#and he is my exact type when it comes to looks too which is just a plus thing!! he has the prettiest smile and eyes and nice hands and

[honeypiehotchner]

Juno (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- one shot

Hello again! This goes from zero to 100 in two seconds flat don't @ me!! Sabrina's new album came out and reawakened something in me (everyone say thank you Sabrina) (also this is not beta'd I wrote this in a short n' sweet haze)

Summary: Aaron is working from home but what paperwork he needs to do is the absolute last thing on your mind.

Warnings: smut! 18+ only! this is so filthy! in no particular order: multiple orgasms, cockwarming, choking, brat tendencies, stoplight system, unprotected sex, breeding kink (briefly), face fucking, overstimulation

WC: like 3,400 I lost my damn mind clearly

You’re not sure what’s gotten into you. Blame it on period hormones (probably) or the fact that Aaron looks absolutely delicious right now in his tight black t-shirt (most likely), but you’re going to go insane if either of you have clothes on for another five minutes. 

The problem is, Aaron is trying to focus. It’s one of his days where he works from home, an idea you gave him when you realized how easy it would be for him to do the same paperwork just from the comfort of your living room. It was a brilliant idea at first. You got to see him more, and were able to do your own thing around the house while he did his work. You got to have lunch together, and offer a genuine mental break in between his mountain of paperwork. 

Now, though, you can’t find it in you to give a single fuck about whatever needs to be signed, who needs to clear what, and what phone calls he still needs to make. 

“Honey,” you call sweetly from the kitchen. You watch him from over the island, your thoughts going all sorts of ways -- namely, deep into the gutter. “Want to break for lunch?”

You see Aaron shake his head, still typing furiously on his laptop. “It’s not even noon yet.”

“Brunch?” you try again, walking out of the kitchen. You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms over your chest in the way you know he loves because of the view it gives him of your cleavage. And you’re wearing a v-neck shirt today for that exact reason, too.

Aaron still doesn’t look up. “I’m sorry honey, maybe in an hour?”

You let out a huff that you know he hears because he finally looks up, eyebrows raised just so. It’s a look that you love. Curious, veering toward that playful annoyance that you can’t seem to go a few hours without his undivided attention. 

Which, you can, by the way. You’re more than capable. It’s just that right now, it’s a crime that his eyes have been looking at paperwork when they should be looking at you.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and there’s some hesitation in his voice. You know he’s assuming the worst. That you’re not okay mentally, and that’s why you need him to take his lunch break now or maybe for the rest of the day. He’s done it before on your darker days.

But you’re okay. You’re perfectly fine. You’d just be even better if he put the damn laptop away and put his fingers to use somewhere else.

Which is exactly why you come to a stop in front of him and reach forward, tilting his screen down and down until it closes. He lets you.

He lets you take his laptop and put it on the table beside the couch. He watches you, his fiery brown eyes taking in every second. He lets you straddle his hips, your arms circling his neck.

“I see now,” he smirks, his hands finding their rightful place on your waist and squeezing lovingly. “By ‘lunch break’ you mean…”

“Put a baby in me,” you blurt, rocking your hips against his.

He stills, his hands making you stop your movements, too. His eyes are darker now in a way you haven’t seen in a while. “What?”

“Please,” you say, leaning your forehead down onto his, trying to move your hips again. “Need you.”

“Honey, we can’t have--”

“Yes I know the semantics, Aaron,” you mutter, now annoyed and lifting your head to glare at him. He has a vasectomy, you get that. “I mean fuck me like you’re putting a baby in me.”

His hands squeeze again. “I see.”

You frown. “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not,” he smirks, one hand leaving your waist to stroke your cheek. “You’re adorable when you’re horny.”

You roll your eyes, peeling yourself off his lap. He lets you go, albeit with a curious look. You turn and head for the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” he calls out after you, still with that damn smirk lacing his words.

“To get myself off,” you reply in a deadpan. “Since someone--”

You don’t have a chance to finish your sentence before Aaron is right behind you, hands on your hips, spinning you around to face him. That look full of fire is back again, stern this time.

“Did I say you could do that?” he says in a low tone.

“Did I ask?” you retort, backing out of his grasp and darting into the bedroom. 

Now there’s a smirk on your lips. It’s quickly approaching shit-eating grin territory, which you know will only egg Aaron on further. This little game of cat and mouse happens to be your favorite, and he knows it.

You’re barely two steps into the bedroom when Aaron is attached to your back yet again, this time wrapping his arms around your waist, locking you in.

“Color?” he whispers, his lips right at your ear, sending shivers straight down your spine.

You groan. “Green. Neon green. So green, I need you to--”

He spins you again, this time backing you into the wall and attacking your lips. Finally, you think, though you know you’re in for it now. The thought has a grin crawling up your lips, and you’re unable to stop it.

“What’s so funny, hm?” he scolds, moving his lips to your neck instead, to the exact spot he knows makes you weak in the knees. Like clockwork, he has to wrap an arm around your waist to keep you upright, your knees buckling when he bites down just so.

“Nothing,” you manage through a moan, tipping your head back onto the wall. “Shit.”

“You’re ridiculous sometimes, you know,” he says, but he’s smiling against your skin. “Can’t let me focus on work because you need me to fuck you.”

“In my defense,” you try, your hands scrambling for his shoulders, for something to ground you. “You didn’t fuck me this morning.”

“I fucked you last night,” he reminds you, as if you needed the reminder. It’s the reason you slept so soundly. “Was that not enough?”

You can’t help it; you laugh. 

He lifts his head, raising an eyebrow at you. The same question as before on his lips.

“Sorry, I thought you were joking,” you say. 

“You’re insatiable.” 

“Guilty,” you grin, grabbing his face and pulling him back in for another kiss.

You make out against the wall for too long like two teenagers behind the bleachers at school. You hook one leg around his hips, pulling him in and grinding against his obvious erection. It’s enough to have him groaning into your mouth, pressing you against the wall with renowned vigor. 

You can feel how wet you’re becoming and fuck, neither of you have even taken a single article of clothing off yet.

Aaron notices, one hand traveling south without you paying attention, too busy relishing the way he licks into your mouth, stealing your every breath. The kissing becomes increasingly sloppy when he works his hand into your leggings, under the waistband of your underwear, and into you.

“Oh my god,” your back arches against the wall, pushing his fingers deeper. He doesn’t bother with one, starting right away with two, curling them when you grind harder.

“You’re soaking my hand,” he practically growls into the next kiss, adding a third finger after only a few thrusts. Your body accepts it willingly, always ready for him. “Jesus.”

“More,” you gasp, pushing him deeper. “Aaron, more, I’m serious--” Your words break off as he scissors his fingers, making your eyes roll back instantly.

“I can feel you already,” he smirks against your cheek, pressing a kiss there, an action so sweet and gentle compared to what the rest of him is doing. “Come on, honey. You’re cumming as many times as you want.”

That makes you inch closer to the edge at a frightening speed. He says you can cum as many times as you want, but what he means is he’s going to force as many orgasms out of you as he can. Until you tell him to stop or he decides you need a break. 

The thought of being an overstimulated mess in his embrace later has you climaxing against his fingers, your head falling onto his shoulder as his movements never cease, milking every last wave out of you. 

You lift your head in search of his lips again, which he willingly gives to you, his fingers slowing to soothing strokes as you whimper into his mouth. You’ve only had one orgasm and you already feel ruined. He can tell the way you tremble against him, so he checks in once more.

“Green?” he whispers, kissing your forehead.

You nod. “Green. You?”

He smirks. “Absolutely.”

He picks you up into his arms, inelegantly tossing you onto the bed behind you. You giggle as you bounce on the mattress, tugging your shirt over your head as he does the same to his. His hands move for his belt and you practically jump to the end of the bed, swatting his hands away.

“Since when is that your job?” you frown up at him, unbuckling his belt without looking.

He laughs, petting your head gently. “So sorry, you’re right.”

“What was that?” you tease. “I don’t think I heard you.”

“Don’t push it.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” you smirk, pulling his belt out of the loops and tossing it somewhere. You don’t wait for him to reply before you unbutton his jeans, yanking them down with his boxers.

There’s just something about his dick. You hate that you love it, or maybe you don’t hate it at all. All you know is you need it in your mouth right now.

So, you do that, without any warning. Aaron thrusts forward into your mouth on pure instinct, not expecting you to wrap your lips around him so soon. You slide down the edge of the bed onto your knees, pulling him back to you by his thighs. 

You take your time, pushing his jeans and boxers down further. When you pull back for air, he steps out of them and kicks them elsewhere, returning to you quickly, knowing better than to keep you waiting. 

You swallow him down again, moaning around him in the way you know he loves. It takes all of two seconds before he gently holds the back of your head, asking silently for permission that you were already about to grant. You look up at him, batting your eyelashes as you squeeze his thigh twice. Go ahead.

The thing about Aaron fucking your face is that it took a while for him to do it as hard as you really wanted. He’s always so gentle, a quality that drew you to him initially. You love how gentle he can be. But you love it equally as much when he is rougher with you.

Like now, when he has you pinned against the bed, one hand on the back of your head as he fucks into your throat. It’s blissful, quite frankly, the way he feels, and you thank the universe every time for your lack of a gag reflex. 

He holds you there with a deep groan, and you feel him twitch in your throat once before he pulls you off entirely. You frown up at him, once again not getting what you wanted, but he doesn’t have any time for that.

He picks you up by your armpits, hauling you back onto the bed. Your leggings and underwear are gone in a single second, along with your bra. He’s crawling up your body and crowding your space before you have a second to protest that he wasn’t down your throat for near as long as you wanted him to be. 

All frustrations leave your mind the second he pushes inside of you, immediately sliding home, his hips flush against yours. 

It’s a feeling you’ve grown to love, the way he hits you so deep. Another thing it took him a while to be comfortable doing.

He’s not average sized by any means, and you’re the first to admit it made you salivate the first time you saw. The first time he fed himself into you and worried that he was hurting you, meanwhile you were clawing his back because you wanted more. It hurt for a moment, only an uncomfortable pressure because he was bigger than your vibrator, but as soon as you were used to the size of him, you wanted all of him.

He stays there, deep in you without moving for a moment, grinding against you. His lips attack yours again before he pauses to lean his forehead on yours, trying to catch his breath.

“You drive me crazy,” he says on a shaky exhale.

You wrap your legs around him, thrusting your hips up to take him a little more. His hips stutter, pushing in the way you wanted him to, the way you know you can make him do involuntarily.

“Fuck,” he bites out, turning his attention to your neck again.

You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging. “Exactly. So why aren’t you moving?”

He nips at your neck. “Because if I move, I will cum right away.”

“Who said I only want you to cum inside me once?”

He groans again, fingers digging into your hips as you circle them, though he doesn’t try to stop you. “Greedy” is all he says, but he finally moves.

The thrusts are slow at first, Aaron clearly trying to pace himself. You can’t say you’re doing the same, already chasing your second high as he slams his hips into yours. Your hand reaches down to rub your clit, but is promptly smacked away by Aaron’s hand as he glares at you.

“Since when is that your job?” he echoes you from earlier, only this time, there’s more heat to it. He grabs both of your wrists, pinning them above your head to stop any other temptation. “Not this time.”

His thrusts pick up speed and depth, his body moving against yours in the exact way that makes you fall apart. It’s not often that he doesn’t let you cum from added clit stimulation -- not that you can’t without it; it just makes the high feel that much better -- but sometimes he does. It’s an ego trip for him as much as it is for you.

It also adds an unpredictable nature to it, which is why your second orgasm takes you by such surprise. You seize against him, your hands doing all sorts of squirming to try to break free of his grasp, but he doesn’t let you, and he doesn’t let up. You don’t realize why until you feel the warmth spreading into you as he reaches his own peak. 

You’ve clearly worked him up as much as you worked yourself up because his thrusts barely slow down, and he doesn’t soften inside of you. 

Instead, he pulls out only to flip you on your side, sliding in behind you and pulling your leg up and back over his hips. The action causes some of his cum to spill out of you, but you don’t have any time to focus on that before he fucks back into you. 

You’ve ceased to have any coherent thoughts as Aaron whispers dirty nothings into your ear, one arm wrapped around your body to keep you pinned against him. The pleasure doesn’t stop and at one point, you question if your second orgasm stopped at all or if it has continued this entire time.

Aaron reaches underneath the pillow where he knows he’ll find one of your vibrators because he heard you using it this morning. No, he didn’t fuck you this morning, but you fucked yourself, and truly, at 8am, he should’ve known you’d end up like this by eleven. 

Your mind doesn’t register what the sound means until the vibrator is pressed against your clit. Your body jerks, scrambling for some grounding, your hands finding it in wrapping them around his arm. 

He switches hands on the vibrator, so one hand is free to wrap around your throat. Your eyes roll back as soon as you feel the gentle pressure, your body practically going limp against him. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmurs directly into your ear, his thrusts slowing to deep strokes. “You’ve got a couple more in you.”

“A couple?” is all you manage to say, your hand squeezing his wrist so he knows to squeeze your throat a little more.

“Mhm,” his voice rumbles in your ear, sending goosebumps all over your body. “Is it too much?” His question is laced with just the right amount of pity that makes you shake your head against him. “I thought so,” he replies, switching the vibrator to a higher setting.

It sends you into your third orgasm instantly, squirming violently against him as he pushes into you deeper. He knows how much you love that, and loves how much you squeeze around him as he slides inside, fighting against your muscles that threaten to force him out. You’ve done it before, a mesmerized look on his face and yours when you both realized what happened. Since then, you told him you liked it more when he fought to stay inside. 

He takes the vibrator away as you calm down, his hips also pausing, keeping himself deep inside you. The pressure is soothing, and you take a moment to take a deep breath. His palm falls away from your throat, instead propping underneath your cheek.

It takes a few seconds before you feel yourself spasming around him. He chuckles against your back, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Still?”

You nod dumbly, rocking your hips again. “Yeah. I don’t know, I just-- Need more.”

“I’ve got you,” he soothes, pulling out again to roll you onto your stomach instead, one of your favorite positions.

You’re floating as you settle into the pillows, letting Aaron manhandle you wherever you need to be. You groan in your happy, blissed out state as he slides home again, draping himself over your back.

He is gentler now, knowing that’s exactly what you need at this point. The last orgasm he pulls from you is just as gentle, and he pushes deeper into you, letting you ride it out. 

He pulls your hips up and thrusts once, twice before he’s spilling into you. You didn’t realize he was that close again. The warmth is soothing this time as it spreads through you. 

Aaron leaves you only to settle behind you, spooning you once again. Your hand reaches behind you to find him, and he catches your wrist. 

“You need to rest,” he chides softly.

“I know,” you whimper. “Need you inside me.”

“Okay, okay,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your neck as he slides in again, still half-hard, but it’s enough. You settle down as soon as the weight of him is tucked inside you again. “Better?”

“Mhm,” you sleepily nod, pushing back into him so he holds you tighter. “Do you have to go back to work?”

He chuckles against you, sighing. “No, I’m done for the day, I think,” he says. “I’ll tell them you weren’t feeling well.”

That makes you laugh. “We need a better excuse.”

“Or I need to go back to working in the office.”

You roll your eyes. “Like that’ll make a difference.”

He shakes his head, his mind remembering the same memories that you are. The many lunch hours when you went to eat with him, and ended up with your back pressed into the couch, his tie stuffed in your mouth to keep you quiet.

“Go to sleep,” he says, pulling you impossibly closer. “I’ll make us lunch when we wake up.”

“Perfect,” you smile, nuzzling into him. “Love you.”

“Love you too, honey,” he says, pressing little kisses to your neck and cheeks, wherever he can reach. “Now sleep.”

You’re already halfway there. The combination of him nestled inside of you and the post-orgasm exhaustion is enough to lull you into a restful sleep.

[bunny-1111]

Whoopsie - Theo Nott x clumsy!reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Fluff + slight angst

Description: You can't help your clumsiness, but when you land with a bruise on your face, you're reminded that your boyfriend Theo really hates to see you hurt.

...

The sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the dimly lit corridors of the Slytherin dungeons, each step clumsy and uneven. You weren’t exactly the most graceful of creatures, but today had reached new heights of disaster. It was one of those days when the universe seemed to be playing tricks on you—making every doorframe, stair step, and corridor seem like an obstacle course designed specifically for you to fail.

And fail, you did.

It had started innocently enough. You had forgotten your Charms textbook in the dormitory, and in your haste to retrieve it before your next class. The last thing you needed was detention from McGonagall for being late or forgetting your book, and you were sprinting down the corridor. Too fast, too distracted, and—

BAM.

Your face met the hard, unyielding brass of the doorknob. Pain radiated through your skull, and you stumbled back, clutching your nose. "Ow, ow, ow," you hissed under your breath, blinking back the sudden tears that sprang to your eyes.

By the time you had made it to the mirror in the girls’ bathroom, a glorious bruise was already blossoming across your cheekbone and the area around your eye, swelling quickly and turning an alarming shade of purple. You groaned. Great. How were you going to explain this to anyone? Even worse, how the hell are you going to explain this to Theo?

You decided to skip class altogether and carefully make your way to Madam Pomfrey.

You managed to slip into the common room unnoticed at first, pulling your hood up in a futile attempt to hide the evidence of your clumsiness. But, of course, it didn’t take long for someone to notice. It was Theo, he always noticed everything about you, no matter how much you tried to downplay it.

“Baby, why weren’t you in class, Enzo ended up taking the seat I saved for you and Merlin he chewed my ear off about Quidditch being fixed last Saturday,” he rambled on.

Don’t reply, don’t look up, you thought to yourself. It was impossible; this was happening right now.

“What the hell happened to you?” he asked, voice low and alarmed as he crossed the room in quick strides, his hand gently lifting your chin. You felt the warmth of his fingertips against your skin, but his expression was anything but warm. His brow furrowed in concern, soft brown eyes locking on the bruise that marred your face.

"I’m fine!" you blurted, though the words came out far too high-pitched to be convincing. You tried to pull away, but Theo wasn’t having it. His grip on your chin tightened ever so slightly, his thumb brushing against the edge of the bruise with a gentleness that made your chest tighten.

“Who hurt you?” His voice was low, barely more than a whisper, but the intensity in his tone made your stomach flip. His eyes searched yours, dark and stormy. Theo wasn’t the type to raise his voice in anger. No, his was the kind of quiet fury that built up slowly, seeping into the air like a cold, creeping fog.

"I did," you confessed, trying to laugh it off, but the tension in the room was suffocating. You could feel his anger brewing, and you knew what was coming next.

“I’m fucking serious, don’t lie to me!” Theo snapped, taking a step back as if putting some distance between the two of you would help him calm down. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he began pacing, his jaw tight. “There’s no way you did that to yourself.”

“I did!” you repeated, trying to sound more convincing this time. Rubbing your hand quickly against your bruise. Not a good idea, as you instinctively winced at the touch. “I ran into a door. A doorknob, to be exact. It’s not that serious, Theo,” you try convincing.

Theo froze mid-step, staring at you like you had just said something utterly ridiculous. Which, to be fair, you probably had.

“A doorknob?” he repeated slowly, his eyes narrowing as if he was waiting for you to take it back, like it was some kind of joke. But when you just nodded, Theo let out a long, frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair. He shook his head as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re telling me… you smashed your face into a doorknob?”

“Yes,” you mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat with embarrassment. God, you wished the ground would swallow you whole.

“It's embarrassing already, alright? Leave me alone,” you huff.

Theo stared at you for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether or not to believe you. Eventually, he sighed and dragged a hand down his face, turning away abruptly. “Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath before storming off, leaving you standing there with a gnawing pit in your stomach.

Theo didn’t go far. He was in the common room, pacing like a caged animal, still visibly agitated. His eyes flickered over the other Slytherins lounging nearby, most of whom had noticed his outburst but said nothing. That didn’t last long.

“Oi, what’s got you in a twist, Nott?” Blaise called from the couch, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. Beside him, Draco looked equally intrigued, lounging back with his arms crossed.

Theo glared at them but didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to look at you again, his jaw still set in that hard, unyielding way. The others followed his gaze, and it wasn’t long before the topic of conversation turned toward your rapidly bruising face.

“Wha- what the hell happened to her eye?” Blaise was the first to ask, looking genuinely confused as he gestured toward you.

“She said she ran into a door,” Theo growled, clearly still not convinced.

Draco, who had been staring at you with a mixture of concern and amusement, furrowed his brows. “Wait, what happened to who’s ey-?”

Before he could finish his question, Mattheo, who had just entered the common room, cut in with a dramatic, “Holy shit! What happened to your eye?” His tone was a mix of shock and humour, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of your injury.

You could feel everyone’s eyes on you now. Heat rushed to your face as you tried to explain yourself once again. “I fell,” you say quickly, raising your hands in a placating gesture, as if that would make everyone drop it and move on.

But of course, they didn’t.

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You fell? Into what, a troll?”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “I ran into a doorknob, okay? I wasn’t paying attention, and it just… happened.”

Blaise let out a low whistle, his smirk widening. “You really need to work on your coordination, love.”

You rolled your eyes, though the action hurt more than you expected, causing you to wince. Theo, noticing the movement, shot Blaise a glare that could have frozen over the entire Black Lake. “It’s not funny, Zabini.”

“Hey, I’m just saying…” Blaise shrugged, holding up his hands in mock defence. “You know, we could get you a helmet or something, just to be safe.”

"We should wrap you in bubble wrap", Pansy joins in laughing

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I’m fine, really.”

But the conversation was far from over. Despite your protests, the teasing continued—though most of it was good-natured. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Theo’s eyes on you, watching every movement, every wince. He hadn’t said much since his initial outburst, but you could feel his worry like a tangible weight in the air.

Eventually, the others got bored of the topic, and the common room returned to its usual low buzz of chatter. You took a deep breath, thankful for the reprieve, but when you glanced toward Theo, you saw that he was still tense, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he watched you.

“I’m going for a smoke,” he stated as he stormed out of the common room. Well, we’ve done it, stressed him to the point of smoking. You thought he’ll be back soon, sinking deeper into the couch.

Later that night, when everyone had dispersed to their dorms, Theo found you sitting by the fire, absentmindedly poking at the flames with a poker. He sat down beside you without a word, the warmth of his presence instantly comforting. For a while, neither of you spoke, the crackling of the fire filling the silence between you.

Finally, Theo broke the quiet, his voice low and careful. “You really need to be more careful.”

You looked at him, your heart giving a small, traitorous flutter at the concern etched into his features. “I know.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair again. “I hate seeing you hurt.”

There was something in his voice that made your chest tighten. You smiled softly, nudging him with your shoulder. “It’s not that serious, Theo. It was just a stupid accident.”

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze fixed on the fire. Then, after what felt like forever, he turned to look at you, his expression softening. “Promise me you’ll be more careful next time.”

You chuckled, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I promise.”

Theo wrapped an arm around you, pulling you

closer. “Good. Because I don’t think I could handle seeing you like that again, seriously.”

You gently kiss him, as you make your way towards his dorm, he wraps an arm around your shoulder, everything seeming good again.

That is until you tumble over your own feet, almost meeting the floor, but this time, Theo was there, tightening his grip on you, catching you before disaster could strike for the second time today.

You laugh as he stares at you, eyes widening. He cannot believe you actually fall over your own feet. He softens with a deep sigh.

“What am I going to do with you, my clumsy girl?” he laughs himself, kissing your head.

Author note: um like 4 theo fics posted in the last 24 hours.... getting that grind LMFAO

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ BURNER ACCOUNTS — GOJO SATORU.

contents. fem! reader, loser ex-boyfriend! satoru, exes to lovers, college! au, satoru making burners to watch your stories, miscommunications—satoru is not perfect but he’s trying okay?, gossip icons shoko & suguru <3, i had a silly idea and it turned into 2.6k words my bad

there’s a peculiar account watching your instagram stories—@user273582838, to be exact. you don’t think it’s a very well timed coincidence seeing as you and satoru have just broken up—so you decide to do some digging. 

which of course, means enlisting the help of shoko.

“i think satoru is stalking me,” you mumble, making her pause in the middle of sipping on her energy drink—for a med student, her habits don’t seem every healthy. this is her third one of the day.

“okay,” she nods, “i wouldn’t put it past him, but what makes you say that?”

“look,” you turn your phone to face her, the blank, anonymous instagram account right there on the list of users who have viewed your story. she crinkles her brows, blinking for a moment before humming.

“that definitely seems like something he’d do,” she nods—and then, “i have an idea.”

“okay,” you brighten, nodding enthusiastically, “what’s the plan?”

“try and log in with that user.”

“shoko,” you look at her like she’s grown two heads. maybe the lack of sleep is finally getting to her—no amount of energy drinks can save her at this point. “we don’t have the password—”

“—and that, dummy,” she rolls her eyes, making you scowl at the name, “is why we click forgot my password and see the last four digits of the phone number that registered the account. if it’s satoru’s number, we’ll know.”

okay—you take it back. shoko is a genius and a full-blown brilliant mastermind that you could never hope to come close to. you’re glad you chose her to help—you’re even more glad she agreed because you would not have thought of that. this is fantastic. a fool-proof plan. 

you grin wide, eyes lighting up as you gasp, “shoko! you’re so smart, that’s a great idea!”

“i know,” she grumbles, “took you long enough to notice.”

ignoring her, you quickly pull out your phone and try to log onto the account, typing user273582838 into the username box and clicking forgot my password. shoko is hovering over your shoulder, and your breath is held as you wait for the page to load and the number to pop up. within just a few seconds, the first few digits are censored with asterisks, but the last four show, and—

yeah. it’s satoru’s fucking number. just as you suspected—you and shoko scoff together at the same time, rolling your eyes. 

“well,” you look at her, lips pursed in irritation—of course, satoru refuses to give you space and leave you alone after your break up (which was his fault, might you add), “what now?”

“send the verification code to his number,” she presses, “it’ll definitely spook him when he sees.”

she’s so good at what she does, you think in awe, staring at her with heart-eyes. nodding quickly, you press send code. 

hopefully, that’ll give satoru the heart attack you want it to.

———

satoru stares at his screen in abject horror—who could be trying to log into his burner account? the only person who should possibly stumble across it is you, but surely you’re not closely inspecting your story viewers, are you? so then, who could be trying to log onto the instagram account of @user273582838?

“suguru,” he says in a trance, “are you trying to log onto the burner?”

“are you bringing that shit up again?” suguru grumbles, controller in hand as he pays attention to the screen, “i told you that was a stupid idea. a pathetic one too—”

“well, i didn’t want to keep waiting for you to send screenshots to see the stories—”

“you’re a fucking loser, do you know that? pathetic,” suguru reiterates. “move on.”

“no,” satoru hisses in disbelief, “why would i do that? now, was that you or not? you’re the only other person who knows the user.”

“as if i care to log onto your loser burner account,” suguru snorts, shaking his head in amusement. he beats satoru’s high score, turning to give him a sly grin as he adds, “i wasn’t removed, so i can view the stories all i want.”

“you’re a jerk, you know that?” satoru grunts, crossing his arms and pouting, “i’m having the worst heartbreak of my life, and you—”

“who’s fault is it that you’re dumped?”

satoru deflates. 

okay, so he supposedly hasn’t been the best boyfriend. it’s not that satoru isn’t helplessly committed to you—he’s so sickeningly obsessed with you, it’s actually a bit unhealthy. suguru says so, at least. but satoru is…well, satoru, and he doesn’t always seem to take things as seriously as most people would hope. 

evidently, that includes your relationship—though, he does insist on disagreeing on that. according to you, he doesn’t take you on dates often enough, and sometimes he flirts back with random strangers. that’s not true—he’s simply a bit of a tease and enjoys it when you’re jealous, but he doesn’t flirt back. that’s outrageous. you’ve even claimed he’s mean about it and makes a joke out of it all—satoru would never be mean on purpose; he only teases because the banter is always endearing. 

but, unfortunately, you don’t seem to see it the way he does, and now he’s woefully single and cold and alone in bed. no cuddles, no goodnight kisses, and no head scratches. 

life is so cruel sometimes. 

“suguru,” he says in distress, “i’m serious. someone’s trying to hack my burner—who could it be?”

“hmm, i don’t know…maybe the one and only person who would notice the account in the first place?”

“but why try and log in if the password is unknown?”

suguru looks at satoru like he’s stupid—apparently, he is because he’s not putting two and two together. 

“maybe because sending a verification code shows the last four digits of the registered phone number? you’ve probably been caught, you idiot.”

satoru pales at that—he didn’t think about that. it slipped his mind completely. fuck, he should’ve used a burner email instead. he stares down at his phone numbly—yeah, he thinks, he’s screwed. 

———

after two days of continuous log in attempts into satoru’s burner account—it’s only just to spook him extra—you finally decide to confront him. 

we need to talk. is all you send him. 

the three bubbles appear on his end multiple times before disappearing—you and shoko get a good cackle out of that and laugh at him for a bit before he finally answers. 

miss me already? knew it ;)

wow. what a dickhead. 

so, because you can be equally as much of a prick, you send him a screenshot of his phone number on the log in page followed by a message that says: no. it’s so you can explain this. 

the three dots show up again for a few minutes before he finally responds with: okay. you caught me. when do you wanna meet?

well, that was easy. satoru is the type to not go down without a fight no matter how cornered he is—he’s stubborn and annoying like that. you turn to shoko for help.

“meet him now,” shoko crosses her arms, “don’t give him time to come up with some ridiculous excuse.”

“what excuse could he possibly come up with?” you snort, “that he was possessed and the evil spirit in his mind made him stalk his ex like a loser?”

“true,” she concedes, taking a sip from her energy drink—seriously, how many of these does this girl drink in a day? “i just want to know what happens,” she shrugs, “so do it now.”

of course, as on brand as ever, shoko is merely in it for the drama. you roll your eyes before sighing and nodding. 

“okay,” you huff. 

meet me at my place. now.

on my way, he sends back almost instantly. 

“he’s probably just excited to see you,” shoko snorts, “like the loser he is.”

“you’re probably right,” you purse your lips in exasperation. in all your time knowing him, you’ve definitely realized that satoru is definitely…well, a case. 

———

“hey,” shoko whispers to suguru through the phone, walking out your door so you can prepare to confront satoru. “did you know satoru’s been stalking—”

“—on a burner account? yeah, i know.”

okay, she frowns to herself, that was no fun at all. suguru is already aware of the drama. but that’s no matter—surely, he can’t possibly already know that satoru has been invited over to be scolded. 

“yeah, well,” she says smugly, “did you know he’s actually on his way over to—”

“—get yelled at? yeah, i’m aware. he called me panicked. what a fucking loser.”

“okay, well since you’re up to speed,” shoko grumbles bitterly, rolling her eyes. she was supposed to be the knight in shining armor with the juicy updates—but evidently, satoru is pathetic enough to already cry to suguru about his dilemma. “wanna meet up and get sushi nearby? i bet they’ll get back together in twenty minutes.”

“i bet ten. loser pays for the food?”

“you’ve got yourself a deal.”

———

satoru sits on your couch in shame, bouncing his leg nervously as you sit on the opposite end with your arms crossed and brow raised. 

it’s quiet. he doesn’t have the guts to say anything, waiting for you to break the silence. maybe you’re not that mad.

“so,” you start, “it’s nice to finally meet you, user273582838.”

he rubs his neck awkwardly, chuckling through his nerves as he mumbles, “oh, hey there! it’s a small world, huh?”

“satoru.”

yeah, never mind. you seem pretty mad. 

“okay, look,” he begins, “you can’t blame me. you dumped me, your sweet, loving, and unsuspecting boyfriend out of nowhere! i was heartbroken and shattered—and then you didn’t even give me a chance to work it out! i was not in the right headspace to make wise decisions so…so this is basically not my fault.”

that doesn’t seem to help his case—in fact, it only makes it worse. 

“so it’s my fault?”

“wha—no!” he says quickly, “no, definitely not.”

you sigh, rubbing your forehead in defeat as you mumble, “satoru, we are broken up for a reason. you can’t overstep and—”

“it’s a pretty stupid reason,” he grumbles under his breath, crossing his arms and frowning. you glare at him from the side as you scoff in disbelief. 

“of course,” you chuckle dryly, “of course you would say that. nothing is ever serious enough to you—”

“it’s pretty fucking serious to me,” he spits, shooting you a look that tells you he’s just as shocked as you, “that’s obviously why i’m the one who’s still not moved on as easily as you. how seriously did you really take it?”

“that’s not fair,” you grit, “you made it abundantly clear you didn’t care enough, so why should i—”

“i fucking cared a shit ton,” he says incredulously, “that’s bullshit, and you know it—”

“don’t curse at me, satoru—”

“well, don’t accuse me of not caring when i clearly—”

“oh, yeah cause you cared so much when you were laughing with that waitress as she hit on you,” you seethe, throwing a pillow from your couch at him. he can catch it easily—you know this for sure, but he lets it hit him out of what you’re sure is at least a little consideration to your feelings. 

“i wasn’t laughing because i enjoyed it,” he crinkles his brows as if you’ve said the most ridiculous thing ever, “it was just funny because she was trying so hard. and you looked all cute when you got mad.”

“what kind of boyfriend enjoys watching his girlfriend get mad—”

“the kind of boyfriend who thinks his girlfriend is adorable when she’s mad—”

“yeah, well your idea of a date is going to the mall with shoko and suguru. what kind of date is that—”

“okay, i was a bit clueless sometimes, but you could’ve said something instead of just dumping me like i was some random guy in your dm’s—”

“you need to grow the fuck up, satoru—”

“now look at who's cursing!”

it’s silent—both you and him have your arms crossed and lips curled into scowls as you both glare at each other. you’re stubbornly convinced satoru doesn’t care as much as you do, and he’s firmly committed to the idea that you’re twisting him into some douche who doesn’t give two shits. 

it’s quiet like that for a bit before he deflates and slumps against the couch, rubbing his face as he groans. 

“look,” he starts, “i’m sorry. i never meant to make it seem like i enjoy attention from other girls, and i didn’t realize you wanted more dates. i’d have done things differently if you told me how you felt.”

he sounds sincere. and he’s looking at you with those eyes of his—god, those stupid little eyes that are so wide and blue and deep and full of love. even after that whole argument, satoru is clearly as painfully in love as ever. 

you sigh before playing with a loose thread on your sweatpants. 

“i…guess i could’ve talked it out first. i probably shouldn’t have skipped straight to breaking up,” you mutter, not meeting his eyes. 

satoru stares glumly at you from the corner of his eyes before he adds bitterly, “you don’t seem to miss me. not even a little.”

“toru,” you pinch your nose, “of course i miss you. i was not gonna be mopey on instagram, though—”

“doesn’t seem like it,” he huffs. he’s a bit hurt—you can tell because he’s not meeting your eyes, and he’s not got that playful little upward curl of his lips. 

you’re a bit weak, you realize—but you suppose you always have been for satoru, because you’re shuffling to his end of the couch and poking his cheek gently. 

“i miss you tons, y’know,” you murmur—you smile a little at his pout before adding, “i want more dates this time around. and stop letting girls get away with being shameless flirts.”

he finally meets your eyes—it’s like a child on christmas, the way his face lights up and his lips curl into an excited grin.

“you mean i get to be your boyfriend again?”

it’s cute—the way he asks to be your boyfriend and not if you’ll be his girlfriend. maybe you’ve been a bit unfair, maybe satoru has always cared deeply in his dumb little clueless way of his own. 

“fine,” you pretend to roll your eyes. he looks hopelessly excited as he wraps an arm around you and pulls you into his side, tucking you under his chin as he rests his cheek on your head. 

“you should really talk to me more,” he murmurs, “i’m…things fly over my head sometimes. i’m sorry.”

“i’m sorry too,” you admit, “i’ll talk to you—but you better listen to me if i do. don’t turn it into jokes.”

“i never turn things into jokes,” he grumbles petulantly, huffing to the side as you shoot him an unimpressed raise of your brow. “does this mean i can follow you again?”

“yes,” you snort.

“and you’ll follow back, right?”

“yes, satoru,” you sigh, shaking your head in amusement. he’s already back to being a handful—but you can admit you might have missed it just a bit. “but for the love of god, please delete that burner.”

“fine,” he pouts, tugging you closer. 

you giggle, he grins, and then you’re kissing—and everything feels as it should be. 

———

“they’re back together,” shoko says in disbelief, staring at your text. suguru groans, pausing mid bite as he rubs over his forehead in defeat. 

of course, you and satoru just have to make up in exactly fifteen minutes. not ten. not twenty. exactly fifteen. 

how considerate of you both. 

“are you kidding?” suguru grumbles, “so neither of us win.”

“guess not,” she says sourly, rolling her eyes. 

woefully, they both agree to split the check. 

suguru and shoko are so me and my friend every time our other friend argues with her boyfriend we deadass be making bets over when they make up and loser has to pay for boba LMAO

[bbokicidal]

"You're So Much Alike." - [B.C.]

Summary: Where you meet his mother for the first time and capture a picture that you will treasure for years to come.

Warnings: None, just a lotta fluff.

Notes: Based on the photo above where Chris recreated his childhood picture w/ his mom.

"When was this?" Your eyes turn to your boyfriend beside you and his head tips in your direction, eyes following only a moment later. A bright smile is plastered on his face as he was previously having a conversation with his mom to the opposite side of himself.

His teeth grit as his lips pull apart in a quiet hiss of thought. "Ah... Mm." His lips press together, brows furrowing as he looks at the picture. "Think I was.. four? Three? Three or four." He nods curtly, eyes drawing up to where you stare at him. ".... What?"

Your smile grows the longer you peer up at him. He doesn't seem to realize how absolutely adorable the photo currently in your hand is. "Nothing. I just love you."

Chan's eyes wander over your own before he giggles, his hand falling to rest on your knee. "I love you too, sweetheart."

"Oh, I was so young here." His mother reaches for the photo, gently taking it from your hand to look down at it. The look on her face seems to say without words that it brings back wonderful memories she couldn't ever forget.

"Please," You murmur, catching her attention with a soft smile. "You look the exact same, Mrs. Bang."

It was kind of his mother to offer to show you baby photos of him. You hadn't necessarily expected it during your first meeting with her, but she seemed more than excited to show you the silly pictures of Chan in the bath, or pictures of him covered in birthday cake when he was two years old. He'd gotten a bit embarrassed at the bath pictures, begging his mother not to show them to you before she countered back with; "What? She's seen it all before anyway!"

And you couldn't argue with that, laughing along as you squeeze his hand in your own. "I mean, she isn't wrong."

You felt incredibly lucky to be able to tag along on this opportunity - visiting Australia with Chan for the first time. The majority of the day is spent relaxing at his family home and getting to know his family; Unfortunately Lucas and Hannah are with their friends, which you can't fault them for, but you get to spend the day with his parents. And Berry, of course.

Their pup seems to take a love to you, following you around instead of sticking to Chan. She sits at your feet while you lean against the kitchen counter and watch his father cook lunch for the group of you; And she treads only a foot or two behind you as you move to dance with Chan's mother in the dining room to the soft music that plays through the house. The room is filled with laughter and the soft banter she exchanges with you on how she may have to steal you from her son with just how charming you are.

Lunch is quiet and soothing, bodies filled with warm home cooked food and Chan's mother asking just how the two of you met - where you saw yourself in ten years, what kind of career you were interested in, and how you felt about her son. Typical first meeting types of questions - But, she seems happy with all of your answers and while you aren't looking, shares an exchanged glance with her son that is telling him to marry you.

It ends as you excuse yourself from the table and move to help Chan at the sink, washing the dishes from preparing the meal and drying them off as he handed them to you. He smiles at you helping him out, about to tell you to go shoo so he can take care of it himself and let you relax. His eyes wander in your direction as you suddenly ask if his father needs another wife - widening in surprise and whispering a soft, "Excuse me?" in shock.

"What? He's literally you but a little older!"

"Are you tryna marry my dad right now--"

-

His father excuses himself from the home about an hour later, something work related beckoning him away. His mother suggests a walk around the park Chan use to run about in when he was little and you eagerly agree, wanting to see more of the local scenery. It's pleasant, a breeze wafting through your hair and brushing over your shoulders as you go. Berry's leash is held careful but firm in your palm and she treads nearby, tail wagging in excitement at just being out.

Without being fully aware of it, you'd fallen behind the mother-and-son duo after being caught up in admiring the nature around you. As your eyes draw back to the pair ahead, you stop walking and Berry takes a few more steps before halting as well. She turns to look up at you in curiosity and when you crouch down, she comes closer to rub her nose against your arm. Hand digging in your pocket, you pull out your phone and let the pair continue walking without disturbing them. Lifting your phone to snap a photo, the picture on your screen looks lovingly familiar to one you had seen earlier.

Chan seemed extremely grateful when you showed him the picture later on - and his mother even more so that evening. His father peeked over her shoulder before gently giving the woman a shake of admiration, hugging her around the waist shortly after. "Jessica, you don't look a day over thirty." And she laughs, swatting at his arm.

Your eyes dart to Chan's and he blinks, meeting your gaze a moment later. Your eyes narrow. "Why am I just now finding out that your mom's name is Jessica?"

[zombvic]

hi, i love your writing can you do one where marc guiu is secretly dating lewandoski's daughter and he finds out?

MR LEWANDOWSKI (marc guiu x lewandowski!reader)

summary : in which the polish barcelona player finds out his daughter is dating his teammate

face claim : no-one exact

notes : ty for the request !! im gonna do some requests asap (theres like twenty so plsplspls be patient <3) also im gonna go on vacation soon so ill be less active.

pairings : marc guiu x fem!lewandowski!reader

BEING THE DAUGHTER of the Polish striker, Robert Lewandowski, came with its perks. Some of the benefits was the opportunity to meet your favorite players, attend exclusive events, and see important matches, such as the World Cup and UCL Finals. But managing the constant media attention and living up to the Lewandowski name were only two of the challenges that came with it. The hardest challenge of them all was keeping your relationship with the Barcelona striker, Marc Guiu, a secret.

You knew dating Marc was going to make you slightly insane. The constant hiding and sneaking around was annoying, tbh.. But if you managed to keep this a secret for over seven months, you sure weren't going to fuck it up now.

Hector quickly caught onto your little facade. All three of you were classmates, and it was clear by the looks you exchanged across the classroom, the way Marc spoke to Hector about you, and just the overall way he admired you. Hector was certain you were dating.

Him knowing would actually come in handy. It was a little easier to keep the secret when Hector was on your side. When needed, he helped cover for you by coming up with excuses in case your dad was on the edge of figuring things out.

One afternoon, while your father was out, Marc came over to your house. It was a unique chance for the two of you to have the house to yourselves, and you both wanted to make the most of it.

You were in your room, cuddling on your bed with Marc as a movie was playing on your laptop. It was relaxing, finally a moment of comfort without any worries or the anxiety of getting caught.

"This is nice," Marc murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I wish we could do this more often."

"Me too," you replied, pulling in closer to him. "But you're aware of my dad's history with my ex-boyfriends. If he found out, he would freak out."

Marc sighed as he played with the strings on your hoodie. "I know. Yet, sometimes I picture us going out on a typical date night. No concerns about your father catching us. You know maybe if he got used to our relationship, he could come along."

Playfully poking Marc with your shoulder, you mocked, "Are you using me to date my father?"

Marc gave you a gentle giggle and an amused look as his eyes met yours. "Maybe I am," he answered. "But in all honesty, I just want to go out with you—no sneaking around, just a regular 'I'll have her home by nine, sir' type date."

"Wow, real cute, Marc." Just as you were about to lean in for a kiss, you heard the front door open. Your heart stopped, as you and Marc exchanged panicked and confused looks.

"Oh fuck. He's not supposed to be back yet," you whispered urgently, scrambling off the bed. "You have to hide. Like now."

Marc quickly got up, looking around the room for a hiding spot. "WHAT?! Where should I go?!"

"Jesus Christ, Marc. I don't know just.. just get under the bed or something!" you whispered, trying to keep your voice down.

Just as your father yelled something from the living room, Marc dove under the bed. "Y/n? You home?"

You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself before opening your bedroom door. "Yeah, What's up?"

He walked down the hallway, a frown on his face. "I thought I left my other keys here. Have you seen them?"

You shook your head, trying to look casual. "Nah, I haven't seen them. Maybe you left them in the locker room after training?"

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Maybe. I'll call someone to check if someone found them. Are you okay? You seem... off."

"I'm good, Dad," you said quickly, hoping he couldn't hear the nervousness in your voice. "Just tired, I guess.."

He looked at you for a moment longer before nodding. "Alright. Well, I'm going to head back out then. Let me know if you find the keys."

As he turned to leave, you heard a muffled cough from under the bed. Your eyes widened in horror as your father stopped in his tracks, his brow furrowing.

"What was that?" he asked, turning back to you.

"What do you mean" you said quickly, desperately trying to think of an excuse. "I didn't hear anything. Is your hearing alright?"

"Hey, I'm still only 35 years young. Anyways, I'll just head out, I guess. See you later, honey." He said as he walked out the front door.

As you walked down the hallway to reach your room, you exclaimed, "Marc, what the fuck was that? The one time you NEED to be quiet, you actually cough. How on earth is that possible?"

"Hey, I didn't put all that dust under your bed," he playfully said while hugging you. "Calm down, babe. He didn't even see me."

"Yeah, but he heard your silly ass. Anyways you should just go. He might come back soon."

At least three hours had passed before your dad returned, which was kind of annoying because you had the chance to finish the movie and still had two hours left to hang out without interruptions.

"Hey honey, I'm back home," your dad said as he walked into the house. You were sitting on the couch, watching Suits (a goated show btw).

Your dad's voice startled you, making you jump slightly. You quickly paused the show and turned to face him. "Hey Dad," you replied.

He looked around the living room with a curious expression. His eyes fell upon the hoodie that Marc gave to you. The hoodie that exclusively Barcelona players got. His brow furrowed slightly as he picked it up, examining it with a puzzled look.

"Whose hoodie is this?" he asked.

You swallowed nervously, trying to come up with a plausible explanation. "Oh, uh, that's Marc's," you said, mentally cursing yourself for not changing beforehand. "He gave it to me last week."

Robert's gaze shifted from the hoodie to you, his expression unreadable. "Marc's?"

"Yeah," you nodded, trying to keep your voice steady. "We… we've been hanging out a lot. Last week i was cold so he gave it to me."

He studied you for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to gauge your sincerity. "Hanging out," he echoed, more a statement than a question.

You nodded again, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. "Okay, yeah. So, Dad, we've been dating for.. a while now."

His eyes widened in surprise, shocked expression on his face. But he didn't look angry. Instead, he let out a slow breath and nodded.

As he stared at you for what felt like an eternity, processing the information, he finally spoke out, his voice calm yet tinged with disbelief, "You and Marc... have been dating?"

"I… I didn't know how you'd react," you admitted, feeling a pinch of guilt for keeping it from him. "And I didn't want you to worry."

Robert leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "I see," he said. "And how long has this 'while' been?"

Marc cleared his throat, speaking up, "About seven months, Mr. Lewandowski."

Your dad looked at Marc with a mix of surprise and curiosity. "Marc? What are you doing here?" he asked, seeing him in the living room unexpectedly.

"I'm sorry, sir. Y/n messaged me to come over, so I did," Marc spoke out, trying to explain his sudden arrival.

"Sorry for not telling you sooner, Mr. Lewandowski," he said earnestly. "We didn't mean to keep it from you."

Robert eased his expression and laughed. "I understand," he softly said in response. "While I can't say I'm not surprised, I appreciate your honesty. Also, Marc, we've known each other for some time now. Just call me as usual." Your father joked with his teammate, your boyfriend.

You felt a wave of relief when you realized he wasn't upset. To be honest, he looked more interested than angry. "So, what do you think, Dad?" You questioned him.

Robert leaned forward, a small smile playing on his lips. "Well, if Marc here has managed to win your heart for seven months without my knowledge, he must be doing something right," he said, his tone teasing yet approving.

Marc and you exchanged a relieved smile as you felt the tension ease. Despite his reputation for being serious, Your dad has surprised you today by showing you compassion and comprehension.

You said, "Thank you, Dad," appreciating his understanding.

He chuckled loudly and replied. "Please just promise me that you will keep me updated. I'm happy for you both."

It was impossible not to feel an overwhelming feeling of relief. The secret was finally out.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Meeting Student!Gun Park for the First Time: Part 1

Part 2! G/N. 3.2k. Remember when Gun wanted to get his GED? Well. Stranger to~ Masterlists

"How old are you?"

"20."

Press X for doubt, you think, and that's the exact meme you send over on chat.

"20 like 20 or 20 like you're mid 30s and planning your mid life crisis 20?"

You know you're being rude and making a terrible first impression. It's the first day of a new school year, of a new school in fact, and for some reason the class is held on video call and you're all forced to pair off with a classmate for an icebreaker introduction.

It’s already cringe worthy and awkward enough, icebreakers must have been created as a form of torture. To add insult to injury, you're sure this guy is bullshitting you.

"I'm 20." He deadpans.

Momentarily, you’re stunned into silence. It stretches almost a tad too long before you manage to choke out, “My bad. Sorry."

Wow. You're torn between thinking that's a rough 20, this guy has easily got 40 years under his belt and oh no, when is your puberty and hormones gonna kick in like that.

And that's also the exact moment this 20 year old Gun Park takes a drag on a cigarette and you decide that it's definitely a rough 20.

"So what do you do for fun?" You probe, and you have the distinct feeling he might say something like alimony, planning his third marriage, investing in the stock market - whatever someone in their 50s might say but-

To your surprise and glee, his body language turns shifty. 

He likes to game he says, like it's a dirty little secret. Amongst other things. Mentions something about training and martial arts and you fight to keep a straight face as it turns out you were also right about investing in shares and the stock market.

Gaming, however, is what you latch on to.

"Cute. I bet I could kick your ass."

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yes."

And this is how you ended up at 4am on a school night, playing Tekken with your new classmate and getting your ass kicked.

"One more!" You screech down the mic, after the KO sign appears on screen, mumbling something about cheating and how if you can time this combo just right-

There's a huff of laughter coming through your tinny headphones and an amused "Fine."

.

.

Dark circles under your eyes grow. It's been a week of straight losses.

You blame the sleep deprivation on Gun Park, though really you have your own stubbornness to blame.

He never tends to say much during the gaming sessions apart from the odd expletive and you rant enough after each of your defeats for the both of you.

Sometimes this will earn you a chuckle and he will snidely add that you asked for this, you were the one who was supposed to kick his ass. This would piss you off enough for another game or three in the hopes of defeating him and getting to gloat.

Which unfortunately has not happened yet.

With a sigh, you hope your camera quality this morning is bad enough and pixelated enough that your poor sleep habits don't show.

You scan over your classmates, the few that have their camera turned on and find him.

Gun looks completely fine. He looks completely fine in what must be 4k and ugh, you scrunch your nose up in annoyance.

You keep an eye on him through the class. Observe how he's usually paying rapt attention, scribbling and typing up notes every now and then.

It's impressive how studious he is.

In comparison, you're daydreaming. Thinking about lunch, other combos or characters to play to counter his own when you catch on to the back end of a sentence as your teacher mentions ‘this’ is something to pay attention to as it will be on the pop quiz.

Huh? You blink a couple times. What is ‘this’? Unfortunately she swiftly moves onto another topic.

You type out a direct message to the only person you know.

You: I missed that, what did she just say?

Gun: You should have been paying attention.

You: Fuck you man!

You see his eyes dip to the bottom of the camera screen, briefly moving as he presumably reads your message.

He smirks.

That night he kicks your ass again.

Then as consolation, reveals what will be on the pop quiz.

.

.

If Gun looked like that in 4k, nothing could prepare you for how he looked in real life.

You're setting up your laptop and notepad in the classroom, the first actual in-person session, when someone takes a seat next to you.

Initially you feel a surge of irritation that they could have sat anywhere else and chose to sit next to you, then you look at the offender and-

Hold on.

You double, triple-take-

Is that?

It must be.

Shit.

It's fucking Gun Park.

You don't entirely regret your initial comments on his looks because this guy definitely does not look 20 but goddamn he looks-

He chooses that moment, when your jaw is on the floor, to turn to you and give you a nod of acknowledgement.

"Y/N."

"H-hi." You manage, and even to your ears it sounds like a simpering fool.

He must have thought so too if the quirk of his lips is anything to go by.

The cherry on top is that you expected this guy to smell like stale smoke, instead all you get is fresh laundry and something faintly dark and heady like leather and cedarwood.

Fuck.

Control yourself, a disapproving voice in your head says. Even that sounds vaguely like Gun.

It does nothing to stop your wandering gaze, peering at him in your periphery when you think he's not looking.

After you have taken your chance to not so discreetly run your eyes up and down his form, the only thing that makes you feel better is his hair. Because yeah he might be hot, but holy shit that must be a gallon of hair gel in there.

.

.

The other thing, as it turns out, that makes you feel a lot better is that he doodles.

It’s utterly charming.

Someone like Gun Park doesn't look like he doodles, but in between lines of his chicken scratch (seriously, who can even read that), there's little stick figures.

Maybe all the time you thought he was being studious he was just drawing-

Wait. You squint at the picture.

Is this guy for real?

"Are they fucking?" You whisper, using your pen to point at the page.

He doesn't answer straight away. There's a moment of surprise as he reacts like this is another secret of his he has unwittingly let you in on before his nostril flares and his eyes narrow and you grin in response.

Your grin grows when he grits out an answer. "No. Fighting."

He doesn't call you a dumbass but you can hear it loud and clear tacked on at the end.

"Whatever, pervert." You counter. You guess if you squint even harder then you suppose they could be fighting. Although the way one is lying on top of another is very suggestive. You don't hesitate to point that out to him.

Gun closes his eyes and counts to ten.

.

.

Even without a seating plan, one forms.

Places taken by chance on the first day becomes a regular arrangement.

You exchange a few words with your classmates, familiarise yourself somewhat with their names and faces. Pieces of their backstory, why they're here studying for a GED but take your spot next to Gun regardless.

No one really talks to him, you've heard them saying he's menacing and intimidating. Yet when your first encounter of him was mistaking him as someone about to hit mid life crisis, how intimidating can he really be.

Besides, he still doodles his lewd figures that he insists are not in any way shape or form comprising sexual positions. So no, you don't find him intimidating at all.

.

.

Gun, as you have come to know, is a man of few words. He is also unsurprisingly not great at literature.

What you don't yet know is he likes to say what he means and mean what he says. His patience only extends to The Art of War, so all the flowery prose and poetry only serves to irritate him.

If Gun glared at you the way he's currently glaring at the textbook, you think you may either burst into tears or burst into flames.

Luckily you do neither of those things but you do take pity on him. Leaning over, you ask him quietly if he needs help.

He doesn't respond but the pen he's clutching in his right hand snaps in half.

Alright then.

Half an hour later, when the class empties out you ask Gun to follow you to the library.

He hesitates, and you add "if you've got time" to give him an out. In the end he doesn't take it and trudges obediently after you.

You very quickly learn that he really doesn't like literature. You're explaining and working him through the analysis and also mildly offended at the bored look on his face.

"This is a waste of time," he interjects and there's a sullen undercurrent to his words.

"Just memorise the analysis then." Exasperation tinges your tone, "That's all you need to do to pass."

He arches a brow at your words.

"They're testing your memory. So just remember what our teacher says."

There's an angry air of resignation as Gun nods, and you slide your notes over for him to copy.

.

.

Not long after, you have your first minor evaluation on the literature material.

You notice during the test that while the vein in Gun’s temple is prominent and he’s clutching his (new) pen tighter, there’s barely any pause as he fills in the answers.

A few days later, the graded papers are handed back. There's a sigh of relief from Gun.

He gives you a smile, small and genuine, eyes crinkling at the corner.

"You owe me one," you tell him jokingly though he takes it to heart and gives you a stern nod.

.

.

Gun repays his debt, with a coffee.

He places the paper cup on the desk in front of you. Logo of the coffee house to the side but still visible. It's new, expensive, and there’s regular lines around the block.

Of course it would be from there.

The issue is, who repays a debt with an espresso. He didn’t even ask for your drink of choice!

"Thanks for this thimble of coffee," you remark as Gun sniffs in distaste at your comment, placing his own matching cup in front of him and saying something about how it's the best untainted way to drink it.

Of course he would also be a coffee snob.

You tell him you usually like it with a bit more cream and a lot more sugar and he mutters that you sound like Goo.

You think that's an insult.

"Well, at least Goo has good taste," you snipe back with a grin.

Gun closes his eyes and counts to ten.

.

.

You: Are you doodling or actually writing notes?

You: Cos on camera you look very studious but I’ve seen your notepad

Gun: None of your business

You: Still drawing your disgusting pornographic stick men then

Gun: They are not-

Gun: Whatever

.

.

You: Ok, maybe that espresso wasn’t terrible

Gun: I know

You: Who’s Goo anyway?

Gun: …

Gun: No-one

You: Suuuure

.

.

You: Tekken tonight?

Gun: Aren’t you tired of getting your ass kicked?

You: >:(

.

.

You: Do you wanna go over the new lit material in the library this week?

Gun: Ok

.

.

Gun: Thanks for your help

You: :) 

.

.

Gun: You’re tired. You should game less.

You: Spoken like a coward!

Gun: Dumbass

You: Hey!!

.

.

Gun: I’ll bring you an espresso tomorrow. You need it.

You: Does it have to be an espresso?

Gun: Yes

You: …Thanks

.

.

To anyone else, the figure standing in the doorway is just smoking. To you, it suspiciously looks like they’re waiting.

It's not a crime. Gun Park can wait for whatever or whoever he wants.

What really throws you off is his smoking. You've seen him casually take one single drag before throwing the whole cigarette away. Even to you, it seems like a waste.

However, this time he smokes one all the way to the filter before stubbing it out. Then does the same to a second, and third.

Strange, very strange.

You approach him. Taking gentle steps, in case he might get spooked and bolt which is really a ridiculous notion for someone like him. Nevertheless, you keep your footsteps light, yourself clearly in view and you wander over to him.

"Hey," you say, with a somewhat forced smile. He doesn't acknowledge your greeting apart from a brief nod.

"... Everything ok?"

It's a perfectly normal question to ask but a vastly bizarre one for Gun. He doesn't look like the type of person where people casually enquire about his well being.

He must have thought so too if the look he gives you is anything to go by.

In response, he stubs out his cigarette (his fourth!) then asks, stilted and stiffly, if you want to come back to his for a game of Tekken.

At least that's what you interpret as he seems to be crazy cryptic.

"Are you interested in Tekken?"

"...Yes." You wonder what on earth this question is because did you hallucinate all those games you played together?

"Then meet me. After class." 

"Where? Here?"

"No. At mine."

"Where's that?"

"..."

He gives you another look, as if you're the one trying to coax a secret out of him despite him offering.

Gun dips forward, murmurs quietly into your ear his address and some vague directions like it's highly confidential information.

You nod along, thinking what is with this guy. 

.

.

So firstly, what the fuck.

Then secondly, what the fuck.

Don't think you hadn't noticed the designer brands Gun wears. If they're fakes, they're very convincing fakes. But you're almost certain they have got to be counterfeit when he brought you over to a junkyard claiming this is where he lives.

You've seen films like this. Granted, it's less in a junkyard and more in the middle of nowhere in America where college kids meet their gruesome ends in fantastical ways.

You never thought this would happen to you. You have sorely miscalculated. 

Is this Gun Park (if that even is his real name) going to butcher you and leave your body on top of a pile of scrap metal in the corner?

Instead of a night of gaming where you’re the one KO-ing him, he’s actually the one that’s going to chase you around wearing a mask and wielding a knife or axe?

"You’re here. Come in," Gun says, opening his front door just as your inner monologue begins to truly spiral out of control and you're considering doing a runner.

"Eh?" You grunt like an idiot, not noticing when the shack appeared nor when you stepped onto his porch, or the side eyes Gun had been giving you.

He gives you another look, likely regretting inviting you at all, and leaves the door ajar for you to either enter or turn back and go home.

.

.

"This is... nice," you lie, through the skin of your teeth.

Gun sees cleanly through your white lie and exhales a huff of amusement.

It's sparse. Peeks of luxury here and there - the extensive PC gaming rig, the entertainment system and consoles, to name a few.

Apart from that, it's barely a home.

"Take a seat." He offers, and it sounds more like an order. Obediently you sit on his sofa, feeling very much a guest.

"You're not in danger," he says, bemused at how awkward you are in his domain, how tense you hold yourself.

'That's exactly what a killer would say,' you think and when you hear a low chuckle, you realise that you said it aloud.

"Don't worry," Gun reassures and it doesn’t really help before he strides off to somewhere in his house and leaves you sitting alone.

He returns back minutes later as you’re in the middle of admiring his entertainment set up and going through his vinyl collection (because obviously someone like Gun has vinyls) with a coffee for you that looks much more milky and to your taste than the usual ones he offers. 

“Thanks.” you take your drink and return back to your seat.

Taking the first sip, you finally manage to relax. Sinking into a sofa that is much more comfortable than at first glance and you take in your surroundings a bit more.

Sort of. You actually take in Gun Park more. 

He’s casual, in a way you have never seen or even considered. Dressed in a t-shirt and grey sweatpants, hair floppy and the only styling is done with his hands running through his hair now and then to keep it back.

Even during the online classes, he is usually dressed up in an open collared shirt.

If you thought he was hot before, it’s nothing compared to now. There’s an air of domesticity, the drink he made for you cradled in your hands, and the distinct feeling that not many people have had the luxury to see Gun in his natural habitat, so intimate and vulnerable.

You wonder if this is how he looks all those nights you’ve been gaming together.

You catch his eyes, having been caught checking him out and he raises his eyebrows at your blatant staring. 

Blood rushes to your cheeks as he chuckles into his own espresso and takes a sip.

.

.

"Holy shit, I won!"

You're familiar with the KO screen. What you're not familiar with is being on the side of victory. You're usually a hair trigger away from rage quitting, from throwing a tantrum down the mic.

Finally. All your hard work has paid off. Time spent thinking of combos, attacks and defences (which would have been better spent studying) is coming to fruition.

You peer over to Gun, expect the controller he is clutching to maybe have been crushed into pieces with his freakish strength. Expected nothing except for a vein throbbing on his temple.

What you do find is-

Gun looking at you, fondness in his eyes. He's taking in your grin, letting your gloating slide.

Doesn't do more than roll his eyes when you perform a victory dance of sorts around him.

And when you get in his face to tell him that you're the winner, you're the best-

(More words are on the tip of your tongue but your gaze drops to his lip, drawn to the small smile he wears.

It sinks in.

The patience he has, the attention he gives, the way he has opened his home to you.

From the very first meeting, the even-handed way he has dealt with your insults, entertained you to the early hours of the morning on Tekken.)

Gun reaches out, tugs your hand and pulls you into his lap and agrees.

"Yes. The best."

You think it's a lie, an embellishment.

But the way he holds you - tender and precious, and the way he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours - soft, like you might break - can't be anything else but the whole truth.

(Update! Part 2 here!)

[kaveehs]

Not So Secret — Gojo Satoru

gn!reader, wc 0.8k, fluff, established relationship, high school au, jealous!gojo cuz he’s silly

synopsis: Gojo was not a “jealous” guy, but he also wasn’t the best at keeping your relationship a secret.

a/n: JJK 2 IS HERE SO I HAD TO WRITE MY SILLY <333

In his own eyes, Gojo was not the jealous type.

He hated the title more than anything. Although it without a doubt summed up the tight feeling he would get in his chest when other guys approached you, or the ever growing need he felt to tell the world you were his, he would never call himself jealous.

In part, he blamed his feelings on the fact your relationship with him was a secret. After all, that bit was your idea, but he can’t put you at fault for the reasoning. You wished to keep your relationship with him a secret because of how different you both were.

You were a quiet, straight laced student— you always kept to yourself despite being at the top of your class. He was the exact opposite, infamously known as a troublemaker around school, as well as being dubbed as some kind of “player” by your classmates. You knew the types of comments people would say about your relationship if it were to ever go public.

Gojo understood this completely, but there was just one small factor you overlooked— you were incredibly pretty. You were beautiful and he wasn’t the only one who recognized it. He wasn’t the only one to be intrigued by your personality. Gojo told himself that he was ok with this fact, and he wasn’t insecure either— far from it. His heart always knew in the end, you would choose him over the people that would try to pursue you with romantic interest.

When he saw one of your classmates attempting to drop subtle hints to you today, he couldn’t help but feel something had to change. He knew you would probably make some cute excuse as to why you can’t take the guy’s number, or how you’re focused on your studies rather than relationships, and how you would wonder if they would be convinced or still persist, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he let out a sigh of synthetic relief as he snaked his arms around you from behind. He already knew where you would be— seeing as you texted him which classroom you were in and to come find you later. You were shocked by his actions, smiling meekly at your classmate who was also in dismay.

“Satoru, hi,” you muttered quietly, but Gojo was able to sense the annoyance in your tone. He laughed cheekily, squeezing you harder, fully knowing you would probably kill him for this later. “I thought I told you to come find me later,” you spoke with your jaw fully clenched.

“No could do. Missed you too much,” he sighed dramatically, rocking you back and forth. You could tell your classmate wanted to say something, but bit his tongue and kept quiet.

“Excuse us for a minute,” you said sweetly but apologetically as you dragged Satoru out of the classroom and to an empty one. He could practically see an aura of fire radiating off your body as you let go of his arm and shut the door.

“What was that about?” You crossed your arms, glaring straight at Satoru who’d made himself comfortable on one of the desks.

“What was what about?” He nonchalantly replied to your question. Him pretending to be oblivious set you off even more.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re a horrible actor Satoru,” you marched over to his desk. “What happened to keeping us a secret?”

“Oh, so that’s what you mean,” he nodded in understanding as he sat up. “It’s really hard to do that,” Satoru shrugged, patting the empty space next to him for you to sit. Although annoyed, you complied, arms still crossed and all.

“I know I promised to keep us a secret,” he admitted. “But I can’t stand the thought of someone else trying to flirt with you.”

“So you’re jealous.”

“No, not jealous,” he scoffed, looking at your usual smile slowly creeping back to your lips. “I just think we shouldn’t care about what others think about us.”

“I know,” you relaxed a bit too as you felt Satoru lean his head on your shoulder. “I guess I’m kinda scared.”

He let out a small chuckle, taking your own hand into his. He understood your fears all too well, and wanted nothing more than for you to be confident.

“You don’t have to be,” he shook his head softly against you, interlocking your hands together. “No one’s words can make me think less of you.”

“You don’t have to be jealous either,” you affirmed, sarcasm heavy in your tone. He pouted, pretending to be dramatically hurt by your comment.

“I don’t get jealous,” he clicked his tongue, as if he was correcting you. “But you know, you get really angry. Even though you’re subtle about it, you have such a cute angry face.” He knew exactly how to bring light into your mood, attempting to recreate your so-called ‘angry face’.

“I really can’t stand you,” you exaggerated as you leaned into him, stroking the back of his hand with your thumb. “You really are the jealous type, Satoru.”

[stunie]

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI X F!READER — sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ mild cw alcohol ﾉ 596 word count ﾉ og req ﾉ in which ushijima picks you up and takes you home after you’ve had a little too much to drink and accidentally overhears you talking about him to your friends . . .

“Ehh? You really think Toshi is scary?”

He stops in his tracks just inches away from your friend’s door. Ushijima was never really the type to eavesdrop like this, but for some reason, his body had decided that he should wait this one out and listen. Just for a little. “..Why’s that?”

Your words sound a little slurred. Though he already knew you would be like this to some extent as soon as he received a text from your friend asking him to come by and take you home.

“Well…” one of your friends speaks up. “He’s just kind of intimidating, you know?”

The little noise of confusion he hears from you paints a crystal clear image in his head. You’ve always made that sound whenever you tilt your head to the side a bit— as if doing that would help you understand better or something. “Hmm… intimidating..?”

You start laughing. As if it’s the funniest thing you’ve heard all day. He hears your laughter muffled under something and assumes you’ve moved to hug and snuggle up against one of your friends. “Toshi? He’s not… not at all.”

“He’s the sweetest soul alive. I can prove it.”

“Oh? Can you? Tell us then.” Your friend chuckles a bit when you start humming and sighing, and he thinks one of them has started rubbing your back. You’ve always loved that. You make the exact same noise when he does that too. “Sure.”

Ushijima’s lips curl into the faintest trace of a smile when he hears the way you giggle— like you’re ecstatic just by being asked to talk about him. You really like him that much?

“I don’t know where to start,” it’s clear you’re talking through a big smile, and it only makes it harder to understand you— but he can. “One time, my heel broke. And so.. he carried me for the entire night. We were…. were at a festival, you know.

“I was on his back for hours..!”

Oh. He remembers that. The two of you had gone to try out different food stands, and he would feed you by holding up the fork with a piece stuck on at the end. You’d lean down and take a bite like some kind of bird perched on his shoulder. He remembers feeling really happy that night.

“And…. this other time…” your laughter trails off, and he raises a brow. “I was really sad. I was crying, and you know what he did?”

Oh, now that sounds a little more personal. Ushijima decides that it’s finally time to take you home with that.

“What did he do? Oh— look who’s finally here.”

You and your friends all turn to look at him as soon as he enters the room, though it would be hard to miss someone like him in the first place. His first thought is that he was right about you cuddling up with one of your friends. Your arms are wrapped tightly around their middle, face resting on their lap, and you barely muster up the energy to turn to face him.

“Ehh….” It looks like sleepiness is finally starting to hit you now that you’re comfortable. “Toshi? Ah… I’m imagining things now… hi, Toshi’s ghost. I’m his girl…”

You smile at him. It’s a big, sleepy smile— and it still makes his heart skip a beat, even if he doesn’t seem to outwardly react to it.

“Let’s go home.” He’s gentle when he kneels down beside you, gesturing for you to return to your favorite spot on his back. “You need rest.”

[lulujeno]

finding out you sleep with a plushie

— nct dream ᡣ𐭩

cw : none! 100% fluff ^^

a/n : my tumblr debut yay! tried to make it as gender neutral as possible so i hope you enjoyyy

mark:

came home late from practice and found you sleeping on the couch with a winnie-the-pooh plushie tucked under your arms

first time seeing you sleep with the plushie despite knowing that you can't sleep without it

takes note of it for future occurrences

going on a flight? road trip? staying at your friends place? he will for sure remind you about the plush

when you forget the plushie at his place he will have it sitting on his bed against a pillow (sometimes 'reading' one of his books)

every time he sees winnie-the-pooh now he will take a quick pic of it to send to you

"yooooo why this lowkey looks like you"

doesn't forget to remind you that you're cuter tho

poor markie was so panicked when he couldn't find the plush after you texted him that you left it at his place

had a whole apology written down knowing how precious it was since its your childhood plushie

promised to buy you the exact same one and is basically crying now because he knows that it won't be able to replace the one you had

luckily he found it under his bed so we're all good!

renjun:

you were taking a nap on his bed when he saw you hugging a duck plushie

takes a quick pic for memories sake (and to tease you about it in the near future)

since then his little notes for you include a small duck doodle on it

"left early for practice 𓅭" "leftovers are in the fridge 𓅿" "goodluck for the interview today 𓅹"

when he's overseas for schedules he'll find something with ducks on it to give to you as a little souvenir

kisses both you and the duck when he sees you asleep after a long day (it calms him down)

would ask who's cuter, him or duckie?

you jokingly say duckie which causes him to nag to your plushie about stealing his partner

ducks are now his new favourite thing to draw (lyric sheets are his no. 1 victim)

when you couldn't find the plush he offers himself as something for you to cuddle with

resulted in him getting smacked and proceeding to help you find the duck

gets sulky after, saying that hes better at cuddling than the "piece of fluff"

you coo at his jealousy over a stuffed toy and cuddle the both of them

jeno:

he arrived at your place a little later than usual and sees you tucked in with a black bunny

he coos at how adorable the sight is and takes a picture to set as one of his many lockscreens of you

noticed that its the bunny he bought for you before he went on tour for tds2

"if you miss me just cuddle the bunny okay? he has black hair like me so it wouldnt be that much of a difference"

obviously cuddling a grown man and a 31cm plushie is different but what can you do when he's halfway across the globe?

also the type to kiss you and your bunny goodnight

caught him doing it one day and now try to stay awake long enough to catch him doing it again

you fail to do so since his schedules always end soooo late f u sm!!

would give your bunny a wash once every few months since the bunny is a representation of him and he takes personal hygiene very seriously! (his words, not yours)

the bunny would have a new ribbon tied to its ears, depending on what colour his hair is this time (always praying for the pink or white ribbon to come back one day)

gets jealous that you cuddle the bunny more than him

you'd get back at him saying that he's the one that bought the bunny

haechan:

could not shut up when he realised that the plushie you couldn't sleep without was a brown bear

teases you to no end because everyone knows the he is the og brown bear

he finds it too cute that you need a mini him to sleep

"awwwh, you're so in love with me that your plushie is basically me"

you tell him that its just a basic bear, theres no deeper meaning to it

you did buy it because it looks like him but he can't know that! the teases will be insufferable

doesn't care if it had another name before hand because it is now haechan jr.

if he sees the plush on the floor he'll pick it up and tuck it under your arms

the type to tell the little guy to take care of you in your sleep

you'd buy a mini version for him to bring around for schedules and tours

gives you updates about mini haechan jr. every second

practice room? recording studio? m/v shoot? fansign? filming 7llin? you will be getting updates!! not missing a single one

would post haechan jr. and mini haechan jr. on his instagram as a soft launch

it's a little too soft but its okay since you both want to keep it on the downlow anyways

jaemin:

found you sleeping one night with a pink bunny hidden under the blanket next to you

was cooing at how cute the sight was

also one to take pics because that's his partner!! why wouldn't he?

had to hold himself back from pinching your cheeks and opted to pat your head instead

will ask about it the next time he sees you and wont stop telling you how cute you are

you left it at his place once and suddenly theres a ribbon on your bunny's ears (i wonder who added it)

caught him having a full on conversation with your bunny a few times damn your bf is weird

basically treats the bunny like his child at this point

will remind you to bring your bunny when going on overnight trips with him

will not stop taking pictures of the bunny (he has a whole file for it on his phone btw)

"aigoooo look how adorable she is"

"awww both my babies look so cute I have to take a pic"

also one to send you pics of things with bunnies on it when on tour, buys it for you too sometimes

his cats loves bitting everything, including your bunny

makes sure that its as far away from luna, lucy, and luke after he caught them trying to bite on it

you're now 100x cuter in his eyes and he wont shut up about it

chenle:

slightly smiled to himself when saw you bring a dumbo plushie the first time you slept over at his face

he bought it so of course you'll be sleeping with it

why dumbo? because he has big ears and you're nosy as hell (his words btw)

you got sulky when you heard the reason and he corrected himself and said that it was because he was a yapper and you're the listener instead

starts calling you dumbo and the plushie dumbo jr. instead

would also ask to pick between him and the plushie

got so offended when you picked dumbo

"i am THE zhong chenle, who wouldn't choose me?"

would replace the plushie with himself after you sleep since he's petty like that, he wouldn't let a stuffed toy win over him

but would also put dumbo in between your arms if he wakes up first in the morning (it's to keep you company while he's cooking breakfast)

sends you pics of daegal and dumbo together like a proud dad

he's still chenle though so dont expect your plushie to get the same dad treatment as jaemin

the type to get you more dumbo related items since dumbo is the only plushie you sleep with

jisung:

his heart melted at the sight of you sleeping on the couch with a hamster plushie squished against your cheeks

if that man wasn't a simp for you already then he is now

needs a few seconds to just admire how cute you were for faling asleep while trying to wait for him to end his schedules

he's not one to bring it up directly, but that doesn't mean he won't tease you about it from time to time

probably annoys the members (read: chenle) about how adorable his partner is when cuddled up with a plush version of him

he's so down bad but you can't blame him for being in love

took him a few nights to realise that its the plushie he bought for you when you visited him during smtown live in tokyo

got so shy and couldn't contain his smile when he realised it

would ask you if you've given the hamster a name yet and when you said you haven't he suggested 'hamster'

you don't have the heart to tell him how corny it is so you agree to it

you both are down bad!!!!

if he sees the hamster on the floor he'll dust off any possible dust before tucking it under your arms again

takes a picture to make it last longer

you leave the plush at his place on accident once

send you a message saying that he can't believe you just forgot your son like that

takes a pic of him cuddling the hamster to show that he is being taken care of no ones focusing on the doll when his hands are right there

[steventhusiast]

modern au where eddie and robin are roommates and steve is italian <3

-

eddie has always known that his roommate robin is in the US for college, but grew up in and is from italy. sure, sometimes he forgets, because she somehow has a near-perfect american accent and also speaks two other languages, but he’s always known.

and for the past year and a bit, he’s known how much robin wants her best friend stevie to come visit. she talks about them all the time, and ever since she and eddie moved out of the dorms and into an apartment together for their next year of university a month ago, he’s known stevie is going to come and visit.

he just kind of forgot the exact day stevie would be arriving.

so when he, clad in nothing but his garfield pyjama pants and a metallica t-shirt that’s falling apart, walks into the kitchen one morning and sees someone he doesn’t know at the kitchen counter fiddling with their instant coffee machine, he almost shits himself.

luckily, he doesn’t, because he remembers in that split second that stevie was due to arrive last night. but he still flinches pretty hard at the fright and grabs for the nearest grabbable thing, which turns out to be the doorframe. somehow, he makes a noise loud enough to get the mystery person’s attention, and they turn around.

holy shit. eddie did not know stevie is hot. or that stevie’s actually a guy. he kind of just assumed, with the nickname and all? but the man standing there looks like he could’ve been carved by the gods eddie doesn’t believe in, and- eddie realises he’s been staring at the guy for a few seconds now, and decides to talk like a normal human being. he first adjusts his position so he’s no longer holding onto the archway of the kitchen for support, and smiles at the guy.

“hi, you must be stevie?” he offers, and stevie takes a few seconds to process his words before nodding with a smile.

“my name is steve. robbie just is… hm, silly?”

eddie blinks a couple times, because steve has an accent. a thick one. he should’ve expected that, because- hello? they’re both literally from italy. but it catches him off guard, and adds to steve’s hot factor. why didn’t robin warn him about this.

“yeah, robin is very silly.” he agrees with a chuckle, and then realises steve might not know him, “i’m eddie. robin’s roommate. you probably knew that already though, so now i probably look like an idiot. well- more of an idiot than i already do in these clothes…”

he lets his words trail off as he realises steve is frowning at him in subtle confusion. he’s picked up robin’s rambling-when-nervous habit over their friendship, and hot guys tend to make him pretty nervous. but then he realises maybe steve isn’t as fluent in english as robin is, and even if he is eddie’s a fast talker that doesn’t always pronounce things fully.

“i am sorry,” steve looks embarrassed, “my english is not as good as robin.”

eddie feels so guilty at the pink that’s made itself known on steve’s cheeks, and shakes his head immediately.

“no! you don’t need to be sorry. i just talk a lot when i’m nervous.” he confesses. why did he say that? now steve knows he’s nervous. or does he? maybe he didn’t catch his full sentence.

steve raises one eyebrow at eddie though, and one side of his mouth quirks up into a smile as he turns around to keep trying to make himself a cup of coffee.

“i am making you nervous? why?” steve asks, his back still turned. now eddie’s the one with red cheeks. dammit.

“it’s because eddie here thinks you’re hot, stevie.”

eddie’s flinch at robin’s magical appearance behind him is somehow more spectacular than earlier, and he clutches dramatically at his heart and spins around to glare at robin.

“robin! what the fuck, man!” he yelps when he realises what she’s said. but robin isn’t listening, she’s too busy speaking to steve in italian about who knows what.

probably about how she knows all eddie’s tells for when he finds a guy attractive and how she knows eddie’s type and steve checks every single box. or, eddie squints at the pair as robin tsks at steve and takes over manning the coffee machine, maybe robin’s just telling steve how to make a coffee with the machine?

“you think i am…” steve starts as he spins around to look at eddie, and seems to be searching for a word for a few moments, “attractive?”

eddie’s eyes widen, and then he sighs and fixes a glare on robin. robin just shrugs and makes a very insincere ‘oopsie’ expression, and eddie is about to start denying like his life depends on it, but he looks back at steve.

and steve has that blush back on his face, and a tiny smile, and he’s looking eddie up and down even in his ridiculous outfit.

“um, yes.” eddie practically squeaks, not used to having someone’s eyes on him like this.

steve says something to robin in italian that sounds like it ends with a question mark, and robin rolls her eyes.

“steve wants me to translate a pick up line he wants to use on you, but i literally refuse to do that. google translate is free.”

and with that, she leaves the kitchen.

[fairestwriting]

Hello there! Love your writing! How about my sweet Savanaclaw boys finding out that their crush (or S/O) sleeps cuddling a plushie of their respective animals (like a wolf for Jack). Thanks! I love Jack so much :)

me while jumping at the opportunity of writing the man: i hate leona

Leona Kingscholar

He is canonically a very smart and perceptive guy. But somewhere in my heart I just know he wouldn't fully make the connection for a while. Just trust me on that one.

Kind of pokes fun at your "cat" plushie. What's with that thing, Herbivore? Aren't you a little too old for stuffed animals? Though he steps back if it makes you genuinely upset, which isn't what he's going for, he's just being an ass as a joke again. A part of him thinks it's really endearing, even before it really clicks for him.

He kind of feels vaguely jealous of the plushie. If you bring it while you two are sleeping together he'll pull the what do you need this thing for, I'm right here kind of shtick.

Confused on why you sleep with a plushie in the first place, more confused about why this stuffed cat looks so weird... oh, wait.

He's stupidly proud when it actually clicks. Of course he won't tell you it went over his head for the longest time, but all of a sudden, he's all smug whenever he sees you with the plushie, saying you could've just called if you missed him so much.!

Ruggie Bucchi

Takes a hot second to make the connection, but a lot less than Leona. The delay is mostly because he's never expected to see a hyena plushie of all things.

Actually loves it because it reminds him of the kids back home a little. He asks where you bought it, how much it was, tells you a little story about a kid he knew who wanted one just like that.

He won't explicitly ask to hold it but you should offer it, he loves your little buddy, he's already said you should come to him if you ever need to get a tear patched up. Doesn't even have it in him to make a joke about it being childish, at most tells you he'll keep it a secret if you look embarrassed.

When he does notice though, while poking at the plushie's little ears absentmindedly, he's the one who gets flustered. Oh no, that's really cute kind of realization.

He wants to sound cool when he says that, you know, if you want to sleep with him, you can just invite him over, but he does fail pretty hard. He can't help it, though, it's just way too endearing to him.

...Besides, he's already offered to co-parent the toy. If it doesn't have a name, it's just a matter of time before Ruggie asks and "jokingly" comes up with suggestions.

Jack Howl

Only one who thinks it might have to do something with him... but he's kind of too flustered to say anything about it for a good while.

He bashfully reassures you there's nothing wrong with keeping plushies around even if you're not a kid, maybe letting it slip that he thinks the little wolf is pretty cute... then pretending he didn't say anything.

Jack overthinks it a bit. Wolf plushies aren't that uncommon, right? You probably had it before you met him. He's too shy to ask if you had it before you met him.

He'll settle on... asking about the plushie itself. It might not have anything to do with him, but he knows pretty quickly that he wants it to. If you're not dating yet, he'll use the almighty excuse of asking about it because he needs to get his little siblings a gift.

Either way, though, the next excuse he gets, whether it's Christmas or your birthday or whatever, you find yourself with a very neatly wrapped box in your hands, and Jack nearly hiding behind it. Just saw it in a shop near home and thought you might like it, he says.

Whether your previous plushie was based on the exact same type of white wolf he is doesn't matter. If it is, it's getting a twin. You bet he scoured the shops to find it, blessing his luck on wolves being animals plenty of people love. He has a small, shy smile on his face when you take it.

if you wanna support my work, you can buy me a ko-fi or commission me!

[mrsbarnesblog]

new purchase

masterlist ko-fi ao3

Mob! Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You just got a new expensive lingerie set and decided to tease your mafia boss boyfriend with some sexy pictures.

Word count: 2.3K

Warnings: modern setting, mafia boss bucky, established relationship, nude photos, dom bucky, smut, vaginal sex, mirror sex, lingerie kink, hair-pulling, doggy style, butt slapping, dirty talk, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie.

Author's note: I'm back🥹 Tumblr blocked my account again, but thank God support replied and everything is fine now. put community labels if you don't want to end up like me lol. I'm returning to re-upload everything. thank you for the support💞💞

As soon as the message from you popped up on Bucky’s screen, he was no longer involved in the conversation with his people, who were reporting on the situation that got a few men killed.

No, now his eyes were glued to the screen of his phone. To the photo that you sent him, to be exact. You were standing in front of the mirror in the new blue lingerie set that Bucky definitely hadn't seen before. 

“miss you, baby.” 

Bucky took a deep breath, studying every little thing in the photo—from your half-hidden smile to the soft skin of your legs and stomach—and noticing the way your boobs were perfectly sitting in that almost see-through bra. Fuck, to be right now on top of you instead of sitting here was a dream. You knew what effect you had on him and that Bucky loved your expensive lingerie, but he couldn't just leave now, right? Controlling Brooklyn was not easy, especially when some brave idiots tried to threaten him.

“please, Jamie…”

Another text message with an attached picture appeared in front of him, and his pants immediately became much tighter. Now it was from another angle. You were on the bed on your hands and knees, your spine perfectly arched to show your round ass in just a little piece of fabric that shouldn’t even be considered underwear. 

Flashbacks from all the times Bucky was holding your hips while thrusting into you from behind filled his head and he almost wanted to moan out loud. No, it was impossible to listen to whatever Peter was saying, especially when it was the first time you sent such photos.

“You better stay in this position, baby. I'm coming.” He typed quickly before suddenly getting up from his fancy leather chair, making the whole room go quiet. 

“D-did I say something wrong, boss?” Peter’s face became white. Bucky probably looked really angry right now, but only because he couldn't touch you and bury himself in your heat at that exact moment. 

“I didn't listen, Parker. I need to go; finish here without me. Steve, you're responsible.” Bucky took his jacket and stormed out of the room without another word. 

***

You were walking around the bedroom in nervousness, as if it were your first time waiting for Bucky from work. But now something was different, though. You knew that he was busy, and you hated disturbing him, but after looking in the mirror at yourself for too long, you got so confident and bold that you decided to text him with photos, which you had never done before. 

Your best friend Nat took you out shopping, but even though Bucky always gave you his card and told you to buy whatever you wanted, you never actually did it. Until you saw that unbelievably beautiful blue set. Bucky went crazy every time you had new pieces, but they weren’t as expensive as this one because you always bought them with your own money. Your friend basically shoved you into the changing room and convinced you that it cost every single penny, so you gave up and used Bucky’s black card. 

The loud noise of the slammed door came from the first floor, and you knew that your boyfriend had come home. Fuck, it has been only 15 minutes since he messaged you, and he was already there. 

You sat at the edge of the king-size bed, facing the door. And in just a few seconds, heavily breathing and slightly annoyed, Bucky stood in the door frame. If you hadn’t been dating him for almost a year now, you would’ve thought that he was angry, but the way he licked his lips and the look in his eyes while he was scanning your almost naked body told you otherwise. 

“You’re such a fucking tease, babydoll. I had an important meeting, and you just had to send me those photos, huh?” Bucky grinned at you, taking off his expensive jacket and rolling up the sleeves of the white shirt. He took small steps toward you, but you were too focused on his tattooed and veiny forearms to notice it. 

You blinked only when a soft but firm hand pressed under your chin, making you look Bucky in the eyes. The realization of how ridiculously wet you were hit you hard, and Bucky probably saw the way your cheeks blushed because his lips curled in a one-sided smirk. 

“You’re looking like the sexiest thing on the planet, but you’re blushing. God, you’re amazing, baby.” His eyes slid down your body, covered in a thin lace, and you swore that his eyes darkened within a second.

“I just thought that I became wet by just looking at your hands.” Bucky growled at your words. He took both of your hands into his, silently asking you to stand up from the bed. "Sorry for bothering you at work, I just... I don’t know.” 

“I don’t care about work as long as I can see my amazing girlfriend looking so incredible. Is this new? I know every single piece of clothing that you own; I’ve never seen this before.”

“Nat convinced me to buy this... from your card. I hope you don’t mind." Bucky chuckled at your words. 

“I told you a million times to buy whatever you wanted. My money is your money, ‘key? Now spin for me.” He lifted your hand above your head, helping you to spin around and show him every little detail of your new purchase.

The bra, which perfectly lifted your boobs, so they seemed nice and round. Matching lacy blue thongs and a garter belt that was attached to the tights sat on your waist, showing every curve of your hips. There was nothing left for imagination. You looked so soft, delicious, and sexy, but those cute little flowers all over the fabric made Bucky want to destroy you.

“So pretty, goddammit. I need you right now.” He firmly grabbed one side of your face, connecting your lips in a hot and messy kiss, while the other hand trailed its way from your neck down to your soaking wet panties. “Still can’t believe that you’re mine. The most beautiful woman on the whole fuckin’ planet.” Bucky growled into your lips, refusing to let you go. “Is that all for me? Are you so wet because of your naighty little photos or from my hands? Tell me.” Two fingers run up and down your covered folds, making you moan into Bucky’s mouth from the stimulation. 

“Both… Jamie, please. I need you.” You tried to grind your hips on his hand, but Bucky gripped your thigh and lowered his mouth onto your hot neck. 

“‘M not gonna let you get off on my hand, not today. You teased me with those sexy pictures, so I think it would be fair if I just fucked you senseless. That’s what you asked me to do anyway, right?” You just eagerly nodded, hoping that Bucky would do anything. The heat in the lower half of your stomach was almost painful, and you felt awfully empty inside, squeezing around nothing with every kiss Bucky had left on your sensitive skin. “Should I bend you over the bed? Or maybe on the floor in front of the mirror so I could see how good you feel when I fuck you?” He asked mostly himself. 

Bucky pulled away from you, admiring fresh red marks on your collarbones and neck and already knowing that you'd blame him in the morning before work. His lips were swollen and his hair was a mess, but you still bit your lip at how sexy and pretty he was. Lately, you didn’t spend much time together because of his job, and now you wanted to spend every second admiring and touching him. 

“I don’t care, Buck. I just want you, I miss you.” Your hands flew to the collar of his shirt, opening every button until his tanned chest was on full display. 

“Get on your knees and hands, doll.” Bucky mumbled, and you knew that he had lost all of his patience. 

You lowered yourself on an expensive white rug and teasinly moved your ass from side to side, looking at Bucky through the mirror. His eyes stuck on your body, and he licked his lips once again. You saw the way his pants were barely holding the hardness behind them, and your mouth instantly started watering from that thought.

“Are you going to fuck me or keep starring at my ass?” 

He smirked at your words and fell onto his knees behind you, slightly pushing his covered hips into yours and making you both moan. 

“Oh, I am going to fuck you? Don’t worry about that, doll.” The sudden slap on your ass cheek made you loudly gasp; your mouth stayed slightly open as Bucky was massaging your burning cheek with one hand and unbuckling his pants with the other. 

You felt the silky-soft skin of his cock between your legs when Bucky ran his length on your wet panties. “It’s too pretty, I don’t wanna take it off of you. ‘M just gonna push them to the side.” He took your underwear out of his way, lining the leaking tip with your wet entrance. 

You couldn’t stay steel, so Bucky had to grab your hair, raise your head, and perfectly arch your back. You whined at the slight pain from his grip, but it soon turned into a loud mixture of a moan and Bucky’s name when he pushed inside of you. 

It never failed to amaze both of you how perfect you were for each other. The sex was incredible every single time. Your body instantly adgasted for his size; your wet and soft folds gripped his cock firmly, as if your body didn’t want him ever to leave. Bucky honestly didn’t even remember the sex before you; at that time he thought it was nice, but since the first night with you, everything has become blurred, and he couldn't look at any other woman in a sexual way anymore. 

“Fuck-fuck-fuck, James!” You cried, squeezing him harder and gripping the soft material under your hands. 

“Holy shit, doll. Your pretty pussy ‘s taking me so well; she’s so greedy for my cock.” Bucky slapped your ass again at the same time as he bottomed out in you. You tried to stay focused on the reflection in the mirror, but that teasing little push of Bucky’s hips right into your g-spot made your eyes roll back. "What? You can’t handle it, baby? But that's what you asked for. You thought that you could just send me these things and not get fucked like a naughty little girl?” He chuckled, immediately increasing the speed of his thrusts. 

“I just wanted you, J-Jamie, fuck!” You cried at another slap on your ass. Red hand prints were already visible, and you knew that it would be hard to sit the next day. “I need to cum, please…”

“Already drunk with my cock?” Bucky chuckled, slightly squeezing your hair in his hand, until you opened your hooded eyes and looked at him in the mirror. “Look at you, always so perfect for me.” His blue eyes studied your reflection. Your still covered in bra tits bounced every time he pushed his cock inside of you, and Bucky felt like he became even harder because of the fact that he couldn’t see you fully naked. 

It felt like he wanted to split you in half with the power of his movements. Your skin slapped into each other, and the wet sounds of your pussy were almost too loud and inappropriate for you, but Bucky didn’t care. He moved fast and hard, mumbling praise words under his breath, which you barely understood, being too close to cum. 

“Bucky, ‘m gonna cum… Please, let me cum, ‘m so close.” You loudly moaned when your body started trembling and your hands were almost too weak to hold you up. 

“Do it, doll. I’m right behind you. Cover my cock in your cum.” Your mouth fell open, and your eyes instantly closed when you finally came, clenching around him. Bucky looked closely as your face expression changed—it was his favorite thing. 

He pushed into your tight cunt a few more times before freezing as his own orgasm came. You moaned at the feeling of his hot seed feeling you from the inside. 

“Just like that, doll. You did so well.” Bucky soothed the skin of your thigh and reddish cheek, finally loosening the grip on your hair. Your hands couldn’t hold you up anymore, and you collapsed on the soft rug with a muffled puff. 

Bucky slightly chuckled, slipping out of you, and flipped over your exhausted body so you could face him. You both were flushed and slightly sweaty. Bucky brushed your hair from your face and lowered himself to catch your lips in a slow kiss. You wrapped your arms around his strong shoulders until he fell on top of you. 

“I’ll call Nat so she can take you shopping tomorrow. Use my black card and get yourself everything that you like, because now I want to see you in every possible shade and variation of lingerie, doll.” Bucky mumbled near your ear while his hands traced the soft skin of your ribs and stomach. 

“I don’t want to spend your money, James.” You laughed. 

“Then I’ll give my card to Nat, so she can spend it on you. Because I won’t leave you alone anymore, doll. You drive me crazy looking like this.” He started kissing your neck, going lower to your chest. You just sighted, knowing damn well that there’s no point in arguing and that your amazing boyfriend would find a way to make you buy more lingerie. “Are you ready for round two? Because I really wanna put those pretty tits in my mouth.” 

Whatever you wanted to say died on your tongue with the first touch of Bucky’s wet tongue, and your brain went completely blank. 

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。the dictionary definition of a rich boy

synopsis. that rich guy who won’t stop asking you out is your partner for this project—send help

contents. pre dating rich boy! gojo, college! au, implications of a zenin being pushy on the first date, satoru being distraught you went on a date lol, pre relationship shenanigans with the cutest loser boy !!

word count. 3.8k (it’s literally all just him being a handful)

notes. thank you niku my most cherished gojo stan for comming this (and giving me the most ridiculous tip) i adore you so much :,) mwah 💋

he’s late—gojo is late. in fact, he’s very late, by forty-five minutes and thirty-two seconds to be exact. you aren’t really the count-by-the-second type of person, but somehow when it comes to that irritating, smug, too-talkative brat that you’re stuck with…well, you can’t help but be petty and use the seconds against him too.

he shows up close to an hour after your agreed time, waltzing in with a grin on his face—and, oh, you should kill him. he has the audacity to send you a wink when he walks over, coming up to your table and pushing his sunglasses down his nose just a bit to look you in the eyes over the lenses. 

what kind of person wears sunglasses indoors? surely only the kind that are nothing but trouble.

“aw, you’re here already,” gojo hums, “that excited to see me?”

“you’re late,” you spit.

“am i? i could have sworn—”

“now it’ll get dark by the time we get through what we planned for today,” you glare. he looks enthused, positively delighted by the statement—it’s almost as if you’ve offered him candy. 

“well, then i’ll just have to walk you to your apartment,” he offers smoothly. 

what a jackass. of course, just as expected, he’s still attempting to worm his way into your personal life (and likely your pants) in the most obnoxious of ways. over your dead body, however, will you ever allow him to know where you live, let alone accompany you on the way. you value your sanity, and having a conversation with gojo satoru longer than you absolutely have to seems like the most efficient way to fry every nerve and brain cell you have left.

“absolutely not,” you grit, “you can call me an uber. you pay.”

“alright,” he nods, “i’ll get an uber for you. but i’ll need your number to make sure you made it home safe. otherwise, what kind of partner would i be?”

typically, any normal pair of partners are meant to exchange numbers for a project—it would be the easiest form of communication, and more importantly, you can spam call if gojo decides not to carry his weight instead of just hoping and praying he checks his socials. but you can’t let him have your number—he’s not trustworthy enough for that. the last thing you need is him bombarding you with texts, or worse: calls, in the middle of work and class. so instead, you strictly inform him that any and all communication will occur via social media.

he pouts at that—it’s a cute pout, you have to admit. it’s slightly dangerous, too, because had you not had the self-control you do, you might have caved. but then he lights up at the prospect of you adding him back on socials. 

i’ll get your number one of these days, he says confidently. his confidence is as aggravating as the way he clicks his pen in the middle of class. he still chooses to sit right beside you despite all the free and very available seats the entirety of the lecture hall has. 

but no, he insists on sitting right next to you—and you? well, you have to hope you don’t get charged with homicide by the end of every class from the constant clicking he makes you endure. despite all that, gojo is surprisingly smart, which means your project might not be so doomed. 

he’s annoyingly smart, actually—he never takes notes, and just when you think the professor has him cornered by asking him a question when he’s seemingly dozing off, he answers immediately with the correct answer. 

you hate him.

“absolutely not happening,” you grumble, opening your laptop, “anyway i think we should start with—”

“well, i hate to inform you,” he sighs sadly as if it genuinely pains him to say this, “but i’ve actually deleted all my socials.”

“what?” your eye twitches.

“yeah,” he nods, “it’s a bit of a cleanse if you will. staring at your screen all day and finding value in fake posts is not good for mental health, you know? i’m trying to be more in tune with myself. it’s been a real self-journey.”

before the end of this project, you might either be a college dropout or an inmate at the county jail. you’re not sure, either is equally as possible.

“gojo satoru, i am sick of your games,” you spit, “we both know—”

“and i would hate not being in touch with my partner since it’s a crucial part of this project for us to work together,” he hums, something of a smug look plastered on his aggravatingly gorgeous face, “that thirty percent deduction for ineffective partner communication would be such a shame to get when we’re working so hard already on this, wouldn’t you agree?”

is he threatening you? for your number? with your grade? he is, you realize—and you clench your fist tightly around the phone in your hands as he eyes it with a knowing look on his face. he has you right where he wants you, whether you like it or not.

“you’re an asshole,” you spit.

“i’m a mental health advocate,” he gasps—he has the nerve to act offended, even as he’s so obviously enjoying working you up like this. you wish he’d drop dead immediately. maybe you could take his card from his wallet as his cold body lays lifeless on the table and order yourself a new laptop if he did—that would be ideal. 

“i saw you post on your story last night—”

“you didn’t watch it,” he pouts, “i posted a shirtless gym selfie just for you—wait a second, you pay attention to my story, huh?” he cuts himself off with a smirk, wiggling his eyebrows at you, “c’mon, you don’t have to force yourself to skip them. you know you wanna watch them.”

“no, i don’t,” you seethe, “it was just the first one at the top. stop being self-important—”

“anyway,” he drawls, eyeing your phone again. you want to splash your coffee in his face. “i’ll need your number,” he sniffs, “the crushing disappointment of you skipping my story made me realize i’m too focused on getting social media validation, so i’m taking a break. it’s the best thing for me to do in my headspace right now. hope you understand.”

“are you kidding me?” you stare at him. he grins before shaking his head.

“i would never joke about mental health,” he says seriously—it’s not as serious as your desire to slap him, however.

“fine,” you take a long, slow sip of your coffee to calm down, “give me your phone.”

“oh, you’re gonna set your own contact?” he brightens, immediately handing you his phone. it’s brand new—the newest model, in fact. it’s barely been a few days since it dropped. truthfully, you’re not even sure why you’re shocked—of course, he, of all people, would upgrade immediately. “how intimate,” he gushes, “it’s almost like we’re going on a date—”

“do not text me outside of project purposes,” you interrupt, thrusting the phone back into his hands, “got it?”

“you got it,” he grins triumphantly.

—————

like all things he does, gojo finds a roundabout way to keep his word without actually keeping it. it’s his secret talent, you think—finding loopholes through all the technicalities of things.

hey when ur free can u read over my portion? i just finished

btw r u going to that frat party this wknd? u don’t seem the party type haha but u should come 

i’ll introduce u to suguru! he’s my best friend he’s super nice u’ll like him

oh and when do u wanna meet this week? promise i’ll be on time this time ;)

you make sure to only respond to the questions regarding your project—just because he technically kept his word and started the conversation centered around the project before getting off topic doesn’t mean you have to indulge him. and the way he types is infuriatingly annoying—who shortens every possible word like that? only him, you think.

okay, maybe you’re just nitpicking now, but every time you see his name pop up on your screen, your mood sours tenfold. you decide to answer as dryly as possible.

k i’ll look. we meet same time as last.

the period at the end should add the perfect touch—you grin to yourself in pride at that one. instantly, bubbles pop up and indicate he’s typing again. your smile very quickly drops.

wow ur a rly dry texter aren’t u?

that’s ok i don’t judge

so how bout the party? 

i can be ur escort ;) 

it’ll be fun!

from his side of the screen, gojo watches as your contact shows notifications silenced at the bottom. he pouts to himself—no party, then, he thinks.

—————

gojo satoru, the guy who seemingly has everything he could ever want, likes you. 

frankly, he’s not really sure why—at first, he finds you mildly amusing, and he thinks it’d be fun to have a short fling with you perhaps. somewhere along the line, however, that changes. he watches you dedicatedly take notes in class, no matter how tired you seem from work the night before. he notices the way you chew on your bottom lip when you’re really focused—it’s actually very cute, he thinks. and he’s entertained by the way you always have some smart little retort waiting on your tongue. you’re not boring—and more than anything, you leave him a little humbled. it’s refreshing, and he kind of likes it, if he’s being completely honest.

he’s never liked anyone before—it’s a weird feeling. at best, he’s had a crush where he could appreciate that someone is generally pleasing to the eye and has a personality that might mesh well with his, but he’s never yearned for someone before. 

it just so happens to be his luck that the same person he wants more than anything in the entire world (for the first time ever, too) seems to hate his guts. it also happens to be that the same person he wants more than anything is currently getting asked out by some kid from the zenin family. right in front of him. and you’re saying yes. 

why on earth would you say yes to a zenin of all people? don’t you value yourself? 

gojo can admit that he’s had his fair share of heart robbing and tear inducing moments—he’s not exactly someone with the best track record for commitment, but at least he doesn’t use people for his own benefit. plus, he does, in fact, actually plan on committing to you. that zenin boy most certainly can’t be any good news if he’s anything like naoya, who gojo has met on a multitude of occasions, and knows very well is a scoundrel of a guy. 

“see you at nine?” he hears the zenin (what was his name again?) ask you. you nod, smiling sweetly. 

why don’t you smile sweetly at him like that? he buys you coffee every week. sure, he only gets to buy you the coffee because you have no choice but to meet him for the project, but he even offers to get you a slice of cake—you don’t ever accept, though, so he ends up eating both. but you do like coffee, very strong coffee that’s probably not sweet enough for his liking, but you enjoy the coffee he buys you nonetheless, and that has to count for something.

“sure, see you at nine,” you hum.

gojo watches in absolute shock (and abject horror) as you look down shyly. as soon as the zenin boy walks away, he stomps up to you.

“hey, what gives?” he asks petulantly, making your face paint on that irritated look that it always seems to adopt when he’s in the vicinity—how rude.

“what do you mean?” you ask tiredly, “i don’t speak toddler, so please use your words—”

“why’d you say yes to that zenin boy—”

“he has a name. it’s—”

“who cares what his name is? he’s an asshole! he won’t treat you right even if his mother’s life is on the line—”

“oh, and you would?” you raise an eyebrow, glaring at him. how is it his place to tell you who’d treat you right and who wouldn’t? how is it his place to even care?

“i would,” he gasps at the accusation, “you’d date a zenin but not me? how come?”

“because you’re annoying,” you counter like it’s obvious.

okay, now that is technically fair—gojo has heard his fair share of you’re annoying’s from people in his life. in fact, a good amount of them come from his own mother, but he’s also dashingly handsome, very good in bed, has soft hair, is tall and muscular, can buy you whatever you like, and can be smart and funny too if you really don’t care for those kinds of things. he’s the entire package and more. and more importantly, he’s not from the zenin family, and that automatically means you’ll actually be treated with an ounce of respect.

he looks at you incredulously, feelings a little hurt. “that’s not true! name one annoying thing i’ve done—”

“you laughed in the middle of me speaking in class.”

“that wasn’t at you! suguru showed me something funny on his phone—”

“and you took like twenty minutes in line ordering the most sweetest drink on the menu while i was running late—”

“you can’t use that against me, that’s not fair! i’m a paying customer, i should be able to get whatever i want. plus, it’s technically not my fault you were late.”

“you rubbed in the fact that you had a black card.”

“you mentioned it first!”

“you were late to our first meeting for the project.”

“okay, that was an honest mistake! people are allowed to make those, you know—”

“i don’t want to go out with you,” you say frustratedly, “and it’s really annoying when you act like a spoiled brat that can’t handle the word no and keep on insisting, okay? so leave me alone unless it’s to discuss our project—which weighs fifty-five percent of our grade, by the way, so don’t even think about getting lazy.”

he is not lazy, he wants to argue.

but before he can, you roll your eyes and take a step to walk around him, leaving him there to blink in shock. okay, he thinks with a huff, so you’re playing hard to get. that’s no matter, he’s good at the chase anyway. 

—————

the date doesn’t seem to have gone well. gojo can tell because your eyes are slightly red and puffy, and you’re extra grouchy today in class. your professor seems to have noticed, too, because instead of calling on you today, she calls on gojo extra as a rare show of mercy. 

gojo doesn’t mind—this class is surprisingly easy, and he’s bored half the time anyway. he might as well indulge the uptight professor in an ugly brown pencil skirt and answer her pretentious questions that aren’t as complex as she thinks they are. 

“so,” he finally breaks the silence, “how was your date—”

“if you’re looking for a chance to say i told you so, just get it over with, you jerk,” you grumble. he raises his eyebrows in surprise before both hands go up in surrender.

“i wasn’t,” he says genuinely, “you just…uh…you look upset, is all.”

you hesitate for a short second, gauging his sincerity for a moment before sighing and slumping on the desk, cheek resting on your arm. gojo resists the urge to poke the soft flesh—it’ll probably make you mad, and you’re already in a bad mood. 

“he was…pushy,” you say quietly, “i don’t really believe in taking things far on the first date. he didn’t like that.” instantly, his fists clench tightly, eyeing you from the side carefully, almost in concern. “nothing happened,” you wave off, “but he did make me feel disgusting,” you mutter.

“yeah, well, he is a zenin,” he points out, “they’re…well, my family’s known them for a while. my mom hates them.”

you look over at him in mild interest, raising an eyebrow. “don’t tell me there’s drama in the rich community,” you gasp, “i thought you all just came as one to sip fancy wine and laugh at the poor together.”

he snorts, throwing you a toothy grin that you think for a moment is kind of cute—but that doesn’t mean he’s any different from the rest of the rich folks. someone of gojo satoru’s caliber has no business mixing with someone of yours—it’s common knowledge. gojo has everything he wants, and if he doesn’t, it’s a simple matter of asking before it’s his. there’s simply no way you can mold into his world to be what he needs you to be, and when the time inevitably comes when he realizes you’re not what he wants, well…you’d like to save yourself the wounded pride and crushed soul while you can. 

“sometimes we have fancy appetizers too with the wine,” he jokes, “don’t forget those.”

“oh, my apologies,” you chuckle. gojo likes it when you laugh, he decides. it looks much better than when you’re glum—he thinks seeing your lips quirked in anything other than a smile is a waste of your perfect features, and he can’t have that.

“my mom married my old man in this stupid arranged marriage or something,” he explains casually, like it’s just the norm. you suppose it is—for the rich, at least. you wonder briefly if gojo will have a marriage planned for his future, too, and you wonder if he’s okay with that. surely it’ll be some wealthy and fancy socialite of a girl that fits his family’s standards. someone who’s not you—not that you care anyway, you wouldn’t marry him regardless. “my grandma wanted her to marry the zenin, but she said no. said he treated her like a piece of meat every time they met, so she settled for my dad instead. lucky her, 'cause now i’m her son,” he beams. 

settled—something about the way he says it makes you think his parents must not really care for each other as a husband and wife should. it makes you think briefly about what his childhood might’ve been like, not watching his parents happy and in love the way they should be. but still, the way gojo talks about his mother is fond, with a gentle smile on his face as he recalls the things she’s told him. you can’t help but smile a little too.

“i think that makes you the lucky one,” you snort, “you’d still be her son. just that you’d be a zenin.”

he crinkles his nose at the thought, dramatically shivering and making you giggle. “gross,” he gags.

“well, now you have her to thank,” you hum, “your dad would’ve been…whoever the zenin she was supposed to marry is.”

“yeah, well, trust me,” he mumbles, his smile dropping ever so slightly, “my old man’s not that big of an upgrade from a zenin. even my grandfather’s sick of him. imagine being such a douche, your own dad can’t stand you.”

you’re learning more about gojo in one sitting than you ever imagined (or planned) to learn—part of that is because he seems like he’s the type to overshare on the first meet; the other part…well, you have to be honest with yourself, it’s not exactly a bad pastime hearing him talk about himself. gojo is an odd piece of work, and you can’t say you hate learning about the little pieces that come together to make him so weird. 

okay, perhaps weird is a bit rude, you think—he’s…unique.

“oh, so you’re the dictionary definition of a rich boy, huh?” you hum, resting your cheek on your hand as you sit up and face him—gojo, for a quick moment, feels his heart stutter when you talk to him like that: with your undivided attention like he’s the only one in the room. 

“what makes you say that?”

“daddy issues is like…the first thing in the rich boy starter pack.”

he laughs at that, smooth and almost sweet—it’s a dangerous thing. it’s easy to attract you to him, like a bee to honey, with the way his lips curl like that, showing off his dimples. but the bees can easily turn into maggots—and you don’t want to find yourself as a dead carcass by the end of this.

“i don’t have daddy issues,” he says smoothly, “that old man should sleep with both eyes open. if anything, he has son issues.”

“you’re hands down the oddest person i have ever met,” you mumble.

“what was that? did you say hottest? yeah, i know—”

“shut up, jackass,” you scowl, shoving his shoulder when he leans closer with a bat of his lashes. he laughs, and so do you—and just for one, quick, momentary instance, gojo satoru is not so bad. dangerous and a bad choice maybe, a setup for a big mistake perhaps, something you should stay away from, in fact. 

but not so bad. 

“how about i show you what it’s like to go on a date with a gojo,” he grins, winking easily. he’s persistent—very persistent, you note. “you might like it a lot more than a zenin.”

“no, thank you,” you hold a hand up, “never going to happen.”

“never say never,” he hums, “you might eat your words.”

—————

“hey, satoru?”

“that’s not my name.”

“that actually is your name,” you say tiredly.

“hmph,” satoru rolls over, dramatically tugging the blankets over his body as he shuffles away from you, “not to you, it’s not.” 

you sigh, pursing your lips at his antics. “oh my god. okay—hey, toru?” you correct yourself. and just like that, he turns back around, grinning brightly as he inches closer until his head is resting on your chest.

“yes, baby?” he says sweetly, earning a roll of your eyes as your fingers weave into his hair. it’s soft—you don’t think you ever want to let go.

“it’s way better dating a gojo, by the way,” you murmur, “than a zenin.”

“oh yeah?” he grins smugly, arm draping over your body as he kisses your jaw, “i told you it would be, didn’t i?”

“i haven’t dated other rich families to compare, though,” you tease, “you might get replaced.”

“unlikely,” he chuckles, “no one,” there’s a kiss to your jaw, “will love you,” another kiss to your cheek, “like me.”

finally, there’s a slow, soft kiss to your lips—and when he kisses you like that, you have no choice but to believe him.

satoru sooooo sends multiple texts back to back he just like me for real

[nomazee]

Um hello! Is the 1k event thingy still up?? If so I would like to request a classmate! Dr ratio x reader at 2:47 am?

it's actually sickening how much fun i had with this i was giggling at my own jokes while typing this out... this was so fun to write THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING!!!

my 1k event!

—°+..｡ﾟ｡ﾟ+.*.｡.—

A blaring, aggravating, shrill sound wakes you up. Your hands go to cover your ears, protecting your sanity from the noise ringing somewhere from the tangle of sheets on your bed. Hands flailing around desperately to find the source of the piercing chimes, you writhe around in agony until you finally latch onto your phone. 

The brightness of the screen digs into your corneas as you lift up the device to see the caller ID of whoever had the guts to bother you on a school night. 

It comes to no surprise that the caller name reads “VERITAS FUCKING RATIO” in all caps with no contact photo. Your eye twitches and the grip on your phone tightens, just a hair away from leaving finger-shaped dents in the metal. 

Begrudgingly, you answer the call, tucking the phone next to your ear with nothing less than displeasure. “Veritas. Why are you calling me at—” you pull your phone back to check, “—almost three in the morning?” 

“The works cited page,” Veritas Fucking Ratio informs you matter-of-factly. There’s no hint of sleepiness in his voice, nothing that could possibly chip away at his good image, of course. “You did it in the wrong format. It’s supposed to be APA. This is a science project, not a literature project.” 

You might kill him. The project in question is to be presented tomorrow— today at ten in the morning. Ratio and you had been working on it for an entire two weeks, broken up into intermittent hour-long sessions because he was adamant that you split up the work instead of rushing to do it all the night before. Stupid self-righteous gorgeous beautiful academic genius-freak. Yeah, it definitely helped you in the long run, but he acted so sanctimonious about it that you refused to admit the benefits. 

“Veritas,” you imbue the syllables of his name with poison, as much as you can when you’re swaying as you sit up on your bed and fighting demons to not fall back asleep. “This is such an easily-fixed thing. Do you know what time it is right now? Why are you even awake? You know, I am supposed to get a full seven hours of sleep every night, and I was already cutting it short today, and you woke me up before I could even hit REM sleep. Do you know how upsetting this is? Fix the goddamn works cited yourself!” 

For once, Veritas is at a loss for words. The other end of the line is so quiet that you have to double check and make sure he hasn’t just hung up on you. Perspiration builds on your palms, thinking that this is it—this is the exact moment that you make Veritas-Fucking-Ratio snap and delete your name off the project credit slide, and you’re going to get a 0 because he will wipe off any evidence of your work from this plane of existence, and you will spend the rest of your measly life chasing after your MLA-turned-APA works cited page, too-little-too-late. 

“I’m awake because the— well.” He pauses, and his voice sounds so far away and unobtrusive that you’re almost worried. Your breath stills in the middle of your diaphragm. Waiting. “The works cited is one thing. But I wanted you to look at the slides, if you can.” 

If you can, he says, as if he’s giving you a choice, which he literally never has during this entire process. You had no role in choosing the topic, or the slide theme, or what days you worked on the project, or how often you worked on the project (because god forbid you procrastinate a little bit, right?!), but now, at almost three in the morning, Veritas is saying something along the lines of oh please my dearest project partner, I request that you open the Google Slides at once, but only if you would like to! I would never infringe on your free will at three in the morning, because I respect you as a partner. Or something like that. That was pretty much the gist of it. 

A raspy sigh escapes you, and you claw your busted laptop off the nightstand next to you, opening it up and squinting at the LED screen as you punch in your passcode. “You know, I have done a good job at going along with all of your whims, Veritas, the least you could do is fix the works cited for me. Seriously, how did you even miss that? You’re so detail-oriented, but you didn't even realize the format was wrong until tonight? Who even cares, seriously… it’s just a slideshow…” 

Your voice trails off as the slideshow presentation finally loads in. You see Veritas’ default profile picture blink in the upper right-hand corner, signaling that he’s viewing the slideshow with you. The slideshow which has apparently undergone a huge makeover. 

It’s—pleasant to look at. This entire time, you and Veritas had been editing a default, white-background black-serif-font-text slideshow. He refused to change it, telling you that it’s unprofessional to do anything too embellished, to which you fruitlessly said, Veritas, we will die early deaths because of the hole in the ozone layer, would you at least make it easier on my poor soul by letting me choose a pokemon-theme slide? Veritas had pretended like he couldn't hear you (in a very quiet library room, mind you), but the twitch in his brow gave him away. 

Now, though, the slides are decorated. It’s a really nice theme, complete with custom icons and graphic blobs of color—your favorite color, might you add. It’s—pretty. Dare you say, cute, but you think Veritas would vaporize your entire presentation if you called it cute. 

“Did you— this— did you pay for this slide theme?” 

“You— n— mn,” he trails off into an unintelligible mash of mumbling, and you hear a loud THUD that sounds awfully like the phone being thrown onto a mattress. Fabric shuffles around, before you hear Veritas’ voice again, clear and composed. “Sorry. I dropped my phone.” What a loser, and a liar, and an endearing freak. You really wish he video called you because you need to see his totally-very-ugly face. 

“I thought this was unprofessional, Veritas,” you say teasingly, a smile lining your words as you try not to giggle right into the phone. “What made you have a change of heart?” 

“Nothing,” the typical firmness of his voice has returned, much to your dismay. “The works cited is still wrong. You have to fix it.” 

“Oh, whatever you say, honored Ratio,” you open up your trusty citation-generator, ready for a long fifteen minutes of copying and pasting information. “Hey, you must be free after class tomorrow, right? Since the project is pretty much over, right?” 

“Yes,” Veritas answers after a moment of hesitation, only a hint of doubt in his voice. 

“That’s great. Keep your schedule clear, then.” 

(You fix the works cited slide, wish Veritas sweet dreams, and then wake up in the morning to completely ace your presentation. The minute the period ends, you drag him out of the classroom and into a coffee shop, paying for some five dollar pastry and joking that it’s payback for the cute slideshow theme that he definitely paid five dollars for. Veritas is an awful liar, and you tell him that, and he can’t even find the strength to deny it.)

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

gen taglist: @tragedy-of-commons @lasiancunin

fill out my event taglist (pinned) or general taglist (navi) to be tagged in upcoming works!

[dokries]

that’s rough, buddy

pairing: kim mingyu x gender neutral reader

genre: fluff, (a bit of) angst, established relationship

word count: 1.6k

warnings: miscommunication (everything turns out well!), mingyu’s just a little forgetful, seungkwan best friend, a forehead kiss

author note: this was requested by a lovely anon <3 again, i’m so sorry it took me so long to get to it 😭 i hope you enjoy reading, and lots of love (as usual) 🫶

masterlist

mingyu thinks you hate him, and it’s not just because you haven’t visited his apartment for more than eight days—though that’s concerning as well; you’re usually over within a couple of days, even if you’re busy, which he definitely knows you aren’t, considering how much you’ve been going out with friends, namely seungkwan and chan.

he purses his lips, looking up at the ceiling from his comfortable spot on the couch…alone, just like the last two weeks. his phone dings and he opens it immediately, a frown appearing on his face when it turns out to just be seungcheol asking if something’s up between the two of you—of course he knows; seungkwan never even looked in mingyu’s direction the last time all thirteen hung out together.

mingyu sighs, responding back with a “ask seungkwan not me” before opening up to the last time you had texted him. he had said he was busy back when you had asked if he wanted to go to a photography exhibition, and you haven't responded to his hurried apology.

maybe it’s time to say something…? he pauses before sighing again, going back to staring at the ceiling, hoping the little stipples above him will make a decision so he doesn’t have to.

of course, the only reason you’re avoiding him is because you think he hates you—which may be a huge overstatement but what else would you call it? it’s one thing to not have time for dates because that, at least, you could understand. maybe it’s just that you’ve passed your puppy love phase, and that’s alright; you’re both very busy people but…why is he ignoring you? that’s not the mingyu you know, and it’s been almost a year since you started dating.

the most annoying thing is that he probably doesn’t even realize your anniversary is coming up in the next few days—though you’ve stopped caring (the dried tear stains on seungkwan’s couch pillow say otherwise).

so when he texts you while you’re at chan’s apartment, you frown in surprise, catching the attention of seungkwan, who’s beside you.

my gyu 🥰 ❙

hey it’s been a while since you came over… movie night at 6?

you move to pull up your keyboard but seungkwan stops you by quickly pressing the power button before you can even start typing a reply.

seungkwan glares at you when you start to protest, and takes your phone into his hands to prevent anything happening, as if he’s your parental figure. “don’t you even dare say yes.”

“maybe…” chan sighs and rubs his eyes with his palms, catching your attention—and seungkwan’s too, as he raises an eyebrow at his best friend, telling him to continue. “maybe we should give him a chance?”

seungkwan immediately scoffs and jumps into a rant about why you should do the exact opposite of what chan’s suggesting. “chan, have you not been paying attention these past few weeks? that man has left our dear baby—” seungkwan moves to shush you when you say you’re not a baby, continuing once you press your lips into a straight line. “he literally left them hanging multiple times, and all he had to say was ‘sorry i can’t make it sweetie.’”

chan frowns, tilting his head. “isn’t that what you’re supposed to say to your partner if you can’t make it?”

seungkwan pauses, sighing. “well…yes but come on, he could at least offer to make it up to them if he’s done this like ten times! also, he definitely forgot about their anniversary, which is so much more horrible.”

as seungkwan takes a deep breath to calm himself, you correct him quietly. “it’s been three times.”

“what?” seungkwan looks at you exasperatedly, and chan giggles from his seat on the chair in front of the two of you.

“i said he’s only done it three times. besides, he’s been busy…it makes sense for him to forget.” you hold out a hand to stop seungkwan before he launches into another spiel on how mingyu sucks as a boyfriend so you can keep going. “listen, kwan, i think spending some time with him would be right…but i’m not ready for that yet.”

seungkwan bites his lip before nodding, his expression softening. “okay. as long as you’re happy, okay?”

you hum in agreement as chan stands up, clapping his hands excitedly, and you exchange a look with seungkwan.

chan grins, pulling out an uno deck from a drawer in the table beside him. “how about we play uno to distract ourselves?” he nods towards you before smirking at his other friend. “i’m sure they’d love to see me beat you.”

seungkwan raises an eyebrow before scoffing again, raising his shoulders in a shrug. “well, lee jung chan, you should know you’re totally gonna lose.”

chan scoffs, and as your best friends start bickering like normal, you smile, knowing they’re amping up the dramatics to take your mind off…whatever you and mingyu are right now. well, you could think about your boyfriend after beating both chan and seungkwan in uno.

mingyu’s been sulky all day, and wonwoo not asking him why isn’t helping the sinking pout on his face.

he stares unrelentingly at his best friend as wonwoo faces the self-help bookshelf in front of them, searching for the book he’s been looking for since they entered the small shop.

“why are you like this?” wonwoo eventually breaks under mingyu’s pitiful gaze and huffs out a breath, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose before turning to his friend. “what’s wrong?”

mingyu sighs like he’s been doing for the past few days, and wonwoo puts the book in his hand back on the shelf, expecting his friend to not get to the point quickly (he’s right).

mingyu says your name quietly as a response, and wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “what is that supposed to mean?”

“it means that they hate me! i don’t know what i did either…i mean look, it was pretty busy at work so i couldn’t go on dates with them when they asked but that’s okay right?” mingyu frowns and bites his lip when he realizes he’s a bit too loud for the bookstore.

nodding, wonwoo processes the information he’s just been given before he puts a sympathetic hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “good luck with that.”

mingyu scoffs, about to scold the man in front of him before his gaze drifts off to the bookshelf in the far corner, where the two of you had been searching for cooking books around the time you had first started dating, which was probably around…a year–oh.

oh, he’s so dumb, isn’t he?

“hm?” wonwoo says when his friend pauses, looking up from the book he just picked up as mingyu groans and puts his head into his hands, moving to rest against a nearby bookshelf.

wonwoo looks over to the cooking section and turns back to mingyu. “hey, isn’t it–wait…you forgot the anniversary, didn’t you?”

mingyu groans again in agreement, and gets a head pat paired with a “that’s rough, buddy” from his friend before he’s left alone, coincidentally, in the relationship advice section.

seungkwan sighs as he comes back from checking through the peephole of your apartment door, gesturing towards it as he plops down onto the couch. “it’s for you.”

you raise an eyebrow, getting up to open the door—seungkwan already checked anyway, so there’s no need to look through the peephole again–and come face to face with mingyu, the man you’ve been avoiding. “oh.”

the paper around the bouquet of white orchids in his hands crinkles as he shifts his weight, a nervous smile on his face as he calls your name hesitantly. “hey.”

you nod in greeting before looking back to seungkwan, who’s glaring at mingyu with his arms crossed, and paying attention to the man in front of you as he clears his throat.

“i, uh…here.” mingyu pushes the flowers towards you, and lets out a breath of relief when you take it gently from him. “i’m sorry.”

you stare at him. “for what? forgetting our anniversary? for not apologizing for so long?” you sigh when he remains silent, looking back at the clock in your living room. “there’s only a few hours left of our one year anniversary anyway…it’s fine.”

mingyu shakes his head, coming closer to grab your arm gently with a serious expression. “no, it’s definitely not fine. i hurt you, and that’s not okay.” he pauses, frowning. “besides…i miss my partner–i miss you.”

you sigh, looking into mingyu’s eyes, and you know he’s genuinely sorry. you break your arm free from his grip, causing his face to drop.

you place the bouquet of orchids on the side table, and call out to seungkwan. “hey, kwan? do you mind finding a vase for these?”

“i have to make the most out of these last two hours of my anniversary with my boyfriend after all.” mingyu’s face lights up as you take his hand, still looking back at seungkwan’s soft smile, which matches your own.

you give mingyu a pointed look as you close the door behind you, trusting seungkwan to keep your small apartment safe. “but first, we really do have to talk about…whatever the last month was, okay?”

mingyu nods eagerly before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead as the two of you grin. “i missed you so much, baby.”

[pipsyy]

caught...

sub!hamzah x f!reader smut (lowkey perv!hamzah if you squint)

hi everyone! i thought of this idea at like 3am a couple nights ago and it has been plaguing my mind ever since. please enjoy! message me requests please! i am desperate for prompts.

summary: after losing a few of your panties, you begin to suspect your shy roommate Hamzah. but, coming home early one night, you are met with a sight that would change things for good.

warnings: smut under cut! DON'T read if you are under the age of 18.

word count: 2575

For weeks, you had been losing your underwear. You would put your clothes in the washer, then the dryer, but by the time you got back to your room and folded your clothes, one, or sometimes two, pairs of your panties were missing. It was concerning, to say the least. However, when you lost your favorite pair (pink cotton with white lace and bows), you began to get frustrated.

“Hamzah?” you ask your roommate while he’s in the kitchen getting snacks.

“Mmh?” he responds, mouth full with doritos.

“Kind of a weird question—I mean, you probably have no fucking clue—but have you seen my panties anywhere? I can’t find them.”

At the mention of panties, Hamzah’s cheeks flush a light shade of pink. “Panties?!” he asks, mouth still full. He swallows thickly. “No, I mean, I don’t think so. What do they look like?”

“Um-” you felt yourself blush a light shade of pink, thinking about how embarrassing it was talking about your panties with your hella attractive roommate. “They’re pink and white—bows too.”

If possible, Hamzah flushed an even deeper shade of red. “O-oh, no. No. I haven’t seen them anywhere,” he huffed out an awkward laugh, looking anywhere else in the room but your eyes.

“That’s okay,” you say, giggling awkwardly. The tension palpable in the room. “Just…you know, if you do see them, let me know.”

—

Later that week, after getting home early from a party, you were met with the most surprising of circumstances. You entered your apartment and kicked off your shoes; the 4-inch heels had killed your feet. Every light in the apartment was off—save for the small light emanating from the clocks on the oven and microwave—and it was dead silent. Eerily silent. You knew that Hamzah was home, I mean, he never left. But it was only 11pm, which was way too early for him to go to bed. You at least expected to hear him typing on his computer, or hear the faint sound of his laptop playing a show, or hear him yelling at whatever stupid game he was playing with Martin. But no. Absolutely nothing.

Just then you heard it. Although you weren’t exactly sure what “it” was. A faint, but deep, groan, as if someone was crying out in pain. You strained your ears, listening for that noise again. There! There it was again, the exact same noise, although this time you could hear a faint squeaking following the groan.

“Hamzah,” you hesitantly call out. You creeped forwards in the direction of his bedroom. The deep sounds followed by squeaking got louder as you neared his room. The door was ajar and you peeked through the crack. You almost let out a loud gasp at the sight before you, clapping your hands over your mouth to prevent any noise from escaping your lips. Hamzah was stretched out on his bed, head tilted back as he thrust his cock into his hand. You shot back from the door, face reddening. You felt embarrassed for staring so unabashedly at the dark-haired man in such an intimate situation. Even so, you felt a throbbing deep in your core and you knew that if you reached down to touch your panties beneath your dress, you would be soaking wet. Slowly, mentally slapping yourself, you peered through the crack in the door again. Hamzah’s head was tilted back in pure ecstasy, pretty lips spilling whines and groans as the bed squeaked with every thrust into his hand. You watched, panties growing wetter by the second, as he reached next to him and brought a piece of fabric up to his nose, inhaling deeply and letting out a heady whine. Your eyes widened as you recognized the slip of fabric as your favorite pair of panties. The pink ones with the white lace. 

Your name spills from his lips, eyes rolling back into his head. Holy fuck. You sat on your knees, rolling your wet folds against the palm of your hand. You couldn’t believe the sight before your eyes. Your roommate—who you’ve had a crush on since moving in with him—was jerking off to you, your underwear pressed deeply into his nose. Hamzah’s hips stuttered, edging dangerously close to release.

“F-fuck, y/n,” he whimpered. “S-so good. So fucking pretty. G-gonna, gonna cum, shit.” At this desperate confession, a high-pitched whine escaped your parted lips and your eyes widened, clapping your hands over your mouth. Hamzah abruptly stopped his motions, whipping his head in the direction of the unprecedented sound. His glossy eyes met yours, fucked-out expression directly mirroring your own.

“S-shit,” he said breathlessly, stumbling out of bed and covering his erection with the sheets around his legs. You shot backwards from the door, tumbling directly into the wall. Hamzah fumbled to get pants on, and ran towards you, a pleading look in his eyes.

“Holy shit, y/n. I-I, um, I had no idea that you were home. I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t do that. Not if I knew that you were here.”

You were still sat on the floor, pink blush fast-spreading across your cheeks. You felt a coy smile tickling your lips. “Were you—” you looked up at Hamzah, feeling a dangerous rush of confidence flood your mind, “Were you jerking off to me?”

Hamzah’s eyes widened impossibly large. “I–no. I mean…no,” he said. “Definitely not.”

“Really,” you said seductively, rising up from your position and stepping closer to the trembling man. “Because…” you leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I swear I heard you say my name.” A deep red blush spread across Hamzah’s cheekbones and he swallowed audibly.

His voice lowered a decibel. “No,” he whispered. “No, I wasn’t.”

You smirked at how flustered you made him. “I didn’t take you for a liar, you know.” You pushed past the taller man into his room. The moment you enter, you felt your core throb, the smell of sweat and sex and and something purely Hamzah penetrating your nostrils. You made your way to his bed, sheets strewn carelessly, and picked up the pink underwear that had fallen to the floor in Hamzah’s rushed attempt at maintaining his dignity. You dangled the fabric from your extended pointer finger.

“So what are these then?” The panties sway from your finger, and Hamzah’s puppy-like eyes follow the cloth to and fro like a tennis match. 

“I–,” he gulped. “I don’t know how those got there.”

You stepped toward him. “So you’re really just gonna play dumb with me then, huh?” You took careful step after careful step until you were inches away from the timid, trembling man. “You’re not dumb, Hamzah.” You reached up until his glossy eyes came face-to-face with your panties. “Take them.”

Hamzah’s dumbfounded expression stared back at your own. You shifted the fabric forward, directly into his big nose, and he shakily inhaled, eyes almost rolling back into his own head. “F-fuck,” he whimpered out. Swiftly, as if they were never there in the first place, you removed the outstretched panties from his prying nostrils. The look he gave you, as his eyes slowly opened, made your legs weak and your core throb. He looked as though he would give you the world, or anything you asked, as long as he could be face-to-face with that stupid piece of cloth again.

“Tell me what you want,” you asked, voice low and seductive.

“You,” he whispered, eyes darting from your own, to the wall, to the panties still clutched in your hand, and back to your own.

You smile at his bashfulness. “A little louder,” you said, feeling cocky. You reach up to push back his dark, messy curls from his sweaty forehead.

Hamzah’s dark eyes met your own and you melted. “You…I want you. I want you so fucking bad it hurts.” You felt your core tighten. Hamzah looked at you with glossy, pleading eyes. You looked down and noticed the erection still straining in his pants. You turn around and walk to his bed, sitting on the edge. You pat the soft bedding next to you.

“Come here.” Hamzah moved at the speed of light, by the time you blinked he was sitting down next to you, hands politely together in his lap. You lean over to straddle Hamzah’s thick thighs, dress riding up, the thin cloth of your panties doing nothing to stop you from feeling his erection pressing against your wet folds. You intertwine your hands behind his neck while he looks up at you with intense adoration and devotion. Your hands cup his cheeks.

“What do you want, baby?” you ask. You reach down, beneath the waistband of his gym shorts, and grasp his hard length. Hamzah’s parted red lips elicit a whiny gasp as his large hands firmly grasp your waist. 

“I want–” he starts, barely able to string a sentence together as you begin to move your hand up and down his length. “I want to be inside you.” 

You chuckled coyly, moving your hand faster. “And what makes you think you have the right to be inside me.” Groans and gasps tumbled from Hamzah’s wet lips. His head was tilted back, a purely fucked-out expression bedazzling his beautiful face. 

“I just—,” he blissfully moaned out. “I just want to feel you.” His hands snaked up your dress, reaching up to grasp at your covered tits. His big hands connected with your sensitive nipples that were poking out through the fabric. A dirty, stupid idea shot into your head. You pull away from Hamzah, untangling yourself from his roaming hands. “W-what?” he said, confusion written all over his pretty face. 

“I don’t know,” you respond. “I’m kinda pissed at you right now. Do you know how fucking gross it is to come home to your roommate touching himself to you? Desperately jerking off, my favorite fucking pair of panties in your grimy hands. You’re a disgusting little slut, aren’t you?” Hamzah’s covered cock visibly twitched in his gym shorts. He let out a heady whimper at your vile tone and words. “Oh…” you said, a dark and naughty gleam twinkling in your eyes. “Do you like that shit? Do you like it when I call you a stupid fucking whore?” Hamzah’s hips grinded against the air, desperate for any sort of friction against his aching cock.

“I think,” you say, reaching down to pick up the pink panties you had discarded to the side, “That I don’t want a disgusting slut like you to touch me, not with those filthy fucking hands of yours.” Using the elastic of your lacy panties, you tie Hamzah’s hands together behind his back. He whimpered at your touch, the light graze of your fingers shooting electricity down his spine and into his desperate member. Once Hamzah was fully tied up, unable to move his hands to touch your body, you flung your current pair of panties off and sat back on his lap again. You reached into his pants once more, pulling his weeping cock from within his shorts. You rubbed his erection up and down your wet folds, looking down to see the soaking, wet mess you were making of his cock. You line his tip up with your hole, sliding him into your wet cunt. The stretch was unbearably pleasurable and Hamzah let out an unfiltered groan.

“Shut up,” you told him, placing your hand over his mouth. “I don’t want to hear a fucking word from you.” You began bouncing up and down on his cock, whines and moans escaping your parted lips at the fulfilling sensation deep within your cunt. Hamzah looked completely pathetic beneath you, eyes filled with desperation as he clumsily attempted to thrust up into you. You grab onto his curls, yanking as his cock hits a particularly sensitive spot deep within your cunt. Hamzah lets out another whine at the tugging sensation. Immediately, you stop your motions and slap him across the face.

“I told you to shut up,” you said roughly, voice rattling with an emotion you had never thought could possess you: dominance. And you were enjoying it. You enjoyed seeing this tall, muscular man writhe beneath your smaller body, pathetically attempting to engage and make you feel good. An idea flitted through your head. You reached down to the floor and grabbed your discarded panties. Squeezing his cheeks together in your hands, you opened up his mouth and shoved your panties in, effectively gagging him. Hamzah let out a muffled groan at the feeling of the used cloth being shoved between his lips. Hips jerking into you now at a frenzied pace. The increased speed of his cock inside you felt like heaven, and you let out a high-pitched moan, collapsing into his shoulders. You rode his cock violently, Hamzah’s pathetic face reflecting your own shining pleasure. Hamzah’s hips began to stutter, his gagged moans becoming increasingly frequent as his eyes fluttered closed, and you knew he was close. You reached down to touch your clit, hoping to reach your climax at the same time. The combined pleasure of touching your clit and the sweet stretch of Hamzah’s cock hitting that delicious spot deep inside you made your head tip back in ecstasy. Hamzah’s eyes widened and you felt his cock twitch inside of you.

“Do you want to cum, baby?” you asked sweetly, rocking your hips softly against his. He nodded his head aggressively. Your walls fluttered around his cock, and Hamzah looked in pain, nose scrunched and eyes squeezed shut. You realized, as you continued to rock your hips, that he was waiting for your permission to cum.

“Oh,” you say sweetly. “You want my permission, hmm?” You giggle softly as Hamzah tries to talk, the soft fabric in his mouth preventing him from doing so. “You can cum, baby, I want you to.” At this admission, Hamzah’s face tightens and his hips stutter and begin to shake. The feeling of his cock twitching inside you, spurting cum against your tight walls, sent you over the edge. Hamzah’s chest was heaving as he watched you writhe on top of him, your pleasure furthering his own. You let out a high-pitched whine as you come down from your high. Hamzah’s eyes were wide, glossy, and pathetic as they met your own. You pulled the pair of panties out of his mouth and he sucked in a deep breath. You slid off his length and reached behind him, untying your panties from around his wrists. He let out a sigh as his hands became free, rubbing them together to recirculate the blood flow.

“Are you okay?” you ask him, suddenly feeling a deep sense of embarrassment. “I’m sorry! That was fucking crazy! I didn’t at all mean to take it that far.”

Hamzah looked up at you, a playful smile spreading across his face. “Are you kidding me? You have no idea how bad I’ve wanted to do that with you.”

“Yeah! But…like that?” you respond. “I-I mean…I slapped you. I feel like I took it too far.” You move to leave the room, embarrassment bleeding all over your face in a deep red color. Hamzah reached you in an instant, arms wrapping around your waist from behind, head resting on your shoulder. He placed a sweet kiss on your neck.

“Trust me,” he said. “That was exactly what I wanted.”