#because these idiots are almost too stupid to get to the lovers half of

[alygator77]

∘₊✧─moment of weakness─✧₊∘

✧ pairing. satoru gojo x fem! reader (also ft suguru geto)

✧ summary. after a rough night at the bar, you are drunk out of your mind and decided to ask your best friend satoru to come pick you up to take you home. but during the car ride the alcohol starts giving you courage, making you feel rather bold as you make a move on your best friend. did this ruin your friendship? was this a mistake, or does he reciprocate your feelings?

✧ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, smut, bit of angst, reader is drunk for first half, friends to lovers, mutual pining, somewhat public sex, car sex, groping while driving, dry humping, handjob teasing (m), fingering (f! receiving), satoru and reader in their 20s and both work at jujutsu high, both are powerful sorcerers, satoru takes care of you while you’re sick, satoru is also being an idiot, suguru makes a move on you, takes place before suguru leaves jujutsu high, will end with fluff

✧ words: 12.7k (yeeeeah idk what happened)

✧ a/n. this will be two parts because I'm currently sitting at 20k words, I have no clue how this happened... so I'm splitting it up. anyways, this is just a little side story that I have had brainrot for and had to get it out :)

✧ part two: moment of passion

“'toruuuu~” you call his name is a singsong childish voice while he pulls you into an embrace outside of the bar. Leaning into you, he can smell the liquor on you as you sway a little and give him an adorable pout. It’s not often he gets to see you like this.

“Take me home please, I'm bored here,” you sigh and nuzzle into the crook of his neck.        

Amused at this side of you, an affectionate hum leaves his lips as he tugs you even closer. You're being extra clingy today. Satoru can't help but snicker softly, his hold around your waist tightening. His hand slides lower to rest against the curve of your hip; slender, nimble fingers digging into your skin through the thin layer of your skirt.

A low amused chuckle falls from his lips as you snuggled into him. His face buries into your hair, his chin pressed softly against your tilted head. "You're such a needy little thing," he murmurs against your ear, his breath warm and almost ticklish. "And drunk off your damn ass, too. I’ll take you home."

Despite his words, his arms stay where they are. He was relishing in this clingy version of you, much more than the usual, sober you who tends to get irritated by him and push him away.

But who were you to push him away right now? Typically, you would do so in an attempt to distance yourself, to keep yourself in check. Afterall, Satoru is your best friend, but underneath the surface there has always been a part of you that craves more from him. Yet in this moment, you simply want to enjoy his gentle embrace.

With a soft exhale into Satoru's neck, you become enveloped in his warmth. It's a soothing contrast from the cool bite of the outside wind. A low groan escapes his lips as your warm breath tickles his neck, each puff sending a jolt of electricity running down his spine. He wishes he could stay like this forever.

It's always been this way— you're the only person who can make him feel things like this. Satoru and you have been friends for years. It started off as mere fellow jujutsu sorcerers, working together on missions, defeating curses together, but at one point it grew into something much more personal, with your late-night phone calls, lunch dates and movie marathons. That’s how it’s always been now, for as long as you can remember – you, Satoru and Suguru. And despite how much Satoru can get on your nerves sometimes, with his childish demeanor, emotional constipation and somewhat cocky attitude, he is always there for you.

You click your tongue before speaking, a cheeky smirk upon your lips. "Suguru challenged me to a drinking contest. Who am I to say no?"

Satoru's eyebrow quirks up at your response. Trust Geto to influence you into doing stupid things. Though, a subtle hint of irritation stirs within him when you mention his name. He begrudgingly recalls that as of recently, his best friend's gazes tends to linger a moment too long on your figure whenever interacting with you. Satoru’s admiration for you has grown into something he can’t quiet explain. He’s never felt this way about, well, anyone. Yet somehow, you manage to pull at him, thawing the icy heart he shields from everyone else. But he’s scared – if he is to act on those feelings, he’s certain it’ll only cause you both pain. He’s the strongest sorcerer after all, that easily makes you a target. So, he chooses to push his emotions down and continues to be what he’s always been for you, your best friend.

"Of course you're not. You're a glutton for punishment," he sighs, his fingers giving your hip a gentle squeeze. "You just had to prove yourself, huh? Why do I have a feeling you didn't even last a few shots? You're such a lightweight," he teases, his tone a mixture of amusement and affection.

His hand moves lower to hold the back of your thigh – a gasp escaping your lips, immediately followed by a soft giggle as he easily lifts you off your feet. “You're lucky I'm here to take you home, princess."

With a gentle sigh, you rest your head against his chest as he holds you in his embrace. The soft sound of his heartbeat soothes you as he begins to carry you towards his car. "You're the best 'toru. Always taking care of me."

A rare, fond smile tugs at the corners of his lips as you murmur those words, his heart skipping a beat inside his chest. Despite his usual nonchalant and cocky demeanor, Satoru has always had a soft spot for you. He may not admit it, of course, but secretly, he craves your praise.

"Of course I am." he muses, carrying you effortlessly towards his car. As he walks, his chin brushes gently against the top of your head. "Someone has to watch over you so you don't get into trouble. You're a magnet for mishaps." His tone playful, but laced with a hint of protectiveness. "Can't have someone else picking you up from the bar all drunk, now can I?"

Satoru opens the passenger door and carefully sets you inside, leaning over momentarily to click your seatbelt into place. He then walks around and enters the driver side. You lean your head back on the headrest, gently closing your eyes and exhaling with a slight annoyance as you take a moment to recall what happened moments before Satoru picked you up.

"Ugh. You won't believe it. Suguru was insisting I go home with him tonight.. and he was being real persistent," the alcohol is clearly loosening your tongue a bit more, and it doesn’t help that you never really gave yourself a moment to process what had happened.

Satoru freezes for a brief moment, his hand hovering over the ignition. His jaw clenches briefly at the mention of Geto again – did his closest friend actually make a move on you? It sets off a flicker of jealousy within him. Not that he'd explicitly show it, instead, a nonchalant expression maintains his features as he starts up the car. The engine hums to life, casting a low rumble in the otherwise silent vehicle.

"Is that so?" he replies, feigning nonchalance despite the subtle edge that underlines his tone. His gaze briefly flickers in your direction before focusing back on the road. "And why would he suddenly want to do that?"

You stare out at the road and lift an eyebrow, biting your lip as you hesitate – you’ve always had a slight suspicion that maybe Satoru also has feelings for you, he undeniably is affectionate.. but it’s hard for you to know for certain if that affection is romantic since he is always so hot and cold with you. One moment he’s worshiping you, the next he’s pushing you away. And deep down you know it’s probably for the best to remain the way you are – you’re content having him in your life, even if it’s just as your best friend, though a part of you still pines for him.

You wonder how he'll respond when you tell him about Suguru. Satoru’s always been protective over you. But you feel that as your best friend, he should know. That's why you called him. After everything that happened, he was the only person you thought of, the only person you wanted to see.

"Well, considering the way he tried to kiss me tonight, I'm assuming he didn't wanna talk."

Satoru's grip on the steering wheel tightens visibly at your revelation, his knuckles turning slightly paler as his hold on the leather material strains. A wave of bitterness washes over him, his eyes growing darker as he processes what you'd just said. He’s always buried this bitterness deep down when he’d watch you with other men, but Suguru? A twinge of betrayal stirs in him.

His gaze remains fixed on the road ahead, the car's headlights cutting through the night. He clears his throat slightly, his voice low and measured. "And how did you respond to that?"

Bringing your hand to your face, you shake your head in disbelief as if you’re trying to shoo the mere image out of your mind. You, Satoru and Suguru were an inseparable trio. The three of you have been the best of friends for… well what feels like practically forever. But lately, Suguru has been acting rather…odd. That’s why his advances tonight really caught you off guard. It just didn't feel...right.

"Well.. obviously, I pushed him away. I don’t know what came over him, but I was not having it. So, I immediately called you to come get me."

As you describe the encounter, a wave of relief washes over Satoru. It appeases him to know that your reaction wasn't one of reciprocation. His hold on the steering wheel eases a fraction, his shoulders losing some tension. He hums softly in acknowledgment, his gaze flickering in your direction for a brief moment.

"Good," he replies, a hint of protectiveness seeping into his tone. "You should always call me if someone tries to bother you, alright? I'll always come get you. I'd rather have you with me than with anyone else any day."

You giggle and turn your head to the side facing Satoru, the warmth of the alcohol giving a soft flush to your cheeks. You admire Satoru's profile while his eyes are peeled to the road. He is so beautiful in the moonlight, his snowy hair as smooth as silk, tousles hanging loose amongst his white lashes – the headlights illuminating his cerulean blue eyes, eyes you find yourself getting lost in.

Wait.. did he just imply that he wants me? You think.

Have you perhaps had too much to drink? Was that a slip up, or did you imagine it?

"You'd, rather have me with you?" You repeat his words back slowly, gazing at him.

Satoru's grip on the steering wheel loosens slightly, his thumb tracing a lazy pattern against its leather surface as he navigates the darkened roads. He glances in your direction, meeting your gaze for a moment before turning his attention back to the road – the way your eyes trace over his features, bathed by the passing street lights, nearly makes his breath catch in his throat.

The words he uttered moments before replay in his mind, and he realizes just how much they might have revealed. Usually, you’d simply dismiss his subtle advances, or he’d play them off with a witty comment, but tonight there was a look in your eyes, and the gentle seriousness in your voice... It caught him slightly off guard.

"Yeah. I would," he responds, his tone softer than usual.

A brief moment of silence fills the car, his words hanging in the air like a heavy promise. You shift your body to the side entirely, facing directly towards him as you lay back in your seat – your cheek pressed flush against the cool leather as you watch him intently. The intimacy in the car is palpable. You reach your hand out and rest it on Satoru's leg.

"'Toru..."

Satoru's breath hitches at the feeling of your hand on his leg. It's a simple gesture, a subtle touch, but it sends a jolt coursing through his body. The way you say his name in that moment, he’s heard you say it every day, but this was different. The warmth you suddenly inject into the small space, he can’t simply disregard it.

He steals a glance at you, his eyes darkening as he sees the intensity of your gaze. His muscles tense, both from the impact of your touch and the unexpected shift in the atmosphere.

"..yeah?" he replies, his voice a low, almost husky whisper.

You feel the liquor driving your body in a way you cannot stop. You begin to rub small intimate circles on his leg with your fingertips – brushing him ever so gently as you caress slowly up his thigh. There are words you’ve been eager to say but have locked up deep within you – suddenly the alcohol is causing your shackles to break, betraying your sense of restraint.

"I realized tonight.. I really wanted to see you. I only want you. That's why I called," your breath a whisper, your eyes bearing into him with deep longing.

Satoru can barely concentrate on the road anymore. Your gentle touch, the way your fingertips graze over him – it ignites a fire within him. His thighs flex under your caress, your gesture sending sparks of pleasure throughout him.

He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. Your words, the truth in your confession, hit him like a ton of bricks. He'd been wanting to hear those words for so long, and now that they were finally being voiced, it somehow seemed too good to be true.

He inhales sharply, the air caught in his lungs. "You’re drunk. Only me, huh?" he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse as his gaze momentarily flickers to meet yours. The raw honesty in your eyes stirs something primal within him.

The unpredictable movements of your fingertips begin to climb higher up his thigh, dangerously close to his groin. Your eyes do not waver, intently looking at him with a burning passion. A passion that you had buried deep inside yourself for many, many years.

It’s a passion you’ve been bottling up – you’ve been denying yourself your affection towards Satoru. Denying your love for him. And while there may have been subtle hints that he reciprocated your feelings, there was also an inexplicable fear of breaking the friendship you have built up over many years. That is why usually, you would just turn a blind eye, and so would he. You both accepted this is how it would always be.

But you crave him so much. You crave his touch.

"Only you, 'toru. I... need you."

A soft, almost strangled gasp escapes Satoru's lips as your fingers move higher, the sudden intensity of your touch driving him into madness. He tightens his grip on the wheel, his knuckles turning white from the sheer force. His eyes briefly flicker back to yours, your intense gaze not missed by him.

"Fuck,” he mutters, a hint of desperation in his voice. The need in your words, the way you express your want for him, it causes his stomach to flip in a way he’s never felt before. “What are you doing to me, love?”

Your lips curl into a smile as you hear his voice waver. It’s a side of him you have never had the privilege to see. An intense ache pulses in between your legs as you feel pure, wet, desire begin to cloud your judgement. Why was it you didn’t act more daring with Satoru before? You suddenly can’t remember, because right now all you know is that you just want to hear more of those sounds from him. Make him become undone from you.

Your fingertips brush gently, teasingly, against the slight bulge forming under the taut fabric of Satoru's pants.

"Do you want me to stop?" your voice a silky whisper.

Satoru's breath hitches, a shiver raking down his spine as your fingers brush against the growing arousal in his pants. You have never been this bold with him. It takes every ounce of his restraint not to shudder visibly. He clenches his jaw, his gaze fixated on the road ahead, desperately trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

"I... fuck," he manages to mutter, his gaze flicking between the road and you. "Don't you dare," he responds, his voice thick and raspy. "If you stop, I might just lose my damn mind."

You bite your lip and trace your fingers up to the tip of his now prominent bulge – feeling it twitch with a needy desire underneath your digits. A slight wet patch begins to form, seeping through his trousers. Satoru nearly jerks the wheel as shock waves of pleasure shoot up his spine. A sharp exhale escaping his lips, his body reacting viscerally to your touch. It takes every ounce of control for him not to lose it entirely. He can barely keep his eyes on the road, the urge to look at you, to devour you, is almost unbearable.

You click your tongue smugly, a self-satisfied smile forming across your lips. "Tsk tsk~ 'toru, eyes on the road."

Another strangled sound escapes from somewhere deep within him. The way you touch him, the way you tease him, ignites a fire that burns throughout his veins. His mind is swimming with pure need, his hands trembling against the wheel.

"You're... going to be the death of me," he manages to utter, his voice a strained growl. But he can't stop himself from glancing at you, his azure eyes almost black with desire. "You're such a damn tease. I want to pull over and... God." He trails off, his teeth clenched.

You press your palm down on his erection, feeling it grow underneath the pressure, and you enjoy quite literally having him in the palm of your hands. The street lights darting behind Satoru's longing stare, each flicker of light revealing beautiful glimpses of his desperation for you.

"Come on 'toru. Hurry up and take me home. We're almost there," you knowingly tease him with a subtle plea.

Satoru’s eyes flutter shut for a moment, his head falling back against the seat, as you press your palm against his aching length. Was he dreaming? He lets out a low groan, a mixture of need and frustration that he's unable to act on, yet. His eyes flash open and he briefly shakes his head as he quickly remembers he’s still infact driving.

He growls and presses down on the gas, the speed of the car gradually increasing as he fights to maintain his control. "You'd better be ready for what you're doing to me, love. You're playing with fire."

The road stretches ahead, the car's headlights illuminating the way, the distance seemingly insurmountable. You catch sight of familiar houses through the window behind Satoru, which immediately tells you that you are on the street of your apartment complex. Feeling that needy ache between your legs again, you crave more. Your hand trails up to the zipper of Satoru's pants, slowly pulling it down to expose his boxers, bulge pushing hard against the cloth as it is covered in a pool of precum – aching, and desperate for you.

"God, 'toru," you gasp at the sight. Even though it is hidden underneath the fabric, you can tell that it is undeniably, big.

The sound of the zipper being undone is like a siren's call in his ears, his breath catching in his chest. "Fuck," he mutters, his voice a gravelly rasp. "You're... unbelievable. You're... so damn impatient," he manages to bite out, his voice a wrecked, strangled whisper.

His thighs tremble with an uncontrollable shudder as you look at his arousal – he looks at your soft supple lips, and he wants so badly to shove his cock deep into your throat, the need to have you consuming him, gasping and moaning. It’s an imagine that he would often fantasize about.

"If you keep teasing me like this, I promise you—” as he trails off the car suddenly comes to a halt, the engine shutting off as Satoru pulls up to the curb outside your apartment building.

The moment the car stills, the only sound being the rhythmic pace of his ragged breaths, Satoru looks over at you, his eyes raking in the sight of your face — flushed and full of yearning. His gaze dark and intense, his pupils dilated with raw desire.

He watches as you unbuckle your seatbelt, the sound of the click echoes in the small space. And in that moment, it acts as if a switch flipped inside of him, unleashing something primal within. He quickly unbuckles his own seatbelt and turns towards you with haste.

His hand promptly reaches out, grasping your wrist, his grip firm and unrelenting. "Not so fast," he murmurs, his voice low and commanding. He reaches for your thighs, his fingers almost trembling with the need to touch you. His body moves with a desperate fervor and a harsh grip as he tugs you across the center console and onto his lap, his strong arms encircling you tightly. The air is thick with tension, the desire between you two palpably tangible.

"Come here," he whispers. His hand grasping the back of your neck and guiding you towards him. You feel your clothed clit press against his length and moan, pushing forward as you crash your lips against his own.

The moment your lips meet his, he practically growls, his own groan mingling with yours as you rock against his aching arousal. His hands immediately finding purchase against your thighs, his grip on you is almost bruising, a physical manifestation of his need for you.

The taste of you, the feel of your body on his lap, pushes him to the edge of what little control he had as his hands begin to wander freely, roaming possessively over your body, as if he needs to touch you everywhere at once – touching and massaging, as if trying to commit every curve and contour to memory.

His tongue dips into your mouth, exploring and claiming your tongue hungrily.  His hands moving beneath your shirt, his palms searing against your skin. “You.. don't know... how long... I've wanted you," he manages to mutter between kisses – his breath coming in as hot gasps as his body trembles with the sheer intensity of his desire.

A guttural moan rumbles from deep within his chest, his hips jerking involuntarily as you grind against him. He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down the length of your neck, his teeth nibbling and biting possessively along the way. A hand underneath your shirt cups your breast, gently flicking your nipple between his index finger and thumb, while his other hand roams below your skirt, greedily seeking to touch more of you as he circles around your wet sensitive bud through your already soaked underwear.

“Nngh… ‘toru,” you moan. The heat between you two is fierce, a burning tension that has been years in the making. He relishes the sound of his name escaping your lips in a desperate moan. He wants to hear it again, hear the sound of it on your lips, as he claims you entirely.

His hand on your clit moves hungrily, his touch exploring greedily as he aches to feel more of your arousal. “You're so wet for me," he breaths against your skin, his touch growing more insistent, more urgent. "I can feel how badly you want this. Need this."

He pulls the fabric of your panties to the side, exposing your pretty folds dripping in pools of nectar, and he begins to tease your entrance. His mouth moves from your neck to your ear, his lips grazing over the sensitive flesh of your earlobe. "Say my name again," he whispers, his voice a low, demanding growl.

“Please… ‘toru,” you plead. Satoru's eyes fix on your face, he drinks in the sight of you – flushed and filled with need, lips plump and pink. A sight he’s only ever dreamed of, and now he cannot believe that he actually has you like this on top of him. It’s so captivating it makes his heart pound against his ribcage like a caged beast.

He moans softly against your ear, a low growl rumbling in his throat as you say his name — just how he wanted. His own breath comes in ragged gasps as he continues to tease your entrance. "That's it," he murmurs, his voice roughened with need. "Beg for me. Beg me to give you what you need."

An inch of his finger presses against your entrance, his touch gentle yet insistent, as his thumb slowly circles your sensitive bud, teasing and tormenting you, his touch hungry and demanding.

"You're so unfair," you moan, pleading and desperate for more. "Please 'toru, please. Need you now."

"Good girl," he grins as he parts your lower lips and thrusts his digit in deep, feeling the warmth around your plush warm walls. Your body arches back in pleasure as you let out a loud and longing moan. The sound of your moan fills the air, a symphony of desire that only feeds the fire within him. "You're so pretty like this," he murmurs, his voice a ragged whisper. "So desperate. So needy."

He begins scraping inside you softly and slowly, curling his fingers up as your walls clamp down on him, needy for more. You feel the heat rising in the car. The air is thick with your combined breaths, the windows fogged up like a veil of desire.

“Fuck ‘toru.. so good… need more,” pleading to him between your moans, your essence dripping onto him while the squelching sound of your juices fill the air.

"You want more, huh?" he breathes, his voice a low, growl. "You want everything I have to give, love?" He continues to tease you, his finger and thumb working in unison as he adds a second digit, his movements insistent. "Well, I intend to give you just that."

Moaning his name in pleasure from the intrusion, you slowly rock your hips upon his hand. The other hand continues to caress your breast as his claims your nipple with soft stimulating circles. You feel yourself eagerly approaching a sweet release. "Nnngh, don't stop 'toru... m' close"

"So close," he echoes, his voice a low, gravelly growl. "I can feel you clenching around my fingers, love. You want it so badly, don't you?" He continues, his pace quickening, determined to send you over the edge.

Your hands take purchase on Satoru's hair, intertwining his white locks between your fingertips, you lightly pull at the tousles with a desperate need to grab something, anything, as you ride out the wave of overwhelming ecstasy that he gives you. Satoru leans into the touch of your hands as you grasp for him, his eyes never leaving your face. The sight of you, flushed and wanting, only feeds his desire to give you what you need, his cock throbbing underneath you.

His fingers continue their onslaught, increasing pace and delving deeper into your core, his own breath coming in ragged gasps. You rest your forehead gently against his own while the speed of your grinding increases, eagerly matching the movement of his thrusts. "That's it sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice a ragged whisper. "Just let go for me. I want to feel you come unraveled in my hands."

His motions become more insistent, his fingers finding the spots that make you shudder and gasp. "Nnngh.. Satoru.. m' cuming."

"Cum for me, love. I want to hear you scream my name," he breathes against your lips before he captures them in a heated kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth with fervor. His fingers move more urgently, his pace relentless, determined to send you over the edge – and he does just that as you come completely undone on top of him. Moaning his name into his mouth, you feel the sweet release drip down his hand, drenching him completely.

Fuck, he wanted to cum right then and there. Holding you close, his arm encircles your waist as he swallows your moans, his tongue claiming your mouth as he kisses you deeply and greedily. His fingers slow their pace, gently guiding you through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Pulling away from the kiss, he rests his forehead against yours while groaning in satisfaction. “That's my girl," he breathes, his voice a husky whisper. "You're so beautiful."

He slowly withdraws from within you, his hand glistening with your sweetness, and he brings his fingers to his mouth, slowly licking them clean while a low groan of pleasure escapes his lips. “Need to taste more of you.”

Every nerve in your body begins to sing with hungry desire, your head slightly spinning from the liquor while your skin tingles with the aftershocks of your pleasure. The sight of him, lazily licking his fingers clean, sends a new wave of heat through you, and Satoru’s words, so primal and possessive, only serve to stoke the flames of need within you. He shifts beneath you, his hands moving to your thighs now, gripping you tightly and pulling you down closer to his evident arousal, only separated against the thin fabric of his boxers.

"You'd better get me upstairs,” you urge, breathless from the heat of the moment and hungry for more – more of him. All of him. “I don’t think I can bear much more of this. Need you inside me," your breath tickles him as your teeth lightly nip at the sensitive skin across the length of his neck, moaning softly while you leave a trail of burning kisses across his flesh.

His body shudders under your touch as you graze him, and you feel his cock twitch against you. The feeling of your mouth on his skin is like a drug, driving his desire to a fever pitch. He leans back against the headrest, his head tilting back in pleasure, exposing more of his neck to your hungry lips.

"You're driving me crazy," he growls, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. "The things I want to do to you... you don't need to tell me twice."

But while he fumbles for the door handle, you grin against the crook of his neck as you begin to press yourself further on top of him, slowly grinding against his aching length. Ragged gasps escape his lips and you are pleased with how you have him writhing beneath you.

“Nngh.. fuck it,” he hisses. “I need you. Right. Now. Hold on tight."

And in a moment, you feel yourself pulled by a magnetizing force. You blink, and suddenly there you are, laying against Satoru exactly as you were, but now directly on top of your bed inside your apartment. He teleported you there, unable to wait a second longer.

You’ve experienced Satoru’s teleporting technique in the past, but there is one thing you both failed to take into consideration, you were drunk. The sudden force of being projected through space and time makes your stomach twist in discomfort, you bring your hand to your mouth in an attempt to fight off the nausea, and Satoru's eyes widen as he realizes the sudden shift in your demeanor, the color draining from your face as you quickly scramble off of him.

A pang of guilt stabs at his heart as he realizes what he's done – he had temporarily forgotten your slightly impaired state. Concern etched across his features, he watches you stumbling towards the bathroom, your balance betraying you. Satoru springs to action, catching you, his hands reaching out to steady you.

"Fuck," he curses under his breath, his hands gently encircling your waist as he leans you against him, guiding you carefully. "Shit, love, I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking. You alright?"

The room begins to spin as Satoru guides you towards the toilet. You slump down in front of it and begin retching, the nausea beating you in an already lost battle. Tears well up in your eyes from the burning pain that stings your throat.

Satoru's expression twists in concern as he kneels beside you on the floor, his hand gently rubbing soothing circles on your back. The sight of your tears makes his heart sink, and a mix of guilt and worry clouds his features.

"Shhh... it's okay, love," he reassures, his voice laced with remorse. "Shit, I'm sorry. I should've known better.. guess I didn’t think that one through. I really shouldn't have teleported you like that in your state."

You sit in front of the toilet for what feels like an eternity, and Satoru stays beside you the entire time, offering what little comfort he can while you let it all out. You feel your body overcome with exhaustion, aching from the tension of each agonizingly painful convulsion. As you let out the last of what your stomach has to offer, your breath becomes ragged, panting with fatigue. You curl up into a ball, resting your head on Satoru’s lap whilst closing your eyes in a desperate attempt to stop the overwhelming feeling that the room is spinning.

He gently brushes away the hair that sticks to your sweaty forehead, his touch tender and caring. "I'm sorry," he whispers softly. "I should have been more thoughtful. I shouldn't have let my impatience ruin things. I was just so caught up in the moment. You're in this state because of me."

You let out a long deep exhale while your eyes remained closed, the sound of his voice giving you slight comfort. “Satoru. I’m in this state because I thought having three shots of hard liquor and five mixed drinks was a good idea. This isn’t your fault.” Reaching for his hand, you intertwine your fingers with his own. “You weren’t the only one caught up in the moment..”

He squeezes your hand in return, his grip firm yet gentle. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, tracing small patterns on your skin.

"You know, for a woman who just emptied her stomach, you sure still know how to put things into perspective," he muses.

You scoff, a slight smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “What can I say, I’m a guru.”

"Yeah, sure. You’re a guru. Guru of making poor choices, maybe," he quips back at you with a grin. “You really thought five drinks was a good idea? You've always been a lightweight, but this time you really outdid yourself, princess," he teases.

“Shut up.” You laugh, your eyes still closed as you nuzzle your face more into the warmth of his lap.

He lifts his other hand to your face, his thumb brushing away a tear that lingered on your cheek. "I still feel guilty, though," he admits, his voice carrying a gentle tone. "I should have been more cautious, especially since I know how your tolerance is when you're drunk."

"Well hey, at least we’ve learned our lesson, right? No more teleporting drunk girls."

He chuckles and lets out a small sigh, his eyes tracing the contour of your face. "You've always been a handful when you're drunk, always tending to do things recklessly when alcohols involved. Like drinking more than you should, or getting your hand stuck in the Pringles can. Or…" he trails off, briefly recalling your shared passion in the car.

Your tired eyes flutter open, revealing a lazy smile as you respond with a playful glint. "Oh come on, getting my hand stuck in a Pringles can was a one-time thing. And it was your fault."

He looks down at you with a mixture of concern and affection. Was this all just another one of your drunk antics? He desperately wanted to know your feelings, but now wasn’t the time. You needed rest, and it’s probably best if you’re both level headed for that conversation.

"You’re gonna drink some water and brush your teeth, alright? Then, we'll get you into bed," his voice is gentle yet firm.

You nod weakly in agreement, appreciating his care and concern in that moment. The events of the night and the nausea had drained any energy you had left. Summoning the little strength that you had to pull yourself up from the floor, Satoru's supportive presence is there to stabilize you. You allow him to help you to your feet, steadying yourself against him as the room continues to spin.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good plan," you mumble softly. "I'm so tired.”

Satoru's touch is gentle and attentive as he guides you through a routine of cleaning up - supporting you to the sink to brush your teeth, helping you brush your hair and gently drying your face with a clean towel.

“Thank you, ‘toru." You mumble softly, and he smiles warmly in response. His arms lift you from the bathroom, carrying you like a delicate treasure through the hallway to your bedroom. He slowly lowers you onto the soft bed sheets with a feather-light touch and brings you a glass of water.

Satoru tenderly strips you of your evening clothes, replacing them with the comfort of your satin pajamas. The fabric is soft and soothing against your weary body and his fingers delicately guide each limb as he moves. He pulls the blankets over you, tucking you in like a cocoon. You shiver slightly as the cool sheets touch your skin, but as you sink into the softness of your bed, the exhaustion seeps into your bones, and you can feel your eyelids growing heavy.

Kneeling beside the bed, Satoru gently brushes a strand of hair away from your forehead, searching your face with a mixture of concern and affection. "Do you need anything else?" he asks, his voice a low and soothing murmur.

With a soft smile of contentment on your face, you reach a drowsy hand over to him and grab onto the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him. "Stay with me," you murmur, the words barely more than a tired whisper.

He chuckles softly, endeared by your drowsy voice and the way you hold onto him. Without another word, he carefully maneuvers himself onto the bed, climbing in beside you. Once he's settled in, he pulls you closer to him, wrapping his arms tightly around your body.

He reaches forward to switch off your bedside lamp, plunging the room into a soothing darkness. He buries his face into your hair, inhaling your familiar scent as he settles into the comfort of holding you. "I'm here," he whispers softly, his voice a soothing rumble against your ear. "Not going anywhere, love."

You feel warm – this is everything you’ve always wanted. But as you battle falling out of consciousness, you cannot stop your mind from racing. The memories of Satoru being hot and cold with his affection of you in the past – you desperately hope your feelings reached him properly. After all this, he wouldn’t push you away again… right?

“Don’t leave…” your words a soft murmur in the quiet room, revealing the vulnerability and fear lurking in the depths of your heart.

Satoru's expression turns somber as he considers your plea, his arms instinctively tightening their embrace around you. "I'm not going anywhere." he repeats, his voice soft in your ear. He feels the weight of your body relax against him as you slowly drift off to sleep.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

As you slowly slip into unconsciousness, Satoru remains wide awake, his thoughts swirling like a tempest in his mind. The memory of your shared passion weighs heavy on him, it was a moment where you were drunk while he was sound in mind – he can't shake the feeling that he was too selfish, too impulsive. He feels torn between the desire to submit to his love for you and the knowledge that it may put you in danger. Guilt gnaws at his heart.

∘₊✧

A slight beam of sun filters in through the curtains of your apartment, casting rays upon your face. Your eyes flutter open and you immediately feel an intense pang upon your temple, suddenly remembering just how much you drank last night.

You exhale in discomfort, rolling to the side to see yourself greeted with an empty bed… the sheets beside you are cool to the touch, evidence of Satoru's absence. Suddenly, memories of last night begin to flood your mind. You groan, covering your face with your arm. You acted recklessly… but you don’t regret it. You’ve desperately wanted Satoru for so long, and now you really didn’t want to lose him. Does he think last night was a mistake?

Your phone suddenly pings with a text notification. You fumble to reach for it on your nightstand, wincing as the brightness of the screen assaults your sensitive eyes. As you read the words in the message your heart jumps – can we talk about last night?

Fluttering your eyes briefly, you rub them sleepily in an attempt to steady your vision. You prop yourself up on your bed and take another good look at the message.

Suguru Geto: Can we talk about last night?

The phone feels heavy in your hand as you consider how to respond. You groan and plop back down into the mattress face first, the memories of Suguru's attempted kiss at the bar last night adding another layer of complication to your already throbbing headache.

You know you’ll need to address Suguru, but first you needed to get some food and medicine in you. After taking some Tylenol and chugging three glasses of water to help with the aftermath of your drunken night, you make a cup of coffee and fix yourself a slice of toast and a banana, hoping it'll quell the empty feeling in your stomach. You take a seat at the table, slowly nibbling on the food and sipping the coffee, feeling the caffeine start to help clear your still groggy state.

Once you've had your small makeshift breakfast, you pick up your phone again, steeling yourself to reply to Suguru's message. You muster the courage and quickly type –

Me: Yeah, we can talk.

You continue to take another sip of your coffee, and are surprised to see the phone chime almost immediately after you sent your message.

Suguru Geto: Okay. Meet you later tonight? After work?

Me: Sure.

∘₊✧

As you enter through the doors of Jujutsu High, Shoko's voice cuts through the air, making you wince as your lingering headache throbs.

“You look like shit,” she bluntly remarks as she observes you shuffle heavily on the floor, black sunglasses shield your gaze from the intense light that searches for you through the windows of the hallway.

“Gee, thanks Sho,” you mumble sarcastically.

She raises an eyebrow before continuing, her voice laced with a hint of suspicion. “By the time I got to the bar, you were already gone. You left earlier than I expected, we didn’t even get to do karaoke. What happened last night?”

“Honestly?” you say, trying to find the words. “I’m not even too sure myself what happened last night. What did Suguru tell you?”

Shoko studies your face closely, her eyes narrowing as she tries to make out your expression behind your dark sunglasses. She takes a moment to assess your state, her expression a mixture of concern and subtle curiosity.

"He didn't say much," she says slowly. "Just that you had a good time at the bar and then you randomly left early. But I could tell something was bothering him. He seemed pretty… distracted." She pauses for a moment, tilting her head slightly. "He also mentioned that you left with Gojo," she adds.

“Yeah… I was feeling sick so he took me home,” you reply slowly, trying not to give too much away. You really wanted to talk to Satoru himself before mentioning anything about last night to anyone else.

Shoko furrows her brow at your response, sensing that there's more to the story than what you're letting on. But she doesn't press further, sensing your reluctance to say more.

“Hey, speaking of… where is Satoru?” you ask while briefly glancing through the halls. “Usually he’s the first one here, ready to pester me.”

"Gojo's been pretty mysterious today. He got here earlier this morning, but he was in a weird mood. He didn't say a word to anyone and just headed straight to his office. He seemed preoccupied with something."

“I see...” you say, slight concern filtered in your voice. You really wanted to talk to Satoru, but does he want space? He left while you were sleeping last night, hasn’t texted you, and didn’t greet you like he usually does. Your heart feels a bit heavy with concern – you really hope that your actions didn’t ruin things between you two. How would you even face him? You shake your head, trying to push away the lingering thoughts. Time to focus on the task at hand – you had to get through work, then later you’d address Suguru.

Shoko eyes you closely, sensing the hint of worry in your voice. She hesitates for a moment before speaking, her voice a gentle yet firm reassurance. "Don't worry about it, I'm sure he's just busy. You know how he is, being the strongest and all."

You nod, trying to brush off the nagging feeling that something was off with Satoru. Maybe he really was just busy. "Yeah, you're right," you say, forcing a smile. “Anyways I gotta head to my mission. See you around Sho.”

"See you later. Be careful on your mission, okay?" With a final wave, she turns to head towards her own work. You take a deep breath and trek forward as you mentally prepare yourself for your assignment. You can’t afford to be distracted right now.

∘₊✧

While you’re nowhere near as strong as Satoru or Suguru, you are by no means a weak sorcerer. You hold the rank of Grade A, slowly making a name for yourself in the Jujutsu world. Typically, you can handle missions on your own, it’s really not often that you’re paired up with anyone for your assignments, but today you’ve been paired up with your fellow sorcerer, Nanami Kento, and thank god you are because the bothersome hangover almost makes you lose sight of a dreadful curse lurking in the shadows. It lunges directly at you – Nanami saves you with a black flash and eliminates the curse effortlessly.

Nanami shoots you a disapproving glance. "You need to pay attention," he says gruffly, his eyes narrowing at your distracted state. "You could've avoided that attack if you weren't so lost in thought."

You nod with a subtle grimace, and of course Nanami, as observant as ever, notices your struggle. "Are you alright, y/n?" he asks, his eyes still firm but there is concern in his voice.

“Yeah… thanks Nanami. Guess I’m just a little out of it today. Can you finish up here? I’ll go head back to campus and report to Yaga.”

Nanami studies you for a moment, his gaze assessing your tired appearance before nodding in understanding. "Alright. Be careful on your way back."

You head back towards Jujutsu High, the walk is peaceful, the sun slowly meeting the horizon. You look down at your phone, it reads 4:47pm. Your empty mailbox gnaws at you, it’s clear evidence that Satoru still hasn’t reached out to you. Agitated, you hastily tap your fingers on the keyboard, and hit send –

Me: Hey. Thanks for taking care of me last night.

After the message is sent, you stare at your phone, your fingers tapping the screen anxiously, waiting for a reply – a blue bubble, anything. But the minutes tick by and there’s nothing. The empty screen mocks you, the silence deafening, your heart sinks further.

Were you overthinking things? A pang of disappointment chews at you as the screen remains stubbornly empty. You brush your phone into your pocket and continue to walk towards the school. After a few silent minutes, although it felt like an eternity, you feel the buzz in your pocket. Quickly, you pick it up and look down to see a simple reply.

Satoru Gojo: Anytime.

A scoff escapes your lips, frustration and worry tug at the corners of your mind. The one worded message just as unbearable as his radio silence. Shaking your head, you stuff your phone back into your pocket as you walk through the entrance of Jujutsu High once again. Is this day over yet? Oh yeah, you almost forgot, you still have to talk to Suguru. Your misfortune never ends.

∘₊✧

“I see, so you and Nanami successfully defeated the curse in Ginza.” Principal Yaga speaks to you while he shuffles through the papers on his desk, his eyes not looking up at you while you give him your mission report.

“Great work y/n. You can head home for today,” But as you’re about to step out the door, Yaga promptly stops you with a sudden request.

"Actually, y/n. One more thing.”

“Yes sir?”

“Before you leave, could you bring some of these documents to Gojo for me? He was supposed to handle them yesterday, but you know how he is…" he gestures to the mound of documents on his desk with a disheveled sigh. "This is urgent – the higher-ups are getting impatient."

Satoru. The thought of seeing him right now makes you anxious, however, you know that you can't refuse Yaga's request. What excuse could you possibly give Yaga anyways? You nod, feigning nonchalance while taking the pile of papers from him. "Alright," you reply, the weight of the thin parchment feeling heavy in your hands. "I'll make sure he takes care of them."

As you gather the courage to approach Satoru's office, you can hear your heart pounding in your own ears. You halt directly in front of the door and with a deep breath, you knock firmly on it. His muffled voice instructs you to enter.

The office is dimly lit, the setting sun casting shadows across the room. He sits behind his desk and his eyes flicker up to you, but his expression remains enigmatic. Those piercing azure pools seem to stare straight through you, and you can immediately see they are somewhat detached. He leans back in his chair, his gaze fixated on you as he assesses your presence. The air between you both is thick with tension.

"Hey," he says simply, breaking the silence that hangs heavy in the room, his usual playful demeanor replaced with a more reserved one, causing a pang of trepidation to shoot through you.

“Hey,” you utter. “Yaga sent me to give you these documents,” you set them down on the desk in front of him amongst more stacks of papers. “He says it’s really important you address it.”

Satoru glances idly down to the papers before looking back up at you, his expression still unreadable. His usual smirk is nowhere to be seen; it is instead replaced by a hard, serious look that leaves you feeling unsettled.

“Thanks,” he replies curtly. He picks up the stack of papers and flips through them, his eyes skim over the words without a hint of emotion.

“So… um,” you begin, unsure what it is you want to say but desperate to see him feel something, anything, that will give you some sense of relief from the growing knot in your stomach. “Have a busy day?”

Satoru looks up from the stack of papers, his gaze locking onto yours, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. He lets out a dry chuckle, a shadow of his usual playful self. "Busy?" he repeats, with a hint of annoyance. "Yeah, I guess you could call it that. Meeting after meeting, curses left and right, and the higher-ups breathing down my neck as usual." He sighs deeply, running a hand through his messy white hair.

You know that everything about him is telling you to leave him alone, but your heart aches seeing this side of him. You feel a slight sense of guilt knowing that you probably caused more trouble for him last night, considering how late he was up taking care of you. Satoru always has so much on his plate, being the strongest sorcerer and all. He’s always sacrificing his own wants and needs for everyone else.

You yearn to break his icy front. He’s always putting on a façade, never really great about talking about his emotions, opting to brush them aside with feigned aloofness. Biting your cheek, you finally let the words come out.

“Yeah… well thank you again for taking care of me last night. Sorry I caused you trouble.”

His eyes narrow slightly at your mention of last night, his expression faltering momentarily before he quickly regains his composure. That brief lapse was enough to tell you that he didn’t want you to bring it up. He sets down the stack of papers and leans back in his chair, his arms crossing his chest.

“It’s fine,” he says, waving off your thanks. “You’re just a goddamn pain in the ass when you’re drunk.” There’s a subtle smirk on his face, but it’s lacking his usual teasing tone. “Wasn’t the first time,” he mutters as his gaze returns to the stack of papers in front of him. “Though you definitely were more clingy than usual.”

“Satoru.. about that…”

“—let’s just forget about it, okay?” he interjects, his body tense, his tone icy and his eyes peeled on the papers in front of him. “It meant nothing. You were drunk and horny, I just happened to be within reach.”

Your heart drops as a wave of emotions crash through you. You felt many things in that moment. Hurt. Sad. Angry. Very angry. You were trying so hard to be mature about this but his dismissive attitude was shattering what little composure you had. He wasn’t even giving you a moment to speak. Quite frankly, you had enough.

“Are you serious right now?” your voice laced with an evident sting.  

Satoru’s eyebrow raises at your sharp tone. Despite his cold demeanor, the slightest hint of surprise flickered across his features as you retorted. His gaze lifts from the papers in front of him to meet your hurt and fuming expression.

"I’m serious," he snaps back coldly. "It was a drunken mistake. Nothing more. It didn’t mean anything." He pauses, watching you intently, waiting for your response, but you are momentarily speechless as you clench your fist in frustration.

“What?” he continues, his tone sharp. “You don’t like it when I speak the truth? Because that’s what it was. It was just a drunk accident.”

“Oh, so you’re speaking for me now?” you quip. “Who are you to say what it meant to me. I was the only one drunk last night, not you.” You feel your eyes getting wet as you fight back the tears that you desperately try to stop from falling, a lump in your throat from the pain of holding them back. “So, tell me Satoru, is that what it was for you?”

“What do you want me to say? That it meant something? That I’ve secretly been pining for you all this time?” He chuckles bitterly, his gaze hard as he looks up at you. "Sorry, sweetheart. It wasn’t anything more than what it was. If you want a friend to sleep with, why don’t you crawl over to Suguru. I’m sure he’d be happy to please you."

The second the words leave his lips he instantly regrets them. His eyes widen slightly as he realizes the weight of his hurtful words, the stoic front he was maintaining crumbles as he watches a teardrop trickle down your smooth cheek, its salty wetness carving a path of sorrow. He knew that he took it too far. He was trying to push you away, to protect you from himself, protect you from his true feelings.

He closes his eyes for a brief moment, his jaw clenching as he tries to keep his own emotions in check. He hates himself for making you feel this way… but his own fears, his own insecurities, have gotten the better of him. When he opens his eyes again, he looks at you apologetically.

"I... I didn’t..." he attempts to backtrack. But before he can find the right words to say, the sound of your choked, heartbroken gasp makes him freeze.

“You have some real nerve, Gojo.” He can see the hurt, anger, and frustration in your expression, the tears were really coming out now. You felt shattered, feeling as if last night meant nothing to him – as if you meant nothing to him.

You turn your back to him as you shift towards the door, and angling your head to the side, you speak your final peace before ultimately taking your leave. “You know what? At least Suguru is vulnerable with me about his feelings. I’m done. If you won’t even listen to what I have to say, what’s the point. Guess I’ll save my breath.”

The sound of your trembling voice pierces through his chest like a knife, pained and frustrated. He clenches his jaw, fighting back his own emotions and the growing guilt that threatens to overwhelm him.

As he watches you leave, the door swings shut behind you. He’s left alone with the silence of his office suffocating him. Every fiber of him screams to go to you, to apologize, to explain himself, but he simply can’t move and the words he wants to say feel stuck in his throat.

“Damn it,” he mutters under his breath. He rests his arms on his desk and buries his face into his hands, his mind replaying the scene over and over again. He knows he’s royally fucked up – the damage is done.

∘₊✧

The sound of your footsteps echo in the campus hallways as you wipe the streaming tears off your face. Oh god, please don’t let anyone see you like this right now. You really can’t bear it. Right now, all you want is to just crawl into bed and cry. Your best friend’s words are ringing in your mind, each retelling making the tears fall harder. You felt so stupid. So embarrassed.

You push through what feels like a never-ending hallway until finally, stepping outside, you are met with Suguru leaned up against the rail of the stairway, waiting for you. He looks relaxed as always, eyes peering out through the Jujutsu campus, a cigarette between his fingers, the smoke gently curling in the air around him.

When he looks up, the sight of your tear-stained face makes him straighten up immediately. Your expression is one of raw emotional pain. Without a second thought, he quickly stubs out his cigarette and pushes himself off the railing, walking directly towards you, his voice laced with worry.

“Hey,” he says gently. “Are you alright? What happened?”

You don’t know what else to do, desperate for comfort, you run into Suguru’s arms, tears streaming down your face as you sob into his shirt. As you collapse into his arms, the force of your body against him is almost enough to knock him off balance, but he steadies himself, wrapping his arms around you as he holds you tightly against his chest. He's silent for a moment, just letting you cry, his hand gently rubbing soothing circles on your back.

After some time, he speaks, his voice gentle and filled with concern. "Y/n... what happened?"

You exhale sharply, your breath quivering as it escapes your mouth. Sniffling, you dry your eyes and shake your head. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. Please.. can we just go?”

Suguru looks down at you, his heart clenching at the sight of your broken expression. He nods silently, his hand still rubbing gentle circles on your back. "Yeah," he replies softly. "Let's get out of here."

He gently releases you from his embrace, keeping one arm wrapped around your shoulders as he guides you away from Jujutsu High.

∘₊✧

The car ride with Suguru is quiet. For your planned talk tonight, he had arranged for reservations at a charming little restaurant in a peaceful village. He briefly mentioned how he recently discovered it on an assignment he was sent on. Truth be told, you feel a bit guilty, him doing all this. After all, he went through all this trouble, and it appears that he’s willing to put his best effort forward to have a real, mature conversation with you about how he tried to kiss you last night. Suguru means so much to you, but as much as you hate to admit it, you simply can’t reciprocate his feelings, and you know that tonight will likely lead to some sort of heartache. You’ve been dreading this conversation; likely due to fear you’ve been bottling up – part of you hopes that your friendship doesn’t falter because of this. You’ve already lost one best friend today… frankly you don’t think you can handle losing another.

Suguru steals glances at you every so often as he drives through the village. He can sense your quiet demeanor and the lingering traces of sadness in your face. It’s clear that you’re still upset about something, but he doesn’t dare to pry, allowing you to have some space to collect your thoughts.

When he pulls up in front of the restaurant, he turns off the ignition and looks at you. "We’re here," he says softly, his voice gentle and tinged with concern.

As you enter the restaurant, the quaint atmosphere immediately begins to soothe your weary soul. The gentle music playing, the soft hue, and the smell of delicious food wafting through the air work together to create a warm and comforting environment.

Suguru leads you to a cozy booth in a somewhat secluded corner of the restaurant and slides in opposite of you.

His eyes study you silently. He watches as your gaze roams around the room, taking in the ambiance of the restaurant, before finally you focus on him. “The food here is pretty good,” he comments, attempting to break the ice between you. “I hope you like it.”

“Mmm,” you hum, nodding. “It smells amazing. I’m really hungry. I barely ate this morning. My stomach was turning all day from last night.”

Suguru winces slightly as memories of last night resurface in his mind. "Yeah… about last night," his voice tentative. "We should probably talk about that."

“Right,” you lock eyes with him as let out a sigh. Might as well get straight to it. “Would you like to go first?”

"Alright…look," he begins, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. "I know things got a little out of hand last night. Firstly, I want to apologize for that. I didn’t mean to cross any boundaries with you…" he pauses momentarily, looking down at the table, taking a moment to steady himself before he looks back up at you.

"And secondly. I... I need to be honest with you. I love you. Like, romantically. I think you're beautiful, smart, kind. And honestly...I'm tired of hiding it. I’ve felt this way for a long time. And last night, it just felt like the right moment to tell you...to show you."

“I see…” you say, the weight of his confession is heavy. You can’t help but feel terrible. Here he was, taking accountability for his actions and being completely open with you... but you can’t lie to him about your feelings. And you didn’t want to string him along, it wouldn’t be right.

“Suguru, you’ve been one of my closest friends for a long time. I do love you, just not in the same way I think you feel about me… I’m sorry. I hope you understand.”

Suguru’s expression softens as he listens to your words, a mixture of acceptance and disappointment washing over him.

"Yeah... I kind of thought that might be your answer, " he admits, his voice soft. "I just..." he pauses, running a hand through his hair, "I guess I needed to tell you, to try and see if maybe..."

He trails off, unable to finish the sentence. The silent 'maybe you would feel the same' hangs between you two.

You reach for his hand across the table and look into his eyes. “I appreciate you telling me… and apology accepted. Sometimes people can get carried away when they’re drunk… call it, the heat of the moment,” you give him a soft smile. The words you speak pull at your heart a bit, as they are not only directed to him… but to yourself and your own actions.

"Yeah..." he responds quietly. "Heat of the moment." He laces his fingers through yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze before letting go.

The waiter interrupts as he approaches you both, asking if you are ready to order. Both Suguru and you attempt to shake off the lingering awkward atmosphere.

After the waiter leaves, Suguru looks back up at you suddenly with concern, his gaze searching your features. "But...does this change things? Does it change our friendship?"

“That’s the question I should be asking you. I’m okay with putting this behind us but you need to consider if you’re comfortable being around me Suguru… I’d really hate to cause you more heartache.”

He regards you for a moment, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Hey," he says gently, "You know me. I'm not one to let heartbreak keep me down."

There's a pause as he gathers his thoughts, his expression growing more serious. "As for being around you...I’d rather that not change. You're one of my best friends. I think we've been through too much together to let something like this come between us."

“You’re right,” you smile. “Our friendship can get us through this. Nothing will get between it.”

The waiter brings your food and you both dive into your plates eagerly. The atmosphere between you two slowly starts to feel more comfortable as you enjoy your meals, the food helping to lift your spirits. Suguru can see the color slowly returning to your face as you eat, the tension in your shoulders slowly relaxing. He glances at you every so often, studying your expression, and he can't help but notice the slight dark circles under your eyes, a clear sign of the stress and lack of sleep you've been experiencing lately.

“You’ve been looking pretty tired as of late,” he notes. “How was work today?”

You exhale, where to begin? While you’d like to confide in Suguru about Satoru, you want to be considerate of his feelings. You know you’ll have to tell him eventually, but that conversation would likely sting too much right now, so maybe it’s best to leave Satoru out for the time being.

“This pain in the ass hangover didn’t do me any favors,” you chuckle. “I’m a real idiot for taking you up on that drinking challenge.”

Suguru’s lips curl into a grin and he snickers, “Hey, I tried to warn you. When will you learn your lesson?”

“I know, I know. I’m just lucky that Nanami was assigned as my mission partner today, or I likely wouldn’t be sitting here with you. You should’ve seen the nasty curse that almost got me.”

The sound of his cutlery suddenly becomes quiet, you feel the atmosphere change instantly. You look up to see his face, hauntingly zoned out, a burning rage simmering under him. His usual calm expression hardens, his knuckles turning white as he grips his fork tightly.

"What... what do you mean a curse almost got you?" he finally asks, his voice strained as his words carry an eerie bite.

“It’s nothing really,” you say nonchalantly, a failed attempt to play it off.

"Right," he says sarcastically, a bitter edge to his voice. "It's nothing to worry about. Just another near-death experience. Just another day of risking our lives for people who don't even appreciate it. Just another day of putting ourselves on the line for those who would never do the same for us."

You halt the movement of your fork, frozen momentarily as you’re caught off guard from his sudden shift in attitude. “Suguru, it’s okay. Nanami saved me—”

“And what if Nanami wasn’t there,” he cuts you off, slamming his hands on the table, his volume rising. “It’s not fair that we have to risk ourselves for these damn non-sorcerers … these monkeys.”

There is a loud silence between you as his furrowed stare pierces into you. You’re left speechless, unsure what to say to him. He grips your hand and the violet hue in his iris’ appear to be void of everything. You don’t even recognize him.  

"They don't understand the sacrifices we make y/n," his words cold. "Yet we're the ones who bear the burden. We're the ones who have to risk our lives everyday just to keep them safe, and for what?”

You begin to feel a bit nervous as people’s wandering eyes peer to the scene unfolding amongst you both – murmurs echo throughout the restaurant. Suddenly, your waiter walks over, gripping his notepad under a tense grip in support. “Is everything oka—”

Before the waiter finishes his sentence, you watch blood splatter across Suguru’s cheek. You blink – did your eyes deceive you? Suguru just killed an innocent civilian. The waiter, who moments ago was speaking to you both, now lays motionless on the ground, blood pooling around his lifeless body. There is no denying it… right?

The once peaceful restaurant erupts into chaos, horrified gasps and screams filling the air as all eyes turn to look at Suguru, who remains perfectly calm. Civilians around you are running in panic as they try to get away from the scene of the crime.

Suguru simply sits there, his expression blank. There is no remorse in his eyes – only a cold emptiness. He raises a hand, wiping the blood from his cheek with his thumb, before finally speaking. "That was annoying... I despise monkeys."

Suguru's swift and violent act shocks you to the core, causing your heart to race with fear and disbelief. “Suguru…” you manage to finally mutter, your voice catching in your throat from fright.

He looks at you, his expression still hauntingly neutral, as if all he simply did was swat a fly away. "Yeah? What is it?"

“What… what did you just do?” you ask slowly, your voice quivering in fear.

Suguru regards you for a moment, his gaze calculating as he takes in your trembling voice and fearful expression. "I merely got rid of an annoyance," he replies coolly, his voice emotionless. "A mosquito that wouldn't leave me alone. Nothing more."

Reaching for his napkin, he dabs it against his cheek with a look of disgust as he cleans off the lingering remnants of blood left from the waiter. Was this the same person you were casually talking to moments ago? The same person who held you in his arms while you cried? No. Who is this person? Every fiber of your being is telling you to run, but you cannot move, frozen in fear.

“You know y/n. My last mission got me thinking.” He casually leans back in his seat, crossing his arms as he looks at you. “Wouldn’t it be better to live in a world of just sorcerers? If these monkeys didn’t exist, curses wouldn’t be born. We could finally be free.”

You watch him intently as he begins to lift himself from his seat. A fierce cursed spirit begins to manifest behind him whilst emitting blue flames. The blaze dances around him, a sinister aura. “I bet we could make this dream a reality. You... me and Satoru.”

The air around you feels tense and thick with the shock of Suguru's statement. His words hang there ominously, the coldness in his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

"That's a dangerous thing to say, Suguru," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "A very dangerous thing..."

"Imagine it," he continues, approaching closer to you. "A world where we are the only ones to walk amongst the living. No more weak, worthless monkeys to hold us back. Just the strong. Just us."

"And Satoru?... You think he would agree with you?" you rasp as Suguru stops in front of you, his gaze never leaving your face as he answers your question.

"Satoru..." he muses, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "He'll understand. It may take a bit of convincing, but he'll listen. He always does. He’s the most important piece – we need the strongest."

He reaches out, his hand gently caressing your cheek, his touch almost tender compared to his cold words. “He’ll come. Especially if you join. After all, he’s always been unable to say no to you.”

Your eyes expand as the realization hits you. Was Suguru using you as a tool? Your stomach spins. You’re not sure what to believe anymore – was his confession even real? What happened to this man standing in front of you, the man you once considered to be one of your dearest friends.

“Suguru…” you say, tears welling in your eyes. “You can’t do this.”

“Now y/n, don’t say that,” he muses, his voice eerily tantalizing. “After all, you’re my best friend. What was it you said earlier? Our friendship can get through this. Nothing will get between it.”

There's a hint of mockery in Suguru's tone as he repeats your words back to you. It's almost as if he's taunting you. He leans in closer, his hand moving from your cheek to your chin, tilting your face up to look at him more fully. His expression is cold and calculating, like a predator sizing up his prey.

"See? You said it yourself. Our friendship is unbreakable. That means you'll stand by me, no matter what. That means you'll listen, when I tell you something, right?"

You swallow hard and speak slowly, aware that the next words you utter will ultimately decide your fate. “I can’t, Suguru.”

“Can't?" Suguru repeats, his voice dropping to a cold whisper. He leans in closer, his eyes narrowing as he looks at you. "You can't? Or you won't?"

Your eyes flutter shut as you feel his breath dance on your face. You open them and stare deeply into the eyes you once thought were warm and filled with love. “I won’t kill innocent people Suguru.”

Suguru's face suddenly twists into a scowl, his voice is dangerously soft. “After everything we’ve been through, after I’ve trusted you with my deepest secrets, my most intimate thoughts...and you still say no?” His hand drops from your face as he takes a step back. The coldness in his gaze becomes more intense as his eyes narrow. “It’s a shame really. I always cared for you. How…disappointing.”

Chaos erupts as the cursed spirit behind Suguru lets out a screeching roar. The blue flame expands, engulfing the village, casting a hell-bent inferno over everything. The air is thick with smoke and the acrid stench of burning wood. Screams and cries echo in the air as people run in panic – they search for any salvation as they desperately attempt to flee the hungry flames devouring them.

You are locked in a vicious battle with Suguru, your bodies moving like blurs amidst the carnage and destruction around you. The once peaceful village becomes decimated before you. Buildings are reduced to nothing more than smoldering ruins, the putrid stench of death.

Suguru shows no mercy, his strength and power overwhelming. But despite his ruthless force, he intentionally chooses to leave you alive, though badly beaten and injured. As the smoke and flames of the battle clear, you find yourself lying on the ground, barely conscious. You open your eyes to see Suguru standing over you, his expression cold and void.

"I truly wish it hadn't come to this," he mutters to himself. “If you change your mind… come find me.”

Your vision begins to falter, and you can barely make out the figure walking away from you, but you know without a doubt it’s Suguru. He leaves you there, alone and helpless.

Fumbling for your phone with what little strength you have left, you try multiple times to unlock it, hitting the incorrect digits over and over again while desperately trying to remain conscious. You finally get past your home screen, and you click through your contacts. There is only one person who comes to your mind – one person for you to reach out to. As you tap Satoru’s name, you use every last bit of energy you have to send him your current location – nothing else.

The world around you goes dark, and you slip into unconsciousness.

✧ thanks for reading! part two will have fluff :') read part two here.

taglist: @haychhans @mysticnozel @luvrsbian @xxxxwhatsername @imonhereforareasonsadly @kalulakunundrum @ch3rryistheg @skyahri @genshingeeksworld @seilahtitania32 @strychnynegirl @kazbrkker @moneyy-21 @tifa1991

[yndrgrl]

for some reason, your enemy, yandere! katsuki bakugo, is oddly possessive over you

lowkey yandere! reader. smut. fem!reader. regular au. enemies (with benefits) to lovers. virgin! reader mentioned. jealous! bakugo. lowkey! angst the highkey! fluff.

warnings: nsfw, mentions of virginity being taken by katsuki, public sex stuff, tit fucking, degrading, free use, oral (fem receiving), rough fucking, choking, masochism??

a/n: should i start doing more drabbles & headcannons or do you guys like the long fics?

---

katsuki loves seeing you angry.

it's such a strict contrast, really. you're usually calm, put together, level-headed with a hint of dark humor & sarcasm. you seemed like you had unweavering patience when it came to the daily annoyances from stubbing your toe to helping a student that couldn't seem to grasp a subject, no matter how many times you tried explaining it.

the only person who could get under your skin was a certain, arrogant classmate who always had something to say. he would never say anything absurdly rude, but it would always get on your nerves. "the back of your shirt isn't tucked in, dumbass." "your lip gloss color is too bright on you, fuckin' idiot." "there's an easier way to do that, stupid."

maybe it was the tone he gave you-- condescending. maybe it was the way he was so predictable, always following up with a coy smirk. you didn't know why he was the only one to irk you, but you do know one thing, you hate him.

& he hates you.

yet for some reason, you two know more about each other than anyone else. you know how much katsuki hates sweet things, so you'll dump half a bottle of that cheap teriyaki sauce that tastes like artificial sweetener into his spicy ramen when he's cooking. he knows how you have your backpack organized, so he'll purposefully put things into the wrong place just to annoy you.

you two were obvious rivals in almost all aspects of life, & yet the two of you are attached by the hip. he was always in your dorm room while you did your homework, blowing on your ear or messing with stuff he knows he's not supposed to. you would find yourself in the gym with him late at night, sitting on the floor as you watched him to an exercise you didn't wanna do.

your friends would always ask about him, which was another way he would get on your nerves. even when he's not there, his name would get thrown around. "so, (y/n), when are you & bakugo gonna make it official," snickered jiro.

"yeah! we wanna know," momo chimed in. you've had this conversation with anyone who knew you & bakugo, & your answer was always the same.

"NEVER!"

the funny thing about "never" is that it means you, at no time in the future or in the past or on any occasion, would ever, ever even glance at bakugo with any sort of care or attraction. "never" means the only look you'd throw his way is a glare.

yet, there you were, under him, contradicting "never." this arrangement -secret rendezvous & lustful activities- happened a few weeks ago, you remember it so vividly. it was a late night, & you & bakugo were dead tired after training (aka fighting non-stop) with each other for hours followed by studying at his dorm. the two of you weren't done until late, so you told him that you were going to stay in his dorm whether he liked it or not.

another snarky argument ensued, which mellowed into vulnerable confessions. you told him you've never had a partner because you've never had any intimate experience before, so how would you even cope? that night, you lost your virginity to your enemy, & it was so addictive.

after that, your guys' dynamic didn't change outwardly. if people paid attentions a bit more, they would've seen the two of you holding pinkies during lunch. he would sit a tad bit closer in class. it's a good thing you've been wearing your hair down because your neck was covered in hickies.

today, katsuki was even more annoying than he has been the last year. something was coursing through his veins. he was so much more daring, so much more of a bully today.

it started when you woke up in his bed, naked after a night of taboo touches. even last night, he was different, something on his mind. groggily, katsuki shot you a lazy smirk. his fingertips ghosted over your exposed skin while you laid on his bare chest. goosebumps followed in his fingers' wake. you laid there for a moment longer then said, "we should probably get ready for school."

"hm.."

"what?"

"i just need something taken care of, (y/n)," said katsuki, voice deep. you felt him against your thigh that was draped across his hips.

"k-katsuki, we-we can't," you blushed. your protests went unanswered as he started to mark your neck. his love bites trailed around your neck, down to your collarbone.

"shhh, just relax," katsuki whispered as he groped your tits. as quickly as he removed his hand, it was replaced by his mouth, suckling on your nipple; his fingers pinched the other. his free hand dove between your legs.

"katsuki!" you gasped, pussy still sore from last night. you couldn't help but grind your clit against his palm while his fingers were knuckle-deep and pressing against your g-spot. "go-gonna cum," you moaned out, & it was like a switch flipped inside of katsuki.

he pulled his fingers out of your dripping cunt. climbing atop of you, katsuki sneered"didn't i tell you quiet?" he shoved his fingers coated in your juices down your throat, making you gargle in surprise.

his heavy cock laid between your hickey-covered tits. "press your tits together," he commanded. you must've given him a confused look because he instructed sternly, "use your hand & fuckin' press your tits around my cock, nerd." oh god, how he made you so mad. you couldn't even tell him off.

that morning, he finished all over your face & tits. he smacked your cheek a couple of times with his semi-hard cock before getting off of your body to get a towel for you.

the two of you sat in aizawa's class, next to each other, like you didn't have to wash katsuki's cum out of your hair just before school started. what was embarrassing was that your friends (bless their sweet, sweet souls) complimented you, which wasn't out of the norm. however, they were gushing about how your skin was absolutely glowing.

katsuki, knowingly, shot you look of pride. he is truly the worst.

the next period came & went, & then you were stuck in another class with katsuki. your teacher decided that they were sick & tired of the regular routine, so they led the class to the library. they essentially said, "run wild, don't leave the library, & leave me to my own devices."

it's not like you were complaining; you've been wanted to pick up a new book to read so you browsed the aisles. were you also avoiding katsuki? a bit. today, especially, he was just too much. his unfortunately well-placed cockiness & his eagerness to get his hands all over you was a deadly combination.

as your eyes darted from the selection of books, the one you wanted just so happened to be on the top shelf. it wasn't unreachable to you, but it was an inconvenience. you creased your shoes as you went on the tips of your toes, trying to get a grasp of the book when a larger, familiar hand gripped yours. standing behind was katsuki, towering over you. out of instinct, you retracted your hand away, & he grabbed the book

you were about to say thank you when he placed it on top of the shelf. you could barely even see it, so there way no way you were going to be able to reach it. "i want to read that," you deadpanned, trying to turn around but katsuki's hands were on your shoulders. "h-hey, you're not doing what..." your voice trailed off.

his hands glided down your shoulders, caressing the curve of your figure, then stopped at the hem of your skirt. "are you crazy?!" you whisper-shouted at the blonde, to which he just scoffed.

he unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, & all you heard was rustling of fabric. he flipped your skirt up, covering his erect cock with it. sandwiched between your thick ass, he started to grind against you. "then stop me," katsuki whispered into your ear. he brushed your hair away from your neck & blew on your sensitive bruises forming on your skin. "just don't be too loud~ you don't wanna get in trouble, do you?" he snickered, pushing your panties to the side. katsuki shoved his girthy cock inside of your hole, stretching your already-aching walls.

you slapped your hands over your mouth to muffle your gasp. you could hear students, your classmates, talk all around the library. sure, you were tucked away on the second floor in a quiet corner, but you were still in public.

he started rutting his hips against you, shallow & uneven. he was testing the waters to see how far you'd let him go. with the fear of getting caught & utter adrenaline pumping through you, you tried to push away katsuki. his response was to pin your hands against the book shelf & pound your dripping pussy. soft smacks were only heard by you two, no one else close enough to hear the huffs & the mewls.

they say keep your friends close, & your enemies closer, & maybe you've taken that to heart. now, katsuki, your sworn enemy, knows your body inside & out. he knows how much you love being manhandled, which is why he made you arch your back as held your arms above your head while he thrusted in & out of you.

your pussy twitches, as it does every time when you're about to lose yourself in the pleasure, & katsuki knows this too. you were chasing your high, your eyes lulled to the back of your head when, suddenly, he pulled out. "k-katsuki!" you groaned in annoyance & shock. he was a selfish person with the stamina of a sex god. you'd usually cum several times all over his cock before he'd ejaculate inside you.

he flashed you his signature smirk as he wiped his dick with your navy blue skirt. he zipped his pants back up & redid his belt. with a shrug, he sauntered away, & you were left with a knot in your stomach, ratty hair, & frustration bubbling inside of you.

you were not going to entertain whatever sick fantasy he was trying to fulfill. you avoided him the best you could, however the two of you shared pretty much every class together. purposefully, you'd be the last one to class so you wouldn't have to sit beside katsuki. it always landed you in the front of the class, & you could feel his gaze burning holes in the back of your head, but it didn't matter. distance is what he deserved.

you were so mad at him that you didn't even want to look his way, you didn't want to be in his general vicinity.

the moment you saw him notice you, you would walk away from him. your plan was working to your favor until the evening. katsuki & you had very similar day-to-day routines. because you were always stealing portions of katsuki's food in the evening, your stomach began to grumble like clockwork. however, the moment you go downstairs, you would have to confront katsuki.

between the hunger you felt & your distain for the blonde, your hunger felt insatiable-- unfortunately for you. it was hard to ignore because you, while trying to avoid katsuki, skipped your regular meals. all you have in your room is an empty mini fridge, a water dispenser, & a couple of snacks that won't do anything but upset your stomach.

"ughhh," you let out a groan, getting out of the comfort of your bed. you slipped on a pair of pj pants over your spandex shorts & house slippers, prepared to tell katsuki off while stuffing your face with the food he's cooked.

knock. knock.

you jumped, almost letting out a shocked gasp. "oi! open up, stupid!" it was katsuki on the other side of your dorm door. you held your breath... maybe he hasn't heard you yet? "i know you're in there!"

"goddamn it, katsuki! go away," you shouted back as you walked towards your door. you looked through your peephole, only to see an agitated katsuki holding onto something.

"would you stop being a fuckin' child & open the door?"

"no, you're the childish one! get out of here, & go suck midoriya's dick!" just as katsuki can effortlessly get under your skin, you can do the same with him.

he punched your door, which sent vibrations around the door & frame. "you're such a fuckin' kid, (y/n)! i know this is 'cuz i didn't let you cum all over my co-"

abrasive, you threw open your door & dragged the loud-mouth into your room. your hand threw itself over his mouth as you seethed, "would you shut your damn mouth, people can hear you." under your hand, he smirked & kissed the palm of your hand. you tried to pull away with an embarrassed blush, but he gripped your wrist to keep you in place.

he kept leaving butterfly kissed on your palm, maintaining eye contact with you. each gentle kiss shot tinges of pleasure through your nerves. "wh-what are you doing?"

"you're so sensitive, y'know," he responded, kissing up your arm while pulling your closer to him. since when was katsuki this affectionate? your eyes glossed over slightly as he trailed kissed up your arm. sighs of content escaped your plush lips when he started to kiss your collarbone. something brushed against your leg, & that's when you noticed him holding something.

"wh-what is that?" you asked, dragging your nails down his arm that was gripping it. goosebumps appeared all over his arm, & he tensed up.

he cleared his throat. he pulled away from you, &, if you didn't know any better, it seemed as though he were nervous. "it's the reason i'm here in the first place," he grumbled, avoiding eye contact. it was a box wrapped in an all-might cloth.

"oh, you mean you're not just here to torment me & use me," you shot back. you were still so, so angry with him.

he looked at you, eyes wide. "what the hell are you goin' on about, woman?"

you were about to tell him off, all your pent-up frustration about to spill out of your throat when you were cut off by a distinct grumble-- your stomach. katsuki scoffed, but it was clear what you said played over & over in his mind. "it doesn't matter right now, just eat." he shoved the cloth into your hand & sat on your bed; you followed in suit.

unwrapping it by pulling the knot, it came undone to reveal two dark wood bento boxes, two pairs of chopsticks, & two spoons. he took the utensils off the top to place them on the fabric & opened the top bento to give to you. decorated beautifully (& almost intimately) was a homemade bento with onigiri shaped in the traditional triangle along with your favorite protein with pieces of bell peppers, carrots, & other veggies cut into the shapes of hearts & stars. your rice ball had a cute cat face made out of seaweed. you bursted out in laughter, "wh-what is all this!?"

"shut up, asshole!" face flushed, katsuki yelled. "i fuckin' care about you or whatever." your laughter died down, taking in the words he was saying. "when you didn't eat lunch or come train with me or go get a pastry at that one god-awful cafe, i knew i pushed you too far."

"you think?" you retorted as your tapped the tips of your chopsticks against the bento. he took his & took off the lid to reveal his: scraps. it was enough to make him full, but it wasn't as pretty as yours. it was all just thrown in there without a care. the middle of his carrots & bell peppers had heart-shaped holes cut out of them. while your sauce was in a small container to avoid your food getting soggy, his was tossed in there, coating everything. his onigiri was just a ball with the classic seaweed strip.

"learn to shut up for once, will ya?! god, i made you food, so could you just sit there & look pretty & just listen?"

"fine, say what you wanna say," you huffed, taking a bite out of your food.

"listen, (y/n)," he started, "i know i'm harsh & not the best, & i get why you hate me, but i'm not trying to use you. yeah, i like that you & i do the nastiest shit together, but i also like just... walking around with you. you might think that it's just 'cuz i wanna get in your pants, but i couldn't care less about that shit. i don't know, i'm just, i'm sorry, alright?" this rant was so uncharacteristically not him but him at the same time. he was vulgar, yet vulnerable. he apologized.

"katsuki..."

"& i was just messin' with you 'cuz damn raccoon eyes told me that dunceface was gonna ask you out. i know that we're just doing stuff so you'll feel more confident in, i don't know, fucking, but i don't want you with anyone else. i messed up, i know. i just... d'know, i just want you to yearn for me as much as i need you."

"katsuki," you called out. "c-can i admit something to you?"

"what is it?"

"i really like you." a suddenly quiet ensued. katsuki, the guy who always had a snappy comeback, was speechless, & it made your throat tighten.

"(y/n), seriously, don't mess with me-"

"i'm not!" you yelled, but you weren't upset. "the reason i was so mad at you was because i felt used... i don't like feeling like that, especially since i really, really like you. all the stuff we do together let's me be delusional & pretend we're dating. & it's hard to stop because you're just so... doting in your own way. but then today, you didn't wanna make me, you know, so i just thought-"

"we'll that's what you get for thinking," katsuki teased, placing his & your finished bento on your desk. he sat close beside you; if you were to turn your head, your lips would've been centimeters away from his. it's not like you guys haven't kissed before, but this time was different. it felt like the first time all over again.

"(y/n), look at me," he whispered into your ear. you shifted in your spot, but you did as you were told. facing him, you backed your head up, only for it to be stopped by your headboard. "i'm so sorry, angel. let me make it up to you."

"katsuki, i-it's okay-" you were cut off.

he hushed you, eyes half-lidded & clouded with lust. "you'd think by now you'd learn your lesson about shuttin' up, huh?" he said as his hands slid under your shirt, up your torso. you raised your arms, allowing him to take off your shirt. under his breath, he whispered, "fuck."

katsuki climbed in between your legs, looming over your figure. he kissed the valley between your breasts while his arm snaked around your body. with one hand, he unclasped your bra. you threw it onto your dorm floor, & he wasted no time to latch onto your tit. he swirled your perky nipple around his tongue. you squirmed under him, your pants, shorts, & panties joined your bra

to take a moment to breathe, katsuki pulled back, & you, as eager & as horny as ever, ripped off his shirt. "woah, someone's impatient."

"you piss me off, let me have this," you snarled back, a possessive tone in your voice. katsuki made a note to himself: edge you as much as humanly possible. you pulled him close to you. sure, you crushed your face against his chest when you did so, but you didn't care. you started to nip at his exposed skin. hickeys crawled up his chest, decorating his collarbone & creeping onto his neck.

"sh-shit, angel," he breathed out. against your thigh, you felt his clothed dick twitch with every bite. he pushed you away from his bruised skin with a gentleness, his tongue trailing down his body. & just like that, he was the dominate one again.

katsuki, spreading your legs wide for him, placed your legs on his shoulders. your thighs could crush his skull if you so pleased. "you're dripping, (y/n)~" he snickered, followed by a long, slow lick against your slit. you gasped out in shock, back arching out of instinct.

"m-more," you whined. he chuckled that sinister chuckle he always does when he's about to say the most annoying shit ever.

"ask nicely."

"katsuki," you said in a stern voice. you didn't want him at that moment, no, no, no. you needed him. you needed him to make you cum; you needed his stupidly talented tongue on your pussy. you needed to be destroyed by his dumb, heavy cock. "i'm not playing around."

"i'm not either, (y/n). just swallow your damn pride & ask like a good girl, hm?" he replied as he spread your pussy lips apart with his thumbs, blowing cool air on your clit. you two bantered the way you usually do, as though he weren't in between your legs, mouth ghosting against your weeping hole.

you knew he wasn't going to let up, so you swallowed thickly. "k-katsuki?"

"yes?"

"pl-please eat me out," you begged. you looked at him with faux tears welling in your bright, doe eyes.

"how could i say no when you look at me like that, sweet girl," exasperated katsuki, acting like he was doing you a favor when, in reality, he was a selfish man. he loved eating you out, he loved watching you wraith in pleasure, hand clasped over your mouth as cute, little moans escaped your quivering lips. if anything, it got him rock hard & throbbing.

it started out with kisses against your clit, like it always does. soon, the kisses turned into licks & sucks. your hands found themselves entangled in his unruly, platinum hair, & your hips bucked forward. you rubbed your clit against him. one hand started to tease your entrance while he flicked your clit with his tongue. your juices with his drool made it easy to slide his middle & ring finger inside of you.

as if you were holding in a breath, you exhaled in relief. his fingers pumped in & out of you while his tongue circled your bud. the all-to-familiar knot began to form in your stomach. "g-gunna cum!" you whisper-shouted, back still arched & head thrown back. for a second, your vision turned white as you creamed all over katsuki's face. he lapped your juices up like it was an elixir given to him by the gods. overstimulated, you thought he would pull away after cleaning you, but he relented.

that's what you get for thinking.

"hey, wh-what are you doing?" you gasped out as you propped yourself up with your elbows. this time, instead of attacking your clit, his tongue jetted in & out of your hole. he didn't say anything, only looking up at you with his ruby red eyes. you found yourself bucking your hips onto his face once more, finding pleasure in the friction. every time you would look away, he would slow down or stop completely. you came, then came, then came again.

after the fourth time, he finally stopped. you took a deep breath, your frustrations wiped away. "f-fine, you win. y-you made it u-up to me," you stuttered out as you tried to steady your heart rate. your eyes were closed, & your chest heaved with every breath you took.

"why do you look so comfortable? we're not done yet, angel," katsuki growled, & that's when you felt it; his tip running up & down your folds. your eyes snapped open, & your jaw dropped. he eased inside of your pussy, which sucked him in eagerly. you felt full, stretched, yet he was only half way in. he snapped his hips forward, covering your mouth because, every time he does that, you'll let out a droned-out moan.

the fact that he's made you lose your unwavering, cool composure made him feral. you're dripping wet all because of him. you were sucking him in so good. his eyes were trained on your gorgeous face, your eyes were half-lidded, tearing up. whimpers muffled by his large hand made his cock twitch inside you. the way your body looked as you took him in full was the reason he can't let anyone else have you. honestly & truly, you made him crazy.

he showed this in this thrusts. they were harsh, tip slamming against your cervix. as he pumped in & out of your pussy, he uncovered your mouth, his hand travelled down to your neck. with a firm grip, he cut off your airway. your tongue hung out of your mouth as you panted like a bitch in heat. fast & hard, your body jerked forward with each one of his rough thrusts.

choked out mewls escaped your lips, & your eyes rolled to the back of your head. you were about to pass out when he released your throat. you gasped. with every exhale, you couldn't stop yourself from moaning out his name. "k-katsuki~ k-kat-m~"

"such a good fuck," growled katsuki. he draped your legs over his shoulders. the blonde, smirking viciously, loomed over you, leaning forward. your knees were against your bare chest, you feet passed your head. you were folded in half, powerless. all you could do is squirm, cry out his name, & let him pound the shit out of your pretty pussy.

he held himself over you with one hand. his other cupped your face. he squished your cheeks together so your lips would pucker. "you're such a fuckin' pretty asshole," he chuckled. "you know how many guys wanna piece of you? none of 'em get t' have you though, that's all my privilege," katsuki gloated, his voice sounded muffled yet so clear. you tried responding but all that came out were lewd moans

he let go of your face as his thrusts started to become erratic. his grunts were animalistic, the sound of skin slapping skin echoed off the thin walls. possessively, he growled sweet nothings into your ear, & you had to bite back your screams of pleasure. at this point, you felt so good that you couldn't even begin to care about who might find out. hell, even if someone told aizawa that the two of you were breaking rules, you would tell him to scold you the next day.

"c-cum," you rasped, your legs sore from being folded. you squirmed under him to find some comfort for your legs. you tried pushing him away, yet you still chased your high. was the pain turning you on? there's no way.

"tch, cum, you fuckin' brat," commanded katsuki, & it was clear he wouldn't let you change positions until you creamed all over his thick cock.

"c-cumming!" your legs shook as your walls spasmed around katsuki. you heard him curse under his breath, his dick twitched inside you.

"gon-gonna fill you up, 'k?" he told you, all you could do is weakly nod. for a moment, he didn't care about your pleasure. he had one mission, & that was to use you so he could cum. he was treating you like a toy. your legs fell near his hips, but you couldn't find the strength to wrap your legs around him. gripping your hips, he moved you up & down his dick like you were a fleshlight.

"you're such a naughty girl, (y/n)~ everyone's gon' know that y'er all mine," he told your through gritted teeth. he didn't wait for a response, groaning loudly. "take it, fuckin' take it, baby," he said as he slammed his cock inside of you before his thrusts became needy, shallow. hot ropes of his cum painted the walls of your pussy. with the entirety of his cock inside you, his cum seeped out of you, dripping onto your duvet.

you felt your heartbeat in your core, & you struggled to catch your breath. he captured your lips in a passionate kiss, it was so unlike him. since when has anyone described katsuki bakugo as gentle? yet here he was, tending to you, cleaning you up & giving you soft kisses on your plush lips. "you okay, babe?" he questioned, just a hint of snarky pride behind his tone.

"y-yeah," you stuttered out, stretching your your legs. they quivered with every movement, & your face was flushed with embarrassment. he scooped you up with one arm while the other swiped the duvet off your bed. he tossed it in your dirty laundry hamper. your arms were around his neck as you cuddled into his bare chest when you told him, "you were just rough is all."

he laid the two of you down, covering you with your fluffy, (what you dubbed) "emergency" blanket. he started to scratch your head, & your eyes felt droopy. "i'm sorry, sweet girl. was i too rough?"

"no," you sighed with a smile. "i can handle it."

"yeah, i'm sure you can."

"i can! i just proved it to you!" you retorted, your eyes closing.

"whatever."

[bruisedboys]

dead wrong — steve harrington x reader

summary: steve harrington is down horrendous for you, his best friend. his love is not as unrequited as he thinks.

contains: best friends to lovers, mutual pining (but mostly steve pining), steve’s pov, fluff galore, idiots in love, reader is good with the kids, reader is a skater like max, reader hurts her wrist and steve is a worried lovesick idiot. cw! descriptions of wounds/blood, mentions of hospital, reader wears steve’s clothes. she/her pronouns used.

a/n: first long fic yay!! I am extremely proud of this so pls love it 🤍

fem!reader 5.3k words

gif by @barneswayne

Steve Harrington is totally, most definitely, not in love with you. Just friends, he thinks, best friends. Best friends who hold hands and sit far too close together.

Speaking of, you push further into Steve’s side, your scent washing over him. Your hand squeezes Steve’s, and he thinks, never mind. Maybe he is in love with you. So in love with you it fucking hurts.

A chorus of shouts erupts around him. You and Steve are watching Eddie, Robin and the kids play beer bong, only without the beer. It’s soda. Dustin starts doing a stupid victory dance while half of his peers laugh and the others cringe. Steve cringes. You laugh. All high and lilting and adorable. Steve has to remind himself to breathe.

He brings your joint hands to rest on his knee. Your rings push into his skin, almost like harsh reminders that he can’t hold you like he wants to. He frowns.

“Steve?” Your voice brings Steve out of his thoughts like it always does. You give his hand a shake. “You okay?”

Steve looks up and prays you can’t see the hopeless devotion in his eyes. You’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, with your messy hair and your eyes lined with glitter. Rosy cheeks, glossy pink lips that he stares a beat too long at. He’s known you for years, and yet he’s never gonna get used to how gorgeous you are. He swallows, forces his eyes up to yours.

“I’m okay,” he says, though he’s really not. He never is, because you never won’t look like that. “Are you?”

There’s another explosion of noise from the soda-pong players, but you don’t seem to notice. You frown like you don’t believe him. He’s being too obvious, he knows.

“Yeah, I’m good. Are you sure, Steve?” You stretch your free hand across your torso to touch his face. Steve heats like an oven under your hand as you press your palm to his forehead. “You’re not feeling sick, are you? You feel sort of hot.”

Steve grabs your wrist, harder than he means to. He loosens his grip guiltily when you give him an alarmed look.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, lowering your hand gently. He can feel your pulse, only just, underneath his fingers. It’s damn sure slower than his. “I— uh, no. I’m not feeling unwell. It is pretty hot in here though.”

A total lie. The only reason he’s burning up is you.

Your frown deepens, a push of your bottom lip that makes Steve want to kiss you. It’s such an overwhelming feeling that he has to blink multiple times to make it go away.

“Oh,” you say. You look around the room and then back at Steve. “Do you want to go outside?”

Steve has a bit of a dilemma. If he says yes, he’ll be alone with you. He can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. If he says no, he’ll have to stay in this stuffy room with yelling teenagers and ping pong balls flying at him every five seconds. He decides on the first option.

“Sure,” he says as nonchalantly as he can. Then, to make you laugh, “Smells like boy in here anyway.”

You giggle. Steve feels like copying Dustin’s lame victory dance.

“You’re a boy, Stevie,” you say teasingly.

He wrinkles his nose at you. “No, I know, but it’s like … adolescent boy.”

You laugh loud, your mouth pulled up in a staggering smile. “Oh, okay,” you say, as if anything he just said made any sense.

Steve is starstruck for a second before you’re pulling him up from his seat, your hand in his a familiar, heart-aching weight.

Steve finds himself sitting side by side with you on the hood of his car. He can’t exactly remember how he got here — on the way, all he could think about was your hand in his and the fact that your thumb kept brushing over his knuckles in very distinct lines. Whether you’d meant to or not, he doesn’t know. He hopes you did.

“Any better?” You ask quietly, stretching your pinky across the small gap between your hands to tap his.

Steve feels something like an electric shock where your skin touches his. It baffles him, how such a tiny touch can cause such a big reaction throughout his body. He stares at your hand when he answers.

“Much,” he says honestly. He looks up at you. “You didn’t have to come with me, you know. You can go back in if you want.”

Secretly he hopes you’ll stay here with him forever. But that would be selfish, and if Steve is anything when he’s with you, it’s not selfish.

“Eurgh, no.” You pull a disgusted sort of face that makes Steve grin. “I could barely stand it when you were there. Without you, I think I’d die from the smell alone.”

Steve laughs. Really laughs. The words without you, I think I’d die, float around his brain like fish in a fish tank. When he’s done laughing he catches your smile, all pretty and wide, and his heart does one of those funny backflips that he’s never gonna get used to.

Steve watches as you brace your hands on the edge of the car and push yourself up the hood, pulling your shoes up to rest on the metal. Your skirt is short enough that Steve can see half of your thighs, more when you shift yourself like that. He stares for two seconds too long and then feels so guilty he almost apologises.

Instead, he says, “Aren’t you cold?” He points at your skirt but doesn’t look.

You shrug. “No, not really.”

With a sigh you let yourself fall back against the hood of the car. Your skirt rises even more and a half inch more of your skin is exposed — Steve feels like the universe is out to get him. His only escape is to fall back next to you, his right shoulder brushing your left one. You smile when he does, head rolling to the side to look at him. Face to face now, Steve can feel every small breath coming from your parted lips.

“See any stars?” He blurts, because your face is much too close and he’s scared if you look at him like that any longer, he’ll kiss you stupid.

You look up at the dark, empty sky and wrinkle your nose. “No.”

“Wait, look, there’s one.” Steve lifts his arm to point at what he thinks is a star.

You squint in its direction. “That’s a plane.”

“What? No it’s— oh.” He trails off when he realises the ‘star’ is moving. It disappears behind a cloud a second later.

You laugh, breathless and pretty, and drop your head onto Steve’s shoulder. Your perfume fills the air around Steve and he has to stop himself from leaning closer. You bring a hand up to fiddle with your necklace, a cheap, plastic ‘S’ charm that sits directly on your sternum. The fake diamonds are falling off, half of them gone already, but you’ve refused to take it off after all these years. Steve has one of your initial, too. You got them from a dollar store when you were twelve and pinky promised to be best friends forever.

You slip your necklace safely beneath your top and then stifle a yawn behind your hand.

Steve gives your elbow a nudge. “Tired?”

You shrug one shoulder and then droop further into Steve’s side. Every point of contact between you burns.

“You’re tired,” Steve says matter-of-factly.

You make a noise that’s probably meant to be a sound of protest but comes out more like a tired moan. Steve chuckles lightly, reaches over and rubs your arm.

“Alright, sweet girl. Let’s go home.”

‘Home’ really means Steve’s house, because you’ve left your car there and because you’re over so much it’s become your second home. By the time Steve is pulling up the driveway, you’re so dead beat he doesn’t even consider letting you drive yourself home. You practically hang off his waist as he walks you both inside.

“M’tired,” you mumble as you pass the living room.

Steve has to bite back a laugh. “Uh-huh, I can tell.”

You look up at him and squint like you know he’s laughing at you. Then you say, “Can I sleep in your bed?”

Steve’s heart skips. Sure, you’ve slept in his bed before, but every time you have Steve lay awake for at least half the night. He’s not above admitting that he’s watched you sleep more than once. He’s seconds away from telling you to take the guest bedroom when you pout dramatically.

“Please? You’re so warm.” You push into his side, your arm tightening around his waist like you don’t ever want to let go.

Steve hates himself for nodding, but he can’t help it. “Yeah, okay.”

He drags you up the stairs and into his room. Your makeup and stray jewellery is strewn across his dresser — you’d gotten ready at Steve’s before the party. If you could even call it that, Steve thinks. He plants you on his bed and you fall back immediately, eyes shut tight as your hair splays across the sheets.

“You’re like a zombie,” Steve says amusedly, his gaze all fond and mushy as he looks down at you. “From like, Day of the Dead or something.”

You pull a face, faux offended but your big grin gives you away. “Ew. I’m not that ugly, am I?”

Steve hums long and high like he’s thinking about it. This makes you gasp and throw a hand to your chest like he’s wounded you. Before Steve can get half a laugh out a pillow is hitting him straight across the face.

“Hey!” He exclaims, glaring at you. You’re still lying down, eyes screwed tight like you’re pretending you didn’t just brutally attack Steve. He laughs because you’re fucking adorable. “Zombies don’t throw pillows, Y/N.”

Your words are plagued by a yawn as you say, “This one does.”

Steve sighs at your antics, picks up your murder weapon (his pillow) and replaces it on the bed.

“Oh no,” you groan suddenly, like you’ve remembered something awful, hands flying to your face in despair. “My makeup, Stevie. M’too tired to take it off.”

Your words stick to each other like taffy in your tired state. Steve remembers the last time he let you sleep in your makeup. He didn’t hear the end of it for days. He’d rather avoid your wrath this time round.

Steve sighs, knowing full well he’s about to put his foot in it. “Well, will you let me do it?”

You open one eye blearily and look at him. “Would you?”

Steve shrugs, though the thought of being that close to you makes him feel nauseous. Luckily, you’ve closed both eyes again so he can blush all he wants. Plus, he’d do anything for you. Even endure the overwhelming urge to kiss you breathless.

“Sure thing, babe. I’ll get the stuff.”

Steve ends up sitting on his bed with you across from him, crossed legs pressing up against his. You’re sitting so close you’re almost in his lap. He ignores this for the sake of his dignity.

You’ve got your eyes shut and your hair up in a clip. A lock of hair has tumbled out of its knot and Steve pushes it away from your face, fingers hooking behind your ear and lingering. He keeps his hand on your jaw as he raises his other hand, a wet cloth ready to clean your sparkly makeup off.

“You sure about this?” He asks hesitantly. He’s dead terrified he’ll do something wrong, like get glitter in your eye.

You smile softly, your eyes staying firmly shut. “Yes, Steve, it’s fine.” Your tone is half reassuring and half exasperated.

Steve bites the bullet and goes right in, pressing the wet cloth to your cheekbones first. You’ve got blush and glitter there, sprinkled on your cheeks like fairy dust. He smooths the cloth along your skin and it comes away sparkly and pink.

“Okay?” He asks, pausing worriedly.

You nod slowly, your head starting to droop in his hand. “Yeah, Steve.”

Steve grins fondly at your face, screwed up in exhaustion. He tightens his grip on your jaw to keep your head steady, thumb hooked under your chin. Carefully, he begins to dab at your eyelids, also painted with silvery glittery eyeshadow.

Your face dewy and makeup-free, Steve thinks you’ve never looked prettier. So pretty it drives him mad. He stares, really stares, for far too long but he’s worried if he opens his mouth, breaks the silence, he’ll never get to see you like this again. Your hair all messy pretty, your eyes shut and eyelashes kissing, your pink lips turned in a half smile.

He’s not surprised when your soft voice drifts into his thoughts.

“You done?” You open your eyes, eyelids heavy and head heavier.

Steve snaps out of it. He lets go of your face quickly, slides off the bed even quicker.

“All done,” he says, almost tripping over his own feet.

You smile, seemingly oblivious to his clumsiness. Or maybe, it’s just happened so often that you’re not surprised. Either way, your smile is sickeningly sweet. Steve is torn between the desire to kiss you or run as far away as possible from you.

Your voice matches your honey-smile when you say, “Thank you, Stevie.”

You reach out to touch his forearm, your hand a heavy weight on his skin as you wrap your fingers around his arm and squeeze.

He grins lopsidedly, and he’s sure he looks like a lovesick idiot but he can’t find it in himself to care. “You’re welcome.”

You drop your hand and Steve’s arm suddenly feels cold as ice. He wants to touch you again but knows he shouldn’t. He strides to his bedroom door and pauses to turn and look at you.

“I’m gonna get you a glass of water,” he says. Your eyelids are drooping again. He laughs fondly. “Get in bed while I’m gone, zombie-girl.”

Your giggle follows him all the way to the kitchen.

When Steve gets back, a glass of water in each hand, you’re still as a statue on your self-appointed side of the bed. You’ve swapped your outfit for a grey t-shirt that you totally stole from him but deny every time he asks about it, and the shortest shorts known to mankind.

He switches off the light and shuts the door with his heel. Pointedly avoiding looking at your bare legs, he rounds the bed and sets the water down, then bends over you.

“Y/N?” He whispers.

You hum softly, though Steve can’t tell if it’s a hum of acknowledgement or just a sound you’ve made in your sleep. He leans closer, listening to your breathing. You’re awake, only just.

He brushes his hand over your upper arm, touch as light as a feather. He thinks he feels goosebumps on your skin but doesn’t have time to wonder why. You’re lifting your chin slightly, lips parted.

“Goodnight, Stevie,” you whisper, so quiet he barely hears you. Steve’s heart swells. “Thanks for … everything.”

A few moments later you fall silent and your breathing grows steady, and Steve wonders how the hell you always fall asleep so fast.

He rubs your arm, kisses your forehead because he knows you won’t remember this part. His lips buzz as he pulls away. “Goodnight, sweet thing.”

-

You’re outside Family Video. Steve emerges from the back room and spots you so fast it’s like he’s got a third eye. He’s both shocked and pleased — he hadn’t expected to see you until after his shift.

You’ve got the kids with you. You and Max are zooming around the carpark on your skateboards while Dustin and Lucas are poised on the hood of your car, poring over comics.

He watches you skate with Max. Like some lame rom-com cliche, your hair is blowing in the wind and Steve swears you’ve moving in slow motion. You’re laughing and joking with Max and Steve stares and stares. Stares until Robin sidles up next to him.

“What’re you— oh.” Steve can hear the smirk in her voice even though he refuses to look at her. “What’re they doing here?”

Steve shrugs and makes an ‘I don’t know’ sound, moving to the counter to put down the box of videos he’s carrying. Robin follows.

“You’re not gonna go say hi to Y/N?” Robin asks slyly. Steve can hear in her voice what’s coming. “You’ve been staring long enough.”

Steve blushes furiously despite himself. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Oh, sure.” Robin hoists herself onto the counter, peers into the box of videos and picks one out at random. “Just like you weren’t holding her hand on Tuesday night?”

Steve can’t exactly get himself out of that one. He snatches the video from Robin with an annoyed tsk, slotting it back into the box. Her laugh is devilish.

“You are hopeless, Steven,” she says, whacking Steve over the head as she hops off the counter.

Steve rubs his head and glares at Robin. If looks could kill she’d be dead meat. “That’s not my name.”

Robin gets this look on her face that Steve knows all too well. He wants to pummel her before she’s even said anything.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, all sarcasm. “What is it, then? Stevie?”

Steve’s blood boils. Only you’re allowed to call him that.

“Y’know what, Robin?” He says loudly. He turns on his coworker, seething. She’s totally nonchalant, a stupid smirk on her lips. “Why don’t you just leave me—?”

“Steve!”

A shout of his name from the door. He turns and finds Lucas standing there, looking panicked.

Steve’s brow furrows. Then he notices you and Max are no longer whizzing around the carpark. “What—“

“Y/N fell,” Lucas says, out of breath. “We think she hurt her wrist.”

Steve’s heart drops. “Shit.”

He goes flying out the door and into the parking lot. You’re sitting on the concrete, one knee pulled up to your chest, your skateboard dormant next to you. Max is kneeling over you, and Dustin has graciously abandoned his comics for your sake.

“Y/N!” He damn near shouts. He runs over to you and Max and gets on his knees. He’s probably just ruined his jeans on the concrete — he doesn’t give a single fuck.

“Y/N,” he says frantically, a tentative hand landing on your shoulder. Both your knees are scraped something awful and a nasty gash blooms on the outside of your wrist. Steve’s worry is loud and his heartbeat twice as much. “Y/N, are you okay? What happened? What’s—“

You look up. Your eyes are shining but you’ve got a dopey smile on your lips.

“Steve,” you say breathlessly. You blink and a tear falls from your eye and over the bump of your cheek. “Hi. Good to see you.”

Steve stares at you in horror. How can you be making jokes at a time like this? You laugh wetly and Steve looks at Max, totally alarmed.

“What happened?” He demands.

Max is much calmer than he is. “She went over a bump or something,” she says. She’s rubbing your back and Steve feels a rush of gratitude for the younger girl. “Fell on her left arm. Her wrist might be sprained or broken, but—“

“Broken?” Steve repeats. He’s pretty sure his soul just left his body.

“I said might,” Max says through her teeth.

“Y/N?” Steve slides his arm around your shoulder, carefully avoiding your left wrist, which you're cradling in your uninjured hand. “Y/N, baby, can you get up?”

You make a noise like a scoff but it’s muffled by your sniffly nose. “‘Course I can.”

Steve helps you anyway, Max on your other side keeping a firm hold on your jacket. You hiss as you straighten your legs, knee-wounds sprouting fresh blood. Steve bites down on his lip so hard he almost bleeds himself.

“Are you gonna take her to the hospital?” Max asks. There’s genuine worry in her eyes that Steve barely sees. Dustin, Lucas and Robin appear, looking equally worried.

Steve puts on a brave face. “Think so. What do you think?” He asks Max. “You’re the skateboard expert.”

She grins so quick Steve almost misses it. It disappears when she looks at you in your bloody and bruised state. “Yeah. Just in case.”

Steve walks you over to your car, half dragging you. Not that you need him to, he just can’t bear for you to hurt any more than you already are. He deposits you in the passenger seat, ducks his head in to pull your seatbelt across your torso. He’s seconds from ducking back out when you stop him, your uninjured hand on his chest, right over his racing heart.

“It hurts,” you say, quiet enough that only Steve can hear. Your eyes are welling up again. Steve feels like crying himself.

“I know,” he says, nodding vigorously like it will make a difference. “I know, sweet girl. It’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna be okay.”

At this point he’s talking to himself as well as you. You nod in an exhausted sort of way and Steve presses a kiss to your cheek. Slow and soft and as close to your lips as he’s ever kissed. He has to take a few seconds to compose himself before straightening up and turning to the others.

“I gotta take her,” he says, sending an apologetic grimace in Robin’s direction.

Robin nods once and surprisingly, doesn’t say a word. She looks about as sympathetic as Steve has ever seen her. He turns to the kids.

“Help Robin,” he says. He’s trying desperately to make his voice sound normal but falling short of the mark. Everyone notices but nobody comments. “Don’t mess up the store.”

He gives a grateful smile to Max and then rounds the car, hopping in and starting the engine.

-

You’re half asleep on Steve’s couch, your head in his lap. You’re wearing his yellow sweater — the one he bought only because you’d said he’d look good in yellow. You’ve just woken up from a post-hospital nap and Steve’s hand is in your hair, brushing slow strokes over the side of your head.

He’s feeling a lot of things. Relieved, for starters. The doctor had said it was only a sprain, they’d bandaged up your wrist and you’d left the hospital in far better conditions. Steve was in far better conditions, too.

Steve looks down at you, at your bandaged wrist and the huge bandaids on your knees and thinks, fuck. He thinks his heart is about to claw its way out of his chest. He doesn’t think he can take this love thing any longer.

You stir and take a long breath, turning your head in Steve’s lap to look up at him. Your eyes are tired but you’re smiling.

“You okay?” Steve asks softly. He doesn’t want to break the silence. It feels good, to sit in silence and comfort with you. He runs his fingers through your hair again.

You nod. “Mhm. I’m good.”

“Hurting?”

You shift in his lap. “No, not right now.”

You fall silent and Steve doesn’t know what to say. He wants to tell you how worried he was about you, but you could probably tell. Anyone with a pair of eyes could tell he was nauseous-level worried. Then he thinks about telling you he loves you. It’s a stupid reason, really, but it was all because a nurse had asked if he was your boyfriend. He’d wished he could say yes.

“Steve?”

Steve hums and meets your eyes. You move to sit up and Steve helps you, knowing you won’t let him stop you. A firm hand between your shoulder blades, his palm sliding down your back as you straighten yourself. You shift so you’re facing him, your legs crossed beneath you and your injured wrist resting in your lap. Steve is careful to avoid your wounded knees.

“What is it, babe?” Steve asks quietly. He brings his hand up to caress your cheek, dragging his thumb over a spot where your tears had smudged your mascara earlier.

You melt into his hand, eyes falling shut as a long, deep sigh falls from your lips. You raise your good hand to cover his, holding it to your face. Your hand burns stars onto the back of his.

“Is it your wrist?” Steve asks. You’re acting strange. He puts it down to your injured state. “Your knees? Do you want more ice? New band-aids?”

He’s being a total worrywart, he knows, but who can blame him?

You shake your head, eyes open but cast down. “No.”

“Just feeling bad?” He asks through a frown. In a strange parallel to a couple of days ago, he lifts his free hand to press his palm to your forehead. You feel warm but not hot.

“It’s …” you start, then trail off. Both yours and Steve’s hands fall to your lap.

Steve’s concern spikes. You’ve never been one to hide anything from him. “Yeah?”

“Um, it’s … it’s silly but—“ You take a deep breath and let your eyes raise to Steve’s. You get a look on your face Steve doesn’t quite understand, but it makes his heart leap to his throat anyway. “You know today, when that nurse asked us if you were my boyfriend?”

Steve laughs embarrassedly, too loud and too sudden. So you’d been thinking about that, too. He pulls his hand away from your lap and rubs the back of his neck.

“Yeah, that was kinda weird, wasn’t it?” He says, though it wasn’t really. Almost every new person he meets thinks you’re dating him. “I was—”

“I wanted to say yes, Stevie.”

Steve stops talking abruptly, his mouth slamming shut. He hadn’t really known what he was about to say, anyway. He searches for words but all he comes up with is a garbled, “What?”

You laugh, all soft and slow and distorted by fatigue. You raise your hand to rub your neck, a mirror of Steve only a moment ago.

“I wanted to say yes,” you repeat, like it’s obvious. Even the second time, Steve doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. His chest feels like it’s on fire, worse when you say, “I want you to be my boyfriend.”

For once in his life, Steve has nothing to say. He gazes at you like you’re some sort of angel on earth. Maybe he’s dreaming. Maybe he’s in some cruel dream and he’s about to wake up with his chest aching.

“I …” Steve‘s voice catches on the words. His throat burns so he mustn’t be dreaming. He tries again. “Y-You … you do?”

He’s not even embarrassed by the stuttering. Just when he didn’t think he could be any more in love with you, you giggle. He was dead wrong. His heart grows about three sizes too big for his chest.

“Yeah, Steve,” you say, fondness smothering your fake exasperation. “Do you … do you want me to be your girlfriend?”

What Steve wants is to kiss you. He wants to kiss you til you can’t breathe and then some more after that. Silently, he takes your injured wrist in his hand and gently shifts it so it’s out of the way, resting on the couch cushions. Then he grabs your face, fingers splayed over your jaw and neck. He can feel your pulse. It’s almost as quick as his. He leans so close he can hear every breath you’re taking.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over yours. “That okay?”

You laugh a giddy, breathless laugh, surprised at his suddenness. “Please do.”

He slams his eyes shut, darts forward to kiss you and fucking misses. Your noses bump. A surprised giggle bubbles from you and Steve goes red.

“Wait, I’m sorry—“ He tries again, tilting your head to one side and angling his head to the other. This time it works perfectly, and your giggling is swallowed up by Steve’s mouth, lips fitting together like they were made for each other.

You sigh and go all melty and Steve’s heart skyrockets. It feels like everything in the world is falling into place. It’s years of longing, eternities of lingering touches and offhand compliments and longing glances all rolled into one life changing kiss. Your good hand has jumped to Steve’s chest, first bunched in the material of his t-shirt and then spreading over it, palm atop his wild heart. He thinks he might die on the spot. Or like, catch on fire or something.

Steve is losing breath but he won’t stop just yet. He drops his hands to your shoulders and pulls away a hair’s breadth. Then he dives back in for one, two, three kisses that you respond to with all the eagerness in the world. Your kisses are so lovely they make him light-headed.

When Steve pulls away (for oxygen, nothing less) you chase his lips with yours. He laughs, all fondness. He’s dizzy with love.

“Woah, hold your horses, cowboy,” he says through a woozy laugh. He’s finding it hard to speak. He barely hears himself. For all he knows, he’s talking in an alien language.

“Sorry,” you whisper, not sounding very sorry at all. “So … was that a yes?”

Steve has to laugh. He can’t help it. “Are you kidding? Yes, Y/N. That was a yes. I—“

He’s rudely interrupted by someone banging on the door. He thinks he knows who it is. Only one person he knows knocks that hard.

He sighs morosely but he can’t keep the grin off his face for very long. “I’ll get it.”

He heaves himself off the couch and makes for the front door. You stop him before he gets very far, a hand in his bicep.

“Wait, Steve.”

Steve turns, puzzled. “Yeah?”

You’re lifting your chin up, lips parted. Steve knows exactly what you want.

His grin grows impossibly wider as he bends at the waist to kiss you once, chaste and slow and just as perfect as the kisses shared moments ago. When he pulls away you’re smiling so big he’s worried you’ll get stuck like that forever. He wouldn’t mind.

Another round of banging from the door. Steve sighs, squeezes your good shoulder once and then marches to the front door, just about ready to kick the intruder off his front porch. He opens the door and finds his suspicions were correct. It’s Dustin.

He’s holding a handful of flowers that look suspiciously similar to the ones that grow in Steve’s mom’s garden.

“Those for me?” Steve asks. He shoots his arm out to stop Dustin from barging in, hand gripping the door frame.

Dustin pulls a face. “Ew. No, they’re for Y/N.” He steps aside and more kids appear, plus Robin and Eddie. Eddie’s van has been parked haphazardly in Steve’s driveway. “Can we come in or are you gonna stand there and guard the door like that all night?”

“She’s tired.”

“But we bought chocolates.”

“Well—“

“Dustin?” You call from the living room. Oh, great. Now Steve’s gonna have to let them in. “S’that you?”

Dustin beams and gives Steve an expectant look. Steve drops his arm with a defeated sigh and Dustin goes marching in like he owns the place. Max, Lucas and even Mike follow. Mike, who never shows up to anything. Though Steve shouldn’t be surprised. You’re Mike’s favourite, out of the older ones.

Eddie comes next, then Robin, who stops to give Steve a grimace.

“Sorry,” she says wryly. “They really wanted to see her.”

Steve shrugs good-naturedly. He’s on cloud nine and much too happy to care all that much. He follows Robin into the living room and finds everyone crowded around you, Max on your side and Dustin getting down on one knee to present you the probably-stolen flowers like you’re the Queen of England. You look the same as Steve feels — kiss bitten and with your head in another world. But you’re pleased by the company, he can tell.

Dustin moves to give you one of his bone-crushing hugs and Steve goes all panic mode.

“Please be careful with her!” He says urgently, his panic obvious under the usual demanding tone he takes with the kids.

But you’re laughing under Dustin’s hug, and Steve can’t stay mad when you look like that. You meet his eyes over a mop of curly hair and your gaze goes all mushy and sweet. Steve’s legs feel like jelly. If he keeled over dead right now, he wouldn’t be surprised.

He’s sure someone will see but he doesn’t really care. Grinning from ear to ear, he mouths, “Love you.”

He’s said it before, of course he has, you’re his best friend in the whole entire world. This time though, it’s all the more different. It’s better. You flush, oblivious to the noisy chatter around you.

“Love you too,” you mouth back.

Steve can’t stop smiling for the rest of the night.

thank you for reading! feedback is appreciated!! reblog this and I’ll kiss you on the mouth mwah

[hangup119]

don't get the deal | h. taesan (TEASER)

being the shoulder to cry on is no easy task - especially not for han taesan, who has lived almost half of his life painfully smitten over someone he is confident would never, ever think of wanting him as more than just a friend. he wonders if he will ever get out of this so-called "friend zone," or maybe he just doesn't get the deal at all.

pairing. han taesan x fem. reader

genres + warnings. friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, one-sided pining, eventual happy ending, slight angst + profanity, taesan is bad at feelings, reader is even worse

playlist. don't get the deal by beabadoobee; but i like you by boy next door; somethin' stupid by frank sinatra; about a girl by nirvana; disasterology by pierce the veil; if i'm james dean, you're audrey hepburn by sleeping with sirens

expected word count. 7k-10k words | teaser word count. 1.3k words

author's note. hey goisss... ive had this in the drafts for so so long but for some reason i started working on it again and im nearing the end so hopefully this will be out very soon !!! dont quote me on that tho live laugh love user hangup119's work ethic <3 ALSO btw this teaser is like a flashback kinda thing but the real story actually takes place in their college days

@onedoornet | reblogs appreciated!

IT WAS HIGH SCHOOL WHEN YOU RUINED TAESAN'S LIFE FOREVER.

To be more specific, it was during your last year of high school when he realized that there was simply no way he was ever going to win you over. Not now, and certainly not ever.

Because here’s the thing: Taesan was not a bad-looking guy, he’s far from it, actually. In fact, he had enough business cards from agency recruiters that could fit a whole shoe box, so his looks clearly were never the problem here. Was it his personality, then? Probably not that, either. He was pretty chill most of the time, and he had never really acted up around anyone unless it truly called for it. He always made sure that he wasn’t making a fool out of himself around you, and there were never really incidents that could have painted him in a bad light in your eyes. He had decent grades, so he wasn’t stupid either, which was one of your major turn-offs. And he was sporty—he participated in the school’s soccer team, and he even had a bunch of fans giggling over him whenever he so much as passed them by while chasing after the ball, so his popularity was pretty decent too.

Was he simply not… your type? But that couldn’t be—you were always making heart eyes at Park Sunghoon who was two grades above, and he was told all the time that he was basically a lookalike of the guy! Not to mention you were always at Jung Sungchan’s games, cheering his name even when the guy was literally being benched. Taesan never got benched. He was the star player of his soccer team. You fawned over Park Wonbin when he performed at the school’s talent show, but Taesan could also sing and play the electric guitar just as well. You squealed over Lee Sohee because he was sooo cute! but Taesan knew how to get real fucking adorable, too! He practically had all of their qualities combined into one, and not once did you ever look back at him. 

And that’s when it hit him. 

It was prom that night, and he was off at the corner drinking from a cup of water instead of jumping along with the fray and bouncing up and down to some Drake song when his friend, Kim Leehan, approached him. 

“I’m not slow-dancing with you, Leehan,” he muttered, taking another sip of his bland water. “Piss off.”

Leehan raised his arms in response, smiling in a way that was just so Leehan-like of him. “Woah, woah, I get it. Someone pissed in your cup, or something? Literally and figuratively,” he laughed, leaning against the wall next to him. “Lighten up for once, ‘san. It’s your first and last prom, you know?” 

Taesan only grunted in return. 

“Look at you; so emo tonight,” Leehan said, defeated. He followed the other’s gaze towards the dance floor, where everyone is packed together like a can of sardines. “But you’re always so normal around Y/N.” 

Taesan paused.

Leehan laughed again. “Hm, maybe not?” 

Sometimes, it was both a blessing and a curse to be friends with someone like Kim Leehan. 

“Stop talking about things you already know,” Taesan murmured, chucking the water cup into the trash can a few meters away. He placed his hands inside his pockets, looking straight ahead amidst the dizzying lights and the dispersed crowd now that a slow song started playing.

“Why don’t you go ask her for a dance?” Leehan suggested, signaling towards the dance floor. 

“She’s literally holding hands with Yang Jungwon right now,” Taesan deadpanned. “Are you kidding me? How’d she get him of all people as her prom date?” 

Scoring the smartest and the most popular student in your school has got to be the biggest flex of your high school career. Taesan had almost no complaints except for the fact that Yang Jungwon was your date instead of—him! Any moment now and he’d be losing his mind. Actually, scratch that, he probably already was. 

Leehan hummed. 

“Do you think,” he began, slowly, darting his line of sight between you who’s giggling at something Yang Jungwon said, before turning back to Taesan, the angstiest kid he’s ever known. “That, maybe, if you had just asked her out to prom with you… then maybe she’d have said yes?” 

Finally, the gears inside Taesan’s head started to turn. Leehan smiled at the sight.

Taesan quickly scoffed. “No way,” he denied, crossing his arms. “Why would she go with me when she’s got Yang Jungwon as her date? It’d only happen in my dreams.” 

He figured it out anyway. It wasn’t because he wasn’t as handsome as Park Sunghoon, or as sporty as Jung Sungchan, or as musically talented as Park Wonbin (though he’d beg to differ), or as cute as Lee Sohee. Heck, it wasn’t even because he wasn’t as smart or as popular as Yang Jungwon. 

Maybe it was never because of those things that made you look at them instead of him. 

Maybe you were just never interested in him at all. 

And Taesan will have no other choice but to live with that fact forever. 

Leehan’s smile dropped, and he peeled himself away from the wall. Just as he was about to leave, he stopped for a second just to say: “You’re so—stubborn.” 

Taesan looked at him indignantly. “...What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Leehan shrugged, finally walking away. “You tell me, dude.” 

And then he was gone, rushing off to join the rest of their friends while Taesan stayed in the back, alone and miserable all because of his newfound epiphany. Though he supposed he was already miserable the moment you entered the venue with Yang Jungwon right beside you. 

It was a time of new beginnings for Taesan; a time to finally move on from you. 

Though, if only it was that easy.

Two weeks later, when you were working on a final project with him, you unexpectedly dropped the news that you and Jungwon have broken up. Because Jungwon was going to some Ivy League, and you were decidedly… not. You couldn’t handle the thought of being long-distance, so you decided to just cut things off with him since it can’t be helped, you know? And then you proceeded to laugh it off with that huge, idiotic smile of yours before continuing on with the project. Taesan didn’t know what was so funny.

Eventually, he had to share his water with you when you started sobbing hysterically inside of the library, hiccuping and all. 

He admittedly felt awful seeing you cry over Yang Jungwon, your high school boyfriend of probably only two months, but most importantly, he felt awful because of the relief that suddenly washed over him. 

…And what did that make Taesan?

So, really, maybe it was for the better that you would never look at Taesan the way he wished you would. That no matter how many times he has lent you an ear to talk to or a shoulder to cry on, you never bothered to stop for a moment and think that hey, maybe this guy likes me to some capacity, and maybe I should give him a chance. Because what kind of friend is he to feel relieved at the fact that you had gotten dumped by your boyfriend? That when your heart was broken, he could only rejoice at the fact that he now has a higher chance of getting with you once again even when it is so clear that he never once did? 

How could he sit next to you and think such thoughts? 

And yet, even when you keep jumping from one person to another, falling for someone, crying over another—Taesan will always be there for you when it all comes crashing down. A friend to cheer you on, to lift you up, to steady you—because that’s all he’ll ever be to you. 

Han Taesan was only seventeen years old when you ruined his life. 

And for what it is worth, he is still in love with you.

story by hangup119. do not steal.

[silkscream]

angel unaware

ꨄ︎ pairing: peter parker x silk!reader

ꨄ︎ synopsis: you’ve known peter since you were fifteen, shortly after you were both bitten by the same spider. it was too obvious that you’d end up loving him. as you drift apart during your first year of college, you’re not sure how much longer you can keep dancing in circles with him.

ꨄ︎ genres: best friends to lovers, angst, idiots in love, slowburn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort

ꨄ︎ tags: rated explicit/18+ (smut), alcohol usage, mention of drug usage, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), characters are 19, mild violence, gun violence (there is a school shooting in the beginning but there aren't too many details)

ꨄ︎ wc: 13.8k

ꨄ︎ notes: omg. happy valentine’s day y’all. i’ve been working on this Big Bertha for literal MONTHS and i’m so happy to finish it and share it with you. thank you for being around even though i haven’t been the most active; this is a gift to you <3

ꨄ︎ listen to the playlist!

The spider bit you first.

It isn’t until you’re fifteen that someone else finds out about it.

In many ways, you should’ve known. The symptoms, the hypervigilance, the strange, gradual transition of filling out your body. You blame puberty first, but this feels more than abnormal. It's almost as if it's bursting through your skin. The only other person who seems to mirror your coming of age is Peter Parker, whose twitchy nature exacerbates the longer high school goes on.

You keep your head low because there’s no reason for you to tell anyone about your powers. Not even the boy about whom you’re positive shares the same curse as you.

But then the videos come out. Red and blue lycra flying through buildings, a blurred figure saving cats from trees, webs shooting and swaying as onlookers stare like it’s a circus act. He calls himself Spider-man and you think it’s awfully corny.

You’d be a fool to think that you were safe from the antics of Avengers propaganda, rubble, and ash blocking your way to school on more days than not. You’d be a fool to think that you could evade the classic tropes of American violence that force the president to lament about "unthinkable tragedies" multiple times a year. At this moment, you’re a fool for getting yourself locked in a janitor’s closet while there’s an active shooter at Midtown High.

Your breath hitches when the doorknob jangles in front of you. On instinct, you stick yourself to the ceiling, far in the corner with your senses on fire. You’ve never actually had to attack anyone before. You aren’t entirely sure how this would play out with a gun involved.

Peter Parker’s labored breaths fill your eardrums, and without thinking, you shoot your webs directly at him. He stumbles, clumsily tripping over an empty mop bucket. He looks up at you in confusion. He’s wearing half of his suit.

"You. You just–"

"Shut the fuck up," you hiss, covering his mouth with your palm. In the darkness, your eyes widen. Someone is near.

It’s a stupid ordeal. The crime happening, this meet-cute, the way your senses feel haywire being this close to him. Both of you are holding your breath, your heart is pounding erratically in your chest, and blood is rushing through your ears.

The day ends with you and Peter making it out of the closet through a vent and the shooter getting subdued by the police. A troubled sophomore who barely knew how to use the gun in the first place made it easy for Spider-man to intercept the weapon the moment the kid raised his arms.

Peter follows you home that afternoon like a stray cat, babbling over a game of twenty questions that you aren’t in the mood to entertain. Somehow, his presence leaves your chest feeling warm and light, and you realize that you don’t mind the company. Twenty questions become routine.

He’s the only one who gets it, of course.

He tells you about the Avengers, ignoring the way you scoff under your breath. Secretly, you’re only a little jealous. Not because you want that kind of prestige or even a fancy suit, but because at least there’s a group of freaks out there who know.  "How come you didn’t tell me?" Peter asks you. He looks small on your couch despite his sixteen-year-old sleeper build and the fact that he’s taking up more than half of your space.

"What do you mean?"

"If you knew about Spider-Man this whole time… why didn’t you say something?"

"What, like I was supposed to seek you out on the street with a mask on?"

He gives you a pointed look. "You had a feeling about me. In school. Didn’t you?"

You don’t answer, which, to Peter, is an answer in itself.

"I didn’t want to be any trouble. It’s my burden to deal with," you say slowly, blinking up at him.

Burden. Peter smooths the word over in his mind and watches the way your nimble fingers pick at the threads of your sweater. He suddenly feels guilty for pestering you with questions, especially after the trauma of today.

"It’s not a burden," he says carefully. You don’t protest, but he knows there’s a certain level of repression inside you that won't let you give this part of yourself up. As if his knowing about your powers would only be that — knowing. He keeps staring at your fingers.

"You don’t have web shooters?" He gestures to your hands.

"Comes from my fingertips."

"No fucking way. You gotta show me."

"You saw it today," you chuckle as you take a breath.

"Not really," he pouts. The amber-brown of his eyes is annoyingly irresistible, and you know it because of how hot the back of your neck suddenly feels. There’s a hint of a taunting smile on his face, as if he knows.

You take him to the fire escape outside your bedroom window. It’s barely past five and it’s already gotten dark. Luckily, your bedroom faces an empty alley.

"I’m not some circus act, just so you know," you warn him.

"Please," he tuts. "If anything, we both are. Two arachno-freaks."

"You should rebrand as that," you say with a grin.

You shoot a web to the fire escape railing above you, holding yourself up and swinging like you're in P.E. climbing a rope. You feel ridiculous, to say the least. You quickly shoot more webs after a quick scan of your surroundings to swaddle yourself in something resembling a cocoon. It hangs like a playground swing from the metal above.

"Holy shit! Does it ever… run out? Do you get web blocks? Does it come out of anywhere else–"

"I’m not answering that." Your cheeks heat up at the insinuation.

"Sorry, just curious." He holds his palms up in defense, then reaches to touch a fingertip to the silk holding you together. It feels soft like cotton candy and is much less sticky than what came out of his web shooters.

He asks you to swing with him, and for some reason, you say yes. You don’t like to swing very much, and if you do, you try to look for construction sites or abandoned scaffolding to evade attention. Tonight, however, the New York City lights look warm against the velvety backdrop of the sky, and you decide that flying through the air with someone else feels better than doing it alone.

____

He doesn’t understand your desire to stay under the radar. Whenever he brings it up, you take the opportunity to bring up the New York City disasters that have gone underway before the two of you even graduate. If anything, you’ve been a decent backup, but you refuse to be in the public eye. You don’t want to be Spider-girl.

But you don’t mind swinging around the city in your handmade suit, spun and woven together with the silk that flows straight from your fingertips. It’s one thing that Peter’s jealous of, but it helps him when he needs to patch up a wound when he’s on the go with you.

Peter comes through your window with a red gash on his thigh. You can smell him before you see him.

"Ugh, you broke the streak. Five days without a scratch. That’s a record for you, Parker," you sigh, already rummaging through your drawers for the usual first-aid kit.

"I’m fine." He winces as he crouches down carefully on the floor. You’ve gotten good at minding your business and not asking about his wounds, at least not ones that aren’t too deep into the flesh. He knows it would only hurt you if you knew.

"And yet you’re here."

"I wanted to see you. You know I always want to see you."

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You kneel before him, pouring hydrogen peroxide onto the gash as you dab gently with a hand towel. He hisses and grabs your forearm with more force than he intends to.

"You’ll be fine," you reassure him gently.

"Yeah. I could've done it, you know," he says as he carefully holds your gaze.

"‘S’fun sometimes," you reply without looking at him. Carefully, you wrap gauze around his leg. "When I was little, my neighbor and I used to play House, but it always turned into, like… Hospital. And I’d pretend to be a nurse and take care of her, I’d tuck her into bed, and I’d give her lollipops from my Halloween stash for being a good patient."

Peter chuckles. He wobbles slightly as he stands up with your help.

"Am I a good patient?"

"Mm. A very brave boy," you say as you pat his cheek.

"What, I don’t get a treat?"

"Your treat is staying alive." You take him by the wrist towards your living room couch.

He doesn’t know what he’d do without you. It’s not right for him to think of you as an extension of himself, but he often yearns for your presence like a phantom limb whenever you aren’t on patrol with him. He realizes you're the yin to his yang.

It excites him, the images of you two that end up on the Internet. How good you look together. You, on the other hand, dread any semblance of perception by the world.

"People are catching on, you know. Ned found a subreddit on you the other day," Peter murmurs into your lap.

You snort, rolling your eyes the way you always do. You fiddle with the soft strands of his hair. It’s second nature to you. "Ned needs to reduce his screen time tenfold."

"Rabbit."

You sigh dramatically at the nickname. He’d adopted it after the many jumpscares he’d give you when he’d sneak into your room at night. You’d become so accustomed to him that your spider-sense would dull when it came to Peter. He was your source of comfort.

"What, Pete?"

"Why don’t you patrol with me?"

"You know why." It’s too stressful. Too public. Too many run-ins with death that you can anticipate.

"It’s better when you’re around."

"You’re a big boy, Peter," you murmur. Your hand slides across his scalp again, this time with your fingertips settling in the space behind his ears. You aren’t looking at him; instead, you are watching the documentary on the television at a low volume. He crumples at your touch.

"May says you’re my guardian angel. Every time something really bad has happened, it always worked out because you were there."

"I mean, it probably helps when you have another Spider-person as a backup."

"I think she’s right, though."

You don’t say anything. You’re tempted to reply with something sardonic or self-deprecating. You put too much faith in me. But you can’t – he’s looking at you with something that you can’t fathom. Something earnest and entirely too fragile. You have to look away.

He hums, sighing into a tattered copy of Hamlet. "I can’t deal with any more Shakespeare."

"You’re such a slow reader despite being a goddamn genius."

"Did you just say something nice about me?" Peter raises a brow.

"Oh my God, relax, Big Bang Theory."

He scoffs and swallows down a smart-ass remark. A grin lingers in his mouth as he settles back into the book.

____

You’re apart from Peter for the first time since age sixteen. You don’t tell him – you don’t tell anyone – but you decide on an out-of-state university because you don’t want to feel tethered to him. Your friends consider you and Peter a package deal, and yes, he’s probably the first real best friend you’ve ever had, but the gnawing inside of you telling you that distance is needed doesn’t stop.

You, the black sheep, are the antithesis of your hero of a best friend, despite being bitten by the same spider. You’ve always wondered if your story was supposed to play out like some sort of Shakespearean tragedy because of your bond with Peter, so you decide to take your mind off of it. At least it won’t be as painful as severing it completely.

It feels free to be away from all the chaos. In Rhode Island, you can focus on your art and fold your feelings away in a neat little envelope. You’d rather die than let any of that out, especially when Peter insists on such frequent FaceTime calls.

Sometimes, you fall asleep to the sound of his voice. He tells you about taking a train down to Providence in the middle of September to visit you like some kind of long distance boyfriend. The thought makes something in your stomach bloom and stagger in the same way. He doesn’t keep his promise – chem labs are already kicking his ass halfway to Thanksgiving break, not to mention the crime rate in New York City rockets beyond normal.

Thanksgiving comes, and both of you are the same. Peter is exactly as boyish as you left him three months ago, though his brown hair has grown longer and he wears blue-light readers to help with the mild headaches he gets from staring at screens.

He isn't attached to your hip like you expected. Your week off is filled with missed texts and a marathon of TV shows about broken women—the kind with dark humor and falling in love with priests.

The next time you see him, your roommate is out of town. It's not an unusual occurrence given how little she spends time in the dorm, always elsewhere with her new boyfriend.

Peter takes up so much space in your bed that you almost offer to push the two twin beds together, but the feeling of his warmth is too comforting. Propped against the wall, you’re hip-to-hip with him as you scroll through Netflix on your laptop.

You can feel him staring. It becomes routine, or maybe it’s your senses, but you can always tell when he’s merely observing you, watching you carefully like ripples on a pond. You've never really chastised him about it, but it doesn't help that you know he can tell when you're nervous. He has you memorized.

He likes the way you look when you concentrate. Sometimes, when you’re deep in thought, he likes to take his thumb and smooth out the ridges of your furrowed brows even though you end up swatting him away. When he does this now, you look up at him with wide, doe eyes.

"Still as indecisive as ever."

"I have to be, otherwise you’ll just put on Gilmore Girls," you scoff.

"You’re the one who showed me that!" Peter protests.

"And then it was the only thing you wanted to watch to the point where I genuinely considered locking you out of my Netflix account!"

He doesn’t bother to argue, instead resorting to poking you in the side. You squirm immediately, yelping as he continues. He flashes you a leering grin as you whine in dissent, flinching from the feather-like touch of his fingertips dancing across your skin.

"You’re so annoying," you huff, curling your body toward the wall.

"And you love it."

More than you’d ever know.

You pause, rolling your eyes at him. You contemplate kicking him again just to get a rise out of him, anything other than the short silence between you that feels more present than it should be. Your stomach feels warm at his proximity, but then again, Peter’s built like a human furnace anyway.

When you attempt to playfully shove him, he catches your wrist with quick reflexes until the two of you are tangled together. It’s easy to fight with him when you’re both running off the same biological fuel. When he ends up on top of you, you forget how to breathe.

The two of you stare at each other like this, as if frozen in time. It’s you who looks away first, then back to his big brown eyes, settling a palm to his cheek. You can feel how hard he is. You wonder if he knows.

It’s something you’ve only thought about in your subconscious, in dreams, or in moments when you’re bandaging his wounds. How would it feel to have his skin all over yours? It’s a selfish thought, but it rings in your brain without warning at times like these, times of such closeness. The spider bit the two of you for a reason. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

It’s a curious thing for sure, but there are doors you don’t want to open yet.  

"One episode and then I pick a movie," you mumble.

____

You don’t tell him about transferring when you come back for Christmas break. It feels embarrassing, despite knowing that he’d be ecstatic about the news. RISD proved to be too difficult for your one-track mind as you found yourself sleeping in more and more, flaking on the most rigorous of classes due to your mood. You’d successfully gotten into Pratt for the next semester and were fully moved out, thankfully. But when you see Peter in the arms of another, you wish you hadn't left.

You should’ve expected it, maybe. Peter had always had a thing for Michelle Jones but could never quite get past the friend zone. It seems as though your absence has nudged him further.

No, that feels too selfish to say.

But it’s still too difficult to bear in the loneliness of December, knowing that when the New Year’s parties hit, you’re still the black sheep. Even in a shiny little dress.

You don’t see him much over winter break, but he gets you a silver necklace for Christmas with a spider pendant hanging on it. It’s more sentimental than you expect, and it’s the nicest gift you’ve ever received. It certainly beats the Lego set you’d gotten for him.

Now, in your black cocktail dress, you smile dopily at Ned Leeds as the rest of the room counts down at the television, waiting for the ball to drop. It’s bittersweet when you remember last year’s countdown, in which Peter insisted the two of you swung out to Manhattan to watch the ball drop in person. You remember how much you wanted to kiss him then, but you didn’t. Thank God for his hero's anonymity and the impediment of his suit.

"Five, four, three, two, one – Happy New Year!"

Makeshift confetti falls to the ground as you watch him and MJ kiss. There’s enough champagne in your system for your heart to grow warm at the sight of it.  

____

January is cold. Desolate. Even if you have your friends around you in New York, the place that feels most like home, you’ve come to realize. But there’s still something missing, something lacking. Like you’re inside a familiar place inside a dream.

You ignore the itch, learning to numb it with champagne. It worked on New Year’s, and now it’s been working for several weeks. You don’t leave your apartment.

Even though Peter Parker is a text or phone call away, you fade into the background of his life, watching him through newsreels and YouTube videos. You’re on his mind more than you’d expect. He doesn’t know why, though he does realize that your absence bothers him in small ways.

Sometimes, when he’s on patrol, he’s frustrated by his loneliness, especially in the dead of winter. You were never one to play the hero – he knew that – but it was still comforting to have someone to patch up his wounds or soften his fall. The webs that flow from your fingertips have always been strong, enough to form hammocks in between the corners of his bedroom or a makeshift suit.

And then there are the dreams. They feel real, vivid, and much too physical for something that his mind could conjure in his unconscious. You had only kissed him once before (in real life, that is), at a stupid basement party in the ninth grade, before the two of you were friends, but shortly after the initial spider bite. Although it’s something that’s only been brought up as a joke these past few years, Peter remembers vividly how hard his heart was pounding when the glass bottle landed on you after what felt like an excruciatingly long spin. He could never forget the feeling. He wonders if you feel the same.

It’s not something he should be thinking about right now. Especially when you’re not his girlfriend. He’d rather die a thousand deaths than have you know what you do to him in his dreams when you’re nothing but a reverie of your own silk-spun webs and soft, bare skin. You treat him like prey. He loves it.

Peter can nearly smell you, that sandalwood-citrus shampoo of yours, and your warm breath over his face. Your little whispers of praise, your tiny whimpers. The image of your eyes struggling to stay open while you’re underneath him is burned into his brain.

"I missed you," you say breathlessly. "Missed you so much."

God, how is this a dream? He can feel you so clearly. Until he doesn't, and he wakes up with a groan, an exhale, and an excess of sweat on his brow. Not to mention a dampness below him.

"Fucking Christ," he curses under his breath.

The ghost of you is on his bedroom ceiling, in the corner of his room. Something nearby smells like you, even though you haven’t been in his room in ages. This makes something in his chest hurt until he decides to get out of bed.

He wants to see you, but he feels guilty knowing what he's just dreamt about. He can’t help that the person that makes him feel the most human is the only other one who shares the venom in his blood.

Sometimes he follows you. It feels almost meditative for him to sit on a rooftop and watch you from the window of your favorite cafe, reading and writing and breathing. The brightness of his phone screen illuminates his face as his eyes scan over your contact. Your face smiles back at him, but there’s a distance considering the lack of texts between the two of you over the past month. He sighs as he zooms in on your location – the two of you had shared each others’ years ago and only found it convenient to keep.

Peter doesn’t know why he’s feeling all this yearning all of a sudden – sometimes he recognizes the feeling in his body and he thinks of you and he thinks of safety. Other times, like now, he knows that it only breeds guilt.

But he misses being quiet with you, misses the mundane intimacies of him poking you and you fixing his hair. All the small expressions you make with your face that only he notices. There’s something empty in the space he usually holds for you in his heart, and he doesn’t know why.

He has to see you. Maybe then, something in his brain will click, or he’ll see you as the old friend you’ve always been, and he can blame the heat in his body on his subconscious.

You’re predictable with your routine, because this afternoon, he finds you in your usual spot by the window at your favorite cafe again. You’re writing in your journal with your noise-canceling headphones on, so Peter’s presence is completely unknown to you. After he gets his coffee, he watches you from afar, just for a little bit.

As if on cue, you already know. The moment you skip a song and a millisecond of silence fills the space in your head, you feel him immediately. You always know when he’s around.

"Peter," you murmur without thinking. Your gaze is soft but carries the surprise of a deer caught in headlights.

"Hey," he smiles. "Mind if I sit here?"

He gestures to the armchair across from you, and you nod.

Peter knows how to coax your warmth from you, because within minutes, he has you talking about school, what’s on your mind, and why it feels better to be holed up in a cafe than sit miserably at home. You do the same for him, though you notice he’s more reserved for some reason – he’s tight-lipped about MJ, and doesn’t delve into the details of his hero work. He prefers to bombard you with questions instead, listening intently to your most recent fixations or the newest movie you saw alone in theaters.

"You replaced me yet, Rabbit?" he teases you.

"Never," you scoff, tipping your coffee cup to hide any embarrassment on your face. You haven’t heard him call you that in so long. "You know me. I’m a lone wolf."

"Pratt seems like your crowd though, no? No one at Midtown High was a match for you. You were way too cool."

"Mmm, true, yet you’re my best friend."

"Hey!"

Your laugh is like a song to him; he can’t help but smile ear to ear when he hears it.

"The only person who talks to me at school is this guy Cam from my ceramics class. He’s actually from Brooklyn so we took the train together to get home and he’s around for break, which is cool."

Peter’s face nearly goes cold at the sound of someone else’s name, though he stays composed.

"Fun. Are you two…" He gestures vaguely.

"We hooked up like, once, but I don’t really know where it’s going." You say it so nonchalantly like it’s an afterthought. You’re not even looking at Peter.

"If he fucks anything up, you know where to find me."

You smile, rolling your eyes in that bashful way you do when you shrug things off, and it’s more apparent to Peter now how much he adores all your little quirks and mannerisms. He realizes that he might have them all memorized.

"We’re actually going to a party tonight if you want to come. A friend of a friend’s birthday party in Manhattan, I think? I think her name was Anna?"

"Oh, my friend Gwen knows her and invited me!"

"Small world." You swallow down the image of Peter at the party with an ESU girl for a second, and it feels rough in your throat. But you’ll manage. You always do. "Is MJ coming?"

Peter shakes his head. "Ah, she’s in Philly visiting family. I’ll probably go with Gwen and her boyfriend Harry, though."

You feel shame in your relief. It’s sickening how much you have to bury your desire and your tenderness because you know better. You know that even though the two of you were bitten by the same spider, it doesn’t mean you’re necessarily compatible. Sometimes you think your attraction to Peter is some biological fluke determined by the cells in both of your bodies. And then you think, God, how can anyone look into his brown eyes and not feel a thing?

You're both warm in your chests as you part ways, waiting for your next meeting.

____

The night of the party, Peter revels in the sight of you wearing your spider necklace, which sparkles under the flashing lights of the penthouse apartment you’re both in. His mood dampens when he notices the tall boy attached to your hip like a guard dog.

It’s a stupid game and he knows it. The way he pretends not to see you or acknowledge your presence is cruel, but it feels safe for now. He doesn’t feel ready. He’s high off some gummy that Harry had given him an hour earlier, and it’s still fogging his senses, and even though he can be cloudy and nonchalant at this party, his paranoia precedes him. It feels like you’re everywhere.

He shouldn’t feel this way. Why does he feel this way? You’re his best friend and you have your own life that’s separate from his – he knew this would happen the moment he found out you were going to different colleges. Despite that, there’s a piece of you tethered to him that he can’t bear to cut off. It makes him feel sane, the parts of you that you’ve given him.

But now, he sees you laughing and swaying your hips with someone else’s hands resting on your waist and it makes his face burn.

"Dude," Gwen snaps her fingers in front of his face. Peter blinks back at her. "Are you good?"

"Yeah, sorry."

"Harry wanted to do a shot, you want to join?"

Peter nods numbly, following the blonde to the kitchen. He watches everyone else in the kitchen pour shots and drinks like they are rehearsed marionettes. Harry snaps him out of his daze once he slams down a shot glass full of vodka in front of him.

"Drink up, Parker!" Harry cheers.

The alcohol burns Peter’s throat, but he feels the head rush and the warmth. It feels good, makes him feel looser. Malleable. Invincible, maybe, if he took two or three more. But he knows he has to pace himself. He hates that his default setting is to look for you no matter where he is. But when he scans the room this time, you’re downing a glass of champagne alone.

Your body feels heavy at the moment, so you don’t register him plopping down on the couch next to you. You wake up to the sound of his voice as you always do.

"Hey, you."

"Hey."

Your glass of champagne is empty, so you take the beer bottle out of Peter’s hand without saying a word, and he lets you. He watches you gulp a bit of it down. Maybe you’re a little too drunk. Maybe you’re imagining the way his eyes scan your body.

You’re drunk enough to feel social, but truthfully, you’re deathly afraid of being alone with anyone right now. Being alone with someone would make you feel much too raw and vulnerable, so you convince Peter to introduce you to his friends that you’ve never met, and you try to cope with the fact that they look like they were cut straight out of a magazine.

"Peter talks about you all the time," Gwen gushes, sipping from her champagne flute.

"He does?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course," she nods incessantly.

"Only incredible reviews all around," Harry nods, drunkenly slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulders. The brunette smiles sheepishly, bashfully. You raise an eyebrow at him along with a coy smile.

"Should hope so," you tease. "He wouldn’t have gotten through high school without me."

It’s mostly a lie considering Peter was the star student and you were barely second to him. Maybe fifth or sixth. In a way, your words are true, because Peter’s agreeing with you.

You zone out as he starts a story from junior year and you have half the mind to chime in when needed. Harry suddenly puts a whisky coke in your hand and you don’t want to refuse out of politeness, but you know the mix of different alcohol will have your head banging in the morning. Peter downs half of his within a millisecond.

"What?" he asks when he notices you making a face.

"Since when do you drink so much?"

"It’s a party," he shrugs.

"Peter, when I brought you to your first party, you refused to drink anything that wasn’t a fruity canned cocktail. You won’t go near wine let alone whiskey."

"A semester at ESU changes you," Harry interjects. "He’s still a little fruity, though."

Peter chastises him as you and Gwen laugh. As the boys bicker, Gwen gets your attention. She asks you mundane questions, like your major, your zodiac sign, and what you thought of the season finale of White Lotus. You’re grateful when she beckons you to follow her to the kitchen to make another whiskey coke.

Her glossed lips twist to the side, eyes bright with a teasing glance. She has the ability to make you feel calm, almost excited to be there.

"He is obsessed with you," she sneers.

"What do you mean?"

"He just talked about you so much when we met him that I had to stalk your Insta, and I was like Jesus Christ, that makes so much sense. If I wasn’t with Harry I’d snatch you up myself. And then when I met his girlfriend and I was confused that it wasn’t you. Unless you’re doing that, like, exes-that-are-still-best-friends thing."

You blush and nearly choke on your drink. "Peter and I never dated."

"Seriously?"

You say nothing, only forcing an amused smile. You don’t know where to put her assumptions, but you sure as hell can’t keep them.

"I’m actually, uh, here with someone," you mutter, pretending to look around. Briefly, you lock eyes with Peter on the couch, who’s pretending to listen to Harry's rambling. Your eyes flit away quickly. "I think I might step outside for a smoke and look for him."

You don’t have to turn around to know that Peter’s eyes are following you. Or maybe you’re just drunk and projecting. Gwen’s bubbly nature makes her seem like the type to gossip, and just because your best friend happened to talk about you doesn’t mean that there was anything under the surface. But then you notice his slightly nervous energy tonight, the silver necklace around your neck, and the last time he visited you months before, when his body was so close to yours.

A pair of hands situate themselves on your waist and it makes you jump. The warmth feels different, as does the sudden smell of sharp cologne, and then you feel your heart drop the slightest bit when you hear his voice.

"Was looking for you," Cam slurs. You can smell the beer breath as he exhales on your neck, making you shiver.

"You sure? Because you’ve been MIA for like forty-five minutes."

You try to keep your voice even, sighing when he plants a kiss on your neck. Any animosity in your tone is completely ignored.

"I was catching up with some people that I wanted to introduce you to," he says, tugging you along by the wrist like a child. You pull up a chair to a firepit surrounded by a group of strangers, and the charade of icebreakers returns. There’s no point in remembering anyone’s name.

You think about returning inside to look for Peter or maybe Gwen and Harry, but being on Cam’s lap is distracting you. At some point, a joint a passed around, and the feeling of the boy’s arms around you makes it easy to melt into nothing.

____

You’re right. You always are. Peter Parker doesn’t drink, and he’s never drunk this much in his entire life. He’s been sitting in the bathtub for… how long? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that his senses were dulled to the point of detachment and he needed to get alone to ground himself.

He’s so out of it that he doesn’t realize someone’s knocking on the door of the bathroom, and his reaction time is too slow before Harry barges in.

"Are you hiding in the bathtub?" Harry squints.

"No, I’m just… hangin’ out," Peter stammers.

Harry snaps out of the facade of a confused daze and shrugs, unbuckling his belt with nonchalance in front of the toilet.

"Dude!"

"What? I’m turned around!"

Sighing, Peter looks around his surroundings. Generic brand shampoo and conditioner. A deformed bar of soap. A red solo cup with clear liquid. He remembers suddenly – he’d filled an empty cup he found with sink water before getting in the tub.

His brain swims with dizziness and mild nausea that mix up his stomach. Gulping down the water, his throat burns immediately, only to realize that it isn’t water at all. It’s fucking vodka and seltzer. Harry’s turned around again, cackling before washing his hands.

"Idiot."

"Fuckingshitjesusfuckingchrist," Peter groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You should just drink straight vodka at this point, man."

"Oh, I do," Harry agrees. He crouches down, squatting to meet Peter at eye level. A warm palm taps Peter’s cheek. "You good, bro?"

"Mmm," Peter nods. His breathing turns shallow as he hunches over, pulling his knees into his chest.

"Jesus, you need to get home, don’t you?"

"‘m fine. You go home."

"Gwen’s been nagging me to for the past ten minutes, so I might. I’d let you crash on the couch, but we’re getting up early to go upstate. How are you getting home, bro?"

Harry frowns when he realizes Peter is barely listening. "Pete!"

He grimaces at Harry’s constant fidgeting. With an annoyed sigh, he shoos the other boy away with flailing arms.

"Heard you," he slurs. "I’ll– I’ll share an Uber with Y/N."

Harry sighs with exasperation, pulling Peter’s arm forcefully to get him out of the tub and down to the living room of the house. Peter is dizzy in his vision, clumsy in his movements, but finds clarity when he glances towards the couch and sees you sitting there with furrowed brows.

"Peter? Are you okay?" you ask.

"Yeah, absolutely not," Harry says. "Gwen and I gotta head home and we’re leaving early tomorrow so he can’t crash. You guys are like, neighbors, right?"

You swallow a lump in your throat, briefly turning your head to glance back at Cam, then back at Peter. He looks at you with a guilty cadence, though his eyes lull with a tiredness that is unusual for him. He’s corpse-like, still hanging onto Harry’s shoulder like a lifeline. It makes the pit of your stomach stir.

It’s unlike him, to be this drunk. The only other time Peter has been this drunk was once in high school, when he was slurring his words all night and determined to clutch you like a teddy bear in his twin-sized bed. You recall his warmth and how his post-puberty figure appeared gargantuan to your body. Foreign, but warm. Comforting. When you think about taking Peter home tonight, you feel like you aren’t allowed to lay next to a body that doesn’t belong to you.

"Yeah, I’ll take him home."

____

"Coulda swung home myself," the boy mumbles. You hit him on the arm and give him a chastising look. Thankfully, your current Uber driver speaks a limited amount of English, not to mention the radio is on blast.

"You couldn’t have. You’re so fucking drunk, you’d kill yourself," you hiss in a low tone.

"Not if you were with me."

"Well, I wouldn’t be. I wasn’t even gonna go home tonight."

"Ah. Of course. Cam,” he exasperates. “Is he your boyfriend?"

You sigh. "No, he’s not."

"Right, you don’t… you don’t do boyfriends," Peter murmurs, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

The car stops in front of Peter’s apartment building.

"Thank you," you say stiffly to the Uber driver as you drag Peter out of the car. The elevator ride is awkward and quiet, as is the fumbling of keys when Peter tries to unlock the door.

He leans on your body as you coerce him into his bedroom, with him thumping onto his bottom bunk.

"Jesus. I feel like if Richie Rich called you an Uber himself you could’ve easily made it up the elevator by yourself. Right, Pete?"

"Mhmm. He’s such. A worry wart. For some rea–" Peter makes a gulping sound that makes your face pale. Immediately, you grab his trash bin and place it between his feet.

"‘m not gonna puke."

"I think you might, Peter."

He pauses and examines you as you kneel in front of him. He’s so drunk, so awfully drunk, but he has enough sense in him to take the caution that the anxious voice in the back of his head commands. But fuck, you look so pretty. He doesn’t know what to do about it.

Peter takes a strand of your hair in his hands and curls it around his finger. His shallow breaths feel louder than they should be. Or maybe they’re yours. He can’t really tell.

"What?"

"Nothing," he shrugs. "I won’t vomit. I promise."

You sigh.

"I should get going–"

"Can you stay for a little?"

Swallowing, you nod. You get into bed with him, because, quite frankly, you’ve had your fair share of alcohol tonight, and laying down in Peter’s warm bed makes you want to melt off the bone.

"I'm sorry for fucking up your night." Peter turns to lie on his side and drapes an arm carefully around you. His hand is feather-bare on your hip.

"You didn’t."

"You were gonna go home with Cam."

"It’s fine, Peter. I wanted to make sure you were safe."

"Like a chore."

"Not like a chore."

"Yeah, okay."

He does that thing again – holds a strand of your hair in his hands. He runs his fingertips nimbly across your scalp as if he’s handling an injured bird. As if he’s afraid you’d bite.

Your eyes are huge, like flying saucers. He used to say that all the time, especially whenever you came to his apartment after experimenting with any new drugs. You only felt safe with him – you had told him that – and he took care of you and your big eyes and your tendencies toward erratic behavior. He always knew how to calm you down. And now, in your adult lives, you were doing it for him.

You let him keep his hands in your hair and he doesn’t know why. There’s a theory he wants to test – one that he dreams about even when he knows he shouldn’t. He thinks about it in vulnerable moments. He considers that maybe this is a vulnerable moment.

His fingertips trace your face between the edge of your eyebrow and the baby hairs on your hairline. He taps along your temple gently, smoothing across the softness of your skin until he sculpts down your cheek and jaw. He blinks once, then twice. And then he rests the pad of his thumb on the corner of your mouth.

Almost automatically, you part your lips. Your mouth is pink, dusted with a purplish-red in the center from the merlot you’d drank hours before, and he wants to lick it off you.

He feels your heart beating, too, and you can hear his. It's a loud bang that resonates in between your eardrums. It’s that shared venom that makes your bodies so acquainted with one another. You briefly consider whether a human body can overheat and burn away simply by being touched by another. You wonder how human the two of you can really be.

You close your eyes.

"What are you doing?" you whisper. Your voice is gossamer-thin, barely there, but you’re so close to him that he hears it so clearly.

"Whatever you want." His voice is dripping honey.

You shake your head, still with your eyes closed. Peter’s hand descends to your jaw, thumb on your bone, with the rest of his fingers warming up your neck. You feel like you might just choke on the feeling of it.

"No, that’s not fair. That’s not… okay."

"What?"

"You’re drunk, Peter. Don’t do that to me. Please."

"What am I doing?"

Your face scrunches up as your eyes open to look at him with a pained expression. You have to close them again. You don’t want to look at him. You want his hands off of you, so you push them away.

"You’re with MJ."

"I… I know."

Your face is crumpled as you inch out of his bed. You’re back to kneeling on the floor in front of him.

"Please don’t leave," Peter whispers.

"I’m tired. I’ll sleep on the top bunk," you mumble. You try not to let him catch you sniffling.

"Goodnight.” You don’t respond.

He falls asleep shortly after and smells your perfume even in his dreams. When he wakes up, he smells you. But you’re nowhere to be found. There’s only the cold air coming from a crack of his window left slightly open.

____

It’s not your fault, but you’ve broken his heart a million times. The night of the party was the most recent one. To be fair, he had also broken your heart. He was just too fucking drunk to remember most of it.

You’ve become a ghost, barely texting Peter back, and when you do, your responses are short and clipped. You don’t have much time to hang out, and he realizes he doesn’t either, not when he has MJ to spend time with along with his Spider-Man duties.

But he would make time for you if you wanted it. He wonders if you know that. He feels too ashamed to tell you that himself.

It’s been like this before, and he’s been able to cope. The way you’re on his brain and won’t leave —stuck on him like a parasite. It’s his fault, he decides, not yours. He knows he���s not being fair. Not to you, not to MJ, not to himself. But he keeps it all in and hopes it doesn’t boil over.

Truthfully, Peter wants to avoid everyone. He understands now why you abhor winter to the degree that you always have. The desolation is too much to bear when there’s not much sunlight in January to activate dopamine receptors, so Peter sleeps in longer than he should. Late enough for Aunt May to get on his case about it.

"Something’s up with you," MJ accuses him on a Thursday evening. It’s one of their ritual movie nights with pizza and wine.

"Huh? Nothing’s up," Peter shrugs.

"No, I know you. Something’s wrong."

"I’m fine, Em." A lie.

It’s a miracle that Michelle Jones sees through Peter’s bullshit because it means that she has the incentive to protect herself from any future bullshit that may break her later on. Peter is too numb to process any of it. There was the refusal of admission, the attempt to keep up the wall of his emotions, which crashed down soon enough by the time MJ was out of the door.

He thinks he should call you, but he doesn’t.

____

Peter is used to scrapes and bruises. He’s seen more than enough charred flesh than a nineteen-year-old should. You had never asked to be his caretaker, but over the course of years, that was what you became. His guardian angel.

He used to make excuses to come over after patrol, trying to coax you out of your nest of a room for just an evening. He'd always known you were far more talented than you gave yourself credit for when it came to spider abilities, but it felt more like a curse than a gift for you to bear.

Some nights, he dreams of you falling stories beneath him. Your face is covered in rubble and ash, and although his nightmares often start with this, he knows that somehow, it’s his fault. It feels visceral, the burning in his calloused hands. Torn lycra to show the dirt underneath his fingernails. Hot tears dripping.

He starts taking that Ambien you gave him years ago.

After that, each day passes like he’s trapped in a nightmarish purgatory. No, that’s an exaggeration. He’s just a victim of a New York winter, and he misses you more than he wants to admit to himself or anyone else.

"I can take care of myself." And with that, the image of you disappears.

"I know," he murmurs softly. He’s always known. It is insignificant in comparison to how badly he wants to take care of you if you let him. Your voice echoes in the cavern of his room. You get farther away by the second until you disappear completely, and he evidently wakes up.

Even in your worst state, he’s obsessed with your honeyed skin. It doesn’t matter the number of bruises or cuts – he caresses them all with his nimble fingertips, and he’s ready to kiss them until they heal. He thinks about this sometimes, how much he cares for you and your body. What he'd do if you just let him in, let him devour you however he pleases, and it disgusts him.

In his dreams where you’re hurt, he’s willing to sacrifice whatever he can so that you can revert to your clean, unbothered state. I’d never let anyone break you. It’s a prayer for him. One that he whispers in your ear whenever he can, at least in these dreams. In reality, he knows that he has to let you go because he knows you. Knows how much you want to be free and alone. How you can take care of yourself. You’re not a damsel in distress – you never have been. But Peter feels like he was made to care for you. It would gut him all the same regardless of whether you loved him or not, and he was willing.

When it’s real, he doesn’t know what to do. He didn’t ever think the two of you would be in this position.

He’s been in enough battles to know how these things end. Mr. Stark had walked him through it all and been by his side while the rest of the Avengers repaired the other broken bits of the universe.

Right now is one of those unique times, the quiet and wretched ones, where Peter is contemplating breath after breath before imagining the full picture. Shambles of the street he’s in. The ache of his bruised body and the blood that he sees from yours, that he shouldn’t have seen, because you said it yourself. You’re not a fucking hero. So why is your blood streaked on the palm of his hands?

The distance between you and Peter doesn’t matter – it never does. The moment you’d felt a dread stirring in your stomach, there was a sharp pain in your head that refused to leave unless the working adrenaline in your body was satiated. It wasn’t the same adrenaline that circulated within you from a night of debauchery – instead, it felt like poison. A compulsory kind of pain, a sharp jolt to your senses. Tonight, you’d felt Peter in danger, and it would’ve killed you if you couldn’t get to him. He'd been the destination you'd been dead set on by the end of the night because of your spider instincts.

The police broadcast was too muffled for you to understand much of it, but you picked out the parts where Spider-Man was mentioned and followed through on them. Although you didn’t fall into the shadow of his hero work, you still kept enough tabs on Peter to know where he would usually be on patrol. It wasn’t like he knew, or that you’d ever told him, but when he was starting out as another guard dog for the Avengers in high school, you needed to at least know his approximate location in the event that something went terribly wrong.

An explosion blasts in the center of a park, where the two of you would meet in the middle between Queens and Stark Tower. This is where you lay your courage down. This is where you find Spider-Man’s mangled body before anyone else does.

"Peter," you huff. "S’gonna be okay. You with me? I’m gonna make sure you’re okay."

He’s just less than conscious, the stretch of his animated eyes limited by his weakness. When he sees your face, however, his face glows – not that you can see it through his mask.

He says your name with a fervor that surprises you. His voice is raspy.

"‘m fine. I have to stay," he grunts, his pain palpable. You know that he’s telling the truth, but you don’t want to leave him alone in his misery.

"Peter. You’re hurt."

"You go home. I’ll come find you later. Just let me–"

"You’re fucking limping."

You had always carried yourself like a feather-like, lithe ghost. Quiet, whereas Peter was bold, despite the fact that his anxious nature had rendered him a boyish thing all these years. This is why he’s surprised that you carry him easily with your supernatural strength. He forgets that you have the same abilities as him. If anything, he’d think you were stronger than him in every way.

Even with his thick skin, he melts into something malleable, comfortable. The solace of your arms makes him feel better already.

A pang of small guilt rots away within him, knowing the circumstances of your last meeting. You’re too good. He didn’t deserve to be saved by you, to be patched up with your nimble fingers like he had been treated when he was younger and more naive.

"I can make it to my place, it’s okay," he rasps gently.

You don’t have to say anything, because bullshit radiates through the stern expression of your eyes, your mouth in a grimace. You had always been stubborn and today isn’t an exception. With your webs, you crochet a path for him toward your home, lifting and catching the boy effortlessly as you swing.

A gentle sigh escapes his mouth when the two of you crawl into the safety of your fire escape. The night is quiet behind you. When he looks at you, you have to look away, fixing your hair nervously or occupying your gaze anywhere but in his direction. His eyes are poignant in their longing, though you’re unsure of what he could be thinking. If he’s sorry about before. If he’s ashamed.

Your wispy webs wrap around the parts of him that hurt, but you wince when you check on him to see that the white fibers are slowly saturated with the dark crimson of his open wounds.

"Peter, you have to wash up," you whisper. "Shit’s gonna get infected. I can put some gauze on you after you shower."

He nods wordlessly when you ask him if he can manage the shower on his own. He feels vulnerable, and although your presence is always desired by him, he finds relief in the hot steam of your shower, alone with his thoughts. He’s still shaken from the explosion. Not completely catatonic, but tense. As if he isn’t in his body at all.

When Peter emerges from the bathroom, he looks like a stranger. Scars adorn his sides. Your face crumples at the sight of his fresh wounds.

"C’mere."

It doesn’t take you long to fix him up, cleaning his cuts and wrapping gauze around his stomach and chest. His quiet grunts startle you, as if he's a wild animal. Eyes screwed shut, brows cinched in pain. A heavy exhale and a mumbled apology followed.

You forgive him with a soft touch and a hushed whisper. He wishes the ache would stop. He wishes he could lie on your bed and have you whisper in his ear all night until the sound of your voice lulls him to sleep.

There aren’t many words exchanged, and you want to ask him why. If you did something. But then you think about the images on the news and his withered face, and you decide not to probe the sphere of trauma surrounding him. Peter has probably gone through more in the last twelve hours than you have in a week.

You stop him before he tries to make it out of your bedroom door and towards the living room.

"I don’t mind sleeping on the couch, I’ve done it before."

"It’s like sleeping on a rock, Parker. You just gone through God knows what," you chide. "Just… get in here."

As he breathes in and out, he nestles in your shoulder, his clean hair tickling your bare skin. There’s a nasty guilt that lurches from your sternum. As if you were the reason for his pain. For the state of his body. And you think back to the desperate look in Peter’s eyes the night you took him home from the party. Were you too cruel, then?

It’s like he steals the words from your mouth. He beats you to it.

"I’m sorry," Peter murmurs. His amber eyes blink up at you, unfathomable. You flash him a downturned grin.

"For what?"

"I feel like… there’s been a distance between us lately. And I don’t want that, because you’re my best friend. And now you’re taking care of me when you don’t have to. I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate it. That I, um, lo–," he stammers. He chews on his bottom lip. "You’re really good."

"‘m not all that good, Peter."

But of course, you are, he protests in his head. You are the moon and the stars and everything in between.

"I’m sorry for not being around."

"Not just your fault," you shrug. "Phone works both ways."

He knows you better than you think because, within seconds, his palm rests softly on your cheek, where he feels a hot tear.

"What’s up, Spidey?" he asks you. It makes you laugh.

"Shut up." You shake your head, trying to hide your face. The feeling of his thumb rubbing your cheek makes the tears flow even more. "I wouldn’t know what I’d do if something bad happened to you. If I couldn’t get to you. Or if you – if you were gone."

"I’m okay, Rabbit. We’re okay."

"Yeah," you chuckle, trying to hide your tears.

"Couldn’t get rid of me if you tried."

You feel warmer in his grasp. His small breaths fall on your arm as his body curls up next to you. He’s bigger than he’d been before back when you were teenagers. The jaw is chiseled and sharp. Not as soft and boyish as you once knew. With your senses, you can discern the steadiness of his heartbeat as his chest rises and falls into slumber. You fall asleep soon after, dreamless but full of warmth.

____

Waking up next to him is nothing new, but it’s been years. You never thought anything of it when the two of you were sixteen, staying up all night reading creepypastas and watching movies until you’d fall asleep on top of each other by four in the morning.

After a night’s sleep, Peter's sullen face is a bit brighter despite his dark circles. His limbs are entangled in yours, bodies fused together. Yin and yang. You can only assume that this is how it will always be.

You keep mental notes of him like trinkets. The uneven slant in his left eyebrow. The faint freckles dotted along his nose, the one near the corner of his mouth. The faint shadow of hollowed-out cheeks. Peter is still half-boy to you, and half-man, but you didn’t want to come to terms with it. Maybe he was something else. Half-ghost. Half-angel.

Slowly, over the course of a few weeks, he comes back to you again. Sitting together and reading at a cafe. The occasional 3 am swing. Walking around high at the 7-11.

"Did you like Rhode Island?" he asks over a joint one night.

You hum for a second, trying to come up with an acceptable answer. It wasn’t that you hated being in Rhode Island. It was that you hated being away from him.

So instead, you shrug. "It was nice to get away from everything. Providence is still a city, but it isn't as large as all this–”

You trail off, making a vague gesture with your hands. Chaos, Peter presumes.

"Less overwhelming?"

"Sure," you say, nodding. "I missed being home, though."

I missed you.

Peter passes you the joint. His brain feels fuzzy. Warm. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He massages your ankle absentmindedly.

"I get it," he says, breaking the silence.

"You get what?"

"Wanting to leave. I've been thinking about it," Peter shrugs, his eyes squinting in the late afternoon sun. "Sometimes I wish we could pack our bags and go to the countryside. See some cows and shit."

We. We. We.

"There are cows upstate," you snort.

"You know what I mean."

"We can do a road trip."

"You can’t drive."

"I am aware and perfectly fine with being a passenger princess. In fact, I’m looking forward to it," you grin.

He yanks your ankle this time, causing you to slip from where you’re sitting on the pavement. Giggling, you swat away his hands, but he’s too quick, untying your shoelaces as you kick and thrash.

"Honestly, it’s probably better for society if you never get behind the wheel," Peter teases. He dodges you when you try to kick him in the shin.

"Oh, but you can be? You get so distracted so easily! Whenever you’d practice driving, you’d miss so many exits or be too anxious to merge on the highway."

"Okay, well, you’re just a force of distraction," he shrugs, throwing his hands up in defeat. "You have that effect on people."

You look at him quizzically, your eyes narrowing. If there’s anything behind his statement, he doesn’t show it on his face. Peter knows his cheeks are burning, however.

There are more moments like these. Ever since you’d rescued Peter that night, he’s grown accustomed to spending hours of his day idly looking for you, learning your class schedule, and following you home like a pet when it’s time to unwind. He stays for hours like he used to when you were kids, and although he always thinks he’s overstaying his welcome, you don’t seem affected.

You curl into him more these days, like a sunflower stretching toward the morning glow. There are more lingering touches, here and there. You have to remind yourself not to get too comfortable, but God, he makes it so easy.

So the burning question pops out during a marathon of Chainsaw Man.

"Does MJ care that we hang out so much?" you blurt out. He looks at you like you have three heads. Also, his mouth is full.

"Um, webrobrup," he mumbles. He frowns as he looks down. Hot Cheeto fingers.

You mock him, of course.

"English, yeah?"

He chuckles as he finishes scarfing it all down. He shyly licks his fingertips, and you have to stop yourself from staring at the way his fingers enter his mouth. Ugh, gross. This is hardly supposed to be hot.

"We broke up."

You keep a straight face. It’s not like you’re excited or anything. You realize you shouldn’t be surprised because… why else would he be so available to you lately?

"Shit. You really fumbled, then."

"Shut up," he laughs.

"Seriously. Who else is gonna wanna put up with you?" You both know the answer to that.

"It was mutual," he says, shrugging. "I’ve got all my Spider-man shit, she’s getting into a bunch of extracurriculars and even a research internship even though we’re literally first years."

"Classic MJ."

"Yeah."

"We’ll get you back on the market, buddy," you tease, patting his head like a dog. A coy smile lights up your features. It makes something inside him melt.

"I’m not a piece of meat."’

You click your tongue.

"Oh, right, you’re an insect."

"Hey, so are you!"

____

You used to think it was a kind of twin telepathy, the magnetism to Peter that you felt. Bitten by the same spider and entangled in the same web. You realize as you grow older that it’s more than a platonic bond. It feels like wanting to share the same skin.

Or maybe it’s the wine talking.

It’s not your job to keep Peter afloat at the party right now, but both of you remember too well how the last party went. He continually sips water in between gulps of whiskey like a paranoid freak, which you tease him about. Maybe it’s just the darkness of his eyes under this light, but his pupils look wide and dilated.

It’s almost March. You’d both endured a proper New York winter, which usually extends until April if you’re lucky, but global warming has other plans. It's warm enough for you to pair one of your favorite dresses with an oversized Carhartt jacket that used to belong to Peter before the bite bulked him up significantly. You fiddle with the black velvet wrapped around your body as you pretend to listen to banal conversations, leaning your head into Peter’s bicep.

You keep picking at loose threads obsessively. You think about your fingertips and their webs. You think that maybe you should take up crocheting to distract your hands from their restlessness.

Peter grabs your hand away from you, squeezing it slightly, not even looking at you. His flushed palm rests against yours. Gently rubbing your thumb between your finger divots

If you were a cat, Peter would imagine you purring right about now. He wants to take you into his lap, stroke your hair while the alcohol subsides in both of your systems. The thought of you on top of him causes his cock to twitch slightly. His rose-colored cheeks are from the whiskey, he reassures himself. An affirmation. He lets go of your hand.

He knows that this isn't the time or place for such thoughts, so he makes an effort to push the desires down. He knows they'll come up again when the whiskey leaves his veins, but at least he'll be of sober mind.

Christ, he feels like he's at a middle school dance. Especially when you run off with a spring in your step to socialize with some girls you recognize from school. The smell of your hair lingers next to him. It's sweet and slightly floral, a scent that makes him think of when you were kids.

His ears perk up like a dog's when you call his name, reaching out to him so that you can introduce your best friend. He has the right mind to be polite, even funny at times, but he knows he pales in comparison to your current charisma, which contrasts with your usual wallflower nature.

Peter likes watching you talk, and you like that he watches you so intently. When you know he's watching, it's easy to deadpan some drunken jokes and elaborate superfluous tall tales from your high school days. His eyes are bright, and his bottom lip is chewed in between his teeth.

Suddenly, he gets to be alone with you in the kitchen. Your scent permeates the air. He could drown in it.

“Rabbit," you whine petulantly. "Swing me home."

"How drunk are you?" he chuckles with adoration.

"Not very. Just tired, s'all," you respond with a yawn. You scrunch your nose. "Can I sleep at yours?"

Peter looks at you with a soft gaze. "Of course, angel."

Angel. He's never called you that before. You decide that you like the sound of it.

By the time midnight comes around, you're barefoot in his bedroom, black velvet spinning loosely around your figure. In Peter's blurred vision, you look like a friendly apparition, one that particularly favors "Champagne Coast" by Blood Orange.

"Come into my bedroom, come into my bedroom," you quietly sing along as you sway your hips.

"You're already in my room."

Your smile beams at him, huge and illuminating, and impossible to look away from. Peter wishes that he could bottle up this moment to revisit it, or maybe live in it for the rest of his life. The sweetest way to exist.

Your body sinks to his level -- no, collapses -- as you roll over his heavy frame and rest yourself on your back. Your hair fans out like you're underwater. Your lips are red and wine-colored, freshly bitten. When you turn your head toward Peter, his hand plays with the exposed nape of your neck, fingertips grazing the creases of your skin.

"You used to be so gangly, you know," you murmur. Your voice is lower than usual.

"Okay, well, I'm not anymore."

"I could totally still take you in a fight." Still refers to the times when the two of you would attempt something along the lines of combat training, if combat training was just you unleashing your hotheadedness with your mutant powers instead of with your fists. If you weren't so agile, maybe Peter would've had a chance of winning.

"I'd like to see you try, angel."

It's decided -- you are on top of him, knees bent around his waist as you wrestle. The fabric of your dress pools around your waist in a way that feels sacrilegious. Peter has his hand on your thighs, and his touch feels white-hot to both of you, so he closes his eyes, tries to focus on swatting you away like a bat instead. When he opens his eyes, he meets your devilish ones, gleeful that you've managed to pin his arms above his head.

It would take two inches to break this spell of separation. He keeps trying to keep this bubble intact because the last time he tried to pop it, the look on your face made him want to dig a hole and lay in it forever.

Peter feels sorry for many things. He feels sorry for the times he's intruded, when he's made Mr. Stark angry, for the times he couldn't be there for you. He feels sorry that you had to take care of him when he wanted to do that for you.

Right now, however, Peter doesn't feel sorry at all. The slight twitch of your pulse, the way you smell, the curve of your bare shoulders -- it's all too tempting for him to feel sorry for. So he kisses you.

He's surprised when you nearly bite him back. You inhale sharply, pressing your body against him as you let go of his wrists and rest your palms on his jaw instead. Your kiss is fervent, desperate.

His brow cinches in confusion when you pull away.

"Wha--"

"Fuck."

"What is it?" He frowns.

"I owe Ned twenty bucks."

"What?"

"I just remembered. At graduation, he was like, teasing me that we were gonna get together, and we bet on who would make the first move. I was just entertaining him, but you know how that kid gets about twenty dollars."

"So you thought you were going to make the first move, then?”

“I mean, yeah. How was I supposed to know that MJ was going to cuff you before I did?”

“You snooze, you lose, I guess,” he deadpans.

“You don’t even fucking deserve me, you little freak,” you taunt, tickling his exposed midriff.

“God, I know. I’ve known that for a while. Too bad I want you regardless.”

He smiles as he captures your lips again, tasting sweet and smoky at the same time. He coaxes you onto your back and you revel in his body heat and the way his large hands grab the plush of your thighs, pushing and pulling your skin taut. It’s so erotic that it almost feels dirty.

You kiss him back like he’s your last meal while you roam your hands under his shirt, then to his protruding collarbones, then experimentally, to the tufts of his chestnut hair. You pull a bit too hard due to your eagerness and he lets out a mewl that you never could’ve imagined to come out of him.

“You like that, don’t you?” you taunt darkly. “Is that why you always want me to scratch your head when we watch movies?”

“I don’t care what you do as long as you’re touching me,” he breathes out, like a confession. “Don’t care how you touch me, s’long as it’s you.”

A tepid blush soaks your face. You shut him up with another kiss. He licks at your bottom lip, groaning softly at the feeling of your soft body against his.

“You’re so pretty, Peter,” you whisper.

“You are.”

Before you can react, you hitch a breath in surprise when you find that his hands have fully reached above the hem of your dress and onto the bare skin of your hip, toying with the elastic of your underwear. You part your legs, bending your knees so that you can pull the fabric off.

He sighs as his fingers tease the slot of your cunt, which grows wetter and wetter with every touch. Your sensitivity makes you squirm a little. He can tell so easily that you’re falling apart for him. He loves it.

You nearly whine when he takes away his fingers from you. Instead, he towers over your body, pulling your legs toward him as he pulls up the hem of your velvet dress and cascades kisses on your knees. He slowly works his way up to your thighs, biting gently, then hard. Meanwhile, his hands roam the perimeter of your chest and your ribs, all soft and pliable for him. You’ll be delighted when you wake up to a bruise on your thigh stuck in the shape of Peter Parker’s mouth.

A shiver lacerates your lower body all the way up to your neck – you feel it, viscerally. All from his mouth. He slots his tongue onto the bud of your clit going slowly just to watch you squirm.

“Please,” you beg.

“Please what?” His eyes are as dark as the sky. As dark as your dress.

“Your– your mouth. I need it. Please. More.”

Peter’s grip on your thighs tightens as his face moves closer to your center, licking incessantly as you cry out. You attempt to muffle your sounds with your hand covering your mouth, biting the skin on your palm. Your blood is hot, pumping hard, all the way down to your swollen clit, and he treats you like a man starved.

“Oh my God,” you gasp. “More, please. Pleasepleaseplease.”

He listens to you, forcing his ring and middle finger into your cunt and curling upward. Your legs shake involuntarily when he does this and it takes everything in him to not stop just so he can see the look on your face head-on. You look so beautiful right now.

“Gonna cum, Pete. Fuck.”

He closes his eyes as he savors your sweet taste. He feels it when you cum as if it’s happening in his body, too. A jolt to the sense. A vivacious rumble. Your mouth is slack, jaw falling open with your eyes screwed shut as you finish, and Peter towers over you to watch. He’s never seen you like this. He wants to keep the image of it forever.

You thank him with a messy kiss, not caring about the remnants of your lipstick. Your hands attack him, teeth nipping at his earlobe as you help him undress. Soon enough, the two of you are naked together, limbs entangled and kissing without paying any mind to oxygen.

You take his jaw in your hand as if he’s a delicate thing. Easy to break. It’s your turn to tease, now.

“What do you wanna do?”

“You’re such a little shit,” he mumbles, but he can’t help but grin.

“Tell me about it, Spidey.”

“Want you, Rabbit, want to make you feel good.”

“And how exactly will you do that?”

“Gonna fuck you. I’ll make you cry if you keep being a little shit like this, too.”

There’s no time for a reaction. He’s on top of you, pinning you down, and he licks your collarbone up to your jaw as you whine like a newborn kitten. He spanks your ass and you have to your bottom lip to keep from being too loud.

“You want it that bad, huh?”

“Yeah,” you respond breathlessly. He melts at the sound of your voice, cooing softly as he playfully bites the skin of your cheek.

You love him like this, a burst of passionate energy focused on you and you only. His little angel. You remember your rabbit heart caged in your sternum fragile and thumping like an earthquake for him.

He pauses to give you another kiss, this time sweet as he licks up the bottom of your lip. You can feel him at the crux of your legs and you can feel the want pumping in your veins. Patience. Patience. Patience.

“You want me to go slow?”

“Of course not.”

You’re so relaxed in his grasp. Gooey with your desire that it might disgust you if you weren’t so enamored. You keep your eyes on him when he enters you – you want to see the look in his eyes.

Peter feels selfish wanting to tease you like this. He’s slow when he enters you, listening to your sweet exhales.

“Easy,” he warns. “‘m gonna take care of you, don’t worry."

Please floods your entire body like a heat stroke. You bend your knees upward and rake the smooth terrain of his back, lifting your hips up at the same time. He thrusts once, then twice, and already, he feels like he’s ready to unfurl completely.

“Fuck,” he groans. You’re so goddamn wet. Soft. Velvety.

“Don’t be shy, Peter,” you murmur. “C’mere.”

You keen into the way he buries his nose into your shoulder, shallow breaths uneven and erratic as he continues, losing control bit by bit as he goes on. His pleasure is the knife you twist inside yourself.

You gasp at the way he can carve you out, the way he knows exactly where to put his hands as he grasps for your body, like he’d molding you from clay. He drinks down your moans with his mouth, eyes fluttering at the impact of your cunt clenching him.

Peter props himself up now, moving his body backward so he’s perpendicular to your core. He holds you by your hips a little too hard, but you’d always liked it rough. You liked it when he would cuddle you or play with you or put his entire body weight on you. To smother was to be encased in something akin to love.

“Fuck,” he hisses, getting the hang of a constant rhythm. His hips slot with yours as his cock thrusts deeper into you, until he can feel the slight tremble of your thighs.

“You okay?” he asks, chest heaving.

“Yes, keep going. Keep going.”

You underestimate how fragile you are. A rough thrust almost has you there, until he pulls out of you like a stolen breath, and it leaves you whining.

“Pete.”

“Shh, I’m just trying to pace myself,” he breathes, jaw slack and glistening with sweat. “You feel too fucking good.”

“Come back or I’ll break your wrists.”

He chuckles, but you’re dead serious. You lift your body to him so you can pull his down, kissing him with a ragged hunger that’s all teeth and lust. He’s quick to match your vigor but with more tenderness than desperation. It makes you melt, how natural it is, how this is how it might’ve felt in a past life. Your bodies entwined in a way that’s proverbial.

He listens to you. Fucks you much rougher than before, giving in to what he wants, because he’s not sorry about how much he wants you. Your broken moans curl out of your throat and into his mouth and the feeling of him deep in you makes you feel like a balloon ready to burst from the pressure.

It’s like Peter reads your mind, because suddenly, his hand is around your throat. You’ve never looked more angelic to him than you do now, eyes half-lidded and your reddish mouth all lax.

“So fucking beautiful, I love you,” he mumbles against his mouth.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

All of Peter’s muscles are tense from holding back. Fuck, he doesn’t want to cum until you do.

Luckily, the way his cock stretches you out has you nearly drooling underneath him. He touches the deepest parts of your insides like he belongs there, like he was meant to be there, as if the way he turns his hips toward you is a vow in itself. You whimper at the feeling of it all and he nearly loses it.

“I’m so close,” you pants. Thank fucking God.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Cum for me,” he coos. “You’re doing so good. Fuck.”

Your gaze lingers on the shape of his mouth. You think about how his voice sounds when he calls you angel.

Your orgasm comes like a flower blooming, like a beam of light in the darkness. He feels it, too, so vividly like he shares your body. It feels strange how much he feels that he hasn’t felt before, and it makes him come undone right after you.

He pulls out of you and spills onto your stomach unceremoniously with something in between a grunt and a whimper. He’s all over you. You want to bury your body into his.

“Peter,” you whisper, your gaze languishing.

“Yes, angel?”

“I think I owe Ned fifty bucks now.”

He looks at you incredulously but you can’t keep the facade, bursting into laughter as he groans in annoyance and flops his body on top of yours.

“Ew, clean me up, at least,” you complain.

“Right,” he says, nodding. And he does, with a spare t-shirt from his floor absentmindedly while he shares a grin with you. “You serious, though?”

“Of course not,” you scoff. “Ned Leeds will never get anything over twenty bucks from me.”

He laughs and it sounds like heaven.

“You said you loved me,” you tell him.

“I do love you. I’ve always loved you.”

You could cry right now. Surely the influx of endorphins in your body is breaking the rest of your brain.

“I love you, too.”

You kiss him again, open-mouthed, teeth sucking slightly as his lips. He takes a fistful of your hair while his other hand caresses your jaw. It excites you when he breaks the kiss by pulling your hair. His cheeks dimple the slightest bit when he smiles at you.

“Don’t do that, you’re gonna get me hard again.”

“You have the stamina,” you shrug, hugging one of his oversized pillows to your chest.

“You’re cute.”

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“How come you call me angel now?”

Peter shrugs. He rubs his hands on your calves.

“You’re my guardian angel. Always have been. And you’re not allowed to complain about it being corny because it’s true.”

Peter is shy all of sudden as if he hadn’t just fucked you. His brown hair is tousled to bedhead perfection, messy and slightly frizzy, and the warmth of his skin radiates from the way his whole body seems to blush in front of you.

“I have a proposition.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Come on!” You nudge him, kicking him with your feet. You get off of his bed to rummage through his dresser drawers for an oversized t-shirt, just dodging his attempts to grab you by the waist.

“Okay. What is it?”

“We should use our webs next time.”

He blinks, smirking, indulging you for a second.

“Deal.”

tagging mutuals: @meliapis​ @cutetomholland​ @userholland​ @sparklingsin​ @tomdutch​ @userholland​ @vendettaparker​ @selfcarecap @simplykenni​ @uhlxis​ @cordiformity​ @sapphicsoie​ @seolaseoul​ @honeyspidey​ @logangarfield​ @justapurrcat​ @arachine​ @cocoamoonmalfoy​ @ohcaptains​ @aniqua

[bunnys-kisses]

okay, okay, okay! i know we're still on the jailhouse rock au (we will come back to this), but in the process of staring at simon's tattoos i came up with another idea.

it's the classic biker au, you met him after you cursed at him for running a red light and almost running you over. while at the time time you thought nothing of it, you see his bike in the parking lot of a grocery store and reminded of what almost happened, you take your keys and key the side of his bike.

but as you were going to put you key away, you were met face to face with the six foot two behemoth that was simon riley. the lower half of his face was obscured because of a face mask, but the sternness in his eyes made cold sweat go down your back.

"whatcha doin' there, girlie?"

you frowned at him before you said, "you almost ran me over a few days ago mister motorcyclist. you should be watching where you're driving, people use the streets too." you stood up a little straighter. it wasn't your finest moment, keying a strangers car, but the fear that raced through you when he ran that red was still fresh in your mind.

"well then." he said, then looked to his bike, "i guess i should apologize." he leaned in close to your personal space and said, "i'm sorry, but you have to look both ways, little girl." then ruffled your hair.

you felt rage build up inside of you. you actually stomped on his foot to get him away from you before you walked away. you refused to be talk down to like a little girl. this wouldn't be the last you saw of simon.

a few months later, your older neighbour was moving out to live in a long term care facility after she had a pretty bad tumble. but on moving day, you weren't expecting to see heavily tattooed men with amazing body strength move boxes into the apartment. and then you saw simon again.

he recognized you and smiled under his face mask, "well. if it isn't the girl who keyed my bike."

"well, if it isn't the man who tried to kill me." you replied. you would've never guessed that you'd soon up in simon's bed with him holding your legs open as he thrusted up inside of you.

"that's a good girl, we could've done this instead of you ruinin' my bike." he purred as he gripped your thighs. the muscle under his palms riled him up.

"shut up and fuck me you idiot." you groaned as you clutched onto the pillow under your head. your heart was racing as you felt his cock deep inside of you. you wanted to wipe that stupid smirk off his face, but you were too busy feeling his cock in your throat.

"anything for you, love. you just lie there and let me take care of everything." he chuckled lowly.

eventually you two would make amends, even become lovers. one day you'd be mrs. simon riley. but not at that moment, at that moment you wanted to make sure that he didn't feel like he won this battle. <3

thoughts? feelings? want more?

[rninies]

✮ idiotic love - gojo satoru

synopsis: gojo satoru annoys the hell out of you.

warnings: fluff, gn!reader, chaotic couple lol — wc: 698

notes: this is not enemies to lovers but one sided hatred LMFAO

you and gojo satoru have been incompatible ever since you met him. it’s not like he’s ever said anything mean to you, but it’s because he annoys the hell out of you. every little thing he does makes you just want to punch him in the face. shoko and suguru have already seen the way you two bicker every time you see each other, and it is safe to say they are tired of it.

as fate wants, you and satoru have been picked to go grocery shopping together. jujutsu high requires a snack restock, and as unlucky as you are, you picked the short end of the stick. when satoru looks at the face you made when you pull the short stick, he laughs out loud, doubling over.

“are you laughing at me?” you asked, clenching the stick so hard in your hand that it almost breaks.

“yeah, i am. what are you going to do about it?” satoru says with an annoying smile on his face.

the irked you for some reason. “wipe that smile off your face before i do it for you.” you throw the stick at satoru, crossing your arms. “who got the other one?” when satoru lifts his hand up, you immediately shake your head. “no. no way. i am not going to the grocery store with him.” you gave shoko a pleading look, begging her to switch with you but all she did was shrug.

“sorry, y/n.” she apologizes half-heartedly.

“sugu?” you turn to look at him and he shakes his head, leaving before you can ask him. “you traitor!”

“hey come on. grocery shopping with me is fun.” satoru slings an arm over your shoulder. you flinched, surprised, and immediately moved away from him. “come on. the kids are waiting.” he winks and starts walking away. you groan before catching up to him.

the first two minutes were filled with silence, which was weird for satoru because he always wanted to talk to you. the silence… feels weird. you were used to a loud satoru, so a quiet satoru just… creeps you out for some reason.

“are you okay?” you asked, and satoru hummed in reply.

“mm, could be better,” he mumbles. however, he suddenly stops, making you shocked. “actually, no. i’m not okay.”

you raise an eyebrow. “what? what’s wrong?”

“this is so frustrating.” satoru scratches the back of his neck and then drops his hand frustratedly. “this question has been on my mind ever since we met, okay? why do you hate me so much?”

“what?” you paused, not knowing what to answer. why do you hate satoru so much? “you want an answer right now?”

“yes, please.” satoru crosses his arms, waiting for your answer.

“it’s the way you annoy me all the time. the way you always have to show off your stupid infinity power by using it whenever i try to throw a pillow at your way. it’s the way your stupidly handsome face is constantly on my mind!” you exclaimed, but then you immediately covered your mouth, realizing what you had just said.

satoru blinks and then smiles, shaking his head. “ah, so you have a crush on me?”

“no!” you wave your hand in front of his face, turning red. “no! i don’t like you! don’t get the wrong idea! i just-”

“nu-uh. you have a crush on me.” a smug smile is evident on his face and you immediately slapped yourself mentally. “the person who has been clearly hating me since the start has a crush on me.”

“stop! no! i didn’t say that! stop, you’re delusional. i do not have a crush-” satoru cuts you off with a kiss. your eyes widened when you felt his soft lips on yours. when satoru pulled away, you couldn’t move or say anything.

“cat got your tongue?” satoru smirks, he places a finger under your chin and squishes both of your cheeks. “come on. say something.”

“you-” you stuttered before turning around and start walking. “i hate you!”

satoru looks at you in shock before laughing, catching up with you with ease. his hand intertwine with yours, squeezing it. “i love you too.”

taglist: @planetnini @xintre @kyoghurts @sad-darksoul (send an ask to be added!) <3

[severinageto]

TOXIC (and I love what you do) PART TWO

Suguru found himself getting ready for that night as if it were the red carpet. As had been the tenor of the day, he understood almost nothing of what was happening, except for an intuitive desire to look good. He wore a violet shirt that highlighted his skin and eyes. Tight pants hugged his hips. His nails were impeccably done in black polish. His hair, should it be loose or tied back? He thought about his school days. Satoru seemed to have no preference for how he styled it, only a near-maniacal urge to touch it. To run his fingers through the fine black strands, from the roots to the tips. To comb it before bed, smell it upon waking. To tug it nearly to the point of tearing when he penetrated him, and then to wash it with the delicacy of someone embroidering the details of a wedding dress.

He looked in the mirror. A half ponytail. An intermission. He smiled. He looked really good. He grabbed his bag, called a taxi, and headed down to the lobby.

***

"Shit, this is hard,” Satoru exclaimed, as he looked at the store's ample supply of lubricants. He was ashamed to admit it even to himself, but he had never bought one. That had always been Suguru's job. And that half year without him he hadn't needed to. His sexual encounters with men had been nonexistent.

Another thing that embarrassed him, since he had it on good authority that Suguru had had many, many lovers. Well, if that gossipy Shoko could be called a good source.

He sighed and picked up one of the brand he remembered using. He paid and left the place. He was nervous, too nervous, as if he was ill-prepared for an important mission. Even for his first time he didn't feel like this.

Sure, his first time was spontaneous. Neither of them knew quite what they were doing. They were just two teenagers driven by desire and love.

Love. That was what was missing. No, that was what should be missing. Satoru had been trying to convince himself all afternoon that he didn't love Suguru and that this evening would be pure sex. He had written down all the reasons why he couldn't love the man: he was a jerk, a complete idiot, depraved, a racist, a fascist, he liked curry too much, his adopted daughters were probably biological daughters of Satan, and so on. However, the reason he could love him was as simple as it was corny: it was him. That haughty guy, with that crooked smile and those lukewarm hands that seduced him a couple of hours ago was not Geto Sama, the leader of the Star Vessel. It was Suguru. He knew how mawkish he sounded, but he had seen it in his eyes. Those violet orbs had smiled at him the same way they had years ago, when he'd told him about Digimon or the goodness of psychic-type Pokemon. The same glow, the same shape. An arched eyebrow that seemed to say, “Satoru, you're a jerk,” contrasted with a tender smile that said, “Satoru, even though you're an otaku, I love you,”.

"But he doesn't love you anymore, stupid,” he muttered as he strolled through the mall. Suddenly, he spotted a Nintendo store. He leaned his nose against the display case and looked at the items for sale. A television was showing a game of Mario Kart. He smiled, reddened.

How many times had they fought because of that game?

“You're horrible with Toad, why do you insist, Suguru?”; ‘Because I want to show you that I can beat you with anyone, because it's not about the character, it's about knowing how to drift and using the items well’; ‘It's all that you said plus the character, you'll be stupid, Suguru’; ‘Very well, then beat me once and for all’; ‘How about you shut up?’; ‘Then you shut up, stupid’; ‘Shut me up’; ‘Ha, you know how I'll shut you up’; ‘Do it’.

No, it was better to put it this way: how many times had they fucked thanks to that game?

***

Suguru took a breath before knocking on the door. When he came out of his hotel he felt glorious, self-confident like never before. Yet there, about to meet Satoru again on a date plan, he felt small, tiny. And vulnerable, as vulnerable as he had been before breaking up with him. He swallowed. Maybe being there wasn't such a good idea, maybe the best thing was to turn around and....

"Suguru, come in before we both regret it."

Satoru had opened the door. He was looking at him, leaning on the landing with his arms crossed. He had smelled her scent ever since he entered the hotel. And not only that. Also his insecurity. A short time near him was enough for his six eyes to transform the kind of energy Geto emanated into information. It was like a kind of synchronization. Because of that kind of thing, Satoru sometimes thought he was born to be with him. That and the way he was looking at him at that moment, as if reading his mind.

Suguru, for his part, was extremely annoyed that Gojo had this notion of some sort of predestination over them. All that was nothing but garbage. Sure, he had thought so too, especially after kissing him for the first time, but he had put that foolish belief aside after meeting Toji Fushiguro. If he really was Satoru's destiny, then why had he abandoned him?

He shook his head and felt Gojo's hand. The albino, sensing what the black-haired man was thinking, had grabbed him by the wrist to make him enter his room.

Geto didn't say anything to him. He only looked at him with surprise after seeing that on the table there was a magnificent dinner for two.

"I thought we could eat,” said Gojo, embarrassed.

"Satoru, I came here to get fucked, not to talk."

The albino smiled at him, flirtatiously. The curse handler's frankness had turned him on. However, he was starving.

"I know." He moved closer to Geto's face and, delicately, ran his fingers through his hair. Fuck, how beautiful he was. He put his mouth next to his ear. "Believe me when I tell you that you'll need the energy,” he whispered.

Suguru didn't say anything. He was probably right. He sat down at the table and looked at the dishes.

"Where do I sit?"

"It doesn't matter. They're both the same plates."

Geto had no reason to be upset, because Satoru had no way of knowing that he had become a vegetarian. However, he felt angry.

"Your six eyes didn't notice the kind of proteins my body is synthesizing?” the black-haired man asked wryly.

"What?"

"I've been a vegetarian for over a year."

Satoru felt jaded. So that was Suguru's mood. Behaving like an idiot. He took Geto's plate and removed all the meat from it, leaving only the rice and vegetables. Suguru watched him intently, as he lit a cigarette.

"Well, my six eyes have no way of knowing that, especially considering that the body doesn't make any difference in the type of protein,” said Gojo, lightly. "I'm surprised at you, Geto Sama, that you don't know something so basic."

The curse handler took a deep drag on his cigarette, trying to hide the embarrassment he felt. It was probably the first time Satoru had ever caught him at something like this. How could he have been so stupid? No, not stupid. Impulsive. Even though he didn't want to, the grudge he held against the albino was surfacing. It wasn't the idea. He had gone all the way to that place to be fucked until he couldn't move. Although, Suguru sensed, perhaps fucking from hate could be much better than from love.

Satoru watched him smoke, feeling that dangerous mix of anger and excitement he was dangerously getting used to. He hadn't seen much of Suguru’s unpleasant side. He had left before Suguru turned into the diva sitting across from him. A wave of embarrassment washed over him as he remembered that. Suguru had left him. Not just that, but in front of hundreds of strangers. And, of course, everyone found out—there’s no keeping secrets in the world of sorcery. It was pretty humiliating walking around school knowing that the strongest guy didn’t just have a weak spot, but that weak spot decided to kill his own parents and, worse, was a man. He’d had enough trouble accepting his sexuality without being figuratively pointed at in the halls. All thanks to Suguru, who decided to break his heart like that.

The two sorcerers stared at each other, each secretly furious with the other. Suddenly, Satoru stood up, took the cigarette out of Suguru’s mouth, and put it out.

"I’m not interested in fucking with a chimney, even if it’s a vegetarian chimney."

Suguru was stunned. That was weird. When they were together, he’d never cared if Satoru smoked before sex. In fact, he never cared about anything. Suguru could go five days without showering, and Satoru would still take him with the same desire and intensity. Which, in fact, had happened during Suguru’s worst depressive state. Wow, how wrong. That was kind of taking advantage. He smiled, realizing he was turned on. That was wrong. So damn wrong.

He started eating his veggies in silence while watching Satoru, who was doing the same, both wondering what the hell was going through the other idiot’s head.

For Gojo, that he needed to fuck that idiot until he couldn’t breathe.

For Geto, that he needed that imbecile to fuck him into unconsciousness.

"I need a drink". Suguru said, opening the wine. He looked at the label and smiled. "Excellent choice, even for someone who doesn’t drink, Satoru."

Gojo pointed to his glass while swallowing his food.

"Well, today I’m going to have a glass."

Suguru looked at him, surprised.

"Are you sure? You might regret it tomorrow."

"I’ll probably regret it tomorrow, yeah, but not the wine."

“Ouch. Satoru is on a roll,” thought the curse manipulator while filling the albino’s glass.

Gojo downed it in one gulp, and due to his unique brain and the speed at which his neurons made and unmade connections, he got drunk instantly. As a result, he impulsively said:

"Seems like I can’t fucking stand you anymore, Suguru."

Geto looked at him impassively, one hand swirling the wine and the other resting his gorgeous head. Did he expect to feel that? Yeah. Did it hurt to confirm it? Also, yeah. Would he react in any way? No. The wine was delicious, and Satoru being a jerk made it taste even better.

"I’ll leave if you want" he said, making a show of standing up.

"Doesn’t mean I don’t want to fuck you and…"

"So what are you waiting for?"he interrupted with a flirtatious smile, though he was starting to get nervous. He didn’t like the tone Satoru’s rant was taking.

"…doesn’t mean I don’t miss you every fucking second". The albino took a deep breath. "Suguru, I…"

"No, please. Don’t say it. Anything but that."

Gojo took off his bandage slowly. He was drunk and felt that gave him the courage he needed, which he only lacked when it came to Suguru. Maybe he’d never see him again. He needed to get this off his chest, now or never.

"…I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you."

"Satoru! I asked you not to say that!"

"Why don’t you want to hear it, huh?"

Suguru downed the rest of his wine and refilled his glass. His heart was pounding hard. He didn’t expect that, especially not for him to say it. He felt a strange urge to cry. He missed him too. No one understood him like he did, no one saw him like he did, and above all, no one would ever match up to him. Only Satoru.

Yeah, he still loved him too. But he didn’t want to say it. Verbalizing it meant truly feeling it, and Suguru couldn’t handle that at this point in his life.

"You could join me, you know?". He surprised himself by saying, in a very low voice. “Yeah, maybe it’s not such a bad idea. It would actually be beautiful to build the new world together,” he thought, as a sincere smile formed on his face.

Satoru snorted. That wasn’t the answer he was expecting. No, it wasn’t the answer he wanted. He was sure (or almost sure) that Geto also loved him. He wouldn’t have bothered being there otherwise.

Or would he? Maybe it was all part of a plan to seduce him and bring him to his side. After all, together they could be invincible, and Suguru knew that better than anyone. If he was on his side, no one would dare lay a finger on him, and the sorcery schools would have no choice but to step aside.

Thinking this made the albino’s blood boil. So he just wanted him for his power, just like the rest of the world. Well, screw that.

He put the bandage back on and said coldly:

"Your utopia? No, it’s not a utopia. Let’s call it a delusional fantasy."

Suguru stared at him for a couple of seconds, blinking slowly. Was he really responding to that nonsense? Didn’t he realize what an honor that was? No, not just that. He was practically asking to get back together. After everything they’d both been through, all the resentment and rage they felt, he, Geto Sama, was willing to give in. Of course, it was always the same with the albino. Suguru had always been the reasonable one, the one who managed to cool Gojo’s passions so he wouldn’t end up smashing someone’s face in or reflecting on a mistake he’d made. And it wasn’t easy. Not even his meditation sessions were as challenging for his patience. Yet, he was willing to take him back. Even after all he hadn’t done. Who the hell did he think he was? Oh right. The magnificent Gojo Satoru.

"Me, delusional? You tried to kill me!" Geto exclaimed, pouring himself more wine. "And I’m sure no big shot was pressuring you at that moment."

Satoru’s anger turned into nervousness. The fact that he had gotten into a fighting stance at that moment was something that haunted him constantly. Yes, he had really considered, for more than a second, killing Suguru before it became an order. He knew Suguru had noticed it, in fact, he had even dared him to do it. But like a kid caught doing his worst prank, he chose to deny it.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Suguru raised an eyebrow and laughed with sarcasm. He couldn’t believe Satoru was pretending not to remember.

"Are you serious? When we broke up. No, when I LEFT you."

Gojo, more nervous than before and knowing it was a bad idea, poured himself more wine. He downed it in one go and then threw the glass on the floor. He really didn’t know how to act. No one, absolutely no one else made him act so erratically.

"YOU’RE LYING! YOU’RE STILL A LIAR, GETO SUGURU!"

Geto stood up, furious. He got very close to him, their faces just inches apart.

"Do you dare call me a liar? What was it, huh? Red? Or…purple?"

"YOU WERE TURNED AWAY!". Rage and guilt clouded Satoru’s judgment, and he was no longer keeping track of his volume. "YOU’RE CRAZY!"

"YOU JUST CONTRADICTED YOURSELF! HAVE YOU ALWAYS BEEN THIS STUPID? I PRACTICALLY BEGGED YOU TO KILL ME!". Geto started pacing around the room, trying to calm down but failing miserably. The urge to hurt the albino at that moment outweighed everything else.

"When have I ever lied to you? Huh?" he continued, in a calm voice. "Or is it that the fact that I stopped loving you hurt your ego so much that you see it as a lie? It was just what I felt. When I loved you, I said it, and it was true every time. Then it stopped being true. That’s all."

Gojo’s heart skipped a beat. This day was turning out to be one of the worst and most unpredictable of his life. The swings with Suguru were too much. He felt he couldn’t take it anymore and walked toward the door.

Suguru glared at him with anger. Even though he was having a terrible time, he didn’t want, for anything in the world, for the albino to leave.

"So, your ego is infinite too", he said with irony.

Satoru had opened the door but slammed it shut again.

"You’re calling me egotistical? It was your ego that couldn’t handle the objective fact that I’M the strongest, and that’s why you always resented me! It’s pathetic!". Gojo had never felt so angry. He got into a fighting stance, ready to cast a spell. "Do you want me to do it now? Because you know I CAN AND HAVE TO do it! I’m so superior to you that there’s no chance of me being wrong!"

Suguru yawned dramatically, pretending to be calm when he wasn’t. He was drunk, angry, and confused. Nothing seemed to make sense.

"Do whatever you want. Honestly, I don’t give a fuck."

They stared at each other, both agitated. Gojo remained in his fighting stance. Suddenly, he lowered his guard. He sat back down and covered his face with both hands, distressed.

"Don’t you know everything I’m risking, every second that I let you live?"

"Yes. And I don’t care. After all, it’s your decision."

That was too much for Gojo. He yanked at his bandage with such fury and force that he ended up ripping it.

"YOU’RE A SNAKE! A MONSTER! HOW ARE YOU ANY DIFFERENT FROM THE REST? YOU BROKE ALL YOUR PROMISES! YOU SWORE YOU WOULDN’T LEAVE ME, THAT YOU’D LIVE YOUR LIFE WITH ME! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW HARD IT’S BEEN TO START SMILING AGAIN AFTER THAT DISAPPOINTMENT?"

"HA! SHALL WE BE FRANK? FINE! YOU PROMISED ME YOU’D PROTECT ME, THAT YOU’D ALWAYS BE BY MY SIDE! BUT WHEN I NEEDED YOU, WHAT DID YOU DO? YOU ABANDONED ME! YOU DIDN’T EVEN ASK! YOU JUST DECIDED I WASN’T THAT BAD OFF AND LEFT ME ALONE!"

Geto clenched his fists tighter and was breathing heavily. He moved towards Gojo with the intention of hitting him but hesitated when he heard him sobbing. He couldn’t help but remember the last time he saw him like this, alone, in his room, shortly after Haibara’s death. It felt like his soul was melting. He couldn’t stand seeing him like this because, on the rare occasions Satoru cried, he did so with sobs that seemed to come from the darkest place within him.

“I’m tired. I don’t want to keep hurting him,” Suguru thought. He sat down beside him and gently took his hands away from his eyes. He wiped the tears with the sleeve of his shirt.

Gojo smiled. “I should push him away, but this feels… so good.”

"Gross. Your shirt smells like cigarretes."

Geto pushed him away with a laugh and then rested his head on his shoulder. He took one of his hands and began to stroke it.

"You're right. I’m no different from the rest. I’m probably a worse person than you, Satoru". He sighed."Listen. You’re not stupid. You never were. I’m sorry I said that. I don’t believe it at all. You know that, right?"

Satoru smiled warmly.

"I know. And you’re not a monster. I’ve never really thought that."

Suguru snuggled into the six eyes' arms, resting against his chest. Gojo kissed his forehead and then started twirling his finger in Geto’s bangs, just like he used to when they were together.

"We’re a mess, Suguru. There are forces that don’t want us together. You know the bigwigs are hell-bent on me killing you, right? They want to make sure you don’t reincarnate."

"Yeah. I’ve known that since I decided to leave. It’s textbook material, Satoru. I’m not surprised you didn’t know until you had to live through it. You’re all experience, no theory. Some would say you’re lazy", Suguru laughed.

"I’m not lazy! It’s just that studying sorcery never made sense to me. And you know I’m good at everything by default, so what’s the point in studying? Look, the only thing that’s true in our world is that everyone’s a bunch of treacherous rats, hungry for money and whatever other crap."

"And you’re not ? Because I am."

"Yeah, you are. And me? Well, I’m just into eating sweets, remember?"

Geto laughed. He sat up and rested his hands on Satoru’s knees. He stayed like that for a while, thoughtful. Talking about Satoru, or anyone, eventually killing him had brought to mind something he’d been reflecting on for a while.

"Listen. I’m sure this is the last time we’ll see each other without one of us ending up dead. I need to ask you something. And I need you to swear you’ll do it."

"Suguru…"

"When I’m executed…my body, my corpse…give it to Nanako and Mimiko, my girls. I’m all they have."

Gojo turned pale. The way Suguru talked about his death made it feel real, something he didn’t want to happen for anything in the world. Let alone be the one responsible. And, on top of that, what he was asking was completely out of the ordinary.

"Suguru, no. That’s impossible and you know it."

"I need to be taken to a place that only they and I know about. Or I’ll never rest. I’ll be doomed to wander in some subway station or something, trapped for all eternity."

"That’s not even part of your religion; you just made it up."

"No, it’s like that for sorcerers like me. There’s little information, but it’s true. I swear, Satoru. It’s really important to me."

Satoru sighed sadly. He didn’t want to keep talking about this.

"That also means getting involved with Shoko’s work. I can’t do that to her."

"Shoko will understand. Believe me."

"Ieiri is my friend."

"And me? Am I not your friend?"

Gojo suddenly remembered everything Suguru had said that day and felt angry again. He pushed Suguru’s hands off his knees and stood up.

"Are we even something? Do you feel anything for me now?"

Suguru walked over to the table, grabbed the wine bottle, and chugged what was left. He was fed up with Satoru's insecurities. Nothing was ever enough for him. What did he expect? For him to crawl and say he loved him? Hell no. Angry, he threw the bottle at Satoru, who dodged it.

"Enough! Why the hell do you always need so much affirmation from me? You’re Gojo Satoru! Or are you going to deny it? You’re the strongest, you’re basically Anakin Skywalker, the one who brings balance. What do you need? For me to sign my feelings for you in blood? Isn’t it enough that I’m here, risking my life?"

The dark-haired man sat back down, agitated. The truth was, he hated losing his temper like this, but it only happened with Satoru. He was the only one who made him want to hurt someone. He knew it was wrong, but damn it, that’s how it was. Complicated. The only reason he said all that was because he knew Suguru’s approval was the only one that mattered. And that stressed him out. He didn’t want to have that responsibility on his shoulders. All he wanted when he decided to visit him in his room was a moment of peace. To be with him, have sex, and then sleep, even if just for a few minutes, on his chest. Was that too much to ask?

He looked at Gojo, who was staring off into the distance. For a moment, he remembered his girls. He saw the three of them on the beach in Sendai. Hell, he could even put up with Fushiguro’s kid. Playing, happy, like siblings. And the two of them watching, hugging. Like nothing ever happened.

On the other hand, Gojo was hurt but didn’t want to keep crying in front of him. He felt weak, small, something he literally only felt in the aspects of his life related to Suguru. And he hated feeling that way because, in those moments, the finiteness of his existence became tangible. Suguru was right. He was insecure and a hypocrite. He promised he’d protect him, and he couldn’t even help him when he needed it. But what could he do at that moment? They were there driven by desire. Or at least that was the case at first, as now they seemed like a couple that’s been married for forty years and on the verge of divorce.

He wanted to leave Sendai, wanted to break everything. But at the same time, he knew that once he closed that door, he wouldn’t see Geto again. Not like this. Not with the open possibility of touching him, talking to him, and playing with his bangs. So he held back his feelings, because the pain of his absence was far worse than the pain from his wounds.

Geto snapped out of his fantasy. He looked at Gojo and saw him more vulnerable than ever. He felt terrible. He never said it, but he hated seeing him like this. Part of it embarrassed him, and part of it felt like it was his own pain, or even worse.

He felt overheated. It was the alcohol, combined with the coast and the excitement of being there with him. He went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Yes, that was just what he needed.

The albino, seeing this and not knowing why, followed him.

"Satoru...” he muttered, ”I'm exhausted. I don't want to argue anymore. The truth is, I really thought there was a chance I could take you with me. I miss you. Every fucking day, I miss you."

"Suguru, you have no idea how much I think about you. Look." He took something out of his pocket. "Look what I have."

Geto looked at it curiously and then smiled tenderly, on the verge of tears. It was a small Toad keychain.

"I bought it this afternoon. I don't know if you really remember, but..."

Gojo didn't get to finish speaking, as Suguru silenced him with a kiss. Satoru kissed him back, and then grabbed his hair and loosened his bun. Then he took off the top of his clothes and pushed him into the shower. Geto just let him do it. He didn't want to resist. Satoru got in with him and cornered him against the wall with his arms.

"Let's get this shit off our backs, Suguru. Since it's the last time, let's make it count."

He kissed him, first on the mouth, then on the neck.

Suddenly, Suguru grabbed Satoru by the arms and pinned him down. He pulled down his pants. He licked his neck and, slowly, began to stick the tips of his long fingers into his anus.

"Suguru...” Satoru smiled, excited. "You're a cheater."

"We didn't do it so much like that, huh? But I seem to remember you enjoyed it like the bitch you are."

Satoru, his penis hard as a rock, tried to get loose, but he couldn't. He didn't want to, rather.

"Are you going to talk to me like that?"

"Are you going to let me talk to you like that? Tell me: aren't you a bitch?"

Gojo laughed and again tried to turn around. Suguru stuck his tongue in his ear. Then he ran it over his lips. Gojo stuck out his to kiss him, but Geto pulled away.

"Suguru...you've changed."

"Oh, honey. You have no idea."

Geto pressed him harder against the wall; he kept fingering him. He smiled as he spotted the lube on the bathroom cabinet.

Satoru began to wiggle his ass backwards, searching for the black-haired man's penis.

"Are you ready? Do you want me to stick it in you?"

"Oh...Suguru...don't be an idiot. Do it, quick."

Suguru pulled his fingers out and pulled away.

"You're not going to order me around,” he grabbed him by the white hair and forcefully pulled him toward him. ”Or are you?"

Satoru was literally on fire. He felt drunk, not only because of the alcohol, but Suguru's smell electrified his whole body.

"No... put it in me. Just... put it in me."

Suguru moved closer again. He put his penis close to Satoru's ass, making sure he felt it in all its greatness, and began to put lube on it. He turned on the shower more, letting the hot water soak him. Then, he whispered in his ear.

"Say please."

Gojo could hardly speak anymore from excitement. All that came out of him were moans.

"Put it in me...please, Suguru. Put it in me. I beg you."

"You're such a bitch, Satoru."

Geto grabbed him by the waist and thrust in, hard. Satoru, dizzy with pleasure, didn't moan, but screamed. He couldn't even tell him to stop or go on, no. His body could not generate a sound other than those howls that could easily have been of suffering.

But they weren't. Rarely did Satoru let himself be penetrated, but not because he disliked it. In fact, only Suguru had that privilege, only the black-haired man was able to achieve that craving, so he had not felt that glory in his prostate for a year and a half. The heat of the shower, with that of his body and his sweat kept him in a perpetual hot flash that felt devilishly good. After a couple of minutes, he couldn't hold it in any longer. His back arched and his cum painted the wall.

Suguru stroked his back delicately and Satoru turned around. He looked for a couple of seconds into his purple eyes and, seeing them smiling back at him, smothered him with a passionate kiss.

“Wow, Satoru...I still...” said Suguru, indicating his erect penis.

"Do you think that after all this time that's going to be all?"

The albino took Suguru in his arms and carried him back to the room. He laid the curse handler's body on the table where they had eaten dinner, throwing everything away. Suguru laughed, as his penis hardened even more. Satoru, without any warning, shoved two of his full fingers into the black-haired man's hole.

"Ouch", whispered Geto, playfully.

"You're ready. And I'm going to fuck you like an animal."

"Tsk...Satoru...you don't have to warn..."

Gojo lifted Suguru's warm, wet hips and penetrated him, as deep as their hyperlax bodies would allow.

"Satoru...you're...you're a fucker", Suguru laughed, as he stuck his tongue out at him.

Gojo slipped his into his mouth. Then he bit his neck, taking the opportunity to inhale his scent. Suguru did the same, drowning his nose in his white hair. Synesthesia was a privilege of few and, in general, all colors smelled good, but Satoru's simply had no comparison. Suguru felt able to go to war over the scent of purple emanating from the albino's skull. He took a lock of the white hair, which glowed purplish in the dark, and pulled it out. Satoru laughed, like a madman and began to lick his nipples, while he penetrated him with perfect rhythm and smiled mischievously at him.

My god, how beautiful he was, how had he left that wonderful creature? Nothing compared to the white hair clinging to his skin, his cheeks flushed with sweat, and those light blue eyes watering with pure pleasure.

And that penis. That glorious penis.

"Do you want it?" Satoru said, sensing what was going through the black-haired man's head.

"Yes."

"Me first."

Gojo, quickly and with the same contradictory mix of strength and gentleness that drove him crazy, sat Suguru down and took his wet, veiny penis into his mouth. Suguru, weak from the surprise and excitement he had been feeling, couldn't hold anything in. A couple of flicks of the albino's deft tongue were all it took for the curse-handler to expel, along with the most melodic moan Gojo had ever heard, all of his semen into the six-eyed man's mouth.

Satoru dug his nails into his hips and grinned at him, still holding Suguru's magnificent cock in his mouth. Some of the liquid was trickling out of the corner of his lips.

"You're not going to swallow it?"

Satoru gladly swallowed Geto's semen. It tasted as good as ever.

He grabbed Suguru's face tightly and kissed him, choking him with his long tongue in his slick throat.

"I'm a crazy little bitch, don't you remember?"

Suguru laughed out loud.

"Of course I remember. I'll never forget. I haven't stopped thinking about you like that, even when I've been with other people."

Satoru looked at him in surprise. What a day. He hadn't expected to be the image Suguru used to fuck other people.

Suguru arched an eyebrow.

"Have you been all this time without...?"

"Of course not. But...". He pulled the black-haired man back to him and squeezed his hardened nipples. "...no one turns me on like you do, Suguru. There's no one as sexy. So I haven't been particularly interested in anyone else, see?"

Satoru grabbed Suguru's member and began to fiddle with it.

"Hard again. Looks like I'm not the only little bitch,” the albino added.

"No. You're not the only bitch,” Suguru said as he put his hands on Gojo's crotch and began to masturbate him. "I warn you: I could go on all night."

Satoru was breathing heavily, as he stroked the back of the curse handler. He fixed his eyes on those manly shoulders, wet with sweat and dyed black by his jet-black hair. He could go on all night, too. In fact, he could keep fucking Suguru all his fucking life.

"Is it a competition?"

"I always liked playing with you, Satoru. And against you,” Suguru replied as he put his face between the six-eyed man's legs.

Gojo grabbed him by the hair and pulled him hard, pulling him away from his cock. That was his favorite game.

"I could fuck you 'till I die."

Suguru laughed, with pleasure. No one else would pull his hair. No one would even dare to ask, but Satoru....

Satoru could do anything he wanted to him.

"This...ha. It's my weak spot. You know that. You're the cheater...oh, you damn albino."

Satoru grinned and pulled his hair harder, to the point of arching his back. He licked his lips at the sight of the beautiful curve the black-haired man's body formed.

"Now you beg."

Suguru stuck his tongue out at him, mischievous.

"No. Never."

Satoru pulled his hair again.

"Beg me or I won't feed you."

Suguru thought he was going to cum on his own because he was so turned on by Satoru pulling his hair, but he wasn't going to give in.

"I...I told you that...oh, Satoru. I told you no."

"I'll punish you, then."

Gojo pulled his hair violently and held a small lock in his hand. Suguru, feeling it, cried out, in a mixture of pain and pleasure. For the second time in the evening he realized that Satoru mistreating him unlocked pleasures he had never felt before.

The curse manipulator rejoined him, pushed the albino onto the bed and sat on top of him.

"Hey, It hurt,” he said as he tied his hair back.

"So?"

"Do you want to know how it feels?"

Satoru looked at him piercingly. Suddenly, his countenance darkened. He had come back to reality for an instant.

"You hurt me already, Suguru. Always."

Hearing that, Suguru's expression changed as well.

"Don't think It doesn't hurt me too, Satoru."

"You're so beautiful, Suguru."

Gojo caressed his cheeks. Geto took his hands and left them on his face for a moment. He closed his eyes and inhaled, deeply. He wanted to remember that moment forever.

Suddenly, Gojo kissed him passionately.

"Let's not think about that now. Just...". He buried his nails in the black-haired man's buttocks again, and then spanked him with a spank that would leave his big hand scarred"...Make me suffer in another way, honey."

Suguru laughed and then bit his neck, drawing blood. He licked at this one, running his tongue over his elegant lips. Then, he put both hands around the albino's neck, and began to ride him slowly.

"Like this?"

"Take...take my breath away."

Satoru was overcome with a pleasure almost impossible to describe, which tensed his muscles like never before. He felt adrenaline building in his chest and at the base of his penis. Suguru clenched his hands tighter and the albino's half-closed eyes, along with a grimace begging for air, brought him closer and closer to his zenith. Suddenly, Satoru scratched the black-haired man's buttocks so hard that a small trickle of blood came out of them. Suguru, feeling the burning that the albino's scratch brought with it, became even more aroused and continued to ride him with a speed and eagerness to feel Satoru's member that could only be compared to that of a thirsty man looking at a cold pitcher of water.

Suddenly, Satoru pulled out of him and ejaculated like never before, leaving Suguru's chest and stomach covered with his liquid. Gojo, seeing that his partner still wasn't cuming, came over and kissed him passionately while masturbating him. They stayed like that, lost in the sound of moaning and their skin rubbing against each other, until the violent grip of Suguru's hand on the albino's shoulder made him realize that the black-haired man had reached orgasm.

They both remained sitting on the floor, looking at each other and breathing hard. At the same time, they realized the mess they had left in the room and, also at the same time, laughed.

"We're pigs,” said Suguru.

"Bah, how else could the strongest fuck, huh?", said the albino throwing a pillow at him.

They laughed again. They looked at each other, complicit. Satoru approached Geto and kissed him on the cheek.

"What did I tell you? 'Till I die,” he said as he put the black-haired man's hands on his crotch, so Suguru could feel his new erection. "What about you?"

"Always."

***

Many hours later, when it was almost dawn, Gojo watched Geto sleep. He stroked his hair, gently. Suddenly, he looked at the time and rubbed his eyes. He sighed and sat on the balcony, watching the sea. His mind was blank, focused only on feeling that moment. A small tear peeked out of his left eye.

He stood up resolutely and took out a sheet of paper and a pencil from his bag. He began to write. Once he finished, he watched him sleep for a while longer. He caressed a lock of his hair delicately and, in the same way, left what he had written on his pillow. He picked up his torn bandage, his purse and walked to the door. He stopped, hesitantly, and returned to the bed. He kissed Suguru on the forehead, deposited what was left of his bandage on the bedside table and left.

No sooner had Satoru gotten into the academy car than Suguru awoke. He was disconcerted to realize that the albino was gone, and felt like vomiting when he saw the envelope with the letter.

With his heart pounding, he began to read.

"Suguru:

When you read this, I'll be back in Tokyo, and I hope you'll understand that I can't be with you. Not just because I shouldn't, but because I don't want to. Our paths aren't the same. Our ideals aren't either. Maybe they never were. Remember how we used to argue about that? That's why you broke up with me. It was the right thing to do, and I respect it.

I want you to know that I know you go to that place every now and then. Your trace is basically the same, but sometimes something changes. When I figured that out, I started visiting that station more. It was like seeing you, in a way. I know you’ve seen me there. I’ve seen you too. It was our way of reconnecting, of knowing we thought of each other. Believe me, the thought of you often kept me going. But I can't do it anymore. I have a kid to take care of, and due to circumstances beyond my control, he knows who you are and what you've done. If he found out about what we were... no, what we still are to each other, he'd never trust me again. And I can't do that to him. I know you understand. So, please, don’t do anything like what happened these past days. Don’t come after curses that I’ll have to exorcise, because I can’t see you again. It was horrible and beautiful at the same time, but going from saying we never loved each other, to trying to kill each other, to almost sleeping together, to hating each other again, and then spending the whole night together… it’s a rollercoaster I can’t handle. And I don’t want to. It’s truly impossible for us to be together again; those years are gone. Saying goodbye today is as painful as it was that day.

I need to focus on what I want to do with my life, and for that, I need to try living without the painful longing to find you. I need us to leave each other in peace."

Suguru crumpled the letter and threw it in the trash. He kicked the furniture around, making an even bigger mess. He grabbed his bag, put on his Gojo kesa, and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

However, in his rage and pain, Suguru didn’t notice that the letter continued on another page, and there was something else in the envelope. Three polaroid photos of the two of them: one in a field, taken by Haibara; one at school, taken by Shoko; and one in Okinawa, taken by Riko. In each one, they were looking at each other like fools, in love. Immersed in each other, as if there was nothing and no one else around.

The letter continued:

"I want you to have these photos of us. No, they’re not the only ones I have, but they’re the ones I always carry with me. Because that’s how I like to remember us: in love. No matter how much crap we said last night, we both know the truth: I was born to find you, and you were born to find me. Life threw us some bad breaks. We got through most of them, but the final one is unbeatable.

I’ll take care of what you asked me because I love you, Suguru. I said it a thousand times, and it was always real; today it still is. I love you from the first moment I saw you, with your bangs. And I’ll never love anyone else. Not like this. You’re my only special person. No matter what anyone says: there will never be anything more than your love. No memory compares to your touch, your look, your voice calling me by my name.

Forgive me for leaving like this.

Forgive me for not being the partner you needed.

Forgive me, already, for killing you.

Yours, always.

Satoru.

PS: If I could, I’d go with you after that eclipse. I’d stay with you until death came for us.

You’re beautiful, Suguru."

————————————————————-

(Tysm if you read it all! It means a lot!)

If someone knows the artist please tell me so I can give credit 🙏🏻

[writingmeraki]

hot & cold I

READ PART TWO HERE !

a min ho mini series !

summary : Feeling the warm butterflies in your stomach as well as the cold sinking feeling in your heart wasn't the best especially just because of one person nonetheless you think it was worse because that person was none other than the guy you apparently hated with your entire existence.

( or you long crossed the blurry lines of love and hate when it came to Minho and were both just idiotic enough to not realise that until you had to force it out of yourself because of your stupidity.)

genre : angst, fluff, comfort !

pairing : minho x fem!reader, e2l, idiots to lovers.

warnings : mentions of alcohol and underage drinking, kissing and making out, cussing. both being dumb and too high on their ego. kinda blame it on Minho in this one I fear 😨

author's note : and as my obsession goes crazy, I knew I had to write a miniseries on Minho. I honestly have no idea how long it can be this time, it'll mostly depend on your feedback but also how long I make this but expect 2-3 parts more ?? this was written out of nowhere tbh because I had a really different idea for this. anyways enjoy and let me know what you think ! <3 ( not proofread as usual, we die like real men 😀)

based on this request !

word count : 4.3k

"Maybe you should put that down now."

Kitty said, observing the way you tipped down the cocktail, be it a secret yet not secret alcoholic one.

You winced and shook your head as you smashed the glass down after, Kitty having to shoot an apologetic look to the temporary bartender, who wanted nothing more than to be anywhere else but a party of drunk and horny teenagers sneaking in alcohol and downing it as though they were going through all stages of grief at the moment or in moments of classical teenage stupidity.

"Oh- KAY! I think that's more than enough." She pulled your hands away from the other cocktail that was served up,despite this one now being the only non-alcoholic, she felt it was getting a lot and you whined at her, she narrowed her eyes at you.

"Y/N, you've had more than enough."

"Noooo, I'm fine I can handle ittt." Your words slurred and she gave you a blank stare, holding up two fingers, she asked

"Okay then, how many fingers I am holding up?"

You narrowed your eyes, trying to think hard and giggled as you spoke

"Kitty, Katty since when did you have six fingers?" A drunken smile sat on your face as you leaned forward pointing your finger to count the 'six' fingers.

You vision was blurry but you were still able to make out the outline of what was in front of you.

Kitty rolled her eyes and sighed softly "How much did you even have?"

You put up both your hands, all fingers up and her eyes widened almost comically, it only made you giggle at her expressions,

"TEN? please tell me TEN sips!"

"Nooo silly, of course not…it was just three glasses with that sercret ingredient." You whispered to her as you leaned in closer as though you were telling a top secret and in a way it was, your lips were turned upwards, dimples lightly peaking.

"Alright, we have to get you back to the dorms then! Let me call Q and Florian, then we'll go okay? You stay here. Don't move Y/N!" She pointed at you, her words strict but you couldn't think about anything other than how pretty she seemed at the moment, so without much thought you blurted out,

"You look so pretty, Kit, you really do." Your eyes were half closed but you could see her wearing a tight black dress, her hair done down and straight, her black heels only making her figure look leaner.

Kitty, despite knowing you were drunk, couldn't help but laugh at your words, she shook her head and told you one last time before disappearing to find Q and Florian as soon as she could.

Looking up, the ceiling was multicolored, flashes of blue and green danced across it and you looked in awe as if it was a piece of art.

You looked around you, noticing the way the entire place seemed to be overcrowded but people were having fun, either getting shit drunk or dancing as if it was their last time.

Welcome to your life

There's no turning back

Even while we sleep

We will find you

You smiled when you heard the familiar tune and lyrics, having hearing it from your roommate and also ended up falling in love with it, the beat was slightly altered to make it more party pop but it only made it more better.

Standing up and stumbling slightly as you made your way to the dance floor, the world looking like it was moving fast as you also moved your body along to the crowd.

You felt as though you'd been hit so hard when you ended up colliding harshly into the person and you braced yourself for the fall, feeling as if you're flying high to come crashing hard into the ground.

Acting on your best behaviour

Turn your back on mother nature

Everybody wants to rule the world

And as cliche as it could get, you didn't feel the crash instead a stronger grip on your waist pulled you back up as the side face instead hit something soft yet firm.

You looked up and you felt the same awe when you saw the multicolored ceiling as though it was a piece of art, maybe even more, as your eyes scanned his face.

It's my own design

It's my own remorse

Help me to decide

Help me make the most

Colours shone on his face, highlighting his sharp jawline that you felt yourself get lost in, you continued to scan the bridge of his nose and his cupid's bow. You looked into his eyes and only felt your haziness increase as you felt the tug in your heart. They seemed to drink you in as you did him, and your gaze turned to the way one corner of his lips turned upwards.

The arm around your waist felt warmer than it should and you definitely felt the heat on your face, your entire body even. Your knees felt more weaker as you prayed your legs didn't give up on you, and with this the grip on your waist only got tighter.

Minho looked down at you, his gaze never leaving your face as he held you up. Staring at your lips for a little longer than he should have. The fact that he felt as if there were sparks of electricity running through just by the waist around your arm and most of your body weight on his, made him only want more. More than he should be wanting.

And again, letting your intrusive thoughts take the wheel of your actions, you lifted up one hand and brushed it along his jawline.

"Ouch…paper cut." Giggling at your ridiculous joke, you rested your head on his shoulder now, moving your arms around his broad shoulders.

Naturally, his own arms now fully wrapped around your waist and if someone, which more than a few heads turned, saw you in this position, it'd look more intimate than it should. Considering how far down you both go.

Minho smiled unknowingly, the sound of your giggles always making his heart race more than it should.

"I know you're clumsy as fuck, but I didn't think you'd fall for me this soon, I guess it would happen soon anyways considering how intelligent and good looking I am."

Your eyes moved to look up into his, noticing his lips pulled into a smirk that really only did more things unbeknownst to you,and you narrowed them before slurring out,

"You sound exactly like Minho, I actually thought it was almost you." You continued mumbling,

"But I know it's definitely not him, considering he was already busy with that…Madison." You rolled your eyes, slowly shutting them and you pushed your head back down onto his shoulders and moved closer to the crook of his neck, craving the warmth he radiated.

"Plus I'm sure he'd let me fall face first on the ground if I fell on him the way I just did." You mumbled into his neck, he felt himself control the shiver that run down his spine when your lips touched his neck as you mumbled.

Frowning, he spoke up, wanting to defend himself even if it seemed pointless,

"No, he wouldn't." He said firmly and you looked up at him as you thought of his words,

"Considering how we are, I don't think I'm wrong to assume he'd do that." Even though you were drunk, you spoke the words more smoothly as if it was a whole truth.

"Besides I don't even care what he does, he can go kiss that…that girl for all I care, no I definitely don't care if he does this with her, if he looks at her like that way."

Minho's expression turned down, his eyebrows furrowing and his lips pulled into a frown,

"What way?" He asked softly as he could see your eyes tearing up and you gulped sadly and you put on a dejected smile,

"How I wish, I wish he'd look at me, for once." You said more gently, whispering letting your vulnerable feelings speak up.

He only felt his heart sinking the more he took in the sadness and vulnerability showing on your face, he felt his guilt double than it had before as he recalled why he'd even been making out with Madison in the first place.

He'd felt his entire focus zone in on the person who'd just walk in the place.

Even as much as he seemed to hate your mere presence, his eyes always seemed to drift towards you much to his annoyance.

His gaze felt heavy as it dragged from the shoes you'd worn to the hairstyle you'd done. Your outfit consisted of a maroon tight dress that had ended just below your knees, a teasing slit running just a little further up your left side, just enough to make someone want to see more.

Your lips were a similar shade of maroon as you smiled, depths forming on your cheeks that tugged at his heart, your hair done down and resting just below your shoulders.

You looked…you looked better than he could even describe.

Beautiful would be a word, but he thinks it underwhelms you.

Kitty was beside you in her black dress and her hair done down but his eyes couldn't stop drinking you in as if it was not enough for him.

He wanted something he shouldn't. He shouldn't be thinking about you right now the way he is.

He forced himself to look away, searching for someone else in the crowd.

He looked better than he should and you hated the way your eyes moved to the dip between his throat and shirt.

Gosh that's such an ugly fucking colour you thought yet you felt fainter as your eyes scanned the way his hair was parted, something you knew only he could pull off. Some loose strands sat on his forehead and you hated the way you felt your legs almost give up in these tight heels as you took in the way the blazer fit his broad shoulders.

Fuck he looked good.

You looked at him, observing him scanning the crowd as he disappeared away.

"Let's get this party started!" Kitty said excitedly to which you lightly laughed,

"Kitty it's already started, we are already like forty minutes late because of a certain someone but sure! Love the enthusiasm! Woo!" You chuckled as you saw her excitement bubble down and then laughing along with you.

"Let's go then girls! The best place at a party, the bar!" Q threw his arms around both your shoulders as he sloshed himself between you, now pulling you towards the bar.

The bartender served up five mocktails which you thought were too beautiful looking to be drank but you raised a toast,

"Here's to meeting new people and ending our bitchless eras!" You toasted as you giggled which was followed by the rest clinking their respective glasses onto yours as you took a sip.

"Guys,I have something." Florian spoke as he pulled a flask from his blazer and your eyes widened at the sight, knowing what it was.

"Oh My God! No way… now you're the real one for this." You said as he winked at you and opened the flask, the smell already indicating what it was as he poured in a bit into yours and his.

"Ohh me too! Me too!" Kitty said as she pushed her glass towards him and he poured in hers as well.

"The last for the best." Florian spoke as he poured it in Q's drink which made him look away and you smirked as you saw him almost blush.

"Now this is a real toast." You finally clinked your drinks for the last time, now taking in a sip, wincing yet loving the bitter taste that contrasted well with the sweetness of the cocktail.

"By the way, Y/N, I don't think you're ever going to be able to meet new people." Kitty spoke which made you turn to her in confusion.

"I mean come on, you won't be able to meet new people because you already are into someone." She continued and now looked towards Q, him nodding in agreement as you still looked in confusion.

"Oh please, don't look like a lost puppy now, we all saw the way you basically bore your eyes into Min ho as soon as you saw him like a hungry vulture or something." Q said which made Florian chuckle and you only glared at his words as though looks could kill.

"You don't plan a murder out loud now do you?" You defended yourself as Kitty rolled her eyes,

"More like you'd kill anyone who'd dare even hurt a fraction of his hair." Kitty said to which now both Florian and Q nodded, feeling betrayal as you looked at Florian, thinking he'd been on your side to which he only raised his hands in his defense.

"Look, Y/N, maybe you don't see it, but you definitely go past the so called hate line you both have." He said as he knew you surely felt more for him than the passive aggressive persona you showed when he was around.

"After all they do say the lines between love and hate tend to blur." Kitty said as she took a sip of her drink and you only scoffed, ready to reply saying you knew where you stood and you were gladly under the hate side, despising Min ho because of his unbearable personality that would make you so mad.

So mad you'd want to punch his pretty face at times.

"Uh oh." Q said suddenly as his eyes caught a sight that he wished wouldn't have but they quickly widened when he realised you were literally right next to him and probably heard him.

Naturally your eyes moved to where he was looking, and oh how you wished you also didn't see what you just saw but for completely different reasons that you couldn't put a finger on at the time being.

Minho stood next to Madison as he whispered something into her ears, which made her laugh, you saw the way his arm was wrapped around her waist, hiding her close to him.

You felt like throwing up as your stomach recoil and churn, moving your eyes, not wanting to think more of this than you should. But it seemed as though it was impossible as the image replayed in your mind.

You felt the tension in the air when your face twisted bitterly, noticing your friends also tensing up and felt guilty for suddenly changing the cheerful mood.

"Guys come one now, I don't care, now go and have fun!" You reassured them as they looked at you skeptically.

"Listen, he can go and fuck around with whoever he wants, I really don't care. We shouldn't let this ruin our moods. Now go." You bit on your tongue as put on a tight smile, no usual dimples peaking, a sign it was fake.

Hearing the firmer tone at the end, Q and Florian nodded as they held hands "Okay then, find us when you need us okay?"

Q said as you just mindlessly nodded and they also moved into the flow of the crowd.

Kitty still looked at you skeptically but you just smiled at her, now a genuine one telling her to go on and finish her agenda of meeting new people.

At least one of you seemed ready to move on.

"Thank you." You heard a voice suddenly speak up from beside you as you sat nursing the cocktail in your hands, it's coolness relieving the warmth your body felt.

"Oh someone with manners, I like that." You said putting down your drink, deciding that if he can fuck around when he wants, who were you to not as well.

The guy next to you turns towards you, him taking in your figure, a smirk forming on his face as he realised who you were.

"I'm Geon." He said to which you smiled.

"Y/N." You spoke up to which he chuckled which made you a bit confused,

"Oh I know." You raised an eyebrow at his words,

"It's an honor to have the hottest girl here talking to me." He said with a grin as you then lifted your drink to take another sip, after which you giggled at his words, even though you didn't think you would have even been phased if it weren't for the alcohol now slowly flowing in your system.

"Oh yeah? Tell me more." You leaned in closer to him with a smug smile, biting your lip lightly to which you think again, this probably wouldn't be happening right now if it weren't for the liquid courage or your mess of an emotional baggage.

This whole spectacle was being seen by someone who'd otherwise think you were both already together. He rolled his eyes, looking away as he clicked his tongue, folding his arms and a scowl of both disgust and jealousy forming on his face.

Of course.

He thought looking back at the pair of Geon and you.

"I think she's better than all the other girls, even Yuri, people say she's the prettiest but don't realize that they are wrong. And Kitty next to you looks so underwhelming but both of them are nothing but plain next to you."

And despite you starting to feel more tipsy, you controlled the urge to just flip him off.

Instead you leaned in closer, raising one hand and cupping his face, bringing your face near his ear, as though you'd whisper about how he was definitely right, a light smile forming on his face.

That's what he thought at least.

Chuckling lowly, you whispered sweetly,

"You know sweety, what type of men I absolutely despise?"

You briefly made eye contact with him when he looked down at you from the corner of his eye.

"The ones who bring women down in hopes of getting into my pants and thinking that will actually work."

You trailed your hand down his neck, fingers lightly touching, he gulped as he shivered under your touch, the grin forming on his face long gone when he heard the venom lacing your tone.

"Let alone the fact that they are my best friends, and trust me, if I wanted to I'd punch the shit out of you right now but,listen to me carefully."

You rested your hand on his collarbone,

"No girl is meant for your judging pleasure especially not for undeserving dickheads like you and if you dare talk to me again, trust me, I can do much worse than you can think."

You leaned back and patted his chest, grinning widely, but your eyes said a completely different story.

"Now. Fuck off."

And fuck off he did as he swallowed nervously, turning around and moving into the crazy crowd,mumbling something under his breath, you not really caring to pay attention to his words as you sighed out, rubbing your forehead with your fingers.

Men are nothing but disappointment, what did I even expect ?

"Hey guess what!- what happened to you?" Kitty said as she suddenly appeared from your right side making you surprised but you smiled at her reassuringly, not wanting her to know what that jerk said for obvious reasons.

"Oh it's nothing, it's getting noisy that's all." Kitty didn't seem convinced at all because she did spot you talking to Geon, not wanting to interrupt when he saw you whispering something to him,

Huh so she really was serious about the whole meeting new people thing?

But when he walked away looking a little paler, she figured it was not exactly what it looked like, deciding that she should intervene now.

"Oh-kay but you know what, I just…" You now looked forward your back facing the bar as you placed your elbows on the counter, leaning onto them, raising an eyebrow at her for her to continue,

"I am glad I came here, I'm glad we all did, I'm happy, for once and it feels so…so good to be happy with you guys who I didn't think would even be my friends."

She said smiling at you, her sitting down next to your stool, and you turned your neck, looking at her now,

You smiled, finally a genuine one and it showed when your dimples showed,

"I'm glad I met you guys as well." You told her and just as she was about to say something, her eyes trailed towards your left, narrowing to make sure she was seeing right.

She froze when she saw you look at her, naturally wanting to see what made her look the way she was looking right now.

"Uh! Well look you know I'm happy you…uh well you agreed to come here!" She pulled your shoulders a little forcefully, the rotating barstool moving and making you now face her.

You looked perplexed at her behaviour, especially how she almost knocked you out but she just smiled at you, a little too forcefully.

"I just think you should know you deserve better than you think and even if it's not-"

"Kitty."

You called out to her, stopping her rambling, moving your hands up from off your shoulders.

"What's got you so…so nervous all of a sudden?" You questioned seeing her eyes still fixated behind you, her hand stopping you again from turning around.

"I just don't think you should see this. Really." She swallowed nervously and you waved her off,

"It's not that deep Kitty chill." You said but how you wished you'd listen to her.

You went rigid, seeing the sight now in front of you and clenched your jaw.

There was Minho in all his glory, kissing, no more like passionately making out with none other than Madison.

He had his arms around her waist as she played with his hair, and you could see her smile into the kiss. His mouth moved from her lips to her jawline and you watched her giggle as he seemed to be whispering something that made her laugh only more.

Fuck.

Why did it feel like someone just ripped your heart out and smashed it right in front of you with their bare hands?

You turned towards the bar, squeezing your eyes shut, holding your head in your hands as you felt the pounding in it get harder.

You gulped harshly trying to squeeze the image out of your brain,

"Y/N." Kitty put her hand on your shoulder, her warm touch contrasting the coldness you felt.

"Ah, I should have listened to you." You laughed but it held no humour. You could feel your emotions go all over the place as you replayed everything you'd seen till now.

Both of them laughing together, him looking at her as if she was the only on there, him focusing on her as if she was the only one there, him making out with her as if she'd slip away from his hands.

"You know what maybe I just need a little drink." You raised your hand up calling for the bartender and asking for two cocktails.

You put your hand out to Kitty expectedly, her frowning at the way you tried to act as if it was all right but she could see the unshed tears on your lash line.

Before she could say anything, you asked her quickly,

"Where's that whisky Florian gave you?" Talking about the flask she'd been hiding in her purse that was given to her by Florian.

"Y/N, you can't just drink away your emotions like this, you can't even handle alcohol-"

"Kitty, I'll be fine, just…just give it to me please?"

She sighed, she knew about your tendency to avoid talking about your feelings. She just opened up her purse and removed the flask just as the bartender served the drinks.

You took it from her and poured a questionable amount but you didn't really care at the moment, wanting to feel the high rather than the heaviness you currently felt creeping in your chest.

Raising a toast to yourself, you grinned up at Kitty, a sorrowness that only made her feel more and more sympathic for you.

"Here's to the most unluckiest person at the moment, me!"

That was now half an hour ago, and here you were now wrapped tightly around the very person who'd made you feel miserable in the first place.

"You know it's not even his fault. We don't even like each other. I'm pretty sure he hates me but why the fuck does it hurt so bad?" You whined as you pulled away from the supposed stranger's, attractive one at least, body and stood up on your own.

You pushed his arms away from you and you almost stumbles but held one hand out when he tried to hold you again to prevent you from falling,

"Y/N you'll fall-"

"No, I'm fine, I swear. I don't even know why I just dumped that weird emotional baggage onto you, sorry."

"Thank you anyways, for you know saving me from breaking my own face right there, if you want me to repay you, just come to Chemistry class first period on Monday!"

You stepped away from him and trying to not cry because no matter how drunk you were you didn't want to cry over some stupid boy.

Minho stood there, his eyes downcast as he remembered the look on your face, he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily.

How do I even begin ?

READ PART TWO HERE !

all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri.do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.

writingmeraki Ⓒ 2023

feedback is appreciated hehe :D 💗

links : main navi !

[jenchan-writingmultis]

Twisted Wonderland Boys x Fem Reader in their respective Fairytales (Series)

Leona's Part

Previous Part (Riddle)

─────❅───── A/n: I might have butchered Leona, I'm so sorry :(

Content Warning: This Fic will be tagged as 16+ since it is a bit suggestive along with mentions of Gorey themes (Azul), it’s very vague. I haven’t finished Book 6 and Book 7 because I’m stuck in Tartarus, but they’re not done here yet. Riddle (Suggestive Themes), Leona (Cussing, Blood mention), Azul (Obsession, Manipulation, Cussing once, Potential Cannibalism? (He eats merpeople who are turned into Polyps). The reason for potential OOC was cause I mixed both the classic Villains with the personality of our beloved boys

Due to the Tumblr Limit, Each one will be divided unfortunately, hopefully, it's an easy navigation for all of you!

─────❅─────

First Batch would be: Riddle, Leona, Azul Second Batch would be: Kalim, Idia, Malleus

List of Villains interconnecting with each character:

Riddle = Queen of Hearts

Leona = Scar

Azul = Ursula

─────❅─────

Leona:

It’s hot, you thought to yourself, sweating bullets as if you were in the middle of a savanna, which, unfortunately, you were. Looking around; you only noticed a small cave that was a few feet away from you.

You could go there just by walking so without a doubt, you made your way to it, the closer you were the bigger the cave got, fanning yourself, you immediately went inside, sighing in relief as you felt cold water dripping to your forehead, it might be a wet pit cave. You were going to step further when you felt something squish beneath your feet.

“Urghk” a grunt was heard, causing you to jump back in surprise, the perfectly camouflaged man stirred up, sitting as he placed his tail on his lap, rubbing the part you stepped on. “Fuck, what the hell is a prey doing here?” snarling as he opened his eyes, piercing into your figure like he wanted to devour you here and there. “You’re lucky that I’m too lazy to eat you” he continued, sounding annoyed, standing up, he grabbed the collar of your shirt, pulling you roughly near to his face so that he could examine you better.

“You really are a prey,” he said amusedly, while you froze, not from fear, maybe a bit of that but also from surprise, Leona, your lover, was standing infront of you shirtless, with only just his pants, since when was he this bold?

“Leona!” you squeaked, covering your eyes to shy yourself away from the lion, who looked lost. “What?” he asked, crossing his arms, he found you looking like an idiot, covering your eyes like that, but instead of getting irritated, he found himself intrigued by how stupid the situation was.

“Put on some clothes please” you muttered, still not glancing at him, okay that was ridiculous, he grabbed your collar once again forcing you to look at him, “What kind of idiot would get flushed over a body?” he asked, after all, in this land, almost every beastmen and beastwomen were half naked, or fully naked, so why are you flustered? Huh, now examining your outfit, you didn’t seem to be a beast type.

"Hm," he murmured, pulling away to maintain a safe distance. "A human in the territory of beasts." He glanced lazily behind you, checking if you bought any of your herbivore friends with you. Finding none, he couldn't decide if you were bold or simply foolish. With a slight laugh, he added "You're bold. I'm surprised you weren't mauled and served as today's dinner on your way here."

“What does that mean?” you pouted, Leona somehow senses a feeling of familiarity in it, so he grabbed your hand, dragging you to his lair further as he sat down, placing you beside him, he draped himself on you.

Yeah, this feels familiar, he thought to himself, laying on your plush thighs, you didn’t even push him away automatically brushing your fingers in his hair. “I’m guessing you’re not from around here Prey,” he asked, eyes closing as he feasted on your affection.

“Yeah, I just happen to be here” you replied shortly, you didn’t really know what to say, this guy might not even be Leona, maybe he’s an evil counterpart, but the thing is he seemed to be fond of you, so what’s the difference? Was it the fact that the scar on his eye was bigger? Or the fact that he was littered with tattoos, unlike your Leona? The black ink spreading all over his arms to his back and neck was pretty, it suits him.

“When I take the throne, I’ll make you my little mouse,” he said so casually which caused you to stiffen. “Take the throne?” you asked as your fingers nimbly pushed the hair back that was covering his face, the moment he opened his eyes you saw the determination in his usually bored eyes.

“I will be king someday,” he said, grabbing your wrist you felt him pull it to his lips as he nuzzled it, so uncharacteristic of him, however, you’re not even sure who he is, so maybe not.

Pain suddenly surrounds your wrist, squeaking when Leona bit your wrist, letting the blood drip into his mouth; that hurt, you tried to pull your hand away but his grab on you was firm.

“I’ll be ten times the king Farena and his little brat will ever be” he stated, letting your wrist go when he saw the look you gave, fear, it suits you.

Yeah, He’s decided, the way you react, the way you stare at him with both love and fear. He’s going to keep you.   I’m sure you knew what he meant when he said he would take the throne right?

Azul Part one

[yandere-fics]

♡ Book AU ♡

(You know in isekai manhwa where the main character gets teleported into a book they read? This is that. I had no ideas for Bibi.)

♡ You'd been reincarnated as a princess, the scenery was familiar but you never put together which book you were in until you'd been introduced to your sister when you were both 10, Princess Theanna, the main character in a novel you read over and over, one who killed all of her siblings besides a few who she couldn't be bothered to kill or those who gave up the race for the throne quickly and while you had been a strong contender for the throne, you had to become one just to not be killed when you were a child but now that you knew what book you were in, any chance of that was immediately gone. The next day after meeting Theanna you gave up the fight for the throne and moved into the servants quarters since if you weren't a princess anymore you couldn't just live with the royal children, still you knew that wouldn't be enough, you had to leave the capital, you weren't stupid enough to believe you'd be entirely safe from the conflict as a maid. ♡

♡ You were the most interesting thing Theanna had ever laid her eyes on, you'd been fighting for the throne somewhat but the moment you heard Theanna's name your face dropped and you dropped out of the race entirely, she had to know what was going on in that head of yours so she watched you over the years, biding her time to make you her queen. You weren't stupid though, you knew Theanna having interest in you wasn't a good thing, on the night you planned to leave she brought you into her room and proposed, you were never leaving, if you tried then she'd blackmail you, see she knew you thought this was just a book you'd read in your past life, she'd tell everyone you were crazy so don't refuse. ♡

♡ 'The Saint And I' was a novel you had read almost religiously in your past life, you were obsessed with the saint character in the book but that didn't mean you wanted to be isekai'd as her lover! It was a tragic romance revenge story, the first half was the saint Elisha falling in love with a temple priestess only for the gods to kill her lover halfway through the book leading to her destroying the entire world just to bring her lover back, her darling the sweet priestess was disturbed to awaken and see what her hero had become but Elisha had gone crazy and delusionally believed if she just held on tightly enough her lover would love her again. You loved that part but you really didn't want to incur the gods wrath by attracting her attention so you left the temple in the middle of the night, you were not going to be the reason the world was destroyed. ♡

♡ Sadly for you, Elisha decided to fetch you from the hole you had decided to hide in, well it's more like the temple was very sad you had ran away and Elisha had to kill a dragon in the area anyways so she decided to help with this too, the temple was very concerned about you possibly being dead and she was curious why you ran from the temple so she spiked you with truth serum. The truth was... flattering, when she realized you were truly in love with her she decided she'd kill the gods and destroy the world anyways, they had it coming anyways based on what you told her, she had fallen for you the moment she heard how passionately you loved her. ♡

♡ You had been kind of an idiot and a complete dick from the moment you'd reincarnated into this fantasy world but you hadn't realized you were in a book you'd read until the main villain of the novel cursed you. In the novel your character is cursed by the villain and has to go on a journey to kill the villain to remove it but you didn't really want to do that, mainly because on that journey all your favorite characters died so you decide to take advantage of the villain's weakness and get engaged instead to have her lift your curse. It was a curse that would weaken you and drain all your magic, as punishment for you making fun of her inability to do magic. ♡

♡ Pauline was shocked when you seemed actually remorseful after she cursed you, even proposing a fake relationship for her to get her inheritance and while she still hated you, your proposal sounded good, you were someone she had no chance of falling in love with, or so she thought but you were entirely a different person after you got with her, she needed to find some way to chain you to her after she removed the curse so she looked through all your diaries and was surprised to find out you thought this was all in a book, if that was the case she'd make your memories of the book hazy and change the diary so you'd believe you'd die if you ever broke up with her. ♡

♡ Abigail was the main character of your favorite book, it would normally be cool to meet your favorite character but you'd been isekai'd into the body of her rival who dies after challenging Abigail to a duel, they refused treatment for their wounds out of pride so while you wanted to geek out about being so close to her, you decided the best course would be to just avoid her and if the duel happened again then you were demand medical attention. ♡

♡ Abigail knew you were different from the moment she saw you that morning, she wasn't sure if it was a new change or if it was always there and she didn't see it. You didn't seem like you should ever be a knight, you seemed like a precious lady she had to defend and when she looked into it, you had recently lost all of your fervor and passion for training, she was originally just going to get you kicked out of the knighthood, she couldn't stand seeing delicate ladies fighting but along the way she decided you were her delicate lady, you seemed completely terrified of her even after she made it clear she wanted to court you. Oh well, it would get figured out eventually. ♡

♡ Rapahel was your favorite side character in a novel you read in your past life, she didn't get much screen time so you didn't know a lot about her actually, other than she seemed to have something she was hiding but you wanted to know what that was. Well you'd gone to far, you'd been stalking her from afar and wandered into something you weren't supposed to see, her draining the life from some random noble, you didn't know the novel had vampires, that was a complete surprise but thinking quick so she wouldn't kill you for knowing her secret you confessed your love for her and she took the bait, crying for some reason? Was she always a crybaby in the novel? ♡

♡ You were so beautiful, her perfect, perfect sunflower. Truthfully she knew everything about you, she found your diary that you left behind, running when she approached so she wouldn't catch you stalking and she was enamored with it, she wasn't normally a clumsy hunter but her sunflower wanted to know what her secret was so she had to be somewhat clumsy so you'd stumble in on accident and it worked and finally got the both of you talking! She was so happy she couldn't help sobbing. ♡

♡ It was a novel you actually hated in your past life, the princess spent the entire novel romancing the dashing knight only for the novel to end with the evil dragon killing the entire kingdom and taking her soulmate, the princess away. Horrible ending, you hated it so much but you still liked the characters and so when you were reincarnated as the princess you decided you would go to the dragon instead to spare your favorite characters lifes. You didn't actually know where the dragon lived though which lead to you trekking through a random forest for an hour before you heard a roar and she came to fetch you. You had to admit she was very kind though you couldn't help but hate her somewhat for being the worst plot twist ever. ♡

♡ You lived with her in peace for a year until your characters entire royal army came storming in, trying to rescue you from the evil dragon just to get killed very easily by the very large dragon. What the fuck did you do all that work for? Worst twist ever. ♡

♡ She was one of the most gruesome villains you ever read which was why you loved her, though that didn't mean you wanted to take part in the novel. The novel followed a mage who had decided to come to the capital to train under the mad immortal mage in hopes of immortality. It followed a string of murders before the main character uncovered that her mentor was killing to make her darling, the main character immortal, the main character rejects Ainsley and then she snaps and kills the both of them because the main character broke through Ainsley's natural delusionality. You weren't sure you'd be able to avoid triggering her so you decided to leave the capital immediately. ♡

♡ Luckily you were at the point of the novel where Ainsley had only just met the main character, surely she wouldn't be obsessed just from eye contact? You were wrong, she dragged you back to her, demanding to know why you left leading you to have to soothe her back into her delusions. You were possibly even more screwed than the original main character was. ♡

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Can I request the "I think we should start dating" "... weren't we dating already?" scenario with bachelors of your choice? (and elliot !!)

Sure thing, dear anon 😊 Enjoy! 🫰💕

**********************************************

Shane:

Finally, a well-deserved lunch break after unloading those endless stupid boxes of Joja groceries! Shane's back is already aching from all the heavy lifting.... And the best part of this break is that the Farmer, with whom the chicken lover has been together for half a year, came to visit him. They just wanted to tell him something important, but Shane couldn't get rid of the tender thoughts of the fact that he found a person who loved him - him, some loser Joja company loader!

"Shane, I've been meaning to tell you for a long time... I really like you. A lot. Like not just as a friend, but more than that." Farmer's voice trembled slightly, they were clearly very nervous.

"And I thought... I want... You... Do you want us to become something more than friends?" Shane's goofy smile quickly slid away, and his face expressed shock. The Farmer became even more nervous, mistaking it for a bad reaction and had already started to apologize, but Shane interrupted them:

"All this fucking time.... we weren't together?!" Now it was Farmer's turn to be completely shocked.

Realizing the situation, both of them laughed almost to the point of stomach ache. "Yoba have mercy, you're such a idiot," said Farmer without anger.

"You're no better, dumbass!" smiling Shane replied back at them. Two idiots in love, what a couple they are. But Shane felt even warmer in his heart, realizing how lucky he is...

Elliott:

Cool sea breeze that refreshes in the summer heat, calm azure sea with a beautiful view of the sunset... Elliott stood on the sandy shore with Farmer, admiring the sunset, and no words can convey how happy the gallant writer felt with the man he loved. Together with them.

Farmer immediately felt Elliott's gaze on the themself, and turned to face him, bestowing a soft smile.

"I really appreciate spending time with you Elliott. You have no idea how much it means to me. I... I like you a lot." Farmer moved closer to the writer, resting their head gently on his shoulder. Elliott didn't dare move, didn't dare ruin this beautiful, sacred moment for the two of them. Farmer continued:

"I've been thinking about this for a long time, and... I think we should date. As a couple, not just as friends..." Farmer was unable to continue as Elliott choked on air and began coughing heavily, trying to regain consciousness. "What happened? Did you get a bug in your mouth?"

Elliott was finally able to cough up and speak:

"Forgive me, my dear, for my bluntness, but... haven't we been a couple for four months now?"

By the surprised look on Farmer's face, Elliott immediately had an answer to the question.

"What a fool I am! Yoba! Forgive me Farmer, I thought we.... Oh my, this is- Have I misspoken in the past? I'm an idiot! How could I not ask you about that? Or did I asked?" While Elliott was dramatically berating himself, standing in a theatrical pose, Farmer grabbed his hand and pulled him in for a kiss. The writer quickly calmed down, and laughed at the thought that this would make a very comical and romantic story for his autobiography.

Sam:

Sam ran around his room, looking for his best (or at least clean) T-shirt and favorite jeans. A little combing of hair near the mirror, a little odicolone perfume - and the young guitarist was ready for another date with his dearest Farmer! Oh, man, Sam forgot Farmer's favorite sweets. Okay, got it. Now he's ready for the date!

As always, they're waiting for Sam under the tree outside his house. And, as always, they hold a bouquet of beautiful roses for him, Sam's favorite flowers (and which he's not allergic to). This time the color of the roses is white, but the musician didn't pay too much attention to that, because his thoughts were completely focused on Farmer's smile.

"Hey Sam. I've been thinking about how to prepare a speech for a long time, but I was afraid of getting nervous and saying the wrong thing, so..." Farmer took a deep breath. "So... here. For you."

They handed him a bouquet. "I'd like for us to date and become more than friends.... If you agree, of course."

Sam.exe stopped working. Information processing error. Rebooting... Rebooting...

"Wait, weren't we a couple?"

"We... were a couple?" Unsurely, Farmer asked. Now their minds were beginning to reset from the discrepancy of information in their head as well. It took half a minute before it finally dawned on Sam what had happened.

"You gave me bouquets of my favorite flowers almost every day!" exclaimed Sam with a laugh in his voice.

"But those were friendly bouquets!" Farmer tried to justify themself, "this one is different!"

"How is this one any different then, huh?" Sam is already imagining how he's going to tell Sebastian and Abigail that it turns out he and Farmer weren't a couple before.

"That bouquet of white roses! Plus it's got little plastic hearts that say 'be mine' and 'I love you'. So don't even-" Farmer crossed their arms, feeling their cheeks redden from the awkward situation. But seeing the soft, loving look in Sam's eyes, whose cheeks were also red as a tomato, Farmer rushed to the musician with hugs and kisses, accidentally slightly denting the flowers.

[amymbona]

i’m (s)creaming for private school patrick.

like enemies to lovers in like a patrick is a duchebag who uses his dads money and power to the full extent, always ditching classes, getting caught with alc and drugs but never being expelled like all the other kids, and rumors that say his dad payed for the new building for him to stay after failing half of his classes way. readers also pretty well off, but she never abuses it and works hard for her grades.

him and readers friends are talking at the courts before practice and patrick saids something like why would you try hard if you’re spoilt anyway, and they get into a argument!!!!!!

just a start but i’ve been thinking about this for so long.

He's such a cocky little bitch, you really wanna punch his ugly face sometimes. Spoiled idiot who's daddy is willing to pull him out of every shit hole he jumps into. It's unfair, the Zweig priviledge, when there are people who work hard and put their whole being into something, just to have this Patrick guy come and steal their dreams.

You're the first person to ever tell that to Patrick, yelling at him, a small circle of people gathering around you two. You keep calling him a spoiled kid, a little bitch and much much worse while he just stands there, arms crossed, smirking, loving the way your cheeks turn red the angrier you are.

"Calm down, angel face, you're gonna burst," he counters, patting your shoulder. His words earn a laugh from the group of people around you, only pissing you off further.

"Trust me, you wouldn't like to see me burst," you smile sweetly, poking him in the stomach with to racket to push him away from you. He complies, raising his hands in mock surrender.

When you push past him, the crowd parts, allowing you to walk through. Walking away, you don't miss the whistle coming from behind you and someone complimenting your ass.

Now the more you try to ignore Patrick's presence, the louder he seems to be. Constantly giggling during lectures, occupying the court for hours so you can't even practice properly, smoking with his stupid friends. Patrick Zweig is suddenly everywhere and, without trying, makes your life complete hell.

He's so smug about it too, greeting you almost politely when you walk past each other, telling to smile and enjoy the life. Just being a usual jerk. You really see his face so often that he starts appearing in your dreams. And to be honest, Patrick aha a hard time forgetting your pretty face as well.

He surprises you by falling into step with you on one random afternoon, both of you on your way to the English lecture.

"I have an offer for you," he begins casually, not even sparing you a glance.

"I don't wanna hear it," you refuse whatever he has to say immediately.

Patrick snickers, eyes flicking towards the curve of your nose and your pouty lips. "I could get you to the New York Times, y'know?"

Your steps come to a halt, brows furrowing at the sudden offer, because that absolutely not something you were expecting. "What?"

Patrick turns to face you, a confident smile on his face. When there's a certain lack of excitement on your face he shrugs, lazily walking closer to you. "What? Don't play stupid with me, Y/N. I know about your journalism stuff."

"What are you even talking about?" you exclaim in confusion.

"Look, I'm not stupid," he sighs, eyes rolling. "You're good at tennis, we can see, but that's not what you wanna do, is it? I know you're constantly nagging to the prof about your writing stuff. And lucky for you, my dad is not short on phone numbers."

You can't believe it. All of this sounds so absolutely absurd that you wanna ask Patrick to pinch you to make sure this is real. Because if doesn't fucking sound like that.

"You're weird," you scoff, pushing past him. This is just stupid.

But Patrick is next to you in no time. "C'mon, Y/N, you know you want it. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Just say yes."

"I'm not accepting anything from you, Patrick," still determined, you keep refusing.

"Why not? Isn't that you dream?" the way he says it makes shivers run down your spine. Of course working for the New York Times is your dream, but you wanna get there through your own accomplishments, and not as a result of someone's rich daddy's call.

"That's none of your business," you mutter, attempting to outrun him.

But before you could walk any further, a big hand wraps around your elbow, and then you're facing Patrick again. Much closer now, you can see the freckles on his cheeks and nose. You've never noticed that before.

"Don't be stupid, Y/N. I could literally make your dream come true," the tone of his voice is now much softer.

"You could?" you snicker ironically. "It's my dream and I am gonna be the only one making it real."

Patrick looks at you silently, head tilting to the side as an attempt, you don't even know, to appear cuter? More innocent? To make you accept his offer?

"Think about it, Y/N," he whispers, palms finding their place on your shoulders. "Just at twenty years old, you could be working at the fucking New York Times. Isn't that thrilling?"

It would be thrilling, if it wasn't Patrick Zweig offering you such a thing, "And what do I have to do for that? Sleep with your rich daddy? Sell my soul to the devil?"

"Nothing," Patrick shrugs simply.

Now that sounds even more idiotic. "What the fuck?"

But Patrick is determined, smiling softly. He almost seems honest. "You heard me, Y/N. I don't want anything from you. I just wanna make you happy."

"Like I'd believe that," you scoff, prying yourself out of Patrick's hold. There's no real way you could possibly accept that.

This time, Patrick doesn't stop you, instead allowing you to walk away. But that stupid smirk stays glued to his face, because he's really not blind, and he saw you consider the opportunity. Even if it was for just a split second. "Let it settle in your head, angel face!"

[babybluebex]

hear me out… childhood friends to lovers with joseph and it’s mixed with idiots in love

and that’s all i got because i’ve been CRAVING for this for WEEKS😆 — please and thank you <33

also love you and your work💖

your wish is my command... (and thank you!!! <3)

You almost missed the whispered words that Joe said to you. You were asleep on his shoulder, or at least half-asleep— it wasn't exactly that the movie was boring you to sleep, but you were exhausted from work. Still, you agreed to come over to Joe's flat for movie night, because who were you to cancel your weekly movie night with your best friend just because you were tired? He would understand if you fell asleep; hell, he'd probably do the same.

You and Joe had been friends since you were children in nappies, in preschool together, toddling around and playing house and Legos together. That persisted through your childhood and into adolescence, even though he got teased for having a girl best friend— he never let anybody get to him, and you admired that about him. You shared clothes, shared beds, you did everything together, and even now, all these years later, Joe was still your Number One.

"I wish you loved me."

"Hmm?" you mumbled, blearily blinking yourself awake. "Wha's'that, Joey?"

"Oh, nothing," Joe said softly, rubbing your arm gently. "Don't worry about it."

"No, what did you say?" you asked, sitting up slowly. "'Cause it sounded like you said something about me loving you or something..."

"Well..." Joe started. "I mean..." He cringed, and he mumbled, "You know I love you, darling."

"I know," you said. "And I love you too, you know that. So why'd you wish that I did?"

"I meant more..." Joe started. "Darling, do we have to talk about this?"

You scoffed. "Well, now I especially wanna talk about it," you told him. "All because you're avoiding it now."

"Shit," Joe mumbled. "I just think that... Fuck, I don't know. I love you, and I wish that you loved me the way that I love you."

"What are you talking about?" you asked. "Love me, like... Love me? Like, dating and shit like that?"

"See, I knew you wouldn't feel the same way," Joe mumbled. "Fuck, just forget I said anything."

Before you could stop yourself or even really think about it, you turned fully to him and grasped his face, and you drew him to you, kissing him deeply. Joe went pale and froze for a second, but he collected himself, his hands cupping your cheeks as he kissed you back. His lips were soft and warm, moving against your beautifully, and you smiled before the kiss broke away. "I don't want to forget you said anything," you told him, touching your forehead to his. "Because I do love you like that. I just never thought you'd feel the same."

"I do," Joe said. "I've loved you for years."

"So have I," you said. "I've been jealous of every girlfriend you've ever had."

"Oh, my girl," Joe whispered, and his arm wound around you, tugging you fully against him. "Sorry I was so stupid for not seeing that."

"Well, I didn't see it either," you chuckled. "You're fine. Just as long as you never let me go now."

"Never," Joe said, and he pressed a kiss to your hair.

[sleepyangelkami]

loved loved loved calefaction!!!! I'm not sure what you consider a request or not, but when does the picture that Jason took at the end come into play? (this can be a part two or just a new plot)

DIVULGENCE j.todd

 ☆ WORD COUNT - 4.7K

JASON TODD X FEM!READER

 ☆ SUMMARY - part two to calefaction. after an uneasy meeting with jason todd the morning after he had slept in your apartment and an awkward coffee arrangement with his brother, you come to terms with what you have seemingly always known.

 ☆ WARNINGS - kissing (dont get stds kids), enemies to lovers, jason todd being a loveable prick, dick being a shipper, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

part one here

you knew from the moment you awoke in your bed alone, something was off. it wasnt as if anything appeared to be out of place or something drastic had happened when you were asleep but there was something you simply couldnt place, it was just... off. when you lifted your head from being stuffed into a pillow, you noticed that the presence of the man who once slept in your bed was gone. you ignored the pang, however, that struck your heart and brushed it off. you were being ridiculous, you hadnt seriously assumed he would stay the whole night? had you? and after all that, what were you expecting, you and jason hated each other or at least you were supposed to but to think you'd wake to him sleeping soundly next to you was laughable.

with groggy eyes, you slowly rose from the bed and rubbed your face, kneading the soft skin together as your feet hit the ground, allowing what was left of the silky blankets to fall from your skin. your throat felt dry so you opted for a drink.

you realised that it was actually rather late for you to be awake, usually you would be up and ready much before the clock could strike nine but for an odd reason you had managed to sleep in until half past ten, strange, it was almost as if someone had switched off your alarm before you could wake. nonetheless, you ignored the off feeling in your stomach and simply descended down the staircase, ignoring your god awful bed head of hair, just knowing that you looked like nothing other than something that had just swam up from the bottom of the ocean.

you cursed yourself through the hallway, muttering words of insults to yourself, incoherent as you practically hexed your own mind and body, how had you been so obnoxiously stupid to believe the man would stay the night? of course he had only been there in the first place because dick had told him to, perhaps he knew he wouldnt make it back to the manor and so he settled for your bed, you were an idiot to believe anything else. it was hardly as if he would actually-

"morning." eyes snapping up instantly at the sound of another voice, inside your very kitchen. you would be lying if you said you had expected a groggy looking jason todd with his hair tousled and dishevelled, a phone in one hand and toast in the other. suddenly, you stood a little straighter, your hands had moved to your own knotted hair to instantly matt the strands down as best you could as if you truly cared for his opinion on what you had looked like when you first woke, but you did, you cared so much.

"morning." clearing your throat as you moved towards the counter, acting as if you hadnt been utterly shocked to see him there, sitting in one of your own kitchen chairs as he greeted you... politely. there was a furrow to your brow as you popped your own slice of bread into the toaster. you and jason had always spoken, whether it was an argument or a simple conversation with one too many jokes that hit close to home but by all means the man wasnt exactly the nicest person you had ever met and he certainly never spoke politely to you.

but you soon realised, all good things must come to an end eventually you just wished he had lasted a little longer. "So, good sleep, then?" but you knew just by the tone of his voice, he had something on you for he would never have had that smug smirk or that complacent timbre to his voice.

your brows furrowed into a knot, head turning towards him with a confusion stricken face as your toast finally popped from the toaster. "yeah... you?" still baffled to the reasoning for his leer that lay on his pink lips. All while grabbing your toast with two slices of kitchen paper before taking a seat at your kitchen table, across from the man.

"Oh, yeah." his grin only widening but still, you looked at him perplexed. "great sleep, real warm." you nodded suspiciously but nevertheless took a small bite from your toast, it was nothing to worry about probably something along the lines of his normal boasting that he managed to fill almost every conversation with. he was an arrogant man, that much was for sure and it most definitely wouldnt surprise you if he had turned into that same man once more by the time morning came. the man that had been awfully sweet last night was long gone by now. "y'know, it was almost like i had a stuffed animal with me."

and now your heart began to pick up its pace. you were sure that you had hidden all of your secret stuffed animals into the bottom of your wardrobe, you never left them out in fear that your vigilante friends would find them, you were not looking for one of them to start on you for you were sure dick grayson would never let you hear the end of it, your awfully large stuffed toy collection. "uhm." your breath caught in your throat. "what do you mean, jason?" a fake thin lipped smile as if to prove your innocence that had not yet been found guilty, or so you hoped.

"well, to put it like-" then he stopped, scratching the bottom of his chin and glancing upwards, thinking. "let me just show you." your eyes went wide though they dialed down a little when you saw him pulling out his phone and not one of your giant teddy bears. when finally you were met with his screen, you shifted in your chair to get a closer look. craning your neck up, lightly pushing your body forward but as soon as your eyes fell on the picture on the screen, you were sure that your heart quite literally dropped to your ass.

with wide eyes you stared forward at a photograph that you could only assume had been taking a couple of minutes ago, maybe an hour or so. your head, laid on the mans chest as if you truly were a stuffed animal, clinging to him as if desperate for heat. his arm was draped across you too but you paid no mind to that and instead tried to fight the instant pink that rushed up to your cheeks. "so what do you think? should i pursue photography?"

"jason you can't show that to anyone." believe it or not your reputation was indefinitely worth more than a picture of you cuddling into your supposedly sworn enemy but you couldn't help but feel the anxiety begin to build up. "please delete it."

he placed his phone on the table, his head slightly falling to the side. "what will you give me if i do?" and suddenly you found it hard to breathe. it wasnt the photograph that had made your knees feel so wobbly or your head feel so dizzy but instead at the way the man had managed to look at you, as if awaiting your answer, as if you had one.

his eyes never strayed from yours, locked together like one and it had your head gears turning in all directions. what was he hinting at? and why did he do it with such a look on his face that made you feel so utterly powerless. and why had you loved the feeling of weakness under the mans stare?

before you could so much as part your lips to respond, you were, thankfully, cut off by the door opening and closing. your head snapped back to see what it was, thankful to any lord that was watching now for if you hadn't been interrupted, you weren't too sure what you would have done. "hey, guys." never in your life had you ever been so thankful to see dick grayson in the flesh.

"hi." a smile falling on your lips yet even so you couldn't push away the worry that jason had that god awful picture on his phone and how he was ready to share it to the whole world, and how on earth could you stop him? the feeling set in at the pit of your stomach, the realisation of what you had done, cuddling into him in your sleep, the mere thought made you want to hide under a rock and never come back again. it was either that or hitting your head against the table right in front of you and you didn't exactly wish to cause a scene.

"he wasnt too bad was he?" ruffling his younger brothers hair as if he were a parent collecting their child from a babysitter. jason wore a scowl, pushing the mans hand off of his head but nevertheless dick only shovelled some of the other mans toast into his mouth.

"i never am." he protested with the same scowl still sitting on his face, watching his older brother steal his food.

you watched dick let out a playfull scoff but nonetheless sent him a reassuring smile, as if you weren't on the verge of hitting him already. dick gave you the same thin lipped smile, happy that you too had agreed with his statement even if he didn't. "thanks again, y/n/n, appreciate it." but jason no longer wore any expression at all, his teasing smirk long gone and his scowl slightly softened as he watched dick and you speak, old friends that looked to be so much more. for the first time in almost forever, jason was quiet. dumbstruck.

"not a problem, really." a small beam on your face, attempting to make it look like jason hadn't truly annoyed every last bone in your body with your last conversation. eyes adverted from him but his never left your face, travelling from your forehead through the slope of your nose down to your chin and over and over again, as if every time he were discovering something new.

"well, can you still let me take you out for coffee for a thanks?" jasons eyes squinted and his brows furrowed, head turning up at dick who didn't so much as look his way. was he seriously flirting with you right now? in front of his little brother? and for some odd reason jason felt sick to his stomach. he wasn't quite sure what it was that made his heart fall to his knees but before anyone could say another word he was grabbing his phone and making his way out of the apartment. your eyes travelled across the room along with his figure, a furrow to your brows as he all but stormed out of the flat, ignoring the pair of burning eyes on him though he made sure to slam the door on the way out. you turned back to his brother, confused. "don't worry about him, he'll be fine." but that did nothing to soothe your worries. "so... about that coffee?"

it took you not only a minute to accept his offer for going to get coffee, it wasnt as if you liked the beverage but that wouldn't be a problem, you'd simply buy something like a sprite or a fanta and that was exactly what you did. so while you and dick had made your way towards a table, you spoke about every day things all while taking sips from your fizzed drink while he blew his coffee, then taking sips. you knew he was a little too addicted but he'd never compete to tim drake, that boy simply lived off the beverage though you were not too sure that was great for his health neither his physical or his mental.

"whatcha thinkin'?" his voice in a playful tone but nonetheless he had a hint of seriousness in it, he always used jokes and sarcasm to get into peoples heads. this was no unusual for either of you, two friends getting drinks together, as always though every time an old woman would pass you for a couple you always winced as he instantly came to defend the fact that you were siblings, even though you were not but he needed some sort of an excuse otherwise you'd be there for days listening to the old women.

your chin came to rest on the palm of your hand. "the way jason stormed out earlier, i wonder if he's okay." you spoke in a low voice. jason had always had his outbursts and while sometimes it left you rolling your eyes, annoyed at the fact he was getting annoyed at everyone else for something so small, you always still felt a pang of guilt, like there was something you should have done, should have said and by the way he stormed out of your apartment that day, he surely didn't look to be too happy.

dick sighed, looking towards you with a serious expression etched to his features. "y/n/n, trust me, he's fine. he has these tantrums all the time for no reason, you know jason every little thing pisses him off, he was probably just bummed that i didn't ask him for coffee instead." you nodded with a small sigh. it made sense, for jason to be angry about something so utterly little but you were still worried for him, you wanted to call him, make sure he was alright but you knew better, after all, you were still supposed to hate him, one night in the crazy l/n apartment wasn't bound to change that. "can i ask you something? and i want you to answer honestly?"

dreaded questions that left your stomach swirling, something you certainly weren't ready for right now but nevertheless you nodded your head with a small quirk to your lips. "of course." he could talk to you about anything, you'd always be honest with him but by the seriousness in his voice, you were sure to regret your decision.

"do you have feelings for my brother?"

your eyes buldged from your head. "look, dick, tim is great, i mean it, lovely guy but seriously, i cant-"

"not tim." rolling his eyes as if you were stupid now your eyes only widened further.

"well that's just inappropriate!" you exclaimed with nothing less than an astonished look on your face. "damian is twelve." you hissed at the man to which he face palmed.

"i'm not talking about damian, either." you settled back in your seat slightly, now finding it a little awkward that you had thought dick was assuming you to like damian. he was great, really funny when he wanted to be but by no means did that mean you liked him. "come on, y/n/n, it's like im sitting here with a bag of popcorn waiting for you and jason to kiss already!"

watching him with saucer eyes and awestruck, you closed your mouth, only for it to part open once more. "dick me and jason- we hate each other!" you hated him when you met him because he hated you when he had met you, it was one sided surely but soon it turned to be a mutual hate that kept both of you on your toes and you certainly didn't need it any other way.

his eyes rolled instantly at your words. "say the word hate all you want but we both know it's not true." you didn't respond to that, aggressively sipping the drink in your hands as your eyes left his, glaring down at the table as if it were jasons face. "i've got a pair of eyes, you know, I see the way you look for eachother in a room, that nose scrunch you make when he talks."

this time your mouth formed a sort of pout. "I do not!" you protested though sinking back into your chair. "do you think he hates me?" a tilt of your head and a crane of your neck. you wouldn't admit to your longing for some sort of attention from the man but you couldn't help but ask. your sworn enemy, the man in which you were supposed to despise with every being in you, yet you found yourself anxious pondering the thought if he had such feelings for you.

dick sat up a little straighter, placing the coffee cup on the table. "jason's not exactly happy go lucky, we know this." giving you a pointed look from across the table. "but he doesn't hate everything in the world, believe it or not. he hates the joker, he hates himself and i'm pretty sure he hates anyone that takes up too much room but he doesn't hate you. in fact, the little bickers that you guys have, the sarcastic.... squabbles, it just makes him like you more." your brows knotted together as you pushed your fingers against the others, fiddling. "he likes that you fight back, he likes that you don't take offence to everything he says because god knows he's not the sweetest of the bunch."

a sigh passed your lips. "how do you know all this?" you knew the relationship between dick and jason but by the way dick was speaking it was as if he were in his head.

"y/n/n everyone knows how jason feels about you, we also know how you feel about him. oh, by the way, tim and i kind of have this bet going so if you could ask out jay first that would be great because i really want that ten bucks."

now your brows furrowed together in fake offence. "i'm only worth ten bucks?!" crossing your arms in an annoyed manner.

"no, i'm just poor." he fawned sadness before letting out a chuckle as you giggled yourself, you both knew he wasn't poor, the son of gothams infamous billionare. his eyes glanced down to the watch on his wrist. "i gotta get back to the manor, you coming?"

now it was time to stutter in your movements, juttering as you looked down at your phones time, contemplating the offer. "i don't think i should." after the conversation about a certain member of the family, you didn't think it would be best to be around him despite your growing worry for how he had stomped out this morning.

he groaned. "come on, y/n/n, you won't even see him, promise." but a part of you was hoping you would, that ounce that jerked every time his name was mentioned and every time your eyes caught his own. "besides, tim is dying to see you."

you didn't need telling twice. "tim's back?!" but you were already getting up from the seat, your coat clutched between your fingers in excitement of seeing your favourite batboy, not that you'd ever admit such a thing to dick grayson.

it didn't take long until the awaited manor was in front of you and it certainly didn't take long for tim to come dashing out of the house to see your face. in no time you were sat in the game room, a chess game sat in front of you and damian across from it, dick grayson laid sprawled across the couch that you had your back against and of course tim was watching the chess game from the sidelines, cautious to catch out any cheaters.

you werent a batkid and truthfully you didn't think you wanted to be, the hardship was something no one could endure you still werrent too sure how they pulled it off but you would be lying if you said there was a place you felt more comfortable in rather than where you were now, surrounded by your favourite people in the world. it was as if you were home, not just in the walls of your apartment but home, not many people truly understood that feeling.

"checkmate." and as soon as the words left the twelve year olds lips three groans were heard. you had lost the game once more, groaning as your head hit the back of the chair, dick flaring his arms up and tim studying the board as if he had missed something. damian had managed to win every single game you had played, it was truly becoming unfair but you didn't miss the tinge of a smile when he saw all of your disappointed faces.

"how?!" tim cried as his hands went straight to his hair, pulling on his long locks.

"you're too good at this game." dick commented as he plucked the cuison from the chair he was sitting on tossing it across the room but of course damian had dodged it with ease.

"or maybe i just suck." you spoke with a soft bite of your bottom lip, you too studying the board. how had he won so many times? and how had you let him? you were supposed to be the good one at this game though you knew ultimately the only one in the whole of the bruce wayne manor that could beat you truly was damian wayne and no one could beat him. "i'm going to the bathroom, don't kill each other while i'm gone."

"you better win next round!" you were only able to dodge the pillow coming towards your head thrown by dick grayson right before you ducked through the door, he was always the one with the post rage when it came to these games. he thought competitively, tim thought logically, damian thought in many ways though you only ever thought in the sense that would you could have the most fun possible, you created that for everyone around you.

you giggled to yourself as you walked down the hallways you had known off by heart, they were the place you spent most of your time if not in a room of the manor, come to think of it you were sure you had spent much more time here than you did your own appartment. the hallways were quiet as usual, it was a god awfully huge manor.

to say you were caught off guard by a quick yank of your wrist was an understatement.

you felt fingers capture the skin of your wrist, enclosing over you before instantly snatching you from your place in the hallway and instead into a room, you didn't get to so much as look at where you were before your back was hit against the wall, eyes going wide as your mouth parted. eyes instantly darting up, they came in contact with brown curls you'd recognise anywhere and that chiseled jaw and nose that could only belong to one man. "jason? what the hell? you scared me half to death!" attempting to free your wrists from his hold but when he didn't allow you to move, you glared up at him.

"do you have feelings for my brother?" your jaw went slack, was he serious? this was the second time you'd been asked such a question today and you were nearly as shocked as you were before.

you wanted to protest, to instantly yell no and exclaim, tell him you'd never like dick like that, that he was just a friend and it would continue to be that way until the day you died but something inside you told you not to, to play along, to find out if this was the real reason he stormed out of your apartment that morning. to find out if he shared the bundle of feelings buried deep inside you. "so what if i do?" you saw the way his face fell, the way his brows softened and his grip on you slightly loosened. "what's it to you? it's not like you've ever cared about me before." though you knew, it was a lie. when you were hurt, so was he, when you had invited him into your bed you felt... at ease, so he had to care even if it was just for a moment in his life.

"you're a fucking idiot, y/n." he seethed and watched as your brows furrowed together in hurt, then to anger, who was he to speak to you like that? he had no interest in you before but now that you had gotten seemingly closer to his elder brother, he was all over the fact and for the first time in his life, brought you into his room.

"and what are you, then?" anger thick in your voice. "what were you thinking would happen when you drag me into your room and then accuse me of being in love with, excuse me, dick grayson." you often bickered but there was something about your tone of voice, he never truly shut up in an argument but this time, he couldn't find words. "you're the idiot because you can't put behind your own stupid wall you've built to keep everyone out to realise that i don't like dick- i like you!" when you said it, you finally realised just what you had admitted to. but even then, you didn't falter, you didn't move your eyes from his own. you took in his shocked face, the way everything softened above you but you didn't stop. "and the fact that you had to second guess it says everything. do you think i'd let someone i hate into my bed for the night? do you think i'd care when you get hurt if i hated you? you're the idiot because i've been in love with you since i met you and you always acted like you hated me when i did nothing wrong!"

and then came silence.

that eerie silence that had you wishing you had never opened your mouth, you realised that his hands had fallen from your wrists, you could leave, he was practically shoving you out the door, really for if he wanted you to stay, he would have made that happen. you felt stupid, how could you admit something so utterly stupid to the one man you were supposed to hate the most but you didn't hate him, you always knew that. you were told that he was mean, rude, and incredibly dangerous, you shouldn't be around him so why had you felt so pulled to him in the first place? that was the thing about love, it always seemed to happen with the people you didn't want it to, the people you especially couldn't.

"i have to get back." a low mumble that had created so much nose in the nearly deafened room. you moved yourself from the wall, attempting to get away when suddenly, the breath was knocked from your lungs.

your back fell against the wall once more, but this time the man wasn't towering over you but instead his lips were on yours.

they were soft, smooth, something you never would have guessed with the roughed man though his calloused hands had made it to the side of your face, one on each cheek. he had kissed you. you always knew there would be a day where you couldn't deny that you didn't hate him but you had never thought he'd actually kiss you. the kiss wasn't rough and certainly wasn't too much but it was just right. the man, the dangerous, scary man, was being so soft and gentle you almost forgot it was him. his hands kept your face in place while his lips moved against your own so slowly. your own hands travelled up, behind his neck was where you settled for though you couldn't deny the excitement bubbling inside your chest, the sparks that flew just like in all of the love stories you had read. here you were, with your sworn enemy, kissing him.

you only parted for air for you were sure that if you went on any longer, you may actually loose your breath. your eyes travelled up once more, to see the man's face, you wondered if he'd be angry, if it would all go away when morning came. you were worried that something so sweet could turn so evil. a part of you expected him to be gone, as if it were all in your dreams but instead, the man stood in front of you, his hand still grazing your cheek.

"I've waited a long time for that, sweetheart."

main masterlist/jason's masterlist

[nonclassyparty]

seasons out of time (c.s.) - part two [teaser]

summary: the new year brings a new job that finally pays enough for you to believe that things might be getting better. in fact, it pays so much that even an idiot would be able to tell that doing anything to jeopardize it is stupid. unfortunately, falling in love with your boss’ young lover is definitely a way of jeopardizing it and also your one mistake out of many.

pairing: choi san x fem. reader

moodboard // playlist // my main masterlist // part one!

TEASER:

(January of now)

You see Choi San in January again, you are just a waitress and he is still Choi San, devastatingly beautiful.

January is appropriately cold and depressing, still the worst month of the year by far as everyone enthusiastically welcomes the new year as if they will actually stick to the resolutions that they made when they said goodbye to the old one.

Wooyoung is one of those people.

"-oh, and I'll definitely be reading more books and advising with my mentor more and going to the gym-" Wooyoung rambles, sat at his usual seat by the counter as he nurses his cup of coffee that he doesn't pay at full price and you halfheartedly listen with an amused grin as you prepare an order for a patron sat at the table by the window.

It's a little bit past noon, the usual flood of college students in the coffee shop has dispersed by now leaving the place almost half empty but still relatively busy. Just enough time for Wooyoung to chat your ear off while Hongjoong yells at the phone in the back.

"Hold that thought for a second." You interrupt his little resolution list that would be lucky enough to still be a thing by next week as you carefully place the cup of coffee on the tray and walk over to serve it.

After placing the cup on the table with a smile to the customer, you quickly shimmy back behind the counter. Wooyoung takes a loud slurp of his coffee, looking at you lazily.

"So, Y/N, do you have any new resolutions?" He asks, head tilted and waiting. 

He always does this, asks stuff about you as if he's trying to get to know you. Little does he know that there's very little to get to know because there's nothing about you that's interesting or worth mentioning.

You open your mouth to respond, spew some bullshit about trying to eat healthier (which is something that you should be doing) and hope he moves on to blab about something else when your eye catches onto a familiar face standing in the middle of Coffee Club.

He's dressed differently now, you can barely remember ever seeing him in jeans and a thick padded jacket, let alone a beanie pulled over his head. 

At first you think it's one of those instances where you see him in someone else, a random customer that walked in and wants a coffee but you attach San's face to him because, even after a year, he still resides somewhere deep inside your very being and you can't reach deep enough to rip him out.

But it's hard to misplace those sharp dark eyes, high cheekbones and full lips that you've become familiar with all too well over the months you've spent working for him.

It's Choi San.

He's standing in the middle of the shop, hands awkwardly hanging at his sides as if they fell out of his pockets on their own and eyes boring into you. You can see his mouth move, open and close a couple of times and maybe if you were close enough, you'd see his chest heave from the deep exhale he lets out.

You'll admit that you've thought about seeing San again numerous times over the past year. You've imagined it being like a scene from a corny romantic comedy or in your case - maybe a family drama that starts with someone's tragic death.

You expected an accidental bump-in where he spills coffee on you or you trip up and he catches you somewhere on a random street. All silly daydreams that you've indulged in when you sometimes couldn't sleep and your thoughts would wander towards him and a world where the two of you didn't meet the way you did.

None of that is real though.

What's real is Choi San standing behind two customers by the counter, fidgeting with the ends of his jacket as he stares at you, his bottom lip wedged between his teeth and you - staring back like you've seen a ghost. Because you have.

It feels so...ordinary and anti-climactic. All the scenarios you've built up in your head make the real thing fall flat. He just walked in. Just like that.

You don't know what he's about to do and you don't know what you are supposed to do, so the moment Choi San takes a step forward and is just an arm away from the shiny counter that you've just finished polishing, you do the one thing you've learned best by now.

You run.

Ah, well, even that, you wished was more dramatic.

In reality, you splutter some excuse to Wooyoung and slink through the backdoor into the kitchen where Hongjoong is still yelling at someone over the phone and lock yourself into the bathroom.

There's no one else working in the coffee shop besides you and Hongjoong (a problem he's been intending to solve for months now but never does, saying that he likes the way things are now despite being spread too thin sometimes) so you will most definitely get an earful for just leaving the front empty like this but what else were you supposed to do?

Stand there and wait for San to do what he came here to do? Talk to him? Take his order and watch him leave?

No way.

What even is he doing here is the better question? Out of the thousand of coffee shops all around Seoul, did he really just wander into the one you work at?

Your gaze wanders to the mirror above the bathroom sink and you clench your teeth, feeling even more pathetic that he saw you like this.

You'll admit another thing, in the numerous daydreams of seeing San again, you imagined yourself differently.

He was supposed to bump into the best version of yourself possible. You were supposed to be more fit, prettier, dressed better, more successful...Just more in every single way possible. Some sort of sick and twisted way to get back at him for not leaving with you, for not choosing you, was making him regret it by doing amazingly in life.

You wished he would be jealous of you and everything you've accomplished by yourself and without him.

And instead he saw...this.

A girl he once used to fuck that now works as a waitress at a coffee shop, whose only friends are a guy who is friends with just about anyone (so you're not even sure if he counts) and a boss that tolerates her at best. 

You're dressed in a dark green turtle neck jumper and a pair of old jeans tucked into your worn-out boots because snow has left the streets filled with slush that you have to avoid each morning on your way to work. Hair pulled back in a ponytail, face free of any make-up because you were far too tired this morning so your sunken cheeks from the weight-loss and lack of proper care as the dark circles under your eyes were on full display.

You looked terrible.

"Fuck." You whisper, rubbing your forehead as your eyes burn. Why was San here? Why the fuck was he here?

You didn't want to wonder too much, you didn't want to care. You've finally started feeling...normal. Somewhat normal.

"Y/N, what the fuck are you doing in the bathroom?! You've left the front empty!" You hear Hongjoong's voice through the door and you quickly scramble to open it.

"S-Sorry, just...needed to use the toilet."

"You can't do shit like that, Y/N!"

"I said I was sorry! Maybe if you hired more people, I'd be able to have normal breaks once in awhile!" You snap back and he levels you with a glare.

"Do you think finding a new worker is easy?" He glowers at you and you refrain yourself from rolling your eyes.

"I wouldn't know and neither would you because you haven't even tried yet! At least post a notice on the window that you're looking for employees or something."

Hongjoong opens his mouth (probably to curse you out) before closing them and taking a deep breath instead. "Get to the front."

You openly roll your eyes at the order and push past him to the front, completely forgotten about the reason why you ran to the back in the first place until you're back behind the counter, eyes coasting over the people enjoying their coffees and desserts over hushed chatter and looking for the guy that broke your heart.

He's not here. San left.

You wonder if he's surprised to see you here, with his heart stuck in his throat as it is for you as he thinks of what he should do or if he came here with a purpose and is disappointed that you ran away.

You don't want to wonder too much because you're still not too sure what you meant to San and opening up that can of worms again would just lead to another spiral into sadness and grief that you barely managed to pull yourself out of the last time.

Choi San came to the coffee shop and left quickly after. You probably won't see him again.

And then he's back the next day.

You don't know what he wants or what he does every time he shows up because the moment you see him approach the glass entrance door, you scurry to the back under some bullshit excuse to Hongjoong and he steps in to take your place.

He always comes in at the same time which is a little after two in the afternoon, you don't know if he orders and if he does, what but you do know that Hongjoong (and Wooyoung to some degree as aloof as he is) are starting to catch on that you're avoiding someone.

"Is that guy, like, stalking you or something?" Hongjoong asks one late afternoon as you dry down the glasses by the counter while Wooyoung lazily does his homework just a few feet away.

You slow down with the kitchen towel and glass in hands, "What guy?"

Hongjoong gives you a look, "Cold brew for out which you run away from like your ass is on fire every time he walks in."

"I don't know what you're talking about." You shake your head, getting back to work and purposely avoiding Wooyoung's curious gaze.

"Is he your ex-boyfriend?" Wooyoung butts in, the thick notebook in front of him already clamped shut so you presume he will not be returning to his studies and will instead focus on bothering you.

"You stay out of it. This is between me and my employee." Hongjoong immediately turns with an accusing finger at Wooyoung who only lets out a pouty and equally whiny 'hyuuuuung' before getting ignored as Hongjoong is turning to you again and repeating Wooyoung's question. "Is he your ex-boyfriend?"

Your lips part as the familiar pang in your chest zaps through you once again before you shake your head. "No."

You're not lying. San was never your boyfriend. You were an 'I don't know' to him, you were nothing.

"Then...if he's bothering you should we, like, do something?" Hongjoong asks, albeit awkwardly as you place the glass down with a frown. "We can call the police or something, report him for harassing you-"

"He's not harassing me." You chuckle.

"He obviously shows up here because of you, who knows what he's planning-"

You snicker softly, the thought seeming ridiculous. "Hongjoong, he's harmless, trust me."

Physically at least, you think to yourself.

Emotionally, not so much considering the number he did on your poor heart but unfortunately, reporting Choi San to the police for something like breaking your heart wasn't an option.

"So you do know him?"

You sigh, getting annoyed by the conversation and them not dropping it by now. "Yeah, I do and he's not dangerous but I just don't want..." Trailing off, you're not even sure what is it that you don't want. "I just...I don't want to talk to him."

Talking is presumptuous on your end, you're not even sure it's what San is after. You don't know what he's after and you're scared to find out. You're embarrassed.

The humiliation of everything that has happened is still fresh in your mind and you just don't want to see him.

Hongjoong sighs with another headshake, "Fine."

He drops the subject.

-

As the days go by, you start recognizing a pattern to San's appearances at Coffee Club. 

He visits on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays a little after two p.m. and on Thursdays and Saturdays he usually shows up a quarter past seven p.m.

It doesn't match his old schedule at Delirium, you hate how that's something that you notice. You try not to dwell on it too much. Maybe his schedule there is different now.

You still continue to run away to the back every time you see him near the glass door, you don't think he notices. Maybe he thinks you don't work those shifts even though shifts aren't exactly something that exists when it's only Hongjoong and you.

Maybe you're too into your own head and think you're the center of the universe or something to believe that he's coming here for you. Maybe he just really likes the coffee.

It works like that until a fated morning where you're alone in the shop because Hongjoong runs to the post office to pay the bills.

The place is empty as it's barely past seven in the morning and you sway gently to the soft tune coming from the radio as you wipe down the counter and prepare the mugs and cups on stand-by for when the inevitable morning rush begins.

The soft chime of the door causes your head to snap towards the entrance and your heart jumps a beat before inevitably sinking to the deep pits of your stomach as you're caught face to face, eye to eye with none other than Choi San.

Cheeks slightly flushed from the cold and dark eyes not leaving your figure for a single moment as he closes the door behind himself and advances towards the counter.

Your mouth parts and like an idiot, out of habit by now, you take a step back to turn and run. To hide in the back until he leaves, the fact that there's no Hongjoong to take your place completely slipping your mind.

"Are you serious?" You freeze at the sound of his voice. The deep, honey-like sound bouncing off of the walls you're now both enclosed in, reminding you of the time you spent with him in his extravagant yet lonely apartment. You turn to him cautiously and San, standing in the middle of the small empty coffee shop, tilts his head as if testing you, "There's nowhere to run, Y/N, you can't blame it on the rush or your break, there's no-one else here."

With fists clenched by your sides at the way your name falls from his lips so easily, so delectably still, you say; "I'm not running anywhere."

San's face is stoic, unreadable to you, as he stands tall in front of you. He nods, "Okay, then I'll come up to the counter now. Is that alright?"

The fact that he treats you like a scared animal is agitating, something you don't try to hide from him.

"Why wouldn't it be alright?" You ask with teeth almost gritted as your brows furrow. San observes you, mouth parting as if he wants to say something but gives up.

He licks his lips before shrugging and finally walking up to the counter with ease, placing his palms on the surface you just wiped down.

He seems broader, you don't know if it's an illusion created by the thick padded jacket that he's engulfed in but he seems bigger now that he stands so close to you.

You clear your throat, putting your best customers voice on. "What can I get for you?"

San's eyes dim a little at that, for what reason you don't know before he shakes his head, "I don't want to order anything." He whispers, eyes displaying a certain yet familiar sadness that makes you want to curl in on yourself.

You blink up at him, the frustration that's been festering underneath your skin starting to reach the surface. "Then why are you here?"

San doesn't flinch at your words, although you notice his palms pressing down on the counter more firmly. 

"I'm here because...because I want to-" He pauses, eyes running to the side for a split second before they're back on your face and he quietly continues, "Because I'd like to talk with you."

Your eyes burn. "I don't want to talk with you."

With that, you grab the kitchen towel and turn to head for the back again as you avoid looking at him in the eyes at all cost.

"Y/N, please." The desperation is very much obvious in his voice but the final nail in the coffin is the one last small, vulnerable and whispered; "Please."

Tears immediately spring to your eyes as you glare at him, the images of your last encounter flashing through your mind followed by everything else. "You have no right to do this."

San's shoulders slump a little and he gulps harshly, brows furrowing, he whispers; "I know. I know I don't."

"But you're still doing it." You hiss out and he bites his lip, eyes turning glossy as well. You hate that he looks like he's in pain as well. You hate it. You're the one who got hurt, he has no right to be hurt.

You just want to be mad at him.

"I'm..." San trails off, fingers on his left hand tapping the countertop nervously before settling down again, "I'm terribly selfish, yes. But...but please."

You tell San the one thing you never could while you were entangled with him.

"No."

His face crumbles for a split second, he masks it so quickly it's barely noticeable but it's there. He, at least, always keeps his dignity in tact, voice never raising higher than the usual soft, calm tone. "Y/N, please. Please, I'm begging you-"

"No." You repeat shakily, face pinched to stop the tears from dropping, "Please leave."

As if God-sent, in that exact moment the doorbell chimes again as Hongjoong struts inside with a frustrated sigh, carrying a stack if papers in his arms.

"Y/N, you won't believe what they just told me at the-" His words disappear into thin air as he notices the sight of San and you, both turned to him with teary eyes. "Uh..."

Your head turns to San harshly as you level him with a cold gaze despite the teary eyes and already runny nose, hoping he takes the message. Which he does, after a second longer shared eye contact, San's palms slide from the counter as he takes a step back furiously blinking before he turns to the door.

You can hear him murmur a 'good morning' to Hongjoong who, completely lost to what's going on in front of him, just nods in response with mouth hanging open and San is gone. Again.

"Y/N-" Hongjoong starts, turning his attention back to you but your bottom lip is already wobbling from the held in tears and you immediately give him your back as you push through the doors leading to the back of the shop.

That's how January passes.