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azsazz · 2 days ago

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Growing Pains

Daddy!Azriel x Mommy!Reader

Summary: Anon Req: Will we ever get more info of how Az was during readers pregnancy with each baby(I really want to see his reaction when he found out you were having a girl for the first time),Just asking ;)))))

AKA: Snippets of Azriel's family growing.

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 3117

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Wren:

“Azriel, I’m fine,” you insist, though your back aches as you try to pick up the kitchen towel that had accidentally fallen to the ground. You have no idea how you’re going to pick it up. You can’t bend over like you used to, not with your full, round belly in the way. “I still have an entire month, and then some.”

Rhys has decided to send your mate on a mission. He’d argued vehemently, asking the High Lord to send one of his spies instead, but Rhys had been adamant Azriel was the one to go. Why, you’re not sure. Azriel hasn’t divulged that information, not wanting to worry you.

What he doesn’t know is that it only worries you more.

“Love, you can’t even pick up the towel,” he argues, sliding around the counter to pluck it from the ground. You sigh, setting your hip on the counter, but it does little to ease your muscles. What you really want to do is sit down and not get up until the babe arrives.

“I don’t need to pick it up,” you argue. “I was just doing it to be nice since I know how tidy you like the house.”

Azriel raises a brow. “So you didn’t need it for anything?”

“No.”

“And what would you have done with it if I weren’t here?” he teases. “Left it on the floor?”

“Maybe,” you shrug. “I could’ve just gotten a new one from the linen closet.”

“That,” Azriel steps in front of you, swooping down to peck a soft kiss to your lips. You melt into him immediately, falling into his warm embrace. His hands come to the base of your spine to knead at the tight muscles there and you sigh in pleasure. Those shadows must have told him about your tender back. They can be useful, sometimes. “Sounds like it would’ve been a good idea.”

You hum in response, lost to your mate’s touch. He’s a godsend, this one. The cauldron picked perfectly. “I still don’t need a babysitter.”

“I know,” Azriel soothes. “It will make me feel better about leaving you though, love. I don’t want to worry about you while I’m gone.”

You don’t want that, either. Don’t want him distracted while he’s on a mission.

“Okay,” you give in when he kneads against a particularly tight knot in your spine. Gods, those hands…you could take him right to bed, maybe even convince your mate to give you a full body massage instead. Yes, that would be nice. “Cassian can stay.”

You refuse to move to the House of Wind. You’d rather be comfortable in your own home, especially since you’ve just begun nesting. Hence, the towel on the floor. Weirdly enough, you wanted that very piece for part of your nest because of all of the times you’ve seen it in Azriel’s hands, twisting it aimlessly between his fingers while conversing while he cooks, thrown over his shoulder while he slices and dices fruits and vegetables. Strange, but you haven’t stopped thinking about it since you felt the urge to collect objects from around your home to comfort yourself with.

So, if Azriel wants you to have a babysitter while he’s gone, the babysitter can join you here.

“Cassian’s going to have the best time rubbing my feet and making me breakfast,” you smile, thinking of all of the things you know you can get your mates best friend to do for you. You know he’ll do it without compliant, because he’s secretly trying to get you to name your first born after him.

Not happening.

“Give him hell, love.”

Basil:

“He wants cake, the baby wants cake,” you defend, stuffing another bite of cake into your mouth. “The baby wants the cake.”

Azriel huffs a laugh, more than amused at your sweet tooth during your second pregnancy. It’s been difficult to get you to eat anything that isn’t coated in chocolate or pumped full of sugar.

Wren, nearing a year old, giggles in his father’s lap. He reaches his hand across the table to your plate, eager to share in the sugary goodness. You lick the icing from your lips and scoot your plate closer to his grabby hands, more than happy to share your treat with your son.

You’re surprised your mate, who has an insane sweet tooth of his own, isn’t getting in on this cake. It’s delicious, the icing creamy and fluffy. The cake is moist, and the moan you let out when you bit into it was almost one you’d be embarrassed about, if you were paying attention to anything other than the dessert.

He’s been letting you eat your fill before even attempting a bite, more so because only a few weeks ago, he’d eaten the last macron, the one you’d been saving for a midnight snack. This babe did not want you to sleep, kicking and squirming inside of you nonstop, more than eager to meet the world. You’d burst into a fit of tears when you noticed your treat was gone, and couldn’t reign in your emotions until Azriel had come home with more than half of the pastries in the case from your favorite shop. Elain even threw in some of her freshly baked pastries after hearing what happened, and you almost lost yourself to another fit of tears at how nice that was of her.

“We’re supposed to be choosing a cake for Wren’s first birthday,” Azriel reminds you gently. Then, teasingly, he says, “Have you even actually tasted the cake with how quickly you’re eating, love?”

You peg him with a look, swallowing down the bite of cake in your mouth. He’s right, this is about Wren, not the baby inside of you who only seems to wiggle around more with a sugar high.

It’s difficult to place the fork down in front of you, but somehow, you manage. You turn toward your son, who hasn’t seemed to notice the way you’d been sampling all of the cakes in front of you. By sampling, you mean inhaling. You’d been inhaling the cake samples in front of you. All seven flavors.

“Wrenny,” you ask the boy currently mashing a bite of cake onto a napkin. He’s enthralled in the texture, and doesn’t even notice your grimace at the ruined treat.

Azriel slips his hand into yours in comfort.

“What kind of cake do you want for your birthday, baby?” You ask, grabbing a fresh napkin to help him clean up. He protests with a shout, squirming on his father’s lap. Azriel tries his best to soothe the boy, but you’ve disturbed his playtime, and you’re going to pay.

“Come on, buddy,” Azriel smooths the furrow between Wren’s brows. You sit back in your seat, smoothing your hands across your stomach when your son kicks close to your bladder. It’s only a matter of time before he hits his mark, and then your day out at the Rainbow with your mate and son will be over. “Which one do you like best?”

Wren stares at the cakes. Some more gone than others. He reaches for a red cake that’s almost entirely full. You liked that one, but it wasn’t better than the chocolate slice with chocolate frosting. That one only has a small bite left.

Your son grabs a handful of the cake and flings his arms around in excitement. You plant a hand over your mouth as the cake goes flying, only to land in Azriel’s hair. Your shoulders shake with laugher, tears welling in your eyes at the look on your mates face.

Azriel’s grin is blinding. He laughs freely, something he might not have been comfortable doing in public years ago. This, this is all he’s ever wanted. You. A family. A life.

You help your mate rid the cake form his dark locks as much as you can. Frosting sticks to the strands, pulling them this way and that. You swipe at a glob of icing that made its way above his lip, and he stares at you with simmering eyes. The kind of eyes that got you into this situation in the first place. He’s going to need a shower when he gets home, and, if you can put Wren down for a nap, maybe you can join him, too.

When you’ve successfully cleaned as much of Azriel as you can, he plops your son down into your lap and shoves the pile of napkins closer to you before standing.

“Where are you going?” you ask as Wren reaches out for his father. You snag a napkin and his chubby arm, beginning to clean him up.

“I’m going to tip the staff for the mess we made,” he says easily. His eyes are sparkling with amusement and something more, something you can’t wait to get home to. “And I’m going to buy a chocolate cake to bring home with us, since you liked it so much.” He nods to the nearly gone slice on the table, and your heart swells in your chest. You love him so, so much.

Zuzu:

“It’s a girl?” he whispers, voice raw with emotion. Tears flood your eyes at the utter awe in your mate’s eyes. Of course, she has her father wrapped around her finger already.

Azriel places his hands across your stomach. He’s kneeling in front of you, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so vulnerable, not even when he admitted he loved you for the first time, nor when you gave birth to your first and second child. But this little girl growing inside of you, she’s unlocked something special inside of Azriel, and you know that in this moment, that she’s going to have the most loving, protective father there is. And you’re sure her brothers won’t be far behind with that mentality.

She’s the first female born into one of the Inner Circle’s families. Four boys, but not a single girl. And now, everything has changed. You know she is going to be surrounded by so much love, she’s going to be so spoiled. You’ve had conversations with Feyre and Nesta, Elain too, about how cute the female toys and clothing were in the shops lining the Sidra. They all begged you to have a girl when you announced your third pregnancy, placing bets with their mates on whether or not you’d bring a little girl into the family, and their pleading has all paid off.

You can’t wait to tell them.

Azriel kisses across your stomach. You thread your fingers through his hair, allowing him this time with his daughter. It’s sweet, more than, to see him like this. He’s so in love with her already, you can see it in the way his wings wiggle with excitement, the way his thumbs stroke the soft skin where his daughter is growing inside of you.

“I can’t believe it,” he whispers, finally raising his gaze to look at you. He doesn’t move away, instead resting his chin on your stomach. “We’re having a girl.”

You can’t help your smile, a tear escaping your eye. He’s wanted a daughter for just as long as you have, and you promised not to stop having children until you had a girl, but soon, with two boys and one girl, you don’t think you’ll stop until this little one has a sister to play with as well.

You can see the same sentiment in your mates eyes.

“We’re having a girl,” you agree, lifting his chin so you can kiss your mate.

Jax:

“Azriel,” you squeeze your eyes shut through the uncomfortableness of a contraction. Your mate’s hand is strong on your lower back, his other arm gripped tightly in your grasp. “I love you, but are you sure you’ve thought this through?”

“Easy,” Azriel replies gently. His touch is soft but firm as he helps you to your bed. It’s set up with all of the essentials for giving birth, and with this being your fourth child, you’re more than prepared. The little one has been a fairly easy pregnancy, as if each moment spent in your womb was better than the last. He wasn’t eager to meet the world like his older brother, Baz, who kicked you relentlessly for nine months straight. It was almost as if the babe inside of you enjoyed the comfort you provided, but his father and siblings are more than excited to meet the new member of the family.

Your water broke this morning over breakfast with your family. Baz had burst into a fit of giggles over his waffles, pointing and shouting about how you’d peed your pants. Wren, your oldest, perked with excitement, knowing exactly what that meant. He’s slipped from his chair, offering you a tight hug before scampering to his room with his little brother in tow, talking all about how they were going to get to see their cousins while you had another baby.

Zuzu, just one, was covered in whipped cream, giggling and gurgling and making a mess with the sweet cream. You had torn Azriel’s attention from where he bopped a bit of cream onto her nose, and, after a quick once-over, worry lacing his hazel eyes, his face melted into something sweet when he caught your smile, the happy tears in your eyes.

Your son couldn’t choose a more perfect day to enter the world.

“What do you mean?” Azriel asks, pulling back the covers. He’d be latched to your side until the babe entered the world, whenever that may be. Could be nearly an entire day, like Wren, or mere hours, like Baz and Zuzu.

“You’re talking about letting the male who gifted Baz a real blade for Starfall when he was only 3, watch our boys for the night.” You had agreed to the plan at first because you didn’t think Cassian was all that serious about it, but now that it’s really happening, you can’t help but worry.

“Cassian wants this more than anything, love,” Az replies, helping organize the pillows behind your back. When all is to his liking, he sits on the edge of the bed, caressing your face. His hazel eyes are soft, a comfort that you lean into, or as much as you can with your belly in the way. “He’ll be fine. Rhys and Nyx are going to be there too,” he reassures. And well, that doesn’t make you feel that much better. Rhys and Cassian and four children under 6. They’re in for a night. “And Zuz is getting all loved up by her aunties tonight.” Your daughter is spending the night at Feyre’s with her sisters, and you know that if anything, Rhys will have no problem calling in backup for the mischievous little boys.

“You’ll check in on them ever hour?” You ask, trying your best to get comfortable. The babe in your stomach gives a little kick, and you place your hand on your stomach, whispering down to him. “Soon, little guy, soon you’ll meet the world.”

“I’ll check on them every ten minutes if you want me to,” Azriel promises, placing his large hand over yours. Like the babe knows you and your mate are showing him affection, he kicks again. “But I don’t want you to worry. You need to focus on getting little Jax out.” He says the babes name like it’s the best he’s ever heard. He’s done that with all of your children, though. It fills you with warmth, his strong presence eases you into the comfort of your bed.

Malos and Knox:

“A sister!” Zuzu screeches in her uncle’s arms. You wince at the sheer volume of your four-year-old daughter, but you won’t scold her even through one of the hours old newborns in your arms squirms at the sound. She can’t help her excitement at the sight of her little sister, kicking out her tiny legs in demand to be released from Rhys’ clutches. He laughs and tries to situate Zuzu better in his arms. He looks to you for action, and with a soft nod of your head, he lets your daughter down.

Azriel, who has just handed Knox off to Feyre, who has tears in her eyes, quickly catches his oldest daughter around the waist before she can launch herself onto your bed and disturb the snoozing babe.

“Daddy,” Zuzu whines, but clings tightly to his shirt. Azriel immediately smooths her hair back from her face, disheveled from playing with her brothers all morning at her uncle’s house while you gave birth to the two newest members of your family. “I want to see my sissy!”

“Sissy’s sleeping,” he parent’s gently, bringing her closer. He sets Zuzu on the bed but stays close. “You need to be gentle, Zuz. She’s brand new.”

“Brand new,” Zuzu echoes, but you’re not entirely sure she knows what it means. She’s completely distracted by the small bundle in your arms anyway, her dark eyes glowing with delight. She looks up at you, wide-eyed, and you can’t help but smile at your daughter. “She’s mine?”

“She’s your sister,” you laugh softly. You position Malos in your arms so Zuzu can see better.

“Wow,” she whispers, awe in her tone. She softly reaches out and brushes a finger across her sister’s chubby cheeks. The babe makes a noise and Zuzu snatches her hand back to her chest.

“It’s okay, Zuz,” Azriel says gently. “She’s just saying hello.”

Zuzu nods at her father eagerly, then returns her attention to Malos. “Hello, little baby. I’m Zuz. I’m going to be the bestest big sister ever! I’m going to teach you so much, and nothing like our naughty brothers can show you…” She babbles while you share a loving look with your mate.

You were worried how Zuzu might react to a sister. She’s been surrounded by boys for four years, and right now, you can see that this is something special, something pure between the two girls.

“What are their names?” Feyre asks, placing Knox carefully in your arms while your sons join you and the rest of your family on the bed. Jax climbs directly into Azriel’s lap, clinging to him like a monkey. He peers down at the babes in your arms with curiosity.

Wren and Baz settle on your other side, leaning over to see both of the babes. They look just as excited as the rest of your family, and this moment right now, surrounded by your family and the people you love the most, makes everything worthwhile.

You smile at your mate, who gives you a soft nod of encouragement.

“Their names are Malos and Knox.”

#azriel acotar #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #daddyaz #daddy!azriel #azsazz batbabies

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gyubakeries · 2 days ago

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HtBDaSTGYM presents: Method 1 - Love Potions

test subjects: kim mingyu x f!reader

word count: 2.9k

contents: college au , friends to lovers , love potions , lowkey witchcraft , verkwan cameo , cookies as a plot device , crack treated seriously , this is just Silly , the slightest bit of angst , inspired by descendants 1

verification: Trust Me Bro

sources: thank you serena ( @gotta-winwin ) and ally ( @lovetaroandtaemin ) for helping me finish this fic with your motivation + inspiration 🩷

series masterlist

seungkwan, focused on his assignment due in four hours, startles in his seat when you plop down onto the chair next to him, a guttural groan leaving your lips. he’s pretty sure the librarian shoots a dirty glance in your direction, followed by passive aggressive motions towards the bold ‘keep quiet’ sign in the library.

“what did kim mingyu do this time?” seungkwan sighs, voice dropping to a whisper. you slam your head on the table, immediately cursing and rubbing your forehead at the impact.

“he’s being too nice,” you whine. “it would be so much easier if he was a mean asshole who wasn’t the literal human embodiment of a golden retriever!”

“so this is what first world problems sound like,” seungkwan mutters. he then puts his pen down to turn his body and face your figure, currently slumped over the table in defeat. “look, if his existence bothers you that much, stop being around him!”

“it’s not a bother,” you click your tongue. “it’s annoying because i like him so much and can’t do anything about it.”

“why not?”

“seungkwan, have you looked at me?” you deadpan. “mingyu is way out of my league. there’s no way he’d like someone like me.”

“then make him like you,” seungkwan shrugs.

“and how do you suggest i do that, genius?” you roll your eyes and scoff.

seungkwan simply smiles in response and clasps his hands together. you only have a few moments to feel extremely terrified before seungkwan says, “let dr. boo teach you how to.”

“this feels like a scam.”

“please don’t hurt my ego.”

“.... alright.”

—

for seungkwan’s ‘masterclass’, he drags you out of the library, assignment forgotten, and into his dorm room. his roommate, hansol, doesn’t even spare a glance at seungkwan’s strange antics, as if he’s seen this play out multiple times before.

seungkwan takes you into his room and instructs you to sit down in the middle of his bed.

“okay, enlighten me,” you look up at seungkwan expectantly.

“the most fool-proof method of getting your crush to like you back, pause for dramatic effect,”seungkwan mutters under his breath before continuing, “is by making a love potion.”

there’s silence for a few moments, only to be interrupted by hansol loudly munching on chips while leaning against the doorframe. you raise an eyebrow at him, and all he says is, “watching seungkwan be delusional is my favorite hobby.”

“i’m not being delusional!” seungkwan argues. “my methods are tried and tested.”

“yeah, right,” you snicker. “who exactly has tested your methods?”

“i have!” seungkwan says with pride. “the love potion is real. ask hansol.”

“hey man, don’t turn this on me,” hansol raises his arms in defense. “i haven’t been given any potion.”

“remember that one week when you begged me to bake you cookies every day?” seungkwan hums. “what do you think was in those?”

“no way,” hansol’s eyes are wide with surprise. “i just thought your grandmother passed down some killer cookie recipe.”

“she did,” seungkwan nods, facing you. “that’s where i got my love potion recipe from. does it sound legit enough?”

“not even close,” you shake your head. “but i’m desperate, so teach me.”

“i’ll be glad to,” seungkwan chirps, and you momentarily think to yourself, what have i gotten myself into?

—

“hey, y/n! good morning!” the familiar voice makes you whip your head back, butterflies going crazy in your stomach as mingyu walks up to you. he looks effortlessly handsome in a simple hoodie and jeans as he comes to a stop next to your locker, canines peeking through when he smiles.

“how was your weekend?” he asks, and you pray to every divine presence watching that you aren’t a blushing mess.

“oh, it was fine,” you reply. “just trying out new things.”

“like what?” mingyu asks, and somehow, the ever-present twinkle in his eye seems even brighter. you wrack your brain to come up with any answer that won’t give away exactly what you’ve been doing over the weekend.

“a new recipe,” you finally reply. “you know, the tiktok recipes are becoming too interesting not to try.”

“but i thought you said you were terrible at cooking?” mingyu’s eyebrows furrow, and you mentally kick yourself for your flimsy lie. making seungkwan’s love potion-infused cookies hadn’t been easy, given your lack of basic cooking skills, but you had managed to scrape together a batch of cookies that were edible, not burnt, and baked all the way through.

“i had some help,” you smile. hoping that you sounded convincing enough.

“so, what’d you make?” mingyu asks, and you nearly sigh with relief. you had been thinking of ways to bring up the cookies in conversation, but thankfully, mingyu did all the work himself.

“i made some cookies,” you reply, and mingyu’s eyes light up.

“please tell me they’re choco chip,” he gasps, squealing when you nod in confirmation.

“would you wanna…. try them?” you offer hesitantly, not knowing just how much you could ask of mingyu before he got suspicious. fortunately for you, mingyu was like a giant dog whose tail starts wagging the instant he hears anything about food.

“yes! i’d love to try some,” he nods eagerly, and you couldn’t be any quicker in pulling out the box of cookies from your bag. mingyu watches closely as you open the lid, the smell of warm, fresh cookies filling the air. he doesn’t hesitate to reach into the box and grab a cookie, immediately taking a huge bite out of it.

you watch with bated breath as mingyu chews on the cookie, humming with satisfaction as his eyebrows scrunch together.

“y/n, these are heavenly,” mingyu groans. “do you mind if i take another one?”

you remember seungkwan’s instructions from earlier that week. the more cookies he eats, the stronger the effect of the potion is.

“of course! take as many as you want,” you grin, holding the box out for mingyu. he takes the box from your hands and reaches in for another one. you only watch (with heart-eyes) as mingyu finishes three cookies within five minutes.

“these are seriously so good,” mingyu sighs, closing the lid on the box. “do you think i could take the rest of these home?”

seungkwan’s voice speaks up from a corner of your brain. ‘the potion will work in your favor only if you are the first person mingyu sees after eating the cookies. you can’t let him have it anywhere else, or he’ll be in love with someone else.’

“no!” you reply, wincing at how loud your voice sounded. “i mean, i was saving some for myself too….”

you hate how quickly mingyu’s smile fades, shoulders drooping instantly as he hands the box back to you. “i see,” he says, looking dejected. “you can have these back.”

“i could make you some more!” you offer, trying to bring back the smile you loved seeing. “you can come over this weekend, and i can make you some more cookies, if you’d like.”

“really?” mingyu asks. “i won’t be too much of a bother?”

“you’re never a bother to me,” you say, and you hope that mingyu can tell that you really meant the words.

“awesome! i’ll see you on saturday,” mingyu grins. “i have to get to class now, but text me what time works for you, yeah?”

you frown. seungkwan had mentioned that the potion takes a couple of minutes to work, but mingyu’s behaviour was still normal.

“sure! but, uh, do you have anything you want to tell me?” you question, wringing your hands together with nervousness. mingyu stays silent for a while, his eyes locked onto yours, and for a second, you think that the potion really has worked, but the only answer that leaves his lips is: “great cookies! you’ve underestimated your cooking skills.”

as mingyu walks away to get to his class, it’s your turn to feel dejected as you think, why on earth did the cookies not work?

—

“something probably went wrong in the baking process,” seungkwan assures you over the phone, later that week, two hours before mingyu was scheduled to come over to your apartment.

“you told me your recipe was easy! what could’ve gone wrong?” you throw your hands up, frustrated.

“maybe ask yourself that,” seungkwan rolls his eyes. “my recipe is perfect, maybe consider that you did something wrong?”

you sigh. you did end up doing something wrong with five batches of cookies before the last batch had turned out good, so it wasn’t too unbelievable of a proposition.

“fine, then at least tell me what i should do now,” you plead. “this is probably my last chance to make this work, and i can’t screw it up.”

“don’t worry, i’ve got you,” seungkwan comforts you. “get the ingredients ready, i’ll guide you through every step.”

an hour later, the cookies were baking away in the oven as seungkwan busied himself with doing karaoke in his room, and you cleaned up the kitchen. the bottles of ‘magical’ ingredients seungkwan had given you, labelled unicorn vanilla essence, fairy chocolate chips, and pixie cocoa powder, were now empty, so you sweep them into the trash. the names did sound a little sketchy, but you’d rather stay silent than question seungkwan’s credibility.

“are you sure it’s gonna work this time?” you ask seungkwan, and he shoots you a glare before moving to pause his music.

“y/n, there’s absolutely nothing that could go wrong,” seungkwan says. “i guided you through the entire thing. now, just trust the process and let the magic do its thing.”

“okay, got it,” you nod. just then, the oven timer rings, and you hurry to grab your mittens to take the tray out of the oven. you carry the tray over to the cooling rack on your kitchen counter, the smell of cookies wafting through your apartment, when your doorbell rings.

“wait here, kwan, i’ll go check who’s at the door,” you tell your friend before hanging up and heading over to the front door, mittens still on your hands. you open the door, and then your jaw drops.

“mingyu?”

“hi!” mingyu chirps. he looks good; good enough to make your brain short-circuit when he smiles at you. you’re so caught up in your thoughts that it takes you a while to realize that he’s also holding out a bouquet of flowers for you.

“you didn’t have to—”

“i wanted to,” mingyu cuts you off. “you’re making me cookies, and i felt bad for showing up empty-handed, so i got you these flowers. you said you liked tulips, right?”

you blush instantly, smiling bashfully as you take the bouquet of tulips from mingyu. “i love them, thank you. please, come in.”

mingyu trails behind you as you lead him into the apartment. you mentally kick yourself when you see a blanket strewn haphazardly over the couch, immediately going over to fold it to make your living room look more presentable. “excuse the mess, i wasn’t expecting you for…. another hour.”

it’s mingyu’s turn to look flustered as he scratches the back of his neck. “i’m sorry for showing up this early— i was excited to meet you.” when he sees your eyes go wide at his words, he quickly adds on, “and the cookies. i was really excited to meet the cookies and eat you! oh. i mean—“

“it’s alright!” you cut him off, saving him the awkwardness. “why don’t you take a seat? i’ll bring the cookies out.”

mingyu merely nods, his cheeks just as red as you imagine yours to be.

he’s probably just embarrassed, because there’s no way he likes me. the love potion didn’t even work on him! you grapple with your reasoning for some more time before settling on a version that made sense. a version that, unfortunately, didn’t involve mingyu feeling the same way you did.

ignoring the urge to cry, you head into the kitchen to pile the fresh cookies onto a plate. while you’re focused on arranging them in a pretty way, you fail to realize when mingyu enters the kitchen.

“they smell so good,” mingyu says, right next to your ear, and you can’t help but startle. mingyu smiles sheepishly, moving away from you to keep a comfortable distance between both of you.

“sorry, i keep surprising you,” mingyu apologises. “i only came into the kitchen to see if you needed any help.”

“don’t worry, you’re good,” you assure him quickly. you don’t even care about the sudden jumpscares mingyu has been giving you, not when the excitement and nervousness rising from your love potion-cookies overwhelms every other feeling.

not being able to hold back any longer, you grab the plate of cookies from the counter and slide them over to mingyu. “you can make it up to me by having these cookies.”

mingyu’s smile becomes even brighter, something you never thought was possible, as he reaches for a cookie. he doesn’t even hesitate to bite into it, and for a moment, you feel guilty for feeding him a potion without his knowledge.

“they’re even better today!” mingyu’s gasp of contentment interrupts your thoughts. “they’re fresh, warm, and the perfect amount of chewy,” he continues, raving on and on about how the ‘sea salt enhances the chocolate perfectly’ like some cookie connoisseur.

on a normal day, your chest would be swelling with pride at how mingyu, a die-hard foodie, complimented your food, but you had the love potion to worry about.

impatient and curious, you make your first mistake by blurting out: “is it working?”

at the confused expression mingyu shoots you, you can only bite your tongue at the wrong choice of words.

and then, your second mistake:

“i meant, i—uh, used some new ingredients for these cookies,” you quickly add to cover up your lie. “i just wanted to check if they were able to—”

“—make the love potion you put in these cookies?” mingyu raises an eyebrow, and your jaw drops. your heart is soon to follow when you see mingyu’s smile morph into something upset and betrayed.

“how did—how did you know?” you ask, wringing your hands together.

“y/n, there’s literally an instruction booklet in front of you that says, ‘love potion-cookies,’” mingyu sighs. “it’s pretty obvious.”

horrified, you stare at the recipe laid out in front of you. there was no way you could save yourself now. so, you decide to own up to your actions.

“mingyu, look—”

“i knew your plan,” mingyu stops you. “i knew it the day you first gave me the cookies.”

“h-how?”

“people have used it on me many times,” mingyu admits, sounding annoyed. “what sucked was that i used to fall ‘in love’ with them momentarily. even though it’d wear off in a few hours, it wasn’t the best feeling.”

“but how could you tell that—that my cookies had the potion?” you ask him, wondering why on earth mingyu would agree to eat cookies laced with potential magic ingredients.

“i’ll be honest, seungkwan’s recipe is a bit different, so i couldn’t tell at first. i only recognized the flavor of unicorn vanilla essence after the second cookie, and i knew.” mingyu reveals.

“but why didn’t it work on you?” you’re more frustrated than confused. if you did everything right both times, why hadn’t it worked on mingyu? “is it really so impossible for us to be together that not even borderline witchcraft can help me?”

“y/n—”

“this was my last resort, because i was so tired of pining after you for months and still being seen as a friend by you—”

“listen to me—”

“maybe i was never destined to even find love, because whose luck is this bad—” this time your rant is cut off by mingyu’s hands cupping your face and his lips meeting yours.

for approximately three seconds, your body freezes. you wish you could move, kiss him back, do something, but you can’t be blamed for taking a few extra seconds to process that you’re being kissed by someone you’ve liked for almost two years.

when your brain finally starts working again, you lean in closer to mingyu, placing your hands on his shoulders for some leverage as you balance on your toes to kiss him back properly.

mingyu is the first to pull away, and he even leaves a soft peck on the tip of your nose. his hands move from your face to your waist, and you allow yourself to be hugged close to him.

“the potion doesn’t work on me because i already like you back,” mingyu explains, and a heavy weight lifts off your chest. “i was too scared to confess to you, so i was kinda glad that you tried to make some move.”

“wait, so— how long have you felt this way?” you question, feeling like an idiot who can’t stop smiling.

“ever since we got paired up in the cooking contest at the college fair,” mingyu chuckles, and your eyes widen at that memory.

“oh god. that’s so embarrassing,” you complain, leaning forward to rest your head on mingyu’s chest and hide your face from him.

“hey, seeing you cry before you got to cutting the onions was hilarious!” mingyu adds on in a teasing tone, and you playfully punch his arm.

“it stung my eyes real bad! you had to be there to know,” you defend yourself, to which mingyu replies, “i was there. it really wasn’t that bad.”

“are you trying to get me to lose feelings for you right after i confessed?” you pout, and mingyu simply laughs before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“okay, let’s never bring that day up again,” he says, and you nod in agreement.

“do you think you could make me some more cookies, though? like, at least once a week.”

“are you insane? i’m never going near an oven ever again. you are the chef in this relationship.”

“it was worth a try, i guess.”

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dantes-jacket · 2 days ago

Text

A little surprise

Dante x fem reader

Author notes: request #7! Dante finds out you’re pregnant! Mentions of throwing up, and so much fluff :)

There’s a good amount of things you hate in the world and one of those things is throwing up. It extremely uncomfortable and disgusting. The awful aftertaste left in your mouth makes you want to throw up again.

It’s day two of throwing up for most of the day and you’re despising every single millisecond of it. You don’t even have your husband here to hold back your hair while you’re throwing up everything in your stomach. Of course when you get sick Dante is on a long mission. The world is really hitting you when you’re already down.

You’re finally able to sit down on the couch without getting nauseous and you’re taking advantage of it. You’re watching some tv when the door swings open. You see Trish and Lady strolling on in. Ah it must be check up day. Whenever Dante goes on a long mission he always sends those two to check on you.

Most of the time they show up on their own because they want to hang out with you but they also have to check to make sure no demons are hanging around. They do the sweep of the inside and outside and give you the thumbs up for an all clear.

They oddly keep standing in front of you and give each other a look. Lady speaks first, “You look like shit.”

Trish smacks her, “Don’t listen to her. You look a little pale. You feeling okay?”

“To be honest I’ve been better. I can’t stop-“ bile rises up your throat once again. You cover your mouth and dash to the bathroom and empty your stomach. Lady and Trish follow you. Trish holds your hair back and Lady rubs your back.

When you’re finally throwing up you flush the toilet then wipe your mouth with a stray towel. “As you can see, I’ve been better. I can’t stop throwing up.”

“Is it something you ate?” Lady asks.

“I don’t think so? I haven’t eaten anything different plus I can’t keep anything down so I’ve barely been eating.”

“We are going to take you to the doctor. Dante will kill us if we just sat by and didn’t do anything.” Trish states while grabbing your hand.

The three of you head to the urgent care near Devil May Cry. You check in and wait to get called back. The wait isn’t long until a nurse calls your name. The three of you stand up and follow the nurse to your room.

The nurse is a nice old lady, “Okay sweetheart sit on the exam table.” You do as she says and then she asks, “So what seems to be the problem dear?”

You explain to her how you have been nauseous, can’t stop throwing up, and can’t keep any food down. While you tell her she takes notes on her clipboard.

“Is there a chance you could be pregnant?”

You freeze at the question. Pregnant? You and Dante have sex quite often but could you really be pregnant?

“I mean my husband and I have sex often so possibly?”

“Let me get a test and we’ll have you take it because all your symptoms are lining up with early pregnancy.”

You’re speechless and don’t know what to say. So Trish answers for you, “Thank you ma’am.” The nurse just nods and leaves the room shutting it behind her.

Once she leaves you snap your neck to Lady and Trish, “PREGNANT!?”

Trish stands up and walks over to you. She places her hands on her shoulders, “It’s okay, we’ll figure this out.”

“But- Dante and I have never talked about kids or about getting pregnant.”

“Hey, calm down. Stressing yourself out isn’t going to help. Let’s have you take the test and see what it says. We’ll be here the entire time, okay?”

You take a deep breath, “Okay.”

The nurse walks back in with a cup and Trish steps back. The nurse walks you through what to do and hands you the cup. You walk to the bathroom across the hall and do the steps you were told to do.

When you’re done you walk back to your room and hand the test to the nurse. “Thank you dear. The results should be back within a couple of minutes.”

You bounce your leg up and down due to your nerves. You see a hand placed on your knee and look up to see Lady. “You’re okay. I’m also sorry for being rude earlier.”

“Don’t worry about that at all. I know I look rough, it didn’t even bug me.”

She just nods and keeps her hand on your knee. You hear a knock at the door and the nurse walks back in. She holds the results to you and you take them. All you read is “positive”. Your hand covers your mouth and you start to cry. You back at your friends and smile, “I’m pregnant!”

They smile at you and wish you congratulations. The nurse clears her throat, “Congratulations but I do have to kinda ruin the moment. Here is a list of doctors you can go to make sure everything stay good with your pregnancy. Make sure you stay consistent with your appointments. It’ll help you and the baby.”

Trish takes those papers from her and thanks her. The nurse wishes you congratulations again then leaves. “Let’s get you back to the shop.”

Once you’re back you’re pacing around the living room. “How am I suppose to tell him?! I mean we never talked about this. What if he doesn’t want a kid? Just look how everything happened with Nero.”

Trish rolls her eyes, “No way we are comparing Vergil’s kid to your little baby.”

“Hey I’m just saying! Look how reacted when he found that out.”

“Do you seriously think Dante would be mad at you? Or leave you?” Lady questions.

Your eyes widen and you wave your hands in front of you, “No god no! I know he wouldn’t but I just, what if he’s not ready? He’s still doing so much and I don’t want to add more to his plate.”

“You’re overthinking too much. Let’s just go to one of these doctors so they can do an ultrasound. You can tell him by showing him the picture.” Trish explains.

“Okay, we can go first thing in the morning. You two are welcome to stay here. We have guest bedrooms or if you so please, the couch.” They laugh and take up the offer. You three all go to bed early to prepare for the morning tomorrow.

The next day you’re sitting in another doctor’s office getting the ultrasound done. The doctor is pointing to the little baby growing in your stomach. You start to tear up, that’s your little baby. You’re going to be a mom and Dante is going to be a dad.

The doctor asks if you want to have a picture of it and you eagerly answer yes. The doctor prints out the photo for you. You two talk about your next appointment and what to expect. You take every word the doctor says to heart because you don’t want to mess anything up.

You’re back at Devil May Cry with Lady and Trish. They decided to stay until Dante gets back to make sure you don’t need help with anything and that you stay okay.

It’s not until a couple more days go by that Dante is walking into the shop. The three of you girls are eating dinner when he walks in. He says hello to the duo then walks right to your seat.

“Hi baby, missed you.” He leans down and kisses you.

“Hi love, I missed you too.” You go to stand up and hug him but he puts his hands in front of him.

“As much as I would love a hug from you I absolutely reek. I’ve been in a sewer system this entire time and I’m not letting you smell that.”

You laugh, “That’s sweet but I already smell it.”

“I know don’t remind me. I’m gonna shower, I’ll be back.” He kisses you again then heads off to your shared bathroom.

You get up and make him a plate so he can eat. You’re glad you made extras today. You finished making his plate and head back to the dining room. You place his plate down right by yours.

You go back to eating and talking with the duo about your plan. You hear Dante walking back down and you three go silent. Before he can comment on it, “I made you a plate, come and eat.”

“Oh you sure know the way to my heart.” He digs in and groans, “Man I missed having your food.”

The three of you laugh at his reaction. Being in a sewer system really must such. Trish and Lady ask about his mission and he tells them all about it. Of course emphasizing the fights to make him look good. The duo of them just shake their head and let him continue on with his story.

Once he’s done he turns to you, “How about you? What did you do while I was gone.”

Boom this is your moment. “Let me show you!”

You get up and grab the photo from the ultrasound out of your purse. You hide it behind his back and he smirks, “Oh I get a surprise now?”

You nod your head quietly and hand him the photo. He stares at it deeply and you can see all the gears working in his head. Then you see it click.

“Wait this is-“ he looks up at you, “You’re pregnant?”

You nod again and grin, “Dante, you’re going to be a father.”

“Holy shit,” he covers his mouth and looks at the photo again. He abruptly stands up and pulls you into a hug and spins you around.

He’s laughing and smiling, you mirror his emotions. He places you back down and holds your face in his hands, “I’m going to be a dad. I can’t thank you enough baby. You mean the world to me and knowing you’re having my kid is incredible. You’re going to be such a great mom.”

You start crying but he doesn’t hesitate to wipe your tears, “I can’t wait to see you be a father Dante. I love you. Thank you for doing this with me.”

He leans in to kiss you. It’s a loving and sweet kiss. It fills you with hope and love. The future is so bright for you two and you cannot wait. He can’t either and you can tell through this kiss.

You two disconnect and can’t stop smiling. Dante turns to the others that are still in the room, “Did you two know?”

Trish smiles, “Yeah we took her the doctors and stayed to make sure she was okay until you got back.” Lady just nods along and smiles.

Dante disconnects from you and pulls them into a hug, “Thank you. I can’t repay you two enough.”

Lady answers, “Just as long as we are the aunts that’s all we need.”

Dante breaks the hug from them and you walk over to him. You stand right next to him and he wraps his arm around your waist to pull you into his side.

“Of course you didn’t even have to ask.” You respond to Lady.

Dante places his hand on your stomach, “This kid is going to have one hell of a family.”

You place your hand over his, “Yeah, yeah they are.”

@sweetkingdomdefendor

#dante x reader #dante sparda x reader

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rrysbabydoll · 22 hours ago

Text

Busy

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

CW: Explicit sexual content, dominant/submissive dynamics, spanking, power imbalance, emotional vulnerability, mild humiliation, tears, aftercare, consensual BDSM with soft limits.

Synopsis: Y/N gets bratty after Harry ignores her for a week.

You had a bad idea.

Not just any kind of bad idea, but the kind of bad idea that your sweet, sensitive self wouldn’t normally even think about acting on. Except… well, it had been a week.

A full, torturous week of Harry holed up in the studio, headphones half-off and hair a mess, obsessing over the final mixes of his album. He came home late. Ate silently. Fell into bed next to you smelling like vanilla and frustration. Every night, you’d curl into his side like a good girl, hoping he’d roll over, mouth at your shoulder and pull your panties down.

But every night?

Nothing.

So now, here you were, standing at the doorway of his at-home studio in your little sleep shirt, barely-there fabric, hem riding up every time you shifted your weight, sleeves falling past your knuckles, pouting so deeply your lip trembled. But not in the soft, sniffly way he was used to. No. You were being a brat.

"You're obsessed with that stupid album," you muttered, arms crossed.

Harry didn’t even flinch. He turned a knob and scribbled something on a notepad, his back to you.

You scoffed. “You're honestly being such an asshole.”

That did it.

His head turned, slowly. He looked over his shoulder, hair a little messy from running his hands through them over and over again.

“Come again?” His voice was low. Calm. But not amused.

You shifted on your feet, unsure now. This wasn’t your usual tone with him. You were the sweet one. The cry-easily one. The soft girl.

You swallowed. “Nothing.”

He leaned back in his chair and spread his thighs a little wider. His eyes dragged over you. “You’ve got about five seconds to come in here and say what you meant.”

You squirmed. Your plan hadn’t gone much further than this.

Still, your feet moved. You padded in, heart pounding. “I just meant… you haven’t touched me in days, Harry.”

He nodded, once. “I know, sweetheart. I’ve been busy.”

“That’s not fair,” you huffed, suddenly brave. “You always say that when you're working. What about me?”

He raised his eyebrows and didn’t blink. “What about you?”

You stared at him, the flush creeping up your neck. “I’m—I need you. But you don’t care.”

His jaw ticked. Slowly, he stood.

You watched him walk around the desk. He didn’t stop until he was in front of you, and still, his voice never rose.

“Let me get this straight,” he murmured. “You storm into my studio. In your little shirt. Acting like a brat. Talking back. All because I haven’t fucked you in a week?”

You bit your lip, nodding.

He tilted his head. “You think I don’t care about you because I’ve been finishing an album I’ve poured years into?”

That part stung. You didn’t mean it like that. You looked down.

“I didn’t mean—”

“No, baby. You did,” he said, quietly. “You meant it. You wanted to hurt me a little. Thought if you poked me hard enough, I’d snap.”

“I—”

“Be quiet.”

You closed your mouth.

He stepped closer, chest brushing yours. His hand found your jaw, not rough, but firm. His thumb pressed against your lower lip.

“You’re usually such a sweet thing,” he murmured. “What’s gotten into you, hmm?”

Your eyes welled up. Instinctively, you tilted toward him.

“I missed you,” you whispered.

“I know you did,” he said. “But that’s not how you tell me.”

“I’m sorry…”

He hummed. “You will be.”

Your stomach flipped.

He took your hand and walked you to the edge of the couch in the studio, small, low, the one he sat on between takes. He sat first, then pulled you over his lap, face-down, ass up. His hand ran gently down your back, toying with the hem of your shirt.

“I try so hard to be patient with you,” he murmured. “You’re usually so good for me. Sweet little thing. So why do you act like a brat when you know I’m barely holding it together?”

His hand smoothed over your ass once, then landed a sharp, open-palm slap that made your breath catch.

“Count for me.”

“O-One.”

Another. Firmer.

“Two.”

“You looked so pretty standing in that doorway,” he murmured. “So pretty, even when you’re being a little mean.”

Three. Four.

You gasped, hips twitching in his lap.

“Harry—”

“No talking,” he said gently. “Keep going.”

Five. Six. Seven.

Your voice trembled.

“Eight…”

By ten, your legs were shaking. You buried your face in your arm.

When he finally stopped, his hands smoothed over your warm skin. “That’s enough.”

You breathed in sharply, then again, like you were about to cry. But he gently moved you to stand between his legs.

“Take your shirt off.”

You blinked at him.

“I said take it off.”

You pulled the sleep shirt over your head, bare underneath, your nipples pebbled from a mix of cold air and nerves. He looked you over, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek.

“Get on the couch.”

You obeyed, knees sinking into the cushion.

“On your tummy.”

You froze.

You hesitated.

“I don’t want to,” you said softly. “I wanna look at you…”

His expression didn’t change. But his jaw clenched slightly. He moved closer.

“No.”

Your lip trembled. “But I just—”

“No,” he repeated. “You don’t get that tonight.”

You blinked fast. “Harry…”

“Get on your tummy.”

When you didn’t move right away, his voice came again, soft but unmistakably stern.

“Now.”

You turned, heart in your throat, and laid on your front. Your cheek pressed into the pillow, and tears began to slip down without permission.

He knelt behind you, strong hands parting your thighs. You whimpered, wanting, needing, his touch.

When he eased into you, slow and deep, you gasped sharply.

“You’ll take it,” he murmured. “You’ll take it and remember not to act out next time.”

You cried softly, face buried, hands curled in the pillow. Your hips twitched toward him, needy, even as your body quivered.

Halfway through, when you felt overwhelmed and aching and emotional, you reached behind blindly, searching for his hand.

He caught your wrist. Held it firmly.

“No touching.”

You sniffled. “I—I’m sorry…”

“I know,” he whispered. “But you still need to learn.”

You nodded into the pillow, crying quietly as he drove deeper, relentless but not cruel. You wanted to see his eyes, to see softness return, but he wouldn’t let you. He stayed behind you, keeping the space between you firm, no matter how much you squirmed.

When you came, it was with a sob in the pillow.

He pulled out slowly, breathing heavy, and tucked himself back into his sweats. The room fell quiet, save for your soft sniffles.

Then…

His hands—warm, wide, familiar—slid under your body. He lifted you gently and turned you over onto your back, then pulled you into his chest like you were made of glass.

His voice, finally, was soft again.

“Oh, baby…”

You curled into him immediately.

“I didn’t mean it,” you whispered, fists in his hoodie. “I missed you. I just—I don’t know what came over me—”

“I know, lovie. I know,” he whispered, kissing your temple over and over. “I shouldn’t have let it get this long. That’s on me.”

You clung to him, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin.

“I just wanted you to look at me,” you mumbled.

He pulled back, tilting your chin.

“I always look at you,” he murmured. “Always. Even when I’m tired. Even when I’m busy. You’re all I see, baby.”

You hiccuped.

“I didn’t like not touching you...”

“I didn’t like saying no,” he whispered. “But I had to. You needed to know you crossed a line.”

You nodded, eyes glassy.

“I was bad.”

“No,” he said firmly. “You’re never bad. Just a little bratty sometimes.”

You smiled through your tears.

He kissed your nose.

“You’re still my sweet girl.”

“Even when I make you mad?”

“I wasn’t mad,” he said. “Just… frustrated. And maybe a little hurt.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know.”

He rocked you gently, murmuring against your hair.

“Let me take care of you now,” he whispered. “You were good in the end. So good for me.”

You nodded, already dozing off in his arms.

He reached for a blanket and tucked it over you, laying back into the couch and holding you like you were the only thing he needed in the world.

And really, you were.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #dom harry styles #harry #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff

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sixxels · 3 days ago

Text

babydoll

frat!gojo x shy!fem reader !!

part 1 ! part 2 ! part 3 !

wc: 7.8k

disclaimer !! slight sukuna x reader, slow burn, fluff, angst/comfort, yearning satoru, whipped satoru, satoru is just so enamoured with reader omg. follows the ‘was i just a bet?’ premise!! eventual smut (most likely). reader is implied to wear very cutesy kinds of clothings and enjoys very girly and feminine things !!

the problem was that satoru gojo hadn’t stopped thinking about you since that stupid coffee date.

it wasn’t supposed to feel like this. he’d done this kind of thing before—charming girls, making them laugh, maybe spending the night if he was bored enough. but this? this wasn’t just flirting. it wasn’t a mission or a chase.

you were different.

and that terrified the hell out of him.

he sat on the balcony of the frat house the next night, legs kicked up on the railing, the bass from the party downstairs shaking the floorboards beneath his feet. a half-drunk beer dangled from his hand, and his phone sat untouched beside him—though he’d checked it three times in the past five minutes, half-hoping you’d text.

you hadn’t.

you weren’t the type to double text.

and for once, he kind of wished you were.

“you’re thinking about her, aren’t you?” suguru’s voice cut through the thick night air, lazy and smug.

gojo didn’t even glance over. “jesus, what are you? psychic?”

“nah,” suguru stepped outside, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, long black hair tied back messily. his black gauges caught the light as he leaned against the railing. “just watching you stare at your phone like a sad puppy.”

gojo sighed. “i’m not m—”

“moody?” suguru cut in. “bro, you’ve been pouting since you got back from that coffee date.”

gojo stayed quiet.

“so?” suguru asked, glancing sideways. “did you make any progress?”

gojo took a swig of his beer. “we talked. she laughed at my jokes, she's really, and i mean really cute. it was… nice.”

“that’s it?” suguru blinked. “you’ve got, like, four weeks left. you gonna kiss her or just make googly eyes until june?”

“it’s may 6th,” gojo muttered.

“and you’re behind schedule.”

gojo gave him a look. “you really think this is about the bet anymore?”

suguru raised an eyebrow, pausing. “…so you caught feelings?”

gojo scoffed, but the way he stared out into the night said more than his words did.

“fuck,” he murmured. “i think? man fuck this i've never done this kind of shit before!”

suguru let out a low whistle, dragging his tongue over his teeth. “you? satoru gojo? falling for some shy girl you haven’t even made out with yet? damn. the apocalypse really is coming.”

“shut up.”

“no, seriously,” suguru said. “you’re acting like you’ve never talked to a girl before. this is a whole new level of whipped.”

gojo set his beer down and ran a hand through his hair, messing it up more than it already was.

“she’s just… not like the others. she’s quiet, but when she talks, it’s like she actually means what she says. and she looked at me like she was really listening, like she cared. and she didn’t try to show off or flirt or get something from me. she was just… her.”

“adorable little coffee girl,” suguru teased, tilting his head. “you’re really falling hard.”

“yeah,” gojo admitted. “i think i am.”

suguru let the silence hang for a moment before pushing off the railing.

“well, that’s sweet and all,” he said casually, “but the bet still stands.”

gojo blinked. “what?”

“come on,” suguru grinned. “you said you could bang her by the end of may. that’s $2000 on the line. i’m not just gonna let you back out because you caught a case of the butterflies.”

gojo frowned. “you’re seriously holding me to that?”

“you’re the one who upped the stakes,” suguru reminded him. “you wanted to prove you could do it. don’t tell me you’re chickening out now.”

“it’s not about chickening out,” gojo said. “it just… it doesn’t feel right anymore.”

suguru shrugged, sliding his hands into his pockets. “then figure it out. either go all in or call it. but don’t string her along if you’re not sure what you want.”

gojo looked down at the ground below, jaw clenched.

“she’s not the kind of girl you mess with,” he said quietly. “she deserves better than that.”

suguru gave him a long look. “then maybe stop being the kind of guy who does.”

that night, gojo lay sprawled across his bed, one arm behind his head, your text thread glowing softly in the dark.

n/n 💗 : thank you for the coffee today :)

n/n 💗: i had fun !!

he stared at it for a long moment, heart thudding heavier than it should have.

he started typing.

gojo: me too ;)

gojo: wanna hang again soon? no coffee this time, i’ll try to impress you with my tragic lack of cooking skills 🤝

send.

he stared at the screen feeling slightly anxious. a reply came a minute later.

n/n 💗 : for sure :)

he smiled. god, you were even cute over text.

gojo : awesomeeee i can't wait! i'll pick you up outside the girl dormitories after your classes tomorrow!

he set the phone on his chest and stared up at the ceiling.

he hadn’t figured it out yet, what to do about the bet, how to tell you, how to stop feeling like the world’s most shittiest person for even agreeing to it in the first place.

but one thing was clear.

this wasn’t about the money anymore.

and if he wasn’t careful, you were going to be the one thing in his life he couldn’t charm, lie, or joke his way out of.

the sun was beginning to set when gojo pulled up to the dorms, low rays turning the pavement gold. he wore a gray hoodie over his alpha phi tee, sleeves rolled to his elbows, sunglasses pushed up into his white hair. he’d parked a little early, pretending it was just to get a good spot, but really—it was nerves. again.

and then you appeared.

you walked out of the dorm building like you’d fallen out of a dream: soft cardigan slipping off one shoulder, a pleated plaid skirt swishing gently as you moved, lace-trimmed socks just peeking out over black mary janes. you clutched your phone and blinked up when you spotted him, lips parting slightly in surprise.

god, you were pretty. almost too pretty.

you took in the sight of his very black, very expensive looking car, walking up to him shyly.

he leaned over and popped open the door. “hop in, angel.”

you slid in, offering a shy smile. “hello.”

“hey yourself,” he grinned, starting the engine.

you looked around his car, clearing your throat slightly. "you've got a really nice car, satoru."

he smirked, one of his favourite things in life was his car, so having you of all people complimenting it made him feel giddy.

"it's a Mclaren 570S spider, my baby."

you smiled at his obvious love for his car and looked at him through fluttered eyes. "it's very cool, gojo."

if he was a dog, his tail would be wagging insanely right now.

the drive to his frat was quick, and your eyes widened at how grand the front enterance looked.

"hope you like ramen, because that's all we got right now sweets."

his frat house wasn’t clean, but it had character. guys yelling over fifa downstairs, a wall of polaroids lining the staircase, beer cans stacked like a sad sculpture on the kitchen counter. you hesitated at the door of his room until he gestured for you to come in, flipping the light switch and kicking a basketball out of the way.

“welcome to my humble kingdom.”

you stepped inside, eyes wide as you took in the mess of it all—expensive sneakers piled haphazardly in the corner, basketball trophies scattered across his dresser, and posters of old anime's and old rock bands on the wall. somehow, it smelled faintly of expensive cologne and dryer sheets.

he scratched the back of his neck. “it’s, uh… not exactly pinterest material.”

“it’s very you,” you said with a giggle.

he blinked. “is that a good thing or?”

you turned to him, giving him a small, almost shy smile. “yeah. it's cool."

he looked at you then—really looked—and that tiny, pink, fluttering thing in his chest came back full force.

you wandered over to his desk while he started fiddling with the stovetop burner on the little kitchenette shoved into the corner of his room.

“so,” he said, voice casual. “i was thinking—gourmet instant ramen. maybe some fancy egg on top if we’re feeling wild.”

“so…” you said after a few minutes, propped on the edge of his bed while he stirred noodles, “what’s it like being frat president?”

he snorted. “exhausting, kinda. it’s basically babysitting drunk toddlers with big egos.”

you laughed and swung your legs back and forth over the edge of his bed. "i thought it was just about throwing parties.”

“eh, that too.” he leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you. “but i have to keep the house from falling apart, break up fights, stop choso from lighting the grill with a flamethrower again…”

you blinked. “again?”

he smiled sheepishly. “yeah, we lost a picnic table last semester.” you giggled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

then your smile faded just slightly.

“you okay?” satoru asked quietly, voice low as he stirred the ramen.

you nodded, but there was a pause that lingered too long, your eyes fixed on your lap. your fingers fidgeted in your lap.

“just… i used to date someone, who loved parties.” you murmured. “he was in beta tau.”

gojo’s movements stilled. beta tau was basically alpha phis rival frat. the quiet slosh of water and noodles was the only sound in the small kitchen now.

you didn’t look up when you said his name. “sukuna.”

a cold weight dropped into his stomach. his hand tightened around the ladle, knuckles going pale.

of course it was sukuna.

that smug, inked-up bastard with a mouth full of sharp teeth and a cruel grin to match. he strutted around campus like he owned it, dripping in designer clothes and superiority. gojo had always hated the way girls fell into his lap like it was gravity—like his name alone was enough to make people forget how rotten he was underneath. he wasn’t charming. he was dangerous, and not in the fun way.

and you… sweet perfect you... you were the last person he wanted to imagine tangled up in sukunas antics.

“he wasn’t very kind to me,” you continued, voice barely more than a whisper. “he’d always say the right things in public, always knew how to look like the perfect boyfriend. but when it was just us… he made me feel small. like a doll on a shelf.”

satoru slowly turned around to face you.

you still wouldn’t look at him, like you were ashamed, and for some reason, that hurt more than anything.

“did he hurt you?” he asked, his voice sharp with something unfamiliar—something cold and furious.

your eyes lifted, wide and startled.

“no. not-not like that. he never laid a hand on me. he just…” you exhaled shakily. “he liked having a girlfriend that looked good standing next to him. didn’t care what i wanted. what i liked. he wanted a prize. not a girlfriend.”

the silence that followed was heavy. satoru felt it in his teeth, in the pounding of his heart.

you looked up through your lashes, nervous.

gojo didn’t speak for a moment.

he couldn’t.

his thoughts were racing, hot and restless. the image of sukuna’s smug face flashed behind his eyes—tattoos curling around his temples like they meant something, all swagger and sharp edges. he remembered seeing him once, dragging some girl by the wrist through a party like she was furniture. wait... was that you?

his chest ached.

“he’s a fucking cunt,” gojo finally muttered, voice low and bitter. “a spoiled, narcissistic freak who doesn’t know how to care about anything that doesn’t worship the ground he walks on.”

you blinked at him. your expression was unreadable, unsure.

he rubbed the back of his neck, frustrated. “i just, i hate that he made you feel that way. like you weren’t… enough. you’re more than enough.”

a quiet beat passed.

your eyes were widened as you muttered out a quiet, “thank you."

he turned back to the stove, jaw clenched tight. his grip on the ladle loosened as he focused on the task again, but something simmered under his skin hotter than the water in the pot.

when the ramen was finally done, he ladled it gently into two mismatched bowls. he didn’t speak, didn’t push, didn’t dare reach for you, like touching you would break you.

he set yours down in front of you carefully.

and when you reached out, just the slightest brush of your fingers over his wrist, it was like the spark of something that had always been there, just waiting.

he swallowed.

he thought he’d known what this was. a bet. a game. something stupid between frat boys with too much ego.

but now, sitting across from you with your lips curled softly around the rim of a spoon and the warmth of your touch still ghosting over his skin, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

and he wasn’t sure he could survive the fallout when this all came crashing down.

you ended up staying for ramen, then a movie on his laptop, curled under one of his big blankets with your knees tucked under you. he let you pick the film, a cozy romcom he secretly kind of liked. and halfway through, your shoulder brushed his.

you didn’t pull away.

his heart beat out of rhythm.

he should’ve told you then, he knew he was too far gone to not tell you how this all started.

he could’ve said it was stupid—just a bet, just a frat-boy dare. that it was about the money until it wasn’t. that it wasn’t fair to you, and he knew that, and he was sorry.

but you were looking at him like he wasn’t the president of a frat house. like he was someone safe.

and so instead, he said nothing.

hours later, after walking you back and watching you disappear behind your dorm’s glass doors, gojo found himself back on the balcony. it was after midnight, the sky deep and dark above the rooftops, clouds moving slow like they had nowhere to be.

the door creaked behind him.

suguru.

he stepped out with two cans in one hand, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair tied low. “figured you’d be here.”

“figured you’d be asleep.”

suguru handed him a can. “couldn’t. my roommate’s snoring like a dying chainsaw.”

they sat in silence for a while. gojo sipped. the wind moved through the trees.

“so?” suguru asked finally. “you tap out yet?”

gojo’s head tipped back against the railing.

“no,” he muttered, replying reluctantly. “i’m still in.”

suguru’s eyebrows raised. “really? after all that poetic shit you were spewing the other night?”

“i know.”

“dude. she’s sweet. and i know you’re catching feelings.”

gojo’s voice was quiet. “i don’t know how to stop.”

“so why not just end it?” suguru asked, genuinely confused now. “i mean, yeah, i wanna win my $2k, but if she’s getting under your skin like this—”

“because if i quit the bet, it’s like admitting she was a target from the start.”

suguru was silent.

gojo exhaled, voice low. “and she doesn’t deserve that. she deserves to believe this started from something better than a fucking dare.”

“but it didn’t.”

“i know,” gojo snapped. “but it became something better.”

suguru took a slow sip of his beer.

“you’re in deep, man.”

“tell me something i don’t know.”

“okay,” suguru said lazily, “you’re also kind of a dumbass.”

gojo smiled humorlessly. “yeah.”

they sat a little longer, listening to the wind rattle the flags on the roof.

finally, suguru muttered, “just don’t hurt her.”

gojo looked out into the dark.

“that’s the one thing i’m trying not to do.”

the next morning came too quickly.

the sunlight was already pouring through the slats of gojo’s blinds when he finally gave up on pretending to sleep. the golden light did nothing to warm the chill lodged deep in his chest. he lay on his back, one arm flung over his eyes, the other resting on the rise and fall of his chest, which felt too shallow, too sharp. like his lungs had forgotten how to breathe without aching.

you haunted his thoughts.

he saw you when he closed his eyes—sitting on the edge of his bed in that oversized hoodie, hands cradling the ramen bowl he’d made like it was something precious. your knees tucked close, your fingers trembling just slightly when you lifted your chopsticks. he’d noticed. of course he had. noticed everything. how you hesitated before speaking, how you smiled with your mouth but not always with your eyes. how the word “sukuna” tasted like poison on your tongue, and how your whole body had tensed when you said his name.

it made something ugly twist in gojo’s stomach.

sukuna.

he hated even thinking the name now, though once upon a time they’d shared the same parties, the same reckless orbit of greek life. sukuna was one of those guys you couldn’t ignore—loud, magnetic, built like a devil with charm sharp enough to cut. everyone had stories about him. girls, mostly. none of them good.

gojo remembered one story in particular—barely even a memory now, just a flash of a scene. a party. loud music, dim lights. sukuna dragging a girl by the wrist through the crowd like she was some piece of luggage he couldn’t be bothered to carry. she’d looked shaken. small. he hadn’t gotten a good look at her face.

but now he couldn’t stop wondering—what if that girl had been you?

gojo sat up abruptly in bed, chest tight, the sheets a tangled mess around his legs. he raked a hand through his silver-white hair, breathing hard.

the worst part wasn’t that he hadn’t done anything that night. it was that he hadn’t noticed. not really. not in a way that mattered. back then, things like that just blurred into the background noise of frat parties. girls crying in bathrooms. couples fighting in corners. someone stumbling out with mascara running down her cheeks.

god. how many red flags had he ignored?

a knock sounded at his door.

he ignored it.

a beat passed, and then the door creaked open anyway. suguru never waited for permission, especially not when gojo was spiraling.

“jesus,” suguru muttered as he stepped in, two to-go cups of shitty black coffee in hand. “you look like a demon crawled into your mouth and died.”

gojo didn’t even blink. “you’re one to talk. you’ve worn that same hoodie all week.”

“five days,” suguru corrected. “and it’s called sustainable fashion.”

he crossed the room and dropped one of the cups on the nightstand before flopping down at the edge of gojo’s bed. the mattress dipped with his weight, but gojo still didn’t move. he was hunched over now, elbows on his knees, hands dangling between them, eyes locked on the floor like it had done something to offend him.

“you wanna talk about it?” suguru asked, taking a long sip of his coffee. “or are we just gonna sit here marinating in existential dread?”

gojo let out a slow breath.

“she told me about her ex, sukuna.”

suguru raised an eyebrow. “oh?”

“last night. while we were watching that dumb movie. she just… opened up. said he made her feel like a prop. like he only wanted her because she looked good on his arm. and when he didn’t need her, he’d just," gojo’s jaw clenched. “he’d drop her. ignore her. talk over her. like she was a fucking purse he forgot he was holding.”

suguru whistled low. “that tracks.”

gojo’s voice dropped, hoarse. “i didn’t know it was her.”

suguru frowned. “what do you mean?”

“i remembered this one party. he was dragging a girl out by the wrist, just yanking her through the crowd like she was nothing. i didn’t say anything. didn’t even think twice. but now—what if that was her? what if i saw that happening and i just… let it?”

he ran a hand down his face, the guilt pressing heavier now.

suguru didn’t answer for a long moment. then, slowly, he sat up straighter.

“satoru,” he said quietly. “you didn’t know.”

“that’s not an excuse.”

“no,” suguru agreed. “but it’s the truth.”

gojo shook his head. “i should’ve seen it. i should’ve noticed. i should’ve cared.”

“you care now.”

“i lied to her.”

suguru fell silent.

gojo stood up suddenly, the coffee still untouched on the nightstand. he began pacing, his bare feet whispering across the hardwood floor.

“she was so honest with me, man. sat there in my bed and told me about the worst parts of herself—about how she felt like she was broken after him. and i just sat there, playing the good guy, letting her think i was different. letting her believe in me. when the whole reason i even talked to her was because of a fucking bet.”

the word hit like a punch.

suguru leaned back on his hands, watching his friend come apart.

“you still haven’t told her.”

gojo let out a bitter laugh. “how the hell do i tell her that, suguru? ‘hey, remember when i bumped into you at the café? yeah, turns out i only asked you out because you were part of a game i was trying to win’? that won’t hurt her. that’ll ruin her.”

suguru didn’t argue.

gojo stopped pacing, facing the window now, watching students pass by on the sidewalk outside. people laughing, sipping iced coffees, dragging skateboards behind them. the world kept turning, oblivious to the storm in his chest.

“i think i’m in love with her.”

it came out quietly. like a confession. like a truth he hadn’t been ready to say until this exact moment.

suguru blinked. “you think?”

gojo smiled humorlessly. “i know.”

silence settled between them. suguru finally stood, grabbing the untouched coffee and offering it out to gojo like a peace offering.

“you’re in deep, huh?”

gojo took the cup without meeting his eyes. “drowning.”

meanwhile, in your dorm room, you sat curled up on your twin bed, your legs tucked under a fleece throw blanket, your favorite oversized mug cupped in both hands. the tea inside had gone cold a while ago, but you hadn’t noticed. you were staring at gojos contact reminiscing about what he had said to you before letting you go off to your dorm.

'thanks for trusting me with that. you’re not broken. you’re still here. that matters more than anything. sleep well, angel.'

you’d been thinking about that for almost ten minutes, trying not to cry.

the word angel shouldn’t have made your heart skip. but it did.

you didn’t know what this was, what you and gojo were becoming, but for the first time in months, maybe years, you felt like you could breathe. like someone actually saw you, the real you, not just the version that looked good in pictures or sounded impressive on paper.

and that terrified you.

because you’d believed sukuna, too. once.

you’d fallen for his smile, his confidence, the way he made you feel like you were the center of the universe, until you weren’t. until you were just another trophy. another girl to brag about. another reason for people to envy him.

you still remembered the way he’d spoken to you in public—possessive, controlling, sometimes mocking—and how quickly he could flip the script when you tried to call him out.

'you’re being too sensitive. don’t embarrass me like that. you should be grateful i even brought you.'

it had taken so long to untangle yourself from him. and longer still to stop blaming yourself for the way he’d treated you.

but last night, when gojo looked at you, really looked at you, it didn’t feel like pity or lust or even casual interest. it felt like something quiet. steady. real.

you didn’t know what to do with that.

your phone buzzed.

gojo: you awake?

you smiled before you could stop yourself, thumbing a reply with hesitant fingers.

n/n 💗 : barely. why?

gojo: sweet! i owe you another ramen night. but this time i’ll actually let you pick the movie.

your heart did a little backflip. you pulled the blanket tighter around you, cheeks warm.

n/n 💗 only if you promise not to fall asleep halfway through.

gojo: i can’t promise that. but i can promise snacks ! 😁

you laughed, the sound breaking the stillness of your room like sunlight through fog.

maybe this was real.

maybe, just maybe, gojo was exactly who he seemed.

and maybe that scared you even more than sukuna ever did.

the night went by fast, it always did with satoru. like the one previous you had spent it eating snacks and watching movies on his bed huddled infront of a laptop. now, most don't find watching random romcoms in a frat guys room very appealing, but to you it felt safe, like a home away from home.

he was your home away from home.

now, you were walking with satoru around campus as you had planned over text about an hour ago.

the midday sun hung lazily over campus, casting a hazy golden warmth across the walkways and tree-lined paths. students moved around like streams of color—some laughing in groups, others rushing to class, earbuds in, eyes down. but in the middle of it all, it felt like just the two of you.

you walked quietly beside gojo, your small hand brushing the edge of his hoodie now and then when your steps got too close. he didn’t mind. he never did. if anything, he leaned into it, like it soothed something in him just to be near you. he adjusted his stride to match yours without thinking, even though his legs were long enough to cross campus in five minutes flat.

but he didn’t want fast. he wanted this. you.

you were heading to your bio class, and he had no reason to be anywhere near the science building. but he still showed up at the café ten minutes before your lecture started, hands in his pockets, grinning like it was the best part of his day. because it was.

and god, you were so pretty when you looked surprised to see him. like you didn’t expect someone like him to show up for someone like you.

but that was the thing. he’d never met anyone like you.

“you really don’t have to walk me every time,” you murmured, eyes low, voice soft and unsure. like you didn’t want to seem like a burden.

and it killed him. how you always shrank yourself, always made yourself smaller—as if your presence was anything less than his favorite fucking thing.

“yeah, but then who’s gonna make sure you don’t trip over your own shadow?” he teased gently.

you let out a quiet laugh, tucking your hair behind your ear. your fingers were delicate, your smile bashful, and gojo felt the urge to say something completely insane like marry me.

he didn’t, obviously. but it lived in his throat.

he watched you with the kind of attention he never gave anything else. memorized the curve of your cheek, the soft press of your lips when you were thinking, the way you glanced at him like you were still trying to believe he was real. and when you looked away, flustered by your own laugh, he swore the sun hit you different.

you were always cute. painfully cute. but in that moment? he was dizzy with it.

“besides,” he added, smirking, “how else am i supposed to get my daily dose of cuteness?”

your steps slowed. “what?”

“you heard me,” he said, bumping your shoulder. “you’re good for my blood pressure or whatever.”

you shook your head, blushing so hard you could barely walk straight. and he could’ve died right there. from the way you smiled at your shoes, from how shy you looked just standing next to him. like he wasn’t completely, pathetically obsessed with you already.

he wanted to tell you you were beautiful.

not just hot, not the kind of thing he said to girls at parties, not anything casual. but soft. lovely. untouchable. yours is the kind of face you write songs about. you look like you belong in someone’s arms at sunset.

he wanted to tell you he dreamed about you.

he wanted to tell you he was in love with you, probably more than he should be.

but all he said was, “i think we should watch the kissing booth next time you come over.”

you smiled, small and bashful again, and it tugged something deep in his chest. something real.

and as you walked in companionable silence, gojo glanced down at you. at your long lashes, the curve of your mouth, the way you hugged your books to your chest like a shield. you were so soft. so careful. like you were afraid of taking up space.

but he saw everything.

he saw the way you tried to be brave, even when you were scared. he saw how you still smiled, still tried, even when the world had been cruel to you.

he wanted to wrap you up and protect you from everything. from the past, from shitty exes, from the version of himself that used to not care about anyone or anything.

you made him care.

and that terrified him. because there was still something he hadn’t told you.

“can i ask you something?” he said suddenly, voice quieter now.

“of course, satoru."

he swallowed. “would you… hate me if i wasn’t exactly who you thought i was?”

your wide eyes met his. soft. concerned. not an ounce of judgment.

“hmm? what do y' mean?”

he stopped walking. the sun filtered through the leaves above, casting shadows across your face like a painting.

“what if i told you i’ve made mistakes?” he said. “like, bad ones. the kind that make you want to erase yourself and start over.”

your fingers clutched your book tighter, but you didn’t flinch.

“i think we all have those kinds of mistakes,” you said gently. “but that doesn’t make you a bad person. just human.”

and gojo, god he felt like the ground had disappeared under him.

because you meant it. even without knowing the truth. even with your soft voice and your shy little glances and the way you stood so close, so trusting. you believed in him. still.

he never wanted to break that look in your eyes.

“i never want to hurt you,” he whispered.

you reached out, fingers trembling a little as they curled around his wrist. so delicate. so warm.

“if it’s something from before…” you said, barely above a whisper. “you can tell me. i won’t run away.”

you probably meant it, too. even though your heart was fragile, even though your past left you aching in ways you didn’t talk about, you were still reaching for him.

and that… god, that broke him. he stared at your hand. you were so small. so good. too good for him. and yet… here you were.

he should’ve told you right then. ripped it off like a band-aid.

but all he could think about was how beautiful you looked when you trusted him. how sweet your voice sounded when you called him satoru. how much it would hurt when that melted into betrayal.

so instead, he smiled.

“you’re dangerous when you talk like that,” he said, voice light again. “i’m two seconds from spilling my soul.”

you tilted your head, unconvinced. “satoru…”

he grinned. “i promise i’ll tell you. just not today.”

you hesitated, then nodded slowly. “okay. but i’m holding you to it.”

his chest twisted.

you shouldn’t be so kind to him.

but you were.

and it made him want to be worthy of you.

“deal,” he said. and as you started walking again, he let his hand brush yours. not quite holding it. but close.

close enough that maybe, just maybe you could still forgive him when the truth finally came out.

because he already knew:

he loved you.

he loved you more than anything else in this fucked up world.

and he’d do anything to keep that look in your eyes a little longer.

it started with suguru flopping onto the leather couch in the alpha phi common room, yawning like he hadn’t just come from class.

“so,” he said, cracking open a cold can of something carbonated and probably stolen from the communal fridge. “are you ever gonna introduce her to the rest of us, or are you just gonna keep hiding your little girlfriend away like a dragon hoarding treasure?”

gojo didn’t even look up from his phone. he was already typing out his good morning text to you.

“first of all,” he said, thumbs moving fast, “she’s not my girlfriend.”

“right,” suguru drawled. “you just text her twenty-four seven, walk her to class, and cancel beer pong night so you can rewatch spirited away on your couch with her.”

“it’s a good movie,” gojo muttered.

“you hate that movie.”

“i like it now.”

suguru snorted, propping his feet up on the table. “you’re gone, man.”

gojo leaned back in his seat, a lopsided grin creeping over his face despite himself. he didn’t bother denying it. what was the point?

movie nights had started casually. he’d invited you over under the pretense of “redeeming your taste in cinema.” you’d blushed and giggled, tugging your sleeves over your hands and asking, “does that mean you’re gonna make me watch transformers?”

“don’t tempt me,” he’d said, already queuing it up.

but instead, you’d picked soft, strange little films—quiet ones with too many close-ups and too little dialogue. and something about sitting on the worn-out alpha phi couch with you, shoulders just barely touching, watching the flicker of light dance over your face as you whispered, “this part always makes me cry,” had rewired his brain entirely.

you’d grown braver, little by little.

the first night, you’d sat on the far end of the bed, legs curled beneath you, body coiled tight like you expected to be mocked or judged at any moment. gojo had kept the mood light, cracking jokes, tossing popcorn at your head, playing the fool.

but by the third night, you’d fallen asleep with your cheek on his shoulder.

and he hadn’t moved. not for an hour. not even when his arm went numb. not even when suguru walked in, saw you, and mouthed simp before tiptoeing out.

by the fourth night, you were wearing one of his hoodies.

and by the fifth, you were stealing all his blankets and kicking him when he tried to take them back.

it was getting bad. it was getting real.

so when suguru pushed again, raising a brow over the rim of his can and saying, “i’m serious, you should bring her to the party this weekend. the guys are starting to think you made her up,” gojo didn’t roll his eyes this time.

gojo narrowed his eyes. “what do you think of her? isn't she in your ethics?"

“quiet. polite. smart. a little skittish.”

he meant it kindly, but gojo’s jaw tensed anyway. “she’s been through some shit.”

“i figured.”

“sukuna.”

suguru winced. “fuck.”

“yeah.”

there was a beat of silence. then suguru said, “you like her.”

gojo didn’t answer. he didn’t have to.

“bring her,” suguru said, softer now. “if you’re serious. let her see that not all frat guys are trash.”

gojo looked down at his phone again, at your name on the screen, at the little pink heart next to it. then he nodded, almost to himself.

“yeah,” he said. “okay.”

you met up on thursday afternoon, by the west quad fountain where the sun always hit just right and the flower beds looked like something out of a disney movie. gojo was already there when you arrived, leaning against the stone ledge, phone in hand.

“i was starting to think you stood me up,” he teased as you approached.

you tucked your chin down shyly, smiling. “you’re five minutes early.”

“and you’re three minutes late.”

you rolled your eyes, and he grinned. god, you were cute. the cute jeans you wore today captured your curved hips perfectly, and your lip gloss shimmered when the light caught it. your hair was tied back loosely with a ribbon that matched your cute sweater.

he wanted to bottle you up. keep you. never let anything hurt you again.

“so,” he said, hands in his hoodie pockets, “my frat’s throwing a party this weekend.”

you froze, just slightly.

“you… want me to come?” you asked.

he tilted his head. “only if you want to. no pressure. i just... my friends wanna meet you.”

you looked down at your shoes, worrying your bottom lip. he noticed. of course he did.

“you don’t have to wear anything crazy,” he added quickly. “it’s chill. no themes. just music and drinks and—”

“i want to,” you said quietly.

he blinked. “yeah?”

you nodded. “i just… don’t have anything to wear.”

you didn’t say it like a joke. you said it like a confession.

gojo softened. “wanna show me what you’ve got? we can pick something together.”

you hesitated, then nodded.

“okay.”

your dorm was adorable. pink. soft.

he took it all in the second he stepped inside. the plush pillows shaped like hearts, the lace curtains, the fuzzy white rug by your bed. shelves lined with figurines, pastel notebooks stacked in a corner, fairy lights framing your mirror.

it smelled like strawberries and vanilla and something floral he couldn’t name.

“holy shit,” he breathed. “this is the cutest room i've ever seen."

you laughed, cheeks warming. “sorry. it’s a lot, huh?”

“no,” he said, spinning in a slow circle. “it’s so you.”

he meant it. he loved it. he loved you.

you opened your closet and began sifting through hangers, pulling out a couple of outfits and holding them up for inspection.

“i don’t really wanna wear something… like this,” you said, voice softer now as you held up a tight, low-cut mini dress. “i used to wear stuff like this to sukuna’s parties. because he liked it.”

gojo’s jaw clenched.

“he used to pick what i wore,” you continued, almost like you were talking to yourself. “he said it made me look ‘fuckable.’”

gojo stepped forward, gentle but firm.

“you don’t ever have to wear something like that again,” he said. “not for me. not for anyone.”

you looked up at him, eyes glassy.

“wear what makes you feel good,” he added. “what makes you feel safe.”

you nodded slowly, turning back to your closet.

in the end, you chose what made you feel the most comfortable.

“i'll just wear this,” you said. "feels normal."

gojo beamed.

“then it’s perfect.”

you didn’t know it yet, but he’d already cleared it with suguru. made sure the music wouldn’t be too loud, that the crowd wouldn’t be too rowdy, that you’d have somewhere to sit if you got overwhelmed. he was thinking ten steps ahead.

because he didn’t want this to be like sukuna’s parties.

he wanted this one to be yours.

you heard the party before you saw it, music pulsing through the ground, the kind of bass-heavy beat that made your ribs vibrate and your bones feel hollow. the frat house loomed ahead like a palace of chaos: lights flashing from the second-story windows, silhouettes flitting past the curtains, laughter and shouting spilling out through the open door.

you paused just outside, nerves buzzing like static under your skin.

“whoa,” you breathed, fingers tightening around the sleeve of gojo’s hoodie. “it’s… a lot.”

he looked down at you with that soft, easy smile, his hand coming to rest between your shoulder blades. “it is a lot,” he agreed. “want to run? we can say we got kidnapped by squirrels.”

you laughed despite yourself, the sound shaky but genuine. “tempting.”

his palm made slow, reassuring circles against your back. “we’ll take it slow, yeah? you’re with me.”

you nodded, and with that, gojo led you up the steps.

the moment the two of you crossed the threshold, the temperature changed. warmth and sweat and alcohol thick in the air. bodies pressed together, shoulder to shoulder, a sea of red solo cups and hazy eyes. someone yelled gojo’s name, and the room shifted.

it was like time stopped for half a second.

then the crowd surged, boys calling out, heads turning, eyes locking on the tall, white-haired frat boy walking in with someone clinging gently to his sleeve. someone who wasn’t tall or loud or a blonde girl in a skin-tight mini dress. someone who didn’t fit the mold of “gojo satoru’s usual.”

someone who was you.

“no fucking way,” one guy barked, elbowing his friend. “is that—?”

“holy shit, gojo’s got a girlfriend?”

“what happened to the dumb cheerleader from gamma?”

the murmurs spread like wildfire. you felt them, even if you couldn’t catch every word. the stares burned hot, and suddenly your skin felt too tight.

but gojo just grinned like he didn’t notice, or didn’t care.

he dipped down, lips brushing your ear. “ignore them. they’ve never seen a real girl before.”

you flushed, gripping his arm tighter.

the house was bigger inside than it looked, sprawling with rooms that all bled into one another. the main floor was packed, but gojo expertly steered you through the chaos, guiding you toward a quieter alcove near the stairs. you could tell he was trying to give you a second to breathe.

“there he is!” a voice called, and suguru appeared from the crowd, hair tied back, black gauges catching the light. he was nursing a beer and wearing that same smirk he always had in class, cool, unbothered, like nothing could ever surprise him.

but when his eyes landed on you, they lit up with something close to recognition.

“hey,” he said, stepping forward. “ethics class, right?”

you blinked, this was the guy you used to have abit of a crush on before gojo... “yeah... geto?”

he nodded, and you relaxed just a little. suguru was quiet in class, but he always had a pen behind his ear and never made you feel stupid when you got nervous speaking up.

“i knew gojo was full of shit when he said he was just ‘casually seeing someone,’” suguru said, glancing at his friend with a teasing grin. “but damn, you’re even cuter in person.”

your cheeks flamed. gojo rolled his eyes and slung an arm around your shoulder, tugging you close like he could shield you from the world.

you and gojo never really established what you were, but now you at least knew he was telling people you two were 'seeing eachother.'

“back off,” he said with a mock growl. “she’s fragile. like a baby deer.”

“she’s not fragile,” suguru said mildly, giving you a wink. “but she does look like adorably clueless.”

you laughed at that, and suguru grinned, satisfied.

a few more of gojo’s frat brothers filtered over. nanami, with his blond hair and sharp eyes; toji, towering and terrifying until he said something about how “adorable” your shoes were; even shoko, the only girl in the group, who gave you a once-over and muttered, “thank god. i was starting to think gojo only liked girls who talked in hashtags.”

they were loud and teasing, but none of them made you feel the way sukuna’s crowd used to.

sukuna’s parties had been darker somehow. colder. always something bitter in the air. you remembered standing in corners alone while he disappeared, remembered the way he used to show you off like a new toy. like you were there to prove a point. he used to demand you wear short skirts, high heels, tops that made you feel naked. he’d touch your thigh too hard when you sat, whisper in your ear things that made you gross small.

you’d show up already tense, already braced.

but this? this was different.

you looked up at gojo now, laughing at something suguru said, and your chest ached.

he’d asked what you wanted to wear. had told you you looked beautiful even when you were wrapped in a cardigan. he’d helped you tie the ribbon in your hair and kissed your forehead like it was sacred.

you were still nervous, still out of your element—but you weren’t scared.

gojo nudged you gently. “want a drink? something mild?”

you nodded, and he guided you toward the kitchen, never letting his hand leave yours.

he poured you a soda himself, skipping the sketchy jungle juice, and brought you a paper straw because you’d mentioned once that plastic ones made your teeth feel weird. then he leaned against the counter, watching you sip like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“you’re killin’ me, y’know,” he said casually.

you blinked. “what?”

“look at you.” his voice dropped, all affection. “walking in here like a dream in that little dress. making everyone fall in love with you. it’s rude, honestly.”

you ducked your head, overwhelmed. “stop…”

“can’t,” he said, and then leaned down, brushing his nose against your temple. “i’ve got it bad.”

you smiled into your drink, feeling warmth bloom in your chest.

the kitchen door swung open and more people spilled in, so gojo guided you out again, weaving through the house toward the back room. it was quieter there—a pool table, a few couches, ambient music humming from a speaker.

you sat together, close but not quite touching.

“you okay?” he asked, his voice lower now, meant only for you.

you nodded. “yeah. just… this is different.”

“different bad or different good?”

you looked at him. “good.”

he let out a breath like he’d been holding it all night. “you’re doing amazing, by the way.”

you smiled. “you always say that.”

“’cause it’s always true.”

the next few minutes passed in easy conversation. someone from gojo’s econ class came by and said something dumb, and you laughed, hiding your smile in his shoulder. he lit up like you’d just given him a trophy.

people drifted in and out of the room, some lingering to meet “gojo’s girl,” others sneaking glances like they were watching a myth unfold. he let them look. he kept his arm around you.

when you reached for your phone to check the time, he caught your hand and held it, threading his fingers through yours without hesitation.

“you wanna leave soon?” he asked softly.

you bit your lip. “can we stay a little longer? i’m… actually having fun.”

his smile cracked wide, full of boyish delight. “you got it.”

and in that moment, as he tugged you a little closer, as the music pulsed and the voices rose and fell, you realized something that made your heart squeeze.

you felt safe.

not because the party wasn’t wild. not because the stares had stopped. not because your dress was longer or your shoes more comfortable.

you felt safe because he was here.

because gojo satoru, life of the party, was looking at you like you were the only person in the room.

and somehow, that made all the difference.

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reysdriver · 3 days ago

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New In Town | J.P.

A week after moving to a new town, you meet James Potter, a sweet farmer who is just your type — farmer!james x fem!reader fluff

warnings: none

words: 1.1k

a/n: I don't know what it is about this au but I just cannot get enough of farmer!james! like he's just so perfect it's insane

The farmer’s market was an incredibly common activity for James and his family. Really, it was a common occurrence for almost everyone in the little rural town.

Everyone with something to sell or trade would bring it down to a stall and barter with each other for whatever they wanted or needed. It was the same thing every week, but that was okay with James. He was used to routine; that was just the life he was given.

“James, dear, can you go for a walk and pick up everything from this list?” Euphemia asked, holding out a folded piece of brown paper and a wad of cash.

This exchange also happened every week. Once the morning crowds started dying down, Euphemia and Fleamont would give their son a list of everything they needed from the market and he would go get it all for the family.

And like the nice boy his parents raised him to be, James accepted the paper and the money, then began shopping.

As James started to walk, he quickly scanned the list and was not surprised to see that it was the exact same as almost every week, give or take a few items. When he looked up again, however, was when he saw something that set today apart from every other farmer’s market trip.

He stopped in his tracks, stunned after seeing a girl around his age—a pretty one—selling jam at a stall that, just two weeks ago, was run by an old couple who sold dried fruit.

Without thinking of what he was going to say or do, his legs started walking towards the stall, leaving his head behind him—as if he used his head much anyway.

You looked up from the customer you just sold 2 jars of marmalade to and saw a tall boy with dark curls striding towards you. He stopped in front of you after almost tripping over his own feet the whole way over.

He was cute—really cute—but you had to remind yourself that you were here to sell jams for your family, not to flirt. Although, a little flirting has never hurt anyone…

“Hi! What can I get for you?” You asked, giving him your nicest smile.

“You’re new.” He stated, much more bluntly than he wanted.

James could have sworn that, before that moment, he was actually quite smooth. Something about seeing you for the first time just made him turn to mush.

“I am. Is that a problem?”

“No! No problem at all!” He shook his head, which caused his dark curls to bounce as they followed his movements. “I just haven’t seen you around and thought I should introduce myself.”

He held out his hand—his nice, strong hand—and you reached over your family’s display of jams to shake it.

“I’m James. My family runs Potter Farms, we’ve got a stall over there and a farm on the other side of town. You must be close to the bridge, right? That’s not too far from me.”

The boy must have seen your eyes widen slightly when he accurately guessed where you were living, so he quickly explained himself.

“I just assumed, you know, since you’re at the stall previously taken up by the old couple who lived at the farm before you.”

You nodded, relieved that this cute boy standing in front of you hadn’t been stalking you since you moved in. And James was relieved that you hadn’t thought of him as a creep because of the way he was stumbling over you.

“Yeah, we just moved in about a week ago. It’s nice over here.”

The two of you talked for a while about everything under the sun, taking brief breaks to do your job and sell jam every time a customer walked up to the booth. James even helped pitch your product, even though he had never tried it himself.

Then, when James was floating the idea of bringing some of his family’s products as a housewarming gift, he took a glance at his watch and realized he had been ‘shopping’ for way too long. His parents were waiting for him, and he was here flirting. Although, he considered it time well spent nevertheless.

“Oh no, I have to go. I promised my parents I’d be back soon, then I lost track of time, for obvious reasons.” He said, standing up straight.

“You’re not going to leave without buying something, are you? I’ll give it to you for half-price as thanks for being so nice to me.”

You smiled at him, twisting one lock of your hair that wasn’t pulled back up like the rest. And how could he say no to that?

“I wouldn’t even think about leaving without buying something.” He looked at the selection and picked up a jar of cherry preserves. “I’ll take this one.”

“Good choice, it’s my favourite.” You replied.

He fished some money out of his pocket and handed it over to you—the full cost, even though you told him you’d give him a discount.

“And will I see you here next week? Or maybe even before then, if you want?”

You felt blood rushing to your face as you tried to hold back the massive smile you were feeling once he asked that.

“Yeah, I’d like that a lot. Here, hold on for one second…”

You turned around to grab a pen and a blank price tag from your bag behind you, and then returned to see James still there, standing like a puppy dog waiting for a treat.

Quickly, you sprawled your name and phone number, decorating the writing by adding a heart beside it. You held it out along with half of the money James had just given you, the other half having gone to the breast pocket of your overalls.

“That’s for you. You already know where I live so I don’t need to give you my address.” You joked as he emptied your hand. “It was really nice meeting you.”

“Yeah, you too. I’ll see you.”

He turned around and started walking away, free to put on the biggest smile he could. He couldn’t believe that he had gotten himself together well enough to properly flirt with you. And well enough that he got your number, too? He even surprised himself.

Once he was out of earshot, your mom turned to you with a grin. “I see you’ve made a friend already.” She commented.

“Yeah, I have.” You bit your lip, hoping you and James would be more than friends.

When James finally returned to his family’s market stall with all the items on his list, both of his parents had their arms crossed, waiting for the boy.

“What took you so long?” His mother asked. “We thought you’d somehow gotten lost.”

“I made a new friend.” He replied, hoping for the same thing as you.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #farmer!james potter #farmer!james potter x reader #farmer!james fluff #james potter au #marauders era #marauders au #marauders fluff

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kysstar · 2 days ago

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SNAP OUT OF IT | JEONG YUNHO

pairing : : jeong yunho x fem!reader

synopsis : : you’ve been stuck in a rut after a brutal breakup, and yunho — your best friend who’s always secretly loved you — is trying to pull you out of it. only now, his smiles are hiding a new tension neither of you can ignore.

genre : : friends to lovers

warnings : : breakup, angst, hurt comfort

word count : : 0.5k

[ series masterlist ]

—You stopped counting the days after ten. The dishes in the sink aren’t yours, technically — they belonged to another version of you, one who used to care about stuff like clean forks and scented candles and not crying in the cereal aisle. That girl left with him. What’s left is someone you don’t really recognize. You move through the days like you’re underwater, everything dulled and muffled. You reply to texts late, if at all. Except Yunho’s. You don’t have it in you to ignore him.

He’s been dropping by more. Always with a reason. Food, an excuse, maybe a dumb joke he “had” to tell you in person. And today, it's your favorite drink in one hand and a bag of pastries in the other, like he’s bribing the sadness out of you. You let him in without a word. He doesn’t comment on your ratty sweatshirt or the state of the living room, just sets the bag down and makes himself comfortable like always.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on, or am I supposed to guess?” he asks, like it’s casual. Like he hasn’t been walking around your emotional landmine for weeks.

You shrug. “What’s there to say? He left. It sucked. Now it sucks less. Just still sucks a little.”

“That’s a lot of sucks.”

“Welcome to my TED Talk.”

“You ever think,” he starts, eyes fixed on you like he’s willing you to actually hear him this time, “that maybe he couldn’t love you right because he never really saw you? Not the real you.”

And it’s annoying how right he is. The guy who left — he liked the idea of you. The curated version. You’d been editing yourself for so long, you forgot what the real thing looked like. Yunho, though... he always called out your shit. Always pushed you when you wanted to shut down. You hated it, but you needed it.

You stare at the condensation gathering on your glass. “And you think you do?”

His voice doesn’t waver. “I know I do.”

It lands like a dropped glass��sharp and sudden, impossible to ignore. You laugh, but it’s thin. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not?” he says, leaning in. “You already know. You’ve always known.”

Your heart stutters, and you hate how true it is. How you’ve dodged this—him—for years. Because it was easier to keep him at arm’s length than to risk losing the one person who never walked away.

“Yunho,” you start, voice brittle, but he cuts you off.

“I’m not asking for anything,” he says. “I just want you back. The real you. The one who used to yell at me for stealing your fries and made playlists for moods you didn’t have names for.”

He puts on one of those old playlists you made in college, the ones with dumb titles.

He pulls you off the couch, makes you dance barefoot on the living room rug even though you protest, even though your laugh cracks halfway through. You haven’t danced in months. You forgot how easy it is to move when someone’s holding on to you like he’s never letting go.

You wished you could stay like this forever, with your head resting on his shoulder and Yunho's arms around you as he slowly swayed back and forth.

Later, when your head’s on his chest and his fingers are tracing patterns on your back, you whisper, “I think I’m starting to feel normal again.”

He kisses your forehead. “That’s all I wanted.”

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littlelamy · 9 hours ago

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you’d spent all day cleaning the baseboards in the upstairs guest bathroom—on your knees, humming disney songs, hair tied up in one of those giant puffy scrunchies that matched your apron. the idea of putting on makeup, or heels, or trying to sit still for hours at a place that used real cloth napkins and tiny forks for god-knows-what? it made your tummy feel twisty but a little excited.

but rafe had asked; in that voice that didn’t really ask, more like a direct demand. he’d leaned against the pantry door that afternoon, arms crossed, one brow raised while you tried to reach the top shelf for a cake plate.

“you do anything tonight?”

you blinked. “me?”

“no, the other barefoot girl in the house.”

you giggled, clutching the plate. “no plans, mister rafe. just a bath and maybe folding towels. i was gonna reorganize the drawer where we keep the twisty ties—”

“stop.” his mouth twitched. “you’re coming to dinner.. wear something cute.”

“oh! um—okay! i can be cute! i mean i am cute—i’ll be cuter. where are we going? will there be breadsticks?”

“get in the car by seven,” he said, already walking off. “remember to wear heels, baby.”

and now here you are. squeezed into the passenger seat of his sleek black car, nerves curled tight in your belly like a sleepy kitten. your dress was short, pink, and so shiny. your shoes are taller than you're used to. your lipstick keeps sticking to your teeth because you picked a new gloss called 'strawberry fizz' and maybe it’s too much, but rafe had looked at you when you came down the stairs and said “fuck, you look edible,” so you didn’t dare change.

the restaurant was fancy. all soft jazz and dim lights, plates that look more like art than food. rafe’s friends are already there, guys who look like rafe but definietly weren't as cute as him. you sit beside him, hands folded in your lap, smiling sweet as sugar while they talk about things you don’t understand—hedge funds? market something?

but rafe’s hand stays on your thigh, grounding you through all this real estate nonsense. his thumb strokes gentle circles into your skin, and every time you start to drift into a cloud of fizzy nothing, he squeezes just a little. like he was saying 'stay with me, bunny.'

as you begin to dream about a furture with rafe, you hear a loud, obnoxious laugh. “wait—no fucking way.”

your head turns. the guy was sitting at the bar—a group of three, all wearing button-ups, loafers, and a big red face.—and sadly, he’s looking right at you.

you blink as he continues, “bro,” he slaps the guy next to him. “it’s her! it’s fucking her! girls of gulf coast, spring 2022! pink heels, yellow lollipop, ass for days? you know—the one in the bunny ears with whipped cream on her tits?”

your stomach drops. even rafe’s hand tenses on your leg.

you try to smile and laugh. try to pretend you didn’t hear that. but you can feel heat crawling up your neck, all the way to your ears. oh no. oh no.

you haven’t heard that name in months or seen those photos since you stuffed the sample polaroids into a shoebox and slid them under your bed. you weren’t her anymore. you were a house manager. you made jam, organized spice racks, even kissed wheezie on the forehead before school.

but he keeps talking, not reading the room.

“dude, i jerked off to that spread like every night of senior year. girls of gulf coast, man, that issue was legendary.”

the guy next to him whistles. “no shit? that her? y/n something, right?”

you stare at the linen napkin in your lap like it might swallow you whole. your hands shake as you hear one of rafe’s friends laugh, very awkward.

“damn, rafe, you didn’t tell us your girl used to be in magazines.” it’s a joke. it’s all a joke, you think to yourself. well, this joke made you want to melt through the floor.

rafe stands slowly, you could almost see steam coming out of his ears. he turns toward the bar. “come again.”

the guy blinks, grinning. “what?”

“say it one more fuckin' time.” his voice isn’t loud, but it’s sharp which make the whole table go quiet. “you wanna talk about my girl? say it again. real slow so everyone can hear your bitch ass.”

the guy scoffs. “chill, man. it’s a compliment—”

“a better compliment would be you shutting up and mind your own business instead of talkin' about my woman.” his jaw ticks, as you go to hold his arm. fingers caressing his forearm, leading to his hands.

you whisper, “rafe, it’s okay—”

he looks at you and leans close, lips brushing your ear. “you don’t ever say it’s okay for people to talk about you like that.”

“but—”

“baby,” he cups your cheek. thumb brushing the sticky corner of your mouth where your gloss smudged. “you were art..still are.” you blink up at him. “they don’t get to mock art just because they can’t touch it.”

your throat tightens before he turns back to the bar. the guy was already avoiding his eyes now, nervous laugh dying in his throat.

rafe smiles, coldly, “look at her again, and you’ll be drinking out of a straw for a year.”

then he sits, completely casual, like nothing just happened. you’re stunned, staring at him. he could feel your eyes on him making him glance over with a smirk on his face.

“you want to leave?”

you nod, fast. "please." he quickly grabs your hand.

you don’t say a word until you’re back in his car. “i didn’t want you to be mad,” you whisper.

“i’m not mad at you.” you blink, confused. “i’m mad someone thought they could say your name like it was a punchline.”

you sniffle. “it was just a phase. i needed money. and i thought it was fun. i didn’t think anyone would recognize me in the real world.”

he squeezes your hand, reassuringly. “i did.” your head snaps up. “saw the spread. remember thinking, no fucking way someone this pretty’s real. i tore that page out and kept it in my glove box for three months.”

your jaw drops. “you—what?!”

“uh-huh. told myself if i ever met her, i’d marry her.”

you blink fast. “you’re lying.”

he shrugs. “maybe..but why would i?” and then he leans over, presses a kiss to your cheek. “either way, you’re mine now. magazine girl, house manager, whatever. all mine.”

you blush so hard your knees knock. you whisper, “you really think i was pretty?”

he grins, reaching out for you. “baby..you were and are so fuckin’ gorgeous.”'

❤︎ tags below

@rafesbabygirlx @namelesslosers @drewsephrry @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @rafedaddy01 @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lil-sparklqueen @rafessweetgirl @esquivelbianca @p45510n4f4shi0n @palomavz @cokewithcameron @donaldsonsgirl @yncoded @lilbunnysfics @solaceluna @icaqttt @alphabetically-deranged @bevstofu @wintercrows @emluvsuxo @rafestoothbrush @cadhlabear @st8rkey

#⋆౨ৎ˚🐇⟡˖ housebunni!reader #rafe obx #rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #rafe fic #rafe #rafe x oc #rafe x oc!reader #my readers!𐔌´⠀ ᩙᩙ `๑꒱#divider by anitalenia

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everrinsly · 12 hours ago

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life with rin vibes.

the utter objectification of rin's biceps.

biceps with rin. fluff. slight nsfw. very suggestive. fem!reader. | not proofread.

more reads!

~~~~~

Your first mistake was attempting to keep Rin company while he exercised—

"You wanna watch me, baby?"

He kissed your forehead softly before moving around the basement, collecting the scattered dumbbells from his sets the day before.

"Y-Yeah, I-I can keep you company," you stuttered, cheeks warm. Because even though you've been together for two years, he never failed to make your heart flutter.

He hummed. "You might get bored. You wanna watch something?" he asked, glancing back at the TV mounted on the wall.

"Mm... it's okay, Rin, I'll be fine—"

(Such lies).

—so now, you were here. On the floor, your back against the foot of the couch.

You should’ve looked away.

You really, really should’ve.

But the sight of Rin working out made you crumble—sweat glistening down his neck, sleeves shoved up over his shoulders, and those arms (let me repeat, those arms) were on full display as he curled the dumbbells like they were nothing.

Thick, veined, flexing with every movement.

You eyed him through your lashes, pretending to scroll through your phone, cheeks red, thighs pressed together like that might help the intrusive thoughts crawling through your mind.

(It didn't).

You bit your lip. The taste of your strawberry chapstick graced your tongue.

Rin didn’t speak. He rarely did during workouts. But you knew he was aware of you. The smug, silent... dangerous... kind of aware, like he could feel you watching him, soaking in every contraction of his biceps like you were starving.

And god—you tried not to imagine what it would feel like to sit on them. To grind on them. To ride—

(You failed. Miserably).

Your face burned hotter, red as a beet.

“Something wrong, baby?” he asked, finally. Casual, like he didn’t already know exactly what kind of nasty filth you were thinking.

You looked up quickly, snapped out of your trance but the feeling of heat in your core still lingering. “N-No.”

His eyebrow lifted, teal eyes scanning from your eyes to your bitten lips. “You sure?”

You nodded. "Mmhmm."

He didn't believe you.

He set the dumbbell down with a soft thud, stretching one arm behind his head—his bicep flexed, bulging, perfect. And fuck, you looked again. You couldn’t not (like it'd be rude to not stare).

Rin tilted his head.

“You’ve been staring at my arms for ten minutes,” he said, voice low and deep. “You wanna say something, pretty?”

You shook your head furiously, tucking your face behind your phone again.

He smirked.

“I’ll say it for you then, yeah?”

You froze. Well... shit.

“I know you think about it,” Rin said, voice dropping to that teasing hush that made your stomach twist. “Don’t pretend you haven’t imagined what it’d be like. Sitting on them. Grinding down. Making a mess while I flex for you.”

Your phone slipped out of your hands.

God—he loved watching your cute, flushed face scrunch up, so he continued.

"You're wet. Aren't you, baby." It wasn't posed as a question. It didn't need to be. Because he knew and you knew. It was a fact.

“I—!” you gasped, utterly mortified. “I d-didn’t—I mean, I—!”

He laughed softly, rising to his feet and stepping towards you. He towered over you now. You couldn’t even look at him.

Rin crouched down, tilting your chin up with one finger, his other arm flexing just barely. Taunting. Teasing.

"You think they're the perfect size too, huh? Perfect for riding. Because my thighs are just too big, right? Too big for your tiny pussy to get off on? So you wanna rock on my biceps instead, isn't that right, pretty baby?"

Holy shit.

You short-circuited, brain stopping completely, all mushy and melting.

He leaned in closer, nose brushing yours, glazed eyes trailing down to your lips.

“Sweet little thing,” he murmured. “So shy, but you’ve got the dirtiest imagination.”

Your face was on fire.

“Maybe...” he whispered, leaning in just enough to brush his lips on yours.

You held your breath.

“I’ll let you test that theory after I finish my sets. So... be a good girl and keep watching me."

152 notes · View notes

moonlightdreamzz · 1 day ago

Text

SOMEWHERE BETWEEN YOURS, AND HIS

chapter one — what we don’t talk about ☆ chapter two — half-truths and jungle juice ☆ chapter three — fuck!

chapter summary. a hoodie. a highway. a surprise you never saw coming. everything about today feels like a memory you've been waiting to live—until familiar faces show up.

pairing. jungwon x reader x sunghoon.

genre. college!au, angst, fluff, slow burn, smut.

themes. love triangle, messy relationships and decisions, love or lust?

authors note. sorry for the wait my babies...hope it was worth it. please give me full fledged reviews in the comments. it helps me a lot. shit is about to get crazyyyyy.

you wake up with your heart already racing.

your mouth is dry. your eyes burn. your whole body feels too warm, like your skin hasn’t caught up with the air yet. and for a second—for a split, beautiful second—you don’t remember anything.

just light filtering through the curtain. a blanket draped over your thigh. the faint smell of weed, sweat, and everything else that happened to you last night.

but then it comes back.

not all at once. not like a slap. more like a slow pour—warm at first. then scalding.

his hands.

his mouth.

his voice—“you feel everything, don’t you?”

sunghoon.

you squeeze your eyes shut. God. what did you do? you weren’t blacked out. you weren’t reckless. you were just drunk. and soft. and tired of being the girl who waits around for something that might not even be real.

that’s the part that makes your chest hurt the most. because the truth is—you didn’t think about jungwon at all last night. not once. not when sunghoon kissed you. not when he touched you like you were already his. not even when he asked if you were sure.

and that’s what’s eating you alive now.

you sit up, slow. your dress is bunched around your waist, your lashes halfway off, your head pounding in that slow, angry rhythm that always shows up the morning after.

your throat is dry. your hands are shaking.

you don’t know what to feel first—guilt? or shame? or confusion? or this strange, stupid ache in your chest that sounds like: but does he even want you?

jungwon.

his name hits you like something heavy.

like a weight you forgot you were carrying. like a person you loved in secret for so long, you forgot you were allowed to say it out loud.

you remember the almost-kisses. the nights you laid in his bed waiting for him to make the first move. the way his arms would wrap around you like a question.

the way he’d stop every time things got too close. too warm. too real.

and the way you told yourself that’s enough.

you told yourself his silence was softness. his distance was care.

but it wasn’t just that.

it was the way he always moved the charger to your side of the bed. the way he made sure the room was cold because you liked the blanket heavy.

the way he rubbed your back when you were sick. the way he remembered the way you liked your eggs. the way he’d watch your face instead of the screen when you were laughing at something dumb.

the way he held you like it meant something—even if he never said what.

and that’s what made it worse.

because sunghoon kissed you without fear. but jungwon holds you like he already has you.

but last night… sunghoon didn’t hesitate.

he didn’t second-guess the way your hand found his neck. he didn’t pull away when you leaned in. he didn’t stop to make space between your knees and his hips and your breath and his mouth and your body and his name.

he didn’t stop.

and maybe that’s why you let it happen.

because you were tired. because it felt good. because for once, someone didn’t make you beg for the thing you didn’t know how to ask for.

but now you’re here. alone. sober. skin buzzing like your nerves haven’t caught up yet.

you drag your hands over your face.

do i even owe him anything?

you think it, then hate yourself for thinking it.

you want to cry. or throw up. or crawl under the covers and pretend the last twelve hours didn’t happen.

because you feel like you cheated. like you broke something that wasn’t even real.

but it was. it was.

it’s not just friendship. not with jungwon. not with the way you touched. not with the way you slept wrapped in each other’s limbs like the world outside didn’t exist. not with the way your lips had almost met—how his breath had hit your cheek and his hand had tightened just once on your thigh before he’d backed away like he was scared of his own pulse.

and he never said why.

your legs move before your brain does. out the door. down the hall. through the faded music and soft snoring and tangled blankets on the living room floor.

the clock says 1:03 p.m. most people are still asleep. some aren’t. you don’t care.

you knock.

soft. hesitant.

no answer.

you open the door anyway.

the curtains are drawn. the light hits the wall in that soft, familiar way. and jungwon’s still in bed. fully dressed. half-curled around a pillow that doesn’t belong to him.

his eyes are closed. but his face is tight. his jaw clenched. his brow creased like whatever dream he’s in—it’s not good. you step inside. quiet. like always.

he doesn’t know what you did.

you tell yourself that.

he doesn’t know.

he’s just tired. he’s just sleeping in. he’s just—

his eyes open.

you freeze, and everything goes still. you don’t know what you’re expecting—maybe for him to sit up. maybe for him to ask you what the hell you’re doing.

but he doesn’t. he just looks at you. quiet. still. like he’s taking inventory of every inch of you and trying not to let it show.

your throat tightens. you don’t speak. you just walk over. slow. unsure.

the room is quiet except for the sound of the ceiling fan and the creak of the mattress as you sit on the edge of the bed. your legs are cold. your skin’s still sticky from the night before. you haven’t even showered. you just wanted… this. something soft. something familiar.

you don’t crawl under the blanket. not this time. you just lay down. next to him. he doesn’t say anything for a long time. you lay there. on top of the covers. not touching. barely breathing.

and then—

“you didn’t come back last night.”

his voice is soft. unreadable.

you stare at the ceiling. “i know.”

another pause.

he shifts slightly. his tone doesn’t change.

“did you sleep in your room?”

you blink. your heart stutters.

“i…” you clear your throat. “i was drunk. i didn’t really sleep.”

he hums. not a laugh. not a reaction. just… something.

you risk a glance. his eyes are still fixed on the ceiling, but you can tell—he’s thinking. hard.

“didn’t even say goodnight,” he murmurs.

you look away again. your chest twists.

“you noticed?”

his jaw ticks. “i notice everything.”

the silence hangs.

and then—he glances at you. finally.

“was it fun?”

your breath catches. you don’t answer. he doesn’t push. just turns back toward the ceiling, like it’s easier to look at than you.

you open your mouth. close it.

your throat is burning. your stomach is flipping inside out.

you don’t want to say it.

you can’t say it.

so you pick the only thing that feels safer than the truth.

“nothing happened,” you say.

the words taste like blood in your mouth.

jungwon doesn’t move.

for a second—for one stupid, fragile second—you think maybe he believes you.

but then he blinks slow, like he’s swallowing something sharp.

“nothing?” he says, voice low.

you shake your head. your palms are sweating. you want to cry.

“we didn’t…” you clear your throat. “i didn’t sleep with him.”

he turns his head. looks at you. really looks. and somehow that hurts worse than if he’d called you a liar to your face.

you can’t tell if he believes you. maybe he just wants to. maybe he needs to. you should stop there. you should shut up.

but the guilt is eating you alive. the need to explain yourself—to justify something that doesn’t have an excuse—rises up hot in your chest.

so you say it.

you break your own heart before he can.

“but i don’t know what we’re doing anymore, jungwon,” you whisper, voice cracking. “i don’t know what i’m waiting for.”

his whole body goes still.

the words hang there, heavy and choking, like smoke in the room.

you press your palms into the mattress. dig your nails into the blanket. you’re shaking and you don’t even realize it.

“i—” you try again, but your voice wobbles. “i’m tired.”

you meet his eyes.

“i’m tired of being the only one who’s sure.”

and there it is.

the crack that splits everything open.

you wish he’d say something. fight for you. deny it. pull you back. but he just looks at you. jaw tight. eyes glassy.

and says nothing.

and somehow, that says everything.

he just looks at you—really looks at you—and it’s like everything he’s been trying to bury is clawing its way out at once.

his mouth moves before his brain can stop it.

“i waited for you last night.”

your heart stutters. your throat goes tight.

he leans back against the headboard, palms flat against the sheets, like he needs something solid to hold onto. his voice cracks—just a little—as he keeps going.

“i stayed up all night,” he says, like he’s confessing a sin. “i didn’t even move. i just… sat here. waiting. waiting for the knock. waiting for you to do what you always do.”

you feel yourself sinking into the mattress, smaller and smaller with every word.

“i kept telling myself you were just drunk. that you’d show up eventually.”

he laughs—sharp and hollow and nothing like him. “but you didn’t.”

you open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

he drags a hand through his hair, jaw clenched so tight you’re scared it might break.

“and then,” he says, voice dropping low, “i heard you.”

your stomach flips.

“giggling in the hallway. laughing with him like—like it was easy. like it was nothing.”

he blinks hard, like he’s trying to chase the image away.

“i heard you. and i realized…”

he swallows.

“i realized it was my fault.”

you shake your head, tears burning your eyes, but he doesn’t let you interrupt.

“i should’ve told you a long time ago,” he says, his voice breaking for real now. “i should’ve told you when you first started crawling into my bed. when you first started wearing my hoodies and looking at me like i hung the damn stars.”

he lets out a breath that sounds like it hurts.

“i thought i was protecting you. i thought if i didn’t say it, i couldn’t ruin it. that i couldn’t ruin us.”

his hands ball into fists in the blankets.

“but all i did was make you think you were unwanted. and you’re not. you never were.”

your vision is blurry. your chest hurts. everything in you is pulling toward him and breaking at the same time.

he looks at you then—really looks—and it’s all there.

the wreckage. the regret. the love.

“i’m in love with you,” he says, like it’s the only thing that matters anymore. “i’ve been in love with you.”

he breathes out, shoulders shaking.

“and it shouldn’t have taken another guy showing up and not hesitating to make me say it.”

the room is so quiet you can hear both your hearts beating.

you’re crying for real now. silent. broken open.

he reaches for you—slow, scared—like he’s afraid you’ll shatter if he touches you wrong.

and you let him.

you fall into his arms like it’s the only place you’re supposed to be. you curl into him, clutch his hoodie, bury your face in his chest. and he holds you like he’s scared to let go.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers into your hair. “i’m so sorry.”

you shake your head. you don’t even know what you’re saying no to—his apology, his pain, the fact that you didn’t wait long enough, the fact that he waited too long.

you just know you don’t want to lose him.

not yet.

not ever.

after a while, when the tears slow and your breathing evens out, he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“can i take you out today?” he murmurs. “just us. no parties. no noise. just… you and me.”

you nod against his chest.

you don’t trust yourself to say anything.

you don’t need to.

the car ride is quiet at first.

not awkward quiet. just... heavy. like the air hasn't caught up with what happened yet.

you fiddle with the zipper of your hoodie, thumb tracing the teeth back and forth. jungwon taps the steering wheel with two fingers, staring straight ahead like the road might disappear if he blinks too slow.

outside, the world is too bright. too loud. everything feels a little sharp.

you pull your sleeves over your hands. press your forehead against the window for a second, trying to cool down the inside of your head.

"you cold?" jungwon asks, voice soft but immediate.

you shake your head.

he nods like he believes you, but you know he doesn't.

you sneak a glance at him.

he's wearing the hoodie you like—the one that's too big on him, the one you always end up stealing halfway through movie nights. his hair’s messy from the hood. there's a small scar under his jaw you’ve never noticed before. you stare at it too long.

"i was gonna take you to that café you liked last semester," he says, voice careful. "the one with the swings instead of chairs."

you blink.

you forgot he remembered that.

you forgot how much he always remembers.

"but it closed down," he says, glancing at you quick, then back at the road. "so… plan B."

you hum, low in your throat. noncommittal.

he presses a little harder on the gas.

"we'll figure it out," he says. "i just wanted to get you out of the house."

you swallow thickly.

"thank you," you say, voice small.

he glances at you again.

and for the first time since you got in the car, he smiles.

it's not a full one. it's not the one that lights up his whole face and makes his eyes scrunch and his dimples cut deep.

but it's real.

and it does something awful and beautiful to your chest.

he switches the music on low.

something soft, something slow. you don't know the song, but it sounds like it was made for moments like this — moments too fragile for silence, too heavy for words.

you close your eyes for a second.

breathe.

pretend you’re just two kids in a car again.

pretend the world hasn’t shifted underneath you.

pretend last night never happened.

you glance out the window again. the highway starts to curve and narrow. you see the blue-and-yellow billboard before anything else.

your heart stutters.

no way.

you sit up straighter, eyes narrowing as more signs come into view—familiar landmarks, road names, the snack stand you once swore had the best fries in the world.

your stomach flips.

he doesn’t say anything. just smirks.

you whip your head toward him. “are we going to dreamwheel?”

he shrugs like it’s no big deal, like he didn’t just plan the one date you always dreamed about but never got to take him on.

“i mean,” he says, flicking the turn signal, “you’ve only been begging me to come since sophomore year.”

“i didn’t beg.”

“you pouted.”

“i expressed interest.”

“repeatedly.”

you’re already grinning. you can’t help it.

the closer you get, the more it hits you. the skyline. the blazing red rollercoaster loop in the distance. the corny welcome sign.

you went with jake once, a long time ago. but jungwon had the flu and missed it. you talked about it ever since. every time you passed the highway exit. every time someone mentioned cotton candy or arcade games or churros shaped like hearts.

the gate attendant leans out and says, “$30 for parking.”

you automatically reach for your phone. “okay, i’ll send you fifteen—”

“don’t you dare.”

you freeze.

he glances over. “put the phone down.”

“wha—jungwon, it’s thirty dollars.”

“i know.”

“i’m not a broke b—”

“i know that too.”

you try not to smile. “you’re gonna make me get soft.”

he just raises a brow. “you already are.”

he parks. before you can open the door, his voice cuts through the silence.

“don’t touch that.”

you blink.

he’s already out of the car, walking around, and opening the passenger side like it’s second nature. you slide out, stunned.

“what is going on with you today?” you ask, squinting up at him.

he shrugs, locking the car. and then he does it—reaches for your hand. no hesitation. just laces your fingers with his like he’s been doing it every day of his life.

and you let him. because what else are you supposed to do?

this is all you’ve ever wanted.

“this place looks even cheesier than i remember you describing,” he says, walking beside you past the front gates.

you laugh. “that’s the point. it’s a tacky paradise.”

“you love tacky paradises.”

“don’t judge me. you’re literally smiling.”

“i’m smiling because you’re smiling.”

you glance over.

he’s not looking at the park. he’s looking at you. and your chest tightens in that way you hate—the way that makes you feel like you don’t deserve this.

because last night, you didn’t come home. and he waited anyway.

you swallow hard.

but then he’s dragging you toward the first ride. it’s nothing huge—just the spinning teacups. dumb. simple. loud.

you let yourself enjoy it.

the screams. the music. the sound of jungwon laughing across from you as you spin the wheel too hard and almost fall sideways.

you’re a mess. dizzy. smiling too wide. out of breath. you don’t even realize you’re holding his hand again until you’re halfway across the park.

lunch is a paper tray of tteokbokki and fries. he wipes sauce from your cheek with a napkin like it’s nothing.

you say, “where has this version of you been?”

he pauses mid-chew.

then swallows, looking away for a second before he says, “hiding. i guess.”

you don’t press. you don’t have to.

the next ride is a water coaster. you get soaked. he gives you his hoodie to wear over your wet shirt and doesn’t say anything when your fingers brush his stomach while taking it off him.

you pretend not to notice. he lets you.

by the time you get near the ferris wheel, you’re buzzing from sugar and secondhand affection.

the sun is starting to dip, casting orange across everything—like the whole park is stuck in golden hour. you almost forget how heavy your chest has felt all day. almost.

jungwon’s hoodie still hangs off your shoulders. your hair is damp from the water ride. your fingers are sticky from churros and powdered sugar and holding his hand like you’ve been doing it forever.

the line curves around the corner. the wheel creaks above you, slowly spinning, each cart dipping into the sky.

you’re about to lean into him again when—

“yo, what the f—?”

you whip around.

jake.

standing three feet away. sunglasses pushed into his curls. holding a jumbo soda. flanked by two girls.

and sunghoon.

sunghoon is behind him. laughing at something one of the girls said. a hand on the railing. his other one swinging casually at his side like it’s not the same hand that was gripping your waist twelve hours ago.

your blood runs cold.

jake blinks. “what the hell are y’all doing here?”

jungwon’s body goes still next to you. you open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

jake laughs, like the moment isn’t loaded. “i thought y’all were on house arrest after last night. didn’t even know you were up yet.”

then he glances between you and jungwon.

sees the hoodie.

the hand-holding.

“wait.” his voice drops a little. “are y’all...?”

sunghoon turns at that. looks up.

and everything goes quiet.

your eyes meet. his mouth parts just slightly. he wasn’t expecting to see you.

not like this.

not wearing jungwon’s clothes. not smiling like the world isn’t still spinning from last night.

the girl next to him tugs on his arm, confused. you step back.

jungwon feels it. his jaw flexes, but he doesn’t let go of your hand.

he looks at jake. “we’re on a date.”

simple. straight. like it’s always been true.

jake raises both brows. “damn. my bad.” then he grins, recovering. “guess it’s a double date now, huh?”

you want to disappear. but you don’t. you just smile. barely. and pray your legs don’t give out.

sunghoon doesn’t say anything.

he just looks at you.

like he’s trying to figure out what the hell he missed. what changed. when it changed.

his gaze flickers—jungwon’s hand in yours. the way your body’s angled toward him. the hoodie. the smile you’re pretending isn’t shaking.

you feel it. all of it. the weight of last night crashing into the mess of today.

“you okay?” jungwon asks, low.

you nod. barely.

but then—jake claps his hands.

“bet,” he says. “let’s race to the next ride. loser buys funnel cake.”

before you can react, everyone starts moving.

sunghoon walks past you. he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t touch you. doesn’t even look too long.

just enough for your breath to catch.

and then he’s gone. walking ahead with the girl still trailing beside him, laughing at something he didn’t even say.

you’re still frozen when jungwon gently pulls you forward, like he’s choosing not to say what he saw in your face.

the group scatters, arguing about which ride is next. jake’s already halfway up the path. the girls trail behind. you and jungwon follow, a little slower.

you’re trying to focus. on the date. on him. on this version of your life where everything feels easy and soft and golden.

but your heart is thudding again. and your mind keeps spinning.

you tell jungwon you’re going to the bathroom. simple. no drama. no lingering looks. just a casual excuse to breathe.

you barely make it two steps past the bathroom when you hear him.

"so you're just gonna ignore me now?"

you stop.

close your eyes.

fuck.

you turn slowly, heart already thudding.

sunghoon’s standing there. arms crossed. jaw tight. no smile. no charm. just tension.

"what are you doing?" you ask, already exhausted.

he shrugs. "same thing you are. pretending."

you roll your eyes. "go back to your little group."

"why?" he tilts his head. "so you can play house with him a little longer?"

your stomach twists.

"don’t do this," you mutter.

"don’t do what? remind you what happened last night?"

you try to push past him, but he steps in front of you.

"don’t act brand new," he says, voice lower now. "you didn’t have this attitude when i had you bent over begging for more."

your breath catches. you stare at him.

"fuck you," you say quietly.

he laughs—cold, sharp, like you didn’t just stab him first.

"already did."

you look away, throat tight.

he leans in, too close. "you’re gonna tell me none of it meant anything?"

you hesitate. only for a second. but it’s enough.

he sees it.

"right," he says. "thought so."

you grit your teeth. "you knew about me and jungwon."

his smirk fades.

"you always knew," you continue. "you just didn’t care. you saw an opening and you took it."

"and you let me."

"i never said i didn’t. but don’t stand here acting like you thought this was something more."

"it wasn’t nothing."

"maybe not," you say, voice flat. "but i’m still choosing him."

his face twitches.

you don’t even hear the footsteps behind you. don’t realize someone’s listening until the hallway drops into silence.

jungwon.

standing there.

frozen.

his face unreadable. but his eyes—his eyes burn straight through you.

you feel your heart seize. he heard everything.

sunghoon scoffs behind you, like this is all too much. "man, whatever. this is a joke."

he turns like he’s about to walk—

"nah."

jungwon’s voice cuts the air like a blade. he steps forward. calm. cold.

"you cool?"

sunghoon spins. "are you?"

you try to step in, but jungwon’s eyes never leave his.

"she told you to back off. she’s here with me. you don’t get to keep pushing."

"she was with me last night," sunghoon snaps. "so what do you wanna do? let me know."

jungwon flinches. just barely.

but it’s enough to make your stomach drop.

"stop it," you say. "both of you—"

"no," jungwon says, eyes still locked. "if you respected her at all, you’d walk away."

"don’t act like you’re some fucking hero," sunghoon growls. “you waited too long. i didn’t. you just watched her walk away.”

jungwon doesn’t blink.

sunghoon tilts his head, eyes burning. “you know what your problem is? you were scared. too pussy to say how you felt. too pussy to make a move. and now a guy like me came around and got your girl.”

you flinch.

jungwon’s fist curls—but he’s still too still. too quiet.

sunghoon shrugs like it’s nothing. like he didn’t just drop a bomb. “don’t be mad at me for seeing her. for acting. for not hesitating.”

he nods at you, just once. and for a moment, it almost feels like a soft truth.

“she’s not a maybe. she’s not some game. and if you really gave a fuck, you wouldn’t have waited until someone else touched her to wake up.”

and that’s when jungwon speaks.

low.

measured.

but deadly.

“i’m a pussy?” he repeats, voice calm in that terrifying kind of way. “nah. you are.”

sunghoon’s brows twitch.

jungwon steps forward. not fast. not angry. just sure.

“because i had a choice,” he says. “i could’ve made her mine months ago. but i didn’t want to fuck this up. not like you just did.”

sunghoon scoffs, but jungwon’s not done.

“you want a medal for not hesitating?” he spits. “for seeing a drunk girl who’s been in love with someone else and still going for it?”

sunghoon opens his mouth, but—

“you fucked her, and the very next day, you showed up with another bitch on your arm.”

your breath catches.

jungwon doesn’t look at you. he doesn’t even flinch.

“don’t talk to me about being a man. if you actually liked her—if you respected her at all—you wouldn’t have touched her like that. you would've waited. you would've meant it. ” jungwon takes a deep breath before shooting his final blow. "and yeah, you two had a good time last night, but when she woke up, who did she want? you, or me?"

sunghoon stares.

jaw tight. eyes burning. but he doesn’t speak.

because there’s nothing to say.

you’re the one who’s shaking now. because every word feels like it landed in your chest.

and still—

you can’t take any of it back.

taglist❤️

@jvngw0nlvr @iamjusttryingtoreadapost @woibeb @xoseraphiina @tunafishyfishylike @onlyticket-home @k1ttyjwon @taehyunsfavmoa @doveblackboat @umanjofantasma

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bjlipss · 1 day ago

Text

— bug, part iii.

contents: college!sukuna x weird!reader. weird as in just odd and confusing behaviour but nonetheless cute, nothing pervy-weird. reader wears glasses because yes. really awkward and silly hehe. also there is a use of “girlfriend” in here so ig fem reader should be mentioned.

part ii <- part iii -> part iv

he finds you again by accident.

or maybe not. maybe he took the long way on purpose. maybe he passed the vending machines on his way to nowhere in particular just to see if you’d be there again. he tells himself he doesn’t know.

but you’re there. sitting on the floor with your back to the wall, knees pulled to your chest, hood up. it’s raining today. the hem of your jeans is damp. there’s a closed umbrella beside you and a half-eaten rice ball in your hand. you look half asleep, half haunted. a little like a ghost, a little like a kid left behind at a train station.

he stands there for a second. quiet.

you look up like you heard his thoughts, not his footsteps.

“…hi.”

it’s soft. a little hoarse. like you haven’t used your voice much today.

he shifts. runs a hand through his hair. clicks his tongue.

then wordlessly slides down the wall to sit next to you.

you don’t say anything for a while. neither does he.

the rain patters against the windows. people pass by outside with umbrellas and hunched shoulders. inside, it’s warm. still. slightly buzzing from the vending machine beside you.

you nudge the rice ball toward him.

“you can have the rest. i ate the good side.”

he squints at it. “…the good side?”

“the side with more filling.”

he snorts. then drags a hand down his face like he hates himself for laughing. he doesn’t take the rice ball, but he lets it sit there between you. just in case.

you lean your head back against the wall. sigh softly through your nose.

“you ever feel like you’re the only real person in a world full of cardboard cutouts?”

he glances at you. frowns. “…what?”

you don’t look at him. just blink up at the ceiling. “like everyone’s just going through the motions. classes, clubs, whatever. and you’re just… weird. wrong. floating.”

he doesn’t answer right away.

his knee knocks into yours gently when he shifts. not on purpose. probably.

“…no,” he says eventually. “i usually just think people are stupid.”

you smile, slow and cracked and real. “same thing.”

your eyes drift shut after that. you stop talking. stop moving. a couple of minutes later, your breathing evens out and your head falls forward, glasses threatening to slide down the slope of your nose and hair framing your face.

he watches you out of the corner of his eye like you might disappear if he looks too directly.

but you don’t.

you just stay. strange and quiet. steady.

and for some reason he does, too.

—

it happens on thursday.

campus is loud today—midterms are eating everyone alive, and there’s that frantic, twitchy energy in the air that only college kids and caffeinated panic can produce. sukuna’s cutting through the quad with his usual scowl, earbuds in, hoodie up, bag slung low over one shoulder like he might swing it at someone if they breathe wrong.

you fall into step beside him like you always do now.

he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t greet you, either. just shoves one earbud deeper in and keeps walking like he didn’t notice you materialize beside him with your juice box and some kind of fuzzy creature drawn in black ink across your sleeve.

you’re quiet today, too. not humming. not talking.

just there. like always.

but people are noticing now.

a group of girls near the psych building glance over. one of them giggles.

“is that sukuna? holy shit, he has a girlfriend?”

sukuna hears it even with his earbuds in.

his jaw flexes. not because he cares what they think—he doesn’t. he never has—but because the word sticks in his head like gum. girlfriend.

he glances sideways at you.

you’re squinting at a leaf on the ground. then up at the sky. like you’re thinking about something profound. or nothing at all.

he waits for you to say something. to react.

you don’t. you never do.

and that’s what makes it worse somehow—how unaffected you are. how unbothered you seem by the fact that you, the weird vending machine cryptid with banana rituals and penjamin the pen, are being seen next to him.

you don’t look embarrassed. you don’t ask if you should walk somewhere else. you just keep sipping your juice and watching the clouds.

“you know people think you’re, like…” he mutters suddenly, “my problem or something.”

you blink at him. “am i?”

he scowls. “you tell me. you started this.”

you consider this. “you’re right.”

you reach into your bag and pull out a folded paper star. it’s red. a little crumpled.

“this one’s for stress. i read that if you keep it in your pocket, it absorbs negativity.”

he stares at it. then at you.

then at the girls still watching from across the quad.

he takes the star without saying anything and shoves it deep into his pocket.

the girls stop giggling after that.

you beam, unbothered and unchanged, and start telling him about a dream you had last night involving a talking vending machine and a raccoon in a top hat.

he listens. wants to be annoyed but finds himself smirking anyway.

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imomnba-x07 · 1 day ago

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I’m convinced that people who keep saying “oh what would Sam’s avengers roster even consist of” just haven’t been paying attention. Anyways.

- Joaquin Torres aka The Falcon. Obviously. Feel like that goes without saying.

- Ant man and wasp. Scott would drop quite literally anything for the chance to gain Sam’s respect. He’s Sam’s number one fan and was mentioned several times in BNW. He and Hope would be there in a heartbeat.

-War machine: also goes without saying. We’ve seen their bond throughout all the movies and his cameo in FATWS. Rhodey has Sam’s back.

- Black panther/ the Wakandans. Sam has kept an incredibly good relationship with the Wakandans (something Bucky somehow fails to do repeatedly) given how he is fully backed by them and they have no problem gifting him suits.

- Hell, by extension of the Wakandans, we can even add Ironheart to the list.

- the young avengers. Not only through Eli Bradley (who I am still holding out hope we are seeing again.) but I have no doubt Clint passed the word about Kate on to Sam as well.

- Thor. most purely because of the recent picture of the 2 of them together, but they were also avengers together at the same time, went to the same parties and trained together. Same can be said about Bruce. Speaking of:

- Bruce and Jen. Sam’s connected to the hulks now, after the whole ting with Ross I think it would be pretty obtuse to believe that Bruce didn’t immediately talk to Sam afterwards. Plus i firmly believe Jen will be the legal consultant to Sam going forward for the avengers. She also such a fan girl it’s almost impossible for me to believe she would miss out on this opportunity.

- Carol Danvers. Fury respected Sam, Carol respects Fury. It’s not that hard to imagine they would eventually cross paths with one another even after the battle of Endgame. (If ANYONE is co leading the avengers with Sam its her, even though Sam doesn’t need a co leading at all I’m just tired of the Bucky co lead narrative)

- Shang Chi. Mainly because he’s in the cast for Doomsday, there is no where else I can imagine him really going other than with Sam. And why wouldn’t he?

Let’s not pretend that Sam wasn’t fighting side by side with countless of hero’s. He’s a man about connection and finding commonality, you really think he wouldn’t introduce himself to his fellow avengers after the dust settles? There are plenty more I can add to this list, but I’ll leave that up to yall.

Let’s stop pretending like Sam isn’t a well connected man.

#sam wilson #captain america #anthony mackie #sam wilson captain america #marvel #oh captain my captain #samuel thomas wilson #tfatws

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concreteangel92 · 2 days ago

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The Tattoo Artist - Chapter 2

Noah Sebastian x female reader

No warnings

So I decided to make this into a little story, as I’ve said before, it’s not going to be a super long fic but I’m enjoying being back in this little universe again. I hope everyone likes it and I’ll try and update it soon ☺️

You can read chapter 1 here if you haven’t already

Permanent Taglist: @flowery-mess @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @bloody-spades @lacy1986 @fadingangelwisp @theanarchymuse95 @w0manof-flesh44 @dream-machine-love @thisbicc @amelia-acero @badomensls @fadingintothegrey @tosoundlessdarkistare @ichoosetenderomens @hurricanesfollowyou @concretejunglefm @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @xmads-omensx @chey-h @xxkittenkissesxx @lyschko666 @rumoured-whispers @renegadebirch @floodflameschosen @ami--gami @koskeepsake

Let me know if you wish to be added!

Masterlist

You walked down the aisle with the basket on your arm as you done a small food shop for the week.

Naturally, as you had a bit of a sweet tooth, you found yourself picking up a couple bags of your favourite sour jellies and tossing them into your basket.

“Stocking up?”

You turned around and saw Noah stood there with an amused smile on his face.

“Oh hey! Sorry I didn’t see you there, and yeah you caught me”

Noah chuckled and walked over so he was standing next to you, you noticed he’d picked up a drink and a sandwich which was in his large hands.

“I feel I owe you a packet of those seeing as I ate so many a few weeks ago”

You smiled and shook your head.

“Don’t be silly, I keep some spare for my clients for such emergencies. How is your tattoo now?”

Noah smiled more and lifted the leg of his joggers up over the freshly healed tattoo. You couldn’t help yourself but bend down and have a proper look at your work, eyes skimming over the clean lines and bold colour.

“Nice! This healed really well”

“It did, it’s definitely one of my favourites now, everyone has loved it when I’ve shown them”

You stood back up with a small blush.

“Thank you, I’m so happy that you love it. My books have certainly started to fill up more thanks to your post”

Noah looked slightly sheepish as he brought one hand up to rub the back of his neck.

“Yeah…sorry I didn’t say anything in person, I don’t always know how to react with people who like the band or whatever”

“No that’s ok, I’m sorry I didn’t know who you were, I felt kind of embarrassed when I realised that I was talking and asking you if you’d seen the band, of course you have”

You giggled nervously as you remembered the conversation while finishing up his leg piece.

“Actually it was kind of refreshing to hear someone just talk about the music without knowing who I was”

“Well isn’t the whole point of a band to enjoy the music?”

Noah laughed as he responded. “You’d be surprised, some fans can be very….enthused about everything I do”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Don’t worry, I promise I’m not going to steal a lock of your hair or anything”

“Shame. I was hoping you were keeping a shrine.” He grinned, then added, “But seriously…it was nice. Talking to someone who wasn’t performing a fake version of themselves just because they recognised me”

“Well I can assure you that I very much just enjoy your music” You both started to walk down the aisle together.

“Damn, and there I thought you enjoyed my company too”

“Careful Noah, if I didn’t know better I’d think you were flirting with me?” You couldn’t stop the smile on your lips and the butterflies in your tummy as he kept his intense gaze on you.

“Maybe I’m just trying to pluck up the courage to ask if you fancied getting a coffee together?”

You stared up at him in slight disbelief.

“Really?”

Noah looked nervous as he smiled down at you and nodded.

“Yeah, sorry I’m not normally as forward, obviously if you’re busy then…”

You cut his fast ramblings off with a smile.

“I’m free now?”

He smiled and you watched as his shoulders visibly relaxed.

“Yeah I’m free for a couple hours, I know a great place not far from here?”

“Lead the way”

A little while later after paying for your items, you found yourself walking around the local park, both with a coffee in hand and chatting casually.

“So are you guys rehearsing at the moment?”

You took a sip of your ice latte as you looked up at him.

“Yeah we have a few shows coming up in the next month, one here actually if you wanted to come along?”

“Really? There are still tickets left?”

Noah blushed slightly as he walked.

“For me there would be yeah, I could get you a backstage pass if you wanted?”

The butterflies in your stomach hadn’t stopped for the last hour and in this moment you felt like they were swarming as you tried to stay calm.

“That would be amazing!”

Noah smiled at your answer, the corners of his eyes creasing slightly.

“Cool. I’ll text you the details once it’s all confirmed”

You nodded, trying not to overthink the way your hand gently brushed his as you both walked a little closer next to each other.

The afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting a golden light across the path as your conversation drifted to other things, your favourite bands, ridiculous tour stories which you couldn’t get enough of and the weirdest tattoos you’d ever been asked to do.

You couldn’t remember the last time someone made you feel this at ease, it felt so natural to be walking together and just enjoying the other’s company.

To anyone watching the pair of you, on the outside you looked calm but on the inside, your heart hadn’t slowed down since he smiled at you in the snack aisle.

#noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens band #bad omens cult #noah sebastian davis #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian imagine #noahsebastian #noah bad omens #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian drabble #concreteangel92 #the tattoo artist fic

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justwinginglife · 2 days ago

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A Messy Arrangement

@fiannee @94biscuits omg guys, I am so sorry I took so long writing another Gojo fic, but this one is finally finished! (More in the works).

Synopsis: Fuck boy Gojo is your roommate and you can't tell what's more frustrating: that he can't keep it in his goddamn pants or that you aren't the one in his pants. Word Count Estimate: 6300 Tags: Mutual Pining, Blow job, Oral sex, P in V, Friends/Enemies/Whatever The Fuck They Are to Lovers Warning: NSFW

“Would you keep your mouth shut next time ya fuck? You sound like a dying seal.”

It was 9am, the coffee was out, the toaster was fried to shit, you had no caffeine, no toast, and you were feeling particularly murderous this morning because you’d been yanked from sleep to listen to Satoru nearly break his creaky ass bed for the last THREE hours, moaning and groaning like he was a haunted treehouse.

You were seriously considering other living options at the moment.

Satoru grinned as he joined you at the kitchen counter, turning on the tap to collect himself a cup of water after his highly strenuous activities had come to their conclusion. “You’re just jealous, admit it.”

“Jealous? Of her? I’m surprised her eardrums didn’t shatter after she got a personal serenade of nails on a chalkboard.” You shot back.

He smirked. “Not of her. Of me.”

You raised an unamused brow at him. You shouldn’t be humoring him so early in the morning, but at least if he said some more bullshit then you had a decent reason to kill him. “And why would I be jealous of you?”

“Oh, I dunno, maybe cuz I came like twenty times.”

You snorted. “It’s not that hard to make you come; I’m sure a bare ankle would do.”

He raised his chin to you snootily. “It takes skill to make a man come- something you would know nothing about.”

You crossed your arms. “You think I wouldn’t have you coming down my throat the second my tongue hit your tip?”

He huffed. “That’s not all it takes, you know.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, right. I just pretend I’m gagging on your ‘huge’ dick, cough up a fake moan, add a little suction, and you’re putty in my hands. Or should I say, in my mouth?” His eyes narrowed in challenge. “Oh you talk a big game, but I bet you can’t back it up.”

You let out a short laugh before cracking your neck. “Alright. Drop your pants then, pretty boy.”

Satoru blinked. “What?”

“I said, drop your fucking pants. Underwear too.”

He eyed you warily, wondering if you were serious or if this was a joke. When he saw the look in your eyes, he slowly slid them down.

“C’mon grandma, we haven’t got all day.” You impatiently yanked his underwear off and began to stroke his cock. You pumped it in and out of your fist in rough, vigorous spurts.

He choked on his spit and gripped the kitchen counter for support.

You’d barely had it in your palm for very long before you wrapped your plush lips around his cock, tongue flicking over his swollen tip incessantly.

He bit his lip as his precum started trickling out of him, smearing itself all over your lips. When he finally got used to the rhythm of you fucking his cock with your mouth, you changed it up on him. You slammed your head forward and he hit the back of your throat in one violent motion.

“Shiiiiiiiiiit!” He hissed, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He clenched his thighs around your neck, attempting to stop the flood that was coming, but it was to no avail.

He came down your throat right as last night’s fling walked into the kitchen.

“How could you, Gojo?!” She yanked off the shirt she’d borrowed from him and whipped it at his face before rushing off to collect her things from his room.

You smirked as you pulled away, licking your lips clean. “Aw, trouble in paradise.”

He rolled his eyes. “Can’t you be at least a little sympathetic for me? Now I have to go after her.”

“I’m not sympathetic in the slightest.” You gave him a mocking pat on the shoulder. “Have fun, lover boy.”

He glared at you before hiking his pants back up and taking off.

For several hours, you had peace and quiet. It was almost like having your own apartment. You got your work done, finished your chores, and just overall enjoyed your day. You had been snacking on popcorn, just watching a movie on the couch when he finally burst through the doors again, ruining your perfect day. He was making out so heavily with a girl (a completely different girl than the one he’d chased after this morning), and devouring her so completely that you could barely see her face to tell that she was a different girl at all. Of course he always had to make an entrance. He drove you absolutely insane.

You cleared your throat loudly.

He gave a dramatic sigh. “Yumiko, meet my roommate.”

She gave a polite nod.

You looked her up and down. “Toru, you’re not going to want this one.”

Her eyes narrowed at your words.

He didn’t notice. He waved you away. “You don’t know what you’re talking about; we’re gonna have such a good time, aren’t we, baby?” He slung his arm around her and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Later, roomie!” He shot you a peace sign before disappearing into his room with her.

You face-palmed. He’d be back out here soon. That girl was 50 shades of crazy and you could smell it on her. As much game as Satoru had, sometimes he acted like such a virgin. He wasn’t going to be able to handle her.

Unlike last night’s three hours, he was back out in five minutes.

You raised your head.

“Help me.” He mouthed.

You crossed your arms, amused, as you shook your head “No” at him. This was his mess; he could clean it up himself.

“Oh, Gojooooo!” She called to him, her voice getting louder as she made her way over to the living room.

“Please, I’m begging you.” He whispered.

You sighed, feeling somewhat bad for him. “Fine. Kiss me.”

His eyes widened with horror. “No, god no, she’ll kill me!” He hissed.

“Toru. Do you trust me?”

He sighed. “Fine, fine. Just get me out of this.”

He followed your instruction, quickly seating himself on the couch. You straddled him and pinned both of his wrists against the back of the couch. He knew you had to make it look like you’d taken advantage of him (rather than him running to you for protection), but he still couldn’t help the way his throat went dry when he felt you settle yourself on top of him, clothed core parking itself on top of his swollen erection (god, was it growing even more now??). Then you started to make out with him hungrily and he lost himself in you. His lips chased after yours, as though desperate for a taste of you. You couldn’t remember the last time a man kissed you so passionately. If he didn’t drive you batshit crazy and if you weren’t literally in the middle of doing him a favor, you might’ve actually enjoyed kissing him.

“What the HELL is going on?” A voice suddenly demanded from beside you. Oh yeah. She was crazy all right. You could hear the fight in her voice.

You continued to make out with him, pretending not to notice that she was there. When she repeated herself, this time louder, you only bothered to open one eye to peek over at her, making sure she knew you had better things to be doing than to pay attention to her. “Can I help you with something?” You murmured innocently as you tilted his chin up and licked a rough stripe up his neck. He shivered.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing with my man?” Her tone was low and seething.

“Oh honey. Does this look like your man to you?” You took his lower lip between your teeth, biting down so hard that he whined. Then you lapped the blood from his mouth, licking both his lips and yours, as she watched bitterly.

“We were in the middle of something.” She said through clenched teeth.

“And we’re in the middle of something now, bitch.” You spat back before grinding down on his cock. He let out a strangled groan.

She moved to pull you back by the hair but you caught her wrist.

“Did I say you could fucking interrupt?” You turned to glare hellfire at her.

She yanked her arm back, rubbing her wrist where your nails had broken skin. “You’re a fucking psycho.” She hissed.

“And you’re not welcome here. Get your shit and go. If I ever see you touching what’s mine ever again, I’ll make you wish you were dead.” You snarled.

She stared you down for a moment, then her gaze flitted over to him, trying to gauge if he was worth the fight. She decided against it, raising her hands in surrender as she backed up. In a few minutes, she’d grabbed her things and disappeared out the door.

Satoru exhaled a sigh of relief and leaned against your shoulder. “Damn, she was insane.” Then he sat up straight. “Wait, you knew she was insane, didn’t you? That’s why you said I wouldn’t like her. How could you tell?”

You shrugged, pulling yourself off of him (he tried not to whine as you withdrew). “Crazy recognizes crazy.”

He let out a whistle. “Shit, remind me not to mess with you.”

You let out a laugh as you plopped back down beside him. “Popcorn?” You offered him your bowl, pressing play on your movie once again.

He blinked at you. “You can’t be serious.”

“What?” You asked, popping a kernel into your mouth.

He gestured to the tent in his pants. “Still horny here.”

“And? You have a hand.”

He gave you an unamused look. “Oh, come on. Half of this is your fault. Help a guy out. You know…” He swallowed. “Like…like earlier.” You paused the movie and turned to examine him, amused. “Are you begging me to suck your dick, Toru?”

He gave a sheepish laugh. “Not begging…just…wondering?”

“What’ll you do if I agree?”

“What do you mean, what’ll I do? You can’t just get a guy off out of the goodness of your heart?”

You raised a brow.

“Yeah, okay, fine. I’ll do dishes for the next week.”

“Two weeks.”

“Fine, fine, two weeks.”

You dropped to your knees and slid down his pants. He’d already made a proper mess of himself, precum oozing out of him, after you’d done a number on him earlier. You smirked at the sight. “Aww, I dry hump you once and you get all worked up for me. How cute.”

His cheeks darkened. “Shut up and suck me off.”

“Ask nicely, Toru.”

He bit his lip. “Please… god, I need you to suck me off.”

“Good boy.”

He imagined you’d deep throat him again so he sucked in a breath, bracing himself. He never could’ve imagined you’d take the time to tease him, coaxing out every last drop of precum he had to offer with every slow, agonizing drag of your tongue. You traced the rim of his tip, applying pressure when he least expected it, and denying pressure when he most wanted it. Then you began to trail your tongue down his rigid length, acquainting yourself intimately with every bulging vein, until he was twitching and moaning beneath you. He thought he might die if you kept going with this torturous pace. He needed to fuck your throat and he needed it now.

As if sensing his desire, you looked up to meet his lustful gaze as you licked a slow stripe up his cock before latching around his plush tip and starting to suck. He was barely an inch into your mouth and already he wanted to come from the way you were looking at him. He was so hooked on the feeling of your saliva coating his cock like a balm to his aching need, so entranced by the way you commanded his gaze as you swallowed him down that, in the heat of the moment, if asked, he could swear he might be in love with you. You choked back a couple more inches until he was properly buried in your clenching throat and it wasn’t long after that he was soaking your walls with his milky cum.

Like you were simply clocking out of work, you pulled away from him once he’d finished squirming in your mouth, and pressed play on your movie again.

Unbelievable. Here he was, still blinking away stars and gasping for breath and you were munching on popcorn like you hadn’t just swallowed down his seed only seconds before. But he guessed that was the most intimacy he could hope for and, for now, it was enough.

He made the decision to join you in your movie-watching endeavors. “So, what’re we watching?” He cozied up beside you and scooped up a handful of popcorn.

“Horror.”

He froze. You wanted to watch a horror movie. Right before bed. Bold choice. Then he shrugged. “Can’t be half as bad as that psycho chick.”

As the two of you watched your movie together, for a moment, you actually didn’t seem to mind him. It was times like these that he wasn’t half bad. When he wasn’t banging every living creature, he was actually half decent. He’d noticed the goosebumps on your arms and yanked a blanket off the arm rest to pass to you. You gratefully accepted. When you realized he was cold too, you scooted closer to share the blanket. He was surprised but he allowed it.

“You know what would make this even better?” He held up the popcorn bowl.

“More butter?” “More butter.” You said in unison.

You both burst into laughter.

“I’ll grab some more,” He took off for the kitchen before you could even ask.

You smiled and then caught yourself. What the fuck were you doing? Cozying up to him, finishing his sentences, sharing food with him? Did you…like him? Your nose crinkled at the thought. He was immature, reckless, unbelievably horny. Not your type. No, you were simply being a good roommate and that was all. But since when were you good roommates? You were always at each other’s throats. After a moment’s ponderance, you realized that it wasn’t until he started bringing women over that you actually started bitching at each other. You’d been perfectly kind to each other before. You swallowed. No. Could it be…were you…jealous?

He settled himself beside you on the couch again. “Extra order of butter, as requested.”

You had a split second of hesitation before you smiled again and plucked some popcorn out of the bowl. You immediately turned back to the screen as though nothing had happened.

He watched you curiously. “Something wrong?”

“Just…throat dry. Too much popcorn.” You still weren’t looking at him.

He set the bowl down and instantly went to grab you some water.

You mentally face-palmed. He couldn’t keep doing stuff like this. You were going to lose your mind. You gave him another pinched smile when he quickly returned with your drink. “Thanks.” You took a sip from the cup.

He stared at you as you drank, taking note that your expression still hadn’t changed even after he’d fetched a drink for you. “Alright, spill. It’s not your throat that’s wrong. What’s up?”

“Watch the movie, Toru.”

He snatched the remote from you and hit pause. “I’ll ask again. What’s going on?”

You sighed. “Maybe I just don’t like having to clean up after all of your little flings, okay? I’m getting tired of it.” It was a half truth. It would do.

His gaze softened and he even looked…apologetic? “Alright, so I won’t bring them over anymore then. You saved me big time today. I really do appreciate it.”

You were quiet for a moment, but then your curiosity got the better of you. “So what did she do to you anyway?”

He instantly shuddered. “You don’t wanna know.”

You cocked a grin at him. “But I do, that’s why I asked.”

He fidgeted with his fingers before finally leaning over to whisper in your ear, “Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

You held out your pinky and he took it with his trembling hand before quietly admitting, “She whipped my dick and then said she’d ‘kiss it all better’ and then bit it. She literally bit it.” The color drained from his face as he described it and it took everything in you not to laugh. “I won’t even discuss with you what she wanted to do to my… to my ass.”

“Poor baby Satoru is traumatized.” You teased.

“It’s not even funny; I literally am traumatized. I think I may be celibate going forward.” He shuddered again.

Now you had to laugh. “Satoru Gojo, celibate? Are pigs flying?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I’m a man whore, I know, I know. I hear all the rumors. But I’m serious; I think I really will take a break. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable anyway.”

“Well I appreciate that. Maybe I won’t have to murder you after all.”

He snorted. “As if you could.”

You traced your thumb over where you’d drawn blood from his lip just an hour ago. “Maybe you’re not as untouchable as you think you are.”

He caught your wrist in a firm grip, and his gaze locked onto your eyes. “Or maybe I don’t mind letting you touch me.”

Your breath hitched.

His thumb gently caressed your wrist.

Before he could think too much about it, he began to slowly lean forward.

“I’m really tired!” You blurted out suddenly, standing up straight. You even yawned and stretched for the full effect. Then you dashed to your room and locked the door. And then pulled your bookcase in front of the door as if it would stop the one and only Satoru Gojo.

Back in the living room, Satoru was still in shock. Did you just…? Could you tell what he was...? Or were you actually tired? You didn’t seem tired when you were laughing at the movie. A smile tugged at his lips. Laughing. You were actually laughing at a horror movie. He shook his head thinking about it. You were something. You’d always been something.

He still remembered the day he’d first moved in with you. He arrived later than he said he would and you were half asleep on the couch by the time he got there. When you heard him sneak in, your instincts kicked in and you instantly sat upright, nearly scaring the life out of him.

“If you’re a burglar, I’m a broke college student; if you find any money, it’s news to me. If you’re my new roommate, you took too long so I took the bigger room. Either way, I’m sure you can deal with whatever you came for like a big boy.”

He burst into a fit of laughter. And he was never late again. In fact, he’d never looked forward to coming home so much in his entire life. When he lived with his clan, he was the center of attention. The legendary Satoru Gojo. The prodigy. The miracle. When he was with you, he was just some sheltered kid who’d never cooked a day in his life, never ridden the train, never even tied his own shoelaces. When he was with you, he was just Toru.

Lately, Toru was nothing more than a fuck up. Nothing more than someone who couldn’t keep bringing his mistakes home. Someone who’d rather drown himself in shallow affairs and forced intimacy than admit he felt something for the girl in the room over.

He wasn’t the only one.

You’d conveniently forgotten the time that you slept on the floor for two days straight because your bed frame had snapped in half, and when you left the door ajar the next day, and he walked by and saw your blanket and pillows on the floor, he fixed the bedframe for you before you even came home. You’d forgotten the times when he’d steal your favorite box of cereal, convinced he’d never eaten anything so amazing in his entire life (to which you’d reply, “It’s just cereal, haven’t you ever eaten cereal before?” and the answer was no, he hadn’t), but he’d always replace it before you ran out as thanks for letting him share. And you’d forgotten the way he’d draw smiley faces on the window with his finger when you’d complain under your breath that the rain was making you depressed. You’d somehow completely forgotten he wasn’t a terrible person before he started bringing all these bimbos home.

You were going to have to face your feelings sooner or later. You just didn’t want to face them now. It was already bad enough that the taste of his lips from your earlier makeout session was still seared into your brain, without you having to worry about if that kiss meant something to you or to him. It was even worse that he was a good kisser. You never doubted he was, but something about him kissing you made all the difference. And it was fake, it was an act, yada yada, but still, you couldn’t force yourself to stop thinking about it. To stop lying awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling, reliving it in a loop. To stop wondering if he was lying awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling, and reliving it too.

After another hour or two of this, you finally sighed and got out of bed. You needed a cup of warm milk, some Benadryl, a ten mile jog, a hammer to the head, whatever would knock you out. You weren’t gonna face him looking like a zombie in the morning. If your constant clashing with him didn’t kill the mood, that certainly would.

So you marched over to the kitchen in search of literally anything useful, and found that he was already there, raiding the fridge. He had half a cookie sticking out of his mouth and was trying to juggle the milk carton and a cup in one arm while he continued to file through the fridge with the other.

“Mmmf, you…here for a…midnight snack too?” He mumbled in between chewing.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Finish your food before you talk, geez, Toru. That’s like the first rule they teach you in elementary school.”

“Cookie’s too…big for me…” He mumbled again.

He was going to choke at this rate. You reached over and snapped a portion of the cookie off, popping it into your mouth. “There. Not as big anymore.”

“You do realize that was just in my mouth.”

“It was sticking out of your mouth.”

“Yeah, but I figure it counts as indirect kissing, right?” He grinned.

You rolled your eyes, but turned away so he couldn’t see the hint of a blush creeping into your cheeks. “You just say whatever ridiculous shit pops into your brain, don’t you?”

He set his things down on the counter before cupping your face with one hand and turning you towards him. “Can I… say some more ridiculous shit?”

You grabbed another cookie and shoved it into his mouth.

He raised a brow at you as if to say “Really?”

He was right; you were being dumb. If he wanted to have it out now, you may as well have it out now. Maybe he wouldn’t remember it in the morning. Maybe you wouldn’t remember it in the morning. Oh, who were you kidding? There was no way you’d forget the way your heart was racing like it was in the Indy 500. But if it was going to be awkward now, it was still going to be awkward even if you waited a day, a week, or even a month to have this conversation. So you had to have it.

He finished chewing. “Can I talk now?”

You gestured for him to continue like it was no big deal, but your eyes trailed down to the floor.

“Nuh-uh. You know when someone talks, the other person usually looks at them. That’s, like,” He grinned, remembering your earlier words, “The second rule they teach you in elementary school.” He tucked a finger under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“Alright, alright- I’m looking. Spit it out, Toru.” Your rapid fire words matched the rapid fire pace of your heartbeat and you just hoped he couldn’t tell.

“Would’ve said it sooner if someone didn’t shove a cookie into my mouth, so really, who’s fault is it for the delay?” He teased.

You rolled your eyes but your flushing cheeks betrayed your show of annoyance. “Well you’re still delaying. If you don’t get on with it, I’m going to bed.” You made a point of turning to leave, but he caught your wrist.

“I was going to tell you I’m not bringing anyone over anymore.”

“Yeah- you said that already, Toru.”

“But I mean it. There’s no point. The only person I’m interested in already lives with me. And…I wonder if she’s interested in me too.”

You bit your lip.

“And…I wonder if she knows how cute she is when she bites her lip.” He ran a thumb over your lower lip tenderly. “And how much she consumes my every thought, waking or dreaming.” His eyes flicked back up to yours, waiting for your answer.

You exhaled and then cracked a smile. “You saying you get wet dreams about me, Toru?”

He shook his head, amused at how that was the one thing you’d fixated on. “On more than one occasion. You saying you don’t mind?”

“I’m saying I mind a lot of things you do. I mind the way you leave the toilet seat up to remind me you were in there, even if you were just shitting on it so it should’ve been down. I mind the way you leave all the lights in the entire apartment on even if you’re not using that room. I mind the way you spritz me with your cologne when I just told you it was too strong. But that, your… feelings for me…I don’t mind. And I’m starting not to mind how I think about you too. How I can’t stop thinking about you. Is that an answer?”

“Oh, you know, it was long and drawn out and dramatic. But very like you. So I guess I’ll take it.” He grinned. “Only on one condition, though.”

You raised a brow. “What’s that?”

“You let me kiss you. For real, this time.”

“You don’t have to ask, you can just-”

His lips were on yours in an instant. But for someone who was infamously impatient, the way he kissed you was slow, gentle. He cradled your face in his hands, thumbs caressing your cheeks tenderly. He held onto this one, simple moment for as long as he could before he needed air. And then he regretted needing air because the moment he pulled away, he missed you already. His eyes found yours, gauging your reaction to his kiss.

“Was that all I get?” You murmured, love drunk. “Where’s the insatiable Satoru who begged me to choke him down?”

He gave a sheepish chuckle. “He was kind of a selfish bastard, he knows that now. I won’t make the same mistake as him. I want to take it slow.” As if to prove his point, he trailed his hands gently down your arms. He just wanted to relish the feeling of your skin beneath his fingertips. When he got to your hands, he gave them a little squeeze, before pressing a tender kiss to each one.

Then, he let go of your hands, finding your hips instead, and pulling you towards him until you were close enough to exchange air. You thought he might kiss you again, but he just gazed into your eyes as his fingers caressed your hips. “You’re so beautiful,” He whispered, words coated in genuine sweetness. If he could look at you forever, he would. He’d memorize every freckle, every scar, every detail that made you you, until you were all that he pictured when he drifted into the land of dreams every night.

“You just going to keep staring?” You teased, half flustered and half impatient.

“Well, what should I be doing right now? Please, enlighten me, my dear.” He grinned, leaning down to press a kiss on your forehead. “Tell me what you want.”

“Kiss me like you mean it.”

You heard him inhale sharply before taking a nosedive towards your lips. When his lips met yours, it was everything passionate and pure. His hunger was still evident in the way he pressed himself into you like he’d become one with your very being if he just closed enough distance, but it wasn’t any hunger like you’d seen before. It wasn’t primal or instinct or out of necessity, it was yearning, it was devotion, it was beautiful. He didn’t kiss you because he couldn’t help himself or because you were just satisfying some urge of his; he kissed you because he loved you, because he was all yours and he needed you to know that. And he didn’t do anything but kiss you. He didn’t try to touch you anymore than just steading himself against you, he didn’t try to force himself on you. He just simply wanted to be with you. And you’d only asked for a kiss so that would be enough for him.

Of course, you didn’t want just a kiss.

“Toruuu…” You moaned against his lips as he chased yours, over and over again. “Need you…”

The desperation and desire in your tone was clear but the raging fire in his pants could wait until he’d had explicit consent. “What do you need, baby?” He murmured as he trailed his kisses up and down your jawline.

“Need you to take me… need you… to fuck me.”

He let out a low groan, as heat seared through his veins. God, the way you spoke drove him insane. He scooped you up in his arms and began to carry you to your bedroom. He didn’t dare take you to his. If this was going to be his first time with you, he didn’t want it to be anywhere near where he’d spent long nights tangled up with other women. This was something new, something precious. He wouldn’t make the mistake of treating you the way he did anyone else.

You, however, had no clue what he was thinking, not being privy to his personal inner monologue, so when he didn’t just take you right on the kitchen counter, or in his bedroom (which was closer to the kitchen than yours), you gave him a puzzled look. “Where are you going, baby? What are we doing?”

“Didn’t you say you wanted me to take you? I’m making good on that request.”

“But why are we going all the way to my room? We could’ve just done it on the kitchen counter, I wouldn’t have minded. Or even your room.”

He shook his head. “I know you asked me to fuck you, love, but I’m not going to do that. You’re not some quickie for me. You’re not just some random girl. You’re the love of my life and I want to make love to you. I thought your bed would be more comfortable for you anyway, seeing as how you’re already used to it. That okay with you?” He gazed down at you lovingly, eyes bright and earnest and impossible to refuse.

“Of course that’s okay with me, Toru. More than okay. I want to make love to you too.” You blushed as your reply left your lips quieter than you would’ve liked. How could you so suddenly become shy when you’d just asked him to fuck you not two minutes ago? But when he put it so sincerely like that, you couldn’t help but melt inside.

And when he practically beamed at your response, you felt your insides softening even further. What was he doing to you? You were turning into a big puddle of mush and it was all because of him.

He laid you down on your bed gently and slipped your clothes off of you, with all care and no speed, like he was just enjoying the process of stripping you bare. It was almost too slow for your liking, but you didn’t dare tell him that- not when he was looking at you like he’d found gold with every inch of skin revealed to him.

“God- look at you. You’re gorgeous.” He murmured, reveling in the sight of your naked form once he’d had you fully stripped. Then he bent down to trail reverent kisses down your neck, down your chest, down your stomach.

Your eyes fluttered shut as he explored your body with his lips. Whenever you’d let a satisfied sigh slip as he’d skim over a particularly sensitive spot, he made sure to lavish proper attention to it, sucking and biting, until he’d left the evidence of his love for you blooming on your skin. He hadn’t even touched you where you’d wanted him to yet, still leaving marks along your hips and your thighs, and you were already a mess beneath him. His lips left you feeling heated, gasping for breath, and when he ran his cool tongue over the bruises, you felt your mind cloud over with a dizzying desire.

You were about to beg him for even just the tip of his finger, just the tip of his cock, for something, for anything, for some semblance of satisfaction, when he finally dipped his head down and began running that devious tongue of his over your clit until you were to the point of delicious delirium.

“So good, you taste so good, my love.” He began to suck harder on the aching bud.

Your head arched back as whimpers tumbled past your lips. “Please, Toru-” You were utterly undone, all tense and trembling beneath him.

“Please what?” He murmured as his tongue trailed up and down the length of your slit.

“Please let me come. Make me come.” You pleaded, hips rocking forward until his tongue was inside of you, flicking against your pulsing walls. Each stroke of his tongue was slow, intentional, exploratory, like he wouldn’t stop until he’d tasted every inch of you. Your gentle, beating pulse turned erratic, fluttering on the edge of ecstasy. A few deliberate motions later and your release was flooding his mouth, all sticky and sweet and seraphic, as the euphoria overcame you.

You whined as he withdrew (licking his lips as he did), but you were quickly rewarded by him sheathing his cock within your wet heat shortly after. Your eyes rolled back as you adjusted to the feeling of his erection making a home between your still-trembling walls.

He sunk into your depths slowly, strangled moans rising up his throat as your greedy cunt swallowed inch by inch of his cock. Though he’d just consumed every drop of your arousal only moments ago, he could feel it growing within you again, completely slathering his length with your slick. You took him so well, fit him so perfectly, spread yourself so wide for him, that he had to brace himself against the mattress, pausing his motions so that he could breathe in and out, get himself together enough so that he wouldn’t immediately come inside of you.

He almost felt like a virgin again, the way your clenching around him sent his soul flying out of his body. Had he not done this a million times before? But god, it was so different when it was with you. When it was you crying out his name, when it was you bumbling beneath him, when it was you begging him to go harder, to go deeper, to go faster, until he lost all sense of himself, until all he felt was you in his veins, you in his lungs, you in his soul.

He rocked into you with a growing intensity, hands burying themselves into the mattress for fear of crushing you if he perched them on your hips. He attempted to distract himself from the building tension in his groin by scattering kisses across your chest, but it only served to increase his overflowing attraction towards you as your breasts swayed with every thrust of his hips. You tasted so sweet, even if his lips had only grazed your skin for a mere second. And you smelled so enticing, even when your sweat had begun to intermingle with your natural scent. Every inch of you was perfect and every inch of you was his and it was all starting to become too much for him to handle. Too hot, too heavy, too heavenly.

And then your breath hitched and your fingers pierced the sheets and your orgasm followed, and suddenly he was right there beside you, pumping every ounce of his desire into your welcoming depths, heaving and groaning and still thrusting for everything he was worth. Even when he had nothing left to spill inside you, he kept grinding his hips forward, just to feel that intoxicating squeeze around his cock, so gratifying, so glorious, and all for him.

And when his exhaustion finally crashed into him, he collapsed beside you, still buried within you, and pulled you close to him, eager to feel your warmth, to hear your stuttering heartbeat.

He wanted to tell you that you were the best he’d ever had. That he’d never felt this way for anyone. That you had seeped into the very fabric of his being and that he’d never be the same again, that he’d never be anything but yours. But as you panted against his chest, smiling sleepily at him when you’d finally recovered, his heart skipped a thousand beats and his words suddenly fell short. He settled for a simple, “I love you. So so much.”

And when you beamed at him, he knew it was enough for now. It was enough to just hold you and love you. He could spend the rest of his life telling you everything else he wanted to say.

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