#and you’re entitled to yours but I don’t want you coming in my mentions

[literaryavenger]

You Were My Sunshine

Summary: Once a year you disappear for a whole day. Nobody knows where you go or what you do, but the team has learned to let you have your privacy. This year though, Bucky's curiosity gets the better of him and he follows you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death. Grief. Some angst. Fluff. No mentions of Y/N.

Word Count: 3K

A/N: I realize this is a little heavy and you absolutely don't need to read it. This one's mostly for me, but I thought why not post it and let Bucky comfort other people, if you need it. As always, my inbox is always open if you want to even just chat. I hope someone likes this. Also, I promise the requests are coming, a little slowly but they're coming. I'm on vacation for two weeks so I'll spend the time writing, probably.

Masterlist

“Have a good day.” Steve calls after you as you pass the kitchen.

You stop in front of the door to smile at Steve and wave at the team as they all have breakfast together before you keep making your way to the elevator that will take you to the parking garage.

“So, we’re really just accepting this?” Bucky asks the team when the elevators close behind you and he’s sure you can’t hear him.

“Yes, Buck.” Steve says firmly.

“But-” Bucky’s protests are cut off by Tony.

“She’s entitled to her privacy.” He says firmly. “Just let it go, Frosty.”

Bucky ignores the nickname and looks around the team, searching for anyone that might have his back, but nobody else seems to be too invested in your day. Bucky gets up with a huff and makes his way to the training room, resigned that he has to let you be.

You’ve always been an open person, you’re always there for everybody that needs you and you’re not afraid to talk about anything with anybody.

Your life is an open book.

Which is precisely why it drives Bucky crazy that, once a year, you disappear for an entire day and nobody knows where you go or what you do.

You disable all your communication devices, the tracking in your car and you don’t use credit cards anywhere. 

It’s like you cease to exist for a day, leaving no trace that you were anywhere.

At least that’s how the team sees it. 

They’ve all tried to figure out where you go, but that’s the only subject that you never talk about and, every time anyone asks you about it, your answer is always the same:

Don’t worry about it.

After so many years, the whole team has decided to listen to you and stopped worrying about it. 

Everyone except Bucky.

It’s not like you’re that close with him, but he considers you his friend and he trusts you, so it irks him that you have this huge secret that nobody knows anything about.

Needless to say, he worries about it a lot.

That’s why right now he finds himself tip toeing down to the garage. He sees you get into your car and drive away and, without even thinking about it, he jumps on his bike and follows you.

He knows this is wrong, he knows he shouldn’t follow you, that you’re allowed to have your secrets. But he can’t help himself when it comes to you. You make him lose control, you make him go insane. 

He just needs you. to know.

So he follows you, as discreetly as only a trained assassin knows how. He follows you into the city and stops a few cars away when you park in front of a secondhand bookstore. Bucky knows that shop all too well, it’s one of his favorite places to visit when he’s in the city.

He waits until you disappear behind a shelf before going in, watching you as you browse the books. It looks to Bucky like you’re looking for a particular book, when you find it, he can see your face lighting up.

You turn the book to look at the back cover and Bucky can read the title very clearly. ‘Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince’, one of your favorite books. Bucky knows that because he’s talked about it with you for hours, along with all the other books of the series and the Lord of the Rings books, Bucky’s favorites.

You chat amicably with the older guy that owns the shop while you pay for your book and then leave, getting back into your car with Bucky still on your tail.

Next you go to a small bakery and buy a coffee and a cupcake. Thankfully for Bucky you’re too distracted by talking with the nice, old lady that owns the place to notice him buying his own coffee.

He follows you again as you cross the street to the park in front of the bakery and walk until you find a secluded spot. You sit down against a tree and continue peacefully reading your book under the summer sun while sipping your iced coffee.

Bucky sits on a bench nearby where he has a visual on you, but you can’t really see him unless you were really looking for him. But you’re so engrossed in reading that Bucky’s sure he could sit next to you and you wouldn’t even realize it.

He knows you get like that when you’re reading something that captures your attention, and the Harry Potter books always do, no matter how many times you’ve read them already.

Bucky always thought you looked so cute while reading. You make no attempt to hide your reactions and it amuses him. So he spends the next few hours just watching you read, watching your beautiful face shining in the sunlight as you frown and snort and laugh and pout as your eyes dart around the pages.

It’s actually relaxing, he thinks to himself. Is this what you do every year? Take a whole day just to read without the chaos of the Compound and nobody to bother you?

But why would you be so secretive about this? Reading for hours with a cup of coffee is something you’d done countless times in your room, on the roof, in the backyard of the Compound or even in the common room, never really bothered by the noise the team makes when you’re so into the words you’re reading.

So why do it in secret?

After a few hours, around lunch time, you finally come out of the book’s trance and gather your things before getting up.

Bucky frowns when you don’t get back into your car and follows you as you walk to a small family owned Italian restaurant that Bucky’s never been to but always wanted to try. He discreetly follows you in and takes a table in the back where you can’t see him.

He watches you interact with the owner, the waiter and even the cook comes out to talk to you. It’s clear that they all know you and it seems to Bucky like you’re pretty close to them even though he’s never even heard you mention this place before. When you’re done eating, Bucky sees you playfully fight with the owner that doesn’t want to let you pay so you leave a generous tip that amounts to more than your check is and the owner chuckles to himself when you wink as you walk out.

After lunch, which Bucky has to admit was pretty good, he follows you to a flower shop a couple of doors down and he’s surprised to see the owner greeting you like old friends. It looks like she was already anticipating your arrival, a bouquet of blue roses already on the counter and ready to go when you arrive. You chat with the older woman for a few minutes before paying and leaving the flower shop to go to your car.

It’s clear to Bucky by now that you obviously have a routine on your secret day, and everyone you see on this day knows it.

So why don’t the Avengers? 

You looked so comfortable with all the people you’ve met today, Bucky can’t help but think that maybe you don’t feel like you belong on the team.

You drive until you arrive at your destination and Bucky is both surprised and confused when you park in the parking lot of a cemetery, get out of your car and enter it.

He subtly follows you in, watching you walk past a few graves and it looks to him like you know your way around by how effortlessly you walk without needing to check the names, stopping at one almost at the end of the row you were in while Bucky keeps his distance, always making sure to stay out of sight.

He sees you take a deep breath before kneeling in front of the grave and putting down the bouquet of flowers in front of it.

“Hi, mom…” You wipe the dirt off the tombstone and tidy the flowers in front of it with what Bucky’s sure it’s a forced smile. “Happy birthday.”

You take out the cupcake you bought that Bucky now realizes you hadn’t eaten yet and he sees you put a small red birthday candle on it and light it, then you just look at it for a few seconds before you sigh and blow it out.

“So…” You say quietly, looking back at the tombstone and Bucky can see a tear falling down your cheek.

A piece of Bucky's heart breaks seeing you so vulnerable and hurting like this, but he stays put no matter how much he wants to be at your side right now.

Bucky stands there in complete silence, hearing everything you say, hanging on to every word. He hears you talk about everything that happened in the past year, he listens to you talk about missions and parties and holidays. He hears you talk about the whole team and his heart flutters a little when you mention his name too.

You talk for a while and, after he assumes you run out of new things to say, he sees you taking out the book you just bought today.

“So, this year we finally got to the half-blood prince.” You say with a small smile. “It’s our favorite, hadn’t read it in a while.”

Bucky sees you open it and go to the page you left the bookmark in.

“It took me longer than I thought to find your favorite quote, I have to admit.” You say with a small chuckle. “It’s like 400 pages in, don’t judge me.” 

Bucky chuckles quietly at your playfulness, even in this situation. He can’t help but find you adorable.

“It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more.” You read the quote before closing the book and looking back at the grave. “That’s what you told me when I was scared of the dark…” You say quietly with a smile.

“And that’s what you told me before you…” You trail off, not being able to finish your sentence as tears start streaming down your cheeks but Bucky has a pretty good idea where you were going.

That's what she told you before she died, so you wouldn't be scared.

He’s more than surprised that he didn’t know your mother died, and he’s pretty sure the rest of the team doesn’t know either.

Admittedly, families are a very touchy subject for the Avengers.

But Bucky’s even more surprised to see you breaking down, something you’ve never done before. You’re cheery, you’re bubbly, you’re everyone’s little ray of sunshine.

And it breaks Bucky’s heart to know you’ve been falling apart when you’re by yourself all these years.

“I’m sorry I only come here once a year, I just…” You start, so quietly that Bucky’s glad he has enhanced hearing otherwise he's sure he wouldn't be able to hear you. “I miss you so much and I can’t… I can’t bear this.”

He sees you running your fingers gently over the tombstone as you take a deep, shaky breath, but you can’t stop crying.

“I’m trying to be the person you loved…” You say after a moment of silence. “Your little ray of sunshine.” You chuckle softly through the tears.

It makes sense to Bucky now why you always try to be there for everyone else. It’s how you’ve always been, apparently. Always making sure no one feels alone because deep down you feel the most alone, and you don’t want anyone else to feel that way.

You are my sunshine

Bucky’s thoughts get interrupted when he hears you quietly starting to sing. 

My only sunshine

Bucky knows this song. It’s a lullaby that he’s heard you sing once before.

Clint’s family visited him at the Compound and you offered to watch his kids so he and his wife could have a date night.

You probably didn’t realize he heard you, you probably thought you were alone and it’s not like he was spying on you. He just happened to pass by when you were in Clint’s room, trying to get the three kids to sleep by singing to them.

You make me happy, when skies are gray 

You take a breath before continuing but your voice wavers a little. 

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you

Bucky can see you’re having trouble getting the words out, your voice almost breaking.

Please don’t take… My sunshine… Away

Before you can even get the last word out, you break down completely, burying your face in your hands while sobbing.

Bucky feels his heart break as he takes in your pain. He wishes there was some clear and simple solution to making this all better for you, but there's always been so much he doesn't understand about complex emotions like these. 

Right now, as he's watching how broken you are, though, he knows that he doesn't even care about understanding. He just wants to comfort you, to try and make it better...

Bucky comes to rest beside you, he kneels down to your level and places his hand gently on your shoulder. “Hey…” He says quietly.

His presence startles you and you go into defense mode, taking his hand on your shoulder and bending it, then using your grip on his arm to push him face down on the ground.

Bucky didn’t expect you to react so quickly and aggressively which makes it easier for you to catch him off-guard and pin him down.

“Goddammit, Bucky!” You say after you finally recognize him and let him go, getting up and scrambling back to put some distance between you and him while breathing heavily.

For a moment, Bucky is a little stunned. It's rare that anyone is able to get the jump on him like that. But then he snaps back to reality. He lets you make your distance while getting back to his feet and stands a few feet away from you.

“Did you fucking follow me?!” Your sadness is quickly forgotten and replaced with anger.

“I…” Bucky doesn’t know what to say. He knows he’s in the wrong here and he has no defense for himself when he knowingly violated your privacy. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“You didn’t what?!” You snap at him. “You didn’t understand what the meaning of privacy is?!”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say, he’s never seen you this angry at anyone that’s not an enemy and surely never at him.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He says quickly. “I’m sorry, I was just curious, I didn’t think this would be it, I thought…”

“You thought what?” You say when he trails off, clearly pissed as you cross your arms in front of your chest.

“I thought maybe you were a supervillain…” He jokes weakly, trying to make you laugh. “Or a stripper.”

His last word gets a surprised laugh out of you as you, fortunately, understand he’s just joking before you actually punch him in the face.

Bucky lets out a sigh of relief as he sees you laugh and then takes a tentative step towards you.

“I really am sorry…” He says quietly, reaching out to put his hand on your shoulder. “I know it was wrong of me to follow you, and I didn’t plan on bothering you at all, which doesn’t make what I did better,” He quickly adds when he sees you’re about to say something.

“But when I saw you crying, I just… I couldn’t help myself.” He trails his hand down your arm to your hand and takes it in his. “You’re always there for everybody, I don’t think it’s fair that you don’t let anybody be there for you.”

You look at him for a long moment, processing his words. Of course you know he’s right, you don’t let anybody be there for you, but you also never really believed anyone cared enough to.

But looking at Bucky right now, it feels like he really does want to be there for you...

So you let him.

You look back down at the grave, your hand still in his as you intertwine your fingers together.

“She died when I was 14.” You say quietly. “I only had her, so I was on my own after that…”

Bucky listens quietly, his eyes on your face as he sees the tears starting to gather in your eyeline again.

“A few years later, Natasha and Clint found me during a mission. They saw me knock out a dude that cornered me in an alley and they were impressed…” You have a faint smile at the memory although it’s clear you’re about to cry again. “They offered me a place in the SHIELD Academy and, after that, I don’t know… I wasn’t alone anymore.”

You look back at Bucky to find him looking at you intently, his gaze intent and unwavering. 

“Doll…” He says quietly while cupping your face with his free hand as he sees you holding back tears. “It’s okay to be vulnerable in front of the people you care about. You taught me that.”

His gentle words, the way he softly strokes your cheek and the way he’s looking at you so lovingly, it’s all too much for you and can’t hold back your tears anymore.

With a broken sob, you bury your face in Bucky’s chest and hug him tightly, clinging to him while he wraps his arms around you and hugs you just as tight, kissing the top of your head before nuzzling his face against your hair.

In this moment, while holding you in his arms, Bucky realizes it’s not like you don’t feel like you belong with the Avengers.

This is just something you feel like you have to go through on your own because you’ve always had to.

And he’ll be damned if he lets you go through it alone ever again.

Drabble

[vauxxy]

SECOND THAT

luke castellan x reader

★ “i’m restless, i’m wrestling with the song that you love, it’s been stuck in my head”

ABOUT - luke castellan is the only one at camp who sees right through your perfect and poised persona; and all he wants is the satisfaction of ruining it.

WARNINGS - smut, mentions of choking, both the reader and luke are TERRIBLE but luke is much worse lol, swearing, written from the perspective of a deranged luke, penetration, only loosely proofread.

A/N- i have NEVER written and posted smut before EVER. like i get close but i never go all out. so… no hate guys 😘 also i feel like this is a bit ooc for luke so just pretend he’s actually insane and terrible guys!!! if you ignore his incoherent ramblings, it’s PWOP sooo… anyways this might be the first and last time i ever write smut who knows

luke castellan is no amateur when it comes to pretending to be something else. growing up, the only thing that mattered to luke was receiving praise or recognition for being ‘great’ or ‘honourable’ or whatever.

when you live your whole life pretending to be a perfect person, you kinda start to believe you really are a perfect person.

and if everyone you meet also believes you are indeed a perfect person, what’s the harm in continuing to pretend?

at the end of the day, both parties gain something. you get the validation and acclaim that you truly deserve, and they get a role model they aspire to at least halfway resemble.

luke is the sweetest guy at camp- everyone loves him. and he deserves it, doesn’t he? he deserves their praise and love and respect. gods, he should be rewarded for pretending to be so admirable for so long. he’s entitled to it.

you, on the other hand? you don’t. you don’t deserve an ounce of the praise luke has worked so hard to receive.

to luke, you’re vermin. behind your polite smiles and sweet words, there’s darkness. there’s an evil lurking within you- he’s sure of it.

he sees it during early morning sparring sessions, watching from the wings while you tactfully dodge every attack that comes your way. and when you eventually falter, he sees how your eyes turn cold and your smile fades.

he sees how you take a shaky breath, brushing yourself off with your bony hands before flashing a toothy grin. he feels nauseous when you extend your arm out to shake the hand of your opponent- because how the fuck can they believe your little act?

your gentle kindness and bashful charisma is so obviously fake. of course, he’s not pissed that you’re acting; everyone at camp is acting to an extent. but you’re going all out, and he can still see through it. what pisses him off, is that nobody else seems to recognise how truly malicious you can be.

maybe it’s because you’re pretty. luke is no stranger to getting special treatment based on his appearance, and neither should you be. maybe that’s the whole basis of your appeal. it seems to be the only thing holding your pathetic little facade together, considering your sloppy acting skills.

if you were ugly everyone would be able to call out your bullshit straight away, and then he wouldn’t have to worry about sharing the spotlight. honestly, the only reason why everyone loves you so much is because half of them want to fuck you, and the other half want your attention or approval- not that it’d be worth anything.

it was the last week of spring, meaning only the year-rounders and a few of the older kids were at camp. you just graduated high school, and arrived at camp early.

of course, you just had to return to camp prettier, taller, more confident, and with a fancy college acceptance letter. maybe you were much smarter than you let on- but it became very apparent that your intelligence wasn’t the reason you got accepted into NYU once he learned what you were studying.

“oh, i’m getting a degree in art history,”

seriously? art history? that’s gotta be the funniest thing luke has ever heard in his entire life.

“really? why art history?” he asks politely, watching your every move as he awaits your dumbass explanation.

you shrug cheerfully, looking around at the few other campers scattered around in a tight-knit circle as they wait for you to tell them about your ‘lovely’ 18th birthday and ‘eventful’ senior year.

“i don’t know, my mum works with a lot of artists, so she said it’d be a good conversation starter,” you say cheerfully, as if it wasn’t the stupidest thing to ever exit your mouth.

luke can’t help but let out a little giggle, before instantly lowering his head to offer some non-verbal apology. but to his surprise, you laugh along. “yeah, i really wanna score a job at the MET or something. i don’t mind either way,”

luke nods politely, letting the conversation continue without interrupting with a snide comment or unsolicited laughter.

he plays along as the conversation continues, pretending he doesn’t want to grab you by the throat and push you against the wall, demanding you to confess. demanding you to tell the fucking truth; that you’re a manipulative sycophant who’s bound to end up in rehab for getting addicted to designer drugs.

why is he the only one that sees you for who you truly are? gods, if he knew any better he might be charmed. you were naturally picturesque- or at least you seemed to be. the way that you were sitting on the grass with your hair draping over your body; you looked gorgeous. but you always look gorgeous, that’s your best quality after all.

of course all of camp half-blood was fooled- you were to pretty and kind to be lying. maybe it was better to let them keep on believing that you were this perfect image of a girl.

but he’d still appreciate the satisfaction of seeing you for who you are- seeing you in your rawest form.

and then suddenly, he saw it. some athena girl asked you if you wanted to go on a run with her later, to which you politely declined. of course, you kept your composure, told her that you had to take a nap, offered her a sympathetic smile and a ‘maybe next time’. but she didn’t see the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head as soon as she looked away.

luke was astonished. you really were getting sloppy, huh?

and yet, nobody else saw it. nobody else saw the look of disgust on your face as soon as she finished talking. he was seething- how on earth could everyone be so blind?

luke looks around at the group of people surrounding him, his eyes darting back to you ever 5 or 10 seconds. they all look at you with awe- as if you’re the most precious thing on earth.

fuck that. he was going to put you in your place.

a few hours pass, and it was finally time for everyone to walk back to their cabins.

luke spots you walking alone to your cabin, your face dimly lit by the moon as it shines over the camp. he’s so overwhelmed with anger, he couldn’t fathom caring about the consequences of whatever situation he was about to put himself in.

he quickly catches up to you, meeting your walking pace as he shoots you a friendly smile.

“hey, y/n. you got a minute?” luke asks, still adorning that charming smile. you smile back at him, nodding your head ever so gently, as if it would fall off if you moved it too fast. like a rusty elvis bobble head bought 1976 that resides on the dash of your grandmother’s busted car.

“yeah, why?” you hold your hands behind your back as you walk beside him, slowly approaching your empty cabin. luke shrugs his shoulders. “oh, i just had a little question. mind if we talk in your cabin?” he asks.

you nod, opening the door for luke and letting him walk through. you close the door behind him, before leaning your back against the wall. luke stands in front of you, his cheery demeanour vanishing as he crosses his arms.

“why the fuck are you such a little bitch all the time?”

you furrow your brows, mirroring his posture as you cross your arms defensively. “excuse me?”

luke rolls his eyes, letting out dry laughter as he looks you up and down. “you heard me,” he adds, watching you anxiously begin to pick at your lips with your freshly manicured fingernails.

“do you have a problem with me or something?” your whole body feels tense as you continue picking at your lips, your eyes locked onto his.

“yeah, i do have a problem. i’m tired of your little ‘nice girl’ act. it’s getting fucking annoying,” luke scoffed, taking a step closer towards you. your eyes darken, before shaking away your hostile expression.

“are you sure you wanna do this right now, castellan?”

“is that a threat?”

you pull your fingertips away from your lips, shifting your weight to the other side of your body as you cross your arms once more. you let silence fill the room before finally speaking up.

“listen, luke. everyone pretends to be someone they’re not. you and i just tend to do it more than others-“

luke cuts your off, taking another step forwards. “fuck off, we are not the same.”

you roll your eyes, banging your head against the wall as you groan irritably. “so what? are you gonna go around spreading cheap lies about me now?” you ask tiredly. luke shakes his head, slightly shrugging his shoulders.

“nah.” he replies curtly, his voice blunt and expression vague. “mkay, then what the fuck is your problem?”

luke takes another quick step forward, tightly holding your chin in his hand as he lifts your head to face him. “you’re my fucking problem.”

you let out a dry laugh, staring into his eyes as you attempt to intimidate him. “you’re such a loser.” you whisper, refusing to fight back against the way he’s gripping your face.

he stays silent, biting his lip as he looks over your form. “and you’re a brat.” he retorts.

“are we just going to keep throwing insults back and forth all night, or are you gonna explain why you’re so obsessed with me?” you ask playfully, cupping his face in your hand as an attempt to patronise him.

luke is stumped. to be fair, he is entirely obsessed with you. and he has been for years now. and now he has you cornered, watching your weak attempts at asserting dominance over him.

luke was over it.

suddenly, luke leans in, harshly pressing his lips against yours. you retract your hand from his face, pressing it against the wall as you feel his body moving towards you.

he wraps his other hand around your neck, only gently gripping it as to not alarm you.

luke is surprised by how you sink into his grip, pulling away to see your closed eyes and swollen lips. when you wipe your mouth and look at him with those hauntingly innocent eyes, he’s almost fooled.

you scoff, smirking as you tear away from his grip and take a few steps back. “is that all you wanted?” you say confidently, watching him turn around to watch you carefully pace around the room.

he shakes his head, groaning quietly as he walks over to you once more.

luke purses his lips, trying to suppress any sense of genuine attraction to you. but when his eyes gaze over to your red lips and flushed cheeks, he can’t help but let his mind wander.

“if you’re done, you can leave, castellan.” you say irritably, leaning against your bed frame.

it goes straight to his dick when you call him that, especially when your voice sounds so hoarse and cocky. he feels as though he’s finally accomplished what he’s been yearning to do for years now. he’s seeing the real you.

he couldn’t dare squander this opportunity now.

he pushes you down onto your bed, watching how your hair flows over your newly made bedsheets as your head hits the pillow.

“but you don’t want me to leave, do you?” luke says lowly, hovering over your body as his hand hold your wrists together above your head.

“i don’t care what you do, castellan.”

luke groans, pressing another rough kiss against your lips. you kiss back for whatever reason, and your firsts relax within his grip. it was almost as if you got off on the idea of someone calling out your bullshit. or maybe you got off on the idea of somewhat hating your guts. either way, luke knew you were more than eager to continue.

he let go of your wrists, before biting your bottom lip. your mouth opens slightly, offering entry to his tongue, deepening the kiss.

you hand cups his face, while the other grips his shoulder. after a few moments, he pulls away and begins sucking at the skin of your neck, leaving purple marks on your delicate skin while you let out hoarse whimpers.

his hands begin to fiddle with the fabric of your shirt, causing you to push his body forwards as you position yourself to sit on his lap. you take off your shirt, throwing it away as you run your hands down his back.

luke looks down at your chest, growing more aroused at the sight of your lacy little bra. it’s as if you knew someone was going to see it.

you feel a hardness growing from under his jeans, poking against your upper thigh as you slowly grind against his lap. luke let’s put a low moan, continuing to bury his face in your neck.

“i fucking hate you,” he growls, gripping the sides of your waist with his hands as you move against him.

“don’t care, take off your shirt,” you demand hurriedly, running your fingers through his hair as you tilt his head up to look at you.

luke rolls his eyes, before taking off his shirt. he quickly presses another series of harsh kissses against your neck, fiddling with the clasp of your bra as you push your chest up against his. you giggle softly at his incompetence, before he finally unhooks it and ravenously pulls it from your chest.

luke pushes your body backwards onto the bed, trailing kisses down from your neck and onto your tits. you let out a quiet moan, before biting down onto your hand in order to stifle the sound. his large hands knead your left breast, while the other grips the area just under your right breast, resting on top of your ribcage.

luke’s hands slowly move downwards, hip thumb tracing circles against the side of your hip as you gently grasp onto his hair. his fingertips gently pull down your shorts, leaving you in only your underwear.

he rubs his thumb over the wet fabric, before tilting his head to look up at you. “pathetic,” he mutters, smirking at your flushed faced. you groan, burying the back of your head further into the pillow as your back arches involuntarily.

luke’s thumb massages your clit from over the soaking fabric, watching you squirm in response. he lets out a dry laugh, before pulling down your panties and tossing them onto the floor.

“luke…” you moan quietly, closing your eyes as your hips jerk into the mattress. his fingers trace your wet folds, before letting his thumb rub circles against your clit and forcing two fingers inside of you.

you whimper before pursing your lips, rolling your head around as he slowly pumps his fingers in and out. he quickens his pace, pressing down harshly against your clit while beginning to suck on the skin of your upper thigh.

luke holds down your hip with his free hand as you begin to squirm.

suddenly, he stops.

you look at him with a confused expression, your face red as he pulls his fingers out. he chuckles at your disappointed face, before taking off his pants and boxers. you stare at his length unashamedly, biting down on your bottom lip.

“so fucking needy.” he says lowly, his voice horse as he softly begins to continue massaging your clit. you moan, feeling your back arch as he positions himself in front of your legs. he forcefully spreads them open as he teases your folds with the tip of his erect member.

you let out a little whine, your voice trembling as you try to move your hips against his length.

luke rolls his eyes at your poor attempts at penetration, before slowly pushing his cock into your entrance. you let out a breathy, high pitched moan, your hands eagerly gripping your bedsheets.

he gradually pushes in the entirety his length, continuing to rub circles into your clit. luke tightly grips your waist as he begins to slowly pull out, before jamming himself back in. you let out a breathy yelp as you body moves with his thrusts.

like continues relentlessly pushing in and out of you, massaging your waist as his thumb gradually increases the speed of its attack on your clit.

you try to steady you breathing, your face flushed as lukewarm continues to deliberately overwhelm your body.

“mm… luke, i’m gonna…” you mutter, your hips jerking upwards. he smiles at you, amused by how blissed out you look taking his cock. “so soon?” he teases, rapidly moving against your body.

you let out a stammering series of whimpers as your back arches upwards, feeing yourself suddenly release. luke grins, continuing to rub circles into your clit as he rides out your orgasm.

luke slowly retracts his thumb, repositioning the hand to gently grip your hip. he begins to slow down his movements, before quickly thrusting into you repetitively. you squirm, the movements of your hips constrained by his grip.

suddenly, he pulls out, releasing onto your stomach. see? he was a gentleman.

luke gazes over at the girl he just reduced to a panting mess as he stands up and puts his clothes back on. he smiles at you as he zips up his jeans, before kneeling besides you as you turn your head to look at him.

“i wont tell anyone how fucking pathetic you are, don’t worry, princess.”

you nod, staring at him as he continues to look at your defenceless body. “such a pretty girl,” he hums, cupping your face in his hand before kissing your forehead.

he reaches over to your discarded underwear and gently pulls them up your legs, the gesture acting somewhat as a peace offering. he takes a step back, simply taking in how endearingly stupid you look.

you slowly sit yourself up, grabbing your camp t shirt and putting it on. “goodnight, luke,” you choke out, your voice hoarse and breathing shallow. he nods, smiling softly as he turns to walk away. “night, princess.”

[xvysarene]

𝕌𝕟𝕤𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝔹𝕠𝕟𝕕

Pairing: Zayne x Fem!Reader Prompt: “I’ve built walls, and yet they crumble when I see you.” Words: ~2.5k Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff Notice: Y/N is not MC, Antagonist MC, Mentions of wounds

[ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST]

His childhood friend exuded energy just as vibrant as her Anhausen class Evol, captivating those around her with her bubbly demeanor.

However, beneath the cheerful façade lay a calculated use of charm, a trait you couldn't help but notice, especially in her interactions with Zayne.

As a senior hunter, your responsibilities included supervising new recruits, and you discerned her manipulative tendencies over time.

“Just because you've seen me at my weakest, you’re not entitled to pass judgment on those dear to me. It proves how I've known her longer and better, as she would never stoop so low as to speak ill of you. I don’t need you babysitting me.”

Quick to defend his adored friend and seemingly caught up in emotion, he voiced those unfavorable words your way.

You knew Zayne was a direct person, but being on the receiving end of those words hurt. Especially as you later realized that you harbored feelings towards the cold doctor, feelings that had unknowingly woven into what you had always believed to be a purely platonic friendship between the two of you.

“—and you’re here because?”

His voice jolted you out of your reverie.

Somehow, standing in the exact spot where your last conversation occurred, resulting in months of silence between the two of you, had clouded your thoughts.

You cleared your throat, trying to focus back on the present moment. “Greyson and Yvonne have been trying to get in touch with you.”

When news about Dr. Zayne taking recuperative leave had spread like wildfire throughout the UNICORNS, you had considered reaching out to him. 

Your fingers had hovered over the phone, composing and deleting messages repeatedly.

In the end, you completely abandoned the notion altogether when you heard his childhood friend’s not-so-subtly mentioning her plan to visit and cook for him while chatting with the short-haired girl from the Data Analysis sector.

“I’m fine,” he managed to huff out after a while.

Taking a swift glance at the unexpected mess on his kitchen counters—scattered papers and remnants of food packaging—you challenged him. “I thought we had moved beyond the superficial ‘I’m fine’ responses when asking about each other's well-being.”

Zayne didn’t reply and you noted that he had absentmindedly leaned his long legs against the kitchen counter as if seeking support from it.

“You, the Chief Cardiac Surgeon of Akso Hospital, someone who enjoys his lack of free time, couldn't possibly have felt ‘just fine’ after being placed on recuperative leave.”

“I wasn't aware that you still kept tabs on my whatabouts," he retorted, eyes slightly gleaming competitively. However, they lacked the usual spark; instead, they hinted at tiredness and something indefinable that looked familiar but you couldn't quite pinpoint.

“I understand that your friend has probably visited you, but my great buddies insisted I come and check on you. They didn’t want to pester, but after two days of no answer, they are beginning to worry.” You raised your hands in a gesture of surrender. “Though if I’m not welcome, I’ll leave you be.”

As you moved past him towards the front door, you felt yourself emotionally drained from the brief exchange.

“Why you, specifically?” his whisper caused you to stop in your tracks.

“They know we are—” you stopped yourself, “used to be each other’s confidant. They thought you might be willing to speak to me if not to them.”

He chuckled dryly. “Used to…”

His muttered words compelled you to turn. Your hunter’s awareness noticed how he had subtly shifted, leaning more against the counter with one hand supporting his weight while his body slightly hunched forward, facing your retreating figure.

His body trembled with involuntary shivers, and the silver-framed glasses that had been perched on his nose earlier now lay discarded on top of the black granite.

“What’s wrong?” The words spilled out of your mouth before you could stop them.

Your eyes instantly snapped to his arms, expecting to see the familiar bluish hue and the delicate, yet deadly patterns of ice crystals.

Instead, you saw fresh cuts on the back of his hand. Both of them.

A sound must have escaped your lips because Zayne quickly tugged at his light gray pajama sleeves, trying to cover his hands. He took a step back as he heard you stomping towards him.

Helplessly, he played a brief game of tug-of-war with you before yielding to your unexpected strength.

“What the hell,” you breathed out as you took the angry red marks marring his pale skin, making them stand out more. When you rolled up his sleeves further, you discovered fresh lacerations, a chilling reminder of the frost's icy grip.

You cupped his cheeks. It took his gaze a moment to gradually refocus on you, seemingly startled by the sudden skin contact. “Zayne, what happened?”

His lips were sealed shut. He began to resist, however, as you guided him towards his bedroom, but your hunter strength slightly won over his sluggish state.

Zayne watched you intensively check his wounds after you managed to get him to bed. They were more severe than the scratches you saw after you had cradled his frozen arms and succeeded in defrosting them using your Evol. It was when you found him beating himself up in regret for failing to save your partner during surgery.

As you stood up to fetch the medical supplies, his hand swiftly caught your forearm, surprising you with its speed. "You don’t have to take care of me," he insisted.

“Respectfully, Zayne,” you began, knowing he'd grimace at your next choice of words, “Fuck your pride and let me look after you.”

Seeing his familiar disapproving grimace at the brash word, you chuckled quietly to yourself. 

Your boldness and recklessness often clashed with his calm and collected nature, one that left people wondering how a friendship could blossom between two such opposites.

As the antiseptic scent filled the air and silence enveloped the room while you tended to his arms, memories flooded back to the griefful night when you had lost your partner.

He had treated your temporarily forgotten battle wounds after the frost had thawed from his arms.

“It’s not your fault,” Zayne had spoken softly as he cleaned your wounds.

Your breath stuttered, surprised by the doctor's attempt to console you. Many people regarded him as highly reserved due to the carefully crafted mask of indifference he wore.

"The other staff told me what happened. You couldn’t have known that he was bitten; a child Chlorostaga leaves a very small puncture, and it would only feel like an ant has bitten you. With adrenaline running high, he wouldn’t have felt a thing."

“He told me that his heart was racing unusually fast during the transport back,” you whispered, feeling the tears clouding your vision. “And I jokingly suggested he needed to do more exercise.

“He laughed at it until—” you forced down the bile rising in your throat before being able to continue, “until he suddenly collapsed from cardiac arrest. We were only a few minutes out before arriving here to treat our wounds.”

Zayne continued gently dressing your gashes as you recounted the last moment with your partner. “His last memory was of happiness with you, feeling fulfilled knowing he had once again protected Linkon City from Wanderers... With his trusted partner."

The tears you had struggled to contain finally broke through, cascading down your cheeks in torrents. He held you close that day, offering comfort until every tear was dried.

From that moment, a bond seemed to form between both of you, drawing you closer from mere acquaintances to individuals you could trust with your deepest emotions. Only a few had ever witnessed each other's vulnerable state.

In the present, you noticed his breathing had calmed, and the hazel eyes that had been watching you carefully moments earlier had closed as you finished tending the last cut.

Gently smoothing out the crease between his brows, you couldn't help but wonder how troubled he must have been. “I’ve built walls, and yet they crumble when I see you,” you whispered, afraid of him hearing your secret.

You had tried to shield yourself from future heartache after you slammed his front door the day he had spoken harshly. Yet, seeing him so vulnerable, your caring for him only deepened.

Listening to the rhythmic sound of his breathing, an unexpected exhaustion washed over you like a tidal wave.

Sleep claimed you swiftly, and it wasn't until you felt Zayne's gentle touch on your shoulder that you awoke.

“You’re going to strain the muscle in the back of your neck sleeping like that.”

Still groggy from the unplanned nap, you couldn’t protest as Zayne easily deposited you to the space he occupied earlier, as if you weighed nothing.

Your skin flushed hot feeling his fleeting touch behind your knees. Blinking, you met his gaze as he settled back beside your feet on the bed, already looking much better than before.

As the heat from his body permeated the wool blend of his pajama pants, you could feel it warming the tips of your toes. “Are you feeling any better?”

He nodded, casting a glance down at his arms adorned with scattered adhesive strips. Awkwardness filled the air as you both grappled with the ever-present unresolved tension.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled softly. You looked up, startled.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated more clearly. His hazel eyes, appearing browner under the dim lighting, seeking yours. “For saying those hurtful words to you, for failing to accompany you on mourning day.”

Your eyes widened, surprised that he even remembered about the day that had occurred months earlier.

When he didn’t appear at the cemetery of fallen hunters on mourning day, an annual tradition to honor your late partner whom he couldn't save, you learned just how much he cherished his childhood friend.

While he hadn't explicitly promised to join every year, he had always done so without fail. At that time, you couldn't help but feel disappointed when you discovered he had spent the day with his childhood friend instead.

And perhaps, an ugly thorn of jealousy had begun to bloom inside your heart.

“Greyson gave me an earful after he found out about our... conflict, and then he pieced together why I was absent that day. Why didn’t you remind me?”

You broke away from his gaze, not prepared for the sudden query. “You are under no obligation to accompany me, so there's nothing to apologise for.”

“I absolutely have to apologise, for on the day you mourn for your late partner the most, I callously had fun with my friend.”

And there it was, his childhood friend once again stealing the spotlight in your conversation. You felt the barriers you erected creeping back into place.

“It's getting dark outside, I should head home,” you said, retracting your legs and hurriedly standing up.

However, a warm hand on your wrist carefully pulled you back down, knee bumping with yours.

“I was ensnared by my memory of her innocence from our childhood,” he confessed, voice heavy with regret. “She envied the deep connection we share and after overhearing your conversation with Yvonne, purposefully suggested a day trip to our hometown that exact day. She exploited my weakness for her gain, knowing my fond memories of our past together.”

Zayne tenderly unraveled each of your tightly clenched fingers, soothing the nail marks that had etched into your palm.

It was one of your bad habits, surfacing whenever anxiety and stress took hold. Ever the observant person that he was, it was something he was well aware of.

Your breath hitched as he wove his fingers with yours, larger palm easily covering your smaller one.

“I'm the one who foolishly let myself be blinded and stooped so low, wrongly accusing you when your intentions were nothing but good-hearted.” He swiped a hand over his face in frustration. “People praised me for my good judgement, but I evidently failed to make the most important one.”

“And so this happened?” you gestured towards his arms with your other unoccupied hand. “Punishing yourself because you felt guilty for your lapse in judgment?”

She had heard bits and pieces of what happened from Greyson. The Chief Psychologist in the hospital had noticed Zayne’s peculiar behaviour for weeks—moments of zoning out and evident emotional distress.

Not wanting to jeopardise his patient’s health, he agreed to take a leave until he felt mentally prepared to return to his responsibilities, which required a clear mind above all else.

“No, it's me losing myself because I've taken advantage of the only person who understands me; to the extent of hurting that one person who, despite knowing her for a shorter time, has selflessly always been there for me.” He placed a kiss on the back of your hand. “And fearing I may have already lost her, as I come to realize the depth of my feelings for her.”

You whipped your head to fully face him, face flushed at his confession. His gaze unwavering, trapping you with fierce affection.

“You don’t need to say anything—”

“Zayne—”

“I just want to let you know that I’m sorry for causing you pain—”

“Zayne, I—”

“And I would understand if you don’t want to do anything with me again after everything that’s happened—”

"Zayne!" You moved to cover his mouth and lost your balance in the process, tumbling together onto the bed.

Him beneath you.

As you stumbled, his hand found the curve of your hip, supporting you from falling on top of him. While his other arm remained thrown over him, fingers still intertwined with yours amidst the sudden movement.

You could see him trying to mask his discomfort, no doubt feeling some of the deeper slashes being tugged.

“God, you really need to shut up sometime,” you blurted out, catching Zayne off guard with your abrupt remark following his heartfelt revelation.

This close, you could see his pupils dilating at your close proximity, almost consuming the green in his eyes.

With profound confidence and a fuzzy feeling spreading inside your heart, you eased his mind. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The content smile painting his lips tugged at your heart. It was a genuine happiness that chipped away his usual cold demeanor. 

He squeezed your hip and slowly urged you to lay on top of him, a silent invitation to be closer. Strong arms circled around as you nestled your head against his throat, enveloping you in his scent—grounding, and slightly musky, like the scent of a forest after rainfall.

“I never want you to lose control of your Evol over me again,” you warned him, eyes closing as you felt his lips pressing on your forehead.

“I can’t promise, but—” he interjected before you could interrupt him. “I’ll work on myself for the better. It’s the least I can do for the one who holds the dearest place in my heart.”

When you opened your eyes again, you could finally pinpoint that familiar glint in his eyes, the one you noticed when you confronted him hours earlier in the living room; it was endearment.

As you lay down on his bed that night, fingers gently combing through his tousled midnight-black hair as he rested against your chest, it dawned on you that the glow of affection had been there all along, subtly shimmering in his eyes throughout the years whenever you were by his side.

⤷ ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST

[yanderenightmare]

Adam

TW: NSFW, dubcon/noncon, abuse of power

fem reader

To all the people in my inbox, yes, I watch Hazbin Hotel, and yes, we can talk about Alastor, Valentino, Vox, Husk, and Lucifer.

But first, I’d be lying if I said Adam isn’t living in my head rent-free with his entitled, loud-mouthed ass and his sheer disregard for absolutely everyone around him. 

Not to mention his ownersickness.

He’s genesis – the onset of all humanity – and believes everyone is beholden to him because of that – that everyone should fall to his feet and kiss his balls and thank him for their origins.

He treats new angels like a free-for-all eat-all-you-can buffet – like a harem of only the purest sinless samples. Because who wouldn’t feel a little bashful being comforted by the first man after an untimely death – welcomed to heaven and congratulated on a life lived in virtue?

Your cheeks heat up as he flirts with little ol’ you as if you’re not just one of the many million people he plans on corrupting.

And he’s such a big deal in heaven, too. Those big balls have a lot of sway, and he swings them and his dick around at every turn. 

So just imagine if you try to deny him. I mean, he’s Adam. Everyone has him to thank for their lives, and it’s in death that you should all pay your dues.

So, if he says he wants you, you don’t have the right to tell him no.

And the unfairness makes you feel so helpless – nihilistic despite being in heaven. thinking back to the many times on earth when you’d question the existence of god only to persevere. Kept to your morals through it all, remained vigilant in your belief – only to now question if your God really deserved it when he allows injustice even here, in the fucking promised land.

And having been left by both Eve and Lilith, Adam's become a woman-hating misogynist with incel rage that has stewed since The Creation – and so keeps you locked in his suite like a pet. 

He throws his mask off when he comes home, disrobes, and walks about as he’d done in Eden – and says it’s just as much a sin to oppose the first man as it is to oppose God himself when he demands that you strip and get on the bed. 

He’s never gracious, even when you obey – he takes you how he wants – with your ass up and your face down and his hand pressing down on your back between your wings – licking his lip when you wince and whimper, taking every inch of his fat cock in your tight cunt while your pearl-white feathers ruffle and shiver like a baby-bird who’d fallen from the nest. 

Sometimes, he’ll threaten to banish you down to hell if you don’t worship him like the good little Christian you aspire to be. After all, heathen whores who don’t stick to their prayers don’t have a place in heaven.

[matryosika]

Attraction, obsession, infatuation

Pairing — Hyunjin and fem!reader Wordcount — 7,680 words Includes — Explicit sexual content. Alcohol consumption, mentions of jealousy and possessiveness. Smut warnings under the cut. Summary — It is easier to hate than to admit loving. Alternatively, where Hyunjin realizes he might be tired of pretending he doesn't want to be more than just your toy. Author's Note — First 2024 full story! One of my New Year's resolutions was to keep on writing, since the last two years have been a bit too rough with my creativity and, overall, life. I hope I can continue posting stuff this year, but I literally can't ignore the fact that I am graduating college this June and that the adult life is, inevitably, catching up to me. Still, writing is something I love so I am determined to take this hobby very seriously, since it's one of the few things I enjoy! I hope you like this, please remember that english is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes in advanced. If you wish to support my work, please leave a comment, reblog or ask 💌 Post divider by @/cafekitsune

Smut Warnings — Dirty talk, (very) mild humiliation, oral sex (m. receiving), face fucking and deep throating, voyeurism, female (solo) masturbation), unprotected sex, penetrative sex, marking (and mentions of pain), dacryphilia, creampie.

Humiliating.

There is no other way to describe the situation that perfectly.

[21:19 p.m., Hyunjin: Seems like you got yourself a new toy]

[21:19 p.m., Hyunjin: You don’t want to play with me anymore?]

[21:20 p.m., Hyunjin: I mean, we both know why you agreed to come here in the first place. It's not like you're the best of friends with any of my roommates, anyways.]

You hate how right he always is —how shamelessly he speaks, how pridefully he carries that ego of him. 

People say there is a thin line between hatred and love, but they never talk about how tempting it is to walk on it. Especially because said line doesn't involve any of the former—if anything, that line represents all the carnal pleasures. 

Pure lust.

[21:21 p.m., You: Please]

[21:21 p.m., You: You’re so full of yourself, you know that?]

Hyunjin rolls his eyes right in front of you, tongue poking through his cheek while he reads your messages.

[21:22 p.m., Hyunjin: That never seems to be a problem when you're in my bed]

It's a never ending bickering. A never ending teasing. 

Hyunjin has always loved the thrill of doing things he isn't supposed to —no wonder why he ended up fucking you, out of all the women he knows. 

Attraction, obsession, infatuation. 

No amount of words could describe what happens between the two of you.

[21:23 p.m., You: I’m busy, in case you haven’t tell]

His cheeks grow hotter, killer eyes darting between you and the man you're talking to; appearing all sweet, gentle, collected, and everything you're not when you are with him. Your hand lays peacefully over your companion’s thigh, playfully hitting it when he says something remotely funny. 

Your smile hasn't worn off since you entered the party, and Hyunjin genuinely wonders if you’re that happy and comfortable to be around any other man. Inevitably, he begins to wonder if you'd let him touch you like he does, kiss you like he has. He stares at you two for a little too long, and questions if you'd let that man do everything Hyunjin is entitled to do with you. 

Would you let him treat you like he can? Let him fuck you like he does?

He chugs down the alcohol from his cup and uses that as an excuse to calm his masochistic urges, walking away from the scene he has been staring at for almost 10 minutes now. 

It's like pouring lime over a wound, like pulling out a loose tooth. It hurts, but it makes him feel something.

“If you didn't hate her I would say you're totally drooling over her,” a black-haired man that smiles teasingly with his eyes is quick to ambush Hyunjin as he makes his way to the kitchen. 

“What? Did your date get tired of you too early tonight?”

Changbin’s tongue pokes his cheek, and he can’t help but smile at Hyunjin’s moodiness. “She went to the bathroom, I just came here for some drinks”. 

“Well, get to it,” Hyunjin commands, stretching his shoulders in an attempt to release all the build-up tension over them.

“Man, you've been acting so out of your element lately,” Changbin remarks, placing a bottle of vodka and another of pineapple juice aside with two red solo cups. “You’re always in a fucking mood, this is actually the first time I see you outside your bedroom in like... a while”. 

Hyunjin won't admit it, but he is sulking. 

Because of college, because of work, because of things he can't begin to fix and because of you.

“Just busy, I guess,” he shrugs his shoulders. “Sorry I can't spend all day sticking my dick in different holes and doing an 8-hour shift at the gym”. 

Changbin scoffs bitterly under his breath, nose flaring at his friend's harshness. “Maybe that's exactly what you need,” he nods, pouring a drink for himself and his date, “a good fuck”.

He rolls his eyes. 

Yeah, maybe he needs that, but he also needs for you to stop touching your date's thigh, laughing amusingly loudly like you want him to hear how much of a great time you're having. Maybe Hyunjin needs to relieve all his anger on you, or he just needs for you to spare him a fucking glance because you haven't even looked at him since you walked in.

“Yeah,” he finally exhales, stealing the vodka bottle from Changbin’s grip to pour some onto his cup. He chugs it down quickly, and clears his throat when he feels the liquid burning inside, “that’s what I need”. 

Changbin pats his right shoulder and abandons the kitchen when he spots his date closing the bathroom door behind her. And Hyunjin is left alone once again, wondering if it's time to ditch the party and lock himself inside his room or if he should hurt himself a bit more to get a grip on reality.

Inconveniently, he chooses the latter. Resting his hips against the kitchen counter, and turning his back on the full view of the living room, Hyunjin begins to thread a line of questions that may never have a proper answer. 

Had he met you in another context, and in a distinct light, would things be different? Would your dynamic be different?

Maybe he would've apologized when he had time, for all the useless bickering that always took place between the two along the friend group. Had he surrendered to your stubbornness, rather than putting up a fight like it's typical from him, would the anguish be less?

Now that he reflects on it, Hyunjin can't even tell why you two hate each other these days. He never questioned it, the hatred you felt for each other, but he no longer knows why it's still there. Maybe it was a first impression, maybe it was a dumb comment or joke he cracked when you were introduced to the friend group. Maybe it was the fact that you two are so alike, personality wise, that you never seemed to get on.

Maybe you keep on hating each other because that's how it always has been, because there hasn't been a room to question the "what if's". 

Or maybe you hate him just for being him, and the only thing you've come to mend with is the fact that he is nothing more than a good fuck.

His heart aches because of this last thought, and he stares at his phone screen for a bit too long, hoping to get a text from you. But you're busy, you said it yourself, and he is just feeling out of place. 

“Hey,” the familiar voice it's enough for him to lift up his eyes from his phone, encountering a sheepishly grinning, red-eyed Jisung. “Changbin told me you’re in a mood, again”.

“He should put his mouth to good use,” Hyunjin rolls his eyes. 

“He is worried about you though,” his friend says. “We all are, you know”. 

Hyunjin sighs, “I’m fine”. 

“Dude, come on,” Jisung drags his words lazily. “It’s about her, right?”

He shoots a killer gaze at him, “about who?”

If Jisung hadn't been higher than the fucking Empire State, he would've considered Hyunjin’s gaze a threat. But his mind is not precisely paying attention to any social cues, so he proceeds to say your name as a response. 

"You should stop smoking that shit ever so often, you know?" he spits in annoyance, "it's making you delusional".

“Yeah, right man,” Jisung nods. “And you can keep being angry with the world just because you can't be angry with her”. 

It disgusts Hyunjin how poetic that sounds, but his friend isn't too far from the truth —he would much rather project his anger and annoyance onto everyone else before you.

Because if you call, if you look for him, if you text him and ask him to see you, he will always be available. Even when he is not. Even when he has a ton shit to do. Even if all you want is his dick and a couple of dirty words. 

Every time you ask, Hyunjin will give you anything you want.

“We don't have to talk about her though. Just wanted to check up on you,” his friend continues after an excruciatingly long silence, patting one of his shoulders like Changbin did before. 

“There’s nothing to talk about, anyways,” Hyunjin says.

“Are you on, like, bad terms?” 

“We’re not on any terms,” again, the urge to deny everything. It's always easier to pretend nothing it's going on than admitting there's a huge fucking elephant in the room. “We fuck, occasionally, and that's it. Not friendship, not intimacy, not trivial conversations about each other's days”. 

“Well, that's some sort of the ideal to a fuck buddy relationship,” Jisung tilts his head. “It’s supposed to work”. 

It should. 

And it did, for a while —when the feelings were minimum and could be repressed, when the anger only translated to hatred and annoyance, and not jealousy and possessiveness.

These days, it's just not enough.

“Yeah well,” Hyunjin scoffs bitterly, holding the almost empty bottle of alcohol to his lips. 

Thank God he isn't a light weight, because he would've been screwed by now. Vodka isn't his greatest match, but neither are you and he knows he has to sacrifice something tonight —whether it’s his rationality or his heart. 

“Alright,” he finally exhales, pushing the empty bottle away from the edge of the counter. “I’m going back to my room”.

"Already?"

“That's the beauty of people using your apartment to host a fucking party, I guess,” Hyunjin says, leaning down to one of the kitchen pantries to grab his favorite bottle of wine. “You can just walk a minute and be in the comfort of your own bed”. 

“Haven’t you drunk too much?” Jisung asks. 

“Definitely not enough,” the dark-haired replies, grabbing both the bottle and a glass with one of his hands. “Tell Jeongin to kick everyone out by 2, I’m not paying for another noise complaint again”. 

And as he makes his way to his room, it's inevitable for Hyunjin not to spare a glance at the couch you were once sitting on. But his eyes meet Changbin and his date instead, without any trace of you or the man you were with. And he doesn't know if he should feel relieved or worried because you're no longer in his eyesight, and as comforting as that thought should be is nothing more than anguish-inducing.

He says goodbye to some of his friends, and also deals with Changbin’s insistence to stay around before he is able to lock himself inside his room. It was, at best, a 3 minute situation from the kitchen to his bed, but it felt like ages. Mostly because his eyes kept on scanning the whole apartment, hoping to find something that could tell him you're still there and you didn't leave the party with that man although you probably did. 

Much to his surprise, when he opens the door to his room, he finds you sitting at the edge of his bed.

You don't say anything, and neither does he. So you two stare at each other for a while before Hyunjin closes the door right behind him, leaving the wine and glass on a small table by the door.

“Wine? At a college party?” You finally interrupt the silence, using that playful, teasing tone you always use when you want to get on his nerves. “You really are something else”. 

Typical Hyunjin would think of a comeback rather quicker than the speed of light —he has always been witty and good with his words, and that's something you find utterly, despicably attractive in him. 

But after 4 shots of vodka and an unamusing mood, all he wants it’s to kick you out and plop down onto his bed. 

“Weren’t you busy?” he asks in a murmur, too lazy to make himself be heard. But it is loud and clear for you to hear, even with the bustling coming from down the hall.

“He bored me,” you admit. “Kept talking about his football team, and how he is going to work at his father's company once he graduates”. 

Hyunjin lets out a bitter and quiet scoff, giving you his back while he pours some wine onto his glass. You can’t fool him, even if you try like right now.

But he attempts to ignore his rapid heartbeats by keeping a nonchalant, even annoyed countenance, albeit a part of him can't ignore the fact that you're in his room. 

Just you and him, finally.

“Are you going back to the party or…”

“I’m tired,” he cuts you short, chugging down the wine like it's a shot of anything else. Can't care less about etiquette when all he wants is to lose his sobriety along with his rationality. “I want to sleep”. 

“It’s 10:30,” you tease him, cocking one of your eyebrows and giving him that look that always makes him feel ridiculous.

On any other day, that would've been fuel to erase that smile off of your face by pushing it onto the pillows while he fucks you from behind.

Tonight, though, it just blatantly stings. 

“So?” The coldness in his voice makes you shudder, and when he doesn't respond like he usually does it's when you realize there's something different going on.

You and Hyunjin don't share that kind of intimacy. You don't tell him your problems, and he doesn't tell you his problems either. You don't comfort each other through words or romantic touches. You don't give words of encouragement and you don't talk things through.

If there's something to say, you do so through sex. 

But right now, that you've interrupted his night, you feel somewhat compromised to ask if he is alright.

“Bad day?”

Bad week, bad month, bad year, a bad fucking life.

“Don’t have to act like you care,” Hyunjin says, resting his hips against the furniture while he pours himself another glass of wine.

The comment catches you off-guard. First and foremost, because you're not quite sure you don't care about him at all. And second, because he is making it seem like you are the reason behind his bad mood.

But if he doesn’t want to talk, you’re not going to force him to. After all, you’re in his room for one reason, and one reason only. 

“Shit, sorry for asking,” you murmur, gripping the edge of the bed sheets with both of your hands. It's a common ground you've walked in, thousands of times. You've been in his bed for far more times than you can remember, and you've fucked a lot more than you can count. So you're not afraid of asking the question: maybe you should release some stress?

Hyunjin knows what you mean. He knows the sexual connotations of it, and knows that’s exactly the reason why you're in his room. 

On any other day, Hyunjin would've taken your word. But right now, when his eyes can only focus on the crimson bruise on your neck, the proposition enrages him.

He walks towards you, completely towering over your figure. One hand holds the glass of wine, while the other cups your face and maneuvers it harshly, leaving the hickey for him to see. 

“He bored you?” The way he spits such a question makes your heart skip a beat. Don’t leave a rough mark, you told the guy, just a faint hickey. Of course he wouldn’t care, and neither did you —otherwise you would’ve checked yourself in the mirror before approaching Hyunjin wearing someone else’s lovebites, “or he just wasn't the one you wanted to fuck tonight?”

You move your head away from his touch with a swift movement, immediately missing the warmth of his skin against yours, "does that even make a difference?"

But it doesn't.

In the end, you only look for him because you want a good fuck and it seemed like your date just couldn't get the job done.

Not because you want him, particularly. 

“No,” Hyunjin replies coldly. “But you should at least have some decency, you know?”

You know he isn't teasing you, like he always does. He is not saying all this to get a reaction from you, and that unsettles you.

He is acting and saying such things because he means them. Because he feels like them.

“Since when do you care about what I do or I don't?” you ask him, the tone in your voice increasing as Hyunjin’s gaze intensifies.

“You can do whoever the fuck you want,” he murmurs, uncrossing his arms to grip at the edge of the furniture behind him.

“Well, I want to do you”. 

“Maybe tonight I don’t,” Hyunjin gulps down the wine, having a way harder time swallowing the euphoric sensation of his ego rather than the alcohol coming down his throat.

 And you stare at him like he just said something controversial. Something weird, something unusual coming from him.

“You’re lying,” you say, darting him a challenging look. “You always want me”. 

“Why would I want something that everyone can have?” 

It’s his anger talking. His rage, his uncertainty, his jealousy. 

You're not wrong. He wants you, he always has and most likely always will. 

But he is too proud to admit it, both to you and himself. Especially after you’ve walked into his room with the ghost of another man’s hands and lips, wearing a mark on your skin that will never compare to how Hyunjin has been allowed to mark you.

“So that’s the issue?” you defy him, standing up from the edge of his bed to walk forward. “You’re acting like this just because I was with someone else?”

Your mocking tone makes it seem like it's something ridiculous and irrational, but you've aced your initial hypothesis.

You are the reason behind his bad mood.

“Just get out,” Hyunjin says, tense jaw and cold eyes locked into yours. “You're getting on my nerves”. 

Your tongue pokes through your cheek and you look at him in disbelief —you feel taken aback because of how he is acting, and you want to blame it on the alcohol he has ingested throughout the night. But he looks sober, and way more serious than his immature facade has ever made him appear.

“If I wanted to be with someone else tonight, I would’ve left your apartment a fucking hour ago,” the boldness in your voice only challenges Hyunjin to this staring contest he didn't know he is playing. Without blinking, without parting his gaze away, all his undivided attention is on you, and the way you're spitting your words like you're truly the one with a reason to be angry. 

Needless to say, your audacity only infuriates him further.

“If you wanted to be with me, you would’ve come into my room the second you step a foot into the apartment,” he shoots back, straightening his body against the furniture and causing it to move an inch closer to you, “I mean, you know the way well, don’t you?” 

He raises one of his eyebrows, and it’s embarrassing. 

Pathetically embarrassing. 

Stupidly idiotic.

“You've crawled on all fours from the door to my room before,” Hyunjin continues, tilting his head while his gaze falls from your eyes to your parted lips, “I'm sure that was enough for you to remember the path fairly well”. 

It was one time, you say to yourself. And you'd rather die than having to admit such a humiliating thing to anyone other than him. 

You'd rather die than having everyone know what you allow Hyunjin to do to you. You'd rather disappear into thin air than having to deal with the judgemental gazes from all of your friends.

The Hwang Hyunjin? The one you say you can't stand? The one that gets on your nerves because of how childish he is? The one you tell your friends you'd turn down a thousand times even if he was the last man standing on earth?

“Go fuck yourself, Hwang,” you're so close to him you can practically taste the red wine off of his lips. You're breathing the same air, hearts beating at the same rate.

You want him worse than you wanted him before —you like the feeling of his jealousy and his possessiveness. You like it when his hatred towards you transforms into hatred to anyone who dares to touch you; no one is allowed to have you like he is entitled to, and no one is allowed to hate you the way he does.

So he leaves the empty glass of wine behind, and guides one of his hands to your heated cheeks. He caresses it, pushing away the hairs from your face —the intimate touch might feel out of place and context, but you know damn well it's nothing more than the calm before the storm. 

A calling.

A warning.

You know Hyunjin more than you'd ever want to admit, and you crave him worse than you'd ever allow yourself to think.

"God fucked you up by giving you this shitty ego,” he murmurs, brushing his lips ever so slightly against yours. It seems as if Hyunjin walked right into your trap without knowing, blinded by instincts and completely ignoring the awful show you put up earlier with a man you don't even know his name, “and he fucked me up even more for making me like it”. 

It all happens in a fraction of second, too fast for you to catch some air and too sloppy for you to get the kiss right.

You're tasting the red wine, and his rage, and the longing lust you are always demanding from him whenever your body is against his. He kisses you ardently, teasing your tongue and biting your lower lip trying to fill you up just with him —to get rid of whoever kissed you first that night, and to intoxicate you with all of him for whoever will kiss you next.

One of his hands wraps around your figure, pressing you tighter against him, while the other swims through the roots of your hair, already in position to manhandle you like he knows he can.

The way he knows you want him to.

And you don't stop him when you feel the sting in your scalp, forcing you to break the kiss and down to your knees right in front of him in a careless way that will probably leave bruises.

“Said you wanted to do me?” Hyunjin asks, unzipping his pants with his available hand while the other holds your head still, despite your efforts to wipe away the drool from your lips and the hair sticking to your cheeks with his spit. “I’m right fucking here, do me”. 

You look at him with loathing but it is nothing more than a projection: you hate yourself for how much you needed this. 

For how much you need him.

“Don’t give me those eyes,” he falsely pouts, but the sound gets drowned in a grunt when he wraps his hand around his dick to stroke it a few times before guiding your mouth to the tip of it, “you want this”. 

His gaze finds yours in the midst of the struggle, and the only way you can think of letting him know you're consenting to this is by sticking your tongue out and licking the tip of his cock, collecting all his salty precum and tasting it like you've been starving for it.

At the sight, Hyunjin chuckles lowly. Still as cold, still as enraged.

“Did you suck him off too?” he asks, using the grip on your hair as his favor —with ease, he slams his hips against your mouth, letting the tip of his cock reach parts of your throat that are still tense. “Does he taste as good as I do?”

Hyunjin doesn't need to know that you planned this all along —that you purposely did everything to get him jealous. He doesn't need to know that you like the thrill of it, of watching his possessive and jealous side.

He doesn't need to know that you utterly adore when he fucks you like he actually hates you. Like you mean nothing and everything to him at the same time.

Hyunjin doesn't need to know a lot of things, so you tag along with the fantasy of everything you've yet to deny.

“Relax,” more than a soothing word, it’s an order. He maneuvers your head all along his length, applying more pressure when your nose hits his pubic bone and then forcing you away to let you breathe. “You’ve taken this cock before, you know exactly how to do it”. 

You try to regain control of your body, and your rationality, but it seems a rather useless task —when you're with Hyunjin, he is the one that does the thinking for you. When you're with him, you can't think of anything else but him, his voice, his eyes, the way he touches and kisses you, the way he tastes and the way he feels inside you.

“Too big,” you gasp in between thrusts of his hips against your lips. Your hand flies to reach the base of his cock, but he is quick to force you backwards with the grip on your hair.

“Do not touch me”.

“Hyun-”

“I said, do not touch me,” he repeats when you try to touch him again. “Do you really think you can go around touching other men and I won't do anything about it?”

Hyunjin wishes he wasn’t as prideful as he is —if he could swallow his ego easily, he could have your hands all over his body by now. But he is proud, and vengeful, and stubborn. No matter how much his skin is burning to feel the softness of yours against it, he needs to make his point.

“You’re- you can’t be serious,” you struggle between moans, with a voice so hoarse it's barely audible. 

“There’s the door,” he forces your head towards it, “you can leave if you don’t like it”. 

Your doe eyes, filled with anger and defy, dart between him and the door. Hyunjin is always the one in control, you're not really unfamiliar with that —the fact that he is acting like this, offering you a way out if you’re not willing to do things his way, makes you feel uneasy and curious.

You choose to stay only for the latter. Not because of anything else, right?

Right?

You don’t say anything, but fix your gaze on the man in front of you. 

And Hyunjin gets it, he gets the look you're giving him. That, paired with the fact that you're not doing anything to get away from his grip, tells him that you're more than willing to keep on going, so he continues manhandling you around.

“C’mere,” he mutters when guiding your head along his cock again, making you swallow him full without giving you any kind of warning whatsoever, “just like that”. 

You're gagging, and tearing up, and clearly struggling to take all of his cock. But never have you felt this hungry, and never have you felt this emptiness between your legs that only Hyunjin seems to be able to fill.

Your hands ache for his flesh, and so desperately you want to sink them on his thighs or ass; intertwine them with his, latch your fingers against his and squeeze them while you prove to him that he's the only one that gets to fuck your mouth like this. 

“Please,” you cry out when he gives you a break to catch some air, “I need- let me touch you, please”. 

"Should've thought of it before putting your hands on someone else," he hissed, brushing your hair wet with drool and tears away from your face. “Should’ve thought about me before running to another man”. 

“Hyunjin”.

Oh, how pretty his name sounds falling from your lips —especially when accompanied with sobs and whimpers. You're always so cool and collected, like you control everything and everyone around you. You never cry, never show anyone else a crevice of what you truly are, but he is the only one that gets to see you like this. The only one you really trust, the only one you give control to.

If you hate him that much, why do you always come crawling back to him?

If you hate him that much, why is he the only one that gets to use you like this?

And if you hate him that much, why can't Hyunjin forget what he truly feels about you?

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, cleaning your mouth and chin with the back of your hand. “I’m fucking sorry, okay? I’m sorry”. 

“For what exactly?” He is so close to you, you can feel the tip of his nose brushing against yours and get drunk on the wine that lingers in his breath. He is so close to you, he almost can't resist the urge of crashing his lips against yours again and taste himself off of you. 

“I don’t know,” you look at him with teary eyes. You feel like crying, and Hyunjin can tell. “I don’t know, it’s just- I’m sorry, okay? If that’s what you want to hear, then I’m sorry”. 

His eyebrows furrow.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he says. “Your apologies mean nothing to me”. 

Your heart stings, and it is unusual. He is unusual, painfully real unlike all the times you've pretended to hate each other just for the dynamic.

Blame it on the alcohol, or the stress he has been feeling lately, or the fact that you've been nothing but a brat these days, but Hyunjin is angry. And hurt.

“Your actions, on the other hand,” it's all he tells you with his bright eyes boring into yours. “I want you to show me how sorry you truly are”. 

“Wha-”

He maneuvers you from the floor to his bed, forcing you on your back against the sheets you've grown to know fairly well. Your body writhes under him, and you fight back the urges to wrap your arms around his neck and force his body close to yours. 

“How- am I supposed to show you?” you ask in between the struggle, moving your body to Hyunjin’s will. With your help, he unbuttons your jeans and scatters them along the floor, just like your blouse and underwear.

He lets out a soft scoff, blowing air through his nose, amused. "As if you don't know me that well".

And because you know him well, you can't avoid the eerie feeling of fear that settles up in the deepest pits of your chest when his cold gaze makes contact with yours.

“What are you going to do to me?” You ask, with your heart ringing loudly in your ears.

“You should be asking what you're going to do for me, instead,” he murmurs, caressing the sides of your body with a creepy delicacy that doesn't match his demeanor at all. "Don't you want to be forgiven?" It's a rhetorical question, you know that much. And you do want to be forgiven, but you're not quite sure what twisted idea Hyunjin has of an apology. 

So you stay quiet, and hope for the best.

“You said you wanted me, right?” He asks yet again, fixing his eyes on yours. You just nod. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Yes,” you rush to say, “yes, I said I want you”. 

“How bad?”

The endless teasing is making you frustrated, but you're used to that. However, you're not used to feeling tears prickling at the corners of your eyes with each second that passes by.

You need him desperately. You need his kiss, and tongue, and hands on every part of your body that you'd never allow anyone else to touch.

No matter how much you say you dislike Hyunjin.

“So fucking bad,” you cry out, kicking you head back against the pillow.

Hyunjin hums, peppering wet and sloppy kisses over your tummy and inner thighs. You feel his breath so close to your wet center that you can only hope he gives you the attention you need. 

But that is not going to happen any time soon, and you know that.

“Fuck yourself,” he commands you, kneeling between your spread legs on top of his bed, “prove to me that you want me”.

You know the catch, know why Hyunjin is asking you such a thing.

He never does, unless he wants to punish you. And albeit not a rough punishment, there's nothing sweeter than watching you fall apart in frustration, to watch you deny yourself because he said so, to see you squirming in pain because you overstimulated yourself.

But then again, you'd do anything he says, just to be one step closer to him.

So you comply, with your index and middle finger shaking in anticipation as they make contact with your folds. Slowly but surely, you start fulfilling his demand —bitterly, with a look of disdain. 

One of his hands spread your legs further, and he stays kneeling between your thighs as he watches you. 

Impatient, eager, angry.

“I don’t have all day,” he finally snaps after a good 30 seconds of you just timidly teasing yourself. You can’t admit it out loud, but it is embarrassing —to have his eyes all over you but not his hands, to have your legs spread for someone who has no interest in touching you.

It's also embarrassing how wet you are by all of this. By his attitude, his anger and his jealousy.

“Sorry,” you barely mumble, sinking two fingers inside your throbbing pussy. 

You feel nothing. Not pain, nor pleasure. Just nothing.

“One more,” Hyunjin tells you and you comply. But after getting used to him and his size, nothing fills you up anymore. 

“You don’t- you don’t expect me to come just by this, do you?” You ask with a nervous scoff, biting down on your lower lip as you pull your fingers out just to thrust them inside again.

Hyunjin doesn't answer, and that only fuels your anguish even more. Instead, he fixes his eyes on your fingers, and the way they glisten with your wetness. He focuses on the sounds they make, and how warm you must feel after all the teasing.

You let out a whine, but it is not out of pleasure. It's a frustrated whine, a desperate one. You kick your head back, and fuck yourself harder with your fingers.

All your efforts are pointless.

“Don’t you dare,” Hyunjin warns you when your other hand slips to touch your clit. 

“I- I can’t just come with this,” you groan.

“How is that my problem?” 

It is humiliating —the way he is looking down on you, the way he is clearly amused by how stupid you must look right now touching yourself without feeling anything.

“Keep on going,” he tells you, licking his lips, “you won’t stop until you come”.

You shake your head and kick it against his pillow, trying to go impossibly deeper in hopes of finding that spot inside of you that only Hyunjin seems to know well.

Again, pointless.

“Come on,” you whine, now really on the brink of tears, “don’t do this to me”. 

“You did this to yourself,” he simply says, and his digits graze against your naked legs. 

The stimulation on your flesh is enough for you to clench around your fingers, and Hyunjin lets out a twisted smile when he sees the goosebumps flowering.

“Hyunjin”. 

“Can’t come by yourself?” He asks with a fake empathy, “you need me for that, right?”

You know where this is heading, and you’re willingly letting him lead you that way —you nod, swallowing thickly. 

“Yes,” you admit, hoping such a confession is enough to do something. Anything.

“Am I the only one who can make you come?”

“Yes, Hyunjin,” there's an inner conflict between your lust and your ego —you wish to fight back, but your mind is already surrendering. Your answer isn't far from the truth anyways, so why is it so difficult to admit it out loud? “Yes, you’re the only one”. 

“That’s what I thought,” he whispers quietly, dragging the tip of his digits along your spread thighs.

You’re aroused and whriting in anticipation, You’re aroused and trembling in anticipation, your whole body is ready for him, anything he wants to give you, and he can tell.

That's probably the worst part of it all —your mouth can always voice how much you hate him, but your body will keep on betraying you every time.

“I can’t,” you murmur, relentlessly trying to get yourself to your high, “I can't do this on my own anymore, you're the only one who can”. 

It's embarrassing to admit such a thing, both to him and yourself —it's not like you're saying so just to get what you want.

You're saying so because it's the truth, because not even you nor your toys can get you to come like Hyunjin does. 

“Remember that every time you even think about being with someone else,” Hyunjin’s body hovers over you, fitting perfectly between your open legs. “No one is going to make you feel like I can”. 

You drown a moan when you feel his clothed erection pressing against your folds. The fabric of his pants is rough, but your body unconsciously grinds on it.

“Just fuck me, Hyunjin,” you beg, wrapping your legs around his hips and feeling his warmth spreading from your chest to your limbs, “please, please, please”.

He needs you just as much.

And his intention was never to deny you, but to remind you that you belong to him. Whether you want to admit it or not, whether you even know it —your body responds to Hyunjin, and Hyunjin only. 

“Patience is a virtue, you know?” He scoffs, sneaking a hand between your bodies to slide the tip of his dick against your folds, “I spent all night looking how someone else got his hands all over you”.

You tremble underneath him, begging for anything he might want to give you. 

“It wasn’t a pretty sight, you know?” Hyunjin continues, “it kills me that no one knows you're mine”. 

Your heart skips a beat at his rageful words, as you breathe the same oxygen that leaves his lungs. 

“Hyunjin”. 

“I hate the fact that I just can’t kiss you when I feel like it,” he presses his forehead against yours, taunting your lips with his. “Can’t even fuck you when I want, without caring if someone hears or not”. 

There's a pinch of frustration and despair in his voice. Like he is asking you to read between the lines, to give some sense to his words.

“We hate each other, don’t we?” You remind him, digging your nails in the flesh of the sides of his body.

“Do you really think this is hate?” He asks, and presses his hips against yours. You feel his hardened length getting coated with your wetness, and you can’t help but moan. 

“Everybody thinks we can’t stand each other,” you wrap your legs around his hips, forcing him to make a move. And as if on cue, he gets what you’re demanding —he slides the tip of his dick in, so easily that it's hard to believe your body wasn't perfectly made for him.

“But no one knows what we do behind their backs, do they?” He asks, grunting quietly when he finally bottoms out, “they don’t know how good we fuck each other, how good we make us feel”. 

It's not the time to pause and reflect about the dynamic you've shared with Hyunjin over the past year. It's also not the time to think about what could happen if you were to reveal to your closest friends what you and Hyunjin have. 

It's exciting to keep things a secret, but you're not quite sure how long you can go without one of you getting tired of it.

It's not the time, and you don't dwell on it because you soon feel Hyunjin's hips slowly pulling and then bottoming out again. The sudden hit of his pubic bone against your swollen clit sends shivers down your spine, and you hug him tightly against you.

“Because you make me feel so good,” he murmurs, leaving a wet trail of kisses from your lips, to your chin and jaw, “so fucking good”. 

You clench around him at his words, and he lets out a raw moan. 

“You too,” you swallow thickly, “you too- make me feel so good”. 

“Just me?”

“Just you Hyunjin- fuck,” you bite down the flesh on his shoulders when his hips snap against yours, making your whole body jolt, “like that, fuck me like that”. 

With painfully slow but hard strokes, Hyunjin pounds his dick inside your wet pussy.

The lewd noises it makes, paired with his skin hitting yours, drowns his bedroom. They also drown the bustle behind the door, the faint voices of those who are still outside partying and drinking.

Those who don't know how much you love fucking Hyunjin, and how much he loves fucking you.

“I have to make sure it's only me who gets to have you like this,” and with that being said, he sinks his teeth and nibbles at the flesh where burgundy and purple bruises rest. 

You arch your back in pain, feeling your neck burning. He holds you in place as you writhe beneath him, placing all his weight over you to prevent you from squirming away from him.

“It’s just a little pain,” his soft voice coos, grabbing the sides of your neck with one of his hands while his lips attack the love bites made by someone else, “nothing compared to what you made me feel tonight”.

Your heart starts beating faster at his words.

“I’m sorry,” tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you still let Hyunjin mark you. 

You want him to, anyway. No matter how painful it can be.

“I know you are,” he hums, satisfied with the way you’re clenching around him. 

He kisses your flesh softly, trying to soothe the pain away, and you move your hips, desperate to have him moving inside of you again.

He loses no time into it, holding his weight back off of you to continue on fucking you.

“You look so pretty now,” he twistedly smiles, with a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead and nose, “my lips and teeth look so good on you”. 

The minute he bites down his lower lip and his eyes go blank, you start feeling the tension building up inside your abdomen. You’re close, and you’re desperate to come.

“Hyunjin,” one of your hands holds his bicep, while the other makes a mess of the bed sheets beneath you.

“Not yet,” he warns you, and at that you let out a frustrated sound, “hold it a bit longer, come with me”. 

You close your eyes shut and kick your head back, hoping that if you don't look at him, you can prolong the time before you come. But he is fucking you so good, and his dick is hitting all the right spots inside of you, that you really don't think you can hold it as long as he wants you to.

“Please,” you cry out, this time tearing up. You can’t help it —the tears fall from your closed eyes without a warning. They stain your cheeks, and get lost in the crook of your neck that is still burning with Hyunjin’s love bites. 

“Open your eyes,” his hand cups your face, and you snap them open as a reflex, “let me see you crying”.

His words ignite a fire inside you, just as much as your tears do to him. His cock twitches at the sight of your clouded eyes and the way they beg for his release.

It’s the first time he sees you cry, 

and it shouldn't arouse him as much as it does. He knows what's behind those tears, and maybe that's the reason why he is enjoying them.

Frustration, rage, despair, attraction, obsession, infatuation.

He buries his nose on the flesh of your cheek and kisses your tears, one by one, as he continues pounding himself inside of you. 

“Can’t-” you murmur, digging your nails on his shoulders. Hyunjin hisses at that. “I can’t hold it”. 

“Give it to me,” he finally exhales, increasing the movements of his hips. And you comply —you give your orgasm to him, squeezing his cock almost aggressively. Your body trembles and he hugs it tightly, fucking you through your high as he comes with you.

“Fuck, Hyunjin,” at one point, your body goes limp —the pleasure becomes too strong that you melt into his arms. 

He moans your name, over and over again, until his voice becomes a whisper, and his hips relax into yours. His body rests on top of you, hugging you, pressing kisses to your forehead and temples while you wrap your arms around him. He doesn't pull out, and you don't want him to —at least not yet.

Sex with Hyunjin always goes a little bit like this, but it never feels as intimate as it does right now.

Your sweating bodies are pressed against each other, and your hearts are beating at the same rate. Your mouth tastes like red wine, despite you not having drunk any, and Hyunjin’s chest smells like your perfume. 

The crescent moon-like imprints from your nails are still pulsing on his shoulders and back with desire, and your neck still burns with his possessiveness.

It seems as though you two are one, and it is impossible to deny it.

If hate is another synonym for infatuation, you might as well be willing to hate each other until death.

[cecilysobsessions]

STRIP THAT DOWN (m.) | gojo

↬ word count: 7k

↬ fem!reader, stripper!gojo, sub!gojo, inspiration comes from magic mike

↬ genre: fluff / smut

↬ summary: as the owner and operator of an all-male strip club, you cater to the women that prefer the pretty and feminine younger boys to give them lap dances. oddly enough, your most popular and most requested dancer is gojo satoru. he’s too muscular, too handsome, and entirely too annoying. and, of course, he doesn’t seem to be aware you find him irritating. 

↬ warnings: gojo wearing lingerie, gojo begging, gojo got a finger fetish, gojo getting spanked, anal (m. receiving but unfortunately no pegging 😔), gojo bent over a desk, typos but pretend you don’t see them

↬ a/n: this is for everyone that love men who whimper (myself) also i just turned 21! 🎉

m.list

•••

“Your hands feel so soft,” he says more to himself than you. Then, “I wonder how they’d feel in my mouth.”

“What?” you stifle a laugh and smile.

“What?”

•••

As the owner and operator of an all-male strip club, it wasn’t exactly as fun as some might think. 

You were constantly stuck helping your dancers adjust their g-strings between sweaty ass cheeks, constantly sewing back up ripped underwear, constantly throwing out people who got a little too touchy, and more gross things you’d rather not think about. 

After being in the business yourself for several years, your boss had mentioned that you had an eye for running things, so you thought you’d give it a try yourself. You just didn’t think you’d end up running an all-male strip club. 

You’re not sure how it happened—and you’d rather not focus on that right now because one of your dancers is waving a bra in your face, his voice frantic and panicked.

“BOSS! Hello?! I need help!” he aggressively waves the garment in front of your eyes.

“Why are you going to wear a bra for tonight’s show?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Suguru doesn’t even have enough chest to fit in that size!” you heard a voice from across the room. You were currently helping your dancers with a show tonight, stressed because your name was being called in a different direction every five seconds.

It was Gojo.

The brattiest, most entitled, self-centered, good for nothing employee of yours. Good God, every time he spoke you grew irritated, even if he wasn’t talking to you. Although he annoyed you to death with his overly talkative and cocky personality, he was the best dancer here. 

Even though you catered to older women who preferred younger more feminine men, Gojo brought in the most money, brought more customers back, helped scout more dancers, and helped train the most. You hated to admit it, but he really was your most valuable employee. 

“Don't body shame Suguru,” you half-heartedly scolded Gojo, watching him as you helped Geto. 

Gojo was yanking up a pair of skinny jeans past his long legs, struggling to fit into them because his ass wasn’t exactly the flattest. Although skinny jeans might not be trendy right now, the long length and the plump curve of his ass suited it well. Somehow sensing your staring, Gojo turns to you, the corners of his mouth turning up into a sly smirk.

“What’re ya starin’ at?” he asks you with a seductive smile.

You gag. “Get pants that fit better next time.” 

“Oh? Maybe I should just wear no pants then.��� he teases and you respond with a roll of your eyes.

After helping the rest of your dancers with their various costumes, you gathered them for a quick before-shift pep talk.

“Alright boys, before we start tonight I want to let you know that one of our regulars, Mina, will be here tonight. Does anybody want to explain who she is to the newbies?”

“She’s an old rich lady who’s picky and has a shit ton of annoying ass requests that’ll make you want to rip your hair out and quit.” Gojo quickly chimes in. 

Being the favorite of the club had its downsides. For private dances, Mina almost always exclusively chose Gojo. Although she tips him well, he always complains about her to you afterwards. Without fail. Every single time.

“And what kind of requests?” you ask Gojo so that he will explain to the newer boys.

“She’ll ask to touch a lot of things if you do a private dance for her. It’s up to you on what you’re comfortable with, but when we’re out on the floor, no one’s allowed to touch anything.” he explains.

Although Gojo himself could be annoying and a burden to deal with, he is good at what he does. Without him, your club would have shut down a long time ago.

“Alright, thank you, Gojo. Let’s have fun tonight, shake some ass and make some money!” you declare and your employees cheer with their fists up. 

When you go to open the doors, the line outside begins to pile in. Nodding to your bouncer in acknowledgement, you watch the club goers by the entrance as you keep an eye out for your regulars or anyone who seems new. As you greet the women walking in, you feel someone bump shoulders with yours. Looking to your side, you look up to see Gojo standing by you in a silk robe and cowboy hat.

“Hey, boss.”

“Shouldn't you be getting ready?”

“I am ready. I got a cowboy bit tonight. The ladies will love it.” he tips his hat at you, playfully winking.

“I’m sure they will.” you spot Mina walk in, watching her take her usual seat towards the front of the stage.

“Will you watch me tonight?”

“No. I’ve got work to do in my office.”

You see Gojo look down and pout in the side of your eye. He’s disappointed. Well, he can stay disappointed. It’s not like this is the only time you can see him dance. 

“But Mina is here. I’d feel more comfortable knowing you’re on the floor if she asks me for a dance. I don’t want her trying anything.”

“She won’t.”

“Still. Please?” Gojo’s eyes have a natural sparkle in them it’s hard to say no. The way he so effortlessly holds eye contact with you and begs you through his eyes pisses you off.

“We’ll see.”

••• 

If there was one thing you didn’t want, it was any of your dancers feeling uncomfortable in the presence of any of your customers. Pushing aside all the paperwork that was piled up, you made your way to the floor when it was Gojo’s time slot.

You snaked your way through the back of the crowd, your eyes and ears struggling to adjust to the moving colorful lights and the wild screams and cheers from the women in the audience. You lean against a wall, watching Gojo as he gracefully circles a chair on the stage, sitting on it to hump the air aggressively as he rocks his hips to the slow slutty song he’s chosen for tonight. He seems visibly tense, but you don’t know why. When you look closely, you realize his eyes are searching for someone, perhaps Mina. You watch him feel himself up, hands moving to unbutton his shirt before he rips it off and throws it into the crowd of women. 

His hands teasingly run over his nipples, squeezing his pecs as he teases his audience more by unbuckling his belt. He looks down at his belt before he takes it off, tossing that item into the audience too. His eyes look back up, continuing to look for someone.

Gojo makes eye contact with you. 

Then, a smile of relief.

From then on to the end of the dance, you watch him visibly relax and loosen up a bit more. He’s feeling himself and having more fun, and you’re glad that you came out to watch him like he asked you to.

•••

You’re sitting at the bar massaging your temples with your fingers, a lousy attempt to soothe your worsening headache. You swear under your breath, regretting that you didn’t take painkillers the moment you began to feel your headache. Thankfully, the lights were dimmed and all your dancers had gone home so it was just you as you finished up your final paperwork for the night. You felt absolutely miserable doing it, though. Tonight was just one of those nights.

“Rough night?” you heard the entrance door being unlocked as a shadowed figure stepped in. Walking into the dimmed light, you watched Gojo approach you, a canned drink in his hand.

“Thirsty?” he offers, opening the soda can and handing it to you as he sits next to you, his knee brushing against your leg. 

“I don’t even like soda,” your eyes linger on his leg that has brushed up against yours, ignoring the fact that he feels warm against you.

“Yeah, well, that’s the first thing I saw at the convenience store.” he chuckles obnoxiously, and you can’t help but continue to stare at his knee that is still brushed up against your leg. 

“I thought you left,” you decide to ignore the warmth you feel from his long legs as you focus on doing your paperwork. You just want to go home. “I saw you leave.”

“I know you want to go home,” he answers, propping his chin on his hand and watching you write something down. “So I came back to help. You seemed a little off tonight.”

“I was not.”

“Was it because I came in late? Were you wondering why I was late when I’m never late?”

“You were late?!” you didn’t even notice.

“You didn’t even notice,” Gojo pouts, one of his hands coming down to rest on the surface, near the paperwork you’re doing. You can’t help but stare at his long fingers, your eyes tracing the prominent veins on his hand. 

When you look up, his eyes are staring into yours through his sunglasses that sit crookedly on his nose. You don’t know if he was always sitting so close, but right now his face was leaning into yours, holding eye contact with you as his eyes gazed into yours. He blinks slowly, watching you for any sort of reaction to his stupid deep gaze.

“If you come in late again you’re fired.” you spit out in a panic and look back down to your paperwork. His stupid blue eyes were distracting you and you didn’t want him to know just how much it was affecting you. What was wrong with you?

He lights up, his smile reaching his eyes. He seems satisfied now that you’ve said something. “Yes, ma’am. Tell me what you need help with.”

“Just lock everything up.”

“That’s it?”

“And fix your glasses.”

“The crookedness adds to my sexiness. Anything else?”

“I don’t trust you to do anything else.”

“What about taking you home? Do you trust me doing that?” he playfully asks. 

“I can get home just fine.”

“It’s not safe. And besides, can’t I spend time with my favorite person?” he teases, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.

“You really won’t leave me alone, huh?”

“I really don’t want to.”

“Gojo,” you begin. You didn’t have the time or energy to banter with him.

“Call me by my first name.” he asks, a slight pout on his pretty lips.

“That’s weird.”

“But you call Suguru by his first name. Why not me?”

You’re surprised he noticed a small detail like that. “No. And Gojo?” you say as you stand, wondering if he’ll pout about it again.

“Yes?” he’s standing up now, his eyes peering down into yours as he looks at you from up above. He’s more than a full head taller than you, and the fact that he’s staring down at you with an air of arrogance and his stupid smirk makes you want to put him in his place.

There is a moment of tension that rises. It hangs thick in the air and feels dependent on you. On what you will do. On what you will say. You’re not sure what makes it too weird compared to the other late nights you spent with Gojo closing. 

Maybe it’s the dimmed lights or the late hours, but Gojo was looking at you with bedroom eyes so you forced yourself to look towards the door behind him. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” you start packing up your stuff. Now that Gojo is bothering you, you decide that you’ll just finish everything at home.

“Wait,” his hand lands on the top of yours, his thumb slightly caressing your knuckles to stop you from gathering your things.

“I wanted to thank you for tonight. For watching me. For… for being there for me.” his voice fades, and you know it’s because he's feeling shy and embarrassed. He’s docile and quiet, something he often does when he gets vulnerable with you. You find it quite adorable.

“You’re welcome.” you go to ruffle his hair, but as you’re about to pull your hand away, he catches it one more, moving it so that you’re caressing his cheek. It’s soft, sculpted.

You watch him stare at you in awe. If anybody walked in at this moment, they would think it’s loving and intimate. 

“I really thought you wouldn’t come out.” he confesses in a whisper, nuzzling against your palm as his eyes close in bliss. 

“Clearly you thought wrong.” you don’t make a move to pull away, and neither does he.

When his eyes open, they are droopy. Gojo smiles softly, guiding your knuckles to his mouth as he presses a gentle kiss to them. When you give him a small smile, he kisses your hand again, this time it’s your ring finger. He kisses the back of your hand, then turns your arm so that he can kiss the inside of your wrist. And finally, his soft lips make their way to caress your palm as he kisses your hand one last time.

You’re not surprised Gojo is being physically affectionate with you. After all, he’s physically affectionate with almost everyone at the club, so it’s not weird to see him kissing people’s cheeks and giving bear hugs to every person he sees. But what he’s doing right now… it’s oddly intimate. Something you thought he’d never do. Especially since he isn’t saying anything playful or flirty. He’s completely serious right now, eyes unwavering as he watches for your reaction.

“Clearly I did.” He may not be kissing your hand anymore, but he’s holding it in his and studying it; watching it as if it’s fascinating. His thumb smooths over your skin, rubbing it gently with love. You feel your heartbeat speed up all of a sudden, your cheeks hot with embarrassment. 

“Your hands feel so soft,” he says more to himself than you. Then, “I wonder how they’d feel in my mouth.”

“What?” you stifle a laugh and smile.

“What?”

•••

It was 10am. And Gojo was staring down at you, shades sitting on top of his nose, his eyes peeking out from underneath. You had given Gojo a spare key to your apartment in case of emergencies since he lives a little far from the club and you’re closer. He usually let you know in advance if he was coming over to crash at your place, and the times he did it was because it was too late and he was too tired to go to his own place. But today he decided not to and he knows you don’t get up until after noon so why the hell was he here now and what did he want?

“Get out.” you spat out, crankiness lacing your voice as you turned your body to the other side of the bed and covered your face with the blanket.

“It’s an emergency.”

“Call an ambulance.”

“But it’s a fashion emergencyyy,” he pleads, gently shaking your shoulder. “I forgot to buy lingerie for tonight’s show.”

Tonight was a Saturday night, which meant it was going to be busy. Lots of customers which meant lots of tips. On nights like these, Gojo always decided to dance to something more erotic, sexier than his usual dances. He had mentioned a couple nights ago that he wanted to try out lingerie for the weekend.

“Take Suguru. Leave me alone.” you shooed him away from under the covers.

“But you live closer to the mall. Pleaaaaase? I’ll buy you breakfast and your morning coffee.” he asked.

Your head peaked from beneath the blanket and you eyed his outfit. A black compression shirt and grey sweatpants. You looked away quickly, trying to ignore how well the shirt fit snug around his biceps and chest area, and how low his sweatpants hung on his hips you caught a glimpse of his v-line.

“Fine. But you come in early to help set up. Since you were late the other day.”

You tried to ignore the looks people were giving you at the mall, but you couldn’t help but notice how everyone’s stares lingered on Gojo, or how you saw women old enough to be your grandma giving googly eyes at Gojo everytime the two of you walked by. You knew he was attractive, so why did you feel a pang of jealousy anytime anyone stared at him in awe? 

Gojo just had to wear the tightest and smallest clothes he could find. The way his pecs were so clearly defined from his stupid compression shirt and how tightly snug it was and how if you looked closely enough and for long enough, you’d notice the slight bump of his nipples through the thin fabric. 

Not to mention his sweats. Fitted, but still loose. Fitted as in you could make out the shape of the curves of his ass as he walked, but loose around his hips that his sweatpants were barely hanging by a thread. It was distracting. Eyeing him again as he sifted through lingerie, you try to ignore the slight bulge through his pants. 

“—don’t you think?” Gojo asks, turning to you and holding up the thinnest, sluttiest lingerie you’ve ever seen. It was black and thin and lacy and delicate looking. Gojo would definitely rip it while dancing.

“Too thin,” you shook your head, pretending to ignore whatever he said because you were too busy checking him out.

Turns out he noticed you staring. “You don’t even know what I said.” he tilts his head to look at you. Eyeing you up and down.

“I know what you said. I’m just ignoring you.” you brushed him off, suddenly self conscious and walking to another section of the store and searching through the different sets of lingerie.

“You were too busy looking at my tits to hear anything I said.” Gojo follows you, smirking down at you with his usual stupid arrogance that pisses you off. 

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Jealous because they’re bigger than yours?” his eyes slightly moved down to your chest, before gazing back up into your eyes.

You felt your cheeks heat up. “Stop changing the subject. Here,” you picked up a bra and panty set that seemed more suitable for stripping. “You won’t rip this accidentally.” It was red and thicker and less lacy than the other set he picked up, but this one was definitely sexier and bolder. 

“I’ll try it on.”

You assumed people thought you and Gojo were shopping for you because unless you’re being dramatic, you definitely felt stares of jealousy from random people who walked by. And when Gojo asked an associate to try on his clothes—hangers of solely lingerie, you ignored the stares again. You were sitting outside the dressing room when you felt your phone ringing and saw that it was Gojo.

“Come in and help me.” he immediately said when you picked up.

“What? Why?”

“It’s—it’s a little stuck. I can't take it off. Shit’s way too tight.” he whispers through the phone.

“Why did you put it on in the first place if it was too small?” you lectured.

“I thought I could take it off! I didn’t think it’d be this hard. Help me.” you could hear the desperation and panic in his voice through the phone.

You rolled your eyes, hanging up the phone and walking up to the employee by the dressing rooms. 

“My friend needs help taking off their clothes. Mind if I go in?” she brushed you off with a wave and you walked into the dressing room area, trying to look near the floor to get a peek at which room Gojo was in.

“Gojo?” you whispered, hoping the other customers wouldn’t hear. 

You instantly saw his hand come from beneath the dressing door, waving you towards him. When he opened the door and let you in, your eyes took in the sight in front of him. 

He was right. The lingerie was way too tight around his body. The bra squished his chest together too tightly you saw a cleavage forming and it was for sure better than yours. Looking down at the panties had you staring at him in silence. It was too small you could see his dick slightly sticking out, his tip a soft pink.

“Stop staring and help me!” he stood there and whisper-yelled at you. His hands automatically covered his crotch and your eyes moved back up to his face. His face was flushed, almost looking like the afterglow after sex. His cheeks were a pretty pink and his eyes were looking everywhere but you. His eyebrows were furrowed in worry as he pleaded for your help.

“This is so embarrassing, please do something.”

You nodded, walking over to him and turning him around so his back was towards you and he was facing the mirror. You were going to start by trying to undo the bra clasp, but when you looked up, you saw Gojo watching you in the mirror. Ignoring him, you focused on the bra. Tugging at it, you finally got it open after fiddling with it and it snapped open immediately. Eyeing the marks it left on his back, your fingers lightly trace them in an attempt to soothe it.

“Turn around. Lemme see your front.” you demand, and he automatically turns to face you, his eyes watching your every move. 

Your fingers move slightly over the red irritated skin on his chest. Almost like you were under some spell, you traced the red lines, gently rubbing them to soothe it. Gojo’s chest heaves and he lets out a breath he unknowingly was holding. When you look up, his cheeks are red and his lips are parted and he’s looking at you like he’s begging you to kiss him. You didn’t realize you were standing too close to him in this cramped dressing room.

“Gojo?”

“Yes?” His voice is breathy and light and barely a whisper. You could feel your heartbeat beating in your ears and the silence is way too loud and the only thing you can hear are the other customers outside changing.

You lay your hand flat down on his chest above his heart, wanting to see if he was feeling just as nervous as you. And he was. His heartbeat was a panicked rush and he was looking at you like he was waiting for you to make a move.

“Am I making you nervous?” you ask, leaning up towards him, your lips just inches from his.

“Yes.” his Adam’s apple bobs up and down in his throat, and he looks at you, gaze focused on you and you only.

“Is that all?” you ask, wanting more from him. You could tell he was turned on; you didn’t need to look down at his crotch to confirm it. His cheeks were flushed and his breathing was abnormal and he was looking at you like he was begging you to fuck him with his eyes.

“You make me more than just nervous.” he admits. 

“Oh?” you waited, a silent beat hanging in the air.

“You make me hard too.” he confirmed, his voice a mere whisper. 

Just as you were about to lean into him to kiss him, you heard a loud knock at the changing room door. 

“Hey! We don’t allow more than one person in each stall!” the employee on the other side nagged.

“Oh, I’m just helping my friend take off their clothes!” you quickly step away from Gojo, turning around. 

“You can take off the underwear by yourself, right? Hurry up!”

•••

Gojo is avoiding you. 

Normally you’d be happy, relaxed, welcoming to that sort of behavior. But today it was weird. Ever since yesterday, he has been avoiding you like the plague. Even going so far as ignoring you completely when he walked in on time today and you tried to greet him. 

Gojo almost never avoids; actually it’s always the opposite. When he’s not busy, he’s following you around like a puppy and carrying out any order you bark at him. Cleaning the tables, sweeping the floor, whatever it was, he was happy to do it for you. Only today he hasn’t spoken a word to you. Hasn’t even glanced at you. 

So why did it bother you so much?

As you help set up the bar with Geto, your eyes follow Gojo’s movements as he moves across the floor, setting up the tables and chairs for tonight’s opening.

“Your eyes are drilling holes into him. Something happened between the two of you?” Geto asks by your side as you wipe a wine glass clean.

“He’s ignoring me.”

“That’s new. What’d he do?”

You think back to the last couple days. His lips on your hands. His soft, whispered tone as he stared into your eyes with those stupid bright blue ocean eyes of his. Then in the dressing room, how he became so obviously aroused by you just touching him slightly. How there was so much tension you would have fucked him right then and there if you weren’t interrupted.

“Who knows,” you shrugged it off, deciding to act like it wasn’t a big deal that Gojo was ignoring you. It totally wasn’t. Not at all. It wasn’t like you’ve been staring at him the moment he came in wondering why he won’t talk to you or anything like that. Not at all.

You’re not sure what happened tonight, but Mina stopped by to speak with you, concerned for Gojo.

“He wasn’t like his usual self tonight,” she told you. “It’s like his head was totally somewhere else. I didn’t even ask to touch his beautifully sculpted big rock hard cock like I usually do.”

“You didn’t need to tell me the last part, Mina.” you scrunch your nose in disgust at her words.

“I’m saying I’m worried. You should check up on the boy. Maybe you’re overworking him, eh?” she told you with a shake of her finger as she exited through the doors as the last customer.

You didn’t watch Gojo tonight and decided to stay in your office, so you wondered if that had anything to do with him not doing his best tonight. Wanting to find out, you started looking for Gojo throughout the establishment. The break room, the bathroom, the changing room, but he was nowhere to be found. Just when you walk back to your office to call him, you open the door to find him leaning against your desk, arms crossed across his chest.

“Who said you could come into my office?” you close the door, ignoring the fact that he’s leaning on your desk and wearing his stupid compression shirt and gray sweatpants. 

He ignores you, instead, choosing to follow you behind your desk and stare at you some more. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Ignore me.”

“What? I’m ignoring you? Do you hear yourself? I tried to say hi to you when you walked in, and you pretended to not know I was there. You’re the one who’s been ignoring me.” you told him.

“You ignored me first.” he sighs in frustration, looking away with a pout on his pretty lips.

“Gojo, what’re you talking about?”

“Yesterday! In the dressing room. You almost kissed me. You know I wanted to kiss you too. Then after that, you just pretended like nothing happened. And I hate that you don’t call me Satoru.” he almost rolls his eyes, whining and complaining like a child.

Oh. So that’s what he was hurt about. He wasn’t wrong; you did kind of just brush off whatever happened in the dressing room and pretended like nothing happened. But that’s because you didn’t know how to deal with your feelings and you assumed he didn’t want you like that. 

You’re fucking stupid.

“I’m sorry,” you stand up quickly, moving so that you’re standing in front of him. His legs part slightly, letting you stand in his personal space as he manspreads all over your desk. 

“I just assumed you didn’t think much of it, and I didn’t want to look stupid if I made a move or said anything about it.” you confessed, watching him for his reaction.

“You do look stupid,” he jests, eyes lighting back up, empty of his worries and concerns. “I’ll forgive you if you call me Satoru. No more Gojo this, Gojo that. I want you to call me Satoru.”

You throw him a thankful smile. “Mina was worried about you. She told me today before she left. Said you weren’t doing your best.”

“Mina can go kick the bucket.” 

You gasp and hit him jokingly. “Hey! She practically pays your rent!”

He wrinkles his nose in annoyance. “I got a bigger size for the lingerie. It got me my best tips ever.”

“Even though you were out of it tonight?”

“Yeah…” he says quietly, taking a moment to think to himself. “But I think I ripped it.”

“You should just buy a new one then. Don’t sew it up.”

“Hmm. I think you can sew it. At least take a look at it.” 

When you reluctantly agree, Gojo spreads his legs a little further, his hands wrapping around your waist to pull you further into him. Your eyes automatically move down to his crotch as he presses you against it, the outline of his hardened dick against your legs. He swiftly takes off his shirt, the red bra sitting against his chest. 

“You’re staring.” he observes aloud.

“No, I’m not.” you reply, your eyes trained on his hardened nipples that are practically peeking out through the lacy thin bra.

When you finally manage to tear your eyes away from his body and actually inspect the bra, you see that it’s actually in perfect condition and not ripped at all.

Then you realize what Gojo is doing. 

“You idiot! You didn’t rip your stupid bra! You just wanted an excuse to take off your clothes.” you finally look up at his eyes with a glare. His stupid ocean eyes stare down at you arrogantly, a playful smirk painted on his pretty face as he sticks his tongue out at you.

“You’re totally right. I lied to you. How mean of me to lie directly to your face, huh?” he tells you sarcastically.

You raise an eyebrow at his sarcasm. Where was he going with this?

“I suppose I might need to be punished for that.” he says, his voice bored and waiting.

You take a moment to think about what he’s asking from you. It was obvious enough he wanted you the way you wanted him; his hardened cock was throbbing against your leg and his hips began to slightly move against your body, a subtle desperation for any sort of friction.

But what exactly did he want? Did he want you to suck him off, or bend you over the desk and fuck you? Gojo didn’t seem like the type to want to do that though; from his interactions with you, he was definitely one for harsh punishments that caused pain. Masochistic little bitch.

While you’re busy thinking, your eyes stay on his lips, perfectly soft and begging to be kissed. So you lean in, pressing a warm and pleasant kiss to his lips. Gojo almost immediately gives into your warmth, leaning in closer to you, his hands wrapping around your waist. He exhales a shaky breath against your cheek, kissing you back gently. When you pull back and look at him, he raises an eyebrow.

“That didn’t feel like a punishment.”

“What kind of punishment were you thinking of?” you ask, because you weren’t about to waste your time guessing.

“Oh, I don’t know… perhaps a couple of spanks might suffice. And maybe while I’m bent over your desk.” he wonders aloud to himself.

You laugh out loud. He’s definitely thought this scenario through. Without replying verbally, you grab Gojo by the front of his bra, aggressively yanking him towards you as you greet him with a kiss. This time it’s not as soft or gentle as the first one. You’re more aggressive this time, biting down on his bottom lip and licking the inside of his mouth. He moans into your mouth, his legs wrapping around your waist and pulling you into him. His moans are dripping with desire, so desperate for more as he kisses you harder, overly excited and clumsy. 

“Pants off. Now.” you breathe into the kiss and pull away for a second. 

But Gojo is still kissing you. Your cheek, the side of your mouth; any part of your skin he can reach with his mouth. His hands are shakily tugging at his jeans, impatiently trying to yank them down. His legs leave your waist and you yank him off the desk, roughly turning him around and bending him over your desk. Pushing your things aside, you finish stripping him of his pants and they pool at his ankles.

You look down at him, taking the sight of him in. The back of his neck is flushed red, one of his bra straps is falling down his shoulder, and his curved ass cheeks are rubbing against your legs, hungry for some sort of stimulation. He’s wearing a thong, the string between his ass cheeks thin and so easy to rip off. 

Your hand caresses his ass, soothing his skin before you slap him lightly, curious as to how much he can take.

“Nghh,” he whimpers lowly. “Hit me harder.” he demands, arching his back and sticking his ass further up the air for you.

Cautiously, you smack his ass harder than the first time, and you watch his pale skin turn a bright red. 

“More.”

You give in to Gojo’s demands once more, leaning over his back and smacking his ass. You lean close to his face as he lets out a high pitched whine. 

“Quit telling me what to do, Satoru.” you harshly whisper in his ear, and he moans in return, excited to hear you call him by his first name for the first time. He rubs his ass against you again, whines of pleasure escaping his lips.

“Hnghh, spank me harder, please.” he asks you.

“You could beg a little more if you’re that needy.” you tell him with a slap to his ass, listening to the sweet sounds of his whines.

“Nghh, p-please… please…” 

“Please what? What would you like me to do to you, Satoru?” you emphasize his name, enjoying his whimper of pleasure every time his name escapes your lips.

“I want more… more than your hands on my ass.” he’s quiet, almost shy and too embarrassed to admit what he really desires.

“What would that be, hm?” your hands place on his waist, your fingers rubbing in circles on his soft skin as you whisper into his ear. “Is it just more spanking you want? Or do you want me to fuck you?”

“Mmm, God, y-yes please. Please, please fuck me. I’m so hard and horny, please let me come.” he begs you, his voice high and whiny and desperate.

“How do you want me to fuck you?” your fingers make their way between his ass, ghosting over his hole as you kiss the back of his neck, sucking hard on his skin to mark him. 

“Hnghh,” he whimpers, unable to reply.

“Answer me.” you demand, smacking his ass once more.

“F-fuck, ahh… your fingers. I-I want them in my ass. Stretch me out and fuck me until I cum, please.” Gojo finally voices, a breath of relief leaving his chest. “There’s lube in your left drawer.” he tells you, out of breath and impatiently waiting.

“Did you put that there without telling me?” you ask, taking it out from your desk. 

“Yes, I’ve been waiting for this exact moment for months.”

“What a slut you are,” you laugh, yanking down his panties and pouring the cold liquid between his ass. He moans as you lean over him again, your finger rubbing at his entrance. “How long have you been wanting me to fuck you?”

“Mmm, since I started working for you.” 

You didn’t realize Gojo had a thing for you for that long. He’s one of the OG employees that have been with you since you opened the club a couple years back. You thought it was odd he never dated much, but it turns out it was because he was too busy pining over you to consider anyone else.

While you’re distracted thinking about how long Gojo has wanted you, his voice draws your attention back to his body.

“C-Can you touch my… me, please.” he asks shyly.

“Where?”

“My cock, please.”

You smile, glad he was clearly asking for what he wanted from you. You reach down to grab his dick, stroking it firmly as your other hand works on his ass. His tip is already wet with pre-cum, and his hips are thrusting in your hand as he moans with every stroke from you.

“You’re dripping wet,” you tell him. “Ready to cum already?”

“Haaaah, I want to cum from your fingers. I bet they’re gonna feel so good inside me.” he says. Then, “you can put one finger in. I’m ready.”

You happily oblige, slowly and steadily entering his hole with one finger, and he immediately tightens around you. Your lips stay on his neck, peppering him with small kisses to aid him through the process.

“Good job, Satoru. You’re taking it so well.”

“Haaah, I love it when you call me by my name.” he tightens around you after he hears you using his name, his hardened cock throbbing in your hand as you loosen him up. 

You slowly work him open, kissing and sucking and licking his skin as he shudders and moans beneath you. But your walls are thin and Gojo is too loud. His moans are growing louder the more you fuck him with your fingers, and you’re getting worried someone might somehow hear even though it’s after hours. 

“You’re too loud.” you tell him, roughly shoving your fingers into him as a small punishment. 

You should’ve known he was going to enjoy it.

“Unghh,” he whimpers, louder than his other moans. His back arches once more, shoving his ass into your fingers and clenching around you, desperate for more. “C-can’t help it. Feels too good.” he moans out. 

Your other hand leaves his front, covering his mouth with your palm. He moans as you continue fucking him, your office dead silent besides his moaning and the sound of your fingers fucking him. You feel his tongue against your hand, licking his leftover pre-cum off your hand. 

“Filthy slut,” you tell him, and he tightens around you in response, sticking his tongue out so you can shove your fingers in his throat. 

His mouth is warm and his tongue wraps around your digits, taking them into his mouth and sucking. His eyebrows draw together and he closes his eyes in pleasure, trembling with pleasure. He’s practically fucking himself on your fingers, hips moving on their own as he chases his high. You finger him roughly, leaning down to leave hickeys on his neck as he continues to thrust into you and suck and moan on your fingers. He practically screams in pleasure when you take him over the edge, his hips stuttering as he spurts on your floor. He breathes heavily against you as you rub his ass, your other hand leaving his mouth. 

“Good?” you ask after a couple minutes of letting him catch his breath.

“Call me by my first name.”

“Satoru?” you ask and he stands back up and turns around to look at you.

You laugh at the sight of him: pants pooled at his ankles, hair tousled and sticking to his forehead with sweat, and cheeks red, and his bra barely hanging on.

“Why are you laughing at me,” he pouts, pulling his sweats back up in embarrassment. 

“I didn’t know you liked being fucked like that.” you point out, wiping your hands. 

“Well, I am a filthy slut.” he winks, his hands coming up to your shoulders and guiding you to sit in your office chair. “My turn.”

“Clean your jizz up first.” you nod towards the spot on the floor where he finished. 

His cheeks flush. “After I eat you out.”

•••

a/n: yall i was too lazy to write the second smut scene so use your imagination 😂 i’m too excited to write my enemies to lovers zuko story so stay tuned! (btw i totally named this fic after that one song by liam payne lmao)

m.list

[fatesundress]

⭑ observations ii. tom riddle x reader

part i here.

summary. two weeks after your last encounter with tom shatters all of your previous observations, tensions are high, and eventually, something's gotta give. (it's tom. he’s giving head)

tags. smut (so. so much. minors BE GONE TO WHENCE YOU CAME!), fem anatomy + reader is referred to as a woman by someone, fingering, cunnilingus, piv, again implied tall!tom or short!reader (take it however you prefer), jealous tom does not understand friendship but then again neither does reader apparently, a little wine is had, the room of requirement is used shamelessly as a plot device, did i mention smut, i’ve lost my mind etc etc.

note. this is a part two, so go ahead and read the first part and come back if you'd like :) obligatory preface: it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also woahh was not expecting the love on my last post so thank you! i'm still trying to figure this whole acc out so support, questions, (requests? never done those before) anything is appreciated ♡

word count. 6.3k

The next two weeks are agony. You don’t, in fact, stop meeting with Godefrey to study, because you do, in fact, still need a good mark in Ancient Runes and for all his faults he can reach the tallest shelves and he’s a faster writer than you. Also, Tom Riddle is fantastic with his hands but this does not make him God.

You find pureblood politics a bit archaic. You find muggle courting a bit stifling. This leaves very little space for what took place between you and Tom in the middle of a corridor two weeks ago (you can’t stop wincing at how insane that sounds) and very little patience for his utterly original and not-at-all entitled request that you halt your studies with Godefrey. Godefrey doesn’t stick his hands up your skirts while the two of you are studying, doesn’t silence your gasps with a shush and a finger to your mouth, doesn’t — wouldn’t (you’re so imaginative when you want to be) — tell you to keep reading as his thumb draws circles between your legs, tell you to repeat the words that get caught in your throat, tell you how much he likes it when your eyes go dumb and glassy and all you can say is his name. So, really, Tom should have nothing to worry about.

“I swear,” Selwyn says, picking at a plate you don’t think she’s actually eaten anything off with how distracted she is, “he’s looked over here at least three times.”

You don’t dare glance at who you know she’s talking about. “You’re obsessed.”

Pot. Kettle. Whatever.

“Are you sure you didn’t do something to upset him in Potions? Didn’t botch something that might mar his perfect record?”

You flick her forehead and she scowls. “I’m not an idiot, Selwyn. I handle myself just as well in Potions as he does — he wouldn’t —” Wouldn’t have complimented your rapport if that weren’t true, wouldn’t have said you communicate efficiently, make a good pair, probably wouldn’t have — fingered you in the hallway? — yes, that too. Slipped your mind. So easy to forget.

You take a long exhale, and smile impassively at her. “I didn’t botch anything, trust me.”

She finally takes a bite of food. “Maybe I did something…”

And then she’s lost in thought again, eating now, at least, and you shake your head softly as you watch what are likely a million different theories flitting through her head.

“Morning,” Tom says to you when you enter Potions after breakfast, a delicate smile tugging at his lips.

You have, of course, trained for this. 

It’s your fifth — sixth? — time sharing a table with him since that night and it is somehow easier by nature and harder by anticipation (of what, you have no idea) every time. The first was terrible. Unsalvageable and without a silver lining. It had taken almost an hour that morning to charm the violent hues of red and purple spanning the column of your throat, and ultimately, the marks were so persistent you’d forgone the glamours and decided to just wear a turtleneck. You’d been fortunate it was completely inconspicuous to wear such a thing in December, but that was about all there’d been to be grateful for. You hadn’t been able to look at Tom all class and his hand had brushed yours once to take a phial from you and you’d flinched so sharply it would have shattered on the floor if he hadn’t caught it. And he’d smiled, like he’s smiling now, a soft, “Careful,” that honestly, for a short moment, made you want him dead.

Now you could speak just fine, look him in the eyes in practised intervals, and almost, impressively, make articulate conversation with him again. Make stupid comments about Slughorn and Lestrange and bear the weight of his grin knowing it was there for you.

His, he’d called you. A very funny thing.

“Morning,” you answer on a smiling sigh, sleepy but jovial all the same. 

You deserve applause for this.

“Tired?”

“Mhm — Essays for Ancient Runes are due Friday and it’s been keeping us up all night.”

His eyes flash with something you’ve yet to ascertain. Your research has been put temporarily on hold, scattered and splintered by the revelation that your first observation was, admittedly, a little bit off, and you have no means of figuring out a look like that when you can’t even begin to figure out anything else.

“Has it?” he asks, a tinge less friendly.

“Well,” you say, grinding the lacewing flies, “that’s commonplace, isn’t it? You take all sorts of advanced classes, I’m sure you understand the work it takes.”

“...Hm.”

That’s it. That’s all you get from him.

And if Selwyn’s concern over you botching your work in Potions wasn’t already, obviously dispelled, the glee on Slughorn’s face as he assesses your and Tom’s cauldron should do it.

“Brilliant! Just brilliant!” He claps a hand over Tom’s back, regarding you both with pride so thick it clouds his eyes, like he's drifted into a revery of the future (you and Tom, you expect, are his most prized graduates, making history under his name, proving his immense wisdom) before he appears to return to Earth. “Ten points between the two of you, hm? Very, very good — though, of course, no surprises there!”

He chuckles to himself as he evaluates the other students, and you catch a horrified wheeze of Godefrey’s name (bless his heart) as one of the cauldrons in the back begins to sputter and froth.

You look to Tom with some droll little comment at making it to the end of term with top marks, but his gaze is burning into Godefrey’s table in such a way you wouldn’t be surprised if it was what was causing his cauldron to boil.

Well. Perhaps not, then.

You and Godefrey hand in your essay that Friday with more relief than apprehension — you both decide it’s quite good — and you laugh loudly and breathlessly as he picks you up and thanks you a thousand times, spinning you until you’re dizzy. You refrain from making any promises to attend his Quidditch games, but he vows to let you have the snitch he catches.

And Slughorn, you come to find, was not exaggerating his elation at your skill. After trotting after you on your walk back from Ancient Runes to invite you to the last Slug Club dinner of the year, your spirits are high with the blissful satisfaction of a job well done and a night to celebrate it with.

You can breathe, finally, when it’s the last week of school before Christmas break and Selwyn’s zipping the back of a last-minute dress you purchased in Hogsmeade.

“Gorgeous,” Selwyn says with a grin. “Wish this school would have a bloody ball so I could really dress you up.”

“Buy a doll, Selwyn; you can dress them however you like.”

“You are such a —”

You burst into laugher, swatting her wand away as she pokes your side with it. 

“Just — go then, before I hex you.”

“All right, all right!” you concede, arms raised in surrender. “Don’t ruin all your hard work now.”

“Oh,” she calls on your way out the door. You turn and there’s a mischievous look in her eyes as she tucks her wand back in her pocket. “And do tell me before I leave tomorrow if Riddle stares at you all night.”

You groan as if it’s a truly abominable thing to imagine. Riddle, staring with those dark eyes of his? You, the centre of his attention? Ghastly. You daresay you’d never recover from the horror of it.

“Don’t leave before I tell you how remarkably uneventful a night it was,” you say with a sidelong glare, and leave before she can edge in the final word.

You have no idea what a Slug Club supper typically consists of, but you imagine for Christmas he’s gone a little further with his festivities. His office is glittering in hues of green and red and fleecy, snow-dappled gold. The lights overheard (some similar charm to the one in the Great Hall but a tad less complex, you think) drip and then vanish into the air like squeezed berries, and the berries — served with pastries and ice cream — taste like they must be enchanted with something.

Selwyn was right that the standard dress isn’t quite formal enough for a ball, but it’s… formal. The boys are in clean-cut dress robes and the girls are in fine gowns of different lengths. By the overwhelming number of them you recall being archetypes of Slytherin pureblood fanaticism, it makes sense how expensive they all look. You yourself brush up nicely, if not a bit more frugally, but you haven’t been to an event like this at the school yet, and that’s exciting on its own.

It’s another degree of training (is there going to be a marathon? Are you at war?), a step up from your preparations before Potions every other day, to be ready when Tom Riddle enters the room a respectable five minutes late with a gleam about him more captivating than any of the lights.

“Ah, Tom!” Slughorn exclaims, and ushers him into a seat you remark before Tom is even in it is discomfitingly near to yours. “We’re all here at last… Supper, then? Hope you aren’t too full already, I’ve got the House Elves running laps!”

You’re spared Tom’s closeness by a Ravenclaw couple sat in the chairs between you, their hands clasped under the table while they sip wine from their goblets, and you only realise the length of your observation when Tom glances at you from the spot over, and you startle yourself into reaching for your own goblet and pretending to enjoy Slughorn’s bitter wine.

You eat. You listen to cluttered, unending tales of Slughorn’s time at school and how he earned his post. You drink, and then you regret not drinking before eating because there’s only a very light, very nice buzz that warms you when you finish your cup, and the Ravenclaw couple is — oh, wait, it isn’t just them — they’re standing up to dance as a gramophone sparks to life and a low, dulcet instrumental begins to play. There are now two notably empty seats separating you from Tom.

What had you said this night would be? Blissful satisfaction? 

You couldn’t blame Selwyn for suggesting you’d blundered Potions — you didn’t feel exceptionally smart right now.

“I didn’t know you would be here tonight,” Tom says, pulling the chair beside you.

Where is the bottle of wine? No. Nevermind. You behave regrettably enough sober.

You manage a simple, “And yet.”

“...And yet.” His lips quirk before he takes a drink from his goblet. 

You lament for a second that you’ve only actually kissed those lips once. They spent a great deal longer on your neck.

“Will you be here over break?” he asks, and it isn’t an unreasonable thing to ask, you suppose.

“I think so. Why?”

“I’d like to know whether to expect you or not.”

Expect you… No, yes — revert to observation two: unusual is not an apt enough word for him.

It takes you a moment to conjure a response befitting polite dinner conversation. That is, after all, still what this is.

“I suppose you can. I’ll be busy, of course.”

Well, you didn’t say you conjured something good. It’s a big fat lie. Placating, vague, empty. And you suspect Tom knows that.

“Pity.”

Yes, he knows. He’s all quiet amusement again.

You stare off, satisfied to be left alone —

"And what is it that'll be taking so much of your time?"

“Well, I'm —” And now you have to build the lie — “I’ve told Godefrey I’ll attend to his Quidditch practise. Since the pitch isn’t in use.”

God, it’s so stupid it’s almost impressive — you don’t even know if Godefrey will be here over break, and you could have chosen any number of excuses that would pique Tom’s interest less than it’s apparently consistently piqued by the mention of your study partner. 

There’s that strange, indecipherable look again. Riddle is a perfect surname for him, you decide then, and you almost laugh at yourself for it, but that would probably not go over well should he ask what’s so funny.

“Have you, now? That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s hardly charity.”

“Hm, it’s kind of you to think so.”

You huff, tipping your goblet back to swallow the last meagre dregs of your wine.

“You look lovely.”

It’s just a little bit — just a tiny, straggling little bit of elderflower that captures your throat — and you cough into your goblet. “Thank — thank you.”

And, well, he looks lovely too. Obviously. Sickeningly so. You know little about his personal life but you’re positive he’s at least a half-blood, if not muggle-born, and it makes you wonder the influence of his renownedly plain black suit in a crowd of neat, long robes.

He manages with little effort to look better than all of them at their best.

His eyes drift over you appreciatively, quick enough not to be rude but — enough. (Enough that you daresay you might never recover from the horror of it.) You adjust under his gaze even when it’s situated on your face, far too heavy a thing for you to carry. “Does Godefrey call you lovely?”

What?

You blink at him, your mouth is probably open and you probably look stupid but he’s so… irritating. Yes, of course Godefrey calls you lovely. Godefrey tells you you’re the smartest woman he’s ever met (after his mother), and he drowns you with sherbet lemons at no cost, and he writes at the speed of light to match the quickness with which you recite your textbook, and none of it means anything. Tom is just —

“Unbelievable…”

He quirks a brow. “What was that?”

“I said you’re unbelievable, Riddle. Is it impossible for you to comprehend that I might have friends? That Godefrey is my friend?”

“Well, memory serves me right that you seemed a bit confused on the conventions of friendship last you mentioned it. Do forgive my uncertainty.”

He — that was —

“Well, that’s because we are not friends.”

“No.” He leans in. “We are not.”

You push your chair from the table with all the grace you can manage for such an abrupt thing: a tight, impersonal smile on your face as you walk away and approach Slughorn, only realising when you get there that your empty goblet is clutched in your hand like you’re trying to strangle it.

Whatever he sees on your face, he isn’t drunk enough not to frown at. “Ah, our newest gem — hardly seen you all night! Not leaving already, are we?”

You glance at the clock. It isn’t as though you’re being impolite by abandoning his party in the middle of the event. It’s quite late, the servers are stuck to the walls with little to do, and most of the room has divided into waltzing pairs.

“I’m taking my friend to the train station tomorrow, sir. Unfortunately I need to be up quite early.”

Yes, yes, it’s all so tragic. You’re depressed to go.

“Such a shame,” Slughorn frets, wobbling a tad and balancing himself on the wall. “You’ll be all right getting back? Not at all dizzy, are you?” His laugh is cleaved by a loud hiccough, and then he laughs even more. “My, well, I myself will need to be carried!”

“...I’ll be fine, sir. Thank you.”

“Oh, no trouble at all — there’s — hm… ah, Tom!”

No, no — is it bad you almost reach over and slap your palm over your professor’s mouth? Is it at all impressive that you don’t? You should look on the bright side in moments like these. You should admire your restraint.

But of course, Slughorn’s eyes don’t fall upon Tom for nothing. He's halfway across the room already, and Slughorn must have spotted him approaching to achieve this brilliant solution. “Tom can escort you back, no?”

Tom (unforgivably) is beside you now, a very mean, very pretty smile on his face.

“Not too much to ask, I should think? You know the castle best. Head Boy — sometimes I still can’t believe it!”

You look up at Tom and your jaw is clenched where you’ve since put down your goblet. There is too much tension in you to know what to do with, and he looks positively thrilled.

“It’s hardly charity, sir.” He holds out his arm.

You wonder what spell would catch him most off-guard if you were to blast him in the face right now.

Slughorn claps his hands together. “Ha! Yes, well… perfect, then! Off now, the two of you, off now. Do have a good — ” He hiccoughs again — “rest!”

You don’t even bother the diplomacy of smiling at Slughorn as your arm loops through Tom’s and you’re exiting the party. 

Neither of you say a word on the journey, and that’s very well.

If you could just get back to bed without speaking to him you may still consider it a good night. You may be able to push his strangeness and his entitlement and the annoying way his hair falls to another day, when he pesters you about Godefrey’s nonexistent Quidditch practise, which — come to think of it — you do think he told you he'd be headed home for the holidays. You really fumbled that one.

And then Tom’s thumb is brushing the bare skin of your arm and your walk stutters a bit. But he doesn’t mention it, and so neither do you.

And then he’s drawing down your elbow to your forearm so softly it almost feels like he isn’t touching you at all. He doesn’t mention it. Neither do you.

And then your arm, without really meaning for it to, is slipping from his and his hand is holding yours instead, feather-light as his fingers clasp yours and your breath is not the same as it was when you left.

He doesn’t mention it. He just keeps going.

His fingers work back up your arm and you shiver as they drag across your shoulder, gaze searing your neck as the soft digits find their way to your jaw, and you get the sense he’s remembering just how much he liked the taste of it, and you’re… you’re allowing it all again. You’re leaning in, you’re seeking him out, you want him flush against you and even that might not be satisfactory.

You are, in the end, a half-decent observer and a terrible liar.

You’re grabbing his hand with a small amount of direction and a great deal of meaning. You suppose it's because, historically, you’ve proven to have trouble with words in moments like these, and you don’t really know where you’re taking him but god, you know where you want him. Somewhere soft, this time, thick enough that you can fist your hands around it and melt. Somewhere he can hover over you, maybe hold you down a little, just until — maybe, miraculously — you might make him break a little too. Clamber over his lap. Make him yours.

“Tom,” you mouth, some question in the way your eyebrows knit.

The moment you say his name — the instant — he’s pulling you in, crushing his mouth against yours. And, ah, right, that’s what his lips feel like. You’d almost forgotten. 

This kiss is not chaste, hardly tender. It resists in that it asks you to push, to plead, to take this for yourself to prove how badly you want it, and he smiles into it when you do. And then, sated by your efforts, he lets you have him. You’re gripping the collar of his suit in your hands as his wander appreciatively over the back of your dress, pulling you into him as the kiss deepens. He’s savouring you like you’re something religious that’s been offered to him, and there’s the taste of wine on his tongue and you’re still here, aware enough that the symbolism isn’t lost on you.

“I've been thinking," he says between kisses, “about the way you felt when I touched you. I've been thinking about how long it might take before you need it again." 

You gasp at the sensation, and god, god, you've been wondering too, haven't you?

You’re pulling him impossibly closer and something hard is pressing into your hip and you clutch tighter onto his shirt as you moan into his mouth. You need it off, you think, and — has your dress been clinging to you like this all night? You need that off too. You need skin on skin. You careen him backwards without aim, your mind a muddled mess of all the many things your body is screaming it needs, like this is fucking imperative; to give it up would be catastrophic.

You suppose, based on what you’ve read, that that’s how the Room of Requirement works, but it’s still funny to think it would apply to this.

It hurts to remove yourself from him to watch in dumb awe as the door forms in the stone (to see the dark, languid shape of his eyes bearing down on you, the wet, stained pink of his lips), and Tom seems to recover from the revelation much faster than you.

His mouth is on yours once more, a hungry kiss; his free hand at your waist, guiding you through the door and shutting it carelessly behind him. 

He’s like fire against you, radiating as he presses down on you, his hand tangled in your hair and his hips flush against yours. You shiver as his mouth starts to move down (a cheap trick — he hasn’t forgotten how much you liked it the last time) from your jaw to your throat, as his lips trail down your chest and you're shivering into the warmth of him.

You’ve heard it said before, in some romantic sense, that it’s sometimes hard to tell where you end and someone else begins. 

This is not like that.

You've never been more aware of anything than the point where you and him meet.

You’re tugging at him blindly again, trusting in the nature of the Room like this isn't the first time you've been in it, and then you're stumbling down onto a bed you're quite sure wasn't there a moment ago (people say magic is a neutral force but evidently this is not the fucking case), fingers carding through Tom's hair as his body pins you into the mattress.

His mouth is molten hot as you squirm and pant beneath him, your breath coming faster than it ever has. Everything feels sharper and deeper and more intense under his touch, every sensation heightened until it's almost impossible to tell pleasure from pain, his tongue from his teeth.

How did it take you this long to do this again? To need him like this?

And his — you should really have the mind to see the mistake in all of this but perhaps that's for later — his fingers are pulling your sleeves down, propping your back to arch as he reaches under you to unzip your dress, apparently too impatient to sit you up and take it off properly so he just bunches it around your waist instead. There’s a moment where he stops to look at you, your chest exposed to him in the dim sconce-light, and then his mouth returns to circle your breast and you're biting down on a pillow to hold back the whimpering gasp that seeks to escape you. He hums around your flesh, and then he’s at your sternum, kissing a stripe to your belly button before pushing past the dress he's left ringed around your abdomen.

You shimmy under the weight of him to prop your head up — to see past the mass of silk that obscures his face from you as moves lower and lower, hands spanning your hips to keep you still.

His face hovers above your thighs, and he doesn’t move.

“Did you enjoy my fingers?" he asks. 

At that you freeze, thighs pressing together to bury the hand that's rising between them. 

Tom smiles. “Hm, you did." 

And then he spreads your legs apart, one hand pushing your underwear aside and regarding you with delicate, shameless appetite — something that might even be adoration: like this is all he ever wanted you to want.

“Do you think you'd enjoy my mouth, too?"

Words are gone. There's nothing left in you.

His head moves happily between your knees, holding them apart, pressing kisses to the base of your thighs. Your hands flail from the sheets, desperate to grip something else and you hold back a sound that feels like irritation and need at the same time. You need him closer, higher than this. He knows. You can feel his smile biting into your skin.

And then you manage a nod though you're not even sure he's looking at your face anymore (and what a picture to imagine he is) and you worry momentarily it won’t be enough for him — that he’ll ask you to be nice and say it out loud for him — but he hums with something merciful, and — his chin dips. You catch the smallest glimpse of his tongue before it’s on you, wet and slow and unrelenting and you say his name, but it’s a mewl; you choke on it. It sounds like a cry.

Pitiful, needy, undone. Just how he wants you.

You think all efforts to remain even remotely composed are thrown to the wind as soon as his tongue is lapping at you, fast and then slow, everything you want and not even remotely close. He sinks all his weight down as if he can predict the moment you'll writhe before you do — and you do. And with his grip he tells you to endure it. You only need him to say it with his hands and his mouth but he breathes back, licking his lips and he actually says it. “Be good.”

That makes your breath hitch and your cheeks swell impossibly hotter, and reality is a small glint in your peripheral where everything else is burning red. “Y-you’re—”

His mouth returns to you, tongue catching your clit in a drawn-out, agonising motion, and you gasp and lurch forward to inch through the sensation, craving more, more, more. Reason is lost on you, a throbbing familiarity forcing you to grind your teeth down on the pillow to stop yourself from telling him to — you don’t even know. Finish you. Abandon all reluctance. Just let you come as hard as you know he wants you to.

But he pauses, observant as he starts to work his fingers against you. Watching how your slick coats them like it’s the most enthralling sight he’s ever witnessed. Slowly, ever so slowly, he starts to push one inside of you, hearing your breath catch above him and the moan that comes tumbling out of your throat, pillow be damned.

You do your best to breathe through it, and you know he knows how to make you unfold like this, so the meticulous lightness of his ministrations tells you he’s trying to keep it from you now. You’re almost embarrassed about the fact that you’re dripping onto his hand regardless; his lips puffy, his gaze unnervingly, dizzyingly carving you in two.

“Just,” you rasp, clutching desperately at his wrist. “Tom, please.” 

Your begging must be music to his ears. (It’s a rare, unplanned fifth observation: that you think he’ll never get tired of hearing you say his name like that.)

He adds a finger. It’s encircling you, first, and no amount of restraint can stop the harsh gasp that leaves you, but then it’s his tongue and two fingers and he’s pushing into you how you wanted, and he makes a pleased sound against you, gripping you tighter with his free hand, still not allowing you movement and fuck, are you trying. What you're feeling now — the need, the want, everything —  is more than rational thought. Your mind goes blank, and all that matters is this, him, right here and now; nothing else exists, not even for a second. You moan, a low, throaty noise that's a little too loud, a little too intense; you can't recall if anything has ever come from you quite like it and Tom devours you at the sound.

More, you agree; it's almost an obsession in you now; more, more, please, anything and everything.

It’s the precision of his touch — not some bored, hurried transgression — that brings your hands helplessly to his hair.

“Tom,” you whine, holding him tight, and the purr of his mouth finding you again is something destructive.

As soon as you feel another swell of something deep down, your mouth is dropping open.

His tongue is sliding through you, fingers curling, and then your clit is in his mouth, and he’s watching you between your thighs as your eyes clench shut, and you’re coming.

Your voice breaks somewhere in the catastrophe of it. Your body spasms, electric down to every atom, and he pins you down through it. He doesn’t grant you the reprieve of escaping the frenzied, glorious torture of it. His mouth still lingers. His tongue moves thankful and unrelenting. 

He takes all of you, and you think this is destruction — creation — both. How terrifyingly similar they suddenly feel.

His lips are swollen and slick when he finally detaches them from you and you want to kiss him, but he’s leaning back to admire his work. You swallow, unable to blame him for it because you look down at yourself and — this is something else. You’re dripping down his chin. You're shaking. Your legs are still clenching around his torso. They’re holding him so tight you can’t imagine it doesn’t hurt.

But he just rolls off of you. Adjusts his trousers and your abdomen flutters and you think, don’t.

You don’t even realise you’re reaching for him until your hand is around his wrist and you’re still fucking sighing through the come-down, panting into the hot air.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, fingers damp on your chin as he holds you. You make a note that that’s the second time he’s done that. That you thought it was strangely intimate the first time and nothing’s changed other than how much more you like it.

And it doesn’t really feel like you can help it but crawl with gooey, trembling legs onto his lap. Doesn’t feel like you can help it when you lean in and capture his lips with yours, moan unabashedly into his mouth at the stiffness that presses against your core when you do, steal his tongue and the taste of you on it.

When he pulls away he’s looking at you like he doesn’t think you can actually do this. Like you’d just crumble the moment you tried.

A low, determined protest rises in your throat and you’re kissing him again. You’re unbuttoning his dress shirt, you’re trembling to reach for his trousers. 

When you can finally shrug his shirt off, press yourself against him, feel that skin on skin you wanted so badly, you find it somehow even more suffocating than its absence. You’re left wanting a more you aren’t able to even conceptualise, but you’re grinding involuntarily against him and his teeth are scraping your neck and he's hissing at the sensation, and — yes, there’s more.

Your breath is staggered when your hips stutter into a roll and you — fuck. You’re tugging desperately to remove his belt and he smiles against your throat as he takes your hands and guides them to him. You can feel his bulge against your thigh and you’re spreading your legs to usher him where you want, clawing at his chest without even meaning to.

Tom’s taking off his belt, and he’s pulling down his trousers just enough to bare himself to you, and maybe he’s right that you can’t manage it yourself but he stops his assistance like the intrigue of finding out is too good to resist. There's something both intimate and imperious, in a way, about the way he's looking at you now; it's a kind of focus and intensity and withheld hunger just for you; and you're more than happy to give yourself over to it, to let his hands and his eyes and his mouth claim you for his own. To claim him for yours, at last.

You do. You struggle for it. He’s very patient. 

But then it’s there — more — as you finally sink down on him and bite his shoulder and he shudders a low, pained exhale, his hands clutching your waist.

There’s a silent, suspended moment where neither of you move. The room feels entirely still. 

Your lips quiver over his pulse, and your stomach flips at the intensity of it, the undeniable rate of his desire beneath you. You smile against him now, like he always does to you, conscious enough to mumble into his neck, “Mine.”

Tom stutters inside you, fingers gripping you impossible tighter as you dare to think he even gasps. You dare to think he likes it.

And then one of his hands grabs your jaw and his kiss is searing. He thrusts upward and you cry into his mouth, searching to match his pace in a way that you appreciate, for once, he seems unlearned in. 

It’s all a bit messy, a bit new, palms in fists, in skin, in hair, digging for every part they haven’t already taken from. The sound in the back of Tom’s throat is divine, the feeling of him inside you as he slips his hand back between your legs — like he needs everything, like he knows you do too — it’s ineffable. It coils somewhere deep, touches something you didn’t know existed. Your hips are rotating, thighs still soft and slack from coming apart on his tongue, but you’re determined. It feels like finding even ground. It feels like something you deserve: to make him feel how you did.

Your head rolls back, eyes pinching shut in bliss, but Tom is there at your jaw again, forcing your blurry gaze back to him.

His hips are inching even further, the intensity of his pace as he adjusts to you making you dizzy. You think, realistically, there’s sound coming out of you, but you aren’t entirely sure when it’s so close to him, when your mouth is between his fingers and your ears are ringing and he’s looking at you like you’re made for him. 

“Mine.” And it isn’t a dismissal of your own claim but a confirmation that one will not be without the other. His voice is raw and breathy and something about the way he says it makes you contract inadvertently around him, hands swatting his chest like they don’t know what else to do. There’s just too much.

You recognize you’re trying to say something. Some plea, a moan, his name (is there anything else left?), but you’re just babbling into his mouth and he holds you there. He doesn’t kiss you. It’s your failing words against his lips. He swallows whatever syllables try to shape them.

It’s there again when you need it most; the heavy, swirling feeling inside you as he snaps his hips, his fingers returning to your waist with punishing firmness. His breathing accelerates, low in his throat, and you push harder against him. Your vision is gone again, head held in his hands to keep from rolling back so that, you suspect, he can watch defeat split you down the middle again — not over your shoulder, not with his head between your legs — with his eyes on yours, with every broken moan you let out so close to his face he can feel the breath of each one.

You’re grappling desperately at skin that doesn’t feel like enough, even though he’s rocking inside you, and you see the insanity of it, you see that it isn’t logical. Too much and not enough at once — you’re smart enough to know that doesn’t work, but it just is.

“Please,” you manage in a voice you don’t recognize. “Please, Tom, pleasepleaseplease —”

Had you said before it was foolish to call him forgiving? You take it back. He’s very eager to oblige you.

He finds some place inside of you and you don’t know quite what it is that he changes but it's new, uncharted, and you break there. You dissolve. You’re liquid in his hands as you sob, stuttering around him, trembling like you didn’t know was possible, and you swear — you swear you’re going to take him there with you. It isn’t that you could stop yourself if you tried but your body is gripping around him, fingers carving halved spheres into his skin, and you’re pushing down on him through the ecstasy — you’re forcing your eyes open so he can see you break, watch them flutter back all soft and pretty.

And you're sated by your ruin when it ruins him too.

The sound he makes is ragged. Undone. He can only bury it halfway with a kiss you think is actually more of a bite, twitching inside you as he fucks you through it.

You’re both lost in each other for a moment that feels detached from time, feeling his hips stutter to a halt, feeling your body soften. And he’s pulling out of you like it hurts, mouth falling open as he does. You wince at the loss, the sweet soreness between your legs, and you’re held only by the weight of him. You think — and you actually sway like the mere idea is too strong — that if it weren’t for his hands, you’d fall flat off the bed.

But he sort of lifts you off him, lays you down and watches you for a long time as if to decide something important before he's laying down beside you. You watch him too. His fingers brush your hair out of your face, and when there’s not a single curl left clinging to the sweat on your skin, he continues anyway. You let him trace your lips, your jaw, your nose, and somehow, a bit terrifyingly, your final observation: nothing about it feels unusual at all.

You did say he was yours.

[disaster-writer]

Tear You Apart (Deleted Scene)

Pairing: Dabi x Reader

Summary: This is a deleted scene from my fic Tear You Apart that I really liked but had to rewrite for the published fic. You can read the full fic on my blog

Word Count: 638

Warning: Dark fic, mentions of drugging, masochism, noncon, masturbation (male)

Rating: X 18+

Minors DNI

You had Dabi wrong this whole time. His aloof, cool guy act was all a fucking facade for the psychopath that lay beneath the surface.

His crazed eyes and sick grin told you which one you were talking to right now

The entitlement he felt towards your body made your skin crawl and your stomach nauseous. The way he thought and talked to you made you want to deeply hurt him like no one else before.

You still could.

Your entire identity surrounded the fact that you caused people pain— such excruciating pain that more than just that one man has killed himself because of you.

If he thought your drugged out body was an honest representation of the strength of your quirk…

He had another thing coming.

It was as if your hands had a mind of their own as you placed them against his bare chest. 

But the reaction you got wasn’t the one you expected.

You’ve seen and heard expressions of agony your entire life and this was not that.

Another deep groan ripped from his throat, much like before. But unlike earlier, you hadn’t been able to see the expression held on his face, but now you could see how his eyebrows pinched together and his mouth fell open as he cursed.

You knew this was nothing but unbridled pleasure.

You pushed harder, fingernails digging into the seams of his body, drawing blood.

He quickly grabbed onto your wrists as some sort of anchor, the sensations making his knees weak. “Fuck— fuck— that’s different.” He laughed. You watched in horror as he continued to grunt and groan, pressing you hands harder into his chest. “Why— why is it different?”

”Because,” you started, planting your foot onto his abdomen, “I’m not drugged you sick fuck,” you kicked him hard, and his previous instability had him laying on the floor now.

You gaped as you listened to him laugh, and stroke down his chest until he reached his cock, squeezing himself through his boxers.

He started to pull his cock out—

“What the fuck—“

“Don’t give me that look,” he grunted, now fisting his cock and stroking it, “You’ve seen it before, you just don’t remember.” He taunted. “Now come here,” he stuck his free hand out to you, “Ride me crybaby.”

This—this was not how you thought tonight was going to go.

You tugged at your hair, the roots screaming in pain as you tried to figure out what to fucking do.

”I already told you. Put that thing anywhere near me and I’ll tell the world who you are,” you said shakily, back hitting the wall, “You demented creep.”

He laughed again. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him laugh before tonight— you didn’t think he was capable.

You finally realized that while you thought you had Dabi figured out… you knew nothing about Todoroki Touya.

”I’ll let you call me Touya if you want~” he lilted, continuing to stroke himself.

You sunk to the floor, knees to your chest as you continued to pull on your hair. You just wanted him out— maybe you should call the others, you knew they’d help and get this madman off your bedroom floor-

“Don’t tell me you’re not even a little bit curious,” he gained more stability in his voice. You knew some of the pain was probably subsiding. “No other man can touch you— no other man would want to touch you.”

You peered at him from behind your knees.

”You’re insane.”

”What sane man would want you?”

His gaze held yours in the dim light, refusing to look away as he kept jerking himself off, each barbell of his piercings glinting in the moonlight.

”C’mon crybaby, I don’t wanna cum if it’s not in you.”

You buried your face into your knees, “You’re disgusting.”

-

Full Fic

Tear You Apart Prequel (Dabi x Reader x Shigaraki)

[pucked-bunnie]

made for this⎜j.marino

pairings: john marino x reader prompts: "I'm proud to be seen with you." + "Can you zip up my dress for me?" genre: fluff ⎜friends - to - lovers ⎜ warnings: insecure reader ⎜mentions of weight gain ⎜chubby reader ⎜comments about weight ⎜reader gets bullied ⎜fake wags (didn't want to make anyone a villian so I made them up) ⎜p.s. sorry Pittsburg word count: 4.3 k note: this started off to be a short prompt request and ended up being a little longer - all events in this are fictional and the timeline is not accurate - I also went down a john marino rabbit hole and found out some interesting things - like did you know he has a twin brother?? anyway i hope you enjoy!

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PRESENT - EARLY 2024

“John?” You call into the empty hallway, fiddling with the zipper on the back of your dress, just slightly out of reach. “John?” You call again, hearing quick footsteps up the hallway as he wanders in the bedroom taking a quick glance over your outfit. 

“I think we should go to casino night, every night.” He lets out a low whistle, as you turn your back to him with an eye roll motioning to the zip on the back of your dress. “Can you zip up my dress for me?” You ask pulling your hair out of the way as his nimble finger make quick work of the tiny metal zip. 

“Do you think this is enough?” You ask quietly as John smooths the back of your dress, his hands sitting on your waist as he glances at you in the mirror. He watches as your hands fiddle with the skirt of the dress, the light blue satin stopping mid calf, the tight corset top sinching in your waist, it was the same dress you had worn four years earlier at an event when John had started in Pittsburg - the dress had been hidden in the back of your closet since. “The girls in the group chat said that it’s a more casual black tie, but the casino event in Pittsburg was always said to be casual and people dressed like it was the met gala.” John smiles as he loops his arms around your waist, continuing - patiently - to watch as you adjust your accessories and hair. 

“The girls in the group chat would be correct.” John noted, watching as you frown at yourself in the mirror. “You’re overthinking it.” He warns, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek before dropping his chin to your shoulder. “Besides, Jack messaged earlier and asked if sneakers are black tie.” John smiles as you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head at the younger players' antics. 

“What if people don’t like me?” Your question is barely audible - and John frowns, your hands going back to fiddling with the dress. “I just don’t want a repeat of Pittsburg.” John’s frown deepens again remembering the first event he had convinced you to go to after being signed to the penguins. 

“It won’t be like that - everyone here is super nice.” He reassures, pressing kisses against the skin of your shoulder, his soft curls ticking the side of your face. 

“I just can’t help but think about what they said sometimes.” 

“Well try harder - what a bunch of middle aged entitled women say means nothing” You hands reach for Johns as he moves to pull away from you, your grip keeping his arms latched around your middle. “I think you look amazing.” John says softly, his fingers weaving with yours as he squeezes your hands. 

“I’ll always be proud of you and who you’ve become.” He adds for good measure and you let out a high pitched whine, dabbing at your eyes quickly as you glare at him. 

“I appreciate the sentiment but right now is not the time to make me cry - it’ll ruin my makeup.” John just chuckles, pressing one more kiss into your hair before letting you go, the two of you grabbing the last of your stuff before leaving the apartment. 

This would be the first time you would meet John’s teammates and their families - after a rough experience at John’s old team you were hesitant to meet his new one until he could reassure you that they were all wonderful - two years is how long it took to convince you to finally come to an event, managing to get one of the players girlfriends to add you to the WAG group chat so you felt a little more at ease knowing a few people. 

It was around a twenty minute drive to the venue, the New Jersey Devils renting out a large hotel ballroom and setting it up for a casino night charity event - the event would be more formal unlike their normal sweep the deck events but was supposed to still feel genuine and homely. John had picked one of his favourite suits - the checkered navy blue suit one of your favourites too - his hair was swept away from his face though his curly were unruly and a few fell out of position to sit against his forehead. 

“I’m really glad you’re coming tonight.” He said softly as he pulled the car into the valet spot - slipping out of the driver's side to hand them the keys, before rushing around to help you out of the car, guiding you to the front steps as the valet handed him the return ticket. 

You both thank the worker before slowly ascending the steps into the venue - gentle music streaming into the lobby. “Luke is so excited to meet you.” John adds, his hand on the small of your back as he steps towards the ball room, smiling kindly at the host who opens the door for him. 

The girls in the group chat were right. 

Though the event was definitely still formal, no one was dressed above and beyond, most people seemed to prefer something a little more comfortable. You smile down at your dress choice, satisfied with the sky blue satin, John's hand rubbing soft circles on your back as he waves his hand above the crowd. 

It’s hard to miss the six foot two defense man who awkwardly shoves his way through the crowd towards the two of you - his own curly hair rivaling John’s as he stops in front of the two of you, a crooked grin on his face. “I’m Luke” He says quickly, reaching out his hand for yours, the motion a reminder of the first time you met John - you smile up at him, placing your hand in his as he gives it a quick shake, saying your name quickly. 

“I need your honest opinion.” Luke says quickly - you wait for his question taking in his checkered suit a small chuckle bubbling in your throat as you realise how similar it is to Johns. “Curtis said my hair’s too fluffy.” The younger man says, his finger instinctively running through the curls. “Is it really that bad?” Luke finally asks - John barks out a laugh, coughing a little as you ram your elbow into his side. 

“It looks fine, Luke - I’m sure Curtis is just messing with you.” You reassure the player, your words seemingly taking a weight off him as his shoulder relaxes a little more. 

“John’s told me a lot about you.” Luke says as he glances over to his teammate with a cheeky smile, “He said that you were head over heels for him from the first time you met.” Your mouth falls open as you flick a glare over to your boyfriend. 

“Oh did he now?” You watch as John begins mouthing some angry words to Luke, slicing his hand at his neck as you turn away from him, “Let me tell you how we actually met.” 

+

+

PAST - LATE 2017

You first meet John in college - the two of you wide eyed freshmen walking into your bio-chem class with clear anxiety.

You had taken a seat towards the front of the class, hoping it would deter people from sitting too close to you - spreading out your textbooks and laptop over the surface as fellow students continued to pass by your desk. 

You didn’t even notice him approaching until he stopped beside you, waiting for your attention to turn towards him and away from your computer screen.  

“Do you mind if I sit there?” He asked softly, pointing at the seat beside you, a nervous grin on your face as you nod quickly in response - clearing your books off the chair beside you.

You couldn’t quite get a grasp for who he was from a first glance - the boy was obviously built like an athlete, tall and lanky but maintaining a lean and muscular build - but the textbooks he swipes from his bag, already donned with notes and highlighter markings are telling a different story. 

“My name’s John.” He said quietly as the teacher entered the room, lifting his hand between the two of you in a friendly gesture. You take hold of his hand giving it a gentle shake as you tell him your own name, watching as he mouths the word a few times with a determined nod. 

Your first class passes by quickly - which to be fair could be because you spent the whole lesson watching John in the seat next to you - his eyes glued on the projector screen at the front of the class, his hand diligently taking notes. 

“Hey, do you want to go grab a drink at the cafe down the street sometime? We could compare notes?” John asks as he begins to pack up his stuff, the teacher dismissing the class earlier than scheduled. 

“Umm…” You stall, shoving your completely empty notebook into your bag, looking around as if an excuse would appear into thin air. 

“Sorry, it was stupid of me to ask.” He says quickly, a tight smile on his mouth as he throws his bag over one shoulder, “You’ve probably got a hundred other people to meet up with.” He says with a soft chuckle, his hand raising to rub at the back of his neck. 

“I don’t.” You say quickly, frowning at your mouth's betrayal. “Maybe we could meet after the next

 lesson? I still have a few more induction classes this afternoon.” 

John nods quickly, yanking a pen out of the side of his backpack, rolling up his blue flannel shirt offering both the pen and his bare skin towards you. You stare at him in confusion as he glances between you and his arm. 

“Your phone number?” He asks quickly - a snorted chuckle escaping you as you pull your phone from your back pocket, opening the device and handing it to him. 

“How about you just put yours in my phone and we save your skin from the sharpie?” You suggest, John quickly tucking the pen away, the tips of his ears a flaming red as he takes your phone from your hands. 

“Yeah, that’s a better idea.” He mumbles handing the phone back to you once he’s typed his number in, his contact name ripping another chuckle from you. 

John - the guy from biochem

You knew straight away that this boy was going to weasel his way into your life quicker then anyone else had before. 

+

+

PAST - MID 2019

The year after you had met John passed by quickly - the two of you spending any limited free time you had together. John had quickly introduced you to the world of hockey three weeks after you met when he invited you to come to one of his games, a single student ticket in his hand as he waited for you to take it. 

And after forty two hours of researching hockey obsessively you had shown up to the game in the classic crimson and white school colours watching number 12 race around the ice with his teammates. 

You were quick to discover a love for Johns favourite sport - the game fast paced and easier to follow than you expected and John was quick to invite you to every home game in the near future - a ticket to the game slipped into your notebook after every biochem class the two of you had together - but still John never asked the question that sat in the back of your mind. 

It was mid summer break after the 2018 - 2019 semester when a phone call had changed everything. 

‘John - the guy from biochem is calling’

“Is now a good time to talk?” He had said when you answered the call, and you had quickly excused yourself from the family barbecue to move to a quieter area of the house. 

“What’s up?” You say softly but you can feel your heart racing in your chest. A silence falls over the two of you as John lets out a long sigh, “John, what going on? You’re scaring me.” 

“I got an offer.” 

“You what?” 

“I got an offer for a contract with Pittsburgh.” You can almost hear the way your heart shatters at his words - he was leaving? 

“John that’s amazing.” You say softly, slowly taking a seat on your mothers couch, you thumb lifting to your mouth as you naw on the skin besides your nail, “I mean this is your dream, this is what you’ve been working for.” You add quickly, a small bubble of genuine excitement bubbling beneath your broken heart. 

“I don’t know if I’m going to take it.” 

“What? You can’t not take it John, this is your shot.” You frown as you press your phone harder against your ear. 

“Yeah I know, but what about—” He pauses. 

“What about what, John? This is the NHL we’re talking about here, not some home town rec league” He lets out a long groan, the sound seeming far away, his phone probably pulled away from his face. 

“I’m not good at this stuff.” He admits quietly, his phone pressed back to his ear, and you wait - patiently - like you always do for him to continue. “I want you to come with me.” The words are not something you expected to hear today or any day for that matter. 

“What the fuck?” You didn’t mean to say the words, they just sort of slipped out. 

Having a close friendship and borderline flirtation with John for almost two years you expected him to ask you sooner to be his girlfriend - to make things official - but he never had and you were to chicken to ask him the question - so you had decided for the two of you that maybe friendship was all you needed. 

Clearly you might’ve been wrong. 

“What are you talking about? I don’t think I’m following.” 

“I called you today because I want you to come with me to Pittsburg” he pauses for a moment before correcting himself, “I mean I wanted to ask you if you’d come to Pittsburg with me.” John explains and your hand drops back to your side, your mouth falling open as you sputter to find a response. 

“I already looked into it and there is a school for nursing at the university of Pittsburgh and they except transfers and with the the offer they’re giving me I’ll be able to cover all our expenses, you wouldn’t have to worry about finding a job if you didn’t want to or you could wait till you settle in if you wanted some extra money to put in savings” You still can’t find anything to say, listening to John rambling, his voice getting softer and softer as he speaks, “Anyway, what I’m trying to say that if I can’t have you with me then I don’t want it.” 

“John, I don’t know what to say.” Is all you can manage, not knowing which of your emotions to latch onto. 

Anger that he’s leaving and this is how he’s telling you.

Sad that he’s leaving and this is how he’s telling you.

Angry again that he’s leaving and this is how he’s telling you. 

And mainly happy that he’s achieving his dreams and he doesn’t want to leave you behind. 

“We never really talked about this before.” You say honestly, your head lifting as your mum walks into the living room, her eyes questioning as tears well on your waterline. “John, this is really out of the blue.” 

“I know, I know and that’s my fault - I was going to tell you how I felt before summer break but I just couldn’t shake the idea that you didn’t feel the same and I didn’t want to ruin what we had.”  Your mum takes a seat next to you on the couch, a supportive hand on your back rubbing in circles as a few tears drop from your eyes. 

“Have I upset you?” His voice is questioning, a small quiver at the end of the question and your tears fall a little harder. 

“No, no.” You reassure, lifting a hand to wipe at your face, “It’s just a lot to take in right now, I just need to think for a minute.” 

“Okay, that’s okay.” He begins a shaky breath escaping him as he adds, “I can wait for you - no matter how long it takes.” You mum is patting your back as you wipe furiously at your face. The phone call ends, and you turn to your mother, a soft smile on your face as she tucks your hair behind your ears. 

“John got an offer in Pittsburg.” You say a bitter smile on your face, your eyes shining with tears. You mother just waits for you to continue, “He wants me to go with him.” You explain, taking in a long breath and letting out a short shaking one, “And I think I want to go.” Your mothers smile brightens as she pulls you in for a hug, reassuring you that everything would be fine, that it can all be figured out in time. 

+

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PAST - EARLY 2020

“John, I don't know about this.” You say as you fiddle with the straps of the light blue dress - John stood behind you tugging on the zipper, cursing under his breath as the zipper catches again. “Maybe I just shouldn’t go.” 

You want to cry. 

The move to Pittsburgh had been more stressful than you were anticipating - Nursing School was kicking your ass with late hours on placement and early morning classes and you hadn’t been eating very well, the freshman 15 hitting you about three years too late. 

“I want you to come - and you’ll finally get to meet everyone.” John had said excitedly finally getting the zipper on the dress up with a triumphant grin. “You look stunning.” He whispers as he turns you to face him, pushing your fringe away from your face. 

“You have to say that, you’re my boyfriend.” You joke, poking him in the ribs as you glance over at the clock. The ride to the venue was longer than either of you anticipated - John glancing over at you every now and then as he drives, one hand tangled with yours as he presses soft kisses to your knuckles. 

“If you hate it we can leave.” He finally mumbles as the car pulls up to the hotel - the bottom floor casino rented out entirely for this event. The two of you slide out of the car and make your way past the valet and into the event. 

You weren’t sure how this was supposed to work for a charity event - everyone was dressed above and beyond, your simple satin dress making you feel naked as you looked over all the sparkling gowns and black and white tuxedos. “I thought they said this was a cocktail event.” You hiss as the two of you enter smiling at the people who greet you. 

“I thought it was.” John says obviously as confused as you were. 

“Oh, Johnny, we never thought you’d make it.” A higher pitched voice says from the crowd, the two of you glancing around until you spot the long legged blonde making their way towards you. 

“That’s Hannah, one of the wives.” He clarifies, and you nod, putting a bright smile on your face as she stops in front of the two of you. She leans forwards placing two soft kisses on John’s cheeks before turning towards you. 

“I see you brought a friend.” 

“Um, this is my girlfriend, she moved here with me after I signed.” John says quickly, his hand placed on your back as you offer your hand in greeting. Hannah glances at you, her eyes raking over you before she just nods with a tight smile.

“Well it’s not quite the look we’re going for but it’ll do.” She said dismissively, your eyebrows raise in surprise as you lean closer to John. 

“Did she just call me an ‘it’?” John's brows furrow as he takes in the older woman, his nose wrinkling as she flags down a waiter. “John, don’t.” You say as you notice his mouth open to say something. 

“I’m sorry, but what you just said was extremely rude.” The words are out of John’s mouth before you can slap your hand over his lips to keep them closed, “And my girlfriend isn’t an ‘it’ she’s a human being and deserves respect.” Hannah snaps her gaze away from the waiter back towards the two of your, a glare centred on you. 

“I mean no offence, but the wives and girlfriends pride themselves on keeping a level of class when dressing for events - we hold ourselves to a certain level of maintenance.” She pauses for a moment, “The dress is doing you no favours, my dear. No matter, It’s an easy fix, I’ll send you the number of a great weight loss dietician that I know..” She waves off John’s shocked expression taking a sip from the champagne flute handed to her. 

“What do you mean by that?” John’s in too deep now, taking a step in front of you, his body covering you as he stares down his teammate's wife.

“You know what I don’t want to know - she’s beautiful the way she is and neither of us want you to ‘fix’ anything.” You watch as the woman turns a light shade of pink, clearly not prepared for John’s fight. 

“Johnny, I’m just saying that us partners should be taking care of ourselves - we want our men to be proud to stand next to us.” The comment is the straw that breaks the camel's back, your hands slipping away from the back of John’s suit, your arms crossing over your chest, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. 

John’s speechless at Hannah’s words, his eyes flaming with anger as his teammate steps up besides his wife, “Keep your asshole of a wife away from my girlfriend.” John spits, the man looking at the defence man in shock before turning to his wife with a pointed look. 

You don’t wait any longer to see what is said as you turn and exit the hotel, John quick on your heels as he follows you out. 

“Where are you going?” He asks, his long legs carrying him much faster than you can move in your thin heels. 

“Anywhere but here.” You respond, letting out a sigh as John grabs hold of your arm tugging you to a stop. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this.” You add, biting down on your lip as it begins to quiver. 

“Don’t listen to that crazy old bat.” John soothes, his hand sliding down your arm to grab hold of your hand, his other cupping it as he brings it to his mouth, pressing gentle kisses on your skin. 

“But maybe she’s right, John. I mean it’s clear I’ve gained weight, and I’m either at school or work and we barely even get to spend time together anymore - maybe I’m just not made to be a hockey wife.” Your words are strained as you fight back your insecurities, “You deserve so much more.” 

“No.” John shakes his head at your words, his hand cupping yours tightly. “I don’t want anyone else.” He sighs as you open your mouth to speak, shaking his head again. 

“You moved all the way here for me and you changed the entire course of your education for me.” John begins, “You work ten hours a day for free to achieve your dream plus you study on top of all that, and you still manage to support me in everything I’m doing.” You let out a shaky sob, one of John’s hands releasing your to wipe at your tears. 

“If anything - you deserve so much more.” John continues, his breathing heavy as his own tears start to gather, “Baby, I am so proud to be seen with you - and I told you, if I can’t have you with me, then I don’t want it.” Your tears are falling freely now, John following close behind as he pulls you towards him, wrapping his arms around you as you bury your head in his chest, his hands soothing against your back. 

“I’m ready to go now.” You grumble against John’s now wet dress shirt, a soft chuckle escaping him as he pulls his valet ticket from his pocket. 

+

+

PRESENT - EARLY 2024

“Pittsburg wasn’t the greatest - but it helped John grow as a player and we’re both so excited to be here now.” You say to Luke, his eyes soft as he reaches out, the lanky man wrapping you in a hug. You shoot a glance over at John who tries to stifle a laugh behind his hand. 

“I’m glad you’re here too.” Luke says, “I just know everyone here is gonna love you.” He quietly adds finally releasing you as he nods at John, “Man if someone talked to my girlfriend like that I’d lose it.” 

“Tell me about it.” John agrees, taking a sip of the drink he had wandered off the get when you first started telling Luke your story. 

“Have you met any of the WAGs yet?” Luke asks, turning back to you, your head shaking quickly in response. 

“We’ve texted but I haven’t met anyone in person.” 

“Perfect.” Luke says as he takes hold of your hand, setting it gently against his elbow before surveying the crowd. “Ooh, there’s Reanee.” Luke drags you away from your boyfriend quickly, giving you a run down on each WAG before he introduces you to them. 

In total it takes Luke almost an hour and a half to track down every wife and player - introducing you personally, John following the two of you around smiling until his cheeks hurt at each warm welcome you receive. Managing to convince Luke to release you for twenty minutes for a drink and bathroom break, John pulls you towards the bar leaning down to whisper softly in your ear. 

“Seems like you are made to be a hockey wife.”

[thewickedjazzy]

Could u do dazai x reader with ocd?

Featuring: Osamu Dazai x gn! ocd reader

Content: sfw, fluff, slightly angst, mention of some swearing words, I believe that's it?,

Author's note: hiiii anon, so sorry for the late response, I swear I was working on it since I received it. I'm also working on all of yall's requests - I'm not sure if you wanted a fic, drabble, or headcanon so I just did a rock paper scissors.

Word count: 1k

❥ Dazai is a smartass, quick witted even, and don't forget that he works at the agency as a detective so of course he will quickly notice how you constantly worry about things going wrong—whether it’s leaving your water bottle uncapped or making a mistake at work. He sees you zoning out at the office, caught in a loop of anxious thoughts, and quickly deduces that it’s more than just everyday stress.

❥ At first, before really getting to know you, he was just a quiet observer. But he never judged, not even once. He’s got his own mental shit to deal with, so he knows how fucked up minds can be. He’d make mental notes of your quirks, just in case he needed to handle them during a mission or whatever.

❥ As he gets to know you better, he figures out how sweet and lovely you are—unlike the twisted side of your mind. It’s like an addiction for him; he craves that balance. He enjoys being friends with someone who has their own dark side, just like he does. Maybe you’ll understand where he's coming from, push him to be a better version of himself.

❥ It’s only after your relationship becomes official that he feels entitled to meddle in your problems. He believes that getting involved in such matters is only appropriate once there’s a solid, established connection between you. Until then, he's just an observer.

❥ You were the one who approached him first, explaining that you have OCD. You felt more anxious than you’d anticipated, having considered telling him many times before but never managing to do so because your mind held you back. He remained calm, and it was only when he revealed that he had known all along that you felt embarrassed. In his typically laid-back manner, Dazai might say, “Oh, I’ve known about your OCD for a while now. You don’t need to be embarrassed—it's actually quite endearing. It doesn’t change a thing between us. We’ll work through it together, and honestly, it’s no big deal.”

❥ One day, while on a mission with him and Atsushi, you were deeply focused on analyzing the crime scene. You managed to uncover evidence that even Dazai had missed, piecing together how the victim was killed with remarkable accuracy.

❥ Needless to say that dazai was surprised by how quickly you cracked the complex case. Even after the murderer was arrested, you continued to ramble about additional details, anxiously checking the file in your hand and worrying about missing something, though there was nothing left to find. Eventually he stopped you, gently holding both your wrists. As you looked up, apologising profusely, he simply shushed you, saying, "It's fine. The case is solved, and we’ve caught the murderer."

❥ Atsushi the poor kid he is watched the exchange between you and Dazai with curiosity. When you reluctantly handed him the file with a nod, Atsushi leaned in and whispered to Dazai, asking if you were alright. Dazai simply smiled and replied, "They're just the perfect detective, doing their job flawlessly."

❥ Dazai is surprisingly attentive to your needs when it comes to your OCD. If you’re stuck in a loop of checking something multiple times, he’ll gently steer you away from it by engaging you in conversation or distracting you with a task. He might even playfully mock himself to make you laugh, using humor to ease your anxiety. “Looks like I’ve accidentally left my keys at home for the fifth time this week. Isn’t that a catastrophe?”

❥ If you’re particularly anxious about a big case or an important event, Dazai might surprise you with a comforting gesture. He could leave little notes or small tokens of reassurance in places you’d find them, like a hidden message in your desk drawer or a comforting snack in your bag.

❥ When you’re feeling overwhelmed, Dazai has a knack for knowing when you need space and when you need company. He might give you space to deal with your thoughts but always makes sure you’re not alone. He could show up with your favorite coffee or a calming playlist, knowing just when to intervene.

❥ Dazai might not always express it directly, but he has a deep understanding of how your OCD affects you and often subtly adapts his behavior to support you. He might avoid making sudden movements or loud noises if he knows it could trigger your anxiety. His sensitivity to your needs shows how much he cares.

❥ Dazai would likely offer reassurances in his own, less conventional way. Dazai might not be that sentimental boyfriend but he makes casual but heartfelt statements that affirm his love, such as “You’re the only one who can put up with my nonsense,” or “I can truly be myself with you, without a second thought.”

❥ Dazai would be more mindful of his humor, staying away from jokes or comments that might trigger your OCD. He might use humor in a way that’s supportive and aligns with your sense of comfort rather than distress.

❥ If someone makes fun of you, Dazai would likely handle it with a blend of nonchalance and protective instinct. He might casually brush off the mockery with a witty comment, like, “Oh, they’re just jealous of your intellect,” showing his confidence in you. If needed, he would also step in to defend you.

➵Want more of Osamu Dazai ?

[tht0nesimp]

Entitled Daring

thinking about hazbin hotel with such a level of sass. Thinking they deserve respect or otherwise from their unfair yan! Partners, this is inspired by a JJK post so if this doesn’t make sense…go figure

tw: noncon(mentioned), abuse, kidnapping, infantilization, teasing, crying

•I think he enjoys a little spitfire, someone entitled to believe their High-Class, someone who feels they have a better sense of…Well, that’s not all too important down where they are

•So when you scream that you’re too good for this, those sweet cheeks red and covered in tears from your initial capture? It’s enough to make him laugh, he’s not a cruel Yandere, but something just makes him want to nuzzle you up and never let go when your in an episode of rich-bitch vibe

• He’s close to a real smile when his darling talks about Justice as he makes deals, especially if he’s already trapped you in one. Since he’s been in hell, he hasn’t seen all too much kindness or understanding from anyone who lived more than a day or two in hell

• And he’s ready to fully enjoy your weak point, he’s determined to trick you into a deal whether you know it or not; Nothing will be as satisfying as teaching you true fairness, he takes count of casual sins you commit around the hotel

•One he has you under contract, it’s only fair he punishes you for your sin! Don’t forget, Justice is best served cold

•The Vees all have a relatively similar idea, they like when you feign innocence

• Because there is nothing more satisfying than taking it away, if they find you and that sweet look of fear on your face then don’t expect to remain without kiss marks and love bites littering you afterwards

• Once they take you away, the look remains and they all enjoy seeing you struggle on the fluffy canopy bed they provided your room with

• Keep struggling like that, and maybe those binds will come off… or so they say~

• He feeds into some poor demons obsession with Beauty (or handsomeness for my dudes🫶)

•I’m not a huge fan of him, but something about him worshipping some demon who believe their a hotshot now that they have his undivided attention

•But…even Lucifer has his limits, and if you manage to get to the end of that rope? Being a pretty face really ain’t much when your at the mercy of the literal king of hell…

[jaeyums]

Just One More (Teaser)

Pairings - Fratboy!Haechan x reader (lowkey x dreamies)

Word Count - 800

Content Warning - smut (obvi), angst, slight corruption kink, dacryphilia, oral (f receiving), fingering, drinking, loss of virginity, Fratboy!Haechan (kinda), Toxic!Haechan, mentions of drowning (what??) pls lmk if I missed anything

Summary - You curse your new neighbours for partying what feels like every night, the booming bass making it impossible to sleep. Fed up, you finally ask them to turn it down, but when you’re forced to make a seemingly harmless deal, things spiral faster than you ever could’ve imagined.

A/N - This is my first ever post so pls lmk how y’all like it :,) if this is received well, part 1 will be coming very soooon

| next

——————————————————

The thin walls of your shitty apartment vibrate violently, being pushed back and forth by the angry bass of the song being blasted next door.

Ever since your new neighbours moved into the suite next to your place, you have had little peace.

Usually you tough out these late night parties, not wanting to be that annoying neighbour, though it was clear they did not share that same concern.

But tonight was different, you couldn’t afford to tough it out. You had a midterm tomorrow that you were trying your best to study for, and you had an early morning shift to go to before said exam.

Having reached your breaking point, you shove yourself back from your desk, causing a pen or two to roll onto your bedroom floor.

The next thing you know, you’re banging on your neighbours door, beating it in the hopes they’ll hear your knocks above the music and chaos.

After what felt like an eternity, you sigh in defeat, your hand burning slightly, as you decide to give up. Just as you turn to leave you hear a click and the door slides open.

You feel the determined rage dissipate as a tall boy with messy black hair and doe-like eyes stare down at you curiously. His gaze lingering too long as he looks you up and down, and you suddenly feel self conscious as you realize you didn’t changing out of your pjs before trying to break down his door.

Your short shorts mostly covered with an oversized top that hung lazily off your shoulder quickly felt all too revealing, especially with the lack of bra causing your nipples to slightly peak through the fabric.

You finally break the silence between you two, arms crossing over your chest.

“Hey sorry, I’m your neighbour. Um, Would you mind turning the music down please?”

He meets your eyes, a mischievous smirk slowly growing.

“Why should I? I pay for this apartment, I should be able to do what I want in it shouldn’t I?”

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by his cocky entitlement.

“Please, I’m trying to study and I have a really early shift tomorrow. Could you keep it down just for tonight?”

Normally you’d challenge someone like him, but you knew you didn’t have the energy to pull this argument off and come out victorious.

“Well since you asked so nicely, I’ll think about it.”

He pauses, pretending to scrunch his eyebrows deep in thought, even bringing his finger up to scratch his head cartoonishly.

“Okay, I’ve thought about it. I’ll keep it dead quiet in here for the rest of the night, but on one condition.”

You feel relief wash over you, knowing that your ears might finally get some rest tonight.

“Okay fine, what is it?”

“You have to come to my party tomorrow.”

He leans in, his forearm against the doorway grinning, knowing you don’t really have a choice. By this point one of the other party goers had approached the door wondering what’s going on.

“Is the pizza here or something?”

A boy peaks is head through the doorway, pushing the door back further so he can get a better look.

“Oh not pizza but definitely something I’m hungry for.”

He says with a joking grin, met with a light shove from the other boy.

“Jeno, our friend here was just telling us how excited she is to come to the next party, right?”

The boy named Jeno looks to you for confirmation.

“Dunno Haechan, she doesn’t look too excited.”

They both laugh, like some inside joke you just weren’t in on. You shift awkwardly, this exchange having already taken up too much of your study time.

“Okay, I’ll come. But the second I hear music blasting again the deal is off.”

“I promise it’ll stay silent.”

Haechan says, holding his heart mockingly. With that you turn to return to your room, but as you do you here someone behind you take a sharp inhale, eliciting a laugh from the other. You turn around to see there eyes trailed down your body, but they quickly close the door before you can say anything.

You roll your eyes, once again cursing yourself for your hurriedness when leaving your place.

Sinking back into your desk chair, you realize the music has since stopped entirely. It was so quiet you wondered if the boys were even still there. But you wouldn’t waste another second, and got right back to studying, blissfully unaware of what was yet to come.

[seeingivy]

cornelia street

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my debut concert event

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

content: mentions of drinking, reader has diabetes, mentions of misogyny in the workplace, satoru and reader are lawyers, gojo calls reader bonnie bc they're bonnie and clyde, a teenager who pees on da sidewalk, and a bitchy barista

an: 50+ listens to cornelia street and she's done. a request from the lovely @skzismyhome I hope you love it pookie and thank you for your support always!!!

--

You look down at the contract in front of you, willing down the angry tears settling in your eyes. 

You knew that this day would come. It comes for everyone, for every son and daughter in higher society. The day they arrange your marriage. 

And you never really dreaded it. Or hated it. Utahime was nearly murderous when it was happening to her, Shoko almost eloped and moved to the countryside when it was her turn, and Mei Mei was the only one who actually disappeared off the face of the Earth. 

But you didn’t really care. Since you were young, you knew that this was something that you were being primed for. Why you had to be the best. You just hoped when it happened, it would be everything like your parents. 

They didn’t love each other. But they were partners. By each other’s side. More like friends who just also happened to be married and had kids together. 

But like all things in higher society, you never get what you want. Because the idiot you’re signing the papers with is the most entitled, self-centered egotistical asshat you’ve ever met. 

Satoru Gojo. 

“Last matter of business. I think this decision lands on Y/N, since Satoru made the last one. Where would you like to live?” 

You scribble your answer onto the page and sign the line next to your name at the bottom. Satoru follows suit, sliding the ring box to your side, as you both shuffle in your seats. 

Satoru has no reason to hate you. If anything, he should be praising the fucking ground you walk on for what he did to you. You slide the ring on your own finger and collect the papers, sealing them into the envelope. 

“Where did you pick? For us to live?” 

“Cornelia Street.”

--

You and Satoru butt heads often. You start it. Sometimes he argues back. You’re both pissed off by the end of it. 

“I’ll run the errands, Satoru.”  

He groans as he swings open the fridge, pulling out his leftovers from the night before. 

“It’s literally right next to my office. I could just grab it if you tell me what it is you need.” 

“No, thank you. I can get my things on my own.” 

“Why are you so stubborn all the time? You haven’t even let me do anything since-”

“I can do my shopping on my own, thanks.” 

You would let Satoru do it. You would. Because it is really annoying to run down to the store every time you need something, but you’re not giving in. 

Because that would require you to indulge Satoru in more personal information than you would like to, so you can’t. Because you don’t fraternize with the devil. 

The thing you need from the store isn’t actually from the store, it’s from the pharmacy next to it. You’re out of your long insulin pods, because you’ve been so busy with work. Because your own pancreas is so stupid, it can’t produce it’s own insulin. You have to buy it from the store, in a stupid little patch that painfully pricks into your stomach every time you insert it. 

He blocks the doorway as you try to walk out, blue eyes peering into yours. 

“Why won’t you just let me do this for you?” 

“Because that worked out so well for me last time, Satoru.” 

He groans as he presses his fingers to his nose bridge, nearly rolling his eyes at you. 

“You know. If you’d let me explain that, I’d actually-” 

“There’s nothing to explain. I asked you to give me a shoo in for my dream job. You quite explicitly told them not to hire me.” 

Three summers ago was the first time you were graced with Satoru Gojo’s presence. And hell, you actually tolerate him. Maybe even liked him. You were both doing an internship, at the Zenin’s law firm in Brooklyn. 

You and Satoru were somewhat of a…dream team. Every case you worked on together gave you a rush, like he’d finish your thoughts before you were thinking. Like you picked up where he lacked and vice versa. You were Bonnie and Clyde. Partners in crime. 

So when they gave Satoru the associate position first, you asked him to pick you for the second associate opening. Because the person who gets that opening gets to be his partner. And you had convinced him - that you two would be a dream team, that you would be unstoppable. He agreed, in fact - he promised he would give it to you. 

Which is why you felt blindsided when they picked an outsider, Getou Suguru, as the associate. And when you asked the head of the Zenin’s, Toji, why he didn’t pick you, you were mad. Why you weren’t the associate when you ran to get coffee for all of them all summer, stayed up late on cases, and busted your ass off, he said that Satoru didn’t think you were a good fit. And he has to make sure staff has good personal relations. 

“Why are you so stubborn? You literally won’t even talk to me about-” 

“I don’t want to talk to you! What part of that do you not fucking understand? I don’t like you. I’m never going to like you because you’re an egotistical, sadistic little prick and-

“And what are you? You’re an entitled little know it all. You don’t even listen before jumping to your own fucking conclusions about-” 

“It’s not jumping to conclusions when Toji tells me straight to my face that you didn’t think I was a good fit. You’re fucking dense as fuck if you think I don’t know that.” 

You push past him, marching angrily down Cornelia Street. 

--

You press your face against the glass, watching the mounds of snow out in the street. You and Satoru have been snowed in on Cornelia Street for three days now, the stupid climate change induced storm in the middle of November trapping you for good. 

In theory, you would have loved something like this. A break from work for a few days, nice weather for you to watch movies and cuddle up on the couch. Except, there’s an intruder in your house who has the same ideas as you. 

“Hey.” 

“Shove a fork in your eye, Satoru.” 

“You get more creative as time goes on. I appreciate that in a wife.” 

You roll your eyes as you walk over to the kitchen, where Satoru’s rummaging through the kitchen. 

“Did you eat all the food already?” 

“You know, if you actually did groceries on time, maybe we would actually have food for emergencies like this, Satoru.” 

“First you don’t want me to do groceries and now you do? You’re so unpredictable it’s like-”

“I’m unpredictable? You’ve got to be kidding-” 

“Oh my god. We’re not doing this today. I get it. I stole your dream job. Ruined your life. You hate me. Just, shut up about it already.” 

He’s swirling the spoon through the saucepan as he waits for it, your irritated, agitated retort. And it doesn’t come. 

He looks over to find you all but leaning over the counter, your head pressing into your forearm as you wobble on your feet. He instinctively reaches forward, holding you up in his arms. 

“Hey. What’s wrong? Why are you-” 

You lean forward against his chest, pressing your hands against his biceps as you feel your legs go limp. Right. Day three on Cornelia Street. With no extra insulin pods left. 

“I’m out of-”

You slump forward more this time and Satoru drops the spoon on the floor, securing you against him as he leads you to the couch, laying you down flat on your back. His hands are on your face, firm on your cheeks as his voice starts wavering. 

“What-what do I do? Tell me how to fix this, I-” 

“Candy. Or anything sugar should-” 

You can’t even finish the sentence before he bolts up, rummaging through the drawers before he returns. His touch is so gentle, so featherlike, as he helps you up, his hands shaking as he helps you drink the juice. 

His hand is rubbing circles into your back, his cheek pressed into the top of your head as you both slow your breathing. And when you level out, Satoru’s hands are pressed around your face again, cupping your cheeks again. 

“You okay, Bonnie?” 

Bonnie. Like that summer, when you were Bonnie and Clyde. 

“Yeah.” 

“You’re positive?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Perfect. Are you a fucking dumbass?” 

You lean your face out of his touch, more confused and disoriented than before. You-you just passed out and he’s yelling at you? 

“Satoru. You’re so rude. I just-”

“Yes, Y/N. I’m yelling at you. I’m yelling at you because we literally live together and are married and you didn’t tell me you have fucking diabetes.” 

“Okay. And?” 

“And? You can’t be fucking serious right now-” 

He pushes off the couch, pacing back in forth in front of you as he starts yelling, angrily running his hands through your hair. 

“You’re-you’re this fucking mad at me? It was one job. And you-you would compromise your health over it?” 

“This isn’t compromising my health. I just didn’t know there would be a storm and-” 

“Y/N. Oh my fucking god, get it through your thick head. I’m your emergency contact. If you were fucking dying in a hospital and they ask me what’s wrong with you, I wouldn’t know. And then they would probably kill you because I didn’t know you had diabetes.” 

You lean your head back against the couch, feeling the strain all at once. You’re drained. And you hate it when Satoru’s right. Because he is your emergency contact, because he’s your husband - whether you like it or not. 

After not responding right away, Satoru leans back onto the couch with you, a hand pressed in your hair. He’s brushing through the tresses, his voice soft when he speaks again. 

“God, Bonnie. Just let me take care of you.” 

“That didn’t work out wel-

“Well for you last time. Quit saying the same shit over and over again. That was three years ago. And we’re…married now. I’m..supposed to take care of you now and I’m going to so just let me.” 

You deflate as he keeps running his hands through your hair, the lack of insulin and energy surely imparing your inhibitions. 

“Fine.” 

He turns over to you, a wide smirk pressed against his face. 

“Fine? You, Y/N L/N, agreeing with me?” 

“Don’t get used to it.” 

He laughs, leaning his head against yours as he moves his arm down your back, squeezing your side once before he talks again. 

“Got any other big secrets you’re keeping from me?” 

“I murdered a guy. He’s in our attic.” 

“Ouch. What did he do, Bonnie?” 

“It was an accident. I thought he was you.” 

He presses your face into his hand, rolling his eyes at you. 

--

Satoru is pleasantly surprised to find out that you don’t argue with just him, your unfiltered and unabashed rage is something that you do with everyone. Your latest victim? Your little brother, Yuuta. 

You’ve been screaming at him for a better part of the past hour, because Yuuta’s being a fucking idiot. Yuuta was never into the whole arranged marriage, higher society thing. And you knew that. 

You just never think he’d come to your place, asking you and Satoru for money so he could run away with Maki. 

“This is the wrong move, Yuu. You’re only nineteen.” 

“I have to do this now. I can’t do what you did. I don’t care if you like him now and you’re friends or whatever, I just really…really love her, okay?” 

“You love her? Then stop being a fucking idiot about it. You’re both making a stupid decision that’s just going to hurt you. You can’t just run away from your problems.” 

“Y/N. You’re always think you know what’s best and you control-” 

“Yuuta, you little piece of-” 

Satoru stops you before you walk further, yanking you back by firmly pulling on your wrist. He leans forward, whispering I got this in your ear before yanking Yuuta out of your apartment and down the opposite block of Cornelia Street. 

When they return, they both have the audacity to be smiling, Yuuta holding two cups of Coppola’s Coffee in his hand. He sets one in front of you, awkwardly brushing his hand against his neck. 

“Sorry, Y/N. You’re right.” 

You smile. 

“What was that? I didn’t really hear you.” 

“You were right.” 

“One more time. A little louder, Yuu.” 

He rolls his eyes as he grabs his bag, swinging it over his shoulder. He walks back, pressing a kiss to your cheek and bidding goodbye to Satoru as he drags out the door. You turn to your side, glaring at Satoru. 

“What did you say to him?” 

“Ah, you know. The usual.” 

“The usual?” 

“Just talked him down. Told him if he really likes this Maki girl then he should ask us for help. We are his older siblings and all. That you just get mad because you care about him.”

You roll your eyes as you lie face down on the counter, cheeks burning. You’re his older siblings. Because Satoru’s his brother in law. You feel him tapping on your head, gleefully grinning at you. 

“What?” 

“Guess what time it is.” 

“You know, just because I pass out one time on accident doesn’t mean-” 

He presses his fingers to your lips, rolling his eyes as he places it in your hands. A pack of almonds. 

“Satoru.” 

“Did you know that almonds are the perfect snack? Because they’re high in magnesium, potassium-” 

“And vitamin E. Making the perfect nutrient-rich snack for those with impaired glucose tolerance.” you finish, mimicking his high pitched voice. 

He opens up the packet, pouring them all into your hand. And then he watches you eat every single one. You come up with an insult for each one you eat. 

“You’re a disgrace to humanity, Satoru.” 

“And?” 

“And a little pain in the ass. Like you know when you get a pimple stuck right in between your butt and it hurts to sit down? That’s what you are.” 

“Descriptive. Just one more almond and you’re done, Bonnie. Make the insult good.” 

“I don’t take orders from men. Least of all you.” 

You place the last one in your mouth, chewing and then sticking your tongue out to Satoru, to show you did in fact eat the entire thing. 

“That’s my girl. Not only does she eat all her food but hurls scathing insults at the same time.” 

“Being your biggest hater is my full time job, Satoru.” 

He laughs, pinching your cheek as he starts milling around the kitchen, preparing for dinner. Ever since you and Satoru got snowed in and he found out about everything, you…were both surprisingly tame. Not at Bonnie and Clyde pre-getting backstabbed levels, but he’s not…horrible to be around. And he never really was. 

Because Satoru’s thoughtful. He’s googled all the ways to control blood sugar, reserached different pods for you to try, and always tries to balance the dinner (that you now let him make for you) to make sure that you’re eating all right. 

And he’s funny. He���s convinced you into watching the Bachlorette with him every week. And you’re above corny reality shows but his commentary is just so ridiculous you can’t help but watch with him. 

And he even got Yuuta and Maki to like him now. 

And really, it’s all types of irritating because you like him. You actually like him. He backstabbed you into oblivion but he’s also the sweetest, most compassionate guy you’ve ever talked to and you like him. 

You push off the counter, reaching for the cupboard and yank out the biggest glass of wine you can find. As soon as you finish pouring almost the entire bottle into the glass, Satoru snatches it out of your hand, cheekily smiling at you. 

“Thank you, Bonnie.” 

“I was going to drink that, Satoru.” 

“Diabetics should drink in moderation. Can’t have you passing out on me now.” 

“That was one time. You could share, you know.” 

He rolls his eyes as he hands you the glass, your hands burning from it. How intimate it is. That you and Satoru are sharing a glass, all warm and drowsy from the drink. And when he grabs your hand, leading you onto the little patio just off of your roof, you follow. Blindly. 

You’re both laying against the bricks, the lights of the city reflecting into the sky. There aren’t any stars out, only the tinted white of the fluorescnets against the dark sky. 

“Why’d you pick Cornelia Street, Bonnie?” 

“It’s quiet. And I always walked down it - when I used to go to class and then after when I started walking to work. I’ve always liked all the little people bustling by with Coppola’s on the corner.” 

“Hm.” 

“What?” 

“So do you like that kid who peed on the block last week?” 

“Ew. Gross, Satoru.” 

He laughs, leaning back on the tiles, beckoning for you to move closer to him. He opens up his arm, which you lean into, his arm wrapped around yours. The tiles are kind of digging into your back, but you ignore it because you don’t want to move and risk Satoru moving away from you. 

“Do you like Cornelia Street, Satoru?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’m moved by the passion, Satoru. You can’t imagine yourself anyplace else, can you?” 

He looks over, blue eyes glimmering under the shy flourescents of the building, his voice firm as he answers. 

“No. I can’t imagine myself anywhere else.” 

And from the look on his eyes, the way your skin is itching from the way he’s looking at you…you know he’s not talking about Cornelia Street. 

“Are you-” 

“Talking about Cornelia Street? I’m not, Bonnie. I’m talking about the girl who loves Cornelia Street.” 

You reach over, timidly pressing your hand to Satoru’s face as you shift his face over, his cheeks warm under your touch. He’s moving forward, eyes fluttered shut and you can feel your heart hammering under your chest. 

And when he presses his lips to yours, soft and plush with a hint of wine on his mouth, you can’t help but feel it all untangling in your chest. Unraveling. The way you feel about him, those stupid blue eyes and that lopsided smile. 

Because all of those summers ago, it wasn’t that you liked working with the Zenin’s. It’s that you liked working with Satoru. And it wasn’t a backstab to not get to work with the Zenin’s, it was that Satoru didn’t want you to work with him. 

He snakes his hand under your shirt, his touch featherlike but blossoming searing light onto your skin. 

“Satoru. This is public indecency.” 

He presses his head into your neck, peppering soft kisses into your neck as he responds. 

“Bonnie and Clyde were criminals, silly girl.”  

--

“Almonds, Bonnie.” 

“Satoru.” 

“Nope. Eat ‘em and we’ll go.” 

You roll your eyes as you tilt the packet back, shoving them all into your mouth. Satoru gives you a gleeful grin and a kiss on the forehead as he shoves you out the door. Satoru walks you to work everyday. And back home on the way back. To protect you from lewd street pee. 

You get coffee from Coppolas every morning, the barista always giving the two of you a shining smile. Whenever the flower vendors pass by, Satoru always buys you the pink ones, which make your heart pound but you always clown him for. 

Satoru insists that you wear your wedding ring everyday. And buys one for himself too, which he forces you to put on him. And he encourages you - to be better. Which is why you’re going to try again. 

“Toru.” 

“Hm, Bonnie?” 

“Can you do me a favor on your way to work?” 

“Sure.” 

“Mail this for me.” 

You hand him your job application, to work with the Zenin’s and Satoru, to fix what happened the first time. Granted, Satoru doesn’t really work with the Zenin’s anymore, but instead a different firm, but they do partner up sometimes. 

In a way, asking Satoru to do this for you is righting a wrong. Because he should put in a good word for you this time, so you can actually get your dream job. Because whatever stopped him the first time isn’t there now - he’s told you hundreds of times that you’re brilliant, the smartest person he’s ever met - so there’s no logical reason for him not to. 

So when you find the application in his bag, six days after the fact while looking for his phone, you’re a little bit confused. 

“Toru.” 

“Hm?” 

“Did you hear back from Toji? About the job?” 

“Ah, yeah. He’s not really into it. I gave it to him but he said there’s no associate openings.” 

Liar. As always, Satoru Gojo is a fucking liar. And it’s stupid. It’s so stupid of you to think otherwise. You can feel the tears welling in your eyes as you shove your things into your backpack and swing it over your shoulder. 

And you almost walk out the door before he catches you. 

“Hey. Where are we going, Bonnie?” 

“I’m leaving. You’re staying here.” 

You watch the smile fall off of his face, the grip on your wrist loosening. 

“Is something wrong, Y/N?” 

“You really hate me that much, don’t you? You couldn’t even hand it in for real this time? You have that little faith in the work that I can do?” 

“This-this isn’t about the faith I have in you. You’re brilliant and I’ve always thought that about you. It’s just that it’s not right-” 

“Not right for me? Because working at one of the best law firms isn’t right for me? I should just slum it out where I’m at now.” 

“Bonnie, I can explain-” 

And you run straight out the door, flat off of Cornelia Street. 

--

Satoru doesn’t hear from you for nine days. And it’s pure agony. Waking up without you next to him. Watching people mill by on Cornelia Street, getting Coppola’s without you. The barista doesn’t even smile at him anymore. 

And when that stupid kid pees on the block again, he can’t even laugh at it. Because Cornelia Street without you is all types of wrong. 

He wakes up every morning, promptly at 7:30. Because if what you said is right, you take Cornelia Street on the way to work when you walk from home. But you never do. He’s never seen you walk past, not even once. 

You’re still going to work. He knows that because Maki told him so. Yuuta isn’t really talking to him anymore, but Maki begrudgingly gives him slivers of information that he lives off of. 

She’s going to work, just a different way. 

Yes, I gave her the almond packets. 

No, she doesn’t want to talk to you. 

But he knows you have to come back. Because your sewing machine and your vinyls and all your things are here. Because some selfish part of him thinks you have to come back because it’s him. Because some small part of you loves him the way the entirety of him has always loved you. 

So much so, that he’s had selfish intentions from the start. To protect you. 

If he was a smart guy, he would have picked you to be his partner when he was working with the Zenin’s straight out. Because you’re a dream team, because no one picks at his mind and makes him work in circles the way you do. 

But when he brought you up to Toji, it eliminated any possibility you had of working here. Because the Zenin’s are disgusting, misogynistic pigs. 

Toji said he would hire you on one condition. That Satoru shares you with him. Because Toji had caught on to the affections Satoru had held for you in earnest but still wanted his fair share of the cut. Because he’s still an old money lawyer, who uses his own power to his advantage. Because your pretty face is the only reason he hired you in the first place. 

He picks Getou the next time he sees Toji. And he never hears from you again. And that’s okay, because you end up working with Utahime at a different firm and he knows that you’re safe from this. And dear god does he miss you, but it is better than the alternative. 

And when your parents bring you together, because you’re both lawyers and that’s a common interest, he’s more than happy to sign the papers. Because it’s his chance to right his wrong. Because he still wants to be Bonnie and Clyde, in all the ways that matter. 

You pass out in his arms and his world stops. Because he’s always wanted to protet you, and he recognizes that some part of that is selfish because you can protect yourself, but god he just wants to take care of you because you mean something to him. 

And when you leaned over and kissed him, Satoru loves you. He loves you and he loves Cornelia Street and he loves everything you love. Because anything you like is anything he likes. You could tell him that you hate the sky and he’d never look at it again. 

But when you hand him that shiny job application, asking for his support, he can’t. Because now more than ever, he can’t let his wife even stand near idiots like Toji. The thought of someone thinking about you like that, let alone doing something like that is enough to send him into a blind rage, that would most definitely get him blacklisted from literally any workplace. 

And dear god does he wish you would have heard him out when you left. Because he would have told you. That you were all types of brilliant, that you keep him on his toes, that you’re the only god damn thing he’s ever wanted. 

That he can’t let you work there because he loves you. Because he wants you to be happy always, to be surrounded by people who respect you for you, who think you’re just as brilliant as you actually are. 

And he’d actually be able to do that if he could fucking find you. He wanders a different street everyday, hoping to catch you walking to work. It’s currently day nine and he has yet to find success. But when he sees them, shiny black loafers across the sidewalk, he runs into incoming traffic just to catch you. 

He gets angry honks and yelling because New Yorkers are always rude, but he doesn’t care. You’re like a ghost. You can get away if he doesn’t walk fast enough. And when he catches your elbow, stopping you from walking, he knows he’s done it. 

“Bonnie.” 

“Satoru. Why are you…panting?” 

“Ran into traffic.” 

“Wish they hit you.” 

He takes you in. And just like Maki said, you’re fine. Well, you look fine. A bit angry, that stupid vein bulging out on your forehead, but you’re okay. 

“Why don’t you walk on Cornelia Street?” 

“What?” 

“You said you picked Cornelia Street because it’s on the way to work. That you like to watch the people on Cornelia Street and Coppola’s on the corner. You haven’t walked there for nine days. Why?” 

He watches you roll your eyes as you shake his hand off, walking past him. But Satoru’s faster, basically pinning you into the wall by putting his arms around you. 

“Give me an answer.” 

“No, Satoru.” 

“Bonnie. You love Cornelia Street. Have since you were a kid. Why aren’t you walking there?” 

You can feel the tears rising up in your eyes, the anger bubbling out of you as you respond. 

“Because of you, asshole. Because Cornelia Street is you. I see that dumbass teenager piss on the street and all I can think about is how you think it’s funny. The guy selling flowers? I think about which ones you would pick out and buy for me. Coppola’s? The girl does’t even smile at me anymore. I don’t walk Cornelia Street because I can’t. Because it’s all you now. Everything I like there reminds me of you.” 

He can feel it. His heart burning. He can still make this right. 

“She’s kind of a bitch, you know? She doesn’t smile at me either.” 

You laugh, your chest heaving from the pain. Because seeing him again makes your chest burn. Ache. Because you miss him and because you love him. And when he opens his arms and shoves you into his chest, his smell in your nose, all you can do is cry, cheeks burning into his skin. 

“Bonnie.” 

“Shut up. I’m still mad at you. You’re a back stabber.” 

“If you let me explain, I would-” 

“Fine. Let’s hear your great explanation.” 

So when you start making your way back, he explains. That he’s selfish. And a back-stabber. And when he tells you what Toji says, he doesn’t miss the way you cringe, the way your face goes blank when he thinks about it. 

About how he knows he should have told you but he hates to see you down. How Bonnie and Clyde was always going to be more than a work thing, but the thing he wants forever. 

And when you reach the front of the door, of your apartment on Cornelia Street, he can’t help but feel a weight in his chest. Because you’re quietly standing, staring at the door. Granted, you are holding his hand and it’s a good sigh, but…you haven’t said anything. 

“Satoru.” 

“Yes?” 

“I really…messed this up, didn’t I?”

“What?” 

And when you turn to his side, he’s floored at the fact that you’re crying. Begging him to stay with you. 

“Satoru. I-I don’t want to lose you. Please don’t walk away I, I don’t-” 

He clamps his hand over your mouth, shaking his head as you as he deflates. 

“God, Bonnie. You have no idea how I feel about you, do you?” 

“Huh?” 

“I love you. I want to walk Cornelia Street with you. I want to buy you flowers and check the mailbox with you. I want Yuuta and Maki to pretend to throw up when they see us kissing and I want to take care of you. If you’ll just let me, I’ll do it right.” 

And when you lean forward, the kiss is messy. Your tears are falling on to his face and he’s way too eager from the way he’s hanging off of your lips, the way he’s literally shaking you in his hold. 

You walk Cornelia Street the next day. And you’re part of the constants of the street. The guy selling flowers, the fresh fruit cart on Saturdays, lewd pee kid when he’s drunk, and two very happy in love lawyers.

--

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

taglist: @porridgesblog @platrom @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06@bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot@itzmeme

[lovemesomeeddiemunson]

The Proposal - Part 5

Summary: When Steve Harrington is threatened with deportation, he blackmails his long suffering assistant, Eddie Munson, into marrying him. Steddie! The Proposal Au, Part 5 of 7. 4232 Words

Series Warnings: Blackmail. Food mentions. Mentions of unhealthy relationship with food. Cursing. Self harm (by means of tattooing.) Homophobia. Death of a parent. Abandonment by parents. Shitty parents. Homophobic parents. Parents with entitlement. Classism. Eventual sexual situations (no actual smut!) Brief allusion to a panic attack.

Authors Note: We're almost to the end here y'all! How we doing? I'd love to hear your thoughts!

“So, uh, you’re a Junior?” Steve’s words break the silence.

Eddie, who is laid out flat on his back, staring at the ceiling flinches in answer, his voice small. “No, I’m not.” Not technically. 

“Oh, I just, I thought…” Steve tries to press, but Eddie cuts him off. He doesn't want to hear it. “It’s just a nickname.” 

“Just a nickname.” Steve repeats, voice laced with doubt.

“They don’t have those in Italy?” Eddie cuttingly replies. 

At which point Steve sits up and turns to glare at Eddie. “What’s your problem, man?” 

Eddie shrinks under his gaze, frowning unhappily as he mutters back. “Nothing.” Unconvincingly.

Steve purses his lips at that, and presses on. “Did I strike a nerve? Is it a sore spot for you?”

“Ohhhhh. I’m sorry. That question is not in the binder.” Eddie replies with a halfhearted little chuckle.

“Oh, really? I thought you were the one that said we needed to learn everything about—“ Steve starts but Eddie shakes his head. “Not about that I didn’t.” 

“But-“ Steve protests.

“Not about that, Steve. Good night.” He snaps. Regrets it when Steve flinches.

Unsure how to fix it, he stews in silence, breathing deeply, trying to come up with something. Thoughts going around and around.

He’s properly kicked himself for the whole interaction at least four times by the time Steve speaks again, his voice timid, words totally unexpected as they break the silence that had settled awkwardly over the two men sharing a bed.

“I like watching The Real Housewives.” He volunteers quietly, interrupting Eddie’s thoughts with his unprompted reveal.

“Huh?” Eddie answers in confusion, eyes still fixated upwards.

“Not in the ‘haha, isn’t that funny, he likes that trash’ kind of way. I actually quite enjoy it.” Steve murmurs back, fiddling with the blanket pulled up to his chest. 

Still confused, Eddie takes it in as Steve continues, “I took ballroom dance lessons in the sixth grade…My first concert was Bob Seger and the Silver bullets…” 

Clears his throat. “I think Kirk Hammett is sexy…My first kiss with a girl was with Carol Perkins when I was thirteen. Later that same year I also kissed Tommy Hagan. They’re married now.” 

Eddie laughs in bewilderment. 

“Never had a pet.” Steve glances at Eddie, who isn’t looking back at him, which makes it easier for him to say what he wants to say next. ”The tattoo I wanted to remove?” He asks, humming, “I got it on my ribs because I wanted it to hurt. It’s in Italian - verso cose più grandi. It means ‘Toward greater things.’ I got it after my parents disowned me.”

There’s another silent pause before he continues “I haven’t…slept with anyone in…over a year and a half. And uh…I went to the bathroom and cried after Billy suggested that I was going to die alone.” 

Eddie pulls the blanket tighter around him, the statement unexpectedly tearing straight to his heart when Steve adds. “That’s my biggest fear. Or, it was.” He stammers. “Lately I’ve been much more afraid of-” he cuts himself off. Squeezes his eyes shut. Leaving the words unspoken.

“Doesn’t matter.” He whispers. A few more beats go by. 

Eddie thinks he may be all out of revelations, until, in the softest voice possible, he whispers another confession that shocks Eddie to his core. “I’m uh, I’m losing my hearing.” 

To which Eddie’s head finally shoots over to look at him, his jaw slack. 

“I haven’t told anyone that. For obvious reasons.” Not meeting his eye, Steve clears his throat. 

“Steve,” Eddie’s voice breaks. He had been coordinating this man’s entire life and he’d had no idea. None. 

“It’s been gradual but - yeah. Too many concussions.” He explains with a dry chuckle. “I’ve had it checked out. Gotten a second and third opinion. It’s not a matter of if at this point, uh, it’s just a matter of when.”

He glances at the ceiling. “I guess you didn’t know. I thought you might suspect…all the emailing lately. The transcriptions I have you write up of my meetings…And then, there’s been a difference in the music. Comments you’ve made on the stuff I used to produce. How it was good. Past tense. I had more confidence in my abilities then…I didn’t rely so heavily on projections and numbers and all that bullshit that spells sales, yes, but good music?” He almost smiles. “It’s not the same. You’re right. Try as I might to fill in the gaps - experiencing the way the music feels…”

He gives a little shake of his head. “It’s not the same. And still, I couldn't do a thing without you. You, who are so loud about your opinions of the demos that artists send me when they’re worthwhile, or they’re garbage and I - I trust you.” He admits, the most damning admittance of all.

“You um. You know good music. And you know me. You’ve always been able to see me more clearly than I - than I’ve liked.” He stops. Swallows thickly, voice low again, and reserved. “I’m sure there are many, many, other things, but that’s all I can come up with right now.” 

Eddie rolls back over in the bed, and clenches his eyes closed as Steve finishes.

It’s silent for a bit.

“Eddie?” Steve broaches finally, his shaky voice attributing to his vulnerability in the moment they’re sharing. “You, uh, you there?”

“I’m here.” Eddie promises softly, “Just - just processing.” 

That was one way of explaining it. How his world has been tilted off of its axis. Left him fumbling for his footing, unsure.

This was unexpected. 

Even Steve, as he’d clearly hated opening up to Eddie, he’d done so. Given him much more to work with than the surface level things Eddie already knew. This was a deeper intimacy than just knowing if his stove was gas or electric, and Eddie is…lost with it.

Still, he knows how to ease the tension, if nothing else. He slowly starts to smile, probing, “You really haven’t slept with anyone in almost two years?”

Steve snorts. “That’s what you got out of all of that?” 

“That’s a long time.” Eddie defends himself.

“Yeah, well, firstly, you’re rounding up, and secondly, I’ve been a little busy.” Steve sarcastically answers. 

Eddie chuckles, and then there’s silence again between them. 

It’s comfortable, until, “Who’s Bob Seger?” Eddie suddenly asks. Steve sits up in his bed like a vampire exiting a coffin.

“Who’s Bob Seger?” Steve questions. “You - you know.” He starts singing in a surprisingly good voice, “You take those old records off the shelf - I’ll sit and listen to ‘em by myself. Today's music ain't got the same soul. I like that old time rock 'n' roll.” Steve grimaces. “You’re telling me that you work in the music industry, and you don’t know who Bob Seger is?” 

Eddie’s smiling. “I was kidding…I just wanted to hear you sing.” 

Steve whacks him with a pillow, both of them giggling until they settle back into the bed, silence filling the room once again.

“Steve?” Eddie asks him.

“Yes?” He replies.

Eddie gives it a beat - then changes his mind. “Thank you, for telling me.”

Steve lets out a little laugh through his nose. “Yeah…well.”

Eddie figures he owes him his truth, for the interview if nothing else. “And for what it’s worth…They call me Junior for my dad, Al…Spitting image, you know? Chip off the old block…The acorn that didn’t fall far or whatever it is you want to call it.” He chuckles humorlessly. 

Goes on, “I’d never really liked it when they said that but, uh, less so now.” Steve listens, lets Eddie talk, watching his lips move. Eddie is louder than he probably needs to be, out of consideration for Steve. “A couple years back he cooked up this scheme - I should have known better, really, but what he promised it was just - so tempting. So I got involved and it - it got real dicey. People got hurt. The house burned down, all mom’s records just - gone.” Eddie exhales. “He took off to save his own ass and uh, I haven’t seen him since. He didn’t bother coming back for me.”

Steve’s heart breaks for Eddie - who continues on with his explanation like it’s all well and good now, like it didn’t permanently alter him and his own personal Munson Doctrine. “I was supposed to move to California, but after the fallout, I had to stay a bit. After everything I put Wayne through, I had to stay a bit. And he - Al - he knew how to find me in California so I…I moved to New York instead, and now, here we are.”

“Here we are.” Steve chuckles. Thinking about the insanity of it all.

But, he also knows how to ease the tension. “None of that was on your job application, by the way.” He teases.

Eddie chortles. “Steve, you have to know by now that everyone lies on their resume.”

Steve glares at him. “You had glowing references!”

“I found those names and phone numbers online, sans the proper extensions, and figured you’d probably never actually bother to call them.” He snickers.

Steve gives a faux gasp. “You lured me in under false pretenses.”

“Sure did. And now you’re marrying me. Sucker.” Eddie laughs. Steve laughs too,  feeling a slight hitch in his throat.

“I…I don’t know if I properly apologized for that yet.” Steve supplies, ruining the light jovial moment with harsh realities.

Eddie winces. “No need.”

“There is a need though. Trapping you in this marriage I…I wish I hadn’t been so careless to let it come to this.” He sighs. Eddie sighs too, and doesn't berate Steve for his own negligence and mistakes. Which Steve appreciates.

“Well, it’s like you said, I’m yours now. Come hell or high water, til quickie divorce do us part.” He smiles, like Steve isn’t laying here trying to recover from Eddie calling himself his. 

“Sure.” Steve says weakly, and Eddie gives him a little nudge with his foot. 

“What’s done is done…and you know, for what it’s worth, I’m actually getting a pretty good deal out of this. A record deal. With a hot albeit temporary husband to parade around town, so…”

And Steve knows he’s attractive. He does. Has never doubted it, but to hear it from Eddie, when he’s complacent in all of their scheming…It messes him up a little. He gives a weak laugh at Eddie’s words, because it’s what’s expected of him, even as he’s reeling.

“Get some sleep,” Eddie says then, like it was nothing. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I want to see how your studying is going.” 

Right. Studying. For the interview. An impending deadline they were steadily marching towards, and their true goal, regardless of whatever…this was.

Steve nods, and Eddie says, “Night, Steve.” softly.

Steve’s answering voice is hollow.  “Buona notte, Eddie.”

Upon their return to New York, Steve is feeling deeply unsettled.

Not because of the ruse - that, in itself, remains as solid as ever. 

Through a warm goodbye with Wayne and a cozy plane ride home, Eddie had played the part perfectly. A doting fiancé who wore his love on the outskirts of his sleeve.

But now, they were back, the honeymoon was over, so to speak, and Eddie was already back to himself again. A doting employee.

He runs over the list of things Steve needs to know for work the next day, and asks Steve what he needs from him, willing to give and give and give.

Steve tries not to wince. “You’re off the clock for now.” He tells him, to Eddie’s utter confusion. “Seriously.” He swears. “Get some rest. There’s nothing so important we can’t tackle tomorrow morning.”

So Eddie, in his cute band shirt and dark wash jeans, had taken his own car home. Probably unpacked. Probably ate something without guilt, played his guitar, took a nap - something fucking normal, while Steve went home, to his big empty apartment, alone.

Well not, totally empty.

“Dingus.” A female voice calls out affectionately as he walks through the door.

Rather than being disturbed by the intruder in his home, Steve’s shoulders slump in relief.

Robin Buckley - his best friend, wielder of a spare key, and the only person in the world who was privy to the inner workings of Steve’s mind - somehow always knows when he needs her.

She’s dressed well, smiling from the bar stool at his kitchen island with one of his fancy waters to sip on as his doorman deposits his bags inside, Steve passing him some cash before he goes.

As soon as he has that business settled, he’s falling into Robin's arms, almost crushing her in his encompassing hug.

“Woah!” She laughs. “It hasn’t been that long. Just a week.” Referring of course to her own trip - the one she’d disappeared on before this whole mess had gotten underway.

Steve gives a head shake in any case. “That’s like forever,” he whined as she laughed some more, ruffling his hair. Giving him a once over. 

Clocking immediately that something is wrong. “Why the dark cloud, Stevie?”

He makes a face. Trying not to cry. She gets a brief flicker of panic across her face. “Oh no.” She says immediately. “Who do I need to kill?”

He wheezes out a laugh, and then, against his better judgment - involves Robin in his crimes as well. Because why not her too, on top of Eddie? Why not ruin everything he touches, like he always has. Because he’s bullshit - his love is bullshit - he…

“So…you like him. Your assistant.” Robin says finally, before he can fully spiral.

Steve nods pitifully. 

“But you can’t tell him, because of the…current arrangement. And the blackmail, not to mention the work relationship you have - holy shit Steve this is so inappropriate-” she rambles.

Steve moans. “I know.”

“Well, does he like you back?” Robin suddenly asks. Steve glares at her. “Robin, please, be serious.”

“I am serious!” She defends. “You said things changed while you were out there, right? What if it wasn’t just one sided.”

“That could never happen.” Steve bites.

Robin huffs. “Why not?”

“Because he’s…good, Rob. He’s so fucking good, and sweet…And fucking, down to earth. And I’m…not.” His lip quivers. 

Robin grasps his hand. “Steve…”

“There’s no way he could ever like me. This is just a…a helpless situation I’ve put him in, that he’s making the best of.” He leaves no room for argument. “I just…I had to tell you. Had to hear you say all of that. To remind me. You’re right. You’re right, and it’s fine. It’s just a stupid crush. I’ll get over it.”

Robin doesn’t look like she believe him. Which is…fair. What she says next is not.

“Or…” she starts. Steve raises an eyebrow. “Or?” He presses.

She sort of smiles, “Or you could…woo him.”

“Woo him?” Steve gapes.

“Well yeah!” She defends. “So long as your plan is to end this boss-employee dynamic, why not try and keep him? You’re pretty likable when you’re not a raging bitch. I don’t see why he would be impervious to your…charms.” She snickers.

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, tries to keep her words from invading his brain. “That’s insane.”

“Why? Because you might actually end up being happy?” She stares him down. “You deserve to be happy, Steve.”

“Not like this. Not at his expense.” Steve argues firmly. 

Robin only sighs. “Just think about it, will you? Start small. Get to know him. Treat him like a person, instead of…whatever it is you do.”

Steve grimaces. Robin sits back in her seat, swinging her legs, casually adding, “I can’t wait to meet him.”

Steve looks at her funny. “Meet him?” He asks.

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, Steve. That’s how this works - you meet his family - he meets yours - or has it been so long since you’ve done this that you forgot?”

He swats at her. “Shut up.”

She laughs, “I’m serious! He sounds wonderful, and he’s going to be Mrs. Harrington - we need his blessing to continue our Bitchin’ Brunches, and oh! Do you think he’ll do the marathon with us? It’s still pretty far out, we can get him a shirt made-”

Steve lets her go, talking aloud in circles while he gives responses where appropriate. Once they’re mercifully done discussing the whole thing with Eddie, they move on to her latest field research trip, and other important topics they’ve had stirring around in their brains while they’ve been apart.

It feels good, like he’s truly come home, a feeling Steve didn’t have when he thought he was returning to an empty apartment.

And with Robin in his corner, it feels like everything else will work itself out.

Steve approaches the subject of ‘Robin’ one morning a few days later while Eddie hands him an expense report.

He presents her as a fact of his life - nonnegotiable. Eddie isn’t nearly as perturbed as some of his romantic partners have been in the past - but then again, he and Eddie weren’t really romantic partners.

“Looking forward to meeting her.” Eddie replies. And Steve kinda hates that. How easily Eddie agrees to anything he asks. And it’s not Eddie’s fault, it’s his job, it’s why he was hired, but…

Steve would be lying if he said he hadn’t spent way too much time dwelling on Robin’s words.

And he yearns.

“Oh, and uh, one more thing…she knows.” Steve adds.

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “She knows.” He repeats. Steve doesn’t like the look on his face, like he’s done something wrong.

“I…she saw right through me. In two seconds. I couldn’t lie to her. I can never lie to her…And it helps, kind of? She’ll corroborate our story. Someone in our lives had to have known, right? Even if it was a secret?” He rationalizes.

Eddie’s face is blank. “I guess.”

Steve is frustrated. “Why are you upset?”

“I’m not.” He lies. Steve glares. His expression cracks. Eddie sighs, walking on eggshells and oh Steve hates that even more.

“It’s just…we laid the groundwork, swore no one knew and now there’s another layer to it. Another person whose answers need to match, more of this I need to coordinate and I just…it’s a lot.”

Steve deflates a bit. Want to apologize but instead offers a flat, “I get that.”

Eddie exaggeratedly perks up, handing him his highlighter, “Don’t worry about it, Steve. I will figure it out.”

He goes to exit the office. Steve feels like shit, calls out. “Eddie?”

The other man stops and turns around. Steve sighs. “I’m really sorry but, I need you this afternoon, after my meeting. We have to go to my apartment.”

Eddie doesn’t mind, he had to work this afternoon anyways. Nods dutifully. “Course,’ whatever you need.”

He heads out. Steve drops his head onto the desk, feeling pain starting behind his eyes, spreadsheets forgotten.

Eddie gets back to his work day - thinking nothing of Steve’s latest request for his time.

Since the engagement, Eddie has been pulled to and fro by him in a whirlwind, always insisting on Eddie being clocked in for it, even if their business is dubious at best. 

The other day he’d spent the morning with Steve at the bank and they opened a joint bank account, Steve flirting with him the whole time they were under the scrutiny of the tellers, crooning about how what was his was now Eddie’s too. Something that made Eddie’s eye twitch if he thought about it too hard.

Today it seems it will be more of the same. 

As instructed, after his boss’ noon meeting, Eddie finishes up everything he needs to do and meets Steve at his apartment.

Arriving promptly, he takes the elevator up to his floor, where Steve lets him in, greeting him warmly, as if this afternoon is a distant memory - and maybe it is, but still Eddie is wary - until he sees that they aren’t alone.

He looks at Steve for clarification as to why there’s another man here, and he doesn’t miss a beat, diplomatically introducing. “Eddie, this is Johnathan. Nancy’s boyfriend.” 

Eddie does a double take. “Nancy as in, Nancy Wheeler?” He asks.

Steve doesn’t sound happy about it, although he’s smiling. “Yes.” 

Eddie glances back at the other man, telling him. “Um, hello.” So as not to be rude.

“Hi.” Johnathan gives an awkward wave with one hand, his other setting down a mug of coffee onto a coaster that rests on Steve’s expensive coffee table.

Then Johnathan stands. “Now that you’re here, I’m gonna go finalize the set-up.” He disappears from the living room at his words, heading to another area of the penthouse.

Eddie watches him go before glancing at Steve with concern and asking “Why is your ex’s girlfriend’s boyfriend here, and what is he setting up?” 

“Johnathan’s a photographer.” Steve explains to him, begrudgingly admitting. “The best, actually.” 

Then his voice lowers as he continues. “He’s also discreet. No investigative prodding like you might get with his romantic counterpart.” The jab comes so naturally even as he bulldozes past it. 

“I figured, since we needed to take some pictures, that he would be a good bet.” Steve rubs the back of his neck.

“Pictures.” Eddie repeats.

“For the engagement announcement. Or…whatever else we might need them for.” He looks meaningfully at Eddie. “I thought we’d start with some formal staged pictures here? And then get some candid photos at our usual date spots?” 

Oh.

Eddie understands. “Right. Of course. And Johnathan is the best. Makes sense.”

Steve briefly looks exhausted before he carefully smoothes his face over. “I-I didn’t hear what you said. But, nod? If we’re good?” 

Eddie nods. 

Steve nods too. “Okay. Good. Uh, come with me, please.” 

Eddie can’t remember the last time Steve said ‘please’ to him…Actually, well, he’d gotten a sarcastic one with his proposal…but a genuine please? It’s…strange.

Nonetheless Eddie follows as Steve leads him to his office. Inside there are three racks of clothes tucked to the side. When Eddie goes to peruse through them, he’s surprised. “These are mine.” He says in confusion. 

Steve nods. “Your bandmate Gareth had a spare key.” Steve had made some calls. Some assumptions too, figuring if his best friend had full access, that maybe… “I though that authentic would be better.” 

Eddie takes him in for the first time then - his soft looking yellow pullover and jeans. Is this who he is? Authentically?

“I’ll make sure you have one of your own. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.” Eddie tells him. Simple enough. This was the man he was supposed to marry - and if nothing else, con aside, there was trust between them. Steve had admitted that he trusted Eddie, and Eddie, in his own way, trusted Steve too.

Not to mention that Eddie had had unfettered access to Steve’s apartment for years. What was a little reciprocation, in light of that?

Eddie leaves it at that, attention elsewhere as he starts combing through the racks, sweetened by his getting to choose. Eventually he decides he wants to dress up, just a little bit. 

Settling on black once again, it’s a softer version of his usual style. 

A nice belt with a simple silver buckle, to accompany a pair of high waisted jeans that are free of rips or blemishes, and a shirt with a low cut that exposes his collarbones and some of the skin of his chest, a peak of a tattoo, the black fabric interrupted by an occasional floral pattern or rose composed of an orangish-red or cream color. 

Satisfied with his find - Eddie disappears to go change, before rejoining Steve, his hands fidgeting with his hair. 

“Up or down?” He asks, and Steve, who had been staring at him - lips parted - seems to snap out of it. Gesturing for Eddie to stay still before he steps into his personal bubble.

Hello.

He gently takes a handful of Eddie’s hair, winding and unwinding and unraveling it in and around his palms - before he manipulates it into a makeshift hairdo, trying to get a feel for whether it should be pulled out of Eddie’s face or left down.

“Hm…up. You have such a pretty neck.” Steve’s lips are hinting at a smile, and Eddie wishes he had chosen for him to leave it down - because said neck is currently flushing at the compliment and Eddie knows Steve can see it.

What the hell?

Then Eddie notices Johnathan, lingering in the doorway and pretending to still be adjusting his camera settings, and he feels as though he’s had his veins dipped in ice water.

Right. This wasn’t real. Steve didn’t really like his neck or find him pretty. It was all a performance. 

And Eddie’s a performer. He can do this. Playing along, he grins back at Steve, showing too much teeth. “You know your sweet talking gets me all riled up, big boy.”

Steve looks…elated. “You promise?”

Jesus H. Christ.

A weak chuckle, and Eddie bats him away before gathering his hair in his own hands, pulling it up high, trying to sort the smaller pieces into something artfully messy.

Steve lingers, fingers twitching like he wants to intervene, but lets him be, still looking at Eddie even as he angles his body and asks Johnathan, “Where do you want us?”

Series Masterlist Next Part: Part 6 Previous Part: Part 4

[xoluvx]

everyone here is acting like they’ve never seen a blurry thigh pic and they talk like children as well as you 😭 you don’t owe anyone anything but why not put your age if you’re not a child? i’m done with people acting like their age is something to be secretive about when they’re posting content like this like grow up! yall get so butt hurt over the truth like how am i not supposed to think you’re a child

it’s the fact that you sat down and wrote this entire thing for me to just tell you to fuck off 🤭 like what exactly do you want me to do with this information? “i don’t owe you anything” .. it really is that simple babe, but maybe i should use my big girl brain and give you a proper response since you’re so desperate for it.

why are we upset that i’m not sharing my age? as far as i know, the only way i could “prove” i’m an adult is by posting my ID. let’s be so fucking for real right now. if you were so concerned about me being a minor posting inappropriate things, you wouldn’t have come at me crazy. think about it.. why would you talk to a minor with that type of entitlement? let me reiterate.. nobody owes you anything. seems like you got “butt hurt” by my response and are spiraling. furthermore, i can pick out a handful of blogs - if not more - that do not disclose their age and are doing crazier shit than i am. but hey, did i mention this is my blog and i can do whatever i want? yeah. there’s that.

you say were scrolling through my page “wondering if my age was anywhere”.. that’s a very peculiar reason to scroll through someone’s blog, don't you think? are you sure you weren’t fangirling at first? i digress.

what exactly did i do “for a reason”? answer your ask with attitude? um yeah.. i absolutely did babe. i may be sweet, but i'm not a pushover and i will defend myself if i need to. come on, we gotta start using our brains!! it seems the only one “butt hurt” here is you. again, i’m so sorry that people seem to agree with me or at the very least, like me enough to engage with my content.

grateful for the scroll? baby, please don’t flatter yourself. i am grateful for my 6k followers though 😘

bonus: this is me actually being petty and going there.. *you’re probably not someone to talk about age and/or how someone speaks when you can’t tell the difference between ‘your’ and ‘you’re’. anyway ..

if you’re still not convinced, just keep reading love.

omg look a legal adult drinking and showing skin!!! blasphemy.

i’m not a child.. so yeah thanks for the (fake) concern. you may kindly fuck off now 💖

[daengtokki]

𝐼'𝓂 𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈𝓃'𝓉 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒

Kim Seungmin/female reader

wc: 3.1k

synopsis: someone is cheating // pt 2

rating: angst/sort of fluff ꩜ -`♡´-

⤜ · · ♡ · · →

Now Seungmin remembers just how lonely he can get

The dorm is silent. It’s late and everyone is asleep, but he didn’t realize just how late it had gotten until he closed the door a little too loudly. He drops his bags and pulls off his clothes as he makes his way to the bed, tossing them and leaving a trail as he goes. Typically, he throws them right into his hamper, or folds them neatly on his chair, but tidyness is far from his mind right now—almost everything is.

But still, his mind is racing. It’s spinning and it’s aching, and his heart is, too. He feels outside of his own body as he replays the last hour in his head, and he just wants to wake up from this nightmare.

Seungmin crashes onto the bed. He hasn’t been here in a few weeks, at least not to sleep, and the bed feels all wrong. The thought of being here, and not where he’s supposed to be breaks him, and his breath catches in his throat as he desperately holds everything back. But it’s too much, and he has to cry. Silently, though—that much he can do. He turns and pushes his face into the pillow and lets go.

A text comes through, and the first thought that runs through his head—it’s you, it has to be. Pleading for forgiveness, and throwing I love you’s in every direction. It’s not until he looks at the screen that he remembers the shattered remains he left on the floor. But you have other ways; your laptop, mainly. If you really wanted to, you could reach him right now with no trouble.

This text is from Jeongin.

min is that you? I didn’t think you’d be here. Everything okay?

As quiet as he was, that was all kind of ruined when he had to blow his nose and breath properly again. And there’s something about a post-cry nose blow that’s just…obvious.

yeah I’m okay

Everything will come out in the morning anyway.

If you say so…we can have a drink and watch something if you want to talk

Jeongin isn’t just perceptive; he knows Seungmin well, and he knows when something is off.

we can talk tomorrow, I should sleep

Seungmin has no hope of sleep tonight.

· · ♡ · ·

The broken phone at your feet blinks pathetically, trying with everything it has to hold on and buzz a text message in. You don’t care, though. You don’t need your phone if Seungmin isn’t texting, or calling, and only realizing that now is your problem. You got complacent—apathetic over the months you’ve been with him. Unbelievably stupid. You’ve ruined the best thing that ever walked into your life. All you can think of now is every word you want and need to say to him, but you can’t.

No, you can. Your laptop is right there, on the coffee table. If anything, you can gather and organize your thoughts, because you can't imagine him wanting to hear from you tonight. Getting him back might be impossible, but this still feels necessary. Sending it off in an email is something morning you will decide on.

Minnie, I’m sorry it’s come this—I’m sorry you have to feel the way you do right now, and I need you to know how much it kills me that you’re hurting. I’m sorry that I’ve done so poorly as your person, something I should be better at by now, that I have to write to you this way just hoping you’ll read it. I’ve failed you, because I should have been stronger, and I should have been there for you when you needed me the most. Not stronger, no, just better…more perceptive and more understanding. I do know how lonely it gets for you, because you have mentioned it before, but I’ve been so selfish for so long. Getting to be yours for the last 2 years has been a dream. I never thought someone as sweet, and funny, and loving, and as beautiful as you would ever come into my life. I won’t try to explain my actions, because there is no explanation. I don’t deserve you, or your forgiveness. I broke your trust. I broke everything. I felt entitled to fix my loneliness when you were suffering with it, too. But you didn’t hurt me. You’ve never hurt me. I want you to know that I love you, though. I love you more than anything. You are irreplaceable and I will suffer without you, because I should.

Three, four times you read through it before deciding to hit send. It can’t wait until you decide to wake up in the morning, because sleeping tonight will be difficult—but crying is exhausting. You doze off for an hour, then jump out of it abruptly for no reason. Panic takes over, and your heart feels like it might explode as you orient yourself in a tangle of sheets. Seungmin isn’t here, and it takes a moment to remember why.

You smack the keyboard of your laptop until it wakes up, and the new email at the top of the pile makes the panic even worse.

RE: (no subject)

Twelve minutes ago.

You click it and brace yourself for more heartbreak; more difficult truth. An end.

· · ♡ · ·

Seungmin does decide to get up and get a soju, but he does it alone. He needs something to help him relax; numb things a little, and make his eyes a little heavier. The time between is spent looking through old messages between him and you, which is not making things better, but Seungmin wants to figure out where things went wrong. He gets as far back as four months of texts when a notification pops up on his phone.

You did exactly what I thought you would, he mumbles to himself. It’s an email, no subject. Before the little banner disappears, he opens it, and he devours every word far too quickly. Seungmin’s heart races and his stomach swirls as he scans each paragraph, and then he immediately goes back and starts again, slowly.

Now he has something more to dwell on. He gets up and heads to the kitchen for another drink, and when he returns, he just starts typing:

I love you, too. Before I say anything else, I want you to know that. I keep reading your email over and over as I type, because my head is a mess and I can’t focus much right now, but your words ground me. They always have. It’s been a while since you’ve given me a hand written letter, and this, of all things, made me miss that. You have a way with words that I just can’t seem to replicate. I’m hurting like I don’t remember ever hurting before. I feel opened up and ripped apart. I feel like I’m not enough, or I wasn’t enough. I was scared of a relationship because of this, I guess. Being away, not being enough, because I know I’m bad at expressing myself sometimes. Most of the time. Not being with you much makes it even harder. So I feel at fault, too. I need to own up to not always being there when you need me, even though it came with our type of relationship. I’m sorry it’s so hard for us to talk like this face to face…or for me to, I guess. I didn’t give you a chance.

· · ♡ · ·

That’s it.

You’re relieved, but you’re not sure if you should reply again. Leaving it at this until morning might be the best option. But what happens in the morning? Does Seungmin come back home? Will he reply if you email him again? Maybe he’ll sleep in late, leave again, leave you waiting for a message just like you did to him. You think back to the last time he was home, and how you weren’t even here because you ignored his text. Not just ignored, but didn’t even look at it to see that he was waiting and wondering why you weren’t there to greet him.

It feels like your heart is being squeezed just imagining his confused face. And then your mind moves to him…the other one, and it makes you sick thinking of him now. It should have done that before. Irreplaceable is exactly what Seungmin is, that was no exaggeration.

Luckily, you fall asleep with his words in your head; the I love you, the possibility of another chance. And your guilt, still, of making him think he hasn’t been enough.

· · ·

There’s hardly a chance to think of replying to Seungmin. You don’t sleep long, because once you’re awake, you’re awake. Showered, dressed, coffee slowly dripping in the glass caraffe. You prep enough in the hopes that he’ll have some, too, but that’s mostly wishful thinking—a desperate attempt at a manifestation.

A reply has been rolling around in your head since last night, and it formed into a solid set of paragraphs as you took your time in the shower, now you just have to sit and hope it comes out just as well. And you do open his email, but instead of typing, you grab a pencil and a piece of stationary from the desk—stationary you bought just for his letters. You haven’t touched them in at least a year.

It actually comes out easier this time.

Seungmin,

Might as well start properly.

You’ve always been enough. I see you struggle every day with balancing your work and your regular life…me, us. I don’t know what that’s like—

The sound of keys makes you stop. The slide of metal against metal as it’s pushed in and turned; every bit of it is so, so loud. You look again at the broken phone on the floor, not forgotten, but not even deserving of a place in the trash can. You couldn’t bring yourself to touch it.

When you look back at him, the first thing he does is find you, and then he looks to the aftermath of his out of character temper. Then back at you.

You set the pencil down and stand, but you don’t take a step toward him. Every part of you screams to be closer, though.

“Hi,” he takes a few steps inside, kicks off his shoes next to yours. “Morning.”

It’s nearly noon, but you can pretend you didn’t stay up and sleep in late. You haven’t had coffee yet, anyway, so that’s what you do—you force yourself to the kitchen and pour a mug, and then you pour the rest over ice for him.

He watches, but looks at what you were working on as he gets closer to the coffee table. You don’t say anything when he picks up the piece of paper and reads it, rereads it. “I got you something,” he says as he places it back on the table.

“Uhm…you did?”

Why would he do that? You don’t feel like you deserve his gifts at the best of times, so you certainly don’t want anything now.

Seungmin digs in the shopping bag and pulls out a little white box, opens it, and then hands you your new phone.

“I was out of line last night, when I…” he looks at it on the floor again, “I’m sorry.”

“No, Minnie…you weren’t, at all”

“You didn’t deserve my anger”

“I did, I needed it. I want it. Please don’t be nice to me.”

“Okay, if you really mean that…” He walks over slowly and picks up his glass, takes a long sip... “I’ve never felt so angry at you before. I didn’t think I could feel like that, honestly. And I was still holding back.”

“I could tell. Part of me wanted you to let go.”

“Let go, let go how? I could never hurt you.” His touch is a relief—the gentle slide of his thumb across your skin, his hand closing softly around your neck. A much different touch than last night. “Phone, yeah. Him, maybe.”

“That person is gone”

“Did it help…did he help? Were you less lonely with him?”

Thinking about it isn’t really necessary, but you take a long moment to look at Seungmin—his eyes are big and wet, and they’re puffy from not getting enough sleep, or crying. Most likely both, though you can only remember seeing Seungmin cry once in the time you’ve known him. And it wasn’t over you.

“No, I wasn’t. I think it was making me feel worse.”

“I’m irreplaceable, right?”

The tease in his voice is obvious, and his little laugh breaks every bit of tension in the room. You need to pull him in and kiss him, but whether or not you’re there yet is still a mystery. Instead, you shift slightly closer.

“Yes, you are”

He smiles. You’ve seen him smile like that before, and it’s always when he’s in a certain mood. Seungmin sets his glass down and takes yours from you.

“Seungmin”

The desperate whine just makes him smirk.

“Please, Minnie…I need you, so much”

“I know you do, I know.” But he grabs your wrists and stops you as you move toward his hips. “You have me. And I need something to.”

“Of course, anything”

“Can you finish your letter?”

· · ·

Seungmin is never fast in the shower, especially not after he’s been away for so long. There’s no need for him to rush around now—he knows he has plenty of time, and plenty of hot water no matter how long he takes. Typically, you leave him alone when he’s in there, despite the occasional urge to go in.

But this time, of all times, you decide to act on that urge.

There he is, behind the glass partition. Steam chokes the air, and condensation keeps his body mostly hidden from you, but he’s tall enough that you do get a peak—back turned, head twisted to the side so the water can beat down on his neck and shoulders. He rolls them, groans with relief, and sighs. It makes you dizzy.

Then he finally opens his eyes and sees you staring at him. He smiles so wide, with all of his teeth, and it’s the most beautiful sight. It’s as if nothing bad has happened, and nothing is slowly tearing the two of you apart.

“I think I’m finally losing hot water,” he muses, mostly to himself, but he doesn’t turn it off. What he does do is turn to you and fold his arms over the partition. He’s just tall enough. “Hi, do you have something for me?”

You nod, shyly, and you don’t know why. The way he’s looking at you seems brand new, and it feels so intense.

“Seungmin…” you start, paper clutched in one hand. You don’t think you even need to read from it now.

He doesn’t interrupt, but he nods and gives you another little smile.

“You’ve always been enough. I see you struggle every day with balancing your work and your regular life…me, us. I don’t know what that’s like. I don’t know how difficult and tiring it is to be on all the time, and to switch off when you walk through that door to me. I have it so easy—I get to hide away from everything, and then at the end of the day, or the end of the week, month…I get you, I get to hear your voice, and see your face, and I couldn’t ask for anything better…”

He ducks away, and the water is turned off as one more big plume of steam rises up and starts to clear. You reach for his towel, hold it open for him, and wait patiently as he drips and shakes his hair. It’s cute, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him do it.

“…because there’s nothing better”

Seungmin steps out and lets you wrap it around him. The water beading down his chest is too much, and as he’s tightening it around his waist, you lean forward and kiss him there. Muscle flexes as you pull away and place another one, and then another until your lips close around his nipple.

At any moment, he could pull away from you, because he hasn’t made his intentions clear yet. He could stay now, for a while, for the last time, or he could leave as soon as he’s dressed. The letter is written and read to him, though it was short, and maybe that was the last of your say on the subject. Maybe that’s why he showed up—that, and the phone.

No. Seungmin wouldn’t put in this much effort just to turn around and leave. He’s still upset, and he’s still confused.

He looks down at you and closes his eyes, savoring the warmth of your lips on his cool skin. It might be too much right now to touch again, but he wants to.

A hand up your back is all it takes to get a sound out of you.

“Hey”

“Yeah?” Your forehead presses against him and you avoid his gaze.

“Everything you said, just now and last night…” he stops and hmms to himself, musing out loud again, “and what I said. Why can’t we say those things to each other. Why did it take this, after so long?”

“Because we’re both afraid of being vulnerable with each other, at least on our feet.”

Seungmin laughs at that. “Yeah, I guess it’s a little different during sex, but even then…”

“Are you saying you want—“ you stop, but not because he interrupts you. You stop because you’re terrified of his answer.

“…to work on it?”

He can still finish your sentences. Maybe that’s part of the problem—thinking you can read each other’s mind, even though sometimes you absolutely do.

“I can feel your heartbeat”

And it feels like it could stop at any moment. It feels like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, preparing to jump…to get pushed.

Seungmin pulls you even closer, and you wrap your arms around his waist.

“Is that what you think we should do?”

“I just want you to trust the person you give yourself to”

“Is it silly if I still trust you? I know you want me to stay, but the way you talk makes it seem like you’re pushing me away. Like you’re giving me an out.”

“No, it’s not silly. I don’t want to push you away, but I do hate myself more than I ever thought I could.”

“Maybe we’ve talked enough today. We both need more sleep…can we do that?”