#but it was scratching at the door of my brain to get out
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Man-Candle
Under the guise of a gag-gift Chad gives his bookish friend a candle based on his own b.o. Little does Stephen know, as soon as he lights the wick he sets off to join the jock in sweaty abandon.
Very musk forward Jock TF! Hope you enjoy this story of Stephen's scent-based (new)self-discovery, Best! -Occam
His ears ring with tinnitus as he opens the gift. It’s as if an explosion has gone off as he tries to process the pancake in his hands. Everything in him says to laugh, it’s clearly a gag gift, a Man-Candle? His mouth is dry and all the blood in his head rushes to its other epicenter as Stephen looks up, eyes wide, to the man who by all appearances has given him a candle of his own musk, Chad.
His cocky grin is a perfect likeness of the one on the candle’s label staring up from Stephen’s lap. Chad’s expression grows even smarmier as he winks and raises an arm to smell his pit. Stephen’s face burns red as he sees the clear patch of grey that must have been fermenting all morning, his cock bumps against the package.
Chad’s eyes shoot immediately to the sound and his smirk shifts and an eyebrow’s raised in curiosity, excited that his friend must quite like the gift. Stephen speaks up quickly, lest the two brain cells bouncing around the jock’s skull stumble across any ideas, “What the fuck?” The first volley, bounces off Chad’s steel confidence. The second “what the fuck,” causes an eye narrow as the idea that this may be a misstep finally occurs to him, the third repetition of Stephen’s new mantra apparent gets through through Chad’s thick skull.
The jock’s arm remains raised to scratch his back and Stephen’s cock is more than happy to see the grey patch return and his mind must remain focused on not staring directly at the few pit hairs sneaking above his sleeve. Chad clears his throat awkwardly, “I mean bro… Chicks are always talking about how they love, huh- y’know,” he gestures to the air around him, “my aura. Just thought, you know, uhhh- a dude like you might too?”
The jock braces as he sees Stephen’s eyes narrow as he clearly winds up to somehow lash out. Unfortunately for the twink he takes a deep breath to start and is hit with the full force of the man’s ‘aura,’ it catches him off guard and underneath the package his cock pushes again. Stephen grits his teeth and averts his eyes as he tries to hide his desire, “Chad! Those are people you’re sleeping with! I’m just- This is-” Stephen does everything in his power to quiet his lust as he finishes, “Why would I want this?”
Chad tongues his cheek and juts his stubbled jaw. Scratching his meaty stomach in thought, Stephen can hear the hairs dragged underneath the jock’s tight shirt. Making up his mind Chad decides to speak on the elephant, or moreover the trunk, in the room. Nodding to the gift poorly hiding Stpehen’s erection, Chad shrugs “I mean bro, seems like you’re enjoying it just fine.”
“Jesus Christ, fucking straight men!” As unfortunately turned on as Stephen is from the gift and the hunk he has long tried to not be attracted to, at the highlighting of his out of control cock he finds the will to defend his paltry dignity. Though instead of speaking up as his mind is not running on all cylinders, his hands instead reach for anything not breakable to hurl at the man still smirking.
Pillows fly at the man as he continues to try and explain his thoughts, “Yo bro! Watch it-” he grabs one to use as a shield against the continued volley, “I mean I can take it back if you want!” Stephen’s dreams of salvaging dignity perhaps fall to the wayside as this remark causes the hardest throw yet. Chad smirks behind the pillow and finally gets to the door, “Whatever dude! I’ll see ya later! Once you’ve cooled off a bit-”
Chad stands behind the closed door with a shit-eating grin on his face, straight men huh. Awfully dismissive of the bi jock’s identity but whatever. He listens to Stephen huff and unbox the candle through the wall, unaware that the real gift is to come when he finally lights that bad boy up. Whenever the pair get drunk enough it always devolves into Stephen wishing he’d hit the gym more and Chad begging for his friend to join him. He’d love nothing more than a gym bro he can fuck, and soon enough, unless Stephen has the strength to nip his blue balls in the bud, both wishes are to be granted.
It does not take long for already riled-up Stephen to give in to his curious urges. As soon as the scent of Chad in the air dissipates and he hears the front door of his apartment close, the countdown begins. Stephen stares at the obnoxiously smug photo of Chad on the candle and narrows his eyes, “I mean surely it’s a bit? It can’t actually smell like him specifically? Seems hm, expensive to do.”
He bites his lip as he shakily goes to remove the lid, driven by a mind less than conscious and more than hungry. Mouth on the precipice of watering, as soon as the seal is cracked the scent washes over him like a tidal wave. Somehow more powerful, more alluring than the real thing. Rich and grimy, and indisputably the essence of Chad distilled into waxen form.
His eyes are glazed over and his mouth is now pooling with drool. It's anyone’s guess as to how the candle gets lit, but so it does. Stephen falls back onto the couch as his hands struggle to free his cock quick enough from pants that force it down at an awkward angle. It finally bounces free, flinging more pre than he’s ever produced upward. Droplets land just shy of his own face as his mouth falls wantonly open and his hands begin their gleeful work.
The creation of Eau De Chad was not light work, the boiling down of man into a single candle is quite the ask. Perhaps even more so than the transformative magic that it is to instill in Stephen. Within the candle are notes from every musky epicenter of Chad’s being, more than powerful enough to distract Stephen as he begins his journey into a musky jock’s shoes himself.
Foremost of the mind-numbing notes that the lost man is bathing himself in is perhaps the one he’s smelled the least. As strong as in his jock after a workout, sweaty pubes and dripping pre. The medley of scents from Chad’s crotch is so powerful that even without clearly even knowing the source it’s on the tip of Stephen’s tongue, much like he would dream to have on his tongue in reality.
Each breath pulling him deeper than the last, Stephen continues to paw at his cock now free to the open, musky air. With each kneading thrust his hands struggle to encompass his dick as it begins to change. Years of pushing down primal desires for his friend, the Adonis, evaporate into the air as he pictures himself working Chad’s cock. Breathing and licking the heady swear straight from the source.
He imagines working the larger man’s spit-covered cock and with each new image in his mind his own beast begins to reform. Dripping more pre than he’s produced in his life up to this point, his hips thrust into wanting hands as his dick thickens and spears high into the air. Lengthening to press against his sternum, veins bulge and criss-cross across its length as its head regrows a foreskin he never had the chance to enjoy.
When his smaller hands, unable to truly satisfy or encompass his new rod, shift down to try and cup balls bulging larger and pumping him full of masculinity, he hears them scratch against the new jungle of growing pubes. Though the jock tries to keep his chest relatively hairless, under the belt hair growth is wild enough to more than make up for it, and as Stephen begins changing into his new musky lover, he seems to be of the same persuasion.
The candle wick flickers as a new scent begins to rise in prominence. This one Stephen recognizes all too well, though usually poorly masked under cheap deodorant, the scent of Chad’s pits could never be truly hidden. His mouth waters as the scent washes through him and his whole body contorts in pleasure. When his own pits begin to itch he gasps and for the first time opens his eyes to find an impossibly large cock hanging over his thin thighs. His mouth quivers into a smile as the line between dream and reality shifts muddy.
For now though, for the pit fiend there is only one thing to do. He raises his arm and gasps as he sees his few pit hairs lengthening, while in between each one a few darker curls make themselves at home. Stephen forces his head into the sweaty spot and hungrily sniffs. Nose tickled by the growing jungle he moans as he encounters his own changing scent, currently overcoming his own, usually superfluous, deodorant it is but a pale imitation of Chad’s. Though it races to be something equivalent, no, greater.
He continues taking deep breaths, switching between the candle burning strong and his own pit as his musk continues to heighten and shift. With each needy sniff it becomes clear that his odor is not the only part of him shifting. Previously undeveloped arms cramp as muscle begins to pile on. Veins pulse down their center as biceps that have scarcely known strain burn as muscle fibers break and reform to create an impressive peak.
Stephven’s face suddenly contracts into a smirk that he never quite understood before now as his arms force themselves into a pose. Flexing and exposing his newly hairy pits in what he now knows as a front lat spread, he almost laughs as his heady powerful musk begins to overpower the scent burning off the candle.
Having not actually left the apartment, Chad puts an ear to the door as Stephven’s laughter and moans rise in volume and deepen in tone. He creaks open the door and is almost physically hit with the wave of musk as it pours out like a fog from Steven’s bedroom. His own brand mixing with the steam of sweat seeping from his new bros pits is almost more than he can handle. With every step his mind strains to not just give into his own hunger to pounce on his half-formed bro sitting in the chair.
Hearing Steven’s socks fray and tear as a subtle note of foot funk rises to the top of the candle. Seeing his new partner’s legs fill his young-professional pants to their limit, bulging thighs pushing at and swiftly bursting the strained seams. Chad bites his lip almost to the point of drawing blood as he feels his own thighs cramp. He doesn’t know if he’s somehow growing as his new gym bro continues to edge larger or if he’s simply overwhelmed, if his own mind is too clouded from the hunger and musk.
Chad shambles towards Steven, mouth falling open as he sees the shimmering sweaty traps that have torn his shirt open. His eyes can’t look away from the newly heavy pecs that hang over his defined abs, he fights the urge to lean down and lap at the muscle as Steven delights in bouncing them. Sending cascading shadows across his sweaty core, and gaining more mass with every dancing flex.
Instead, Chad leans in close to Steven’s delirium painted face. “Looks like ya liked my gift after all, huh Steve?” His breath mists across Steve’s face. Its heavy humidity barely overcomes the sweaty atmosphere but the sharp mint and undercurrent of musty breath underneath call to his nose like smelling salts.
His jaw cracks and widens as the changes that have overtaken him finally begin their work on the final frontier. Unable to control himself Chad licks the man’s face as it prickles with stubble. Steve’s nose breaks then reforms, his brows thicken and cast a shadow over his eyes as they lose both their color and clarity. Deepening to brown as their default state becomes glazed and thoughtless.
Feeling Chad’s sticky tongue drag on his cheek, it’s like he was struck by lightning. Every new bulging muscle in Steve’s body flexes at once and he stands to his new height, able to make direct eye contact with the man staring at him, just inches away.
Steve tackles him onto the bed, knocking over the candle and sending wax flying through the air. The pair are sparingly coated in the Chad scented candle as they begin heavily exploring Steve’s new form. As their mouths that have always been left wanting find new delight, whatever shreds of the old Stephen that are left begin to vacate.
The anxieties and priorities of a small meek man who never let his id loose disappear as he positions himself over Chad. He bites his bro’s lip and thrusts downward as he pins the massive man’s hands above his head. Masked by the pleasure of true release, he doesn’t care as his old self washes away. Memories evaporate like the sweat pouring off his form. He delights in maneuvering across Chad’s form and enjoying his musk from the source.
His tongue dances across sweaty pecs that match his own as his collection of classics on a bookshelf disappear to be replaced by free weights. Steve’s nose finally shoves its way into Chad’s pits as his extensive collection of hygiene and beauty products down the hall clatter to the floor and disappear as they’re replaced by a single bar of clinical deodorant only used for special occasions. Sleeves fall off his wardrobe of cardigans and button ups as sweat stains yellow every garment. The tops throw themselves from hangers while musty shorts and jockstraps heap into a pile on the floor.
Sweat drips from his brow as with each thrust into Chad his mind gives up the ghost. Each impossible wave of pleasure erodes his old self, each drop of sweat an idea gone, each rivulet of pre dripping down his veiny cock a sign of his intelligence drained to increase the muscle mass of his new form. After all besides pleasure nothing matters to him nearly as much as his fucking hot bod.
He feels his balls pulse as every remaining aspect of Stephen’s self shoots down and is quickly converted. His eyes roll back as he cums the few specks of self remaining in a massive load onto Chad’s sweaty abs. After a few moments of total mindlessness from the jubilee of release, Steve awakens to find himself atop his bro and simply laughs, “Huhuh woah dude that’s a fuckin’ fat load huh?” He scratches at his hairy chest and grimaces as he imagines how that’s going to hide his gains.
Seeing the thoughts on his face as the two are evermore on the same wavelength Chad pauses rubbing Steve’s cum onto his abs and offers, “Lookin’ a little rough there bro, wanna go top up and then hit the gym?” Steve smirks as his bro basically reads his mind, “Yoooo totally let’s hit it!” He punches down into his bro as he stands, smirking as he watches Chad’s cock bounce before sprinting into the restroom and prepping to get pumped.
The gym starts to clear out as the pair arrive, judging by the musk already following in their wake no one dares risk having to smell what it’s like once they actually start going. Stopping in the locker room the pair stop publicly groping and sniffing each other long enough to take a pre-workout photo, tongues out as ever. When they see some poor soul who didn’t escape the gym quick enough covering his nose they eye each other up.
“Yo dude, looks like lil’ bro over there’s gotta problem with your stink.” Steve performatively sniffs his pit and shakes his head, “Nahnah bro. It’s definitely yours, check it.” They continue to talk up eachothers musk while the young man can’t help but sit there, stunned into silence. With each new statement the pair swagger closer until their sweat may as well be dripping on the man.
Gasping as he regains awareness just as the pair are almost standing over him, the sharp intake fills his lungs with their musk as a smile creeps over his face. “Looks like lil bro’s likin’ it after all Chad.” Throwing a sweaty arm over his bro, the man who can scarcely recall that his bro hasn’t always been like this laughs, “Huhuh, well obviously bro, no shot anyone’ll be able to resist us soon.” The pair help the hazy man up and begin ushering him through the ropes, eager to have another musky jock in their image and excited to see how far their little group will grow.
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Afterglow | Nam-gyu / American!Reader
You're reading part three
Story Summary: Nam-gyu gets a new job and finds himself falling for the girl behind the deli counter.
Words: 1.6k
Tags/Warnings: Canon divergence, Thanos lives, fluff, suggestive themes (no smut), implied smoking weed
A/N: This man has taken a over my whole BRAIN HELP ME
Also thank you guys for all the support on these past two parts because holy shit... YOU GUYS ARE CRAZY, so glad to know there's so many other Nam-gyu truthers amongst us.
This man is really getting me through whatever sickness shit I'm going through right now
PART TWO | MASTERLIST
There was a slight chance of snowfall today, it made you happy to know you wouldn’t have to return back to work for another day. Able to enjoy the chilly weather inside, cuddled up against Nam-gyu on his couch.
Your fingers mindlessly playing with one of his blankets thrown over the both of you. Listening to him and Su-bong playfully argue over what couple was going to last throughout the entire show.
“But they’re so annoying…” Your boyfriend commented, pointing at the screen a little as the two coupled contestants talked to each other on screen.
Nam-gyu groaned, running a hand over his face as Su-bong paused the show for what seemed like the fifth time. He stood up from his chair, putting his finger right over the female contestants face, a small smirk on his lips.
“You see that?” Su-bong said, pointing back and forth between the two people on screen.
“What are we looking at, dumbass?” Nam-gyu rolled his eyes, throwing his arm back over your shoulder as you leaned into him a little more. His fingers squeezed your bicep softly.
“Passion.” Su-bong whispered, “Look at the way she’s looking at him, she wants him sooo bad, bro.”
“They barely know each other!”
Days like these quickly became your favorite over the last eight months. Peaceful nights spent in the comfort of Nam-gyu and Su-bong’s apartment.
At first you worried that you were invading their personal space.
In the beginning it was clear that you were still not used to being with someone like this after your last, less than savory, relationship.
But Nam-gyu has been so sweet to you throughout your relationship, passionate words whispered in the darkness of his bedroom, leaving gentle kisses pressed on your knuckles before pulling you closer.
“What do you think?” Su-bong asked, directing his eyes to you, “Don’t they just seem so passionately in love to you?” He threads his fingers together in front of his chest, patiently awaiting your answer.
You laughed, “Honestly? No-”
“Wrong!” Su-bong interrupted, raising his hand, “You guys are so blind, come on!”
Nam-gyu and you laughed at Su-bong’s dramatics.
“You guys are useless. And that’s the truth.” The man standing in front of the tv ran a hand through his blue hair, letting out an exaggerated sigh before shaking his head.
Nam-gyu’s hand slipped from your bicep to your back, blunt nails scratching softly against your shirt. His head leaned against the back of the couch, listening to his friend continue to ramble on some more, occasionally unpausing the show to further attempt to prove his point.
“Dude… Just sit your ass down and watch the show already.” Nam-gyu sighed finally.
You softly push against his chest, “Hey he’s just really passionate about his reality tv couples.”
“Yeah, fuck you Nam-gyu.” Su-bong flipped him the bird playfully, earning one back from your boyfriend.
“Fuck you too Thanos.” Nam-gyu teased.
~~~
Nam-gyu bites his lip softly, smoothing over the weighted blanket before glancing over at his door. He felt so cold, his hands shaking a little from the bite of chilly air.
Maybe I smoked a little bit too much... He thought to himself
He brought his shaky hands up to tuck his hair behind his ears, moving to take his socks off.
Arms wound themselves around Nam-gyu’s waist, making him let out a little sigh. One hand securing itself on your forearm. A warmth spread through Nam-gyu’s chest, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. This truly had to be a dream.
He turned around slowly, hands finding their way to your cheeks, thumbs softly brushing against your skin, watching you blink up at him. He was sure that if it was possible he would have hearts in his eyes.
He was so hopelessly, and pathetically in love. This is real passion… Nam-gyu thought to himself.
Never in his life did Nam-gyu think he would feel such a way about someone. In the past his feelings were always so fleeting, leaving him within weeks, the stress of relationships straining his patience.
He was honestly scared to make things official at first, scared that things would end up being the same.
But after getting to know you as deeply as he has, he couldn’t see himself wanting to be with anyone else.
“I love you so much.” He whispered so softly, his eyes taking in every part of your face as he held you close.
Your fingers tightened around the waist of his hoodie, a small tearful smile coming to your lips.
“God, you’re gonna make me cry.” You laugh, bringing a hand to rub away a stray tear.
Nam-gyu knew all about your past relationship, the hardships you went through. It was a difficult time in your life, and you found it so hard to put yourself back out there afterwards. Sinking back into the shadows, hoping nobody looked twice in your direction.
You had been utterly terrified to get into another relationship when Nam-gyu proposed the idea. Simply asking for a date, a night together at some semi-fancy restaurant. He could feel how hard your hands shook when you grasped onto his that night, a nervous sweat forming on your palms which you quickly apologized for.
Selfishly, Nam-gyu was happy that you were just as scared as him.
Maybe it wasn’t for the same reason, but diving into something like this shook the man to his core. Terrified that at any second his happiness could be ripped from under him. Terrified that you would somehow find out about the horrible things he’s done.
But every time he looked into your beautiful eyes, those thoughts melted away. You made him forget how suffocating his life was.
His fingers smoothed away the teary trails, a smile spreading across his face.
“You’re just so beautiful too.” He continued, laughing softly at the small sob that fell from your lips, “So perfect…”
“Nam-gyu…” You whispered quietly, a small laugh coming from you as well, “Shut up.”
He cupped his hands back around your jaw, bringing you in for a soft kiss. He wasn’t bothered by the occasional tear that would slide against his skin.
Instead he brought you closer, pouring all of his unsaid words into you. One hand fell to your waist, pressing you flush against his body.
Both of your hands found their way to his hair, pulling him impossibly closer as your lips slotted together so perfectly. Soft sighs leaving the both of you.
Nam-gyu felt like he could kiss you for the rest of his life, your lips were so soft, teeth biting against his bottom lip forcing a small moan from his mouth.
You were going to be the death of him, he knew it.
His hand tightened itself on your waist, brows drawing together as he felt his whole body begin to heat up under your touch. He disconnected your lips, trailing kisses from your cheek to your jaw, nipping every now and then as he got closer to your neck.
You tilted your head back a little, allowing him better access as he left open mouthed kisses against your warm skin. His thumb caressed your throat gently as he bit down a little harder near your the collar of your shirt, forcing a small whimper from your parted lips.
“Nam-gyu…” You sighed out his name, making his heart flutter in his chest.
He lifted his head, staring at you with lidded eyes and a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips, “So… you sure you still want to go to sleep?” He teased, thumb trailing along your bottom lip.
“Get on the bed already, dick.”
~~~
“Morning, lovebirds.” Su-bong winked as he made his way into the kitchen, going up to the fridge and grabbing the carton of orange juice.
You looked up from your phone, readjusting your feet under Nam-gyu’s thigh. The both of you were sitting next to each other at the small dining table, enjoying the snowy morning together, quietly scrolling through your phones.
“Morning.” Nam-gyu yawned, bringing another spoonful of cereal into his mouth absentmindedly.
Su-bong turned around, looking up from his cup of orange juice, “So what’s going on to- Holy fuck!” He cut himself off.
He rushed over to his friend, forcing Nam-gyu’s head to the side, and jabbing a finger into one of the prominent bruises you left just above his collarbone by accident. Oops… you thought to yourself, laughing a little.
“Was she trying to suck the life out of you, bro?” Su-bong looked between the two of you with wide eyes.
Nam-gyu slapped his hand away, a small chuckle coming from him. “That’s nothing, you should see the one I left on her-” You slapped his shoulder, making him laugh harder.
“You guys are nasty as fuck.” Su-bong scolded, shaking his head in disappointment.
You knew better than to take his jabs seriously. Su-bong brought home a new girl every other week, if not more.
Sometimes you were unfortunate enough to be in the apartment when those moments would occur. Making it so you and Nam-gyu have to turn the volume to his TV up a lot louder than you liked. Just so you could drown out the god awful sounds that float through the horribly thin walls of his apartment.
“Oh please, like you can say anything.” Nam-gyu rolled his eyes, “You’re like a fucking horny dog sometimes.”
“What can I say? I can’t keep the girls off of me, man.” Su-bong plopped himself down in the seat across from Nam-gyu. “Anyway, what I was going to say… What’s going on today?”
#squid game#squid game x reader#squid game reader insert#nam gyu x reader#nam gyu#nam gyu imagine#nam gyu reader insert#violet writes
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ֹ ⑅᜔ ׄ ݊ ݂ ONE MORE NIGHT ۪ ֹ ᮫
the salesman x female reader
⎨ 𝐀𝐍 ⎬SORRY THIS ONES KINDA CRAZY 💔 i wrote this in like an hour after seeing mettatons_highheel ‘s headcanons about him on tiktok so please don’t kill me over any spelling mistakes . and yes i’m still working on national anthem ! i’m just taking a quick break from phosphorus because squid game is consuming my life . also one more night by maroon five is so great i wish adam levine wasn’t a horrible person .
⎨ 𝐂𝐖 ⎬ probably the worst smut i’ve written so far ! mentioned / described abuse , degrading kink , pet names ( puppy ) , slapping , biting ++ marking , mentioned blood , oral ( f receiving ) , overstimulation , cnc sorta ? vibrator , punishment , hate sex ! ! fingering ( f receiving ) , choking . dacryphilia , the salesman just being a fucking freak in general
“You’re a fucking psycho.”
He doesn’t reply, his hand wrapped tightly around your neck if only just to watch the tears that stream from your eyes. His head tilts to the side, mocking, condescending. That stupid smile plastered on his face as you spit in it.
“Shhh. I don’t keep you around so you can push my buttons, puppy.”
His wrists are bruised and bleeding, you scratch at his skin and tearing it up, getting him under your nails. Under you, on top of you, inside you. What’s the difference? He doesn’t flinch; doesn’t move. If anything his grip tightens as black floods the corner of your vision, cutting off your peripheral.
You’re a scared dog under him, tail tucked between your pretty legs that his knee spreads, digging between your thighs. It’s hardly the first time this has happened - you couldn’t count on one hand the amount of times you said you’d leave him. The amount of times you claimed it was the last.
But god, his knee brushing against your core felt so so good, and you’re so so weak for him.
It’s easy to tell yourself that it’s over between the two of you when he isn’t home. When he leaves you for days so the next time he opens the door you’ll crawl to him; begging for him. It’s easy to argue over the phone, but your mouth feels dry and words get stuck in your throat when he’s around.
He fucks you till you’re stupid. Brain dead and pliant for him, pressed against his sheets and inhaling his scent. You’ll babble for him, words jumbled and incoherent between wanton moans and whimpers. Sometimes, if you think hard enough with that brain he turns to mush you can manage to say his name til he shoves his fingers in your mouth.
“Oh shh, you poor baby. Don’t cry.”
You hadn’t realized tears were streaming from your eyes till he pointed them out, mocking you as he went to move the hand that wasn’t pinning you to the wall to wipe your tears. Your grip, however, kept him there; nails digging deeper into his flesh. A soft tsk falls from his lips before he simply moves to lick the salty tears from your cheeks.
Your breathing turns shallow, chest heaving as you attempt to suck in the air around you. It’s futile, his hands only tightening more. His tongue laps at your skin before his lips travel down, tracing your collarbone before biting down harshly against your shoulder.
If you had any air left in your lungs you would’ve screamed, his teeth drawing blood from your flesh as your back arches off the wall. You can’t even pretend to hate it, to hate him. He knows it, too, relishes in how you squirm and writhe under him; desperate to simply breathe again.
He’ll loosen his grip when he notices you begin to fall limp, reaching up to slap you, bruising your tear stained cheeks and causing you to jolt forward. It only serves to turn him on more, how he can play with your life in his hands. That at any moment he could snap that cord and kill you and he’d get away with it, too. His teeth graze over your neck, humming.
You suck in a few breaths, allowing air to fill your lungs once more as your feet touch the ground again. His knee presses against you more, rubbing against your clothed cunt and drinking in the way you grind back against him. A needy slut, all for him. It’s how he knows you’ll never actually leave him - who else could treat you the way you liked? Your head rests back against the wall as you hear the clinking of his belt.
Within a moment the leather is pressed between your teeth, a makeshift gag as he sinks to the floor in front of you. You can only watch, tilt your head down at him as he works your pretty skirt off your hips. His fingers trail over your panties, circling the wetness that pools against the fabric.
“Just can’t control yourself, can you puppy?” He grins, fingers hooking around your underwear and pulling it off as well. He hums in contentment, slipping them into his suit pocket. It would be almost attractive if not for the slap to your folds that followed right after.
Once more, you find your back arching off the wall - moans muffled by the leather belt gagging you. He’s not gentle in the slightest, not kind or sweet as he slips his fingers into your cunt, thrusting harsh enough to make your legs shake while his lips wrap around your needy clit.
The dark kitchen of your shared apartment is filled with gushing, wet noises that echo from you. You’d be ashamed if not from the assault he was laying on your body. His hands grip at your sides roughly, just above your hips and leaving bruising marks in their wake. You’re nothing more than a doll for him, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Please please… fuck-“
“Shut the fuck up.”
Your voice is muffled by the gag, though the words that manage to be comprehendible are cut off by his snapping. He doesn’t want to hear your voice, doesn’t want to hear you speak as he’s focused on the noises your cunt makes. Needy and gummy walls tightening around his fingers. You can feel yourself teetering on the edge, ready to spill for him.
He doesn’t miss the way your legs tremble as your cunt pulsates around his fingers into rhythm with his thrusting. His tongue laps over your swollen clit as your fingers press against his shoulders, holding yourself up as your legs fail you. He doesn’t stop even as you begin to cry once more, begging him through the belt to stop.
Your legs shake even more violently, one hand moving to trace up and down the back of them. He relishes in how you fall apart, how you go from playing tough with him to a broken doll he needs to glue back together. Your hands feebly push at his head, trying to get him off.
When he does stop, he stands in front of you and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. His fingers trailing up to your lips before slipping inside your mouth, making you taste yourself. A smug smirk plays on his face, one that reminds you that after all this he’ll be gone again and you’ll go back to hating him.
But for now, he leads you to your bedroom despite your legs that refuse to work - practically dragging you there and throwing you onto the bed. He’s quick to reach underneath the frame, pulling out a box and rummaging through it before he finds what he was looking for.
He pushes the buttons on the black vibrator he holds in his hands now, the toy drumming to life under his touch, much like you. He looms over your shaky body, grinning down at your form.
“Open your legs again, puppy.” The hand not on the toy kneads your thighs apart, humming at the slick that paints your flesh. “There we go, just like that. Because of that mouth you have on you were not going to stop til you’ve given me everything you got. Okay doll?”
#the salesman x reader#the recruiter x reader#the salesman x you#the recruiter X you#the recruiter squid game#the salesman#the salesman squid game#the recruiter#squid game#squid game s2#x reader#CRAZY SMUT SORRY
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So I had a big brain thought this morning. One reason (aside from just general profit and greed) that college in the US is so expensive?
So they can use athletic scholarships as leverage to maintain the enterprise that is college football. If just anybody can get into college, you can't lure your show ponies in with the promise of an education and the idea that they're special.
#maybe someone else has said this before#and probably in better words#but it was scratching at the door of my brain to get out#college football#college#college debt#us colleges#debt forgiveness#student debt#student loans#DejaBlonde
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Have you ever looked at the list of autism traits and very confidently said well I don't have that one only to notice years later you are doing the fun leg movements from a show you just watched in your kitchen at six in the morning and you suddenly Get what they meant by copying body movements and stuff and surprise you've been doing it all that time actually and now you are Aware of it so your body feels weird but you also still want to do it so your brain just bluescreens. or is that too specific.
#I knew about speech sure. I was so confident about the movements one. yeah no they just DONT GIVE FUCKING CLARIFICATIONS THAT MAKE SENSE#the fucking. is your movement coordination weird thing that I also went no ^_^ to#only to realize also a few years later that's the thing when I hit wall corners and cupboard doors in a house I lived in all my life#and why I miss pots and pans and pour water onto myself. occasionally. I don't know what the standard amount of thaat would be.#and also trip whity nothing in the way. flat surface. flat as hell. I'm pretty sure I do that a bit more than average.#why the fuck does it always correct to thaat that shit pisses me off#whatever whatever#need to go sleep but arcane is treating me well so far if you're wondering the way jinx moves scratches my brain just right#evidently.#faksyan talks#god I used to imitate the way girls walk in the fucking winx movies it's so stupid that's an unlocked memory.#I don't even remember liking that show that much but apparently I did to an extent that my mom had to throw out the disk#and lie that we lost it cause I wouldn't stop watching it which is funny as hell#can't tell you a single thing that happened in this show like not one#I should sleep I ramble too much when I don't#not diagnosed and likely never getting for country reasons but you know. there are signs.
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Does Peppino actively enjoy using himself as a subject or does he just use it for marketing? What other things does he usually like to draw or make? Is he a wood carver? I can see him as a wood carver
Oh this is interesting; ive been stuck on this for a little bit. The needle swings between yes and no mid response lol. I think he enjoys being able to use his likeness for marketing, but less so for personal, artistic use. It feels obvious to use ur own face and/or name for ur business (one that u put so much blood sweat n tears in) but he doesnt feel compelled to draw himself. There is a level of self awareness(?) i think u have to have to even desire depicting oneself in art and i think he would be too focused on his failing business to start that process. He has more important things to do. But on the flipside; i think he would look at his own creations (for his business) and regard them as reminders of his failures. So he wouldnt have the best opinion of himself.
But! i think he would enjoy others depictions of his likeness. Despite his awkwardness, he enjoys putting on a show, he enjoys performing to some degree, he likes entertaining a crowd. He feeds off of positive attention (like most people do) even if it leaves him a little flustered. People take pictures of him and he smiles earnestly. He doesnt have the words for it, but it is grounding to see himself outside of his business and existing outside of his failures.
This obv gets better postgame as he gets more support for his business. But also, as Pepperman starts to take genuine interest in his form to use as a muse. It is the perfect balance of him enjoying being an art subject, without him having to Make the art. And tying his visage to a now profitable, successful shop, makes him feel a bit better about seeing his own caricature on the storefront. I can see him in Peppermans studio being convinced to draw himself on canvas, and instead of his usual caricature style, it is an attempt at realism with him waving hi towards the ‘camera’, which is a nice contrast to Peppermans first picture of Peppino looking very blue and very sad. Pepperman is delighted lol look at his muse branching out !!!! Pepperman does not do this for anyone but he lets Peppino take the picture home with him (‘But you must promise to give me a copy of this to hang in my studio 😊 PROMISE ME-‘)
And yes, Peppino wood carves bc Peshino is a wood carved toy!! Hes got some bits in him to let him move around w a simple wind up mechanism. I dont think Peppino would do this in his free time prior to postgame, but as he gets more (positive) time to himself, he starts to take up some easy crafts. Wood carving when hes home and watching tv, and sculpting/painting when hes at Peppermans studio.
#chattin#answered#peppino#heehee thank u so much for this; it really scratched a good itch on my brain#i am sorry but if u ask about Art and Depiction of the Self#well u are simply opening the doors for the autsim to crawl out#i did not add this bc i felt like it was already too lengthy#but the reason he even does the logo and peshino design is bc i hc him as a bit of an artist in his youth!!#so it was something that was nutured and encouraged#but at some point it shifted and it was no longer a form of expression#and simply a Skill he had to make life easier (why hire an artist if i can just do it myself?)#but he gets some of that love back postgame :)
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Honestly tma should’ve ended after season four like I feel like SEEING the fear apocalypse made it super underwhelming
#like if it had just ended with ‘I open the door’??? badass ending. completely up to the listener what happens after.#sorry saw a post about over explaining horror that was made unrebloggable and have to get my feelings out somehow#I’m pretty neutral on the ‘explaining the fears’ thing bc on one hand yeah the monster of the week with some red string connections for the#theorists was a fun format! where if you were Deep in the show you’d be able to make connections but if you weren’t super paying attention#it wouldn’t take away from the experience. however I do think the fears as a concept are fun and I have autism categorization brain#so it scratches an itch. I think either way on that I’m neutral. however. while I liked some aspects of s5. I think the apocalypse was#underwhelming. there were some cool episodes but overall it wouldve been cooler to just end the show after I open the door imo#also I hated the twist that it was all the web. or at least I hated the direct confirmation of it.#also I do think they over explained the over explaining. like revealing the fears is one thing but the show got way too complicated#like I was a HUGE tma fan but even I had no idea what they were talking about sometimes. maybe that’s just me
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Everlong (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)
A/N: This was not a request, just a thought I had and had to get out. "Everlong" by Foo Fighters just scratches my brain in a way very few songs can, and it fits perfectly for this fic. Hope you guys enjoy.
Summary: Logan offers you his bed as a friend, knowing how hard it is for you to fall asleep alone. But after months of sleeping next to him platonically, things finally take a turn...
Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT! Thigh riding, Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), Cockwarming, praise kink, breeding kink (if you squint), cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan, non-sexual intimacy to sexual intimacy, friends to lovers, man-handling, rough sex, afab!reader/f!reader, feelings, fluff, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.
Word Count: 4,619 jeeeeeeezzzzz this is DEPRAVED
Sleep was hard—that is, until you started sleeping in Logan’s bed.
It had all started out so innocent. You were sitting on a couch in the study, flicking through the pages of your favorite book. You had just finished your fourth lap around the grounds of the mansion, and you decided you needed a break. The clock on the wall read 2:22 AM, mocking you, reminding you that of all the gifts you have, sleeping would never be one of them.
“What’re you doing awake?” You jumped at the voice breaking up the silence, but quickly recognized its bassy, deep tone. You turned to face Logan in the doorway.
“Just can’t sleep,” you answered, shrugging your shoulders. He wore a beater and gray sweatpants, and you struggled against the urge to trail your eyes up and down his body. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want him—you’ve wanted him for months.
Logan crossed his arms against his chest and smiled softly. “Can’t sleep either,” he said, taking a step closer. “You can come up to my room, if you want” he offered. “Next time you can’t sleep, or you have a nightmare, or you just can’t think of anything to do, come find me.”
You smiled at his words, at his kindness, at his willingness to help you. “Thank you, Logan,” you whispered.
“No problem, princess.” And then he turned to leave, walking back through the hallway and up the stairs to his room.
You’re still not sure what came over you in those following moments—still don’t understand where your confidence came from—but you forced yourself up from the couch and down the hall, following Logan’s path to his room.
He was already inside, already had the door closed, so you knocked. And the door immediately swung open. You swallowed, parting your lips nervously. “Lo, do you think I could take you up—”
But he didn’t even let you finish. He grabbed your arm and tugged you into the darkness of his room, navigating you carefully to his bed. He laid you down and walked to the other side, climbing in next to you. He brought the covers over your bodies, shuffling under the sheets, settling in, and then everything was silent.
You tried to get comfortable. You rolled onto your stomach and waited, eyes shut tight, hoping that sleep would take you under its current. But it didn’t. You rolled back onto your side, away from Logan, opening and closing your eyes frustratedly.
“You okay?” He asked. You could hear Logan inching towards you, his front suddenly pressing against your back.
You hummed in affirmation, leaning your back into him. He reached a tentative arm around your waist and pulled you into his chest. “Is this okay?” He husked, his lips at the shell of your ear.
“Yeah,” you panted into the darkness of his room, taking shallow breaths, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. You could smell him everywhere—on the sheets, the pillowcase, in the air of the room. It was all leather and musk and pine and denim. And there he was, holding you, his thumb drawing soft circles into your slightly exposed midriff. Something about it was overwhelming, but also comforting, as though all your senses were being cradled by him.
He could hear your heart beating, could hear your breath catching in your throat. “Relax,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. Go to sleep.” Your eyes fluttered closed, and you focused on Logan’s breathing. It was constant, stable, steadfast. He was so warm, so solid. And soon enough, you found yourself giving in to sleep.
You woke up a few hours later, the pale light of the moon still pushing through the curtains. Logan’s legs were tangled with yours, your face pressed into the center of his chest, his arm wrapped around your back, holding you tight. You tried to lift your head to read the clock behind you on the nightstand.
But Logan pulled you back down. “Go back to sleep,” he murmured against the crown of your head. “Too early.”
That’s how most nights have been since then—climbing into his bed, completely innocently, just to be able to sleep. He holds you all night, keeping you close. And when the sun finally rises, you both get up and head down to the kitchen, watching as Logan brews you a pot of coffee.
It’s shockingly domestic and incredibly intimate. And yet, the two of you have never talked about it. It’s a silent agreement, one based on pattern, convention, and repetition. These very events have played out more times than you can count—for months now. It has become so normalized that you don’t question it, don’t even think about it when you crawl into his bed, and he pulls you into his chest.
So, tonight starts out like any other. Your feet pad along the dark, mahogany wood floors, down the dim, quiet hallway, towards Logan’s room. You’re only wearing a pair of panties and one of Logan’s old t-shirts, the hem falling to the middle of your thighs.
You stand in front of his door and knock. You aren’t nervous anymore—aren’t anxious as he opens the door. He’s already shirtless, wearing just his boxers—which, however, is something you will never get used to. He smiles, his eyes trailing up and down your body as he steps to the side, inviting you in.
You know the drill by now—you walk to your side of the bed, lying down and pulling the covers up to your chin. Logan follows suit. You move in silence, but it’s a comfortable silence. It’s a silence shared by two people who don’t have to say a word, don’t have to communicate to feel connection. His arms wrap around your body, and he tugs you into his chest.
“Didn’t see you today,” he mumbles, his lips brushing your forehead. “Wish I could’ve.” His fingertips graze up and down your back, your t-shirt hitching up as you get comfortable, revealing your bare legs.
“I’m here now,” you whisper, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, smelling him, letting him overtake your senses. He tangles your legs with his.
“Is this my shirt, by the way?” he asks, his hands sliding down to the hem, which is now bunched up above the waistband of your panties.
You smile into his neck. “Maybe,” you answer, giggling softly.
His fingertips slip just under the t-shirt, tentative and hesitant, waiting for you to push him away, to tell him no. But you don’t. “Looks better on you than it does on me,” he husks, his thigh settling between your legs so that you’re straddling it.
“Th-thanks,” you stutter, trying to ignore the way he bumps against your core, the way his words make your heart race. You shut your eyes and wrap your arms around his center, letting him engulf you in his warmth. You swallow your feelings down and close your eyes. “Night, Lo,” you mutter.
“Night, princess,” he says, his lips against the crown of your head.
You listen carefully to his breathing, like you always do, and after a few moments, you find yourself falling asleep.
When you wake up a few hours later, your back is against Logan’s front. His arm keeps you pressed tightly to his chest, his nose nudging against the crook of your neck—you can feel his breath, warm on your skin. Your legs are intertwined, his knee just inches away from your core.
Logan moves in his sleep, his knee bumping against your core now, his nose nuzzling into your neck, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just under your ear. You take a deep breath, pleasure pulsing between your thighs as Logan moves again, his thigh dragging against you. You can’t help the moan that falls from your lips.
He moves again, and that’s when you feel it—his erection stiff against the curve of your ass. Heat spreads across your chest, up to your neck, your stomach somersaulting as his hips press harder into your ass.
“L-Lo,” you stutter into the darkness of his room. But he doesn’t answer. His thigh slides against your core again. You can feel the wetness pooling between your legs, soaking your panties. “Logan,” you choke, moaning louder this time.
He hums in response, nuzzling his nose deeper into your neck, his lips pressing against your skin—the ghost of a kiss. It’s too much—you want to grind down on his thigh, want to feel his cock pressing against your ass, want to feel his hips rutting against yours. You thought maybe this would happen, hoped that one night would lead to something like this, but you never dreamed it would actually come to pass.
Logan’s thigh rubs against your heat again, and you mumble his name, your breathing quickening. “Fuck,” you groan, involuntarily bucking your hips against Logan’s. His erection drags along your ass.
You force yourself to be still as Logan grunts into your neck. “You awake, pretty girl?” He whispers against your ear.
“Mhm,” you murmur, trying to play half-asleep. You don’t want to let on that you can feel him hard against you, and you pray you aren’t soaking through your panties and onto his thigh.
You swear you can hear him mumble a soft fuck under his breath. Your thoughts race around your head. Maybe he was awake the whole time. Maybe he felt your hips roll against him. Maybe he can smell the arousal growing between your thighs. You know he can hear your heart hammering against your ribcage.
But his arm tightens its grip around your waist, and he pulls you closer, holding you down against his thigh. “What were you doing, sweetheart?” He rasps, pressing a true, open-mouthed kiss to your neck. You gasp, a shiver running down your spine.
“Wh-what do you mean?” You stutter, stumbling around your words as he kisses your neck again, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just under your ear.
He moves his knee, pressing harder into your core, dragging his thigh against your aching heat. You stifle a moan as he repeats the motion. “Felt you riding me, pretty girl,” he huffs, his hands gripping your waist, guiding your hips along his thigh. “Smelt you, too,” he whispers, his lips still at your neck. “Can feel that pretty, wet pussy dripping on me, darlin’.”
“Logan,” you whine, letting him move your hips back and forth. The pressure feels so good. You need more. “Please…” You trail off, grinding down onto him.
“Making a fucking mess of me, aren’t you?” He teases, his fingers gripping your hips like iron, so tight he might bruise. “Love watching you get off on me.” His voice is dark and honeyed, smooth like expensive liquor. Your walls clench around nothing as your clit drags along Logan’s thigh and you moan, throwing your head back against his shoulder. “So sensitive, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” you pant, letting him pull you back and forth. You’ll take anything you can get—anything he’s willing to give to you. “D-don’t stop,” you beg.
“Fuck,” Logan grunts. “Need me that bad, huh?”
“Y-you have no idea,” you stammer. He bites your pulse point as one of his hands wraps around your front, slipping inside your panties and finding your clit. “Oh fuck, Lo,” you whine, the pads of his fingers drawing tight, rapid circles around the bud.
“That feels good, pretty girl?” You can hear the smirk in his voice. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and he’s getting off on it. You can feel his erection hard against your ass every time his hips buck into yours. “Bet it does, the way you’re soaking my thigh.”
“So fucking good,” you whimper. But you know you need more. You need him. “Logan, please…” You trail off, the words escaping you as pleasure pulses through your body.
“Please what, darlin’?” He teases, his fingers pulling out of your panties, his hands gripping your hips again, rolling you against his thigh. It’s not enough, and you groan at the loss of contact. “Use your words, sweetheart.”
“N-need more,” you croak, dragging yourself along him.
“More what, beautiful?” But you know he knows. You know he wants to hear you beg for it, wants to hear you beg for him.
“More of you,” you choke out.
“Yeah?” He chides, slowing the roll of your hips with his iron grip. “More of me how?” He’s so goddamn cocky, so unfair.
“I-I…” your eyes roll back into your head as he slowly, teasingly drags you up his thigh, pulling you against his erection and holding you there. “However you want me,” you whisper, pushing against his cock. “Just want you.”
He suddenly pulls away, his grip on your hips forcing you into the mattress as he rolls on top of you, caging you in, his hands on either side of your head.
Logan’s lips crash down onto yours, swallowing you hungrily, his teeth grazing your lower lip and licking away the pain. You part your lips, inviting him inside, tasting his tongue against yours. He slides a hand down your body, stopping at the hem of your shirt and yanking it up. He breaks the kiss to slip the shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the floor. He sits up on his knees, his eyes trailing your body, settling on your bare breasts.
“So fucking beautiful,” Logan praises, lowering down over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand glides up your side and to your breasts. He palms your flesh, rolling his thumb over your pebbled nipple, pinching lightly. “Fuck, you’re perfect.” He traces across the valley of your breasts, his hand massaging the other side.
He grinds his hips into yours, his erection nudging against your core. “Wanted you so bad, pretty girl,” he pants, pressing another kiss to your lips. His fingertips drag down your body, gripping your hip tightly again. “Dreamed of fucking you, of tasting you.” He buries his face into the crook of your neck as he pushes you into the mattress, biting down on your pulse point. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me.”
You moan as he sucks at your sensitive skin. “Want you, Lo. Need you,” you whine, your arms wrapping around his back, nails digging into his skin. “Always wanted you.”
He kisses a trail down your neck, to your collarbone, between the valley of your breasts. He slides down your body, peppering light kisses across your stomach, stopping at the hem of your panties. He looks up at you, his face illuminated by the pale, blue moonlight. You can see the desperation in his eyes, the need. He licks his lips—a man starved—as his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties.
He tugs them down your legs, throwing them to the floor, and settles between your thighs. His face is just inches from your aching heat. Your chest heaves as he brings himself closer, his breath fanning across your cunt. You look down at him and find him staring up at you, watching your every move.
“Wanna know what you taste like, darlin’,” he huffs, his palms splaying on your inner thighs, spreading your legs wide open for him. “Want me to make you feel good?” His nails dig into the flesh of your thighs possessively.
“Y-yes,” you stammer, already arching your back off the mattress. “Please, Logan.”
He smiles, his eyes still trained on yours as his tongue swipes through your folds, long and slow, all the way up to your clit. “Fuck,” he mumbles against your core, flicking your clit, lapping at it twice before starting all over again. He licks another teasing stripe through your folds, landing on your clit and taking the bud between his lips this time. He sucks roughly, releasing your clit and swirling soothing circles around it. “You taste so perfect. Better than I ever imagined.”
He laves at you, devouring you, his head buried against your cunt. His right hand climbs up your inner thigh, nearing your folds as his teeth graze your clit. Your hips jolt back at the sudden feeling, and Logan is quick to slide his left hand under your thigh. He grips tightly, yanking you back to him, and pressing his face deeper into your cunt. “Don’t even think about it, pretty girl. You’re not going anywhere until I’m finished with you.”
You moan at his words, his right hand finally working its way up to your folds. His fingertips find your entrance, spreading your slick. “So fucking wet for me,” he murmurs, prodding your slit. “Want my fingers, darlin’?”
“Yes, Lo, please. Want all of—” He thrusts two long, thick fingers deep inside you, down to his knuckles. “Oh, fuck,” you cry out as he pulls out and slams back in.
His tongue swirls around your clit, his teeth grazing the bud every time he takes it between his lips to suck. It’s overwhelming, overstimulating, the way he laps at you, drinking you in, consuming you. If he could find a way to keep your taste on his tongue all day, he would. If he could slip under your skin to be one with you, to feel your warmth, he would. You know this isn’t want. This isn’t lust. This isn’t some one-off thing. This is need. This is longing.
Your eyes roll back into your head as he breathes you in, his tongue working at your clit as his fingers thrust in and out, dragging along your walls, scissoring inside you. “Doing so good for me, sweetheart,” Logan praises, and you clench down around him at the words. He smiles against your cunt. “You like that, don’t you? Like when I tell you just how good of a girl you are.”
Your walls flutter around him again. “I-I do,” you admit, your voice shaky as he fucks into you, hitting that sweet spot inside you with every pump of his fingers.
Logan chuckles darkly, the reverberation pulsing against your clit. “That’s my good girl, giving me what I’ve been waiting for,” he huffs, lapping at you, sucking on your clit like it’s candy. “Would’ve waited forever for you.”
Your muscles contract and release at his words, at the intimate confession. “Would’ve waited forever for y-you too,” you whimper, his fingers still working you open. You’re so close. Fire burns at the base of your spine, your walls clenching around Logan’s fingers again as his tongue draws tight, rapid circles into your bud.
“No more waiting, beautiful,” Logan grunts, and you know what he means—he knows you’re close. “Wanna feel you come around my fingers, wanna taste it.” It isn’t a request; it’s a command. His fingers plunge deeper, his tongue laving at your clit roughly between sentences. “Know you’re ready to let go, sweetheart. Don’t hold back. Come for me.”
You’re crashing down, falling, but not into nothingness—into Logan, into his warmth, into his touch. Your chest heaves and the room spins. Heat pours from deep at the bottom of your belly, fire spreading up your spine. Nothing has ever felt like this. His name is the only thing you can think, the only thing you can say: Logan Logan Logan Logan.
His pumps slow down, his fingers dragging gently along your inner walls until he stills inside you and carefully pulls out. His tongue is still lapping at you, still working your overstimulated clit.
“Logan,” you whine, your hands finding his head, digging your nails into his scalp. “Want you.”
He smirks against you, knowing full well what he’s doing. “You have me, darlin’.”
You groan, half in frustration, half in pleasure—the tension building back up between your thighs with every flit of Logan’s tongue. “Please,” you beg, tugging on Logan’s hair. He grunts at the feeling, smiling against your cunt again. “I want you, Logan.”
“Gotta be more specific, pretty girl,” he huffs, his face finally separating from your cunt. Your release glistens on his chin, his lower lip. He brings his fingers to his mouth as he waits, wrapping his lips around his fingers and sucking, savoring the taste of you.
“Want you inside me…” You trail off, watching as his fingers pop out of his mouth, his tongue darting out along his lower lip, rationing every drop of you he can find. “Want your cock,” you finally choke out.
The corner of Logan’s mouth turns up, his fingers hooking into his boxers and tugging them down. “Wanna fuck you so bad, beautiful,” he grunts, his cock springing free, bouncing against his stomach. He’s so much bigger than you had anticipated. You swallow nervously as he lowers himself down over you, resting on his forearm. “Thought about this for so long.”
His hand wraps around the base of his cock, guiding himself to your folds. He swipes through you, spreading your slick, notching against your clit. You moan at the contact, your chest coming flush with Logan’s as your back arches off the mattress. “Logan, please,” you beg. “Just want you. Only ever gonna—”
He plunges deep inside you, down to the hilt with one thrust. You’ve never felt so full—his cock thick and long, splitting you open. His presses a kiss to your lips, swallowing your moans as his tongue darts out, tangling with yours. He’s still inside you, stretching you out, allowing you to adjust to the size of him. “You okay, pretty girl?” He asks as his lips part from yours.
“Y-yes,” you stammer, your arms wrapping around his back. “Feels good. So big.”
Logan pulls out and thrusts back in, splitting you open again. “Fuck,” he groans, his forehead resting against yours. “So fucking perfect. So tight, so warm. Made for me, darlin’.” Your eyes flutter open and closed as his free hand slips between your bodies, quickly finding your clit.
“Lo,” you whine as his fingers draw tight, rapid circles into the bud. He sets his pace, pumping in and out of your cunt with reckless abandon. His hips rock against yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing along the walls of the room.
“Knew you’d feel like this,” Logan soothes, flicking your clit as he fucks into you. “Knew you’d feel this good. Wanna be inside you forever, princess.”
His lips find yours again, his teeth tugging on your lower lip and then sucking the pain away. It’s rushed and frantic, like he’s dying for more, searching for a way to reach deeper inside you, to feel all of you at once.
He ruts into you, his hips snapping, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you with every thrust. He pinches your clit roughly, and your back arches off the mattress, your chest pressing against his.
“No idea how much I wanted you…” You trail off as his cock pounds into you. He’s still stretching you out, still working you open.
Logan moans your name, his cock throbbing at your words. “Wanted to fuck you that first night you came in here,” he whispers at the shell of your ear. “Wanted you before that too. Knew I needed you the second I saw you.”
The confession rocks through you. You think of all those nights spent next to Logan, all those stolen moments. He wanted you—needed you the whole time.
“Lo,” you hiccup, his fingertips swirling your clit, his hips rocking against yours. He sinks deep inside, again and again, pumping in and out. Your walls flutter around his cock, dragging him in deeper.
“Fuck, pretty girl,” he groans, sliding out and plunging back in. “Squeezing me so good, taking me so well.”
Tears brim in the corners of your eyes at the pure pleasure drumming through your bones. You know you’re close, know you’re almost unraveling underneath him. Logan flicks your clit, drawing hard, rough strokes around the bud. You’re on fire, and you’re burning for him.
“Logan I-I…” You stumble around your words, unable to form a coherent sentence as he pounds into you. Your walls flutter around him again, and his cock twitches inside you at the feeling.
He groans, your name on his tongue like a prayer. “I know you’re close, pretty girl.” He throbs inside you, and you know he’s almost there too. “Wanna make you come again,” he grunts, pulling out and pumping back in. “Know you have another one in you, sweetheart.”
He’s right. You can’t hold on much longer, but you want this moment to last. You want to feel his cock dragging along your walls, filling you up, splitting you open. You want his chest flush against yours. You want to feel the way he bites your lip and sucks away the sting he leaves behind. You want it all—all of him—and you don’t just want it right now. You don’t want this to be a fleeting moment. You want it to be forever.
“Come on, beautiful,” Logan pants, his pace faltering, his hips stuttering. He twitches inside you again. “Fuck, you feel so good.” He strokes your clit, drawing those quick circles into the bud. “Let go for me. Know you want to,” he breathes, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”
His words overwhelm you, and you let go. It’s all more forceful this time, more powerful, your body trembling, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as wave after wave of pleasure tears through your body. It feels like blinding, searing heat, spreading like a forest fire.
Logan is right behind you, moaning your name, his cock throbbing against your walls. “Gonna fill you up, pretty girl,” he husks, his chest heaving. You whisper a soft, pleading yes. “Fuck, gonna make you mine,” he moans. His cock throbs again, and then he’s spilling inside you, filling you with his release.
His fingers rub gentle strokes into your clit, his cock slowly pumping in and out before stilling inside you. His fingers slip away from your clit, his hand traveling up your body, and rolling you over so that you’re side by side, facing each other. He pulls you into his chest, his cock still deep inside you.
Logan’s arms wrap around your back, caressing your bare skin, tracing patterns and shapes with his fingertips. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head as you bury your face into his chest.
“Wanna stay inside you,” he mumbles against your hair. “Wanna keep you close.”
“You can,” you whisper, your heart hammering. “Wanna stay close, too.”
He presses another kiss to your head. “I’m not going anywhere,” Logan soothes, his fingers running up and down your spine. “Gonna want you forever.”
You lift your head to look up at him, his eyes immediately meeting yours. “Forever?” You ask, but you know it’s a dumb question. You know he’s telling the truth.
He smiles and nods. “Would’ve waited for you forever,” he says, pausing, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “Never felt this way before, pretty girl. Never felt this real, this perfect. Don’t wanna let you go.”
“Don’t,” you whisper into the darkness of his room. “Please.”
“I won’t,” he coos, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “I won’t.”
His breathing steadies, and you listen to him like you do every night. Your eyes flutter shut, and you drift off to sleep with Logan’s cock deep inside you.
Forever. You think as your mind goes quiet and sleep drags you under. Forever.
Everlong.
tags: @ricefordays-blog1 @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @alsoprettyinpink @figsnpassionfruits @spiderset @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @starrdustss @wittyjasontodd @pedrohoe04 @fanfic-writing-barbie @evasmlp @derbygracie @cosmiccandydreamer @honeyfewr @movhoney @manipulatour @rammakela *I am so sorry if I forgot to tag you*
#Logan Howlett x reader#Wolverine x reader#James Logan Howlett x reader#Logan Howlett x reader smut#Wolverine x reader smut#James Logan Howlett x reader smut#Logan Howlett smut#Wolverine smut#James Logan Howlett smut#Logan Howlett x you#Wolverine x you#James Logan Howlett x you#Logan Howlett friends to lovers#Logan Howlett x you smut#Wolverine x you smut#James Logan Howlett x you smut#Logan Howlett x reader friends to lovers#Logan Howlett imagine#Wolverine imagine#James Logan Howlett imagine#X men imagine#Hugh Jackman#Deadpool and Wolverine#Logan Howlett fluff#Logan Howlett x reader fluff
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simon being protective of his mail order bride scratches all the right spots in my brain.
mail-order bride
you're almost relieved when you hear the knock at the door. you've been a holding a tree pose for a few minutes too long, and the girl hosting the online yoga class is starting to fry your eardrums with her too-perky voice.
you're sweating bullets, and her hair hasn't moved a fucking inch out of her ponytail.
you mute the television, wiping your forehead before making your way to the front door. you open it with a sigh, not really knowing what you expected to see, but it certainly wasn't the average-dressed man standing on the steps there.
you blink, raising a brow when his eyes roam over you, and you realize suddenly that you're wearing workout clothes, which is showing off a little more than you'd like to some rando standing on your doorstep.
"uh..." you look around a little. "i'm sorry, can i help you?"
he smiles. it's a little unnerving.
"right, yeah, i'm starting a business around here, and i wanted to ask if you've been needing any help with any fixtures around the house. i'm giving a 50% discount if you give me a rating on google."
you open your mouth for a moment, frowning.
"uhm..." you shake your head, "sorry. we don't need any help right now."
"you live here alone? sometimes it's hard to spot when the electric's on the piss, y'know? need a keen eye," he laughs, coming up one of the steps. you shake your head again.
"no, thanks."
he's a wiry man, but he's tall (not taller than your husband, but taller than you). you step back a little and start to close the door. he comes up the steps. out of the corner of your eye, you see the cat slip out between your legs, hissing a little as the distance closes between you and the man.
"wait! can i give you my contact info? i don't have a card, but i can leave you my--"
the sound of simon's truck pulling into the garage gets both of you to look behind. simon doesn't even park all the way inside. he throws the truck door open, stepping out of it, and the man on your steps moves back away from you immediately, making his way off the little porch.
simon looks huge, more so than ever. his steps are heavy, boots hitting the ground like a warning bell, and he's wearing just a short-sleeved shirt that's showing off those glorious fucking arms. you have never doubted simon's strength, but he looks like he could flip a car with the anger that's leaving him in heavy waves. you're surprised that you are not afraid; you just know somehow that simon won't touch you.
"oi!" simon yells, and the man definitely understands he picked the wrong fucking house to be a creepy salesman at when his knees nearly buckle as he tries to walk away. "where the fuck do y'think y'r goin', you twat?"
you sigh deeply, not realizing how much you were shaking until you notice your hands trembling around the doorknob. you watch as simon catches the guy by his dirty jean jacket, nearly lifting him completely off his feet as he drags him towards the fence gate.
"hey! hey! i didn't do anything!"
"i saw ya, ya fuckin' arse, know exactly wot the fuck y'were doin'," simon growls, tossing him onto the sidewalk. he hits the pavement with a cry, holding onto his arm, and simon slams the fence gate closed before pointing at him accusingly. "'f i ever see ya anywhere near m'fuckin' house or even askin' m'wife for so much as fuckin' directions, i'll cut y'r bloody prick off, y'hear?"
you blink as simon comes closer, the cat retreating back into the house once they see him. he keeps walking, crowding you back into the house before he shuts and locks the front door. his chest is heaving, black t-shirt doing nothing to hide the puff of his chest and how large he makes himself when he stands up to other men. he doesn't even need to make himself larger; simon takes up enough space for two men combined.
"he touch you?" simon asks, his voice low. you see his fists clench, and you have no doubt that if you said yes, simon would go outside and paint the pavement a new color with the man's face.
you shake your head frantically, and he lets out a deep breath, reaching up and wrapping a hand around the back of your head and pulling you close.
he bends, pressing his masked forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he breathes in slowly. he rubs at the nape of your neck, soothing you, and you smile when he pulls away, giving him those big eyes that say thank you, thank you, thank you.
simon cocks his head, staring behind you, and you turn with him to see the cat blinking slowly at the two of you from it's place on the windowsill.
"should get you a fucking guard dog instead," simon mutters, pulling his mask off and kicking his boots into the corner. you smile as he walks away, trying to cool your warm cheeks with the backs of your hands.
doesn't he know you already have one?
#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost mw2#ghost cod#ghost call of duty#ghost mwii#ghost x reader#cod#call of duty#order up
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suit - Chris Sturniolo
summary: Chris has a wedding he has to get to, but he just looks too good in his suit that you just need to take him before he leaves.
contains: smut, soft dom!chris, stomach bulge, fluff, quick sex, bathroom sex.
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5:47pm
chris walks into the living room with a giddy smile on his face, adjusting his tie as he gives you a little spin.
"wooww, somebody looks dapper!" you grin teasingly, standing up off the couch and walking over to him.
he laughs, "matt had to help me tie this stupid thing." he scoffs, adjusting the black silk tie around his neck.
"you look so good though! i didn't know you even owned a damn suit." i giggle, adjusting the fabric around his shoulders.
"thank you thank you." he smiles, giving you a stupid wink as he tries to act proper.
"when do you have to head off?" i ask, my tone slightly quieter now as i drag my nails down his blazer, the fabric loosely hanging over his waist.
"like, 12 minutes." he says, checking his phone,
i give him a small smirk, the room going quiet.
he stares at me in silence, his arms folded over his chest.
"what do you want?" he asks, chuckling softly as i just continue to smile up at him.
"mmm, you knoww.." i shrug,
i can see it click in brain what i really want, how couldn't i? he just looks so good in his suit.
"when i'm home yeah? we don't have enough time." he whispers, pecking a kiss to my lips.
i shake my head, crossing my leg as i clench my thighs together, trying to soothe the ever-growing ache between my legs.
"please chris, i need it now." i whisper, staring up at him through my lashes with my big round eyes.
"i cant- matt and nick are waiting for me.." chris says, scratching the nape of his neck.
"just- just come." i whisper, grabbing his hand.
i silently pull him down the hallway to the bathroom, opening the door quietly before locking it.
"baby- seriously.." he whispers, hes trying to deny it, but i can see the hunger in his eyes as his eyes travel down my body, looking at the tight tanktop which hugs my curves just perfectly.
i drop down to my knees, fiddling with his belt buckle as i gently slide it off.
"please chris..?" i smile up at him, my tongue darting out to lick my lips.
"fine.. fine- we gotta be real quick though." he sighs,
my grin only grows as i unbutton his pants and slide them down his legs,
he's left standing in his black calvin klein boxers, an obvious tent forming.
i tug them down his legs aswell, his semi-hard erection springing out.
i take him in my hand, my fingers barely able to close around his girth,
he shakes his head, grabbing my hand and pulling me up off my knees.
"don't have enough time for that baby." he whispers, his voice hoarse and croaky.
he lifts me up and sits me on the counter, his hands instantly going for the waistband of my shorts and tugging them off.
he tuts, "no panties f'me?" he grins,
my cheeks heat up as i nod, "sorry.."
"'nah, don't gotta apologise for that sweetheart." he mutters, dragging a finger through my folds.
i let out a sharp gasp,
on a normal day, chris would tease me until im on the verge of tears, but today, he has to be quick.
"gonna be real quiet for me?" he asks softly, positioning his tip with my leaking hole.
i nod frantically, "yes- yes chris, promise." i mumble,
he suddenly slams his cock into me, i feel every single inch enter me at an ungodly pace.
he doesn't waste time to start thrusting, hard.
despite my earlier promise about being quiet, its pratically impossible now, i let out loud moans. his tip is abusing my cervix, his cock showing through my belly.
"oh baby, feel me right there?" he whispers, dragging his cold fingers over my tummy.
i nod with a strangled cross between a whine and a moan,
chris instantly shoves two fingers in my mouth.
thats hot.
my moans are muffled and almost silenced by his long fingers resting on my tongue, i close my eyes as i grip the counter top for dear life, the force of his thrusts nearly making me shift off.
"hurry up baby, gotta cum for me." he mutters under his breath, shifting his spare hand down to my clit,
he rubs quick circles on my clit, i feel my whole abdomen tightening as my orgasm rapidly approaches.
my head falls forward onto chris's shoulder, biting down on the fabric in a weak attempt to silence myself.
"good girll.. so good." he whispers into my ear,
i finally tip over the edge, my stomach dropping as i clench around his cock, i bite down on his shoulder hard as i orgasm, hard.
he thrusts into me a few more times before burying his cock deep, his release spilling out inside of me.
he quickly slides out of me, both of us panting as we lock eyes.
his cheeks are now flushed and his hair is messy, but he still looks somewhat presentable.
"you- you okay?" he asks, dragging his middle finger through my folds and pushing his cum back inside of me.
i gasp with a nod,
he reaches down and checks his phone,
"shit baby, matt and nick are waiting for me in the car, i gotta go." he mumbles, tugging up his boxers and suit pants, fastening the belt around his hips.
i let out a small groan in response,
"im sorry sweetie- dont wanna have to leave you here all messy but i literally cannot be any more late." he sighs, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
he goes to turn away but i stop him.
"wait-" i giggle,
he turns back to look at me,
i call him over as i stare at his shoulder,
his blazer shoulder his completely damp from my pathetic attempts to muffle them on it,
i reach out and wipe the fabric free of my spit, "sorry." i grin
chris laughs, "you're good, it was better than you screaming out into the house and alerting matt and nick that im indeed not taking a shit."
i giggle loudly, "youre grossss."
"youre gross!! you've got my 'fuckin cum leaking down your legs."
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@sturnsdoll @obvisturns @stupid4sturniolo @meerkatzthings @witchofthehour @rosalierenee43 @gabrielle-brun1 @ilovemymannnnnnnn @sturnioloxlver @buckys-goodgirl @sturniol0s @ilovemymannnnnnn n @chr1sgirl4life @luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow w @mattfangirl girl @luvr4miya @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney @lovingchrissposts @333michelle e @h3arts4harry @jamiesturniolo o @chrisstopherfilmed @ @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @ev3rgreenxtrees @certifiednatelover er @solarsturniolo larsturniolo lo @mattsenthusiast t @yomamaslays4lyfe @peachmels @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc @mattscoquette e @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @bitchydragonparadise @sturni0l0tripletzz @ratatioulle @sturnsfav @mattsonlybitch @justalittle47 @sunsetsturniolos @sturniolo04 @similartokayyz @sturnsintrouble @ilovemattsturn @raysmayhem-72 @75sturn @sturniol0s @secret-sturniolo @hfkeclnendmwodne @sturniolosass @gxldenlush @stonermattsgf @101saroona a @beccaluvschris @oliviasturniolo21 1 @imwetforyourmom @tylerstacobell @sunsetsturniolos @aliceloveschris @jayz4dayz 4 @sassysturniolo2008 @nyktoxs-lover r @nathandoesgf @starsturns234 @chrissturnsss s @joemamaaa42069 @sturnthepot @zayyluvz @realuvrrr @livialifesblog @sturnioloblogs @riowritesitall john @raysmayhem-72
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Calm Before the Storm
Hwang Jun-ho x wife!reader
Summary: After your husband's disappearance, he starts to act different.
Warning: Angst, disappearance, gunshot wound, head injury, hospitals, mention of death, marital conflict, mention of divorce, guns
6k words
The worst day of your life happened after one of your husband’s work trips. He said that his team had gotten a lead on what might have happened to his brother and that he had to investigate. That was par for the course, every couple months there would be another potential lead on where your brother-in-law could be, but every couple months Jun-ho would be sorely disappointed.
This time was different. He said he would be gone for a couple of days, and that he didn’t know if he would be able to get in contact. He left for one day, and then two, then more. His department panicked, apparently, it wasn’t a work trip and one of their detectives went missing. After a week his picture was on the nightly news, and after 10 days you were doing interviews begging for anyone who had any information to step forward. His mother came to sleep at your apartment, and she said she just wanted to help out with her daughter-in-law, but you could hear her sobs in the middle of the night through the thin walls between your bedroom and the guest room.
At 5 AM, a week after Jun-ho’s disappearance, you got a call. They had found him. He was in a specialized emergency hospital on the outskirts of Seoul, and he was in a coma. You rushed to your car with your mother-in-law and broke speed limits that Jun-ho would never let you break when he was in the car with you.
The hospital parking lot was nearly empty. The lobby was quiet when you walked in, and the front desk woman almost looked shocked when she saw two women with deep circles under their eyes and hair sticking in every direction. Honestly, you couldn’t care less. She was the receptionist at a hospital, if that was the craziest thing she’d seen she was in for a rude awakening when an actual patient came up to her desk.
She quickly directed you to his hotel room, on the 3rd floor, where his supervisor was already waiting. Time seemed to slow down as you rode the elevator. It couldn’t have taken longer than 20 seconds, but it felt like years. What if he was dying? What if he didn’t wake up? What if he was getting worse? Your thoughts kept racing, and you and Jun-ho’s mother couldn’t share a single word between the two of you between all of the panic going on inside your heads.
The floor was so quiet you could hear the squeak of a nurse’s shoes down the hallway. You should’ve run to your husband's bedside, but you couldn’t. You took one step at a time, terrified of what might await you. His supervisor stepped out the door and closed it. He looked at you with tired eyes. “Mrs. Hwang, Mrs. Park, I’m glad you could make it.”
“How’s my husband?” Formalities could wait. Formalities could go to hell.
He sighed, and your heart skipped several beats. “How is he?!” Jun-ho’s mother yelled.
“He’s okay, he seems to be mostly stable, but I-” He raised his hand and scratched the back of his head, looking away at the ground, “I gotta be honest. He’s not great. He was shot and fell from a high distance into water. He passed out in the water and the doctors think he breathed in water and fell unconscious. They’re not sure of the extent of brain damage because he hasn’t woken up, but the lack of oxygen to his brain likely caused some sort of impact. There’s more, but they would only tell me the basics because I’m not family.”
You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. What if he didn’t wake up? What if he did and he wasn’t the same? Memories of the last night you spent together raced through your head. It had been a long exhausting day, and he somehow knew how terrible it had been. He brought takeout home and made an extra stop to get your favorite dessert from a bakery. He set the food down on the kitchen table and immediately made his way to you on the couch, leaned down, and kissed you until you needed to come up for air. You turned off the tv and sat on the couch for hours, eating and talking and eventually fucking. Right before you went to bed he told you that he was going on the trip tomorrow, and you just smiled and nodded, thinking it was going to be like all the other times.
You pushed past the sergeant and walked into your husband’s room. His bed was separated from an empty one by a curtain. You couldn’t feel your own feet as you walked towards it, and it almost felt like your hand wasn’t moving at all when you pushed past the curtain.
Jun-ho looked like death. There was a tube shoved in his throat and his skin was so pale it looked translucent, the blue of his veins showing through on his arm next to an IV. The circles under his eyes were deep and dark, and he was in a neck brace, with his head bandaged.
It felt like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs. The second his mother saw him, she collapsed at his side and laid her body over his legs. Her cries were guttural and came from something that must’ve broken inside of her. “My baby, my baby. I lost one son, I’ll die if I lose another.”
You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t cry. You sunk to a chair at his side and reached out for his hand. He was so cold. His skin felt like he had just been taken out of the ocean minutes before, and his heart rate was so slow it felt like it was second between beats.
You didn’t hear the doctor come into the room until he spoke. Jun-ho’s mother looked up and stared at him like he was an angel, but you couldn’t look away from your husband’s unmoving body.
“Mrs. Hwang, can I talk to you about your husband’s condition?” You didn’t move, his mother had to beg the doctor to continue speaking. “He was shot in his left shoulder, luckily the bullet didn’t hit any vital organs, but because of the time between the injury and his arrival at the hospital, he lost a significant amount of blood. We think he hit the water head-first, and the impact caused his neck to break, luckily, there was no spinal cord damage. We induced him into a coma once he reached the hospital, so unfortunately we aren’t able to tell the extent of the damage unless he wakes.”
Your mother and law stood up “Unless? What do you mean by unless?!” she screamed. “My son is not going to die, do you hear me?!”
You felt broken, Jun-ho had to wake up, he had to. You didn’t care if he couldn’t walk, or speak, but he had to wake up.
You could hear fists banging against the doctor’s chest, but you didn’t turn around. Just kept staring at your husband’s pale face, and pale hands.
The hospital had apparently received a large grant during COVID to expand, and when the pandemic had died down they became designated only for acute emergency cases and recovery care, and many rooms were kept vacant. The staff let you stay in the other bed in his room, and there was a shower attached to the room, designed for patients in long-term recovery and their family members. The hospital had a small cafeteria that made shockingly delicious Korean food, and they delivered the meals to the room three times a day. Before long, you became used to the tired routine of late-night check-ups and tired smiles from the nurses urging you to go home and rest. You were terrified that if you left the hospital Jun-ho would die before you could get back, but you couldn’t tell the nurses that. You just told the nurses that your house was far away and it was more convenient to stay at the hospital as opposed to making the commute or getting a hotel room.
It was three weeks before Jun-ho moved. In that time, you hadn’t left the hospital once. He squeezed your hand while you were holding it, and at first, you thought you imagined it. You called the doctor, and she said she would keep an eye on it, but not to get your hopes up- apparently twitching was normal in coma patients. Several hours later you felt the squeeze again, and when you looked up, you saw Jun-ho’s eyes open the slightest bit.
It was like a month’s worth of fear and pain cascaded over in a heartbeat, and you collapsed on his chest in broken sobs, staring up at your husband. His mother was there, and she leaned over at him, pleading his name. He stared at you for as long as he could, until his eyes closed again, his eyelids twitching like he wanted them to stay open. Once his eyes closed your hand was still holding his in a tight grip, and you reached open to press the button again.
In the next couple of days, he went in and out of consciousness at increasing intervals. The first moment where you felt like you could breathe again came a week after he first squeezed your hand, when you awoke from sleeping laying on his lap while you sat in the chair to the sound of gagging. You heard his heartbeat increase and saw his throat convulse and his eyes flash open as he fought his breathing tube.
You immediately pressed the call button for the nurse, and when they took too long you went out into the hallway and screamed for a nurse. There were only a couple of patients on his hall, and they could go screw themselves if they thought their sleep was more important than your husband's choking. The nurse and doctor came running and closed the door on you. Within a couple of minutes the nurse opened the door, and let you step inside. The doctor tried to talk to you, but you couldn’t hear anything she was saying as you walked past her toward your husband’s side.
“Baby,” Jun-ho whispered. His voice was hoarse and broken, and you could feel tears streaming down your face.
“Honey, you’re- you’re here.” You cried more and more, and he painfully reached his arm up to you.
“It’s okay (y/n), I was never going anywhere, I’m here.” You tucked your head into his neck and sobbed into his hospital gown.
He stroked your hair slowly until his hand rested on the back of your head. You looked up to see that he had fallen back asleep, exhausted from the ordeal of choking on his breathing tube. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, wet from a single tear rolling down his face, and tucked your head back down to fall asleep again.
You woke up to a nurse gently shaking you away, informing you that you had to sleep in the other bed to prevent infection. You wanted to fight her for doing her job, but obliged. You fell back asleep quickly, too tired to stay awake because of the crying you had just finished doing.
“(Y/n).” You awoke to a quiet voice, blinking your eyes because of the bright sunlight streaming through the window. You immediately looked over at Jun-ho to see your fiance with his head turned looking at you.
“Jun-ho.” You stood up, stumbling out of bed in the clothes you had to have been wearing for at least a couple of days before now, and went over to kiss him on the lips, the same way he had the last time you had seen him before he went missing. He reciprocated with more force than you thought someone who hadn’t moved any part of his body in a month could.
“I missed you so much honey, I couldn’t breathe for so long.” He smiled and wiped a tear off of your face.
“I know baby, but I’m here now, I’m here.” He looked at you with so much love and life in his eyes, exactly what you had been missing for the past month.
“I was so scared Jun-ho, first I couldn’t find you, and then once I did I- I wasn’t sure.” You paused, another tear streaming down your face. “I wasn’t sure you would make it.” You whispered.
“I know (y/n), and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“You- you got shot. You fell from really high into the water far out in the ocean. You have no idea how scared I was.”
His brow furrowed painfully before he suddenly pulled his head back and winced. “Jun-ho, Jun-ho? Are you okay?!”
You frantically pushed the call button and within seconds there was a team of doctors and nurses entering the room. They slowed slightly when they saw the scene in front of them, and quickly determined there was no immediate danger, and quickly began examining him and asking you both questions. Once the rest of the group left, Jun-ho’s main doctor sat in a chair to explain the situation to the both of you.
She explained what the team had seen when they had checked Jun-ho over, and explained the need for another set of scans to ensure there was no serious brain injury. “We also will need to call the police back to the hospital, because of the gunshot wound.”
Jun-ho froze, and his back grew stiff. “Baby, what’s wrong?” You rested your hand in his grip, tightening it around his.
“Nothing’s wrong, just nervous about the tests.” He squeezed your hand back and smiled up at you at your position sitting next to him on the bed. His body remained stiff, and your brow furrowed in confusion. He was likely traumatized and in pain, both physically and mentally.
Once the doctor left, you apprehensively asked him “Honey, I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but… What happened when you were gone, with the fall, and the gunshot wound?”
He looked away from you and glanced out the window. He paused, “I don’t know. I don’t remember what happened.”
You leaned in and squeezed his hand again. “It’s okay if you do, I just want to help you.”
He remained looking out the window, until he looked back at you, something tight across his eyes. “I really don’t know, can we please talk about something else. I’m going to get enough of that from my coworkers later anyways.” He laughed, but the tightness across his face remained the same.
Smiling a similar tight smile, you squeezed his hand back. “Okay. Just, let me know if you remember anything.”
“Now, is there anything I can do to help you?”
“Jun-ho, I’m not the one who just woke up from a coma, that’s my line!” Jun-ho smiled a real smile, and you copied him, smiling your first genuine smile in weeks.
After the tests, you wheeled Jun-ho in a wheelchair back into his hospital room, where you were greeted by his boss sitting in your usual chair next to his bedside. He stood up to greet you, “Detective! It’s so good to see you awake again!” He bowed to Jun-ho, and your husband nodded his head in return.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but do you think we could do the interview now? Just so we don’t get more in the way of you and your lovely wife.” He smiled, but there was anxiety furrowing his brow. He was clearly using many tactics that you watched Jun-ho explain that the police force used on victims and their families.
Jun-ho smiled back, “of course.” He looked up at you and smiled a similar tight smile towards you. “Honey, do you think you could go and get some coffee from downstairs for us?”
You nodded, unsure of what to do as you could clearly tell that the coffee run was just an excuse to get you out of the room. “Of course.” There wasn’t anything you could do about it, and confronting your husband about something he is clearly not ready to talk about would certainly not be a solution. “Officer, would you like me to get you anything?”
He waved you off and you hesitantly exited the room to go downstairs.
Due to the emptiness of the hospital, it didn’t take you long to go down to the cafeteria, pick up some coffee for you and Jun-ho, and come back upstairs. When you reached the floor that the room was on, you hesitated, noticing that the door was cracked and the sounds of him and his boss were still quietly filtering out into the hallway.
You debated for a second staying and eavesdropping, but your moral compass won out in the end. Whatever it was, Jun-ho was clearly not ready to tell you. You didn’t want to betray his trust, and eventually, he would share it with you. The two of you had no secrets between you. If there ever was a night when Jun-ho would have to stay later at work, or was suddenly asked to hang out by his friends, he would call you immediately and tell you what was going on and when he would probably be home. Not that you necessarily needed him to, you trusted him, but he insisted that he never wanted you to worry after him. You did the same in turn, even though your job was far less demanding than his and plans came up far less sporadically for you than they did for him.
As you walked away, you heard a sliver of the conversation “hundreds… shot.” It made you pause in your step. You must’ve misheard. Maybe he had said something else. Maybe you were too sleep-deprived and stressed to think clearly. Still, you turned those words around in your head as you sat in a chair in the hallway next to the nurse’s station.
If you hadn’t misheard- if; what would it mean? Did Jun-ho have a brain injury that didn’t turn up on scans that makes him misremember what happened? Or- or was he telling the truth? Your husband wasn’t a liar, he was the perfect detective because of his strict moral compass, so that must mean… That must mean that if there was no brain injury, and if you didn’t mishear, wherever Jun-ho was he had watched hundreds of people die.
You heard a knock on the doorframe, “Mrs. Hwang, we’re done with the interview.”
You stood up and walked toward the door when the other detective put his hand on your shoulder while his face grimaced. “I hope everything works out well for the two of you, I really do.” With that foreboding line of encouragement, he walked past you and towards the elevator.
When you entered the room, Jun-ho smiled at you. “(Y/n).” You walked towards him and kissed his forehead, handing him the cup of coffee.
Kissing his forehead, you asked, “How did it go? Are you alright?”
Jun-ho’s brow creased, but he smiled back at you still. “It went well, I just told him that I didn’t know anything.”
That didn’t make sense. You had to have been gone for at least 20 minutes, there was no way those 15 minutes were filled with the other detective asking questions that your husband kept saying no to.
“I’ll have to go into the station later on after I’m discharged and give a longer more formal statement, but for now they’ll leave us alone.”
“Great, I’m glad to have you all to myself.” You leaned over and kissed him on the lips again. You trusted him, and whatever it was that he wasn’t telling you, he would open up about soon.
He didn’t. After another 2 weeks, the hospital was completely sure there were no long-standing effects. Besides having to regularly come in for check-ups and to carefully not hurt the shoulder where he was shot, miraculously there were no other serious effects.
You had finally gone back into the apartment after he woke up, although you weren’t happy about going back when it was lifeless due to Jun-ho’s absence. By the time he was discharged, the apartment was dust-free, and you made sure that everything was the same as it had been when he had first gone missing.
In the past couple of weeks, Jun-ho had been too calm. He was casual about just about everything. He was smiling, and making jokes, like nothing had ever happened. But, underneath it all, you could tell something was different. When you’ve been with someone for so long, had exchanged wedding vows, and slept in the same bed for years, you just knew them. You knew your husband, and something was off about him. He refused to go to sleep in the hospital room with the door open, and every time you came or went he would make you close the door behind you. He insisted that you spent the night in the hotel room with him (not that you were complaining) even when he was far out of the danger zone. On the car ride home from the hospital he would check the mirrors every time he thought you weren’t looking.
There was something completely off about him, he seemed paranoid, and for the first time in your relationship besides his brother’s disappearance- scared. But every time you would ask him what was wrong, he would just smile and say “I’m alright, just adjusting.”
You carried all of your stuff to the apartment, insisting on doing so even though your stubborn husband wanted to carry luggage even with a bullet recently being removed from his shoulder. But, when you left the elevator and were about to go into the apartment, he stopped you by putting his hand out.
“Baby, I just want to get inside. This is heavy.” You complained.
“I know, just- just give me a minute. I want to check something.” He silently turned the key to your small apartment, took off both his shoes, and stepped inside. He pulled up his pant leg slightly and took out a gun that you didn’t even notice was there.
“Jun-ho!”
He turned back to you and put his finger to his lips, shushing you. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
He closed the door behind him, and you stood there shocked. You knew something was wrong, but you didn’t expect him to take out a gun and search your home.
In a couple of minutes, he came back out. “What the hell Jun-ho? What was that!”
“It was nothing, I’m sorry.” He put the gun back away.
“Why would you search our house? You’ve never done that before. Seriously Jun-ho, what’s going on?” You shouted, exasperated by him saying one thing and acting in a completely opposite way.
“It’s nothing.” He sighed, “I’m sorry (y/n), I’m just scared. It’s been a while since I’ve been out of the hospital, so I’m nervous.” He leaned in and gave you a hug, which you reciprocated. But still, that wasn’t the whole truth.
“I think you should see someone Jun-ho, this isn’t normal.” You said into your husband’s chest.
“(Y/n), I’m fine. I promise.” You leaned your head up and kissed him again.
The first week back was difficult. Jun-ho seemed terrified of just about everything around him. The both of you barely left the house, and when you did his hand held yours in a tight grip.
Your job had given you an extended leave to take care of Jun-ho, but your leave was ending in a few weeks once the two-month mark passed.
You were laying in bed one night, Jun-ho tracing circles on your shoulder as you spooned after making love. “Jun-ho, I’m worried about you.”
He kissed your shoulder, “what about?” He said casually.
You rolled over to face him. “About everything, you’ve been so scared and stressed. I don’t know what’s going to happen once I go back to work.”
He propped his head on his hand as he laid on his side, “I know, I’m sorry. I’m starting to feel better. I’m sorry I’ve been so paranoid lately.”
You sighed, “I want you to see someone Jun-ho. I don’t want this to fester and fester.”
He sighed, “I know (y/n), I promise it’ll get better soon. I talked to the chief today, I’ll go back to work next week.”
You shot up in bed, “two weeks? Babe, that isn’t nearly enough time. You still can’t lift anything heavier than a paper clip with your left arm.”
Jun-ho reached back towards you and stroked your arm. “Well good thing I’m right-handed.” He smirked.
Tilting your head, you just looked back at your husband anxiously. “Jun-ho this is serious. You aren’t ready to go back to work.”
“(Y/n), please trust me. This will all be over soon, okay?” He looked at you pleadingly. He didn’t want you to drop it or ignore it, he wanted you to- trust him? There was a secret, but he clearly didn’t want you to know it, and just to wait.
Sighing, you said, “Okay, I’ll wait.” You didn’t know what else to say. You couldn’t make him tell you the truth, and he wanted you to not push it. There was nothing to do. “But I really want you to talk to someone.”
He leaned in to kiss you, and right before he touched your lips, he said “Okay, I will; for you.” Then he closed the distance and kissed you until you needed to come up for air.
Your house was quieter after you both went back to work. When Jun-ho came home from work he would make his way next to you on the couch, lay down, and put his head on your lap. It was nice at first, after so much stress you could simply relax and enjoy each other's company.
Soon after getting home, he would get tired. Sometimes falling asleep on your lap.
After a month of him getting back to work, you were exhausted from the silence. It became oppressive. You grew tired of the same routine, and how your husband never quite grew less paranoid. He became better at hiding it, attaching cameras and extra locks around your house under the guise of burglaries in the building that you had never heard of. He would stand up from his crouch install the locks and wrap his arms around you, kissing you and telling you that he just wanted you to be safe.
Before his accident, he would wake up every morning and make breakfast for the both of you, insisting that it was the most important meal of the day. After the accident, he started to make lunch as well, and whenever you suggested that you go out for dinner, he smiled and told you that he enjoyed your cooking so much more.
Then, after 3 months, he came home completely exhausted. It was later than usual, and you stayed up late to greet him, completely concerned by his lack of response to any of your texts. “Jun-ho, where the hell were you? Are you okay?!” You ran up to him as soon as he opened the door, looking him up and down for any injuries.
“No, I’m fine.” He smiled a lopsided and insincere smile at you. He smelled like alcohol.
“Were you drinking?” You demanded.
“Me and my coworkers went out for a couple of bottles of soju after work, nothing much.” He shook off his shoes and went to hug you.
You pulled away, “why didn’t you tell me? We always tell each other these things.”
“Baby, I had a long, long day, let’s not do this right now.”
“No, we have to do this right now, what happened? You’ve been so strange lately, and you never went to talk to someone like you said you would.” You paused, tears beginning to well up in your eyes, “I’m really concerned for you. I want you to get tested for PTSD.”
He stepped closer to you, “I don’t have PTSD, I just had a long day.” You didn’t move. He sighed, “(Y/n), please, I’m exhausted. Can we do this tomorrow?”
You didn’t say anything but didn’t move when he closed the distance between you to pull you into a tight hug. You finally reciprocated, pulling him closer, when you heard silent sniffling from next to your ear. In a heartbeat, you felt a drop of wetness on your shoulder.
The next day, Jun-ho quit being a detective. After he started crying, he pretended like nothing had happened, got silent, and took a shower before going to bed. You barely spoke another word the rest of the night, but after he thought you went to sleep you could feel him trace circles on your shoulder.
He told you as soon as he got home that being a detective was too much work for him after the accident, and he tired more easily, but you didn’t buy it for a second.
“Jun-ho, you love your job, why would you quit? Do you want to go back on leave?” You pleaded at your husband.
He smiled back at you, “Of course I love my job, it’s only temporary.” And he leaned in to kiss you on the lips.
Temporary. Although your better judgment told you otherwise, you put all your faith in that one little word. Temporary, this, like everything else making your husband act so different, would pass.
Jun-ho came home late the next day. Then the next. The first you waited up for him, sitting at the dinner table, your food growing cold. When your husband came in, he didn’t smell like alcohol, he simply kissed you on the forehead and sat down across from you, not confronting his tardiness. You cried yourself to sleep that night, with your husband laying stiff as a board next to you, unsure of what to do.
The next night, when he was late, you didn’t bother to wake up. You left his food in the fridge and went to bed early, tears streaming down your face. You were still awake when he came into bed but pretended to be asleep. You could feel the bed shaking from his silent sobs.
The next month went on in the same way, with the only escape from the monotony of your miserable silence being Jun-ho’s one day off. On that one day, you would pretend that you didn’t have any problems, that you were a normal couple who would go walking through the cherry trees and go out drinking together late at night. You went on a double date with one of your coworkers and her husband and sat awkwardly through one of their arguments. It wasn’t the same, but having some bit of refuge away from your stress was a lifesaver.
But even that changed. One day, you decided to go kayaking out in the bay, and while you were out in the water, Jun-ho stopped for a minute. There was a gap in your conversation, and during it, your husband stopped paddling.
“Babe, are you alright?”
He looked up at you as if startled. “Yeah, I’m alright.” He paused, “Would it be okay if we went back, I need to do something important.”
“Um, yeah sure. What is it?” You hesitantly asked.
“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” Your face sank. Every question you asked your husband ended with him saying ‘It’s nothing,’ no matter how big of a deal it likely was.
A couple of days later, when your husband came home late again, he told you that he would be busy on his day off and that a friend of his needed help on his boat. You just smiled and nodded, because what else could you really do?
Then he was busy the next weekend, and then the next, and the next. You only really saw your husband for a couple of minutes in the morning, and a couple of minutes in the night. Sometimes, you were able to make time. Sometimes, you would go out for a nice dinner, or go out to a friend’s party for the holidays. On your birthday he took the whole day off work and planned every single thing you would do all day. He made breakfast, took you shopping in the morning, went out to a nice lunch, took you out to the countryside to the ocean, and bought you lunch in your favorite tiny spot next to the shore. It was like for just 24 hours you had your husband back.
But other than that, it was like living with a ghost. He got more and more stressed over time. He smiled the same amount, but even with taking a demotion to a regular cop, he was getting worse and worse over time. He felt tenser, and more on edge than he had ever been before.
Every night you would fall asleep crying, you became used to waking up with a wet pillow or having to look at your puffy eyes when you wiped the condensation off the mirror after crying in the shower. Whenever Jun-ho saw the tears, whether you were laying in bed or cooking dinner on one of the rare nights that he came home early would wrap you in a hug from behind, and say, “I’m so sorry honey, I promise this will pass.”
And you would plead, “Please honey, please, just tell me what’s happening, please be here more.”
And he would press his head into your back and whisper, “I can’t, I’m sorry. I love you.”
Your hopes would drop all over again, “I love you too.”
It was three years before anything changed. You would constantly beg him to do anything, to see someone, to talk to you, to do anything. Your friends asked you if he was cheating, but you knew he wasn’t. You knew, somehow that whatever was happening, was big, and important. And that it was eating you and your husband alive.
You didn’t see him for three days. He answered all of your texts with “Just something for work, I’ll be home soon. I love you.” Nothing else. No explanation for anything.
You slept on the couch and stayed there when you were awake, racked with anxiety. When he finally came home you sat there staring straight ahead. He didn’t speak.
You had pictured a fight, a confrontation. You had begged and pleaded, with tears in your eyes before. But nothing had happened. And after almost four years, you didn’t have any energy left.
“I want a divorce.” You surprised yourself with the words.
You looked up at him, and he stood there, his expression unreadable.
“If you can’t tell me what the hell is going on, tomorrow I’m going to a lawyer.”
He stumbled toward you and dropped to his knees in front of you, “(Y/n), please. You just have to trust me. This, this’ll all be over soon. I know I’ve said it before, but this time I mean it, soon it’ll be just like before.”
You looked into your husband’s eyes which were beginning to fill with tears. “I don’t believe you.”
“Baby, please. I can’t tell you, I really can’t.” His head dropped, breaking eye contact as you saw a tear fall down to reach the floor. He whispered, “If- if you know the truth, I don’t know what’ll happen to you. And I can’t risk that. I- I’ve risked everything else. But I can’t risk you.”
You couldn’t cry, your tears were all dried up. You should be shocked by what he was saying, but your mind went back to what you heard him say from outside that hospital room years ago “Hundreds… Shot.”
“I know, I’ve known. I know that you remember, and I know that it’s related to when you went missing. I just need you to trust me. I can’t do this anymore.”
He looks up at you, grabbing your hands and wrapping his around yours. “I know, I’m so sorry, but I need you to just wait a little bit longer-”
You stood up. “I think you should leave.”
“(Y/n), please.”
You walked away from him, towards your bedroom. “(Y/n), I love you.”
“I love you.” And then you heard the door shut.
As you lay in bed, you couldn’t help but feel empty, like your heart had been torn out of your chest. The brutal calm you had been through was over, but storm had just begun.
Part two will be out with the next season, stay tuned for more!
#hwang jun ho#fanfiction#squid game#squid game x reader#hwang jun-ho#hwang junho x reader#squid game s2#squid game season 2#squid game 2 spoilers#wi ha joon#wi ha jun#hwang jun-ho x reader#netflix squid game#squid game x you#squid game x y/n#korean drama#kdrama#netflix#netflix x reader#jun ho#jun ho x reader#the squid game#the squid game x reader#jun ho squid game#squid game fanfic#squid games#the squid games#squid game imagine#squid game 2#korean drama x reader
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INTRO ⋆ 정국
you’re jeongguk’s secret santa this year, so you give him the best gift he’ll ever receive.
⋆⁺₊❅. 1/6 from christmas & chill
pairing virgin!jk x fem reader
genre smut, fluff, friends to lovers, first time
warnings painfully oblivious jk, even more painfully oblivious oc, mutual pining unlike anything you’ve seen, jk being a hot nerd ceo who’s loaded rich and unaware of his potential, please imagine him as nam joohyuk in start up, oc just creaming her pants for jk, hand job, lowk strip tease, dry humping, nipple play (m&f), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, jk is so needy and impatient but also very polite, smut is kinda rushed because well… it’s his first time! sawrry! also i open gifts on xmas eve please don’t come for me and my traditions (it’s lich just because i’m impatient)
word count 8.3k
author’s note hello hello hello!!! i’m so nervy to post this because it’s what finally inaugurates c&c!!!! i hope it can be a pleasing (intro)duction to the series hehe… either way you’ll get something totally better from miss lyssa tomorrow so stay tuned Wink 🩷 luv u always
banner by the talented @awrkive ⟡ ݁₊ .
Secret Santas have become the only way you’ve been able to deal with Christmas. When it comes to gift-giving, you’re embarrassed to admit that creativity in that department doesn’t exactly come naturally to you.
You try your best, truly. But you either end up going over budget, striving to please all your loved ones with unnecessarily expensive gifts which will only leave you with empty hands and an empty wallet, or having your brain completely stop working, if not to come up with the most basic and useless options that will get you forced smiles and polite nods in fake recognition.
It’s exhausting, demoralizing, and frankly, a recipe for holiday burnout.
So when two years ago, on the brink of giving up entirely and seriously contemplating hibernating through winter, your dear friend Jimin swooped in and suggested Secret Santa, it completely reshaped your next Christmases.
Exactly a month before Christmas Eve, you reunite over drinks and food at Jeongguk’s house to draw names. His place always ends up as the default spot for dinners, movie nights, or even football matches. Those don’t usually get the attention of everybody, especially of some of the girls, and it wouldn’t get yours either.
But you never skip game night. Correction, you never miss an excuse to be in Jeongguk’s space, even if it means sitting through 90 minutes of men chasing a ball on a screen. After all, you’re never truly paying attention, always stealing glances at the boy who seems almost even more uninterested than you.
It’s about witnessing him in his house— which, truthfully, is more of a mansion. The spacious, cozy interiors mirror a part of him that’s hard to miss: his perfectionist side, the one that likes to keep things understated but can’t help leaving subtle, telling marks of his presence on everything he touches, is woven into every corner.
Over time, you’ve naturally come to associate the place with holidays, laughter, and celebrations that fill you with a sense of belonging. Being here, surrounded by your closest friend, makes you feel profoundly grateful.
And there’s so many traces of you all, too. The faint wine stain on Jeongguk’s carpet that is only still noticeable if you squint, the one that spilled from your glass when Hoseok’s jokes had you laughing too hard; the long, slim scratch on the kitchen door, courtesy of Eunbi, who thought learning how to balance glasses on her forehead would get one of her coworkers to finally fall for her; the wobbly vase on the coffee table that was knocked over during one of Jimin’s overly enthusiastic attempts to kick a water bottle open.
Watching Jeongguk deal with the chaos you all force into his space might be another big reason why you love being here. It seems to squeeze out his most genuine reactions and quirks, and you can’t help biting your lips at those, almost pornographically so.
For someone who works so hard to appear composed, and who’s also extremely shy and reserved, Jeongguk is hilariously transparent when things don’t go his way. Brows furrowed, as if that’s where he keeps all his control. Although, no matter how flustered he gets, Jeongguk almost never gets choleric. His instinct is never to lash out but to scramble, a picture of barely contained stress insisting that everything is fine.
And the more he insists, the more you find yourself wishing it wasn’t fine. Sometimes, you want to see him lose it— especially at you.
You’ve tried, too. You’ve pushed boundaries, done little things to test the limits of his patience, all for the slim possibility of seeing him crack, just for you. But it never works. The best you get is an awkward smile, maybe a quiet laugh. It’s not nothing, but it’s not what you want, either.
You don’t think you’ve ever felt this crazy about someone before. Not in the way where everything he does sends your brain spinning with possibilities. It’s maddening. His obliviousness is maddening.
Chiefly tonight, when you’re trying extra hard to keep it under control, the whole group gathering in a circle around the bowl that holds all your names, each one carefully folded into a little square, waiting to be drawn.
But when your slim fingers brush against one of the many crumpled pieces of paper and decide your fate, you send a small prayer to whoever might be listening. Please, don’t let it be Jeongguk.
It doesn’t really come off as a coherent request, especially considering how much your body has betrayed you tonight. Your thighs have been pressing together most of the evening, a subconscious reaction every time your gaze wandered — lingered — on Jeongguk’s lower half. Those low, slouchy grey sweatpants, hanging effortlessly off his narrow hips, have been the source of many inappropriate thoughts that you wish would make you grow some shame within yourself. Instead, they only make you grow hotter in your seat.
No, you would love to be Jeongguk’s Secret Santa with the blatant, embarrassingly huge crush you have on him. You think you’d be happy about it in any other universe, except this one.
Jeongguk is difficult. And not because he’s ever been argumentative, looking to start quarrels, never willing to agree or see past his nose. He’s far from those. He’s one of the easiest people to be around, rarely judgmental, even when you were drunk off your mind and you jokingly grinded on very-gay Jimin to make up for your lack of sexual activity. On those occasions, you didn't exactly see judgement in his eyes. Just reticence. Maybe. It wasn’t clear.
What is clear is that Jeongguk is incredibly particular. He’s picky about what he likes and even more so about what he doesn’t, though dislike might be too soft a word. When he hates something, it’s impossible not to know. He doesn’t even try to mask his disappointment.
It’s not malicious, of course. He’s not the type to be spiteful. It’s just how he is, an open book, his expressions giving him away without fail.
It’s one of the many reasons you love watching him, other than hoping your eyes would telepathically convey your undying desire to fuck him and cuddle him close to your chest afterwards. But most of the time, studying the shifts in his features is a way for you to decipher what he’s thinking.
And that’s why this moment feels so high-stakes. The last thing you want is to be on the receiving end of one of Jeongguk’s polite smiles or barely-there nods of acknowledgment, the kind he gives when he’s unimpressed. It would crush you, the ultimate failure in your short-lived career as a gift-giver.
It’s not just that he’s hard to please. Jeongguk is also the last person who seems to need anything. He’s loaded, his success as a game developer has afforded him a life where anything he wants is within reach. And yet, despite his wealth, there’s no arrogance about him. If you didn’t know him so well, you might think he was just another college student scraping by.
Who else but Jeon Jeongguk could walk around in a hoodie and square glasses, looking like he just rolled out of bed, while being the CEO of his own company?
But, of course, none of this is important. Because as you unfold the piece of paper in your hand, it’s there. Jeongguk.
You don’t think you enjoy Secret Santa as much anymore.
With the bowl continuing its journey around the circle, you spend the rest of the game staring holes into the back of Jeongguk’s head, desperately trying to figure out what in the world you could possibly get him. Your monthly budget feels laughable in comparison to his lifestyle, but you’re already prepared to go way over it if that’s what it takes to impress him.
You wonder if he’s as insecure as you are when he quietly unfolds the small, paper square he picked up and scans the name. His bug eyed expression doesn’t hide an evident surprise, the twitch of his eyebrows managing to conceal a possible disappointment.
For someone who’s usually so easy to read, Jeongguk seems uncharacteristically guarded in this moment, and it drives you crazy. You squint at him, frowning as you try to decipher any small detail on his face. Is he annoyed? Or worse, completely indifferent?
Either way, it doesn’t look like a positive reaction. If it ends up being you, you’ll rethink back to this moment and cry yourself to sleep.
With the first step out of the way, the night goes on following its usual rhythm. Only by the end of it, Jeongguk’s space starting to empty, you quietly help him put some order to the mess left behind by a too drunk Hoseok paired with his too drunk best friend Taehyung.
You keep yourself busy with storing some leftover food, managing to keep your tone unbothered when you ask, “Hey, Gguk. Wanna help me with the party planning this year?”
Always obliging to your every request, he only stutters slightly in his movements, the glasses he was cleaning clinking together. He clears his throat, “S—sure. I’ll help you, goldie.” The stammer doesn’t seem to be caused by any kind of hesitation, just an usual consequence to his nature. Reserved, quiet.
You nod, gulping way too loudly at the special nickname he has for you, and both of you keep your focus on your doings instead of witnessing the faint blush dusting your cheeks, “Cool. I’ll text you the details tomorrow.”
Details texted, your efforts to divert the conversation into something remotely playful failed miserably. Jeongguk is painfully formal, methodical as ever, hyper-focused on the party. When you sent him a TikTok you deemed adorable enough to nudge him toward a different matter, maybe hint at the dog being the cutest thing he’s ever seen and that you two should definitely adopt three of them and move in together, he still doesn’t get it.
gguk🤍: Oh… I asked my brother to keep Bam for Christmas Eve. I thought he would be too much of a hassle, especially with Iseul not being fond of dogs.
You had stared at the ceiling for a long moment after reading that text. Jeongguk is endearingly dense, and you don’t mind it most of the time. But it’s starting to cause quiet bursts of frustration when it comes to whatever undefined thing you two have, and what is clearly simmering for the eyes of everybody to see, except his.
You’d thought giving him his first handjob when he quietly confessed he’s never been touched, his voice a tremble in the calm aftermath of a chaotic group sleepover, would be enough to make him see. His quiet whimpers were hypnotizing calls that only you were meant to hear, and your fist pumping his girthy length with intent was speaking all you were afraid to voice.
Jeongguk came hard and unannounced all over your hand, pleasured sounds muffled in the side of your neck, and you’d assured him it was okay; he did good; that you would get something to clean him up. You didn’t sleep that night, and he didn’t either, spending the rest of it next to each other on his couch talking pointless conversation.
If that hadn’t opened his eyes, you were beginning to wonder what would.
“So… Do you have any idea what to gift your person?”
Jeongguk stirs his latte for the fourth time. You’d decided to meet at a café halfway between your cramped flat and his mansion, because it was the easiest way you managed to make your busy schedules merge.
“No, Gguk,” you acknowledge his question without meeting his eyes, focusing on the grocery list on your laptop instead.
What would? You’re starting to think subtlety isn’t cutting it. Maybe it never has. Perhaps the only way to break through that frustratingly thick skull of his is to go full throttle, strip naked right here in the middle of this café and spell it out for him.
Your eye involuntary twitches at the thought in relation to his question. Crazy Christmas gift, you reason as you stare maniacally at your bright screen. Yeah. Totally crazy.
Shaking your head, you can’t resist glancing up at him. The idea doesn’t seem so irrational anymore, not when your insides twist at the sight of his absorbed expression, his brows furrowed as he scribbles out unheard-of maths on a piece of paper to figure out group expenses.
With your chin resting in the palm of your hand, you abandon your pretense of being productive and let yourself watch him work. A teasing lilt slips into your voice as you prod him in your usual way, “Why should I believe you already don’t know who it is?”
He blinks up at you, promptly, like he always does when you speak to him, and he stumbles, “Huh— I don’t—”
“You so do. You probably already guessed it all with your nerdy brain.”
Despite looking mildly offended, his ears turn red anyway, “Nerdy brain—”
“Glasses look cute on you,” that shuts him up; his mouth, his brain. Completely unable to cater to any of their functions.
You smirk at the way he diverts his gaze, pointer finger unconsciously fixing the specs on the bridge of his nose, and you wonder how much longer it’ll take for him to notice that you don’t just go around calling everyone’s glasses cute.
Sighing, you continue, “Anyways. It’s not you.”
“W—what? Is it really not?” When he looks up at you with even wider eyes, you feel bad for lying to him but you still shake your head. He mutters, “Shoot. I was so sure I had it.”
A playful scoff escapes you, “See! You did sit in your nerdy room and tried to guess!”
“Stop calling me a nerd,” it’s a request grumbled in the most adorable way you’ve heard, and there’s no real heat behind it. Especially when he goes back to be exactly what he doesn’t want you to refer to him as, “Well, if it’s not me, it must be Taehyung.”
You pretend to busy yourself with your touchpad as you ponder on his eagerness. Then, you voice the result, “What’s the fun in knowing right now?”
Jeongguk hesitates for a moment too long before admitting, “I don’t know. I guess it makes me less anxious.”
It’s a raw kind of honesty, much like what he was painted all over with when he came from your touch, and it has you shifting your gaze back on him, now absorbed in doodling stylized portraits of Bam right next to numbers and additions.
You don’t know if it’s the hot chocolate still simmering in your tummy, the warmth from the coat laying on your legs, the café’s natural heat or Jeongguk’s proximity, but you buzz with something homely.
Ariana Grande’s version of Last Christmas replays for the third time in a row, and at this point you’re starting to believe it’s a conscious choice, but you don’t mind it.
Jeongguk belongs to the world the soft melody is building, hugged by a woolen white sweater, the wide glass window behind him giving the perfect view to a classic winter scenery, snow softly resting on any surface it finds and unconsciously bringing magic to dullness. Or maybe it’s just him adding that last bit.
You smile at his small confession, reassuring with your tone, almost drowning in the lively chatter of the place surrounding you, “You don’t have to be.”
Jeongguk only nods, tapping the pencil on his temple as he studies what he has so far with sudden doubt. He looks at your laptop, scanning the long forgotten visual board on your Pinterest, then back to his calculations.
Giving one more glance at the screen, he concludes, “By the way, I really don’t think that color would look good in my living room.”
Ugh.
You think you want to strangle him when he deflects so easily from these moments. And mostly, the burgundy he’s so easily refusing happens to be one of your favorite shades. Do your tastes ever match?
God, as much as you want him, you hope he’s not your Secret Santa.
────⋆。˚❆˚ 。⋆────
Jeongguk is your Secret Santa.
And on Christmas Eve, he’s pacing the length of his living room back and forth, his socks brushing against the polished wooden floor with each step. You’re supposed to arrive any minute now to help him with the final touches before the others come for dinner, and the idea of having you here alone is enough to make his hands clammy and his thoughts stumble.
The neatly wrapped gift with its shiny red paper sits tucked under the towering Christmas tree, the one adorned in messy decor that his friends jumbled up together. The item hidden inside the bag doesn’t share his anxieties, though he suspects his downstairs neighbour might have caught on to it with the incessant pacing.
When you ring the doorbell he’s jolted out of it and, practically tripping over his own feet, he rushes to the door and yanks it open. He would have let you in just as rapidly if his brain didn’t stop short at seeing you standing there.
You’re cladded in a soft sweater that looks two sizes larger, its beige tones complimenting the warm brown of his own jumper, and your short skirt peeks out beneath its hem, edged with lace ruffles. At your feet, a pair of chestnut Uggs that he can only hope are enough to make up for the cold shivers on your bare legs. Not that he’s staring, so intently he has to gulp down an impulsive thought. No, he’s just a naturally observing guy.
And that brings him to notice that your hands are empty, save for a small purse and a bottle of wine. No bag, no box, no sign of a gift.
When his gaze flickers back to your face, your eyes are wide and darting nervously between his own, narrowed by the frown that he can’t quite hide but bug sized the moment he catches a trace of insecurity in your shaky voice, “Hi.”
It could be the cold causing the brief greeting to tremble, small snowflakes laying on your neatly styled hair, shimmering for a brief moment before melting away. It pulls him out from his unabashed study of you, and he steps aside to let you into his much warmer space.
Your vanilla scent inebriating his senses has him forgetting all about your seemingly non existent gift, and how he suddenly finds himself wishing he truly did get something messed up in his calculations, that you’re not his Secret Santa.
But you are.
Many drinks later, filling up everyone’s stomachs along with shared food and belly laughter, it’s time to exchange gifts and the expression on your face is unlikely anything he’s caught on so far.
A huge contrast to the mellow Christmas tunes indistinctly playing in the background, your eyes are impassive as you word your excuses, “I’m sorry, Gguk. I forgot your gift at home.”
“Oh. It’s okay,” he says quickly, the words spilling out with genuine ease. And it really is okay. He’s not upset— far from it. The thought of you giving him anything at all, even belatedly, is enough to make him feel content.
But now, as the group’s attention turns toward him, his heart races for an entirely different reason. His gift for you, a lavish, over-the-top gesture that far exceeds the modest budget they all agreed on, sits waiting on his lap.
When it finds a new home atop your own crossed legs, you’re eager as you rip the paper, but your eyes don’t follow your movements. Instead, you focus on the nervous boy sitting across from you, your very own Secret Santa who’s monitoring your hands for you while subtly rocking from one side to the other.
His anxiety is endearingly soft, but you can see something more to it, almost an irrational fear of tripping on the wrong step, messing up something that’s supposed to be simple.
You hear it before you see it. The whole room inhales sharply in a collective surprise, with some gasps muffled behind hands pressed to mouths. You scramble for an explanation in their expressions, jumping from one face to the other, stopping on Jeongguk’s own, gaze glued to his fidgeting fingers, head bowed down to his lap.
When you slowly look down at what’s resting on yours, you almost wheeze. If they could, your eyes would leap out of their sockets.
Your palm instinctively presses on your lips as you look between the gift and the gifter in a frantic attempt to catch any sign that this is not what it is. With the music being the only sound eerily filling the sudden silence, you add to it, even if barely, with your voice a whisper, “What is this?”
Jeongguk gulps and finally meets you, “It’s m—my gift for you.”
It’s not like you even opened it yet. But the simple sight of the box had you grasping for support. On the pale, textured surface of the square box, the unmistakable gold lettering is what’s making your orbs shake in confusion: Dior.
You trace the sign with your pointed finger, tilting your head up to look at Jeongguk through your lashes, and you don’t know how else to put it, “Ggukkie… Were you there when we set the budget?”
Jimin butts in with a scoff, “Yeah, that’s like fifteen thousand won multiplied by another fifty thousand.”
Jeongguk doesn’t know what he should say. He’s scared of the deafening silence that follows, the way Jimin’s comment seems to linger in the air, the way you seem to struggle with finding something to say in response.
He begins, tries to, “I—”
“Fuck, Gguk,” the simple sound of your words has his mind spiralling, palms clammy with doubts that question his every choice leading up to this moment, feeling foolish for even thinking this could be right, a shot worth trying. What if you think he’s showing off? Or worse, overcompensating?
But what he fails to notice is the toothy grin that follows your shameless surprise, your fingers gingerly lifting the lid of the box, and really, if only he had the courage to look up at you he’d have avoided the worries.
He misses your reaction at the reveal: the prettiest earrings sit on a soft cushion, gleaming gold with delicate CD initials and cream pearls dangling gracefully beneath them.
“These are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. I love them. You didn’t have to.”
Jeongguk’s head snaps up. He meets your face painted with the most beautiful grin he’s ever seen you wear, your cheeks burning with red and your nose scrunching as you carefully slip the earrings to take a better look at them. With you, everybody else around him seems in awe, too. Their soft, endeared whispers begin to fill the earlier suffocating silence, melting into a sweetness reserved entirely for Jeongguk.
He exhales quietly, the welcomed warmth in his chest replacing the cold. He admits, no stutter, no fear, just a sheepish smile, “I wanted to.”
Jeongguk really did want to. It felt like his one shot. A desperate, last-ditch attempt at making you see him the way he’s always seen you; a declaration wrapped in gold and pearls.
He wants you to see him as more than the shy, awkward boy who stumbles over his words and blushes too easily. More than the nerd who spends too much time working on equations and codes half the world doesn’t know about. More, just to have you look at him a bit closer.
He wants to be a man, one who badly wants you, in your eyes.
They’re gleaming with adorable excitement as they flicker back to his, sheepishly accompanying your quiet request, “Can you… put them on for me?”
Jeongguk is at your side in no time, handling the earrings with care while trying to keep his usual clumsiness at bay as he fastens the dainty jewels in place. He begins to understand why it’s hard to see him as anything else but gawky when he feels his heartbeat speed up from the simple way his skin is brushing against yours.
Namjoon’s voice cuts through the spell, playful, “Oh, what a pretty princess. Jeongguk truly has an eye for this stuff.”
With the group following with chuckles and mindless banter, Jeongguk feels uncharacteristically bold, gaze fixated entirely on you as he lets himself spill something meant for you only to hear, “I think it’s just you. You’re beautiful.”
You’re clearly caught off guard, and it stings a little when he realizes the only reason he doesn’t get to see you this flustered often is because he’s usually busy being the flustered one. Blinking up at him through your lashes, your laugh comes out a little breathless, and the sweet way you let your cheek rest on your shoulder has him daring to hope.
“Nerd.”
But no. There it is again.
That’s all he’ll ever be in your eyes.
He forces a smile that barely reaches his eyes, but you’re too engrossed with having your pearls admired by the rest of the group to notice. Those weren’t a waste; he would do it all the same. You deserve everything that makes your eyes shine, that brings the corners of your lips into that grin that shakes him, that can ever bring you joy. He just wishes it could bring you more than that; bring you to a bigger sentiment, a bigger realization.
Perhaps that’s why he can’t shake off the awful mood that pervades his senses throughout the rest of the night, the earrings hanging from your ears catching the twinkly, warm lights and mocking him with delighted amusement. There’s nothing else you can do, you nerdy boy.
Perhaps that’s also why, when the house starts to empty and you’re in his kitchen making yourself helpful with dishes, he slips on composure when you accidentally let a glass slide from your dainty hands.
It breaks the moment it meets the ground, and the sound penetrates his ears, both of you jumping at the impact. He hisses, “What— what the heck, ___!”
You’re startled, blinking up at him. It’s not the chaos from the glass, not its tiny pieces covering the floor and reaching your feet. It’s the deliberate frustration of his tone, one he’s never let free, especially with you.
You pant for apologies, but they can’t seem to be let out. Wide eyes jumping between his own bug ones, your brows draw up in shame. It has never been this easy to get him bothered. Hell, you’ve even struggled to.
Jeongguk only sighs, dragging a hand across his nape, and he regrets the quiet sharpness in his voice the second he lets it out, “God. Be more careful next time.”
He’s still quicker than you on his feet, moving to sweep the mess you’ve created before you can even react. You seem to move in slow, infinite motions, kneeling down to pick up the bigger pieces, all while keeping an unusual silence.
He steals a glance up at you, biting his lower pierced lip in sudden guilt, “Are you okay?”
Your hands pause, clutching a fragment of glass as your eyes flicker up to meet his. You nod, distant, and it does nothing to convince him.
He doesn’t even seem to be paying attention to your hesitant confirmation, rather he’s hyper-focused on your fingers, and before you realize the shift in his expression, he alarmedly blurts out, “Goldie. You’re bleeding.”
The sting barely registers for you until his words bring it to your attention. Looking down, you see a sharp, red line running across your finger, small but enough to make Jeongguk spring into action.
You’re lifted off the floor and ushered to the bathroom in fractions of seconds, letting yourself be handled like you don’t own your body. The only thing you want to be aware of is the switch in his behaviour. He’s back to normal once he’s in his quiet bubble of concentration, movements precise as he cleans the barely visible wound and carefully places a band aid over it.
All while he can’t stop apologizing, “I’m sorry for yelling at you. That was not your fault. But, this. This is my fa—”
“Jeongguk, it’s just a scratch.”
The way he meets your eyes with his face drawn tight and brows furrowed makes you rethink your statement. Maybe it’s more than a scratch. Maybe it’s the only thing that snapped him out of his frustrated daze.
“It doesn’t matter. You didn’t deserve that.”
Your first instinct is to giggle; it’s a resonance of the butterflies childishly swarming in your belly from the proximity and his careful words. Both your gazes soften as you accept each other, even the faulted versions of tonight, and a timid smile stretches over his lips.
You hesitate before speaking again, your mouth opening only to close, reconsidering your words; but then you finally let out what you had foolishly planned as your next desperate attempt to cling to him.
“Can you… My car is… Can you take me home?”
What you’re now sure you like the most about Jeongguk is how he caters to your needs before you even have to voice them. The soft kindness in his eyes, the way his body instinctively shifts to act before his mind even fully processes the request. He’s already nodding, ready to make it happen for you.
“Yeah. Of course.”
The heat in his car fans over your cheeks, dusting them with a soft red that has his Adam’s apple bobbing every time he turns to steal glances at you at stoplights. You keep talking, filling the air with contentment about the night’s events, and it’s like that subtle slip of his never happened.
It’s almost too easy to surrender and pretend that everything is fine, that he doesn’t feel the ache of wanting more. If staying a nerd in your eyes means getting to be this close, to hear your laughter, to see the slight curve of your lips as you speak, then maybe it’s enough.
His subtle gestures — adjusting the temperature so you’re comfortable, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter when your giggles spill into the cabin — don’t go unnoticed. They settle into you and have your heart beating anticipatedly.
God, you won’t regret what you’re about to do.
By the time he pulls up in front of your place, you promptly turn to him before he can offer anything else, voice a bit too eager, “Would you like to come inside?”
“Huh—”
“I’ll show you my gift.”
Jeongguk sits on your couch, because you tell him to wait there. And of course, he’s a great listener. Very obedient, willing to follow your every order.
His fingertips drum restlessly on his thighs and he can only busy himself with his surroundings, every detail speaking for you. What’s definitely more prominent is the intoxicating scent of vanilla that clings in the air, of which he hopes his lungs inhale the entirety of, never getting enough of everything that is you.
When you come into his vision again, walking down the stairs in quiet steps, you’re tightly hugged in a trench coat, the textured belt cinched snugly around you and accentuating the small of your waist. Under it, your legs are bare. It has his mouth drying and his legs spreading stiffly on the couch.
He thought he got better at hiding his concerning infatuation. He hopes he did.
That’s why he initially manages to chuckle and attempt a joke, “Are you going somew—”
“Ta-da.”
Jeongguk doesn’t think he’s breathing. He doesn’t think he can even breathe anymore. His blinking fastens, brain stumbling over itself as it tries to make sense of what he’s sitting in front of.
You’ve loosened the coat just enough for the fabric to fall and reveal what you’ve carefully wrapped for him. You’re a gift coming in a red lingerie set clinging to your perfect curves, your boobs deliciously spilling out from the sides of your lace top and the line of your panties thin enough to leave little to the imagination.
He pants, scanning over your body once, twice, three times, questioning if the wine was perhaps laced with stronger substances, “What— What is this—”
“It’s my gift for you. Merry Christmas, Gguk.”
Meeting your face again, he nearly groans. You’re almost bare before him, yet you still sport a crimson blush and your teeth graze your bottom lip in a sheepish smile, in a way that is so achingly you. He can feel himself throbbing painfully in his pants. Thinks he could cum just from this view, tip over the edge without a single touch, no matter how bad he needs it.
“Fuck.”
You’ve barely ever heard Jeongguk curse throughout the time you’ve known him for. He only sometimes reserves that for his monitor, Overwatch games causing his composure to slip in adorable loud whispers.
But it’s like you’ve broken his dam, and he only lets more slip as you walk slowly but certainly closer to him, coat discarded on the floor, “Oh my, fuck. Holy shit. Thank you. Thank you. I— I don’t know what to do.”
It’s a quiet plea, the one that’s hidden in his strained words but clear in his full eyes glazed over with anticipation, his hands hovering uncertainly over his thighs, chest still heaving and struggling with manual breathing. He’s begging to feel deserving of this, to have you prove to him that it’s what you truly want for the both of you, to have you touching him and to be touching you.
He can’t help the moan that escapes him when you position yourself in between his spread legs, bodies close yet not touching, but he’s dying to feel you.
Now your turn to bend at his every request, your head tilts and your smile widens the more he’s forced to crane his neck up to keep your gazes connected, pending off your every syllable, “You don’t have to do anything. Will you let me take care of you?
“Yes, please,” the confirmation is immediate and empty of hesitance. Under you, Jeongguk nods promptly with his lips agape, watering with want when you straddle his lap to sit yourself on him.
He wails, throwing his head back and searching for all the strength it takes from holding back his instinct to snap up against your core, snuggled atop his raging hardness. At his shameless desperation, your giggles fill his ears, and when they’re followed by your cold hand on his cheek redirecting his gaze on yours, he feels feverish.
Delirious, eyes barely keeping from rolling back, his brain reduced to senseless blabbering, “My God. Thank you for this.”
With his brows adorably drawn up, he focuses on your dilated pupils now that your faces are mere centimetres apart, and you close the distance with small pecks that trace his jaw, up to his ear lobe, whispering against the skin, “Are you seriously thanking God while I’m about to take your virginity?
Jeongguk hisses in a frenzied surge, his hands still unsurely keeping from touching you, and your sarcastic pun has him full on rambling, “Shit, sorry. I don’t even believe in God. This just feels too good to be true. You look like a fucking angel.”
“Ggukkie, language!” Your seductive tone along with your chuckle reverberates right against his chest, your hands moving to lead your own palms up and down his broad front, and when you subtly roll your hips against his clothed length, he breaks into a cry.
“Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’ll come so soon,” you don’t know if it’s the adrenaline of the moment, but you’ve never witnessed such a bold Jeongguk. It only spurs you further, your hand traveling down, and down, until it sneaks under his sweater.
When you find his nipple, you playfully roll it between your pointer and thumb, his trembling body bucking up in an unstoppable urge, quiet whimpers working to keep his tone down. But you want to hear him scream under you, just as loud as you can feel his heart beating.
You bite your lip as your eyes drift downward, watching where your bodies meet in slow, teasing drags. His wide palms press into the cushions on either side of you, his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip, and when you lift your gaze to meet his face again the delicious buzz pooling low in your stomach intensifies, your lips parting instinctively. A pretty blush creeps up his neck, painting his sharp jaw and cheekbones in shades of red, and his eyes, clouded, desperate, and burning with unfiltered need, lock onto you with a gaze that makes your knees weak even as you straddle him.
The simple grinding through the layers of clothing you still have on has you releasing whiny gasps in the air, his cock sliding torturously between your folds, and if you’re so affected by every shift you can hardly fathom what he must be feeling under you.
So you wonder out loud, voice rough the more you feel his stiff nipple under your fingertips, “How long since you’ve been touched properly, hm?”
His body hiccups, shaking with the barely contained lust, “Since— Since you last did, goldie.”
You coo, slowing down your movements and bringing your fingers to the hem of his jumper only to lift it and toss it behind you carelessly, “You’re so sensitive, aren't you?” At the view of his exposed chest, you can’t help roaming the expanse of it and feeling the tensing muscles under your skin, and by now you’re sure your panties must be ruined.
“Puh— please,” the plea is barely coherent, whispered out messily through high-pitched moans, but he begs again, “I wanna touch you too.”
“Then…” You let your hands speak for you, moving them to lead his own big ones to rest at your thighs, letting them drag up the curve of your ass. You’re impossibly close to his lips now, fanning against them, “Feel me, Gguk.”
Unable to resist, you fall forward and catch his mouth with yours in a kiss that struggles to find a rhythm, that has your tongues tangled in an uncoordinated dance, but that inevitably has you both humming loudly in an effort to almost devour each other, and his hands digging in your bare skin only force a gasp out of you.
In an impatient rush, you urge him to unclasp your bra, his unpractised and shaky fingers being joined by your experienced ones to finally free you from the tight confines, and as much as he wants to make kissing you a sport just to win every gold medal and break record after record, he can’t help separating from your lips with a wet sound to look down at your exposed breasts.
Jeongguk groans, and this time he doesn’t need you guiding him. It’s his own palms moving to cup you, and the innocent, light feather touch causes you to throw your head back and resume your slow grinding on top of him.
Both of you are panting messes, his moans significantly louder the more he gets to knead at your softness only to slice his thumb over your hardened nipples, the contrast making his brows furrow in hazed need, and when you arch your back into him he squeezes your tit to his mouth, eliciting a surprised wail from you.
Even when he gets closer, your sensitive nub engulfed by his swollen lips, he keeps looking up at you for approval with wide, teary eyes that beg for you to praise him. And with a hand gripping his wavy locks, you nod repeatedly for him to keep going, “Fuck, baby. Just like that, oh my God.”
He hums lowly with his mouth stuffed, his fingers digging in your flesh the more you drag your cunt mercilessly over the outline of his thickness, and he has to release you with a pop and rest his head on the couch behind him, palms keeping you somewhat still by the waist, panting out a desperate request when he feels himself throb dangerously close to his high, “G—Goldie, I can’t. Don’t— Don’t wanna cum like this.”
You lift your hips just enough for the both of you to whimper at the loss of friction, and you murmur through a string of kisses along his exposed neck, “How do you want to cum then, huh?”
He only whines, cheeks flushed with want and eyes glossy, forehead creasing with the way his brows are stressing, “Please.”
You show no mercy, flashing him with a wicked smirk and a teasing tilt of your head, “Ah-ah. Say it.”
Gulping with effort, his waist twitches up unconsciously to seek for your touch once again, and with his face turned to the side he admits in the smallest voice, “‘Nside of you.”
“Good boy. Gonna give you exactly what you want.”
He voices a loud cry just from the sound of your promise, only echoing more intensely when you hastily work at his zipper. It’s messy, uncertain, and it elicits breathy giggles from the two of you, drunk on adoration and high on desire.
Eventually, he’s stripped free from his confines, and his cock stands proud and hard, veins pumping the blood that has it throbbing against his toned stomach.
Jeongguk can feel your hooded eyes on him, can sense his tip wettening with the simple way you seem starved and eager to taste him, your hand coming too close to where he needs you the most before he gently grabs your wrist to stop it.
Automatically, your head snaps up, and the look on his face is one of nervous desperation, “Wan’ you to kiss me, please.”
You’re ready to comply to his every demand, and this one is as easy as it gets. You want to give him everything— whatever he wants, however he wants it.
Your lips mold with his in worldless acceptance, absorbing all you were afraid to voice to each other, making up for all the time you wasted, devoting to a sealed promise, the one that dances between your connected tongues, saliva making it wet and breathless.
Even more when your slim fingers trail down his torso before wrapping around his length, your wrist expertly flicking in a teasing touch, and his moan is unrestrained as it tears through the kiss. You swallow the sound greedily, steadying you against his chest rising and falling in frantic pants.
Before he can protest, his own hips bucking up in a silent beg for more, you steal the air from his lungs when you move your panties to the side and align your entrance with his tip, just to sink down on it.
The drag is slow and it has both of your eyes rolling back, pleased groans filling the air and straining against your throat when you fully sit yourself wrapped around his dick. You search for him, “You okay?”
“Shit,” Jeongguk seems hypnotised by the view of his thickness wrecking you in half, and his palms come to rest at your waist where his fingers dig into the skin. Your own playing with the hair on his nape only seem to make him more vulnerable, “This is perfect. You feel so good and warm, fuck.”
You’re not used to hearing him curse so openly and so often, and it naturally makes you giggle, the sound tickling his ears and leading his dilated pupils to look up at you through his lashes. Your sweet laughter fades into a lasting smile, one he can’t help but kiss, even if it’s all teeth, the contagious sight of your happiness getting to him too.
The moment is sickeningly sweet, bodies connected in more ways than one. With your kiss only deepening and your chest melting against his, you pull him impossibly closer by the back of his neck and start attempting slow motions on top of him.
You hear him through his thundering heartbeat, “Goldie… I— I don’t think I can last any longer, I’m so sorry, I—”
“Oh, shit, baby,” one particular shift has his length, deeply stuffed in your tight walls, finding your spot and teasing it with an electric buzz that travels through your body, “It’s okay. I’m so close too.”
The moment you try a firmier bounce and feel him find you again, you can’t help the way your movements fasten, your moans thick and low against your throat, his own louder and ricocheting through the walls.
You steady yourself with one of you palms on his thigh, leaning your weight back and finding a new angle to fuck yourself on him. He watches in awe as you work your fingers on your clit, rapid circling movements causing his mouth to hang open at the squelching sounds.
He pants, his wide hands guiding your riding, pushing you up and down, “Can— Can I touch you?”
You hum, but it sounds more like a whine, “Hm, of course, pretty boy,” the hand that was stimulating your sensitive nub now comes behind you to help support yourself on both of his muscular thighs, flexing under every shift.
Jeongguk is unpracticed as he leads his thumb to rest at your clit, applying a soft pressure and mimicking the same pattern he observed from you. He only seems to be focusing on his doing for the first few moments before he searches up for the reaction on your face, and he whimpers when he finds your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, your brows drawn up in pleasure.
You smile at the unconscious twitch of his chin, and give him just what you know he wants, “Always seeking my approval. You’re so good.”
The simple praise only has him working on you with more confidence, collecting some of your wetness and sliding it up along your lips. He learns fast, listening to your every sound and centering on your pleasure, as best as he can with his own knot getting closer to bursting.
You’re clearly affected by the simulations, your hips stuttering and riding around him, but you still make sure to concentrate on him first, “I’ll tell you when to cum, hm? You’ll listen to me, right?”
Jeongguk nods before he even knows what he’s agreeing to, “Y—yes. Yes, yes, fuck. I’ll be good. Wanna be so, so good for you. Wanna c—cum for you.”
“You’re so filthy, baby. Naughty boy. Fuck me.”
His hips meet you up with harsh thrusts that have you lose your balance on him, and you can only throw yourself with your arms around his broad shoulders, face hidden in the crook of his neck as he lets his desire take over, fucking up into you with a desperate need for release.
You think you see stars with the way he relentlessly pounds your hole, wet folds sliding along his length and causing a mess between you, his own slickness mixed with yours trailing down and pooling at the base. The sounds are inglorious, and they merge perfectly with your wails.
Breathing in his scent, you know he’s close from the way his thrusts are stammering sloppily, and his moans are closer to strained whines. You concede, “F—Fucking cum, Gguk. Cum inside me, fuck.”
He nods, slamming you down to meet his movements, desperate to feel you before he can stop himself, “Cum with me, pleas— Oh.”
When your walls spasm around him with your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave, causing you to shake in his embrace around you, he feels himself cum unannounced, hard and thick, sprouts of white liquid relentlessly pumping inside your warmth.
You milk him dry, both your wails drained with the effort and fading into breathless gasps, his arms around you falling limply at his sides. You’re sprawled on his chest, emptied from any energy, and he is just as spent with his head lolling against the back of the couch.
But you feel it in your heartbeats syncing, the realization of what happened, what finally happened. You feel it in his face moving down to find your lips and catch them in a sweet peck, his fingers trailing up again to trace lazy patterns on your back before tangling in your hair, grounding himself in you.
It’s your own smiles breaking through the kiss, lashes tickling, and both of you laugh senselessly as you come down from the moment.
“Fuck,” Jeongguk breathes out, voice raspy, “This was the best Christmas gift ever.”
You snicker, biting your lip to hold back your amusement, “Oh, baby. It was just an excuse to fuck you. I actually did forget your gift at home.”
“W—What?” His brows shoot up, his post-orgasm haze momentarily replaced with incredulity as his cheeks redden even more.
When Jeongguk straightens on the couch, so do you, steadying your weak frame with your hands splayed against his chest. Sheepishly, you confess, “Yeah. Bought you that Mario game yo—“
“Princess Peach: Showtime?”
“Yea—”
Jeongguk gasps dramatically, his excitement so pure it’s almost jarring considering what just transpired, and that he’s no longer a virgin, “God, I fucking love— that game. That is the best Christmas gift ever.”
You can’t hold back your laughter this time, shaking your head at how easily he slips back into his usual self, the one that had you buying a Victoria’s Secret set in that shade of burgundy he said he didn’t like just to attempt a crazy chance at having him.
Leaning forward, you press a lingering kiss to his lips that brings you back to the realization that you finally did get to have him, before murmuring against them, “Well, that and a second round. What do you say?”
“Please.”
#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jungkook fluff#jungkook angst#jungkook au#jungkook imagine#jungkook smut#jungkook fanfic#jeon jungkook#jungkook#jungkook x female reader#jungkook x original character#jungkook x y/n#jungkook x oc#bts smut#bts imagines#bts fic#bts series#bts x reader#bts#bts x you#bts x y/n#bts x fem!reader#🦌: christmas & chill#📁c&c: intro
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──𐙚 see, hyung? - innocence request
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content: 21 yr old JK, getting caught doing it TWICE, "the talk", penetrative sex, oral (fem) voyeurism essentially, Hyung line aka Yoongi and Jin catching them
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"Nhhm kook just like that!" you writhe beneath his touches, soft circles drawn lazyly along your clit with his tongue, he takes his time with it, looking up to you with the round deer eyes that are filled with unspeakable amounts of love,
"pretty baby" he mumbles, drawing his tongue down to your hole before licking back up slowly,
Your boyfriends face is burried deep between your thighs, his soft mouth working wonders against your folds, lapping, sucking deliciously from your soppy entrance to the swollen bundle of your clit over and over again,
Your hands tug on his hair, mindlesly grinding into his face with his mouth in sync, his nose hitting your clit ever so often
"Yeah baby? You taste so good, fuck" he speaks against your cunt, the skin of your thighs squeezed tightly by his hands, spreading them apart as far as you allowed them to
He responds to your moans and trembles by sucking on your clit harder, groaning against you, the small vibrations flow through your whole body, making you shudder with need
Until the door to his studio opens
As he's sitting on the floor, kneeling between the legs of his girlfriend, deep into making you see stars,
His two hyungs, Jin and yoongi, stand wide eyed in the doorway
Both of your heads turn in sync, snapping to the door with the two older men looking traumatized and amused at once,
You squel, closing your thighs in reflex and hiding beneath the shield of your fingers
Unable to tell if jin or you has the redder cheeks, yoongi just laughs, closing the door again
"Have fun kids" he says, but the appeal of your orgasm has long gone, even taking the slightest bit of arousal from you to kiss you goodbye
Jungkook sighs, standing up and carefully helping you dress once again
"M'so sorry 'bout that baby, they have no manners"
You just do your best to reassure him, kissing his head and pushing the thought of what happend as far back into your brain as you can muster up
Your boyfriend on the other hand, did not posess such luxery.
Just when you left, biding your goodbyes to him, his older brothers stand in the doorframe of the livingroom
"What?" the younger sighs, running his hand down his face
"Seriously kook? We need to talk, you can't lose your virginity and all these things without knowing - like- anything!" Jin exclaims, sitting down on the couch with a sore throat, already having exhausted himself just by this one sentence alone
Jungkook sits down across from them, looking at yoongi dumbfounded
"What? Guys i- i know everything?" his head tilts in genuine confusion
Yoongi and Jin share a look of disbelief,
"Sure, yeah. So, do you know like, if you need us to buy condoms or...?" Yoongi says
Kook lets out a frustrated laugh, shaking his head,
"Seriously? I lost my vcard a while ago, guys what is this?" Throwing his hands up, he's ready to leave this conversation.
This time, it's yoongi's turn to laugh,
"Oh shut up, come on, don't be embarrased about it. Let us teach you what you need" he says, crossing his arms over his chest,
"Unbelievable" jungkook mutters, leaving the room for the two elders to sit together in their ignorance
A couple days later, jungkook has you bare on his bed, pounding into your poor little pussy missonary, legs up on his shoulders,
His cock hits deep into your cunt, you make sure to let him know my moaning, whining and scratching his shoulders, leaving enough evidence for his hyungs to find when they see him shirtless lounging around
He holds onto your hips, obsessed with the way your tits bounce with each hard thrust, obsessed with the way you whine and watching his cock sink all the way into your pretty cunt
"Nhmm jungkook!" your eyes are rolled far back into your head, shut entirely and completely lost in the way his cock feels penetrating your walls
He does feel two other pairs of eyes stare,
After all, he left the door open on purpose, desperate to save his ego and proof to his hyungs that , oh, Jungkook knows how to fuck
His eyes avert your body for a split second, taking in the shocked expression of his brothers as they can't do anything but watch,
He decides to take it a step further, taking one of his hands to grope your chest together, fondleing the soft flesh and tugging at your pink, stiff nipples,
"Fuck! So so good!" you stutter again, whimpering with every little one of his touches, your release nearing with every hard thrust of his into your sensitve core
"Yeah? Say it baby, who's making you feel good?" he says, doing the most to get on his hyungs nerves while also getting lost in your pussy wrapped tightly on his cock, clenching around him like you're gonna cum any second now
"You kook you! Jungkook please nhnmm!" your cries get muffled with his lips colliding onto yours messily, spit running down your months and tongues intertwining sinfully,
That's your last straw, the knot bursts and so does Jungkook, making sure to rub your clit soothingly and pulling out after a few more, slow pushes of his hips
"So, uh, you weren't lying" yoongi rasps his throat, his eyes locked on the purple bruises on the youngers neck as well as the scratch marks along his shoulder blade,
He smirks, leaning against the counter "oh really hyung?"
Jin scoffs, "kid, don't be so rude. You did good though, credits to you"
Jungkook rolls his eyes, wrapping his arms around Jin's wide shoulders,
"I know, she told me that too. Oh, wait, you heard us" he says, cheekily winking before running out the kitchen with his eldest hyung chasing after him,
"Jeon jungkook, you're gonna die today!"
#redcherrykook#jungkook fanfic#jeon jungkook#jungkook x reader#jungkook x y/n#jungkook x you#bts jungkook#bts fanfic#jungkook smut
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velvet lies
pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 8564 tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation a/n: longer chapter woohoo, was gonna write after break but had so much inspo. wrote on my phone, so if there’s any typos, please ignore 🥹 series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter
The nights haven’t been easy in the past couple of days. Mingled with a growing sense of anxiety added on top of your already heightened stress, your brain just can’t seem to shut off. You’ve tried melatonin and no more caffeine, but caffeine is ultimately getting you through the day and keeping you up when needed. In all honesty, you’ve already been struggling with sleep, but with the surprise meet with Suguru, dread’s been pooling in your stomach.
You have no doubt he spilled the beans. Hell, you would too if that was your best friend. You can only hope he somehow didn’t, though. A small part of you would be a little annoyed if he did, because again, he has no role in this. At least not a big one.
A sudden banging on your door jolts you upright, checking the clock and it’s not even 7:30 yet. Only one person could be demanding your presence so early. A heavy sigh leaves you, forcing your stiff muscles out of bed, wrapping yourself in a robe before trudging to the front door. When you peek through the peephole, your landlord stands there with an annoyed expression on his old face, foot tapping the ground in impatience.
“Bastard,” you mumble to yourself before opening the door. “Good morning, Mr. Sato.”
Seems he doesn’t have time for fake pleasantries, “Y/N, I’m assuming you saw the eviction note I left on your door yesterday morning.”
Unfortunately. “Yes, sir. I did.”
His arms cross, scratching at his greying mustache, “So, is it also safe to to assume you’ll have the money by next Friday?”
You sigh heavily, hand running through your hair. This is not how you wanted to start your morning. He was already making your life hell by suddenly raising your rent out of nowhere three months ago for so-called “renovations”. But you’ve yet to see any actual renovations being done. Not to mention, you’ve been bugging about your heater no longer working, and during this time of year, you and Koji are practically freezing to death. You had to buy a portable heater, small, but it gets the job done. Although it’s mainly in Koji’s room because you’d rather freeze than let him. “Look, Mr. Sato, I’m really trying here. I’m working hard to get the money, but please understand that—”
“Understand? I’ve been understanding, Y/N. I even applied last month’s rent to this month, just ‘cause of you.”
Of course, he’s gonna throw that in your face. Landlords seem to take their title so literally that if he didn’t have this much control over your space of safety, you would’ve ripped him a new one. Also, how could you forget that to even get him to agree to that plea deal, you were forced through an hour and a half of an uncomfortable, infuriating dinner with the man. Really, he’s not giving you much to work with here, but then again, you shouldn’t have had such high hopes. “I know, I know,” you reply, scratching at your roots. “I’ll have the money, okay?”
“You better,” he says gruffly. “Or I’m renting this unit to someone who can actually afford it. I’m hurting here too, you know?”
You huff. “Yeah, thanks.”
Without another word, you close the door in the man’s face, locking it. Leaning your back up against the hard surface, you close your eyes and will yourself to stay calm and positive. Counting back from ten and then back, a small tip your therapist showed you before your insurance no longer covered it. It’s okay. It’s only the start of the day, you have 20 something hours left. Now’s not the time to throw yourself a pity party and play woe is me. Now’s the time to just pick yourself up and move on. You’ll find a solution for the money, you always do.
Though this time, you can’t help but feel you’re really fucked.
I mean, you honestly have no idea how you’re going to come up with almost four thousand dollars in just a week. That sounds quite literally impossible in every single way. You get paid next week, but with taxes, you’re going home with maybe three thousand, so how will you get that extra thousand?
Unless some miracle decides to hit you, which almost never seems to happen. You used to think someone hoaxed you, or you were just born with the most unluckiest luck ever. Or, the more cynical thought you tend to have, you were fated to live a life in strict financial management, and hardships are constantly thrown at you left and right.
But hey, you’ve made it this far, right?
“No, I haven’t.”
“You what?!”
“I haven’t told him.”
“Y/N, what the fu–”
“Jesus Christ, I know, Hana. You don’t have to make me feel even more like shit.”
Your friend stops mid-way, eyeing your very displeased expression. She sighs and relents, slumping back in the small chair in the backroom of the cafe. She doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, letting your confession simmer and process. When she does, it’s an honest question. “But…why?”
Why. You feel like you’re staring to hate that damn word. “A lot of reasons, I know it’s not really justified, but I just…need someone to understand me for once. Not come at me for my dumb decisions.”
Your words feel bare and raw, not completely exposing the extent of the emotions you’ve been harboring, but enough to make her stop. Hana regards you with pursed lips, a hint of sadness in her eyes. Finally, she nods. “Okay, I won’t question you anymore. You have your reasons, and your reasons are always valid. So, I’m behind you on this. We stick together, remember?”
A hint of a smile forms on your lips, quietly thanking her. She comes forward to give you a hug, one you immediately reciprocate. Her auburn hair tickling your nostrils, arms seemingly tightening. “Don’t go holding things in anymore, I told you that. I’m here, to talk, listen, whatever.”
You and Hana met three years ago. She was just your co-worker at the time, now promoted to your manager. Although she’s two years younger than you, you two relate to a lot of things. Whether that be movies, food, what guys are hot, or alcohol. If anything, Hana might be your only friend in general. It’s a little sad, maybe, but at least you have someone to come to when you need to talk about adult issues your five-year-old wouldn’t be able to comprehend.
“I love you.” You find yourself muttering.
“I love you too, girl. Now, get out there, your break’s up.”
Jokingly scoffing and nudging her, you stand from the seat and do a quick stretch. Preparing yourself for yet another few hours of dreaded customer service and fake smiles, you walk out of the backroom, pushing the small curtains aside that separate the back from the counter, and clock back in.
“Cash or card?”
“Hello, how can I help you today?”
“Would that be all?”
“Have a nice day.”
Are all phrases any retail or customer service worker finds a little annoying, if not a lot. It’s so draining. And when the customers don’t greet you back, your pettiness shines through and you won’t even say have a good day to them when they’re leaving. Although, the job does have some upsides to it. For example, you get to make free coffees, take whatever pastries are left at the end of the day home, and the customers are never really bad. Of course, you have had a couple experiences, but nothing compared to a chain store. You’re even starting to use your customer service voice throughout the day, even when you’re not at work. Honestly, that’s not very good.
As you’re wiping up the counter, you feel a buzzing in your pocket. Taking your phone out, you see a set of numbers, an unsaved contact. You give Hana a quick glance, muttering a “just a sec”, before going back to the back to answer. “Hello?”
“Y/N?”
God, it’s gonna take some time getting used to his voice on the regular now. “Oh, Suguru. hey…uh–what’s up?”
There’s some shuffle on the other side like he’s adjusting the phone. “Are you busy right now?”
“Well, yes. I’m on the clock.”
He sighs, phone switching to his car output. “Where do you work? I’ll come now.”
“What?” you splutter out, head shaking. “No, Suguru, you can’t just pop out at my job. I’m busy, just tell me what you need right now.”
“I’m not sure I should.”
That statement alone scares you a bit. His cynicism always got on your nerves, but it also worried you from time to time. Most of the time, he didn’t mean any harm because that’s just how Suguru was, but it still did its job. Contemplation strikes through you. “Is it bad?”
He hesitates, which only further skyrockets your anticipation. “Honestly, it’s not too bad. But still, I need to talk to you.”
A breath emits from your lips, one you didn’t know you were holding. Eyes meeting the ceiling, you ponder over your decisions. Eventually, you come to a conclusion. “Fine, but it can’t be too long. I’m at Deja Brew, the cafe on–”
“On Express, got it. Be there in a bit.”
He’s hanging up before you even get a chance to question that he knew the cafe you worked at. If he did, surely he would have visited at least once, but you’ve never seen him come in. And you’re every day. Unless he usually comes when you’re not clocked in anymore. Anywho, you steel yourself for the inevitable conversation. Anticipating whatever bad or not-so-good news he'll give you.
“So.”
“Mm, this is good.” Suguru nods appreciatively, sipping from his coffee. You made it for him before he arrived, as a weird sort of gift to him. You two have situated yourself in a booth in the corner. Hana was a little confused as to why you were taking a break while you were on the clock, even regarding you with an almost scolding look. But the second she saw Suguru follow, her expression changed.
You practically saw the heart eyes form, smiling in a bashful way. That’s one thing you forgot about. The way girls would magnetize themselves towards the man, his best friend too. The two together were an almost deadly duo.
“Suguru,” you say, a hint of exasperation in your tone. “Please just…don’t stall anymore. Why did you want to see me?”
“Right,” he clears his throat, sitting up straighter. Once more, his steely gaze meets yours, you have to hold back the sudden urge to look away. “Like I said, it’s not terrible news, but not very good either.”
You nod, wanting him to just stop with the extraness and get to the point. “Okay, say it.”
“Satoru.” is the first thing he says, gauging your automatic grimace to his name. “He knows.”
Figures. “And you told him?”
He nods in response. You exhale, rubbing your face. “Suguru, why? I didn’t say you could.”
“I mean, I didn’t think I needed permission to tell my best friend he has a secret love child he hasn’t known about for five years, Y/N.” You hate when his voice gets like that, like you’re a school child who’s just been caught by her teacher for doing something she wasn’t supposed to. “Anywho, he knows. He wasn’t…very happy.”
You slowly ask, unsure if you’re ready to hear the answer. “What did he say?”
“More so what he did than said,” he pushes a stray strand of black hair out his eye and behind his ear, arms crossing. “He’s been quite easy to anger. I mean, I haven’t really talked to him because he’s not answering my calls, but I’ve been hearing from people at the office. He also kicked my ass out right after I told him. But that’s all I know at least, Nanami says he’s like a ticking time bomb.”
Jesus Christ. You don’t know what else you were expecting, you’re surprised he hasn’t done worse, but like Suguru said, that’s all he knows. His state is most likely a hundred times worse than what’s being thrown at you right now. You feel an intense guilt pool, mixing with a slight fear. “Did he…do anything else? Say anything?”
“I don’t know, he’s not talking to me right now.” Suguru concedes, leaning closer to you, brows furrowing in a seriousness. “Look, I’m not telling you this because I want you to feel worse, but I should let you know. He’s going to try and seek you out now that he knows about his son. You know that, right?”
Of course, you fucking know that. That’s what makes you scared, the possibility of somehow running across him in the most unsuspecting of places makes you want to stay holed up in your shitty apartment. “Yeah,” you gulp. “I figured.”
“I don’t know how he’ll react if–when–he does see you.” he honestly admits. “I just think you should reach out to him first, before he does it. I have his number, you should ca—”
“Stop.” you hold a hand up, eyes closing. “No more, I don’t want to be told what to do. I just…need some time processing everything right now.”
“Y/N–”
“Suguru,” your eyes open, staring at him dead on. “You seriously can’t expect me to jump from one thing to the next. I need fucking time to figure out what I’m gonna do. I’m already stressed as it is, now I have to worry about my son’s father possibly trying to reach out and that just sets me more on fucking edge. You come to my work, spring this on me, and I–” you’re rambling. Cutting yourself off in the middle of a sentence, choosing not to finish it. The last thing you need to do is rant to him. Besides, you’re just starting to see him again after five years, that would absolutely put him in a weird place between comforting someone who was once his friend, and backing up his life-long best friend.
You jolt a bit when you feel a warm palm envelope your hand, his thumb gently rubbing across your knuckles. Looking back at him, he gives you an all too familiar look. One that can make you just pour out everything you’re feeling right at that second. It’s a horrifying technique he has. “I’m sorry. Really, I’m sorry. The last thing I want to do is make you feel like shit. I should’ve been more considerate. I’m sorry.” He apologizes with a soothing intonation. Again, it’s making you feel warm. “It’s a hard situation, I could never know exactly what you’re going through. but…I care about you, Y/N. I always have, even without Satoru’s involvement. So, I’ll do better and not overwhelm you.”
Damn it, Suguru. Now you’re making me feel bad! Not trusting yourself with words, you meekly nod, slowly pulling your hand out his grasp. You miss the way his eyes dart down to his now empty grip, a small downward twitch to his lip that he expertly hides. “I should go back to work, I’m assuming you do too.” You stand on wobbly feet, giving him one last lingering gaze. “On the house, by the way….yeah, bye.”
Suguru watches you disappear behind the curtains, a small pit expanding in his gut. He pushes it away without thought, sighing to himself as he stands and exits the cafe. He walks down the sidewalk to his blacked out 2025 Mustang GT parked on the street. Getting in with a heavy head that’s full of all kinds of emotions. Some he doesn’t try to acknowledge, but the ones he does, it’s all worry and concern. He really doesn’t see how this situation can somehow turn around. Maybe you two will have a very mature and calm conversation when you cross paths.
He almost laughs to himself when he begins driving. Calm? Mature? Yeah, right. How do you have a calm conversation about hiding a kid for five years? Not to mention, you and Satoru are equally stubborn; it used to be so infuriating for him.
Suguru had patience, a lot of it actually. But you two tended to test that. Although, he would always forgive one of you the quickest. Cough, cough. You. It was like you had this weird thing about you that made the people around you just…like you.
His grip tightens on the wheel, biting his lip. He gets to a red light, thumb tapping on the material. Damn it all.
There’s a ringing that emits from the car’s speakers, looking at his touch screen to see the familiar name. Using this as a distraction, he answers. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Shoko’s voice sounds out. “Where are you? Thought you were paying for my lunch.”
He huffs, eyes rolling, and moving the car forward once the light turns green. “I never agreed to that.”
“Sure you did,” Shoko replies, exhaling a breath. She must be smoking. “Anyway, hurry up. I’m already waiting outside. I thought Satoru was coming, is he gonna be late again?”
Yeah, no. “I don’t think he’s coming anymore.”
“Why not?” Shoko asks.
Suguru exhales heavily, turning the street towards the meet-up spot with his friend. “Some shit happened, I don’t think he’s doing good.”
Shoko pauses, adjusting her phone in hand. “What happened?”
Suguru too stops, completely forgetting how Shoko has no idea about what has transpired in the past couple of days. “I’ll tell you when I see you.”
Satoru has never been surprised before, not technically. He’s a smart man with quick instincts and a good foresight, it’s like he can always tell when something is going to happen, before it happens. Even for birthday parties, his perception and people reading skills are great, he knows when someone’s lying or not telling the full truth.
In short, he knows a lot of things.
But, what he didn’t expect was for 1) even hearing your name ever again after the breakup, and 2) you have a son, his son. A son he had not one goddamn clue about. The only person who’s ever been able to throw him off his game is you.
Even back when you two dated, there were moments where you’d either say or do things that would make him pause for a second and think how unlikely that was of you. He knew you’d lie sometimes, small white lies weren’t foreign to him because he did it too. But, he never thought you’d deliberately keep something like this from him.
And to top it off, if Suguru never saw you by chance that day, would you have ever even told him?
Now that really fucking pisses him off.
When Satoru is mad, everyone else’s day is ruined. When he’s mad, you can see it in his face, his body, how he’s just barely holding himself back. It’s even more scary when Satoru is known as the laid-back, playful and unserious type of man. So when he’s mad, almost no one in the office wants to make him even angrier, let alone be around him.
He’s barely slept a total of ten hours within the past two days, mind keeping him awake. He’s trying to not imagine the image of you holding a boy who looks like him because he’s already broken one too many pairs of glasses and the thought alone makes him infuriated. He sees a blinding white flash of betrayal, hurt, confusion, and anger.
He doesn’t mean to take it out on his employees, but their feelings are not on his list of priorities.
He has a son.
A son who’s five, apparently.
Five whole years of being kept in the dark, not even being blessed with a smidge of information about his offspring. While he was off fucking women, having fun, dreading about taking over his father’s business, you were god knows where, changing fucking diapers and losing sleep. And for what? Were you that fucking scared to tell him?
Oh, he’s so going to rip you a new one when he sees you.
But, he’s still not sure if he wants to do that. Afraid of what might happen, he’d rather not blow up on you, but can you blame him if he does?
He just found out he has a secret love child from a woman he knew years ago and know he’s expected to act like everything is normal in this boring fucking meeting?
Not to mention, if his father finds out, he’s not sure what will happen. If anyone else finds out, for that matter. If anything, he needs to get a reign over this messy situation before he’s allowing anyone to know.
“Mr. Gojo? What do you think?”
At the sudden mention of his name, he snaps back into focus. Eyes flickering over to the bald-headed man who currently stands in front of the table of other withering men, the screen projector displaying a multitude of different statistical data. The man falters slightly, his grip tightening on the laser pointer as Gojo’s eyes land on him
Shit. He has no idea what they were even talking about. “About?” He clears his throat, appearing nonchalant, though the tight hold on the ballpoint pen says otherwise, the faint click of it opening and closing the only indication of his simmering irritation
The room feels colder, quieter.
The man clears his throat nervously. “The expansion plan... into the Asia-Pacific region. Whether you think it’s viable in the current climate.”
Gojo leans back in his chair, his posture relaxed, though his pen continues its faint, rhythmic clicks. His expression is unreadable, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he lets the silence stretch a moment too long. “And you need my opinion on this?” he says finally, his tone polite but tinged with condescension.
The bald man shifts on his feet, adjusting his glasses. “W-We... wanted your insight, given your, uh, experience overseeing the European division.”
“Right,” Gojo says, dragging the word out just enough to make the man squirm. He tilts his head, his icy blue eyes narrowing slightly. “Well, if I’d been paying attention, I’d probably say something about how overly cautious you all seem to be. But that’s just a guess.”
The bald man blanches, stammering, “O-Overly cautious? We’ve taken every factor into account—”
“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” Gojo cuts in smoothly, his voice softening just enough to disarm the growing panic in the man’s voice. “I’m just wondering if maybe all those ‘factors’ are holding you back. Are we leaders, or are we playing it safe like everyone else?” His eyes flicker briefly over the rest of the table, daring anyone to challenge him.
The bald man hesitates, then nods quickly, his nervous energy palpable. “Of course. You’re absolutely right, Mr. Gojo. I’ll revisit the projections to—”
“No need,” Gojo interrupts again, flashing a faint, humorless smile. “I trust you’ll figure it out. Unless you think I shouldn’t.”
The man practically trips over his words in an effort to assure him. “No, no, of course not. I’ll make the adjustments immediately.”
“Perfect,” Gojo says, the finality in his tone dismissing the topic entirely. He shifts his attention to the projector screen, the numbers and graphs blurring together as his thoughts drift.
The room eventually moves on, the hum of conversation resuming. But Gojo doesn’t miss the quick glances from across the table, the subtle unease lingering in the air.
He taps the pen against the table, his jaw tightening. It’s taking everything in him not to snap, not to let the weight of the fact that his ex-girlfriend is a filthy fucking person seep through the cracks.
Let them sweat. It’s the only thing keeping him entertained today.
The minute the awful meeting of ifs and hesitant decisions is over, he’s pushing out his chair, being the first one to leave the haunted room. It’s a bad mistake on his end, because his secretary, Aiko, is on his ass. “Mr. Gojo, your father is waiting for you in your office.”
Great, as if things couldn’t get any fucking better. He holds back a remark, gruffing out. “For?”
“He didn’t say, sir. He just wanted me to tell you to see him as soon as the meeting finished.”
He really, really doesn’t want to see his father right now. The two were too alike, constantly butting heads which only ended in a harsh set of insults being tossed around, mingled with occasional threats of “never passing the company down to someone as idiotic as you”. His father is bluffing, of course. He has no other person to pass it down to, with Satoru being the oldest and only son of his father’s. His long legs easily lead him to the doors of his office, to which he hesitates. Taking in a big breath, before opening the doors and closing them soon after. “What is it?” he asks, walking over to sit in his chair, leaning back comfortably.
His father, Yamato Gojo, the current CEO of the Gojo Group, who sits leisurely on the black leather coach stands up to position himself across from his son. Arms crossed and the permanently etched frown on his face. “Why didn’t you come to the dinner yesterday? There were very important people there you needed to meet. I texted and called you.”
Why didn’t he go? Can he really just say “sorry dad, I was stressing about this shithole I’ve found myself in”. No, he can’t. Instead, he shrugs and brushes his father off. “I was already busy.”
“Busy with what? What’s more important than networking?”
“A lot of things, actually.”
Yamato dislikes that answer quite a lot, frown seemingly deepening, regarding his son with another usual disapproving look. “Satoru, this is serious. They were expecting you and you embarrassed me. I won’t let this happen again, when I say you need to be somewhere, you be there. No if, ands, or buts. You’re pissing me off.”
How ironic of him to say that considering he’s having the exact same effect of Satoru. He isn’t scared of his father, hell no. But he does know to pick and choose his battles. And with the way his mind is completely scrambled right now, he forces himself to intake a huge breath of air. “Yeah, yeah. Fine, I’ll be there next time. Happy?”
“Only after you prove it.” Like father, like son. Satoru hates how his father always seems to want to get the last word in. But his father hates how he does the exact same.
Throughout the entirety of his shift, up until he clocks out of work and walks to his designated parking spot which houses his white 2025 Mercedes-Benz SL-Class. Driving back to his high rise penthouse on autopilot, his thoughts zeroed in on one person only. Or well, two people.
Satoru wasn’t ever sure he wanted to be a father. He knew it was expected of him, but so many people had such high expectations of him, it became exhausting. Too exhausting. Does he even have a right to call himself a father to a child he never knew, a child who probably doesn’t even know him?
His right hand reaches for his phone, calling a number without taking his eyes off the road. It answers on the first ring, but Satoru doesn’t give him the chance to respond. “Do you know where she lives?”
There’s a falter, hearing Suguru’s deep breath come out on the other end. “No, I don’t. And nice to hear from you too.”
“I don’t have time for your sarcasm right now.” He stops at a red light, using his left hand to rub the crease between his furrowed brows. “Do you know anything? Her number? Where she works? Where did you see her so I can go over?”
“Satoru, I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to go meet up with her again. You’re obviously not in the right mind space and I don’t want you two to—“
“I’ll argue with her all I want, I have that goddamn right to.” Satoru grits out, interrupting his friend before he has the chance to spew out more shit he’d rather not listen to right now. “Answer me.”
In Suguru’s mind, he knows if he gives Satoru even the tiniest bit of information regarding your whereabouts, he’ll storm over there and probably say things he doesn’t mean. Satoru tends to think emotionally in very dire situations, a bad habit of his. Still, although he knows his best friend should be angered by this situation, Suguru doesn’t want to involve himself. More than he has. After speaking with you, he’s come to the conclusion that you’ll reach out to Satoru soon. Considering the fact that he already knows. “I don’t know, I saw her at a grocery store, but she was just shopping.”
“Fuck,” Satoru groans, moving his car forward again. “Well how the hell do I—“
He’s cut off by a small vibrate to his phone, a message. When he looks down, the screen is overtaken by a new call coming in from Himari. Honestly, she’s the last person he wants to talk to right now.
“What’s wrong?” Suguru asks, after noticing the small beat of silence from the other end of the phone.
What isn’t wrong? “Gotta go, call you later.”
“Sat—“
Satoru ends the call, picking up the new one. “Hey.”
“Baby,” Himari’s light voice fills his ears, sighing in relief. “Can you come pick me up? I’m at the mall but the tires of my driver’s car popped.”
He’d rather not, but Satoru has found out that it’s been quite difficult to say no to his girlfriend. So, he puts his own internal and external battles to the side, making a right turn and exhaling. “The mall?”
“Yes, baby. Thank you so much.”
He hums back in response. “Be there in ten, wait outside.” Once again, he hangs up and a suffocating silence fills his car. Hands tightening around the wheel, he reels himself in with a big inhale, then exhales. He can’t show these sorts of emotions in front of the woman, for she’ll no doubt question and question about what’s wrong, which will then lead to an argument. He doesn’t need arguments.
As Satoru sees the mall in the distance, he’s overrun by the sudden determination. The determination to find you and meet his son.
“Just one more question, Koji. Then let’s eat dinner, how does that sound?”
The young boy groans in annoyance, the math work of simple addition problems laid out in front of him. He hates math, almost as much as you, excelling in other subjects like English and Art. “But Mama……” he drags the words out in a childish manner.
Plating two plates of tonkatsu chicken with curry, one plate smaller than the other, you turn to your son who now has a pout on his face. You resist the urge to pinch his cheeks. “You can do it, you did the other ones so well.”
Sitting next to him, you look over at his workbook. Just one more problem. It’s a problem consisting of three numbers, 5, 23, and 6. Simple in your eyes, but a disastrous monstrosity in the eyes of a five-year-old. “Mama will help you, okay?”
“Okay, Mama.” Koji grumbles, reluctantly grabbing his red pencil again.
Times like these you cherish. Sure, it’s mundane and not very exciting. But it’s the little things that matter most to you. Helping your kids with homework, helping them learn to ride a bike, tie their laces, it’s all wonderful experiences from your perspective. Proof of the fact that your chubby little baby isn’t very little anymore, growing into his own person. Although, the more he grows, the more he’s starting to resemble his father. It’s scary at times, when he looks at you and you get random flashbacks.
Eating dinner and washing up is another thing you love. After such a hectic day, you just want to unwind with your son. You had put in your PTO for the convenience store a month in advance; after a particularly hard month. Finishing at 5:00pm, like most people do, is a breath of fresh air.
You let Koji tire himself out in the tub, then the living room, to which he has Cars playing (his favorite movie at the time). He plays with his own small set of matching cars, while you sweep the kitchen. Your eyes flicker over to your phone that lays face up on the island, a bubbling sensation forming in your being, one of contemplation. You wonder to yourself, would you call Satoru? You know his number by heart, he most likely hasn’t changed it.
After the breakup, you cut off all contact with him and his friends, even choosing to get a new phone and new number, just to avoid any possibly drives of texting him, or to avoid him texting you. You quite literally wanted to erase every memory about him.
Kinda hard to do that when you’re raising his carbon copy.
After another blind minute, you pause your sweeping and grab your cellular device. You’re about to grab Suguru’s business card from your purse when a sudden question hits you.
How was he able to call you earlier at work if you had never given your number to him in the first place?
Your brows knit together while you come up with any possible solutions and reasoning to that thought, coming up blank. Seriously, how did he call you? Without thinking, you go to your recent calls, pressing the first one, and raising your phone to your ear.
It rings for about a second, before Suguru’s coaxing voice follows. “Hello?”
“How did you get my number?”
“What?”
“How did you get my number? I didn’t give it to you at the store.”
You can practically hear the way he’s trying to formulate an answer. Coming up with a shitty one. “I just…guessed.”
You say nothing, your eyes narrowing on a certain spot on the blank white walls of your kitchen.
Another second passes before he gives in, too easily. “Okay, okay. Look, I don’t want to sound creepy or anything but—“
“Were you stalking me?”
“What?! No! Of course not, Y/N. I’d never do that.”
“Then tell me how you got my number without me telling you.”
He sighs. “…I have a friend. He’s in the law enforcement and I…may have asked around. But before you get any ideas, I was worried. You just fell off the face of the Earth and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
You can’t stop the huff that leaves you. Should you feel complimented that he went out of his own way to do all this or invaded? Maybe both. Honestly, you did that all for a reason. And he blatantly went behind yours, probably everyone’s, back to get some information on you in a shady way. Isn’t that illegal or something? “Suguru, when people do that, it doesn’t mean they want to be found.”
“I know, Y/N. But I was worried, so was Shoko and Satoru—“
“Does he know my number too?” You ask, already feeling your panic run up your veins, boy straightening into a stiff position.
“No, no, he doesn’t. Just me.” He quickly relieves you.
You guess that’s somewhat better. Although you still feel mildly annoyed at Suguru for what he did. “Is that all you know?” The way he doesn’t respond immediately makes you feel even more frustrated, jaw clenching.
“I….” He lets out a heavy breath. “No, it’s not.”
“What else do you fucking know?”
He winces at your now harsh tone of voice, though he knows it’s all expected. “It wasn’t on purpose, I just wanted your number, I swear. But when you’re looking for that kind of stuff, other things pop up like…address and…yeah.”
If only he could see your expression right now. “You know where I fucking live?”
“Yes, Y/N….”
Okay, now your privacy is very invaded. You have never really gotten angry with Suguru, let alone get into an argument. He always knew when to stop, what not to say to make someone else feel worse, but did he just get fucking dumb after all these years? “…are you serious?” You know he is, not even giving him the chance to answer your rhetorical question. “Fuck you, Suguru. I can’t believe you—you completely—I don’t even know what to tell you right now.”
You can hear the guilt in his voice, tone softening. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I had the best intentions, I was never going to visit you or call you without your specific permission to.”
“Did I give you permission to call me earlier?”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Exactly.” With another scoff, you bite your lip, picking the correct words to voice out. You wouldn’t say you’re a word vomit person, usually. But right now, you just feel…slightly weirded out. All this time, you thought you had solitude. But Suguru knew where you were this entire time? “Goodbye, Suguru.”
“Y/N, wai—“
“Don’t. If I need you, I’ll tell you. But right now I don’t want to speak to you.”
He pauses, feeling his gut tighten. Nonetheless, he nods and mutters. “Okay, I’ll give you space. Just please know I’m sorry and I really didn’t have bad intentions.”
Seems like this is the second time today he’s apologizing to you. You don’t like it. Without another word, you end the call, putting your phone back on the hard surface of the island. Jesus Christ. What the hell is going on, seriously?
One minute you’re stressing about getting evicted, then you have to worry about Satoru somehow running into you, and now you find out Suguru has just casually known your address all these years. Why is all of this deciding to be sprung on you all at once? Out of no where? The world must be punishing you for every unholy deed you’ve done in your life; it really doesn’t seem fair. At all. Can’t things just go right for once in your life? You just want to go at least a day without external stressors fucking you over in every way possible.
Of course, you’re unlucky. That’s just how things have always been for you. The universe has a twisted sense of humor, and you’re the punchline to every cruel joke. The thought of Suguru knowing your address sends a cold, uncomfortable shiver down your spine. What else does he know? What else has he been hiding?
The questions swirl in your mind, each one more suffocating than the last. You sit down heavily on the edge of your worn-out couch, its cushions sagging beneath you as though they, too, are tired of carrying your weight. You bury your face in your hands, the skin of your palms rough against your cheeks, and take a deep, shaky breath.
Satoru (and Suguru). Their names alone bring up a storm of emotions you can barely keep bottled up. You’ve worked so hard to keep them, and everything they represent, in the past. Yet here they are, forcing their way back into your life like unwelcome ghosts.
You glance at the stack of overdue bills on the coffee table, mocking you with their bold red lettering. As if you didn’t already know you were drowning. Maybe it’s time to stop fighting the tide.
You watch Koji focus on the bright screen, moving his toy cars in unison with the movie. Willing yourself to worry about the now, to convince yourself that you’re not done, that there’s still some fight left in you.
However, that seems to be proving harder each and every single day.
It’s a chilly, but sunny winter day. The sidewalk filled with other people going about their day. You’re wearing a black trenchcoat, along with a scarf. Hands stuffed into the pockets of your coat as little puffs of white air leave your mouth, a stark piece of evidence of how cold it is today. The heels of your shoes clacking down the concrete, making your way to the familiar cafe of Latte Lounge.
Saturdays are supposed to be happy days, a final breath of fresh air after the business of the weekdays prior. The day where people enjoy Mother Nature and what she has to offer, a day of sleeping in, a day of no responsibilities.
A woman like you has no Saturdays. It’s like every day is a cold, hard Monday.
You finally spot the cafe, its large, glass windows giving you a sneak peek to the liveliness that resides inside. Of course, most people do choose to go to cafes on Saturdays. Especially this early in the morning. Walking in, the small bell above the door dings. The workers behind the counter greet you; while you give them a half greeting back, your eyes scan the environment. It takes a few seconds, but you see Mr. Ito sitting at a table for two in the corner.
You prepare yourself with a heavy sigh, forcing your feet to maneuver you over to the man who smiles and stands once he sees you approaching. “Ms. Y/N, good morning.”
“Good morning.” You’re a little caught off guard when he takes the empty seat from across from him and pulls it out, a silent move of help. Sitting down, he pushes your chair in then walks back over to his own. He laces his fingers together on top of the table. “Get whatever you’d like, on me, remember?”
“Oh, I’m not very thirsty right now.”
“No, please. It’s my pleasure, especially for meeting with me so early this morning.”
A part of you wants to deny his niceness. But, he did cause you to lose money you could’ve still had to spare if you didn’t have to call in Sana to watch Koji. And well, coffee always makes you feel better. “Just an iced vanilla latte.”
He nods and stands up. “Great, I’ll be back.”
Watching him go up to the counter and order, you look back down at your lap. Koji misbehaving sounds odd, he’s always been an obedient kid. Of course he has his moments, but he understands when to listen and when to goof around. A few minutes later, Mr. Ito sits back down with two cups of coffee, sliding yours over to you. You thank him and sip. Hm, not too bad.
There’s a small silence that flows over you two as you taste your coffees, but you wait for him to speak first. He did schedule this little meeting, after all. He clears his throat. “So, Ms. Y/N, again thank you for meeting with me.”
You nod. “Of course, Mr. Ito. Anything for Koji.”
Mr. Ito smiles, his hand waving you off. “Oh please, call me Haruto.”
Already trying to get on a first name basis. Simply nodding again, you raise an eyebrow for him to continue.
“Anywho, like I said earlier this week, I have concerns about Koji’s behavior. You see, he’s had about six instances where he doesn’t listen to me when I say it’s time for silent reading time. I understand he’s a talkative child, but he usually does not act out like this. Would you happen to have any idea as to why he is behaving this way so suddenly?”
“No, I don’t. Koji listens well, and he hasn’t come to me specifically about getting in trouble.” You respond, lips pursing.
Mr. Ito nods in understanding. “I can assume so, but his behavior has started affecting his peers, as well.”
You sit up straighter in your chair. “In what way?”
“Well,” Mr. Ito tilts his head, seemingly recounting the times Koji has misbehaved. “The students who sit around him have started coming to me, complaining about how Koji doesn’t leave them alone. They feel as if he’s taking away from their learning.”
What? Not to mention that that sounds quite…interesting for other five year olds to say, but no way Koji has been that bad. Maybe it’s your bias as his parent, but this is brand new to you, very brand new. Even when he’s home, Koji always insists on doing his homework before playing or eating dinner. So really, you’re not sure how to react to this surge of new information about your own child. “I really don’t know, Mr. Ito. I mean, Koji is a great boy, he listens very well to me and the other adults in his life. I’m just as shocked as you are right now.”
Mr. Ito leans back in his chair, his lips curving into a faint, knowing smile. “I’m not doubting your parenting skills. Koji’s clearly a bright and energetic boy. Maybe too energetic for some of his classmates to handle.” His tone is light, but there’s an undercurrent there, something you can’t quite place. “It’s possible he’s just seeking attention in ways that might not be obvious at home.”
You nod slowly, though his words don’t sit right with you. Koji doesn’t come across as attention-seeking at all. If anything, he’s a bit reserved until he’s comfortable around someone. “I’ll talk to him tonight and see if I can figure out what’s going on. Maybe there’s more to this than meets the eye.”
“I’m sure you will,” Mr. Ito says, his smile deepening as he leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk. The movement feels deliberate, like he’s closing some invisible gap between the two of you. “You’ve always struck me as a very attentive parent.”
The compliment lands awkwardly, and you find yourself straightening your back again, instinctively pulling away from his lingering gaze. “Thank you, Mr. Ito,” you say curtly, steering the conversation back to its purpose. “I just want to make sure Koji’s doing well and that his behavior isn’t affecting his classmates.”
“Of course,” he says smoothly, not missing a beat. “And I’m here to help however I can. We could even set up regular meetings if you’d like, to make sure we stay on the same page about Koji’s progress.”
“That won’t be necessary,” you say, your polite tone edging into firmness. “But I do appreciate the offer.”
His smile falters for a brief moment, but he quickly recovers, leaning back in his chair as though he hadn’t just been testing the waters. “Understood. Please, don’t hesitate to reach out if you ever need anything. My door is always open.”
You nod, feeling a distinct shift in the atmosphere—one you’re eager to step away from. “Well, are there any other concerns I should know about, Mr. Ito?”
He looks like he wants to say more, but decides against it. “No, Ms. Y/N. None at all, thank you for coming out.”
“Thank you for the coffee, have a nice day.” You reply, wasting no time in standing up, grabbing your drink in one hand and bag in the other. Though, his voice speaking again causes you to stop.
“Ms. Y/N,” Mr. Ito’s voice stops you just as you push your chair back. You glance at him over your shoulder, and there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. “I really hope I didn’t come across as too forward earlier. I’m just...invested in making sure Koji has everything he needs to thrive.”
You offer a polite smile, settling the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “Of course, Mr. Ito. I appreciate that.”
He smiles, but there’s a pause before he continues. “It’s rare, you know, to see a parent as involved as you are. It’s refreshing.”
The compliment makes you pause, and you clutch your coffee cup a little tighter. “Well, Koji’s my world,” you reply simply, brushing off the remark.
“As he should be.” Mr. Ito leans back in his seat, his fingers lightly tapping the side of his own drink. “But I imagine that must get exhausting sometimes, especially since you seem to handle everything on your own.” His tone is casual, but there’s a softness to it, as if he’s inviting you to confide in him.
You blink, his words catching you off guard. Is he fishing for something? “It’s not always easy,” you admit cautiously, “but that’s just part of being a parent.”
“True,” he says with a small nod, his eyes lingering on you a moment too long. “Still, you shouldn’t hesitate to lean on the people around you when you need to. It’s not a sign of weakness, you know.”
You stiffen slightly, unsure how to interpret his words. They seem innocuous enough, but the way his gaze flickers toward you feels... calculated. “I manage just fine, thank you,” you reply, keeping your tone light but firm.
“Of course,” he says smoothly, raising his hands slightly as if to placate you. “You strike me as someone who handles things with grace. It’s admirable.”
You glance at your watch, eager to end the conversation. “Well, I should get going. I’ll talk to Koji about everything we discussed.”
“Of course.” Mr. Ito stands as you do, his smile as steady as ever. “Thank you again for meeting me. And...if you ever want to talk more, even just about life in general, I’d be happy to listen.”
His words hang in the air for a moment, and you force another polite smile. “Thank you, Mr. Ito. Have a good day.”
“I can walk you to your car, I’m heading out as well.” He quickly suggests.
You shake your head almost instantly, smile feeling more narrow. “No need, thank you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure.”
“But I—“
“Thank you again, but I really must go.” You cut him off, feeling your patience run thin and the desire to be cordial and polite stretching too much. You nod stiffly and turn around to briskly walk out the cafe. However, just as you do so, you collide into something, or someone.
Your open-lidded coffee fumbles a bit in your hand, quickly steadying it. Though it does manage to stain the white shirt of the person you just bumped into. Just great. You hold back a wince and apologize. “I’m really sorry, I wasn’t—“
Your words leave you, your breath feeling like it’s been stolen straight from your chest. Every hair on your body stands up straight, your heart falling straight to your ass like you’ve just hit the biggest drop on a rollercoaster. You know that feeling when you question if something is real or not, pleading with yourself and every deity watching that it’s not? Well, that’s exactly how you feel right now.
It feels like a spotlight has been shone on you without your consent and you suddenly want to throw up. Because as your eyes have moved up to profusely apologize to the stranger, a bucket of water filled with nostalgia and past memories drowns you.
The bright blue, unmistakable irides stare back down at you. A million memories play on repeat, but one thing’s for certain.
The past has never felt so close, and you suddenly want to erase it all and scream.
a/n: the dreaded reunion is here! thank you for reading and the tremendous support! <3 stay tuned for next chap, sorry if yall thought these two were boring, chapter 3 will be getting more into it
taglist: @celestialforce @theclassbookworm @tbzzluvr @uhenivid @ofkilljoysandslytherins @sadmonke @bunheadusa @shartnart1 @lady-of-blossoms @itsinherited @duooy @ari-sa @dakotali @mew4-ever18 @iv-vee @devils-blackrose @a-girl-with-thoughts
#gojo satoru#jujutsu kaisen#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x y/n#jjk fanfic#gojo x reader#gojo x reader series#jjk gojo#jjk satoru#gojo smut#gojo satoru smut#jjk x reader#satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojo#satoru angst#satoru x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk#x reader#jjk angst#gojo x you#jjk fanfiction#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#gojou satoru x reader#dividers by @/cafekitsune#dad! gojo satoru#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk x you
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can you do a story where hotch accidentally calls Y/N by her middle name and the rest of the bau are like "👁️👄👁️ who's (insert name)?" and then a cute or fluffy moment happens where Y/N's like "oh yeah only hotch calls me that" PLS PLS PLSSSS
SECRET NICKNAMES - A.H
a/n: the emojis are so accurate im crying you know that’s exactly how they reacted 😭 but loved loved loved writing this one. slightly self indulgent because my middle name is grace <3
masterlist
pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader
warnings: just sticky sweet fluff & morgan being an instigator but what’s new!!
wc: 0.9k
It had been a long day. The conference room was a mess. It kind of resembled a battlefield of ideas and failed theories. Evidence photos lay in uneven stacks, some forgotten at the edges of the table while others remained underlined with question marks and red ink. The faint scratch of a pen and the occasional sigh were the only sounds. It was late, and exhaustion was beginning to creep in. Eyes drooped, postures sagged, but no one had yet dared to suggest calling it a night yet.
You leaned back slowly, your chair tilting just enough to let you stretch your arms above your head. The weariness in your muscles felt almost tangible, meshing into every joint like a weight you let go of. Across from you, Hotch stood still as a statue, his arms crossed and gaze cutting through the evidence board.
"Alright, enough for tonight," he finally said firmly. "We'll reconvene tomorrow at 7:00 a.m. sharp."
The team didn't need to be told twice, practically jumping to their feet. Papers were scooped up, pens clicked shut, and chairs scraped back as everyone made their way out. But before you could slip away, Hotch's voice rang out, cutting cleanly through the room.
"Grace, can I see you for a moment?"
The team froze mid-movement. Morgan glanced over one shoulder, one brow raised, while Garcia’s head popped up from where she was stacking papers, lips parting in confusion. Reid, already halfway to the door, paused and turned, tilting his head like he was trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t have all the pieces to.
JJ blinked, mouth “Grace?” to herself, clearly trying to place the name.
Emily squinted slightly before giving voice to what everyone was thinking. “Who’s Grace?”
You blinked, your brain scrambling for an explanation as your eyes darted to Hotch, who seemed oblivious to the chaos he had just cause. Typical man.
Clearing your throat, you forced a sheepish smile.
“That would be me,” you admitted, lifting a hand awkwardly. “Grace is my middle name. Surprise!”
The room remained suspiciously quiet, and you could practically feel the questions they all were about to voice.
“Hotch calls me that sometimes,” you added quickly, somehow able to keep your voice semi-light despite the burn in your cheeks. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Oh, this is interesting,” Morgan said, leisurely sinking back into his chair with folded arms.
JJ squinted. “Is this some sort of secret nickname situation?”
Emily raised a brow. “Does this happen often? Hotch calling you Grace?”
“So, Grace,” Morgan drawled, clearly enjoying himself. “Care to explain why Hotch gets to call you that? Special privileges or—,”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” you cut in, your voice cracked and it was unfortunately too loud to come off as anything but defensive. “Like I said, it’s not a big deal. He just—he just does sometimes, okay?”
“Oh it’s a big deal,” Garcia cut in dramatically. “What else don’t we know about you two?”
“Alright, enough.” Hotch cut in finally, shaking his head. “I told you all to go home. So go.”
Morgan made it halfway to the door before turning back.
“Y’know Hotch, if you wanted us out so bad, you could’ve just said it earlier. No need for the theatrics. We get it—‘Grace’ needs your undivided attention.”
Garcia gasped. “Morgan, you can’t just say that!”
But the damage was done, and the team left in a flurry of giggles and teasing comments, leaving you standing there, flustered and glaring at Hotch.
The second the door closed, you whirled around and smacked his shoulder.
“What was that for?”
“You know what that was for,” you said, crossing your arms. “Calling me Grace in front of them? Do you want me to be interrogated?”
His faint smile broke through. “It wasn’t intentional.
You shot him another glare which only served to turn that smile of his into a full blown laugh.
“I’m sorry, honey,” he said, corners of his eyes crinkling. “I wasn’t thinking—it’s the sleep deprevation.”
Before you could respond, he reached out, gently grabbing your face and smooshing your cheeks together. You were sure you resembled a fish, brows drawn, trying to remain scowling at him, but the position made it hard.
“Truce?” he murmured, leaning down to kiss you.
Your resolve crumbled the second his lips touched yours (It always did). The warmth of his touch practically seemed into your skin, and your muscles melted against him like butter in the sun. When he pulled back you stared up at him, dazed and breathless, trying to remember why you were mad.
“That was—,” You cleared your throat, fighting to ridiculous smile threatening to appear. “You can’t just do that to avoid getting in trouble.”
“Did it work?”
You huffed, crossing your arms. “I’ll think about it.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, pretending to weigh your options with the seriousness of someone deciding on a life-or-death matter.
“Alright,” you said slowly, drawing out each word. “I’ve thought about it.”
Grasping the lapels of his suit jacket, you pulled him down to you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that left no room for argument. When you pulled back, his smirk was still in place but his eyes were softer now and filled with something you couldn’t quite place.
“But don’t think this gets you off the hook next time.”
He chuckled. “Noted.”
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#criminal minds fluff#Aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner#criminal minds#aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotchner x fem reader#criminal minds fic
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First Impressions
Thanks anon for this request!
Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader one-shot
Summary: When your heater breaks in the dead of winter, you get more than you bargained for when Joel Miller arrives to fix it.
Warnings: language, some fluff, the stress and fear that comes with living in the wilderness during a zombie apocalypse, competency kink (a little), smut (18+ MDNI), dirty talk
WC: 4.2K
Adjusting to life in Jackson was tough. You had been on your own for so long, you found it nearly impossible to ever fully relax. You were grateful Tommy and Maria took you in after one of their patrols stumbled across you freezing in the thick Wyoming wilderness, but to be yanked from the brink of death and dropped into some thriving community that seemingly even managed to still celebrate the holidays was too jarring.
So, you kept to yourself for a while. You pitched in around the stables. It was where you felt most comfortable: less people, more animals. You didn't go to the dining hall to eat and you didn't visit the bar for a drink. You had a clear cut path from your house to the stables and back, and you rarely ever strayed.
Unfortunately, while Jackson had a lot to offer and did incredibly well at reviving civilization, things still did break. Like your space heater.
You piled on extra blankets for a week, and then you moved to the living room to sleep on the tiny sofa in front of the fireplace, but eventually your back was screaming at you for it and the cold weather wouldn't let up for at least another two months, so you had no choice but to ask for help.
Tommy was shocked you hadn't said something sooner and apologized for making you feel like you couldn't ask for help, even though it wasn't at all his fault or anyone else's except your own, and promised to have his brother stop by that afternoon to take a look at it.
While you kept to yourself and hardly socialized at all, that didn't stop you from overhearing things at the stables. You knew of Tommy's brother. How people whispered rumors behind his back and fell silent whenever he stepped foot inside the building.
Did you know he slit a raider's throat and made the guy's girlfriend watch?
He beat the shit out of Seth the other night just for looking at him wrong.
Back in Boston, I heard he knocked some guy's teeth down his throat for taking the last of the beef jerky.
Someone told me he only sleeps two hours a night.
He fixed Greg's shower and told him not to fuck it up again or else he'll be taking baths in the kitchen sink.
Were you intimidated? Maybe a little. But you had been on your own for so long, fighting and scratching and clawing to stay alive. Some asshole wasn't going to shake you up.
Then you saw him.
Well, you'd seen him before, sure. But just glimpses in the barn or passing by him on the street. Never up close.
When you opened your front door later that afternoon, you were a little taken aback. He was so much more handsome than you had thought. He was built like a refrigerator; broad and strong. His cheeks and chin were dusted in a patchy, greying beard, growing right below a hooked nose and deep, velvety brown eyes. There were a few scars littering his bronzed skin but what drew your attention more was his hair. His fucking hair. Loose, mostly grey curls that fell past his ear and down the back of his neck. Not long enough to pull into a ponytail, like Tommy, but give it a few more months and he might. He had them pushed back from his face, making the silken locks look like a cascading river so enticing, you had to hold yourself back from touching them.
He said your name and readjusted the toolbox in his hand and you blinked yourself back to life before stepping aside to let him in. When he passed you, you were hit with the strong scent of wood shavings and coffee, an intoxicating combination that had your brain buffering once again.
"Tommy said you needed your heater looked at?"
You nodded and pointed up the stairs. "It's in my bedroom. Can I, uh, get you something to drink? Coffee?"
He perked up at that once he slid off his jacket and shoes. "You got coffee?"
You nodded and walked toward the kitchen, rummaging through your meager belongings until you found the precious tin can. "That's the one thing I always made sure I grabbed if I ever saw it out there. If we have to live like this, at least I'm still having my coffee."
Joel grinned and set the toolbox down on your counter, watching as you filled up a kettle with water. His heart was hammering wildly in his chest. He couldn't believe how lucky he was that your stupid heater broke, giving him the perfect excuse to finally meet you so he could stop pining from afar. "You don't like it much here, then?"
You startled at that, giving him a look of surprise before lighting your stove.
"No, I didn't mean here, I just meant... you know... the world in general."
"I know, I'm just teasin' you," he said a little awkwardly with a soft chuckle. You turned around, leaning against your counter and crossing your arms over your chest. You had just spoken a few words but so far, nothing about this man screamed scary. In fact, he seemed rather... sweet.
"How long have you been here?" you asked while you waited for the water to boil.
"'Bout five years," he said thoughtfully, scratching his chin. "You're new, though."
You nodded, your fingers fidgeting underneath your bicep. "Yeah. I think it's been almost a month. I'm not really sure, never bothered keeping track of the days out there."
Joel studied you up for a moment, picking up on your eyes shifting over your surroundings, your foot tapping anxiously on the floor, and the way you kept your back protected when you spoke to him.
"I remember when we first got here," Joel said. Your fidgeting paused and you looked at him again. "It was tough. Acclimatin' to this kind of life. Hard to sleep. Hard to trust anyone. It took time but eventually, you start sleepin' soundly again and that guard comes down. You'll see."
A slow smile spread across your face and you looked down shyly at your feet. "Am I that obvious?"
Joel laughed and strolled over to the two mugs and can of instant coffee you had sitting out. "Wouldn't say it's obvious but I haven't seen you at the dining hall one time. In fact, pretty sure this is the first time I've heard your voice." Your cheeks warmed up behind his back and you bit your lower lip. So he's noticed you enough to realize you never went to the dining hall.
"It's a pretty one," he said over his shoulder, focusing on scooping the correct amount of coffee into each mug. "Your voice, I mean. Shame you been keepin' it hidden all this time."
"O-oh," you stuttered, completely flustered by his compliments. This was not at all the man everyone made him out to be. "Thank you."
Joel carefully poured the boiling water into each mug before giving them each a stir, then handed you one. "You're welcome, darlin'. Now why don't you show me to your bedroom?"
Your eyes must have bugged out of your head because at first, he frowned, then after he realized what he said, turned a shade of pink you didn't know he was capable of.
"I mean, for the heater."
"Yeah, oh Christ, I know," you said, waving him off and heading for the stairs, your mug clutched so tightly in one hand you thought it might break. You lead Joel to the first door on the left and stepped back so he had room to swing his toolbox through the narrow door with him.
"I don't know what happened," you said, trailing in after him while he began to set out some tools on the ground. When he knelt down, he groaned at the creak in his knees and you quickly grabbed a spare pillow. "Here, kneel on this," you offered. He looked up at the pillow, then at you, and shook his head.
"I ain't kneelin' on your pillow."
"It's a spare. I only use the one. And honestly, even that seems too much sometimes."
He sighed and hesitated for only a moment longer before taking the pillow from your hand. "Thank you," he said softly. You smiled and sat down on the edge of your bed after putting your coffee on the end table with his.
"Anyway. As I was saying, I don't know what happened. It was working fine and then one day it just wouldn't turn on. I tried other outlets and I didn't see any issues with the cord, so I just gave up."
Joel began to unscrew the back of the heater while he listened. "So you gave up and slept in the cold for two weeks?"
"Nothing I wasn't used to."
He couldn't argue with that.
The two of you sat in a comfortable silence while he worked until he began to hum some old country song under his breath, making you smile again. You couldn't remember the last time you smiled so much.
"What're you smilin' for?" he asked with a sparkle of amusement in his eyes.
"You aren't at all the way people say you are," you said boldly.
He quirked an eyebrow and turned his attention back to his work. "And what have you heard?"
You shrugged and leaned back on your hands. "Threatened a man after breaking his shower. Knocked out some guy named Seth. That you only sleep two hours a night," you chuckled at the last one when you heard how silly it sounded.
"Well," Joel said with a heavy sigh. "I didn't threaten anyone about their shower. Just reminded him he's gotta take care of the pipes or else the whole place'll rot."
You grinned to yourself as he continued to explain the rumors.
"I did punch Seth but he said somethin' real nasty 'bout my girl and, well, that just don't sit right with me."
Your grin slid right off your face. "Your girl?"
He stopped what he was doing and swiveled around to face you. "My - Ellie. Her name's Ellie. She's, uh, well... she ain't my daughter, but..."
Relief flooded your veins. "Oh. I thought you meant -"
"No, no," Joel said, clearing his throat awkwardly. "No, not like that." He twirled a wrench around in between his fingers as he nervously bit the inside of his cheek before adding, "Don't got anyone like that."
Your mouth formed a silent oh. Message received.
Joel cleared his throat again and turned back to the heater. "And the sleep thing, well, they got me there," he chuckled with a shake of his head. "Although some nights are better than others."
"I know what you mean," you said with a nod. After a moment of silence, Joel smiled to himself.
"Imagine y'do if you ain't got any heat at night."
You giggled and he smiled again, this time his chest swelling when he heard you laugh.
Joel continued to work on the heater while you studied him quietly. He took you by complete surprise. The last thing you expected was to make a friend out of the fearsome Joel Miller. It didn't hurt that he was so easy on the eyes, either. How old was he? Your gaze roamed over his greying hair and the crinkles next to his eyes. Older than you, definitely, but it was hard to tell by how much.
You couldn't even remember the last time you were interested in anyone. It must have been when you were in the Atlanta QZ, and that was years ago.
"Alright, let's give her a run," Joel suddenly said. When you refocused on him, you saw he had put the heater back together and was fixing it upright. He plugged it into the wall and hovered his finger over the power button before glancing back at you. "Ready?"
You nodded and swung your legs back and forth over the edge of your bed, then he winked at you, sending warmth all over your body. Jesus, if Joel kept giving you little looks like that, you wouldn't have much need for a heater anymore.
He pressed the button and sure enough, the coils inside the heater began to glow orange and heat started to fill the room.
"Oh!" you exclaimed, jumping off the bed in excitement. "Thank you!" you added, kneeling on the floor as well so you could warm your hands in front of the heater.
"Anytime," Joel murmured, and it wasn't until you heard the deep timber of his voice next to you that you realized he was so close. You tilted your face, smiling shyly at him next to you. Up close, you could see the fine lines in his face in much more detail, each one calling out to you to trace with your fingertip. When you met his gaze, you found he had been examining you, as well. Quickly, you looked away and stood up.
"Is there anythin' else?" Joel asked as he began to pack up his toolbox. You shook your head.
"No, I think that'll do it."
"You sure? Thought I saw that faucet drippin' in the kitchen."
You frowned. "No, I didn't notice that," you said slowly.
"What 'bout those windows?" he asked, standing up with a grunt and gesturing to the two bedroom windows on the other side of the room. "Need help hangin' curtains?"
You looked where he was pointing. "No, never really bothered me. Besides, it faces the backyard. No one can see in."
He laughed softly and rubbed his chin before shooting you a sheepish look. "I'm tryin' to find a reason to stay, sweetheart."
Your eyes widened and once again, you felt your cheeks heat up.
"Oh," you said, shyly dropping your gaze to the floor to hide your smile. "I would like that."
"Yeah?" he asked, and you nodded.
"Yeah. You're, um," you shifted your weight nervously, "you're sweet. And nice."
Joel huffed and set his toolbox back down. "I ain't nice all the time," he warned. "But you ain't gotta worry 'bout that."
"No?" you questioned, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as he began to close the distance between you.
He sighed and cupped your face with both hands. Your body instantly melted at his touch, your knees practically giving out when he dragged his thumb across your lip, saving it from your teeth. "Am I readin' this wrong?" he asked, his eyes darting all over your face. You quickly shook your head and stepped even closer.
"Thank Christ," he breathed before capturing your lips in a deep kiss. It had been several years and you were a little rusty, but you quickly found it was like riding a bike.
Joel's kiss lit a fire in you, one that had gone dormant for so long. Your fingers curled around the lapels of his flannel, the material warm and soft, just like him, and with the confidence boost that came from his hands dropping to grab excitedly at your hips, you walked him backwards until he bumped against the edge of your mattress.
He sat down on your bed with an oomph and you crawled into his lap, not once breaking the kiss.
"Wish I got to know you sooner," he whispered, tipping his head back when your lips traveled down his neck. Fuck, even his neck was sexy. "Always so skittish and shy," he continued, his palms gliding up and down your back.
You laughed softly against his skin and leaned back. "You still don't really know me."
He grinned and shrugged. "I'd like to, if you're willin'," he said, his vulnerability making your chest ache. You sunk your teeth into your lower lip again and nodded.
"Good," he said, his hands roaming further past your waist to cup your ass. "'Cause I like what I know so far."
"You're full of surprises," you told him, giggling when he gave your ass a firm squeeze. "You're so much more... you're more gentle and sweet than I expected."
Joel smirked and tugged you closer so you felt his erection trapped within his jeans. "I can be gentle," he told you, nipping at your jaw. "Or I can be rough. Whatever you like."
You swallowed when you caught the mischievous glint in his dark eyes. "Oh, yeah?"
"Mhmm," he said, and before you could blink he had spun you around so your back was pressed into the mattress while he hovered above you. You had to admit, he was adorable. He had to be pushing sixty but he was talking like a man half his age. After you heard the way his knees creaked when he was fixing your heater, you figured he was all talk, or maybe he just needed the ego boost to hype himself up.
But the speed in which he removed your clothes should have been the first sign that your impression of him was wrong. When he buried himself inside you, his surprisingly thick length stretching you open and nudging the furthest depths of you, you got the message.
When you gasped and tipped your head back, his big hand immediately rose to cup the side of your face and tilt it back down so he could watch your face as you unraveled beneath him. Each little noise and moan seemed to egg him on, like he fed off your sounds and the way your face twisted in pleasure when his coarse hair rubbed against your clit with each roll of his hips.
"Wanna see you," he explained, eyes scanning all over your face. "Wanna watch you take it. You'll keep your eyes on me, won't you? Hm? You'll be good for me, yeah?"
You nodded, your mind a muddled mess. The only thing you could seem to focus on was the slow and deliberate drag of his heavy cock in and out of you. Joel pressed your knees back against your chest as far as you could handle and pushed inside you further with a rough grunt. He managed to get so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach and the sensation left you breathless.
"So fuckin' pretty, y'know that?" he groaned, gazing down at you without breaking rhythm. His long locks loosened and hung past his eyes, tempting you to smooth them back. "Wanted to get to know you f'so long but I couldn't ever catch your eye," he admitted with a little smirk. You moaned when his hips began to swirl, switching the angle ever so slightly and setting your nerves alight.
"I-I... oh, god," you whined, already struggling to keep your eyes on him like he asked. "I didn't know."
He lunged forward and crashed his mouth against yours hungrily, his exhale fanning over your cheek. Then just as suddenly as he kissed you, he leaned back and pulled out.
"Turn over," he instructed, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he dragged in air. You did as you were told and shakily held yourself up on your hands and knees.
"Fuck," he muttered behind you. Your face went hot and you tucked your chin into your shoulder as you waited for him to enter you again, but he chose to take an extra minute to glide his hand over the curves of your hips and ass. If you had been able to see him, you would have seen a look of awe and appreciation on his face.
"Always wondered what you had hidden under all those clothes," he said as he lined himself up at your entrance. You cried out his name when he finally slid back inside, the angle already too intense and he hadn't even begun to move. "Goddamn, wanna run my tongue over every fuckin' inch of you, baby," he growled, fingers gripping your sides as he tried to ground himself.
He gave you a few gentle thrusts to get used to it before he couldn't hold back any longer. He pounded into you, his eyes fixed on your ass and the way it bounced with every snap of his hips. One hand slowly reached down to trace your spine, marveling at the way your body welcomed him. Then you arched your back and you both moaned at the slight change and he could feel his stomach begin to tense in anticipation of his release.
"So fuckin' tight," he said through clenched teeth. You could hear him breathing heavily as his thrusts grew sloppy and you began to panic, sensing he was about to come before you were ready. But then as if he read your mind, one of his hands snaked around your front to draw fast circles over your clit.
"C'mon, give it t'me," he said with a grunt. "Wanna feel this perfect pussy squeeze me, want you to be feelin' me for fuckin' days, sweetheart."
"Oh, shit," you gasped, mouth hanging open in a mixture of ecstasy and surprise. You wondered how on earth everyone in town had so much to say about Joel's reputation but somehow managed to leave out how mind-blowing he happened to be in bed.
"Christ, honey. Ain't gonna last much longer," he groaned, his fingers working even faster between your legs. He pounded into you harder, punching the air from your lungs and pushing you closer and closer to your peak. Your breaths were coming in shallow pants and you could feel the swell building deep inside you, threatening to unleash at any second. You reached behind you frantically, searching for some part of him to hold onto when you found his hand pressed firmly onto your hip. Your fingers clasped over his as you felt the pressure build up quickly and you knew in that moment this one encounter was going to single-handedly ruin you.
The moment you fell apart while practically screaming his name, your cunt pulsing around him and your body shaking, he almost made a huge mistake. Finally getting to witness what you looked like when you came was more than enough, but hearing his name over and over while your body shook with pleasure? It was too much and he was only just a man who was holding on by his goddamn fingernails as it was. But fortunately, he managed to pull out just in time to paint your lower back with his cum. He knew he was making some ungodly sounds as relief flooded his veins, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He had been daydreaming about taking you apart like that for weeks and now that he finally had you, there was no turning back.
"Oh, fuck," he gasped, lifting his chin towards the ceiling while dragging in deep lungfuls of air. You collapsed flat onto your stomach with a grunt and he tilted his face back down to grin as how spent you looked.
Still got it.
"I'll be right back, darlin'," he told you. You mumbled something tiredly in response before he slipped out of your room to get a washcloth from your bathroom and returned quickly to clean you up.
"Thank you," you said, turning your face so you could watch him gently wipe up his mess. His eyes flickered to yours and he smirked.
"You thankin' me for fixin' the heater, for fuckin' you, or for cleanin' you up?"
You giggled, your voice a little hoarse when you replied, "All of the above."
You flipped over onto your back and his eyes immediately drifted down your naked body, his breath catching in the back of his throat at how perfect you were. Even better than he ever imagined.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered, letting the rag fall to the floor so he could glide his hand up your thigh, over your hips and stomach to one of your breasts which, he realized far too late, had gone neglected. Next time.
"So are you," you whispered back, bringing a hand up to play with the long curls resting on the back of his neck. He shook his head shyly and looked away.
"I need a haircut."
"I like it just the way it is," you told him, twisting a lock of hair around one finger and watching as it loosely bounced back when you let it go. "Gives me something to grab onto," you joked. A wide smile stretched across his face and his eyes looked like he was staring at the tree on Christmas morning.
"So, uh," Joel began when the silence stretched on for too long. "I meant it earlier. 'Bout gettin' to know you better." He couldn't remember the last time he felt so nervous. He could feel his face heating up and he prayed you didn't notice. "I know you don't like goin' to the dining hall but I'd really like to have dinner with you. I can't make much but I can make stew, if y'wanna-"
"I would go to the dining hall with you," you said, cutting him off. His eyes snapped back up to yours and he shot you a nervous smile.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," you said with a little shrug before sitting up and draping your arms around his shoulders. "As long as you're there, I'll go."
He grinned and leaned forward to kiss you, still in complete disbelief his wildest fantasy actually came true.
"How 'bout tomorrow, then?" he asked a little breathlessly when he broke the kiss.
Your eyes lit up and you nodded. "It's a date."
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