#NOW SOMEONE ASK ME HOW TO WRITE A GOOD ANGST TO FLUFF FIC AND I WILL ASCEND
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gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]
in holy matriphony ch2. you may now kiss the bride!!
ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)
ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, n have been taking care of your sick mom ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.
ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, mild love triangle(s), gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity; btw gojo in this fic is in his early 30s n reader is in her late 20s
ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!
ᰔ chapter. 2/x (probably 10)
ᰔ words. 16.8k (i be yappin)
a/n. AHHH thanks very much for 2k followers!! yippeee :”) i had a lot of fun writing this chapter of ihm i feel like there’s a lot of silly but a lot of angsty too and i got to set up a lot of secondary plot lines in this chapter which was fun. i really hope you enjoy!! see ya at the bottom!!
nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 (pending)
“Can you chop down that stupid avocado tree of yours already? It keeps dropping its devilish spawn all over my herb garden.”
“Wow. Good afternoon to you too.”
Gojo scratches the back of his head from where he’s opened the front door of his house, standing in his pajamas and you briefly glance down at his bunny slippers before looking back up at him with a ridiculing face before pushing past him into his house.
Gojo’s house is almost the exact mirror of yours, as are most houses in the neighborhood, but it’s been a while since you’ve been inside of it and so you take an indulgent look. A cozy family room to the side, which you see he’s decorated with a coffee table and a loveseat, and the staircase is visible from the entrance. A modest dining table sits where the carpet turns into wood, and you’ve noticed he’s made the effort to place real hardwood on his floors contrary to the laminate in yours. Ok, show off. Your eyes take in the paintings on the wall, and you remember how his house almost looks fake, like in the way he sets up props in open houses he’s showing for clients, as if someone lives here and yet somehow there’s no real living proof of it.
And because it’s pretty much the exact same layout as your house, you know exactly where the pantry room is, and you grab a bunch of Doritos and Pocky from his secret snack drawer.
“Oh yes, go right ahead. Please,” he says sarcastically as he leans against a support pillar near the dining room and watches you stuff your face with his snacks.
“So,” you say, muffled, “did you grab the paperwork?”
“No, I didn’t.” He glances at his watch. “My friend’s a family law lawyer, and he’s gonna be here soon to help us out with the prenup.”
You roll your eyes. “Oh my god, you’re being serious about the prenup? You really think I’m trying to gold dig at the cobwebs of your bank account? How little self respect do you think I have?”
“...do you really want me to answer that questi–”
The doorbell ringing startles you, and you quickly wipe at your face to clear any crumbs before setting the wrappers in your hands onto a bookshelf as you watch Gojo head to the door and open it.
You hear another distinct masculine voice ring in the air as Gojo exchanges pleasantries with him in the form of a handshake and a familiar hug with a few pats on the back, and then the angle Gojo twists his body reveals the man standing outside the door. He’s a bit shorter than Gojo with a lean build, clad in a fiercely formal black suit and tie with polished shoes. His hair is well-kept, short and raven black, and his eyes are sunken with what you can only imagine is fatigue. And it’s kinda hot to you, unfortunately, after years of working the night shift, you’re starting to find dark circles under people’s eyes to be extremely attractive.
“Uh, y/n, this is my friend, Higurama. Hiromi Higurama,” Gojo says, gesturing between the two of you, “and Hiromi, this is y/n. My obnoxious neighbor. Careful though, if you get too close she’ll bite off your fingers.”
“I’ll bite off a different appendage of yours if you don’t shut the fuck up,” you snarl at him, and Higurama takes a step inside the house to greet you with an outstretched hand.
“Hi, it’s lovely to meet you,” he says, and you’re a little startled by the politeness, but aptly shake his hand and nod before squawking out a likewise!!
You look past Higurama at Gojo who’s got an eyebrow raised at you, and then your eyes are on Higurama again as you watch him set his briefcase down on the dining table. “Are we ready to discuss?” he asks, brown eyes darting between the two of you. You nod and take a seat across from him, and Gojo first grabs everyone some glasses of water before he takes a seat at the head.
“So,” Higurama starts, “I take it you two are madly in love and would like to enter a marital agreement to declare your affections for one another in the court of law under just circumstances?”
You blink at him. “Y-Yes. Very just circumstances. Nothing shady going on here, we are indeed very madly in love and would like to get married.”
“Why the fuck would you say it like that?” Gojo chirps in but not before sighing.
“T-The way he asked was really nerve wracking!!” you counter. And then your eyes widen when you look at Higurama again, who has a slightly amused tug to his lips. “...oh, you already know this marriage is a fraud.”
“I was just testing you,” he casually says, “in case they mention any suspicions in court. Seems you should just let Satoru do the talking.”
You pout a little and sink further into your seat, then bring the glass of water up to your lips.
“Well, in any case,” Higurama says, and then he goes on into the details of what to expect in the courtroom. He pulls out paperwork for the marriage license application and starts to walk the two of you through the prenuptial agreement.
“It’s my understanding you’re both desiring a prenup for this marriage?” Hugurama asks, brow furrowed slightly as he rustles through the endless papers in front of him that he was drowning in.
You briefly glance at Gojo, who’s also looking through all the papers with a concentrated look on his face, his features tense and he’s slightly worrying his bottom lip through his teeth. He’s thinking way harder about this whole prenup thing than you would, and you realize he’s genuinely taking this very seriously.
“Um, yes,” you acquiesce, suddenly feeling a little guilty. And you remember who’s the one in need of the favor here. “I’m okay with the prenup.”
Higurama tells you two about the implications of the prenup, what can and cannot be included under state laws, and stresses the importance of full financial disclosure and fairness in the agreement to ensure its enforceability in the event of a divorce. Basically, don’t fucking lie about anything or else you two could sue each other to hell for it should divorce occur. You both agree, and you’re feeling sick to your stomach with anticipation.
“Alright,” Higurama interjects your thoughts, “I will begin to draft the document then. Let’s start with assets.”
Gojo drones on about his tangibles, intangibles, cash equivalents, stocks, yada yada and you open up with yours too, but you can barely hear anything you’re saying and you can hardly hear what anyone else is saying either because you’re just dreadfully awaiting for Higurama to finally bring up—
“How about debts?” he asks, mindlessly as he types away on his laptop, as if the question doesn’t make you want to throw up.
Your breathing picks up in speed, and you’re nervously fidgeting your hands over the surface of the table. You glance over at Gojo again, this time startled to find his eyes are on you too. His gaze briefly flickers to the shuffling of your fingers, then it meets yours again as he tilts his head slightly in a silent ask of you good?
“Uh–” you start, when you feel Higurama’s eyes on you too now that the silence has stretched on for too long, “I’m…well, I’m in a bit of…debt. From nursing school, a little bit from undergrad still, actually…”
“Okay,” Higurama says, “how much would you approximate? I’ll need the official loan statements soon, though.”
“Well, I’m paying off slowly…but last month I have around seventy-thousand still to pay off.”
“Alright,” Higurama accepts, “and you, Satoru? Student loans?”
“Oh, I don’t have any,” he says, “I paid them off a while ago.”
You feel like you’re being opened apart at the seams, and suddenly feel ashamed.
“Alright, what about other debts? Credit card debts? Any loans to know about?”
You figured you just needed to rip the bandaid off.
“Um,” you say, “I’m about three hundred thousand dollars in medical debt from my mother’s treatment loans.”
The room goes quiet, there’s no more rustling of papers or the mechanical jumping of keys on a keyboard, hell, even the birds outside stopped chirping to display their disbelief.
“Wha–” Gojo starts, like he can’t help it, before he catches himself out of politeness, but he’s still looking at you with concern and shock. “y/n…what happened?”
You look over at Higurama too, and he’s completely turned away from the document he was drafting on his laptop, full attention on you, and his brow is creased with the same amount of concern. And you feel like you’re in therapy. You also feel like you’re about to cry.
“Well…it’s just,” you start, throat feeling raw, “my mom couldn’t qualify for medical loans because of years of poor credit, and insufficient income, and her cancer treatments became really costly, and so–” you suck a breath in, because your voice cracks slightly at the end. You were not about to cry in front of them right now. “And so I decided to cosign on her loans so she could receive treatment, and stuff kept coming up, and I had to work reduced hours for a couple of years when she was first diagnosed, and…some payments got away from me, and so then…there was interest, and…it’s…I guess over five years, things just…accumulated.”
They both sit there in stunned silence, shifting uncomfortably in their seats, like they understand your situation is so fucked in its entirety that they can barely even bear to put themselves through the trouble of even imagining themselves in your shoes, let alone fathom that you’re living in them.
Higurama clears his throat and redirects his attention to the computer. “That’s… no problem for the prenup. Thank you for being honest.”
“Hey,” Gojo interjects, and his hand reaches out to lay over your fidgeting hands over the table. His eyes are serious. “Why didn’t you–” he starts, and his face softens slightly when you can’t help the small sheen of tears that reaches your eyes, “...why didn’t you say anything about this? I mean, anytime we’ve talked.”
It’s your turn to look at him with a tense expression, and you slowly withdraw your hands from the hold of his palm to place them in your lap under the table. “Uh, why would I share about my financial woes to my neighbor? Don’t most people just act like shit’s normal with their neighbors?”
“I guess, but I didn’t know it was that ba–”
Higurama’s phone starts to ring, and he glances at the Caller ID before sighing slightly. “Sorry, I have another client I need to see soon. We’ll have to wrap this up, but I’ll continue drafting this document. Please send me your relevant statements for any loans and–” he glances at you, “...associated debts.” He starts to gather his things at the table, then neatly tucks his papers into his briefcase before placing his laptop in there too. He reaches to shake Gojo’s hand first, then shakes yours, and holds onto your hand a second longer to gather your attention. His eyes are almost solemn.
“I truly hope your mother gets better soon,” he says to you, tone contrite.
You slowly nod and thank him, and then Gojo goes to see him out the door.
The house feels quiet when Gojo closes the front entrance, and he stays facing the door for a few seconds before slowly turning around to face you, back leaning against it as he crosses his arms in front of his chest, and just when he opens his mouth to speak, you cut him off.
“I really–” you say, “...I really don’t want to talk about it.”
His face contorts into confusion, and it looks like he’s about to protest, but you allow yourself to show the slightest amount of the hurt and the worry on your face, and he realizes that means he shouldn’t try to push it.
“Okay,” he says, and quietly.
Things are awkward in the air for a second, so you waltz over to the window and watch through it as Higurama gets into his car, some type of sleek old black Mercedes Benz but it’s polished to perfection, and you let out a content sigh.
“What?” Gojo asks you, tone a little short.
“Ohhh, nothing,” you say, bringing your hands up to cup your cheeks to feel their warmth as you take in the image of Higurama’s slender legs in his business attire, “I just…” you sigh again, “I just loooove men in suits. I wish I knew more men that wore them often.”
A beat of silence. “Um. I wear them often?”
You turn on your heel to face him. “Yeah, but you wear them in, like, a slutty way. Higurama,” you say, pointing with your thumb facing the window, “wears them in the actually respectable workplace way. Hence why it’s hotter on him.”
He scoffs. “And yet you’re always staring at my ass from afar when I’m wearing my tailored trousers.”
“I seriously wonder what it’s like to be so fucking delusional all the time,” you shake your head at him and he looks like he’s got a comeback on his tongue but you sshhhhhhhh him and walk back into the heart of the house. You look over your shoulder briefly, and see Gojo’s standing where you were standing at the window a few seconds ago, looking out onto the street, and he’s grumbling something under his breath you can’t quite hear. And then you hear the sound of Higurama’s car driving away.
You circle around the dining table, and take a seat to look through the marriage paperwork Higurama left behind for the two of you to fill out.
“Bring the paperwork over to the kitchen island,” you hear Gojo say as he makes his way to the kitchen, “I’ll fix us some coffee.”
The island has a seated side to it with bar stools that raise high and turn in fully 360 degree fashion, so you swirl around in your seat to make yourself dizzy while Gojo brews some coffee with his espresso machine.
“Mm…smells nice,” you comment, still swirling.
“Milk? Sugar?” he asks you, and you stop swirling to answer him.
It’s not the first time you’ve been to Gojo’s house. When he first moved in next door, you brought him a plate of cookies as a welcome to the neighborhood! gift and he had invited you inside and fixed you a cup of coffee then too. The house was mostly empty back then, he’s made a lot of good work in filling it with furniture in that sort of IKEA catalog fashion, and you can clown on him for it all you want, but it still looks nicer than most homes you’ve been in. Anyways, you only visited him in his house a couple times after that before you realized you hated him. Because he blasts loud music at the most random times, which you’re convinced he’s just trying to show off the sound system he probably spent an unnecessary amount of money on, not to mention an unnecessary amount of time installing. He also always forgets to mow his fucking lawn, and it drives you nuts because then the weeds spread over into your lawn, but it’s not like it matters because you hardly mow yours either, but still. And that fucking boat. That fucking boat he keeps right at the edge of your driveway that taunts you and your ability to pull into garages after every single one of your dreadful night shifts. One of these days, you might just steal it and drive it into the ocean so it drowns. Wait, boats don’t drown. That’s the point of boats. They’re buoyant. It’s okay, you’ll find another way to get rid of it. The boat, you mean.
“Here you go,” he says, sliding a cup of coffee to you across the island. You peer inside at the brown liquid, and the scent alone awakens your senses.
“So, logistics,” you say.
“Logistics,” he repeats after you as he stirs a spoon in his mug.
“We need to make this believable,” you say to him, “otherwise the marriage could be invalidated, and we could face criminal charges, and I could lose the insurance benefits for my mom, and potentially get sued by said insurance companies, and get thrown into jail for life, and—”
“And how much sleep have you lost thinking about this?” he asks you with a sigh as he brings his mug up to take a sip.
“I’m being serious, Satoru,” you say to him, “I…would just rather err on the side of caution. It’s a small town, people talk. And sometimes those people know the law.” You shudder.
“Who the fuck is out there that would be so pissed about us getting married just so you can help out your sick mom?” he asks.
Your eyes flicker downwards slightly in consideration. You can think of one person, at least. And when you look up at him, you’re surprised to see there’s a similar look on his face, as if he could think of a particular one person too. But before you can dwell more on the expression on his face, he grabs the paperwork in front of you and looks through some of it. “You should get started on your paperwork. Higurama filled most of mine out for me already, so you’re the one he’s waiting on.”
You groan and stretch your arm out across the island counter, then lay your head on your upper arm. “Sigh, why couldn’t he have done that for meee tooooo.”
“Probably because he doesn’t know you?” Gojo snorts. He’s silent for a moment as he takes another sip. You can’t see his face. “So,” he starts, “I mean. If we’re going to make this believable, which, to be honest, I don’t think a single person in this neighborhood would find us getting married believable, but still, if we were to try making it believable, wouldn’t it make sense for us to, uh, I don’t know, live together? Like what regular married couples do.”
“I am appalled you would even suggest that.”
“It’s going to look like we’re just faking it if we don’t at least cohabitate together,” he tells you.
“We can’t do that,” you sigh, “I bet you’d try to touch me inappropriately.”
“What???”
“Yeahhh, I don’t know, you just—...you just seem like a guy with very little self control.”
“...y’know what? This is over. I’m calling off this engagement,” he says, and he walks over to the dining table with his coffee cup in hand and you lift your head up off your arm in a panic.
“Wha–...no!! Wait!!” you say, grabbing all the paperwork off the island and bringing it to the dining table where he’s taken a seat. “Please marry me. I need it so bad.”
“Woah,” he says, looking up at you, and there’s a darker glint to his eyes. “You need it so bad? Can you say that again?”
You curl up the papers in your hands into a makeshift hollow pole and whack him across the head with it. “This is exactly why I think you would touch me inappropriately.”
He grumbles slightly as he nurses the spot you whacked him with two of his fingers rubbing the area, and then he fixes his hair with a comb of his hand through it. The sleeve of his shirt drops a little from the movement, and you can see the muscles of his arm flex, then your eyes are quickly darting away so he doesn’t catch the line of your gaze on him. What the fuck. That was weird. You blame ovulation.
“Alright, fine,” he says, and he grabs the papers out of your hand, “also don’t bend these. It bothers me.”
You circle back to the kitchen to grab your abandoned coffee cup, and then bring it to the dining table to sit down with him at it. He places your half of the papers in front of you. You glance down at the first few boxes to fill out, and you already feel like giving up.
You glance up at him for a distraction. “Aren’t you going to ask me how long I want you to be married to me for?” you ask him.
“Uh, how long do you want me to be married to you for?”
“Forever,” you say. To scare him.
“Yeah, right.” He waves his hand in the air dismissively.
You sulk because it didn’t scare him. “Six months.”
“More plausible.”
“Really,” you say earnestly, “six months.”
He looks up at you now, a curious expression on his face. “Why specifically six months?”
Your eyes find the color of your coffee fascinating once again. “I don’t want to put my mother in hospice for too long. I’ll miss her,” you say, “it’s just…something I’m trying out for now. And to just get a bit of a caretaking break, and also so I can pick up more shifts at the hospital to work on paying off my debt. It’s just…temporary.”
His shoulders roll back once and he sits up a little straighter, holding up one of the pieces of paper to study it better while he clicks his pen. “Alright. Whatever works for you.”
You twiddle with your hands again, blinking a little in consideration as a few moments pass by. “Uh…about living together. That’s fine. I suppose.”
His eyes widen slightly. “Really?”
“Yeah. But no touching,” you point at him with a strict finger.
He tilts his head back up to the ceiling in annoyance. There’s a roll in the muscles of his throat as his jaw goes slack. You squirm in your chair a little. Ovulation, you think.
“I’m not going to touch you, y/n,” he assures you when his chin tips back down. You just stare at him for a few seconds as he seems to be in thought about something, and then his eyes meet yours. “Whose house are we going to live in?”
“Mine,” you say, “yours looks like a shitty catalog. It’s lame.”
“True,” he says, “yours feels homey. I like that.”
You’re a little taken aback by his words, and then purse your lips together. Your sort of go-to thanks expression reserved for him. “So, are you gonna sell your house then?”
“Huh? No way,” he shakes his head, “I’ll just see if I can rent it out for now.” He shakes his head even more. “I mean, god no, I wouldn’t be caught dead selling a house. Not with these market conditions. You know how much it’s already risen in equity within just the past few months alone? In five years from now—”
While Gojo continues to drone on about the lunacy of not holding onto property in this housing market, your eyes widen slightly at his words, like your body realizes a truth to what he’s saying before your mind does.
And then that’s when it hits you.
How you can help pull yourself out of debt.
You slam your coffee mug down on the table with a little more fierceness than you probably should’ve.
“Hey,” he scolds you, “can you be careful with that?”
“We’re not going to live in my house,” you say, ignoring him, “we’re gonna live in yours.”
“Huh?” he responds, “...but I thought you said mine looks like a catalog.”
“A shitty catalog.”
“Did you need to specify?”
“We’re not going to live in my house,” you tell him, with resolve, “because I’m gonna sell my house.”
He sits up a little straighter at your words. “Like, the house next door?”
“Mhm,” you nod.
He sighs. “Were you even listening to me? It’s so much more worth it to–”
“I don’t care,” you cut him off, “I need the money now. Not five years from now.” Your eyes glance down at your hands, and your tone becomes quiet. “I…I don’t even know if my mom has five years left to live.”
A silence settles in the room, and you see in your periphery that Gojo’s stiff and still, like he’s barely allowing himself to breathe as if you’d find it abrasive, and when you look over at him, his expression is soft.
“I know,” he says. “It sounds like a plan.”
“Will you help me sell it?” you ask him. “I’d…need a realtor.”
“Sure,” he easily agrees.
“Okay…” you say, and take a sip of lukewarm coffee, as if you haven’t just decided on an extremely major life decision. “Um. I’ll go get the paperwork then. From my house.”
“Oh. Right now?” he asks you, and he leans forward in his seat a little to get a closer look at your face. “I mean, don’t you want some time to think about it before putting it on the market? We can wait for a little bit.”
“No. That’s okay,” you say, standing up from your chair, “I’ll…go get the paperwork.”
He nods at you slowly, but his eyes are observant, and you ignore it to keep up the momentum of this decision that was definitely the right decision by all means and one that you should not be hesitating on at all as it is such an epiphany that can help clear your debilitating financial burdens.
“Drive safe,” he says to you when you grab your purse off the coffee table in the family room.
“Ha ha. Very funny.”
The outside air is breezy, it’s a nice day with the sun shining down and sparkling off of sprinkler dew drops on overgrown grass, and you hop across with a pep in your step as you make it to your house next door. You’re always quiet when opening the door, because you never know when your mom is sleeping or not, and since her bedroom is downstairs, she’s privy to noises. Once you’re inside, you check to make sure she’s sleeping with a small creak open of her door, only to find that she’s sitting on her rocking chair and looking through a box of paintings.
Your heart twists at the sight, and you gently knock the door with your knuckles.
She glances up at you, and you can always tell from just the look in her eyes if she recognizes you or not. Because they’re warm and gentle when she does, but they see right past you to the wall when she doesn’t.
“Hello,” she says, “can I help you?”
You come up to her and kneel down beside her, placing a hand up on the rocking chair arm rest while she looks down at you.
“Hi, mom. It’s me. Your daughter,” you gentle reintroduce yourself. It’s what her neurologist suggested you do anytime she can’t remember you, but it rips away a piece of your soul each time.
Her eyes still see past you, abstract, empty with no feeling as she wraps her head around your words. “I am no one’s mother,” she tells you, tone sounding sharp and like she’s a moment away from terror.
“That’s okay,” you quickly remediate, feeling hollow inside from her words but you always had to be the sane one, so you direct her attention to the box in her lap. “What are you looking at?”
“Oh, I just found these paintings!” she exclaims. “I thought they were wonderful. Do you know who drew them?”
You smile up at her. “You did.”
“Me?” she blinks at you. The wrinkles in her forehead crumple with surprise, “oh, no, dear, I could not paint such things with detail. Look at me!” She holds her hand up. “My hand is trembling!”
She’s getting weaker. You make a mental note to bring it up to her doctor.
“You used to hold a paint brush like it was just an extension of your hand,” you tell her, picking up one of the paintings out of the box, “you were an art teacher, mom.”
“Don’t call me mom,” she says to you, that sharp tone from earlier cutting through to your soul. “I am no one’s mother.” Her eyes shimmer with a light sheen of tears.
You stare at her, brow pinching together with hurt, but you bite back the part of you that wants to beg her to remember you, to take one close look at you, and see you with warmth and not emptiness. But she sees past you all the same.
“Can you do something for me?” you whisper to her.
“Yes?” she asks.
“Could you please lay down? You need some rest.”
“Are you my nurse?” she asks.
You breathe in deep. “Yes.”
“Am I…” she glances briefly at her reflection in the vanity mirror, her eyes flitting up to the head scarf on her head that covers the absence of hair, “am I sick?”
You exhale. “Yes. You need rest.”
“Oh…” she acknowledges, “why, yes. I do feel…a little frail.”
“I know,” you comment, and you put the box down on the floor then help her up onto her feet slowly by holding onto her arm, and you guide her to sit on the bed and take her medications. She then lays down, and you nod at her reassuringly before you head out the door and close it behind you.
Your lip trembles with the threat of a sob as you stare straight forward at the wall in the dimness of the hallway. But a harsh bite to the plush of it ceases the quiver.
You make your way up the stairs to go grab that binder you had with the mortgage and house information, plus some of your recent utility bills. Except the binder is hard to locate, and you’re rummaging through the cabinets in your closet, the drawer of your nightstand, you’re even looking underneath the bed. But when you lift your head up from under it, still kneeling on the carpet, and glance at the wall, you notice something.
48’’ eight yrs. what a big girl!
46’’ seven yrs. big jump
41’’ six yrs.
37’’ five yrs. my little princess
…
..
–all written in graphite pencil, scribbled up the wall where you would stand tall against as a kid, your mom marking your height at every birthday. And your eyes start to well with tears.
This was your childhood home. With magical corners tucked away where you used to play hide and seek with your dad, with your old bedroom you used to play in with dolls and have tea parties with all your stuffed animals. There’s still a stain of fruit juice on the carpet underneath the rug that you never told your mom about because you knew she would be mad at you and would scrub it out, but it was in the shape of a heart and when you were a kid, you thought that meant you would find your prince charming some day. This house holds so many memories, like birthday parties and Christmas Eve and the sunflower patch in the backyard where you laid Sniffles to rest.
And it holds the familiarity of you that seems to be slipping through your mother’s fingers with each passing day, all those memories you created with her now solely yours to keep and no longer to share. But you realize at this moment that you’re not alone. This house still holds those memories with you.
Your eyes flicker to the graphite pencil marks on the wall again, and the tears flow freely.
In the moments where she cannot remember that you are her baby, this house remembers for her.
Your sleeve wipes at the dampness on your cheeks.
But it’s never enough, is it? And it’s never that easy, either. Life was never that easy, and you don’t always have the choices you might think you do.
You find the binder, and grab all the utility bills too, and head downstairs. You pass by your mother’s room with softness and sleuth, and guilt in your heart when you realize what you’ve chosen to do. There’s no pep to your step when you make it back to Gojo’s.
•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•
“Sooo,” Gojo says, after about twenty minutes of looking through all the house paperwork in the binder at the dining table, “your mom transferred ownership of the house to you as a gift deed when she was diagnosed?��
“Mhm,” you say.
“She paid off quite a bit of it,” he comments as he looks through banking statements, “but still not enough to pay off your medical debt, unfortunately.”
You sigh. “I know. It was never really a house she could afford anyways. She just received it from the divorce, and I remember we were supposed to downsize, but…she didn’t want to.”
“I see,” Gojo comments, “well, it’s alright, it would still help you a lot for sure. How many years are left for your solar panel lease?” He has a pen in hand and a custom realtor notepad in front of him with his messy handwriting all over it.
“It’s new,” you say, “still got thirty years left.”
“Jeez, okay. How much per month?”
You scavenge through the bills on your table. “Ummm um um ummm…….”
“You should really…get more organized.”
“You should really mind your fucking business.” You find the bill. “$285 per month.”
“Okay,” he scribbles it down, “does it offset your electricity bill?”
Your shoulders sulk. “A little bit.”
“Yeah, it might scare some buyers away.”
You sigh. “Oh and then the HOA too.”
“HOA?” he looks up at you with a puzzled expression on his face. “We don’t have an HOA in this neighborhood.”
“We don’t?” you blink at him. “Then who have I been sending $195 dollars to every month?”
“…….....you’ve seriously gotta be some special kind of stupid.”
After panicking for five minutes while checking your credit cards for fraudulent activity, Gojo gets done cutting up an apple for you.
“Here,” he says, sliding the plate to you, “since you look like you’re about to faint. Knowing you, it’s probably just low blood sugar.”
You dramatically sigh and sink in your chair. “I can’t believe I spent the last three years paying an HOA that doesn’t even exist…”
“Hey, on the bright side, there’s some dude out there on an exotic vacation that’s very thrilled by your idiocracy right now.”
You shoot him a look. And then you hang your head low to drink your extremely cold coffee that you were still nursing, before downing it all in one go. Your eyes catch the marriage paperwork that Gojo was reviewing earlier, and you see Higurama’s pre-filled in information that he typed onto the papers before printing them for him.
“Hm,” you hum, “it says here that you’ve been married before. You might want to get that fixed before we submit these.”
He stands up from the table, two of his fingers hooking onto the handle of his coffee cup, and he glances into yours to make sure it’s empty, briefly flicking his eyes to you and you shake your head for no, no more coffee, thanks before he wraps his other two fingers around the handle of your mug as well. The clink of the two porcelain mugs in his hand startles you a little as he walks past you to the kitchen sink. “There’s nothing to fix about that,” he says, his tone level and easy, “it’s true. I’ve been married before.”
Your eyes widen at his confession, and you quickly twist your torso in your chair to stare at him. Or at least, the back of him as he turns the faucet on and begins to rinse out coffee mugs.
Married? Before? There are so many questions swimming through your head right now, ones that you desperately want answers to, biggest of all perhaps being now who the fuck would actually want to marry him??? for real??? you’re telling me this self obsessed dork proposed to a real life woman with a pulse and she actually said ‘yes’ to him??? who was this woman, and which psych ward did he find her from???
But he’s so quiet from where he stands, broad shoulders less pushed back like they usually are, and something tells you he wouldn’t entertain any of those questions from you right now. A glance at the paperwork, though, tells you the divorce was recent. Less than a year ago. Around the time he moved in next door.
He still has his back facing you, and you try to sneakily catch a glimpse at more info under the Wife section on the prior marriages form. You can see the paper says maiden name: Inoue and you’re just about to sneak a peak at the first name when—
“You want to stay for dinner?” he asks when he turns around, leaning back against the sink counter. “I’m ordering pizza tonight.”
You’re surprised by the sudden invitation, and shuffle the papers over one another again. “Oh–that’s…that’s okay.” You glance at the clock he has hanging on the wall. “I’ve got work in a couple of hours, so…I should really get going. Have a few errands to run before then.”
“Okay, so, we’ll…talk later?”
“Yeah, later,” you stand up from your chair, and for some reason, the air feels a little heavier to you now. “Uh…” you start, awkwardly scoffing a little, “wow. Bachelor life again, then, huh? Probably just–...probably just beer and pizza every night?”
He purses his lips together, humoring you with a small laugh that comes out as a scoff through his nostrils. “No. Not really. I only order pizza when I close a sale on a house. My way of celebrating.”
“Oh,” you respond, “I see.”
“I’ll walk you to your car,” he says.
“I live next door,” you remind him.
His eyes widen slightly. “Oh. Right.”
“H-Hope the traffic’s not too bad!” you joke.
His laugh comes more genuine now. “You’re stupid.”
You head towards the door, and when he opens it for you, there’s a chill of air outside and it’s darker now, hues of dark gray, purple and a slight orange still present on the horizon paint the sky and you step outside then turn on your heel to face him.
“Um. Congrats, by the way. On the sale,” you tell him, “enjoy your night. And I’ll see you this weekend?”
“Huh?” He raises an eyebrow. “What’s happening this weekend?”
“We–” you scoff, “we’re getting married this weekend?”
“Oh!” he exclaims, tense, “right, yes, see you this weekend. For marriage. Of us.”
You roll your eyes and make your way down the concrete pavement that leads its way to his house, and leads its way away from it too. And when you walk back to your house, it’s not with a sulk, but it’s not with a pep in your step either. You just feel…neutral.
•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•
“So, tell me about this fake husband of yours,” Hana says, leaning against your work-on-wheels as you attempt to catch up on charting notes with 4 hours and 15 minutes and 53 seconds left on your shift (it’s not like you were counting though).
“Yeah, in a sec,” you mumble as you punch in keys.
6/2/2024 0344: patient placed on 5150 hold on 5/31 at 1745, continually monitored by ED tech. all objects have been removed from pt’s room to prevent any danger to self or others. however patient accessed hand sanitizer dispenser on the wall at roughly 0320 and ingested all the hand sanitizer. notified MD of toxic ingestion, follow up plan is to coordinate care with poison control. no further orders at this time
“Okay, what were you saying?” you look up at Hana again and rub the tired out of your eye with a balled up hand, along with all the mascara.
“Your fake husband!! Tell me about him!!” she chirps, shaking your work-on-wheels in excitement and the blur of your computer screen makes you feel dizzy.
“Shhhhh,” you hiss at her, “keep your voice down when we discuss illegal activities.”
She rolls her eyes. “Why are you always so paranoid? I’m already sick and tired of you charting incessantly every five seconds to save yourself from medical lawsuits that you haven’t even been accused of.”
“In a medical lawsuit, the chart is the law, Hana,” you say eerily with a shiver, and her words remind you to continue your detailed charting. “Never forget that.”
She sighs. Her gaze travels across to the other end of the emergency department, and you assume she’s staring at the asses of the EMT boys again, so you glance over your shoulder too.
Except instead, you see the worst person on the planet.
Well, second worst as of right now.
The worst person title was reserved for someone else.
Approaching from down the hall is Yuna, your ex-best friend, a bounce in her step as she walks with a sort of allure as her hips rock side to side, her mile-high ponytail swaying in beat with the rhythm as well, and the ashy blond highlights in her hair hypnotize anyone she waltzes by.
She was the kind of nurse that all the other nurses are jealous of. Always has cute little accessories and stickers on their badge, is wearing the fancy FIGS scrub sets that hug her sporty curves in all the right places, paired with those little shoes with the ankle socks, and she most definitely gets her water goal in for the day because she’s always sucking on the straw of her periwinkle Stanley cup around the ED all night just like she sucked the cum out of your boyfriend of seven years just twenty-four hours after the two of you had broken up–
“y/n,” she casually calls your name, leaning her elbow up on the cubicle divider of the nursing station. “It’s time for you to take your break. I’ll watch your patients.”
“I’m not taking my break,” you say, trying to relax the grit to your teeth which makes your eye twitch out of frustration instead. “Now get the fuck away from me before I call a Code Black.”
She sighs, rolling her eyes and smacking loudly on her gum. “Yaga said you have to take your thirty tonight. Something about how you haven’t clocked out for a break in more than two months and the hospital could get sued for that.”
“The hospital has way bigger cases they should be biting their nails about getting sued over,” Hana snorts just to butt in on conversation.
“C’mon,” Yuna says, her fingers reaching out to touch the handle of your work-on-wheels, purposefully stretched so that you can eye the perfect sparkly manicure to her nails. You curl your fingers into the skin of your palms to hide your gel polish that’s long started to scrape off. “Go clock out.”
“I’d rather die than listen to a single fucking thing you tell me to do,” you tell her, plain and simple.
“y/n!” a loud masculine voice calls from the other end of the Emergency Department, and all three of you visibly shrink a little in your stances out of fear. Head nurse Yaga. “Take your break, or I’ll be damned to let you set another foot in this hospital!!” he’s yelling at you all the way from the entrance to the CT scanner.
“But–”
“Now!!!!!”
Your eyes flicker to Yuna, who has an amused look on her face and a tilt to her head, and then you’re grumbling before logging out of your computer then stepping away from it. “Draw a CBC & chem on Beds 24 and 28 at 4 AM sharp,” you grumble to her, and she just gives you one of those tight-skinned smiles.
The break room is empty, with shades of beige on the walls and even more depressing shades of gray on the lockers. There are all sorts of things pasted on the walls, like photos from staff Halloween and Christmas parties, drawings that pediatric patients have made in appreciation of their nurses, and employee information that Yaga’s constantly shoving in everyone’s faces.
Okay, the backstory with Yuna. Pretty simple. You two had been best friends since high school, like inseparable best friends. Y’know, sneaking out late at night to use fake IDs at the bar, cover for the other when you’re busy losing your virginity to your high school boyfriend in the most dishonorable way possible, rooming together in college, sobbing and crying through all of nursing school together, ride or die type of friendship that you think you’d only find once in a lifetime. Except turns out your best friend, who you’d considered a sister, had eyes for your boyfriend since you started dating him in college, and the second that dickwad dumped you, you catch her sucking him off in the back of his Toyota Camry when you go to pick your stuff up from his place. Yeah, ouch. You lost the two closest people in your life, all in the matter of twenty-four hours, so pardon yourself for being a bit bitter about it.
But being bitter is the coping mechanism. The real way you feel comes in the form of tears prickling in your eyes and the pain in your throat as you try to swallow away the knot that’s suffocating you from the inside out. A type of loneliness that leaves you stranded even in a room full of people. But at the very least, this room is empty, so no one has to see the crack in your resolve.
There’s no time on a thirty-minute lunch break to have a full mental breakdown, so you sparsely wipe at your tears and head back to your shift.
•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•
If you want to know who actually holds the worst person on the planet title right now, well, you run into him on a Tuesday afternoon while on a grocery run after you just woke up from barely sufficient post night shift sleep. Bitter and drugged by Melatonin was not a state of being you needed to be in right now, but you’re out of orange juice and you’re having Vitamin C withdrawals which warrants a trip to the store. Unfortunately, the town only has one grocery store, which means you were bound to run into pestering ex-boyfriends at least once every full moon.
“Get the fuck out of my way, Choso,” you snarl at the man who’s walking backwards ahead of your grocery cart, trying to stop you in your tracks so you’d just chill out and listen to him for a second.
“Can you just chill out and listen to me for a second?” he asks you, irritation evident in his voice like you’re being the difficult one here.
“I already told you that I quite literally never want to see your stupid ugly face ever again for as long as I live,” you say, and you ram your grocery cart forward with so much force the metal hits his knees and he doubles over the basket indignantly with a groan.
He seems like he’s had enough of you evading him, so he jams his foot under the wheel to keep you from moving forward, and you’re scowling at him and struggling against his foot-stop but to no avail.
You briefly consider abandoning your cart all together and just bee-lining for the exit, but he’s a cop, so he’d easily be able to tackle you to the ground if you tried.
“What do you want?” you snarl, impatiently tapping your foot with every miserable passing second spent in his presence.
“I just–” He sighs, “I just want to talk. And to know how you’re doing. You won’t pick up any of my calls.”
“Huh?” You blink at him. “I’ve had you blocked for the past two weeks. You shouldn’t even be able to call me.”
His eyebrows raise. “Really?...who have I been dialing then?”
“Fuck if I know,” you shrug, and you use his moment of confusion to swerve your cart off to the side and make your way down the refrigerator aisle. Ohhh, dulce de leche gelato sounds nice, and it’s on sale. You grab a jar.
Choso’s trailing behind you as you eye price tags and sale signs in the open chill of the yogurt section. “Babe–”
“Don’t–” you immediately cut him off, spinning fast on your heel and he stops himself just in time from crashing right into you. You hold your index finger up in the air between the two of you with a clench to your jaw so tight it feels sore, and through gritted teeth you say, “don’t call me babe.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry. It’s habit.”
Indeed, habit. Seven years of him calling you babe, or baby, or boobie (idk don’t ask). Your favorite though? Babydoll. He’d always call you that when he’d make sweet, sweet love to you while you were wearing his favorite flimsy little piece of lingerie–babydolls. Even now, the memories have your cheeks feeling hot. But he doesn’t get to call you babe anymore, and he doesn’t get to fuck you anymore, or talk to you anymore, or breathe in your general direction anymore, because he betrayed you. He wasted your time, and then he betrayed you.
Seven years of your sexual prime, where you could’ve been fucking hunky firefighters and bisexual Europeans, wasted on a man you weren’t even going to marry in the end anyways. Now you’re pushing thirty, and the idea of having to date again makes your skin crawl with anxiety that turns into fury because your doom is all caused by the man in front of you.
Whatever, forget about the sex and the impending loss of a woman’s novelty within society for a second. You loved him. A part of you still loves him. You wanted to marry this man. You thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with this man. Little sheriff deputy’s wife, Mrs. Kamo, the perfect number of letters to get on a bejeweled license plate. You had envisioned all the cute little quotes of adoration that would be imprinted on your wedding reception’s custom-made doily napkins with everyone that’s ever meant anything to you sitting at the table, ready to celebrate the love that you thought was real and true and brave and strong and one that would last forever.
But he abandoned you when you were at your lowest. And he fell into the arms of the one person you thought you could turn to crying when the relationship crashed and burned in the first place. And the problem with living in a small town is that everyone knows everybody’s business, so now you’re just the woman that wasted her youth on a man that played her like a broken fiddle. Utterly heartbroken, and humiliated.
So, yeah, he doesn’t get to call you babe anymore.
“Listen here, asshole,” you say, stabbing him in the chest with your finger, so he can feel even a fraction of the pain you’ve felt in the past three weeks, “I couldn't care less if you live today, or die tomorrow. So if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave me alone. Or I’ll file for a restraining order.”
“Really?” he says, brows pulled tight together in disbelief, like he just can’t understand what he’s done to make you act this way, and quite frankly, that only makes it sting even worse, “after everything we’ve been through, you’re just going to throw away the past seven years?”
“What the fuck are you saying?!” you all but snap at him, and an elderly couple that’s passing by flinches a little from the noise and you wince in apology before glaring at Choso again. Your voice is hushed this time. “You’re the one that broke up with me, but I’m the one that’s throwing it all away??”
He purses his lips together, and you notice how dark the circles under his eyes are. He shuts them tightly and leans back away from you, which makes you realize how much he was leaning into your space just a second ago. “I know that we…aren’t dating anymore. But, I mean, c’mon, y/n, it’s me. Just because we’re not together anymore, doesn’t mean that I don’t still…care. I want to know how your mom’s doing, and how treatment has been for her, and–” he glances up at the ceiling briefly, as if to mislead you into thinking that the next thing he says is just as nonchalantly desired as the other things he listed, “and I want to know how you’re doing, too.”
“You don’t deserve to know how I’m doing. Continue to wallow in your pathetic self righteousness, or go run with your tail between your legs to that two-faced rat I used to call a best friend. Either way, I don’t give a damn,” you say, in a way that very much sounds like you give a damn unfortunately, and spin on your heel to continue pushing your cart down to the juice section.
“Yuna and I–” you hear him say behind you, and just the mention of her name on his tongue makes your heart ache in your chest, to the point you need to place a flat palm over it just to alleviate the pain, “I–...I broke things off with her yesterday.”
Fuck. Pretend like you’re not fazed by that info. Pretend like you’re not fazed by that info.
“Okay? Whatever,” you barely manage to say.
He’s silent for a moment behind you. The wheels of your cart squeak as they roll.
“I mean, we’re not together anymore. I’m not seeing her anymore,” he clarifies, as if he didn’t believe you heard him right the first time.
“Cool,” you comment, tone colder this time, since you had the practice round.
“You don’t–” Choso starts, a rattle of hurt and confusion in his voice, “you don’t care about that?”
“Nope.”
He reaches out to grab your wrist, and the contact burns through your skin, like something so familiar yet so foreign. You turn your head to look at him.
“I…” he starts, and you can see his chest rising and falling with more intensity. Oh god. Please. Please don’t say it. You’re not sure you can handle hearing it. “I really miss you.”
Damn it, he said it.
Your posture relaxes slightly when you take a long look at him. You finally notice his hair has gotten longer in just the three weeks you’ve been apart, layered locks curling at the end of his neck, and it’s the first time you’ve noticed such a small detail because you were so used to spending everyday with him. He spent most of the week at your house, since the two of you could never formally move in with one another after your mother was diagnosed and it was easier for him to come by to yours so you could continue to keep an eye on her. There’s no option to live on your own and start your own life when you’re taking care of someone sick. They become your priority, not yourself, but you’d still make every single sacrifice you’ve made for your mother over and over again in a heartbeat if you had to relive the past five years.
But that meant that you never had a real and true chance to live the life that you wanted with Choso. A place just for the two of you, lived in intimate solitude and not with the cries of your mother down the hall when she feels too sick to get up out of bed or when she cannot remember her own name. But you had never been this far apart from him to where you notice his hair is an inch longer than it was the last time you saw him. He was never that far away, as he is now. And you’ve just now realized it.
“I don’t,” you start, swallowing the lump in your throat and your voice quivers ever so slightly when you speak, “I don’t care that you miss me.” You take a deep breath. “I’m getting married this weekend.”
His face entirely relaxes, like a calm before the storm, before it twists with so much confusion and incredulity and shock and–was that horror on his face?
“What?” he practically spats out, “it’s only been three weeks since we broke up!”
“Uhh,” you glance up at the ceiling of the store, just in time for an employee to make an announcement on the overhead for a manager at checkout lane 2 please, and then you glance back down at him, “I was having an affair while we were dating.” An easy lie.
He scowls. “Yeah fucking right. There’s no way you’d cheat on me.”
His words burn bitter. The fact that he couldn’t even fathom you hurting him the same way he hurt you makes you clench your teeth. Because he knew you were better than he was, and that you were too good for him, and yet he still wasted your honor.
His friends, who used to be yours too, have probably fed him lies since the breakup. Like it’s okay, man. You broke up with her before you got involved with someone else. You didn’t do anything wrong.
But you say bullshit to all of that. Because after seven years of being together, you can’t just cold turkey a relationship like that to sleep with someone else, and then claim it’s not cheating. Technicalities like that were no vindication if the betrayal hurt all the same in the end. Because it still felt like you got cheated on regardless.
“Whatever. I don’t need to explain myself to you,” you tell him, “I’m getting married this weekend, so I really don’t give a damn about anything between us anymore. It’s over.”
“Who are you marrying?” he asks, suddenly breaking a sweat over the news like he’s starting to suspect you’re actually being serious.
“My neighbor.”
His face twists with disgust. “Old man Jenkins? He’s eighty-four years old.”
You roll your eyes. “Not the one on my left, you idiot. My neighbor to my right.”
The corner of his mouth tugs up in a ridiculing smirk, and the sight of it makes your skin crawl. He scoffs. “There’s no way. You hate that guy.”
“It’s true. I’m marrying him.”
“Seriously??” He guffaws at you, leaning in closer to you and you lean away until your back is resting on the handle of your shopping cart. “The obnoxious realtor I once heard you talking in your sleep about how much you want to murder him and then dump him in a lake?”
“What?! I talk in my sleep?!” you gasp.
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. You have for years.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that?!”
He looks annoyed. “Because you’re such a hypochondriac. You would’ve thought you had a brain tumor or something, and I’d have to deal with the paranoia that follows suit.”
“Choso,” you say to him with a strict tone, jutting your hip out to the side in preparation to scold, “my mother has Alzheimer’s, which is genetic, and I was having an abnormal neurological symptom for years which has studies to show is an early indication of dementia and you just chose not to tell me because you didn’t want to be annoyed?!”
“See?” he gestures to you, “you’re doing it right now. How did we go from just sleep talking to ‘I might have dementia’?”
“We,” you point between you and him, “are never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever getting back together. If there’s one thing you can pull through that stupid skull of yours, make it that.”
“Excuse me,” you hear a tiny voice squeak out, and you turn to your right to see a little kid trying to push past the two of you to grab a box of GoGurt in the Yogurt section. You move your cart forward by bumping it with your butt to get out of the kid’s way, and Choso circles around to the front of your cart before you start moving forward again. Like he’s literally stopping you from moving on from him.
“You’re lying about marrying this guy,” Choso says like it’s a fact. In typical cop gaslighting fashion. “You’re just saying that to make me jealous.”
You roll your eyes. “No. I’m just that hot and gorgeous that I made a man fall in love with me in three weeks.”
“He’s in love with you?” he asks.
“Duh, he wants to marry me. When you dumped me, I found comforting solace in my next-door-neighbor, and we fell into bed with one another, and now he feels the obligation to provide for me for the rest of my life. What’s so hard to believe about that? You didn’t find abrupt matrimony odd when we binged all three seasons of Bridgerton two months ago.”
“That show is set in the fuckin’ regency era,” he hisses at you, “look around. There’s plastic bags of Hot Cheetos with Red 40 in them everywhere. Does this look like the 1800s to you?”
You have to be careful with him. He’s a cop, who could arrest you for medical insurance fraud, and would also have a personal vendetta against your marriage because boo hoo he misses you. But yes, he was right, you did want to make him jealous, and you just can’t help it.
“Well, me and him have a love that no one else can understand, so suck it. I’m marrying him, and he’s super into me, and he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with me, and he desperately wants to put babies in me, and–”
“And where’s the ring he gave you, then?”
Fuck. You briefly flick your gaze down to your left hand and note the daunting absence of a shiny diamond on your ring finger. Note to self, Gojo needs to buy you a ring.
“I left it at home,” you mumble.
“Uh-huh, as all newly engaged women who have been waiting for a ring all their life would do.”
That pisses you off. Because you were waiting your whole life for him to put a ring on your finger, and he never did.
“Go fuck a fleshlight,” you snarl at him, unfortunately in earshot of the GoGurt kid and his mom shoots you a nasty look, but you’re a jaded woman after everything you’ve been through and you ram your cart into Choso so hard you swear you could’ve cracked his knee caps, and he doubles over in enough pain for you to have the time to leave him stranded there as you push your cart all the way to the end of the store.
You finally make it to the orange juice section, the one thing you needed, although your cart is filled with things you didn’t need, because that’s always how these grocery runs go. You try to take a few breaths to calm down the fast beating in your heart after that confrontation with Choso. You’re not good with confrontation, even though it might seem like you are, but you’re just putting on a face. Acting strong, when really all you want to do is curl up into a ball and cry. But there are bills to pay, and images to upkeep, and orange juice to replenish.
Your hand reaches out for the handle on the refrigerator door, but just before you curl your fingers around it, another hand beats you to it. It’s a large and masculine hand, with veins disappearing into the cuffed felted fabric of a suit jacket, and the knuckles turn a shade lighter than the olive skin around them when the fingers flex around the handle.
You glance up at the person standing next to you, who you register towers over you in height. He has long, sleek black hair that shimmers under fluorescent lighting, some of which is tied up and out of his face, while the rest cascades over his back. But there’s tendrils of hair falling over the left side of his face, barely distracting you through the intensity of purple in his eyes when he glances at you.
“Ah, apologies,” he says, and the way he speaks is so calm and gentle, different from the intimidating aura he holds himself with. He retreats his hand from the handle.
“Oh, that’s–” you find yourself stuttering, “...that’s okay.” You grab the handle and open it, the chill rush of the fridge hitting you as your eyes peruse the selection of orange juice cartons while his eyes remain on you. You awkwardly glance at him again. “Sorry, d-did you also need to get orange juice?”
He nods. “Yes, I did.”
Not a man of many words, you think to yourself. Or maybe just around people he’s just met.
Your eyes catch the familiar labeling of your go-to orange juice, the one with no pulp and has added Vitamins D and E (basically the one for children), but you realize there’s only one left. You grab it anyway and put it in your cart. When you glance up at the handsome stranger beside you, there’s a slight look of amusement on his face.
“Seems we both have the same taste in orange juice,” he comments.
“Oh no,” you say with a small laugh, “I’m sorry. It’s the last one.” Your eyes widen. “You–…you can have it, if you want–”
“Oh, no, no,” he shakes his head, long hair swaying with the motion as he holds his hands up in front of himself, “please. I will just find a nearby store.”
You tilt your head. “Oh there’s no other stores nearby…unless you get on the highway for at least twenty minutes. It’s a…small town.”
His lax expression finally cracks into one of subtle surprise. “That’s interesting.”
“Are you…new to town?” you ask.
He nods with a small smile on his face. “Indeed. Well, just visiting. I’m from New York.”
“Oh! Wow, that’s a long way from here.” You briefly register that he does look like a city man. Upscale restaurants, skyline views, premium outlets. The subtle fragrance of his cologne smells expensive too. “What are you up to while visiting?” You mentally facepalm yourself for asking personal questions, but he seems mysterious and you like peeling the layers back on people like him.
His expression drops, turning almost solemn and his eye contact that was previously very direct is suddenly averted elsewhere, “Just…visiting some old friends.” There is no elaboration.
“Ahh…I see,” you say, picking up on the hint that he has no more words to give you. “Well…I’ll be taking the orange juice…maybe try one with pulp?” you suggest a little cheekily.
His lips tug upwards in a lopsided smile, one you’d call a smirk if you weren’t so mesmerized to define it as one, “I’ll think about it.”
You hum slightly in polite acknowledgement of him, then push your cart back towards the heart of the store without a word of goodbye.
Odd stranger, who’s good at giving misleading answers. You wonder what life he’s come here to escape.
•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•
It’s a bright, picturesque Sunday morning, with children laughing and squealing out on the streets in front of your house as they ride their scooters up hot pavement while their parents catch up on PTA drama on the lawns. You’re standing in front of your full length mirror, trying on dress #3 for your little meeting with the courthouse today. And by little meeting, you mean your wedding. You’re getting married today.
The dress you have on falls to below your knees and has buttons all the way from the hem right up to the base of your neck, where the collared neckline wraps around you like a noose. Suffocating, way too prim and proper, although it’d make your grandma very happy and adored to see you should you show up to church service in it.
Your bed is cluttered with clothes you’ve thrown across it as you try to find a good dress. Your hands move with impatience as you skim through the rack of your closet for another dress to try on, since you’re starting to push the time a little too much. You’ve only got ten minutes before you need to leave.
A dress tucked in the corner of your closet catches your eye and you pull it out. It’s a cream-colored milk maid dress with an underskirt to puff out the A-line silhouette, length down to your shins that would be oh-so-flattering with a cute pair of heels. There are small red flowers adorning the pattern, with tiny green leaf details as well. It was cute and sweet and feminine, something you haven’t worn in a long time unlike your usual monotonous hospital scrubs, stained sweatpants and adult onesies.
It was the dress your friend Sana convinced you to buy when you thought you were going to get engaged. In the first two years of your relationship with Choso, you two talked about marriage non-stop. You both had just graduated college when you first started dating, and it felt like your lives were finally starting. At the end of the second year you two had been together for, after Christmas dinner with your family, he pulled you into his arms and you squealed with glee as he spinned you around in your childhood bedroom upstairs and told you how much he wanted to marry you, and that he was going to propose in the new year.
Your mother was diagnosed with cancer in January, and he never brought up marriage ever again.
He still stayed with you for five years after that though, and swiftly dodged every single question you ever asked him about his impending proposal. For five years, you were fed every excuse in the book. And in hindsight, you feel like an idiot for staying, and for still holding out hope, when what you were really holding onto was heartbreak. The feeling of not being enough, like someone was just tolerating you, and not loving you. It was easy to ignore at times, given how occupied you were with driving your mother to chemotherapy appointments and reading up on books about which diet works best to slow down the development of Alzheimer’s because your mother started showing signs of dementia just two months after the cancer diagnosis. But in those moments of freedom, where you had a moment to breathe, all you could breathe was a suffocating smoke. Because you stopped feeling wanted or loved in between all of it.
But there was a trip he planned for the two of you to Greece. It was after your mother had first successfully gotten into remission. A gasp of fresh air amongst all the pain and suffering, and you could only assume that he wanted to celebrate by taking you on a trip. Sana was convinced he was going to propose to you on this trip, and you wondered if maybe he was just waiting until your mother felt better before he proposed so that the two of you could enjoy being newly engaged without the pressure or worry. Sana took you shopping, and you bought this dress, one that clings to your form in a way that made you feel beautiful. Made you feel wanted. Made you feel worthy of being loved. Because all other parts of yourself had been overlooked and paid no attention, but you thought a dress could save you.
He never proposed. You left Greece with an extra suitcase of souvenirs, but without a ring on your finger or even a compliment on how beautiful you should’ve looked to him standing there on that beach with this cream-colored dress on, arm wrapped around his. And it was at that point you became numb, and you existed in limbo for the remaining four years of your relationship. Until he finally did what you silently begged him to do, with every sullen look in your eyes when you glanced at him. Maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, what he did to you. Something you willed him into because you didn’t have the strength to leave, and so he had to.
You hold the dress up to your form in the mirror. It’d still fit you, and it’s far too pretty to have only worn once. But you’ve been numb for so long now, you don’t even remember what it’s like to feel pretty in a dress. You unbutton yourself out of dress #3 and step into failed proposal dress #4, and as you slowly zip up the back of the dress, you’re met with resistance.
Fuck.
The last thing you need right now is a weight-related meltdown.
You tug up on the zipper even more, harshly, to the point you hear a stitch rip and you gasp and try to do it slowly so as not to completely tear the dress apart. But it’s not fitting. It should fit. You just assume the zip is stuck, or it’s too rigid after years of no wear.
You’re about to do another colossal yank upwards that could potentially dislocate your shoulder when you jump at the sound of your phone chiming with a notification. And then multiple.
“What...the hell…do you want…” you sigh to nobody, swiping your hands across the pile of dress fabric on your bed to find your phone, and when you do, you quickly tap on the screen to see the messages.
|| 11:32AM neighbor (avocado tree): Hey, are we still getting married today?
First of all, wild fucking thing to nonchalantly ask.
|| 11:32AM neighbor (avocado tree): Your car’s still parked out front, so I wasn’t sure if you’ve left yet. I was just about to leave, and then the thought occurred to me that we should probably carpool?
|| 11:35AM neighbor (avocado tree): But just wanted to verify, are you sure you want to go through with this? You’re not having cold feet? Won’t be a runaway bride? I’m not gonna be left at the altar, wondering where I went wrong?
You roll your eyes, breathing heavily still from the struggle of zipping up your dress.
|| 11:36AM You: yes, we are still getting married. I just can’t zip up my dress for the life of me
It takes him a whole minute to respond.
|| 11:38AM neighbor (avocado tree): Do you need help?
You blink at your phone screen. Help? What kind of help? Helping you zip up your dress?
You look over your shoulder to the full length mirror, eyeing your back. The dress was zipped up to just above the small of your back, with the rest of it flayed open to reveal the expanse of your skin. Setting your phone down, you roll your shoulders back once and flex your fingers to try again in securing this dress, but to no avail. You curse yourself for not having the flexibility, and to be honest, you’re not even sure if you can take the dress off anymore to get into something else with the way the zipper won’t budge neither up nor down. Well. You’re just going to have to wear this dress for the rest of your life now. A scary predicament.
You pick your phone up again.
|| 11:41AM You: yes
It only takes about two minutes for him to text you that he’s at your front door, a surprisingly considerate gesture considering your mother is sleeping downstairs so it’s good he didn’t ring the doorbell, and you tiptoe your way down and over the creaky floorboards of the stairs to the front entrance.
You slowly crack the door open only a couple inches, hiding yourself from him behind it as you peek at him. “Hi.”
“Hey,” he says, and he glances at his watch. “We’ve got to hurry.”
You nod, and take note of his appearance. He’s wearing a dark fitted navy suit over a white dress shirt, which to your surprise, doesn’t have the top two buttons sluttily undone for once. His suit pants are perfectly tailored to his ankles and you can barely see the exposed fabric of black socks before they disappear into his polished Oxfords. He looks like he’s going to a wedding. Oh wait, he is.
He raises an eyebrow at you when you refuse to reveal yourself by stepping away from behind the door. Even his hair is particularly kept and proper, swept off to the side slightly in a way that makes him look younger and you feel nervous from the intensity of those eyes, which are usually somewhat hidden by the fringe of his snowy hair, now look at you unwaveringly with no obstruction. You feel like you’re seeing him in a completely new light, and for some reason, it makes you cower behind the door even more.
“Uh, are you going to let me in?” he asks you, his foot tapping lightly on the welcome! mat.
“Yes,” you say, but you make no movement to prove your word.
“y/n,” he says, “we need to get going.”
You sigh, tapping your fingers against the stained glass window of your front door to release some nerves before hesitantly stepping to the side and pulling the door open all the way, then you’re standing in front of him in full view. You catch a glimpse of the black tie hanging from his neck that’s secured all the way up to the collar of his shirt, before you finally look at his face.
Those striking eyes of his round slowly until he’s looking at you wide-eyed, blinking in some sort of dazed surprise as his gaze eventually sweeps down your entire form to take in the sight of you standing barefoot on wooden floor in your cream-colored dress, and you swear you see the muscles in his jaw jump. His brow furrows like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
“You–” he starts, that shocked blinking still taking place on his face, and you grasp the fabric of your dress in front of you from the anticipation of what he’ll say, “...you look beautiful.”
A silence settles between the two of you as he continues to roam his eyes all down you like there’s nothing that could stop him from doing it, and you feel heat in your cheeks from his compliment. It’s just a silly little cream-colored dress. One that didn’t look pretty on a beach in Greece, so why would it look beautiful on you here right now? While you’re standing at the dusty front entrance of a decades old house? He’s bullshitting you.
“You know you don’t have to compliment me, you know that, right?” you squeak out, trying to keep your tone level and easy to fight back the raw feeling in your throat, “this isn’t a first look. There are no photographers around to capture your reaction. We’re not actually getting married.”
“But–”
“Can you just help me with the dress?” you cut him off so he doesn’t say anything else that makes you feel pretty right now.
“...sure,” he agrees, and he steps inside your house. You start to walk upstairs, and he follows suit, and you suddenly feel his eyes on your back so you turn around and walk up the stairs backwards while facing him.
“I don’t understand the concept of first looks anyway,” he says out of nowhere to cut the silence, “isn’t it a bad omen to see your partner before getting married?”
“That’s such an outdated superstition,” you tell him as your feet finally press firmly flat at the top of the stairs.
One of his feet is placed next to where you’re standing up straight at the top, while the other is still on the third step down. And it’s like he’s kneeling on one knee in front of you as he looks up at you. After a moment of deep breathing on your part, you finally step away from the top of the stairs so he can finish walking up them too.
“I don’t know what happened,” you say to him as you make it to the front of your full length mirror, “I was just trying to zip it up but it got stuck. And it’s not unzipping either.”
He comes up behind you, and you can see in the mirror that he’s put a decent amount of space between the two of you from the way his arms are reached out in front of him just to access the zipper. He tugs up on it.
“Hm. It…” he struggles with it, “it seems…” he yanks again, “jammed?”
“Fudge,” you mutter under your breath (more ladylike perhaps, as opposed to fuck) and you sulk your shoulders. “But will it close at all, do you think?”
He takes a step closer to you, and his cologne has the fragrance of woody oak with undertones of citrus, like something expensive and sophisticated. His hand sweeps your hair off to the side and over your shoulder to the front so he has a better view, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck from the motion and you try to fight the shiver. A glance to the mirror, and you see his eyes are set on the exposed skin. He tugs to pull your dress together, and is able to cross the fabrics. “Yeah, it should. I think just hold your breath for a second? I’m going to try to see if zipping it down helps unjam it.”
“Okay,” you say softly, and he eyes you in the mirror at the sudden subservience.
You try to hold your breath as he tugs down on the zipper, and you hear the metallic click when he succeeds in unjamming it before he zips it down just an inch. You can feel the small of your back exposed to cool air from the motion.
He’s suddenly frozen entirely behind you, the knuckle of his index finger brushing against your skin as he continues to pinch the zipper between it and his thumb. You feel his slow exhale on the back of your neck. You’re too scared to look at his expression in the mirror.
“Sa–” you stutter through a gasp, “Satoru.”
“Sorry,” he says quietly, and then he’s shifting on his feet once before slowly attempting to zip the dress up.
He’s met with a slight resistance just underneath your shoulder blades. “Hey. Just hold your breath.”
“I’m trying to,” you tell him, almost whining, because it’s hard to stop breathing when your heart is beating fast and it needs the oxygen supply.
“Do you want to try on a different dress?” he asks you.
“No,” you immediately answer him. You’re not sure why, but the idea of wearing this dress for the rest of your life doesn’t scare you anymore. In fact, you never want to take it off.
Your hands twiddle with the flimsy string at your collarbone that you tied to connect the fabric across your chest, and then you realize. “Oh…maybe I need to–” you tug at the end of the string, “undo this? That might make it looser?” You finally glance at the mirror to seek his approval of your suggestion.
His eyes meet yours, and when he sees what you’re referring to, his eyes widen. “But that would–”
“Just don’t look,” you say simply.
You two remain looking at one another in the mirror, and you see his chest heaving slightly through the tightening of his dress shirt against the expansion of his breathing. Like you’re asking the impossible of him.
“Or I’ll kill you,” you say.
He sighs, and his eyes flit down to your zipper again. You swear you feel his hand tremble slightly. “Alright.”
You pull on the end of the string, watching him in the mirror to make sure his eyes don’t wander, and the fabric covering your breasts falls open, but you use a hand to still sparsely cover your skin with the cloth where you can. In the reflection, you see his jaw clench but his eyes remain on the zipper, and only briefly flicker to the bed once. Then he’s zipping up your dress with ease.
You quickly tie the string above your chest once more to cover yourself up, and then spin to face the mirror, petting down the fabric of your dress and throwing your hair back over your shoulder. It was a snug fit, but at least it still fit.
He’s a step behind you with his hands shoved in his suit pockets, looking at your face with a slight tilt to his head like he’s studying you in the mirror just as much as you’re studying yourself. And then he pulls his hand out of his pocket to glance at his watch again. “It’s almost noon,” he says.
“What?!” you bark at him. “We’re fucking late!!! Why didn’t you say anything?!?!”
“Huh??” he baffles. “I’ve been trying to tell you we need to rush this entire time.”
“Oh my god, oh my god,” you say, pacing your room to find your things in a scurry, picking your purse up and then grabbing your Manila folder of paperwork from your desk, and you try to walk past him to the door when you trip over the five pairs of shoes that you had been trying on earlier, almost twisting your ankle, and you gasp then grab onto his suit jacket for purchase before his arm attempts to reach out to hold you upright but to no avail since you tug on him as you fall straight backwards onto your bed and bring him down with you.
His hands sink into the soft mattress on both sides of your head, wrists tickled by your hair, as he hovers over you, and your fingers quickly curl into little balls at your chest as you shrink underneath him, looking up at his surprised expression, likely from having to suddenly brace himself from falling right on top of you.
You both look at each other, blinking as you come down from the sudden chaos, and his tie that’s hanging from his neck brushes against your knuckle and falls over your hand to graze the skin above your breasts. His eyes briefly flicker to the sight, and he catches himself only to stare at your lips instead.
Even through thick layers of fabric, you can see the thick curves of the muscles in his arms, pulled taut from how he’s holding himself up over you. And for once, you wish the buttons of his shirt were undone, so you can see what he’s hiding underneath. The hair he had swept up above his eyes now falls freely with gravity, soft tufts that dangle above you and shadow over the blue of his eyes as he looks at you with a furrowed brow that–...that makes him look handsome.
You must be ovulating.
No, wait, you finished ovulating a couple days ago.
Oh god.
Was your next door neighbor hot this entire time?
There was simply no way.
You refuse to believe it.
You’re laying still like a deer in highlights, motionless underneath him, before he curls his arm around your waist to bring you up with him as he stands up straight, and you only spend a moment pressed up against him before you get yourself out of his grasp by pushing flat palms against his chest, and then the two of you are in proper distance from one another once again.
“D-Don’t ever do something like that ever again,” you stutter, shimmying your hips slightly to pull the snug fabric down your waist from where it had risen up.
“I didn’t do anything,” he grumbles, and he runs a hand through his hair. Now it looks like it always does, no longer prim in style.
“Whatever, let’s just go.” You slip your feet into one of the pairs of heels sprawled across on the floor, and then you head straight for the door. “You drive.”
You hear him sigh behind you. “Yes ma’am.”
•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•
The courthouse is bustling with people when you two arrive but Gojo’s pleasantly able to pull into an open curbside parking spot right in front of the entrance. You’re surprised when he comes around to the passenger side to open the door for you, and you swat his hand away when he offers it to you too, but you probably should’ve taken it, since you almost twist your ankle for the second time today as you step out onto the curb and get used to walking in heels again like a newborn fawn.
“Should’ve taken my hand,” he says to you, smile turned upwards into a smirk as he watches you struggle while he’s a few steps ahead of you.
“Give it to me then,” you grit through your teeth as you wobble, giving up your pride to avoid adding yet another medical bill to the list of debts in your name.
“Nah,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets, “too late. Lost your chance.” You curse his entire lineage in your head.
You two make it inside the courtroom, and the first person you look for is Hana, whose head you catch at the front row much to your pleasant surprise since she is your sole witness to sign on the marriage certificate today. But in your study of the room to find her, you notice that there are a lot of other people in here as well.
“Don’t tell me…Did you invite people??” you ask Gojo, grabbing onto his sleeve to get his attention and also for balance, but he doesn’t need to know that latter part.
He glances down at you. “No? Why would I invite people to my fake wedding?”
Your eyes peruse the room once again, and you realize that most of them are just old retired people with nothing better to do on a Sunday than visit the courtroom. Some are elderly couples, eyeing you and Gojo as you two make your way down the aisle with sweetness in their eyes like awwwwwww to be a young couple in love once more <3 while they wait for the judge to call on their hundreds of unpaid parking tickets because they don’t know how to access an internet portal.
“D-Do you have the marriage license?” you squeak out to Gojo, who has now adjusted his walking speed to match yours.
“No, I left it at home,” he tells you in a flat tone. “Of course I brought the marriage license.”
“I was just checking, jeez…” you grumble.
Gojo hands the clerk the folder he was holding in his hand, and you hand in yours too.
Oh god. Your peripheral vision already recognizes him before your brain can, but you see an extremely familiar silhouette standing guard off to the side of the Judge’s bench, and your gaze immediately snaps in that direction.
Choso stands there, in his Sheriff Deputy’s uniform, his thumbs tucked into his vest as he puffs his chest out in assertion of his oh so important duty securing the courthouse on a Summer Sunday from any devastating danger, such as an elderly man not wanting to pay a parking ticket and then proceeding to charge towards the judge at 2 MPH, and you can’t help but roll your eyes from his attitude and scowl at him. Of course he pulled some strings and saw when you were getting allegedly married and decided to show up on that exact day. Whatever. You’ll pay him no mind. As long as he doesn’t speak now.
You and Gojo walk back to the lower desk in front of the Judge’s Bench.
“Ah! y/n, hello my dear, how are you?” the judge calls out to you.
“Hi Judge Jun,” you say meekly with a small wave, your voice echoing in the room, “good, and yourself?”
6/4/2024 1232: Judge Jun is a 72 y/o man with a past medical history of hypertension, hypercholesterolemia, hyperglycemia, GERD, liver cirrhosis and COPD, who endorses a social history of frequent tobacco usage and occasional alcohol consumption. Patient presents to the ED with chief complaint of chest pain, onset two hours ago after he drank three bottles of beer, and—
“Much better since you took care of me last week!” he humphs, patting his stomach.
You snap out of your automatic charting that was droning on in your head on reflex from how many times Judge Jun has shown up to the ED for acute chest pain which almost always ends up just being beer-induced GERD.
“At the hospital!” you clarify, “for taking care of you at the hospital!”
The man laughs heartily from where he sits up at the raised platform bench. “Yes! And Mr. Gojo! Nice to see you as well.”
You flit your eyes to Gojo, like you know him too? He only briefly spares you a sidewards glance before looking back at Judge Jun. “Likewise, sir.”
You postulate he scammed the fuck out of the man into signing a forty-year lease on a condo in the shady part of town, and you’ll leave it at that.
“I have to say, I am a little shocked by this matrimonial partnership!” Judge Jun chimes in. “But do you both swear to enter this marriage under just circumstances? I will need verbal affirmation from you both.”
Gojo raises his hand up in the air to swear on it, and you remember that he’s possibly done this before. Y’know how people have a courtroom wedding before a real wedding, something like that. And maybe that’s why he knows to raise his hand, because you didn’t even know you were supposed to raise your hand until now.
A real wedding. Something you’ve pictured a lot in your head, and so much more different than the arrangement you find yourself in right now. And because the pain of imagining yourself tying the knot with someone is too much right now, especially when the man you thought you were going to marry stands in uniform five feet away from you and probably doesn’t even recognize the dress you’re wearing right now, you glance over to Gojo and you try to imagine what a real wedding would’ve been like for him. Since he’s done it before.
He probably had a tacky wedding, like in a barn with barrels of beer used as tables with barely flickering string lights hung across wooden planks high on a triangular ceiling. The reception and the ceremony likely happened under the same roof, because he seems like the minimalist type, more focused on the feelings behind it and all, and not the grandeur.
Or maybe he was into the grandeur. Maybe he had a wedding on a skyline penthouse in the city, wearing expensive cologne like the one he’s wearing now, and a Dior suit he got custom made because it was a once in a lifetime occasion so why not? The image becomes a little too vivid in your head now, where you can picture this woman he’s marrying too. Pretty, tall just like him, wearing a ball gown white dress. He would’ve told her she looked beautiful, too. He would’ve told her he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with her. Vows uttered shakingly into the microphone at an altar while the sun is setting far into the sky, shimmering off of high building windows until the air is golden and it reflects off of his and his soon-to-be wife’s face. And when they’ve professed their love for one another, he grabs her by the waist and dips her in a kiss, for the perfect picture against the perfect backdrop in front of all the perfect little people because there probably was a photographer at that event, wanting to capture the moment.
You snap out of the dazed moment when a loud voice calls out your name, and in a shock, you glance back up at Judge Jun who’s looking at you with slight irritation.
“Huh?” you squeak out, and then turn to look at Gojo, who’s got a look of mild concern on his face as he raises an eyebrow at you.
“Please swear that this marriage is under just circumstances,” Judge Jun states with a cadence that indicates he’s commanded this of you multiple times already.
“Oh!” you stand up straight, “I—…I’m sorry.” You hold your hand up. “Yes, I swear this marriage is under just circumstances.” Just like Higurama had you practice. He’d be proud. Phew, the hard part was over.
The rest of the ceremony goes by in a rather fast blur, and it’s a little awkward when you both have to tell Judge Jun that you don’t have any vows to exchange at the moment when he offers the time for them, but Gojo comes up with some lie about how the real vows will be at our formal ceremony, and Judge Jun seems entirely satisfied and a little too ecstatic by the answer before allowing you two and Hana to sign the marriage certificate.
“And rings?” Judge Jun asks as he peers down through his glasses to the paper he was holding at his desk. “We can now make time for the exchange of rings.”
You’re prepared for Gojo to come up with another lie about how the real rings will be at our formal ceremony, but you see him shuffling with something in his pocket in your periphery. Hm? You glance down at his hip, and you see him pull something shiny out.
He turns to face you, and he holds his hand out to you with an up-facing palm. You blink at him and then glance down at his hand. And then you look up and blink at him, and then glance down his hand. And then you look up and blink at him, and then gl—
“Give me your hand,” he says to you, a little hushed and rushed.
“Why???” you ask, baffled.
“So I can put a ring on your finger?” he says, like it’s the most casual thing. Like getting a ring slipped onto your fourth finger is the most casual Sunday for you, when it’s something you’ve dreamt of your whole entire life.
You finally take a long hard look at the ring he’s holding in his right hand. It shimmers with every glint of light in the courtroom off of every angle, no doubtedly precisely cut diamond from a jeweler who really cares about their craft, and you swear you’ve saved a similar looking ring to one of your Pinterest wedding boards before.
You hesitantly bring your hand up and hover it over his.
“Your left hand, silly,” he tells you.
“Oh, right,” you say, and hand him your left one instead.
He holds it in his hand that is much warmer than yours, and it’s so tender, the way he gently slips the ring onto your finger. It fits with ease, perfection actually, and you can’t help raising your hand up in the air, spreading your fingers weakly as you admire the stone now sitting above your knuckle. It’s pretty.
You feel Gojo’s eyes on you, as he’s halted in frame, and you glance past your hand to look at his face. You dislike him. You do. You should. He’s your annoying as fuck next-door-neighbor. So then why does your heart feel like it could burst right now?
A glimmer of silver catches your eye, and you look down at his hands as he slips a silver ring onto his left hand while facing you before he turns to face the front again, signaling the end of the ring exchange, except you didn’t get to put it on his hand. He didn’t give you the chance.
“Alright! Wonderful!” Judge Jun exclaims, whose eyesight is probably too poor to have seen that it wasn’t even a proper ring exchange. “With the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife!”
There is scattered applause across the courtroom, a few cheers as well, as you two stand in front of the court of law in holy matrimony.
Judge Jun glances at Gojo. “Well, young man, you may now kiss the bride!”
“Oh—…that—” you stutter, “that’s not necessa—”
“Okay,” Gojo says, more to affirm Judge Jun than in acknowledgement of your protest, and in a series of what feels like just one motion, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you two him and then he—
He kisses you.
He kisses you like it’s real, like there’s history, like it’s a pure thing meant to last and not something you quite literally put a time stamp on. The kiss muffles the small sound that comes from your throat, your hands held up in the air in some slight surrender before they slowly settle on his shoulders as he bends you backwards over his forearm to deepen the kiss and the cheers surrounding you grow with a fervor that has your cheeks burning red but for some reason you don’t want it to end—
And then he pulls away from you, eyes darting across the features of your face in close proximity as he exhales slowly, like a release, and it feels like the two of you are the only ones in this room before he glances at your lips one last time and then he releases his hold on you. You stand shocked, and briefly glance at Choso, who looks like he’s about to burst a fuse off the top of his head.
What.
What.
What?
And just like that, you were married to your insufferable next-door neighbor.
.
.
.
[end of chapter 2]
a/n. thank youuu soooo so much for reading this chapter of ihm!! i’m kinda liking the writing style i’ve adopted for this series, it’s kinda lax n lenient sort of like a stream of consciousness and i hope it doesn’t come of too crass of informal lol i’m just playing around w some writing styles rn. ANYWHO i hope you enjoyed!! btw i picture choso as long-hair choso in any modern au (and not pigtails choso) so if you see me describing his hair in the way that i do, that’s why lol. love you all so much, hope to see you in the next one <3
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#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#gojo satoru#gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo x reader smut#gojo x reader fluff#gojo x reader angst#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru angst#gojo satoru fluff#smut#fluff#angst#gojo satoru fanfiction#suguru x reader#choso x reader#long fic#jjk fanfiction#jjk series#romance#fake dating#fake marriage#neighbors au#ongoing series#humor#slow burn#mutual pining#enemies to lovers#gojo x reader series
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hi! i hope you’re doing well. i’m hoping this doesn’t sound too weird but i wanted to ask if you have any tips on writing smut? you’re works are amazing and i just wanted to ask :)
awwwww you think my shit is amazing and want writing tips from moi WOW I shall do my best since I still find my smut skills a bit iffy so some of the stuff I may say I might not even do but we shall see anyways.
READ SMUT: I think the thing that got me to write smut is just the fact that I wank a lot and read a shit ton of smut. therefore I internalise what I read more, and see the common phrases, tropes, plots, that other writes use that I can infuse into my writing. and no im not saying plagiarise and copy ect but im just saying the more you read, the easier it is to write.
USE A PLETHORA OF VERBS: so basically when it comes to me writing any type of fingering or like dick in the v a g i n a scene like try out using a variety of verbs to make your works more descriptive. my trusty little bag of verbs is mainly: charges, drives, forces, pushes, inserts, thrusts ect.
DIALOGUE: to make ur smut a bit more wordy and not as boring, use dialogue, since people talk when they fuck (surprise surprise) it doesn't even have to be a proper convo if you aren't into writing dirty talk and shit but just moans and groans and like gasps like some form of written audio to go along with the visuals.
MAKE SURE IT FLOWS: like try and find some form of the flow so the smut doesn't read as awkward, like if you're doing a short snapshot smut (like what I do in my "when you have sex..." series )then thats fine but in like actual smut fics, you dont need to have a serious plot BUT it does make it better to read when theres some form of flow. such as including some type of foreplay, then get them to fuck ect. and if ur doing a pure smut fic and struggling to find a plot, think of cheesy porn plots LIKE OLD ASS PORN PLOTS like the pizza delivery man that you want to tip but you end up taking his tip (hehehe im funny right) or like the plumber thats supposed to unplug ur sink but plugs up with pussy instead (am I eating with these or nah omg)
BONUS TIPS these r so unserious kinda sorta
dont call a dick a cock thats lame (this is purely a joke I personally wont be calling a dick a cock but if you want to you can you have my full support)
HAVE FUNN WRITING SMUT, LIKE REALLY AND TRULY IT ISNT THAT DEEP WHATEVER YOU WRITE. JUST MAKE SURE TO TAG UR SHIT PROPERLY, OUTLINE IN UR RULES WHAT U DO AND DONT WRITE IF U TAKE REQS AND STUFF AND THEN LIKE JUST WRITE AND BUILD UR CRAFT. CAUSE LIKE IF U LOOK AT MY FIRST SMUT COMPARED TO NOW ID PERSONALLY SAY IVE IMPROVED (even tho ive got like 15 works loooool)
#omg this was longer than I thought BUT I HOPE SOME OF IT IS HELPFUL#I LOVE BEING ASKED FOR TIPS IT MAKES ME FEEL IMPORTANT#NOW SOMEONE ASK ME HOW TO WRITE A GOOD ANGST TO FLUFF FIC AND I WILL ASCEND#since I feel that is my true calling#anyways if u need any more tips on smut or anything or how to just be AN IT GIRL ON TUMBLR (since I obviously am THAT girl)#I am here to share my wisdom#empresshelpsyou!#xoxo gossip girl 💋#unknown sender — ★
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You’re on your own| Spencer Reid
Summary: After releasing Spencer will never love you back, you take some time of work to work on your mental health. However, an unsub the team have been working to find, finds you first.
Content: Fem!reader. Threats against life. Mention of weapons. Mention of blood. It’s full of angst (I guess some fluff but not much). This is a bit darker than anything else I’ve written before, but I really enjoyed writing this one. So, I hope you enjoy
A/N: I have written another fic like this called-shattered reflections. If you enjoy this one, you might like that one.
Masterlist| requests are open| Navigation
4.3k words
You had been in love with Spencer from the moment you had laid your eyes on him, but he most definitely didn’t feel the same way. He had been on dates or fallen in love with serval women while you had known him, and you had just come to terms that you two would never happen, so you just started looking elsewhere.
At work you barely interacted with him anymore. You two weren’t the greatest friends to start off with, but now you only talked to him when necessary. Everyone, but him, had noticed. Luke asked if you two had had an argument or something, but you just shrugged him off. Emily and JJ asked if everything was alright, which you would always say “yes, I don’t know why you don’t think everything if alright.”
You were only ignoring him to get over your crush, but you were always seemingly pushing away all of your friends in the process. Emily, JJ, Tara, Luke, and Penelope now never mentioned Spencer around you. They all knew something was going on, but didn’t want to ask, and all you really wanted to do was rant how he never seemed to realise you were right there in front of him.
After one practically gruelling case you didn’t speak a word to any of your friends/team while on the flight back, or while in the Quantico. Once you were in the safety of your apartment you burst into tears, wondering if you were ever going to be good enough for anyone. JJ text you asking if you were okay as you seemed abnormally quiet. You didn’t reply. You didn’t want to push anyone away, but this is what you did when you were down.
You ignored everyone for the days you had off, putting dnd on your phone. You barely left your apartment and would order food, so you didn’t have to grocery shopping. What you didn’t expect to happen was for Spencer to message you.
“Hey, I was wondering if I’ve done something wrong. You haven’t talked to me for a while. You haven’t really talked to anyone. But if I have done something wrong, please tell me.”
You wondered if someone had asked him to text you, but you didn’t reply. You just read of the message. He didn’t send another one. But everyone else was constantly checking in on you. You felt bad, but you just didn’t have the energy to reply to them.
Once you had returned to work, you said sorry to everyone (but Spencer) for ignoring them and just explained the case hit you hard. Spencer kept looking at you, half expecting you to apologise to him, but you simply just ignored him. He asked everyone why you were doing this, but they all told him they didn’t have a clue.
When everyone else had gone to get some lunch, Spencer came up to you.
“Hey, are you okay? You have ignored me all day, you didn’t reply to my message. You haven’t even looked in my direction. What have I done?” He seemed defeated. His voice, while it wasn’t filled with pain and sadness, wasn’t exactly a happy voice.
“Spencer, you haven’t done anything. I just want to be alone. Please, go back to your desk.” It was a short reply, you didn’t look up at him, or acknowledge his presence.
He left, and he didn’t say anything to you. He ignored you, like you ignored him. Everyone was worried, wondering what had happened. Questioning if everything was okay, but like always, you shrugged them off.
You hated how you felt, and how you were treating everyone else. Emily suggested, because of your recent behaviour, you take some time off. She wasn’t forcing you too, but both you and her knew it would be for the best. You reluctantly agreed. You did feel like a burden to everyone around you, you felt like you were pulling them down with, which you knew was unfair.
As you left the BAU, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of everything going on around you. You knew deep down that you couldn't keep going on like this. You needed to sort out your feelings and deal with your emotions before you could come back and face everyone again.
The first few days of your break were difficult. You couldn't shake off the feeling of guilt that was hanging over you like a dark cloud. You spent most of your days in bed, scrolling through social media, and thinking about all the missed opportunities you had with Spencer. You even considered reaching out to him to apologize, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. It was like your pride was holding you back, and you didn't know how to let go of it.
You knew you needed to go outside at one point, even if it was just for a little walk. As you stepped out of your apartment building, the sun hit your face, and you closed your eyes for a moment, soaking in the warmth. You took a deep breath and started walking towards the shops. You could hear the birds chirping, and it was as if the world had come alive. You felt a sense of peace wash over you, and you realized that maybe taking a break was exactly what you needed.
After you had picked up some groceries, you walked to one of your favourite parks. You sat on a bench and decided to people watch and make up little stories about the people walking by. You watched people chase after their dogs, and friends share jokes and laughs. It felt tranquil, a moment of bliss in a world full of chaos. You hadn’t replied to anyone, but I think everyone was expecting that.
You walked back to your apartment, the peace you once felt had gone. You had a feeling of dreed, like something awful was about to happen to you. You looked around, making sure no one was following you or watching you from a far. You didn’t notice anyone, but you couldn’t put your feelings aside.
Just as you were about to reach your apartment, you heard footsteps behind you. You quickly turned around, but no one was there. You shrugged it off, thinking it was just your imagination playing tricks on you. However, a few minutes later, you heard the footsteps again. This time, they were louder and more distinct. Your heart started racing as you began to feel a sense of panic. You picked up your pace, trying to get to your apartment building as quickly as possible.
You had reached the safety of your apartment, making sure you had locked the door. You turned on the TV, just to make your apartment less quiet and so that your mind couldn’t wonder. As you sat on your couch, you couldn't shake off the feeling that someone was watching you. You tried to convince yourself that it was just your imagination, but the more you tried to ignore it, the stronger the feeling became. You stood up and walked towards the door, peering through the peephole, but you couldn't see anyone outside.
Just as you were about to turn away from the door, you saw a figure in the corner of your eye. You quickly turned back to the peephole, but the figure was gone. You backed away from the door, heart racing and palms sweating.
You decided to call Emily, hoping that she would answer and calm you down. She picked up after a few rings, and you could tell from her voice that she was worried.
“Are you okay? What’s going on?” Emily asked.
You took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. “I don’t know, Emily. I just have this feeling that someone is watching me. I went to the park near where I live, and when I started walking back home, I got this sudden feeling that someone was following me. I don’t want to seem paranoid, but I just can’t shake this feeling.”
“Okay. Do you want me to come over?”
“No, I don’t think so. I just wanted to tell someone. I kind of wanted you to tell me I sounded stupid and that of course you feel like this, you work to catch bad people all the time, these feelings are normal.”
Emily was quiet for a moment before speaking in a calm and reassuring voice. "It's okay to feel scared sometimes. It doesn't make you stupid. And you're right, we catch bad people for a living, so it's normal to feel like this. But if you want, I can come over and we can talk about it more."
You felt relieved that Emily didn’t think you were stupid, but you didn’t want to be a burden to her. “No, Em. It’s fine. I’ll text you later.”
“Okay. But if you keep feeling like this, call me again and I’ll come straight over.” Emily hung up after saying that.
You turned back on your TV and make some food. Though the feeling persisted, you didn’t call Emily again, you really didn’t want to course any problems for her or be a burden.
As the night progressed, the feeling of being watched only grew stronger. You tried to shake it off and distract yourself with TV shows and books, but nothing seemed to help. You couldn't dismiss the nagging sensation of being followed or watched.
You decided to take matters into your own hands and investigate. It was a risky move, but you couldn't just sit around waiting for something to happen. You quickly grabbed your coat and left your apartment, determined to find out who or what was causing these feelings of dread.
As you walked down the dimly lit street, you kept looking over your shoulder, trying to spot anyone suspicious. You tried to act casual, but you couldn't shake off the feeling that you were being followed. You quickened your pace, hoping to reach the end of the street before anything could happen.
Just as you turned the corner, you saw a shadowy figure standing in the middle of the road. Your heart skipped a beat, and you froze in place. The figure started moving towards you, and you could hear its heavy breathing.
You tried to run, but your legs felt like they were made of lead. The figure was getting closer and closer, and you could feel it’s hot breath on your neck. You turned around to face your attacker, but before you could even get a good look at them, they grabbed you and pulled you into an alleyway. You tried to scream, but their hand was firmly over your mouth, muffling any sound.
You struggled against your attacker, but their grip was too strong. You could feel their body pressing against yours, and you knew that you were in danger.
You closed your eyes, trying to calm yourself down and think of a way out of the situation. As you opened your eyes, you saw the glint of a knife in the attacker's hand. You knew then that you were in grave danger and started to panic.
The attacker pushed you up against the wall, the knife now pressed against your throat. You could feel the cold metal against your skin, and you shuddered in fear.
“Don't. Move.” The attacker's voice was low and menacing, and you knew that they weren't going to let you go without a fight.
You tried to reason with them, to plead for your life. “Please...let me go...I won't tell anyone...”
The attacker chuckled darkly, and you knew that your words had fallen on deaf ears. They leaned in closer, their breath hot against your face. “Oh, I know you won't tell anyone. Even if you did, they wouldn’t care. You’ve pushed them all away, and now they don’t care about you.”
Your heart sank at the attacker's words. They were right - you had been pushing people away, isolating yourself from those who cared about you. But you didn't deserve to die for it. You mustered up all of your courage and looked the attacker straight in the eye.
"Please, I don't want to die," you said, your voice trembling. "I'll do anything. Just let me go."
“Anything, huh? God, hearing, an FBI agent beg for their life isn’t something I thought I’d ever hear. But here is what is going to happen. You’re going to come with me, not making a sound, and you are going to help me out. Okay?”
The attacker loosened their grip on you, and you took the opportunity to nod your head in agreement. You didn't know what they wanted from you, but you knew that you had to do whatever it took to stay alive. You were an FBI agent; you were trained for these situations. You knew how to fight, but right now you were a victim, one who hadn’t be specially trained, one who didn’t know how to handle these types of situations and one who, apparently, had no friends left who would help them out or who cared about them.
The attacker led you deeper into the alleyway, their grip firm on your arm. You tried to think of a way out of this, but your mind was blank. You were scared, and you didn't know what was going to happen to you.
As you walked, you noticed that the walls of the alleyway were covered in graffiti. You saw a message scrawled on the wall in bright red paint and gasped. It was a message from the notorious serial killer, the one that you had been tracking for months. This couldn't be a coincidence.
You turned to the attacker, your heart racing. "Are you working for him? Are you his accomplice?"
The attacker smirked. "Why don't you come with me and find out?"
You had a feeling that this wasn't going to end well, but you knew that you had to keep your wits about you if you were going to get out of this alive.
The attacker led you deeper into the alleyway, their grip firm on your arm. You tried to think of a way out of this, but your mind was blank. You were scared, and you didn't know what was going to happen to you.
You followed the attacker through the alleyway, your mind racing as you tried to come up with a plan. You didn't know who this person was or what they wanted, but you knew that you had to stay alert and focused if you were going to make it out of this alive.
The attacker led you to a rundown building on the outskirts of town. They pushed you inside and closed the door behind you. You found yourself in a dimly lit room, the walls covered in damp and mould.
The attacker sat down on a chair in the corner of the room, watching you with a cold and calculated gaze. You could feel their eyes on you, and you knew that you were in danger.
"What do you want from me?" you asked, your voice shaking.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you to murder anyone. I want you to be a warning to the rest of your team, not to come looking for me. They’ve been working on my case while you’ve been away, and I don’t want them too anymore. So, you, are going to be warning.”
You felt a chill run down your spine at the attacker's words. They wanted to use you as a warning to your own team. It was a sick and twisted plan, and you knew that you couldn't let it happen.
"I won't be a part of this," you said firmly. "I won't let you use me as a pawn in your twisted game."
The attacker laughed, standing up from their chair and walking towards you. "Oh, but you don't have a choice, do you? You either do what I say, or you die. It's that simple."
You stood your ground, staring the attacker straight in the eye. "I'd rather die than become a part of your sick game."
The attacker shrugged. "Suit yourself." They pulled out the knife and lunged towards you. He stabbed you, just above your heart. You felt you self-losing hope, even if this one wasn’t fatal, you knew he wouldn’t stop till you were dead. You felt yourself slump to the floor, you knew it wasn’t going to be long till you lost consciousness, you had no fight left in you.
As you lay there dying, you thought about all the people you had pushed away. You regretted not reaching out to them, not telling them how much you loved them. You wished you had spent more time with them, made more memories.
But it was too late for that now. You closed your eyes, accepting your fate. You wished that you had told Spencer how you felt, and you couldn’t believe that was going to be one of your last thoughts. You heard the man walk away. You felt so weak, you had nothing last. You just gave up, knowing that no one now would really care that you had gone.
Emily had grown worried. You hadn’t texted or called her back. She thought you would have by now. She decided to go to your apartment to check on you. As she walked up to your door, she could hear your phone ringing through the door. She knocked, but there was no answer. Worried, she used her spare key to let herself in.
As she walked into your living room, she saw your phone lying on the coffee table. It was Spencer calling, and Emily knew that something was wrong. She called your name, but no reply. She searched your entire apartment looking for you, but you were nowhere. She called JJ to see if she had heard from you, but the last she heard anything from you was when you were last in the office. Everyone else had the same answer when she called them.
She asked the team to come over, to see if they could spot anything she couldn’t. Everyone was worried about you. As the team arrived, they saw Emily pacing around the living room, phone in hand. She quickly filled them in on her worries and the fact that you were missing. She explained how you had called her earlier saying that you thought someone was watching you, and that you would call her if anything happened.
Spencer was the one to look in your bedroom, as he was searching, he kept thinking how he thought this was somehow his fault. He saw the pictures you had around your room of you and your old college friends, or family pets. But there was no evidence in there of anything. JJ had suggested that you had gone somewhere, but Emily said you wouldn’t go anywhere with your phone. Rossi tried to suggest that maybe you left your phone so that they wouldn’t be able to trace you, but Emily said that was stupid considering that call she had received earlier. Luke and Tara just kept pacing around your apartment, looking for anything, but they found nothing.
As the team continued to search your apartment, the sound of Emily's phone ringing filled the silence. She answered it quickly, hoping that it would be you on the other end of the line.
"Hello?" Emily said, her voice shaking slightly.
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, and then a voice spoke. It was distorted, and Emily couldn't make out what it was saying.
"Who is this?" Emily demanded, her heart racing.
The voice spoke again, and this time Emily could hear it more clearly. "You'll find your friend in an alleyway on the outskirts of town," the voice said. "But you better hurry. She doesn't have much time left."
Emily's heart sank as she hung up the phone. The team looked at her, fear etched on their faces.
"We have to go find her," JJ said, her voice determined.
The team rushed out of your apartment and into the streets, determined to find you before it was too late. They piled into their cars and sped towards the location that the voice had mentioned.
As they arrived at the alleyway, they saw a figure lying motionless on the ground. They rushed towards you, praying that it wasn't too late. As they got closer, they saw the blood seeping out of your body and onto the pavement. They knew that they didn't have much time.
Spencer checked for a pulse, and thankfully, there was one. They had to act quickly to save you. Rossi called for an ambulance, while JJ and Tara tried to stop the bleeding. Emily sat by your side, holding your hand tightly and praying that you would make it.
As the ambulance arrived, the team helped load you onto the gurney. Emily rode with you to the hospital, holding your hand the entire way. She couldn't bear the thought of losing you. She thought about all the times you had laughed together, shared secrets and dreams. She couldn't imagine a world without you in it.
As the doctors rushed you into surgery, the team waited anxiously in the waiting room. They didn't know if you would make it or not, but they knew they had to have faith. They sat together, silent, and scared, waiting for any news.
No one could bear the thought of losing you, you were always there for them. Not long ago you would have answered their calls and listened to them rant about everything and anything. Spencer, though, felt the worst out of all of them. He was good at his job, he had known for some time that you had feelings for him, and it wasn’t like he didn’t have any for you, but he didn’t want to lose someone else he loved. He silently cried, hoping you would make it.
As the hours ticked by, the team was filled with anxiety and worry. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the surgeon emerged from the operating room.
"Is she okay?" Emily asked, her voice trembling.
The surgeon sighed. "She's stable, but it was touch and go for a while. We managed to stop the bleeding, but the knife wound was deep. She's still in critical condition, but we're hopeful that she'll make a full recovery."
The team breathed a collective sigh of relief. They knew that you still had a long road ahead of you, but at least you were alive. They thanked the surgeon and waited patiently for you to be brought to a room.
As they sat by your bedside, they could see the machines monitoring your vitals. They could hear the steady beeping of the heart monitor, and they knew that it was a good sign. Emily held your hand tightly, tears streaming down her face.
Spencer watched from the corner of the room, his heart heavy with guilt and regret. He wished he had told you how he felt sooner before it was almost too late. He wished he had been the one to protect you from harm, instead of the one who inadvertently caused it. He knew he had a lot to make up for if you were to recover.
In the days that followed, the team took turns staying by your side, never leaving you alone for a moment. They brought you flowers, cards, and small gifts, hoping to bring some comfort during your recovery. Spencer was always there, holding your hand and whispering words of encouragement. He was determined to make things right with you, to show you how much he cared.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you opened your eyes. You saw the team surrounding you, and Spencer's face filled with relief. You tried to speak, but your throat felt dry and sore. Emily handed you some water.
As you took a sip of water, you looked around the room and saw the worried faces of your team. You knew that something bad had happened, but you couldn't remember what it was. You tried to speak again, but your throat was still too sore.
Emily leaned in closer to you. "You were attacked," she said softly. "But you're going to be okay."
As the memories flooded back, you felt a wave of fear wash over you. You remembered the pain of being stabbed and the feeling of helplessness as you lay bleeding on the ground. But as you looked around the room, you saw the love and support of your friends, and you knew that you weren't alone.
Spencer leaned in close to you. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I should have protected you."
You shook your head weakly. "It wasn't your fault," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
But Spencer wouldn’t hear it. “But you took time off because of me, and don’t pretend you didn’t. If, if I had said anything to you, then you wouldn’t have done that and you wouldn’t be laying in this hospital bed.”
“Spencer, please don’t blame yourself. None of this is your fault, and you didn’t need to say anything to me. Sometimes the person you love doesn’t love you back and that’s okay. But the man who did this got into my head and told me I was on my own, and that you guys didn’t care about, and that I pushed you all away. I’m so sorry for how I treated you.”
Spencer squeezed your hand. "You have nothing to apologize for. We're just glad you're okay."
You smiled weakly at him, grateful for his kind words. You knew that it would take time to heal both physically and emotionally, but you also knew that you had the support of your friends.
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#criminal minds#spencer reid x reader#dr spencer reid#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid#criminal minds x reader#dr spencer reid x reader#spencer reid angst#spencer reid scenario#spencer reid one shot#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid imagine#criminal minds fandom#criminal minds fanfiction
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Pairing: roommate! San x f! yn
Word Count: 10,664
Warnings: cursing, alcohol consumption, smut warnings under cut
Genre: Angst, fluff, smut, f2l au, college au, M for mature audiences
Summary: As the resident fuckboy San's best friend, you're legally obligated to be his hype man. It's only fitting as you're one of the few who can resist his boyish charms. But when he's set his sights on someone you cannot stand, perhaps you need to dig a bit deeper into your feelings after all.
Smut Warnings: masturbation (f), voyeurism, sexual fantasies, oral (f), missionary, protected sex, very slight breast play, overstimulation, cowgirl, some cumplay, dirty dirty talk, fingering, slight body worship ig?, praise, I literally have no idea I wrote it at a time when I should've been in bed so lmk if I missed anything
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this is for the jackson wang party fic collab finished with @mingsolo (hella good) @flurrys-creativity (Pygalgia, Effervescent, and Abience) and @sanjoongie (trouble) <3 I still have one more to go but we'll ignore that LMAOOOOO I added too much plot :') flurry was a dear and helped me sort out my thoughts and I managed to write 8k of it in one day lol.
hope u all enjoy and sorry I'm a professional yapper there's no shutting me up
“Going out again?” you ask your best friend and flatmate, San, as he walks past where you’re seated at the kitchen counter, suffering through your essays.
“Yep,” San answers easily, popping the ‘p’ and leaning over to take a peek at your laptop screen. “You misspelt ‘dextrorotatory’, you wrote it as ‘dexrotatory’.”
As your eyes find the typo, you groan and plant your head on the table. “I give up,” you declare dramatically, “I’ll drop out and become a taxi driver.”
San laughs. “First of all, you can’t drive that well. Second of all, you’d make more money as a stripper.” He dodges your smack with ease. “Third, you’re smart and you’ll ace these like always. You’re just a little mentally constipated. Why don’t you join me tonight?”
You think about it for a minute. While you probably do need a break from staring at your laptop, you know how wild the parties San goes to can get from personal experience. And you don’t think it’s a good idea when it's the end of your semester and the final year of your master's program. You just can’t afford to do that. “I’ll pass this time,” you sigh. “Maybe after exam season.”
San hums. “All right. Make sure to take a break, though,” he reminds you, dropping a quick kiss on the top of your head. “See you later.”
He soon disappears out of the door and you turn your focus away from your best friend to your homework. You feel bad for whoever his new conquest will be at the party.
In your opinion, it’s best to keep San at arm’s length when it comes to a romantic relationship. Not that you like him, but you also don’t want to be another notch on his bedpost, and you most certainly do not want to ruin your eight-year-long friendship. It’s not hard to see that San isn’t interested in a long relationship, not right now at least.
You honestly find it amusing that so many girls and guys still throw themselves at him and then get upset when he doesn’t give them a second glance after the initial night. His reputation precedes him, especially in your small town, and yet there will always be a line out the door for him. You don’t even know how he knows so many people.
With a sigh, you clear out your thoughts and refocus on your organic chemistry work. You’re lucky your job offered to pay for your master's classes, but the workload is killing you inside. You’re incredibly happy you’re almost done, and with newfound motivation, you hunker down and start writing out your notes again.
It’s almost two in the morning when you finally yawn and start putting your books away, and it’s almost three when you hear the front door open and the sound of San stumbling into the shoe rack as he always does. “You’re home already, Sanah?”
“YN!” San stumbles his way into the bathroom where you’re combing your hair, wrapping his arms around you and tucking his flushed face into your neck. “You’re still up?”
You laugh, tapping him on the head with your brush. “Yes, but I’m about to go to bed. And you should too, you know.”
San groans, his hold on your waist tightening and his words slurring together. “I don’t wanna,” he whines, “the bed's too cold.”
You sigh fondly. This happens almost every time he drinks, and usually, that’s why he doesn’t drink too much when he’s by himself. He gets too cuddly with people and you’re usually the one to keep him from bedding everyone he sees. You suppose he somehow didn’t end up with anyone in bed and he’s disappointed now. “Do you think you’ll ever ask to sleep with me nicely, or will you just settle for wrestle-cuddling me into my own bed?” you ask, rolling your eyes as San does not answer, just pulling you towards your room. “There’s my answer.”
You’re too used to his drunk antics and just let him move you around. It’s comforting in a way, that he’s comfortable enough around you to do this with you, and it makes your heart warm whenever he throws his arm around you and presses his face in your neck.
You’d never admit it, but it’s nights like this when you sleep the best. With his warm breath tickling your neck, you let your body relax and your eyes flutter shut.
-
“God, I’ve got a raging headache,” San groans when he sees you enter the kitchen with a mess of bed hair. “I went so crazy with the soju last night, I think I’m going to die.”
You laugh, reaching for the pot to make some oatmeal for him. “Don’t be so dramatic. Why did you even drink so much anyway? No bitches?”
San snorts but immediately whines from the sharp pain that probably shot through his skull. “You’re so mean to me! No, I got no bitches, but that was from my own choice anyway. I don’t want to fuck around anymore.”
Both your eyebrows raise into your hairline. “No? What changed things, hm? Finally decided your one true love is Byeol?” As if on cue, your shared cat meows and curls around your ankles, and you bend down to scratch behind her ears.
“Never had to decide that, we all know she’s the real number one in my life. No, I think I’m interested in someone.” You stop your petting of Byeol, who meows in protest and runs off to pout somewhere. “Come on, don’t act like you just saw a ghost.”
“Who?” is the only question that comes out of your mouth. Of course, San has had a crush before, but he’s never stopped screwing around unless he was actively dating that person. He’s a fuckboy, but he’s not a piece of shit at least. This is new.
“Lee Yeseul. I met her yesterday at the party, and she’s so sweet. She was so out of place at the party, and not in a mean way. She just…has such an aura around her.” San’s voice is soft even just talking about her and you get the feeling he’s being serious. “We’re meeting up for coffee today.”
“That’s…amazing, Sanah. I really hope it goes well for you,” you smile at him, pushing a bowl of oatmeal over to him. “Don’t forget to let me make a speech at your wedding.”
San chuckles, rolling his eyes at your jokes. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t you have study group today? Go there and stop bothering me.”
You ruffle his messy hair before planting a kiss on it and pinching his cheek. He blindly reaches around to smack at you but you dodge him easily, laughing as you head out to grab your keys. “See you later, Sanah. Have a good da-ate.”
San grumbles at you but ultimately returns to his food. You think you can hear him muttering about you being a pain in the ass and you smile to yourself. You don’t have the heart to tell him you know Lee Yeseul…and she’s a major bitch. You sincerely hope she’s sweet to San at least—he deserves the best. But you find her absolutely draining, especially with how often she talks about herself and doesn’t pay attention to anyone else ever. If she cries in your class one more time you think you might smack her yourself.
You still remember the time you had gotten a call that your grandfather had died, and after overhearing your conversation, instead of comforting you, she started talking about how “so many of my family members died in the past ten years.” Sure, maybe she was trying, but you’ve known about her antics enough that it was clear she just wanted to make it about her.
But if San likes her, who are you to interfere? He has a pretty good eye for who has a good personality so maybe Yeseul has changed. You’re not one to stop him. Not that you ever could. When he first started going out to party, you would tag along to make sure he wouldn’t make any bad decisions, but your efforts seldom paid off. You’re pretty sure he must be blessed since he somehow hadn’t pissed off anyone majorly enough to have them call a hit on him.
Shaking your head, you rid yourself of these thoughts and go to the library. There’s no use dwelling on it, the more you think about it, the worse your feeling about his crush on Yeseul gets. He’s a grown man, he doesn’t need you to parent him.
“Woah, who pissed in your cereal?” You should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to hide your bad mood from your study buddy, Hongjoong. Although you only see him for studying, you’re confident enough to call him your closest friend other than San. “Are you okay?”
You sigh, dropping your books on the table. It earns you a harsh ‘shh’ from the librarian which you apologise half-heartedly for. “Do you remember Yeseul? Lee Yeseul?”
Hongjoong’s brows raise high into his hairline. “The professional bitcher? What did she do now?”
“San’s into her, and with her personality, she’s probably loving the attention from the professional heartbreaker.” You groan, glaring at the cover of your organic chemistry textbook. “It’s none of my business if he cares for her, but damn, I wish he could’ve picked anyone else.”
Hongjoong hums, leaning forward and poking at the top of your head. “Look, you’ve been his friend for years. I think you have a bit more of a reason to poke your nose into his business than most. Give it a few weeks, and if it truly bothers you, then you can bring it up to San.”
You sigh. “Maybe.” You say nothing else on the topic and Hongjoong knows not to broach it anymore. Sometimes you wish he wasn’t so smart.
-
“YN, I didn’t know you knew Yeseul!” is the first thing San says to you one week after he returns from one of his many dates with her. “When I mentioned you being my roommate she told me you were in the same class as her.”
You wince to yourself as you take a long swig of your coffee. “Mmh, I didn’t think it was that relevant,” you say. You can practically hear Hongjoong rolling his eyes at your excuse. You know you should tell him your qualms about Yeseul, especially since the gross feeling in your gut has only gotten stronger. But you’re not sure you want to tread those waters. San’s sweet, but he’s loyal to a fault and probably wouldn’t like you talking badly about Yeseul.
San narrows his eyes, clearly suspicious but not willing to pry. “Well, maybe if we ever find you a date, we can go on a double date.” He moves on pretty quickly, though, walking over to lean over your shoulder and look at your laptop. “Still going on that paper?”
You hum, cracking your knuckles. “Yeah, it’s due tomorrow so I need to pump it out today and then get Hongjoong to look it over.” You lean back, letting your head rest on San’s torso as you yawn. “I can’t wait for this to be over so that I can graduate already.”
San laughs, leaning down to rest his chin on your head. “You’re smart. You can do this. And when you’re done, I’ll take you to a party and we can celebrate.”
You groan, shifting forward and putting your hands back on the keyboard. “Well, in that case, I should get back to writing this.” As you start typing again, you hear the buzzer ring and the warmth of San’s body leaves you as he goes to check who it is.
“Oh, hey, Yeseul! Come on up!” Your eyebrows raise into your hairline and your head snaps up. Why would Yeseul go to all this trouble of coming here? Didn’t they just see each other?
You close your eyes and take a couple of deep breaths before facing the dragon herself. You can hear the tell-tale sound of her voice pitched up to sound more sweet, although it’s grown to be grating on your ears. “Hi, Sannie,” she purrs and you have to refrain from retching. “I was on my way home but I realised it went right by your apartment so I figured I could come say hi. It doesn’t look like you’re too busy, right?”
“No, not at all,” San replies, and you hate how sweetly he talks to her. “YN is in too, she’s writing her final paper. Wanna say hi? She could probably use the distraction.”
No, I don’t need the distraction, is what you want to scream out, but your mother did not raise you like that although you wish she did. Instead, you just smile politely at the girl entering your kitchen. “Hello, Yeseul. Good to see you again.”
“Hey, YNie!” Her cheery nickname for you has your eye twitching. “How’s the paper going? I finished mine a few weeks ago so I’m home free. Just need to submit it.”
“That’s great, Yeseul,” you say, tone slightly more monotonous than you wanted it to be and San shoots you a look. “Hopefully you get a good grade on it.”
“Hey, would you want to join us for dinner?” San cuts in and you can already feel a headache starting to pulse behind your eyes. “I was going to order pizza since it’s my turn today and I’m not nearly as good of a cook as YN.”
“Oh, that would be lovely! I don’t mind whatever toppings,” Yeseul claps happily. The urge to punch her in the face increases bit by bit for you. San nods happily, stepping out into the living room to place the call. After a moment, Yeseul turns to you with puppy eyes and you brace yourself for whatever she has up her sleeve. “Could I trouble you for a glass of water, YNie?”
You try your best to keep your composure as you get up to fetch her a glass of water. She takes it without even a thank you and you decide you’d much rather die than deal with her any longer so you close your laptop with a sigh. “I’m actually meeting with a friend for dinner, but you definitely should stay and have fun,” you say, smiling as plausibly as you can. You do not have dinner plans but you’re sure you can figure it out.
When you go into your room, you’re drawing blanks. You’re still going out, but you’ll probably just end up calling a friend to complain. As you leave the room and grab your keys, San meets eyes with you and frowns. “Where are you going?”
“Ah, I promised to have dinner with a friend so I’m heading out. Enjoy your time with Yeseul, though.”
The furrow between San’s brows deepens. “But I already ordered the pizza.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “I can bring the leftovers tomorrow for lunch. Sorry, I just forgot to tell you, but I really have to go now. Bye!” Before he can say goodbye as well, you slip out the door. The suffocating feeling that is encompassing you lifts and you sigh in relief, but then you somehow feel worse at the idea of San and Yeseul having fun and giggling and cuddling.
You shake your head again, trying to clear your muddled thoughts before setting down to go find your dinner. Fast food was the easiest option, and you figured you could at least sit in your car and wallow in self-pity.
-
After you receive your order you park and pull out your phone, scrolling through your contacts. You don’t want to call your family because as much as you love them, they can be a bit over-protective and probably will offer to help you find a different apartment and that would be a bit dramatic. In the end, Hongjoong is probably the next best option.
He doesn't pick up immediately, and you’re just about to hang up when the phone crackles and Hongjoong’s voice comes through. “Why are you calling me?”
You can’t help but bark out a laugh at his disgruntled tone. “Hongjoong, it’s a perfectly reasonable hour to call, don’t blame me for your shit sleeping schedule. Are you actually free though?”
Hongjoong sighs and if you focus you can hear the sound of him rolling over in bed. “What’s up?”
“It’s about Yeseul again. She came around today, and it was just…so suffocating. Like, why did San have to pick her? There’s so many girls, and out of them all he picks her? The most bitchy one I know?”
Hongjoong hums. “Why does it annoy you so much?”
You groan, leaning your head back and taking a long sip of your drink. “She’s self-centred, bitchy, and she’s just so fake. I don’t think this relationship will end well, Joong. Clearly he’s just blinded and she’s so manipulative.”
“But why are you so bothered by this specifically? I mean, sure we’ve had bad interactions with Yeseul, but you’re pretty nonchalant about the shit San gets up to and you like to let him deal with the consequences himself.”
You frown glaring at the phone although you know he can’t see it and you pop a fry into your mouth. “I don’t know. It just feels different. I feel like I should interfere this time. I mean, he’s a lot more serious this go around.”
Hongjoong hums, rolling once again as he yawns. “YN, be totally honest with me. This is a shot in the dark, but I think this is pretty important.” You hold your breath in anticipation. “Do you like San?”
“Oh sure, he’s a good friend–”
“You and I both know that’s not what I meant.” You bite your lip, stiffening in your chair. “YN, you need to be honest with yourself. The way you talk about San, you interact with him, it’s not how just roommates, just friends interact. You kiss each other's heads, YN. And it can be platonic, but I’ve rarely seen San do that to his female friends, and I’ve never seen you do that, period. You don’t even kiss me.” His voice turns teasing on the last bit but you’re too shocked to register.
Do you like San? You love him like a friend, of course. But when you think about him being with anyone else, even if it wasn’t Yeseul, something in you aches. When you think about San’s smile being directed to anyone else, you can feel a burning in your gut. The answer is clear, whether you like it or not.
“I…yes. I do.” The confession comes out quietly. “But I don’t want to do anything about it. Like you said, it’s up to San whether he likes Yeseul enough. I can’t interfere.”
You can practically hear the look Hongjoong would be levelling at you. “Why not?”
You shrug. “When San likes someone, nothing can stop him from liking someone unless he wants to. I’ll just let it run its course and hopefully my own feelings will vanish in the process.”
“That doesn’t sound very healthy, YN.”
You let out a despondent laugh. “Sure, probably not. But who knows? Maybe I can find someone else in the process.” You let out a sigh before glancing at your now-cold sandwich. “I gotta head out, but thanks for talking, Joong. I’ll see you in class.”
Hongjoong can barely say goodbye before you hang up the phone and lean back. This is going to be difficult. The more you see Yeseul, the more you know you’ll accidentally slip up and something will tip her and San off. Your headache is pulsing behind your eyes and you take a small bite of your sandwich, your appetite diminishing. You miss being a child and your biggest worry is that San sneezed on your lollipop.
With another groan, you wrap up the sandwich and just go for a late-night drive instead to clear your head. It’s something that has never failed to calm you down and keep your mind level. San always berates you for driving alone at night, but you’d like to say you’re pretty safe. Plus, even he has agreed that it’s pretty calming when—you frown, forcing thoughts of San to leave your brain.
You don’t really know how long you’ve been out, but it’s surely long enough that Yeseul has left. As you carefully open the door, there’s a long silence, and you sigh, happy you made it home free. But as you’re about to call out for San, you hear a high-pitched moan come from his bedroom. And it certainly is not San.
You almost turn tail and head right back out of the apartment when you hear San’s reverberating moans fill the house. Against your better judgment, you take off your shoes and step closer towards his bedroom. His bedroom door is cracked open and curse him for putting his mirror right in view where you can see him leaning back on his bed, his lower half hidden off the edge of it and you can only see Yeseul’s knees.
And in your head, you know it’s wrong. But your heart is beating out of your chest and you can feel heat building in your core. And, well, you’ve always worn your heart on your sleeve. You keep yourself pressed against the wall, staring at the way the muscles in San’s neck strain and the way he moans with every snap of his hips. You’re sure your panties are soaked through by now, and your teeth sink into your lower lip to keep yourself quiet. The taste of copper enters your mouth but you couldn’t care less.
It’s only when San sits up, probably to fuck into Yeseul better and he disappears from the mirror that you rip yourself away and escape into your own room. Not another thought enters your brain as you strip your leggings and underwear off, flopping on your bed and closing your eyes as you let your hand trail down to press against your slick pussy. It doesn’t take long for you to sink your fingers into your sopping cunt, turning your head to bury your face into your pillow.
The guilt in the back of your mind is quickly sent away as you imagine San’s hands fucking you instead. He’s always had well-worn hands, and your brain fogs up as you imagine him leaning forward to mouth at your neck as he fucks you.
Your brain flips back and forth between the idea of him eating you out so well and fucking so many loads into you with his thick cock that your stomach swells and you whimper into your pillow as your core tightens and you come onto your fingers. You feel tears prick your eyes as you get up to wipe your hands of the cream coating your fingers and toss the tissue in the trash. You’re not sure how you’ll be able to face San or Yeseul again after that.
You can feel the shame burning inside of you and you close your eyes and cry yourself to sleep silently.
-
Waking up is disorienting, your eyes red-rimmed and your bottom lip raw and blood dried on it. You feel like death and you’re pretty sure you can’t attend class like this. You lean over and grab your phone, yawning as you send your professor a text with a weak excuse. You don’t really care how plausible it is, Professor Jeong usually is quite understanding so you don’t worry about that for too long. San had texted you an hour ago, asking if you had come home, and you choose not to answer it.
You can hear mumbling in the other room, probably Yeseul and San sharing goodbyes, when you hear the door shut behind her. Unlike you, she’s probably happy to go to class and tell all her friends about her night with the campus fuckboy.
It takes another thirty minutes for you to finally roll out of bed and put some lotion on your face, hoping for the traces of the questionable night you had to erase from your face. Once you’re satisfied with your appearance, you venture out into your living room where San is standing by the door. “When did you get back?” he asks without even turning around. “I texted you like, an hour ago.”
You shrug, avoiding his eyes as you move into the kitchen to find breakfast. “I only just woke up, San.”
Your roommate gives a short huff, following close behind you. “Don’t you have class? Yeseul just left so you could walk with her.”
You try not to roll your eyes at the idea of that. “I’m not feeling well so I don’t think I’ll go.”
“You’re not feeling well?” San’s voice deepens in concern and as you grab a yoghurt, he places his hand atop your forehead. “You are feeling pretty warm.”
At his touch, too many memories of last night flood through your brain and you shake away his hand. “Yeah. I’ll just go lie down for a little. Have a good day.”
Before he can say anything else, or realise your suspicious behaviour, you dodge past him and head off back into your room to hide. “I left your pizza in the fridge,” he calls after you and you just grunt in thanks before barricading yourself in your room.
You lean against the door for a minute before you realise you didn’t even grab a spoon. Unwilling to go back out there, you’ve resigned yourself to licking it out of the container like a cat when you hear a gentle knock at the door.
“I got you a spoon,” San’s unsure voice filters through the wooden door, and you squeeze your eyes shut.
“Thanks, San,” you murmur, turning to open the door a crack and take the proffered utensil. “Sorry for being short with you.”
His lips quirk into a half-smile, a silent acceptance of your apology. “I get it. Just get some rest, YN.”
You close the door again, this time a warm heart in your chest mixing with the guilt you still feel in your gut. You’re not sure how on earth you’re going to get over your feelings for San.
-
Avoiding San goes well for the most part. You are in your finals week anyway, and you’re spending most of your time at the library or in class. Your college’s library stays open for 24 hours during the last week of school anyways so some nights you’ve just been staying there until morning. Hongjoong disapproves heavily but doesn’t say much about it and you appreciate his support either way.
Avoiding Yeseul proves much harder. She seems to always find her way to wherever you happen to be, interrupting you and Hongjoong’s study sessions with a perfect smile and narrowed eyes. You don’t know what she wants from you, and you aren’t pleased with her presence.
But one evening, you’re about to leave the library to have some dinner when she corners you. “YN, let’s talk,” she says in that sickeningly saccharine voice of hers, looping her arm into yours and pulling you down the street. “I have some things to ask you.”
Unwilling, you try to tug your arm out of her grasp, but the girl is stronger than you expected. She pulls you all the way to her dorm on campus, sitting you down on her leather couch. “What is your relationship with Choi San?”
Her question comes so suddenly you need a minute to register. To her credit, Yeseul waits patiently for you to gather your thoughts. “He’s my friend and roommate?” you say as truthfully as you can muster, although you know it’s an absolute lie, and judging from her expression, Yeseul doesn’t believe you either.
“Don’t take me as a fool, YN. The way he talks about you is undeniable.”
“That seems like something you should be talking to him about,” you say, attempting to get up from the couch but Yeseul just pushes you back down.
“I’ve tried. He just tells me there’s nothing to worry about and I don’t believe that,” Yeseul grits through her teeth.
And you have to give it to her. She did try to come to San about her worries. But the way she refuses to trust him grates on your nerves. He stopped his fuckboy activities to be with her, and yet she’s worried about you, one of the few girls who isn’t all over him at any moment. You arch a brow. “Do you not trust him?”
Yseul scoffs. “Of course not. He’s a fuckboy. But I like the status I get with him. I just don’t want to end up embarrassed.”
Well, that will be inevitable, you can’t help but think to yourself. No matter how much your relationship with San is strained, you’re not about to let Yeseul talk shit about him like he isn’t genuinely trying for her.
“That’s where you come into play,” Yeseul’s smirk turns sharp. “I’m going to call San. Ask him to choose between us. If he chooses you, then I want you to stay far, far away from him.”
You shrug. No matter the outcome, it’s not like you’re not already keeping your distance from San. In the end, you’ll just tell him to break up with her and let him deal with the chaos himself. “Go ahead,” bitch.
San picks up on the first ring. “Yeseul?” He’s cheery and your heart aches at the thought of Yeseul breaking his so easily. “What’s the occasion?”
“Hey, babe, I just have a quick question, and I need you to answer truthfully for me, okay?” At his pause, she takes that as a go-ahead. “Who would you pick? Me or YN.”
There’s a long silence on the phone. “Yeseul, we need to break up.”
Only one thing unites you and Yeseul in this moment, and it’s your shared confusion for San’s reaction. “What do you mean?” her voice turns panicked. “Isn’t that a little far?”
“You’ve been stuck on this, and I don’t know how much I have to reassure you, Yeseul. I haven’t even seen YN for the past two weeks. And she’s my closest friend. I’m not dropping her for a two-week relationship. I hope you have a good time, Yeseul.”
Before you can react at all, Yeseul screeches and points an accusing finger at you. “This is all your fault, YN!”
Your jaw drops at her absolute audacity. “My fault? What are you on? I was just trying to live peacefully when you dragged me into this plot ignoring my advice. I told you to talk to him, to just fucking trust him. God, you’re an idiot. And I’m going home.”
Without another word, you leave, still fuming over that interaction. Couldn’t she just have made the call without you? You’re happy you don’t have to do all the convincing for San to leave her, but that just complicates things for you. Would he really so easily drop Yeseul just for you? From what you’ve heard, he was practically head over heels for her.
With another sigh, you head back to the library. You need to finish that exam.
-
“Pens down, and turn in your exams,” you hear the professor call, and you don’t think you’ve ever gotten up so fast. You’re so, so fucking happy that you’ve finished your last year and now you’re free.
As soon as your professor accepts your paper you race out of the lecture hall, only stopped by the cafeteria when you hear someone call your name. Lee Juyeon, someone you’ve started growing closer to, waves you down. “Hey, YN, congrats on finishing!” he smiles at you and you can’t help but smile back, the giddiness contagious.
“Thanks! You too,” you say, pulling him into a hug. “It’s so nice to be done.” Practically nothing could dampen your mood, especially seeing Juyeon. He’s sweet, and you have an inkling he likes you. And you’re not opposed to it.
“It really is,” Juyeon agreed cheerfully. “Look, I have to go celebrate with my family, I just wanted to say hi. But hey…there’s this end of the year party on Saturday, and I was wondering if you wanted to go with me.”
And your suspicions were right. You think about it for a moment. You’re not the biggest party person, anyone knows that, but Juyeon is sweet and just what you need, so you accept eagerly. It doesn’t take long for the two of you to exchange numbers and for him to promise to send you more details before he runs off. And through your excitement, you know you still have to go meet with San who’s probably waiting for you just outside. He wanted to see you as soon as you finish your exams, and you didn’t have the heart to decline.
“Congratulations on finishing your last exam, YN!” San cheers as soon as you exit the college building. “I’m so proud of you!”
You’re too tired to complain when San sweeps you up into a hug, just letting yourself relax in his firm arms. After all this work, you think you’ll let yourself indulge in his affection. “Thanks, Sanah. I appreciate it.” You let your chin rest on his broad shoulder, closing your eyes and letting the exhaustion take over you. “Can I go to bed now?”
You hear him chuckle, the vibrations from his chest comforting you. “Yeah, yeah. We can celebrate later. Come on.”
He tugs you all the way to your apartment, dropping you on the couch and quickly curling right up next to you. You can’t bring yourself to care. “I’m proud of you,” he repeats into your hair as he tucks your head into his neck. Your eyes flutter shut.
When you reopen them, it’s bordering on evening. San is no longer wrapped around you, and you can hear him moving about in the kitchen. “San,” you call out, voice raspy from having just woken up. “What are you doing?”
“Ah, I’m making dinner,” he responds, his voice too warm for your liking, your heart beating just a little faster. “Come and eat.”
With a bit of difficulty, you rise from the couch and move to the kitchen, taking a seat at the counter. “Japchae? When did you learn how to cook this?”
San chuckles. “Wooyoung taught me the other day because he was bored. I figured it’d be a nice surprise for you after all your hard work.”
Your lips twitch, unsure if you should smile or pout. “That’s sweet. Thank you again, San.”
As you start eating the noodles (there’s a little too much sesame but you don’t have the heart to tell San that), San clears his throat. “So…I promised to take you to a party.”
You vaguely remember this conversation. “Ah, yeah. What did you have in mind?”
“There’s this end of the year party, it’s supposed to be the biggest one, hosted by Jackson Wang.”
“Ah–” you shake your head, eyes apologetic. “I promised someone else I’d go with them. I didn’t know that was the party you wanted to take me to. Maybe we can do something else on a different day?”
San’s lips turn downward the slightest bit. “That’s okay. There are other parties. Who invited you, by the way?” His tone is casual, and yet you still feel like you’re walking into the lion’s den.
“Ah, Lee Juyeon from college. I think he’s in Hongjoong’s philosophy department, but he’s a year behind. He’s cute so I figured I’d give it a try.”
“It’s a date?” Your brows furrow at the heaviness in San’s voice but you pay it no mind and nod. “I see. Well, have fun.”
The rest of the dinner is filled with silence, San picking at his food and you in no mood to try and dissect his mood. He takes your empty bowl and starts doing the dishes, and you mumble out a thank you before running back to your room. He’s clearly not willing to talk more and it’s best to give him space.
As you lay in bed, you can’t help but worry about what is so grating on his mind after you mentioned your date. You can’t think of anything that would cause him to be angry—as far as you’re aware he has no grudges against Lee Juyeon, much less met him. Shaking your head, you try and fall asleep. It’s best not to dwell on it, you can just ask him tomorrow.
-
It’s Saturday, and you’re in a foul mood. San hasn’t spoken to you in the four days leading up to the party, avoiding you like there’s no tomorrow. The only saving grace comes in the form of Juyeon’s excited texts, telling you all about his outfit for the party, and you respond with matching enthusiasm. When you meet with Juyeon in front of the large house where the party is held, the thought of San isn’t even on your mind. Instead, you just take Juyeon’s offered hand and follow him into the party.
You weave through the bodies, reaching the counter where shots are being passed around. “Want vodka or tequila?” Juyeon asks, his voice pitching higher to be heard over the bass. Without answering him, you just reach for the bottle of tequila, pouring the two of you shots. “Good choice,” Juyeon laughs, throwing his head back as he downs the alcohol, you following suit shortly.
“You know, I never pegged you for a college party fan,” you lean in, laughing. “Maybe I should hang out with you more.”
Juyeon chuckles, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Maybe you should. I know great party-throwers. Although I’ve heard you’ve been to your fair share, what being San’s friend and all.”
You shake your head, a smile on your face. “Maybe at first, but you know, organic chemistry isn’t an easy major to balance with a party life.”
Juyeon laughs loudly, bumping you with his hip. “I understand the pain. Philosophy falls into that category of majors too. Another shot?”
You take the second shot happily, letting the alcohol burn through your veins as you stumble alongside Juyeon’s wandering through the crowd. Whatever you’re doing is a blur, all you can focus on is Juyeon’s smile and his warm hand holding yours.
It feels like barely a moment has passed when Juyeon pulls you into a nearly empty room of couches, only a few other couples lingering in the corners. “I hope you’ve been enjoying yourself,” Juyeon starts, his eyes sparkling as he takes in your appearance. “It’s been fun hanging out.”
“I did too,” you agree with a small smile, looking up at him through your lashes.
He leans in, and you lean in, and your lips brush. It’s a sweet kiss, one that you lean into as Juyeon wraps his arms around your waist. It’s warm and you smile into it. And then a familiar face pops into your head. You wonder to yourself how San would kiss you, if he would do it as sweetly as Juyeon or if he would devour your lips like it was his last meal.
When Juyeon pulls away for air, you feel guilt burning in your stomach again. Why would you think of other men when Juyeon’s right here in front of you? As Juyeon leans in to kiss you again, you almost move back before a hand grips your shoulder and pulls you into a broad chest.
“Hey, man, I’m going to have to talk to YN if you don’t mind.” You’d recognise your best friend’s voice anywhere, and it only serves to fill you with annoyance. Sure, you weren’t as into Juyeon’s kisses as you expected, but it doesn’t mean you’re thrilled to be interrupted by the man who’s been ignoring you.
Juyeon takes one look at San, and something changes in his eyes. A mix of reluctance and acceptance, and with a short nod and smile towards you, he slips away from you. You turn to San, frowning at the sharpness in his narrowed eyes, not one you’re used to seeing or enjoy seeing. “Why would you kiss him?” he spits, and your annoyance grows with confusion being added to the mix.
“What do you mean, ‘why kiss him’? I told you, San, I was on a date. Why the fuck did you interrupt us?”
“I like you.” Those three words would be a dream for you to hear from his mouth…if you weren’t so pissed.
“No, fuck that. I do not need to hear that from you right now. Not when I was enjoying my night with Juyeon. What was confessing supposed to do for you, San? It’s too late now. I wanted to enjoy this party, and now I have to go apologise to Juyeon for you.” San opens his mouth to speak, but you shake your head, pushing him away from you.
You leave San standing by himself as you search for Juyeon, your mood immediately souring. Why would he fucking do this to you? You can feel tears burning your eyelids and you abandon your search for Juyeon, searching instead for some liquor to take away your embarrassment.
As you pour yourself another shot of tequila, you notice a familiar face, Hongjoong talking to a girl you recognise as someone he hangs out with sometimes. They look like they’re getting it on and you feel a little bad, but you need his advice. “Hey, Kim Hongjoong!” you call out to him, waving him over. Hongjoong’s eyes brighten and he makes his way over, leaving the girl staring after him longingly, but her attention is soon taken away by two other guys. You recognise one of them from the cafeteria but you don’t remember his name.
“Hey, YN, what’s up? I didn’t expect to see you here, did San take you?” Your face falls and Hongjoong realises he stepped into dangerous territory. “Okay, what happened?”
-
“I can’t believe San is mad at me for kissing someone at the party,” you groan after explaining to Hongjoong the events leading up to now. “Sure, maybe it wasn’t the best move on my part but he’s had like, twenty million one-night stands, and yet I can’t kiss someone else? He hasn’t even talked to me after I mentioned going on a date. And yet he looked positively murderous after he saw me kissing that other guy.”
Hongjoong tilts his head, confused. “Isn’t that what you wanted, though? You like him.”
“I did! I do! But I’m so sick of waiting around for him, and I could’ve had a chance at liking someone else. He’s all over the place, and I don’t know if that’s what I want in a man.” You’re lying to both Hongjoong and yourself, and Hongjoong knows it, raising an eyebrow.
“Honestly, YN, it just sounds like you need to talk to him.” Hongjoong crosses his arms, tapping his foot and eager to back to the girl was with, but also not wanting to ditch you in your time of need. You feel a little bad for pulling him away, but your mind is swirling with so many thoughts, you don’t know if you can sort them out by yourself and drinking to erase those thoughts is not something you like to do. You’re not San.
And speak of the devil, you smell his familiar cologne before his hand lands on your shoulder and pulls you into his chest. You whirl around out of his grip and glare at him. “Get off me,” you snap. “I’m in the middle of a conversation right now, Choi San.”
With one glance at Hongjoong, he raises his hands and winks at you. “Have that talk, YN. It’ll do you more good than harm.”
Oh, you’re going to kill that traitor after the party. You turn your attention back to San, your mouth twisted into a frown. “You make this quick or else.”
San has the decency to look a little ashamed as his eyes shake. “Can we talk on the patio? It’s too loud in here.”
With a dramatic sigh, you grab his wrist and pull him through the crowd to the back door, practically slamming it behind you. You can see the eyes of people interested in the drama through the windows but you pay it no mind. “Speak. You get five minutes before I go back in and you don’t talk to me again for the rest of the night.”
San’s face falls and his lips pull into a pout. But no matter how subconsciously adorable he is, you refuse to fall for his charms this time. The heat of anger is still curling in your gut when you think about the argument from earlier. “YN, come on, I had a good reason.”
You shake your head, ignoring the strands of hair that fall into your eyes. “No, San. Confessing to me is not a good reason to fuck up my night. You didn’t even apologise. You’ve been ignoring me for days after I mentioned my date, and the moment I kiss Juyeon you get all angry and jealous? Be for real.” You pause for breath, glaring daggers into his eyes. “You are not owed my time, especially after that shit you pulled. Yeseul’s jealousy is why you broke up with her, so why are you like this to me?”
San’s gaze intensifies and you can see him actively trying to reign in his temper. Although he does his best to remain calm, if tempers are rising, he can be intense. “YN, what was I supposed to do? Watch you go out with him? Watch you slip from my fingers just like that?”
“Yes!” you all but scream at him. “If I could sit by and let Yeseul take each little bit of your heart, you could’ve done the same! I was going to be happy, San! I wouldn’t have to sit behind and watch you from the sidelines with my heart slowly cracking. But I don’t get that same courtesy.”
You step forward, poking his chest with a finger as you let loose your storm of thoughts. In your anger, you don’t even notice San’s arm moving until it wraps around your waist and pulls you into him. The action shocks you enough that you stop mid-sentence, your finger still pressing into San’s flesh. “You love me?” San leans in, his nose brushing against yours.
You can feel heat flare up in your face as you stare wide-eyed at him. It takes you a moment to register your compromising position and you stumble back, pushing at his chest. “Don’t do that,” you hiss, turning your eyes away. “I don’t like you, San. Not anymore.”
“You’re lying.” San’s voice is firm. “Look at me in the eyes and tell me you don’t like me anymore.”
You don’t know where you got it from. You’ve never been good at lying, not to San. Maybe it was the alcohol burning through your system, mixing with the shame and anger you feel. But this time, you stare him directly in the eye and say the four words that might’ve been the biggest lie in your life. “I don’t like you.” San’s brows furrow and he shakes his head.
“No–”
“Yes, San. You cannot just waltz around and expect me to keep the patience I had for you. I’m sick of being pulled around like a puppet. Maybe at first you didn’t know. But refusing to give me space when I asked for it?” You shake your head, glancing back at the party. “I’m going back in. We can talk about the apartment lease later.”
Without glancing back, you re-enter the house. And maybe it hurts a little that he doesn’t go after you, but at this point, you’re too numb and all you want to do is go home and cry. But home is not an option, not when it would probably be the first place he would look for you. Fighting back the tears threatening to fall from your eyes, you slide into your car, staring blankly at the wheel for a long moment until you feel composed and sober enough to drive.
And drive you certainly do. You’re not quite sure where you’re going, and you’re plenty aware that this is a bad idea, but you just let yourself go around and calm yourself down first. The crisp breeze paired with the warm spring air does wonders to clear your head and paired with the late times, there are not too many cars out. It’s peaceful.
You’re not too sure how long you were out, but it’s long enough for the blurry memory of the argument to clear and you groan, pulling over to park by the side of the road and let your head hit the steering wheel. You went too far. San had always been the more emotional of you two, always wearing his heart on his sleeve. He must’ve had a hard time with Yeseul, and although it doesn’t excuse him, you never gave him a chance to properly apologise.
With a sigh, you check your phone to see five missed calls and twenty texts from San asking where you are. He somehow even got your neighbours (a sweet couple in their twenties who babysit Byeol sometimes) to ask you if you’re okay. As your finger hovers over the call button, debating whether to call him back, bright headlights shine behind your car and you stiffen. Your hand hovers over the pepper spray you keep in the dash as you press the call button in a panic. No matter what the disagreement was about, you know San would still come to your aid if you needed it.
“YN, open the door. I’ve been worried sick!” San’s voice crackles through the receiver and you spin around in your seat, squinting at the figure standing behind your car and your shoulders sag in relief.
“God, San, you scared the shit out of me!” you scold, leaning over to unlock the passenger seat and push the door open while hanging up the call. “Get in here.”
A haggard-looking San slides in, his eyes red-rimmed and mouth pressed into a thin line. The car that drove him turns and you look back in confusion before San starts explaining. “I wanted to give you space so I stayed at the party,” he starts explaining after a moment. “But I got worried and went to the apartment to find you. But you weren’t there, and I asked all your friends. I’m lucky you left your location on, and my friend gave me a ride.”
You wince. You forgot about turning off your location, although you’re glad you didn’t as it would’ve been more dangerous otherwise. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, turning your eyes to look out the windshield. “I just needed to clear my head so I went for a drive.”
There’s a long period of suffocating silence between the two of you when San finally speaks, his voice quiet. “I’m sorry,” he starts and your head snaps towards him, eyes wide. Of all the things you expected to fall from his lips, an apology is not one of those things. Not tonight, at least. “I was too pushy. I shouldn’t have ignored you, or interrupted your time with Juyeon. I should’ve talked to you like an adult.”
You laugh, resting your head on the steering wheel. “What an astute observation, San. However did you come to that conclusion?” Your exasperation is evident in your tone and San sucks in a breath at how done you seem. “Look, San. I’m sure you didn’t mean it to be that bad. But I’m just…tired. I’m tired of always wondering what is running through your mind, where I am in your list of importance. You date Yeseul, but break up with her over me. You give me the cold shoulder when I go on a date, but suddenly me being on a date is unacceptable. I just don’t know how to take anything.”
Against your will, tears start to drop onto your thighs, streaking down the skin and you sniff. “Shit,” San panics beside you. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He hands you a tissue and you take it with shaking hands, pressing your face into it as San tugs you closer, guiding you to lean against him.
He repeats soft little ‘sorry’s and leans his head atop yours, his tears falling onto your hair. The two of you stay in this position for a long while, no words are needed to understand the emotional moment.
“Let’s go home, YN,” San mumbles, his voice vibrating deep in your heart. “Let’s go home and we can talk tomorrow.”
You sniff again, tears run dry as you sit up and wipe your eyes. “Okay,” you whisper out. “Let’s go home.”
San stays attached to you throughout the drive home, his hand gripping onto your own hand whenever he can, and quickly wrapping you into a back hug as you walk up to the apartment. “I…cuddle with me tonight?” you ask, eyes flitting away from his face, missing the brilliant smile that spreads across it.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he hums, walking with you to his room, and he lets you slide in first, the smell of his detergent filling your mind and your eyelids flutter shut already. San crawls in next to you, pulling you close.
“Good night, YN,” San mumbles as your breathing evens out. As you drift off into sleep, you swear you feel his soft lips on your forehead but you dismiss it as wishful thinking.
-
When you reawaken, San’s still curled up, your body covered by his, his breathing slow and gentle. You can’t help but blink a couple of times to make sure it isn’t a dream when his arms tighten around your waist and he shifts. “YN?” His morning voice is as rough as always, rumbling low in his chest.
“Hey, Sanah,” you greet him quietly, leaning up to meet his eyes blinking slowly at you like a cat’s. “Good morning.”
“Hi.” He dips his head to nuzzle into your neck, breathing in your scent. “I should probably explain myself.” His voice vibrates against your neck and you giggle softly at the ticklish feeling.
“That would be nice.”
San huffs, but he can’t complain about your snark. “I like you, YN. I don’t know when I started to, and I definitely didn’t realise I did until I started dating Yeseul. I did like her, but not as deeply as I thought I did. It was so easy to break up with her as soon as she made me pick between you and her. The answer came to me without a doubt in my mind as soon as the question left her lips, and yet I still didn’t realise my true feelings.” He laughs self-deprecatingly, and you stroke his hair comfortingly. “I didn’t realise why I was so pissed about you going out with Juyeon, and that’s why I was avoiding you. It’s a stupid reason, I know. But I just didn’t know why, not until I saw you at the party kissing him. I just wanted to be there instead of you. And I’m sorry, and I understand if you don’t like me anymore, but–”
“I love you.”
His head snaps up to stare at you after your sudden declaration, and after he registers your words a smile spreads across his face. He puffs out a breathy chuckle and you know his answer before he even says it. “I love you too.”
His eyes shine like you’ve hung the stars in the skies, and when they flit down to your lips, you know an unspoken question when you see it. You lean forward slowly, letting your eyes close once more when your lips meet his.
And damn, you were right about how San kisses. In a second, he deepens the kiss, bringing his hands up to cup your face while his tongue swipes at your lips. Shyly, you part your lips and he dives right in, licking into your mouth and biting at your lips.
“Sanah,” you gasp into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his plush lips. “Sanah–”
You repeat his name like a prayer as his lips travel down to your neck, littering wet kisses and bite marks all over your sensitive skin. “Fuck, baby, you’re so sweet to me,” San moans against your body. “Please, please, let me treat you right, make it up to you. Let me worship you.”
You whine as he laves his tongue over your breasts spilling out of the crop top you had worn last night. Any other time you would’ve stressed at how gross the clothes were but right now you could hardly even think about it. “Fuck, yes, please,” you beg when San nips at your cleavage, leaving a mark.
“Ah, already begging for me,” San groans, his hips pressing into your legs. “You’re so perfect.” His voice grows whiney as his sucks on your nipples, making your back arch.
His kisses move down your body until his breath is ghosting over your stomach and his hands are pawing at your pants, shoving them down as quickly as he can. He doesn’t have the same amount of minimal patience for your panties, and before you can react, he’s ripped them off your legs. “Choi San!” you scold, shifting to try and sit up but his grip on your hips stops you from moving too far.
“I’ll buy you a new pair,” San promises before diving right in and sucking at your clit without another moment’s hesitation. Your hips jerk and your core tightens at the sudden feeling as you throw your head back and moan so loudly it’s bordering on a scream
His ministrations on your dripping cunt have you wordless. His fingers are pressing into your hip bones, the sensation making you squirm. As soon as his tongue breaches your clenching hole your hands fly down to grasp at his hair. “Fuck–” you squeal, your legs attempting to close but San just pushes them apart again, busying himself in your folds.
“Fuck, you taste so good,” San groans, the vibrations sending shivers up your spine as he lets his teeth scrape against your clit. You can hardly focus on anything at the barrage of sensations filling you up, San fucking his tongue into you so well. Your thighs are shaking as you can feel yourself grow wetter and wetter against his face.
When you tilt your head down, he meets your eyes as he moves one of his hands to push a finger into your hole. “Shit–” your grip on his hair tightens impossibly. “Sanah–”
“Come for me, love,” San groans, and you let the dam break, screaming out his name until your voice is hoarse, and San licks up your release through it all.
When he finally pulls away from your twitching and sensitive core, his lips are covered in your glistening slick, thick globs of it sitting pretty on his chin. Without thinking, you pull him down and crash your lips against his, tasting yourself on his tongue. San groans as you lick his face clean, shoving your tongue deep into his mouth.
“Fuck, I need to fuck you right now or else I think I might go insane,” San growls, blindly fumbling in his nightstand to pull out a condom as he shoves down his sweats to reveal his hard, red cock. Without another thought, he opens the pack with his teeth, rolling the latex down his length with ease thanks to the precum dribbling down it.
He lines up, the tip of it kissing your hole, when you groan. You’re much too impatient for this, reaching down and holding him steady as you shift your body to sink onto his thick cock. “Shit, YN,” San grits out as you take him deeper and deeper until your cunt kisses his crotch. “You’re too much.”
You pant, shifting on his cock as you try to get used to the stretch. He’s not the longest you’ve had, but he’s thick and the stretch is almost too much. “You’re fucking talking, you fill me up so fucking well, Sanah.” You hiss as you throw your head back, the stinging melting into pleasure. “Fuck me already, San. Or should I go and find Juyeon to–”
You’re cut off by San thrusting into you so violently that you swear the bed shakes. “I don’t want to hear that fucking name out of your mouth anymore,” San commands, leaning forward until his body weight pins you down and your eyes roll back as he starts fucking into you with short, quick thrusts.
With every movement, you feel like you may break apart. You can hear every slick sound, the sound of it obscene, and yet all you want is more. Your previous release coats his cock so well, thick strings of it attaching to his hips.
His arms wrap around your waist, and before you can protest or do anything, he hoists you up until you’re sitting in his lap. You swear this angle makes him impale you even deeper, his cockhead kissing the perfect spot deep inside you. Your head drops to San’s shoulder, moaning against the fabric of his shirt. “Fuck, San, you’re so deep,” you moan high-pitched. “You’re so fucking good for me.”
San growls, pressing a kiss behind your ear. “You’re so tight for me, so much better than Yeseul. I saw you in the mirror, you know,” he whispers conspiratorially and you gasp and clench, snapping your head to look at him. “You’re not as sneaky as you thought, love. Did you touch yourself to the thought of me fucking you so well?”
You whine, words failing you, and San’s hips slow to a stop. You try your best to grind against him but his hands grip your waist, keeping you still. “Please–” you try to beg but San chuckles and nips at your earlobe.
“Answer me, YN.”
“Fuck– Yes!” you cry out, so eager for him to start moving again. “Wanted you to fill me with your cum so well until it was spilling out of me. Please, please, please, fuck me.”
“Hm.” And without any warning, San jerks his hips up into you, biting into your neck like a fucking vampire and you scream, hips stuttering as you come on his cock. You don’t think you’re making any coherent noises, just babbling into his neck as your bones become jelly from the overstimulation.
If you thought the sounds were obscene before, you swear they’ve become ten times worse as you lay limp against San’s body. He’s moving you up and down his cock like a doll and you pant, squeezing your eyes shut as you still feel aftershocks from your orgasm.
“Shit, you’re so warm around me, I’m gonna come,” San moans in your ear, his rhythm breaking as he drops your weight on his cock. You can feel him twitching inside you as his teeth sink into your neck once more. “God, I want to fill you up so badly, but that’s just going to have to wait, my love.”
After a long moment, he pulls out, groaning at your come coating the condom and his thighs. Without thinking, he dips his fingers in the mess and brings it to his mouth, licking it off like it’s the most delicious thing in the world to him. “Come here, baby,” he says in that beautifully raspy voice, and you lean forward, meeting his lips in another kiss.
This kiss is sweet and soft, but the lingering taste of your shared releases still permeates your taste buds. You sigh, leaning your head against his shoulder as he lays against the wall with you in his arms.
“I’m sorry,” he apologises again, pressing another kiss to the top of your head and it’s almost like he hadn’t fucked you like it was your last day on earth. “I won’t ever leave you again.”
You hum, turning your head to pepper kisses over his neck freckles. “I should be the one saying that. I love you, San. And I’ll always run to you with no hesitation.”
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hey hi, could i make a request? Im happy to see another good author starting :) u also seem very nice. could i request a yoongi x preferably fem!reader? if you want you can make it a genderneutral fic. my idea was a scenario were one of them is jealous, i thought of it being her jealous of him, over something stupid, but not in a toxic way like yk just pure jealusy mixed with insecurities. And they have a little petty argument and like it ends with smut i mean they make up to eachother that way :P like smut mixed with fluff at its purest. also, i am really curious to see how u write yoongi, i see many authors making him cold and tough but i believe that he is a very caring softie haha, by the morning wood headcanons, i think you got him very well ;) thank u in advance
REGRETS (m)
Pairing: Idol!Yoongi x FEM!Reader
Genre: angst, fluff, smut, one shot, request, established relationship
Warnings: jealousy, insecurities, a petty argument, depictions of sex, crying, emotional, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, bodily fluids, penetration (vaginal), a bit of praise, light biting, squirting
Word count: 5k
Summary: uhhh idk dude just read the request that’s pretty much it
A/N: UGH I LOVE THIS IDEA!! I don’t have much experience with writing angst so this was a really nice exercise. Thank you sooo so much for all the kind words, it’s what keeps me writing. I’m also a sucker for soft Yoongi so this is right up my alley. (Also this is not proofread so lmk if there’s any mistakes or anything)
Thursday night, it’s quiet outside. You’re trying to watch a movie with Yoongi. Key word trying. His hand has been gently rubbing your thigh for a few minutes now, whenever he tries sliding it up to tease you, you grab it and put it back onto his lap. He’s clearly trying to get you heated, but it’s having quite the opposite effect. Lately you’ve felt quite out of it, your lack of confidence causing you to avoid intimacy. With Yoongi being the gentleman he is, he always accepts it when he realizes you’re not in the mood and he moves on. However, you’re starting to doubt his ability to keep going like this. What if he realizes you aren’t satisfactory to him anymore? He could easily find someone else who would be all over him in seconds.
Replaceable. That’s how you’ve been feeling lately. He could have anyone he wants, so why you? “Are you not feeling it tonight?” Yoongi’s voice startles you out of your thoughts. “Huh? Oh. No I’m sorry.” You respond, your voice growing quieter with the end of the sentence. “That’s okay, c’mere.” He mumbles before pulling you into his chest, his hand soothing down your back.
‘Will he stay with me if I keep pushing him away like this?’ Is what you keep asking yourself. On one hand you’re afraid he’ll stop loving you if you stop showing him affection. And on the other hand, you’ve been so self conscious lately about your body and if you’re doing things right you don’t know if it’s worse to ruin the relationship by pushing him away or by not being good enough. ‘Do I even deserve to be with him at this point?’
Friday, 4:37PM. You got off work early today so you decided to stop by Yoongi’s studio. He’s still working so you’re lounging around on one of the couches inside of the room. The two of you had made plans to get dinner together when he finishes up for the day which you’re really looking forward to.
A short blurry figure appears at the studio door, they raise their hand up and place three quiet knocks onto the glass. Yoongi gets up with a huff and opens the door. In front of him stands a familiar woman, you can’t quite remember her name, but you’ve seen her around the company building before.
“Here’s your coffee Suga!” She says in a cheery tone. Her eyes land on you and her smile falls a bit. “Oh, I didn’t know you would be here. Sorry I didn’t get you anything.” She apologizes with a light bow of her head. You dismiss her with a wave of your hand before going back to fidgeting with the hem of your sweater. She turns her attention back to Yoongi who is setting his drink down onto his desk. “Hey Suga, a few of us are going to that barbecue place down the street for dinner and drinks tonight. Do you guys wanna come with?” She asks with a tilt of her head, her long black hair swaying with the movement.
“Uhh, yeah?” He looks at you quickly for confirmation to which you nod your head lightly. “Yeah. Sure we’ll come.”
Yoongi continues chatting with the girl. She casually leans against the door frame, the conversation between them flowing oh so easily. ‘It took me ages to be able to talk to him that smoothly. Why couldn’t I be like her?’ You think to yourself, trying your best to not let your irritation show.
He bids her farewell and sits back down at his desk. For the remaining time you spend in his studio all you can look at is him. Your gaze burns holes into his side profile, tracing each curve of his features over and over again. Why would a man whose heart only knows kindness, whose eyes and soul are so understanding of everything be with you? Your being is rotten with unforgiving bitterness, you seethe at every imperfection like a nun enraged by sin. Why would he want you?
He’s like a wild flower. He needs to be pollinated by the love and kindness of a bee to bloom, yet he stays with you, a caterpillar feeding off of him, biting off his flesh for your gain. Eating away at him and leaving nothing. Maybe you aren’t even a caterpillar. They can eventually turn into a beautiful creature with wings of eyeful colors, yet you can’t become anything more than what you are. You’re stuck in a vicious cycle, devouring every resource without paying any mind to the fact there will be nothing left when you’re done. What does he get for loving you if you can’t be of use? You can’t make him bloom.
“(Y/N)? (Y/N)!” You snap out of your thoughts, the reality around you giving you whiplash. Yoongi is kneeling in front of you, holding your jacket out. “Let’s go, we’ll be late.” You try to take it from his hands, but instead of giving it to you he holds it up so you can slip your arms inside. Once it’s on you he turns you around and zips it up for you. “Okay, let’s go.”
As you’re walking down the long hallways towards the elevators, Yoongi notices something odd. You usually grab onto his hand the moment you start walking somewhere together, but your hand is tucked away in your pocket now. He gently pulls it out and intertwines your fingers together. You can’t bring yourself to grip onto him like usual, instead you limply keep your hand at your side, letting him hold it. He’s a bit confused by this, but nevertheless he keeps holding you, his grasp only growing tighter in an effort to reassure you.
Yang Sunhee. Her name popped up in your head the moment she sat down across from you and Yoongi at the long wooden table. She’s been leading the conversation at your part of the table for a while now, mostly talking to Yoongi. To her credit she has tried to include you into the conversation a few times, but you didn’t really give her much to work with so she gave up.
You’ve been pushing your food around your plate for a while now. It’s mostly pieces of meat Yoongi placed down onto it for you, your favorite in fact. You just can’t get yourself to even place anything into your mouth, anxiety squeezing your throat so tightly you can barely even swallow your own saliva.
Sunhee is laughing at something, her eyes bright and her large smile hidden away behind a polite hand. Yoongi is laughing too, maybe not as hard as her, but he’s still laughing. ‘Why am I not the one making him laugh right now? Am I not funny anymore?’
As you’re glaring down at your food you feel a warm hand make contact with your shoulder. “You wanna go home?” Yoongi asks quietly, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “Yes please.” You breathe out, barely audible. On the drive home Yoongi tries asking what’s wrong multiple times, but all he gets in response is a simple “I just don’t feel too well.”
It’s been a few days now since you had dinner with Yoongi’s coworkers. He realized something was wrong so he’s been giving you some space. To be quite honest you aren’t sure if the space is helping or making it worse. After spending the whole day quietly sobbing to yourself in bed you decide to see what he’s up to. You find him sitting in the living room watching some sort of documentary and looking like he’s about to fall asleep. One of his cheeks is squished against a pillow and his hair is going on all the wrong directions. He looks adorable, your heart almost breaks in two knowing this is who you’ve been pushing away lately.
Taking a seat next to him, he lifts up his blanket so you can use it too. Just as you’re getting sleepy as well his phone pings on the coffee table. Instinctively you reach down for it so you can hand it to him, but when you see the contact name annoyance squeezes at your chest.
Yang Sunhee
Sent a message
“Why is she texting you?” The question slips from your mouth before you can even think it through. “I don’t know, let me see.” He responds while extending his hand out for the phone. You peer over at the screen, shamelessly trying to see what she sent. “Ah it’s just the schedule for next week.” He says and likes the message before setting his phone back down. Now you feel a bit guilty. Why were you questioning the intentions of this woman? She’s his employee after all.
Yoongi’s large hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb gently gliding over your cheekbone. “I know that look, what’s wrong baby?” He asks, his dark eyes skimming your face in search for answers. “It’s nothing.” You respond a bit too quickly, your tone stiff. The corner of Yoongi’s lip quirks up. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”
Your eyes shoot open, “N-no!” you sputter out a weak defense. His hand slides down to your chin, the grip tightening a bit. His smirk spreads into a smile which angers you. He thinks this is funny?
“Don’t fucking touch me right now.” You say in a way harsher manner than you intended, tearing his hand away from your face. A flash of hurt runs over Yoongi’s face, his smile instantly falling. “Don’t look at me like that! I just- I need a moment right now.” You say in an apologetic tone. “You need a moment? I’ve been giving you a moment for days now. What about me? I keep trying so hard and you don’t show an ounce of being grateful. What’s your problem?” His tone gets louder as he talks, anger evident in his facial expressions.
“Problem? Oh it’s a problem now that I can’t always feel one hundred percent happy? Go sleep with some happy drugged out whore then if that’s what you want!” Without realizing it your tone has risen to a yell, you’re standing now, no longer in the comfort of warm blankets on the couch. “Don’t yell at me!” He yells back, tears beginning to brim his eyes.
“You’re yelling too asshole! Oh you’re gonna cry? Go cry to Sunhee, maybe she can suck your dick to make it better if you can’t go a week without me sucking it!” The moment you finish the last sentence a silence falls over the apartment. Yoongi stares at you wide eyed, unable to form a single sentence.
He looks like a kicked puppy, his eyes watery and his hands trembling. Realizing you went to far the only thing that pops up in your head is leaving the apartment for a bit. You speed walk to the front door, tugging your shoes on quickly and pulling a random jacket on. “Hey, hey! Where are you going?” Yoongi follows you once he realizes what you’re doing. Unable to look at his face you grab your keys and walk out, slamming the door behind you.
Not knowing where to go you walk to the nearest park. Taking a seat on one of the benches you stare up at the moon. “Why did I say that?” You mumble to yourself, tears stinging at your eyes. Your throat contracts, guilt choking you. There’s no holding back now, you let your sobs loose, tears running down your face uncontrollably.
“(Y/N)? Is that you?” A soft voice calls out to your right. Your head shoots up, trying to find the source of the sound. There stands Sunhee, she seems to be in her pajamas with a puffer jacket thrown on top. Her hair is a mess and she’s holding a leash. A little white dog sniffs around near her legs, you assume it’s her’s.
“What’s wrong?” She asks as she sits down next to you. “Ah don’t worry about it.” You mumble, sniffling lightly. “You’re so pretty (Y/N), I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look good while they cry before.” Sunhee says with a genuine smile. “I- uh what?” You tilt your head to the side in confusion. “If I didn’t have a girlfriend I’d be jealous of Suga for having a girlfriend as pretty as you.” She giggles lightly.
“WHAT?” The question comes out harsher than you intend, the whole situation confusing you. “Listen, if you ever leave Suga just give me a call.” She says with a playful wink. You laugh in disbelief, your tears completely gone now. “You’re funny Sunhee.” You say, still sniffling lightly. “I’m not joking, but thank you.” She giggles along with you.
“Now why are you outside so late?” She asks while pulling her dog up into her lap. “I had a fight with Yoongi, I didn’t really know where else to go. I’m kind of scared to face him right now.” You answer truthfully. “Girl, have you seen how he looks at you? That man is a goner, I’m sure whatever you argued about isn’t that bad. You should go home and apologize, you can talk it through.” She says while giving you an encouraging smile. “You think so?” You ask quietly. “I know so.”
Even with Sunhee’s encouragement you’re still unsure. Guilt wracks through your whole body, pressing down on your insides and making you nauseous. You try to be as quiet as possible when you enter the apartment, but the sound of the heavy front door closing and jingling of keys betrays you. Just as you’re taking your shoes off you hear shuffling down the hallway. Yoongi’s dark figure emerges, you’re ready to hear something nasty from him, but instead you’re met with two warm arms wrapped around you.
“Thank god you’re safe.” He mumbles before kissing the top of your head. “I’m sorry Yoongi, I’m so sorry baby. Please don’t leave me. I didn’t-“ you’re cut off by a hiccup, your tears returning. “I didn’t mean to say any of that. Please, please don’t leave me I’ll never do that again…” You sob into his chest. “Shhhhh, I know you didn’t mean it, I should’ve done some things differently too.” His hand softly pets your head.
“I’ve been trying to figure out why you’ve been acting so weird lately and I think I get it now. You look at her like she killed your dog. You know she’s a lesbian right?” You can’t help but laugh a bit at that. “Yeah I kind of found that out just now.” You mumble, your fingers tangling into the material of his shirt. “Why don’t you like her?” You can feel him softly smile against your hair as he asks the question.
“I don’t know I just-“ You try to form the right words, but they won’t come. “Ugh! She’s just so pretty and she’s really open, it feels like she’s perfect and has everything you could need and I’m just sort of me? I don’t know, it’s stupid. I’m just projecting.” Yoongi listens intently to everything you say while he takes your jacket off. “Lately I’ve felt like the shell of who I was when you met me, you know? I’m just sort of bleh- and every other woman around me seems to have her shit togehter.” A tear runs down your cheek and Yoongi chases it away with his thumb.
“It’s why I’ve been avoiding having sex lately. I just feel gross and ugly while you… you look like you were sculpted by the ancient Greeks. You need a Hera to your Zeus. I’m like a satyr or something!” You let out a bitter laugh, trying to mask your feelings. “Hmm I think we’re more like Orpheus and Eurydice. Except I don’t want to lose you the way he lost her. They were such perfect lovers, yet there was something tragic about them. What’s love without tragedy?” He softly spoke, continuing to wipe your tears. You let out a genuine laugh and hit his chest lightly. “You idiot! You don’t get it.”
“I think I at least partially get it. I mean hell you make my knees weak whenever you look me in the eye woman, and we’ve been dating for years! I’d go to the pits of hell for you a million times more than Orpheus if it meant having a bit more time to spend with you. There’s no other person that could fulfill your role in my life as well as you do. I love you for you, you’re my muse. My light.” He places a ginger peck onto your forehead.
Love and desire suddenly flood through you, grabbing the collar of his shirt you pull him into a rough kiss. A few more tears make their way past your eyelids, but these ones of relief and joy rather than sadness and frustration. Yoongi gladly accepts your advances, kissing you back firmly. He barely wastes any time trying to get his tongue intertwined with yours. Your interwoven muscles becoming a metaphor for your souls combining together, the act of physical intimacy projecting your consciousness into one being, content and whole.
One of your hands shoot up to grip his hair a bit tighter than necessary which makes him release a deep moan. He pants against your lips, trying to catch his breath, but unable to fully separate your bodies. As he had endured yearning for you such a torturous amount, how could he let you go now?
He presses you flat against the door, holding you down chest to chest. His cold hands slide up your shirt, the contrast of temperature making you shiver. Caressing the skin of your stomach so lightly it tickles, he snakes one of his hands behind your back, swiftly unclipping your bralette in one movement. You let it drop to the floor, the only thing on your mind right now being the feeling of his body on yours. With his hands lightly ghosting over your breasts now, you shudder each time one of his fingers brushed against your nipples. Slowly he pulls your shirt off, the cold night air bites at your skin making your nipples harden. Instinctively your arms shoot up to cover yourself, but Yoongi stops you. He firmly grips your wrists and pins them down above your head.
Now fully exposed to him, he looks you in the eyes before licking a fat stripe from the area between your breasts to your neck. Lightly blowing onto the wet part of your skin, you take in a deep breath from the sensation. He begins to trail kisses down to your chest, letting go of your hands so he can bring you as close to him as possible. You tug at his hair softly as he mouthes at ode of your breasts, his tongue lightly teasing the soft bud. He groans softly before kissing down lower so he can get onto his knees.
He kneels before you know, unashamed of the submissive position he’s in. His teeth occasionally graze your stomach between sloppy open mouthed kisses. Looking up at you through his lashes, Yoongi starts undoing your pants. He pushes them down as if they’re getting in the way and moves his kisses down to your thighs. His uncalculated mouth moves dangerously close to your clothed cunt. Hovering over it he purposefully breathes through his mouth so you can feel his warm breath on your skin. You gasp when he suddenly pressed his nose against your pussy and inhales deeply. You can peel the tips of your ears heating up from embarrassment, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to care in the slightest.
“Ugh, fuck how I missed this part of you.” He groans as he kisses over the thin fabric. Finding your clit almost immediately he starts to roll his tongue against it through your panties. Your arousal and his saliva mix together in the material causing an uncomfortable need for real contact.
“Yoongi, take it off already…” you whisper to him, brushing his bangs out of his face. Looking up at you with a cheeky smirk he grabs onto the hem of your underwear with his teeth, making sure to lightly graze your sensitive skin with them as he pulls down. Your panties don’t even have the chance to reach the floor and his mouth is already on you again. He runs his tongue through your folds, making you instinctively angle your hips to give him more access. Heedlessly circling your clit with his tongue, he occasionally sucks on it or flicks it. You’re unsure if his mouth is glistening from his own saliva or from your wetness, but the sloppy noises he’s making are causing you to involuntarily buck your hips into his mouth.
“You’re so beautiful like this, my sweet girl.” He mumbles as he pulls away, nuzzling his head into your thigh. Replacing his tongue with his fingers, you let out a quiet moan when he slips them inside of you. “I love having you like this, only for me to see. You know I’d never do this for anyone else, right?” He emphasizes the question by pressing his fingers down against your sweet spot. ”Shit, Yoongi. I love you so much, no one makes me cum like you do.” Your response comes out in a dragged out whine.
Satisfied with your reply his mouth returns to your clit while his fingers work you open. The combination of sensations makes an orgasm built up in your abdomen fast. “Yoon- Yoongi, I’m gonna ah- I’m gonna cum!” You moan out, trying to warn him. This only encourages him to go faster as an orgasm ripples through you in harsh waves, your head falling back against the door as your eyes roll into the back of your head. You spasm slightly as he continues to work your cunt, trying to pull him away so he doesn’t overstimulate you.
He licks off your juices from his fingers, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. As soon as he’s back on his feet you go in for a kiss, leaning on him for support while still coming down from your high. He refuses to let your lips part as he leads you to the bedroom, his shirt and pants getting lost along the way.
“Lay down baby.” He mumbled against your lips as he led you to the bed. Kneeling down between your legs he made sure you were comfortable on your pillow. No matter how basic, missionary was always the best when you needed to express your love sexually. Parting your lips he pulls you down a little so your thighs are pressed together. He grabs his erect cock out of his underwear, not even bothering to get rid of the boxers. Pumping it a few times he gives you a dopey look, a lazy smirk spreading on his face.
“You ready?” He rasps out, rubbing the tip of his cock against your swollen clit, mixing his precum together with the aftermath of your previous orgasm. “A little too ready.” You replied, running a hand through your hair. “Mmm I can tell.” He teases while spreading the natural lubricant over his cock. Slowly he pressed the tip in, “Fuck, it’s going in so easily, o barely had to prep you. You really want it, don’t you?” his brows crease together in pleasure as he slowly bottoms out. “Yes, fuck Yoongi I want your cock so bad.” Your hand shoots up to grab onto his shoulder, biting your lip at the fullness.
“Please, (Y/N). Can I move?” He murmured, holding onto your hips tightly. “Yes, fuck me Yoongi.” You replied, grabbing his face to place a wet kiss onto his lips. He let out a low moan as he started thrusting into you, the warmth and wetness of your cunt feeling better each time he fucked it. You lightly squeezed your walls on purpose knowing it drives him crazy. “Oh my- ah shit I won’t last long at all if you do that.” He said breathily, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. You hooked one of your legs onto his hips, pulling him forward so he’s pressed into your cunt as deeply as possible. The both of you groaned at that, as soon as you let go he started thrusting into you with a quicker pace. His movements rapidly increased with each slap of skin that echoed throughout the space, his head thrown back. That look on his face means he’s absolutely lost in please and that makes you proud. He molds so perfectly inside you it makes all of your doubts melt away, it’s like he was made for you.
Matching the pace of his thrust to his fingers flicking your clit, Yoongi can swear he can feel you pulsating around him. “Ah, fuck (Y/N) I think I’m gonna cum already. Shit I’m sorry it just feels too good.” He groans, the already pink tips of his ears darkening. “It’s okay, go ahead baby, cum inside me.” You breathily respond, continuing to moan with each of his thrusts. He speeds up before abruptly stopping, the feeling of his warm seed filling you up making you clench around his cock. “Wait, shit, shit run my pussy please I’m so close too.” His fingers immediately speed up on your clit, furiously flicking it as your abdomen tightens again. As the hot white pleasure rips through your whole body, making your muscles spasm you hear a wet noise. Looking down the moment you can open your eyes you see Yoongi’s lower stomach covered in a clear liquid.
“Did you just make me squirt?” You laugh in disbelief. “That’s a first.” He mumbles before pulling his cock out, various liquids gliding down your ass. “I’ll go get a towel. He quickly gets up, trying his best not to make any of his surroundings wet.
As the two of you are laying in bed, your warm baked bodies pressed together, you feel Yoongi’s chest vibrate as he speaks up. “From now on, you always have to tell me when something’s bothering you, okay?” He softly says, stroking your hair. “Okay.” You whisper back. “Promise?” He questions while raising his pinky finger up, you lock yours with his, pressing your thumbs together. “Promise.”
#bts fanfic#bts fluff#bts x reader#bts x fem!reader#yoongi x reader#yoongi x y/n#yoongi x you#bts x you#bts smut#bts angst#suga x reader#suga x y/n#suga x you#min yoongi x reader#min yoongi x you#min yoongi x y/n#bts x y/n#bts x female reader
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request #4 - himbo haechan
part 2!
wc: 13.8k (yeah...)
genre: fluff, smut (18+ minors dni), angst, himbo to fwb to lovers haechan
warnings: mutual masturbation (kind of), sex over zoom call, softdom haechan and needy desperate haechan, mommy kink once, use of princess and angel and baby, fingering, unprotected fucking, overstim, haechan swears a lot, hair pulling, degradation/haechan likes pain and being humiliated, making love, nipple sucking, voice kink, thigh riding, haechan chokes and sucks on his own fingers, idk man
a/n: i hope this is hot. i hope you feel this. i hope you like this. i don't know if this is my best work because i feel like the writing craft is so shoddy at times but idk... AS A PIONEERING HIMBO HAECHAN FIC, i hope this marks an important moment for the himbo haechan thinkers <3 thank you for waiting and thank you for supporting me. please let me know what you think and please be nice...
the first time you meet haechan, he doesn't exactly make a good impression.
"what are you doing?"
slowly, he lifts his head from where his lips were brushing your neck. "um…" blinking, his eyes refocus on yours. "trying to kiss you."
"haechan!" you hiss.
eyebrows raised, he beams back at you. "y/n!" he hisses back, imitating your tone.
"i came here with someone else." you push his shoulder lightly, trying to make space between him and you but it's no use — his body slumps even harder, and you can see his eyes scanning your neck, zoning out of the conversation.
"i know…" he mumbles, tracing a fingertip at your pulse point and making goosebumps erupt on your skin.
"you do?"
"yeah…" his other hand hovers in the air, as if he's deciding whether to grab your waist or press his palm to your lower back.
"so you know i'm talking to someone right now, and it would be bad if i went around kissing my project partners...?"
silence.
you dip your head slightly to try to look at him through his messy bangs, only to jolt slightly when you glimpse his expression. his eyes already half-lidded with lust, mouth hanging open and drool glistening on his plump lips. why did he look so…needy? fucked out? it had only been about a minute or so since you saw him walk towards you, the easy smile he kept on at full blast. you had exchanged small talk for about 10 seconds over your professor, and then he started nosing at the juncture between your jaw and your neck.
"haechan?" you prompted, hesitantly. "everything okay?"
"um...all's good," he mutters, before moving back towards you, lips puckered slightly and ready to mark your skin.
spluttering, you push him away, again, confusion starting to settle in for you too. could he not take a hint?
"were you even listening?" you ask, incredulously. "i said i'm talking to someone right now."
"uh huh." he tilts his head to the side. "um, did you say something after that? sorry-" he breathes, wincing at the frustration on your face. "you just smell so good, i couldn't pay attention…" and as if he couldn't help himself, you noticed his body gravitate towards you, again.
gripping onto his shoulder to keep him at a distance, you say slowly, "haechan, if i'm talking to someone, it wouldn't be good for me to mess around with other people."
you see the words register in his head, see the furrow in his brow deepen as he ponders what you're saying. "it wouldn't?"
"no, it wouldn't."
"but you're not dating him yet."
"no, i'm not." you see him open his mouth, so you quickly add, "but we're on our way, and i want to show him i'm serious about it."
"but i'm serious about you." it was practically lazy – the way he pulled your hand off his shoulder and intertwined your fingers with his.
you couldn't help the thrill that ran down your spine as you were reminded of how strong he was, even though he didn't necessarily look it.
"serious about me or serious about fucking me?" you bite back.
"both."
you let out a scoff. unable to stop yourself, you blurt out, "are you used to women saying yes to you or something?"
"huh?"
"where do you get your confidence?"
he raises his eyebrows at you in genuine concern as if you're the confused one in this conversation. "where do you think?" he makes a vague gesture to indicate his pretty face, and you're a little annoyed at how right he is. with heavy eye makeup, mismatched contact lenses giving his look a more piercing quality, moles tracing across his cheek just begging to be suckled with kisses and those heart-shaped lips…you think you would be hard pressed to find a woman in this room who would say no to his shameless flirting.
"you shouldn't assume, haechan." something close to confidence begins to stir up in you, and you straighten, shaking your hand out of his. "it's not nice to kiss someone without asking them properly. you should always try to read the situation, and make sure you have consent."
listening intently like a student in a classroom, he nods slowly to show he understands. "not nice, got it. anything else?"
"don't try to steal people away from their dates," you add on, inspired.
"right."
"and don't say things like 'i'm serious about fucking you' if you don't really mean–"
"-this is hot." he interrupts, words blurring together in a rush. his eyes unfocused and dreamy, he drags his gaze up and down your body indulgently. "you teaching me things."
"hae-"
"teaching me how to be a good boy…" he breathes. "yeah. fuck."
your jaw drops, momentarily speechless. and yet, despite everything you were supposedly teaching him, his straightforwardness, the lack of filter, the raw desire that seemed to course through his entire body…you couldn't deny that it was making you feel a certain way too.
fixing him with a look that conveyed as much seriousness and frustration you could muster, you shake your head.
and he cowers.
"sorry…" he mumbles, stepping away from you, almost ashamed. "i should've kept that to myself."
you resist the urge to laugh. "yes, maybe you should have."
turning to go, you pat him on the arm lightly, feeling a little bad for him. "see you around in class, okay?"
he nods, eyes cast to the floor gloomily, and you're about to exit and head back to the main room when he calls your name.
"y/n?"
"yes?"
"i meant it."
"what?"
"i meant it when i said i was serious about fucking you." quietly, and with surprising gentleness, "i wouldn't lead you on like that. i wouldn't say it if i didn't mean it."
and as you turn your back on the pretty boy in the hallway, you couldn't help the butterflies that seemed to burst into life in your chest at his words.
x
the second time you meet haechan, you're explaining your assignment to him in class, and he’s looking at you like you hung the moon.
the third time, he keeps up an endless stream of compliments for you as he walks you back to your apartment to get ready for your date (with heavy insinuations that he could treat you better, the entire time).
after that, you sort of lose count. from a name told to you by your professor, to the boy who couldn't seem to stand without your help at the party, he slipped into your life with no intention of leaving.
"i'm frustrated because i WANT to fuck you-"
no intention of leaving, no intention of changing, at all.
his words come out louder than you expect, ringing out in the silence of the library. he's practically raising his voice, the aggravation plain and clear as his words escalate in pitch. embarrassingly, people studying at the adjacent tables start to look over at you two, drawn by haechan's distinctive tone of voice, wondering what the campus resident himbo-heartthrob could be saying.
and he's still talking.
interrupting him with a loud shushing sound, you grab his arm and haul him out of his seat. he stumbles a little over his steps as he follows you obediently out of the library, the rant momentarily cut off.
the moment the two of you burst out of the library doors, he's seizing you by your arms, his expression eager and delighted.
"my place? i don't think my roommate's home, and there's this toy i want-"
"lee haechan." your jaw drops. you seem to be doing a lot of that when you're around him.
breathless, his eyes shine with delight. "yeah?"
you almost don't want to ask. "why do you think i dragged you out of the library?"
"you're ready to fuck right now?" his expression falls when he finally reads yours, taking in your stony glare and the hard set of your jaw. "oh. i did something wrong, didn't it?"
"haechan…" you can't decide what to start with.
"wait, i'm sorry-" he blurts out, letting go of you. "i shouldn't have grabbed you…"
"you shouldn't have raised your voice in a library!"
"i'm SORRY-" gulping, he tries to make his voice smaller. "i just got really excited…"
"when you are in small spaces, you use your 'inside voice', okay?"
"my…" he gulps. "inside voice?"
"your inside voice means a volume level only meant for you," you point. "and me, the person you are talking to." you point at yourself.
"why?"
"do you want the whole library to know you want to fuck me?"
"i don't mind." a beat. "wait, fuck- wrong answer. no, i don't." he shakes his head firmly. "no."
"exactly." you let out a breath. "so please, the next time you want to have this discussion, make sure you're not announcing it for the entire student population, okay?"
he opens his mouth, but then quickly shuts it. a blush beginning to spread across his cheeks, he buries his face in his hands, sweater covering his palms up to his fingers.
you sigh. "what is it, haechan?"
"i don't want to say," he whispers.
"why?"
"you'll get really angry at me." chastised, he bites his lip. and then, quieter, "i'm sorry i embarrassed you."
"welll…you didn't really embarrass me,” you mumble. "haechan…"
a muffled sound.
"am i actually just being really mean to you? you can be honest-" you add, seeing something flicker in his eyes as he removes his hands from his face. "i won't get mad."
"you're kind of mean…" he hesitates. "but i really like it. because i know it means you care about me."
your heart warms.
"and also because i find it really hot," he continues, unabashedly. "like…a part of me wants to push you until you freak out on me. but also the other part of me just wants to be good for you, you know?"
you stare at him. his hair falling lazily on his forehead, a breathless and windswept look to him as if his own desire was physically stealing his breath away from his lungs. you'd noticed before how his eyes were always watery with some sort of emotion, his long lashes gently tangling and untangling, meeting his blushy skin. his pouty lips… forming your name.
"fuck…i should have kept that to myself, right?" he tilts his head, blinking purposefully at you. "y/n?"
you clear your throat. "it's fine." another pause, as you wonder how you can draw the conversation back to something less intimate, because the way he's looking at you — as if he wants to dive into your soul just by looking into your eyes, — was making you regret ever dragging him out of the library. "um…" sex. talk about sex. "so…you were going to use a toy for our first time together?"
caught off guard, he gapes at you, trying to recall where he let slip his plans for the night. "i…" he blinks. "how did you know? did i tell you?"
he's adorable. pressing on, you try to bring back the tone of defiance in your voice. "couldn't make me cum all by yourself? are you really that unconfident?"
from the way he's tonguing the inside of his cheek, you know you've successfully switched the tone. "princess…" his voice is slow and patronising. "don't talk about things you don't understand." you don't think you've ever heard him speak like that, cockiness dripping from every syllable. is this the haechan that everyone else knew?
"i don't-"
"i saw the way you were looking at me just now…" eyes fluttering, he slouches closer to you and you back away on instinct. the movement makes him smile. "you think i'm pretty, just like everyone else does, hm?"
it takes everything in you to roll your eyes, stepping further away from him as if it would break the spell. "you're so full of yourself."
"and you like it." at the look on your face, he backpedals instantly, the confidence draining from him in an instant as he adjusts his bag on his shoulders. "right…sorry. you're still seeing someone." he doesn't even try to hide the bitterness in his tone.
a moment passes.
"let's just… go get dinner," you suggest, lightly. he nods distractedly, hooking a hand around your bag strap and lazily tugging it onto his shoulder, something he likes to do for you.
the walk to the restaurant is only a few minutes, and it's only when you reach that he speaks up again.
"y/n?"
"yeah?"
"he….he makes you happy, right?"
"huh?"
"the guy you're seeing." he swallows, fingers curling tighter around your bag unconsciously. "you're happy with him, right?"
biting your lip, you nod slowly. "i guess."
if he can sense your hesitance, he doesn't press — body relaxing considerably as he nods to himself too. "then that's all that matters."
and he reaches over to hold the door open for you, face bright and happy again as he patiently waits for you to enter first.
x
haechan, 11.00pm: i hope you got a kiss today
you, 11.00pm: what
haechan, 11.01pm: idk you just looked really pretty today and i really wanted to kiss you
you, 11.01pm: so that's why you were looking at me like that
haechan, 11.01pm: yeah but i can't kiss you so
haechan, 11.01pm: i hope you got a kiss somehow…
haechan, 11.12pm: so did you?
you, 11.12pm: did i what?
haechan, 11.12pm: did you get a kiss
haechan, 11.12pm: WAIT
haechan, 11.12pm: don't tell me
haechan, 11.12pm: i'll get sad
you, 11.12pm: okay
haechan, 11.12pm: okay what?
you, 11.13pm: okay, i won't tell you
haechan, 11.13pm: fuck
haechan, 11.13pm: i want you so bad…
you, 11.13pm: HAECHAN
haechan, 11.13pm: TYPO sorry sorry
you, 11.13pm: you can't typo a whole phrase
haechan, 11.13pm: yes you can… i just did…
x
for someone who doesn't always know what he's talking about, haechan loves to talk. a lot.
"you're going to sleep? already?" even in the low quality image on your phone screen, you can see the crestfallen look on his face.
"we both have an early class tomorrow."
"we can take turns sleeping in that class…like we did last week…"
accusatorily, you jab a finger at your phone camera, causing his nose to scrunch in alarm as if you were really there, backing away from his screen. "you slept for a whole two hours that time!"
"i-" sulking, he rolls over on his side, face half smushed against the bed. "i'll do better this time."
"we can always talk tomorrow," you soothe, getting comfortable in your own bed and holding up your phone a little higher so the angle didn't look so bad on videocall.
although it was ridiculous, you couldn't help but feel insecure at how pretty he looked all the time, even when it was 2 in the morning and his voice was low and scratchy, or when he just woke up and his hair stuck out in all sorts of ways…his eyes never stopped sparkling in the terribly endearing way, his skin looking soft under the warm lights of his room.
"but i want to talk to you now…" he says, softly.
"okay…what about?"
"i don't know…" still in the same soft voice that drives you crazy, he blinks tiredly at his screen. "anything…i guess…"
"um…what did you have for dinner?"
you can't help but let out a laugh when he whines loudly in annoyance "i mean deep stuff. stuff you wouldn't tell anyone else."
"you think of something then!"
"wait-" a look passes over his face, you can literally see the idea hitting him, the flickering of a lightbulb over his head: he sits up, animated, and starts pulling his laptop onto his lap. "give me a second." he's typing furiously on his keyboard, nose scrunched in concentration.
"you don't even type this seriously in class," you accuse, half-heartedly. when he doesn't respond, you raise your voice a little. "haechan? what are you doing?"
"nothing." he turns his attention back to the phone screen, and beams at you with a brightness that catches you off guard. "just had an assignment that i forgot to submit."
"um…okay…"
"but i have my ideas for the questions now-" he continues, his words coming out rushed from the blatant excitement in his tone. "so let's start."
"why are you so…eager?" suspicious, you narrow your eyes at him playfully. "are the questions sex-related? you perv…"
"no," he shakes his head vehemently, "i swear, they're not. i just…" and suddenly he's shy, biting at his puffy lips, and even in the dim glow of the room you can see the flush in his cheeks. "i just want to get to know you more…"
"okay…"
"okay, let's start." he clears his throat.
"given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?"
"what the fuck?" you gape at him. out of all the things he could have asked you, there was no way you would have thought of this. "haechan, are you trying to get me to do some assignment for you?"
"i'm genuinely curious-" he tries to defend himself, a hint of a whine making its way into his voice. "i mean, i can go first if you need more time to think…"
"i don't think i've ever heard you use the word 'whom'."
"now that's just mean…" pouting, his eyes go round and sad, and you can't tell if he's doing it on purpose, but when he nibbles on your lips you feel your breath catch in your throat.
fuck. stumbling over your words, you rush, "uh…i can answer i guess."
his eyes crinkle into a smile. "okay, who?"
"um…probably that researcher guy who we're doing our assignment on. then i can just ask him all the questions and cite him as the source and we would be done."
"that's a good answer," he says, encouragingly.
"okay…so who would you want as a dinner guest?"
"you," he says, immediately.
"haechan, this isn't going to be fun if your questions are all set up as lines…"
"i'm serious…" and he is – there's no hint of any rehearsed expression on his face. "i only ever want to see you." and then, smiling, he shifts around happily on his seat on the bed. "okay! next question…"
x
"what would constitute a perfect day for you?"
"how many questions do you have?"
"i don't know… i'm making these up as i go along," he shrugs. "so, what would constitute a perfect day for you?"
you think about it, for a second. "i think my perfect day would be really simple, and everything would just go right. i would wake up early, there wouldn't be a queue at the cafe for breakfast, i get to class with my coffee-"
"which class?"
"uh… our class?"
"okay, good," a small smile playing on his lips. "and then?"
"and then…i can answer all your questions in class, and afterwards we go to the library and miraculously we can get something done…" you think back to a few evenings you've had where you've genuinely, really, been happy. "we get hotpot for dinner and we get a huge discount, and i go back home and fall asleep really easily."
haechan is smiling so hard you want to ask him if his cheeks hurt.
"what's so funny?"
"it's funny…" he looks at you coyly. "that's my perfect day too."
x
"number 10…"
"motherfucker-" you sit up, startling haechan, who drops his phone.
"wha-"
"you have a list of questions?" you wait for him to pick up his phone again before you point at the screen, savagely. you don't even have to look to know he's doing his cower again. "what happened to coming up with it as you go along? are these even your questions?"
"y/n…" he shuffles around uncomfortably, picking at his bedspread.
"how many questions are there in total?"
"36." his eyes widening, he backpedals. "actually, i don't know…um…it depends…"
"i'm going to bed."
"no we have to finish all 36 questions!"
"we have to? why do we have to?"
"please?" he looks up at you, and you should be used to it by now, used to the shifts in tone and the intensity of his emotions when his eyes meet yours, but still it makes your heart hammer a little harder every time. "please? i really just want to get to know you…"
a pause.
sighing, you lie back on your pillows again. "what's number 10?"
x
"what roles do love and affection play in your life?" haechan lets out a yawn, rubbing his face against his comforter.
the question wakes you up a little. you've kind of guessed that he was using a list of questions that would get increasingly intimate as they went on, but this one felt more direct than the others. and although so far you've been honest about everything, careless sometimes with your answer but never dishonest, you don't know how truthfully you should answer this time.
haechan blinks lazily at the screen. "um…" he rubs at his eyes, "i can go first. i think…love and affection are easy."
the words feel like a punch to your gut. "really?"
"yeah," he continues. "i mean, i'm affectionate with practically everyone i meet…and i'm not scared if i end up falling in love. i don't always know it when i'm in the moment…but i think i like how it feels," he adds, almost as an afterthought.
"you like how what feels?"
"being in love," he says, softly, looking at you with gentleness in his eyes.
"but what if it doesn't end well?" you ask more for yourself than for him, and he answers as if it's the easiest thing in the world.
"then it ends. but at least you were in love." tilting his head, he asks, "is it…not easy for you?"
you can't find the words, so you shake your head.
his brow furrows. "aren't you seeing someone right now?"
"yeah but i don't love him." he opens his mouth, so you add on quickly, "and he doesn't love me."
"then you shouldn't be with him," he said, firmly. things were always so simple when he outlined them. "you don't love each other, so you shouldn't waste your time together."
"but he's not a bad person…" you have no idea why you're defending someone you don't even really care about. "he's generally nice to me…"
"none of that matters if there's no love," he runs a hand through his hair, and that's when you realise that he's genuinely angry. "i didn't know you didn't love him. if i did, i would have talked to you about it ages ago…"
"it's not so easy, haechan. it's not so easy to find someone who loves you back. sometimes, you just have to be grateful that someone is willing to spend time with you, grateful that they're not horrible-"
he cuts you off with a frustrated sound. "i don't understand." rubbing his face with his hands, you hear him exhale shakily, the sound crackling in your earphones.
"it's okay," you try to calm him, making your tone as light as possible. "these are just questions, right? we don't have to agree…"
he settles down, but you can tell he's still lost in thought, his jaw clenched. "i guess."
"which question are we on?"
he checks his laptop screen. "21."
"do you…want to keep going?"
he nods, sighing one more time before focusing on you again. this time, you can tell he's managed to calm down, the gentleness returned to his demeanour. "i'm sorry. i'm really trying to understand what you mean, but maybe we're just different."
"yeah…" affection and love did feel easy, even being friends with haechan. you think it's maybe become a part of your life that you couldn't live without — the little ways he took care of you, how he never hesitated to compliment you or defend you. "i want to be more like you, though."
"huh?"
"the thing about love and affection…" you mumble. "i want it to be as easy as it is for you." his eyes light up, and you hate how it immediately seems to lift a weight from your chest.
x
it's strange that haechan's the one you turn to when things eventually fall apart. but at the same time, it makes perfect sense, because he's never once made you feel small for what you thought, or invalidated anything you've felt.
you didn't even have to tell him. you had stumbled into class, numb from all your hurt, and the moment haechan raised his head to look at you, he just knew.
"what's wrong?" he mouths, a look of pure fear in his eyes as he scans your surroundings, trying to figure out what could've done this to you.
"i'll tell you later," you're barely able to whisper back as you slide into your seat next to him, eyes already filling with tears at how easy it was for haechan to read you. your heart warming from the urgency in his tone.
without hesitation, he leans over far in his seat to squeeze you into a hug. his lips ghosting over the crown of your hair, you can hear the worry in his voice even as he tries to reassure you.
for the next 2 hours, he casts worried glances over at you, taking in the way you're barely listening, fingers ghosting over your keyboard and typing nothing. the lecture barely ends before he's reaching over to pack up for you, clumsy hands shuffling your papers into your folder the way he knows you like them, shouldering your backpack as he tugs you gently towards the door and out into the sun.
he leads you to a quiet place on campus, and if you were a little less focused on yourself, you'd wonder if this was where he usually took his dates to kiss them. it's secluded and private, soft grass underneath your shoes as he guides you to a bench under a tree, sliding into a seat next to you and taking your hand in his immediately.
on one of your study sessions together, the two of you had taken a love language quiz, and it was no surprise when his top love language showed up as physical touch, while yours showed up as words of affirmation.
tears are slipping down your cheeks, and he pulls you into his arms — a gesture more for him than you but you melt into his touch all the same. his palms clumsily pat between your shoulder blades, his touch heavy as he strokes down your spine, rubbing at your shoulders as you try to stop from shaking.
"do you want to talk about it?" he murmurs, eyes wide and concerned.
briefly, you consider not telling him, the thought of having to materialise everything with your words too painful to bear. but his voice was so gentle, his touch so soothing, that you feel he at least deserved to know why you were crying in his arms like this.
"h-he took me to the party to make her jealous."
his movements still.
"i knew we didn't love each other…but i thought…i thought at least…he must've liked something in me, right?"
he's at a loss for words as you cry harder into his shirt.
"you don't have to say anything…" you reassure him. "i know it's stupid. i didn't even like him anyway, it just hurts my pride to think he never saw anything in me."
"it's not stupid," he says, firmly. "you rejected me at that party for him, right? you've been rejecting me for weeks because of him."
you nod into his chest.
"you're not stupid." he declares. "he's the one who's wrong." and there it is again — the simplicity, the way everything was black and white with him. he was completely and wholly on your side, his hand diligently going back to stroke your hair, dipping his fingers to rub circles into the nape of your neck.
"i'm surprised you're not being inappropriate right now."
he doesn't respond at first, but his movements falter again.
"i just really don't like seeing you hurt," he says, quietly.
"oh."
"wait, don't get me wrong, i think you look very pretty when you cry," he adds, sincerely. it makes you laugh, a little bit of the haechan you first met coming back. but he mistakes it for disbelief, tripping over his words to make you understand, raising his voice. "you really are, and you sound so pretty too-"
wrapping your arms around his middle, you lean into his touch, smiling into the fabric of his shirt. "thanks, haechan."
"it's just that…i don't like thinking that someone made you feel like this. it makes me feel…" his palm moves down to hold the side of your face delicately, fingers moving over your cheeks as he chooses his words. "it makes me feel really helpless. it reminds me i can't stop people from hurting you."
his voice is small, and you can barely catch his words, but you feel like you've been slammed in the chest. you hesitate, wondering if you should press him further.
"why?"
"what do you mean?"
"why does it make you feel helpless?"
he huffs, frustrated. "because it does."
he runs a hand through his hair as he rambles on. "i don't know why i don't like seeing you hurt. or why i don't like the idea of your shoulders being sore like mine are so i carry your things around for you everywhere. i don't know why i want to mark your neck but i don't ever want to see you bruised, or how i want to fuck you so badly, but also sometimes i get this feeling like… like i don't want to fuck you, i just –" he cuts himself off with a groan, tugging at his long hair desperately.
you don't reply. you can't trust your voice.
so you ease yourself out of his hold, which had gotten increasingly tight. with a hand, you guide his hands down from his hair and into yours, and bring your other palm up to touch his face. he goes limp at your touch, leaning into you like you were the only thing keeping him upright.
"why am i telling you this?" he whispers, eyes never leaving yours.
"haechan-"
"you must think i'm pathetic." you feel his tears on your hand, hot and wet, before his breathing starts to pick up and soft whimpers rise from his throat.
"don't say that."
"i mean you," he gasps, words coming out in stuttered sounds. "y-you were the one who needed me to c-comfort you, and n-now i'm the one crying, and i…" he lets out a low sound, emotions overwhelming him all at once. "i really want to hurt the guy who made you feel like that."
"haechan…"
"where does he live? it'll only take 5 minutes i swear…" he swallows, hard. "i could take him in a fight, i saw him at the party…"
"you're not going to get reported to campus police for him. he's not worth it." but you can tell your words are getting lost on him, his hands shaking as he fumbles them out of your grip, trying to intertwine your fingers.
"i just need to do s-something right now," he breathes, hard. "anything. it hurts so bad, y/n. why does it hurt so much for me?"
something about this — about him, calms you. the pain from before fading into a dull ache, and a new feeling swelling in your chest as you look at the boy in front of you. the feeling of being needed by someone grounding you, affection roaring in your ears as he leans into your touch, watching you like he was trying to decipher the thoughts buzzing like static in your mind.
"take me home, haechan."
he blinks up at you.
"i want to go home," you whisper.
and, drawing you into his arms, he does exactly that.
he picks up your favourite ice cream on the drive home, and stays glued to your back on the elevator ride up. coddling you and cooing praises in your ear, tucking you into bed and drawing up a chair next to you as if you were ill. you ignore the fact that this was the first time you were indulging in his touch and it felt so right, the fact that he cried just because you did, for reasons he claimed not to know and you didn't want to admit.
but as you watched him move around in your kitchen, putting away dishes from the dinner he made you — his broad frame stretching out his shirt, shoulder blades sharp under the warm light, you were met with the sinking feeling that the boy who was just out to fuck you might be out for something far worse.
x
"i'm not setting you up with him," haechan's words come out in a blur. "okay? we're just walking to the party together."
"yes, i'm aware of that. how many more times are you going to repeat this to me?"
"haechan, why are you still hiding me behind your back?"
"this is NOT a set-up!" he hisses, veins in his arms popping out as he keeps a firm grip on his friend, you presume, keeping him out of your sight. "i do NOT want you to like him, okay?"
"okay haechan, i get it."
he looks at you, suspicious, but finally releases his hold, arms crossing over his chest instead as he scowls. "fine. y/n, this is my friend renjun."
looking a little dishevelled, and very annoyed, renjun steps out from behind haechan. "hey." his face breaks into a sweet smile when he sees you, eyes brightening with recognition. "wait…were you in that statistics course from last semester?"
"yeah i was! were you the one who did the project on social psychology? i thought it was so smart…"
"i had a lot of help with it," he beams back. "actually, i have more resources on the topic if you'd like them."
"SHE DOESN'T WANT TO FUCK YOU."
haechan's voice abruptly booms out in the middle of the street, making you and renjun jump. the handful of people passing by turn their heads to look at your trio, making shame burn low in your stomach as you wince apologetically. haechan's face is flushed, hands curled into fists by his side, a glare fixed upon renjun as if he were his worst enemy.
"haechan!" you whisper, annoyed. "did we not practice using our inside voice?"
"fuck the inner voice!" he hisses back at you with equal venom, tugging you closer to him and away from renjun. his face screwed up, he jabs a finger at him. "she's not gonna fuck you dude. lay off her."
renjun is looking back and forth between you and haechan, a knowing look settling onto his face as he meets haechan's frown with an easy smile.
"don't worry about it, man. she's all yours."
"yeah, that's right, she's mine," haechan repeats, savagely, before the words coming out of his mouth seem to take him by surprise. confused, he looks over at you, trying to figure out what exactly he just said. "wait…fuck i mean…um…"
"you know what? i'm going to go ahead first," renjun interrupts, giving you a small wave. "see you at jaemin's."
"YEAH, GO AWAY RENJUN."
"sorry," you mumble, now trying to free yourself from haechan's tight grip on your arm which he doesn't even seem to be aware of.
"word of advice," renjun mutters to you, pointedly ignoring the way haechan was hissing at him. "pull on his hair. it shuts him up real fast."
it's when you finally manage to pry his fingers off of you when haechan is brought back down to earth, throwing a venomous look at renjun's retreating back as he lets go of you reluctantly.
you round on him. "well?"
"w-well what?" he mumbles, looking away, acting out a textbook portrayal of guilty.
you narrow your eyes at him, and some part of you is happy to see him gulp in fear like he usually does. "what do you have to say for yourself?"
"i'm not the problem here," he mutters. "it's renjun. he's such a sleaze."
"renjun? a sleaze?" you laugh before you can stop yourself. "you're more of a sleaze than he is on a regular day."
"ME?" he bursts out, head snapping to you. at least this time, the people in your vicinity seem to be used to the outbursts, and they don't bother to turn to look. "I'M NOT…that's not…" and then he's whipping out his phone, biting his lip in concentration, eyebrows drawn close together as he scrolls through whatever's he's looking at.
you sigh. "haechan, what are you doing?"
"immoral…corrupt…sordid…" he raises his voice again. "fuck google definitions. why is it that none of these words mean what i think sleaze means?"
"could you not change the subject?" you start, but he talks over you.
"yeah," he emphasises, viciously. "you're right. see, i just wanted to expand your social circle, it's not my fault renjun was making eyes at you,"
"he wasn't-"
"he was about to invite you over,"
"did you hallucinate-"
"that's so…so insensitive, like couldn't he just take a hint? and you were wearing your fuck-me skirt today-"
"i do NOT have a fuck-me skirt-"
"no it's a fuck haechan skirt that's what it is, because whenever i see you in it i-"
"will you shut up?" annoyed, you reach around to the back of his neck, and tug harshly on his long hair, really hoping to make it hurt.
you expect him to stop talking, maybe cry out in pain.
you're not expecting his knees go weak as he lets out an achy, high-pitched moan that shudders through his entire body.
x
"hey, haechan's quiet today!" jaemin points out, cheerfully. "y/n, could you pass me the pepper?"
putting on a smile, you pass the shaker over to him. "we had an argument on the way here, that's probably why."
"you two should fight more," jaemin says, before taking a sip of his soup. "dinner's almost over and he's barely made a sound."
renjun just smiles to himself.
"what. the fuck."
haechan's still gasping for breath, and when you raise your hand absentmindedly, his arms shoot up quickly to protect his head. "don't-!"
"i'm not going to do it again."
"okay good." his arms fall to his side, before he's looking at you with a mixture of sadness and wistfulness. "wait…like…never?"
you narrow your eyes.
"y/n, can you come with me please?" haechan is looking at you urgently, leg bouncing as he tugs on your sleeve. "i want to talk to you in private."
sighing, you excuse yourself from the table, letting haechan tug you away from the living room and into what looks like an empty guest room.
clicking the door shut, he sits down on the bed, patting the space next to him impatiently to get you to join him.
"what's wrong?"
"i want to ask you something." there's a sincerity in the way he reaches takes your hand, his voice steady, and calm, and sure.
"okay…"
"i've been good this past week, right?" he watches your face closely, looking for an answer. "like…i wanted to show you i care, and i wanted to take care of you and help you forget…your breakup…"
"you've been really good to me, haechan," you affirm quietly. because he has.
"and i've kept my thoughts to myself," he adds. "because…you told me to do that…"
"yeah."
"do you…" he struggles with the words. "do you want me to keep…keeping my thoughts to myself? like, does it make you really uncomfortable…" he looks like he's in physical pain, brows furrowed in concentration.
"no, it doesn't…" you admit, feeling a little exposed.
"what about…so if…" he twists at his fingers. "so if i…made a move…like the first time we met at the party…would you…?"
"i think i would." looking away, feeling that the room was suddenly burning hot, you mumble out, "so you don't have to worry about holding back or-"
"-good, because i've been hard ever since you pulled on my hair."
he's getting that look again, lips parted and swollen. he slides a hand around your waist, the weight of his body leaning on yours feeling all too familiar. only this time, there was no one and nothing you could put between yourself and the raw need that was in every fibre of his being. always brutally honest about how much he wanted you, looking at you with eyes that could swallow you whole. and now that there was no one else, you were free falling right into him.
your voice is scratchy with nerves. "do you want me to do it again?"
"to be very honest, it kind of kills the mood when you ask," he mumbles, now pressing the pads of his fingers under your shirt and into your soft skin.
laughing, you slide your hands up his neck and into his hair again, relishing in the way his body tenses and his breaths start to come shallow and fast. curling your fingers around the strands, you pull on them softly, increasing in pressure as he throws his head back.
"fuck," he pants, hands moving quickly now, tugging at the hem of your shirt. "wanted this since the day i saw you."
well at least he's honest. hesitating slightly, you grasp his wrists gently to stop his movements. "haechan…you know this is me giving you permission right?"
"huh?" his eyes cloudy, he struggles slightly against you, hands still trying to reach for your skin. "i mean…yeah…"
"so after this, we'll figure something out?" you look at him hopefully, trying to meet his eyes which were currently darting around, scanning your body haphazardly. until you let out a gasp, because somehow he's overpowered you — pushing you onto the bed roughly, his hands now gripping your wrists and holding them above your head with one hand, the other resting heavy on your hip.
"you talk too much," he says, lowly. swiftly pressing his lips to the side of your neck, he bites down on your shoulder next, and you hiss at the sting. in retaliation, you manage to release one of your hands from his grip, giving his hair a sharp tug — making him rut his hips into yours.
"me? what about you?" you tease, breathless as he grinds into you, "with all your talk…all your thoughts, i kind of expected more…but you're whining and we've barely touched."
at that, he stills.
he still has you pinned down by his weight on your torso, and above you, you can see the way his eyes darken, wheels in his head turning.
"you're right," he says, quietly. releasing your hands, he crawls off of you to kneel on the bed by your feet, rough hands pulling at his belt.
"r-right…about what?" now he wasn't lying on you, you felt a coldness travel through your body, making you crave his touch. sitting up to look at him, you swallow as he kicks off his pants.
he wasn't lying about being hard. his cock looked thick and heavy in his palm as he squeezed his shaft, letting out a sigh.
"haechan, what are you doing…?"
spitting in his hand, he starts tugging at his cock, slow and teasing strokes as he shifts his hips around in pleasure, settling his weight back on his heels as he hums.
you place your hands on his thighs, shifting towards him, but with a speed and agility you rarely saw he grabbed both your wrists in his free hand, holding on to them tightly so you couldn't shake free. "you don't get to touch," he gasps, another moan ripping from his throat as his fingers press into his slit.
"haechan," alarmed, you try to crawl over to him but his grip on your wrists holds you at a distance, pushing you back. the sounds he's making go straight to your core, high-pitched moans, drawn out and achy, gulping gasps of air between each one as if he was struggling to breathe. his hand speeding up, moving like a blur, swivelling his wrist and thumbing at a spot just below the blunt pink tip. precum dribbling out all over his hand as he starts to thrust his hips into the circle of his fist.
"please," you rub your thighs together, pain and pressure building up in your core. his eyes, half-lidded and sultry, slide over to you almost lazily.
"wait your turn, princess," he groans, mocking you with a whiny "ah…ah-" at the end.
you're so frustrated you could cry.
his whines and whimpers escalate in pitch, broken gasps and pants filling the air, and you can't wait for him to cum so it'll be your turn…
except suddenly he's letting go of his cock, a groan rumbling through his chest as it slaps up against his lower belly.
a beat.
"did you like the show?"
"you didn't cum," you mumble, dumbly.
"i didn't think you deserved to see that yet." he releases your wrists. "see, that was your punishment."
"for?"
"for rejecting me for over a month even though i knew you wanted it." effortlessly pulling you into his lap, he smiles as he guides a hand under your skirt, rubbing your inner thigh with his sticky fingers. "sometimes when you look at me…i just know you're dripping wet in your panties."
"i'm not-"
"should we check?" he pulls at the seat of your panties, swiping his fingers on your folds. your thighs clamp shut on his hands, sensitive, and he laughs. "thought so."
he traces light touches on your clit, alternating between rubbing circles and stroking gently. he brushes his fingers over your entrance and you crumble, grinding into his hand as you try to manoeuvre your hips closer to where his cock lies against his tummy.
"so cute," he murmurs, pushing a careful finger into you, smiling to himself when you let out a soft moan. stroking against your walls, he adds another, starting to stretch you out as you rock your hips into his. his nose nuzzles at your neck, and you discover that all those times he's spent analysing the juncture between your jaw and your shoulder have paid off, because he finds your sweet spot in record time, his puffy lips mumbling against your skin and making you shake all over.
"you're going to have to be a little quieter, baby," he says, gently. "don't want them hearing you outside." he adds another finger, humming delightedly at how you suck them in.
"you-" you gasp, "but you were so, fuck, loud just now…"
"i don't care if they hear me." he starts fucking his fingers into you, thrusting them in and out of your core with loud wet sounds, his thumb applying pressure to your clit that makes your thighs tremble. "i know i sound good. you should record me next time, baby."
your brain has gone foggy. this is the haechan that still pushed at the pull door to your lecture hall, the one you've been going to for almost half a year. this is the haechan who hid behind his hands when you would get mad at him, then would beg for you to keep going, i'm memorising this for later.
this was the haechan…who was currently moaning softly in your ear, a sound so saturated with lust that it takes your breath away, and makes you release all over his hand.
x
as it turns out, haechan isn't really into edging unless he wants to make a point.
he's far more interested in overstimulation, as he makes you cum 3 times on the guest room bed. and he cums twice himself from fucking you.
with intense concentration, he cleans up for you and tucks you into bed, worried eyes making sure you're okay. when he watches the way you walk, unsteadily, to turn off the light, he slides to his knees and freckles kisses all over your thighs and hips, murmuring apologies into your skin, torn between gloating and grovelling.
"jaemin's okay with us staying," he whispers into the dark. and then, with unfiltered dreamy happiness… "i'm so happy i'm going to wake up next to you tomorrow."
your heart melts and dissolves as you reach for him, nuzzling into his chest. it's because you're so close that you hear the rumble of his sigh through his chest. "haechan?"
"hm?"
"i don't want to confuse you…"
pause. and then, quietly, "you always say that before you confuse me."
you sit up, his arms falling to your waist.
"haechan…"
"you look like an angel," he looks at you through his lashes, doll-like features pretty in the moonlight. when he realises he's caught you off guard, he continues, his drowsy, honeyed voice low and soothing, hypnotic as he appeals to you. "go to sleep, angel. i'll fuck you awake in the morning, i promise…"
"don't try to seduce me, haechan. i want to talk about this."
"worth a shot," he mumbles. "look, i don't know if you think i'm joking when i tell you i want you," his eyes flicker to the sheets as he tries to outline his thoughts. "but i already promised since day 1 that i wasn't leading you on." he sighs when you still look unconvinced.
"tell me what you're thinking, angel." he reaches for your hand, and presses a small kiss on your palm, guiding your fingers to cup his face. "give me a hint."
"question 21," you remind him.
love and affection. understanding blooms on his face.
"what about it?"
"i'm scared," you confess.
"what are you scared of, angel?" he tilts his face to the side but his eyes never leave yours. "you want me, and i…and i…" he sits up a little so he can pull you down to him. you think you kissed him just now, but this one feels like the first time — his mouth moving gently on yours, suckling on your lip, his tongue gently slipping into your mouth, and the light sigh he lets out like he just tasted something sweet. he kisses you like he's just realised he has all the time in the world to, with no urgency, only the sweet indulgence of a boy who finally has what he wants right in his arms.
"don't be scared," he whispers into your mouth when you break apart. "i'm serious about you."
"serious about me or serious about fucking me?" you ask, timidly.
haechan looks up at you, the angel in his bed, and takes in the tension in your shoulders, the way you're holding your breath.
if haechan was bad at homework, bad at assignments and impressing his professors, bad at reading the room and keeping his voice under control, there were things he was good at from experience.
like how to tilt his face to showcase the pretty moles on his skin, how to pitch his voice like it was straight out of a filthy dream, and how to read people's body language to know what they wanted. how to read you.
"serious about whatever you're ready for," he says, gently. "affection, or love."
a moment passes. then another. then another.
"haechan?"
"yes?"
"were you serious about fucking me awake tomorrow morning?"
x
"haechan, this is really, really bad."
"i know." he exhales shakily, the sound amplified through your laptop speakers. "fuck, shit, i know."
leaning forward to look at your laptop screen, you swipe back to the open tab you have of the document for your project. "how did you delete everything? and why can't it be restored?"
"i don't-" a muffled choking sound. "i don't know."
"i don't even want to tell you to stop crying," you say bitterly. "cry harder. it won't fix this."
a strangled sound, barely audible over the music playing on his end.
you swipe back to your zoom call with haechan. ever since you started giving in to haechan's relentless begging, it's been a lot harder for both of you to focus on your assignment.
specifically, the number of times he's fingered you in the library or fucked you on his lap in his desk chair were now too many to count.
so you've resorted to meeting up over video-call, using your laptops to provide a greater sense of occasion and to make it clear that these were meetings to do work. so far, they've been working out fine, but today he joined the call with his camera turned off, and only a guilty, shaking, voice told you to check the google drive, and please don't be mad.
"so?" you don't bother to hide your anger, or to coddle him like you usually would. "are you going to fix this?"
"dunno…" he gasps, whimpering when you roll your eyes. "dunno…fuck…dunno how…"
you tilt your webcam so you can really look into it, hoping that it's making him feel worse. judging by the wail he lets out, it does.
"turn on your camera so i can see you," you snap. "and turn off the music. i want to hear you cry."
a muffled, guttural, sound.
"really?" he sniffles, a loud sob crackling like static out of your speakers. "you w-want to…t-to see me…c-cry?"
"don't play mind games with me, lee haechan," you warn. "i'm really fucking mad at you."
"y-yeah?" he gulps, and you can hear it.
"i'm so mad i could hit you right now." and you hear a sound of pain, a strangled cry ripping from his throat.
"i wannit," he groans. "want you to hit me."
"forgot you were a masochist," you grumble, sarcastically. "how are you still in the mood to make jokes like that when we're going to fail?"
he's panting, and a part of you starts to worry. is he hyperventilating? "i dunno, i'm sorry-" he gasps, voice raising in pitch.
"haechan?" the anger hasn't completely faded from your voice. you're met with a hiccup, cut off by a wracking sob. switching tact, you make your voice go gentle, babying him the way you usually do to get him to do anything right. "turn off the music and turn on the camera for me."
he's still breathing heavily as you hear the sounds of fumbling, his phone falling to the floor as it disconnects from his speaker. silence fills the call, a tension so thick in the air as he pants into his microphone, and you hear his hands skid across the keyboard.
you freeze when he turns on the camera.
the background is different from your usual work calls. you see the headboard of his bed, an array of pillows propped up behind him as he slouches against them. but unlike your usual late-night calls, the laptop isn't balanced on his knees so that you can only see his face.
its on the bed between his legs, giving you a full picture of his tear streaked face, the beautiful skin of his upper body, the jumping muscles in his thighs, and his thick weeping cock held in his veiny fist.
he moans when he sees himself on camera, resuming his movements and watching himself carefully through tear-soaked eyelashes.
"what the fuck?" you whisper, and he lets out a whiny sob, hand moving faster over his length.
"what the hell is wrong with you?" your voice grows stronger as you watch his other hand close around his neck, choking back his sounds. "what the fuck?" his hand is dragging up his neck, he's slipping his fingers into his mouth and sucking on them, drool dripping down his wrist. "lee haechan!" you press your thighs together, trying not to let the scene get to you, but it was no use.
"love it when you-" he gasps, hips bucking into his hand. "get mad at me. i told you…ah, ah…you're so fucking hot when you're mad." he wipes the drool off his chin messily, and reaches down to stroke himself with both hands.
"you're unbelievable," you snap, feeling your own hands drift to your thighs.
"and i…and i kept this thought to myself…" he moans, hand ghosting over his nipple as he whimpers. "but i always thought you looked like a camgirl when we call like this."
"yeah?" fuck it. you give in, crossing over to your bed. feigning indifference, you place the laptop on your sheets in front of you as you settle down and shrug off your sweatpants, grateful you had chosen to wear the white lace panties he liked.
"mmhm," he hasn't noticed you yet, his head thrown back and eyes closed. "i came when you tilted the camera down…wanted see your tits so bad…"
"if i was a camgirl, would you watch?" you slip your hand into your panties and let out a sigh, watching his cock twitch in his palm. missing the weight of it in your hand, on your thigh, and in you.
"fuck yeah."
"then why aren't you watching, baby?"
he moves so fast it's almost comical — eyes shooting open, he straightens to look at his laptop screen. the moment he sees you with your hand between your legs, panties so wet they were transparent, he cums, hard, thick globs of white cum oozing out of his tip as his legs tremble and a fresh wave of tears roll down his cheeks, his mouth falling open as he lets out a series of moans reminiscent of the filthiest hentai porn.
"was that your second time, hm?" you moan, the sight of him making you rub against your clit even faster, your hips rocking into your hand.
"third," he squeezes his cock again, pain darting across his face as he releases it, letting it soften against his thigh. "y/n… take them off please…"
"take what off?" you push a finger into you, sliding your other hand up your top to graze your nipples under your camisole. he whimpers at the sight.
"everything…" his eyes cloudy and desperate, his cheeks flushed so read you'd be worried he was running a fever. "wanna see you…"
you're focused completely on your own pleasure, your heart soaring to see him so completely fucked out before you.
"haechan…" you try to keep your voice under control, try to hide that you were close. you just wanted to see how far he'd go. "if you're my baby boy, then what should you call me?" you pinch your nipples, letting out a gasp. the sheets feel silky against your skin as your legs kick in pleasure, your hand still working in between your legs.
haechan's breathing picks up. when you look down at your screen, he's touching himself again, squeezing the base of his cock. his mouth falls open as you see his lashes flutter, rolling back into his head as he mouths the words.
whimpering, his lip wobbles as he looks at you on the screen.
"mommy," he moans, again and again, until you both climax, and you're no longer sure if he's saying it for you or himself.
x
haechan takes your words to heart. like, he really takes your words to heart.
when you tell him off-handedly that leather jackets look good on him, he buys 3 of the same and never wears any other jacket again. when you painstakingly teach him how to add a footnote to his document, he scrawls the steps down on a post-it and nudges you for validation each time he finishes a page, blinking at you like a puppy needing a treat. which is why he treats his rom-com watching sessions with you very seriously.
"so it's bad that he didn't ask her out properly?"
"yes," you nod, enthusiastically. "really bad. he shouldn't assume that she's interested and just act like he has a place in her life now — he has to earn it."
"right, yeah, fuck him," he growls, scrawling on his notebook.
you peek over at what he's doing — he's added 'not officially asking her out' on the 'no' list.
"are you sure the double negative won't confuse you?"
"the what?"
"nevermind."
reaching for the popcorn, you peer at the screen. "oh, and that's a good thing."
"where?" his head shoots up, and he squints at the screen. "what?"
"see, he asked 'can i kiss you'?' playfully, you glare at him. "you rarely ask for anything."
"that's not true…" he grumbles. "i asked you if i was making you uncomfortable…"
"yeah, that was one time…"
"i asked if i could eat you out last wednesday…"
"that wasn't asking that was sweet-talking."
"well can we fuck now?" he blurts out. running a hand through his hair, he tosses his notebook to the side.
a pause.
"well?" he raises his eyebrows.
"uh, okay…"
"was that asking or sweet-talking? oh-" and for some reason, he blushes when he registers your response. "you said yes."
fuck. "yeah, i guess." you place the popcorn down on the bedside table, feeling shy.
"well, as you wish, princess," he whispers conspiratorially, crawling over to you to pull you in for a kiss.
"see," you mumble against his lips. "you didn't ask…"
"oh, fuck, yeah sorry." breaking away from you, he wipes his lips on the back of his hand. "re-do, re-do. um…" he lowers his head.
"okay you don't have to re-do it i was just pointing it out…"
"can i kiss you, angel?"
you freeze.
he really was too pretty for his own good, his hair falling over his eyes, the ethereal flush to his cheeks.
"yes, please," you mumble, and he surges towards you, pressing his tongue into yours and running his electric touch down your spine.
"can i take your clothes off, angel?"
you murmur your consent as he smiles wide, helping you out of your clothes but lightly slapping your hands away when you reach to do your bra.
"this is my favourite part," he sighs, as he unhooks the clasps from behind your back, hooking a careless finger around a strap and pulling the lacy piece off of you, wetting his lips when he sees your breasts.
"can i suck on your boobs?"
"god, haechan-" he giggles as he takes one in his mouth, teeth lightly grazing on it from his smile. his hand comes up to the other one and he ghosts his touch over it, before deciding better and squeezing it roughly in his palm.
kissing down your stomach, he reaches the band of your panties with a smile.
"are you going to ask if you can take them off, haechan."
"i was gonna ask if i could eat you out," he murmurs against your skin, kitten licking your inner thighs and sending chills up your spine.
swallowing hard, you nod. "yes."
nosing at your clothed clit, he sucks the seat of your panties into his mouth, lips puckered in an adorable way if he wasn't literally trying to suck it off your skin.
"haechan…you can take them off," you say, weakly, feeling heat pool in your navel.
"mmhm…" he says, both hands winding around your thighs to grip onto the fabric of your panties. "or i could do this." with one harsh movement he's ripping them off of you, holding the pieces of cloth in his hands gleefully as he plunges forward and sucks harshly on your folds.
"haechan," you half-moan, half shout. "why did you do that…"
"i'm sorry, baby," he flattens his tongue and laps at you, flicking his tongue against your clit. "i'll buy you new sets, i'll buy you as many sets as you want…" stiffening his tongue, his prods at your entrance and tries to reach as far into you as he can, licking at your walls, his nose bumping into your clit as he tilts his head this way and that.
the pleasure increases tenfold when he starts moaning, and you finally come to your senses enough to see how he's humping the bed, his hips moving in time with the way he was licking at you. "taste so sweet," he moans. "cum on my face, angel. fuck…" he whines obscenely, hips moving faster against the sheets as he shoves two fingers into you, making your back arch. "can you cum for me?"
you let your orgasm crash into you, the pleasure burning through you and making you go lightheaded. haechan is whimpering and moaning, and you realise you have your hands tangled in his hair, tugging him away from your core and making his neck crane up. you almost let go before you remember that he likes it, so you pull a little harder and watch the way his hips stutter against the bed, achy moans filling the air as he cums.
"sorry," he gasps, "fuck, sorry…" he crumples into your arms. "it felt so good…i couldn't help myself."
"it's okay…" you still when you feel something prod at your entrance. "haechan-" but you're cut off by a loud moan, as haechan pushes his softening cock into you. "haechan, are you sure-"
"hurts," he moans. "but it'll feel better soon, it'll feel…fuck fuck fuck," his hips moving in an uneven rhythm, as if he can't decide whether to stop or go harder. "just a bit more…" he mumbles to himself.
deciding to help him, you smooth your hands down his chest and wrap your legs around him. he loves it when you cling to him during sex, he's told you openly, and he bites back another sigh as the pain seems to dissipate into raw pleasure again.
"just a bit more, baby," you murmur in his ear. he hiccups, nodding as he starts to pound into you in earnest, slapping sounds echoing in the room as his cock abuses the one spot inside you that makes you see stars. stretched out and filled by him, you rock your hips into his too, feeling his thick cock bulge inside you.
"can i cum in you, please?" he asks, softly, painfully. from where he lies on top of you, his brow glistening with sweat and his eyes watery from the overstimulation, you could never say no to him. he cums when you do, the feeling of your walls clenching around him being too much to bear, and he slumps in your arms, hips still pulsing against yours until you physically push him and he slips out of you.
haechan takes your words to heart. when you tell him to ask for permission, he does it throughout aftercare — asking for permission to run you a bath, to make you tea, to pull you closer in bed. and as you let his eyes meet yours, his gaze seeping into your pupils and making your mind go hazy, you wonder if he takes your words so seriously that he'll never consider moving from the affection you asked for, to the love you were too scared to want.
x
"did you forget something at my place?"
"no." a pause. "if i did, it would be too late because i'm almost home."
"then why are you calling?"
"because i'm cold, and my shoes are wet, and it's all your fault." he huffs petulantly, his words muffled by a pout you can imagine vividly in your mind's eye. "because you wouldn't let me stay the night."
"haechan," you started. "i already told you i have really bad insomnia…" he grumbles to himself and you think you can hear him mocking your tone. "i really need to sleep for tomorrow because i have that test-"
"oh yeah?" he bites back, annoyance clear in his tone. "and how's your sleeping going huh? are you talking to me in your sleep now?"
you make an incredulous sound. "if anything you should be kinder to me since i evidently can't sleep right now-"
"you know i could have just fucked you right?"
what the fuck. the sound of footsteps on gravel crunch on even louder, anger evident in the way he's practically stomping his way back to his apartment.
"haechan…what?"
"sex and other forms of physical intimacy at bedtime have been shown to increase drowsiness, reduce the time it takes to fall asleep, and improve overall sleep quality," he rattles off. when you don't respond, the anger seeps back into his tone. "i'm not making this up! that's a direct quote from the chief of pul…shit, pulmo…pulmonology at Kaiser Permanente in Honolulu."
"what's pulmonology?"
"how the fuck should i know?" another frustrated crunch. "but she's the chief of it, so she should know what she's saying."
your head is still reeling. stall, he gets distracted easily. "w-when did you look this up?"
"two weeks ago, when you told me you had trouble sleeping." crunch. "i had a…a….hypothetical…?"
"hypothesis?"
"don't interrupt me," he snaps. "i just remembered that people get sleepy after sex, and i knew there had to be a scientific reason. i'm not stupid you know."
"i know…" you say, weakly.
"but you wouldn't let me stay the night, for some reason you don't want to fuck me anymore, so now you have to suffer the consequences." the sound of a key fumbling in the door.
"haechan…"
his voice drops an octave, a harsh rasp you've only heard when it was late at night or early in the morning. "i could have taken such good care of you, angel. i would've eaten you out…stretched you out on my fingers…"
his next words are almost condescending. "would've fucked you until you passed out, or at least fucked you dumb."
confusion, and something far stronger and deeper, tug at your stomach.
"haechan?" your voice is a pale whisper.
he hums.
"i'm sorry. come back." you cringe at sound of your voice, small and achy, but you can't help yourself.
there's silence on the other end.
"you…want me to go back?"
"please."
and the line goes dead.
x
it's a solid 15 minute walk from haechan's to your apartment, but it only takes 7 minutes after he hangs up for him to slam against your door, pounding on it with an urgency far too loud for 12.30am.
when you open the door he crumples to the floor at your feet. he's drenched, completely, gasping and panting so hard you can see his chest move in and out with each shuddering breath. his mouth moving soundlessly, he crawls towards you, dragging himself up with a hand scrabbling at the wall, and your arms circle his waist immediately to steady him.
his eyes are squinted shut in pain at what you assume is a stitch in his side, but he's still mouthing the same set of words over and over again soundlessly, too out of breath to vocalise them.
"haechan, it's okay-" you splutter, helping him out of his rain-soaked sweater, his white shirt stuck to his skin underneath. "breathe. fuck, i told you to come back but i didn't tell you to sprint, did you fall? why would you-"
"- don'tchangeyourmind," he rasps, gasping and hiccuping between breaths, the words finally ringing out in the still air of your apartment. "don't change your mind, don't change your mind…don't-" he coughs, his breaths still feeling more like punches than drawing air.
"please don't change your mind," he begs.
his eyes are stealing the words from the cavity of your chest, drinking you in until you can't think of anything to say.
whimpering at your lack of response, he places his whole body weight on you, forehead gently nudging yours. "you told me to come back," he whispers. "i didn't want to give you any time to regret it. just now…when you made me leave…" his voice drops low.
he was supposed to be the boy who just wanted to fuck you. but why did it sound like he was talking about something else entirely?
"i don't regret it, haechan," you say, softly. "and i could never…" you swallow. "i could never change my mind about you."
he blinks, dazed. "i…" he takes a shuddering breath, and you tense up in fear. did he think you were alluding to something more?
"haechan, i just meant-"
"fuck, i don't understand anything you're saying," he blurts out. "i just know i want you, now." he drops his arms to your waist. "don't make me beg…i mean, fuck, if you told me to i would, but i just…"
"you don't have to use your words," murmuring, you run your hands up and down his arms, and he shivers at your touch, closing his eyes.
"but you need to hear them," he insists. "words of affirmation…remember?" your heart thunders in your chest.
"haechan…"
"i want to feel like i have you." his lips ghost over yours. "please?"
"please," you repeat back at him, and he's all over you.
he carries you to your room, placing you gently on the bed. things go by in a blur, his gentle voice guiding you through the motions, skin against skin and his lips kissing you everywhere. before you know it, you're straddling his thigh as he drags your hips, grinding you down onto him as his mouth licks at your neck.
"louder, angel," he pants, flexing the muscles in his thigh and making you whimper as you feel yourself coming close. this is the most silent he's been with you ever, his ears attuned to every catch of your breath, every choked sound you let out, that he falls silent to drink it all in.
"need more," you beg. "need you, please…"
"you have me." his eyes soften, the sight of you falling apart on just his thighs giving him an aching feeling in his chest. this was different from the girls who would fall over themselves to talk to him, who used their own tricks to meet his. this was you, giving all your control to him. "you're doing so good for me."
sniffling, you grind harder against him, chasing your climax. "i am?"
he allows himself a small groan. he wanted to swallow you whole. "come here," he says, tenderness straining at his voice.
he stretches you out before he slips into you, waits until you give him the go ahead. he makes you wrap your arms around him, feet planted on the bed as your body intertwines with his, as he fucks up into you. he wants to feel you on him until he can finally decipher every look that flits through your eyes, until he can read your thoughts and drown in them. he presses a hand to your navel, and feels himself moving inside you, angling his hips until he knows he's ramming his tip against your sweet spot, feels your breath catch as if it were his own, your tears mixing with his sweat.
he bites down on your shoulder when he cums with you. he doesn't know if it's to savour the sound of you falling apart because of him, or if it's to stop himself from admitting he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.
x
when you wake up, he's in your bed. scrawling on a piece of paper.
he doesn't notice you're awake, so you move closer to him on the pretence that you're still sleeping, watching through heavy eyelids the way he's muttering to himself, biting on his lip harshly. the ache between your legs gives you a sense of bliss, and the sight before you gives you an overwhelming sense of peace in your heart.
feeling your body shift, he absentmindedly reaches out to stroke your hair. it's that specific action that gives you the courage to sit up, your heart full.
"good morning, haechan."
"what's another word for fuck?" he's not looking at you, mindlessly chewing on his fingernails as his eyes dart across his piece of paper.
"um…the verb or the expletive?"
"the action."
"why do you need another word for 'fuck'?" placing a hand on his shoulder, you lower your head to try and catch his attention. "haechan? what are you doing?"
"i need another word for fuck because renjun told me not to use the word 'fuck'," he mumbles, crossing things out on his scrap of paper.
"why?" you laugh, watching as his lips begin to pout slightly at how things were not turning out the way he planned at all.
unable to stop himself, he lets out a whine. "because it's unromantic-" clenching his fists, he yelps as the speech he has scrawled out gets crumpled up. "fuck!"
"haechan, it's okay," you're trying hard to keep a straight face, wanting to match his sincerity and tone. "is that a letter? for me?"
"it's my script," he snaps. "it's my planned confession." groaning, he tries to straighten it out so he can read the words on it. "you said…you said it was a bad thing not to confess, which means it's a good thing to confess…"
you feel like you're about to cry. "explain in your own words," you place a hand on his wrist.
"i- you-" he takes a deep breath, letting the crumpled piece of paper fall off the bed and onto the floor. "you deserve someone who can keep up with you," he starts, quietly. "you deserve someone who will understand your jokes on first listen, who can hold long conversations with you without getting distracted by how hot you are when you're talking about something smart. i can't be that person."
the words sting at your heart. is that really how haechan felt when he was around you?
"but also-" his voice grows stronger, a hint of defiance in his tone. "i know for a fact that i make you laugh harder than anyone you know, even if you're laughing at me and not with me. i also know i can fuck you better than anyone you've ever been with, like, look-"
he roughly pulls you towards him, lips finding yours messily. unfazed by the way your body tenses in surprise, he slips his tongue in your mouth just as he pulls you to grind onto his lap, causing you to gasp into his mouth. it doesn't take long for the shock to wear off, your body so attuned to him that a buzz runs through your veins — and you're just about to press yourself against him, starting to reciprocate his sloppy kisses, when he pulls away with a wet sound.
panting, he swipes his thumb affectionately at the corner of your lips. "see?"
you can't tell if you're frustrated that it ended so soon, or confused at what just happened. "see what?"
"that was what, 15 seconds?" both your breaths come quick and fast, the tension in the room so palpable you could feel it press insistently against your skin. "and look at you now." a smile tugs at his lips, and he raises his eyebrows cockily. "i'm the only one who can do that to you."
"yes, you are." you affirm.
"yeah, because, i know how to touch you-"
"because i'm in love with you," you interrupt, softly.
and haechan literally stops breathing.
you can see the way his chest stops moving entirely — his mouth hanging open, doe eyes wide. it's almost comical, the way his body freezes up.
"i can't tell if you're doing that on purpose."
still nothing.
"did you really stop breathing?"
"you love me?"
he comes back to life spluttering, hands pointing to you, than himself, trying to make sure he hadn't heard wrong.
"i love you," you repeat, gently. placing your palms on his chest, you feel his beating heart under your fingertips.
"you're not scared anymore?" he places his hands on your face in wonder, brushing a thumb on your cheekbone.
you let yourself fall into his eyes, soft in the morning light. "you make it the easiest thing in the world," you whisper.
the two of you bask in the moment, him breathing in your air, leaning closer and closer to you. your lips brush.
"fuck."
you whine as he pulls away, a horrified look on his face.
"y/n, i think i brainwashed you into loving me," he whispers, voice laced with genuine fear.
sighing, you gently bump your forehead with his. "if you make this about your dick..."
"no," he lets out a strangled sound. "that day, when we were calling and i was asking you questions..."
"haechan i swear to god-"
"those were 36 questions to make you fall in love," he whispers, pained. "y/n...i think i manipulated you. fuck i knew science was real, but i didn't know it was that useful-"
"after we make out, i'm going to have to explain the difference between pseudo-science and science to you", you grumble, as you push him back onto the bed and close the distance between you.
x
he whispers it into your hair, your face buried in his bare chest one night, his arms wrapped securely around you.
"i don't want to go back tonight."
"then don't." you hold him a little tighter, feeling him shift under your touch. "stay."
"no, as in, i don't want to go back, ever."
"haechan."
he hums, hands starting to stroke at your sides, rubbing his thumb against the swell of your chest.
"is this your way of asking to move in with me?"
"i dunno…"
"you do know that it's a big thing in a relationship right? and you're going to have to actually move out of your apartment, and figure out the rent on mine, and…"
"i don't care about that," he mumbles, a hint of stubborness in his tone. breathing in your hair, his voice drops even lower. "all i know is, i want to wake up tomorrow right here, with you. and the day after tomorrow. and the day after."
"yeah?"
his arms fall away from you as you sit up, brushing your hair out of your face to look at him in the lamplight. propped up against the headboard, his eyes wide and gaze so tender it steals your breath away like a blow to your ribcage. you can see the hesitance written all over him, the slight tension in his shoulder-blades, his fingers fiddling absentmindedly with the sheets.
"please say yes," he whispers, more to himself than to you.
"haechan…" you take his hands in yours, and kiss his fingertips gently. "please move in with me."
exhaling in exaggerated relief, he pulls you onto him and kisses you deeply. mouth moving against yours, his eyelashes fluttering as he focuses on your tongue moving against his, his teeth grazing your lips. trying to convey all the love he had for you in the way he gently held the back of your neck, his other pressing down on the small of your back until your body curves into his.
"if you move in with me," you smile, breathlessly, when he finally lets you go. "you can finally fuck me awake, like you promised."
a pause.
"is that all i am to you?" sadly, he runs a hand absentmindedly down his beautiful body, landing on his thighs. his eyes are downcast when he mumbles out, "just a hot body for you to fuck?"
panicking, you lean into him quickly, cupping his face in your hands as you settle down on his lap. "baby, you know that's not true. you're the most genuine, kind, loving….." you trail off, eyes narrowing when you realise he's biting his lip to keep from laughing. "manipulative, conniving…"
his eyes crinkle adorably as he wraps you in his arms, rubbing the tip of his nose on yours. "you love me soooo much," he whispers, almost conspiratorially.
yes.
pause. "also, what does conniving mean?"
yes. you did.
taglist: @puduwhore @haechanalpha @anniebyanto @sunnynaa @newdeobi @strwberrydinosaur @gyulfriend @91qowngus, @sundhaelatte, @jaemboi64, @sassy-author, @matchahyuck, @prdshobi @beomibeom
-> go to part 2 here!
#haechan smut#haechan fluff#haechan angst#nct smut#nct fluff#donghyuck smut#donghyuck fluff#donghyuck angst#haechan x reader#haechan scenario#haechan au#nct dream smut#nct 127 smut
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Runaway
summary | thomas has made a deal with a man to help his business. thomas’s only condition? to marry the man's daughter. except she doesn’t want to marry him.
pairing | thomas shelby x fem!reader
word count | 1.98k
genre | fluff with some angst?
requested? | yes! i had so much fun writing this! especially since i have never written anything like this before! thank you so much for requesting! please let me know if you like it!
warnings! | arranged marriage? darkish thomas? (not really, i’m just not great at writing dark characters sometimes, lol) not proof read yet!
author’s note! | hey everyone! this main character was written with poc in mind, i have tried my best, but since i am not a person of color please let me know if there is anything i can change to make it better! i hope you enjoy your request! please know that if you have requested something, i promise that i will get to it soon! And as always, I do I have really bad OCD that causes me to write in some random capitalization, and punctuation, But I think that we don't have to worry about that in this fic lol. And let me know if there are any mistakes, but please be kind!
Thomas knew what was happening today, hell his whole family knew. His future bride was coming to birmingham. He struck up a good deal with her father about helping her fathers business about a week ago, then he saw a photo of the man's daughter. The only condition Thomas made? To marry his daughter. Once they agreed, the man said he needed a week to get his family there. By the time they got there, Thomas had already got everything set up to make damn sure the man would be successful in birmingham. Which included a few fights, but Thomas would do it all over again if it meant he could have her.
They weren’t to meet until the wedding, something her father insisted on. So Thomas stood in a room of the church getting ready, when his brother John busted in.
“They can’t find her Tommy” was all John said as he huffed as if he was out of breath.
Thomas’s mind began to race. What did he mean they couldn’t find her? Has something happened? Had one of his enemies found out about today and took her?
“She was getting ready, and asked for a moment to herself, when her mother came back in to check on her, she was gone.” John added as he leaned on the closest chair.
Thomas stood and took in his brother's words for a moment before he left the room. His future wife was out in Birmingham in her pretty white dress, with no protection and no one was doing anything about it. Her family may not know this city, but Thomas did. He knew what could happen to her if she stayed out there too long. This won’t be an issue when they’re married, and she has his last name. She could kill someone and get away with it then, but right now no one in Birmingham knows who she is. All they know is that she is a pretty girl in a white wedding dress, and the thought of what could happen to her made him sick.
Thomas looked everywhere he could think his fiance would be. He couldn’t find her anywhere, the only place he hadn’t checked was the Garrison.
He walked in to see his bride to be, standing behind the bar making herself what looked like her fourth drink. He walked in slowly, making sure not to scare her.
“(Y/n)?” He asked as he walked up to the bar. She looked up at him as she continued to make her drink. “I’m Thomas Shelby, your future-”
“I know who you are.” She said, cutting him off.
“Well, we're supposed to be getting married right now.” He said matter of factly. “So what are you doing here?”
“I’m not marrying you, thought you would have figured that out by now.” She said as she took a sip of her drink.
Thomas looked at her, making sure to not show how shocked he was that she was speaking to him that way.
“And, why not?” He asked her, now intrigued.
“I don’t want to, I don't know you.” She said as she finished her drink.
Thomas moved to be behind the bar where she was. He took her drink from her hand and placed it on the bar.
“(Y/n)” He said as he towered over her. “Your father has already given me your hand.”
“I know, I don’t care.” She said as she grabbed her drink back from Thomas.
Thomas just took a moment and stared at the girl as she took her drink back. It was the first time he truly got to look at her. He got to take in the color of her eyes, and the curl of her hair, she truly was beautiful.
“Why exactly are you so against marrying me?” He asked as he stared at her.
“I want to be my own person, not defined by my father or my husband.” She said not missing a beat.
“I think I can help with that.” Thomas said, starting to get closer to the girl. “I have a certain reputation, if you’re married to me, you’ll be untouchable.”
“That's still me being defined by my husband.” She said, cutting him off with a small eye roll.
Thomas took the drink from her and set it back down, but this time, she didn’t turn away from him, she just stared up at him, waiting for him to continue.
“As I was saying, you would be untouchable, and if you wanted a role in peaky blinder business, you wouldn’t just be “Thomas Shelby's wife”. You would be “(Y/n) Shelby, most feared woman in Birmingham”. You have an opportunity here, the choice is yours.” Thomas said, staring her in the eyes. Normally he would never offer this to someone he just met. But there was something about (Y/n), just the look in her eyes, the way she wasn’t scared of him, how she held herself, how she looked at him with the same amount of intensity he looked a her with, how she didn’t care she was defying the most feared man in birmingham. "Don't let your pride get in the way of a smart decision."
Thomas watches the girl stare at the wall for a moment, him taking in her side profile. Until she finally looked up at him.
"I won't be reduced to just your little wife?" She asked with a small glimmer of hope in her eyes.
"I'll let you take care of anyone who says you are" He said with a serious look on his face.
The girl gave him a small smile, it was obvious that no one had ever believed in her the way Thomas was right now, that they all thought of her as some weak little girl and nothing more.
"Fine, I'll marry you" She said as she looked up at him with a small smile.
Thomas wrapped her arm in his and led her out of the Garrison. He held the bottom of her white dress up away from the dirt as he walked them back to the church.
“You know, you’re not supposed to see the bride before the wedding.” She said to him with a small laugh. “It’s bad luck.”
“I won’t let anything ruin this marriage, trust me.” He said as he opened the church door for her and let her walk in first. Thomas watched as her family whisked her away, knowing that this girl was truly something he had never expected her to be, and he loved it.
#thomas shelby#thomas shelby imagine#tommy shelby#tommy shelby imagine#cillian murphy#thomas shelby x reader#tommy shelby x reader#thomas shelby fic#tommy shleby fic#thomas shelby fanfic#tommy shelby fanfic#thomas shelby fluff#tommy shelby fluff#thomas shelby angst#tommy shelby angst#thomas shelby peaky blinders#tommy shelby peaky blinders#peaky blinders#thomas shelby smut#tommy shelby smut
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your geto fic is super cute 🥰 if you're taking more requests, may I request a sukuna fic please? maybe in an au where he's a gangster and reader is of a classy, rich family so reader's parents don't agree, but then sukuna appears in one of their events in a suit and looking dashing as ever!
ooooooooo it's 3 am but i have to write this down!!!!!!!!!
shadows and silk.
summary: sukuna shows you and your parents that he is absolutely the right and the only man for you (whether they agree or not)
genre: angst/fluff
pairing: gangster!sukuna x female reader
warnings: cursing, modern day au, not a great parent-child relationship, ooc sukuna
Masterlist
-----
your father doesn't even bother to hide his disapproval. "he has tattoos on his face. what if he's in the mafia- what have you brought our family into?!"
"father-"
"i am," sukuna clarifies, "in the mafia. my father is the leader. and one day, it'll be my time to lead."
your parents gasp in shock, surprised by sukuna's brashness.
"that wasn't a threat," he clarifies again, holding your hand. "i love your daughter, and i'd like to have a good relationship with you both. because it's important to her."
you smile appreciatively and grasp his hand, looking at your parents with hope.
"you're fucking insane."
-----
it was probably not the wisest decision to ask for your parents' approval, knowing what kind of people they are. being one of the richest families in the country, it's hard to have... any kind of life outside of what they had planned for you. like a pawn in their game of chess, your choices have been made for you since the very beginning.
unlike sukuna, you grew up "perfect". you aced your piano lessons, easily graduated from your violin school, and got straight As in all your grades. every day was the same for you; wake up, school, extra lessons, homework, sleep, and repeat.
that's actually how you met sukuna. one day, there was something wrong with the traffic so your driver was late. you'd been waiting for an hour, and sukuna just happened to finish his detention.
"hm?" his eyes caught you standing by the gate. "aren't you that rich kid?"
you looked up at him and analyzed his face -- high school student with face tattoos, you don't see that very often. "who's asking?"
"tsk, tsk." he chuckled, "so much attitude for a little person." he ruffled your hair before walking in the other direction. "wanna come? i'm gonna go have some fun."
fun... the word was so unfamiliar to you. you'd never talked to him before, and though it really was probably dangerous to just go with someone whose name you didn't even know, you couldn't help yourself. especially not when he turned around with a smile, urging you to come with him.
he took you to places you've never been before and made you feel things you've never felt. you felt free from your parents' chains, for once you felt like you could do whatever you wanted.
and sukuna was glad he could make you smile. you, the girl who always kept to herself in class, quiet, polite, almost scared. you made him feel things, too.
you got an earful from your parents that day, but the cute keychain sukuna won you from the night market was worth it.
now, the keychain hangs on your favorite bag, one that he also got you a few weeks ago. though you already have multiple designer bags that are much more expensive, the bag sukuna gave you was priceless.
"morning, baby." sukuna greets you, kissing your cheek.
"morning," you smile at him. "i'm sorry for how yesterday went. my father, he's-"
"let him be," he says. "nothing can keep me away from you, understand?"
you smile at his words and nod, "you better keep it as a promise."
sukuna smiles and kisses you, "i swear it."
he wonders what he could've possibly done to deserve someone like you.
-----
"what do you mean i'm getting married?"
your father sighs. "don't be difficult. the gojo clan is the most powerful, you should be thankful they're letting you marry their son."
"but father, i have a boyfriend, and i just graduated college! i- i can't marry, i still have so much i want to-"
"enough!" he yells, "you're marrying gojo satoru by the end of next month and that's final."
you're lucky that you have your own apartment. dialing sukuna's number, you get into your car and drive home where sukuna says he's waiting for you.
"ugh, unbelievable!" you throw your keys on the table, letting it slide off and annoying you even more.
he grimaces and sits you down, handing over a glass of water. "so it didn't go well..."
you sigh, "...they're arranging a marriage. with the gojo clan."
sukuna's jaw clenches, anger evident, but then it disappears. "that makes sense. they are the strongest and the richest."
"they're not giving me an option, like always-"
"gojo satoru is pretty handsome," he continues, "blue eyes, tall, quite built.. he's not a bad bachelor."
you squint your eyes at your boyfriend who seems like he's talking nonsense... or not really. "what are you trying to say?"
sukuna sighs. "we should break up."
the words that come out of his mouth after that are all blurry to you. something along the lines of...
"we've been together for years."
"it's time to get a fresh start."
"aren't you curious what it's like to date other people?"
"i'm getting bored to be honest."
and it all just seems like bullshit. bullshit because why is he looking at you like that when he's breaking up with you? why does he look like he's still madly in love with you and saying all that stuff is killing him?
why does he look like he's lying?
"tell me you're joking."
sukuna, unfortunately, doesn't humor you and leaves you alone in your apartment without saying anything else.
the rest of the month feels like hell. you tried running away from your parents, the guards they sent after you, but to no avail. somehow, they've repurchased your apartment and now you're back to living with them.
you met gojo satoru once throughout the entire month. he's decent, and actually a good guy like sukuna said, but he's not sukuna. he doesn't leave a random flower he picked up on the way to your place, he doesn't shower your hands with kisses when he sees you, and that's all expected -- because it's not supposed to be a loving relationship. it's a contract. once you marry him, your parents' company will merge with the gojos and become even richer.
today's the engagement party. your mother has chosen the perfect red gown for good luck, and she's made all the preparations for the party -- you, like always, never had a say in anything.
you feel like an object for them to trade with. compared to the gold bars sitting in their safe, you're probably worth less.
"i know you also didn't agree to this," gojo satoru whispers as you're both sat down in the middle of the ballroom while everyone else enjoys their meal. "but you look beautiful."
you offer him a polite smile, which turns rather sad. hidden in your sleeve is the keychain sukuna got you. your mother managed to throw away every cherished memory you had of him except for the keychain.
you wonder what sukuna is doing right now... if he's enjoying his life, if he maybe has a new girl by his side...
"sorry to shit on your party," your head snaps up the moment you hear that familiar voice, and a gasp escapes when you see the even more familiar tattooed face with pink hair. "but i'm going to have to kidnap your fiancee for a bit. maybe forever."
"..ryo." you stand up abruptly, letting your chair fall and hit the ground. he's dressed in a white suit, black vest, black shirt, and a matching black tie. he looks like he's ready to be your groom.
giving you the smile you miss most, sukuna stands in front of you and grabs your hand. "hi, princess."
"what are you doing here?" you whisper, tears about to fall from your eyes.
"saving my damsel in distress." he softens when he sees your lip tremble, kissing you gently. "i told you nothing can keep me away from you."
"but you-"
behind you, gojo satoru clears his throat, motioning to the many guards surrounding both of you, ready to pull you two apart by force.
"let my daughter go right now." your father demands.
you grasp sukuna's arm tightly, not planning on letting him go any time soon. in return, he has his arm around your waist, pulling you to him gently before he snaps his fingers, revealing rows and rows of armed men ready to fire.
the guards immediately stand down, obviously outnumbered. they let you and sukuna leave without a fight, and you stop for a second to spare a glance at your parents, looking at you disapprovingly.
-----
you're sitting on sukuna's bed. you've only been to this place a few times, considering he moves around a lot. he's helping you with the infinity amount of hairpins you have stuck in your hair while you take off the red gown you're wearing.
"ryo," you call him.
he hums to acknowledge you, mouth full of hairpins.
"...why did you break up with me?"
taking out the last piece of hairpin (he thinks it's the last), he throws them away before sitting behind you, arms snaked around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder.
"i... i thought i was doing you a favor," he admits, "with my job... it's not easy being with me, you know? i'm scared you'll think i'm a monster for what i do - it still terrifies me."
"so i thought if i just pushed you away, it'll make things easier for both of us," his grip on you tightens, "but it didn't. at least not for me. and i know i'm being selfish here by wanting you back, i know i don't deserve it, but i just... i can't imagine living without you. i'm sorry. i'm so sorry."
you turn around to face him, straddling his thighs and kissing him softly. "if being selfish means i'm stuck with you, then you need to be more selfish."
he grins, arms wrapping around you. "i love you."
"i love you more, ryo."
#ryomen sukuna#sukuna#sukuna x reader#sukuna x female reader#jjk sukuna#sukuna ryomen#sukuna x you#ryomen sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna x female reader#sukuna fluff#sukuna angst#ooc sukuna#sukuna jjk
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Pairing : Boyfriend!Hwang Hyunjin x F!Reader
TW : angst ; Hyunjin is just sad (which is honestly relatable) ; reader thinks they're pregnant ; reader might be pregnant ; symptoms of pregnancy ; fluff ending ;
Word Count : 2.0k
Request : Annony : Can I request and angsty fic Where Hyunjin has just been going through a really rough time and y/n tries her best to be there for him and keeps waiting for the right time to tell him she thinks she’s pregnant. He just keeps crying and he doesn’t know why he’s so sad, but slowly he gets out of it a bit. One morning he wakes up because y/n is having morning sickness and showing other symptoms so she has no choice but to finally open up and tell him everything. They take a test and well…I’ll let you take creative control after this. I’m really excited I’ve thought this request through a lot and I hope you decide to write it
“Hey, you okay?” Your coworker asked as she walked into the breakroom. Your head had been resting against the table, your eyes squeezed tightly shut as you tried to count your breaths. “Feeling dizzy again?” She asked when you didn’t answer her first question, and you gave her weak thumbs up in response. “Maybe you are… you know… the p word.” She whispered, and it’s not like it was a bad word to say, it’s just that you didn’t want anyone else that you worked with to know.
“I’m too nervous to test…” You mumbled, and she knew exactly why. She was your only confidant at this point, especially since Hyunjin was going through his own personal problems. You didn’t want to stack anything else on top of whatever else was bothering him. All you did know was that, no matter how much you tried to help him or console him, he’d be right back to crying soon after. “Plus, it would be too soon… I don’t want to test too early or anything…”
To be honest, home life wasn’t really the best right now. It’s not that there were any arguments, there was no fighting, but it was obvious that Hyunjin was stressed about something, and you were mentally stressed about potentially being pregnant, so the last thing you needed was triple the stress for both of you if a test came out positive. Even just thinking about it felt like too much right now.
“Well you can’t wait forever. I mean… With his job, he gets stressed very easily. What are you gonna do? You can’t just hide potentially important things from him every time he gets upset or stressed out.” You rolled your eyes at your coworkers' sudden nagging, and while you knew that it came from a place of concern and care, you didn’t need that right now. You didn’t need to be parented, you needed someone to just be there for you.
“He doesn’t get stressed easily, and you make it sound like he’s like this all the time. I’m not hiding things from him either, I’m giving him time to get in the right place mentally before dropping something like this on him.” You quickly defended your boyfriend, silently wishing that you hadn’t told your coworker anything at all. “He’s a good boyfriend, and just because he gets stressed and upset sometimes doesn’t change that.”
“I’m not saying that he’s not a good boyfriend for you… I just feel like you cater to him and his feelings a lot because of his job and your feelings get pushed to the backburner.” She tried to explain, but she couldn’t be further from the truth.
“I’m not having this conversation right now. I appreciate you caring and trying to look out for me, but my relationship is fine. He’s a great guy… Okay? I have to get back to work now, enjoy your break.”
///
Hyunjins moment seemed to last longer and longer. He’d lock himself in his room the moment he walked through the front door and you’d hear him cry for hours until things went silent, and the only reason things got quiet is because he’d cry himself to sleep. There was nothing you could do to help him because he wouldn’t even talk to you about it, and a part of you wondered if he’d ever get out of the funk he was in.
With the time that passed, the symptoms only grew stronger. Your headaches were getting worse, the nausea was almost unbearable, even your boobs hurt. You wanted to excuse it as reading into the symptoms too much, you thought that your mind was playing tricks on you. You wanted to find any reason you could to hold off on testing until Hyunjin got better because you didn’t want to be alone when you found out, no matter what the result was.
When Hyunjin was around, you tried to hide the symptoms from him. If you started feeling sick, you’d quickly go off to the bathroom and turn on the sink, hoping that you wouldn’t actually start throwing up. The tiredness that you felt was written off as working too many hours and being on your feet too long. Luckily he was none the wiser to the soreness in your breasts because you hadn’t been with him in any physical way since he had been in his funk. You missed him, and you wanted to blame the potentially surging hormones for the tears that would be shed when you’d lay in the same bed beside him at night without a single kiss or those three words that would make you feel like he did still love you.
The longer it lasted, the more you would think about what your coworker had said. No matter how much you tried to get those words out of your head, they would constantly pop up. When you would hear him crying in the room and you’d try to help him, but it was like he was shutting you out. Not only did it feel like he was pushing you away, but it felt like you were by yourself. He wasn’t the only one going through something right now, and you wanted so badly to tell him, but for some reason you were trying so hard to protect him that you weren’t even worried about yourself.
Even still, you didn’t want to give up on him. You loved him, and you truly believed that he just needed time, that he’d get better sooner or later, and no matter what, you’d stick by him, even if it meant pushing your own stresses, your own worries to the side until he got better.
///
He was starting to feel better, he really was. It had been a week since the last time he had cried, and while he still doesn’t fully understand himself why things had gotten so bad or why he was so upset, he was thankful that he had you by his side the entire time, even if it didn’t seem that way. He wanted to take you out today, to show you that he appreciated you and everything that you do for him. He wanted to show you that he truly does love you, and that he’s grateful that you didn’t give up on him through this entire thing.
The bed was already empty, which wasn’t rare as of lately considering he always seemed to sleep in, but one look at the clock on the bedside table made him fully aware that it was too early for even you to be awake. He could have sworn you came to bed last night, that he had felt the warmth of your body beside him underneath the covers. Had you gone to the couch at some point in the middle of the night? Were you finally pulling away?
Just as he was pushing the comforter off of his body, he heard what sounded like gagging and choking and he never moved so fast in his life. Tripping over his own feet, he rushed into the bathroom to find you doubled over the toilet, sweat beading up on your forehead and spit dribbling down from the corner of your mouth. It’s like you didn’t even realize he was there, or maybe you just didn’t want to acknowledge him as you tried your best to seemingly catch your breath.
“Baby… What’s wrong?” He whispered, kneeling down beside you to try to get you to look at him, but you only shook your head, pushing yourself up to your feet with the help of the side of the bathtub, leaving him on the floor and even more worried than before. “Are you mad at me? I’m sorry… Do you want me to leave you alone?”
“No…” You said, your voice slightly raspy, and he could only assume that it was because of getting sick, but you sounded so tired too. He didn’t know how sick you were, he didn’t know what was going on or how long you had been feeling like this, but he wanted to be there for you now, no matter what was wrong. “I think… I might be pregnant…” Your head lowered, as if you were ashamed to be telling him that, although he wasn’t sure why.
Of course, he wasn’t ready to be told something like that, he was sure that no man was ever truly ready to hear that, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t ready to step up and be the man that you and his potential child would need. “Okay… Well, I can run to the store and pick up some tests and we can find out if you are…”
“I… Already have the tests. They’re in my purse…” You admitted and he nodded along slowly, trying not to get too upset that you had potentially been going through this for longer than he thought. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay first. I didn’t want to do this alone…” Alone… He had left you all alone to deal with these worries and these thoughts and these fears. “You… You are okay… Right?”
His head nodded swiftly, his eyes that were brimming with tears of guilt glistened in the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom. “I am… I’m okay. You’re not alone, I’m here and no matter what happens… I’m going to stay here with you. I love you…” He finally got up off the floor, scrambling to his feet just to stand in front of you, his eyes finally meeting yours for what felt like the first time. “You have nothing to worry about… I’ll always be here… I promise.”
///
“Out of the way! Out of the way! Move it! Excuse us! Make room! Pregnant girlfriend coming through!” Hyunjin shouted as he walked with you down the halls of the JYPE building. He was so loud, you were sure that even the people the next floor up could hear him coming, he was like a damn fire truck with its sirens on. You rolled your eyes at the rambunctiousness of it all. “What? I just don’t want anyone to bump into you or anything. I’m trying to keep you and baby Jinnie safe.”
Your eyebrows arched at the little nickname that he had given the baby, you hadn’t heard him say it before. You had had an ultrasound the day before, and the doctor had asked if you wanted to know the gender of the baby, but you and Hyunjin had both agreed to keeping it a secret until the birth. “Baby Jinnie, huh? Where’d you come up with that name?” You quizzed, wondering if maybe his curiosity had gotten the better of him and he had just asked the doctor what the baby would be on his way out of the exam room.
“Isn’t that what they do for sons in America? People name the baby boys after their father? He can be little Jinnie Jr. right?” Hyunjin asked, his eyes twinkling as he looked down at you. His arms were wrapped protectively around you as you rode the elevator up to the right floor, and as cute and innocent as he looked right now, you couldn’t help but be a little suspicious.
“Hmm… A son? Are we having a boy?” His lips were drawn in, turning into a thin line and you could read the guiltiness on his face. He nodded his head slowly, clearly trying to read your reaction after having basically spoiled the surprise. “You just couldn’t wait to find out, could you?” You teased, and he let out a little sigh of relief when he realized that you weren’t angry. How could you be angry though? He wanted to know and you weren’t going to get mad at him for finding out.
“Maybe we can do like… A baby shower, and a surprise gender reveal for everyone else!” He proposed the idea, and he sounded so excited, there was no way that you could turn him down, plus it sounded like fun. “The guys really want to know whether they’re getting a niece or a nephew, they’re gonna be so happy to find out!” He had been talking so loudly on the elevator, but once the doors slid open, his voice dropped to a whisper, his lips lingering right beside your ear. “This is our secret though, don’t tell them.”
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Ohoho Sunday thoughts you say? >:D this is loosely based on the prior ask? But I was just thinking how Sunday would probably try (keyword try) to remain pure and abstain from s*x before marriage, yknow? But when he finally does have you as his own, all bets are off. Angel boi is horny and wants you :( in his mind: it’s pure and simple yet beautiful lovemaking between two souls :( and in my love deprived ass I would melt because I know he’d be big on giving and receiving praise fjgjgjgj even would enjoy the idea of extending the Family if you were down for it (whether or not you could, he enjoys the idea of it) ((also he likes control so))
And don’t get me staarttteddd on his sweet aftercare and pillow talk D: oml you’d quite literally be on cloud nine!! He is too tho :) and he cannot help himself from just being so sweet and genuine orz
ohhHHHHH- Y e s I like this quite a bit. Need this to take a break from the angst I’ve been cookin up with a certain someone (you know who you are OTL).
Fair warning y’all are gonna end up seeing me write a fic about him that is blatantly blasphemous with religious themes (pretends like I’m not already working on one like that with Argenti).
Anyways- Back to this.
Thank you so much for the ask~ I love Sunday so much. <333333
CW: possessive behavior, cumming inside, fluff!!! (crazy I know how very almost off brand of me-), maybe some blasphemous thoughts? (idk that they count with aeons but hey-), marking, breeding kink (he’s saying it regardless of whether you are able to have children or not bc regardless it’s h o t -), praise
Reader gender: gender neutral (I tried not to say anything that would be too telling about what sex the reader is so please read it as such! I don’t think I said anything that was like that-)
So going off the last ask, we’re going to assume that he likes you enough to feel great affection for you. Enough to want you. To feel his own carnal desires rear their head even before you’ve married. It manifests in his seemingly innocent yet wandering hands. A hand on your waist as he passes by you. His hands drifting dangerously low when you hug. Leaning in close to talk to you. Lips making their way down from your forehead to your cheek to the corner of your lips. The placement of his kiss making its way to your lips slowly with every goodbye kiss.
But at some point, he can’t really stop himself from at least using those pretty hands of his on you- Along with that silver tongue and sinful mouth. He’ll make you feel so incredibly good, plunging his long fingers into you and taking you into his mouth. He’s lick and suck at you and even slide his tongue inside you. Perhaps the taste of you would be enough to tide him over until you were properly his- Married to him. It would have to be enough because you deserved to have a perfect wedding and perfect wedding night.
But aeons that doesn’t stop him from pleasuring you with what he can before then in order to hopefully keep himself in line. Even as his cock aches with the need to have you, he’ll just hold you down and whisper sweet promises in your ear. Even if you beg him, he won’t. Just wait for him baby just a little longer-
But after the ceremony is over and the afterparty is done and the guests all leave-
Oh dear. You’re finally left alone with your hungry fian- husband. You’re finally left alone with your absolutely famished husband. And you’re on the menu.
It begins like how many of your other encounters of sexual nature begin.
Sweet kisses that make it seem like he wants to swallow you whole. Gentle hands taking in the feel of you in his arms. Trailing kisses down your throat, eyes closed in ecstasy because you were finally his now. He can have you with no regrets. All that waiting was for this moment. When he could finally have you wholly. And that makes this moment in the warm light of the bedside lamp and the cooler shades of the moon all the sweeter.
Wetted fingers stretching you in preparation for something larger, taking their time in their task despite knowing you well by then. Because even if this was to get you ready to become one with him- He’s wants to draw as much pleasure from you as possible. This is a special night for the two of you. One he will cherish completely and one he wants to make perfect for you. His arm would be holding him up, cradled behind your head for you to lean on while he molds himself to your side. Even as you whine and roll your hips into the curl of his fingers inside you, pressing on that special spot inside you, he kisses your cheeks gently with soothing words. “Good… very good, my love. Just a little more- I want you to finish on my fingers first. Can you do that for me, my sweet? I know you can-”
Just as he gives you your first orgasm of the night, he takes your lips once more while gently coaxing your through the waves of pleasure. He’s so soft, guiding you through the dance even while your mind goes blank for a bit as he watches your expression. “That’s it. I’ve got you.”
It’s then that he kisses you almost chastely before beginning his journey down your body to have his prize. The prize being whatever he’s managed to pull from you. He’d lick it from your body in broad strokes as though he were tasting honey dribbled over your form, caressing your every curve as he went.
Sunday would dribble lube over himself, a hand slathering the viscous substance over his cock in pumping motions. It was almost erotic watching him. The way he'd squeeze just a little at the top and you would watch his hardness twitch and drool between his fingers. But when you look up, the angelic man would only be looking at you. Gazing lovingly- longingly at you.
That's how it always was. Ever since meeting, he couldn't seem to take his eyes off you. You were simply radiant to him. Unlike anything or anyone else he'd ever seen.
Leaning over you to settle himself between your legs, Sunday would give you another kiss before asking if you were ready. While waiting for your answer, he'd go back to nip and lick at your neck. He wanted to mark you for all to see- You were his. His lover, his spouse, his soulmate. His. No one else's. He would love and care for you in every way, he'd think to himself.
And no- Don't just nod at him. "I need to hear you say it, dove. Please? For me, my dear?" Once you'd given him your clear consent, he'd bring you into a deep kiss while lining himself up with your stretched out, wet entrance. He can't even bring himself to tease you a little. Though the thought crossed his mind, he knew he'd been waiting far too long for this.
Once he was in the proper place, he'd rest his forehead against yours, the two of you breathing in each other's air while he looks down at where the two of you would be connected, fingers drifting to fondle you in order to distract from any possible pain you may feel with a gentle hum.
As Sunday would finally push in, cockhead popping inside, he'd gasp against your lips with twitching hips he had to force still. "Are you alright, love?" Taking a moment for himself to regain his composure and steel himself, he'd hide away in the crook of your neck to breathe in your scent and feel your pulse beneath his soft lips. Once you were ready it would be but a slow rock of his hips, moving gently inside you, to eventually sheath himself completely inside. As he worked himself into your tightness, Sunday would whisper sweet words into your ears in a whisper, as though the words were only for the two of you despite no one else being around- The words would come in between kisses while he rubbed a hand up and down your side to comfort you, the hand occasionally straying to rub your sex or pluck at your nipples to distract you from the strain of this part of the night.
Once bottomed out, your ass resting in the cradle of his hips with his body covering yours, he would ask you if you're alright and give you time to adjust. It's all praises here, the man telling you just how good you are for him and saying that you're doing wonderfully. After some time passes and you rock your hips against his to test your comfort, a small moan would be startled out of him before it devolves into a chuckle. "Are you ready, my love?"
It'd start with hip just grinding into you, firm but slow and accompanied by a pleasured sigh from him. He'd hold back none of his sounds because he wanted you to know how good you made him feel. Then he'd pull out only just a bit before thrusting himself back in. At some point he had begun to properly fuck you, the push and pull like the rocking of a boat on a gentle sea. This was making love. And after angling his hips, he found your sweet spot he'd only ever touched with those pretty fingers of his.
It'd be a struggle to not lose himself in you. In your all-consuming presence and the pleasure you gave him- In the love you showed him as you reached up to bring him close with a whimper of his name. It was like hearing the gospel fall from your lips. And they might as well have been. For now you were his everything. His god, his true Harmony. Were you to say it, it would be so. And right now, you were telling him that it felt good and asking him to keep going. So, he would.
With teeth gently marking all the places he'd been, his darkened eyes would watch the way you arch your back and moan to the heavens (they were yours anyways). Sunday is something that knows how to hide its teeth and disguise itself in the form of a man. He was careful to dull his claws so he would not hurt you when he held you close. Careful to veil the violence that was part of him, showing in his eyes, when he was with you. But he was a beast who knew the taste of blood. And yet you, his pure and lovely dove, loved him and accepted him. You said he was a good man and that you loved him. You were his truth. So, it must be so.
He wanted to claim you so wholly that none could ever deny that you both belonged to one another. That none could mistake that you were his deity and him your humble and devout servant who worshiped you here in the temple of your bed, giving you his offerings in pleasure, loyalty, and love. That brought another idea to mind of just how he could claim you and show you his deepest love.
"I want to breed you, my love. To carry on the family and mark you inside with my cum. Would that be alright? Do you want that as well, dove?"
He would speed up now, thinking about how he could have a family with you. How lovely you would look with a child tottering around behind you. He would make it happen no matter what so long as you wanted it as well. When you agree, he'd smile so wide his face hurt and shower you with kisses. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, my love my heart my everything-"
He can hardly fathom how he'd lived without you before.
Touching and kissing you all over he drove the two of you to your peak, the both of you moaning and whining against each other's lips as you kissed through the high. His hips continued to rock into yours to prolong the waves of pleasure that washed over you before slowing to a stop when you both became overstimulated.
"Thank you, love. You did so well- So very good for me. I love you so much," he'd praise and declare between kisses that he planted all over- Everywhere he could reach while wrapped up in your arms and holding you so close you wondered if the two of you could fuse together. "I love you, too," you'd mumble against his lips as he came back to them for a proper kiss. The chaste peck turning into a sensuous slide of lips, unhurried and full of undeniable love.
Even when he withdrew from your now cum-filled hole and began to clean you up, he would praise you and ask you how you felt while pressing kisses every place he touched. Once everything was done and he'd had you drink water, he'd lay down and pull you to lay on his chest. While stroking your back and pressing a kiss to your hair, he'd bid you goodnight and say yet another "I love you" before quietly humming to help you drift asleep.
Hopefully that was to your liking~ I had fun writing it! Thank you for the idea and for letting me write more about Sunday! <333
Feel free to send in another request if you want, hehe.
#Roro writes#gn reader#hsr x reader#honkai star rail x reader#hsr x gn reader#honkai star rail x gn reader#hsr smut#honkai star rail smut#hsr sunday x reader#sunday x reader#sunday smut#hsr sunday smut#bottom reader#top character#asks answered
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FIC RECS
Ok so someone in my asks box asked me for some fic recommendations and I tried to add some gradually but my asks have been so weird recently so I've had to make a new post for them!
First of all ty anonnie you words were really sweet, I hope you stay healthy too!
Also just to preface I will list sfw and nsfw recs so pls if you are a minor, do not explore the nsfw recommendations, these blogs will most likely have a mdni statement so pls respect that and don't go against that :)
Now, enjoy!
SFW
Enough for you - @mixtape-racha (poly ot8 angst comfort)
We love an angst comfort fic and this is one of my faves. Take caution reading this one and read the content warnings at the top just in case! But this one is simply amazing and I wish I wrote it the end.
The Field Trip - @dreamescapeswriting (Seungmin X reader)
Seungmin and reader are teachers in this and if you follow me you may have seen me reblog this one before bc I love it and want this, also this blog has so many imagines you will be fed for days
Warm blankets - @jiniret-writings (3 parts, hurt comfort poly ot8 x reader)
I felt so emotionally invested in this story when I read it, like I felt readers pain 😭 gorgeous
jack-in-the-box -@junicai (angst, ninth member reader)
Set in kingdom. We hate mnet. Skz are very protective and reader gets the comfort she deserves in the end, love this sm!
@hyunjinsbelovedamericano - lots of headcanons and reaction type fics on their MASTERLIST, give it a look!!
Simptober 2023 - @skz-streamer
Fluff for days!!! pookie rly worked hard on this one so go and show some love because you've got so much to read here
Skz text aus - @channiesbakery
These are so so funny I cannot cope. Also explore the other fluff posts too bc they're really cute!
More text aus - @diddybok
Same goes for this blog too, explore their other stuff!
@hannahhbahng has some rly cute fluffy reads on their masterlist
@hanjiquokkaaa check out their skz reactions! My pookie slays every time
Skz fluff fics - @wooahaes
So much fluff to pick from! I fall in love every time!
Warm milk and honey - @horanghoe (poly skz x reader)
One of my fav skz comfort fics of all time, it's so so good, recommending again bc I should
In his arms, unexpectedly yours - @cheesemonky (Hyunjin x reader series)
This is a new series which I'm excited to see my pookie write !!!
@astraysimp for dad skz!!!
Nicholas Ross - @dean-a-mean-tae (skz ninth member male oc)
Love their ninth member writings so definitely check it out if you're looking for male!oc who is the ninth!
In my past, I find you and in the future, I still have you - @yangbbokari (Chan x reader)
Heartbreaking, like so angsty but it's gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous
Princess treatment with SKZ - @j-oneproduces
Each individual member x reader has a drabble and I love it so so much, very accurate imo
@skzoologist read their imagines on their ninth member oc Bae! They also have a fic called unfamiliarity using the same oc :)
I like the view - @mirisss (hybrid ot8 skz X reader)
I rly need to reread this one because I loved what I read so far on it!!!
NSFW
Rabbit hybrid reader - @authorofdanger (hybrid skz x hybrid reader)
I've linked a masterlist, I'd recommend the fic dominance and then the first few fics which are to do with reader as a rabbit hybrid! slight warning that woojin is mentioned
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Red Moon - @lixiepeach (omegaverse series)
this is one of the first skz omegaverse fics I read and it is done so beautifully, as it says in the description of the series, it deals with more adult content than just smut, and the way it is explored is written so well, couldn't recommend highly enough!
Inked Petals and Message Tones - @leviackermanscleaningbuddy (poly smau with real life)
this is an ao3 skz fic which changed my life. I can't explain how much I love this, it had me on an emotional rollercoaster fr fr like it's amazing!
n.h.i.e mini series - @hyungszn (smut ot8 x reader)
damn this one really has me on my toes like the chapters are chefs kiss and it's such a good read!
Bold - @hyunsvngs (American footballer minsung x reader)
Wow wow wee wow. This one made my brain go brrr and evaporate and melt and wow the storyline in it is so so good too. Juno rly has such a good relationship with anonnies and moots and it's so lovely to see. A jupiter stan right here!!
Sanguis Limerence - @jl-micasea-fics (vampire skz x reader)
This is one of the first series I was fully committed to reading on this all and constantly checking. It's insanely amazing, I can't put it into words and now I wanna read it all back again 😭
waiting for us - @kkami-writes (smau poly ot8 X reader)
I'm in love with this!!! Perhaps my fav skz smau like the character development as well is really nice to see and it's an easy read if you find it easier to read it in text messages form
Anger management - @2chopsticks2eyes (minsung x reader)
This is so hot and the way the storyline progresses as well is beautiful
@1-800-shedevil I'm in awe of her and her blog. Gorgeous writer, gorgeous writing. Her posts about body positivity rly are so helpful and her words are so comforting
Sharing = caring - @cbini (ot8 X reader)
This is unbelievably good and if you haven't seen it yet? Do you even Tumblr? Love how ems has such a good relationship with moots and in answering asks too! cbinian for life
Better than revenge - @lixie-phoria (smau Jeongin x reader)
I'm so obsessed with this series so far, putting it here bc there's smut to be added in the future. But I'm in love with it so far wow!!!
#stray kids#skz#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#skz fluff#skz angst#straykids imagines#stray kids fluff#stray kids imagines#skz fic#skz smut#stray kids smau#stray kids smut#poly skz#skz poly#straykids ninth member#skz ninth member#stray kids ninth#stray kids ninth member
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remus x shy!reader (part 4)
author: sj
warnings: fluff; angst for remus lol; reader is in hufflepuff; uses she/her pronouns; not edited
done with finals!! now battling the want to only read fics and not write, let me know if you want a confession from rem!!
masterlist
part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 5
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it was the day of the date and remus had been up since 4 am. he couldn't stop thinking about your date. however bad he hoped it would go, he didn't want your first date experience to be horrible. he wanted you to be treated how you deserve and to have a lovely time while also never ever wanting to see the fool again. and that is why he had woken up at 4 in the morning and couldn't stop the fight in his mind.
it was 11:30am and he was laying on the couch in the common room, one foot on the ground tapping constantly. the boys had decided to stay in this morning because james was worried they'd run into you and that sirius would end up embarrassing you and ruin your date.
"moony, if you don't stop tapping your foot, i'm going to lose my mind." sirius grunted, head in his hands covering his ears from the tapping noise.
"she should be done with her date now, right? its been 2 hours. why isn't she back yet?" remus asked.
"relax you love sick dog. your precious wife will be returned soon." sirius replied dramatically, rolling his eyes at how abserd this whole situation was. "if you had only confessed your love for her when you had the chance, she wouldn't be snogging another fella while you fumed the whole time." he added. remus shot upright on the couch with a wide eyed expression and a look of dread covering his features.
"here she comes!" peter shouted, holding the marauder's map in his hands, walking into the common room where the other boys were. all of their heads turned towards the portrait hole where it swung open and you stepped through.
you were excited to tell the boys all about it, but you weren't quite expecting them to all be staring at you when you got back.
"well, hi." you said, cheeks flushing more than they already were, glancing towards the floor to not meet their eyes. you sat down on the couch next to remus like normal, not sensing the tension in his body, only feeling their eyes on you.
"WELL??? i need all the details. spill your guts flea!" sirius cried across from you.
"it was okay! it wasn't bad! but it also wasn't great. like it was pleasant but it wasn't anything to write home about. is that good? like are you supposed to know if you want to marry him already?" you rambled, entire face flushing and not meeting their eyes.
"aw, hoppers. i'm sorry it didn't go well." james consoled you.
"what do you mean?" you asked, confused why he sounded sad for you.
"well, it didn't sound like there was any chemistry, that's important if you're gonna date someone." james explained.
"flea, i know it's your first date ever, but even i thought you'd know that." sirius shrugged. at the mention of it being your first date, you tensed and shot a look a remus, hurt that he spilled a secret to the boys. remus met your gaze with a look of panic.
"that wasn't me! i swear it! i didn't tell them!" he yelled.
"oh he didn't tell us, but the way you were acting before was kind of obvious and the fact that remus would've known that you were dating someone before you were part of our group and you certainly haven't since we've been friends because of remus' behavior." sirius explained, you relaxed and reached to touch remus' leg.
"sorry for thinking that you told them when you didn't ." you apologized and remus nodded back.
"its fine bun, i'm not hurt." he said, covering your hand with his.
"so hoppers, did you snog him?" sirius asked crudely. your cheeks flushed bright red.
"that is none of your business sirius! and a lady never kisses and tells!" you exclaim, avoiding all their eyes. "i told him that it would be best if we were friends, and he agreed. i don't think dating is for me, i just got so anxious before! and the thought of having to go on another date, just makes me nauseous." you say, leaning onto remus' shoulder and resting your head.
"thats okay, bun. you don't have to date if you don't want to." remus patted your thigh, his heart soaring that he won't have to go through this again. he knew he'd have to tell you that he liked you soon, the thought of you with someone else almost killed him.
"thanks rem." you mumbled back, sinking deeper into his side.
sirius observes this going on, looking to james and mouthing, 'are they fucking idiots??'
james simply rolled his eyes in response.
#remus lupin x reader fluff#remus x reader#remus lupin#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin fluff#remus x reader fluff#marauders x reader#the marauders#marauders era#marauders
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late night talking
member — minghao x f reader
genre — angst, idk if there's enough fluff for this to count as hurt/comfort but the ending is sort of happy ?
word count — 2.1k
synopsis — the best and worst conversations always happen at 1am.
warnings — reader is very drunk and very very insecure, lots of crying, lots of internal back & forth, unreliable narrator moment, refers to reader as girlfriend/my girl/etc., idk if i'm missing anything else but lmk if i am
notes — this is an old fic that i never really intended to be released but @onlymingyus and @wooahaeproductions convinced me otherwise. sorry this is not at all what i normally post lmao i swear don't write like this often i just found this in my drive that i wrote when i was in a very shitty mood. we will return to your regularly scheduled smut programming soon i promise lmao! leave a comment in the reblogs or send an ask if you enjoyed this? idk i am nervous to post this pls don't perceive me too much
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you're ugly when you're drunk.
“hao?”
your voice rings throughout the house, the sound shaky and quieter than usual.
he wouldn't even have known you were home if he hadn't heard your friend's car pull up minutes ago, bright headlights flashing through the bedroom window. he wouldn't have known, if he wasn't already worried sick at you being gone so long and consuming an unknown amount of alcohol. he should've been there with you, but too much was riding on the deadline for his students’ grades that had to be finished before midnight. any other day he would've been by your side the whole night, a steady hand on your arm for balance and a sharp eye on your glass just in case. he loves playing the role of protective boyfriend, letting his girl do whatever she wants because he'll always be there to watch over her. but he couldn't do that tonight, and it tears him up inside.
he hears your trudging footsteps down the hall, soft footfalls signalling your approach as you drag yourself towards the room. he pretends not to hear; he doesn't want to make a big deal out of this and embarrass you.
“you're home early,” he comments with a chuckle, but his sarcasm is lost on you in this state. it's well after 1 in the morning, and you tilt your head in confusion at his words, brows deeply furrowed.
“what— are you working on?” you ask after a moment, focusing all your energy on not stumbling over your words.
you know how drunk you are, he knows how drunk you are, but even now you're still putting on an act. you hate feeling stupid in front of him, and right now you couldn't feel any stupider. the worst part is that you feel as stupid when you're sober as you do right now, but you couldn't tell him that.
he pauses, choosing his next words carefully as he surveys your current state. he can't risk hurting your feelings, especially in such a vulnerable headspace.
“grading finals,” he decides on. not too detailed to confuse you, not too simplified to make you feel stupid, just enough to make you feel involved.
distantly you feel your eyes welling up with tears. you don't know why, but at the same time you know exactly why. you're never good enough compared to him, not when you come home drunk in the dead of night, and he never does. not when he's so good at everything he touches, so talented and beautiful and perfect, and you're… not.
he deserves someone at his level, an artistic genius like him who can help him with his work. someone with an eye for his paintings, someone smarter, someone prettier, someone who can keep him on his toes. someone who won't drag him down and burden him with your obvious lack of skill and your quality of being so embarrassingly lightweight that you need to be supervised at all times.
“i’m sorry,” you finally muster. you can't find the words to explain what you mean, but you hope he's able to sense your sincerity.
“what for?” he asks. his voice is softer now.
you hate it when he uses that voice. he's talking down to you, talking like you're a child and he has to explain everything to you in the gentlest way possible because you aren't capable of handling the truth.
you love when he uses that voice. sometimes he can be so blunt it almost feels isolating, but when he talks to you like you're a child in that sweet, gentle, kind tone you feel like everything will be okay. he can soften himself for you, drop his straightforward persona around you and be the tender man you know he's capable of being.
you lift your eyes to his computer screen and the feelings you've been struggling with float back into view. “i'm sorry,” you repeat, voice cracking despite the effort you put in to stop it from breaking. it's all you can say.
you don't notice when the tears overflow, bursting from your eyes without a sound. you're embarrassing, you're an idiot, standing in front of him with red eyes and hunched shoulders as tears stream down your cheeks. you don't even feel them fall.
if he knows what you're trying to convey with your tearful apologies, he doesn't mention it.
of course he knows, how could he not when he's so astute with everything? you suck at keeping things to yourself.
of course he doesn't know, why would he take the time out of his busy schedule to care about how you're feeling? you're not worth his energy.
the moment seems to stretch on for eternity, standing in front of him. you don't know why you started dating in the first place; he doesn't have the time, you're too annoying, too clingy, too affectionate. standing in front of him, you don't feel anything. you just feel cold.
you turn to drag yourself out of the room, deciding that you've embarrassed yourself enough by now. you don't know where you'll go or what you're doing, probably to pour yourself a glass of water and try to sleep on the couch. obviously he won't want you to sleep in his bed when you’re like this, why should he? you aren’t deserving of that privilege.
but then you feel a warm hand on your wrist, gently tugging you back towards him. you lose your balance, stumble over your feet, fall onto his lap. you're mortified, barely able to get another “sorry” out before trying to stand again on wobbly legs. you shouldn't be here. you're so aware, so painfully conscious of your weight on him, every ounce of energy you have left fighting to keep yourself from annoying him even further but it feels like it's too late. everything that comes from you is too little, too late.
“no,” he says. his tone is still that soft, sweet sound, but his voice is firm and you don't try to get up again. “we can talk tomorrow,” he says as he begins to run his hand along your back, and you hate yourself for the way you instantly melt at his touch. “just… relax. calm down.”
your body slouches against his chest, feeling like a puddle on his lap, head tucked into the crook of his neck whether you meant to or not. your legs dangle limply off his lap, arms wrapped loosely around the back of his chair as he holds you.
“it's okay,” he says simply, still stroking his hand along your back in small, soothing motions. “it's okay.” he repeats the words, maybe to convince himself but mostly to convince you from having a breakdown. even now when he's treating you so delicately, your brain won't let you rest: he's probably scared of you, he doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean any of it and he's using whatever means necessary to stop you from turning hysterical or even violent. of course it doesn't mean anything to him.
“how much did you drink tonight, baby?” he asks, and you know you should take that as judgmental but you don't have the energy left anymore. you don't note the twinge of concern in his voice, you can't see the look in his eyes as he gazes down at you.
“a little— a lot,” you answer, somewhat truthfully. the real truth is that you lost count. you weren't trying to get drunk, but one turned into two turned into ten and before you even knew what you were doing a car was dropping you off in front of your house.
he shifts his legs for you to sit more comfortably on his lap, and as much as you want to fight it you don't have the strength to. “do you want to go to bed?” he asks gently. “or do you want to stay up with me?”
“don't… want you to go to bed ‘cuz of me,” you mumble against his neck. god, his skin is so soft and warm. you couldn't move your body right now even if you tried. “not your fault.”
“what kind of guy would i be if i didn't take care of my girlfriend when she needs me?” he asks. “i can put you to bed if you want. it's alright. it's late anyway.”
“it's not– your job,” you manage to reply, and his hand on your back stops for a second.
“it is my job,” he says softly. he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “i'm sorry if you feel like i haven't done that.”
“please, don't— no sorry,” you choke out as fresh tears prick at your eyes. “it's my fault. i'm sorry. it's my fault.”
he holds you tighter, both arms wrapped around you on his lap now. “it's not your fault,” he says in that same firm but gentle voice. “you haven't done anything wrong at all. it's alright, baby, i promise. you don't have anything to worry about. why are you sorry?”
“i don't know,” you mumble. your hand clutches at his chest unconsciously, balling his t-shirt in your fist. “i dunno. i love you. i dunno.”
“i love you, too,” he says after a beat. the tears, the drunken outburst, he just lets it all happen. without a word of complaint. despite the voices in your head fighting to convince you otherwise, he never says a single negative thing to you.
you know he's not normally like this. with everyone else he's polite, unemotional, reserved. he's never vulnerable. which is why you're so confused right now.
“why?” you slur, still grasping onto hope.
he hums in questioning, nudging you to elaborate.
“why are you like this to me?”
but now he's the one who's confused. “like what?”
you pause, and the room goes quiet for a moment, the only sound your shallow breaths against his chest. “nice.”
for all his knowledge, this time he's actually lost. “why would i not be nice to you?”
“i don't deserve it.”
he shifts again, pulling you closer to his chest as he starts to run his fingers through his hair. “of course you do, baby.”
“you don't deserve me.”
he stops again, this time in shock. “hey. that's not true.”
“is too true,” you say. your eyes are closed and you can't help the frown overtaking your face. “you should have somebody you deserve. it's not me.”
he just sighs, and you feel his chest expand beneath your cheek at the deep breath he takes. “i love you, baby. not anyone else. you'll feel better in the morning, and we can talk then. but i'm not mad at you, okay? there's nothing wrong. everything's okay.”
you try to mimic his sigh, but the angle you're laying at on his chest and the alcohol in your system makes it hard to breathe deeply.
“do you want to keep sitting with me?” he asks. he knows how much you like the sounds his keyboard makes, the quiet tapping as he enters grades and types comments to his students about things you could never fathom to understand.
your eyes stay closed and your head doesn't move. “yeah,” you murmur softly.
he settles back into his chair, you curled up on his lap. he's not doing much, he's finished the worst of it and now just entering numbers. he glances down at your figure, almost asleep on him, and he feels an ache in his chest.
every emotion feels amplified to you right now, but if it took getting blackout drunk for you to finally say it then it must've been weighing on you for a long time coming. he wonders how long you've felt like this, felt inadequate compared to him, and it makes him pause. it was never his intention. when you're awake and sober and hopefully not massively hungover, then you can talk, and he can make this right.
he loves the person snuggled against his chest, loves the feeling of you comforted and protected by him, and he'll do anything to make sure you know that. he'll do anything to let you see yourself the way he sees you. above all the worries he has about you, he knows one thing for sure.
you're cute when you're drunk.
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i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!
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in the dark.
pairing: minho x reader
genre/warnings: friends to lovers, fluff, angst; kissing, crying, mention of blood, mention of animal abuse, not very edited lol
word count: 0.6k
note: oh i've had the idea for a scene like this for a whiiiile now and i was hella motivated to finally write it after watching skzflix 😂 (twas supposed to be used for a jk fic but oh well, sorry jungoo)
as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡
navigation › masterlist › ko-fi
"It was stupid of you."
"Okay."
"And reckless."
"Okay."
"And dangerous."
"Okay."
"And stupid. Did I already mention that? Because it was fucking stupid."
"Oka-"
"Fuck!" you snap. "Why do you keep saying that? Is it the only word in your vocabulary?"
Minho shrugs defeatedly, like none of this matters to him, but his guilty eyes tell you otherwise. He purses his lips for a second, before he tells you, "What else am I supposed to say?"
"Say you're sorry? Say you'll stop doing it? Say you won't put me through this again?"
He stays quiet, and to be honest, you expected him to. He's too stubborn for his own good and he's too good for his own sake. He's got the kindest heart you know, and you will always love him for it, but...
It's hard to make peace with it when he shows up at your doorstep every few weeks with bruises all over, like an abandoned dog asking you to take him in and put him back together.
It's hard to keep track of all the reasons he tells you to justify his borderline foolhardy actions. The last time it happened, it was because he ran into some psycho abusing the stray cats near his neighborhood. Tonight, it was because he saw someone get mugged on the street.
It's even harder to be okay with the fact that he's infinitely selfless and kind because you love your friend.
You love your friend.
You heave a sigh, going back to the task at hand because you know there's no convincing Minho otherwise. Sometimes, you wish he'd think of himself, that he'd put himself over others. Sometimes, you wish he'd think about you.
You asked him about it once, why he kept showing up to yours instead of going to a hospital. Instead of going home.
He only replied, simple and earnest, "I just want to be here with you."
You soak a cotton swab in rubbing alcohol before you press it gently against the cut on his cheek, wincing when he does. Then you move to the cut on the bridge of his nose, the one on his jawline, the one on the corner of his mouth...
You don't meet his eyes, but you feel his steady gaze on you the entire time you tend to his wounds. You're aware of how your hands are shaking, the way every breath you exhale is trembling, and that there are tears ready to overflow any second now.
The first one spills as you work on cleaning the blood off the corner of his mouth.
Then, suddenly, the cotton swab is no longer in your hand. Minho carelessly flings it elsewhere, and before you can scold him for interrupting you, his palms are on your face, delicate fingers cradling your jaw.
You blink. Just a split second, and his lips are on yours.
He's soft, and warm, and sweet, despite the bitterness that's been on your tongue the entire night. You love him. You do.
And he kisses you like he loves you too, tenderly and wholeheartedly.
You want to keep him with you forever, to never let him go, to not have to see him get hurt ever again. You don't think it's possible for you to endure it anymore, now that you know how it feels to have him like this.
When he pulls away, you're dazed. Rightfully so.
Minho doesn't stray from you for too long. He lets you catch your breath before he's leaning in once more.
Another kiss. Three seconds.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles against your lips, his tone so painfully sincere.
Another kiss. Four seconds.
"I'll stop doing it."
Then another one. Five seconds.
"I won't put you through this again."
all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 03.11.2023]
#stray kids fic#stray kids imagines#stray kids x reader#skz fic#skz imagines#skz x reader#skz x you#lee know fluff#lee know angst#lee know scenarios#lee know x reader#lee know imagines#lee know x you#lee minho x reader#lee minho x you#stray kids#skz#lee know#lee minho
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Could you do a Roy or Jamie fic where the reader gets hurt? Even something silly like getting hit in the head with a ball at practice or something! They’re super concerned and want to take care of them! I also love angst…sorry if it’s a stupid idea. No worries if you don’t want to write it 💜✨
Jamie Tartt*Practise Mishap
Pairing: Jamie x f!reader
Word count: 1291
Warnings: reader getting hit by a football (which hurts a lot btw from experience), Jamie feeling guilty, fluff
A/n: i love this idea btw ive been wanting to write something like this for a while but i made this more fluff than angst
Masterlist here
You’d never actually seen Jamie at practise. There was the occasional time where you dropped him off or picked him up after, but you never lingered since he needed to concentrate. However today Jamie in all his genius managed to forget his phone this morning.
“Wouldn’t have forgotten it if you hadn’t have distracted me love,��� he teased, a smirk toying on his lips that made you smack his chest.
“Can you not?” you said, nodding to where the coaches stood only a couple feet away.
Of course, Roy heard. A loud groan came from him before he barked at Jamie, “Back on the field Tartt,”
“You staying to watch Jamie in action?” Ted asked, far more politely than Roy who was sulking at the suggestion.
You looked between him and Jamie who seemed to perk up at the idea, “Is that allowed?”
“I don’t see why not,”
“Maybe he’ll actually put some effort in,” Roy mumbled.
Jamie just rolled his eyes at Roy before giving you a quick kiss, “Get ready to see the king in action,” he said before running back on the field as you laughed.
“How do you stand him?” Roy grunted.
Truthfully you found Jamie’s cockiness annoyingly attractive, but you didn’t think Roy needed to hear that. “What can I say? I’m a saint,” you joked.
Even though the practise was interesting at first it was just boys kicking balls around a field and the illusion quickly worn off. That plus you were supposed to get a bunch of things done at home since it was a rare day off. You turned to Ted to tell him, “I’ll probably shoot off in a minute or two,” you said at the same time as someone yelled “Watch out!”
Roy tried to grab your arm, pulling you out the way, but not fast enough and a ball planted right in the middle of your chest, knocking you off your feet. You hit the ground with a thud and all the air was knocked out your lungs.
You heard Jamie shout your name, but you were too busy coughing up a storm and trying not to be sick. Roy and Ted had crouched down beside you, Beard shouting for Nate to run for the first aider. “Are you alright love?” Jamie asked, dropping to his knees beside you.
“I think- “your attempts to speak was interrupted by more coughing and the urge to be sick, “Ow,” you winced.
“What the fuck were you doing Colin?” you heard the footballers begin to argue as they all rushed to your side.
“I was trying to pass to Isaac! I didn’t know he didn’t see me,”
“When I said improve your kick, I didn’t mean kill Jamie’s bird,” Roy yelled at him, standing up.
Ted tried to calm him, but it was Jamie who spoke first, “Oi! The lot of you move it. you’re crowding her now piss off,” his anger washed off his face when he turned back to you, “C’mon love let’s get you some help,”
“I’m fine,” you winced as Jamie pulled you to your feet.
“No, you’re not now be quiet and let me help you,” he said as he helped you over to sit on a bench at the side. The first aider came and gave you a once over and said it was all good but to be careful. So, Jamie naturally made them triple check. Colin also came over, apologising a million and one times to which you assured him it was okay, and Jamie tried not to death glare him.
Some water and painkillers did help but you still weren’t feeling amazing. Ted walked over with a guilty smile on his face, “How we are doing over here folks?”
“Better now,” you smiled, hiding your wincing as best you could.
“I’m gonna kill Colin,” Jamie muttered.
You rolled your eyes, placing a hand over his, “It was an accident babe. Let’s just let it go, okay?” Jamie didn’t say anything, but you knew he wouldn’t. “But I should defiantly go now,”
“Well Rebecca gave me a call saying to tell Jamie to take the afternoon off and take care of you,” Ted said and before you could protest, he cut you off, “Its doctors orders, okay? Now scamp you too. And try take it easy, okay?”
You felt bad making Jamie miss the end of practise but right now football was the last thing on his mind. after dropping you off at his place and surrounding you with pillows and blankets Jamie went on a Tesco run for snacks.
When he got back you laughed when you saw the almost overflowing bag. “We’ve got enough to survive the winter,” you joked as he sat it down. “You’re spoiling me,”
“Never,” Jamie said with a bashful smile as he pulled out the flowers from behind his back, “Got ye these as well,”
“Aw Jamie,” you gushed, standing up to take them from him but you winced slightly as you did.
Instantly concern washed over his face as he grabbed your arm to steady you despite you not actually falling, “You alright love? I knew that women missed something. What hurts- “
“Jamie,” you interrupted him, cupping his face with your hands making him pause in his tracks, “I’m fine baby I swear. Are you?”
“Yeah, course I am,” he said, wrapping his arms around you, “I just don’t want you getting hurt and that. I just feel bad’s all,” he said, mumbling as he hugged you tighter.
You moved your head to rest on his shoulder, hugging him back, “But why?”
“You were there to see me and then you got hurt. I know how hard those balls can hit,” he said before sighing, “Its all my fault,” he mumbled making your heart break.
You pulled back only to pull him to sit on the couch next to you, placing the flowers on the coffee table, “It was an accident. It was no one’s fault,”
“It was colin’s fault,”
“It was no one’s fault,” you repeated, rolling your eyes with a small smile, “Now are you gonna sit and mope all day or are you gonna take care of me?”
Finally, a smile cracked onto his lips, “Thought it didn’t hurt anymore?”
“I lied,” you said, sinking back into the couch in a dramatic display, “I am wounded beyond belief. You’ll need to do everything I need,” you joked with a hand splayed across your head.
Jamie leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, “Don’t I always?” he smiled. “Want me to put those in some water?”
“Yes please,” you grinned as Jamie got up to sort out the flowers, but you called out before he could leave the room, “Can we have a movie night?”
“If that’s what the lady wants, that’s what the lady gets,” he grinned, “Just try not pick a total chick flick,” he added with a smirk that made you roll your eyes.
By the time he’d returned with drinks and a takeaway menu you already had 27 dresses queued up, “Oh c’mon,” Jamie protested as he dropped onto the couch beside you.
“Please, I’m injured,” you teased making him roll his eyes but finally agree. Despite his protests Jamie was more into the movie than you were and made you pinkie promise to pause it when he went to get the food when it arrived.
Four chick flicks and an unholy amount of food later you and Jamie were curled up on the couch under a pile of blankets. “Feeling better?” he murmured in your ear though you could hear from his voice he was already half asleep.
“Feeling perfect baby, thank you,”
“Anything for you,”
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LOVER BOY | MINI SERIES
in which eren falls hard for you, his friend-with-benefits who insists she isn't looking for anything serious
PART ONE - all that glitters
⟡ content: eren jaeger x female reader, good old-fashioned college au, fwb-to-lovers, mutual pining/idiots in love, cheesy rom-com, smut fic with feelings, fluff, angst, sexual content, explicit language, alcohol, drunk sex. reader discretion advised. 18+
⟡ word count: ~3k
⟡ masterlist (1/4)
⟡ a/n: writing has been a struggle but this came to me in a vision. i needed something easy and fun to get me back in the swing of things. enjoy ♡
“Eren.”
You whined his name in that signature drunken way, with the last syllable drawn out and pronounced like a plea—as if pleading with him was ever necessary.
“What’re you doing right now?” you asked. “D’you wanna fuck?”
No, not really. But Eren would make sure you made it back to your dorm room alive and as well as one could be after too many drinks. Still, he couldn’t deny how the back of his neck warmed at the offer.
“Yeah,” he replied. “Where are you at?”
After the call ended, it was only a matter of seconds before his friends predictably started heckling him.
Connie hung his headset around his neck, shooting Eren this too-knowing look when he asked, “Lemme guess who that was.”
“How about you don’t?” Despite Eren’s flat affect, his words had a biting edge. He kept his head down as he shrugged his jacket over his shoulders.
This wasn’t the first time Connie broached the subject, also known as you. Although it proved to be a sore spot for Eren, Connie didn’t plan to stop poking any time soon.
“Dude, she’s got you pussy-whipped,” he barked, “with a capital P, dude.”
“You said ‘dude’ twice,” Eren groused, hoping that would be the end of it. When the baiting look on Connie’s face didn’t let up, Eren felt compelled to defend himself. “I’m not pussy-whipped. She’s at a party and needs someone to walk her home.”
Connie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, like I haven’t heard that one before.”
Lounged on his bottom bunk, Jean glanced from his phone screen to Eren. “You know, these sorts of arrangements—friends-with-benefits, fuck buddies, whatever weird thing you two have going on—they don’t normally end well.”
Jean said it smartly, in that been-there-done-that way as if his longest relationship wasn’t with his right hand. Before Eren could call him out on it, Connie jumped in on the dog pile.
“And last time I checked, they don’t involve catching feelings,” he asserted, thinking he'd added something meaningful to the conversation.
“I didn’t catch feelings,” Eren refuted.
“Then tell me straight up you’re going over there for pussy and not because you think she’s magically going to wake up one morning and want to have a serious, exclusive relationship with you after literal months of saying otherwise.”
Ouch.
“It is exclusive,” Eren corrected, though his delivery was a bit shaky. “I mean, I’m not sleeping around.”
“Well, duh. But is she?”
Eren realized he had no idea if you were sleeping with anyone else. Why was he so quick to assume you had been faithfully fucking him? That wasn’t in the terms of your agreement.
Regardless of what (or who) you did when he wasn’t around, you called him tonight over anyone else. That had to mean something, right? At the very least, it meant the decency of giving him a heads-up if you were fucking someone else, he liked to think.
“I don’t think so,” Eren said. “She hasn’t mentioned anyone, and I’m sure she’d tell me if—”
Connie guffawed. “God, you are down so fucking bad. Just admit it to yourself.”
Eren had already done that a long time ago but they didn’t need to know that. Truthfully, they didn’t need to know anything about you, yet all three of his roommates managed to acquaint themselves with you despite never having met.
Eren tried to keep his fling with you under wraps—not for any special reason other than it was none of his friends’ business. But if he thought he was being sneaky, then he was doing a shit job at it because his friends caught on fast. After they spotted a poorly-hidden hickey, it didn’t take much to pull the dirty secret from him.
But it wasn’t really that dirty of a secret, was it? They understood it; why would he stick around and play video games with them when he could be getting his dick sucked? What they didn’t understand was why he continued doting on you like he was your boyfriend—no, like he was your puppy, loyal and entirely dedicated to you while maintaining that it was nothing more than casual sex.
Fat fucking chance. They would never believe such a thing. They knew Eren better than that. They knew he wasn’t meant for casual.
Eren bristled but held his tongue. Connie was right, and whatever bullshit Eren could spout wouldn’t be worth the breath; they’d never believe him.
If only he’d kept his mouth shut in the first place. At least then he wouldn’t need to dread this collective ‘I told you so!’ from friends who were all too eager to say it.
Lest he wished for this to devolve into the world’s shittiest intervention, Eren left without another word—not even a ‘goodbye’ in reply to Armin, ever the diplomat, hiding out on his top bunk until he deemed it safe. Unfortunately for Eren, his silence (and the slammed door) spoke louder than anything he could have said.
You’d sent Eren your location because you didn’t have half a mind to explain your whereabouts. Not to mention, the streets back on Fraternity Row were old and cobbled and poorly lit. You were a few blocks over from Eren, only a five-minute walk. Four, if he picked up his pace.
Had it really been months since this whole thing started?
You and Eren were introduced under more formal circumstances. He couldn’t confidently say you would have met if not for your professor’s intervention. She randomly assigned partners for the final project, stating everyone needed to ‘branch out'—as if they needed another freshman orientation course. Looking back now, Eren could appreciate the icebreaker.
That was in November. He met with you on a Friday only to spend the rest of the weekend with you on his mind. He remembered it well. For good reason, too; he’d never made out in a library before.
Neither had you, apparently. That was what you told him, whispered between giggles as you rose from your chair. You knew you were up to no good as you slipped into his lap, and you wore a glittery smile to match.
Eren’s conscience told him otherwise, but the more bestial part of his brain had already justified it with boyishly sound reasoning as to why it was perfectly okay.
First off, the two of you were tucked away in a secluded corner, hidden behind bookshelves blanketed in dust older than his college career. He hadn’t heard so much as a footstep the entire hour he’d spent here.
Secondly, who would come to the library this late on a Friday anyway?
It made for quite the compelling argument, outside of the fact that he himself was one of those Friday night library goers.
Eren couldn’t explain how you ended up there, astride his lap with his bottom lip sucked swollen and drawn between your teeth, other than stating the obvious: the attraction between you was instantaneous and the conditions were just right. The literature was just horrifically boring enough; the tension between you was palpable, nibbled away at bit by bit like a mouse gnawing on a cord. Accidental touches, as chaste as a hand brushed against his, became deliberate and lasted longer than the last. You would sit close, then closer, and move in a way that Eren would catch thin whiffs of your perfume, a sweet scent at the tip of his nose but warm in the pit of his stomach.
And like a cord, you risked a fateful snap: the moment you’d realize you were far more interested in each other than any ten-point word on the page—when you’d agree to leave the project abandoned on the table and let it fade into insignificance.
Eren didn’t know the last time someone made his heart beat that hard, if ever. Hard enough that he remembered worrying you’d feel it. Of course, it could have been from the thrill, but he had to admit you left him feeling completely caught off guard. He wasn’t sure if the feeling ever truly went away.
Exactly one week later, he discovered you had some friends-of-a-friend in common after bumping into each other at a house party. You approached him, eyes half-lidded, pupils dilated, but your smile as glittery as he remembered. You introduced him to a few girls, laying a hand on his arm as you said, “This is the project partner I was telling you about.” It flattered Eren to know you'd mentioned him, but more than that, it told him that you’d been thinking about him, too.
You brought him back to your room that night. It was the obvious choice between the suite Eren shared with three other guys or the single you miraculously snagged.
It was fun—and Eren knew how it sounded when he said that. ‘Fun’ wasn’t the first word that came to mind when he thought about having drunk sex with a near stranger. Fumbling and awkward, yes. But fun? Not so much.
Yet with you, it was.
The pressure he put on himself melted away at the touch of your hand. Maybe that was the moment, if he had to name one, when he first felt something. Something that ran deeper than a hormone-induced make-out session in the library and deeper than any one-night stand. All you had to do was be you. The drunk version of you—of both of you—but still you, nonetheless.
You kissed him not on your half-lofted bed but you were on your way there. Eren had your back pressed against it before breaking the kiss to take off your shirt. You helped him with his next.
Your hands immediately flew to his stomach, palming over the muscles in a way Eren wouldn’t describe as sexual—more like you were impressed.
“Whoa,” you remarked with a sort of wonder he didn’t expect. You squeezed his bicep next and then glanced down at your own. “Do you think I can get those?”
“Yeah, I’ll send you my gym routine,” Eren laughed. Though he supposed he didn’t really have a routine, he just went to blow off steam.
He pulled you into him, snuffing out your giggles with a kiss.
Confessedly, he came fast—not that fast, but quicker than he would have preferred. But he liked to think he made up for it, fingering and eating you until he was hard again and could go for round two. You sure seemed to like it.
When it was all said and done, Eren lay there and imagined falling asleep at your side, while you were already hopping out of bed.
Ugh. Putting it like that made him sound like a girl.
You exchanged numbers before parting ways, and he dedicated another weekend to you, this time planning his text to ask you on a date. He took so long that you reached out first, sending what you called your fuck it! text, both figuratively and literally—you cheekily threw that into the message, too.
When Eren agreed to ‘just sex, nothing else,’ he thought it was making the obvious choice. What idiot would say no to that? It sounded like the college dream, and that was what it was supposed to be, up until it wasn’t.
From then on, the time you should have spent working on your project, you spent fucking. Shameful but true. It was probably the reason you received a C. As it turned out, humans don’t retain much information when attempting to read aloud while another went down on them. Maybe the two of you should have done your project on that instead.
It was nearly spring now. The soggy beginning of the season as winter finally began to melt away. The night was rain-soaked. Eren could smell the remnants of the downpour on the asphalt as he walked against the breeze, chilly enough for him to hide his hands in his jacket pockets.
He approached the bustling house to find you sitting alone on the stoop, legs bent at the knee and a bit knobbled. He called out for you and watched a gigantic smile capture your face. The sight made his chest tighten.
Eren held out his hands for you to take and tugged you to your feet.
“Where are your friends?” he asked you.
“I dunno,” you absently said.
You passed him as you crossed the lawn. When you reached the sidewalk, you spun on your heels to see if Eren was following. He was.
“Don’t worry, I texted them that I was leaving.” You started to laugh. “Told them I had a booty call.”
“A booty call?” Eren pretended you wounded him, clasping a hand over his chest. “Is that all I am to you? And here I was thinking we were friends.”
You giggled as you kept your attention on steadying your stride. A bumpy sidewalk plus a few drinks past your limit didn’t make for a coordinated combination. Your arm brushed against Eren’s every few steps.
“Seriously though,” he started to say. “Shouldn’t your friends be the ones to get you home?”
“You are my friend.” You beamed up at him, eyes heavy but happy. “You said so yourself.”
He smiled back at you, genuine but closed-mouth, and didn’t flinch as your cold hand nudged a path into his for warmth.
He guided you into your residence hall and joined your elevator ride up to the eighth floor. He walked you down the left wing to the room at the very end of the hallway and swiped your student ID to unlock the door. He reached to flip the light switch but found it was already on.
“You left the light on,” Eren commented, closing the door as he followed you inside.
Your dorm was no larger than any other, but it sure felt like it with just one bed, tucked into the corner and still unmade from this morning. Your desk sat opposite it, with a window on the back wall dividing the two. The last time Eren saw your desk, he had you on it. By now, the clutter had been put back in its rightful place—a few loose papers and your open laptop—and doubled as a makeshift vanity with your tabletop mirror.
You hummed blithely before nearing him in a few steps. You went to kiss him, even had your hands on either side of his face, but you only caught the corner of his mouth. He took you by the shoulders and held you at arm’s length. Even from there, your breath reeked of vodka.
“You need to get some sleep,” he told you.
“I will,” you purred. “After—”
You shook free of his hands and peeled off your shirt, faltering slightly in the process. You tried to kiss him again, thinking your bare chest would surely tempt him.
When Eren didn’t budge, you pouted, “You tricked me.”
“Tricked is a pretty harsh word, don’t you think?”
Eren grabbed the t-shirt draped on your desk chair and plunged it over your head before he started to stare for too long. You scrambled to sort out its sleeves.
“So you came all this way just to tuck me in?” Your head popped through the neck hole to reveal your frown. “You’re not even going to have sex with me?”
“That’s right.”
You shimmied your jeans down your legs, glaring up at him. “You’re so boring.”
“I know,” he airily replied. He ticked his head. “Bed.”
You were drunk enough to listen obediently but kept your frown as you shuffled into your bed. As you crawled beneath the blankets, you watched Eren take a water bottle from your mini fridge and set it on your bedside cubby. Before his hand was out of reach, you lightly wrapped a hand around his wrist.
You intertwined your fingers with his, sweeping yours up and down the length of each. “You’re at least going to kiss me good night, right?”
You were always so touchy-feely when you drank.
Eren held his breath. His eyes followed as you pressed your palm against his, compared their sizes, and played with his fingers. It almost felt like you were pulling at something much deeper in him. A puppet and his puppeteer.
He knew what he wanted to do, but his friends’ words resounded in the forefront of his mind, listing the exact reasons why this was a bad idea. Then he went and did it anyway.
Eren leaned in to kiss you, not on your lips but sealed against your forehead. With his hand cradling your cheek to hold you there for that one, long second.
It wasn’t the kiss you wanted, but even so, you stared up at him in drunken awe. Softly, and with a softer smile, you told him, “Thank you for walking me back.” You nuzzled deeper into the bed, closing your eyes as you rambled, “You’re so nice, Eren. Didya know that?”
“I’ll be sure to remind you of that the next time you call me mean,” he teased before turning to leave.
You piped up again. Your voice was already sleepier than just a second ago, sounding smushed against your pillow as you murmured, “If I’m not married by forty, and you’re not married by forty, can we get married?”
He gave a tiny laugh through his nose. You were cute, weren’t you? He knew you wouldn’t remember this tomorrow. Or if you did, you’d profusely (and needlessly) apologize for it.
“You’ll be married by forty. You don’t have to worry about that,” Eren said, half-way out the door.
You responded with nothing more than a satisfied sound, drifting to sleep as quickly as Eren expected.
The heavy lock clicked behind him, but Eren gave it a final jiggle to ensure it. He heaved a sigh, leaning back against your door with a thud you thankfully wouldn’t hear.
This was a huge mistake, wasn’t it?
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