#anyway happy wednesday! hope you all have a good one~

[darehearts]

flings the entire sun at you all bc i love seeing all of you on my dash

[hanllucination]

keep me. bang chan (18+)

Chan comes back like clockwork, like muscle memory, like something inevitable. But routine doesn’t mean permanence. And you’re starting to wonder if he only ever stays long enough to remember what it feels like to leave.

PAIRING. bang chan / f! reader GENRE. smut, angst, break up fic WORD COUNT. 8.8k WARNINGS. strong language, subtly toxic relationships, explicit sexual content: emotional sex, light d/s dynamics, fingering, oral sex (m! receiving), a little face fucking, unprotected sex (it’s a long established relationship), a little bit of manhandling, use of petnames (baby, love), dirty talk & praise (good girl), shower sex, color system

NOTES. i’m very excited to share this with you all, it’s the first i’ve written after a very long time ♡ writing this was an emotional rollercoaster lol let me know if i missed any tags or warnings! happy reading ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ

READ ON AO3. / MASTERLIST.

It’s three knocks on your door that finally sink the heartbreak into the pit of your stomach.

Only Chan would do that—knock on your door softly, wait for you to let him in despite being told that the door is unlocked. Despite you leaving it unlocked for him, every time.

I’m free today, he had written in the text. Can I call you? But you had invited him to your apartment instead, and you shouldn’t even have to ask him to come over. Wednesdays were always for you and him.

Silly, you don’t even have to ask, you had told him, a half-empty laugh following after.

You had heard the sound of his breathing for a moment, and with the silence just a hitch away becoming too uncomfortable, too tense, he had said on the other side of the line, right. I know that.

“It’s me,” he knocks on the other side of the door twice more. “Can I come in?”

You stare at the coat hanging on one of the hooks by the door for a moment, feeling a sigh in your chest. You try to hold it in, reaching for the knob instead.

“Of course it’s you,” you tease when the door opens. “Of course you can.”

Chan seems worn out and tired, but he offers you a smile anyway. It’s warm and familiar and… and something else you recognize but can’t begin to think about. He holds his hand up by your ear and tucks your hair behind it.

“Hi,” he breathes.

You nuzzle into his hand, subconsciously stepping forward, further, responding in the same manner, “Hi. I’m cooking dinner for us.”

It’s so easy to fall into step with him. He finds his way into the middle of your apartment, immediately setting down everything in his hands down the old coffee table. You glance at the paper bag (“That’s just some leftover snacks, if you want it!” he says without you needing to ask), crumpled at the top where Chan had held it, his phone beside it. His small pouch rests at the corner of your small couch.

(He sets them down gently, carefully, methodically, in the same way he set down his heart, some years ago, in the middle of the street after a few drinks at a small, snobbish club. I love you. You held onto his arm, seeking warmth. I love you.)

“It smells good,” he sniffs exaggeratedly, walking towards the stove. “What are you cooking?” he asks as he lifts the glass lid, steam wafting through the air and the aroma of the food becoming stronger.

“Just some veggie soup. The temperature’s starting to drop, don’t you think?” you tell him, chuckling to yourself a little. “Are you hungry? It’ll be ready in around ten minutes. Could you wait a little longer? I have some snacks in the fridge, if you want.”

His lips break into a grin, and you think it’s beginning to form a small laugh on his tongue. You rambled again, and years ago you would’ve been embarrassed, covering your mouth in shame. I love the way you talk, he had told you. You don’t have to hold anything back. I hope you can be comfortable with me.

“It’s fine,” he shakes his head, cheeky and teasing. You sigh jokingly, and he puts the lid back onto the pot before turning back to you. “I’m actually less hungry and more—icky? I need to wash up, I mean. S’been a long day.”

“By all means,” you nod, gesturing to the bathroom. It says a lot more than, yes, you can do that. It also says, your clothes have been in the same place they’ve always been. Your toothbrush, the soap you specifically use because your skin is a lot more sensitive than mine, your towels, everything… they’re still here. “Food’ll be ready by the time you’re done.”

Chan scratches the back of his head, looking down at his feet before he looks back at you, sheepish. He takes a few steps towards you until his hands reach your shoulders—he does just that, rubbing his thumbs on the exposed skin of your collarbone before tilting his head.

“Help me wash up?”

Your face immediately burns up, lips tensing at the suggestion. He knows you weren’t one to like showering together; it’s cramped, a waste of water, and overall impractical. You’d sometimes join him, sure, but the majority of the time you’d politely decline. Chan respects that. He always does.

There’s something about this suggestion now. Something different, something… greedy. A plea, almost. You think he starts to breathe a little heavier with each passing second of your silence, and his hooded eyes wait for the answer on your face.

You think you need this, too.

You nod at him, quickly closing in the gap and placing a small, brief kiss on his lips. He immediately gets his arms around you, but before he could make anything out of it, you pull away. You don’t know if he realizes it but you feel the way his lips chase yours when you move back. Your chest swells at your realization.

“Ten minutes, Chan,” you tease, placing another kiss on his cheek. “Don’t wanna burn the apartment down.”

“I don’t like the veggies too cooked, though,” he clicks his tongue. “Here.”

He suddenly squats down, pulling you by the back of your thighs before carrying you in his arms. A small squeal leaves you before you could even process a reaction, and you had immediately grabbed onto his shoulders in fear of falling. He buries his nose into the skin of your neck and places his warm lips on it.

“Bang Chan! What the hell,” you scold him, hitting his shoulder with furrowed brows. “Impatient.”

Wriggling your way out of his hold proves no use. He holds onto you so firmly that you could only wrap your arms and legs around him tighter. You slap his back weakly, still startled from him carrying you without warning. He laughs onto your skin and you feel its tickle down your spine, flinching slightly with a laugh of your own. You feel his arms pull you tighter.

“We can do all that we need to do later,” he mumbles. “It can wait.”

There it is again. You hear it. A plea, but only subtle. Smooth in his voice, soft and supple. Like the thumbs that rub the skin on the sides of your thighs. He hikes you higher up his torso, and another breath leaves at the sudden little movement. You’re so tempted to give in.

“No. We eat first, then we wash up,” you insist, words leaving no room for argument. You hear a soft whine so you steady yourself with one hand on his shoulder, the other on his cheek. “Okay?”

He presses his lips on yours in response, deep and heavy. Its plushness moves against yours, and suddenly you’re down in your worn out barstool, back in the kitchen. The metal of the old seat creaks and Chan pulls away from you, breathless.

“Stay there, I’ll take care of this,” he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You know,” Chan starts, as if you just know. “Cooking for me. You didn’t have to.”

He doesn’t turn to you when he says it. The clicks of the stove struggling to reignite its flames resound and deep within your chest you think you also hear the same. Click click click. He grabs the wooden spoon just beside the sink and he stirs the soup, lifting it up once just to let the liquid dribble back down into the pot. You rest your cheek against your hand, elbow propped on the countertop.

You stare at his back and wonder how much of its dips and curves you’ve already memorized—how much of it you need to get to know more, the way they move and twitch and tremble under your touch. Beneath his black, slightly tight-fitting shirt, his shoulders visibly loosen up. He grabs two bowls from the cabinets above him and carefully spoons a hearty amount of soup into each.

It doesn’t take long before he sets up your dinner and finds himself on the stool beside yours. Neither of you say a word, tension still warm in the air, comforting—but toeing the line of awkward. The skin of his thigh brushes against yours sometimes, and you’re almost tempted to ask if it’s intentional. If he means it.

Contrary to his earlier impatience, Chan takes his time eating. He smiles when he catches you looking, and you laugh when he hums in satisfaction of a pleasant, albeit simple, dinner. The anticipation is prickling the skin on your shoulders, but you can’t seem to say a word. Chan finishes with a kiss on your cheek and a quiet mumble of another ‘thank you’ before he gathers the dishes to clean up.

It’s awful, thinking about this. You have no idea what’s on his mind right now, and you’re so close to breaking. This won’t do. You have to say something, or he has to say something. What was that all about earlier? What happened? Is he mad? Is he disappointed? What should you—

“Baby,” he calls gently, snapping you out of it—whatever it was. A detachment from the moment, from reality? A fear, maybe. Overthinking.

You barely realize that he’s in front of you again, standing between your knees, dishes forgotten in the sink. He brings a hand to your head and rubs a finger between your brows.

“I can almost hear you thinking,” he clicks his tongue. Then he presses a firm kiss on where his touch lingered. “I’m sorry. We’re fine. You can get in the shower and I’ll be with you in a second, hm?”

No words come out of your mouth. You shudder at the implication, at the tone of his want.

Maybe you’re thinking too much about this. Maybe it’s just another Wednesday of yours, just another time he’s here. A sharing of each other’s company in the quiet routine you’ve fallen into, built over the years. So you nod at him before padding over to your bathroom.

One by one, you strip off your clothes. It doesn’t take long; you’re in your most comfortable, anyway, since your plans were to just stay home. You never needed to impress Chan either. Whenever your fingers brush against your skin, a shiver crawls beneath your bones. There is warmth pooling in your chest—a desire that would burn you if it boils over.

But something feels… different. Like it’s all building to something neither of you is ready to name. The shower opens with a stutter and it’s hot the moment it touches your skin. You don’t mind, though—but Chan will, and you know that. You twist the tap ever so slightly, knowing exactly where it should turn for it to be warm enough to his liking. The temperature should calm you, but it doesn’t.

The way the water thrums against your skin, the tiled floor, the glass door… it’s all too much. It irks you—feeling every drop, reminded of his touch: gentle, deliberate, lingering. Then, you hear your blood pulsating in your ears. You tilt your head back, letting the water cascade over your face. It should calm you, but it doesn’t.

The door creaks open and you feel a slight breeze of chill from behind you, like a wind passing, carrying with it an odd mix of anticipation and vulnerability. It’s not like Chan is trying to be quiet. He knows you’d expect him. He asked for you to be there. There’s a moment of stillness, save for the water pattering around you. Then, the faint rustling of clothes, a slow whistle of fabric sliding down the floor. Your pulse quickens.

It doesn’t take long before you feel him behind you, close enough to stir the air around but not yet touching you. You don’t turn to look at him—your breath catches as if doing so would make the moment too real, too raw, like everything would cease to exist with one wrong move. But you feel him. His warmth is unmistakable, radiating through the steam, undeniable and grounding, a stark contrast to the chill that had briefly brushed your spine. It couldn’t be anything or anyone else. It’s him, always him, cutting through the steam like sunlight through fog.

And maybe that’s how his presence has always been, how he really is: sun, sunlight, sunshine. A warmth you can’t help but lean into, even when it burns.

Chan is the first to break the silence. “Hi,” he simply says before he kisses the skin where your neck and shoulder meet. His hands soon follow, soothing the soreness of your muscles with a gentle massage. You whimper quietly.

“Hi,” you manage to respond moments after.

Chan rests his forehead on the back of your head, stopping you from turning around when you make that first little step. He pulls you closer to his body, your back flush against his chest and you feel it heave in along with his breathing. With every exhale through his nose the air grows heavier.

“Don’t,” he breathes. “Stay there. I’ll wash you.”

“I want to see you, though,” you try to complain, but the words fall weak on your tongue. “Chan?”

“Later.”

You feel him stretch his arm to the side, and your peripheral catches his hand reaching for the bottle of liquid on the small shelf mounted in the corner of the shower, just a bit of an arm away from your head. You lean innocently onto him but his breath hitches, taking you a bit by surprise.

As if that would stop you.

You continue to rub your behind onto him under the guise of needing warmth and seeking softness, and his breathing falters with each minute. He rubs his hands together, soapy and slippery, before rubbing it all along your body in seemingly random but nonetheless tender patterns. He starts with your arms, then he moves to your shoulders, your back, your legs, from back to front—leaning forward to reach further, then to your waist. His hand inches to your center, where you need it most, and you could almost feel the tease in his touch. He reaches for another pump of soap before he brushes his fingers onto the skin of your abdomen. It twitches with the gasp you couldn’t catch before it’s out of your mouth, and you suddenly jolt your hips back towards his, a movement you couldn’t control.

And Chan whimpers. It’s low and hushed, almost too quiet if his lips weren’t all up in your ear. The moment halts and the warmth that pooled in your chest moves down and you like it. So you do it again, pressing back into his body further. And again, wiggling until his cock catches against your lower back. And again, feeling him holding himself back.

Then he grips your arms to steady you. That doesn’t stop his hardness from pushing against the dip of your lower spine. Then you whimper. He still keeps you turned away from him.

“Stop moving,” he grits. “You’re so needy, aren’t you?”

You don’t even try to deny that. How could you, when he moves his right forearm to wrap around your chest, his left hand just below your abdomen. Close, but not enough. He toys with the skin that it frustrates you. It’s so close. You try to stand on your tiptoes, moving yourself closer to where you need his hand to be but he holds you with his arm firmly enough to keep you in place. His hand leaves your abdomen to catch the water from the shower, washing off the soap.

“I said,” he whispers into your ear, tone rough, “stop moving.”

Then he finally, finally touches you. His finger traces your slit lightly, the stroke almost too subtle to feel. Your legs immediately draw close together, and Chan supports you when you almost lose balance. He sighs in your ear, a short, small laugh following the prod of his finger into your core.

In a desperate attempt to stop his teasing, you could only cry out his name. “Chan,” your voice shakes, and you hold onto the arm around your chest in an attempt to ground yourself, to keep yourself together. “Please.”

“Just a little more, my love,” he starts, still moving a single finger—God fucking damn it, only a single one—up and down your folds. “And I’ll give you what you want.”

Your chest quivers with deep, uneven breaths. You hold out as best as you can, keeping your desire from bursting and it burns you. Please. There is only a word in your head, clouded and hazy. Like a mantra, a chant. Please. Please.

“So good,” Chan praises, and you swear you could hear the smile in his voice which only sharpens the greed clawing at your core. Desperate to feel more, to take more.

But between you and him, it’s not your job to take more. That’s Chan’s. That’s him, since the beginning.

So he takes.

He pushes a finger into you and right then and there you feel that you could just give everything you could ever offer for his taking. It feels as if he belongs there, as if you are shaped for nothing but his touch. He pulls his finger out a bit before pushing it back deeper, into a place you’ve never reached for the past month on your own, or the past year, or ever.

Chan finds a steady pace, slow and deliberate strokes exploring your wetness. Still only a single finger, and you are so tempted to curse him out, to demand more—but you know how patience drives pleasure. There is no choice but to wait. He recognizes it and he whispers another praise in your ear, “You are doing so good, baby.”

You feel another finger teasing your sensitive bud, and not long after there are two fingers parting your slick folds with practiced ease. Your knees buckle in surrender to the pleasure. It feels so hot, as if each movement fans the flames in your core and with every touch Chan leaves trails of pleasure. You’re almost gasping, like you’re running out of breath.

It’s not your job to take more, but this is something only Chan could give. He is giving it to you right now. What else are you supposed to do but take it?

You move your hand from his forearm around your chest to the nape of his neck clumsily. He shifts slightly, letting go of your torso and gripping your thigh to hold it up and oh. Your grasp falters and his fingers remain relentless in giving you the rhythm your body demands. He curls them inside you and you almost choke.

Despite still having your back flushed to his chest, you crane your neck to at least feel his lips against your cheeks. Soft moans are hovering at the edge of your mouth, cries on the verge of slipping out. You struggle to find your voice, lost among the steam, but you try nonetheless.

“Chan–ah,” your voice wavers with a moan. “Please, Chan… I– kiss. Please, kiss.”

You feels Chan’s body tremble behind you, hips bucking that his cock brushes against the curve of your ass. You whimper, and you let it out freely this time.

“Fuck, you’re so…” Chan falters, fingers erratic in your heat. “How sweet you sound, begging like that.” He presses himself against your back, again and again, a desperate attempt to chase his own pleasure too. His breath is hot against your skin, hovering your jaw. The water from the shower does nothing to regulate the temperature of your body. “I just can’t get enough of you.”

Then he kisses you. It’s a little awkward, with your lips not fully slotting or fitting, your necks turned as much as you comfortably can but none of that matters. It’s all teeth and spit and some water gets into your mouth and none of that matters. He kisses you and he curls his fingers in you and you’re almost at your limit. A moan vibrates in your chest, wanton and needy, then Chan pulls away to let you breathe. As if that helps, as if his lips and tongue moving to your jaw doesn’t leave you breathless and writhing in want.

He pulls your thigh closer to him, opening you up further. A guttural sound leaves you and you would be embarrassed at how dirty it sounds but you’re reaching the highest peak of your desire—the roar of the flames in your core now at its full.

“Chan,” you cry out. “Chan, I’m near—ah… please. I’m cumming, please.”

The air is filled with steam and the sound of water, his skin on your skin, his fingers not stopping. Your hips buck against his hand and it drives deeper. He holds it there and you tremble in his arms. You whimper, again and again and again.

“Good,” he coaxes. “You’re almost there, my love. Come on.”

His voice is heavy and rough. He licks the shell of your ear and it sends you over to the edge. His fingers twist inside you and he just takes, drinking up your cries with his lips just hovering yours.

There is a gradual, methodic way in which he slows his fingers, letting you ride out your high until your lungs find a steadier pace, each breath more controlled. He kisses the top of your head before he gently holds your chin—with the very same hand he used to bring you pleasure—turning your face to his.

How filthy, him rubbing your slickness on you. So filthy, and it’s arousing you. It’s surprising because you just got fingered out of your damn mind and you still want more. You’re still willing to give more.

Chan captures your lips in a soft kiss, biting your lower lip lightly before he pulls away just enough to speak, “You did so well.”

He reaches upward to cup water in his hands, using it to wash your chin and your neck. Then again to wash your abdomen and center. You gasp at the touch, and he whispers an apology immediately.

“I know, I’m sorry. Sensitive, hm? Let me just wash you, okay?”

You nod at him, closing your eyes and choosing to rest your forehead on his shoulder as he rubs you clean. When he finishes with a soft pat to your thigh, your eyes open only to be greeted by the sight of his cock, rock hard and almost flushed red. God. Fuck. You pull back, searching his face for something—anything, whatever it is, and he just offers you a lopsided smile.

“Hmm?” he hums in question, curious about the way your brows furrow. “What is it?”

“You,” you simply say. “Are you…?”

“I’m fine.” He brushes it off like it’s nothing. He has given you pleasure and he has taken your pleasure. You want to do the same to him. He shakes his head, “I swear. It’s fine.”

But he doesn’t stop you when you go down on your knees, facing his cock with a hunger you couldn’t fathom. He caresses your hair, whatever he could reach, but he doesn’t even pull you away. “You don’t have to. We can take this to bed,” he still says.

There’s uncertainty in his voice. A crack, an opening he doesn’t intend. He wants this, too. You know it. Anything you could give, he wants it.

“But I want to.”

And he will take it.

He places a finger under your chin to guide you and raise your head, looking you in the eye. You could almost see yourself in the depths of his gaze, a reflection of something shameless, almost jarring. You couldn’t believe you’re liking this—let alone getting intoxicated in arousal for this. It’s like something changed in him in a blink.

“You do?” Chan laughs, almost mockingly. A shiver runs across the expanse of your shoulders, the sound sending another spark of heat through you. Deeper this time, scorching. “You want my cock that badly, huh? Suck me off ‘til your lips grow tired?”

His finger moves, grazing your skin until it reaches your ear. He tucks your wet hair behind it, just like he did by the apartment door when he arrived earlier. His gaze holds you captive, and that feeling of being exposed, vulnerable, it surges again.

Your breath catches as you nod, unable to form any word. He’s always had that effect on you—making you forget your own control, like you’re just a thing for him to take. In the absence of words, you hold his length with a hand and he inhales sharply at your touch. It doesn’t take much to arouse him; with a few nimble strokes his shaft gets hard again. Perhaps even more so.

His hand slides to the back of your neck, firm but gentle, and pulls you closer.

“Good girl,” he whispers, and the praise, laced with an almost indistinguishable amount of contempt, has you reeling. You lick a bit along his tip, testing the waters. His fingers weave through your hair with a slow sigh. “Show me how much you really want it. Give it to me.”

You press a kiss to the side of his cock, soft at first, as if tasting the moment before plunging in. His body shudders. The saltiness lingers on your tongue as you part your lips wider, slowly taking him into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he breathes, the word barely audible, more an exhale than speech. His hand slightly tightens in your hair, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself. You hollow your cheeks, sliding further forward, and the groan that rumbles in his chest sends a thrill through you.

The weight of him is heavy on your tongue, and you let yourself sink into a languid pace, drawing him in, inch by inch, savoring the way his body reacts. His hips jerk, just a little, involuntarily, and you can’t help the slight moan that leaves your throat. The sound and vibration seem to undo him.

“You’re so fucking good at this,” Chan grunts, his voice rough around the edges, raw with need. His hand cups the back of your head, guiding you—not forcing, but encouraging—as you take him deeper, working with a mix of tongue, lips, and a shit ton of spit.

Water slides down your cheeks and occasionally finds its way to your mouth. Not that you care. You glance up, catching his gaze. A carnal glint is in his stare, and he smiles. Fuck. The sight of him nearly takes your breath away. His jaw falls slack, his lips part, and his eyes lock on you—heavy-lidded and burning with something primal.

The tension in his thighs grow as you continue, a gradual acceleration in the way you take him in. The soft, wet sounds fill the air, almost louder than the water hitting the walls and floors, mingling with his labored breaths and low groans. His thumb brushes your cheek, a fleeting touch that feels oddly tender amidst the heat.

“Just like that,” Chan murmurs, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t stop. You’re—perfect.”

You give an experimental hum, letting it thrum in your mouth. Chan whimpers and it’s an absolutely beautiful thing to hear. You hum again, louder this time. Your chest heaves at the limited breathing but Chan is slowly losing his sense of control and it rouses you. There is another pool of warmth in your core, and you’re trying your best to rub your thighs together in your position, hoping to relieve a little bit of your need.

“You’re killing me,” Chan laughs to himself, head thrown back, words thorny with lust. His hands move to your shoulders, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he fights the urge to thrust into your mouth. “I won’t last if you keep going like that.” His voice cracks, betraying the thin line of self-control he’s holding onto.

You pull back slightly, just enough to take a breath, and your lips glisten with the evidence of his pleasure. A mischievous smile tugs at your lips and you glance up again, locking eyes with him. The hunger and greed in his gaze sends your mind into a frenzy of heat, something deep and wild, as though you’re caught in the storm of his desire.

“Do you want me to stop then?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper, teasing in its softness. There is a scratch in your words.

His lips curl into a grin, but it’s strained, the desperation clear in the way his eyes darken. “Hell no,” he clicks his tongue. “Just–don’t stop. You’re so fucking good at this, baby. You know what to do, right?”

There is no need for words. You nod at him, eager and wanting.

“Color?”

“Green.”

“Good.” His hand finds its way back to your hair, pulling just enough to keep you in place. His cock lingers on your lips, and you open your mouth wide, waiting for him to push it in. “Hold on tight.”

He waits for you to gain a steady grip on the back of his thighs before he thrusts forward. The tension in his body snaps as you give and give and give. The taste of him, the sound of his labored breaths, the way he tenses under your touch—your lips, your tongue, the wetness in your slit. You give and give and give and he takes and takes and takes.

Just like he did earlier, when he indulged you. Your pleasure laid out, vulnerable and he just takes. Or the past 3 years, with your heart out in the open, unguarded and he just takes.

It all becomes a blur, this moment. He fucks your face so lewdly, desperate to reach his own high. One hand of yours moves downward, to your own clit. You rub in frantic patterns, aroused out of your damn mind.

His movements begin to stutter, thrusts sloppier. You hum in pleasure, of yours and of his, as your fingers move faster on your wet skin. Chan doesn’t even try to stop the filthy sounds rolling off his tongue and you’re sure he is nearing his limit.

He thrusts a few more times before he pushes in deep—reaching farther than he ever had for the past ten minutes of his cock being in your mouth. His tip brushes against the back of your throat and he stays there for a moment. You couldn’t help the obscene moan and Chan’s whole body shudders. His cock throbs in your mouth before he pulls you away, letting his cum release all over your chest.

Your mouth remains open, breathless and trembling. The moment falls heavy between you, and Chan takes a second before he brushes his fingers through your hair and guides you to stand up. He doesn’t say a word, immediately beginning to wash his cum on you. He grabs another pump of soap, letting it bubble in his hands before cleaning you with it.

“Chan,” you begin, the silence getting to you.

“Hm?” he hums simply. He doesn’t stop his hands, but he raises his head to look at you, pupils still blown wide. His breathing is slowly coming down. He offers you a gentle smile before leaning forward to kiss your cheek. “You did so well. I’m sorry if I went a bit rough.”

You shake your head, wrapping your arms around his waist in an almost embrace. “It’s okay,” you assure him. “I like it.”

“You like it?”

His hands stop and his attention is now fully on you. He raises an eyebrow at your statement, confused. You feel a bit of shame but you continue. “I like it when you… when you just—take.”

Chan stays silent. He doesn’t react, or say a word. It’s hard to read his expression when it’s almost blank, and he continues washing your body until he just says, “Get on the bed and wait for me. Don’t bother putting anything on.”

Then it dawns on you. Whatever you just told him was dangerous. You’re not quite sure how, and to what extent, but something weighs on your chest when he turns the shower off and waits for you to step out. You don’t even need to be told twice.

You take your time drying yourself off with your towel, lingering for a minute on your slit. Still fucking wet. Heat creeps up your face at the realization and you immediately throw the towel into the basket of dirty clothes. There are extra towels, fortunately, stashed inside the small cabinet by your bathroom sink. You hang it up the shower door for Chan to use, not needing to inform him because you know he knows.

Stepping out of the bathroom bare naked lets you feel the temperature change in full. You realize how warm it was when you were in the bathroom with Chan. You shiver, feeling cold—the loss of a warm body, a presence, the slow decrease of arousal.

You walk your way to your bedroom, making sure to keep your feet light. The shower opens and you hear the water pattering again, then suddenly your arousal comes back in full force. Your bed is cool and unmade and you have half the mind to start toying with your pussy again, to feel at least half of what Chan had made you feel with his fingers. But that’s not what you were told to do.

The sound of the shower persists, steady and hushed, a stark contrast to the chaos in your chest. You spend the next minutes staring at the ceiling, waiting. It feels excruciatingly slow. Time doesn’t feel real, when the bathroom is right next door and you still hear Chan in there. You bite your lip, trying to focus on anything but the ache between your legs or the growing weight in your chest. It feels like he’s taking forever, like the space between you is widening with every drop of water hitting the floor.

Your mind betrays you, replaying the way his hands had felt on you, the way his voice dipped when he whispered praises in your ear. You wonder if he’s thinking about this. Thinking about you. You wonder if he regrets it. Or worse—if he doesn’t.

You close your eyes, willing the thoughts to stop, but they only grow louder. What does this mean? What are you supposed to feel? The heat of desire clashes violently with the icy grip of doubt, and suddenly you’re not sure which will win.

When the water finally stops, you sit up abruptly, heart pounding as if you’ve been caught doing something wrong. The sound of the door creaking open makes you swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. You hear his footsteps, soft but deliberate, and then he’s there, standing by the doorway of your bedroom.

Chan doesn’t say anything first, just looks at you, his gaze unreadable. He’s towel-drying his hair, the damp strands sticking to his forehead, droplets sliding down the sharp line of his jaw. You can’t look away, even though every part of you feels like you should.

“Couldn’t wait, huh?” he says finally, his voice low and teasing, but there’s something in it—something wavering, like he’s waiting for you to tip the balance, unsure if he should pull back or push further.

You manage a weak laugh, though it feels hollow. “Not exactly.”

He steps closer, the tension in the room thickening with every movement. “You okay?” he asks, his tone softer now, almost gentle.

The question lingers in the air and for a moment, you think about lying, about brushing it off like you always do. About giving what he wants to take. But the words are stuck in your throat, you feel. You lean back on the pillows, enough to be comfortable but not fully lying down.

“I don’t know,” you admit, palms up on your thighs. The answer comes out frail and delicate.

Something shifts in his expression—concern, maybe, or guilt. He sets the towel aside, crossing the room in a few quick strides, and sits beside you on the bed. His hand hovers for a moment before he places it on your knee, his touch warm and grounding.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and you hate how earnest he sounds, how much you want to believe that he cares.

You don’t doubt that he cares a little bit. Not as much as you do about him, though. Not as much as he thinks he does, nor as much as he did before, in the middle of the street. I love you, he said then.

“This isn’t going to change anything, is it?”

Such weight hanging heavy in the air feels suffocating. It feels like you have to grasp for air. For a moment, he looks like he might say something, but he closes his mouth, jaw tightening, and you choke.

It’s unbelievable, really. After all that, he just kisses you. His lips are on yours without warning and you melt into his arms. The kiss is careful at first, tentative, like he’s trying to find the words he can’t say in the press of his lips. But it’s not enough—not for you, not for what’s bubbling up inside you. Your hands grip his shoulders, turning your torso to him for a more comfortable position. You pull him closer, as if proximity could mend this. His hands move up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away tears you hadn’t even realized were falling.

He guides you to sit on his lap, and you feel his hardness on your bum again. You swallow a sob back and Chan pulls away in surprise.

“Hey,” he murmurs against your lips, breaking the kiss but keeping his forehead pressed to yours. His voice is shaky, not like the teasing confidence from before. “Talk to me. Please.”

You shake your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I don’t know if I can do this,” you whisper. “Not without…” Your voice trails off, but he seems to understand.

He presses, though. “Without what?” His tone is urgent yet gentle, his thumb grazing your cheek.

“Without losing you.”

Your body betrays you as you feel the heat back in your abdomen. It’s a filthy mix of hunger and misery. It boils down into something you’re all too familiar with: desperation. You roll your hips onto him and he whines. You harshly wipe away your tears with the back of your hands before pushing Chan’s chest down onto the bed. He seems taken aback, hesitant with the way he pulls his hands away. You had to grab it yourself, place it on your hips for him to hold onto.

“Make me feel good, Chan,” you plead. Another roll of your hips has you keening, his tip catching just by your entrance. “Please. Take me. Take everything that I am, I will give it to you.”

His eyes meet yours, searching, as if he’s trying to commit every detail to memory. You lean forward to let your hands touch his back, taking your time to go over every dip and curve. Then he nods, his hands moving to slide under your thighs and pulling you closer before flipping you over. He lays you down on the bed, and his gaze roams every bit of your face before he dips to kiss you again, until there is no more space left between you.

What follows isn’t rushed or frantic. It’s deliberate, every touch, every kiss, every movement laden with meaning. It’s like he’s trying to piece together what’s been fractured, even if it’s just for a fleeting moment. A hand slips between your bodies until it reaches your pussy once again. He feels your slick, not needing to prod as much as he did earlier.

Then he leans away, stroking his cock a few times, his head thrown back with the contact. It doesn’t take long before he lines it up on your entrance, and he moves down, almost putting his whole weight on you.

It’s raw, it’s tender, it’s everything you’ve been longing for and everything you know will never last. Not anymore. Funny it took you three long years to feel this. Funny it would be the first and last you’ll ever get this from him.

There is no resistance when he thrusts inside you, deep and slow and whole. He stays put for a minute before you tap his back, letting him know you want him to move—you need him to move. He doesn’t deny you of that, so he pulls back until only the tip lingers inside you before pushing in again heavily.

A visceral sound leaves your lips as your jaw slackens. Chan continues his pace, growing faster with each passing minute and he keeps whimpering in your ear that it sends your mind into haywire. You’re not quite sure how to handle the crashing wave of lust your body is being washed over so the best you could do is hold onto him, fingers gripping the flesh of his back tight enough to feel hot. He moans louder.

Whether it takes thirteen minutes or three years doesn’t matter. It all comes down to the warm tears you feel on your jaw, and you’re not even sure if it’s still yours or if it’s already his. Your fingers tangle in his damp hair, pulling him back to your lips. This time, the kiss isn’t soft or tentative—it’s consuming. It’s every unsaid word, every broken promise, every ounce of love that lingers between you.

He withdraws, lips finding your ear instead before placing a chaste kiss on it. You’re sure now, his tears dropping onto your skin, burning and heavy. Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou. It comes quickly. Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou. He whispers it in your ear, like a prayer. What you once had with him felt sacred, untouchable, and yet here you are, unraveling it thread by thread. Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou.

A long, drawn out cry sounds in your ear as Chan comes undone. You feel every bit of him inside you, and you body twitches as you finish with him. You hear a choked out sob from the man on top of you, and your chest tightens impossibly. You don’t know what to do with your hands. Not now, not before, and never after he leaves.

He stays inside you, cock tucked in your warmth, twitching a little. His cries continue for an amount of time you can’t even comprehend. Your eyes have long dried out now, but the space between your neck and shoulder remains wet with his tears. Your hands try to comfort him by rubbing his back, drawing circles in patterns you hope he recognizes. Soon, he turns quiet.

You feel his chest heave with yours. He stays on top of you, putting his full weight but careful not to suffocate you. As if this whole thing wasn’t suffocating enough. It takes a moment for him to calm down completely, then he pulls out. He falls back away from you, sitting on the edge of the bed by your legs for a moment before you see him visibly relax.

He stands up to walk outside of the room. You don’t even dare to ask, to look at him and follow his movements. Chan comes back before you could even piece back your head with a towel in his hands. The bed dips where he sits before he leans forward to wipe the slick moisture on your folds. You hiss at the contact, realizing that the fabric is damp. He shushes you gently, continuing his ministrations with utmost care.

When he seems satisfied, he sets the towel away in the same place he did with his earlier. Silence lingers and you almost wish you were still in the shower, where at least the sound of water would fill in the empty air.

Chan returns to the bed, but he remains seated, his back facing you. It feels like a wall—strong, unyielding, and unreachable. You think it’s ridiculous now, realizing that there is a wall. There has always been a wall, hasn’t it? There is no way to climb it, to move past it. Invisible that it might as well not exist, yet it stands, separating you. You bury yourself under the blankets, the chill in the room seeping into your bones. You feel so small and cold and fragile. You could only stare at the ceiling, his presence beside you frustratingly overwhelming, yet so distant.

You’ve grown so accustomed to seeing his back facing you. You’re always behind him, following him along, wherever he goes and whatever he does. Always in front of you, always leading, but never turning to face you unless he’s searching for reassurance. You realize now how much you’ve relied on those fleeting glances back. They were your only proof that he still cared, still saw you. He looks back to take and you give. Sometimes you wonder which part of you is yours anymore.

You stare at his back and wonder how much of its dips and curves you’ve already memorized—how much of it you need to get to know more, the way they move and twitch and tremble under your touch. You stare at his back and wish he would just turn to face you.

“I can’t give you what you want,” he says, very quietly, like almost to himself in realization.

You almost don’t realize he said something. You heard every word, but your mind refuses to process it until a second later. And when it did, the room stills.

His words hang dull in the air, filling the room with a bittersweet ache. It’s like every sweet moment this room witnessed for the past three years disappears and there is only grief and misery in it. You want to reach for him, to cross the divide and tell him something—anything. But his back remains turned, and all you can do is fixate on the outline of his shoulders, tense and unmoving.

You mustered a small, mocking laugh. It’s weaker than you intended, but you’re in utter disbelief regardless. “You just fucked me on this very bed, Chan. I came twice today. Is that the only thing you came here for? A quick fuck?”

There is no use in making sharp remarks, but there is nothing else you could say. You’re grasping at straws and you know that.

“No, I…” Chan starts, then he sighs. He roughly ruffles his hair in frustration. “I’m sorry.”

Then it goes quiet yet again. Your mind is scrambling for words, but then, after a minute, you could only really ask, “Do you mean it? Is that what you really want?”

“No,” he answers almost immediately, shoulders heaving. Then he slackens again, almost like he’s curling into his own body, making himself small. “I don’t know what I would do if I look back and you’re not there.”

His voice is withdrawn, as if he’s confessing something he hadn’t admitted even to himself.

“Then why?”

“You’re always behind me,” he continues, words strained. “You’ve always been the one thing I could count on.” There’s a pause, and it feels like the weight of the moment is crushing him. “But what if you’re gone one day? What if I look back and you’re not there anymore?”

His admission stings in a way you weren’t prepared for. The vulnerability in his tone should comfort you, but instead, it exposes a deep-rooted wound. He only looks back to make sure you’re still following, doesn’t he? Never to meet you halfway, never to let you stand beside him.

And as fucked up as it seems, you’re willing to let that be until you can no longer understand what distance means. You’re willing to do all that, over and over again, just so he could stay.

He takes and takes and takes. And you give.

“Then why are you pushing me away?” You couldn’t help the bite in your words, angry and confused. “If you’re so scared, why leave?”

You want to scream. You want to clench your fists and punch a wall and hurt. Yourself, him. But it doesn’t come. The exhaustion overcomes you, and an ache in your chest swells. You wonder if it’s already too late.

“Because you’re like this!” he raises his voice, now matching your exasperation. “I’m giving you a chance to save yourself from me and you’re not taking it!”

Chan’s words hit like a slap, sharp and final. Your chest tightens in a mix of emotions you’re far too dizzy to comprehend. Hatred? Grief? Love? It’s all warring within you. You sit up, the blanket sliding off your shoulders and exposing your vulnerability as much as his words have exposed his.

“Save myself?” you scoff, incredulous. “I think I am way beyond saving, Chan.”

He stiffens. You don’t even give him a chance to respond before you continue, “And what about you?” you ask, your voice trembling. “When do you save yourself, Chan? When do you stop running from everything? From me?”

His hands curl into fists at his sides. “I’m not running,” he mutters, though it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than you.

“You’ve been running this entire time,” you counter, voice threatening to rise again. “From us. From what this could be. Three years. And now you want me to be the one to end it? To carry that burden so you don’t have to?”

His head drops, shoulders sagging under the weight of your words. For a moment, the silence between you stretches unbearably, like the final frayed thread of something you both know is about to snap.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he whispers, hoarse. “I thought… I thought letting you go would hurt less than holding on and breaking you completely.”

You let out a bitter laugh, louder this time. You meant for him to hear the distaste in it. Tears sting your eyes. “You don’t get to decide that for me, Chan. You don’t get to decide how much I’m willing to give.”

His head lifts slightly, and for the first time he turns to face you. His eyes are glassy, full of a pain you’ve rarely seen him allow himself to show. It breaks something inside you, seeing him like this. It breaks you even further, realizing he turns just like he always did: to see if you were still behind him, following.

“Then what do you want me to do?” His voice cracks when he asks.

You pause, your heart hammering. What do you want? The truth is, you don’t know anymore. You want him, but not like this—not as someone who sees you as a safety net, as a fallback. You know that now, regretting the thought of tolerating his bullshit just to keep him with you.

“I want you to want me the way I want you,” you say finally, voice soft but steady. Resolute. “Not as someone to hold you up when you’re falling. Not as someone to look back on when you’re scared. I want to stand beside you, Chan. I want to move forward with you, not be left behind.”

He shuts his eyes tightly, and your resolve almost falters when a tear slips down his cheek. “I don’t know if I can give you that,” he admits.

The words shatter the last bit of hope you were clinging to. You nod slowly, the realization settling over you like a cold, heavy blanket.

“Then maybe you’re right,” you say quietly. “Maybe I do need to save myself.”

And this time, you turn your back on him. You shift in your bed, lying on your side and staring at the clock by your bedside table. It’s hard, trying to pretend your legs aren’t shaking under the covers, trying to hide the quiver of your lips. Chan doesn’t move, doesn’t reach out to you, and that, more than anything, feels like the final nail in the coffin.

You pause, thinking of any words to say. For finality, for an end. All you could muster is, “I hope one day you stop running, Chan.”

If he leaves later that night or the next morning, you don’t even know. It’s not like you could feel past the weight of the whole ordeal to even feel anything else.

That’s for you to find out tomorrow.

[kikiutau]

RYOMEN SUKUNA: How to Get With Your Boss 8 Days Before New Years

CEO!Ryomen Sukuna x Reader Synopsis You're a chronic overtimer at work and a chronic virgin at home. On night of Christmas Eve, you have the lucky unfortunate pleasure of stumbling across a huge fight between your hot boss and his wife. Safe to say their relationship is over. But as fate (and your ever-reliable right hand man, the elevator) would have it, being in the right place at the right time might just lead to a New Year’s resolution you've been yearning for for years: the overdue expiration of your v-card. Genre Modern au, Office Romance, 18+, Smut, Fluff  Content/TW fem! reader, cheating, unprotected sex, voyeurism, things going up into cooch that shouldn’t be in the coochie in the first place, virgin! reader, thigh fucking, food play, rough sex, slight misogyny, degradation, dirty talk, dumbification, humiliation, ooc sukuna because this is an au without trauma (we I stan), spanking, unprotected sex, manhandling, cum eating, squirting, pissing, age gap Word Count 17.4k

Author’s Note: Happy New Years guys! Consider this my gift to you all for the new year! I hope you all enjoy reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it Divider by @/cafekitsune

Tuesday, December 24

Christmas Eve

Fuck. Rubbing your swollen eyes, you glared at the circled number on the calendar. A few more days until New Years. And more specifically, 8 more grueling days of a lonely holiday season. A tired groan escaped past your lips. 

Feeling the growing tension in your back from being hunched over for hours on end, you leaned back on your chair hoping to release the pressure. Disregarding the mountain of paperwork on your desk, you haphazardly moved them aside to reach for your cell phone. 

“Ah!” The universe seemingly out to get you, the screen brightness blinds you for a moment. 

You heard a slight thud, signaling to you that the phone you dropped ended up on the floor. Still recovering from eye assault, you don’t grab it right away. Through slight squints, you glanced down at your fallen device. 

12:01 

Wednesday, December 25

Christmas Day 

You let out a quiet “yay.” If there’s one date you were looking forward to, it would be this one. It’s a well-deserved and long awaited break for a distressed and tired office worker like yourself. Working overtime frequently is starting to take a toll on your mental and physical well being— if it hasn't already. 

Acknowledging the time, you tell yourself that now would be a good time to start packing up and heading back home. You quickly put on your coat and grabbed your bag, leaving the heaps of files, binders, and loose papers on the desk as a fuck you, capitalism! You don’t get paid enough to care anyways. On a more important note, your sweet, soft bed is beckoning for your arrival.  

Right as you headed out of the building, you dug through your bag looking for your phone. “Where,” you dug further, “is it?!” 

A frown graced your lips. ‘I… left it in the office, didn’t I?’ you thought to yourself. ‘What an idiot.’

Begrudgingly, you picked your foot off from the ground, and started to slowly make your way back to the Gates of Hell, disguised as those intimidating, tall, glass doors you see more often than the doors of your own home. 

As you walk through the lobby, only the clicks of your heels against the cold marble floors can be heard. The lack of human presence sends a small shiver down your spine. During normal working hours, the lobby is usually filled with the sounds of similarly disgruntled employees complaining to their fellow co-workers. 

But now, the only thing gracing the place was you. Even the janitors and security are nowhere to be seen. Well, it makes sense considering the time. You were the anomaly here. Only a masochist gets off of work at 12AM when everyone else who works the normal 9 to 5 gets off of work at 4:59. 

Well no, you wouldn’t say you're a masochist. You don’t get off to pain. But you were a perfectionist. And you had a tendency to care almost too much about how your co-workers perceived you. So if it meant getting off of work late, you didn’t mind as long as you can get all your tasks done in a timely manner. Besides, you didn’t have anyone to go home to. So why not just stay at work where the heaps of paperwork can accompany you instead.

All your coworkers were sane enough to head home the moment the clock strikes at 5. They’ll stay an hour more if they have to. And for those working overtime, the latest they’ll stay is 8. But, they’ll all shuffle out by the time the sun fully sets, leaving you all alone at your desk. 

Honestly, the only other workaholic besides you would be your boss. Your mind lingers at the thought of his muscular frame, pink slicked back hair, tattoos, and the very apparent large bulge—

Hold on. Stop. He’s your boss. 

And isn’t he a married man? 

You chastise yourself. 

Once you stepped in, your hand instinctively reached for the button with a clear “48” inscribed besides it. Standing in the well-lit elevator, you waited for the doors to close. 

One second passes. Two seconds passed. Then three seconds. Four Mississippi. Five Mississippi. Six Mississippi. Seven— 

“Oh come on!” you rolled your eyes. Tapping your foot, you reached for the button to close the doors and started spamming it like you would when it comes to pressing the attack button on Genshin. “If you don’t close this second, then I’m going to pluck out your buttons and cut your walls with my box cutter!”

The moment that threat left your mouth, the elevator doors closed with a small ding. Ah, even the elevator knew better than to incur the wrath of a stressed out office worker. 

You watched the small panel in front of you change numbers in chronological order second by second. 

1

2

3

4

…

Is it just you or is the elevator slower than usual? 

After what seems to be a long time, you arrived on your floor. Coming to a full stop almost aggressively, the elevator shakes momentarily giving you a heart attack before opening its doors in a slow manner.  

Clenching onto your chest, you make your way out of the wretched box of metal, holding a middle finger up towards the horrid man made product. 

The elevator closes its doors with a ding as if it were responding to your obscene hand gesture. 

You quickly made your way to your usual area, bending down on your knees to grab your missing phone. 

A new message!

You opened the message app to see who texted you. 

Friend

Heyyyyyy girlie! So 😏There’s this guy at my workplace. 

Single. And he doesn’t look half bad. 

And you’re single and mingling. 

Sooooo I was wonderinggggg

If I could set you guys up?  

Y/N

.-.

Uhhhhhh

You typed out “sure.” Although, you contemplated hitting Send. Too distracted with your thoughts, you failed to hear the ding in the background as well as the angry clicks of heels marching past you. 

“YOU ASSHOLE!” 

The sudden scream caused you to flinch. What the hell? 

A male voice interjected. “If I’m such an asshole, sign the goddamn papers.” 

Oh, you recognized that voice. And you hoped you were fucking wrong. 

Curiosity got the best of you and from your position, you slowly peaked up from underneath your desk, to check if you're wrong. God you hope you were. 

Nope. Congratulations! You win a front row seat to watch this couple dispute— against your own will!

At the other end of the room stood your boss in all his glory; his hair was disheveled and the buttons of his dress shirt were unraveled, revealing a window of opportunity for you to see his well defined pecs. Furrowed brows and an annoyed frown decorated his tattooed face. In front of him, there was a woman dressed in a bodycon type dress, hugging all the right curves, revealing her hourglass figure. Although her face was turned away, you could probably guess that her expression was one far from happiness. 

Ok, now you are sure the universe has a personal vendetta against you. First the phone, then the elevator, now this. Not wanting to get caught by any means, you quietly stayed underneath your desk, waiting for the opportunity to leave once the bickering couple finishes their quarreling. 

“You know… None of this would happen if you would just…” the woman’s voice cracked. “Sukuna… You’re so cold-hearted. This wasn’t the marriage I wanted for us.” 

Sukuna scoffed, starting to feel an onset of a headache. He glared at her momentarily, taking a second to decide whether to rip her to shreds with his words or to let the matter go gracefully. If anything, he wanted to be home right this second—not arguing with his wife at his workplace in the middle of the night. Yet, he decided on the former. He spat out, “At least I didn’t cheat.” 

“At least he loves me! With him, I know what love feels like. Unlike you!” his wife exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger towards the man. 

One of Sukuna’s eyebrows quirks up. “Loves you?” He takes a few steps towards the woman. “He has a wife and two children, Silvia. If he loves you, then why hasn’t he left them for you.” 

The tears Silvia tried to hold in the whole time finally spilled down her cheeks. She couldn’t give him an answer because deep down, she knew her husband’s words were true. His words washed over her like someone threw a bucket of ice water to her head. 

Looking up at her husband, she crashed her lips into his. She could no longer bear the ice cold feeling that had enveloped her heart. But at the very least, she could comfort herself with the warm body of the man she currently abhors. 

Unexpectedly, Sukuna did not push her away. Their lips remained interlaced as he pushed her down onto one of the desks, leaving scattered papers on the ground. Your heart sobs for the poor unsuspecting owner of that very desk. 

Sukuna impatiently tore her dress off as she clumsily worked on the rest of the buttons of his dress shirt. A needy whine escaped her throat when he ripped her panties off. “T-those were expensive,” she mumbled. 

In response, he spun her around onto her stomach, forcefully bending her top-half down until she felt her pebbled nipples against the cold, hard desk. He spanked her left ass cheek, chuckling at the slight bounce. Another smack. And another. 

Much to Silvia’s displeasure, she couldn’t hold in her unabashed moans. Even if Sukuna’s indifference towards her made him absolutely terrible at daily affection, she had to admit: This man is a literal sex God. Not once has she left the bed unsatisfied. 

Silvia wiggled her hips, trying to get away from her husband’s abusive onslaught. In which Sukuna responded with a spank on her bare pussy. “You know,” he bent down to her ear, “I should really punish you for being such a disobedient little slut, whoring yourself out like that.” 

Seems like the man relishes in degrading both his employees and his wife.

“Please,” she begged. She pushed her ass towards Sukuna’s bulge, tempting him to punish him even more by rubbing against him. 

Now that’s a real masochist right there. Your thoughts come to a full pause when you hear Silvia moan, “Oooh FUCK!”

Sukuna, not one to respond well to taunts, pinches her clit. Happy with her reaction, he gives her slight reprieve, massaging the sensitive area with his thumb. She jerked at the sensation, her body trembling against his. 

A laugh echoes within the room. “I can’t believe you’re getting off on this,” Sukuna mocks. He toys with the wetness on his fingers, tapping his pointer and thumb together, watching the way the wet strands stretch every time he pulls them apart. “This is supposed to be a punishment. And you still find pleasure in this?” 

Spank. 

“I must have trained you really well, haven’t I? I hope Mr. Nakamura enjoyed my cum dump while it lasted.” Silvia whimpered in response. 

Spank. 

Sukuna’s eyes glared at her reddened ass. “Speak.” 

“Y-yes!” 

Sukuna let out a little hum, circling around Silvia’s poor, abused clit. Tears—whether it was because of pleasure or pain—dripped down her cheeks. “I’m sorry!” she cried. “I–” 

“But even your lover wasn’t enough for you, huh? Here you are, desperate running back to me like a cockdrunk slut,” the tattooed man mocked. “This is a little pathetic, even for you.” 

No longer able to deal with the edging, Silvia disregarded his insults, letting go of whatever pride she had left as she pleaded her husband for more. She turned head back towards Sukuna, panting for just something, looking at him with glazed eyes. 

Sukuna huffed, stopping his ministrations. He examined her face; her skin was unblemished with hues of blush red, decorating the area around her eyes, nose, and lips. Her lips were slightly swollen as were her eyes. But even then, it did not take away from her apparent beauty. 

He married her two years ago. Not out of love but rather out of obligation. In spite of his appearance adorned with numerous tattoos, Sukuna was quite conservative when it came to relationships. The old fucks at those board meetings suggested—no, pressured— the then, 29 year old man to get married as fast as possible. Tired of their constant prodding and pushing, he ended up marrying one of the girls that was introduced by one of the board members he was on good terms with: Silvia. 

Sukuna was a person who held great belief in his morals. He found cheaters lousy. And he found those who criticized cheaters but then proceeded to cheat even lousier. If there’s one thing he hates in the world, it’s hypocrites. And he was not about to become one himself. Perhaps it was due to such morals that he remained a faithful husband even if he never felt an ounce of love for this woman— any woman. 

Lust, sure. But love? Love was something so vulnerable, so unpredictable. He lived with Silvia and slept beside her for all those years. Not once did Sukuna’s heart waver in the slightest. At most, he could admit that the relationship was comfortable. Silvia was a good wife during their time together. So, at the very least, he treated their marriage as a duty and gave her the utmost respect. 

Right. Respect. That’s why he was so angry at his wife who he did not love. She disrespected him. Thinking about it, Sukuna could feel his suppressed rage beginning to simmer. And looking at his Silvia’s horny expression, it gave him enough of a will not to submit to her pleas so easily. 

Reaching towards the pocket of his suit jacket, he pulls out his beloved Caran d'Ache Léman fountain pen. He pressed the cool metal towards her slit, causing her to flinch. Slowly, he inserts the rounded point of the pen into her wet cavern. 

“Sukuna!” Silvia pouted, unhappy with her current position. Licking his lips, Sukuna rolled his eyes at his wife. 

Leaning down towards her, he smirked. “I’m so sorry sweetheart,” he sarcastically replied. “I thought you wanted more. Was I mistaken?” Feeling his wounded pride swell with glee, he continued moving the pen in and out in slow motions. 

“I– This wasn’t what I meant!” she stammered. 

Spank. 

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. “Manners.” 

Silvia groaned, burying her face into her arms. Picking her head back up for one last ditch effort, she pleaded once more. “Please please plea– FUCK! Pleaseeee, can you fuck me? I- I can’t get off.” 

Sukuna shrugged, a playful smirk gracing his lips once more. “I don’t need to fuck you for you to get off. You sure found other alternatives during our time apart, didn’t you? I’m certain Mr. Nakamura’s cock was smaller than this pen. And yet you went back to him, again and again. So…” 

Heart pounding, Silvia shook her head needlessly. She wanted to refute him but with how overstimulated she felt, she could not even muster a single coherent thought. Sukuna continued on with his ministrations, moving the pen further into her in a downwards motion. “I’m pretty sure you can get off to this.” 

Feeling the slight nudge of the pen towards her g-spot, Silvia unwillingly slips into pure bliss. Blood rushed to her head as she was brought to pure ecstasy. Sukuna sounded out her moans, purely focusing on her pussy fluttering witlessly around his fountain pen. Consumed by momentary pettiness, he slipped his pen out of her, refusing to fuck her through her orgasm. However, he waited for her to catch her breath.

Silvia went limp after the shockwaves of her orgasm had subsided. Using the strength that’s left in her arms, she shakily turned around towards her husband. There, he stood with the same indifferent expression she despised. She reached out to him, hoping to continue. Much to her dismay, he stopped her, holding onto her wrists. Before she could even say anything, he placed the christened pen into her hands. 

“My lawyer will come to your residency tomorrow. Make sure to sign the divorce papers by then,” he stated, showing his soon to be ex-wife the same poker face he’d show to his company’s board members. 

Almost robotically, Sukuna made his way towards the elevators. Luckily for him, he didn’t have to wait for it to come as it was already on the floor. If this elevator was sentient, then at this moment, it recognized that this man was the very man that could scrap it from its existence in just one word. Feeling scared—if it could even feel—the elevator quickly opened and shut its door at an unbeatable speed to prevent incurring Sukuna’s wrath. 

A few minutes later, Silvia followed suit. Finally alone, you crawled out from your hiding spot. Your brain short circuited for a while, slowly trying to wrap your head around what happened. When it did…

“What the fuck.” Your mouth fell wide open. “What the fuck.” You put both your hands on your head. “What the fuck.” You paced around in a circle. “What the fuck.” Your head whipped towards the desk the two lovers were previously copulating on. Underneath, you see the sheets of paper haphazardly decorating the floor. In the corner of your eye, you could also spot the lacy black panties Sukuna’s wife left on top of said papers. 

Oh. Hell. No. 

So that WASN’T a hallucination? An audible groan echoed throughout the office floor. At this point, there was no doubt about it: The universe wants to murder you. 

You gave a silent apology towards the elevator who was trying to save your sanity earlier. Unfortunately, you were too stubborn to recognize its efforts. Looking back down at the device that has caused you misfortune, you swiped upwards reaching the home screen. After experiencing your boss' intimate moments with his wife against your will, you suddenly lost the will to continue living, muchless go on a double date. In fact, you don’t feel like going anywhere at all with the amount of bad luck you have at the moment. 

Y/N

.-.

Uhhhhhh

Sureygyciwbcuibiwcleboi

Friend 

Great! 

I confirmed with the guy. 

Is the 26th okay for you? 

Well, crap. Did you incur the wrath of some God out there? You must have mistakenly sent the text message while you were struggling to crawl to the dark ends of your desk. Giving up on your current situation, you decided to submit to whatever fate has decided for you. You quickly sent a “ok” before moving on to clean up the stacks of documents on your desk since you were already back where you started. 

Finishing up, you proceeded to put on your coat, preparing to leave. In the corner of your eye, however, you were once again reminded of the intimate scene. Your chest stirred with an uncomfortable feeling. If the employees came back to work days later with papers on the ground AND a pair of black panties, these nosy folks will surely start talking. 

Feeling a sense of pity for the about-to-be-divorced man, you feel your humanity telling you to help Sukuna out. As stern as he was, he was a fair and competent employer who treated his employees well (as long as you didn't get on his bad side). Besides, everyone has days where life simply falls to shit. Sukuna’s just happens to be on Christmas Day (and so is yours). 

Grumbling, you open one of the pull-out cabinets below your desk to grab tissues and disposable chopsticks. You then slowly made your way towards the hazard zone. Quickly, you clipped the panties with the chopsticks, throwing it in a nearby garbage bin. As for the papers, you quickly shuffled it into one pile, not caring if they were out of order. For the unfortunate pieces of papers that were tainted with what’s possibly Silvia’s bodily fluids, you threw those out. You assumed your coworkers would much rather face the problem of a few pieces of their paperwork being missing than have to touch the ones christened by cum. 

Not all heroes come with capes. In this case, it came in the form of a traumatized overtimer. Not wanting to waste anymore time, you made your way towards the elevator. Somehow, the elevator seemed to be working as normal the second time you used it. Making your way towards the exit, you let out a breath of relief. That relief of yours ended when a familiar voice called out to you. 

Slowly, you turned your head to the source. Ah, it’s the devil’s work at play. Mustering whatever strength you had left, you quickly graced the man with your customer service smile. “Hello, Mr. Ryomen. Heading home?” 

He responded with a curt nod. “It’s late. I’m surprised you’re still here. I didn’t see you by your desk.” From how close he was to you, you could have sworn he narrowed his eyes for about a millisecond. 

The hairs on your neck became stick soldiers; your smile faltered slightly. Running through your mind for excuses, you finally landed on: “I was occupied in the printer room.” You pray to your ancestors that he didn't catch on to your lie. 

You assumed your excuse was enough, considering he no longer lingered on the topic. You’re caught off by what he says next though. 

“Since it’s so late, let me give you a ride home.” 

Your customer service smile dropped as you’re now fumbling to make another excuse. Feeling flustered you blurt out, “Oh no, it’s okay. Thank you so much for the offer though. I actually live nearby so I’ll be–” 

Rrrrrrrumble

“You’re going to walk home in this weather?” A teasing smile appears on Sukuna’s face. 

Feeling defeated, you let out a nervous chuckle. “I suppose not.” 

In Sukuna’s expensive-looking car that probably cost more than your yearly salary, you curse whatever deity is out there for your current position. It was probably 2AM right now, yet why the fuck was there still traffic at this time in the middle of the highway. 

“It seems a lot of people are trying to head back to their families for Christmas,” Sukuna blankly stated out of nowhere. You slightly jumped at his sudden comment, not expecting him to speak after sitting in awkward silence for a good 20 minutes. 

You hummed in agreement. You also assumed that the sudden snowstorm had something to do with the onslaught of traffic. You kept that thought to yourself though, not wanting to entrench yourself into further awkward small talk with Sukuna. Bringing your attention back to the traffic, you wondered if the insistent begging in your head would get the cars to move any quicker. Unfortunately for you, it was to no avail. 

Glancing to the window on your right, you tried to distract yourself with the scenery of cityscapes. Your plan was foiled when you noticed Sukuna’s reflection in the mirror. Pretending to look outside, your gaze centered on the enticing image. Sukuna seemed to have fixed his unkempt hair, keeping it in the usual slicked back hairstyle he usually adorned. The same went for his white dress shirt that he seemed to have buttoned up, leaving the top two unbuttoned. 

You focused on his hands. One on the steering wheel, impatiently tapping against the leather; the other hand on the gear shift. You wondered how it would feel if he fingered you–

Stop. 

You could feel your ears burn with embarrassment. Save your horny thoughts when you’re not a foot away from him. ‘Not now,’ you tell yourself. Trying to move on from your thoughts, your eyes focused on something else. You slowly made your way up to his face where now you could see him looking right at you. You jerked your head downwards, avoiding looking at his reflection staring right into your skull. 

Wait, does that mean…? You slowly cranked your head towards the direction where the man was sitting, only to be faced with him looking straight at you. 

“Who would have thought I’d be spending Christmas with my favorite employee?” he drawled, emphasizing the favorite.  

You got caught off guard. Luckily, you recovered fairly quickly. “Who would have thought I’d be spending Christmas with my favorite boss?” you quipped back. 

He barked out a laugh, “I’m your only boss, princess.” .

Chuckling, you shrugged. “Still stands.”  

“You got any plans for Christmas? You must be looking forward to spending time with your family and friends,” he comments. 

You swallowed the imaginary ball in your throat. “Ah, well. They’re all overseas. So, I probably won’t be seeing them this year. The plane tickets are horrendously expensive this time of year.” 

“At least you have that boyfriend of yours from the sales department.” 

“Pardon?” 

A bewildered look occupies your face. What boyfriend? You’ve been alive for a good 23 years and you have yet to even hold hands with a boy. At this point, you’ve gotten your PhD degree in singleness. Flustered, you shook your head. “I-uh. I don’t have a boyfriend.” 

He smirked. “Good to know.” 

Did he just play you? 

“Mr. Ryomen!” His deep laughter fills the small space. When it subsided, he gave you a cocky grin.

“Alright, alright. I’ll stop teasing you.” He reached one of his hands towards your face, brushing a strand of stray hair behind your ears. Before you could say anything, that hand is right back on the gear shift. 

Thankfully, the traffic in front started to clear up. During the drive, you probably learned more about him than you did working 4 years at his company when you started as an intern at 19 years old. For one, he has a younger brother. He also has a hobby of tinkering with motorcycles. And if you didn’t already assume earlier on in your career, he clearly had a fondness for fucking with people (and fucking his wife, but you keep that to yourself). Thankfully, the apprehension you felt earlier was completely dispelled by the casual conversation he started.

Before you knew it, he reached your apartment complex. You promptly thanked him for the car ride, making your way out of the vehicle. “Have a Merry Christmas, y/n.” 

“You as well,” you responded. Your tongue immediately sour when you remembered the fact that Sukuna was getting divorced during the holidays (not that he knew that you knew). Oh crap. Why did you have to say that? It felt as embarrassing as telling the movie theater employees “you too” when they tell you to enjoy the movie. Luckily, Sukuna didn’t seem phased, as if he didn’t serve his wife divorce papers on Christmas day. He simply smiled, nodding in your direction before driving off. 

Thursday, December 26

You sipped on your cocktail, staring endlessly at the shiny chandelier hoping it would cure your boredom. A part of you also hoped the shiny thing would fall right on top of your date.  

“So I’m looking for someone who would…” Blah blah blah. 

You drowned out the sounds of your date’s rambling. This self-absorbed piece of shit. All he would talk about was himself. His next favorite topic being the type of girls who turned him on and the type of girls who turned him off. Then all you could remember was his ramblings about how “women nowadays are not the same anymore…” Something along the lines of that. Fed up, you have half a mind to just straight up tell him to date his own mother rather than trying to find a poor girl to be his in-home maid and incubator. You held your tongue, knowing nothing good would occur from initiating a fight with this guy. 

My god. Where did your friend even find this narcissistic bastard? You start to question HER taste in men. Purely based on appearance, the blabbermouth looks decent. But even his face card couldn’t fix his trash personality. It’s like covering yourself with perfume when you haven’t taken a shower in a month. 

You pray to your ancestors, hoping for someone to get you out of this blind date. It was as if your prayers were answered when a familiar pink-haired man walked out of the restaurant’s private rooms with another man who you could only infer to be a client. You didn’t know if it was your ancestors working some magic or if it was simply pure coincidence. If it was the latter, then it seemed too improbable to be mere chance.  

You didn’t even need to yell out a “help” when Sukuna excuses himself from his current conversation, making his way towards you. You jutted out lips, pouting almost dramatically. You only hope Sukuna could decipher the desperate energy leaking out of your eyes. 

“Ms. y/l/n, did you forget you had an appointment with me?” Sukuna looked down at his watch. “In fact, you’re late.” 

“Wait, you can’t just–” 

A menacing glare shuts up the good-for-nothing. Taking this opportunity, you quickly grab your belongings, interlocking your arm with Sukuna’s, not even giving your date a chance to say goodbye. 

Once again, you're in Sukuna’s vehicle once again. Although this time it’s red instead of the usual black you noted to yourself. “I thought you said you didn’t have a boyfriend,” Sukuna teasingly comments.

You grumbled, “He isn’t my boyfriend. My friend just happened to set us up on a blind date. Well, you know how it went. Anyways, how did you know I needed help getting out of there?” 

“You were never good at hiding your emotions,” Sukuna answered. “Not now. And certainly not then.”

“Really? I didn’t even get slightly better?” you prodded. “Am I really that obvious?”

“Yes.” To him. Although he wasn’t one to linger on office rumors, he couldn’t help but notice the comments in regards to you. People said you were a vivacious one; that’s one rumor he could agree with. Some said that you were dating someone from the sales department; he thought that was true, until you debunked it yesterday. Many of your co-workers called you hardworking; he agrees. Quite frankly, you had a clean reputation. Almost too clean. So clean and perfect, in fact, he almost forgot about the 19-year-old, hot-headed intern who possessed an ego so inflated it rivaled a 10-foot pole. 

Flashback

Sukuna (28) grumbled, impatiently pressing on the elevator buttons. Fuck, one day he’s going to completely replace this box of metal with a more efficient elevator. Just as the elevator doors were about to close… 

“Wait! Bro! Can you hold the elevator doors for me?!”  

Although he certainly looks like the type to close the elevator doors on someone, he’s not completely heartless. Besides, he wondered which employee was brave enough to casually call him “bro.” Quickly, Sukuna clicked the button to open the doors. 

Unfortunately for the desperate girl on the other side, she watched in distress as the space between the two doors got closer and closer together until… closed. 

“Fuck!” She kicked the elevator doors. “You nincompoop!” 

Just as the insult left her mouth, the elevator immediately opened its door, leaving a wide- mouth country girl staring right back at red-piercing eyes.

‘Oh. A new face.’ Sukuna thought. 

The girl gulped, deciding whether or not she should ditch the elevators for the flight of stairs instead. Essentially, would she rather face humiliation or kill herself walking up 40 flights of stairs before her interview. Suddenly she remembered the wise words her mother told her before she walked through the TSA gates: You must walk through life as if you have the balls of a cis-gendered male tiger. 

Whatever that meant. So, the elevator it was! 

She stepped into the confined space shared by the other remaining person staring bullets into her head. Cold sweat adorned her back as the elevator doors closed. 

“So who’s a nincompoop?” 

‘Ah fuck,’ the girl cursed in her head. ‘I should’ve just taken the stairs T^T’ She tried to calm herself down by chanting her mom’s advice. ‘Balls of a tiger. Ball of a tiger.’

Finally getting a proper look at the guy, she almost pees her pants. This guy was definitely over 6ft. 6’3? 6’4? 6’5? At her measly 5’0 ft, she couldn’t tell for sure. And the man had very noticeable tattoos adorning both his face and his arms from what she could tell. Did she bump into a gangster? 

No matter. It’s not like she hasn’t come across gangsters in her high school days. In fact, she once chastised a gang member at her school once so confronting them wasn’t an issue— except this time it was a grown adult man two heads taller than her. 

The girl huffed, puffing her chest out, trying to be intimidating (although unknowingly having the opposite effect). “You are,” she plainly stated. 

“Hn?” Sukuna clicked his tongue. Rolling his eyes he flicked the girl’s forehead with his finger, “Are you a child? When I was in grade school, not even the kids would call me that.”

'Yeah, I'd doubt they'd say anything to you with that face of yours,' she thinks to herself, silently. Thankfully. Unfortunately, it would turn out to be her only wise decision from this point on.

Sukuna scanned the girl, starting from her broken heels, to her dress shirt that’s improperly buttoned, finally landing onto a youthful complexion staring right back at him. The audacity of this girl. “Are you lost, brat? The middle school is four blocks away,” he mocked. 

Okay, now that was pushing it. “Rude!”  Looking deeply offended, she pointed a finger towards the man. “Fuckwad! Asshat! Jackass!” Sukuna had never heard so much profanity come out of a girl’s mouth before. Even she had him admitting to himself that her colorful sailor vocabulary probably rivaled his. 

It was hilarious. 

He lets out a loud cackle. Judging by the furrow of the girl’s eyebrows deepening, he probably pissed her off even further. 

Ding 

“Hmph.” Sukuna watched as the girl marched out. Although very quickly, she snapped her head back at Sukuna. “You! I’m going to report you!” 

Sukuna's coy smile widened even further. “Go ahead.” What was HR going to do? Fire him? 

(P.S. At this point in time, Sukuna's small company didn't even have a human resources department. He WAS HR. )

His answer made the girl more frustrated, as she audibly groaned. “Whatever,” she muttered. 

Hearing another ding, Sukuna quickly asked, “What’s your name?” 

The girl’s head perked up. Her annoyed face contorts to one of apprehension. The elevators are close to closing before she yells out–

“y/n”

Flashback Ends 

Sukuna couldn’t contain his grin when remembering the first time they met. “What’s so funny?” you questioned, almost creeped out by his sudden grin. 

“It’s a secret,” he says. Not wanting to pry any further, you let him be. Much to your dismay, he brought you to your apartment complex fairly quickly, meaning your conversation was cut short once again. You could feel your heart throb. Wait… did you feel disappointed? Sad? You couldn’t exactly pinpoint the exact feeling. You admitted that it was unfortunate these conversations will come to an end though; the two of you will probably go back to the monotonous role of employer and employee who only spoke on matters regarding work. 

Your walk up to your apartment was melancholy at the very least. You thought about how your relationship with Sukuna changed over the four years you knew him for. Your meeting didn’t start off the greatest with the man relentlessly teasing you. Even if you were the one who caused it to occur in the first place. That’s a fault you stubbornly won’t admit to though. 

And then when you got hired as an intern, your spirit was undeniably fucked when you found out the man who teased you in the elevator was the CEO and founder of Ryomen Tech Corporations. 

Thankfully for you, Sukuna wasn’t one to hold deeply held grudges. Although unfortunately for you, the teasing did not stop at all. He’d make those annoying comments to irk you and you’d banter back, unable to hide your apparent dislike for the man. Things like hierarchy was definitely less structured back then when the company only contained a small team of 13 people. 

When you interviewed, the company was still a new tech startup at the time. Before that, Ryomen Sukuna worked as a freelance coder and web developer (and hacker)  after graduating from a small university for a few years. Impressively, despite having nothing to his name, he was able to push his way through. Ryomen Tech Corp. became a million dollar company in a span of a year. Year by year, more investors came shuffling in, and profits continued to rise exponentially. As of right now, Sukuna's net worth is in the billions, an achievement unheard of in four years. 

Stepping back and surveying Sukuna's extraordinary achievements within four years, you couldn't help but acknowledge his competence and admire his success. Despite his teasing nature, you discovered he possessed a charismatic charm when interacting with investors, clients, and other industry leaders.

That Sukuna felt detached, almost unrecognizable. It was hard to believe that the man who mercilessly teased you was the same individual responsible for such remarkable feats. You felt a tinge of selfishness, clinging to the hope that things would remain unchanged, that your relationship could continue as before.

However, his marriage brought an abrupt halt to this illusion. Visits to your desk for lunchtime teasing dwindled, leaving you to eat alone, bereft of the familiar rumble of his cackles and the cacophony of laughter from your colleagues. The teasing text messages, once a constant, gradually decreased, until his name sank to the bottom of your contact list. Soon, he faded from your life as subtly as he had entered it.

You didn't reach out to him, either. Perhaps it was your tendency to put yourself on a moral high ground, or perhaps it was your wounded ego, but you convinced yourself that pursuing a relationship—even a platonic one—with a married man was inappropriate.

Fumbling through your bag, you searched for your keys. Where. Is. It. You dug through your bag more haphazardly, your heart starting to race. Why. Does. This. Keep. Happening. Your search for your keys came to a small pause however when you noticed your phone rang. 

The caller ID on the phone's glowing screen displayed a name you had almost forgotten, buried beneath a haze of forgotten memories. It was as if a sudden gust of wind had swept away the fog, bringing that name back into sharp focus.

Nincompoop

Without giving much thought, you quickly picked up the phone. “Hello?” you answered. 

The familiar voice responds back, one that was deep and reminded you of velvety red wine, one that immediately quells your beating anxiety. “I think you forgot something, princess.” Just from his voice, you can tell he probably has his signature annoying smirk on the other end of his call. Quiet from disbelief, you didn’t answer. "Hello?" he prompted gently, concern lacing his voice. 

Silence.  

Geez. Did you forget how to speak? 

Panicked, you moved from your spot, only to unknowingly stub your toe at one of the trashbags by your neighbor’s bag. “Ow!” you exclaimed. Was there steel in that thing? You let out a pained groan, bending down to pat the outer layers of your shoe, hopefully aiding with the pain. Side note: It did not help. 

Hearing that you were present on the other end, Sukuna mumbled something on his end. You were unable to catch what he said though. By the time the pain subsided, you noticed that the call ended. 

Wait. What did Sukuna say, again? 

​​A sudden jingle broke through your thoughts. You looked up to see Sukuna standing by the elevator. He held up a set of keys, dangling them in front of him. "Found these in my car," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Seems someone forgot something."

Your jaw dropped. So, that's what he meant. He found your keys.

Sukuna bent down to eye level with you, slowly examining you from head to toe. “You okay?” he asks. 

“Uh huh. I just stubbed my toe. I’m alright now.” Your face is burning with shame. “Anyways, you didn’t have to come all the way up here. Thank you though.” You gave him a slight nod, taking your keys from his hand. Grabbing your arm, he helped you up. Feeling the heat spreading to your ears, you thanked him once again. ‘If there’s a merciful God out there, please bury me six feet underground right now,’ you pleaded in your head. 

"No problem," he said. Sukuna paused, his gaze lingering on you. "Besides," he added, a playful glint in his eyes, "Wouldn't want you wandering around aimlessly, now would I?"

You felt your cheeks burn even hotter. "Very funny," you muttered, trying to regain your composure. You turned towards him asking, "Would you like some water or snacks? As, uh, thank you." 

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. Knowing you were the type of person who didn't like to owe favors, he accepted. Besides, a part of him was curious about what your living space was like. They say someone's home is a reflection of one's personality. Wait... When did he become so nosy?

You led him into your apartment, feeling a strange flutter in your stomach. This was definitely not how you expected your evening to unfold. You were about to offer him a seat by the living room couch when you noticed his gaze on the framed photographs on the wall. 

He pointed to one photo. “Your parents?” 

“Yep,” you grinned. “I look like them, don’t I? “ 

His gaze lingered on your face, tracing the shape of your eyes, noses, and lips. “You do. Compliments to your mother,” he breathed, a genuine admiration in his voice. 

“T-thanks,” you stammered, avoiding his gaze. “She always said I looked more like my dad.”

Sukuna chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through the air. "I beg to differ," he said, his eyes twinkling. He gestured towards the couch. “Mind if I sit down? My feet are killing me.” You quickly offered him a seat, feeling a strange mix of nervousness and excitement. In the meantime, you went into the kitchen to prepare his snacks. 

The familiar hum of domesticity filled the small apartment as you carefully gathered your items on the counter. You busied yourself with arranging the fruit platter on the kitchen counter — apples, grapes, strawberries, and cherries. You tried to focus on the task at hand, but your mind kept replaying Sukuna's words. “Compliments to your mother.”

What did that even mean? Was he just being polite? You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. He was sitting on the couch, his long legs stretched out, looking relaxed. He was running a hand through his hair, a contemplative expression on his face. Sukuna leaned back against the cushions, gazing at the ceiling. “You know,” he began, his voice a low rumble, “I was thinking... about relationships.”

You, startled by his sudden observation, almost choked on your saliva. “You were?”

He chuckled. “Yeah. Seeing your parents' picture got me thinking. How do people... how do they know when they've found the right person?”

You set down your knife, intrigued. “I don't think there's a single answer to that question.”

Sukuna nodded in agreement. “Maybe not. But what do you think?”

You pondered this for a moment, tapping your fingers on the kitchen counter. "Well I can’t speak for others but for me, I value respect and communication. I think when it comes to finding that person, maybe a little bit of luck comes into play."

Sukuna raised an eyebrow. "Luck?"

"Luck and timing," you continued, "meeting the right person at the right time and place. There was a book I read in high school where two of the characters were refugees in war and they ended up falling in love with each other. But by the end of the book, I couldn’t help but wonder: Were they truly in love, or did they simply convince themselves they were in love due to the shared circumstances? If there was never a war in the first place, would they fall in love all over again if they were to meet each other under different circumstances?”

You continued to ramble. “You’ve read the hunger games right? Or at least familiar with the movies?” Sukuna nodded, motioning you to continue. “I’m going to use Katniss and Peta as an example. If they weren't forced to fight for their lives in the arena, would they still have fallen for each other? Would their love story have blossomed under different circumstances? Or was it the shared trauma, the constant fear of death, that forged their bond?"

Sukuna watched you intently, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. He thought of his own marriage, a gilded cage built on societal expectations and a desperate need to conform. He paused his thoughts, focusing on the girl in front of him, a rare vulnerability creeping into his eyes. "But you know sometimes…the most profound connections can be born from the most unexpected circumstances,” he confesses quietly. 

“Oh yeah by the way. I got divorced today,” he says out of nowhere, in the most nonchalant manner. 

The cup of water you were sipping on suddenly clattered in the sink. You ended up choking because the water went down the wrong pipe. “What?!” 

“My wife was unhappy with our marriage. She cheated on me. I told her to sign the divorce papers yesterday. And today she signed it,” Sukuna answered as a matter of fact. 

You knew. 

You were there when he had that argument with Silvia, unbeknownst to him. But hearing him tell you is a whole different story. “I’m sorry that happened,” you automatically responded, after recovering from your near death experience. 

He let out a laugh. “Don’t be,” he shrugged, almost too nonchalant for your comfort. 

You carefully laid the fruit platter and an unopened bottle of wine on the living room coffee table. You then positioned yourself beside Sukuna, maintaining a slight distance. He reached for a plump grape, popping it into his mouth with a satisfying crunch.

"Since I'm letting you in on a secret," Sukuna began, his gaze fixed on the remaining grapes, "let me know one of yours. Like how the breakup with your boyfriend went."

"How many times do I have to tell you I don't have a boyfriend?" you retorted, a touch of exasperation in your voice.

Sukuna smirked. "Currently you don't. But surely you had a lousy boyfriend back in college?” 

You shook your head.

“High school?” 

You shook your head once more. 

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of disbelief in his expression. "Never?"

"Nope," you confirmed, feeling a strange sense of pride in your solitary existence. Then you remembered the endless ramblings of your mother and aunties about finding a boyfriend, reverting that feeling of pride back to a familiar dejection. 

Feeling a sudden wave of defensiveness you start to ramble making excuses why you weren’t dating—why you have never dated. “I’ve never been sought after romantically in my teenage years. And even when my friends set me up on blind dates, it would never work out. At some point I just assumed I wasn't built out for romantic relationships so… ” 

You practically word-vomited on the spot, your mind unable to keep up with your mouth. From your sexual history (or rather lack of), to the countless of failed blind date stories, to that one boy who rejected you in highschool… all of it came spilling out. 

The more you rambled, the more you wanted to dig yourself into a hole. But even then, you continued to talk, almost against your will as you had a poor habit of avoiding awkward situations by rambling… only to make it more awkward for yourself by the end. 

“A-anyways,” your whole ramble, rant, whatever the fuck that was, finally coming to an end. 

While you were mentally hitting yourself in the head, Sukuna, on the other hand, seemed to revel at your current mental state, the corner of his mouth raised.

“So you’ve never orgasmed before, huh,” he drawled, his smile almost menacing. Ah, fuck. Was he going to now tease you relentlessly with that newfound information? 

“So what?” you exclaimed, your arms and legs now crossed. “ It’s not my fault my body is literally built for failure in both departments of romantic love and self love.” 

Sukuna had an unreadable expression on his face. 

Immediately feeling some sort of regret, you tried to remedy the situation. “O-oh. It’s uhh not a big deal though. I could always go out and find a one night stand to help me with my needs. I-I mean…” Crap. You couldn’t even look the man in the face. 

While your face was turned away from him, you heard the pop of the bottle cork. Curious, you watched as Sukuna poured himself a pretty tall glass of wine. He took a long sip, the red liquid swirling in the glass.

Silence. 

He set the glass down on the coffee table, the sound echoing unnaturally in the sudden silence. You finally dared to look him in the eyes, your heart pounding in your chest. His eyes were narrowed, a predatory glint in their depths.

“You know,” he said, his voice stretched out in a long drawl, “If you would like, I can offer myself as a demonstration.” 

Your breath hitched. "What?"

Sukuna, leaning closer, his breath fanning your face. “Do I have to repeat myself?” 

Almost as if your body had a mind of its own, you found your lips millimeters away from his. Just as your lips were about to touch, you pulled away. With a soft thud, you fell back onto the couch, your hand covering the lower half of your face. “I-uh. I don’t know how to…” you paused for a moment before whispering, “I’ve never kissed anyone before.” 

Sukuna's gaze, intense and predatory, swept over you. “Well, then,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, “it seems like I have my work cut out for me.” He caresses your hand with his thumb before leaning down, his whole body on top of you. 

Bringing his lips to your hands, he teasingly licks it to get a slight reaction out of you. He then gently nips the skin, his teeth grazing your knuckles. Making out with the back of your hand, a rush of warmth flushed throughout your body as you imagined the same sensation on your lips instead. 

You jumped a bit when you felt his tongue once more. Slowly, he traced his tongue towards your fingers, then entwining his hands with yours, pulling it away from your face. Sukuna’s gaze then flickered towards you, watching the rheumatic motions of your chest rising and falling. 

He pulls your hand towards his chest.

“Can I keep going?” 

Your heart pounded in your ears, a quick, rhythmic beat that drowned out the howls of the wind outside. Breathlessly you answer, “Please.”

Sukuna cursed, his warm hands on you almost immediately. His lips parts, closing the space between you two. 

Sweet. With a tinge of bitterness from the red wine. You tell yourself how you could get drunk on his taste; he tastes so much better than the cocktail you were sipping earlier on your blind date.   

Trying to keep up with him, you hesitantly imitate the kisses he gave your hand earlier. You feel a faint smile on his lips which brings flutters to your stomach. Feeling slightly more confidence, you keep going. 

Just as you clench the back of his shirt, Sukuna pulls away from you. “Smart girl,” he whispered. “Are you up for another challenge?” 

Not waiting to hear for your response, Sukuna reaches for the fruit platter, specifically breaking off the stem of one of the cherries. He places it on his tongue before coming back to meet your lips once again. However this time, you find his tongue meeting with yours. 

You involuntarily moan, feeling almost overwhelmed at the moment. Pressed up against him, you could feel his erection pressed against his thighs. 

Even though the two of you were already pressed up against each other, Sukuna somehow manages to deepen the kiss between you two, teasing you with his tongue. You squirm at the sensation.

Feeling Sukuna push the cherry stem towards your tongue, you push back the stem with a competitive vigor. Thus, starting the battle of dominance between the two of you. 

Surprisingly, Sukuna is the first to part from you, sitting straight up on his knees. He stuck his tongue out showing you the knotted cherry stem sitting right on his palate. 

Fuck. 

He places the knotted stem on the coffee table before turning towards you and smirking. “A souvenir for remembrance,” he teases. Sukuna turns his attention back towards you, giving an onslaught of kisses down your neck. In the meanwhile, he hikes your skirt down, leaving you only with a pair of panties left to cover whatever dignity you had left.

“She’s soaked,” he whispers, talking to himself as if you weren’t in the room. Almost by instinct you closed your legs, only for him to spread it apart for his perverted eyes to see. 

“I want to see you touch yourself,” he bluntly stated with absolutely no shame at all. “It’s the least you can do after I gave you such an intricate lesson.” 

You turn immediately red at the memory. 

He pecks your flushed cheeks, before moving to peck your nose. “You’ve done such a good job for me so far,” he praised. “Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed now~” 

“W-Who said I was?” you stubbornly stuttered out loud, trying to hide your nervousness (although failing majorly). 

Sukuna laughed before helping you out of your shirt. And before you know it, your bra is off within seconds, leaving you bare for him to witness. The only piece of clothing you have left is the panties he oh so graciously left on, although you doubt it did anything to hide how naked you felt. 

Sukuna bites his lips, the corners of his mouth raised ever so slightly. ‘She’s going to be the end of me,’ he thinks, watching you as you hesitantly reach for your tender breasts, squeezing your pebbled nipples. 

He snaps the band of your panties, then slowly—almost teasingly—raking it down your thighs. Sukuna licks his lips, staring at your wet, leaking pussy. He almost swears it called his name. 

Moving one hand down, you reach for your clit, softly circling around it. You focused on looking at your hand, almost physically unable to look up at Sukuna, worried your heart would stop if you were to see his face. 

You continue to pleasure yourself, although unable to reach your high. Much to your displeasure, you never had the experience of reaching an orgasm ever since finding out about the wonders of womanhood at the age of 16. Sure you’d watch videos and read tons of articles on how to reach an orgasm, but never once have it worked for you. At some point, you accepted the fact that you were physically incapable of orgasming. 

Under the careful watch of Sukuna’s eyes, he seemed to have noticed you have reached a plateau. “Here, let me help you,” he murmured. Taking your hands in his, he guides you, pressing your fingers down firmer on your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

At some point, your hands ended up clenching his wrists, as he directly played with your clit instead. Suddenly feeling a new sensation, you panic. “Haa! Ngh! W-wait. I feel like I’m going to–” 

He keeps going. And in that moment, you lose yourself. Completely. Your body spasmed underneath his watchful gaze, like a predator watching its prey. And underneath that primal gaze was one of sadistic pleasure, just waiting to strike.

Sukuna bites the insides of his mouth, trying to hold himself back from listening to the voices in his head, telling him to pound you down on the couch at this very moment. He clenches his hands into a fight fist, drawing blood. 

Million of thoughts surges through his head. It’s like a tangled mess of desires and reason, pulling him in every direction at once. He wants you. He can’t deny that. 

However, as much as he yearns for you, he reminds himself of the facts. You’re not here for that. He wasn’t here to be your lover, or to play the part of some fairy-tale prince in the background of your life. No. In fact, he’s far from that. If anything, he’s like a starving wolf just waiting to devour you at any moment. 

Sukuna was doing you a favor. That’s all it was. He’s not a romantic interest. It was simply a one night stand— just minus the fucking. And wouldn’t it be so much better if you remember your first time with the person you choose to love rather than an impulsive decision to fuck around with your boss one night. Yeah. He nods to himself internally. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Sukuna silently waits as you come down from your high. Labored breathing fills the room. 

“How is it?” he asked smugly. 

You take a few more gulps of air before answering. “Good.” 

“Just good?” 

You pouted at his teasing. “What? Do you want a rating?” 

Sukuna laughed in response. “I wasn’t expecting that but now that you mention it, I’m curious.” 

Smiling, you rolled your eyes. “4.9 out of 5.” 

Sukuna’s eyebrows raised. “4.9? Where did my missing 0.1 go?” 

From your position, you playfully kicked the side of your abdomen. “It’s for your ego. Someone needs to keep it in check.” 

Sukuna chuckled darkly, clearly entertained by your response. “Is that so?” he mused, running a hand through his hair. “I suppose it’s a good thing you’re the one keeping it in check, then.”

You raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-wary. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

He doesn’t answer. His only response was playfully taking a bite on the same leg that kicked him. Feeling the strong urge to respond back to his teasing, you take your other free leg to nudge the prominent bulge in between his legs. 

A low groan escapes his lips. “Fuck. You’re going to end up murdering me in cold blood one day.” 

To your surprise, he slides himself off the couch and stands up. 

“Wait!” You grabbed his wrist before he could walk away from you. “But what about you?” You reach for his erection, only for him to stop you. 

“Don’t worry about me, princess.”

Your eyes filled with worry. “But I want you to feel good too.” 

You watched as Sukuna cursed under his breath. He pushes you back down on the couch, joining you once more. “Safe word is red. Red to stop, yellow to slow down, got it?” 

You nod. Unbuckling his belt, unzipping the zippers of his trousers, he finally gives himself slight relief when he takes out his cock. 

8 inches in all its glory. Hard. Flushed red, with a bead of pre-cum peaking through at the tip. 

In your head, you do a mental backflip. Never mind. You take it back. You don’t think that’ll fit anyways. 

“Close your legs together,” he says, interrupting your thoughts. Although he says that, he’s the one closing the gap between your legs, proceeding to place them on his shoulders. Speechless, you watched as he brought his cock closer and closer to you until he’s placing it between your lips, coating his appendage with your cum. 

“Haah... Oh!” You're surprised when he drags his cock over your clit, still sensitive from your previous orgasm. You could have sworn you got even wetter than you already were. 

Once wet, Sukuna takes his time, slowly sliding his cock between the plush flesh of your thighs. He groans, his head falling back as you watch his Adam's apple throb. 

Sukuna starts out slow. Apart from your labored breathing, you could hear the wet faps everytime he moves his hips, gliding his cock cover your wet cunt. A sob of pleasure washes over you when his cock brushes against your clit. You came, your entire body convulsing with overstimulation. 

By this time, Sukuna had quickened his pace, the couch sliding across the floor with each drag of his hips. With his cock pumping in and out, he gave your thighs the same hue of red as the flush on your cheeks. 

“I’m going to–” With a loud groan, Sukuna came. Thick, hot strands of his cum splattered on your stomach, with a few drops reaching your breasts as well. He continues to half-heartedly thrust until his high faded. Panting heavily, eyelids fluttering, he takes his sweet time memorizing the image of your body rightfully decorated with his seeds. If he were to be hit with a truck right now, he would die a happy man. 

Snapping back to reality, Sukuna gently places your legs down, turning towards the coffee table to grab a few tissues. When he glanced back towards you, his eyes widened. 

You were sat up—prettily so, he might add—licking his cum off your fingers. At the sight, Sukuna Jr. became hard again, ready for round two. Sensing his stare, you looked right back at him, a smirk adorning your lips. Maintaining eye contact, you gathered the rest of his cum on your fingers, licking it once more. 

'What a damn minx,' the man thought, unable to take his eyes off you. His eyes darkened, wanting to revert back to his primal urges to just take you for himself. 

Fuck him. 

Sukuna smashes his lips against yours, tasting the remnants of himself. But no matter, because all he could focus on at the moment was you.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifts you effortlessly and carries you to the bathroom. 

Once inside, he places you on the vanity. “Let’s not go any further he tells you,” he insisted, nudging his forehead against yours. You cocked your head to the side, confused. “If we go any further, I don’t think I can control myself.” 

‘Then don’t,’ you thought. 

Sukuna was really hanging on his last thread here. Thankfully for him, you just nodded, deciding to not push the matter any further. 

Friday, December 27th 

Cold. 

It was cold. 

The warmth of the blankets is the only thing that keeps the biting chill of the morning from nipping at your cheeks and nose. You snuggle deeper into them, wishing you could just stay there forever. As you shift, you feel the soft, steady pressure of his arm around you. You awaken, heart quickening, not used to another human presence in your bed. 

Noticing who the person was, you immediately relaxed. Although that came to a quick stop, once you noticed the shirtless torso staring right back at you. Glancing down, you realized you were naked too. 

Fully awake now, you race through your memories of last night. Right after your… uhh… Sukuna’s assistance in helping you further understand your womanhood, he brought you to the bathroom. You two then made out on the bathroom vanity. Then, the two of you showered. He was shampooing your hair and then… blank. 

You couldn’t remember anything after that. 

Crap. 

You looked at the man beside you, his face impossibly serene. His hair is adorably messy, strands falling across his forehead, and his lips are slightly parted as soft breaths escape him. The sight makes your heart swell, bringing a grin to your face. 

Carefully, you reach out, feeling mischievous, you gently booped his nose. The contrast between your cold touch and his warmth stirs him. He scrunches his nose, his lashes fluttering as he slowly blinks awake. His sleepy eyes meet yours, and lazily blinks for a few seconds. He then wordlessly nuzzles his face against your neck, breathing in your scent. 

A soft, muffled groan escapes him as his nose brushes against your skin. “Cold,” he mutters groggily, his voice a deep rumble that makes you giggle. Despite his complaint, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he wraps his arms around you tighter, effectively trapping you against his warm, bare chest.

“Good morning,” you greeted, running your fingers through his messy hair.

“Mornin’,” he yawns back. 

For a moment, the two of you linger in the warmth of the blankets, both wordlessly agreeing that you guys would much rather stay in your current positions for the rest of the day. But the sound of your alarm buzzing from the nightstand breaks the spell. He groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Nope. I refuse. Let’s just call in sick.”

You laugh, giving his shoulder a playful shove. “We can’t do that, Mr. CEO. Come on, get up.” He pouts in response and you can’t help but inwardly squeal at how much he seems to resemble a sulky cat. 

Reluctantly, he loosens his hold, and the two of you begin to prepare for the rest of the day. After a quick shower together and a few shared glances in the mirror, you both finish getting ready. 

The two of you step out into the crisp morning air, making your way to his car as frost glimmers like delicate lace on the windows under the pale light. He starts the engine, the heater sputtering to life and gradually filling the cabin with warmth as you settle into the passenger seat.

The drive to work is quiet and peaceful, with soft music playing on the radio. You steal a few glances at him, watching the way his hands grip the wheel and the faint concentration in his expression. It’s then you notice he’s wearing the same suit as yesterday—a subtle reminder that he hadn’t planned to stay the night. 

The car rolls to a stop in front of the towering company building, its sleek glass exterior reflecting the soft light of the winter morning. He parks in his usual reserved spot and turns to you with a warm smile. “Alright, don’t miss me too much,” he teases.

You roll your eyes playfully, getting out of his car. “Trust me, I won’t.” 

Inside, the hum of the office quickly pulls you into the rhythm of the workday. Emails flood your inbox, and tasks pile up as you try to focus, but it’s no use. Your thoughts keep drifting back to him—his voice, his annoying smirk, the way his hair was still slightly messed up this morning, and his cock.

Stop. 

You find yourself staring blankly at your computer screen, rereading the same line of text over and over. 

“Mr. Ryomen! How can I…” 

Your ears perk up at his name, and before you can stop yourself, your head turns toward the source of the voice. From your desk, you catch a glimpse of him on the other side of the room. He’s speaking with one of the department heads, his expression serious yet calm as he listens. Occasionally, he nods or gestures slightly with his hand. But it’s the subtle quirks you notice—the way his lips twitch as if suppressing a smirk, or how he adjusts his cufflinks absentmindedly. 

For a brief moment, he glances in your direction. You immediately snap your eyes back to your screen, your cheeks burning, praying he didn’t catch you staring.

But then, you hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching. You keep your eyes glued to your monitor, trying to make yourself look busy, but it’s no use. You can feel him before you even see him.

“Daydreaming already?” his voice rumbles softly, a teasing edge to his tone.

Your head snaps up to see him standing beside your desk, hands casually tucked into his pockets, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“N-No, of course not,” you stammer, straightening in your chair. “Just...focused.”

“Focused?” he echoes, raising a brow as his eyes flick to your screen. “On an empty email draft?”

You glance at the monitor and cringe inwardly. “I was...thinking about how to word it,” you say quickly, trying to salvage your pride.

He chuckles, leaning in slightly so only you can hear. “If you’re this distracted, maybe I should’ve kept you in the car a little longer.”

Your face grows impossibly hotter, and you glare up at him. “Aren’t you busy?” You shoo him away with your hand.

“Plenty,” he says smoothly, his grin widening. “But I couldn’t resist checking on my favorite employee.” Before you can respond, he straightens and takes a step back. “Carry on, then.” With that, he turns and walks away, leaving you flustered and unable to focus for the rest of the day.

Usually, you would take the overtime—but not today. Today, the idea of staying longer just feels unbearable. You left the minute the clock struck 5. You practically race to the elevator, your pulse quickening with every step. The doors close behind you with a soft chime, and as the elevator descends, you feel a small sense of relief wash over you.

By the way, on your walk home, you stopped by an adult store. From there, you quickly bought a dildo (you tried to find one a similar length and girth as you know who) and scurried your way back home. 

Saturday, December 28th 

You came into work on a Saturday, mainly because there’s a pile of leftover paperwork that you didn’t manage to finish before you left yesterday. And you blamed Sukuna for it. 

The quiet hum of the building is quite a stark contrast to the bustling energy it usually has during the weekdays. You manage to finish fairly quickly with no distractions, particularly with the absence of a certain pink haired tattooed man. By the time you’re done, you stretch your arms above your head, the tension in your shoulders easing as you stand and walk around to shake off the stiffness from sitting too long. You glance at the clock—it’s still early enough for lunch.

As you head to pack up your things, you’re startled by the sound of footsteps approaching. You look up to see Sukuna, eyes scanning the room with mild curiosity.

His eyes land on you, widening. “You’re here on a Saturday?” he asks, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Yeah, just wrapping up some stuff,” you answer, grabbing your bag and shrugging. “Had a little bit left from yesterday.”

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, walking over to you. “Well, since you're done with your ‘extra work,’” he says, “how about joining me for lunch in my office? I could use the company.”

You hesitate for a second. You're not exactly opposed to the idea, but considering the guy who’s asking you out to lunch is the very person driving your head mad, it's not exactly the easiest invitation to accept.

But then again, it’s just lunch, right? 

You offer a half-smile, trying to mask the lingering uncertainty. “Alright, I’ll join you,” you say, trying to sound more casual than you feel.

Sukuna smiles back at you, the corners of his lips twitching upward in that signature smirk. He walks towards the elevator with you following suite.The two of you step into the elevator, the soft chime signaling its ascent. For a moment, the only sound is the soft hum of the machinery. 

Suddenly, the elevator jerks, causing you to stumble slightly. Sukuna grabs you by the shoulders, steadying you as the lights start to flicker. You glance over at Sukuna, who doesn't seem too alarmed, but the furrow of his brow tells you he’s noticed it too.

"Did it just stop?" you ask, voice laced with surprise.

"Seems like it." His voice is calm, though you can detect a hint of frustration in his usually smooth tone.

You both glance at the display, watching as the floor numbers refuse to change. 

Fuck you, elevator. 

Sukuna pulls out his phone, his fingers swiftly tapping away on the screen. “I’ll text maintenance,” his tone is clipped. You watch as his fingers fly over the keys, typing a quick message. He pauses for a moment, then taps send.

Luckily for him, maintenance responded to him immediately. Sukuna scans the text message for a few seconds before raising his head to look at you. “Apparently, the whole building is out of power. It'll take about half an hour before the power starts running again.”

You blink, trying to process the information. "The whole building?" you echo, glancing at the elevator walls as if expecting the entire structure to come crashing down.

He gives a nod, his gaze narrowing as if he’s already over the inconvenience. “Yep. Looks like we're stuck here for a while.” He pauses, checking the time on his phone before sliding it back into his pocket. Sukuna’s lips twitch into a half-smirk as he takes a step closer, the space between you now noticeably smaller. “Well, guess it’s just you and me, then.”

“Well, you're not exactly the worst company to be stuck with, though,” you admit. You find yourself thinking about that one time you were stuck with Alan from finance and Jeffrey from HR. Alan, bless his soul, stayed silent in a corner the whole fifteen minutes, trembling out of fear. On the other hand, Jeffrey was consistently trying to flirt with you the entire time, probably breaking a few HR protocols here and there. The irony. 

You scoff thinking about it.  

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, his gaze flicking over to you. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “You got a problem with being stuck in small spaces or something?”

You blink, caught off guard by the question. “Huh? Oh, no, nothing like that," you quickly reply, trying to brush it off. “Just... thinking about some interesting elevator experiences I’ve had.”

He smirks, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary, clearly not buying your quick explanation. “Hmm, sure. Sounds like you’ve got some interesting stories,” he muses. 

Closing the space between the two of you, he traps you against the walls of the elevator, leaving you no room to move. “Speaking of interesting stories, I heard from a few little birdies you left early yesterday.”

You stiffen, taken off guard by the sudden proximity. His smirk deepens as he leans in just a bit closer, his breath warm against your cheek. You can feel the pulse of his presence more than ever now, the space between you thick with tension.

“Did I?” you manage to say, trying to keep your voice steady. “Maybe I just had things to do.”

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, his gaze intense as he watches you carefully. “Is that so?” His tone is teasing but holds a hint of something more dangerous. He doesn’t move back, instead, his hand gently rests against the railings behind you, trapping you in place. “I find it funny how Ms. Overtimer decided to leave at 5 o’clock sharp. She couldn't have been trying to avoid someone, was she?” 

What was this? An interrogation? 

You swallow, unable to escape the directness of his gaze. “N-no. Like I said, I had stuff to do.” 

His smirk deepened. “And what would that be?”

You flushed, thinking back on your nightly activities yesterday. The voices from the “How To Give A Good Blow Job” video you were watching yesterday echoed through your head. 

What’s important with a blow job is to use lots of saliva to make it really wet. 

When you approach a penis, it’s very important to…

Go all the way, but don’t just lick the tip.

You don’t just lick it like a lollipop or like an ice cream cone, you really put it all in your mouth.

The next thing you thought of was the porn videos you watched right after that, as you tried to imitate the actions of the porn star on the dildo you just bought. 

As you snap back to reality, you’re faced with Sukuna’s arrogant looking face staring right back at you. “I’ll tell you what I did,” he rasps into your ear. “The moment I got back home, I fucked my fists, pretending it was you.” 

His hands reach underneath your shirt from the back, gliding over the hooks of your bra. “I thought of your drenched little pussy, bouncing on my cock, clenching around me, cumming again and again, just begging for more.” 

Your pussy throbs from his words. Before you know it, you wrap your arms around him, kissing him like your life depended on it. 

At some point you parted for air, gazing up at him through hooded eyes. Playing with his trousers, you bend towards his ear, whispering, “Do you know what I did? I bought myself a dildo, the size of your cock.” His hold around you tightens. Teasingly, you bite his ear, causing him to groan. “Do you know how hard I worked yesterday? Trying to suck that piece of plastic because I wanted to surprise you with a good time.” 

You can’t even get another word out when Sukuna’s mouth is back on yours, trying to devour you until there’s nothing left of you but a damn puddle. Just when he’s about to strip you of your shirt, the elevator door gracefully opens as if it wasn’t stuck just moments ago. 

It didn’t even take a second before Sukuna pulled you into his arms, bringing you straight into his office. 

Safe to say, the two of you enjoyed each other for lunch. 

Sunday, December 29

You’re sitting on your couch, eyes glazed over as you skim through another round of work emails, when one subject line catches your attention: "New York Business Trip". Curious, you open it, expecting some mundane update or meeting schedule. 

Surprisingly, your company is sending you and a few others to New York for a new client. The email outlines everything: flight details, accommodations, and a packed itinerary filled with meetings. You blink a few times, rereading the email to make sure you’re not imagining things.

Ah. 

Well, you should probably get to packing. 

Monday, December 30 

The flight to New York was mundane at best. Luckily no crying babies were on the flight. 

By the time you got there, it was already nighttime. Tired and exhausted, you and your colleagues made your way to the hotel.

You quickly fell asleep, your mind rather occupied with work.

Unbeknownst to you, Sukuna had also flown into New York a day prior for his own business engagements. 

Tuesday, December 31

The client offers you a sincere handshake as they prepare to leave. After stepping out, a collective sigh of relief fills the room.

As the door clicks shut, one of your coworkers slouches dramatically in their chair, their voice heavy with complaint. "Ugh, I’m so tired. Do we really have to work so close to the new year?"

Another coworker, ever the optimist, chuckles and leans back in their chair. "At least we're in New York for the new year. I mean, that's gotta be pretty exciting, right?"

A third coworker, always the one with the best ideas, perks up with enthusiasm. "Why don’t we just celebrate tonight? Let’s hit a nice restaurant and make the most of being in New York. Who’s in?"

The idea quickly gains traction, and with a few enthusiastic nods, plans are made. The team agrees to head out together to celebrate.

You all decided on a restaurant by the pier, away from midtown which tended to be one of the busiest parts of the city during the new year. Drinks are poured, toasts are made, and the atmosphere quickly shifts from business to pure enjoyment. The laughter grows louder as more wine flows, the chatter about work now replaced with stories of company drama. 

“Jeffrey from HR got fired!” 

“No way! What happened?” 

“I heard he got caught trying to buy drinks with the company card!” 

“I heard he got caught harassing some of the female staff!”

“I heard…” 

“Classic Jeffrey,” a coworker mutters, shaking their head. “The guy was a walking HR violation. Good riddance.”

You laugh. “Funny, considering he’s HR himself.” 

Another coworker, slightly tipsy, raises their glass. “To Jeffrey’s unemployment!” Everyone laughs, raising their glasses in solidarity.

The conversation shifts as someone notices a familiar pink-haired man, sitting at a table behind you with a relaxed, almost amused expression.

"Wait, isn't that…?" One of the coworkers squints, their eyes widening. "Mr. Ryomen?!"

The room falls quiet for a split second, and all eyes turn toward him. There's a brief, stunned silence as the reality sets in. Sukuna raises a brow, sensing the sudden shift in attention. "No need to act so formal, people," he says, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "This is a celebration, not a board meeting. Dinner’s on me." At his words, the initial awkwardness disperses, a collective cheer erupting around the table. 

Sukuna's gaze drifts toward you, and for a moment, the chatter around the table fades into the background. You look up at him, your eyes meeting his. The night continues, the laughter growing louder as more wine flows and the atmosphere grows more relaxed. Your coworkers are clearly enjoying themselves, their inhibitions loosening as they drink and joke.

Somewhere between the third round of drinks and the jokes about Jeffrey, Sukuna leans closer to you, his voice low as he addresses you. "You wanna head out?"

You glance around, noticing that the group is becoming more boisterous, a little too drunk for comfort. You nod, slipping out of your seat quietly, unnoticed in the haze of celebration.

The two of you walk side by side, his hand slipping into yours as he gently tucks it into the warm pocket of his winter jacket. Ending up by the pier where you can enjoy New York City’s cityscape alone, the two of you stood by the railing, the city lights shimmering in the distance, reflecting off the water below. The noise of the city feels distant here, leaving just the sound of the waves lapping against the shore and the occasional hum of passing traffic. 

Sukuna stands close, his presence comforting and intense, but there’s an unspoken ease between you now. He watches you looking at the skyline, almost entranced by the city lights. He's entranced by the way your gaze softens, the flicker of wonder in your eyes, as if the city itself holds a kind of magic just for you.

His gaze drifts down to your face, the way the soft glow of the lights highlights your features, and for a moment, he forgets the world around him.

“You like it here?” he asks, his voice low, almost lost in the wind.

You nod, taking in the sight of the towering buildings, the lights that make the city pulse with life. “It’s beautiful,” you say, your voice quiet, but content.

Sukuna smiles, a rare, almost gentle curve of his lips.“You know,” he begins, his voice a bit more serious now. 

You turn to face him. “I like you,” he admits, his voice steady but low, the sincerity in his eyes undeniable. “More than I should.” 

Your face shifts to one of surprise before a smile spreads across your lips. “And?” you ask, a teasing edge to your voice as you try to coax more out of him.

Sukuna’s expression falters for a moment, a look of surprise crossing his features, as he didn’t expect for you to react so playfully, before his usual confidence returns. He steps closer, his presence overwhelming yet somehow comforting, his gaze never leaving yours. 

“And…” he murmurs, taking a breath as if steadying himself for something more. He tilts his head slightly, a small, almost playful glint in his eyes now. “This confession has been long overdue.” 

You cock your head to the side. “And?” 

Sukuna rolls his eyes. Cradling your face with both his hands, he pulls you gently toward him, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes soften, the playful glint still present, but there’s a sincerity now that you can’t ignore.

“Goddammit, woman,” he mutters, although there’s no trace of frustration or anger behind it. “And,” he starts again, voice quieter this time, “I want you.”

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

“I need you.” 

Another tender kiss, this time to your nose, as if savoring the simple closeness of you.

“I love you.”

‘I've loved you ever since your stubborn ass appeared in that elevator,’ he thought. 

Without another word, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s slow, deliberate, and full of all the things he hadn’t been able to say. The world around you seems to fade as the moment stretches on, leaving only the two of you, suspended in the quiet of the city night.

Sukuna closes his bedroom door behind you with a soft click, turning towards you once he locks the door. Crossing the short distance between the door and you with a few, casual strides, he helps you out of your coat, carelessly leaving it on the floor once off. Not even moments later, the rest of your clothes soon followed the fate of the discarded coat. 

Your body was bare before Sukuna’s affectionate gaze; vulnerable and utterly exposed to his wandering eyes. “You’re soaked, darling,” his silken cadence carrying a hint of teasing. It’s no surprise though, considering he fingered you in his car on the way to his New York City penthouse. 

“Put it in already,” you whine, tired of waiting. In fact, you’ve waited for exactly a week ever since the man took your first kiss and first orgasm. 

He bites your thighs in response. “Don’t you know patience is a virtue?” 

“Funny, I don’t remember signing up to be virtuous,” you muttered. 

He laughs in return. “Well, it’s not too late to start, but you might want to hurry.” You rolled your eyes. This man is insufferable. You start self-pitying yourself for falling for this man’s charms. 

Sukuna begins to pepper kisses down your thighs, before reaching the wet mess between your legs. He gives your cute cunny a wet, sloppy french kiss, causing you to squirm. Sukuna’s hands, however, found themselves wrapped around your thighs, preventing you from squirming away. 

Just when you’re about to reach your high, he parts from you, a frustrated whine permeates the air. He playfully tsks at you, shaking his head with a smirk. “What did I say about patience?” 

“I don’t want to hear that from you!” you exclaimed. “You’re impatient and far from virtuous, you pervert.”

“Me? Impatient? I held out for 4 years. Just when I could take you for myself, I cockblocked myself for a week.” He taps the head of his cock on your slit. “If anything, I’m the epitome of virtue.” 

“That’s bull– AH!” Your head smothered in the crook of his neck, legs trembling, your upper body falling limp to the dull aching pain in between your legs. 

On Sukuna’s end, he hisses from the way your virgin walls tighten around his length, his eyes half-lidded. “Shitt…” he curses breathily, the tightness of your pussy is almost too much for him. With the addictive way your walls wrap around his cock, he can’t help but yearn for more. He snaps out of his mind-fucked haze when he hears your quiet sniffles. 

Sukuna gently distracts you by petting your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he shushes you softly, the warmth of his hand grounding you. He licks away the tears threatening to fall from the corners of your eye. 

“You're an animal,” you croaked out. His fingers continue their gentle path through your hair, the action tender but possessive. 

“Shouldn’t that be obvious by now?” he murmured, silencing your whimpers with a deep kiss. One of his fists, curled so tightly, draws blood, as he holds back a debauched smile from appearing on his face. His breathing is labored, each exhale coming out in sharp bursts, but his eyes—those predatory, crimson eyes—remain locked on you with an intensity that borders on dangerous. The control he’s desperately clinging to is beginning to fray. That debauched smile of his still doesn’t quite break free, but if you were to open your eyes, you can see it lurking, threatening to spill over at any moment. 

Right. This is why he was so hesitant about claiming you as his. Because once he did, his possessiveness would consume him entirely, and no amount of restraint could keep him from acting on the wild urge to mark you, to own every inch of you. It’s why he had kept his distance, why he had let the silence stretch between you for so long. But now, with you so close, with your scent filling his senses, it was clear he had waited too long.

The struggle within him intensifies, the weight of his desires battling with the need to maintain decent dignity, but seeing the frown on your lips tugged on his fucked-up sense of morals. So, he patiently waits until your legs are no longer trembling. Kissing the palm of your hands, he asks, “Can I start moving now?” 

You respond with a breathless yes. As you wished, he started moving with carefully curated, slow thrusts. Your mind fills with confusion, unable to figure out the difference in the waves of twisted pain and pleasure you feel with each drag of his hips. 

Sukuna bends down to your tits, taking your pebbled nipple in his mouth, while teasing the other one with his hands. “So fucking tight,” he rasps, parting from your sensitive bud, leaving only but a string of saliva. 

God, this pussy will be the end of him. You will be the end of him.

‘Aren’t you the most prettiest thing,’ he thinks to himself.  

On the other hand, you feel too overwhelmed to even think. You pant through each tactful thrust of his, your hands clutching onto his bed sheets to ground yourself. Feeling the specific drag against your g-spot, you let yourself go without warning. 

Feeling your pussy clench wildly around his appendage, Sukuna curses, attempting to pull out but ultimately failing when your cunt just sucks him right back in. A choked up laugh bubbles from his throat, as he submits himself to pleasure, releasing his sperm right into your cavern. When he pulls out, he savors the scene of your stretched hole pulsing wildly yet clenching around nothing. 

Sukuna gives you a quick kiss on your lips, symbolizing a job well done, before walking towards his mini fridge to get beverages for the both of you. Disregarding your aching lower half, you sat up from your position, watching your lover—butt naked—tinkering with the items in the fridge. 

You stare into space when you think about how… soft he was with you. You almost wonder if somehow a ghost took over his body the few times he was intimate with you. You knew that man had a penchant for torturing his bed partners with pleasure. It was almost common knowledge with anyone who has interacted with anyone from Silvia’s high society circle. Or any one of the Sukuna’s past flings. You, neither in Silvia’s circle nor friends with any of Sukuna’s past flings, only relied on the words from a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a… you get it. 

Anyways, his gentle demeanor with you almost deceptively deceives you of his true nature in bed. As delighted as you were by his ability to approach you with such surprising gentleness, you wanted to know the full extent of Sukuna’s… bedtime habits, so to speak. 

There’s a saying: Curiosity killed the cat. 

So don’t say this narrator didn’t warn you beforehand. 

You snap back from your thoughts when you realize Sukuna was heading back towards you with two bottles of water. He opens the cap for you before handing you one of the bottles, placing the edge of the bottom on your forehead, a gesture that takes you by surprise. The coolness of the bottle against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, sharply contrasting the lingering memory of his body heat pressed so close to yours.

You take the bottle, mumbling a quiet thank you, before taking a few sips. He hums in response, proceeding to take a drink from his bottle himself. You watched his Adam's apple bob with each swallow, the movement oddly captivating. 

“Don’t you think you’ve been holding back?” you stated as a matter of fact. 

He stops drinking, looking at you over the rim of his bottle, his eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing your words. The silence hangs between you, thick with anticipation. Slowly, he lowers the bottle, twisting the cap back on. His gaze never leaves yours, sharp and calculating, like he’s trying to read the real meaning behind your statement. 

“You’re way too eager to push me,” he murmurs, his lips licking off the excess moisture from the liquid. “You should be more worried about your wellbeing than the rumors floating around about my sexual preferences.” He sits down on the edge of the bed, putting a strand of hair behind your ears. 

You slap that hand away, pouting. “Well, if you’re not going to fuck me properly, I’ll just go find someone else to do it,” you state, preparing to stand from your spot and pretend to leave the room. 

Sukuna clenches the empty plastic bottle in his hand, the sound of crushed plastic permeating in the room. 

“Sit down.” He pats his lap, motioning for you to take a seat. 

The command is simple, but it cuts through the air with a force that makes your body freeze, your movements halting mid-step. There's no mistaking the tone in his voice—low, dangerous, and absolute. The room feels smaller now, the air in the room somehow thickens.

You hesitate, eyes flickering between his clenched fist and the way his gaze remains locked on you, as though daring you to challenge him. And despite yourself, you do end up sitting on his lap, his arms immediately cradling you against his body. He grazes his teeth on your shoulder, before actually biting, drawing blood. 

Startled, you flinch. However, with Sukuna’s arms wrapped around you, you couldn’t move nor could you run away. 

“You’re being such a brat,” he slurred, sounding drunk on your smell. He brings his other hand to caress your cheeks, “And here I thought you were my good little girl.”

Your heart quickens with excitement, the pulse in your chest pounding louder than ever. It’s a heady mix of anticipation and the raw thrill, the tension between you both so thick it’s almost suffocating. 

"Am I not being good enough for you?" you asked with a hint of mock innocence, feigning ignorance. You intwine your hands with his, nuzzle your face into the palm of his hands. 

“If you were, we wouldn’t be in this position,” he rasps, his self-control hanging by a thread just waiting to snap at the right moment. Your breath hitched slightly when he runs his large, calloused hands around your sides before stopping by your ass cheeks to fondle it. His voice was low and husky as he spoke, filled with a barely restrained lust. "You're being a dangerous tease right now, love.” 

“Dangerous?” you mused, leaning forward to whisper into his ear. “Why am I so dangerous?” You began to slowly grind your hips against his, gently rocking in his lap. 

Sukuna's hands clenched tightly on to your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he felt your body move against him, creating a torturously good friction. “Precisely because of this,” a hint of a growl escaping from his lips.

You purposefully let out a loud unabashed moan as you continue to rub yourself against his tattooed thighs, hoping to crumble whatever’s left of his self-control. Pushing out his cum from earlier, you smear it all over his thighs. “Oops,” you gasped, faking your astonishment. “Sorry for making such a mess, Kuna. You know I couldn't help myself,” you taunted, unknowingly signing a sealed deal for the absolute annihilation of your body for the next morning come. 

Snap 

The very next second, you’re thrown onto the bed. You look behind you where his large and strong frame hovers over yours. You don’t even get a chance to savor the look on his face when he grabs you by the hair, pushing your head face down into the mattress. 

“That’s it. Shut it, you cock hungry slut.” 

Oh! So there’s that sadistic pervert of a man you know and love. 

Inserting his fingers into you, he starts targeting your g-spot, probing at that one spot on purpose! 

“That’s enough!” you protested, your legs shaking from quite possibly overstimulation.  

He doesn’t stop, pretending as if he didn’t hear. After a while of constant whining on your end and absolutely zero reactions on his, you attempt to crawl away from him, the sensation far too overstimulating for you. Your plan comes to a foul stop however, when he drags you back with a sharp pull by your legs. 

Your head snapped back to look at him, his eyes burning holes into your skull, looking absolutely furious with you. “I thought you wanted to fuck around and find out?” A hand comes down onto your ass cheek. “I’m giving you exactly what you asked for, so why are you running away?” 

Exactly, why are you running away? You give yourself a mental prayer, before deciding to absolutely stop using your head and to start thinking with your cunt instead. 

Sukuna presses his body up against yours, his weight almost knocking the air out of your lungs. Practically accepting the position you're in, you wholly welcome his cock sliding into your needy pussy. 

“You’re probably the best cock sleeve I’ve come across so far,” he groans. “Probably because of that slobbering pussy of yours.” He forces two fingers into your mouth, a mad grin spreading across his face when he feels your tongue swirl around his digits. “Right,” he thrusts even harder, causing you to gag on his fingers, “and I can't forget about that slutty mouth of yours.” 

Fuck. Was it just you or did his cock just get bigger while inside? 

You can’t even focus for long when he’s prone boning you into the mattress like the pleasure-drunk sadist he is. 

Each time he looks down at you with those glazed eyes.

Each time he pushes into you. 

Your mind goes blank from pleasure. 

The vulgar sounds of flesh on flesh echoes in your ear, filling up your head til you can’t think of anything else. 

Panic arises in you, snapping you out of your euphoric haze when you suddenly feel the need to pee out of nowhere. With a sudden surge of clarity, as if flipping a switch, you quickly inform Sukuna of your urgent matter. Or at least you try to— through the moans, pants, screams, and incoherent ramblings. 

Weirdly enough, even through all that, he surprisingly understands your intended message quite well. Although his response is not one you expect. 

 “Go ahead,” he sneers. “Squirt, cum, piss as many times as you want. The sheets are dirty enough already.” 

“...Ngnhh. It feels… strange… good. O-h fuck!” You squirt—or was it piss, anywho it didn’t matter what it was—for the nth time that night. You're unsure how many times you came so far. But then again, who’s keeping count? 

“Say you love me,” he mutters under his ragged breaths. 

You don’t seem to process his words though. Thoroughly fucked over, the only sounds you make are absolutely obscene. “Ngh oh~ hahhh!” 

“Louder,” he demands, his cock pummeling into your aching cunt. “Say you love me. Come on. Say it feels good.” 

“Haa! Hngh! Oh!” Only unabashed moans escapes your lips, your mind too fucked to comprehend his words. 

“Did I already fuck you dumb?” he mocked, clearly unimpressed with your lack of decorum. That’s a lie. He’s reveling in pure joy 

Suddenly, he changes his pace, going obnoxiously slow.

You writhed in response, whines escaping your mouth. “Nooo,” you protest, missing the fast pace already. 

“No?” Sukuna slowly pulls out until his tip is only part enveloped by your warmth. “Weren’t you begging me to slow down earlier though?” 

You don't even remember if you said that. In fact, you can't recall any of the jumbled words that came out of your mouth. And for all you knew, he could've just made it up.

Fucked as you were, you could only respond with a mumble of incoherent whines.

In response, he spanks you, your pussy clenching in response, making him grin. “Aww, does my pretty little slut like that?” He spanks you one more time, pleased when your walls clenched around him once again. 

Now that he’s got your attention, he repeats his orders to you once more. Through thick tears of pleasure dripping down your face, you whisper, “I love you, Kuna.” 

Fuck. 

Now, you were really going to be the death of him. 

Not giving you a second to breathe, he pulls you towards the edge of the bed. Then, almost effortlessly, he holds you in the full nelson position. You’re surprised when he walks you towards the glass windows of his bedroom. From there, you could see the whole entire city of New York, its lights shimmering like a sea of stars beneath you. The skyline stretches far and wide, towering buildings casting long shadows across the streets, their lights flickering in rhythm with the pulse of the city. But more than that, you see the fucked-up position you're in, reflected in the glass windows. 

“Since you enjoy the view so much…” Sukuna slowly positions his cock to your needy cunt. You squeal the moment he penetrates, his heavy and thick cock mercilessly berating your slutty walls. “Enjoy it while you can!” 

He brings you down on his cock, harder with every pound. Expectedly, your vulgar juices trickle down his 8 inch cock with every drag of your hips, creating a white ring around the base of his cock. 

“Kuna– I- ngh! Tooo-oooo d-deep! It’s too much!” 

Your words cause Sukuna to chuckle. Too much? Too much? Your pussy sure didn’t think so, welcoming each thrust with open arms, even greedy for more. It sucked in his cock so well, getting tighter every time he tried to pull out. 

You interrupt his trance when you start chanting his name over and over again, the only warning he has until you squirt all over his cock, his floor, and his penthouse windows. He follows suit, pulling out his cock, and allowing his cum to join the mess you have already made. 

Feeling light-headed, he thirsts for air, deciding that your lips was the only remedy he wanted—needed, at this moment. 

In the midst of your kiss, fireworks sprung into the night sky, painting the sky with their brilliant lights. The colorful splatter of light shines through the windows of Sukuna’s New York penthouse. 

Wednesday, January 1

Your attention was briefly drawn to them as they sparkled and crackled above, their explosions echoing through the silence of the night.

Sukuna, his breath still coming in warm pants, looked up at the fireworks only momentarily before returning his crimson eyes back towards you, intense and unwavering. 

He places you down, his hand gently cupping your jaw, turning your head to the side. As the fireworks painted the sky with fleeting brilliance, Sukuna's lips found yours again, grounding you in a moment that felt timeless—far more profound than the fleeting lights above.

Author’s note: My apologies for any grammar mistakes in advance 🙇‍♀️ The fic ended up being longer than I expected, so I had to cut/summarize several scenes to ensure everything would fit on Tumblr.  Here are some of the plot points that I skimmed over (that were originally supposed to be stretched out into proper scenes): A shower scene y/n learning how to give a blow job using a sex toy Phone sex between the two the day y/n got the business trip email  And of course, the office sex scene

There’s a few more but that’s a secret for now haha. Anyways if any of you all are interested, please let me know

[criminalamnesia]

ending 2 for tolerate it! this was my original idea for the ending!

I just wanted to clarify that I’m writing these two endings bc of the feedback I’ve received. The first ending is for those who wanted them to reconcile/make amends, and I wanted to give those readers some closure.

this ending is for those who want reader to be happy without him (which was my original idea lol). anyways I know a lot of people didn’t like ending 1 and that’s okay!! but here’s ending two, I hope you like it better :)

[ also, this takes place in between the time that reader leaves simon/price and the last line of part two! ]

part one here, part two here, ending 1 here

your friend graciously let you live with them for a few months while you got back on your feet.

you went to therapy. stopped crying whenever you thought of him or even his name. started taking care of yourself again.

you move out and find this cute little house. it’s small, cozy. you adore it, and your friend helps you move in.

you make it your own with colors and trinkets and pictures. there’s nothing in that house that serves as a reminder of your time with him. you’d gotten rid of all the pictures, all the gifts he’d bought you before things turned sour.

fuck him. he didn’t deserve to see your growth and your happiness. he didn’t deserve anything from you.

you get used to being on your own again. it’s nice. you don’t worry about a man who is halfway across the world. don’t worry about baking a cake for his return or setting up streamers. don’t worry about how damaged he’ll be when he walks through the door.

you’re happy. you love your job, your home, your friends. you treat yourself to coffee every wednesday afternoon, and that’s when you meet him.

you’ve ordered your coffee and are sitting at one of the cafe’s little tables, scrolling on your phone, when a man clears his throat.

you look up, and he’s got the kindest smile you’ve ever seen.

“hi,” he says, and you give a small smile as you click off your phone.

“um, hi?” you say, a little unsure of why he’s speaking to you.

“not to sound weird or anything,” he begins, and you give a small laugh.

“y’know, whenever someone says that, whatever they say next does tend to sound weird.”

he nods, that smile on his lips growing a smidge wider. “right. so, I guess this will be weird then, huh? but I’ve noticed you here every wednesday, and I just wanted to tell you you’re beautiful.”

you blush. you don’t think a man has ever been so straightforward with you, and although you do think it’s kind of weird, you try to just focus on the compliment.

but your guard is up. you don’t know him.

“oh, thank you. that’s sweet,” you reply, and he’s still looking down at you.

“can I sit?” he asks, which takes you by surprise.

“um, sure? I guess?” you say, and it sounds more like a question than a statement, but he’s sliding into the seat across from you.

he introduces himself, and you tell him your name. he says it’s pretty. you’re starting to think he’s coming on too strong.

but as the two of you begin to talk, you start to realize that’s just who he is. he’s a flirt, a flatterer, but it’s good natured.

it’s easy to talk to him. he keeps the conversation going, and he seems generally interested in what you have to say. it’s a stark difference from your last relationship.

but then he tells you he’s military, and your heart nearly stops.

“oh,” you say, a small frown on your lips.

“that an issue?” he says, and his tone is teasing. he doesn’t know— how could he? but your face says it all.

his brows furrow, and he gets serious for the first time since he’d sat across from you. he starts to reach for your hand, but decides against it. again, the two of you don’t know each other, and he’s aware of that.

“I don’t have a good track record with men in the military,” you tell him, trying to lighten the mood. he can tell something’s wrong, but he doesn’t push. he takes the bait, and you’re grateful. it makes you like him even more.

that’s why you end up talking until the place closes. the employees are practically shooing you out as you and the military man apologize profusely.

you’re on the sidewalk now, and he’s smiling at you. you find yourself smiling back.

“d’you mind if I get your number?” he asks.

as much as you enjoyed talking to him, you’re still unsure. you just recovered from everything that happened— are still recovering. you don’t want to rush into anything. so, you shake your head.

“if you’re serious,” you begin, looking up at him. “I’ll see you on another wednesday.”

he nods, a mischievous smile on his face. “im up to the challenge.”

you give a small laugh, then tell him goodnight. you turn and begin to walk towards your car, and you’re smiling like an idiot.

you don’t want to get you hopes up, but that little naive part of you— a part of you you’d thought was dead and gone— is making you. you try to stamp it back down.

next wednesday, you don’t see him, and you’re a little sad about it. you don’t see him the wednesday after that, either.

you don’t see him for a few months, actually. and after a few weeks, you’ve stopped thinking about him.

but then one wednesday, you’re sitting in that coffee shop, and there he is.

he’s wearing a short sleeve shirt, and you can see fresh cuts and scrapes along his arms. he asks if he can sit, and you oblige, gesturing to the seat across from you.

“sorry for disappearing on you,” he says, and you shake your head. he doesn’t owe you anything. you barely know each other.

“that day we talked, i ended up gettin’ deployed a few days later. didn’t have your number, so…” he trails off with a cheeky smile, and you grin as you roll your eyes.

“so im to blame, hm?” you say, and he nods.

“oh, absolutely.” he’s teasing, and you laugh.

“then let’s amend that.” you hand him your phone and he lights up. he taps his number in quickly before handing the phone back to you. you send him a quick ‘hi’ so your number will pop up in his phone.

“didn’t forget about you, though,” he says, and you blush. this man certainly has a way with words. “that’s why im here. glad to see you’re still a creature of habit.”

“is that a bad thing?” you ask, and he shakes his head.

“nah, I don’t think so.”

your phone chimes then. it’s one of your friends, asking you if you can come over. you type a quick reply and start to gather your things.

“leavin’ so soon?” he says, and you give a small nod.

“friend emergency.”

he nods. “understood. well, I’ll see you around then, yeah?” he smiling as he pushes himself out of his chair.

“you do have my number now,” you remind him. “we don’t have to wait on chance encounters.”

he hums in agreement. “that’s true, but I prefer face-to-face, y’know? especially since yours is so pretty.”

“you’re a flirt,” you tell him, but you’re blushing, and he chuckles.

“guilty.”

you bid him goodbye and walk towards the exit, your mind instantly shifting gears to your friend. you don’t think about the military man again until he texts you that night.

‘friend okay?’ he types.

‘all good.’ you respond.

he’s typing back for a good minute. the bubble disappears, then reappears.

‘if there are no more friend crises for the foreseeable future, and im not shipped off to fight bad guys, how about a proper date?’

you smile as you read the message.

‘sure.’ you respond, and he sends back a smiley face.

a first date turns into a second, then a third, then a fourth. they’re spread out over a year because of his job, but you don’t find yourself minding that much. he treats you so much differently than the last man did.

he eventually asks you to be his partner, and you say yes. of course you’re a little hesitant— things with your last military man started off good, too. but you feel like it’s different this time. he’s different.

you don’t know it, but every time he’s deployed, he talks his squad’s ear off about you. tells them you’re the most beautiful person he’d ever seen, and that you’re so funny. tells them he’s gonna ask you to move in with him.

but he never mentioned your name. maybe he forgot, or maybe he just didn’t want to share that piece of you with them.

“you never shut up about this lover of yours,” simon/price says one day while they’re eating in the mess hall. although they’re not in the same squad, they’re friends, and they happen to be on base at the same time. “no way they’re real.”

your man just grins and holds out his phone, showing off his lockscreen. it’s a picture of you with your head thrown back in laughter. he’d taken it on one of your dates.

simon/price’s face darkens almost imperceptibly before he masks it. that’s you. he hadn’t thought about you in ages, but he knows that’s you in that picture. now everything comes rushing back.

your lover doesn’t notice the other man’s expression shift. he doesn’t realize that the man across from him knows you.

you had told him more about the man who broke your heart, but you’d never mentioned his name. you didn’t want to risk him knowing him.

it’s a good thing you’d never mentioned the name, because if your lover knew, he’d punch him in the jaw.

the conversation eventually shifts away from you, and simon/price is grateful. your man is none the wiser.

when he gets back home, he asks you to move in. you tell him no at first. you’re still a little broken. he understands, and doesn’t hold it against you. he takes it in stride, and you’re grateful.

you don’t know how you got so lucky this time. you don’t know how this man, who was so understanding, so kind, so caring, had practically fallen into your lap. maybe it was karma from your last relationship.

the universe crushed you once, and to make up for it, they dropped this man into your life. whatever it was, you were thankful.

the second time he asks you to move in with him, you say yes. he helps you with everything, and the whole time he’s smiling like an idiot. even when you almost drop a shelf on his toe, or when you argue with him about where to hang a picture.

you two end the night eating take out on the couch and watching trashy tv. he decides right then that he’s going to marry you one day.

a few months after you move in, he tells you he wants you to meet his friends.

you’re nervous, but he reassures you it will all be fine. tells you that they’ll love you. so, you get yourself ready and then he’s helping you into his truck, and your leg is shaking the whole way to the bar.

he puts a comforting hand on your knee. gives you a dazzling smile.

“they’ll love you,” he tells you. you nod.

when you get to the crowded bar, he leads you by the hand inside. you’re towed along behind him, so you don’t see his friends until you’re standing right in front of the booth they occupy.

you scan their faces, and you don’t recognize any of them. you’re thankful— a huge weight has been lifted off your shoulders. he introduces you to them, and you fit in easily.

the night is going well until your man mentions simon/price’s name. he couldn’t know, you’d never told him. he was telling the story of how simon/price hadn’t believed him when he was talking about you.

the rest of his friends were laughing, but you were tense. he noticed immediately, shoulder nudging yours as he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“you okay?” he murmured, and you nodded.

he could tell you were lying, but he didn’t push it. didn’t even bring it up again until the two of you were home.

“how do you know simon/price?” he asked you as you hung your coat up on the rack. you frowned as you turned to face him.

“he was the one I dated before you. the guy who broke my heart. the one I told you about, remember?”

your man goes silent. he’s looking at you, his fists clenched at his sides. he believes you. there’s not a doubt in his mind, even for a second, that you’re not telling the truth.

“I didn’t want to tell you his name,” you admit, taking a step towards him. “in case you knew him. didn’t want to make things complicated.”

he’s still silent, his eyes trained on you as you slowly approach. an expression you can’t name paints his face.

“I understand if you want to end things,” you tell him, and that gets him moving again. he’s shaking his head. “I don’t want to come between you and your friends.”

“fuck him,” he spits, and he reaches his arms out to you. you step into his embrace and take a shaky breath. “fuckin’ bastard. I showed him a picture of you, and he didn’t say anything. I was gonna invite him tonight, but he’s on assignment, and—” he inhales sharply as his hands rest on your back. “and now im gonna break his fucking jaw.”

you push yourself back, your eyes finding your lover’s. you shake your head. “it’s not worth it. besides, don’t make any enemies within your base. you’ve got enough of those already.”

you can tell he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. he nods after a moment. silence fills the room.

“we don’t run in the same circles, usually,” he tells you, his voice quiet. “known each other since enlistment. got assigned to different squads. kept running into each other, though. kept in touch.”

“you can still—” you begin, but he interrupts.

“no, fuck him. I can’t be his friend when he’s treated you like shit. fucker will be lucky if I don’t blacken his fuckin’ eye.”

you don’t say anything. you pull yourself back towards his chest, and he holds you tight.

you don’t say anything, but your heart swells. this man, the one in your arms, is everything that he wasn’t. he doesn’t tolerate you, he celebrates you. loves you unconditionally. communicates and compromises. doesn’t pull away.

that’s why, when he asks you to marry him a month later, you say yes without thinking. because you don’t need to think.

the ceremony is small. friends and family gather and celebrate the two of you. you laugh and dance and drink the night away with the love of your life by your side.

and you don’t think of the man that broke your heart anymore. don’t give him the time of day, because you’ve moved on to something far greater. you’ve moved on to what you deserve.

a few years down the road, when your husband has finally retired, you’re making your way down the road to meet him at the coffee shop that brought you together.

someone calls your name, and your blood runs cold. you know that voice, and although you haven’t thought about who it belongs to in years, you doubt you’ll ever truly forget it.

he’s calling your name from somewhere behind you. you don’t turn around.

instead, you pull open the door of the coffee shop, step inside, and smile when you see your husband sitting at the same table you’d met him at all those years ago.

——————————————————————

author’s note:

ending 2 is finally here! while writing this, I originally pictured the reader getting with Gaz/johnny; however, I wasn’t sure how that would turn out.

how would they still work with simon/price after knowing everything? how would you go so long without hearing about/meeting gaz/johnny’s squad mates?

I didn’t know, and that’s why I scrapped the idea. You can still picture them, though! but I thought it best to have the love interest someone kinda detached from the 141.

anyways, hope you enjoyed :)

[apeachty]

₊ ˚ ⊹ ♡ . ⠀birthday cat | kth

⠀⠀⠀taehyun x fem!reader

genre ; smut

warnings | tags ; cumming inside with no protection & no protection mentioned too; reader is not a gym girlie like at all (and is kinda stiff too); taehyun is itty bitty rough, but not in details?..

wordcount ; 0.7k

✉ notes ; happy birthday, taehyun! the member who is the best in anything he does! it was my very first impression (to do x txt ep 3 where he won the games other members were terrible at), and it stayed the same.

i hope to write more for him in the future and overcome struggles with writing him, but i'd probably go for the most basic and cliché scenarios at first (like that one.....) ANYWAY i hope you enjoy it 🤍

⠀⠀⠀[ masterlist is here ]

that year, taehyun's birthday happened to fall on a wednesday. he didn’t have any issues with wednesdays, but since he was on a break, he tried to maintain his workout schedule without skipping days without a valid reason. however, a little celebration with the members was planned for the afternoon, and a bigger one in the evening with his family. you'd be with him for both, but it seemed like the two of you wouldn't have any private time together.

taehyun was ready to skip today's workout just to spend time with you when you asked if you could join him. you rarely did, as he preferred to work out early while you stayed in bed. he knew he would spend more time looking after you as you curiously tested out all the equipment in the home gym. nevertheless, he agreed—a little workout was better than none at all.

what taehyun didn't expect was that you would start stretching. yoga pants weren't easy already, but he was glad you were wearing an oversized t-shirt that covered everything—until you sat down and had to take it off because it was in the way, leaving you in just a sports bra and now perfectly open yoga pants. he had to stop his own workout because lifting weights was dangerous when all his attention was solely focused on you.

"need a hand?" taehyun asked, sitting on the floor next to you as you struggled to get into a proper downward dog, your limbs shaking slightly. as you nodded, he placed his hand on your lower back. “you should start with something easier,” he pushed your hips down until you were standing on your hands and knees. kneeling behind you, he spread your legs with his, his breath hitching at the view.

taehyun placed his palm on your bare back, making you shiver as he gently pushed it to make you arch your back. he pressed his hips flush against yours, his hard-on feeling so good through the thin fabric of his sweatpants and your yoga pants, making your arms tremble.

you mewled, head hung low, when his fingers dipped under the waistband, caressing the skin beneath. when you didn't protest, instead moving your hips to meet taehyun's moves, he dragged the yoga pants and underwear down to your knees, making you hiss at the feeling of cool air hitting your already wet center.

"i d-don't remember poses like that in yoga," you whimpered, and he ground his still-covered dick against you, turning your words into a moan.

"yeah?" taehyun placed his palm between your shoulder blades, pushing it down while trying to tug his sweatpants and underwear down with the other hand. you got the hint, lowering your shoulders onto the yoga mat, the view from behind making taehyun groan. he finally managed to free himself, wrapping a hand around his shaft and rubbing the tip against your folds, spreading his precum. “stretch your arms forward.”

you obeyed, mewling something incoherent in response, not even sure yourself what it was, brain already fogged as you reached back with one hand, nails digging into firm muscles of his thigh as you tried to pull him closer. taehyun obliged, aligning himself before pushing inside, slowly stretching you to make sure he didn’t hurt you. his next movement, though, wasn’t so gentle already, as he snapped his hips forward in a harsh thrust, his fingers tangled in your hair. 

you whimpered into the yoga mat, arching your back more, palms pressed against the floor over your head. the slaps of skin against skin and the harsh pants, moans and whimpers echoed off the walls, as taehyun’s hips pounded into your ass with a force that had you seeing stars, your vision blurring at the edges.

it didn't take long before you were crying out, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm as it crashed over you. you clenched down around taehyun, your walls fluttering and milking his cock as he followed you over the edge, spilling himself deep inside you with a groan of your name.

you collapsed onto the mat together, taehyun's body blanketing yours as you both struggled to catch your breath. he pressed soft kisses to your shoulders, neck and jaw before murmuring into your skin, still breathless a bit. “it was extended puppy pose.”

you pressed your forehead into the mat, chuckling quietly. “birthday pervert. i love you.”

taehyun moved down a bit, pressing his lips to your shoulder blade. “i love you more.”

[girlsdads]

tagged by @annebd for WIP wednesday friday... instead of a WIP snippet have something that i don't really know what else to do with but i didn't hate so :-)

Max’s phone lights up with Daniel’s name while he’s sitting in hospitality the morning of race day. It’s face-up on the arm of the sofa—Max watches as it catches the eye of Lawson next to him. Possessiveness rises like bile in his throat. He snatches the phone as quickly as he can, cradles it to his chest like that would erase the letters of Daniel’s name from Lawson’s memory.

“Whatever, mate,” Lawson quips, rolling his eyes. Like anyone was talking to him, anyway. Like Max gives a fuck if he’s here or not. Like they’re mates, and he’s not someone Max is contractually obligated to be cordial to.

“Clean up your crumbs, when you are finished,” Max says as he stands, sweeping his gaze pointedly over the spray of chocolate chip muffin debris covering Lawson’s lap and the sofa cushion beside him. He doesn’t wait for Lawson’s response before stalking from the room. He thinks about the stacks of keto-friendly protein bars going stale back in his motorhome and hates Lawson that much more.

Max waits until he’s closed the motorhome door behind him to open Daniel’s text.

It’s stupid, he knows, to want to do this in private. Everyone knows he talks to Daniel still, probably no one would think it strange or pathetic for Max to be texting him now. Daniel had said—Max had known he wouldn’t be here, this weekend, or any weekend. Max understands, in his own way, despite how bereft he always feels, during.

But. It is a race day and Daniel is texting him. Daniel hasn’t texted on a race weekend since, well—since. He had facetimed the day after Brazil, relaxed and happy and congratulating Max from New York. They keep a running conversation during off weeks, Daniel sending picture after picture of himself with arms around his friends, some Max knows, some he doesn’t. Max saves the photos to a hidden folder on his phone, crops them all so it’s only Daniel. Sometimes it leaves him missing an arm, or two, but he can’t stand to see Daniel with all these people who aren’t Max. In turn, Max sends him videos of the cats, memes he hopes will make Daniel laugh, updates on the funny-looking bird that has been building a nest on Max’s balcony.

(That’s my—what’s the little animal friend that witches have—my familiar, Maximus! I sent him to watch over you, obviously. Be nice to him.) That message had gone into the secret folder, too.

Race weekends are radio silence. Max has come to terms with that, knows it isn’t personal, that it’s an open wound Daniel is nursing. So for Daniel to reach out, today of all days, Max can’t help the stab of yearning in his belly. It could be an important day, for Max, maybe Daniel decided—maybe he’s said he’s hopped a plane, he’s driving out from LA, he’ll be here before the chequered flag—

Max couldn’t bear it if anyone else were around, if that’s not what Daniel’s message says. Even alone, he feels like a hermit crab that’s outgrown its shell, hope leaving him soft-bellied and vulnerable.

He swipes open his and Daniel’s message chain.

Daniel’s not coming to Vegas. At least, that’s not what he’s texted.

The text is a picture. Max’s eyes are drawn immediately to Daniel, though he’s only in about one quarter of the frame. If he was trying to take a selfie, he did not do such a good job--it's mostly a shot of the dusty-red ground, Daniel's beautiful face peeking in from the top corner. He’s wearing his dirt biking clothes, sweat darkening the pits of his long sleeves where his arm is lifted to make a thumbs-up. His pinky still doesn't quite fold in next to the rest of his fingers. Max wants to kiss the careful bend of his knuckle.

It's a few long moments before Max even registers what's etched into the earth behind Daniel. It is very obvious, then, why Daniel is sending this now. There in the California dirt, Daniel has used a stick or maybe even one of his long, lovely fingers to write 3 + 1 = 4. A wobbly heart is drawn around the whole thing.

Max is infinitely grateful for the lack of prying eyes as he sinks slowly to the floor. He draws his knees up to his chest and cradles the phone in cupped hands, as if the message will be sucked back into the ether if he grips too tightly. He lightly taps to full-screen the image, zooms in on Daniel's face. The soft, almost awkward smile is the same one Max has only ever seen directed at him. He knows this, because he's spent years cataloguing Daniel's interactions with others, longing and longing. Daniel never makes that face at anyone else.

Max's phone buzzes as another text comes through. Daniel's hands reaching through the wire to squeeze Max's heart until it leaks out between his fingers.

Always cheering for you, Max. Give 'em hell for me.

[confusionmeisss]

can you watch my boyfriend, please? - n. sturniolo

🫧 nick sturniolo x male!reader

🫧 the “can you babysit my boyfriend” tiktok couples trend done with our lovely nicolas!!

🫧 just fluff.

🫧 560 words.

🫧 hello lovelies!! thank you kindly for wanting to read!! i did a chris version of this initially and it made me want to do one for the others as well, so here we are!! enjoy reading & much love!! <3 (ps. happy pride my loves!! 🩷)

matt version masterlist

“Hey y’all, can you watch my boyfriend for me, please? I’ll be back quick, promise,” you say, setting the phone up against a stray glass.

“What the fuck?” Nick says, looking confusedly at the camera then up at you.

“Be good,” you say, placing a kiss on his cheek and walking away.

“Be good?” Nick looks offended by your departing statement. “The fuck? I’m always good. You guys know I’m always good, right?” He asks the camera.

Nick rolls his eyes. “Anyway. I was just editing this weeks Wednesday video which I think is one of our best because it’s funny as fuck.”

“Y’know, you gotta be your own biggest fan, it’s the only way you’ll get anywhere creatively. It’s the same as being your own biggest critic,” he says with a nod of his head. Then he looks directly into the camera seriously. “But you have to know how to balance them out. Like, you have to know when something you made is shit, and know if you have to start over or rework it.”

“Anyway, I’m really bummed out that I don’t have tickets to Melanie Martinez’s The Trilogy Tour,” he says with a slight pout, tapping at the touchpad of his laptop. “I would’ve loved to hear Detention live. And the videos I’ve seen of her concerts before, her outfits always eat! And her stage presence, my God, it’s otherworldly!”

Nick suddenly rolls his eyes as he remembers something. “Ugh, so I went to ask Matt to take me to the store yesterday because we were out of Dr. Pepper, mind you, it’s one in the afternoon, and I walk into his room and he’s absolutely dead asleep.”

“Oh, we went to Target today, and I fucking tripped in a crowded ass aisle like the clumsy fukcer I am,” Nick lets out a huff. “Like it’s embarrassing as fuck when there’s like three different age ranges laughing at you.”

Nick goes to say something else but is cut-off by his bedroom door creaking open. He watches as you walk in and over where he’s sitting at his desk.

He feels you stand behind him, putting your chin in his hair. “Hey I’m back, thanks again for watching him yall. I hope he was good for you!”

Nick rolls his eyes up towards you. “Of course I was good,” he says with an irritated huff. “I’m always good.”

You let out a laugh, placing a kiss into his hair while reaching over him to end your phone’s recording.

—

comments

count on nick to always come at us with some wise words of encouragement ❤️

“yes nick, you’re always good” we all say in unison

nicks offense at being told to be good is sending me into oblivion 😭

is nick alluding that there’s a real og-ness to this week’s wednesday video?????

oh the pain of embarrassing yourself in public 😣

i am matt matt is me bc i too annoy everyone around me by sleeping in till 1pm :)

i feel your pain on not having tickets to melanie’s tour. god bless for tour videos on my fyp 🙏

oh dr pepper lovers rise!!

the affection & the kisses 💓💓

okay but i wanna know what nick was gonna say before the door opening interrupted him…

who else is happy that nick is in a happy loving healthy relationship???? 💛💛💛

[burntheedges]

Pas de Deux Chapter 8

Din Djarin x f!reader | 2.5k | fic masterlist | main masterlist | ao3

chapter summary: Swan Lake brings some surprises, including meeting someone new.

a/n: Happy Wednesday! See my notes at the end and on the masterlist about reader in this fic and ballet in general. Thank you @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta, as always!!

chapter tags/warnings: fluff, touching, dancing, ballet terms (see end notes and the masterlist for definitions and videos)

Chapter 8

Between Midsummer and Swan Lake it may have looked like there was a lull in the schedule, without a mixed program in mid-March. But in reality your practices for Swan Lake, the April mixed program, and Cinderella simply expanded and claimed all of your time.

Rehearsals for the two-week run of Swan Lake were going well, but you were a bit nervous — you were dancing the pas de trois for the first time, after all, and it was a role that most often went to principals. You knew there had been a bit of surprise when you’d been cast for it, and you were trying not to think about it. (Adrian had already teased you again about being promoted, anyway.)

Your rehearsals with Din continued to go well, too. For the week of Swan Lake, Kuiil moved your practice to Tuesday and had you working on the third movement. Even with the move your rehearsal was cut short, though, as you had a week of final rehearsals for Swan Lake that took priority.

As you gathered your bag, Din came and stood next to you and asked, “how are you feeling about this weekend?” You smiled at the warmth you could hear in his tone, which you still hadn’t gotten used to in your interactions, but had become a constant presence since your talk.

“Good, I think. I mean, I think all of me is sore, but yesterday I felt like I finally nailed it, so hopefully it goes that well this weekend.”

He reached out and touched your upper arm lightly. You’d noticed he’d gotten a bit more comfortable with casual touch, since you’d been touching more in the choreography, but it still surprised you. You tried not to show it. “You’re going to be amazing. That role is perfect for you.” 

Din sounded so certain. You fought back an emotion you refused to look at too closely, let alone name. “Oh! Thank you. I, um. I hope so.” 

The corner of his mouth lifted in the tiny smile you were becoming addicted to. “I’ll probably be there on Sunday, with Grogu.”

You grinned. “Has he seen it before?”

Din shook his head. “He didn’t see many CBC shows before we moved. I think he’ll love this one. Even if it is a little scary.”

“Well, I’m glad.” 

Din turned and walked with you down the hall towards the largest rehearsal room. “If he’s not too tired, we’ll come backstage after. But we’ll see.”

You glanced at him. You had almost asked if you could meet Grogu, but were afraid it would be too much. Maybe not, you thought, since Din seemed to be suggesting it. “I’d love that.”

You stopped by the door to your rehearsal, and for a moment you just smiled up at him, until the start of the music inside spurred you into action. “That’s my cue.” 

Din reached out again, and for a moment you thought he might be about to squeeze your hand. But he lifted his hand instead and brushed it against your upper arm briefly. “See you tomorrow.”

You nodded and forced yourself to go inside.

…

To your surprise, you didn’t have to wait until Sunday to meet Din’s son. 

During the dress rehearsal with the orchestra on Thursday, you heard the whispers backstage before your performance — Din and a little boy no one had seen before were sitting in the almost empty audience. You smiled to yourself, wondering what had prompted him to bring Grogu, and if they were still planning to come to one of the actual performances.

As you took up your first position on stage, you let yourself glance out at the seats and found a familiar set of shoulders about 10 rows back, just off center. He was leaning to his right, talking to a familiar little boy you could barely see over the seat in front of him. You felt warm as you watched them together for just a moment.

You let the feeling that welled up in your chest at the sight of them push you forwards and upwards. You’d worried that knowing Din was in the audience might make you nervous, but somehow it was the opposite. Maybe because you were getting to know each other’s dancing so well, but it pushed you, instead. You swore you could feel his eyes on you as your jumps went just a little bit higher and your turns landed just a little bit cleaner. 

You fought a grin as you took your final position, but the sound of two sets of hands clapping — one big, one small — almost made you lose the battle. You let it take over your face as you bowed before stepping off stage a few moments later.

Adrian slipped his arm into yours as you headed for the dressing rooms. “Where did that come from?” He whispered, raising his eyebrows at you.

You shrugged, still smiling. 

He rolled his eyes at you before releasing you to head backstage again. “Sure. I saw your little audience of two, you know.” He winked and then he was gone, heading back the way you came before you could come up with a response.

You turned the corner towards the dressing rooms, ready to get out of your costume, and were surprised to find someone waiting for you in the hall. Two someones, though one was much smaller than the other. 

The corner of Din’s mouth was turned up in a barely-there smile. Your grin returned before you consciously noticed it. 

“Din! Hi,” you said, a bit more breathlessly than you’d intended. “What are you doing back here?” Din was wearing jeans and a brown long-sleeve sweater that looked so soft you had to resist reaching out to touch. 

He gestured at his son, who was standing half behind his dad’s leg. “Grogu wanted to come say hello. He liked your solo.” He rested his hand lightly on his son’s head, who then looked up at his father before glancing back at you. Grogu nodded, just a bit, and you smiled down at the little boy. 

“Hi there,” you said, crouching down to his level. The floaty skirt of your costume flared out around you and Grogu’s eyes widened. You introduced yourself. “I’m so glad you liked it.”

“It was pretty,” the little boy said in a small voice. 

You bit your lip. So cute, you thought. “Thank you. Are you going to come see it this weekend?” You looked between him and his dad, and found Din had gone a bit expressionless. You blinked, surprised.

But he nodded, and confirmed, “on Sunday. We were just dropping by today and poked our heads in.”

You looked back at Grogu, deciding to ignore the sudden return of Din’s expressionless mask. It had been a while since you’d seen it, when it was just the two of you. “Well, you’ll have to tell me what your favorite part is after, ok?”

He nodded and smiled shyly at you, revealing a little dimple in his right cheek, and you smiled helplessly back. Din had the cutest kid.

You stood and said goodbye to them both. At the door to the dressing room, you turned back once more to find Din looking at you, still expressionless. You waved, feeling a bit silly, and then went inside.

…

On Sunday, you found two familiar faces waiting for you after the show yet again. Grogu grinned up at you as he held up a bouquet almost as big as he was. 

“Din, you didn’t —” you took it as he shook his head, cutting you off.

“You danced it beautifully,” he murmured, and you looked down to see Grogu nodding. 

You bit your lip. “Well, thank you. These are beautiful.” You bent down a little. “What was your favorite part, Grogu?”

“Yours,” he said, matter-of-fact in that way little kids were so good at. “It was the best.”

You grinned and ignored the way you felt your cheeks heat. “Oh! Well, thank you. That’s very nice of you.”

Looking back at Din, you were mildly surprised to find him staring at you. “It was,” he said, tone even.

You weren’t sure what he meant. “Hmm? What was?”

He reached out and brushed his fingers along your arm again. You shivered. “The best.”

You felt your face get so hot you wondered if he could feel it from where he was standing. “Din—”

He shook his head and shrugged. “It was.”

You looked between him and Grogu, who nodded, and smiled at both of them again. You tucked your flowers a bit closer, warmed in the face of his obvious sincerity. “Thank you.”

…

As the April mixed program and then Cinderella approached, you were finding it harder and harder to ignore the way you felt every time Din touched you.

Being touched by other dancers did not usually feel like this. You touched each other all the time — in partner work, for so many kinds of choreography, to help each other stretch. To keep warm backstage, even. It never really felt like anything but companionship and cooperation, to you.

But with Din… it was different.

In rehearsal the week after Swan Lake he suggested adding a glancing touch in the second movement as the first physical contact between you. The way his fingers danced down your arm as you moved apart reminded you of how he’d touched you backstage, after your performance. It stole your breath and his fingers left goosebumps in their path every time. 

It was torture. His strong hands curved around your waist for a short lift and you forced yourself to breathe through it. You slid down the front of his body in a slower release from another lift and you ignored how warm and firm his chest felt against yours. You felt almost unprofessional, every time his touch sent shivers up your spine. But you couldn’t seem to get used to it or make it stop.

The way he’d started looking at you wasn’t helping things, either. You caught him, in class, with a soft look in his eye. And then later, when Kuill was having you practice a part of the piece where you were alone on stage, you looked in the mirror and found him gazing at you with such emotion in his eyes that you had to wrench your eyes away, almost thrown off balance out of your pirouette.

You felt like you were teetering on the edge of something big. But you were also getting to know Din, and that in and of itself was enough to take your breath away.

He was so funny, and so kind. He talked about his son with love in his voice that settled somewhere in your chest, warming you. He told you Grogu had cheered when Din told him the two of you would be dancing together, and you grinned. He even helped you stretch, and on one occasion stood lightly on the boxes of your pointe shoes when you’d asked him to because your toes were so sore (and you’d tried not to make a weird noise at the immediate relief you’d felt from the extra space around your toes, but judging by his expressionless face, you’d failed).

In rehearsal, Din marveled at what he was allowed to do, now, and the styles he could explore. He asked you excitedly for your input on his changes to the choreography, on how to position his arm here, or develop that movement there. You could see, as he began to shake off the strict boundaries of his previous company, that he truly did love ballet. He loved it for itself, and you were finding that you never tired of watching him figure out how to love it for himself.

In your last rehearsal before the April mixed program, you watched Din land a complicated jump and turn sequence. When he did it perfectly, he turned to look at you and smiled, so wide you couldn’t help but smile back. He looked happy. He looked happier than you’d ever seen him. 

You felt that nameless emotion start to well up in your chest again and thought, “shit.”

You froze, and then you moved through the rest of practice in a daze. 

As soon as practice ended, you almost ran down the hallway, looking for your best friend. You spotted him walking with a small group of corps members and grabbed him by the elbow, tugging him to follow you. “Sorry, I need him!”

“What—” Adrian squawked, but you were too keyed up to laugh. 

“In here,” you said, and shoved him into the small break room with the bad couch. No one was inside, so you locked the door, and fell back against it.

“Shit,” he said, getting a good look at you. “Did you figure it out?”

You furrowed your brow. “Figure what out?”

He smiled at you and fell back onto the couch. “Your crush on Djarin is not just a ‘ballet crush.’”

Your jaw dropped, and Adrian laughed. “What?!”

He rolled his eyes at you. “Come on. I know a feelings freak out when I see it.”

You dropped your face into your hands and groaned. “Adrian, he touches me so much. He’s so funny. And kind. And he smiles at me! All the time. He keeps complimenting me. And his dancing! I am going to lose my mind.”

“Oh, dear,” he said, affecting a worried tone. “Whatever will we do, when the boy you have a crush on has an even bigger one on you?”

You dropped your hands and glared at him. “He does not.”

“Oh yes he does,” Adrian said, sighing. “Look, I can see both of you in class, ok? I am a neutral observer. I know what’s going on here. And it’s mutual. He doesn’t smile at anyone else here, you know. Not like that.”

You bit your lip against the swoop in your stomach. He only smiles at you. “But what if it’s not? Or what if it messes everything up?”

Adrian stood and came to lean next to you, against the door. “I’m pretty certain that it is. But there’s no reason to rush, right? You’re already so much better off than you were at the start. What if you just let it happen?” He nudged you with his shoulder. “He’s like a skittish horse, anyway. You gotta ease him into it.”

You laughed, finally, and leaned your head against his shoulder. “You’re right. Of course.”

He puffed out his chest and you laughed again when it jostled you on his shoulder. “Of course I am,” he agreed. “Anyway, you can take some time to figure out what you want too, you know. You don’t have to know right now. Now, tell me what sent you flying down the hallway like that.”

You told him all about practice, and how he touched you, and then at the end, how he’d looked at you and just… lit up. So happy. By the end of it, he was sighing at you again. “It’ll work out, ok? Just let it happen.”Let it happen, you repeated in your mind. “I’ll try.” You hoped he was right.

...

prev | next

a/n: Grogu! And yes, Adrian has been prepared for that conversation for a while. 😂 Some ballet notes -

Swan Lake - I feel like most people have heard of Swan Lake, even if you don't know what it's about! The San Francisco Ballet has a nice overview here. A lot of companies do this one at least once a season or year just because it will always draw an audience. Reader's part is in Act I (at Prince Siegfried's party). The pas de trois (and another) is usually two women and a man, and as that overview puts it: "Full of tricky steps and opportunities for each dancer to shine, this dance offers a chance for a few principal dancers to show their stuff, or for a few up-and-comers to make a big impression." I linked to the variation (solo) reader will be doing in the chapter. A lot companies do something based on Petipa's choreography (which is not the original, technically), which is 4 acts. It's been around for so long and done so many ways that there are a lot of different endings and variations and even characterizations! Everyone puts their own spin on it. There's a nice list of some alternate endings and the parts in each act on the wiki page. One of the most famous parts is the dance of the little swans. Here's a version from the Bolshoi, here's a comparison of the Bolshoi and Royal Ballet productions where you can see how it can differ, and here's one from ABT. And here's a few funny versions!

Dress rehearsal - a lot of companies will do a dress rehearsal, the day before the show starts, especially if working with an orchestra. there might also be on-stage not-in-costume rehearsals with the orchestra, but not as many as you'd think. So they have dress rehearsal on Thursday and shows on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.

That was mostly it, this week! please tell me if I missed something you wish I had explained. a bit more feelings than new terms this week lol

[poisonlove]

Beauty and the Beast | w.a

Pairing: wednesday addams x reader

Words: 15k

Warning: reader unsure about her appearance

I felt lonely, so lonely.

But I couldn't risk anyone being scared by my appearance, I couldn't risk receiving mockery and laughter for what I hide beneath the mask. I had to protect myself and others from the horrible monster that I am.

Not even Eugenie, one of my few friends, knew my true face, and I don't think he'll find out anytime soon. Enid tried a couple of times, but after my umpteenth No she gave up, which I'm grateful for.

Why did it have to happen to me? Why do I have to feel scrutinized because of the mask I wear? Damn it, there are vampires, mermaids, and even people without mouths, and yet I'm the only strange one in Nevermore?

"Y/n, have you heard that a new student has arrived?" Eugenie smiles with all thirty-two teeth as he walks beside me, his eyes gleaming with happiness at the news. "Is it really important?" I ask timidly, biting my lower lip amused by his reaction.

"An extra girl is always welcome," he sighs dreamily. "Maybe she'll even like bees, don't you think?" He asks hopefully.

I tilt my head to the side and watch Eugenie smile widely, hope in his eyes. "I…" I start, feeling a  pressure in my chest from his enthusiasm, "I guess so?" I say, chuckling timidly, not wanting to spoil my friend's good mood.

"I mean, I adore you, really," Eugenie says, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose, "but having one more girl in our group would be cool!" He says, analyzing me carefully.

"It's just the two of us… We're not even a trio, and you're talking about a group?" I roll my eyes at his comment, and Eugenie gives me a friendly elbow on the side.

"There's no use rolling your eyes, you know I can see you, right? I mean… besides your mouth, and the other thing that can be seen under the mask," he says sing-song, looking at my mask reluctantly.

"And anyway! We're three!" The boy pouts adorably.

"Really?" I ask in surprise, and Eugenie nods. "Enid," he says, smiling in love at the mention of the blonde werewolf.

I open my mouth ready to retort, but I just ended up sighing loudly.

"Y/n," I turn towards the sound of the voice and see Enid gesturing for me to come closer to her. I raise an eyebrow with confusion and look at Eugenie shrugging indifferently. "Go on, I'll go check on my bees," he says, giving me a pat on the shoulder and walking towards his target, humming a tune.

I approach Enid, who smiles excitedly. "Hi Enid, everything okay?" I ask with a small smile on my lips.

"Y/n! I finally found you!" Enid exclaims, "I have some great news to tell you. You see, the new student is named Wednesday Addams and she'll be my new roommate!"

I feel a knot in my stomach at the thought of facing a new acquaintance, but I try to remain calm. "Wednesday Addams?" I repeat, trying to hide the anxiety that begins to creep up inside me.

"Exactly!" Enid confirms enthusiastically, "It would be fantastic if you two could become friends. I know you're a bit reserved, but I'm sure you'll get along well together!" The blonde smiled widely, her blue eyes looking at me attentively.

I try to mask my discomfort in front of Enid's enthusiasm, but inside, I feel a growing sense of unease. It's not fear, it's just a deep reluctance to interact with new people, especially when I have to hide my true identity behind a mask.

"Are you sure it's a good idea?" I ask uncertainly, the memory of Yoko staring at me strangely still vivid in my mind, sending shivers down my spine. I look at Enid curiously, seeking reassurance.

"With Yoko, it was just a small mishap," Enid replies, laughing nervously, able to read what I was thinking during my silence. "It's not your fault if you're so different."

"Right," I mumble to myself, still troubled by the memory of the episode with Yoko.

"I think it'll be different," continues Enid, placing her hand on my arm and starting to walk towards our dorms, "Wednesday has a… special character. You might like her," she adds with a broad smile.

"Are you telling me she's strange?" I ask, feeling offended by her description. Enid looks at me sideways, trying to reassure me.

"No, I didn't mean that," Enid clarifies, "just that she's also shy, and I think you two could get along," she concludes, smiling happily.

"But do we have to go now?" I ask with a worried tone, feeling the need to mentally prepare for the impending meeting. "Of course! I talked about you when she arrived, I think she's writing now," Enid babbles thoughtfully.

"She's writing?" I ask incredulously, a small smile threatening to spread across my lips. The thought of someone actually writing seems surreal to me.

"You see? You haven't even met yet and you already have something in common," Enid says, smiling kindly and looking at me with eyes overflowing with happiness.

As we head towards Ophelia Hall, nervousness grows inside me and my hands start to sweat. My heart beats faster and faster as the moment of meeting Wednesday approaches. I don't know what to expect, and the uncertainty makes me even more agitated.

Enid opens the door and my eyes immediately fall on the room divided in half by a black ribbon, separating two opposite worlds. Enid's side, bright and colorful, contrasts sharply with the darkness of the opposite side.

"The room is… Different," I say timidly, blinking in disbelief.

"Yeah, I was mad the first time too," Enid says with a reluctant sigh, evidently annoyed by the division of the room.

"Wednesday! I want to introduce you to someone," Enid announces, turning her gaze to her roommate on the other side of the ribbon.

Wednesday, focused on the typewriter, emits a small grunt before turning towards us with a rigid and impenetrable posture.

Her dark hair is braided into two impeccable braids that fall on her shoulders with precision and order. Her face is pale, almost ethereal, but her eyes are intense, deep, and penetrating. Her posture is rigid, but she exudes a silent confidence, as if she is aware of her inner power. The air around her seems filled with mystery and fascination, and even though her gaze is cold and distant, there is something about her that attracts and fascinates. It's as if she's enveloped in an aura of darkness, yet at the same time of strength and determination.

Her black eyes scan my figure, and I feel the warmth rising to my cheeks with embarrassment. Thank goodness Wednesday can't see it. I breathe deeply, relieved.

"What is she?" Wednesday asks with sharp curiosity, analyzing me with her gaze.

"Wednesday! You need to be more polite," Enid scolds her, but Wednesday ignores her with indifference.

My heart begins to beat faster as Wednesday approaches me, nervousness growing with each step she takes. Her presence, even silent, seems to envelop me in an atmosphere of mystery and tension, making me feel as if I'm under her scrutinizing gaze.

"You're not a vampire, a werewolf… not even a mermaid…" she mutters softly, her eyes scrutinizing mine intensely.

Her gaze is piercing, full of determination and fascination. "What are you?" she repeats, her voice neutral but curiosity palpable in the air.

I feel cornered, a knot forming in my throat, tightening.

Spontaneously, Wednesday reaches out and places her hands on my face, the tips of her fingers delicately touching my mask.

"Don't," I say in a low but sharp voice, trying to dissuade her.

Wednesday tilts her head slightly, ignoring my request, and brushes her fingers against the mask, exploring its texture with curiosity. Her hand wraps around my mask, and the contact sends shivers down my spine.

My breath becomes irregular as Wednesday continues to examine my mask with care, as if she wants to unveil the secret hidden beneath it. The touch of her fingers on my skin makes me feel vulnerable, exposed to her penetrating gaze.

"Please, stop," I whisper again, trying to control the agitation in my voice.

Wednesday doesn't seem at all disturbed by my request, continuing to explore the mask with an almost scientific curiosity. Her impassive face betrays no emotion, but I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as I feel increasingly exposed in front of her.

"Wednesday, stop," says Enid firmly but gently, approaching us. "Y/n has her reasons for wearing that mask, and it's not right for you to force her to reveal it if she doesn't want to."

Wednesday turns to Enid, her cold and distant gaze piercing through her. "I'm not forcing anything," she replies calmly, "I'm just trying to understand."

Enid stands between me and Wednesday, shielding me with her body. "I understand, Wednesday, but there are better ways to get the answers you seek," she retorts, trying to defuse the situation.

I feel relieved by Enid's support, but at the same time anxious about how the situation will unfold.

After a moment of tense silence, Wednesday turns her back and walks away, heading towards the desk with measured steps. A sigh of relief escapes my lips as I sink into a nearby chair.

"What an embarrassing moment," I say with a nervous smile, trying to break the ice.

Enid approaches and places a hand on my shoulder with an expression of solidarity. "Don't worry, Y/n. Wednesday can be a bit… intense at times," she comments with a half-smile.

"You said it," I reply with a small smile, grateful for Enid's support.

On the other side of the room, the incessant ticking of Wednesday's typewriter continues unabated, creating a constant background to our conversation. Her silent presence seems to have added a new dimension to the room, making it even more charged with mystery and tension.

"What do you say we go for a walk outside?" Enid suggests, trying to distract my mind from tumultuous thoughts.

"That sounds like a good idea," I respond with a grateful smile, happy to escape from that tense atmosphere. We rise and leave the room, leaving behind the constant ticking of Wednesday's typewriter.

She seems like an interesting girl I thought to myself

but she really doesn't give up

(…)

Weeks have passed since that first tense encounter with Wednesday, yet her obsession with uncovering what lay beneath my mask showed no signs of abating. Occasionally, during classes or in moments of break, I catch her staring at me with her piercing gaze, as if she wanted to pierce through the fabric of my mask and read my deepest thoughts.

Wednesday doesn't give up easily. She made various attempts: sending anonymous messages, appearing out of nowhere at the most unexpected times, sending Things, and even trying to remove my mask with a sudden gesture. Her questions become more frequent and casual, as if she wanted to uncover my secret through the most mundane conversation.

Flashback

During a break between classes, while I was sitting alone in a corner of the cafeteria, I felt a presence approaching. I looked up and saw Wednesday with her mysterious and aloof demeanor.

"May I sit here?" she asked calmly, indicating the seat across from me.

"Of course, go ahead," I replied, surprised by her sudden company.

Wednesday sat down with a fluid and silent movement, and for a moment we simply looked at each other, without saying a word. Then, without a smile or a greeting nod, she said, "How are you?"

"Quite well, thank you," I replied, trying to hide my surprise at finding her there.

That brief conversation remained imprinted in my mind for days, like an unsolved riddle. Yet, despite her seemingly insatiable interest in my mask, Wednesday did not seem at all frightened or disgusted by me. She was just… curious.

Flashback end

But then, without any warning, Wednesday stops altogether circling around me. She no longer approaches me with her questions or scrutinizing looks. I was left to wonder:

was I boring? Rude? Was I just being paranoid?

"It seems like she's gotten tired of you," Enid jokes, trying to lighten the mood. "Maybe she's finally realized that beneath that mask, it's just you, and nothing so terrifying."

Enid's joke made me smile, but it didn't completely dissipate the tension that had built up inside me. I was nervous about the various conjectures swirling in my head, and I literally asked myself too many questions that had no answer.

"Thank goodness you found something to laugh about," I remarked, trying to conceal my mood.

Enid looked at me with a sympathetic expression. "You know, Y/n, I think you're reading too much into things. Maybe Wednesday has just found something else to focus on, or maybe she's decided she doesn't want to make you uncomfortable."

I wanted to believe Enid's words, but doubt continued to nag at me. "Maybe you're right," I replied, trying to convince myself.

"I promise that if there's anything to worry about, I'll let you know," Enid said sincerely, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder.

I felt somewhat relieved by her promise, but I knew that until I had answers to my questions, my mind would continue to race incessantly. It was frustrating not knowing what was going through Wednesday's mind, but I had to find a way to stop tormenting myself with suppositions and hypotheses.

That afternoon, I found myself in Enid's room, determined to clear things up with Wednesday. The tension in the air was palpable as I tried to gather the courage to confront the situation.

"Wednesday, can I talk to you?" I asked, trying to stay calm despite my pounding heart.

The girl looked up from the book she was reading and glanced at me with detachment. "Sure," she replied simply, showing no sign of interest. Her eyes returned to the pages of the book she was reading.

"Why aren't you talking to me anymore?" I asked, feeling my voice tremble slightly with emotion.

Wednesday didn't even look up from her book. "I can't be friends with a girl who doesn't show her face," she said coldly, as if it were obvious.

Those words hit me like a punch to the gut. "You can't really think like that," I replied, trying to control my growing frustration. "I'm not just my mask, Wednesday. There's much more beneath it."

Wednesday remained impassive, and her indifference deeply hurt me. "You don't even listen to me," I whispered, feeling my heart breaking.

The girl didn't respond, continuing to read as if I were invisible. Frustration and anger welled up inside me, but in the end, I gave up.

With a sigh, I realized I had to accept the situation for what it was. "Maybe you're right," I admitted softly. "But you can't judge without knowing the truth." Wednesday looked up from her book, looking at me with a certain curiosity. "And what would the truth be?" she asked, her eyebrows slightly furrowed.

"The truth… I'm afraid," I replied, feeling a lump in my throat as my hands trembled slightly. With determination, I placed them on the mask, ready to reveal what I had hidden for so long.

Damn feelings I developed for you, persistent Goth I thought bitterly.

Wednesday watched carefully, her black eyes scrutinizing my face with intense curiosity. My heart pounded in my chest, silently praying that she would accept what she was about to see.

With a deep breath, I slowly removed the mask, revealing my true face. Behind it, a hideous scar extended from my eyebrow to my cheek, thankfully sparing my eye. It was a wound I had carried for years, a witness to a painful past that I had never shared with anyone.

Wednesday remained still, her eyes fixed on my scar. Her expression was inscrutable, but I could see surprise in her eyes.

The scar was large and deep, and I couldn't help but feel vulnerable as Wednesday examined it. But there was no more room to hide the truth, and I had to accept her judgment, whatever it may be.

Wednesday closed the book and approached me slowly, her gaze still fixed on the scar adorning my face. Her expression was a mixture of curiosity and shyness, as if she were unsure of what to do or say.

"Can I touch it?" she asked in a barely audible voice, and I nodded weakly, feeling my cheeks flush at her question.

With cautious movements, Wednesday came even closer, her fingers delicately touching my scarred skin. A shiver ran down my spine at the contact, but it wasn't disgust or fear. It was a feeling of calm and acceptance, as if that gesture meant something deeper than just physical contact.

I looked at her face as she examined the scar. Her eyes were full of empathy and understanding, and I couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief. It was as if I had finally found someone who truly understood me, without judging or condemning.

It was hard to believe that all this had happened because I had fallen in love with her. But now, looking at her up close like this, I realized that maybe it was worth risking my heart for someone who made me feel so alive and accepted.

"How did you get it?" Wednesday asked timidly, slightly clenching her jaw as she continued to observe the scar on my face.

My voice trembled slightly. "It was done by my father," I confessed, feeling the lump in my throat tighten. "He was drunk and one night he lost control."

My voice broke slightly as I remembered those painful moments, the fear and despair I had felt. But I knew I had to share the truth with Wednesday, even if it hurt to revisit those memories.

Wednesday gently caressed my cheek, the touch of her fingers on my scarred skin sending a slight shiver down my spine. "Why did you keep it hidden?" she asked with curiosity, her gaze still full of compassion.

"It's horrible…" I replied softly, feeling the weight of my words. "When everyone looked at me strangely or laughed, I decided to cover it up."

Wednesday's finger brushed against the scar on my eyebrow and a shiver ran down my spine. It was as if that simple gesture was breaking down the barriers I had built around me for years.

"It makes you strong," said Wednesday, tilting her head to the side as she looked at me intently. "And you're… Beautiful all the same."

Her words struck me deeply, and I felt my cheeks blush slightly at her unexpected compliment. It was hard to believe that someone could find beauty in that ugly scar, but with Wednesday beside me, I began to see myself with different eyes.

"Thank you," I replied sincerely, my heart filled with gratitude for her kindness. It was a moment of intimacy and sharing that I would never forget.

"Does Enid know?" Wednesday asked with curiosity, and I shook my head.

"No," I replied, feeling a shiver of nervousness run through my body.

"Are you afraid of her reaction?" she asked timidly, and I nodded slowly.

"If she says something, I'll kill her," said Wednesday with a serious tone, and I couldn't help but smile, feeling for the first time confident and beautiful for myself.

And beautiful for Wednesday.

[eclectic-sassycoweyes]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tags @paperstorm @heartstringsduet @everlastingday @henrygrass @nisbanisba @whatsintheboxmh @alrightbuckaroo @carlossreaders

An idea for a future/Jonah fic merged with Ranch Fic which I believed I've shared a bit of before. It won't leave my head. Here is a snippet from a chapter in which Jonah starts preschool and brings home a gift in the form a stomach bug they all get to take their turn with. Look how happy the little guy is with himself.

Thus this snippet is also me jumping aboard the Carlos Sickfic train whoo Niz you're still the captain and the driver I'm just joining the ride for a bit! Warnings for descriptions of nausea and a mention of throwing up but no more than those exact words.

He kind of wants to check in on Jonah and TK, wants to say goodbye to Jonah before he leaves for half the day but his eyelids are already drooping and the nausea still sits on the edge of his consciousness. He feels like he has a small window of time wherein if he just moves very little and goes to sleep soon he might be able to skip the next bout of nausea.

His wish is granted anyway as the bedroom door opens, Jonah entering first along with TK’s voice reminding him to be gentle, TK himself emerging last.

“He wanted to show you the dragon he chose,” TK says as Jonah climbs carefully up the bed to sit next to Carlos.

“Hey Jonah," Carlos says, fighting to keep his eyes open as he pushes Jonah’s bangs away from his forehead. He’s gonna need a haircut again soon. “Did you choose a good one?”

“Look!” Jonah says, pulling at the hem of his shirt and puffing his chest out, proudly showcasing the pink dragon on the front.

“Wow, mijo, that’s a really good choice,” Carlos says, making Jonah beam up at TK at the confirmation that they chose right.

“Are you gonna wear your pajamas to work, Carlos?” Jonah parrots TK from earlier. He does that a lot these days. Sometimes it makes him say weirdly wise things that sound way too adult coming from his four year old voice which always makes Carlos laugh.

“Carlos gets to stay home and sleep some more, because he’s sick, remember? Just like you stayed home when you were sick.”

“Did you throw up?” Jonah asks, turning to Carlos with wide eyes. He looks a mix between concerned and intrigued.

“Yeah, but just like you I’ll feel better again in no time,” Carlos reassures with a out upon smile. He hopes he's right.

“Do you want an ice pop?” Jonah asks, remembering that had made him feel better.

“Maybe later,” Carlos smiles at him. “But that was a nice thought, mijo. Thank you.”

Jonah looks like he’s thinking hard trying to come up with something else that will magically heal Carlos. He’s so sweet and caring, just like his brother. TK interrupts him before he can suggest any more remedies, heartwarming as they are.

“Okay, buddy,” TK says. “Time for breakfast I think, so we can get to preschool on time.”

“Can we make omelets?” Jonah asks, sufficiently distracted. Carlos usually lets him ‘help’ when he makes omelets in the morning and Jonah loves being delegated with small but very important tasks.

TK chuckles. “Sure. I don’t know if I can make them as good as Carlos though,” he says. “You’ll have to ask him for the secret ingredient.”

“What’s the secret ingredient Carlos?” 

Another time Carlos will tell Jonah how to make his favorite omelet, but right now Carlos can’t bear the thought of pronouncing the word of any food related item. “Love,” he says instead, ruffling Jonah’s hair, trying not to show that even the act of lifting his arm feels like a tremendous effort. Jonah frowns for a moment before he giggles like Carlos just said a super silly thing.

“Love? You can’t put love in an omelet Carlos!”

“Sure you can,” Carlos says. “You just have to make the omelet for someone you love and that’s how you put love into it.” He doesn’t know where the spontaneous pocket philosophy comes from and he hopes he hasn’t made a mistake in case the omelet TK and Jonah whip up for some reason isn’t to Jonah’s liking.

Kids don’t think that deep, he tells himself. Jonah will probably have forgotten about it in the time it takes them to go from the bedroom to the kitchen. And besides he fully trusts TK’s abilities when it comes to cooking. 

His jumbled overthinking is interrupted by Jonah making his heart grow two sizes and do a little dance in his chest. “Then we have to make some for Carlos too TK! So we can put love in it!”

Unfortunately his stomach seems inspired by his heart to start matching its little dance routine. Thinking anymore about omelets, let alone one being made for him that he has to eat, isn’t helping. He feels his little window of time starting to close as the nausea begins tauntingly closing back in on him. Luckily TK seems to read it on his face. Or maybe he’s just turning visibly green.

“We’ll make some for him to save for later,” he says. Planting a soft kiss to Carlos forehead he tells him “You should try to finish that glass of water though, if you can. I’ll bring you a new one before we leave.”

Turning back to Jonah he says more loudly, "Now, can you say bye to Carlos so we can let him sleep?” to Carlos he says softly “You look ready to, baby.” 

Carlos only hums in response.

Jonah rises up from his knees on the bed, putting him at eye level with Carlos as he wraps his little arms around his neck. “Bye, Carlos. Feel better,” he says before turning back to TK, putting his arms in the air to be lifted off the bed.

Carlos musters his last energy for a sincere “Bye Jonah. I love you,” But Jonah has apparently already moved on, or rather back to discussing what to put into the omelet, beside love.

“And ham,” he says as TK lifts him under the armpits and sets him back on the floor.

“And cheese!” he says, “And eggs and pepper and-” 

“Okay buddy,” TK interrupts quickly, sending Carlos an apologetic wince before quickly ushering Jonah out of the bedroom, as he keeps listing ingredients. 

Once the door is closed behind them, Carlos takes a few steadying breaths, the nausea thankfully retreating back to the peripherals. Having learned to listen to TK when it comes to medical advice, he sips the water until the glass is almost empty before he gingerly lays down, foregoing his own freshly clean pillowcase in favor of TK’s, and pulling their shared blanket up and over his body. He shifts a little to make himself as comfortable as he can and then closes his eyes.

He doesn’t hear when TK creeps in half an hour later to replace the near empty glass of water, or the front door opening and closing as they leave to drop Jonah off at preschool.

OPEN TAG

And tagging @herefortarlos @emsprovisions @paperstorm @heartstringsduet @ironheartwriter

@bonheur-cafe @ladytessa74 @sapphic--kiwi @literateowl @lemonlyman-dotcom

@rangersoup @theghostofashton @everlastingday @henrygrass

@freneticfloetry @liminalmemories21 @carlossreaders @chicgeekgirl89

@the-126-family @goodways @carlos-in-glasses @whatsintheboxmh @tailoredshirt

@nisbanisba @nancys-braids @your-catfish-friend @rmd-writes @goldenskykaysani

@captain-gillian @reyesstrand @strandnreyes @alrightbuckaroo @tellmegoodbye

@carlos-tk @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @pimento-playing-hopscotch @firstprince-history-huh @thisbuildinghasfeelings

@never-blooms @lightningboltreader @welcometololaland

I finally made a taglist so lmk if you want to be removed from it or added to it!:)

[lesbiankimdahyun]

Summer Session

1K words

CW: None!

A/N: we are so back, baby <3 special appearance (in name only) made by SEVENTEEN’s Vernon!

[Sana x F!Reader] 

Requested: Yes

Your start to the summer was boring. You hated to admit it, but it was a little lonely without the rest of your classmates around in your college town. For the 65 members of your graduate school cohort, summer meant trying to fulfill mandatory internship requirements and putting in a few hundred hours of service in your soon-to-be field. You were lucky to get an internship in the city, avoiding the hassle of subletting and juggling double rent for the next three months. But staying put also meant you were separated from everyone else; your closest school friends were now scattered across the country, interning in other cities and less available now that you were all in different time zones. 

Desperate to be able to talk to someone face to face instead of over FaceTime, you downloaded Tinder. Finding a partner was of zero interest to you at the moment, but you figured if you went on enough awkward first dates, you’d meet someone who could stick as a friend. A lot of your current friendships had started out that way, anyway– as first and second dates that shifted into platonic relationships instead. You knew it was possible, you just had to put in a little effort. 

One warm Friday night in June, you prepared dinner for yourself eagerly, happy to be done interning for the week. Clearing some space for your plate on the coffee table, you sat down in front of your TV. Taking a sip of the chilled wine you’d poured, you hit play on a new drama series and settled in to watch and eat.

Your meal was delicious, but the pilot episode of the show wasn’t as good as you’d hoped. Part of the way through, you pulled out your phone and opened Tinder. Your eyes flicked back and forth between the television screen and the profiles of girls on your phone. You swiped halfheartedly for a while, but quickly lost interest in that, too. You were just about to grab your book and turn the TV off when you did a double take at the next profile Tinder brought up for you. 

You knew her.

It was a girl from your cohort: Sana. You sat up straight, nearly knocking your wine over as you blindly reached for it, eyes still taking in the pretty dark haired girl on your screen. You had always thought Sana seemed fruity, but since she never attended any of the queer student activities for your program and you’d never seen her at any of the gay clubs, you thought for sure you’d read her wrong. 

Taking a quick screenshot, you hurriedly took another sip of wine and quickly sent it to Chaeyoung, a close friend in your program. Within seconds, your phone was vibrating with her reply.

Chae 🍓: omg 

Chae 🍓: SANA?!?!?!?!?!

Chae 🍓: !!!!!!!!

Chae 🍓: i fucking knew it!!!!!

Chae 🍓: was it a match 👀

You hesitated for a moment, then went back to the app and swiped right before all of your courage left you. The app simply presented the profile of another girl after Sana’s disappeared. You chuckled to yourself, slightly embarrassed as you crafted a reply. No, you sent. Sorry to get your hopes up~ 

You hadn’t realized your own hopes had been up until Sunday night arrived and you noticed that  none of the matches you’d gotten on the app over the weekend were Sana. And when Chae texted you curiously about it on Monday, it was even more embarrassing to admit that you had nothing new to report. You decided to give up on having any hope at all the next day. It wasn’t like you and Sana were close, after all. You’d only ever hung out outside of class to work on occasional group projects with her. There was no reason at all to expect anything from her.  

But on Wednesday while you ate lunch alone on the outdoor deck of your internship office’s downtown headquarters, your phone vibrated. You sighed a little, setting down your sweating can of pop before grabbing your phone. You assumed it was a Slack message from a coworker at worst, and at best a text from Chaeyoung or another one of your friends. To your surprise, the two incoming texts you had just gotten were from a number you didn’t know. 

Unknown: hey, is this Y/N? 

Unknown: it’s Sana 😊

Your eyes went wide. How did she get your number? You were about to pull up your message conversation with Chaeyoung, but another text from Sana appeared. Your feeling of pleasant surprise changed to complete and utter horror. Sana had sent you a screenshot of your own Tinder profile. 

Maybe: Sana: saw you~ i didn’t know you were around for the summer! 

You locked your phone immediately and screamed silently, begging the earth to swallow you whole. It didn’t, so instead, you saved Sana’s number, then took a screenshot of the whole conversation and sent it to Chaeyoung with lightning speed. You had to, you thought, before you died of mortification. You gave Chae all of fifteen seconds before you then glanced at your watch and called her. 

“I was literally just about to call you,” Chaeyoung’s voice was bursting with excitement. “She totally wants you,” she teased, laughing. “Well?” 

You groaned. “I haven’t replied yet! And stop laughing, I might have to transfer to another program out of state because how EMBARRASSING this is.”

“Oh come on, this is a great segue!” Chaeyoung replied. “Tell her–” Chae’s voice cut out a little as your phone vibrated– another incoming text. You pulled your phone away from your ear and exhaled sharply. 

Sana: vernon gave me your #, i hope that’s cool. we should hang sometime! are you free this weekend? :]

“Y/N? Hello?” Chae’s voice seemed soft and distant as you stared at your screen. You hadn’t put Chaeyoung on speakerphone, but her waiting silence felt louder somehow. 

“She–” you cleared your throat a little as you processed everything and put your phone back up to your ear. “She just asked if I’m free this weekend.” 

[chimcess]

Waterlog || pjm (3)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Olympic Swimmer!Jimin, Ex Olympic Swimmer! Reader, Swim Coach!Reader Genre: Strangers to Friends to Lovers!AU, Coach!AU, Swimming!AU, HEAVY Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, fluff, eventual smut, I'm so soft for these two it's crazy. Word Count: 12.2k+ Synopsis: After a car accident ends her athletic career, Y/N has slowly started rebuilding her life again as a high school swim coach. That’s until she gets a request from an old friend and finds herself back in the spotlight as the new coach of Olympic swimmer, Park Jimin. Warnings: toxic relationship (not reader and jimin), arguments, cheating (not reader and jimin), talks about previous child abuse, anxiety attack, strong language, crying, emotional abuse (not reader and jimin), talks of bad parental relationships, abandonment issues, some PTSD, prescription medication use, mentions of depression and mental health, lots of angst in this one, finally making some progress though, age insecurity, mutual pining, lots of side character development in this one, they really are so sweet together, jimin just being the nicest boy in the world, so much PDA, physical touch is his love language 👀👀👀, writing this is so comforting even when its angsty lol, i think that's it, let me know if I missed something A/N: Hello hello. Probably my favorite chapter to date. Bad news is that I think this series might be a little longer than originally intended. My inability to just get to the point has things moving a little slow, but I'm trying my best. We'll have to see, though! Hope you enjoy reading :)

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Time went by quickly. Wednesday and Friday morning, Jimin and I met up to train for a few hours and then got breakfast together. When he asked if I wanted to work out with him in the evenings, I agreed. In the beginning, I had given him pointers, but after the second week came to a close, we had started exercising in silence. We spotted one another, made small talk, and went to dinner on the nights he did not go home to be with his parents. We got along and I was happy my overwhelming attraction to him had slowly calmed down.

I was still aware of his presence, the way he smelled, and how often he smiled and laughed, but I had grown used to seeing him walking around in barely anything at all. Hoseok called me a cougar whenever we had time to chat while Andy kept telling me to talk with Jimin about how I felt, but I had gotten very good at deflecting. Things were better and I was taking my wins whenever I could get them. Even if those wins meant I went home sexually frustrated and aching for someone to make it better.

Jimin was packing up for the night and I was getting ready to head out. He had plans with a large group of his friends, so I would have to figure out dinner by myself this time. He invited me but I politely declined. I could vaguely recall how rude his friends from that restaurant had been, and that one girl's mean glare. I had no interest in repeating that.

Giselle waved at me on her way out which I returned with a smile. She was a very sweet, college girl and getting to know her was fun. Her brother moved out here six years ago and was the only reason she left Memphis. In-State tuition and a rent-free bedroom was all it took to convince her to spend some quality time with her big brother and his dog, Lucky.

She and Sam were the closest, but I would often see her eating lunch with Megan when he was with a client. Everyone was making bets on when they would eventually hook up, but I was convinced that had already happened and they were keeping it a secret from the nosy staff.

"See you tomorrow," Yoongi called out from across the room, seemingly appearing out of thin air.

He was out of eyesight before I could reply.

"Bye Yoon," Giselle sing-songed anyway, shoving her ear buds in and leaving before the door could close behind Yoongi. "Night guys!"

As the young woman said, Yoongi and Megan were the two most important people to befriend. Not just for massages either. The both of them were hilarious and kept the back fridge stocked with our favorite snacks. On the mornings I did not have time to eat breakfast, Megan stopped and got me a muffin and coffee from her favorite cafe. If I needed someone to help me out in the pool, Yoongi was always happy to offer himself for the job. It was challenging for me to focus on my swimming when Jimin was around, and I would often come in early to get a quick work out in before he got here.

“You okay getting home?” Jimin asked.

We had come together tonight, and he had offered to drive us in his truck. I had grown very fond of the green machine, which Jimin affectionately called Fiona, and I jumped at the chance to get in his passenger seat. We were usually riding around in my car since it was better on gas.

“Yeah, I’m riding with Sam.”

Sam and I had grown close as well. He was super funny and always down to hang out with me if I showed up by myself. On the odd Sunday I felt like getting out of the house, I found myself at the gym with Sam. I was currently attempting to teach him how to swim and always filled in for Yoongi on the weekends.

Jimin nodded, “Good. See you this weekend?”

I smiled, “Can’t miss your big party.”

Jimin’s 24th birthday was on the 13th and his family liked to go big. Eloise was clearing out an entire section in their restaurant for all of us, and I had found myself teamed up with Taehyung to help with the planning. Na-Yeon put everything in his hands since she was not feeling up to the task this year. I only agreed to help when I realized just how overboard the snowboarder would go if no one was there to reel him back in. So far, I had placed the responsibility of decorating, music, and organizing the gift table on my shoulders. James had pulled me aside and thanked me when he found out. Apparently, he was also worried about Taehyung’s enthusiasm. 

“It should be fun,” He nodded. “I’m going to head out.”

“See you tomorrow,” We had finally started coming 5 days a week. "We're working on your turns. Butterflies, too. Be prepared.”

He groaned, “You’re torturing me, coach.”

I laughed, “Is the baby upset?”

“Very,” He winked. My mouth went dry. Sometimes I felt silly for getting nervous around him, especially when I knew he flirted with everyone. I was not special. “See you Saturday.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled as I stared at his retreating back. “See you.”

Jimin’s birthday passed quietly. We had a great time and ate well. Taehyung got drunk enough to suggest karaoke once we cleared out the place for the night, and he and Na-yeon had all of us cracking up. I finally met Jungkook’s girlfriend, a pretty girl who did not talk very much, and I could feel the tension between the two of them. Jimin said that was just how they were and to ignore it.

After Jungkook successfully shoved Jimin's face into his cake, we opened presents. The boys got him tons of workout clothes and gear, Eloise bought him a new blender, and his parents both chipped in to get the new video game he had been talking about picking up.

I gifted him a bottle of his favorite cologne after Na-Yeon mentioned he was out. Jo Malone was the most distracting thing in my life right now, its scent clinging to the passenger side of my car most days and driving me insane if Jimin stood too close. Still, it was something I did not think I could part with now. Jimin was happy with the present and hugged me after opening it. I was positive I had this stupid grin on my face for the rest of the night.

By Halloween we were in the gym every day, save Sunday and the occasional Saturday when Jimin needed some time to rest. We both kept our word, our conversation at the restaurant we went to with Jungkook and Taehyung sticking better than I thought it would. Overtime he got more confident when asking for a break and I was a professional at picking up on his body language. We were a good team, and I was confident he would be in great shape for the Olympics.

It was mid-November now and Taehyung had finally gotten around to getting us together for the sushi date in Detroit. I had just gotten out of the shower when Jimin messaged he was going to come along. His mom had a rough Sunday and could not go to their usual dance class, so he had stayed with her instead. He looked worn out when he walked inside the pool room Monday morning so instead of training, I just sent him home. We were meeting back up on Wednesday to get back to work, but it seemed Jungkook’s nagging finally convinced him to come out with the rest of us.

My relationships with his friends had also started to improve. Taehyung had added me to their group chat a few weeks back and I had tried to keep up with them as often as I could remember to. It was not difficult. They text so often I had to silence notifications for the chat, but I had to admit they were really funny. Jungkook especially.

I was happy to spend time with everyone and getting out of the house sounded nice. Violet and Calvin were great, and I did enjoy eating dinner with them sometimes, but I would be lying if I said they would be my first choice to spend time with.

I had grown close enough with Taehyung during the partying planning that his bubbly, over the top personality had become more endearing than overwhelming. We had gone to lunch a few times together, his boldness only increasing with each meet up, and he could hold me hostage for hours if I let him. Milo was typically my saving grace, and Taehyung would leave with a wet kiss to my cheek and promises of the same time next week.

Tae: Y/N should pick you up

Jimin: Why???

Kookie: Your truck is ass

I chuckled and sent off a text of my own before going to my dresser to find something warm to wear. 

Me: I don’t mind driving

Me: Don’t hate on the truck. I like it.

My phone chimed a few times but I ignored it for now. I knew I wanted to wear a pair of dark, navy jeans. It was freezing outside so a long sleeve was a must, but I could get away with just two layers. My hands found a mustard-yellow turtleneck and I smiled. I could wear my brown boots with it. Happy with my outfit, I checked on the chat.

Jimin: U sure?

Tae: The truck is GREEN

Tae: Already a crime

Kookie: It can’t go over 60

Darcy: omg stop blowing my phone up 

Darcy: just ride with her dude

Jimin: Y/N?

I rolled my eyes. I hated when he did that. Jimin had the habit of double and triple checking in with someone. It was sweet but it also drove me insane. There was nothing more I disliked than repeating myself, especially if I already agreed to something. 

Me: I’ll pick you up in 30, k?

Jimin: Thanks

Darcy: Was that so hard?

I frowned. So, Darcy was in a bad mood then. Shouldn't take it out on Jimin, I thought. Even if she was having a bad day, something that seemed to be a reoccurring theme with her, it doesn't mean she can just talk to people like that. Fighting the urge to give into my annoyance and call her out, I tossed my phone on my bed and made myself finish getting ready.

Walking into the living room, I went on a hunt for the jacket I wanted to wear. It was the same color as my leather boots with sherpa trim. It would tie everything together and, I hoped, would keep Taehyung from complaining too much about the “offensive” color of my shirt. He had a hard time accepting anything in the yellow or green family. Finding it on the sofa, I nodded and left it be. I would grab it on my way out. 

It took me more time to get my hair figured out than anything, but once I gave up and did the same thing that I did every day, it worked itself. After that, I put on a little bit of makeup since I figured it would not take me very long. This was a casual outing with friends and the dim lights of the sushi place would give me some grace if things were not perfect. A nice base, simple eye look, and a layer of mascara already had me looking more awake than I had in months. After applying a layer of lip gloss and a misting of setting spray, I was out of the door, jacket keeping me warm, and purse tucked under my arm. 

I drove in silence, like I always did, and pulled onto the curb of Jimin’s house. Sending a text to the chat, I waited for him to come out. I was a few minutes later than I said I would be, but Jimin found a way to be late for everything, so I did not feel that bad about it. Taehyung and Milo were already on leaving Ann Arbor, and Jungkook and Darcy riding with them. They would only beat us there by fifteen minutes or so, but I hoped he would hurry up and come outside. Taehyung worked hard for those reservations.

My phone vibrated and I stared at the little device in my cup holder. It was weird how my anxiety fluctuated on a daily basis. Back home, I could talk on the phone and hold a conversation behind the wheel, but ever since I came to Michigan it felt like I had taken three massive steps back. Taking a few deep breaths, I told myself that I was safe. I was parked, completely stationary, and no one was around. No traffic meant no accidents. Sucking in a harsh breath, I picked it up.

Jimin: Be out in a sec

Jimin: Just making sure mom is okay

He had not left his mother’s house in days. I was worried about Na-Yeon, but I had to believe that Jimin would tell me if something was seriously wrong with her. I had truly started to feel connected with the woman. We joked over dinner and I found myself helping her out more and more each time I came by. It would devastate me if she passed away without me knowing how bad it had gotten. 

Me: Take your time

He came out only two minutes later. Wearing a heavy, black puffy jacket and tight pants, Jimin leisurely walked over and got into the car. His cologne hit me as soon as the door opened, and I bit my lip, trying to hide the deep inhale I took. Jo fucking Malone.

He smiled at me but otherwise kept quiet as I drove. He knew I had a difficult time behind the wheel and tried his best to keep conversation light. While I normally appreciated the sentiment, I did not want to make him sit in silence for 45 minutes. Opening and closing my mouth a few times, I struggled to come up with a good conversation topic.

We often bounced from idea to idea, mostly sticking to swimming and music, and I always found our little talks to be very insightful. Movies and tv shows had been fun to bond over, a small generational gap introducing us to shit we had never heard of before. There were so many things I could bring up, things that Jimin would jump at the idea to talk about. Still, I could not find my voice.

“So,” I started, awkwardly, trying to push past the blockade of anxiety. “Is this place as good as Tae says or is he going off on one of his rants again?”

Jimin chuckled softly. “It’s pretty good, but it’s still just sushi. Taehyung finds a way to make everything sound extravagant.”

We shared a quiet laugh. 

“It was nice of him to invite me,” My hands gripped the wheel tighter. We were starting to approach more populated areas. “He didn’t have to do that.”

Jimin snorted childishly, the sound relaxing me ever so slightly. If there was one thing I hated was driving at night. I was lucky the snow had stopped falling yesterday afternoon and the roads were clear, but a part of me wished I had asked Jimin to drive.

Traffic in Saline was lighter than any town back in Colorado, and driving around was a breeze in comparison. At home, you were lucky if there was only one accident a day, but more times than not I had been stuck on the interstate for hours because of multiple car crashes. Michigan felt less hectic; safer. Not safe enough to let my guard down, but safe enough to listen to Jimin when he spoke.

“Taehyung is just that kind of guy.”

I nodded; eyes glued to the road. I wanted to say something and keep our conversation flowing, but the more cars around us the more I tuned him out. My eyes flickered between my rearview mirror, side mirrors, and windshield rapidly as I drove. Once we were out of Saline and on I-94, I loosened my grip on the wheel. We would not hit much traffic until we were closer to Detroit.

Jimin stayed quiet and looked out the window. I wanted to thank him for being so understanding, but I knew he would not want me to. I kept my thoughts to myself and focused on the road. Jimin began to hum an unfamiliar tune.

My hands were shaking when we pulled up to the restaurant. Traffic had gotten pretty bad coming into the city, but we had picked a good day to come out. Jimin hummed and sang underneath his breath for most of the car ride, and we had a few small sporadic conversations when I felt the knots in my stomach loosen for a few brief moments.

"It's been forever since I've come here," Jimin said to himself, going to unbuckle his seat belt. "It looks pretty filled up."

Bash was a sushi place across from Wayne State University's football field and was one Taehyung’s favorite restaurants. He bragged about how delicious their food was for weeks before finally wearing me down with the promise of picking up the tab. He made reservations for their omakase, or “chef’s choice,” and promised I would get his obsession.

When I talked to Megan about it, she had said it was an expensive meal, so I was going to try and force myself to enjoy it regardless of my own personal feelings. Jimin seemed to like it here, and we usually enjoyed a lot of the same foods, so it made me feel a bit better about things.

I had to park down the street and spotted Taehyung’s Mazda a few cars away. Instead of getting out, I took a few moments to gather my composure. Jimin sat beside me patiently. He had grown used to my traffic anxiety. We had driven together so many times now, and he had gotten a taste of the worst of it a handful of times.

He had only asked about it the first time we rode to the gym together, completely frazzled and unsure of himself as I hyperventilated in the driver's seat. My hands trembled violently as my palms sweat profusely, and I let myself shed a few tears once we were parked. He reached out, placing a hand on my back, and quietly asked me what was bothering me.

“Red light,” I managed to wheeze out. They were doing some construction on the main road and things started piling up. I had gotten stuck in the intersection for just a few seconds, but it was long enough to send me into a blind panic. “Anxiety. Sorry. Need a minute.”

He helped me calm down, calming down to help me through my panic attack. We played a game of I-Spy, Jimin picking out the most obvious shit and saying the most random things to point out in order to make me laugh. When I felt a little better, he got out of the car to help me get out. After that he kept quiet about my obvious driving discomforts, but stuck close just in case I needed the support, and always offered to drive.

“Ready?” He asked when I grabbed my phone out of the cup holder.

“Yeah.”

We walked inside and the hostess made light conversation while she walked us to the back. Taehyung's laugh could be heard from the other side of the room, and his bright blue hair and vibrant eyeshadow stuck out like a sore thumb in this place. Milo was dressed in all black, his arm draped around his fiancé's shoulder, and a smile on his face. Jungkook was beside him scrolling through his phone, but Darcy was nowhere in sight. Glancing at Jimin, he seemed exasperated.

“Trouble in paradise,” He murmured, leaning down so I could hear him. I had to imagine their relationship was very exhausting and took its toll on their friend group. I knew how much it sucked being caught between Tilly and Hobi back in the day. “Here we fucking go.”

Taehyung jumped out of the booth when he caught sight of us, his fluffy, white cropped top riding up, revealing even more of his tanned skin. The snowboarder wrapped his arms around my waist and snuggled my hairline, showering me in compliments. Gold hoop earrings tapped my forehead, and his belly button ring was cold against my ribcage. He was happy to see me “dolled up” for once and forgave how ugly my shirt was since I looked “so cute.”

Milo gave me a slight wave, eyes never leaving Taehyung's bouncing body as he embraced Jimin, and Jungkook put his phone down to greet us. Darcy had gone to the bathroom and from the look on Milo’s face, Jimin’s was right about trouble in paradise. Whatever was going on, we were all about to fall witness. It made my stomach churn just thinking about it.

Our waitress brought a new pot of tea, asking us if we needed anything, before leaving with the promise of the first course coming out soon. Darcy almost slammed into the poor woman on her way back to our booth, her annoyed huff making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. When she sat down beside her boyfriend her entire body was rigged and face pulled together tightly. She did not spare us a glance as she sulked.

Darcy was a very beautiful girl and it made sense why Jungkook liked her so much. Tanned skin, green eyes, and black hair, the girl had one of those bodies most women would pay thousands of dollars for. Like Taehyung had said, she was a pleasant enough person, and we did not along well enough to hold a conversation, but there was no hiding the fact that Darcy was not a nice girl. In fact, I would venture to say she was very, very mean.

I saw it firsthand at Jimin’s birthday party. I had a moment where I felt myself panicking. Overwhelmed with all of the noise and people, I excused myself and called Andy to get my head back on straight. The women's restroom was tucked away in a small hallway and allowed me the space to shed a few tears. I was just starting to calm down, Andy's words of encouragement getting back to some sort of baseline, while I rubbed cold water on my neck. That was when I heard Jungkook on the other side of the door.

He was angry and when I told Andy I needed to go, I had every intention of going out there to talk to him, but another voice beat me to it. Darcy had been in a bad mood since she walked through the front door, her shitty attitude bringing down the party every time she opened her mouth. At first, I just brushed it off as an off night, something I could feel empathy towards, but then she opened her mouth and stopped those thoughts in their tracks.

The two of them were serial cheaters, and Jimin had alluded to that being their main issue when I asked about her attitude problem earlier that night. Eloise was the person who gave me the whole story and was not afraid to voice her dislike for the older girl. This was different from Milo, a guy who she clashed with due to their night and day personalities. Darcy had actively picked on and made fun of her growing up, and bullied her older sister while they were in school together.

Darcy, according to Eloise, started the back-and-forth cheating when they were in college. Instead of going their separate ways, something I doubt anyone would have blamed Jungkook for doing, he chose to get even. After fucking one of her sorority sisters, Jungkook made his way through the entire house within the span of three months. In retaliation, Darcy slept with a couple of guys from the NHL, something she still did to this day.

On the night of the party, she was still fuming over catching him with another woman a few days prior. Trapped in the bathroom and too afraid to let them know I could hear them; I suffered through five minutes of a couple’s quarrel I had no business being in the middle of. It was an eye opener for sure and made me avoid getting too close to either of them.

Darcy was very mean and spiteful, her words meant to cut him deeply with little care about how it would make him feel in the long run. She even brought up screwing one of his rivals to get back at him, something she had done on numerous occasions, and went as far as to compare the two men in bed. It helped to explain why Jungkook hated Jackson Wang so much.

Jungkook, despite how much I enjoyed him as an individual, was just as awful. He spent most of the argument defending his bad behavior by bringing up her own and took no accountability for his actions. He could have sex with all of Michigan and it would be justified because she cheated on him first. It was all very juvenile, and I tried my best to avoid them for the rest of the night.

“Bet they can’t go ten minutes without fighting,” Jimin mumbled in my ear.

I fought back a smile, leaning into his side. Physical touch was the swimmer’s love language and I had slowly grown accustomed to small touches here and there. So, it did not catch me off guard when his arm came around my shoulders, resting just above my head, hand gently brushing against my neck. The voice in my head often wished he would do it more often.

“She won’t start something before the food gets here,” I reasoned, stealing a look at the couple. Jungkook seemed fine, but from the look on Darcy’s face that might change soon. “I’ll say twenty.”

“What are we bargaining for?”

I laughed awkwardly, “Whatever you want.”

Taking a second to think, Jimin eyed the couple across the table. Taehyung and Milo were obviously extremely aware of the couple's awkward tension and tactfully ignored them, instead giggling about some inside joke. They were a very sweet pair. My weariness about Milo had dissipated over the last few weeks, but I could understand why he and Eloise could not get along.

Lou herself had admitted to being a bit of a stuck-up teenager back in the day, and Milo was the typical small-town stoner. They constantly butt heads when they were in high school, and just drifted apart with age. Taehyung and Jimin's friendship were the only reason they were in the same circle anymore, and the two just never spoke to avoid pressing buttons.

“I want to do something together,” Jimin finally said, I smiled, trying to ignore the snarky comments Darcy was making. The arguing was starting, and I felt my neck growing hot. Did they have to do this in public? “Get dinner or something.”

“We do that all the time,” I countered, half-heartedly paying attention to him.

“Denny’s doesn’t count," He mumbled.

The waitress finally came back with a large tray of sushi in her hand. That seemed to break up the argument momentarily, but Darcy did not seem pleased to be interrupted. Stuffing a large piece of ahi sashimi in my mouth, I sparked up a conversation with Taehyung to keep myself from having another meltdown. Beside him, Milo sent me a grateful look.

The rest of the table was silent, waiting for the fight to resume. Taehyung kept smiling painfully, but I could see the panic bubbling in his eyes, and for once I saw a small crack in his otherwise well-crafted facade. 

“I didn’t mean just getting food,” Jimin finally continued when we hit a lull, and it took me a few seconds to remember what he was talking about. “I meant… going out.”

I looked at him, eyebrow raised. His cheeks were puffed with scallops and I wished we were alone. This was not a conversation I wanted to have in front of the others, especially if he was insinuating what I thought he was. I did not want to jump to conclusions, but I was sure he was asking me out on a date. Even if it made me feel jittery thinking about it, I had a difficult time finding the voice to say yes. Saying no felt just as impossible, though, and I wished he would have picked a better time to bring this up. Whatever the hell this was.

“What are you asking me?” I whispered, taking another piece of fish off my plate, sneaking a look at Taehyung and Milo.

They were too wrapped up in one another to being listening in on us. I did not even bother checking in with the other two. I knew for a fact they did not care about anybody else but themselves.

“You know,” He replied.

Dating was not off the table, and I was more than happy to indulge myself, but I was worried about crossing this invisible line I had drawn. What would people say if they found out? A coach and her trainee, and even worse, the older woman and her much younger man. I could see the headlines now and it made my palms sticky. That would not be a good look for either one of us, and I did not want our personal relationship to affect Jimin’s career.

Putting my chopsticks down, I leaned away from him. “Can we talk about this later?”

He nodded, meeting my eyes, and I was relieved to see he was not upset. I had seen him angry a few times now, and he wore it on his sleeve with pride. Jimin was not afraid of his emotions, something I found extremely attractive, and it was nice that all I could see right now was understanding. Whatever happened he would hear me out, and I had to hope he would be understanding. I just had to be sure I did not fuck anything up.

Across the table the bickering had started again. Our waitress brought out the rest of our meal, sans desert, and seemed happy we were enjoying the food. She eyed Darcy wearily and left our table in a hurry. I felt horrible for the wait staff who had come to our table. They were all getting the nastiest looks from the dark haired beauty.

“Do we really have to do this now?” Jungkook sighed, running a hand through his hair roughly. His face was red and expression tight. “In front of my friends, dude? Are you serious?”

I cleared my throat, grabbed my tea and took a long sip before sinking into the booth and praying no one could see me. Jimin’s arm dropped, and he squeezed my shoulder in comfort. I let myself melt under his touch. It always felt nice when his hands were on me, his warmth burning hot like a furnace even in below freezing temperatures. Taehyung’s eyes were bulging out of his head now, his bottom lip trembling as he tried his best to keep the conversation between the four of us light. He had stopped trying to include the other two.

“You two seem close,” He gritted, fakeness coming from him that I had never encountered before. “Glad you were able to sort that out.”

I looked over at Jimin and saw his cheeks had gone pink. So, Taehyung knew something I didn’t. It would make sense for the childhood best friend to get the scoop before the chick he’s known for two months, I had definitely vented to my friends on more than one occasion, and my curiosity was peaked.

“I'm working on it,” Jimin replied, taking a big gulp of water. “Thanks, Tae," He breathed, rolling his eyes.

I stifled a laugh. He was so cute when he was embarrassed. I made a mental note to ask Tae to explain what he meant when we had a chance to get lunch. I had a feeling the snowboarder would be more than happy to divulge that little piece of information. 

“Talking about me to your friends?” I teased, trying my best to ignore the ever-growing argument across from me. The butterflies in my stomach were a helpful distraction. “Good things, I hope.”

He cracked a smile, face and neck flushed. “The best things.”

Such a flirt.

I bit my lip and looked away. Eating was a nice way to interrupt the electricity that was enveloping us, and I gorged myself on octopus and tuna. Whatever the hell these dishes were, I had to admit the sushi here was the best I had ever had. I would never doubt a recommendation from Taehyung again.

The conversation started flowing easily after that. Jungkook and Darcy were at a stalemate and were relatively quiet on their side of the booth. With the atmosphere lightening, Milo felt good enough to start telling us his latest work stories. He was a firefighter along with all three of his brothers. His father was promoted to chief about five years ago but was coming up to his retirement. The only one of his siblings to avoid the fireman fate was his baby sister, but had still managed to find a job at the station.

"You guys must be close," I laughed in disbelief.

“It’s the family business,” He joked. "Rosie is our new EMT."

Taehyung spoke excitedly about his upcoming competitions and was really hopeful he would win enough to qualify for the Olympics this year. Milo and Jimin both reassured him multiple times while I tried my best to keep up with everything he was talking about. I had very little knowledge of snowboarding, so I was having to constantly interrupt and ask for clarification. No one seemed to mind, and eventually Jungkook joined in to talk about his upcoming hockey games.

The Red Wings were having a good year, and he was proud of his team for working as hard as they did. As a goalie, he did not do a lot of skating, but his job was one of the hardest on the team. From what I knew after watching a few games on tv with Jimin's family, Jungkook was one of the best goalies in the NHL who was highly sought after. He had been offered millions to transfer to the New York Rangers, but out of loyalty he turned them down.

“I’ll take you to a few matches if you want,” Jimin offered. “Kook can get us tickets whenever.”

I smiled, “That sounds like fun.”

“Milo and I go all of the time so we can sit together,” Taehyung interjected, his shoulders relaxed for the first time since we got here.

Darcy was quiet and stayed on her phone. Jungkook was pretending she was not here, and it helped keep the arguing from starting again. I was not sure how long the truce would last, but I hoped they could hold it together long enough for us to finish eating.

“So Y/N,” Milo mused, taking a piece of fish from Taehyung’s plate. “Have you ever thought about competing again?”

I laughed nervously, “For a time, maybe. My injuries make it hard for me to swim the way I used to so I decided to keep it as a hobby.”

It was not a complete lie, but I knew I might be able to get back into competitions if I put in the time and effort. I hated the thought of being back in the spotlight, cameras shoved in my face, only to lose and give them more to talk about. I was still recovering from the trauma they inflicted on me after the accident. My leg injuries just gave me the perfect excuse to keep my distance.

He nodded, eyebrows knitted, “I didn’t know you had medical leave. What happened?”

Jimin tensed up beside me. 

“I was in a car accident,” I replied. Talking about what happened did not bother me as much as it used to, and Milo seemed genuinely interested in the answer. “I had to get a full knee replacement on my left side, and a full hip replacement. I should have lost my leg, but the doctor on staff recognized me and brought up my profession.”

Milo whistled, giving me a sympathetic look. “Leg? You could have died.”

“Well,” I breathed, finishing off my last piece of fish. “I pulled through though, so it wasn’t all bad.” I fiddled with my shirt, pretending to smooth it down as I played it cool. "Anyway, I have nerve damage in my leg that makes me get really horrible cramps and twitching if I overwork my muscles. It sucks but coaching is really fun, so I can't complain."

Blatantly lying wasn't something I did often, but I truly hated reliving the months of physical therapy. Unable to walk or talk, I was stuck in that hospital bed for weeks and then got sent home to watch my closest friends wait on me hand-and-foot. When I wasn’t in physical therapy, I was with my SLP. When I wasn’t with her then I was in bed, crying into my pillow, and wishing I had never woken up. It was an extremely dark time in my life, one filled with chronic pain and overwhelming depression, and talking about it made me emotional. 

“Anyway,” Taehyung sent his fiancé a pointed look. “Kookie’s next home game is in two weeks.”

Happy to be out of the spotlight, I began to talk with Jimin about changing our schedule around so we could attend the game. Taehyung was excited to get me some Red Wing merchandise, and Jungkook quickly began to boast about his prowess on the ice. Darcy scoffed beside him and I felt the group tense up.

“You’re so cocky, Ian,” She taunted, eyes glued to her phone. “I heard Avalanche was doing really well this season.”

I knew from the group chat that the Red Wings and the Colorado Avalanche had a long-standing rivalry. It had started all the way back in the mid-90’s and reached its peak in 2002. While the intensity had dissipated over the years, it had recently spiked up again due to Jungkook and Jackson Wang’s ongoing feud. The only reason Darcy would bring that up would be to piss her boyfriend off. 

“Hm,” Jungkook smirked, chuckling darkly. “Who told you that?”

I held my breath, already guessing where this was going. The tension from earlier was thicker than ever as we fell silent. Darcy put her phone on the table, flipped her hair over her shoulder, and looked Jungkook in the face as she replied.

“Jackson.”

It was dead silent for a few seconds. Then, without waiting for a response, Darcy kept digging the knife in and twisting. She called him ugly, said he sucked in bed, brought up all of the ways Jackson was better than he was, and went as far as to bring up his father's affair. Jungkook could not get a word in as her silky voice dropped lower and lower, words cutting deeper and deeper, and eyes growing brighter as she watched his expression fall. I learned something tonight. Darcy enjoyed hurting Jungkook.

"Why are you doing this, dude?" Jungkook's voice was thick with emotion. "You're acting like a fucking child. It's embarrassing."

“Holy shit,” Milo groaned as their voices got louder. “Are they being forreal right now?”

“Babe,” Taehyung scolded, the forced smile still plastered on his face. “Language.”

“You weren’t embarrassed when you fucked that girl” Darcy screamed and I felt my stomach twist uncomfortably. “Why should I feel bad about airing out my dirty laundry? Everyone here knows how much of a whore I am anyway, isn’t that right, Ian?”

“Keep your voice down,” Jungkook hissed, eyes glassy. “You’re causing a scene.”

Taehyung and Milo looked as mortified as I felt, both of them staring at Darcy in horror. The entire restaurant had gone silent. Eyes were glued to our table as they argued. She shouted about him getting his dick sucked in their bed, and Jungkook was just angry she was acting like this in public. It was Jimin’s birthday all over again only this time they knew people were watching and did not care. Taehyung’s smile was finally gone and replaced by trembling lips and fidgeting hands.

“Take that shit outside,” Jimin cut in, voice cold and hard. Darcy glared daggers in our direction. “You’re going to get us kicked out.”

Darcy opened her mouth to argue but was interrupted by the waitress coming back and demanding our party leave. Taehyung began to apologize profusely while Darcy stormed out of the restaurant, bumping into numerous people roughly without looking back. Jungkook was hot on her heels, breathing heavily, and eyes glossed over with unshed tears. She shouted that Jackson was outside and for Jungkook to go fuck himself. Jungkook didn’t reply but I knew he was not expecting the other man to be here. I sure the fuck wasn't.

An arm wrapped around my shoulders, “Hey, calm down. Breathe.”

I had not realized I had been holding my breath. Turning my head, I was taken aback by how close Jimin was. Our noses brushed together, his breath hot against my cheek, and I jerked away, heart racing. The butterflies were swarming now, and a shiver went down my spine. His arm dropped and I immediately missed its warmth. Flustered, I scooted out of the booth and kept my head hung low. I was so embarrassed, and I could hear Taehyung’s voice starting to wobble as he handed over some cash to the waitress for the trouble. No one was going home happy tonight. 

��I’m so fucking pissed off,” Jimin grunted, keeping in step with me. Milo was attempting to get a now hysterical Taehyung calmed as they followed behind us. “I don’t know why Tae invites the two of them anywhere.”

I shook my head, “It’s not his fault. She needs to get some self-control, though. That was so rude and uncalled for, and for what?"

“They both owe him a fucking apology,” He sighed harshly.

The guests of honor were already in a very heated screaming match when we finally made it outside. Whatever had been brewing inside had clearly reached its peak, and neither one of them was willing to back down. Jimin’s arm was back around my shoulders as he tried his best to shelter me from the strong winds that were kicking up. Looking at Darcy and Jungkook all I could see were my parents and it caused me great discomfort. Maybe I should try to call my dad again and make sure he was alright? He rarely answered but at least it would cut some of the edge off of my anxiety.

“Why are you acting like this?” Jungkook shouted, pulling at his hair. “What the fuck is wrong with you, dude?”

“You!” Darcy shrieked. “You! You! YOU! You’re the problem. This is all your fault!”

Jungkook called her a crazy bitch and Darcy slapped him across the face before stomping off. A sleek red convertible was waiting for her on the curb, a well-groomed man behind the steering wheel. He smiled and waved at Jungkook before speeding off, Darcy already attaching her lips to his neck and not sparing any of us a second glance.

“What the fuck!” Taehyung shouted, sobbing and clinging to Milo. 

I was surprised he was able to hold himself back for that long. He seemed hellbent on strangling Jungkook as soon as he was able. I stepped to the side watching a man I had never seen upset shove Jungkook backwards. Any resemblance of a smile was gone now, replaced with a snot-nosed, red eyed man with bared teeth. Jungkook stumbled, barely keeping his footing before shoving the other man back. Milo was quick to defend his fiancé, pushing Jungkook so hard he stumbled, fell on his ass, and cried out in pain. 

Jimin’s arm gripped me tighter as he stared at the scene unfold in silence. His clenched jaw, however, told me how angry he was. I briefly wondered what he would be doing if he was not so focused on keeping me warm.

“That was so fucked up,” Taehyung cried, wiping his face roughly. “I told you both to keep that shit at home or don’t come!”

“She started it! It’s not my fault-”

“Dude,” Milo shook his head, wrapping his arms around Taehyung. “It doesn’t fucking matter. That’s your girl.”

As the three of them argued, I tried to decipher the look on Jimin’s face. He was angry, that was very apparent, and I felt my own anger finally start to rise. He had been dealing with so much shit and on his first night out in ages this happens? It was unfair and ridiculous, my frustration over the entire situation making me want to go over and push Jungkook around, too. However, I knew that was not the way to handle this. Truth was, he was not the only person to blame for how badly the night had ended. Darcy was the main instigator.

“Are you okay?” I asked Jimin, stepping away from his tight embrace. His arm was still around my shoulders with no sign of moving. “I’m sorry everything got so shitty.”

He nodded, face softening when he looked at me. “Just worried about Taehyung. He was really excited about tonight.”

The yelling was finally starting to calm down and I was happy that they were talking things out. I did not think I could handle the screaming for any longer. I had been a bundle of nerves since I left my house, and my fingers trembled at my sides. I could hear my mother’s voice echoing in my head, though I was positive it was distorted after so many years. Sometimes when her and dad fought, she would find me hiding in my closet and pull me out, hands leaving my skin tender from the harsh grip she had on my arms, before telling me to clean up the broken dishes from off the floor.

“Come here you little shit!”

She hated me; hated being a mother. I could remember how much I wished she would hold me like the other kids' moms held them but was too afraid to ask. One time I drew a picture of her at school and she never even looked at it. Instead, she smoked her cigarettes at the dinner table and watched Law and Order. If I really thought about it, she threw the drawing away. It was too dirty. Just like I was too dirty.

Mom had germaphobia and considered me one of the dirtiest things she had ever seen. I was not allowed in their bedroom because of it. Dad went along with it like he did everything else. When he wasn’t drinking, he was sleeping or in the garage. I hoped he was doing okay. Danielle seemed to be just as controlling as mom had been.

“Where’d you go?”

I startled, whipping around to find Jimin staring at me. His expression was gentle and calm, and I was suddenly aware of the harsh chill nipping at my wet cheeks. I had not noticed I was starting to cry. Strange. It had been a long time since those memories had been brought up.

“Are you okay?” He asked, rubbing my arm. “You looked lost.”

I nodded, quickly reaching up to pat the tears away. It was a good thing my mascara was smudge proof or else I might look even more pathetic. I am 31 now and it felt stupid to cry over things so far in the past. Things I had not had to deal with in well over 20 years. Dr.Wolfe would disagree with me, but she wasn't here.

“Yeah,” I nodded, voice thick. “Just zoned out for a second. Eyes must have dried out.”

It was a bad lie, but a lie he accepted. Squeezing my arm one last time, he finally moved away to give me a bit of breathing room. That was another thing that I always appreciated about the guy. He never overstayed his welcome, even if he wanted to. Taking a second to compose myself, I mindlessly fixed my hair and adjusted my clothes. Nervous habit.

“I think everyone’s heading home for the night,” Jimin said, nodding his head toward the other three men. “They seem cool. You ready to leave?”

I shrugged, “If you are.”

He nodded and walked over to the ground. I gave myself another moment to gather my thoughts. The worst of it was over and I doubted those memories would make themselves known again. With the screaming over it would not take long for my head to get itself straightened out. I might ask Jimin to drive us back, though. I was exhausted, and frankly, I did not think we would be safe if I was behind the wheel. Nothing worse than an anxious driver.

Jungkook was ashamed of their behavior tonight, and when I joined the others, he was quick to throw a million apologies in my direction. I accepted them all easily but knew it would take me a few days to fully forgive him. Tonight was a lot. Hopefully I could speak with Taehyung privately and ask him not to invite the couple out with us. If I never had to see Darcy again it would make my stay that much easier.

“I think we’re going to go home,” Milo said once Jungkook walked away. He was planning on calling an Uber so Tae could have a bit of space. “My little flower is burned out for the night.”

I smiled sadly, “Are you sure? We can always try something else.”

Taehyung’s head snapped in my direction and I wanted to scoop him up in my arms. His face was puffy from crying and eyes still misty. He was quick to nod his head and reached out to take hold of my hands.

“You still want to hang out with me?” He whimpered.

I had only said it to cheer him up not thinking that he would actually go for the idea. I had never seen him so distraught before and Milo seemed convinced that he was over having fun. Stealing a look at the blonde, he gave me a grateful smile but otherwise kept a watchful eye on Taehyung.

“Of course I do,” I finally replied, squeezing his large hands. “Tonight wasn’t your fault.”

His lower lip started to wobble again and next thing I knew I was in a very tight, warm hug. Taehyung cried into the crook of my neck. He was worried I would not like him anymore because of the fight. I awkwardly hugged him back, hoping my calm reassurances would soothe him. We really needed to get from outside the front of this restaurant before they called the cops. 

“It’s alright,” I said, trying to gently remove his arms from my waist. “We’re still friends, I promise.”

After another minute of crying, Taehyung was back in Milo’s arms. His face was red, and his nose was running, but the sobs had stopped. Jimin placed a hand on my lower back and started to bounce a few ideas off of Milo. It was late, but from the sound of things, our get together was not over. I could not say for certain if this was a good thing or not, I did need to have that talk with Jimin. If we were out too late there was no way for me to promise I would not pass out in the car.

“Uh,” Jimin thought for a second. “If we’re still hungry there’s Pie Sci and Woodbridge is right down the street. There's also that park a few blocks away."

I shrugged, “Whatever’s the best?” Looking at Taehyung, I made sure that he was feeling well enough to hang out. “I won’t be upset if you want to go home. It was a rough night for all of us.”

He sniffled and nodded. “I’m just really tired.”

Jimin and I said our goodbyes and I promised the blue haired boy I would call him in the morning to set up another meet up. He called it a group date, something neither Jimin nor I disagreed with, but it did make me feel queasy. Depending on how our conversation goes, we may never spend time together outside of training. I felt like I was going to vomit.

“Let me drive?” Jimin murmured as we parted ways with the couple. 

I nodded, digging in my purse to find them. “Mind reader, I swear. Get out of my head, kid.”

He snickered, “Who says you weren’t in mine, granny”

The queasiness dissipated and I felt like I could breathe a little bit easier now. Being alone with Jimin had never felt this nerve wracking before, not even the first time we met, and it was hard to explain all of the thoughts and feelings going through my head. We were finally having the talk, but I had never imagined it going this way. Handing him the keys, I elbowed him in the ribs.

“Whoops,” I mocked. “You know me and my bad eyesight, kiddo.”

“Watch it,” He hissed, rubbing the spot. “Don’t want you breaking anything. You know you have frail bones.”

I laughed, “Don’t make me give you a knuckle sandwich, punk.”

Sliding into the passenger seat felt less daunting after the light hearted exchange. Still, my blood was pumping as Jimin clicked his seatbelt in place. I had no idea when the conversation would shift into murkier waters, but I needed to start thinking about what to say to him. 

Denying my feelings would only make things worse, and I did not think the younger man would believe me. In fact, he would be offended that I thought he was dumb enough to get bamboozled in the first place. Lying did not seem like the right call anyway. My feelings were not something to feel ashamed about, but they were very frightening. 

“When is later?”

I gasped, startled out of my thoughts. We had been driving for over ten minutes already. Time seemed to slip by when I was lost in my own head. Jimin apologized for scaring me but repeated the question once I reassured him that I was fine.

“Now,” I mumbled. “I guess later is now.”

Turning on the blinker, Jimin switched lanes smoothly. He was probably the best driver that I knew and always made sure to keep my little quirks in mind during our rides. He had even gotten used to leaving the radio off when I was around, something that I appreciated more than words could ever say. Recognizing that I was stalling, I cleared my throat and tried my best to get my jumbled thoughts across.

“As much as I would like to go on that date,” I started, voice weak, “I’m just a bit concerned with how that might affect our ability to work together.”

There we go, I thought to myself mentally patting myself on the back. That was not as hard as I thought it would be. Leaving out a few details would not hurt anybody, and it was the main cause of concern for me. My age was definitely up there, but I doubted Jimin would understand my perspective. To him I was just older, but to the rest of the world I was this cougar on the prowl for young men to help me relive my glory days. Even my own friends thought it was funny to make fun of the age gap.

“Is it only because of that?” Jimin pressed, his voice telling me that he was still reacting positively to whatever was coming out of my mouth. I was refusing to look at him, fearful that he would see through me. “Or is there something else bothering you?”

“W-w-well-” I stammered, “There is the media frenzy to think about. Sejin is already dealing with the press and your ‘out of character’ seclusion this season. Then there’s the age gap. I just-” I struggled to find the right words. Having let my insecurity slip out, I lost my flow and scrambled to get back on track. “Look, I haven’t done this whole dating thing in a really long time, and I don’t want that to get in the way of being a good coach. Ozzie put me in charge of you, and my reputation is on the line.”

I could hear my heart beating in my ears. Mouth dry and palms sweaty, I forced myself to look out of the window as I spoke. Anxiety had been something I dealt with for as long as I could remember, and it only got worse the older I got. My hands and fingers trembled in my lap as I tried to steady my breathing. 

In all of the dreams I had about Jimin, and there had been quite a few at this point, this moment had never felt so real and raw. We were always in these picture perfect pieces of heaven, sunshine beaming down on us, and the words I desperately wanted to say fell from my lips with ease. It was simple and sweet, and yet profound and beautiful. I could wax poetics and put myself thoughts together so eloquently he had no choice but to say yes to me. 

Reality was different. Here I was stumbling over my sentences and stuttering my way through words. Instead of taking his hand with mine, I was fidgeting with shaking fingers and desperately hoping he could not see just how uncomfortable I was. I knew he did. He always noticed. My heart was racing so fast I was afraid it would burst. Had he turned the heart up? It was boiling.

“I just want to know how you feel about me.”

“Hm?” I squeaked, unable to form any real words. My mouth was too dry. 

“I’ve thought about all of the same shit,” Jimin continued, voice as smooth and calming as ever. “I don’t care about any of that. All I want to know is how you feel about me.”

“You know,” I replied, wheezing. Talking felt impossible. “You know.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

Taking in a deep breath, I squeezed my eyes shut and began the mental countdown. My therapist taught me the technique years ago and I always found it to be helpful. I did this a few times until I felt calm enough to open my eyes. 

“Are you alright?” Jimin asked.

“Yeah,” I nodded, finally feeling my heart rate slowing. “A little anxious.”

“Don’t be,” He placed a hand on my knee. “It’s just me.”

And he was right. It was just Jimin and I in my car, but that was also the reason I felt so suffocated. There was nowhere to run or hide in here, and if things went south I was stuck with him for half an hour. Trying not to let those pessimistic thoughts send me back into a panic, I began to mentally point out things in my car.

Air freshener. It's green. It smells like pine and lemons. I want a new scent. Jimin likes to buy this coconut and mango one that smells like candy. I will buy one like his. I love the smell.

I let out a heavy breath. Everything was fine. He was not upset. He just wanted to know how I felt about him. Nothing more nothing less. My heart was settling, and my fingers were no longer shaking.

“I like you,” I choked out, placing my hand over his. “But you already knew that.”

He gently laughed, flipping his hand up to intertwine our fingers. 

“Yeah, you’re a terrible actress.”

I groaned, leaning my head against the window. As much as I tried kidding myself, there was absolutely no way he did not see the way I looked at him. I always knew when his flirting took on a more serious edge, like when he called me beautiful after seeing the scar on my leg for the first time, so it should not have been surprising that he picked up on a thing or two. Still, it did not make it any less embarrassing.

“How long have you known?” I asked, peeking at him through my lashes.

“I mean, I had a feeling when you first got to town, but I wasn’t completely sure until that first training day.”

He laughed at my embarrassed groan, holding my hand tighter. I knew I wasn't subtle enough. Poker face champion, my ass.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” He cooed. “You’ve been my dream girl since I was, like, 15.”

“That's not helping the age gap thing,” I tittered as I played with his fingers. Then, because I could not help myself. “Dream girl, huh?”

Picking up on the teasing tone in my voice, Jimin chortled. 

“Okay, big head. Calm down.”

“Big head?” I guffawed, pulling my hand out of his grasp. “Who are you calling big head, shortstop?”

“You, big head,” Taking back my hand, Jimin pinned it down and kept a tight grip. “No take backs.”

I always loved it when Jimin was in a good mood. He was so playful and full of energy, and all signs of those dark days were in the deepest parts of his mind. It was impossible to keep myself from playing along which only served to egg him on.

“You never said yes or no.”

“Yes or no to what?” I questioned. 

Jimin started rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb.

“To that date.”

Saying yes felt wrong, but saying no felt impossible. No matter what I said someone would be upset, and I had to decide who that would be: Jimin or America? I turned my own hand around this time and put my fingers through his. They fit together awkwardly, his hands just a bit too large, but I still found it perfect all the same.

“Do you have any ideas?”

His shiteating grin was contagious and a burst of butterflies began to flutter in my stomach. Hands clasped, Jimin started to list off all of the places we could go, but I was not fully listening. I had a date with this guy. I was going on a date with my trainee. 

“What do you think?”

I blinked rapidly, hoping he could not tell that I had zoned out. 

“You pick,” I breathed. “Surprise me.”

The rest of the drive back home was spent making small talk and discussing food preferences. Jimin was a dinner and a movie kind of guy, while I would rather do some sort of activity. What type of conversation could we have in a theater? Jimin seemed excited to plan out a fun night and I was just happy he was this into me. The feeling was most definitely mutual.

“Do you mind if I go to my house tonight? Mom needs some space and I know my dad is tired of having me breathing down their necks.”

I had yet to go over to his house. The days that we drove together were when he spent the evening with his parents. When Na-yeon and I talked about it, she was more upfront about her health situation than the men of the house. James spent most of his time taking care of his wife and their son enjoyed giving him a break every now and then. James would go on a fishing trip with his friends while Jimin stayed back to keep an eye on his mother. 

“Is it closer to town?” I asked, nibbling on my lower lip. 

I had yet to drive through downtown Ann Arbor. The Park house, and by proxy the Anderson’s, was a thirty minute drive from the bustling city. Nestled in the smaller town of Saline going towards Manchester, I had rarely had to leave the small town. This trip to Detroit was the farthest I had gone since arriving in Michigan, but I had a feeling the traffic in downtown Ann Arbor would be a bit much for me to drive through alone.

“Yeah,” I felt even more nervous by his nonchalant tone. “I used to live downtown, but I got tired of the noise. I bought my house in Eberwhite last summer, so there’s a little less foot traffic.”

“How’s the drive back to Saline?” Even I could hear the hesitation in my voice.

“Less than twenty,” Rubbing the back of my hand, his voice took on a sweeter tone. “We don’t have to. My truck’s at my parent’s place anyway.”

“Maybe some other time?” I forced myself to laugh, hoping to make the awkward tension leave. “Preferably when it’s not dark outside.”

I relaxed into my seat once I started seeing familiar landmarks. Saline was a very small town with a little over 2,000 residents, but downtown still had a way of attracting a relatively large crowd. Stoney Creek Brewery was packed and Jimin pointed out Sam’s car as we pass by. 

“Looks like he came out with Otis and Skye,” He murmured.

Otis was another personal trainer at the gym, and Skye was responsible for marketing. They had been going out for a while now and made plan to move to Ann Arbor once Otis graduated from school. He was getting his masters in movement science at the University of Michigan. They had planned on moving out there when he graduated last year, but neither of them could find a job that could pay their bills. Otis was hoping the master’s would give him a competitive edge while Skye saved up enough money to start her own advertising firm.

“Think Gigi is with them?” I wondered.

“Probably not. She’s busy studying for an exam. I saw that she requested time off tomorrow and the day after, so I don’t think she has the time to go out for drinks.”

Giselle was getting her bachelor’s in dental hygiene at UM, and everytime I spoke to her she was swamped with work. I had no idea she needed to request time off, though. Must be an intense program.

“Did you ever go to college?” I asked Jimin. 

He nodded, “I got my bachelor’s in psychology.”

Well, I had not been expecting that. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, but I never went back to get my master’s,” We turned onto the long road that led to his parent’s house. “I might after the Olympics.”

It was interesting to hear about his goals post-swimming. I never had those. My entire life was going to be swimming, and then, once I could no longer compete, I was opening my own swim school. After a couple of years of coaching under my belt, the plan was to start training professional athletes until I could join the Olympic coaching team. The accident was a very traumatic and eye-opening experience for me, so most of those plans ended up getting changed and modified over the years.

“What about you?” Jimin asked, pulling up to the curb.

“I went through an accelerated program at UCCS. Just graduated with my Masters in Athletic Training back in April.”

Neither one of us seemed to be ready to break the bubble we created. Even if we were just talking about school, it felt too intimate to leave. Holding hands in my car was new and I was worried if I opened the car door all of this would turn out to be a dream. The date, the confession; all of it. 

“I should get going,” Jimin sighed, still not moving his hand from mine. “It’s late and I have to drive home.”

I was the first one to move away. He was right. It was almost midnight and I had a really difficult time tonight. All of that yelling really took a toll on me. Jimin did not move until he heard the click of my seatbelt unfastening. 

“See you tomorrow?” He asked when I rounded the car. Getting out of the car, he held the door open as I slid inside. “I know we were out later than we thought we’d be.”

I nodded, “We can have a late morning. 8:30 instead of 6.”

“Sounds good. See you then.”

He closed my car door and jogged to his truck. It was parked in the driveway today. I pressed the button to roll my window down. 

“Drive safe!” I called out.

Looking over his shoulder, Jimin grinned and threw a hand up. I watched him climb into Fiona and tried to keep myself from worrying too much. It was so dark outside and he could be exhausted behind the wheel. Who knows what could happen to him.

He caught me staring and waved at me again. I returned it with a small smile. The truck stopped for a second and his phone was his hand. My cell phone vibrated in the cupholder.

Jimin: I’ll be okay

Jimin: Text you when I get home, k?

Looking back at the truck, I found him already looking at me. I nodded my response. He smiled at me again, waved, before finally backing out of the driveway. I did not move until I could no longer see his truck in my rearview. My phone buzzed one more time.

Jimin: At the stop sign on Woodland and Ann Arbor-Saline

Jimin: Go home. I’m here. I’m fine.

I hesitated texting him back when I knew he was driving, but decided that I would just have to trust he would not open it until it was safe.

Me: Get out of my head, kid

Finally putting my car in drive, I threw my phone back in its spot and made the ten minute drive down the road to the Anderson house. All of the lights were off when I pulled up and I was as quiet as a mouse walking to the backyard. 

I was beyond tired but still needed to get my nighttime routine done. Stripping out of my clothes, I turned on the shower and took off my makeup. Tonight wasn’t a wash night, so I was not in the shower for long. I heard my phone vibrating as I put on lotion and I quickly threw on a night shirt and went to my bedroom.

Jimin: Who says you aren’t in mine, meemaw

Jimin: I’m home now so you can get some sleep

Jimin: Night, geezer

I snorted. That was a new one. Crawling into bed, I got comfortable under my blankets and thought about a good comeback.

Me: Thank you

Me: Geezer? That’s such an geriatric thing to say, you whippersnapper

Jimin: LOL night 🫰🏼

Me: Night 🌜

I quick sent Taehyung a text to make sure he and Milo go home safely before putting my phone on the charger. Jungkook sent a text to our group chat an hour ago to let us know he was in his apartment back in Detroit. He was in Ann Arbor so often since Darcy lived out here, but he had bought a multi-million dollar home in Corktown when was first signed to the Red Wings in 2019. Milo was the one to reply to my text, signing his name at the bottom, since Taehyung passed out in the car on their way back home.

I took my medications and started up a game of solitaire while I waited for them to kick in. My psychologist had sent me to Michigan with a three month supply. I was planning my first trip back next week so I could see the boys in time for their first big competition of the season. While I was in town, I would pick up another three month supply. We were making the arrangements work as best as we could, and I was lucky I had a large group of people willing to support me during this transition.

Finally I felt the sleeping pills kicking in and I went to my white noise app. I hated falling asleep in silence and Emery had suggested the app while we were in a session. I paid for a yearly subscription and never regretted the fifty bucks. It had been a huge help in lulling me to bed.

Lights out and blankets wrapped snugly around my body, I closed my eyes and thought about everything that had happened. Jimin liked me back, asked me on a date, and told all of his friends about his infatuation with me before I even realized something else was going on. I was his dream girl. That put a lazy smile on my face. Then, I could no longer think about anything and was plunged into a dreamless sleep.

Taglist: @ownthesunshine @screamertannie @lovelytaes-blog @pernesianparapio @tae-with-some-suga @sumzysworld @chimmisbae @adventures-in-bookland

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[innxrvision]

So long - pt. 2 𒂭

part 2 of 3 ------------ 𖦹 tags: james hetfield x reader, fluff, smut, best friends to lovers, bet, 80s james, a little angst if you squint ♱ a/n: here's part 2 just like i promised! Also... this got too long again and I had to split once more, I'm sorry. Next part will be the last hopefully! I'll probably only be able to post it on wednesday or thursday tho, but we'll see how things go! Thanks to everyone that has been reading and liking my story, it truly made me happy!

𖦹 part 1 𖦹 part 2 𖦹 part 3

Both of you entered the bar already chatting excitedly, just as you imagined, whatever disagreement that came between you two couldn't last long. You and James' friendship went way back.

"Let's get you a drink." James' playful smile made you smile involuntarily back.

He ordered two beers and raised his glass after you two settled down on a table near the wall, on a spot where the soft yellow light shined right on James' blonde locks.

"To making up!" He said, the smile never leaving his lips.

"If you say so." You shrugged, raising your glass too, but there wasn't any hint of resentment in your voice.

"I really am sorry about what I've said to you earlier. I never wanted to hurt you." He repeated his apology sincerely.

You shrugged again in response, not wanting to make a big deal out of it again.

"What has gotten into you anyway?" You asked genuinely curious before taking a sip.

"I don't really know." He admitted and you could sense some embarrassment coming from him. "I guess my emotions were all over the place and I took all on you. I truly hope you can forgive me."

You just nodded in response, you could easily understand his side.

Soon one beer became two, then three… and before you could realize it, both were a bit too drunk, laughing obnoxiously loud at each other's stupid jokes.

At a certain moment, while James were rambling about his new guitar, your mind wandered as you studied his features under the soft light. The unruly blond hair now gained a different shine, the blue eyes seemed more vivid, and the skin covered by acne suddenly got a different charm to it.

You've known him for years, but, for some reason, the realization that he had grown into a man only hit you now. It's not like you haven't noticed his changes at all, you could admit the boy you knew had gained the charms of a man a long time ago, however, something at that bar made it all become more evident. Maybe it was the alcohol speaking. Regardless, you just stayed silent, lost in your thoughts.

"What are you thinking about?" James' voice cut through your mind, his eyebrow quirked in confusion. "You're looking at me like I have two heads or something." He added, a chuckle coming out of his lips.

You snapped out of it as soon as you heard him, your cheeks heating up in response to his question.

"What?" You laughed nervously "Sorry, just got lost in my thoughts for a moment, go on."

James grinned, finding your flustered expression too amusing to let it go.

"I must really put you in a state to make you blush like that." He took another sip of his beer and kept grinning at you. "What were you thinking about before? I'm curious now."

You tried your best to appear bored and rested your elbow on the table, putting your chin on top of your hand.

"Nothing. Just… Work."

He studied your face and the playful expression he had before turned into a smirk.

"You're hiding something." He teased. "You're a terrible liar."

You rolled your eyes, pretending to be offended by his observation.

"I'm not!" You shot back. "I said it's nothing. You're too curious for your own good."

"Come on, tell me." He nudged your shoulder. "It's not fair if you keep it a secret."

"Not fair? What? Don't you have any secrets?" You scoffed.

"Of course I do. But your secrets are much more interesting to me right now than my own." He leaned closer and raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "So spill it. What were you really thinking about? Was it a boy?"

You looked at him incredulous, just wishing he would drop the subject.

"You can't be serious." You looked with concern in your expression at him and he laughed in response.

"Oh, I'm being serious. You were blushing so hard, so it must be a boy." He grinned, crossing his arms. It was clear that he was enjoying messing up with you. "So come on, spill it. Is it someone I know? Do you want me to hook you up?"

"No! What? You're crazy." You couldn't believe he thought you wanted him to hook you up with somebody.

"I know you're thinking about someone, just tell me already. Who's the lucky guy?" He pressed again.

"There's... No one!" You were starting to get frustrated.

"Oh, please. You can't fool me, I know you. You were obviously daydreaming about someone." He raised an eyebrow again and you had to take a deep breath in order to control yourself. "Is it one of the guys? Lars maybe? Or... Is it Kirk? I know you two are very close. You got a thing for him?" His voice dripped with amusement, it was clear he was enjoying teasing you.

"What?!" You opened your mouth in shock as he started pointing names. "I've never...! I never liked Kirk! Where did this come from?!"

"I can see the way you look at him sometimes." He chuckled, it seemed like he was testing you. "If it's not him, then who is it? I won't leave you alone until you tell me."

"Kirk is like a brother to me!" You said offended, your cheeks getting hot once again.

"You're protesting a little too much. I know you're hiding something from me." He studied your blushed face in silence for a second "Well, whoever he is, we can play matchmaker and set you up on a date." He batted his eyelashes dramatically at you and laughed.

"Why are you so invested in being my wingman? Who says I need one?"

You were getting tired of this talk. One second of distraction staring too much at him and now you had to deal with James playing guess by himself. He already loved getting on your nerves, but whenever he got drunk that would get worse.

"You've been single for almost a year now." He grinned. "I just want to help you find someone to share your life with."

You couldn't believe he decided to throw that on your face. Ouch. You sighed and looked around the bar for a second, trying to find a good response.

"Why don't you worry about your own love life?"

He chuckled again, shrugging off your comment.

"You know I don't do long-term relationships." He said casually. "I'm more of a one-night-stand kind of guy." He winked and that irritated you.

You looked down at your hands, trying to navigate your feelings. For some reason, hearing that he had been sleeping with other girls made you feel jealous. You tried your best to not seem affected, but James noticed the shift in your reaction.

"What's wrong with one-night stands?" He asked, his tone playful.

"I just think it's gross." You cursed yourself mentally for your childish response.

"C'mon... You're such a prude." He rolled his eyes and teased you, nudging at your arm. "One-night stands aren't gross, they're just casual fun. You should try it sometime, it might loosen you up a bit." There was that smug grin again that made you heated.

"I don't need to loosen up, I'm fine the way I am." You tried defending yourself. "And also, I'm not a prude."

"Sure, keep telling yourself this." He shrugged, that grin only growing wider at your frustration. "But deep down, you're just a boring goody-two-shoes who wouldn't know how to have a good time if your life depended on it." He continued. "Bet you've never even been on a proper date before."

You scoffed. Yeah, he made a habit of teasing you and yes, that would worsen whenever he drunk, but tonight he seemed even more invested in driving you nuts. "Is it just the alcohol?" You asked yourself.

"Of course I have!" You crossed your arms. "I can have fun just fine. I just think the girls you hook up with are gross."

You tried attacking him, but it was clear that your response only amused him even more.

"Gross, huh? Interesting choice of words." He leaned closer once again. "Does that mean you think I'm gross too? For hooking up with random girls?" He waited for your response, staring at you.

"I've never said that." You regretted mentioning his hookups and sighed.

"I know you're judgmental of my dating life." He leaned back and shrugged. "You're probably just jealous that I'm getting some action and you're not." He smiled triumphantly.

"Who says I'm not getting some action?" You tried your best to sound convincing but your attempt only made him laugh.

"Oh, really? With whom exactly? A pillow? A stuffed animal?" You blushed and he caught your reaction. "I knew it. You don't have anyone. Which is why you're so sour and uptight because you're not getting laid." He taunted.

"You're such an ass." You looked away and rolled your eyes. "It's none of your business, maybe? Just leave my love life alone, please." At this point, you had given up winning this conversation.

"Alright, alright. I'll leave your non-existent love life alone." He raised both of his hands in surrender. "But if you need some advice on how to get laid, come to me. I'm something of an expert, y'know?" He winked playfully.

"Like I would take your advice." You laughed sarcastically, seeing the perfect chance to annoy him back. "Bet you don't how to please girls at all." You added, certain that this would drive him crazy.

In response, he just smiled and shook his head. A different reaction that you were expecting.

"Oh yeah? You think I can't satisfy a girl?" He said confidently and leaned closer to you once again. "In fact, I bet I could satisfy you better than any other guy you've ever been with."

You stopped in your tracks, wondering if you heard him right. "He's just trying to get a reaction of me." You thought to tranquilize yourself.

"No way. Bet you take like... One minute." You decided just to keep teasing, trying to give him hell back for being so annoying.

"You think I'm that bad?" He raised an eyebrow with a smile on his lips. He then went silent for a second and something in his expression changed. "How about we make a bet then? If I can't please you better than anyone you've ever been with before, I'll do the dishes at your house for a week. But... If I do a good job, you have to take me out on a date."

"What?" Your mind went blank with shock and you felt a wave of heat from the embarrassment go through your entire body. Everything was all fun and games until now, but now you were just dumbfounded.

James noticed the shock in your expression and bit his lip, realizing he may have overstepped, but it was too late to take back now.

"Just hear me out. It'll be fun, it's just a harmless bet." He said quickly. "We are friends, right? What's wrong with having some fun?" He tried.

You couldn't even look straight at him now. It's true that you've been getting more and more attracted to him, but since you were best friends, you never expected this kind of proposal to come from him. Was it the alcohol? Was he just trying to prove a point? Your thoughts ran a 100 mph, trying to decide what should you do.

"I..." You started, then shook your head in an attempt to clear your mind. "Fine, it's a bet."

[luveline]

(if you’re still doing the baby blurbs! 💓👼🏻) maybe something with eddie being a little goofball gentleman? i can picture him like laying down his jacket over the tiniest puddle or sprinting ahead of you to open every door even tho u keep yelling at him every time he does 😊

thank u for ur request! fem!reader

"We can't forget you have that dentist appointment on Wednesday," you're saying distractedly, eyes on the rearview mirror as you reverse into a parking space. "You missed your last one and they charged you anyways, those losers." 

You haven't even turned the engine off when Eddie's throwing open the passenger door. He climbs out, slams it closed, and then, with all the speed and dexterity of a professional sportsman (think baseball, or even ice hockey), he flies across the hood of the car to your side and yanks open your door. 

"My lady," he says breathlessly, gesturing for you to step out. 

You blink at him. Your lips pull up into an open-mouthed, breathless smile, a tear-like warmth collecting in your eyes. "Are you real?" 

He grins at your expression, knowing how funny he is, "A real gentleman," he says smugly. "Come, my lady. We've groceries to procure." 

You swing your legs out of the car and take his hand, giggling with a sickly, giddy affection. He helps you up and kisses your hand. 

"This is one of the silliest things you've ever done," you say fondly. 

"Can't a man treat his woman as she deserves to be treated?" 

You lock the car. "Not if he's going to almost smash his head in." 

"I barely tripped!" he argues, eager to take your hand again, forcing his fingers through yours and swinging them between your bodies. 

He's in a ridiculously good mood today, his theatrical excitement at an all time high, joy lighting his features. He looks even more handsome than usual when he's this happy. 

You indulge his mood and lean up to peck his jaw. "Thank you, sir." 

"The effect might have been grander if my van wasn't still in the shop, but you got the idea," he says, the wind quick to return his newly washed hair to its usual frizz while you walk from the car to the front of the store. "Wait!" 

His shout startles you. You stop dead at the lip of the asphalt outside of the store, worried you're about to step on something small, but Eddie's perceived an even smaller risk.

There's a puddle. 

He steps over it onto the sidewalk. You get the sense you should wait, and sure enough, he offers you both hands and 'helps' you cross treacherous waters rather than let you wet the bottom of your battered converse. 

"Whew. Almost lost you," Eddie says, his eyes squinting gently with his smile. He knows he's being ridiculous. He takes pleasure in it. 

You rub his knuckles where your hands are still clasped between you. "My hero," you croon. 

He beams, but then he turns on his heel and sprints to the automatic doors, arms out. "Quickly, sweetheart! Before they close!" 

You snort at him. "I hope you're not planning on doing this all day." 

"Of course not." 

Grocery shopping with him is nearly impossible. Eddie tries to guess your every thought, opening fridges and freezers for you before you've so much as looked at them, wrestling a water crate out of your hand lest you strain your beautiful arms. You have to shout at him to stop when he almost hits an unsuspecting shopper in the face with a glass door, but you kiss his bruised ego better somewhere between the pastries and the fresh bread, and he promptly calms down.

[yaekiss]

on this sinful sunday, i’m having very holy thoughts of either branding or carving my name onto childe’s skin— maybe that tummy he’s so insistent on not covering up, maybe a nice little tramp stamp. i know he’s making sure it scars, picking at the scabs and whining for you to redo them if they dare to fade away— he belongs to you!

꩜ Room Content: Dom! GN! Top! Reader x Sub! Bottom! Yan! Tartaglia, reader's dick can also be read as strap, gore + eroguro, knifeplay + blood, masochist Tartaglia, spanking (just once, on Tartaglia), terrible wound care by Tartaglia please don't follow his actions, lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ A/N: Happy Whore Wednesday pulpie! Or uhhh, it was Wednesday when I started writing this. Got a lil carried away hehe :3 Happy Thotaglia Thursday! Slut on! (With you, Childe feels like every day is Thotaglia Thursday)

Anyways. Childe thinks of you as pure divinity, the holiest of beings, and he’s eager to worship all of you and bear everything that you’re willing to bless him with. Who is he to say no to the pain you inflict on him too?

This time, he’s cockwarming you, the heat and desire he feels is dizzying. You’re inside him and just the sensation of you filling him up perfectly has left him giddy with lust. His face is smushed into the mattress with his azure eyes already rolled into their sockets. Prior to this, he pressed a lavishly decorated dagger into your palm with a fervent sort of urgency, begging for you to mark him up however you like. You try to think back on what could’ve spurred this on. Was it that merchant trying to chat you up at the market the other day? Or perhaps it’s just a sick kind of longing that hangs around the ginger no matter how much time you spend together? One thing remains clear, at its core, Childe wants to be utterly and irrefutably yours.

Taking up the dagger, you admire the inlaid gemstones glinting in the lighting of the room, their colours matching the exact shade of your eyes and you’re sure that this must have cost an arm and a leg. Tracing the cold metal down the ridge of his spine, you feel him shudder, your ears picking up a soft keening whine. You start off slow, the tip of the blade breaking past skin and revealing glorious liquid crimson. Childe sucks in a breath at the delirious buzz of pain and pleasure that he’s subjected to at your hands. 

“Nghh… please I wanttt-! to be yours!” Greedy as always.

You take your time carving out your name into his flesh, revelling in just how many moans and whines you can wring out from the harbinger. Despite how muddled his senses are, he’s acutely aware of each and every searing twist and pull of the knife. Some of the warm blood trickles and drips down to where the two of you are connected and the sensation has him losing the ability to speak, brain reeling at how disgustingly intimate this whole act is. However, over time, Childe gets squirmy and twitchy with how pent-up he’s getting, the arousal in him pooling and heightening. That simply won’t do. Good boys need to stay in line while their lover is being so so so nice to them after all. With a pointed “tsk”, you land a hard smack on his ass as a warning. He yelps loudly at the impact but he gets the message, obediently staying still as you finish carving the tramp stamp. 

When you’re finally done, you pull out of him, the lack of your cock filling him up has Childe whining again but it snaps him out of his reverie. You reach over to grab a mirror and angle it so that he can see (read: marvel at) your handiwork. His eyes glint as he catches sight of the fresh cuts, the wound spelling out your name and the fact that you’ve claimed him as your devoted believer. However, he doesn’t let you go further than cleaning and disinfecting the wound site. (Secretly, he hopes that it leaves a permanent scar, an eternal pure white etched into his skin to show that he belongs to you without question.)

Throughout the whole healing process, he picks away at the scabs that try to cover the wound, opening it back up again so that your name is written in a carnal raw red. Whenever he stares at it in the bathroom mirror for too long and thinks that a certain part of it is fading away too fast without leaving a mark, he rushes to you, whining and begging for you to redo it with a frenzied tone in his voice. 

He wishes you’ll dig even deeper, maybe even push your fingers into his flesh until he’s screaming and clenching down on your cock, use his blood as lube as you fuck up into him relentlessly. The thoughts keep coming and you can’t go a full week without Childe pleading for you to lay your claim on him.

Maybe next time he’ll convince you to leave your mark on his abdomen so that everyone can see who he belongs to.

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

[newtthetranswriter]

Misunderstandings

Paring: Takashi Mitsuya x Gn! Reader

Word Count: 2349

Summary: Wanting to surprise Takashi for his birthday turned into a misunderstanding, luckily communication is the key to most situations.

Warnings: implications of cheating but it’s all just stress induced thoughts, cursing, idk let me know if i missed anything.

A/n: First Happy Birthday to the wonderful Takashi Mitasuya, who is by far one of the best characters in Tokyo Revengers. Second, I hope you all are enjoying My pride event so far, even if this one isn’t directly Pride related. Anyway without further ado enjoy, and remember to hydrate or diedrate.

   There are very few days of the year that I will change my routine for, and today is one of those special days. For most people it’s just another Wednesday, but for me, it’s the birthday of the most amazing guy to walk the earth, Takashi Mitsuya. Every year he says all he wants is to relax and maybe see his friends, and most years I follow that request but this year I had something else planned. For the past few weeks I have been working alongside most of the old Toman members to plan a surprise party for him. I know we’re adults and surprise parties are more for little kids but I can’t help it, I want him to have an amazing birthday and take a real break. With all the stress of recent deadlines to get summer inspired designs out, he could use a day to relax with his close friends.

    So waking up to my alarm I couldn’t help but feel excited to put the finishing touches on the surprise party before showing Takashi what we have planned for him. After taking a moment to admire his peaceful sleeping face, I managed to get out of bed without disturbing him. I went about my normal morning routine, getting dressed and washing my face before heading to the kitchen to make breakfast. 

   As I was halfway down with making pancakes, I was greeted by the sound of Takashi entering the kitchen. “Good morning, would you like some pancakes?” I asked as he poured himself a cup of coffee. It was taking everything in me not to immediately wish him a happy birthday, but part of the plan was to ‘forget’ what day it was. 

  “Good morning, love. And pancakes sound amazing.” He answered, walking behind me placing a kiss on my head before moving to sit at the little dining table we had in the kitchen.

   While I finished making the pancakes, it was almost silent as I was focused and Takashi was still waking up fully. After plating both of our pancakes, I sat across from my amazing husband. “Since it's my first free day in a few weeks I was thinking maybe we could go do something?” Takashi asked, as we ate our breakfast together.

   I took advantage of the fact I was mid bite to think of how to respond. Of course I would love to spend the whole day with him, but I still needed to meet up with Draken to get a few last minute things for the party later. “Oh, um I made plans with a few friends for today.” I answered quickly, it wasn’t a lie but seeing his face drop made my heart want to explode. “I’m sorry Taka, I forgot you would have the day off. Maybe we can do something after I get home?” I suggested hoping to not completely crush his spirit. 

  He still looked a little upset before quickly smiling and nodding. “It’s okay, you go have fun with your friends, we can do something later.” It was clear from the sound of his voice that his smile was fake but I had to act like I believed he was okay.

  I was about to change the topic when I looked at my phone to see it was about time for me to go meet with Draken. “Shot I said I’d meet them at the mall in twenty minutes. I gotta go. I love you Takashi, have a good day without me and again I’m sorry we couldn’t spend the day together.” I said putting my dishes in the sink, placing a kiss to his cheek and running out the door. I heard the quiet ‘love you too’ as the door shut behind me. I had to fight the urge to call Draken and change plans just to go spend the day cuddling with Takashi, but I stayed on track knowing it would be worth it in the end.

   P.o.v change to Takashi

  It had been about an hour since Y/n left when his phone rang. Having been laying on the couch not really paying attention to whatever was on the Tv, Takashi answered not bothering to look at who was calling. “Mitsuya here, what’s up?” He asked as the call connected.

  “Nothing much, me and Yuzuha just wanted to call and say Happy Birthday.” It was Hakkai. He and Yuzuha were out of the country for one of Hakkai’s modeling gigs so they weren’t able to be part of the Takashi surprise party plan. 

  Thinking his friends had the date wrong he quickly pulled his phone from his ear, seeing the date across the screen he sighed. “Thanks guys, I totally forgot. And don’t worry about it, we can always hang out when you get back to Japan.” He said trying to sound like his thoughts weren’t racing.

  There was a pause on the other line before someone started speaking. “How did you forget your own birthday? Didn’t Y/n wish you a happy birthday or anything this morning?” It was Yuzuha, she sounded confused knowing that ever since Takashi had introduced Y/n to his friends, they had never once missed his birthday.

  Takashi let out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah no, they probably just forgot. We’ve been busy the last few weeks and they had plans today with some friends, I’m sure they’ll remember later. It’s fine.” He explained, hoping that he was able to convince the siblings that he really was okay and that it was just an accident.

   “Are you sure they just forgot? In all the time we’ve known them, they have never once missed your birthday. What friends are they even hanging out with today cause most of your friends are the same people so wouldn’t they have reminded Y/n about it as well?” Yuzuha speculated. She was always the first one to get suspicious if anything ever seemed even the slightest bit fishy.

   “Don’t think like that Yuzuha, I’m sure y/n just forgot like Taka said. Don’t listen to her Taka, you know Yuzuha likes to jump to the worst case scenario all the time. Knowing Y/n if they didn’t forget they’re planning something and if they did forget they would move the earth to make up for it.” Hakka interjected, trying to stop Yuzuha’s toxic thoughts from making Takashi’s day worse.

   Hearing the siblings’ opinions he couldn’t help but let Yuzuha’s word get to him. Afterall he had been super stressed lately and his mind was running with the idea that maybe Y/n was hiding something from him. “Yeah, Y/n probably just forgot, it’s fine. Anyway I gotta go there’s another call coming in. It was nice to talk with you and thanks again. Bye” Takashi said, quickly hanging up the phone. There wasn’t another call he just wanted to sit and try and to remind himself that there is no way Y/n would ever do anything to hurt him.

 P.o.v switch back to normal + time skip to after meeting with Draken and setting up for the party

  Finally, everything is set up and ready to go. After bidding goodbye to Draken and the rest of the group who had come to help set up for the party this evening, I headed home. Reaching the front door I had to hide my excitement as I entered not wanting Taka to catch onto what I had planned. “Taka I’m home. I was thinking we could go out for dinner, what do you think?” I called out  looking for Takashi in the living room. When I didn’t get an immediate response, I was slightly worried but brushed it off. Maybe he was taking a nap, after all his bike is still parked outside so it’s not like he went anywhere.

  Making my way to our shared bedroom I was greeted by the sight of the normally super relaxed Takashi, looking like he had the most stressful day of his life sitting on the end of our bed. It was clear he hadn’t noticed me as he kept looking down at his phone like he was waiting for something to happen. “Is everything okay, Takashi?” I asked, moving to sit next to him.

   I watched as he jumped at the sound of my voice. “Huh, yeah everythings good.” He said, but I could tell from the sound of his voice he wasn’t being honest.

   “Are you sure, you didn’t notice me until I asked if everything was okay. And then it looked like you nearly jumped out of your skin when you finally did notice me. What’s wrong, did something happen while I was out?” I pushed a little harder, forgetting that I was supposed to be getting him ready for his surprise party and instead focused on figuring out if he was okay.

  There was a pause, before he stood up. I could tell from his posture that he was really upset right now. His normally slouched back was straight as a board and his hands were fidgeting with each other, showing that something was indeed wrong. “What day is it, Y/n?” Okay not the question I was expecting but I rolled with it.

  “Wednesday, why?” I responded not catching on to what he was getting at.

  He sighed before he spoke again. “I didn’t mean the day of the week, I meant the date. What day is it?” He asked again.

  Now the question made sense. Knowing what he was getting at I had to make a choice that would probably make our friends annoyed but It was the only choice I had. I could tell now what he was thinking and I didn’t want him to think about it any longer. “Okay first clear all of those ridiculous ideas out of your head. I didn’t forget your birthday and I would never ever do anything like that to hurt you.” I said moving to take his hands in mine. “Before you even ask, I was planning for it to be a surprise but the reason I went out today and acted like I forgot was because I’ve been planning a surprise party with the gang for the past week and we need to get a few things to finish stuff up.” I explained watching as he relaxed.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have listened to Yuzuha, I’ve just been so stressed lately and when her and Hakkai called to say happy birthday my brain just broke I think.” He said with a soft chuckle, clearly feeling slightly embarrassed.

  Giving him a quick kiss, I chuckled at his apology. “It’s fine Takashi. I know you’ve been stressed with getting designs finished, which is why I wanted to plan a surprise party for you. But I do have to say next time you’re feeling stressed please refrain from listening to Yuzuha’s pessimistic thoughts.” I chuckled. “But also i really should have called and given them a heads up what was happening even though they can’t be here.” I finished, smiling at Takashi.

  He chuckled in response. “Yeah probably, would have saved me a few hours of self destructive thoughts. Anyway, you said you were planning a surprise party for me with the gang, what’s the plan now that I know?” He asked, making me remember I had to now explain this to a bunch of guys who were excited to for once surprise the unshockable Takashi Mitsuya.

  “Ummm, not sure. A) we can tell them that you know and just hang out and enjoy all the stuff we had planned or B) we can act like you have no idea and let them enjoy ‘surprising’ you.” I offered my ideas. “It’s up to you, but decide fast because I think Draken is gonna call to figure out where we are soon.” Right as I finished speaking my phone started to ring. “Speak of the devil, so mad up your mind, Birthday boy?” I teased as I grabbed my phone, giving him time to respond before answering.

   I watched as a mischievous grin spread across his face, as he grabbed the phone out of my hand, answering it, and putting it on speaker. “Y/N WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?” Ah yes, the guy who hates when people are late. 

   “Hello Ken, may I ask why you are calling and then yelling at my wonderful Partner?” Takashi responded, apparently having decided to mess with his close friend. 

   I could hear Draken freeze for a moment, having not expected to hear Takashi answer the phone. “Takashi, how’s it going buddy? Y/n was supposed to be hanging out with Emma this evening and they’re late.” I had to hold back a laugh as we all knew that was the farthest from the truth. Don’t get me wrong but if I was gonna hang out with any of the Sano siblings it wouldn’t be Emma. She's great but we don’t have a lot in common.

   “You are a terrible liar, Draken, you know that. Anyways we’ll be there in thirty minutes, would you mind telling the gang that I already know about the party? Thanks bye.” Takashi called out the clear lie, before listening to Draken stutter for a second and hanging up the phone.

   Once the call ended he handed me my phone and moved to start getting ready to go. “You just wanted to fuck with him didn’t you?” I said laughing at how Draken responded to being called out.

   Takashi turned to look at me with his normal relaxed smirk, before nodding. “Yeah it’s fun, after all the chance doesn't happen often. Anyway we should get going, I hear there’s a wonderful party that the most amazing person has set up for me.” He said moving to the door of our room. I smiled and followed him out, ready to enjoy the evening with our old friends and possibly spend some time poking fun at Draken for his terrible ability to lie when put on the spot.

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