#and I love a mess. I could talk about mess all day

[fushitoru]

worth the wait a nerdjo fic

pairing ⸺ nerd/academic rival/rich boy!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you abhor your academic rival, satoru gojo. he's a cocky asshole that you fight with constantly for the spot at first place. but when you finally discover what's underneath all those lame sweaters of his with a once in a blue moon visit at the gym (spoiler alert: he's not a scrawny nerd), you'll be fighting your severe attraction to the man who makes your life a bit harder. and maybe fall in love with him, too, in the process.

warnings ⸺ smut, f recieving oral, praise, he makes you beg for it lol, p i v sex, making out, angst if you squint, a lot of fluff, college AU, nerd!gojo, reader gets insecure sometimes and is treated horribly by her discord mod TA/research advisor, typical misogyny/sexism in STEM fields, but gojo defends her!!!, sleeper build gojo with a happy trail because im a slut, the good old pining and yearning i like. art by @/deltapork

a/n thank u to all my beta readers for editing part of this for me :3 happy valentines day!!!

general masterlist

You blink at your paper.

98.

You suppose you should be happy—it’s a graduate level physics class, anyways. For a moment, you stare at the red markings of the TA that graded it, as if willing an error in the one problem you made a mistake on could make it go away. 

2+2=5.

You exhaled sharply, almost fighting back tears. You’d think you could avoid simple arithmetic mistakes, but apparently doing tensor products comes easier than simple addition to you. Shoving your backpack on your chair, you stuff in your laptop and the test haphazardly, not caring that it’s going to get messed and crumpled up in your backpack after your folders and binders jostle around. Fuck that test.

You wouldn’t normally act as if the test had personally wronged you—trust, you were not going to get that heated were it any class. But because of this one class, one person, you knew it was coming. The inevitable.

"Better luck next time." The voice, drenched in smug satisfaction, slithered through the air behind you, his voice and demeanor like a slimy, slimy snake. 

Your jaw tightened, but you forced yourself to remain calm as you turned around. And there he was—Gojo Satoru, the bane of your existence, a plague upon your academic record, a walking, talking statistical anomaly who somehow managed to be both infuriatingly brilliant and aggressively insufferable.

He leaned against the desk beside yours, glasses sliding down just enough to reveal the glint of those ridiculously blue eyes. He crosses his arms while they’re covered in that ridiculous, ugly sweater he’s wearing—he’s probably going for the old money aesthetic, but he doesn’t need to know he gives off more “finance bro that helps billionaires evade taxes,” or whatever finance bros do.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you sniff, pretending to act nonchalant while you grab your backpack, swinging it roughly on your shoulder like it was the weight of your grievances against him.

"The test." Gojo unfolded a crisp sheet of paper with the kind of theatrical flourish reserved for revealing royal decrees. A perfect 100, circled in bold red ink.

Your stomach twisted. This is what those two points meant. Two stupid, meaningless, soul-crushing, rage-inducing points.

"Guess that makes it… what, five to three this semester?" He tapped his chin, pretending to count, as if the score wasn’t already seared into your brain like an irreversible branding. "My lead, obviously. But hey, if you ever need tutoring, I could always squeeze you in."

You bite the inside of your cheek in frustration. “I wouldn’t want to impose on the time for any of your hobbies. After all, when will you get the time to watch anime? My 5000 Year Old Girlfriend is Stuck in a Twelve Year Old’s Body, was it?”

He presses a hand to his chest in mock hurt, as if your words had truly pierced him through his chest. “Tut, tut. After all this time, I’d think you’d have my anime preferences memorized since you’re so obsessed with me. It’s Digimon, not whatever pedophilic shit you think I jerk off too.” He pauses, and then his voice drops into a conspiratorial whisper. “But you know Fred, the grad student TA that holds recitation every Wednesday? I just know he’s probably a Discord mod of a server that sends, like, daily tentacle porn. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s on the Megan's law registry either.”

Now, you have to hold back your smile because Gojo has a point. Fred is not just any TA. Fred is the grad student that mentors you on a research project; the program’s super selective, so when you realized you got him, you couldn’t just back out and give up the opportunity. However, Fred isn’t just a weird–-he’s sooo handsy with his greasy ass hands, so you accept any and all Fred slander. Because he’s your research advisor, you can’t wait to finish the project any faster. He probably would be into underage girls, but you don’t need to express your approval to Gojo, or worst of all, let him think he’s funny. God knows that would get into his head. “Yea, yea. Whatever. Anyways, I hope you have fun with your Pokemon—”

“Digimon.”

“—or whatever. I’m leaving. Some of us have things to do. Later, Gojo.”

You turned on your heel, lest Gojo hook you in with another taunt. 

Maybe you needed to blow off some steam, if you’re allowing yourself to lose to Gojo. 

Worst of all, it’s become a streak, like two times in a row—one on this quiz, and the other on the midterm a few weeks back. Your mind goes back to the last women in STEM recruiting event you had went to, and, how, in the middle of taking a bite of the delicious margherita pizza they offered, you registered that the woman in the panel had insisted that what helped her power through her PhD and dickwad supervisors was by exercising. Her fervor over pilates could almost qualify as a cult pitch, but it made you pause at the moment. Before you continued to further engorge yourself on the food offered on the charcuterie board. 

But maybe it was time to hone your focus in, and some sweaty endorphins might help you get just that. 

You’re not really surprised the demographic at your university’s gym looks like the way it does. After all, not only was it renowned for its academics (from all the nepo babies like Gojo whose families donated buildings and had like four generations of alumnus), but it was also a Division I school. So not only was the gym packed but it was packed with men.

As you walked in the hallway towards the room that contained weight machines, gym bag slung over your shoulder, you eyed the glistening backs of the (D1, mind you) men’s swim team through the glass that separated your path and the swimming pool. 

Wow, those Speedos really hugged their asses. You imagined Gojo in one, and almost snorted. Rich boy nerd Satoru definitely didn’t  learn how to swim; his family’s mansion probably had a twenty year old personal lifeguard that Gojo lost his virginity to, or something. Regardless, he would squint in his silly swim goggles, the exact antithesis of sex appeal while his glow-in-the-dark eyes lit up the pool while he stroked, cheeks puffed like a pufferfish.

Regardless, the smell of testosterone that hits you when you enter the weight area is almost nauseating, and, if you’re honest, a little intimidating. You’re not exactly the fittest of people, so you quickly speed walk past the grunting and sweaty men at the squat machines and barbells, avoiding eye contact and praying furiously that none of them perceive you.

 When you reach the dumbbell stands, you hunch over, taking random light weights. Then, you pretend you know what you’re doing while jumping every so slightly whenever anyone comes in six foot distance of you. It’s only when another girl comes in to grab a weight (and when she bends over, you definitely ogle her ass in a way that would get you slapped if you were a man) that your gaze removes itself from where it was focused on the 2.5 lb dumbbell you were previously bicep curling with. To see him.

The glint of ivory hair is unmistakable—you’ve basically gotten off to the fantasy of razoring it off in his sleep. His blue eyes are bored, pretty boy face framed in glasses. Now, he’s giving teenage boy turned to Andrew Tate after a breakup. Black sweatshirt and sweatpants that are too small, because they cling to his legs in a form-defining way. He’s walking over, hands in his pockets, to a barbell station. Slaps some guys on the shoulder as he goes through, gets a lot of daps. 

Which is weird to you, because you only the Gojo inside your physics class, not outside. He’s a fucking nerd—a loser that spends his time beefing with you, so why is he so popular when he gives you the time of day?

There are three dimensions to gaining alpha status, or whatever they call male popularity. You have to be 1) rich, 2) really physically fit, or 3) just really charismatic. Considering that Gojo—in all his clothing—-looks like a twink moreso than ripped gym bro, it’s definitely not dimension two. So you conclude that it’s because he’s rich and probably throws yacht parties so these ripped guys don’t push him into a locker, or something.

When he finally reaches his destination, you smirk to yourself. With that scrawny build underneath all those loose sweaters, you know he’s only going to be able to lift the bar, no plates. After all, he was warming up. insulting Gojo in countless of ways by taking jabs at his physique mentally, so you barely register that he’s grabbing for the hem of his sweatshirt, peeling it up—

To reveal his bare torso.

Your first thought: Wow, he has huge bazonkas.

That has easily got to be one of the most built physiques you’ve seen at your college so far. His pectorals basically pop out out of his torso as he moves to grab plates. First, he grabs a really big plate—you’re not a gym expert, so you wouldn’t know the weight—and stacks it. And stacks another. And another. And another, until you’re sure it’s definitely more than your bodyweight.

As you’re staring at him in awe, your 2.5 lb dumbbells hang limply by your sides, abandoning all pretense of training to openly gawk at the clench of his biceps, the sweat rolling down his temple, and the set of his jaw as he stares holes into the bar. And by the way there’s heat creeping up your cheeks you realize one thing:

You’re screwed.

“You know what?”

You keep your eyes on your notes firmly, refusing to look at Gojo sitting right next to you. You don’t know why he always chooses to sit next to you on recitation, really—it’s not like you’re receptive to his company. After all, he could be doing other things—like metaphorically sucking a TA’s dick by talking about their research, where Gojo probably knows more about the TA’s research than they do themselves. 

From your periphery, you notice Gojo pouting, then scooting his chair (dragging it, so it makes a god awful screeching noise against the floor tiles that has you cringing) until he’s so close that he slings an arm on the back of your chair and leans in closer and closer. You’re fighting to keep your eyes on your notes, face heating up traitorously until you feel his breath fan across your neck because he’s just so close.

“Rude, ignoring me. Look where that got you.” He then points to a problem on your paper, one you were currently working on. “You’re doing that wrong.”

You finally turn to glare at him, but he’s closer than you anticipated, his face just inches from yours. His grin is all sharp edges and knowing amusement, and it makes your stomach flip in a way you refuse to acknowledge.

“I’m not doing it wrong,” you argue, despite the creeping suspicion that, okay, maybe you did mess up somewhere.

“Oh, really?” Gojo drawls, tilting his head slightly. “Then why is your integral off by a factor of two?”

Your eyes snap back to your notes, scanning through the equations—and, dammit, he’s right.

You huff, begrudgingly erasing the mistake. “Whatever.”

“You know, you should really be thanking me,” Gojo muses, still leaning way too close for comfort. “If I weren’t here, who knows how many mistakes you’d make?”

“She’d have me,” comes a greasy voice, and you have to fight the tears in your eyes that arise when Fred (the aforementioned pedophilic TA and your research advisor) comes, his moldy cheese stench following him as he takes a seat from across you and Gojo. You grudgingly turn your face away from where it was so close to Gojo’s to look at him and sigh inwardly. At least Gojo’s face was prettier to look at.

“Hi, Fred,” you smile tightly, willing him to go away. “We’re good here, so you can help out other students—”

“How was your weekend?” He instead replies, and you wince. Stealing a quick glance at Gojo, it seems that his jaw and posture are uncharacteristically tense. 

“Lot of work for the class and for, uh, our research,” you respond, nodding and averting your gaze to your paper and feigning working on a problem so that he would get the hint.

Fred, unfortunately, does not get the hint. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes too focused on you. “You really ought to take breaks, you know. You can give me the code late. Someone as cute as you shouldn’t stress so much. You’ll get wrinkles.”

Your fingers tighten around your pencil, your skin crawling at the way his tone veers into something too familiar, too patronizing. You open your mouth to give a clipped response, but Gojo beats you to it.

“Oh? Didn’t know you were an expert on skincare, Fred,” Gojo drawls, his voice deceptively light. His arm, which was still resting on the back of your chair, shifts just slightly—not quite pulling you in, but making his presence more noticeable. “Though, if we’re giving out advice, maybe you should take your own. I mean, stress must be rough on you too, right? All those late nights grading papers, staring at screens. Takes a toll.”

Fred bristles, but Gojo just smiles lazily, pushing up his glasses as he tilts his head. “Actually, you know what? Maybe we should all focus on our own business. Like, say, teaching, instead of weirdly hovering over students. Crazy thought, huh?”

You swear you see the muscle in Fred’s jaw twitch, but he forces out an awkward chuckle, shifting uncomfortably. “Right, right. Just looking out for her.”

“Don’t worry,” Gojo interrupts smoothly, now fully leaning into your space, his arm draping a little lower behind your chair, “I think she’s got plenty of people looking out for her already.” His voice is soft, but there’s an undeniable edge beneath the words.

Fred lingers for a second too long, but finally, he mutters something about helping another student and stands, walking off with an air of forced nonchalance.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, slumping slightly in your seat. Gojo hums beside you, his fingers tapping idly against the back of your chair.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he teases, but there’s something in his tone that’s softer than usual. He then makes a show of stretching, raising his arms. His sweater rides up a bit, exposing his lower abs and peeks of white that has you averting your gaze, the heat creeping up at his proximity once again. Then, his arm back on your chair. Weirdly, you find that you don’t mind it.

You sigh, resigned. You’ll figure out these feelings later. “Yeah. Thanks, Gojo.”

But you don’t immediately go back to your work, because Gojo suddenly hunches down and whispers in your ear. “Yea, I definitely saw an underage anime girl sticker on his laptop.”

Your responding snort is so loud everyone turns to look at you and Gojo, who is now sporting a mischievous and satisfied smile.

It starts with a single drop, fat and cold where it splats against your wrist. You glance up from your phone just in time to see the sky split open.

“Shit,” you mutter, stuffing your phone into your bag. The library doors shut behind you with a heavy clang, sealing away the scent of old books and the quiet hum of studying students. Outside, the air is thick with the petrichor of freshly fallen rain, and within seconds, the pavement is slick, puddles forming in the uneven cracks of the sidewalk. The streetlights reflect off the wet ground, casting fragmented golden glows against the darkening sky. You’d been studying to grind for the upcoming assignments; after all, to rival Gojo is a no small feat. It’s just unfortunate it seems to take you thousand times more effort than it does for Gojo.

“Guess we’re stuck together, huh?”

You don’t have to turn to know who it is.

Satoru Gojo, standing beside you under the library’s narrow overhang, wearing that insufferable grin like he’s amused by the entire situation. Like the rain personally fell from the sky just to give him an opportunity to bother you.

“I’ll take my chances,” you say flatly, shifting your bag on your shoulder. But as you peer past the downpour, your stomach sinks. The rain is merciless, an unrelenting sheet of water stretching as far as you can see. There’s no way you’re making it back to your dorm without looking like you took a fully clothed shower.

Gojo hums, pulling something out of his bag. You blink when he flicks open a half-broken umbrella, the metal ribs slightly bent like it’s barely holding itself together. He gives it a little shake, sending droplets flying, before glancing at you with a smirk.

“Well?” He lifts a brow. “Wanna be smart about this?”

You do not want to be smart about this. You want to wait out the rain or make a break for it. But the storm shows no signs of letting up, and the thought of walking through it alone makes you hesitate.

Reluctantly, you sigh. “Fine. But I get most of the cover.”

“Hey, sharing is caring.” He tilts the umbrella slightly, just enough to make a point.

With great reluctance, you step closer. The moment you do, you regret it.

Gojo is warm. Even in the damp, chilled air, he radiates heat, standing so close that his sleeve brushes against yours. He smells good, too—like expensive laundry detergent with a faint undercurrent of something sweet, something distinctly him.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stare straight ahead as the two of you start walking. The rain pounds against the umbrella, droplets cascading off the edges, and with every step, you’re hyper-aware of the way Gojo moves beside you—loose-limbed, annoyingly graceful, a stark contrast to the crooked metal above your heads.

“Man, this thing’s on its last leg,” he muses, tilting the umbrella just slightly. Water dribbles off the side, landing directly onto your shoulder.

“Gojo!” you yelp, recoiling as the cold soaks through your shirt.

“Oops.” He does not sound remotely sorry.

You glare at him, but before you can snap back, he shrugs off his jacket and—without preamble—drapes it over you.

You freeze.

It’s warm, still carrying the heat of his body, and it smells so much like him—clean, sweet, dizzyingly familiar. Your brain short-circuits.

You force yourself to breathe, keeping your gaze firmly ahead. “You didn’t have to do that,” you say, voice tight.

“I wanted to.”

Something in his tone makes your stomach flip. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, and—

Damn him. Damn him.

Water drips from his bangs, clinging to the sharp edges of his jawline, sliding down the curve of his throat. His shirt sticks to his skin, fabric clinging in a way that reveals the toned lines of his arms, the broad plane of his chest. He’s watching the rain, the usual teasing glint in his eyes softened into something contemplative.

You swear your eggs just recently got released, for you cannot help but avoid your ever going attraction to Satoru Gojo except the age-old excuse: ovulation. Your mind wanders to how his arms would feel around your head, to lay on his chest, how he’d be able to manhandle you, force you to take it—

But you’re snapped out of your inappropriate thoughts by what he says next.

“You know,” he says, voice quieter now, “I like this. Just us, no grades, no competing.”

You pause.

He says it so simply, so easily, like it’s nothing at all. But the words settle deep, curling somewhere warm inside you, and you don’t know what to do with them.

So you do what you do best: you shove them away, bury them beneath years of rivalry, of late-night study sessions fueled by caffeine and stubbornness, of sharp words and sharper glances.

You roll your eyes, forcing a scoff. “Don’t get used to it.”

But even as you say it, your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket, holding it a little tighter.

It’s been a week since you saw Gojo. He had dropped you at your dorm in a surprisingly gentlemanly way, and you had insisted on returning the jacket only after washing it, to be courteous. What you didn’t mention was how you kept repeatedly smelling it in your dorm whenever you got a reprieve from your roommate’s eyes because Gojo smelled like expensive cologne and he did one thing most nerds / physics majors don’t do: shower. This fact, unfortunately, made you more attracted to him because the bar is truly in hell.

You’ve concluded that these…feelings can’t hurt you and that it isn’t real, like a beefy and shirtless Gojo-looking demon that’ll jump and surprise you from under your bed. So you move on your life, caught in the ever perpetual slog of studying and researching. 

Thus, you find yourself at the library once more.

The night hums low around you, quiet except for the occasional shuffle of paper and the distant hum of the library’s espresso machine (only librarians could use it, however. you fervently thought that was a form of elitism, but you digress). You’re at the corner table, the one by the window, where the dim light pools just enough to illuminate your notes but not enough to make you feel like you’re being studied under a microscope. You think you’re alone—until you aren’t.

You don’t have to look up to know it’s him.

Satoru Gojo is hard to miss, even when he’s not trying. He slides into the chair across from you with the kind of ease that makes it seem like he belongs there, like he was always going to end up sitting across from you tonight. His hair is tousled, white strands falling forward in a way that makes him look softer under the warm light. His glasses are perched low on his nose, a rare sight given that he usually has them pushed up like some kind of pretentious scholar.

The two of you don’t speak.

It’s surprising, really. Gojo never runs out of things to say, whether it’s an obnoxious quip or some unnecessarily insightful observation that makes you want to throw your textbook at his face. But tonight, he just pulls out his own notes, taps his pen against the edge of his lips, and starts reading.

You should focus on your own studying, but something about this—this silence, this late-night haze, this tiny moment carved out of time—makes your mind wander. You steal glances when you think he won’t notice. His brows furrow when he’s concentrating, his jaw tightens when he’s stuck on something, and when he exhales, it’s this slow, measured thing, like he’s trying not to get frustrated. He’s just—

He’s just really there.

You’ve spent years defining Gojo as your rival. Your competition. The person standing in your way at every academic milestone. And yet, somehow, somewhere, he’s slipped into something else, something harder to define. Because you’ve seen him like this before—when he’s so focused that he forgets the world around him, when he bites his lip in thought, when he gets so caught up in something that he mutters under his breath without realizing it. And for the first time, it dawns on you: you don’t actually hate it.

You don’t hate this comfortable silence. This moment of peace, a white flag waving lazily between you both.

The hours blur. The café starts to empty. Your notes turn into background noise. It’s late, and the warmth from inside lulls you into something dangerously close to comfort.

A soft sound breaks through the quiet.

You glance up and freeze.

Gojo’s head has tilted to the side, his glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. His hand is curled loosely around his pen, and his breathing has evened out. He’s asleep.

For a moment, you don’t move. You barely breathe.

Gojo, asleep, is not something you’ve seen before. He’s always in motion, always buzzing with energy, always running his mouth about something. But right now, he’s still. His long lashes cast faint shadows over his cheekbones, and the tension he always carries—the cocky bravado, the smirking sharpness—is nowhere to be found. He just looks… peaceful.

Cutie.

What?

The thought slips in so quickly, so effortlessly, that it nearly makes you jolt. But when you look at him again—head tilted just slightly, glasses slipping down his nose, breathing slow and even—you can’t deny that the word fits. He looks like a lazy cat napping in a sunbeam, limbs loose, utterly unguarded. It’s so unlike him that you find yourself staring, caught in the contrast.

Your fingers twitch. Before you can stop yourself, you reach forward, slow and hesitant, to push his glasses back up his nose. But you catch yourself just before you touch him, as if the warmth of his skin might burn. Your hand hovers in the air for a fraction of a second too long, and then—

You pull away.

Your heart is pounding. It’s fine. It’s nothing. You just need to get out of here.

You gather your things quietly, glancing back at him one last time before slipping out the door into the cool night air. The moment you step outside, you take a breath, deep and shaking. The world feels different now. You feel different now.

Because for the first time, it isn’t just that you find Gojo attractive.

It’s that you care.

And you don’t know what the hell to do about it.

The gym, once again, smells like sweat and overpriced protein powder.

You don’t know what’s possessed you to come here today. Maybe it’s because you keep telling yourself that you need to exercise more, or maybe it’s because you need to take a break from studying before your brain melts. But deep down, if you’re really being honest with yourself, you know the real reason.

Gojo is here.

You spotted him the first time by accident. You were on the treadmill, barely jogging at a pace that wouldn’t embarrass you, when you caught a flash of white hair across the gym floor. And there he was—dressed in a fitted black sleeveless top and joggers, casually loading plates onto a barbell.

And he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

It was a stupid, inconsequential detail, but it made all the difference. Without them, he didn’t look like the annoying academic rival who constantly got under your skin, flashing his smug grin as he beat you in exams by the smallest possible margins. He looked… sharp. Unfiltered. Effortlessly attractive in a way that made your stomach tighten in ways you didn’t like.

You’d seen him in his regular clothes before, of course. You knew he had broad shoulders and long legs, that his body wasn’t just a lanky frame hidden behind layers of sweaters. But here, in the gym, watching him roll his shoulders as he prepped for another set—it hit differently. He was lean but muscular, his arms flexing as he adjusted his grip on the bar, and for some godforsaken reason, you couldn’t look away.

You shouldn’t be watching him. You should be focusing on your own workout, pretending you don’t care. But the way his shirt clung to his back, the way his forearms tensed, the way he exhaled sharply as he lifted—

You’re so screwed.

You force yourself to look away, grabbing the smallest dumbbells available and curling them in what has to be the weakest excuse for a workout imaginable. You’re barely paying attention to what you’re doing, too busy sneaking glances at Gojo between sets. It’s pathetic, but at least no one else is watching you.

Or so you think.

Because then she appears.

A girl.

Tall, toned, and effortlessly gorgeous, with sleek hair pulled into a high ponytail. She strides over to Gojo with a confidence you could never dream of and smiles at him, saying something that makes him laugh. Her ass is definitely bigger than yours, and she’s in this coordinated, cute, pink set, looking like she walked straight out of a fitness TikTok. You can’t hear what they’re talking about over the sound of weights clanking and some obnoxious EDM song blasting through the speakers, but you can see it. The way she leans in, the way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way Gojo—

—smiles at her. That easy, lazy grin he always wears when he’s teasing you, except this time, it isn’t for you.

Your grip tightens around the dumbbells, something ugly curling in your chest. It gets worse when she gestures toward the squat rack, and Gojo nods before moving behind her, hands hovering just slightly as she sets up for a squat. You watch as he spots her, one hand resting lightly on her lower back, close enough to correct her form but far enough to be polite. He’s focused, watching her movements carefully, murmuring something that makes her laugh before she drops into another rep.

Your stomach twists.

This is stupid. You have no reason to be feeling this way.

It’s then that it hits you—you can have your silly little academic rival moments with Gojo, but, in the end, you’re just a footnote in his story, a fleeting challenge in a life where everything already belongs to him. He quite literally has generational wealth; he’s not going to spend his life buried in grant applications or clawing for recognition in a field that demands twice the effort for half the reward. He’ll be the one funding the research, sitting at the head of the table, making decisions that shape the future. And you? You’ll be one of the many who struggle just to be in the same room.

He’s the guy who spends his vacations on yachts or private islands—not just surrounded by wealth, but by people who belong there. Girls who glide through life with the same effortless ease as him, girls who don’t second-guess if they deserve to be in the spaces they occupy. Girls who don’t have to fight for their place at the table because it was always set for them.

Girls that are his equal—equally attractive, equally smart, equally rich.

Not you.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to look away, but the image is burned into your mind. The easy way he talks to her. The way she tilts her head when she listens. The way he doesn’t even know you’re here.

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care.

But you do.

You grip the dumbbells tighter, exhaling sharply. Then you put them back, pick up your water bottle, and walk out of the gym before you do something stupid.

The office is too small. Too suffocating. Too filled with the weight of unspoken words and the sharp-edged smile of Fred, the TA, as he leans back in his chair and laces his fingers together.

"You know," he begins, voice sickly sweet, "I really expected more from you."

You sit stiffly in the chair across from him, your hands curled into fists in your lap, nails digging crescents into your skin. Your heart pounds, but your face remains carefully neutral. You've been called into his office under the guise of "academic guidance," but you know better. You always know better.

"I don't know what you mean," you say, keeping your voice even.

Fred exhales dramatically, shaking his head. "Come on. You and I both know you're barely keeping up in this project of ours."

You grit your teeth. You're not barely keeping up. You're giving him your work at the highest level, at its best. But Fred—Fred has always had a way of twisting things, making you feel small, insignificant, like your achievements are nothing more than accidents.

“I think my progress speaks for itself,” you respond tightly. Mind you, while he was supposed to be your mentor, you’ve done 80% of the work.

But you think Gojo’s defense of you ran deep into Fred’s heart because by the way he’s sleazily smirking at you, you know he’s trying to get back at you.

He smirks. "Your progress? Sure, you’re smart. But you think that’s enough? You think anyone’s going to care about a girl like you when there are people out there who don’t have to struggle to be exceptional?" He leans forward, voice dropping into something conspiratorial. "You’re wasting your time. The best you can hope for is being someone’s assistant. Maybe a glorified research grunt if you’re lucky. Just like for me."

Your stomach twists. You shouldn’t care. You know you shouldn’t care. But the words burrow deep, hitting a place inside you that already doubts, that already wonders if you’re nothing more than a temporary obstacle in a world built for people like Gojo Satoru—people born brilliant, born wealthy, born effortless.

Fred’s eyes flick over you, assessing, smug. "You’re working yourself to the bone for what? You’ll never be at the top. Not really."

The bitterness of the situation really dawns on you—Gojo’s the one who took a jab at Fred last week, not you. But you’re the one who’s left to deal with its consequences. You’re not going to assign blame and lament that it’s not Gojo in this office dealing with him. It was in your defense, after all. 

But Fred’s words remind you. You’ll never be at the top. At Gojo’s level, who’s at the top without even seeming to put in effort.

You’ll never be his equal.

You stand abruptly, shoving your chair back so hard it scrapes against the floor. "If that’s all, I have work to do."

Fred chuckles, leaning back, clearly pleased with himself. "Sure, sure. Don’t say I never tried to give you advice."

You don’t respond. You just walk out, gripping your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white, the echo of his words following you down the hall, settling in your bones like lead.

The hallway is too bright. Too loud. Too full of people who don’t know that you’re on the verge of crumpling in on yourself like a dying star.

Your breath feels too shallow, too quick, and there’s a weight pressing down on your chest that no amount of rationalizing can shake off. It’s not even your meeting with Fred—just a slow accumulation of stress and exhaustion and frustration that’s settled deep in your bones. A grade lower than expected, an upcoming deadline you’re nowhere near prepared for, a general sense of drowning no matter how hard you try to keep up. It’s all too much, and your hands are starting to shake from how tightly you’re gripping the strap of your bag.

You just need to get out of here. You need air, space, something.

But, of course, the universe has a cruel sense of humor, because when you round the corner, you slam straight into Satoru Gojo.

“Whoa—”

Your balance is already precarious from the way you were rushing, and the impact sends you stumbling. For a split second, you think you might actually fall—your ankle twists awkwardly, the world tilts—and then there’s a strong hand gripping your wrist, another bracing against your back, steadying you before you can hit the ground.

You don’t process what happens immediately. Your mind is still stuck on too much, too fast, can’t breathe, and it takes you a second to realize that Gojo is holding you upright, his hands firm but careful, his expression hovering somewhere between amusement and concern.

“Jeez, what’s the rush?” he teases, but his voice lacks its usual careless lilt. He’s searching your face now, eyes narrowing behind his glasses, and that’s when you realize: you must look as bad as you feel.

Shit.

You jerk away from him, a little too fast, a little too sharp. “I’m fine.”

Gojo doesn’t look convinced. “You sure? Because it kinda seemed like you were about to pass out on the spot.”

“I said I’m fine.” You adjust your bag over your shoulder, shifting your weight onto your other foot, ignoring the faint throb in your ankle. “Go bother someone else.”

Most of the time, that’s enough to send him off with an exaggerated sigh and a smirk. But not today.

Today, Gojo just stands there, watching you like he’s trying to piece something together—like you’re a problem he wants to solve. He doesn’t press, not yet, but the silence stretches, and it’s unbearable, because you can feel the weight of his gaze, and you don’t want to be seen like this. Not by him.

So you give him a tight nod in dismissal, and walk away.

There’s a knock at your door. You frown because you didn’t expect any visitors, and you’re in your sleepwear. Regardless, you pad your way lazily and open the door.

To see Gojo.

What the fuck.

He’s drenched in the glow of the hallway light, looking entirely too at home despite standing on your threshold. His hair is still slightly damp from the rain, white strands falling over his forehead in careless disarray. He’s not wearing his glasses.

"Why are you here?" you demand, gripping the doorframe, willing your voice to stay steady.

He quirks an eyebrow, tilting his head just slightly. “You’re holding my jacket hostage.”

Oh. Right.

You make your way to your wardrobe, where the now-cleaned jacket hangs neatly on a hanger. Grabbing it, you hand it over to Gojo, who’s standing at your threshold while eyeing the insides of your dorm, as if trying to take in what your living space looks like. You shove it into his chest, stepping back like the heat of it burns. "Here."

Gojo takes it, but instead of leaving like a normal person, he lingers, running his fingers over the material like he’s checking for something. Then,, he lifts a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it in that way that only makes his biceps flex, his lean muscles shifting beneath his shirt. You hate that you notice.

A beat passes.

"You know," he muses, far too casually, "you seemed a little disheveled back there."

Your stomach twists. "It's not a big deal—"

"—Bullshit." His voice cuts through yours, sharp and immediate. He shifts, stepping just the tiniest bit closer, his tone losing its usual teasing lilt. “You’re lying. I saw what you looked like. What happened?”

“It's none of your business,” you say, stiffening. “Nor is it a big deal, really.”

Gojo exhales, something heavy in the sound. His eyes don’t leave yours, and for once, they aren’t filled with their usual mirth or mischief. Just something searching, something that makes your chest ache in a way you don’t have the strength to deal with right now.

"You always do that," he says, softer now, but no less intense. “Act like no one’s supposed to care. Like you’re carrying the world alone.”

Your fingers curl into your palms. Your lips press together. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to acknowledge the way his words settle too close to the truth.

And then, quietly, Gojo asks, “Do you not consider me your equal?”

You swallow.

Your silence must be enough of an answer because something shifts in his expression. It isn’t anger exactly, but it’s something close—something bitter and disappointed and aching all at once.

"You’re the one who shuts me out, you know." His voice is sharp now, edged with frustration. "You act like I'm the one keeping you at a distance, but every time I try to get close, you push me away."

Your throat tightens. “Why do you even care?”

Gojo lets out a breath, his head tilting just slightly, eyes scanning your face like you’re something he’s trying to figure out. Then he laughs, quiet and humorless.

“You really don’t know?”

“I—” Your voice wavers. “What do you mean—”

“For a girl so smart, you sure do act stupid.” He steps forward then, closing the space between you just enough to make you want to back away, but your feet don’t move. His voice drops lower. "Do you think I talk to you because I give a fuck about physics?"

Your brain short-circuits. “What—”

He groans, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I give zero fucks about the class or any class, trust me. I have better things to do than to try to aim for 100s on every test."

Your heart is pounding now, too loud, too fast. “Then why—”

"God," he exhales, tipping his head back, like he's debating whether or not he should even say it. Then, after a beat, he looks at you again, and whatever is in his eyes makes your stomach flip, makes your breath hitch.

Something in your chest lurches, but before you can even process it, he huffs a laugh—like he’s just remembered something ridiculous.

"You didn’t even look my way the first week," he says, eyes flicking over your face, searching. "I could tell you only cared about anyone that could challenge you. Like, it wasn’t even until I did better than you on the second midterm that you even talked to me."

You open your mouth, then close it, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Because—yeah. He’s not wrong. You had ignored him, dismissed him as just another overconfident rich kid who thought he was smarter than he was. It wasn’t until he proved himself, until he became a real obstacle in your path, that you bothered to acknowledge him.

Gojo smiles, but it’s not cocky this time—it’s small, almost rueful. "And then you looked at me like I was finally real. Like I existed."

Your breath hitches.

He shrugs, eyes dropping for a brief second before snapping back up to yours. "So, yeah. Maybe I started trying harder. Maybe I cared about all those stupid tests because it meant I got to see that fire in your eyes, that I got to be the one you were pushing against." He rubs the back of his neck, his biceps flexing in a way that would usually annoy you, but right now, you’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

Gojo stares at you for a long moment, gaze unwavering, like he’s daring you to say something—anything.

Your chest feels too tight, your pulse erratic, and you don’t know what to do with the way Gojo is looking at you—like you’re something precious, something worth holding onto.

But he’s wrong. He has to be wrong.

“You can’t like me,” you whisper.

Gojo frowns, expression shifting. “What?”

Your throat clenches, and before you can stop it, heat pricks at your eyes, blurring your vision. “You can’t like me,” you say again, voice cracking. “I can’t even match you.”

Gojo's face slackens, his teasing demeanor completely gone.

"You do everything so effortlessly," you force out, your fists clenching at your sides. "It’s so infuriating." A shaky breath escapes you, and you shake your head, looking down. “So why would you even want this? You make me feel this way, and I—I hate you for it.”

For a second, there’s only silence.

Then, Gojo exhales softly.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is so gentle it makes something inside you ache.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Gojo shifts, stepping forward slowly, carefully, like you’re something fragile. And then—then he reaches out, his fingers ghosting along your wrist before curling around it, grounding you. “It’s not effortless,” he murmurs. “I try so hard. You just don’t see it because I don’t want you to.”

"You really don’t get it, do you?" His voice is quieter now, something dangerously close to vulnerable. His fingers twitch at his sides. "I care because it’s you."

You shake your head, still not understanding, still unable to believe it.

Gojo watches you for a moment, then exhales, running a hand through his hair. “You act like I just woke up one day and decided to like you.” He huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Do you know how long I’ve been stuck on you? How infuriating it was, realizing that no matter how much attention I got, the only person I wanted it from was too busy treating me like an obstacle?”

Your breath catches.

“I tried everything,” he continues, voice rougher now. “Teasing you, annoying you, beating you in tests, losing to you in tests. It didn’t matter what I did, because you—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “You only saw me when I gave you a reason to compete.”

Your fingers tremble slightly at your sides. You don’t know what to say, don’t even know what you can say.

And suddenly, everything—the teasing, the constant pestering, the way he always had to be around you—it all clicks into place.

Your heart hammers in your chest, and before you can second-guess it, before you can even think, you surge forward and kiss him.

It’s a mess of a kiss—too rushed, too desperate, all clashing teeth and uneven breaths—but Gojo groans softly against your lips, like he’s been waiting for this. His hands are on you immediately, one slipping around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head as he presses you flush against him.

You’re dizzy. Overwhelmed. But it’s good. It’s him, and you don’t want to stop.

When you finally pull away, breathless and unsteady, Gojo is grinning, his lips slightly swollen.

“Worth the wait,” he murmurs, eyes shining.

You avert your gaze, fully blushing now. “But I—” You take a look at him, then hide your face in your hands. “I’m a stalker.”

“Maybe I’m into that.”

“No,” you bemoan. “I’ve stalked you at the gym, and I—” Your voice drops into a shameful whisper. “You were good. Like, stupidly good. Like, making everyone stare at you good.”

His lips twitch. “You were staring too, huh?”

You glare at him, but he just grins, all teeth, clearly eating this up.

“I hated it,” you insist, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “I hated that you’re already smarter than me, that you already have all these advantages, and then—and then you also have that? Like, it’s just unfair. You’re unfair.”

Gojo is silent for a second, and you think you’ve screwed up, but then exhales a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You are so cute.”

“Stop it!” you whine, but you don’t protest when he pulls you closer and locks your lips with his another time. You clutch the front of his shirt, drag your hands on his chest, his arms, everywhere. Then, you guide his to firmly clutch your ass, to which he freezes.

“We can stop here. We don’t have to do anymore than this, and—”

But you interrupt him, slamming your lips against his once more. Grabbing him by the shoulder you pull him into your room and slam the door behind you, pushing him against the door. “Fuck no.”

He laughs breathlessly, then continues to switch your position, now you against the door. “Thank god. Now, jump.”

You do, and you almost moan at how easily he grabs you in his arms, your legs straddling him. It’s like you weigh nothing to him as he carries you over to your bed and manhandles you into it, following not long after.

When he gets on top of you, he maintains eye contact as he pulls your shirt over your head, trailing kisses down to your neck, the valley of your breasts (but not before giving each of the girls their own tender kiss), and your stomach. With his eyes boring into you, he slowly, teasingly drags the pants you were wearing down your legs until you’re just in your panties.

You let out a noise, and he coos. “I know, I know, baby.” He gives you a gentle kiss on the top of your mound, and you clench, squirming from the contact. “Let me take my time, though.”

He gently, but firmly, lays a hand on your hip as he starts licking the crotch of your panties. It’s truly maddening—the sensation is there, but you oh so wish his skilled tongue was meeting your skin, bare and electric.

He’s taking his time laving, ravishing your taste, but you’ve had enough. “Gojo, please,” you sob, throwing your head back and grinding further into his tongue, which he welcomes. “Stop teasing.”

“Mmmm,” he pretends to think, all while focused and looking only at your crotch, now rubbing your clit in small, miniscule circles. “I can, but,” and now he’s just mocking you, with the way he adopts a babying tone, “I think you’re going to have to beg for it.”

You groan in frustration as a response, but he only clicks his tongue as his fingers reach and finally rid you of your panties. He spreads your folds with two fingers, his face oh so close to your bare pussy. But instead of finally giving you what you want,  he clicks his tongue, pouting as if you’re the one forcing him to be a bastard. “Yea, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to earn it.”

Before you can respond, he holds out his tongue and inches his face even closer to your bare folds until you can feel his warm breath over it. “You just have to say please.” Then, he ahhh-s, as if holding his tongue out to a doctor and says, “Look I’m so close—ahhh.”

You can only plead with him. “Please, Gojo.”

“No, it’s Satoru to you now, baby.”

“Satoru, please eat me out.”

He smiles. “Yeaa, that’s my girl.” And proceeds to eat you out in a way that has your toes curling.

He acts like a man eating his last meal on death row. It’s the masterful combination of laving over your folds, kissing your clit, and groaning and making noises that has you inching closer and closer to your orgasm. When you tell him, you’re close, he does exactly what he’s supposed to do—keep doing what he’s doing, same spot, same tempo, same pressure.

With a cry of his name, you come quickly, and he takes your writhing hips and their motion like a champ, easing you through it. When you feel the all-too-familiar feel of over sensitivity, you grab his hair and pull him towards your face, kissing him tenderly. 

He maneuvers his huge frame to lay down next to you, and you fall easily into a gentle embrace. It’s a comfortable silence, as he burrows his face into your chest and you stroke his hair gently.

Gentler than how you’ve ever treated him.

It’s this thought exactly that you voice to him. “You know,” you muse softly. “I was such a bitch to you.” This gets his attention, because he moves from where he was comfortable (your boobs) to look at you in alarm. “Like, I was always mean, and like acting all high and mighty—”

“Whatever you think you did, it was hot,” he interrupts you, grinning boyishly. “Like damn when you insult me I get all fired up—”

“Satoru!” You laugh, shocked, looking down at him. “You’re crazy.”

“Yea,” he winks. “Crazy for you.”

You smile softly at that, biting your lip. “I mean, I get that.” You feel his curious gaze rove over you and heat creeps up your neck as you confess, “Like I was stalking you at the gym. I saw you one time, and um. You definitely have a sleeper build.”

He hums. “I get that a lot.”

“Yea,” you blurt. “you’re really hot. Like you have really big arms, which I definitely didn’t notice in all those sweaters you wear. You could definitely throw me around.”

Silence.

When you look down at him, he’s looking at you mischievously. He sits up, takes off his shirt, and says, “Want to test that theory?”

The both of you test the theory, indeed—it’s a nice nod to your guys’ academic, theoretical physics roots. But instead of some theory involving dark matter or quantum physics debated while in class, this theory takes all night to prove.

general masterlist

a/n special thank you to @purplegemadventures ily pookie <3 we were discussing how a lot of fics so far have made seem nerd gojo really cute and shy but we tried to envision a shit eating sassy diva just like hidden inventory arc <3 like what that one anon said i need my gojo to be a little annoying cocky (but cute) bastard (or, i quote, "your gojo makes me want to oil his scalp and give him an aggressive head massage and mess his hair up"). ANYWAYS props to that one anon that dropped the "nerd gojo with sleeper build" and my beloved @tiramisuandlove i love you forever

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots!

[beatlblog]

#i'm crying this is so funny#we love terry (via @sour-milk-sea)

#harrisong: the sun is so beautiful. has anyone ever noticed this (via @tweeterwilbury)

#men are so strange and delusional.....#just tweet im sad that i wasn't able to suck john lennon's dick and log out#it's quicker (via @mylonghairedladyy)

#there's a reason that their post-beatles work is like... imagine for john and freaking... magneto and titanium man for paul... (via @skyriderwednesday)

#arnie pipe is a normal type with an average job but his prospects never will be great#(lyrics say arnie pupe but you cannot tell me that's true. it's pipe) (via @leapinarmadillo)

#hey Ringo just makes cute songs okay (via @milesaerach)

#idk how to admit this but i really like McCartney's solo work because its exactly like this all the time forever#except sometimes there's something so good it could be in the sounstrack of tarzan out of nowhere#and then we go back to insanity (via @dubiousdisco)

#George song: messing around on a sitar#Ringo song: bad (via @baking-bisexual-bitch)

#transition from happiness is a warm gun to martha my dear (via @guttermeat)

#lennon's song ends with a declaration of wanting to kill his wife#mccartney's song ends with terry the plumber killing his wife (via @lumeninfusco)

#george song: n/a (not allowed on the album) (via @thisisdefinitelyausername)

#weed vs coke (via @barryallenisbisexual)

#but that was pre-psychedelic Beatles (via @elglin)

#john if he wrote fixing a hole#paul if he wrote working class hero (via @the-bluebird-you-need)

#(they're both saying the same thing) (via @ensign-babey)

#george: i get one song per album#ringo: ringo (via @hebrideanmoon)

#I see them both as two little guys hitting pots and pans#but in different ways (via @tenitchyfingers)

#lol welcome to 1971 (via @cirumlocutoryconlanger)

#also the difference between alex kapranos and nick mccarthy#alex = john#nick = paul#more at ten. (via @dandy-lad)

#stop I saw this as I was literally listening to the beatles and texting my sister about how insane their range was#the range in question lmaooo (via @fortressofbooks)

#and both songs are about being gay#so yeah (via @aint-that-kind-of-blog-bruv)

#WHERE'S GEORGE (via @local-vamp)

#both could be a springsteen song (via @melody1971)

written while gazing t the photos of john + elvis on his dressing room wall

#almost accurate#add *pipe clanking sounds* (via @gojisaurus)

#i thought it said 'helovespipesshelovespipes' at first and i was like#wow so true...he would change up the pronounce like that. which could mean nothing (via @igixri)

#monkberry moon delight my BELOVED#his three songs are: 1) the Pipe Man. 2) i love my wife. 3) i miss my soulmate john (via @rubyrubyrubytuesday)

The way the lyrics talk to eachother somehow is so more funny to me (via @starfayy)

#and both songs would be mclennon coded (via @flowersintheram)

#why philosophize when you can narrate (via @alienoriana)

#but it's not homoerotic he swears (via @unchaineddaisychain)

#mccartney's song has a key signature change but lennon's song has a time signature change (via @britneyshakespeare)

#theylovepipedream#音楽 (via @radio-4-is-static)

#is this a fixing a hole reference or a pipes of peace reference#only real ones know pipes of peace (via @whoscruffylooking)

#ok but they’d be in the same song A Day in the Life style#and it’d slap!!!!! (via @tesho-travels)

hate hate hate it

#and theyre both the same song (via @onlylivingboything)

#average beatles on shuffle experience (via @veryhopefulromantic)

#im choosing to understand this (via @hell-nurse)

#I can hear this#he loves pipe she loves pipe#can it be one song tho#I think it’d fuck (via @bugsinnmybrain)

#McCartney said shut up and go to therapy Johnny (via @imoldbutimstillintothat)

#need one of those tumblr musicians to make audio for this post (via @mousefluff)

#the best Beatles text posts are the ones you can hear by reading them (via @thatdogjokes)

#the realest shit#my mom always says John & Paul needed each other for balance bc paul is too whimsical & John is too angsty lol (via @theinconstantmoon)

#pauls whimsey he loves to write songs that would work in a childrens tv show (via @lostcryptids)

#a day in the life verses (via @thefoolsprocession)

and that's why i hate it

#uh oh the pipe is leaking#terry is gonna be weak (via @masterboa)

fifth beatle song: its ok to leave a dog in a hot car (hot car) its ok to leave a dog in a hot car (ooh oooh oh) (via @trashfartofficial)

#this is not accurate at all#lennon lyrics aren't like that there is nothing beatlesque about it#his lyrics are cryptic in a completely different way that's more cartoonish and sarcastic#or if he is serious its not black sabbath shit like this its more just preachy and kinda annoying#mccartney on the other hand... yeah that's about right (via @possessesnightshift)

#and the source of the leak is an issue with the pipes that terry the plumber can fix and it all comes full circle#or something. idk i’m not a beatles fan (via @driftwooddestiel)

no this is accurate

#where would prog be without those “helovespipeshelovespipeshelovespipes” changes (via @despairdoodlesreal)

#PRECISO (via @affogonellamarmellata)#its the same song#they worked on it together (via @airlocksandaviaries)

john was just a huge edgelord but paul knew how to be whimsical and fun (via @herecomesthemod)

#get you a man who can piss off all his band mates with 'faggy bullshit' (quote a la Harrison) AND write Blackbird (via @transwolvie)

#ay no puedo (via @longlivetai)

#meanwhile ringo singing about ocean life (via @penthesileas)

[hanafubukki]

You love Sebek.

You really do.

You also love messing with him.

His reactions are adorable; how could you not love inciting him?

“Hey, Sebek?”

“Hmm?”

A smile tugged at your lips.

“I like your last name.”

As expected, Sebek puffed up in pride and started talking about the legacy of the Zigvolts.

You listened to his voice. It had a calming effect.

The surrounding noise might be drowned out by him, but there was a sense of protection from being wrapped in something so familiar.

“Can I have it?”

The abrupt cut off in story about a great-grandfather Zigvolt had you opening your eyes.

The flustered and semi-gaped look made him all the cuter.

“Human! That is not how a courtship-”

“I have a ring. Well, it’s a paper ring. I made it myself.” You proclaim loudly with a wink.

“I-”

“Is that a no?”

“No! It’s not a no! Stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry. I can’t help it. You’re adorable.”

Sebek grumbled.

He held out his hand.

You slid the ring on. It looked cute with its little fold, green colored paper, and your scribbles on a hand trained to fight.

“I’ll return the favor ten fold.”

I love you.

“I know you will.”

I love you too.

“He said yes! He said yes! Finally one of you boys are getting some!”

“Father! They’ll hear us!”

“Lilia quiet down,” a ponder and a smirk. “You haven’t gotten any either. Who are you to speak?”

“Don’t be cheeky with me, boy!”

Happy Valentine’s Day 💞💚🫶

You know I can’t not add the rest of the dia boys in some way 💞💞🥰�� especially when it’s Malleus making a dig at Lilia 😘😘💞💞 (It’s fine Mal, he’s getting more than some lolol 💞💞💚💚)

I hope every one has a wonderful day 🥰💞🫶

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁𝓂𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝜗𝜚 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒, 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑔𝑒𝑜

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Where the TKATB men ache for you with an intensity that borders on obsession, while the men remain oblivious to the fact that you’ve been 'the one' all along. 

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

I wanted to share something sweet for Valentine's Day—a little glimpse into love and longing to celebrate the occasion.

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

For over two years and counting, Crowe has been haunted by the memory of your touch.

Crowe would never deny that he enjoys having you around. But if you don’t see him that way—if you never do—he’ll live with it. He’ll push it down, bury it deep, because losing you entirely is something he refuses to accept. If friendship is all you can offer, then he’ll take it, no matter how much it eats at him.  

After all, it was him that day. The day those bullies cornered you, their words sharp and cruel, their intentions worse. He was the one who stepped in without hesitation, who made it clear that they’d have to go through him first. He didn’t do it for gratitude or recognition. He did it because it was you.  

It’s always been about you.  

He doesn’t just want you in his life—he needs you there. He wants you around his friends, wants you to feel safe, to feel at home wherever he is. He wants to see you smile, wants to be the reason for it, even if you never look at him the way he looks at you. It doesn’t matter. Because Crowe loves everything about you.  

The way your laughter sounds—effortless, bright, like something he could get addicted to. The way you wsolkle your nose when you’re annoyed, the way your eyes soften when you talk about something you love. The way your presence alone makes everything feel a little less heavy.  

And it scares him. 

The way he aches for you. 

The way he yearns for more.  

But if being close to you means keeping his feelings locked away, then he’ll do it. He’ll endure it. He’ll hold himself back, bite his tongue, force himself to be content with whatever piece of you he’s allowed to have. Because even if it’s not everything he wants, at least it’s something. At least it’s you.

Crowe lets out a slow breath, stasolg at the pile of papers in front of him, but his mind is elsewhere.  

You’re sprawled across the floor, cross-legged among scattered documents, your back against a pile of pillows as you skim through a paper in your hands. The soft glow of the evening light filters through the curtains, casting a golden hue over you, making you look almost unreal. He should be focused—should be sorting through the paperwork like he said he would. Instead, all he can focus on is you.  

You—who insisted on helping despite him telling you he could handle it.  

You—who sits there with that small, content smile, completely unaware of how you consume him.  

“Crowe, you need to file these by date,” you murmur, tapping a few papers into a neat stack. “You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be.”  

He huffs, running a hand through his loose braid. “I never asked for help.”  

“You never ask for help, period,” you counter easily, throwing him a glance before looking back at the papers. “Besides, I don’t mind. This way, you won’t end up buried under a mess of your own making.”  

He watches as you shift, your knee bumping against his, and his whole body tenses. It’s nothing. Just a touch. But his mind lingers on it, the warmth spreading, sinking into his skin like ink on paper. He clenches his jaw, flipping through the stack in his hands without really reading anything.  

“Crowe?”  

Your voice snaps him back, and he blinks at you.  

“You okay?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.  

He exhales through his nose, forcing a smirk. “Yeah. Just wondering why you’re still here when you could be doing something better with your time.”  

You roll your eyes, shifting again—brushing against him again. “And miss watching you suffer through basic organization? Never.”  

He scoffs, shaking his head, but his grip on the papers tightens. It’s not fair. How easily you get under his skin, how effortlessly you settle into his space, into his life. He wonders if you even realize it—how much of him you consume, how much he aches for you in ways he has no right to.  

Crowe doesn’t know when it started, this need, this craving that’s carved itself into his ribs. But he knows it’s always been you. The realization sits heavy in his chest, like a secret too dangerous to let slip.  

His fingers twitch as he watches you. He wants to touch you, to reach out, to thread his fingers through your hair and trace the curve of your jaw. To pull you closer, to feel the warmth of you against him.  

But you’re his friend. Closest Friend.

And if that’s all you’ll ever be—if that’s all you can give—then he’ll endure it.  

Even if it kills him.

The silence between you stretches, filled only with the occasional rustle of paper and the rhythmic tick of the clock on the wall. Crowe exhales, a slow and controlled breath, as if that alone will steady the wildfire spreading in his chest. It doesn’t.  

You’re still here, still close enough that he can feel the faint heat radiating off your skin, and he can’t focus—not on the papers, not on anything other than the phantom sensation of your touch line side on his jaw. His resolve is slipping, unraveling thread by thread, and it’s all your fault.  

He tells himself to let it go. 

To push it down, bury it deep where it belongs.  

But then you shift, stretching your arms above your head with a quiet sigh, before letting yourself fall back against the pillows behind you. “I think we deserve a break,” you say, staring up at the ceiling. “Your filing system is a disaster, by the way.”  

Crowe lets out a breathy chuckle. “I don’t have a system.”  

“Exactly.”  

You turn your head to look at him, that lazy, contented smile still playing on your lips, and something inside him caves.  

Without thinking, he moves, shifting onto his side until he’s lying next to you. The papers don’t matter. The mess on the floor doesn’t matter. Nothing does—except this moment.  

You don’t react, at least not in the way he expects. There’s no teasing remark, no raised brow questioning why he’s suddenly this close. Instead, you just glance at him as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.  

“I thought you didn’t take breaks,” you murmur.  

“Maybe you’re a bad influence.” His voice is quieter now, softer.  

You gsol, amused. “Maybe.”  

Crowe watches as your fingers absently play with the hem of your sleeve, and he wants to reach out. Wants to take your hand in his, wants to thread his fingers between yours just to see how it feels. The temptation is maddening.  

“Do you ever get tired of this?” he asks suddenly.  

You blink, tilting your head. “Tired of what?”  

His throat is dry. He swallows, pretending that the words aren’t sticking in his chest. “Of… being around me all the time.”  

It’s a stupid question. He doesn’t know why he asked it. Maybe he just needs reassurance—something to hold onto before he completely loses himself to this feeling that he refuses to name.  

Your expression softens. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.”  

The answer should be enough. It should satisfy him and quiet the restlessness inside him.  

It doesn’t.  

Because there’s something about the way you say it—so effortlessly, like it’s obvious. Like, it’s simple. And for you, maybe it is. Maybe you don’t see the weight behind it, the way your words settle into his bones, warm and suffocating all at once, like they were always meant to be there.  

Crowe barely has a second to react before you move—quick, decisive, and utterly reckless with his personal space. His body tenses, muscles coiled tight, but he doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t even try.  

One moment, you’re standing beside him, your usual teasing lilt laced in your voice. The next, he’s flat on his back, breath knocked from his lungs as you press him into the floor. His pulse jumps, sharp and immediate, but it has nothing to do with the impact.  

Your legs cage around his waist, your hands planted firmly against his chest, pinning him in place. And worst of all? You look amused. Like this isn’t something that should have him gripping at the last shreds of his self-control.  

His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to do something—grab your hips, push you off, pull you closer—but he forces himself to stay still. His chest rises and falls beneath your touch, each breath shallower than the last as his mind races to catch up with what the hell just happened.  

Crowe narrows his eyes, lips parting like he’s about to throw out some sharp remark, something cool and dismissive, to mask the way his body reacts to you. But when he meets your gaze—playful, expectant, entirely unbothered—his words die before they even form.  

And that’s when it hits him.  

You know. 

You know exactly what you’re doing. 

And worse? 

You’re enjoying this.

“What the—?!” He instinctively tries to push himself up, but you’re already pressing your palms into his shoulders, effectively trapping him.  

“Oh, relax,” you huff, gazing down at him. “You looked like you were spiraling. I had to do something before you started brooding so hard you set the house on fire.”  

Crowe glares. “I don’t brood.”  

“You totally brood.”  

“I don’t.”  

You raise a brow. “You’re literally doing it right now.”  

Crowe opens his mouth, then closes it, then just scowls. He hates that you might be right. He hates even more that you’re looking at him like this, all smug and unbothered, completely unaware of the absolute chaos you’re causing in his head.  

This is normal to you, isn’t it? Sitting on top of him like it’s no big deal, pinning him down like you aren’t single-handedly wrecking his sanity.  

Crowe groans, throwing his head back against the pillows. “You’re actually gonna kill me one day.”  

“You’re being dramatic.”  

“Oh, am I?” His voice is dry, but there’s a flicker of something else beneath it—something dangerously close to unsteady. His hands slide onto your hips, firm yet hesitant, like he’s caught between pushing you away and pulling you closer. His fingers press just enough to make you aware of his grip, of the fact that you could move away if you wanted to.  

Not that you would.  

“Because last I checked, you’re literally on top of me right now,” he continues, a sharp exhale leaving his lips, “and I’m pretty sure I’m experiencing cardiac arrest.”  

You snort, unfazed. “Please. If I wanted to kill you, I’d at least make it more interesting.”  

His deep blue eyes flick up to yours, something flickering behind them—amusement and frustration—but before he can bite back with some witty retort, you lean in closer.  

Your weight shifts slightly, pressing down in a way that makes his fingers tighten on your hips, his knuckles paling for just a second. The movement knocks a few strands of his long brown hair over his forehead, but he doesn’t dare lift a hand to fix it. Not when you’re this close.  

“Y’know…” Your voice is softer now, teasing, thoughtful, like you’re genuinely contemplating something. “You’re weirdly warm.”  

Crowe stiffens when your hands leave his shoulders, fingers trailing up the column of his neck, slow and deliberate. His pulse betrays him, hammering beneath your touch.  

Then your palms frame his jaw, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, and he knows he’s done for.  

He swallows hard, his throat bobbing beneath your fingers. His breath stutters, his mind screaming at him to say something—anything—before you realizes the effect you have on him. But his mouth refuses to work, completely useless as you study him like you’ve just uncovered something interesting. 

Your grin barely has a second to register in Crowe’s mind before he moves.

With a swift, effortless motion, your world flips—air rushing past you as your back meets the ground, cool earth pressing against your skin. A startled gasp barely escapes your lips before you feel it—him.

Crowe’s body cages yours, his knees planted firmly between your legs, his hands pinning yours above your head. His long brown hair falls forward, strands grazing your face like a ghost of a touch, teasing and torturous all at once. His deep blue eyes lock onto yours; the corner of his lips twitches. “Not so funny now, is it?”  

Your breath catches, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of looking flustered. “Oh? Did I strike a nerve?”  

His grip on your wrists tightens—not painful, just *commanding.* Enough to remind you of the sudden shift in power between you.  

Then, without warning, he leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as his voice drops to something low, almost *gravelly.*  

“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”  

A shiver bolts down your spine, but you refuse to react, refuse to let him see how much his proximity affects you. *Two can play this game.*  

“Oh, I know when to quit,” you whisper back, tilting your head ever so slightly, your lips just inches from his. “I just don’t want to.”  

And then it happens—so fast, so unexpected—you barely have time to process.  

Crowe’s lips crash against yours, hot and unrelenting, stealing the very breath from your lungs. It’s not slow, not gentle—it’s every bit as competitive as the both of you, as if he’s trying to prove something.  

Your fingers twitch in his grasp, the need to grab him, to pull him even closer overwhelming every thought in your head. But he keeps you pinned, controlling the moment, teasing you with the maddening way his lips move against yours.  

Then, just as quickly as he kissed you, he pulls back, hovering above you, his breath warm against your swollen lips. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes—oh, his eyes—they’re gleaming with something smug, something victorious.  

“Still think this is fun?”  

You blink, still reeling, heart hammering so hard it might burst out of your chest.  

And then, in the most infuriatingly casual voice, you breathe out, “...Kinda,”  

Crowe groans, head dropping to your shoulder as he mutters, “You’re actually going to kill me.” he mutters, barely audible.

And that’s the real problem, isn’t it?

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

Sol says three months. Honestly, it’s like one week. Every moment of it, you’re there.

Understand that Sol has always been the quiet one, the guy who blends into the background until he doesn’t. He’s the type that hardly stands out, sitting at the back of the room, hidden behind his own little world. It’s easy for people to forget he’s even there, especially when he doesn’t really give them a reason to look. He’s cold, distant, and usually wrapped up in the space between the pages of a book or the strokes of a paintbrush. A lone figure in the corner, always studying, always creating, always alone.  

But then… you came along.  

He remembers the first time he saw you, your laugh like a melody that somehow cut through the haze of his own isolation. You didn’t ask him anything, didn’t try to crack his shell like everyone else did. You didn’t even seem to notice the way his eyes followed you, the way his heart skipped a beat every time you came near. Instead, you just *were*—existing in the same space, offering him something different: peace.  

And, slowly, things began to change.  

Sol became more aware of the way your smile lit up the room. The way your laughter stuck with him long after it had faded. He started paying attention to you in a way he never did anyone else. Your presence seemed to be magnetic, drawing him in like a force he couldn’t resist. And with every passing day, the intensity of his thoughts about you only grew. 

It wasn’t just your smile, though—no. It was the way you interacted with him. The way your eyes lingered on his work, the way you’d ask him about his day as if it mattered. And when you spoke to him, there was a warmth in your voice, an unspoken invitation to be more than the quiet kid at the back of the room. It made him feel something, something deep in his chest that he couldn’t quite explain.  

That’s when the obsession started.

Every time Sol closed his eyes, you were there. His mind wouldn’t let him rest, and no matter how hard he tried to push you away, you kept slipping in. You were there in the sketches he couldn’t stop drawing, the paintings that came to life in ways he didn’t intend. You were the muse behind every piece, every stroke, every line. He found himself lost in the idea of you, consumed by the thought of you.  

And then, it hit him like a wave. 

You had become his art. You were the subject that filled his pages, the image he couldn’t get enough of. The way you moved, the way you smiled, the way you lingered in his thoughts long after he’d seen you. Every brushstroke he made in his art book brought you to life, even if just for a moment. He painted you in every way—your hands, your eyes, the soft curve of your smile—all the details that stayed with him, making his heart race and his hands tremble as he worked.

You were in every sketch. He couldn’t escape you, not even on paper. You had taken over his mind completely, and now, you were becoming a part of his creations. The more he drew you, the more real you felt. The more your presence seeped into his soul, until there was nothing else that mattered. 

And as he sat there, pencil in hand, gaze focused intently on the page in front of him, he found himself lost again. He wasn’t just sketching anymore. He was memorizing every little detail of you—every little thing he hadn’t quite captured yet, like the way your hair would fall when you tilted your head or the way your fingers would idly trace along the edges of the paper when you were distracted. It wasn’t just art now—it was obsession.

The thought of you lingered even as he set his pencil down, staring at the half-finished drawing of you, and he could hear your voice in his mind. A voice, soft and warm, saying, “I knew you could do it.”

And just like that, it didn’t matter how tired he was, how much he wanted to just collapse from exhaustion. The only thing that made his heart race now was the idea of you—you in his world. 

You in his art. And even though he couldn’t quite reach you yet, he was determined to make you his, on paper if nowhere else. 

Because of this feeling? 

This feeling of wanting you, craving you? 

He wasn’t sure he’d ever stop.

Sol likes to think of himself as someone who takes his time—someone slow and deliberate when it comes to relationships. He’s not the type to let someone in easily, to open up to someone so quickly. After all, he’s spent years building up a wall around his heart, carefully maintaining a distance to protect himself from the potential sting of rejection or loss. It’s worked for him. He’s always been cautious, weighing every connection with a cool, measured approach.

You, who had slipped past his defenses in ways he never expected. You, who made everything feel real. And despite his doubts—his constant questioning of whether this would last, whether you’d want to stick around—Sol found himself unable to ignore the way you made him feel. The way you looked at him, the way you cared so easily, so genuinely. He couldn't deny that he’d been falling for you for months now.

It had been three months since you’d entered his life, but it felt like a lifetime in all the best ways. You were always there—patient, kind, steady in a way that soothed the nervous parts of him that he’d hidden for so long. But still, he told himself it was too soon. He couldn’t be this vulnerable.  

Until that one moment.  

The words slipped out so casually, so innocently.  

“You’re so good at this; I’m so proud of you, Sol.”  

It felt like the ground beneath him had shifted. The world suddenly tilted off its axis. Those words—those words, coming from you—sent a shockwave through him, rattling something deep inside him he hadn’t realized was there. The way you said it, with such sincerity, the way your eyes held his, soft and full of admiration—it changed everything.

He tried to brush it off. He told himself it was nothing. He’d been complimented before, praised by others countless times. It was just a simple phrase. Nothing special.

But it was different. It was you.

You made it feel special. Your words were like a thread that wove into the very fabric of his being, pulling him closer to you, to this feeling that he couldn’t name but knew was consuming him.  

Now, nothing else felt as important. Those praises from others? They didn’t matter. They were just words, empty and shallow. They didn’t stir something in him the way your words did. 

He wanted more of it. He needed more of it.  

He had spent months convincing himself that he was just inspired by you—yeah, that was it. You were his muse, his favorite subject, the reason his sketchbooks were filled to the brim with your face. It wasn’t that deep.  

And then, one day, as he stood in his studio apartment, paint staining his fingers, a half-finished portrait of you staring back at him from the canvas, he realized something terrifying.  

He wasn’t just painting you. He was worshiping you.  

The way your lips curled when you teased him, the way your eyes softened when you looked at him like he was worth something—it was all captured in every brushstroke, every tiny detail. He wasn’t just an artist anymore. He was a man possessed.  

And before he could stop himself, he was standing in front of you.  

Before you could process what was happening, Sol was already moving. His strong hands found your waist, and in one swift motion, he pulled you into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. The half-dried paint on his fingers smeared against your skin, marking you as his, but he didn’t seem to care.  

His grip was firm, almost possessive, keeping you locked in place as he gazed up at you, eyes dark and unreadable. His chest rose and fell heavily, the intensity in his expression making your breath hitch.  

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, voice rough, like he was holding himself back from something reckless. His fingers flexed against your hips, grounding himself—or maybe keeping you from getting away. 

Sol’s fingers dug into your waist, his grip firm but not enough to hurt—just enough to make sure you weren’t going anywhere. His chest rose and fell against yours, breaths uneven, like he was trying to hold himself back—Trying, but failing miserably.  

Your hands pressed into his shoulders instinctively, steadying yourself, but that only made it worse—made him want you *closer*, made him crave the feeling of you melting against him. His fingers flexed, sliding up your back, slow and deliberate, his warmth seeping through your clothes, leaving a burning trail in its wake.  

“Please,” he murmured, his voice rough, dangerously low, his lips hovering just beneath your ear. “Say it again.”

It wasn’t a request.  

You shivered, your heartbeat hammering, knowing exactly what you were doing when you leaned in just a little, your breath teasing against his skin, close enough that your lips nearly brushed his.  

“…You’re so good, Sol.” 

His breath hitched, a sharp inhale like your words had physically hit him. His jaw tensed, his fingers tightening their hold as if he was afraid that if he let go, you’d slip right through his grasp.  

And then—he broke.  

His mouth was on your throat in an instant, teeth grazing your skin before he bit down—not hard enough to bruise, but enough to make you gasp, enough to leave his mark. His other hand tangled into your hair, tilting your head just so, giving him more access, more you. 

A low, satisfied sound rumbled in his chest when he felt you shudder against him, your fingers clutching at his shirt. He soothed the bite with a slow, open-mouthed kiss, his lips lingering, savoring.  

“You drive me insane,” he murmured against your skin, his voice strained, almost helpless. His nose brushed along your jaw as he exhaled, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine.  

His hands tightened around you, possessive, like he was trying to pull you into him, like *having you* in his lap wasn’t enough.  

“Again,” he whispered, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.  “Please.”

And this time, it wasn’t a plea. 

It was a demand.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

Lastly, for Geo, it took about a year and some months; he doesn’t really all that time, starting at you.

Geo was never meant for this to happen. He didn’t plan on it, didn’t think it was even possible. He wasn’t the type to fall for people—let alone someone like you. 

His life had always been straightforward, filled with precision, discipline, and control. Best in archery with enough wealth to make people respect him without having to ask. That’s how things worked for him. No one dared to challenge him. No one dared to get too close. 

Except, somehow, you. 

You were Crowe's friend. It had started innocently enough—nothing more than tolerating your presence because Crowe trusted you and because you seemed to enjoy spending time with him. But the more time passed, the harder it was for Geo to ignore you. 

Your laughter, your smile, the way your eyes lit up when you spoke. It wasn’t anything spectacular—he tried to convince himself—but it was... enough to make him curious. 

He liked to think of it as curiosity. 

But the more he tried to convince himself of that, the more it became something else entirely. It wasn’t just curiosity, and it wasn’t just the way you seemed to blend seamlessly into his life, leaving an imprint without even trying. It was something deeper, something he couldn’t explain, something he didn’t want to acknowledge. 

It was the way you wore that soft lip with that shiny gloss. That was the first thing he noticed. You probably never realized how you applied it, but to Geo, it became the only thing he could focus on whenever you were nearby. How it caught the light, the way the gloss made your lips look fuller, more inviting. 

He hated how distracted he got by it, but he couldn't help himself. He'd watch as you smiled and delicately applied the gloss, not realizing that each time you did, his eyes would flicker to your lips, unable to look away.

It wasn’t just about the gloss—he hated to admit it, but it was the way your lips moved, the way they curved up when you spoke to him. Every smile felt like an invitation, and it made his heart race every time he saw it.

And the worst part? 

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

His mind ran wild, imagining what it would be like to kiss you, to taste that gloss. Would it be sweet? Fruity? Would it be like strawberry or maybe something more decadent, like cake? Geo didn’t know, but the mere thought drove him crazy.

Yet, every time you caught him staring, you would smile, the same playful glint in your eyes, and then push away from him. It was maddening. 

“It was nice talking to you,” you’d say, and just like that, you were gone, leaving him standing there with the weight of his thoughts.

It wasn’t the way you left that bothered him—it was how you left him wanting more. 

He couldn’t help but wonder, when you left, if you knew how much power you had over him. Did you know how much he craved the taste of you, how much he longed to be the one you smiled at like that? And every time you walked away, it felt like you were pulling something from him, something he couldn't get back. 

Geo wasn’t used to feeling like this—unsure, obsessed, craving something that was just out of reach. He never thought he’d be the type of person to feel like this, but here he was, and it made him desperate. 

He couldn't keep pretending he didn't want you, even though he knew better. He couldn’t deny how much he wanted to be the one to kiss you, to taste the sweetness you wore on your lips. But you’d never give him that satisfaction. 

And that, more than anything, pulled him in even deeper.

Even during one of his archery competitions, it was all background noise. His eyes, always sharp and calculating, found you almost immediately—despite the sea of people around, despite the chaos of the competition unfolding before him. There you were, standing off to the side, caught up in the frenzy, but somehow, your presence always felt like it anchored him. 

Geo’s focus sharpened, his usual stone-cold expression becoming intense, almost feral, the moment he locked eyes with you. His heart skipped in a way he couldn't explain, and for the briefest second, the noise of the crowd, the frantic cheers, the tension in the air—all of it seemed to fade into nothing. 

There was something in the way you looked at him, that same fire in your eyes. It sent a shock of electricity through his veins, tightening his chest. It wasn’t just admiration. No, it was something deeper. Something possessive. Geo didn't want to admit it, but the way you looked at him, unwavering, made his ego swell in a way he had never known. 

The satisfaction of knowing you were watching him, that you were his to look at, made his body hum with need.

It was this feeling that had him doing something uncharacteristic for him: walking over to you before the competition even started, pushing through the crowd as if he had a claim on you. His movements were deliberate, as though the world had momentarily paused just for him to take that step toward you.

And as the competition wore on, Geo found his gaze kept darting to where you stood at the edge, just beyond their reach. When he wasn’t actively participating, his attention would always wander back to you. 

It was like an anchor, something he couldn’t shake off. 

Geo had never been one to linger—at least, not without reason. He was efficient, calculated, and never one to waste time where it wasn’t necessary. And yet, here he was, standing just a little behind his group, hovering just enough to be near them but not quite *with* them.  

And then you appeared.  

“What are you doing here, all by your lonesome?”  

Your voice was light, teasing, and when he turned his gaze downward, there you were, standing just slightly apart from the others—just like him.  

Geo had always found idle conversation tedious, a waste of time. But with you? It never felt like that. Even when you were talking his ear off, rambling about things he barely understood or had no real interest in, he listened. 

Normally, he would’ve found it grating. Normally, he would have shut it down with a deadpan stare and a clipped response.  

But with you…  

His ever-present frown softened, the tension in his shoulders easing in a way he didn’t quite notice. He wasn’t even irritated that you were talking. If anything, he found himself waiting for the next thing you’d say, some stupid remark or observation that would somehow make him want to keep this—whatever this was—going.  

“They’re loud,” he muttered, nodding toward his friends.   

You scoffed, rolling your eyes with exaggerated flair. “And you’ve decided to, what? Hide in the shadows, all broody and mysterious? Go, girl, give us nothing.”  

A breath of a laugh—not quite full, not quite deliberate—escaped his lips before he could stop it. It wasn’t loud, wasn’t obvious, but it was there.  

When his gaze flicked back to yours, you were already smiling, your eyes alight with something effortless. Effervescent.

Geo’s stomach twisted, but not unpleasantly. It was unfamiliar, unsettling in its quiet intensity. He didn’t yearn for people—he never had. He never needed anyone. But then why did his pulse kick up when you tilted your head at him like that? Why did his body seem to lean ever so slightly toward you, like some invisible force was tugging him closer?  

He swallowed, barely aware of the way his fingers twitched at his sides.  

It was ridiculous. 

You were ridiculous.  

Geo wasn’t one for impulse—he was sharp, calculated, always in control. But with you? That control slipped too easily, unraveling before he even realized what was happening.  

Your teasing words hung in the air between you, your smile playful, taunting. “You know I can see you always looking at me, right?”  

His jaw tightened, his mind already preparing a sarcastic reply—something to keep the moment light, to keep his defenses up. But before he could think twice, his body moved on instinct.  

“Yeah.”

The single word left his lips smoother than he expected, like it belonged there. But then he took it a step further, voice dropping just slightly—just enough to make your breath hitch.  

“I love it.”

Your expression shifted instantly, amusement flickering into something softer, something unsure. Your lips parted, a small, stunned noise escaping before you stumbled over your words. “What—huh?”  

Geo smirked, watching the blush creep up your neck, your wide eyes blinking up at him in disbelief. And damn it, the sight sent a rush of satisfaction straight through him, settling deep in his chest.  

Before you could think of backing away, before he could second-guess himself, he reached out. His fingers wrapped around your wrist—gentle, firm—as he tugged you toward him in one smooth pull.  

The space between you disappeared in an instant, your breath mixing with his as you steadied yourself against his chest. His other hand ghosted along your waist, his touch featherlight but possessive, like he wasn’t willing to let go just yet.  

“Wha—?” The protest barely left your lips before he leaned in, lowering his head, his breath hot against your skin as his lips brushed against your forehead—slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the moment.  

You froze.  

He felt it—the way your breath caught, the way your fingers curled ever so slightly against his shirt like you were trying to ground yourself.  

Geo smirked against your skin before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze again. His aquamarine eyes burned into yours, filled with something unreadable, something dangerous.  

“You were saying?” His voice was smooth, teasing, but there was no mistaking the edge beneath it—the quiet claim, the unspoken you’re mine.

And just like that, he let his fingers slip away, leaving you standing there, flushed and breathless.  

His smirk deepened.  

Yeah.  

He definitely loved it.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hiiiiii, stumbled across your blog when trying to find COD fics to gush over and yours are SO FUCKIN GOOD. I love how you write the TF 141 guys!!

My personal fave is Simon and I thought the SFW ABC’s HC were so cute! I’m wondering if you’d be interested in writing a NSFW ABS’s for him as well!

Don’t rush it or feel pressured to do it tho. Thank you pookie ❤️

Oh my goodness! I remember the SFW Alphabet I did for Simon. That was forever ago, back when I first broke 1k followers. Compare that to now with over 6k and if feels like ancient history.

I am more than happy to do a NSFW Alphabet for Simon!

Word Count: 1.1k

NSFW Alphabet Template

A = Aftercare

Aftercare all depends on the relationship. If it’s a quick fuck or a casual thing, Ghost isn’t really all that interested in providing aftercare. He might allow a brief cuddle, or some stiff conversation, but he’s more interested in getting his dick wet. But if Ghost is in a steady, serious relationship, then aftercare is important to him. Not that he knows what he’s doing. Aftercare is not his jam, but if he cares about you, he will make sure you have it.

B = Body part

Ghost loves his hands. He loves that he can kill with them yet bring pleasure as well.

C = Cum

Ghost has a terrible breeding kink. Watching his cum ooze out of his partner makes him fucking feral. Not only does the sight of it turn him on, but he’ll verbalize how good his cum looks dripping out of you.

D = Dirty secret

During his final year of secondary school, Simon got into some serious trouble, and nearly ended up expelled. It wasn’t his fault though, and he felt scorned. So, to retaliate, he fucked the principal’s daughter (a classmate of Simon’s) on the man’s desk. Took her virginity while the principal was in a meeting and the two of them should have been in class.

E = Experience

Ghost is experienced with sex but not experienced with love. He can fuck you all goddamn day and turn your limbs to jelly. But the intimacy part is difficult for him.

F = Favorite position

Face down, ass up. Not him, of course, but his partner. For Ghost, it’s dominating and rough and fulfills every primal urge he has.

G = Goofy

More serious than goofy in the moment. Doesn’t mean that Ghost lacks a sense of humor. The guy can crack a joke, but if he is a bit silly in bed, the humor is dry and might go over your head. Ghost prefers to be completely invested in the moment, and his level of silliness isn’t something he’s thinking about. Now, if something happens during the act that’s actually funny, he will laugh and won’t shame himself or you for it.

H = Hair

Doesn’t care about hair but hygiene. Body hair doesn’t scare him nor does a decent bush. Didn’t shave your legs/armpit/bikini line/face/etc.? Ghost could give a shit. If you’re willing and consenting, and he’s willing and consenting, body hair doesn’t even factor into it.

I = Intimacy

Ghost is terrible at intimacy. Sorry y’all, but he is. Doesn’t matter if it’s a quick fuck or a committed relationship. This man will literally approach you and be like “you want to fuck?” and expect a very clear yes or no answer to the question. But hey, at least he’s clear when it comes to communication.

J = Jack off

Ghost is a rigorous masturbator. The every day kind of masturbator. While he prefers his privacy, nothing is sexier to him than when you’ve been a bad boy/girl/one and Ghost decides what you need is a bit of punishment. He’ll restrain you and make you watch as he jerks off, giving himself pleasure while giving you nothing. Not until you’re a begging, whimpering mess.

K = Kink

Breeding, primal, semi-public, CNC, breath play, BDSM

L = Location

Cramped, enclosed spaces. In the car, against a wall, on the sofa, in the shower. Basically, anywhere where Ghost can feel big. He enjoys having a sense of largeness about him, that he’s trapping you under him. That you cannot escape him when he’s fucking you.

M = Motivation

This man is constantly down to fuck. Sure, talking dirty is fun, but what he really wants is clear communication first. Tell him you want to fuck him, and tell him plainly, and then the two of you can do whatever. A clear, “fuck me, Simon” sets him OFF.

N = No

Simon leans heavy on consent. His hard “no” is no clear “yes.” If you cannot communicate that you clearly want him, he’s immediately turned off. That also includes how he sets up a CNC with you.

O = Oral

Gives and receives equally. He doesn’t necessarily prefer one over the other. But when he does receive, he is vocal. Ghost wants you to know that he appreciates you going down on him, but also how much he enjoys it. When it comes to giving, Ghost is sloppy…but in a good way.

P = Pace

Ghost mixes it up depending on position. If he’s looking to draw it out, he’s going to go slow just because he wants to watch you squirm and wiggle. But otherwise, he’s all rough edges, wants to hold you down and fuck you until you’re both senseless and dazed. Even in his roughness, he won’t hurt you, but he might leave some marks behind.

Q = Quickie

Loves a good quickie. Just say the word and Ghost will bend you over or put you on top of the nearest surface and go for it.

R = Risk

As long as Ghost has your enthusiastic consent, he’s down for anything. If there is anything new you want to try, he’s open to do it, but is also good about setting boundaries especially if this new thing might possibly harm you or himself. A risk taker, but understands that the risks might outweigh the benefits.

S = Stamina

This man has the stamina of a fucking horse. He can go for miles if he paces himself. Ghost isn’t the kind of guy to tap out after one round. Sure, he might need a few minutes to breathe, but he’ll be ready to go against shortly after.

T = Toys

While he doesn’t personally own a plethora of toys, Ghost isn’t afraid of using them. His favorite ones are the kinds that vibrate…especially if he can use them on you and have complete authority over the controls. Expect to be edged and have your orgasm denied constantly.

U = Unfair

Ghost isn’t a tease unless he thinks you’ve earned it as a punishment.

V = Volume

Ghost is vocal but he’s not loud about it. If he’s going to drop praises, he’s going to say it like he’s passing on a secret. You don’t find this man yelling his pleasure to the ceiling. He’s all soft grunts and groans. But you? You can be as vocal and loud as you need to be.

W = Wild card

Ghost is a visual creature. He enjoys simply watching you. Watching you get dressed and undressed. Watching you shower. Watching you get ready for bed or ready for the day. He loves looking at you wearing something sexy or nothing at all. He stares.

X = X-ray

Under those clothes, Ghost has a decent bush. Keeps it lightly trimmed but a bit wild. Absolutely a good mix of length and girth. Just above average size. He fits…snuggly.

Y = Yearning

When it comes to a committed relationship, Ghost yearns for you all the time. He is always ready, and always eager if you are. He thinks about you constantly.

Z = Zzz

If it’s just casual sex, Ghost is falling asleep immediately. The man is a rock. Lights out. But if this is a committed relationship, Ghost will stay awake long enough to get you the aftercare you deserve before promptly passing the fuck out. Sorry, but he snores.

main masterlist

[cherriegyuu]

whispers of desire | c.sc | part one

pairing: incubus seungcheol x f!reader  genre: smut, angst, fluff - minors do not interact word count: 7.3k summary: when you cut a deal with the demon king, the man who shows up to help is nothing like you imagined warnings: mentions of god, demons and religion, infertility, infidelity, knives, breeding kink, masturbation, creampie, dirty talking ish, begging, multiple orgarms, unprotected sex, piv, forced orgasm. jeonghan (idk, he deserves a warning too)

a/n: and finally after i don't even know how many months, i finished part one. i really want to thank @ssinboo who not only helped me brainstorm this, but who motivated me into picking it up again. @joonsytip and @nothoughtsjustfic who read it over and promised me that it was good. thank you so much to all three of you, this one would have never left my wips if not for you. i truly hope you enjoy this and if you do please leave comment, i would love to know you thoughts about it! it's 17 minutes past midnight, but i'm going to count this as a valentine's day special

You looked once again at the waiting room—the light gray walls, the black furniture, the small splashes of color here and there. It was mostly modern and imponent but dark. You felt out of place in your bright yellow sweater and almost white pants. You looked like an egg, but when you realized what you had done, it was too late. You were already in the Uber, getting the most incredulous look from the driver. 

The watch on your wrist seemed to mock you. You arrived too early for your appointment, too nervous to stay any longer in your apartment, too queasy to go to the nearby cafe and waste some time. 

You had been sitting on that extremely comfortable couch for 10 minutes, the pretty receptionist giving you suspicious looks followed by insincere smiles. You were so close to just getting up and walking out the door.

It had been a stupid idea. A desperate attempt at one last resort to reaching your dream. The one thing you wanted in life since you were sixteen. But it was, indeed, stupid. How was it possible that a man without a last name, who obviously wasn’t a doctor, could help you get pregnant? Even if he happened to have a magic dick, which you doubted, there was still no chance of you getting pregnant. The problem wasn’t on the sperm donor, it was in you. 

For years, you tried getting pregnant. During the first year you and your husband, now ex-husband, tried in the most natural way: fucked every chance you got, at the most random places, tracking your cycles every month. You knew that for some people getting pregnant took a little more time, so at first, you didn’t think much of it. You managed to convince yourself that the reason why you weren’t getting pregnant was because you had just gotten off birth control and sometimes — most times — the hormones messed up a little too much with the body.

After a year, something felt strange, and little red signs started to go off in your head. It wasn’t natural to take that long, at least according to everyone you knew, so you set a meeting with the doctor and did all the tests in the book. When the results came back and showed that you were infertile it was like the world came crashing down.

In life, many of your plans failed and many of your dreams were taken from you, however being a mother was one that you always carried with you. It was a dream that was yours, truly yours and you didn’t need anyone to make it happen for you. Of course, you couldn’t make a baby on your own, but in the end, it was always your choice. If you didn’t have a husband, you could go to a sperm bank and just choose someone.

Along with your dream, your marriage was also one that didn’t last long. After the initial shock of not being able to have a baby slowly started to pass and the fog that clouded your mind started to lift, you started to think of other ways you could become a mother.  Adoption seemed like a natural path. Your husband, however, didn’t agree with the idea, which led to many fights and eventually a divorce.

The idea of adoption didn't leave you, so you sought out ways to adopt on your own. While the adoption process in itself was excruciatingly difficult as a married person, by yourself was nearly impossible. You went to many people and asked for advice on how to proceed, how to present yourself, what to say and do in front of the social workers. All of them said the same thing “the chances of you getting approved for adoption are very low”.

Every day that went by, with each breath you took, you felt as if the dream of being a mother escaped you, like sand slipping through your fingers.

One day, like many others, you were searching for ways to adopt as a single parent when you came across a forum post talking about an unnamed man who could get anyone to do anything, even things that seemed impossible. You had snorted at the post and almost closed the tap when the word pregnancy seemed to flash in front of your eyes, like a moth drawn to a flame. After you saw it, there was no way you could have closed the tab and moved on to something different. 

You read post after post, comment, after comment, about all of these women who had gotten pregnant after losing all hope. All of them mentioned the same name, Jeonghan. There was no last name. On the very last post was a phone number.

There wasn't enough time to question yourself or your actions, the next thing you knew you had the phone pressed to your ear, setting up a meeting for later that day.

The fact that you were able to set an appointment on such short notice should have made alarms ring in your head. But the alarms only went off while you sat in the waiting room. 

You suddenly stood up and walked to the pretty secretary who was hiding behind the computer.

“Sorry, hi” you waited until she looked at you, and the same polite smile greeted you “Something came up, I need to leave… I'm really sorry”

As the words left your lips the door on the other side of the waiting room opened. A man with a kind smile and hair long enough to cover his forehead greeted you. Despite his smile being inviting, his eyes told an entirely different story. 

“Please, come in”

The little alarms inside your mind suddenly turned silent and the need to flee turned into the desire to follow him inside that office. 

You turned to look at the receptionist, who in return offered you an encouraging nod and smile.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, I had some files that needed attention”

The man, who you could assume was Jeonghan, pulled a chair for you to sit on. He only let go of the chair once you were seated.

“It's okay”

His office was very similar in style to the waiting room, except for the leather chair and the industrial-looking desk. There was no computer, no bookshelf, no degree attached to the wall, just some creepy paintings that looked maybe a little too dark and tenebrous to an office. His desk was also empty of any files, phones, and pens. It was hard to believe that he was going over some files when there was nothing to look at.

“How can I help you today?”

For a second his eyes turned dark, entirely black, before going back to the dark brown color. Eyes of a snake, the words flashed in front of you. Your hold on the straps of your purse tightened until your knuckles turned to white.

It was a mistake going there.

It took an enormous amount of strength to push your body into a standing position.

“I'm sorry, I can't stay” you managed to force the words out, doing your best to smile and sound apologetic “Something came up”

Jeonghan leaned forward, his chin resting on his hand.

“Now, we know that's a lie” there was humor in his voice “You came here for a baby, so do us both a favor and sit down”

It was like your will to leave the room was suppressed by a hand pushing you down back on the chair. That same hand seemed to be holding you in place.

“See? That wasn't so hard”

The back of your neck started to grow cold, your hands sweaty. Your heartbeat with the force of a horse. His eyes turned into snake eyes once again. You felt your entire body grow cold. This time he flashed his eyes for a little more than a second.

“If you promise to be good, I'll stop holding you down” he raised his eyebrows at you, his tone almost bored now “Okay?”

It was a strange sight, a man who was around your age — or at least you thought so –, with soft features to have such eyes. Strange didn't even start to describe it, terrifying was a more precise word, and yet, you weren't scared. 

Perhaps you were at first, after all your initial reaction had been to escape, but while sitting there looking at him you were just curious.

“If you can stop with the eyes,” you used your index and middle finger to point at your own eyes “sure, we'll talk”

Jeonghan pouted but complied. In a millisecond the snake eyes were gone at the same time the pressure on your shoulders subsided. 

“You don't know how to have fun, do you?”

You didn’t bother to answer, you knew that no matter what you said those words wouldn’t make any difference to him and you were sure that your definition of fun was entirely different from his.

“So, a child. That's what you want, your deepest desire?” Jeonghan raised a hand to stop you from talking as if he changed his mind “Of course it is, you don’t have to say it”

It was the way he said it that made a shiver run through your spine. You shouldn’t have gone there. You should have asked someone else to go with you, though who could have been that person was unknown to you.

“Did you bait me into coming here?”

“Well, yeah” he laughed “I'm sure you saved that forum but if you go back there won't be much to see. Let's be realistic here and say that what you want, can be done”

You rolled your eyes and sighed. It wasn't a reaction to what he had said, it was to what you had believed. 

“You were so pathetically desperate that it was so easy getting to you” Jeonghan taunted you “Just one word, one post on a random website was enough to get you here and so fast too! Was it a couple of hours ago?”

Biting your bottom lip was the only possible way to keep your mouth shut, to keep the very much not polite fuck you in the silence of your mind. You tried to get up again, not really willing to sit there and be mocked, but as soon as you made the slightest movement you felt that hand again on your shoulder holding you down, this time much more forceful than the previous one.

“You said that we were going to talk, so, let’s talk”

“I want to go,” you said between your teeth “now”

Jeonghan tilted his head to the side, his snake eyes making an appearance again.

“Silly girl, you should have listed to your grandma when she warned you about what your wishes could bring” a sickening smile made its way to his face, paired with his eyes made your stomach drop all the way down to your toes “Now you can only leave when I saw so”

A sudden memory crossed your mind, one from your childhood. Of you sitting in your grandma’s lap when you couldn’t be older than seven. She said don’t wish for impossible things, you never know who or what could be listening. Your grandma was catholic, always with her rosary in her hand, or wrapper around her wrist or on her neck.

It became painfully obvious who Jeonghan was. From the snake eyes, the smile, how graceful he looked.

“Shit” the curse was almost silent.

He smiled once again, his eyes back to normal. It was all the confirmation you needed from him.

Nights had become a lonely part of the day, not that they were eventful before the divorce but at least you weren't always by yourself. 

Somehow you had allowed yourself to become one of those people who are only friends with their husband's friends so when the divorce happened it was obvious that most Of them — in this case, all of them — stayed with your ex-husband. You also hadn't really helped the situation when you closed yourself off. It had become too much, finding out that you were infertile, a possible affair from your husband, and the inevitable divorce. It was only natural for you to isolate yourself.

It seemed though that not many people seemed to understand it. Your so-called friends, who you cried with when the results came back, seemed to think that crying over was ridiculous, that one week was more than enough to move on from the entire thing, it's not like you don't have a life outside of this dream. 

And while all of that was true, it was much easier saying it than doing it. You felt as if you were spiraling down with nothing to hold onto, without anyone by your side. 

So, nights by yourself, with a bottle of wine and some takeout had become your new normal.

You were in the kitchen when you heard a faint knock on the door. Since visitors were few and you weren't expecting anyone, you assumed that it was on your neighbor. Someone probably knocking with a little more strength than necessary. It wasn't unusual. Your neighbor had loud and often drunk friends you had gotten used to their shenanigans during the three years you lived there.

All you did was keep doing the dishes, swaying your body from side to side with the music you had been playing in the background as you tried your best to forget that entire week and how you had willingly walked into a pile of shit but had no idea of how to get out of it.

The sound of the door opening made you close the faucet. A look at the clock above the door told you that there was no way for your neighbors to be back yet, not when you had heard them leave less than an hour before. You didn’t know why you thought that it could have been them. There was no doubt that the opened door was in your apartment.

You took a knife from the holder, wrapping your hand tightly around the handle. Your hand was still wet from doing the dishes so you held onto the knife as strongly as you could, until your knuckles turned white.

The one good thing about old apartments is that there were certain places that cracked and you knew exactly where those were, so you also knew how to avoid them. Whoever was in your apartment didn’t.

A small part of your brain hoped that it was your ex-husband. If it was, the worst thing that would happen was for you to look like an idiot in front of him, for the millionth time since you met him. Looking stupid was much much better than having to deal with an intruder or a murderer.

You took one last breath before pushing your bedroom door fully open.

“Don’t you dare throw that knife at me”

A man in a purple suit stood in the center of your room. His hair was bright red, pushed back. He looked like he had come out of one of those comic books your brother read as a child. He had your wedding album in his hand. He went through the pages, a pout in his lips and he scanned all the pictures, assessing what he was seeing.

“It’s not polite to hold a knife at your guest,” he said matter of factly.

“Who the fuck are you?” your grip on the handle tightened as if such a thing was even possible to begin with.

He turned the photo album to you, showing you a picture of yourself alone, smiling after throwing the bouquet at your wedding. It was a spontaneous picture, a true smile. That woman in the picture was an entirely different person. Looking at her it was hard to believe that you had been her at some point in time.

“You looked happier here” he pointed out, turning the album back to himself, still pouting “I don’t think she’d hold a knife at a guest”

“Who are you?” you demanded again, your voice louder, desperate.

The man rolled his eyes at you, finally closing the book and throwing it on your bed.

“Think about it, we both know you’re smart” he lightly raised his eyebrows at you “A little over a week ago you had a weird… dream? That’s what you made yourself think, wasn’t it?”

For a moment it was hard to pull air inside your lungs.

You thought that you had gone crazy. You clearly remembered getting out of the apartment, of going downtown in an Uber, of the waiting room, of talking to Jeonghan. But you didn’t remember walking out of the building or how you got home. You just… somehow found yourself back in your bed, in your pajamas in the middle of the night. The clock marked 3:33 AM.

“That was Jeonghan’s fault so I won’t hold it over your head too much. He likes to play tricks like that”

He sat on your bed, arms stretched back, thighs parted. A cocky smile on his lips and you could swear that your legs melted a little when you noticed that he had nothing under the suit jacket.

“Who are you?” you asked again, this time your voice wasn’t as loud or as demanding.

The man raised his eyebrows again and you could swear that it did something to you, tickling a place you didn’t know it needed to be tickled. He moved his chin lightly as if pointing to the knife. You sighed and put the knife down, holding it closer to your body. But that wasn't enough for the man, he pointed at the dresser. You rolled your eyes but did as asked. You didn't dare to get closer to him though. You simply crossed your arms over your chest and leaned against it. 

"I'm Seungcheol," the man said, only when he was sure that there was no chance of you stabbing him "Choi Seungcheol"

"I didn't know demons had last names"

His pout was still in place, as he seemed to be thinking of what to say next.

"We're civil enough, though me coming in without your permission might not be the best proof of character" he was quick to add when you opened your mouth to object. 

It didn't matter how much you tried, nothing came to mind when you thought about your conversation with Jeonghan. All of it was a big blank. You remembered getting there, him scaring you, the realization of who he was but nothing after that.

“The word you’re looking for is demon king,” he said. 

His eyes seemed to assess you, each and every movement you made. Seungcheol’s eyes never left you, not even for a second. When you moved to the chair on the opposite side of the room he followed you, adjusting his own body he would be seated directly in front of you. 

If your memory served you right, which at that point you had no idea, Jeonghan seemed to know what you were thinking. You were inclined to think that he couldn’t actually read your thoughts because according to Seungcheol, again if you could take his words for anything, demons too were civil and would just be way too invasive, but he was awfully good at knowing exactly what you were thinking. But then again, Jeonghan seemed to know way too much in the first meeting. Were the files he was looking at something like your life’s history? Where you were born, about your parents, your first boyfriend, your college crush, your husband, and everything that happened after?

You did your best not to focus too much on the demon king thing. If you did, your mind would take you somewhere else entirely and you weren’t sure if you could go there at that moment. Actually, you were sure you shouldn’t, especially because if you did the man in front of you, or a demon, would probably laugh. And being laughed at wasn’t something you were ready for at the moment.

“Okay,” you said slowly, exhaling all the air in your lungs all at once “Jeonghan is the demon king”

Seungcheol nodded, a small smile on his lips as he was proud of a child who had just given a correct answer. 

“That makes you…?”

“An incubus”

You closed your eyes for a second, folding your legs in front of you. Incubus… the demon who would sleep with women in their sleep and get them pregnant, and these women birthed demon-like children. 

Fantastic.

“So, magic dick,” you said, half not believing what you were saying, on how easily it seemed for you to understand it all “Great” 

That seemed to pull out an honest laugh out of Seungcheol, to the point a dimple made its way into his cheek. You couldn't help but smile along with him. 

“Something along those lines, yes”

He stood up, his eyes no longer filled with laughter and amusement. They had turned darker, hungry even. At that very second you felt like a prey under his eyes. You bit your bottom lip and he got closer to you, his eyes focused on your lips as he moved deliberately slowly to get to you. It seemed that your room was much, much, bigger than it actually was, almost like there was an entire runaway between him and you. 

You stood up as well, though that was probably a bad idea, considering how wobbly your legs felt. 

Seungcheol smiled, not in the cute and almost condescending way of before, but in a way that was much darker and held so many promises at the same time. He took your hand, pulled you towards the center of the room, walking backward.

“So, this is it? No flirting, no nice words, no dinner. Just straight-up sex” 

You hoped that your tone was light, teasing. Though there was nothing light about the way you were feeling. The few inches of your skin that were under his touch felt like were on fire. 

It had been a long time since you were with anyone, your husband was the last one a year and a half before. That wasn't to say that you hadn't found any sort of pleasure, but it had always been by yourself.

You couldn't help but wonder if part of the heat on your skin came from the lack of contact or if it was because of him. Something told you that it was a mix of both. 

“Well, you had dinner before I even got here and I thought you holding a knife was flirting”

Seungcheol circled you. The hand that held Yours suddenly pressed on your stomach, holding you against his firm chest. He pressed his nose to the crook of your neck. Giving him more access to your skin felt almost natural.

You felt his lips on the back of your neck. It started as a chaste kiss, followed by the burn of his teeth sinking into your skin and then soothed by his tongue flat over the space he had just bitten. 

“Are you a vampire?” you hoped your voice sounded steady but even to your ears it was breathy, close to a moan. The thing… the man… had barely touched you and you were ready to just melt under him. 

Seungcheol’s chest vibrated against your back and he leaned into your neck once again, now biting the other side. 

“Never met one of those, but if you want, I can become one for the night”

It suddenly crossed your mind “would he do anything I ask?” but you didn’t have it in you to ask. More than that, you didn’t know what to ask. You wanted too much but at the same time, you weren't sure where to begin. 

Slowly, Seungcheol ran his hand down your body. You felt your core tighten at the proximity, wetness slowly damping your panties. You were in a haze, one you didn’t want to come out of. 

“Tell me what you want. Whatever you want, however, you want it. It’s all yours”

It was like he had somehow heard your thoughts. Was that also part of his abilities? Magic dick and mind reading? Seemed like good powers to have. 

He nuzzled your neck again, this time placing kisses all over your skin as he slid down the strap of your shirt and continued his discovery of your skin. But your shoulder was not the place you wanted to feel him the most, it was not the spot that was craving for attention. 

Seungcheol ran his nose over your shoulder, the curve of your neck, up to your ear. 

“Ah, not so sweet and innocent after all” the hot breath over your skin made your entire body flame up. 

Finally, he lowered his hand, going under the elastic band of your shorts. He roughly rubbed his palm over your covered clit as his other hand went up to your breast, tugging at the hard nipple.

“You’re this wet and we barely even started?” he nibbled on your ear “You were all brave with that knife but all you can think about now is my magic dick filling you over and over and over again. Right, sweetheart?”

He pushed your panties to the side, his finger finally rubbing over your sensitive clit. A whimper left your lips as he was exactly where you needed, but it was far from enough. 

“Oh, I’m going to have so much fun with you”

He circulated your slit with two fingers. Once, twice, three times. 

“Please” you whispered. 

You felt his smile at the same time he pushed his fingers into you, your arousal more than enough to suck him in. You sucked in a moan as he picked up speed with his fingers, then another when his palm pressed over your clit adding another layer of pleasure. 

“Make that pretty noise for me again, sweetheart,” he asked, his voice low, though commanding “Let me hear you”

You tried your best to stay quiet, to not make any sound, and let the only sound in the room be the almost obnoxious noise of his fingers slipping in and out of you. But when Seungcheol found that one spot, that tiny piece of skin that made your mind almost go blank it was impossible to be silent. 

The sound coming out of you was pathetic, each new moan getting louder as you felt your abdomen cramp. The louder you got, the faster he moved his fingers. He didn’t stop pumping his fingers, didn’t stop pressing his palm on your clit, until the tide finally broke loose. 

You tried to shut your legs, suddenly the stimulation was too much at once, but Seungcheol was willing to let that happen. He kicked your feet apart, using his own knees to keep yours proudly open. 

Your orgasm hit you harder than ever before, your body convulsing in his grip, shaking as each new wave of pleasure hit you, somehow stronger than before. Seungcheol held you together until your body calmed down. A moan that could have been easily mistaken for a sob, came out of your lips, a light tremor in your legs, though you were certain that it was no longer visible. 

Seungcheol slowly guided your body towards the bed, both of his hands on your hips, steadying you. He sat you down on the bed and took a couple of steps back. He didn’t say anything as he opened the button on his suit and pulled it off his shoulder, tossing it aside on the chair to his left. 

He was teasing you, that much was obvious. Under normal circumstances you’d have looked away but as he unbuttoned his pants you couldn’t force yourself to look away. Your mind was in a trance by him, he had your undivided attention and he loved it. 

His movements were deliberately slow, a cocky grin making its way to his face as he noticed your eyes following the movements of his hands. 

The only piece of clothing covering Seungcheol was his underwear, though it did very little to disguise his erection. Your mouth watered at the sight, a nagging feeling on the back of your mind telling you to get down on your knees in front of him and take all of him into your mouth - or at least as much as it could fit anyway. 

Seungcheol laughed as he finally pushed the last piece of cotton off. You bit your lip to stop yourself from moaning at the sight of him on full display. Every inch of his devilish body, in full glory, was mesmerizing. You felt you pussy clench around nothing as Seungcheol started to pump his dick. 

“We’ll have enough time to play later tonight,” he moved closer to you, standing in between your legs, his cock was close to you face that you simply inch forward and have him like you wanted, he had different ideas though “but right now I want to know what it feels like to be buried deep inside that sweet, sweet, pussy”

You reached down to the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. It was only when you reached for the elastic band of your shorts that you felt the embarrassment creeping up every inch of your body. 

“Come on, sweetheart, don’t hide yourself from me”

He lightly pushed you onto the bed, his knee pressing against your center and he scooped you up on the bed. He grabbed you by the hips and flipped you so that your face was pressed into the mattress. 

He pushed your shorts down, though not boring to take them off all the way down. Seungcheol straddled your legs and he teased your pussy with the tip of his cock. Running it over the slick entrance but never fully pushing it inside. 

You tried to change the position in a way to force him to just sink in but he was having none of that. He gripped your head by your hair, pulling it back until your ass up in the air, your back arched in a way that should be painful but somehow all it did was heighten your pleasure. 

“Beg” he whispered against your ear, his voice deliciously low.

“What?” you breathed out as he continued to tease you, your body moving along with his, a new whimper escaping every time he almost pushed inside. 

“I’m not going to make it that easy for you” he laughed “You wanna be fucked? I’ll fuck in ways you can’t even imagine. But you’re going to have to beg”

In any other situation, in any other moment of your life, you’d have felt embarrassed by his demand, to some extent would even have felt angry towards it. But right in that second, with the promise of what was to come, saying a few words sounded like a fair price to pray. 

“Please, please, Seungcheol” you begged, voice dripping with need and honey as you moved your hips wanting nothing more than to just be filled “just fuck me, fill me up. All of me is yours…” for the night.

He didn’t let you finish, pushing his cock into your throbbing pussy. There was no time to adjust. Seungcheol drove his dick into you again and again, each thrust harder than the previous one. He pulled your arms back, holding them against his chest with his own. 

Each sound that left your mouth was increasingly louder but you didn’t care in the slightest. Seungcheol’s grunts behind you, the slapping of his skin against yours every time he drove into you was intoxicating.

“Oh my god” you chanted over and over again

“No, no, not god” he laughed, biting the soft skin of your shoulder “He can't help you now”

He snaked a hand around your waist directly to your clit, massaging it in slow circles, in high contrast to his dick. The pressure was just perfect, his pace never faulting. 

An orgasm hit you yet again, without notice, this time not as hard as the first one, but still enough to have you shaking to the core. Seungcheol held you even tighter, his pace relentless as he searched for his own high. 

You felt his warm cum splurged into you, too much of it. 

Your body felt limp on the bed, all energy drained out of you, not a single drop left. You turned, looking at the ceiling, trying to steady your breathing, waiting for the tremors to pass when you felt Seungcheol his hand over your thigh. 

He pushed your shorts and panties all the way down, tossing them on the floor with a mute sound. He spread your legs and smiled proudly, seemingly happy with his work. It only lasted a second though, as a frown took over his features. 

“You’re wasting it, sweetheart” he tsked “We can’t have that, now can we?”

You felt his hand on your sensitive cunt and tried to flinch away but he didn't bulge. His finger grazed over your clit before he pushed them into you. You held his wrist, trying to push his hand away. 

“No, it’s too much” you shook your head, pleading “Please, I can’t, please”

He laughed at your words, pinning the hand that held his wrist over your head. Seungcheol kissed your breast, taking the nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, and blowing on it a second later, all while he pumped his fingers in your pussy, pushing back inside all the cum that had dripped out. 

“You can” you bit your lower lip and tugged at it “and, most importantly, we both know you want it”

You could only shake your head as the pleasure became too much, almost unbearable. Almost. You felt yet another orgasm build up again, like your entire body was throbbing, closing itself tightly before it finally broke free.

Seungcheol swallowed your scream, kissing your lips, neck, and shoulders as your body spasmed. Your quiet whimpers were the only sound in the room. He only pulled his fingers out of you when you calmed down completely.

“That’s it” he kissed your cheek, letting go of your hands and using them to hold his head so he could look down at you “See, I told you you could it”

Out of the possible outcomes of the previous night waking up to a mop of red hair on the other side of the bed wasn’t one of them. You were certain that when you woke up you’d realize that the night had been a dream — the most real one you had ever had in your life but that was beside the point. 

Just for good measure, you pressed your index finger to the shoulder of the man. Warm and soft skin was under your finger.

Okay, not a dream then.

You turned on your back, facing the ceiling of your bedroom. The night played vividly in your mind. The way Seungcheol pressed the first kiss to the back of your neck and how that alone was enough to make you go crazy under his touch. Not only that, how you were so willing to completely let yourself go to him, how every time he whispered in your ear, chills ran down your entire body and you could feel him everywhere.

You couldn’t help but wonder if all of your emotions had been heightened because he was…. him. A demon. Or if you were just so touch-starved that the smallest caress was enough to drive you over the edge.

Most of all, you couldn’t look past all how you had been so incredibly reckless. A random man who looked like he had gotten out of some comic book suddenly showed up in your room — mind you without using the door — and you somehow, for whatever reason, thought that it was a good idea to have sex with him. And then, as if all of that wasn’t enough, you still fell asleep by his side like it was the most normal thing in the world like he was someone you could trust entirely.

You covered your eyes with your arm, a groan leaving your lips.

There was still the whole “deal with the demon king” part that you were yet to think about.

It seemed unfair that you couldn’t remember what you agreed on. You should have the chance to prepare for whatever was to come, didn’t you? The demon king, or Jeonghan, you weren’t sure how you should address him, was well… unfair.

“Are you usually this loud so early in the morning?”

Your entire body jumped on the bed and a scream died in your throat. For a couple of minutes, you had been so lost in your mind that you forgot that Seungcheol was by your side at all.

His voice in the early morning, just after waking up, was almost made out of honey, velvety, tingling in your ears. By your side, Seungcheol had turned to you, his eyes barely open, his full lips pulled almost in a pout, a few strands of hair covering his face. You had to grip the sheets closer to your body just so you could suppress the desire to move them aside.

Your eyes moved slightly down, to his half-exposed chest. Another flash of the night before crossed your mind, of him over you, the way the chain around his neck hung just over your nose, how you used it to pull him to you again.

“You look cute when you blush,” he said with a lazy smile on his lips. You felt your cheeks warm but didn’t think it was enough to cause any visible change. 

Seungcheol folded his arm, holding his head up. The sleepy smile he gave you was the most delicious thing you had ever seen, it was enough to take your breath away all over again. You were happy that you were still in bed, otherwise there was a chance that your legs might have given in under you.

“I didn’t think you’d stay” was all you said as you swung your feet out of the bed, looking for the pajamas that were lost somewhere on the floor.

It was on the other side of the room, how it had ended up there was beyond you. You gripped the sheet closer around your body but you were only able to move one step away from the bed before you felt it being pulled back.

“You know, I already saw everything there’s under those sheets” you didn’t turn to him but you could hear the smile in his voice “In fact, I did a lot more than just look at it”

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. You were certain that if you forced the sheets out of his grip, Seungcheol would have let go of it but if he did such a thing then he would be the one exposed, and while you were sure that he had no problem with the idea, everything you screamed that if you saw him naked again there was no way that you would just have a redo of the night before.

Letting go of the sheets, you walked to the other side of the room, opening the dresser drawer and pulling out a clean pair of panties and bra.

“I’m going to shower and by the time I finish it I want you gone”

Seungcheol’s laughter still echoed through the apartment when you closed the bathroom door.

You had managed to keep yourself busy enough during the weekend that you had almost forgotten about Friday night. The keyword being almost. Usually, you would have come up with an excuse to not help your sister during the weekend. She was a wedding planner, a very good one at that — she had been the one to plan your wedding — and highly sought out so it was easier to find her working than being at home.

The reason why you always declined was that weddings, while they could be wildly different from one another, there were things that were the same, didn’t who was at the isle. Two people were promising each other eternal love.

When you saw those people, standing in front of each other, eyes filled with love and hope, you couldn’t help but think about Joshua. How you had once been in that exact spot, saying similar words, how you had been happy with him for so many years until all of it came crashing down on you. The only thing that love left behind were scars that were still all too fresh but hidden enough that no one would ever see them.

Still, working during the weekend with your sister was better than staying at home and thinking about all the stupid decisions you made and how much you’d love to make at least one of them once again. She was also kind enough to let you work on the setup and then later back in the kitchen. Maybe she had some sort of sixth sense that said that you need to get out of your mind. Her call was at the right moment.

Even so, there were moments when you were on your own, in the darkness of your bedroom, when Seungcheol’s perfume somehow still lingered in the air. There was no escape then. It was like a replay of that night played in your head again and again, and everytime it it did there was a new detail that you had somehow forgotten.

It was both a blessing and a curse.

You ran your hand over your face and hair, urging your mind to just stop and let yourself fall asleep. You had a meeting early in the morning and you needed your sleep, just so you could function like a semi-normal human being.

You were in the kitchen when you heard a sound in your bedroom. Your heart skipped a beat, hoping that maybe… just maybe… You shook your head in an attempt to come back to reality. The chance of seeing Seungcheol once again was below zero. You heard the sound again and this time your heart wasn’t the only thing doing a weird flip inside your chest, you also felt chills run down your skin.

The third time the sound came you felt as if you were under a cold shower when it was followed by the sound of laughter in the hallway that belonged to your neighbor. 

It was hard swallowing the expectation that had somehow found its way into you. You weren’t even sure why you were expecting something in the first place. After that night it was clear that there wasn’t going to be a second one. Not that there was any conversation on the matter, it just seemed like the most natural option. 

If things had gone according to plan, and if your mind was worthy of any trust, apparently it did, there was no real reason why you should ever see Seungcheol again. And yet, there you were wishing that he’d just show up again, and for what? 

You set the glass of water down, wishing you could have something strong – God knew that if you wanted to sleep you’d need some help – but not wanting to risk anything. Shutting down the lights in the kitchen and living room.

Before you even opened the door to your room you felt this shift in the air. You pushed it open, hard enough that it smashed against the wall. 

“You must really love your kitchen, the second time I show up here and the second time you're in the kitchen”

You closed your eyes for a second, basking in the sound of his voice, how it made chills erupt in your skin. 

“Second time you don’t use the door”

“I’ll be sure to remember that”

Seungcheol smiled, hands in his pocket. 

“You better”

Before you gave yourself a chance to think about it, you crossed the room in two strides and pulled him to you. Seungcheol smiled against your lips before he finally kissed you. 

if you enjoyed reading, please reblog and leave a comment, it really does mean the world to me and i would love to know your thoughts. thank you! 💕

you can read my other fics here ➝ masterlist

[wvyik]

you wanna?.. d.w. ᝰ.ᐟ

dean winchester x fem! reader

summary; dean’s been acting weird all morning, but you don’t think much of it — until he casually slides something across the table between bites of waffles. And just like that, your whole world tilts.

warnings; mdni!! pre-established relationship, aggressively casual proposal, dean being a menace as usual, fluff so sweet it might kill you!!… eventual smut (because let’s be real, this man does not propose without following through. is skip able though!!). dirty talk, dom! dean, oral sex, praise kink, unprotected sex, after care cause ima softie.

notes; AHH!! had so much fun with this one. tysm for all the support >ᴗ< i appreciate you all!! tbh this is the best thing I’ve ever written in a while. we love dean with a happy ending. ꒰˶  - ˕ -꒱ buckle up for the spicy stuff later!! as always, feel free to drop a comment or yell at me if you’re feeling some type of way about this. i’m here for it.

words; 4420

It’s early. Too early.

You’re exhausted in that way only hunters understand— the kind that seeps into your bones, makes your muscles ache, keeps you in that hazy space between asleep and awake, even with a steaming cup of coffee cradled between your hands.

Dean, of course, looks annoyingly good for someone who barely got any sleep. His hair is a mess, there’s a fading bruise on his jaw from last night’s hunt, but he’s still effortlessly him — green eyes warm with amusement, shoulders relaxed, mouth curling into a smirk as he watches you fight to keep your eyes open.

“You look like you got run over,” he says, the corners of his lips twitching.

You take a slow sip of your coffee, staring at him blankly. “Thanks. You always know just what to say.”

He chuckles, reaching for his own mug. “Just speakin’ the truth, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. Not now, anyway. You’re definitely too tired for that.

The sound of Dean shuffling around the motel room pulls you out of your half-sleep. You crack open one eye, only to find him already dressed, boots laced up, and pacing with that ‘we’re about to hit the road’ look in his eyes. His leather jacket is hanging on the back of the chair.

You rub your eyes, groaning, and try to keep the sleepiness from spilling out of you. “Do we really have to go now?”

Dean grins, not even bothering to look at you. “You know how I feel about sitting still.”

You roll your eyes again, itching to bargain with him, but knowing if you did, he’d just drag you into whatever shenanigans he had planned for the day anyway. After a couple of minutes, the room starts to feel too small, and the silence is making your head spin, so you sit up. The plan— at least, the unspoken one — was to hit the road after a quick breakfast, and you’ve learned that when Dean Winchester says quick, he means quick.

The car ride isn’t long. Dean’s humming along to the radio, steering with one hand as he swerves around potholes, and you’re trying to ignore how damn good he looks in the morning light filtering through the car windows. Eventually, the sound of the engine and the warmth of the sun lull you into a comfortable quiet. You’re barely paying attention when you both pull up to an old diner on the side of the highway, a place that looks like it’s been around longer than you’ve been alive.

Dean parks and shoots you a look and smirks. “I’ll bet you ten bucks the pie here could change your life.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t question it. You know better than to doubt him by now.

The diner is quiet, just a few truckers scattered at the counter, the hum of conversation mixing with the low crackle of an old radio playing Blue Öyster Cult in the background. The air smells like burnt coffee and bacon grease, and the vinyl booth seat sticks slightly to your thigh where your jeans have a tear, but it’s…nice.

Comfortable.

It’s one of those rare, normal mornings. No hunts lined up. No immediate danger. Just you, Dean, and a crappy little diner on the side of the road.

You should’ve known he was up to something.

Dean’s been acting weird all morning.

Not in an obvious way. He’s still teasing you, still stuffing his face with an ungodly amount of waffles and bacon, still shooting you that signature smirk every time you make a face at him.

But his knee is bouncing under the table. His fingers keep drumming against his coffee cup. And every once in a while, you catch him looking at you — this soft, thoughtful expression flickering across his face before he shakes it off.

You think about asking. But then your waitress swings by again, and Dean immediately perks up, flashing her a charming smile as she tops off his coffee.

“Another round of waffles, darlin’?” she asks, clearly smitten. You don’t blame her.

You smile softly behind your mug as Dean leans back, cocky as ever. “Wouldn’t say no.”

The waitress laughs, shaking her head. “You got a hell of an appetite.”

“That’s what she said,” Dean mutters under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

You kick him under the table. He deserved that one.

By the time the waitress walks away, Dean is already back to his food, completely unfazed. You shake your head, cutting into your own waffle, stealing one of his bacon strips just to be a menace. He lets you.

And then— casual as anything, like he’s commenting on the weather— he reaches into his pocket, pulls out something, and slides it across the table toward you.

A ring.

Just sitting there. Between your plate and the salt shaker.

Your brain short-circuits. You stare at it, then at him. Then back at it.

Dean, the absolute menace that he is, doesn’t even look up from his food. Just swipes some syrup with his fork, chews, and— without a single ounce of drama — says,

“You wanna?”

You blink. Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Because what the hell is happening right now?

Dean finally looks at you, chewing like this is just another Thursday.

“What?” he says around a mouthful of food.

Your heart is slamming against your ribs. You feel warm all over, but you can’t tell if it’s from the crappy diner coffee or the fact that Dean Winchester just proposed to you like he was offering you the last french fry.

“That’s your proposal?” Your voice comes out hoarse, disbelief and laughter mixing in your throat.

Dean tilts his head, squinting at you. “What, you want me to get down on one knee in a greasy diner?”

“You literally just slid it across the table like it was a packet of sugar!”

He shrugs, still watching you, still unreadable in that way that makes your stomach flip. “Ain’t exactly my style, sweetheart.”

Your fingers shake as you reach for the ring. It’s simple— silver, understated, perfect. It feels warm from being in his pocket, the edges smooth against your skin.

Dean’s watching you carefully now. The teasing is gone, replaced by something softer, something quieter.

And that’s when it hits you.

Dean Winchester— who has faced monsters, demons, literal hell — is nervous. Like he’s bracing for impact. Like there’s a real, tangible fear in him that you might say no.

Your throat tightens.

“You really want this?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Dean exhales through his nose, sets his fork down. He leans forward slightly, arms resting on the table, eyes locked onto yours.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice steady now, sure in a way that makes you melt. “I already got you. This is just making it official.”

Your heart stumbles. Because of course he’d say it like that. Like it was never even a question, like you already belonged to each other. Like you always would.

The ring feels solid between your fingers, grounding. It’s not grand or flashy. It’s him. It’s you. It’s perfect.

And god,

You don’t cry, but it’s a close thing.

You swallow hard, slip it onto your finger. It fits like it was meant to.

Dean watches, lets out a breath like he was holding it for years, and then— because you know him, because you love him— you smirk and say,

“You better get me a pie for this.”

That knocks the tension right out of him. His mouth quirks, the easy grin sliding back into place. “Damn right, I will.”

And just like that, you’re engaged. Not with a big speech. Not with grand gestures. Just this. Just him.

In a tiny diner off the highway, with bad coffee and waffles and the love of your life sitting across from you, grinning like a fool.

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the flood of emotions building up in your chest. You weren’t expecting this. Hell, you didn’t even know you needed it. But now that it’s here, now that he’s here, you feel like your whole world is shifting into place.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” you whisper, leaning your forehead against his.

Dean chuckles, the sound deep and warm. “You’re the one that’s perfect, sweetheart. I’m just lucky.”

You shake your head slightly, not sure how to respond. You’ve been together for so long now, and yet, this moment still feels like a beginning. Like everything that came before— every hunt, every stupid argument, every late-night conversation— it was all leading to this. To this small, simple, perfect moment in a stupid dingy diner.

Dean cups your face, tilting your chin up so you’re looking directly at him. There’s a quiet intensity in his eyes, and for once, you see a rawness that he doesn’t always show.

“You know that’s the thing,” he murmurs. “It’s not about what you deserve. It’s about what you’re willing to fight for. And you—” He pauses, his thumb gently brushing over your cheek. “You’re worth every damn fight, sweetheart. Always will be.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you realize you’re not even breathing properly. It’s overwhelming, the way he can say so much with so little. His words hit you deeper than you expected, more than you thought you needed.

“I’m in this. All the way, okay?” he says softly, like he’s reminding you, like he’s trying to make sure you know it, truly know it. “I don’t do half-assed. Not with you.”

“I know,” you reply, your voice barely more than a whisper, the emotions bubbling up.

His lips press against your forehead, soft and tender. And in that moment, you know—you know—that you’re not just his. He’s yours too. No matter what comes next, you’re a team.

Dean pulls back, a playful smile tugging at his lips again, trying to break the weight of the moment. “So, uh, you think I could maybe get a little ‘yes’ out of you? Just a tiny one?”

You laugh softly, your chest full. You tilt your head, looking up at him with a smile that feels too big for your face. “Yeah. Yeah, you could.”

Dean’s eyes light up, a twinkle in them like he’s won the lottery, like this was the answer he’s been waiting for. He presses another kiss to your lips—brief, but meaningful.

And for the first time in a long time, you feel like you can breathe. Like the world, in all its chaos, has paused just for you two. Like nothing else matters except the person standing in front of you.

You know there will be bad days, tough hunts, and fights, but for now, this moment is enough. This love is enough.

And you, you finally feel like you’ve found where you belong.

“Guess we should finish our waffles, huh?” Dean says, the mood lightening again, but his hand still resting on yours.

You chuckle, your heart still racing. “Yeah. But let’s take it slow, okay? We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Dean grins, that cocky, perfect grin you know so well. “Works for me.”

As you both finish your meal— laughing, talking about whatever random thing crosses your mind— there’s an understanding between you two now. You don’t need big gestures or flashy moments to know what’s real.

What’s real is here. What’s real is you two.

And it’s always been that way.

Back in the motel room, the door clicked shut behind you with a soft thud. The dim light from the lamp on the nightstand cast long shadows across the room, the only sound the faint hum of the old air conditioning. The weight of the night pressed in on you— quiet, comfortable, and full of possibilities you weren’t ready to voice just yet.

Dean kicked off his boots and tossed his jacket onto the chair by the door, then turned to face you. There was something different in his eyes now, something deeper, as if the last few hours had opened up a door neither of you could walk away from.

You stood by the bed, your heart thumping in your chest, but your feet seemed glued to the floor, unsure of what came next. His gaze flickered down to your hand, still resting in his from the diner, then back up to your face. That smile— always so effortless, so charming— pulled at the corner of his lips.

“You good?” he asked, voice soft, but with that low, steady warmth you knew so well.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your words barely escaping as your breath hitched. Your heart was racing, but you felt rooted to the spot, unsure if you should make the first move or wait for him to pull you in again.

Dean’s eyes never left yours as he slowly closed the distance between you, his movements slow, deliberate. You could feel the space between you getting smaller, the air in the room suddenly feeling thicker, charged with that same electricity you couldn’t ignore.

When he finally reached you, his hand came up to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was soft, but there was no mistaking the heat in his fingers, the way they lingered just a little longer than necessary, as if he was trying to memorize the feel of your skin.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, eyes fluttering shut for a second, just to take in the moment. He was so close now. Close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him, close enough that the faint scent of the leather jacket he had left behind filled your senses.

Dean’s lips brushed against yours with a familiarity that made your heart skip a beat. This wasn’t the first time— far from it— but each time felt like it was. Every kiss was still a little bit like a spark, each one lighting a new fire. And tonight, there was something different. Something deeper, even though you’d been here before.

His fingers trailed down your arm again, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing every inch of your skin as if he couldn’t get enough of it. You shifted beneath him, feeling the tension of the moment settle between your legs, but it wasn’t rushed. It never was with him.

“You know what you do to me, right?” Dean’s voice was low, rougher now, but laced with that familiar tenderness. He didn’t need to say it, not really. You could feel it in every touch, every lingering kiss.

You nodded, your lips parting as you leaned up to meet him halfway, pressing your body closer to his. You’d been here before, but that didn’t mean it ever lost its power. It was still just as electrifying, just as sweet.

His hands moved to the waistband of your jeans, pausing for just a moment as his eyes locked onto yours, searching for any hesitation. But there was none. You didn’t need words; your body told him everything. Your jeans met the floor with a slight thud.

With a deep, almost frustrated sigh, Dean pushed your jeans down just enough to slide his hand under them, his fingers skating over the curve of your hip. It was familiar, comforting even, but the way he touched you now felt different. There was a slowness, an intentional care in every movement. Like he wanted to savor you this time.

His lips met yours again, but this kiss was slower, more languid, as if he was taking his time, soaking in the moment. He kissed you like he was letting his feelings pour into every movement, every press of his lips, until the rest of the world disappeared.

“You make me forget everything else, you know that?” Dean’s breath was hot against your ear, his hands expertly undressing you, but it was still slow. As if he was enjoying the feel of your skin more than the outcome of it. You could tell that this wasn’t about rushing, about getting to the end. This was about being with you, right here, right now.

You breathed his name again, a plea more than a whisper, and Dean, ever the attentive lover, responded immediately, his lips trailing down your neck, to your chest, as his hand wandered over you, knowing exactly where to touch to make your breath hitch.

But this time, it wasn’t about the heat of the moment— it was about the slow, delicious build of something bigger. His lips left a trail of soft, lingering kisses across your skin as his hand gently slid down your side, his touch grounding you to the bed. His body moved against yours with that familiar rhythm, but tonight, it felt like it meant more. Like you meant more.

He paused for just a moment, looking at you with those eyes—dark and soft all at once. “I love you, ‘s fucking much. I wanna make you feel so good, baby.” His voice was thick with something deep, something serious, and it made your chest tighten with emotion.

You nodded, pulling him back to you, pressing your lips to his with a fierce intensity. It wasn’t just the physical connection anymore. This was something that went deeper, something stronger than before. And you wanted it. You wanted him.

Dean groaned as you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as he moved between your legs. You moan, as he skillfully worked his fingers in you, slowly climbing on top of you— as your head hit the not-so-soft pillows on the bed. You could feel the thrum of his heartbeat against yours, steady and strong.

“Dean…” The word came out like a breath, your fingers gripping his shoulders as you tugged him back up, wanting his lips on yours again. He smirked, just slightly, but there was nothing playful in the way his eyes held yours. It was all raw, all real.

“Easy,” he whispered, voice gruff but gentle as his thumb traced over your lip. “Atta girl, doing so good for me.. Don’t worry bout’ it, we can take your time.”

You nodded, your eyes heavy with desire but filled with trust. “I need you, De..” Your voice was soft, but there was a definite edge to it. The words felt like they had weight, like they meant something. Something more than just this moment.

He exhaled deeply, eyes darkening as his hand slid to your waist, guiding you beneath him as he moved down on you, slipping your panties fully off. The space between you was so minimal now that it felt like you were one.

His mouth lightly sucked on your needy clit, his thick fingers still working their magic inside you. You couldn’t help but let out an almost pornographic moan. You were so close, he could tell.

“Mhm, honey.. let it out, cum on my face,” he whispered against your needy pussy. The stubble on his jaw teasing you even more, as he practically buried his face in your wetness.

Oh, you were a goner. “Dean— fuck, I’m gonna—“ You didn’t even finish your sentence as the orgasm came rushing through you. As dean still worked, still slurping up your juices in his mouth like his life depended on it.

He finally let his face out of between your thighs, kissing you gently— letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“You’re incredible,” Dean muttered, his voice raw as he pressed his forehead against yours, breathing deeply. “Never forget that.”

You met his gaze, your chest tight with emotion. “I won’t. Not with you.”

Dean’s lips found yours in a deep kiss, and as he slowly pulled back, his hand moved to your waist, gently coaxing your hips up against his. His jeans came off, so did the shirt — the sound of the zipper loud in the quiet of the room, and you felt a rush of heat flood your body again. He was so close, and yet, there was still something in the way he touched you that made everything feel like it was building to something more.

“Don’t tease me,” you whispered, your voice a little breathless, but there was a hint of playfulness too—something you knew he’d pick up on.

He smirked, his lips brushing your jaw as his body settled between your legs. “Me? Tease?” His voice was a teasing mockery of innocence, but there was nothing innocent in the way he touched you, nothing at all.

“Oh, yeah, and this? Off.” He gestured to your shirt, earning a chuckle from you. He skillfully pulled the shirt off of you, unclasping your bra with ease, gently touching up on your breasts.

Dean’s eyes never left yours, that fire still burning in them, but there was a softness there too, a tenderness that made your chest tighten. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, the words slipping from his lips like a prayer. His lips moved to your neck again.

You looked at him wide-eyed, as he pressed his lips back onto yours briefly, before sliding one hand down his boxers, pulling his hard cock out of its confinements, already leaking with pre-cum. You never get tired of seeing it, really.

There’s a hunger in his gaze, but it’s a hunger you recognize—one that’s been building between you two, one that isn’t just about tonight. It’s deeper, quieter, but oh so real.

“Y’ ready for me?..” he murmured, and you could only respond with a soft ‘mhm’ sound, too turned on to make any proper sentence.

You’re not just the next moment in line for him— you’re everything. His hand on your skin, his body pressed to yours, it’s all proof of the quiet trust that’s been growing between you since day one.

You can feel the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, as he slowly pushes inside of you, his heart beating steady against yours. It’s like he’s giving you all of him, in this simple, quiet way, and you know you have his heart just as much as he has yours

“That’s it— Jesus, sweetheart. You’re still so fucking tight, can’t believe it’” he chuckles slowly, and you whimper when he finally gives all of himself for you. And he waits for your permission to start moving.

“De.. okay— you can move.” You manage to say breathlessly after a little bit. Nothing can prepare you for that moment, though. As he slowly moves in and out you swear you see stars. And gosh, the sounds that fill the room, it’s so goddamn good, you think before biting down the moan.

“Mhm, yeah.. So fuckin’ perfect, angel, you’re doing so well for me.” He almost whimpered. Goddamn you, Dean — And your filthy mouth.

His lips found yours again, and the kiss was deeper this time— full of assurance, of trust, of a promise that nothing could tear apart. You could feel how much he believed in the two of you, in the bond you shared.

His hands roamed your body, confident and firm, like he knew exactly where to touch to make you lose your breath. Every movement was purposeful, a teasing promise of what was to come.

“De— m’ so close, please” you managed to whimper through the moans, trying to keep up with his pace with your hips.

His lips lingered along your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin, his breath hot against your ear. “I know baby, me too. You can come, sweetness, m’ right there with you.” he murmured, his voice a hushed growl that sent shivers down your spine.

As you both reached your climax, you can’t help but smile. After the world-shifting intensity of the moment, you both lay there, tangled up in sheets and each other. Dean shifted just enough to pull you close, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm against yours, as though he was grounding himself in the softness of your presence.

His fingers brushed gently through your hair, the touch so tender it was almost as if he was trying to memorize every strand, every curve of you. The warmth between you didn’t need words; it was enough to feel him there, still connected to you in every possible way.

“Are you okay?” Dean’s voice was low, but it carried that softness you’d only hear when the walls were down and he wasn’t trying to hide anything. There was a genuine worry in his tone, an unwavering need to make sure you were feeling just as safe and cared for as he felt.

You nodded against his chest, your hand resting over his heart, feeling the steady beat that reminded you of the calm after the storm. “I’m perfect,” you whispered, your voice still a little breathless, but full of warmth.

Dean chuckled softly, the sound low and comforting, like it always was when he felt content. “Good. ‘Cause I’ve got you, and I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, pulling you closer, his arm draping over you protectively as if making sure you stayed there, safe in his arms.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, the gesture soft and caring, his way of showing that there was more to him than just the physical connection. It was always about the little things—the way his touch lingered, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, like you were the only person in the world that mattered.

There was no rush to get up, no need to fill the space with words that didn’t need to be said. You both understood each other in the quiet.

Dean’s thumb brushed against your hand in a rhythm that made you feel grounded, like he was telling you he was there in ways that didn’t need to be explained. Slowly, you let your eyes flutter closed, wrapped in the softness of his care, feeling safer than you had ever felt.

He kissed your forehead again, his voice barely above a whisper. “We’re good, you and me. Always gonna be good.”

And in that moment, with the faintest smile tugging at your lips, you knew he meant every word. The world outside the room didn’t matter, not when you had this—this peace, this love, this feeling of being completely and utterly cared for.

taglist; @lieutenantchaos ⊹ ࣪ ˖

tysm for reading pooks! more works incoming @ library. ⊹₊⟡⋆

── all rights reserved © 2025 wvyik | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[w2mini]

RED MEANS TAKEN DUMMY! atsumu x reader

-happy valentines 𓂃۶ৎ warnings: reader is reserved, swearings, black cat x golden retriever (I'm never getting tired of this trope for atsumu) fluff only

For Atsumu, he's always been drawn to you—the quiet, pretty muse from unfortunately another class who never seemed to fall for his popular charm. And what's worst is that you weren't even doing anything to catch his attention. It was just a random Tuesday when you were introduced as a new student in Inarizaki, then went on with your day as a normal student like everyone would—and that?

That drove him crazy.

It was probably your reserved nature that felt refreshing to him since he's used to having a crowd of admirers around him. You weren't trying to stand out, be loud—you just always seemed like you had your own little world to be content with.

And he desperately wants to be a part of your life. But let's be real—he's probably not the type to immediately accept his feelings about you because this is genuinely the first time he's falling for someone, so with some ups and downs, denial, and winning a war with his own feelings—yep, he wanted you BAD.

So little by little, he would hang out with you during breaks, keep you company, and slowly become a part of your inner circle—you grew fond of him in your own quiet way. So with Valentines coming up, Atsumu decides it would be the perfect time to confess his undying love for you.

But of course this is an Inarizaki centered story, and it's not one without chaos.

"Yo, have you guys seen the new post from the student council?" The volleyball club were currently in the gym practicing as usual every after school times. Akagi, who was simply scrolling at his phone during break ends up with an interesting post from their student council's social media page regarding the event tomorrow. "The color-coded shirts? still haven't decided what I'm gonna wear to be honest." Aran replied, approaching Akagi to look at his phone, checking what each color meant. To celebrate Valentines, the student council announces a color-coded Valentine's event wherein students wear shirts that indicate their relationship status: Red meant taken, White meant single, Pink means friend-zoned, Black meant heartbroken, etc. Atsumu, who was already plotting his confession, grinned to himself. White it is, because, obviously, he's saving himself for you. So could you just imagine on a Valentines day morning, he's all excited walking at the school, ready to show off in front of you, and sees you in the hallway—

... wearing a red top.

aka TAKEN.

his soul shatters at the sight.

I—what—When—WHO???? Osamu and Suna who was with him—seeing the devastated face on Atsumu bursts into laughter.

He turned to Osamu, aggressively whispering "WHEN THE HELL DID THIS HAPPEN???”

"She's taken? tough luck Miya." Suna says in between giggles.

You on the other hand who was just simply talking to a friend—doesn’t recognize the chaos happening behind you for wearing a red top.

“You never told me you were in a relationship?” Your friend offhandedly asks, but they were also internally panicking because they know about Atsumu’s plan.

You tilted your head in confusion, “huh? but I dont?”

“what? it’s red though.” your friend points at your top.

“so? don’t people wear red for valentines?”

You friend’s expression drops.

“[name] you dumbass.”

—

Atsumu spent the whole day sulking, even during practice. He messed up the easiest receives, screwed up his sets, and almost hit Suna on the head with his serve.

that damn red top, he’s never been this furious over a color, and what’s worst is that you looked good with that top too!

How come he had already lost without starting?

And how come he never knew you were already in a relationship? You never gave hints or said anything about being in a relationship—

“If I were you, I would’ve confessed already rather than sulking like that.” easier said than done Aran.

“She was wearing red, RED!” Atsumu dramatically exclaims as he drowns on his own sorrows.

“What did red mean again?” Ginjima asks.

“Taken.” Suna replied bluntly, making Atsumu hiss at the word.

“Never stood a chance huh?” Osamu grinned mockingly.

“SHUT YER TRAP SAMU.”

Kita could only facepalm at the situation, but he’s rather amused since this is the first time he’s seen Atsumu like this, “You know Atsumu, have you ever thought that maybe she just wore the color and discarding the meaning?”

Atsumu’s ears perked up, then Ginjima suddenly had a lightbulb over his head, “Oh yeahhh, it could mean like that too, there were a bunch of guys wearing black for fun earlier despite not being in a relationship.”

“Maybe try asking her about it then?” Akagi suggested.

I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to try.

Actually scrap that, it would.

That is until knocking was heard on the doors of the gym.

The team looks over to the source of the sound then sees—

You… with a small box.

“Uhm, pardon me but can I call for Atsumu?” You asked, peeking over to the doors.

Atsumu immediately RAN and was suddenly infront of you, looking… nervous?

“Did ya’ uh, need anything?” he asks, his voice crackling a little.

Then, you hold out the gift to him. “For you.”

Atsumu froze.

“Huh…?”

“Thanks for always keeping me company,” you say softly. “I know I’m not the easiest person to approach.”

Atsumu finally finds his voice. “Wait—so yer not datin’ anyone?”

You blink. “No, why?”

His brain short circuited. He points at your top, “But—THAT’S RED.”

“So?”

That’s when he realizes.

You didn’t know shit about the color-coded event.

His entire face lights up, and lets out the most dramatic sigh of relief. “Wearing red means taken stupid.” He says, flicking your forehead.

It was your turn to get struck by realization now.

No wonder everyone kept asking if you were in a relationship, and no WONDER everyone was wearing different colors for valentines.

Oh you feel fucking stupid.

You then immediately took your phone out, opening an app then searching for your school’s official account page.

You face drops seeing the png file on the very first post that appeared, no wonder why your friend had asked that odd question.

“I—didn’t know…” you muttered, embarrassed about the whole misunderstanding.

Atsumu only chuckled in response, laughing at your misery. “Yer’ killin me ya know that? I though I lost my chance before I even tried.”

You perked up. “You were trying?”

“Obviously.” He grinned.

You smiled warmly, feeling funny about the situation. “Try harder then.”

Atsumu had the brightest grin on his face, he ruffled your hair then gently took the gift from your hands. “Oh I definitely will.”

“P-D-A ALERT” Osamu suddenly shouted from the gym, surprising you and pissing off Atsumu.

“MIND YER OWN BUSINESS!”

WOOOO KINDA SHORT IM SO SORRY GUYS but happy valentines!! and of course I had to celebrate it by writing my all time favorite character😻 hope you guys enjoyed HDJHFODK

💐 >> bouquets for those who don’t feel special enough on this special day <33

[nakylvr]

— ALL THE THINGS I NEVER SAID

sophia laforteza x fem!reader

summary જ⁀➴ you've had a crush on sophia for a while now. on the week before valentine's day you write a letter confessing your love to her, but hide it away. until one of your friends finds it and gives it to her on valentine's day without you knowing.

warnings/tags જ⁀➴ fluff, college!au, mild language

wc જ⁀➴ 2,4 k

you were a person with a lot of thoughts. a lot of words left unsaid because they weren't important or you didn't have the confidence to say it out loud. you were quiet, you didn't have a big group of friends, but you had the ones that counted. you weren't exactly seen in classes unless you answered a question and then the moment would pass and you would be forgotten again. but, you didn't mind it a whole lot.

valentines day was one of the most obnoxious days in the year. at school, at least. you thought once high school was over that it would tone down but no, it got worse if anything. you’d have to sit through multiple classes of boyfriends coming in and asking their girlfriends out on dates, you’d have to deal with girls giggling about what their boyfriends did for them for the holiday, shit, you even had to sit through your roommate being serenaded by her girlfriend first thing this morning. you weren't big on the holiday. what was the point if you didn't have someone to celebrate it with?

and as much as you would hate to admit it, you hated missing out.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

you didn’t have crushes on a lot of people. a few here and there throughout the years, but none of them went farther than admiring from afar. you never confessed, too afraid of it backfiring and ending in a mess. and it was the same this year.

sophia laforteza, aka the girl so far out of your league that you would rather die than admit your feelings for the girl. you had spoken to her a few times with you being in technical theatre and her being the star of all the musicals and plays alike, and you ended up falling for her. her warm smile, her sweet voice, her beautiful eyes. it was hard not to. especially once you saw just how many people were pining for her.

you walked into the theatre with your binder in your arms filled with all the things you needed to get finished before rehearsal for “romeo and juliet”. could you guess who juliet was? pretty easy. but it still surprised you when you saw sophia sitting on the edge of the stage looking at papers in her hands as the door shut loudly behind you.

sophia’s head perks up upon hearing the door close, and a smile grows on her face at the sight of you. “sorry, i didn't think anyone would be coming in this period,” she says apologetically.

you could feel your heart skip a beat just at the sight of her smile towards you, feeling your anxiety creeping up the closer you approached the stage clutching the binder in your hands like a lifeline. “oh, it's okay!” you assure quickly, shaking your head. “i’m usually in here during free periods when a show is coming up. there's a lot to get situated.”

“i’m sure.” sophia nods, setting the papers down next to her and crossing her leg over the other. “you do a lot of work in tech, don't you?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.

“uh, well, i guess you could say that,” you respond shyly with a short nod. this was the longest you've held a conversation with sophia without one of you being dragged off, and you didn't know what to do. “but, i mean, you do a lot too. i’m sure memorizing all the lines and stuff is hard.”

sophia just shrugs her shoulders lightly. “i guess, but it's nothing technical, literally, like you do. i may be the one on stage, but you're the one who lights me up.” she smiles at you, not a hint of hesitation in her voice as she talks.

“well when you put it that way…” you mumble, glancing down at the ground. your face is heating up the longer you feel her gaze on you, your heart practically beating out of your chest. when you finally meet her eyes again, you quickly look away again. “i uh i need to get some things done before rehearsal today so uhm, yeah,” you manage to say. “you can stay though! or do whatever it was you were doing! i don't mind!” you quickly add, not wanting her to think you were kicking her out.

the giggle that comes from sophia makes your face turn redder than it already was as she smiles at you. “if you don't mind me talking to myself repeating the same lines over and over again, i’ll stay.”

“i don't.” you shake your head, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

a moment of silence fills the large theatre before you clear your throat and make your way to behind the stage, scurrying off like a scared cat having a showdown with another. once you were behind the stage and sophia was out of your line of sight, you let out a sigh of relief as you set your binder down on the table with a thud. running a hand through your hair, you started to get things ready.

you heard a few people talking about thirty minutes into you doing your work, leaving you confused as you overheard a few things. but, you tried not to think of it too much. that was, until a ginger-haired girl crashed into the back room, literally.

“megan! jesus christ!”

you stare at the scene in front of you, wires in your hands that you were trying to set up for the lighting as sophia rushes in after the ginger.

“holy crap! there's all this shit back here?”

“megan!” sophia grabs megan by her arm, yanking her up off the ground before her eyes land on you. “i’m sorry! my friends wanted to help with my lines. i told them not to come back here.” she shoots a look at megan who puts her palms together.

“i’m sorry! please don't kill me, pretty theatre tech lady!” megan apologizes immediately.

“what?” you let out in surprise, your face turning red.

“it's her words, not mine!” megan continues.

“and we're leaving!” sophia smiles, but her eyes are wide with an emotion you couldn't recognize as she then drags megan back out onto the stage.

what the fuck was that. you stand there frozen for a few minutes trying to process what just happened, hearing the faint voices assumingly yelling from you being able to distinguish a few of the voices. shaking your head, you quickly finish what you were doing before going to your bag.

searching through your bag, your eyes widen when you realize something is missing.

every time you had a crush, you wrote a letter. it was the easiest way to express everything you were feeling rather than mess it up by not knowing what to say at the moment. you poured your heart out into every one you wrote, and it was only a few.

so when the letter you had in your bag is now gone, you obviously were going to freak out.

“shit, shit, shit,” you curse, pulling items out of your bag to see if it was at the bottom or in another part of it only to find it nowhere. “oh my god…” you mumble quietly.

and then, you remembered something. your best friend, danielle, had asked to look in your bag for a spare piece of paper, and you were too busy doing something else that you didn't even notice she never took paper. she probably took the letter.

grabbing your phone you call her, waiting a minute until she picks up.

“yn? what's up?”

“did you take the fucking letter?” you angrily ask quietly.

“what letter?”

“don't even right now!” you try to keep yourself from yelling, knowing that sophia and her friends were still out there. “did you take it?”

“maybe. you needed a push! i’m that push! i’ll give it to her after rehearsal. i know you signed it so it won't be weird.”

“oh my god, danielle, what the fuck?” you sigh dramatically. “this is insane!”

“no, it's me being an amazing friend and getting you a girlfriend!”

“it's not going to work! it never does!” you say, your voice getting louder without noticing.

“because you don't try! trust me, this will work.”

you didn't even respond, just hanging up instead and setting your phone down. letting out a loud sigh, you put your face in your hands.

“i’m doomed.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

rehearsal went well. or, you assumed it did, seeing as no one texted you saying things were going wrong. you couldn't even show up. not when you knew danielle would give sophia your note at the end of the day.

you sat at the bleachers of the field, looking at your phone with your headphones on, not paying attention to anything else around you. you tried to keep your mind off what was probably going to go down tomorrow. word will probably go around, you’ll end up rejected, and you’ll move schools as a result. you knew it was a dumb idea to write the letter in the first place, but to be fair, you were never going to give it to her! it just had to be danielle to take matters into her own hands. for your sake. little did you know just what had happened after the rehearsal, or how the day would finish.

feeling a light tap on your shoulder, you jump, turning your head and sliding your headphones off to see sophia standing there, making your heart drop to your stomach.

“oh, h-hey!” you mentally curse at yourself for stuttering right off the bat.

“you weren't at rehearsal today,” sophia says, sitting down next to you.

“yeah, i got caught up in some stuff,” you lie, looking away from her.

“not because of the letter?” she asks.

your heart is beating so fast you think you're going to pass out in a minute or the next at her question. you don't even know if you're breathing at this point. you can't even think of how to respond.

sophia hesitantly reaches her hand towards yours, gently grabbing ahold of it, causing you to slowly look at her and see the small smile on her face.

“you didn't want danielle to give it to me, did you?”

“no,” you whisper, shaking your head. “i-i didn't want you to have it anyway.”

“why?” her expression turns confused, eyebrows furrowed together.

“because i knew you wouldn't like me too,” you mumble quietly.

“you thought i don't?” sophia asks you, her eyes softening once realizing you were serious.

“i mean, yeah.” your voice gets quieter. “i thought you didn't even know i existed until this play.”

sophia hums and nods her head. “i guess i was pretty bad about it at first. but i saw how much work you put into phantom that i kept trying to get a part even if i didn't really want it. i just wanted to see you, even if i was just awkwardly staring from afar and messing up my lines multiple times,” she admits, letting out a short laugh. “i read your letter, and i thought it was really sweet. you have a way with words, y’know. and i’m glad danielle gave it to me, because it made this whole thing a lot easier. i really like you, yn.”

“what?” you accidentally say. to say you're shocked would be an understatement, because you weren't even believing the words that left sophia’s mouth. “are you serious?” you question.

“yeah,” she answers with a nod.

there's a short silence then, as you try to come up with what to say. you couldn't find any words. thankfully for you, sophia speaks up.

“can i kiss you?”

your eyes widen subtly in surprise, and you ultimately nod your head, not trusting your voice. sophia’s other hand cups your jaw as she slowly leans in before softly pressing her lips against yours. the kiss is slow, almost hesitant with both of you not wanting to push it too much, and when she pulls back, her smile is wide and she giggles at the dazed expression on your face.

“you're so cute,” she says fondly, her thumb wiping off a bit of the lip gloss that transferred from her lips to yours. “are you doing anything tonight?”

“no.” you shake your head.

“then be ready by six, and wear something nice,” she tells you, her smile widening. “i’ll be waiting outside your dorm.”

“how do you know where my dorm is?” you ask, looking at her confused.

“your roommate kazuha is my friend daniela’s girlfriend. i was told how irritated you looked when she and megan showed up this morning," sophia answers.

“oh my god.” you shake your head. “okay well, i’ll make sure to be ready.” you smile at her.

“good, cause i don't want to be waiting outside in the hallway all night.” sophia stands up, still holding onto your hand. “you don't mind if i keep the letter, do you?”

“huh?” you look up at her. “uh, no. why would you want to keep it, though?” you ask.

“like i said, it was really sweet. i want to remember it,” she answers like it was nothing. “promise you’ll meet me at six?”

“yeah, i promise.” you nod, trying to ignore her answer to your question. “as long as you don't kidnap me.”

“you think that low of me?” sophia gasps dramatically, acting hurt. “all i’m doing is taking you to a nice dinner, nothing more! unless you want to–”

“okay!” you cut her off, laughing. “i’ll be ready, i swear.”

“you better.” sophia leans down, kissing your cheek. “i’m really glad today turned out this way.”

“me too,” you respond quietly.

“i’ll see you later, pretty.” sophia smiles, pecking your lips before walking away.

watching her walk away, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, missing the warmth from her lips on yours and her hand holding yours. your phone buzzes in your pocket, and when you take it out you shake your head. “loser,” you mumble under your breath reading what danielle sent you.

you hated to admit it, but you were happy with how things went today, even if it wasn't how you originally planned it to be. it went better than you expected, and you were thankful for that. even if it was because your best friend stole your letter and gave it out. but you would never say that out loud.

[saebyeokbliss]

you should write about like, saebyeok being all stiff and awkward when she meets the in laws 😭😭 poor baby would be breaking out in a cold sweat on the drive to their house lolol, and then reader tries to comfort her saying things like "dont worry baby their gonna love you"

LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO

pairing: loser!kang sae-byeok x fem!wealthy!reader synopsis: after reluctantly agreeing to have dinner with your prestigious, business-owning parents on valentine’s day, sae-byeok finds herself spiraling into a pit of nerves. despite your reassurances that everything will be fine, she spends the entire car ride coming up with increasingly ridiculous excuses to turn back. but when she finally meets your parents—expecting judgment, skepticism, and disapproval—she’s instead met with something unfamiliar: acceptance. maybe, just maybe, she doesn’t have to fight this battle alone. warnings: mild anxiety, social class differences, sae-byeok being emotionally guarded, mentions of past struggles, nervous girlfriend behavior, fluff with a touch of angst, supportive but slightly intimidating parents, awkward dinner moments, eventual acceptance and soft feelings.

a/n: happy valentine's day!! hope your day went well! im so late but hope you enjoy this little fic loves <33

The soft hum of the heater filled the quiet apartment, the warmth of it wrapping around you like a blanket as you lounged on the couch, Sae-byeok's legs draped over your lap. It was a rare moment of peace—one where neither of you had anywhere to be, no obligations pulling you apart. The city outside was alive as ever, but in your little shared space, it was just the two of you.

Sae-byeok was half-focused on a random movie playing on the TV, her fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on your thigh. She wasn’t one for excessive displays of affection, but after months of being together, you had learned her love was in the little things: the way she always made sure your phone was charged, how she let you steal her hoodies without complaint, how she held your hand under the dinner table when she thought no one was looking.

You had met her in the most unexpected way. Your worlds couldn’t have been more different—your parents, prestigious business owners, had always imagined you settling down with someone from their carefully curated social circles. Someone with an impressive degree, a spotless reputation, and a future that aligned with their expectations.

Sae-byeok was none of that.

You had met her at a small café on a rainy evening, your usual order messed up beyond recognition. You had been about to complain when Sae-byeok, who had been standing behind you, raised a single eyebrow and muttered, “If you don’t want it, I’ll take it.”

Something about her intrigued you instantly—the sharpness in her eyes, the guarded way she carried herself. One sarcastic remark led to another, and somehow, you had ended up sitting across from her, talking for hours. One coffee meet-up turned to two, then three, until it became something neither of you could deny.

Dating her hadn’t been easy. Sae-byeok had walls built sky-high, trust not coming easily to her. But you had been patient, and slowly, she had let you in. And now, here you were, tangled together on the couch, her presence as familiar to you as breathing.

Then your phone rang.

You groaned, recognizing the contact immediately: Mom.

Sae-byeok glanced at you out of the corner of her eye. “You gonna answer that?”

You sighed but pressed accept anyway, putting the phone on speaker. “Hey, Mom.”

“Sweetheart! How are you?” Your mother’s voice was warm but laced with the usual undertone of expectation.

“I’m good. Just relaxing.”

“Good, good. Your father and I were just talking, and—well, Valentine’s Day is coming up.”

You felt Sae-byeok stiffen slightly beside you.

“Uh-huh?”

“We thought it would be nice to have you over for dinner! You and that lovely girlfriend of yours.”

Your stomach twisted slightly. Your parents knew about Sae-byeok, of course. You hadn’t hidden your relationship, but they had never met her in person. You had no idea how they would react to her—not just as your girlfriend, but as someone who came from a world so vastly different from theirs.

Sae-byeok was staring at the TV now, pretending not to listen—but you could see the way her fingers had stopped moving on your thigh.

“I—uh, yeah. That sounds nice,” you said hesitantly.

“Wonderful! We’ll expect you both at seven. Oh, and tell Sae-byeok not to be shy! We’re excited to finally meet her.”

You forced a small laugh. “I’ll let her know.”

After a few more pleasantries, your mother hung up. The room was silent for a beat.

Then you turned to Sae-byeok, who was still staring at the TV with the look of someone who had just been handed a death sentence.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

She blinked. “You just agreed to throw me to the wolves.”

You laughed, nudging her. “They’re not wolves.”

“They’re rich, important people who probably think I’m some kind of street rat.”

You frowned. “Hey, don’t say that. They’re going to love you.”

Sae-byeok scoffed but didn’t pull away when you reached for her hand. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” you insisted. “Because I love you.”

Her eyes flickered with something unreadable, and for a moment, she looked like she wanted to argue. But then she sighed, squeezing your hand once before looking away.

“This is going to be a disaster,” she muttered.

You grinned. “We’ll see.”

The car ride to your parents’ house was… tense.

Sae-byeok sat in the driver’s seat, her hands gripping the wheel so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. She wasn’t saying much, but you could practically feel the nervous energy radiating off her.

She was trying to play it cool, of course—shoulders squared, expression blank, acting like this was no big deal. But you knew her too well. The way she kept adjusting the rearview mirror despite already having it perfectly positioned, the way she cleared her throat every few minutes, the way her foot hovered just a little too long over the brake pedal at every red light—yeah, she was freaking out.

You bit back a smile as she let out a slow exhale, eyes locked on the road ahead.

“You okay over there?” you asked, voice light.

“Fine,” she replied immediately. Too fast.

You hummed, amused. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” Again, too quick.

A pause. Then:

“…Maybe we should turn around.”

You snorted. “Sae—”

“I just remembered something,” she continued, completely deadpan. “I left the stove on.”

You raised an eyebrow. “We didn’t use the stove today.”

“Maybe I did. You don’t know.”

You laughed, reaching over to squeeze her thigh. “Nice try.”

She sighed dramatically, drumming her fingers on the wheel as she approached another red light. “Okay. What if… I got really, really sick right now?”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re not sick.”

“I could be.”

“You’re fine.”

She exhaled sharply through her nose. “Okay, well. What if the car just—broke down? Right here. Right now.”

You glanced at the dashboard. “Battery’s fine. No lights are on.”

She clicked her tongue. “Damn.”

“Sae.”

“What?”

You smiled at her. “You’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” she shot back, but the way she was gripping the wheel told another story.

You reached over and gently pried one of her hands off the wheel, lacing your fingers together. “It’s okay if you are,” you murmured.

She didn’t respond right away, just stared at the road ahead. Then, finally, she muttered, “I don’t do well with… people like them.”

You squeezed her hand. “People like them?”

She sighed. “Rich. Powerful. Judgmental.”

You frowned. “They’re not that bad.”

“They’re your parents. Of course you think that.”

You hesitated. Okay, fine—your parents weren’t exactly the warmest, most down-to-earth people. They had expectations, high ones, and they had never exactly approved of the way you chose to live outside of their carefully curated world.

But they weren’t cruel. And they were trying.

“I know they can be… a lot,” you admitted. “But they want to meet you. That has to count for something, right?”

Sae-byeok didn’t look convinced.

“Hey.” You tugged on her hand, forcing her to glance at you. “They’re gonna love you.”

She scoffed. “Doubt it.”

You rolled your eyes. “How could they not? You’re smart, you’re funny—”

“Debatable.”

“—and you make me happy.”

That made her pause.

You softened. “That’s all that matters to them, Sae. That I’m happy. And I am.”

She let out a breath, glancing at you from the corner of her eye. “…You’re really annoying, you know that?”

You grinned. “And yet, you’re still in love with me.”

She groaned, but you caught the way the corner of her mouth twitched upward.

The car slowed as she pulled into your parents’ long, pristine driveway. The house loomed ahead—grand, elegant, intimidating as hell.

Sae-byeok stared at it like it was her worst nightmare.

“…Last chance to turn around,” she muttered.

You laughed, squeezing her hand one last time before letting go. “Come on, tough girl. Time to meet the in-laws.”

Sae-byeok exhaled sharply, muttered something under her breath in Korean, and put the car in park.

Then, with the stiffest posture you had ever seen, she stepped out of the car—looking as though she was walking straight into a battlefield.

Sae-byeok looked like she was walking into an execution.

Her shoulders were stiff, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of the blazer you had begged her to wear, and her usual tough, indifferent exterior was barely holding up against the sheer intimidation of your parents’ house. The place was massive—high ceilings, grand windows, and a front door so polished that she could see her own stressed-out reflection in it.

You reached for her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before ringing the doorbell.

“You’ve got this,” you whispered.

She exhaled sharply. “I really don’t.”

Before you could reassure her again, the door swung open, revealing your mother—graceful, elegant, and dressed in a designer outfit that probably cost more than Sae-byeok’s entire wardrobe combined.

“Sweetheart!” she greeted, pulling you into a hug. Then she turned to Sae-byeok, her smile still in place but a little more measured. “And you must be Sae-byeok.”

Sae-byeok, to her credit, managed to nod. “Uh, yeah. Hi.”

You could tell she was trying her best to stand tall, to act like she wasn’t completely overwhelmed, but her hand was clammy in yours.

Your mother stepped aside, motioning you both inside. “Come in, come in! Dinner’s almost ready.”

As you walked in, Sae-byeok subtly glanced around, taking in the lavish decor—the expensive artwork, the grand staircase, the ridiculously fancy chandelier hanging above the dining room. She looked like she was fighting the urge to whistle.

Your father was already at the dining table, standing as you both approached. He was just as intimidating—tall, serious, with the sharp gaze of a man used to being in control.

Sae-byeok was visibly trying not to shrink under it.

“So,” your father said, his voice firm. “This is the girl who’s stolen my daughter’s heart.”

Sae-byeok blinked. “Uh… yeah. That would be me.”

You nearly laughed at how robotic she sounded.

Your father hummed, giving her a once-over. “Sit, both of you.”

Sae-byeok hesitated for a fraction of a second before pulling out a chair stiffly, sitting with perfect posture like she was in a damn job interview. She looked like she was about to break into a cold sweat.

Your mother poured some wine, offering Sae-byeok a glass.

“Thank you,” Sae-byeok said, accepting it carefully, as if she was afraid one wrong move would shatter the expensive crystal.

“So, Sae-byeok,” your mother started as she took her seat. “Tell us about yourself.”

Sae-byeok cleared her throat. “Uh, well. I—” She hesitated, glancing at you quickly before continuing. “I was born in North Korea, but I left when I was young. It’s just me and my little brother now.”

Your parents exchanged a glance, their expressions unreadable.

Your heart squeezed. You knew this wasn’t easy for her—she wasn’t used to talking about herself, especially not to people who made their judgments based on polished resumes and perfect backgrounds.

But before the silence could stretch too long, your father spoke.

“That must’ve been difficult,” he said, his tone surprisingly even. “I imagine you’ve been through a lot.”

Sae-byeok hesitated, as if she was waiting for some kind of condescending remark to follow. But when none came, she nodded slowly. “Yeah. I have.”

Your mother smiled, softer this time. “And what do you do now?”

Sae-byeok glanced at you again, visibly unsure of how much to say.

“She’s been working hard,” you cut in, sensing her discomfort. “She’s saving up to start her own business.”

That wasn’t exactly a lie—Sae-byeok had been talking about opening something small, maybe a clothing shop or a café. It was still just an idea, but it was hers.

Your father raised an eyebrow. “A business? Interesting. What kind?”

Sae-byeok hesitated again, then squared her shoulders. “Fashion, maybe. Or something in retail.”

Your mother’s eyes lit up. “Fashion? Well, that’s an exciting industry.”

Sae-byeok nodded stiffly, still unsure if this was going well or horribly.

The conversation continued through dinner, and little by little, you could see Sae-byeok starting to relax—just slightly. She was still guarded, still careful with her words, but she wasn’t as tense as she had been when you first walked in.

Then, at one point, your father leaned back in his chair and looked at her seriously.

“You know,” he said, “when we heard our daughter was dating someone, we weren’t sure what to expect.”

Sae-byeok tensed again.

“But,” he continued, “I can see why she chose you.”

Sae-byeok blinked. “You… can?”

Your father nodded. “You’re strong. Independent. You’ve been through things most people can’t even imagine, and yet, you’re still standing. That says a lot about your character.”

Sae-byeok stared at him like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

Your mother smiled. “And most importantly, she’s happy with you.”

You turned to Sae-byeok, squeezing her hand under the table. She still looked stunned, like she had been bracing for rejection the entire night—only to be met with something she hadn’t expected.

Acceptance.

As you left that night, walking toward the car, Sae-byeok was quiet. But this time, it wasn’t the stiff, nervous silence from before.

You nudged her playfully. “See? Told you they’d love you.”

She scoffed, but there was no real annoyance behind it. “I still don’t trust rich people.”

You laughed. “Fair. But… they trust you.”

She glanced at you, something unreadable in her expression. Then, finally, she sighed, unlocking the car.

“I guess that’s a start.”

And as you drove home, her hand resting comfortably in yours, you knew that was more than enough.

[chibinasuu]

My Valentine | Killer x Reader

Summary: You got a mysterious note asking you to be their Valentine Tags: sfw, fluff, confession, no use of y/n, GN but written with F!reader in mind, reader wears lipstick (as many kid pirates do, of course)

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”

Your face burned in embarrassment at Kid’s boisterous laughter. 

“Well, if I had a lover,” Wire interjected, “I sure wouldn’t need a whole day dedicated to proving how much I love them. I’ll simply show them every single day.”

Wire’s unexpectedly sweet words prompted Kid to fake-gag, while you groaned frustratedly, “The point is not to prove your love! It’s a day to celebrate love.” 

“Hmm,” Kid brought a finger to his chin, pretending like he was deep in thought, “Nah, I don’t get it.”

“You’re impossible,” You sighed, “We’re pirates, our days are full of violence and fights. Is it so bad to want some romance once in a while?”

“Ugh, when did you become such a sap?”

You gritted your teeth, “Well, you’ve always been an asshole, so I’m not surprised that you don’t understand!”

You flipped Kid off and stalked towards your cabin. 

Your face immediately found your pillow, your screams of frustration muffled in the soft fabric. Of course, your emotionally-stunted Captain wouldn’t understand. It was stupid of you to even talk about Valentine’s Day to Kid, of all people.

Warmth rose to your cheeks as the image of a certain blond unwittingly floated to the forefront of your mind. 

Now, he would understand. 

You knew that he would listen to all of your blabbering, no matter the topic, even if it was something as “ridiculous” as a Day of Love tradition from your home island.

Despite his covered face, you would know that he was hanging on to your every word from the way he would offer soft hums and small nods as you talked. 

You would know that he was listening attentively from the way he would ask questions, encouraging you to tell him more about whatever it was that you were chattering about.

Without intending to, a deep sleep eventually claimed you, bringing dreams filled with manes of luscious yellow hair and fleeting stripes of blue and white.

The sun had nearly completed its descent when you finally woke up from your unplanned nap.

You were groggily stretching your arms above your head when your gaze fell on a small note on the floor of your cabin, which appeared to have been slid from underneath your door. 

You padded over and picked the paper up curiously. A gasp left your lips when you saw what was written on it in slanted handwriting. 

Will you be my Valentine? 

Kitchen. 7 pm. Wear something nice.

You couldn’t deny that your heart started to beat a little faster at the invitation, but the rational part of your brain told your heart that something was weird about this.

As far as you knew, only two other people on this ship knew that today was Valentine’s Day, and by process of elimination, you came to the conclusion that this must be your idiot Captain messing with you. 

Who else would it be from?

The brief giddiness you felt was completely overtaken by a raging annoyance. Your fist clenched so tightly that it creased the little note, and you stormed out of your room to confront the redhead.  

“Kid!” You yelled as you burst into the kitchen, “I swear whatever cruel joke you’re playing here–“

You stopped in your tracks. 

It wasn’t your Captain waiting for you in the kitchen.

“Killer?”

The Massacre Soldier – clad in an apron – had his hands frozen midway through putting a lasagna-filled baking dish into the oven. 

“Hi.” He said awkwardly, “It’s, uh, not 7 pm yet.”

You could only stare at him as the gears in your head turned rapidly, “The note… it was you?”

Killer tried not to sound dejected when he replied, “Were you expecting someone else?”

“No! I thought– Well, um,” You continued to babble incoherently, taken aback that the person you had hoped for, but certainly not expected, was the one who wrote the note all along. 

Killer closed the oven door, fumbling a bit as he took off his mitts and quickly set the timer. He reached for something on the far side of the dining table – something that escaped your notice due to your surprise at this whole situation. 

“For you.”

Your breath hitched as he handed you a simple box tied with a red ribbon. 

“Dinner’s not ready yet, but these are, so…”

You felt Killer’s eyes following your every move through his mask, observing your reaction silently. 

You open the box to reveal a row of chocolate truffles, evenly dusted with dark cocoa powder. The shapes were a little bit lumpy, telling you that the sweet treats were likely handmade by Killer himself. 

A surge of joy overflowed through you, filling your body with a delicious warmth. How did he know that chocolates were such a fundamental part of Valentine’s Day in your hometown? You couldn’t believe this was happening.

And maybe you shouldn’t believe it.

Your brain cruelly shattered the euphoria that you were feeling. 

Right. Killer couldn’t have known about Valentine’s Day. Did Kid or Wire tell him? 

Was this some kind of sick prank that the three of them were playing on you? 

Or did he overhear your conversation and felt sorry that you didn’t have someone to spend this day with?

You couldn’t bear any of those thoughts being true, but you couldn’t really think up another explanation for this. Someone like Killer couldn’t possibly want to do anything remotely romantic for someone like you… right?

“Kil, I… I really appreciate this,” you finally said, “But I swear if you’re just doing this out of pity, or, or for a joke, then–”

“Pity? A joke?” Killer spitted out, “Where did that come from? What in the four goddamn blues are you talking about?”

He sounded legitimately confused, which in turn, made you confused.

With your face buried in your hands, you finally told him about your earlier conversation with Kid and Wire. When you were done explaining, Killer simply laughed out loud at your misguided suspicions, “You got it completely wrong.”

“Well, how did you know about Valentine’s Day, then?” You grumbled defensively, “Kid didn’t, so obviously the holiday is not celebrated on Kutsukku Island.”

Killer scratched the back of his neck bashfully. 

“I, uh, accidentally got a peek at your calendar a while ago.” He admitted, “I was looking for you, and your door was open, but you weren’t in your room.”

Your face burned, remembering that you had circled today’s date and wrote ‘Valentine’s Day’ in bold letters, with a bunch of little hearts drawn around it in red ink, “Oh.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop.”

Killer shrugged before continuing, “Obviously, I got curious. So, on the next island we docked at, I went to the library and did a little research.”

A smile crept up your face at the image of your hunk of a Commander, hunched over in the library with a book.

“Did you know Valentine’s Day is not only celebrated on your home island? Quite a lot of places in the Four Blues and the Grand Line celebrate it too.” 

You cocked your head, partly out of interest at the fact he just told you, partly out of amusement that he really took the time to read up on the holiday, just because of some little hearts on your calendar. And partly out of surprise too – you had never seen the Massacre Soldier act as nervous as he did now.

His hand started fidgeting with the hem of his shirt as he droned on and on, “The holiday’s known by different names, of course, and there are a lot of different traditions involved, but the consensus seems to be that it’s the perfect day to celebrate love with your partners.”

He took a shaky breath, and hesitantly, in a voice so soft you thought you were imagining it, he said, “And that it’s also a perfect day to… confess your feelings.”

It took more than a few seconds for his words to sink in. 

Your eyes widened like saucers when they finally did.

“…You have feelings for me?” You sputtered incredulously, “Why?”

Killer chuckled at the dumbstruck expression on your face, “Why would I not?” 

You gulped as his hand reached out to brush his fingers upon your hair, grazing your ear in the process, “You’re smart, funny, beautiful, brave. You never take shit from anyone. You take care of me and the crew a lot. I love talking and spending time with you. You’re the most wonderful person I know.”

His hands gripped your shoulders, as if begging you to see yourself the way he saw you.

“How could I not fall for you?”

You couldn’t see his face, but the sincerity in his voice alone was enough to choke you up.

You were speechless, so you just stood there with your mouth slightly gaping, staring in disbelief at the man you have had feelings for forever admitting that those feelings were mutual. 

As your stunned silence went on, Killer’s hands slackened from their hold on your shoulders, and he took a step back, mistakenly taking your reaction as rejection.

In a surge of panic, and with a boldness that came out of nowhere, you grabbed his metal-clad face and pulled him back towards you, planting a kiss right where his lips would be. 

You pulled away just as quickly, letting out an embarrassed chuckle when you saw that your lipstick had left a little kiss mark on his helmet. Your hand flew to the spot, but Killer caught it before your fingers could wipe the stain off.

“Killer, I–“

“If you want to kiss me,” His voice somehow sounded lower than it was a minute ago, “You better do it properly.”

And with that, he brought your hands to the sides of his head, guiding them in lifting the helmet off.

Your heartbeat quickened to a million beats per minute as Killer’s face was slowly revealed to you. 

First his goatee, then his purple-stained lips, his pointed nose. 

Killer shook his blond mane and set the helmet aside before finally meeting your gaze.

“Kil…” You reached out as if in a trance and gently caressed his cheek, gasping at the sight of his strikingly blue eyes, “You’re so beautiful.”

It admittedly made you giddy that you had now become one of the only few select people that Killer chose to show his face to.

Hell, if the world knew what he looked like underneath that mask, you were sure that a gaggle of women and men would chase him down to the ends of the Grand Line.

Killer grabbed your waist and stepped closer to you, leaving a mere inch between your chests. Both of your hearts were thumping so loudly that it was a miracle that the other couldn’t hear it.

He leaned in ever so slowly… then stopped, leaving it up to you to close the gap. 

You tentatively brushed your lips against his, and it felt like sparks had burst all over your chest, leaving tingles everywhere. You pressed your lips to his once more, a little bit firmer this time.

Killer couldn’t hold back any longer and tugged your body flush with his. His hand traveled to the back of your head, pulling you into a deeper kiss.

Your knees felt like jelly, and you would’ve been sprawled on the floor if it wasn’t for Killer’s steady arms holding you up. 

You could taste a hint of chocolate on his tongue – he must’ve spent so much time taste-testing to make the perfect batch of chocolates for you.

Both of you couldn’t get enough of each other now that you had gotten a taste, but of course, you were only humans, so you finally parted to properly get some air into your lungs.

Killer touched his forehead to yours and grinned, still slightly out of breath, “So, does this mean you’re my Valentine?”

“Yes, you big oaf.” You laughed, circling your arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight embrace, “This year and the next, and for as long as you want me.”

The kitchen of the Victoria Punk never felt as warm as it was now, with you finally wrapped around Killer’s arms. A delicious aroma wafted from the oven, a reminder that a lovely meal for two was still waiting for you – and that your night had barely started. 

You wished it would never end.

a/n: i almost didn't finish this on time askdjksjdk i kept procrastinating because i didn’t quite know how i wanted to write killer, but i hope i did him justice! hope you enjoyed this little valentine treat, and i hope you're all having a great valentine's day, whether you're spending it with your partner, your friends, your family, or by yourself. have some chocolate and flowers from me 🍫💐

[zevrra]

(more pervert!jayce bc i can eheh,,,,,,,)

oh god he was a mess. a pathetic, disgusting mess.

jayce’s hands trembled as he clutched onto the underwear he knew better than to have. he fidgets with the hem of your pretty panties, rubbing his thumb across the lacy fabric as he tries his best to talk himself out of doing what he was thinking about doing. but it was no use. he had already stolen the underwear from you. and since he couldn’t have you, he’d just have to settle for this…and use his imagination a little.

he had been hard all day long. sitting in the lab, watching you as you paraded around in a short dress…all just to tease him. jayce grunts heavily, leaning back into his desk chair as he slowly wraps his fingers around the base of his stiff cock. he slides his palm along the curve of his shaft until he presses firmly into the tip of his head; forcing him to stifle a groan, biting his bottom lip.

and he used to be satisfied with just staring at the pretty underwear he swiped but now it wasn’t enough. and he does something he thought he’d never do…desperately he takes the fabric between his closed fingers and presses it into his nose. imagining what you must smell like, how lovely you must taste. his hand picks up the pace as he imagines laying you on your back, forcing your legs open as he eats you out. his tongue slipping between every fold of your wet pussy, because he made you this wet. no one else could, only he could.

jayce stifles another pitiful whimper at the thought. his hand moving faster and faster, imagining your slick folds against his lips and tongue. how pretty you’d sound, moaning for him and only him. he can’t help but imagine how your thighs would tighten against his cheeks when he attacked your clit with his tongue; or how many fingers could he slip inside your twitching cunt before you came all over his tongue.

“fuck!” jayce mumbles into the sweet underwear he holds close to him. it was too much. the thought of fingering you, tasting you, touching you, imagining your sweet voice moaning his name…it was too goddamn much. he’s panting like a dog, head fuzzy, fingers trembling around his shaft as he practically fucks into his fist. when his orgasm hits him like a truck. he sobs, open mouth against the panties on his lips, muttering your name as his cums. mind numbing pleasure shoots to the tips of his fingers and toes with his orgasm.

his hand doesn’t stop moving until he finally reaches the end of his climax. eyes heavy as he stares at the white, sticky mess he’s created along his fingers. and he should feel bad…he should feel wrong for having such impure thoughts as the “golden boy” everyone has coined him to be. but he doesn’t feel bad in the slightest.

all he could care about in that moment was that, again, it wasn’t enough.

[miniwheat77]

V-Day. (141 x Reader.)

!nsfw, smut, p in v sex, oral sex (m!receiving), protected sex, gang bang, NO MINORS!

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY LOVES! (and Birthday if you’re a v-day baby🥺) If I could get every single one of you a valentine I would 🫶🥰

The task force sees how upset you are on holidays.

You’ve got no family and no other friends outside of the task force so around the holidays you tend to get a little reclusive. Sometimes they’ll try to do nice things for you but most of the time they don’t have the opportunity to. When you’re out on a base in the middle of a warzone, ordering things in and going to stores isn’t exactly ideal.

They notice of all of the holidays, Christmas and Valentines Day seem to be the hardest ones of all for you.

They’ve managed to help raise your spirits on Christmas by brining in a fake little tree and making ornaments out of plain lined paper and dental floss. They even found a couple markers or pens around base so you could color them. At least it gave you something to do as a task force but you were out of luck on Valentine’s Day.

None of the men were married or in a relationship and truth be told, Valentine’s Day wasn’t as important to them. But it was to you and they knew it.

The only thing Captain Price could do, was get everyone off duty for the day.

The four of them had crossed paths a couple of times. Working out, doing paperwork, cleaning up their own spaces. That was it. But they noticed none of them seen you.

“Poor things probably just sitting in her room like usual.” They mumble.

After another hour or so, you reappear out of nowhere while they’re sitting in the mess hall, making small talk.

“Ah, finally out to join us?”

“Yeah, I made you something.” You smile.

“What?”

“Yeah, I saved it for this year since we had nothing last year..” you mumble.

You’d made little handmade cards each specialized for them and attached a candy to it.

“Well now I feel bad because we didn’t get you anything dove..” Captain Price mumbles. “That’s not what this is about. Holidays are about giving. Anyways, I have to go finish cleaning up my room before I forget. Happy Valentines Day!” You smile, turning around and making your way back to your room.

Captain Price sighs.

None of them have any idea what to do. They have nothing on base that they can give you.

“You know.. I have an idea.” Johnny mumbles.

“Might be a bit crazy but.. it just might make her feel better.” He smiles nervously.

They make a plan, each of them needed to go find something and bring it back to the table to present with for the plan.

Gaz hurried outside, he would feel bad for messing up the rose bush outside because he knows how much you adore it (since it IS the only one around) but you’d just have to forgive him later. They’re a magenta color, which he thinks you’ll like. He makes sure to go for the roses that aren’t as full, on the back and on the bottom of the bush. He uses his pocket knife to cut the heads off, keeping them in tact. It still looks pretty when he’s done.

Johnny goes around base searching for those unscented tea lights laying around for when the power is out. He manages to find an entire bag of them in a back office. Scoring when he finds a random striker too.

Captain Price heads for his own office where he knows he’s got paper, using a few pieces to thicken it up and a stapler to make a makeshift card. He’s even got one single piece of red paper, cutting tiny hearts out of it and taping them onto the white card. His time as a Captain and all of the paperwork he’s had to do has really helped his cursive. Making sure to give the others the opportunity to add something they’d like before signing it from all of them.

Ghost tore his entire room apart looking for a photo to put into the card. He knew he had it lying around and it took him a good white to find it buried inside of a drawer, but he does find it. It’s a photo of the entire task force. The five of you standing all together just before a mission, in full gear. It’s something he’s cherished but he has a copy at home.

“Y/N, page back.” Captain Price calls.

“Copy sir.”

“Keep getting an alert from the southeast gate, you mind checking it out with me?”

“Not at all sir.”

“Great, I’ll meet you out there.” He calls back. When you meet him at the door, their plan goes into effect. The other 3 men hustle to get everything in to place as quickly as possible. You’d just finished cleaning your room so it was perfect timing really. You don’t get fully dressed to go which he understands, but he finds it cute what you’re wearing anyways.

“Captain, page back.” Gaz mumbles. He’s out of breath. “Copy.”

“Where at?”

“Heading in now.”

You don’t find it strange, they call back all of the time.

When you turn the corner, you freeze. You see the candlelight first. “What is that?” You ask. You’re curious, approaching it. Captain nearly laughs, noticing your hand on your sidearm at first. The military taught strange reactions. You relax when you see the rose petals. The other 3 stand just outside your door. “What is all of this?”

“It’s a thank you, for being such a huge part of this task force. There’s more inside, go on.” Captain Price smiles. “It’s more than you deserve, but it’s all we got for now.”

You move closer, opening up your door. That’s when you see the little card sitting on your bed. You smile.

You pick it up, opening it up and reading the note that each of them had left you. You look at the small picture last, seeing it’s them.

“This is really sweet, you didn’t have to do all of this.” You smile, turning back at them.

“We’ve got another thing, something important. Sit down.” Soap mumbles, pushing you back slightly onto your bed. “Close your eyes.”

You look up at him skeptically but do it anyways. Your hands sit in your lap. He touches your chin with his fingertips, tilting your head up slightly. He gives it another second before pressing his lips to yours.

You jump back, stunned. “Woah- what are-“ he smiles, hushing you.

“Nothing to be afraid of lass.” He pushes your hair out of your face. “Valentine’s Day is where you show those you love how much you care about them. That's what we're going to do. Just relax.”

You swallow hard, looking around at each of them around the room, all eyes are you. "No need to be nervous, just close your eyes."

You do it, trying your best to stay relaxed as he kisses you again. He grasps the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. You raise your arms up to make it easier for him. Once your shirt is off, everyone in the room starts to get undressed. You can't see it, but you can hear the fabric and bodies movies, belts unbuckling and hitting the floor.

What the hell had you gotten yourself into?

You open your eyes, seeing that they're all shirtless, nothing but hairy, fit bodies around you. Your heart starts to race in your chest. This was a lot. What exactly did they plan to do?

Captain Price chuckles, now having taken Johnny's place in front of you. He forces your chin up to look at him. "If you're nervous and don't want to do this, you don't have to." He smiles. "You always have a choice, remember that."

You nod your head, taking in a deep breath. "I'm okay. Just nervous." You look up at him, he helps you to stand up, sliding your pants down your legs for you. Helping you step out of them by taking your hand to steady you.

What a gentleman.

"Go ahead and get on the bed darling."

The candles are illuminating the room, the light is still on but it's already dim. You move up the bed, still making an attempt to cover yourself.

Captain Price moves himself between your legs, he'd taken his boxers off, same as everyone else. You see him tear something open with his teeth, surprised when you realize it's a condom. You wonder where on earth he'd gotten it.

Now the four massive men stood completely naked in front of you and this wasn't a joke. This was really going to happen.

He takes your gaze away from everyone else by drawing his fingertips up your exposed opening, gathering wetness on his fingers and gliding up over your clit, the gasp gathers everyone's attention. They were nervous too, just far better at hiding it.

They're all looking at you, seeing how your eyebrows move into each other, mouth parting in pleasure as he touches you. He rubs gentle circles over you, the more aroused you are the more wet you'll be. You're going to need it to be able to take all four of them. He pushes a finger into you, hearing you gasp at the intrusion, moving a hand to grip his wrist as he starts to finger you. His fingers are long. He moves them through you, curling them slightly with eat thrust, searching for that spot inside of you. The others watch as he searches for it.

When he finds it, you tilt your head back with a moan, resting your head on the pillow. The mewl that leaves your lips is promising, each of them now know exactly what to do to please you.

He draws his fingers back, smiling when he realizes how fast your heart is beating. Hopefully he didn't get you too close. You still had a long ways to go.

He adjust you, tilting you just slightly to the side, raising your hip up just slightly. That special place inside of you was about to be battered by the four men. Because not only are they attempted, but obsessed with pleasing you.

He grips his cock, the first you'll feel tonight. He glides the tip over your opening to gather your arousal on him before he sinks inside of you. You gasp when he fills you. Cock pressing right up against that spot, he could feel your heart beating from your touch alone. That knot was already beginning to form in your belly.

You feel hands on you and it draws you back down to earth. Ghost is at your side, running his fingertips over the skin on your right arm to soothe you. Johnny moves to the other side, doing the same to your left.

You realize that Gaz is at the head of your bed, nearly standing over you.

He lowers himself, helping to brush your hair out of your face. "You're doing so good for us." He breathes. You clench your eyes closed, felling your Captain bury himself into you once more. The two to your left and right gasp at the same time, feeling your hands reaching for them. The feel of your touch on their cocks is enough to draw a moan from each of them.

Kyle takes a deep breath when you reopen your eyes, looking up at him. He stands up, almost knowing what it is that you want.

You take his cock into your mouth, tonguing the tip at first. You tease him for a minute before taking him further down. He can see your throat bulge because of his intrusion and suddenly his orgasm isn't too far off.

John keeps a steady pace, he knows you'll take a lot more than just him tonight and he doesn't want to be too rough with you. You feel good wrapped around him, tight. The eagerness he had felt before already had him on edge. He knew he wouldn't last long. Which was in your favor considering. He just wanted to draw at least one orgasm out of you.

He rocks his hips into you, perfect pace. Right into that spot.

He draws circles into your clit until you're right at the edge of pure bliss, toppling over the edge. You draw away from Kyle when you cum, crying out. You attempt to close your legs but he keeps them open, keeping his slow pace and riding your high out. Groaning out when he reaches his own. He closes his eyes, riding it out with another couple thrusts.

When he reopens them he pulls out of you, seeing your orgasm at the base of his cock. He can only wonder how good you'd feel raw.

He draws himself away, moving to your chair in the corner of the room, lighting a cigar as Simon takes his place. You swallow hard, looking down at him. He rolls a condom over the tip of his cock, same as your Captain had. "You alright to keep going?" He looks up at you. You nod.

You don't want to let your Lieutenant down. He does the same to you. Slight tilting your hips, moving you in another way. You can only imagine it's to reach that spot inside.

They were so attentive.

He thrusts into you, you tilt your head back with a sigh. He's slightly more rough than Captain Price but you can easily tell they're being gentle. You can only imagine how rough they could be if they really wanted.

You take Kyle back into your mouth, moving your hand up the shaft of Johnny's cock. Keeping them both stimulated. It's hard to focus with Simon thrusting into you, but you do it.

He pushes your legs up slightly, reaching even deeper. You moan around Kyle, hearing him groan at the vibrations from you. He knew once he felt your walls around him that he wasn't going to last long.

Your right hand is free now, you use it to draw circles into your own clit which surprises them. Considering that you had just cum. You're gentle with it.

Simon keeps a steady pace just as his Captain had. Working himself into his own orgasm but focusing on you too. You weren't just any girl to them. You were important and they weren't here to use you.

You draw away from Kyle and he moves to your side again, moving his face to be level with yours. "Why don't you take a look at what he's doing hm?"

You swallow hard, raising yourself up onto your elbows. Johnny moves to your other side, lips by your other ear.

"He's stretching you so much. You're taking a lot. More than we thought you could." Kyle smiles. He hears you take in a sharp breath at a particularly hard thrust from Simon. He was getting sloppy with it. Seeing the lost look in your eyes is drawing him close.

"Your body is taking us so well darling. We knew you would."

You look up, eyes snapping to Ghosts and he gets chills down his spine at the look you're giving him.

"Happy Valentines Day, Y/N." It leaves Simon's lips and you can barely see his mouth move behind his mask. He doesn't expect you to cum.

You moan out, closing your eyes as you reach another orgasm, this one more intense than the first. Your clit throbs as you draw your hand away from it, nearly crying at the overstimulation. "Oh fuck!" Simon gasps, feelling you tense around him, pulsing with each beat of your heart.

He clutches your thigh harder than he intends when he finishes, eyes rolling back into his head when fills the condom. You gasp, feeling the warmth of it. How the hell were you going to do this another two times? You don't know where he's off to when he pulls away.

"M'kinda close already from your mouth darling, don't laugh when I don't last." Kyle jokes. You give him a lazy smile. You didn't see it, but he's got a condom on. You flinch when he slides into you. "You alright?" He asks, looking up at you. You nod your head. "If it's too much, we'll stop."

You smile at him. "I'm alright Kyle. Thank you." You breathe. Kyle had length on the rest of them, reaching parts of you untouched. You were already sensitive before, but knew you'd be pushing your body to the limits with him. You can't cum four times, surprised by the fact that they've even gotten two so close together. Your eyes water as he starts in, thrusting into you. He can't be as rough because he doesn't want to hurt you.

You've already taken so much. Soap cups your breasts, you tilt back to take him into your mouth. You surprise him.

He gasps when you take him down, sucking at the tip of his cock before taking him further down "Your lips look so pretty wrapped around me." He breathes, pinching one of your nipples between his fingers, hearing you gasp. You glide your hand up to entwine your fingers with Johnny's and he doesn't draw back, letting you clutch onto him.

You can tell how close Kyle is by how he starts to shake. His hands shake as he rests them on your thighs. His pants are uneven.

His face contorts in pleasure, teeth gritted and bared as he finishes deep into the condom, this time you can feel the force of his orgasm against your walls. You gasp out at the feeling.

You draw away from Johnny and he's quick to take Kyle's place. You couldn't take much more and he knew it. That's why he's going last.

Johnny is the best at being affectionate. At making love.

He slides the condom down around himself. Like the others had.

He pushes you up further on the bed, entering you much slower than the others, even going as far to give you a moment to adjust to him before he moves. You look up at him, almost as if giving him the approval to move. He draws back and thrusts into you, seeing you flinch slightly. He was really deep and you were overstimulated already.

"You think you can give me one more darling?" He smiles. You shake your head. "I don't know Johnny. It's a lot." You pant. Your eyes are already watery but he keeps his pace. "I think you can, lass. You've done so well for me. Done so good." He breathes. "One more doll. Just one. Focus on me."

He lowers himself to hover over you. Using his body weight on top of you to keep you grounded. "Johnny?"

"Hm?"

"Will you kiss me again?"

He doesn't respond, just presses his lips to yours. He's surprisingly a really good kisser, lips moving with yours.

You don't know why you're reacting to him like you are but just his kiss alone has that knot forming once more. You know this one may even hurt. He draws away, brushing your hair out of your face. "You feel so fucking good around me. You are so tight." He breathes. "You're doing so good darling, got me so close already." He bites his lip, trying to contain his moans.

He was getting close but he wants one more from you. Just one more.

He grasps your hand, bringing it up to your clit. "I can't Johnny, too much."

"Try for me doll. Just once."

You flinch when you touch your own clit. Thighs shivering as you ghost over it with your fingertips. You're so close.

The others hear your cry from just outside the door, cheeks turning pink at just the sound of you.

Johnny groans when you pulse around him, tears stream from you eyes and he finishes just in time as you push him away. It was nearly too much.

He finishes with a grunt, letting his high take over him.

When he comes down from it, he moves himself from on top of you.

You're panting out, tears still streaming from your eyes as you settle down. You've taken a lot tonight and they know it. But they just wanted to show you what you meant to them.

"I'll help you get cleaned up. give me a sec." He breathes, moving to get dressed and draping a blanket over you so that he could carry you to the showers. He knows once you're clean you'll fall asleep quick. While you're gone, the others help clean up the mess of rose petals and candles, changing your sheets for you as well.

Best Valentines Day ever.

[chanranghaeys]

☀️ here, there, and everywhere

This journal belongs to: me. If found, please contact this number. (And please do not read it—unless you want to read the ramblings of a person who fails to deny their feelings for a certain someone.)

pairing: lee chan x gn!reader word count: 2.5k+ genre: fluff for (belated) happy chan day and carat day! rating: pg tags: college friends, they grew up, time skips between entries, mutual pining, happy (open) ending, stream of consciousness, excessive italics, please read the whole thing as if it were a private journal of sorts warnings: mentions of alcohol, death of a family member (brief mention, off the page)

a/n: this is a self-indulgent piece on my ultimate crush and the love of my (kpop) life, lee chan. i can’t keep denying you, so here we go. in an alternate universe, you would’ve been my best friend that i loved to hate and hated to love, until one of us finally gave in to our feelings and hoped for the best. happy birthday chan! you’ve given me nothing but color in my life ever since i became a carat. i wish you all the beautiful flower paths ahead ✨

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Dear Chan,

You must think me pathetic if you ever found one of these letters.

It sucks…this little crush I’ve discovered I have on you. And I am only saying this ONCE on the page. And to no one else. Because when you talk about a crush, it only grows, right?

So I'll just talk about it to myself.

I hate crushes because they are so unexplainable. They’re unexplainable feelings that latch on to you so hard and never let you go until you fumble and mess up and just make an utter fool of yourself.

I first found out I had a crush on you last month.

I had long admired you from afar through your dancing. You’re beautiful when you dance—in the zone, focused, bursting with energy. I’m genuinely jealous of how you can do the things you do with your body, how you tell such beautiful stories with every little move you make.

But it was that time during a production runthrough—the simultaneous evaluations—where you made that one mistake almost fatal to your team on that one sequence you spent weeks perfecting.

Yet there you were onstage, just laughing it off. So instead of your team being anxious or frustrated, they just laughed along with you.

It turned out to be the best performance of the night, your laughing played off as banter and camaraderie by the guest audiences.

That’s when I first felt the intense grip of this thing called feelings on my poor little heart.

Absolutely disgusting.

Anyway.

This “writing letters I'll never send to you” is all just for me to really process all these feelings I’ve discovered for you. No other reason aside from that. In my head, this is a form of acknowledgment so I can easily get over whatever this is.

So yeah. Feelings. A crush. On you—someone younger than me—of all people. I can’t believe it.

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

We were crossing the street when you suddenly held my hand. You did that to pull me to the other side of the road farther from the direction of the car.

“Be careful,” you said.

I shouldn’t feel special. Maybe you do this with everyone else anyway.

I hate how I can’t help but feel just a teensy bit special. Indulge me on this.

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

I hate how you’re so stubborn. I hate how you’re so passionate. I hate how you’re such an amazing dancer. If I didn’t know better, I’d be so goddamn jealous of you.

Well, maybe I already am.

But above all that, I feel so in awe of you.

I hate how amazing you are in everything you do.

I hate how you’re actually inspiring me to be a better person. Little by little.

You’re inspiring me to be more diligent, to work harder, to believe in myself and my artistry way more than I ever thought I could—even through the infinite doubts.

Because that’s what you do to me.

“You can do it!” you said. “I’ll be right in the audience cheering for you, too. Because you’re my number one supporter, I’ll also be your number one supporter.”

I hate how you’re right. Why do you always have to be right?

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

I don’t get it. I really don’t.

I don’t understand why you would do such things to me and for me.

It was such a simple and offhand remark.

“Is that a new necklace?” you asked.

“Nah,” I replied.

“It’s pretty. I don’t usually see you wearing that necklace. Where's the other one? The silver one with the daisy pendants?”

It was only because that one—my favorite one—broke and I didn’t have the time to have it fixed yet. Too busy with org scheds.

And you know what you said?

“Give it to me. I’ll have it fixed.”

What in the actual—

You didn’t have to do it, Chan.

Yet there I was, handing over my most prized possession...to you, my...friend.

You better give it back to me fixed, or else.

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

We’re in the library pretending to study for this godforsaken exam. I’ve practically given up on it.

(lol just kidding I can’t do that)

So we’re on a break. You’re sitting right in front of me, writing something down in your own notebook. Good thing the tables are a bit wide. I really wish that you won’t be able to see your name plastered on top of this page.

I never pegged you for someone who writes. In my head, I will take this as my own influence over you after my constant stories of how journaling and writing is such a simple thing that can heal you so easily and thoroughly.

Maybe my influence, and Seungkwan’s as well. At least he’s a good influence.

It was so funny, even, how you made a huge show of showcasing your little black notebook. When you opened it, I saw that it was already bookmarked at the halfway point.

So you do write. You have been writing.

Stop making my crush on you grow. Stop.

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

You were so drunk last night. I don’t think you’ll remember any of it today.

But I remember everything crystal clear.

You’ve had how many bottles of soju at that point. You slung your arm around me and leaned your head on my shoulder. Never mind how fast my heart was beating at that point. Whether from alcohol, or you know what, I will never know.

You told me, “You’re my best friend. You know that, right?”

Your best friend.

A friend.

A stake to the heart would’ve hurt less, in my opinion.

But then again, better a best friend than nothing at all.

I wish I was as drunk as you were last night. Maybe I could forget that one sentence and just carry on living as if this thing between us is nothing.

As if us holding hands the entire night last night under the guise of you “needing a steady hand to hold so you wouldn't fall because you were drunk as hell” is no indication of any thing.

Whatever this thing is.

Sincerely,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

I promised not to write anymore—believe me I tried. We’re best friends, right?

Best friends meet up for breakfast before going separate ways for the day, right?

Best friends make sure to ask if you’re home at the end of every day, right?

Best friends have random snacks or your go-to pick-me-up drink delivered to you when they know you’re having a terrible day, right?

Best friends do that, right?

Even if they’re both in separate relationships already?

I’m so confused. I shouldn’t be, but I can’t make it make sense.

Maybe it’s just me and these lingering and unresolved feelings. I hate them.

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

Thank you for meeting me as soon as I called. Thank you for holding me as my world fell apart. Thank you for comforting me even as my tears fell. Thank you for being reliable. Thank you for giving me my comfort ice cream. Thank you for helping me through this breakup even though I know you’re on the brink of your own.

Thank you for being a friend—my friend.

Thank you for always catching me whenever I fall.

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

I’m sorry about the breakup…or am I?

I’m not too sad about it, I’m sorry. I always knew they were a bit off for you. But I hope I’ve been the right kind of friend that you need right now.

Or however you need me. I'll be here for you, the same way you were for me. You know that right?

I know you held back a few tears when we were at the cafe earlier. You loved them, for sure. I know how far you go for love—that's how true your love is.

But you should've seen the look in your eyes. It tells me you’re not too too sad about it either.

Or maybe it’s just me.

Yeah, definitely just me.

Maybe it was more of me wanting to see the spark in your eyes again after you kept denying that it had been gone for so long.

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

You should've seen your face earlier. It was so…

With all of your hip-hop and R&B playlists, I never pegged you to be one to appreciate any of the oldies.

“This is my favorite Beatles song,” I said.

You immediately stopped scrolling the phone hidden behind the book reading the book in your hand to listen to “Here, There, and Everywhere” playing from the cafe's tinny speakers, straining to make it out above the chatter of the establishment.

You said you'll pull up the lyrics to read, and as you did, the smile on your face grew ever so slowly with every word that your eyes traveled to. You started to slightly bob your head to the beat while mouthing some of the lyrics as the song continued on.

Okay, fine, I was watching you. You didn't notice anyway.

“It’s a great song,” you said. You looked up with this sense of meaning in your eyes. I feel like mine had a look of question marks in them.

Your fingers danced on your phone. I’m sure you added it to one of your playlists. Well, I hope.

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

This is the last letter I’ll write. I promise.

It’s graduation tomorrow. If you give me nothing and nothing happens within the next month of tomorrow, I will stop this nonsense and maybe try to finally get over these feelings I seem to have for you.

Whatever it is.

I just…don’t think I can bring myself to do it first.

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

This is so random but you just suddenly crossed my mind. And I remembered this notebook full of so-called "unsent letters to you."

I wonder how you are and if you're doing okay. I don't know why we grew apart after graduation. I just...I don't know. I can't even think about it without my head aching.

It does kind of feel like there's a hollow void in the shape of you somewhere in my body, particularly somewhere around my chest area.

(nope, I won't say it)

I hope you're doing alright.

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

I can’t believe you came. It's been five years since we saw each other, three since we last spoke, yet you came—the person I least expected to see in the wake.

I never thought there'd be another letter but how could I not write anything?

I didn’t realize how painful and heavy it was to lose my grandfather until you hugged me. You were the first one to see my tears. You were the only one brave enough to hold my broken pieces without caring if you'd get cut by my sharp edges.

How you were able to do it even after all these years will forever be a mystery to me.

Thank you for catching me before I further shattered myself.

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

I’m still reeling from recent events.

It was so nice to see you again last night, though. Thanks for dragging me out of my apartment. It’s been so long since we went out like that, just for some frozen yogurt, which naturally turned into a few drinks because after all, it’s still the two of us together.

But good lord help me, I’m still in a daze. How can I be normal when I just dropped the biggest truth bomb of my life thus far?

I told you, “Maybe I’ve always wondered what it would be like if we ever tried before.”

But you know what you said? You know what you frickin’ said?

“I wish you told me earlier. Why didn’t you?”

Well, why didn’t you??????

I swear I could’ve combusted on the spot if I could. I swear I just said that so I could finally let go of this weight from my chest.

But you know what you did?

You walked me home. You made sure I was safe.

And then you visited this morning with coffee and breakfast to nurse the drinks from last night.

You’re just outside my room right now, sitting on my small couch, playing Beatles songs from the speakers. You’re waiting for me to finish whatever I’m doing here because you’re taking me out to see this movie I told you I wanted to watch. Why?

“We have to make up for lost time,” you said.

Chan, what are you doing? Just tell me so I know what I should do.

What do I do with you now?

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Happy Chan Day!

I hate you.

I wish you told me about your party earlier! I mean, even hours earlier, not like an hour or two right before.

Okay, I know it’s a spontaneous birthday party and all—I GET IT. But please tell your friends to at least invite your other friends beforehand? So we can also prep stuff for you, okay? I moved around so many schedules for this—for your party. How could I not?

So I hope you’ll forgive me for not preparing your gift yet. I was planning to get it in the coming days when my sched was relatively freer. Still, I’m really, truly sorry for not getting you a gift. I know you like getting gifts because you like giving them as well.

You know, it’s your birthday, yet you were the one who said something that was almost like a gift to me.

You said, “Don’t bother with the gift. As long as you’re here with me, I don’t really need anything else.”

Chan, I still hate you. I think.

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

I’ve come to the harrowing realization that I’m in love with you.

No scratch that. I love you. Throughout all these years, I’ve always loved you.

How’s that for a hit-me-with-a-firetruck realization?

Yours truly (I wish),

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

Do not laugh at me. Do not be condescending. Do not dismiss me—your best friend. Do not leave me hanging. Just…do not.

When I show you this, just don’t.

Just read it.

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Hey, you.

If only you knew how many pages I’ve written about you. Glad to know I’m not the only one doing so.

It started on that day we were in the library. I’d already written about so many things, but that was the first time I ever wrote about you. I’ve never stopped writing since.

And even in pages full of you writing about me, I still write about you.

You’ve always been here, there, and everywhere to me.

Yours, truly and only yours,

Chan

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

NOW PLAYING: seventeen's playlist - song # 2

“To lead a better life / I need my love to be here // … // will be there and everywhere / Here, there and everywhere”

[lostbookmark]

MDNI 🔞

Main Masterlist here

Finding Masterlist here

Summary: After a failed engagement, you move back home and reconnect with your friends. Maybe, just maybe you can find love with someone you never expected.

Pairing: Yoongi x F. Reader

Warnings: Explicit Sex, Swearing, Cheating (Not Yoongi), Fighting, Protected/Unprotected Sex, Toxic Past Relationship,

Genre: Enemies(?) to Lovers, Neighbors to Lovers, Small Town romance. Hurt-Comfort, Slight Angst, Romance

Jin slides a dish of vanilla ice cream to you. You smile when you see he remembers the extra sprinkles on top. Yoongi has taken a play out of your book and has been actively avoiding you since your conversation at his house two weeks ago. Every day, you watched out your window from your living room, hoping that he would come over when he returned home from work. He never did. Why was he so upset? Why was he so offended that you didn't want to sell the recipes to the farm? It's not like you were hurting the farm financially. They were doing perfectly well before you came along. They didn't need your bread or jam to be successful. It really shouldn't have mattered that you said no. You regret even agreeing to bake for them in the first place.

“Was I stupid for not selling the recipes?” You ask Jin, who is leaning on the counter in front of you with his own dish of ice cream.

“No, they mean something to you, and you shouldn't feel bad, ” he assures you. “Anyone of us could have talked to you about it. We are all at fault for this whole mess. I don't know why he is taking it so hard.”

“I feel like I've fucked everything up,” you say shoving the sweet cold ice cream in your mouth. As you chew on the colorful sprinkles the bell above the door jingles catching your attention. Hobi walks into the cafe and sits on the stool next to you as he steals a spoonful of your dessert. Your friendship with him went back to normal in a blink of an eye. It wasn't long after you both apologized that Jin and Namjoon sent you their own apologies. They didn't try to come up with excuses for Yoongi or try to make you feel bad. They were simple heartfelt apologies that you accepted right away. “Jimin and Tae even texted me asking why I was making a big deal out of it. They made a whole group chat with the three of us so they could gang up on me together.”

“Really?” Hobi asked, surprised, and you nodded.

“I'll have a talk with them later,” Jin comments, shaking his head.

“I…I just feel like I was back on track with my life, settling in nicely, and now everyone hates me,” you cry. Tears fall down your face that you quickly wipe away with your sleeve. “With the way everything has been going, I wouldn't be surprised if Kook doesn't evict me.”

“He would never do that to you. No one hates you,” Jin said, patting your head as if you're a child.

“It's all going to blow over,” Hobi said, hugging you.

“It's too late. Yoongi is clearly talking shit about me, and now everyone is going to choose sides. Jimin warned me not to let this get messy and look at us. I was so stupid to get involved with him,” you say, shaking your head disagreeing with them. “I've talked to my one and only friend from my old school district. They have a third grade teacher leaving next year. I think I'm going to take the position.”

“No, you're not,” Joon said, coming into the cafe with that damn bell jingling behind him. “We are not going to let you run away. I'll reject your resignation, and I won't give you any recommendations.”

“You would really do that to me?” You ask as he sits on your free side.

“Absolutely,” Namjoon said. “You belong here with us….you're family. Yoongi is stubborn, and so are you. Let things settle down, talk it out, and we will all move on.”

“What if we can't agree on things?” You ask, stirring the ice cream around in your bowl. “He doesn't seem to be in a rush to talk to me. He's had two weeks to talk to me. It's not like he doesn't know where I live. What if there is no fixing this?”

“What if?” Jin asks as he stares off into space as if he’s deep in thought. “What if…”

“What if what?” Hobi asks, smacking the counter, knocking Jin out of his daze.

“What if you sell the recipes to Tannie Farms, but make everything yourself?” Jin asks, looking at you curiously before breaking out in a wide smile.

“I'm not following,” you say, and your other two friends seem just as confused. The three of you in front of the counter look at each other as if Jin has gone insane. “His whole point was that I couldn't make everything myself. I can't supply you with the amount you would need.”

“I don't want to run the cafe anymore. I want to make the food I want to make,” he explains, turning serious. “Think about it, Y/N. A restaurant and bakery. Yours and mine….mine and yours. Ours. People from all over would flock to us.”

“That's….not a bad idea,” Joon said, looking at you with a surprised look on his face. Now, you are looking at him like he is the crazy one. “You would have multiple ovens big enough to make the quantities we need for deliveries, and the recipes would be safe with you. You wouldn't be selling them to strangers.”

“Okay, what about my job? Do I just give up on teaching and throw away my degree that I worked hard for? I am still paying off my student loan. I don't have the money to help you start a restaurant and bakery,” you tell them, pushing your dish of melting ice cream away. “I don't even know if I can make anything else. We can't run a bakery on one cake, bread, and a couple of jams.”

“Yoongi says he's willing to talk about it,” Hobi says, holding up his phone. You glare at him, that traitor. You knew he loved Yoongi more. “You wouldn't have to put up any money because Tannie Farms would own it. Financially, you wouldn't be on the hook for anything.”

“So, I would work for Yoongi,” you say, sounding very unamused as you take in their faces, looking excited at the possible new venture. Shaking your head, you wave your hands in front of you, showing that you were not interested. “Yeah, no thanks.”

“Please, please. Don't crush my dreams,” Jin begs, hands pressed together underneath his chin. “We could be successful. You would work for all of us, not just Yoongi. I don't want to work for my parents forever.”

“You'll have plenty of time to find more recipes and experiment,” Hobi assures you. “The whole process will take time. Months, if not years. You can do it.”

“You wouldn't even have to talk to Yoongi. Jin will handle everything, and all of us are available if you need anything. I think that you definitely can do it,” Joon says, agreeing with Hobi.

Can you? Can you do it? In theory, yes, you probably could. Your grandmother has so many different recipes that you haven't even explored yet. It's the whole working for your friends and Yoongi that is causing you to question this new business opportunity. Could you handle working for Yoongi after everything happened? You're not sure if you can or even want to. To actually work for them puts your entire livelihood at risk. If you get involved, fully involved, there is no way you could walk away at the drop of a hat if things get rough. It was a major commitment.

“Please?” Jin said, giving you puppy dog eyes. “Please, I'll love you forever. I wouldn't even dream of doing this with anyone else. We would work so well together.”

“Okay,” you give in and smack the counter with your hands, causing them to smile at you. “I guess I will be willing to listen to a full-on business plan when you have one. A complete business plan and not just an idea. However, that's all for right now ….I'll listen and consider.”

“Great! We are going to be great together,” Jin exclaims. “I need to get a menu around. Jolly Jin’s Cafe and Bakery. I can see the sign now.”

You sigh as you watch him run back into the kitchen. You think you're getting a headache.

Pulling back into your driveway, you notice Yoongi's house is dark like it has been recently. You barely even see the lights on for an extended period of time in his home at night anymore. You wonder if he kept the same routine he had when you would stay over. Dinner in the kitchen preceded by sitting in the living room curled up on the couch, reading a book. You would have been tucked into his side watching tv or scrolling through your phone as his eyes flew over the pages of his book. Sometimes, the nights would end with him pinning your against the couch cushions or scurrying upstairs quickly and into the bed. Now, those nights are over and gone with one stupid fight.

Sniffling, you blink away the unshed tears. It was then that you noticed the car parked along the side of your driveway. Looking over to your house, you stare at Changkyun from your driver's seat as you throw your car into park as he stands on your porch waiting for you. There was no reason for him to be here. He made it very loud and clear that the two of you were over. Getting out of your car, you stand rooted in your spot just looking at him. You are not willing to walk up to him. He seemed to take the hint and walked off your porch in your direction. Closing your door, you cross your arms and wait with baited breath as he nears.

“You look good,” he says, once reaching you.

He still looked good, too. Handsome as ever with that damn sharp jawline that you had fallen for in the beginning. It pissed you off. You want him to look guilty. You want him to look sad and tired. You want him to apologize for all the shit he put you through. For making you feel like you had to push your friends away. For making you feel like you were not good enough for him. However, he doesn't. He looks like he doesn't have a care in the world.

“How did you find me?” You ask, taking a step back away from him. A part of you wonders if you can jump back in your car and drive away quickly.

“I went to your parents' house, and your mom told me where you were living. I really need to talk to you,” he says.

“I think you said plenty when you said, and I quote ‘I don't love you anymore’,” you tell him. “I don't think that there is anything left to say. You wasted your time coming here.”

You push past him, but he reaches out and grabs your arm, stopping you from leaving. You pull out of his grasp and glare at him. You don't want him to touch you. You don't even want to look at him. Crossing your arms, you raise an eyebrow at him.

“I’m really trying to be civil about this, Y/N,” he said. “I just want my engagement ring back.”

“Why now?” You ask with a laugh. “What, are you getting married sometime soon?” He looks away, not able to look you in the eye. Your jaw drops in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me? I've only been gone for a few months and you're engaged. Who?”

“It doesn't matter who. Just give me the ring, and I'll be gone out of your life forever,” he says harshly.

“Tell me who,” you demand. You notice Yoongi pull into his driveway with perfect timing. Great, just great. This day just couldn't get any better. “You owe me that much.”

“Hanna,” he said quietly, looking down at his shoes as you hear Yoongi's car door open and close in the background.

Hanna, the one who you caught him in bed with. The one who you thought was one of your friends. You see Yoongi linger by his kitchen door in your peripheral vision after he slowly made his way up the steps to his house. You turn your head to look at him. Unfortunately, it triggered Changkyun to do the same. Suddenly, his whole demeanor changed.

“Baby, I wish I could change things,” he said in a sickeningly sweet, smooth voice. “I know we were so good together at one point, but that ended. I’ve moved on, and you need to accept that. It's time for you to move on as well.”

“Don't call me that. You need to leave. I'm not giving you anything,” you hiss at him and turn to leave.

“That ring is mine,” he growled at you, grabbing onto you again and pulling you to him. You stumble over your feet as he pulls. “Just give it to me.”

Before you can even comprehend what was happening, Yoongi was in between the two of you. He gives Changkyun a forceful shove, making him stumble backward away from you. Yoongi reaches behind his back and pulls you behind him more, shielding your body. Protecting you. Keeping you safe.

“Just go,” Yoongi growls at him, and Changkyun just laughs at him. “It's clear she doesn't want you here. Get in your car and get the fuck out of here!”

“You think I'm afraid of you?” he asks, looking at him with a distasteful look before looking over Yoongi's shoulder at you. Changkyun laughs at the two of you, shaking his head in amusement. “Min Yoongi? Really, that’s the best you can do? Fuck, are you that desprate?”

“Well he's a million times better than a selfish jackass I know. I don't have the ring anymore, so just leave,” you yell at him from behind Yoongi.

“Where is it?” he snaps at you.

“Watch how you fucking talk to her,” Yoongi snaps back at him, still holding you behind him.

“I pawned it,” you laugh from behind the blonde man, making Changkyun narrow his eyes at you. “It bought me a lovely tv hanging on my wall right now. It's much more pleasant to look at than that ugly ass ring.”

You watch as Changkyun clenches his jaw and stomps away back to his fancy SUV. He stops halfway to his destination before turning back to look at both you and Yoongi. Changing his mind, he walks back toward you. Yoongi reaches back again, making sure that you're still tucked away safely behind him.

“You know,” he says, approaching you. “I never wanted to marry you. I only asked becasue you wouldn’t fucking stop nagging me about it. You were never good enough to be my wife, you stupid…”

That was enough for Yoongi as something inside him snapped. You watch in horror as he throws himself at Changkyun, taking them both onto the hard ground below their feet. It probably would have been comical watching two grown men roll around on the ground had they been strangers, but they weren't, and they were both pissed. This wasn't funny at all. You watch on, with your hands in front of your mouth in shock as Yoongi, who comes out on top lands a punch to Changkyuns stomach from above making him double over and turn slightly away from him. Changkyun, although laid out underneath the pissed off blonde, he wasn't deterred for too long. Using all his power, he spun his torso around quickly, elbowing Yoongi in the face and successfully knocking Yoongi off of him.

“STOP IT!” You yell out into the evening air as Yoongi lands on the ground next to your ex-boyfriend. They didn't listen to you. Changkyun stands, quickly grabbing Yoongi by the back of his jacket, bringing up on his own feet and bending him down low enough to knee him in the side, making him drop again. Yoongi's knees hit the ground hard before catching himself with his hands so he didn’t fall flat on his face. “CHANGKYUN STOP IT! STOP IT! LEAVE HIM ALONE!” You scream at him as he goes to grab Yoongi again.

You push forward, latching onto Changkyun’s arm, trying to shake him off Yoongi. Unfortunately, he wasn't discouraged and managed to get Yoongi back up. Grabbing his wrist, you pull as hard as you could, but he was much stronger than you. Instead, you sink your nails into his skin, dragging them across his flesh, leaving angry red lines in their wake. Changkyun growls. With his free hand, he pushes you away, causing you to stumble back and fall on your ass.

“Keep your hands off her,” Yoongi barks sharply.

Gaining some strength, Yoongi sweeps Changkyun's leg, causing them both to fall once more upon the ground. They roll around a couple of times, trying to each gain the upper hand. You scooch back on your butt trying to stay out of the way.

“She deserved it,” Changkyun growls, pinning Yoongi underneath him. They are both panting, but Changkyun smirks in victory as he looks down at Yoongi. “You think you're so tough. Fucking Min Yoongi, you ain't shit!”

You're too focused on watching your ex pull his arm back for a punch, you hardly register the footsteps quickly running up the driveway until an extra body jumps on Changkyun’s back pulling him off of Yoongi. Jungkook wraps his arms fully around him, dragging him back and away from the hurt man on the ground. Changkyun struggles with your friend, trying to get out of his hold. Tae jumps in quickly, getting in front of them just in case he breaks away and helps Jungkook push Changkyun back until they get him to his car.

“Yoongi,” you cry out, throwing yourself next to him as he struggles to get himself onto his knees.

You grab on to him gently and bring him close to you. He rests his head on your chest as he tries to catch his breath after getting the wind knocked out of him. You stroke his hair with your hand, hoping desperately that he was okay. You see him close his eyes, taking in your touch. You wish you knew what else to do. You wish you could take everything back. You wish for a lot of things.

“You're both pathetic and deserve each other,” Changkyun yells out before finally getting into his vehicle, slamming his door shut in anger.

“Go, before we call the police,” Kook said, pointing to the end of the driveway.

Changkyun backs out of your driveway and squeals his tires before racing away, leaving a cloud of dust and dirt behind in the air. You watch him drive away until his tail lights disappear in the rapidly darkening horizon. Tae comes over and helps Yoongi stand on his own feet. You slowly get off the ground and stand beside them, waiting for someone to say something. Carefully, you place your hand on Yoongi's shoulder, but he instantly shrugs it off. That hurt. You can feel your heart drop down to your stomach. It's really over.

Yoongi and Taehyung take off, walking to his place while holding his side and slightly hunched over. Jungkook approaches you, and the two of you stare at each other. He looks sad. It's been weeks since you last talked to him. He's probably been actively avoiding this whole mess. You know he would never want to choose between you and Yoongi like Jimin and Tae apparently did.

“I should go with them,” he says, jerking his thumbs to the house next door. He's choosing Yoongi, and your heart breaks a little. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you answer with a nod. You don't blame him for wanting to leave. They were his brothers. You, you were the bitch he was renting his house to. The bitch who they can't make money off of. “Yeah.”

You turn and go to your house before he can even walk away or say anything more. Unlocking the door, you enter your house and slam the door shut, making the blinds on the kitchen windows shake and rattle. It wasn't going to work. The business plan wouldn't work. Your friendships weren't going to work. This small ass town wasn't going to work. You grab your phone from your bag. Pulling up Joons contact, you open a new message.

I’m taking the third grade job. I'm sorry I can't do this.

You can't. You won't.

Tagged Readers:

@mar-lo-pap , @bontensbabygirl , @daisies-and-dandelionpuffs , @redragdoll, @svnbangtansworld , @wobblewobble822 , @busanbby-jjk , @pitchblack0309 , @bluesiebirdie

[laseracronym]

hi there this is my first ever request and i'm kinda nervous lol

but i was wondering if the nsfw alphabet could be requested? if so could i request it with iida/chubby fem reader? & if not that's totally okay!

or if not maybe a smutty lil drabble where he's completely feral for chubby reader (i know he's very prim & proper, but just something about him going crazy/being a whiny mess for reader's pussy does something for my little goblin brain)

thank you & i hope you have a good day! 🍄

(Laser: omg I'm so honored to be your first request! I decided to do the drabble for now, but I'll definitely do the NSFW alphabet as well one of these days. Though, it's no longer a drabble, I really got into it. Iida really needs more love!

I hope you enjoy!)

Iida/Chubby!Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Dating a high-profile hero like Tenya meant that at least once a month, you were dressing up in something fancy and spending the evening at his side as you attended some important dinner or event involving other important figures in the industry. You didn't mind it, not at all. You were a sociable type, and you also worked with heroes because of your career in the hero support field. Half of the time, these events felt less like business and more like catching up with friends and interesting acquaintances.

Besides, you really liked dressing up. It wasn't often you got to feel glamorous, holed up in your workshop sweating over prototypes and making repairs. Sometimes it was nice to set the work gloves aside, wash off the grease, and get all dolled up.

Tonight was a charity gala hosted by Commission President Takami, and you were at Tenya's side like always. You were particularly happy with tonight's outfit. You bought a new dress that was a deep dark blue, almost black, form fitting, and when you moved, the light would catch on some subtle gold detailing in the fabric. You matched it with some killer heels and jewelry Tenya had gifted you over the years. Your hair and makeup was perfect, and you'd even gotten your nails done (a rare treat because of your work) which you had to stop from admiring every time they caught your eye.

You felt so pretty, and Tenya thought so, too.

You had to arrive separately that evening, Tenya getting held up with an incident that needed his last-minute assistance. When he saw you waiting for him out in front of the venue, he nearly tripped over his own feet. He had that tell-tale blush up his neck and to his ears and you watched his Adam's apple bob as his eyes flitted up and down your figure in your tight dress.

He cleared his throat, tugging at the tie around his neck as he took a moment to compose himself. "(Name)! You look...splendid," he said as he approached you, his eyes full of admiration. It was obvious he was struggling to put all his thoughts into one simple word. You'd clearly wowed him tonight.

You smiled wide, pleased that you’d blown him away. "Thank you! You look good, too," as he came to a stop before you, you could appreciate just how amazing he looked in a suit. It was a sight you would never tire of, how his broad shouldered, muscular body seemed to be made for formal wear. He'd coordinated his suit to match your outfit, and it made you even more excited to be dressed up tonight.

"Thanks, honey," he pressed a kiss to your temple, the contact brief and chaste. He often kept PDA to a minimum, it was just the way he was. You didn't mind, you understood there was a time and place for everything, and he was plenty affectionate in private.

When he pulled back, he took another moment to look at you, and his glasses did little to hide the desire in his red eyes. It made your heart skip a beat. He gave a little sigh, lifting his hand to brush the back of his knuckles along your cheek, "honestly, I don't know how I'm going to be able to focus tonight with you next to me, looking like this," he said quietly, almost as if he were talking to himself.

You felt your face heat up, suddenly bashful at the admission. But before you could reply, Tenya had his hand placed lightly between your shoulder blades and he was guiding you inside.

The rest of the night went as expected. Lots of listening to speeches and mingling, some catching up with the people you knew. All the while, Tenya was his polite, proper self. He kept you close, but his hands never strayed anywhere inappropriate, he lavished you with compliments and fond smiles but nothing too heated.

To anyone else, Tenya might not have seemed very affected, but you knew him, and you knew he was enamored by your appearance tonight.

There was a tension to him in the set of his shoulders, and a restlessness belied by the tapping of his finger against his champagne glass. His eyes lingered on you just a tad too long before he seemed to catch himself and look away. By the end of the night, you could tell he was eager to leave.

You two said your goodbyes and exited the venue, entering an elevator to get back to the ground floor.

As the doors of the elevator closed, leaving the two of you alone for the first time that evening, you felt Tenya's strong arms wrap around you from behind, the hard line of his body pressing against your back. His hands pressed to your stomach, giving a light squeeze.

You blinked, feeling his face press into the top of your head, his shuddering breath soaking into your body, "...Tenya?"

"Sorry, (Name), I'm just..." he took in another deep breath, pulling you even closer to him, his hands kneading your stomach almost absently, "I've been thinking about you all evening. It feels rude, but I'm not sure if I heard a word anyone said. All I could think about was how you look in this dress, all I wanted was to take you back home and do things I shouldn't think about in public."

You could feel a light thrumming from his body, a result of his engine quirk, a sign of his excitement. He grew semi-hard as he spoke, his arousal pressing against your back. His voice had a growing neediness to it, and in response, heat pooled, slow and sweet, between your legs. You licked your lips, resting your hands atop his, your thumbs brushing along his knuckles.

"Let's go home, Tenya," you said, hot desire coating your voice. You tilted your head up, back against his chest, and smiled up at him, "and we'll take care of you."

Getting home was sweet agony. Despite the promise of what awaited him at home, Tenya would not drive above the speed limit, ever the rule-follower. He didn't seem particularly happy about it, either, which made it even funnier to you despite your own impatience.

Eventually, blessedly, you made it home. As soon as you stepped through the front door, Tenya was sweeping you off your feet.

You gasped, your arms going around his strong shoulders as he held you bridal style and all but marched towards the bedroom. It never failed to turn you on, just how easily he could pick you up and carry you around. You were by no means petite, but that didn't pose a problem to Tenya. In fact, he seemed to prefer it in a lot of ways.

He laid you down on your bed, climbing on top of you and kissing you immediately. Neither of you had even had the chance to remove your shoes, that was how impatient he was to taste you. He covered you with his body, slotting himself between your legs. One hand cradled your face, the other wandered your plush curves. As his hips pressed against yours, you could feel his hardening length nudge up against your core.

“I’m sorry, (Name),” he murmured between his insistent kisses. His face was flushed, his glasses askew, “I don’t know what’s come over me.” His hand slid under your dress, caressing and squeezing your soft skin.

You giggled softly, returning his kisses, “you have nothing to apologize for…” He made it seem as though this was unusual for him to get this worked up, but it wasn’t. When he got in a particular mood, Tenya could become quite needy, and you loved him for it. You carefully removed his glasses, twisting and trying to reach the nightstand so you could safely set them aside, but he didn’t want to be apart from you for even a second, catching your wrist and drawing your attention back to him. You released his glasses, letting them get lost somewhere on the bed.

“I need you,” he said, such desperation in his voice, kissing from your lips down to your neck and cleavage, smudging your lipstick all the way. He pushed the hem of your dress, up, up, up, until it bunched beneath your breasts. His hands smoothed over your stomach, one of his favorite features of yours, and his hips rutted against you.

“Mmm…” you squirmed beneath him, your eyes fluttering as his hips pushed against your clit, stimulating you through all the layers of clothing. He was so perfect like this, so hot when he lost his composure. Such a sight was just for you, and you would hoard it greedily.

“Tenya, love, get those clothes off,” you ordered breathlessly, and he was eager to obey, hurriedly ridding himself of his clothing with your help. Your mouth watered at the sight of his cock, hard and weeping pre-cum for you, the way it begged for your attention just like the rest of him. You reached out, wrapping your hand around it, and Tenya whined so sweetly.

You smiled at him, stroking slowly, twisting your wrist just so, and he responded with a throaty groan. His engines revved, and he moved to hover over you, gently guiding you back.

“I need you,” he kept saying, your dress was bunched up even further, exposing your breasts, he palmed at one, “I need inside of you, need to feel you,” he reached down, giving the waist of your panties a questioning, pleading tug, “please, (Name)?”

You nodded, “yes, Tenya, of course, sweetheart,” you lifted your hips slightly and he removed your underwear while you removed your dress, peeling it up over your head without bothering to unzip it.

It felt so good to feel him without any barriers, and he pressed into you. A wet, delicious glide that had you both moaning.

“(Name), (Name)… you feel so good…” Tenya murmured, his face nuzzling into the side of your head. He had a firm grip on your outer thigh, keeping your leg secure over his hip. His other hand braced against the mattress as he began to thrust into you at a hurried pace, pushing sweet sounds out of you as your normally patient lover gave in to his pent up lust.

“Mm, Tenya,” you gasped out, holding onto him, panting into his ear, “yes, love, yes…!” Your body bounced with the rhythm of his thrusts, your head tossed back against the mattress, and you could do little more than let him do what he wanted.

His hands began wandering your body, worshiping your curves with his touch. He babbled nonsense into your skin as he pressed distracted kisses wherever he could reach. Sweat coated his body, and you marveled at each flex of gorgeous muscle beneath his skin.

His thrusts became more insistent, his hold on you tightening, it wasn’t a surprise to you when he came with one final thrust, filling you to the brim. Tenya held you in place, his own body still, as he panted against your sweat-slick shoulder. You panted beneath him, hands restlessly stroking his biceps, your pussy stuffed but still craving release.

With a long, slow breath, he relaxed, the frenetic energy from before finally soothed. He lifted his head, a painfully tender smile on his face as he kissed your cheek, “that was...perfect, honey,” his voice was warm, his hand drifting up and down your side.

“I’m glad, sweetheart,” you said fondly, letting out a soft noise of surprise as he lifted your lower body, arranging you effortlessly into an angle that you knew would have you seeing stars. You could already feel him growing hard again inside of you, his stamina like nothing else.

He looked down at you with a heated grin that made your heart flutter, “now allow me to return the favor.” He leaned down, folding himself over you, “let me take care of you, (Name).”

(Requests)