#POV You're 18 years old

[humble-wayside-flower]

POV: You were chosen by the the Goddess of the Road and now you have to figure out what that means for you

She Who Makes the Way and Her Youngest Cleric

A late night prayer // Salutations from the Storm by John Elizabeth Stinzi // Berlin Syndrome by Rob Taylor // God Had a Plan by Marco Aziel // Illinois Sonnet by Madeleine Jubilee Saito // Unknown // Design Your Own Container Garden by The Mountain Goats // The Patron Saint of Public Transportation // @sondberber // Radio Silence by Alice Osemon // Penelope Scott // This is not the end of the world by Neil Hilborn // March by Mary Oliver // Winona by Stolen Jars // East of Eden by John Steinbeck // Beautiful World, Where Are You by Sally Rooney // A late night prayer pt ii

[organchordsandlightning]

ohhhhh god we’ve got to another ‘don’t forget we’re in a war’ episode of MASH

[kamaluhkhan]

THE GRUDGE (or: the 7 things luke castellan hated about you)

read part two GET HIM BACK! (or: the 7 reasons you want revenge on luke castellan)

pairing: luke castellan x child of nemesis!reader (gender not specified)

word count: 8.5k

summary: luke hated your guts. he really did. he just hoped that no one could tell how, even after all this, you're still everything to him.

warnings/disclaimer: luke's POV. spoilers for the lightning thief and season 1 of pjo. some heated make-out sessions but no actual smut - MDNI / 18+. mentions of blood + death + alcohol. luke is 19 during tlt but i wrote this with him + reader being 21 by the end of this (this is important for the next part lol). anyways, luke + reader share clothes and lots of intense emotions they maybe possibly don't process in the best way. lots of ANGST - it's a greek tragedy fr!

author's note: welcome to my new hyperfixation! this fic is LONG but i hope she's worth it ♡

♪: the grudge by olivia rodrigo

(i. you have a sharp tongue)

fourteen year old luke was overwhelmed when he first stepped into the hermes cabin. it was loud and overcrowded and no one really seemed to care that they had a new cabinmate. the head counselor showed luke to an empty bed at the back, told him to get settled in, and left without another word. luke dropped his backpack before collapsing on the mattress. it was so thin that he could feel the springs dig into his back.

"you'll get used to it."

luke sat up to see you climbing through the window. 

you had a band-aid stuck on your chin, chipped nail polish the color of blackberries, and leather combat boots that looked way too heavy to be wearing in the heat of summer. 

“the shitty mattress?”

“i meant the whole chaos of cabin 11, and the way things work around here in general. if you can get used to the shitty mattress, all power to you.” 

your tone was friendly enough, playful even. you smiled at him so comfortably it made luke nauseous. 

“good to know.” he tried to smile back at you, but his heart wasn’t in it. “i’m luke, by the way.”

“yeah, i know. i’m —”

“y/n!”

you seemed entirely unfazed as the blond who called your name stormed over to you. you rolled your eyes, something only luke could notice, before turning to her.

“someone stole my candy.”

“i’m very sorry to hear that, maddy. gotta be careful around here.” your voice dripped like poisoned honey, deceptively innocent and sweet.

maddy was not having it. she huffed at you. “it was you, wasn’t it?”

“that depends. did you cheat at poker last night? again?” 

some of the chatter throughout the cabin paused, heads turning to listen in. 

“what? n-no!” 

“then you have your answer, maddy.” you exaggerated a sigh, as though you had already won the fight and were annoyed that she came back for more. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i have a new camper to show around.”

chiron had already given them a tour, but luke didn’t protest when you grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the window with you. your hand was warm in his as you dragged him along to the corner of the cabin where a poorly made ladder waited for you. 

“come on.” you started climbing, and only stopped to look down when you realized luke wasn’t following you. “best view of camp. trust me.”

a shiver passed through luke. trust didn’t come easy to him. he also didn’t particularly want to return to a stuffy cabin where all he would do was count reasons he did not want to be there.

 so, luke followed you. he sat down next to you on the roof and looked out at the sun shining on his new home, but he couldn't help but be slightly bitter. the gods had gotten all of you into this life of endless danger and battles and monsters, and this was all they had to offer in return: a summer camp. 

it just didn't seem fair. 

there was something else he noticed then. what was it that chiron had said? camp half-blood was supposed to be a safe haven for all demigods. 

“i don’t get it. there are only twelve cabins, but aren’t there, like, a million other gods?”

you straightened your posture then, and turned to luke with a newfound interest. 

“camp half-blood only has cabins representing the twelve olympians. apparently, they’re the only ones important enough to have children worth recognizing, and they can’t even do that half the time,” you explained, impertinence laced throughout your words. it seemed like something you could never quite get off your chest. 

every  demigod knew that the gods didn’t appreciate sarcasm. they  didn’t particularly like being called out on their bullshit, either.

you didn’t seem to care; you even rolled your eyes up at the sky, as if challenging zeus himself. 

“anyways, that’s why the hermes cabin is so crowded. it takes in campers who are unclaimed or whose parent doesn’t have a cabin at camp. like me.”

“so, who’s your godly parent?”

you fiddled with the leather cord on your neck. it held a few clay beads like the other campers, but there was one silver charm he noticed only you wore — scales, by the looks of it. you clutched onto it.

luke realized that, despite your own advice, maybe you resented having to get used to the way things worked around here, and having to hide your resentment. maybe that was worse than having to sleep on an uncomfortable bed for the rest of your life.

"nemesis. goddess of revenge."

"that's....hardcore."

you scoffed and moved on to twisting the silver ring on your index finger. "a lot of people take it that way, and i think it scares them a bit.”

“so that’s why you’re extra nice to new campers, huh?” 

“no, i was just in a good mood today.” you smirked.

“guess i was just lucky, then.”

luke couldn’t help but smile at your laugh — sharp, biting. you nudged your boot against his sneaker, which shifted you closer to him, shoulders practically touching. 

“what people don’t understand is that it's more about balance, you know? you do good things, and good things happen to you. at least, they should. you do bad things and….” you pulled out an outrageously big bag of candy, dropped it between you and luke, and winked at him. “you face the consequences.” 

“that makes sense.” luke leaned over to grab a handful of gummy bears. “like karma.”

“yeah. exactly.” 

you bit the head off a red bear, both of you chewing in silence before you added:

“by the way, i’m sorry about your friend.” you swallowed and caught luke’s gaze. 

chiron warned him that word would travel fast around camp about what happened to thalia, and luke had prepared himself for anything — anything but your reaction. there was no pity in your eyes; instead, there was a hint of rage, as though thalia had been your friend, too. 

“she deserved more.” 

luke’s eyes caught the glint of a knife strapped to your belt. he took another handful of the candy you stole, and he thought about the fire and fearlessness behind your words, and, despite everything, it felt right to be with you then and there. 

“yeah,” he finally whispered back. “she did.”

we all do. 

neither of you said those words, but the suggestion was there, and it felt like a promise. 

(ii. you hold on to every stupid, little detail)

“slow down, tiger.” 

your voice echoed throughout the arena, and if luke had been fighting a real opponent, it might have gotten him killed. instead, he just stopped mid-swing, sparing another straw dummy from losing its arm. 

“left hand,” you noted as you walked past him towards a bench. “you, my friend, are in need of a break.”

luke loosened the grip on his sword. the only time luke fought with his non-dominant hand was when he had overworked the other. he must have switched an hour ago, but judging by how heavy his arm felt, it could have very well been two.  

his curls were stuck to his forehead with sweat, his shirt soaked through. he could feel a dull pain behind his eyes, and luke was worried that if he stopped to catch his breath, he would pass out. or, even worse, have to face the reality of the shitty news he’d gotten early that day. 

“come sit with me,” you urged. “you’re exhausted, tiger.” 

luke bristled at your nickname for him. 

sure, luke loved that there was something only you called him, a secret kept between you in plain sight, but it was also a reminder that it was harder to hide behind the hero act when you were around.

everyone else at camp figured the nickname was a playful attempt at calling him strong and charismatic. the truth was that luke once told you that his favorite cereal as a kid was frosted flakes and that he would dream of playing sports as well as tony the tiger. for better or for worse, like most things, you wouldn’t let it go. 

case in point: if it was anybody other than you trying to get him to take a break, luke could have just brushed them off with a charming smile and continued swordfighting until his arms fell off, but in the two years since meeting you, luke had never met anyone as stubborn and convincing. like him, it seemed you were willing to fight and shed blood to get your way. luke was never really in the mood to make you bleed, even when feeling like he could burn the entire world down, so he usually gave in to your demands.  

as soon as he sat down next to you, you handed him an orange flavored energy drink — his favorite. anything other than water was hard to come by at camp without the enchanted goblets in the dining pavilion, or the right connection in the hermes cabin. he ran out of his stash the other day, but you must have noticed and gotten one of the stoll brothers to smuggle more in. 

“thanks,” luke said, ignoring the jolt of electricity that passed through him when your fingers brushed together briefly. 

 the two of you looked out at the sword arena, and all the straw dummies that luke had destroyed. you wait for him to take three big gulps of his drink before speaking again. 

“i guess chiron and your dad decided you weren’t ready for a quest.”

luke exhaled sharply. “how did you —”

“the only time you’d skip out on capture the flag is if something really shitty happened.” you looked down at luke’s clenched fists, and that seemed to be all the confirmation you needed. “you promised annabeth you'd be there, and it's not like you to let her down."

fuck. he had completely forgotten that tonight was annabeth's first time as team captain. this entire week, she had been prepping a winning strategy. it wasn’t like annabeth needed him to win, but luke was her big brother, and he should have been there. you were right — he had let her down. 

the realization made luke’s day go from bad to worse. 

"i told her you were helping a new camper with an emergency. she didn't believe it, but she adjusted her strategy and we still won.”

“well, thank the gods everything worked in the end,” luke grumbled. 

“don’t thank the gods,” you quipped. “thank annabeth chase for her brilliant mind, and me for covering for your sorry ass.”

when luke didn’t indulge in your usual playful banter, you moved closer to him and brushed some curls away from his eyes. your skin warmed his forehead, and the small gesture made him feel better than he had all day.

“look, i’m not going to give you some bullshit inspirational speech about how the gods don’t get to define what a hero is, or how you don’t need a quest to prove that you’re worthy of being one. we’ve each been through that before, and i have a feeling this won’t be our last time, either.”

“then why are you here?” the question came out harsher than luke had intended it to.

“because she’s trying her best to hide it, but annabeth is really hurt that you didn’t show up for the game. i figured the least you could do is suck it up, come to the campfire, and make her those signature luke castellan s’mores. you could probably use one, too, since you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.” 

you were right, again. luke was exhausted, he was furious, but most of all, he was starving.  

later that night, luke sat next to annabeth and vowed to make her as many s’mores as she wanted. you’d gone to sit with the hephaestus kids, trying to convince beckendorf and nyssa to join your cabin’s post-campfire party at the beach, even though they had to work in the forges early the next morning. 

when chiron made his weekly speech, congratulating the winners of capture the flag and thanking the gods for keeping everyone safe, you and luke caught each other’s gaze from across the fire. you rolled your eyes and luke bit back a smile as you turned back to beckendorf. he noticed your knees were practically touching. did you sit that close to everyone? 

luke was looking at you for so long that the marshmallow he was roasting fell into the fire, despite annabeth’s warnings. she handed him another one. 

"you should tell her how you feel," annabeth said. "stop being a coward." 

whether it was the smell of burnt sugar, the heat of the fire, or annabeth’s comment, luke started to feel dizzy. he did his best to shake it off, asking annabeth for a play-by-play of her strategy earlier that night, but he couldn’t quite get rid of the thought of you. 

(iii. you don't care if your clothes are stained with blood)

“i just….i can’t fucking believe you, luke.”

“i don’t get why you’re so upset — you’ve never cared about quests before.”

luke was hoping to break the news to you after capture the flag. unfortunately for him, word travels fast around camp. 

annabeth had the two of you scouting the east side for the flag, while she and some other athena kids took the west. you hadn’t found anything so far, which meant that you’d spent the better part of an hour bickering over luke’s choice of companions for his quest. a choice that included charles beckendorf and chris rodriguez, and purposefully did not include you, much to your fury.  

before you could continue arguing, luke heard the sound of footsteps approaching. he looked over to you, and you already had your shield and sword at the ready. 

a few red defenders emerged from the trees. one charged at luke, but you stepped in so he could deal with the other two. one of his opponents went down fairly easily, but the other put up much more of a fight. metal clashed behind him as you kept fighting as well. you might not have been as skilled a swordfighter as luke, but he knew that you could hold your own, at least until he was finished with the person in front of him. 

luke parried his opponent’s strike, causing them to take a step closer. he was preparing to disarm them, just as he heard you yelp and stumble to the ground. it only took a millisecond of his attention, but it gave his opponent the opportunity to elbow him in the face. luke felt a crack upon impact, and pain radiated from his nose; he powered through. 

he had to finish this fight, and he had to do it fast. you needed him. 

his ears were ringing as he finally knocked over his opponent, kicking away their sword and keeping his foot on their chest. luke turned around to see you having turned the tides, the blade of your sword dangerously close to your opponent’s neck.

you locked eyes with luke, and you both understood — it was time to go. the two of you ran through the forest, as far away as you could before having to stop and catch your breath.

luke removed his helmet to get some air, and dropped his weapons. you did the same. you looked at him, brows furrowed.

“your nose.”

luke licked his lips, tasting blood. the triumph of winning that last fight overshadowed the ache of his potentially broken nose. in fact, he liked the image of a ruthless warrior emerging from the glory and gore of battle, that even though he did not bleed ichor like a god, he still had power. 

you, on the other hand, didn’t look impressed. instead, you stepped forward and offered the sleeve of your shirt to wipe away the blood. 

“you don’t have to —”

“i know you think you’re a badass walking around all broken and bloody, but you shouldn’t deny your admirers your pretty face,” you teased. 

it was no secret that luke had numerous admirers around camp, a fact you loved to tease him about. he was sure that you relished in how flustered that made him. all you had to call him was pretty boy, and luke could be reduced to a blushing mess. 

it was pathetic how much power you had over him.

“besides, i wouldn’t have gotten out of that last fight if you hadn’t taught me that disarming technique earlier. i owe you. it’s what we do. we take care of each other, right?”

he couldn’t argue with that.

a few moments of silence passed as you cleaned his face. something shifted as you worked, the flirtatious grin fading away. when you pulled away, your sleeve was stained a dark crimson. 

“just tell me honestly,” you finally murmured. “why don't you want me to join your quest?” 

luke was genuinely taken aback by the softness of your voice, now devoid of its usual fire. you wouldn’t meet luke’s eyes, but being that close to you, he noticed they were slightly glazed over.

he had expected you to be angry at his decision. he expected you to yell and argue and try to change his mind. luke hadn’t expected you to be so hurt. so broken. 

he hadn’t planned on it, but luke decided to tell you the truth then.

“look, karma, if you come with me, my heart wouldn’t fully be in the quest. i’d be so caught up in….well, you.”

a pause.

“is that a bad thing?”

“not usually, no.” 

you smirked a little at that, and luke’s heart skipped a beat. it also made his decision even clearer. 

“but i need to be focused for this. i need….” he let out a deep sigh. “i need to prove myself. this is my first real chance, and i can’t fuck it up.”

you met his gaze and smiled brightly at him, your signature spark of confidence returning.  

“you won’t.”

you reached a hand up to play with his necklace. luke hadn’t noticed how close you’d gotten until your fingers started tracing over those four clay beads. it made his entire body burst into flames.

“i’ve been wanting to do something for a while. and, aphrodite save me, it might be really stupid, but —”

luke took a lucky guess as to where you were going, and crashed his lips against yours. aphrodite knows that he'd been wanting to do that for a while, too. 

he often got drunk on the adrenaline of battle, the glory of winning, but nothing was quite like the rush of kissing you for the first time. 

it was messy and urgent, both of you aware that, at any moment, you could be interrupted. your noses were bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. the metallic tang of blood lingered on luke’s tongue, but neither of you seemed to care. you even bit his lip slightly, as if you wanted more. armor sat heavy and cold between your chests, preventing you from getting closer. luke had never loathed the protective gear more. 

he made up for it by lodging one hand underneath your jaw, and snaking the other beneath the celestial bronze, beneath the cotton of your shirt, admiring how your pulse quickened under his thumb when he grazed the soft skin of your stomach. you tangled your hands into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. he groaned and felt you smirk against his lips. 

luke had kissed a few people before, sure, but never like this: like a knife to the gut, and if you pulled away, luke would surely bleed out and die. 

it wouldn’t be a hero’s death, in the traditional sense, but at least he’d die happy. 

how many heroes could claim that?

when luke ran out of air, feeling like his lungs were burning, he had to pull away. 

you glanced down at luke’s kiss-bitten lips, then back to his eyes. luke flushed under the intensity of your gaze. 

“just promise me something, tiger,” you whispered, voice hoarse. 

“anything.”

“come back alive.”

luke leaned forward and placed another kiss on your lips, this one much gentler than before.

“i promise.”

(iv. you love like a scar that won't fade)

the nightmares were getting worse. 

luke woke up in a cold sweat, taking gulps of air in an attempt to steady his breathing.

“luke.” 

your whisper did little to quell the pit of dread growing in his stomach, but it did enough to bring him back down to reality. 

he was at camp half-blood (fuck the gods of olympus), in the hermes cabin (fuck you, dad), in a bed next to yours (fuck, if he could tell you what — who — was going through his head, he would).

“i’m…i’m fine,” he murmured back, voice catching slightly on the lie. 

like clockwork, you shifted from your bed to his, slipping under the covers. it didn’t matter that it was a hot summer night, and the minute your legs touched his, he could feel himself starting to overheat. 

your thumb brushed over the thick edge of his scar, up his cheekbone to the corner of his eye. it had been a year, living with this reminder. a reminder that he had failed, just as much as his father and the olympians had failed him. 

luke tried to pretend that he didn’t come back from his quest as a shell of who he once was. after all, it was meant to be his shining moment as a demigod, meant to gain him all the glory and father’s praise he once wished for. 

what a fucking joke.

every morning, luke would crawl into a different skin. he welcomed new campers and taught sword-fighting. he laughed with chris and his other siblings and strategized with annabeth for capture the flag. he would be the easy-going, charming, skillful senior counselor who respected the gods and honored them in everything he did. 

again: a fucking joke.

nights were different, though, with you so close to him, you who could always see right through him.

every night, luke was a fourteen-year old boy again, with so much rage and resentment he didn't know what to do with it. 

of course, you were always you - a bleeding heart underneath layers of armor. you didn't care about fate, or the gods, or the titans. you cared about justice, you cared about what was right and fair. 

most of all, you cared about luke.

“you were screaming,” you told him, voice barely cutting through the soft snores and sleeptalkings of your other cabinmates. 

“sorry,” he managed. looking at you in the dull moonlight, luke noticed the deep shadows under your eyes. 

“it’s fine. you just….you scared me, tiger.” 

your hand still rested on his cheek, and for a second, luke hoped you would kiss him, but you didn’t. instead, you told him to try and get some sleep, and sank further into his bed before closing your eyes. 

for the hundredth night in a row, luke hoped you couldn’t hear his heart hammering in his chest as you fell asleep next to him.

since coming back from his quest, luke didn’t have it in him to suggest being anything other than friends, and you didn’t push it. there had been a few....moments between you, sure, but nothing more.

luke thought you might have changed your mind, because who would want to be with a bitter, worthless, wannabe hero? then again, that voice haunting his dreams…. luke could change that. 

but, at what cost?

(v. you protect people as ruthlessly as a starving dog)

luke could hear you talking to percy jackson outside. though he couldn’t quite determine what was being said, as much as he tried.

you entered the bathroom and instantly caught luke’s eyes in the mirror. you were wearing your faded pyjama shorts with cartoon crows, and a flannel shirt that luke had a sneaking suspicion might have been his. you smiled at him before setting up at the counter, one sink between you. 

“what was that about?” luke asked after spitting out a mouthful of minty toothpaste.

“oh, nothing.” you were searching through your toiletry bag for something, and seemed to come up short. “hey, do you have any extra dental floss?”

luke threw some over to you. as you effortlessly caught it, he noticed your knuckles, bruised and bloodied.

“what happened?” 

you finished flossing and briefly examined your hands before pulling out your toothbrush. 

“it’s not a big deal,” you assured. “some ares kids were picking on percy, and then they started pushing him around, like, really pushing him around, so….” 

“....you decided to send them to the infirmary.”

you squeezed some toothpaste on your brush before continuing. “i don’t need you to lecture me about how i shouldn’t be fighting with other campers because i’ve been here longer and i should be a good role model. you know what a good role model does? not let kids beat up other kids and think the worst punishment they’ll get is no dessert for a week.”

luke watched carefully as you jammed the toothbrush in your mouth and brushed with such force, he was worried your teeth might dislodge. he knew that you would shed blood for someone you loved, and that you didn’t particularly care if you had to break rules in doing so, because you believed that what was written was not necessarily what was right. 

in fact, luke loved that about you.

no, it wasn’t the fighting that luke cared about — it was who you were fighting for. 

percy was a good kid, he really was. luke just didn’t want you getting attached. 

“i wasn’t going to lecture you. i’m guessing chiron already did?” 

you nodded and spat out what looked like a combination of toothpaste and blood. you rinsed your mouth until the water lost its pinkish hue. once you were done, luke continued his train of thought.

“i just didn’t realize you cared so much about him.”

“about percy?” 

luke could tell that he didn’t have your full attention. you were packing your stuff back up, accidentally tossing luke’s dental floss into your bag, but he had more pressing matters to deal with.

“yeah. the kid’s only been at camp for three days, and you’re already acting like his guard dog.”

you finally turned to luke and glared at him. 

“maybe. but percy’s sweet and he doesn’t seem like the type to put up with bullshit. he’s been through a lot, and annabeth seems to like him, too. as far as i’m concerned, percy’s one of us, and i’m not going to let anyone push him around.”

luke raised an eyebrow at you. “he’s sweet?”

“yeah. like, just now, he gave me some blue raspberry jelly beans as a thank you. said his mom used to work at a candy store. he also wanted me to apologize to you for him. he feels bad about beating you in sword-fighting earlier.” 

you scoffed, like you resented luke for having to apologize to him on percy’s behalf. you definitely did not appreciate that guard dog comment. luke clenched his jaw, seething over what you had just said. 

satisfied with his reaction, you gave luke that nauseating smile of yours, tilted your head towards the exit. a truce, because you never liked to fight with luke for too long, and a order, because you knew luke would always follow. 

the two of you began walking back to your cabin in the warm mid-june air. 

“i wouldn’t say he beat me,” luke huffed. “it was beginner’s luck.”

“sure, tiger. it was beginner’s luck that disarmed the best swordsman we’ve had in the last 300 years.”

you nudged luke’s shoulder with yours, but he recoiled from your touch. 

“are you trying to make me feel worse?” luke tried his best to avoid snapping at you, keeping his tone measured.

“i’m just saying that maybe the kid has natural talent and that doesn’t make you any less talented. there’s no need to get jealous.”

luke resisted the urge to growl at your suggestion. 

to be clear, he was not jealous. it’s just that luke had spent years of blood, sweat, and tears getting to where he was then, and percy jackson had just gotten to camp. 

and, to be even more clear, luke was not jealous of how you were already defending percy with your whole body and your whole heart, the way you did for him. 

by then, you reached the front of the hermes cabin. luke could already hear the commotion of what he would need to deal with as soon as he walked in. the burden of being head counselor, one he approached with an elastic smile that could snap at any moment. 

you tugged on luke’s sleeve before he could open the door. 

“hey. are we okay?”

luke looked down at your fingers grasping the fabric of a sweatshirt he was just realizing was yours. your nails were painted a dark red, now chipped after a week of wear. you had begged luke to paint his nails then, and once again, he gave in. he even started to like the purple you had chosen just for him, so deep it was almost black. the same color you were wearing the first time you and luke met.

he smiled at the memory — a real smile, no plastic — and then smiled back up at you.

“we’re fine, karma.” and he moved to enter the cabin. luke could hear the threat of an argument bubbling up, what sounded like a petty one over a prank gone wrong.

“wait.” you tugged at his (your) sweatshirt once more. “there’s something i wanted to talk to you about, about tomorrow night—”

“annabeth called a meeting during free time.”

“yeah, i know, it’s just —”

“she’ll run through strategy for capture the flag then.”

“one of the aphrodite senior campers asked me to the campfire,” you blurted it out, and luke decided to ignore the sound of a fight breaking out from behind the wooden door.

what in the name of hades were you talking about?

“they asked you out? like…like a….” luke didn’t even want to speak the word, scared it would make it real.

“a date,” you said casually, as if that one word didn’t rip luke’s heart in a million pieces. “i said yes.” an admission that took all those pieces and set them on fire. 

sure, in the seven years since you and luke met, you’d each talked about boys, about girls, about dating and kissing them and going further. but there was something about this one that felt different. something about the way you told him.

“but, listen, i wanted to let you know it’s not —”

“good for you,” was all luke said through gritted teeth before someone started calling his name again, louder and more urgently, and he had to duck inside.  

(vi. you taste like burning cherries and righteous anger)

your team had won capture the flag, of course. the biggest news of the evening, though: percy jackson was the son of the sea god. 

he was a forbidden child, the hero of the great prophecy. 

everything was falling into place. 

all luke should be thinking about is kronos’ plan, and his role in it, and how a world without the gods of olympus was that much more in reach.  

unfortunately, for the time being, he was so consumed by you. 

you, from across the campfire, sporting cutoff denim shorts and fresh wounds from the game earlier. you, who had wrapped your knuckles in gauze, concealing their bruising, fixed the chips in your nail polish and stacked rings on your fingers. (for the record: luke had gifted you the one on your left thumb.) you, with dark lips that whispered too closely and laughed too loudly with a child of aphrodite— jordan li.

you hadn’t so much as looked at luke since congratulating each other on another win. when chiron announced his weekly gratitude to the gods at the start of that night’s campfire, you didn’t punctuate your resentment with your usual eye-roll or biting remark. you were too busy giggling at something jordan said.

luke wanted to be the one to whisper jokes in your ear. he wanted to be the one you left lipstick stains on later, along his jaw and down his neck. he wanted to be the one who kissed the blade mark on your shoulder and the bruises on your knuckles. 

and yet, hours passed and it seemed that the thought of luke had never so much as crossed your mind. he found himself at an after hours party with a few senior campers on the beach. a lethal recipe: a poorly crafted bonfire, some contraband drinks and you in jordan li’s lap, playing with their hair and pretending luke castellan did not exist. 

meanwhile, luke had katie gardner’s full attention. she was talking to him about the strawberry season, potentially leaning a bit too close into luke’s personal space, definitely flirting with him. 

luke could have done a lot worse than the head counselor of the demeter cabin, who always smelled like fresh lavender, whose eyes were the bright green of spring grass and whose lips tasted like golden honey. 

the problem was that luke only wanted you, and his eyes kept sliding over to where you were kissing jordan’s cheek, and he accidentally called the girl he was kissing by your name, which did not make her happy. 

katie threw her drink in his face, told him to wake the fuck up, and walked away.

a chorus of gasps and chuckles erupted as luke stood there, diet coke and vodka seeping into his shirt. the commotion seemed to capture your attention, because you suddenly appeared next to luke, an empty bottle of cherry soda in your hand.

“rough night, tiger?” your voice, that nickname, made luke sick, his face twisting into a frown. you don’t seem to notice or care. instead, you switched your bottle with luke’s and took a sip.

“looks like you were having a pretty good time,” luke practically sneered. “where’s your date?” 

 “they went to bed.” you swallowed a mouthful of beer, grimacing at its bitterness. “gods, this is terrible. you and i should go on the drink run next time — we have better taste.”

“so, are you and jordan like a thing now?”

you gave luke a smile he didn’t quite understand, but made his stomach churn in ways only you could. “would that be a problem?”

“of course not.” he answered way too quickly for that to be true. 

“let’s get out of here,” you suggested. “i think katie is about this close to strangling you with a tree branch.”

luke glanced over your shoulder to where green eyes glared back at him. 

nowhere could luke find it in him to care. he wasn’t even sorry. he just shrugged, took the bottle back from you, took his first sip all night. luke almost gagged (because of course you were right, and the stoll brothers had better fake ids than they had taste) but he suppressed it. 

“no. i’m good.”

biggest lie he ever said. like there wasn’t anger caught in his throat and jealousy swelling between his ribs.

“go find jordan,” he taunted. “kiss them, show them a good time! isn’t that the reason why you got all pretty?”

you narrowed your eyes at him carefully. your nostrils were slightly flared, and luke took a bit of pride in being able to rile you up.

“look, we haven’t really talked lately, and i think we should.”

“go find jordan,” he mocked once more. “almost all the aphrodite kids are here, and i’m sure you can be quiet enough to sneak into their cabin and if you want a quick fu—”

“luke.” you clipped his name, obviously getting to the limit of your patience with him. “if you want to stay here all night and be an asshole, you’re welcome to. you should know, though, that your happy-go-lucky hero mask is starting to crack and i don’t know if you could deal with the fallout from it shattering completely.”

you leaned in close and whispered that last part, very aware of the chattering that stopped and the eyes that watched the pair of you anxiously. luke was usually good at hiding that part of himself who wanted to burn the world down. 

in ways you didn’t realize, you were right: he couldn’t risk revealing it, not now.

not yet. 

“do whatever you want, castellan,” you spat out his last name, the combination of letters foreign in your mouth.“i’m leaving.”

luke should be proud of himself. he waited a whole two seconds before following you like a stray dog. 

luke didn’t know if he’d ever felt you that enraged by him, and it horrified him. it also made him hungry for more. 

“i’m not sure that jordan would want the two of us alone together at night,” he shouted after you, words echoing into the starless sky.

“gods, enough about jordan!” luke practically ran into you with how fast you turned around to confront him. “i was helping them with that stupid aphrodite tradition!”

“you….” luke faltered, all the snark leaving his body. “what?”

luke remembered silena beauregard once explaining the rite of passage to him: to prove themselves, a child of aphrodite had to make someone fall in love with them, and then break their heart.

“why…why would you agree to do that?”

you had reached the dining area by then, and you sat on one of the steps leading to the pavilion. luke stayed a few feet away, looking at you cautiously. 

“jordan and i are already friends, and they figured a fake relationship would be the way to avoid anyone from actually getting hurt in the process.”

“you seemed so…so into it, though,” luke stammered, the memory of you in jordan’s lap, laughter bubbling from your lips, still fresh.

“it’s called acting, dumbass.” the camp didn’t rely on electricity, but there were enough torches around that luke could see you roll your eyes. “anyways, i was trying to give you a heads-up last night, but you wouldn’t listen.” you took a deep breath. “and, honestly, i didn’t push it because….i figured i should test a hypothesis.”

a hypothesis? you’d known annabeth for too long.

“what hypothesis?”

you hesitated. 

“it doesn’t matter. fuck, this was stupid,” you muttered, and without another word, stormed through the dining pavilion, a short cut to the hermes cabin. your footsteps fell heavy against the marble, and luke’s not far behind. 

“what hypothesis?” he asked again.

nothing but rushed footsteps.

“what hypothesis?” luke finally yelled.

third time was the charm, because you stopped in your tracks and faced luke once again. a fire burned in the bronze brazier, where campers were forced to offer up portions of your food to the gods at every meal. its roaring seemed to captivate you, and the flames danced across your face, illuminating all your curves and edges.

“i’m angry at the gods,” you stated. 

this caught luke off guard. from the day the two of you met, luke knew you shared that feeling. you’d gotten quieter with your rage as you’d gotten older. luke supposed he got better at hiding it himself, as well. 

“i’m angry at the gods for letting bad shit happen even if they can stop it, and for building this world in the fucked up way they did. i’m angry at your dad for the way he’s treated you, but — you, luke castellan.” you finally met luke’s eyes with a gaze so sharp, luke almost felt himself bleed. “i’m also angry at you, and not just for your bullshit tonight.” 

your admission felt like a punch to the stomach, and luke was left with no air to breathe.

did you know?

“you haven’t been the same since your quest,” you continued, words slow and deliberate, the way you spoke when you were worried your voice would shake. “and i’ve come to terms with that in the past few years, but you….you’ve never tried to ice me out before. you’ve been acting distant since december, and it’s been driving me insane. do you realize how much i miss my best …..” you swallowed the word friend. “how much i miss you?”

luke hesitated, because what could he say? i know i’ve been distant, but i’ve been busy trying to start a war between the gods. sorry babe! 

would you hate him, if you knew? 

you had to have known that, despite the distance, luke missed you. for tartarus sake, in the last two days, he’d driven himself mad at you calling a fourteen year old boy sweet, and he was about to combust at the image of you dating someone else, with little care as to the collateral damage. 

"you can't just avoid me, makeout with katie fucking gardner, and then….” you trailed off, hiding your face in your hands. whether it was to hide embarrassment or tears, luke wasn’t sure.

a smirk spread across luke’s face at the revelation that he hadn’t been the only one jealous at the bonfire that night. it lit luke up with the confidence he needed to not completely fall to his knees in front of you, beg for your forgiveness for everything he’s done.

“why do you care if i make out with katie fucking gardner?” 

as he waited for a response, luke walked towards you until your back hit one of the marble columns. 

“why do you care if i’m with jordan fucking li?” you clenched your jaw and looked right through luke. a clear indication that you wanted him to break down first; it wouldn’t be you who yielded this fight.

“because i want to be the one you’re with.” at that point, luke was so close to you that he swore he could hear your heartbeat. he reached out and played with the hem of your shorts. “why do you care if i make out with katie gardner?”

“because.” you drew in a sharp breath when luke’s fingers brushed underneath the denim, across the warm skin of your thigh. you closed your eyes. “don’t make me say it, tiger.” 

the desperation in your voice made luke want to do unholy things with you, to you. luke knew you didn’t think of him as a saint, and you never expected him to be one. the reality was that you weren’t much better, either. what was essentially an altar to the gods burned bright next to you, but it seemed neither of you had ever cared less about it than in that moment. 

luke would watch olympus fall. he would dethrone the gods and watch their glass castle shatter and find glory in a new world. in the grand scheme of things, he was willing to lose this battle.

in fact, he would have rather betrayed the titan lord himself than waste another second not kissing your lips. 

so, he kissed you, and you kissed him back with such force, such hunger, it was ungodly.

no, you certainly weren’t a saint — but you were divine, in the most brutal, intoxicating way. in the way you shuddered when luke lodged a leg between your thighs; in the way you threaded your fingers through the belt loops of his jeans to bring him closer; in the way the metal of your rings burned through the skin of his hip, right to the bone, which made him shudder, and you smile triumphantly against his jaw.

the more he tasted your smirk flavored by cherry soda and the ashes of nearby flames, the more he felt your feral teeth against his neck and your wicked nails digging into his shoulders, the more you tugged on his curls, the more luke thought: maybe. 

maybe you would give into your seething resentment, live up to those eye-rolls and snarky comments that got you in trouble with chiron, on the edge of hot water with the gods. maybe you would join the titan army. maybe, just maybe, this time, you would follow luke.

and yet — maybe wasn’t enough if it meant he could lose this. luke wouldn’t risk it, not until he kissed every battle scar and bruise on your body, and you did the same to his. 

“wait.”

it was the last thing luke wanted to do, but he complied. he took the opportunity to appreciate the chaos he created: your shirt in disarray, your lipstick a mess, your chest heaving and desperate to catch a breath. 

“i promised jordan that we’d keep up our charade for a week, two at the most. do you think we could keep this…” you tightened your fist around the fabric of his shirt. “a secret until then?”

luke responded by pressing his lips to yours once more, because there were definitely worse secrets to keep.

(vii. you wouldn’t hesitate to make him bleed)

luke had just left percy jackson to die.

he should be leaving camp, now, but he needed to see you one last time. 

the universe works in mysterious ways, because you were out on a run through the forest, and you crossed paths before he even had time to wonder where you were.

“hey, tiger.” you smiled as if this was a regular afternoon. the two of you would teach your afternoon activities, sneak away during dinner so luke could kiss you in that spot that made you gasp. “wanna join me? i was just wrapping up, but i could be convinced to go longer.”

for a second, he was tempted to. very tempted. 

“i don’t have much time.”

you seemed to notice luke’s sullen mood and you dropped your playful demeanor. 

luke explained: the messages from kronos in his dreams, him stealing the lightning bolt and helm of darkness to start a war between the gods and framing percy. the plan to destroy olympus that luke had pledged his life to.

percy was surprised at what luke had done, and luke could imagine that the rest of camp would be, too. luke was the golden boy of camp half-blood, everyone’s big brother. 

you, on the other hand, didn’t express any sense of shock. 

“luke.” you said his name like you weren’t quite sure it was poison. “i’m going to give you five seconds to tell me that you’re joking.”

five seconds of silence passed. you took a few steps back from luke.

“i….i should have told you sooner.”

“yeah,” you scoffed. “you should have. but, you didn’t. did it feel good, having the titan king whispering sweet nothings in your ear? all the lies about how this war is the only way to get the glory you so desperately want? it’s fucking delusional.” 

“it’s not delusional—”

“yes, it is!” you glared at him. “you’re on the wrong side of a war you made the mistake of starting.”

luke straightened his posture, thinking about how hypocritical you were being. 

“isn’t this what you’re all about? revenge, karma. your mom will probably join us, too. don’t you want to see the gods finally get what they deserve?”

“not like this. i can’t believe how desperate you are, to believe that kronos is going to make everything right. it’s pathetic,” you spat. “i’m not saying the gods don’t deserve to be taken down a notch. their fucking obsession with power and glory….it’s sick and twisted, but i don’t think your titan king is any better. i don’t think you are any better.” 

“it’s time that the gods fall. this is the only way, even if it isn’t perfect,” luke countered. his voice was firmer now as he absorbed your anger. your mother was the goddess of revenge, but you clearly didn't understand the sacrifices, pain, and blood that was required to make the world a better place.  

luke just needed to convince you.

“we’ve talked about this for years,” he continued. “nothing is balanced! there’s no justice here, for anyone.  we can build a better world where we don’t have to burn our scraps and throw ourselves at monsters to get attention. we can fight together like we always have. y/n, i love—”

“don’t,” you snapped. “don’t you fucking dare. you should have died on your quest.” your voice laced with venom. one hand gripping the knife you always kept on your belt. “that dragon should have fucking sliced through you and saved us all the trouble.”

something pricked in the back of his throat, down to his stomach.

“you don’t mean that.”

“i do,” you promised. “at least you would have died with all of us thinking you’re a hero instead of the traitor you really are.”

you grabbed your knife, took a fighting stance. 

“i’m not going to fight you,” was all luke could say. he noticed your hand tremble, and you tightened the grip on your knife to prevent emotion from slipping through your invisible armor. 

in that moment, you have could slice through luke, and it would hurt less than everything you just said, less than the murderous look you were giving him, like he was just another monster you wouldn’t think twice about sending to tartarus.

luke didn’t even have a chance to unsheathe his sword before you charged at him, but he quickly had you pinned to the ground, the tip of your own knife pointed at you. he hesitated. the blade pressed harder against your cheek than he intended, enough to break the skin and let a few droplets of dark crimson escape. 

“please come with me,” he pleaded. you didn’t answer, but you did seem surprised by the softness of his voice. 

a few moments passed, the celestial bronze still between you. luke waited for you to see his way, to yield to his proposal.

you didn’t. instead, you took advantage of the situation. you wrapped your leg around his and flipped your position. in the process, you regained possession of your knife. without the hesitation that held luke back, you sliced through his cheek, deep. luke bit his lip to suppress a groan, tasting blood. your gaze set his whole body on fire as he waited for your next move. that was when you glanced down at his camp necklace, and the new clay bead added to commemorate this summer.

a turquoise trident.

“percy told me he was on his way to see you,” you realized. “what did you do?”

luke didn’t answer. he knew then that a choice ran through your head. 

and it stung, just a little, watching you sprint away through the trees in a last ditch effort to save percy’s life. 

there was a small, pathetic part of luke that wanted you to choose him, even if it meant you would have plunged the knife into his chest.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

You Call It Madness But I Call It Love

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters fluctuate between past and present, beginning in 1934. SPOILERS FOR THE BOYS S3

Chapter 1: You Shouldn't Have Answered the Door

Chapter 2: Late Night Visitor

Chapter 3: Summer Has to End Someday

Chapter 4: It's My Party and I'll Eat Cake If I Want To

Chapter 5: The Man, The Myth, The Legend

Chapter 6: Batter Up

Chapter 7: Are We Old Friends Or Old Enemies?

Chapter 8: Jealousy Doesn't Look Good On Anybody Except...

Chapter 9: Wedding Bells or Gong of Destruction?

Chapter 10: How Did It End Up Like This?

Chapter 11: I Can't Think With You Yelling At Me!

Chapter 12: My Heart Is Beating For You Constantly

Chapter 13: You Made A Plaything Out of Romance

Chapter 14: You're All I'm Dreaming Of

Chapter 15: What Do You Know About Love?

Chapter 16: Please Come Back To Me

Chapter 17: How Could I Ever Forget?

Chapter 18: First Impressions Are Often Correct

Chapter 19: I Know Who You Are

Chapter 20: You Were There

Chapter 21: Try To Understand

Chapter 22: I May Be Right Or I May Be Crazy

Chapter 23: Extreme Makeover Backyard Edition

Chapter 24: What The Past Held

Chapter 25: Are Family Reunions Always This Awkward?

Chapter 26: COMING SOON!

Last Updated: 09/07/2024

[Extras]

Chapter 7.5: The Only Escape

***************************************

If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know :)

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303

@deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister @demodemo909 @fruitfacess @bobbobbobinogs

@bughill126 @simplyfixated  @tiredstrangerr @freefallthoughts @onlyangel-444

@lov3vivian @mxltifxnd0m @mayafatimakhan @marvel-mistress @my-obsession-spn

@lifeonawhim  @liuope @brynanna @carpenterswife

@xxannyxx

 @babyinatrench-coat1 @the-gentle-spirit @valryomen @cassieriddle713 @shaggzthatsnottheworm

 @lil-soup @ej13928 @topstory21 @boywivlove

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@vivre-dans-la-nuit @megara0224 @daisy-the-quake @thesilmarillionblog @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

@libby99hb @peachhiz @tinydancer40 @tinystarfishgalaxy

@jvanilly

@libby99hb @lunaticgurly @i-am-typing @52ndstreeet

@anna6307

@pixviee @soldiergrimes @ladysparkles78 @ahoytothestorm

@octoazzy @modiddys-blog @marmie-noir @practicallylivesonline @impala67stellawinchester

@everlove @dangerousgardenchild

(Photos on mood board from Pinterest)

[sweetpascal]

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 — 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐱

pairing: perv!stepdad!joel x fem!reader

summary: only one more day remains in the week before your mom returns home. your feelings for joel have deepened, and he's aware of it; it's evident to him. he's tempted to maintain his distance, yet he can't deny that you've become the most captivating presence in his life.

warnings: MINORS DNI. DUB-CON. NON-CON. big age gap [18/52], pussy inspection, fingering, forced squirting, pussy pronouns, joel "just the tip" miller turns into joel "i'll make it fit" miller, TW: light vaginal bleeding, belly bulging, reader is considered petite in height and body type, two (2) pussy spanks, missionaryyyy, choking, finger sucking, dacryphilia, joel is a dirty nasty old man okay, he's a meanie, phone sex (again, joel is REALLY fucking nasty), dirty nicknames (daddy's whore, daddy's bitch), this is all in joel's pov

wc: 7.6k

notes: this series literally would have been HALTED for a while if it weren't for @taeslarityy helping me with brainstorming and constructing how i should continue this chapter. cause pookies, i was stumped. i had no motivation for this series--until yasi and her lovely fucking brain gave me a kick in the ass and got me back up again 🥹🛐 also, i'm genuinely so disappointed in this chapter. it's been such a long wait and halfway through writing, i've deleted it so many times. and even now, i'm so unhappy with the outcome cause i feel like i just rushed through it and forced myself to finish it :(( but hey, one more chapter left. 🩷

series masterlist | prev chapter | final chapter

As Joel wakes up in the morning, he senses immediately that something is amiss. He sits up with a hoarse grunt, feeling his lower back muscles pinch and pull. Rubbing his eyes to clear the blurriness, he notices an absence of warmth. The night before, he recalls carrying you to the bedroom, the very one he has shared with your mom for years. He remembers laying down, letting your trembling body curl into his, and gently hushing you to sleep. Now, he's greeted by the cold, empty space in the bed where you slept, mocking him with its emptiness.

In an instant, a surge of panic and fury overwhelmed him, fueled by the thought that you had left without telling him again. The doors unlocked, his car taken, driven wherever your little heart desires. The house's silence confirmed his suspicions of your departure. However, as he swung his legs off the bed, he halted, spotting the small figure curled up on the floor, mere feet from where he lay.

Joel's breath catches in his throat as he approaches, seeing your small form turned away from him. The gentle rise and fall of your shoulders assure him you're still breathing, alleviating his fear that something terrible had occurred. Yet, he can't help but wonder what prompted you to shift away from him to the ground while he was asleep. Were you scared of him? Did you witness or overhear the incident with your friend? Joel kneels down and places a tender hand on your shoulder.

"Baby?" he whispers, careful not to startle you. "Come on, honey, time to wake up." He gives your shoulder a firmer shake, chuckling softly as you respond with a sleepy murmur.

As you begin to wake up, the only sensations are the ache in your neck from the awkward position and an intense coldness. You chose to leave Joel's warmth after coming to the realization that you didn't deserve the comfort and coziness of sharing a bed with him. Joel had taught you not comfort and warmth, but pleasure and pain. You didn't want to start the day being a bad girl for him.

"The hell you doin' on the floor, baby?" Joel couldn't help but laugh when you spring up, nearly cracking your head against his chin. "Hey, hey, easy." The sternness in his voice had you calming down.

A moment of silence enveloped you, allowing full consciousness to take hold. With a soft whimper, you nestled closer to Joel, your nose comfortably tucking in just beneath his jawline, feeling the steady rhythm of his pulse against your skin. He pulls you onto his lap and leans back against the bed, comfortably stretching out his legs to hold you closer to his chest.

"You want to tell me why you were on the floor?" he asks quietly, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as you squirm in his hold, desperate to feel some of his warmth.

Joel feels you shrug under his hands. "I dunno," you say so softly that he has to strain his good ear to hear you properly. "I didn't want you to wake up and see me next to you. And... I didn't want to be a bad girl by staying in your bed. I-I think on the floor is better for me."

Joel is caught off guard by the response; it's not what he anticipated. He thought you would be fearful of him and would seek to keep a distance, yet remain within reach. As you look up at him, a slight widening of his eyes occurs, your lashes fluttering and the innocent smile on your lips hinting that if heart-shaped pupils were real, they'd appear in your eyes every time you looked at Joel. He doubts how much longer he can ignore this feeling before it inevitably consumes him. It's gnawing at his insides, twisting and pulling with force. It's a familiar sinking sensation, one he's experienced too often. But now, as you gaze at him with a doe-eyed look on your innocent face, Joel realizes he's in too deep. He's got you hooked, which was his intention, but now you're too hooked. He's searching for an escape. He needs a way out. The voice in his head is screaming, growing louder, louder, LOUDER.

Get out, Joel. Get out. Get the fuck out. Run. Don't get too close. Don't let her fall too deep. Run. Run. Run. Make it hurt. Ruin in. Ruin her. Make her hurt. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out.

"Daddy?"

The sound of a soft voice causes his eyes to fly open, not recalling the moment they had closed. The voice fades away, leaving silence behind. He senses your presence; your skin, your weight, your gentle breath against his neck. You are all he perceives. Yet, this incites anger within him. The sensation is overpowering, his skin grows warm as the walls seem to draw nearer. Joel's breath quickens. Disregarding the concern on your face, he chooses to shut his eyes once more, withdrawing his hands from you to form tight fists.

"Daddy?"

Once more, it's your voice, yet softer and fainter. Joel's jaw tightens, and he grinds his teeth while your voice sears through his ear canal, coiling throughout his brain and delving deeper into the membrane. He tries to steady his breathing, but flashes of your body, bruised and battered, eyes fearful with tears, pussy leaking all over his cock show up behind his closed eyes like a slideshow, and it's as though he was suddenly injected with a drug directly into his veins. His breath steadies and his hands relax. Joel's eyes open to a half-lidded gaze, emotionless as he stares back. He understands the necessary actions; it's for the best. He won't let himself become entangled in any feelings you may harbor towards him.

That's not who he is, nor who he will ever become.

It has been exactly sixteen hours, thirty-two minutes, and forty-eight seconds since the last time Joel has kissed your lips. His body is aching to feel their plush softness and subtle sweetness. To feel them wrapped around his thick cock, tightening all around and swallowing down his cum. To feel them pressed into his neck as you struggle to keep in your little whimpers of sinned pleasure as you fall apart on his fingers. Joel can feel the monster within him, howling and screeching to be released.

He can't.

He won't.

Joel confronts the intricate desires he diligently avoided. Their abrupt emergence, without a moment for him to brace himself, leaves him feeling disarrayed and distant from the man he strived to become. The facade he maintained for years has dissipated. Gone is Joel Miller; the husband, stepfather, boss, and big brother. Now, there was Joel Miller; pervert, predator, stepfather that creeps on his wife's daughter, violator. All the things he has desperately tried to hide away, he now became.

The haunting is relentless, day after day. Living in the same house as the person who evokes such darkness is excruciating. He feels akin to a caged animal, circling endlessly, biding time for an opening to pounce on any unsuspecting individual. Joel is convinced that the only escape from this torment is to confront it head-on. He knows. He also knows it's sick and disgusting, but it excites him unlike anything else. He enables it.

Joel watches from afar, conscious of the negative impact his behavior has had on you today. He notices your fidgeting and the way you quiet down when his glare falls upon you. Your averted gaze and pouted lips communicate all he needs to understand. This experience is as torturous for you as it is for him. Nonetheless, the voice persists, refusing to be silenced. This withdrawal seems to only fuel its anger, making it more aggressive and deafening. It's pushing Joel to the brink of madness.

You had to have known what you're doing to him. Joel firmly believes that you're being a fucking tease on purpose, wearing your soft sleep shorts and paper-thin camisole tank top. When you bend down, Joel could see how your shorts tighten around the shape of your ass and pussy lips, giving him a tasteful view of camel toe, and if he looks any closer, he could possibly see a wet spot on the fabric. He knows what you're doing, whether you know it yourself or not. It's like your body calls out to him, begging to be defiled, begging to be touched by his perverted hands. Whether you know it or not, you need him as much as he needs you.

The house is enveloped in silence. Joel has not uttered a single word for several hours. The quiet has persisted from morning until late afternoon. Nursing a beer, he attempts to divert his mind and avoid being overwhelmed by thoughts of you, his stepdaughter. The task was proven to be the most difficult he's ever had to endure considering the fact that you took a seat beside Joel on the couch and now, you won't stop fucking moving.

It would be a minute of stillness. Then, you would huff and shuffle in your seat, bare thighs brushing against Joel's jean-clad thigh. It was clockwork. Every time he tilted his head back to take a gulp of his beer, your movements jostled his side. With each sip, he grunted and nudged you roughly with his elbow, trying to push you away, yet you edged closer after each shove.

"Enough," Joel grunts for the umpteenth time, opting to use his hand this time to shove you away, albeit harder than the rest. "Sit your ass over there and give me some fuckin' space."

He notices your trembling lips and the tears brimming in your eyes. With a deep sigh, he pinches the bridge of his nose. All he desired was to savor a beer in the afternoon without your tears for every mistake he made, yet he realizes it was a situation he brought upon himself. Evidently, he has managed to reduce you to a state of dependency. Now, it was time to break you down even further until you can no longer cry, only accept your fate.

"Alright," he sighs once more, taking a sip of his beer before turning to you. "What's goin' on? Hm? Why is so goddamn important that you have to be glued at side?" Joel didn't intend to come off as harsh, but his nerves were ablaze, everything was humming, his clothes felt constricting, and the thought of your mother lingered in his mind, an unsettling presence.

He notices you curled up, knees drawn to your chest and arms encircling them. Resting your chin on your knees, you cast him a nervous glance. Joel lifts his eyebrows and gestures with his hand, urging you to speak. He understands that your attachment to him isn't your doing; it's precisely what he desired. Yet, he can't deny the thrill he gets from your reliance on him. Knowing that he's the one you yearn for fills him with a smug satisfaction, inflating his ego immensely.

A young, pretty little thing like yourself eager to please a dirty old man like him.

Clearing your throat in the softest way possible, you tell him, "I've been getting that feeling again... down there. And it won't go away no matter how many times I try to think about something else. I need your help to make it go away, Daddy. Please, help me." The last sentence comes out as a whisper, almost like a secret you're trying to keep for yourself, but Joel heard every word.

Looking at you right now, his sleezy eyes swallow every inch. His fingers twitch on his lap as his hand tightens around the neck of the beer bottle. There's a warmth stirring in his gut. His jaw tensed and clenches as he tries to fight off the sexually violent images of you in his mind.

With the way you're staring at him, Joel knows what has to be done.

That's where he has you now, laid out on his and your mom's shared bed, bare naked and trembling, silky thighs spread wide open with your hands under the crook of your knees to keep them that way. Joel is kneeling between them, clad in only his jeans, his shirt long gone. He's staring down at you like a feral wolf waiting for the perfect moment to attack the pathetic bunny cowering in a tree stump. His mouth waters as he thinks about sinking his teeth into your flesh and drinking your sweet blood. His hands tremble as they start to stroke along your inner thigh, savoring the way you tremble under his fingertips.

"She's just drooling for me, ain't she?" Though the question was rhetorical, you still nod. Joel grins and lets out a deep chuckle before biting down on his bottom lip as his thumbs get closer to your sweet pussy.

He knows he's teasing at this point. The little flutters your pussy gives him tells him all that he needs to know. He only wonders how far he'd have to go for you to finally crack and lose composure. A pearly drop of slick slowly pools out of your hole and slides down to your other tight-ringed hole. Joel catches it with his thumb and gently swipes it up to your clit before pulling his thumb away, a string of arousal connecting from the fingertip to your clit. He sees you glancing down at it as he shows it off to you with a sadistic grin on his face.

"You see that?" he whispers, his plush lips parting as he continues swiping through your slick, subtle wet noises colliding with the sounds of your heavy breathing. "So messy down here, honey girl."

Joel's dick thickens underneath the two layers he wears on his bottom half. The throbbing is constant, his heavy balls pulsing in time with his heartbeat. He's surprised the button of his jeans hasn't popped open. With one hand, he unbuttons and slides down the zipper agonizingly slow. Your eyes are on his hands the entire time. Joel lets out a quiet laugh when his hardness forces the zipper to slide down the rest of the way on its own.

With his cock comfortably breathing, both hands are now back on your inner thighs, thumbs still close to the lips of your pussy. With gentle movements, he uses his thumbs to spread apart your lips to get a better look of your sopping hole. Pearly strings connecting from one lip to the other, your pretty labia spreading open like a blooming flower, your swollen clit throbbing for attention. Joel is in awe and falls into a hypnotized state the more he stares at your fully exposed pussy. His fingers are curious as they stroke along your lips, further dampening the light dusting of hair that keeps your mound warm and protected.

Joel eagerly listens to every little noise you make. His movements are torturous, and he knows he's being mean by not giving you what you asked for. The little trembles of your thighs and your weak moans when his fingers purposely avoid your aching clit. His lips part and he can feel drool at the corners. Licking it away, Joel continues to trace your pussy lips with his thumbs, further observing the clenching and unclenching of your non-stop dripping hole.

"Fuck," he hissed under his breath, fingers catching the slick repeatedly to avoid it wasting onto the bedsheets. In a louder voice, he says in a smug tone, "She jus' won't stop leakin' everywhere."

Joel's mind is reeling the more he inspects your dripping pussy. He can practically taste you on his tongue. A husky, low growl escapes from his chest before he could stop it. He can hear that voice again, feel those claws sinking into his shoulders from behind. The rattling of the cage gets louder and more violent. Joel's eyes shut as fast as his hands left your body as he tries to shut out that dark voice coaxing him to do more damage. He lets out another low growl and shakes his head to himself.

"Daddy?" he hears your sweet whimper fill his ears. "Make it go away."

Joel wants to make it go away. He wants to make everything go away. He needs to or else this feeling won't stop. It'll only get stronger and stronger the more time passes. He knows what has to be done. Then, silence. He opens his eyes, his breathing heavy and labored. The two of you make eye contact, and Joel feels like his heart is about to burst through his chest from how hard and fast it's beating.

Without another word, his middle finger slowly sinks inside your pussy, your tightness sucking him deeper. There's a steady trembling in your thighs as you fight to shut them. Joel's thumb strokes your swollen clit in firm, tight circles. He crooks his finger and lays his free hand across your mound and applies pressure, pinning you between his palm and the mattress.

"What..."

He knows what you're about to ask, but he doesn't let the question slip from your lips before he's fucking his middle finger in and out of your pussy while simultaneously curling his finger against your spongy pleasure spot, all the while pressing down above your mound and rubbing your clit. The wet sloshing of your wetness being spread all around his finger, palm, and your thighs is an embarrassing noise that has you covering your face. For some reason, that pisses Joel off.

"Look at me!" He practically yells and yanks his finger out of your pussy to land a hearty smack directly over your clit. The loud smack has you yelping and squeezing your thighs together as you yanked your hands away from your face to look at Joel with a pained expression.

He shoves your thighs open with brutal force and shoves his middle and ring fingers inside your pussy this time, the tightness increasing from the sudden intrusion. You let out a louder yelp and reach down to grab his arm with both hands, but Joel slaps them away like he would an annoying mosquito. He moves his hand with vigor, fucking his fingers up against that one spot that makes you leak and shake. There's an abundance of wetness that splatters all over your inner thighs and on Joel's palm. His tongue tingles to clean up your sticky mess.

"Goddamn, you're so fuckin' wet, babydoll," he groans filthily, forcing himself to look between your legs. His calloused fingers are shoved so deep inside your pussy, the same ones that have been inside your mother numerous times. Joel is a disgusting man for the satisfaction he feels, knowing that these are the same fingers that have made your mom cum. And now, he's going to make you, his stepdaughter, cum on them in the same way.

Joel presses down onto your pelvis as he keeps the heel of his palm against your clit to apply delicious pressure. He moves his hand up and down rather than forward and back. He can feel his fingers stabbing at the ribbed spongy spot repeatedly, the wet sloshing growing louder the faster he does it. Your moans are garbled and stuttering from his unrelenting pace.

"That's it, babydoll," he grunts quietly, biting down on his bottom lips as he fights to slide in a third finger. If he's going to open up that pussy any further, it's going to be around his cock.

"Stop, stop, stop," you squealed and kicked your legs, trying desperately to pull your body away from his fingers. "I have to pee!"

Joel goes harder and faster, his palm practically slapping against your clit in time with his fingers. The final moan you let out was demonic, of some sort. It didn't sound like it was coming out of a teenage girl, but more from a deranged older woman. Then, a stream of wetness splashes out and splatters all across Joel's forearm and onto the bed sheets. It was fucking never-ending. Your pussy keeps sucking in his fingers, fluttering all around his knuckles. He pulls his fingers out and lands another smack onto your pussy, paying extra attention to your needy clit.

He knows what he has to do. He knows what has to be done.

He rests heavily on top of your body, one forearm planted on the bed beside your head as the other moves between your bodies to lower his jeans and his boxers, not quite shaking them completely off. You're still trying to catch your breath, not exactly understanding what it was that just happened, what it was that you just felt, and why it felt so good. Joel can see it in your eyes, the unspoken questions on the tip of your tongue. He hushes you softly, his lips just a hair away from yours.

"Daddy's goin' to do the tip again, okay? Just the tip, babydoll, I promise," his voice is quiet and soft, his breath tickling your lips like a kiss from the wind.

He doesn't care enough to hear your response or to see if you want to do this or not, but he's already pressing his tip against your sticky hole and pushing inside. Joel's hoarse grunt was muffled as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, his big, heavy body sagging further onto yours. His hips slowly move forward and forward and back, fucking his mushroomed tip in and out of your eager hole.

"Oh, my God," your sweet little whimpers whispered in his ear as Joel's hips continued their steady pace. "Too...much." Your voice is clouded with a tinge of pain as he fucks an inch deeper, and then two inches deeper. "Daddy... Daddy, s-slow down!"

Joel's mental state is clouded with depraved lust, pleasure, and ecstasy. His cock sinks deeper. His vision is cloudy, and your voice sounds far away as your pussy sucks him in. He finds himself shutting you up by slapping a big hand over your mouth and pressing some of his weight down onto it. Joel's head lifts up, and he's inches from your face. Your eyes are wide and filled with tears, one hand grabbing onto his shoulder as the other desperately grabs onto his forearm.

"You can take some more," he breathes heavily, his beer-laced breath causing your eyes to flutter shut as you fight to pull away from his face, but Joel clamps his hand down tighter against your mouth, pinning your head down onto his pillow and constricting your movements.

The figurative crate in the recesses of his mind is rattling violently, the voice inside escalating, almost yelling for Joel to let go and inflict pain. This is the necessary action. It's a now or never situation. His skin turns scorching, almost too hot to touch. Every sense is inundated by your presence. Time has run out. The voice is reverberating in Joel's mind, fully taking control.

The chains are gone. The beast has awoken. He is free.

A small scream against Joel's palm has him breaking free from the darkness that has taken over. He's sure he looks feral right now. The widening of your eyes showcases terror. Joel glances down and notices that his cock is now halfway inside your pussy. He doesn't remember sliding his hips deeper into yours. He feels how tight you've gotten, your pussy almost begging for him to not go any further.

"Look at that," he mumbles to himself, pulling his cock two inches out and seeing the tiniest smear of blood around the thick base. "Seems like this little pussy can't all of me, huh?" Joel leans back down, laughing right in your face as he pushes his cock back inside. You're kicking at the back of his thighs with the heels of your feet now, trying to shake your head at him, but he tightens his hand once again. "Don't worry, honey girl," he grunts breathlessly. "Daddy will make it fit."

And with that, Joel reels his hips back and slams the last few inches into your pussy, hearing with glee as your breath gets caught in your throat and your eyes cross and roll into the back of your head. The rhythmic push and pull of your cunt tightening around his cock had his heavy balls throbbing as heat builds stronger in the pit of his stomach.

Joel groans huskily, lowering his heavy body onto your own and slowly moving his hips forward and back, pulling out shallowly and pressing in deep. He makes sure you feel every single inch.

"Feel how deep I am in your tummy, babydoll?" he breathes heavily, his tongue thick in his mouth as his throat suddenly feels dry. Joel can feel his senses slipping as he loses control. He's been waiting for this day for months, and now that he finally has it, he doesn't want to let it go. This whole power dynamic went straight to his head, further inflating his already massive ego. Feeling your virgin cunt being deflowered around his cock was unlike anything he's ever felt.

Your eyes are blurry with thick tears that roll down your cheeks and slide along Joel's fingers. He pulls out again, slowly pushes back in, and repeats the process until the light smearing of blood disappears. He gruffly hushes you and pulls his hand away to shove two thick fingers into your mouth.

"Attagirl," he mumbles to himself as he obscenely pushes down on your tongue to widen your mouth. "Show me what that tongue can do." He slides his fingers forward and back along the pink muscle, mimicking the motions of his hips. He goes as far as to shove his fingers towards your uvula to make you gag. Drool slides down the corners of your lips as strings of spit crudely connect from your tongue to Joel's fingers.

He grins wolfishly. Oh, this is going to be fun. To have you under his body, cunt squeezing and choking his cock, knowing that you will forever live with the moment of your disgusting stepdad taking your virginity. Joel doesn't give a flying fuck on how this is going to affect any future relationships you might have with another man. Right here, right now, you belong to Joel. You know it, he knows it. Within the walls of the bedroom he shares with your mom, you belong to him whether you liked it or not. He's going to take, take, take, and there's nothing you can do about it.

Joel lifts the bottom of his shirt to watch the hypnotizing sight of your swollen pussy repeatedly sucking him in. Virgin blood was now replaced with that sticky slick he grew to love over the last few days. The sopping wet sounds of his hips smacking into yours, your stickiness covering his thick, dark pubic hair and happy trail. Joel looks up to watch your face as he starts to really fuck you. With one hand still trapped between your lips, he uses those fingers to hook behind your bottom teeth and force your head down as his other hand cups the back of your head to grab your hair in a fist. Yanking your head down, you're forced to watch his girthy cock violate your pussy for the first time.

"You fuckin' see that?" Joel pants heavily, his own lips parted to let out a few strained grunts. "See how your little pussy sucks me right in? You see that shit, right?" He sounds too cocky for his own good, but he has every right to be. Your mom was never wet enough or tight enough for him. Having her daughter nearly drowning his dick and choking the life out of it was an accomplishment he'll proudly wear like a medal of honor.

"Daddy," you called out to him, but a garbled, drooly mess came out from his fingers still hooked behind your bottom teeth. "Aaahhgghh!!" The next moan was practically punched out of you once Joel started to put some weight into his next few thrusts.

"Thaaaat's it," he has the audacity to laugh at the sudden reaction he pulled from your trembling body. "She's feelin' it now, ain't she?"

More tears spilled down your cheeks, and Joel's depraved sense of self forced him to swipe his spit covered fingers across the wetness to shove back into your mouth, forcing you to taste your tears on your tongue. The tiny moan you tried to hide wasn't ignored. Joel knows you want to let loose and enjoy what he's giving you, but he remembers what's going to happen if you enjoy it too. He can at least make it hurt just for a little, right?

Pulling his hands completely away from your head and face, Joel places them into the crook of your knees to force them to your chest, further spreading you open and giving him more room to work with. Joel doesn't bother to double check if the positioning is comfortable before he's driving his hips so fast and deep against yours, not even giving you time to breathe between each violent thrust. His head tilts back, his grin widening as he hears your pained yelps, feeling your hand desperately grabbing onto his forearms and scratching your nails down his skin, no doubt leaving deep marks.

"This is what a man's dick feels like," he grunts ferociously like a wild beast. "Quit your fuckin' whining and take this dick. Fuckin' take it. Take it. Take it." Joel's fucking you like a madman now, balls so heavy and filled with cum, smacking against your lightly bruised ass cheeks. Your wetness is splattering all over his jeans and your inner thighs. He glances at your face and sees the expression you wear--eyes rolled back and mouth open to let out ungodly noises.

Fuck, you're really enjoying this. No matter what Joel does, you're going to like whatever he does either way. He's tainted you. He deflowered you and rotted you inside and out. You're no longer that sweet, innocent girl he helped his wife raise. No longer did you have that girl-next-door personality. You were his little experiment, his naive toy to play with when he got bored of your mom and needed something new and young. He's in too deep, literally and figuratively. Your dripping wet pussy tightening around his girth has Joel coming back down to reality.

"Jo-oel! Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!!" Your little squeals were music to his ears. The noises his cock was forcing out of you were ones you tried to keep hidden, but the pleasure was too intense to keep quiet about. "Right there!! Ri-ight... there!!"

Then, a shrill ringtone fills the room. Joel's back pocket is vibrating, and his hips freeze as if he were being held in a stickup. With his cock still so very deep inside, he glances down and sees a visible bulge in your stomach. He can faintly map out the shape of his mushroomed tip. He pulls out and pushes in again, completely hypnotized with the sight of your belly bulging from his massive cock. You seem transfixed on it as well, your own lips parted in wonder and eyes wide in awe. The phone rings again. Joel hisses a curse under his breath and reaches into his back pocket.

"It's your mom," he gruffly tells you and leans in close to point a finger in your face. "Not a single sound, you hear me?" His heart is pounding as if he ran a marathon. He's nervous, there's no lie there. Thankfully it's not a face call, but still. Joel can't shake the feeling away as he swipes his thumb to answer the call.

"I called you twice. Why didn't you answer the first time?"

Joel rolls his eyes immediately and tries to steady his breathing. Of course, no hi, hello, nothing. She had to go straight into getting on his case about not answering fast enough. His patience was wearing thin. He had half a mind to lay his cards out on the table and tell her he was too busy fucking her daughter to care.

"I was takin' care of a little problem I was havin', honey." Joel lets out a strained moan when your pussy clenches around him accidentally. He shoots you daggers, his glare burning into your skin as you hastily cover your mouth with both hands when he retaliates by shoving his dick so deep into you, it causes the stomach bulge to return.

"Oh, yeah? Well, what if I was dealing with the same problem?"

Her voice dropped into a sultry tone, and Joel's eyes rolled once again before he glanced down between your bodies. He uses his free hand to splay across your mound to rest his thumb against your swollen clit. He traces faint circles around the pearl, relishing the twitch in your thighs and your labored breathing.

"Yeah? You wanna do it together while I still have time?" Joel's hips start fucking into you again, slow and deep, just how you like it. He almost sounds bored when he talks to your mom, but his eyes are wild and filled with want as he stares at your wanton expressions.

"I miss your dick, Joely. Ugh. I need it."

Her moans turned Joel off, especially with that stupid fucking nickname she always called him. The sound of your shaky breathing and warm, wet, tight cunt soaking him brought him back to the present. He can block out your mom's voice and focus on what he's providing you. With one hand keeping the phone pressed to his ear, his other hand bats your hands away from your mouth and instead possessively holds onto your throat as he starts fucking you with rhythm.

"You jus' like this dick too much, don't you? Can't fuckin' live without it," he's making eye contact with you as he talks to your mom. He makes sure that you know he's talking directly to you. With his big hand firmly holding onto your throat, he can feel your skin becoming warmer as the eye contact causes you to fluster.

You nod as best as you can, his hand tightening around your throat to cut off any sounds you were about to make within a few seconds. The steady thwack of his hips against yours could be mistaken for his fist around his own cock to your mom. Joel makes sure to not sound suspicious in the way he's talking. Though he's speaking more to you, he doesn't want to use any of the words reserved for you to be used on your mom. Having her figure out what's been going for the week that she's been gone is not what Joel needs right now. What he needs is to fuck you stupid, doesn't matter if your mom is cockblocking him in the process.

"That's right, honey," he mumbles into the receiver, but loud enough for you to still catch on to his slurred words. He tosses you a wink, pressing his fingers deeper into your throat as he fucks you faster. "Takin' this fuckin' dick so good, huh? Only thing you're good for is takin' this fuckin' dick." He growls the last two words, your moans garbled and incoherent and strained from the pressure around your throat.

Joel takes the hint to release your throat and allow you to get a few gulps of air once he realized you were on the verge of passing out. He shoves his middle and ring fingers into your mouth, forcing you to lick along his gold wedding band. Joel puts the phone on speaker and lays it beside your head on the pillow. He puts a finger to his lips and carefully maneuvers your legs onto his shoulders. There's really nothing like half-assed phone sex with his unassuming wife while he fucks her teenage daughter on the other line.

How stupid of both of them, being hassled by the same man for entirely different reasons. Joel is a disgusting, sick man. But God, if it doesn't make his dick rock hard right now. He knows he can't be stopped, and that's the fun part of all of this. No matter how hard anybody tries, Joel is going to keep doing this over, and over, and over again.

"I can't wait for you to fuck me again, baby. Ugh! I need it."

Joel looks deep into your eyes as he grinds nice and slow into your leaking cunt, your swollen clit crushed against his pubic hair with his balls pressed firmly between your ass cheeks. In a husky voice, all while maintaining eye contact, he tells your mom into the phone, "I'll fuck you nice and good, honey. I'll fuck you so good, I'll ruin every other man for you."

And with that, he gives you a kiss that was all tongue, teeth, and spit, all the while your mom's exaggerated moans were ignored. She's talking, but neither of you are paying attention. Joel is so focused on devouring your entire mouth with his that he doesn't register your mom calling his name until you're frantically tapping his arm to get his attention back onto the phone.

"I said, do you miss my pussy, Joely?"

"You know I do, honey," he answers almost robotically as he refocuses his attention back on kissing you sloppily. He pulls away from a brief moment to roll his hips deep into yours, swallowing down your squeaky moans with his lips. Your mom is talking again, but Joel doesn't bother to respond. Instead, he lifts himself onto his hands and starts fucking you vigorously.

Hips smacking into hips and wet, sloppy noises fill the room. You're trying your hardest to contain your moans and not cum so suddenly, Joel can see and feel that. He's grunting heavily, his entire lower half smeared and covered in your sticky slick. For such a virgin, you sure do get wetter than the local neighborhood whore that Joel has numerously encountered many years back. There's a saying that goes: Virgin pussy is the best pussy, any man will agree. And Joel stands by that statement as he feels it from his own stepdaughter. It's an ego boost to feel something so warm and tight get so incredibly wet for him, and only him.

"Fuuuuuck, I can hear how wet this pussy is for me," Joel says loud enough for your mom to hear, though he directs it towards you. The pinch of your eyebrows and the rolling back of your eyes tells him more than what you can say aloud.

"Fuck, Joely, I'm gonna cum!"

Joel is fucking into you harder than you can comprehend what's happening. He smacks a hand over your mouth to muffle your little punched out moans. He grunts and growls like an animal, sweat trickling down his spine, further staining his shirt. His heart races at the speed of a cheetah. He feels like the most powerful man as he watches you start to fall apart under him.

"Cum for me," he breathes out, the warmth in his gut getting stronger as he rubs your clit with a shaky thumb. "Fuckin' cum all over my dick like a good fuckin' whore, huh? Are you Daddy's whore? Tell me... aagghhh!!... Tell me you're Daddy's fuckin' bitch."

"Uuhhh, Joel?"

He reaches over to hang up and toss his phone onto the floor with a clatter before leaning completely onto your body, folding you into a pretzel and fucking you with violence. You let out a piercing wail as he fucks the air out of you. Your nails pinch his skin, no doubt drawing blood. Joel's grunting in your face, warming your already heated skin with his beer breath. Tears roll down your temples as you hold onto him for dear life.

"I-I... hhnnggh..." You can hardly speak, let alone open your eyes to tell him exactly what you want to say. "Daddy... I-I... I lo-ove you!"

Joel is taken aback, letting out a surprised moan when your cunt rhythmically contracts around his cock as you cum, and you keep cumming. It doesn't fucking stop. Your pussy is so wound tight around him that Joel couldn't pull out if he wanted to. Squeaky little moans and shaky cries, you hold onto him tighter as your pussy relaxes.

His cock still lodged inside your swollen cunt, Joel observes you in silence. Your words are still echoing in his ears. His cock is nearly soft as it rests comfortably within your ribbed, fleshy walls. Love. Love. Love. You love him. You love him. And it has to be in the same way girlfriends love their boyfriends and wives love their husbands, which isn't the relationship the two of you have.

Joel pulls out before he realizes what exactly he's doing. He hastily tucks himself back into his ruined boxers and zips up his equally ruined jeans. He tossed you your clothes without giving you a single glance.

"Clean yourself up and get dressed. We need to talk," he gruffly says and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him for a dramatic effect.

He paces in the hallway, both hands running through his hair frantically as he tries to figure out what the fuck just happened. That dark, evil voice in the back of his mind returns. It's creeping in slowly, and soon, it overcomes him, drowning him in its darkness.

Look at what you did, Joel. Look at what happened. Love is involved, the one thing you were afraid of happening. Make it hurt. Cause more pain. Do something, NOW.

He's sitting on the couch by the time you come down the stairs, a subtle limp in your step from the rough fucking he gave you just minutes prior. Your clothes are disheveled, and your shirt is on backwards. You're twiddling your fingers and looking down at the ground like a guilty kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Joel's elbows are pressed into his knees with his hands cupped over his mouth in thought. His mind is racing, his thoughts screaming and hollering. For the first time in a long time, he doesn't know what to do.

"Daddy?"

Your gentle voice fills his ears, and he has to force himself to shut his eyes to avoid looking in your direction. He feels the warmth of your presence sitting beside him on the couch. Fuck, he can even smell the thick scent of your pussy, and he wonders if you even cleaned yourself up like he done told you to do. There's a tick in his jaw the more silent he stays. He feels like the first word he utters is going to make him explode.

"Joel?" you whisper meekly, tenderly grabbing onto his tense bicep and flinching when he suddenly jumps up to his feet.

Joel's arm burns from your touch. He doesn't know what to do with himself. He paces back and forth like a tweaker at a gas station, itching to get their hands on some drugs or alcohol. Joel knows that he's royally fucked. He never meant for you to get feelings for him. He thought he was doing the opposite with the way he's been acting with you.

"You stupid fuckin' girl," he barks out a cruel laugh and wipes a hand down his mouth as he shoots around to stare at you with a new fire in his furious eyes. "You don't know what love is, you hear me? You do not know what love is and you sure as hell ain't goin' to get it from me."

He can see his words shoot at you like bullets. The sag in your shoulders and the crestfallen expression you wear on your face was a clear indicator that what he said truly hurt you.

"Excuse me?" your question comes out soft and broken. "You... You don't love me?"

Make it hurt. Ruin it. MAKE IT HURT, JOEL.

"No, I don't," he speaks lowly. "You're real fuckin' dumb to think otherwise, sweetheart. You think all the things I've done to you were from a place of love? Huh? What, you think I really cared about those little feelings you had? News flash, you're just a kid. I ain't your boyfriend, and I sure as hell ain't gonna be a husband for you. I mean, you really think another man will want you after I've already had my fun with your body, hm?"

Joel knew it was a low blow, but he needed to go in for the kill. The way you're looking at him drastically changed into a look of pure hatred and venom. Hot tears spill down your cheeks as he watches you take in his harsh wordss

"I hate you," you wept quietly. "I-I hate you, Joel Miller. You... You bad, bad man."

He leans over with his hands planted on his knees as he slouches to your height. He gives you a mocking pout. "No, sweetheart, you don't hate me. If you hated me, you wouldn't have let me slide my dick inside that pussy of yours and take what was meant to be for a boy your age. Ain't that the truth, hm? No, instead, you let your ol' stepdaddy work his way into your empty little head and make you think that you're really worth somethin'."

He can see in that moment your heart breaking. He stands up straight again, looking down at you with disdain and shakes his head, tsking as he does so. You don't bother to look at him as he fixes your hair over your shoulder. He smiles a little at the flinch you give. When he roughly grabs your jaw in his hand and yanks your head up to look at him, he leans in real close again.

"I still own this pussy whether you like it or not."

And with that, Joel Miller has completely ruined your heart.

taglist:

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[simpxxstan]

to you (yjh one-shot)

pairing: model!jeonghan x f.reader

genre: friends to lovers, fluff, slight angst, smut (MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT!)

summary: jeonghan loves to play cupid. he's thoroughly successful at it as well. you know it's just his incredible luck, and you can't wait for him to trip and fall. even if you'll be the first one to stop him from falling.

word count: 16.2k

rating: 18+

warnings: seokmin and joshua are sexually and romantically attracted to men in this fic(this is not meant to represent/imply anything from real life). infidelity (not by jeonghan or reader mc), heartbreaks, body image insecurities, bad familial relations, jeonghan comes from a rich family, slight love triangle between jeonghan and mingyu, jeonghan is slightly self-centred, joshua is a mean guy and breaks hearts. smut warnings: oral sex (m. receiving), nipple play, protected sex.

a/n: this fic is largely inspired by jane austen's emma. it's an amazing book so pls do read/watch the tv renditions (personally recommend the 2009 bbc version). if you are familiar with, you might think of this fic as somewhat from mr. knightley's pov. i've not kept the plot exactly same ofc, but there are a lot of similarities. hope you enjoy reading it! your feedback, likes and reblogs make my day <333

One fine morning, when you were busy harvesting the freshly grown radish from your backyard, a boy who was about as tall as you and had a mop of brown hair that made you cross because it was so unkempt, peeped from the other side of the backyard gate. He was waving at you, and had a bright smile on his face. 

“Who are you?” You asked, with as much courage as you could, for a five year old. 

“Hello! I'm Yoon Jeonghan!”

“Why are you here?” 

He stuttered, and pointed his hand to the big mansion that marked the otherwise quiet locality as posh, the landmark for all delivery people, and the pride of the neighbourhood. “I live there!”

“Yaah! You're not allowed here.”

“Why?” He pouts.

“I'm busy now. I can't entertain guests.”

“What are you doing? That's what I came to see!” He's smiling again. 

“Harvesting radish that I planted last month!”

“Really?! Wow! You're a farmer!”

You smile with a little bit of pride. “Yaah! How many rooms do you have in your house? Eomma says you have 10  rooms!”

“No…” he pauses, and you're hopeful that he'll just prove your mom was merely exaggerating. “There are 14 rooms!” He then continues, making you even more annoyed.

“Yaah! Then why don't you go live there! Why are you disturbing me!”

“You haven't even told me your name. Why are you being like a mean Ahjumma!” He whined and slapped the gate once. 

“I don't tell strangers my name!”

“Okay keep your secret name.”

“Yes. Now go to your big house.”

“I don't want to! I don't like it! I want to live in your house!”

You're really angry now. First he disturbs you, and then tries to steal your house too! “Yaah! You're a bad guy!”

“No! I really like cozy houses like yours.”

“But when I grow up, I want to live in a big house like yours.”

“No! I want to live in a house like yours. Cozy and warm.”

“You're crazy Yoon Jeonghan.”

He smiles sweetly, before making a tiny heart with his fingers, making you cringe. 

“Won't you let me in, friend?”

“You're not my friend.”

“Aaah…. Right. I must be your Oppa!”

“Oppa? Yaah!”

“What a rude dongsaengie, aigoo! How old are you?”

“I'm not your dongsaeng!”

“No! You are! I was born in 1995. You?”

You bite your lip when you realise you indeed are younger to him.

“Just because I was born in 1997 doesn't mean I'm your dongsaeng. You'll always be Yoon Jeonghan to me!”

He shrugged before giggling. “It's okay, dongsaengie. We can be informal like friends!” He throws another heart at you, and you cringe again.

“Now will you go home or will I call my mom to shoo you out?” Your hands are on your hips. 

“No! I'll leave then. Bye bye chinguya! See you tomorrow, Y/N-ie!”

You huff as you see him skip along the road and enter the gate of his-

Wait. Did he just say your name? 

_

And that was how, twenty years ago, you had met Yoon Jeonghan. And your friendship had stuck along, surprisingly (to you, not to him. He always nodded smugly and very knowingly, as if he knew something more about the secret to how you two had tolerated each other for so long. And you wouldn't be surprised to know he did know more. He always did.)

You had thought to yourself many times. Maybe because you and Jeonghan were the perfect yin and yang. There was enough pride from your end to make up for his shamelessness. Enough street-smartness and easygoing charm from him to make up for your coquettish, brisk attitude. Enough ambition from you to make up for his laidback, lazy nature. Enough laughs from him to make up for your forever anxious self. Enough optimism from you to share the light between the two of you. 

Just like that. You clicked like puzzle pieces, and you loved each other to bits.

Well, mostly.

You certainly didn't love Jeonghan any bit when he was behaving like this. This Cupid thing he adorned whenever he was around people of your age. His matchmaking and romantic agenda, as you liked to call it. It was nothing but a stroke of luck that his brother had married the exact girl that Jeonghan had predicted he would marry (three years before they had started dating, as he reminded you often to prove that it was truly his instinct and nothing else) and the silly fool had taken it straight to his dick and given his already large ego an extra-large pump.

His latest prey was Lee Seokmin, the new boy who had recently joined your friend circle, courtesy of Kim Mingyu, who was his childhood friend somehow. Seokmin was what one could call a young, impressionable mind. He was innocent to an extreme degree, and so illogical and gullible that he believed every damn thing that came out of Jeonghan's compulsively bluffing lips. You hardly knew what he was telling Seokmin, but they were both very animated while talking about it. Ever since you two had met Seokmin at a party three weeks ago, he had followed Jeonghan about like a puppy discovering the joys (and pains) of the human world, and Jeonghan had pretty much adopted him. 

So you take matters into your own hands. When you bump into him in the kitchen of the party you two are at now, you whisper to him, your hands on your hips, “Jeonghan, if I see you mess around with that kid-”

“Which kid?” He asks, an innocent look on his face. “Don’t play innocent now. You know very well I’m talking about Seokmin.” “Aigoo, Seokminnie! He’s such a lovely boy!” “Yes, and we’d all like him to remain lovely, if you please. Don’t go around putting foolish ideas into his head.”

“What foolish ideas?” 

“Jeonghan, I know you’re trying to set him up with Joshua. You know Joshua is a textbook playboy.”

 “Shhh! I think this one’s different. He’s actually bewitched with Seokmin.”

“Bewitched? You’re exaggerating, as usual.”

“Y/N!! You’ve gotta trust me, I have a gut feeling. Now, let me do God’s work, please don’t disturb me, Y/N-”

“Matchmaking is God’s work?”

“Yes! It’s called finding soulmates!”

“And how are you so sure Seokmin is into Joshua?”

Jeonghan pauses, smiling slyly. “Oh my god. You don’t know that yet, do you?” “No, but-” “Jeonghan!” “I know that he’s into guys. Listen, it’s not like I’m forcing him into anything. All I want is that he has some fun in his life! Can you believe it that he’s never had a relationship in his life? He’s too much of a good boy. And he’s told me he thinks Joshua is pretty attractive. The whole gentleman thing is rubbing off on him!” “I have a bad feeling about this.” “You know what, Y/N? You think you’re the only one who can do things correctly. You and your stuck up judgements. Can you please open your mind a little and let loose?”

There. He’s guilt-tripped you successfully. Now you’re on the verge of thinking whether you’re really stuck up. Under better senses, you probably would lean on your instinct that Jeonghan is messing around with you, but now, no. You’re three wine glasses down, and you’re a lightweight anyway. The insecurities have started kicking in.

“Anyway, why are you so protective?”

“I’m not,” you cross your hands across your chest, exhausted from the banter.

“It’s ‘cause of that Mingyu guy, isn’t it? You want to protect Mingyu’s friends?” He’s walking up to you, smiling again, as wicked as the devil. 

“What? I can’t care about a nice guy all on my own? What are you implying-”

“Please. We’ve all seen how you talk to Mingyu.”

“God. I’m so tired of this, Jeonghan.” And so, you walk away. You really are too tired. You’ve seen his brain do acrobats in this one field, and although he may have had successes till now, you’re sure doom is on the way. It’s sickening. Especially now that he’s pushing his agenda on you too. 

_

You’re woken up at six am in the morning to the irritating sound of your ringtone. Squinting, you pick the phone up. It’s Jeonghan. 

“Hello?”

“Were you sleeping, Y/N-ie?”

You pause. You seriously consider cutting the call off right now, because you know that tone. That is Jeonghan’s laidback tone, he’s not in an emergency, he’s not in a crisis. He’s called just to hear your voice, and you’ve been on the receiving end of too many calls like this in your life. 

“Jeonghan, what do you want?”

“Are you still pissed at me?” He’s pouting and you know it.

“Yaah,” you huff out, sitting up in your bed. “I’m not. Just. It’s 6 am for fuck’s sake, Hannie. Did you need anything?”

He’s silent for a second. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“It’s fine.”

“I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t fall asleep, and the rain outside keeps making me tense. I decided to call you because I was feeling a little lonely.”

“Hmm. Do I need to come over?”

“Hell no. I have a girl over. She’s naked, and I don’t think you’ll want to see-”

“Wait, what? You have a person at your house?”

“Yeah, we slept together-”

“Then why the fuck are you awake?”

“Huh?”

“Why are you awake and calling me?”

“Umm, because I was thinking of you when I couldn’t sleep?”

“Don’t people, like, sleep very well after sex?”

“After good sex, yes. After what we did last night, no.”

Another pause. 

“Not that I’d know. But isn’t she going to feel upset you’re talking to me instead of, I don’t know, cuddling her or something?”

“Really, Y/N-ie. You want me to cuddle a stranger instead of talking to you? That’s how much you hate me?”

“Han, do not twist my words. You stayed up all night hooking up with someone and now you’re calling me, this is not how people behave after sex in movies-”

“Life isn’t a movie, Y/N-aah. You’ve told me this yourself.”

A slightly long pause.

“I’m sorry for waking you up,” he says. 

“No, I’ll just get into the shower now. I had to wake up at 7 anyway.”

“Ugh, but it’s a Monday!”

“Adults work on Mondays, Hannie. Why don’t you take a walk in the park or something and relax a bit? Work out. Get the energy out. It’ll improve your sleep.”

“Hmm, thank you Eomma. Enjoy your long day of work today! Make sure you earn a lot of money!”

“Hmm, bye bye Yoon.”

“Bye Y/L/N.”

The call disconnects and 6.15 stares at you from your screen. You’re tempted to scream into your pillow and curse Jeonghan for stealing your sleep time. But now you can’t afford to go back to sleep otherwise you’ll lose one of your precious 20 days of leave as well. The opportunity cost is definitely higher, you think, as you stumble and make your way towards the washroom.

_

“Oh Mr. Mingyu, someone’s early I see.” You enter the small office which is bustling with energy even in the morning. “Ms. Y/N, good morning!” Mingyu greets you with a bright smile as you sit down at the desk next to him, and you offer the second cup of ice americano you brought on your way. “Coffee?” “Of course, why not?” And his accented English never ceases to make you laugh. It’s funny how hard he tries to converse in English, even though it’s not even required in your job, but you guess it’s part of his charm- the hard-working good-natured himbo everyone is in love with. 

“How was your weekend? You didn’t come to the party at Soonyoung’s party last night.” You ask Mingyu. “Oh, my sister is in town. I went to pick her up from the train station last week and we spent the entire evening roaming through night markets.” “That sounds nice! Maybe I can meet her finally, after hearing so much about her.” “Yes! That’d be good. She’s here till Thursday. She’s actually here for an interview at a college for the designing program she wants to pursue.” Mingyu’s eyes are lit up with the brightest lights, putting even the sunlight in the room to shame. “Wow! I’m so happy for her.” “Yeah. Are you free tomorrow after work? I wanted to take her to see the cherry blossoms, and you could come too?” “Perfect. That works.”

Mingyu nods happily, before settling down in his seat, still buzzing with excitement. His puppy-like buzzing is endearing, but you quickly turn your eyes away from him, when you notice at least three other pairs of eyes staring at you from across the room. You gulp and glare back, and the eyes look away. You’re well aware of the gossip that surrounds your and Mingyu’s friendship, but you couldn’t care less. As long as it doesn’t interfere in your actual friendship. 

_

“Cherry blossoms? With his sister? Absolutely not!” 

“I didn’t really ask for your opinion, Jeonghan-ah.” You stare him down from where you are sitting across him with the chess board in between you two, and he takes a sip from his juice before playing his next move. 

“You don’t think it’s a date?” 

“A date? With his sister along, how could it be a date!” 

“You’re too oblivious. You can’t see what’s right in front of your eyes.” 

“And what may that be?” 

“Kim Mingyu is, obviously, into you.” 

“Excuse me.” “Excused,” he scoffs, before motioning to you to speed up your next move. You play your move too quickly, and he jumps up in glee, instantly locking you in checkmate. “Fuck!” 

“Pay attention, cutie. Do you want more juice?” 

“Hmm, it’s really good, Hannie.” “I know,” he giggles, before pouring more juice into your glasses. “I want to see cherry blossoms too. I’ll come along with you three, hmm? I’m sure Mingyu won’t mind.” 

You peer curiously at him. “Okay. Yeah, he won’t mind. But I didn’t know you wanted to see the cherry blossoms.” 

“I saw it in my feed today. It’s all the rage right now.” 

“Yeah, it is.” 

“Which is why I’m sure it’s a date. It’s what happens in all k-dramas!”

You can’t argue with Jeonghan, so you don’t. 

“You know, I think it is a little odd that you think Mingyu is into me. We’re really just good friends. I know he’s a little flirty, and very touchy, but that’s just him being comfortable around me.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “My instinct about humans is always better than yours, Y/N-ie. You know it.” “Sure.” “Let’s just wait and see how things turn out, hmm?” He gently pulls your hair back into a bun using a hair tie that’s wrapped around his wrist, and you whisper a thank you, because you hate it when your hair is in your face, and you didn’t realise that he knows about it. Well, you must’ve talked about it sometime or the other.

“Do you want takeout, or should I just make some omelette to mix into rice?” “Or we could just eat ramen.” “I thought you were on a diet, Han-ah?” You gape at him, and he pulls a face. “One cup of ramen won’t do anything.” “No, let’s stick to your diet, hmm? Because we won’t stop at just one cup of ramen, you know that.” He gently places his head on your shoulder in mock crying, and you pat his head before heading towards the fridge to take out eggs. 

“By the way, I have a fair coming up next week, will you come to help me?”

“What will I get in return?” He asks, while popping an olive into his mouth. 

“My friendship. My gratitude. My love and affection-”

“Tangible, please. None of this intangible stuff.” 

You gasp dramatically and relent, “Okay, I’ll treat you to tteokbokki. You’ve been craving ever since your diet started, haven’t you?” He makes an inhuman squeal, but you’re sure it’s one of joy because his eyes go up in twinkling crescents. “Oh, Y/N-ie, you’re the best! What would I do without you?” You laugh, and ask him to turn on the television, before breaking the eggs into your fry pan.

_

It was a mistake telling Jeonghan about your outing with Mingyu. It was a mistake even letting him come along, thinking oh, Mingyu is his mutual friend too through me, so he’ll definitely not mind if Han comes along. Mingyu did not mind, but you minded a lot. Because not only did Jeonghan come along wearing his most expensive Chanel outfit and his most limited edition perfume which you’ve never smelled before, but also brought along his most obnoxious attitude. 

Mingyu’s sister is an innocent darling, nearly six years younger than Mingyu, but his literal split image. And Mingyu is, as usual, accommodative. But there really is something wrong with Jeonghan tonight, you think. Every sentence he utters is passive aggressive, opinionated and designed to annoy. 

I think the air is too stuffy tonight to enjoy the cherry blossom show perfectly. 

I’m wearing my cherry blossom scent tonight, it was a gift from the last event I attended.

Mingyu, don’t hog Y/N all to yourself, let your sister meet your friends too. 

Oh, I don’t drink coffee these days. I’m into earl grey iced tea. Do they have that here?

“What on earth is wrong with you tonight, Jeonghan-ah?” You whisper-scream to him, as you draw him to one corner as Mingyu and his sister go towards the cafeteria to buy drinks for the four of you. “Why?” He says, casually pressing lip balm on his own lips, before extending the stick towards your lips, attempting to put the same balm on your (undoubtedly, chapped) lips, but you shrug away. 

“You’re being an arse. You know, it’s already a stretch that I brought you along here. So, don’t be obnoxious to everyone, especially Mingyu because his sister’s here!” 

“I’ve not been obnoxious for even a second, Y/N-ah! I’ve been so cheerful, so amiable, so wholesome tonight. I have not spoken my true mind for even one second, I’m literally speaking only pleasant words.”

“Oh, really? And what is your true mind?”

“That Mingyu is being too touchy with you.”

“Jeonghan! This- god- is that all you gathered from our lovely evening together, that you’re trying your best to spoil?”

“I mean- he makes it hard to not notice, does he not? He’s literally all over you, even when his sister is here. You should be thankful I’m here to keep company to his sis, otherwise imagine how bored she’d be as a third wheel.”

Right then Mingyu and his sister return with drinks for the four of you, and you resume your walk around the show. So you can’t reply to Jeonghan fittingly, but you notice that on the rest of the evening, you notice that his attitude has softened a little, especially when he talks enthusiastically to Mingyu’s sister about the program she’s selected, and even thanks Mingyu for letting him come along on this outing. 

When he drives you home that night and drops you off at your doorstep, he has the oddest smug grin lazily spread on his face. 

“I was right, then.” He tells you as you walk around the car to say bye to him at his window.

“Hmm?”

“It was a date.”

“Not this again, Jeonghan.”

“Hmm. Sure. Just so you know, I’m rarely wrong.”

“It was not a date. Not with you ruining every single conversation we had.”

“That was the point, wasn’t it? Goodnight, Y/N.” 

And then he drives off with a sharp salute, leaving you with nothing to say. 

_

Jeonghan doesn’t know you’re annoyed enough by him to not reply to his texts during work hours (which you otherwise would). So he doesn’t take the hint and calls you as soon as your work hours end, and you step out of your office into a world painted by the sunset.

“You didn’t say if my haircut looks good?”

You sigh, and you hope it’s loud enough for him to hear.

“Oh god, Y/N, are you still mad at me for that evening with Mingyu? What, did he say something today?” 

“No. He’s too nice to say anything, of course. Anyway, is it really so hard to wait for a few hours to see if I like your haircut or not?”

“Sorry. But I want to know. I’ve cut my hair short after ages, so-”

You take a quick look at the photos he’s sent you. “Hmm, yes you look great.”

“Really?” You can hear the upward lilt in his voice, and it makes you smile. 

“Yes really. Jeonghan-ah, I have that fair tomorrow. Will you be coming?”

“Is it through Saturday and Sunday?”

“Yeah. You don’t have to come throughout the two days, of course. You can just come tomorrow evening, if you’re free.”

“I am. I had a shoot today in the afternoon, after which I went and chopped off my hair instantly.”

“Good decision, Hannie.”

You can hear his satisfied voice grunt in the background. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow? I have a lot of packing work tonight, okay? I won’t be able to call or text.”

“That’s okay. I won’t disturb you. Work hard, Y/N-ie.”

“Yeah, okay. Bye, Han-ah.”

_

Although you might grumble when Jeonghan forgets the name of the plant when a customer arrives at your stall although he’s been your helper for so many fairs now, you’re really very grateful that he makes time to come. Sure enough, as the sun wears down after a particularly sweltering afternoon at the fair and you’re really craving an iced tea, Jeonghan arrives with a bright smile on his face and two glasses of boba tea for the two of you. 

“Your part-timer is here, Miss.” He says, and you hug him. “So happy to see me?” “No, this is for the boba tea.” And you fall back on your chair, chugging down the boba tea as if it’s elixir. He sits opposite to you, picking up an orchid plant that’s hanging on the wall next to him. “How was the footfall today?” “Not great, if I say the truth. But I’m hopeful for the evening. The morning was too hot anyway.” “Hmm, and what’s this one called? Never seen this flower before.” “It’s called vanda. Pretty, isn’t it?” “Hmm, really! But why doesn’t it have any pot or any soil?” “It’s epiphytic, so-” “Epi what?” “Epiphytic. It absorbs moisture from other plants near it and from humidity in the air.” “Wow. E-pi-phy-tic. Fancy new English word.” 

And you’re right. The customers do start strolling in as the atmosphere becomes cooler and the fair more crowded. Although there’s not a whole lot of variety at your stall, you have an edge because you generally sell rare varieties, which are less frequently visible in the other plants’ stalls at fairs. A lot of people think it’s an odd hobby for you to have at such a young age, but Jeonghan knows its the only way you pay homage to your mother, who had helped you fall in love with gardening at a very young age. After her death, you’d had to sell the house in the countryside and move to the city for a job, so you didn’t have a garden of your own, but you made do with plants you grew in your balconies and windows. That’s why your collection was more unique than the general lot- you provided beautiful, rare plants that fit right into modern life- fuss-free yet diverse. 

“This is a vanda orchid!” You see Jeonghan enthusiastically pitch to an ahjumma from the corner of your eye as you’re busy packing some hydrangea plants for another customer. “It’s really easy to keep in your house. It’s epiphytic, which means it absorbs water from its surroundings. So you don’t even need to keep it in a pot. You can just leave it in between other plants and regularly water the plants around it to keep a humid atmosphere, and it grows on its own! So little care!” And along with Jeonghan’s winning smile and persistent pitch, the ahjumma has no option but to fold almost instantly. 

That marks the beginning of a busy evening. The crowd suddenly increases and each of you soon have no time to breathe. It’s at moments like this that your gratitude towards Jeonghan increases- he may ask you the names of plants every two minutes, or make up some random facts about a plant while trying to sell it (pretty sure it would be called out if you did it, but the customers just blindly buy into whatever Jeonghan tells them). When passing behind, he gently pats your butt before bending behind you to retrieve something from the storage area. When you’re free for a second, you tap your hand on the small of his back, asking him to take a break as you take over the customers. It’s nearly nine o’clock before the crowd finally dissipates and you both can take a breather. 

“Good work, Han.” You gently card your fingers through Jeonghan’s newly trimmed hair. 

“Boy, am I glad I cut my hair before coming here. I’d sweat the hell out just by standing here with my old hair.”

“Hmm, it is much more manageable.”

There’s a pause as you both become silent for a long minute. From around you, you can see other stalls shutting down and the sounds of the fair quieten down. Your fingers form a pattern as you gently massage his scalp and his lower neck. You’re too busy taking in the scenery around you that you miss the way his eyes flutter close. 

“I had brunch with mom today.”

You sigh. 

“It felt good to show my new hair.” 

You turn around to look at him, and he opens his eyes. “What did she say?” 

“Nothing. She doesn’t say anything anymore, as long as I keep my hair for her shoots.”

“But it’s still hot outside.”

Jeonghan mumbles, “When has that mattered for her?” He turns away and suddenly gets up. “Y/N-ah, all the other stalls have shut down. Shouldn’t we pack up too? And anyway, the tteokbokki place won’t be open for long…” 

You laugh, and relent. “Okay, let’s feed the baby his treat, hmm? Thank you for coming and helping me out! It was pretty hectic today and we made a lot of sales, thanks to your charms that even the ahjussis cannot resist.” 

He smiles, “Well, what can I say, it’s not easy to be God’s favourite-” He can’t finish his sentence because you punch him softly on his chest, and he bursts out in giggles. “Let’s go get food, Han-ah.” “Hmm, let’s go!”

_

“Hannie, are you free tonight? There was an offer at the convenience store, so I bought two boxes of that pizza you like.” You ask him while you walk into your home after picking up groceries from the store. 

“Nah, I have plans with Seokmin today.”

“Seokmin?!” You ask, a little surprised. “You two are going out together? Wow, I didn’t know you were so close.”

“Oh! We’re inseparable. He’s too fun a guy to let go.”

You sigh. “Wow. Okay okay, enjoy, hmm?”

“Yeah. Do you wanna come? Shua will be there too.”

“Shua?! You’ve started again!”

“Literally no,” you can hear his laughter, and he says, “I didn’t even know Shua would be there until like an hour ago.”

“I bet the plan was made only an hour ago.”

He laughs again, “I’ll have to go now, okay? I’ll be late otherwise.”

It turns out to be a very high-end party of models in which Jeonghan has been invited, and he’s brought Seokmin as his plus-one. You get all this information from the news tabloids on your instagram, which flash extra-large sized photographs of Jeonghan and his new friend Seokmin, who everyone’s curious about. You then see stills of Joshua laughing away, dressed to the nines, arm-in-arm with Seokmin and Jeonghan. Of Joshua whispering something into Seokmin’s ears and Seokmin turning red even under the dim neon lights of the party. Of Joshua and Seokmin making an intense eye-contact, and Jeonghan smirking over his glass of whisky. 

Wow. 

His plan must be a success. Seokmin and Joshua do look like they’re going to hook up. 

Well, you’re just going to have to take the details from Jeonghan later, if that happens. 

You don’t stay online after that, so you miss all the photos of the late entrants of the party. 

_

It’s seven in the morning, and you’ve just woken up, when there’s a knock on your door. “Jeonghan?” Not only is he standing there with his eyes red and his clothes messed up, but you can also see hickeys blooming all over his neck, in shades of purple and red that look pretty against his milk skin. 

“I came here to see if I’m alive.”

You tilt your head towards one side, raising your eyebrows. “You seem alive to me.”

“Good, because I’ve gone to heaven and come back.” And without another word he enters and throws himself face-down on the couch and passes out instantly. 

You don’t wait around for him to wake up, and you figure his metaphorical statements can be cleared up after you’ve come back from work, so you leave him like that.

When you’re back, tired after a long day of work, you see him still lying there, except he’s changed that one shirt and sweatpants he’d left at your place a few months back, at your last sleepover, and he’s watching something on his phone. When you peer close from behind him, he doesn’t even notice you. Which is odd because Jeonghan is usually an alert sort of guy. 

It’s a video of a woman interacting with Jeonghan at last night’s party, her dress a blaze of flames, her dark hair falling in cascades around her lithe frame, and she giggles elegantly at something Jeonghan says, before he takes her hand in his own and kisses on her knuckles, and the video cuts off right there. 

“Who’s that?”

Jeonghan jolts up at that, dropping his phone on the ground, and letting out a tiny yelp. Then he sits up and lightly punches your arm. “You scared me.”

“I literally came in through the door, what if I was a thief and you hadn’t even noticed me?”

“Why would a thief come into your house, what are you doing for its security, huh?”

“God,” you sigh. “I see you’ve made yourself at home. Who were you looking at?”

He walks towards the kitchen to get a glass of water. 

“Heaven. I went to heaven last night.”

“Yes, you told me. What happened, can you explain simply?”

“I met her. That’s what happened.”

“Who?” you ask again, ignoring the dazed look in his eyes as he looks out of the window. 

“Her! Did you see her?”

“I did. Is she famous? Am I supposed to be knowing her?”

“Well. I don’t know. I don’t think you would know her. I mean, I’ve never met her before then clearly, you wouldn’t know her-”

“Then tell me who she is.”

“Han Sujin. She’s the daughter of the owner of Han Electronics.”

“Really? Wow. Must be filthy rich.”

“Is that all you gathered?” Jeonghan turns around to look at you incredulously, and you retort, “Well what else is there to gather?” “Maybe the fact that she looks like an angel?” “She does look gorgeous. Did you sleep with her last night?” Jeonghan sighs. “No. I slept with someone else, but I’ve not been able to get her out of my mind! This has never happened before!” 

You stare at him. “You’re right, it has not.” 

“Am I falling in love, Y/N?” 

“I don’t… know? It’s a little too early to say, isn’t it?” 

“I’ve been dreaming about her for twenty four hours now, I’m pretty damn sure it’s love.”

You gulp, realising he’s not going to hear your voice of reason now. So you switch the topic. “What happened with Shua and Seokminnie?”

“Huh?”

“Joshua? Seokmin? You set them up last night, I know.”

“Oh that.” He runs a hand through his hair. “That went well, as far as I remember. Well, I didn’t really notice them much after she came in. They went off to get drinks, Joshua’s hand was gripping Seokmin’s bicep very suggestively, so I’m sure that went well.”

“You were so blown away by this woman that you missed out on your little pet project?”

“Shame, isn’t it? But no matter. I’ll call Seokmin tomorrow and find out about it. Y/N-ah, do you know anything more about Sujin?”

“I literally just told you I don’t even know her-”

“Ugh! I have to meet her again, somehow!” And he lets out a dramatic huff of exasperation before lying down on the couch again. 

_

“Seokmin?” You’re surprised to see Seokmin at Jeonghan’s place when you drop by on Friday night. “Y/N! Jeonghan didn’t tell me you’re coming.” “Nah I just came by on an impulse. What are you doing here?” He stands up, his face red with excitement. “Joshua invited me to his housewarming party!” He pauses for a second, waiting for your reaction. He’s clearly expecting a very happy reaction, so you humour him with a bright smile. He doesn’t see how fake the smile is, and he claps his hands with yours. “Oh, isn’t it going to be so much fun, Y/N-ah?”

Just then Jeonghan walks into the room, and calls out your name. 

“Did you hear? Seokmin is in the circle now!”

“Yes, that’s pretty cool. But then, who wouldn’t want Seokmin as their friend,” you smile. 

“Not friend, Y/N. Seokmin is Joshua’s specially invited guest. He sent roses with the invitation!” 

There’s another loud squeal from behind you and you turn to see Seokmin rubbing his face with his hands, making it even more red than it is already. 

“I saw y’all had fun at that last party.”

His blush goes down till his neck and collarbones. “Yes, it was such a high-end party. There actors, models, singers, idols, and chaebols everywhere! And the food was so awesome- although I’ve never eaten any of them before and I don’t think I’d be able to eat them anywhere else because they looked too fancy.”

You giggle. “But would you go back a second time?”

Seokmin thinks for a second, before whispering scandalously, “If Joshua wasn’t there, I don’t think I would.” 

You laugh at that, extending your hand for a high-five. “Same! They get boring after a point because I simply cannot fit in.”

“That’s true! Although Joshua introduced me to so many people, I don’t think I could make eye contact with any of them.” 

You continue laughing at that. “But I gather you really had a good time with Joshua.”

Jeonghan intercepts. “Good time?” He scoffs. “They made out in the backseat of my car.”

Seokmin whines at Jeonghan’s slightly strict voice, “We didn’t have any other spot because I came with y-”

Jeonghan laughs, “I’m not mad, hey! It’s just funny that Joshua chose to make out in my car and not his-”

“That’s because his car was farther away and the valet took longer to bring it along.”

Seokmin gets a call and he excuses himself for a second. You take that opportunity to turn around and look at Jeonghan, who’s sitting right behind you. “So?” You raise one eyebrow, “Looks like your plan will come through.” “When am I ever wrong?” “But be careful, this is first-” “Oh god. Even after coming so far, you’re going to ask me to be cautious?” “ Because you need to be. Seokmin is such a soft soul- do you see how excited he is just by receiving flowers from Joshua?”

Jeonghan stands up. “But I don’t recollect Joshua ever sending flowers to anyone before. And I’ve known Joshua for long enough, you know.”

You sigh, twisting your lips in displeasure. 

“Still. I just don’t want anyone’s hearts to be broken by your meddling.”

_

An invite arrives at your house as well. There are no roses, but at least some beautiful gerberas. But Jeonghan’s meddling does not stop. Nor does it slow down in pace. Before Joshua’s housewarming party, Jeonghan ensures that Seokmin and Joshua bump into each other at least three times. First, on Monday, at the coffee shop Joshua and Jeonghan often eat brunch together after hungover weekends. Second, on Tuesday, at a pop-up store Joshua has been invited to inaugurate. Third, on Friday, at Jeonghan’s mother’s flagship store, where Joshua was invited to browse through the latest collections at the same time that Seokmin was taken by Jeonghan to choose an outfit he’d like for the housewarming party. 

It’s getting a little too forced. Seokmin doesn’t see it because of his rose-tinted glasses of infatuation. Jeonghan doesn’t see it because he’s desperate for success. But you do see it. Seoul is not a small city. It’s incredibly hard to run into the same person three times in the same week, right after making out with them. But you also know that Jeonghan will turn a deaf ear to any of your words now. 

So you don’t broach this topic of conversation for the rest of the week, until the day of the housewarming party. As always, you’re never too sure of what to wear to any of these parties of Jeonghan’s friends, because you’re sure all these models have their secret dress codes planned and you always seem out of place. It’s not that you don’t enjoy dressing up, and you also have the advantage of being able to borrow dresses from Jeonghan’s mother. But somehow, you never fit in. Or perhaps you don’t try hard enough and you don’t want to put in that much effort either. So you settle for a baby blue dress with little yellow butterflies embroidered throughout. It’s a safe bet for a cocktail party, so you’re hoping it’s not going to be a wild night. 

Jeonghan arrives at your door right when you’re about to leave for the party.

“We’re going together?”

“Have we ever not gone together?”

You open your lips to say that you had thought he’d be going with Seokmin, but he interrupts you. “You look good.” You notice that he’s wearing a grey silk blouse that fits him like a glove, paired with golden earrings. “So do you.”

“The paparazzi are saying I would look better with my old hair.” He bites his lips and averts your gaze. 

“Where did they see you?” 

“Oh, I was getting out of my house. There were a few people outside.” 

“The paparazzi don’t matter.”

“Yes. They don’t matter. But for what it’s worth- they’re not lying.”

You sigh. “Let’s go, Han-ah. We don’t want to be late.” You’re well aware of the insecurities Jeonghan has about his hair, so you don’t want to say anything more. You remember all the times when Jeonghan’s cried next to you because his mother is obsessed with him having perfect looks, because she knows very well that her designer brand blew up ever since Jeonghan started modelling for it. You also remember Jeonghan being bullied by boys in high school because of his long hair, in response to which you’d cut your hair to a crew cut, making an odd visual when you both walked through school corridors. You know that the reason that Jeonghan spends so much time at your house in spite of having his own house, is because he wants to be as far away from his mother as possible, who only sees him as a source of revenue. And you’ve tried but given up trying to mend his relationship with her, primarily because Jeonghan’s mother disapproves of his friendship with you and considers you as the reason why her son does not listen to her. 

“Wow. Joshua has spent a lot, clearly.”

The penthouse is absolutely stunning. Definitely as expected from South Korea’s top model. The guest list seems to be hand-picked, with the paparazzi stopped outside the gates, providing full privacy to the guests. And yet again, you’ve dressed quite differently from what everyone is wearing. You’re now fully convinced that there’s a secret dress code that they don’t tell non-celebrities to purposely make them feel left out. 

But Joshua is the perfect host. He greets you almost as soon as you two enter, successfully avoiding all the cameras flashing at the entrance. 

“It’s so beautiful. Love the asymmetric design, and all the glass detailing outside.”

Joshua smiles that disarmingly charming smile of his, as you sip on the glass of champagne. “I’m so glad you liked it. Now that I’ve impressed someone in the housing industry, I know I’ve invested in the right property.” 

“You certainly have. The view is also idyllic, displaced from the general crowds, but you still get a view of the Han.” 

Jeonghan groans next to you, clearly bored with the talk, but Joshua’s smile widens at the praise. 

“I’d like you to come around someday in the morning, when the sun is still up. The view is even more spectacular.”

“So cool, I’d be able to see the design even better then! Thanks. You know Mingyu, my colleague? He’d really appreciate the design.”

“Oh yeah, he did praise it highly.” 

You pause for a second. “Sorry- he- he’s seen it already? Did he design it, by any chance?” 

Joshua laughs. “No, but he’s here as Seokmin’s plus-one.”

You turn to look at Jeonghan, who also looks at you at the exact same moment, eyes wide. “Wow, I did not know that,” you gulp, before laughing the embarrassment off awkwardly. 

“Yeah, they’re up near the mini-bar. Now, if you’ll just excuse me-” and Joshua walks away with a polite smile, waving hi to someone in the distance.

“I did not see that coming.” Jeonghan says. “Seokmin must’ve lost his nerve and brought him along. Good, now Joshua will be more jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Didn’t you see how Joshua’s smile tightened when he talked about Mingyu?”

You stare at Jeonghan for a solid second, before looking away because he did not break the gaze, determined to prevail. 

“Let’s go and find Mingyu and Seokmin, hmm?”

_

You do stick to Mingyu’s side throughout the evening, as Jeonghan goes out to mingle and Seokmin is soon called to Joshua’s side as they go to see the other side of the house. 

“Wanna bet?”

You’re stuffing your mouth with the croutons on the cheese fondue plate you’d received along with your glasses of wine, while Mingyu ravishes the delicately baked egg tarts he’s seemed to fall in love with. 

“On what, Gyu?”

You were wrong earlier. Seokmin and Mingyu do not look out of place. Seokmin is wearing an all black outfit, the shirt with a low neck which accentuates his excellent figure, while Mingyu wears a charcoal grey turtleneck and glasses, which you’ve never seen him wear before except when he’s working on something intently. They both look exactly in place, especially Mingyu. You’ve noticed multiple people send flirtatious smiles towards Mingyu, but he keeps his eyes on yours while the two of you talk at the edge of the bar. 

“On Joshua and Seokmin. I bet that they’ll be dating by the end of the month.”

You laugh. “Sure. What do you want if you win?”

“I don’t know. Loser takes the other out to dinner?”

“Cool. But Mingyu… by the end of the month… you may be short on cash.”

“Me?! Hah! I’m not going to lose. Have you seen how Joshua’s undressing Seokmin with his eyes?”

You tilt your head in amusement. “Did you know that lust does not equate dating?”

“I do! But Seokmin isn't the type of guy to like someone based on lust purely.”

“I agree. But Joshua might just be.”

Mingyu squints his eyes, then shakes his head. “I doubt. He sent roses, you know. That can only mean one thing.”

“We’ll see.” You clink your glass to Mingyu’s before sipping it. Your eyes trace the large lawn area to see if you can spot Jeonghan, but it’s hard to find him under the dim lights. Thank god for Mingyu, you think. Otherwise you’d be bored to death tonight, and drink yourself to death on the open bar. 

“Say, Mingyu. Who do you think will get married earlier from our friends? We’re all pushing thirty now, you know.”

“Twenty-five isn’t pushing thirty.” He pouts, clearly upset at the idea. “I don’t want to be called an ahjussi anytime soon so don’t say things like that.”

You pinch his cheek, which deflates his pout into a smile. “My question still stands.”

“Well, I think Seungcheol will get married first. He’s really smitten with his girlfriend, I don’t see why they’re not married yet.”

“Hmm, I agree. He’s the oldest amongst us as well.”

“By that metric, Jeonghan would be married next. I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“Why not?”

“Do you think Jeonghan would ever? He’s told me many times that he's not interested in settling down.”

“That’s all big talk. Going to change the second he meets someone he likes. And from what I hear, that may not be too far-”

“Oh here you are!” The man in question arrives at the spot, cheeks flushed with excitement. There’s a woman walking right behind him. It’s her, you realise. The girl from that night, the girl he was so desperate to meet again. So he has met her again, you see. 

“Sujin, this is my best friend, Y/L/N  Y/N, and her colleague, Kim Mingyu.” You do a light bow, while the woman in front of you smiles elegantly while bowing in return. “I’m Han Sujin. Such a pleasure to meet you two. Are you also in the modelling world, Mingyu-ssi?” 

Oh. 

You don’t miss how her question is directed to Mingyu only. 

Mingyu grins, “No, I’m an architect. Y/N and I work for a housing estate firm.”

“Oh? Such a shame. What a waste, isn’t it, Jeonghan-ah?” You wish Mingyu would shrug his hand away as she drags one carefully manicured nail along the edge of his bicep. You wish Jeonghan would also react, but he doesn’t seem to move at all except one smirk. Perhaps this is normal for them? You don’t know why it’s annoying you then. Maybe because you don’t like this undue attention she’s giving Mingyu, clearly flirtatious as she leans into him to whisper something into his ears which you miss as you zone out of the conversation. Maybe because Jeonghan is still looking at her as if she’s a goddess, which is so uncharacteristic of him, leaving you second-guessing every damn thing you’ve understood about him till now. The ugly head of something raises its head in your chest, but you don’t know what it is so you really can’t quash it either. You wish it wouldn’t be so- you wish you could be normal about this, whatever this minuscule interaction has been. But you decide in your mind. You don’t like this woman at all. 

But as the night winds away, one thing becomes clear to you. 

There’s no one else who has the same opinion as you. They’re all clearly in love with her. Folding over for her. And perhaps you understand- she’s everything you expect a rich, high-class, beautiful, elegant and socially supreme woman to be. She’s the perfect woman, the epitome of one’s dreams. 

No wonder she’s the first woman Jeonghan is falling in love with. And falling in love, he is. It’s in the cherry eyes he’s throwing her, the way he’s blushing everytime she introduces him to someone all while clasping her fingers around her arm, the way the small of his hand rests on her pristine back which is left naked in the backless dress she’s wearing, the way she seems to have inside jokes with him because you can’t catch half of the things they’re saying but they seem to be laughing a good deal over it. 

You don’t wait for Jeonghan to offer you a ride home. You know he will not. So when Mingyu offers to drop you home after dinner, you jump to his offer.

_

Something changes from that night onwards. Two things had clearly happened that night. First, Seokmin and Joshua did sleep together. As per Mingyu’s details, when Mingyu had gone to Seokmin’s house the next night to pick up something, he’d found Joshua casually lying on Seokmin’s bed, wearing Seokmin’s favourite red jersey and no pants, and both of them had been covered in hickeys, but he had not been able to ask anything else because Joshua was right there. 

Second, Jeonghan had definitely become enamoured with Sujin. Such that over the rest of the week, you barely see him, only communicating through a couple of texts here and there. His instagram story receives more updates than you do- and his soft launching definitely fails because his dates with Sujin are so obvious. 

It doesn’t matter. 

You make yourself busy with work. It doesn’t matter when the entire

It doesn’t matter that you have another fair coming up this weekend and you clearly remember telling Jeonghan about it a few days back. But he doesn’t come to help. He doesn’t even call before the fair, to wish you luck. For that matter, he doesn’t even call after it. 

It doesn’t matter that your mother’s death anniversary comes and goes, and Jeonghan breaks the four year old tradition of the two of you visiting her grave and spending the entire day together.

It doesn’t matter that Jeonghan has never gone this long without meeting you, but it doesn’t matter. You’re twenty-five. You’ve lost friends before, you can make do with losing another one. 

_

“So, it’s the last Friday of the month. I remember a bet…”

You sidle up to Mingyu’s desk as the work day comes to an end, gently sitting against the edge of his desk. 

“Fuck. I can’t believe I lost it, Y/N.” He leans back against his chair, stretching his arms behind him. He’s wearing a short sleeved polo shirt today, so his biceps strain against the sleeves. You wonder again how many hours he dedicates to the gym every day. 

“Well. It doesn’t matter now, does it? You’ve lost it, now don’t act like a sore loser. Where are you taking me out?” 

“So it’s a date?” He suddenly stands up, so that your eyes are at his chest level, and your breath is knocked away. 

“Where did that come from?”

“I’m the one taking you out, so it’s my rules.”

You smile. “You could’ve told me before. I’m dressed shabbily today.”

“Huh? I think this blouse suits you perfectly. The red makes your lips look… brighter.”

You gulp, as Mingyu takes another step towards you, almost locking you into his desk. “Pack up so we can leave early, Y/N. Don’t wanna miss our reservation.”

_

“This looks expensive.” You feel underdressed for the high-end Mingyu has brought you to. “Are you sure this is the place you booked your reservation at?”

“You heard them saying that this table was for Kim Mingyu, didn’t you?”

“Still.” The place is too cold, it makes a shiver run down your spine.

“Have you ever been here before? What’s good?” You ask Mingyu when you’re offered the menu card by a server, and Mingyu asks her for the special wine of the restaurant as if he’s already tried it before. 

“The pasta is good. But I particularly enjoy their paella. But of course, it’s your call-”

“Dude, I can't even read all these english names. I’ll eat whatever you recommend. It is your treat afterall.”

“Alright then.” So Mingyu orders two plates of seafood paella and the pesto pizza. 

“Seems like you came all prepared to lose the bet? A reservation here could not have been easy.” “Well, it was some luck. But it’s kinda unbelievable that I did lose the bet. How has it been twenty days since they’ve been hooking up but still not dating? Maybe they’re just, like, secretly dating. And not announcing it. ‘Cause Joshua is a celeb and all.” “Perhaps. But I would think Seokmin is close enough a friend of yours to tell you if he did get into the first relationship of his life.” Mingyu pouts, his eyebrows furrowed as he drinks some of the wine that just got served. 

“I just hope he doesn’t get his heart broken, Gyu.”

The man in front of you shakes his head. “Don’t worry. Seokmin may be innocent but he’s cautious. He wouldn’t go in deep if he wasn’t sure of Joshua’s feelings too.” He gingerly edges his fingers towards your palm resting on the table, and gently caresses your fingers, sending shivers down your spine. “Y/N, let’s take our mind off the bet for some time, hmm? If I’m taking you out for the first time, I want it to be a date, and I want it… I want to do it the right way. Will you let me do it the right way?” 

Your breath hitches in your throat. Mingyu doesn’t have to make it more explicit, you understand well enough what he’s trying to say. But you still ask him, because you can’t wrap your head around it. 

“What do you mean, Gyu?”

He smiles, his cheeks glowing with happiness. “It means I’m asking you for a chance, Y/N. I like you. Let me show you how much I like you. Will you let me?” The intensity of his gaze and his gentle but firm grip on your fingers mean that he’s waiting for a response, but you’re literally taken aback and speechless. That took a quick turn. You had hardly expected that Mingyu did actually like you. All that banter and friendly touching? It was not your fault for thinking any good-looking man with flirtatious tendencies probably did that with every woman he saw. 

Fuck, Jeonghan was right about Mingyu liking me. Wow. What would the look on his face be when you’d tell him about this?

As soon as Jeonghan’s face crops up into your mind, the pleasant buzz of the situation dissipates into an anger you cannot understand. The faint traces of a drunk conversation from months’ ago float into your mind. 

Men like him aren’t worth chasing, you know.

Men like him? Why do you say that so condescendingly, Jeonghan?

Because I don’t understand the hype about him. Sure, big arms and height and all. But he’s after all just an average man. Using greasy pick up lines, wearing printed t-shirts, looking to marry and have three kids as soon as possible, and then grow old with dogs in a house he’s still paying the loan for, until retirement and then popping off. Just like that, he’s gone. Nothing remarkable about him for people to even remember him. Jeez, I really do not get the craze for unpolished men like him. I didn’t think you’d also be like other women and like him.

Ridiculous, ridiculous opinions. At that moment, you’d dismissed his statements as his usual drunken ludicrousness, but now an intense anger grows in you. As you see Mingyu sitting in front of you, his fingers still clasping yours, eyes shining with genuine fondness, you think how wrong Jeonghan was. Mingyu may not be a celebrity. He may not be a model with thousands of fans looking for him. Sure, he may be making just a regular paycheck at the end of the month. 

But he still wants to take a date out to a fancy high-end restaurant you know is beyond his affordability. He still wants you to give him a chance and he’s willing to work hard for it. He’s not an entitled bitch who thinks he can dump off a twenty-year old friendship for some random hot woman he met the other night, because he’s too busy thinking with his dick, too busy exploring the feeling of an infatuation because he’s never felt anything like that before and-

Mingyu gently rubs your fingers, breaking you out of your head. 

You heave in a deep breath, and say, “Yes, Mingyu. I… I can’t say anything about my feelings right now, though-”

“And that’s okay! I don’t want to force anything on you either. Your feelings are your feelings. Give me one chance and let me change your mind.” 

Mingyu’s smile is ever so genuine, his canines poking out of the side of his mouth. He picks your hand and slowly brings it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. 

And you should melt at the sweet gesture. You should melt at the feel of his soft, full lips touching your hand. You should melt at how big his hands feel against your smaller ones, the way his big fingers grasp your smaller wrist.

But it gives you deja vu from a distant memory and you avert your gaze. 

Thankfully, the pizza arrives just then and you two can dig in. 

_

When the bill arrives, Mingyu doesn’t even let you see it. You let him pay it, knowing his ego is too proud. Somehow, the fact that this was the outcome of him losing the bet has escaped your mind and you’ve realised it was all a ploy to get you out on dinner. 

“Did you design the bet in order to take me out to dinner?” You shyly ask him, as you both make your way out of the restaurant towards the spot where his car is parked.

He laughs, and whispers back to you, as you sit down in his car. “Guilty as charged. Did you really have no idea of my feelings?” 

You smile, no idea why the two of you are whispering but it feels strangely alright. It makes you feel like a high school forbidden romance, and he’s treating you like those ambitious teens who want to give the best date to their crush like you see in movies. With all the attention and compliments he’s given you over the last two hours, he hasn’t made you a tad bit uncomfortable, rather you’re quite floating on clouds right now. No one has ever made you feel you so wanted. Especially at a time when you feel particularly unwanted. 

“I did not, I swear. I thought it was your usual thing. The banter and all.”

He laughs again. He seems to be laughing a lot more than usual, and that’s okay with you. It adds to his warmth and his charm, and you like the sound too. 

“I think I fell for you ages ago. Ever since you shifted to that desk next to me.”

“Hell no. That was eight months back.”

“Uh-huh. What’s wrong with that?”

“It took you eight months to ask me out, Mingyu?” You scoff at him, squinting your eyes. “You’re a sore loser then. That’s way too long to crush on someone at this age.”

“I am a sore loser, I didn’t have the guts.” He giggles. His hand extends over the console to find your hand resting on your thigh, and he gently wraps his fingers around yours. “To be honest, I thought you were dating Jeonghan at first.” You let his fingers be on your hand, and you squeeze his meaty fingers. “That’s ridiculous. Jeonghan and I have never been that sort of thing.” “Really? I mean, it’s not obvious. But I kinda figured it out when we started mingling in the same circle and going out for parties with common friends and all. Seokmin and I both thought you and Jeonghan were a thing until we noticed how often he slept around with others.” 

You shudder. You don’t want to talk about Jeonghan now. God, Jeonghan was so wrong. Average man? No. Sincere man. Mingyu was a genuine man, and what was wrong in wanting to get married and have kids early? At least he didn’t have a vanity the size of the moon and an absolute disregard for others’ feelings. 

“Mingyu, you know my house is on the other side of the town. You don’t have to drive all the way up there. I can take the bus, it’s not that late.”

“What?” He squeezes your fingers, which have remained entangled in his own. “No. Of course I’ll drop you. Why would I want to cut our time together short?” That makes you blush wildly. You can’t believe the kind of cheesy stuff that comes out of his mouth so casually, almost fully seriously. 

“Mingyu! Stop saying things like that.”

“Why? Does it make your heart flutter?” 

And there’s a red light, so he turns to look at you, and you realise he’s close enough for you to smell his cologne. He smells good even at the end of the day. The cologne is from a cheap brand, the artificial fragrances make that obvious. Nothing like Jeonghan’s expensive bergamot fragrance you’ve gotten used to. But you’re not going to think about him. So you don’t. 

You lean in closer towards Mingyu. 

“You know, it’s not a working day tomorrow.”

His eyes go slightly dilated as he stares back at you. His grip on your hand tightens as you inch closer. “Yes, and?”

“Do you want to watch the World Cup finals game tonight, together?”

A very cocky, but an excited smirk spreads across his face. “Are you sure? Of course I want to.” His voice is still a whisper, but his excitement makes it shrill and cute. “Do you want to come to my place? I have snacks and soju at home, we can have a full binge session while we watch the match. Which team do you s-”

“Hey, pretty boy! Don’t speak so fast.” He pouts, but it’s extremely cute. “Mingyu, it’s a green light.”

He looks away from you and suddenly jerks into place, and you laugh. “You’re such a baby, Kim Mingyu.”

_

So you do end up at his place. You change into a spare set of clothes that he lends you, and you two spend a solid three hours laughing and watching the match. By the end of it, your eyes are red from staring at his large TV but you both fight sleep to watch the penalty kicks and the final winning shot. And when the last penalty kick is hit, and the team you both have been supporting is declared the winner, you both jump into the air, your popcorn spilling everywhere, but the giggles and the dopamine makes it worth it. You end up sleeping on the couch, and Mingyu on the carpet on the floor, semi-drunk after finishing three bottles of soju between the two of you. And then you’re out like a light, with no dreams and no disturbances even though the couch isn’t really comfy.

The next morning, you wake up to the sound of a doorbell. When you open your eyes, you see a ton of sunlight streaming in through the windows. Must be at least ten in the morning for the sun to be this bright. Mingyu is still asleep, his legs tangled with the blanket he brought last night, and his hair mussed up. Not wanting to wake him up, and realising that you look decent enough to open the door, you peep through the eye-hole, before gasping and immediately opening the door. 

“Seokmin?”

“Y/N?” There’s a croak in his voice, like it’s broken. His eyes are wide, like he hasn’t been expecting you. “Sorry- I- Mingyu and I were watching the match last night so I slept here. We didn’t sleep together or anything-” “No, you don’t have to explain. Is Mingyu here?” “Yeah, I’ll just be leaving. You can talk to him, don’t mind me!” 

Mingyu wakes up at the sound of your conversation, and comes to the door equally surprised to find Seokmin standing there. He takes up the rein of the conversation and it’s only now that you notice how gloomy Seokmin’s face looks- clouded with worries and a seriousness you’ve never seen in him before. It’s an odd look because you thought it impossible to ever see Seokmin look downcast like this. 

“Is something wrong?” Mingyu asks him softly, drawing him a little away from you, and you understand. It may be a private thing between friends, you wouldn’t want to intrude. 

“No, it’s okay if Y/N hears.” Seokmin clears his throat and turns around to face you. 

“Joshua… cheated on me. No, that- that’s wrong. We were never together, he said. So he was never exclusive. We were never exclusive. So he’s been cheating on me since the first day… No, what I mean is-”

“Fuck.” You mutter under your breath, as you see Seokmin struggling with his words, his eyes on the floor. “Are you sure, Seokmin-ah? Did you see him-”

“I went to this house this morning. To surprise him. We were supposed to meet yesterday but I had to cancel, so…” he runs a hand through his hair. “I fucked up, didn’t I?” And your heart breaks at the misery painted across his face, so you pull him into your arms and he instantly breaks down and starts crying in your shoulder. You can see Mingyu looking equally distressed, so you pull him into the hug too, and the two of you take turns to comfort Seokmin as he sputters out the rest of the story in between sobs. 

“Hadn’t you spoken to him before about dating and all, Seokmin-ah?” Mingyu asks him, but Seokmin shakes his head. “I hadn’t… because I was too scared he would reject me. Of course, I was okay with us not having tags until he wanted to… of course, I understand that he is a celebrity and these sorts of things are probably okay between them but… It still hurts, I’m sorry.” “You should not be sorry, Seokmin-ah. It’s literally not your fault that Joshua was an absolute jerk,” you say, patting his back. “Mingyu, can you take care of Seokmin-ah? I have to go talk to Jeonghan about this.” “Jeonghan?” Seokmin looks at you with wide eyes, and you simply nod without elaborating. “Joshua will regret losing you, Seokmin.” 

Jeonghan will regret his meddling.

_

When you arrive at Jeonghan’s house, you find that his mother thankfully is not there. It wouldn’t matter anyway. In their four storey mansion, you and his mother have rarely clashed when avoidable. Although you let yourself in, you find Jeonghan’s bedroom locked, slow jazz music clearly audible. 

You bang on the door. 

No response. 

“Jeonghan, open up.” 

The door opens after a solid ten seconds, with a curious Jeonghan peering down at you. “Y/N?” He’s shirtless, his pale, glowing skin shining in the sunlight. “Is she here?” “Who?” “That woman.” “No.” You snort. Look at him, all blissfully unaware about the damage he’s done. You notice how he doesn’t open the door fully to let you come in, which is absurd. “You won’t let me in? Have we ceased to be friends?” “No, I- sorry. Come in.” “What?” “Those are not your clothes. You don’t own red clothes. You don’t even like the colour red.” You look down at your clothes and realise that you’re still dressed in Mingyu’s clothes. “Yeah, they’re Mingyu’s.” Jeonghan looks up from where he’s standing, trying to put on a shirt. He stops midway and walks closer towards you, “You’re wearing Mingyu’s clothes?” “Yes, and?” 

The beauty of Yoon Jeonghan hits you with full force as he steps into your personal space, all up close until you can count his long eyelashes. You can see the way his gaze hardens, his eyes darken, and his jaw locks itself, making his face more serious and less delicate. “Did you sleep with him?” “Jeonghan, there’s something else I came to talk to you about-” “Did you?” His finger grazes your chin. The touch is not unfamiliar, but not familiar either. It sends a shiver down your spine as you take a step back, without breaking eye contact. 

“I don’t have to answer you, Jeonghan. Not after you decided to go MIA after meeting one woman-”

“I did not go MIA.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Yoon! Fuck, do you have no conscience, lying to my face like that? Why did you stop calling me? Stop coming over? Avoided every time I planned to meet up with you?”

“I was busy.”

“With what? What on earth could make you so busy that you missed my mother’s death anniversary? What on earth could make you so busy that you felt it was normal to not talk to me properly for days? Years of friendship, broken by what? I want to know, Jeonghan! Was it her? Does she ask you not to talk to me?”

“No, what? Why would you bring her into-”

“Then why? Are you really the same Jeonghan who wanted to video call every week even when you had gone abroad for that study program? Are you really the same Jeonghan who swore that even if you got married with ten grandchildren, you wouldn’t lose contact with me?”

“Y/N, listen to me.”

“No, I’m not going to fall for your lies-”

He steps in front of you and gently places his left hand on your mouth. “I’m sorry.” There’s that intense gaze again. He wraps his other hand around your arm, holding you in place. “Listen to me, once, please?” You look away, and you make the mistake of looking down at his chest. You didn’t realise he was still shirtless. And while it’s not a view you’re seeing for the first time and it’s never really phased you before, you swear your mouth goes dry seeing the way a single silver chain hangs in front of his collarbones. 

“What is it, Jeonghan? What do you have to say?”

“I’m sorry, I made a mistake.”

There’s a pause, where you expect him to say something else, but he doesn’t continue. “That’s it?” You raise an eyebrow, and you see his jaw twitch. 

“Yes. I don’t have an explanation because there isn’t any. I was infatuated with Sujin until I found out on the internet after our photos of kissing went viral last night from a club.”

“Until you found your photos went viral? What happened, did your agency cut you off?” 

“What- no, of course not. My agency has it under control.”

“Then? Fans pressurised-”

“No, dammit. She’s not been talking to me since the incident. But she’ll come around. She’s probably a little shocked because of the paparazzi.”

You sigh. “Well. At least your life’s under control.”

“What do you mean?” Jeonghan’s eyes slightly furrow as he leans into you. Your nostrils fill with that typical scent of his, but it’s the first time you can smell his masculine scent too, perhaps because he is shirtless. But you refuse to be taken off guard, so you harden your gaze and look back into his stare with full force. 

“Seokmin…”

“What about Seokmin?”

“Joshua’s been fucking other people apart with Seokmin.”

Jeonghan steps back. “Seriously?”

“Yes. You’ve broken his heart, Jeonghan.” You can’t help from throwing him your most disappointed look, reflecting your real feelings. “You knew that he is a playboy and I’d told you that he would not take Seokmin seriously. I told you to not meddle, and look at what you’ve done now.”

Jeonghan falls to the bed behind him with a loud thud. His voice cracks when he asks you, “Is Seokmin okay?” 

You bitterly shake your head. “It was his first relationship. Think of how he’d feel after finding out the man he loves didn’t love him all along.”

_

There was nothing to be done that day, except you going back to Mingyu’s place, both to return his clothes, but also to check on Seokmin. You brought soup and some more comfort food, and found Seokmin sitting in one corner of Mingyu’s bed, wrapped in a blanket but still shivering because of the tears that kept flowing down his cheeks from time-to-time. 

Jeonghan goes to meet Joshua. You don’t know how much good that’s going to do, considering that Joshua is a stubborn man. And to be honest, you wouldn’t want Seokmin to go back to Joshua either. There was a high chance that the sensitive younger boy’s feelings would get hurt again, and you didn’t want to take that chance. 

And you’re proved right. When Jeonghan comes to Mingyu’s house after talking to Joshua, he begs forgiveness from Seokmin, who doesn’t blame him at all. He instead cries a bit more, blaming himself and his innocence, and his inability to understand Joshua’s feelings correctly. Hearing him cry, Jeonghan cries too, the two wrapped up in each other, as you and Mingyu leave them alone to sort out the mess. It is a mess, but nothing Jeonghan says makes it better. It doesn’t matter how many times Jeonghan tries to explain to Seokmin that it’s not his fault, because Seokmin has shut off all voices of reason. 

So you take Jeonghan away from him. He’s quiet throughout the journey back home, swimming in his guilt. And your heart breaks a little seeing him. 

He doesn’t respond to your voice when you ask him to get out of the car and come into your house, so you open the door and gently take him into your arms and carry him inside, his arms limp in yours. 

“Hannie?” You ask him when you’re finally inside and you’ve seated him on your kitchen stool. 

“I let him down. I let you down, Y/N.”

His eyes gradually look up at you, and you can see the raw vulnerability in his doe eyes. But you cannot comfort him. A part of your heart aches to touch him, to let him know that it isn’t his fault either, but another part of your heart thinks that he deserves it. His self-important ass should take a blow from time-to-time, and realise that everything in the world does not revolve around him.

So you don’t reply to him, only walking away. You busy yourself with other chores around the house, doing the laundry, cleaning the rooms, washing the dishes. And Jeonghan just sits there in that chair throughout, waiting for you to finish your work, as he looks at you with sad wide eyes. 

You don’t miss what he’s trying to do. He’s trying to throw puppy eyes so that you can forgive him. But you won’t forgive him. It’s only when you finish making dinner and place some of it before him on a plate, that you speak to him. “Eat up. Both of us haven’t eaten anything since the morning.”

He doesn’t look away from you, not making a move towards the plate. 

“Jeonghan. Looking at me like that is not going to mend things.”

“Like what?”

“Like that. Puppy fucking eyes. I’m not going to melt because of that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you’re feeling sorry. I feel sorry too, if it makes you feel any better. In spite of knowing what kind of man Joshua potentially could be, I didn’t do anything to caution him. I’m as much to blame as anyone else.” 

“No, you’re wrong. It is my fault, through and through.”

You push the plate of food towards him. 

“Enough of your self-pity. Now, eat, please.”

Hearing your stern tone, he silently picks up his chopsticks. And then you only talk to him after he’s finished his entire meal. “Do you want more? You must be hungry.” “Hmm, if there’s any more.” So you give him some more, and finally, when he’s done, some of the natural glow comes back into his face. 

“Do you want to go home now? Or-”

“Can I stay here? I don’t want to go home.” When you don’t immediately respond, he adds, “I can sleep on the couch.”

“Have you ever slept on the couch, Han?”

He looks away. “I’ll wash the dishes.” So you leave him to do that and go into your bedroom to brush your teeth. He doesn’t come into the room for the next hour, not until you’ve changed into your night clothes and snuggled into your warm bed with the covers pulled up to your chin. On any other Saturday night, Jeonghan and you would wear matching face masks before going to bed. On any other Saturday night, you would eat liquor chocolates before bed, as a guilty pleasure. On any other Saturday night, Jeonghan and you would watch youtube videos till you slept. 

But tonight is not any other Saturday night. There is still a rage simmering in your heart. So you text Mingyu good night, but you don’t even look at Jeonghan when he finally comes into the room. Even as you feel him finally shuffle into bed and the other side of the bed dip under his weight, you don’t turn to look at him. Almost thirty minutes later, you finally turn around to stretch your body, hoping that the smoothness of Jeonghan’s breathing means he has finally dozed off to sleep. 

You’re wrong. As soon as you turn around, you see his eyes flutter open to meet yours, his face shining under the moonlight flitting in through the window. It’s at moments like this that you realise that he was truly born to be a model. He looks beautiful, even restless like this, even on stressful nights, when his eyes are clouded and the usual flush in his cheeks is lessened. 

Somehow seeing his eyes on you makes your heart calm down. 

“Did you really sleep with him, Y/N?”

Huh? This is what he wants to ask you? Is this what he’s been restless about? You can feel your heart race up again with irritation. Why is he pressing on about this? How dare he, when the only reason you’re spending time together with your best friend after weeks is because he’s made a grave mistake and he wants you to forgive him. 

Is this why you’re not forgiving him, yet, Y/N? Because you want to hold on to him at any cost? A voice in your head asks you. You dismiss it quickly. 

“After everything, this is what’s keeping you up?”

“Just please answer me, Y/N-ah.”

You take a breath.

“No I didn’t, Jeonghan. But we did go out on a date last night.”

In the darkness, you miss how his breathing speeds up and his jaw clenches. You just see him stare at you for a long minute. Then you turn back around and close your eyes. You hope he’ll be gone the next morning. 

_

He is gone the next morning. 

Well, gone from the room. You find him sitting on the couch, reading something on his phone. 

“You’re up early.”

He looks terrible. It’s clear he’s not slept well, if at all. 

“She called.” 

The coffee machine pings, indicating that your cappuccino is ready. 

“Who?”

“Sujin.” 

You pick your cup and turn around to look at him, leaning on the kitchen counter. “Oh good. Do you want eggs or ramen-”

“She has a husband. He lives in New Zealand.”

You almost drop your cup, as Jeonghan stares at you with the full force of his gaze. “She wants to break off ties immediately. She doesn’t want to stay in touch.”

“God, I didn’t know people were this casual about relationships these days. First, Joshua… then Sujin. I am sorry to hear-”

“Don’t be. I don’t feel bad. I don’t know, should I feel bad?” He walks up towards you and slowly takes a sip from your cup of coffee. He’s standing really close to you, and you can see the way his hair is growing along his neck. 

“Jeonghan, but you liked her?”

“I did, I suppose. But I can’t find myself to care that she’s gone. The restlessness in my heart is not caused by her at all. And, the longer,” he takes another sip, “I think about it, I think, I’m glad she’s gone.”

“What?”

“Because she took me away from you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. “What are you saying, Jeonghan-ah?”

“Y/N, I- I don’t know what came over me. I swear I didn’t want to miss your mother’s anniversary. I knew you had a fair last week and-”

“Jeonghan! It’s fine, don’t fret so much. I’ll eventually get over it,” you laugh, trying to desperately avoid the intense gaze which is pinning you down now. 

He takes a step closer to you, his hand extending to touch your neck gently, feeling the hair near your neck. “You might. I won’t be able to look myself in the eye in the mirror, fuck, I won’t even be able to look at you with a clear mind until you forgive me.”

And then there’s a strange sensation in your limbs. A sensation to touch him too. It’s not like you’ve never touched him- but this time, you don’t want to touch him like you’ve touched him for all these years. You want to touch the way the faint morning sunlight is kissing his cheeks. You want to touch the gentle ends of his brown hair which are slowly growing in length. You want to touch his lips, chapped evidently, but still rosy and delicate. How would it feel to kiss him? Would he kiss you back?

“Jeonghan, you don’t know what you’re saying. You feel hurt because of Sujin and you want a quick fix.”

“Fuck, no, Y/N! Stop misunderstanding me, please! You don’t get it, do you? When I heard that you and Mingyu went on a date, I realised it.”

“Realised what?”

“That you’re mine. And I’m yours. I can’t imagine belonging, I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else.” You don’t have any words to say, just leaning back as he gently caresses your neck and hairline. So you stay silent, as you let his touch ease your mind. It doesn’t feel wrong. It feels as if his fingers just belong there. You crave the way he touches you, and you think you agree with what he’s saying. “Y/N, I… there’s a reason why I’ve never fallen in love with someone. Because, I didn’t need to. And because nobody was you. I’ve been a fool to not realise it earlier- but you’re literally my soulmate. We match, yin and yang, you’ve said this before yourself. And nobody makes me feel as loved as you do. Nobody makes me as happy as you do. I’m sorry I got carried away with the infatuation, but I know in my heart that it was nothing but physical attraction with Sujin. And I don’t even care for it. She has no place in my heart. Nobody does, except you.”

“But Sujin is perfect. You-”

“But she’s not you. She may be perfect, I don’t know. She’s definitely not perfect for me.” 

He leans in even closer, until you’re breathing the same air as his own, and his palm gently massages your neck. “I know who’s perfect for me.”

And then he steps back. He fucking takes a step back, leaving you high and dry, leaving you perched on his words, a glint in his eyes and all misery gone from his face. “I’ll wait for your reply, Y/N. I’ll wait for you to give me a chance. Unless, of course, your heart has already gone to Mingyu-”

You take a step forward. “Mingyu has never meant anything for me. I don’t … feel anything for him. You know that.”

“But you went on a date with him?”

“I… I didn’t put too much thought to it. We were going out just normally and he suddenly said if we can make it a date. And I had no reason to not give into his request-”

“But do you like him? Giving into his request and wanting the same thing as him are two different things, Y/N.”

You stay silent for a second, considering his question. It is a perfectly valid question, a question that had tormented your mind throughout the ‘date’. You hadn’t paid it much mind because of the sudden incidents after that, but when it comes back to your mind now, you realise…

“No. I don’t like him like that. And you know that too.”

There’s an evident shift in Jeonghan’s eyes, his gaze becoming warmer. “I do. But he is a better man, Y/N-ah. Better than I could ever be.”

There’s a long pause after his words, both of you waiting like prey and predator, wondering what the other’s move would be.

And then you take quick steps towards him, gently moving towards him timidly, until his back is against the wall, and you’re pinning him down on it. His lips part and he leans downwards, and that’s enough bait for you to fall for it, hook, line and sinker. So you meet him halfway and kiss him. You press your lips against his softer lips, the same lips you had wondered what it would be like to kiss, the same lips you had wondered if it would kiss you back. 

When you both finally break the kiss for air, you whisper to him, “I don’t want a better man, Jeonghan. I want you.”

So you kiss him again. And again, until his kisses become insistent, and he gently pries open your lips with his tongue. When his tongue enters, he flips you so that your back is against the wall, and he gently cages you with his hands on your hips. Then he takes his sweet time exploring your mouth the same way his gentle hands roam all over your waist and hips, pulling you up towards him, so that his hands wrap around you back as well.

“Fuck, Y/N, why haven’t we done this earlier?”

“Because we were friends?”

He laughs, a warm, tinkling sound in your ears, as he bends down to kiss your neck, making you gasp with each touch. “Fuck being friends, Y/N. I love you. I don’t think there’s ever been a day when I haven’t loved you and wanted to live the rest of my life with you by my side.”

“Hannie, what you’re saying-”

“Does it feel wrong? Do you want me to stop? I will stop if you say so, love.”

Love. He’s called you nicknames before, but something about the way he says it now makes you weak in the knees. 

In the past twenty-four hours, you’ve realised you were wrong so many times. Like right now, you realise that it was never Mingyu who made you feel the most wanted. It was because you were craving for Jeonghan’s attention that made you feel like Mingyu’s attention was unique. It was, is, and will always be Jeonghan. Had been him when he’d seen you through the shabbiness of your home, through the simple lifestyle your single mother provided, through your worst days when you’d isolated yourself from the world because you were too scared to face your demons. Had been him when he’d shown you that friendships can exist beyond a single classroom’s companionship, that love doesn’t always have to come in the form of big gestures and gifts, that life is always better with someone by your side. 

And you can’t imagine anyone else by your side, except Jeonghan. 

“It feels so right, Hannie. Don’t stop kissing me, please.” 

He chuckles, a deep, glorious sound, as he captures your lips again, his fingers daringly fiddling against the clasp of your bra that’s evident through your thin t-shirt. You gently edge yourself off the wall, bracing your back, pressing your body against his. “Fuck, don’t do that, Y/N. I’m not going to be able to keep my control if you do that.”

“You don’t have to control yourself, Han-ah. I want you as much as you want me.”

He kisses you again after that, a searing kiss that makes your body warm with liquid passion, and then he unclasps the bra from behind in one go. Then he kisses your jawline, leaving tiny bites as he pulls of the straps and your bra drops to the floor where you’re standing. Your body suddenly feels cool, so you press your chest against his, nipples rubbing against the fabric of his t-shirt and hardening, and he notices it.

He mutters something under his breath, before asking you, “Can I?”

“I don’t know,” you throw him a smirk. “Can you?”

“Fuck,” and then his hands grasp your breasts from over your tshirt, gentleness all forgotten as you arch your back to press into his squeezing hands as they rub circles into your nipples, feeling so warm against the cold air of the house. He trails his kisses down from your neck, through your collarbones, and finally over your shirt on your breasts, leaving wet patches all over. The erotic sight turns you on, as his spit gently lingers on the thin material of your shirt, leaving everything translucent. 

“Babe, let’s take you to the bedroom, please? I don’t want our first time against your kitchen wall.” His voice is hoarse in your ear, desperate groans you could never imagine Jeonghan to be emitting, but here he is, his low voice working wonders to your body. And you whisper a yes, before he drags you into the bedroom and nudges you to fall against the bed. He quickly pulls off your shirt, damp all over by now, and takes in the sight of your bare upper body. “God, you’re so fucking pretty, Y/N. Prettiest fucking tits I’ve ever seen,” he whispers, making you blush with the way he’s casually talking dirty to you. Then he latches his lips onto one of your breasts, sucking your nipple, while a hand pinches your other nipple, making you scream out at the sudden pleasure. And it’s his name you’re screaming. He looks at you with crazed eyes, his bangs falling over his eyes, but he doesn’t leave eye contact even as he switches sucking and nibbling from one breast to another. The soft skin of your tits are all wet and blooming with hickeys by the time he’s done, leaving your panties sticky and your breathing erratic. 

“I want to feel you too, Hannie.” You whimper, and he giggles. “God, you’re so cute, babe. Can you take off my shirt, cutie?” You sit up instantly and take off his shirt. And his chest is as pretty as you remember it. But this is the first time you’re having such a visceral reaction towards his bare chest, as you gently lick and leave open mouthed kisses all over his neck and chest. “Baby, so good-” his voice breaks, and it makes you feel powerful. The blood rushes to your brain, and you quickly unzip his pants on an impulse, feeling the loose fabric slip down, leaving his boxers in front of your face, his dick already weeping through the thin fabric of his boxers, leaving a stain. “Hannie, I want your cock, in … my mouth.” You know the effect your words are having on him, as he grips on to one bedpost to steady himself. “Yeah? Pretty baby wants her mouth on my cock? God, just do it already. Don’t tease, f-” his voice gets strangled again as you lick the stain on his boxer, before gently taking his red cock out of his tented boxer. “So pretty, like you, Hannie. Delicate and pretty, and oh,” you gag on your first attempt. “So long.” Unexpectedly long, so you can’t fit him in one go. Still you try to take as much as you can, and his hands wrap around your hair. When you bob your head once, a low groan leaves Jeonghan’s mouth as his grip tightens on your hair. “If you do that, Y/N-ah, I swear I’m going to cum right now.” You don’t listen to him, you continue to suck his length off. His pretty length, which is leaking more and more pre-cum as you continue to suck it and lick off the tip, as you enjoy the sounds Jeonghan makes just for you. 

An insecure part of you wonders if Sujin did it as well. So you ask him, in all your vulnerability. 

“Did Sujin do it like this? Or was she better?”

Hannie’s hands stop in your hair. He gently pulls his cock out from your mouth before sitting down to your level on the bed. Then he roams his hand all over your skin as he pushes you down to lie on your back. “Y/N, believe me when I say this. Sujin didn’t make me feel even an ounce of what I’m feeling right now. I feel so safe, and wanted, and sexy when you even moan for me, and I swear I almost came on the spot when you took off your shirt and showed me your body.” 

His hands delicately wrap all over you, as he places his weight on you. Your heart warms at his words, so you grab his face to kiss him. And kiss he does. Slow, passionate kisses, as you lift your hips to feel some friction against his milky smooth thighs. Kisses which end up in him biting your lower lip as he pinches your nipples almost cruelly, making your toes curl up. Kisses which bend down to your chest as he sucks on your buds to make them hurt less, and his hands move towards gently pressing a finger against your folds. 

“So wet, pretty baby? For Hannie?” 

“For Hannie. All for Hannie.”

And he enters the entire finger inside you without a moment’s pause, making you moan out his name in an almost pornographic moan, arching your hips, as he uses his thumb to gently rub your clit. “So pretty for Hannie. You were made for Hannie, all of your beautiful body and your beautiful mind. What would I do without you, love?” 

“You would never be without me, baby.” And he kisses you again, as his fingers work your folds open gently, first one, and then two, and slowly, without you even realising, with the way his fingers piston into you, you’re on the brink of your orgasm. So you cum all over his fingers without warning, and he chuckles as he feels the warm sensation over his fingers. Then he sits up, and rubs the remnants of your wetness over his dick and jerks himself off a little, making his proud length stand up even taller. 

“Fuck, Hannie, put it inside me already. Feel-feeling empty.”

He kisses your cheek. “So cute, but so dirty, god. You’re empty? Wait. Do you have condoms?”

You nod. Indicating the top shelf of your bedroom drawer. He retrieves a pack quickly, and as he rolls the condom over his dick, he sits tall, watching how you’re writhing under him for his touch. 

“Does this boost your ego, Han-ah?”

“So much. To think that you’re like this for me. Fucking unreal.”

“Shut up,” you giggle shyly, before grabbing him and kissing him slowly, as he gently enters you inch-by-inch. Once he’s seated all the way inside, he breaks the kiss. “Does it hurt?”

“No. You can move, Hannie.” You blush with how he tries to angle his hips correct from the very first thrust, biting his lips in concentration. He’s really trying to make this the best experience for you two, and it warms your heart. But he doesn’t have to get so worked up about this. 

So you whisper to him, “Hannie, come into my arms please. Wanna hold you, wanna feel you close.” “I’m here, I’m here baby,” he says, leaning closer to you, his thrusts becoming slower, but you can feel him deeper like this. 

And soon, your moans become higher and higher pitched, as do his. He kisses you through every second of it, even when you’re both chasing your climax. “Fuck, baby, I’m going to cum now, can you cum with me?” You nod, reaching out to rub your nipples, as he kisses the sensitive spots on your neck. And within seconds, you’re both seeing stars, as you feel an intense orgasm run over you and his lazy thrusts through it all. 

It takes you a long minute to recover, and you see that Jeonghan’s cleaning you up with a soft cloth. “Hannie?” “Sleepy?” “Hmm,” you reach out for him, and he comes to cuddle in your chest. “But it’s still early morning, how can I sleep now?” “Let’s just cuddle, hmm? You need some rest at least before we go for round two,” he gives you a cocky smirk, and you blush at his words. God, he made you feel all mushy and gooey inside. 

“I love you, Hannie.”

“And I love you, Y/N-ie. I always have.”

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Tide

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Frankie Morales is capable of almost anything... except not cumming in his jeans when he thinks about you, the pretty clerk at the grocery store he always buys his giant jugs of laundry detergent at. Warnings: Smut thoughts, Frankie's POV and internal monologue, premature ejaculation, so much cum talk, addiction recovery, laundry detergent, this is so ridiculous but I also tried to make it super sweet. Words: 1,200

A/N: I'd probably classify this as a crack fic... but with heart. This is SOOOOO indulgent and ridiculous. I don't know what @luxurychristmaspudding unlocked in me but this is what's released. I know this is my *4th* story in a week, but I couldn't help myself. Also, shout out to the JM Discord and all of the tenants who join in the luxuriousness of this level of depravity.

Masterlist

🚁👖🤍Frankie🤍👖🚁

It keeps happening to Frankie over and over and over again. Recovery has been a challenge, abstaining from all of his previous vices means he’s no longer numbing his mind… and body. 

Nobody should ever cum during a prescription commercial and yet… he does. The swimsuit hugged the woman’s curves a little too close, plus she had the same color hair as you. His mind couldn’t help floating to thinking about you in a swimsuit.

Aye dios mio, get a hold of yourself man.

He’s too embarrassed to bring it up to his doctor. The notion of ever mentioning it to the Delta Force boys terrifies him, although he knows deep down they’d lend a sympathetic ear. They’ve killed, fought wars, and climbed out of the lowest points of their lives together… but the thought of letting his secret out? Awful. He shudders at the thought of telling his fellow Narcotics Anonymous attendees: “Hi, my name is Frankie, I’m an addict and I can’t stop cumming in my pants.”

He tries to think of the worst things, mental images that should scar even the scariest of humans, thoughts about death, rotting produce, weird looking insects, and yet, it still happens.

___

“Hi, how’d you find everything today?”

He blinks towards your tag though he’s already memorized your name, it repeats through his mind whenever he climaxes… he wonders to himself how your sweet voice would sound repeating his name. 

Uh oh, quick, think of a bee sting, everyone’s going to die, burnt pizza. 

He shakes his head, the thoughts of you wrapped around him flying out of his head with each subtle knock. 

“Sir, are you okay?”

Fuuuuuuck, you really had to call me sir, didn’t you?

“Y-yeah, sorry, long day. My name’s Frankie by the way.”

Focus, don’t look at how her hand wraps around the shampoo bottle, soldier. 

“Hi Frankie, nice to finally have a name to the face.”

Of course you say his name in the sweetest way. He presses his fingers into the flesh of his palm as hard as he can withstand, he prays you don’t see the way his nostrils flare.

Be strong.

He’s been captivated ever since he first saw you working in the mom and pop market across the street from his apartment. You’re always friendly and smiling, he swears he feels your eyes on him every time he leaves yet he’s too scared to look back and confirm for himself. He wishes he knew how to small talk and somehow step over the threshold of this case of shyness he has with you. 

Why bother? I’ll just end up disappointing you, never leaving you fulfilled. 

He’s so ashamed. 

“That’s a big bottle of detergent, you must do a lot of laundry. You have kids?” 

“I do… a four year old, but she lives with her mom,” he answers, lifting the giant jug into his cart, his cock twitches when he feels your eyes on his biceps. 

Stay cool, you can do this, you’ve literally overcome worse… and cummed over less.

He wonders if you notice just how much laundry soap he buys… he’s confident that you have no clue you're the only reason why his washing machine is constantly working overtime. 

“Oh, I love that age,” you mindlessly muse scanning a cereal box. “Is she as cute as her dad?”

His spine turns to jelly… he feels the phantom getting closer. 

Trash compactors, mom and dad’s divorce, elephant seals.

“Everyone says she has my eyes.”

“Then she must be,” you wink.

Not a wink, not a wink, not a goddamn wiiiiink. 

He quickly pulls his head down, sticking his card in the chip reader, resisting the urge to think of his now aching cock pushing into you. 

STOP. STOP. STOP THINKING FRANKIE.

Focusing on the pin pad breaks his spiral. Relief spreads through his tense body knowing this run in will be over soon, he can go home in peace, his pants surviving this moment.

Your fingers brush against his hand when you hand him the receipt, his favorite part of buying groceries. He’ll stand in your checkout lane no matter the size of the line for the split second of skin to skin contact. It’s all he can afford to let himself have, any more would surely stain his jeans. 

___

“Hey Frankie!” 

He turns at your voice, his breath hitching when you walk over to him while removing your name tag.

“Want to go next door and grab a drink?”

“I’d love to… but I, uh,” he lifts his hat nervously tussling his hair, “I’m in recovery.” 

“Oh,” your voice and face falter, “I’m sorry, um–”

Don’t let this moment pass, you can do it.

“I know a really good ice cream place, a few blocks down, I can meet you there?” 

Ice cream means licking. Frankie, you're an idiot.

“Oh, um, that sounds amazing but I don’t drive.”

“I can take you… if you’d like.” 

“Yeah?” your smile grows wider. “That sounds amazing.”

“I just need to drop these off, and then I’ll meet you outside in twenty?”

“Awesome!” You squeeze his hand wrapped around the cart handle. “I’ll see you soon.” 

Your touch scorches his skin, he blinks watching your ass sway while walking through the doors to the backroom. 

1-2-3, a gush of hot liquid releases against his jeans, his knuckles turn white as they clutch the cart handle.

Jesus Christ.

Frankie picks up his bags, holding them close to his crotch and leaves the grocery store. He better hurry. Thank god he just bought more detergent. 

___

In hindsight, he’s thankful for his little grocery store indiscretion. He’s carefree and relaxed as he falls even harder for you over chocolate sundaes. You ask for extra rainbow sprinkles and laugh at all of his jokes. 

This must be what it’s like to live normally.

___

“That’s me,” you point to a small bungalow unbuckling your seatbelt. “Thanks for the ice cream Frankie."

“This was really fun,” he turns towards you, shocked at how close you’re leaning towards him. 

Kiss her. No, wait, don’t kiss her. Yeah, definitely don’t kiss her. 

“It was,” you lick your lips and lean even closer. 

He can smell you now, you smell divine. Like ice cream and floral perfume. 

You place a soft kiss against his lips and pull away.

Frankie’s body tenses, a pathetic whimper escapes his mouth, he spurts against the cotton of his briefs. Doe eyes rounded with embarrassment stare at you.

“Sorry,” whispers out of his downturned lips. 

“Oh,” your face fails at hiding a smile, “Frankie, it’s okay. Really.”

His head knocks against the headrest, face frozen in a grimace, his eyes squeezed shut. 

“Frankie,” your hand clasps his chin forcing him to look at you. “Honestly, it’s okay. It’s actually… kinda hot.”

Right then and there he knows he’ll never shop at another grocery store again. 

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹。these traces of love, they outline you | gojo satoru

wc: 12.9k

summary: the 5 times gojo’s sure you’ve changed his life + the 1 time he hopes to change yours. 

contains: f!reader, pronoun she, 18+ nsfw (not super explicit but the act is there), symptoms similar to synesthesia, reader’s cursed technique, sparring, drunk call, pet names (cutie, silly, pretty, baby, loml), nervous feelings, tummy ache, food descriptions, surprise appearance of one character, emotional tears!!, internal thoughts and insecurities.

a/n: primarily in gojo's pov! & best read if you’ve gone through the other parts in the series! (lots of callbacks and references + better context!), lots of songs as inspo (would gladly share if you’re curious!), will add descriptions for the food in the a/n at the bottom!, from conceptualisation to actual writing this piece is my baby!!

collection masterlist: conversations on love +04b (extra). if you're ready (let me) <- you are here

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

Gojo thinks he might pass out. 

There’s a feeling of unease sitting deep in his gut, nervous and gurgling. His hands have always been restless and fidgety but never this sweaty, and his head feels like it’s floating—even more than that first time he attempted a 24-hour stint on keeping up Infinity. 

It’s eerily quiet in his office as he waits for your meeting to end, the white colon on his digital clock taunting him as it flicks on and off—16:27. 3 more minutes until you finish. 

He paces around the room. 

Attempts at any distraction are thwarted when everywhere he looks, he’s reminded of you. There’s a photo hanging by the door, the mix-and-match of couch cushions in varying hues—all souvenirs you’ve given him from places you’ve been to. The coffee table books hold your touch too, and as he runs his hand over his face. he’s hit with that signature scent, clean and subtle from the hand cream you use.

Waiting in his office today has been absolute torture, but what’s made it more excruciating is the fact that he knows you’re aware of absolutely nothing.

To you, this is just like every other Friday. 

You’d done your usual morning routine, kissed him on the nose with the promise to meet him in his office after work, as you always do. And it feels like a big joke when he thinks about it now, because while he’s been on edge this entire day about it, you really have no clue what’s coming. 

To him, this could change everything with you. 

He’s been feeling it for a while now, the ripple effect of loving and being loved by you—how he can recall every time a single drop of you has shifted something deep within him, marked and colored you. 

There’s not a lot that Gojo wants now that he feels like he truly has it all, but when he thinks about all the times he’s sure you’ve changed his life, he hopes that with this one thing, he can change yours. 

.

.

.

1 — UNDER YOUR TOUCH, WHEN IT GETS TOO MUCH

The weather today is good—sunlight peeking behind cloud pillows and the occasional gust of wind passing through the space you’ve put between you and Gojo. It’s neither too humid nor too dry and though Gojo does get the occasional sniffle from his pollen allergies around this time, he woke up earlier completely fine. 

So, the weather today is good, perfect even, for a brush-up on sparring practice. 

You’ve kept a sizable distance away from him since it started, and every attempt he’s made to draw nearer, you’ve only moved away farther—a push-and-pull, an old dynamic that shows itself in the ways you engage in battle.  

Gojo’s hands stay tucked in his pockets, his stance one you know perfectly well as relaxed but still guarded. He’s gotten a lot bulkier than the days you used to spar often, the past few years having filled in all the areas of what used to be slim, lean muscle. He doesn’t move because he knows the style you fight with, how you stay on defense until your opponent charges, utilizing their own strength against them. 

It’s the only way you’ve managed to win against someone as deadly as Gojo, equal-parts lethal in speed and strength. 

So when a cluster of clouds pass by and the sun glares directly into your eyes, Gojo smirks, then bends his knees as he lunges for an attack.

Your senses are sharp and reflexes quick; in the split second that a white-and-black blur appears before you, you attempt a high kick, only for it to be blocked with his forearm. He uses his other hand to twist around your ankle, trying to flip you over, but you see right through his motives. You huff, furrowing your brows as you narrowly escape, slipping your ankle out before he can fully grab a hold of it.

Most of this practice has felt like a stalemate, with the both of you waiting on the other for the most part of the hour. Gojo can see how it’s wearing you down, this entire thing being dragged out, and if he’s being honest—this is exactly what he wants.

Sparring out here with you today, while still meant for actual training, is also just an excuse to do this for old time’s sake—the way you huff and frown, jaw clenched as your fists ball up tightly like you’re doing right now.

He kind of misses seeing you like this, impatient and frustrated, so unlike the tenderness you always regard him with. 

A smile threatens to form on his lips, and he bites it back down. 

You only ever get like this sparring against him. 

The tension breaks when you decidedly throw a punch; it’s a desperate attempt to get the fight moving but he ducks, arm securing itself around your waist as he locks your hip with his. Before you can even comprehend, your body is lifted across his back and lowered down to the grass below—the only thing in sight being two blue skies, beaming at you. 

Somewhere during the commotion, he managed to remove his blindfold, hair let loose, fluffy and white almost like the clouds above you. Gojo isn’t taking this seriously at all; he’s way too soft, having cushioned your fall by carrying most of your weight instead of throwing you down like anyone seriously sparring is supposed to. 

He doesn’t care though. All he really wanted this afternoon was to reminisce with you. 

You’re kept underneath him, one of his arms remains wrapped around your waist while the other cradles the back of your head—and it’s there, that frown on your face, that pout he’s witnessed for years evolve into what it is now. Beads of sweat collect at the crease between your brows, your temples tensing as you breathe out. 

Gojo at 17 would have teased you relentlessly for this, but he feels different now, warmth settling in his chest as he stares; he can’t help it, the words coming out of his mouth—

“You’re so—”

But he doesn’t even get to finish.

Everything around him blurs, green and blue blending in motion before he finds himself on his back, completely flipped over. He’s met with the sight of you, smug smile pulled wide with your hands resting on his chest. And his heart—

Can you feel it under your fingertips? How it’s beating a mile a minute? 

A shiver runs down his spine, the pinpricks of grass tickling the nape of his neck. The shock is tingling, his eyes fully open as he processes what just occurred. 

In the lapse of time he’d been a little too preoccupied staring at you, you managed to inch your leg to wrap around his, locking it at the last minute to flip him over—it lands you where you are now, on his lap, straddling his hips. 

“Sneaky.” he gazes fondly, grin teasing.

You catch your breath, “Do I win?” 

“Only because I let you get too close this time.”

Which is a lie, he knows, because having you near him like this, with some form of touching—you could never be close enough.

You roll your eyes, his fingers grabbing hold of your thighs. The grass pricks at your knees through the fabric of your leggings, and Gojo knows that if you stay like this any longer, it’s going to start to itch.

“Did I hurt you anywhere?” you ask, already assessing him for any point of injury. Your eyes go over his face before trailing down his arms, rarely exposed today in his black compression shirt.

“Yeah,” he pouts, pointing to his lips, all pink and puckered out, “kiss it better?” 

Asking for this is against his better judgment, he’s aware; with the way you’re situated on his lap, this could escalate into something else entirely. You shake your head, swatting at his chest. His grip on your thighs loosens as you get off him, but the curl of your lips is extremely telling. 

As you stand up to dust your knees, Gojo gazes at you fondly. The sun hides behind you from where you tower over him, but the halo effect around your head is just as blinding. 

“Lie down with me,” he pats the space beside him. You quirk your brow but follow anyway. 

He requests, not asks, because the weather today is good, and it’s making him a little bit sentimental, remembering earlier days with you. 

You lie down, positioning your head to align with his. And for a few moments, Gojo doesn’t speak, just looks at you once and smiles before turning to face the sky, hand placed behind his head as he sighs. 

You do the same for a while, this shared silence warm and just right. 

“So rude,” he jokingly tuts, “interrupting me while I was talking earlier…” 

“You shouldn’t have been so distracted then,” you tease back, sneaking a glance only to lock eyes with two skies. 

He wonders if you can tell—how he’s always looking at you in the stolen seconds before you notice him. 

“Well, you shouldn't have been so distracting then,” he holds your gaze. 

It’s incredibly cheesy but a part of you still feels like melting—he sounds so sincere; no lilt, no tease, no Gojo-typical flirting laced into it. 

You scrunch your nose, shifting on your side to face him, the arm used to support your head now resting against your cheek. He follows, taking one last look around him before turning to you. His other hand rests on your hip, fingers splayed out while his thumb draws hearts on fabric. 

You reach for him. 

The gesture is small, just your finger running across his cheek, but it nudges something in him—a memory of you and how you’ve always touched him like this: softly, kindly. 

“Remember when you used to do this?” he takes your hand, long and lithe fingers wrapping around yours as he guides them over his ear. 

Your eyes widen in recognition and he blinks, taking you in as he stares, “Wanna do it now?”

Concern reveals itself in the furrow of your brows, “Is it hurt—”

“No,” he chuckles, already knowing what you’re about to say.

The last time you did this for him, he didn’t even have to ask. One look and you knew—it’d been the night of his final conversation with Suguru. His skull-splitting migraine ensued after bickering with Shoko on what to do with the body. You were there; you heard everything, and when she gave up arguing and left, there was only one thing you could do. 

With his head on your lap by his office couch, you tuned out the sounds. 

He doesn’t prefer you using your cursed technique this way; it takes a considerable amount of your cursed energy to focus its effects solely on another body—and frankly, it’s a waste of time for you to spend all of that on him, at least in his opinion, personally. 

You’d struggled a lot with your technique back in high school, having to learn how to fully manipulate different sonic hues: white noise, brown noise, any and all of it in the entire spectrum. Being able to amplify, distort, reduce, and isolate them into their respective hues covers only the bare minimum when it comes to understanding your technique.

It’s tedious work, and when one of your senses holds so much more power over the others, the information that flows through it can be overwhelming, overloaded even. Sorting through all that noise—he gets it, gets you, and how it must hurt too. 

And yet you, at 17, still figuring out how to grasp it all, came knocking on his door when you noticed he hadn’t come for dinner. Quietly, you placed your hands over his ears and selflessly offered your discomfort for his relief. 

The first time you did this for him, you’d only heard of his migraines from Shoko. You witnessed it yourself when he opened his door and looked so unlike himself: blindfold secured tightly but haphazardly, strands of hair sticking out oddly; his room seemed to be blacked out completely. 

Gojo Satoru is no stranger to sensations beyond what any human should be subjected to, but when you laid your hands on him that day, cursed energy tickling his ears as it flowed through your fingertips—he’d never felt more normal, more human to be able to hear things without conjuring a visual of it. 

It’s almost like you silenced his mind—enough to hear himself, and you, and the buzz of the white noise you’d amplified to flow through him in his blacked out room. 

You’ve gotten a lot better at controlling it now, the task in itself barely causing you any ache or struggle at all. 

“Just like old times,” he nudges you. 

So you keep your hand where he’s left it, covering his ear with your palm as your fingers rest on his temples. Cursed energy flows from your touch, all sounds drowning out. 

He keeps his eyes on yours, watching as your expression shifts with every sonic hue you focus on—an upgrade to your abilities the more you’d gotten the hang of it. 

You concentrate hard for white noise, creating your own mix to emulate radio static, transitioning out to green noise the moment you highlight the sound of birds chirping. Then, you ease it to brown noise, intensifying the soft whistles of the wind to mimic it. 

It’s weird how sentimental he’s been feeling lately—without any trigger or anything, but the more he leans into your palm, the more it gets him thinking. 

Touch had begun as extremely foreign to him—a god revered and valued but never really truly loved, untouchable with infinity, and the pedestal he’s always stood on. 

It was never supposed to be important to him. 

Until you. 

From your kindness that first day, and the many more that followed: of fingers brushing and hand-holding to breaths mingling and bodies moulding, moving—you’ve always touched him in ways no one else has, in places no one’s been able to reach. 

And if it wasn’t important then, completely foreign, it’s important now, so much that he looks for it everywhere, all the time, even. The way you scratch the short bristles of his undercut, fingers dragging down to the nape of his neck; the way you tap his collarbone thrice, run your fingers across his lip, and intertwine your fingers with his at random. 

When Gojo thinks about your touch, he thinks about how gentle it is, with intent and purpose. How it’s always been careful for him but never of him, and that’s made the biggest difference. 

He blinks, and you follow two times, focusing on him. 

All he hears is a heartbeat now, a little too fast to be at rest, but still steady and grounding—

The way he feels when he’s with you. 

Whether it’s his or yours, from your cursed technique or just the blood rushing in his ears, he knows this is pink noise, the one you’d so excitedly shown him when you first mastered it. 

The pink noise that resounded all throughout his twenty-somethings, when he first realized that you meant more to him than what you were. 

.

.

.

2 — WHEN YOU CALL MY NAME

The bed feels cold tonight. 

Gojo’s been staring at the lights on his ceiling for the past 30 minutes, and though his pillow is cool and blanket soft, he’s wide awake—nowhere near falling asleep any time soon. 

He shifts to the side, the space beside him taunting, empty. 

He misses you. 

For the past week, you’ve been off to a much-needed girls trip with Shoko and Utahime. He’d even offered to pay for the entire accommodation—to which you and Utahime declined, while Shoko shrugged, crossing her arms as she snorted, “If he really wants. At least he’s being useful.” 

You’d compromised and agreed that he could pay for an evening out in some nightclub. 

Now, he regrets it. A little bit. Maybe. 

Gojo’s bed is big, a king-size that fits the height of him and all his long limbs, and while it’s comfortable and spacious–supposed good things–he feels anything but comfortable in how spacious and vacant it now feels. 

He turns to the other side, facing his sidetable instead.

The digital clock reads 01:17 and he sighs; you still have a few days left. 

The next time you bring up being away for this long, he’s going with you. Even if he has to spend the entire day on his own, he’ll do it—as long as he gets to end it next to you. 

If he’s really thinking about it, nothing’s stopping him from teleporting there right now. He could hop in quick, give you a hug, hopefully a kiss, and maybe even get lucky if you allow him to steal you for the night. He’ll teleport you right back in the morning and it’ll be like you never left, even. 

He could do it. You can never resist him when he gives you his googly eyes. 

If you’re already back from—

Bzz bzz. His phone vibrates. 

He reaches for it over his night stand, instantly sitting up once he reads that it’s from you—the nickname he just recently changed your contact to. 

(It was always just your name, simple and straightforward, easy to find; when you return, he’s probably going to change it back because you prefer it that way—for safety purposes and everything.

But while he still can, he’s going to keep it like this: a petname with an obnoxious string of emojis that he associates with you).

1:20 a.m. 

cutie 💞🥺☁️🌸✨

> satoourur are u awaeke??

The corner of his lips curl up, endeared at the image of you hunched over your phone, fingers slipping as you clumsily press the wrong letters. So cute. 

1:21 a.m.

< yes cutie? ( ˘ ³˘) 💕

1:21 a.m. 

cutie 💞🥺☁️🌸✨

> casll?

He stares at it for a good minute or two, trying to decipher this rare, drunken code from you. But before he gets the chance to respond, your face appears on his screen, a photo of you he’d taken months ago, mid-chew special Daifuku.

You’re calling. 

He grins, biting his lower lip. His feet slip inside the house slippers by the side of his bed as he gets up, swiping his phone to answer before holding it against his ear. 

“Miss me already?” he teases, padding out of his bedroom.

“Satoruuu,” you drawl. Definitely drunk, if not tipsy.

Even like this though, Gojo aches when he hears you speak; there’s a twinge that pokes at his ribcage, making him wish he was right next to you.

The music around you sounds muffled, almost as if you’d stepped out just to make this call—another thought that makes him ache.

He walks down the hall towards his kitchen and stops, realizing: if you stepped out of the club, does this mean you’re alone? He trusts you can take care of yourself, but if you’re this inebriated…

“Are you with Shoko and Utahime?” he asks casually, attempting to mask his worry. His hand digs deeper into his pocket, shifting his weight to his other foot. 

“‘Nside.” you slur. 

You don’t actually sound that drunk, more sleepy if anything, really, but his heart still picks up pace. Maybe he should just go to you already. 

“You should go to them,” he urges, continuing his walk to the kitchen. 

“M’be later,” you sigh, and he hears a bit of rustling on your end—a soft curse and a small thud, “w’na talk t’you.” 

Another ache. 

He can picture it: you, in some sidestreet, phone clutched to your ear as you tuck your hair back before sighing, legs buckling as you clumsily drop down to sit. 

“Oh?” he lilts, eyebrow lifting. A smirk forms on his lips, head tilting as he wedges his phone between his neck and shoulder. He reaches for his refrigerator, “Got something to tell me, pretty?”

He doesn’t really know what he’s expecting you to say, maybe a recount of your day, or something funny that he’s bound to laugh at, whatever it is. 

“Just miss you.” 

He wasn’t expecting you to say this—

—in an exhale, with a slight tremble, like it’s been waiting to be let out. Vulnerable. 

There’s another ache, and he nearly drops the water bottle.

He should really just go to you.

His phone nearly slips from his neck, the thump of his heartbeat on rampage as he readjusts it.

He swallows, “I miss you too.” 

And it’s odd, how it sounds when he says it, a bit shaky too. A stillness settles in the room and it echoes off every kitchen equipment and countertop. He can’t even get himself to tease you for this one. 

“I can go there now, if you want.” he offers, almost a whisper, before attempting a chuckle. It comes out flat, tinted a little sad, “Blink twice and I’ll be there when you open your eyes.”

You giggle on the other end, and it fills him in this moment. 

When he looks around his apartment now, steel finish and walls accented black, the backsplash of his kitchen a grayish hue of iron—it reminds him of luxury fit for a bachelor, sleek in its utility. 

He’s lived here since his mid-twenties, and he likes how it’s designed, the colors and feel of it right up his alley. The furniture remains simple, modern and minimalist, filling the spaces of his open floor plan down to the two bedrooms and office space. 

But right now, it feels so empty. 

“Silly,” you chuckle, he can hear your grin forming, affection dripping, “my silly baby.”

Now his heart really aches. 

The subtle static makes you sound unreal, strung together by radio waves; it’s rare enough for you to call him ‘baby’, and for you to say it when he can’t even see or hold you while you do it—it’s cruel; a test of his restraint. 

He rests his back against the kitchen counter, arm coming across his chest to rest under his elbow, supporting the one holding his phone–you–by his ear. His teasing is softer tonight, tinged by yearning, so he hums, “Your silly baby, huh? Any chance it could be your silly ‘Toru instead?” 

The way he says ‘‘Toru’ is a pitch lower, slower, and exaggeratingly more seductive in his banter; it’s what you call him in bed, or by accident, and in the moments you find yourself needing him in ways he can only satisfy by being your lover. 

If you say it, he’s definitely going to teleport himself over. 

You giggle again. 

“S’that your fav’rite one?” you mumble, words blending together. He can imagine your cheek smushed against your knee, arms curled around your legs as you sit on concrete, “‘‘Toru?’” 

When he thinks about it, you aren’t too big on his nicknames—at least, not as much as he is with you. You only call him three things: baby (which truthfully, he had to convince you to), ‘Toru (first whispered in the moment, heat fueling it), and Satoru (since you were 16, weighted and grounding throughout all the years you’ve known him). 

Is ‘‘Toru’ his favorite? 

For obvious reasons, maybe.

But—

“I like everything you call me,” he smirks, shifting his weight. 

“Sweet-talker.” 

He closes his eyes, head tilting back as he leans further—and he swears, he can see you, the image of you rolling your eyes and scrunching your nose seared into his eyelids. 

God damn, he really misses you.

“You love it,” he murmurs.

A beat. He hears the faint honk of a car before you drown it out, sighing. 

“I do,” you whisper, admittance ringing in his ears, “I love you, Satoru.” 

He hears this all the time, but tonight it just aches; the way you say things so sincerely, so honestly even in an inebriated state—how you call him Satoru and it’s still weighted, still grounding, like who he is resides right there, in the softness of your lips. 

Gojo’s always been relevant but when you call him Satoru, he feels more than just the name.

If you’re asking about his favorite, he thinks this might be it—in every handwritten note you leave, his name scrawled in your hybrid of semi-print-semi-cursive letters; in every call you pick up, opening always with a ‘Satoru?’, end pitched higher, sweet and curious. 

“C’n I tell you somethin’?” you ask (even when you don’t need to, even when he’s already listening). 

“Let me guess, Utahime has a travel ick and Shoko—”

“Satoru.” you scold, rolling your eyes, but there’s no bite. The next bit you say under your breath, a little fragile, “‘M serious.”

The nervousness sits in his stomach; this conversation feels significant.

He takes a seat on his barstool. 

“Listening.” 

For a while, it’s only your breathing; knowing you, you’re probably thinking, crafting what to say carefully. 

You sigh again, and—

“I worry sometimes,” you admit.

He furrows his brows, “About?”

“That maybe bein’ with me’s a lil’ boring?”

And this… this aches in a different way. 

How can you even think that? 

You chuckle anxiously; he can bet you’re biting your lips, a habit you’ve picked up from him. 

He rests an elbow on his kitchen island, leaning onto it as he tilts his phone closer to his ear. 

“Apologize right now,” he commands, sternness making him feel a little guilty, “that’s the person I love you’re slandering.” 

But you only laugh, real and more relaxed, nervousness dissipating. 

“My bad, my bad,” you play along before mumbling, “‘m just sayin’, there’re lotsa others who are more everythin’ y’know?” 

He wonders what’s got you thinking like this, if it’s triggered by seeing people at the club, perhaps younger and far livelier—how you spent those years of your life exorcizing curses and making a home for two kids. 

“So what? They’re still not you.”

And he means it, genuinely.

Your breath hitches and he grins, swinging around on the bar stool. 

Those years of youth were still fun, he thinks, and it’s precisely because of you—how you’d made the apartment the four of you stayed in as fun and homely as a teen barely pushing twenty could.

You had your fair share of mishaps and adventures—rushed breakfasts and Megumi’s ‘my dog ate my homework’s. Tsumiki had to miss a day of school once because you accidentally booked her a birthday gift trip to Disneyland on a weekday. 

(And he got scolded a lot, ‘Satoru’ exhaled with a look. But it would only last a few moments; you can never stay mad at him, no matter how hard you try). 

There was no way you and Gojo had the maturity and responsibility of actual parents (maybe more like inexperienced guardians, really), but you tried your hardest to give Megumi and Tsumiki a home. 

Home, what he’s beginning to realize reminds him of you.

He looks around him now, at the details of his interior, and begins to think of yours—your apartment, a little more wooden and lived-in; there’s a lot more wear but also a lot more love, never empty like his feels right now. 

“If being with you was so boring, I wouldn’t be itching to go to you right now.” he confesses, fiddling with the string of his sweatpants. 

You laugh again before it falls into comfortable silence. 

Muffled conversations and the occasional beep sound in your background. There’s a couple giggling around you and he thinks that could be the two of you—if only he were with you. 

“Satoru,” you call him softly. 

He hums, letting it sink in—the way you say his name, distinct in how you stress his consonants despite the softness around his vowels.

When you say ‘Satoru’, it always feels targeted, speaking straight to who he is. 

“‘M so happy it’s you,” you whisper shyly, but it’s bright—unmistakably smiling, the visual of your eyes crinkling. 

He doesn’t know what’s gotten into you tonight, drunken affection and vulnerable confessions, but there’s that ache again, and all he wants to do is go to you, hold you. Be with you. 

For a while, Gojo’s been resigned to the fact that there are some things he can’t give you: how you’ll never know true peace because he’ll always be linked to jujutsu society; how choosing him means choosing the tumultuous, the unpredictable. 

And while you’ve already told him that you prefer this life with him better, for you to say you’re happy, that it’s him—

He’s thankful it’s you, too. 

Tears collect at his lash line, pools of gratitude, “I love you.”

“Hmm? you’re coverin’ the mic w’your double-chin,” you joke, just to hear him say it again, he knows. 

(There’s no way he has a double-chin from how you complain about his jawline being too sharp all the time). 

“I love you.” he repeats, louder, steadier, pressing it into his phone’s microphone. 

He’ll repeat it again as many times as you want him to. 

You giggle and he echoes it—like that couple from earlier, your own version. 

The clock reads 02:47, and he normally doesn’t like being up this late, barely getting enough sleep as is. But if you’re the reason why, he doesn’t mind staying awake.  

.

.

.

3 — TUCKED IN BED, WHEN I LIE CORRECTED

“Satoru, you can’t keep eating sweets on an empty stomach.”

He turns beside you, the dull rumbling of the Shinkansen hardly masking how loudly he asks, “Why not?” 

An old man seated across the aisle looks your way, grumpy by the folds between his brows—as if he’d been woken up by Gojo’s whining. You bow your head slightly in apology. 

It’s been an early day so far, with you and Gojo catching the first train out from Kyoto to Tokyo. Departing at 06:14 doesn’t exactly leave room for food stops, so all you have are the two water bottles handed out from yesterday’s meeting and a pack of (now) half-eaten Hi-Chew that Gojo picked up from the convenience store last night. 

“You’ll get a stomach ache.” you whisper, with emphasis. 

He fiddles with the stick of Hi-Chew, tossing it between his fingers before popping one piece out. 

The seats in the Shinkansen are spacious enough for Gojo to stretch his long, gangly legs, but despite all the free room in your row, he’s chosen to encroach on your space, sticking to you shoulder-to-shoulder. 

“Nonsense,” he tilts his face, sunglasses sliding a few centimeters down the bridge of his nose, “I do this all the time.” 

And his eye, clear and bright blue amidst the morning haze zipping past the windows of the train, winks at you. 

Heat warms your cheeks; it’s too early for this. 

The moment you look away, hiding your smile, he knows he’s got you. 

. 

Or not. 

Because you seem to have gotten him—

—tucked in bed, nursing this stomach ache that could have been avoided if he just listened. 

To be fair, he does do it all the time: a few candies, sometimes gummies first thing in the morning, last thing at night. So he’s right, it’s nonsense; he probably got this from something else. 

(Even when you’d both eaten the same meals—how you always order to share because you like tasting a little bit of everything). 

Which is why, you insist it’s from the sweets, his beloved Hi-Chew to be specific. And though he wants to, he can’t argue much when he’s curled into a fetal position, clutching his stomach while writhing in bed. 

“I made you tea,” you stand by your bedside, holding out your mug—small cereals patterned all over it. 

He opens an eye, hair mussed up from all his squirming. The pain in his stomach is radiating, a knot that tightens in waves; this is different from the twist-y pop-y sparks of jealousy, and is nothing compared to the sting of multiple slashes. 

Still, it’s a pain he doesn’t understand: a mixture of feeling gassy and bloated, like he needs to run to the toilet only for it to turn out futile. What makes it worse is that when he catches a glimpse of you, a lock of hair perfectly out of place, the sensation in his stomach intensifies—like butterflies flapping (or maybe just another wave of radiating pain). 

“S’hot,” he grumbles, half of his face mushed into the pillow.

The mug in your hand is piping hot, steam lifting from it, and Gojo doesn’t like drinking hot things; he’s burnt his tongue enough times on hot chocolate that he swears any hot liquid is out to get him.

But you don’t know that about him—he’s never told you, he thinks. 

You take a seat on the edge of the bed. 

“That’s kind of the point, baby.” you chuckle, tone doting with a hint of pity, “It has to be.” 

Your hand rests on his thigh, attempting to soothe him. He catches your eye and whines. 

“If I blow on it, will you drink?” you plead, “Please?”

At this point, he doesn’t know what hurts more: this stupid stomach ache or how nice you’re being. 

You could have said ‘I told you so’ the moment his stomach started gurgling when you both arrived in Tokyo—but you didn’t. Instead, you asked him what exactly he was feeling and had him change into his pajamas as you nursed him to bed. Then, you cooked him real food, a bowl of Okayu for his stomach to digest something plain and non-irritable. 

You haven’t stopped moving since you both got back from Kyoto, unpacking both your things while simultaneously darting in and out your bedroom, checking in.  

How you speak to him is so gentle, caring, doting—even when you have every right to hold it against him. 

He pushes himself up, leaning back on the headrest. You smile, lovely, and beautiful, and every bit healing that it eases the pain a little, somehow. Your mouth forms an ‘o’ as you blow on his tea, scooting closer.

A gurgling sound comes from his stomach again, but it’s manageable, and he bears it as he takes you in—how you’ve barely had the time to change out of your clothes since this morning. You’re tired, he’s sure, but you don’t mention it as you take care of him. 

The bed dips as you draw nearer, bringing the mug to his lips—he’s a grown man and he can definitely do this on his own, but you always take such good care of him. 

Who is he to say no?  

Sips of peppermint coat his tongue, warm as it eases down his throat. He wraps his fingers around yours, drinking a third of the mug before urging you to set it down. 

“I’ll heat up a hot compress,” you motion to get up, placing the mug by your bedside. 

He stops you, grip loose on your wrist. 

“Have you eaten?” 

You stare at him, a little surprised, but you nod.

“Just stay with me, then. Don’t need that thing.” 

Your brows furrow, pouting, “But it’ll help,” 

“Hug me instead,” his fingers play with yours, intertwining, “or I’ll hug you. Either.” 

You shoot him a look, disbelieving, but he musters up a wink, for you, despite the new wave of pain arising. 

“Okay,” you sigh, knowing you can’t exactly argue. As you get up, you land a kiss on top of his head, rubbing his knuckles as you get ready for bed. 

When you come back, dressed in your pajamas, he’s turned to his side, lifting the comforter to welcome you in. You lie face-to-face with him, his arm reaching out to rest on your lower back, pushing you closer. 

“You sure this is enough?” you whisper, breath tickling his chin. 

“Mm, yeah,” he hums, hugging you tighter as he grins, “you’re hot.” 

You hit his arm lightly, and he chuckles.

It turns quiet, then he shifts, resting his forehead against yours. White strands, as pale as your pillowcases tickle your eyes. 

He nuzzles your nose, hiking your leg up to rest on his hip while slotting his leg between your thighs—like a pretzel, twisted into each other tight. 

“You’re too good to me.” 

He’s said this before, and no matter how much you say it isn’t true—he’ll always think it, believe it. 

You frown, gripping his waist, “I don’t like seeing you in pain, you know.” 

And he thinks you’ve always been like this: hands outstretched farther than his, offering yourself to help carry whatever pain, struggle, or burden you can. You cry for the sadness others feel, share the hurt of anyone who needs it. You’re the pillar, the support for everyone around you—from Yuuji, Megumi, and Tsumiki all the way back to Utahime, Suguru, and Nanami. 

You’ve always been this way, ever since he met you. 

“Does it still hurt?” you mutter, concerned, fingers grazing his stomach. 

It does and it doesn’t—the pain is unfamiliar but he can take it, having gone through far worse. If he’s being really honest, a part of him just likes being babied by you. 

“Better,” he inches back a little, lips curling into mischief, “would definitely go away with some Hi-Chew.” 

You shoot him a look, then pout. 

“Satoru.” 

He figures there are still a few things you don’t know about him: how he really dislikes hot drinks, how discomfort turns him into a whiney, needy baby, and how he remains incredibly stubborn, maintaining what he stands for (but maybe you know this already). 

“Hey, you should be thanking my Hi-Chew’s. It helps with energy when we fu—” 

You swat at his chest in hopes of shutting him up.

He clears his throat, correcting himself instead, “—make love.” 

This is hardly the time or situation to be talking about the other things you do on your bed, given that he’s been out of commission, curled in on himself the entire day on it. But you sigh, resting your palm on his cheek. 

He turns to peck your wrist, hand coming up to cover yours.

“Just because you were fine doing it before, doesn’t mean you always will be.” you whisper, rubbing your thumb across his cheekbone. 

And Gojo thinks he’s right most of the time, if not all the time, but—

“We’re not old, but we aren’t as young as we used to be, you know? Have to take better care of ourselves now…” you continue.

—when you talk to him like this, you humble him. Immensely. 

He’s always known that if he were to give in to anyone, it’d be to you. 

Things are different now, he knows; his considerations have changed too—like how to lay the foundations of a new, ideal jujutsu society, with all the political and diplomatic gymnastics he knows is necessary; what to do with all this downtime, with all this life and no more death looming overhead; there’s also you, where this relationship is headed, what he plans to do. 

“What will I tell everyone when the love of my life, Gojo Satoru, the strongest, gets knocked out by sweets?” 

Then you joke around like this so casually, kissing his nose and calling him the love of your life like it doesn’t bear commitment that spans your–his–entire lifetime—it shakes him a little. 

He holds his breath, eyes staring at yours. You seem completely unfazed—a slip of the tongue maybe, so he lets it go. 

“Okay, okay,” he pinches your nose as you scrunch it, “I’ll try, but no promises.” 

You kiss his wrist in return—the softness of your lips always turning him a little delirious when he feels it. He pulls you closer to his chest, palm pressed to the back of your head as his other arm wraps around you, squeezing you tighter. 

“But don’t complain if I only last one rou—” 

He gets kicked in the thigh. 

.

.

.

4 — WHEN IT'S YOUR WAY OR DOWN THE DRAIN

There’s the right way, then there’s the Gojo way. 

Sometimes there’s an overlap, but most times he’s just unorthodox. Gojo’s always had his own way of doing things, but now, he’s throwing all that down the drain in lieu of doing things your way (which in this case, he’s decided is the right way). 

Between the two of you, you’re definitely better at cooking. 

He isn’t inept at it per se; all these years, he’s managed to get by. It’s just that, he’s only ever made quick, simple things—barely having the time or need to make things on his own when you seem to have an extra plate on standby.

Long cooks like this, for real, big meals aren’t his forte at all. 

This is the fullest his kitchen has ever been, a trip to the grocery store producing bags overflowing with the ingredients he needs. He tightens his apron (yours, actually) by his waist, pale pink a stark contrast to his black shirt and gray lounge pants. It’s tiny on him, barely fitting, but it covers enough to (hopefully) save him from any mishaps. 

With all the ingredients lined up on his kitchen counter, he stares, hands on hips as he contemplates where to begin. 

You’ve mentioned before how his kitchen is every cook’s dream: complete equipment, all high-grade with steel surfaces for easy wipe downs and more than enough real estate to move around. It’s a shame he’s barely used it over the years, either too busy out on missions or lately, too often staying at yours.

The unease makes him fidgety.

There’s an air of confidence that normally surrounds Gojo in everything he does, but it wavers just a bit with this one. 

He has to get this right. 

It’s your anniversary—the third (officially), but the number doesn’t matter as much when the years have always blurred the lines of what you are to each other. 

The past two celebrations were cute and fun, adventurous in how you’d spent the first one on a trail date up north, and the second one fruit picking in a farm, just west of Tokyo—things you’d both done for the first time, together. Now, there’s added pressure because this is your thing; everything on the menu for tonight’s home cooked dinner is based on your recipes. 

You know all of this by heart. And though he’s aware he doesn’t have to impress you, he wants to. 

He glances at the clock: 15:05 in white, 4 hours until you arrive. The table hasn’t been set up yet and he’s barely dressed, an array of ingredients on the table waiting to be transformed into four of your recipes he plans to attempt. 

Gojo is no quitter, but it’d be stupid of him to underestimate how fast time flies. 

He pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contact list—then he shoots a text, pocketing the device as soon as he hits send.

.

In the amount of time between asking for help and said help standing outside his door, ringing the doorbell, Gojo’s managed to do most of the prepwork: slice all the vegetables, set the rice cooker, and mix together all the sauces and glazes so he can set them aside for later. 

“Just type it!” he shouts from the kitchen.

Four beeps sound from the door, a soft woosh following as it opens. Help enters in the form of spiky hair and a deadpan gaze, putting on house slippers by the genkan as he drags his feet to the kitchen counter. 

“Megumi!” 

The younger boy sighs, tucking his hands into the pockets of his joggers, long sleeves wrinkling higher. “Why did you call me?” 

“Oh!” Gojo claps his hands together, “I need your help.” 

Megumi looks him over, eyes zeroing in on the pink apron, then the bowls of sauces and chopped vegetables in front of him. The rice cooker is steaming beside the sink while empty pots and pans line the burners of the stove. 

“With cooking?” Megumi shifts his attention back to Gojo as the older male nods. He mumbles, “You made it sound like an emergency.”

(“Come here now.” in proper punctuation, lacking any of his usual emoticons—only ever being used in the most dire situations).

Gojo furrows his brows, “It is!” 

Megumi stares. 

“Anniversaries are emergencies.” Gojo stares back, holding the silence for a few seconds before he continues, demeanor turned serious, “Think of it as doing this for your Sensei, not me.” 

There’s a crack in Megumi’s resolve that Gojo knows only appears when it comes to you; a soft spot that exists because you’ve always been closer, warmer—an accumulation of all the times you were adamant on being present because the kids deserved someone there, especially when he couldn’t be. 

Megumi sighs, resigned, as he pushes up his sleeves, trudging over to the sink. He turns on the tap, soaping his hands until it suds, “You should have asked Itadori.”

“Yuuji wouldn’t know how it’s supposed to taste though.” 

“Sensei’s recipes?”

Gojo nods, fanning out pieces of paper from the recipe folder you keep in your kitchen drawer, “Your favorites.”

Megumi scrunches his nose, embarrassed as pink tints the tips of his ears. 

His relationship with Megumi has always been a bit weird, a not-quite-parent-maybe-kind-of-distant-guardian-and-good-but-annoying-mentor-slash-benefactor kind of weird. And he’s sure that the boy isn’t too fond of the idea that he knows small, seemingly trivial things about him like his favorite food, but if there’s anything they can settle on, it’s definitely love for you. 

“Do you have another one?” Megumi turns to Gojo, pointing to the hair band pushing back his hair. 

.

There’s a different kind of care in cooking that he’s now realizing, coming face-to-face with the pot of dashi he’s just started boiling—a patience that comes with waiting and an efficiency meant for multi-tasking.

During the 30 minutes of soaking the kombu, they split tasks: Gojo takes duty rolling the Temaki on his own, while Megumi seasons the Wagyu and prepares the Sunomono. It’s not long before Megumi is directed to setting up the table as Gojo focuses on the Miso Soup. 

There’s a reference photo, some picture he pulled online. The gray plates and silverware on his dining table match the iron-hued backsplash and steel surfaces of his kitchen, sleek but softened by the vase of red and white camellias from the florist you frequent. 

Megumi doesn’t say anything, frankly because he’s gotten used to walking in on Gojo searching up these things: a youtube video of trail dates and articles of ‘the top 10 best farms for fruit picking’. There was also that time he found Gojo’s browser open on a catalog of lingerie.

(Megumi’s been trying really hard to forget that). 

These aren’t things Gojo’s done before, much less thought of—romance and all. 

But he admits, it’s hard work, wiping off the sweat on his brow caused by the heat from the stove. 

“Why,” Megumi sighs, “Why are you cooking anyway?” He mumbles, adjusting the silverware on the table, “Couldn’t you just reserve some place?”

Most of the cook has been silent, with Gojo too focused and Megumi barely saying a word. So while adding the katsuobushi after the kombu boils, the older male answers. 

“I would have, but she said she wanted to stay home,” he turns away from the pot, leaving the katsuobushi to soak as he shrugs. 

Megumi snorts, straightening out the black tablecloth, “Don’t you have anywhere you want to go?” 

It’s a simple question. Innocent. 

But it hits him then, how what you say follows; how ‘anywhere he wants to go’ is wherever you are, how he’s choosing to cook this meal for you instead of just ordering in—-how he’s now considering you, in everything.

This isn’t his strong suit, far from it, really, but because he’s thinking of what you want—suddenly he’s domesticated, cooking for you in hopes of romancing you (even though he already has you).   

You come first now, and he finds that he doesn’t mind. 

He turns back to the stove, straining the soup through a fine-mesh sieve before adding miso paste, dissolving it into the dashi.

“I guess not.” 

The thought stays with him, even as he drops in the tofu, dried wakame seaweed, and green onion. Even as he waits for it to finish cooking, moving the pot atop a different burner while grabbing a spoon to dip in it. 

“Megumi, come taste,” he calls behind him. 

And when the boy sidles up next to him, he feels nervous, fingers trembling as he hands over the spoonful of Miso Soup. He stares at Megumi, eyes wide open, anticipating. 

The boy arches an eyebrow as he takes the spoon, blowing on it gently. He takes a small sip.

“I added less salt because—” Gojo speaks up, a bit panicked, fingers scratching at his nail beds. 

“She’ll like anything you make, even if it tastes bad.”

Gojo’s brows furrow, “Are you saying it’s bad?” 

“Or bland.” Megumi adds, smacking his lips. 

“So it’s bland?”

The horror on Gojo’s face is laughable, but Megumi continues, deadpan. 

“No, it’s okay.” 

Gojo sighs in relief, then pouts, “Don’t mess with me like that.” 

“I don’t.” Megumi sets the spoon down, walking back to the dining table to finish setting up. 

The 18:03 on his digital clock flickers, and the rest of the cook continues: he heats up the skillet for the Wagyu—Matsusaka Beef, grade A-5, heavily marbled, meant to be tender and sweet. Some oil is drizzled onto the pan before cloves of chopped garlic are thrown in, followed by the beef, cut into bite-sized pieces. He adds a bit of soy sauce and red wine, to draw out the sweetness (or so he’s read), then finishes it up by plating it. 

And, there really is a different kind of care in cooking, he’s now realizing; how, when he stares at what he’s cooked in the past hour, he’s thought of you through it all—your preferences, the way you make things. How big meals aren’t his forte, but for you, he tries anyway. 

“Do you need me to do anything else?” Megumi asks, adjusting the camellias in the vase one last time. He takes off his hair band and ruffles his hair, hands tucking inside his pockets immediately after. 

Gojo looks up from the spread of food on the kitchen counter, motioning for the boy to come closer, “Taste test everything with me.”

Lined up are a plate of Temaki, a wooden board of Wagyu, a plate of Sunomono, and a bowl of Miso Soup. For every bite he takes, Megumi follows. And honestly? He thinks everything tastes… okay. 

The Temaki bursts with the sweet umaminess of buttery salmon dotted with ikura, the yellow daikon pickles adding a tart balance that complements the salmon well by simultaneously being sweet and salty. The avocado adds extra creaminess, while the cucumber and corn provide a freshness that lifts everything else. For some added decoration, he uses radish sprouts to mimic leaves on the filler plants of bouquets—the main reason he chose to make this: it looks like the bundles of flower arrangements you keep on your desk. What ties everything together though, is the crunchy, crispy texture of the nori, giving contrast to the creaminess it holds inside. 

There’s a reason why Wagyu is so expensive, and it’s being told in the way it melts into his mouth right now, sweet and tender. He paid a pretty penny for this, but it’s worth it because he can’t wait for your reaction. 

The Sunomono is meant to be a palate cleanser—with sesame seeds sprinkled on it, mild and sweet, while wakame seaweed and cucumbers serve as the base ingredients. The sauce is meant to be light, just a mixture of rice vinegar and soy sauce, seasoned to taste—and maybe his is a little lackluster compared to yours, but he swears you have some form of magic when it comes to cooking. 

After each bite, Gojo looks at Megumi for his reaction—but the boy gives nothing away, face blank and devoid of any emotion. None of them are as good as yours, definitely, but for his first shot at this, they aren’t too bad. He’d pat himself on the back for it. 

“They don’t go together.” Megumi regards the entire spread with his chopsticks. 

All his hard work? Shattered. 

Gojo is dumbfounded. 

It’s too late to change everything now. 

Should he just scrap everything and order takeout? 

“But they’re not bad.” Megumi continues, washing his chopsticks by the sink before heading for the bathroom to change out of the house clothes he’d borrowed in lieu of an apron.

When he emerges, long sleeves and joggers, he asks one last time if that’s all he needs to do, taking Gojo’s nods as a sign to take his leave. The older male remains rooted behind his kitchen counter, frozen from the crisis he’s facing.  

. 

You arrive a little later (thankfully), giving Gojo enough time to figure out this whole debacle. He’s ultimately decided to feel around for how the night goes, then he’ll act accordingly—if you show any sign that you aren’t happy, he has the delivery app ready. 

He dresses in simple slacks and a white button down, fiddling with how he’s rolled it up; the thought of you finally seeing everything he’s prepared for tonight makes him nervous—the table set-up, the ambiance, the food.

(He’s even cleaned up his bedroom).

Then he senses it, faint traces of your cursed energy by the door, and he holds his breath. The beeps on his lock count down the seconds to your entrance; and when he sees you come in, surprised and so amazed at the entire thing, the tightness in his chest eases up immensely. 

All he told you was to wear something nice. 

And, by god you did. 

You walk up to him, pretty and smiling in the simple dress you’d opted for tonight—a midi slip-on with a cardigan thrown on top. Black has always looked good on you, uniform or not, ever since up to now. 

But in white, you’re radiant. Glowing. 

He reaches for you. 

The grin on his face is lovesick as he grabs a hold of your waist. You instantly tiptoe up to kiss him, hands on his shoulders as you land a soft peck that transfers a light sheen of lip gloss onto his lips. The view behind him shows the table set-up, a pop of white and red amidst all the food he’s prepared for tonight. 

Your eyes widen, gasping, “Did you make all of that?” 

He nods, pulling away from you as he grins cockingly, “Call me chef.” 

But he immediately bites his lips, restless as he shifts his weight. He hopes you don’t notice how nervous he is—if you weren’t able to tell from his heartbeat, pressed against his chest. 

“You didn’t have to,” you pout at him, eyes watery as you swipe your thumb across his lips, wiping off the residue of your lipgloss. 

“Guess I’ll just undo everything then.” he chuckles, hands sliding to rest on your lower back, fingers tapping against silk. 

You roll your eyes, and before his hands get the chance to grab you lower, you’re whisking him away, holding his hand as you lead him to the dining table.

He pulls out your chair and you sit, the rare gesture making you giggle. As he settles in the seat across you, there’s a disconnect between the expression on his face and his body language—eyebrows wiggling and lips smirking, meant to be lighthearted and teasing, but he won’t stop fidgeting, shifting as he readjusts his seating. 

As you reach for the Temaki, he sucks in a breath, entirely hyper aware of every move you’re making. When you bite into it, he’s waiting. Anticipating. 

Your eyes fall shut as you chew, humming, then you grin. But when you open them and they catch his, it’s like you can tell—what he’s feeling. The furrow on your brows deepens as you look at him, concerned, “Hey, what’re you thinking?” 

How he hopes he hasn’t fucked this up, this dinner. What if the Miso Soup is too bland? Isn’t at all to your liking? What if the Wagyu’s dried out? Isn’t cooked properly? 

If he can’t get this right, this seemingly simple thing, how can he do everything else? Consider you the same way you’ve always considered him? 

He’s so sure of you his heart could burst at it, but what if he can’t ever come to terms with himself? With what he’s able to—

Then he feels it, your hand on his as you reach for him across the table, rubbing the back of it, soothing. 

He doesn’t even realize how much he’s worrying. 

“Megumi said it doesn’t go together,” he stares into your eyes, breathing slowly, grounding. It’s been a while since he’s given you a non-answer, but you accept it, patiently. 

“Megumi was here?” you ask gently, brow arched curiously. 

He nods, “Asked him to help a bit.” 

You hum, looking back at the food on the table before taking his other hand, soothing, “Well, that’s Megumi’s preference. Mine will be different.”

The smile you give him is warm, like the Miso Soup you’re reaching for right now. He watches you take a sip.

“S’good, better than mine.” You hum and he knows you’re lying but it’s still comforting, the fact that you’d do this for him. 

So if this is your effort for him, he isn’t going to waste it.

The rest of the dinner has you making the most exaggerated sounds, your ‘mmm’s and ‘ooo’s emphasizing how good the food is if he still doesn’t believe it. Your reactions are over-the-top and definitely overplayed, but it makes him laugh—has him grinning in his seat the more he relaxes. 

You help clean up, even though he insists that you shouldn’t. 

“It’s our anniversary, Satoru.” you bump his hip, shooing him away from the table as you stack up the dirty plates. 

When he finishes washing the dishes and turns to find you, sitting atop his kitchen counter, nibbling on a piece of strawberry from the special Daifuku he put out for dessert, he approaches you. 

“Don’t be greedy now,” he rests his hand on your knee, coming to stand in between your legs. You hike your dress up a little bit, just to give him some space. 

You chuckle, cupping your hand under his chin as you feed him; he eats the entire thing, half-bitten by you already. And as the tips of your fingers touch his lips, sticky and syrupy from the strawberry coating, he takes them in his mouth, sucking lightly. 

He holds your gaze.  

“Thanks for doing all this,” you blink twice as he releases your fingers, interlacing them with his, “s’not everyday you have an entire dinner cooked by the love of your life.” 

You say it again—how you call him that so casually. 

What do you mean it’s not everyday you have an entire dinner cooked by the love of your life? 

You do it for him all the time.

He hums, moving closer. His other hand rises higher, kneading the flesh of your thighs through the smooth silk of your midi dress. 

“Thought you were going to spit it out for a second there,” he swallows his nerves. 

“Stop,” you frown, grabbing him by his belt loops before pressing your lips against his forehead, landing a loud ‘smack’, “go away silly thoughts.”

He chuckles when you blow a raspberry on it, laughter easing up as you drag your lips down to the center of his brows, tense from all the worrying earlier. 

You always seem to get it right, he thinks, this whole relationship thing—always knowing what to say. 

He tilts his head up, leaning closer to kiss you on the lips, fully. The breath he lets out mingles with yours, sweet with hints of strawberry, and when he catches your bottom lip you lean back, hands coming to rest on his cheeks. 

You nip on his upper lip, playful but lightly, and he groans, hand reaching up to slot itself by your neck. 

It’s there, underneath his fingertips, the pounding of your heartbeat. 

As you squirm on the kitchen counter, you pull away for a moment, restless from the growing heat. The action is subtle but dangerous as your cardigan slips off your shoulder, revealing the strap and lace of your lingerie. 

Blue eyes land on familiar pink, one he’s certain he’s caught you in before, but seeing it now, under white, it does something to his brain—blood rushing, ears ringing. 

He leans closer, grabbing you by the waist as he runs his lips against along your neck, nipping on sensitive skin.

“‘Toru,” you gasp, breathy as you grip his shirt. 

“Tell me what else you want,” he murmurs against your skin, muffled. He sneaks one glance at you, pupils blown, before hovering over your temple, lips barely touching, tickling as he whispers, “anything.” 

Your fingers trail lower, pinching at his shirt before you tug, untucking it from his slacks. You turn to him, finding his lips, sliding them over his as you match his rhythm. It’s careful and slow, the way you unbutton his shirt, but it’s like he said—

This is your way; he’ll follow anything you say.

.

.

.

5 — WHEN ALL I SEE IS ME AND YOU

Gojo never thought he’d make this decision all because of your joint streaming subscription. 

It’s a normal weekend, regular in every way possible—just a night in for the both of you. He usually stays over at the end of the week, but it’s been bleeding into the weekdays too, lately. 

The sound of splashing water against tile echoes along the hallway; you normally play songs when you shower, but he guesses today isn’t that kind of day. 

He plops on the couch, pointing the remote to the TV as he selects the streaming app. Normal weekends consist of movie nights, half actually paying attention to the screen, and half paying attention to other things—either way, it ends in falling asleep. 

When the homepage lights up on the screen, he spots two accounts: yours and his. And it’s joint, under one household—your home. 

And he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s been thinking about this more lately: how the past months have been a slow realization coming to terms with himself, and where he sees this relationship going, but the visual in front of him sparks an influx of things he’s been noticing. 

The pajama pants he’s wearing now exist as a pair to a matching set he has with you, but tonight, he’s opted for a white t-shirt because his pajama top is tucked somewhere in the drawers of your bedroom. 

(You keep it with you because you like how it fits more, you say, but he thinks it’s because it smells like him, and you sleep with it when he’s away). 

There’s another pair of chopsticks you always wash now, too, plain bamboo with a ring around the handle, light blue. You’d bought it from a market down the street a year ago, and told him it reminded you of him—how it’s his from now on, in the container of utensils by your kitchen sink. 

He’s always known how intertwined your lives are, a decade and more of learning one another is bound to entangle you somehow. But the past few years have caused knots, impossible to unravel—a thought that doesn’t scare him as much as it used to; a thought he now thinks doesn’t sound so bad as long as it’s with you. 

As long as it’s with you. 

The creaking of the bathroom door snaps him back, the soft pads of your footsteps growing louder as it reaches the living room.

“Oh, you haven’t picked a movie yet?” you ask, ruffling your hair with your towel. 

He puts on a smile, facing you as he hands over the remote, “You pick tonight.” 

.

You barely pay attention to the movie, snuggled up against his chest, constantly looking up to kiss his neck. He’s the same, distracted, but not for the same reasons you are. 

It’s a lot to resist, the way your hands creep under his shirt, warm against his stomach, but the sinking feeling in his gut makes it impossible to focus anywhere else. 

“Not the time?” you tap his cheek, and he tilts his chin down, acknowledging you. The look on your face is anything but disappointed, and it tugs at him, makes him feel guilty that he’s making you worry. That he can’t give you what you’re looking for right now. 

“Maybe later,” he takes your hand, lips grazing your fingertips, “I’ll get ready for bed.” 

You nod, sitting up as he taps your hip. He knows you can tell something’s bothering him—it’s impossible to hide anything from you at this point, but this realization feels like a long time coming, like it’s been brewing, now spilling. 

He gets up, kissing the top of your head before walking to the bathroom. 

When he steps in, it still smells like you—the shampoo and bodywash you use. (Technically, it smells like him too—he’s started using yours because it feels like keeping you with him, everywhere he goes). 

As he finishes brushing his teeth, reaching for his towel hooked beside yours, he remembers how none of this existed when it was just you. You only ever had one hook for one towel, how he used to share it with you only to realize that it would never dry in time for the next use.

Then he found it, some time last year, when he walked in to take a shower and saw a hook installed right beside yours, presumably his. 

The lights are adjusted for him too; fluorescent white too bright, a pain for his Six Eyes. You noticed when you caught him washing his face in the dark, so you changed the bulbs to soft white, tinged a bit yellow, warm. 

And the thing is, he never asked you to do any of this. 

You just… did. 

Because that’s you. 

And it’s making him realize even more how he wants to keep it this way, how he wouldn’t mind if this was the rest of his life, everyday.

.

The mood shifts when you both get in bed, and if you notice it, you don’t tell him. Whatever was bothering him before has settled, his head clear, more focused to reciprocate your earlier advances. 

He’s gentle when he touches you, taking the time to love you. Your clothes come off one by one with no haste at all, slowly, almost painfully. 

But he kisses you all over, leaves marks on places only he can see—by your hip, at the center of your chest, and another one, visible, on your neck below your ear. This is more than what he usually does, but he feels determined tonight.

“Off,” you whisper, as you tug at his shirt, pulling it off before throwing it to the side of your bed. 

He holds his breath when your fingers land on his chest, dragging across his collarbones before you tap thrice. This is a spot you’ve loved so intently, he’s become sensitive to it every time you come close. You leave kisses along it, some wet, others dry pecks, but it makes him shudder all the same, every time. 

As he hovers above you, arm bent by your head, his fingers trace your lower lip, tugging only to let it bounce back; he kisses you, noses bumping, softly at first before it turns hungry—lips overlapping, biting. His tongue runs over your lips, smooth and warm. 

There are more touches, more gazes; lips brushing and breaths mixing. The heat between you is shared, intermingling, and when he’s in you—

—it’s too much, how he feels looking at you right now, like you’re everything, the only thing seared into his memory. 

There’s a life he wants to give you, and though he knows there are others who might be more able to—he can’t let go of you, refuses to. He can’t bear the thought of anyone else being this close, doesn’t even want to think about someone else waking up next to you—the bed hair he always looks forward to, the lazy smile against squished cheeks, the hands that always reach for him, first thing. 

These traces of you have made him want the whole of you, and if this is him being selfish, then so be it. 

His arms wrap around your back, hoisting you up as your legs wrap around him, and you’re both moving, timing in sync, and he’s crying. 

He tucks his face into your neck, and he’s sure you feel everything—wet tears, shuddery breaths, but you don’t say anything. You hold him tighter, fingers scratching his undercut as he gets closer and closer. 

Gojo Satoru is a man of impossibilities. 

And this life he thinks you deserve—he wants to be the one to give that to you. 

.

.

.

+1 — WITH MY KNEES ON THE FLOOR, WHEN I ASK FOR MORE

He shouldn’t even be feeling this way, because what’s the worst thing you can say?

It’s just you. 

It’s just you—

And… maybe it’s because it’s you, that the .01% possibility of you even saying no—

—it makes him feel sick. 

He looks back at the clock: 16:30. The walk from the conference room to his office will take an extra 3? 5? minutes. 

The room feels tighter, smaller, floorboards practically worn down from how much he’s paced around it. 

He’s rehearsed what he wants to say, how he’ll grab your hand and look you straight in the eyes as he does it. Fear and excitement churn in his belly, how he’s imagining the look on your face.

If you were here, you’d tell him to breathe—to follow you with every inhale and exhale. 

If you were here, you’d smile at him, lips curled up softly, gently, the one he loves. 

If you were here—

—the door opens, and you step into the room. 

Now that you’re here, he doesn’t know what to say. 

You stand before him in your uniform, smiling, just as he imagined you’d be. Your eyes crinkle at the corners, sparkling, the way he’s noticed they have since you were 17. 

He must be doing a terrible job hiding how he feels because your demeanor instantly shifts, face contorting into worry, brows furrowed and frown forming. You drop your bag as you walk to him, hands reaching to cup his face. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, voice hushed and delicate, “Did something happen?” 

Your fingers are warm on his cheeks (or is he too cold?), tilting his head lower so you can look him in the eyes. He can’t breathe, can’t hear you properly; you’re drowned out by the thumping of his heartbeat. 

“Need to tell you something,” he manages to mutter. 

Your eyes widen before you nod, lowering your hands as you speak slowly, “Okay, do you want to sit first? I have water—”

He shakes his head, hand reaching for your wrist, “I think… you should sit.” 

The pause alarms you, your body turning rigid. He has no idea what’s going through your mind, and you give nothing away as you mumble an ‘okay’ while walking to the couch. 

He stays beside you, not too far but still placing a bigger distance than he normally would—for the 0.01% probability that this isn’t what you want, that he isn’t too close, forcing you into an answer you might not want to say. 

The words float in his mind, but none of them string together to form the sentences he wants to tell you. Does he take it from the start? How this whole thing has always terrified him? How he never thought this was meant for him, but here he is, still learning but loving every second of it?

There are things he’s never had to consider before that he cares so much more about now—all because of you, how it’s for you, how he wants to do better by you. 

You call him the love of your life and he hasn’t told you, but you’re that and more for him, too. 

He practiced this, damn it. 

Why can’t he remember a single thing? 

The silence between you is tense, tainted by overthinking on both ends. You look like you’re waiting for bad news, and Gojo’s too stuck in his head, turning over the right words to say instead of reassuring you. 

“I’ve been thinking lately,” he starts, fiddling with his fingers. His feet won’t stop bouncing, knee fidgeting. He’s biting his lips, a tell-tale sign that there’s a lot he isn’t saying.

You place your hand on his knee to calm him down, and he stops bouncing it, looking at you as you muster up a small smile—far from being genuine, but it’s the fact that you’ve mustered it, as if to say: ‘it’s okay, you can tell me; i’ll always want to hear all of it.’ 

He swallows, “This arrangement isn’t working.” 

Your face drops, brows furrowing, “What arrangement?” 

His heart is pounding. 

“I stay over at yours too much.” 

Too much, that mine doesn’t feel like I belong there anymore, he fails to add. 

“I think we need more space.” 

Your hand slides off his knee as you tuck it between your thighs. There’s a frown on your face he can’t seem to figure out, and the fact that you’re giving nothing away, whatever you’re thinking—he’s turning even more nervous right now. 

“Okay,” you finally say, tone flat, “when do you want me to return all your things?”

He tilts his head at you, confused, “What—” 

“Actually, can I…” you shift around, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ears before clearing your throat, “can I ask if it’s something I did?” 

And his heart drops, straight into his stomach. 

It’s not like that at all. 

He’s hit with déjà vu; this conversation feels so familiar, so similar to one he’s had with you before—on the sofa chair across this couch, laying himself bare the same way he is now. 

The couch dips as he scoots closer to you, reaching for your hands. 

“It’s not—”

You scoff sadly, “Please don’t give me the ‘it’s not you it’s me’ thing,” then your tone drops, blinking away your tears, “if you’re going to break up with me, Satoru, just tell me why. Honestly.” 

He blinks. 

There’s a secret Gojo keeps, one he once told himself he’ll never tell you. 

But now seems like it’s fitting—the right time to say it. 

“You remember when I was unsealed?” he moves to the floor, getting down on his knees in front of you. You nod as he rubs circles over your knuckles, “When I first saw you, it was pretty scary.” 

He brings one hand to your cheek, catching a tear with his thumb. You pout, the crease between your brows growing deeper. 

“You ran yourself dry because of me.” 

When he thinks about it now, he still feels guilty. 

He believes that people are accountable for their own actions, and he still believes that with you, definitely—but he knows your reasons, why you acted that way, desperate for hope everyday. And for that, he takes responsibility. 

“I didn’t want that for you, still don’t.” 

Your frown deepens, tears welling up even more. 

Do you still think he wants to do this without you? 

He can’t take this, seeing you cry; he promised himself he wouldn’t be the reason behind this anymore.

“I’m not breaking up with you.” he tells you firmly, surely. 

You blink. 

Then your shoulders drop as you breathe out—what he hopes is relief. When your eyes meet, a little less sad, he sees the stars in them, glinting like they do when you look at him.

This should be his answer already, how much you brighten at the thought of staying with him. But—

“I still think you deserve more,” he brings your hands to his lips, brushing them against it, and as you’re about to interject, he chuckles, “but I’m also too selfish to leave that up to someone else, you know?” 

“Soooo,” his hand reaches for his pocket, fishing around until he feels for what he’s looking for. He takes out his phone, swiping and scrolling until he finally stops, placing it on your lap for the both of you to see, “I’ve been thinking lately…” 

He looks up at you, the two skies you’ve always been drawn to, waiting. The unease in his stomach returns, churning. 

It’s a compilation of properties: houses, apartments, plots of land—all scattered around Tokyo, some central and some further on the outskirts. 

Your eyes widen, tilting your head to the side as you attempt to read what’s on his screen. You turn to him immediately, eyes still watery; the expression on your face is unreadable, a mixture of surprise and confusion, like you don’t exactly know what he means. 

“We don’t have to choose from these, it’s just a few brokers I talked to recently. We can look for others if you want, in quieter areas too—” 

Then you smile, beaming, tears falling from your eyes, “Satoru,” and you breathe out his name but it sounds like I love you.

There’s a quiet life he can’t give you, but he likes this one with you much better too. He takes your hands, placing one on his chest, over his heart, and the other on his cheek. Then, he leans into it, kissing the insides of your wrist before staring back at you sincerely. 

His heart is beating wildly, he’s sure, but if he can continue to make you this happy—

“Make a home with me?”

a/n: food descriptions—temaki is easy hand-rolled sushi, sunomono is japanese cucumber salad.

thank you notes: @stellamancer the actual birthday gift for u :') + @em1e for listening to me talk abt the entire plot and even reading the first few scenes!! + @mididoodles @kissxcore @itadorey @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for always being so supportive when am sharing my progress posts ilu + @crysugu @soumies @augustinewrites @ufo-ikawa no reason other than i just love u ᰔ i reply so slow when am writing smth...

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[thriftedtchotchkes]

a matter of time

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel can't remember the last time he took things slow and let himself feel. you give him a gentle reminder.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, late boston qz era, joel's pov, smut, porn with a twist ending, fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, slow/intimate sex, finger sucking, premature ejaculation, nostalgia, internal monologue, tess doesn't exist

word count: 2.4k

It's been a long time.

Joel's all but forgotten what it feels like when it's this gentle. There's almost a tenderness to it, even though he doesn't know much of anything about you at all. Not your name or how you ended up here in this hellhole of a safe haven.

Nothing but the sweet, tacky taste of your 20-year-old Lip Smacker gloss and the tang of sweat and something sweeter lingering on your skin. But he's learning.

And he likes this new knowledge. Even if he never gets the chance to use it again, he'll devour it hungrily because it's a worthy distraction from the monotony of life in a quarantine zone. Day in and day out, he returns to this shitty apartment with its peeling floral wallpaper and rotting mahogany furniture—memories of a distant past that aren't his own and, yet, sting just as viscerally.

Tonight, the space hums with a different energy. Highlighted by the soft rays of the setting sun, the room's only purpose is to serve as a backdrop to you, and that alone changes everything. Your beauty, your responsiveness, as he lays you across his moth-eaten duvet is reminiscent of a different time, and he'll happily accept that reminder.

It's one of the few pieces of nostalgia that doesn't ache or eat away at him the longer he lets it in. No, you feel good. You're warm against his fingertips, soft and pliant under the path his lips follow from the sticky smear across your cheek, past the breath hitching audibly in your bared throat, down to your soaked, coarse curls.

You want him. More than that, you want to take your time with him, and he's surprised at how much he wants that, too. Trapped within these walls, what else does he have but endless, empty time? And there's nothing he'd love more than to spend it taking care of you, just like you asked him to.

He hovers above you, refusing to part his lips from your body as he urges you up the bed to rest against his pillows. They're flattened and scratchy from years of use and abuse, but they smell like him, and you like it. He can tell. The moment your hair fans across them, rich and lively in contrast, you bury your face into the fabric to breathe him in, and your body's reaction is instantaneous.

Your back arches with a heavy sigh of contentment and your legs fall apart naturally, welcoming him closer, but he waits. Reverently, he slowly leans back onto his heels to appreciate the sight in front of him, and he can't help but feel grateful. You're already glistening for him, preening under his undivided attention as your delicate fingers trail up to your breast to tweak a nipple.

As your eyelashes flutter and a gasp escapes your parted lips, his hand quickly drops to squeeze his twitching cock over his boxers and he keens, nearly doubling over at the pleasure that overcomes him. A coy, knowing smile quirks at the corners of your mouth, and he decides he needs to taste you again. Now.

He lurches forward, and you let out a surprised squeal as he licks into your mouth and commits to memory the faint taste of artificial root beer and mint on your tongue. The familiar fight for dominance he's so used to after years of quick fucks and one-night stands isn't there, and, instead, you set a languid, passionate pace that makes his head spin. It's a slow, deep caress—wet and warm and all-encompassing—and it's everything he hopes fucking you will feel like.

He's so hard it hurts. God, when was the last time he was this fucking hard? He's leaking messily through his boxers, desperate to be touched and enveloped and claimed.

And how could he not be? He's kissing the perfect woman. A patient goddess who's leading his hands across every inch of bare skin, showing him exactly how you like to be stroked and gripped, sighing encouragingly when he heeds your lessons just right.

You're one hell of a teacher, and he thinks he might just be your favorite student. He separates from you with a lewd smack and a string of saliva keeps you connected for a fleeting second before you lean up to lick it off his bottom lip. Your eyes lock with his and they're dark, almost completely consumed by desire, and it's further encouragement to continue on to his next assignment.

This one might just send him over the edge. You guide his hand down to cup your wet heat and you're drenched, dribbling and smearing slick patterns onto his sheets that he'll probably trace with his tongue while he jerks off to the thought of you long after you're gone.

Bathed in the dwindling embers of twilight, your silhouette—the plush slope of your breasts and soft curve of your belly and thighs—is cast around the room in artful shapes and shadows, and he wishes you were a permanent fixture. That your visage covered these walls instead of false depictions of growth and life. It's a dangerous train of thought, but he's too lost in the haze of your warmth and wetness to think about anything else.

He needs to feel you. He needs to fuck you.

He barely even realizes he's already slipped inside you as if he's been there all along, stroking your walls with the rough tips of his middle and ring fingers and honing in on that hidden, spongy spot with such precision, you'd think he'd done it a million times before. Thick, cording veins strain against his forearms as he tenses with the effort of keeping his thrusts long and purposeful, and he watches, captivated, as your cunt sucks him in greedily and fruitlessly tries to hold him inside you.

Tight—fuck. You're so tight. He's bucking into his unoccupied hand, jerking himself off over his boxers, and he doesn't remember when he started, but he can't stop. It feels too good...you feel too good, and the steady, simultaneous rhythm he sets for both of you isn't nearly enough.

Faster. Harder. Still so goddamn tight. He'll never be able to stretch you out enough to take him, and he's starting to worry he'll cum before he even gets the chance to try. His cock throbs violently against his palm, and he bites back a groan at the vision beneath him. Christ, how did you get here?

You can't possibly be real. Your thighs are quaking on either side of his waist and your pussy clenches dangerously hard around his scissoring fingers. There's a thin sheen of sweat matting the wispy hairs around your temples and pooling everywhere your body connects with the mattress, your searingly hot skin an addictive, sticky trap he willingly and faithfully succumbed to.

And those sounds.

You need his cock. Fucking hell, you need it. Greedy, patient, needy fucking woman. He can hear it in your soft pants and hitched breaths. You're quiet and subtle in your pleasure, so unlike any other woman he's ever been with, but when you whimper—fuck. Fuck.

He's going to give it to you. Right now, after taking the time to map and explore and discover, he's going to use his newfound knowledge to hollow you out, then fill you up until you're overflowing with him.

He slows to a stop and pulls his glistening fingers from your cunt, and there's that faint, perfect sound again. A stuttered, broken whimper that lilts with each knuckle that catches on your entrance. He sucks his ring finger into his mouth and adds your taste to his list of all-time favorites, right alongside your Barq's root beer-flavored lip gloss.

Then, he offers you his middle finger, and he swears he can feel your lips sealing tightly around his cock as you wrap them around it. You work your mouth up and down, bobbing your head eagerly like he's about to blow his load down your throat, and—

He's going to fucking cum.

With his finger still nestled between your lips, he wrenches his boxers down his thighs and lines himself up with your entrance, ignoring how close he's suddenly teetering on the edge. His balls are already taut between his legs and it worsens as he inches in his aching, neglected tip.

"S'time, beautiful," he grits out, still tender in his touch as he splays his hand across your waist to stroke your heated skin. "You ready for me?"

You nod quickly, humming your affirmation around him, and he gives you another shallow inch. He was right. No amount of preparation was going to ease the stretch. You're gripping him so hard, it almost hurts, and the thought of how tight you'll be when you cum—he feels delirious with it.

Yes. Yes. Squeeze him. Let him feel you wringing him fucking dry. Let him pump you so full of his release, you'll be dripping him for days, an intimate, lingering reminder of this night. You have no fucking idea how long he's been waiting for this, for you. He doesn't even know your name, but that doesn't matter. Right now, all that matters is this.

This deep-seated, unspoken connection. It's been a long time. And, right now, his time is up.

He slides home in one long, deep thrust, the tip of his cock tenderly nudging your cervix, and your body struggles to accept him. He lights up every nerve ending like a live wire, drags against every sensitive pressure point in perfect succession, and your walls begin to mold around him as if they recognize the sensation. Like your body's remembering him.

Sharp nails dig into his side and drag from his shoulder down to his ass, urging him closer. You're trembling beneath him, your breasts thrumming with sharp, rapid breaths akin to a hummingbird as he fucks you further up the bed, one slow thrust at a time. You're fluttering around him, a delicate spasm and, then, an indicative clench, and it forces a sob from his chest that he barely recognizes.

That's it, beautiful. It's right there. C’mon, give it to me.

He doesn't speak it aloud. He hasn't coaxed or rushed you with his words this entire night and he's not about to start now. He knows, for some inexplicable reason, that he doesn't have to.

But you do. It's barely a whisper—a single, hushed syllable that trembles and passes your lips like a plea. A prayer only he can answer.

"Joel."

Christ. He knows you.

Christ, he's cumming.

His vision whites out, and he's only vaguely aware of his tightening grip on your hips and the long, drawn-out groan that tapers into something devastatingly familiar. Your name.

Now, it's his turn to pray. He repeats it like a mantra, breathing it into your lungs as his lips crash onto yours. It's almost as if he's afraid he'll forget it again if he stops, but your body's response quickly convinces him otherwise.

You bear down on him harder, driven closer and closer to your peak each time he calls out to you, for you. You're molten hot around him, searing each letter into his skin with every pulsing clench of your cunt, and he does the same, thick spurts coating your walls.

He can't help himself. He stays deep—he knows he shouldn't, knows how dangerous the consequences could be, but he needs to—and your ankles digging painfully into his back to hold him in place wordlessly tell him you need it, too.

So good, you're so good. You're perfect. You're his. You're—

Gushing, squeezing, finally moaning for him. You’re cumming.

With it, your orgasm brings every memory of you flooding back at once. Late summer afternoons spent in bed while Sarah visited her grandma. Champagne-flavored kisses on New Year's Eve, soundtracked by Dick Clark and cheers from the crowd in Times Square filtering through the plasma TV in his living room.

He loved you. He loved this. He should've known the moment he kissed you, the moment he saw you, but he's been surviving for so long. He can't remember the last time he lived.

Your limbs surround him, pulling his entire weight down to rest on top of you, and you continue to swivel your hips into his pelvis, riding out your high as his name falls breathily from your lips. He works you through it, frantically blinking away the sudden blur that engulfs his vision so he doesn't miss out on another moment with you. Not ever again.

He's...he's crying. He didn't even know he was capable of that anymore. Sensitivity starts to set in, in more ways than one, but he doesn't want to leave the heat of your embrace. He thinks he might break at the sight of his cum leaking out of you and seeping into the undeserving fabric of his co-opted sheets, far away from where it belongs.

But, then, your lips meet his tanned, weathered cheek—a stark contrast to the young man he was when he was yours—and you kiss away his tears. He feels more fragile than he has in decades, and that's surprisingly okay. Because you're here to protect him, now.

Trailing from the apple of his cheek to his lips, up to the years of tension creasing his forehead, back down to kiss him tenderly, you establish a comforting repetition. He chases you every time you part, but, after a while, he's struck with a realization. What you've been trying to convey with your actions all night.

You always return to him. So, maybe this was just a matter of time. A slow smile spreads across that beautiful face he hadn't allowed himself to think about since the outbreak, and you huff out an affectionate laugh, your fingertips curiously running across his back and tracing raised lines and jagged shapes you've never felt before.

"Hi, Joel," you murmur fondly, still close enough for the tacky remains of your gloss to catch his bottom lip, and his tongue darts out to taste you.

It's real—it's too vivid not to be real. His eyes dart between yours, and he can still see everything your future together was supposed to hold. He still sees forever.

"Hey, baby," he rasps, his voice thick with tears and disuse, and something unidentifiable that sounds a lot like hope.

He hasn't felt this way in a long time. Not since you.

thanks for reading!

[selfloverrrrrr]

can i request some noncon satosugu x reader where they used to bully her in highschool and a couple years later they bump into her outside of a bar and carry her into a dark alleyway to show her how much they missed making her scream and cry

Remember us?

Warnings : smut , heavy smut, unprotected sex, Noncon, Kidnapping, physically and emotional abuse, biting, torture, size difference, threesom, blood, killing someone....

( All characters are aged up/18+)

Minors Do Not Interact

Read the warnings carefully....if you don't like my stories block me not report

Little back story

Y/n's POV

I'm a old student of jujutsu high. I graduated from that school ten years ago. Now I'm leaving my life as I want. I didn't even have connection with my old friends. In high school there were two famous boys Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru. They are the strongest sorcerers. They were my bullies. I always feared curses. Geto knew curse manipulation. He always scared me with curses. And while I cried for help Gojo always tied my hands and pushed me towards the curse. I cried and begged them to stop the bullying. But they always just watched me helpless and laughed. Which boosted their strong ego. That's another reason I didn't accept the offer to continue jujutsu high work. That's old stories now.

End of back story

Still y/n's POV...

After a whole two months I finally got a day off. So I decided to go to the bar and spend the time there. I need to relax too. I took a mini party wear dress from my wardrobe and wore it. "Yeah... look fine for a dumb day" I said standing in front of the mirror and laughed.

I went to the bar, spending time, drinking, vibing to the song... everything was going okay. "Hello" someone said. I looked in the direction. There was a guy. "Hello...?" I replied. "Are you alone here?" He asked. "Can you see any other humans here?" I said knowing where this is going.

"oh...a rude one" he said. "I'm alone too....saw you when you entered... I think you're pretty" he said. "Thank you for the compliment and no" I replied. "No? What no?" He asked. "That was the reply of the intention you came here...my time is over... I'm going home now" I said and went up from there and started walking towards the exit. I heard the guy sighing.

I was looking at my phone searching for a cab. Suddenly bumped into someone. "Oh I'm sorry... I didn't-" I was saying then I saw the guy's face. Am I seeing right? Is it Geto. "Y/n?" Gojo said beside him. He's here too? Fuck why am I fearing them? We're grown up now... we're not high schoolers anymore!

Then there's nothing to fear about right? "Oh..hey" I said. "Seeing you after a long time" Geto said. "Yeah... after ten years...you were at the bar?" Gojo asked. "Yes... today was my day off... that's why" I replied. "I see... you joined any company?" Geto asked.

I've never talked with them like this before. This is feeling weird. "Yeah I did... how are you doing?" I asked. They were asking too many questions it would be weird if I didn't ask anything. "We are doing good" Geto said. "Wanna know a news?... Suguru and I, are married now" Gojo said leaning towards me.

"that's great... congratulations to you two" I said. "Well, thank you" Geto said. I felt Gojo eyes scanned my whole body. "Are you going home?" Gojo asked. "Yeah... looking for the cab" I replied. "Come with us... we're going home too... we'll drop you" Gojo said.

"no it's fine... I'll wait for the cab" I said. "Darling?...are you still scared of us?" Geto asked. A smirk played on both of their lips. "N-No... I-It's not like that" I replied. "Then come with us.... we're not a kid anymore" Gojo said. Then I agreed. Maybe that was the biggest mistake!

We're in Gojo's car. His driver was driving the car. We three were sitting in the back seat. Suddenly Gojo told his driver to stop the car. When I looked outside it was a dark road. Gojo went out of the car. "What happened sir? Is there anything wrong?" The driver asked. "Come out " Gojo said.

As the driver went out of the car Gojo immediately used a reversal red on him. I screamed as he did. "You were talking too much" Gojo said looking at the dead body. I didn't realise when I went on Geto's lap. "Satoru...she still fears us" Geto chuckled. Then I realised and went down from his lap.

Gojo was coming inside the car again. "Yeah I can see" Gojo said. "Suguru...feed your dragon the dead body" Gojo said . No no no...not curses! Geto let out his dragon and that went to eat the dead body. Gojo closed the car door.

I was so scared tears started forming in my eyes. "Please let me go" I begged. "Let you go?... But there's a curse outside... and you're afraid of curses, right?" Gojo said with a smirk. That was right! I am afraid of curses! "I wanna go home" I started crying.

Gojo and Geto chuckled. Gojo's hand was going upwards on my thigh. "Please let me go" I cried and begged. "Darling, you are afraid of spiders too... right?" Geto whispered in my ear. I looked at him with scared eyes.

"look at the front seat" Geto said with a smirk. I looked at the front seat. No no no! There's a huge spider! That's not a normal spider... that's a curse... I can feel the cursed energy. That was almost the size of a human. "No!!!! No!!!! Let me go! Let me go please!!!!" I screamed and struggled in the back seat.

Gojo laughed. "There... those screams again" he said. "darling... don't worry it won't do anything unless I say so....so obey us and you'll be safe" Geto said. I silently cried. Suddenly the spider started moving. "NO NO NO!!!! I'll obey you... please " I cried. The spider stopped again.

"good girl" Gojo said with a smirk. "Now take off your clothes" Gojo said. "W-what?" I said. "Do I have to repeat?" Gojo said then looked at the spider curse. "No no... I'll" I said. I took off the dress. Geto pulled me on his lap. "You become so sexy... Darling" Geto whispered in my ear.

"I was thinking that from the moment we met" Gojo said. I saw Gojo raising his hips up. Then I realised he was taking off his pants. He took out his dick and started stroking it. How much shameless can he be? But I had to admit... that dick was big... I've never seen a dick that big before.

"Satoru, you have no patience" Geto said. Gojo laughed. "What are you doing? Take off the rest... take off your bra and pantie" Gojo said. I sobbed and did as he said. Had no other options. Gojo grabbed my knees and spread them apart. Geto rubbed his hand on my clit.

"she's wet... maybe watching your dick made her wet, Satoru" Geto said. Gojo smirked. "Then why should we wait?" Gojo said and pulled me on his lap from Geto's lap. He pressed me on his lap and my clit was rubbing against his dick. A slight moan escaped my mouth.

When I looked at Geto again. He already had taken off his pants. Fuck! His dick was big too. slightly smaller than Gojo's but thicker. "How should we start? Single or double?" Geto asked. "Of course double!" Gojo said. "Do you think she can take both together?" Geto asked. "Hell yeah she can... you can right y/n?" Gojo said.

My eyes widened when I realised what they were talking about. "No no no...I can't please" I said. "Shut up... you can!" Gojo said.Gojo's smirk widened and he crashed his mouth on my boob sucking hurshly. I moaned loudly.

They both lined up with me. Fear grabbed me by my neck. " Gojo no no no... P-please no...Geto please s-stop" I begged but they didn't even listen to me and slammed their whole dick inside me in one slide. I screamed. They didn't even give me time to adjust his size and started thrusting in and out roughly. It was too much...they both were big and thick....it was giving too much pain.

I was through my legs with pain and begging them to stop. And they liked it so much. Their thrust became harder and harder. I clenched around them tightly and he moaned loudly " ughhhhhh....ahhh s-so...ahhhh.... f-fuck...it's so tight " Geto moaned. "I know" Gojo said between moans and started rubbing my clit with his thumb and I bit his shoulder and scratched his back to control myself.

With a few more thrust I came. They were still thrusting roughly. I felt their cock pulsing inside me. I tried to push him away with all of my strength. "Do you even know how much we missed you...how much we missed your screams...your begging... fuck " Gojo whispered. They both moaned loudly. Within a minute they came inside me I could feel their seed inside me. Then God knows how many rounds they did... switching positions.

"What do you say,Suguru?... Should we make her the one to give birth to our child?" Gojo asked looking at my unconscious body. "No one would be better you know" Geto replied which made Gojo chuckle.

Give me your requests guys...

I love when you give me your requests 💕

[withleeknow]

i think you'll do well with requests bc they seem to be popular in the fanfic side of tumblr! but even if it doesn't take off that quick, at least that'll be less overwhelming bc some ppl can be so demanding....anyways, i hope the best for you in this new journey haha 💝

me personally, i'm not very creative so i'll leave the details to the professionals (aka you) but i'd like to req something from minho's pov. i think those type of stories are SEVERELY lacking in the lee know fics department lol 🥲 it could be a childhood friends to lovers where he is pining for oc but he has a lot of self esteem issues and thinks she's not interested in him. also a big softie and just all around head over heels for her. you can add your magic! (if this is even remotely interesting enough to write lol i just want a minho pov tbh shsjjfjdjdj 😭)

light years.

summary: three times minho bites his tongue, and one time you don't let him.

pairing: minho x f!reader genre/warnings: childhood friends to lovers, fluff, angst; kissing, cursing, so much pining i could hurl. could this have been more edited? oh absolutely lmao but i actually don't hate it sooo this is what we're going with :p word count: 4.2k note: to the first anon, thank you so much for your kind words! :') and i'm sorry that this took me longer than expected. i was trying to figure out what i wanted to write for your prompt but then i got the second request with the song and i thought they would go nicely together hehehehe i hope the both of you enjoy thissss

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / request masterlist / ko-fi

I'm not sure what it means to love But I blink kind of slow around you I'm not sure what it means to love But I'll grow wherever you do What that means, I don't have a clue

I'm Not Sure - Margeaux Beylier

One.

Minho is 18 years old, and he doesn't know what love is, doesn't really care for it at all.

While his friends are out there wrapped in the clutches of young love - the kind that blooms with stolen glances in classrooms and sticky notes passed in secrecy, Minho finds it simply unnecessary. He doesn't understand it whenever Hyunjin whines about not having a girlfriend because they're still young, they've got all the time in the world for romance later down the line. It's not the end of the world like Hyunjin laments it is.

Minho has his own life to prioritize. College is starting after the summer and he still needs to figure out how he's going to cope with the absence of his cats once he moves away. He's got dancing and he's got his other hobbies to keep him fulfilled and occupied.

And above all, he's got you.

You're getting ready for your sister's wedding when it happens for the first time. Or rather, when it doesn't happen.

You step back into the room where Minho is waiting for you on the sofa, his gaze resting idly on the screen of his phone, scrolling absentmindedly through his friends' group chat even though he has no interest in whatever they're talking about. You cough lightly to indicate your return after disappearing into the bathroom minutes prior to change into your dress. He looks up upon your soft announcement, and when his eyes settle on you, he swears it feels like an invisible force has collided with his chest and knocked all of the air from his lungs.

Throughout all his years of knowing you, inseparable from childhood until now, Minho has never seen you like this - all dolled up with your hair falling over your collarbones, cascading over your shoulders in soft waves that beckons him to run his fingers through. The light blue dress hugs you beautifully, the silky material catching the light from outside the window every time you shift on your feet under his steady gaze.

"So...?" you ask, moving your arms awkwardly behind your back like you're not sure what to do with them. "What do you think?"

What does he think?

Minho thinks you might just be the prettiest girl in the world. He thinks he must have been an idiot his whole life, to have spent most of his waking hours beside you and not once has he noticed how truly breathtaking you are. He thinks about the feeling that spreads in the pit of his stomach, sends warmth throughout his body and makes his heartbeat race a million miles an hours.

Your best friend blinks slowly as he savors the warmth that he's never experienced before. It's similar to the feeling you get when you're sitting under the shade of a big tree on a summer's day. It's comparable to the satisfied tranquility you get after you've just finished a hearty meal. A little hazy in your contentment.

It's not until you probe with a pointed Well? that Minho realizes he's been staring at you in silence for a few minutes now. He swallows thickly, willing away the words that he wants to say but they get lodged in his throat. He reckons it's weird to verbalize them, because it's not how the two of you function. You don't often utter that kind of sentiment out loud and he doesn't either. Never have and likely never will.

In the end, he bites his tongue. "You look presentable," is what he settles on.

You roll your eyes, then reward him with a laugh.

Minho doesn't care about love. He only cares about you.

Two.

Minho is 21 years old, and he's gotten used to his heart beating erratically whenever he's in your presence.

Three years flew by in the blink of an eye, and graduation is just around the corner. You've always done well in school, straight A student with a track record that most could only dream to have. You put in the hours, you do the work. You deserve everything that you've achieved.

But it's been a challenging few months for you both, being seniors and all. He's had to watch you struggle to stay on top of your classes while also having to slave over a thesis 24/7 until you were sure it was perfect. It reduced you to tears a few times, and Minho was there to hold your hand through it all.

He held you in his comforting embrace when you wanted to give up. He made you dinner when you were too immersed in your schoolwork to notice that you'd forgotten to eat. He was your biggest support system; if it weren't for him, you don't know if you would've made it through.

It's hot outside today, a little unbearable but not uncharacteristic for June. Minho waits in a familiar hallway, the same hall that he's walked past for hundreds of times over the past few years, the same hall that he won't see again once he holds a degree in his hands in only a few weeks' time.

As he sits on an old wooden bench, he bounces his leg as if he's one of the people in the classrooms that line the hall. He doesn't have to be on campus today, but here he is regardless because you're scheduled for your thesis defense this morning. You're in one of those rooms, probably also bouncing your leg from the overwhelming nerves. Minutes feel like hours; you went in there a while ago after he had sent you off with a pat on the head and an encouraging Godspeed.

He's nervous for you, but he's sure that you'll do great. Years of hard work accumulating in what must be the most important moment of your academic journey. You even stayed up all night last night, refusing to sleep a wink just to revise your arguments and talking points.

Minho's head snaps up instantly as he hears a door creak open, the sound of it reverberating throughout the empty hallway like a gong announcing your return from battle. It takes you a few seconds to step out of the room and into his line of sight. He can't see you very well with all this distance between you, but he can still make out the way your frame is visibly shaking with every step you take. He rises to his feet, and you break into a sprint.

He opens his arms wide - a hug of consolation or congratulations, he doesn't know yet - but he still can't seem to brace himself for the collision. You run straight into his embrace, your warms wounding around his middle tightly. Minho feels your tremors, hears your sniffles from where you're pressing your cheek against his shoulder.

"How did it go?" he asks gently.

You start crying then, and he doesn't know if the tears that his shirt is soaking up are those of joy or of grief, but he holds you through it anyway. He swears he can feel every single beat of your heart, hammering so wildly as you're pressed against him like you could sink into him if only you'd push just a little bit more.

"I passed," you say in between sobs. "I got an A."

Minho heaves out the breath that he's been holding ever since you entered that classroom, but it's not like he had any doubt about it to begin with. He hugs you tighter than he's ever had before, and he loves you just the same.

You two must look so dramatic, all wrapped up together in your own little bubble, but who the fuck cares? Although, when another student passes by and coughs, you do break away from him, a little embarrassed for a second.

Even with your hair all mussed up and your flushed cheeks stained with tears, he still thinks you look the same as you did when you were 18 at your sister's wedding. The prettiest girl in the world.

Minho wipes away the wetness on your face with his sleeves, then swipes with gentle thumbs at the moisture that's gathered along your lash lines.

"Holy fucking shit," you breathe out, your shoulders sagging with evident relief, so much more relaxed now that you've done it. "I can't believe it's finally over."

Your best friend can't entirely agree, because he's always believed in you. He's had faith in you since the beginning, since you were mere children laughing and crying together on the playground. You were meant to do great things, this was always crystal clear to Minho.

I love you, he thinks as he smooths a hand over your hair, his chest swelling with nothing but pride and fondness for you. You did so well.

But it's not what he ends up telling you. He swallows it down, washes it away with a dose of regret and longing. He's still not the type to express sappy sentiments, and he's grown accustomed to adoring you only in secret.

"Let's go," he says softly. "I'll buy you dinner."

Minho is still young, he's still got his whole life ahead of him, but he knows what love is now. He knows that it's you.

Three.

Minho is 24 years old, and he finds it hard to make peace with the fact that you're starting to get out there, that you're finally going on dates now that academics aren't taking up most of your time anymore.

To be fair, none of the guys you've seen have been graced with a second date, and Minho thanks his lucky stars whenever you return from a night out and text him a simple Not it. He knows that it wasn't your decision in the first place, that your mom and your sister have been setting you up on blind dates because they want to see you bring a boyfriend home.

You complain about it all the time, whining about how you're not interested but your family is adamant on it. Minho is well aware, and yet, there's a part of him that's a little shaken, because what if? What if the universe miscalculates and the stars misalign just enough in his misfortune for you to cross paths with someone who's absolutely perfect for you? Someone who's a good man that can give you what you've always deserved to have.

He really doesn't know what he would do if that happens. When it happens?

He doesn't know why you're here tonight either, sitting on a chair on the other side of his kitchen island in a pretty dress when you're supposed to be going on a date in half an hour. The guy apparently works for a big record label, some producer that your sister knows through a friend of a friend.

You look indifferent, kind of bored, as you watch Minho makes dinner for himself. "You seem miserable," he comments, taking a quick break from chopping vegetables to glance up at you. You do look a bit miserable, but you're still the most beautiful in his eyes.

You throw your head back and groan loudly, "Because I am. God, I don't know why they keep making me do this. These guys always give nothing."

"Please elaborate."

"They're all boring suits with tedious routines." you say, and as absentminded as your tone is, it sounds a little pointed to Minho's ears. "They don't make me laugh."

Do they not make you laugh, or do they not make you laugh more than I can?

"Then don't go," he snickers, though there's no humor in his voice at all. "These guys sound like duds. Just tell your sister to fuck off."

"Do you mean that? Do you really think I shouldn't go?"

And there's something in your gaze, something so suddenly expectant in the way you're looking at him that makes Minho wonder. If he says yes, would you listen? Would you stay here with him? Would you stay here for him?

I'm serious. Don't go. You can have this and I'll make myself ramyeon. Just be here with me.

You both stare at each other on either side of his kitchen island for an infinite stretch of time. He feels like your eyes are trying to tell him something that he can't decipher, as if they're sending him signals in a language that he never learned how to read.

For a second there, he indulges himself. He pretends that you're only asking because you want to hear him say it. That you want him to put up a fight and not let you go.

But he bites his tongue because it's become a bad habit. A habit that he can't shake because he simply doesn't have the courage to do so. Because if you stay here tonight, looking like that under the cozy lighting of his living room, he might just spill his secrets and he wouldn't be able to take it when reality comes crashing down and you end up telling him that you've never felt the same way.

"I'm kidding," he musters up the words, and tries to plaster on a smile for your sake, even though he's not sure if you really believe it. "You're dressed up anyway. Go and get a free fancy dinner, if anything."

Minho knows what love is, but his love has always lived in the shadows, his longing has only existed in the dark that it terrifies him just thinking about it meeting the light.

Four.

Minho is 26 years old, and he's been a coward for the better part of a decade.

Maybe he's loved you for even longer, but he has spent the past eight years head over heels in love with you, and not once has he done anything about it. Never been able to gather enough courage to ask you out, never even hinted at his feelings for you. He loves you from his place by your side and yet, you've never known.

He loves you the most, but he loves you in the worst way that a person can love another - he loves you in silence.

You're the prettiest girl in the world, and Lee Minho is a pathetic coward.

All these years, he's kept quiet and for what? There's always a spot reserved for him right next to you and yet, it feels like he can only watch you from the sidelines, far away from where it really matters, because he doesn't think he can fit into your life the way he truly wants. You taught him what love was, and love, to Minho, is unattainable. Something he can spend the rest of his life yearning for but won't ever have.

Love hurts. Sometimes, all love does is hurt.

"I would've taken you to a nice restaurant if you asked, you know," he says, putting a chocolate cupcake on the coffee table in front of you before he sits down next to you on the fluffy carpet of your living room. He pulls out a candle next, placing it right in the center of the sweet treat.

Your gaze follows his hand has he lights the candle, your eyes glinting with excitement as though you're a child again and your favorite day of the year is still your birthday. The tiny flame curves and bends, dancing to a rhythm that looks like only you can hear. You watch the candle like it's magic, while Minho just watches you, thinking the same thing.

He watches as you close your eyes and clasp your hands together for the theatrics, then you blow out the flame seconds later with a swift breath.

You turn to him with a smile, "I don't need a nice restaurant. This is perfect."

He blinks, and there's that warmth simmering in his belly again. He first felt it when he was 18, and he feels it now. He feels it almost every moment that he spends with you, and he reckons it's only reasonable, because you're his home personified and love can still be beautiful even when it hurts. There's his heart racing again, but that's nothing new to Minho.

He muses over your words. Perfect. Just one simple word is enough to get his hopes up in a way that it really shouldn't.

Your definition of a birthday well spent is in your cozy apartment, eating takeout pizza with your best friend. Perfect, to you, is him baking you a singular chocolate cupcake upon your request and being with him within these four walls, where his fingers occasionally brush yours when you sit next to each other.

Oh, Minho would follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked him to.

He clears his throat lightly, breaking away from your gaze that's full of gratitude and childlike wonder. "What did you wish for?"

"I'm not gonna tell you. It won't come true then."

Wishes don't come true anyway, he thinks, but obviously he won't say it out loud to you, and on your birthday no less. Instead, he diverts his attention to the cupcake, subconsciously tonguing his cheek as he takes a small chunk of the sweet and offers it to you.

You let him feed you even though your eyes are narrowed. "What was that look?" you ask.

"What look?"

"You had a look."

"No, I didn't," Minho insists.

"Yes, you did. You wanted to say something, didn't you?"

He shrugs, popping a piece of cupcake into his own mouth. The answer is yes, he did want to say something, but if you want to get technical about it, then he's wanted to say something for years now. He asks you the same thing every birthday, What did you wish for?, and you would refuse to tell him every time.

"Wishes don't come true," he verbalizes it this time, with a voice that's lighthearted on purpose despite knowing that you wouldn't take it that seriously either way.

You roll your eyes. "Now you're just being pessimistic."

"What? I'm speaking from experience."

"You've never had a birthday wish come true?"

"My birthday wishes haven't come true since I was 18."

Minho feels your eyes on the side of his face, and when you remain quiet for a beat too long, he turns his attention back to you. "What?"

"How do you know they didn't come true?"

"Because..."

Because you've been my wish for almost a decade now. I didn't use to believe in wishes but I always believed in you. Every year, I wish for you to look at me the way I look at you, but it never comes true. Every year, I wish that you would love me back, not just as a friend, but you never do. You are my wish, but you're also the very reason why I know wishes don't come true.

Then he's laughing, but nothing is remotely funny about this. It's your birthday and suddenly all he can think about is how much it stings to be reminded that you're the only thing he'll ever wish for, and still, maybe this simple wish is absurd enough that the universe will never grant him what he truly wants.

"Never mind," he says. "This whole thing is silly."

There he goes, biting his tongue again. Coward.

"No, what were you going to say?"

"You're so bossy today," Minho pretends to complain.

"It's my birthday. Tell me," you press on, and suddenly he can't find any appreciation for your stubbornness that he's adored all his life. You keep your eyes fixed on him when all he wants to do is hide from you.

What is he supposed to say to you? What can he even say? That he's spent more than a third of his life hopelessly enamored with you? That the second he utters any of this out loud, he knows it will be the end of your friendship?

And Minho can't afford to lose you. Even if it hurts, he would rather let love hurt than live in the absence of you.

"Eat your cupcake," he says instead. "I'll get some ice cream."

He makes a move to get up, and the bad habit further cements its place in his subconscious. He's always running away from you when you're supposed to be the person he can be the most open with. This is how he knows he doesn't deserve you.

But you reach for his wrist and it makes him still, the feeling of your hand sliding downward to hold onto his fingers. He's used to the feeling of your smaller hand in his, used to how he can hear his heartbeat in his ears whenever you lace your fingers together.

What he isn't accustomed to, is the look on your face this very second, akin to the one you wore two years ago as you sat on the other side of his kitchen island, asking him if you should go.

Expectant and hopeful; you're holding something back too.

The words that slip from your lips are ones that he never imagined you would say to him.

"I've waited for you long enough."

His poor excuse of retrieving ice cream is all but forgotten as he stares at you, doe-eyed and despairingly confused. "What is that supposed to mean?"

You take a breath, and Minho wonders if this is how he looked every time he wanted to say something only to back down in the end.

Then it all comes rushing out.

"For a while, I thought there might've been something between us, something more than just friendship. I don't know why I thought that, I just had a feeling. On the day of our graduation, I thought you would finally kiss me or at least say something, but you didn't. Whenever I went on dates, I wanted you to tell me not to go, that I was wasting my time with those guys that couldn't make me laugh because they weren't you. You never said anything, you never did anything. I waited every birthday just like I waited tonight. You're still holding it over me and I'm starting to wonder if you really love me too or if I imagined everything this whole time."

Your voice gets smaller toward the end, almost as if the uncertainty takes over you the longer he remains silent. He doesn't have the words for it, doesn't really have the mental capacity to process all of what you just professed. Years and years of longing, of hoping that you would come running into his arms the same way you did on the morning of your thesis defense, and it turns out that you were always the one waiting for him to reach you.

If you really love me too.

Your fingers start to loosen around his but Minho doesn't let you get away, not now and not ever again. Not when he finally knows that he's burnt up enough of your time just because he was too stuck in his head to see that you were holding a hand out for him all along.

He pulls you into his orbit and he likes to imagine that somewhere out there in the infinite universe, two stars collide when he kisses you for the first time, long overdue but still heavenly nonetheless.

He's crying but you don't seem to mind the tears. You're kissing him back and it's really all that matters. He can't think straight but he adores you to the point that his lungs ache.

"I love you," he mumbles against your lips. The sentiment comes out clumsy, half coherent but wholeheartedly sincere. "I'm sorry. I love you, I love you, fuck, I love you."

You're the one who breaks the kiss first, with your hand on his chest gently pushing him away. Panic instantly shoots through him like a lightning strike. These are the words he's been holding back for years, did he not even say them right? Did he fuck things up yet again?

You brush the tears from his cheeks, your voice so impossibly soft when you ask, "Do you mean it?"

Minho splinters into a million pieces, of course he does.

Your name falls from his lips, sounding like a prayer, like the most tender plea that's ever been uttered, "I love you the most. I'm so in love with you that it hurts. I've been yours for so long and I never said anything. Fuck, I-I'm sorry. I love you so much. I'm sorry. I-"

You bring his face to yours once more, shushing him with a kiss that makes him putty in your hands. You tell him that it's okay, and you kiss him like you forgive him. The world could be ending right now, and he doesn't think that either of you would even care very much.

Because you're the only wish of his life, and you kiss him as though you want to make up for the lost years. Because Minho feels like he's 18 again and you're the most beautiful girl in the world, wearing a smile that leaves him breathless in the most wonderful way possible.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 06.05.2024]

[almostfoxglove]

SEE YOU AT THREE

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Pairing: Young!Joel x f!Reader OC (Ellie's aunt)

Status: In progress

SUMMARY: When your sister starts working nights, you're stuck with afterschool pickup duty for your eight-year-old niece. You love the kid, so you don't mind. And, sure—maybe you don't mind having an excuse to check out her classmate's dad, Joel, five times a week, either. Pre-Outbreak / No-Outbreak AU Chapters alternate between Reader POV & Joel's POV

READ ON AO3 | masterlist

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 chapter 4 | chapter 5 | chapter 6 chapter 7 | chapter 8 | chapter 9 chapter 10 | chapter 11 (new sep 1st!) | chapter 12

*number of chapters not final - more to come!

[xhoneygirlxx]

Love To See Me From Your POV

rockstar! Eddie Munson x wife! reader

summary: Seeing Eddie on the road for the first time should be an exciting moment but when your insecurities rise, you wonder if this is the life you were cut out for.

warnings: angst. reader is insecure: mentions of self hatred and low self-esteem. Eddie and Reader are both in their twenties! Rockstar Eddie. Eddie does call groupies gross. mentions of rough marriage. Eddie and reader fight! slight cheating accusations. fluff. Eddie is the sweetest husband, reader and Eddie being in love and cute. Smut 18+ Only, Minors DNI!! : mentions of sex with groupies, p in v (unprotected), cream pie, slight breeding kink, slight dom/sub, body worship/praise, oral receiving (reader), fingering, squirting. shit writing and bad grammar. Not proofread!!!!

If I missed any please let me know! *

a/n: Hello my loves, I got a request from @kellyxo1 for this little thingy right here! I hope this is okay and I hope you enjoy! Thank you all again for being so wonderful and lovely to me :) And remember if you ever want to request something, you're more than welcome!

There isn't a booklet on what to do and what not to do when you get married, and there's definitely not a booklet on how to be a rockstar's wife. Married life in itself is a difficult task, but learning the ropes of being married while also dealing with the life of fame was something you or Eddie was prepared for.

Getting married right after Eddie's third senior year was always the plan, two young and dumb freshmen solidifying it with hooked pinkies. Obviously you loved one another more than life itself, but going through the motions of being married at the ripe age of 20 is harder than any fairytale make it out to seem.

It was hard that first year, constantly worried about bills, overtired from working long shifts to pay said bills, and just learning how to live with one another. But in between all the hardships, there were small moments where both of you remembered what it was all about. Eating thirty cent noodles, decorating for holidays, the quiet Sunday mornings where you'd get tangled under bed sheets. The love that both of you hold for one another drowning out every other shitty thing around you.

The second and third year, your whole world flipped upside down. After getting lucky and getting picked up by a big record label, Corroded Coffin was now the hottest new band on the market. You remember the day the boys got signed, how most of them shed a tear of happiness, and how happy your husband looked. A moment in time that was now frozen in a picture that hung on your fridge.

You were so proud of the boys, watching them go from a crowd of seven drunks to recording their own album. There was something so special about being there with your husband for every step, cheering him on from the sidelines every time. When the album finally dropped and the number of sales went up, Eddie surprised you with the keys to the little house on Deer Run Road, the same one that the two of you always fantasied about owning.

Although he worked mostly in LA, he told you he planned on staying in Hawkins where he could still get privacy while being close to the people he loved. You also loved it because you wouldn't have to leave your job at the daycare and your husband would always come home to you.

Now on year four, you were the loneliest you've ever been. Between touring, recording, and everything that comes with being in a band, Eddie has barely home. You can't be mad at him though, he's following his dream all while providing a wonderful life for you. Of course there are nights you'd rather have him in bed with you, reading that old torn copy of Lord of The Rings rather than a phone call, but you're just glad he even has the time and energy to do so.

It was hard for the both of you, many times the two of you cried together, confessing the horrible ache that nestled itself in your hearts. You felt terrible, never being able to visit him because your schedule didn't line up with his. That's when you decided you were going to take a week off, fly to whatever city he was in, and surprise him.

With the help of Steve, who pretty much taught you the in's and out's of flying, and the band's personal assistant, you were able to buy a ticket to New York where CC would be performing their final show. That night when Eddie called you, you were buzzing with excitement and it killed you not being able to tell him.

On the way to Eddie's hotel was nerve racking. What would he think of you? Will he like how you changed your hair? Will he be shocked with how much I changed? You wondered how different he looked since the last time he saw you, the only way you got to see him was through your tv or on a cover of a magazine, and you never know how accurate those things can be.

__

Standing in front of his hotel room was daunting, blood rushing to your ears as your anxiety reached a whole new level. It felt like you never met him before, like he hasn't seen every single part of you or known you since he was a young man. The shakiness of your hands were only getting worse the longer you sat there, you decide it was now or never.

Raising one hand to the peephole, blocking it with your finger so he wouldn't be able to see, you use the other hand to knock on the heavy door.

"Housekeeping!" You disguise your voice the best way you can, making it high pitched and nasally.

Knocking once more, you cringe when you do it harder than before, remembering that he's probably tired from all the travel he's been through.

"Housekeeping!!" Still using the fake voice, trying to soften the blow of your heavy hand you sing the last little bit of the word.

From behind the door you can hear shuffling, yet there was no footsteps heard.

Raising your fist once more, you knock again and this time you can hear him shout something back.

"GO AWAY!" It comes muffled through the door that separates the two of you.

"Good morning, it's housekeeping!!" you cover your mouth with you hand trying to stifle the giggle that fall from your lips, knowing your husband is probably cursing to himself in anger.

Eddie's heavy footsteps and huffing are the only things coming from the room, then the door is being swung open causing the land that was leaning on it to fall dramatically.

In front of you is the man you married, hair messy from sleep, plaid pj pants hanging low on his hips, and bare chest on display. He looked so pretty, rubbing his closed eyes with the palm of his hands, pink lips jutting out in a pout, and puffy cheeks.

"I already told you to go the f-" Cracking one of his eyes open to adjust to the harsh light of the hallway, he finally sees you.

"Baby?" His raspy voice in a whisper, like he's questioning if you're real or not. Tired eyes that were once too heavy to open are now bulging out of his head, cartoonish and wild.

"Hi, Teddy." You whisper back, a saccharine smile breaking out on your face.

The air that once lived in your lungs are quickly punched out the moment he lunges towards you, gripping you up and twirling you around. In the middle of a swanky New York hotel, the two of you hold on each other, squeezing tightly to make sure that neither of you will float away in the clouds of a realistic dream.

"My baby, my beautiful girl," You hear it before you see it, the thickness of his sleepy voice does nothing to hide the shakiness. The tears of mourning you, fall from his eyes hitting the exposed part of your neck where he finds solace.

"I'm here, Teddy. I'm here." The dam you've built to hold back your own tears, has finally busted open. The tears of long nights and a cold bed fall onto his warm skin, the one thing you wished to feel once more.

Moving apart slightly, big brown eyes finally meet your own, taking in the imagine of the people they love the most. Teary eyes and stuffy noses, wobbling lips and heavy breathing, two souls reuniting after too much time away from each other.

Planting his forehead to yours, you bask in the feeling of being close. Eddie's warm lips touch yours, a sweet and tear soaked kiss makes you melt.

"I missed you so much, angel." He confesses, the warmth of his breath mixing with your own.

"I know the feeling." You joke and the both of your share a laugh.

"You know," he whispers, forehead still touching your own, "I want to be mad that I'm up at the ass crack of dawn, but you're such a beautiful sight to be woken up to." A gooey smile spreads on his lips and like a yawn, you mimic his actions.

"So you're not interested in housecleaning services this early in the morning?" You question and he snorts at your bad attempt of a joke.

"Angel, you know me better than that." He says and you roll your eyes.

"Now," Eddie lets you down gently, your feet returning to the carpeted floor. "If you don't mind, I would love nothing more than to fall asleep with the sexiest woman in the world."

Leading you into his room, he proves his point by slapping your ass hard. When you turn around to chastise him, you're met with him biting his bottom lip and his gaze still on your ass.

"Oh yeah, I'm gonna have so much fun with you." The morning rasp in his voice is replaced with a husky, lust soaked hunger.

Tossing you, lovingly, on the bed, Eddie pounces on you like a tiger. Attacking you with kisses, you try to push him off as best as you can, weak from all your laughter.

"Teddy, I still have to shower!" You shout causing him to pause over you. Catching your breath, you run your hand up and down his arm softly. "I still have yucky airport on me."

Eddie leans down and licks your cheek and you wrinkle your nose in disgust. "Oh yeah, that's my favorite flavor."

"You're such a dork." You tell him and he only smiles bigger down at you.

"Yeah but I'm your dork, Mrs. Munson."

__

The morning was spent with discovering each other again, not just physically but emotionally. You update him on the kids at your daycare and new Hawkins drama, while he tells you about the antics the boys have gotten into and all the cool stories from this tour.

You missed it, the simplicity of marriage. Even through all the time spent apart is torture, you still find the beauty in the small moments. Like the thirty cent noodles, you enjoy the peace and comfort of whispers passed back and forth a room that isn't your own.

All the bliss you felt from this morning has now been flushed out, now replaced with the roaring waters of doubt. You watch your husband on stage, singing songs he wrote, like you did way back when. This time the crowd isn't just drunk bar patrons, it's beautiful woman screaming his name.

They're all perfect, tiny bodies and big breasts, full hair and flawless makeup. They're everything you're not, everything you never will be. This was the one part of the job you never read about in your how to guide. This was the one thing you forgot to teach yourself about, how to handle millions of woman fawning over your man.

You weren't naïve of course, you knew that the guys had groupies, but you liked to push that into the back of your mind. You trusted Eddie more than anything, you knew he would never do anything to ruin your marriage, but that wasn't the part that had you so upset.

It was the idea of not being good enough that was eating away at you. Like everyone else in the world, you had insecurities. You went through stages with your self consciousness, earning a few battle wounds to your confidence along the way, but over time you became comfortable in your own skin.

This wasn't Hawkins though, this was the big city, and your "small town pretty" is no good here. All of the woman here could chew you up and spit you out, beating you out by miles in a beauty contest.

Your self hatred starts to write over the happy memory of watching Eddie on the biggest stage you've ever seen. Embarrassment fills your body, numbing you from head to toe. You feel so stupid, the clothes you wear are nothing compared to what they wear, you probably look like a clown in the makeup on your face, and your hair is probably flat and dull now.

This wasn't what you signed up for, this isn't in the job description when you sign on to be a rockstar’s wife. You already have to worry about the safety of not only your husband but the rest of the boys too. You worry about Eddie and if he's eating enough, if he's getting enough sleep, and if he's taking care of himself. There is already so much on your plate and you don't think you can handle worrying about the fact that you're not good enough.

The wave of guilt hits you when you look back over to your husband. His beauty is powerful, sometimes it makes you want to cry how pretty he is, and you know deep down he deserves better. Rockstar Eddie Munson deserves a girl that looks like one of them, not someone like you. It makes bile rise in your throat when you think about how he has to watch his friends pick up women from different cities and he has to sit by himself because his old ball and chain is all the way back in nowhereville.

Having a front row seat of your own demise is too much, deciding it would be better to watch on the monitor in the green room. When you're finally alone, it doesn't get any better. The large mirror that hangs on the wall captures your attention, calling to you like a siren to a fisherman.

Taking a seat, you begin to pick apart every single detail of your face. You criticize the shape of your eyes and where they sit, the length of your nose and how the shape sits weird, and how the pores that sit on your skin are way bigger than you remember.

The loud voice in your head pleads with you, begging you to stop before it's too late. "DON'T RUIN THIS" it screams and the demons that have overtaken your mind push it away, not wanting reason to ruin their demolishing.

When the guys enter the room, you realize you've been staring in the mirror for longer than you intended, almost like you were hypnotized.

"What a great fucking show!" Gareth announces as he grabs a beer from the mini fridge in the corner of the room.

"I agree." Grant says as he plops down on one of the leather sofas, exhaling loudly as the adrenaline crashes through him.

"This crowd was definitely the loudest one we've had." Jeff's voice is louder than he thinks. Clapping his hands together, he signals at Gareth to throw him a beer.

"So, what do you two lovebirds plan on doing now that touring is over?" Grant asks, leaning up from his slumped position to look over at you.

Eddie wipes his neck and face off with a towel, stalking over to you with a blissed out look on his face. Leaning down to you, he places a sloppy kiss on your forehead, removing with a loud 'mwah' sound when he does.

"I planned on taking my girl around the city before we head back home." Eddie is still looking down at you, almost like he's questioning you if it's fine with you.

Returning a fake smile, hoping he doesn't notice it doesn't reach your eyes, you nod your head to let him know you approve. A guttural moan pulls your attention to the brown haired boy over who's now sitting on the opposite couch of Grant and Jeff.

"You two are grossly in love, it actually makes me sick." Gareth rolls his eyes and the roar of chuckles ring out in the room.

"You act like we don't have a line of hot ass babes waiting for us." Jeff laughs and Gareth hums as he swallows the sip of alcohol.

"Very true, Jeff. Very fucking true." The boy laughs in agreement.

You know that their comments hold no malice to you but it stings all the same. All you heard was, "Too bad for Eddie, we get to fuck hot girls while he's left with that." It loops through your head, digging a deeper hole, bringing up every bad thought you've ever thought about yourself in the twenty something years you've been alive.

Everyone continues to talk, laughing and joking like they always do and the only thing you can do is get lost inside the storm that tears through your body. The feeling of Eddie's fingers dragging along the skin on the back of your neck has long been forgotten. The voices have all gone muffled, your own demons speaking loudly over them to even try to understand what they're talking about.

"Angel?" Eddie calls and it brings you out of the darkness of your brain.

You hum, craning your neck up to look at him. He's breathtaking, you think, even in the horrible lighting of this dressing room he looks perfect and it crushes you even more.

"You 'kay? Haven't really said much." He says, only loud enough for you to hear, not wanting to bring unwanted attention.

"M'fine, just kind of tired." You shrug. Flashing those pretty teeth at you, he smiles and it makes you sick with love.

"I'm sorry, Angel. I know I didn't give you much time to recover from the flight... and other things." He jokes, wiggling his eyebrows, earning him a light shove from you.

Leaning down once more, he captures your lips in a loving kiss and a small portion of the tension in your body fades.

"See, I told you! Sickening!" Gareth shouts, his arm stretched out and hand face up, directing everyone's eyes to the two of you.

Bashfully, you shove your face into Eddie's stomach to hide. Draping his one arm on your back, he twists his body slightly to look at the others.

"Gareth, you're clearly jealous I get to kiss my smokin' hot wife." Eddie shouts, and a collection of groans fill the room.

If only you could believe the nice words your husband said.

__

That night in the hotel room, you tell Eddie you're simply too tired to partake in any sexual acts, which he doesn't protest. Laying in the comfort of his strong arms arms, the thoughts are too loud to melt away to sleep. You wonder what Eddie dreams of as you lay awake, if he ever regrets marrying you, and if he wishes he could partake in the same things as the guys. You cry softly, tears pooling on the fabric of your pillow, praying to whoever to is listening to make it better.

The next morning, Eddie is like the energizer bunny when he wakes you up from your four hour sleep. Going to the local diner down the street, Eddie talks about how fun the show was, moving his hands dramatically as he retells you every detail. You try to look interested, smiling and laughing when needed but truthfully you aren't paying attention, you don't even chastise him when he speaks with a mouth full of food.

Afterwards, he shows you around the city and all the sights it offers. It pains you that you can't even enjoy it, too focused on everyone else around you, comparing yourself to every woman that walks past.

Eddie notices, he's noticed since last night but he didn't say anything. At first he genuinely thought you were tired since you never really traveled before, but when you sat across from him at the diner and poked at the food on your plate, he knew. Despite what a lot of people thought, Eddie wasn't stupid. There are many things he had knowledge on and his best subject was you.

He didn't know what was particularly bothering you but he knew all too well. You were in your head about something, beating yourself up about something that wasn't worth the fight, but he knew you could make it out. You always did.

The problem was you didn't fight out of this one. You stayed locked away in the torture chamber that was your mind and let the problem eat you alive. Eddie did everything you always talked about doing, showing you the places you dreamed about and you still didn't crack.

When you returned back to the hotel room, it was oddly quiet. Even Eddie who never stopped talking, was scarily silent. Sitting down on the bed, you started to talk off your shoes, working at the laces slowly.

Eddie stands in the doorway, leaning his body weight on the wall for support. His gaze burns into you, uncomfortably so and you're terrified to even look back at him.

"So are you going to tell me what's wrong?" His tone is serious and it terrifies you.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you meet his gaze. His arms are crossed over his chest and his features are harsh, waiting for an answer.

"I told you, I'm tired." You lie right through your teeth and like a metal detector he catches it, scoffing loudly and shaking his head.

"I need you to cut the shit, Angel. What is wrong?" He questions again and it ignites a fire within you.

"I told you, I'm fucking tired Eddie. Sorry I'm not you, I don't travel the world for a living." You snap at him.

"Are you- What the fuck did I do?" He argues back and you sigh heavily. This isn't how you wanted it to go but all the emotion from the past four years are coming out in knife like jabs.

"What the fuck did I do," You mock him. "What did you do? I'll tell you what the fuck you did. You left me, you fucking left me. Don't worry Eds, I'm happy for you, trust me. I love knowing that I'm the old ball and chain back home that keeps you from fucking groupies. But it's fine if you look, just not touch, right?"

When you're done you feel worse than before. Eddie stares at you, frown pulling on his lips and big glossy eyes that stare back at you. God, you want to kick yourself for making him feel like shit. This all could've been prevented if you just talked to him, let him in on what was happening but no, the demons won and they shot Eddie down while doing it. The worst part is, you pulled the trigger.

"Is that what you think?" His voice is small, something you've never heard from him and it breaks your heart.

"Fuck- I didn't mean that. I just-" Closing your eyes, you try to compose yourself but it doesn't work. "I just miss you so fucking much. Last night I couldn't even enjoy the show because all the tits that were on display in the front row distracted me. All I could think was 'how could he want me when all of these beautiful woman are better than me?'"

"So instead of watching the end of the show, I sat in front of the mirror and made a list of every ugly thing about me. My body, my face, my voice, every fucking thing about me is horrendous. Then when the guys mentioned fucking groupies, I felt so guilty 'cause while they're out havin fun, you have to sit there all alone because I'm all the way in Hawkins."

It all comes out like word vomit, laying on the floor of the hotel room, filling the room with the stench. Your ugly truths are now out there, you're so fucking vulnerable and all you want to do is hide.

"Are you dumb?" Eddie's voice brings you out of your pity party. Staring at him in shock, you can see his own tears staining his face.

"Do you realize that it kills me not being with you? Every city we go to, all I can think about is you and how much I want to take you there. Those girls you're talking about, the ones the guys screw around with? Yeah, I've seen them and let me tell you, they're gross." Stalking the short distance, he takes a seat right next to you on the bed.

"Do I get jealous because they get to have sex? Absolutely. It's not 'cause of the girls they bring home, it's cause I wish it were you. So many nights I laid awake, jerking off to the thought of you and it was way better than any fucking groupie could do for me." You snort at his admission, rolling your eyes still not believing. Grabbing your chin, he pulls your attention up to him.

"I'm so fucking serious, Angel. I'm so in love with you, it's maddening. Sometimes when I call you, I can't help but blush like I'm back in the ninth grade again. It blows my mind every single day that I got to marry the gorgeous girl from Click's class." His words are like warm butter, melting over you and seeping into your skin.

"Do you really mean that?" It's meek and unsure, like you're scared of what the answer could be.

"Cross my heart." He simply says, marking an 'X' over his heart with the tip of his finger.

Sniffling loudly, you wipe away the tears that roll down your cheeks. "I'm sorry, Teddy." You say and he hums, resting his forehead on your just like he did twenty four hours before.

"It's okay, baby. Trust me, I feel the same way sometimes." Furrowing your eyebrows at him, he laughs at the scowl on your face.

"Not like that, baby. I just mean, I get scared one of those hot dads are gonna try to pull a move on you when they drop their kid off." Between the serious look on his face and the honesty in his voice, you can't help but cackle.

"Eddie, who exactly would pull a move? Mr. Gardner? He's like forty and wears a very bad toupee." Eddie tries to cover the snort that comes out with a fake a cough.

"Hey, maybe you're into that kind of thing." He simply shrugs and you roll your eyes.

Settling into a comfortable silence, Eddie kisses you lightly and you pout when he pulls away.

"Can I show you how much I love you?" Your eyes scan his face for a moment before nodding.

"Please." That's all he needs to hear before he's placing you on your back, your head being cradled by the soft cotton pillows.

Eddie starts by kissing you, sweet and slow, reminiscent to the time you and him lost your virginities. The only difference about this time is he knows what he’s doing, confident in the way he glides his tongue against yours.

Moving his attention along your jawline, he places small lingering pecks down your neck. His hand moves down the sides of your body, finding purchase on the bottom of your shirt where he tugs softly on the material. Getting the hint, you sit up and help him pull the garment over your head, your bra is quick to follow.

Laying you back down on the soft cotton of the pillows, he continues his journey down your body. Soft lips leaving prints of love along your collarbones and down your sternum, invisible prints of love collect on your skin where they burn bright and settle into your bones.

“My sweet girl.” He trails more kisses around the doughy flesh of your breast.

Finding the hardened nipple, he swirls his tongue around it before pulling it into his mouth, lightly sucking on it before pulling off with a pop.

“My beautiful girl.” Moving his attention to the other breast, he repeats the same motions from before.

Moving down your tummy, he continues to map out his journey, leaving lingering tattoos onto your skin. Finally making it to his destination, he toys with the waistband of your jeans, popping the button open and pulling the zipper down.

Lifting your hips, you assist him in taking of the restrictive clothing. In one swift action, he rips off the jeans and panties that once covered you. Feeling exposed and shy, you whimper up at him to get his attention.

“What’s wrong, princess?” His tone is concerned and it makes you pout even more.

Wordlessly, you reach your hand down to grab the hem of his shirt where you yank gently. Catching your drift, Eddie pulls it over his head and let’s it fall to the ground where the rest of your close reside.

“You were feelin’ shy, huh?” You nod at his question and he leans up to press his lips to the tip of your nose. “Gotta make sure my girl is comfy.”

Shuffling himself onto his tummy, he places your legs over his shoulders so he can be face to face with your glistening sex.

Kissing the inside of both of your thighs, you squirm trying to move him to the one place you need him most. Tsking loudly, he looks up at you with a correcting gaze.

“Be patient,” he scolds and you listen, biting back your fussing and fidgeting.

A deft finger runs up your slit, moving your slick around as it does. “This pretty cunt is so miserable, huh? She’s sad without me there to make her feel better.”

Taking two of his fingers, Eddie spreads you open to exposing your core causing you to hiss when the cold air hits you.

A swift lick of his tongue hits you like a bullet train, all at once it’s too much but not enough. A sob leaves your throat when he stops, glassy eyes meeting the dark one of your husbands, pleading with him for more.

“You know,” While the pad of his thumb over your aching clit, he continues to keep eye contact with you, “I don’t like when you talk badly about my wife.”

“The strong, smart, loving, and breathtaking woman I married,” He continues his ministrations, not using his other hand to trace around your hole, “Doesn’t deserve to be talked badly about.”

He continues teasing you, not inserting his fingers into your clenching hole and not giving your bundle of nerves enough pressure. He’s making you sweat it out and you think you might die.

He coos sweetly at you, faux pity on his features as he does. “I know, honey. S’it hurt? Want me to make you feel better?”

“Please, Teddy. Please please please.” Your begging falls on deaf ears though, Eddie just continues his evil plan of torture.

“I’ll make it better,” Putting his mouth close to your cunt, you can feel his warm breath and you shy in relief. Moving away quickly, he looks back up at you and you fight the urge to yell at him. “But first, I want you to say you’re beautiful.”

“Wha- Eddie, no! Just fucking- God, just eat me out already!” You yell and he mocks you by laughing.

“Baby, I can leave you high and dry and be perfectly fine. So unless you want to get yourself off, I suggest you do what I say.” Although you know Eddie would never make you take care of yourself, his threat hits you like a lightning strike. His cool demeanor and stoic tone makes you believe every word he said.

“I’m beautiful.” It comes out in a whisper, so low he barely catches it.

“Nuh-uh, say it louder.” Eddie corrects you and the buzzing feeling over embarrassment burns your cheeks.

“I’m beautiful.” This time it’s louder but you don’t sound convincing.

“I want you to believe it. Want you to be nice to my wife.”

Something about the words being said to you makes your heart beam. All of Eddie’s statements to you have been chipping away at the guarded walls of your mind, casting light on the darkness that overshadows it. You start to believe him, you start to let the positive and loving words bring you out of the insecurities that plague your thoughts.

“I’m beautiful.”

You say it at the same volume but this time something in your eyes let’s Eddie know you believe the words you say. The glimmer of light that disappeared 24 hours ago, has finally returned to its rightful spot.

“There’s my girl.” Dimples flash at you before he dives right into you.

Eddie’s tongue replaces his thumb, adding more pressure to the pulsating spot. The finger that once teased you, is not fully seated in you, curled just right while it pumps in and out of you.

He’s not doing much, basically just warming you up for what’s to come, but something about it lights you on fire. The adoration Eddie has for you is being poured into your heart, lighting your body in a glow that he only manages to bring out of you.

Your moans grow louder when Eddie starts sucking on your clit, another finger shoved inside of you moving in and out in a faster speed than before.

You arch off of the bed like you’ve been possessed, whimpering and withering around making Eddie use his unoccupied hand to push you back down.

“Shit, you’re s’tight.” Eddie’s voice comes out slurred, drunk off of the taste of you.

“You gettin’ close? You gonna cum for me, Angel?” You don’t have the energy to answer, too lost in the feeling of your stomach tightening.

Slowing down the speed of his fingers, you huff in aggravation. Eddie’s voice pulls you back down to reality, your bliss slowly starting to fade away.

“I’ll let you cum if you say you’re perfect.” Lifting up on your elbows, you look down to see him already staring at you.

“Eddie I’m not-“ You’re immediately cut off by him, his tone more commanding than before.

“Say it, or you won’t cum at all. I just want to hear you say it.” He begs, his pace starting to quicken and his thumb now going in figure 8’s on your clit.

You’re quickly hurdled back to the euphoria you were just pulled out of. Eyes rolling around in your head, whining as the string in your stomach pulls tighter.

“I’m, shit- M’perfect. Your perfect wife.” You’re a blabbering mess, head thrashing back and forth in ecstasy.

“I’m gonna cum. Teddy, please!” You beg and he gives you exactly what you want.

“Go ‘head, Angel, let go f’me.” With one last stroke on that sweet spot, you’re catapulted into the paradise of your release.

It feels like you’re floating above the clouds, weightless and free. You don’t feel the gush that splashes your thighs or the sheets, and the voice of your husband is nothing but an angelic voice ringing out.

You return back down to the soft mattress, boneless and melting into the bed. When your breathing calms and you finally have the strength to open your eyes, you’re met with a Cheshire Cat like smile and the soaking face of your husband.

“You did such a good job for me baby,” Kissing you sweetly, you can taste yourself on his lips. Pulling away slowly, you bring your arm to his pants, rubbing your palm along the outline of his hard cock.

Shaking his head, he gently grabs your wrist and puts it above your head. “This is about you, Angel. Wanna make you feel good.”

A quiet okay leaves your lips and he continues to work himself out of his pants, letting his dick bounce out of its confides. Saliva pools in your mouth, the desire to taste him takes over and you whimper.

Chuckling at your pouty face, he moves back between your legs that you parted for him. When he runs the tip of his aching cock through your folds, you both hiss on contact.

Lining himself up, Eddie brings his hand to your hip where he rubs his thumb in soothing circles. Both of you moan in unison when he finally breaches your entrance, a feeling neither of you have gotten used to.

Pushing himself further into you, he takes his time to let you adjust to his size, something you still haven’t gotten used to. He stretches you out so nicely, filling you up like nothing else you’ve ever felt. Nothing can compare to him, every bump and ridge of his cock making it even better.

Lacing his fingers into yours, he hovers over you as he starts thrusting slowly into you. A choir of moans are made between the two of you, singing a song better than anything Eddie’s ever written.

With the way your legs are wrapped around his waist, you try to push him in deeper, wanting to stay this close with him forever. This isn’t just about fucking or getting off, this is about the man you fell in love with all those years ago and how he’s appreciating you. He’s trying to show you just how much his heart yearns for you.

“So good, so fuckin’ good for me.” Eddie pants heavily as he thrusts the tip of his cock ramming into your cervix just right.

“Always so good f’me, Angel. You take such good care of me, such a good wife for me.” He’s babbling at this point, reaching the tipping point faster than he thought.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes, all you can think about is how much love you love each other, how good he’s making you feel, and how he was able to pull you out of the darkness of your horrible thought.

Removing his hand from yours, he snakes it down your body to find you abandoned clit. With the added pleasure, you clench harder around him and the air in your lungs seeps out in a high pitched gasp.

“I can’t wait to fuck my load into you, baby. Gonna get you nice n’ round, show everyone you’re mine. You want that? Want me to fuck a baby in you?” His voice echoes in your ears and travels down into the pit of your belly, getting you closer to the edge.

“I wan’ it, s-so bad, Teddy. Wanna feel it.” You’re babbling, toes curling at you tippy toe over the line of your orgasm.

“F-fuck you sound so pretty when you beg. Come on, Angel, cum for me.”

And just like that, both of you unravel together. Him painting your walls in his release, while you guys around him. Eddie works both of you through your highs, thrusting sloppy and lazily into you until he can’t anymore.

Eddie doesn’t pull out of you right away, not wanting to let go of the feeling so soon. He lays on your chest, trying to settle his breathing as best as he can. Bringing a hand to the top of his head, you rake your nails softly into his hair.

Humming in delight, Eddie kisses your chest as a thank you. A small blip of time in a long year, the kind that makes the bad days all worth it. The secrets whispered in hotels and lingering trail that still burns on your skin, invisible kiss marks left for reminders.

It’s worth it, all the hardships and long months, when you know he’ll always find his way back to you. The sweet boy from 9th grade that promised his heart to you, now sings his undying love to you for thousands of crowds to hear.

More tears leave your eyes, not in sadness but in pure happiness. You’re so fucking in love with him and sickeningly so, just like Gareth said.

Swiveling his head up to you, Eddie rests his chin lightly on your chest.

“Hi.” He says meekly.

Eddie doesn’t question your tears because he has tears of his own and he knows they’re for the same reason.

“Hi.” You parrot back to him, a wet smile adorning your lips.

“Do you believe me now?” Sweet brown eyes pulls you in, sucking you in as they stare at you.

“Yeah, I do.” You reassure and he smiles.

Using his free hand, Eddie takes his finger to trace shapes over your heart. You melt when you feel him draw a heart with your initials and his on the inside.

“I wanted to tell you,” He flits his eyes down to his finger where it doodles on your skin, “the guys and I have a break now that tours over. So I was thinking..”

A pregnant pause settles between his statement and he makes no moves to finish it. It reminds you of the first time he asked you on a date, nervous and fidgety.

“What is it, Teddy?” Lifting his chin with your fingers, you raise an eyebrow to coax him into answering.

“I was thinkin’ maybe we could try, ya know, for a family or somethin’. “ Eddie’s cheeks and the tips of his ears are coated in a pink blush.

Your heart picks up and you know that Eddie can feel it under his finger. Smiling with all your teeth, you cheeks ache from the stretch.

“You wanna have kids with me?” Your voice is only a whisper and he giggles at you.

“Well I don’t know if you noticed but, I just blew my whole load inside of you.” The bluntness of his statement makes your cheeks burn. Slapping your hands over your face, you cover yourself from the embarrassment

“Hey, don’t need to get all shy on me now,” Pulling your hands away from your face, he smiles smugly at you. “If I recall correctly you were the one all like “yes Teddy ugh please!!”.” Eddie mocks you and you roll your eyes.

“Bye the way, I’ve been counting every eye roll since you got here and I promise your in trouble when we get home.” He points and accusatory finger at you causing you to clench around him.

“I love you, Teddy. Thank you.” You place a kiss to his lips and he smiles brightly at you.

“Don’t need to thank me, baby. I’m glad I’m here to remind you.” Pecking your lips once more, he pulls a way with an even bigger smile.

“Also, I love you too, Mrs. Munson.”

-

-

-

-

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 2: What A Great Freakin’ Way To Start The Day

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you never expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you’re around him the more you hate him, but you can’t help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team. (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Protective Ben/ Soldier Boy,

Word Count: 5.2K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, sexual tension. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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The morning begins the same way it always does, with your neighbor Mike blasting "I Will Always Love You" in his apartment at exactly 8 am just as he had each day since you met two years ago. It was the only constant in your life, but at least you didn't have to use an alarm clock anymore. The sound of Mike belting out the lyrics at the top of his lungs was enough to wake everyone in the whole building, including the people on the eighth floor, five stories above him.

But because Mike bought the super’s probably illegally made cologne and because the super was dating Mike’s mother, something that made you regret supe hearing very much, it never stopped despite the numerous complaints.

Then again it was Annie's favorite thing about sleeping over, she liked to scream the lyrics back at the wall and jump on your bed like a crazy banshee. Honestly you hoped that it would stop after Ben had pretended to be your boyfriend, that Mike would finally figure it out and give up.

Guess not.

You sit up in your bed, stretching your hands over your head while humming the chorus under your breath, but you were more of an ABBA fan. If Mike had decided to serenade you with "Take A Chance On Me" or even Aretha Franklin's "You're All I Need to Get By," you might have looked at him differently.

The memory of the dream of his mullet smothering you in your sleep momentarily passes over your mind, causing a shudder to travel down your spine. Or maybe not.

Your bedroom was similar to your living room, covered in plants. Trailing jasmine and bougainvillea blanketed the wall behind your bed in deep red and white, budding lavender, lilac, and honeysuckle sat in pots along the top of your dresser, and a blush colored rose bush, that never went out of bloom, stood proudly in the corner. The only difference was that there were two large piles of books almost as tall as your ceiling, some old some new, braced beside the rose bush like Roman columns. You kept trying to remember to buy a bookshelf, but each time you thought about going to pick one up, Butcher usually called and asked you to help out. Both piles were covered almost completely in pothos and more hung from the brick walls above your only window, that opened the floor length pale yellow curtains with a flick of your hand.

An annoyed purring sound greets your ears as the honeyed light from the now open window wisps over your covers. Bean, your cat, stalks up from the end of the bed, his yellowed eyes narrowed with annoyance at being woken up so early while his charcoal gray coat turns lighter in the brilliant sunlight. Last night he had been in your bedroom when you got home, which meant that he hadn't been around Ben when he came in.

A good thing, because Bean hated just about everyone except Butcher, which you thought was weird. But whenever Butcher dropped by to talk to you Bean always came over to look for rubs, while hissing at anyone who tried to interrupt them. Hughie was actually afraid of Bean, and because Bean was a cat he immediately picked up on this and purposely would jump on the couch next to Annie so Hughie couldn't sit there, Bean also followed after Hughie to the bathroom and waited outside the door to swipe at his ankles whenever he would come out.

But you didn't love him any less.

He puts his paw on your thigh lightly extending his claws to get your attention.

"Oh are you talking to me now?" You smile, rubbing him behind the ears. "I thought you were angry because I woke you up?"

He purrs and pushes his chunky gray head against your hand, but startles when the song switches to "My Heart Will Go On" which causes Mike's mother to join in to his karaoke session.

I'd move if my apartment wasn't so damn cheap.

"Maybe they should take the show on the road. Huh buddy?"

Bean purrs his response while pushing his head further into your hand.

His mom wasn't that bad of a singer, in fact, you thought that you remembered eavesdropping on a conversation between her and the super when she talked about a career as a cabaret singer a while ago.

"Come on, let's see if Gramps killed any of my plants." You smile down at your cat. "If he did I'm going to turn him into a tree."

Bean purrs in agreement.

You get out of bed, adjusting your shirt back down over your shorts before walking to the door with Bean following behind you. You step out into the cool hallway, with more enthusiasm than usual as you try to escape the butchering of the Titanic's soundtrack and collide into something warm and wet.

It takes you exactly seven seconds to realize that the warm, wet, thing that your face is currently stuck to, is in-fact Ben's chest, his shirtless chest. Why he's standing in the hallway outside your door, soaking wet and wearing a towel you have no idea. All you know is that your face is physically laying against the warm flesh of his pectoral muscles.

"Why are you NAKED?" You scream as you peel yourself off of him and turn your gaze away. Your face felt so warm that it was like you'd been standing in front of a volcano for too long and you were sure that you had blushed to the roots of your hair.

You'd only seen him without his shirt on once, when the door to his bedroom was cracked at the apartment he shared with the rest of the group. But it was from the back and you had been walking by to go to the bathroom, and you hadn't looked…

Well, you may have stopped for a second to admire the powerful muscles on his muscular back and maybe thought about waiting for him to turn around so you could see if the front was as good as the back… but you hadn't.

And he certainly hadn't been soaking wet then, and it made you hate him more now, because no one should look as good as he does soaking wet. You personally knew that you looked like a drowned poodle whenever you stepped out of the shower, but him? Soldier Boy looks like he just finished filming a shampoo commercial.

You could see it in your head, him standing under a crystal blue waterfall with the water splashing against weathered rocks before running through his soft brown hair, curving around his broad shoulders, down his toned stomach straight down to his-

NO. Not gonna go there. You could feel your skin heating in embarrassment, almost as if you thought he could read your mind.

"I'm not naked doll, I mean I could be if you wanted me to." He smirks as he hears your heartbeat begin to pick up and reaches for the end of his towel. The towel that was almost too small to wrap around his waist and left very little to the imagination.

"NO!" You shout holding up a hand to stop him, but again brush the front of his chest.

Fuck, you could zest a lemon on those abs.

"Are you sure?" Ben smiles wider, taking a step forward. He's so close that you can smell your grapefruit mint shampoo on him and feel the humidity and warmth of his body as he stands there. For some reason the fact that he used your shampoo, and smelled like your soap, made you feel warm and tingly. It was almost hypnotic. You hated how much you liked it. "Because you're turning that cute little red color you always do whenever I'm around, and your heartbeat is kinda fast."

"No. I don't." You grit your teeth together. "Why are you standing outside of my door naked?"

"Maybe I was waiting for you to come out." His hand presses against the doorway next to your head. "You know, I already took a shower, but if you wanted I'd be happy to get back in with you."

"No thanks. I don't need a shower and I wouldn't shower with you if it was the last shower on earth and I hadn't bathed in forty years." You purse your lips. "Oh right, that happened to you."

Ben frowns at your mention of his time in Russia. You didn't often tease him about being trapped in a lab, you knew that it was a sore spot for him. Plus you'd seen the footage of exactly what those doctors did to him and it was enough to make you want to book a one way ticket to Russia and personally show them what happened when a tree got shoved up your ass.

You open your mouth to apologize.

"I was going to ask if you have any other clothes here. Mine are still wet from last night." He raises an eyebrow, but the humor is gone from his eyes.

"Oh. Um. I can take a look." You turn and walk into your bedroom, trying not to feel awkward about bringing up the lab.

He was a jerk, but he didn't deserve a reminder of how shitty the last forty years have been.

Truthfully, you weren't sure if you had anything that would fit him. Ben was a lot bigger than you, taller and broader. You usually did wear things that were a little big for you, but you didn't think that Ben would fit in any of them.

Maybe I have something from when my brother was here last time.

Darren often dropped by when he was in the city visiting his friends or had a new "business" venture. The ones that never seemed to last and the friends that always seemed happy to spend the moan you "loaned" him for his "best idea yet" as he always phrased it. But he hadn't been by in at least a year.

"It's really green in here too." You hear Ben say under his breath.

You didn't think that he was going to follow you into your room, you thought he was going to stay in the hallway, but no, he had followed you. And he made the room feel even smaller than it was with his broad shoulders and over six foot stature.

The sunlight from the window glinted off his still wet chest and it made your throat uncomfortably tight. For the love of chocolate pudding, WHY does he look so good all the time?

"You can wait in the hall-"

"Wanted to see your bedroom." He smirks. "Though I think that you wanted to show it to me last night-"

You ignore him and turn back to your chest of drawers while Mike and his mother switch to "What Makes You Beautiful" by One Direction. You wince as they begin.

"Do they always do that?" Ben asks.

"Yep. Since I moved in." You sigh, shuffling through your t-shirts.

"He's really got it bad Sweetheart. Maybe you should throw him a bone. Kinda seems like the poor guy needs to get some ass-"

"If it's any of your business- which it's not- I do not like him that way."

"Well they're a little loud." You feel Ben take a step closer to you. "But I bet you and I could give them a run for their money. We are in your bedroom after all, might as well make the most of it."

"I didn't know that you liked Karaoke. I'll keep that in mind for you 105th birthday party."

"What? No I meant-"

Bean purrs loudly from his position on your bed and you wait for the telltale sound of Ben shooing him away when Bean tries to puncture Ben's impenetrable skin with his claws, but it doesn't come.

You glance over your shoulder. Are you kidding me?

Bean is sitting on your white plush comforter, rubbing up against Ben's hand, purring while Ben scratches him behind the ears.

Traitor.

"Didn't know you had a cat." Ben says continuing to stroke his hand down Bean's spine, who stands up and turns so Ben can have a better angle.

"I didn't peg you for a cat person. Kinda ruins the whole all-American Man image you have going on."

He shrugs. "I like dogs more, but I don't hate cats. Usually they don't like me very much."

"I wonder why that is." You grumble watching Bean lean into Ben's hand again. "His name is Bean."

"Bean? Why?"

"Because when I got him I was trying to grow green beans in the linen closet and he would sit outside the door and screech until I gave him a green bean to play with."

"You were trying to grow green beans in the linen closet?"

"Yeah. Seemed like a good idea, but they like the bathroom more-" You finally find the oversized Led Zeppelin shirt your brother left the last time he crashed at your apartment and a pair of jeans. "A lot of my plants like the bathroom more actually."

"I was going to ask you why the bathroom floor and wall was squishy."

"It's moss. It thrives in humid environments." You hold out the clothes for him.

"Uh-huh." He frowns at the clothes for a minute. "So you're saying you wouldn't want a guy to serenade you like that?" Ben nods his head towards your bedroom wall, just as Mike and his mother begin to belt out the chorus. "Thought girls liked sappy shit."

"I'm not a fan of One Direction."

"Right. You like ABBA more." Ben turns towards your door to go back to the bathroom to change.

Shock momentarily spikes in your chest. "How did you know that?"

He freezes as if you caught him doing something bad, turning slightly towards you. "Um- well, you hum their songs a lot."

"When?" You cross your arms over your chest.

"Whenever you're on stake outs. Sometimes when you're reading those files or waiting for Annie at the apartment." He shrugs. “When you were walking last night you were humming ‘Fernando.’"

He noticed that?

"How long exactly were you following me?"

"Long enough." He raises an eyebrow. "Are you trying to keep me talking because you want me to change in here? Because I would be more than happy to drop this towel and show you what a real man looks like Sweetheart."

"Don't flatter yourself Gramps. If you drop that towel the only thing that'll happen is Bean will think you brought him a green bean to play with." You roll your eyes. "Now get out of my room. I have to change."

Ben begins to say something, but the vines hanging above the door push him out into the hall and shut the door behind him.

That felt good.

After you put on a white t-shirt, your favorite pair of jean overalls and your dark green converse, you make your way out into the living room. Ben is there, lounging on your couch like he owns it. He’s wearing the jeans and t-shirt you gave him, but you can't help but notice how the clothes are just a little too small for him. The way his muscles pull at the t-shirt, the way the jeans hug his thighs and butt-

He's getting way too comfortable here. You think to yourself to avoid the thought of how good he looks on your couch. How it almost feels natural that he's sitting here in your living room, inhabiting your space.

"So what's for breakfast doll face?" He leans his head back to gaze at you with a mischievous smile that makes a warm tingle travel down the length of your spine.

"Well, I'm going to have oatmeal and you're going to have whatever you want I guess?"

His eyes darken. "Whatever I want?"

"Calm down Gramps I meant that there's cereal in the cabinet." You roll your eyes to avoid thinking about the kiss last night and then thinking about how it felt for your body to be pressed against his in the hallway when you ran into him.  Which inevitably leads back to the waterfall fantasy and-

No. No. Not going to do that. Not with him. He's just good at getting women into bed, he doesn't care about you. You think about how he remembered that you liked ABBA. That doesn't mean anything. He doesn't see me as anything more than a conquest and he probably remembered that because he's changing tactics and trying not to act like a creep.

“You’re not going to pour me a bowl?” His smirk pulls down in an attractive pout.

“I think it’s simple enough for your little brain to do.” You don’t turn around from the kitchen cabinets, grabbing a raspberry from the refrigerator and popping it in your mouth. For some reason you noticed that whatever you grew tasted better than anything you bought at the grocery store. You hoped that it didn’t mean that your powers supercharged whatever you grew and that it was actually radioactive or something. 

Because that’s exactly what I need, to turn bright green. 

“There’s nothing little about me doll.” 

“Can’t you ever have a conversation with someone without it revolving around sex?” You grumble banging around in your cabinets to find your instant oatmeal. 

It was a valid point and you were tired of getting whiplash every time Ben acted caring and then flipping back to horny manchild.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Ben laughs. He stands from the couch and makes his way into your kitchen.

It was hard not to notice how small each room in your apartment looked with him in it. His head was only a foot below the ceiling, not to mention the kitchen was only composed of six cabinets, a small sink, a microwave shoved into a corner, a stove top, and a refrigerator that only came up to Ben’s shoulders. Your bathroom was worse, sometimes the shower was small even for you and you didn’t know how Ben fit in there. 

He probably had to duck down to stand under the shower head. 

And then as you thought that, the image of Ben standing under a waterfall comes creeping back, making the strawberry plant on top of the fridge, the raspberry vines, and the blackberry vines covering your refridgerator burst into bloom.

Thankfully Ben didn’t notice, because he was rooting through the white top cabinet in the corner for one of the cereal boxes. 

I’d never hear the end of it if he saw that happen. 

You glare at the plants in question, eyes shifting to a deep green as the flowers develop into fresh fruit to cover your slip. 

Ben pulls out a box of Lucky Charms, but frowns at Lucky on the front cover, who is throwing a handful of marshmallow charms into the air around him. 

Guess he's not a fan.

 “If I’d known you were going to sleep on my couch I would have gotten Bran flakes and prunes for you.” You smirk as you pour water over the oats in the bowl before placing it in the microwave to cook. “I know people your age need that kind of thing sometimes. Gets the bowel moving.”

“Make fun of my age all you want.” Ben steps around you to grab the almost empty bottle of milk from your refrigerator. “One day you’ll be happy to find out just how experienced I am.”

“Keep dreaming.”

His dark eyes meet yours. “You’re all I dream about baby.”

You can feel his breath on the side of your neck from how close he is to you, the kitchen seems smaller than it ever has, and he leans forward, sensing your hesitation. One of his hands goes on the kitchen counter to your right, the other places the milk down and then braces on the counter to your left caging you against him. 

“Do any of your lines actually work?” You say, throat tight.

“You’d be surprised.” He smirks wider, green eyes sliding up and down your body. 

 The air in the kitchen electrifies, something passing through the air between the two of you that makes you feel like your heart is going to burst out of your chest. His eyes are softer green now, reminding you of the color of fresh leaves on an oak tree in spring, bright, strong, and full of life. His body is pressed gently against yours, the strong muscles of his abdomen laying on your hips, muscular arms making sure that you don't walk away.

You try not to think again about how good he looks in your apartment, how calm and relaxed he seems when he’s away from Butcher and not wearing his uniform. 

Standing here in your apartment, he looked normal, human. Sometimes it was hard to remember that you were, when you could do what you did, when you saw him get hit with a car and shove it away with one hand. 

He was still ridiculously attractive, the kind of attractive that you’d read in romance novels and in classic Roman literature, the kind of beautiful that people wrote poetry about, the kind of ruggedly handsome that made smart girls stupid. 

You were really feeling that last one. Because you were desperately trying to hold on to your dream of being with someone that understood every part of you, but Ben was making it hard.

It wasn’t that the idea of sleeping with him was terrible. It wasn’t. It was far from terrible it was the idea of having sex without feelings that you didn’t like. You didn’t want to sleep with him because you knew that he only saw you as something to be possessed not as an equal or someone he cared about. Soldier Boy only cared about himself, that was apparent.

He’s only interested in you because you haven’t given in. You think to yourself. It's all about the thrill of the chase, nothing else. I'm worth more than that. I'm worth more than one night.

“In fact, I think it’s working on you doll.” Ben leans down towards you so close you can feel his words in the air between your faces, his eyes searching yours as if waiting for you to say no.

That made you pause. Ben didn’t seem to be the type of man who was patient. You’d walked in on him making out with numerous women on the couch back at the apartment he shared with the rest of the team, saw how he took control, saw how he didn’t seem to wait for them to say no or really say anything at all. Not to mention one time when you walked into the shared apartment and could hear Ben with one of his "dates" in his bedroom. Nothing about that seemed patient at all.

But this Ben standing in your kitchen was different. He was almost smiling, dark hair still damp from the shower curling on his forehead, the t-shirt damp around the collar, jeans a dark blue, and the smell of your shampoo fills your senses again all over again. It made you wish for this person all the time. The one that you could see yourself falling in love with, not the racist, sexist, and inappropriate jerk that seemed to dominate his persona at all other parts of the day.

Funny, the only time you’d ever seen Ben like this, was when the two of you were alone- well sometimes- other times he annoyed you without end and made you want to jump out a window. 

But why? Why only around me?

The feeling in your chest grows. It jumps from synapse to synapse, pulses along your skin, buzzes in your blood, tangles through your hair, and radiates through the air like a sound wave. Your eyes drift down to his lips remembering exactly what it was like to kiss him last night. How he seemed to consume you whole, how everything else fell away, how Ben curled himself around you, how he-

Your cell phone rings, breaking through the moment, and making you remember exactly why you didn’t want to give in to Ben and remember the kind of person he was. 

You push him away and pull your cellphone out of your pocket. Butcher's photo and name appear on the screen.

Shit.

"Hey Butch, what's up?" You look away from Ben, forcing yourself to calm your racing heart.

Ben perks up at the mention of Butcher’s name.

“Do you have any idea where Soldier Boy is?”

“Soldier Boy?”

“Seems like our blunt smoking man out of time has vanished. Been trying to text him all bloody morning.”

At least he doesn’t know that Ben is here. That’s good. I’d never hear the end of it if-

Ben snatches the phone from your hand and holds it up to his ear. “What the fuck do you want?”

The softness was gone, his eyes had hardened again, and the spell was broken. Ben was no longer relaxed, his shoulders were tensed and guarded, jaw set.

It didn’t take a genius to know that Ben didn’t like Butcher. Sometimes you wondered why Ben decided to stay.

Probably because the alternative was being frozen like Han Solo next to his son.

When Ben had knocked Homelander out, you hadn’t believed it, and despite Ben’s arguing Butcher wanted to keep Homelander a supe, and just put him on ice. You had no idea why, especially since Butcher had been gunning for him forever, but had the sneakiest suspicion that it was because of Ryan.

But you didn't blame Butcher for that, watching your father get killed in front of you seemed traumatic, not to mention Ryan was still reeling from watching his mother die.

You turn back to your microwave to pull out your bowl of oatmeal with a groan.

Now Butcher’s going to mock me endlessly about going home with Soldier Boy. We didn’t do anything! Well…

Your mind flits back to the searing kiss you shared and to five seconds ago when whatever the hell just happened.

“You want me to meet you in fucking Jersey?” Ben laughs.

You choose not to eavesdrop on the conversation, instead you busy yourself with sprinkling brown sugar onto your breakfast and plucking a few more raspberries from the vines.

“Fine.” Ben almost growls before holding out the phone to you. “He wants to talk to you.”

Of course he does. Maybe I can pretend to lose the signal with a piece of paper or a candy wrapper.

“Hello-“

“You crazy wanker.” Butcher chuckles into the phone. “Guess your night was a little more exciting than mine eh? Oi Hughie, you owe me a tener!” He shouts to Hughie who you can guess is sitting nearby.

“What? He’s with y/n! No way!” You hear Hughie shout back, muffled but there.

Damn it he’s gonna tell Annie. She's going to start sending me pictures of babies photoshopped in supe suits.

“You guys were betting that he was here?!” You shout making eye contact with Ben who only smirks before he busies himself with getting a bowl for his cereal.

“He left about two minutes after you did. Said some bullshit about a smoke break.” Butcher is smiling and you know it. “How was he? Was he as good as all the girls say?" Butcher coos on the other side of the line.

“Nothing happened-“

“Sure it didn’t Cherie!” You hear Frenchie crow. “Hopefully you got to relieve some of that tension no?”

“I hate all of you.” You grumble, and before Butcher can say anything else you hang up the phone and glare at Ben. “This is your fault.”

“What do you mean sweetheart?”

“You just had to follow me home!”

“You shouldn’t have been walking out there alone.”

“I do it all the time!”

“Not anymore.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not going to let you walk around alone in the middle of the night.”

"Like hell. I don't need a babysitter!"

"I think you do-"

"No I don't. In fact why are you still here? Why haven't you left?" You shout, snatching your bowl of oatmeal before moving to the wobbly kitchen table that you smooshed up against a window that looks out onto your fire escape.

"Because I tend to like morning sex. It's a great way to start the day. Thought you'd be interested." Ben winks as he sits across from you, barely fitting in the wooden chair.

Your phone buzzes where it sits on the table beside your bowl. When you flip it over, you see the text from Annie.

Annie: YOU SLEPT WITH SOLDIER BOY?!!!!

You: I'm not going to dignify that with a response.

Annie: That's a yes. TELL ME EVERYTHING!!!

You sigh and shovel a spoonful of oatmeal into your mouth, eyes drifting up to the top of your phone screen focusing on the time.

"SHIT! I'm late for work!" You shout before shoving as much oatmeal as you can into your mouth.

"Work?" Ben looks up from his bowl of cereal confused as you begin to run around the room.

The half-eaten bowl of oatmeal falls into the sink with a resounding crash, Bean's cat food lands haphazardly in his bright green food dish, and you practically run to your tote bag that hangs on a peg by your front door.

"I told you. I work at a plant shop." You glance back at your barren coffee maker mournfully. The thought of trying to get through the day without coffee seemed impossible, not to mention you didn’t have time to grab one on the way to work from your favorite shop just around the corner.

"I thought you were joking."

"No. Some of us have to work for a living." You run your fingers through your hair quickly pulling it back in a loose ponytail.

"You should leave your hair down." Ben says from the table watching you.

"What?"

"It's prettier when it's down."

"I don't have time for your misogynistic comments. Come on let's go."

"What?"

"I'm not going to leave you here in my apartment alone. You don't have a key."

"You could give me yours-"

"HA. No that's not going to happen. Come on." You tug on his muscular arm, trying to get him up out of the chair, but he barely moves.

“You know you could call out of work and we could spend the day in bed.” He smiles, eyes tracing your figure. “I mean you look good baby, but I think you'd look even better naked. Plus, Butcher and the rest of those fuckers already think we slept together so we might as well-“

“Not a chance Gramps. Either get up out of the chair and leave through the door or leave through the window. It’s your choice and I have no qualms with throwing you down to the street. But please don't make me do that because I can't afford a new window."

Ben rolls his eyes, but finally gets up to follow you. He actually tries to open the door for you, but you place your hand on his chest.

“Nah uh uh. Bowl in the sink. I’m not going to clean up after you.”

Ben sighs and mumbles something under his breath that’s lost in Mike’s inhuman screech of “Love on Top.”

Yeah. What a great fucking way to start the day.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to my taglist for this series let me know :)

(Photos for series picture found on Pinterest)

Taglist: @roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @corruptedcruiser @winchesterwild78 @the-super-who-locked-wizard

@criminalyetminimal @52ndstreeet @bitchykittenconnoisseur @anna6307 @libby99hb

@faephoria @possiblyafangirl @jqtaro

[aestheticaltcow]

Last Updated: 09/13/2024

Teasing

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader Carmy is a tease, and you love it. MDNI 18+

Elementary School

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader Carmy comes to pick you up from work while Richie teases the two of you

What Happens In Vegas Doesn't Always Stay In Vegas

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x OC A four-part series about a past mistake both Carmy and Ellie had long forgotten about. Part 1: Those are Legal? Part 2: The Bear, Abuse of Power, and a Dick Measuring Contest Part 3: The Fight Part 4: DC in October

Family Ties

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader Carmy butts heads with his 17-year-old daughter

Father's Day

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader Father's day cards covered in glitter and a surprise, what more could Carmy ask for?

High School

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader Carmy didn't like high school, but he did like you, so when you asked him to come speak to this year's graduating class, how could he say no?

Food is Love

~Requested~ (forgot to give it a title) Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader After the passing of your father, you have a hankering for "Daddy Soup." You can't figure out the recipe, so you enlist the help of your Michelin star boyfriend to figure it out

Slumber Party

~Requested~ Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader You didn't take Carmy as a 3-in-1 guy but I guess sleeping over at his place for the first time gives you a good amount of insight on your boyfriend.

Feral

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader After work fun ~ MDNI 18+

Our Future (2 Parts)

Richard "Richie" Jerimovich x Reader Age gaps can be difficult. Being at two different times in your life makes the idea of the future seem impossible. Part 1: Our Future Part 2: Our Present

Social Media Manager: The Series

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader Marcus's friend Rusty is intriguing, and Carmy wants to get to know her better. Why not hire her to revamp The Bear's social media pages? Part 1: Introductions and Donuts Part 2: Meetings, Meetings, Meetings Part 3: Drinks? Part 4: Bars and Miscommunication

The Carmy Blurb Playlist

A collection of Carmy blurbs inspired by songs I dig that give me Carmy vibes

A Different Point of View

Natalie Berzatto's POV on the events of Season 1

Cigarettes Multiverse (3 Parts)

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader MDNI 18+ Friends with benefits worked for you and Carmy until it didn't. Part 1: Cigarettes - Rozei Part 2: Girlfriend Treatment Part 3: Boyfriend Treatment

Six Months (5 parts)

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader Six months postpartum and six months of celibacy, is a sexually frustrated Carmy going to risk his marriage and future relationship with his daughter for a woman who smells like artificial vanilla? Part 1: Six Months Part 2: The Night It Went Wrong Part 3: The Aftermath Part 4: Two Months Part 5: Healing

Three-Three-Three

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader Based on the fridge scene of the S2 finale; you help Carmy calm down when he's having a panic attack

You're un-beet-liveable

Sydney "Syd" Aduam x Male Reader (actually, it's Paul Mescal) A cute delivery guy makes Syd a little less annoyed that Carmy asked her to come in early.

Is this what you were looking for?

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader Carmy has a habit of misplacing his wedding ring, so he came up with a better alternative.

The Playdate

Richard "Richie" Jerimovich x Reader Tiffany asks if Richie can pick Eva up from a playdate.

Lockdowns & Ladyfingers

Chef Luca x Reader Luca is the hot neighbor, after getting the 411 from the grannies in the building; you make your move.

Our Life

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader You see Carmy's sketchbook and can't help but fall more in love with him.

Love Story

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader Just a sweet lil narrative of Carmy fallin' for you

Sorry?

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader The story of the time you don't get off MDNI 18+

Cooking Class

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader "Six Months" universe spin-off sorta... Sugar actions off a cooking class hosted by our favorite little chef,. Carmy is a sexy man here's his response to some unwanted flirtation.

That Poster Trend

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader With Carmy's 30th birthday fast approaching, you were struggling to figure out the perfect gift for him—at least until you were reminded of that TikTok beer poster trend.

Fatherhood: Carmy Berzatto

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto's adventures in single fatherhood.

Proposal Gone Wrong

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader Carmy wants nothing more than to marry you; unfortunately, with his luck, Murphy's Law took over.

How do you do it?

Richard "Richie" Jerimovich x Reader Richie's at his wits end with Carmy. Some advice may make it a little better.

To Chicago and Beyond

Carmen "Carmy" Beratto x Reader Long distance becomes short distance- so short you're within arm's reach of each other.

The Joy Of Cooking

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader You and Carmy are moving in together; nothing bad could happen, right?

Gimme a Minute

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader Just something I threw together while I was waiting for my individual supervision session to start.

Drunken Escapades

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader It turns out you met Mikey before he passed; you just didn't know it. Part 1 Part 2 (MDNI 18+)

No Phone Policy

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader I'm in an angsty mood; I'm sorry, everyone. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 The Prequel Part 5

Allergic to Sunshine

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader Request!

Double Trouble

Richard "Richie" Jerimovich x Reader MDNI 18+ Double the trouble but twice the joy. Thank you, God, for giving me a twin. Do you ever have one of those stupid ideas that sticks in your brain even though it feels kinda stupid? Yea... that's what this was. Part 1: Double Trouble Part 2: I'll Raise You One Better Part 3: Wedding of the Year

Coffee Run

Sydney "Syd" Adamu x Reader Someone requested a Syd x fem reader story a few months ago, and here it is!

Hot Stuff

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader Request! Carmy with a plus size reader and him comforting her while she’s not feeling pretty.

Written Romance

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader Request! Carmy finds love in an indie book shop.

[guess-my-next-obsession]

the alchemy | i. the return

pairing: no outbreak!dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

chapter rating: Mature [18+ only, minors dni, dbf/secret relationship, age gap (joel is 34, reader is 24), reader is described as curvy & only has one parent--all else is open to interpretation (we are POC friendly over here okay!!), sarah exists but isn't a main part of the story]

summary: now that you've moved on from college, you're ready to start the newest chapter of your life--adulthood. but when you move back home and are swept back into the magnetic pull of your neighbor, Joel, you find that maybe moving on has nothing to do with leaving the past behind and everything to do with embracing it.

wc: <2k

the masterlist | joel’s pov | next chapter

Undergrad had been a thrilling, difficult, eye-opening experience—one that brought you new friends and new love, along with fall-outs and breakups—but now that you’d earned your degree, you were determined to move on to the next stage of your life. 

Step one, move back home until you landed a job. Step two, move the fuck out.  

Step one was currently underway, your dad hauling the contents of your jam-packed tiny sedan into the house you’d lived in for the better half of your life, while you unpacked the last four years into your old bedroom. It seemed tinier than it had four years ago, but perhaps it wasn’t the room that had changed. Perhaps it was simply that you’d outgrown the space. You tried to fit your new life into your old—shoving your clothes from high school into bags to drag down to the thrift store so that you’d have room for the clothes that fit your new, curvier body—and attempted not to mourn the loss of your old self. 

But wouldn’t this always be the case? With each step you took forward, the more distance you’d put between you and your youngest self. Some days, you wished to plant your feet and refuse to move at all, the comfort of the past too soothing and the uncertainty of the future too unsettling. But most days—like today—you forced your eyes to fix on the image of all that could be, of all that you could be, even when it ached to do so. 

“That’s the last of it,” your dad announced with an exhausted sigh, sweat beading down his forehead as he set the last box down in the middle of the room. 

“Thanks,” you managed, your mind busy with planning. It seemed to never stop, the constant sorting out of your situation. You had to plan the new arrangement of your old furniture, which friends and relatives you’d visit first, which jobs you’d apply for, which apartment complex looked the safest, how you’d manage to make rent, and so on, until you had to plan your funeral. What a joy life was. 

“I know you’re probably busy, but I thought it’d be nice if we went out for dinner tonight,” he suggested, likely able to see the nonstop churning of the wheels inside your mind. He was always oddly aware like that. “Beats you having to eat my cooking.”

You let out a chuckle, nodding your head as you allowed yourself to rest from all the organizing and plotting. You set your hands on your hips and turned to give him a small smile and shrug. “Sure.”

“Alright,” he smiled back, something soft and barely there. “Just, uh, pick a place. I can invite Joel and Sarah, if you want. I know they’ve missed you.”

You laughed at the prospect of your gruff neighbor ever missing you. His ten-year-old, Sarah, likely did, the two of you forming almost a sisterly bond over the last two years that you’d known her. You were her babysitter during your summer and winter breaks from college, mostly because you didn’t mind the work and because you lived right next to the Millers. 

But her father? No, he never seemed to care much for you. Or anyone, for that matter. Except Sarah, his brother, Tommy, and your dad. 

“Sure,” you said, the word slowly becoming your new mantra. “I’ll, uh, just finish unpacking and then I’ll get ready.”

“Alright,” he said, taking one last look around the room before moving to the doorway. He stopped, ever the old sentimental bastard, and turned your way. “Good to have you home, kiddo.” 

You gave him another pursed smile and nodded, fighting the urge to tell him that if things worked out in your favor, you wouldn’t be home for long. “Yeah, dad.”

After a much needed shower and a bit of makeup, you nearly felt like yourself again. You wore a pair of denim shorts and a nicer tank top to combat the late summer heat, nothing too scandalous for a family dinner. Your dad drove the two of you to your favorite mexican spot in relative silence, the dull hum of the radio lost to your ears as you watched Austin pass by through the passenger window. 

Joel and Sarah were there when you pulled into the parking lot, the two of them standing in front of their familiar old pick-up. Sarah was wearing a summer dress, her tight curls now in rows of boho-braids. Joel, in a worn-in t-shirt and a pair of jeans, hardly looked much older than he had when you first met him two years ago. At thirty-two, he was handsome, but at thirty-four…well, he was enough to make a girl drool. 

You never liked to admit it to yourself, but you’d always had a bit of a crush on him. Back then, at twenty-two, you assumed it was simply the allure of an older man during a time in which all you wanted was to be a “real adult”. And as the last couple of years went on and the prospect of growing up began to dim, you expected that your little crush would dim along with it. But looking at him now, the only thing time did was make him all the more handsome and desirable. From the way he treated his daughter to the fact that not once during your stint as babysitter did he ever try anything creepy with you, you were forced to believe that he was a stand-up man. And what was more desirable than a good man who looked like that?

Sarah’s squeal pulled you out of your admiration of her father as she ran over to you, hugging your waist. You squeezed her right back, making up for the last five months you spent away at school. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

“Me too,” you said, giving her a smile as she pulled away to look up at you. “I like your braids. Did your dad do them?”

She gave you a look that screamed get real. “Please, he can’t even manage a ponytail.”

You laughed, lifting your eyes to meet Joel’s as he stood a few feet away with your father. You were surprised to find him looking at you, though of course he would be, given that out of the four of you here, you were the only one who he didn’t see every single day. Still, the eye contact was enough to get your stomach fluttering with something both anxious and eager. 

“Welcome home,” he said, his voice hitting you just as hard as his gaze. You tried not to react, to behave like you always had before, but now that you were reaching your mid-twenties, had earned your degree, and had experienced your first dry spell in your adult life, it was difficult. Every womanly part of you screamed with the urge to flirt, to put everything you learned at college to work for him. 

“Thanks,” you said instead, trailing your gaze to the restaurant behind him and then to your father. “Should we go inside? It’s hot.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, taking the lead. He and Joel walked in ahead of you and Sarah, her hand in yours, and you tried not to admire the broad expanse of her father’s back as he stood right in front of you in the restaurant lobby, close enough that you could smell the warm spice of his cologne. 

A wild, rogue part of you wanted to reach your hand out and smooth it across the soft cotton, tracing the line of his spine and the curve of his shoulder blades. In fact, the urge was almost unbearable, as if he were a siren and you were a sailor lost in the current. But somehow, you managed to keep your hands to yourself. 

After getting seated by the host, you ordered yourself a giant frozen margarita to take the edge of sitting directly across from Joel off and busied yourself with the chips and salsa. Your dad, meanwhile, seemed completely at ease as he chatted with Joel, filling him in about his plans for building a deck in the backyard of your house. The conversation didn’t interest you or Sarah, the two of you more focused on clearing the first basket of chips so that you could start on the next. 

“So,” Joel said, something in his tone luring your eyes to his. “You interested in babysittin’ over the summer?” 

You shrugged your shoulders, masking your inner beast who felt nothing but disappointed over the fact that even after all the growing up you’d done over the last two years, all he saw you as was a babysitter to his little girl. Some college kid. The daughter of his friend. 

“I’m gonna be busy applying for jobs, but sure,” you said, glancing at Sarah with a smile. “Not gonna pass up a chance to hang with the coolest kid in the neighborhood.”

To your surprise, Joel smiled at the interaction. “Good. She’s been on my ass about askin’ since we heard you were movin’ back home.”

You nodded, smiling as you drank your margarita from a straw. You kept your eyes averted from him for the most part, not trusting yourself to not melt right there in your seat under his gaze, but on a chance glance his way, you caught Joel’s eyes slipping to your mouth as you swiped your tongue over your bottom lip. He seemed to realize what he was doing the exact instant you had and quickly turned away to scan the busy restaurant. 

If your father and Sarah hadn’t been there, you might have tried to be bold about things. Perhaps you’d brush his leg with yours under the table, or maybe you’d simply tell him it was alright to stare if he wanted to—that you didn’t care what he did as long as he kept looking at you with those dark eyes. But as it were, you couldn’t do anything but mourn the loss of his gaze and listen as he began talking to your dad about his own summer project—renovating his master bathroom. 

Thrilling stuff, really.

By the end of dinner, you were more than tipsy and equal parts antsy to get home, or at least to get some space from Joel. You hugged Sarah goodbye with the promise of coming over the next afternoon, ignoring Joel’s attempt at a goodbye in favor of sliding into the passenger seat. Your dad gave him a pat on the shoulder and waved goodbye to Sarah before climbing in beside you with a soft exhale. 

“What’s up with you?” he asked, turning the key in the ignition. 

“Nothing, why?” 

“You’ve been quiet all night,” he said, whipping his head around as he pulled out of the parking spot. “And drunk. Even just now, Joel was trying to say bye, and you blew him off.”

Ironic, that wording. 

“I’m just tired,” you said, shrugging. “It’s been a long day.”

“I can understand that,” he said. “But just…Joel’s had a rough go of it lately, breaking up with that woman he was seeing for a while and having to raise Sarah by himself, so just…take it easy on him.”

The fact that Joel had been dating at all was news to you. Last time you were around, he didn’t seem to have any interest in dating. Sarah said it was because she asked him not to, her parent’s divorce three years ago still too fresh, but perhaps she’d changed her mind in the last few months and he’d gone and found himself a girlfriend. 

Your stomach curdled at the thought. 

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” you said, picking at the frayed hem of your shorts. “But I’ll make a better effort to be nice.”

“That’s all I ask,” he said, giving you a smile. “And I know you’re tired of hearing it, sweetheart, but I really am glad to have you back. There’s no rush for you to land a job or move out, you know. Just…enjoy the summer. Go make some new friends. Have some fun.”

You chuckled, nodding. “I’ll try my best, pops.” 

“I’m gonna be busy with work and seeing Vic, so I won’t be up your ass all summer,” he said, mentioning the girlfriend he went and got himself during the last year of you being off at college—one you still hadn’t met. “Just don’t want you getting lonely by yourself at the house.”

“After sharing an apartment with five people for the last three years, I think a bit of alone time would do me well,” you said, chuckling. “So don’t worry about me. I’ll occupy myself.”

“In that case, would you mind if I went down to San Antonio to see Vic this weekend?” he asked, giving you a hopeful look that he only pulled out when he assumed you’d protest to whatever it was he was asking. But this time, you really didn’t care. You meant what you said about wanting some alone time to decompress and settle in without constantly being asked how you were doing. 

“Go ahead,” you said, giving him a soft, encouraging smile. “I’m just going to be unpacking all weekend anyways.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, dad,” you laughed at the roundness of his eyes, at how concerned he was about you. Eventually, he’d come to know the new you, the person who thrived on independence and didn’t need to have someone around all the time. “I’ll manage to survive on my own for two days, I promise.” 

“Alright, smartass,” he laughed. “Don’t be afraid to shoot me a text if you need me to come back, alright?”

“For the millionth time—okay, dad.”