvd of her teacher in his youth, she had been putting all of her free time into trying to find you. megumi had been a dead end when she’d tried asking him about you again and, although nobara knew he had a soft spot for yuuji, she didn’t trust the pink haired boy to treat this situation sensitively.

initially, she’d even considered asking gojo about it but she decided against that pretty quickly. that could get awkward very quickly and she still had at least two years at the school. 

then, she’d moved onto searching through the school for traces of the alumni. all she’d managed to find was a single photo; one that included both kyoto and tokyo students. you were tucked into gojo’s side with your arm around shoko. geto was there too: him and gojo side by side as they always were in their teenage years. all of you were grinning and genuinely happy. where had it all gone so drastically wrong?

nobara wondered if it was geto’s fault that gojo’s class had been all but erased – an effort to forget that the worst curse user to live had in fact once been an aspiring sorcerer.

her next plan (and one she hadn’t full considered the logistics of completely just yet) was to watch every single video on the dvd because surely at some point, there would be some clue of who you were or where you’d gone. 

and even if there wasn’t, what else could she possibly do to amuse herself whilst she was on bed rest?

with a huff, she grabbed her laptop and dropped back onto her bed, tucking herself under the covers. opening up her laptop (her password being ‘12345’), she clicked unpause on a video she’d started the evening prior.

“–and that’s it basically.”

shoko waved her hands around, sat on yaga’s chair at the front of the classroom with a blackboard filled with scribbles behind her. it wasn’t anything legible, more like swirls and stars and nobara thinks that, if she looked hard enough, in the corner were two little stick men: gojo and geto. an unlit cigarette sat between her lips as she kicked her legs up onto her teacher’s desk. yaga clearly wasn’t in the room. 

“that made no sense whatsoever but woo! shoko!” you clapped, out of frame of the camera but enthusiastically nonetheless. the aforementioned girl narrowed her eyes at you across the classroom.

“that’s why i made a video, for you to look back on duh,” she tsked, nodding her head towards the camera. “plus it is easy. i expected dumb and dumber not to understand but you?” shoko patted away a few non-existent tears, taking on the role of disappointed parent and their once star student.

except you’d never really excelled in a class with two prodigies and shoko actually loved having the upperhand in at least one area of sorcery.

shoko picked up the camera, holding it upwards to give a full view of her outfit and hair – like it was any different to any other day she attended school. she swivelled the spinny chair over to an occupied desk, slotting next to it and moving the camera so that it captured all of you in the frame. gojo was sat down in the seat, glasses propped up onto his forehead as you sat sideways on his lap, unsuccessfully trying to decipher shoko’s teachings on the board.

“understanding reversed cursed techniques is way harder than understanding cursed techniques,” you tried to justify, pointing to the board that showed the squiggles that ‘symbolised’ performing a reversed curse technique. stealing gojo’s glasses and popping them on your own face, you popped a quick kiss to the side of his head, “plus, why waste my energy? you’ll figure it out so i never have to.”

“the things i do for you,” gojo sighed happily, dropping his head down onto your shoulder as his arms looped around your waist. the orange-haired sorcerer could practically hear yuuji’s gasps at the simple displays of affection and she almost felt bad for watching some of the clips without him.

almost.

nobara was never one for romance – drama, such as the fight between gojo and naoya, that was her scene. but even she couldn’t help herself from smiling at the teenage love between the two of you. maybe she should give her teacher more credit – there was more to the six foot two man than just his over the top personality and questionable teaching methods.

“this is meant to be an educational video! be less couple-y!” shoko complained, scowling and shuffling away on her chair again.

“oh, we could make it very educational,” gojo wiggled his eyebrows, the devious smirk on his lips only widening at your flushed expression as you tried to hit his chest. failing, though, as he isolated his cursed technique to uphold a thin barrier between your hand and the material of his uniform.

there was the teacher she knew – keen to annoy even those he loved the most.

shoko must’ve ended the video out of spite after his comment, because nobara found herself staring at a black screen. 

all that she’d learnt so far was that you couldn’t perform a reverse cursed technique as a teenager. maybe that was what killed you? if you were even dead, that is. but given the damage that curses can inflict on sorcerers, whether or not you were able to execute a reversed cursed technique could literally be the difference between walking away from a fight a little tired or in a body bag.

nobara coughed several times, picking up the open bottle of water from her bedside table and taking a sip to try and ease her scratchy throat. scrunching up her nose at the slight sting of swallowing, she clicked the next available video, not putting much thought into her choice.

it was you and nanami in frame in a library by the looks of it but if it was on campus, nobara didn’t know where. christmas decorations decorated the shelving units behind you – tinsels of gold, red and green, and hanging snowflakes. you were both wearing your usual uniform but you also had a santa hat on and tinsel lining your jacket.

“we’re the only two on campus,” you said quietly, “because everyone else’s parents loved them–”

“we couldn’t afford to go back for the holidays,” nanami cut you off, without glancing up from what he was writing. being from two non-sorcerer families was a disadvantage normally in terms of status and inherited techniques, but holidays were somehow worse. 

gojo had offered to help you out with a ticket back to your parents and had even extended an invitation for you to stay with him but you didn’t want to leave nanami alone (and although he didn’t seem grateful, he was glad you were there).

“it’s fine. academic comeback time,” you held up a book to the screen. being in a class with three exceptional sorcerers meant that studies were often sidelined to try and improve and perfect your techniques. holidays were usually your opportunity to catch up on the missed classwork and homework you’d fallen behind on.

nanami less so – if anything he was reading ahead. tokyo had never been renowned for academic scores until he’d come along.

“i don’t get why the camera needs to be here,” nanami complained.

“to record us study! it’s motivational.”

“sure,” nanami hummed quietly, reading over your shoulder at the work you’d already completed prior to setting up the camera. “that’s wrong. this is simple mutipli–” he paused at the sound of rustling and his brows furrowed as he tried to peer round the bookshelves. 

“merry christmas!” 

nobara snickered as nanami jumped at the sudden voice and appearance of three people behind him. gojo and geto were capable of masking their cursed energy (and shoko’s) so that they wouldn’t be noticed slipping into the library. although gojo had nearly screwed that up by pulling out a chair trying to trip up geto.

“ieiri!” you slipped out from your seat, running up and hugging your classmate. in the process, the camera got knocked so it was facing the ceiling. nobara frowned as she turned the brightness up on her laptop as if though that would somehow bring everyone back into grame. in the periphery of the screen she could make out just the heads and foreheads of the student sorcerers.

“hi satoru, missed you too satoru, so glad you came to see me satoru,” the white haired sorcerer pouted at the lack of attention and nobara is sure someone responded to him but the audio is muffled by two voices closer to the camera’s microphone.

“here!” haibara slipped into the seat next to nanami that you had occupied moments prior and held up a small wrapped box with red ribbon tied neatly in a bow. “i picked it up on the way. merry christmas nanamin!”

“thanks yu,” nanami smiled softly at his classmate. well that’s what nobara thought he did anyways, his eyes lifted into half crescents but she wasn’t actually sure what his mouth was doing out of frame. she’d never seen the blond so happy from a simple gesture.

she clicked off the video even though it still had thirty seconds left to go. it wasn’t much fun just watching people’s foreheads and she highly doubted that nanami was about to fix the camera’s position.

so you were from a non-sorcerer family and possibly not able to use reverse cursed technique. it wasn’t much but facts were still facts.

there was a little more deliberation before she chose her next video, settling herself back into her cushions as she waited for it to load.

the screen was suddenly very bright and nobara winced, turning it down as the surroundings came into focus. it was the inside of an arcade and the camera was pointed directly at one of those claw machines. inside were different sized plushies of spiderman and haibara was the one controlling the claw.

nobara could vaguely make out everyone’s reflection in the glass – to the left of haibara was geto (who was also the one holding onto the camera), gojo and you, and to his right was shoko, nanami and maybe also utahime? shoko had her arm around a blue haired girl either way.

“no! so close haibara,” you patted the youngest boy on the shoulder gently as the plushie he’d managed to pick up slipped from the claw’s clutches before it could be dropped down the chute and retrieved.

“can i try?” gojo asked and, from the annoyed groans, nobara assumed it wasn’t the first time he’d interjected.

“no, he’ll get it this time,” geto encouraged and gojo flashed him a look of disbelief. 

“if gojo wants a go he can have it!” haibara tried to step away from the machine but nanami halted him, slotting several more coins in the machine.

“take your go yu.”

“i’ll get you a slushie if you win,” shoko called out, clapping her hands together as he accepted his fate, hesitantly pressing down on the buttons as he peered through the side of the machine to get a better angle.

“haibara, haibara.” all of them were chanting his name now, and that was enough of a boost for him to finally get one of the plushies over the barrier and down the chute. the camera shook unsteadily as geto jumped and six of them crowded the youngest in a joint hug.

nobara could see yuuji in haibara and megumi in nanami and herself in shoko and she had to stop herself from tearing up. nanami and shoko seemed like strangers these days and she couldn’t even imagine waking up and yuuji not being the first one to greet her outside her room. 

we’ve got a mission here, she reminded herself, shaking her head lightly before moving onto the next clip.

“utahime, say hi,” you lowered the camera to the kyoto sorcerer’s height. she was sat cross-legged on the floor with a jacket flung haphazardly over her head to try and block out the sun that beamed down.

“hi!” utahime waved, smiling as you dropped down next to her. in her hands was a partially made daisy chain that she’d started to entertain herself whilst she waited for the tokyo students. despite being in kyoto, she’d always chosen to join yourself and shoko at events over her own classmates.

“who do you think is going to win the exchange event this year?” you asked with a raised brow and utahime grimaced.

“don’t make me compliment him.”

“are you implying that our edge is not because of me?” you looked at the camera with a disgusted expression, like you had the power to outshine the gojo satoru, she rolled her eyes – gojo’s dramatics were rubbing off on you. “for that i’m telling ieiri. you may be her girlfriend–”

utahime hit your arm and her eyes darted around for anyone that could’ve heard (like you were not sat alone in a field together whilst the others warmed up), “shut up! we’re not like that…”

you nodded with a condescending hum. “then kindly could you please stop calling her till three in the morning, some of us need our beauty sleep.”

“you’re only ever up at three am because you’re sneaking back from gojo’s dorm,” she retorted with a pointed look. you opened your mouth to defend yourself 

“true,” you jumped at shoko’s voice, swivelling your neck around to find the third piece of your trio standing behind you. shoko gestured towards your uniform jacket, “and if she pulls down her collar there’s a massive hickey i had to help cover up this morning.”

utahime erupted into a fit of giggles and you eyed the camera like it was some sitcom and you were breaking the fourth wall.

“you’re such an asshole.”

shoko pushed in between the two of you to make herself the middle. “you love me.”

nobara frowned as the video ended. while it wasn’t overly helpful, it reaffirmed the seriousness of your relationship with her teacher… but that was obvious from the lovesick heart eyes he constantly had in every video you were together.

although, she would have to show it to maki – the two had suspicions about the kyoto teacher and tokyo healer and this all but confirmed that they were right. 

nobara scrolled down till she found a thumbnail of you, geto and gojo sat around a table of food.

“zenin naoya,” you started, chopsticks in one hand as you held a bowl of food in the other. gojo pretended to vomit at the mention of his name. “yes toru, appropriate response, but have you heard about him and the kamo girl?”

geto nodded with a mouth full. “the one who studied abroad?”

“yes! her,” you waved your chopsticks in his direction, “anyways, she cheated on him.”

the dark haired sorcerer made a sound of shock, “they were together together?”

you nodded enthusiastically, offering gojo some of your rice. “mhmm, they got together new years eve.”

“that did not last long,” gojo snickered. nobara peered at the date in the corner of the screen in a retro, yellow font; 15 january 2006.

“best part? it’s not even the first time,” you revealed, picking up some salmon sushi off of gojo’s plate and quickly eating it.

“stop,” geto gasped and nobara was shocked. this man was a war criminal now, and yet ten years ago he seemed so far from it, gossiping like he was a teenage girl.

“which like i don’t get,” you frowned. “i dont know why he’s trying to save face over some two week old relationship. especially if she’s already cheated multiple times.”

“he’s just desperate because it’s the first girl to ever want to actually be with him.”

“oh yeah she really wants to be with him,” gojo uttered sarcastically with a sparkle in his eyes. he would have a party at the downfall of the zenin.

“are they staying together?”

“i think so,” you nodded, holding a hand over your mouth as you spoke and finished your mouthful. “it’s what me and shoko told him to do, well shoko. he facetimed shoko.” you clarified following gojo’s less than pleased expression. nobara didn’t doubt that naoya had caused some tension in your relationship (though she refused to believe it was ever because you had been interested in him) and she wished that you’d switch the topic solely onto that. that was the sort of drama she was after.

“youre telling me he facetimed ieiri to tell her he’d been cheated on?” geto could bearly finish the question without laughing and he shot gojo a look. “odds on him trying to make yn jealous.”

you couldn’t stop yourself from snorting. “oh yeah because hearing all that made me want to leave satoru for that thing.” sarcasm or not, your words were taken literally by your boyfriend who draped all one hundred and ninety centimetres of himself across your body. “oh my god you’re so heavy.”

“it’s just my love for you in physical form. don’t be mean,” he whined.

nobara didn’t even have the energy to laugh quietly at the pathetic nature of her teacher as she felt herself drifting off. it was fine, she thought, only a quick power nap. she’d earned it, watching all those clips expended lots of energy.

“kugisaki?” gojo gently knocked at the young girl’s door. he’d left yuuji and megumi to do laps to check nobara was still alive and well. the illness had made its way through half the school already and while it obviously wasn’t something fatal, he knew better than to take any risks.

he knocked again and waited thirty seconds before he opened the door enough just to peek in and–

“satoru.”

gojo felt his heart drop at the sound of your voice. one he hadn’t heard in almost two years and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so unsteady and thrown off guard. the mere sound of your voice had startled him and gotten more of an upper hand than any curse he’d ever had to exorcise.

although his world had stilled, reality continued on and he was forced to hear himself hum in response. he didn’t have to see the video to vividly remember the day, to remember the smell of the grass and your perfume that were coaxing him into a nap that would make you both late to yaga’s lecture.

“do you think we’ll still be together once high school is over?”

“hope so,” he murmured, half asleep, and gojo wished his younger self was more aware, telling you how much he wanted to be with you, savouring every second he had in your presence rather than sleeping it away. 

like that could’ve changed the outcome.

slipping into her room, gojo lifted the laptop off of her sleeping figure (definitely still alive and breathing). with a press of a button, the disk popped out and he set the device onto the ground as he contemplated what to do.

he could break it in half, make it seem like an accident that nobara hadn’t noticed in her ill state. or he could use his cursed technique and completely eviscerate it from existence.

or maybe he could keep it.

gojo gave nobara one last glance as he silently closed her door once more, grateful for the blindfold he wore as he headed back outside to his students.

taglist. @thefictionalcharacterssimp @hana-patata @mor-pheus @leathairs @sh0ek0 @maliakealoha @levisteeacup @g-kleran @stevenknightmarc @n1kimura @darliingyu @saturn-alone @splxtscreen @leah-rose03 @rinshoe @laurenzitaa @patricia142lilian @sabo-has-my-heart @wooasecret @dahliawarner @kysrion @dreamerdeity @mwah-chia @geromiegerald @arminsarlerts @maliakealoha @cherrypieyourface @k4romis @monsieurgucchi @bofadeezs @777userz @polarbvnny @chonkercatto @tenshis-cake @haitanibros0007 @ba-ks @liaurokodaki @urfavvirg0 @lofasofabread @r0ckst4rjk @vee-ai @aiikuraa @melileli0001 @rinshoe @vinivave @yell0wdreams @sukunasleftkneecap @malikazz243 @sad-darksoul @giannitaa @maliciousmace @name-insert @splxtscreen

this tag list is insane ty all for the support

˖⁺ ⊹୨ Y2KISSME ! ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ━━ kinktober 2023 !

let’s kick it back to the year two thousand, but this time it’s wetter, wilder and raunchier aka the sexier versions of your fav y2k films.

୨୧ — NOTES. here it is my loves!! kinktober 2023. i hope you guys like it i’m super excited. some things might be scrapped but idk !! we’ll see. click here ! to join the taglist. rbs are totally fetch ! ♡ ⋆｡˚

୨୧ — RATED R: the following films contain nsfw and dark themes. fem!reader. each fic comes with its own warnings. ugh, as if ! minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact.

╰₊✧ OCT 1ST PRINCESS DIARIES - starring; satoru gojo ! ྀི

movie contents: thirty days until you become queen, thirty days to get married and thirty days to stop sneaking around with the man trying to steal your crown…

KINK: breeding ft. spit, infidelity, agoraphilia, daddy kink, baby trapping, breast play, royalty!au.

╰₊✧ OCT 3RD MEAN GIRLS - starring; katsuki bakugou ! ྀི

movie contents: in girl world, halloween is the only time of the year when katsuki bakugou can slut girls out and no one can say anything about it. boo, you whore!

KINK: free use ft. dub-con, cum-play, voyeurism, humiliation, manipulation, dacryphilia.

╰₊✧ OCT 8TH 2 FAST 2 FURIOUS - starring; yoichi isagi ! ྀི

movie contents: if winning a street race means getting ravaged by your ex boyfriend over the hood of your car then… move bitch! get out the way!

KINK: overstimulation ft. scratching, car sex, public sex, food play, sweat kink, dry humping.

╰₊✧ OCT 16TH CLUELESS - starring; megumi fushiguro ! ྀི

movie contents: are you totally buggin’ or is your college-goer, goody two shoes step-brother kinda into messing around with you?

KINK: step cest ft. photos, videos, soft sex, praise kink, body worship, panty sniffing, stuffed animals.

╰₊✧ OCT 23RD JENIFER'S BODY - starring; eijirou kirishima ! ྀི

movie contents: there’s something weird going on with you. you’re like…actually evil. not college girl evil, and it’s kinda hot.

KINK: monsterfucking ft. gags, claiming, choking, branding, blood kink, cock warming.

╰₊✧ OCT 29TH LEGALLY BLONDE - starring; seishiro nagi ! ྀི

movie contents: there’s no way someone broke up with nagi because he’s too blonde!? poor baby, maybe you could provide a little emotional support…

KINK: coercion ft. dumbification, overstimulation, mind break, oral fixation, cherry chasing, power imbalance.

╰₊✧ OCT 31ST CHARLIE'S ANGELS - starring; bakugou, kirishima ‘n midoriya ! ྀི

movie contents: your three precious angels deserve a little reward for all the hard work that they do, don’t you think, charlie?

KINK: gangbang ft. dvp, frottage, blowjobs, voice kink, running a train.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ because its iwa day!!! if you have any drabble requests for him today, i'll answer as much of them as i can! so ♡♡ i invITE the iwa thirst!!