#I put off reading that series for so many years

[bananayuyu]

just friends (2) - back to the beginning

pairing: san x f reader

genre: smut, angst, a bit of fluff

word count: 12.6k

summary: could you really call this a friendship anymore? what was it really, when you spent nights curled up in the sheets with him, days fighting till your blood ran cold? this was more than anything you'd had with anyone; but what it was, you didn't know. you'd fight to keep it alive, for it held you together; but how much more of this could San take before he breaks?

warnings: MDNI, smut, vaginal sex, cream pie, oral, cum eating

a/n: i have become completely obsessed with these two. I've mapped out 10 parts for this series (help me), please let me know if you'd like to be tagged for the rest <33 new parts won't be coming out on any certain schedule as I have many other writing projects I'm working on, but I will for sure finish his series within the year. I'm too obsessed not to. also the argument at the end of this part is pretty nasty so please proceed with caution <3

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One Year Ago

"Titi, it's 4:15, get your ass up!" you called from her desk, squinting at your eyes in the mirror as you put the finishing touches on your dark, heavy face of makeup.

"I know, sorry," she grumbled from her bed, slowly pushing off her comforter. "Winter makes me so sleepy," she yawned, stretching as long as she couch reach, her feet falling off the side of her mattress.

"You just love being late, I think," you joked, slapping closed the lid of your highlighter, putting the brush you used back into the drawer it came from.

"You'd think I do, with how often I am," she laughed, another yawn escaping her lips, her palms rubbing circles over her eyes.

"I'm leaving without you if you're running late, just so you know," you responded, stepping up off her desk chair and over to your trusty bag, double checking you had your costume for tonight, your phone, your keys, wallet, and makeup bag.

"I'm coming, just give me a second," she muttered, pushing herself up dramatically, a deep sigh wracking through her. "I didn't get to sleep till like ten in the morning."

"What were y'all doing?" you asked, chuckling, zipping closed your bag with a satisfying sound, everything packed just right for the day ahead.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she laughed, waggling her eyebrows at you.

"You're a couple of fucking rabbits, you two," you shot back, staring at the disheveled state of your best friend. She tipped her head back, laughing hard, that bright full smile showing across her beautiful face. She'd been smiling a lot like that lately, ever since her and her girlfriend had made things official, ever since they'd decided to move in together.

"I'm sorry, I won't talk about it so much if it's annoying," she said, finally standing herself up and shlepping off her pajamas.

"Don't stop, it's very adorable," you responded. "Why would it be annoying?"

"Just cause, you know, your last situation was such a disappointment. I don't want it to feel like I'm rubbing it in," she said, grabbing for a pair of black leggings and pink sweater in the pile of clothes on the floor.

"My last, what, three situations, actually?" you said, trying to remember each of the ridiculous members of the cast of dates you'd been on last year.

"Dating sucks," she said, pulling her leggings on, stumbling a bit.

"Not for you, it doesn't," you responded, crossing your arms.

"Well, not now, but it did for my whole life up until this point," she said.

"Ah, turned twenty-two and now you have it figured out?" you joked, rolling your eyes.

"Hey, don't get snippy with me missy," she pouted, pulling the sweater over her head.

"Sorry, you know I just like arguing for no reason," you sighed, chuckling a bit.

"I need to find you someone who likes it just as much as you do," she joked back, grabbing her phone off it's charger.

"But who's not actually an asshole?" you said.

"Yeah, exactly," she laughed, shooting off a quick text. "Shit, 4:20," she said, stuffing her phone into her own huge bag, not bothering to check it's contents like you just did.

"Okay, we're going now," you said, walking out into her living room, heading straight for the front door.

"Wait, just let me make a cup of coffee!" she called to you, stumbling behind.

"They have coffee where we work, you know," you remarked, looking back at her over your shoulder.

"Oh my god, you love saying shit like that," she rolled her eyes, following close behind you.

"I'm not wrong," you said as you opened the front door, stepping out into the hall.

"I just wanted my pretty mug," she sighed, stepping out after you.

"Then go grab it," you said, holding the door open.

"I can do that? Make coffee into a mug I've brought in?" she asked.

"I don't see why not," you responded, shrugging your shoulders.

"Okay, if I get in trouble I'm blaming you," she said, running back in to grab her favorite mug from the cabinet above the sink.

"Fine, fine," you shook your head, closing the door once she'd come out again.

As soon as you exited the building you realized you'd worn too much; it might be January still, but it was hardly cold at all, this dense desert city holding all the heat the rest of the world must be craving.

"Can we slow down?" Tina asked from beside you, your shoulders bumping as you stepped around a huge group standing on the sidewalk outside of an Italian restaurant, chatter filling the air.

"I don't wanna be late," you answered, keeping your pace as it was.

"Dude, you're so wound up," she said, snaking her hand through your upper arm, genuinely worried you'll start sprinting off if she didn't ground you somehow.

"Sorry, I know," you said, linking your arm around her's. "I'm good, I swear. Just stressed about my manuscript submission," you said, flashing her a wary smile.

"They said they'd get back to you by next week, right?" she asked, gently pulling on you to help you avoid a dark spot of something sticky on the sidewalk.

"Yeah, next week," you sighed, letting out a disgruntled noise.

"Okay, so, you just gotta wait. You did all that work last year finishing that play, you should let yourself have some fun for a few weeks. We should all go out after work today, we haven't done that in forever," she said, the two of you snaking around a line of people standing outside the old movie theater that sat just a block from your place of work.

"Doesn't Maya work Sunday mornings?" you asked, pulling up at the corner to wait for the light to change.

"Usually, but not this week. She's on a later shift today so they gave her tomorrow off," she answered you, eyes darting around at the cacophony of sounds streaming through the streets from every direction.

"Oh, that's nice," you said, and Tina started laughing, squeezing onto your arm. "Shit sorry, did that sound sarcastic?"

"It's so funny when your tone goes all flat like that," she said beside you, a genuine smile on her face. "Seriously though, there probably won't be a Saturday night where she can come out with us for a very long time. We should do it. Maybe we can even convince Sasha and Bibi to come too."

"I'll think about it," you said as the light changed, the two of you stepping down onto the asphalt in front of you. A car honked loudly from your left, wanting to turn down the street you were walking across, and you both shot the driver identical looks of confusion over your shoulders. Only another minute and you were pushing through the side door of the bar, stepping right into the back of the kitchen and waving hi to the cooks on the line. The hallway to the dressing room was already uncomfortably hot; your light layers were far too much now, so you stripped them off quickly, shoving everything into your locker and checking your phone. You weren't late, after all. Thankfully, because you were on early tonight, second in the program, and you only had time to change into your costume and warm up a bit before Ilya was calling your name and pushing you down to the left wing of the stage.

It was a fairly normal night, by all accounts. You'd been working at the bar for nearly two years by then, one of the longer standing performers. There was high turnover in the staff, as was typical in a bar, but especially amongst the performers, who'd often find sudden success in movies or TV, or decide that pursuing this was just not for them anymore. Ages varied wildly; your boss Julie was not one to obsess over youth, or any other conventional markers of beauty. All she cared about was talent; she wanted to create the most interesting, jaw dropping, entertaining show this whole city had to offer, and there was no doubt she had succeeded. Every kind of person could be found working here; sometimes servers would take on a performing shift or two, and sometimes the opposite. It wasn't rare for you to be asked to take drinks to a certain table, your costume still on, sometimes staying in character as you placed them down in front of wonder-filled eyes. You all were expected to help each other out; once or twice you'd even been requested in the kitchen or behind the bar, when there'd been one too many sudden call outs.

It was a classy establishment. Doors opened at 4:30, the show promptly starting at 5pm; it ended at midnight sharp, the bar closing only half an hour later. It was the earliest place to close on the block, only open four days a week, Wednesday night through Saturday night. It was a place people went to pregame, to start their evening with a bang, or a place people went to see a great show before heading back home at a reasonable hour. There was a drinks limit; you all could deny a customer another if they were acting unruly, your security team inconspicuous under the dark shadowy light inside, but always watching. The food served was regular bar fare: tacos, wings, pizza, burgers, but it was high quality, so good that some people came frequently just for their favorite menu item. The place was known for its drinks, too, having hoards of non alcohol options that put every other bar's mocktail lists to shame. It was known for its organized and sparkly atmosphere, known as a reliable place to have a good ass night. The patronage was a mixed bag, but the place wasn't cheap; it tended to skew a bit older, a bit more mature. You didn't hate that; it meant the behavior was generally predictable, even if you didn't exactly fit in amongst the crowd cheering you on.

Halfway through the night you plopped down on your stool in the dressing room, scrubbing free the bits of eyeliner that had smudged below your eye during your first two solo performances of the night.

"Hey girl, sorry to bug, do you have any lashes I could borrow?" Sasha came running in, a slightly panicked look on her face.

"I should, let me see what I have," you said, setting your makeup wipe on your bare thigh and zipping open your bag.

"I'm so sorry to ask, but I literally don't have any with me," she sighed, coming to sit beside you. "My right one fell off on stage and I couldn't find it for the life of me. I was trying to look for it without making it obvious," she said, a nervy chuckle escaping her.

"No worries, here, look through there. Take whatever you need," you said, handing her the small box you kept your old and new lashes in.

"Oh darling, you're a lifesaver," she sighed, snapping it open and rifling through, finding the size she needed. She still had some of that newbie air about her, not six weeks into working with you. But already she had established herself as irreplaceable; by then she emceed almost every night she worked, and thank god for that, as none of the rest of you had any talent or desire for it. Julie tended to do it, if no one else was available, but having a beautiful drag queen host the evening, one who also performed in the show, was a much better choice in every way.

"A group of businessmen just walked in and took table four, I'm hoping one of them is interesting in all this," she said, leaning forward to place the replacement lash on her right eyelid.

"I'm sure one will be, Sash, you're fucking gorgeous," you said, wiping the last of the smudged makeup from your face and giggling.

"Oh sweetheart, you flatter me," she drawled, looking over her face in the mirror. "Do you think those straight-" she lifted her hands, making air quotes, "men can tell I'm not a woman in all the typical ways?"

"Girl, I wasn't even sure the first time I saw you. Your makeup skills are unmatched," you said, chuckling at her.

"Oh stop it," she joked, shaking her head at you. "I hope my hosting skills are half as good," she sighed, finally placing the lash on her eye just right and batting her hand in front of her face in a desperate attempt to get the glue to dry quickly.

"Sasha, are you kidding? You put the rest of us to shame. You should have seen me the one night Julie made my try it out," you laughed, tossing your used makeup wipe in the waste basket beside you.

"I'm sure it was just fine, you little genius," she responded, blinking her eye open and closed a few times. "Sorry to cut this short, but I should probably get out there again."

"Go get 'em, girl," you responded, shooting a playful wink her way.

"Thank you again, darling," she said as she walked past, a gentle hand on your shoulder. You squeezed it briefly; "of course," you said. Then her heels were clacking past you, and soon the room filled with noise as nearly every performer on your cast came in to start their makeup, all of you preparing for the big group number of the evening.

You'd discovered the song, randomly, a few months back. The title, Kalyna, and the album art had intrigued you; after your first listen you were imaging the choreography immediately, turning on your phone to record the sudden ideas flooding your brain. You'd never choreographed a number for the bar, but you knew Julie would be open to it if you pitched it correctly. Three weeks later and you were teaching your coworkers the choreography, chaotic short lessons between everyone's normal performances, all of them picking it up lightning quick. It was an instant hit with your audiences, the night it debuted, and had been kept in the rotation longer than most of the other numbers ever were.

That night the air was buzzing in the dressing room; everyone looked sharp and stunning in their body suits, hair slicked back and pulled tight into buns. The makeup was angular; this number was meant to evoke a bit of tension, maybe even some fear in the audience. But it also showed the strength of the team, the strength of community, and the physical strength of each of you. It was your absolute favorite number that winter; you looked forward to it every night you worked, proud to know you'd created something that stuck so fondly in the minds of the people who watched.

As you hit the stage, you saw immediately what Sasha had just mentioned. Table four, which sat just off the right side of the stage, was cramped full of men in suits, every single one sharp and fitted and so obviously expensive. There was every type of man you could imagine at the table; you spotted immediately the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, Sasha's dream come to life. And when she led the first eight counts towards the front of the stage, you saw his eyes take in everything, her long legs, her face, her deep rich eyes he seemed lost in. You nearly broke character; so rare was is that people in here flirted with the performers, oddly enough, and normally you were very thankful for that. It was all a part of the classy environment your boss had curated, and it meant you felt safe. But you couldn't deny how giddy it made you to see this playing out in front of you, mere feet from where you danced.

You danced the rest of the number focused, determined not to drop your professionalism for too long, the crowd erupting in cheer as you all finished. Clasping hands down the line, you took one giant bow, spinning and running off stage as the number ended.

"Lina needs help y'all!" Ilya called as you ran through the wings, and immediately you headed down the short hallway to the back of the bar, bursting through to find her. Stacked along the bar were multiple trays of drinks; a line was forming, and your head bartender looked the tiniest bit stressed. Sweat dripped form her brow, and she wiped it away quickly with her hand, punching something into the computer before whipping around to take another order.

"Oh, good, please take those out!" she said when she saw you and Tina, pointing to the trays of drinks in front of you. "The beers are for table four, the cocktails table seven!"

In an instant you grabbed the tray in front of you, sliding past Tina as carefully and quickly as possible. This was sometimes your favorite moments of the evening, when in the adrenaline of post-performance you had to run out drinks to an excited table, who'd marvel over your performance and ask you every question they could think of. As you started weaving through the room, several iterations of 'great job!' and 'amazing, just amazing!' were thrown your way, making your smile so wide it nearly stretched off your face. You barely payed attention to the drinks in your hand, only to make sure they didn't spill, as you nodded in thanks to the compliments, smiling at the half-lit faces around you.

It wasn't until you stopped, stood close to the wall to let another server past, that you realized which tray you'd grabbed. Both table four and seven sat on the far side of the room opposite the bar, and in the chaos of the moment you'd just headed this way, not bothering to actually take note. Now, you did; eight beers sat on the tray balanced on your hand, all identical dark ales. You shot a look to your side at Tina's tray, littered with pink and blue and clear cocktails, fun decorations sticking out the top of them all. Your's was meant for table four, for those businessmen Sasha had spotted, the one's you'd just performed mere feet from.

It shouldn't have worried you, but you couldn't help remembering it now. The only time you'd felt uncomfortable at work had been when serving a giant table full of just men, when one of them had said things severely over the line with you, just to make his friends laugh. It'd only ever happened that once, but the feeling was humiliating enough to have stuck with you, your mind whirring a bit as you made you way towards the crowded table. You decided you'd set the tray down by the man eyeing Sasha; maybe you could subtly hint at her interest, though you had no idea what you'd say. But as soon as you entered their proximity and reached between two of them to set down the tray, a man across the table spoke to you.

"I love that song!" he said, and you looked up to find a sweet, bright smile and deep dimples staring back at you.

"Oh, thank you!" you replied, giving him a genuine smile back, your mind immediately put at ease. You started placing the beers around, one in front of each man, careful to avoid the plates of food already littering the table.

"Do you know the significance of the Kalyna plant in Ukraine?" the same man asked, and your head snapped to him, eyes slightly wide.

"Yeah, that's why I chose to make that number," you said before you could think, so shocked that someone here knew anything about the song you'd spent long hours researching months ago.

"You choreographed that?" he asked, his eyes going wide a bit too.

"Oh, yeah," you said, slightly embarrassed that you'd just openly admitted that. It wasn't something you tended to do, when making light chatter with customers. You grabbed the last beer, which was for him, and made your way around the table to set it down in front of him. "It's just such a great song, easy to choreograph to," you added, trying to make yourself sound less conceited, less interested in talking about yourself.

"It is great, haven't heard it in years," he responded, taking the beer from your hand as you moved to set it down.

"You've heard it before?" you asked, genuine shock in your tone. The band was not one very popular here; not a single person you knew had heard of them, and no one in the months you'd been performing it had mentioned knowing anything about the song.

"Yeah, my freshman roommate in college was from Ukraine and he played a lot of their music. He's a drag queen, I would go to his shows a lot. He actually did a routine to that song, too, for a while," he responded, turning in his seat a bit to better face you. By this point the rest of the table had fallen into another conversation; it seemed none of the rest of them had heard of the song before, or cared to learn much about it. Kind of made them seem like shitty friends, to you. But you were thankful for it, because all of the sudden it felt like you and this gorgeous man were all alone, your back against the west wall of the seating area, Sasha's voice booming through the speakers around you.

"Next time he's visiting I'll be sure to take him here, he'd love it," he added, taking a swig of his beer.

"Well we might not be performing that number anymore, depending on when he's coming. Our numbers are put on a rotation, and this one's overstayed it's welcome already. Though it's still quite popular, we might be able to perform it a while longer," you said, words coming easily, the normal walls you kept high when talking to customers nowhere to be found.

"That's too bad, I hope you get to keep it for a while. It's fucking great, you're a real genius," he said, looking up at you again with those perfect dimples.

"Thanks," you said, blushing, the smirk he was sending your way bringing sudden heat to your face. You'd had time now to take him in; his hair was black, short at the sides and longer on top, his suit black to match it. His skin was honey, smooth as can be, and his face was pure perfection, pouty lips and a perfect nose, a strong jaw, strong eyebrows. He was very masculine, but very pretty too, so stunning you couldn't believe your eyes. And his wire framed glasses held his look together perfectly; he looked sharp, smart, and confident. He looked the way you were pretty sure every man wished he looked in a suit.

"I don't usually say stuff like this, but, when are you free tonight? We're all headed to a huge party up in the East Heights after this, if you'd like to come. There's gonna be an open bar, a pool, it's supposed to be pretty crazy," he said, taking another quick sip of his beer, his face pure and calm as he said it.

'I don't usually say stuff like this' my ass, you thought. The words had flown off his tongue too easily for that to be believable. But it was working on you, his confidence. You'd experienced too many instances of vague flirting, of indirectness, of shaky voices and shakier hands. You'd dreamt of a moment like this, when someone saw you and liked what they saw, liked it enough to ask you out then and there with no hesitation.

"Uh, I get off at 12:30, when the bar closes," you answered him, words falling out of your mouth without intention. "I- uh- I'll need to think about it though. I wouldn't be comfortable coming by myself, would I be able to bring some friends?"

"Yeah, bring whoever you'd like. It's a big event, a few extra bodies should be no big deal," he responded, smirk turning to a full on smile. His teeth were perfect, god he was perfect, and you got lost in his face for a few seconds, resting your hip against the wall behind you, your lower lip grasped between your teeth.

"I'm San, by the way," he said, reaching out his free hand in your direction.

"Oh, yeah, I'm y/n," you replied, placing your hand in his. His handshake was strong, hand warm around yours, your fingers nearly disappearing in his palm.

"It's nice to meet you," he said, holding onto your hand for a second longer than needed, gently releasing it and looking you straight in the eyes.

"Nice to meet you too," you said awkwardly, eyes darting around the room. "I should probably get back to work, it was nice chatting with you," you said, finally walking around the table to grab the tray and bring it back to the bar.

"We'll be here till closing, so just let me know then if you'd like to come," he said, nodding in your direction as you started to turn.

"Okay, thanks," you said, smiling over your shoulder, before walking off hurriedly between tables, suddenly worried sick that you'd be in trouble for talking to him for too long.

"Titi, you still wanna go out tonight?" you asked as you rushed back into the locker room, two slices of sweet bread you stole from the kitchen in your hands.

"Yeah, you actually wanna?" she said excitedly, reaching forward to grab one of them from you.

"I just got invited to a party in the Easy Heights," you said, a bewildered look gracing your features.

"Hello? What?" she responded, her mouth open in a comical O.

"I don't even know, but yeah, apparently some big party is happening at a house up there? He said it will have an open bar and pool?" you said, shaking your head in disbelief at the words coming out of you.

"Who said this?" she asked, mouth full as she chowed down.

"He said his name is San, he's in that group at table four," you responded.

"Oh my god, Sasha was just telling me she was making eyes at one of those men," Tina laughed, a hand coming to your shoulder.

"Yeah, I saw that while we were performing Kalyna," you said, giggling too.

"You sure you wanna go to an East Heights party? There's definitely gonna be like coke and shit, probably worse. It might be crazy," she said, head tilting to the side.

"If it's awful we can just leave, but I kinda feel like going. I doubt we'll ever be invited to one of those again," you laughed, giving her an assured smile. "I kind of want to see what tomfoolery those rich assholes get up to."

"So this isn't about hanging out with that man?" she asked.

"He seems cool, but I think he might be gay," you said to her, crossing your arms.

"Um, why?"

"He said his roommate in college was a drag queen, and that he went to his shows a lot. And he talked to me way too confidently to be into me. If he's not gay, then he's definitely not interested," you said, shrugging.

"Babe, he invited you to a party with him, barely knowing you. He definitely finds you attractive," she said, giving you that look she does when she thinks you're being just a bit dumb.

"Okay, but, well-" you cut yourself off, holding your hands out in a gesture of pity. You were dumb when it came to this relationship stuff, downright stupid. You knew that, as frustrating as it was. You wanted to be confident in your suspicion he was into you, but you'd been wrong enough times when you were younger about this sort of thing to assume it now. You'd been made fun of countlessly in high school, person after person laughing at the mere thought that they'd be into you. You were always baffled; you'd been told by some other person that this person had a crush on you, and were only asking them about it because of that information. They were pranks, and it took you embarrassingly long to figure that out. You understood that now, you recognized it had just been childish bullying; but still, even years later, you doubted any instance of even a suggestion that someone found you attractive.

You were different back then; you'd changed so much in the few years you'd lived away from home. But still, you doubted yourself. Maybe you had a complex about being undesirable, but who didn't? And frankly, when you looked around the world, it seemed like more of the "ugly" people had partners than not. It must be more about personality, you reasoned, which made your undesirability all the more painful. A silly, sick side of you began to feel attached to being single, began to feel better than other people for it, even your ride or die perfect friend standing in front of you. You didn't need romantic love like everyone else did, you decided; you had your art to give you passion, your friends to give you companionship. And you could physically satisfy yourself just fine. It was all projection; it was how you coped. How else could you deal with the pain of never being loved, lusted after, wanted the way all of your friends had since puberty?

But even as attached to your single identity as you were, you'd perused the apps last year, a tiny buried part of you wishing and hoping that there was someone out there for you, perfect in every way. It had been a bust, as expected. You felt like a fool for even trying. You had hoped that it would give you at least a little self-esteem, even if no relationship came of it. But it had only driven that painful truth of your undesirable personality deeper into your heart, cracking it further.

"I don't even want a relationship right now, Ti, I've said that for like the past three months," you said, pulling your hands back to your chest. You felt your heart thumping there, trying desperately to come alive despite the year of terror you'd put it through.

"It doesn't have to be a relationship, you could just hook up with him, you know, have a little fun," she answered you, grabbing your hands in hers. "Let's go, let's have some fun. Just relax, spend the evening enjoying ourselves." You hadn't seen her so excited all winter; her moods were severely affected by this season, and it always felt like a part of her left you for the cold months. It made a complex mix of sadness and excitement swirl through you, staring back at her perfect face. There was no way you'd be saying no to her now, despite anything.

"Okay, fine," you sighed, pulling her into a tight hug.

It took little convincing for Sasha and Bibi to join you, and soon the four of you plus Maya were standing on the sidewalk outside, stuck like a barnacle to the side of San's huge group. You were all waiting on two limos, according to him; when he's said this the five of you looked between yourselves with huge wide eyes, grabbing each other's arms and trying desperately not to laugh.

"You realize none of us have ever been to the East Heights, right?" you said to him, the soft arm of his suit jacket brushing up against the exposed skin of your own upper arm.

"That's fine, I've only been once. It's nothing that crazy, the houses are just big," he said, looking down at you, his shoulders intimidatingly broad now that he was standing beside you.

"I thought you said this party is gonna be crazy though," you replied, squinting your eyes playfully.

"Well, it's possible. I don't really know," he responded.

"So you just said that to say it earlier?" you questioned him, head cocked to the side.

"I was trying to make my offer sound enticing," he replied, looking you up and down, that smirk back on his face.

"So you lied to me?" you shot back.

"Hey, like I said, I don't know much about this thing, it could very well be crazy," he responded, holding up his hands in surrender.

"Wow, what have I gotten us into," you said, turning to the group, all of whom were suppressing their laughter at the interaction unfolding in front of them.

"The best night of your life," he answered, nudging your shoulder in a way that almost could have been accidental, making your eyes snap back to his again.

"I hope that wasn't a lie," you said, eyeing him sharply.

"I'll make sure of it," he shot back, one eyebrow raised slightly.

A titter sounded behind you, Tina unable to keep her composure at the ridiculous bickering unfurling between you. Your eyes were locked on each other, faces closer than either of you realized. It was so damn obvious to all of your friends, then, what was about to happen. The two of you couldn't hide it for a second, how affect you were. You were still locked in eye contact when the first limo pulled up, the rest of San's group filing in, waving him goodbye.

"You can go with your friends if you'd like," you said as he closed the door, stepping back.

"Oh they're not really my friends, just guys I know through work. This whole thing tonight is a networking opportunity, what fun," he joked sarcastically, rolling his eyes a bit.

"Oh wow," you said, eyes glued to the limo as it pulled away. "People network at one in the morning?"

"Us tech bros do I guess, we just love it," he said, laughing sarcastically again. "I don't really like this stuff, but my manager is making me go. He gave me Monday off, so, I can't really complain."

"Wow, you have like a normal job," you said, laughing.

"And you don't?" he asked.

"I just mean, you work Monday to Friday, 9 to 5, right?" He nodded. "Yeah, I literally don't know a single other person who does. My mom is a doula, and my twin sister is a nurse, and my dad has early-onset Parkinson's so he's been on disability almost my whole life. And the rest of my friends work here, or work at other bars or restaurants around here. Even my best friend from high school works in a library at her university, but she works weekends and nights."

It all came stumbling out of you so fast, your hand shot up to your mouth.

"Sorry, that was crazy. Just forget all that shit about my dad..." you trailed off, eyes wide with worry as they met his.

"What shit about your dad?" he answered, and your expression immediately changed to one of relief, one of laughter. Just then the second limo pulled up to the curb, and the five of you excitedly gathered by the door, San opening it for you.

"Ladies," he said, bowing his head slightly and beckoning you all to step inside.

"None of us have ever been in a limo either," you told him, chuckling as your friends excitedly squealed while carefully entering the sleek black car.

"Uh, I have, speak for yourself miss thing," Bibi said as she crouched down, shooting you a look over her shoulder.

"Well damn, I guess one of us has," you said to San as you finally stepped inside, his body following quickly after you, rich laughter ringing in your ear.

San, it turned out, was most definitely not gay. Which of course, deep down, you'd already known. You'd known it from the moment he asked you to go to that party with him, from the moment he smirked and your body sizzled under his glare. But he was so different from anyone you'd dated before; too kind, too upfront, too knowledgeable about musicals and theater and all the things you loved so very much. It almost pained you to find out he'd been studying theater in college before switching to computer science. That was why he'd been paired with his freshman roommate; at the time, they'd had the same major. That roommate, Antin, became one of his best friends; the two bonded over coming from overseas, the pressure their parents put on them even thousands of miles away. It was so sweet, so charming, and in the two hours you spent at that raucous party, you learned what seemed like all there was to know about him.

He was too perfect; it was too easy to say yes when he'd asked if you wanted to see his apartment, too easy to bid your friends goodnight as your Uber pulled up in front of their places. You thought of nothing but the hunk beside you, about what he'd look like with that suit strewn on the ground. You tried not to jump his bones the second you were alone, but damn was it hard; as soon as you arrived he'd taken your purse, and placed it in the front closet of his apartment. His apartment was huge, his front closet bigger than the bathroom you shared with three other roommates; it was fancy too, well kept, stacks of books and DVDs in the living room, only two dirty dishes in the bottom of his kitchen sink.

It was all simply too good to be true, and in that moment nothing felt real. You were present, sure, but you felt like you'd been knocked into an alternative timeline, getting to live out the life of someone far better than you, who deserved all this.

"Aren't you hot in that suit?" you asked him, your loose minidress hanging free, your body unburdened with extra fabric. You always kept a few random clothes at work in case you needed to change suddenly, and even though it was the last day of January, this tiny dress had been a great option. Outside you'd thrown a large old flannel of your dad's over it, but at the party you'd tied it around your waist, the mass of bodies creating more heat than you could bear.

"Yeah, I was sweating all night," he laughed, slowly and methodically pulling off his suit jacket, finally revealing the shape of his shoulders to you. Under his white button-up they bulged; you did all you could to stop yourself from just staring, especially as he loosened his tie and finally pulled from his head, setting it down on the small table just inside his front door.

"You can put your shoes in there, if you'd like. Oh and your shirt, here, let me hang it up," he said, reaching for the flannel still tied around your waist. His touch was electric as soon as his hands made contact; even through the material of your dress you felt the spark, your body shivering. It only lasted a second, his nature too respectful to make anything more of a moment like that, especially after what you'd said at the party to him not twenty minutes ago. You wished you could have frozen time, wished every little detail of this night could be burned into your memory forever. It would be hard to believe then that you'd forget a lot of it in just a year, that somehow so much would happen that this one night would come to feel almost insignificant.

"Can I make you some hot cocoa, or tea, coffee?" he asked as he walked towards his kitchen, pouring you both glasses of water.

"Some herbal tea sounds nice, if you have any," you answered, and he opened his pantry to reveal a small collection. You picked out the lavender mix that sounded refreshing, placing the purple tea bag in a black mug he'd set down on the counter. As he set his tea kettle to boil, you hopped up on the counter beside him, bare feet swinging in air.

"So, you think that was the best night of my life?" you quipped, looking sideways at him as he set the kettle to temperature.

"Night's not over," he responded, eyebrows flicking up in amusement.

You were squirming under his gaze, your face now level with his. His shirt and pants fit him immaculately; you were so obviously ogling him, your thighs rubbing together as you did, your eyelids heavy with lust. He could feel it pouring off of you, but he kept replaying what you'd said, and kept trying to keep his composure, because he really wasn't that guy. He wasn't the guy who slept with the girl right away; he had known too many of those guys at college, seen too many of them back home too, when he visited his brother in the fall. He found the hookup culture he was surrounded by almost unnerving. He'd been raised with integrity, with respect; and being here in a new country had challenged his beliefs, for sure, but not when it came to sex or romance.

But you were determined. Your body had a mind of its own, and this whole night had felt surreal for hours now. Your own, already loose morals were thrown out the window, and you didn't give a fuck. You wanted him now, forget whatever the hell you'd said earlier; you didn't even remember it anymore, too filled with arousal to think straight.

You grabbed onto his arm closest to you, pulling him in.

"Hey, I thought you said-"

You cut him off with a kiss, pulling his face towards yours, leaning back slightly to arch into him. It was feverish as your lips met, mouths open, your legs already shaking as you wrapped them around his waist. It didn't take long for his hands to find your hips, your waist; he dug in, feeling the softness of you, softness he wanted to be wrapped in forever. He'd kept his composure the whole way here, not putting a hand on your thigh in the Uber, not a hand on your back as you walked through his front door. But now, it had left him; just five seconds of you in his grasp, and he knew he could never let go. His tongue swiped into your mouth, sucking hard on your lower lip, and without thinking he was reaching under your dress, feeling over the bare expanse of skin.

You hadn't worn a bra or panties tonight. He could tell about the bra, from the way your dress caught on your chest, but the panties were a surprise, making his head fuzzy as he reached down to your ass and found it bare for him. Your hands now were desperately grabbing at his over-shirt, trying in vain to undo each pesky button as you kept kissing him, your hands stumbling and failing over and over. Finally, he reached up and just ripped his shirt open, buttons popping and falling onto the floor in a soft rattle. He flung it off his arms, his tight under shirt leaving nothing anymore to your imagination. His abs rippled underneath it; you'd never seen abs like that in person before, weren't sure that they even existed. Especially not on a man who worked in tech, whose face was prettier than a porcelain doll's.

He came back to you, breathing hard; you grabbed at his abdomen, his shoulders, his chest, desperate to feel all of the perfection in front of you. You could smell the sweat on him now, musky and rich notes hitting your nose and making your body heat even more. He moved his mouth to your neck, your ear, making you whine and squirm with pleasure, sharp sparklers of energy running down the entirety of your body. You were pulling at him, desperately, forgetting any sense of where you were, or what you'd planned for tonight. As he licked a stripe up your collar bone you squealed loudly, the feeling ticklish and pleasurable all the same, and you jerked away from him momentarily, falling into a fit of giggles.

Suddenly there was a crash; the mug next to you was sent flying to the floor by your hip, and now it's pieces spread out across the grey tile, littering it in shards.

"Fuck, sorry," you gasped, your hands flying up to cover your open mouth. You were expecting maybe a light chuckle, maybe a shocked noise, for San to want to clean this up right away before you two got to whatever you were doing; instead he laughed deeply, his bright, wide smile back on his face, dimples staring you in the face for the probably thousandth time that night. He looked down to each side of his feet, sighing ever so slightly, before moving his gaze back up to you, his eyes thoughtful.

"Fuck it," he laughed with a shake of his head, grabbing you again, his hand on the back of your neck, soft lips wrapped around your own. You giggled into his mouth, so overcome by the chaotic set of events; but it only took a moment of his lips on yours again for you to melt, your legs around him, your breathing hot and heavy as he grabbed at your dress, pulling it up at the front to reveal your bare crotch to the room, running two of his fingers down your slit to see how wet you were.

"Fuck, San," you gasped, feeling how easily his slippery fingers moved, his movement unexpected.

"You want this, right?" he asked you, voice husky and deep. His eyes were boring into yours, and his look was dark and intense. It made you shiver to look back at him, and a part of you wanted to look away, to not feel the complex string of emotions tumbling through you. It almost felt like dread; dread laced with beauty, laced with desire and sweetness and everything addictive, and you just couldn't bring the rest of yourself to look away.

"Yes, please," you responded, pushing your hips down onto his hand, grinding onto his fingers. "Please fuck me, San."

You'd never said anything like this in your life; you'd only imagined it, or read it. As cheesy as it could feel on the page, in that moment it felt consumingly empowering, downright sexy. You pulled at his belt in front of you, your mouths meeting again, his teeth scraping over your upper lip as he nearly devoured you. Once again, you struggled with undoing his clothing; he moved his hands away from you to unclasp it himself, pulling it hard and tossing it to the ground when he had. Your hands were around his chin, holding his face to you as you messily kept kissing, his hands now working on the button and zipper of his jeans. In a matter of moments he'd pulled his hard cock out of his pants, and held it in his hand, hungrily eyeing your flushed cunt in front of him.

"Let me get a condom," he huffed, clearly having to work at pulling his eyes away from you.

"No, I have an implant," you said, pointing to your left arm. You saw his eyes twitch to side for a moment, like his brain was struggling to process what you'd just said. "It's fine, I can't get pregnant," you added, in case he didn't know what the hell you were trying to say. It took another few moments for him to accept it; but once he did he moved his cock closer to your aching entrance, and rubbed it along your slit where his fingers had been just seconds ago.

"Fuck," you sighed, head hitting his shoulder as he leaned into you, as he spread your wetness over his tip. Your closed eyes cloaked you in almost darkness, only the soft light in the kitchen illuminating the room, and all you could feel was your throbbing cunt and San's movements, already whimpering and moaning in his ear. He lined himself up carefully, pulling your hips to the very edge of the counter to give him room, and slowly sank halfway down.

"Oh my god," you squeaked, the stretch not at all what you expected. He was far bigger than any man you'd ever been with; it almost hurt, and you'd never experienced this before, so you had no idea if this was a hurt that would subside, or a hurt that would grow and fester. You clung to his shoulders for dear life as he slowly pulled out of you again, thrusting back in just slightly deeper, his movements slow and controlled.

"Ahhh, shit," you whined again, grip on his shoulders even tighter.

"I need you to relax for me," he said in your ear, the vibrations of his voice sending tremors of pleasure through you.

"I'm trying," you squeaked out, face stuck in his neck as you tried to breath slowly.

"Need me to stop?" he asked, stilling his movements completely, holding onto your lower back for support.

"No, please don't stop," you whispered, finally finding some control of your breath. "Just give me a second."

San obliged, kissing the top of your head as he ran a comforting hand down your back. You continued to breathe deep, continued to take in his scent, and in a few short moments you felt the walls of your cunt finally release a bit, allowing you to rock yourself against him without pain.

"Okay, I'm ready," you said, bracing yourself, and a moment later you felt him push himself in further, finally bottoming out. You both let out a guttural groan; it felt like you'd discovered new parts of yourselves in that moment, like your bodies were made for each other, made to pleasure each other just the way you needed.

"Fuck, y/n," San moaned your name, your walls tight around him as he pulled back again, thrusting short and soft at first. Hearing your name roll of his tongue made your chest swell; it was far to intense, all of these emotions you were having, for you to utter a thing. Soon he was thrusting faster, setting a steady pace as he held firm onto your hips, his mouth on your neck leaving bruising bites that you'd have to deal with tomorrow. You were breathing ragged, an eruption of feelings so perfect coming from your core that you couldn't quite believe it.

Then it happened; he picked you up by your hips, holding you dead in the air, still thrusting into you. If anything his thrusts were harder, deeper now; the position had given him space, and he used every bit of it, his thrusts becoming longer, harder, his cock nearly falling out of you when he pulled out. Your moans turned to screams; you were no longer aware at all of what sounds you were making, so overcome with the severe intensity of the feelings in your core.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," you started babbling, breathing desperately, your hands again grasping at his shoulders.

"What?" he asked between grunts, a chuckle following.

"I didn't- fuck- think this was po-ossible," you stuttered, his thrusts not letting up, the feeling so intense it almost was zapping you back into the moment again, reversing the drifting that your mind had started to do. This felt real; felt too real, too intense. You swore you could feel every vein in his shaft, feel the exact shape of his head. Your orgasm was building, fast, and you'd never come just from penetration.

"Now you know, baby," he chuckled again, not letting up. Soon you were clenching hard, the rippling feelings of your climax building to their peak, your legs around his hips, squeezing him.

"Fuck, fuck," you screamed, biting down on the top of his shoulder, shaking hard.

"Did you come?" he asked, still thrusting hard, wanting you to ride it out as much as you could.

"Yes," you almost sobbed, drool dripping down onto his bare skin. "Slow down," you whined, and he did, gradually slowing his movements until he'd stopped, placing a quick kiss on your neck and making you squeal again.

After that, the night was a blur. He took you again, on the couch, and you came so many times you couldn't keep track. He was flipping you around, holding up your legs; he seemed to know every perfect angle to make your cunt feel even better, and you gladly accepted every movement from him. When he finally came he dropped down between your legs, eating you out as his cum dropped out of you, his face a flushed mess when he looked up to take a breath. You came again; finally, you begged him to stop. Your body was spent, you couldn't take anymore. When you looked at your phone it was nearly six in the morning, and when you ventured a look over to his kitchen window you recognized the first signs of winter dawn, the sky not as dark as it had been.

He made you stay put, cleaning you up in a fluffy towel, picking you up to carry you to his bedroom. He helped you out of your dress; then his own clothes came off entirely, and you ogled him all over again, as he scolded you and told you to get some much needed sleep. Wrapped around him your cunt seemed to stay permanently wet; you thought there was no way you'd fall asleep, but it was late, even for you. Soon you were both out cold, San's blackout curtains tricking your bodies. It wasn't until nearly three that afternoon that you woke.

"You stay, I'll go make us some food," San yawned, kissing your forehead, your face smushed in his chest.

"Are you sure?" you pouted, looking up at him. Even with his curtains open the sky outside was dark; what time it was now, you had no idea. After you awoke and showered, the two of you couldn't keep your hands off of each other. Another slew of hours had flown by, and your pussy was aching, begging you to give her a break. You couldn't help how fucking good it felt, though. You wanted it to never end. You were sure you could be satisfied with your life if all you ever did from now on was fuck him.

"Oh god, don't give me that look," he groaned, turning his head away. You laughed, tugging yourself on top of him, wrapping your arms and legs around his torso. "I thought you said you were hungry," he said, arms around you too.

"I am," you answered, snuggling into him.

"Well I can't make you food if you're laying on top of me," he responded, squeezing the tops of your thighs.

"I think you're definitely strong enough to carry me around," you said, giggling.

"Oh, is that what you want? You done with walking?" he joked, pinching your thigh.

"Ah, hey!" you squealed, jerking off of him, trying to reach for his ribs to tickle him in retaliation. But just then your stomach rumbled, so loud you both could hear.

"Come on, let me make food. What do you want?" he asked, sitting himself up.

"Do you have eggs?" you said, and he nodded. "Can you make just some toast and scrambled eggs?"

"Of course, anything else?" he responded, standing up off the bed. The naked form of him in front of you was so distracting, especially in the hazy light coming in from outside, the evening street lights shining in through San's huge window. You took a mental screenshot; no one else could ever look this good, you thought, in such low light. It accentuated every nook and cranny of his body; he was so perfectly built, every little part. It was hard not to stare at the curve of his ass as he threw on some sweats, or the muscles of his back as he stretched his arms.

"No, I just have that for breakfast every day. I like simple food," you said, yawning again and sitting yourself up.

"Me too," he smiled, looking back at you for a moment before exiting the room, clinks sounding from the kitchen as he started preparing.

It took you some time to finally get yourself up; your body was wracked with exhaustion, but you'd never felt better. You felt on a permanent high around him; you grabbed your crumpled dress from the floor and slipped it over yourself, finally walking out to the living room to check your phone, which was probably dead. As you came out you saw San on the floor cleaning, the remnants of that poor mug swept into a pile at the corner of his kitchen.

"Oh shit, let me help you with that," you said, making your way over, but San stopped you.

"No, don't walk over here, you'll cut your feet. I'll take care of it, it's no biggie." You stared at him with wide eyes for a moment, but already this dynamic felt comfortable. If he really was fine with it, then you were fine letting him deal with the mess you'd made. You turned on your heel and walked over the couch, grabbing your phone off the coffee table, checking the time.

|6:14 pm|

You saw a slew of texts, but your battery was at ten percent, so you ran to your purse to grab your charging cable, plugging it in.

{Titi}

|3:43pm| how was your night bestie?? |5:58pm| please tell me you didn't get kidnapped |6:14pm| fuck sorry, I hadn't looked at my phone till now |6:14pm| I am alive and well

|6:15pm| oh thank god, we were worried |6:15pm| nothing to be worried about 😌 |6:16pm| so how'd it go?? |6:16pm| girl, we fucked for like three hours last night 😭 |6:16pm| HELLO |6:16pm| are you okay??? 😭 |6:17pm| Maya just said you're putting us lesbians to shame 💀 |6:17pm| 💀💀 |6:17pm| we fucked for like three hours this morning too |6:17pm| GIRL |6:17pm| RIP to your vagina |6:18pm| she's never been happier 😭

|6:18pm| this is so crazy |6:18pm| you home now? |6:18pm| I KNOW |6:18pm| no I'm still here, he's making some food for us

|6:18pm| wow |6:18pm| just wow, idk what else to say 😭 |6:19pm| girl same |6:19pm| you busy tomorrow? |6:19pm| no, why? |6:19pm| I'll bring over some dinner at seven, I have so much to tell you |6:19pm| I can't wait 💕

Present

It was nearly noon, when you woke. Slowly your consciousness came back to you; at first you only felt the warmth of the sheets beneath you, and you knew for sure you weren't in your bed, nor on your friend's couch like you'd planned. You were in the place you'd ended up so many times this month; maybe close to twenty of the nights of January you'd spent here. Thinking of it pulled at you. You knew this was a mistake, ending up here, knew something terrible would come of this. But you hadn't had the will this morning to stop it. You woke grumpy, worried, with the events of the morning spiraling through your head, especially Tina's flushed face of agony and the guttural sounds she made as she threw up.

You were worried, as much as she told you not to be. You'd never seen her like this in the five years you'd known her. As soon as your eyes melted open you were reaching for your phone on the night stand, finding it plugged in to San's charger, a glass of water there too.

You shot off a quick text to your group chat with Tina and Maya. How are y'all feeling? You didn't want to smother them with your worry, so you kept it as casual as you could, sipping at the water beside you and scrolling mindlessly through the other notifications littering your screen. There would be no convincing Tina to go get checked out; you had to accept it, had to welcome the fact that it'd be you and Maya keeping her well. She mistrusted doctors, on top of the unneeded expense, and you completely understood why; with the experiences she'd had, there would be no reason to give them a second chance. But she'd always had a stomach of steel; to see her so unwell was unnerving you, tremendously.

Finally you pushed yourself up; your stomach was rumbling, your head still aching with exhaustion, but the feeling was duller than this morning. The sleep you'd just woken from had been helpful, no doubt, but you wished you felt a little more normal today, instead of sleep deprived and emotionally unsteady. You had important work to do; you needed to head home fast, needed to not get distracted by San like you always did. You couldn't afford to spend the rest of the afternoon here eating and watching a musical, forcing him to recreate it with you. You had a musical of your own to edit.

"Hey," he said when you poked your head out of his room, walking gingerly over to him in the kitchen. He was preparing some lunch for himself; a block of tofu lay resting on the counter, as San chopped peppers and onions and broccoli. The smells of ginger and garlic already wafted from the pan, and San stood shirtless, in just grey sweat pants as he cooked, looking like someone out of any person's dreams.

"Hey," you responded, sighing. His body was alight with energy; he must have hit the gym while you were sleeping, which always left him feeling perky and bright. It was wafting off of him, this positive energy, and it couldn't have conflicted more with the heavy stress coursing through you. It was abundant in your tone; you'd gotten less and less good at hiding it from him, how you felt. Especially this last month.

"You want some breakfast?" he asked you, tossing the onions and peppers into his pan before stirring them with a spatula.

"I can make it," you mumbled, crossing past him to the refrigerator and grabbing the carton of eggs from the bottom shelf.

"Let me do it, I know you're exhausted," he said, coming over to you to grab the carton from your hands.

"No, I want to," you sighed, holding it to your side and out of his reach, a grumpy frown on your face.

"Okay, if you insist," he responded, palms up. Your terrible mood was worrying him deeply, but he was trying to convince himself that everything was fine, that this afternoon was in fact the time to finally do it. He'd been at the gym almost two hours, pumping himself up, doing every exercise he could think of to distract himself from the dread that was slowly filling him. It was like sand in an hour glass, falling slowly enough that he could forget it if he tried. Which he'd successfully done all morning, until your tired form appeared from his bedroom door.

You started preparing your food in silence, the sizzling of San's stir fry and clinking of dishes the only sounds in the room. You were thankful you'd be leaving him in a good mood; it was always hard to leave when he was sad, or grumpy, because every single part of you needed to make him feel better, needed a happy look on his face for you to feel okay. There was no doubt he was meal prepping for the week, given the amount of food he was making, and you sighed in hoping that the future days were on his mind now, instead of the past few.

"I realized something this morning," he said out of nowhere, tossing in his chopped tofu. Your eggs had just finished, so you turned off the burner, plopped them onto your plate, and grabbed your two slices of bread from the toaster, carefully spreading on the perfect amount of butter.

"What's that?" you asked, mind still elsewhere, running in circles and figure eights.

"We met exactly one year ago, today," he said, voice bright and breathy.

"Oh shit, really?" you asked, grabbing a fork from the cutlery drawer, then shoving a piece of toast in your mouth.

"Yeah, don't you remember?" he responded, voice lilting a bit. You mindlessly stuffed some eggs in your mouth, savoring the flavor of the local organic eggs that San always had in stock.

"Yeah, I just didn't realize it was that da-" you cut yourself off when you saw his face, his eyes glassy and jaw set. "Sannie, oh my god, don't cry. I'm not that special," you said, almost scoffing at the emotion coming off of him.

"Yes you are," he said, turning back to the pan on the stove, wiping something that must have been a tear off his cheek with the back of his hand.

"I'm really not," you responded, walking back towards his bedroom to find your phone again, which you'd accidentally left behind. Inside his room you could hear him speak from the kitchen, but you couldn't make out the words. You were distracted by the text you'd received from Maya, i'm doing even better, but Titi is still pretty bad. the Tylenol and everything has been so helpful though. and whatever those anti-nausea meds were, please thank San for me. she's able to keep down fluids now.

I'm glad to hear that. I hope she keeps getting better. She looked awful this morning, you responded, typing it out with your right thumb as your left hand balanced your plate of food.

"You gonna eat in here?" San asked from the doorway, and you snapped your head around to meet his gaze.

"No, sorry, just checking my phone. I had texted Maya asking how they were doing," you responded, mouth in a tight line.

"How's Tina?" he asked.

"Fine, it sounds like. Maya said to thank you for all the stuff you got them," you said.

"It's no biggie. I'm glad it's helping," he said, eyes blinking and face neutral. No biggie, the words made you want to roll your eyes. It was always 'no big deal' to him to do so much, and you'd started to realize that those words were total fucking bullshit. 'No biggie' was seemingly just a favorite English phrase of his, one that made him sound selfless and kind in the way he wanted to be. But you could see the flash of irritation in his eyes, you knew damn well that he was upset that you'd called this morning and made him feel obligated to come and help. He'd wanted your thanks for doing so, which you could recognize was fair. But he also should have said no, if he really didn't want to do it. You couldn't help the fact that he'd been lax with you since the start; one year now, as he'd just reminded you, of you pushing his boundaries and him relenting, and somehow he was still frustrated every time it happened. Like he didn't realize this was just how things were.

You waited till he turned around to point your eyes to the ceiling, a long deep sigh matching the movements of your eyes. You just had to eat and get out of here, one simple task. Then you could be home and worrying about the work ahead of you, or you could be on the phone to Tina and checking on her. You couldn't wait for the relief of hearing her voice.

"Did you hear what I said earlier?" San asked as you walked out of his room, sitting yourself down on his couch to finish your food.

"I don't know, what did you say?" you asked, placing your phone face down next to you.

"I asked if you remembered what you said to me that night we met, right before we came here?" he said, his own bowl of food in hand as he sat down a few feet from you.

"I don't think I do," you responded, sighing as you took another huge bite.

"Really?" he asked you, an eyebrow raised.

"Yes really, San, was it something I should remember?" you asked.

"It's just kind of funny, given what happened next," he said, taking a bite of his stir fry. You gave him a confused look, head cocking to the side. "You said, 'sure I'll come to your apartment, but I'm not fucking you'," he said, chuckling.

"I did not," you scoffed, shaking your head at the thought of it.

"You did, I swear," he continued, eyeing you. "Kind of crazy considering that's exactly what you did for the next forty-eight hours."

"Oh my god, shut up," you rolled your eyes, grabbing the throw pillow to your right and smacking his arm with it. He laughed and batted it away, careful to protect his food as you swung it recklessly. "Also, you say that as if I'm the only one involved in that activity, you ass. That was very much a 'it takes two to tango' situation, Sannie."

San laughed hard in response to that, his dimples popping and his chest rising and falling with each chuckle. He was satisfied to have brought out some humor in you; he knew that was the way he could get you to calm down, to feel a little better and be ready for everything he was about to launch into.

"Do you know that you're the only one other than my mom that I let call me Sannie?" he said, voice softer.

"No I didn't- wait, why?" you asked, suddenly really thinking about what he'd said.

"Uh- you just, I..." he looked at you with a confusing expression, face a mixture of what looked like shock and anticipation.

"Sannie is a special nickname only your mom uses for you?" you asked, tone harsher than he'd hoped.

"Yeah," he sighed, looking at you.

"Then why do you let me call you that?" you asked, placing your finished plate of food on the coffee table in front of you, then leaning back and crossing your legs and arms.

"Cause you're special to me," he said, resting the side of his head on his palm, eyeing you deeply now.

"San- I- I thought that was what everyone called you, I thought it was just your nickname. I wouldn't have started calling you that if I'd known it was a you and your mom thing. I'm not trying to be some replacement for her, or something," you stuttered, hands gesturing in front of your face to emphasize your point.

"Of course you're not a replacement for here, god, you're just special to me, can't you understand-"

"San, why would I be the only one who gets to use the special nickname? You have closer friends, a brother, other family you're close to, I'm just a girl you sleep with sometimes. I'm not the love of your life, or something, we're not married with a baby on the way, and now that we're a family unit of our own you're letting me use this special name for you. We're just friends, why didn't you tell me!?" you snapped, cutting him off mid sentence without a care in the world.

"We're not just friends, y/n," he grumbled, face stony. "And I don't see what a big deal it is that I let you use that nickname. You're the one who started using it without even asking me if it was okay," he shot back, face and body completely still.

"Fuck you," you muttered, standing up and grabbing your plate, walking over to the sink to clean it. "I know you think everything bad between us is my fault; you probably somehow think that shit you pulled last night is my fault, too."

"I wanted to talk to you about that, I wanted to apologize-"

"Oh, you wanted to apologize for choking me? Slapping me? Practically raping me?" you turned around, staring at him with wide, petulant eyes.

"Oh god, please don't use that word," he sighed, his food long abandoned as he leaned forward and put his head in his hands.

"Why, cause it's honest?" you shot back, rolling your eyes at him.

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry I did that baby, I know it was wrong, it was so wrong, I'm just, please know I'm so fucking sorry and I'll do anything I can to make it up to you..." he trailed off, mumbling, a deep sniffle cutting off his words. He was sobbing into his hands, his bare shoulders moving up and down as he heaved, trying with all his might to stop himself from completely breaking down. The sight of it immediately shot right through you; you started crying too, in an instant a huge deluge of tears falling down your cheeks and onto the floor below. It was so painful, whatever this feeling was; it was like the entire foundation of your body was cracking, like you were about to crumble in on yourself and die on the spot.

"Sannie, please, stop crying," you managed to say, haphazardly wiping the tears from your eyes. But they kept coming; they wouldn't stop until his stopped, you realized; there was something in you that was breaking with him, like your beratement of him was a boomerang, swinging back and hitting you too.

"I can't, I'm sorry," he squeaked, and you'd never heard his voice like that, never seen him break down so severely.

"Sannie, please," you cried, and suddenly your feet were rushing over to him, and you wrapped your hands around his folded torso, your tears now falling onto the smooth plane of his back. "Please, when you cry I cry, and I don't wanna fucking cry right now."

It made him cry harder, hearing the desperation in your tone; he tried with all his might to calm himself, to take some deep breaths. But he didn't have the strength; the exhaustion from this past month was really catching up with him, and that high he was riding from the gym this morning was long gone. There was nothing he could do now to stop this; he never cried like this, he was sure the last time was more than a decade ago. He had no idea how to put an end to it.

"I'm sorry I used that word, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you chocked out, breathing through your tears as best as you could, holding onto him for dear life. There were no words on his tongue; he couldn't think of anything now, couldn't remember a single thing he'd planned to say to you, the conversation he'd worked himself up to all morning. Instead he was left with this terrible hollow hole in his chest; one you had created, one you filled, one that he feared more than anything. Your tears were the worst thing for him; the gash you'd carved only grew, deeper, wider, getting closer to the exact shape of you, and all he could do was sit himself up and grab you, wrapping you around him and holding you tight.

"You're not just my friend," he said, voice thin and weak with tears. "And right now I fucking hate you."

next part ->

Taglist: @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starhwa1024 @pyeongstarr @hwaromi @completelyjae

@midnightrebel1028 @pautiny27

Thank you for reading and supporting me my loves! <3333

[michimonie]

After seeing a few posts about the older duck kids (mainly tealottie's awesome art), I felt like I should post these, too.

Adult Quack Pack boys and their sibling shenanigans.

Shenanigans below

I can't imagine them not being absolutely hilarious as adults.

Dewey, to his camera on a drone: Hey, I'm Dewey Duck and welcome to my channel! Dewey: This building is prime real estate for testing my new stink bomb. Dewey: You see... My brother Huey hasn't paid me yet for a project I completed months ago. Dewey: So, now his building is forfeit. *stink bomb goes off* Huey: DEWEY!

Huey: Ugh, Why so many meetings? Dewey: Right?! *rolling noises* Huey: The investors want us to meet at 4am tomorrow! Dewey: UUUUUUGH *rolling noises* *Huey and Dewey glare* *Dewey puts out his leg to stop a rolling chair* KA-THUMPLouie, on the floor: Owww...

Louie: Remember kids, any kind of reading is good. Even comics! Huey: *opens soda, accidentally spraying Louie's favorite comic* *Both freeze up* Louie: *incoherent sobbing* Huey: I'm sorry! I'll buy you a new copy!

Huey: ...And with that last deal, I'm making more than ever! Dewey: Then you can finally pay me for my last few projects. Louie: Aaaand make a donation to help others in need? Huey, slinking away: Oh, would you look at that. I need to go handle a ... work emergency! Haha, we'll talk later...

They're around 30-40 years old. Huey is a businessman, Scrooge-like, but with (somewhat) better ethics / morals. Dewey is a scientist / inventor and still likes to pull the occasional prank, especially when he doesn't get paid. Louie is a personal trainer and part-time superhero who spends his free time reading comics.

Huey still does a full beauty routine. Dewey 100% bought another lab coat just to look smarter around his bros. Louie owns a copy of every Mantis Boy comic (and follows any newer series.)

I've got a lot of random thoughts and headcanons surrounding this (mainly comical, tbh.)

[fanonical]

Did you ever get my ask? I asked about what to do when a child loves something by a problematic author. How do you go about telling them if they’re too young? SHOULD you tell them? I’m talking about current 10 year old HP fans and children who like the Coraline movie. What do we do when it’s them and not adults? We forget about the target audience too much when we talk about things like this as if it were exclusively childhood nostalgia of Millenials/Gen Z

For fuck's sake, I didn't want to rise to the bait here, but this is making me mad because it's such a straw argument, so fuck it, I'm taking the bait. For context, this is anon's first ask:

Anon, first off, you are responding to a post that is five years old and about a subject that we pointedly do not post about anymore, and that alone makes me think you're not responding in good faith, but whatever.

Look, I work in a fucking library. We have HP books. If a child comes up to me and asks 'hey where's the HP books' I am not going to a) kick them in the face, b) tell them they're an idiot or c) refuse to answer. I am going to tell them where the fucking HP books are. I don't put them on displays I make, but I don't censor them, because we are legally not allowed to censor books in the library.

But I guess you're asking more if this is a kid who's in my life, as opposed to a kid who I just kinda come across. So, okay, I have a 9 year old neighbour whose family are friends with mine, we play video games together occasionally when her mum and dad need someone to watch her. And this kid reads books! And this kid reads fantasy books.

If I was seriously talking to her about the HP books, I might tell her about JKR! I would say something like 'I used to like the HP books, but then I learned that the author said some really nasty things about trans people like me. Now I don't like them so much any more.' And we could have a conversation about that, you know! I've talked to this kid about transphobia in terms that are appropriate for her age. We've had discussions about gender before. I think she'd listen to me, and form her own fucking opinion about it! 'I don't like the author of the HP books because she has said some nasty things' is a concept you can communicate to a five year old.

But also like. You're kind of acting like by taking away HP from this (hypothetical in your ask) kid they don't have any other books. Which...isn't true? If all copies of the HP books disappeared off the face of the earth tomorrow, kids would be reading other stuff, as they are currently reading other stuff! My 9 year old neighbour is a huge Jacqueline Wilson fan, she loves the Daisy Meadows rainbow fairy books. I want to introduce her to the Morrigan Crow books. We could get retro and start introducing kids to the Edge Chronicles, I fucking loved those books. Artemis Fowl. A Series of Unfortunate Events. There are so many other book series for kids in this world. I work in a fucking library! I can tell you that the kids are into Tom Gates, Dogman, Diary of a Wimpy Kid, Percy Jackson, Babysitter Club, Dork Diaries, and (exasperated sigh) David Walliams books, based on a sample size of every kid I encounter at work. I get asked for all of them far more than I do for HP, actually.

I don't think you'd be ruining every kid's lives by taking away One Series from them. (Particularly not one that's losing some relevancy every day - and I mean that in the sense that it's not an ongoing series, the last book came out in 2007. Nearly 20 years ago. For a nine or ten year old, that's almost double their entire life.) And I don't think you necessarily would be taking it away from them to say 'hey this is the reason I don't like these books'. I trust your average ten year old to be able to have a reasonably mature conversation. You're making it sound like they're all Oliver Twist holding out their gruel bowl saying 'please sir I only read one book'.

Anyway. All this to say, I think kids have the ability to have conversations about media. And there are other books in the world. So, no, taking HP or Coraline or whatever away from kids is hardly snatching candy from a baby. Kids are smarter than you think.

[bellsluck]

☆ about me ☆

hii, i’m bells!

thought it was about time i made an introduction.

i’m 21, a capricorn sun, leo moon, cancer rising (astrology freak), my ethnicity is a little complicated but i’ll put it as half british and half portuguese. i can speak english and portuguese fluently and have a half-decent grasp of spanish. i’ve lived in the uk for most of my life. sexuality: no labels.

i’d say i’m new to tumblr as this is the first time in my life i’m actually using it regularly, i think I’ve got the hang of it now. i feel so at home on here and i love having new mutuals hehe. feel free to message about literally anything (save me from the “singles in your area looking for-” dms, i beg).

☆ interests ☆

i love writing and reading, fanfic, music and film, generally just immersing myself in other worlds tbh. kisses to pinterest, ao3 and wattpad. tumblr now too i guess.

seemingly never ending harry potter obsession. marauders era, hogwarts legacy era, etc. slytherin girly. i was part of hptok at its peak in like 2020/2021, my page was basically dedicated to it. it was so much fun.

also star wars, specifically the hayden christensen trilogy, but i love the ogs too and i thinkmy favourite spin-offs are the mandalorian and obi-wan kenobi. if i ever get married it will be at lake como, idc how many times it's been done. i was at one of the filming locations last summer (theed palace) and almost crying like a little biatch.

i like video games too (mostly play on switch), but i’m very picky when it comes to finding ones i actually like, then I will rack up hours on it like there's no tomorrow… we love hyperfixation over here. love love love stardew valley, animal crossing and games along those lines but atm i’ve been doing my rounds on the resident evil games (re2 og, re4 remake, re6, down bad for leon kennedy) and also hogwarts legacy, i’ve finished most of it, i just have to complete my field guide now (desperately want to replay for the sebastian quests, also the new mod stuff is so cool!).

music wise, i listen to lots of different stuff, constantly go through phases, but for my all timers, aka can quote their discography from start to finish, i’d probably say lana del rey, radiohead, the weeknd and nirvana. recently it’s been lots of david bowie, queen, beabadoobee, portishead, fleetwood mac, the beatles… i could go on.

always open to recommendations for songs, playlists, films, series, games, books, fanfics, or anything, i love it all.

☆ onto the topic of shifting... ☆

i am happy to announce i am free from the shackles of “shift-tok”. if yk, yk. 

i’ll take this as a chance to ask nicely for any antis to please, please, not interact from here on out. thank you.

so, i initially found out about shifting on hptok 2020 (huge surprise ik) and so obviously i wanted to go to hogwarts. like??

needless to say i got caught up in all the tiktok misinformation, blatant lies, complicated asf methods, self explanatory. sorry younger-me. i could explain more but all in all i was too impatient and clueless, didn't really know what i was doing at all, eventually got bored, busy with school, and assumed everyone was lying (a few were, it seems).

 i completely forgot about it all after that until i came across a shifting post on reddit a few weeks ago. my tiktok fyp started filling with shifting/manifestation videos too right after. i was coincidentally in between a rewatch of the harry potter films at this point too. you know where this is going. i started seeing tiktoks from smaller creators just answering people’s questions about shifting, and it was all so different from all the stuff i’d heard years ago, spoken about in a completely different way, which just made so much sense to me and was so intriguing. i decided to delve into it all once again. it was those same creators who also would mention tumblr, and i, who had just joined tumblr for writing related stuff not long ago, decided to start searching up things related to shifting.

 i eventually came across some great accounts and information, stories of experiences, motivation, help. i started reading “journeys out of the body” by robert monroe too, so interesting, btw, and have since began my own shifting/exploring consciousness journey (i try to be careful what words i use for things, for lots of reasons, and i understand everyone might use different terms, reminder that i haven’t been on here for that long). it’s been amazing so far. 

(i may have straight up searched shifting realities on google the other day. curiosity got the best of me. it was bad. don’t do it.)

to not mislead anyone, no, i haven’t actually had a full experience in my specific “dr” yet. however it’s only been a small amount of time and i’ve already had lots of different types of sensations and experiences that i’ve never had before and it’s all so beautiful and interesting to me. i definitely view things a lot differently than i did before. i have shiftblr to thank for it.

i adore finding new shifter blogs and reading everything on them, so if i’m giving stalker behaviour it just means i’m loving your stuff or you're all over my feed. 

idk what i’m even going to post about yet, if or when i do. maybe i’ll write a bit into my “journey” so far, any experiences or how and what i do to get into certain states, about my dr, or stuff i’m just nerdy about in general. 

fyi just because i write does not mean i will always use any grammatical skills at all when writing for blog. sorry ;)

if you ever have any questions i’ll love you forever i will answer as best as i can.

this wasn’t all that exciting but i just wanted a little intro because i’m always blank on my socials. 

 thanks for reading !!

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[valeovalairs]

Stumbles over frantically with tears in her eyes

I FINISHED READING MAGNUS CHASE

[deviousdiesel]

.

[prismatoxic]

loving the timeline i got to witness of:

-yahtzee reviews a game on zero punctuation -in the course of the script he finds a reason to bring up ayn rand/atlus shrugged, mostly as a joke -brings up ayn rand again as the closing punchline -final credits message is "bioshock was a good game wasn't it" -one day later the escapist uploads a new extra punctuation about why bioshock's opening is amazing

did you get bioshock on the brain by any chance, mr. croshaw?

idk what his schedule of making ZP/EP looks like, though i do suspect that EP might possibly be visually edited by someone else? i'm like 99% sure yahtz still does ZP by himself except to pass it by matt the editor for notes on where he should maybe swear less, but EP is kind of visually different (despite using yahtzee's art still) so maybe he just reads his script and lets matt do the visuals? idk. the man's busy he puts out 2 videos like every week, i wouldn't blame him

regardless, my point is that idk where in the process he decided to make an EP on bioshock, but the idea of him writing the sea of stars script, thinking about ayn rand a little too hard, and getting on a bioshock kick because of it is pretty damn funny

if he addresses this in the bioshock video i'm going to feel very silly but i was just taking a food + youtube break so i only watched the sea of stars review for now

[britneyshakespeare]

let me tell you. i have read 21 out of 38 of the extant canonical plays of william shakespeare. the first one to make me close the book and think "well i wish that had been better" was henry v.

[cj-kenobi]

i just finished a book series for the first time in. a long time. I've been keeping up with it since i was like 13. what the Fuck do i do now how do i recover from this event what do i do with my life

[lynxgriffin]

Mightier Than The Sword

Gerson had one regret, but now Alvin has many. A fancomic about my thoughts and theories and who -and what- the Knight is!

While not directly connected, I'd say this one is in the same vein as the Deal With The Devil series! Hope you enjoy!

Alt text for this comic under the read more:

Page 1

Panel 1 - Wide shot of the interior of the Boom household. Several monsters are gathered in a clean-looking hall, dressed in somber clothing and talking quietly in small groups. The monsters include QC, Cat Mom, Toriel, Asgore and Mayor Holiday. Father Alvin stands waiting at a door in the hall as his sister, a red-headed turtle monster in a pink dress, exits through the door and speaks to him. “Alvin…he’s ready for you.”

Panel 2 - Mid shot as Alvin prepares to enter the room. Ms. Boom steps out of the way, and puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Both of them look somber. 

Panel 3 - Alvin enters the room, mostly dark and lit by a few candles on a nearby desk. Gerson Boom is lying on a bed ahead of him, watching him enter. Alvin closes the door behind him and says, “Father, I’m here.”

Panel 4 - Alvin approaches his father, lying in bed. The bedroom has a few amenities, including a footstool set off to the side, a large rug bearing the delta rune, and a massive bookcase filling the entire back wall. A few books and papers litter the ground. Alvin bows his head, and says, “The hammer is ready for…for afterwards.”

Gerson just smiles, and responds, “Wa ha, is it? Well, it’ll do fine, I suppose.”

Panel 5 - Closer shot of Gerson extending his right hand towards Alvin. He’s smiling still, content with where he is. “Come here, son.”

Page 2

Panel 1 - Closeup as Alvin takes his father’s hand in his own, and clasps it tight. “Whatever you need…I’m here,” he says from offscreen.

Panel 2 - Alvin kneels by his father’s bedside, still clasping his hands. Gerson says, “Of course you are. Wa ha…you’re such a good and kind man, Alvin.”

Panel 3 - Closeup on Alvin as he just holds on to his father’s hand. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes. 

Panel 4 - Focus on Gerson as he holds up a hand to conspiratorially whisper to Alvin. “And I know I can trust you with a secret, right?”

Panel 5 - Closeup on Alvin as he looks back up, face earnest. “...Of course.”

Panel 6 - Gerson holds up one finger as he speaks to Alvin. “I told your sister I had no regrets, but that was a BIT of a fib! I’m afraid I have one regret…”

Panel 7 - Side view of Alvin as he learns closer, his face now worried. “Father?...”

Page 3

Panel 1 - Focus on Gerson as he leans back on his pillow, looking up at the ceiling. “I wish I had started earlier. Writing stories, I mean. Seein’ you an’ your sister’s eyes light up whenever I read you a new chapter…and then seeing all that joy from so many young folks after those stories were published!” he says, looking wistful.

Panel 2 - Alvin watches on sadly as Gerson continues, “It was the greatest feeling in the world, Alvin. It’s what life’s all about, y’know. Helping the young folks grow.”

Panel 3 - Gerson closes his eyes and looks back towards the ceiling again, still wistful. “So, I wish I’d started writing stories sooner.”

Panel 4 - Closeup on Alvin as he bows his head, still holding Gerson’s hand. “I truly do cherish those times you read to us, father…” he says.

Panel 5 - Closeup on Gerson as he closes his mind with happy memories. “Me too, Alvin. It’s a shame…I’ve still got so many tales to tell! But–”

Panel 6 - Gerson is interrupted by a round of hacking coughs. His time is fast approaching.

Panel 7 - Gerson settles back in to his bed and says, “The Angel’s given me SO many good, happy years. Doesn’t seem fair to ask for more.”

Panel 8 - Closeup on Alvin as he continues to hold his father’s hand tight. “This doesn’t seem fair, either…” he says, tears still pricking at his eyes.

Page 4

Panel 1 -  Insert closeup of Gerson as he smiles at his son. “That’s life, Alvin!” He doesn’t seem bothered by his imminent passing.

Panel 2 - Side view as Gerson leans in closer to Alvin again, hand raised, back to sharing his secrets. “But, knowin’ my secret…there’s something I’d like to ask of you.”

Alvin faces his father with seriousness. “Anything,” he replies.

Panel 3 - Closeup on Gerson, as he looks hopefully at Alvin. “You have a good heart, Alvin. I want you to know this joy, too.”

Panel 4 - Gerson continues in the next panel: “Please try writin’ stories of your own, alright?” Closeup on Alvin as he looks shocked and a bit worried by the request.

Panel 5 - Mid shot as Alvin holds up a hand to Gerson in protest. He says, “Father, I…I have no talent for writing fiction. Not like YOU.”

Panel 6 - Closeup on Gerson as he refutes his son: “Hogwash! I know you can.”

Panel 7 - Wide shot as Alvin stands up, and looks around the room. “No, I…”

In the foreground, there’s Gerson’s desk, currently showing some lit candles, some paper, an inkwell, a notebook, and his favorite fountain pen.

Page 5

Panel 1 - Closeup as Alvin grabs two objects off of the desk: the small notebook and the fountain pen. Offscreen, he says, “If you just…”

Panel 2 - Back at Gerson’s bedside, Alvin pulls up the footstool and puts the pen and notebook in front of him, intending to use it. He faces his father, and says, “Tell me your ideas, I could write them down, and–”

Gerson interrupts him: “‘Fraid it doesn’t work that way, Alvin!”

Panel 3 - Gerson holds up both of his hands and smiles as he explains: “My tales are between my soul and the pen. You’ll need to make your own.”

Panel 4 - Gerson watches as Alvin, tears in his eyes, looks down at the notebook and pen in hand. “I–I cannot…” Alvin starts, looking despondent.

Panel 5 - Side view of Alvin as tears continue to stream from his eyes. He says, “Not without you!” In the background, in grayscale, there is a scene from Alvin’s memory: Gerson reading a book to his two children by the fire. Gerson looks happy, and both kids are enraptured, with Alvin clinging to a cat doll that looks like Seam.

Panel 6 - Closeup on Gerson, his face now more worried and pleading towards Alvin. Gerson says, “Y-you can… It’s all I ask…”

Panel 7 - Gerson turns away as he’s again interrupted by a round of terrible sounding coughs. Alvin stands holding the notebook and pen in the foreground.

Page 6

Panel 1 - Horror comes over Alvin’s face as his father continues to cough loudly, clutching his chest. He realizes that his father might be close to death now.

Panel 2 - Wider overhead shot as Alvin turns away from Gerson, looking frantically around the room. “No! Not yet!--” he says desperately. Gerson is still racked with coughs.

Panel 3 - Closeup as Alvin grabs the candles from the desk–

Panel 4 - And then pulls a book from the bookshelf, with the delta rune on the front –

Panel 5 - And then finally pulls out what appears to be a beaded rosary, with the delta rune made of beads at the end of it.

Panel 6 - Wider shot as Alvin places the objects in front of him, candles to the side, holy book in front of him. Gerson can only lay there as he does so, trying to catch his breath.

Panel 7 - Front view of Alvin as he clasps his hands together in front of his face, the rosary threaded between his fingers. He closes his eyes and bows his head in prayer. “Angel…Angel above! Please, heed your servant’s prayer!”

Page 7

Panel 1 - Closeup on Alvin as he continues to pray, the candles glowing around him. He keeps his eyes shut even as tears well in them. “I know you call back my father’s soul, but please! Please refrain!”

Panel 2 - Gerson desperately reaches a hand out towards his son, shaking, but unable to reach him. In the foreground, the fountain pen sits on the footstool between them. “A-Alvin…” Gerson’s voice is shaky now.

Panel 3 - Aerial shot as Alvin prays over the book, and Gerson is still confined to the bed, only able to watch. “This world still NEEDS his gifts!” Alvin says. “I pray to you, don’t take them from us now!” The shadows around Alvin start to grow strange, not matching the candlelight.

Panel 4 - Gerson continues to hold out a hand, now not looking well. “No…”

Panel 5 - Closeup on the candles as they spark to life, now glowing stronger.

Panel 6 - A strange bright glow begins to emanate from Gerson. Behind him, the books in the bookcase all rattle and shift as if in a localized earthquake. The colors of the room grow brighter and stranger.

Panel 7 - Still reaching out a desperate hand, Gerson lets out a soft breath. His soul, an upside-down white heart, comes up from his body. On the footstool in the foreground, the fountain pen also begins to levitate, as if by magic.

Page 8

Panel 1 - Front shot of Alvin as he continues to pray desperately, his head bowed and hands together. “Grant us the love shown between his soul and the pen!” Behind him, the colors have grown stark and bright, and a shadow resembling the angel looms behind Alvin.

Panel 2 - Alvin looks up to discover something amazing and terrible: Gerson’s soul has been drawn to the fountain pen, and begins to flow down into it.

Panel 3 - Closeup as Gerson’s soul is completely absorbed into the pen, hovering high over the bed.

Panel 4 - The candles turn strange blue and pink colors, and the books in the bookcase shake and rattle relentlessly.

Panel 5 - Extreme closeup on Alvin’s eyes as he sees this miracle; the light of his father’s soul reflected in his eyes.

Panel 6 - Closeup as the pen suddenly drops, and clatters back on to the footstool.

Panel 7 - Wide aerial shot as the room very suddenly goes completely dark and silent, the bright colors and lights now gone. Alvin stands up and backs away from the bed, still clutching the rosary, his face filled with horror. Gerson now lies unmoving in his bed, having passed away.

Page 9

Panel 1 - The same shot as the first panel of the first page, with the other monsters waiting in the hallway. No one says anything as Alvin emerges from the bedroom, leaning on the door for support, his head bowed. Everyone in the room knows that Gerson has just passed, although they don’t know the rest.

Panel 2 - An establishing shot of the forest and mountains surrounding Hometown…the skies are a dark, gloomy gray.

Panel 3 - Above shot of Gerson’s newly dug grave. At the bottom of a small pit lies Gerson’s hammer, covered in his dust. Politics Bear stands over the grave, holding a shovel. 

Panel 4 - Closeup as the shovel begins to dump dirt over the fresh grave.

Panel 5 - Another closeup of Gerson’s headstone, with bundles of fresh funerary flowers laid in front of it.

Panel 6 - Wide shot of Gerson’s funeral. Alvin stands over his father’s grave, reading last rites from one of his books. Lots of monsters are in attendance, including Alphys and Undyne, Napstablook, the Holiday and Dreemurr families, and more. A very young Kris, Noelle and Asriel are present, but Dess is not. Everyone is dressed in dark mourning attire.

Panel 7 - After the funeral, Toriel approaches Alvin and puts a hand on his shoulder. She says, “Beautifully said, Alvin. I know your father is watching proudly by the side of the Angel.” Alvin looks distant and mournful.

Panel 8 - A closeup of the fountain pen laying forgotten on the desk in Gerson’s room. Gerson is, perhaps, not actually with the Angel right now.

Panel 9 - Back at the funeral, Alvin bows his head, eyes closed. “You are too kind, Toriel,” he says.

Page 10

Panels 1-3 - We see the seasons pass through the changing of the trees…from the barren white trees of winter, to colorful pink blooms for spring, to the bright oranges and reds of fall.

Panel 4 - Sometime much later, Alvin again enters his father’s old room, alone.

Panel 5 - Much of Gerson’s room has remained untouched. The fountain pen still sits on his old writing desk in the foreground. Alvin steps inside, and carefully turns on the overhead light. “It’s been years,” he says.

Panel 6 - Alvin cautiously approaches the pen, which seems to loom large ahead of him. He hesitantly picks it up.

Panel 7 - Alvin places some blank pages on the writing desk. “Surely…”

Panel 8 - Alvin sits in front of the blank pages, still holding the pen cautiously. “Surely by now, I can do it.” He’s going to try writing.

Panel 9 - Closeup as Alvin dips the pen in the inkwell, and it comes away full of ink.

Panel 10 - Closeup as Alvin holds the pen over the blank page. The pen trembles slightly in his grip.

Panel 11 - Alvin tries to put pen to paper, but he’s still trembling. He looks down with great anxiety. “I…I…”

Panel 12 - Closeup on Alvin’s face as he looks more panicked, shaking and sweating. In the background, his memory of his father’s soul being absorbed into the pen plays back at him. This is still his fault.

Panel 13 - Closeup again as Alvin’s hand shakes uncontrollably, and the pen with it. Ink spots begin to dapple the blank page–

Page 11

Panel 1 - Alvin’s shaking hand accidentally knocks over the inkwell, and it spills black ink all over the blank page.

Panel 2 - Alvin picks up the ruined paper and folds it in half to try and stem the ink spillage. He quietly curses to himself. 

Panel 3 - Closeup as Alvin holds his head in his hand. It’s clear that this isn’t going to work. “I can’t…” 

Panel 4 - Closeup as Alvin puts the ink-stained paper back on the desk, and quickly grabs up the pen and inkwell.

Panel 5 - Taking the pen and inkwell, Alvin exits his father’s room again, head bowed and expression sad.

Panel 6 - Left behind, the folded paper slowly peels apart and unfolds…

Panel 7 - To reveal that the spilled ink has created a rorschach ink blot image of a titan. 

Page 12

Panel 1 - Wide shot as Alvin trudges down the streets of Hometown, alone. His head his bowed, and he’s still clutching the articles he took with him. It’s almost nighttime, and the sky is dark. “I cannot bear this kind of burden,” he says to himself.

Panel 2 - Shot from behind Alvin as he approaches the school building. It’s dark, and no students or teachers should be there. “Maybe you belong where you always have…”

Panel 3 - Now indoors, Alvin continues down the empty hallway towards a particular destination. “With the youth.”

Panel 4 - Alvin opens the door to the storage closet at the end of the hall. It opens with a soft creak. “Teaching. Telling stories,” Alvin continues to say to himself.

Panel 5 - Alvin places the fountain pen and inkwell on a small shelf in the storage closet. The closet is almost completely black. 

Panel 6 - The inkwell and pen are left on the shelf as Alvin closes the door behind him. His expression is mournful as he locks these reminders of his father away. “Inspiring someone better suited,” he says, hoping this is a suitable escape of his responsibility.

Page 13

Panel 1 - But in the storage closet, the objects are subject to something else already there: the grand Dark Fountain. The pen, ink and papers all fall into the darkness of the fountain–

Panel 2 - And start to change, the pen seemingly turning into liquid itself–

Panel 3 - As the pen falls deeper and deeper into the dark, the liquid begins to reshape into something new, something resembling a person–

Panel 4 - Until it lands on empty ground, now a person in knight’s armor, knelt over and holding his head in his hands.

Panel 5 - The Knight comes to, and starts to become more aware. He’s dressed in armor resembling the dark metallic sheen of the fountain pen, his mask resembling the pen tip. A bright deep red cape flows from his shoulders, and a single red-orange feather tops the helmet. “Where…am I?”

Panel 6 - The Knight again touches his helmet with both hands, as if not sure exactly what he is.

Panel 7 - Interior shot of the helmet, which reveals a figure much like Gerson…but much younger, more idealized-looking, with colors not matching his actual self. A Dark World interpretation. “WHY am I…?”

Panel 8 - A closeup of the Knight’s hand, slightly trembling.

Panel 9 - The Knight stares down at his own hands as realization begins to flood him, or at least something that looks like realization. “Wait. I see why. I KNOW.” he says.

 Page 14

Panel 1 - The Knight holds up his hand, and a sword appears in it in a flash of lights. The sword resembles the tip of a fountain pen, almost split neatly in two. “I serve the Lightners! That is my purpose!” Says the Knight. 

Panel 2 - The Knight draws the sword back with great fervor and determination. His thoughts echo around him in strong letters: “A purpose so bright, so clear…”

Panel 3 - In the final panel, the Knight drives the sword into the ground, causing an eruption of black ink-like material to spew from the ground…the creation of a new Dark Fountain. In the fountain itself, words reflect his purpose: “I EXIST TO GIVE THEM STORIES FOREVER.”

[dollyichi]

A LITTLE MYSTERY NEVER HURT ANYBODY . . . pro-hero katuski bakugou x f ! actress reader. m—dni / fluff / hints of ‘tension’ and maybe suggestive… / established relationship / little smau at the end / not proofread / minors don’t read this !!

despite being a fairly new actress, you were able to catch the attention and hearts of the fans from your recent debut just two years ago. becoming a highly in-demand star, given every project possible just to be seen on the screen. however, you kept a secret. that one secret that could cause a frenzy, that the beloved actress of the nation is dating the one and only pro-hero dynamight.

they all assumed that they definitely knew the both of you are in a relationship… somehow. you had that certain glow and katsuki definitely made it sure that he’s not available. no matter how many fans tried to flirt, no matter how many interviews he’s gone through he says one thing very clear, “got a pretty girl already.” however, nobody knew it was with the two of you together.

countless articles are read about you, how you were overheard with a director from your upcoming series that you wanted to avoid any romantic scenes or a partner in general. which boosted more speculation on your ‘mysterious’ love life.

now, your manager says that she got you booked with a new project. you’ll be in a promotional shoot with a pro-hero for a fashion campaign with an upcoming designer. “that’s fine right? you’d be with someone in the shoot though.” your manager says. you shrug, looking over at the recent line the designer put out.

“it’s fine. no point in declining opportunities right?”

she nods enthusiastically, “that’s the spirit! we were actually surprised the team agreed immediately when they found out it was you. i heard they only accepted solo projects for him.”

you smile, “well whoever it’ll be i’m sure we’ll do great.”

the moment you step foot on the set, you were immediately greeted by the designer themselves. “y/n you’re so beautiful, you’re so perfect for us!”

“thank you for believing in me! please take care of me well.” you bow and was brought to your own dresser. quickly dressed in a silk robe and getting your makeup done. your hair was in curlers, the team taking their sweet time to make sure they enhanced your features for the shoot.

you hear a knock on your door, and you could hear your manager gasp when she opens it. peeking at the mirror with one eye, you see a familiar figure walking towards you, messing with the collar of his shirt.

“hey baby.” voice raspy and hoarse. now everyone in the room was shocked. looking at the two of you. to top it all off, katsuki places a quick kiss to your cheek and getting a stool to sit beside you.

your manager definitely felt like she was gonna faint. she had no idea what this was or when, or even how. everyone else was also in shock and confused, felt like time stopped somehow.

why is he now acting all lovey dovey in public? is what they all, including you, wondered.

“fuck baby you’re looking too pretty.” you giggle, trying to stay in place while the makeup artist adds their finishing touches. “thank you katsuki, no wonder you agreed to this shoot.” you say. the makeup artist finally says you’re done, you were all ready, just needed to change into the outfit.

katsuki was in a fitted velvet button up shirt with low-rise slacks. only the middle section of the shirt was buttoned, and for the first time in your career, your professionalism was definitely getting tested. just a little lower you could probably catch a glimpse of his happy trail. “who allowed you to wear that?” you motion with your head. but before he could answer you’re already turned around, moving behind the divider to dress up.

“aw come on, i know you fuckin’ like it.” he says loudly, then followed by the door closing. suddenly the staff was all on you after you stepped out. complimenting how you looked so good, how you’re going to be the new face of the brand after this. but most especially, the elephant in the room.

“i know everyone’s thinking you have a boyfriend but… dynamight?!”

“where, when, why, and how?”

“i never saw him speak that sweetly to anyone before….”

“i thought it was another celebrity! this is really unexpected.”

lots and lots of questions but they were immediately shut down by your manager who wanted to maximize the time. “we still got a shoot. y/n can tell us the details another time.” she gives you that look that reads ‘you better tell me everything’ and you give her an apologetic smile.

you take a look in the mirror, seeing how you matched with him. in a tight velvet dress that hugged your figure really well, probably a piece from the earlier collections. it’s pretty, the skirt is slanted with peaks of ruffled tulle.

you’re start walking to the set where katsuki was already waiting. “oh our princess! you look amazing.” the designer says, holding his hands to his chest. “i knew you and dynamight would look amazing together, i thank you both really.”

you grab their hands, “i’m really happy you paired me with him too!”

you approach katsuki with a smile, and he’s already grinning at you. “well shit this might be the hardest job i’ve taken yet.” he chuckles, placing a hand on your back to help you on the extravagant set.

you’re shining so bright and in your element that he’s just happy to be there. yet, the whole time he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off you, how his hold on you lingered, wanting to touch you even more, even deeper. despite the director giving clear directions that you followed with no fuss, he on the other hand just has to have a hand on you. but it definitely gave an effect on each shot.

katsuki couldn’t help but keep his eyes on you, eyes glimmering with desire. and how you’re looking at him with such a cool glare—it just felt so out of character for the both of you. who’s usually so sweet and him who’s usually so out for reach. “think i need you in this dress when i take you home.” he would whisper. and you’ll playfully hit him on his arm.

when you prepare for the next shot he’d always tell you things that’d rile you up. and when nobody’s paying attention he’d be looking you up and down. “bet you’re even prettier under this fuckin’ dress.”

even in between clothing changes you both looked picture perfect. both complementing each other’s visuals. he’d sneak you out from time to time to get a smooch here and there, resulting in the makeup artists on the set to fix him up because his and your lipsticks would smudge, wondering why he gets messed up all of a sudden.

“you’re so damn pretty baby. too bad the makeup’s gonna get ruined when we get home.”

“stop teasin’ during work kats…”

the last shot had you both seated on the carpet. it was sexy, your hand’s on his bare chest and he’s leaning in towards you with a finger under you chin. the two of you together felt magnetic. it’s so interesting to everyone in that room how the hero who’s usually uncontrollable became so compliant because if you. overall, it just felt too romantic, that petals of roses were somehow seen falling down on the both of you while you posed.

what was most unexpected was how katsuki really enjoyed being in front of a camera, as long as it’s with you (might’ve gotten a few ‘creative’ ideas too). he’s definitely making one of these photos his wallpaper when they upload it.

and the next day, that one shot trended all over the internet. blasted all over the digital billboards in the city too. finally seeing the elegant y/n who seemed to have helped show a new side of the pro-hero to the public.

showering the brand with praises and how much of a ‘genius’ they were for even choosing the two of you as the muses. because it really was just a coincidence that the owner was a fan of you both.

then there goes the online articles, the video complications, the noise that just won’t die down. tweets and photos, even a sudden rise in fanpages. dynamight and y/n, and the public that’s trying to piece every evidences of your interactions. how they were all tricked that your relationship was just under their noses. how in events you’re always seen together, or how your car was spotted in his neighborhood that one time. or when katsuki always keeps saying in interviews that his favorite shows and media always had you in it—main lead or not. the way nobody caught it even when you mentioned that dynamight was one of your favorite heroes. even showing them a small plushie charm that you carried on you hanged on your bag—everyone was stunned.

still, neither of you confirmed anything, yet.

till the moment the official account of the brand posted all the shots of you together, and it was very obvious how the two of you were actually in love, like the head over heels type.

well, the both of you are gonna have more projects together soon for sure.

bonus!

do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works

note : i really like this actress au i’m definitely gonna make more 😔🙏 different versions for sure

[svtiddiess]

Sex Education

Synopsis: In all your years of education you learned that there are many methods to study: flashcards, study groups, the pomodoro method etc. But you find that practice is better than theory. And what better way to study Biology than practice with your study buddy?

Pairing: loser!virgin!med student!Mingyu x afab!med student!reader

Genre: smut, slight crack, med school! au, mini-series

Rating: mature

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: pet names (puppy), penetrative sex, unprotected sex (don't do this!), creampie, size kink, choking, loss of virginity, sub!Gyu, big dick!Gyu, loser!Gyu, riding, masturbation, lemme know if I missed anything!

Note: Thank you so much for helping me with the synopsis my twin @tomodachiii! As promised, here's sub!Gyu.

Thank you so much to @onlymingyus for beta reading!

Read part 2 here!

Click here to join my taglist!

Read on ao3

Reblogs are appreciated ♡

.ᐟMinors/blank/no age indicator blogs will be blocked.ᐟ

Mingyu.

That's the only thing on your mind right now—nothing else, just Mingyu. You should probably be paying attention to the lesson, but how could you, with the hot nerd sitting right within your line of sight? Okay, maybe you chose this seat specifically so you could look at him without getting caught, but still! He’s a distraction you’re more than happy to have.

You rest your chin in your hand, sighing as your eyes trace over his figure. He’s built like a Greek god—strong, tall, with perfectly styled black hair, and his large square glasses barely hide his handsome, tan face. Oh, what you’d give just to see him without those glasses on.

You’ve known Mingyu since middle school. You never really interacted, but you definitely noticed him around. Back in school, he was known as the nerdy kid with glasses and a scrawny, lanky frame to match. Shy and awkward, he was an easy target for bullies. But over the years, his muscle mass increased, and his frame filled out. It seems he’s been putting in serious hours at the gym, and it’s definitely paid off.

Although he’s the most handsome guy in med school, he’s still incredibly shy and reserved, keeping his circle small and close-knit. Despite numerous people, especially girls, trying to get closer to him, he just pushes them away. That’s why, despite your massive crush, you haven’t made a move. You’re too scared he’ll shut you out and avoid you for good.

You can't help but bite your bottom lip and squeeze your thighs together as you rake your eyes over his bulging biceps, his shirt barely able to contain the muscle. Just one chokehold; one chokehold is all you're asking for, really. You sigh once again, knowing that you'll never be able to have him.

Your train of unholy thoughts is abruptly interrupted by the sound of your professor calling your name. Startled, you sit up and look towards him.

"Miss Y/N, are you even paying attention?" Prof. Choi huffs, crossing his arms.

"Of course I am, professor," you reply, flashing the sweetest smile you can manage.

"Then, for the third time, please answer the question on the board," he says, gesturing to the problem.

"Uh…" you trail off, completely lost.

Prof. Choi sighs and tells you to see him after class, to which you reluctantly agree. You sink into your chair, dreading what’s to come. Shaking your head, you let out a sigh and shifted your gaze back to Mingyu, watching in awe as he effortlessly answered the very question you stumbled over. Tall, muscular, hot, and smart—he really is the perfect guy.

You grumble as Prof. Choi calls your name, sabotaging your plan to slip out of class. Sighing, you drag yourself over to his desk, only to be surprised when Mingyu joins you. You glance between Mingyu and Prof. Choi, waiting for an explanation.

"Y/N, I’ll get straight to the point—you’re failing this class," Prof. Choi says. "At this rate, I’m not sure you'll be able to move on to the next year."

Well, it’s not your fault that a hot distraction named Kim Mingyu exists.

"That’s why I’ve assigned Mingyu here as your tutor to help you pass," he says, nodding toward Mingyu.

Your eyes widen, and you struggle to suppress a smile. Mingyu tutoring you? Spending time alone with him? This feels like a dream come true. You silently thank both Prof. Choi and the heavens for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Mingyu gives you a shy smile. "I hope we can get along well," he says, extending his hand.

You gratefully take it, noticing the blush coloring his cheeks.

"Please take good care of me, Mingyu," you say, beaming, already looking forward to your tutoring sessions.

You smooth out your skirt one last time before opening the door for Mingyu. You made sure to wear your sluttiest outfit today. After insisting that your brain works better when you study in your room, Mingyu shyly agreed to hold the tutoring sessions there.

You smile and step aside to let him in, watching as he sheepishly steps into your house. Making sure your ass is sticking out, you made him follow you upstairs to your room.

You sat down on your bed, subtly raising your skirt, and gestured for Mingyu to take a seat next to you. He awkwardly took his seat and started pulling out his notes.

He keeps his eyes on his notes as he starts explaining today’s lesson—something about the Krebs cycle, though you’re not really listening. You’re too busy admiring his handsome face. You twirl a strand of hair and blink sweetly as you ask (hopefully relevant) questions, but he barely glances at you while answering.

After what feels like hours of studying (it’s been 30 minutes), you whine and beg him for a break, and he blushes as he agrees.

"Would you like some snacks? Or maybe water or juice?" you ask, perking up.

"Just a glass of water is fine," he mumbles, still focused on his notes.

You nod and grab a glass of water for him and a snack for yourself. Returning, you hand him the water with a smile, which he accepts with a quiet “thank you,” while you peel your banana for your snack.

You lick the tip of the banana before biting down on it, smirking when you see Mingyu gulping at your actions. Noticing you looking at him, he blushes and quickly averts his gaze.

"Want a bite?" You offer him with a sultry smirk.

"N-No, thank you," he mumbles, his ears turning red.

You giggle as you finish your banana and scoot a little closer, prompting him to continue the lesson. But he’s a stuttering mess, tripping over his words and repeatedly asking for more water to soothe his suddenly dry throat.

After stuttering his way through, Mingyu finally managed to finish the lesson. Sore from having hunched over, you stretch, not so subtly pressing your chest against his arm. Mingyu flushes, quickly gathering his notes and mumbling something about being late for a gaming session with Wonwoo.

You see him out, throwing in a wink and waving goodbye. You watch as he stumbles a bit while getting onto his Vespa and driving off. Chuckling to yourself, you can't help but smile at how cute he is.

The rest of the tutoring sessions go the same way: you not-so-subtly flirt with Mingyu, while he either purposely ignores it or remains completely oblivious. You even try to out-slut your outfits with every tutoring session, but nothing seems to work.

One night, after yet another session, you lie in bed, frustrated that Mingyu isn’t picking up on your very obvious hints. Who knew the loser nerd would actually turn out to be a huge loser? You sigh, but him being a huge loser is what you find most endearing about him.

You bite your lip, remembering what he wore today—a black polo that stretched perfectly over his muscles, jeans that hugged his thighs just right, and of course, those thick black frames.

You can't help but sneak your hand down your torso as you remember how his arm felt pressed against your boobs. They felt so strong and firm, you bet that he could easily carry you and fuck you mid-air.

You shiver as your hand sneaks under your panties. You circle your pussy, collecting your arousal before pushing a finger into your hole, sighing at the slight stretch. You moan at the thought of Mingyu's fingers being way bigger than yours. His fingers would stretch you out so well before he finally fucks you with his huge cock.

You insert another finger and start thrusting your fingers, moaning out Mingyu's name. You imagine him hovering over you as he relentlessly thrusts into you, groaning your name right beside your ear. He'd growl as your fingers rake his back, leaving angry red marks. You'd wrap your legs around his hips and push him in deeper, making him breed you.

Your other hand circles your clit as you feel yourself getting to the edge. You imagine him thrusting from behind as his large bicep chokes you, putting just enough pressure to heighten the pleasure. He'd whimper and moan in your ear, letting you know how good you feel wrapped around him. He'd fill you up with his cum, again and again, and again, until the sheets underneath you are soaked with your mixed fluids.

Your breath hitches as you cum, whispering his name like a prayer, hoping that if you say it enough times, he’ll appear before you and make your dreams come true.

But he doesn't, and you're left lying in bed, sticky, sweaty, and alone.

You yawn for the umpteenth time as Mingyu drones on about anatomy; you're sure your brain has shut down by now. You sigh as you lean back onto the bed, too tired even to sit up.

"Mingyu, can we please take a break? I don't think my brain can take any more of this," you groan, resting your arm over your eyes.

"U-Uh, yeah, sure," Mingyu mumbles, fiddling with his notes. "We could always switch to a different topic if you want a change of pace…"

"What's the next topic?"

"The reproductive system."

Your eyebrows shoot up, and a smirk paints your face as an idea pops into your head. You sit up and grin at Mingyu.

"Sure, let's learn about the reproductive system."

Happy that you're finally interested in a topic, Mingyu gathers his notes and starts to explain. After about 15 minutes of explanation, you put your hand over his and gently push away his notes.

"Mingyu, I don’t understand the topic at all," you say with a pout, shifting to sit directly in front of him. His face turns bright red, clearly flustered. "I think it would help if we put the theory into practice so I can learn better," you purr.

Mingyu stumbles over his words, stuttering, his brain clearly short-circuiting. You giggle at his flustered state and shift to sit on his lap, your legs on either side of him.

"Will you let me use you to put the theory into practice, Mingyu?" you ask, tilting your head with a pout as you gently cup his face.

"I-I’m not sure h-how…" Mingyu stammers, swallowing hard.

"Oh, you poor thing," you coo. "It's okay, I'll guide you, puppy. Will you let me?"

He licks his lips and lets out a shaky breath before giving a small nod.

"Don't worry, puppy, I'll make sure to take good care of you," you hum as you gently remove his glasses.

He blinks and looks up at you, lips parted and cheeks flushed. You take a moment to admire his handsome face without the glasses. Cupping his face, your eyes trace over his features—his strong jawline, his parted lips, and the small mole on the tip of his nose. Unable to resist, you lean in and place a gentle kiss there, making him shiver.

"Can I kiss you, puppy?" You whisper.

"P-Please," he whimpers, and you can't help but smile over how pathetic he sounds.

You lean in and press your lips against his, and he kisses back desperately, hungry for your lips. You chuckle into the kiss, his inexperience showing with every hesitant movement. When you pull back, he leans forward, chasing your lips and letting out a soft whine when you don’t return the kiss.

"Puppy, if you don't behave, I will punish you," you scowl, furrowing your eyebrows.

"'m sorry," he mumbles with a pout.

You plant a soft kiss on the tip of his nose, then slowly run your hands down his torso, gently squeezing each muscle through his white polo. He moans and shivers under your touch, his eyes squeezing shut.

"Puppy works hard in the gym, hm?" You giggle, squeezing his chest slightly harder, eliciting a gasp from him.

You giggle, then start slowly dragging your hands to his arms, squeezing his biceps.

"God, your arms are so big and strong," you moan, squeezing him hard. "I want you to choke me, puppy. Can you do that for me? Choke me with your biceps?"

Letting out a shaky breath, he nods. You shift, pressing your back against his chest. He gently puts you into a chokehold and squeezes his arm slightly. Your eyes roll back, and a moan slips from your lips when you feel his biceps push against your throat.

You can't help but feel small in Mingyu's hold; he's just so big and beefy. You grind your hips against him, and you feel his grip faltering. He whimpers and pushes his erection against your butt.

"P-Please, I can't. I-It hurts," he whimpers against your ear.

You sneak down your hand and palm him through his jeans, making him groan and buck your hips against your palm.

"Need me to take care of your problem puppy?" You giggle, palming him roughly.

"Please," he strains out, choking back a moan.

He releases you from the chokehold, and you quickly clamber over to grab the bottle of lube you've stashed on the side table. You look over to see that he's already pushed his jeans and boxers down and freed his aching cock.

"Impatient are we now, puppy?" You chuckle, making his cheeks heat up.

Locking eyes with him, you give him a sultry look as you slowly peel off your panties but keep your skirt on. He gulps hard, shifting in place, anticipating your next move.

Biting your lip, you slowly crawl back over to him. You pour lube all over his cock and give him a few pumps, he whines your name and bucks his hips, making you giggle.

"Gonna make you feel so good, puppy," you whisper as you shift to hover over him.

You grab onto his shoulders and slowly sink onto his big cock, the stretch making you moan out loud. Mingyu whines and groans under you, his hands fly to your hips, fingers digging into you.

"F-Fuck," he groans, squeezing his eyes shut as your warmth slowly envelopes him.

Your mouth goes agape, and your eyes roll back when you feel his tip kiss your cervix.

"M-Move, please move. I-I can't," he begs, muscles straining under you.

You slowly lift yourself and slam back down onto him, making the both of you moan out loud. Slowly picking up your pace, you start riding him. He becomes a blubbering mess under you, moaning your name and whining at how good it feels.

"Look at the mess we're making, puppy," you pant out, lifting your skirt and showing him the sticky mess forming at the base of his cock.

He looks down at where both of you are connected and moans. He starts picking you up and slamming you down at an animalistic pace, his hips meeting you halfway. You squeal at the feeling of him rutting into you.

Unable to hold back any longer, he cums hard, filling you up to the brim with his seeds. Desperate to reach your high, you continue to ride him despite his chokes and whimpers. You capture his lips into a messy kiss to distract him from the overstimulation.

"C-Circle my clit," you mumble in between the kiss, and he complies, his hand immediately sneaking down and rubbing your clit in circles.

You yell his name as you cum around him, squeezing every drop of cum out of him. Mingyu moans, and a few tears slip from his eyes at the feeling of you squeezing him with a vice-like grip.

You both take a moment to catch your breath, your head resting on Mingyu’s shoulder as he leans back against the headboard. Licking your lips, you cup his face and look into his dazed eyes.

"You did so well, puppy," you coo, watching him blush and give you a fucked-out smile.

"But I don't think I've fully understood the topic yet. Maybe we should go over it again, just to be sure," you say before smashing your lips on his again.

Taglist: @tinyelfperson @gyuguys @stay-tiny-things @unlikelysublimekryptonite @miyx-amour

@iamawkwardandshy @codeinebelle @brownbunnyb @do-you-remember-summer-127 @sclovreina

@theidontknowmehn @aliiikareed @jennwonwoo @toplinehyunjin

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 10.4k tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation a/n: eek series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

i mean, im not that surprised he’s sexy as hell

that’s actually crazy

imagine hiding your son for five years 😶😶 how can you be ashamed of that

doesn’t he literally have a girlfriend?? himari nakamura??

        ↳ yep for almost two years now

       ↳ wonder how she’s holding up i’d be pissed, unless she knew 

rich people are always shady as fuck

You don’t even know how many comments you’ve read. Staying up practically the entire night, busying yourself with the endless scrolling of people who have not a single clue of how your life actually is. Meddling in your business and acting like the shit they’re spouting on the internet is okay. 

They ranged from positive (sort of) to extremely personal and negative. 

i bet she just did it for the child support 

i wonder if he’s actually the dad, women like that lie and lie just cuz the dad is rich as fuck

i feel so bad for that boy

Bad? Why would they feel bad for him? You’ve given everything you can and then some to ensure Koji’s safety and innocence. You’ve never put him in harm’s way, difficult situations, hit him, nothing. Of course you’ve raised your voice, but every parent does. Why are these reasons suddenly acting like they know a fucking thing or two? This is insane. 

The only positive ones you see are praising your son for how cute he is, how much he looks like Satoru, and how he’ll probably get everything he wants. That’s not true, you’re not going to spoil your kid and you’re sure as hell not letting Satoru do it either; he’s humble, that’s how you want him to be. Still, you do feel uneasy at strangers on the internet for talking about your baby like this, in reference to a photo none of you knew was taken. 

And you still don’t know who took it. 

That’s what infuriates you the most. Because who in their right mind would do that? Who thinks they’re that fucking entitled to chime in on your personal business—your family. 

When you find them, you swear on everything you’re punching them. 

Your head hangs low, the hood of your sweatshirt pulled tight, shielding your face as you step into the café. You keep your gaze down, avoiding the eyes of the baristas and patrons scattered around. The familiar hum of the espresso machine feels deafening today.

Maybe no one will notice. Maybe no one cares.

But you know better.

That damn image, plastered across every TV screen and newsfeed yesterday, is still burned into your mind. Why do people even care this much? You’re beyond pissed off. Who in their right mind thinks they have the right to invade your personal life like that? To turn your family into fodder for the public?

Maybe no one will say anything. Who even watched the news anyway? 

More people than you think, actually. You keep moving, but Hana has other plans.

“Y/N!” Her voice cuts through the noise like a whip, and before you can react, she grabs your forearm, dragging you into the storage room in the back.

“Hey, what the—” you start to protest, wincing as her grip tightens, but she doesn’t care. She whirls around to face you, her expression a mix of shock and disbelief.

“What the hell is going on?!” she demands, gesturing wildly with her hands. “You were on the news yesterday!”

Your stomach churns at the reminder, and your jaw clenches tightly. You pull your hood down, resigning yourself to the conversation you were hoping to avoid. “I know that already,” you snap, folding your arms across your chest.

“Koji’s father is multi-billionaire Satoru Gojo?!” Her voice rises in pitch, and she looks at you like you’ve grown a second head. “Is that for real? You’ve been hiding this?!”

You take a deep breath, counting to three in your head. “Yes, Hana. It’s real. Koji’s father is Satoru Gojo. Can we not do this right now?”

But Hana doesn’t back down, her wide eyes searching your face for answers. “Are you kidding me? Of course we’re doing this right now! You’ve been sitting on this—” she throws her hands up, “—while the rest of us thought you were just, like, a regular single mom? What the hell, Y/N?”

“Because it’s none of anyone’s business!” you hiss, your voice rising then lowering, not wanting anyone else to overhear. “Do you think I wanted this to come out? Do you think I wanted his world to invade mine?”

Hana softens slightly, her eyebrows knitting together in concern. “Okay, fair. But you should’ve told me, at least. I mean, I’m your friend.”

“I didn’t tell anyone for a reason and I don’t owe anyone anything,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair. “And now it’s everywhere. Do you know how terrifying that is? For me? For Koji?”

Hana sighs, leaning back against the wall. “Okay, okay. I get it. This whole thing’s a mess. But what are you going to do now? I mean, the story’s out. People are gonna talk, Y/N. A lot. Especially if it involves a man like him.”

You swallow hard, the weight of her words settling heavily on your shoulders. “I don’t know,” you admit quietly, your voice trembling. “I just want to protect my son.”

Hana nods, her expression softening further. “We’ll figure it out. But you’re gonna need a plan. And.”

“Hana, I—“ you’re really trying not to snap at her, really. But she’s pushing every button you have right now and your patience is running extremely low. Don’t snap, she’s just worried.  “I know what to do, thank you. But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t meddle in my business too. We’re friends, yes, but understand right now that I’m going through a lot of shit and don’t need to be told what to do and when to do it. So get off my back.”

Hana blinks, a little caught off guard by your sudden announcement. Her mouth slightly agape, clearly not having expected your outburst. For a moment, she doesn’t say anything, her expression shifting between hurt and something close to understanding. She straightens, her arms falling from where they’d been crossed over her chest. “Y/N, I wasn’t trying to—” she begins, her voice softer now, but you cut her off.

“I know,” you say, your voice quieter but still firm. “I know you’re trying to help, Hana. And I’m grateful, I am. But right now, I need to handle this on my own. I need space. Can you give me that?”

She nods slowly, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Okay,” she says after a moment. “I get it. I’ll back off. Just—if you need anything, anything at all, I’m here. You know that, right?”

You exhale, some of the tension easing from your shoulders. “Yeah. I know.”

Hana offers you a small, tentative smile before stepping aside, giving you the room you so desperately need. As she moves to leave, she hesitates at the curtains, glancing back at you. “For what it’s worth, Y/N…I think you’re handling this a lot better than you think you are.”

You don’t respond, just nod in acknowledgment, and she disappears back into the front of the café. Alone in the small back room, you lean against the wall, closing your eyes for a moment to gather your thoughts.

Better than I think, huh? You shake your head, rubbing at your temples. It doesn’t feel that way. 

You’d be lying to yourself if you said this probably won’t be that bad; not a big deal. But hell, it was huge. You hate unnecessary attention, especially attention from hundreds, if not thousands of random strangers. You’re recalling the incident from earlier when you dropped Koji off at school. Mr. Ito stopping you once more and confessing his surprise to you. In his words, “I didn’t know Koji had such an…esteemed father.”

You held back a slew of insults, keeping it classy, as always. But as the days go on and the more shit that seems to be happening to you, you’re getting this close to breaking that. It’s the way he, everyone else, and even Hana seems so…shocked. The lingering glances from other parents at drop-off, the whispers in the hallways. It’s the way their surprise feels so…palpable. You get it, in a way. Satoru Gojo is larger than life—powerful, wealthy, and untouchable in a way most people only dream of. But still, the shock in their eyes stings more than it should. Did they think you weren’t of caliber to bag a man like Satoru? Did they think a man like that wouldn’t even dream of having a child with a woman like you? It feels a tad bit insulting. Actually, scratch that—it feels like a slap in the face.

The implications gnaw at you, poking at insecurities you’d rather not acknowledge. This is exactly why you hate social media. You’re already growing too conscious of the comments people are making—caring too much and it was just revealed. And the worst part? You can’t even fully blame them. Satoru’s world is one you’ve never truly belonged to. You’re not the glossy, magazine-cover type, and you don’t have the pedigree or connections his circle would expect. But that doesn’t mean you’re less than, and it sure as hell doesn’t mean Koji is any less precious because of it.

 You sigh, rubbing at your temples. If only these people could see you for who you truly are—if they could see the strength it takes to raise a child on your own, to hold your head high even when the world tries to tear you down. But no, all they see is the scandal and the drama, their curiosity morphing into judgment. Sure, you made mistakes—big and bad ones. But you’re doing all this in order to make up for those mistakes. And sure, Satoru doesn’t 100% forgive you—you’re not sure he ever will—but you don’t think he would agree with these kinds of comments being made. Right? 

You huff. Let them talk, you think bitterly, though the tightness in your chest betrays the confidence you’re trying to muster. Let them all talk, they know nothing. 

The minutes feel like hours. Unsure of how long you’ve exactly been here. Equally nervous about looking at your phone to check.

“Oh my god, look. It’s her.”

“Shhh! She’ll hear you.”

“I wonder if she’ll give us pointers.”

“You’re insane.”

The conversation doesn’t fly over your head. t’s like they want you to hear, voices loud enough to penetrate the usual clatter of the café. You swear, they’re practically aiming their words right at you. Your grip tightens around the rag in your hand, knuckles going white as you scrub the already spotless table. The motion is a little too aggressive, the poor table bearing the brunt of your simmering frustration. Your jaw clenches, brows knitting together as you try—desperately—to keep your temper in check. Jaw clenching and brows knitting together, you’re counting down to ten and back.

One…two…three… you recite in your head, attempting to steady your breath. It’s an old habit—one you learned a while back from you’re therapist, one you’ve relied on in situations like this, but today it feels like it’s barely working. Four…five…six.

You glance up, just for a second, and immediately regret it. The group of girls sits near the window, leaning into each other as they giggle, their eyes darting your way. They’re not even trying to hide it anymore. One of them, a blonde with an annoyingly perfect smile, nudges her friend and whispers something, sending the others into another fit of laughter. Your fingers flex around the rag, itching to throw it across the room. Breathe, you remind yourself. Just breathe. They’re not worth it. But it’s hard to ignore the knot tightening in your chest, the sting of humiliation creeping in despite your best efforts. Because you know exactly what they’re laughing about, what they’re whispering about. It’s not just idle curiosity—it’s judgment, plain and simple. And maybe, just maybe, if this were any other day, you’d let it roll off your back. But today? After everything that’s happened? After seeing your son’s face plastered on screens and hearing people dissect your life like it’s a soap opera? You toss the rag onto the table, standing up straighter as you look their way. They immediately quiet down, eyes widening like they’ve been caught red-handed.

“Can I help you?” you ask, voice calm but carrying just enough edge to make them squirm.

The blonde fidgets, her confidence faltering under your gaze. “Oh, um, no, we were just…”

“Enjoying your coffee?” you finish for her, forcing a tight smile. “Good. Let me know if you need anything else.” Without waiting for a response, you turn on your heel and walk behind the counter, the satisfaction of their stunned silence doing little to ease the weight in your chest. Nine…ten… You exhale slowly, trying to let it go, but the anger simmers just beneath the surface.

It’s going to be a long day.

—-

The walk back home with Koji feels like you never want to use your senses again. It feels like a marathon you never signed up for, every step heavier than the last. The pounding in your head has escalated into a full-blown migraine, the sharp pain clawing at the edges of your skull. You clench your teeth, trying to hold it together, willing the tears pricking at your eyes to stay put. Koji chatters beside you, his small hand in yours, his voice a muffled hum against the overwhelming throb in your head.

 So much has changed within just the span of a week and none of it feels good. You like change, but not like this. Not the kind of change that’s so spontaneous and out of nowhere that it makes you dread the littlest things. The kind of change where you feel like every way you turn, it’s a dead end. Every thought spiraling into another reminder of how much you’ve lost control, or of how much you never had it to begin with. The kind of change that you never fucking asked for in the first place. The kind of change where you feel like a ticking timebomb. A simple walk home feels like an obstacle course. The sound of Koji’s innocent laughter, once a balm to your soul, now feels like a weight pressing down on you, a reminder of how fragile your balance is.

This change doesn’t come with warnings or instructions. It doesn’t let you adjust, and doesn’t give you the chance to prepare. It just dumps its baggage on your doorstep and forces you to deal with it, whether you’re ready or not. And right now, you’re not.

The last thing you want to do is blow up on someone who doesn’t deserve it, especially your son. You glance down at him, his bright eyes scanning the world around him with that endless curiosity only a child can have. His tiny fingers grip yours with a trust that makes your chest ache. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand the storm brewing inside you. And he shouldn’t have to.

“Mommy, are you okay?” Koji’s voice is soft, his head tilted as he looks up at you with concern.

You force a smile, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’m fine, sweetheart,” you manage, squeezing his hand gently. “Just tired.” He nods, seemingly satisfied with your answer, and resumes his animated recount of the day’s events. You let him talk, his voice a small distraction from the noise in your head. One step at a time, you tell yourself. One breath at a time. For him, if not for yourself.

You wonder to yourself how many more times you can continue repeating that phrase to yourself, like a broken record spinning endlessly in your mind. Shouldn’t you be allowed to do some things on your own? Something that isn’t tied to the constant grind of making sure Koji has everything he needs, of shielding him from a world that feels more hostile every day? Everything you do is for him—every decision, every sacrifice, every moment of biting your tongue when you want to scream. It’s all for him. 

But what about you?

The thought is bitter, curling in your chest like smoke. It feels selfish even to entertain it, but the exhaustion is suffocating. How long has it been since you’ve done something just because you wanted to? Since you’ve allowed yourself the luxury of thinking about what you need, instead of what everyone else expects of you? Is it selfish? Is this not how a good mother thinks?

The doubt gnaws at you, persistent and sharp. 

Not like you’d know the answer to that question. Your mother—a woman you rarely ever want to think about—never gave you the guidance for situations like this. You have no inspiration, nothing. You’re doing everything free-handed. She didn’t leave you with blueprints for moments like these, no voice in your head to tell you what’s right, what’s wrong, or even what’s okay. She was a void, an absence, and that absence shaped you more than you’d like to admit.

And now here you are, trying to be everything for your son that she wasn’t for you. But it feels like you’re fumbling in the dark, building something fragile with trembling hands. There’s no instruction manual for this, no map to follow. You’re doing everything on the first try, improvising as you go. Every decision feels like a gamble. Did you do enough today? Did you do too much? Did you make the right call, or are you setting him up for something you can’t even see coming? The uncertainty is exhausting.

You glance at Koji, his small hand still tucked safely in yours, his voice cutting through the haze of your thoughts. He’s so blissfully unaware of the turmoil raging inside you, and that’s how it should be. He deserves that innocence, that security. But the weight of always being the strong one, the reliable one, is starting to crush you. How much longer can I keep this up? The question whispers in your mind, and you hate it. You hate that you’re even asking it, hate that it makes you feel weak. But the truth is, you’re tired.

And you don’t know how much longer you can keep pretending that you’re not.

You focus on Koji again, his small frame silhouetted against the afternoon light of the day. He trusts you implicitly, and looks at you like you’re the answer to everything. And the weight of that trust makes you want to cry and scream in equal measure. How can I possibly live up to that?

They never said motherhood was easy. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. Maybe this is what being a mother really is—second-guessing everything, carrying the weight of your own past, and still showing up every day, trying your best. 

You don’t know if that’s enough. But it’s all you have.

It seems like you’re in for a surprise every second of the day.

Satoru, much to your own dismay and confusion, is perched against your apartment door; waiting for you again. Like a magnet, Koji runs into his lower half, hugging his father with all the strength his five-year-old body will allow. 

“Hey, little man. I’m happy to see you.” Satoru smiles wholeheartedly, patting Koji’s back with gentle ease.

“Hi, Papa! I missed you.” His voice is muffled by Satoru’s clothing.

The older man laughs, relishing in the moment for another second, before opening his light azures. His eyes look like they’re darting all around you, as if making sure you’re okay. Standing up, he shuffles his hands in his pockets.

“What are you doing here? You didn’t tell me you were coming,” you mutter, walking up closer. Arms crossing. 

He nods. “I know, I–I should’ve told you. But this was urgent and I knew you were busy at work.”

A hum is all you offer, unlocking your apartment door and stepping in. The semi-warmth envelops you like a worn blanket. Finally, in the comfort of my own home. Even if it is just for a little bit before you’re off again. 

“Call off his babysitter.”

You look back, watching him close your door and lock it. “What? Why?”

“Because I’m here.”

Koji runs off to his room, presumably to play with his toy collection. Leaving the two adults alone. Biting your lip, attempting to come up with something to say—or what to say first. Luckily, he beats you to it. “I want you two to spend the night at mine, don’t go to work. I’ll pay you whatever you miss out on. I know you saw the leak and I’m working on figuring out who the hell did it. But until then, I’m a little concerned for your guys’ safety, so stay at mine until we figure things out long-term.”

You stare at him, caught off guard by the resolute earnestness in his voice. The Satoru you know isn’t usually this serious, this concerned. It’s disarming—attractive, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. “This is my home, Satoru,” you finally say, your voice quiet but firm. “I can’t just up and leave because of a leak. And I can’t run every time something like this happens. That’s not a long-term solution either.”

“I get that,” he says, stepping closer. “But this isn’t just about you. It’s about Koji. Someone took that photo, and I don’t know who, or how, or what their intentions are. Until I do, I can’t take chances.”

“And I get that, but I can’t just—sleep at your place.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s just…weird.”

“Fuck, Y/N,” he exhales out. “You think something’ll happen? It won’t. I'm doing this for Koji and you because I care. Not because reviving something that’s long-ended is my priority.” 

“It’s not about that,” you snap, your voice rising before you catch yourself. You close your eyes for a second, exhaling sharply, trying to rein in your frustration. “It’s just... complicated, Satoru. You showing up like this, offering to fix things with money, with solutions I didn’t ask for, for problems I never wanted—it’s overwhelming.”

He takes another step closer, his presence filling the small entryway. “You think I don’t understand that?” His voice softens but carries an edge of urgency. “Y/N, I’m not trying to make this harder for you. I know this is all... messy. But I can’t sit around and pretend I’m okay with you and Koji being here while someone out there is bold enough to invade your privacy like that. I’m trying to protect you. You can’t keep pushing me away like this, you said you wanted to make things better.”

“I know, but—”

“Then stop it. Stop arguing, complaining, whatever. You’re not going to keep me out of Koji’s life any longer, or yours. They already posted another damn picture of you today at work.”

What? You blink your eyes, widening them. You don’t even want to see the photo evidence, gulping down the weird lump that forms in your throat. What the fuck is going on with my life right now? You hesitate, biting your lip. His words chip away at your defenses, but the walls you’ve built don’t crumble that easily. “And what happens if we go to your place? What’s next? You swoop in, play hero, and then leave us when this blows over?”

His jaw tightens, the faint hurt flashing in his eyes almost imperceptible. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“Isn’t it?” you counter, arms crossing tightly over your chest, a weak attempt to shield yourself from the weight of the conversation. “That’s what you always do, Satoru. You show up when it’s convenient for you, and when it’s not, you disappear.”

The words hang heavy in the air, stinging both of you. For a moment, he doesn’t respond, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I’m not leaving you this time,” he says quietly, lifting his eyes back to yours. “Not until I know you two are safe. I’m not running, Y/N. Not from this. But you have to stop trying to keep me at arm's length, I’m trying my best to help.” His eyes lock onto yours, pleading yet determined. You hate how convincing he can be when he’s like this. How he makes you question your own resolve. “Please,” he adds, his voice dropping. “Just for a little while.”

The conviction in his voice is startling, and it makes something inside you waver. You’re tired, too tired to keep arguing, too tired to keep carrying everything on your shoulders. It’s true, you’re feeling yourself pushback on him. He deserves this—time with Koji, protecting him, and more. It’s just so hard breaking from the fragile bubble you built for your son and you. Satoru’s presence is like a sharp knife, waiting to just poke through it with ease, to get to his family.“Fine,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “But just for tonight. Koji and I will come to your place for tonight.”

Relief washes over his features, but he doesn’t smile. He nods, stepping back to give you space. “That’s all I’m asking.”

As you turn away to gather what you need for the night, you catch a glimpse of Koji peeking out from his room, his eyes wide with curiosity. You put on a smile for his sake, but deep down, you can’t shake the unease settling in your chest. This isn’t just about staying at Satoru’s place. It’s about what this means—what it could mean—and the part of you that still isn’t sure you’re ready to face it.

The inside of Satoru’s Mercedes is spacious, but asphyxiating. Koji in his car seat in the back, watching something on his tablet. This is the first time you’ve been in the car with Satoru since way long ago. It’s nostalgia, but sickening at the same time. You remember how he would place his hand on your thigh, squeezing it lightly. Or how he likes to rest his hand on the gearstick, or his elbow on the middle console. 

Your skin prickles with goosebumps when he brushes against your arm as he reaches for the temperature controls, adjusting the heat. It’s a small, thoughtless gesture, but it sends an involuntary jolt through you. You glance out the window, pretending to admire the blurred city lights instead of acknowledging the memories flooding back. The hum of the car engine fills the silence, an uncomfortable contrast to the weight of everything left unsaid. Koji giggles at something on his tablet in the backseat, his innocence a stark reminder of why you’re here and why you can’t let your emotions take over.

“You okay?” Satoru’s voice breaks the quiet, calm yet cautious.

“Fine,” you reply quickly, too quickly. You keep your eyes glued to the window, your arms crossed as if to shield yourself from the proximity.

He stops at a red light, leaning back in his sight. He’s a pro at side-eyeing you as you’re faced away. Seeing the way your hands ball into small fists. Nervous. Your foot is tapping on the floor. Thinking. And if he looks closer at your chest, he’ll notice how it’s rising up and down a little more quickly than normal. 

Oh. 

He clears his throat, looking forward as the light turns green. Focus on driving, focus on driving. He doesn’t push, but you can feel his gaze flickering toward you now and then, like he’s reading every shift in your posture, every flicker of hesitation. It’s infuriating how well he knows you, even now. You glance at Koji briefly before turning your gaze back to the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks as the car moves. The nostalgia you felt earlier morphs into a bitter taste in your mouth. You hate how easily Satoru slips into the role of a doting father, as if the years of his absence never happened.

You need to get a better hold of your jealousy. 

“You’re quiet,” Satoru says, breaking the silence.

“Just tired,” you reply curtly, not bothering to look at him.

He hums, his fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel. “Long day, huh?”

You roll your eyes. “You could say that.”

His gaze flicks to you briefly before returning to the road. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal. But I’m glad you’re coming with me. It’s the right thing to do.”

You let out a dry laugh, finally turning to face him. “The right thing to do? Since when have you ever cared about the right thing, Satoru?”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. Then he exhales deeply, gripping the wheel a little tighter. “I care now. Now that you’ve granted me that option,” he says quietly.

You want to scoff, to throw his words back at him, but there’s something in his tone that makes you pause. Something raw, unguarded. The way he gets out those snark remarks angers you, but only further solidifies the weight of your actions, and the fact that things will never be the same. 

The rest of the drive is spent in silence, both of you lost in your own thoughts. When the car finally pulls into the underground garage of his penthouse building, Koji’s excitement is palpable.

“Wow! This place is huge!” Koji exclaims, his eyes wide as he looks around.

Satoru chuckles, stepping out of the car and opening the back door to unbuckle Koji. “Wait till you see the view, buddy.”

You follow them, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. As you step into the elevator, you can’t help but feel like you’re being pulled back into a world you thought you’d left behind—one of complications and heartbreak. Satoru presses the button for his floor, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Relax, Y/N. It’s just for one night.”

You don’t respond, staring straight ahead as the elevator begins its ascent. But deep down, you know it’s never just one night with Satoru. 

“No running.”

“Sorry, Mama.”

You place Koji and your bags on one of the chairs in the kitchen, watching your son rush to his father’s living room. Satoru follows him, hands on his hips. “Hey buddy, bought some toys for you. Do you want to play with them? You like Spiderman, right?”

If possible, Koji’s eyes light up even more with excitement. Gasping and squealing, nodding his head furiously. “I love Spiderman! Mama threw me a Spiderman birthday last time.”

Satoru hums. “Wish I coulda seen that.”

You freeze at Satoru's words, your hand halfway to unpacking one of Koji’s bags. His tone is light, almost wistful, but it feels like a loaded statement—one that stings more than you’d like to admit. You glance over at him and Koji, your son practically bouncing on his toes as Satoru kneels to pull out a neatly wrapped box from a hidden cabinet. “Here you go,” Satoru says, handing it to Koji. “I think you’ll like what’s inside.”

Koji tears into the wrapping with glee, revealing a Spiderman action figure set. He gasps, clutching the box to his chest like it’s the most precious thing in the world. “Thank you, Papa! This is so cool!”

Your heart twists at how easily Koji has taken to calling him that. It’s like Satoru’s sudden presence is a gift he didn’t realize he’d been missing. And yet, for you, it’s a reminder of the years of absence—of the birthdays and milestones Satoru missed. “Please, don’t spoil him too much,” you mutter, finally unpacking Koji’s things and setting them on the counter.

Satoru looks over his shoulder, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “What’s wrong with a little spoiling? He deserves it.”

You exhale sharply, not bothering to mask your irritation. “What he deserves is consistency.”

His smirk falters, standing back up to his full height and coming over to you. Keeping his voice level calm, in case Koji decides to listen in. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head. 

Satoru narrows his eyes slightly, his expression unreadable as he watches you busy yourself with Koji’s things. “Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

You let out a humorless laugh, refusing to meet his gaze. “It’s exactly what it sounds like. Don’t read into it.”

His lips press into a thin line, but he doesn’t push further—not yet. Instead, he leans against the counter, folding his arms as he observes you. “Y/N, you can’t be the angry one in this situation. I thought you understood that.”

“I’m not angry.”

“Then what are you?”

“I’m just—” you let out a big breath, looking up at him once more. “I’m tired. Forgive me if I’m not overly happy right now.

Satoru’s gaze softens, his posture relaxing slightly, though the tension in the room lingers like a heavy fog. “I’m not trying to add onto that, I’m just trying to be here for my son.”

I know that. I don’t know why I’m snapping. All you can offer is a nod, reaching into your bag, and grabbing a change of clothes. “I…I’m gonna go shower, watch him please.”

Satoru nods, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before shifting to the living room where Koji is engrossed in his toys. “Of course. Take your time.”

You offer a small, tight-lipped smile before retreating down the hall, clutching the clothes in your hands like a lifeline. Once you’re inside the bathroom, the door clicks shut behind you, and the weight of everything crashes down. Leaning against the counter, you grip the edge tightly, your knuckles turning white as you take slow, measured breaths. The mirror reflects a version of yourself you hardly recognize—tired, frazzled, and barely holding it together. The faint hum of Koji’s laughter echoes down the hall, grounding you for a moment. At least he’s happy. That’s what matters.

The shower is a welcome escape. The hot water cascades over your skin, washing away the grime of the day and the lingering tension from your conversation with Satoru. You let your head fall forward, droplets sliding down your face, mingling with the tears you didn’t realize had started to fall. You didn’t mean to snap at him. He’s trying, you know that. But the past doesn’t let go so easily, and the overwhelming mix of emotions—anger, fear, hope—leaves you feeling unsteady. And you feel angry at yourself for letting your emotions slip through, getting the best of you. You’re surprised Satoru hasn’t been more outwardly rude to you, short, or even snappy. It seems like he’s taking this all better than you are, and once again, that bitter jealousy of yours is shining through. How he can just handle things so smoothly—at least that’s what it seems like. But he’s used to all this: the spotlight, public eye, attention. You just wish things could’ve been handled…differently. 

Everything feels like a domino effect, starting all with that dreaded day at the grocery store. How so much has changed. 

 By the time you step out, you feel a fraction lighter, though the knot in your chest remains. You towel off, change into your clean clothes, and take a moment to steel yourself before heading back into the fray.

When you return to the living room, you find Satoru sitting cross-legged on the floor with Koji, holding up a miniature Spiderman figure. Koji is giggling, animatedly explaining an intricate story about how Spiderman saves the day. Satoru glances up as you walk in, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Hey. We’re just working on a top-secret mission over here. No big deal.”

Koji looks up too, beaming. “Mama! Papa’s playing Spiderman with me! He’s really good at the voices.”

You can’t help the small smile that forms, even as your heart aches a little at the sight. “Sounds like you two are having fun.”

Satoru nods, his expression soft. “We’re a good team.”

You stand there for a moment, watching them, the weight of everything pressing down on your shoulders once more. Maybe this is what Koji needs. Maybe this is what you need. But trusting him again…that’s the hardest part.

That night, eating dinner at Satoru’s long dining table, the same one where you faced his parents, it all feels strange, to say the least. The clinking of cutlery against porcelain plates echoes faintly in the vast dining room, filling the silence between the three of you. Koji hums to himself as he picks at his plate, occasionally glancing at his father to tell him some small details about his day or ask about the toys he’d gotten earlier. Satoru engages him with ease, his tone light and playful, but you can see the flickers of something deeper behind his smiles—guilt, maybe, or a desperate need to make up for lost time.

And then there’s you, sitting stiffly at the other end of the table, your appetite wavering as your mind keeps drifting back to the last time you sat here. That memory is sharp and vivid, like an old wound that hasn’t quite healed.

But Koji’s laughter brings you back down to Earth. Looking up from your plate of food to the sight before you. Father and son, son and father, family. They look so alike, you don’t think you can ever get over the blatant resemblance. Satoru’s genes are just very strong. You wish Koji could’ve inherited a few more things from you. You place a hand on your lower stomach, as if a physical touch will make the strange abundance of butterflies flying around in there to go away. 

It’s strange, this setup. Domestic in a way you never thought you’d experience with him again. But it’s also…nice. 

It feels whole, like this is how things should be. Would’ve been had you not held your tongue for so long. And you’re starting to think to yourself how much you like this sight. How it’s making you feel at home.

But this isn’t your home. However, you think you can pretend for just one night. 

“You’re not eating much,” Satoru says, pulling you out of your thoughts. His voice is casual, but there’s an undertone of concern.

Your eyes widen at him, realizing you’ve been caught staring and quickly looking back down. “I’m fine,” you say, forcing a small smile. “Just sleepy, I guess.”

“I bet,” he says, and while his tone is conversational, his gaze lingers on you, searching for something beneath your calm facade.

“Yeah,” you reply shortly, stabbing at a piece of vegetable on your plate. You don’t want to talk about your day or your worries or the mounting anxiety sitting heavy in your chest. Not here, not now.

Koji interrupts before Satoru can press further, his voice bright and full of excitement. “Papa, can we watch a movie after dinner? Mama too!”

Satoru grins, lightly pinching his cheekbone. “Of course, buddy. What movie are we watching?”

Koji claps his hands together, listing off a couple of titles before settling on one of his favorites. You manage another smile, this one a little more genuine, as you watch the way Satoru effortlessly makes Koji light up. For a moment, the tension eases, and you let yourself focus on Koji’s joy. Maybe this is enough for now. Maybe that’s all you need to get through the evening.

But as you glance at Satoru across the table, his eyes catching yours for a brief second, you’re reminded of how fragile this truce feels. Of how much history lies between you, threatening to resurface at any moment.

Koji picks Spiderman, of course. You’ve watched this movie at least a hundred times now, maybe more. You can practically recite the lines perfectly. The movie plays on, the familiar dialogue flowing like background noise to your swirling thoughts. You’ve seen this scene so many times—the hero’s triumphant swing through the city, the bad guy’s dramatic monologue, the moments of comic relief Koji always laughs at—but tonight, it feels different. There’s an added layer of tension sitting heavy between you and Satoru.

The living room feels unusually cozy, the dimmed lighting casting a warm glow over the space. Koji wiggles in his spot, clutching a Spiderman plush as he stares at the screen with unblinking eyes, thoroughly engrossed. You, on the other hand, are trying not to let your exhaustion bubble over. Koji sits between you two, Satoru’s arm over his little shoulders. Satoru’s arm rests casually behind Koji, but every so often, as he adjusts his position, his fingers graze your shoulder—a light, fleeting touch that feels far too deliberate to be accidental. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, but he seems entirely focused on the movie, his face relaxed, a small smirk tugging at his lips during one of Koji’s excited reactions. So, you ignore it. But you do shift slightly, creating just enough distance to break the contact. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

Koji laughs out loud at a particularly funny scene, leaning against Satoru’s side. “That’s so cool, Papa! I wanna do that someday!”

Satoru chuckles, ruffling Koji’s hair. “Maybe we’ll get you a Spiderman costume, and you can be the hero of the city.”

Koji beams at him, his excitement is contagious. For a brief moment, you allow yourself to appreciate this dynamic, the way Satoru fits so naturally into Koji’s world. You hate to admit it, but this is what Koji’s been missing—what you’ve been missing, too, in some small, buried way. Satoru’s hand once again brushes your shoulder during his next adjustment, that buried part of you is quickly overshadowed by the reminder of why this dynamic fell apart in the first place.

Luckily, Koji is already showered and dressed for bed in his matching red set. So as the movie progresses, nearing its end, so does his sleepiness. You along with him. Koji’s head begins to droop as the credits start to roll, his little body leaning further into Satoru’s side. His eyelids flutter with each blink, his earlier excitement now replaced by the slow pull of sleep. Satoru’s about to make a remark, before looking over at you and seeing your body slumped over on the other side. 

The scene feels peaceful in a way he hadn’t anticipated—a rare moment of quiet amidst the chaos that’s been your guys’ lives lately. Koji’s soft breathing grows steadier, his small body completely leaning into Satoru’s side now, one hand clutching his Spiderman plush while the other hangs limply at his side. Satoru glances down at his son with a faint smile, brushing Koji’s hair out of his face with a tenderness that makes his chest ache. He looks over to you next, ready your head resting on your hand. Your expression is soft, lips parted slightly as you drift into the kind of sleep that only exhaustion can bring. Satoru looks at the clock; 9:00pm.

For a moment, he just watches you both. Koji, who looks so much like him it’s almost uncanny, and you, the woman who’s somehow always managed to throw him off balance without even trying. He sighs softly, shaking his head at the scene before him. For a split second, he feels a shadow—a ghost from the past appears beside Koji. A baby girl who would’ve been seven by now.The baby girl who never got the chance to grow up. In that fleeting, haunting moment, he imagines her sitting there too, nestled beside her brother, giggling at Spiderman’s antics. He can imagine her features. She would’ve looked so much like you, it’s painful.

His chest tightens, and he has to look away, focusing on a random corner of the room as he fights to steady his breathing. It’s not fair—to her, to Koji, or to you. And yet, here he is, caught in the what-ifs and the might-have-beens, unable to let go of a past that feels like it happened both a lifetime ago and just yesterday. The glimpse is gone as soon as it comes, to which he’s thankful for because he is not crying right now. With a small grunt, he stands up and carefully moves Koji into his arms. Adjusting the boy and making sure he’s not waking up, he walks him over to the spare bedroom.

Satoru moves quietly, his footsteps soft against the floor as he cradles Koji in his arms. The boy’s head rests comfortably on his shoulder, his small body relaxed and completely unaware of the careful handling. The weight of his son in his arms, the warmth of Koji’s tiny form, is a stark reminder of everything he’s been missing. He pushes the door to the spare bedroom open gently, trying not to disturb the silence of the house. The moonlight filters through the curtains, casting a calm glow across the room. Satoru places Koji carefully on the bed, tucking him in with the same gentle movements he’s always used. He watches for a moment as the boy shifts slightly, a soft sigh escaping his lips before settling back into a peaceful sleep.

For a second, Satoru just stands there, hands lingering at Koji’s side as if unsure of when to leave. It’s as if the past week—no, the past years—are catching up to him in this very moment. He never thought he'd be here, standing in a room like this, watching his son sleep under a roof that used to feel so distant. His chest tightens, but he refuses to let himself feel the weight of it. Not yet. Not with Koji so close. With one last look, he slowly pulls away, stepping back into the hallway and quietly closing the door behind him. The house feels colder as he moves through it, but this time, it’s not because of the empty spaces or the lingering tension. It’s because, for the first time in years, he’s truly trying to figure out where he fits in all of this.

And it’s a lot harder than he ever expected.

He walks back to the living room, your body now completely lying on your side. His lips purse as he stands before you, unsure if he should wake you or move you himself. Would that be okay? Is he crossing some boundary of yours if he touches you fully and intentionally?

Satoru stands there for a moment, studying you as you sleep. The soft rise and fall of your chest, the way your body curls slightly into the pillow, creates a sense of peace in the room, but also a sense of tension in him. The pull to reach out, to make sure you’re comfortable, is strong. But he hesitates, his mind racing with thoughts about boundaries, and the last thing he wants is to make you uncomfortable, especially when everything already feels so fragile between the two of you. He watches for a few more seconds, the quiet of the room making everything feel so... still. He doesn’t know how he got here, standing in the middle of the room, feeling so torn. Part of him wants to just go ahead and make sure you’re properly tucked in, like he did with Koji. But that other part of him continues to wonderf if that’s overstepping, if his presence, even now, feels intrusive. Satoru exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. Finally, he decides to attempt to recreate his actions for Koji; it’s the least he can do.

He bends his knees slightly, hands reaching out. But just as his fingertips graze your bare arms, you’re jolting up and awake. Head swiveling around, eyes barely open and bleary. “What’s happening? Where’s Koji?”

Satoru freezes, his fingers hovering in the air as your voice cuts through the stillness. His eyes flick to you, wide and disoriented from the abruptness of your awakening. "Y/N?" He murmurs, his voice low and hesitant, almost as if he's unsure whether you’re fully awake. "Koji’s in the other room, he’s asleep."

You sit up, rubbing your eyes, still trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. Your thoughts are jumbled, disoriented from the deep slumber you’d just woken from. “I— I didn’t hear him... when did he go to bed?”

Satoru, still crouched by your bedside, lets out a soft sigh, his expression softening. "I put him down a few minutes ago. He was out before the movie ended." He pauses for a second, watching you carefully, his hand still lingering awkwardly in the air as if unsure whether to touch you or not. "You were really tired, so I thought I'd handle it."

You blink, the fog in your mind barely beginning to clear. Slowly, you nod, still trying to process everything in the haze of your exhaustion. “Thank you.” The words come out quieter than you expect, but there’s something in your voice that surprises both of you.

Satoru’s gaze lingers for a moment, a mix of concern and relief flashing in his eyes. He stands up, backing away from the bed slowly. “I didn’t want to wake you,” he says softly, hands running through his hair as he takes a step toward the door. “But you should go to bed. You can sleep with Koji or um—in my bed if you want.”

You stare at his figure, the weight of the situation still pressing down on you. There’s so much 

happening, so much you didn’t expect, and yet… for some reason, having him here, like this, almost feels normal. You rub your temples, trying to stave off the headache forming. 

“I’ll sleep out here, of course,” he quickly adds on, realizing the small, but accidental hinting.

You raise an eyebrow at his quick backpedaling, a small, almost reluctant smile tugging at the corner of your lips. It's been a long time since you shared any sort of space with him—especially under these circumstances. But the way he’s stumbling over his words, trying so hard to make things comfortable, it makes you wonder if maybe he’s not as composed as he likes to act. “Thanks,” you murmur, rubbing your temples again. The migraine's intensity is growing, and it's all you can do to keep your emotions in check. You hadn’t expected this—any of it. Satoru’s presence here, offering you comfort in his own odd way, only complicates everything more. You never asked for this kind of help, but you can't deny the relief it brings. “I’ll sleep with Koji.”

Satoru’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer, his expression softening as if he’s weighing his words carefully, trying not to overstep. He knows you’re not the type to ask for help. Hell, you hardly ever accept it when it’s offered. But tonight is different. Tonight is full of a thousand unspoken things. The lingering tension, the awkwardness of it all, and the confusing emotions between you two. It’s all too much, too quickly, and yet you feel the pull of something familiar—a bond you haven’t felt in years. “You sure?” he asks, his voice low. Almost like he’s waiting for you to give him some kind of permission or reassurance, something that lets him know you’re okay. His presence, his concern for Koji, it’s all so overwhelming in its own way.

You hesitate, swallowing the lump in your throat, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens just having him this close, even if it is just in the same house. “I’ll be fine,” you say, your voice a little softer than you intended. The last thing you want to do is drag him back into your life fully. But he’s already here, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you're too tired to argue. "You don’t have to stay out here." The words hang in the air for a beat.

You take this moment to rise from the couch, wiping your eyes once more. “Where is he?”

“Spare room,” he points.

You nod, more to yourself than to him, and retreat to the spare room. The migraine pounds in the background of your mind. Mind still riddled with sleep, you accidentally bump your shoulder into the wall, footsteps faltering. He moves faster than you anticipated—expected, his hands finally making contact with your upper arms; stablizing you. His touch itself feels reminiscent.

His grip on your arms is steady, firm—just like it used to be. You catch your breath for a moment, not expecting the familiarity of his touch to feel so grounding. For a split second, you’re taken back to moments from the past, the memories of simpler days when his touch brought comfort instead of tension. You want to pull away, to remind yourself that things aren’t the same anymore. But you’re too tired, too worn out, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into the stability he’s offering without question.

"Careful," Satoru’s voice is quiet, but there's a soft edge to it, like he’s genuinely concerned. His hands stay on your arms, not pulling away immediately, as if waiting for you to give him a signal that you’re okay.

You blink, the haze of sleep making everything feel just a little more surreal. "I’m fine," you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper, but it lacks conviction. Your body feels heavier than it should, and your mind seems to be swimming in fog.

He doesn’t let go right away. Instead, his fingers give a slight squeeze, a small, unspoken reassurance. "You sure? You look like you’re about to fall over."

"I’m just... tired," you say, the words slipping from your lips before you even realize. You wince internally, but it’s too late to take them back now. There’s no point.

Satoru nods, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the hallway, but the way his eyes linger on you makes something in your chest tighten. It’s like he’s still trying to figure you out, still trying to read you after all these years. He always was good at that. Without saying much more, he gently guides you to the door of the spare room, a hand hovering above the small of your back; his touch still light but firm. He’s not pushing you, just there, a quiet presence in the storm. "Get some rest. I’ll be nearby, just in case."

You nod, feeling a strange mixture of gratitude and frustration well up inside you. "Thanks," you murmur, finally able to pull away from his grip and step into the room.

Before you close the door, you glance over at him, standing there in the hallway, his figure outlined by the soft glow from the living room. "Good night," you add, your voice a little softer than you meant it to be.

He doesn’t respond immediately, but there’s a flicker in his eyes that you can’t quite place. After a beat, he says quietly, "Good night, Y/N."

And then, with one last look, he walks away, leaving you alone in the quiet darkness of the room. The door clicks softly behind you, and for the first time in days, you feel a small sense of peace—fragile, uncertain, but there all the same.

Satoru has taken the liberty of getting Koji dressed and ready for school. Shushing his son with quiet murmurs so you won’t wake up. He’s a little surprised, but you must be that tired. Satoru usually wakes up earlier than most, having went to go check on you two, but getting shocked to see his son using the bathroom instead and saying something about how “Mama’s still sleeping, I have school.”

He’s a smart kid—a very smart kid. He guided Satoru the entire ride, remembering the name of his school and which streets to use. You raised him well. He parks his car in the lot, it stands out like a sore thumb among the civics, corollas, and trucks.

Carrying Koji in his arms towards the boys classroom. “Excited, buddy?”

“Mhm!” 

Satoru smiles and kisses his cheek. “I’ll pick you up, okay?”

“Okay, Papa. Thank you.” Koji gratefully responds.

“No need to thank me, Koji. It’s my job.”

Satoru can feel the lingering stares and hushed whispers as he walks down the hallway to his son’s class. Ignoring it like a pro and focusing on one thing and one thing only. As they approach his room, Mr. Ito is standing outside like usual. As soon as the man sees the two, his eyes visibly widen before playing it off with a cough of his throat. “Good morning, Koji. Gojo.”

Satoru remembers the guy as the one from the cafe. That one. He nods in understanding, setting Koji down and crouching with him. “Have a fun day, I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Papa.” Koji kisses his cheek and rushes inside happily. 

 "Morning," Satoru replies coolly, standing tall as he watches Koji run off to join his classmates. "I trust Koji’s been good?"

"Of course, of course," Mr. Ito replies quickly, his smile tight, the words coming out a little too fast. "He’s been a delight to have here. Very bright."

Satoru nods, but his eyes never leave Mr. Ito’s. "Glad to hear it."

There’s an awkward silence that stretches between them, but Satoru isn’t in the mood for small talk. He could read the teacher’s discomfort, and he’s not about to play into it. After all, it’s not like they’re friends, or even acquaintances. Mr. Ito shifts on his feet, and Satoru can tell he’s trying to think of something to say, something that will smooth over whatever awkwardness hangs in the air. “So, where’s Ms. Y/N today?”

Satoru’s brows tick, arms crossing. “At home.”

Mr. Ito nods, clearly trying to gauge whether there’s more to the story, but Satoru doesn’t give him any openings. He’s not in the mood to entertain questions about you, not now, not here, especially not from someone like him. "Ah, I see," Mr. Ito mumbles, his voice trailing off as he shuffles his feet again. "I just thought... well, with everything that’s been going on, I expected to see her here, too."

Satoru’s eyes narrow, though his expression remains calm, just a hint of warning in his tone. "She’s handling things on her own. We’re both doing fine. You don’t need to worry about it. You have a class full of children to teach."

The other man hides his displeasure behind a stiff nod. “Right, right. Just wondering, that’s all.”

“Don’t have to, she already has a man for that.”

Satoru wonders why he’s being do damn weird right now. Possesive almost. You two aren’t together, but the way this guy is asking about you, it’s slightly setting him off. Who does he think he is worrying about you?

Mr. Ito falters, his smile fading as Satoru’s words hang heavy in the air. "Right, of course," he mumbles, clearly taken aback. He shifts on his feet, his eyes darting to the ground before locking back onto Satoru. "Just asking, I mean… it's just a lot going on, you know?"

Satoru’s gaze hardens, the protective instinct that rises within him catching him off guard. He takes a slight step closer to Mr. Ito, his tone deliberately neutral but carrying an edge. "You don’t need to worry about her. She’s got it covered."

There’s a flicker of something in Mr. Ito’s eyes—something that hints he’s about to say something else, but he swallows it down, nodding stiffly instead. "Yeah, of course." He quickly looks away, clearing his throat. "Well, I guess I’ll… I’ll get back to the class."

Satoru stands still for a moment, his posture rigid, a sharp edge in his expression as he watches Mr. Ito retreat. He doesn't know why it bothered him so much. The guy wasn’t even doing anything wrong, not really. But the way he was asking about you—like he had any right to—made something inside Satoru twist uncomfortably. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this man didn’t belong in your world, that he had no place prying into your life.

Satoru finally exhales, shaking his head. Whatever. It was just a teacher.

With one last glance at the classroom door, he turns and heads back to the school doors. There's no reason to overthink this. It’s just… odd. He can’t let it get to him.

You wake up that day to a lone bed. Groaning to yourself as the sunbeams spray across your face and momentarily blind you. Hand reaching out for the space next to you. Instead, you see a note saying: dropped koji off, i’ll be back around noon to grab some lunch. sleep up

Instantly, your eyes widen, springing up out of bed. Reaching for your phone, the time reads 11:30pm. “Shit!” you curse to yourself, rushing out the door and to your bag still on the chair from last night. You dig in for your work clothes, changing right there and then and praying to the gods that Satoru doesn’t walk through this door. Brushing your teeth, hair, washing your face, putting some moustirzer and sunscreen on, all of it takes way too long. By the time you’re done and messily putting your shoes on, it’s twelve. Four hours after you were supposed to be at work. Hana’s going to kill me.

Grabbing your bag with rough and rushed movements, you’re sprinting to the door at this point. Out of breath and already conjuring up a sorry apology for Hana. you reach the doorhandle, flinging it open. But as soon as you do, you come to an abrupt stop.

Because standing before you is a woman, a woman you’ve seen before on Satoru’s lock screen. The same woman who kissed the lips that you used to. Arms crossed and a nasty scowl forming on her face as she eyes you up and down in a criticizing way. 

Finally, she scoffs out. 

“Do you know who I am?”

a/n: they so cute

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[focusonkayjay]

between the ride and the roses (1)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn, angst, smut, fluff

Series summary: There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.

Word count: 2.8k

Chapter Warnings: jungkook is kind of an annoying jerk in the beginning, but we still love him. as of now, i have no warnings, but i will mention them when necessary as the series goes on.

A/N: hello, welcome to my very first series. i've been reading fics for as long as i can remember and i've always wanted to start a blog of my own. please read through this and let me know if this story is worth continuing <3

my blog is still "work in progress" and i have many ideas and plans that i wanna give life to, so please stay tuned. your opinions, constructive criticism and suggestions are always welcome.

thank you.

part 1: throttle and stem

The quiet hum of the early morning filled your flower shop as you stood by your workbench, your hands deftly arranging a vibrant bouquet of stargazer lilies, queen of the night blossoms, and delicate sprigs of baby’s breath. As you tied off the bouquet with a soft ribbon, you pulled your phone from the pocket of your apron, glancing at the screen.

"8:09 am."

You sighed to yourself, shaking off the early morning grogginess that still clung to your mind. The air around you was sweet with the mingling fragrances of the flowers, an invisible balm for the weariness you hadn’t quite shaken.

The shop was your sanctuary. Its walls were adorned with climbing vines that had been lovingly nurtured over the years, and its shelves were lined with terracotta pots of miniature bonsais, fiddle-leaf figs, and succulent terrariums. It wasn’t just a workspace… it was your rhythm, your peace. Here, surrounded by blooms and greenery, the world felt like it moved just a little slower.

You turned towards the bay window, where golden sunlight poured in, illuminating an assortment of hydrangeas and snapdragons on display. It was the kind of morning you cherished… peaceful, predictable, and entirely yours to savor.

Shifting closer to the window, your gaze naturally drifted to the storefront beside yours. The faded "For Rent" sign, hanging crookedly in the glass, caught your eye like always. Ever since Mrs. Lee shut down her cozy little bakery and moved away with her husband, the space had remained lifeless, the once-welcoming aroma of fresh pastries replaced by silence and dust.

You couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia as you remembered the way the scent of freshly baked bread and cinnamon rolls used to drift into your shop every morning. Now, the vacant building had become an eyesore you had grown used to ignoring… a dull, empty reminder of what had once been.

Turning away from the window, you wandered through your shop, watering the orchids in their clay pots and adjusting the arrangement of lavender sprigs by the counter. You opened sharp at 9, but these quiet moments before customers arrived were your favorite. It was a time to bask in the stillness, to let the beauty of your flowers fill every corner of your mind.

You settled back at your workbench, pulling another bundle of roses and eucalyptus stems from the cooler. Your hands moved automatically as your thoughts wandered, appreciating the rare silence that surrounded you. Most of the shops on your street wouldn’t open for another hour, leaving the block in a peaceful lull.

The quiet wasn’t just comforting, it was necessary. It was the space where you could breathe, think, and just be.

And just when you were basking in the silence you oh so appreciated, your train of thoughts are harshly interrupted by a sharp growl that tore through the air, so ridiculously loud that it startled you into dropping the shears you were grasping in your hand. The noise grew louder, rising and falling with an almost deafening rhythm. Engines revved outside, followed by the sharp, repetitive beeping of trucks reversing.

Frowning, you stepped towards the window, peeking out from behind a display of yellow roses. Two enormous moving trucks had pulled up in front of the vacant building, their engines rumbling as a group of workers began hauling furniture and equipment onto the sidewalk.

Your chest tightened as you took in the scene: huge wooden crates, motorcycle frames, and oversized toolboxes haphazardly scattered across the pavement.

The stillness you were treasuring just a minute ago was shattered in less than a second by the disgusting sound of chaos arriving at your doorstep.

Still confused, your eyes suddenly fall on the huge stack of oversized toolboxes placed on the sidewalk, partially blocking the entrance to your shop. You scoffed, your mind unable to wrap itself around this bizarre situation.

Before you could fully process what exactly was happening, your feet carried you towards the front door of your shop and you stepped outside, breathing heavily. “Hey!” you called out, trying to dodge around a burly man carrying a huge box labeled FRAGILE. “What’s going on here?” you question, still looking around, trying to take in the state of your surroundings.

The closest person to you wasn’t a mover or a worker. You could easily conclude that just by the way he was leaning lazily against one of the trucks, scrolling through his phone as if oblivious to the commotion. A thick leather jacket, adorned with intricate patches and scratches that told untold stories rested on his left shoulder.

Tattoos crawled up his toned forearms, disappearing under the ripped sleeves of his black t-shirt. A loose silver chain around his neck glinted as he shifted his weight, and when he glanced up, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a mix of curiosity and disinterest.

"What's going on here?" you ask again, this time trying to sound as civil as possible. Your fists are balled and you regulate your breathing as you observe the man in front of you. “Moving in.” he simply answers, his voice smooth but laced with indifference. “What’s it look like to you?”

You blinked, momentarily thrown by his audacity. You're generally a calm person, that is, until someone provokes you in the weirdest ways. “It looks like you’re turning the sidewalk into an obstacle course.” you snapped, unable to remain civil like you had previously planned. “My customers won’t be able to get into my shop!” you added.

His lips curved into a faint smirk, the kind that instantly made you think, this was someone you would never get along with. “What customers?” He chuckles, glancing theatrically up and down the empty street before meeting your gaze again.

Your blood boiled as you heard him mock you. “Excuse me?” He stepped closer, the faint scent of leather and motor oil lingering in the air between you. “Relax, sweetheart. We’ll keep it tidy. Don’t get your roses in a twist.” he says, eyeing a bouquet he was able to spot through the window of your store.

You bristled. “First of all, don’t call me sweetheart. Second, those are lilies, NOT roses.” You jabbed a finger towards the bouquet in the window. “And third, I don’t need your promises. I need you to move your chaos somewhere else and not disturb my business!”

He tilted his head, clearly amused. “You really care about those flowers, huh?” he asks. You can easily tell he thinks nothing of your business. “Of course, I do! Unlike some people, I actually respect my work and the space around me.” you argue.

The man rolls his eyes, and that only drives you more mad. His nonchalance and his lack of empathy itches your brain the wrong way. “Whatever.” he casually shrugs, turning away as he hears one of the men call out to him. “Jeon, where do you want the bike stand?”

Jeon? You realize that's probably his surname. “Right here.” he replies, pointing towards the storefront. Without sparing you another glance, he strode over, his gait relaxed and confident, as if he hadn’t just ruined your morning.

You stood there, fists clenched, watching as the chaos unfolded further. The reality hit you hard—the quiet, vacant space beside your shop was no longer empty. It was now home to this infuriating, leather-clad biker who had just walked into your life like a hurricane. And somehow, you knew, your peaceful little flower shop would never be the same.

//

The rest of the morning passes in a haze of irritation. Every time you tried to return to your flowers and reclaim the peace you once cherished, another burst of loud noise would jolt you out of focus. The metallic clang of tools, the rumble of engines being tested, and the shouts of movers unloading endless boxes were relentless. Even the cheerful chime of your shop door opening, signaling the arrival of your first customer, couldn’t lift your mood entirely.

“Busy morning out there, huh?” Mrs. Park, one of your long-time regulars, quipped as she admired a bouquet of tulips on display. You forced a smile, standing up from your workbench. “You could say that.” you answered, looking back at the window that gave you a view of the happenings next door

She chuckled, picking up a small pot of baby succulents. “Looks like someone’s finally opening a business there. Hopefully, it’s something good and the owner is nice. I miss Mrs. Lee’s bakery, though. Her strawberry tarts were divine.” she says, walking towards the counter with the pot she had just picked out.

You bit back a sarcastic retort about how this newcomer was something way from from “nice” and nodded instead. “I miss her too. But yeah, we'll just have to wait and see what the new business is going to be about.” you sigh.

//

By the time the clock struck noon, the chaos outside had died down enough for you to risk stepping out again. Boxes had been cleared from the sidewalk, though a few crates still lingered near the entrance of your shop, their presence a glaring reminder of the morning’s disruption.

You spotted him immediately—Jeon. He was crouched next to a sleek black motorcycle, his hands busy adjusting something near the engine. A few workers milled around, chatting, but this man seemed entirely absorbed in his work.

You purse your lips and stepped back on the sidewalk to get a better view of the building. The sign "Throttle and Torque" hung up high, right beside yours that read "Garden's Grace."

You look back down at the man, who still seemed so immersed in whatever the heck he was doing. Against your better judgment, you marched over, fueled by lingering frustration. “Excuse me.” you say, waiting for him to respond. He didn’t look up. You stepped closer, crossing your arms as you tapped your foot impatiently. “Excuse me!” you snap.

This time, he glanced up, wiping his hands on a rag before standing to his full height. Up close, he was even more infuriatingly confident, his dark eyes glinting which barely concealed any sort amusement. “What?” he asked, completely unbothered. You gestured towards the lingering crates. “Your stuff is still blocking part of my entrance.” you reply, trying your level best to keep your voice at a respectable volume.

He glanced at the crates, then back at you. “Looks fine to me.” he shrugs. “It’s not fine. It’s in the way.” you argue, fighting the urge to just run and kick the crates away from your entrance. His lips curved into that maddening smirk again. “You’re really particular about your space, huh?”

“Unlike some people…” you pause, taking a deep breath “I respect boundaries.” you state. He chuckled, the sound low and infuriatingly casual. “Alright, alright. I’ll move them. Don’t blow a gasket, sweetheart.” he says causing you to roll your eyes at the nickname but you bite your tongue, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing you lose your temper again.

As he turned to call out to one of the workers, you noticed something—a small, intricately designed patch sewn onto the back of his leather jacket that he was wearing. It depicted a phoenix rising from flames, the design bold and vibrant against the black leather.

Shaking yourself out of the observation you had just made, you look around and finally question him. "What exactly is your business?"

He doesn't answer, still busy with the worker as he guides him on where to place the crates. But as you stood there by yourself, you feel the realization dawning on you as you took in the scattered parts and tools. "Is this a motorcycle shop?" you ask again. He glanced over his shoulder, finally nodding. “Custom bikes. Repairs. The works.” he answers, his tone still the same, low and unbothered.

Of course. The universe had gifted you a neighbor who was the exact opposite of everything your flower shop represented—loud, chaotic, and disruptive. “Just great.” you muttered under your breath, feeling yourself get a headache as you imagine the wild things that you will have to go through with a store like this right beside yours.

“Something to say?” he teases, as he looks at you, finally taking in your appearance. His eyes roamed over you for a moment, his gaze lingering on the effortless beauty you carried. There was something captivating about the way your long, dark hair framed your face, the sunlight catching in the waves and adding a soft halo around you. The earthy tones of your apron only highlighted the warm glow of your skin, and the faint blush on your cheeks gave you an endearing, almost ethereal charm.

You don't say anything and just stand there, trying your best to stay calm. "I'm Jungkook, by the way." you hear him say. You bite the inside of your cheek, not wanting to introduce yourself to him, but you think that might be a little immature. "Y/n." you simply say, avoiding his eyes.

"Didn’t realize such a pretty flower came with so many thorns." he comments, his smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he crosses his arms, observing the way you tried so hard not to throw hands. You rolled your eyes, brushing off his comment. “Didn’t realize bikers had this much trouble respecting other people’s businesses.” you retorted, matching his tone.

Jungkook chuckled, clearly unfazed. He leaned against the wall beside him, his dark eyes gleaming with something between amusement and challenge. “Well, sweetheart, I guess we’re stuck with each other now. Might as well get used to it.” he says, almost like he's challenging you.

You huffed at that stupid nickname again, your fingers tightening around the hem of your apron. “I would REALLY appreciate if you wouldn't call me sweetheart." you pause, slightly stepping forward. "And for the record, being neighbors doesn’t mean I have to put up with your... chaos. My shop values tranquility, something your—” you pause again to gesture towards the motorcycles and tools scattered around, “whole vibe seems to be allergic to.”

Jungkook tilts his head, pretending to consider your words, though the teasing smirk never leaves his features. “Tranquility, huh?” he echoes, his tone mocking. “I can see why you’d like things quiet in there.” His eyes flicked toward your shop window, where the vibrant display of flowers created a stark contrast to the metal and oil-laden aesthetic of his business.

You cross your arms, as you firmly stand your ground. “Exactly. Garden’s Grace is a place where people come to find peace and beauty. Something your Throttle and Torque doesn’t exactly scream.”

He snorted, looking genuinely amused for the first time. “Peace and beauty. Cute. I’m more about the adrenaline and grit side of life. Opposites, huh?” You frowned, refusing to let him get under your skin. “Maybe opposites, but that doesn’t mean you have to make my life miserable.” you said, glancing pointedly at the workers still unloading equipment nearby.

“Alright, alright.” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll make sure my guys clear out your entrance. We wouldn’t want to scare off all those peace-seekers now, would we?” he says, in a tone that irks something ugly inside of you.

You narrowed your eyes, trying to come up with something but you know it would be of no use to argue with someone like him. “Thank you.” you breathe out curtly, turning on your heel to head back to your shop, not wanting to deal with him anymore because you clearly had a business to get back to.

“By the way…” he suddenly calls out, stopping you in your tracks. You turn over your shoulder with a brow raised. “Those flowers in your display…” he said, jerking his chin towards the window. “Whatever they're called... they’re pretty. You’ve got an eye for detail and beauty.” he admits.

The unexpected compliment threw you off guard, and for a moment, you couldn’t find a snappy comeback. Instead, you muttered a soft, “Thanks.” before disappearing into the safety of your shop.

Inside, your heart thudded a little harder than you cared to admit. You shook your head, pushing the moment aside. “Nope, not falling for that.” you mumble to yourself, bringing your focus back on the vibrant bouquet in your hands.

From the corner of your eye, you glanced out the window one last time. Jungkook had gone back to his motorcycle, but there was a faint smile on his face now, one that didn’t carry the same teasing edge as before.

You sighed and shook your head, determined to forget the way it made your stomach flutter. "It’s just day one..." you reminded yourself. "I can survive this." you affirm.

Little did you know, this was only the beginning of a storm neither of you saw coming.

part 2 ->

series masterlist

[filthygalli]

When I met you: Chapter 1 “Package”

Fem! Reader x Neighbor! Hwang In-Ho

Main Master list

Squid Game Master list

Genre/Tags: Grumpy x Sunshine, Light smut, Fluff, Angst, Slow burn, Age gap (Reader is in her early 30’s, While In-Ho is in his late 40’s.) Rude In-Ho (but will eventually be soft with the reader Soon!) Literature Professor! In-Ho (Not specified what kind of literature) More Tags to come soon!

Warnings: Rude In-Ho, Some mild cursing, In-Ho’s stubborn cat Lmao, Not proof read so please bear with me.

Word Count: 1989

Author's Note: I've been writing this since earlier this morning, I was so intrigued about the song and I can't help but think 'Why not do a fiction story about In-Ho using this song as an inspiration?' then here am I, publishing the first chapter of the said fiction, I'll try to make this a long series! 🖤

< Series Master list | Next >

You worked as a graphic designer for some big company, even though you worked from home—you enjoyed what you were doing; you're a person who doesn't like to interact with so many people, except your friends, family, or someone who's close to you.

You've been working as a graphic designer for 3 years. You've gained enough money to buy a house—it's perfect for you, 2 bedrooms with one bathroom each—a cozy living room, kitchen, and a backyard that you turned into a garden. But honestly, it's too much for what you do for a living, but again, you're more than grateful.

You visit your hometown once in a while to spend some time with your parents and friends; you're more than happy to have them support you in the path that you chose. Whenever you visit, your mom always cooks your favorite dishes, while your dad, well…he always teases you about settling down. Honestly, seeing yourself being in a relationship is crazy; you're a busy person, and you're afraid that you might end up with someone who's not fit for your job and likings.

“Sweetheart, it's just…you're too devoted to your job. I know you hate it every time I tell you about this, but there's someone out there for you—who’s going to understand your busy days.” Your dad gave you a comforting look. It's true, you're too devoted to what you're doing, and you can't even go out on a date without making an ‘excuse’ that you're busy and something has come up, but the truth is…you're just afraid. Afraid that no one will love you for being a busy person, and it sucks.

You gave your dad a shy smile. “I know... I just think that it's not the right time; he'll come when the time is right.”

And that's where your grumpy neighbor showed up. He's tall; he looked old and surprisingly handsome for someone his age. He knocked on your door one night. You were reading a book called ‘Inferno' by Dante Alighieri. You're so intrigued by what you're reading that you didn't even hear that someone was knocking at your door. You hurriedly put down your book and ran towards the door. You swung the door open, seeing a middle-aged man who's wearing a black button-up shirt and black chino pants. He pushed up his glasses. 

“Are you deaf or something? I've been knocking since forever.” He annoyingly said, “Good evening to you too.” You said giving him your best fake smile, “I think we switched packages, These aren't mine.” He said, bringing up the two packages in his hand, “Oh…I didn't know–” he cuts you off before even finishing your sentence “of course you don't.” He whispered under his breath, “I'll…I'll go get yours I'll be back in a sec.” You said as you took your package in his hand as you slammed your door shut right at his face.

You sigh as you close the door, feeling embarrassed by your actions. ‘He deserves it,’ you thought. You went to your room and grabbed the unopened package; you checked the name, making sure it's not really yours.

“Hwang In-Ho…” you read the name on the parcel, liking how his name sounds. 

You went downstairs and opened the door, seeing the man leaning against your porch railing. “Thank God, what took you so long?” he groans. He leans forward as he slowly walks towards you; he looks down on you and rudely takes the package from your grasp. You're stunned at his action but manage to say something: “I'm sorry, Mr. Hwang, it won't happen again. Have a good evening.” You said, giving him a shy smile; his eyes softened upon hearing his name. “Right, good evening to you too,” he said as he turned around and walked towards his home.

You noticed his reaction when you said his name; was he expecting you to say it?

Did you catch him off guard? You just chuckled to yourself and closed the door behind you as you walked to your bedroom to continue reading your book.

Meanwhile, In-Ho sat on his couch, staring at the package that he set down on his coffee table, ‘Hwang In-Ho,’ he read in his mind. He scoffed; of course you would know his name; it's written on the damn parcel. He groans as he palms his face, “Fuck,” he grumbles. He quickly gets his mind off of you, on how good your voice sounds saying his name, the way you would give him a shy and innocent glance even though he's being rude to you. He finds it cute. But at the same time, he feels bad—but deep down he doesn't care; you're just another annoying neighbor that would give him nothing but pure hatred. 

The next day

You woke up holding a book in your hand. Great, you fell asleep again. You sigh as you sit up, lightly scratching your eyes as you yawn, making you stretch your arms in the air, groaning in response. You went to the bathroom and took a warm shower, getting ready for today.

In-Ho groans in his sleep, and as his alarm clock goes on, making him reach for his phone to turn it off, he sits up, grabbing his glasses as he goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He went to the kitchen to make his morning coffee, a classic Americano. The aroma of the coffee beans filled the air; it made him feel alive. He sighed as he poured his fresh brewed coffee into his mug. 

You went out from the shower, drying yourself off before putting on comfortable shorts and a t-shirt. You went to the kitchen to make your morning coffee. You and In-Ho brew your coffees the same; you both like black coffee. Some may hate it because of the bitter taste, but the difference between you and In-Ho is that In-Ho doesn't put sweetener in his coffee; he just likes pure black coffee, while you… you drink your coffee with 2 tablespoons of sugar in it.

You went outside to sit on the bench on your porch while you drank your coffee as you held your book in your right hand. You like doing this every morning; it's calm and peaceful. Not until In-Ho walks by your house do you watch him walk by; it looks like he just woke up too. He's wearing a dark blue t-shirt and comfortable pants—a pair of loafers too. You can't help but notice how fit he is, how his biceps fit on the sleeve of his shirt, how broad his shoulder is. Before you could think of anything, you snapped yourself out of it as you noticed that he's holding a leash... of a cat? You smiled as you saw In-Ho’s black cat. The fur of his cat is gorgeous. It was unexpected to see In-Ho with a pet cat. After your interaction with him last night, you somewhat thought of him as a person who doesn't care about anyone except himself…and, well, his cat too. 

You didn't notice that you've been looking at In-Ho for a while, he looks at your direction as he adjusts his glasses, god he looks so good with those glasses…you blushed and felt a little embarrassed, you pretend to read and quickly drink your coffee, Meanwhile, In-Ho chuckled at your reaction—He somewhat finds himself admiring you, the way you had your hair into a messy bun, the way your t-shirt hugged all your curves, your soft skin…he wondered how would your skin feels like under his touch, he imagined you lightly shivering upon his touch, he snapped himself from thinking something else as his cat, Yu-jin, leading him to your porch, he tried to pull his cat away but Yu-jin decided to be stubborn and ran towards your porch making your eyes widen, you smiled at In-Ho’s reaction—he’s shocked and decided to let his cat Yu-Jin walks towards you, usually his cat doesn't really care about people, just like him. 

“Aren't you a cute little one—!” You crouched in front of In-Ho's cat, who seemed happy to see a new person besides his dad, In-Ho. The cat purred and circled around your legs. “That's odd,” In-Ho mumbled. “Odd? ” You looked up at In-Ho, who's looking at his cat still circling around your legs. “He never does that to other people,” he said coldly, not even bothering to look at you. “Oh—maybe he likes me! ” You said, ruffling the cat's fur as he lay on his back, making you rub its belly, “He's so precious—what’s his name? ” You again looked at In-Ho, who was looking at you but quickly glanced away and said, “Yu-jin.” “Yu-jin…” you tested the cat's name on your lips, “It's cute—Hi, Yu-Jin! ” You cupped the cat's face. “He's so adorable, In-Ho—” You looked at In-Ho, who gave you a look as he looked down on you, still crouching in front of him. ‘Fuck,’ he thought. “How did you know my name? ” He mumbled, so low it almost sounded like a whisper, “What?” “Forget it.” He said as he crouched down, picking up Yu-Jin in his arms, making his hands slightly brush yours. You took a glance at his hands; they're so beautiful. The veins in his hands looked attractive; it felt so smooth against yours… He also smells like coffee, your favorite coffee.

And just like that he left without even saying anything, leaving you crouching down on your porch. You sighed as you stood up, grabbing your book and your coffee before going inside the house.

In-Ho puts down Yu-Jin far enough from your house. “That's new…you've never been like that to anyone,” he said as if Yu-Jin could understand what he was saying. They went to a vet, to check up on Yu-Jin, In-Ho treats his cat like his own child, Going to a vet at least once a week, vet means new toy for Yu-Jin, And let's not forget the treats that Yu-Jin would get on the way home, But not that he doesn't want a kid or whatever, he just never really thought of falling in love, he thinks that being in love with someone takes so much time and energy, He also thinks that no one would put up with his attitude and stubbornness—he’s also a professor, a busy one, he doesn't even bother to flirt back with his colleagues at the University who's been hitting on him since he stepped foot in that university, perhaps Yu-Jin is the only one who he needs to go through with everyday. 

While waiting for Yu-Jin and his vet, he thought of you, “Damn it.” He whispered to himself. He remembered how your face looked when you were crouching down. In front of him while playing with Yu-Jin. How beautiful your smile is; he wonders how old you are, what you do for a living, but he also remembered having a book on the bench on your porch. He tried to remember what book it is, but the book cover looks familiar. He grabbed his phone and searched for something: Dante Alighieri’s book. He pressed the search button, and multiple books of the said author showed up, but he managed to find that book that you're reading earlier. ‘Inferno,’ he thought; he couldn't help but smile to himself. It's his favorite book; it's one of the reasons that he teaches as a literature professor. He's not expecting someone like you would be reading a book like this; it surprised him. He can't help but regret being rude to you; you're such a kind and gentle person. He thought of at least being nice with you—just enough for you and him to have a good relationship with each other as neighbors.

Author's Note: Omg I wasn't expecting to publish a fiction regardless of me panicking about my first semester school works—But please let me know what you think, I would really like to make this a big series. I love In-Ho/Byung Hun so much he's way too precious! Let me know if you want to be in my taglist. 🖤

[the-witty-pen-name]

The Love Triangle from Hell (1)

Steve Harrington x F!Reader / Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Synopsis: Nancy is with Jonathan; Steve is still in love with Nancy; You're in love with Steve; Eddie's in love with you; Robin just wanted to have a movie night but everyone is making it weird.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: messy messy feelings; unrequited love; cursing; arguments; crying; angst angst angsty angst; drinking; Robin literally just trying to live her life but her friends are all idiots

A/N: I'm going to let y'all decide who our reader ends up with for this one- please let me know who you think our reader should pick! I think this will be another 5 part series. Please let me know what you think! Comments and reblogs and hitting up my asks are always so so so appreciated.

This series with be 18+ in later chapters MINORS DNI

It was always Nancy. No matter what it always came back to Nancy. It happened over and over and over like a broken record. Like a glutton for punishment, you always went back for more thinking to yourself this time it’s going to be different. Squished on the lumpy loveseat with Robin, you watch Steve as he watches Nancy. You were pathetic and you knew it. Hopelessly in love with someone who’d never in a million years look at you the way he’s looking at her.

Eddie sits on the floor between your legs with his back rested against the front of the couch as you aimlessly braid his hair. You run your fingers through his hair, carefully navigating through the tangles. You pull strains and weave them together without needing to think about it- you’ve done it a million times before. Eddie would let you do whatever you wanted, he loved the feeling of your hands in his hair. He’d lean his head back as far as he could manage, and shoot you an upside down smile. It always made you giggle before you would use your palm to gently put his head back into place. 

It was quite a sight for Robin, like the most fucked daytime drama never written, if she knew how to read the room and pick up on the very obvious clues before her. Steve, her platonic soulmate and best friend, pining over his ex-girlfriend while you, her other best friend, pine over Steve and all the while Eddie, Steve’s roommate and your other best friend, pines over you. It was enough to make her sick. All the while, Nancy is completely oblivious as she checks her watch, waiting expectantly for Jonathan- her actual boyfriend- to arrive. Despite the mess before her, Robin was none the wiser. 

She knew Steve was still hung up on Nancy, because he never shut up about her during their shifts. However, you felt you kept your lovesick crush on Steve under pretty good wraps. Unfortunately, Eddie was so preoccupied with you that he felt it every time your eyes were on Steve or he’d witnessed all the small things you’d do that convinced him you actually liked Steve. 

He’d watch as you couldn’t make eye contact with Steve, looking everywhere but him when he spoke. He’d watch the way you’d steal glances at him when you thought no one else was looking. He’d see the way you’d take a deep breath to compose yourself when you’d see Steve looking at Nancy. The same way you’d break your own heart looking around for Steve, he’d be doing the same looking at you watching him. 

You’d watched one too many movies where the guy realizes the right girl all along was his best friend. You thought if you were patient, Steve would realize he’d been in love with you the whole time and he never realized it. If you’re there for him in his times of heartbreak, he’d see that you’re so much better for him than anyone else. He’d see you, really see you, and know you were the one who was always there. 

“This movie doesn’t make any sense,” Robin said suddenly before reaching for the bowl of popcorn at the coffee table.

“Anthony Michael Hall is making a robot girlfriend because he can’t get girls,” Steve explains, coming off a little perturbed that Robin was talking during the movie again. 

“They could’ve just asked out a couple of more girls- they didn’t need to let their end all be all be two girls with boyfriends,” she continues and Steve scoffs. He couldn’t believe he was really about to have a debate on realism with Robin right now over fucking Weird Science. 

“This’ll actually happen one day,” Eddie muses and is met with four heads whipping around to give him the same weird look. “You’re telling me that like fifty years from now, no one will have this figured out? AV geeks are desperate enough- Ow!” You’d hit him playfully on the back of the head. 

“You’re not one to criticize anyone for being desperate, Munson,” Steve chuckles and Eddie promptly flips him off. “You don’t exactly have them lining up for you either.”

“It’s been a pretty dry few years yourself King Steve,” Eddie mocks, and you see Steve crack his knuckles nervously, hating the conversation going down this road. No one meant for it to happen, but now you’re all wrapped up reflecting in your own loneliness that the mood of the evening was almost completely dampened. 

“Can you guys be quiet,” Nancy chastises, “Some of us are trying to actually watch the movie.”

“You cannot be serious?” Robin giggles, “It’s a stupid movie, Nance.” 

The night took a weird shift. Jonathan did eventually stroll in and Nancy was understandably hurt that he was so late. He pulled a kitchen chair over to sit next to where Nancy sat but she promptly decided to ignore him, silently stewing instead of causing a scene. Steve recoiled back into his own head- Eddie’s King Steve comment affecting him more than he thought it would. He watched Anthony Michael Hall and kept wondering if this would be his fate- no bitches. Had he really been that guy to have peaked in high school and then is destined to end up alone?

Steve’s comment towards Eddie made him also get lost in his own stream of self deprecating thoughts. He knew Steve was joking- but there was truth to it that made it sting. Eddie didn’t have a lot of experience with girls, most girls- hell including the one he was actually in love with- wanted really nothing to do with him. He wasn’t that guy. Girls didn’t look at him like that like they looked at Steve- how you looked at Steve. It made him jealous and sad and made him feel so painstakingly lonely despite being in a room full of his closest friends as you played with his hair. He could scream. 

And as usual, you preoccupied yourself with Steve- thinking about what Steve could be thinking about or watching the way Steve anxiously rubbed his palms against his jeans. Was Steve thinking about Nancy? Maybe, just maybe, you could catch him looking at you, even if just once. Maybe Steve would get up and go to the kitchen, and it could be an opening for you to check in with him since he’s seemed off tonight. You felt hopeless. 

Robin just assumed most people were quiet because they genuinely were watching the movie, but she realized something was wrong when she was the only person laughing. It couldn’t be that she was the only one who wanted to crack jokes or laugh at this godforsaken movie. She eventually caught on to something brewing in the air amongst her friends and it was incredibly unsettling. 

“GOD! I can’t take it anymore!” She exclaims, and everyone jumps. “What is wrong with everybody tonight? You all are acting so effing weird and I can’t stand it.” 

“Everyone’s fine, Robin,” you offer, trying to diffuse the tension. She shooks you a look. A “do you think I’m fucking stupid” look that could kill. Fair enough, you think to yourself. 

“Clearly something is wrong,” she reiterates. Annoyed with Nancy, Jonathan takes the bait and casts the first stone. 

“I don’t know,” Jonathan muses, looking at Nancy before letting out his irritation, “Might have to do with the fact you hang around with your ex all the time- and it’s clearly obvious he still has feelings for you.” 

Nancy gasps, offended that Jonathan would bring a fight that they’d had before into the room for everyone to comment on. Jonathan knew how Steve felt, and Nancy’s refusal to acknowledge his concerns on numerous occasions has finally made Jonathan hit his breaking point. He needed her to realize that he wasn’t jealous of Steve- but Steve was jealous of him. Nancy denied that Steve still held feelings for her. She was actually oblivious. 

“Steve and I are just friends!” Nancy insists, “I have told you that and told you that! It’s like you don’t trust me!”

“I don’t trust him!” Jonathan emphasizes. “Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, he still likes you and you still keep hanging around with him when you’re supposed to be with me, Nance.”

“I am with you! I’m your girlfriend, not his,” she snaps. “Steve, come on, please tell him he’s being ridiculous.” 

Most unfortunately, Steve stutters. He hesitates and fumbles, and couldn’t lie fast enough. The pregnant seconds where he’s at a loss for words tells Jonathan everything he needs to know. It doesn’t feel good to know he was right. 

“Sounds about right,” Jonathan scoffs.

“It’s not her fault-” Steve tried to interject. 

“Stay out of it Steve,” Jonathan sighs, “please.”

This fight was not about Steve, and everyone knew it. This was about Jonathan, and the way he hurt when Nancy dismissed his feelings. It was about how she didn’t take his concerns seriously or ever was willing to talk about it. He was sick of being dismissed as paranoid or jealous. He knew Nancy had no idea how Steve felt, but it wasn’t an excuse to inadvertently gaslight him when he knew something felt off. 

“I’m going home,” Nancy says, sitting up suddenly in hopes of making a swift exit to save her pride. 

“Nope!” Robin interjects, “We aren’t done. I’m not letting any of you leave until all of it is out in the open. I can’t go on like this. You guys are my best friends and we are working all of this shit out.” She takes a steady breath and Nancy surprisingly sits back down calmly. “So props to Jonathan for getting the ball rolling,” Robin quips, “let’s actually keep talking things out, yeah?”

“Steve?” Nancy looks at him, and she looks hurt. She feels so betrayed- like all of the times they’ve spent together as friends has been a lie. A ruse to win her back- she feels lied to and like she’s simultaneously lost a friend in the same breath. It guts her. She’s too stunned to even know what to say. 

Steve keeps his head down, too ashamed to look at anyone. He holds his head in his hands. You watch him intently, you absorb all his hurt like a sponge. You keep your gaze on him, wanting to reach out and comfort him. You look like a puppy who's been hit on the nose with a newspaper and Eddie scoffs. 

“Something you’d like to share with the class, Munson?” Robin turns, picking up on Eddie’s disgust. He shakes his head and avoids her knowing gaze. Fuck it, he thinks to himself. 

“I’m fucking pissed,” Eddie announces, standing up. The braid you were in the process of making slowly unravels as he moves. He looks to you and then to Steve. “I’m not even pissed at anyone, I’m just stewing in my own self-hatred because I’m in love with her.” Eddie points to you dramatically, not even realizing how much he’s revealing as his emotions get the best of him. “But she’s so in love with you,” Eddie points a finger at Steve, “That she doesn’t even notice me.”

“I don’t even blame anyone- of course you love Steve, you know? It just fucking sucks because I watch you and you’re always watching him and you keep hoping he’s going to see you and he never does. Meanwhile, I’m so in love with you that it physically hurts and I can never tell you because you’re my best friend and Steve is my best friend. And if you like her back, Steve, you should go for it. I can’t even put myself out there cause scenario one, I lose you,” Eddie gestures to you. “Scenario two- Steve gets his head out of his ass and you two finally get together. I lose both of you, because I can’t put myself through watching someone I’m in love with be with someone else. Or scenario three- you and I do get together and I’m all in- I swear to god, I would be all fucking in. But would you ever even love me as much as you’ve loved him? I don’t know.” 

It’s your turn to be stunned. For the first time, Steve’s looking at you and it’s not at all what you hoped it would be. You recognize the look in his eye, it’s the same way Nancy was just looking at him. Pity. You know then and there that Steve never once thought about you the way you hoped he secretly did. It was all made up in your head. Eddie looks defeated, and mortified all at the same time. He shocked himself at his outburst. He’d always been one for dramatics but never at your expense. He feels so guilt ridden that he could shrivel up and let the world swallow him whole. 

“I, uh, need to get some air,” you say. You grab your jacket from the hook and slide on your shoes in one fluid motion. “I’ll be back,” you say quickly, slamming the door behind you as you left Eddie and Steve’s apartment. You can’t help as the tears stream down your face uncontrollably. It’s one of those cries where it’s so hard you can’t even make noise as it takes all of your breath away. You’re practically doubled over in the midst of a panic attack when Eddie finds you leaning against the building. 

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” he says earnestly, “That was so fucked up. I am so, so sorry. That wasn’t fair to you, that was such a shitty thing for me to say.” 

You manage to nod to let him know you heard him, but you’re blubbering and you’re still struggling to get your breath back. Hiccuped breaths finally catch up to you and you feel your lungs slowly begin to refill with air. The night’s cold air helps to clear your sinuses in one big breath. You wipe your face with the sleeves of your jacket. You can’t bring yourself to look at him just yet. 

“Steve is so lucky,” Eddie says after another few moments of silence. “To be loved by you?” He chuckles, taking a lean on the wall next to you. “Lucky bastard,” he jokes, and you manage a forced smile through the tears. “Must be the best damn thing in the whole world and he doesn’t even realize it,” he continues more seriously. “Well, until now, when I ruined everything,” he finalizes, sheepishly. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize it either,” you mumble, “God, what Steve was doing to me- I was doing to you? Fuck.” 

“Fucked up, right?” he teases. “How’s it feel, heartbreaker?”

“Really, really shitty,” you settle on and he laughs. 

“Yup,” he agrees, making a pop sound at the end. “Really, really shitty. Indeed.” 

“God, I wasted so much fucking time,” you admit to yourself. 

“I didn’t mean it,” he says softly, helping fix the collar of your jacket. It was tucked in because you put it on so fast and didn’t bother to fix it. “That I wouldn’t be able to trust you with Steve or whatever if we hypothetically got together or whatever- it was just a really, really ugly insecurity that bubbled up. If after this all blows over and you don’t completely hate my guts, and maybe by some miracle you wanted to give us a chance, I wouldn���t hold your feelings for Steve over you like that.” 

“Did you mean it that I’d lose you?” you ask, looking to him. He shakes his head. 

“I was talking out of my ass,” he admits, “I was emotional and just letting my frustration get the better of me. I won’t stop being your friend if you don’t like me back.”

“I’ve been doing that already,” he jokes and you swat his arm. 

“Not funny,” you grumble, but you can’t find it in you to actually be upset. 

“I don’t want an answer from you now,” he says, shifting back to a serious tone, but you can hear how nervous he is. “But if and when you get over Steve, and you realize I’m not that bad to look at- maybe you and I could go out sometime. I’m putting the ball in your court. I just want you to be happy. If you end up with Steve, I’m your best man. You end up with me, I’ll work my hardest every damn day to make you so fucking happy. No matter what, I will be your friend. You aren’t losing me.”

“Thank you,” you smile, and you pull him into a hug. You finally start to feel okay again. You feel like you could get over Steve, but then you remember that everyone inside is waiting for you- including Steve. The anxiety begins to stir and you can’t imagine facing everyone now after all of this. 

“I got you,” Eddie whispers, taking your hand, “We’ll go back together.” 

Eddie’s held your hand a million times before, but it wasn’t until now that you realize how well your hand fits in his. You shake your head to erase the thought from your mind for now and try to relax. The walk back up to the apartment is much longer than it’s ever felt before.

No one says anything when you both come back. You and Eddie kick off your shoes and he helps you take your jacket off. You sniffle, and quickly take your seat back on the loveseat. Eddie slips into the kitchen and grabs a six pack from the fridge. He holds it up like a fish he’s just caught triumphantly. 

“I think we all need one, yeah?” He jokes and he diffuses the tension as everyone agrees in tandem. He pulls them apart from the plastic ring, tossing them out. He throws you a wink when he tosses you yours and you can’t help but smile. 

“Can I just say,” Robin says, “Had I known you all were upset about actually serious stuff- I wouldn’t have opened this can of worms. I thought you were just pissed at each other about the comments about not getting laid.”

Nancy and Jonathan must have made up while you were outside because instead of separate seats, Jonathan sat on the living room chair and Nancy was perched on his lap. Steve was just watching you. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that Nancy was there. He was fixated on looking at you. He was taking in everything about you like he was looking at you, really looking at you for the first time. 

Fuck, if you weren’t beautiful, Steve thinks. He always knew you were, but he never really thought about it until now. Even after crying, you just look so pretty. He’s pained knowing he’s caused you so much pain. He looks to Eddie and feels jealousy rise irrationally. He’s jealous of Eddie for realizing how perfect you were before he did. It’s so fucking petty and he knows it. Eddie’s had all this time to adore you, while he’s squandered it following around Nancy like a simp. He’s loved you and lost you in the same fucking night.

“Let’s keep going,” Eddie jokes, trying to make light of the situation, “Air out more grievances- Buckley, you need new shoes. Those fucking chucks are abhorrent- please, get new ones. They are why your back hurts all the time.” 

“Okay, Mr. Same White Reeboks Since Senior Year,” she taunts, feigning offense to his jab. “Keep my converse out of your mouth!”

“I have boots now,” he says, pointing to the leather boots by the door. “Much more metal.” 

“Cause it’s fucking January, Eddie,” Robin says with a laugh, “Of course you’re wearing fucking boots.”

“Yet you strolled into my house wearing Converse,” he says walking over the the floor and pointing at Robin’s worse for wear Chuck Taylors. “It was snowing this morning, Robin! Please, as your friend- please let ME get you new shoes.”

“You can pry those shoes off of me when I’m dead,” she raises her voice. The lighthearted air has returned to the evening. It felt like it had been salvaged for now. Everyone seemed to be feeling better, except Steve. As the world began to pick up again, he was paralyzed- burdened with the knowledge of your feelings for him and knowing he might be too late to do anything about it. Was it?

PART TWO