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tteokdoroki · 2 months

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HIGH HEELS - ryomen sukuna.

౨ৎ — about. “sukuna knows those heels, he’s pulled them off of you a million times before during a haze of lustful kisses and sly touches. he has no idea why the sight of them turns him on so much.” as rough and rugged as he may seem, ryomen sukuna lives to see his girl happy. he loves to see her smile. he loves to know she feels as good as she looks…but when you end up looking a little too good in a certain pair of heels, he can’t be blamed for making you late for a dreaded dinner... ( 6.2K )

౨ৎ — warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! nsfw, smut, pwp — video banner. modern!au, rich girl!au, forbidden romance, reader has sisters, degradation, praise, pain play, fingering (f!receiving), exhibitionism, slight!daddy kink, hold the moan, unprotected sex, oral sex (f!receiving), masturbation (m!receiving), cum play, creampies, modern bf!sukuna, rich girl fem!reader.

౨ৎ — things to note. haii everyone ! it’s been a while since i posted a longer fic so im excited. this was supposed to be a thirst lol. i’m just testing the waters with my version of modern bf!sukuna ! many thanks to @yennified for the ask that inspired it all. i’d like to thank everyone for their patience ‘n i hope you enjoy mwah mwah <3 - m.list ⋆ read on ao3 ! ִ ࣪࣪𖤐₊ ⊹

“we’re going to be late, hot stuff.”

“no we’re not, ryo. give me five minutes! i just need to —“

if there’s one thing ryomen ‘sukuna’ itadori had learned from dating you, is that time management was never and never will be your strong suit.

if the phrase fashionably late could be embodied as a person, sukuna believes that it would definitely take the shape of you. you and your beautiful brown eyes that plead with him to give you a moment not even five minutes before you leave the house for dinner reservations. you and your sinful curves only accentuated the silk slip dresses you spend so long steaming before sukuna takes you out for the night. you and your perfect lips that have to be painted with the right gloss or lipstick to match your nails, purse and heels.

all of you, and your beauty, make up the meat and bones of the phrase ‘fashionably late.’

just like right now, where you sit reapplying your hot chocolate lip gloss, perched on the edge of the luxurious king sized bed you’d demanded be in your hotel room. a room booked by your father for a family-oriented get-away. sukuna hadn’t wanted to come, as a man from humble beginnings, using your daddy’s money wasn’t something that he favoured — but the man liked to see his girl happy. sukuna lives to make you happy, even if he won’t admit it.

“do ya really need five minutes to fix your lip gloss?” the pink haired man chides, sweeping a hand through his rosette locks in the mirror as he re-enters your bedroom. “i’ve seen you do it in less, gorgeous,” blood red eyes are quick to place you in the centre of the room — they never stray from you for too long, sukuna will always find you in a room no matter how busy or bare it is. your presence fills him with love and brings him comfort, even if he refuses to accept that as his truth.

there’s a coldness to the look you give him over your compact mirror while you rub the swell of your lips together, spreading the pigment across them easily. it’s a warning not to rush you, a warning to your boyfriend who knows better. “i said, i need my five minutes.”

ryomen drops the topic with a shrug, fixing his silky tie at the collar of his dress shirt — the one you’d so carefully picked because it matches the deep tone of his eyes and the colour of your slip dress. a mark of possession on your part. once he’s done, he takes to packing your designer clutch with all of your essentials from the dresser — blotting powder, your purse, any silver jewellery you’ll want to put on in the car. he slips on a couple of expensive rings to match with you too.

sukuna is more prepared for this dinner with your insufferable relatives than you are. he knows that tonight will be about your little sister and the rich lord she’s bagged as her boyfriend along with how soon they’ll be getting married. or it’ll focus on your older sister and her marriage that she’s trying so hard to keep together, despite it clearly falling apart. both of your siblings seem to think that they’re above you and your brooding, misunderstood boyfriend.

but you don’t believe that.

and you like to rub your love for one another in their bitter faces.

“pretty girl,” sukuna purrs, his chest rumbling with affection once he takes note of your heels discarded to the side. their silver sparkles glint under the warm embrace of the lighting up above. sukuna knows those heels, he’s pulled them off of you a million times before during a haze of lustful kisses and sly touches. they’re expensive too — he has no idea why the sight of them turns him on so much. “if you don’t hurry up, we won’t be able to brag to your bitchy sisters about how in love we are.”

by no means is sukuna a man of weak resolve. his will is as strong as his exterior — coated in the scars of his rough past like the thick black tattoos that ink his arms. he remains strong in every scenario except for ones that concern you, one look from you and you’ve got that mountain of a man crumbling like an avalanche and falling to his knees. you cast your boyfriend an amused gaze, smacking your lips as you watch him sink to his knees before your very eyes.

once again, your man takes the hint — thick fingers reaching for your glittery red bottom heels on the floor before he brings them up to the soles of your feet without a word. “you know how much i love the sound of that, ryo,” comes your dark hum, the colour of your eyes dimming with a desire ryomen sukuna knows all too well. “but i don’t see an issue with looking good while i do it.”

“you’re right,” sukuna quips in a husky tone, taking one foot and slipping one of your expensive shoes onto it. “who cares if we’re late to meet your sisters. as long as you feel as good as you look — i couldn’t give a fuck.” his thick fingers that know the twitches and ticks of your body oh-so-well reach for the straps of your heels and slowly begin weaving them around your ankle, upwards.

his blood red eyes remain hooked on your exposed thighs and supple skin, littered with a beautiful array of marks and scars from over your years of existence. some from before you even knew of ryomen, others from during your time together. “do you think i look good, baby?” you ask him innocently, leaning back on the bed with the palms of your hands lost in the whipped peaks of expensive cotton sheets — most exclusively found in this five star hotel.

sukuna grins in that slow and sexy way which makes your stomach lurch with lust, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge. “fuckin’ gorgeous, they’ll be shakin with rage.” he says, praise melting on the tip of his tongue. his words, in a symphony syllables, are accompanied by an undercover tune of desire — sukuna is a hungry man with little patience and a big appetite. once he’s settled on something, he’s damn sure to get it.

tonight; his prey is you.

the hulking man with the contrastingly soft pink hair bends at the neck to press a chaste kiss to your knee cap, smoothing the rough surface of his palms and workman’s hands over your doughy thighs — massaging you, easing any knots and tension beneath the top layer of your warm skin. his lips, only slightly chapped, curl upwards with a knowing smile when you let out a pleased chirp. sukuna’s hands work wonders on your body — causing your mind to drift away from the family dinner that awaits you.

tonight; you could very well fall victim to the claws and fangs ryomen sukuna possesses.

kisses quickly become open mouthed and wet, hot and slippery over your flesh — and soon, sukuna adds teeth to the mix once he reaches your inner thighs, littering the area with deep shades of purple and midnight blue. he had no intentions of ravaging you like this, at least not so soon, but with a woman this irritable and fiery and troublesome on his arm how could he not? they say that you attract what you put out and the mirthy look in your eye, hidden between beautiful brown flecks of innocence, tells sukuna that you’re exactly what his guarded soul has been looking for all of his life.

his pulse quickens beneath the calcium cage of his chest — heart beat rising as you allow his curious lips and pink fluffy hair begin to disappear under the silky fabric of your figure-hugging dress. sukuna can practically taste you, the air underneath your skirt is dewy and warm and your flavour (that he knows oh so well) lingers within its particles.

god, he wants you so bad. he doesn’t even care how this may look.

a man like him on his knees, ready to worship you as if you spout riches and bleed liquid gold.

except you do, you’re worth more than sukuna could ever hope to be. the weight of your net-worth unfairly tips the scales and he doesn’t even care. all because he loves you.

“why’re we even goin’ to this stupid dinner in the first place?” your rough and ragged boyfriend ponders out loud, with his words slipping over the edge of his sneaky snake's tongue. said tongue, if ryomen inches forward enough, could drag over your budding clit — clearly outlined through the barely-there crotch of your lace panties. “spend the night with me, doll. don’t gotta go a place…” a thick finger pulls the string of fabric away from your sticky slit, toying with the material until your premature arousal glazes his fingertip.

but before the man can reward himself with the goods between your perfect thighs — the sharp point of your heel digs into ryomen’s firm right pec. your shoes are clean so they won’t leave a mark, but he feels like you’ve left one on his heart, even as the bottom of your shoe pushes him back and away from your warmth.

“oh ryo, you must be hungry for the wrong thing,” you laugh breathlessly with your head tipping backwards, the sound shooting straight down to the hardness beneath sukuna’s black slacks. you push at him further until he rests back on his haunches — expression crazed and like a starved animal. “you forgot the other shoe, love.”

it turns out, you’re just as skilled a huntress as sukuna is. a vixen who stalks her prey and makes them beg for all her mercy. “how careless of me…” the man drawls, finding himself drawn to you like a moth to a candle’s flame. he craves your attention, he basks in it when you give it to him in the way that you do now. there’s not a moment where you’re not looking at him, admiring the shape and form of your man as if he’s the rarest piece of art in the world or a treasure more expensive than any diamond.

within the depth of those enticing brown eyes lay the truest form of love — even when you’re seconds away from devouring each other, your love for ryomen outgrows any doubt planted in your heart by your bitter family.

“y’must be so disappointed in me…” he goes on, lifting your second ankle in one hand and adjusting your foot into the perfect position to slip your other heel on. “how can i make it up to ya, gorgeous?” sukuna’s voice is gravelly, laced with intonations of neediness as he laces you up and finishes the job with a hand clasped over your knee. “i’ll do anythin’, anythin’ you want.”

graciously, you remove your red bottom from his shoulder and part your knees like the Red Sea — giving the older itadori the perfect view of the small string of fabric nestled between your glistening folds. even with the way you play coy, you’re always ready for him — as if it’s coded into your DNA to yearn for his touch.

the upper row of your teeth sink into your shiny bottom lip as you look down at your man with unadulterated hunger. “anything, ryo?”

sukuna’s chest rumbles (like a storm) with pride, his watchful gaze noting how you twitch and writhe for more. he leans forward and lets his black painted nails sink into the surface of your thighs — dragging you towards his awaiting mouth. “anythin’ for you gorgeous.” he repeats, voice raspy. in one swift movement, your red-bottom heels are swung over wide shoulders with thick muscles, keeping you nice and spread for him.

from over your barely-there-panties, a finger glides through your glistening pussy lips and presses into your budding clit just to get a reaction out of you. a squeak that makes sukuna’s hips buck into the floor and a full body shiver that has your heels knocking behind the man’s head. arousal pearls on his fingertip through the material, which he leisurely rubs into the rest of your heated and throbbing sex, right down to your quivering hole.

two fingers with polished black nails slip past your underwear’s waistband and dip inside of you with practised ease, instantly curling to find that special spot that drives you up the wall. sukuna knows you well, he’s spent years getting to that point. he’s committed every little detail there is to know about you to memory — the your lashes flutter when you like how he touches you, the way your throat bobs just before you mewl out his name. he knows exactly what you like and how to make you feel good. that fact drives sukuna into a frenzy.

his fingers start to work you faster, a lewd suctioning sound echoing throughout the luxurious room the deeper they plunge into you. sukuna’s thumb deliciously rolls over your swollen clit to add to your mounting pleasure, writing the signature of his claim on one of the most sacred parts of your body — where no other person can have you.

“ryomen!” you squeal in surprise, your shaky thighs threatening to close around your boyfriend’s skilled hands. your hole clenches around his thick digits feverishly while drooling directly into the seat of his rough palm.

a resounding chuckle echoes between your legs, vibrating against your syrupy sex as his pink head of hair disappears beneath the hem of your silken skirt. “that good, huh?” comes his lazy reply to your call of his name, using his fingers to fuck your arousal back into you. “what’s the matter, pretty girl?”

condescension twists with your boyfriend’s baritone voice, sending sparks of delight through your body like a thunder strike from zeus himself. when it comes to sex and pleasing you — sukuna is a god amongst mankind. the best you’ve ever had:

“don’t tease,” you growl out impatiently through gritted teeth, though your words melt into a whiny moan when sukuna easily bares down on your g-spot because he knows your squishy insides like the backs of his very hands. he finds it adorable when your face scrunches at the sensation of his cold, silver ring brushing up against your molten, sticky cunt and hums in content when you squirt a little bit for him in response. “we…we h-have plans for tonight!”

“‘m sorry princess, didn’t know we were in a rush.” ryomen says smugly, leaning into the sinful scent of your sex as if he’s been bewitched. not even the sound of your silver gladiator heels knocking against one another behind his head can pull the man out of this reverie. despite your warning, your boyfriend figures that there’s still time to have his way with you, you don’t really care about being on time to meet your family and you hardly have the brain capacity to think about them right now.

not when you fall under the vicious waves of ecstasy and give in to your depraved lover. ryomen quickly has you drowning in pleasure as he finally takes the plunge and replaces his thumb on your clit with his lips wrapped around it. he sucks on the little nub from over your panties, tongue glazing the fabricated barrier with his saliva as he commits the taste of you to memory once again.

your natural musk has sukuna drunk and high within seconds. you’ve got him returning to old habits and addictions he doesn’t have the strength to fight off. you’re bad for him and he knows it, but he can’t help but to make out with your clothed mound like it’s his life’s mission, mapping out the shape of your cunt through the stringy, soiled material. you ought to be embarrassed with the way you throb against sukuna’s eager lips as he buries his face further into your pussy. he inhales sharply, nastily, with his nose nudging against the sensitive treasure in circles — coaxing you open like a flower in the spring bloom.

ecstasy decides to bloom within you too, evergreen roots taking residence deep within your chest and curling around your beating heart. your pulse quickens in anticipation, an intoxicating veil of covetous yearning shrouding your brain in darkness as the tip of sukuna’s tongue now begins to circle your tight little entrance. even with the fabric in the way, you greedily attempt to clench down on his predatory pink appendage and keep him locked inside your cunt — squirting small streams of your juices in the process.

if your siblings could see you right now, how dirtily your man begins to ravage you just minutes before your family dinner while dripping on his tongue and the expensive bed daddy paid for, they’d be horrified. the sentiment strikes a pang of arousal in you, spreading to your boyfriend like a wildfire.

and as ryomen hooks a finger around the soiled gusset of your panties to pull them down, you hardly find it within yourself to care about what your snotty sisters might think — not when you’re about to receive the best head and best orgasm of your life.

“how d’ya wan’it?” instead of making a move to eat you out properly, ryomen takes two fingers and spreads your folds and exposes them to the blazing heat of his breath. exhaling through his nose next, he watches with blood red eyes as you twitch beneath his hold, dribbling liquid gold more than his mouth drools. “you’re so fuckin’ wet…all this from puttin’ on those pretty shoes?” your thigh shifts in response, heels clicking and back arches from luxury sheets crinkling under your back.

huffing impatiently, you send a threatening look down at your boyfriend despite how vulnerable you are to his torture teeth that could tear you apart in an instant. “ryo…your mouth,” you whinge, voice slipping into an almost babyish tone. despite your hard stare, your eyes are wet and wide like a prey animal watching its life go by right before it’s hunted or a deer in headlights, for that matter. “you promised you wouldn’t t-tease!”

“yeah, yeah, i know. ‘m sorry,” sukuna hums confidently, except he’s not really apologetic in the slightest — hardly doing his best to tame the uncomfortable yearning building up at your core. you’re a mess for him and he loves it, he’s entertained by the thought of you needing him so bad that it might kill you. he takes pride in knowing it’s not just him who feels this way. “thank you for tellin’ me, by the way. gonna use my mouth to fuck this pretty pussy til’ she’s creamin’ all for me,” he growls to you in a sultry tone, his aphrodisiac-like words a breath’s width away from your sloppy mound — its timbre sound sending tremors of electricity through your swollen, unattended clit that convulses from the lack of attention.

nothing inflates ryomen sukuna’s ego more than the feeling of your sex throbbing against his face — juices glossing the plump swell of his lips as he wraps them around your puffy pleasure nub. his chest bristles as you open up for him like a flower in spring, the scent of your arousal acting like a perfume to him — the bee with the stinger of pleasure. he works his savage mouth along the length of your slit, as though he lacks the manners of a decently raised man, tongue prodding at your entrance just to be mean. after a while, sukuna stops sucking and making out with your dirty, creamy cunt to nip at your titillating folds, taking one between rows of sharpened pearly whites and gently pulling it away from you.

at the abrupt feeling — you cry out hoarsely in a mix of bliss and surprise, taking a peek at the pink haired man between your spiked thighs with swimming vision. sukuna’s face is soaked, his angled jaw and cheeks and chin glazed in a layer of your slick as if he’s bitten into the ripest piece of fruit in adam and eve’s garden. the trail runs armously down and over his adam’s apple, coaxing your lover into eating you out properly this time.

finally, finally putting his filthy mouth to good use.

“fuck, i love the way y’drool for me down here. got so much to give, don’cha gorgeous?” sukuna mewls into you whilst kitten licking your slit, drinking you in as though you’re a glass of water in an oasis of lust and sex. he chuckles happily at your dreamy sigh and circling hips that grind down on his face, tapping three fingers against your sticky pleasure bud lovingly. annoyingly ( but not without appreciation from you), sukuna takes it a step further by sloppily kissing you there.

even with the time crunch, your pleasure takes priority. eating you out is like a reward for your man, it’s as though he was out on this earth by the gods purely to make you see stars. you feel lucky that he chose you out of all he could where he feels blessed to be the man you let touch you like this.

“mmph, ryo… always g’na be wet f’you. for my man. only you get me this fucked up,” you drawl with a silky voice, making a show of tweaking your own nipples from over your dress for your boyfriend. with the slipperiness of a snake, your hands slide down from between the valley of your heaving breasts, over your clothed tummy ( that twists with knots of ecstasy ) and into the slicked pink locks that tickle your inner thighs. messing up his perfect look, you grip sukuna’s roots and tug on them forcefully — coaxing him further into the debauched realm concealed by the skirts of your dress.

“princess…” ryomen lets out a pathetic, muffled groan — increasing the pace of the tip of his tongue as it lewdly flicks at your sex. “have you always had such a dirty mouth? what would yer daddy think?”

your head tips back at the new, gratifying sensation — ecstasy mounting in your lower tummy like bricks of a steady wall. “for as long as i’ve been yours,” comes your crazed and melodious laughter, only interrupted by pockets of squelching noises emitted from your squelching cunt. “oh baby…i don’t give a fuck about what my ‘daddy’ thinks. only you. let him stay mad — f-fuck! kuna!”

fuelled by the idea of pissing off your stuck up family, tattooed hands move to grip where your legs bend at the knee — pushing them back until your skirt rides up over your fleshy ass and your knees hit your shoulders and the soles of your shoes are able to lay flat against sukuna’s rippling back muscles. he hisses at the slight sting he feels from the pointed heel digging into his skin through his shirt, but it only fucks him up more. your pleasure is his pain, ryomen doesn’t give a fuck about anything else except for how good his girl feels.

somewhere amongst the sweat soaked sheets your phone lets out a shrill cry — signifying a call from someone in your spoiled family. without sukuna’s command, you scramble through the sea of stiff fabric peaks and reach for the device, hitting the answer button before checking the contact.

“h-hello?” you say in a poor attempt to speak clearly, stifling a deep moan. “speak of the devil and the devil shall appear…” comes your shallow whisper as you address your boyfriend. your chest grows sticky with perspiration beneath the bust of your dress — breathing uneven and heavy because of the way ryomen’s tongue wriggles past your tight little hole, squirming about against your lush walls to hit that special spot that has you screaming and seeing stars while on the phone to one of your relatives.

“excuse me, young lady?” it’s your father, much to sukuna’s dismay, his voice is irritatingly recognisable over the crackling of the line. of course he would find some way to unknowingly interrupt yourself and your loving, doting, disapproved boyfriend. “you were supposed to meet your sisters and i for dinner nearly forty minutes ago. where are you?”

sukuna’s agitation shows with each wet kiss he aggressively places between your swollen folds, nasty and miscalculated whilst designed to leave you a shaky mess.“o-oh! hi daddy,” you emphasise the word, voice rising an octave until its light an airy. your swimming, doe eyes lock with crimson ones that bore into the depths of your soul from below — taunting and testing the pink haired man’s patience. “‘m getting ready. don’t you want me to look pretty?”

the silky lilt to the tail end of your words causes sukuna to growl against your pulsating, temperate mound while his fingers yank you down onto his handsome face by your meaty thighs. eagerly, your hips canter down to match the stride of his tongue stroking your pretty pussy as though you’re riding his aching cock to your heart’s content. his tongue fills you up almost as good, warmly slipping and sliding over pleasure spots only he can reach.

he kitten licks and sucks and bites at your raw sex like a wild animal, loudly moaning into you with every roll of your cunt over his face. you taste like heaven, the flavour almost angelic on his tongue. sukuna feels like a sinner with a greedy craving for more and if you cared just a little bit, you might have been concerned about your father catching the lascivious sounds from between your thighs over the phone.

“i’m past the point of caring about how you present yourself at dinner,” your father says your name stern and low — talking to you as if you’re a child and not the woman you’d grown into. “your sisters are ravenous, they flew all the way into the country for this. don’t you think that they deserve an ounce of your time?”

losing yourself to the danger of it all, you chuck your phone to the side after putting it on loud speaker. your lover targets your prominent, adorable clit again, the tip of his tongue rolling it in large circles until you’re close to tearing the sheets from the bed. you try your best to contain the scream building up in your throat, but sukuna has never made it easy for you to keep quiet.

“mph…fuck!”

“young lady! watch your mouth!” your father scolds you, still blissfully unaware of the fact that you’re getting tongue fucked by the man he hates all the way up to cloud nine. “i bet that good for nothing scoundrel has put you up to this. i keep telling you, no daughter of mine should be with a man like that. where is he? he’s the one making you late.”

“actually, dad, sukuna’s been a good boy. sitting all handsome in those suits you like. i’m the one making…oohhh…m-making us late!” cruel carmine eyes flutter at your generous praise, lovesick as a sunburn like blush spreads over the bridge of sukuna’s nose from how desperate he is for you. if you tried your hardest to listen in over the wet sounds of your cunt being sucked on for dear life, along with the shaky delectable laments your lover lets out, you might be able to hear the sound of a zipper going down or the slickness of sukuna’s hand around his meaty shaft as he jerks himself off. no longer able to fight off his desire for you.

your stomach flips at the sight and the pleasure mounts with your impending high, dainty fingers beginning to tug and twist at sukuna’s blushing pink hair. his pain is your pleasure.

“you’ve lost your mind, i didn’t raise you to be like this.��

“you hardly…hardly raised me at all,” the words feel tacky in your mouth, as if it’s been stuffed with cotton that sucks up your saliva. it doesn’t help that your voice begins to waver too, reaching whistle tone notes.

ryomen sukuna doesn’t know what’s hotter, the fact that you’re so easily able to sass your rich, douchey father or the fact that you’re letting him give you head while on the phone. “shit,” he curses as low as possible, using one had to smooth the pad of his thumb over the slit in his cockhead — smearing the precum that beads there over the sensitive flesh. his kiss swollen lips part from your sweet sex for only a moment to taunt you. he remains connected to you by a single rope of clear elixir that leaks from your precious little hole. “god, gorgeous. you’re fuckin’ drenched…all from talkin’ back to daddy, huh?”

a lewd and sacchariferous mewl rumbles from deep in your chest as it rapidly rises and falls. it’s all too much for you to keep up with, you’re way too dizzy and it’s only made worse when sukuna bobs his head between your quivering legs so that his fat tongue drags through the entirety of your ravaged pussy lips.

“holyfuckingshit!” you shoot the man a glare once you remember where you are and who you’re on the phone to.

ryomen offers up a cocky smirk as his excuse before delving beneath your silken skirts once more, though it does nothing to mask how turned on he is — squeezing the base of his drippy shaft to stop himself from cumming too soon to the sight of you.

you try not to forget the presence of your father again, it would be hard to, since he’s insistent on betraying you down the phone. “speak back to me again and i’m cutting you off. starting with cancelling the card you and your mangy boyfriend live off of.”

“do it, i dare you.” you somehow manage to snap back, jolting at the sensation of sukuna’s razor sharp teeth grazing your clit. he hisses deliciously against your sex as your heels cut pretty crescent moons into his back. “i-i wonder what mom would have to say about it if you…if you did!”

silence echoes down the line, broken by small pockets of your boyfriend slurping on your folds like a man starved. slurps that you’re just so blessed to be able to hear. you should feel ashamed instead of hungry, doing nothing to tame the greedy beast inside you that craves more and more of sukuna’s attention on you. you must have lost your mind, for letting him eat you out so brazenly while you converse with your father on the phone. it’s so depraved, so dirty and yet you wouldn’t give this… give sukuna up for the world.

you love him more than anything. love how he treats you like you’re the strongest person he knows whilst handling you as though you’re made of glass. you love how he gets off to you, dribbling thick white from the tip of his cock because you make him a mess enough to need to jerk off. you love how he pleasures you, his baritone laments and simpers muffled against your cunt sending fireworks up your spine and setting them off at your tailbone where your mounting pleasure lies.

you love ryomen ‘sukuna’ itadori, and no amount of scolding from your father will ever change that.

“just…just be here within the hour. please.” your father requests quietly.

“see you soon, daddy,” you hang up the phone faster than a lightning strike, all of your composure flying out of the window with the last dial tone. “ryo, fuck! i’m close… gonna cum. please, hurry!”

“god you’re such a fuckin’ menace, hah, pretty girl?” your pink haired lover quips airily, his jaw tight from flicking his tongue against your sex in sync with his fist flicking around his throbbing dick, slinging precum about the place. he’s amused and love sick all at once, a feeling that was once foreign to ryomen before he met you. “gotcha so turned on by talking back to your dad, yeah? all while i ate this pretty fuckin’ pussy out… so nasty,” only sukuna could make you feel this loved while degrading you, the only man who’s ever been able to do so. none of them could come close to knowing your body like he does, the way you twitch when you’re close and start to pout like a spoilt brat when you’re frustrated from waiting for your orgasm.

sukuna takes the edge off by lifting a tattooed arm and slapping his hand down on the entirety of your cut — letting out a haughty moan at the sight of glistening droplets of arousal flying about the place while your heels drag down his back with delightful pain. you cry out, but your boyfriend’s mouth is back on you in seconds — soothing your poor pussy. “‘m so lucky to have you though, my nasty fuckin’ princess,” he mewls into you, using his tongue to bully your g-spot over and over and over while he fists his precum glazed cock into oblivion. “gonna make you cum, gorgeous girl. let you make a mess in my mouth, you want that?”

“m-more than anything, ryo!” you wail, fighting back tears as you spew a fresh wave of your sweet nectar from your pathetic hole. you do have a dinner to get to after all, you should only be crying from one place. your cunt. the sound of said squelching cunt and your dulcet whines make sukuna’s balls twitch with a load he would only dedicate to you. “i love you, love you s’much…love you,”

the delirium starts to catch up with you, becoming too much to bare as you babble nonsense into the sex tainted air. you can’t hold back, some of your release already beginning to stream out of you. “‘m gonna cum, ryo…cum with me, please!” you squeal in warning, mere seconds before your body succumbs to sukuna’s eager tongue and the wrath of your orgasm.

“love you too, s’much,” your glittery heels knock behind his sweaty mass of pink hair, cutting into his back as he walks you through it all. “f-fuck baby, that’s it,” he goads as you gush into his mouth like a tidal wave. you have so much to give, release trickling into his mouth, painting his cheeks and sliding down his adam’s apple in a viscous current. sukuna is swept away by the arousal in the air, drinking you in as he pumps his cock harshly and in tune with the way you weakly hump at his face through the aftershocks.

pulling his sticky mouth away from your equally sticky sex, sukuna replaces his tongue with three of his fingers to your clit — coaxing you through the rest of your high as he draws random shapes on the puffy nub. “keep that orgasm goin’ for me, pretty princess, give it to me…give it t’me while i fill you up,” he rambles brainlessly, abruptly standing up as he fists his cock pulled out from the zipper of his dress pants — barely fighting back his own orgasm. “spread those fuckin’ legs, wanna cum inside.”

“ryo!”

“ahh, fuckin’…fuuuck!” in one swift move, your boyfriend slips his sensitive and bulbous cockhead past your quivering, orgasming entrance — shallowly thrusting into your tight heat as you spasm around him, before he’s thrown off the edge into his own high. “c-cummin’…” hot sticky ropes of white seed flood your womb, which sukuna keeps plugged into you as he folds you over — chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat. your heels clink at the dip in his waist behind his back. you’re still cumming as languid thrusts smear your boyfriend’s cum against your rippling walls, but you’re content, breathing beginning to even out as you both come down from cloud nine.

still releasing in small spurts, ryomen slowly pulls out of you with soft kisses pressed to the side of your face. “sorry, didn’t wanna fuck up my pants before dinner,” he chuckles over the warm static spreading over your happy little brain.

you offer him your own dopey laughter, remaining sprawled out underneath your hunk of a man. “so you decide to just jizz inside of me? you’re a class act ryo. what about my dress?”

“first of all, you don’t like it when shit goes to waste ‘n second off all, i made damn sure that it stuck. your dress is fine, brat.” a chaste kiss is pressed to your nose as sukuna helps you sit up, double checking for any mess he might have left between your shaky legs. “let me clean you up, don’t want your dad findin’ out what we were really up to all this time.”

“pretty sure he already knows,” you shrug, rolling your ankles as you lean down to fix a strap on your heel. “you’re a messy eater, ryo.”

but before you can fix your shoe back into place, ryomen sukuna is already on it — adjusting the strap to sit comfortably on your leg before he stands again and retreats to the bathroom for a warm cloth to clean you up with.

you watch with a smirk as he goes, admiring all of the little red marks on his shoulder blades you’ve left on him with your shoes. “then i guess i’ll have to use some fuckin’ table manners at dinner,” he remarks childishly. “but i can’t help how delicious you look in those heels, gorgeous.”

and it’s true, you’re the only meal sukuna could ever want — especially when you leave your claim on him with high heels like that.

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nnight-dances · 10 months

Text

ADORABLY, YOURS.

pairings: yoon jeonghan x fem!reader, feat. choi seungcheol tropes: love triangle, friends to lovers (jeonghan x you), strangers to friends to fwb to friends (seungcheol x you), kinda slowburn, one-sided love (or is it?), pining, slight age gap (2-3 years) etc. genres: fluff, angst, jealousy, sexual content (no explicit smut content but references to it) with vulgar language, cafe!au, non-idol!au, college!au. word count: 12k (I am sorry about this.) what to expect: You’ve liked Jeonghan since you met him through your best friend, Wonwoo. But little by little every day you’re convinced he knows you like him and his non-action can only mean your feelings are not mutual. Then, you run into Seungcheol, a childhood best friend of Jeonghan’s, who instantly develops a soft spot for you. The resulting love triangle that wreaks havoc on your emotions might as well end being the answer to your problems. Bittersweet like coffee but decisive as a caffeine rush, this is the story of how you beat all odds to be with Yoon Jeonghan. warnings slash author’s note: I warn you beforehand: the logistics of this love triangle are a bit morally ambiguous, i.e. I can’t tell if I used Seungcheol purely as a plot-point or not. I probably did. But in my defense, I think all love triangles are inherently a little bit evil and cruel. Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this admittedly self-indulgent mammoth of a fic. I had a headache the whole three days I was writing it. I love Jeonghan and I promise there will be a make-up fic for Seungcheol, because I’m biased but not corrupt. As always, this isn't proofread but I will get to that in the next few days! All right, that’s all. Love you, friends and foes!

It’s one of those days. You can’t help yawn after yawn and no amount of caffeine is washing the throbbing in your head away. To make things worse, you’ve managed to sleep with a spine posture worse than even your worst days which means your back hurts from standing at the register all day. But the day is far from over as a glance at the clock informs you; your cafe shift has a good three hours remaining.

And whenever you’re hoping to take a break on the uncomfortable chair propped in a corner near the register, the door to the cafe will jingle with the presence of a new customer. At least your co-worker for the day, Joshua, is also a friend so you can talk his ear off about the various ways in which you might escape the prison of existence.

Just as you’re going into detail about how you wouldn’t mind dissipating into air, the glass door swings open and in comes a tall man clad in a suit, the heels of his dress shoes clanking against the floor of the coffee shop. You reign in the surprised look that threatens to overtake your face – because goddamn, the man is gorgeous – as you greet him, “Good morning! Welcome to Moon Coffee!”

“Good afternoon to you, too,” the man corrects you with a dimpled smile. You wince at your mistake and nod, “Right, sorry about that. What can I get started for you?” You force a smile that you hope is friendly enough onto your face, gesturing to the large menu boards above you, “Please, take your time.”

As the man busies his eyes with the plentiful options displayed on the boards, you busy yourself with questioning what a fancy ass man like him was doing at the campus coffee shop. His hair was long, brown ends curling around his neck and as he ran a hand through it, deep in thought, you could essentially smell how rich he was.

“The hazelnut mocha sounds like it’s good but also really sweet,” he comments, looking at you for a second opinion.

“Right, it’s one of our best-sellers! And it is on the sweeter side because of the chocolate in it, but you could balance it out with a double-shot?” you suggest and then, “Otherwise, our classic mochas are not as sweet.”

The man nods with a slight smile, “Hmm, I like the sound of the first option. I’ll have that, please.”

“Is that an iced hazelnut mocha with a double-shot for you?” you ask with a smile. When he nods, you punch in his order, “Can I get a name for the drink?”

“Seungcheol.”

“All right, thank you very much. That’ll take just a few minutes. You’re welcome to take a seat and wait.” He nods as he walks to one of the tables next to the window.

Joshua’s already getting to work with Seungcheol’s drink and you take a moment to rest your back against the counter, throwing a glance or two at the new (and gorgeous) face in town. But thankfully for this rich stranger, today is the day you don’t have the energy to go down a rabbit hole trying to find an explanation for his presence. Instead you wave him a good day as he leaves with a satisfied smile on his face and an iced mocha in his hand.

Maybe this job wasn’t so bad after all.

A week later has you eating your words. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that Thursday afternoons are the busiest times of your shift at Moon Coffee. Most students were either rushing to down caffeine to finish some daunting assignment due at the end of the week or otherwise, others would be early in celebrating the fast-approaching weekend. The first kind you can deal with: they’re easy to relate to and they don’t really care if your customer service is the bare minimum from how tired you are.

But the second kind? You wish you could be granted with some kind of powers that would take away any more weekends from the rest of their lives. If the way they strolled in grinning and took their time with the menu didn’t have you fuming, their inane but obnoxious questions about your life would have you at the edge of your temper every week. You were only thankful you didn’t have to work the Friday crowds or you’d actually be declared a public threat.

But today, unfortunately for you, Jeonghan’s decided to make a visit to the cafe and if the fact that he’s not even a student anymore wasn’t enough, he was celebrating his birthday week. Which meant he was even worse than in exhibiting his usual infuriating customer behavior. But annoying customer or not, Jeonghan was also the guy you’ve harbored feelings for since two years ago now.

So when he strolls up to the counter with Seungcheol, the polite rich man from last week, by his side, you have more than one reason to stare at them dumbfounded.

“Oh, hey, it’s you!” Seungcheol starts, eyes trailing to the name on your tag, “Y/N!”

Jeonghan shoots you a confused look and then elbows Seunghceol, “Don’t even pretend that you know her. I totally caught you looking at her name tag. Have a little shame, Cheol.”

You clear your throat, “Um, good afternoon and welcome to Moon Coffee! What can I get started for you?” You punctuate the question with a smile that you hope screams please order fast and get out of here!

But Jeonghan evidently has long missed the memo when he pokes Seungcheol again, “You know sometimes I come here just so I can see Y/N smiling. She never smiles off the clock. It’s truly devastating.”

Seungcheol looks amused, “Is that so? I mean, fair enough. With a smile like that, you ought to be paid to show it.”

You cough into your palm, caught off-guard but quick to conceal the shy grin that’s crept up your face. You pray that the heat in your neck doesn’t climb up to show on your face. “Will you be ordering the same as last week? Iced hazelnut mocha with a double-shot?”

Seungcheol’s face lights up a little at your recognition but Jeonghan’s quickly butting in with an affronted expression, “Oh, so you recognize this man who’s been here once, but not your close friend of a long long time? Do you even know how much money I’ve spent on the seasonal lattes here?”

You sport a sly smile, “Right, thank you for enjoying our seasonal menu of beverages. We hope you continue to love the upcoming drinks. Feel free to leave any feedback or suggestions here!” You hand him a brand-new index card and gesture at a drop-box next to your monitor.

Seungcheol cackles at the defeated look on Jeonghan’s face and grins as he says, “You know what, I think I’ll get the same mocha again, Y/N. It did wonders for my mood.” You find yourself grinning almost immediately, tapping in his order with a hum.

“And for you?”

“...”

You know Jeonghan’s scheming something but you can’t afford to let him play out whatever sick mind games he’s planned out at your workplace so you’re quick to appease him, “If I might, I suggest you go for the salted caramel brownie latte. It’s perfect for this weather and it tastes suspiciously like birthday cake.”

Jeonghan can’t help a smile at your words, rolling his eyes a little, “Fine. That does sound tempting. I’ll have one of those, but only if I get a personalized note from you wishing me a very very happy birthday.”

You contain a scoff, “Of course.” You nod, “Thankfully for the line behind you, I already have your names down. Please step aside while we prepare your drinks. Thank you.”

–

“She’s hilarious,” chuckles Seungcheol, bumping shoulders with Jeonghan as they settle into his car. “Didn’t think I would witness Yoon Jeonghan’s downfall in a random college cafe.”

Jeonghan scoffs, “I think you’re too happy about this. Plus, my downfall started a long time ago when I stopped cheating in board games.” He takes a sip of his latte, “Fuck, this does taste like cake. What the fuck?”

Despite his words, Jeonghan smiles when he sees the note you promised him:

jeonghan – happy birthday week, u weird old man! please invite me to ur birthday party so i can give u the best gift of ur life and maybe also stick ur head in cake :) lots of love, y/n.

“She’s in her senior year, you said?”

Jeonghan looks up with a nod, “Yeah, I met her through Wonwoo, back when we shared a class in college. And then when I graduated and settled here, I’d invite them to get-togethers because I know how miserable the nightlife on this campus is.”

“Wow, look at you, such an admirable role model,” Seungcheol jokes, “And Wonwoo? Was he the glasses guy who you FaceTimed this morning? He seemed… cool, I guess.”

Jeonghan shrugs with a shoulder, “He’s a piece of work, alright. But that explains why he and Y/N are inseparable. Anyway, you’ll meet the rest of the crew later tonight. Thursday night is board game night.”

‘Board Game Night’ was a very, very loose term for the weekly gathering at Jeonghan’s place – it was a mix of Jeonghan’s friends, namely Dokyeom and Woozi, from work doing karaoke, his tired college friends (aka your friend group) lounging around on their phones, and maybe a group of two to three actually playing board games.

Tonight is slightly different, though, because the alcohol that Jeonghan otherwise wisely guards most weeks has made its presence known to everyone, the fancy bar table propped in a corner of his living room finally finding meaning.

You make it to his place, around thirty minutes past the usual starting time, exhausted from another soul-sucking shift at your job. You’d planned to sit on Jeonghan’s couch and binge-watch some mindless TV show but you’re thrown off when a reddened Seungcheol answers the door.

“Y/N! You’re late,” he exclaims. His speech is normal, thankfully but as you step in to take in the rest of the people, you look back at Seungcheol, eyes doubtful.

“I did not know my night was going to involve babysitting a bunch of drunk old men,” you mutter, not quite meaning for Seungcheol to catch your words. But he does and chuckles, hand at your elbow as he steers you to the bar.

“C’mon, you don’t have to babysit anyone. I’ve got it under control. Now, let me pour you a drink. What can I get for you?”

You watch the tall man with a skeptical smile, a little flustered because he’s standing close enough that you can feel him hard bicep against you and a little bit amused because well, this was new. It’d been a while since you’d been flustered around a man other than Yoon Jeonghan.

“Oh, so you’re making me a drink now?” you ask, “How did you even convince Jeonghan to let out the alcohol? You must have some special powers over him for this to happen.”

Before Seungcheol can supply a reason, Jeonghan appears behind the bar counter, smirking, “Ha! You think I’d let this coward dictate my actions? Nope, this was completely my decision. I couldn’t let the week of my birthday be dry! That’d be such a shame.”

“You’re funny, Han,” you mumble, turning to him with a quirked brow, “How many drinks are you down?”

He waves your concern away, “Shut up. I’m older than you, I don’t need you fussing after me. Now, get yourself a drink before I get mad.”

You raise your hands in surrender, “Sure, wouldn’t want the birthday boy to be made at me.”

“So what will it be? Do you want a beer? Or maybe a good old rum and coke?” Seungcheol offers, eyes already searching for the ingredients.

You narrow your eyes at him, “I think I’ll have a Scotch and Soda, please.”

A few hours later finds you sprawled on Jeonghan’s couch, nevermind the alcohol in your system and the ruckus your friends were creating. You had engaged with their antics for an hour: playing stupid drinking games (only to get drunker by the minute because you suck at games) and retiring early.

Jun starts to complain when you announce that you’re giving up, mainly because he’d be the next target of the crowd, but Jeonghan firmly leads you to the couch.

“You okay?” he asks you, warm fingers steadying you by the neck. Your world spins as he becomes the focus, ironically enough. You nod as you welcome the soft couch underneath your unsteady body, “Hmm. I’m just bummed out that you didn’t help me out by cheating.”

He laughs and the sound unsettles you with its vibrations. “I told you I don’t cheat anymore, silly. Also, I’m pretty sure you’d have lost even if I did pull out some master cheating moves.” You gasp, weakly pushing him away, “Whatever, man, I don’t need your attitude.”

If Jeonghan’s started to genuinely get worried about you, it only gets worse when you cough into your elbow, groaning as you pull away. His hands find your neck again. You hate his touch because you lean into it so naturally, your eyes following him just like he wants. You hate the warm feeling you feel when he feels your forehead with a concerned frown. You hate how you’re practically burning at his touch because he’s a breath away and your fingers twitch in your lap from wanting to touch his hair.

But soft like the strands that tickle your ear, Jeonghan whispers, “God, you’re burning up. Maybe you did drink too much. Fuck, let me bring you some water and then, let’s get you to sleep.”

You protest his lamely sensible plan of action but he isn’t listening as he departs, leaving you feeling cold. You wrap your arms around yourself to compensate, trying to keep an eye on Jeonghan when another tall figure encroaches your field of vision.

“Y/N?” Seungcheol calls out and for a moment, you’re unresponsive, eyes fixated on something beyond him but then you perk up in recognition, pouting as you beckon him to the couch.

“You–!” you point at him with a squint, head working hard to recall his name, “Um, um, Cheol?”

Seungcheol smiles at the nickname, taking a seat next to you, leaving some space but extending an arm behind you because of how you’re dangerously swinging. “Right, that is me. How are you feeling? Not too nauseous I hope?”

You shake your head, “”M fine. But tell that to Han because that weasel’s trying to make me sober up and sleep.” You breathe out a little angrily and then when the world swims around you, you lean your head against the back of the couch– that is currently occupied by Seuncheol’s arm.

He jumps a little at the unexpected contact but steadies himself when he sees your closed eyes, your skin hot against his forearm. “Now, why would he do that? You literally just got drunk,” he tells you, trying to keep you engaged in the conversation, lest you should pass out.

“Right?” you exclaim, opening your eyes, head still against his arm, “It’s like he’s never had fun in his life. For how much he likes to tease people, he sure is a killjoy.”

“Ha, I’m surprised you know him so well, honestly. People usually just take him at face value and think he’s a devilish troublemaker. But god knows how mature Jeonghan is. It makes me mad sometimes.”

You giggle and Seungcheol’s stomach swims at how he can feel the sweet sound in his veins, like literally. “You get me, dude. How long have you known him?”

“Um, like, nearly ten years now? I don’t know, I kinda lost count at some point.”

“Wow, that’s a long time. I’ve known him for like two years?” you hum. “Yeah, he told me.”

You quirk a brow at that, lifting your head up in amusement. “You two been talking about me? What did he say? That I’m Wonwoo’s evil twin?”

“Hmm, yeah, something along the lines of that.”

Jeonghan’s back by your side, suddenly, his strong grip straightening you up and holding up a glass of water. His expression is stoic as hell for a board game night and you don’t know if you feel scolded or cared for. It’s always hard to tell with him.

You stare at him blankly, not drinking the water like he wants you to. Instead you turn to Seungcheol, “I don’t want to.”

Your plea is unreasonable, you and Seungcheol both know, and he can practically feel Jeonghan’s glare when you ask Seungcheol, “Cheol, can you tell him I’m not dying? I don’t need to be babied.”

“Yeah, you do,” Jeonghan says, touching the cold glass against your skin. You jump a little with a soft unfair! and Seungcheol sighs, “Hannie, let her be. I don’t think she wants to go to sleep yet.”

“Thank you! At least someone has ears ‘round here!”

Jeonghan shoots his best friend an unreadable look, still firm, “Well, she needs to drink water either way. Unless someone wants the worst hangover of their life the next morning.” This time, his unoccupied hand finds the back of your head, settling into the stray strands of your hair there. “Please, just drink this.”

You find yourself giving in, lips opening up to the glass and you swallow a few gulps of water, the cold liquid soothing your insides. Before you know it, the glass is empty. He holds it up in front of you, “See? That felt nice, didn’t it?”

There it is, again. The playful glint in his eye and the sly tone of his voice. You ignore the burning tips of your ears and give him a half-nod, throwing yourself against the couch again with a relieved sigh. “Thanks, old man! What would I do without you?”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes as he stands up, “Ever so grateful, Y/N.”

“Y’know, Cheol and I were in the middle of a very mind-opening discussion about you.”

“Me?” his interest is piqued and he glances at Seungcheol, who he jostles lightly, “What’ve you been, shit-talking me?”

Seungcheol laughs as he throws the man off, “Wouldn’t you like to know? Anyway, if you want to go back to your game, I have a lot of anecdotes to share with Y/N. It’s our bonding time.”

And bond, you do. You spend the rest of the night talking to Seungcheol on Jeonghan’s couch, the owner of the place long forgotten as you go on to talk about everything else: college experiences, Seungcheol’s job (“So how rich are you exactly?” you grill him), and life interests.

“I can’t believe you like college so much! I hated it a lot back in my time.”

You snort, “You sound really old for someone who graduated two years ago. But I mean, each to their own. I prefer the comfort of the bubble here, you know. No real responsibility most of the time and you’re allowed to make some mistakes now and then. The real world? That’s like hell. I don’t think I’m ever going to feel like an adequate adult ever. Like, tax fraud is real, you know? And I never know which law I’m going to break? Don’t even get me started about the living situation.”

Seungcheol laughs throughout your troubled rant, “No, I get it. But don’t you feel excited about the independence you get to have? The freedom? And plus, if you get lucky with your job, working is actually very fulfilling.”

“Ugh,” you throw your head against the back of the couch again, “I don’t think I’ll ever feel fulfilled. Like ever. I feel too immature to be anything but a college student.”

He frowns on hearing that, confused because he’d never imagined of spending a whole night talking his heart out to a college student. But it happened because it was you, with your quick-witted responses and thoughtful questions. So, he’s fast to counter, “That’s not true–”

But his defense is cut short when Wonwoo approaches you, tapping at your shoulder with a smile. “Hey, you wanna head back?” You look up and are shocked to find the living room nearly emptied of its earlier occupants. When did everyone leave? “C’mon, I’ll walk you to your room. It’s getting late,” Wonwoo continues.

“Oh, damn, I didn’t even realize,” Seungcheol mutters, looking down at the watch on his wrist. “You guys sure you want to head back this late? You could just crash here. I would offer to drive but I drank.”

Wonwoo’s eyes trail to you, leaving the decision up to you. You mull it over, “I don’t know if Han’s gonna want a bunch of wasted kids at his place?”

As if you’d summoned him, Jeonghan appears beside Seungcheol with a yawn, “What’s this about me? Why’re you guys still up? Come on, let me show you to the empty rooms and please go to sleep before I have to use force.”

Wonwoo laughs, “He didn’t even leave us a choice,” and you watch as Jeonghan turns around, expecting you to follow him.

“Jeon Wonwoo,” you turn to your best friend, “Please tell me you don’t still try to suffocate other people in their sleep?”

The boy contains a grin, “I don’t know. It depends on how annoying the person I’m with is.”

“You’re sleeping on the floor, asshole.”

–

Seungcheol has a problem.

He likes to think of himself as a reasonable adult, with the ability to make logical choices and admitting to his flaws here and there. But had he been reasonable enough, he wouldn’t be this hung up over someone he met twice over the course of two weeks. It’s ridiculous: the way his heartbeat’s racing when you tread down to breakfast the morning after the board game night turned bonding time.

He’s smiling his way through an excited “good morning!” before he can collect himself. You look tired, albeit a little bit lesser than usual, and your hair’s down in something of a mess. Seungcheol vaguely recognizes the faded gray tee you’re wearing, probably a donation of Jeonghan’s. “Morning,” you mumble to the breakfast table, everyone present now that you’re here.

Wonwoo snickers, “You look like shit, dude.” You glare at him as you’re reaching out for a fork, “Thanks, Wonwoo, I see that you’re as sweet as ever.”

Jeonghan lightly slaps Wonwoo’s arm, “Be nice to her. Who knows what a hungover Y/N might do?”

You turn to Jeonghan, finally eating the piece of watermelon that you’d been reaching for, “I’m flattered you’re concerned but I’ll have you know I’m not hungover.”

“That’s impressive,” Seungcheol chimes in and you smile at him, “See, I can’t believe this man I met last week understands me better than my best friend and my other friend.”

“Your other friend? That’s what I am to you???” Jeonghan gasps, hand clutching his chest dramatically and Seungcheol laughs louder than he ought to, but he can barely help it, he’s all giddy. All it took was a half-compliment from you.

So yeah, easy to say, Seungcheol has a problem and it has something to do with the way you lean into him when you ask him to pass a slice of toast.

Luckily for Seungcheol, you also have a problem, and it occurs when you declare you need to head back, hoping that they’d let you go alone but Jeonghan’s standing up instantly with a nod. You have a problem with the way he’s unbothered with his behavior, easily saying, “I’ll walk you,” as if your best friend of years wasn’t sitting right there.

You look to Wonwoo, hoping he’d feel the heat of your expression but he simply stretches his limbs out with a groan, “Think I’ll go take a nap before I leave.”

“Don’t you have a class at 12?” you nudge him subtly, trying to ignore Jeonghan as he stands at the table, fingers tapping at the chair that he’s behind.

“Eh, I’m ahead of the syllabus in the class and attendance is a joke.”

You sigh in defeat and meet Jeonghan’s eyes as he lifts his lips into a smile.

And the smile only leaves his lips once you’ve stepped out, clad in your clothes from last night again, groaning when the morning sunlight hits your eyes. “Ugh is right,” he mumbles beside you as he starts walking.

You catch up to him, hands stuffed down your pockets, and he asks, “You have class?”

“Not really. But I do have an upcoming paper I want to finish over the weekend so I don’t perish next week.”

Jeonghan chuckles as he glances at you, “Wow, you’re still this hard-working, huh? I thought your lifestyle would’ve worn you out by now.”

“You’re one to talk about detrimental lifestyles, Han,” you scoff, “Just because you hang out with us once a week doesn’t mean we don’t know you’re overworking yourself for the rest of it.”

He’s silent for a beat and then he exhales, “Huh. I don’t know. Feels like I have the other kids fooled. It’s always you, with your smart little head and truth bombs.”

You laugh, hitting his side with your shoulder, “I’m serious, Han. Take it slow, won’t you? You’re going to end up burning yourself out to death by the time you’re 30. And then whos’ going to host board game nights?”

Jeonghan laughs and he turns to look at you, walking pace slowing down as he trains his eyes on you. You raise your brows in confusion, a slight smile playing on your lips as you try to guess what he’s thinking this time.

“You and Cheol have been getting along really well, huh?”

You’re thrown off guard, not having imagined this to be his next words. You shrug. “Yeah, he’s really easy to talk to, especially given his… I don’t know, social status?”

“Social status?”

You cough in embarrassment over your words. What were you saying? “Don’t know. It’s just nice to meet someone whose hopes and dreams aren’t being crushed by student debt.”

Jeonghan’s silent again and now it’s your turn to frown because you’re wondering if you said the wrong thing. God, does he think you’re creepy for liking his childhood friend? Fucking hell.

“I’m glad,” he says but you can sense a strain in his voice, “I was worried he’d get bored to death when he came to visit me.”

“Ah, well. How long is he around?”

“He took a month off, I think? But he’s got it easy with his flexible hours, so really, it’s up to him when to leave.”

You nod a little, “Cool.” You exhale in relief, a little bit reassured now that Jeonghan was back to talking like his usual self. You’ve finally reached the steps to your dorm by the time the conversation fades away and he waves at you, “Better be on time tomorrow for my party. And don’t forget to bring the best gift of my life.”

You groan when he quotes your note on his coffee from a day ago, shrugging as you turn around to run up to your room and melt into your pillow. But you’ve made it to two steps up when he calls out for you again. You swerve around to face him with a questioning glance.

“Y/N, remember you can come to this old man if you ever need anything, okay? I’m here for you, always.”

??????????

–

Okay, let’s rewind a little.

You’ve known Jeonghan for two years now, enough time to fall for him. You argue it was inevitable because all your life, you’d only been disappointed in your love interests, who would either ghost you in the talking stage itself or break up a few months into the relationship. One time it was because you were too busy with your studies and the third and final time because well, you were apparently too aloof. Not loving enough.

Which is why when Jeonghan came into the picture, you found yourself changing ever so slightly. Not to say you weren’t still a little bit wary of people and took your time opening up, but you met a lot of friends through him and he taught you that trust and attention goes a long way in relationships. If only you could apply this newfound knowledge to new relationships.

You’d tried: Wonwoo had set you up with a friend from class, Mingyu, and while you’d been able to sit through the first date, by the end of the night, it was clear that both of you were more interested in sex. Which was fine. But then there was the guy who was a regular at your cafe who had given you his number and you’d ended up wondering why you were with him in the bathroom, staring at a text from Jeonghan.

So you were down pretty bad for him. And as Wonwoo had voiced multiple times before, the next move to make was to actually tell the man that you’d been suffering in your feelings for him. But every time the topic came around, you had only one answer prepared: he already knows. Or so you’re convinced.

You had good reason to think so. Once, the group of you had been playing an online game that involved picking red flags for other people’s ideal types and when it was time for others to pick some for you, all hell had broken loose. “I bet she likes bad guys who are emotionally unavailable,” Jun had said, quick to drag the flag that said emotional constipation on it. You had defended yourself quickly, “UH? No thanks, men with no emotional intelligence are a hard pass for me. I don’t want to feed into some idiot’s Oedipus complex just because I’m the mom friend.”

“The mom friend?” Wonwoo had questioned, “Please, Y/N, if anything, you’re the dead friend with a severe case of RBF. Jeonghan’s the mom friend.”

Jeonghan’s shrug had been followed by a hysterical Joshua going, “Wouldn’t that mean Y/N’s ideal type is Jeonghan? I mean, it makes a lot of sense, he’s mature and emotionally intelligent.”

You’d choked over your next words, cheeks burning, “No, that’s stupid. Don’t be weird.”

Yeah, very weak defense.

When Wonwoo brought up the fact that you’d refuted Joshua’s claims and that probably led Jeonghan to believe you weren’t into him, you simply told him to remind himself of what happened next. Dokyeom had laughed, “But you definitely go for older men? I can’t imagine any guy in college being too smart like that.”

You’d agreed in the end, his logic being pretty solid. You had also noticed the way Jeonghan excused himself to the kitchen with a lame excuse about bringing more snacks when there was an array of unopened chips still lying around.

“Okay, so that’s one example, from like two months ago,” Wonwoo argues as you roll around in bed to avoid his glare, “Do you really think he remembers that incident so well?”

“Two months ago was not that long ago. And it wasn’t just this once. I’m a mess around Jeonghan.”

“You’re a mess period,” Wonwoo casually declares and when you sit up with an unhinged jaw, he laughs, “No offense.”

“Whatever. I hate you. And I hate Jeonghan. I should just skip his birthday party or I’m just gonna make things worse for myself.”

“Right. And what about the Lego set you spent half your life savings on?”

You pause, heart skipping a beat when you remember the gift sitting on your desk, wrapped securely and the purchase of which you could only justify with the words: Yoon Jeonghan.

“God, I must be insane. Why did I even buy that for him? He’s gonna think I’m genuinely weird. Does he even want gifts? He’s turning 25 for god’s sake.”

Wonwoo doesn’t respond so you can hear yourself and eventually, you do. Jeonghan himself had told you to be on time to his party with the gift alongside. You’re going to cry.

“You really think I should tell him?” you ask quietly.

Your best friend nods eagerly, patting your arm through the mess of your bedsheets, “Please. It’s high time. I promise you won’t regret it.”

“Weird promise to make, but fine. I’ll do it.”

–

The weight of your promise settles into your veins when you’ve arrived at Jeonghan’s place, self-consciously straightening out non-existent wrinkles in your dress when he comes over to greet you and Wonwoo. It doesn’t leave when he grins at you, wider than usual, and it definitely only gets worse when he accepts your gift with a low whisper that he’ll be sure to open yours first.

You’re thankful for Seungcheol when he shows up next to you, dimples out as he compliments you in your dress and you return it with a shy smile. Half because you need a distraction and more because Seungcheol’s presence is calming, you follow him to the bar.

“How’s your night going so far?”

“It could be better,” you mumble, eyes searching for Jeonghan and settling when he doesn’t seem to be anywhere close, “A little bit nervous.”

“Nervous?” he asks you, sliding you a drink and you smile as you take a sip: Scotch and Soda.

“Hmm, it’s nothing honestly. A lot of work piling up as we speak,” you joke. Seungcheol’s frown melts away, “Ah, of course. Senior year must be crazy.”

The night picks it pace up thereon, with your nerves finding some peace in the buzz from alcohol and your cheeks only hurting the longer you talk to Seungcheol.There’s some dancing of course, here and there, but you find yourself avoiding Jeonghan actively, retracting from the floor whenever he’s close.

It helps that Seungcheol stays close so that you have an excuse to appear occupied and somewhere along in the night, you tell the man with a smile, “You’re really charming, you know, Cheol?”

He breaks out into that giggle of his, “You think so? I haven’t even pulled out all the stops yet?”

“Really?” you find yourself stepping closer, encouraged by how quickly his hands are at your waist, “What haven’t you done yet?”

A breathy hum leaves his lips at your provoking and you’re close enough to brush lips against Seungcheol when suddenly, you’re being pulled away. For a moment, you let out an annoyed groan, certain that the iron hold on your bicep is Wonwoo being stubborn again. So when you tilt your head and catch sight of Jeonghan’s black hair falling into his eyes, a glare in place, all words leave your system.

You’re aware he’s dragging you away and also that Seungcheol’s following, reaching for your hand with words leaving his mouth, but you can’t make anything out. The blood’s in your ears and your heart is in your throat. You can feel Jeonghan saying something at Seungcheol, who glances at you in doubt, and leaves.

By the time you've calmed down, you find yourself in Jeonghan’s room, door half closed.

“Jeonghan?” you question a little weakly as he finally lets go of your arm and sits on the bed, his head in his hands. Is he okay? you wonder, standing helplessly near the door. You call out his name again, “Han? Are you okay?”

You step closer to him but stop when he looks up, startled by the lack of humor in his expression. “What were you doing back there?”

“Um, talking to Cheol.”

“Talking?”

“Are you annoyed at me, right now? Or jealous? I can’t tell.”

Jeonghan goes silent again, gaze dropping to his feet. You’re feeling annoyed by the minute.

“You’re acting like an idiot, Y/N. You don’t know Seungcheol. And you’re drunk.”

There it was: that strict tone of his, that always left you feeling conflicted and hurt. Today you actually tell him about it, “I’m not a kid, Jeonghan, I know what I’m doing.”

He looks up at you when you say that, eyes wide. “I never said that. I’m just saying that you should be more careful.”

“I am being careful,” you retort, a hostile edge to your voice, “I don’t know why you do this.”

“I thought you liked me.”

The words stun you into silence and your ears ring as you freeze. Your eyes don’t leave Jeonghan’s form though, watching him, waiting for him to disappear into nothingness as if this was just a dream. How you wish it was.

But Jeonghan’s on his feet when he notices the horrified look on his face and it’s only when he starts to come closer that you reach for the door.

“No, Y/N, please let’s talk about it–” he grabs hold of you and you feel your vision go blurry with tears, your back hitting the wall when Jeonghan shuts the door behind you.

“I knew it,” you mumble out through tears, “You knew about my feelings?”

Jeonghan’s eyes find yours in the dim lighting of his bedroom and you shiver when his hand tightens around your wrist, “I’ve known for a while. But then you went around flirting with Cheol like it was nobody’s business and I…” he trails off, “I was jealous. And confused.”

You force yourself to breathe out, heart going wild in your chest because of course, Jeonghan’s not addressing the elephant in the room. “Well, I was going to confess to you today and get it out of the way. But there’s no need anymore, I guess?” You cringe at the way you can hear the quiver in your own voice, “Just let me go now?”

“Why?” he asks, “You haven’t even asked me if I like you back?”

You scoff, “God, Jeonghan, you make it sound like we’re in high school or something, all this ‘liking’ talk.” You try to sound stable, only to be contradicted by the tears that leave your eyes, “And I figured you didn’t return my feelings. Or you would’ve done something about it.”

There’s a pause then. A shift. Jeonghan’s grip on you loosens ever so lightly and you fear you’ve understood him too well. For once, you wish you weren’t right.

“You’re right,” Jeonghan breathes out as if on cue, but his grip is still unyielding to your dismay, “Well, I thought I didn’t like you. I mean, you’re really pretty and funny and being around doesn’t tire me out like it does with others, but… I just liked you as a friend.”

Your heart’s shriveling up at his words with uncertainty because he might be talking about your love for him being one-sided but it is also in the past tense… right?

“What are you trying to say, Jeonghan?”

He flinches, “Um, I’m sorry. I just– I’m so confused about my feelings, right now. God, I thought I was more mature than this.”

You can’t help the disdainful laugh that leaves your lips as you push him away, brushing your tears away with the back of your hand. “Look, Jeonghan, I’m sorry I don’t have the time to sit down and help you untangle your feelings… about me. It really hurts to hear you go on about this, honestly. I think I’m just going to leave. Happy birthday, I hope you like your gift.”

–

The night outside is much more welcoming to you now, your shoulders more relaxed than ever now that your stupid crush on Jeonghan’s out in the open for him. You hadn’t expected it to go down like this but well, at least you were right about him already knowing, you know?

Lighter than before, the drinks you’d chugged before to gather courage catch up to you in the moment when you nearly run into a pole on the street. You would have run into it if Seungcheol hadn’t swerved you out the way with a, “Look out!”

“Fuck,” you mumble when you’re steady on your feet, Seungcheol’s hand firm around yours, “Sorry. I was in my head.”

“I know you were but you gotta watch where you’re going, kid,” he scolds, “I don’t want to have to carry your unconscious body to your room.”

You roll your eyes, “What is it with everyone and calling me a kid tonight? So much for keeping up a track record for being reliable and responsible.”

“It’s not that you’re not those things, Y/N,” Seungcheol says, hand still on yours reassuringly, “It’s just that sometimes you’re… dense. And maybe even something of an idiot.”

“Ah! Excuse me!” you protest, “I am not an idiot. Say that to my grades.”

“An idiot as in someone who doesn’t see what’s right in front of them.”

That shuts you for good, then, and you stop walking with a sigh. “I don’t even know about that, anymore.”

Seungcheol watches as you slow down, tears behind your eyes and his heart hurts for you, thanks to his problem. When he’d found you storming out of Jeonghan’s room with fists wiping your tears away, he’d wrapped an arm around you immediately, listening as you quietly told him you needed to leave. He’d offered to walk you home and you’d watched him for a moment before nodding.

“Why are you doing this, Cheol? Shouldn’t you be back there, comforting Jeonghan?”

“See, there it is. The idiot side of you.”

You go silent again, looking down at the hand that was clutched in his a few moments ago.

“...you like me?”

“Bingo. Plus, I don’t think Jeonghan wants to hear from me tonight. Not after I almost kissed you in front of him.”

You let out a surprised sound, hand flying to your mouth when you recall the near-kiss, ears turning impossibly pink under the streetlights. “Fuck, I forgot that happened. I’m sorry? Or you’re welcome?”

“Nah, I can’t thank you till we actually seal the deal,” Seungcheol teases, stepping closer to you and dramatically ducking his head as if going in for a kiss. You push his shoulder away, “Fuck you, Seungcheol.”

“I mean, sure, if you want to!”

“Ugh!” you start walking with a pout on your face, “I hate the guts of the men in this place!”

“That’s not what your face said thirty minutes ago at the bar!”

“Go away, Cheol, or I’m reporting you to the campus authorities.”

“Aww, you called me Cheol even when we’re fighting. Aren’t you the sweetest?”

–

When Monday rolls around, you think you’ve got a good hold on your head this time, especially after a few grueling hours at your shift at the cafe. That is until you spot Jeonghan walking in, hair tied back in a half-ponytail and hands crossed across his white cardigan. The sight of him sends you into a frenzy and you debate your options as being between: ducking behind the counter and switching positions with Joshua, or otherwise, manning up and facing the aftermath of your actions.

You glance at Joshua’s back, his hands busy cleaning the espresso equipment and before you have a minute to ask him to switch, Jeonghan’s at the counter (where’s a line of customers when you need it?), calling you out. “Hey, Y/N, do you think we could talk for a minute?”

You look at him blankly, not expecting him to take the direct route after everything. But you malfunction a little and cut his advances off, “Welcome to Moon Coffee! What can I get started for you?” you ask loudly and then add in a softer voice, “Conversation with me is not on the menu.”

“Hm?” Jeonghan looks devastated at your cold response but his eyes search the menu board frantically anyway, “Uh, I guess I could get just an iced americano, then, please?”

You note that down with a half-smile, and almost go on to ask for a name for the order but decide against it, not wanting to stretch your pettiness limit for the day. “Alright, thank you for your order! Please feel free to take a seat while you wait.”

You relax when he nods with a hesitant smile and takes a seat, close to the window but close enough to the counter to hear his name being called out. You feel the pit in your stomach burn a little at how deflated his shoulders are and you wonder if you ought to drop the act; you’d been into the man for two years now. Right?

But before you can pursue this heart-wrenching line of thought, you’re distracted by the sound of the door opening and– great, it’s Seungcheol. By the surprised look he shoots Jeonghan’s sat figure, they hadn’t planned this… ambush, but you reign in your usual cordiality anyway as Seungcheol approaches you.

“Hey there, morning. How’ve you been?”

What did you have to do to have one customer who came in here for coffee?

“Good afternoon,” you correct him, pleased at the reversal of your first meeting with Seungcheol, who chuckles a little. “Welcome, what can we get you today?”

He pauses, casting a glance to Jeonghan over his shoulder, whose attention is on this interaction, legs crossed and brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, didn’t know he was in here. I just wanted to check up on you.”

“What are you apologizing for?” The question slips before you can remember to be professional and also, a little bit quieter because almost certain that Jeonghan’s heard you by the way he averts his eyes. “Um, I mean, sorry. I can recommend you a drink for the day or do you want to get your usual?”

Seungcheol mulls it over, “Hm, I’m fine with anything you choose for me.”

You pause before punching in the order for a hazelnut mocha, without a double-shot this time. He can deal with the sweetness for a day, you reckon. You glance at Joshua who’s still cleaning up before getting started on the orders because well, it’s a slow day. Or it’s supposed to be.

As you thank Seungcheol for his order and he’s about to step aside to wait, you add in a quick, “And next time, if you want to check up on me, do it when I’m not working.” He does nothing to hide the grin of acknowledgment that takes over his face, a sight that only darkens the storm known as Yoon Jeonghan brewing in the cafe.

You walk over to Joshua, “Dude! Hurry up, we have customers waiting.”

He turns to you slowly, wiping his hands off ever so slowly, even the smile on his face slow. “Don’t worry, it’s just Jeonghan. We know these guys. We can take our time.”

You narrow your eyes at him, wondering if Jeonghan put him up to this act, but don’t question it because even that would be admitting defeat. “Whatever. I’ll make the drinks if you’re going to be annoying. Where’s the syrup for the mocha again?”

Joshua slaps the hand that you’re using to reach for the syrup with a firm, “Uh-uh! Hands off, young lady. That hazelnut mocha is all mine to make. You can work on the iced americano if you really want to help out.”

You groan, throwing your hands up, “So you were slowing things down on purpose, you little bitch.”

“Hello? Please be mindful of the language you use around here. I can report you–”

“Yes, yes, of course, I will just shut up and make that americano so I don’t have to listen to your voice again.”

A few minutes later, you’re scribbling Jeonghan’s name onto the cup, proud with the quick work you’ve made of the drink and also thankful nobody was coming in right now. “Han–” you stop yourself just as the nickname slips your tongue, flinching when you remember you’re supposed to be acting stuck up right now.

You turn, hoping that Jeonghan hadn’t heard you but nevermind that because he’s at your side, quicker than he ought to be really (any other scenario, he would be declaring all kinds of knee problems), that sly grin plastered on his face.

“Hi there,” he greets you, “Called for me, did you?”

“...I did. An iced americano for Jeonghan.” You try hard to make your sentences brief but Jeonghan’s chuckling as he takes the drink from you– using both his hands so that you’re brushing against his. Classic middle school boy behavior.

If anything, this ordeal was making you question if the man was as mature as you’d believed. Either way, he thanks you with a smile and leaves promptly, leaving a very affronted Seungcheol in his wake. “Hey, I thought you said you were gonna wait for me!” he calls out after Jeonghan, who doesn’t respond as he slides out.

“A hazelnut mocha for Seung…Cheol?”

You glare at Joshua who frowns at the name as that was the first he’d heard of it, and the guy just shrugs as he puts the drink down. “Sorry about that. Joshua’s feeling rebellious this afternoon,” you tell a frowny Seungcheol (you are a minute away from admitting how cute he is when he’s upset), “Anyway, here’s your drink, Seungcheol. Have a good day!”

“Cheol!” you call out when you spot the brown head of hair outside the cafe when your shift ends. He’d texted you a while after he’d walked off with his drink in hand, pouting because you insisted on calling him Seungcheol.

meet me after your shift? his text reads.

do u even know when my shift ends dude

no and thats why im asking u. when does your shift end?

… u are insufferable.

insufferable enough to fall 4 u i guess

when are u going to stop holding your feelings for me over my head?

when you do something about them.

meet me at 6 outside the cafe.

Yeah, so you wouldn’t say you’re being your wisest self right now. To begin with, you should probably seek out Jeonghan and find closure of some sort. But something tells you to wait on him, wait till he’s ready to seek you out (no, coming up to you during your work shift did not count). Instead, you choose to pursue the… spark that you have with Seungcheol, his feelings for you aside. The night after Jeonghan’s party he’d made it clear that he didn’t really want anything serious, just to get to know you more while you were still around.

A little fooling around never hurt anyone, right?

So when Seungcheol whines out, “Oh, so I’m back to being Cheol now, huh?” you finally let out the laugh that you’d held back at work at his antics.

“Nobody ever told me you were such a pouty baby,” you tell him, eyes shameless trained on his pink lips.

“I don’t pout for anyone, baby,” Seungcheol shoots back, hand on your back as he leads you somewhere. You look at him in question. “What? We’re getting dinner.”

“I was not aware,” you reply, “But all right. Let’s do it.”

Dinner is comfortable. Which is more than you ask for on a date these days.

“Your dates have really been that bad, huh?” Seungcheol asks you. You shake your head, fork scraping some tiramisu onto it, “You can’t even imagine it, Cheol, it’s hell out there. I’m lucky if the guy pays for the dinner so I don’t have to work an extra shift to make up for it.”

He laughs and you savor the sight, because hanging out with this often hadn’t meant you had become indifferent to his looks. If anything, it was the other way around.

“Thanks for dinner,” you tell him later as he sneaks his hand into yours. You allow yourself to feel guilty for indulging him like this but then he squeezes your hand, “Anything for you, m’lady.”

Later that night, you invite him to your room. “It’s not much,” you add to the invitation, “But you know, I do happen to have some wine in my fridge that Wonwoo forgot to pick up. And my bed’s pretty cozy to watch movies in.”

Seungcheol is breathless by the time you’re in your room, not only because of the trek up the stairs but also the fact that you’d held his hand in yours the whole way up. “Wow, it sure is cold in here,” he comments as you turn the lights. It is the textbook college room, albeit a little bigger since you’re in a single.

You cough, “Um, sorry about that. Let me turn on the heater. And you can sit on my bed…” you pause when you remember the mess you’d left on your mattress this morning, in a hurry to make it to your shift but nevertheless, insistent on putting together a fit.

You sweep up the pile of discarded clothes from your bed and onto an already burdened chair, making a show out of it. You dust your hands off with a smile at Seungcheol who’s been watching with a hand on his hip. “Change your mind about me yet?” you question, teasingly.

He rolls his eyes as he walks closer to you, effectively bumping you onto your bed, the new angle forcing you to look up at him. He kneels in front of you, his smile turning loving as he takes your face into his hands. “Not a chance,” and then he leans in until his warm lips are on yours, the heater whirring irrelevant now that heat’s rushing up to your temples instantly.

You taste him and then pull away, “Mhm. Not so fast, you sly little man. I promised you wine and a movie in my bed. And I,” you say as you crouch in front of your fridge, “am a woman of my word.” You shake the cold bottle of red wine at him and he grins.

An hour later, you’re curled around Seungcheol, glasses of wine long consumed and movie long forgotten in favor of cuddling. You stare at him and then when he smiles shyly, you finger one of his dimples, “Hey. You sure you’re not serious about me? Because I’m…” you hate the way you trail off, the very thought of Jeonghan derailing any sense of coherence you’ve ever had.

“I know,” Seungcheol’s hand comes to your wrist, “I knew I didn’t stand a chance against Jeonghan since I saw you guys fight at the cafe that day. You look at him like he has all the answers.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you brush off, not completely refuting him. “But if you knew, why’d you stick around and… I don’t know, flirt with me?”

Seungcheol laughs into your neck, “Call it a bad habit of mine.” His hands play with your hair now, brushing it away from your face, “I see a pretty girl and I have to charm her.”

You drop your head into his chest with a groan, “Stop! You sound so creepy. Like a predator.”

“Hey!” he protests, his chuckles vibrating through you, “You’re the one who called me charming the other day!”

“Hmm. I guess I did.”

His hands slowly pry you away from his chest and to his face, lips pressing against yours. You smile a little and then open up for him, shifting until you’re situated on top of him. You close your eyes, surrendering yourself to the kiss and – “Shit, you’re a good kisser.” The man underneath you moves you closer with a pleased smirk, voice smug when his lips trail down your neck, “That’s not the only thing I’m good at.”

–

“Sex with older men really is different, huh?”

You gasp at Wonwoo’s vulgar words, slapping his arm mercilessly making him jump away from you. “Dude! Mind keeping it down? We’re in the library, not your mom’s house.”

“Ha! Jokes on you, I wouldn’t be making dirty jokes in my mom’s house because Jeonghan is my mom away from home and he would really kick my ass if he heard me talk about you and Seungchel fucking–”

Another slap on the arm and Wonwoo shuts up, groaning in pain. You grimace when you notice a few heads turning your way at the commotion, and bow in apology. When they’re looking away, you glower at Wonwoo, “Seriously, man, what are you up to? Drop the horny teenager act for once so we can focus on the problem at hand.”

“Judging from the tone of your voice, I’m guessing that you’re not talking about the problem of calculus in front of us, but rather, the problem of… life?”

You stare at Wonwoo blankly, “I’m so glad you find this entertaining.” As you’re about to continue giving him a piece of your mind, your phone buzzes, cutting you off much to Wonwoo’s relief, who sneaks a look over your shoulder anyway.

cheol: rate last night on a scale of ‘okay’ to ‘let's meet up again tonight’?

You scoff at the audacity and Wonwoo’s already clinging onto this new piece of evidence. “Oh, so what was that about this being a one-time thing? Next thing I know you’re moving in with him when you graduate.”

You slam your phone face down, “Listen, I know you think this is a joke but it’s not. I’m not going to sleep with Cheol again because that’s obviously the right thing to do. But as for Jeonghan, well, it’s been radio silence from him all week.”

“And since when have you let Jeonghan take the lead on your relationship with him? You know he’s a working man so I’m not surprised he’s not texting you at noon on a Wednesday.”

You glare at Wonwoo, “Seungcheol is also very much a working man? I don’t see your point. And also, I don’t know when this became a competition between the two?”

“Since you confessed to one and then slept with the other?”

You exhale heavily, unable to shoot him down because he was at least a little bit correct. Instead you heave your head into your arms. “Maybe I should just fake my death and move away.”

“You’ll give up your dreams of graduation over a stupid love triangle, consisting purely of men?”

“Shit. You’re right. That’s not happening,” you look up, “Jeon Wonwoo, what would I do if you weren’t by my side bringing me to my senses? You’re the best friend I ever had.”

“Actually, your use of ‘friend’ is very offensive to me,” he complains, fisting his palm dramatically, “I consider myself one of the girls. Or even better, your guardian. Refer to me as Your Highness exclusively or I will not listen.”

You stand up with a screech of your chair, “Okay, that was the last of your reasonable thinking. I’m going to go to my shift and work until I can no longer think or pine.”

“Great plan, young one!”

“Touch grass while I’m gone and you might have hope yet.”

–

“Look, I really don’t think we should be doing this anymore.”

Seungcheol laughs, eyes searching your face for signs of humor. You flash him a grimace of seriousness and doom. He deflates. “I saw this coming. Should’ve known you would only ever ask me out to a fancy restaurant for dinner to break up with me.”

You flick his forehead, “Break up? Don’t call it that. It gives people the wrong idea.”

“Interesting, Y/N L/N admits to caring about whether or not people get the wrong idea about us. Very interesting,” he comments, not at all sneaky with the way his arm snakes around you, “Anyway, you want me to pay for dinner and what, drag my sorry ass back to Jeonghan’s place?”

You stiffen at the mention of Jeonghan and then sigh, the following conversation almost inevitable given your current situation. “So speaking of Jeonghan, has he been talking?”

“Um, yeah, he sure has been opening his mouth and saying words.”

“Fuck you, I meant as in, about me? Has he said anything?”

“Not in specific. Although he did inquire if I had slept over at your place two nights ago and when I said yes, he threw a slice of half-eaten apple in my face. Since then whenever I see him, I duck.”

“That’s very funny.”

“Don’t worry, I made sure to tell him how hopelessly in love with him you are–”

“That was not needed.”

“–And how you accidentally moaned his name on my cock.”

You glare at him, “What about those statements made you think they were okay to voice out loud, not only once but twice?”

As Seungcheol comes up with a witty defense for his lapse in judgment, your phone buzzes next to your thigh and the name that pops up has you zoning everything out instantly.

han: hey, can we talk?

You look away from the screen and breathe out, “And that makes two of us dragging our sorry asses to Jeonghan’s place.”

When you knock on his door, the last thing you expect to see is a red-eyed, very sniffly Jeonghan. Heck, you hadn’t ever even come close to imagining the heartbroken look on Jeonghan’s face, his eyes downcast when you visibly look taken aback at his state.

“Han?”

“Hey,” his voice is hoarse and good lord, you can’t stand this. “Let’s sit in the living room. I was going to go grab some water anyway.”

You follow him speechlessly, watching the way his hands disappear into the sleeves of the black sweatshirt that hangs loose around his frame. You keep watching when he reappears, and it’s when he sits down quietly, fingers whitening around the glass of iced water in hands that you lose it.

“Talk to me, Han. Are you okay?” you breathe deeply to contain the multitude of concerned questions that threaten to leave your system. For one, you didn't know how to interpret the crestfallen expression he held up when he met your eyes. While someone like Wonwoo (aka a naive little kid) would argue that the only reasonable explanation for it would be that he was devastated that you’d been avoiding him the past week. But knowing what you did about him, you couldn’t let go of the possibility that he was just mourning the impending loss of a friend, i.e. you, when he breaks it to you that he doesn’t like you back.

Jeonghan senses you’re in your head when you’ve been staring at him for a moment too long, mouth agape, so he moves closer, taking the water out of your hands and placing it next to his emptied glass.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Fuck. An apology?

You stammer, “S-Sorry? Why?”

“I’m sorry I called you an idiot the other day. You’re the farthest thing from an idiot– and you’re definitely not a kid. I’m so sorry that I made you feel like that. I just… I’ve been thinking about us, and I realized that somewhere along the way, I became really over-protective of you. I started treating you like you were fragile or something, and I shouldn’t have.”

“I’m listening,” you tell him, frown letting up now that he’s finally speaking up.

“And I’m sorry for being a cowardly little bitch about my feelings for you,” he mumbles, eyes dropping to your lap where your fingers play with the fabric of your shirt uneasily. He stops your fiddling, his hands coming to envelope both of yours. “I’m the idiot for thinking I could be anything other than in love with you.”

“Huh,” you exhale again, biting your lip to hold the smile that threatens to spill.

“And finally, I’m sorry for not doing anything about it when I knew your feelings were mutual. As you know, I’m getting old and–”

You stop any further stupidity from leaving his lips by – you guessed it – by pressing your lips against them. He lets out a surprised gasp and your smile finally turns into a giggle when his hands tighten around yours in your lap.

You pull away, only to detach your hands so you can bury them in his hair instead and Jeonghan smiles at you, his eyes crescents as they watch you lovingly and you think: the pain was worth it.

Jeonghan’s smile widens when he feels you thumb at his skin, tenderly tracing his eye-bags.

“You look terrible, Han, I’m sorry,” you mutter, kissing his cheeks and then his forehead. He’s already mellowing under your hold and he hums, low, “You should be. I went to hell and back when Seungcheol announced he slept with you. I mean, what were you thinking?”

You break, guiltily looking away. “That was not my smartest moment but I was also very distraught about my relationship with a certain someone who wouldn’t contact me outside of my working hours.”

“You and your stubborn need to remain professional. Y/N, it’s a campus cafe, I don’t think anyone’s going to care if you break your act once in a while. I don’t know, if I don’t get a kiss the next time I visit you– I might just rethink this.”

You scoff in disbelief, “You’re a real pain in the ass, Jeonghan. Maybe I’ll just go back to my room and cry myself to sleep.” But as soon as you make moves to stand up, Jeonghan’s bringing you back to sit, taking the chance to pull you closer into a hug. “You will do no such thing.”

You freeze when you feel his nose settle into your shoulder, warm breaths relaxing when your hands reclaim their place in his hair. “I love you, Y/N.”

A beat passes and with a kiss to his head, you return, “I probably love you more, old man.”

“If we’re going to date, that nickname has got to go!”

“What? You’re the one who was complaining about your knee problems last week. It’s fine, I can add this relationship to my list of community service activities.”

Jeonghan pulls away, standing up abruptly and jerking you upward as well. Your smile falters but then, he’s steering you to his bedroom, throwing the door shut with a grunt. You side-eye him, “What’s up–” He cuts you off, lips hot against yours.

A few minutes later, when his tongue finally lets up, he mutters, “I just remembered that you kissed Seungcheol with this mouth. I’ve gotta do everything I can to erase that memory.”

“I can’t tell if you want me to forget… or yourself.”

“Shh, I bet he couldn’t even– Wait, why aren’t you wearing a bra? Don’t tell me you were–!”

“You sure love asking questions, old man,” you whine and before Jeonghan can question you further, you take ahold of his hand, sliding it over your stomach and down the waistband of your jeans, the space tight and hot but not as hot as the groan Jeonghan lets out when he feels you. “Holy fuck, you’re wet.”

You grin when he falls to his knees, your jeans unbuttoned and pulled down in next to no time. “There’s more where that came from,” you mumble before he’s between your thighs, ripping out scream after scream from your throat.

–

Genuinely and honestly, if you’d foreseen waking up in Jeonghan’s bed, his hair a mess from last night but face comfortably snuggled in your arm– you would’ve been less mean to Wonwoo. Because it turns out that his voice (of reason? or of deviance? you would never figure it out) in your head had been right: Jeonghan did return your feelings all those times you thought he might.

He tells you all about it when you’ve collapsed later that night, replacing the curses on your lips with dampness in your eyes because of how vulnerable he is, pouring his heart out to you like this.

Propped up on an elbow, he played with your hand, “I remember when you first came over with Wonwoo. I thought I’d met myself, but younger and prettier and sillier.”

“I hate it when you combine insults with compliments so I can’t attack you.”

“I learnt that from you, silly,” he kisses your nose but continues, “But honestly, the more we talked, the more I realized how different you are from me. I mean, sure, are you tired out of your mind half the time like me? Yeah. But you were so observant and so keen on getting to know people. It’s hard to come across people who are invested in friendships for more than just small talk and someone to have meals with.”

But just as he’s getting deep on you, he adds, “Plus, you smell a whole lot better than anyone else. I’d go crazy sitting next to you, especially because you just love to throw yourself at people in laughter.”

“Not that I’m complaining–” he stops your protests quickly, “I swear my heart would skip a beat everytime you laughed at something I said. And then the time we were talking about ideal types and you got all flustered over everyone teasing you about me? Dude, I had to run to the kitchen before I could do something rash. Like kissing you in front of everyone. Or worse, bride-style carrying you into my room so I could enjoy the adorably lovesick look on your face.”

You groan into his pillow, “Stooop. This is just embarrassing for me. It’s not like I was trying to be obvious.”

“I know, baby,” he coos, gentle hands prying you away from the pillow, “But you know, you have the same look on your face right now.” He laughs, kissing the pout off your lips with a sweet, “For what it’s worth, I was yours for a long time. Just took a minute for me to realize it.”

You huff but smile despite it and pull him closer, “I’m glad. Now hold me to sleep or I’m gonna be sad.”

Another laugh reverberates through the two of you when he slides down, pulling the sheets closer over you, and pats your back as you settle into him with a satisfied sigh. “Sleep well, my love.”

–

“And when I’m gone, please don’t stop eating breakfast in the morning. I know you think that it’s consequential to your life completely,” Seungcheol pauses for dramatic effect, “but it’s important. It could be the difference between living 20 less years or 50 more.”

“How scientifically true is that?” you mumble to Jeonghan under your breath, who being the devious little brat he is voices your concern, earning you a look from Seungcheol.

“Whatever, I knew my words were undervalued in this household ever since you guys started dating and refused to keep it down at night. Like, it’s not that hard, right?”

You punch Jeonghan’s arm to both keep him from telling the dick joke he’s about to say and also, to show Seungcheol that you wanted no part in this. “I told this guy to keep you in mind but that just made him mad which in turn led to… screaming. Sorry.”

Seungcheol sighs as he glances at his watch, “Okay, okay. I have to get going now so bring in whatever last-minute reconciliations you two have for me.”

Jeonghan steps forward and hugs the man, surprising both the latter and you. But you watch with a pleased smile playing on your lips, relieved that their friendship still seemed to go strong, bumps and all. When it’s your turn to hug Seungcheol, you scoff at the hesitant look he casts at your boyfriend and wrap your arms around his middle.

“Thanks for everything, Cheol. Keep in touch. And do something about this second-lead syndrome of yours. I better catch you in a happily stable relationship of your own next time around.”

Seungcheol chuckles quietly, waiting for you to pull away to say, “If that’s an order from the main female lead, then I guess I have no choice, do I? Unless,” his eyes mischievously stray to Jeonghan who already knows what’s coming next, “the male lead fucks up and leaves a certain pretty girl single, huh?”

You don’t have time to decipher if that’s a threat wrapped up in a punchline because Jeonghan’s arm’s around your shoulder, moving you away and besides you, he says, “You’ll be waiting all your life if you wait on me to fuck this up. Bye, Cheol, I can see that your Uber just pulled up.”

“Ha! Good one. Alright, this is goodbye for now. See y’all on my feed. Or it might be better if I don’t. Anyway, bye and don’t kill anyone.”

With Seungcheol gone, you look up at Jeonghan with a smug smirk, “Oh, so you plan on sticking around with me forever? That’s a long time, you know.”

Your boyfriend chuckles, his eyes twinkling, “Please, if I had the patience to watch you hug Seungcheol right in front of my eyes, being with you forever will be a breeze in the park. So yes, I plan to stick to you forever, like superglue.”

“Gross, you couldn’t say something romantic like candy or syrup?”

“Sorry, babe, but I was just distracted by how all mine you are that I couldn’t think of anything else.”

“Never mind, I think it’s worse when you’re all cheesy. Go back to being gross?”

“I love you. Now, come here so I can kiss every single surface of your face. And then we can go on a walk and tell everyone who told me to give up to suck it.”

You lose balance when the laughter finally escapes your mouth but thankfully, Jeonghan’s arms are around you, promising and playful when you meet his eyes. “Ugh, whatever. I love you. So I guess we can do all the weird annoying stuff you want to do for now.”

Despite your banter though, the two of you are so happy together that you’re shocked by the picture of you with Jeonghan that Wonwoo Airdrops, after your walk. You have the dopiest smile on your face and Jeonghan’s looking at you with a cheesy grin. You hate to admit it but you do look like an “old married couple” like Wonwoo’s text teases. But for once, you give in, snuggling closer to Jeonghan’s body because well, yeah, you did plan to stick to him. Like superglue.

–

#once again apologizing #jeonghan x reader #seungcheol x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #svt fluff #svt angst #svt x reader #yoon jeonghan #choi seungcheol #seventeen smut #jeonghan angst #seungcheol angst

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honestsycrets · 9 months

Text

enfócate | tutor!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ pairing | tutor!miguel x student!reader, fake boyfriend!peter x reader

❛ type | explicit

❛ summary | jess is clear: miguel o'hara is a terrible boyfriend. he'll inevitably hurt you-- but peter has other ideas. or, you blow miguel in a library.

❛ tags | spanish tutor!miguel, bratty reader, a kiss with Peter, Miguel's jealousy, bjs, fake boyfriend!peter, slight obsessive qualities, fuck buddies, undefined relationships, fuck boy Miguel.

❛ reqs fulfilled | see here.

❛ sy's notes | the pov on this piece bothers me, it jumps between reader and Miguel. however, i did write two separate pieces for this request (a combined 25 pages vs my usual 11/12). so, i decided to meld them together to create this piece. anywho, if it bothers you, i understand! ❤️ I yoinked a lot of the Spanish from my Spanish learners textbook, hopefully, it's acceptable.

He knew he wanted you from the first day he saw you in the tea cafe.

Jess and he rarely visited the tea shop. It was settled on the edge of campus. Close to the social sciences and arts, but far from the work he did in the Genetics department. As a Ph.D. student, however, not all the work was done in the lab. Jess liked to see the different types of people that came to this tea cafe, where the chair cushions were fluffy emerald pillows and plants hovered overhead.

“Miguel? What's---”

You stood apart from the other students with their sloppy, half-cropped, or frumpy appearances, there was a particular care you took to dressing. It was the embroidered bow in your hair that drew his attention. When you left to fetch a refill of chai, he noticed the soft, frilled socks in tiny ankle boots. He just knew you would taste sweet, leering as he watched you at the drink bar. Jess glanced in your direction, the way you adorably bowed your head after the tea artist gave you your drink, and just knew. Jess looked over her shoulder.

“Not her.”

Jess’s voice was a drawn-out sigh of your name, punctuated by her fist beating the table. Miguel perked at the mention of your name. Oh, so she knew you. She was probably sick of his shit. Good, he was also sick of being used as a vibe check for the lesbians she wanted to pick up.

“Don’t you have enough side pieces?”

Miguel didn’t respond.

“She probably has a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Look who she's with.”

That finally got a response.

“You don’t know that,” he kept his eyes straight ahead. You caught him staring, wiggling your little fingers in a hello as you sat at a table. "I want her."

You sat with an incredibly frumpy, annoying photography student who once took his picture for the lab website. Could he be… his attention wavered when you pulled out a book: Español para el siglo. His lips quivered into a wildly sardonic grin. Oh no, no no. It was too easy.

“You’ll ruin her. She’s too innocent.”

He leaned in.

“Are you going to help me or not?”

“Buenas tardes,”

Two chairs and a thin desk. The small study room was more of a glorified broom closet for its students. You were lucky that there was a large window that looked out over the student union, flowers blooming up its brick siding. Bits of lush dark green ivy poked into the window’s view from the library’s tall wall. As the sun set on campus, rich orange and pink settled over the sunset on that warm Friday afternoon. At least the sight was pretty for how overwhelmingly small the space was.

It wasn’t the space that bothered you. It was your tutor.

He was big-- big big. Not just a little big, but really big. The kind of big that was on bodybuilding competitions. It made his long, blue-grey muscle shirt and grey sweats look tiny, sucked to his well-pumped muscle. The room felt a lot smaller as you looked at him, his long brown hair whipped back over his neck. His eyebrows raised on his dark forehead, arms turning one over another, a bundle of muscle.

“Ah... you're him? The man from the tea shop.”

He pulled free his sunglasses and set them down. His warm chocolate eyes glanced from the edge of your now too-short skirt to the glint of a dagger necklace that beat between your breasts. He’s staring. Why is he staring-- you finger the dagger between your thumb and index fingers, soothing yourself with the manipulation.

“Miguel.” He warmed, pulling the seat out beside him. His voice was buttery and smooth, almost like rich caramel. The lilt in his voice lightened, inviting you to take a seat by him. You should. You thought. Sit down. “Siéntate."

You stared.

"I said sit down.”

That was a bad idea. You paused, slipping the bag down from under your shoulder and onto the beige tile by the door. Miguel watched every slight movement. That’s fine. It’s natural to do that. You tugged the bottom of your skirt and took a seat beside him. Miguel pushed the chair back in, pushing your chest to the edge of the desk space. Oh-- oh boy, he was strong. Of course, he was, he was built like a--

“Bueno. Now you're settled. How can I help you?”

Do that again.

“Me? Oh! I... Jess said you could help me need to pass a test,” you murmured. The four semesters of Spanish seemed relatively easy compared to being stuffed next to this Adonis in this tiny study room. Your legs settled over your skirt, hands working over one another to will down the pulse of your wily excitement. What was wrong with you? “To pass my language requirement.”

You should have been able to do that alone but-- let’s say you weren’t the most applied to the language in your childhood. A tutor was a great alternative to embarrassment and thousands of dollars in classes. If only he didn’t look like… this. His large hand left the pasty back of your chair.

“Hm,” he paused. “¿Puedes hablar español?”

“Sí,” you murmured. “My mami was-- well, I should have listened to her.”

Hm.

You want to know what Hm means. Your leg tremored on its own accord. He swept a leather bag by his side up and pulled out a thick folder, running across several tabs. Lab notes, diet plans, pruebas.

“It happens,” he notes, sliding a page free. “Let’s see how much you know, princesa.”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to know more, to hear the hum of Spanish bouncing off his lips. It was a world apart from your mother’s shrill screams on Saturday mornings to clean an already clean house. It held its own beauty and mystery when he spoke it. You took the page from him, setting it down on the bland tablespace by your phone, lighting up with a notification.

Jess When you meet Miguel, don’t do it.

"¿Princesa?" you asked.

"You dress like one. Don’t worry if you fail,” you plucked out a pink mechanical pencil, complete with little animated characters tightened around the wrapping. You perked at his words, choking a small smile. “I expect you to.”

Why was he like this? You took another unfortunate look at him, his large forearm plastered over the desk, making the book he had to look like peanuts in comparison. God, he was hot-- you felt comparatively hideous, drooling over a man that was out of your league. Maybe he could be your piece of eye candy this year. Your phone buzzed along the table again. Miguel’s eyes shot to it, a frown pulling at his lips.

Jess Don’t fuck him. He can’t keep his dick to himself.

He reaches over, flipping your phone down with an overworked smile sundering his expression. It’s almost fake.

“Are you…” you turned your eyes to the questions on the page. “A student?”

“Grad student,” Miguel answered. So, older than you then. “I graduated with a BA in Spanish and a BS in Genetics.”

“Oh! A dual degree?” The man couldn’t be normal. He had to do both. “Did it… take a while?”

“No, it was accelerated.”

He was unreal. There was no way this man was ordinary. It was physically impossible for the man to be that hot and successful. You scribbled across the page, nipping the back of your pencil at particularly hard questions.

“So you just do this for… a living?” you asked him.

“I teach and train clients, yes.”

“Train?”

“Gym,” Miguel set his cheek on his fist.

“I do cardio with Jess. No strength training for me.” Jess-- who suggested Miguel to you. You had some shit to bitch at her about the next time you saw her. Namely, why she didn’t warn you about Miguel. He was a boon for chaos in your life.

“I’d waste your time. I’m all marshmallow,” you pat your soft belly. “All pan dulce and burros.”

He chuckled.

“You have a beautiful body.”

And that was that. You set the pencil down on a page half full of answers, glancing toward his full lips. They were quirked into an arrogant smirk. He knew the effect he had on women. He glanced to the page, then to you, his lips growing into a smile laden with arrogance.

“Your hips--” he glanced down, “My girls couldn’t pay to get them.”

He noticed. You supposed that the miniskirt wasn’t the best choice for meeting a new man.

“Do you talk to everyone like this?”

“No. Only the ones that look at me like you did."

Oh.

If it were a game of whom ate whom up first, you had to be honest-- it may have been you. You couldn’t shoot anything back at that, angling your head down at the page guiltily. A sigh fell from his chest. His large hand came to the back of your head, cupping the thick bow on the back of your head. His fingers ran across the silk, teasing it between his fingers.

“Calm down, you’re not the first one to do it. You won't be the last,” he turned your head to look at him, large fingers combing through the strands of your hair. He chased the panic in your wide eyes, doe eyes blown wide. Your heartbeat soared into your chest, choking you there, looking for an outlet from your shame.

“Breathe for me,” he leaned in, his warm breath tingling your ear. His cologne was clean, like the lapse of the waves on the shore back home where the tropical heat was a second skin. You listened, taking a weary, deep breath in, then out again. Again.

“Go on.” His knuckles rapped on the sheet. Miguel’s hand fell away. You found yourself longing for it again.

“He’s gorgeous.”

“I told you not to fuck him," your superior, Jess said, her feet bouncing off the stairstepper effortlessly.

“I didn't-- I just, he called me beautiful.”

“He would call anyone beautiful if it meant fucking them. Don’t fall for it.”

You knew Jess wouldn’t say it unless she were serious. She always knew what you needed help with, where to locate a good solution, and had the right words to calm you down.

“How?” you said, louder than you intended. You were suddenly thankful for the pounding music that beat down on your ears in your school’s gym and the rush of people that came and went. “Jess, you’re a lesbian. You don’t understand-- he’s thick. Like, he’s luchador status big. Big, big.”

“I’ve dated some thick women.”

“And he likes me,” you said pointedly, rushing to the topmost step, remembering his words. The way he calmed you down from your embarrassment, seeming without concern for his own body. It was… sweet. “Men usually don’t like me, Jess. I’m too… soft.”

“Okay, girl, whatever,” you were pretty sure she rolled her eyes. “Unless you’re going to be another one of his fuck toys, just ignore him.”

“How?”

Her stare trained on the floors lapsed. Thirty and she was still going. “If you don’t want him, just fire him. What’s going to do? Come find you?”

You stopped for the entirety of five… or ten seconds. Enough to consider her words. Enough to quite literally get plop off the stair stepper and onto the cold floor. Jess exhaled a stale breath, reaching over to jam the STOP button on your machine. Ow.

“Good job.”

Miguel likes to tutor you. Not because you’re good at Spanish, no, for a girl that grew up with a Spanish mother, your skills are quite poor. But he likes the opportunity to have you in a room all by yourself, late at night. Wednesdays are great days for that.

Your soft buttercup yellow dress is short today, exposing your thick thighs that take up so much of the chair. He pretends that he’s listening as you go over a list of irregular verbs, your lip pouting in response to the irregular verbs. Some were simple in their familiarity like poder with endings such as pudiste; but the plurals and other irregular verbs, you pouted at. It was cute.

“Miggy, it’s not funny, ” Oh, nicknames now. Miguel throws a glance at your glossy lips, undoubtedly sticky but oh so soft looking.

“I never said it was.”

“You’re smirking.”

“Then don’t whine,” he said. “It’s cute.”

“Oh--” As to be expected, you shifted your hands between your legs, drawing your skirt in between your legs. He faltered and took a glance, coasting his eye over its edges and memorizing the way it fell over your skin. You’ll ruin her, he remembers Jess saying. She wasn’t wrong, he sensed the bit of it now, how close you sat--

“Take a break, princesa. Vocabulary-- ascendencia.”

Rather than take a break, you turned and caught the corner of his lips in what was a terrible, cherry-red kiss that would stain his skin. But the connection of your lips, puckered in a pouting kiss on his skin, caught him off guard.

“Descent,” you took his red pen out of his loose grip, scribbling descent by the word. Fuck. Miguel took a sip of now cold coffee. A smile kept pulling at his cheeks, looking out of the window and catching the slight reflection of your lipstick smeared across his lip and cheek, he bobs his head into a nod.

“Correcto.”

You’re with Peter the first time you see Miguel with another woman.

It’s at lunch. Tuesdays and Thursdays are regularly spent running to the College of Arts, waiting for Peter to get out, and a picnic. Today, you forgot to bring lunch, running off to the union hand wrapped around his elbow as he talked to you about a bright new camera lens filter.

“These new pictures are going to come out perfect! Thanks for lending me the money,” he beamed. You loved the way he talked about his art-- stopping to show you his newest pictures of the camera that hung around his neck. Peter was always good with a camera, catching you in all the prettiest angles in your trade of photos for… sponsoring a lens or whatever. Or, at least, bringing down the cost. “Look at this one. Look how pretty you look in that dress, kinda like a pin-up! We should do some’a those next.”

Feet thumping over the pavement, you failed to sense Miguel's presence until you smelled his peppery cologne carried on the air. There, on a bench, he sat next to a girl. She was pretty, with long dark hair and soft skin. Her hand was on his thigh and his arm around her shoulder, eating the last bit of a flaky empanada-- your eyes burned, the closeness of her head on his shoulder, clearly done and finished, waiting for whatever next plan he had. You don’t want to know what that could be.

“Huh? Oh. hi Miguel!” Peter waved to your dismay. You held onto him a little tighter, wringing circles around his sleeve. Miguel spares you two a glance, his eyebrows pushing together. But he waves, lazy and short. You stifle the hot prick of tears at the corner of your eyes and yank Peter away. “Wha-- I’m coming, I’m coming!"

Days later, Peter has a plan.

“I’ve got it-- the solution to your tea guy problem! You should have told me sooner that it was Miguel.”

Peter was very excited. Why, you weren’t sure. He liked to feel helpful. That’s why he was a photographer. Photography lets others feel beautiful and seen. He picked at your lunch, his head flopped on your thigh as he worked through his camera.

“I’ll be your boyfriend!”

“You want to be my boyfriend?” you offered him a grape. He opened his mouth with an adorable ‘ah’ of his his lips. You slipped the grape between his lips. He chewed appreciatively. “I don’t know, Peter. Isn’t it lying?”

“C’mon, I know Miguel. He’s macho. The kind of guy you have to make jealous. And I can do it! I’m boyfriend material. Aren’t I?”

“Sí. But I don’t think I can make him jealous.”

It was a sunshiney day, sprawled out at lunch on a cool picnic blanket, tracing the clouds when you heard his voice. Soft, smooth, inviting. Your head spun around, this time with a lean blonde-haired girl-- her legs were long, tummy nice and flat, blue eyes shining like little sapphires set in her pale face. She swooned on his arm. The perfect sorority princess. What if he called her princesa, too?

“--close lab with me--”

“I can do it myself.”

Miguel’s eyes caught yours, raising his hand lazily to greet you as he walked down the sidewalk, undoubtedly back to his genetics lab on the other side of campus. Over where brilliant boys and girls and theys were, rushing through accelerated scientific programs while you figured out how to fix broken artifacts. He lived in another impossible world. A realm far away from Peter and you: photography and the maintenance of culture and art.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Peter's eyes were glossy with concern. “It’s okay. We don’t have to-- did I say something wrong?”

You shook your head. Peter sat up, his eyes bounced up-- from Miguel over his shoulder to your sudden sad eyes. Peter set his hand on your cheek, the fibers of his soft pink cardigan tickling your jaw. Your eyes tore from Miguel, whose pace became sluggish as if steps along took immense effort. Peter’s nose bumped against yours, clumsy and oh so Peterish-- his hand on the middle of your back, his warm but cracked lips swallowing the gasp that tumbled from your lips. He tasted of sweet fruit, the sloppy lunch you shared, and a silly comfort.

He watching? Peter murmured against your lips.

You nearly forgot to return the kiss, captured in the way Miguel stared-- something in his warm brown eyes was almost wounded. Peter shoved you onto the picnic blanket, a soft sorry murmured under his breath as his thin frame fell between your legs. Miguel stomped away, his bumbling blonde rushing to keep up.

“Oh yeah,” Peter rolled over onto his back, crossing his legs one over another. You watched Miguel stomp past the tall hedges, out of your line of sight. “He’s gonna be mad at you.”

“Peter!”

Miguel was still in a bad mood hours later.

“¡Qué surpresa!” he murmured, offering you your paper blotted with red circles. “You did remarkably shit on this test. Do you focus on anything? Or just Peter?”

“Perdona me.” Your focus was shot with his consistent presence in your life. Not that he could appreciate that.

“How long are you going to keep wasting my time?”

“Are you talking about the Spanish or--”

Miguel set the red pen down, a sharp slam snapping the pen under his force. The fragile plastic snapped into shards of plastic. He flicked it away, paper and pen both, his large hand flexing in and out of a closed fist. You traced the tracks of his veins along his forearm.

“Are you mad that I kissed you?”

“Stop.”

“Or are you angry that Peter did?”

“Don’t touch me.”

Though he said that, you didn’t listen. You slid out of the chair and in between his spread legs, your hands trailing his handsome jawline. He jerked back when your lips caught his, the legs of his chair hitting the wall. Though he said no, his mouth opened to your kiss, and his palms flushed against your soft cheeks. You pinned him between your body and the wall-- and though you were sure he’d quickly whirl you off if he really wanted to, he didn’t. His tongue pushed into your mouth, owning yours. His hands skimmed your back, trailing lower and lower down your deep red dress until he connected with your ass.

“You need to stop.” Miguel broke from his kiss. Though he said that, he brought you onto his lap. You felt little in his large arms, his hands guiding your hips over his crotch. “Before I do something you’ll regret.”

You listened to the sounds of the library’s floor. The scrunch of take out into the trash, the sing of a door opening and closing. It was dinner time. Most everyone had gone to get their snacks— and here you were, looking down at Miguel with rapt eyes.

“Peter is just a friend.”

“A friend who happens to jam his tongue down your throat,” he turned the word over on his tongue and found offense in it. “Now why do I doubt that?”

“He only wanted to help.”

“By kissing you?”

Your fingers trailed his jaw, dipping back down for another kiss if only to say you could. That Miguel couldn’t tell you what to do. A sound of frustration ripped up his throat. You felt him, his dick twitching to life behind those sweatpants. He felt big. You bit your lower lip— a movement that didn’t escape his attentive eyes.

“By making you as jealous,” You slid off his lap and onto the dirty floor. But as you lifted a hand, cupping his dick through the heavy fabric, he couldn’t bear to stop you.

His lips pulled in a wicked grin, your soft palm stroking along his length. He hooked his thumbs into his sweats, yanking them down over his knees and onto the floor. His cock kissed his belly, straining with droplets of moisture at the tip. Miguel set his hand on your shoulder and forced you to heel on the floor. His temperament evened out. “You were jealous.”

“Yes--” you murmured. “Are.. those girls, are they special?”

“Special? No, none of them are.”

“I want to be.”

“That so?” Your soft hands trailed along the dark hair on his calves, up his thighs, settling your nose where his muscular hand tightened around the root. He wrenched his swarthy hand along his length, drawing along his veiny cock shamelessly. "Let's see how much you do, princesa."

“Please.”

“Aquí se habla español.” Miguel teased. Your fingers dipped down, small tickles of your fingertips as his heavy balls. He watched you massage them with half-lidded eyes, his lips pursing in a pleased hum.

“Por favor.”

“Abre,” you did, sliding your soft mouth open, a well of saliva on your tongue. Miguel slid himself into your warm mouth, a ruptured groan fizzing in his chest. You didn’t want to be too loud— someone might look into the small window on the door, and see you on your knees between Miguel’s thick legs, sucking his cock down when you should be going over that test you just failed.

You caught the salty beads at Miguel’s top on your tongue, sliding sloppily around his thick head, and lapping at his slit for more. Your soft hands stroked along his length, clumsy and shy. He hummed in approval, a sound you were more than thankful to elicit. Miguel took a fist full of your hair and drove himself into your mouth, your tongue stroking the underside of his length.

“Pero mira esto,” Miguel wrenched his head in your hair, grabbing handfuls of it in his palm. “You can focus on something. Sucking my dick.”

Even if you wanted to look up, Miguel drove your head down onto his dick, the dark, trimmed tuft of his pubic hair tickling your nose. He drew his hips back. You nearly pulled off him, if not for his hand assuring that you wouldn’t move off of it. Drool coursed down from your lips, soaking your chin and neck, connecting to his cock as if it were a spiderweb. Your cheeks flushed with blood— you must have looked a mess.

“Coño," Miguel tutted with his tongue, grasping his phone. Your lips pursed around his tip, eyes flickering up to catch the lens of his phone camera on your ruined face. A picture or a video, you weren’t entirely sure. Only that it sent thumps of pleasure down your core to know he wanted to record it, keep it close. You suckled along his sensitive head, working his moans free. He set his phone aside.

Miguel stood and dragged your head along with him to pin you between the ledge of the desk space and his wonderful hips. His hands slipped behind your head, keeping you still and steady, driving himself deep into your mouth. Past your tongue, down your throat, it felt like he hit parts of you that you could only dream of. You struggled with his size, choking the urge to swallow him when he forced you to hold him there. As if your throat was just a hole for his pleasure. Your sad attempt to suckle him down was tempered by the rocking of his hips, his needy face fucking. Your eyes screwed shut, bits of color dancing behind your eyes, the easiest way to deal with this was to focus— on the way he tasted, the scent of his fresh body wash, the light judder of his hips as he came close.

"Hah-- ay, qué rico," his nails scraped the back of your neck, sloppy and undefined thrusts filling your throat. He spurts thick ropes of his cum down your throat and mouth, withdrawing to jerk the last bursts of his cum over your lips. Miguel’s breath fell from his lips in heavy gulps, meeting yours down on your aching knees. Strings of coughed-up cum connected your sodden lips to his cock, globs of his seed slipping between your breasts. You ached.

“Tate quieta.”

You don’t know where you’d go, your palms catching yourself on the floor. He snapped another photo, humming appreciatively. Miguel reached into his gym bag, pulling a sweaty shirt free. Your fingers dipped into his warm cum that spattered across your warm chest, drawing it to your lips. He tasted salty, tangy, and just right.

"You look so-- so beautiful, princesa, just perfect," Miguel bent down, wiping the rest of his mess from your chest and face, gently stroking away all evidence of your face fucking before cleaning his cock and tucking himself away into his sweatpants. He chucked the t-shirt back into his bag, glazing his eyes over your hazy, exhausted eyes. He crouched down.

“Rule one, I never share my women,” he settled his knuckle under your chin, urging you to look him in the eyes. Something told him you wouldn't be as easy as the others, but for some reason, he shrugged the thought aside. “As long as I'm fucking you, you date no one but me. If I find out you are, we're done. Am I clear?”

He was a walking red flag. But for once, in your good girl life, you wanted that. You wanted to fuck in the library-- against the genetics building late at night-- to kiss him during a sunny picnic. More than you wanted a lot of things. His eyes went soft with your answer.

“Claro que sí, Miggy.”

He loves it when he gets what he wants.

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara oneshot #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara/reader #atsv imagines #atsv imagine #atsv miguel imagine #atsv x reader #atsv x you #miguel o'hara smut #spiderman smut #spider 2099 x reader #spiderman imagine #spiderman imagines

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celestialwhoree · 2 months

Text

🌹💞

Simon Riley does not like Valentines day. To him, it's another one of those pointless holidays people use as an excuse for overconsumption and to try and show off how their lives are better than everyone else's. Simon hates the excessive gaudiness of it all and the lame hearts and flowers. Seriously, how much thought does someone put into a wilting bouquet of red roses and some overpriced chocolates in a flimsy heart shaped box - they're at the front of every supermarket throughout basically all of February, everywhere.

Simon Riley hates Valentines day until he meets you. Bumps into you at the local florist, unusually unaware of his surroundings as he stews on the pointless idiocy of another lame holiday. The way you squeal as the three dozen peonies wrapped in brown paper tumble to the floor which you land rather inelegantly beside snaps him from his reverie with a grunt. "Fuck - shite - M' so sorry love." He stutters out, feeling like all the air has been punched from his chest when he sees your big eyes staring up at him with wild confusion, now crumpled flowers long forgotten as you stare up at the intoxicatingly rich brown eyes of the man before you. Although, man doesn't feel like the right word for him, tall and strong and holding out a hand the size of your head to help you up, your peonies dwarfed by his long fingers as he helps you up.

You vaguely hear yourself mumble something in response, an awkward stutter like a lovesick teenager asking their crush to the movies, met by a strong hand to the top of your bicep, soothing you, asking if you're alright. A concerned eyebrow furrows when you don't respond, just stand there gawking like a fish. He wonders if maybe you hit your head on the way down, and he was too dumbstruck by the flurry of soft silky skin, glossy, sun-struck hair and petals to see. You look like you've just seen God, and he looks like he's just seen the most beautiful thing said God could ever have crafted.

"Are you okay?" The low timbre of his voice - you don't even know how to react, so dazed and confused and there's butterflies - no, not butterflies, bald eagles and kestrels and ospreys, massive feathery wings beating against your diaphragm and rendering you speechless - butterflies are for normal men. The man before you is too monumental for butterflies.

"Yes! Yes." You squeak in embarrassment like a mouse under a cat's paw, looking defeatedly down at your flowers, brown eyes following your gaze with a sympathetic look.

"Were these for someone?" He seems almost a little flustered by his foolish lack of spatial awareness, which just so happened to strike at the worst time, seeing as now he stands before you, clutching a withering bouquet, failing to save this conversation. Both of you stand like that together, in some strange limbo, like time has stood still in order to force you together, not starting back up again until this conversation goes somewhere. "Just me." You murmur, voice so pathetically small under the draw of his magnetism. He's probably here to get flowers for his girlfriend, or fiancee even. She'll probably turn up any second, beautiful and charismatic and just as magnetic as the man before you is.

"Let me buy you some more, yeah?" He nods his head back in the direction of the fancier florist in town, the one you'd splurged on in a valentines induced self-pity party. He buys you three dozen pink peonies, matching paper and ribbons too. He also insists on taking you for a coffee, and buying you some silly pink and white frosted cake in the excuse that your blood sugars probably dropped after the fall and some other fake nonsense like that. You obviously say yes, to the flowers and the coffee and the cake - to the gentle smiles and the crease of his warm brown eyes, his hand on the small of your back. Both of you say yes to giving Valentines day a try.

⋆ ˚.⋆୨୧˚

Some short simple little V day fluff for y'all the brain isn't braining at the moment but also wanted to give you all a little Valentines day present because ily

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thecuriousquest · 5 months

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Hii can I request platonic yan gojo with prompt i 1 please and thank you! ❤️

Why, Gojo, Why?

Tag List: @issamomma @repostingmyfavs @palesweetscherryblossom @chickennugnugnug

Warnings: Platonic yandere themes, handcuffs (not sexual), murder, kidnapping, controlling and possessive tendencies

Prompt Request: “Why would you want to leave? I’m keeping you here for your own good.”

Master List

Yandere Alphabet Prompt List

—————————————————————————

There’s not a single thing you can do against your father. You didn’t inherit the six eyes; you didn’t even inherit his white hair. Instead, your eyes are a smokey gray, and your hair is a rich mouse brown. He often tells you that you look so much like your mother, but you don’t know if that’s true or not. You’ve never met her, haven’t even seen a damn picture of her.

Satoru Gojo fears for you, for your life. He keeps you in the house for your own safety because you have no cursed energy. He makes jokes here and there, telling you how the world is filled with unstable people you just don’t want to be around.

But then you catch him staring at you during dinner. Your gaze shifts uncomfortably as you swallow your food. “Daddy, why are you staring at me like that?”

“Nothing, don’t worry about it, kiddo.”

You’re left feeling uneasy, but you don’t question him. Your dad has a knack for switching topics seamlessly if you press something he doesn’t want to talk about.

———

The days pass by rather slowly in the Gojo household. Perched on a couch with a book in your lap, you sigh as you look out the window. You wish you could go to school like you see on the television. It would be really nice to have someone to talk to other than Gojo, Megumi, Aunt Shoko, and Uncle Nanami. You don’t even really talk much with Megumi to begin with. He never opens up to you, never says anything more than “hey”, and you don’t press him for a conversation.

You toss the book on the table and storm off to your father’s bedroom where you know he keeps his favorite candy. You can’t help yourself. You know it’s there, and he could never get mad at you. Even when you threw one of his crystal ducks through the window and broke everything all at once, he still didn’t get mad at you.

Opening the drawer to his bedside table where he keeps his stash hidden away from your sticky fingers, you rummage around for the chocolate. A pout tugs your lips downward, unable to find what you’re looking for.

“Damnit, Dad, fucking fat ass eating everything good in this fucking house.”

You refuse to give up. Continuing your search, you go through his entire bedside table, then the matching one on the other side. You rake through the table next to his big comfy chair by the window, painfully look on high and low shelves. Hell, you even crawl under the bed to see if he has a box tucked underneath. His watch drawer is neatly lined with wrist wear yet no fucking candy!

“How could Daddy do this to me? Does he not trust me?” It hurts your heart a little bit to think that he wouldn’t leave his delicious sweets in the kitchen because of your wondering hands looking for a five finger discount.

Setting your hands on your hips, there’s one last place to look: the closet. Not having inherited his height either, you have to jump as your hands roam the top shelf above his clothes. Your hand feels the surface until you find a box hiding in the corner.

“Great, how am I supposed to reach that! This candy better be worth the effort.”

Fingers stretch as you jump and reach for what feels like cardboard. You’re able to knock it closer and closer to you until it tumbles over the shelf and hits you on the head.

“Fuck!”

You press your hand against your forehead, feeling the impact of the sharp corner against your skin. When your eyes open, you’re both amazed, confused, and concerned about what you’re looking at.

There are at least over a hundred pictures scattered around you. Some of them have one person, others have two or three, but as you comb through the photographs, you notice there are never more than three people in the photos.

You also notice that every single picture has the same person in it: a woman with brown hair like a mountain and stormy gray eyes. She’s so beautiful, you can’t help but take in her remarkable features.

Looking closer at the pictures with a group of two, there seems to be someone crossed out in all of them, as if scratching at their face with the sharp end of a pen until their visage is completely distorted. It seems to be a masculine figure, always with an arm wrapped around the woman with brown hair and gray eyes.

What’s even more confusing is how in the pictures of three, the crossed out man is hugging the pretty brunette, but she’s holding a baby.

What are all of these pictures? Who are these people? Why is a man’s face crossed out in every single one that he’s in? And who’s that baby? More importantly, why does every picture in this box contain the same woman?

“Hasn’t Daddy ever told you that snooping is bad?”

You drop the picture as your head instantly snaps up to look at your blindfolded father. When you look back at the stack of photos now sitting beside you on the bedside table, you sputter to come up with something feasible.

Nothing comes to you.

“I wasn’t snooping, Daddy!” You look back at him with wide eyes. “I was just…I was looking for candy, and I found this box. Who are all of these people?”

Your father walks over to you, snatching the picture from your hand and gathering the others to pack away. He does everything neatly with such refined care, placing the box back in the closet where it belongs before shutting the doors.

“They’re nobody, sweetie. Why don’t you go lie down before dinner or something?” He sticks his hands in his pockets and walks out of the room.

Getting up off the bed, you run after him. “No, wait! Hey, I wanna talk to you!”

Your father doesn’t even bother to turn towards you. “Didn’t I tell you to go rest?”

“Dad, who are those people? Why is there a man’s face crossed out in every single one he’s in? Why are you hoarding pictures of the same woman? Who is she?”

Finally, he turns to you and sighs. “I think you’re just tired, baby. Why don’t you go do as Daddy says and take a nap?”

“No! I’m not tired! I want to know what’s going-”

Never before has your own father pressed two fingers to your forehead, knocking you out. You would feel betrayed if you could feel anything at all, but for now, you sleep.

———

Peeling your eyes open seems to be particularly hard after being put in a mini coma. Oh, yeah, that’s right. Your father FUCKING KNOCKED YOU OUT COLD.

You sit up, or try to at least, but you find that your wrists are chained to the bed, restricting your motions. You can’t help but stare at the cold steel.

“Dad! Daddy?!” you cry out for help.

He’s there in an instant, and you feel some relief but not entirely.

“Daddy, what’s going on? Did you do this to me?”

Taking a seat on your bed, he rests a hand on your knee. “I kept hoping I’d never have to face this day, but look at where hope gets you.” He removes his hand, letting his elbows rest on both knees as he fixes his gaze on his shoes. “I loved this woman named Kazumi a long time ago. She was the light in my life after Suguru left, but she loved another man. She was actually engaged, but I knew we could work things out if she gave me a chance. They had their little wedding, they had their kid…and then I couldn’t stand by and watch anymore.

He was taking everything away from me. Little by fucking little, and I couldn’t take it. I was there to bring her back to me, and everything just went all wrong!”

Satoru lets his head hang, hair supported by hands doused in luxurious cream.

“Daddy…what happened?” you whisper, horrified by the story but needing to know the end.

“He was getting in the way. He was always in the way. I had to do it. I had to. I used my cursed energy against him, but Kazumi threw herself in the way! I couldn’t…it was his fault! If he had just let us be together, she would still be alive!”

You can hear the mania in his tone, the high to low pitch accompanied by notes of mental instability.

“She threw herself in the way, and then I killed that bastard for causing me so much trouble, so much pain! He fucking deserved to die! I’m glad he’s dead! That fucking pig never should have been born! He never should have had a kid with her! It should’ve been me!”

His breath is ragged, and he takes a moment to calm his rage from the past memories as he relives them all over again.

“After I blasted him into nothing, you woke up, crying, screaming for your mommy. I decided to take you with me, and I took a box of photos that I knew she kept hidden underneath the bed of family photos and ones that she really liked of herself. I couldn’t stand him being in any of them, so I crossed him out.”

Your father turns to you with panic ridden eyes. “You’re all I have left of her. You’re the only thing keeping me alive.” He presses his hands against your cheeks, cupping your face with a possessive grip.

“You killed my parents? You’re not my real dad?” It’s all you can manage to ask.

“You’re my baby girl. I raised you. You ARE my daughter. You might not be my blood, but you are my gift. She gave you to me. It was supposed to happen this way.”

“My mother didn’t give me to you! You fucking killed her and took me!”

You’re shaking beneath his fingertips, something you never thought was possible. Your father who only ever spoiled you, only gave you warning taps on your bottom to behave or else…you never imagined you’d be so afraid of him that you would be trembling with fear.

He moves his right hand to your chin, forcing you to look at his blindfold as he lowers it and reveals celestial-like eyes of blue.

“I understand it’s going to take some adjusting, but we’ll figure things out. For now, I want you to get some rest. You’ve had a rough day, kiddo.”

“No, you let me go. You need to let me go!”

You shake and pull on the shackles around your wrists. It’s uncomfortable, metal biting into your skin. Your father only watches, barely interested in your escape attempts.

“Let you go? Why would you want to leave? It’s not safe for someone as weak as you out there. Curses are dangerous, and you need me. You need me to protect you. I’m keeping you here for your own good.”

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere themes #triggering content #triggering themes #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen satoru gojo #jujutsu kaisen gojo #yandere gojo #yandere gojo satoru #platonic yandere gojo #platonic yandere #platonic yandere big brother #platonic yandere satoru gojo #yandere satoru gojo

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kteezy997 · 7 months

Text

Chocolate Boss-part two// Willy Wonka

WARNINGS: this is absolute filth

Smut, Licking chocolate off of Willy, oral sex (m receiving), titty fucking, swallowing cum, slight hair pulling

After that night in the kitchen, licking chocolate off of y/n, Willy got another idea to bring their little relationship to the next level.

“Come to my office after closing,” he told her earlier, “and bring some chocolate in a piping bag.”

He heard the door open, and in walked y/n, chocolate in hand. Willy stood up from his desk in an instant and started to undress. “I have an idea.”

"Oh?" Y/n grinned, eyeing him and biting her lip. "And what is that, Willy?"

"I want you to clean me tonight." he instructed, dropping his trousers to the floor. Upon the removal of his boxers, his cock was already semi hard. Just thinking of what was going to happen had gotten him excited.

She giggled, "Anything for you, boss." Then, she piped some of the chocolate ganache onto his lower belly, letting it coat his treasure trail. As soon as she got enough onto his skin to her liking, she kneeled down, and stuck out her tongue, licking a stripe upward on his abdomen, collecting the chocolate as she did so.

"Mmm," Willy whimpered, quivering, "more, darling, more please."

"Of course." she said, lowly, squeezing more of the gooey goodness onto him, lower this time, letting it drip down onto his shaft.

"Fuck yeah." he cursed under his breath.

Y/n let the chocolate cascade down the whole length of his cock. She put the tip in her mouth, sucking the chocolate off of him.

Willy grabbed onto her hair. As she swirled her tongue around his chocolate coated cock, he moaned and rutted his hips slightly. He was overwhelmed with sensations.

“Mmm.” she moaned, her voice vibrating on his cock. She sucked him as clean as she could, running her tongue down either side of his length for good measure.

Precum started to seep out of him, and he grabbed the chocolate. “Here, will you try it, sweet thing?”

She knew exactly what he was meaning. “Yes, yes please.” She was eager for this, waiting patiently on her knees like a puppy anticipating a treat.

Willy squirted some chocolate out right onto the tip of his cock. The rich brown color started to mix with his nearly transparent cum.

She put her mouth on him immediately. Sucking him fast, just needing to taste the yummy concoction. “Mm,” she moaned, satisfied as she swallowed Willy and the sweet chocolate.

Willy’s body began to shake. “This is so amazing. You’re incredible. Fuck.”

Not moving from her kneeling position in front of him, she took her top off.

He licked his lips at the sight of her breasts, remembering all that happened the last time he saw them.

Y/n put her hands on her breasts, and moved so she could nestle his stiff cock between them.

Willy could hardly breathe.

“Decorate my tits with the chocolate, Willy. Let’s get really messy.” She giggled.

He did as she desired, drizzling the chocolate, creating a pattern, covering her breasts and his cock.

She moaned explicitly, pressing her tits together, squishing his member as she pumped to and fro on him. The chocolate acted as a lubricant, letting her fuck his cock with ease.

Willy was panting, whimpering, about to explode. The sight of her plump breasts covered in chocolate on either side of his cock, which was red at the tip, it was fucking beautiful. The most glorious thing he’d ever seen or felt. He was absolutely trembling with pleasure.

He cried out, “Ahhh!” And his white, creamy cum spewed out of him, stringing ropes all over y/n’s boobs and face.

She moaned again in satisfaction, swiping her tongue over her lip to taste him, and of course the velvety chocolate once again. “Delicious!” she said, “You’re my favorite flavor.”

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl

#timothée chalamet imagine #timothée chalamet #timmy chalamet #timothee x reader #willy wonka x reader #willy wonka #timothée chalamet smut

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stararch4ngelqueen · 6 months

Note

domestic jason hcs? >:)

(this ask feels self-indulgent but i was VERY inspired by this one buff dude i saw on insta reels baking in a not-so-sexual way but like women in the comments are down bad and i cant really describe it im so sorry 😭)

imagine waking up to jason baking something (doesnt have to be anything could just be bread). you wanna help but the only instructions he gives you is to sit pretty, wearing his shirt and all. everytime he moves around the kitchen, he give u a lil peck on the lips if hes close enough to you. youre just sitting pretty like he asked, watching this man work and looking a little love struck cuz all you wanna do is pull him down and give him the fattest kiss for being so husband material

(dude, im yearning so much. thank u for writing a lot for jason 💞 ALSO ive seen u around in the cod tag so another thanks for ur fics there too 💞)

I’m sticking with the prompt cause I had unholy thoughts. An thank you! I appreciate your appreciation for my works ✨

This may be the tiniest bit suggestive 🌝

Time Written - 5:51 a.m

Baking at an early hour was somewhat new for Jason.

Baking at an early hour after an intense ending to an incredible date night was incredibly new for Jason.

His hands were occupied with an intriguing scene of soft dough and hard, rich yellow butter on a marble countertop. His muscles at work folding in the pockets of butter into the dough, pressing it with the heels of his palms.

“Morning, mama.” His morning voice held that early rasp in his tone that tickled you just right. You reciprocated his greeting as you walk into the kitchen, dressed in one of his shirts he aggressively yanked off the night before.

There he stood in grey sweatpants. Baking something delectable for seemingly no reason.

“What’s the occasion?” You question as you approach the counter, admiring his bed rugged hair adding onto his every attractive appearance.

“Cloudy outside, which means baking time.”

“Baking time?” The slightest glance at your cheeky little grin made him amusingly scoff.

“Baked goods,” he clarified with a head gesture behind him. “Coffee’s ready for ya, babe.”

Soon, the kitchen will flood with the warm aroma of browning butter and cooking sugar, invading throughout your home for a very long evening. Neighbors will get jealous over the smell of bakery air, hopefully helping them ignore the noises prior to the other night.

It was quite a sight to watch, his muscles flexing with a focused flare along his brow. You almost didn’t hear his insistence the second time towards the cinnamon coffee waiting in the pot for you.

“Gonna stick around? You’ll get first glance at what I’m making.”

“Which is?” You pry, watching him approach the sink to wash his hands.

“Crossiants,” he admits after drying his hands, giving the tip of your nose a peck. “With chocolate.”

“Look at you, my man’s a baker.” You smile while leaning against the counter, feeling your heart throb romantically from his chaste kisses.

“Not what you expected, huh?”

“What, my Red Hood busting skulls and baking? So many single moms would chase after you if they could.”

That comment has him unexpectedly laugh. Not the worst thing he’s been told, so he’ll take it. Poor single mothers, too bad he’s already taken.

“I thought you meant the chocolate would be inside?” You ask after peeking at the dough he wrapped up in cling wrap.

“No,” He shakes his head. “See, I thought that, but I like the idea of dipping them into melted chocolate a whole lot better.”

“Where’d you get the inspiration?”

“France,” he amusingly huffs with a shrug after approaching to take the packet you handed to him. “Thanks baby. Where else?”

He slips the packet of buttered dough into the fridge before turning towards the stove, almost running into you as you beat him to it, peering into a saucepan full of melted chocolate.

“Hey, hey.” Cool, clean hands gently grasped hold of your shoulders, gently nudging you away from his little workspace. “Easy on those eyes, almost knocked you into an accident.”

“Need some help with anything?” You offer, reminding him of when he used to ask his mother the same question. Happy little memories that brought embers of warmth in his heart.

“You can be of huge help,” He begins, calloused hands grazing down along your fingerprint shaped bruised hips before hoisting you up in his arms like a little doll.

“By sitting pretty, an’ letting me work.”

He plops you down on a stool he pulled out from the island counter, giving you a perfect little spot to watch him work. You slouch after he turns away, watching him return to his little objective on the stove.

“You just melt chocolate in the pan like that?”

“Sorta,” Jason tilts his head after grabbing a spoon, stirring the smooth, ganache-like chocolate concoction around. “France’s version of hot chocolate. Some milk, cream, a little sugar.”

You hum as a response, watching the muscles along the back of his left shoulder move as he enacts upon such a simple, minor task. Jason probably said something else, along the lines of not wanting such a beautiful body of chocolate boil on the stove, but it wasn’t much of your concern as it was his.

Maybe your main concern was how exactly did the scratches you left along his back didn’t break skin, clinging onto him for dear life as they flexed along your greedy palms.

He probably knew that, he was hiding a smile for all you could tell if you paid any attention.

“My girl want a taste?” He offers, his real gaze snapping your mind back into reality. You nod, anxiously sitting up in your seat.

He spoons warm, melted chocolate on the top of your tongue, watching it dribble down your bottom lip. The pink of your little tongue swiped up the remnants, all for Jason’s adoring gaze to witness.

Your reaction varies upon the subtle lack of sweetness from the chocolate.

“It’s not that sweet. Is it dark—?”

Your words are stolen when he kisses you, cradling your face within his two warm hands after carelessly setting down the spoon.

His heavy lidded gaze meets yours after breaking off the kiss, his cheeks flushed with affectionate warmth.

“Don’t know,” his glistening lips curve upwards after licking his lips. “Tastes pretty sweet to me.”

He turns away, as if he hadn’t committed such a crime in the first place.

You’re left watching once again, anxious nerves preventing you from sitting still. Fidgety fingers lingering in your lap, grasping along the lower hem of your shirt.

“Also coffee,” Jason pitches as if he forgot. “Added a little espresso to enhance the taste. You, uh… never got your coffee, babe.”

Oh. Right. The first thing he told you when you came in.

“Sorry,” you sheepishly admit, slightly shifting your hips whilst on the stool. “Got a little distracted.”

He chuckles, not even needing a detective’s mindset to understand fully why. “Did you now?”

Not giving you a chance to answer, Jason sets the saucepan off the burner before turning full attention towards you. Swooping you off the stool you sat, hoisting you ontop of a warm, clean counter.

His torso pressed against yours, keeping you comfortably confined between a marble surface and a hard place. His hands caress along your torso, thumbs trickling over your stiff nipples through your shirt, still sore from his teeth marks.

“Took you long enough,” he grumbles against the shell of your ear. His lips press against your neck as you swallow, kissing down along your collarbone. “Figured you’d have stayed sleeping in ‘till I was done here. Guessin’ last night wasn’t enough for you?”

“Your fault for putting on a show.” You whisper, hooking your legs the best you could around his broad waist.

He chuckles against your neck, his excitement as palpable as his pearly smile expressed. “Your fault for watchin’, mama.”

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader #dc jason todd #jason todd x y/n #there’s no unique reason I chose crossiants #just sounded fun 🌝#when the post nut clarity so strong you gotta bake your girl some goods #gotham knights jason todd #jason todd x #jason todd dc #don’t hate me

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ghostswoman · 5 months

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𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗦𝗧 the guy that fills the void of being alone since you first saw him.

You first saw him getting some coffee in your favorite book-coffee shop. You just saw this tall big burly man just waiting for his probably black coffee to get made and for you the world just stopped. In your eyes he was just…perfect. His copper deep rich brown eyes were so striking for you and he didn’t even made eye contact with you yet because you are subtly hiding behind your favorite book trying to kind of mark your staring at this gorgeous man.

Well you definitely thought that he didn’t noticed your penetrating staring yet but darling he did because you were the first thing he immediately saw when he went inside the cozy store. Still hiding behind your book as you thought that he maybe already left because the barista doesn’t take that long for making a plain black coffee but you just heard a gruffly cough. Looking up from the written excellence that was laying in your hands you saw him. Live and even nearer and even more breathtaking.

No you could see that he had short stubbly blonde hair a form of military cut you thought and these wonderful eyes you instantly connected with a teddy bear. Even though his body more looks like a terminator and not like a soft plushie but you don’t mind that- oh shoot you staring again. As you softly raised your eyebrows for him to continue what he might have wanted to say. “Is that seat taken?” Oh dear lord his voicee.

It was like rich dark chocolate but also so gruff. As you tried to keep your mouth from falling open as you just nodded quickly and grabbed your notebook a bit more towards where you are sitting so it’s not directly laying in the middle of the table. As he sat down and put his cup of coffee on the table and as you tipped it was black coffee but what even messed more with your head was how tiny the usual big cups looked like in his big hands no more like paws.

As you softly gulped as you just looked up and you made direct eye contact with the stranger ,instantly looking back into your book as you just tried to calm down your rising heartbeat. “What ya looking at luv? Am I more interesting than your lil book?” He spoke as he eyed you slightly. Trying to kind of calm down your thoughts as you just soft shake you head.

That was the first encounter with your future man Simon Riley. He was very open with you for his usual guarded side but now you both are kind of filling each other’s voids. For you he is filling the void of never feeling like you could be loved especially by a man and you are filling the void that he is not lovable at all. Well you two are really made for each other and he just loves you so much and he always things his chest is exploding whenever he sees you. Either when it’s you happily sipping a tea while reading you new book or if it’s you helping him choose a new perfume. For you were his wife since he first saw you.

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dabisbratz · 1 year

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PLAY DATE (CHERRY)— aizawa shouta x male reader

wc: ~6.5k

cw: dilf!aizawa, babysitter!reader, sexual tension, slow burn, spanking/impact play, finger-sucking, d/s undertones, daddy kink, praise, manhandling, age gap (21 yr old reader, 41 yr old aizawa), porn with plot, size difference/kink, spit/drool, degradation, rimming, hand holding, full nelson, creampie, breeding kink, light feminization

a/n: yes i was listenin to lana while writin this! howd u know?!

The click of a mouse. The sound of a scroll wheel grinding against plastic— rubbery and restricted. A family of five, four, three..family oriented individuals with more kids on their hands than time. It was late, even for you. Who scoured the internet until the sky’s inky black atmosphere was painted a pacific blue. From there, you’d tend to sleep into the late hours of the evening, beneath the comfort of a heavy weighted blanket, until your phone went off or a nightmare pulled you from your slumber.

Your dry, tired eyes trace the blurry words of your computer screen, the bright white light beaming through the depths of your continuously darkening bedroom. The room is almost radio silent— save for the occasional crunching of chips between your teeth and the fan of your laptop working overtime. The text is almost hard to read, shying away behind a hazy glare.

‘One kid—6 year old girl. One pet— black bombay cat.’

Sounds promising. The letters are arranged in a blunt manner, straight to the point and even somewhat intimidating, but the clear boundaries and requirements listed are fair enough.. Maybe even tilted in your favor. Your cursor wanders, ready to further inspect the profile presumed to belong to the parent who created the listing.

Shouta Aizawa, a middle-aged man with a salt and pepper beard, long hair to match, and a distinctive scar below his eye— which looks milky and clear. The other, however, is a deep pool of brown, warm like melted chocolate. His irises melt into his long lashes, which remain straight and strict, much like the demeanor he emits in the headshot photo. It must be reminiscent of his ID, as his career is listed just below his picture.

Owner of Eraserhead Industries.

Huh.

Chewing the fleshy insides of your cheeks, your eyes dart across the screen, hesitantly inching the cursor over the bright, bolded ‘message’ button. Sparks ignite in your stomach, blooming in the expanse of your tummy as you type out,

‘When can I start?’

You hear yourself squeal, pushing away your mouse with your fingertips and hiding behind the warmth of your palms before your computer chimes in response. The message stares back at you, perforating into you as you read it over and over, trying to imagine how this—practicably— rich man would sound. You settle for a deep voice, giggling to yourself as you read out the message.

‘The sooner the better.’

The man is much scarier in person, and your imitation of his voice was nowhere near accurate.

His voice is much deeper than you thought, gravelly and not nearly as riddled with giggles like you’d tacked on. In fact, it only seems to deepen as he nurses a mug of black coffee, just one large hand completely shielding the cup in its entirety. He’d ordered it, busying himself with the sheets of paper he had placed upon the polished table as you explained just how much whipped cream you’d wanted in your milkshake to the waitress.

He takes up most of the space on his side of the booth in the homely café, his layers discarded and shed along the plush seating. The man with dark eyes, Shouta Aizawa, is a natural born leader. The physical embodiment of sticks and stones, seemingly stronger than Zeus himself, he seems to have no faults.

But that’s not what you should be focusing on, not now, when you’re preoccupied with narrowed, umber eyes. They look at you with nothing but impenetrable suspicion, remarkably intimidating despite belonging to someone who looks incredibly angelic. Tufts of frosty hair, unruly and disheveled and divine. The sun dawns down on Musutafu, framing his locks in a makeshift halo. He looks like a fallen angel, of sorts.

“I don’t trust my kids with other kids,” He says, watching the dark amalgamation of caffeine swirl in his porcelain cup. Does he consider his cat to be his kid, too? “How old are you?”

You perk up, straightening your back as you push your straw in and out of your sickeningly sweet milkshake. Whipped cream clings to the plastic, sticky and bubbly with foam, “Twenty-one, sir.”

Aizawa makes a face at that, steely eyes drooping further with the pinch of his dark eyebrows. They slot perfectly, intricate wrinkles firming between them. Did you… fuck it up? You’d consider yourself an adult— comparable to law, anyway. And you can be mature, especially when it counts, so there shouldn’t really be a problem!

It’s evident he loves his kids, despite the hard exterior that he’s showing off there’s a fatherly glint to his eye. A protective overlay to his words. It’s admirable, if anything. You’d even call it charming, the way his eyes bore into you from the outside-in and pick you apart, if it wasn’t so damn scary being on the receiving end.

“Do you drink?”

“…No?”

“Do you plan to?”

More of an interrogation than anything, you take an awfully long time to reply as you use his suspension as an opportunity to savor your milkshake.

“No.”

You make sure to sound more confident this time.

His questions have been asked before, over text and in a manner not as… blunt as you hear it now. But it’s all down to perception, and you’d managed to wrongfully pin Shouta Aizawa as a care-free, laid back guy. Though, from the looks of it, he seems to live up to the ladder. And, upon closer inspection, it does nothing to tarnish his looks.

“Mm,” Is all he says, humming in acknowledgment as a check is placed his way. “You’re young.”

“Young enough to be your son?” You ask, mouth faster than your brain, and suddenly you can’t stop. Your lips curl upward, a smile gracing your lips as you giggle, “People probably think you’re my sugar daddy or somethin’.”

He doesn’t seem to completely respond to that, letting the comment fly into the air as he shifts. Heat somersaults into your face, heating your body up until you find yourself unable to hold eye contact. Nice going.

You wrap your lips around the plump cherry slowly sinking into your drink, twirling the stem between your teeth. It explodes in your mouth, sharp and sweet along the expanse of your tongue, a nice distraction.

Something alien flickers behind his eyes, “Tech savvy?”

“I— Yeah! I play video games,” You almost forget this is an interview, not a date. The thought makes your brain a little fuzzy, cotton forming in your mouth as you stumble over your answer. “Not— Y'know, never on the clock.”

Shouta looks much more vulnerable with his head turned, his veiny hand reaching into the pocket of his inky pants, pulling out an equally dark credit card. No way. His handwriting is illegible, but the swooning waitress deems it acceptable, thanking him for the tip with a high blush on her cheeks. There isn’t a single ring on his calloused fingers, so it’s almost shocking he doesn’t jump at the opportunity

“Good. Eri likes games.” It’s the most praise you’ve heard all night, and hearing it from the deep rumble of his throat makes it even better. Your gaze must linger, because his dark eyes are staring back into yours, almost looking right through you.

“Eri? Your daughter?”

“I don’t like sharing personal information online.”

You laugh nervously, filling your mouth with the melting drink before he can comment.

“I—Woah, sir… your home is… beautiful.” It’s not just flattery, you genuinely, sincerely mean it. You’ve seen it before, sure, through text and under much more professional scrutiny, but the camera doesn’t do it justice. His house aches with love, wrapped up in kisses and enveloped in a sweet, cinnamon-scented embrace.

There’s a heavy amount of childish memorabilia, like crayon drawings hung up on his stainless steel fridge, miscellaneous toys littering the floor, and a pair of tiny shoes resting next to your own. They look comically small, glittery and pink and utterly, indubitably, reminiscent of a six year old girl. Especially in comparison to the sleek, black sneakers Shouta slips off next to them. Utterly, indubitably, reminiscent of a forty-one year old man.

Aizawa makes his way through the living room while you marvel in astonishment, taking in the sights of his house. Surprisingly, despite his not-so-settle display of wealth, his home is the opposite. It’s the real thing, with lived-in floors and comfy furniture..lively and bright. Sure, his sofa is a muted gray, but the portraits and polaroids and children’s drawings make up for it.

You follow along, nearly tripping over some misplaced barbies and action figures as you quickly remove your shoes and stumble forward. Like a newborn fawn, unfamiliar to its own legs, you walk forward with a bashful smile.

It was almost easy for you to forget that he’s human, and not some strong-willed work-machine designed to finish tasks and take care of children.

But the way his joints pop when he shifts a certain way, the way sweat trickles down his forehead after a long day of working in a stuffy office, proves otherwise. It was then, you realize, that he is all flesh and bones. Not pen ink or an indestructible force.

“Eri’s… picky. Try exposing her to different foods every now and then, there’s a list of recipes she likes on the fridge.”

Shouta’s leaning against the marble of his open-island kitchen, socked feet melting into the cold tile. You half-expected his socks to be just as dark as his clothes, so it’s a pleasant surprise to see cartoonish cat faces littering the fabric.

Right—anyway. You nod, though it’s mainly reserved for yourself, as your eyes rake up the words stuck to his fridge. Freshly printed out, not an inch out of place, you wonder how many times he’s done this. The gears turn in your head, clicking and grinding until your lips part, a breathless expression keyed into your facial features. Wait.

“Does that mean—”

“I’ll text you the extra details. Eri’s bedroom is upstairs, but you should wait for her to show it to you when she’s ready.”

Your apartment is a flimsy excuse of a home, nowhere near as intricate and thoroughly loved as Shouta’s. Walking inside, you realize just that, there isn’t even a hint of glitter or gleam as you walk through the front door. Even though you have yet to meet her, Eri’s already brightened up your life. Your walls scream with loneliness, the sound bouncing off each corner until you’re tucking yourself into bed and curling up beneath the sheets.

And though you barely know him, you can’t help but want to follow the childish urge to open up the website you found Aizawa’s listing on to study his headshot.

Eri, you’ve come to learn, is a very smart kid. Perhaps too smart for her own good, too observant, and way too excited to express said observations. You sit taut on the gray sofa, leaning over a sheet of paper as you carefully color between the lines of the thick, inky, coloringbook outline. But Eri’s got her own leaflet, vigorously coloring something she has yet to allow you to look at.

You haven’t known her long enough for the leaves to brown, to fall off and make room for winter. You haven’t known her long enough to see the leaves return, the chilly air slowly descending into something softer, quieter. Warmer with summer’s welcome. But she grew to accept you rather quickly.

It started soon after your first meeting with Aizawa, and to your dismay, you hadn’t really seen much of him after that. Only small traces and fragments, like the religious filling of Present Meow’s food bowl or notes tacked onto the fridge.

Admittedly, you kinda miss him.

You’ve become quite engrossed in Eri’s choice in television, watching the cartoon with just as much excitement as the six your old. It even makes you laugh, hearty and dinkum.

“How do you feel about niku-dofu for dinner tonight, Er-bear?” She barely moves, her tongue held between the corner of her lips as she furrows her brows in concentration. Whatever she’s coloring is much more important than dinner, apparently.

With outstretched limbs, you stand, reaching for the sky as a yawn is pulled from your chest and your eyes grow heavy. Being dragged along by a six year old all day is exhausting. The hairstyling, the nail-painting, the hero-pretending…the dolls.

(Eri quite enjoyed acting out soap-opera levels of dramatic scenes with dolls. And, of course, you could only be the man in these scenarios.)

But you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’ve grown attached in the span of a few weeks.

“I’ll take that as a yes then!” You chirp, setting down your finished page with a sense of pride. Might even have to add a signature to it!

With Eri’s toys scattered along the floor, despite your constant advisory to clean them up, walking through the house has become quite the challenge. An obstacle course of sorts that Aizawa must’ve been a master at getting through.

Aizawa… With dark circles that cast shadows down his mature face. With stubble that’s cleanly shaved, not a single hair out of place.

Aizawa…With his long, dark hair that frames his face with thick bundles.

Aizawa… Who almost constantly looks disgruntled, faintly pink lips pulled into a tight line.

Him and his signature crisp, black button up that barely fights against his large chest and his matching pants that cling to his stupidly strong thighs.

It makes your brain a little fuzzy, the thought of his equally large biceps bulging in his shirt as he crosses his arms and stares down at you through the bridge of his nose. And his eyes— piercing and domineering staring straight into yours, lips curled as he berates you like some sort of misbehaving child.

(Which you’d spent a lot of time arguing with him about through sticky-notes…The fridge is powered evidence, covered in neon paper as you remind him you’re ‘not a kid!’ beneath his ‘not bad, kid’ post-it note.)

“Hey? Are you okay?” Eri’s small voice snaps you out of your haze, wide and virtuous red eyes blinking up at you. Clutching her drawing to her chest, she shifts her weight between each leg. Her small smile is gone, so you do your best to conjure up a frolicsome grin.

“Never felt better! Finally ready to show me what you’re working on?”

“Mhm,” She hums, reminiscent of her father.

Eri’s picture is nothing short of sweet. Advanced for her age, she’s drawn three figures that resemble the three of you— herself, Aizawa, you— sitting happily at the generously furnished dining table. On her lap sits Present Meow, a black ball of crayon-esque fur, who has small, wobbly hearts above his head. You all do, actually, some bigger than others (e.i: you quite literally have heart eyes that take up more than half your crayon face), but big nonetheless.

Is your crush on her father really that obvious?

“Oh, Eri, that’s—”

The front door trembles, the doorknob clicking and jingling as it welcomes silver keys. Before your eyes, Shouta’s welcoming himself in, strong right arm pushing the door open. His shoulders are draped in exhaustion, his gray scarf tangled around his neck as he shuts the door behind him.

Embarrassment wells up in your stomach, overflowing until you’re hiding Eri’s drawing behind your back. He doesn’t typically come home this early. Usually within the late hours of the night, into early morning, he can be seen rummaging through the fridge for a drink until he heads upstairs, straight to bed.

Instead, he’s stalking forward.

Did his steps always shake the house like this, or are you just imagining it? You must be, it must be your heart in your ears, because your face is flooding with warmth as he towers over you and peeks over your shoulder.

“What’s behind your back?” He lifts an inquisitive eyebrow, faintly smelling of cigarette smoke.

“What? Noth—”

“Look!” Eri snatches the drawing from your clammy hands and pushes it into Shouta’s abdomen. He hunches over, just slightly, before taking in the image.

“Jesus, kid,” He clicks his tongue with a tenderhearted sigh, looping his thumb around the waistband of his black slacks. “You’re somethin’ else...”

You’d have thought it was meant for Eri if his gaze didn’t flicker up to meet yours.

Dinner rolled around fast, and you’d found yourself nicking your finger on one of Shouta’s large, sharpened knives. Cutting up a small portion of potatoes shouldn’t have been so trivial, a pained gasp escaped your lips as you pinched the tiny wound. You wince, instinctively sucking on the skin of your mangled finger.

“I told you to be careful,” He took your hand in his, swallowing it whole with his palms, and went as far as to berate you, grumbling, “Watch yourself. Are you okay?”

Breathless as you watched him open a nearby drawer, he pulled out a kiddie bandaid, decorated with polka dots and even more cats. You held still, letting him wrap the bandage around your finger nice and tight. And then, only then, did he place a small kiss on top.

“There you go, all better.” It’s a passing comment, only pried from his lips because he was so used to saying it to Eri, and he didn’t seem to realize just how flustered it made you. So you coughed into your hand, secretly hoping the warmth permeating off his body would return to your skin.

Now, with dinner finished, Eri has no problem shoveling the food into her mouth. Must've been all the running around, gave her an appetite fit for a grown woman. It’s not like you have room to talk, you’ve almost choked on your side of miso soup a whopping three times. Shouta seems to be the only composed person at the table.

“You got a little,” Shouta points to the corner of his mouth, waving his willowy finger in a quick, circular motion. “Right…there.”

“Hm?” He watches your face contort, timid and self conscious. He can’t help but smile, just a small upward quirk to the corner of his lips, that slowly disappears as he leans in to wipe off a few grains of rice from the side of your mouth.

There he goes again, acting all domestic, as he raises the same finger to his own mouth. Your pupils blow wide, heat forming in your stomach as he sucks off the rice with disregard for how this might look to anyone besides a father.

Your eyes flicker to Eri, who’s too busy fighting off sleep with the handle of her silver spoon, her tiny head jerking and bobbing every so often, to notice the display.

“I guess—- guess it’s time for bed!” Your voice cracks embarrassingly loud as you stand, quick to stop in your tracks when Aizawa follows suit.

“I got it.”

Aizawa, you’ve learned, says that quite a lot. Despite his generous hourly pay and your obligation to take care of his child, he insists it’s best if he cleans after her. Too intimidated to argue, you simply nod, falling back onto his couch as he ventures back for forth— upstairs and back.

Each time he returns, he notices the droop in your eyes, the way they slowly fall with each step he takes. It’s late, he should be escorting you home, but he doesn’t want to disturb your well-earned sleep session.

As he sits to finally take a break, letting his joins snap and pop, you fall face-first into his shoulder, smashing your cheek against the firm skin.

Your lips pucker, pouty and almost fish-like. Your boyish face, soft and not yet worn down by the tiresome nature of time in itself, looks undeniably cute. Perfect for kissing and irrevocably inviting. Your eyes are shut, lashes resting against your cheeks. Time stops, minutes passing within hours, as Shouta takes in your essence and stares down at your innocent face. Stealing a kiss would just be… so…easy…

“Fix your face,” He says instead, clearing his throat and directing his gaze to the dimly lit, yellow-tinted lamp resting on the end table placed by his half of the sofa. “Or it’ll get stuck like that.”

“M’sorry.” You whisper, bashful as ever despite the slippery hands of sleep reaching back for you. Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?

It makes Aizawa want to retract his statement, press his thumb into the unobtrusive crease forming between your pretty eyebrows. But it leaves before it has time to arrive— to settle, as your body relaxes once more. He observes for a moment, the dip of the couch as you finally sink your weight into it, the debt collectors contracted with sleep finally having caught up with you.

Preserving himself through all these years, none being particularly good to him, he wonders if you’ve faced any similar endeavors. He’d hate to leave you alone, cold and barren as another side of his bed remains despicably untouched, only the ghost of what could have been keeping him company during this sleep-centric night. Your breaths are slow and steady, lips briefly parting to mumble something he can’t quite grasp. Shouta tries anyway, tucking his stubbly chin against his collarbone as he leans forward.

His face is dangerously close, a mere inch separating the gap between his lips and soft, supple skin. With your head nuzzled against his shoulder—broad and wide—your words dispel into the thin fabric of his t-shirt. Alongside a fine layer of drool, something he's all too used to, that slowly spreads the deeper you fall into undisturbed sleep. A heavy sleeper then, he presumes.

Shouta keeps you close, pressing your body against his as he loops his other arm behind your legs and hoists you up. He’s careful to avoid any furniture, holding you with an iron grip as he steps up the creaky stairs. His hair bounces with each step, curly and dark, flowing down his back and streaked with gray.

“..Zawa…” Nearly dropping you, his mismatched gaze locks onto your face. Blissed out and camouflaged with slumber, you stir in his arms. “Kiss me ‘lready.”

Aizawa clears his throat, neck constricting as it tightens around the air. It’s fine, just a baseless comment, he decides, as he slowly opens his bedroom door, careful of the noise. You don’t seem to move after that, dozing in his arms until he’s setting you down into his bed. He really hopes you don’t mind it— he doesn’t have a guest bedroom, after all.

It’s dark in his room, blackout curtains covering any sliver of radiance from outside streetlights. So he flicks on the lamp on his bedside table, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest as he lifts his arms overhead to remove his shirt. Something cold prods at his back, and before he can shed the clothing, Shouta redirects himself to look back at you.

Half asleep, your foot creeps under the comfortable fabric of his shirt. You must’ve discarded your socks in your sleep, because you’re rubbing your eyes with balled up fists as if you’d just woken up. Doesn’t stop you from speaking, vocal cords strained, “S’this the part where we cuddle?”

Aizawa watches you shimmy out of your pants, obviously groggy and irrational from having just opened your eyes, your warm skin slowly being exposed inch by inch. You must overheat in your sleep.

“No, it’s not,” He groans out, sucking in a sharp intake of air as he takes in the mural being painted in front of him. “Go back to sleep, kid.”

“Don’ wanna,” You mumble, much more awake as your eyes hone in on the skin of his back that he’s partially exposing. “And I’m not a kid.”

“Sound like one.” You hear him grovel under his breath, almost as if you were meant to hear it. Aizawa has quite the ability to be silent when he wants to, he can creep up on you without you ever noticing. So you suck your teeth, sitting up in his bed.

He expects you to respond with something witty, something he has to pretend he doesn’t find funny. But you don’t, instead staying uncharacteristically silent. Had it not been the dip in his mattress, he would have assumed you dissolved into thin air.

God, how you hope he won’t find you childish for this.

“Sir, I,” Shouta stiffens, his hair falling from behind his ear as he turns to fully face you. “Can I kiss you?”

“Can you..” He trails off, watching your bottom lip jut out. Plump and shiny, Aizawa resists the urge to sink his teeth into it. How soft would they feel? Would you cry into his mouth if he bit too hard? Anything in his hands becomes fragile, and he wants to know how far you can bend before you break. “Can you kiss me?”

He doesn’t give you time to respond, grabbing your ankle with his rough hands to drag you down into him. Your pretty eyes widen, large and unsuspecting as he crashes his lips against yours, feverish and desperate.

His tongue swipes over your lower lip and eagerly awaits yours, tasting faintly of cigarette smoke and cinnamon. Undeniably Shouta, you can’t help but whimper into his mouth, tangling your fingers into his disheveled hair. His mouth is warm and wet— almost searing hot, and you can’t help but choke on your own breaths. You sink into the kiss, floaty and dumbstruck by his urgency.

Like a starved man, he pushes you down on your back and tangles his big hands in the waistline of your boxers, tugging the elastic apart until it rips with a ‘snap!’. You’re exposed, legs instinctively closing to shield your half naked body.

“Aht-aht. Sit still,” Aizawa hand quickly latches around the base of your dick, sending shocks of electricity up your smaller (in comparison to his) body. You tug on his wrist, eyes burning with unshed tears as he stares down at you, predatory and famished. “When’s the last time you played with this pretty cock? Did you think of me?”

He doesn’t give you time to speak, instead spitting down onto your cock with a thick, shiny glob of spit. You can’t help but moan, watching it slide down and heat up through his fingers. His hand envelops you entirely, big and warm and squelching as he accentuates his words with particularly sharp pumps.

“Oh, sweetheart,” His voice sounds condescending and feignedly sweet, you swear you could cum just from hearing it. “S’been a while, huh? Yeah? S’why you’re leaking all over my hand?”

You feel yourself nod, quick and enthusiastic as you melt into his palm. Your legs turn into jello, numb against his warm sheets, as your toes curl and your back slowly inches off the mattress. Shouta’s eyes are lidded and heavy, drinking you in and burning you from the inside out. You keen, pulsating in his hand until the warmth is suddenly gone, and you’re blinking away frustrated tears.

“No—!”

“Greedy brat,” Shouta’s quick to shut you up, large hands sinking into the plush skin of your thighs as he spreads your legs open impossibly wide. “Fuck, got a greedy hole on you too.”

Your hole clenches in response, eager to have his attention. You can feel a trail of precum and spit soaking the area, warm and wet, not yet reminiscent of his cum. Soon enough, you hope, he’ll be filling you to the brim and then some. Your hands, somehow forgotten, scramble to unbutton his dress shirt.

Eyebrows furrowed in concentration, you gasp in retaliation to his big hand clutching your jaw with indescribable force and pressure. Trying to leave finger-shaped bruises. Your lips part, tongue pushed free from your squished cheeks as you blink up at him, eyes dancing between one milky-white iris and another, only chocolate brown.

“Go on, say it. Tell Daddy you’re a greedy boy with a greedy little hole,” He’s spitting into your mouth, a thin trail of saliva indirectly connecting his tongue to yours. “You can do it, sugar.”

Oh. Oxygen disconnects from your lungs, dumbly blinking up at him with a garbled moan. You can’t speak if you wanted to, not with his hand around your jaw like this, so you settle for swallowing down his spit with a feeble smile. All you can push out is a mangled ‘Daddy!’ but Aizawa seems to take that for an answer, groaning as he hikes your knees up to your chest, sighing when you squeal in response.

His big, warm body is pressed up against yours, much bigger and stronger, and it’s apparent in every movement he makes. He’s able to push you around, flip you over and push you down with barely a finger, and you’re sure his hand can cover the entirety of your face. You moan, wanton and sweet in his ears as he maneuvers your arms to keep your legs up.

“Gonna take real good care of you,” Shouta— Daddy sighs, hunched over and breathing dangerously close to your entrance. Almost like he’s talking to your hole instead of you, and you’d protest if it weren’t for the hot, wet stripe he’d just licked down from your perineum to your hole. Your body feels warm and tingly, legs twitching as his tongue prods and pokes deeper and deeper, slowly slipping inside. “Gonna let Daddy take care of you?”

He’s sure to make it messy, adding generous amounts of drool and spit along your sensitive hole, eating you out like he gets paid to do it. He makes you lay there and take it, holding your legs open like some cheap whore, settling between your thighs with feverish and hungry kisses. Making out with your hole, you watch with heavy eyes and a gaped mouth.

“Yeah, yeah..” You moan subconsciously, a constant stream leaving your pretty, parted lips. He takes the opportunity to fill your mouth with his fingers, long and scarred as his fingertips run along your pink tongue. His fingers taste vaguely of salt, and you can’t help but suck on them, eyes fluttering in content.

You barely catch it, a small kiss being placed on the curve of your jaw until he’s freeing his fingers from your mouth. He resists the urge to shove them down your throat, watch your eyes get glassy and wet as you gag on his fingers like you would his cock.

“Gotta get this cunt nice n’ ready. Watch me eat you out, boy,” His voice has dropped several octaves—if that’s even possible—thick and heavy and reverberating straight into your hole. It’s like he knows you by heart, even if this is your first time together, because he’s slotting his thick, scarred fingers in along with his tongue. “Such a pretty hole. Matches your face.”

Through the haze you’re still able to mumble out a quiet, “Thank you,” timid, small, and broken up between moans.

“Good boy, still remembering your manners,” He sounds just as breathless as you, pressing his fingertips against the special spot inside of you. Your body jolts, a shriek ripping from your throat as he puts pressure on it, bullies it with his fingers, and follows suit with his tongue. Too much. “Shh, I know. Try to stay quiet for me.”

For me. The implication has you whining, high in your throat and pitiful as you nod to no one in particular, wiggling in your boss’s hold. For me. The implication has you whining, high in your throat and pitiful as you nod to no one in particular, wiggling in your boss’s hold.

You want to be good, be the best boy you can be, but you just can’t help it. The complete opposite of what he’s told you to do, high off his fingers as your body clenches and your moans grow louder and louder, fingernails digging into the soft surface of the back of your knees. He just presses and presses and—

Stops. Abrupt and fleeting until his hand is back, but instead in the form of a harsh slap right across the back of your thighs. Your sit spots.

“Wh- mm-mm…! Waitwait..Daddy—!” You’re stunned, stuttering and stumbling over your words as you fail to recollect what just happened. You press your face into your knees, bunched up tight as tears spring in your eyes. “That hu—urts.”

The pout in your voice is evident, and Shouta can’t help but coo. Especially when your cock, lodged right between the thickness of your thighs, jumps and leaks more precum. His own throbs in his pants, leaking into his underwear and leaving him sticky. God, he can’t wait to feel your hole twitch around his dick.

“You’re a big boy. I know you can take it, you said it yourself, didn’t you?” And there it is again, the fog that casts over your brain as you can only think of being good. Good for Shouta. Good for your Daddy.

There’s a sharp smack right on top of your little hole, the entrance winking back in retaliation as you sob into your knees. The pain doesn’t last long, simmers down and is easily replaced by heat when his fingers rub soothing circles around your rim.

“Daddy,” Your voice comes out much sweeter and wet, letting out a small sniffle as you peek out to watch him place open-mouthed kisses against your hole. “Want you.”

“You have me, boy,” His heart melts, and a soft smile creeps up on his handsome face. His tie dangles as he shifts his weight, opening his bedside drawer to pull out a condom and cherry flavored lube. Ironic. “Now let me in, wanna make your pretty fuckhole cream around my cock.”

“Wait,” You rasp, watching him tear open the packaging with his teeth. You’re still breathless and shaky, but you’re trying your best. “Wanna feel you. Wanna feel you inside me.”

Aizawa’s deep groans are music to your ears, and your eyes threaten to roll back into your skull when he frees himself of his shirt and sheds his pants. His dickprint is big and thick, throbbing in the fabric and sticky with fresh precum. You want to taste it. His cock springs free as his briefs drop to the floor, slapping against his abdomen and weeping.

You watch him fuck his fist, pouring the slick lube down his cock and warming it up with his palm.

“Yeah? You want it? Gonna listen to Daddy so he can put his thick cock in that sloppy little hole? C’mere before I shoot into my fist.”

You nod so hard it hurts, squeezing your shaft to stop yourself from cumming to his words alone. Your cock twitches in your hand, hard and wet as Shouta walks forward to meet you at the edge of the bed and scoops you up into his arms like you’re weightless. It must be easy for him, seeing as he’s so much bigger than you in every way.

“Won’t fit—”

“Shh,” Like he knows what you’re going to say before you can utter it, Shouta lifts you into the air with ease, and you can feel his cock pressing against your puckered hole. “We’ll make it fit.”

Your back presses against his chest, upright as he loops his arms around the backs of your knees. You’re spread wide, and with Shouta’s strong grip, all you can do is sit there and take it. You can feel him twitch and throb from the inside-out, his cock gushing pre as you sink down onto his cock. Your eyes roll back, wanton moans and a chant of ‘DaddyDaddyDaddy’ filling the air as snaps his hips, barely letting you adjust.

His dick is stretching you open, thick and long, and pulsing and veiny as you feel it bulge in your tummy, pushing past your rim and filling you up.

“Thought about this for weeks,” Your breath catches in your throat, and suddenly you’re too far gone to answer. “I—yeah, should’ve fucked you in that café.”

From the… Start?

Heat pools on your stomach, his cock punching your insides and kissing each sensitive ridge with every movement he makes. Your moans are unintelligible, barely even coherent, as he fucks into you, lifting you off his cock again, and again, and again. Cock-drunk while his dick rearranges your guts, drool slips from your mouth and down your chest.

You look pathetic and ruined.

“So cute like this, pretty baby. You make the dumbest little faces when you’re fucked stupid on Daddy’s cock, but still so damn cute.”

His cock drags in and out of your plushy walls, precum and lube making a creamy concoction along his shaft with each thrust. Your face is stained with tears and drool, mouth open wide as you pant and whine.

The knot in your stomach tightens, your hole beating around his cock as Aizawa moans, and you feel your body go numb as you shudder and convulse. You’re cumming, and your smaller hands squeeze his big ones as he uses you like a fucktoy, bouncing off his lap with tiny, “Mm, mm, mm’s.” Your hole grips him like a vice, swallowing his cock deeper and deeper until you feel warmth flooding your stomach, your balls tightening by the second.

“Da—addy please, m’cummin’, m’cummin’!”

“There you go, smart little boy,” Shouta groans loud in your ear, twitching in your tummy when you clamp down on his dick. He wants to fuck his cum into you, you deserve it. You deserve his cock, you deserve his load, you deserve to be stuffed full until you’ve milked his dick for all he’s got— all it’s worth. “Just keep bouncin’, so fuckin good at it, gush on my cock. What d’you say, baby? What d’you say to Daddy?”

You wish you could see him, the grit of his teeth as his thrusts turn sloppy and messy. But you know he can see you, staring down at the cum painting your chest as it squirts out your cock in thick, rapid ropes. Mixing with your tears and drool, you know you look like sex on legs, eyes void of everything but the need for cock.

“Thankyouthankyouthank—fu-huck,” His cock is jackhammering so deep you can barely breathe. “Thank you, Daddy!”

“Gonna make you just like Daddy, gonna make you one too,” It must send him over the edge, the sounds of your hole squelching as he scrambles your insides, because he’s quick to shoot a creamy, hot load of cum straight inside you. “Wanna be a big boy so bad? Then—fuuuck— take it like one.”

He gives a few last slow, deep thrusts inside so his cum really takes, carefully freeing your legs as you collapse onto him with a breathy moan.

“‘Zawa…”

“C’mere, brat,” You’re quick to whine, weakly pressing your face into the expanse of his large chest, all tears and snot and cum as he cradles your head between his large hand and his even larger chest. You feel protected in his arms, shrinking even smaller into his lap as your eyes slip closed and his cum leaks down your thighs. “You’re a good boy. My good boy.”

Shouta’s hand is ablaze when he brushes it along your forehead, soon after replacing it with a gentle kiss. He means it.

“Let Daddy take care of you.”

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luvlyhyunjin · 1 month

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Thirty-Five - Flickers Of The Past I.

TW: mentions of disordered eating, diets, mental health issues and suicide.

wc: 8.3

playlist: dollhouse - melanie martinez / cardigan - taylor swift / until i found you - Stephen Sanchez

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The first time you ever saw Hyunjin you were seven years old. It was amid a hot June summer; the scorching hot weather and unforgiving sun were unrelenting. Swearing to make the process of you and your family moving into a new neighborhood absolute hell. Not for you though, the only thing that was causing you discomfort is your long hair. Adding unnecessary layer to provide heat on your neck and causing beads of sweat to roll down it.

Your mom had muttered countless excuses to you. Something about how this time your dad is finally gonna make it. His business is gonna flourish and soon enough you’ll be rich. You didn’t really understand what does having money make any difference? You only wanted three things right now, your mom, dad and one of the cookies that your mom had placed on a plate on the table in front of you. A rumbling in your tummy only confirms your hunger.

“Stay still Y/N.” she warns, pulling slightly on your hair as you had inched forward without noticing. You nodded earning a tsk in return. You stilled, shoulders slumped and trying not squirm in discomfort. The thigh highs your mom forced you to wear cling to your thighs in sweat. Your mom continued brushing your hair, tying your hair in pigtail to start working on the left section of your hair.

“Can I have a cookie mommy?” you ask with a hiss when she finally tied the remaining hair in a pigtail, like the right one. Your mom stood up; her brown hair falls beautifully over her shoulders, resembles silk. She sighs, a line of annoyance between her brows “it’s not time for your snacks yet Y/N.”

“But mommy I’m hungry” your small palm clutched the end of her red dress, a pout that would be described as adorable to anyone else but to your mom it was an eyesore. It was what she always said.

“Don’t be an eyesore Y/N. I don’t care if you’re hungry you need to wait.” She scolded with a stern voice and a glare you were too used to in her eyes. And just like that your small heart crumbles, breaking into pieces right at her feet. She turned away with a huff, her black heels stepping all over your broken heart. Breaking it into smaller pieces just to make sure that you won’t be able to pick it up.

You didn’t cry, despite the lingering heaviness in your heart. You told yourself it didn’t matter; your mom was probably just stressed. She always is whenever you guys moved and with this being the third time already in a year. She was probably overwhelmed. You adjusted the overall strap of your dress that had fallen to lie beside your elbow. An ache in your knees as you stood up. Your big eyes had stayed on the narrow corridor leading to your parent’s room.

You counted to ten and when there was no sign of your mom coming out, your small hand reached for one of the cookies in a hurry. Panic has your heart picking up its pace, a fear clinging to the tips of your fingers. Your other hand clutching the ear of your stuffed bunny, your small feet scrambling in hurry towards the door leaving a trail of cookie crumbs on the floor. The sound of the front door closing echoes in your empty house. Reminding your little mind that this isn’t home it’s nothing but another stop sign along the way.

Once you’re outside, you sit down on the steps of the front porch. Your stuffed bunny sitting by your leg as you chew away on your chocolate chip cookie. Humming in delight with a smile as you turn to watch the two boys playing soccer on your one of neighbor’s lawn. It wasn’t fun to watch simply because you did not understand a thing, did not understand if they were good or bad. Why was the girl cheering, on the ground with catlike eyes and a big smile. Was she cheering them both or one of them?

As if on instinct one of the boys had noticed you, leaving their game unattended to look at you. Locking eyes with you had you frozen in place, the cookie half way into your mouth. For an odd reason an uncomfortable feeling had travelled its way through your body, like you had been caught doing something you shouldn’t have perhaps that’s why when the boy with midnight black hair, a mole under his right eye, waved at you with overflowing excitement, your face burned, and you turned away. Walking back to your house in hurrying manner. A strange feeling in your chest. You blamed it on the boy’s smile, it was as bright as the sun.

Three weeks exactly after that you saw him again. You were waiting at the bus stop, short legs swinging back and forth as you sat comfortably on the wooden bench. Your dark hair is tied into a high ponytail and away from your face. Your pink skirt and matching thigh highs were added cuteness to your already chubby cheeks or at least that’s what the lady next door had said to you. It had earned you two small cartons of strawberry milk. One that is between your hands and its straw in your mouth while the other is protected in your pink bunny backpack.

The sound of sniffles had your ears perked up; attention stole. Looking to where they were coming from you saw a small boy, almost the same size as you, curled up on the sidewalk. Head in his hands. You eyed him curiously, a bit surprised by the number of adults passing by and not sparing him a glance. You weren’t really a brave kid, always more on the shy side, refusing to talk to strangers and clinging to your mother’s leg during social events. So, what you did next was definitely out of character for you.

Jumping down the bench, you threw your now empty carton of milk into a nearby trashcan. A hop in your step, the sun warming the coldness in your palms as you settled right beside him. Shoulders brushing and with your presence he looked up, eyes red and tear streaks over his pretty mole. You were surprised, didn’t expect it to be the boy from your neighborhood.

“Why are you crying?” you had asked, head tilting in spirit of inquiry. The boy eyes sharpen, a childish glint in them as he crossed his arms over his chest “I’m not crying!” he defended weakly, bottom lip trembling “mom said big boys like me never cry!” as if mocking him a tear rolled down his cheek, followed by another just to break down the act he worked so hard on putting on.

Your chest had tightened painfully in sympathy, an emotion you still didn’t know what to call.

“But it’s okay to cry when you’re sad doesn’t matter if you’re big or small.” The words came to your small brain like common sense, colored in innocence. He shook his head stubbornly, despite the sniffles escaping his mouth. Your own lips have formed into a pout, searching your brain for a way to make his sadness disappear.

“What happened?” you finally asked after a while, a black cat taking its place next to your leg. You scratched behind its ear with a smile and Hyunjin watched you with tear clouded vision.

“I-I think my dad is sick.” He muttered between sniffles; you furrowed your brows “tell him to take some medicine. Mommy always gives me that when I’m sick. It tastes awful but it makes me feel better.”

“I told my mom that too.” Hyunjin replies, his own hand reaching over your lap to scratch at the cat’s ears. It starts purring, eyes closed in bliss “but she says he’s sick in here.” He explains by pointing to his head with his index finger and a pout on his pink lips. You grow even more confused haven’t heard of people being sick in the head, but you keep quiet. Nodding in faux understanding as you tell yourself you should read about it later. A short silence settles between you two when the cat jumps into Hyunjin’s lap and curls on itself.

Hyunjin chuckles, the only evidence of his sadness is the lines of tears drying on his cheeks “she likes me!” Hyunjin mumbles cheerfully as he turns to you with a big smile, the same one you saw three weeks ago and that was as warm as the sun. You smile back at him “yeah.”

At the end of the street, you notice your familiar school bus making its way towards the stop “I have to go now.” You announce standing up and adjusting the straps of your backpack. Hyunjin pays you no mind, nodding slightly as he is too immersed in his excitement about petting the cat on his lap. You loiter, staring at the boy before unzipping your pink backpack and taking out the strawberry milk you were planning on drinking later.

“Take this.” You said, outstretching your hand to him with the carton. Hyunjin looked up, eyes widening slightly in surprise “I don’t like strawberry milk.”

“But why? It tastes good and it helps me when I’m feeling down.”

“Really?”

“Yes! I was feeling down this morning but now I’m so much better!” you boosted, an enthusiasm in your voice that had him growing slightly excited as well. He took it, a pink coloring his cheeks as this has been the first time he had ever taken anything from a girl aside from Yeji “Okay!”

“Later sad boy!” you waved with a big smile, his own words of protest left unsaid when you turned around and ran towards the bus stop.

After that day you never saw Hyunjin, not around the bus stop and nowhere around the neighborhood. You heard your mom and the women next door talk about how the Hwang’s moved away because her husband has passed away. It didn’t make much sense to you back then, but you only remember realizing that you never asked for his name, and he never asked for yours.

You don’t see Hyunjin again until you’re sixteen. It’s another wheel of destiny that spins you around just to throw you in the same spot as him, for you guys to clash into one another. But back then, you hadn’t realized it yet. It was a similar cycle, an old record that had played repeatedly till you memorized all the tracks. You had just moved to a new neighborhood, a house bigger than your last one, a more modern version than the last one with marble floors and big glass windows, a slick black aesthetically pleasing kitchen. It all meant nothing to your mom though, not good enough because even though your dad was making a lot more money than last year. He wasn’t rich enough for his name to mean something. It’s evident in the way your mom grumbles all afternoon, brows knitted and a scowl permanent on her face. You ignore her, lazing around on the couch in the living room and counting the number of black dots decorating the ceiling.

The faint sound of music coming from the turned on tv aids you in keeping your mind off your reality.

“Y/N! come on it’s time for your meal!” she calls for you from the kitchen, voice sounding a bit far just to remind you of the bigger space of this house. You sigh, rolling off the couch and onto your feet, passing by the unopened boxes and through foyer the only seems to grow longer with every house. You make it to the kitchen to be greeted with the plate your mom had made specifically for you, a bunch of steamed vegetables. Broccoli, carrots, and peas.

A sour taste settles in your throat, the emptiness of your stomach nudges to ask for more and you contemplate it, fingers drumming on the kitchen island.

“Can I at least have protein?” you finally ask, voice weak and unsure and your body wavers in similar weakness when your mom turns to face you with a hateful glare. As if she’s offended “You had protein for breakfast that’s enough.” She spits with disgust dousing her tone, and you don’t need her to say more to know exactly what she’s thinking, it’s the way her eyes trail over your body with a wrinkled nose. As if she hates to look at you.

“But I’m hungry.” You try to argue, ignoring the goosebumps raising on your body due to her harsh eyes.

“Being a little hungry won’t kill you Y/N. Now eat your food and shut up. You’re giving me a headache.” She rubs her hand over his face and then through her hair, an act of stress and your anxiety renders you mute. But your mother never stops and that’s always been her downfall. A greed that’s never full and it’s the same way with her mouth, always spilling venom and leaving it behind for you to clean up.

“Just look at your body, always talking about how hungry you are no wonder none of the diets are working.” She’s talking to herself, you realize that. And it’s not something you haven’t heard before, so you don’t know why it triggered you that day. Maybe it was another card destiny had thrown on your unfortunate table.

“I don’t fucking care about my body” the words have divulged from your mouth without warning, spilling like vomit. It was the first time you cursed in front of your mom, the first time you argued this long for a while, but you don’t get to dwell on the thought, don’t get to reflect long enough when her palms come in contact with your right cheek in a burning slap.

It’s not the first time she has hit you, it happened a few times before, so you wonder why does is it more agonizing each time? Why do your eyes still fill with tears and why does betrayal seep into your eyes, into your shocked look at her. As if she was anything different than a snake who sank her teeth into you. But she looks at you as if you’re a criminal who had stabbed her right in the heart, feed on it and threw the rest to dogs.

“Go to your room no food for you today.” It was a punishment you knew was waiting for you down the line the longer you had talked. And the best way to deal with all this was to take it but instead you run away. An ocean of tears had clouded your vision and you had somehow ended up on the beach. Sniffling as you hugged your legs to your body.

Now that you think about it you know fate had played you, placed you in another position where you would have no choice but to run into him, you had no choice but to be cursed by him but that’s not how you felt when his ball hit you, it’s not what you felt when even more tears had streamed down your face because what else could go wrong?

Frustration had bubbled in your blood, blending itself with your sadness to form a puddle of overwhelmingly painful emotions that you had no choice but to lay in. It gets worse when Hyunjin had jogged your worry, his apology dies on his tongue when you make eye contact with him. Teary yet fiery eyes pierce his soul, and he was never the type to be left speechless. It comes to him like a flame blown out from a candle and the heat burns him.

At his name being called, he picks his ball and turns away. The face of the crying girl on the beach leaves him awake an hour longer at night.

The second time you see Hyunjin it’s in the halls of your school. It was early in the morning, the halls bustling with students rushing to their first class. You were by your locker, getting your biology book out and once you closed it shut the last thing you expected to see that morning is the face of none other than Hyunjin. Leaning on the locker next to you with a tight smile on his face

“Hi.” He says and somehow his voice is nothing like you expected, it ends up being on the sweeter side, pleasant to hear.

“Hey?” you reply with an edge of confusion in your tone, clear enough that it makes him nervous. Pushing a hand through his already pushed back black hair “I’m Hyunjin. Hwang Hyunjin.” You nod signaling for him to continue, by now you already knew who Hyunjin was. It was impossible not to know him when his name was on everyone’s tongue. The talk about the endless impressive acts of his are a record you had to endure daily from every student you come across. From his outstanding dance skills at the dance club to his impressive plays on the field during soccer games. Getting the captain title was a piece of cake for him, a piece he hadn’t even planned on eating, but it ended up right on his plate by its own.

His silence stretches a minute or two too long as if he’s waiting for you to say something back, when you don’t, he clears his throat in attempt to regain his missing confidence “Uh- I hit you with my ball last week. At the beach? Remember?”

“I do,”

“Great! Uh I’m sorry about that.”

“it’s okay.” You assure with a smile in hope it will dissipate the awkwardness “how is your head by the way?” he trails bunglingly, fingers pointing to your head.

“I still have my memories so I’m probably fine” You reply with a soft smile. Amusement swims in your eyes at the way he acts, the way he won’t meet your eyes for longer than a second before they travel elsewhere. Randomly staring at a few lockers away.

Hyunjin’s blush colored lips twitch upwards in mimicking smile, a breath of a chuckle escapes him “that’s a relief.” He says, bouncing on the heels of his feet with his hands buried in the front pockets of his school uniform.

Another awkward silence settles between you two, he looks as if he has something more to say but the words won’t come out, you try not to rush him, try to wait for him to just spit out but when it stretches. You clear your throat to capture his wandering eyes, they lock with yours, widening as a nervous pink blush takes its place on his pale cheeks “Well I better head to class.”

“Yeah of course.” He nods. Taking a step to the side to move out of the way and with another faint smile of yours you go on your own way. Once you pass by him the smell of peaches and cream coats the inside of your nose and stays there far longer than you anticipated.

If you count the time, you’re sure it’s exactly sixty seconds and if you’re a little bit off then it won’t be more than eighty seconds before you feel his hand circle your wrist, halting your movement with a rushed out “wait!”

His palm is warm, yet his rings are cold as ice, and they leave you more buzzled when you turn to look at him with inquisitive eyes.

“Your name,” he sounds breathless, and you wonder why “you didn’t tell me your name.” the halls had started to empty, reminding you that you’re late to your first period already. The dying noise brings attention to the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and something else in the distance. If you focus hard enough you swear you could hear the chirping of birds as if they’re signaling the beginning of something you aren’t aware of yet.

If your life was a book this will be the chapter where everything changes and flips upside down, the chapter where you begin to see how large the real world is compared to this small bubble you thought was the world. And all what it’d take is a singular look at Hyunjin’s dark eyes. And if this was somehow a movie it would be the beginning of a fairytale like arc and a soft tune with overflowing lovestruck words would be playing right now. Swirling around and tempting you into a spell that tastes like nothing but pure gold and affection.

But this wasn’t a book nor a movie.

“Y/N” you say “Song Y/N.”

This was a game fate had started and choose you as the main player. The only problem was the rules were never explained and your purpose has yet to be found. Years later when you look back at your meeting you remember how Hyunjin never asked you about the fact that you were crying or the glaringly obvious red mark on your cheek.

You’re thankful.

The next time you see Hyunjin it’s in detention. Given his reputation you shouldn’t be surprised but given your reputation he is more than surprised when he notices you there. His bored and cold stare had transformed into a wide eyed one, eagerness filling his limbs into jumbled tapping of his foot on the floor. Grinding on his teeth as he chewed slowly on his mint flavored gum. Eyes pasted at you, you who was sitting a few seats way from him, you who was too immersed in whatever you were doing on your notebook to spare a glance in his way. Your dark hair falling over the side of your face like a barrier depriving him of stealing glances at your face. It left him withering away in disappointment he didn’t quite understand.

Truth, is you didn’t deserve to be here, well at least partly. Last night you stayed late, working on a brand-new idea you had for a jacket design. You were so focused on it and hadn’t realized the number of hours that had passed by. Once your neck had started aching from your position, fingers sore, you had finally looked at the clock placed next you, you were shocked to see it’s already 3 am. So, when you ended up dozing off the next day and falling asleep in chem class. You did not expect the punishment to be detention. You had argued with your teacher. It was a bad idea because it only resulted in a week worth of detention.

However, now that you’re here you realize it is not that bad. It was quiet, the other students dozing off along with the teacher that was assigned to watch you. It was an opportunity for you to finish your designs. Away from your mother’s nagging and your father’s freezing stare.

You feel it then, something hitting your shoulder to steal your attention from your drawing. You look down at the crumpled piece of paper by your shoes.

Hyunjin gauges your reaction, watches as you elegantly tuck your hair behind your ear. Brows furrowing in confusion as you bend down and pick up the paper. Pulling your pretty lips into an even prettier pout as you open the paper only to find it empty. Only to discern it was an attempt to capture an ounce of your attention. You’re surrounded in softness that has him drowning in jealousy, wishing he was a piece of paper just to be held by you.

He watches as your eyes scan the room, looking for a culprit to blame and then they’re landing on him. Bullseye.

Hyunjin plays his role way too well, leans in his chair with his soccer varsity jacket on. A spread in his legs. Undeterred by the speeding beats of his heart, palms watering in nervous sweat the longer your darling eyes are on him. His own hand raises in a wave, a wink colored in confidence he lacked last time is thrown your way. You feel a wave of shyness wash over you at his unexpected forwardness. Your lips curl into a sheepish smile, a shake of your head as you look away and back down at your notebook.

As if you have given him the green light. Energy surges through his body, overshadowing his nerves and he moves as if your smile has been a magic spell you so willingly put on him. And the empty seat in front of you is taken by him. You smell him before you see him, a whirlwind of emotions swim through you when he’s face to face with you, his back to the sleeping teacher.

“Song Y/N.” he greets with a grin, charm clings to his features and your eyes linger on his mole. Sending familiarity to your mind. Raking through it but finding nowhere to place it.

“Hwang Hyunjin.” You greet back, leaning back in your seat, arms stretching in front of you to cover your notebook.

His eyes flicker to it momentarily before going back to your face. A fresh glint is in there, a pleasant one like he’s happy you remember his name.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.” There’s a pleasant breathy edge to his voice.

“I don’t fit in here?” you ask playfully, tilting your head and he’s almost suffocating on your beauty. Didn’t think it’s possible for someone like you to exist.

“Good girls don’t belong in detention.”

“How do you know I’m a good girl? I might have a wild side to me.” You challenge with a raised brow. With his heart beating wildly in his chest when he reaches forward, his fingers drum on the wood of your table almost brushing against your hand “I’d love to see that.”

You hum, his hand radiating heat that spreads through your body despite the fact that he isn’t touching you “well I expected seeing you here, so I guess that helps with your bad boy image.” You comment.

“Bad boy image?”

“Yeah. Isn’t that why you walk around with a cigarette tucked behind your ear?”

“Oh.” His other hand reaches for the poisonous stick he forgot he placed there “that’s why everyone was glaring at me earlier.”

There’s a short silence that fills the small spaces between your bodies, melting on your skin and in your throat begging you to speak the longer his eyes watch you “what are you here for?” you ask after a while, Hyunjin blinks as if he had forgotten the moment he was in, as if he was lost in you, aa if you were anything deserving to get lost in.

“I got caught smoking in the bathroom.” He says stonily “and you?”

“I got caught sleeping in class,” you reply with a shrug, and he chuckles, amused at how different you two are in the best possible way. It ignites something in him, waters a field he didn’t know was abandoned in his heart.

“What are you writing?” he asks, pointing with his eyes at the notebook you’re still hiding. You hesitate, gnawing on your bottom lip before tentatively removing your hands, allowing him to look. And he does, ever so eager as his eyes study the sketch of your design.

“You did this?” he asks with wide shinning eyes, and you wordlessly nod “Y/N it’s amazing!”

“You really think so?” you ask and Hyunjin’s grin widens in response “yes! You’re so talented holy fuck!” he exclaims in strives to convince you. His tone raising in volume before he slaps his hand to his mouth, eyes wide and he turns around to check if he disturbed the sleep of the teacher. He still snores peacefully.

You break into a fit of giggles, a sound he did not expect to hear and when he turns back to you. Your small hand is covering your mouth. The sight has butterflies roaming through his stomach, violently as if fighting for a way to come out. His own lips stretching into a smile until your laughter dies down, settling into an awkward silence as you avoid his eyes.

“You’re cute, Song Y/N.” he says absentmindedly, as if he didn’t mean for them to run away from his mind to his tongue but he doesn’t flatter, doesn’t take it away and you bask in the way it makes you feel. In the way your face burns as you grip your pencil and resumed the swirls of your hand, running away from his words only for them to hunt you down again.

The rest of detention had passed in a tranquil silence, despite the windows being closed you had felt incredibly warm. It courses through your heart, bumping life into the dull ache that has settled there. The warmth of Hyunjin’s gaze had lingered, it seared on your being even after weeks of not seeing him again.

You don’t see Hyunjin for a long while after that, not until the end of the semester. A week before summer break and during preparation for your school’s summer festival. A yearly event that they held. In the midst of your group making a sign with unmatching colors for your class you had ran out of color, grumbling and complaining they argued on who should go get more “I’ll go get it.” You volunteered, killing their argument successfully and earning thank yous in return.

You strolled along the running track on your way to the main building taking your time as you had grown tired from working all day. It felt like a nice break. Your hand swings back and forth capping and uncapping the sharpie pen you didn’t realize you picked up when you got up. Your eyes linger to your left, watching the soccer practice that is taking place. It wasn’t hard to notice him, the star of the team. The hushed whispers of nearby students remind you that you’re all enamored by the same person.

It is these specific moments that have you grasping the reality of how different you and Hyunjin are. It dawns on you like a cold bucket of water, you didn’t think about it much, didn’t think about him much but it’s like when you see him you can’t stop. Every time you see him you know he will haunt your mind for a few nights after. Perhaps that’s why your steps had come to a stop. Hyunjin had once again managed to filch attention you weren’t willing to give but that was just the kind of person he was. He easily captured the attention of everyone around him, admiring him. That’s the thing with Hyunjin, it was so easy to admire him. And maybe that’s why you had made it a challenge with yourself to be different. To not be a person who waits around the corner just to steal a look at him.

When Hyunjin notices you, eyes widen in gleam and a beam on his face. You don’t think about how fast you fail. And when he waves at you from a distance. A scene so strikingly familiar it has you confused. Your challenge collapses as fast as it comes, lying pathetically by your feet as you wait, just like every other admirer you wait as Hyunjin says something to his teammates. Two of them you recognize because they’re always around him, Lee Felix and Kim Seungmin. You had smiled at them, in attempts to be friendly and kind. It was part of your building reputation after all.

Back then, you were once again proven to be naïve. Constantly pushed into the shadow as destiny liked to fuck with you. You didn’t know it back then, that soon enough Kim Seungmin, the Seungmin you smiled so willingly at would be the same person who’s aiming a blade at you, you didn’t know the amount of pain he’d inflict on you.

Hyunjin is jogging towards you as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he isn’t fast enough, his soccer uniform is a tad too big on him. His lithe body leaves space.

“Song Y/N.” he’s out of breath when he’s next to you, sweat rolling down his exposed forehead as he grins at you.

“Hwang Hyunjin.” You greet back as usual.

“I didn’t know you were watching me.” His hand starts wiping away at his sweat, brushing through his hair multiple times as if he’s suddenly feeling self-conscious about his disheveled appearance. It has smile tugging at the corner of your lips “I was just passing by,” you explain lightly, a palpable tension oozes around you the longer he keeps his eyes on you. His stare burns as hot as the sun above.

“Nice ears by the way,” he comments, eyes flickering to the top of your head, and you subconsciously reach for it, your hand touches the fake fur of your cat ears that you had completely forgot you put on. Your face burns in embarrassment while his eyes light up as if witnessing a rare scene.

“My class is doing a cat slash zodiac café thing.” You fumble with your words to explain, your nerves show in the way you go back to capping and uncapping the lid of your pen “sounds like a lot, Y/N.”

“It is.” You answer shortly and he hums into the momentary silence “what’s your zodiac sign?” he suddenly asks and you’re thankful for the change of subject, you show him your wrist, the symbol of your sign your group had drawn for you.

“What’s yours?” you ask, tone curious and gentle. Feels like feathers against his skin as he swallows back nothing “not sure, I was born on the 20th of march.”

“Ah, you’re a Pisces.”

“What does that mean?” he wonders, eyebrows furrowing in thought.

“That you’re a sensitive baby.” You let a playful smile climb to the corners of your lips, lifting over the wall of slight awkwardness that stays around you two. He pauses at the glimpse of it, his own lips quirking upwards, and he rolls his eyes “are we at least compatible?”

“I think we might be the worst match out there.” You reply, giggling faintly. Hyunjin watches you, a garden of flowers blossom in his throat, taking every word he could say back to you. Your softness is prodigious, delicate in ways he wasn’t aware of.

“I have to go.” You say after a while and Hyunjin blinks rapidly, realizes he had done nothing but stare at you like a fool.

“Wait,” his voice is hoarse, his hand that stop you only touch you for a mere minute before he retracts it, it leaves you burning for more “Can I uh-“ he nervously rubs the back of his neck with his hand, eyes lolling everywhere “Can I have your Instagram or something?”

“I don’t really use Instagram.”

“oh.” Hyunjin’s eyes drop in disappointment, so glaringly obvious and you feel like a criminal who had stolen his light. Maybe you felt sorry and maybe that’s why you decided to light a match for him.

“I can give you my number instead.”

Was it then? That your heart had decided to surrender? Or was it when he messaged you for the first time that night with a link to an article, talking about how your signs are in fact compatible.

When was it exactly that you had become a willing victim of his?

On the last night of your summer break you saw Hyunjin again, passing by a skate park in your off white vintage two-piece your mother had picked out for you, your heels leaves a dull ache in your body leaving a trail of disappointment behind you with every step you take, evidence of another failed blind date your mother had set you up on.

“Hwang Hyunjin.” You had spoken first that night and he froze, a cigarette mid-way to his lips as he stared at you in complete awe. As if he couldn’t believe you were real, as if you were a mirage and you were gonna be gone if he blinks. You looked so beautiful to him, you always did. You were the only person capable of making his breath hitch.

“Song Y/N.” he says breathlessly “Wow! You look amazing,” his eyes rake over you appreciatively, you were incredulously pretty. A goddess that threats to steal his remaining sanity.

“Thank you,” you mumble, something akin to relief had spread through your body at the sight of him, you hadn’t realize how rigid you were until your eyes met, melting the tension in the folds of your feature with a single glance of his.

Have you already surrendered?

“Back from a date?” he asks clearing his throat after noticing how hard he was staring at you, he twirls the white stick of poison between his fingers. How lucky, you can’t help but think.

“A blind date,” you specify “it was horrible.” You trail off, eyes fliting to his group of friends behind him before they’re back on him.

You’re not sure of what kind of expression you had on, not sure if Hyunjin had maybe pitied you. If maybe he felt nicer than he’d like and that’s why you ended up sitting next to each other on the beach. He lent you his dark flannel and you used it to cover your bare legs. Your shoulders bump as he splits his sandwich in half and hands you the bigger piece. Your heart was beating wildly, the warmth of his shoulder somehow spreads through your entire being leaving you wondering how could a single person radiate this much warmth?

“It’s kinda spicy,” he says through a bite, acting so naturally and it’s unfair the way he leaves you caught between his dark eyes and his nice gestures.

“I like spicy food,” you retorted taking a bite from your own half, he hums, watches as you chew and doesn’t look away until you’re nodding in satisfaction.

“So, how bad was your date?”

“It had me questioning if I’m even attracted to men. That bad.” Hyunjin chuckles but doesn’t say anything, he looks captivated by you. Watches the way your fingers wipe off the corner of your mouth despite it being clean, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear. The way you hum in delight as you take another bite of your sandwich, the sullen expression you had earlier is nowhere in sight. Was it normal to be this interested in such small mannerism? He felt peculiar.

“Do you think soulmates exist?” You ask after a while of silence, tone soft and content and your food is long gone.

“My answer is a little complicated.”

“Tell me, “You say, turning to look at him as you lay your head on your bent knees. He sees the moon in the flickers of light in your eyes. How exceptional you are, stealing the attention of the great moon. How could he ever not be defeated by you?

“I do think soulmates exist, but I don’t everyone is lucky to meet their own.”

“How come?”

“I just don’t think it’s not realistic for everyone to meet their soulmate. Not everyone can be lucky and happy that’s not how the world works.” He replies with a shrug, mirroring you as he leans his head on his knees. The sound of the waves fills the empty spaces between your words “What about you? Do you believe in soulmates?”

“I don’t,”

“Why?”

“I don’t know I just don’t think they exist. I don’t believe in forever and all that other stuff.”

“You don’t think someone is gonna love you forever someday?” he asks, tone soft and faint. And somehow it feels like there’s no room in your heart anymore for oxygen. It’s all taken by him. And you’re suddenly consumed by him without realizing it. His delicacy waters your heart, it’s in the flannel on your legs, in the scent that had now stuck to your body and it’s in the food you shared. His tenderness was unwonted for you.

Is that why you craved for more? Is that why you wondered if you could just fall?

“The idea of loving someone forever sounds ridiculous.” Hyunjin never said anything back to that, a tranquil hush had fallen over you two. Both of you quietly gaze at each other, entranced by one another. And a foolish little sparkle had formed in the middle of your heart, spreading its light through your being and birthing even more sparkles into your soul.

Was this another a test by destiny you failed or was it possible for him to fall too

Hyunjin had lingered by your doorstep that night, swaying on his feet. The night breeze is cooling as it brushes against you. And his flannel is now around you. His scent mixes with yours, leaving you feeling intoxicated.

“What?” you asked with a hint of a smile. He lets out a shuddering breath, his eyes vulnerable as they stare you down. “I’m just feeling somewhat sad.” he makes no attempt to conceal it.

“Why?” your voice sounded as frail as your swaying feelings.

“I don’t know. I guess I regret spending the entire summer chickening out when everyday could have been like today.”

Back then you had found his sadness to be indiscreetly foolish . It’s not like you were gonna dissolve into thin air. You had next summer and the one after. You had the upcoming winter and the one after. You had so much time coming or at least that’s what you thought. You wonder if Hyunjin felt it, if he felt your time running out already and just like you, he had desperately tried to clutch onto it. To squeeze himself into every passing second where you coexisted in the same space.

You didn’t know it then, that your own words would return to you tenth fold. You didn’t know that the words you spoke ever so causally were gonna be your dreading reality. You didn’t know you’d break down to the point where you’d hold on to a sliver line of hope wishing for it to someday bleed into the forever you once said you didn’t believe in.

You were constantly at the edge of your seat, every time Hyunjin had turned his back to you it left you drowning even more and wondering if tomorrow he’s gonna be there. You had prepared yourself all this time and yet when Hyunjin turned his back to you for the last time. It broke you.

The sliver of hope had ended up killing you.

Looking back at it now you think that your sixteenth summer might have been the last moments of your sincerity, the last few moments before change had barged in, breaking your door down and taking place in you to turn you into something you weren’t able to escape. a snake that you pretended to like being in the skin of.

On the morning of your 17th birthday the planets had shifted and just like always you were a pawn in this game fate liked to play. your fairytale like arc had ended. To commingle into something new, an agony that had spreads its roots into your life. Vow to not never leave unless it made a mark on you, unless it sucked the life out of and diluted you to nothing but an immense penumbra.

You were taking a stroll outside on your bicycle, the wind dancing its way in your hair. A cool breeze that draws a smile on your face settling into a peaceful warmth in the center of your chest. You hadn’t anticipated the break of it all. The dull darkness that had replaced every sense of and shape of light you had ever known. It all came in sudden waves, seeing your dad’s car parked three streets away was a surprise that had soon melted into curiosity as you inched closer to look. You didn’t think of why, didn’t think about the consequences. You were naive and that became your downfall when you peeked inside the car and saw your dad with another woman, your dad kissing another woman, your dad’s hand in another woman’s hair.

That morning you had experienced your first heartbreak, and it was caused by no one other than your own father.

“Make a wish Y/N.” your mother said, placing the sugar free vanilla cake she had purchased two days ago, and you ended up seeing in fridge in front of you. You didn’t feel happy, not an excited bone in your body. Instead, all you felt was betrayal and rage, melting into liquid to run through your veins. It transmitted through your eyes, sharp as they glared at your father who sat across of you. Sipping on his coffee.

“Go on.” Your mom urged you with a push to your shoulder. You stared at the candle, your heart catching on fire alongside it. You close your eyes, you draw in a deep, shuddering breath. And you blow on it. Your mother doesn’t clap and neither does your father. He’s scrolling through his phone and your mother takes the cake from in front of you.

“I’ll give you a piece after dinner.” She says and you wordlessly nod. Fresh pain swims in you the longer you look at him, the longer you notice how indifferent he looked. Was a guilty man supposed to be this relaxed? Did he even care? Just for how long he has been doing this? The questions overwhelm you, leaving you feeling choked.

Your phone’s screen lights up and your eyes flicker to the coming message.

Hyunjin: Meet you at our spot in 5? I have something I wanna give you.

“I’m going out for a bit,” you announce, standing up from your seat with one last glare sent your father’s way.

“What? Dinner’s almost ready. Where are you going?” your mother scolded, followed you as you were putting on your shoes “I’m seeing Hyunjin for a bit.” You explained frigidly, not letting her huff of annoyance affect you.

“Again? All you do is spend time with that Hwang kid! I told you a million times he isn’t good-“you close the door shut with a slam.

Once you see Hyunjin standing on the beach, his back to you as he stared at the sea immersed in the crashing waves, you felt the same waves crash against the walls of your heart. Washing it into a tempest of blues that you didn’t even know you were capable of feeling. It wraps around your ankles and drags you down, threatening to make you one with the sand. Taking wobbly steps to him, you wish it would happen.

“Hyunjin.” You call once you’re close, once you’re in an appropriate distance for your heart not to jump and attack his. He turns around and your heart is weaker than you hope for. Jumping out of your grasp and into him.

Please give it back.

“Y/N!” his voice is airy, light enough to blend in with your blood, light enough to have you wishing he was running through your veins.

“Hey.” You breath in faux cheerfulness, a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes but he doesn’t get to dwell on it because with three quick steps he’s in your presence, destroying your safe distance as he pulls you into him with a hug, arms around your waist. His scent invades your space and your fingers desperately clutch the fabric of his white shirt, tears brimming in your waterline.

When he pulls back, his cold hands are cupping your cheeks. It has goosebumps and tingles littering along your spine. “what’s wrong?” he asks gently, his concerned eyes search your own. Letting loose, your tears fall like a waterfall that can’t be stopped “I’m just overwhelmed.” You chuckle, humorlessly.

“About what?”

“I’m getting old,” you sniffle and Hyunjin is smiling, a comfort he doesn’t know he can provide “you’re an idiot Y/N.” he shakes his head at you, and you agree.

“Well hopefully this will cheer you up.” He tells you, eyes glinting with happiness you wish to never leave him, you wish for him to always shine this brightly and maybe that’s why you didn’t tell him back then, the burden you carried felt too heavy for his softening gaze. You watch as he reaches in his pocket, he gauges your reactions as he pulls out a silver chain, a bracelet. Eyes dancing with overflowing emotions as he clasps it around your wrist.

You look at it only to realize that the letter ‘H’ dangles at the end of it, he raises his own wrist to show you a matching chain around his, your initial dangles from it “We’re matching.” He tells you with a grin and just like that Hyunjin had once again managed to pick the broken pieces of your heart and glue it together with emotions you shouldn’t feel.

You bury your face in your hands, overwhelmed and stolen away again by his charm. He had pulled you from the sinking sand under your feet and into his embrace instead. Wrapping you into the delicacy you run away from only to end up drowned in.

The day you turned seventeen your serial mendacious had began with two lies, the first was a witless venture to protect your family. You thought if you kept quiet then you could save them maybe someday, you’ll be able to mend them back together. It was an idiotic idea.

The second lie didn’t matter because you were certain Hyunjin would never feel the same way about you. It was an idiotic idea to explore as well. How could the sun possibly be attached to a dying speck of light?

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