#bc i was texting him and he sent his friends over to check on me every day and babysit me while mom was at work

[triggeringtommy]

..... i miss him .......

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | oneshot smut [18+]

title. around the clock

Hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision.

ᰔ pairing. babysitter/boxing au - underground boxer & babysitter!gojo x college student!reader (f)

ᰔ summary. when underground boxer gojo satoru becomes a little strapped for cash, he gets a day job as a babysitter for a five-year-old kid named yuuji who most definitely has adhd (but that’s besides the point). the kid’s mom gave gojo two rules, and two rules only: don’t accidentally kill my son, and do not flirt with my daughter. he’s pretty sure he’s got a good hold on the former, but he’s got no self control over the latter.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, smut, casual sex, lil bit of fluff, lil bit of crack, slight age gap (reader’s 22 & gojo’s 27), cum play, creampie, unprotected sex, praise kink, slight degradation, gojo is a sleazebag that cares?, sort of porn-coded smut except there’s a lil bit of lore so it’s kinda porn w plot, uhh having sex with risk of getting caught, gojo beats people up at night & then plays father figure to a 5 y/o during the day, mentions of violence/alcohol/drugs/blood/cigarettes

ᰔ word count. 12.6k

a/n. hiiii friends jeez it feels like FOREVER since i've posted some good ol' smut (still has plot tho xd)...hopefully you enjoy n see ya at the bottom! lmk if i missed any warnings! if you asked to be tagged but didn’t get tagged it’s bc you have your tags off aaa :( even when some ppl tried to fix it i still couldn’t tag them i’m sorry!!

alsoooooo so very much love to @starmapz for beta reading this for me :”) really helped me w my posting nerves haha. she is also a wonderful jjk author pls go check out her works!! 💕 ART CREDITS: @/3-aem

➸ masterlist

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): heyy um i’m sorry if this comes off kinda rude i just am kinda bad with this but i was wondering if you could text my mom for questions about yuuji’s care instead of me?

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Oh 2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Yeah, sure

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sorry i know my mom doesn’t know much ab how to take care of him bc i was the one that took care of him for a while but i just really want to separate myself from that guardian role now that i’ve transferred to NYU yknow? :/ i think it’s not my place anymore. i just wanna be big sis now haha

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: I get it. Sorry if I was making you uncomfortable with my texts

2:48pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): no no not uncomfy by it, thanks for looking after him. it’s just i’m kind of busy n stuff so it can be distracting 

2:49pm Gojo Satoru: Ok, got it

2:52pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): and it was kind of an issue with his last babysitter

2:53pm Gojo Satoru: Oh?

2:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeahhh like he would keep textinf me n stuff uhh kinda weird things… i told my mom about it and she was super pissed so she fired him

2:55pm Gojo Satoru: Weird things?

2:56pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah he was always “accidentally sexting me” n like he sent me a dick pic once sooooo yeah

2:56pm Gojo Satoru: Who tf 2:56pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll go beat him up

2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): oh no no its fine lol 2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): please dont beat anyone up 2:58pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i’m not saying you’re like him tho i just think maybe less texting unless its an emergency okay?

3:00pm Gojo Satoru: Are you sure because I will totally go beat him up for you

3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO I DONT WANT YOU TO BEAT ANYONE UP FOR ME 3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): also no offense but you dont look like you could beat someone up

3:01pm Gojo Satoru: WHAT 3:02pm Gojo Satoru: Tf you mean “no offense” that’s literally the most offensive thing you could say to a guy

3:04pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeaa i mean you have muscles ofc but in the ‘ohhh i wanna look good for instagram’ way and not like real man muscles yknow

3:06pm Gojo Satoru: Ok princess next time you visit home and go on one of your stupidly large grocery hauls I’ll make sure you carry all those groceries in by yourself 

3:06pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): I WAS JUST JOKING 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): YOURE SO STRONG TY FOR ALWAYS CARRYING THE GROCERIES INSIDE 3:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): PLEASE KEEP CARRYING MY GROCERIES INSIDE

3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Nah 3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Should we be texting right now? I’m not sensing any emergencies here

3:11pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): pls. my groceries :(

3:16pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll let the kiddo know you say hi 👋🏼 

The irony of it all was that, if Gojo really wanted to, he absolutely could beat the shit out of someone. And he has, hundreds of times, pseudo professionally. Although that isn’t something he’d admit to you, out of fear that you might relay that info back to your mom who would then become mortified that she’s entrusted her five-year-old son’s life to the hands of an underground boxer. 

But he needed the money. A night-time job didn’t really make daytime money, not when they could easily replace him with the next dude the second he gets knocked out of the ring more than twice, let alone if he let it happen once. And although he sometimes made large sums, it wasn’t stable income. He needed a back-up plan, and so babysitting it was. 

The babysitter working nights at unsanctioned dojos and gyms located in the back of cartel blocks, knocking teeth out of men twice his size, would put any decent mother into a coma or induce some episode of syncope, hence why it wasn’t something he put on his resume before he got hired. Not that he even needed to provide a resume; your mom seemed desperate to cover the position as fast as possible, that promotion at work was moving faster than she wanted to, and Gojo’s beneficial attribute that he possessed as a candidate to look after her son, compared to all the other potential hires, was that he had a penis.

He likes the kid. Yuuji. He’s got kind of a short attention span, and makes Gojo weary of his age. Hold up, that makes him sound like he’s geriatric, he’s really only the ripe old age of twenty-seven, but the immortality and infinite stamina that a five-year-old boy has on him is enough to have him huffing and puffing at the end of every single evening shift he takes on with the rascal. 

Fighting is all sprint, and no stamina. Sure, there might be some more seasoned boxers that might disagree with him, but for someone as young as him in the field, it’s the tactic he’s been forced to gain. If he draws a fight on for too long, he'll get killed by a forty-two year old man with steroids clogging up his adipose tissue and enough  testosterone to grow a full-body beard by the time the sun starts to set. No, his strategy is to knock them out within the first fifteen seconds. Use their weight against them, and whatnot. A tactic he’s found has worked, since he’s been undefeated thus far. 

He can never wrap his head around it. The drug lords that run the rings who’ve gained millions the night before from selling crystal meth only to lose it all the night following in the second Gojo hooklines a solid punch to their betting boxer’s chin, making them see God & their Momma before they tap out (if they’re even able).

He doesn’t pocket much money from it, not anything compared to what the men who bet on him end up making at least, but it’s a decently solid sum. How lucrative it really is depends solely on what he thinks the value of his life is.

It’s not unheard of, boxers dying in the ring. Turns out, rich drug dealers care very little about the sheep they’ve captured to perform their entertaining little stunts. But Gojo wasn’t doing all of this to feel some sense of work-life pride, no, it was just sustenance. When basic needs are not met, humans resort to the most animalistic of all behaviors, and while he’s not proud of what he does, he can’t deny the fact that it’s turned him into an adrenaline junkie that gets a rush in his veins every time he knocks a jaw loose.

But balance was key. And hence why he’s a boxer by night, babysitter by day. For at least four days a week, he gets to pretend he’s the king’s most trusted appointed knight, or he’s the radioactive tyrannosaurus rex that wants to tyrannize all the other dinosaurs, or maybe he’s the evil power ranger (he always forgets which color that one was) that is determined to make the world a living hell by smashing mr. potatohead against the bunk bed post a billion times for all the other toys to see. Or whatever other imaginative hyperfixations Yuuji imposes on him in the later afternoon once he’s had his bowl of spaghetti-O’s and is ready to play. Lately, the kid’s been really into space. They’ve got all sorts of space toys these days. Back in Gojo’s day, he just had a good ol’ Buzz Lightyear.

“One rule, that’s it: don’t accidentally kill my son. Actually, one more rule. Don’t flirt with my daughter.” 

There’s a part of Gojo that believes your mom kind of knows he’s up to shady shit at night, otherwise why else would she clause for him to not flirt with you if she didn’t read the slight swell to his eye and the healing gash across his cheek as anything other than this boy is trouble and I want him nowhere near my too-good-for-him daughter of reproductive capacity since that’s the exact tale of how I became a single mother in the first place. Or maybe he inherently looks like he’s up to no good? He’s not sure which angle is more offensive, and which one was more flattering. Well in any case, she entrusted Yuuji’s life to him, despite acknowledging the plausibility of harm, and that means she overall thinks positively of him, right? ……right?

The first night he met you, it was awkward to say the least. Gojo spends most of his nights performing deadly stunts for middle aged men with potbellies, and most of his days hanging out with a five-year-old (one who he’d argue is his only friend at this point). Sure, he’s got some people he sees occasionally back in his high school hometown when he can brave hearing about how everyone’s in college now or doing a masters or they’re working respectable nine-to-five day jobs meanwhile he has to lie to his Pops that he’s been working in insurance for the past two years. Listen, in fairness, he probably makes the same amount of money as an insurance broker would anyways, but he can’t exactly own up to the identity of his craft. 

Anyways, the point is, he’s not used to seeing other people his age anymore. There’s the occasional hook-up with girls he hasn’t seen since Mrs. Tracy’s homeroom period back in sweet two-thousand-sixteen, or his twice-a-year hangout with Suguru where he only learns the day of where he's visiting from since the guy moves around more than Gojo can keep up with. But save for that, he mostly just sees your mom and then Yuuji. 

So seeing you standing in the kitchen for the first time when he went to put Yuuji’s half-finished GoGurt back in the fridge was startling to say the least. When the sight of a woman startled him, he knew he needed to start getting out again.

You were on your tiptoes, reaching up to grab at something over the fridge, and wearing these ridiculously short shorts to where he could see the curve of your ass, his line of sight trailing down the skin of your bare legs. He couldn’t see anything of your form above your shorts, given you were wearing an extremely baggy t-shirt with NYU on it in big bolded university letters. As far as he knew, you were a senior at NYU, studying psychology, made dean’s list consecutively for the past three years given the way your mother posted all your stellar transcripts up on the fridge (he gets that she’s proud of her daughter, but doesn’t that kind of stuff usually end in grade school?) But other than that, it was all the information he had on you.

“Here,” he said, pressing his front to your back, maybe just to get a feel, as he reached over to you to finally grab the box of cereal you were swatting for, the one that he purposefully placed at the back because Yuuji learned how to climb counters recently. “Is this what you want?”

He had heard you gasp, spinning around on your heel fast, staring up at him with wide eyes like you weren’t expecting some random man to be in the house right now, and your first instinct ended up being to grab the knife out of the kitchen knife block and lunge it straight at his torso.

If it wasn’t for his boxer reflexes, he’d have ended up at the ER that evening. Or dead. All depending on the strength you could pack into a stab. But instead, he deflected it, though not without a gash to his torso through the fabric of his shirt, one that you spent the rest of the evening profusely apologizing for and eventually mending to with cotton balls and neosporin. 

“I didn’t know you were my little brother’s babysitter,” you mumbled with a small wince on your face as you dabbed ointment on the wound while he pulled the hem of his shirt up to his shoulder. He’s never had an injury tended to before. It was nice.

“It’s fine, I get it, totally acceptable response to seeing a random dude in your house.”

He remembers the curl of your eyelashes while you stared down at his bare upper half, something he imprinted on his memory rather than the concern in your face as your fingertips traced the scars across his chest. He hoped they made you feel better about the one you just slashed into him, because after all, what was one more? 

He knows he shouldn’t have, but he kissed you that night. Two minutes before your mom came home, and right after you bid him goodnight with one more apology, he backed you up against the door of your bedroom, his hands on your hips pulling you towards him, and his lips pressed against yours. Something seamless, from candid conversation that was heading towards an end, to full fledged making out against white-painted wood, his teeth nipping at your lip and he wondered just how touch-starved those university boys were leaving you given the desperate way you’d clinged to his shirt for dear life as he deepened the kiss.

The moment only lasted one minute and fifty-seven seconds, and in the remaining three, your mother’s key pushed into the front door and he had to pull away. Always, on the dot, 10PM, she was home. It was how he knew he had two minutes left to make a move in the first place.

So much for no flirting.

6:57pm Gojo Satoru: Bahahah I accidentally forgot where yuuji’s epipen is 6:58pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 6:59pm Gojo Satoru: Turns out this can-o-soup was just covering it in the cabinet

7:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): ??? why did you need to find his epipen

7:08pm Gojo Satoru: Oh he accidentally took a bite of my pad thai 7:09pm Gojo Satoru: I freaked cuz I thought it had peanuts in it but I remember I asked for it without any  7:09pm Gojo Satoru: shit’s crazy

7:10pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY THE FUCK DIDNT YOU TEXT ME????????

7:12pm Gojo Satoru: YOU SAID YOU DIDNT WANT ME TEXTING YOU UNLESS IT WAS AN EMERGENCY ?

7:13pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): SATORU YOU THOGHT HE ATE SOMETHING W PEANUTS IN IT AND YOU FORGOT WHERE HIS EPIPEN WAS THATSS A FUCKIGN EMERGENCY

7:15pm Gojo Satoru: THE KID IS DOING FINE HES ALIVE JESUS LEAVE ME ALONE 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: See. he’s chill 7:17pm Gojo Satoru: with intact airways might I add 7:18pm Gojo Satoru: Also isn’t he a little too old to still be watching baby sensory videos?

7:20pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah my mom thinks he has adhd :(

7:22pm Gojo Satoru: oh

He tried to keep his word though (although he doesn’t recall ever giving it) out of the respect he had for your mom. She was a hard-working lady, single mom of two who went from working three jobs to now being a major administrator at a big law firm near the outskirts of town. It was an underdog story if he’d ever heard one, and he loved an underdog story. 

But a little texting here and there wouldn’t hurt, right? Or so he thought, until you told him to cut it out with the contact. Maybe you were just trying to be the good one in this situation. After all, hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision. Still, he’ll eventually get your replies to his which shirt should Yuuji wear to the park? and look, the toothfairy gave him the butt of a joint and a couple thumbtacks for his front tooth. he’s ecstatic texts, although in a less timely manner than before when you weren’t trying to preserve propriety. And when you’d occasionally visit every other weekend, he’d do his best to keep his hands in his pockets, and you’d fill up your nights with hangouts with your hometown friends to avoid spending too much time with him at the house. A silent agreement to not fuck each other, it was. 

4:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): send pic of yuuji pls i miss him :(

5:04pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo]

5:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): IS THAT BLOOD?!?!?!?!

5:09pm Gojo Satoru: chillllllll it’s fake. We’re working on his halloween costume

5:09pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY DOES IT HAVE BLOOD?!?!?!?!?!?

5:10pm Gojo Satoru: He wants to be a baby xenomorph and I'm his parasitic host. You know that iconic chestburster scene from the old school alien movies? yeah

5:12pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): satoru please for the love of god just dress him up as a dinosaur or something

5:13pm Gojo Satoru: I’m not the one that came up with the idea, okay? It was him

5:14pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): because you let him watch adult swim with you before putting him to bed. you’ve deranged his brain.

5:14pm Gojo Satoru: He needs it. Builds character.

Gojo was living a double life, and if someone asked him, he’d say it was less of a Clark Kent way and more of a Bruce Wayne way, although in reality, he knows it’s close to neither. He’s no superhero with a concealed identity fighting crime, he’s a con artist that’s tricked a hard-working woman into hiring him just because he’s trying to save up enough money to get the fuck out of this godforsaken town, given he’s not knocked dead before then for the crime’s amusement.

But Yuuji looks up to him now. And Gojo’s grown attached to him too. He taught the kid how to tie his own shoes and piss inside the actual toilet like a real man. And that kid’s the only thing that’s made him question any of this. Maybe that’s what dads feel, suddenly held to all this impossible responsibility and the pressure to stop doing stupid shit so that you’ll stick around to see your kids get older. The thought that there are eyes on you now, eyes that are innocent and hopeful and learning, and because they know nothing at all, you feel the responsibility to protect them from everything. For fucks sake, remind him to never become a dad. 

“Do you like my sister?” Yuuji had asked him out of nowhere one afternoon after he just got home from preschool, stacking a blue cube over a yellow one at the dining table.

“Uhh,” Gojo starts. He wondered if your mom had put a wire on the kid, so his answer was as diplomatic as he could manage. “Yeah, she’s cool. You’ve got a cool sister.”

“But. But.” Yuuji stutters, trying to find his big boy words. He stretches up higher to reach the top of his stack of blocks, but he only has so much arm real estate at the age of five. “Do you like her like you wanna kiss her?”

Gojo grabs the block from the kid’s hand, for a moment questioning Yuuji’s decision to want to put a blue block over another blue block, but he figures aesthetics are the least of a kid’s concern, and so he places the block where Yuuji wanted it. 

Why does the kid know what kissing is anyway? Do kids know that kind of stuff at that age? Isn’t a kiss to a five-year-old just something their mom gives to them before they head off to preschool for the day? And not something that happens between adult men and women? Maybe he should stop watching that adult swim in front of him.

“No. I don’t want to kiss your sister,” he says, again, because he is suspicious of a wire. It was a lie and then some, because he wants to do a lot more than just kiss you.

Gojo lifts the RedBull he was nursing up to his lips and watches Yuuji in the corner of his eye as the kid stares at his growing stack of blocks with a concentrated expression on his face, his chubby fingers squeezing tightly into little round dimpled balls, like he’s putting together all his tiny brain cells together to form another coherent thought before turning to face Gojo on the chair.

“It’s ok. You can kiss her if you wan’ed to. You can marry her too,” Yuuji says.

Gojo almost spits out his RedBull. He barely manages to swallow it, a broken cough immediately leaving his throat when some of the liquid goes down the wrong pipe and he’s smacking a fist against his chest to knock the sanity back into himself.

“Where the fu—…where the flip did that come from?” he asks, blinking back tears from the rasp in his throat.

Yuuji’s small shoulders sulk as he sits back on his heels. “I want a papa.”

Oh fuck that hurt. Jesus christ, there was nothing more sad than that. Yuuji has literally never known what it’s like to have a dad, since his had left before he was even born. Gojo’s not really close to his old man by any means, but he had still been a fatherly figure in some pivotal moments when he had needed it growing up. Kids need their dads. And he’s seen enough people lose their way without one to know that the value of them is really underestimated.

He’s also kind of shocked that Yuuji really did think of you as his motherly figure. Maybe since it had always just been him and his dad, Gojo learned how to self sustain from a young age, and he and his dad became accustomed to just looking after their own interests to avoid the headache of tending to one another. My land is my land, and your land is yours, and there was the occasional Saturday night spent together with his dad’s millions of beer bottles emptied dry on the carpet in front of the 1992 box TV as the two shared a greasy pizza from the place down the street. That was the extent of family solidarity that he knew.

But he can’t imagine being barely eighteen and having to take care of your little brother all by yourself because your mom was too busy trying to put food on the table and was too poor to hire a babysitter. Your mom tried so damn hard to keep you away from the single teenage mother life, but somehow ended up giving it to you by proxy in the end anyway. It was no wonder you wanted space now that Yuuji’s a little older and your mom can afford a babysitter. No matter how much you might love your sibling, being their effective guardian out of pure necessity had to have taken a toll.

Gojo clears his throat before he speaks. “Buddy. If I married your sister, we’d be brothers. I wouldn’t be your dad.” 

Yuuji’s eyes light up at the word brother. “Brothers? Me and you?”

“Yeah. Bros.”

The kid giggles, all bubbly with cheeks rounding fully and eyes sparkling. Gojo reaches out to ruffle at his hair before Yuuji gets down onto one stubby leg at a time from the chair then bolts towards the kitchen.

“Juice!!” he yells somewhere around the corner out of sight.

Gojo sighs, staring at all the toys he pulled out for Yuuji to play with, all left in a scattered mess across the table. He gets up out of his chair and heads towards the fridge. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get you your juice, you little demon.”

The conclusion he comes to, and it might read like an obvious one, is that kids don’t really know the reality of life, hence why adults hide so much from them. 

This is what he thinks of tonight when he wraps his worn out boxing tape around his hands and his wrist, tightening it with his teeth, and he can smell the sweat and grime from them. The back of the underground gym had an old dated locker room, and as Gojo stretches his neck side to side while sitting on the stiff metal bench, he eyes the peeling red paint of the locker in front of him, blurring vision making it look like spilt blood. 

His phone pings with a text. He shuffles inside his duffle bag to look for it while his other hand scratches at his bare chest.

1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): hhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): omgomgomg sor y i’m 

He blinks at the screen, confusion flashing across his face. He types one letter, but then he sees three dots and a speech text bubble in the bottom left, so he waits for you.

1:09am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i drunk :(

The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly. 

1:09am Gojo Satoru: Yeah I can tell

1:10am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): at a apartyyyy

His eyebrows raise slightly, the thought of you tipsy on some frat party couch flashing through his mind, yet of all things you could be doing at that frat party, you’re texting him? Must be a really boring party.

1:11am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): whyyy are you aawake?

1:12am Gojo Satoru: Couldn’t sleep 1:12am Gojo Satoru: Don’t you have a midterm in the morning?

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): wtf hwo do you knwo that

1:15am Gojo Satoru: Your mom keeps your schedule posted on the fridge

1:15am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): im so fucked;’;(((

He snorts. He’s got a bit more life experience than you, five-ish years to be exact, more than enough time to master the no-hangover hangout, but just before he can offer you some advice, he sees another text from you. 

1:16am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): can i tell u smething 

His gaze flits up to the ceiling briefly, and he hears commotion outside the thick walls of the locker room. The previous fight was over, and fast. The guy must’ve been knocked out in under twenty seconds tops, which means that Gojo was next up against whatever superbeast just beat him up. 

1:17am Gojo Satoru: Sure

He stands up, placing his phone down on the bench before he flexes the muscles in his arms a couple times to get the blood flowing into them. And there’s the noise of another ping. Actually, four.

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sonetimes 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i thikn of  1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): when u kisse me 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): *kissed me

His eyes widen slightly, irises dry to the ashy cigarette smoke from outside lingering in the air, and his heart rate picks up a bit. An adrenaline junkie with close to no fear in his veins due to the way his amygdala’s been fried to a crisp from years of boxing, yet he’s got his breath hitched from the memory of your soft lips against his. It makes the blood rushing through the muscles of his arms rush somewhere down south instead.

Loud banging on the door of the locker room jolts him out of his trance, and he’s stiff around the edges once more.

“Satoru! You’re up, man,” he hears Danny, the fight coordinator, yell at him from the other side of the heavy & poorly-installed steel door.

Gojo sighs, glancing down at the texts on his phone. To respond, or not to respond. You’re off your face, clearly chatty from the alcohol, and he knows for certain you’ll regret every life decision you’ve ever made once you wake up in the morning and see the self sabotaging behaviors you’ve engaged in tonight. He knows that responding to you might put you at ease rather than straight up ignoring you, but the feeling will pass, and he has a match to win with no more room left to stall.

He makes his way out the locker room, pushing past the crowded halls of people underneath dim flashing club lighting, some dudes angrily jerking to face him when he pushes past them with a stiff shoulder, only for their eyes to widen when they see just exactly who pushed them. 

There’s strippers in the ring, doing some routine for pre-match, and Gojo narrows his eyes at the man he sees laying back over the rubber boundary rope, head tipped back up to the ceiling with a wicked grin on his face. So that was his opponent? He’s never seen the guy before. Was he from a different district? Different district talent was tough, you had no background info on them, while they’ve been preparing to be here for weeks. Hence why boxers tend to do better when they visit a different district than they do in their own. There have been rules made to limit these types of fights, mostly over outrage that it was unfair to bid on them, but they were also usually more entertaining to watch. Gojo’s got a sick feeling to his stomach as the strippers clear the ring.

“Hey,” Gojo calls out, grabbing Danny by the back of his collar and dragging him towards him and away from the girls stepping down onto the floor, “what’s in for this fight?”

Danny glances up at the ceiling. “Tarp’s bettin’ tonight, so it can’t be anything less than ten grand for you. I’d say tops fifteen?”

Gojo narrows his eyes further, then glances off into the ring again. The man stands up, and Gojo gets a better look on his face. He’s got short hair, neon green in color with a dark fade underneath and tattoos all over his face. But those eyes. They were freakishingly red, and it made him uneasy. He knows the type. The type of boxers that do this to genuinely hurt people for thrill. Make no mistake, Gojo understands he’s made himself out to be like that too, gaining some kind of rush out of this profession, but this type of fighter was different. The type to literally continue smashing a dude’s face into the floor until they’re a bloody mess even minutes after the winning call, and no referee to stop it because that’s the kind of action the spectators wanted.

Danny reads his line of sight. “That’s Gale. Newton’s new boxing toy. Came outta nowhere about a month ago. He’s undefeated so far in his district, and Newton specifically wanted to see you up against him tonight,” Danny tells Gojo, resting his elbow up on his bare shoulder. “Chances are he’ll compete with Tarp for final bid if you win this one. I’m talking twenty-five grand in the next if you can knock him out in this.”

“Uh-huh,” Gojo acknowledges, rolling his shoulder so Danny’s elbow falls from it. Forget the money, he just wants to make it out of this alive.

He sets his foot up on the square, ducking through the dividing boundary straps and the tacky caution construction tape that the gym thinks creates an exciting ambience. He hears the static of the speakers as the announcers call out Gojo’s name, then this other guy, loud bass club music booming through Gojo’s chest as he tries to take a few deep breaths through the thick air of this low-ceiling arena. 

The dim overhead lights flickered, casting shadows over the makeshift ring, and the crowd pressed tight around at every perimeter area, yelling and pushing, one even tosses a beer bottle on the square and it shatters, spreading glass all across, a few shards reaching Gojo’s feet and he looks down at them with a shudder. A fight immediately breaks out in the crowd over something related or possibly entirely unrelated, and he’d have no way of knowing as he swipes the shards away with his heel.

The influential men always sat up on higher seating, off towards the back in their own VIP section where they suck in the smoke of fat cigarettes and peer through 100% tinted sunglasses to assess the boxers they’ve bid thousands on. The light reflects off the golden grills of their teeth with every snarl at any passerby that gets too close, like a lion in its den. That’s what the sanction was called. Lion’s den.

Gojo sighed, eyeing the twisted grin of this Gale guy across from him. Was that his real name? Usually, foreign district guys get nicknames. Gojo’s always thought the nicknames were tacky, and he’s accumulated some of his own over the years, but to his ears, none of them ever really landed, although The White Fox admittedly was kinda nice. Reminded him of throwback shooting games. 

He sucked a breath in through his teeth, holding his hands up in front of his chest in weak fists, storing energy in them in the form of pure anticipation alone, and then the bell rang.

His opponent lunged towards him immediately, fists flying in a barrage of reckless strikes, and Gojo’s eyes momentarily widened in the briefest moments of hesitation he had been allowed before ducking and dodging every one of this guy's shots, then jumping a step back to create distance.

Fuck. He was fast. Not just boxer fast, athlete fast. There was a difference. And it wasn’t a good one to be up against.

Gojo picked up light on his feet. He couldn’t win this one fast, that much was certain. One single careless or reckless move, and he’ll get tackled. He knows that by the malicious look he sees on that guy’s face, grin wide like he’s some cannibalistic beast. 

Stepping back towards the center, Gojo purposefully set himself up for Gale to swipe a vicious hook towards his head, before Gojo last minute ducked down, crouched to the floor, and swung his leg out to knock the guy off balance by his ankles, and he falls onto his back with a loud thud!

There’s a moment of momentary silence from the crowd, right before Gojo put the man in a torso-lock, twisting him in a way a human body should absolutely not be twisted, hearing the grunts of pain and the crack of spine even through the shouts of the crowd.

He can hear it. Kill him! Knock his fucking teeth out! Snap his neck like a goose, man! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM!

He feels like throwing up. 

Gojo looks up at the referee, who wasn’t really a referee, just there to run the clock when there was action and only barely stop it before near death. “This is enough, right?” he asks.

The referee nods. “1-0, next round.”

Gojo lets go of his opponent, leaving him there to heave for a moment before he gets up onto his feet again. Just needs one more, and he’s a winner. Ten grand in his pocket, and he won’t have to come back here for a couple weeks.

Gale gets up, swiping at the spit that had trickled out the corner of his mouth down to his chin, and he had an enraged look on his face. The second the bell rang for the second round, he exploded forward towards Gojo with even more fervor than before, gritted expression with a thirst for violence fueling the storm of punches he was throwing towards Gojo but he tried to remain calm, light on his feet, swiftly duck and avoid before he can find another opportunity to clear a sharp, clean jab right to the ribs—

sometimes, i think of when you kissed me

Gojo misses his strike, leaving his guard wide open, and Gale takes the opportunity to land a solid punch straight to his jaw, sending his mouth guard flying straight out of his mouth into the air, and knocking him backwards onto the ground with a thud and then he finds himself staring up at the rusting metal ceiling and a ringing in his ears that almost matches the roar of the crowd.

His head is in a haze, dizzy like where one second could feel like a millennia. He feels a soreness underneath his chin, a pain that radiates to his mouth, and he briefly swipes his tongue over his front teeth to make sure he still has all of them. 

What the fuck was that? That intrusive thought. There’s no intrusive thoughts allowed in life or death situations, not when he was always just one smash to the head away from a permanent concussion. But, fuck, he can’t help it. Can’t help thinking of you. Even when his vision has gone blurry and he should really be weary about what happens next in this ring, his mind’s just thinking about you, at some frat party, tipping back shots of tequila and waiting for a text-back in response to your tipsy ones. Were you even waiting up on him? Have you already passed out on the couch, or were your friends dragging you back to your dorm? Or are you fucking some other dude right now? Has he got his hand up your top, squeezing at you, sleazily feeling you up before spilling beer all down your shirt, and are you kissing him back with the same enthusiasm, your phone now somewhere long slipped between the cushions of the couch and out of sight?

Even though it’s still sore, he tenses his jaw. Grinds his teeth, even. Tasting blood somewhere along the line of his gums, he realizes his lip is split. He licks at it, the flavor of copper more rich on his tongue, and he clenches his fists tightly. Why’s he thinking of that right now? It just pisses him off, the thought of you with some other dude. Maybe that’s what he needs to win this fight. Spite. Although he’s not sure why the guy across from him at the ring has to pay for it.

He lifts his head up off the ground, and while it felt like years he had been down, a glance at the timer tells him it’s only been a solid four seconds. A solid four seconds that his opponent had to fully charge a lunge towards him with the look of death in his face, raising his elbow up into the air in time with his leap, ready to come straight down, and Gojo’s eyes widen at the sight above him from where he’s still lying on the wood.

“Shit—” he cusses, rolling his body over to the side so that the dude falls straight down onto the floor rather than elbow Gojo in the fucking ribs, and then he gets back up on his feet. 

Stakes were high, he has to end this, he has to end this now, and he flexes the muscle in his right bicep, channeling everything he has into this one blow, and before Gale even really has a chance to turn around and face him again, Gojo’s already three-fourths set up a knockout undercut that he drives straight up the guy’s chin, with so much force it has him lifting up off the floor, a vertebrate stretch to his spine before he’s sent flying backwards and slammed against the tight rubber lining of the ring to where he was half hanging over it.

The room fell silent for a split second, then erupted in a roar as the referee fell to one knee beside Gale, checking him for any semblance of consciousness, and when he found none, he waves the match off. 

Gojo’s eyes flit up towards the lion’s den, the only opinions that he really needed to care about were sitting in those mahogany chairs with glasses of scotch swirling around in their hands, and he sees some of them looking straight at Gojo before leaning towards one another and discretely talking about something he can’t make out because he doesn’t know how to read lips.

He feels someone tug at his arms from behind, pulling him to crouch down and he balances back on the balls of his feet. He glances down through the ring at the floor. Danny was leaning against the wooden surface of it. “Dude. Go.” He jerks his head towards Gale, who still laid there sprawled across the now stretched out rubber perimeter bands. “Go fuck him up. Knock a few more teeth out, I don’t know, get some more blood out of him.”

“What?” Gojo huffs, yanking his arm away from Danny’s grip. “The fuck are you saying?”

“I told you, man, Newton’s here and he’s got his eye on you. Go give him a show,” Danny says, “do it.” And when he sees clear frustration on Gojo’s face he sighs. “Twenty-five grand, consider that, will you?”

Gojo sneers at the man, an awful taste in his mouth as he spits blood towards Danny’s feet. “Go fuck yourself on his cock if he wants a show that bad.” And then he ducks underneath the bands and hops back down onto the floor, pushing past people who were trying to grab at him and pull at him and lift him up and even throw him down until he made it through flashing hallways and back to the locker room.

He shuts the door behind him, sliding the bolt lock into the frame so no one can follow him inside, and then he leans his weight back against the chilling steel before tipping his head back until it hits the surface too.

He lets out of a few deep breaths, then stares down at the sting he finds over his knuckles. Red and blistering from the last punch he delivered, and he’s almost certain he broke a bone in his hand. Fuck. It was bleeding across the cuts, too. He had to figure out a way to get it all healed by tomorrow, as if that was humanly possible, just because he doesn’t want Yuuji questioning him about it.

Yuuji. For fucks sake, when has he ever thought about the kid this much? When has he ever thought about much of anything when he’s out here or in the ring? He’s a babysitter by day. He’s a “part” of your family when the sun is up and normal functioning society is breathing their lives into the clean air. That’s it. He’s no five-year-old’s caretaker in front of all these primetime drug lords, and he certainly shouldn’t be thinking of you when facing big, burly men he’s aiming to rough up, all within the dead hours of night. So then how come these thoughts are on his mind at all times, twenty-four-seven, around the clock?

He heads further into the locker room, glancing down at the bench where he’d left his phone, then picks it up, neck craned all the way down to glance at the screen as he holds his phone by his hip because he doesn’t have any energy to pick it up any further towards his eyesight. 

He sees your messages. You never sent any follow-up ones, just your horrendously typed out sonetimes, i thikn of when u kisse me *kissed me across the span of four texts, and Gojo runs a tired hand down his face.

He tips his head back to groan at the ceiling, guttural with no basis other than a release of all the pent up frustration of every sort, then he types in a couple messages to you,

3:23am Gojo Satoru: That’s nice 3:24am Gojo Satoru: I think about fucking you all the time 

—and then tosses his phone into his duffel bag to call it a night.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You’re awoken to your alarm blaring heavily, and you whack your arm across your nightstand table beside your tiny twin-size bed to hit the snooze button, then rub your eye with a loose fist while smacking at the residual taste of alcohol you have on your tongue. 

“Mm…” you mumble to yourself. And then the thirst hits you. The overwhelming, intense, unquenchable thirst that leaves your mouth feeling like the Sahara desert before you grab your twice-dented Hydroflask from the nightstand, twist the cap off and chug about twenty ounces of water in one breath. 

You let out a deep exhale and fall back into bed, your hand resting on top of your water-filled tummy, and you stare up at the ceiling of your dorm. 

Last night was horrible. You knew you shouldn’t have gone to that frat party, especially given you have an exam in—you checked the time on your phone���about an hour, and an hour was not enough time to recover from the raging hangover headache that’s pounding through your head. But your roommates insisted you went, and so go you did. You never knew what to expect, always torn between shaving your pussy before you go or throwing on a stained pair of sweatpants to keep the guys away instead. Sometimes, it was a combination of both. But last night, you ended up drinking more than you usually do, and that always led to poor, poor, poor decisions, in which all the sense of pride you had in yourself was washed down with the puke that you hurled into the upstairs toilet. 

You grab at your phone again, briefly seeing that your friends had sent you some photos from the night. You immediately swiped off to the side to dismiss the notifications, because as far as you were concerned, you never wanted to see those photos in your life.

And then, in the briefest of moments, you saw a familiar name in your notifications that made you heart skip a beat.

Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter)

With an immediate gasp, you pulled your phone to your chest and held it there, blinking up at the pale yellow ceiling, your heart picking up in rhythm.

Oh fuck.

That was right.

You drunk texted him last night.

You drunk texted your little brother’s hot babysitter.

Fuck.

Mortified was an understatement, possibly because you don’t even remember what you said, and so you don’t even want to see what he replied with.

You groan, rubbing both your hands across your face then kick your sheets back with your feet like a child having a temper tantrum because you were so embarrassed you had even texted him at all last night. I mean, he was hot. A little older than you, really gorgeous eyes, tall, and, yeah, you gave him shit for the Instagram muscles thing, but that’s only because you thought he’d find it cheeky that you were trying to humble him despite the fact that he’s more toned and ruggedly sculpted than any other man you’ve ever met. You didn’t want to have a flustered schoolgirl attitude because it would just seep through to his ego.

In any case, he was hot, there was no denying it, so can you really blame yourself? But still. There was collateral with this. You had to see him every other weekend. He knows your family, even your extended since they invited him to Thanksgiving dinner a couple weeks ago. A high-risque drunk text recipient if he ever was one (of course he has been, look at that face). Why couldn’t you have just drunk texted ECON160 guy from last semester who Clit DJ’d you underneath your desk at the back of the lecture hall instead?

The thing that made you nervous about Gojo Satoru was that he was just so…confident? Like, in that I was raised to be this way confident and not that I fought inner demons my whole life to barely end up this way confident, y’know? Never had to fake it ‘til he made it, he just was. At least that was the kind of energy you got from him, and unfortunately for you, it was nerve wracking but enticing all at the same time.

You sigh. “Stupid. Stupid. Stuuuuuupiiiiidddddddddddd. You. Are. So. Stuuuuuupiiiiddddddd,” you sigh, running your hands through your hair to grip at the strands.

You pull your phone away from your chest, and finally brave yourself to read the texts from your notifications screen, but not without blurring your vision a little to further stall. And then you finally refocus it to read them. The first one you see has you gasping—

3:24am Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter): I think about fucking you all the time 

It has heat spreading across your cheeks, and you blink at your screen, then quickly swipe up to read the previous messages with rushed glides of your index finger on the screen to see that he had sent it to you in response to your barely coherent texts about how you still so often think about that time he randomly pressed you up against the door of your bedroom to kiss you that night you first met him.

I think about fucking you all the time

At 3 in the morning? He decided to send that text at 3 in the fucking morning? That was the devil’s hour. What’s he trying to tell you? 

Oh come on, you’re not stupid. And you know he isn’t either. The sexual tension was palpable, it was there since the day you two met and you almost stabbed him, and also everytime you were visiting the house, and his shoulder brushes against yours when he’s trying to get past you in the kitchen, or when you’ve got Yuuji in your arms and the kid is clinging to Gojo’s sleeve because he wants him near him at all times. There’s even sexual tension over the phone, in those stupid texts he sends you all the time about meaningless child care stuff, and honestly, those little updates made your day.

But… you don’t know much about him, and your mom would kill you if she ever found out you wanted him. And she’d probably pulverize him if she found out he ever made a move on you. Cremated without leaving a trace behind would be an understatement. She thinks he’s no good and she thinks you’re too good. You know she’s warned him before to not get close to you, as if she was pre-emptively expecting him to try to get in your pants like it was some canon force of the universe, hence why he’s probably so fucking awkward around you whenever she’s there too. Like if he accidentally got caught staring at your ankles, your mom would light him on fire, so he’d rather not risk it by just avoiding looking at you at all.

Your mom has always been protective of you. Your father was a deadbeat, one she thought she loved, only to watch him leave. And she had to raise a baby all by herself. He re-entered your lives right before you graduated high school, knocked up your mom again with Yuuji, and guess what? Left again without a trace. To be doubly humiliated by a man is a fate you wouldn’t wish on any woman, but that’s exactly what your mom went through. It was a wake-up call for her, though. No more living paycheck to paycheck like you had been your whole lives up until Yuuji was born. The kid doesn’t even know how lucky he is with everything he has right now. Your mom worked her way up the corporate ladder and made something of herself and now you guys were comfortable, so it was safe to say she had some sort of right to look after her daughter, of whom she simply doesn’t want to follow in the same naive footsteps of her youth.

You get it. She wants to break the generational cycle. But it made being with men tough on all fronts, let alone dating. You could never bring a guy home because he’d never be enough, even if he cured cancer or could make you orgasm while doing a sixty-nine handstand. And while her overbearing paranoia over what you do or where you are or who you’re with has since dimmed slightly since you officially moved out to finish your last year of higher education at NYU, you can still feel her disappointment from a hundred miles away when you’re making out with some random frat guy on his beer-stained couch at eleven AM on a Tuesday.

But you got to college. You’ve already made it this far. You’re on dean’s list. You graduated high school as salutatorian. You’re the most highly decorated cello player in the state. You won Miss County pageant when you were sixteen for your philanthropic efforts towards feline leukemia. You did online community college for three years so you could stick back after high school and help your mom raise Yuuji, which meant that you had to forfeit your scholarship to Cornell. You’ve spent your whole life being good, you just wanna be bad for a little bit.

And if bad meant fucking the hot and mysterious babysitter, then so be it. 

You pick your phone up, begin blasting what the hell by Avril Lavigne on your dorm room bluetooth speaker, then type a message to him that says—

10:34am you: do it then

—then shove your phone under the sheets and belt out the lyrics aaaall my life i’ve been good, but now, ahhhh i’m thinkin’ what the hell!!! while kicking your feet and clutching your pillow.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Gojo has no clue what divine entity has overcast their gratuitous spirit over him on this blessed Monday afternoon, but he’ll thank them for it later once his balls are empty. 

He’s got you on your back, sprawled across the couch in the living room, the first fuck being a rushed one that you offered him with before he has to go pick Yuuji up from circle time at preschool, which wasn’t ideal, but he’s delirious at the sight of you underneath him right now. Your little NYU shirt, a tighter one this time, bunched up over your bare breasts, otherwise entirely naked other than the flimsy panties dangling at your ankle, and the view of the tip of his cock looking hot and heavy against the velvet of your cunt, slowly pushing in, feeling the warmth of your walls squeeze around him paired with the sweet moan that leaves your lips, makes him fall forward with a bracing hand dug into the cushion by the side of your head because the sensation feels so fucking good he can hardly keep himself upright.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunts, pushing himself in further to try and bottom out but he’s still got a couple inches he needs you to take, and so you curl your hips upwards towards the cieling to make more room for him, practically putting yourself into a mating press and soon enough he’s balls deep, “you on any birth control?”

“Uh-huh,” you moan, eyes closed and head tipped back with one hand squeezing your own tit.

“I can cum inside then, yeah?” he asks you, pushing your knees to your chest, slowly drawing his hips back and you squirm underneath him.

“Let’s get there first, and then we’ll discuss,” you breathe out.

“I’ve been there for the past ten minutes, baby. I could cum at any second with the way you look and feel,” he informs you flatly, because it was just the truth and you had to know it, then he feels himself twitch inside, slowly working up to a languid rhythm, almost fearfully like your mom’s going to pop out somewhere around the corner with a camera crew ready like one of those retro TV shows just to humiliate him on national television for not keeping it in his pants like she’d told him to. 

“Harder,” he hears you whisper, and he rolls his eyes shut to just focus on the feeling. The feeling of your nails grazing down the skin of his chest and his abs, tracing the scars he’s collected over the years, and he feels you tightening around him. He leans down to kiss you, fucking you properly now with the squeak of the couch springs echoing across the room, your hums of moans seeping through his lips until he’s fully taking them on with an open-mouthed kiss of sloppy tongue. 

The fact that it was wrong felt right to him, and he realizes in this moment he’s lost all sense of control. He wasn’t just an adrenaline junkie that liked to rough up dudes, he was an adrenaline junkie that wanted to fuck you against all better judgement or moral compass. The way your tits were bouncing, the slap of skin on skin, his balls slapping against your ass while you wrap your legs around him tighter, all convincing him that any consequence made it worth it.

“Good,” he groans the praise, pinning your hands above your head as he rams his hips against yours, your cute moans and squeals sounding like literal music to his ears and he feels heat spread all the way up his neck, “goooood, keep squeezin’ me like that, fuck.” He slows down momentarily, just to take a moment and watch, really look and see the way his length disappears inside of your pretty self with every push forward, and then he works back up to a relentless pace that has you tipping your head back with a slack jaw and eyes closed tightly shut, sprained expression of pleasure spread across.

“Oh, oh my god, Satoru—” you mewled and he felt dizzy from the sound of his name from your softly parted lips.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” His hand finds it’s way between your legs, calloused pads of his fingers brushing against your clit and you jolt underneath him, gasping as your hand shoots out to dig your nails into his bicep for purchase. “I’m gonna cum, better tell me where you want it.”

“In me,” you moan, “nowhere else.”

He presses his mouth against your cheek in a lazy smile, “Atta girl,” he drawls before pushing your ankles down as far as they’d go near your ears, folding you in half and then reigns all hell into your cunt. He should really care a bit more about your pleasure, but testing your flexibility like this with both his hands holding you down was doing sinful things to his brain, and besides, you had yourself covered with the messy circles you were rubbing over your clit. It was hot to see that too, your nimble pretty fingers so close to the place where he was pounding into you. 

“Oh shit, shit, shit—” he grunts when starts to see blistering white in his vision, balls straining with a pleasure that was almost painful. The moment he finishes feels like hot flashes in his brain, a heat like the cum he begins to paint inside your walls in time with your release, thrusting over and over and over, each one more staggered as he lets off a long, drawn out groan that comes from deep within his chest with the feeling of you milking him dry and the sound of you enjoying every second of it. He can’t remember the last time he came this much or this hard and even after coming down from the high, he feels the remnant pulse of your orgasm around his now half-flaccid dick.

He leisurely pulls out, hearing you let out a soft whimper as he marvels at the sight of his cum slowly dripping out of you and down towards the couch, before he scoops it up with a couple fingers and pushes it back inside. You grip his wrist tightly, but you weren’t stopping it, that motion of him plunging it all back into you.

“Want a taste?” he asks, casually.

“Mhm,” you nod, face looking flush.

He pulls his fingers out of you, coated with sex, then plugs your pussy with the fingers of his other hand because he kinda likes the idea of you walking around all day with him inside of you, so he doesn’t want it getting out. He’s then pushing his other fingers past your lips, pleased to find he’s met with not even so much as a grazing of teeth, and he grins, “bet you take a dick in your mouth as good as you take it down here.”

Your furrow your brows at him, the pout of your lips seen in the way they were puckered to lick his fingers off clean, and when you release the suction with a smack of your tongue and his fingers were wet from your saliva now, his eyes narrow with desire. You push his face away with the heel of your palm to his forehead. “Flattery won’t make me suck your dick.”

“Alright. So? How is it?” he jerks his chin towards your face, pushing against your hand with his forehead until he’s hovering over you again, “taste good?”

“It’s cum, Satoru.”

He shrugs. “Bad?”

“No,” you say, and you can’t make eye contact, “good.” You sigh. “Hot. I don’t know. Salty, sweet. I’m the sweet. You’re the salty. And this conversation is obscene.”

He kisses you, capturing your lips softly, tongue darting out to taste what’s on yours. “I like it that way. Dirty. Nasty. Obscene, whatever.”

There’s the slam of a car door heard from the driveway, and the two of you instantly make eye contact with round eyes.

“Sa—” you stutter, “Satoru.”

He gets up off the couch in a panic, and heads to the window of the living room fully butt-ass naked, then peers through the blinds to see—

Your mom was making it up towards the front door, rustling with her keys in her purse. And the last thing he sees before he turns around to face you is her pushing the keys through the lock.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” he cusses, finding his boxers off of the floor, hopping on one foot with his cum & slick coated dick flapping around and slapping against his thighs unceremoniously as he tries to get one leg in through them and then the other. You’re trembling as you hook your panties back into place, pull your shirt back down your torso, and even in his extremely panicked state, he’s still sad he can’t freely stare at your tits anymore. You’re rummaging for your skirt in a haste, looking everywhere for it, and he finds it underneath the coffee table before tossing it to you and then he side-to-side hops towards the coat closet while he pulls his sweatpants up over his ass, in time for you to quickly run and shut the door of the closet closed just before the front door of the house swings open.

The inside of the coat closet is dark, barely enough space in there for a six-foot-four two-hundred-and-twenty pound man, but it’s better than being balls deep inside his boss’s daughter on the couch when said boss just came home from work.

He hears conversation on the other side of the door, albeit muffled, and he presses his ear to it to hear better while he tucks his dick into his boxers from where it was hanging over the waistline.

“Mom! You…you’re home so early,” he hears you squeak out.

“Yes,” your mom says, “The rest of my meetings today are online, so I figured I’d come home when there’s less traffic.”

Gojo feels you lean against the coat closet door.

“I see, I see, how was your day at work?” you ask with a tremble in your voice.

“Fine.” And then nothing. The silence could mean that was all she had to say, since your mom wasn’t really a woman of many words, or it could be a silence that means she’s suspicious about something. “Darling, why is your skirt flipped up and tucked into your panties? Your whole butt is showing.”

Through the wood of the door, he hears you softly gasp. “Oh, um, I just went to pee. Must’ve—…must’ve got caught when I pulled it back up.” 

“I see,” your mother says, and Gojo can hear her dropping her heels down near the shoe rack at the entrance. “You know, I really don’t like those short skirts you wear often. Maybe it’s just your generation, but I think it looks tacky and cheap.”

“Mom,” you say, in as stern of a voice as you can manage without sounding embarrassed.

Your mother sighs. “In any case, where is Satoru? I still would like him to go pick up Yuuji. I don’t have the patience to sit in preschool & daycare traffic right now.”

“Oh gosh, I don’t know,” you chirp, and then he hears you let out a small oh no before you lean even more weight against the door, this time somewhere lower, and he realizes you’re pressing your ass against it. His eyes narrow with a small frown, and then he realizes— his cum must still be trickling down your thighs. You couldn’t put your panties on fast enough. 

Shit. That’s hot. A little fucked up, but hot. He feels his dick harden against the fabric of his boxers, and he rests his forehead against the door, fringe stuck to his forehead with sweat as he slips his hands down his sweatpants and then gives his cock a firm squeeze. The thought of you discretely swiping his cum up your inner thigh and smearing it against your thin panties so your mom doesn’t catch sight of it dripping down your legs has him slowly working up to a rock-solid erection, and he almost lets out a broken grunt from the feeling.

“What?” your mother says, “what do you mean you don’t know?”

“I’ve just been watching TV this whole time,” you say, “last time I saw him…he was…um, in the backyard pulling weeds?”

He lets out a small scoff through his nose at your cover-up. Cute. And not bad. 

Your mother sighs loudly, and he glances down at the strained veins on his dick as he tugs it through his hand, the tip rearing and appearing flushed and dripping with precum. God, you were just on the other side of this door. Less than a few inches away, and he’d be inside of you. 

“I’m going to take a shower. Go find him and tell him to pick up Yuuji soon. But before then, change into something less revealing,” your mother says in a more or less detached tone, and he can hear the stomps of her footsteps up the stairs from above him in the coat closet.

The two of you wait at least a solid minute, and just when the coast is clear, he hears you turn the knob of the coat closet and slowly crack it open.

“Okay, I think she’s in the shower, I hear the water running,” you whisper at him, “you can go now—” You glance down towards his groin, your jaw dropping. “What—…Satoru, why the fuck is your dick staring at me right now?!” you whisper-hiss at him.

He pulls you into the coat closet, pushing your front against the door to where it clicks shut, and you gasp when his hands pin your wrists crossed behind your back and his dick presses into the plush of your ass.

“You talkin’ to your mom while your pussy’s stuffed full of my cum was the single hottest thing that’s ever grazed my lizard brain,” he tells you, flipping your skirt up and hooking your panties to the side, his index finger briefly brushing against your entrance to find it still leaking from the way your walls were pulsating from his words. And then he aligns his tip to your entrance. “Now keep quiet while I do this, ‘kay?”

“Oh—” you gasp, your cheek pressed against the door as you arch your back and push your ass out for him, “okay—” you say, barely vocalizing the first syllable before he’s already stuffing himself inside of you with one solid glide of a push, making you yelp loudly and he has to instantly cup a hand over your mouth.

“Shhhhhh,” he hisses at you, immediately starting to pound you from behind, “told you to— fuuuck,” he catches sight of his length covered with a mix of your glassy arousal and his white cum, now starting to cream at the base of his cock, “jesus christ—” he breathes out, squeezing the flesh of your ass harshly with his other hand and you let out another yelp, “I told you to fuckin’ keep quiet.”

“I’m—mff,” you muffle against his palm, “I’m trying but,” your hips move back in time with his, “feels good, feels too good,” you mewl, and his hand desperately yanks up the fabric of your shirt so he can squeeze at your breast.

“Yeah?” he grunts, hypocritical for telling you to keep it down when he was slamming his hips against your ass with so much fervor he wouldn’t be surprised if the sound was reverberating across the entire house, “you like it when I fuck you while your mom’s all clueless just up the stairs?” His rhythm falters, feeling his release building, and his hand reaches in front of you to rub your clit, making you drop your head against the door with tightly closed eyes. “Gets— you—wet, doesn’t it?” he torments you, his lips near your ear as he slams his hips against you harshly with every enunciated syllable. 

“Mhm, mhm,” you easily agree, or maybe that’s because it’s all you can really articulate, and he angles his hips up so his balls slap more fervently against your clit, making you scream into his palm while he picks up the pace of the circles he draws on your clit and in one, two, three— beats of his pounding heart, he feels you come undone around his cock, gushing wetness leaking out of you, he can feel the mess of fluids splattering on the skin of his thighs due to each of his heaving thrusts as he cusses out a fuuuuuuckkk before spilling his cum inside of you, a short-lived and thicker release this time that has you mewling from overstimulation, and in a few following thrusts, he’s given you everything he had to give.

His eyes open, he wasn’t even aware he had shut them in the first place, and he glances down at where the two of you were joined. Rings of arousal coat the length of his half-pulled-out dick, and the second he retreats all of it, a bulging push of his cum seeps out of you, dripping and pooling all over the hardwood floors.

“Holy shit, I wish I could take a picture of this,” he says, taking a step away to commit the sight to memory, your legs trembling and still slightly spread, ass pushed out and when you wiggle it a little, he lets out a huff of an exhale because he just can’t believe how sexy you are. Are all college girls like this? He’s never been to college, his old man’s been trying to get him to go for years, but maybe this is what finally convinces him.

“No pics,” you breathe out once you catch your breath, standing up straight slowly, “that’s my one sex rule.”

He takes a step closer to you, flipping your skirt back over your ass while you shimmy your shirt down to cover your chest. “That’s the only rule you have? Anything else goes?” he asks.

You spin around to face him, his eyes briefly flitting down to the still exposed skin of your midriff. “I have a feeling I’d be making up more specific rules if it was with you.”

He smiles, his hands grabbing your hips before pressing you up against the door again. “I also had a rule. It was to not fuck you. Wait, no, to not flirt with you. Which, technically, I didn’t do.”

You blink your eyes at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused, “I didn’t.”

“Huh—” you scoff, “how do you think we got into this situation in the first place?? You didn’t just say wanna fuck? You were insufferably flirty with me.”

“Nahhh nah nah nah nah, baby, that’s not flirting,” he tells you, thumb running circles over your hips, “that’s, like—…I don’t even fuckin’ know how it worked on you to be honest, I was just being stupid.”

“Oh okay so I’m stupid.”

“I never said you were stupid?”

“Well you said you were being stupid so me falling for it must mean I’m stupid.”

“Pshhh. You’re cute. Pulling weeds, by the way? Adorable.”

Your hand slowly roams up the front of his shirt, the fabric bunching at your wrists until you uncovered up to his collar bone, and you stare at his skin. He tries to not let the way his heart’s beating faster show through the heave of his chest. 

“Why do you have all these scars, anyway?” you whisper to him.   

“Too many girls tryna stab me,” he tells you.

You roll your eyes. “Seriously.” Your thumb traces the one you had left on him. 

“I—” He stops himself.

Does he tell you? Should he tell you? What, just because he’s seen you naked and you took his dick like a queen he’s supposed to open up to you about these things now? He doesn’t know. Maybe he could? Maybe you already suspect what he does at night. And if not, at the very least, I’m an underground boxer might make you think he’s hot? At the very worst, you’ll report him to the cops and he’d get fired as your little brother’s babysitter then thrown into jail, but not before the busted cartel gets him first.

“Maybe I’ll tell you some other time,” he says, his hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling it from his chest, “no hyper personal details until you’ve had my dick in your mouth at least once or twice. That’s my one rule.”

You snort. “I could’ve guessed that rule from a mile away.”

He hums. And then there’s the sound of steps creaking down the stairs above the two of you.

You both make eye contact, eyes widening, internally yelling at each other: how the fuck did we get into this situation twice?!

This time, Gojo opens the door and stumbles out of the closet, leaving you inside of it, just in time for your mom to come down the stairs.

“Satoru. I was looking for you,” she says as she rounds the post. “Have you picked up Yuuji? He has to go for his swimming lessons soon.”

“Ah, nope, was just about to head out,” he says, letting out a cough to diffuse tension, “sorry, I was—” he points his thumb over his shoulder to behind him, “…pulling out some gnarly weeds.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I see. Well, thanks. If you want, I can add a gardening stipend to your paycheck. Let me know.” And he’s not sure how to respond because he’s not sure if she’s joking. 

He heads out the door, the keys to your mom’s minivan in his palm as he throws them up into the air and catches them a couple times. And just before he gets inside the car, he turns on his heel to face the house and pulls his phone out of his pocket to type in a message for you.

3:22pm Gojo Satoru: Send over those me-specific sex rules soon

.

.

.

[the end]

a/n. hope u enjoyed im shitting bricks posting this bc i haven't posted a oneshot smut since february but thanks so much for reading i appreciate u!! i got way too invested in the whole underground boxer thing 😂😂 but the fact i managed to keep everything under 12k is an accomplishment to me bc if u read my other fics you know i’m a yapper LOL i have another kind of a similarly written smut oneshot n it’s a lil angsty (totally different au tho) i’ll probs post that one next but yea i really like, hmm, i really like exploring entire characters within a short amount of time i enjoy writing the obscure lore drops xd it’s been kinda fun so far anywho much loveee hope to see u around! <3

➸ masterlist

taglist:

@joemama-2 @erencvlt @pickuptruck01 @hanakotateyama @nuronhe

@beabadobeee @air3922 @timetoletmyimaginationfly @chiyokoemilia @jotarohat

@sirencholia @sorcerersseestars @horisdope @to-dabi @staoru

@aliidarling @ninjaturtletoes @lavender-hvze @lanadelreylover11 @chckn-pi

@satoryaa @gojodickbig @v4mpieres @reinam00n @sleepyyammy

@haikomaiko @tbzzluvr @myahfig4 @arabelluhhh4200 @bloopsstuff

@nat-the-gayass-down-bad-mf @badbclub @blackunecorn @geniejunn @n0tviv

@verystrawberryhottub @iheartshopping @peonysfordayz @dreamsxmerci @aishies-stuff

@milkm4nz @athinasaurus @sashisuslover @welldamnsatoru @aeriiixhh

@crystalymin @dcvilxswish @miakxn @satxoru

[blue-eyed-giant]

hi i would like men to stop breadcrumbing me and get tf out of my life properly thank you very much

[aliyahwritings]

PROTECTIVE INSTINCTS.

Summary: Rafe Cameron gets into a fight, and Sassy!Kook!Reader helps him clean up his wounds.

Warnings: childhood friends, overprotective!rafe, alcohol/coke mentioned, blood, dumb ahh inlove, annoying mf.

Words Count: 3163

A/N: my first 'official' post ohmygawwddd!!!! i hope you will all like this. u can imagine this out of the obx plot bc in this universe sarah and rafe lowk get along and she's not w topp*r. i imagine rafe being 20/21 and reader is js a year younger

Getting an invite to Topper's party was supposed to be the highlight of your week—a chance to let loose, drink, dance, and maybe sneak in a smoke or two. You were determined to have fun. You and Sarah had been buzzing about it for days, thrilled at the idea of a night out after what felt like an eternity of being buried under schoolwork. It had been ages since either of you had gone to a party, and with all the stress piling up, you needed the break.

But, of course, Rafe had to go and ruin it by reminding you that he existed and was going to attend the party.

As the night of the party arrived, you spent way too much time getting ready—your reflection in the mirror repeatedly checked as you perfected your messy dark eye makeup. Black heels on, strapless mini-dress in a black fabric. The waist is drawn with a thin, satin black ribbon into a neat bow. The skirt flared out slightly, you knew you looked stunning. Sarah had already sent you a dozen texts about how she couldn’t wait to hit the party, and you were just about ready to go.

When you arrived at the party, it was even more packed than you'd expected. Music thumped through the house, bodies swayed on the makeshift dance floor, and the smell of coke, smoke, and alcohol lingered in the air. Sarah grabbed your hand, pulling you through the crowd as you both laughed. That was exactly the chaos you both needed.

"God, I've missed this!" Sarah shouted over the music as we moved to the dance floor. You smiled, matching her energy, the rhythm pulling your bodies into a sway.

For a while, it was easy to forget everything—school stress, drama, even Rafe’s looming presence at the party.

That is, until you saw him.

Rafe Cameron, leaning against a wall with his usual arrogance, a bottle of beer in his hand and his eyes scanning the room like he owned the place. It wasn't long before his eyes landed on you, and as usual, he didn’t look away. His eyes tracked you from across the room. He always watched you—like it was his job to make sure you were okay, even though you made it clear you didn’t need him playing bodyguard.

You groaned inwardly. 

“Just ignore him,” Sarah whispered in your ear, sensing your mood shift. “Come on, let’s dance.”

And you did—letting the music take over as you moved with your friend, blocking out everything else. For a moment, it felt like maybe, you could enjoy the night without thinking about him. You walked away from your friend to get both of you a drink but as you arrived at the bar, a guy who you didn’t recognize walked up to me, his breath hot and alcohol-laced as he leaned in too close, his voice low and crude.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he said with a smirk growing on his face. “You look stunning tonight. That dress—damn, it’s doing wonders to your body.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore him as you focused on getting your drinks. “Thanks, but I’m not interested,” you replied coolly, turning slightly away from him.

“Oh, come on now,” he pressed, undeterred. “Don’t be like that. I could make your night a lot more fun. I know how to show a girl a good time. I could take you somewhere private, just you and me. I bet I could make you feel better than any of the other guys ever could.”

You felt your stomach churn, irritation rising as you glanced around for an escape. “I really don’t think so,” you said firmly, your patience wearing thin. “Just back off, alright?”

But he stepped closer, invading your personal space even more, a cocky grin plastered on his face. “Why're you playing hard to get when we both know you’re a slut. You don’t gotta pretend with me, baby—”

You rolled your eyes, about to insult him but the sound of a bottle smashing to the floor before Rafe’s fist collided with the guy's face.

“Say that again,” Rafe growled, his voice deadly calm as he grabbed the guy by the collar, pulling him close. The crowd around you froze, the music blaring in the background as Rafe’s knuckles bled from the punch he’d just thrown.

The guy stumbled, trying to mumble something that sounded like an apology, but of course, Rafe wasn’t done. His jaw was clenched, his eyes burning with a fury that sent chills down your spine.

“Rafe!” you shouted, pushing through the frozen crowd to get to him. “Let him go!”

But he barely heard you. His focus was locked on the guy, like he was two seconds ago from throwing another punch. It took Topper and Kelce rushing over to pull him off before things escalated any further.

The guy backed away, rubbing his jaw, his eyes wide with fear. “I-I didn’t know, man—”

“I don’t fucking care. Get out of here!” Rafe yelled, cutting him off, his chest still heaving with rage.

You watched as the guy walked away, his tail between his legs. Your attention shifted to Rafe, who turned on his heel and headed towards the stairs. You followed him with your eyes as he ascended until he disappeared into one of the rooms upstairs, shutting the door behind him.

You glanced around, searching for Sarah. When you spotted her you waved to catch her eye. She looked over, and you mouthed, “I’m going to check on Rafe.” Sarah gave you a quick nod.

With a deep breath, you pushed your way through the crowd and made your way upstairs, the noise from the party fading into the background as you reached the top. The hallway was quieter, the air heavier. Without hesitation, you headed straight for the door you saw Rafe disappear behind. You didn’t even think to knock; there was no need for formality between the two of you. It wasn’t in your nature to tiptoe around Rafe, not when you’d known him your entire life.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. He glanced up when you entered, surprise flashing briefly in his eyes before it was replaced with that familiar guarded expression.

He opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off, “What the hell is your problem, Rafe?” you told him, crossing your arms on your chest. “You can’t just go around hitting people!”

He stood up, glaring at you. “He deserved it,” he shot back. He turned away from you, pacing the room like a caged animal. “Did you hear the shit he was saying to you? You think I was just gonna stand there and let him talk to you like tha?”

You sighed, frustrated but not entirely surprised. This was Rafe—impulsive, overprotective, and always ready to throw a punch when it came to you. “Yeah, I heard it, Rafe—he was talking to me. And I could’ve handled it. I don’t need you acting like my knight in shining armor.”

His head snapped up at that, and he took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “Really? You think you could’ve handled him? Because from where I was standing, he wasn’t taking no for an answer.”

You huffed, shaking your head. "That’s not the fucking point! You always do this. You’re always trying to play the hero when no one asked you to." You met his gaze with a hard stare of your own, refusing to back down.

Rafe’s eyes darkened, his jaw clenching as he stepped even closer, closing the distance between you. His voice dropped lower, almost a growl. "Maybe I’m not playing. Maybe I actually give a damn when some asshole thinks he can talk to you like that."

His proximity made the air between you feel charged, and you had to fight the urge to step back. Instead, you held your ground, your heart pounding in your chest. "And maybe you should learn to pick your battles instead of flying off the handle every time someone so much as looks at me the wrong way," you shot back, your voice just as sharp as his.

His lips twisted into a smirk, though there was no humor in it—just frustration. "Pick my battles?" He echoed, his voice low and dangerous. "Like you would ever let me. Every time I try to protect you, you act like it’s some kind of personal offense. Like I’m doing something wrong by giving a damn about what happens to you, Y/N."

You scoffed, crossing your arms tighter across your chest. "Because it’s not about me! It’s about you needing to feel like you’re in control of everything. You can’t just punch your way through life, Rafe."

"It’s not about control. It’s about not letting anyone treat you like that. I’m not gonna stand by and watch it happen. Not when it’s you."

For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of his words hanging between you. You sighed, the fight slowly leaving your body. “You’ve always been like this, you know?” you said, your tone softening just slightly. “Even when we were kids. You were always ready to defend me.”

His expression softened, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, well, some things don’t change.”

You shook your head, biting back a smile. “You’re impossible, Rafe Cameron.”

He let out a low laugh. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real bite behind it. The anger between you was fading. He infuriated you, but deep down, you knew his heart was in the right place—even if he had a habit of making things way more complicated than they needed to be.

Rafe’s eyes lingered on yours, the tension still there but different now. He stepped closer again, but this time, there was no anger in his movements, just something more... deliberate. His voice dropped, barely above a whisper. "You looked good tonight, by the way."

Your breath hitched, and before you could stop yourself, you met his gaze with a smirk of your own. "You’re just now noticing?" you teased, though your voice came out softer than you intended.

"Trust me, I noticed the second you walked in."

You cleared your throat, breaking the intense moment between you two. “Let me see your hand,” you said, trying to refocus on something else.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his usual cocky smirk creeping back onto his face. “What? Worried about me now, princess?”

“Hardly, but you’re a mess and someone’s gotta clean you up before you bleed all over Topper’s sheets.”

He grinned, stepping back slightly and letting you grab his hand. His skin was warm under your fingers, and you tried to ignore the way your pulse quickened as you turned his hand over, inspecting the damage. His knuckles were raw, a few cuts oozing blood.

You glanced around the room, spotting a small bathroom attached to the guest room. “Sit down,” you ordered, nodding towards the bed. Rafe didn’t argue—surprisingly—but the amused smirk never left his face as he sat down, watching you with that intense, unblinking gaze of his. You walked over to the bathroom, rummaging through the cabinet until you found some bandages and antiseptic wipes.

When you returned, Rafe had leaned back against the headboard, legs spread slightly, his arms resting on his knees like he was waiting to be entertained. 

“Hold still,” you said firmly as you sat on the edge of the bed beside him, gently taking his injured hand in yours. 

"Careful," he teased, his voice low and husky. "I might start thinking you actually care."

You shot him a quick glare, your eyes narrowed. "Or maybe I just don’t want to deal with your whining if this gets infected."

He chuckled, the sound deep and almost... seductive. "Trust me, I’m not the whining type. You, on the other hand, love getting under my skin."

You ignored his comment, though the corners of your mouth twitched in amusement. “Here you go, telling lies. Unlike you, I am responsible—something you wouldn’t understand.” 

Rafe’s smirk widened, his blue eyes locked on yours as you worked. “Yeah? Is that why you spent half the night trying to avoid me?” He tilted his head. “You’re terrible at it, by the way.”

“Maybe I was avoiding you because I knew you’d do something stupid. And look, I was right.”

“So, you were watching me all night, huh? Didn’t realize I was that distracting.”

“More like I could sense the chaos coming from a mile away,” you shot back, the corner of your mouth twitching despite your best efforts not to smile.

“Admit it, you’d miss me if I didn’t cause a little chaos.”

You snorted, playfully nudging his good shoulder. “Miss you? I think my life would be way more peaceful.”

He gave a dramatic sigh, clutching his chest with his uninjured hand. “Wow. You really know how to wound a guy. If I wasn’t already bandaged, I’d need another one for my heart.”

You smirked, shaking your head. “Please, Rafe. You’ve got an ego the size of this entire house. I think your heart’s just fine.”

He chuckled, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Maybe. But you like me this way.”

“Oh, do I now?” You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “And what makes you think that?”

Rafe leaned in just a little more, that teasing grin still plastered on his face. “Because, no matter how much you complain, you’re always right here. Taking care of me. Telling me I’m an idiot. It’s kind of your thing.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, though the sass in your voice was playful. “It’s called charity work, Rafe. I should be getting paid for dealing with you.”

He laughed, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before flicking back up. “Oh, I’ll pay you back. Trust me.”

You tilted your head, giving him a sly smile. “Yeah? And how exactly are you gonna do that?”

Rafe’s grin widened at your challenge, his eyes gleaming with mischief. He shifted a little closer, the air between you growing even more charged. “Oh, you’ll see, princess. But you’ll have to be patient. I know that’s not your strong suit.”

You rolled your eyes, scoffing as you leaned back on the bed, crossing your legs. “Patience? With you? That’s asking for a miracle, Cameron.”

He chuckled, his hand resting just beside your thigh. “Miracle? More like a blessing. I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you, and you know it.”

You shot him a look, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Best thing? Don’t flatter yourself. You’re like a stray dog that keeps following me around, begging for attention.”

Rafe smirked, leaning in so his face was closer to yours, his voice dropping low. "And you love the attention. Don’t act like you don’t.”

“Please, the only thing I love is the peace and quiet I get when you’re not around.”

He let out a mock gasp, putting a hand over his chest. “Ouch. Again.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Dramatic again. Besides, you can dish it out, but you can’t take it.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, that cocky grin never leaving his face. “Me? Can’t take it? You must be thinking of someone else, sweetheart. I can take anything you throw at me.”

You leaned in a little, matching his energy. “Anything? That sounds like a challenge.”

He tilted his head, his blue eyes locking onto yours, full of playful intensity. “It is. Go ahead, try me. What’ve you got?”

You pursed your lips, pretending to think for a moment before smirking. “Alright. How about this? For starters, you’re predictable. Every time something doesn’t go your way, you throw a tantrum or a punch, like you’re still a spoiled little boy.”

Rafe’s smirk didn’t falter, if anything, it grew. “Predictable? That’s rich, coming from someone who’s always acting like she doesn’t care when we both know she does.”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “I don’t care. I just know how to deal with your dramatics.”

“Right. That’s why you followed me up here, bandaged my hand, and now you’re sitting here flirting with me,” Rafe said, his tone smug.

You blinked, caught off guard for a second. “Flirting? Don’t confuse taking care of your stupidity with flirting, Cameron.”

He leaned even closer, his lips just inches from yours now, his voice a low, teasing whisper. “Oh, so this isn’t flirting?”

You bit your lip, fighting the heat rising in your cheeks. “No. This is me being nice because you’re too dumb to take care of yourself.”

“Sure it is,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that husky tone that always made your heart race. “You’re really bad at hiding it, you know.”

You raised an eyebrow, challenging him. “Hiding what?”

Rafe grinned, his gaze flickering down to your lips for a split second before meeting your eyes again. “How much you like being around me.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “You’re delusional. I’m just here so Topper doesn’t kill you for bleeding all over his stuff.”

“Uh-huh,” Rafe replied, his thumb lightly tracing circles on your thigh, the gesture casual but full of tension. “And I’m sure you’d leave the second I’m patched up, right?”

You blinked, but your voice didn’t waver as you answered, “Absolutely. As soon as I’m done here, I’m out.”

“Really?” His eyes sparkled with challenge, his breath warm on your skin. “Then why haven’t you left yet?”

You faltered, trying to keep your cool, but his proximity was intoxicating. “Because... You needed help for your hand and I couldn't let you be miserable.”

Rafe chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours. “Always gotta get the last word, huh?”

“Someone has to,” you shot back, but your voice was quieter, less sharp as the tension between you both thickened.

He watched you for a long moment, his gaze intense but soft at the same time. Then, with that infuriating smirk still on his face, he leaned back slightly. “Alright, I’ll let you win this round. But don’t think I didn’t notice how close you got just now.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up from the bed. “I was checking your hand, not getting close to you.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, princess,” he teased, watching you as you walked toward the bathroom to put away the bandages.

You turned back to him, shaking your head with a smile. “You’re annoying.”

“And yet, you keep coming back,” Rafe quipped, standing up and stretching.

And he was right…

tags: @glors3 @mattyskies @cutiebuety @sumlovesjude @dilfluvr4ever @cooper8224 @octaviareina @imawhoretho @drewscoquette @cutiebuety @gracelynnmarielester @amourfolklore @gillybear17 @rafestaurusgf @meekmillsfrenchfries @auriellawp @urdreamgirl12 @katie-the-author @love1deandra @rafecameroninterlude @stargrltara @stupendousturt1e

[blue-jisungs]

soft-hearted jealousy

#author's note ... i love wonwoo so fucking much did i ever guys tell u that. anywho this one is for zanzan bc i got inspired when we watched the kode ep <//3 and big big biiiig shout out to my beloved @l3visbby for proofreading <3 love u mother

#summary ... you're a little jealous of wonwoo n kerias frienship<//3

#word count ... 986

pssst the fic is referencing this cute vid:( wonwoo looked so good in it btw like what the actual fuck. also keria is my height and i fainted when i saw them hug bye

the door opened with a soft click and then all you could hear was soft patting of wonwoo’s footsteps against the wooden floor. 

sighing, you switched youtube to instagram and tried to act unbothered. but how could you? a reel of a new video featuring your fiancé popped out. a video you have just watched and it made you… a little jealous. 

“bedroom?” wonwoo called, trying to locate you. 

“yea” you hummed back, loudly enough for him to hear you. scrolling down, you noticed another reel. 

the love of your life with a cute, gamer boy. 

puffing your cheeks, you decided to exit instagram as well and check if you had any mails or texts. 

wonwoo entered the room, a small crease between his brows. 

“is everything alright, darling?” he asked, voice smooth as honey. which pissed you off even more. how dares he sound so attractive when you’re mad at him? 

“yes” you grunted a little too sulkily, drawing his attention. 

“oh really? because you didn’t run up to me once i entered the house” wonwoo teased and walked up to the bed, stretching his arms. you lost the battle with yourself and watched him, biting the inside of your cheek. how could one look so good in a plain white t-shirt and jeans? 

“yeah, im fine. how was your day?” you sighed and looked away once you saw he noticed your gaze. with a small smirk, he laid down next to you. the mattress dipped under his weight but that restored the balance – it somehow felt empty when he wasn’t there before. 

“it was good. me and mingyu did a live… i talked to my new friend… we might play a bit today” he answered, eyes tracing your face “oh, the video is out! did you see it?”

you hated how excited he was. and how much you liked it. keria is… 

“cute. i liked it” you mumbled and turned his back to him, fighting a smile. this is ridiculous. 

but it’s just not fair that wonwoo looked so handsome in that video and threw some flirty comments. he was so cocky in it too… 

“cute? yeah, keria is so adorable” wonwoo chuckled and you looked at him through your arm, shooting him a glare “what? what is it?” 

“nothing” you grunted. wonwoo’s lips broke into a grin, finally figuring you out. 

“something is clearly wrong. come on, talk to me” he purred, his hand sneaking its way under your t-shirt. 

“you looked good in the vid” grunting, you tried to surpass a smile. the warmth of his skin on yours sent shivers down your spine but your tried to remain calm. and not fold. 

“really? thank you, darling. keria said he liked my jacket” your fiancé hummed and leaned a bit closer, fingers tapping gently against your ribs. 

you couldn’t control the huff that left your lips. 

“we got along really well, i like his company. he’s so sweet” wonwoo continued to tease you and apparently that did the trick. 

“if he’s so sweet why don’t you date him, hm?” murmuring, you tried to hide your face in the pillow. wonwoo’s fingers ghosting over your skin in a circular motion made you melt, making it impossible not to crack.

“oh?” 

“forget it. go play your stupid games” you scoffed and wanted to move further away from him but wonwoo was quicker. he pulled you closer, calloused hands resting on your hips. 

“are you, perhaps… and i might be wrong here… jealous?” wonwoo’s cat-like adorned his features and you turned around, finally facing him. ebony eyes looking at you with amusement but also love, so much love, in them.

“yes, you’re wrong” you finally broke and cracked a smile, poking his buff chest. wonwoo tenderly grabbed your hand, placing it flat against his chest. his heartbeat softly drummed beneath your palm, making heat rise to your cheeks.

“come on, you know i would never…” he started and you shook your head. 

“it’s stupid and not that serious” you whined, covering your face with your other hand “it’s not the way you were… so flirty… and charming…”

“oh, pretty” wonwoo laughed wholeheartedly, the warm sound of his laughter bouncing off the walls of your shared bedroom. 

you leaned closer and hid your face in his chest, the smell of cologne filling your nostrils. his tender hands moved to the back of your neck, massaging it gently. 

“i made my angel jealous… by talking to my friend?” wonwoo sighed dramatically and you could hear the smile blooming on his lips. 

“it wasn’t just talking! you were so flirty…” your voice was a bit muffled by the material of his t-shirt “or i just… don’t know. you were really something that day, you know? so what if i’m a little jealous, i just don’t want to share you with the world… that much” 

wonwoo’s heart skipped a beat and he observed how you raised your head up. eyes meeting his, cheeks dusted with pink. you were so cute like that… cuter than keria. 

“can i make it up to you?” he hummed, hands trailing to cup your face. 

“a kiss. and no flirting with others, even if it’s a cute guy” you pouted and wonwoo leaned, capturing your soft lips in a sweet kiss. 

before you had a chance to deepen the kiss, he leaned away with a small frown. 

“but you do admit he’s cute, right?” your fiancé asked and you smacked his chest lightly.

“i wish we could adopt him” you laughed, and a grin formed on wonwoo’s face. 

“i’m afraid he’s a little too old for that…'' hiding his face in your hair, you decided to wrap your arms around his waist. 

“he’s 21… still a baby…” you huffed and shortly after, the sound of your laughs mixed in harmony. you guessed you might forgive him, it wasn’t really serious in the first place. 

masterlist <3

taglist. @mirxzii ,, @primoppang ,, @l3visbby ,, @nicholasluvbot ,, @planetkiimchi ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @slytherinshua ,, @kazmura ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @mon2sunjinsuver,, @eternalgyu ,, @rubywonu ,, @haecien ,,@mine-gyu ,, @nonononranghaee

[itadorey]

𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐓— gojo satoru

pairing: gojo satoru x gn reader summary: rumor has it you're dating gojo satoru genre: fluff, friends to lovers, misunderstandings, humor(?) notes: i just think he's the type of dude to do this, sort of an au bc geto never goes rogue. HAPPY BIRTHDAY GOJO !! wc: ~1.8k

"hey, wanna go get lunch?"

you come to a stop when you hear a low voice, turning around just in time to see gojo approach you. his hair is styled, you note, white strands falling gracefully and framing his face in a way that you haven't seen since the two of you were in high school. his usual blindfold is nowhere to be seen, and your eyebrows furrow slightly when you notice a new pair of sunglasses perched on the slope of his nose.

"what?"

"do you want to join me for lunch?" he asks, leaning against the wall as you glance at the time on your phone. you tuck it back into your pocket before looking at the folder in your hand, turning to glance in the direction of your office before giving gojo a nod.

"sure! just let me drop this off in my office, yeah?" you say, smiling when he nods in agreement. "i'll be quick and on the way back i'll stop and ask shoko if she wants to join us."

you whirl back around to make your way to your office, only to be stopped when gojo clears his throat.

"actually, i meant you," he begins, shoulders tense as he motions to you with his hand before pointing to himself. "and me. just us getting lunch at that cafe you really like."

"oh! okay, yeah that sounds good," you chirp, feeling slightly confused as you give him a little thumbs up. he relaxes at your words, nodding slightly as he watches you. "i'll be right back and than we can head out!"

gojo's eyes never leave your form as you disappear down the walkway, and he takes a few deep breathes before turning around and slipping his phone out of his pocket before sending a text to shoko and suguru.

satoru: they said yes.

lunch at the cafe ends with you and gojo meeting up at the end of the day and getting dinner as well. it isn't until you're out of breath, laughing way too hard over a silly story gojo shares with you, that you realize that the two of you haven't hung out together in a long time.

high school is probably the last time you can recall going out with gojo alone. the difference in your skill levels meant that the two of you didn't really cross paths after graduating, especially with the way that gojo always seemed to be sent out on mission after mission by the higher ups. any and all hangouts were usually coordinated by shoko or suguru, and most of the time gojo wasn't able to have a full conversation with you due to having to take care of a more-than-tipsy suguru.

you can't help but focus on the way your heart seems to ache with longing as you watch gojo laugh along with you, and it's in that moment that you realize that you've missed the teasing, smug boy that you knew well before life became just a little bit more cruel. the way he looks at you after your laughter dies down makes you wonder if he missed you as well.

"here's your check!"

"oh, thank you," you say to the waiter, reaching over to grab the slim book. gojo's hand intercepts your path, snatching the check presents away before you can even attempt to stop him. "hey!"

"dinner's on me," he says with a grin, sliding his card into the clear sleeve before handing it back to the waiter. your eyes remain locked on gojo even as the waiter walks away, a scowl on your face as you stare him down.

"you paid for lunch," you state, your eyes darting down to his lips when they pull up into a slight smirk.

"yeah."

"so dinner was supposed to be on me," you argue, clamping your mouth shut when the waiter returns with gojo's card. he takes it from him with a smile, messily signing the receipt before sliding out of his seat. his lips part into a handsome grin as he holds an arm out to you, eyes sparkling as he waits for you to link your arm with his. you rise from your seat reluctantly, gingerly slipping your hand into the crook of his elbow and letting him lead you outside.

it isn't until he's holding the door open for you, watching as you cross the threshold, that he finally speaks once more, tilting his face down to let you catch a glimpse of the teasing glint in his eye.

"besides, what kind of date would i be if i let you pay?"

gojo seems to become a permanent fixture in your life after your shared lunch and dinner.

you can't find it in yourself to complain about the new development, especially not when you're standing in your kitchen and you feel gojo's hand press against your lower back as he squeezes past you, giving you a soft smile as he tries to steal a bite of whatever you're cooking. those nights usually end with you swatting at him until you push him out of the kitchen, rolling your eyes and ignoring the way your heart lurches when he wraps his arms around you in a loose hug in an attempt to tug you along with him.

hangouts with shoko and suguru also become more common, and the four of you often find yourselves meeting up for drinks or a movie night, sometimes joined by nanami when he deigns to grace you with his presence. it's during these times that your emotions get the best of you, seeing everyone talking and laughing so happily that it almost feels like nothing ever went wrong. like amanai riko and fushiguro toji never happened.

and when gojo notices your sudden quietness and wordlessly wraps an arm around your shoulders to tuck you close to his side, you feel yourself falling just a little bit more for the white-haired sorcerer.

you're not surprised to find out that somewhere along the way, you've fallen for gojo satoru. a part of you believes that it was inevitable; he's always shone so brightly, drawing people in regardless of whether or not they're aware of the fact. you just happen to be the latest victim.

although your heart yearns to be closer to him, you know that you're content with being nothing more than friends. satoru is someone who is easy to admire, and you're all too happy to admire from a distance, content to bask in the tenderness that accompanies every friendly moment you've shared with him thus far. his status as a special grade sorcerer also takes up a large portion his life, and you fear that attempting to be anything more than friends with him would only end in you being a distraction.

but that all changes three months after the dinner with satoru that started it all.

"you're both late."

"sorry about that!" you apologize, giving shoko a sheepish smile as you slide into the seat satoru had pulled out for you. his knee bumps against your thigh as he takes his own seat, and you feel your smile grow a little wider when he leaves it resting against your own.

"what? were the two of you too busy making out in his car or something?" suguru chimes in, stifling a laugh when he sees your eyes go wide. you don't get the chance to respond as the waiter approaches, and you're saved the embarrassment of attempting to stutter out your drink order when satoru butts in and says it for you.

suguru wiggles his eyebrows playfully as you give him a flat look, and your mild annoyance dissipated when you feel satoru take your hand in his as he begins to play with your fingers. easy conversation begins to flow, and before you know it, you're enjoying your favorite drink and teasing suguru for the things he drunkenly did at your last get-together.

"so," shoko begins once there's a lull in the conversation, eyes glinting mischievously as she lets her gaze flit between you and satoru. "now that it's been a couple months i gotta say, i didn't think satoru would ever actually work up the courage to ask you out to lunch."

"what do you mean?" you ask, missing the way satoru's hand freezes against yours.

"i just didn't think he'd actually go through with it," shoko says with a shrug. "but i gotta say, i'm glad the two of you are dating. you both seem a lot happier lately and it's nice to see."

"dating?" you ask, tensing up at her words. the entire table seems to freeze at your question, and you're met with confused expressions from everyone as you glance around the table.

"yeah," shoko answers cautiously, sharing a bewildered look with suguru.

"what?" you ask dumbly, blinking slowly before turning to satoru just in time to see him nodding. "since when."

"since," shoko says, pulling out her phone and scrolling through some messages. she hums when she finds what she's looking for, turning the screen to show you a message from satoru three months back saying "they said yes". "three months ago according to this text."

"what?" you repeat, shaking your head lightly to try and gather your thoughts.

"yeah," satoru says quietly, a soft laugh leaving his lips as he lets go of your hand. "i asked you out on a date."

"no, you didn't," you say in response, turning your body to face him.

"yes, i did," he insists, running a hand through his hair before pointing to shoko's phone. "three months ago. lunch at the cafe, remember?"

"you asked me to eat lunch with you. you never said it was a date!"

"oh, i didn't?" he asks, head tilting slightly to the side as he tries to remember.

"no!"

"oops!"

"what do you mean 'oops!'," you hiss, leaning back in your seat as you cross your arms. "this entire time i've been dealing with my feelings for you only to find out that you've been telling people we've been together this entire time!"

"well is it too late to ask you to accept all our hangouts these past few months as dates?" he asks cheekily, grinning at your confession. you huff at his words, softening slightly when he leans forward to rest his head against your shoulder. "please?"

"fine," you mutter, squeaking when he leans up to press a kiss to your cheek. the laughs from shoko and suguru remind you that the two of you aren't alone, and you feel your cheeks heat up when the realization that they've witnessed everything hits.

"well," you start, raising your gaze to finally address shoko's original comment about your (new?) relationship. your breath catches in your throat when satoru lifts your joined hands, pressing a kiss to your knuckles and earning a smug smile from suguru. "i gotta say, i'm also very glad that the two of us are dating."

satoru snorts at your words, and you roll your eyes as he lets go of your hand to wrap his arm around you. his gaze doesn't leave you as he speaks, even though his words are also in response to shoko.

"yeah, i'm definitely happier."

reblogs are appreciated <3 ty for reading!!

[peachhcs]

we need more macklin fics and fluff bc that one was actually so cute. i need more asap 🩷

sorority formal

still debating if i should make a macklin au to add to my samy + will verse (HAHA my own fanfic verse??) but here’s some more fluff between the lovely rookie and his gf from santa clara university :) — also cleaning out my inbox so that’s why i’ve posted four times in a row LOL

also if this is bad i’m so sorry. i lowkey awkwardly switch between 2nd person and 3rd person pov sometimes so apologies for that. otherwise, i’m really starting to like writing about mack 😌 (slight allusion to sex but there’s no sex actually described just kissing)

masterlist

macklin had never been to a college sorority formal before, nor did he really understand what it was or what to expect, but he agreed to be your date nonetheless. plus, the look on your face was hard to say no to when you asked him two weeks ago.

the brunette was in his room trying to find the right suit to wear while will sat in the corner on his phone. he knew a little bit from when he was at boston, but he never found any interest in going to those frat and sorority parties, so the rookie was a bit in the dark when it came to this stuff.

will wasn’t much help either.

“i dunno man. i’ve never been to a sorority formal before. i assume it’s the same as any other formal? i’ve been to samy’s soccer banquet,” will shrugged, watching his friend try on his third suit.

“y/n said to just wear something neutral. her dress is pink i think,” macklin explained as he examined the dark navy suit in the mirror.

“i think that looks fine. navy and pink go well?” will nodded.

“i’m kind of nervous. is that bad? i don’t really know what to expect,” obviously, he didn’t want to make y/n look like a fool at her own sorority, so the boy’s nerves were at an all time high at the moment. what if he did something stupid?

“samy texted me back and she said it’s like prom but for college. there will be food and drinks and then you dance if you want. some sororities will do speeches or superlatives,” will read off the text his girlfriend just sent him.

“oh, okay. that’s not too bad then. i’ll be fine,” macklin assured himself and decided on the navy blue suit.

“yeah, it will be chill. you basically get to spend a whole night with your girlfriend,” will grinned and the brunette couldn’t help but smile at the thought. he hadn’t seen you in a few days because of your crazy busy schedules, so having this night to yourselves would be nice.

“yeah, you’re right. it will be chill and we’ll have fun,”macklin was basically saying positive affirmations to himself at this point which made will chuckle. he stood up to help his friend with his suit.

“don’t even sweat it, dude. she’s gonna love you,” the blonde assured and if will thought so, then macklin was gonna believe it.

once he was finished getting dressed, he grabbed his phone to let you know he was on his way over to your dorm. the boy rushed through the house, double checking his pockets that he had phone (check), keys (check), wallet (check), and a small bouquet he decided picking up for you because he knew you liked flowers.

“knock ‘em dead!” will called from the porch as macklin got into his car.

the brunette drove the short drive to the university. being new to driving in the states still and the nerves about tonight made his hands a bit shaky as he turned onto the drive that led to your dorm. he didn’t need to sweat this. it was you. y/n. his girlfriend. there was no reason for him to be nervous about some sorority formal.

he parked in the lot and climbed out, doing a third check that he had all of his belongings. you were waiting in the lobby for him after getting his text about being on his way. the hockey player stopped in his tracks though when he laid eyes on you.

your strapless, silky dress stopped around your ankles where he could see your pretty white heels. your hair was down like it usual was and macklin was pretty sure his pupils turned to hearts.

“hi,” you grinned when he got closer.

“hi..wow..you look..” the boy lost his words making you laugh.

“you look pretty..wow,” you complimented his navy suit.

“s-so do you. wow..i..i’m in awe,” he admitted earning a bright blush on your cheeks.

“you’re sweet. are these for me?” you noticed the bouquet wobbling in his hands. the brunette quickly flushed and handed them over to you.

“yes, sorry. they are.”

you admired the pretty pink and red petals, “thank you. these are pretty. wanna come up for a second so i can put them in water?” it wasn’t really a question because macklin was going to follow you regardless.

the two of you stepped into the elevator. mack’s nerves were now because of how beautiful you looked beside him and he didn’t know how to express it other than telling you and the building desire to kiss you. he followed you down to your dorm. your roommate grinned at him.

“hey mack,” maya waved.

“hey maya,” he waved back.

“look, he brought me flowers,” you showed maya the pretty bouquet.

“wow, brownie points for the hockey player,” she teased a bit which made him flush. he watched you find a vase and fill it with water from your bathroom. you came back out and placed the flowers into the vase.

“like them?” you asked for his opinion.

“i like them,” he nodded.

“i’ll put them by my desk for now. thank you, again,” you pecked his cheek.

“of course,” the boy was glad you liked them and he was glad he decided on getting them the other day because the smile on your face was so worth it after spending an hour at the store trying to pick them out.

“okay, we’re gonna head out now. we’ll be back later,” you called to maya who threw up a thumbs up.

“have fun! don’t get too drunk.”

you went back down the elevator and then out of the building where you latched your arm with mack’s. he rubbed your hand and leaned in to kiss your forehead.

“it’s not far from here,” you explained as you led the way.

“i’ve never been to one of these before,” the boy admitted a bit nervously.

“don’t worry, it’s so chill. you’ll get to meet some of my sorority sisters, we’ll eat, dance, drink some, and then we can leave whenever,” you explained and it eased some of mack’s nerves a bit more hearing you explain it. as much as he appreciated samy’s brief explanation, he also liked hearing it come from your lips too.

the two of you came up on one of the college bars in the area. it was already blasting music that could be heard from outside. macklin followed you inside where you were immediately greeted with security to check your ids. you both got little x’s on your hands meaning neither of you were 21. mack’s gaze flicked around the space that was dimly lit and pumping base through his bones.

“omg, y/n, hey!” a girl greeted you.

“hi jen, you look gorgeous!” you admired your friend’s dress.

“no you do! is this your boyfriend?” she turned her attention to mack.

“yes, this is macklin,” you gripped his arm again and the boy managed a tiny smile.

“nice to meet you. i’m jen, the sorority president. come on in. we have food in the back and drinks at the bar so get whatever,” jen explained.

you quickly led macklin to the back because you were starving. the boy watched you take a plate so he copied whatever you did. you laughed at his behavior.

“don’t be so nervous, mack.”

“sorry. just getting used to it all,” he said. he’d never been into a bar before because he wasn’t old enough first of all and if he was caught underage drinking he’d definitely get a mean punishment from his coach.

“it’s okay. it’s overwhelming, but i’m right here remember,” you assured and some of the worries eased hearing you say that. macklin offered a grateful smile as he followed your lead with the food and then followed you to a seat.

you sat with some other girls and their dates which got all of you quickly talking. the more you talked, the more comfortable macklin became and flushed when a few people recognized him as a hockey player. being next to you made him feel a lot more comfortable too. seeing you look so calm and content helped him do the same and by the time you were done eating, he was having a full conversation with some of the guys without you involved.

“let’s get pictures!” one girl exclaimed when she came around with her camera.

you pulled mack up. he eagerly wrapped his arm around your waist, the two of you smiling wide as the flash went off—almost blinding you guys because it was so bright and the room was so dark.

“aw, you guys look adorable,” the girl spun the camera around so you could see the preview. macklin quickly kissed your cheek.

“i love it, thanks,” you said.

you guys ventured back towards the center of the dance floor to start dancing along with the others. macklin was big on getting to dance, so he took full advantage, urging you to join his energy. you giggled at the way he bounced on his feet and pulled out his best dance moves for you.

when everyone started coming onto the floor, it got warm fast so the brunette lost his suit jacket leaving him in just his dress shirt that was almost halfway unbuttoned by now. his arms were around your waist, the two of you swaying to the beat and being in your own world together.

any anxiety the rookie felt earlier had completely disappeared being in the center of the dance floor with you. all that mattered to him was you in his arms as he spun you around.

“did i tell you how gorgeous you look?” the boy leaned in closer as he spoke over the music.

“you did, yes,” you grinned.

“well i’ll tell you again. you look gorgeous. prettiest girl here,” his words earned a bright blush on your cheeks.

“you’re too sweet, mack.”

“i’m serious, y/n/n. you’re beautiful,” he leaned in closer, still wanting that kiss he hadn’t gotten yet. you saw his request and closed the gap.

the two of you shared a sweet kiss, not caring that there were others around you or watching. your lips felt like heaven against the hockey player’s. he never wanted to let you go, but forced himself to to get some air back into his lungs.

“i could kiss you forever,” he mumbled.

“me too,” and you reconnected your lips for another quick kiss. mack’s hands wandered a bit lower towards your hips and then swiping over your ass. a giggle left your lips at his behavior.

“we should save this for the dorm,” you smiled while directing him away for now. a little pout appeared, but he understood and let you go.

the music picked up again and it had him spinning you around once more. because all of his focus was on hockey growing up, the brunette’s never had an experience of going to an end of the year dance or prom or anything, so he was glad he was getting to make this up with you right now.

as the night winded down, you and macklin decided to leave. he threw his suit jacket over your shoulders for the quick five minute walk back to your dorm. you appreciated his gesture, tugging it closer to your body to hide yourself from the semi-cold evening temperatures.

“thanks for coming tonight,” you smiled as you rode the elevator.

“of course. i had a lot of fun. thanks for bringing me,” mack returned your smile.

“i’m glad you did. better get ready for next semester,” you teased a bit and mack’s heart swelled just a little bit at the idea of coming back to your formal because that meant you wanted him enough to stick around for the next one.

he knew what you two had meant a lot to both of you, but sometimes he got in his head just a little bit wondering if he was good enough for you or not enough because he was some big shot hockey player and he knew what everyone thought about hockey players. he worried he wasn’t the one for you even though you were 100% the one for him. he knew it from the day he met you, so hearing you say that made him burst with joy.

maya wasn’t in the dorm, probably taking the hint that you guys wanted the room to yourselves. macklin was glad because he wanted to continue that kissing you guys were doing earlier.

he watched you hang up his suit jacket like you did every time he brought his suits with him and kick your shoes off. he followed suit and then didn’t waste another second bringing your lips to his again.

that urge he’s had all night only got stronger the more he kissed you. you reciprocated all of his actions and unspoken wants, pulling your hand through his pretty brunette locks and running your hand down his chest.

“i love you,” the boy mumbled between kisses.

“i love you,” you breathed.

he found your gaze for a second, wondering if this was right. wondering if you were sure about him. his thoughts were answered though when you grabbed ahold of his face to kiss him again and lead him to your bed.

needless to say, all of his anxieties were eased by the end of the night and the love he had for you had never been bigger.

[ohmtoff]

Creep

Nick Sturniolo x OC smut

Summary: Nick tried to take a picture of a hot stranger in the grocery store, but when his flash went off, Ethan, the hot man in question, used Nick’s clumsiness for his own advantage

Contains: Anal sex, bottom!nick, top!oc, oral sex, spanking (very minor, not explicit), unsafe sex, barebacking, unconsensual photo taking, fingering, rimming, hair pulling, light dom/sub, dirty talk, slight crying during sex, overstimulation

Word count: 5,078 words

Disclaimers: minors dni. will contain grammar mistakes, english isn't my first language. this is FICTION, always use protection during sex, never take a pic of a stranger without their consent.

a/n: this was partly made bc i cant get over the idea of larray tara and nick as a trio like IM GNA LOSE IT. the tiktok talked about was (https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSF8YxXn6/) its so funny i need to include it.

——————————————————————————

Nick laughs, reading Larray’s last message about a tiktok he found of a guy pretending to be called gay in middle school and his friend defending him, both of them relating to that video strongly.

He tries to reign in his grin, as he’s on a supermarket trying to buy groceries, and laughing to yourself is just plain weird, so he forces himself to press his lips together as Larray and Tara sent jokes that make his belly hurt. He briefly takes his eyes off the string of messages, hearing a loud cough, and clocks grey sweatpants on strong thighs. He’s interested, immediately, checking out the rest of the tall boy who is standing next to him by the snack aisle, holding onto his cart. A black short sleeved compression shirt defining his strong chest and bicep, complimenting bouncy and slightly curly brown hair, a face adorning deep brown eyes that could pass for both handsome or pretty, and veiny hands that make Nick’s mind wander. He texts the group.

jacob elordi brainrot

Nick: hottest. guy. ever. in the grocery store

Larray: ???? not possible, I’m at home 

Tara: ew

Larray: rude

Tara: anyways

Tara: PHOTO

Larray: how hot?

Nick: grey sweats and compression shirt hot

Larray: PHOTO

Tara: PHOTO

Nick: I can’t take a pic guys that’s creepy

Larray: PHOTO

Tara: PHOTO

Nick: No

Tara: come oooonnnn PHOTO

Nick: ugh fine

It didn’t take much for them to convince Nick because he knows he actually really wants to take a picture of the hottie to his right, for scientific purposes of course. Nick makes sure his phone is on silent before he angles it, tipping it back a little as he hopes he captures most of the guy. He tries to look at others on the store, rather than focus on what he’s doing, thumb moving around where he thinks the snapshot button is until – flash – the bright white light of his camera lights up the entire back case of his phone. 

Nick feels his heart catch in the back of his throat, and he’s slow in moving his hand, the immediate humiliation making him freeze. He can’t help but look at the stranger, and he sees how he takes in Nick’s obvious creeper shot, Nick feeling the anxiety coarse through him at lightning speed.

He’s fearful as the stranger frowns, stepping over to him, and Nick slightly backs up immediately.

“I’m - ”

“Did you just take a photo of me?” the stranger asks, and Nick thinks his face may melt, the shame of his actions making him lie, shaking his head silently.

“You didn’t?” the stranger asks, even more handsome, prettier, up close, but he’s clearly unimpressed by Nick’s rudeness, and Nick is panicking, brain drawing blanks.

“I…” Nick gapes, looking for the words, “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” the stranger demands forcefully, grabbing Nick’s phone, Nick gasping at that, but too embarrassed to fight it. The boy doesn’t look through Nick’s phone, just holds it and stares at Nick accusingly, Nick having to shrug, truly embarrassed and he feels pairs of eyes on his back judging him. 

“Come with me,” the stranger demands, still holding Nick’s phone, making his way to ut of the store, both of their carts abandoned. Nick doesn’t have much of a choice if he values his phone, and he follows, ashamed.

“I am sorry,” he pants, keeping up with the other boy’s pace, “can I have it back?”

The stranger slows down slightly, starting to look through the phone. Nick realises with horror that his phone isn’t locked, as he kept the camera open, and he reaches to grab his phone back, but the stranger is tall, holding it higher as he clicks on the incoming messages.

Larray: PHOTO!!! What’s with the silence girl? You better be sucking his dick!

Tara: PHOTO

The stranger scrolls up, Nick groaning in embarrassment, watching him read Nick’s earlier messages about how hot he is.

“Seriously creepy,” he shakes his head, deep voice just making it even worse as Nick cringes, “you’re perving on me in the store and taking my photo without my consent?”

“I’m genuinely sorry,” Nick said, his voice tinged with guilt, “I’ll delete it immediately and leave.”

The boy is doing something on his phone and Nick attempts to grab it back, but still, he’s too slow, still not tall enough.

“Ah ah,” the stranger tuts, “don’t worry. I was just sending your friends the creepy photo.” Nick starts to feel a little sick with anxiety, just wanting this to be over. He is never, ever listening to both his friends again. He’s frustrated and desperate, and in a fit of anger, he flounces off, “keep the fucking phone,” he rages, regretting it instantly, but he has no choice but to continue walking, leaving his very badly needed phone in the hands of another man. You idiot, you’re a public figure, what if he does something to your socials, he screams internally

“Hey!” Nick hears, “come back here.” He stops, and looks at the stranger with anxiety, his face hot from the embarrassment as he awkwardly walks back. Nick is confident that now his phone will be given back to him and he is secretly relieved, knowing he can’t afford to walk away and leave his public image in the hands of a stranger. He isn’t sure how he’d explain that to his brothers.

“You could make it up to me,” the boy suggests, and Nick looks at him properly, the smirk on his mouth and the way his eyes move, seemingly resting on Nick’s crotch.

“W – what?” Nick stammers, blushing, and the guy shrugs.

“You think I’m hot,” he states, “I think you’re hot, too.”

Nick chuckles nervously, unsure, a little scared this is some bizarre prank, but the boy is so sincere, nothing about him suggesting this is a joke. Nick has seen the look he has in his eyes in many boys and men, who Nick has flirted with and fucked before, but this is the first time Nick’s ever felt so drawn to another.

“I live near here,” the boy gestures, “I can think of a few things you can do for me to make up for your lack of manners.”

Nick wants to tell him to fuck off, wipe the slightly arrogant smirk off his face, but the confident way the guy stands, waiting on Nick’s response, his certainty, is making Nick’s dick twitch in interest, in want.

“Whatever,” the man smiles, casually slipping the phone back into Nick’s pocket before shrugging again, sauntering off, leaving Nick stood in the middle of the parking lot, torn between walking away – and he knows, he knows, kicking himself for it – or running after this guy desperately, letting him know how badly he wants him to make good on his promises.

He’s about to disappear when Nick makes a snap decision and runs after him, panting as he catches up, the boy turning to look at him from his car as he hears footsteps, bursting out in a laughter, his grin taking up his entire face. Nick readjusts his sweater.

“I’m horny, don’t – don’t get cocky,” he mutters, but the other boy doesn’t say a word, just makes Nick feel dizzy with a long look as he opens the passenger seat of his car and motion for Nick to get inside. 

“Nick, right?” he asks, as he hops in and shut the door of the drivers seat, and Nick nods, assuming he saw his name on the messages, “I’m Ethan.”

Nick was going to respond but his eyes catches the way Ethan’s seatbelt tightens on his pecs and Nick almost drooled. His eyes traveled upward to see this adonis-like man smirking and Nick swiftly turned his head towards the road. The drive to the apartment was short and thankfully not awkward due to the music playing, but Nick was still sweating even with the air conditioner on because oh my god he’s so fucking hot, is that his huge dick print on his sweatpants? Fuck, his veins are so visible why are his fingers so LONG? that shit can reach my tonsi-

His thoughts were interrupted by the car finally parked at the other man’s house. Both of them walked towards the door with haste and no words exchanged, eyes focused on going inside.

Ethan unlocked the door and let Nick in, the latter unable to get a word out before Ethan’s mouth flew towards his, and he’s harsh and fast and demanding, so Nick matches it, kissing Ethan like he needs it, and maybe he does. Ethan is shoving him into what Nick assumes is his bedroom, pulling off Nick’s sweater, as Nick yanks that heavenly tight shirt, until they meet Ethan’s bed and Ethan throws him down on it. He watches, heart racing, as Ethan pulls down his jeans, pulling at them forcefully, yanking them off as Nick helps him, pulling him back down for a kiss. Nick’s never known someone kiss this way; unyielding and demanding as he grabs Nick’s head and devours him, Nick pulling back at Ethan’s tangled hair, until Ethan grabs him wrists and pins them down.

Nick can’t help but moan, his dick hard in his briefs, because Ethan is pressing all his buttons right now. He hates the self-satisfied grin on Ethan’s smug, pretty face, but there’s no denying Nick loves it rough, which Ethan clearly does too.

“Like that, sweetheart?” Ethan asks, tongue running over his bottom lip, Nick watching it’s every moment, groaning in response, Ethan’s large hands still wrapped around delicate wrists, still pinning Nick down. Nick is fully hard and needy now, Ethan letting go of his wrists to grip each side of his face and bruise him with a kiss, Nick making the most of his new found freedom by gripping Ethan’s shoulders, nails digging in.

He’s a mess already, the curly haired man moving harsh kisses to his neck and chest as he moves down, the kisses becoming wetter, sloppier, Nick whimpering as Ethan ghosts over his clothed dick, mouthing at him teasingly.

“Please,” Nick whispers, but Ethan either doesn’t hear or ignores it, pressing feather light kisses across him, Nick beginning to peel his briefs off only to have his hands batted away.

“Do that again and I’ll tie you up,” Ethan warns, and Nick’s cock jumps at the tone in his voice, obeying, hands grabbing fistfuls of Ethan’s duvet instead to stop them from straying. Ethan stops, pushing Nick encouraging so his head is propped up, and he has little choice except to look at Ethan as he mercifully begins to strip him off his briefs. Nick’s toes curl as they’re discarded and Ethan is back between his legs, Nick waiting for the inevitable lick, looking down at Ethan as he’s forced to wait.

“What?” he asks, knowing his face is pink and he’s far gone, Ethan looking at him with playful eyes as he spreads Nick’s legs even further apart, leaning down, finally, Nick thinks, to touch his dick, but Ethan presses wet kisses and soft bites to the inside of Nick’s right thigh, moving up as he gets closer to Nick’s dick, nudging his balls with his nose and Nick is going to pass out from the feel of Ethan’s skin right there, from feeling his tongue and his little huffs of breath, whimpering embarrassingly loud as Ethan finally licks a long stripe up his dick to the tip, suckling the pre-cum collected there before he stops.

“Ethan,” Nick begs, and Ethan does the same to his left, Nick sure he’s intent on leaving bite marks on his fleshy thighs where there’s plenty for Ethan to sink his teeth into, Nick wondering if it’s possible to come from this. He’s obeying Ethan’s no touching rule, for now, and it is torture, before Ethan repeats this special form of hell – licking from Nick’s balls up to the tip of his cock, in one long, slow lick – flicking his tongue over the head, and pulling away. “This – I can’t do this,” Nick moans, “please just, give me…”

Ethan shakes his head, and Nick falls quiet, until he feels the blessed tight heat of Ethan’s mouth around his cock, Ethan sucking his dick perfectly, swirling his tongue around the head as he comes up, Nick crying out, trying his best to hold off, to wait.

“Ethan, I’m – I - ” he whines, Ethan stopping, quick and elegant as he leans up and kisses Nick’s mouth, “what’s wrong, baby?”

“Let me,” Nick gasps, trying to push Ethan down, “I want to do it to you.”

He does, too, because Ethan’s sweatpants are still on and he needs them off, wants to see Ethan’s dick and taste it in his mouth. Nick loves sucking cock, loves the feel of it in his mouth and the taste of come, and he’s good at it, wants to make Ethan whimper in the way Ethan’s made him shake.

“Yeah? You like sucking dick?” Ethan asks, unyielding, sadly, still looming over Nick and Nick gives up on trying to change their positions, not exactly hating this one, Ethan grabbing his bitten thighs as he attacks Nick’s mouth and neck with his soft lips.

“Yeah,” Nick grins, “of course.”

“Why should I let you suck me off?” Ethan asks, letting Nick’s thighs drop as he keeps Nick pinned down, kissing parts of Nick’s face that Nick doesn’t think anyone has ever kissed, always coming back to his mouth, his neck, moving to his collarbone, shoulder, biting. Nick is going to look like he’s been in a fight. Matt and Chris will have a field day when he finally turns up at home.

“Um, because – I’m great?” Nick asks, frowning, wondering what kind of weirdo turns down a blowjob, and Ethan stops so he can look at Nick, Nick continuing to be bowled over by the way Ethan’s eyes seem to burn into his skin.

“What makes you so great, pretty boy?” Ethan rasps, and Nick brings his nails down Ethan’s back.

“I look good with a cock in my mouth,” Nick teases, “and, after all, you did say I need to make it up to you.”

“You need to, don’t you?” Ethan grins, then moving so that he straddles Nick’s waist, Nick helping him pull down his sweats, Ethan standing briefly to get the fabric off his feet and boxers off before he’s shuffling up, Nick still propped up nicely by the large pillows. Nick attempts to not given Ethan the satisfaction of his astonishment at how large Ethan’s dick is, but he fails.              

“Still feeling confident, baby?” Ethan asks, hand wrapping around his cock as he plays with himself, jerking off, and Nick can’t help but lick his lips in anticipation, nodding, while he’s nervous he’s excited, knowing Ethan’s dick is going to fill him up properly, that he’ll feel the thick head knock at the back of his throat and makes his eyes water. He’s hungry for it. Ethan moves closer, knees over Nick’s shoulder as his big hand plants against the wall and his other hand hangs onto his headboard. Nick opens his mouth, ready for it, desperate for it, but he’s patient, waiting for Ethan’s say so, and Ethan makes slow, deliberate movements, wiping the leaking tip of his cock on Nick’s mouth and his cupid’s bow.

“Good boy for waiting,” Ethan praises, and Nick’s dick jumps, “you can suck it now, baby.”

Nick takes as much as he can, which is over half, but not all of it, and sucks in a hollow motion, moving back up before he forces himself to take every inch, down to Ethan’s balls, and pulls back, spluttering.

“Hey,” Ethan says, taking Nick by the chin, “take it easy, baby, don’t choke.”

“M’sorry,” Nick whispers, embarrassed, wanting to be good, to hear Ethan’s praises once more, and he’s easier with it this time, taking Ethan into his mouth and sucking him properly, rather than racing to get the entire dick inside him, and he can enjoy this, sucking Ethan at a nice, fast pace, but not too fast, getting off to the weight of Ethan’s dick and the smell of him, Ethan silent but present, running his thumbs over Nick’s cheekbones as Nick sucks his dick, happy and contented.

He mewls in protest when Ethan grabs his hair and pulls him off, trying to follow Ethan’s dick, not ready to stop, but Ethan isn’t interested, easily flipping Nick over so he’s face down on the bed. Nick waits as the pillows are wrenched from him, Ethan lifting him like a ragdoll as he puts them under Nick’s hips, Nick’s ass higher than before. Nick’s feels like he’s on fire, his skin aflame, pale but also pink with the heat, and he braces himself for Ethan’s fingers, surprised when Ethan covers him with his own body, kissing his neck.

“You’re so hot,” Ethan growls, mouth on Nick’s jaw, and Nick is sure Ethan is trying to actually eat him, “as soon as I saw you get on that aisle, the first thing I thought was, I want to fuck that boy,” Ethan smiles, Nick moaning as Ethan continues licking him, “saw your ass and thought, I bet he loves riding dick.”

Nick all but whimpers, pushing back, needy, and Ethan shows compassion, bringing his hand past Nick’s waist to curve over Nick’s ass, gripping at his hip.

“Do you? Love riding cock?” Ethan pants.

“Yeah,” Nick says, pushing his ass back to feel Ethan’s dick against it, “want me to ride you?”

“Patience, baby,” Ethan demands, pulling Nick over to kiss him, Nick moving with Ethan, not expecting the disappointed moan when Ethan leaves him, moving down and spreading Nick’s legs further apart. Nick keeps his hands up, mouth open and wet on his left hand, gripping the duvet with his other hand, and he trembles as Ethan spreads his ass open, crying out as he feels Ethan’s thumb tease over his rim, pressing down and ever so slightly inwards, teasing, always.

“I’m not a virgin,” Nick says throatily, hoping Ethan will speed up at that, the way he’s playing with Nick’s ass slow and gentle but mind melting at the same time, and Ethan just laughs at that, slapping Nick’s ass playfully with his other hand.

“I didn’t think you were,” Ethan says, voice loud in the silence of the apartment, “I still wanna take my sweet time.”

Nick whines as Ethan continues to give him something but not everything, loud as Ethan slips and pushes a finger inside of him, Nick stretching his legs, his toes, in a heavenly trance as the man explores him. He feels Ethan move, and then hears the squirt of lube, feels another finger join the first, and he gasps as Ethan scissors them, pulling them to the rim, almost fully out, as his thumb makes the gentlest of scrapes on his perineum, to his balls. Nick moans out on his hand, practically drooling.

He panics as he feels Ethan’s fingers disappear, not wanting this to be over, throwing his head back as he searches for an answer.

“Turn back around, baby,” Ethan insists, not looking at Nick, transfixed on his ass. He immediately obliges, feeling his brain mush and fill with Ethan Ethan Ethan. He feels like it’s been hours but he knows that’s untrue, and he’s ready to beg for it, for Ethan to open him again and slide his big cock inside him, but he doesn’t have to say anything as Ethan spreads him before dipping down. Nick all but screams as Ethan’s tongue licks across the rim of his hole, wet and rough. Nick instinctively tries to move forward, but he can’t; he’s facedown and Ethan’s hands are alternate from his hips to his asscheeks, spreading them again, as he eats Nick out. The rough texture of Ethan’s tongue, the way he presses his big, puffy lips on Nick’s rim is almost enough to make Nick sob. He’s holding it together, just thrusting as much as he can with the pillows underneath him and when he moves his forehead, he notices how sweaty he is, the back of his hands shining.

He yelps as Ethan pushes his tongue inside his hole and brings his hand up to the base of Nick’s spine, pressing his thumb inside of Nick to keep him slightly open. Nick is lost, utterly ruined, shook by how this stranger knows his body better than he does, whining as Ethan keeps his face buried in his ass; not for one-minute hesitating or slowing down as he eats Nick out as passionately as he kisses his mouth.

“I’m – Ethan - ,” he begs, knowing he’s a few well timed thrusts from Ethan’s tongue and fingers away from coming on the pillows beneath him, Ethan pulling his fingers out with a clear, wet pop, removing his tongue too, not before he sinks his teeth into one of Nick’s asscheeks. Nick is wrecked, his body tingling, his thighs burning from Ethan’s sharp teeth, a wetness between his legs like he’s never felt and an ache in his balls that is begging for release.

“You’re perfect,” Ethan assures him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Nick looking at him longingly over his shoulder, “what do you want, baby?”

“You,” Nick moans, pushing himself back, wanting Ethan’s cock in him, “please, Ethan.”

“Mmm,” Ethan muses, and Nick is pleased to see he’s also hot, pink, sweat linging on his forehead from exertion, Nick yelping as Ethan brings his hand down on Nick’s ass, playful but enough to tan it, “turn around.”

Nick does, fairly weak now and desperate, beyond desperate, for his orgasm to tear through him and leave him blind and gasping. Ethan throws away the pillows carelessly, grabbing Nick’s hips and bringing him down, as he lubes up his dick and presses the head against Nick’s hole. Nick nods, and Ethan begins to push, Nick inhaling, mouth open, as he feels the familiar burn of a nice, thick cock pressing inside of him. Ethan is slow but intense, forcing Nick’s thighs up as he makes his way in, Nick groaning, a little high pitched towards the end when he feels Ethan is fully in. He lets one of Nick’s legs drop, apparently unable to leave Nick’s face or hair alone, before he begins to fuck Nick, gently at first.

“You naughty boy,” Ethan whispers, “is this what you wanted, huh?”

“Yeah,” Nick begs, voice broken, “god, please, give it to me.”

Ethan doesn’t waste time. Nick lets go of any dignity he was hoping to keep, moaning and whimpering with every single thrust Ethan makes. Ethan takes Nick like Nick belongs to him, like this is his right, to spread Nick wide and to fuck him, hips snapping into hips as Ethan clings to him tightly, Nick feeling Ethan’s dick so deep inside him, touching places he’s never felt anyone touch, his vision clouding over.

“Ethan,” Nick sobs, overwhelmed, Ethan slowing down, holding Nick open by his thighs as he pulls his cock out, Nick horrified.

“Ethan! Please! No! I’m sorry, I’m fine, I’m ok, please give it to me,” Nick begs, now losing his self-respect along with his long-gone dignity, feeling on the edge of tears. Ethan can’t leave him like this, can’t bring him to the brink of such pleasure to stop, it’s too cruel, Ethan once again flipping him over so now Nick is on his stomach. He cries out as Ethan slides straight back in, pulling Nick so Nick is on his knees, his upper body stretched out, Ethan’s big hands on both hips, slamming into him, the wet sound of slapping skin obscene alongside Nick’s enthusiastic cries and Ethan’s panting.

Nick is dripping with sweat, sliding off his own arms every time he tries to rest his head, yelping as Ethan yanks him up by his hair.

“Yeah? This what you need, Nick?” he asks, grunting, and Nick moans his agreement, unable to do much else. The forced stretch of his neck is delicious, Ethan not letting his pace drop for a moment, setting a punishing and perfect speed, Nick’s leaking cock a mess as he feels his balls tighten, knowing he’s finally, finally going to lose control and feel that blissful high.

“Want you to come like this,” Ethan says, slapping his ass again, “want you to come from getting fucked.” Nick can’t say anything, can’t even nod, because Ethan’s still pulling his hair as he slams in, quickening his almost reckless pace, Nick only concentrating on that one thing, that one feeling. Ethan is hitting his spot, perfect and fast and desperate and with one last yank of Nick’s hair, he is coming, begging and groaning, babbling a mixture of Ethan and God, blacking out as he does. 

He’s beyond over-stimulated, debauched and destroyed as Ethan follows him, letting go of Nick’s hair to cling onto his hips and fuck him with a few last, sprinting thrusts, Nick gasping as he feels Ethan fill him with come, warm and thick, Ethan crying out loudly as well, collapsing on top of Nick.

“Fuck,” Ethan groans into Nick’s hair, “holy fuck.”

“Yeah,” Nick agrees, still too weak to open his eyes or speak.

Ethan kisses the back of his neck before he pulls out his dick, Nick cringing as he hears the wet sounds, feeling Ethan fall out of him, and he’s mildly disgusted when Ethan rocks back onto his knees, opening Nick’s ass again, looking down at his wet, come filled ass.

“Ethan,” Nick accuses, feeling his face heat up Ethan further, Ethan just smirking, proud of the mess he’s created, Nick sore and sensitive as Ethan plays with him a little, whimpering as he feels some come drip out. Ethan laughs at Nick's embarrassment, leaning over and scrambling around some bedside drawers. Nick gasps as he feels coolness on his ass, Ethan clearly wiping him clean.

Ethan flips back down next to Nick, Nick still curled into the pillow, not shy but very aware of his sweaty, exhausted, fucked-out look. Ethan runs his fingers through red hair, not tugging this time, and he leans in, kissing Nick in a way that betrays his previous rough and ready treatment. Nick responds softly, kissing back.

“You ruined me,” Nick gasps, still numb, and Ethan stifles a giggle, “you ruined me,” he retorts. They lie like this for a few precious minutes, Ethan still excited as he sits up, ruffling his hair before he fishes around for something, Nick half watching out of the corner of his eye when he sees Ethan hold out Nick’s phone like he’s won a prize.

“Unlock it,” Ethan says, handing it to Nick, who does it without question. Ethan scrolls, finding the groupchat

The chat after Ethan sent a photo of himself went into a frenzy, a long conversation between his two friends going about how hot he is.

Ethan giggles at it, and Nick thinks he’s quite beautiful, pretty brown eyes and that sinful mouth and a tongue that Nick wants to feel a thousand times more.

Nick frowns as Ethan types, lazily trying to grab it back but missing entirely.

“What are you typing? Ethan?”

“I’m saying… ‘he’s just been balls deep inside me’,” Ethan cackles, and Nick shoots up at that, grabbing his phone, seeing the exact words sent by ‘Nick’ in the chat.

“Fuck!” he says, “Ethan!”

He settles back down, cringing as he sees the messages from Ethan's first text fly in, making Ethan laugh loudly and Nick cringe but smile all the same.

jacob elordi brainrot

Tara: HOLY FUCKKKK

Larray: u little SLUT

Larray: how big is he?

Tara: NICK FINALLY GOT DICK GUYS IM SO PROUD OF HIMM 😭😭😭

Larray: ANSWER ME RN

Ethan snatches it back, taking Nick by surprised then takes a snap of them, Nick hiding half his face under the duvet, Ethan looking far too pleased with himself.

“You look so cute,” Ethan says, and Nick’s stomach summersaults again, watching Ethan send the picture, waiting for the instant replies.

His phone pinged constantly after the photo was sent, Nick can imagine what kinds of debauchery his two friends are yapping about the situation.

“Your friends are funny,” Ethan laughs, putting the phone aside, and Nick is over his initial embarrassment, especially as Ethan cuddles into him, letting Nick rest in the crook of his neck. He feels Ethan’s arm around him and kisses into his hair so he sneaks an arm around the other, hugging his waist close, enjoying the feel of a smile against his forehead.

“They got me laid, so, yeah, they’re ok,” Nick says into Ethan’s chest, Ethan playing with his hair as he mutters, “they got you completely fucked – ruined – I think you said.”

“Shit, let it go,” Nick teases.

“You’ve had better, baby?” Ethan checks, and Nick wants to lie, to tease, to flirt, but he has no energy and it’s preposterous to think he's had better than this. The sex was magnificent, electric, and Nick is still buzzing from it, wondering if he’ll ever come down from it.

“No,” he says shyly, honestly, “you?”

“No, shit. I thought so, but you were something else,” Ethan praises, and Nick preens under his compliments and praise, flushing from pride rather than embarrassment this time around.

“You’re gonna stay, yeah?” Ethan asks, and Nick assumed he was. It feels natural, being here, like this, with Ethan. Nick nods into Ethan’s chest, and Ethan hugs him tighter, promising they’ll chill and order food later, Nick can stay and they’ll watch films.

“Maybe you can make good on your word later,” Ethan growls, “and ride me, bounce on my dick, huh?”

“I can’t even think about any physical activity right now,” Nick sighs dramatically, Ethan tickling his ear. Nick has his eyes closed but he can feel Ethan’s huge, beautiful smile, the visual of it imprinted in his brain. He’s already thinking about it though, climbing on top of Ethan and sitting back on his dick, rolling his hips.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Ethan said, and Nick snuggles into him, making a mental note to thank his friends when he next sees them. He’s sore but satisfied. All he needs is a nap, some food, and then he thinks he’ll enjoy showing Ethan exactly how good he is.

[kooktrash]

Omg can u write a drabble about seven days to love Jungoo being sick and whiney (and attention seeker) and oc taking care of him ofc hehe 🥺🥺🤍

okokok im bringing him back since he’s such a baby. you don’t have to read SEVEN DAYS TO LOVE to understand this drabble <3

JUNGKOOK’S SICK DAY | jeon jungkook

warnings: none. straight fluff. sick jk. needy jk. 1.9k words.

Your relationship with Jungkook started off rocky and you take full blame for that. You had been too stubborn to admit that he wasn’t as bad as you made him out to be and over time you let him creep his way into your heart till he was pretty much the owner of it. Of course this dwill don’t mean you made it easy for good m but it was only because you knew he secretly liked your mean streak. Your boyfriend was sweet and so unbelievably funny practically all the time that it didn’t take you long to realize when something was wrong—take the other night for instance when you unintentionally made him jealous and snapped at him for it.

This morning was another one of those times when you noticed he was acting differently than usual. It was the most minuscule of things that caught your attention today but it was just strange. Typically, on mornings you didn’t spend with Jungkook at your side, he sent you a good morning text. Last night you worked late and had an early morning class today that it had just been easier to go back to your own place and not visit Jungkook since it was a farther drive from campus. You expected to wake up to one of his long and dramatic good morning texts that usually went along the lines of:

‘kook🖤: good morningggggggggg my angry little cinammon roll, idc if you hate the nickname, I love it bc I know it annoys u hehe. miss u’

It was very annoying but unbelievably endearing and you always responded with a:

‘you: pls stop calling me that, it’s so corny.

you: but morning, miss you too <3’

Today though, you woke up with nothing and when you checked his location out of curiosity if he was busy, you found him at home and ended up calling him.

“Hello?” His voice was groggy and tired which was unusual for him at this hour, it was the first sign that something was up.

“Good morning, I didn’t get my text today,” you said sitting at your vanity as you readied yourself for work. It was a little past noon and you had already gone to class and he had yet to reach out to you. That was strange considering how clingy your boyfriend usually was.

Jungkook lay in his bed, wrapped like a burrito in his blankets and phone on speaker lying on the pillow you usually used, “Sorry baby, I’m just waki—achoo!”

You paused, taken back by his overly loud sneeze and sniffle, “You okay?”

You’re not sure why you expected the big baby that Jungkook was to say yes when it was just so out of character. You should’ve known he would have responded with a whine, “No! I don’t feel good, a-and I want you to come over and make me feel better.”

“I’ve gotta get to work,” you said with a pout, “Joon would kill us both if we don’t show up. Did you call in yet?”

“I’m about to,” Jungkook said with another loud sniffle and cough that made you wince, “Please, Y/n, come over.”

“Jungkook, I can’t,” you said apologetically, “Taehyung is the only one working tonight and you’re already not going in so I can’t miss too. It wouldn’t be fair—“

“Y/n, come over!” You could practically see him kicking his feet in a childlike tantrum.

“Babe,” you released a sigh, “I’ll feel bad if I miss. I’ll come over right after, take something and sleep, okay?”

“I want you.”

“Do I look like cold medicine?” You asked, hearing him mumble a yes that made you smile in amusement, “I’ll see if we can finish early, I promise.”

Jungkook left you with a muffled goodbye and you felt bad just leaving him hanging but Namjoon was your boss and friend. He doesn’t like dating in the workplace but he’s fine with the two of you and you don’t want to take advantage of him or make him think you won’t put work first. He probably won’t like that you’ll miss work simply because of your boyfriend, so you got to work feeling awful for leaving Jungkook to fend for himself.

“So, no Jungkook today?” Taehyung asked from the stop of the stairs where his sound booth was. You shook your head no, “Don’t think he feels good.”

“Poor baby,” Taehyung pretended to wipe a tear away, “Well, thanks for coming in, I have a feeling he didn’t make it easy for you?”

“Not at all.”

kook🖤: 🤒😞

you: have you taken anything yet?

kook🖤: 😞

you: boy…

kook🖤: 🤧😞

“Y/n, tell your boyfriend to stop texting me,” Taehyung said suddenly, “He keeps crying that he wants you to go see him.”

“Oh my god,” you laughed in disbelief, “I didn’t know he was such a big baby when he’s sick.”

“The biggest,” Taehyung said with a shake of his head, “If you could stick around for at least another hour or two, I’ll let you go, but let’s just see how busy we get.”

The answer was, you didn’t get busy at all. Although you wanted to go over to Jungkook’s place right away, knowing him, he wasn’t prepared for a mile cold and you ended up going to the store to find some over-the-counter medicine and some easy foods he could eat. When you finally got to his place it was just before the sun could set and you let yourself in with the key he had given you a while back.

“Who’s there?” Jungkook shouted tiredly from his bedroom, “If it’s not Y/n it better be the Grim Reaper because I’m depressed.”

You rolled your eyes setting your bags down, “It’s Y/n!”

You heard intense rustling and banging from his bedroom until suddenly you were being confronted by Kaonashi from Studio Ghibli’s Spirited Away—you mean your boyfriend, who was completely wrapped up in his black comforter with huge bags under his eyes, “Jeez babe, you’ve definitely seen better days, huh?”

Jungkook made a whining sound as he opens up his arms and the blanket before dragging you into him, wrapping you in with him and squeezing tightly, “S-so cold.”

“Did you take anything yet?” You asked, feeling your feet lift off the ground just a bit with how he held you in a hug. You felt him shake his head no and with an annoyed sigh you asked, “Jungkook! I’ve been telling you all day to take something. How are you supposed to get better?!”

“Stop yelling at me,” Jungkook sniffled as you struggled to free yourself from his hold, “I’m sick.”

You released a sigh as you lifted a hand to feel his face and neck and sure enough he felt warm, “Have you eaten?”

He shook his head no with a pout, and you took a breath, “Okay, why don’t you get in the shower and I’ll make you something real quick.”

“Come,” he begged, grabbing your arm but you shook your head.

“No, I’m going to making you something to eat, hon, go shower it’ll help with your fever,” you told him and with an annoyed whine he left.

“So dramatic,” you whispered to yourself watching him shimmy his way back to his room still wrapped in his blanket and you smiled at how cute he was.

You didn’t start cooking until you heard the shower running and you hurried to make him a simple soup that he better like because you're not a cook at all. He’s making you have to learn because he’s such a big baby who forgot to feed himself.

Not even five minutes later was he back out, shuffling his way back to you and hugging you from behind. “That was not a shower, Kook. It wasn’t even five minutes.”

“It was a rinse,” Jungkook confessed, following you around the small space of his kitchen. You just sighed, “Okay, get in bed, it’s almost ready.”

He whined making you look at him with a scoff, “I didn’t know you were so bratty when you’re sick, you big himbo! I already left work early, I’m not leaving, I’m gonna take care of you so just go to bed and I’ll be there soon.”

Jungkook grumbled under his breath as he retreated, “Always so mean to me.”

When you got back to Jungkook’s room holding a tray with his food you found him face down on his bed, spread like a star fish pretending to cry, “Y/n doesn’t love me.”

“Oh my god,” you laughed as you entered his dark abyss, “You’re lucky you’re cute because I’ve never met someone this dramatic in my life.”

Jungkook smiled, rolling onto his back, eyes red and puffy, nose red and puffy, lips red and puffy, “You’re back. Come in bed and let’s watch a movie.”

“First, take your medicine,” you ordered as he took his remote control off the nightstand and began searching through Disney movies.

“Princess and the Frog or Tangled?”

“Jungkook,” you warned him as he talked to himself.

“Princess and the Frog, I completely agree,” he mumbled to himself, “You’re like Tiana, personality wise and I’m like Naveen.”

“You’re more like Louis,” you told him as you handed him the medicine and a glass of water.

“Did you just call me an alligator?” He asked with furrowed brows as he attempted to glare at you but he couldn’t.

“Big scary baby just like you.”

“So mean to me,” he mumbled as he looked down at the bowl of soup before letting his jaw drop.

Your brows furrowed, “What’s wrong?”

“Aren’t you going to feed me?” Jungkook asked cutely. As much as you wanted to smack him, he was sick and you owe it to him to be here. You want him to see you care about him just as much as he cares about you and if that means spoon feeding him to make him happy, you’ll do it.

“I didn’t know having a fever meant you can’t use your hands,” you teased as you blew softly on the hot soup before bringing it toward his mouth, “And you better eat all this because I hate cooking.”

“Yes ma’am,” he joked as he took the spoon finally and began shoving it all into his mouth, “So good, I should snap a picture and post this on Twitter—I mean, ‘X’, and tag Gordon Ramsey.”

“Shut up,” you laughed.

Once he was done, he threw himself back with a burp, “Wow I feel so much better.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“I do,” Jungkook nodded his head, “Guess I was away from you too long and my body couldn’t take it.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, “So dramatic.”

He laughed, “Kiss?”

“No, you're still sick, I could hear it in your voice,” you told him and he pretended to glare at you. “Y/n. Kiss. Now.”

“No—Jungkook!”

He tackled you onto the bed, putting his entire weight on you and trapping you beneath him, “Kiss.”

With a tired groan you nodded, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him down until your lips met. Jungkook smiled into the kiss, making himself more comfortable between your legs, not wanting to pull away even when you gently pushed at his chest. “Okay, Kook, there, you already can’t breathe well with your runny nose, let’s not push it.”

“Mm,” he groaned, “Baby, I’m sick, you can’t keep pushing me away.”

“How can I push you away when you’ve got me trapped under you?” You asked, tilting your head cutely that he smiled, squirming a bit over you.

“Right, I forgot.”

You spent two days dealing with your sick boyfriend who was the neediest baby you’ve ever met in your entire life, but you’d do it all over again.

::.

permanent taglist: @notmyfaultbutours @rerefundslocals @fandems @sugaluvmyg @guvgguk @kimyishin @libra04 @kooromiwrld @classycreationcupcake-blog @alwaysdreamingnotsleeping @cherrymonlightt @nikkiordonez12 @asking4-sanity @thvlover @saweetspoiled @uwu2rawr @shaybts-blog g @babycandy111 @tearyjjeon @joons-uparupa @jeonninja @yellowcupid08 @02010802 @knudsenheggedel @skzthinker @unnatae @aurorthi @beautywine @95ene @taekookstata @lilliankoo @shescharlie @annenakamura @lesoleile @burnahtsw @babybella337 @kooloveys @ku-ku @chaelvrx @minnie-mouser22 @Imeneghd @whoa-jo @evajeonsworld @marvelbun @sunnikthv @kochycooky @heyhowyoudoin3 @acielelyseen @giselleswifeee @jeonjk25 @ilikeitlikethatt @bangmechanpls @lvr2seok @badbyeyoongi @jaerisdiction @watermelonjuice15 @artmsmaid @xyahrinx @angeleen777 @jooniesxbby @brillantdarling

[navstuffs]

"I know it is thick."

Pairing: Boss!Carlos Oliveira x GN!Reader

Summary: You send a text message to the wrong person.

Warnings: self-indulgent asf, crack/comedy, suggestive themes, carlos wearing the noir outfit, some swearing

Authors's notes: this is an ode to myself and miss tiffany "new york" pollard bc every time I see this man i murmur over and over again "i know he is thick. he is thick and i know it!" i bet i would send that to him on accident, so why not make it worse? bc hey that would me lol enjoy!! gif taken from google. @cerezzzita thank you for helping me with this idea bc the friend is based on you <3

part 2 | my carlos's masterlist

i know it is thick. i feel in it my core. it has to be. long and fat, thick. hitting all the right places 🥵

You hit send on the text message, trying to keep focus. You have been texting back and forth with your friend since your boss Carlos Oliveira decided to take off his suit jacket and roll his sleeves up. You have always been thirsty for your boss, he was extremely attractive. Today of all days, you are working closely with him on an important project, and he decides to show off his muscles and hairy arm like that. Your phone vibrates back with an answer.

Who is thick?

You blink, rolling your eyes. The attention span of your friend worked like that sometimes, although you have been talking about Carlos for a few hours now. You type back without even glancing at the name of the receiver.

my boss carlos, duh?

After you hit send, you receive a message from your friend with the gif from the Tiffany New York Pollard saying, "I know it is big." Wait a minute, you think. If you didn't send the first message to your friend, then whom? You practically freeze in your seat when you realize you sent it to your own boss.

"Shit," You groan, trying to delete the message. In your hush, you let your phone drop under your table, and you almost hit your head, trying to grab it. When you finally get your phone from the floor, you quickly glance at his office, and Carlos is already reading it. Shit. Shit. Shit!

You know you have no time to run into his room and stop Carlos from reading. So a few options: you could scream "Fire!" and make everyone evacuate the building in panic? Or run far away where HR couldn't find you to say you are being fired for sexual harassment? So you stay still, stuck in your chair, your eyes glued in Carlos's direction, expecting your inevitable fate.

Your boss reads the message, and you want to die when his eyebrows go up in surprise. He looks up from his phone, finding your stare, and you wonder if he can notice you are having a heart attack behind the desk. He types something, a small grin on the corner of his mouth, and turns his attention back to his big computer screen. And that is it. You are probably receiving the "You are fired, leave this building immediately" text in a couple of seconds. At least he would give you the dignity to allow you to leave, maybe calling security, not the police.

Your phone buzzes and you unlock it, the dread of having to find a new nice job that pays enough and keeps you well fed already killing you.

You blink one. Two times. Three times. You look up from your phone, your mouth drying and you can see Carlos has a big smile with his attention turned to his computer still.

Want to stay late and check?

[xf-cases-solved]

S2E2: The Host 😔

Case: In what is an episode I have purposefully avoided rewatching for at least a decade—because it is DISGUSTING—we find ourselves off the coast of New Jersey, bc of course this hellscape of an episode takes place in fucking New Jersey. A Russian kid on a ship gets pulled into a septic tank (ew) by A Creature, and his body is discovered in a sewer (ew) a few days later. Skinner gives this case to Mulder, and Mulder is pissed about it, for which I don't blame him for a second bc it is, quite literally, shit work. (This does, however, lead to a very funny confrontation where Mulder throws a tantrum at Skinner, only to then discover he's currently in a meeting. I did lol at that, I'll admit.) 

Anyway, Mulder reluctantly continues with the case, secretly recruiting Scully on the side to do some autopsy(!!) work and to pick her brain for science, even though the bosses said they aren't allowed to sit next to each other in class anymore. The episode just gets worse and worse and fucking worse from there, when Scully discovers a flukeworm (ew) in the dead kid's body. More evidence continues to compile, soon making it clear that what they're dealing with is something much larger and much grosser than they could have ever anticipated. 

People keep walking around and getting covered in sewer water, making me want to scrub myself so clean all the skin comes off my body; a man coughs up a worm and it is Horrible; Deep Throat is gone, but it looks like he might have a successor (!!!); Mulder and Scully have a friend in the FBI, I wonder who it could be 🤔 (hint: he's bald); and Mulder briefly considers quitting, but somehow THIS fucking episode is the one that convinces him to stay. (Like, I get it, learning he has an ally in Skinner is all well and good or whatever, I GET IT, okay? But look. If my boss was claiming to be my ally and then forced me to chase after a giant man-eating sewer worm—requiring me to BE in the literal sewer in the process btw—I would quietly set my badge and gun down on my boss's desk, walk out the building, and get on the next flight to New Zealand. Fuuuuuuck that, and fuuuuuuck this episode.)

Does someone die in the cold open: Yes, and it is the worst way any person could possibly die.

Does Mulder present a slideshow: He no longer has anyone to present slideshows to. 😔

Does the evidence survive the investigation: If it did, they should fucking burn it.

Whodunit: ☹️ worm man ☹️

Convictions: Chris Carter, for the crime of writing this and then making it exist in the world where I had to watch it with my eyeballs and process its contents with my brain.

Did they solve it: Yes, I suppose they did, in the sense that they figured out what killed that guy, and had a semi-reasonable explanation for how the horrible monster worm was able to come to be. Whether or not the horrible monster worm is still out there being horrid and monstrous? Well, that part remains an X-File.

[how do i determine if a case is solved? check the scale here: x]

THIS EPISODE IS SPONSORED BY: Bleach. Pour it in your eyes and also over your whole entire body and forget any of this ever happened.

Oh, and also sponsored by this funny text I accidentally sent my sister:

***

General Total Stats:

(green means stat has changed since last ep; red means new stat added to list)

Total Cases *Definitively* Solved So Far: 13 (first solve of the season. unfortunate that it had to be this)

Total Number of "Mulder/Scully, It's Me": 6 (told you it starts to go up rly fast)

Total Number of Times Scully Has Conveniently Not Seen Something Crucial: 6

Total Number of Times Mulder Has Been in Mortal Danger: 8 

Total Number of Times Scully Has Been in Mortal Danger: 8

Total Number of Sexually Charged, Uncomfortably Intimate, and/or Flirty Moments Between Friendly Coworkers: 13 (nothing overt, but they did have a nice conversation together, and mulder said something to the effect of being able to work with scully was the only reason he could think to stay at the fbi at this point)

Total Number of Autopsies Scully Has Performed On Screen: 4 (and there was a worm in the body ☹️)

Total Number of Times Scully Plays Doctor: 2

Total Number of Times Mulder Talks to an Informant: 16 (i was too grossed out watching this to properly appreciate it, but X has entered the chat!!!!! my favorite informant!!! i will get into more detail as to why as we make our way through the season, but eep!) 

Total Number of Times People Making Out in a Car Are Hurt or Killed: 2

Total Number of Times Someone Correctly Guesses a Password: 3 

Total Number of Nosebleeds: 4

Total Number of Times Mulder Has Tasted/Sniffed/Touched Something Questionable Without Following Proper Safety Procedures: 3 (you know what? i'm upping this stat. why did he go to the sewer in a suit???)

Total Number of Times Someone Says "Trust No One": 3 

Total Number of Times Someone Says "I Want to Believe": 3

Total Number of Times Someone Says "The Truth is Out There": 2

Total Number of Cigarettes Cigarette Smoking Man Has Smoked: 8

Total Number of Maggie Scully Sightings: 1

Total Number of Lone Gunmen Sightings: 1

Total Number of Alex Krycek Sightings: 0 (but i can hear his slow approach...)

Total Number of Times I Had to Look Up What State the Episode Takes Place in Even Though I Literally Just Watched It: 9½ (of COURSE it's new jersey) 

Total Number of Times I Had to Look at an Episode's Wikipedia Page to Fill This Out Because It Was Fucking Confusing and/or Too Boring for Me to Pay Attention: 5 (unfortunately i paid attention to the whole thing ☹️)

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation (Sal Fisher): Beg For It [21]

TW: smut :P

_______________

dacnorthxx started following you.

sallysusedtoiletpaper: VI WHO IS THIS WHO IS NORTH WHY IS THIS INTERACTION GIVING ME LIFE??? t0ddles2: @sallysusedtoiletpaper frontman of dark autumn complex sallysusedtoiletpaper: @t0ddles2 oh omg ok... I've never heard of them are they any good?? ashypoops: I haven't heard of them either. What genre? More importantly DOES VI HAVE HER VERY FIRST SHIP toodswithoutthed: @ashypoops I WAS ABOUT TO ASK BC THE CHEMISTRY!?!? they're obsessed w each other... I went stalk his profile. Ship name options: northlence, violeth... t0ddles2: they're rock/metal. even if u don't like the genre, they're worth a listen sallysusedtoiletpaper: WORD I just followed him and their band account >:3 also @toodswithoutthed I'm personally a fan of violeth. I'm linking this shit in the faces fan discord ashypoops: THERE'S A FAN DISCORD??? can u send me an invite pooks🥺 sallysusedtoiletpaper: @ashypoops ofc😘 sallysusedtoiletpaper: OMFG SOMEONE BEAT ME TO THE CHAT EVERYONE KNOWS NOOOOOO

———

Yea, so I lost my job. Big shocker.

Once my boss found out that I dipped mid-shift, the text was typed out and sent by the evening.

In any other situation, I'd be fucked. Indefinitely. Completely broke and flailing to get a new job. In fact, that was my first thought. As soon as I got the text, I clicked onto my bank account to check how much I'd have to live off of until I found a new job--

--only to find out that I had over $2,000 just sitting around, which was such a nice surprise. I don't think I've ever had so much money to my name before in my entire life. And all the transactions were straight from all my streaming apps. All within the past two weeks since being back in LA.

To say the least, losing my job couldn't have happened at a better time. Now, I can put my focus into something I actually enjoy doing.

But first, a trip to Nockfell, which is proving to be more chaotic by the second.

"Todd, dude, there's a chemistry to this thing, okay? It's a ritual," Larry says, all seriousness and business face as he stares back into Todd's uninterested gaze. "I can't fly without it."

Todd blinks, a flash of frustrated disappointment crossing over his features. "You're not taking an edible before the flight, Lartholomew."

Ash had a ticket ready for me before she even got to LA yesterday. Her entire mastermind plan was to abduct me whether I liked it or not-- not that I would've said no to begin with. And besides, having her at the apartment to help me pack last minute made pre-flight stress non-existent.

Travis is camping out at my apartment. He was more than happy to kick me out of my own house, claiming that my bed is comfiest anyway. Regardless, he said he had no desire to return to Nockfell anyway. And dad was just excited for me to go visit considering how much I've complained about missing the little town over all these years.

Sal and I haven't spoken since his last commanding text to me. Right before his very sudden face reveal. He's caught in an almost petrifying silence-- has been since he put his prosthetic back on. I, on the other hand, very much resemble a little puppy whimpering and begging at his feet. Metaphorically, of course. I wouldn't dare to physically exploit my internal thoughts.

The really sickening truth is that I'm so desperate to see his face again that I'd trip him down a flight of stairs just to recreate yesterday's scene.

Just kidding. I don't mean that. I definitely don't.

"All our seats are kind of screwed up, so I have no idea where you're sitting, sugar." Ash pokes my cheek, her chin in her palm and elbow propped on the armrest of her seat. "I bought them kind of last minute so I took whatever they had available."

A little smile tips my lips as I turn my attention away from the grumpy smurf and focus on my stunning best friend. Her viridian irises glow with renewed joy and energy like our plans check off so many bullet points on her bucket list. "That's okay," I reply, tilting my head. "At least we actually have seats, right?"

Ash grins, her maroon shaded lips accentuating the light freckles along the bridge of her nose. "See?" she chirps, arm winding through mine to pull me closer. "You get it. When do you not get it?"

Our plane calls for us to board, and so begins the toxic, anxiety-inducing split-up of the century. I lose all The Faces somewhere in the crowded line that gathers at our gate in just a matter of seconds. That's okay though, I'll probably end up sitting with some old lady that smells like an odd mixture of peonies, Dial soap, and Lysol. You know, a funeral home and two colds away from death. So long as she's nice, I'll catch her dentures when they fall out of her gaping mouth as she naps.

Anything for MawMaw.

I hobble my way into the plane, brain set on finding my seat before stressing about all other one hundred and fifty two things I have to worry about later. People are everywhere and it's, expectedly, a huge plane. Three rows-- two seaters against each wall and a row of three seats down the middle. Sickening, really. Social anxiety's worst enemy is looking for means of escape only to be met by even more people.

I block everyone out as best as I can, pretending that the people I bump into are just very dense pieces of furniture. Or, actually, even better-- a bunch of really buff kitties. Yep, just passing through a horde of Maine Coon's and Munchkin's.

I spot row F, my pupils zeroing in on the letter like a scope on a gun. Target acquired.

The majestic way I veer around what my mind imagines is a really tall Siamese and their spouse, a yellow Persian, is something that the directors of The Matrix are pissed that they couldn't come up with. I swing my foot around a figurative pair of paws and reach my free hand out to grip onto my seat-- F20. That's right bitches, I did it.

I swing my suitcase up, somehow managing to actually get it into the overhead compartment. I give it a good shove with both of my hands and a grunt, then pull the backpack off my shoulders to keep it at my feet when I sit down.

But now that I've stopped, cats are pushing past me and it's so aggressive and rushed that they suddenly aren't sweet, fluffy kitties anymore. They're people again and I'm starting to get dragged away from my seat by this sea of shared distress.

Nimble fingers latch onto my wrist from the seat beside mine-- the seat against the window. The hand tightens around me, giving my body a good yank forward. I use the aided force to weave my way around a few more people up until the hand pulls me into my seat.

I huff out a breath, pushing my hair out of the eyeholes of my mask. And begrudgingly, I turn my head to meet bright cerulean hair.

Sal isn't looking at me, he's facing the window. His entire stature gives off a mixture of unbothered and ashamed. He shouldn't feel that second one-- never. Granted, he shouldn't feel angry half as much as he does but that's besides the point.

Ever since it happened, I could tell that the abrupt exposure of his face has been heavily weighing on him. I don't owe this man a single thing-- he's been awful to me in so many ways, but I give credit where credit is due. Not only did he own up and apologize to me yesterday, he helped me to my seat... and he is handsome. Regardless of how he views himself.

He's my biggest enemy and I, his. But if I plan on getting fucked during my visit to Nockfell, I have to give him the Beating of Truth.

"So," I mumble, chewing on the inside of my cheek. If you couldn't tell, I'm absolutely forcing myself to do this even though it's the last thing I want to do. "How are we working around Ash, Larry, and Todd when we get to Nockfell?"

Sal's head tips up a bit, like he's wondering to himself if I actually just spoke to him. Then his head pivots sideways so that he can side-eye me.

"What?" He asks, voice genuinely shocked and confused. It makes my heart stutter a bit. Any time he speaks in a tone that isn't aggressive, it completely reboots my system.

"How are we going to follow through with this arrangement?" I try again, simplifying it into Sal terms. He has a wide vocabulary range; maybe using bigger words will snap some sense into him. For added effect, I lean onto the armrest separating him and I, trying to show that he doesn't repulse me or anything of the sort.

Sal doesn't move away, instead, he adjusts his body so that he can address me. Fully turns his prosthetic face to me and settles into his seat. I didn't realize how tense he was when I first sat down, but watching him relax now shows me how much my simple mention of our agreement settled his mental turmoil.

He's quiet for a moment, eyes dancing across my mask and body before his gaze meets mine again. "You still want to?" he finally decides to ask, eyebrows lifting beneath his prosthetic.

"Yea," I snort, scrunching my nose up as if his question is ridiculous. "Why wouldn't I?"

Okay, stupid question. I know the answer and the words came out before I could stop them. In more ways than others, that was a genuine response though. I can't accept that Sal would be so put off by his own appearance because I truly think it's so lovely. I have to remember though that not everyone sees themselves the way I see them though.

Sal's brows bunch together again, his eyes narrowing. "Stupid fucking question," he echoes my own thoughts, voice even and void of tone. Whoopsie.

I roll my own eyes, sighing. "Well, to settle the whole debacle," I start, aiming to just bite the bullet and extinguish the awkwardness and misplaced fear vibrating between us. "I think you're quite the catch."

Friendly banter is weird. Borderline uncomfortable, but... not quite. Just so that I'm ready to get this over with but I'd be prepared for it to happen again.

A nasally snort leaves Sal and he rotates his head so that he's facing the pair of seats in front of us.

"So," he prods, ignoring my statement. "North?"

Mission success. I know he'll never admit it and he doesn't need to, but I think he appreciates the compliment.

"What's it to you?" I counter, adjusting my position in turn. I sit criss-cross applesauce in my seat, making sure my feet don't touch Sal because God forbid. "You still get to fuck me."

"Not much," he says lowly, hand moving to ruffle up his fringe. There's that dagger tattoo again. And then his head tilts just a bit, haunting sapphire blue piercing straight through my soul like the weapon etched onto his skin. "But you're mine. North can't give you even an ounce of what I can."

Fuzzy fingers, a pounding heart, and the worst case of cold sweats possible dominates my body for the rest of the flight. My brain replays that statement over and over again, plaguing me with recurring physical reactions like I've just heard it in real life again. I wish he hadn't said anything at all if it was going to leave me like this.

Neither of us said another word. The only sound between the two of us was the constant cracking of my knuckles accompanied by me putting my feet on the ground-- then sitting criss-cross again-- then having to readjust again and again and again. He left me quite literally restless and I'm sure he's relishing in just the knowledge of it.

Landing in Nockfell was a quick divergence from bubbly hearted affliction in my being. A good distraction from Sal.

Perpetual autumn. Nockfell never gets too hot or cold. The air is always misty, the sky always grey and cloudy. Tall, ever-growing trees dominate both night and day, stealing all the light from the sun and hiding it in their leafy treetops. Nockfell houses the kind of atmosphere that I've dreamt of returning to for years now; the gentle eeriness and chill that I've longed to bask in ever since I left.

We step out of the airport and into the small parking lot where a suspiciously blue haired man is waving at us with a big, dad-like grin on his face. Not a question in my mind. That's Sal's dad-- the cropped, receding cerulean hair was the first obvious sign but as we grow closer, his bright azure eyes are the second giveaway.

"Wassup, daddio!" Larry exclaims, wrapping Sal's father up in a huge bear hug (which is so Emo Buff Daddy of him). I nearly forgot that Sal's dad, who I now know as Henry, is also Larry's step-dad. Crazy.

"Not much, big guy!" Henry chuckles, rubbing Larry's back affectionately once the hug comes to an end. He pats Larry's shoulder, that big smile still on his aged face. "You guys brought the friend back! Convinced her to come huff up our humid air?"

Henry moves over to Ash, Todd, and then Sal to hug all of them. He purposefully places a discreet kiss on top of Sal's head before turning to me.

He holds his arms open suggestively and my heart flutters. "You okay with hugs?" He asks me. "Everyone's family here."

A grin of my own sneaks onto my face as I take a little step toward Henry and wrap my arms around his middle.

Henry's arms latch around my body, shielding me from the moist, heavy air of Nockfell and anything else that could possibly hurt me here. His embrace is so comforting, so familiar, so protective that tears I've been holding back for weeks suddenly rush to the surface.

I love my own dad, he's perfect, but being hugged by his near doppelgänger reminds me of how much I miss him. I wish dad and I weren't apart so often. But that'll change soon with the money I'm making.

I don't allow myself to weep, I hide the tears and pull away from the comforting hug I needed so desperately to smile sweetly at Henry. Lovely man, his own smile widens.

The group of us piles into Henry's old 2000 Nissan Pathfinder to navigate around Nockfell.

We first stop at Ash's place-- a home I haven't seen in a decade now. Everything is so nostalgic-- the tall, two story, white-painted, wooden home and the canopy of evil-looking trees that hide it from the road reminds me of a time that's been ripped away from me.

Ash leans on the door of Henry's SUV, the window down for her to speak to me before she disappears. "I'll come by Sal's or the apartments later to scoop you up, 'kay? Parents and I have a meeting with some guys to transfer ownership of some things to me before the move." She chews on her lip, a deep yearning in her pretty eyes. "I'd let you stay with me if I could."

I shake my head at her-- I don't want her to feel guilty for handling business. "No that's okay." I tell her sweetly, grabbing onto her hand. "I'll kickback with the guys."

Ash smiles, squeezing my hand in hers before breaking off to head to her house.

Now, I never imagined I'd end up coming back to Nockfell in general, but to stand in Sal Fisher's home? These were even more improbable odds.

And worse, Todd suddenly slips out of the house with the very mean (he's ditching me!) excuse of meeting with Neil for a late lunch. That just leaves me, Larry, and Sal standing in the spacious kitchen of their shared two-story home. It's quaint, roomy, and pretty nice. I imagine it's kept up specifically because Sal tends to it.

And Sal, he doesn't say anything. Which is typical behavior from him. He only, swiftly, spins on his heels, luggage in hand, and disappears into a room right past the stairs. Okay, fair. It's late in the afternoon-- naptime.

And now it's down to two.

I look to Larry with a grin. And he's grinning back excitedly, wiggling around like an antsy child who's about to go on a field trip.

"I can't believe we managed to get you over here," he whisper-yells, screaming silently. You know, just open-mouthed and head tipped to the ceiling in pure excitement.

"Even Copernicus wouldn't be able to debunk this turn of events," I joke, watching Larry dance around his kitchen. I put my bags down. I'm sure we'll figure out this situation later when Ash returns.

Larry opens up his refrigerator, moving around some bottles before uttering an expletive. "Ah, fuck," he hisses out, quickly lifting his head which results in him slamming said head into the freezer door. I pause, wincing, eyeing his silhouette warily while awaiting whatever he has to say next.

He resurfaces from the fridge, rubbing his aching head and chewing on his bottom lip. "I left my fucking bags in Henry's car." He curses again, glancing up at me with agitated eyes. "I have to run over to the apartments real quick." Larry starts inching away from the fridge and I feel my heart leap. How could he forget his luggage in the car? And is he really about to leave me here with the master of aggressive seduction himself? We're bound to tear this house apart either via sex or a physical fight. I just don't know which one.

"I'll be like... ten minutes at most," Lar says, squeezing past me and around the kitchen table, rerouting to the front door. He gives me a look that screams vulnerability and urgency. "Please don't kill Sal, and don't let him kill you. Okay? I'll be back in a jiffy."

I blink at him, running my tongue along the inside of my dry mouth. This is not going to go well. "Okay," I say anyway. I can already see the headline on the newspaper-- 'Masked Streamer, Sally Face, Brutally Murders and Chops Up Rising Streamer, VioletViolence, With Kitchen Knife.'

Larry nods at me, pinches his lips together in a moment of concerned hesitation, then disappears through the front door.

I stand in the empty kitchen for a moment, watching the back of Larry's head through the front door window. "In a jiffy..." I murmur to myself, recalling the most soccer-mom words I've ever heard come from Larry's vicinity. It was so odd, I mean he would never say something like that, but here we are.

The house is empty aside from myself and Sal. What the hell am I supposed to do? Watch The Office?-- well, that actually doesn't sound bad at all.

I can literally do anything I want, though. I have been given the most opportune opportunity to act upon my will as I see fit. With that in mind accompanied by the suspiciously good conversation a certain blue-haired individual and I shared on the plane, I think I have an idea of what I could do. And I know I'll have a willing partner. 

This will either end in a homicide via kitchen knife or an orgasm. I'll take my chances.

A sly little grin fights its way onto my lips as I spin on my heels, trekking over to Sal's room. His door is closed, giving him an ample amount of darkness to hide in while gaming or sleeping or whatever he's doing. But for me, it's the ample amount of darkness to create a moody setting. It's perfect.

The cold, metal doorknob sits comfortably in the palm of my hand as I give myself one last chance to think about this. I really shouldn't do this, but the timing will never be this good again. With everyone moving to LA, I may never get a chance this convenient since someone will always be around.

That's the last little bit of encouragement I need to twist the knob and slowly push the plain, white painted door open.

The wood squeaks on its hinges, making Sal turn his head up from his PC. His dark, shadowed eyes meet mine. They go from curious to a bit miffed in half a second— but he doesn't say anything, really just ignores me and turns back to his setup.

My heart races. He didn't turn me away or tell me to get the fuck out of his room. That's a good start. But that also means I can actually follow through with my very sudden plan— a plan which has no plan. I didn't even brainstorm what I could do because I genuinely didn't think I'd get this far.

I watch him closely, noting the way his computer casts a cool, blue glow against his prosthetic. His hand moves the mouse around and he clicks on various things, really paying me no mind at all.

My teeth clamp onto my bottom lip as I step past the threshold of his room, grabbing hold of the door and slowly closing it behind me. Once it latches into place, I wait, simply observing the man with my back to the door. For good measure, I turn the lock. You know, just in case I manage to get somewhere.

And he still doesn't look my way. The fact that he's ignoring my presence right now makes anticipation build up within me. My heart thumps a little faster than it already has been. My cheeks feel warm, I can't keep my hands still. It's like my brain is kicked into overdrive, forcing me to take notice of every little thing.

I lick my lips and take a step forward, scratching at the skin on my knuckles. I take another step, then another, my body growing warm with anxiousness all because I may stand in front of this man, present myself to him, and come to regret it. I really might embarrass myself. Just because we agreed doesn't mean he wants me at this exact moment.

But before I'm even really prepared, I'm standing right beside him. And he's sitting there without a care in the world, comfortably propped up in his gaming chair and pulling up different comments on what looks to be YouTube.

I've done about all I can for right now, but we are on limited time. So I watch him for a moment. He has to know I'm right here— I wasn't quiet, I didn't avoid his field of vision. I'm right here.

And I still get nothing.

Time to think. Should I say something insulting? That usually gets him riled up. Maybe then, one thing will lead to another.

I bounce on my heels for a second as I think up a quick insult. "Is this how you waste your time? Figured you'd at least reply to some of your fans if you were going to read their comments. Kinda shitty of you." Low blow probably. I don't really mean it, but I'm sure he'll take it seriously. His fans mean a lot to him, it's the best way to gain his attention.

But Sal doesn't even react, only scrolls through a few replies under a comment and clicks 'like' on a some. He doesn't flinch. Doesn't look at me. Never makes a sound.

I roll my eyes. Playing hard to get are we? He fusses at me for not complying all the time— he's such a hypocritical asshole. I hate that I'm into it.

I swallow thickly, putting my hands behind my back to try and hide my nervous fidgeting. "Sal," I try, cringing a bit. That was desperation— he has to know that.

Again, nothing.

He really must be trying to piss me off, that or he isn't interested at all. But thankfully, the zero interest half doesn't stink like I was afraid it would. Instead, it spurs me into action.

He can ignore my words all he wants, but he can't ignore me.

"I'm going to touch you," I warn because consent is important. "If you don't want that, you need to tell me."

I wait a good thirty seconds but he stays silent.

I pinch my lips together then grab onto the armrest of his chair, pulling it back just enough to place my body between him and his computer. He simply looks up at me with disinterested eyes, so I go further, fueled by the spark in my soul and the rage of him purposefully pretending I'm not even there.

I take a step forward and put a gentle hand on his shoulder for balance, then easily slide myself onto his lap. His thighs are warm beneath my own, his skin smooth under my fingertips. The dark ink on his biceps contrasts beautifully with the milky color of his skin and it's quite an honor to finally run my hands over his art.

I watch the way my fingers drag down his arm then up again, returning to his shoulder. I'm on top of him and he still hasn't said a word, still hasn't touched me. At this point, I'm yearning for something— anything.

The only good sign I'm getting is that he hasn't pushed me off.

I glance up, looking into his blue eyes that are darkened by the shadows of his room. They're watching me closely, no ounce of emotion reflected in them. He's just observing.

My other hand travels to his prosthetic face, gripping onto his jaw in the way that he does to me so often. "Think you can ignore me?" I whisper, a little smirk quirking my lips despite how badly I wish I could contain it.

A slight furrowing of his brows is what I get in return.

Ha, got him.

He still doesn't say anything, but I've piqued his interest at least.

"Larry's gone," I say next, my eyes traveling to the rough prosthetic in my hands. I run my thumb over the underside of his jaw, feeling a number of scars.

"I assumed so," he says, voice a bit deeper than it normally would be and toneless like it seems to have been all day.

My gaze meets his again, and this time there's a little fire in his pretty eyes. There's desire, interest, slow-building exhilaration. I love seeing this look on him.

"Mhm," I hum, moving my other hand from his shoulder to the side of his neck. "Are you going to sit here and ignore me like the asshole you are, or are you going to have mercy on both of us?"

Sal slowly blinks, eyes traveling over my form, drinking me in like I'm the last drop of water on earth. "You called me an asshole for a reason," he bites out. "Don't expect much. Unlike you, I can actually hold out."

"But what's the point of holding out?" I counter, tilting my head to the left. "Larry's heading to the apartments. We have about ten minutes. That's enough room for one of a couple options. Stop being a little prick and do something."

"More like twenty. Larry takes his sweet ass time." Sal's eyes narrow. "You think insulting me is going to coerce me into this, you little bitch? Thought you knew our dynamic well enough by now." My words are getting to him. That's exactly what I want.

"I do know our dynamic," I whisper, leaning my head down so that my face is level with his. I look into his cerulean eyes and they gaze back at me, one pupil dilated. Then, I bend lower until I'm at the nape of his neck, his hair tickling my jaw.

I use the hand holding his face to tilt his head up and away from me, using the angle as leverage to place my lips onto his warm skin.

I hear a muffled sigh from him in response and it takes everything in me not to smile.

My mouth moves slowly along the side of his neck, placing meaningful, wet kisses along his throat. But when I get to the hilt of his tattoo, I bit down gently.

He flinches at the feeling of my teeth digging into his skin, then completely aborts his mission to ignore me completely.

Sal's hands fly to my waist, one gripping tightly onto my hip and the other trailing up my back and into my hair, gripping the strands tightly before yanking my head back.

My teeth are ripped from his neck immediately and Sal pulls me away from him by the base of my neck. I gasp, staring into his captivating azure eyes from just centimeters away. His prosthetic nose bumps my mask's and he holds me there without a word.

His eyes trail down my face and heavy breaths follow his gaze. His cold fingers are curled into my neck, his nails digging into my skin.

I swallow, wondering if maybe I should have just minded my own business, stayed in the living room and waited for Larry to come back. Maybe I pissed him off.

I lick my lips and blink at him, my mouth gapes open as I try to find something to say. He's silent. It's not awkward, just scary. Scary is ten times worse.

Sal must see the regret and fear in my eyes because his own eyes lessen their harsh glare a bit and then he rasps out, "Can I touch you?"

Every inch of my body goes rigid with shock, anticipation. "Yes," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. My fingers tighten ever so slightly on the underside of his jaw while my heart runs an entire marathon in my chest. Now is not the time to get nervous because I sweat when I'm nervous. I need to be horny– not nervous.

Sal takes a deep breath, eyes set on mine. I feel his chest rise ever so slowly, then go back down the same exact way. The pause between us is utter agony and I feel like I'm going to start spazzing out or something. Honestly, with the way I'm sitting on top of him, I might just fall over and die on the spot. That feels less incriminating than whatever is about to ensue.

Cool fingers grasp onto my thigh, his palm flattening against my skin. His hand drags up to my side, followed by his other hand leaving my neck to grab the other side of my waist. The feeling of him touching me, just like he'd asked, fills me with memories I tried so desperately to forget just a couple weeks or so ago. This is deja vu in the best way.

In one swift motion, Sal lifts me up and plops me on top of his desk. I brace myself with my hands on either side of his keyboard that lays behind me. Questions of concern start flowing through my brain because this is an odd place to be.

"Don't knock over my shit," Sal breathlessly informs, eyes glancing up to me. HIs hands move to the waist band of my bottoms and I suck in another anxious, anticipatory breath.

I nod quickly, watching him with wide eyes as he looks down at my waist, his hands circling to the front of my stomach and fumbling with the button of my shorts. Oh my gosh.

I gulp, looking at anything but the man between my legs, currently pulling down the shorts I'd traveled in. His cold fingers brush along the outside of my thighs, causing goosebumps to rise all over my skin. He's slow, purposeful, dragging this out to get whatever reaction out of me that he can. It feels like my heart is about to explode.

I have no idea what he's about to do, he doesn't warn me either. I don't have the guts to watch this scene play out. The prospect of his dilated pupils, messy hair, and that glare in his captivating eyes is too much-- so much that warmth pools between my thighs before he can initiate anything.

"You look scared," he murmurs and I flinch at the gentle, comforting tone he uses with me. I've never heard something such as this come from him and be directed at mebefore.

"I am," I answer honestly, licking my lips while his fingers slowly pull my shorts down my legs. I lift myself a bit to aid him, shivering when my bare legs meet the cold surface of his desk. "A bit."

"Why?" Sal asks, hands pressing onto my thighs. With how warm my skin is and how cool his fingers are, the contrasting temperature is enough to spark an aneurysm. He drags those hands of his up my legs until he reaches my panties, hooking his digits into them.

I shake my head, chin quite literally tilted up to the ceiling. I'm not quite sure what has me so scared. Am I afraid of myself? Him? Getting caught? Being dropped again?

One risky hand leaves my hip and Sal's prosthetic comes into view. He's hovering over me, in a standing position now. His hair falls onto my shoulders, shielding us from the rest of the world like a curtain. I blink up at him, breath caught in my throat as a rush of chills invades my body.

"Hey," he says. His voice is a bit on edge, but it's concerned. So concerned that it distracts me from my own fear for a moment. "You're okay," he continues, his hand gripping onto my chin and pulling my head down so we can be eye level. I look between his bright eyes-- his eyebrows are risen a bit, as if to communicate to me that I can trust him. But can I?

"I'll take care of you. If you want to stop, if you don't want to start-- let me know. Say anything and I'll end it immediately." He tilts his head a bit, eyes glancing over my face. This is different. This looks vulnerable. "If I made you uncomfortable at all, I--"

My head shakes in opposition. I don't even have to think about it. "No, it's not that. It-- I trust you." The words spew out of my mouth and I immediately regret it. Something smug takes over his expression and I press my lips together, grabbing onto his wrist connected to the hand that's still holding my chin. "I trust you with this. If I was tied to train tracks, I wouldn't even think of calling you." I narrow my eyes at him to exemplify my point. His eyes squint as if he's... smiling? I'll ignore that. "But you've never... made me uncomfortable. You always ask. You always check. So..."

I watch him nod slowly, our gazes never disconnecting. He seems to contemplate what I've said, measurably formulating his next move. "Do you want to talk about what's stressing you then?"

My head rears back and my eyebrows furrow, his hand falling away from my face. "What brain eating amoeba has overtaken you?" I blurt out, holding a hand out between us. It's incredibly odd-- this is out of place. "You are never concerned about me-- what is this?"

If you can't tell, I'm not a fan of change. I greatly prefer stability even if it's toxic.

Sal drops the caring act almost immediately, his eyes rolling so hard that I'm worried they'll sink into his body. "I can't go down on you if you're freaked, can I? I wouldn't even feel comfortable doing that. I'm an asshole, not a monster."

I pause, every facial feature relaxing as his statement slaps me in the face. Key words: go, down, on, you, asshole, monster. Yep, only monstrous assholes go down on their enemies. I'm the very brave, very eager, very shocked recipient of this going down.

I take a deep, shaky breath, blinking at Sal who watches me with what looks like a raised eyebrow. "Okay," I breathlessly whisper. "How are you-- are you..." Why am I rambling? What kind of answer am I looking for? Obviously the prosthetic is about to come off and I just have to contain the desperate, whore-like rage within.

"Shut up, Vi," he chuckles over my nickname, grabbing onto my thighs and tugging me to the edge of the desk as he sits in his chair again. My fingertips press into the wooden surface while my heart threatens to pound its way through my ribcage. "Just let me taste you."

Cue internal screaming. I'm so going to faint-- and the addition of watching his pretty guitar-playing hands leave my skin to unbuckle his prosthetic is pushing me to astronomical heights. I don't even exist anymore. I'm just a wisp, a little phantom fairy watching her favorite sex movie play out in real time. It's called Faceless Fixation. She's the Fellatio Fairy. I don't even-- whoever is writing my life needs to give me a break.

I'm shivering like I have hypothermia by the time Sal carefully pulls the prosthetic off his face, making sure to not mess up his hair. And then he glances up at me. Bright eyes hesitant, sort of wide. Eyebrows risen just a bit and lips pressed together like he wants to say a thousand things but can't. He looks so nervous and it's a moment we can both share.

For reassurance (I think we both need it) I smile at him. Just a slight upward tilt of my lips as I press my thighs together. He's so beautiful. Every scar, every indentation, every feature, every little freckle. Just wow-- he's a sight to behold.

Sal's gaze flits to my lips, then down to my legs and he grabs onto them again, purposefully pulling them apart. His black polished nails dig into my skin as he gazes down at my underwear. I'm so used to watching his reactions and feelings portrayed only through his eyes, but watching the way his jaw tenses and the moment his lips part like he can't wait any longer makes me feel like I'll implode. 

His fingers run up my legs to my hips, dipping into my panties and pulling them downward. I gulp over the sight, relishing in the deja vu. How kind of him to not rip these this time. 

I lift myself up as he shimmies them down my legs, finally pulling them from around my ankles and holding them up for me to see. I blink, warmth rushing to my face at his boldness. And Sal, well-pleased, quirks a little seductive smile at them before switching his gaze to me.

"I haven't even touched you and you're soaked," is what he murmurs, eyes dancing over my half naked body with very little focus on my face. It's like he's glued to what hides behind my clenched thighs, eagerly awaiting what he'll find between them. "You're inflating my ego way too much," his voice is a bit louder this time-- darker, more sinister. The pronunciation of his words shows off charming, slightly crooked front teeth and sharp canines. I'll never know how I haven't ascended already.

I shiver, trying and failing to hide my reaction. But it doesn't really matter, seeing as Sal caught onto it anyway and his hooded eyes are on mine, a dangerous glint clashing with the hypnotizing azure shade of his irises. 

His hands are on my legs again, fingers roughly squeezing my skin. He isn't putting off his plans again though. When he separates my legs and I try my best not to push him away out of fear, Sal leans forward and presses his lips to the inside of my left thigh.

I take a deep, shuddering breath as I bathe in the feeling of his soft, jagged lips moving along my sensitive skin. I commit the image to memory, absolutely astonished over the way his blue eyes are closed while he inches closer and closer to my pussy.

I'm unable to take a full breath at this point, my body is tense while I try to hold myself in an upright position, pathetically falling apart as his mouth dances along the inside of my thigh like he's studied and perfected each step he takes. His hands are molded into my skin, they've become a part of me. He's pressing my thigh up to his face, leaving the most inebriating kisses. I wish he would stop teasing me already.

At the same time, I'm obsessed with the way he's handling me. Delicately, carefully, but he's in full control and making me wait. Testing me. Seeing if I'll push him, hoping I'll give him a good reason to punish me.

Sal's eyes open again, glancing up to meet mine. I suck in a breath, watching as he opens that dirty mouth of his and bites into the sensitive skin at the top of my thigh.

I hiss, wincing at the slight pain but my eyes never leave his. They could never. And he loves that, takes it as a challenge because those sky blue eyes close and he bites down harder, sucking my skin into his mouth to leave his mark. 

Some kind of satisfied, sickeningly delighted feeling swells in my chest at the knowledge of having a mark from him on my body. It's primal, it's a little weird, but I adore the idea and maybe he does too. After what he said to me about North on the flight to Nockfell, I'd guess he's more than happy to stake his claim even if it's invisible to the outside world. 

Sal finally pulls his teeth from my leg, revealing a gnarly, dark purple mark in his wake. He places a quick, soothing kiss to the abused skin before trailing his way closer to my pussy. He masks his destination with more wet kisses and bites and I'm so worked up by now that a light sheen of sweat has formed on my forehead. I can't be doing this-- this is complete torture.

"Sal," I groan out, flinching at the sinful tone of my voice. It makes him pause his movements as well. "Please," I tack on, the word quiet and agonizingly pleading.

He hums against my skin, eyes zeroed in on mine. I hate being so direct, it's terrifying, but it's worth it if it'll end up with his tongue buried in me, right? 

"Beg for it," he says lowly, a slight rasp to his voice. His tone makes me shiver, as well as his words and I would drop to my hands and knees if he told me to right now.

My lips part upon hearing him and I release a shaky breath, thighs drawing together until he stops them with his tight grip. My heart is running a marathon, my limbs are trembling and I'm wondering if maybe this is all just a really awesome dream.

"Please," I repeat, voice coming out as a whine. For once, I don't regret it because this is what he wants. "I'm desperate." I don't know how else to portray to him that I need this-- the wait is nearly excruciating. "I need to feel you."

Sal pulls away from my skin, tongue lapping at all of his bite marks before a sadistic smile pulls at his lips. "How much do you hate me?" And he's waiting, waiting for a wordy explanation of my distaste for him. But now, with the way things have changed between us-- even if it's slightly-- describing my loathing somehow feels harder.

So I snort, trying to coerce him into putting his mouth on me again regardless of the location. But all the shivers, waiting, and very slow building orgasm is slipping away into the distance. "A lot," I whisper shakily.

He gives me a look, eyes narrowed and lips pressed together as if I've disappointed him. "You can do better than that, Vi. Where's the fire?" He leans toward the thigh he hasn't captured with his mouth yet and skims his teeth along my skin. "Should I give you an example?"

I lick my lips, a sudden fluttering in my chest making me feel light headed. I hesitantly shake my head-- the longer he isn't paying attention to me, the farther I am from cumming. I can come up with something to say can't I? Of course I can. He's infuriating enough.

"Alright then," he mumbles monotonously, finally ditching my thighs. He yanks me a bit closer, eyes still rifling through my soul. "Then tell me. And if you stop," he warns as I swallow against the pounding in my chest due to his positioning, face mere inches from my sopping cunt. He's dragged this on long enough. "I stop. Keep that filthy mouth of yours moving."

He waits for me to launch into a monologue of detest. His mouth so close to my clit, breath tickling my skin and forcing a quiet little whimper from me. 

"I fucking hate the constant foul mood you're always in," I force out, feeling my heart leap into my throat the second the words leave my mouth. Because Sal keeps his promise and with an inebriating grunt of approval, he finally attaches his lips to my clit, tongue running over it like he's desperate to soak up every inch of what I have to offer.

The feeling of his mouth on my pussy is incomparable to any other type of satisfaction in the world-- this is what I've waited for. And he happily makes up for the lost time, expertly flicking his tongue over the bundle of nerves and sucking it farther into his mouth. He moans against my cunt, hands dragging up my thighs to cup my ass and force me even closer to him. He squeezes my skin, a reminder to keep talking.

I dig up all the things I can't stand about him, slathering them across my brain so I can tell him about it. "You're a brick wall. No matter what I say, you refuse to listen. How come you're never open to hearing anyone out?" I whimper between words, squirming around on his desk and trying my damn hardest not to ruin any of his belongings.

Sal lifts my legs over his arms, pushing them onto his shoulders and I swear I'm about to combust. The way his tongue maps figure eights and circles around my clit does nothing to help, only sends me further toward falling apart.

I squeeze my eyes shut, fingers curling over the edge of his desk, heavy breaths and quiet moans falling past my lips no matter how badly I wish I could keep them inside. "You have some kind of God complex. You think you're right about everything, have to be in control of everything and I can't stand it. I can't stand you and your constant need to have everything you want."

His teeth graze over my clit and my mouth falls open, waves of pleasure rolling through my body like I've never experienced before. He moves downward, his tongue buried between my folds and licking up every bit of my arousal that he can get. Upon getting a better taste of me, he moans and I can feel the vibration of it everywhere, all the way up to my fingertips.

"I hate how easily you turn me on, how wet I get just from a simple touch," I admit, teeth clamping down onto my bottom lip as his tongue explores the inside of my pussy like he's been starved of me for far too long. His nails dig into my skin, the action eliciting a stinging sensation that only adds to the pleasure he's giving me. This is everything. "And you're so unfair. So pretty, so damn attractive with that horrible personality of yours. Why can't you be pretty through and through?"

I open my eyes again to watch him, drowning in the prospect of his face buried between my thighs, cheeks flushed and hair a mess. I watch as he drags his mouth up to my clit again, drawing patterns and shapes I don't care to know over the bundle of nerves. The rough, slick feeling of his tongue on such a sensitive place is addicting. So long as he's around to bring me to new heights like this, I don't need anything else. Maslow's hierarchy of needs has never been so wrong-- this is my sole need.

I can't help myself-- I reach a hand out, my fingers burying themselves into Sal's hair. It's soft. Just as soft as I knew it would be. And he doesn't seem to mind, only continues to suck on my clit and abuse it with his tongue. I close my hand into a fist, lightly tugging on his hair. I need something to hold onto.

"And your stupid fucking mouth," I groan out, sucking in a breath that never fully fills my lungs. His tongue dips into my pussy again, making another little groan follow my first. My thighs are clenched tightly at this point, quaking furiously. Sal never tries to stop me, doesn't calm me. It's clear how much he enjoys bringing me to ruin. "All the awful things you say, so many dirty words and you are so good with your tongue. I've never craved and loathed something so much in my life." 

Sal smiles against my pussy-- I watch in pure amazement as the corners of his lips curl upward like what I said was everything he's always wanted to hear. It's so lewd, so perverted and I absolutely will never forget this moment.

One of his hands lets go of my ass, trailing down my thigh again but moving to the inside this time. As his teeth gently nip at my clit and his tongue laps at my pussy, the tips of his fingers press against my opening, a silent request for more of my profession of hatred. A profession I'm more than happy to give him.

"I can't imagine how much I'll hate the way you fuck me just because I know it'll be better than any sex I've had before," I tell him, watching his mouth move against my cunt with furrowed brows and my lips parted in intrigue. Oh, he's so good at what he does. 

Sal's eyes meet mine again. Eye contact with him when he's in such an erotic position is incredibly intense. I feel like my entire body is going to crumple before he can finish me off and it all counts on if he's able to hold me up or not. But as soon as his cerulean gaze meets mine, two of his fingers sink into me. The action is slow, drawn out, and drags a nasty moan out of me in turn.

Sal whimpers against my pussy, taking care of me like he promised he would. When his fingers reach as far as they can go, he curls them, causing me to flinch at the sensuous feeling. There's so much going on to the point that every inch of my body feels impossibly overwhelmed. 

My sensitive clit gets sucked into Sal's mouth again, but then he pulls away. His fingers make up for the absence of his tongue, pounding into me in the same salacious way he's done before.

"Is that all you've got?" he grumbles breathlessly, glazed eyes glaring into mine. This is the expression I'm used to with him-- anger and dominance. 

I choke on the breath I try to take, my thighs pressing into his neck as his fingers slam in and out of my soaked cunt, digits only pausing their relentless pace to curl into me. I try to fight against my one working brain cell, try to form words for him, but-- "I can't." is all that I'm able to create, the two short words coming out as an imploring cry.

Sal stands, finger-fucking me into an alternate dimension. He hovers over me, his hair brushing my shoulders and neck. I watch him, an absolute mess beneath him but I can't look away-- even through the panting breaths that morph into whimpers and moans. 

His eyes glance between mine, seemingly contemplating something in that meticulous mind of his.

"Yea, you can, gorgeous," he grinds out behind clenched teeth, using the hand that's gripping my ass to press me against his chest. Our even closer proximity somehow forces his fingers deeper into my pussy, his thumb rubbing my clit. "Tell me more." My mouth is dry, I'm going to cum soon, and hopefully I don't actually fall over before that.

Sal takes a page out of my book, leaning closer to me and nipping at the skin of my throat. A little gasp falls past my lips and I finally let go of his hair, dragging my hand down to his neck. Those fingers work me to the core, never ceasing their movements and pushing into me with so much perfectly applied force. 

His mouth moves along the side of my neck, his lips still wet from my juices. I have no idea what gave him the confidence, but I'm not mad. Everything that couldn't be done with his prosthetic can be done now and he's taking advantage of it. "Speak," he snaps, tone not so gentle or comforting like it was when this first began. "Or else."

My mind is blank. "I'm about to cum," I begrudgingly whisper, completely overtaken by his fingers thrusting into me and his thumb focused on my oversensitive clit.

I shut my eyes, my free arm wrapping around his shoulders. Every inch of my body is tense, senses heightened and alert. I don't think I can possibly hold on any longer-- I doubt Sal needed my confirmation to tell that I'm close.

His digits curl into me again, repeating the action. I follow up with a loud whimper, my nails digging into the skin of his neck as he sucks on the skin behind my ear. I wish he'd have ditched the prosthetic sooner because I've really been missing out.

The hand still gripping onto my butt retreats to my stomach, fingers disappearing under my shirt and crawling across my ribs to my bra. He treats it as if it isn't even there, hand easily dipping beneath the fabric. His palm envelops my breast, squeezing gently and massaging the skin. It's such a considerate touch compared to the way he treats the rest of my body-- he knows exactly where the sweet spots are. 

"Cum," he commands, lips brushing the shell of my ear and fingers pounding into my sore cunt, thumb running over my hardened nipple.

My head drops onto his shoulder and with one more curl of his fingers, I do as he says and fall apart in his arms. I burst almost instantly, doing anything to keep myself silent over the feeling of his fingers gently caressing the inside of my pussy, riding me through my orgasm just like he did the first time. My teeth sink into his shoulder, a muffled whimper following soon after. Sal tenses up in my arms, a pleasured breath falling from his mouth and fanning over the side of my neck.

"Good girl," he purrs into my ear, lips skimming over the warm skin at my throat. He leaves one more sloppy kiss to my neck then pulls away to look into my eyes again. I can hardly hear anything he says as my teeth are forced away from his shoulder, still reeling from the orgasm that slammed into me nearly unannounced. My limbs feel like jelly as chills run up my spine. "You listen to me so well," he continues. I can't even look into his eyes; I just watch the way his lips move. How his tongue presses into the back of his teeth to pronounce a syllable. His sharp canines that undoubtedly left their own bruises on my skin. 

I gulp, unable to peel my eyes away from the mouth that masterfully brought me to climax. For the first time ever, I wonder what his mouth would feel like against mine. How soft his scarred lips would feel, not on my skin, but captured by my own. What his tongue would taste like. What his teeth would feel like nipping at my lips. 

Sal doesn't move away from me-- keeps our close proximity with his nose nearly brushing my mask's. He slowly, delicately pulls his fingers out of me but only continues to gaze into my eyes.

This is dangerous territory. Very dangerous. Because the impossible is coursing through me right now and I... somehow can't find it in me to hate him in this exact moment.

But then he blinks. Stands to his full height, moving away from me. His azure gaze turns to the desk I'm sitting on and he grabs my panties, offering them to me. Not an ounce of emotion evident on his face. I'd always wondered what he'd look like simply because I was curious if his face gave away his emotions better than his eyes could. It's pretty impressive how he's able to keep a straight mug though, RBF and all. Especially when he lifts the hand he fingered me with to his mouth and licks my cum off. He doesn't even look at me as his tongue runs up the length of his digit, just turns away from me and walks to the other side of the room.

I'm floored, jaw dropped and pussy wet. Again. That's really fucking hot.

I watch him strut away, follow his movements as he drops to his haunches and opens up his suitcase with his clean hand. He grabs something then faces me again, beginning to walk back with a finger still in his mouth.

My chest tightens at the sight. He can't be doing this to me. Not when Larry is going to be home any minute-- he needs to keep both his hands at his sides.

Thankfully, Sal has some mercy on me and finally finishes cleaning his fingers, eyes darting up to mine again. He walks up to me, right where I'm still sitting on top of his desk and drops fabric onto my bare thighs.

My brows furrow and I look down, grabbing lace. I lift it up, unfolding it to see that it's a near replica of the lace underwear he'd ripped off of me in Vegas. Only it's a completely brand new pair. No rips, no issues. My heart swells a bit at the gesture-- he bought a new pair like I'd told him to. I wasn't even serious, but he did it anyway.

I puff out my cheeks, contemplating what to say. Thank you's are virtually nonexistent between us. My eyes flit up to meet his again and he stuffs his hands into his pockets, watching me.

"You taste good," he nonchalantly comments, causing an infuriating blush to heat my cheeks.

"Thanks," I murmur, holding up the lace panties to show that I'm thankful for them too. "You taste pretty good too." He does. I'll have to return the favor to him when I get the chance.

A barely audible snort comes from him and I almost smile. 

"I'd fuck you, but Larry will be back any minute and Ash probably isn't far behind him," he says, turning on his heel and walking toward the door. "I suggest you put your clothes back on. Panties are clean, I washed them."

My eyebrows raise and I pinch my lips together. Huh. "How kind of you," I say half sarcastically. Only half because it's helpful that they are clean-- it's almost like he knew he'd place me in a predicament where I needed fresh underwear. "You trying to kick me out?" I add. Of course he is, I'm just trying to make my way out of here as awkward-less as possible.

"Hell yea," he says proudly, "I have shit to do."

"Are you calling me a distraction?" I ask, looking toward him as I shimmy my underwear and shorts up my legs then start working on the button.

Sal tilts his head, hand on the doorknob. "And a mild aggravation."

"Oh, wow," I gasp, feigning surprise. "Mild? I must be working my way onto your good side."

"Fuck me good enough and we'll see how far you get," he replies, eyes watching my every move but face still unreadable as I begin walking toward him. 

I roll my eyes. Of course. I pinch my lips together and give him a disinterested look. This is my lesson to never try to have a casual conversation with him again. He clearly doesn't want it, which, fair. Our agreement is sex, not friendship. "Okay," I say dramatically when he opens the door for me. "Bye, Sal."

The man nods his head, acknowledging the shift in the room. His eyes stay glued to mine like they have been the entire time I've been here. Now that I'm not distracted by his mouth on my pussy, I realize that this is an odd thing for him to do. He looks at me every once in a while, but not in such a... scrutinizing way. 

He purses his lips and says, "Bye, y/n."

Every nerve-ending in my body suddenly shuts off. Everything is still. I have no thoughts for a moment, no physical reaction. Just stillness. I don't breathe, I don't move. I just watch him.

There's no way— he has to have mixed up my names. It has to be that.

And then everything hits me. Sal Fisher just said my name. And not the fake one that I've been hiding behind. He said my actual name— the one that's on my birth certificate. And now my hands are shaking, my heart is racing, my breaths are uneven, and I feel like I'm going to throw up.

"What the fuck," I say shakily. I'm not ready for this. I'm going to completely switch his thought process around-- "did you just say?"

The look in his eyes changes, they light up a bit as if he's caught me. And still he decides to mess with me. "Huh?" he innocently asks.

Okay, I'd really like to wake up now.

My eyes narrow. So that's the game he wants to play? This isn't the time and I don't have the mental capacity to handle this. Not only am I recovering from a mind-blowing orgasm, but I was just getting over the overwhelming anxiety I suffered from yesterday.

"I'm not y/n, if that's what you're thinking," I rush to tell him, even adding in the fakest little smirk I've ever slapped onto my face. Anything to get him off my tail, whatever I can think of to save my ass. This really can't be happening to me.

He's still watching me speculatively and it's making my brain itch. "You know," he finally starts, voice disgustingly pleased. "I went out on a limb with that one." I watch in horror as a little smirk begins to grow on his face. I don't want to accept it yet, I really don't, but I think I'm fucked and not physically. 

At the end of the day, he's still managed to fuck me in multiple ways. I cannot stand Sal Fisher.

"What are you even talking about?" I ask him, clearing my throat quietly while taking a safe step out of his door and into the living room. I try my best to keep my eyes on him while extinguishing the fear from my gaze. If I act horrified, he'll sniff me out instantly. That is, if he hasn't already.

Sal chuckles deeply— it's, shockingly, an amused and prideful one rather than something sick, dark, and twisted. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. I try my best not to adore the way his scars stretch with his laugh and the sight of his pretty teeth. "Any other woman would have assumed I was sleeping with someone else if I called them by another name," he says lightheartedly, tilting his head down a bit. "But you didn't. And that can only mean that I'm right."

I open my mouth to decline, fear thrumming through me. He caught me red handed. I can't fucking believe this.

"And don't try to deny it, you won't change my mind. I've been very sure of who you are for months now."

My head slowly begins to shake of its own accord. He never fails to shock me. "How..."

Sal shrugs. "You couldn't have timed your introduction more horrendously. Think about it," he says, chewing on his bottom lip. "I bitch at y/n over a phone call, then the next day, a wild VioletViolence pops into my life and isn't too surprised by my shitty personality. The second you were added to the Discord server, I had my suspicions." He shrugs nonchalantly, like the confirmation doesn't bother him in the slightest. "I talked it over with Larry and Todd too. They're pretty sure of your identity as well. They were just nice enough to wait for you to tell us on your own." His eyes narrow, sly like a fox. "But I'm not nice and wanted to know for myself. Wanted to scare you a bit too."

I swallow over the bile rising in my throat. Scare me, he did. I have no idea what to do with myself. I must look like a deer in headlights nearing its death sentence. "It... it doesn't bother you?" I decide to ask in a small voice, unable to blink as I watch him closely.

That same smug little smile is still lighting up his marred face as he says, "Regardless, I still can't stand you and I'll still fuck you stupid."

-----------

A/N::::::: OMFFGGGGG I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS CHAPTER FOR AGESSSSSS PLEASE!!! more specifically the end of it! i've had this last scene written since like... 2022 o_O 

i want to give a HUGE thanks to my very good friend, Phoebe, who inspired me to write the catalyst of the smut scene with this AMAZING piece of art that they drew :3 i am soooo so grateful for having the opportunity to see the art in general, but getting to write it too??? OMG so incredibly grateful <33

side note: this is my first time writing a smut scene like this one-- well, actually any time i write a different kind of sex it's new for me LMFAO i am exploring EVERYTHINGGGG and i also have no idea if this is any good. so like last chapter, if y'all could give me some tips or things you like and didn't like, i would GREATLY appreciate it :3

i'm going catch up on my neglected homework. as always, have a wonderful morning/day/evening/night. my heart belongs to all of you <3

[thejujvtsupost]

Can you plz do a geto surguru x sorcerer reader story maybe a bit angst like from him leaving and the reader heartbroken but doesn't care and joins him cuz she loves him, something of that sort? I'm not picky I just wish for my of geto surguru 😭🥺

He Left You // From Afar

Hiiii anon I’ve got a drabble for you! I struggle with Geto angst of any kind especially from his defection era because he really just needs a hug and some counseling but I did my best 💗

Notes: F!reader, angst, reader is a sorcerer, established relationship, light stalking, comfort??, don’t be like them they’re both a little crazy making wild choices, Geto doesn’t start a cult- he just leaves the jujutsu world behind, We live in a river in Egypt bc none of that is canon forgive me.🥴

Geto leaves overnight and thus leaves you behind. You were suffering too, you were depressed too, and he had the audacity to leave you and Gojo- his supposed best friend- behind. You hated him for it.

For months you were bitter from the abandonment and his defection. No news of his whereabouts, zero contact. He left you.

Geto couldn’t stay. He couldn’t watch his friends be exploited and killed too young. Just like Haibara, sent out alone on a mission he had no business being involved in.

He couldn’t stay but he couldn’t completely leave either. Unbeknownst to you, he was hiding but never too far.

Of course he couldn’t leave you behind truly. You held his heart, and after two months, he cracked and started looking after you.

From afar. Far enough that you wouldn’t pick up on his energy, far enough that you wouldn’t be reminded of his abandonment.

It hurt to stay away but he made his bed to lie in. That’s what he told himself every time he was tempted to reach out to you or Satoru. He let your graduation pass by and soon your lives were moving forward without him.

But you… eighteen months after he left- he returned.

He returned to your apartment and waited for you to come home from the stupid date he spotted you on. You were wearing that little red dress he loved so much on you to meet with some other man.

Fine, he would admit that he was jealous. Leaving meant he couldn’t keep you. But you were still his. Still his doll, his love.

And his love was unlocking her door while bidding her date farewell. At least he was a gentleman.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” This was the first time in eighteen months you laid eyes on him. You were furious.

“How did you even- what. No. Get out. Now.” Your voice was already cracking.

God he missed you so badly, the fire in your eyes was captivating even if he was on the receiving end. “You’re dating?”

“Are you stalking me or something? That’s not your business, you left me. You left me and I was alone- not even a breakup text-” the tears started flowing freely, your heart couldn’t take it.

“I’ve been checking on you every so often, wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Do I fucking look okay to you?” You left him standing in the living room, a man wasn’t going to prevent you from being comfortable in your own apartment.

“Gorgeous actually.” He followed you, only waiting outside your bedroom door so you could change. He at least had the civility to not cross your boundaries. You hated that you were blushing so easily.

Once into your comfortable clothes, you slam the door open and cross the hall into your bathroom to remove your makeup before it could stain your face further.

Of course he followed you, taking a moment to lean against the door frame and admire you closer than he had in over a year.

Then his arms were snaking around your waist from behind. “But you should know you’re always gorgeous.” He continued his thought from a few minutes prior. He knew he couldn’t sway you with a few compliments but that wasn’t going to stop him from telling the truth.

You were paralyzed and unable to meet his gaze in the mirror, you could easily push him away and you didn’t want to. You hated that he still felt like home.

You hated that you turned around and were relaxing into his embrace, spiraling down into sobs when he held you tighter against him and rubbed his hand down your back in a soothing manner. “I hate you so much. You can’t pop in and out of my life Suguru, I won’t let you break me again. I can’t handle it.”

“I want you to come with me, doll. I didn’t want to leave you behind but I couldn’t stay there- I just couldn’t.” He started choking up, “I’ve been off the grid in a cabin, come with me? Please?”

Could you actually just leave like he did? Your friends, job, entire life? All to be with Suguru?

“I won’t cut all contact.”

“You don’t have to, phones exist.”

“And I’m not giving up Netflix or the internet.”

“I live in a cabin, not the wilderness doll.” This wasn’t a laughing matter but he couldn’t help but be fond of your stubbornness. “I have power and internet.”

Could you really leave everything behind?

Yeah. Yeah, you could.

Thinking of making a request? Check my bio to see if they’re open! <3

[crazystargirl]

overheated ☆

pairing ☆ - ethan landry x reader

word count ☆ - 0.7k !

a/n ☆ - my sister chose the song for this one and it took forever to come up with an idea for it but finally figured it out, plz send ideas for the songs tho bc i literally have no clue what i'm doing more than half the time 💀

"i don't really know why you went there"

your roommate, anika, had dragged you to some lame frat party since her friends were going and she saw you moping around in the dorm

you were only really close to her and ethan who was in your econ class

you made a beeline towards ethan after a bit since anika left you to go hang out with her girlfriend which you didn't mind since you didn't expect her to stay with you the whole time

you see ethan standing with chad who was probably trying to get ethan to go and date someone

"hey ethan!" you say, coming over to the boys

ethan sees you stumble and a bit and holds onto your waist to make sure you don't fall over

"hey y/n" chad looks at ethan with a shocked expression since he knew ethan wasn't the type to just touch a girl randomly

after a while, chad had ran off, probably to find himself someone while you and ethan were sitting on a chair together, you on the chair and him on the arm of it

you see him check a text and look annoyed, quickly wiping the expression off his face when he sees you staring

"what happened?" you ask looking up at ethan, somewhat drunk at this point

"nothing…i have to go now, go home with anika ok?" ethan says, getting up and giving you a hug and leaving quickly

you're confused since you didn't know where ethan went and why he went alone since he usually always left with a party with the friend group or chad

"i kinda don't care, you wanna kill me"

you decided to go home about 10 minutes after ethan left, quickly letting anika know so she wouldn't worry

you didn't really care at this point why ethan had left early and were more concerned about getting home quickly

unknown to you, ethan was watching you walk home, didn't you know not to walk alone while intoxicated?

as much as he wanted to go over there and walk you home, that wouldn't match his personality right now

he was in his ghostface costume and had quickly fled the alley he was in after killing a group of kids there

he did feel the urge to kill someone else tonight and you certainly were playing the part of a victim right now but he couldn't bring himself to do it since he would ruin the plan

"you wanna hurt me"

after that night, ethan had been brainstorming different ways to kill the victims and unfortunately whenever he thought of a victim, you were always the first person who came to mind

sweet little y/n was just so vulnerable that night and would've probably been the perfect victim to kill if he didn't love you so damn much

his dad had told him not to get attached to anyone and when quinn had found out he was somewhat obsessed with y/n, saying she was shocked was an understatement 

quinn knew ethan loved her and was chill with it since y/n was going to have to die eventually but she never expected her dorky nerdy brother wanting to hurt y/n so badly

honestly ethan knew his ideas were fucked up but wouldn't it be fun to have someone to just hurt? and then after he could take care of her wounds and cuddle with her

ethan had tried to convince his dad before to let him keep y/n but he said no everytime. wayne knew of ethan's attachment and once he found out he immediately told quinn that she would be the one to kill y/n because god knows what ethan would do

"stop bein' flirty"

ethan often flirted with you in order to get your attention but you seemed oblivious to his attempts until Tara pointed it out to you

ever since she told you, you would always get flustered whenever he flirted or sent you a sweet text

"it's kinda workin'"

more and more everyday, you fell for ethan landry's flirty remarks

mindy had told you to be careful around since he seemed like the person most likely to be ghostface

you didn't really listen to her, brushing off her remarks everytime as just her suspicions nature

and poor you, quinn knew that you were falling for her psycho brother and there was absolutely nothing she could do. she knew that you'd have to go eventually but she didn't think ethan torturing you before your death would do any good

after all she was still your best friend

taglist ☆ - @xyzstar, @gwenlore, @dizscreams, @kaesworldxx, @urmomcomsiimiamour, @nonniesworld, @chemtr4ilz, @abodyhasbeenfound

lmk if you want to be added or removed from the taglist!

©insidethepalemoonlight || do NOT copy or repost without my permission

[sungbeam]

nonidol!ji changmin x bff!fem!reader

after the death of his best friend, changmin’s been left to grieve and wallow. but when you suddenly come back to him in the form of a ghost, he realizes that this might be his chance to right some wrongs. (aka; changmin has seven days with your ghost to figure out why you’ve been returned to the land of the living.)

▷ genre, warnings. childhood friends au, you are literally dead./major character death, mentions of a car accident, implied past bullying, swearing, fluff, comedy as a coping mechanism, angst, comfort/hurt, grief and survivor’s guilt, so much crying that you might get tired, just telling you now it is not meant to be a romantic plot but there r hints bc i’m a sucker, i’m not religious but ur a ghost(?), getting over one’s best friend’s death is not easy folks so that’s why y/n goes ghost B)

▷ total wc. 16.8k </3

▷ permanent taglist. @tayunji @im-a-big-mess @honeyhuii @y3jiishot @crazywittysassy @seomisaho @stopeatread @enhacolor @rnjfy @jaehunnyy @kpopjackie @spiderrenjunfics @soobin-chois @stayarmytinyzenmoa-l @ethereal-engene

a/n: hey hello! ik this prob won’t get a lot of interaction bc it’s a tbz fic and non-romantic main, but it would mean a lot to me if u reblogged and shared this :’) otherwise, hope u enjoy, and here's some mood songs: yellow (coldplay), last (dvwn), & let's hurt tonight (onerepublic)

DAY ZERO

JUYEON wasn’t really the best at approaching people in this way. There was something about sad people that made him feel helpless, and the fact that this was Ji Changmin, one of his closest friends, the helplessness had collapsed into a sinkhole in the pit of his stomach. Even Chanhee, someone who was arguably closer to Changmin, sat silently after Kevin’s proposed question.

Kevin lifted the straw of his coffee to his lips, eyes glued to a crack in the table they surrounded in the local coffee shop by the school campus. “So… no one has any ideas?”

Sad, drooping heads.

Chanhee blew a puff of air out from his lips as he propped his chin onto his palm. There seemed to be a permanent frown etched into his face nowadays, not far from how Changmin looked. “I wish that we knew how to get through to him, y’know? I think if he would just let us, then we could at least be there with him.”

“He’s grieving, Chanhee,” Kevin replied firmly, but not unkindly. “If he wants alone time, then he deserves that time to himself. But I do think that he needs to come out of his apartment. I mean… his parents will not be happy when they find out he’s skipped almost a month’s worth of classes.”

It had been about a month since that dreadful night you died. Changmin and his friends had all awoken to the news that there had been an Accident. It was on the corner of two streets, on the opposite side of campus, that you had been run down by a drunk driver on your way home from a late shift. Since then, Changmin refused to crawl out of his apartment, insisting on hoarding himself away. He’d only come out of the apartment to let Gana frolic and do his business, but would then proceed to go straight back to his hobbit hole.

This was a far cry from the Changmin they knew—the one who would drag his friends out to the permanent Haunted House attraction in the middle of July, the one who refused to return to his own apartment until he nailed a dance move just right. But the day you died seemed to be the day that Changmin had as well.

Juyeon chewed on his bottom lip, knee bouncing up and down fervently with anxious energy. He hated feeling helpless. As Kevin and Chanhee continued to talk themselves aloud through their own thoughts, Juyeon pulled his phone out from his pocket and sent Changmin a series of texts. When he finished, he shoved the phone under his thigh to keep from constantly checking the screen for disappointment.

“…could always call up Sunwoo and drive him up here. I’m sure he would gladly intrude to cuddle—”

Juyeon was suddenly yanked back out from tuning in when he felt his phone vibrate. His eyes widened slightly in surprise as he watched the little bubbles appear under Changmin’s name.

juyo: hey changminnie~ wanna come get bbq with us tonight? it’s on me !

juyo: ice cream afterward on me too

kyu: okay

kyu: what time?

———

Changmin didn’t know what possessed him to come out of his apartment to hang out with his friends. For far too long, he had refused to hang out with anyone else besides Gana and his lonesome. But something in him ignited at the sight of Juyeon’s texts and offers; perhaps it had been his stomach and dwindling bank account.

Nevertheless, he told Juyeon that he would meet him there, and he wasn’t about to flake on his word.

He exhaled a haggard sigh from his mouth, the breath turning to visible air in front of him. His nose and cheeks were pink from the cold nipping at his skin, but the sensation felt nice, felt normal. He ducked his head, puffy and tired eyes hidden beneath a red baseball cap, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark hoodie as he walked across the street to reach the lively and warm embrace of the bbq restaurant.

He spied his trio of friends lingering just outside the door, small smiles on their faces as they talked about something amongst themselves. Chanhee threw his head back in a laugh at something Juyeon said, and Changmin suddenly felt out of place without even being there. What if he was just going to ruin the mood? He didn’t want them to be sad or walk around eggshells around him. What if he cried, just out of nowhere? That would definitely ruin the mood—

Before he could swivel on his heel and turn back, Kevin caught his eyes from down the road, his face lighting up. He raised a hand to wave him over, catching the attention of the other two who turned to look. “Yo, Changmin! You made it, man.”

Changmin tried for a smile, his shoulders relaxing. This was fine; he was going to be okay. “Hey guys.”

Chanhee immediately rushed over to him and crushed him in an embrace. “I can’t believe I’ve missed you,” he lamented into Changmin’s jacket.

Changmin chuckled, affectionately patting his friend’s head. “Well, I’m not surprised. I missed you, too, though.”

When Chanhee pulled back, there was an expression of stark disbelief on his face. But before he could point out that Changmin actually admitted to missing him, Changmin was greeted by Kevin and Juyeon.

Juyeon pulled him into a small side hug. “How’re you feeling?”

Changmin swallowed. The tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and his inner voice was shouting at him to hold back. He sucked in a breath. “I’m… I’m okay. How’re you guys?”

There was an exchange of looks between the other three as if they didn’t believe him or they were all silently trying to figure out what best to respond with. Kevin was the one who said, “We’re doing okay, too. Come on; our table’s ready.”

And that was perhaps the very response that Changmin was hoping for—and yet, at the same time, he wondered if he would have liked it better if they called him out for lying instead.

———

Changmin stumbled into his apartment, hand flapping against the wall blindly to find the lightswitch. His dark bangs hung in his eyes as the lights flickered on. He winced, digging his thumb and forefinger into the corners of his eyes to stave the brightness. As he kicked the front door shut, he heard the jingling of Gana’s collar as his pup came up to circle around his legs in warm greeting.

He bent down slightly to scratch behind Gana’s ears. “Hi, boy. Yeah, I’m back.”

He let out yet another sigh and dragged himself over to the couch, collapsing onto the cushion dented with the imprint of his butt from heavy use. Gana leapt onto the couch beside him, dutifully taking residence on the cushion and resting his fluffy head in Changmin’s lap.

For the first time in a month, Changmin had smiled, laughed even. He didn’t like admitting that it had made him feel good; he didn’t like that he could be happy when you’d died so soon ago. The devil perched on his shoulder whispered insecurities into his ear and that high he had been on while out with Chanhee, Kevin, and Juyeon disappeared. Replacing it was that gut-wrenching guilt in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t even describe the deep sadness that fell over him like a tsunami wave. Everything had come to deafening silence, like when he would dunk his head beneath water. Everything became muted… he was slipping again.

Changmin leaned his head against the back of the couch and let the tears trail down the sides of his face. He was trying to breathe—inhale, exhale, inhale—but he would only choke on the sounds of his sobs.

Gana crawled into his lap now, warm mass like a hug. It was the only thing grounding Changmin to reality now.

Do you even deserve to be happy? He wondered to himself, shifting to sit up and wipe the tears from his cheeks with the backs of his hands. Did you deserve to go out and be happy when Yn can’t?

Changmin swore under his breath, angrily pawing at his face again, willing the waterworks to stop. “God, stop crying, you fucking wimp,” he growled at himself.

It wouldn’t help; of course, it wouldn’t help.

His frame trembled and quaked and… and…

Changmin gently moved Gana off of his legs so he could make his way over to the little side table beside his TV. It used to be where he stashed yours and his favorite movies, video games, and board games. But now, it had become home to pictures of you and him, tealights, and your favorite plushie that he kept from when your parents asked to meet with him.

All of it. Why was it here if only to remind him of the person he treasured most lost to the cruel hand of fate?

He collapsed before the table, knees pressed between his body and the cold, hard ground. He clasped his hands together, tears pouring down his face. “If I could just see you again, Yn… just one more time,” he managed to choke out. “Just one more time. Please.” Would that even be enough?

DAY ONE

LIGHT filtered in through the shutters of the apartment windows and directly into Changmin’s eyes, but what woke him up was the incessant sound of Gana’s barking. Changmin groaned, body rolling around onto its side as he reached for his phone charging on the nightstand. It was ten in the morning, well past his first lecture of the day’s allotted time.

He sniffled, hand reaching up to gently touch his puffy eyelids. God, eight hours and he still woke up sore as—

“Jesus, it’s still a pigsty in here.”

Changmin froze. Gana kept barking.

He blinked. He must have been hearing things, because he couldn’t have just heard your voice say that from out in the living room.

Changmin shook his head. He really needed some coffee or something. Now he was hallucinating you? How much worse could his mental health get? Maybe he really should have accepted that offer from your parents when they’d asked him if they could pay for any counseling services he needed. He rose from the bed with a yawn, arms stretching up over his head.

Gana had stopped barking at this point, and Changmin mentally thanked whatever it was that was making his dog go mad for…

The thought ran dry in his head like words dying upon his tongue. He stepped over the threshold between his bedroom and the main living space, and his eyes landed on something awfully peculiar… Not something, rather someone. You. He was staring right at you leaning down to scratch Gana behind the ears.

His heart leapt into his throat and his eyes fluttered shut. This could not be happening.

“Holy shit!” Your exclamation made his eyes shoot open. You were gaping at him now as if you were surprised to see him. “You’re supposed to be at class!”

He couldn’t help but retort in his own defense, “And you’re supposed to be dead!” But here you were, in the flesh—in an old T-shirt from your high school Science Olympiad team and comfortable sweats—petting his dog.

Changmin grasped his bedroom door frame, free hand flying to hold his head. “Oh my god, I’m going insane. What was in that ice cream last night?”

There was no plausible reason for you to be standing in his living room right now. Not when you had been dead for an entire month. He had been at the funeral, had sobbed his heart out over the pile of dirt they’d shoveled over your grave. A prickling sensation came to the corners of his eyes and he willed himself to not start crying again. He didn’t even know he had tears left to cry after the session he’d had last night.

“Changmin.”

He shuddered.

Your voice was softer this time as you slowly moved away from Ghana. “Changmin, it’s Yn Ln. You know me.”

He peeked out from behind his hand and sniffled. Nevermind, he was definitely crying. “Stop,” he rasped, shaking his head. “Stop. This is just a figment of my imagination. Yn is not really here; she’s definitely—” His voice broke and he let go of the door jamb so he could bury his face into the palms of both of his hands. He let out a shaky breath. “I need coffee.”

He averted his eyes from looking in your direction as he shook some sense into his head and headed straight for the kitchen to start the coffee pot. He could hear Gana’s collar jingle as he bounded after him.

You could only stand there where you had been before and watch with sad eyes as he kept his back to you the entire time the coffee brewed.

One scaldingly bitter cup of brew later, Changmin leaned his back against the counter to face you. His face was set in a permanent grimace from the gross after taste of that hot bean juice, but the slight buzzing sensation at the back of his head was definitely a sign of alertness. Okay, now to solve all his problems.

“So you’re a ghost?” Were the first words from his mouth.

Your face dropped into a deadpan that was so you, Changmin almost broke out into hysterical giggles. “That’s your first question?”

“It’s a very valid question.”

You sighed. “Yes. Sure, I’m a ghost.”

He narrowed his eyes on you, lifting the mug in his hand to his lips, then frowning when he realized it was empty. “Okay, but how do I know you’re really Yn? How do I know you’re not just a projection of my crippling depression, and that you’re actually my Yn?” He didn’t know where the my had come from, but he was going a little too insane to care.

You made a face at him, nose wrinkling up cutely. He could see you in all the little mannerisms, and to be honest, he wouldn’t be surprised at all if you turned out to be simply a figment of his imagination because he knew you that well. He could probably resurrect you into an animated character if he knew how to animate in the first place. “Changmin, how am I supposed to prove to you I’m actually Yn? You can’t just recognize me?”

Maybe his brain was just tuning into work mode to block out all of the emotions. At the moment, he let his playful, curious side win his body over. “I dunno,” he grinned. “Ooh! What is my middle name?”

“You don’t have a middle name.”

“What is my favorite movie?” He stopped short, his pointer finger tapping his chin. “Wait, that’s too obvious. When’s my birthday?”

You squinted at him in disbelief. “So your favorite movie is too obvious, but your birthday, which is on your birth certificate, isn’t?”

He huffed. “Okay, what did I wear to Juyeon’s fourteenth birthday party then?”

Your hand moved to hold your forehead. “Changmin, how the fuck am I supposed to remember that.”

“THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT YN WOULD SAY!”

“THAT’S BECAUSE I AM YN, YOU IDIOT.”

When Changmin doubled over himself in laughter, your lips settled into a thin line. He thunked his mug onto the counter with a concerningly loud crash so he could brace himself against something with one hand. (Maybe he really was going insane.)

You fixed him with a look. “Are you done messing around, Ji Changmin?”

His eyes, squinting from all his laughter and the biggest grin on his face, twinkled from where he peered over the counter at you. The sight almost brought a smile back to your face. “You’re just fun to mess with, Yn-ie.”

———

Reality came crashing down on Changmin in as little as five minutes.

“So… you’re a ghost?”

This time, when he posed the question, it was smaller and mellow, his body settled onto the couch with his legs pulled up to his chest as he peered up at you through watery eyes and a childlike disposition. Gana had retreated into his bedroom to snuggle into his bedsheets, leaving only you and Changmin in the main living space. You were perched on the wooden coffee table across from where he sat on the couch. You didn’t have it in you to be annoyed at him when he looked so… looked so unlike himself. This wasn’t the Changmin you knew before: ballsy, smiley, unafraid. There was something so blanched about him, like he was washed over in some kind of filter. It was unnerving.

You bit your upper lip, hands drumming against your legs. “Yeah.”

He stared at you for a moment, then pointed at the TV remote next to you. “Move that.”

“Pardon?”

“Move it,” he repeated.

You moved it.

“Why aren’t you just phasing through shit if you’re a ghost?” He asked, hands tightening around his knees.

His logic, or well—some semblance of logic—was trying to help him process this, that much you understood. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I was literally just manifested here.”

“So you know you’re dead?”

You nodded. “I don’t know how long I’ve been dead for—”

“Three weeks and four days,” he blurted. He averted his gaze for a moment and picked at a stray thread on the couch. “Three weeks… and four days.”

And suddenly, you felt as though you reflected how he looked right now: eyes shining, frown engraved into your face. Your body went numb from the shock and the sudden realization that he had been counting. You swallowed. How were you supposed to comfort him through your own death?

“Can I hug you?”

Your head perked up and you met his small gaze again. You nodded. “Yeah,” you cleared your throat and held out your palms like an offering, “yeah, c’mere, Kyu.”

At the sound of his nickname, he practically pounced across the gap between you two, and into your arms. You were able to grab hold of him and keep your own body upright, and you felt him fist the material of your shirt in his hands as he sobbed into your chest. He could feel you, all of you—could smell your shampoo, feel the warmth of your neck. He could squeeze and grapple onto you as if you were truly here. God, what he would have given to hug you one last time. His knees were definitely bruised from how hard he hit the floor, but he had slid down far enough that he was clinging onto and crying into your stomach, all while one of your arms came around his top half and the other settled comfortably in the nest of his hair.

“I—” he blubbered into your dampened shirt, “—I missed you so much, Yn. I missed you so bad. I—I can’t—I don’t even know what to do without you. I missed you so, so badly.”

You squeezed him a little harder and leaned down to lay your body over his. “God, I’m sorry, Kyu. I missed you, too. You’ll be okay, hm? You’re gonna be okay.”

He shook his head against you in insistent refusal. “Mm-mm. No. Can’t do this fucking shit without you—can’t do this ‘live your life’ shit without my—my best friend.” He wasn’t even sure how he could manage to get words out. Even if he had known he would be given the opportunity to speak to you one last time, he wouldn’t ever be able to settle on the right words to tell you. This moment was no different. All that spilled from his mouth was nothing short of the truth, though.

———

Hours later, you and Changmin laid on the length of the couch with his face tucked into your neck and his body lying atop yours. You’d coaxed him to move with you onto the couch, knowing that his legs were probably screaming in agony for being pressed against the hardwood floor. He hadn’t said anything for a long time; only deigning to lay there in silence as he assured himself that you really were a solid mass beneath him. He came to realize one thing in particular, however—you lacked a heartbeat.

Everything about you seemed perfectly and incredibly human, except for that fact. He felt no pulse aching from where he nestled by your jugular. All of those crime dramas he’d spent hours upon hours watching with you had come in handy in learning how to feel for pulses. He tried to get past the fact that you didn’t have one; after all, you were dead.

His fingers wrapped around a strand of your hair, and he voiced a thought aloud, “Did they lock you out of heaven or something?”

Your laugh came out like a snort. “If anything, I was booted from hell.”

“Wow, so you died and gained a sense of humor.”

You flicked his forehead, and Changmin grinned, rubbing the spot. “Ow. Rude.”

“Bet you wish I could phase through things now, huh?”

He turned his face into your neck again and his voice came out nasally, “That would have been cooler.”

You huffed indignantly. “Don’t think I didn’t miss your little shrine of me, Mr. Cool Guy.”

Changmin groaned and hid his burning face from you. It was suddenly far too hot in this room, and your laughter was a little too bright to be a good representation of the dead. He grunted. “You died, Yn. What was I supposed to do?”

“You kept Bruno for me though,” you said with a soft sort of smile as you ran your fingers through his hair, making eye contact with the angry, little red t-rex plush sitting on the table by the TV. “He seems to like it here.”

“Do you like it here?” He asked then. “I mean, why are you here, Yn-ie? If—if you’re real, then why are you in the land of the living and fully corporeal?” He braced himself on the sides of the couch then so he could push up. When his eyes clashed with yours, he realized just how close your faces were, and reddened, immediately spacing himself from you to the other end of the couch.

You frowned slightly at the action, but thought nothing of it as you shifted to match his seated position. “I’m not sure. I just remember the accident, the world fading to black, and now…” You gestured to yourself and all around you. “Now I’m here.”

“How do you know things though? Like, how do you know you’re a ghost? How do you know you’ve been dead?”

You could only shrug. “Injected into my brain? Can’t really answer that, Changmin.”

Changmin raked a hand through his hair, licking his lips. “Okay, well you had to have been brought back here for a reason right? Maybe to right a wrong? Something you have to finish or satisfy before you’re allowed into the afterlife or whatever comes after death,” he reasoned with his hands gesticulating madly like flapping wings.

“I know that I have seven days,” you offered.

The world crumbled and the blood drained from his face. “Seven days?” He whispered.

You nodded solemnly. “Just one of those things,” your tone went quiet like an apology, “I guess.”

Changmin’s eyes shuddered. Seven days. Seven days. Seven… okay, he could do this. Seven days to think of all the things he was supposed to say to you and to finally say them. And also, to figure out why you were sent here in the first place. Who knew what would happen to you if you weren’t able to accomplish whatever goal you were supposed to reach? He couldn’t bear the thought.

“Okay,” he managed to say.

“Well, I know where we should start,” you suggested with the slight lift of your shoulder.

He glanced at you in waiting.

“We need to clean this messy ass apartment up.”

DAY TWO

CHANGMIN couldn’t possibly sleep when he knew you were just waltzing about the apartment throughout the night. You had assured him that, as a ghost, you didn’t need to sleep, nor eat, nor breathe, nor shower, nor do anything else of the normal human sort. Yet he laid awake in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. Even Gana was fast asleep, curled up at the foot of his bed.

The two of you had spent the entirety of yesterday cleaning up his dump of an apartment. You’d said something about how “spring cleaning isn’t just a spring thing” and handed him a duster. He’d gone along with it, even moving to eventually start playing some music to fill the noise. It was just nice to be in your presence for once.

Even when you were alive, you’d encourage him to clean; maybe even pick up around the place for him when he was too tired from dance practice and his job and his life. But there was no doubt that cleaning around the apartment space made him feel just a little bit refreshed, a little more alive and awake.

But clearly, all that work hadn’t been enough to tire him out.

And he tried to fall asleep, but sleep would not grace him with its mercy.

It was when the sky outside oxidized into a rusted color that his eyelids finally fell. He blinked once, and the next moment, his alarm blared beside him.

An arm shook him awake. “Kyu, wake up.”

He whined, shaking you away. “Nooo,” he groaned and tugged the covers back over his head. The alarm kept going.

“I made coffee.”

He exhaled through his nose and reluctantly pulled the covers down to see you. You were still here, sitting on the edge of his bed in that same, old ratty T-shirt with your hair falling in your eyes, and a sweet, fond smile on your face… “It wasn’t all a dream?” He pondered aloud, voice gravely from exhaustion.

You shook your head. “Nope. Now, get up. Time to go to school.”

At that note, he let out a loud groan, sweeping the covers over his head in protest. You laughed as you exited the room, and Changmin could only smile to himself as he let that sound echo in his ears.

———

“Do I really have to go to class, Yn-ie? It’s Tuesday.”

You sent him a look as you strolled beside him on the sidewalk. “Yes, because it’s Tuesday.”

Changmin pursed his lips as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. While you were able to get him out of bed, you weren’t able to get him to at least look more Changmin. That was, he still walked out of the house in a hoodie and pajama pants and zero product in his hair. You did manage to convince him to slap on deodorant, so you could call that a win.

The sky was just bruising to a purple color as the sun took its sweet time trekking up into its perch in the sky. Changmin knew he shouldn’t have chosen such an early lecture, but he and Juyeon were supposed to weather it together. Guilt suddenly swirled in his stomach at the thought—he’d abandoned Juyeon.

His eyes flickered back at you and your bare arms, wondering if ghosts got cold. But based on the fact you hadn’t stolen a hoodie from his closet, he figured they didn’t then.

As you and Changmin neared the lecture hall, having well stepped onto the college campus for the first time in a month, you both stalled. There were a handful of people milling about, but most of them were too tired to care about other people just standing around anyway.

“Okay,” you began, “remember that when you get in there, you can’t talk to me or about me.”

His breath hitched. “Why can’t I talk about you?”

“Because they’ll think you’ve gone crazy.”

“But I haven’t.”

You chewed your upper lip. “You can see me, Changmin, but they can’t. People are going to look at you weird if you suddenly turn to your side and start talking to the air next to you.”

So that was how ghosts worked? He had to snap his brain into focus. “People already look at me weird,” he muttered, staring across at the path to the entrance of the lecture hall. He could still recall all of the pitying looks he’d received everywhere he went. He couldn’t stomach it anymore. Everyone knew that you and he had been the best of friends, practically attached at the hip. You would sit with him through hours of dance practice and be the loudest one in the audience; he would remind you to get sleep during your worst exam seasons and shuttle you home after late nights at the lab.

His eyes shuttered, and for a moment, that wave of guilt washed over him. He should have been there that night; he should’ve been there to take you home—

A hand on his arm. He sniffed, swiping at his eye. “I’m okay,” he insisted before you could say anything.

He began making his way towards the entrance with you in tow.

When he found the lecture room number, he stopped just short of it. Those feelings of insecurity and fear bubbled up inside of him like bile in his throat. He wanted to turn back and run to the safety and seclusion of his apartment.

But when he felt your hand take his and give it a gentle squeeze, his heart swelled. He glanced back at you, then his eyes widened when he saw someone coming down the corridor. Changmin ducked into the lecture hall, his hand gripping yours tightly.

There were… way too may seats and people, he realized, as he surveyed the room. A couple people recognized him and shot him surprised glances, but otherwise, no one paid him much attention. The lights were dimmed to half-brightness, and the professor had yet to arrive.

“Go sit next to Juyo,” you whispered to him, nudging him toward the left stairs. Up in one of the middle rows sat Juyeon with a hood pulled up over his head, practically nodding off to sleep. “He looks so sad all alone.”

Changmin sucked in a breath, then made the journey up the stairs.

He cleared his throat when he reached Juyeon’s seat, the one beside him always left empty in case Changmin ever did show up to class. Juyeon’s head shot up, and his eyes widened to the size of saucers, a grin slowly forming on his face. Changmin let a small, dimpled smile come to his face.

“I think I’m dreaming, dude,” Juyeon said. “Good to have you back, Changmin-ah.”

Changmin let out the breath he had been holding. “This seat’s not taken, is it?”

Juyeon gave a hard shake of his head. “I’d make a joke about it being some other guy’s, but I’m way too tired. Sit down, for God’s sake.”

Changmin lowered himself into the seat next to his friend, letting go of your hand so he could get settled. He almost turned his head to ask where you were going to sit, but reigned in the urge. He could talk to you afterward, no matter how much he wanted to talk to you now, maybe even ask Juyeon to move down a seat for you.

But then he felt your presence right next to him as you perched on the side of his chair’s armrest. No, you weren’t going anywhere just yet.

About an hour later though, Changmin and Juyeon trudged out of the lecture hall side by side, hands lifting to shield their eyes from the sunlight peeking through the clouds. They had managed to drag each other through the contents of that lecture—mainly Juyeon giving Changmin miniature summary lectures on the points that he didn’t know (everything). No new information from that lecture had been acquired.

“—you should’ve seen when we got our papers back,” Juyeon shook his head with a breathy laugh tumbling out of his mouth. He brushed a hand through his hair, squinting at the daylight. “Absolute madhouse. Professor had to extend his office hours because the line out of his office was so long.”

Changmin smiled widely. “I really should go to office hours, huh? That would be the smart thing to do.”

“You know, I tell myself that everyday, and yet…” Juyeon shrugged. “I never heed my own advice.”

When the two of them reached the intersection where you and Changmin had stood at just earlier this morning, Changmin’s head perked up, eyes searching for you. At some point, it had slipped his mind that you were in lecture with him, and you hadn’t done or said anything to make him remember. He looked across the street though and relief soared through him when he spotted you seated on a bench waiting for him.

Juyeon followed his gaze curiously, but thought better than to question the soft-cornered smile on his friend’s face. “Hey, uhm, did you feel up to having lunch with me and the others today? I’ve gotta go to my social justice lecture right now, but we’re hitting the new ramen place in the district at like, one, I think.”

Changmin snapped back to reality. “Oh, uh…” His eyes drifted back to you, but you were looking elsewhere at a couple who were passing by walking their pups. His foot tapped against the ground as he seesawed between options. Did he feel up to it?

“You don’t have to if you want to go home,” Juyeon assured him with a sympathetic smile. “You should go home and rest.”

Changmin licked his lips. A part of him realized that he was glad Juyeon had been the one to say it. “Sorry, I just…”

“Hey, today was a lot. Don’t sweat it, okay?” Juyeon then gently patted Changmin’s arm with his hand as he turned to head down the road toward his next class. “See you later?”

“Yeah, see you, Ju.”

Something poked at the back of Changmin’s mind as he ducked his head slightly and bounded across the street to where you were seated. He lifted his hand in a subtle wave to you, then nodded toward the road back to his apartment to make a more natural course of action for any onlookers. You fell into step beside him as easily as breathing air.

“How come you didn’t want to go have lunch with the guys?” You piped up.

“Huh? Oh.” Changmin kicked a pebble on the road with the side of his shoe and watched it bounce into the grass next to the sidewalk. “I wanted to spend time with you—Wait, you heard that conversation?”

You tapped the side of your head as if that was enough of an explanation to his question, then moved on. “But you get to spend time with me whenever you’re at the apartment. How long has it been since you last hung out with them?”

“Two days ago, actually. The night before you showed up, we had dinner.”

“Did you enjoy it?” You asked.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, stopping at the traffic intersection to wait for the walking sign to turn on. “I mean, yeah. Yes, I did. I just—afterwards—it was…” He could hear his own sobbing echo in his head, and as if he had projected those memories into your head or as if you could read his mind, your expression grew somber. Changmin’s voice quieted, for fear that adding volume would push out the emotions all over again. “It was really hard, Yn. All I did was cry when I got back.”

You moved closer to him and offered your hand to him. The crosswalk symbol lit up white, and Changmin took your hand as the two of you made your way across the street. “I’m sorry,” was all you could manage to say.

“‘s not your fault,” he replied. He couldn't possibly blame you for your own accidental death. You hadn’t forced that guy to get drunk and drive down that specific road. You had no choice in your death, and for some reason, that made Changmin’s chest hurt just a little more. “I liked having dinner with them and I think I genuinely laughed and smiled for the first time in a while, too, but I just…”

He grappled for the words, unable to admit the truth aloud.

“Kyu-ah,” you said to him, hand-holding shifting to you holding onto his upper arm so the two of you walked closer in a half-embrace. “You can be happy. You’re allowed to feel these things, and you’re allowed to smile and laugh.”

He shook his head, his head tilting back as his eyes closed. The prickling sensation had come back and goddamn it, he didn’t want to cry again. He had to make it back to the apartment at least. “Not without you.”

You frowned, but kept quiet until the two of you reached Changmin’s apartment. He dumped his shoes at the door, backpack thumping to the floor, body crashing onto the couch. You settled down onto the cushion next to him, and he nestled his head onto your shoulder.

“Kyu, can you do something for me?”

He hummed, arms encircling your arm like you had done to him on the walk back. “Anything.”

“Will you go to lunch with Juyeon, Kevin, and Chanhee? Will you at least try for me?”

Changmin stared at your portrait, the one across from his eyes on that little table by the TV. Yours and his smiles were a reflection of each other, framed in eternity behind that clear plastic. He gulped. “Okay. I will.”

DAY THREE

LUNCH yesterday went perfectly well, mainly because you stood behind Changmin’s chair the entire time with your hand on his shoulder to assure him that you were still present and “hanging out” with all of them, too. You appreciated the thought, but you appreciated seeing and hearing him happy. Even if it was at poor Chanhee’s expense (he really had dug himself into a hole when he confessed his crush on one of his peers at the university’s magazine association). It was nice to see everyone, too, of course, even if they weren’t aware that you were watching over them with a fond gaze. As a ghost, you could still feel emotions—that was why you were so human to Changmin, but there was still a sense of ease about you.

When Changmin had finished with his classes for today, you and he lingered in the kitchen while he heated up a pot of ramen on the stove. You hopped onto the counter, arm resting comfortably around his shoulders.

“I’ve connected the dots,” he said suddenly.

“You’ve connected shit.”

He scoffed with a feigned look of offense directed up at you as he pressed his hand to his chest. “Okay, rude! Death has given you so much audacity.”

Your lips curled up into a little smirk. “It’s just an instinct when it comes to you.”

Changmin rolled his eyes. “Whatever. As I was saying, I think I know why you were kicked from the underworld.”

“You say that like the underworld’s an online forum,” you huffed, chuckling. When the pot reached a low boiling point, you tapped him on the shoulder to spur him into action, and he reacted like second nature, even if he had seen that it was ready anyway.

“Hey, I mean, if I had an online forum, I’d kick you out, too.” He giggled as you gently kicked the side of his butt with your foot. “Remember when we were eleven and we thought Omegle was the greatest thing of our naive lives?”

You hummed in content remembrance. “Mhm. Man, we were stupid. But that was a lot of fun.”

He grinned at you over his shoulder. “Wasn’t it?” When he turned back to the pot, he realized how hard his smile pulled at his cheeks. This wouldn’t be forever. Today was day three, and he was already growing used to your presence again—for a split second, panic seized his heart and the smile slipped into the simmering ring of bubbles in the ramen pot.

Changmin cleared his throat. “So what I was saying earlier.”

You blinked at his sudden change of tone. “What about it?”

“Maybe you were sent back here on a mission or a task. You probably have to right some kind of wrong—or, or—or figure out your death?” He whipped out a bowl from a cabinet. “So what did you do wrong, Yn-ie?”

You smiled, amused. “How long do we have?”

He shook his head with a chuckle. “You’re so silly. You were the goodiest-two-shoes of all goodie-two-shoes.”

You scoffed. “Not true.”

“Oh, yes, true,” he quipped with a smug grin. He leaned back against the counter to face you with a full bowl of noodles in his palm. “The guilt after you snuck out with me ate you up alive—”

“Because I broke my parents’ trust!” You sputtered out in protest. You thrusted an accusing finger in his face that only sent him into further fits of laughter. “You’re so lucky I didn’t spill to your parents, Ji Changmin! You should be on your knees because I begged my mom and dad not to tell your parents!”

Changmin had to hold his chopsticks in front of his mouth to keep the food from flying from his mouth. You were fired up, yet all he could see was how the kitchen lights framed your face like a halo. Once the food had been swallowed, he replied, “I feel like I just have to ask: you weren’t a serial killer, were you? Since we’re on the topic of all your wrongdoings.”

Your eyes widened, and in that moment, he knew he was screwed. “Ji. Changmin.”

He giggled. “Don’t hurt me?”

You huffed, nose twitching and wrinkling. “You are so lucky I’m a good ghost.”

The reminder sobered him up a little. “Yeah…” He said quietly.

Silence descended between the two of you as you refrained from saying anything else, so Changmin could finish eating. You hopped off of the counter and went to go find Gana, who was sleeping in Changmin’s bed again. Changmin was left to his noodles and thoughts, his stare blank and spaced out with his mind far off. If you truly had been sent back in order to right a wrong, or even figure out something about your death, then where would he start? Where would you be expected to start if you didn’t have him to help you?

When you were still alive, he was aware of a few nasty people in your lives who weren’t exactly fond of the relationship you two shared, but as far as Changmin knew, their feelings weren’t malicious to the point of death.

Changmin swallowed a bite he was chewing on, mouth slowing as if his train of thought had just eased into the station. All mysteries began from the end, didn’t they? All detectives had to start their investigation from the scene of the crime, whatever that may be when put into context. His hands began to tremble as a thought occurred to him. Clutching the bottom of the bowl and his chopsticks harder to stop the shaking, Changmin forced himself to admit what he didn’t want to.

You emerged from his bedroom cradling Gana in your arms, and when your eyes fell upon Changmin’s grave expression, you couldn’t help but coax an answer from him.

He couldn’t meet your eyes. “I think… we have to go to the site of the accident.”

———

On the night of the Accident, you had been walking home with crisp night air nipping at your nose, your cheeks, your resolve. It hadn’t necessarily been the worst of nights at your shift, but it hadn’t been on the better side of them either. Earlier that day, Changmin had nearly collapsed from exhaustion on the way home, so you insisted on walking home alone. It wasn’t like he could refuse when he pretty much knocked out as soon as his head hit his pillow; plus, your pepper spray made for decent company. You hadn’t anticipated the driver, the screaming tire wheels, the blinding lights. After all, how could you have?

The corner of two streets on the opposite side of campus from where Changmin lived was pindrop quiet. There was one large, framed portrait of you seated against the fence, surrounded by a litter of flowers, tealights, plush toys, and other offerings to the dead. One of your friends from an art class you’d taken in freshman year had made you a sign and nailed it above your picture: In fond and loving memory of Yn Ln—beautiful, beloved, and a heart of gold. May she rest in peace.

Changmin couldn’t move.

He’d been staring at it all for about ten minutes now, shaky hands hidden in the pockets of his hoodie. The last time he’d been here was four weeks ago, in the ungodly hours of the morning, as he chased after your body in a bag, tears flying from his eyes like gushing streams. The red and blue sirens flashed in his eyes and pulsed like heartbeats; his own heartbeat deafened out everything else and thundered in his ears.

Just like now. He… he couldn’t think—couldn’t process anything. He couldn’t turn himself to the street where your broken, lifeless body had laid.

Your smiling portrait glowed in the dim, flickering lights of the tea candles, similar to the very set up he had at home.

For the longest time, he was never able to bring himself to come here. He couldn’t have, of course, he couldn’t have. He didn’t have the stomach to.

Oh my god, he was going to throw up—

“Changmin, hey—hey, buddy. You’re gonna be okay.”

You appeared at his side, hands grabbing out to hold onto his lurching body. He stumbled into you, grappling at your hands, arms, shoulders—anything to anchor him to something. He couldn’t breathe—

“Changmin, look at me! Look at me.”

Your hands forced his head up and his eyes gleamed silver in the gold tea light glow. You had never seen him so afraid. “Inhale, exhale for me. Inhale… exhale… come on; one more time, hon: inhale… exhale… good. Good. That’s really good, Kyu, that’s it.”

Changmin’s entire body trembled as he gripped your hands until, even as a ghost, you could feel his strength. His chest rose and fell at a slower pace now, and the blanched, blankness had melted away into a contorted expression of rage, sadness, panic, and every other emotion in between. Tears cascaded down the slopes of his cheeks in a free fall. “I should have been there, Yn,” were his first words to you, choked out between gritted teeth.

You realized that his anger was not directed toward anyone else but himself at this moment. You held him, mirrored his strength, so he knew he was holding something solid. You murmured firmly, but not unkindly, “Changmin, you couldn’t have changed what hap—”

“Yes, I could have.” He wailed now, his heart-wrenching loathing toward himself echoing against the surrounding buildings, “If I had just been there to walk you home…” You would still be alive, was what he didn’t have the strength to say aloud. To give the world such power over him… as if it didn’t already have him by his neck.

He crumpled to the concrete, his knees buckling from under him, and you could do nothing but fall to the ground with him. You cradled him to your chest as he bawled his entire body out, his conscience no doubt throwing rocks at himself. Your mouth parted, eyes squinting as if you were about to cry, too. And you felt the sensation at the corners of your eyes, and yet, no tears fell from your tear glands. They would not come, no matter how much you wished them to.

Changmin’s arms wrapped around your waist as he tucked himself into you. If he could just—if he could just hold on—if he could just make this right—

Your hand smoothed over the back of his head. “Changmin, it was not your fault. None of it was your fault, so please—please don’t spend your life blaming yourself for something you could not control.”

He pawed at his face, swiped at his eyes, his nose. He sucked in a desperate breath of air, gasping and choking out the words, “I can’t—can’t believe that—that I—I’ll never see you again. The—the world lost you—I lost you too soon.” He gasped for air again: “It’s not fair.”

None of it was fair. Changmin didn’t deserve to feel any of this and you didn’t deserve to die so young. But here the two of you were, a heap of emotions and injustice. Of longing and grief. What might have blossomed to something else in the future had been cut short by the cruel hand of fate. Why had the world set this in motion? What had either of you done to deserve such hurt?

You cleared your congested throat from unshed tears. “I know it’s not fair, but I’m never truly lost.”

Changmin pulled away from you then, still actively trying to tame the emotion rolling down his face. He glared at you then through blurry eyes. Such pain in his contorted features; you hated seeing him so hurt and being so useless to help him. “Cut the sentimental, cliche crap,” he practically snarled. “Please, you know me better than that. I never get why people say shit like that because that’s not how it goes, that’s not how it feels. It’s not the fucking same.”

Your mouth went dry. He was right, and how could you counter that? You weren’t the one who had to live without him now. “You’re right; I’m sorry.”

He was breathing loudly now, more labored. His rage dulled to something of a soft simmer as it dawned on him what he just said. “Wait—I’m sorry. You… you shouldn’t be the one apologizing, Yn. You didn’t deserve that from me.”

“I think I did deserve it,” you shrugged simply, sadly. Just because you were dead didn’t mean you couldn’t be sorry. “And I think you deserved to air that out.”

He sniffed and pulled his knees to his chest. He huffed out an exhale. “I’m sorry, it’s just been a lot.”

You nodded, expression solemn. “And I’m sorry that you’re hurting so badly. I wish I could make everything better.” What was the point of you being here if you were just hurting Changmin more?

Changmin let out another sharp exhale. Slowly, he extended his hand across the gap between you. His fingers still trembled, but he no longer tried to subdue it. “Can I just hold your hand again?” His volume was set almost inaudibly, “Just to assure myself I haven’t been dreaming?”

Everything, you wished you could give him everything. Without hesitation, you bridged the gap and grappled onto his fingers, felt the heat of his palm, and reminded him that you were here.

DAY FOUR

YOU almost couldn’t convince Changmin to go to classes the next day. Almost.

You’d sent him off even as he drooped with his two shots of espresso and puffy eyelids, but he seemed content enough to let you hold his hand all throughout the day. Maybe even tap his shoulder a couple of times to remind him that you were there and that he needed to pay attention. Well, you’d only accomplished such feats because you agreed to his compromise.

“Changmin, you can’t get in without a lab pass.”

Said compromise was chasing after something you were certain didn’t truly exist, but Changmin was set on the idea that you were sent back to the land of the living to “right a wrong”, and he was on a mission to help you accomplish just that.

Changmin stood outside the laboratory building you used to work at with a cinematically narrow-eyed, hands-on-hips pose. He stared up at the looming building, nestled between the massive, glass-faced population health building and the vine-riddled biology buildings as if he could climb up all their stairways without breaking a sweat. “I know, but I’m sure we’ll bump into someone who we can just leech off of to get inside.”

In other words, he would make you both wait until someone came by to open the door and you would then follow them inside. At first listen, it wasn’t an impossible task, especially since this area was relatively populated during business hours. Only, it seemed that the street seemed comically barren. Wherever all your former peers were, you had zero clue.

You pursed your lips and took a seat down on the curb. “Do you even have a plan?”

Changmin poked his tongue in the side of his cheek. “Ha, do I have a plan?”

“Sooo you don’t have a plan; got it—”

“Sh,” he said, turning around to peer inside the glass door of the laboratory building, “someone’s coming!”

You twisted around, silently questioning who?, but as soon as you saw who was making their way toward the entrance of the building, you immediately bobbed your head. This made sense.

Because making his way toward the door from the inside was Lee Sangyeon, your workaholic, grad student supervisor. As usual, he wore a dress shirt appropriate for an office space, hair swept back neatly. In his hands was his phone, while a dark leather satchel bag hung from his shoulder. He glanced up from his phone as he pushed the door open, then started when he realized Changmin was just… there.

“Oh. Sorry, didn’t see you there,” Sangyeon said with a polite smile.

“Uh—wait,” Changmin stammered, effectively halting Sangyeon’s movements. “You’re Lee Sangyeon, right?”

Your eyes widened. “You know Sangyeon?”

Changmin flicked his hand by his leg subtly to gesture at you to wait.

Sangyeon angled his body toward Changmin now, the tilt of his eyebrows curious. “Yeah, that’s me. Can I help you with something?”

Changmin fidgeted with his fingers and rocked on his heels. “Uhm, you were a friend of Yn Ln’s, right? I’m Ji Changmin, she was my best friend.”

At the sound of your name, recognition and something melancholy smoothed over Sangyeon’s features. “Ah, nice to finally meet you, Changmin. Yn-ie used to talk about you all the time.”

“She did?”

“No, I didn’t!” You buried your face into your hands as embarrassment curled in your stomach. “Sangyeon has become a chronic liar, I see!”

Another flicking of Changmin’s fingers. Hush, you! “I actually wanted to talk to you,” Changmin said slowly, “about her. I… I’m trying to uh, piece together some parts of her life, y’know. And I know I wasn’t really able to get to know this aspect of her life much when she was alive, and I thought, better late than never.”

You settled your chin onto your knees. Even if you knew Changmin had an ulterior motive in mind, you couldn’t help but hear the truth laced in his words. Even if he was chasing after this “wrong that needed righting”, there was that twinge of desperation locked in his voice that you couldn’t shake.

“Ah.” Sangyeon nodded. “Well, I’d be happy to talk to you about her. Do you wanna come with me down the road? There’s a pretty neat little coffee place we could sit in.”

You knew this coffee place, you thought to yourself as you followed Sangyeon and Changmin down the road to said coffee shop. It was the place you ran to during dinner breaks and last minute caffeine pick-me-ups. Their banana bread was fantastic, and your mouth watered as you could practically taste it while walking in.

Once the boys were settled at a table, a cup of coffee each, you leaned against the window behind Changmin’s chair, arms crossed and eyes pinned to the steam rising from Sangyeon’s cup.

“I’m sorry for your loss, by the way,” Sangyeon said quietly, sincerely. “I mean, she was important to me, but she must have been so much more to you.”

Changmin gestured vaguely, half-heartedly. His chuckle was the same way. “You don’t have to do that; she’s—was—she was important to both of us.” He nursed his coffee cup between his palms. “Sorry, it’s taken me a while to get the courage to talk about her to anyone but my dog.”

Sangyeon’s eyes shone with that characteristic warmth and patience that made you long for the life you didn’t have anymore. “I… I get that. It’s really tough dealing with the death of a loved one, especially when people expect you to move on with your life.”

Changmin’s head bobbed up and down earnestly. “It really is. It’s so, god, it’s so hard to move on.” He drummed his fingers along the sides of his coffee cup. “Uhm, but I guess I wanted to start with how you knew her—as in, like who did you know her as?”

“Who did I know her as?” Sangyeon sighed, eyebrows furrowing in thought as he grappled for the adequate way to string those thoughts into words. “Well, she was brilliant. She was more than brilliant; she was passionate about what she did. You could see the bags under her eyes and sometimes I knew she took naps in the break room, but…” He blew out a puff of air, his cheek pressed against his fist and coffee forgotten. He lifted his right shoulder in some semblance of a shrug. “I admired her a lot. I didn’t get to work a lot of shifts with her that… that week, but she left these little post-it notes on the break room door with smiley-faces and encouraging messages for everyone to find the next day.”

This time, when you settled your hand on Changmin’s shoulder, it wasn’t for Changmin. Changmin reached up to put his hand over yours, but to anyone else it would look like he was simply holding his shoulder and tucking his chin into his elbow. “Sounds like Yn-ie,” he chimed in softly.

Sangyeon smiled, a breathy laugh following suit. “She was—she shined so bright, Changmin-ah. But I’m guessing you already knew that, huh? She talked about you a lot. She would hear something or do something that reminded her of you, and then she would mention you with that little twinkle in her eyes. The one where she gets all—y’know.”

Changmin inclined his head and felt himself smile. “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.”

A nod. “Yeah. I was kind of surprised that you didn’t introduce yourself as her former partner. I mean, the way she looked when she talked about you…” He shook his head and reached for his coffee cup. “God, sorry. This is probably making you really uncomfortable.”

You lost your breath. Or whatever you had left of it.

Changmin’s thumb brushed over the back of your knuckles. You didn’t know what it meant, didn’t know what he was thinking. You knew you talked about Changmin a lot, but you figured that everyone would assume it was normal because he was your closest friend. Perhaps you had been a little more obvious than you had intended.

“It’s all right,” Changmin replied. You wished you could see his face. “I think a lot of people saw us that way.”

———

Sangyeon’s cup clattered hollowly as it tumbled into the recycling bin on his and Changmin’s way out of the coffee shop. The sky had broiled to a molten gold while the sun began its descent into the folds of the horizon.

Changmin stepped out into the cool afternoon feeling like a weight had been lifted from his chest. There was something refreshing about hearing about you from someone else, as fondly as he saw you. He and Sangyeon had even shared a couple favorite moments of yours; Changmin kept his favorite of all favorites to himself though, of course. Some memories, he wanted to be selfish with. Tears had been shed, too, but a minimal amount. Changmin wasn’t one to cry to strangers, but Sangyeon wasn’t exactly a stranger anymore, was he?

Sangyeon lingered on the sidewalk. “It was really nice talking to you, Changmin-ah. I really needed that, I think.”

Changmin nodded his head. “Me too. Thanks for not being weird about it.”

“Bare minimum, man,” Sangyeon chuckled. He took his phone out of his pocket and offered the new contact space to Changmin. “Hey, maybe we can trade numbers? Any friend of Yn-ie’s is a friend of mine. If you need anything, Changmin, and I truly mean it, don’t hesitate to call or text.”

Changmin accepted the phone from him with his eyes wide like a doe’s. He hoped Sangyeon could see all the gratitude in his silver-lined eyes. “Thank you,” he said in earnest. “I—same to you.” He swiftly put his contact information into Sangyeon’s phone before returning the device to its owner.

Sangyeon mustered up a kind smile, clasping a warm, reassuring hand on Changmin’s shoulder. “Stay strong. You’ll get through this; I know you can.”

Oh god, there was that prickling sensation again. Changmin could only manage a nod without breaking down right then and there in the middle of the walkway. Sangyeon seemed to understand, and took his leave.

Changmin stood there watching his back go farther and farther away.

For a moment, he let himself stand there in silence, soaking in everything that had just passed between him and Lee Sangyeon. He sniffled, knuckles pressing against his nose. “He’s a really cool guy,” he finally said with his words directed toward you.

You were leaning up against the outer facade of the coffee shop, uncertain as to what your role was supposed to be. You felt like you were intruding, like you really were just a ghost now. That you were just a spectator. There was definitely something beautiful about watching two important people in your past life starting a bond, but then… then there was something bittersweet about it, too. “He is,” you agreed.

Changmin hung his head, then raised it up with a tired, dimpled smile. “Let’s go home.”

DAY FIVE

TODAY, Chanhee was the one who got Changmin out of the apartment.

“—I even got Gana a play date—”

Changmin’s neck stuck out from his bathroom, toothbrush hanging from between his teeth. “Huh?!”

Even you spared a laugh from where you were sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter. It was a comical sight for Changmin, seeing that you were making weird, funny faces at the back of Chanhee’s head from where he sat on the couch with Ghana curled up in his lap.

Chanhee nodded enthusiastically. “Yup. Him and my friend Younghoon’s dog Bori. He’s taking them to a dog park nearby.”

Changmin’s eyes narrowed. “So you set up Gana on a blind date?”

“You’re so overprotective, Changmin-ah. Yes, it’s a blind date.” Chanhee waved his hand at Changmin. “Now hurry up! Juyeon and Kevin are already at the performing arts building trying to score a studio!”

Changmin huffed, but stalked back into the bathroom. “Fine.”

While Changmin was finishing up getting himself ready, Chanhee gently removed Ghana from his lap so he could trudge over to the little table beside the TV. You watched him quietly as he knelt in front of it, poked your T-rex plushie, then gave your portrait a small wave.

You craned your head, attempting to see what he was doing. He had picked up one of the tea lights that went dim, most likely from overuse and a dead battery. Chanhee set it back down on the table though.

“Hi, Yn-ie,” you heard him greet your photo. “I see Changmin has dedicated a corner to you, as he should.” Chanhee was silent for a moment, and you thought that maybe he was only voicing his thoughts in his head now. Then he continued, “I miss you. We all miss you. Sometimes I dream about memories of you and it feels like déjà vu. We’ve been trying to help Changmin through this, but it’s been a little difficult getting through to him.”

Your chest tugged as Chanhee slumped his chin onto the ledge of the table. “I just wanna help him. I can see he’s hurting, but I’ve never been good at this stuff. Maybe you can send me a sign that I’m doing okay.”

The light to the bathroom clicked, and Chanhee murmured something else to your picture, blew you a kiss, then turned his head to watch Changmin sweep past him and into the bedroom.

“Let me grab my jacket and we can go!”

“Okay, you slowpoke,” Chanhee quipped, collapsing back onto the couch.

You hopped off from the kitchen counter and walked over toward the couch next to Chanhee. You called out to Gana, immediately garnering a response from the pup. Swiftly, you moved out of the way, hand gesturing to Chanhee on the couch.

As if Gana could read your mind, he leapt into Chanhee’s lap and licked a wet stripe up the man’s cheek.

Chanhee squealed in surprise, a laugh falling from his grinning smile. “Yah! You’re so full of energy this morning, hm? Well, save some for Bori later, okay?”

You smiled, watching the interaction and hoping that that might suffice as a sign.

Changmin hustled out of his room, and you came to the startling realization that he looked so… Changmin today. There was a glow about his cheeks now, the divots of his smile enunciated at the thought of dancing again. He wore something fashionable, as he had always once done, with his black athletic duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He met your gaze as he walked out and you shared a smile for a moment.

“I know I’m pretty, Changmin, but we’re going to be late,” Chanhee teased.

Both you and Changmin laughed, and the two of you followed Chanhee and Gana out to the car.

Gana had propped himself onto the center console of Chanhee’s silver Corolla, while Chanhee and Changmin took up the front two rows, and you sat in the backseat. You leaned your head against the back of Changmin’s seat and gazed out the window at the world passing you by, your hand reaching forward to hold onto Changmin’s.

Chanhee stopped at a nearby park, and after Changmin insisted he was going to stay in the car, Chanhee took Gana out to meet with this Younghoon character and his dog.

The car filled with silence for a beat as the two of you watched Chanhee walk up to a tall, lanky man with a pretty face and pretty pup.

“You haven’t danced since I died, have you?” You released the question into the world and confronted him with it.

Changmin swallowed, his fingers pressing into yours. “No.” In retrospect, maybe if he had continued to dance, he wouldn’t have been holed up at home. A flame in him had died the night you had, but the remaining embers were slowly catching fire again. They hadn’t been wholly swept out or quieted.

Chanhee skipped back over to the car with a boyish smile on his face and he crashed into his front seat with a laugh. “Okay, let’s go!”

The car was turned on, the radio resumed play.

———

Like any other day, especially Fridays, the performing arts building was abuzz with life. People, both solo and squadrons, came to and fro about the large, branching corridors. A smile crawled onto Changmin’s lips as he recalled the familiar route to the practice dance studios in the back half of the building. There was a bounce in his step now, hands gripping the strap of his duffle bag.

Chanhee nudged Changmin with the back of his hand, coughing not-so-quietly under his breath. “Incoming.”

Changmin perked up at the familiar warning. He hadn’t heard it in a little over a month, but the feeling of cold shivers down his arms was no stranger. And the group of girls making their way down the corridor toward them, having just finished with dance practice, were unfortunately no strangers either. Changmin’s mouth pressed into a firm line as he reached out beside him for your hand—fumbled around in the air as if you weren’t there for a second, then latched onto you.

“Changmin-ah!” One of them lit up at the sight of him, and the rest were set off like succeeding lines of firecrackers.

“Well, this should be good,” you mused next to him.

He snuck a glance at you from his periphery, spotted the carefully crafted mask on your face. Even in death, you were trying to put up a brave front.

He turned back to the front, and the group of girls had come closer. “Oh, uh, hi.”

“We haven’t seen you in so long! How have you been?”

“We missed you at the dance rehearsal last week, but we can definitely reschedule.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind doing a private—”

Changmin blinked. Did they not see how absolutely done he looked? Chanhee looked just about the same way, but he knew the drill; there wasn’t really anything either of them could do until they’d said whatever they said.

“—so sorry about her. It must have been so difficult for you to get through, Changmin-ah! But see, you must be all better now!”

He nearly doubled over in laughter. “You’re shitting me,” he said without stopping himself.

The girl who had been rambling on about your death and how it must have affected him, halted in her tracks. “Huh? What do you mean?”

Tongue in cheek, he shook his head. “No, whatever. Keep going. I wanna hear what you have to say.” The muscle in his jaw feathered and his grip on your hand tightened.

To the others’ credit, they tried subtly getting their friend to not take the bait, but she just couldn’t help herself. “Well, it’s no disrespect or anything, of course. But she was completely holding you back, y'know? She didn’t even know what to look for when she watched your practices and she just sat there like a duck, so I don’t know why you even asked her to come with you so often. I mean, you guys were friends—I get that—but we’re friends, too. I would’ve definitely been able to help you so much better.”

Well. That spelled it all out for Changmin in capital letters.

Chanhee arched an eyebrow high. “Wow, you’re a worse human being than I gave you credit for.”

“It’s funny how whenever people say they mean ‘no disrespect’, whatever they say is extremely disrespectful,” Changmin huffed. His eyes narrowed into daggers now, hands fisted. “You not only spat on my best friend, but also on me and my ability to choose friends. By the way, we are not friends, especially not when you shit on mine right in front of me. Dead or not.”

When a rush of silence fell over the corridor, Changmin muttered, “Thought so,” then nudged Chanhee. “Come on, Chanhee. Let’s go.”

When the two boys brushed past the girls, Changmin finally breathed out.

When he no longer felt your hand, his head whipped around the corridor, searching for you—

“Changmin, the room’s this way.”

He coughed. “Oh, uh, right.” His eyes swiveled about the corridor once more, frowning when he caught you slipping into the practice room right behind Chanhee.

The practice room was dimly lit with the far wall lined with mirrors and a barre, floors made of a smooth hardwood. Kevin and Juyeon were by the large speaker in the corner trying to hook up one of their laptops to the sound system. They glanced up and saw both Changmin and Chanhee coming into the room, then lifted their hands in cheerful waves.

“Hey! Glad you guys are finally here,” Kevin exclaimed.

Chanhee snorted, dumping his bag in his usual corner. “We just had a showdown in the hallway.”

Kevin’s eyebrows flew up. “Oh?”

“They were disrespecting Yn,” Changmin shrugged stiffly. He walked over to his own corner, where you were already seated against the wall, and dropped his bag down next to you. He held your eye contact as he said, “They deserved it.”

Juyeon whistled lowly. “I’m sure they did. Wow, the fucking audacity. Do they just lack human decency?”

Kevin pursed his lips. “Apparently.”

“Fucking incredible.”

Chanhee shrugged his jacket off, eyeing the dark look still present in the shadows cast over Changmin’s face. Or maybe it was just the lighting. “Okay, let’s get started, shall we? Changmin, warm us up.”

———

Practice progressed smoothly.

You always liked Changmin’s corner of the room—definitely not because his duffle bag was here (because lord did that thing smell some days), but because it had the best view. (Of Changmin.) From here, even on the floor, you could observe his sharp, calculated movements, the graceful way in which he knew how to use his body and draw art in the air.

It seemed that the harder the choreography was, the more sweat he perspired, the harder he breathed, and the bigger he smiled. It was hard work like this that made his heart full, and thus, made you happy.

Occasionally, he would pass looks over to your corner, always looking for you and your reactions (maybe even your approval). He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do when this was all over, but… he wasn’t going to think about that quite yet. He didn’t want to give that thought time to sink in.

The music blasted throughout the room louder than your own thoughts when Chanhee threw his head back and declared a break.

Everyone retreated to their separate corners, and Changmin, sweat dripping down his bangs and the side of his face like he’d just showered, came over to you. He leaned down and swept his water bottle out from his bag and guzzled the water down as fast as his throat could accept it.

“Tired?” You asked him quietly as he wiped his mouth with the collar of his shirt.

He broke into a smile. “Yeah.”

Changmin dropped his bottle onto his bag, exchanging it instead for his phone. “Are you okay? From earlier, I mean.”

“Oh. Those girls? Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

His mouth curled into a frown. “What they said—”

“—Can only hurt the living,” you said, brushing it off.

“Just because you’re dead doesn’t mean you can’t still hurt.” Changmin lowered himself beside you now, only stealing glances at you so he didn’t look weird to everyone else. “They didn’t say anything to you when you were alive, did they?”

Your blank face didn’t make him feel any better. “Maybe something here or there, but nothing as direct as what was said earlier. It’s okay though. The past is in the past.”

Changmin swallowed. “How could you say that?”

You held his eyes, and for a moment that was all you could do. Instead of pushing against him and trying to defend your insensitivity, you said, “I’m sorry, Kyu. And thank you for what you did back there. But I guess even when I’m dead I don’t like talking about it.”

His eyes gleamed. “I’m sorry they did that to you.”

“Just don’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t have stopped.”

His throat bobbed. “It’s not that easy, Yn-ie. You know that.”

“I do know, but just try, for my sake.”

DAY SIX

CHANGMIN didn’t sleep. Technically, he slept for half an hour, but those thirty minutes of sleep had been enough to keep him awake for the rest of the night.

The dream he had awoken from was still fresh in his mind. Thirty fast seconds of gauzy, luminescent adolescence. It was the rusty squeaking of the playground swings, the afternoon golden hour sun hanging like a medal in the sky at the end of the day. It was yours and his youthful gazes, cheeks full of love and smiles and that god forsaken discussion about death.

“What comes after this?” A line like this could only come from a child who had yet to experience the beauty of the world or a child exhausted by its horrors.

A shrug from him. “I dunno. Maybe we become ghosts!” He delivered this line with such vigor and delight that you couldn’t help but beam at his antics.

“Like the ones from Ghostbusters?” You asked him.

He bobbed his head, kicked his legs out to gain some momentum on his swing. He fell back whilst gripping the twin chains, tongue lolling out and making you laugh. He loved making you laugh, even as a kid. “Exactly like that. I want to spit out green ectoplasm just like that. Blehhh!”

The two of you mocked the ghosts from the universally known blockbuster. You didn’t exactly like scary movies, but the way Changmin stared up at the screen with awe and dimples big, you couldn’t help but like them, too.

After a minute, Changmin wrapped his elbows around the chains and let himself drift there, his eyes turned to you. “What about you? What do you think happens to us when we die?”

You looked up at the afternoon sky in thought. “Shei from art class told me this story that her mama tells her as a bedtime story. At the end, the girl and boy become butterflies so they can fly together in death because they couldn’t be together in life.”

Changmin blinked, the thoughts bouncing about in his head coming to a slow halt. His lips parted. “Oh.”

“It’s not as cool as ghosts, but I think about my grandpa whenever I see a butterfly now.”

Well, how could he possibly argue against it? He smiled then, reaching across the gap between you two to bump your shoulder. “I think butterflies are cool, too! We should say hi to every butterfly we see then.”

Changmin’s eyes fluttered open like the wings of a butterfly then, twelve years later from that moment in time. The room was dark, the sky outside his window burned to rust and void of stars. He let out a shuddering breath from his lips, shaky from exhaustion and shivers from the memory he had just revisited. How had it been so vivid?

He rolled around in bed to his other side and his eyes screwed shut in an attempt to return back to the land of dreams—maybe even to that very day twelve years ago. When death had only been a conversation, and not a reality.

Sleep would not come. Today was Saturday, day six.

You said you had seven days before leaving him forevermore.

Changmin rolled back over and grabbed his phone off the nightstand and squinted as the light from the screen blinded him. It was three in the morning; that definitely checked out. He opened his notes app, disregarded the title, and began to type out something. Anything to get his body moving as fast as his head.

Things to do with Yn before tomorrow.

His hand came up to rub his lips for a moment, then he yawned wide. His eyes had adjusted to the bright screen by now, and he swiped out of his notes to consult the internet.

Ghosts. What are ghosts? How do you summon ghosts? How can you make a ghost stay?

Changmin’s brows creased as his eyes zipped down article after article—he was pretty sure he must have downloaded about a hundred viruses and bugs onto his phone by this point. Not one article gave him a straight or doable answer. Not anything that he couldn’t do without practice or additional materials. Nothing he could accomplish before midnight tomorrow.

He dropped his phone onto his bed, flopping backward onto his pillow with his hand draped over his forehead. Was it too much for him to want you to stay? All of the things he had thought about doing with you or saying to you when you were alive, shoved under the rug for “another time”… He wished he had known. Goddamn it, he wished he had known.

———

“You’re up early.”

Changmin practically bolted into the bathroom to start up the faucet and brush his teeth. “I’ve been up since three,” he replied, toothbrush hanging from his mouth.

You were sitting on the couch again and rubbing Gana’s belly. “Three?”

“Mhm. Couldn’t sleep.” He spat out his lathered toothpaste and speed-ran his skincare routine, hands slapping the moisturizer and sunscreen into his skin.

You chuckled out from the living room. “What’re you doing in there? It sounds like you’re hitting yourself.”

“I’m just trying to be fast,” he said. When he was done, he took the slightest bit of hair product between his hands and ran it through his dark locks to give it life and volume. When he was decently satisfied with it, he breezed back into the living room and flicked his fingers upward at you. “Come on! Chop chop, Yn-ie! Things to do, places to see!”

You cocked your head to the side, a slightly weirded out smile pressed onto your face. “Huh? How are you so awake right now?”

He was in his bedroom when you asked this and thus, out of your direct sight. He shuddered, the energy slipping off the lines of his face for a split second as he threw things into a bag haphazardly. “I’m just—it’s just one of those days where I’m better off on a power nap, y’know?”

“Okay…?”

Changmin slung his bag over his shoulder and strode over to you to yank you up to your feet. He grinned wide at you. “Well? Ready for the day I have planned?” He stuffed his shaky hands into his pockets.

Your eyes narrowed at him, but you eventually sighed—accepted it. “Sure. What do you have in mind?”

———

Changmin pulled his phone’s notes app up and clicked the checkbox next to “go down to the boardwalk for rolled ice cream”. It was accompanied by about seven items prior to it, also crossed out in twin strike-throughs. It was about six o’clock in the evening now, the sun having well set into the horizon to yours and Changmin’s left. The ocean breeze wafted through his hair, and though the view of the boardwalk below was glittering and beautiful, all he could think about was the next thing on his list.

It wasn’t that you didn’t need to eat, but that you couldn’t… really eat. The food related items were there so Changmin could experience it with you one last time, but his cup of strawberry cheesecake rolled ice cream sat untouched and fast-melting in his lap.

Changmin felt the familiar twin taps on his shoulder and jolted. His head whipped up to meet your eyes. He gulped at the look on your face. “What?”

“Your ice cream is soup.”

He glanced down at his lap and saw the thick chunks of pale pink swimming in an ocean. “Oh.”

You rested the side of your head against your fist, then propped your elbow up on the back of the bench the two of you sat on. “What’s going on, Kyu? What’s your rush today? You have a whole list written out, and we’ve been practically everywhere around the city today. I think I saw you ignore the giraffe statue in the toy store earlier—which, frankly, is not very Kyu of you.”

The last thing you expected him to do was to stare at you until he started crying. You saw the way his face scrunched up, first, then the silver pooling in his eyes. His cheeks had puffed just slightly until he combusted, fat tears rolling down his face and dripping into his ice cream soup.

Your heart sank.

Changmin got up and stalked to the trash can just a little ways away from the bench and tossed the wasted ice cream away. When he came back, you wrapped him up in your embrace, gently cupping the back of his head. “I’m sorry I upset you,” you said quietly.

“I’m sorry for crying again,” he hiccuped. “I just—I’m just so frustrated. And I just don’t know anymore. There’s enough shit to do on that list to get us to tomorrow night—”

The realization dawned upon you. You had a sneaking suspicion throughout the day as he dragged you from place to place, barely taking the time to properly enjoy the attraction, but now that he had finally said it, the truth hit you square in the chest.

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, before they opened toward the shimmering boardwalk below. “Changmin-ah. Kyu. Let’s go home, hm? Do you wanna go home?”

You felt him nod against you, and that was settled.

When the two of you made it back to Changmin’s apartment, he walked in with shoulders hunched and head hanging. The lights stayed off, the quiet remained unbroken. You sat him down on his worn place on the couch, and you resumed that perch on the coffee table that you had taken on that very first day you had manifested in his apartment.

Changmin leaned forward onto his elbows. He was no longer crying, but his eyes were red and puffy, bottom lip wobbly. The worst thing was that he not only looked sad, but also ashamed. He kept his gaze firmly on the hardwood floor, and his voice was gravelly, “I just wasted an entire day, didn’t I?”

You shook your head. “N—”

“I’ve come to the realization that you’re probably not here to right any wrongs,” he pressed on, his head lifting for this moment to plead with his eyes for you to let him continue, to let this all out. “You haven’t done a single horrible thing in your life, Yn, not in my eyes. And… well, your death was an accident, and maybe for a second, I wanted to believe that there was foul play involved so I could distract myself but…” He picked at one of his fingers. “Now I just want to seize the last of these hours I have with you. And I thought I was doing it right today, but it was the exact opposite.”

He reached out for your hand and you gave it to him as he cradled it with both of his.

“I,” you began, “I understand what you were trying to do, Changmin, and I don’t blame you. I would have done the same thing.”

The breath he released was shaky as he stared you in the eyes with his red and silvery ones—stared you right in the eyes as he lifted your knuckles to his lips and held them there.

Something rocked through you then. You wanted to cry; god, you so badly wanted to cry.

“I wish it was me,” he croaked. “I wish it was me. I wish it was me—”

Your hand tightened around his fingers. “No,” you asserted. The strength and firmness of that single word made Changmin’s breath hitch. “No, Changmin. Don’t.” You shook your head vigorously, trying to wrap your head around the mere thought of Changmin taking your place, and everything in your chest seized. “Don’t say that.”

“God, fuck. Yn—” he stammered, pressing the back of your hand to his lips to stop the flood of emotions to break through yet again. Every time he thought he built himself back up, the dam just happened to be more fragile than he believed it to be.

You swallowed. “Changmin, I have to tell you something.”

He shook his head then. “No. God, no, don’t say it.”

“Changmin, I love you. You know that.”

He released your hand and flew back onto the couch, knees pulled to his chest and his face buried in his hands. “Yn, please.”

You clutched your hand to your chest. “I’m being selfish, and I’m sorry for that, but I… never got to say it to you before I left your house that day.” Not enough times. Never enough times.

“Yn, you don’t understand,” he rasped. One hand gripped onto his knee, the other swiping upwards into his hair so you could see the full brunt of his emotions, clear as day on his face. “I love—d you. I loved you so much that it makes my chest hurt. And—and—god, I think I would’ve wanted to spend the rest of my life with you if we had more time and I came to my fucking senses. Yn, it hurts so bad.”

You lowered yourself to your knees in front of him and coaxed him to unravel himself. He leaned forward, forehead pressed against you as he dry-sobbed until his lungs ached and burned from the inside out.

You couldn’t tell if all of what he just told you was true or in the moment. But what you did know was that the world was so very cruel. It would have been nice to figure this out with him, to see what might have transpired, or enjoyed the journey nonetheless. All of that… you had reached the final destination, and Changmin would go on without you now.

You had one day left.

With that one day… you were still unsure as to how you should seize it, but at this very blink in time, your priority was your best friend. You climbed onto the couch beside him and let him find comfort in your embrace.

You rubbed soothing circles into his back as you gathered your thoughts. “Do you know…” you started lowly and gently, “that I think the world of you? And I don’t say that to make you cry again; I’m saying that so you know, in your heart every day, that you could have never failed me. Like you said, in my eyes, you could do no wrong.”

Changmin sniffled against you. “But what if I do fail you? What if, when you leave for real, I can’t go on?”

“Well, then I’d like you to promise me that you will try your best to keep going. Your best is enough,” you said to him, finger brushing the hair from his forehead. “The Kyu I know is so very strong, and I know that even when the going gets tough, you get going, because you are tougher.”

He held onto your shirt, his chest’s rising and falling beginning to slow and calm down. “I promise.”

“Good. I’m proud of you.” You leaned down and pressed a butterfly kiss to the crown of his head then rubbed his shoulder. “I know this week must have been really difficult for you, but I watched you make steps toward healing. I won’t sugarcoat how hard it might be, but you have people who love you, Changmin. People who love you and care about you and want to be there for you.”

“Thank you,” he rasped. “Thank you for being here. For coming back. It probably wasn’t your choice, but thank you for choosing me in life and in death.”

For a moment, you closed your eyes and (maybe; just maybe) thought you finally felt a tear cascade down your cheek. “I wouldn’t have chosen anyone else, to be honest.”

DAY SEVEN

IT had been awhile since Changmin had invited anyone over to the apartment. Chanhee had pretty much invited himself over yesterday, but this morning, you had suggested to Changmin to host a movie night with the others so he wouldn’t have to be alone when you took off. (For wherever you were off to.) Changmin had recovered slightly from yours and his conversation last night, but there was still a soft spoken air around him.

At about six minutes past eight o’clock that Sunday evening, Changmin let Chanhee, Kevin, and Juyeon into the apartment, with Ghana leaping for joy onto the knees and thighs of these old friends he hadn’t seen in awhile. Before you died, it wasn’t uncommon that Changmin invited the group over to hang out. He thrived on the energy and connection of other people, and when he had shut himself in for an entire month, it was clear that he would not be himself for a while.

Kevin scanned the apartment with a pleasantly surprised nod. “Wow, I’m shocked that you kept it clean.”

“Yah! What kind of guest are you?” Changmin jokingly whacked Kevin with the excess material of his sleeve.

From your perch in the middle of the kitchen counter, you snickered. “If only he knew, Changmin.”

Changmin sent you a look, lips pressed in a smile.

“Man, I missed Gana so much,” Juyeon groaned, leaning down to pucker his lips at the poodle. Gana reacted accordingly, hopping up onto Juyeon’s knees and licking the tip of the man’s nose. “Mwah!”

Changmin rolled his eyes and hopped onto the ledge of the kitchen counter right in front of you. You leaned forward and rested your chin on his shoulder. “Oh please. Gana’s only got eyes for that pretty, white poodle—what’s her name?”

“Bori?” Chanhee’s pink head perked up from the couch. He peered over the ledge with a wide smile as he wielded the TV remote in his hand. “Younghoon says the two lovebirds ought to hang out again soon.”

Juyeon pouted. “Hmph, well I was in line first, so…”

Changmin shook his head with a melodramatic sigh. “Aish… by the way, you weirdos better say hi to Yn over there or I will kick you out right now.” He was only kidding, of course. (Maybe half kidding.) He was tempted to make the joke that you were really behind him and that he wasn’t referring to the shrine by the TV, but he knew they would only give him weird looks and he’d be the butt of the joke.

His three friends immediately jumped to it, raising their hands in cute, excited waves, smiles gleaming under the television light. Kevin scurried over to the table, cooing at the dinosaur plush seated next to your portrait. You couldn’t quite hear the words he murmured to you, but Juyeon was a little louder when he paid your shrine a visit himself.

When they had finished, Juyeon raised the dead tea light in the sky. “Aye! This light’s out, Changmin-ah.”

“That’s what I noticed yesterday, too!” Chanhee chimed in. He shook his head with a playful click of his tongue. “Tsk, tsk. If you’re gonna keep a shrine, you should tend to it.”

“Aish,” Changmin muttered again. (“They’re not wrong,” you added cheekily; “Heeey, shush you.”)

“Changmin, are you not coming to join us at your own movie night?” Kevin teased as he tore off his jacket and settled onto the couch next to Juyeon.

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” He felt the weight of your head lift off his shoulder, then could he slide off the counter and join his friends at the couch.

You smiled to yourself as you scooted up the counter to take Changmin’s old place. From here, you had a great view of the movie anyway. They were arguing between a couple different titles, but it seemed that Changmin was insistent on one in particular.

“—Ghostbusters. Have you seen the original? You haven’t? That’s so insulting; we’re watching it now!” Changmin screeched, grabbing hold of Chanhee’s shoulder to shake the poor man into doing his bidding with the remote.

Eventually, the movie started rolling, the ectoplasm spilled, and on your final night as a ghost, you watched yours and Changmin’s childhood staple movie for the very last time. From time to time, you caught Changmin twisting his head over his shoulder to throw smiles back at you, and you knew he was reminiscing the same as you were. Only, as the night grew longer and time flew by, there were less and less looks thrown back at you.

And just like that, a sense of contentment settled over you. Like a set of ellipses, your time was coming to a gradual halt.

At five minutes to midnight, Changmin jolted up in the middle of The Avengers to a twin set of taps on his left shoulder. Chanhee sent him a mildly concerned look, since his friend’s movements jostled his head off Changmin’s shoulder.

Changmin cleared his throat, quietly murmuring, “I’ll be right back”, then slipped out of the front door.

Changmin’s slippers hit the concrete outside the apartment complex with a dull smack. Crisp cool night bit at his cheeks, but when he saw you standing beneath the rusty-orange night sky, he ran up to you and crushed you to his body in a final embrace. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but his mouth curled into a smile against your shoulder.

“I wish we had more time,” he whispered in a last, desperate attempt to implore the universe.

You cradled the back of his head, eyes screwed shut. “Me, too. You have no idea, but… you’re gonna be okay, Kyu. It’ll all be okay.”

Changmin tucked his face into your neck to catch the lingering scent of your shampoo, to memorize the imprint of your body into his brain so he might always remember what holding you felt like. “I’ll make you proud, Yn-ie.”

Silver lined your eyes, your throat tightened—for fuck’s sake, you wished you could cry. “You’ve already made me proud, Changmin.”

———

When Changmin returned, three heads perked up from the couch to watch him settle down next to Chanhee again. They caught the glistening wetness of his eyes, but he smiled through it, as if he had just come back from seeing a friend off.

Changmin curled up into Chanhee’s side, the latter asking him gently, “You okay?”

Changmin nodded. “I’m okay.”

—fin.

BONUS SCENES. — day seven cont’d.

(“Hey, before you go, can I ask you a favor?”; “Anything.”)

A minute after Changmin had settled back in the apartment, he cleared his throat, inclining his head to the shrine. “Guys, I know you said I should really maintain the shrine better, but the shrine maintains itself.”

Everyone followed his line of sight to the shrine where your portrait glowed in the light of only one tea light. However, they all heard, loud and clear, a distinct tap-tap sound against the base of the dark candle. The light blinked to life, and everyone erupted into madness.

Through his friends’ screams, Changmin cackled in hyena-esque delight. “I told you my apartment was haunted!”

DAY TWELVE

“CHANGMIN, over here!”

The street was alive as university students flooded into all cram into the humble bbq restaurant in the district, this chilly Friday evening. Only a lucky few would be able to score a table without having a prior reservation, but lucky for Changmin and his friends, Kevin was always on top of his Yelp notifications.

Changmin beamed at his friends, his eyes widening as Chanhee practically hurled himself down the street and into Changmin’s embrace. “Holy shit—I could’ve become a pancake on the sidewalk just now.”

Chanhee rolled his eyes with a laugh. “Oh shut up, you drama king.”

“Hey, that’s all you, dude.” The two of them walked back over toward where Kevin and Juyeon stood by the door. A long line had formed down the opposite side of the block, but the four of them stood in the area simply waiting for their reservation notification to arrive.

Juyeon brought Changmin in for an affectionate side hug, and Kevin asked him how he was feeling. Changmin answered with a small, affirming nod and statement; though, the deja vu was awfully strong tonight.

Kevin pursed his lips in a smile. “Good, I’m glad, man.” Then his phone lit up, and so too did his face. “Ooh, fuck yeah! Our table’s ready—c’mon!”

Changmin was about to follow his friends in through the door when he stopped short. His head perked up and swiveled to survey the sidewalk. He thought he had just heard his name being called…

“Kyu!”

He whipped around now, and his eyes locked onto a form on the far side of the street. It was a mass crush of people over there, but he could pick you out of a sea of people—anytime, anywhere.

Something seized in his chest, and he broke into a teary-eyed smile. Before he could wave or further acknowledge your presence, someone passed in front of you, and you melted in with the crowd. Gone, as if never there before.

“—Changmin-ah, what’s up? We can’t be seated until we’re all inside.” Chanhee shook Changmin’s shoulder, then followed his gaze. “What’s over there?”

Changmin shook his head and turned on his heel to duck into the warmth of the restaurant with Chanhee. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I just saw an old friend.”

a/n: thank you so much for reading all the way thru and i hope u liked it ! :') pls do consider reblogging this or dropping a comment/ask &lt;3

[orlamccools]

vent post under the cut- if youve got advice id love to hear it

so. ive been talking to this guy for a long ass while, you can scroll thru the last tag on this post to see what its all about, but long story short is this: i asked him out two saturdays agoto my friends going away party (which was held this past friday). hes met this friend once before, and we planned to meet at her place and then maybe go out to the bars after

entire week he is super into it, texts me more often than normal, creates a spotify blend for the two of us (w that feature that lets you combine your tastes into a single playlist) like im getting VIBES. and he asks abt our plans!!!! we make a solid schedule!!!

night of the party he texts me at 8:45 checking in to see if its all happening and i say yeah. i get home from work, change, then get to my friends house and text him that im here. he doesnt respond for an hour and finally says something abt how he has to charge his phone before coming out. im like ok man whatever i just want to hang so do what you gotta do. another half hour passes and then he hits me with the "hey idk if im gonna make it out". im disappointed by this, so i respond with like a "damn that kinda sucks :/" message. at this point i expect him to stop messaging me, but then he texts me quite literally for the rest of the night. like he literally doesnt stop until i text him that im walking home.

saturday i see him in person for a short period when he does the close out but another driver fucking also comes to sweep the store and just. will not stop talking to the dude in question. he like tries to get away twice but between customers and this other guy we dont talk like at all. after the other driver leaves and the store is closed he comes back in to use the bathroom and like stands by the door for a moment so i like look over but all he does is smile and wave then leave.

SATURDAY NIGHT. he texts me at like 8 responding to a text i had sent the previous night asking if im going out again tonight. i said yeah (bc a separate friend had a party) and he was like bet lemme know where youre at i might stop by and see you. i send him the address of the restaurant and proceed to hang w my friends until midnight. hes again texting me all night abt getting ready to head out but when we finally leave he hits me with the "finally leaving now where should i meet you". at this point i am exhausted, as ive just finished my first week of classes, had drunk heavily over the past 48 hours, and had worked a 13 hr workday that day. i text him and say im like too tired im going home and hes like damn :////

yesterday night. i do an eras movie night w my friends and i send a picture of the opening sequence to the ppl i have snapchat streaks with. he snaps me the rest of the night and is like "ohhhh you should have invited me" and stuff like that and its like. i didnt invite you for a multitude of reasons but like you ditched plans once this weekend and kept pushing back the other time i tried to invite you out, so why do you think i would ask you a third time???????

and now im just confused bc like. he seemed sooooooooo into it all week and then as soon as it was time for things to happen he just didnt show and kept stringing me along. im also lowkey pissed bc i wanted to hang with him and i was SO anxious abt asking him out (like i literally threw up twice friday morning bc i was so anxious abt how the day was gonna go). im just frustrated and like i had thought he had gotten the vibe that i was into him romantically bc it sure as shit seemed like he was reciprocating, and now im not even sure what to do anymore.