#but it's weird to review smut lol

[luaspersona]

i just wanna start this by saying that you found the most appropriate no-bullshit title i've ever seen 🙏🏽

and then, i wanna say that i think this is my first time reblogging/reviewing a fic of yours and that's... just a damn shame. you're one of the first authors i've come across when i created my blog but i used to be a silent reader of everything 💀 thankfully, though, i've started to come back to my favorite authors whose works made me happy and try and make you happy too! so, here i am.

m, your writing is just amazing. really.

the way you were able to set atmosphere in the first few paragraphs just goes out to show the control you have. the tone is just on point, and i'm immediately hooked, smiling silly from how smoothly the reader describes everything. also, she's so fucking cool 😭 i finish this fic so into her omg

and damn, i just loved their friendship dynamic so much (now even more). i loved how in sync they are, the whole ritual and the intimacy they have between them and urgh it just made me miss my own smoking groups lol

and the fact the reader thought they were a couple omgggggggg i laughed so hard at their interaction, the humor is amazing here too!!

not to mention that jimin here is so charming 😩 i loved him being so needy and lowkey sub, god it was so hawt to see it ffs

and then, there's hoseok.

i have to admit that hobi could do ANYTHING and i'd immediately fold, but him here????????????? you wrote him so 👏🏽 damn 👏🏽 well, and his dominant personality? even the fact that he's the one who provides the weed just adds to it and urgh i was sooooooooo gone istg

i feel like i need to say a few things about the smut cus it's just SO DAMN BEAUTIFUL AND GOOD AND SEXY, but it just works due to the way you wrote it, baby 👉🏽

the leading up to it, with the shotguns and them describing how it was like to feel attracted to the reader when they were teens, and then jimin asking if she wanted to keep going urgh, everything was just so perfect i was scrEAMING 😭😭😭

i loved the words you chose, the light dirty talk, the way you moved things, the positions, it was all overwhelming but in an amazing and delicious way, really.

not to mention that hobi constantly assuring the reader, and being all controling and dominant and simply so hot it was 🔪😭🥵 and in the end? saying that if liking it made him gay then he doesn't care lol loved it

who doesn't love a good threesome fic, right? and on top of that, how can one dislike any hopemin content? but urgh, istg this is the best threesome fic i've read like, ever. i was really into it and regardless of being pwp the characters are just... so captivating, so interesting. i really liked it.

btw this is a posthumous review, cus you killed me with this. i'm ded.

two in one (explicit)

genre: 100% smut

pairing: hoseok x reader x jimin

summary: you finally have a much-needed smoke session with your best friends, just like old times. you’re also pretty sure they’re gay… right?

word count: just under 12k, help

contains: explicit sexual content!!! M/M/F threesome, double vaginal penetration, come eating, mutual masturbation, recreational drug use (just weed tho), friends to lovers, multiple orgasms, a lot of cunnilingus, a smidge of dirty talk, crying after sex (in a good way), and some incredibly stupid/v mildly problematic discussions of sexuality

A/N: i am literally so embarrassed that this is my first crosspost to tumblr but hi, i made you this p0rn, i hope you like it. this is also on AO3 if that's how you prefer to get down

~*~

The three of you have the perfect smoke session down to a science. Your roles are considered sacred at this point, unchanged since you were fifteen years old and smoking mids out of horribly constructed apple pipes in Hoseok’s parents’ basement.

Hoseok provides the pot.

It’s easy for him, social butterfly that he is, to make the connections and bring up the question just delicately enough to get what he wants without seeming like a narc. He’s always been able to thread the needle of finding a reliable plug with good quality stuff who doesn’t awkwardly overstay their welcome by asking to smoke it with you (or worse, try to push pills or other shit on you).

And now that he’s rich, he gets the best stuff there is, probably flown out from California with stupid names like Maui Wowie and Super Lemon Haze. He has to pack the bowl, too– you’re lazy so you prefer pre-rolls, but Hobi refuses to do anything rolled if Jimin is smoking it. (“Have you seen his lips? He’d soak right through the thing.”)

Jimin brings the snacks.

These have not changed from when you were teenagers, but you can actually afford them now, instead of forcing Hobi to distract a store clerk while you and Jimin shoved as much as you could into his backpack.

Honey butter chips, shrimp crackers, pepero, the little chocolate puffs that he can toss in the air and catch in his mouth every time– Jimin’s snack game is elite, and he’ll always lovingly set out a full glass of water for each of you before the session starts. He’s even been known to disappear into the kitchen, only to return with three bowls of fire noodles that he managed to whip up while blazed as fuck.

And you are in charge of the music.

You’ve had other friends argue that this isn’t enough to be considered a real session contribution, but you know Hobi and Jimin understand the importance of ambiance. You’ve learned the hard way how awful it is to be high as shit in absolute silence– or worse, high as shit with Adult Swim on in the background. Your best friends, thankfully, have taste.

Over the years you’ve built up a collection of playlists perfectly crafted to follow the arc of a session: Fun pop to ease you into the giggly stages, then slowly moving on to stuff with more psychedelic layers as the body high sets in, and of course a nice dose of chillwave to round things out. (Is there anything better than falling asleep stoned to Tycho? The answer is no.)

“Hoseok, I can’t figure out your fancy Bluetooth shit,” you whine as your phone once again refuses to connect to his built-in home stereo.

You’re in the living room of their bougie apartment, sinking into the pillows of a couch that feels more like a cloud. Quite a change from the basement years, when you’d all try to squeeze on an eyesore of a loveseat, the upholstery torn away on the arms to reveal the foam stuffing underneath. It was really only built to fit two people, so inevitably, someone would end up on the floor. Usually Jimin.

Hoseok is kneeling on the carpet, working diligently atop the glass coffee table. You glance over at him for help, but he’s in full Hobi-focus mode, tongue between his teeth as he gingerly removes the lid from the grinder, bringing it close to his face to check the consistency. Giving an approving nod, he pinches the grind between his delicate fingers and begins packing it into the bowl of his rainbow glass pipe. His favorite, naturally.

Jimin flops down on the couch next to you, taking your phone out of your hands without asking. He repeats the exact same steps you’ve done three times, but for some reason when he does it, the device connects without issue.

You roll your eyes and snatch your phone back, scrolling until you find your latest session playlist. You tap play and the opening guitar notes of Lil Nas X’s MONTERO surround you from all sides.

The reaction is immediate from both of them. Hoseok throws one hand in the air, doing the best body rolls he can manage on his knees while still packing a bowl with the other hand. His tongue lolls out of his mouth as the beat kicks in, and he throws in his own ad-libs (“yeah”, “uh-huh”) between the lines of the first verse.

Jimin, being Jimin, reaches his hand between his shoulder blades and pulls his shirt off over his head.

It’s been a fact for as long as you’ve known him– Jimin is terrible at keeping his clothes on. You’ve seen him shirtless, even down to his boxers, easily hundreds of times. There is no human more immune to the charms of a six-pack than you are, you’d wager.

The defined indentations just below his hips, though… His sweatpants ride low enough as he wiggles to the music that you can see them now, and your gaze lingers for a moment. Those are pretty good. It’s a shame, really.

You grab his shirt off the floor and toss it back at him. “Keep your clothes on, Jimin!” He sticks his tongue out at you and you poke a finger into his side until he squirms away and does as he’s told.

Hoseok grabs the seat next to you on the couch. “Alright Jimin, you do the honors,” he announces, passing the bowl across you and retrieving a lighter from the coffee table.

As Jimin gets the bowl started, you feel Hoseok’s hand gently creep up your back. He’s always so touchy. It’s funny how all their mannerisms come back to you in pieces, like you’d forgotten your best friends. It’s been too long, you guess, nearly a year since the last time you’ve been able to be together like this.

Hoseok’s fingers absentmindedly start to massage a knot in your shoulders and you shiver at the sensation, letting your eyes flutter closed for a second. God, that feels good. You have so few friends who are comfortable being physical the way he is, and you haven’t had a proper fuck in way too long.

Not that that’s Hobi’s problem to solve, of course. But at this point, you’ll take what you can get, even if it’s just a one-handed shoulder massage.

Jimin exhales the first hit in an impressively large cloud of smoke. His hand still working your shoulders, Hoseok leans over you with his lips pursed, inhaling at the air as if to pull the smoke in.

You laugh as you take the bowl and lighter from Jimin, because Hoseok looks ridiculous. You let the flame lick at the bud and when you inhale, you hear Jimin’s voice.

“Please, Hobi. If you want to shotgun, you have to do it right.” He places his fingers under your chin to tilt your head up, his mouth hovering close to yours, and parts his lips.

You roll your eyes because Jimin is such a fucking flirt. He always has been. Feeling put upon, you exhale a stream of smoke and he sucks it in. It’s not particularly sexy, but having someone’s face so close to yours, with Hoseok’s fingers still pressing into your skin, is enough to make your pulse quicken.

Good god girl, get a grip, you think to yourself. These men are not interested.

You hand the bowl off to Hoseok and he removes his hand from your shoulders to take a hit. Apparently not satisfied with only one shotgun, Jimin leans across you to encourage Hoseok to do the same. He’s always been the king of playing chicken.

Hobi’s eyes crinkle as he fights to keep the smile off his face. Jimin’s hand lands on your thigh for balance as he moves over you.

You’re not sure if it just takes you by surprise or if you’re really that touch-starved, but you flinch at the contact, which is enough to make Hoseok laugh and choke on the hit, coughing smoke out at the both of you.

“Sorry,” you laugh, “I’m jumpy today.” You sink back into the cushions.

The rush of the first hit after far too long is enough that your head is buzzing a little and you have no filter, instead there’s simply a direct line from your brain to your mouth. “I need to get laid. I’ve been in a dry spell for like…” You pause to count. “Jesus, almost six months. It’s starting to fuck with me.”

You look up and Jimin and Hoseok are having some silent conversation between the two of them in facial expressions you can’t make sense of. Jimin has paused with the bowl halfway to his lips and is failing to suppress a laugh, creases appearing under his eyes.

Jimin has forever been able to make Hoseok cackle without saying anything. “It’s all in the eyes!” Hobi would always say after doubling over for a solid minute. “Just his eyes make me laugh!” Now is no exception, and Hobi does his classic move where he laughs so hard he stands up, which never fails to make you laugh.

You clap a hand to your mouth and that makes both of them laugh more, until Hoseok is sprawled on the floor and you’re slumped sideways on the cushion where he was sitting.

“Shut the fuck up!” You finally manage to gasp, launching a couch pillow at Hoseok. He effortlessly catches it between his feet. “I know you guys never have this problem, alright? Must be nice.”

Jimin, about to finally take his hit, pauses again. You sit up and smack him on the arm, and he flicks the lighter and runs it around the edge of the bowl, inhaling deeply. Trying his best to hold it in, he manages to choke out, “What does that mean?” before coughing up the lungfuls of smoke. When he finally recovers, he hands you the bowl. “We don’t fuck fans.”

You give him a look. “Well yeah, obviously.” You take a hit, the bud sizzling in the flame of the lighter.

Hoseok sits up. “I’m confused.”

You pass the bowl and lighter to him with one hand, using the other to gesture back and forth between them, like it’s obvious, then finally exhale smoke through your nose. “You’re– you know! You two!”

Hoseok grins ear-to-ear, like he’s finally understanding. “Me and Jimin-ah?! We are not together.”

You sigh, frustrated. “Okay, fine, whatever label you want to put on it. Roommates, fucking, whatever.”

Jimin squints hard, leaning his whole body away from you so he can survey you like you’ve gone insane. “What?!”

Your mouth goes dry (well, even dryer than the cotton mouth that was already starting to happen). You reach for your glass of water on the coffee table, the physical need completely overtaking your desire to continue the conversation, and chug in silence for a few seconds.

Hoseok exhales a pretty stream of smoke, then frowns in confusion. “Who told you we were fucking?”

You shrug, glass still to your lips, then finally swallow and return it to the coaster. “Nobody.” Your cheeks flush with heat as the delayed embarrassment finally starts to kick in. “Forget I said anything.”

Jimin takes the bowl and lighter from Hobi but is clearly not satisfied with your answers, because he sets both down on the coffee table and fully turns to face you, crossing his legs under him on the couch cushion. “What made you think we were?”

You make a face, wondering how that’s even a question. “I don’t know, have you seen the two of you interact?”

Hoseok rolls his eyes. “Jimin flirts with anything that moves.” Jimin shrugs and nods as if to co-sign this assessment.

“You’ve been roommates for like a decade! You always talk about living together forever!”

They blink at you, apparently waiting for you to produce better evidence for your claims.

You close your eyes and let out a deep exhale. “Whatever, look, I made an assumption and I shouldn’t have. And I was wrong. My bad. Let’s move on.”

You crack one eye open to see them both shrug it off.

Jimin reaches for the lighter and bowl once more as a weird feeling bubbles up in your chest. You grab your phone to find a song to reset the energy of the space. You didn’t mean to kill the vibe, you think to yourself, and then Kendrick Lamar seems like the obvious choice.

They both nod in approval, Jimin’s full lips wrapped around the end of the bowl, and Hobi immediately starts to sing along. The chorus is perfect for his deep vocal register, and he effortlessly slips into the fast-paced verse as Jimin inhales.

You should leave it alone. You know you should. But something you assumed to be objective truth has just been disproven, and now you have to question everything. Is the sky even still blue?

“You guys are gay though, right?”

The laughter starts up again, and you sink so low on the couch you almost slide off. “What the fuck?!”

“Oh my god, look at her,” Hoseok cackles, crawling over to slide onto the cushion next to you. You scoot back up and roll towards him, burying your face in his shoulder and tucking your knees alongside him. “Did your entire world just turn upside down?”

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You’re terrified to say anything else, so you can only nod your head against his shoulder.

Taking pity on you, Hoseok wraps his arms around you, his fingers running gently through your hair. His nails barely graze your scalp and you shiver in pleasure, melting that much further into him. “I love you, but you’re an idiot.” He scoffs. “No, we’re not gay.”

While you were having an existential crisis, Jimin must have snuck in a second hit, and he chokes on it now, coughing out a few puffs of smoke. He gives a little shrug. “I mean, I’m not not gay.”

“But you, Hoseok?!” You pull away slightly to look at him and he gives you a look right back.

“What’s that supposed to mean, bitch?”

You scramble to find some evidence for this belief you’ve held for a decade and are unable to come up with much. “Y-you’re such a good dancer, and you love fashion… You saw Lady Gaga in Vegas!”

He rolls his eyes and shoves you. “Alright, get off me.”

“Wait, no!” You slump backwards, bumping against Jimin’s leg, and let out a frustrated groan. “I’m sorry, Hobi, I didn’t mean it like that.” He pouts at you, apparently still a little hurt.

You continue, trying to dig yourself out. “I seriously don’t care, and you know I love you guys no matter what. But you have to understand that I’ve held these… clearly delusional beliefs for a long time.” You pause and a smile cracks over your face. “And I’m also high as shit, so like. Just give me a second to process this.”

“Jimin-ah!” Hoseok’s concentration has suddenly shifted away from you, and you turn to see Jimin taking his third hit in a row. He looks sheepish as he blows out the smoke, then flashes a small smile.

“What? You guys seemed busy.” He finally hands you the bowl and the lighter; you’re grateful for the distraction.

You’re about to touch the flame to the green when he adds, “I think Hobi’s just mad because he always wanted to fuck you, and now it turns out you thought he was gay the whole time.”

You nearly drop the bowl. “What?!” You scream, but you’re drowned out by the half-yell, half-laugh Hoseok makes as he leaps over you and tackles Jimin.

They roll onto the floor, leaving you sitting stupidly on the couch alone, way too fucking high for this.

Hobi wraps himself around Jimin, pinning his arms and legs in place in what almost looks like a full-body hug. He’s cackling like a madman, his nose pressed into the crook of Jimin’s neck. “I’m going to fucking kill you, you smug son of a bitch.” He whispers, and Jimin giggles and squirms, trying to free himself.

You look down at the bowl in your hand, beyond confused, then shrug and take your hit anyway.

Jimin manages to wrench one arm free, tickling Hobi until he finally relents and they break apart from each other, both breathing heavy. Jimin lays flat on his back, laughing contentedly to himself as he stares up at the ceiling. Hoseok is on his hands and knees, and he leans forward to press his forehead into the carpet, gasping for air.

Nobody says anything for a moment, and you set the bowl and lighter on the table. “Can we just start over? Forget everything that everyone has said tonight?”

Hoseok lifts his head to make eye contact with you, still panting. “I don’t know why Jimin said it like that. Like he didn’t wanna fuck you too.”

You grab a pillow off the couch and shove it over your face. “Someone please tell me what the fuck is going on,” you wail, slightly muffled by the fabric.

A pair of hands close around yours, and the pillow shifts out of your vision, replaced by Jimin’s face. He’s kneeling on the floor in front of you, leaning in. His eyes linger on your mouth.

“Hoseok’s not wrong.” Jimin licks his lips.

“Oh my god Park Jimin, do not fucking flirt with me right now!” You yank the pillow back from him and move to smack him with it, but your reflexes are slowed enough that he’s able to shield his face with his arms in time, dissolving into a fresh round of giggles. You continue to beat him senseless with your fluffy weapon.

“Okay, okay, ow! I’ll tell you the truth if you stop hurting me!”

You’re slightly more intrigued than you are pissed off, so you relent, hugging your arms around the pillow in your lap. “Go ahead.”

Jimin seems unprepared to say more, and his eyes dart to Hoseok, looking for an out.

Hoseok groans and pulls himself back onto the couch, and Jimin mirrors him on the other side of you. “The truth is…” Hobi starts, clearly unsure of how to phrase it. “We were fifteen. And you were a cool girl who smoked weed with us. So obviously, we wanted to fuck you.”

Your head spins and you cling to your pillow for dear life. “B-but… Neither of you ever… We never…”

“Never what? Tried anything? Come on. We didn’t have any game, we were total losers back then. And you didn’t seem like you were interested, so we didn’t want to ruin things.”

“I don’t know why you weren’t.” Jimin leans one elbow on the back of the couch, resting his head in his hand and purposefully flexing his bicep.

Hoseok rolls his eyes, but he’s still grinning, amused by Jimin’s antics as always. “It’s also kind of awkward when you’re both into the same girl.” Hobi shoots a very specific look at Jimin, and your eyes dart between them, trying to decode the hidden message.

Jimin bites down on his bottom lip, cheeks puffing out in laughter, understanding something that is lost on you.

“Tell me!” You smack a hand on each of their thighs. “No more secrets!”

“Ohhh, Jimin-ah, do you want to tell her?” Hoseok tilts his head, his face flushing. “It’s embarrassing!”

“Well, now you have to tell me!” You persist.

Jimin’s cheeks are red now too, and he shifts uncomfortably, playing with the hem of his shirt. It must be bad if the guy who is literally known for being shameless can’t even say it. A thousand possibilities race through your mind.

“Sometimes after you left, I’d, uh, go to the bathroom while Hoseok stayed in the basement and we’d… You know. Take care of things. Separately.”

Surely the drugs were laced and this entire conversation is some wild hallucination, you think to yourself. This cannot be real life.

“And sometimes,” Hoseok says, his voice breaking as a nervous laugh rips through him. Jimin turns away and buries his face in the arm of the couch, already full-body cringing in preparation for whatever Hobi is about to say. “We’d take care of things… not separately.”

At this, you’re on your feet, your security pillow falling to the floor. “So you are gay!”

“No!” Hobi stands up beside you, hands reaching to grip your shoulders as he convulses with laughter.

“I thought I made my status clear earlier,” Jimin mumbles, face pressed into the couch.

“The dicks never touched,” Hoseok clarifies with a shake of your shoulders, still laughing.

“Like that makes any difference,” you counter.

“We never touched each other’s dicks. It was a… mutual masturbation of sorts.”

You pause to consider this. “I– Wow. I think I need a minute.” You allow Hoseok to gently push you back down to the couch. He sits next to you and wraps an arm around your shoulders again, guiding you to lay on your side with your head resting in his lap. You don’t resist.

“I really thought we’d take that one to the grave,” Jimin says with a laugh, reaching for his glass of water.

“I can’t believe you never told me,” you mumble. Your mind drifts back to high school. It feels like another lifetime. How did nothing ever happen? Why weren’t you interested in them?

You think back on fifteen-year-old you and give her a pity laugh. For starters, she was a fucking trainwreck. You were so self-conscious and anxious back then, it probably never even occurred to you that anyone was capable of having any desire towards you.

And then at some point, as you got older, you’d convinced yourself they were boyfriends, or at the very least fucking. Once it seemed like the option was off the table, you’d never considered it again.

But now… Your head spins.

Your best friends are obviously extremely attractive; you have eyes. And they apparently want to fuck you– or at least, they did. But what about now? The unspoken question lingers in your mind.

You’re desperately touch-starved and in need of a good fuck, this much you know. But these are your best friends. Could you do it? Should you? Would they even want to? Would it mess everything up? And how would it work, logistically? Would you have to pick one? Would they take turns? Or would they… share?

Your body shudders with a mixture of arousal and confusion, and you feel Hoseok rub his hand along your upper arm, then your back.

“Hey, it’s okay. Come back to earth. Don’t let it ruin your high.”

You’re not sure you even feel high anymore, just overwhelmed and on edge. You sit up slowly, still shivering.

Something bumps against your arm and you realize it’s Jimin’s hand. He laces his fingers through yours and gives your hand a squeeze. You glance at him.

“Are you okay?”

You swallow hard and let your eyes flutter closed for a moment. These little touches alone, Jimin’s hand in yours, Hoseok rubbing small circles into your back, feel incredible. You’re overcome with the realization of how much you love them both, how grateful you are that this bond you share has stayed the same for more than a decade despite so much else changing.

“Yeah,” you say with a small smile, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m good.” You open your eyes.

The fingers of his right hand still working along the column of your spine, Hoseok leans forward to grab the discarded bowl off the table. Communicating in their own silent language, Jimin grabs the lighter with the hand that isn’t holding yours and circles the flame around the bowl when Hobi puts it to his lips.

He takes a long, steady pull, then sets the bowl down again and turns to you. His left hand ghosts over your thigh, just above your knee, while his right slowly moves up to tuck your hair behind your ear.

You instinctively turn to face him and realize your pulse is racing. “Can I?” Hoseok asks, his voice stilted as he holds the smoke in, and your heart skips a beat.

You nod, and his right hand cups your jaw, pulling you in. You open your mouth slightly and he does the same, fully closing the distance to press his lips to yours.

He exhales and you inhale, and it’s definitely a very different sensation compared to the chaste inches-apart shotguns you’ve done with them before. You feel him smile against your mouth and you break away to exhale the smoke with a laugh.

“Is this okay?” Hoseok asks again, his eyes searching yours.

You shift, then realize that your hand is still intertwined with Jimin’s, and you look back over at him. He appears to be enjoying the show, which makes your face heat up. No one’s ever watched you like this before; being something worth watching feels good.

You unlace your fingers from Jimin’s and pat his leg. “Be right back, okay?”

You answer Hobi’s question by taking his face in your hands and pulling him in, this time for a kiss that’s just a kiss. Hoseok presses his hands into the small of your back as you move your lips slowly against his, your mind spinning.

You’re kissing your best friend, you can’t help but think to yourself. Your best friend who is not gay. The whole thing is truly unbelievable.

As if sensing how in your head you are, Hoseok takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth, and your breath hitches as you’re suddenly unable to focus on anything else.

He brings his lips to your jaw, then below your ear, then down along the slope of your neck. You tremble at the heat of his mouth on a particularly sensitive spot and he stays there, lightly worrying the skin with his teeth until you whine, then running his tongue across the mark.

“Fuck, Hobi,” you gasp into his ear as he blows a cool stream of air over the same spot. You lean in for more of him, and then you hear the telltale click of the lighter and an inhale from behind you.

God, there’s two of them. You don’t think you’re going to survive this.

You look up at Hoseok as if to ask permission without saying anything. You bite back a smile as you try to think of how on earth you’d phrase it as an actual question: Hey, I know we were just making out, but is it cool if I turn around and make out with your best friend now, who also happens to be my best friend?

You briefly wonder if Hobi can read minds when he grins and says, “Go ahead.”

You shift to face the other way with a nervous giggle and Jimin is there, smiling with his eyes as he holds the hit in his mouth. He repeats the same motion from minutes earlier– you can’t believe it was only minutes earlier– of grazing his fingertips along your jaw, but this time when he tilts your head up, he brings his mouth all the way to yours. 

Jimin’s lips are so soft and warm that it takes you a few seconds to remember what you’re supposed to be doing, and then you inhale the smoke that he breathes into your mouth. You wind your fingers in his hair and he moans against you.

The way he kisses is so different from Hoseok, but so equally perfect. Your pulse quickens as you wonder what else they might do differently.

Jimin sucks gently on your bottom lip for a moment, then pulls away. “Do you want to keep going?” He asks, and you can’t imagine how anyone would ever say no. You nod.

A smile lights up his face, and his gaze moves from you to over your shoulder at Hoseok, then back.

“Well, somebody’s gotta go first.” Jimin says, and he proceeds to do what Jimin does best– strip immediately down to his boxers. The speed at which he goes from fully-clothed to nearly naked makes all three of you laugh, and that’s enough to break some of the tension that’s been building in the room.

Jimin pulls you back in for another kiss and you feel hands snake around your hips, just barely pushing up the fabric of your shirt.

“Can I take this off?” Hoseok murmurs in your ear, his breath on your neck.

“Yes,” you say between kisses, and the attention from both of them at once makes it come out more like a moan. Your face flushes at how needy you sound. You break away from Jimin as Hoseok strips your shirt off, and then his fingers press against the band of your bra.

“This too?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to vocalize your answer. Hoseok undoes it easily and you slide it off, shivering a little as the air hits your bare skin.

Jimin’s mouth drops down to your collarbones, then trails lower, and you lean back on your hands to allow him better access.

The couch shifts slightly as Hoseok stands. You hear the sound of his belt hitting the floor at the same time Jimin closes his full lips around your nipple, and the mix of anticipation and sensation is enough to make you moan again.

Jimin sucks the bud into his mouth and teases his tongue over it, earning another whine of pleasure from you. “Yes, Jimin,” you gasp.

Part of you wants to take things slow and enjoy the moment, but another part of you can’t stand being the only person with your pants still on, can’t stand the fact that these two don’t have access to every single inch of you to do whatever they please with.

You don’t wait for either of them to ask, your hands moving beneath Jimin to wriggle your leggings down your thighs.

Jimin takes his mouth off you and giggles, helping to pull your pants the rest of the way off.

You figure it’s your turn to raise the stakes, so you hook your thumbs under your panties and push those down too. Jimin raises his eyebrows as if to ask if you’re sure, and you nod, so he pulls them off. You never would’ve imagined at the start of the evening that you’d end it naked in front of your best friends, or that you would enjoy it so much. It already seems impossible that there was ever a time you didn’t feel this way.

Hobi returns to sit next to you, stripped to his boxers. You only have a moment to wonder what the etiquette is here before he wraps his arms around your waist and scoots you towards him until your back is flush with his chest.

Hoseok’s mouth finds your neck again, clearly enjoying how sensitive you are there. “Hi,” he murmurs against your skin, and then he trails gentle bites from your collarbone to your ear. You can feel the vibrations in his chest as he chuckles when you gasp each time.

He brings a hand up to cup your breast, then rolls your nipple between his fingers and your hips jerk in response. You glance at Jimin who is watching the two of you intently, hand just barely grazing over his boxers.

Jimin brings his other hand to your thigh, and you spread your legs for him. You’re on the verge of desperation, you want it so bad.

“Please,” you whine.

Jimin trails a finger through your folds right as Hoseok gives your nipple a hard tug, and you can’t hold back the cry that rips through you.

“Shit,” Jimin breathes, looking up at you and Hoseok. “She’s already so wet for us.” He slides his finger down to tease circles at your entrance, and you’re so slick that you can hear it. Hoseok groans at the sound.

When Jimin moves up to lightly tap at your clit, you whimper and shudder violently, your head dropping back onto Hobi’s shoulder.

“Yeah, does that feel good?” Hoseok asks, pressing his lips just behind your ear.

Jimin taps again, eliciting the same response from you, even louder this time.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Hoseok says with a soft laugh, and you nod. “Jimin, can you keep making her feel good?”

You see Jimin blush a little at the direction. “Yeah, I can do that.”

There’s a moment where Jimin pauses, looking at how much real estate he has left on the couch and clearly trying to do some quick threesome mental math.

“Hang on a second,” he mutters, and then he stands up and begins to drag the coffee table away from the couch. Watching him do it all with his dick straining against his boxers is enough to make you giggle.

Hobi guides you to turn and scoot forward until your hips are at the edge of the couch, his legs resting on either side of yours. He nudges your thigh with his hand and you gently spread your legs again.

He nuzzles into your neck. “This still okay?”

You’re so wet you think you might literally be dripping onto the couch. “It’s better than okay,” you say. He smiles as he presses a kiss to your jaw.

Having sufficiently cleared enough space, Jimin returns to kneel between your spread legs. He’s so fucking pretty, you think to yourself as you watch his eyelashes flutter. His full lips trail teasing kisses along the inside of your thigh, and you smile, reaching down to brush his hair off his forehead.

Without warning, Jimin licks a stripe up the center of your cunt. Hoseok must be watching him because he rolls your nipple between his fingers at the same moment. It feels so good that you almost can’t take it.

“Jimin,” you gasp, aching for more. “Please, I need you.”

Understanding what you mean, Jimin settles in between your legs and brings his mouth to you. You moan as he works your clit, alternating between circling it with his tongue and firm suction from his lips. Everything is so slick, his mouth so soft, that it feels amazing.

When Hoseok’s lips and teeth find your neck again, a wave of pleasure rolls through you. Hoseok’s hands close around yours, and he guides you to wind your fingers in Jimin’s hair. 

“Ride his face,” Hoseok groans.

Tentatively, you circle your hips, and Jimin whines encouragingly. “Oh fuck,” you hiss as your cunt slides over his tongue.

You’re already close to coming undone and desperate for it now. You grip Jimin's hair, reveling in the pleasure and the filthy wet sounds as you grind your clit against his tongue. Hoseok nips and licks at your neck, and then you feel his breath in your ear.

“That’s it, baby. Come on his tongue.”

All you can do is whine and nod, and your orgasm crests as they take you apart together.

You keep Jimin’s mouth held firmly to you as you pulse and shudder, until finally it’s too much. You drop your hands and collapse back against Hoseok, who presses a kiss to your temple. You take a moment to lay there, blissed out, letting the post-orgasm high wash over you.

“Wow,” you breathe. “That was fun.”

Jimin wipes his mouth with his hand, then leans forward to rest his head on your stomach. “Very fun.”

“Now what?” You ask, sitting up a little, and the eagerness in your voice makes them both laugh.

“Well, that’s up to you.” Jimin moves to sit on the couch next to you. “We can stop, if you want to stop.”

You can see they’re both still hard, and you feel a little guilty that you got off without so much as touching either of them. “That’s not fair, you two didn’t even…” you trail off, embarrassed.

Hobi shrugs. “Don’t feel like you have to be responsible for it. This was just about making you feel good.”

You smile. “Well, don’t get me wrong, that was amazing.” Your voice shakes a little with nerves. “But I do specifically need to get fucked.”

They look at each other and exchange knowing smiles, clearly pleased with your response.

“But first,” you continue. “Would you show me, uh… what you used to do? After I left?” Their faces both flush and you wrap your arms around yourself, suddenly very aware of your nakedness after stating your desire so plainly. “I mean, only if you want to! Don’t do it if it’s weird. I don’t know what the rules are here.”

Jimin looks at Hoseok with a shrug. “It’s your call, babe,” he purrs in an apparent test of Hoseok’s boundaries.

Hobi snorts. “Don’t call me babe. But yeah, we can show her.” He pauses for a second, making a face like he’s deciding whether or not to say something. “But Jimin, do you want me to…?” He trails off and raises his eyebrows, leaving some question unasked.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you exclaim, your eyes darting between the two of them as you try to understand. “Back up. Is there more?” You’re not sure you could handle much more. “What didn’t you tell me?”

Hoseok keeps staring at Jimin with that same look on his face, then he clears his throat. “Would you like to tell her or should I?”

Jimin giggles, obviously embarrassed. “Hoseok would…” He smiles. “Mmm, how do I put this. He likes to talk. When we did… that together, he would talk to me. I didn’t mind. It was kind of nice, actually.” He shivers a little.

You blink, astounded by the confession. You’ve picked up on their natural leanings towards dominant and submissive, but you never would’ve expected this.

“I… I want to hear it, if that’s okay.”

Silently agreeing that it is, they move to fully strip, Hoseok untangling himself from around you. You can’t watch both of them at the same time and your eyes jump back and forth between them, unable to make a decision.

Never one to turn down the opportunity for a show, Jimin swings a leg over you so that he’s straddling your thigh, thumbs teasing at the waistband of his underwear as he rolls his hips. He’s done this to you before, because he’s Jimin, but never this seriously, and never with his dick straining against his boxers the way it is now.

Your face flushes as you watch him move. You long to reach out and take him in your hand, but you try to behave and not touch the performer. He licks his lips and then gives his waistband a proper tug down, and his dick springs free, thick and perfectly straight. You swallow hard.

Satisfied that you’re appropriately teased, Jimin shifts back to stand up, turning around to peel his boxers all the way off. Even his ass looks good, you think to yourself as you watch him.

You hear a laugh and realize Hoseok has been enjoying the show too, and he steps forward to occupy the space in front of you, gently nudging your legs apart so he can stand between them. 

“Would you like to help?” He asks softly, and you nod.

You run your hands along his stomach, scratching your nails against his skin in retribution for his earlier teasing bites. He hisses a little at the feeling, and then you move one hand to palm him over his boxers and he groans.

“Take it out, baby,” he encourages, and you do, slipping the waistband down to pull his cock out. He’s not as thick as Jimin, but the length and slight curve of him make your core throb. He’s rock hard when you wrap your hand around him.

Hoseok bites his lip in an apparent attempt to maintain his composure as you give him a few slow strokes. His fingers brush under your chin and he tilts your head up to look at him. “Do you want to watch us?”

You really do, it’s almost embarrassing how much you want to. You nod and push his boxers down his thighs, and Hoseok smiles, stepping away to finish the job. 

They stand in front of the couch, far enough apart to ensure no chance of touching, but still close enough that you can keep your eyes on both of them at the same time. You grab a couch pillow off the floor and hug it to your chest.

The absurdity of the situation clearly sets in, and there’s a pause as no one is quite sure how to begin.

Then Hoseok says in a booming voice, “okay, Jimin-ah!”, and it’s enough to make Jimin double over in laughter, his dick slapping against his stomach.

You wrap your arms around the pillow in your lap as you laugh, too, and it’s with a strange sense of relief. A reminder that these two idiots are the same idiots you know and love, even with their dicks out.

“Stop, stop,” Jimin gasps, trying to breathe. “We have to be serious.”

He manages to compose himself enough to survey Hobi again, a smile still playing at his lips. The look on his face is his classic flirtatious expression, like he’s daring Hoseok to look away first. “Go ahead,” he challenges. “Like old times.”

In unison, they each bring a hand up and spit into it, and you have to keep yourself from giggling. You hide your face behind the pillow, but peek over it, not wanting to miss a thing.

“Touch yourself, Jimin,” Hoseok commands as he begins to stroke himself, and Jimin obeys, starting off at a slightly slower pace.

You bite your lip at the way Hoseok watches him. “How does it feel?”

“Good. Really good.” Jimin grunts, his eyelashes fluttering as he closes his eyes. His hips roll, matching the rhythm of the way he works his cock. You just know his stroke game must be deadly and your cunt clenches, ready for more.

They can’t be the only ones allowed to enjoy this, you reason, and you slip your hand between your legs under the pillow.

“Are you having fun tonight, Jimin?”

Jimin just barely moans as he lets out a sigh, face flushing. “Yes, fuck. It’s so hot.” You bite your lip and nod in agreement as your fingers push into your cunt, still soaked from Jimin’s earlier attention.

“Did you like kissing her?” He smiles, and you can’t help but do the same. “Yeah, I did.”

Hoseok’s voice is a little more breathless now. “Did you like playing with her tits?”

“Uh-huh,” he whines. You slide your other hand up to pinch your nipple, your back arching at the feeling.

“How about making her come on your tongue?”

“Fuck yes,” Jimin groans, pausing to squeeze his hand at the base of his cock. You can see fresh precum leak from him and you lick your lips. You speed up the pace of your fingers. “It was so fucking sexy.”

“Was it as good as you always imagined?” Hoseok says with a dry chuckle.

Jimin rolls his hips into his hand again. “It was better.”

“What else do you want to do tonight, Jimin?”

At this, Jimin’s eyes flutter open, and he stares intently back at Hoseok. “Anything,” he says, and then he fucking winks.

To his credit, Hoseok manages to keep his composure, though he can’t quite hide the smile on his face as he continues to stroke himself. “Is that right?”

Jimin only nods.

Hoseok turns to you, as if he might pose the question to you next, but then he sees the state you’re in. He takes his hand off himself to reach for the pillow, and you don’t fight him as he moves it away, leaving you with nothing to hide behind.

“Holy shit, look at you,” Hoseok breathes.

You let your eyes fall closed as you continue to touch yourself. You’ve never felt more exposed or more turned on.

You sense something move above you, and when you open your eyes again, Hoseok is kneeling in front of you. His hands trace up your thighs, thumbs massaging expertly at the muscles there, and your legs reflexively spread wider to allow him more access.

“Shit, Hobi,” you whine.

“Do you want us to fuck you now?” His low voice is almost a whisper, and all you can do is nod. You slide your fingers out from your cunt. He catches your wrist in his hand and pulls it to him, closing his lips around your slick fingers to taste you with a glint in his eyes.

You whimper at the sight, and your gaze flickers up to Jimin. He’s standing and watching the two of you, pillowy lower lip between his teeth, his hand squeezing the base of his cock.

Hoseok pulls off your fingers and smiles. “Who do you want to fuck you first?”

Your eyes linger on Jimin, and your core throbs at the thought of the way he was rolling his hips. 

You look back at Hoseok and a strange wave of anxiety washes over you. Jimin went down on you– if Hobi hasn’t actually done anything yet, shouldn’t he be the one who gets to fuck you first? You’d never considered the mental calculus involved in a threesome before. You don’t want to make anyone feel left out or less desired. You really do want both of them.

He must be able to see the wheels turning in your head, because Hoseok takes your face in his hands, his expression serious. “Hey,” he says, gently shaking your head side to side. You smile a little and he smiles back. “Hi,” he tries again.

“Hi.”

“It’s not a trick question, okay? There’s no wrong answer. I literally just want you to tell me what you want. And if the honest answer is that you want to stop, then that’s also a right answer. You hear me?” You nod your head in his hands, and you think your heart might burst as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Now,” Hoseok tries again. “Would you like to suck my dick while Jimin fucks you?”

You swallow hard. “Yes, please.”

“Do we need condoms?” Jimin asks, and you look up at him, then back down at Hoseok.

“I–I’m okay. I mean, I’m clean, and on the pill. Unless you guys want them.”

“We’re both clean,” Jimin nods, his face flushing a little. “Honestly, not a lot of time for sex in our schedules.”

You can’t help but giggle. “Maybe you should just fuck each other.”

Hoseok barks a laugh. “It would certainly be easier.”

As he’s clearly the person in the room most comfortable giving orders, Hoseok has you switch places with him so that he’s sitting on the couch and you’re kneeling in front of him. You run your hands along his thighs, enjoying the opportunity to return the massage, kneading at the firm muscles in his legs. He groans and lets his head drop back on the cushion as your fingers tease higher and higher.

His dick is hard and leaking, flush against the flat plane of his stomach, and it twitches when you take it in your hand. You work up some saliva in your mouth and let it drop onto him. Hoseok hisses as you spread the wetness over his shaft.

You lean down to put your mouth on him, and that’s when Jimin chooses to slide into you from behind. The way his thick head stretches you open feels so good that you moan around Hoseok’s dick, and his hips snap up in response.

“Shit,” Jimin hisses at the same time Hoseok groans “fuck”. You could get used to making two men fall apart at once, you think.

Jimin fucks you slowly from behind, hips rolling fluidly, and the fullness of him feels incredible after so long. He’s just as good as you thought he would be, and his pace is gentle enough that you can still take Hoseok’s dick in your mouth without feeling like you’re choking on it. You revel in the sensation as Jimin’s rhythm naturally pushes you up and down along Hoseok’s length.

“God, your fucking mouth,” Hoseok groans as you swirl your tongue around him. His hips shudder up towards you, desperate for more, and you can tell that Jimin’s relaxed pace is driving him crazy.

Jimin must notice this because you can hear him giggle softly behind you. “Sorry–” his voice breaks as he grinds into you. “This is about as fast as I can go,” he rolls his hips again with another whine. “If you want me to last.”

You slide your mouth off Hoseok with a wet pop, continuing to stroke him with your hand. “I don’t mind either way, Jimin.” You do your best to look back at him. “It feels fucking amazing.”

You return your attention to Hoseok, and his eyes are dark with lust.

“Can he come in you?” Hoseok asks, his voice hoarse. You lick a stripe up his cock and he groans, laughing a little at how much of a tease you are.

“Yes,” you say with a shy smile.

“Do it, Jimin,” Hoseok commands. “Come in her.”

As if he’s been waiting his whole life to receive the order, Jimin pushes into you with a newfound ferocity. He keeps the same fluid movement but his hips roll faster and faster, and the feeling of his cock pounding into you is so overwhelming that you can’t stop yourself.

“Oh my god, Jimin, fuck, yes, fuck–” You gasp and rock your hips back, matching his rhythm.

You hear Hoseok grunt and for a moment you lose concentration, your thrusts faltering and your head swimming as the worry creeps back in that you’re not giving him enough attention. You look up, still breathless from the way Jimin is fucking you, to see Hoseok jerking his cock at the same tempo, gaze fixed on you. His tongue toys sloppily at the corner of his mouth.

“Do you like watching Jimin fuck me?” You manage to ask, attempting to try out your own dirty talk and simultaneously check in on Hobi. A smile breaks across his face.

“I fucking love it,” he groans, giving himself one long, slow pump before he resumes his steady pace. His other hand reaches up to cup your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek. “Keep fucking yourself on his cock like that. You’re perfect.”

You follow Hoseok’s instructions, rutting back onto Jimin, and it’s enough to finally send him over the edge.

With one final body roll, Jimin pushes all the way into you with a high-pitched whine, his cock pulsing inside of you as he comes. He gives a few shallow thrusts, milking all of his release out, and then he slumps forward, thoroughly spent.

“Holy shit,” he giggles, arms wrapping around your waist. You can feel him trembling, and you turn over in his arms, leaning back against the foot of the couch. Jimin drops his head onto your shoulder and you press your nose into the crook of his neck, trailing a few gentle kisses across his collarbones.

As you shift you feel his cum slowly start to leak out of you, and you look down in mild embarrassment, pressing your knees together. Having someone come inside you is the kind of thing that always sounds sexy until it actually happens, and then it’s just a mess.

Hoseok gives Jimin a few moments to recover, hand still teasing over his own cock, then finally gives his shoulder a squeeze. “Hey, Jimin-ah. Switch with me.”

Too spent to say anything, Jimin grunts and crawls off you, waiting for Hoseok to free up the couch before he collapses face-first onto it.

You expect Hoseok to pull your mouth back onto him, or turn you around so he can slide into you, but instead he kneels in front of you. “Can you sit up for me?” He asks softly, and you lift yourself onto the couch cushion behind you, Jimin shifting to make enough space for your ass.

Hoseok places his hands on your knees, which are still clenched together to hide everything leaking out of you, and he raises his eyebrows in a silent question.

Your pulse quickens at the look in his eyes, and you slowly let your legs drop open.

You can feel his breath over your center, and then he swipes a finger up your thigh to push a trail of arousal back inside you.

“Can I taste you?” Hoseok asks, and you squirm a little in response. “You can say no,” he reminds you.

“I-I mean,” you falter. “I would like that, but– you don’t have to, if you don’t want to. Since it’s… messy. We can just fuck.”

Hoseok laughs. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to. And frankly, there isn’t much I don’t want to do to you.” He leans in to lick up another drip running down your thigh and you shiver at the feeling of his tongue against your skin.

He looks at you again, waiting patiently for your final answer, and your face grows hot as you nod your consent. Needing no further encouragement, he spreads your legs even wider and brings his mouth to you.

Hoseok’s tongue is long and precise, and he laps up and swallows every bit of Jimin’s cum from inside you like it’s his last meal. The little gulps and groans he makes as he licks into you again and again are unreal. Your pussy is so sensitive from just being fucked that each stroke of his tongue makes you whimper.

This takes his affinity for cleaning to a whole new level, your last brain cell thinks, and then he drags his tongue up your folds and you can no longer form coherent thoughts. You can only moan while still softly laughing at your own joke as he licks figure eights over your clit.

When he slips two fingers into your cunt, your back arches.

“Fucking shit, Hobi, oh my god–” you moan. You collapse back, lost in the feeling, and knock against Jimin, stretched out on the couch behind you.

You reach towards him, and his hand finds yours, your fingers interlacing. You turn your head to look at him and he’s watching you intently, lips parted slightly and pupils blown with lust.

You’ve gotten the idea a few times tonight that Jimin is a bit of a voyeur, and you’re starting to learn that you quite enjoy being an exhibitionist for him.

Hoseok quickens the pace of his fingers, pressing deliberately on your front wall, and you cry out from the pleasure, your gaze locked on Jimin. “Just like that, just like that,” you whine, and Jimin nods along with you.

You notice that his other hand is reaching to gently palm at his dick, already getting hard again. “God, you are so fucking sexy,” Jimin murmurs.

Hoseok hums around your clit as if in agreement, and your hips jolt up at the feeling. Aware he’s onto something, he keeps going, humming low in his throat while his tongue works your clit, the vibrations rolling through you. His fingers rub circles inside of you, and you writhe, unable to get enough, your peak rapidly approaching.

Jimin shifts on the couch next to you, your fingers still intertwined, letting go of himself to bring his other hand to your neck. He presses his full lips to yours and sweeps his tongue into your mouth with a groan.

The attention from both of them at once is enough to make you come all the way undone.

You break away from Jimin, bearing down hard on his hand in yours, and cry Hoseok’s name as your second orgasm hits you full-force.

Hoseok’s tongue and fingers slow as your walls flutter around him, but he doesn’t completely let up until your final aftershocks subside.

You squirm away from his touch as you become oversensitive, and he laughs and relents, wiping the back of his hand across his face. His nose, lips, and chin are all shining with your slickness, the results of his efforts. It might be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

You’re not sure you remember how to string words together to form sentences, so you’re unable to protest when Hoseok hooks his arm under your knees and pulls your legs up across the couch so that you’re laying down. You roll over in submission and Jimin’s there pressed against you.

Jimin pulls you closer to him, tangling his legs with yours. You lean your cheek into his chest and shut your eyes as your breathing slows. Then he shifts, and you feel something nudge your thigh.

Eyes fluttering open, you glance down and laugh. “I can’t believe you’re already hard again.”

Jimin blushes, kicking his feet a little as if in frustration. “It’s your fault!”

A pair of hands come to your shoulders that could only be Hoseok. Those perfect fingers trail down your back, massaging along your hips. You whine a little at the feeling.

“Well, did you have fun?” He asks, and you turn to see him properly. When he gently rubs his hands across your thighs, you shiver; you’re still overstimulated, but it’s not unpleasant.

“Is it over?”

“If you want it to be,” Hoseok shrugs.

A desire that’s been building up inside of you all night blurts out before you can think to stop it. “I did have one more idea,” you start, then bury your face in Jimin’s shoulder. “I can’t say it, though. I have no idea if it’s even really possible.”

“If it is, we’ll make it happen. We want you to feel good,” Jimin says, wiggling his erection against your hip for added emphasis.

“Okay, but if you don’t actually want to do this, please tell me, and we can all pretend I never said it and that the threesome ended here and everyone was happy.”

“Tell us what you want,” Hoseok commands.

Your voice is nearly a whisper. “I think I want to try double penetration.”

Jimin hums in surprise. “Are you prepped for that?”

You lift your head up as you realize the misunderstanding. “Oh, I– no, sorry, that’s not what I meant. I don’t want to do anal. I was talking about, um, both of you.” You squeeze your eyes shut, face hot as you’re forced to say it out loud. “In my pussy. Together?”

“Wow,” you hear Hoseok groan at the same time Jimin lets out a shaky exhale.

You open your eyes to look at both of them. Hoseok is grinning, and Jimin’s hands roam over your body, gently running along the curve of your waist and then cupping your ass.

“Are you sure?” Jimin asks softly. “That’s probably going to be pretty intense for you.”

You nod, still flushed with embarrassment. Your core is already starting to throb again at the thought. “I learned from a well-endowed hookup that I really like, uh… girth.” You cringe at the unsexy word. “Is that okay? Can we try it? You can say no.”

Jimin grinds his hips against your thigh with a smirk. “I wasn’t joking when I said I was up for anything.”

Hoseok stands up decisively, doing a terrible job at hiding how excited he is about this. “We’re gonna need some lube. Be right back.” He disappears, heading for the bedroom.

The arousal is already pooling in your belly at the promise of what’s to come, and you press your nose into Jimin’s neck, trying to remember how to breathe. “Hi.”

Jimin dips his head to kiss you. His lips are so soft. He pulls away with a small laugh. “Hi yourself.”

“So, this has been a pretty crazy night.”

He’s still smiling, looking as dazed as you feel. “Tell me about it. This is payoff, like, a decade in the making. I don’t think I’ve ever waited so long for anything.”

Your heart skips a beat. “I’m having a really good time.”

Jimin presses another gentle kiss to your forehead. “Me too,” he says, and then Hoseok returns, holding the bottle of lube triumphantly, like it’s a prestigious award or a designer bag.

You sit up and offer your palms to him, and he squeezes a decent amount into each one. The movement is just clinical enough that it has you all giggling, tense with anticipation.

Hoseok and Jimin kneel on either side of you, and you work your hands over them until they’re nice and slick and groaning under your touch. You’re still soaked from Hoseok’s tongue, but you rub what’s leftover on your palm across your entrance, if only for good luck.

Hoseok leans back against the arm of the couch, his dick fully erect and leaking. His eyes are already heavy-lidded with lust, but he’s smiling so big, you don’t even have to ask if he’s enjoying himself.

You crawl over him and he kisses you hungrily as you sink down onto him. He’s longer, and you have to take a second to get used to the new feeling, circling your hips a little.

“God, you take my cock so well,” Hoseok groans, giving your ass a playful smack. You wiggle until you’re sure you’ve sunk as low as you can go on him. “That was the hard part. Now it’s just Jimin,” he teases with a laugh, and Jimin sends a pillow sailing in his direction, missing by several inches.

You lean forward, bracing yourself over Hoseok who takes the opportunity to graze his lips and teeth along the slope of your neck. You feel Jimin’s head press at your entrance.

“Ready?” Jimin breathes, and you look back to nod at him. He starts to push into you, devastatingly slow.

It doesn’t really work like porn or romance novels would have you expect, where everything slides in easily and feels great right away. There’s a stretch and a fullness that’s intensely uncomfortable at first. You have to ask Jimin to stop and wait a couple of times while you adjust and wince at the sensation.

He and Hoseok are impressively patient with you, teasing their hands and mouths over your body in an effort to get your cunt to relax, until you’re nearly shaking from the pressure in your core. Little by little, Jimin manages to slide himself into you alongside Hoseok.

After minutes that seem more like hours, Jimin grunts, his head dropping onto your shoulder as his hips give a final push. “Fuck. That’s it. That’s all of me.”

The pain is still there, but you can tell it’s starting to morph into something else, something good. You’ve never felt anything like it before.

You all take a second to breathe and let it sink in that this is really happening. No one is quite sure what to do next. Hoseok experiments first, rolling his hips in a lazy circle that makes all three of you react with a noise.

“Fuck, Jimin,” he groans. “I can feel you.”

Jimin bites his lip, his cheeks flushing, and nods in agreement.

Hoseok sets the rhythm, thrusting into you with long, slow strokes, and then Jimin’s fingers grip at your hips and he gently starts to move, too.

You can’t help but whimper at the way it feels– you are overwhelmingly, perfectly full.

The sensation is incredible now, the way they slip and grind against each other inside of you. You can only sit there and take it as they alternate fucking into you. You swear and groan their names interchangeably, over and over.

“Tell us how it feels,” Hoseok grunts. “Taking two dicks in your tight little cunt.”

“Fuck, it’s so fucking good,” you moan.

“Shit,” Jimin groans, “all this friction…” He lets out a shaky laugh. “God, I think I’m gonna come again.”

Your breath hitches and Hoseok doesn’t miss a thing. “You like that, baby? You want Jimin to fill you up again?”

You nod with a whimper. “And you. Both of you.”

Hoseok laughs and groans at the same time. “Oh my god, you are so fucking hot.” He punctuates the final words with three thrusts into you, picking up his pace. Each thrust means he slides against Jimin, and on the third one, you hear a moan behind you.

“Shit, Hoseok, agh! I’m coming, I’m coming,” Jimin ruts into you in fast, short strokes as his climax hits, and his cock twitches and shudders inside you again.

As Hoseok groans beneath you, you realize that he can feel it all too.

“Fuck yes, Jimin,” Hoseok hisses. The extra slickness of Jimin’s fresh arousal just makes everything that much easier, that much messier, and that much hotter. You know Hoseok is fast approaching his end as he fucks you, his strokes deep and hard.

The way his length bottoms out inside you when you’re already so tender is too much, and you lean back into Jimin.

“Yes, fuck, yes, I’m–” you gasp with each thrust, and then your third orgasm takes you by surprise and you can’t do anything but cry out.

Jimin wraps an arm over your shoulders to steady you. You can feel him trembling beneath you as your walls pulse around both of them again and again and again. You’ve never come this hard in your life, and the endless waves of your orgasm are enough to finally bring Hoseok to his peak with a hoarse groan of your name.

Your hips grind down on him and work him through his release and the aftershocks of yours, riding out every last bit until your cunt is quivering from overstimulation. With all three of you entirely spent, you let yourself crash from the high and slump forward against Hoseok’s chest.

There are a few moments of bliss before you feel everything start to drip down your thighs. It probably should be gross to be so full of lube and two loads of cum. Maybe it will be in a few minutes, you think to yourself.

But right now, it’s fucking hot.

“Holy shit,” you whisper as the room slowly returns around you. You can feel both of them starting to soften inside you, and you glance down, mostly because you can’t believe that really just happened.

When you do, you realize that at some point, Hoseok must have also gripped onto your hips, probably when he was fucking up into you. You were too busy taking two dicks at once to keep track of exactly who was doing what when. But now, you see that Hoseok and Jimin have interlaced their fingers together over the curve of your hips.

It’s one of the tamest things that’s happened tonight, but something about it makes your heart crack open.

Your breathing uneven, you run a finger along their still-joined hands. It’s only when the first drop of moisture hits your cheek that you realize you’re crying.

You’re turned enough towards him that Jimin is able to see your expression, and then he’s the first one to break the scene, shifting to slowly withdraw from inside you. He scoots back on the couch, and you feel his hands come to cup your shoulders.

Hoseok keeps his hands on your hips, his touch featherlight as he lifts you up so he can slide out as well. The look on his face is concern mixed with pure love, and you’re suddenly overwhelmed with appreciation for all that he is, all that they both are, your two best friends. That hasn’t changed.

Jimin speaks first. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Come here.”

You lean into his touch and allow yourself to lie down as more tears spill over. Jimin’s fingers scratch along your scalp, and you roll onto your side and curl up. “Post-orgasm chemicals can be weird, and that was–” he bites back a laugh, “–really fucking intense. Just let it out.”

You’re leaking out of both ends, you think to yourself, and you press your cheek into the couch cushion, laughing and crying at the same time. “This is so embarrassing. I swear to god I’m fine.”

You feel what must be Hoseok’s hand rubbing gently along your thigh, and his voice confirms it. “Happy tears?”

You nod. “Very happy tears. That was incredible.”

Hobi wiggles his body into the tight space between you and the back of the couch, wrapping his arms around you to keep you from falling off. “You were incredible. I’m glad you had fun.” He shudders softly against you and you look up to see Jimin running his other hand through Hoseok’s hair.

“We definitely did,” Jimin says with a small giggle as he scratches both of your heads. “I think our inner teenagers can rest happy with the knowledge that it did finally end up happening one day.”

You smile. “I’m glad it happened now, because I definitely couldn’t have done any of that when I was a teenager.”

Hobi cackles into the crook of your neck. “And Jimin would’ve came even faster than he did tonight!”

At this, Jimin fists the hand in Hoseok’s hair, leaning over him. “My dick is sensitive, and I don’t appreciate you making fun of it,” he growls.

Realizing how close their faces are, Hobi is the one to start the game of chicken this time, tilting his face up towards Jimin. “Is that right, Jimin-ah? Got a sensitive dick?”

Jimin doesn’t miss a beat and continues to lean towards Hoseok’s mouth, tugging on his hair. You really think they might actually do it this time, considering everything else that’s happened, but Hoseok finally relents in an explosion of giggles, turning to hide his face against your shoulder before Jimin can kiss him.

“I yield, I yield!”

Some things never change. ~*~

Approximately half an hour and one shower later, the three of you are again collapsed together in a heap on the couch, shifted over by one cushion to avoid the wet spot. Jimin’s arms are wrapped around your waist while Hobi plays with your hair.

They’ve lent you clothes to sleep in, and the big t-shirt (Hoseok’s) and black sweatpants (Jimin’s) are each infused with the scent of their respective owner. Smelling like both of them at the same time makes you feel loved, even claimed. Your brain is buzzing from the post-threesome and post-crying endorphin overload (not to mention the THC), and you sigh happily.

“Hey, Hobi?” You say with a restrained giggle. He turns to look at you, brushing his damp hair off his forehead. “I think you might be a little gay now.”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh my god. Shut up.”

“Your dick literally touched another dick. Like, a lot.”

“Yeah, inside you! Surely that negates the gay part!”

“I don’t know, Hobi,” Jimin says in agreement. “You also ate cum out of her. I don’t even swallow that stuff, man.”

“I hate you both,” Hoseok laughs, folding his arms behind his head. “Look, I don’t give a shit. If enjoying every single second of tonight makes me gay, then I’ll lead the fucking pride parade.”

You laugh, scrambling to find your phone. Now you have to play Gaga. You put on Bad Romance and Hoseok instantly sits up.

“Okay, I do also know the dance to this. Wanna see?” He untangles himself from you and Jimin to jump up and strike a pose, hands already fixed into monster claws.

Jimin giggles, leaning in to nuzzle your cheek. “I’m gonna go make some buldak, but please film this so we can blackmail him forever.”

~*~

A/N: if you actually made it all the way to the end you're a real one. i'm v lazy about crossposting/putting my masterlist together on here, but i've got more stuff on AO3 if you enjoyed!! would love to hear your thoughts, i'm honestly dying for more friends in this space lol. thanks for reading 💜

[yuwuta]

YUUTA OKKOTSU’S DECLASSIFIED JUJUTSU TECH SURVIVAL GUIDE (AN APPETITE HAUNTING THE HEART)

❝i know this tastes too good to be healthy. the more it melts, the sweeter it gets, so take my heart out because i need all of you.

*this is yuuta okkotsu’s fool-reviewed plan for navigating all things curses, sorcery, and love. 

pairings. okkotsu/reader

content, warnings. canon-adjacent, reader has a cursed technique, friends to lovers, smut (uhh... no triggers i think? other than implied virginity loss on yuuta’s part), mentions of violence/curses, possessive/intrusive thoughts... he starts of kinda sweet and weird and then just gets... weirder and worse lol, so mostly yuuta being... yuuta <2

notes. jujustu tech is a college not a highschool, yes i brought naruto in this, i believe in sasuke slander only from a place of pure love, real sasuke ridicule will not be accepted xoxo

word count. 12k i told you i could yap about him all day

playing. candy/baekhyun, untouched/the veronicas, cream soda/exo, lacy/olivia rodrigo, pure honey/beyoncé

#1 — Do NOT touch Maki Zenin’s tools (but if you do, the cute girl who hangs around Inumaki might help to patch you up).

Yuuta hadn’t meant to piss off Maki. He was trying to be helpful, but Yuuta learned the hard way today: do not touch Maki’s cursed tools, at all, for any reason whatsoever. He intended to hand it back to her, but she was prompt in assuming that was part of an attack, snatching it from under his grasp and giving him a jab on the wrist with the dull end of the stick. If the beatdown he’d endured during training put Yuuta on his deathbed, then that hit was the final nail in the coffin.  

The crack! sound of his bones made everyone pause their sparring, and Gojo winced the loudest, “Ouch! That one had to hurt, kid!” It was also Gojo who gathered everyone to stand around and look down at him clutching his wrist in pain, before making the executive decision to appoint you as Yuuta’s caretaker.  

“This is definitely something you can handle!” he cheered, patting the top of your head, “Take our dearest Yuuta to the infirmary and patch him up, please and thank you! With the way Maki’s been kicking him into the ground, those cuts are sure to get infected sooner rather than later. The two of you can join us for dinner when you’re finished!”  

Yuuta tried to refute, on the grounds of “No—no! I—ouch—this really isn’t worth using any kind of cursed energy over!” Which was quickly met with a mischievous raised eyebrow from his teacher, “Oh? Are you insinuating that my precious student doesn’t have the skill to fix a simple fracture?” That prompted Yuuta to spill a flurry of apologies, none of which were coherent, and ended up with him trailing behind you sheepishly to the infirmary with a broken wrist, several bleeding wounds, and probably early heart failure.  

Now, Yuuta sits with his feet dangling off of the edge of the examination chair, shivering from the chilliness of the room, and all of his nerve endings rattling at the realization that this is the first time that he’s been alone in a room with you since you’ve met. He winces, first at the sting of disinfectant into his wound, and then internally—mostly out of embarrassment—because his outward reaction made you pause your actions to question if he’s okay.  

Okay is relative, he thinks. In the grand scheme of things, he’s okay. Concerning his current injuries, he’ll be okay eventually. Concerning this… whatever this is he feels for you… maybe not so okay.  

“Sorry,” he stutters, too loud for the atmosphere and proximity of your bodies to each other, and, so, he winces again, cheeks staining red to match his embarrassment, as if he or you needed any confirmation of it. He doesn’t mean to be a difficult patient, but he has an adversity surrounding hospitals and medical care, and that alcohol really does burn, and you’re really close to his face, and—and you giggle a little, but Yuuta hears a chorus, instead; warm, spring-like, with violins and a piano and cellos strumming in perfect harmony, and the buzz of bees and butterfly wings flapping the melody.  

“You apologize a lot,” you tell him, a kind smile on your lips. You step forward, just a bit, as you peel off the band-aid adhesive and gently press it over the bridge of Yuuta’s nose. It’s Hello Kitty themed. It makes him want to scream.  

“Yeah, uh—sorry about that!” Yuuta apologizes, once again too loudly. He scratches at the back of his neck with his left hand, and his eyes go wide after a few beats, “No, wait—I didn’t mean to apologize again. I just... I, uh... thank you. That’s what I wanted to say. For helping me, you have my sincerest thank you.” 

Yuuta dips his head to bow, and when he raises it again, you’re blinking at him owlishly, and he thinks he’s really done it now. You must think he’s a freak, if you didn’t already. He thinks you’re gonna tell him off for being pathetic and a weakling, but instead you laugh again—that precious sound that pauses Yuuta’s world for the better.  

“You’re awfully formal. There’s no need for that, or to thank me. We’re friends, afterall,” you reassure him, “Even if Gojo did force you to be my practice dummy.” 

It’s his turn to reassure you, his uninjured hand moving from his neck to shake frantically in front of him, “It’s completely okay,” he does his best to give you a smile as warm as the one you give him. It probably doesn’t work, but he tries anyway—he’s always been an awkward smiler, too wide-mouthed and toothy, “You can do whatever you want to me, I trust you.”  

Your face seems almost solemn at his declaration, and the panic instantly kicks in again. Yuuta scrambles when his words play back in his head, “I’m sorry, was that weird? I meant that I trust your judgment. You can, uh, fix me up however you best see fit—or just leave it! I’m sure it’ll heal on—”

“You’re awfully self-sacrificing, too,” you cut him off with a laugh, your usual warm nature clicking back. Yuuta shrugs, feeble; you smile wider, “I’m the one who should be apologizing to you. I keep staring, and I’m sorry to have made you uncomfortable.” 

“Not at all! You don’t... make me uncomfortable, I mean. You could never,” Yuuta rushes, curling back into himself after his outburst, “You... it always feels really nice when you’re around. I can’t explain it, but everything is calmer.”

Your eyes flutter across his face, before you turn away from him, “I can tell it makes you nervous—I can hear the changes in your heartbeat,” you tell him, opening the cabinet to return the alcohol to its rightful place. You must also be able to hear his thoughts, chiming in just as Yuuta continues to wonder if his heartbeat is really that loud, “It’s part of my technique. I don’t mean to intrude on your heart.” 

Is it an intrusion if Yuuta left room for you? If he wanted you to be there? Was it crazy to think that he’d give you his heart to hold and trust you to take care of it, even though you’d only met a few months ago? Maybe it would be easier if he let you squeeze tight enough to put him out of his misery already.

Luckily, you keep talking before he can say something stupid like that out-loud again. 

“It’s just that... you remind me of somebody that I used to know. You’re kind like him, and you both share a well-intentioned recklessness, too. I see so much of him in you that it’s hard not to stare sometimes,” you admit, turning back to face him, and gingerly taking his wrist between your hands. When your hands start to glow, Yuuta can feel it—your reversed cursed technique is warm on the surface, but chilly underneath, like a heated blanket on top of perfectly cool sheets. 

“I don’t mean to say that you’re just a replacement,” you continue, slowly rotating your hands over his injury. It stings a little, then soothes, “I’m just still in awe of how nice it feels being around you. It feels strangely—” 

“Familiar,” Yuuta interjects, “I understand. You feel that way, too. I think... that’s what I meant before.” He understands your words perfectly because you remind him of someone precious to him, too; someone he used to and still loves alot. “You—it makes me happy, that’s why I seem so nervous.”

It seems as though you understand him, too. His heart sings, and you can probably hear it, but Yuuta doesn’t quite mind so much now. What he feels for you is consuming, maybe concerning, but knowing that you know what it’s like to love like him brings him an odd sense of comfort. Maybe he should be jealous that you’ve had someone to love that much before, but he’s not exactly in a position to talk. What matters is that you can hear him and feel him—his heart and his love and his sad and his happy, and it doesn’t push you away. 

It makes him want to burst. He owes you a thank you for putting something so precious in his life. He owes you an apology, for ever doubting that you couldn’t handle his symptoms. He should have realized that you can handle his love.

“You feel really warm, too,” he blushes, scratching at the back of his neck with his free hand, “And, uh, not just because you’re holding my hand.” 

The twinkle in your eyes turns into confusion, then surprise when you look down to see that the hand below his wrist had moved to rest underneath his palm instead. His wrist was well healed by now, and you’d been, effectively, massaging his skin and muscles with your technique for the latter duration of your conversation without realizing it. 

Yuuta couldn’t tell when it went from healing to hand holding, but he’s not complaining—and he doesn’t think he could have stopped it either. Another quality to your technique that he couldn’t understand was how your energy felt sticky, flowed like honey; how it managed to run into broken crevices and bruised dents with a mind of its own. Even if he’d wanted to pull his hand away—and he didn’t, he absolutely did not—he wouldn’t have gotten far from you. He never wanted to be. 

“You already have calluses on your palm,” you note, dispelling your healing energy, holding onto Yuuta’s hand only by want now, “You train hard. You’ll catch up to Maki and Toge, quickly, but not if you don’t take care of yourself.” 

Yuuta almost chokes when you rotate your wrist so that your fingers are aligned. Your hand is so much softer than his, warmer than his, and maybe he’s idealistic, but your fingers seem to slot perfectly between his when you curl them. 

“I’m not always going to be around to fix you up,” you warn him, “So don’t go around pissing Maki off too much, alright?” 

Yuuta can feel the heat from your body flow through him. From his palm, up his arm, down into his chest, and everywhere else. It doesn’t feel real. You’re holding his hand, you’re smiling at him, you’re right there and you’re so bright and beautiful, so Yuuta doesn’t know why his thoughts are so gray and dangerous; you wouldn’t hurt him, and he doesn’t want to hurt you, so why can’t he stop thinking about keeping you like this—of stitching your hands together forever to keep you by his side, or letting this heat consume and burn you both. 

Yuuta shakes his head to wiggle those thoughts away, but to you it seems like he’s saying no to staying off of Maki’s radar. When he realizes it, he nods too reverently to make up for it; surely looking like an idiot, and then to top it off, he squeaks, “I—yes, ma’am!” 

Another foolish outburst on his end, perhaps, but it makes you giggle, fills the room with springtime for a moment, so to Yuuta, it was worth it. “Good,” you nod, release his hand and beckon him off of the chair, “Come on, we should go eat before Panda takes all the good sides for himself.” 

Yuuta follows you back to the dorms with his stomach already full of love, love, love. He loves you, and you can hear, and see, and feel exactly what you do to him, and you don’t run. Yuuta thinks maybe you should, even though he doesn’t want you to. Surely you know what he did to Rika when he loved her. 

Rika seems to like you, actually, if the humming of her voice in his head as he takes his seat at the table next to you is any indication. He can vaguely make out some of her words as you pass him the dumplings—warm, kind, loyal. He agrees. Pretty, too. No disagreement there. 

In such a short amount of time, you’ve shifted Yuuta’s ethos for life. He wanted to die to be with the person he loved before, and never quite understood why Rika would stop him, why she would want him to suffer in this life alone; but maybe this is what Rika was always trying to tell him; that his love was not lost and buried with her, but flowing towards you, his heart, a beacon for you to locate. 

You’d mentioned that he reminded you of someone you knew before, that you couldn’t see anymore. Yuuta doesn’t know what happened to your person before he came along; he can only hope that you’ll allow him and his heart to be a vessel for your love someday, too. He won’t disappoint you. He won’t let you let go of him. 

It shouldn’t be hard. You already have his heart in your hands. 

#2 — Gojo is more than a teacher. He is also the school event planner, once ranked Diamond in Overwatch, and is the only person blacklisted from any and all kitchens on campus. He also gives pretty good (sometimes questionable?) advice. His eyes are kind of scary.  

You’re there when he and Toge are nearly decimated by the Grade 1 curse in the abandoned market. He still doesn’t understand much about sorcery at this point, so seeing people like you and Toge in action is awe-inspiring to say the least. Yuuta knows that Toge is nothing short of amazing, but he can’t help but to be drawn into you, you, you—your energy, your fighting style, the seemingly never-ending applications of your technique. Cursed energy in and of itself is still a foreign concept to him, so perhaps it’s that seeing you use the reverse of it so effortlessly is even more novel to him. 

He can hear Rika strumming in the back of his mind, an indistinct itch and hum that sounds vaguely like laughter at his self-justification. He chooses to ignore her. 

After, while he’s still buzzing with the tingly warm sensation of your technique after you’d patched him up, Gojo finds him, and Yuuta, unable to keep up a façade, pours all his anxious, worried, inquisitive feelings about his mission on the table. 

“The way that (_____) can heal wounds... is that something I can learn?” Yuuta questions his teacher, eyes tired but genuine and earnest.  

And Gojo, all knowing and absolutely singing at the implications, smiles so wide he’s certain his newest student could see the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, even through the dark tint of his glasses. “Maybe.”  

He goes on, leaning back into the old loveseat, one leg crossed over his other knee, “You’ll probably be able to learn to heal yourself with reversed cursed technique, but using it to heal others is difficult and rare. Shoko and (_____) are the only people I know who can do it.”

“Is… did she get to learn it because she’s a Grade 1?” He remembers Maki explaining the ranking system for Jujutsu sorcerers. You and Toge were ranked the highest in the class, and amongst the other Kyoto students; it would make sense that you two have learned more applications of your techniques due to your higher placements.

Gojo chuckles, much to Yuuta’s confusion. “That’s not quite how it works—and if it were, then you’d already know because you’re a Special Grade. You don’t unlock new lessons as you move up, you move up because of how well you’ve learned to control and apply your own cursed technique.”

Right. That makes sense. Except Yuuta knows that his classification of Special Grade is a bit of a cheat because he can’t control or apply his cursed energy half as well as any of his classmates. He has Rika to thank for his immediate promotion, not himself or his own skills.

“In any case, if you do learn it, you’ll never be able to execute it like her, that’s for certain. Reversed cursed technique is complicated to learn and nearly impossible to teach. It’s one of those things you truly have to figure out for yourself when the timing is right—I only got it when I was on the brink of death. It’s 100% effective on the person doing it, but only 50% effective when applied to other people by the user,” Gojo says, “Except for (_____). She was born with reversed cursed energy, which is why she has an almost 100% output on herself and others, so she’s extra special. ”

Yuuta frowns. He never expected to do anything half as well as you, but knowing there’s only half a chance that he could, literally, only ever meet you half-way is frustrating. You can save him time and time and time again, as you already have, and all he can do is be a wound for you to stitch back together. 

It must be difficult for you. A similar thought had crossed his mind when he first met Shoko-san, feeling bad for her having to carry the burden of healing others, knowing that she could never receive the same treatment in return. It’s worse for you, though, to be an angel amongst the men on this Earth—it’s not fair that you can give so much to help, and nobody can do the same for you. Yuuta wants to give something to you, he wants to devote himself to you, so at the very least, you have that. If he can’t give you anything else, he can give you himself.

Gojo laughs at Yuuta’s silence, kicking his legs up on the coffee table. “That’s hard for you to hear, huh? Ha! You truly are a lover, not a fighter, Yuuta.”

Yuuta blinks at him. “I, uh... thank you?” He says, even though he’s not so certain that those two things are discernable.  

“Right now, the best thing for you to do is focus on controlling Rika and your cursed energy. That way, (_____) can also focus on fighting, and not healing, when you’re on missions together. The stronger you are, the less she’ll have to clean up after you,” Gojo advises.

He puts his feet back on the floor and uses the leverage to lean over, a bit too close for Yuuta’s comfort. “The only thing you can do for her is to learn to help yourself.”

Yuuta’s eyes go wide. He wants to—he wants to help you, wants to help himself, wants to help others, too. There’s a selfish twang for a moment, the thought of not needing you anymore tugging at his heart, but Rika reminds him that he’ll still want you. 

Then an even scarier thought crosses his mind. “What happens if I don’t learn to control this? What happens if I curse her instead?”

Yuuta trembles at the thought, breathing and heartbeat erratic, his sensei moving back a bit. Rika is there again, reassuring him that he never hurt her, that his love never hurts, that the only person he’s ever truly harmed is himself by isolation of his own feelings. Trust her, Rika demands, she can handle this.

You can. Can you? You have, so far. You don’t run, you don’t push, you give, and give, and give to him; Rika was kind and playful and took and took and took Yuuta’s loneliness and sickness in stride and he still cursed her, seemingly for all eternity. He wants to love and be loved, but not if it means hurting you—isn’t it bad enough that he’s already inept at healing your wounds? Why should he risk giving you more?

“Yuuta,” Gojo calls him out of his thoughts, “I’m disappointed.” 

That truly breaks Yuuta’s cyclical monologue. “I—disappointed?” 

Gojo ticks his tongue, shakes his head and points a finger in accusation, “You should know your fellow classmates better by now. (_____) is not that weak or scared,” he chastises, “You’re so worried about cursing her that you haven’t realized that she is the only person so far to have effectively used her curse on you.”

Yuuta pauses, eyes wet with the awful realization that Gojo was right. You have already cursed him; your technique has already gotten past the barrier of his curse. You’ve cursed him. He never stopped to think that it was possible, worried only about himself. How selfish—he shares Gojo’s disappointment in himself. 

He’s spent so much time loathing his jealous mind and decaying heart that he hasn’t opened his eyes to see you that you’ve found him. You can poison anything he does, and make the antidote with equal ease; how stupidly naive of Yuuta to think that he could be the one to diagnose or treat you better than you could him, or yourself. 

“I’m sorry, sensei,” Yuuta dips his head, and also spares you an internal apology, “I understand better, now.”

“Is that so?” Gojo muses, leaning back into the sofa. His eyes scan Yuuta’s when his head is raised again, that knowing grin creeping back up on his lips. “Well, if you still want to know more about reversed curse technique, or want help learning it, it’s not an entirely lost cause. I’m definitely not the person for this lesson, but, you know who is?” 

Yuuta feels a sense of whiplash from the change in Gojo’s demeanor. Confusion clouds his mind again, and he shrugs, “Um... Shoko-sensei?” 

Gojo makes a loud buzzer noise, complete with crossing his arms in front of his chest in a big ‘X.’ Yuuta frowns again. Is that where Toge learned to do that? 

“Wrong! I’m talking about (_____), obviously!” Gojo claps his hands together, before lowering his glasses to wiggle his eyebrows, “Tutoring is a textbook way to get some alone time, kiddo. You want to spend more time with her outside of class and missions, right?”

“I want to spend all my time with her,” Yuuta confesses, mindlessly. And foolishly, he soon realizes, when he sees that Gojo’s grin has tripled; and he’s quick to flash his hands to correct himself, “No—not like that—not in a creepy way! I just... I want to get to know her better, like you said.”

Yuuta’s awkward chuckles fill the space, and he can feel his insides burning from his cheeks all the way down to his hands. Would he ever be able to think coherently or tactfully when it came to you? 

“So, uh... I... it’s okay if I ask her about this stuff, too?” 

“Some sorcerers don’t like talking about their cursed techniques. But (_____) might not mind. You won’t know until you try.” 

Yuuta nods shallowly. Try. He can do that—if not for himself, then for you; he can try for you. All you need from him is to accept your course of treatment; to love you is to let you curse him, completely. 

“I’m a firm believer that all’s fair in love and war,” Gojo stands, stretching into Yuuta’s space to ruffle his hair. He leans down further, giving him a glimpse of his glowing eyes before sparing him a wink, “So, be a little greedy, and give it your best shot.”

#3 — Social media is the most twisted curse out there. It makes you feel so close, yet is a stark reminder of just how far you are from the person on the other end of the screen. 

Yuuta has never considered himself good with technology. Even before Rika’s incident, he often felt ostracized by his peers because he didn’t have the same interest in or experience with games and cartoons. He had no reason to have a computer or a phone until enrolling at Jujutsu Tech, and there was an evident learning curve in navigating the devices. Toge often snickered watching Yuuta use his smartphone with the dexterity of a senior citizen. 

He only barely set up Instagram and TikTok accounts with Toge’s help, but he doesn’t really get the idea of followers—why would people who don’t know him want to follow him? Why would he follow them? He doesn’t know many memes or jokes and even after seeing them, he doesn’t think many are all that funny, but he laughs anyway. 

He doesn’t have much time to perfect his social media and meme skills, anyway. He’s dedicated to training and gaining mission experience—which pays off when Geto declares war on the school by the end of the year. Yuuta remembers how you returned his phone to him the next day, a few cracks and black, dark spots on the screen, giggling that you’d found it in the rubble, but that even your reverse cursed technique couldn’t fix its scars. 

He thinks he gets the hang of it in the end—the basics of communication and the appeal behind connection with others through it—even going so far as to trade selfies with Gojo sometimes, who always seemed happy to receive them, no matter how much post-exorcism curse gunk Yuuta was covered in. 

He also frequently exchanges texts with you. He much prefers to see you in person, but when you’re stuck for long hours in the ER, or away from campus on your own missions, Yuuta has grown fond of receiving your messages. He always attempts to read them in your voice and imagine your facial expressions to match those of the emojis you send. He hasn’t quite gotten the hang of those yet, doesn’t understand what Toge means when he says that not all smiley faces are created equally, so to save himself the trouble, and potential embarrassment, he’s opted to use emoticons instead. Which, if you asked him, has been working out in his favor, seeing as you call them cute. 

Yuuta also uses the safety of his phone screen to implement some of Gojo’s advice; picking your brain about curses, sorcery, and healing via text message for just long enough for you to say it’s easier to explain in person to come to him and teach him in your spare time. Soon these study sessions turn into texts asking to hang out outside of class and missions and work, and Yuuta couldn’t be more elated. The screen he once scorned at seemed to be his one-way ticket to being able to talk to his favorite person constantly. 

But Yuuta never thought it would become his only means of communication with you. He’s devastated when you break the news to him, over half-finished oolong tea and nervous finger-twiddling. 

“You’re leaving?” He echoes, hoping he doesn’t sound too much like a heartbroken child, even though that’s exactly how he feels. 

It’s quiet outside of the tea shop where you two sit, nearing seven in the evening; only the soft sounds of other customers conversing behind you two inside, distant cars on the main street, and the sound of Yuuta’s heart beating frantically.  

“Not leaving leaving,” you clarify, pausing your finger twirling to place one of your hands over Yuuta’s on the table, “I’m still studying, but I’m being sent abroad for a bit.” 

He should be focused on the fact that you’re touching his hand—Yuuta should be happy! Rika still cheers for you in his mind, but her voice is quieter now—but Yuuta can’t. He’s focused on everything else, spiraling about the implications of your words. You’re leaving... going away from him when things are going so well. 

Yuuta was so happy when you taught him the reversed curse technique, even happier when he realized he did have the ability to heal others, knowing it also meant having the ability to help you relieve some of your burdens. That didn’t mean that he didn’t still want to give himself to you, he would if you’d have him—but now he wouldn’t have the chance.  

“I haven’t told anyone else yet—Gojo only told me this morning,” you mumble, “I’m going to miss you all a lot, but we can still text every day! I don’t know how long the time difference will be, but we can FaceTime.” 

It’s not lost on Yuuta that he is the first person that you’ve told about this. It’s another thing to be happy about, another little victory he never thought he’d achieve, but it’s still overpowered by the dread of you leaving him. 

He blinks, placing his other hand atop yours, sandwiching them between his, “How long?” Yuuta can’t read the expression on your face, but you don’t pull your hand away. He’s glad. He didn’t think when he’d done it, but the lack of rejection feels good—your touch always feels good, reverse cursed energy or not. 

“I’m… not sure—a few months at least, maybe until the end of the year,” you admit, squeezing his hand, “There are some cursed objects and scrolls they want me to help recover, and Gojo says I get to work with another Special Grade sorcerer, too.” 

His hands feel so good, so warm, but everything else about Yuuta feels cold, icy with dread and fear. You’re going away for a long time, and he won’t get to see you or hear you laugh or feel your warmth while you’re gone. His sunny days are going away, and Yuuta honestly doesn’t know how many more overcast skies and rain clouds he can take.

And it’s selfish, he knows. He should be happy for you—you were chosen for this mission, for this training; you’re getting the chance to use your skills to help others, and train even further. So, why couldn’t he be happy for you? Why could he only feel a pit in his stomach about the thought of you leaving and meeting some other Special Grade who’s rightfully deserving of their title? Not only had he lost the thing that brought him to you in the first place, but you’re about to find another replacement. Sure, with or without Rika’s curse, Yuuta had become so much stronger, but what’s it worth if he couldn’t keep you by his side?

“Tsukumo is supposed to be really cool, but you’ll always be my favorite Special Grade, Yuuta,” you taunt with a smile. 

Yuuta’s eyes go wide and watery with wobbly lips and flushed cheeked and sweaty palms to match. Favorite. Favorite, favorite, favorite. The word spoken in your voice rings in his head like a beautiful chime, the tones washing over him and erasing all his fear and doubt and insecurity. 

You had called Yuuta your favorite. Sure, he’s still upset when he and the other first-years drop you off at the airport too weeks later, he still cries the first night you’re gone, still nearly breaks his knee trying to jump for his phone the first time that you call; but it’s okay because Yuuta is living off of the temporary high of being your favorite. 

And also, because, in the end, your separation seems to have been inevitable. Not a month after everyone bids you farewell from Jujutsu Tech, Gojo tells him that he’s next on the docket to be sent abroad. He’s happy for a split second, thinking that he might get sent off to Europe where you’re still working with Tsukumo, but then Yuuta learns his true fate: studying under the tutelage of Miguel in Kenya; equal parts away from his classmates in Tokyo, and from you in Barcelona. 

Whoever said distance makes the heart grow fonder was a liar and a bitch, because the favorite boy honeymoon comes to an end when Yuuta settles into his new room and makes his first call to you from Nairobi. The feeling and reality of being alone, and even further away from you finally hits him. Still, he relishes in the sound of your voice; fantasizes that when you reach for your phone to show him your new things, it’s you reaching for his hand; dreams of you laying next to him when you fall asleep on the call, and desperately wishes that he could touch you, hold you, kiss you. 

He really wants to kiss you. He thinks he’s probably always wanted to kiss you, from the very moment his feelings for you started to grow; even if he couldn’t discern them at first, he knows now—Yuuta knows that he misses you like he’s never missed anyone before. The grief of losing part of Rika, and then losing his proximity to you merely weeks apart is finally catching up to him, and it’s morphing into a yearning that tugs on his heartstrings and rattles his brain. 

He knows that the rate of growth of his feelings for you hasn’t been steady, but he blames you for that. You’re the reason he loves you so much, the reason he can’t sleep at night, the reason he learns how to bring Rika back—because he thinks of you, you, you, and how he lost Rika once, and he’d be a fool to lose you twice.

Yuuta thinks it’s no coincidence that your cursed technique has the ability to alter him in mind and body. You have so much ownership over him and you probably don’t even know that Yuuta has spent every single moment of his life living and breathing for you since you’ve met. 

And you take his breath away yet again, when he gets to see you in Germany. Miguel is taking him to Switzerland on a classified mission, and you and Tsukumo are on your way to Austria, and by some great miracle, your layovers align. When he sees you waving to him down the long corridor in the airport, it feels like a scene straight out of his dreams. Yuuta spares no time trying to look cool or nonchalant; making a beeline to you, desperate to feel your touch after so long. 

He’s breathless in those ten minutes that you’re reunited. Everything is too short, but he does his best to live in it all. He speaks a mile a minute, cramming in anything he hadn’t already revealed to you in your many late-night FaceTimes, and swallowing everything you tell him. He wants to believe that he’d made the best of what little time he had with you, but the truth is he didn’t. Because while you were smiling and hugging and telling him that you missed him, all Yuuta really wanted to do was kiss you—and if he were a smarter man, a better man, he would have. 

He thinks, for a split second, that you might have wanted to kiss him too—when you rock back on your heels after saying good-bye, hesitating for just a moment, almost expectantly, before your eyes flutter away. He’ll never know, because he never asked, he never tried, he never said—only whispered, pathetically, to himself as he watches the silhouette of you and Tsukomo before you disappear for boarding, that he loves you. 

He almost believes that you hear it when you turn over your shoulder after his quiet confession. Would it have been better that way—if he kissed you, or confessed in the heat of the moment—or would it be taking advantage of an otherwise beautiful moment? Yuuta will never know, and the what if tantalizes him.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and opens the thread of your messages. He starts typing, then stops. Backspace. Start typing. Pause. Read, re-read. Delete. Groan. 

What’s the point? He can’t kiss you through the screen, and he’ll be damned if the first time he tells you that he’s in love with you is via phone call. He slumps his shoulders, and Miguel gives him a pity pat on the back. Yuuta goes to lock his phone when he sees the gray thought bubbles pop up below your last message and his entire body goes rigid in anticipation. 

[received] 03:27 PM — [attachment: 1 image] — you should keep a closer eye on your things yuuta — i miss you already (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤ 

Yuuta’s heart stops when he sees the picture of you in your seat, wearing his white uniform jacket. He doesn’t know when you snuck it away from him, but that doesn’t matter—like anything else, he would have willingly given it to you, and then some. It looks much better on you anyway, and Yuuta pinches his eyes shut for a brief moment, to swallow down the thoughts threatening to swarm his mind of you in his arms, in other clothes, in his bed. 

He opens his eyes, takes a deep breath, and lets the warm, gooey feeling settle into his veins, and moves his fingers to type. 

[sent] 03:38 PM — keep it, you can have anything of mine you want — i miss you more (๑′ ᴗ ‵๑)♥

You heart his messages and let him know you’re taking off soon, and putting your phone on airplane mode until you land. He’s not so confident to send a picture in return, unless you ask for it. Maybe you will, when you’re in Austria. He’ll have to work on his selfies.

He takes another once over the picture you sent, committing the idea of you in his clothes to memory. He knows the messages won’t delete themselves, but he takes a screenshot for safekeeping anyway. Maybe phones aren’t so bad, afterall. 

#4 — Do not kill Itadori Yuuji. Under any circumstances. Even if some days you really feel like it. Also, sign up for a Crunchyroll subscription. 

Yuuta can confidently say that his training abroad was both the most difficult and fulfilling thing he’s ever experienced. He believes that the change he’s endured is mostly good—he’s physically stronger, emotionally wiser, and overall more confident in himself and his cursed technique. One year ago, he would have been content with dying, but now he has more than enough reasons to keep living. He has people who care about him, and who would miss him if he were gone; and he’s got someone he would miss a whole bunch, too, should anything happen to them.  

By miss Yuuta means that he might burn down a small town, might level a city, might flip the entire world on its axis if something were to happen to you. In his defense, he’d go to extremes for most of his friends—but for you, there’s truly nothing he wouldn’t risk.  

He figured that out in his time abroad, too; came to terms with the fact that he’s selfish with his love. He loves too much, too hard, too close, and he isn’t very willing to share. He doesn’t see it as a bad thing, anymore, either—Yuuta knows now that the way he loves makes him who he is, and right now, he has the confidence to say that he likes that person, and that he loves you, undoubtedly. 

So, forgive him if there’s a cloud of negative energy the size of a coach bus looming over him at the moment, because since you’ve returned to campus, Itadori Yuuji has been slobbering over you like a lovesick puppy.  

Because apparently, you happen to know Itadori Yuuji—as in, since you were four and he was three, all the way up until your senior year of highschool, when you were scouted by Gojo, who, believes that you coming home from your study abroad trip would be the perfect time to reunite two best friends who hadn’t seen or heard from each other for the better part of two years—all while keeping this little reunion a secret from everybody, including you and Itadori.

A surprise, it certainly is, when the first time that Yuuta and the other second-years see you in months is on the dingy couch in the common room, under a cuddle pile of the first-years. Nobara’s arms wrapped around your left arm, body slumped against your side, Megumi’s long limbs stretching over Itadori’s torso, leaving the palm of his hand resting on your thigh. Far too close for Yuuta’s comfort. The only saving grace is that the jacket he loaned you is also spread across your lap, offering another layer between your body and his palm. And then there’s Itadori Yuuji, squished right between you and Megumi, with his head on your shoulder, his arms around your waist, and your free arm slung around his neck. 

Yuuta should have been relishing in the fact that you were finally home, but all his focus is drawn to the way your position allows Itadori to cuddle right into you, to the way your arm is around his shoulder and your cheek pressed against the top of his head. You two might as well have been in your own little world, and Yuuta hates it. And, as if that’s not enough, the realization that he was not the first person to hug you or welcome you home clicks, and his anger bubbles deeper.  

Next comes dread, that creeps in slowly when you and the first-years wake up, and you and Itadori go on and on and on about how surprised you were to see each other at the airport, how Itadori just assumed that when Gojo said he’d assigned them to “pick up something super special,” that he was messing with them, how you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off of your precious, precious kouhai that you’d missed so dearly.

Childhood best friends brought back together through sorcery. Yuuta’s seen that one before, and he didn’t like the ending.

You and Itadori mend the gap in your friendship like two years of no contact was nothing, falling into a pattern that’s so easy and familiar, that it’s painful for Yuuta to watch. The assumption that you’d died, and the knowledge that Yuuji had actually died only served to strengthen your vows to protect each other in the name of your friendship from here on out.  

Yuuta considers putting his own sword through his chest if it means you’ll swear your devotion to him. If he died, would you cry for him? Would you pray over his grave and beg for him to come back to you?—or would you find comfort in those who kept living, find solace in a friend who came back for you and can still hold you in his arms? 

“Tsuna tsuna,” he hears from his left, followed by a mischievous giggle. Toge’s taunting is hardly enough to pull Yuuta out of his cloud of rage, but the blunt end of Maki’s staff is.  

“Will you stop pining so damn hard?” she sneers, whipping the staff back to her side and placing a hand on her hip, “Not only is it pathetic, it’s gonna attract curses like flies to honey.”  

“Why am I the only one getting hit?” He turns to his right to motion to Megumi, who seems to be brooding just as hard. Megumi respects you, but it was easy to see that he was reaching his limit on sharing his recently revived lover with someone else. Maki huffs, “Because he doesn’t have a literal cloud of darkness looming around him.”  

Yuuta sighs, doing his best to reign in his feelings, but it’s pointless once he hears your laughter across the field—light and airy and sunshiney and all because of Itadori Yuuji. 

What were you two talking about? If Itadori were out of the way, would you pledge yourself to Yuuta? Did he ever hold a space comparable to Itadori in your heart—would you let him?

A broken chord strikes Yuuta’s heart when he realizes that Itadori is the person you told him about last year; the person you missed so much, and you never thought you’d be able to see again; the person that Yuuta reminded you of; the person he was happy and eager to be for you. And now, in knowing Itadori, Yuuta thinks that his willingness was beautifully naive—to think that he could compare to someone like this. Itadori is light, where Yuuta is dark; he sees the best in people, where Yuuta manages to come off on the wrong foot always; he perseveres in faith and determination, where Yuuta is fueled by an anxious desire to prove, prove, prove himself to be worth something to anybody. 

He can see how easy it is to love Itadori. It’s easy to cling to faith, to believe in something higher than yourself, to know that someone above can pull you up. Yuuta cannot compete where he cannot compare; he’s a shadow that engulfs you, takes you away from light, a dream that’s hard to wake up from. He could never be bright to you; his best attempt would probably drive you and him too close to the sun, martyred for love in burning flames.

Still, even in all his jealousy, Yuuta comes to the even more sobering realization that making Itadori disappear wouldn’t fix his problems. You told him he wasn’t Itadori’s replacement, but maybe that’s because he could never be him; maybe he doesn’t have to be. Yuuji could never be him, and he could never be Yuuji, but whether Yuuta likes it or not, he and Itadori are two sides of the same coin; and as such, Yuuta has, begrudgingly, grown to feel the same sense of responsibility over the younger boy that you do.

So, even though he never expected that they would both be at the mercy of your hand at the same time in this lifetime, he absolutely cannot kill Itadori Yuuji. Not only would it make you sad, but it would probably make Yuuta even sadder in the end, somehow. What a bother. 

He’s about to get up—to leave, maybe go over there, he doesn’t know yet—but he stops when he hears a calm buzzing by his ear. Yuuta blinks, slowly, shoulders relaxing unconsciously, allowing the larger than normal honey-bee to land on him. He recognizes it as one of your shikigami—and even if he hadn’t, that familiar, cooling sensation that washes over him would have let him know—so, gently, he lifts a hand across his torso, allowing it to crawl onto his finger, and strum its tune.

Yuuta can feel a few more, hear them humming around him, and he closes his eyes, lets the small group of bees flutter around him and all that looming jealousy dissipates from his body. 

Faintly, past the calm hum of the small swarm, Yuuta can hear the call of Yuuji’s voice, petulant, “Aw, no fair. Fushiguro, I want calming shikigami, too! Can you bring out the bunnies? Please.” 

Beside him, Toge and Maki seem bemused by his newly calmed state, then amused when Megumi sighs, stands, and reluctantly pulls his hands together before a couple dozen white rabbits flood the field and hop onto Yuuji. 

The buzzing grows softer, and then quiet. Briefly, Yuuta feels a bee land on his cheek, before it flies away, leaving the smell of fresh pollen in his wake, and when he blinks his eyes open again, you’re there, in front of him with a smile sweeter than anything he’s ever known. 

“Hope they didn’t scare you,” you muse, waving a finger before the last bee hovering around you disappears, “You seemed upset, everything alright?” 

He’s about to open his mouth to say something, anything, when he’s cut off by Itadori Yuuji once again, with one bunny on either shoulder, and three more cradled in his arms. “Hey, doesn’t (_____) totally remind you guys of Sakura!”  

Maki scoffs, albeit with amusement, as she points her staff at Yuuji’s hair. “If anyone bears resemblance to Sakura, it’s you, Itadori.”  

Yuuji actually makes an attempt to look at his own hair before chuckling. Yuuta flashes a look to Megumi, who looks equal parts exasperated and enchanted. Yuuta doesn’t get the reference, and when Inumaki starts making gestures about how Yuuji is like some Naruto guy and Yuuji screams about how Megumi resembles a Shikamaru, he becomes too afraid to ask.  

You seemed charmed at the end of the discussion, when everybody fundamentally agrees that you’re the Sakura of the group. Yuuta is far less charmed by these comparisons (and it has nothing to do with the fact that he didn’t get one). He doubts that this Sakura person can do what you can do, doubts that Sakura is even worthy enough to be compared to you, whoever she may be. 

And maybe Yuuta goes back to his room to watch several compilation videos about ships in Naruto later that day, but nobody has to know that. From what he’s gathered, Sakura is pretty cool, and even though Yuuji bears the most physical resemblance to her, he can see why everyone agrees that your healing abilities compare well to hers. Yuuta thinks you’re better, and he’s still holding out hope that there’s some other character equivalent for you that Itadori didn’t think of, that Yuuta can, just to prove that he knows you better. He doesn’t fight any comparisons between Gojo and Kakashi, though. That one honestly freaked him out a little. 

If it turns out that you’re Sakura, then he should hope to be Sasuke, but Yuuta thinks this dude is kind of a dick. From the 47 minutes of scattered Naruto content that he’s consumed, he actually much prefers the dynamic between Sakura and Naruto, even if that does equate to Itadori Yuuji having a crush on you, at least you’re out of his league and chasing after somebody else. 

Still, he thinks Sakura would be upset if Naruto actually died, or worse, if Sasuke actually killed him—never mind the fact that apparently he tried to kill her? Yuuta would never do that, but Sakura still seems to like Sasuke after all of that... in any case, Itadori Yuuji must live, and Yuuta must accept his fate as Sasuke reborn. 

Though, to Yuuta’s understanding so far, Sasuke and Naruto are destined to duke it out and if only one of them has to survive, then maybe it’s not so bad to be this guy. Yuuta doesn’t know how it ends between them, but he thinks he could take on Itadori Yuuji if he had to. He won’t because he’s your friend, and Yuuta’s friend now, too, but if Itadori or the curse inside of him acts up, then Yuuta can at least rest assured he can put a stop to it. That’s not something he could have guaranteed a year ago, but now, he can. 

Yuuta sighs, finally locking his phone and shoving his head under his blanket. He’s been knee deep in analyses about Sakura ships for the past two and a half hours now, and he’ll admit Sasuke is growing on him, but not much. His only saving grace seems to be that Sakura is madly, unconditionally in love with him; Yuuta wouldn’t mind having that kind of devotion from you. He turns to lay on his back, staring up at the blank ceiling and wonders: if it came down to saving only one of them, would Sakura pick Naruto or Sasuke... would you choose the boy who’s loved and looked up to you since you were kids, or the boy who sacrificed everything in hopes of gaining enough strength so that what happened to him never happens to anyone else. 

Maybe they answer that in the series, Yuuta reasons. 720 episodes, at 20 minutes per episode... if he devotes about half-a-day to watching Naruto, then he can breeze through it in a little over two weeks, maybe sooner if he uses his weekends efficiently. That’s plausible, and by the end of it, Yuuta is certain that he’ll have the answers he needs—and even if it doesn’t, then at least, he’ll have one more thing to talk to you about.

In the end, Sakura picks Sasuke, Naruto marries somebody else, and Yuuta understands that the two were never opposites, but complements, and that Itadori Yuuji-shaped pit in his stomach dissipates. Still, about three weeks later at breakfast he makes the argument that if anything you’re more akin to Tsunade, minus the gambling addiction, and that gets him rave reactions from everyone, including you, who is more than happy to show him your new slug shikigami as a means of commemorating your new Naruto kin. 

Believe that, Itadori. 

#5 — None of this matters if you don’t kiss her. You have to kiss the girl—or she’ll get mad enough to the point where she’ll kiss you.

The following month comes your indictment into the Semi-Special Grade hall of responsibility. Yuuta vaguely recalls Gojo’s lecture on how people don’t really get promoted to Special Grade—it’s classification you’re born or cursed with, like himself, or Yuuji, or Tsukumo—but, you, of course, defy all odds and expand everything Yuuta knows. Nobody is surprised—Yuuta thinks everyone was among the similar thought that you were undoubtedly unique amongst your classmates, in a way that was different from him or Yuuji. Being born with a body that generates reversed cursed energy instead of cursed energy is deserving of Special Grade status if you asked him; he doesn’t know what pushed the higher-ups into finally acknowledging your skill, but he knows it’s well-past due. And while he’s happy you’re getting recognition for your efforts, Yuuta would never wish to saddle you with half of the shit the higher-ups put him through. 

They better hope that Yuuta doesn’t find out that they’re plotting anything with you, lest they meet the end of his sword.

Part of your promotion entails a dual-degree program that will have you starting medical school next fall. Yuuta almost cries at the thought of you being sent away again, until you tell him that Gojo managed to pull a few strings this time—to fund everything and keep you in Tokyo. 

And even though you’re not licensed to treat civilians yet, you’re already more than experienced with taking care of and healing your fellow sorcerers, which lends Shoko’s promotional gift to be a shiny new office, right across from hers. Yuuta is the first person you invite inside, and he brings you a photo of you, him, Maki, and Toge from last year—honestly, probably the only photo the four of you have together—to christen your desk, and a plaque with your name on it for the door, that he may or may not have fantasized about it reading with your first name and his last name on it instead.

To no surprise, your office becomes a safe haven of sorts. Yuuta would define any time or place with you as a safe haven, but there’s something special about this place. Maybe Yuuta is still leaping from this being the second time you’ve chosen him. He’s the first person to see your office, the first person to sit at your chair, your first official patient when he stubs his toe against the corner of your desk (where he left the first decorative object). Maybe it’s a little far to say that this place has him all over it as much as it does you, but Yuuta likes the sound of that. 

When he comes back from gruesome missions, he’s invited to let himself in, no matter how much blood he’s covered in, and you’ll be there to take care of him. It’s not different than before—not different than even last year when he’d waddled in your shadow to the room across the hall and sat down with heart palpitations while you fixed his wrist—but something about this feels special. It holds a different weight than hanging out in your dorm or cooking together in the kitchen; this office is yours, the things you say and do to him here are confidential, the yearning for and almost-kisses you almost have are for you and him alone; within these four walls, you’re free to curse him completely. 

So, he’s understandably upset when your office becomes a cozy corner for the other students as well. Maki likes to take refuge inside to study alone, Panda and Toge have been caught on more than one occasion attempting to wrap gauze around each other like zombies, Megumi uses your supplies and basic first-aid lessons to prepare small kits for him and the other first-years, hell, even Gojo has been found asleep in your office on more than one occasion. He gets why people are drawn to you like a magnet, why you’re comforting, and welcoming, and a source of warmth for them, but that doesn’t mean that Yuuta likes to share you. It’s much harder to almost-kiss you this way. 

He must have pouted loud enough about it, because shortly after, instead of inviting Yuuta to your office for lunch, you ask him to meet you on the field. Not one to question you, he obeys, and soon, instead he’s met with an entirely new safe haven, sitting criss-cross inside your domain with all your shikigami slithering and fluttering and buzzing about him. A butterfly lands on his nose, and Yuuta’s nose crinkles. You lean in to let it crawl on your finger instead, and don’t lean too far back when you slowly begin to explain to him the intricacies of your domain and how it all comes together. 

It’s amazing, surely. Yuuta listens as best he can, but it’s hard when there’s a halo of butterflies around you, and a symphony of bees buzzing in his ear, and a slug kissing at his hand, and a snake coiling around his body and gently massaging his muscles, and your voice sound so soft and warm, and you look so pretty and, and, and he wants to kiss you again. 

He wants to kiss you really badly. He wonders if that’s part of your domain—honestly, he’d wondered if that magnetic, honey-like attraction he has to you is in any part influenced by your healing nature—wonders if the confines of your space exacerbates the flow of blood to his heart and his cheeks and his—

“Are you listening?” you question, that glowing, addictive smile on your face, “You know I can make the snake bite, the bees sting.” 

God, Yuuta wants to kiss you. He wants to live in the spring garden of your love forever, and ever, and roll around in the grass and drink honey with you, and kiss you and kiss you and kiss you. You could keep him here forever, he’d be perfectly content with living his days wrapped up in your curse. 

Yuuta shakes his head to snap out of his daydream, disrupting a few butterflies in the process. “I—sorry,” he apologies, “I’m listening now.”

You hum, folding your legs underneath your knees and sitting before him. Yuuta’s certain he looks slightly ridiculous, covered head to toe in animals and small insects and burning underneath your gaze—wasn’t this domain supposed to help people feel better? Is there no cure for lovesickness that you can use on him—or, at the very least, embarrassment?

“I asked you why you won’t kiss me.” 

Yuuta knows that if he weren’t in your domain right now, he would have fallen to a sudden death. “I—I, um,” words, Yuuta, words; a bee lands on his cheek, he takes a deep breath, “I’m sorry.” 

That doesn’t seem like the right answer, judging by the twist of your lips. Of course it’s not—because it’s a lie, and you know it, and you know he knows that you know it. How could he be sorry for wanting you, for spending every last waking moment breathing for you, hoping that you’ll end his laborious breaths and pour air into him yourself?

“You know, I brought you in here to make sure that you wouldn’t run or pass out on me,” you confess, reaching out your hand towards him; the tip of your finger barely grazes his cheek as you allow the bee to crawl onto you, “I worry about your heart more than I should.” 

You flick your finger gently, allowing the bee to flutter freely and your eyes to focus back on Yuuta’s, “Right now, in this domain, it’s mine to control. To stop, to beat.” It’s yours outside of here, too; to fix, to break. He knows. He knows, he knows, he knows. “Why won’t you let me have it, Yuuta?” 

Yuuta gasps, and despite his surprise, despite his extreme lovesickness, despite his dark desires, his heartbeat remains steady, his body remains perfectly tempered and cool, his voice resonates clearly—all because of you. 

“You’ve always had it,” he confesses, “Always. From the moment I met you.” 

He can’t read your expression. He’s suddenly hyper aware of the power struggle here; domain aside, you can hear everything about him, sense the slightest physiological change in him, alter any one of his bodily functions at your whim and Yuuta doesn’t know what goes on in you. Would it be wrong to confess that he likes it; that this feels like you having him, that he likes knowing you can take him? 

“I thought so, maybe,” you enlighten him, “Last year with all the calls and texts,” you lean over and set free a butterfly from his shoulder, “And then in the airport,” then guiding the snake to coil around your arm and around your torso, “And then I thought maybe you’d have said something when you were jealous of Yuuji,” this time your hand touches him, a feather-light touch to his elbow, “But you didn’t, and I was beginning to wonder if I was hearing your heart beat for someone else, instead.” 

Yuuta grabs at your hand erratically, “No—no. Never.” 

He’s senselessly in love with you, and if it weren’t for your healing hands, Yuuta’s certain his ribs would have cracked from the pressure of his happy heart by now; but then again, maybe he should ask you to let it break—let that fracture serve as an entry point for you and yours, to prove to you that it beats for you and you alone. 

“So then what is with you? You have a habit of giving girls your heart and not kissing them, or asking them out—is it always straight to marriage with you?” 

It’s torture hearing that word fall from your lips. He doesn’t have time to even begin to process it. Yuuta’s eyes flicker to the smile on your lips, the slight tilt of your head. He says something he shouldn’t, “Would you be opposed to that?” 

“I’d like a kiss first,” you tease, “Would you give me one?” 

And how could he ever deny you anything. There, with a harmony of beautiful insects and warm sunlight, Yuuta finally, finally, takes the last move forward to kiss you. It’s everything he wants and exactly as he’d imagined—he can feel the rush in his bones, the want in his stomach, the love against his skin when you fall into him. 

It’s one kiss, and another, and then Yuuta can feel your tongue against his, greedily falling into the rush of you. He’s everywhere, hands on your neck, lips on yours, body stradling yours when he carefully leans you backwards; Yuuta has you, and you have him, and he won’t let this moment go to waste. He pulls away for a moment, only a moment, to take in your kiss-swollen lips and commit this vision to memory. He’ll have to take another visual photograph outside of your domain, when your bodies are free to breathe erratically and equilibrium is broken so you and truly, truly, feel all of Yuuta’s love in earnest. 

He wonders if it’s the effect of your domain that prevents his nerves from running haywire when you take off his shirt, when you let him take off your pants, when you have your hands on his chest and his on your hips. It must be. Yuuta knows for certain that otherwise, he’d be a blushing mess of fumbling limbs and stuttering words. 

Still, Yuuta thinks, domain or no domain, he wouldn’t let this moment pass him. It’s not nerves when his hand brushes over your clothed clit and he hears you moan—even if it had been, that would have been the antidote to his poison. Lust, pressure, possession wash over him in excruciating waves. He wants more. He wants you. 

Impatience when he adds pressure with his hand, bliss when you buck your hips to add more of your own, greedily grinding against his fingers. Yuuta kisses you again, swallows your moans and feeds you his own when slips his hand past the barrier of your underwear, and he feels your warm, wet cunt against his fingertips for the first time, and when he pushes two fingers into your heat, he thinks he could cum right then and there, from this alone. 

“Yu—Yuuta, more,” you plead. Your hand on his neck, fingernails scraping into his skin that should leave a mark. They probably won’t. He’ll be sure that next time they stick. 

And Yuuta, unable to deny you anything, obeys. He curls his fingers inside of you, thrusting gently at first, and then with more confidence—and warning, when he hears you snarl about not teasing. Ironic, he thinks, as he watches your lips fall open, since you’ve had him strung along since day one. 

“I wanna—wanna cum with you inside,” you moan, a sound that Yuuta promises to commit to memory. Later, when his brain is working better, and the coil in his stomach isn’t so tight, and you’re not clenching around his fingers. 

You’re greedy, and Yuuta’s never realized it. You suck him in and still want more, and you must know that he’ll give it to you. It should serve as a warning, you have the high-ground to take him any which way you want—for a fool, for granted, for yourself, for nobody else; so what does it say about him that it only spurs his arousal, that it makes him impossibly hard and he can feel himself leaking from the thought of it. 

“I want that, too,” he reassures you, leaning down to press his forehead against yours, because you’re perfect for him, “But I want this first. Give me this first, please. Please.” 

He thinks you might cry. The rational part of him knows you can regulate it, that you probably won’t; the sick part of him wants to see it, wants to know what it takes to make you lose control. 

You call his name like a prayer, once, twice, and on the third time, Yuuta can feel it as much as he can hear it. He can feel the moment that your walls clench, and your eyes screw shut, and your body convulses around him. You’re beautiful, irreverent, and Yuuta thinks that being responsible for this is the greatest achievement of his life. 

He wears your orgasm with pride, raking over you as you blink your eyes open to him again. You’re lucid too quickly, he really is going to have to take the time to enjoy this somewhere less controlled later, eagerly wrapping your hand around his wrist and forcing them to his mouth. Yuuta groans when he tastes you on his tongue, nothing short of euphoric, and he’s sure to taste every last drop. 

You smile, and then laugh—an almost inaudibly giggle that has Yuuta smiling back reflexively. Like always, he follows your every move and succumbs to all your whims when you lean up to kiss him, and then coax off his pants and underwear, and line the tip of his dick up with your slit and pull him in, again, by the neck to bite at his ear, “Come on, Yuuta. Give it to me.” 

An order, a promise, a plea—Yuuta vows to fulfill them all, determined and spell-bound when he sinks into you. He can only imagine what it feels like for you, but for him it’s warm, wet, soft, snug, sticky—like honey, like a bee drawn to sweetness. It’s good, too good, Yuuta doesn’t know how to last when you feel this good. 

He can feel you everywhere, around his dick, your hands on his back, your breath on his cheek, your skin against his. He feels stuck to you, stuck in you, mind, body, and soul as one, unable to differentiate him from you, from you, from you. 

“Fuck,” Yuuta stares, carefully swiping a thumb over your browbone, conscious but not in command on how deep he’s thrusting into you, “You’re so—fuck, I love you.” He wants to hear you say it back, he needs to, he has to. He can feel it again, stomach in knots, and nerves on fire, and skin sticky, and Yuuta has to know—“Please, please. Do you love me, too?” 

You stutter, only from the rock of his hips into yours, reaching for his face and cradling it between healing hands, “Of course I love you, Yuuta.” His mouth opens, wobbly, and tears flow over his eyes—briefly, Yuuta thinks that it’s cruel that you’d let him cry; that you have command over every function in his body and that you’d let him cry, but he can’t bring himself to be upset. He’d probably have cried regardless, because hearing you say that you love him is a rush comparable only to burning tightness in his gut right now. 

You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling his lips to yours when you finally let go together. Yuuta can feel you tight around him, when he cums; and an unfiltered harmony of moans and skin on skin when he lays on top of you, sinks into you. Your hands don’t leave his hair, and Yuuta finds bliss in your affection, in being in your arms, in being yours. 

He doesn’t know how long you two stay like that, he doesn’t know if physical time passes in your domain, but it doesn’t matter. He’d stay here forever with you, let you use the full extent of your prowess to eat his heart out as sustenance, bleed for you to quench your thirst. He’d be everything you need and more; he’ll make sure that he’s all you want when it’s done and over. 

[hwaslayer]

project: make you love me (jyh) | sixteen.

♣︎ spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: yunho can’t stand how you’re so wrapped up in the notorious campus fuckboy, park seonghwa. he would gladly love you the way you deserve, despite being shy, awkward and the complete opposite of seonghwa. thus, when he finds himself spending more time with you over literature reviews and random study sessions, he decides to take on the challenge to win you over.

—pairing: jeong yunho x f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers/friends to lovers, college au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 3.6k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing/mature language, seonghwa, physical fighting, mingi calling his friend out on his stupidity, crying, sorry if i missed anything.. quickly edited this lol, yunho is just mad and overwhelmed with his feelings rn 😭

yunho: baby

yunho: wait at the science building later, please? i'll come get you so we can walk to my car together

you: okee ☺️

yunho: ☺️ see you later? enjoy the rest of your classes

you: you too, my bighead!

Yunho smiles at his phone before tucking it away, slowly following Yeosang to their group study session.

"Should I even ask why you're smiling like that?" Yunho looks up at Yeosang and chuckles.

"Just Y/N."

"Of course. Is she in class?"

"Yup. She's in the back row being all distracted."

"Perfect way to pass time in my honest opinion." Yeo clears his throat. "I've been meaning to ask you out of curiosity."

"What's up?"

"Have you guys told each other 'I love you' and everything?" 

"Mm, no. Not yet at least."

"Not yet?" Yeosang smiles. "You feel that way for her, don't you?"

"I do. I just.. I don't know? I don't know if it's too soon. What if I scare her off?"

"Nah, doubt that. You can't put a timer on these things."

"True. Plus, it sounds cliché and like it's out of a movie, but I truly wanna wait 'till it feels right to say it to her."

"That makes sense."

"Trust me, I really do feel that way for her." He lets out a breath as they look towards the library building, the sun from behind slightly blinding them as they approach the doors. "She has literally become my bestfriend. It's crazy how life works."

"I know. I remember when you first told me you were helping her out for literature." Yeosang chuckles. "Or when you'd save her in the back lot."

"Still can't believe that was even real." Yunho does a tiny head tilt. "He's really something."

"What was up with Y/N's birthday thing? How did he even know?"

"I don't know. Word gets around fast. Why wouldn't Seonghwa know? Especially since it has to do with Y/N."

"Can't wait till the day he leaves you two alone. Must be fucking annoying to deal with."

"I try not to mind it. Though, I think he's been getting bolder lately and I can't put my finger on it."

"Has Y/N said anything?" He shakes his head.

"No. Maybe I'm just overthinking. She just seemed a little weird about him at her birthday party."

"Well, yeah. It's Seonghwa." Yeosang waves at their study group sitting at the far end of the library in the loud section.

"Yeah, but, I don't know. It was different. She seemed bothered about something but she hasn't told me anything. I assume it's not a big deal."

"Hm. Well, I'm sure it's not either. Just Seonghwa being himself, maybe."

"Mm, whatever though." Yunho greets the study group as they approach the table. "She's my girlfriend now, and that won't change." Yeosang gives him a small smile before they settle with the group and begin their long study session together.

"Remember, we have a test next class. Make sure you study everything I included in the study guide. Don't skip on anything just because you think it's a minor detail! Nothing is minor!" Your professor says before dismissing the class. You let out a sigh, already stressing over the next test. You didn't do bad on the first test, but you also didn't do the greatest. Thankfully, you're still at a good point in the semester, which gives you enough time to pull your grade up.

Once the initial rush of people leaving the classroom dies down, you pack up your things and head out the door. You hurry out of the classroom and down the steps, excited to see your boyfriend after yet another long day. For a split second, the building is crowded with other students leaving their classes and heading to their next destination— whether it be the next class, the library or to their cars. It's a sudden swarm of people that you don't even realize Seonghwa had stepped out of his own class, following you down the corridor.

"Y/N." You hear Seonghwa's voice behind you. You try to mind your own business, subtly rolling your eyes as you walk out of the science building to reunite with Yunho. 

Except, he isn't exactly there yet and Seonghwa grabs you by the wrist.

"Y/N." He repeats, turning you to face him.

"What are you doing?" You question him.

"Just a second." You let out a loud, heavy sigh. "Why are you being like this?"

"Like what?"

"Like you ignoring me. You haven't answered any of my texts or calls—"

"Why do I need to?" You raise a brow. "You're not actually serious, right? I have no reason to respond to you, Seonghwa. Don't you have places to be, people to see?" You pause. "Don't you realize you're a little too late? This was something I needed from you way before. I don't need it from you now."

"I know it's late, but I don't wanna give up on this."

"This? This has been done for a long time, you and I both know that. You're only worried about losing the only safety blanket you've ever had. Why can't you just move on and let me be happy?"

"Happy?" Seonghwa almost scoffs. "With him? Okay, baby." He shakes his head. "Listen. Enough of this for real. Can you please just hear me out, I'll explain and apologize properly—"

"Seonghwa, stop calling me that. What don't you understand about no?" You say almost at a whine, his hand still having a grip on the edge of your wrist. You truly don't want to entertain this, but Seonghwa almost gives you no way out, no way around his bullshit, and unfortunately, that'll be the root of everything that unfolds tonight. Yunho is happily [and eagerly] making his way down to you after the long, heavy study group session, while Yeosang decides he's gonna stay behind in order to hit the gym and get his workout in. Yunho is a few minutes late, but he knows you'll still flash him that beautiful, million-watt smile he adores so much before wrapping your arms around him.

He can't wait.

But, Yunho slows in his steps just as he's close to the front doors; familiar voices filling the surprisingly empty, quiet space.  It's you, and he already feels himself boiling with anger when he hears who else is occupying your time right now.

"Why haven't you even said anything about the flowers and the card I gave you? Did you even get them?" Yunho overhears Seonghwa ask you, and he furrows his brows. What flowers and card? You don't answer right away, and Seonghwa is quick to follow up. Yunho doesn't even get to hear your response about it and the most upsetting part of all this— is that this is how he finds out about everything.

Not from you, but from Seonghwa.

"You couldn't even send me a text? I was worried you didn't get it. I wanted to talk to you afterwards."

"What is there to talk about?"

"Yeah, what is there to talk about?" You and Seonghwa turn towards Yunho, who stands there with his hands dug deep into his pockets. His jaw is slightly clenched, head titled to the side while he waits for a response. Seonghwa lets out a pathetic chuckle, hand slipping down your wrist as he fully faces him.

"Loverboy sounds upset over a little talk."

"A little talk? Is that an add-on for the flowers and card you sent her?" Yunho sounds more stern, more angry. You can't even blame him, but at the same time, it's unusual for you to hear him this way. You're not sure what could come out of this and you don't necessarily want to find out.

"I'm sorry, should I have sent you some, too?" Seonghwa steps closer to him and the panic starts to settle in for you. You wish someone, anyone, was around to help. Because although you don't think Yunho will let this blow out of proportion, you aren't 100% about your answer. You're not sure how Yunho manages his anger in these situations and you're not sure what triggers him; what tips him over the edge and is the 'cherry on top.' Seonghwa has always rubbed him the wrong way and you don't think this could end remotely pretty. "I'll take note of that for next time so you don't have to sit there and stare at Y/N's."

How you wish Seonghwa had just gotten the point. Why couldn't he just let you be? Why was he out to ruin your happiness so badly?

"Seonghwa. This is done. Let it go." You warn him, but it doesn't clear anything. You aren't getting through to any of them.

"Back up. I'm not asking." Yunho clenches his jaw as he comes face to face with Seonghwa, making him give off a small scoff.

"Aw. Loverboy's mad—" And that's exactly the tipping point for Yunho. He's not sure why, he usually has a lot of patience. He usually brushes things off easily, doesn't hold a grudge or stay angry for long. But, Seonghwa? He was a different story, especially because of the history you have with him. Every little thing about Seonghwa pisses him off— down to the way he moves, breathes, acts like he can always get his way so easily, so quickly. Before he can even think about the consequences, or how you'd feel, Yunho swings at him, making Seonghwa stumble backwards. 

"Yunho!—" You gasp, Yunho's initial punch is pretty rough that it had Seonghwa in shock before being able to register what just happened.

"Fuck you—" Is all Seonghwa spits out before going at Yunho. The two continue to go at it, pushing and gripping at each other's shirts, rough attempts at landing punches;

They're almost successful with tearing each other's heads off until you step in between and get involved.

"Stop!" You step in between to try and prevent the fight from escalating even more. "Stop it!" You push Seonghwa back when he tries coming for Yunho, a campus security guard dashing towards all of you to completely break up the scuffle.

"Knock it off! The hell are you two doing acting like this on campus? I suggest you two part ways now before we call the cops over!"

"Yo, what the fuck?!" Mingi comes from around the corner, grabbing at Seonghwa's arm to pull him back. "The fuck are you doing, dude?" He looks at his bestfriend in disbelief.

"Why don't you ask your friend who fucking started it—"

"Me?" Yunho spits, while Seonghwa wipes the blood at the corner of his lip. "I wouldn't have had to if you just knew how to back the fuck off!" Yunho is angry, continuing to raise his voice. "Let me catch you sending shit to my girlfriend one more time and see what the fuck I'll do—" 

"Yunho." You say softly, tugging back at his arm.

"Are you serious?" Mingi looks at Seonghwa. "You don't go messing around with people's relationships, Hwa. You need to let this go, you look crazy!" 

"Oh, so all of a sudden you're sticking up for your friend?"

"Yeah, because he is my friend and it's just shit you don't do! What the fuck don't you understand about that?! You fucking deserved that shit!" Mingi shakes his head before pushing Hwa forward, pulling him off to the side to continue talking to him. 

"Babe." You turn to Yunho after Mingi and Seonghwa create good distance, hand coming up to cup Yunho's cheek. But, he turns, slightly shaking his head at you. You pull your hand back and feel your heart drop, the look in Yunho's eyes being one that you've never experienced before.

Sadness, hurt, anger. 

Mostly sadness, hurt.

"What flowers was he talking about, Y/N?" His chest is still rising at a somewhat uneven pace, doing his best to calm down after the adrenaline rush.

"H-he left them at my doorstep after we came back from the snow. I'm really sorry, Yunho, I didn't tell you because I tossed it out and—"

"But still, it's the fact that you didn't tell me after all this time." Yunho's brows are tightly knitted together, and the look causes your heart to sink even deeper. "Why did you have to let me find out this way? Were you going to tell me about this too if I hadn't come right away?"

"I just didn't get around to telling you because I didn't think it would matter— Seonghwa doesn't matter."

"If he didn't, then wouldn't you be able to tell me without questioning it so much?"

"Yunho, no. I'm sorry, no." You repeat, tears pricking your eye lids. "I didn't mean for it to seem like that. I really didn't mean to hide this from you."

"Did you think about keeping them?"

"I—I, no. I thought—" Yunho hears you stuttering and his throat suddenly feels dry. Why can't you just tell him? Even if Seonghwa didn't matter to you, why couldn't you trust him enough to tell him? 

Why couldn't you feel comfortable enough to tell him?

"Be honest with me, Y/N. That's all I've ever asked. Did you or did you not think about it keeping it?" Silence. And god, it is the most gut-wrenching silence Yunho has ever endured.

Yup. Got it. 

The answer is clear.

You did think about Seonghwa. You thought about accepting the flowers as his apology, you thought about the possibility— even if it was for a brief, splitting second. Seonghwa did matter for one fucking second, and that's what bothers him.

"Yunho, please. I just thought—" You can barely get through your sentences.

"Did you, or did you not?"

"I thought about keeping it, but it was so stupid. I was just blinded for a second, and I realized it didn't matter to me. He doesn't matter to me. At all. I promise. Everything just caught me off guard." You try to grab for his hand but he steps back. "Yunho, it was all stupid. I tossed it out so quickly. I wasn't going to do anything, I wasn't going to text, nothing."

"But, why does it feel like after everything he's put you through, you still believe he'd genuinely change? Why does it feel like a part of you is still actually holding onto that?" Well, when Yunho says it to your face like that, you feel dumb. Not once did you ever think about running back to Seonghwa and leaving this behind. But, you were blinded in that quick second from your history with Hwa, being close and sharing moments for months. Asking Seonghwa for little gestures like this, for more attention; even though it was a ride, you still had history.

And yes, maybe at one point you wanted to be the girl that changed him.

But today, you can't even imagine going back to that point. Not after being with Yunho, not after the happiness he's brought you.

Not after you realize how much you genuinely and truly love Yunho. 

You don't wanna lose him.

This is all so stupid, and a huge misunderstanding. But, you're the only person to blame here— if you hadn't given Seonghwa the time of day, if you had just told Yunho right away without second-guessing it, if you hadn't hesitated; you wouldn't be here right now.

"I'm not!" Your tone raises and it sounds like a whine at this point. "I'm not, Yunho. Please."

"Look, tonight was a lot." He sighs, running his hand through his hair before wincing and looking down at his knuckles. "I was excited to see you after a long day, Y/N. I was really looking forward to being with you. I wasn't expecting all of this and honestly, I don't know what's worse? Stumbling upon all of this the way I did, or not knowing at all."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. It was stupid and fucked up of me, and I'm sorry." You repeat, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"Maybe you just need to think about what you really want." Yunho shrugs. "I thought you were over the whole thing with Seonghwa, but clearly not if you're still considering on giving him the time of day."

"No, no, Yunho. Please don't. It's not that." You try to lace your hand with his, but he gently brushes it off with a shaky sigh. He doesn't wanna leave you. He never wants to be without you. But, tonight was a lot for him to handle, and it is overwhelming. He hasn't really felt this protective over someone. Of course, it's only natural since you're his girlfriend. He'll always protect you. It's just that Seonghwa brings something out of him that he doesn't necessarily like, and he wants it to be gone for good. It feels unhealthy and icky;

The anger, the frustration, the anxiety.

He hates it. And he doesn't want this to be a thing in your relationship. Plus, he still feels himself fuming with anger and he just can't possibly talk to you while he feels that way.

So yes, he's overwhelmed and he needs to get over this.

"No, seriously. You really should think about it. I know where I stand but I'm not so sure you do." He lets out another disappointed sigh. "I'll take you home, but we should probably just be in our own places tonight."

"Okay." You say close to a whisper, sniffling as you wipe away at your face. You don't even try to fight it anymore simply because you know Yunho needs his space right now. He begins to walk off with you slowly trailing behind, head hung low after everything that happened tonight. Everything happened so fast you're also having to process it all on this walk over to the lot. Suddenly, you're pulled out of your thoughts when you hear footsteps picking up behind you, followed by a familiar, deep voice.

"Yo, wait up!" Mingi says. "You good? I'm sorry about him, he's actually losing it."

"You're sorry? Mingi, when the fuck is your friend gonna grow up so that you're not apologizing on his behalf?" Mingi lets out a breath as his eyes dart from you, back to Yunho's. "Seriously. I don't mean to throw that your way, but it's not even just about tonight. Your friend knows no boundaries and that's crazy to me."

"I know, he's got things to sort through but that's his own problem now. I already told him multiple times. Me and San did." Mingi shakes his head.

"Doesn't take much to grow the fuck up and take ownership of your own fuck-ups once in awhile."

"Let him keep learning the hard way. He will, eventually. He deserved that tonight."

"He can try all he wants, nothing's gonna change between me and her. Hope he understands I'm not going anywhere after tonight."

"Of course." Is all Mingi could respond with because of course Yunho wouldn't go anywhere— why the fuck would he let Seonghwa get in the way? He shouldn't. And Seonghwa needs to know that. "Anyway, just wanted to see if you two were okay. For real." Yunho sighs.

"Mmyeah. Thanks." He responds as Mingi daps it up. "We're just gonna head home."

"Drive safely. Text me if you need me." Mingi gives you a small smile before running off to tend to his friends, San now also getting dragged into all his mess. 

The walk over is quiet, but Yunho still opens the passenger door for you when you finally get to his car. You hate the silence that falls between you two, but you understand Yunho is upset and needs his own time away from everything, from you, even. You can't help but cry even more into your hands when he pulls into the apartment lot, Yunho letting out a breath as he puts the car in park. He looks over at you and his heart breaks because he truly hates to see you cry, and he never wants to be the reason behind you being sad or hurt.

"Hey. Don't." He says softly, hands coming up to pry your own hands away from your face. He gently wipes the tears away, making sure no drop is missed. 

"I'm sorry, Yuyu." You repeat.

"I know, it's okay."  He says, even though right now, it's not.

"Is it?"

"Let's get you home, okay?" He just looks at you with a soft expression before unbuckling his seatbelt. He comes over to open your door, locking his car when you step out and slowly make your way to your apartment. When you get to the steps, you turn towards him with a small pout. Yunho pulls you into a hug and kisses the top of your head, wiping any remaining stragglers from staining your cheeks. He's not happy, but he's trying to send you off on a calm note— hoping this could at least ease you for the night. "Get some rest."

"I'll see you tomorrow, right?" He doesn't say anything before he pulls away and takes a few steps backwards. "Yunho." You call for him in that tone of yours that always makes him so weak.

"Y/N, please. I just need to shake this off. That's all. Goodnight." All you can do is simply walk away before running up the steps and into your apartment. Chaery is the only one home, cleaning her dishes after cooking a good meal for all of you to share.

"My love is home! I cooked!" She says happily, but her smile dies when she sees you set your bags down and cry into your hands. She drops everything and rushes over, throwing her arms around you while guiding you to the couch. "Hey, what's wrong? What happened?" She brushes the hair away from your face while you continue to cry. You don't respond for a bit, signaling for Chaery to just hold you and let you be.

You cry, and you cry.

Because you already miss Yunho, and you feel so dumb for overthinking the entire thing, for not being honest with him. It was a stupid mistake, but you hope Yunho knows you truly weren't out to hurt him. 

You hope he can forgive you and move past this— with you, together.

Because today and so on, he's all you want. You love Yunho, and there's no one else that completes you the way that he does.

♣︎ taglist: @s-nsanshine @soupbinlily @tyongff-ff @jiminiscricket @g1g1l @staytinyinmybpack @woomyteez @gfksz @bitchwhytho @savluvsmingi @thisisntmyrightera @hyukssunflower @miriamxsworld @tmtxtf @kuromibabe04 @lmnhead @carrietwrites @tournesol155 @persphonesorchid @txt-yaomi @mxnsxngie @h-nji @mundayoonimnida @jalapeno-princess @nakiiko @asjkdk @kunikku @idkwgoh @kyeos4ng @agust-d2 @araknoid @bintificreads @primoppang @betray-the-light @aurorasjoongie @wineyoungie @yunhotteokkk @yungigiggles @jaerisdiction @ignoretheskies @luminouskalopsia @naeviscall @vixensss @choisansplushie @arya9111 @my-lightspirit @dazednconfusion @astro-doll-the-star @faesmingi @idfkeddieishot @startinystay @emily505 @mgdixon @mcsalterego @cheynalexilaiho @svintsandghosts @mismatchfluffysocks

[anundyingfidelity]

I'M A RUIN — Soldier Boy/Ben (Part V)

Series summary: After the events of the Seven Tower, you present Grace Mallory a new secret project you're working on already to develop a cure to Compound V. The only problem? You need Soldier Boy for that.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.

Word count: 2.4k.

Warnings for series: set after S3 (spoilers), some OOC!Ben, some depressed!Ben, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, slow-burn, language, PTSD, reader has Compound V (she's no Vought supe tho), Soldier Boy being an usual asshole, reader is a fucking liar.

Warnings on this chapter: some misogyny and shit (you know who), psychiatry stuff, canon gore, blood, heads exploding, and violence?.

Notes: so I'm sorry for any mistakes during the psychyatric process, I go to therapy and take medication myself so that's all I know plus google research. And be aware of the gore descriptions, I tried to do my best I guess lol. Thanks for reading as always!

this fic tags: @k-slla @syrma-sensei @mostlymarvelgirl @cheynovak @drasticemotions @soldirboy @deans-spinster-witch

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

get yourself in the taglist!

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | | Part VIII

GEN MASTERLIST! — SERIES MASTERLIST!

Part V: Blow Your Mind

With a deep breath, you reviewed the symptoms Soldier Boy barely 'gave' during your session. The list was kind of long on the pages and it read:

Always being on guard for any danger, self-destructive behavior, irritability, angry outbursts, panic attacks, feeling emotionally numb, not trusting anyone, not feeling safe, hypervigilance, intrusive thoughts, fatigue, muscle tension, headaches, back pain...

There was a weird silence surrounding both of you, mostly because of his mood and his change in demeanor from a somewhat friendly asshole to an irritated, unbearable jerk. Once you had started with the uncomfortably stupid questions, he felt threatened. Soldier Boy wasn't actually open to talk about his past and the traumatic experiences he had, and that meant it was difficult to get to know how his body and mind were reacting to all the stress and madness he went through in decades, adding those weeks after Billy Butcher had released him from his nightmare.

He was opposed to speaking directly about how he was feeling, but you knew better that Ben speaking out on his symptoms was not going to happen. So you had to ask each one of them and review some his most harsh experiences directly, in order to receive monotonous responses, limited to: 'yes', 'no', 'I don't know,' and finally 'what the fuck is that?' You took them all as an absolute yes.

He was being defensive and you knew better than to miss anything after he almost burned the whole damn building. And with the small but confident experience you had with psychiatry, you concluded that he needed medication and therapy. As soon as fucking possible.

"Yeah, you have PTSD," you said after a moment and your eyes found his unreadable gaze.

He raised his eyebrows with false surprise. He already heard that shit from Hughie before. "And where's the fucking drugs?"

"For that to happen, you have to stop the weed first."

"I've survived bricks of coke mixed with shit you probably don't know about and you want to take the only thing that's keeping me sane? Fan-fucking-tastic!" he fumed, but you didn't flinch. Not a bit.

"Look, my goal is keeping you safe and making you sane because you definitely are not. Not right now. And since I took you out, you'll follow my process, so stop whining."

He chuckled softly with a bitter grimace on his lips as he shook his head softly. "No, that's not gonna happen."

"I don't care if you agree with that, it's settled," you continued, a triumphant smile plastered on your face.

It was true, you didn't give a single shit. He had to be clean and quit any type of drugs to start the medication but most importantly, to use his blood. Eventually. You were more than aware that he wouldn't die easily, that was proved. And it was just a matter of time to get him to your lab to take samples of his blood and run the necessary research on them while you and your team still continued the studies with the Anti-V prototype. You were only hoping that day would arrive soon enough. Two months sober, that was all you needed from him. And the best part? Soldier Boy didn't have to really know the whole details.

Ben, on the other hand, clenched his jaw so tight and closed his eyes for a moment after hearing your statement. You really were a fucking bitch, letting him fall into the abyss of misery and torture that was his own wrecked mind. He considered your intentions internally, once again for the millionth time. You showed up there all dressed up, playing a rich doctor when in reality you were just a fucking slutty brat, just to tell him he had to stop his usual pot, which you also brought happily when he asked you to. And now, you were taking away the only thing that stopped him from ripping your head off. What a great move.

"That's not smart," he insisted.

"Why not? I have you under my own terms."

Ben tilted his head, studying you carefully. "You can't stop me, doll. None of you can. I'm only here because I find it suitable instead of storming out and catching unnecessary attention."

Ben saw you swallow down, he immediately knew it was because you were angry, not scared. You never really seemed scared of him. And you tried to restrain yourself from slapping him right away. "Are you blackmailing me again, Soldier Boy?"

"Is just a warning," he said, nonchalantly. "Wouldn't want to harm such a pretty thing like you, now wouldn't we."

"Oh well, just a reminder I can also turn on the damn gas if needed," you snapped. The arrogant smirk on his lips fell off and it was your turn to smile back. "We all have hidden cards, right?"

Such an arrogant bitch, he thought.

"So, what's your plan?" you switched the subject to avoid going further into what was troubling him.

"What do you mean?"

"Homelander. You want him dead, don't you? You must be getting ready to fight again..."

His body seemed tense once you pushed him to talk, looking away from you to calm a bit. "Isn't that what all of you want?"

"Any sane person would love that, trust me."

Soldier Boy narrowed his eyes. "Well, I can do it. If I wasn't here... You've seen what he's capable of. Jesus, I've seen it," he bitterly chuckled. "And the kid? He's a fucking menace."

"You've been watching the news, I take that—"

"The fuck I do! Wasn't gonna wait for you to keep me up to date of what the fuck is going on!" Ben shouted, his loud voice roaring in your ears despite the distance.

"I don't want you to stress out more than you do," you said, vacillating. "A lot of things take time, such as you adapting to the twenty-first century."

"I'd love to know when that'll happen," Ben insisted. "Or else, I might just break out."

With a tentative smile, you started to write down the report. "I'm so glad you're talking more during our sessions."

You barely said goodbye to Soldier Boy once you finished your daily session. Your head was aching as you walked down the aisle, barely leaving the empty wing of the building behind. Certainly he was hard to handle and was behaving defensively. Before you left he began asking, or better said, bossing you to get him whatever the kid Hughie told him he needed to learn how to use. Shit like the internet and GPS, he said. You told him he was not ready for it yet.

But you'd give him a golden star for trying and insisting so badly, even if he was against eighty percent of your methods. He was up to something, there was no question for that. He was a soldier, more or less like his given supe name. People like him always had a plan, and underneath his facade, there were more plans backed up with words of honor that you had to track sooner or later.

As you made your way to your office, greeting your lab employees and guards, a disturbing sensation grew up inside. Before crossing the doorframe you subtly looked around, focusing for some reason in the security camera, more time than you'd like to admit. You turned again to finally get inside, facing the entry of your office when hurried steps and a voice stopped you from doing so.

"Doctor!"

Once again you turned on your heels to see your assistant, tablet in hand. Those had to be the results.

"Hey," you began. "You have everything?"

Bianca nodded with a straight face and handed you the tablet. You noticed her tight grip and her somehow trembling fingers when you took the device from her hands. You eyed her a little, she remained with her hands intertwined in front of her, her attention seemed lost. With caution, you continued to check the file.

"Is the patient alright?" you asked, reading the profile of the supe who had the not so good luck of being tested previously.

Solaris was his supe name. And he had the ability to manipulate light and matter with his mind. He had taken part in the program for a month now and this was his first test. As always, each supe you had into the program was low-profile. You were thankful of your team keeping these supes under their gaze to offer them some sort of solution, even after all the deaths you tracked from time to time when a test of the Anti-V was run. More than a solution for them, it was a partial contribution to find it.

You quickly scanned the updated file that Bianca completed for you. He was doing better than projected, his powers were still gone with a forecast of probably coming back within a couple of hours. A deep breath left your lips. Now that was an improvement. It was the first time anything like that happened on any tests. The supe survived, he was weak but the powers were off for a bit. It was a small step closer to your goal. Just a little bit more maybe and it could be done, finally...

"He's resting right now," Bianca interrupted your thoughts. Your eyes were back on her face.

"This is great news, thank you. I trust he's doing okay."

She nodded. "He is."

"Great, I guess I'll see him in a couple of hours," you said about entering your office.

"Wait!" Bianca suddenly closed the little space between both of you. She breathed heavily before stuttering words out. "I, I have- I'm sorry..."

"Are you okay?" you inquired, knowing her behavior was unusual. She swallowed down, turning her gaze away, her hands shaking. Was she sick? "Bianca, what's wrong?"

You tried to reach her cheek with your hand, but she stepped back abruptly, looking at you like if you were a ghost with her eyes red and wet, and a fine layer of sweat adorning her skin.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I'm so sorry," she sobbed.

You walked towards her, worried about what was going on but every step you took, she also gave it back.

"Bianca, what's happening?"

Her back bumped the wall of your office, and finally, she started to cry. "I'm sorry. You have to go, please..."

Your heart started pounding heavily on your chest. "What—"

"Go now! Please... Please don't hurt me..."

"I'm not going to hurt you, Bianca," you whispered, trying to comfort her.

But she continued crying and mumbled incoherent words with eyes shut, while hot tears streamed down her face. She choked on her sobs as she pleaded for her life. But you didn't understand why. You tried to soothe her, reaching her shoulder with your free hand.

And when you placed your palm on her, everything became red. It all happened in seconds. Ropes of warm blood covered your face in an instant. A loud gasp fell from your throat. You felt every drop mixed with brains on the skin of your face, on your neck, and sliding down the skin under your blouse. It was shocking and equally disgusting. And your eyes remained shut, not brave enough to move or see the horrid picture in front of you.

Your palm was still on her shoulder when the remains of her body fell to the ground with a thud. Your trembling hand wiped some blood from your face to open your eyes anew. The wall was painted with her, as much as you were, and it left a trail of blood from where her corpse slid to the floor. Her head long fucking gone.

"Shit."

Shit. Fucking shit. Was it him? It had to be him. There was no reason to doubt it. It was him. And he complied with his promise. Had Homelander been controlling Bianca? Was she the only one? No. There had to be something more. Homelander wasn't easy and he wasn't merciful with anyone. You had to stop him and get Soldier Boy out of the building. Now.

You tried to control yourself as best as you could, walking away to reach anyone, crossing a corner on the hallway, where a guard was casually passing by.

He stopped on his tracks at your sight, covered in blood and meat. "Doctor?"

"I need your help," you whispered.

He nodded quickly and you began explaining with a low, shaky voice.

"I don't know what happened, my assistant was right there with me when— Fuck!"

You walked some inches away when his head exploded, just like Bianca's did. Luckily, or not, this time was inside his helmet. All the red brains and blood were catched by it. Still, you wanted to throw up right fucking there. The remains of his body fell to the floor with a loud sound.

With a deep breath you continued your way, finding guards, lab assistants and agents. If they were alive, their heads popped into your sight. And if it was your somehow lucky moment of the day, you just found their headless corpses lying on the ground, creating a pool of blood you tried to avoid.

The only thing on your mind was taking Ben out of the building. The alarm had been turned on and the annoying sound of it was driving you crazy. Your head ached more than ever as you made your way to Soldier Boy for the second fucking time during the day.

Since there was no time to open the heavy door properly, you used a force field around the metal, moving the door until it slipped enough to let you in. You found him standing in the middle of the room. Eyes dark and alert, with fists and frame ready to fight. He wrinkled his nose once you entered the place.

"What the fuck's going on?" Ben growled, observing your blood covered face.

"We need to go, now. Take your clothes off."

He blinked, taken aback. Before he answered you continued with an explanation.

"I'll turn you invisible, but can't turn your clothes," you ordered, looking in the closet for a sports bag you knew was inside and picking a couple of shirts, pants and boxers as quickly as time allowed you to. Once finished, you turned to Ben again.

"Mind to fucking clarify?" he insisted. You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment.

"Look, I'll tell you everything once we're out," you turned one of your hands invisible for him to see.

Ben snorted with laughter. How ironic, he thought.

"No fucking way."

"Strip. We're leaving."

[peterman-spideyparker]

The Roommate and The Best Friend (College!Matt Murdock x College!Fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Long time, no post, guys! I do apologize for going silent on the fic front--I’ve just been so tired lately, I haven’t had the motivation to really edit anything I’ve written. BUT, my sweet baby angels, this is the longest stand alone fic I’ve ever done! It also took forever to edit, lol. I really hope you guys enjoy! :)

Summary: You’ve been Foggy’s best friend since you two could walk. Matt’s been Foggy’s best friend since he moved in at Columbia. After three years at law school all together, you’re all as thick as thieves. When Foggy doesn’t show up one day to a study session, something blossoms between you and Matt that will change the ecosystem of your friendship trio forever.

Warnings: Fluff (friends to lovers, cuteness, cuddles, kisses), angst (shouting, friendship fights, hurt feelings), smut (p in v, protected sex, blowjob, handjob, being cute dorks when a matching set is involved), swearing

Other Characters: College!Foggy Nelson

Word Count: 8.081

“At what point do you think we can officially say Foggy isn’t coming?” you sigh, flipping the page in your notebook and highlighting what is written in accordance to your study system.

Matt lets out a breath through his nose as his fingers move to feel at the braille surface of his watch. “An hour ago?” he smirks, resuming his own work. 

“Eh, I guess I should have seen that coming.”

“How so?”

“All boys are the same when they start relationships, especially when they reengage the on-again. Knowing Foggy and Marci, they’re doing some weird sort of sex-study review game.” You shudder at the memory. “You’re lucky you’re blind, Matty. You can’t unsee that.”

“Trust me, I think it’s worse to only hear,” he chuckles. 

“Ew, don’t even remind me of the sound!”

Matt just laughs, his fingers sliding across the page.

“Hey, get back to studying, Chuckles,” you chastise, smiling big yourself as you move back to your notes. “Rule 24 of Federal Civil Procedure won’t learn itself.”

“Rule 24. Intervention. Intervention of Right: On a timely motion, the court must permit anyone to intervene who—.”

“Shut up,” you scoff playfully, hitting his shin underneath the table. “Show off.”

You go back and forth, quizzing one another on the rules of civil procedure in the unit, adjusting in the library chairs until you’re leaning shoulder to shoulder going over material, Matt having abandoned his braille textbooks to listen to you read to him.

“You have a really beautiful voice, you know that?” Matt hums, his voice dipping into a velvety timbre.

“You’re just lazy,” you chuckle as you tilt your head and gaze over at him. “Getting me to do all the work.”

“Delegating,” he attempts.

“Laziness,” you counter.

“You do better when do explain things. You’ve said so yourself. And I’m a great listener.”

You purse your lips and let out a little sigh. “I do do better when I talk out loud,” you admit.

“You also always find your answer when you do.”

“And I do like talking to you.”

“I rest my case,” he says with a satisfied smile.

“Asshole.”

You laugh in your little secluded spot in the library, your shoulders shaking against one another’s as you do. You tilt your head to face him, Matt doing the same thing at the same time, his dark rectangular glasses long abandoned, letting you look into the honey hazel galaxy of his irises. 

“Hey,” he whispers, his voice making a warmth spread all over your body.

“Hey yourself, Murdock,” you counter.

“You’re gonna be a really great lawyer, you know that?”

You feel yourself blush. If it’s from the sentiment of his words, the pitch that he says it, or your proximity, you’ll never know. Maybe it’s all three. You’re just glad he can’t see the full extent of how his words make you feel.

“Thanks, Matty. You’re gonna be great, too. I pity whoever will have to go against you in court.”

“You are so extraordinary, (Y/N),” he whispers, his thumb and forefinger taking ahold of your chin, the space between the two of you smaller than you remember.

“So are you,” you breathe.

“(Y/N), I—."

“I think we’re just getting tired,” you breathe as his lips hover centimeters from yours. 

“No, I think we’re picking up on something that’s been here for a bit,” he counters, his voice at such a low pitch it does things to the heart in your chest and the heart between your legs.

But this is Matt you’re talking about. He’s your friend. He’s Foggy’s friend, his roommate. Sure, people can bond with their roommates, but it was almost like something out of a buddy-comedy with what happened with those two, and it was instantaneous.

You shuffle and maneuver around everyone in the hallway, moving furniture and supplies into their homes for the next year as you track down the number that is your best friend’s new address.

“Alright, Foghorn, boxes have been unpacked, and liquor needs to be poured!” you call as you glide through the entryway, the door left ajar. When you enter, you don’t see anyone in sight. Did you get the wrong number? No, that’s not it: unless someone else has some interest in really niche bands and the same quilt his mother knit him for Christmas in undergrad, you’re definitely in the right place. The social butterfly of a teddy bear man probably bonding with his roommate or something.

Just as you flop down on what his definitely Foggy’s bed, you hear his laugh and the tapping of something growing closer to the dorm.

“ . . . and I said, ‘No, Mom and Dad. I love you guys, but I don’t want to be a butcher, I want to be a lawyer,” Foggy recalls his infamous butcher story, his words becoming clear as they enter.

“Not the butcher story!” you interrupt, sitting right back up like a vampire in its casket, watching Foggy enter with a handsome man next to him, his brown hair floppy and shiny, dark rectangular glasses perched on his nose and a white cane in the hand that isn’t holding his coffee. “You got coffee without me? Rude.”

“Jesus, (Y/N)!” Foggy hisses, almost slipping his to go cup of coffee in the process.

“Sounds like a pretty famous tale,” the man next to him says with an amused smirk pulling across some particularly pouty lips. Really pretty pouty lips.

“Matt, this is (Y/N), my best friend since toddledom,” Foggy introduces, licking some of the roast that escaped the sip hole of the lid. “(Y/N), this is my roommate, Matt. His dad was Battlin’ Jack Murdock.”

Getting up, you move over to in front of where he stands by Foggy, watching how he adjusts the cane in his grip to under his arm, extending his hand just enough where it looks expectant for yours.

“It’s nice to meet you, Matt,” you tell him with a soft smile. 

“Likewise,” he says with a little nod.

“I have to say, my gram was a big fan of your dad. She loved watching his matches.” He acknowledges your comment with a nod of his head and a little, soft smile. “You know, you lucked out on your roommate. Foggy’s the best friend you could ever ask for. You might need to get some earplugs, though, he snores like a Foghorn.”

“Do not!” Foggy interjects.

“He’s still in phase one denial of the whole thing. Really, sometimes, I think he could wake the dead with that sound.”

Matt’s lips curl into an incredibly large smile with a warm laugh that matches the expression.

And, well, the rest his history, with the three of you being thick as thieves since that day.

“This can’t happen,” you breathe, swallowing hard while your head and heart race a million miles a minute. “Foggy is my best friend—he’s your best friend. We can’t.”

“I know,” he breathes. “That doesn’t mean I want to, though. And correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you want to, too.” He pushes some hair that has fallen out of your clip behind your ear. “Would it . . . Would it really be the worst thing?”

Your eyes flick down to his lips and how is tongue peeks out ever so slightly to moisten the plush skin before back up to his honey hazel eyes and their off-center gaze, his face softer and more vulnerable without the dark specks resting on his nose. 

“This kind of stuff can ruin friendships. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to hurt Foggy.”

“I don’t want any of that either. But I also know that I don’t want to go another moment without kissing you.”

It’s unclear if you’re the one that closes the gap between you or if it’s Matt, but before you know it, you’re kissing in your little corner of the library. His lips are as soft as they look, perhaps even more so, and his aftershave floods your nose—crisp and fresh, a subtle blend of sandalwood, vanilla, and coffee pulling you closer and closer into him. His large hands slide down the sides of your body, squeezing your waist, making you moan into his mouth. The sound encourages him to lift you up, placing you so you straddle one of his legs. As the kiss grows more heated, your fingers running through his incredibly soft hair, you pull back, your chest rising and falling rapidly. 

“Are you okay?” Matt asks softly, his hands running up and down your body soothingly.

“Extremely,” you breathe with a bright smile.

Matt smiles so bright he could outshine the sun, lines of happiness etching themselves into the skin by his eyes as he leans back in for a kiss. His hands continue to move mindlessly along your waist and your back, his fingers grazing the hem of your shirt and sneaking underneath the soft fabric, making goosebumps break out over your body with a shudder.

“Isn’t it a bit of a cliché to do that in the library, Matthew?” you whisper in his ear as he trails wet kisses along your neck, your entire body tingling at your position and the way he moves against your body.

“Only if we get caught,” he smirks, moving his face back so it’s focused in your direction.

“I’m taking that as code for you can attest to that from experience?”

“It was a close call, never a red-handed situation.”

“Mm, you true gentleman.”

You watch as Matt’s brows shoot up and furrow, some of the energy leaving him as his demeanor beings to change. “Do you not want to? We don’t have to. I—.”

“I want to, Matt,” you tell him, your cheeks burning hot at your own admission. “Do you?”

“I do. I wouldn’t have kissed you like that if I didn’t want to. Unfortunately, I didn’t think it through all the way—we can’t go back to my dorm. Foggy is probably there.”

“We could go back to mine?” you suggest, your heart now fully racing like a marathon runner. “I have a dingle.”

“Dingle?” Matt repeats with furrowed eyebrows and pouty lips.

“A double that’s now a single since my roommate dropped out.”

“A dingle.”

“A dingle, yeah.”

Matt brings his lips back to your, his kisses needily and tenderly in your isolated corner of the library. 

“So, is that a yes, Murdock?”

The wicked grin that pulls as his lips tell you everything you need to know, and he doesn’t even bothering to use his cane as you lead him to your dorm on campus.

As soon as the door to your place is closed, your lips reattach and your hands work in a frenzy against one another’s bodies, desperately trying to get the clothes off of one another. Your hands slide over his muscular arms and torso until they are buried in his hair, the only thought in your brain is that you need to get him deeper and closer—a thought that continues on loop for the time you’re together.

The feeling of Matt’s lips on yours is made so much better after the orgasms that he has pulled from your body over and over during the night, but you’ll be damned if he stops now. A thin sheen of sweat covers your bodies as Matt continues to rut into you, one hand on your waist while the other supports his body weight on the mattress, kissing your shoulders and neck while his little wooden crucifix swings back and forth around his neck.

“Matt,” you groan before you pull him up for a kiss, his hair an absolute disheveled mess. It’s sloppy and filled with need, but damn if it isn’t absolutely impeccable.

“Do you have one more in there for me, angel?” he pants as he moves his kisses across your cheek to the sweet spot of your neck. “Come on, angel, you can cum one more time, can’t you?” All you can do is whimper as Matt continues to wind up that special knot in your stomach. “You’re doing so good. One more, I promise. Just one more.”

Hiking up your legs around his waist, you make sure the Matt’s hips stay as close to yours as possible, selfishly letting him rub up against your swollen, overstimulated clit, and ensuring that he’s nice and deep in you. The little grunts and groans that fall from Matt’s lips are angelic, the parted, plush lips and scrunched look of bliss on his face making your heart race more than it already is from exertion.

“Matty,” you whine. “Fuck!”

“Doin’ good, angel. Fuck, so good.”

Biting your lip and closing your eyes, you let the feeling wash over you while you dig your fingers into his toned muscles.

“I’m gonna . . . I—.”

“M-Me too,” he moans, dropping to his forearm to come closer to you as you try to hold your legs back higher. The newfound closeness and the new position let’s Matt reach a new angle, and it’s enough for the both of you to fall over the edge together. Matt does his best to try and fuck you through both of your orgasms, but it’s too much, and he stills, his hand running all over your body as he dips his head and presses soft kisses to your neck and lips. You suck in a sharp breath as he pulls out, feeling hollow without him in you, the drag of his length along your walls enticing. Tying up the condom, he tosses it in the trash while you get up and pad over to the bathroom. When you get back, you see him waiting with a dopey smile on his face, the sheets draping over his hips like some kind of adonis. When you get close enough, he pulls back your sheets and you happily slide in, snuggling close as he wraps an arm around you.

“You’re good at that,” you hum. “I think you’d gold medal.”

Matt laughs as his fingers trace patterns into your skin. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

“We can’t go back from that, you know,” you say softly.

“Who says I want to go back from it?” He shifts his head down in an effort to look at your face. You look back at him with furrowed brows. “I want to be more, (Y/N).”

“Matt,” you start. “I meant what I said. I don’t want to lose you or Foggy. If we do this and it doesn’t work . . . I lose the two most important people in my life.”

“I swear to you, (Y/N), you won’t lose either of us.”

You snuggle down on him, listening to his heartbeat before you peck a quick kiss to his chest. “I want more, too.”

“Then we’ll figure it out. I promise.” Matt runs a soothing hand up and down the line of your back.

“What are you thinking about?” he whispers.

You let out a little sigh. “Just that I thought I was supposed to be wined and dined before I was sixty-nine’d.”

Matt lets out a chuckle that radiates throughout your body. “We didn’t—.”

Before he can finish, you tilt your head up to look at his face, witnessing the moment that it clicks in his brain. “Classy,” he laughs.

“I’m just saying . . .”

“I can order pizza? I just don’t think I can do booze to go.”

“Who says you need to bring the booze?” Rolling over, you reach into the bottom drawer of your nightstand and pull out a bottle of wine. “From the special movie night reserve.”

Matt’s lips turn into a big smile, making adorable lines appear again at the corners of he eyes as he leans forward for another kiss, making you loose grip on your bottle of wine. He catches it with ease, placing it to the side of the bed as he chases your lips, and the way he captures your body beneath his lets you know that he doesn’t plan for the night to end any time soon.

Your leg bounces and your heart races as your eyes keep flicking towards the clock on the desk, watching the second hand move painfully slow across the timepiece as you await Matt’s arrival like you do several times a week, except this time, you have a surprise for him. Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest when you hear a gentle knock at the door. There’s no special pattern to it, but the pressure and rhythm lets you know that Matt is on the other side. His handsome smile greets you when you swing your door open.

“Hey,” you smile as Matt enters your dorm, his bag sliding off his broad shoulders to the ground, cane leaning up against the wall, and glasses coming off of his face as he toes off his shoes.

“Hey yourself,” he hums as his plush lips curl upward into a smile, slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you in for a kiss. The way his tongue slides into your mouth sends goosebumps all throughout your body; if anyone else tried to kiss you like this, you would consider it absolutely gross. But the way Matt does is? That’s how a man kisses—a man that’s on the cover of a romance novel that is dominant but tender, passionate yet gentle. A shudder of pleasure moves through you like shockwaves as he moves his hands up from your waist and up to your neck, helping him set the pace and motions of the kiss.

“I have a surprise for you,” you whisper when he finally pulls back, getting the sentence out just before he begins to eagerly move back in.

His eyebrows quirk up. “Do you, now?” Cocky bastard.

“I do. Now, sit on the bed.”

With a gentle push on his shoulder, he falls back on the mattress, making him coo in delight as he bounces slightly and causes the springs to squeak. With a little exhale to pump yourself up, you pull off your shirt and slide down your jeans, standing in nothing but your underwear.

“You know I can’t see it, angel,” Matt says with a tilt of his head. “But I do like what I just heard.”

“You don’t need to see it to appreciate it, Matty,” you inform, taking a step forward, taking his hands in yours and placing them on your shoulders. “Now, feel.”

This fingers glide over the soft lace that flutters off of the straps, down to the smooth mesh cups, and over the sides, tracing the lace and the pseudo-boning that decorate the bustier. His fingertips trace between the valley of your breasts, feeling a little criss-cross pattern that adorns the fabric before gliding his fingers down the the mesh panties and feeling the same soft lace that decorated it. A tiny moan escapes your lips when he brushes his fingers down between your legs, his digits lingering before they come to rest on your hips. 

“You got a matching set for me?” he asks, his expression and tone one that you can’t quite read.

“Don’t flatter yourself too much, Murdock, it’s from Target,” you hum as his hands trace the hemline of your panties. “But yeah. I thought you’d like the textures being consistent. And, I could afford it, so, that was a perk.”

“You got lingerie for me,” he smirks, his lopsided grin telling you that you’ve only inflated his ego. “That’s so—.” His sentence his halted when his fingers trail to the back of the underwear, just below the small of your back. “Angel, I think you’re missing part of these panties.”

Now it’s your turn to smirk. “Nope,” you tell him, popping the ‘p’. “It’s got a little keyhole back. It’s not quite easy access, but—mm, Matty.”

“I say, it gives me a good idea,” he says as one hand squeezes the flesh of your ass as the fingers on the other slip into the keyhole and tease you. Pulling you back onto the bed with him, you straddle him as you mimic the kind of kiss he greeted you with upon arriving. Moans and puckering quickly fill the room as you grind your hips on his jeans, opting to tease him through his light layers before attempting to shed them.

“You are such a fucking tease,” he murmurs in between kisses.

“Hi pot, it’s kettle,” you quip as you mark up his neck before pulling off his shirt. If you didn’t right this second, you’d never hear the end of it.

“Objection—badgering!”

“Overruled.”

With a light shove, you push him down so you are now fully on top of him, kissing all over his beautiful chest and soft skin as you grind into him.

“Shit,” he hisses. “Fuck, that’s nice.”

“You’ve helped me perfect my technique,” you hum into his skin, moving your kisses back up to his neck and lips. “Gotta get you nice and hard for me, Matty.”

As you continue to grind down on him, his hands guide your hips, setting the pace and pressure just so in an effort to make you both feel good. When his hands begin to travel up on your body along the line of your spine, you gently take hold of them and bring them back down.

“I got the matching set for you—it’s staying on during this entire thing,” you smirk, dragging his fingers along the mesh and lace of your panties. “Now, I can’t say the same thing about these jeans.”

Moving off of him, you undo his belt and pants, shimmying off the denim with some help from his hands, allowing you to take hold of his painfully hard cock, pumping it in your hand before you bend down, your knees digging into the thin mattress so you can start to take him in your mouth.

“(Y/N),” he moans. “Fuck . . . So nice, baby.”

“Mm,” you giggle, dragging your lips back and forth along his length, licking him here and there. “Your cock is so pretty, Matty. I love putting it in my mouth.” Slowly going down on his length, you wiggle your head side to side lightly until you’re all the way down on his length with your cheeks hollowed out. You look up at him through your lashes, feeling a sense of pride at how is face is contorted in pleasure and how long his lashes look resting on his cheeks. Moving off of him, you gasp and catch your breath, hungrily kissing up his length while one of his hands cradle the side of your face. His hand doesn’t set a pace as you bob your head, repeatedly taking his thick cock into your mouth over and over, but rather as a silent show of encouragement and affection as you work him. Careful to not get too lost in it all with Matt in your mouth, you reluctantly pull off, leaving soft pecks all the way up his body until you meet his lips.

“Are you ready to fuck me with my panties on, Matty?” you coo.

“Thought you’d never ask,” he murmurs with his lips against your. Taking you by surprise, he quickly grabs you by your hips and flips your positions, making you giggle and bring his lips back to yours for a deep kiss. Like a rehearsed routine, he extends his arm to the side and opens your nightstand drawer, rummaging around for the box of condoms you keep there. “Angel,” he pants, “I hate to break it to you, but there are no more condoms in this box.”

“What?” you say practically whining as you adjust your position under Matt, taking the investigation into your own hands. Just as Matt said, the box of contraceptives is completely empty. This time, you do whine. “No!”

“I told you.”

“I could have sworn I had plenty.”

“You know what it was?” he says, something clicking in his brain. “Moot court championship.”

Thinking back to a couple of weeks ago, you remember exactly how you celebrated the travel team winning your championship over Yale—you and Matt being the two that secured the victory, which only provided extra cause to celebrate.

“Damn, you’re right,” you sigh.

“I could always run out and get some more? I’d be quick.”

“Just what every girl wants to hear,” you joke, only for Matt to roll his eyes, licking his lips and tilting his head back in playful annoyance. Damn, he’s got a beautiful neck. “No, Matty. I don’t want you going out this late.

“It’s not too late, sweetheart.”

“I’d be worried about you going out in the dark.”

“That’s sweet—you worry about me.” Nothing in his words are condescending—they’re filled with pure affection. “Trust me, (Y/N). I’m a big boy. I can handle myself.”

“I still don’t like the idea of you going out.”

Matt kisses your forehead before resting his on yours. “I have an idea, but I don’t think you’re gonna like it.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” you say, knowing immediately where he is going with his sentence.

“Well, since you don’t want me to go out and get some more and I really, really need to be inside the smart and talented woman that bought a matching set for me, we’re in a pickle.”

You let out a huff, your hands sliding down Matt’s furry arms.

“Foggy isn’t there?” you check.

“Out with Marci.”

“And you’re sure there’s no way he’d be back?”

“I can say it’s highly likely he won’t be back. Even if he does—.”

“Matt—.”

“Even if he does,” he repeats. “He’s gonna leave almost immediately because his roommate is having sex.”

“And if he asks with who after? Actually, better yet, what if he tries to come and hang out with me?”

“Tell him you’re out shopping. You and I both know that while he’s a man of unique fashion, he treats shopping like a mission. Trust me, that should work.”

You look up at him, licking your lips in hesitation before you pull him down for a kiss. “Okay. But first . . .” Maneuvering him on the two pushed together mattresses of your dingle so you’re on top, you run your hands down his body, wrapping your digits around his rock hard length and pumping him a few times. “You’re not going anywhere with a boner that big.”

“Matt,” you breathe as he glides into me so incredibly effortlessly, hitting deep over and over. “Oh God, Matt.”

“Angel,” he grunts, a delicious blush spreading up and across his chest and neck. “Fuck, I needed you.”

“You’ve got me,” you smile, taking one of his hands in yours, lacing your fingers together while he thrusts into you. “Mm, you’ve got me, Matty. I’m yours. Only yours. ’m not going anywhere.”

The softest smile spreads across his features when he rests his forehead on yours. “My girl,” he whispers before bringing his lips to yours.

Dipping his lips to your neck, his holds your hips up so your back arches slightly off of the bed while he thrusts into you.

“Matty,” you whimper. “I lo—mm! Matt!”

Matt places wet kisses all over your chest and neck before he brings his lips back to yours. 

“So perfect,” he mutters in between kisses, and it’s then that you hear the twist and jiggle of the doorknob.

Matt abruptly breaks your embrace, frantically moving to cover your body with his, and you curl inward and down to the mattress, facing the wall so Foggy won’t be able to see your face.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Foggy says, and you can hear his hurried movements to grab what he needs. “Inopportune timing, I know, but Marci invited me on a weekend getaway, and I need some things.”

“Just hurry,” Matt urges him, and you can tell that the rapid way that his chest rises and falls isn’t from your interrupted exertion. “Please.”

“Don’t worry, I am out of—,” Foggy starts, but he doesn’t finish his sentence. “Those are (Y/N)’s shoes.”

“What would her shoes be doing in our room, Foggy? She can’t just leave them places —she kind of needs them. Besides, I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”

You hear Foggy’s bag fall to the floor with a thud.

Shit.

“Matt, who’s with you?”

“Foggy—.”

“You know, I think I might just give (Y/N) a call. Check up on her.”

“Fog—.”

“Wait,” you sigh, closing your eyes in distress and defeat as you break your silence. Adjusting from under Matt, you turn to look at your friend. The look of pure betrayal and hurt is one that will haunt you for the rest of your life. But what’s even scarier, is how quickly the hurt in his eyes turns to pure, red-hot anger.

“Get away from them!” Foggy shouts, pulling Matt off the bed, Matt barely having enough time to react and keep his sheets around his hips. “Don’t you dare touch them!” You hop down from the mattress, standing between the two best friends and roommates, sticking your arms out to create extra distance in the tiny dorm so Foggy doesn’t absolutely jump Matt.

“Stop it!” you urge.

“I can’t believe you!” Foggy continues.

“Foggy, believe me, we didn’t mean for this to happen, it just did—,” Matt tries.

“You know how much they mean to me, and you just decided to ignore it and drop your pants for a quick fuck—!”

“Hey, whoa, out of line, Foggy!” you interrupt. “Don’t put this on Matt like that, we both—.”

“I’m not talking to him, I’m talking to you!” he clarifies. “You know that Matt is my best friend, and you go and do this? How could you? I can’t believe you! After all the things I’ve told you, about how his is with women—.”

“Hey!”

“—how could you be so careless and reckless?”

“Excuse me—.”

“I thought you were smarter than this! I can’t believe you!”

“Foggy—.”

“I can’t even look at you. Just get out of here!”

Tears burn at my lash line as I let his words absorb into me. 

“Get out!” he repeats, the level and tone of his voice something I am thoroughly unused to. “I never want to see you again.”

You would’ve rather he just sent an open-faced slap across your face. His words and his tone cut you like a knife and are worse than any other pain you have or could ever experience. Mixed with his glare more than confirm that my best and oldest friendship has now been severed in half with no chance of reconciliation.

“Fog—,” Matt starts quietly, breaking the deathly silence in the room.

“I’m going,” you say after a moment, grabbing the clothes you can find. You don’t really care that they are Matt’s sweats—you just want to get out as fast as you can. Throwing them on and grabbing your bag, you begin to rush out of the room, only for Matt to take a few steps out to follow you.

“(Y/N)—,” he says softly, his beautiful hazel eyes desperately trying to focus on your face as his tongue darts out ever so slightly on his lips.

“I’ll see you later, Matty,” you tell him with a kiss to his cheek, as he holds your hand feet away from his door in the empty hallway.

“It’ll be okay,” he whispers, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze.

You squeeze it back. “No. It won’t.”

“How mad is he still?” you ask quietly as lie with Matt in bed, unable to stand the silence in the room that allows your thoughts to run wild, ramping up your anxiety over the friendship that you lost. Foggy was true to his words when he said he never wanted to see you again—he has cut you off cold in every way imaginable, from changing his route from dorm to class, to finding a new coffee shop and time to eat in the mess hall, to changing his seat in class to the other side of the room, and even going as far as to request a new partner for a project, erasing every possible venue where you could interact.

“He’s still really upset about it all,” Matt sighs. “He’s talking to me. It’s not exactly the same degree as it was, but it’s enough where we are moving back to what we were. It’s still awkward sometimes, though.”

“Does he know that we’re still together?”

“He does.” Matt pauses for a long while, his arm rubbing up and down your arm as if he’s listening to your silent question that screams through the dorm room. “We don’t talk about relationships, though.”

You let your breath hitch in your chest while your jaw tightens, a fresh wave of guilt that you haven’t felt in a long time washing over you. “I’m sorry that I’ve made things weird between you guys,” you whisper on the verge of tears.

“It’s not your fault, (Y/N).”

You snuggle down into his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. “Sure as hell feels like it.”

“He’ll move past it. It’s just gonna take time. Before you know it, it’ll be back to how it was.”

“It won’t be the same, Matt. You know that it won’t. Especially after all these months . . . it’s dead and gone and buried.”

“It will be okay, (Y/N).” When you don’t respond, Matt moves his hands down your body and situates you so you’re sitting on top of him, the covers pooling around your waist and leaving you exposed to the cold winter air that seeps in through the old windows of the dorm. “I promise you, (Y/N), that it will all be okay. And you know how I know? You and Foggy have the biggest hearts of everyone I know. There’s so much love in there, and there’s so much love that you have for one another. So when I tell you that it’s going to be okay, it will be okay.”

You give him a small smile, leaning down and taking his face in your hands, giving him a soft and sweet kiss.

“Thanks, Matt,” you whisper, brushing his hair off of his forehead.

“Hey, I know what will get that smile to grow.” With his hands on your hips, he begins to rock you back and forth along his leg, holding you down, placing just the right amount of pressure down on your hips to create the friction that you need between your legs.

“Dick,” you chuckle as he guides you along his strong, muscular leg.

“You gotta give him a minute before it’s good for either of us,” he hums, only making you laugh more. “But I got you to smile.”

“You always make me smile, Matty.”

“Ditto, angel.”

Your room fills with the slick sound of your core against his leg and your heavy breathing, the sounds only getting louder as your pace increases.

“Right there,” you breathe as he guides your hips on his thigh, soaking the skin that’s there and creating a mess between your legs. “Fuck, Matty. It’s so fucking good, baby.”

“Grab a condom, angel,” he moans. “Fuck, I gotta get in you soon. Need you, angel.”

Twisting around quickly, you go to reach for the box in your nightstand. However, you twist too quick, losing your balance and teetering off of Matt’s thigh, crashing down on the concrete floor of your dorm, your arm breaking the fall. You groan in pain, muffling the sound by keeping your mouth shut as it tries to escape your lungs, and you hold onto your forearm, a throbbing pain radiating from deep down.

“(Y/N), are you okay?” Matt asks you as he gets out of the bed and helps you up.

“Fine,” you grit through your teeth. “It’s fine.”

“It doesn’t sound fine.” You wince when his hand grazes your arm. “(Y/N)—.”

“I’m okay. I just whacked my arm real good.”

“It sounded like more than that. Take the word of a blind man with really good hearing. It’s more than a whack.”

“Matty, it’s okay.”

“You really should get it checked out. It might be broken.”

“It’s not broken, Matt, trust me. Nothing Advil and ice can’t fix.”

“Sweetheart, please. That way, we can know for sure.”

“Matty—.”

“I’ll foot the bill.”

“It’s not about money, I—.”

“Go for me. It’ll make me feel better to know that a medical professional says you’re fine,” he continues. “Please, angel.”

You let out a sigh, taking in how concerned he is and how soft his features are.

“You’re gonna have to help me get dressed,” you concede.

“It’s gonna be a while,” you tell Matt as you sit back down next to him in the waiting room.

“But the forms are filled out,” he says with a little smirk. “One step down.”

“I’m telling you, Matt, it’s probably nothing.”

“And then you can rub it in my face. But at least I’ll feel better knowing you’re all right.”

“Yeah, but you’ll have an uncomfortably sore back.”

“C’mere,” he whispers, having you adjust and snuggle into his chest as you sit in the stiff, flat seats. “I always feel better when you’re on me—it’ll cancel out the shitty chairs.”

You chuckle softly, finding the sweet spot that you love to curl into. “You’re a good pillow, you know that?”

“You might have told me once or twice before.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head while he throws his coat over you like a blanket. The motion immediately brings the sleep creeping at the edge of your consciousness to the forefront, slowly taking over. “Try and sleep, angel. I’ll wake you up when they call.”

“No sleep til Brooklyn,” you smile.

“You’re hilarious,” he sighs, lightly resting his head on yours. “You still need to sleep. You were up late studying for your last final, got, what, maybe three hours of sleep? And you’ve been going all day. I’ll wake you up when they want to take you back, I promise.”

You yawn wide and snuggle into him, closing your eyes and feeling just how heavy they are. “Kay, Matty. Love you.”

You feel his hand slip into yours on on good arm. “Love you, too, angel.”

When you feel Matt gently shake you awake, you’re sure you must have only closed your eyes for a short while, but when Matt helps me up, your watch tells you that it’s several hours later.

“Want help, angel?” he asks as you slide his jacket back over to him.

“I’ve got it, Matty,” you hum, giving his lips a quick peck. “Besides, I got to prove to you that it’s all fine.”

“Okay,” he chuckles, giving the hand on your good arm a squeeze. “See you soon.”

After he listens to you get led back, Matt tunes into the orchestra of the waiting room, listening to anything and everything for a long while before something catches him off guard.

“What happened?” a familiar voice rings in Matt’s ears in the quieting ER.

“Foggy? What are you doing here?” Matt asks, standing up.

“Marci was visiting her cousin that had a baby. She saw you guys come in, said that something looked wrong.”

“(Y/N) hurt her arm. She didn’t want to come, but she was in a lot of pain. I almost had to drag her here.”

“What happened? How’d she hurt it?”

“She was trying to reach for something and overestimated the stretch. She fell off the mattress and landed hard on her arm.”

“Is it broken?” Foggy asks as he sits in your empty seat.

“I think it is,” Matt sighs, mirroring his friend’s movements. “She’s convinced she’s fine, though.”

“Of course she thinks she’s fine. She never wants to admit when she’s hurt. It’s like when she gets a cold, it’s always just—.

“Allergies’,” Matt finishes with a smirk. “Yeah. You know, she got a really bad cold about a month ago, and she would swear a blue streak that she was okay. I had to keep a bag of lozenges in my bag with a to-go Tylenol so when her fever spiked, I could give her some with some water or get her a tea from the coffee cart. I don’t know how she muscled through it. It was really bad.”

He can hear how his friend turns to look at him. “You really care about her, huh?”

“I love her, Foggy,” Matt tells him. “When I was with Elektra, I thought that was love. But being with (Y/N) . . . I know she’ll always be there. She makes me better. She helps me be who I want to be. And I’d do absolutely anything for her. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.” He tilts his head to his friend. “You know she didn’t want to date me at first? She was afraid it’d ruin our friendship, but she was more worried about how you would take it. She didn’t want to hurt your feelings. After everything . . . Fog, (Y/N)’s absolutely torn up about it.”

“You know, I’ve thought a lot about what I said to her and how I said it,” Foggy starts. “The look on her face . . . The worst thing about it all is that when I said those words, I wanted them to hurt her, and I did exactly that, and I felt good that I did. She looked so broken. By the time I wanted to try and talk to her, I burned that bridge so much I couldn’t reach her. I feel like the biggest piece of shit that there is.”

“If I know anything, it’s that (Y/N) loves you, and you and your friendship means the world to her. That bridge isn’t gone. If anything . . . The map was lost. And just because the map is lost doesn’t mean that the path over that bridge is gone for good.”

“You think so?” Foggy asks hesitantly.

“I know so. And if I know you and (Y/N) even a fraction of how well I do, things will be okay.”

“Thanks, Matt.”

“I’m just telling you the truth, man.”

As they talk in the waiting room, everything starts to feel like it used to—the ease, the comfort, the flow of conversation. After about ninety minutes, Foggy declares a quest for coffee, groaning as he stands, bemoaning just how uncomfortable the ER seats are. Shortly after Foggy disappears, Matt hears your heartbeat grow closer to the double doors you went through, the nurse giving you a list of care instructions. Matt smirks to himself while he can, taking some pride in the fact that he convinced you to get some help and prevent it from becoming worse, but willing to play none the wiser for when you come out.

“I’m not saying that you were right, only that I underestimated the severity,” you sigh as you meet Matt in the waiting room.

“What was it?” Matt asks, leaning in to kiss your cheek, but you wince when his hand is on your arm. “(Y/N), this feels like a cast.”

“Well, yes, it is. My radius and ulna are broken. But I was right, I’m fine. I’ll survive.”

“You are absolutely fit to be a lawyer,” he chuckles, kissing you once more. “When can the cast come off?”

“It’ll be off just in time for the start of the semester. No kinky sex stuff, though.”

“I’m sure we can find some kinky stuff to do that won’t hurt it. Trust me, I can get very creative.”

You laugh as he leans in for a kiss, your lips still turned into a smile as you embrace. When you pull back, you see Foggy approaching with a coffee travel tray. You immediately dip your head and avoid looking at him, unable to fight the feeling of tears that instantly bloom in your chest.  

“You still like cinnamon in your coffee, right?” Foggy asks, making you tilt your head up to look at him, his other hand extending the hot cup to you. 

“Two sugars?” you ask softly.

“No cream,” he says with a little smile. 

Taking it with your good hand, you let the cup warm you up. “Thanks, Foggy.”

“I’ll hail a taxi for us,” Matt says, pressing a kiss into your hair and then patting Foggy on the shoulder, leaving nothing but thick air between you and the person you’ve known your whole life. 

“Listen, (Y/N)—.”

“I’m sorry, Foggy,” you blurt, unable to contain it. “With Matt, we just kissed, and I didn’t want to stop kissing him, but I really didn’t want to hurt you. It was head and heart and I just froze, and I lost my best friend because of it. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about, (Y/N),” Foggy says softly, looking like he just saw a puppy get kicked. “I thoroughly overreacted. I should have been happy that my two friends were together and happy. Instead, I turned into a big brother and treated both of you like you didn’t know what you’re doing. I dunno . . . I guess I had just wished you would’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want you to be mad. And the longer I waited, well, it felt like I couldn’t tell you,” you tell him. “I’m so sorry.”

“You love him?” is all that Foggy asks.

“I really do,” you nod. “He loves me, too. He hasn’t said it, but I just have a feeling, you know?”

“Something tells me that he does, too.” His brows furrow in concern. “Can you forgive me?”

“Of course, Fog. Do you forgive me?”

“I’d wrap you in a big hug as a silent ‘You bet your bottom, I do’, but then I’d hurt your arm even more than it already is.”

“You still can,” you say with a small smile. “I’m a tough cookie. I can handle it.”

“How about when the two of you aren’t holding hot beverages?” Matt interjects as he reapproaches you.

“Attention to detail—that’s why you’ll be an excellent lawyer,” Foggy teases. 

“Thanks, man,” Matt tells him, putting his jacket around your shoulders. “Good to go, angel?”

“Yeah, thanks,” you hum.

“I say let’s go to Josie’s. Drinks on me,” Foggy says as you move to the cab. “I’ve got my best friends back—if that isn’t cause for celebration, I don’t know what is.

“You think we’ll have time?” Matt asks, feeling at his watch as you guide him into the taxi.

“I’m sure she’d keep the bar open just a little longer for her favorite patrons and retainered legal council.”

“None of us are lawyers yet, Fog,” you chuckle as Foggy tells the cabbie the address for the bar. 

“But we will be after we pass the Bar, and once we are, we’ll be her lawyers. Bingo, bango, bongo. She’ll let us have a tab and everything.”

“Dreaming big, aren’t you?” Matt laughs.

“Oh yeah, once we get that tab, we’ll be able to take over the world.”

“How about save the world?” you offer.

“Matt’s big humanitarian heart has gotten to you, I see.”

“C’mon, Fog. Who better to stick up for the little guys than three little guys from the Kitchen?”

“You make a good point. But I do counter—big office space with nice big windows and a view.”

“Well, a big office space would be nice. Windows and a view isn’t a deal breaker for me,” Matt smirks.

“We’ve got a real comedian over here.”

“All I’m saying is that if we’re helping people, does it really matter what the space is like?”

“Well, it’d be nice to have walls, floors, WiFi—ooh, no lead paint . . .”

“Okay, the space matters a little bit,” Matt and Foggy laugh as the cab comes to a halt, Matt beating you to the punch and paying the driver before you can unzip your bag.

“Regardless of its size, the space has to be in the Kitchen,” you settle. “If we’re gonna help the people, we need to be with the people.”

“Amen,” Foggy agrees, followed by Matt’s, “Here, here!” as we walk in.

“Sounds like we’ve got a future to plan,” you smile as you sit between them at the bar.

“Josie—the eel, please!” Foggy asks. “And several napkins: I’ve got some designing to do.”

Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger​ @steampowerednightvaler​ @themusingsofmany @just-the-hiddles​ @toozmanykids​ @dangertoozmanykids101 @clints-worldavengers @theburningbookshop​ @itwasthereaminuteago​ @peter1ismybrother @hellskitchens-whore​​ @dpaccione

[toxicshipsincorporated]

every time i get recommended a video on youtube of someone "reviewing" a romance/smut novel which mostly consists of them making faces and jokes about how cringe and toxic the whole book is, i always wanna ask like....okay so what is your favorite smut book??

What would these people consider GOOD dark romance? What is good smut to them?

And I ask this because I'm guessing they don't actually like reading smut or dark romance. Of course all these books they review make them sick. They don't like it.

And I feel like there is something so.....secular christian about that lol. Reminds me about how they would show gay scat and leather porn to congregations to evoke rage and anger based in disgust. Its like...yeah I guess any smut or dark romance for someone who does not like or enjoy those genres would be pretty gross. So then why read it? Why make a whole career and online persona based on consuming something you hate? Only to generate more hatred and vitriol for this thing that you would have otherwise had zero skin in the game for...

It is honestly so weird. Weird behavior.

[yallemagne]

I watched a review of a Colleen Hoover novel a while back (the only way I would ever be able to consume her work) and this video's preamble in particular really... awoke me.

The video was by SAVY WRITES BOOKS and the review was of Ugly Love. The one where the baby has huge balls and dies in a car crash. Yeah.

Something Savy said was that the book was falsely advertised as a romance when actually it was a work of erotica. It blew my fucking mind. All the stars aligned. I realized then that some of the writing I hate most? It's just a fucking genre! EROTICA!

Lol I talk about sex so much in this I figured it earned the mature filter. No one's gonna read this anyway, this is functionally a diary entry.

I've made it clear before that I hate the trope in fiction where someone drops everything in their life to be with a literal shitstain of a man just because his stinky penis is large... AND THAT'S JUST EROTICA!! The reason why I'm so mad at that trope? It's because they always advertise it as Romance or Thriller, and it's just PORN.

Romance takes place in a realm that is adjacent to reality. When someone is abusive in a romance, there is a reasonable assumption that it will be condemned and a more healthy example will be raised. Emotional abuse? Physical assault? They are not displayed as attractive tendencies in a romance.

Erotica runs by porno rules. No matter what the author has to do, someone's gotta get a penis in them by the end of the page. The author is obviously writing with one hand in their pants no matter how horrific the events they are writing are because that's the point! It's their kink! And so long as the writing is advertised to the right audience? It will be the audience's kink as well!

In erotica, rationality is simply not required. You don't need build up, or... really anything. It's porn. It's smut. If you're writing a dubious scene or what have you, you don't need any preamble, you just jump in because the point is not to enlighten, it's to entice. I hate fiction that includes rape scenes that are written to be tantalizing. But holy shit. It's not that that person has a hard-on for rape (though it could be, rapists exist and are capable of creating art as well), it's that that author has a consensual nonconsent kink and just skipped the negotiation straight to the sex.

And y'all are gonna scoff at me and call me a dumbass... but I'm asexual. This is a bit confusing to me. I'm a complete outsider when it comes to sex. But when I think about it and try to put myself in the mind of a sex-haver, I imagine sex to be the most enjoyable when there is like... tangible intimacy between the two (or more) parties. Like I can enjoy a piece of fiction where people simply fuck dirty, and I have written smut like that, but... when it gets to the point that everything in the main character's life is being sacrificed for a penis... as a person who, in real life, finds penis to be laughable at best and repulsive at worst (if any penis havers take this personally omgggg it's not you it's genitalia in general), I just... cannot abide... But it simply is not for me. That's magical.

Man, it just pisses me off, dude. That people are marking their erotica as romance. Romance is already a niche genre. It's looked down upon by men, women, and enbys alike for being most popular with women. And then romance readers aren't able to enjoy their romance because a bunch of weird erotica (neutral) has infiltrated the genre and is all anyone wants to talk about. And I imagine some erotica readers are like "hey... where the fuck are my books at???" But erotica is obviously more niche than romance because of how appalling it can get, so publishers are just like "porn is shameful, market it as a romance so we can get a movie adaptation" and I find that shitty.

[bropunzeling]

15 & 49 for the writing meme if you haven’t gotten those!

15. How do you write smut scenes? Do you get very visual or detailed? How important is it to be realistic?

lmao oh boy. i think like, big top line thing is figuring out what i want from the scene -- sometimes just "hey this [physical act/kink/5 second interaction i had imagined in my head] is hot" and sometimes it's the "this porn is about being abandoned by god" meme. then like. idk. i often just kinda get into the zone when writing sex scenes? like i know where i wanna go and i just. go. no editing no looking back no brakes. just power through until it's done. big things i always highlight are touch/sensation/physicality (more so than what people are seeing?) bc like. idk. going at it through how does this feel does so much of the descriptive work for you, and also neatly ties into emotional states and where you want their hearts to get to! and as far as realism goes -- it's romance fiction. if things go nicer than they would irl or people come at the same time who cares??? that said i DO love a lil bit of sex comedy, like limbs going the wrong places or having to adjust or saying mean things until it all syncs up lol. most of the time i want sex scenes to have big feelings and that includes joyful ridiculousness :)

49. Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?

people are nice to me 99.9% of the time which is so great but i DID have one person make a super unhinged comment on the fic i posted on my wedding day essentially saying (a) the fic contained cheating (which i would dispute) and (b) that it was weird for me to post a fic of that nature on my wedding day and ngl my finger was QUICK on the delete button trigger. but again 99.9% of the time people are really lovely and generous!!! (i do have some Thoughts about how fandom in the last couple years has resulted in the normalization of behaving rudely to strangers because they make something you like and you feel entitled to it but that is for. NOT tumblr lol)

[blog-name-idk]

Mold a Pretty Lie | 04

Banner by @persphonesorchid <3

Pairing: professor!Jin x Fem undergrad!Reader

Genre: College!AU, Unhealthy relationships, toxic relationships, virgin reader, eventual yandere, eventual smut

Summary: They say love is like a garden that requires regular care and attention. Kim Seokjin, your kind and handsome professor, is more than happy to cultivate the vines that bind his heart to yours.

Word Count: 4,358

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Kissing, non-consensual kissing/assault, sneaker destruction

AN: A huge thanks to @eserethriddle for beta-ing this chapter for me. Also check their fics out, they're amazing. Hope y'all enjoy!

~~~~~

In the weeks that followed, there were no more incidents where you nodded off in Dr. Kim's class. You made sure of it. Your professor didn't mention it again, other than leaving a blue Powerade on your desk the next time you met him to work on your research project. It was objectively the best flavor, and you did your best not to read too much into his thoughtfulness.

However, your best wasn't good enough, and each one of his smiles and silly jokes added another bud to the flowers blooming in your chest.

You craved when he'd lean in close enough for your imagination to go wild, the way he would rest a distracting hand on your shoulder when he reviewed your work, the sparkle in his eyes when he was pleased. You didn't go chasing after more contact than that, but you did find yourself lingering longer than your allotted hours, chatting to your energetic professor about this or that.

At first you had been reticent, wary of taking up too much of his time, or god forbid, coming across like some of the students who stalked his office hours. But he was often the one to engage you, to ask about how your semester was going outside of his class. It was hard to believe he cared, but his face lit up in genuine interest when you spoke, and it was hard not to bask in the warm glow of his approval.

Why were you such an idiot? You were smitten, daydreaming about a man there was no hope of ever attaining. You knew it was a waste of time to keep pining after him the way you were, but how exactly could you prevent your stomach from flipping upside down with each smile?

You

Help

Phoebe

What's wrong, my pretty tulip?

You winced at the nickname, a joke at your expense Phoebe had "hilariously" come up with in high school. Because you were a virgin in both sets of lips. It was fucking weird and gross and she never let it go despite the fact that you hated it.

You

I have a stupid crush on someone I have objectively zero chance with

Phoebe

Oh????

Pix!!!

You

Lol

Yeah, no

Phoebe

Name!!!

You

Yeah, no

You were NOT going to open yourself to ridicule from your best friend by admitting you had enough of a crush on a professor for it to be a problem. That was just asking for her to make fun of you. If she kept pressing, you'd send her a picture of Jimin or Taehyung or something, but not if you could avoid it.

Phoebe

You're so boring

This is why it's unrequited

You

Omg rude

Phoebe

Lol you know I'm joking

Well you know what they say

You

If you say "the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else" I'm blocking you for being cliche as fuck

Phoebe

It's a cliche for a reason babe

It's not like you're in love with the guy right?

You just need a distraction that'll help redirect your thinking

Just start flirting with a new cutie, works for me every time

You

I guess that makes sense…

Wouldn't that be like, kinda rude to the other person though?

Phoebe

I said flirt not propose to lmao

And not just a rando, someone you actually could like

How are you of all people trying to question me, hmm little tulip?

You

Ugh yeah yeah fine whatever

… Thank you for the advice

Phoebe

Anytime

Miss you babe <3

You

Miss you too <3

You stared at your phone for a moment, lost in thought as you considered your friend's words. You could kind of see where she was coming from - you were probably just infatuated with your professor because you saw and interacted with him multiple times a week, and your wishful brain mistook his kindness for some sort of preference. Dr. Kim was so wonderful that it was just normal human nature for you to become enamored - maybe if you reframed your mindset and let yourself get swept up with someone else, your silly crush would fade.

"Sierra?" you asked one weekend, wondering if you had soured her desire to party with you. She hadn't tried to cajole you out since that not-so-fateful night, and you never asked why in the fear that you would hear that she now hated you. Your roommate perked up and looked at you from her bed, where she was laying on her back and scrolling through her phone. "What are you doing tonight?"

"Haven't decided yet, what's up?" she replied curiously. She didn't look apprehensive at your question, so that was probably a good sign.

"I just - I thought it might be fun to go out or something…" you said tentatively, studying her face for any flashes of annoyance. Instead, her eyes lit up.

"Really?" Sierra asked excitedly, sitting upright on her mattress. "I didn't put you off partying with me?"

"Really, I - wait what do you mean? I blacked out and spent half the night throwing up."

Her words made no sense, why would you not want to hang out with her anymore? Instead of rolling her eyes and agreeing with your assessment the way Phoebe might have, she laughed.

"I guess that means you don't remember when I tried to hug you and then threw up on your shoes instead."

"I thought that was my vomit," you exclaimed. "And I thought you were annoyed with me, and that's why we never went out again."

"I thought you didn't want to hang out with me!"

The two of you stared at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.

"We're idiots," she said through giggles, looking just as relieved as you felt. "Alright, let's party tonight! Maybe minus the puking."

You laughed at her addendum, nodding in agreement. "I can work with that."

~~~~~

You weren't exactly sure how you had ended up here, shut in a bedroom with Sierra and a group of other strangers. The two of you were on the far side of tipsy, but nowhere near as drunk as you had been the last time. And now you were staring at the bottle some guy - Chad? Brad? - was holding up.

"Spin the bottle? Seriously?" scoffed Sierra, crossing her arms. You were inclined to agree - sure, people were inclined to play horny drinking games, but you didn't think anyone played spin the bottle specifically out of middle school, or bad teenage sitcoms. At least with Truth or Dare or Never Have I Ever, you sort of learned about the people around you.

Plus you could definitely say that you weren't particularly interested in locking lips with anyone in this room.

"Yeah, it was nice to meet you all but I think I'm gonna go back to the party," you said as diplomatically as you could.

"What, too much of a prude?" ChadBrad asked with a smirk, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. He was attractive, sure, but arrogance clung to his shoulders like a bad smell and you were not into it.

"No, I just have standards," you retorted loftily, getting up from the floor and heading to the door. "I'm seeing too many frogs, and not enough princes."

Sierra laughed gleefully at ChadBrad's startled expression and followed you.

"Sorry buddy, no amount of Smirnoff Ice in your mini-fridge is gonna get either of us to hook up with you," she added, and the guy scowled as the others in the room began to snicker.

The closing door cut off the sound and the two of you giggled as you walked back to the main party.

"Dang girl, I thought you were this meek little mouse, but that was hilarious," Sierra said with a grin, making you laugh. You were so caught up in talking to your friend that you forgot to watch where you were going, and ended up colliding with a warm, solid body. The warmth was offset by a cold trickle down your shirt and you jumped back, realizing you had made whoever it was spill their drink.

"I'm so sorry, I - Tae?"

Your friend stood before you, eyes wide, hair tousled, wearing a loose white button-up that made him look like a medieval farmhand a heroine would run away with.

"[Y/n]?" he asked, surprise etched on his face as his eyes roved down your figure. Sierra had convinced you to wear another crop top, and you fought the urge to cover your stomach as his gaze fell on your bare skin.

"Now here's a prince," Sierra whispered in your ear, making heat rise up your neck as you realized what she was getting at. "Hey Tae. I'm gonna get a drink, you need a new one?"

He jumped as if surprised she was there, and she snorted as if unsurprised.

"That would be great, thanks Sierra."

She nudged you as she left.

"Get it, girl," she whispered in your ear wickedly, making you cough and splutter before she slapped your ass and left, cackling. God, your roommate was a menace.

"I didn't expect to see you here," Taehyung said with a smile, and you had to smile back, a little hypnotized by the stars in his eyes. He really was beautiful.

"I thought it was time to give partying another shot," you replied sheepishly, still a little embarrassed by how your previous night out had ended.

"I'm glad," he said softly, something in his eyes making your stomach flutter. "Sorry for spilling on you."

You had actually forgotten, but now that he brought it up you were all too aware of the stain on your shirt and the stickiness of beer on your skin.

"It's my fault, I wasn't looking where I was going," you assured him.

"Let me help you get cleaned up at least," he offered, grabbing your hand before you could protest and setting off to find a bathroom. Your fingers slotted perfectly into his, and he tugged you easily through the crowd. Phoebe's advice rang clear in your mind, but you silenced it as you followed. You were certainly attracted to Taehyung, but he was way out of your league… right?

He found a bathroom and ushered you inside, shutting the door behind him. It dulled the sound of merrymaking outside, and the sudden intimacy brought another slew of jittery panic into your chest. One that was clearly only one sided as Taehyung glanced around before finding a roll of paper towels.

He ripped off a sheet, running it under the faucet before handing it to you.

"Unless you want my help," he said with a wink, waggling his eyebrows. You laughed and slapped his shoulder before accepting his offering, too intent on cleaning yourself to notice the way his eyes watched you hungrily. You dabbed at the shirt as well, before deciding it was a lost cause and that the beer would probably come out in the wash.

"Thanks, Tae," you said with a smile, tossing the crumpled cloth in the trash and looking up to suddenly find him right in front of you. He was close enough that you had to look up to meet his eyes, and you stepped backwards with a surprised "eep" when your back hit the sink counter.

"How much have you had to drink tonight?" he asked intently, not moving from where he was standing. You were suddenly all too aware of your exposed skin, of how gorgeous he looked, of how his dark, mesmerizing eyes were locked on your own.

"N-not very much, we just got here a little while ago," you stammered, staring back at him as your pulse sped up. His lips curved into a devastating smirk and he stepped forward, closing the scant distance between your bodies.

"Good, then I can finally do this," he murmured, one warm, gentle hand coming up to cup your cheek as you felt your eyes go as wide as saucers. Then he was leaning in, and those plush lips of his were coming closer, and closer.

They were warm and soft, and you felt your eyelashes flutter shut as you leaned into the feeling. He backed away almost immediately, and your stomach dropped. Was he disappointed? Were you a bad kisser? But it had only lasted a couple seconds, were people really able to tell that quickly?

"Was that okay?" he whispered, cutting through your panic. He was gazing at you with an uncertainty that mirrored your own, and your heart sang with the realization that he was nervous. You felt your own lips twitch into a smile and you nodded, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck.

"Yeah," you whispered, standing up on your tippy-toes and tilting your face up in an open invitation.

This time, the kiss was less tentative, and Taehyung's free arm snaked around your waist to pull you snugly into him. You gasped at the press of his warm, warm body against yours, and he took the opportunity to pull your lower lip between his teeth, nibbling slightly. Oh. That was… very pleasant.

"You're so pretty," Taehyung murmured, pulling away. You almost asked why he stopped, until his lips dragged across your jaw to press light, fluttery kisses against your skin that left hot embers in their wake. The new sensation made you whimper, and he froze as his grip on your waist tightened. Fuck, were you not supposed to do that? It was getting hard to think straight when he was holding you so close, whispering sweet words in your ear.

Then he latched onto the sensitive skin of your neck and he sucked, sending white hot shudders down your spine. A moan left your mouth before you could stop it, and Taehyung groaned before capturing your mouth again.

He took advantage of your parted lips to glide his tongue against yours, and another mortifying sound escaped your throat at the sensation. It was wet, hot, and slimy, and should have felt gross, but instead you found yourself clinging to his shirt as your legs turned to jelly.

"Fuck, you sound so good," Taehyung groaned, shifting from your mouth to run his tongue along the shell of your ear.

"T-Taehyung," you gasped breathily, not exactly wanting to stop but worried about him taking this further. His hands slid down to your butt to press your hips against his, and with a jolt you realized he was hard against your thigh. He felt your body stiffen, and immediately pulled back.

"Sorry, too much?" he asked, his voice a husky rasp.

"A little," you admitted, swallowing down the desire to find out what else he had to offer. As much as you were enjoying yourself, you were already starting to feel a little overwhelmed. And the way Taehyung was currently looking at you made you want to both kiss him forever and run away and hide. "Maybe we should get back to the party."

"I'm sorry," he said again, looking away. "I've wanted to do that forever, I got a little carried away."

Something warm glowed in your chest at his words, and impulsively you grabbed his shirt to pull him in for another kiss. The dazed way he grinned at you when you let him go was more than enough to bolster your confidence, and this time you were the one who intertwined your fingers with his.

"Let's go find Sierra."

Finding your roommate ended up being more difficult than you'd thought, and Taehyung reluctantly agreed that it would be easier for you two to split up to find her.

"Don't forget about me while you're gone," he said with a pout, brushing his lips against the knuckles of your hand before finally letting go. You watched him leave, stomach positively giddy with butterflies, before you turned around as well. A clammy hand gripped your wrist roughly, and you jumped, whirling to face the culprit.

"Saw you leave the bathroom with that guy," came the obnoxious, unwelcome voice of ChadBrad. He smirked at your frown, ignoring the way you tried to shake off his hand. What was he doing? Why was he looking at you like that?

"It's not really any of your business, is it?" you replied coldly, but to your alarm he just looked even more smug. His grip tightened, and you felt anxiety rise like bile in the back of your throat.

"So you're the type that likes to play hard to get, is it? I like that," he said with a leering grin, stepping into your personal space. You backed away as far as you could with your arm still captive, and gave him your best glare before scanning behind him to see if Taehyung was still around.

Please let him still be here, you begged silently. To no avail. You were alone, and no one else in the room was even looking in your direction. And the music was so loud you doubted even a scream would catch anyone's attention.

"Let go," you ordered through gritted teeth, trying to sound more confident than you felt. He merely matched each step you tried to take away from him, and when your back hit the wall you realized you were trapped.

"Trusting your safety to two college boys you don't know very well… well, I'm glad the night ended alright, but it would break my heart if anything happened to you."

Your professor's words echoed in your head as you tried to think of a way out of this situation, wishing you had listened better to his advice.

"Good girls say please," ChadBrad taunted, caging you between his arms. "But you're a bad girl, huh?"

Fucking ew. Despite the obvious disgust on your face, he still seemed to think it was going well, and you caught a whiff of gross beer breath before his clammy lips were on yours.

It was revolting, and you felt your skin crawl as you tried to push him off frantically. You kept your lips sealed tightly shut against the nauseating prod of his tongue, but the asshole wouldn't fucking move. Your heart was pounding for completely different reasons than with Taehyung, and it was getting harder to breathe through your nose as you pushed and pushed to no avail. Finally, you did the only thing you could think of, and kneed him as hard as you could between his legs.

That worked, and he leaped away with a yelp.

"What the fuck, you bitch," he spat at you, doubling over as you scrambled away from him, massaging your wrist and breathing hard. You could breathe through your mouth now, why didn't it feel like you were getting any air?

You didn't bother to gift him with a response, too focused on getting the fuck away for something as trivial as a final word. You stumbled through the house, desperate for Sierra or Taehyung or fucking anyone familiar at this point.

To your relief, you spotted a familiar head of hair near the kitchen and almost tackled Sierra in your haste to get to her.

"Whoa there, cowboy!" she said with a giggle as she righted herself, though her smile slid off when she saw your expression. "What's wrong?"

Your heart settled at her reassuring face, and as the adrenaline ebbed away you suddenly felt a lump in your throat. You opened your mouth to respond, then closed it when you realized frustration and anxiety were welling up behind your eyes.

You swallowed and took a deep breath, but all you could do was sniffle to try to keep back the disgusting feeling clawing your throat. Sierra's eyes widened and she wrapped a protective arm around you. You obeyed blindly as she steered you through the throngs of people, focused solely on not freaking out in front of a huge audience.

"Babe, talk to me, what happened?"

With a start you realized you were on the lawn outside and looking into Sierra's warm, worried brown eyes.

"I - that guy - "

To your utter mortification, that was all you got out before the tears came in earnest. Your face was immediately pressed into a perfumed, ample chest as your roommate hugged you and rubbed soothing circles into your back.

"It's okay, you're okay. Just take your time," Sierra said comfortingly as you whimpered and hiccuped into her shirt. Fuck, why were you crying so much? Nothing bad had really even happened, you were fine! Why were you being such a crybaby? First Dr. Kim, now here?

Finally, you calmed down enough to tell Sierra what happened, and her expression went from concerned to livid.

"And where the fuck was Taehyung?" she asked calmly, making your eyes widen. Her voice was even, but her eyes flashed with what could only be described as castrative fury.

"We only split up for a second to look for you!" you explained hastily, and suddenly you were the one rubbing soothing circles into her back. "We were gonna meet back up in the kitchen."

Sierra relaxed slightly, but tension still thrummed under her skin. You wracked your brain for something to calm her down, but crying had made your head irritatingly foggy.

"Oh hey, you found her!"

You both looked to see Taehyung smiling, though it faded when he saw the anger on Sierra's face and the tear stains on yours. He took a step forward, only to stop immediately when Sierra stepped in front of you. Despite it being unnecessary, you felt a surge of affection for your roommate.

"What happened?" he asked softly as Sierra crossed her arms and tapped her foot at him, clearly unimpressed.

"Some asshole assaulted her, that's what happened," she snapped, her words cracking through the air like a whip. You winced and tugged at her arm.

Taehyung's eyes went wide with shock and he looked at you with worry.

"I'm so sorry, [y/n], did I - " he began, looking horrified and guilty. You realized he thought Sierra was talking about himself, and you shook your head frantically.

"No! It wasn't you!" you protested immediately, stepping past Sierra's protection to grab Taehyung's hand. "It was someone else." He only looked mildly relieved, and his eyes were still filled with concern.

"I shouldn't have left you alone," he said quietly, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. Embarrassment threatened to drag you under and you winced. It wasn't his fault at all. You were just the one who was so pathetic that you apparently couldn't handle five minutes alone, and then cried like an idiot even though you weren't even hurt.

You felt Sierra's hand on your shoulder, and you looked at her questioningly.

"Will you be okay with him for a second?" she whispered in your ear, so quietly you knew Taehyung wouldn't catch it. "I forgot something inside."

You nodded, giving her a wobbly smile you hoped was reassuring. Apparently it was good enough, though she shot Taehyung a very stern glare.

"Behave, I know where you live," she said with deadly seriousness. The tension was broken by your chuckle, and both of your friends relaxed a hair. "Okay, I'll be right back."

The two of you were left alone, and suddenly you found yourself unable to look at anything but your feet.

"I'm s-sorry," you hiccuped, sniffing as you tried to keep a fresh wave of tears at bay. You hated yourself for crying so easily. You swiped at your cheeks and remembered the way Dr. Kim had dabbed your face so gently in his office. You should have listened to him. "I ruined another night out for you guys."

"What are you talking about?" asked Taehyung gently, squeezing your hand. "I always have a great time with you."

You shook your head in disbelief, still not able to meet his eyes. He was sweet to try to make you feel better, but you couldn't find it in yourself to believe him. Had it really been just a few minutes ago that you had been giddily thinking about his lips against yours?

"Hey."

Taehyung put his forehead against yours, but you didn't look up to face him. You couldn't.

"Getting to kiss you already made this the best night of the year so far," he murmured in your ear, and you wanted to believe him despite yourself. He pulled you into his chest and you took a deep breath, letting the warm, spicy smell of his cologne wash over you. "And getting to spend time with you out here makes it even better."

"Even though I'm being a buzzkill?" you asked hesitantly, voice muffled as you timidly wrapped your arms around his waist.

"Nothing can kill my buzz unless it's Jimin having a hair meltdown," Taehyung announced confidently, and you found yourself smiling into his chest.

"Thanks, Tae," you whispered, finally tilting your face up to look at him properly. He grinned happily back at you, squeezing you tight.

"There you are!" he exclaimed goofily, then shocked you into laughter by tickling your exposed sides.

"Don't do that, you jerk!" you scolded, swatting at his hands before he could get more than a few giggles out of you. He smiled and put his hands up in surrender and opened his mouth to say something, when rapid footfalls distracted you.

"Let's go!" said Sierra urgently, grabbing both you and Taehyung's hands and dragging you stumbling behind her.

"W-what?" you spluttered, suddenly very grateful the two of you had worn sneakers to this party. Why the hell was Sierra walking so fast?

"I poured all the Smirnoff Ices into that dipshit’s sneaker collection," your roommate revealed, turning back to you with a devious grin. Her eyes were alight with tipsy misbehavior and justice. "I want to be well clear before he finds out."

Sierra's admission startled a snort of laughter out of you, and Taehyung looked at her in outright awe. Perhaps this night hadn't ended so badly, after all.

Still, you decided you'd heed your professor's advice and steer clear of parties in the future.

~~~~~

Next | Masterlist

Tags: @moonleeai @random-and-out-of-context @amenjiminsan @innebulae @lonewolfsinclair @seoqity @lilacdreams-00 @chowb @shescharlie @mazmaz30 @definetlythinkimanalien @seokjins-luigi @lucci-girl @xicanacorpse @bighitbabie @8loominghell @jung-nika-hoseok @staradorned @zealouslightcookiebasketball @kissme-ornot

[spacieboi]

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬

Heyo so I’ve gotten a few request so I think it’s a good idea to put this up. I’ll probably take two or three at a time depending on my motivation and stress levels. It may take a couple days to weeks for me to get them done because guess what? I have a life, crazy I know.

Open ┊2/3 ┊. ➶ ˚

Navigation🌙 || Masterlist⭐️

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How to request📥

To request a fic please send it through the submission box. Please include character(s) name and specify reader’s gender if there's a preference. I work better with kinks or prompts so if you have one in mind please let me know. If there's any boundaries you want in place please also specify.

Before submitting requests please review rules below vvv

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Rules📋

- don’t rush me

- I have the right to choose what requests I accept and deny

- do not spam

- please respect my boundaries

Breaking any rule will result in a block

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Do’s✅

- smut/ limes

- fluff

- hurt/ comfort

- light angst (cheating, break ups, things like that)

- Character x reader

Don’ts🚫

- weird kinks (piss, scat, vomit, feet, etc. sorry besties)

- incest, step-cest, selfcest

- pedophilia

- gore or death

- mental disorders & self harm (feel like I couldn’t write them well)

- non-con, r*pe, physical abuse

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Characters I will write for🪐

Sorry if your favs aren’t on here it’s either because I don’t know them that well or I feel like I wouldn’t portray them correctly (or I simply hate them). This can and probably will be changed at anytime.

Haikyuu 🏐

Koshi Sugawara

Yu Nishinoya

Ryunosuke Tanaka

Tobio Kageyama

Shoyo Hinata

Tadashi Yamaguchi

Koutarou Bokuto

Keiji Akaashi

Hajime Iwaizumi

Kenma Kozume

Tetsurou Kuroo

Danganronpa☠️

THH

Komaru Naegi

Makoto Naegi

Aoi Asahina

Byakuya Togami

Kyoko Kirigiri

Mondo Owada

SDR2

Hajime Hinata

Akane Owari

Chiaki Nanami

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu

Gundham Tanaka

Kazuichi Souda

Nagito Komaeda

Sonia Nevermind

DRV3

Kaede Akamatsu

Gonta Gokuhara

K1-b0

Kaito Momota

Kokichi Oma

Maki Harukawa

Miu Iruma

Rantaro Amami

Shuichi Saihara

This is the list for now but will prob change after I brush up on my danganronpa lol

My Hero Academia⚡️

Izuku Midoriya

Katsuki Bakugou

Eijiro Kirishima

Denki Kaminari

Shoto Todoroki

Mina Ashido

Momo Yaoyorozu

Tsuyu Asui

Ochaco Uraraka

The Disastrous Life Of Saiki K 🧠

Saiki Kusuo

Aren Kuboyasu

Kaidou Shun

(Might need to brush up on these guys a bit lol)

Jujutsu Kaisen 🥋

Satoru Gojo

Megumi Fushiguro

Nobara Kugisaki

Yuji Itadori

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[whysamwhy123]

✨Fic Writing Review 2023✨

Tagged by the wonderful dynamic duo that is @aerodaltonimperial and @perhapswhoknowsvamp and it's very fitting that those two lovely people tagged me because they're a big reason why I wrote much of anything this year! Took me a while to get this done because I wanted to get my last fic of the year out the door first. I'll put the rest below the cut, and fair warning - it's loooooong. This bitch doesn't shut up, so I rambled on. A lot.

Words and Fics

76, 222 words published on AO3 in 2023

15 fics published on AO3 (16 if you count that one kinkmeme prompt I filled and posted anonymously)

2 little tumblr ficlets

Top 3 by Kudos

Voice in the Dark - Hookhausen (not super surprising, considering it was a popular pairing at the time, and it was the fic I wrote for the anniversary event)

Kids These Days And Their Darn Phones - Hookhausen

Half Your Age Plus Seven - OrangeHook (I continue to be incredibly surprised how well this fic did, like...huh?!)

Top 3 by Hits

Voice in the Dark - Hookhausen

Voice in the Dark, Part Two - Hookhausen (how fitting, LOL)

Half Your Age Plus Seven - OrangeHook (Seriously, what was it about this fic that drew people in? More so than any of my other OrangeHook fics? Like, I'm grateful and all but also confused, like this fic is way too long?! And weird about the age difference?!)

Author's Favourite

As much as I'm loving writing OrangeHook now, I think Voice in the Dark, Part Two is probably the best thing I've written? Even though it's also overly long and gets weird at the end (very much did not expect it to go in that direction when I started writing it), I'm actually pretty proud of how that one turned out. I had a clear vision in my head for how each scene would play out and what I wanted to get across, and man, I remember how most of the Hook/Evilhausen dialogue popped into my brain late one night when I couldn't sleep, so I spat it out into a doc and then about a month later when I actually wrote the scene, I don't think I changed a single word? I just added everything else around it, all the not-dialogue parts. And it was just a lot of fun getting to carry on that story, especially as someone who hasn't managed to crank out a proper multi-chapter fic yet. Who knows, maybe I'll return to that world someday...

Fandom Events in 2023

Uh, well, I guess I did the whole Hookhausen Anniversary thing? And...that's about it. I'm pretty disconnected from the fandom at large, whoopsie daisy 😬

Upcoming Projects

Hoo boy.

I have over 5k words of a Ricky/Christian Sugar Baby AU thing written already. I haven't posted it because it kinda needs some smut and that's still not something I can really do. I might post it someday, if I can make something work, or alternatively do what I normally do and put an annoying fade to black in there. Or maybe I'll think better of it and never post it because it's very self-indulgent and I highly doubt anyone else would really be interested or want me to continue it or anything. But I have Ideas for it...so many ideas...

Also, in my ill-fated quest to try and make myself write smut, I kinda started a Ricky/Bill championship celebration fic. Maybe I'll revisit that? Try to get it done?

And then there's that one fic I really want to work on, but have barely started. I've vague-posted about it here before - it's an incredibly fucked-up Dead Dove fic about Daniel Garcia and a Very Bad, Not-Good thing that happens to him, and the subsequent complete mental breakdown that follows. I've had the idea rattling around in my brain for the better part of a year at this point, despite not making much actual progress on it. Every time I think about it though, I have new ideas for scenes or dialogue. I'd like to make it work, but I don't know if I have the writing chops to handle it, plus it would probably end up being super long and nobody would want to read it, so it'd feel like a huge waste of time on my part? And I've had the idea for so long, it's out-dated too. But still, the urge remains...

Oh, and I still have a ton of OrangeHook ideas I'd like to make happen. Some are, of course, about their age difference. Some would (ideally) involve smut. And others... *nervous laughter* Others would likely result in an ''Everyone disliked that'' situation...

Writing Reflection

I was thinking about making a sappy post about this and whoops, here's my excuse! I don't talk a lot on here about my tragic backstory because honestly, who cares? But I will say this - before January of this year, I hadn't written a word of anything in years. Fic or otherwise. I used to love writing, but Stuff Happened and it killed all enjoyment I got out of it, and I thought that's how it would be forever. Then, for reasons I can't even remember, I started reading fic again, specifically in this wild little fandom of ours, and y'all are just so talented that it made my untalented ass want to give it another shot. So...I did.

I remember when I posted my first fic in ages back in January, I thought ''Maybe about three people will read this and no one will leave a comment or anything, but whatever, I wrote a thing and that's something I haven't done in years so that's enough for me!'' And to be honest, I still think that whenever I post stuff now? It's crazy to me that anyone actually reads my stuff and gets some kind of kick out of it. But every kudos and comment floors me and brings me so much joy, I can't even express it properly. I have to say a huge thank you to anyone who's ever read one of my fics, left kudos or dropped a comment. Whoever and wherever you are, you made my day!

And look, I ain't delusional. I know that calling myself a small fish in the fandom would be too generous. But I'm fine with that - because I'm genuinely enjoying writing again and that's what matters most to me. Even though I've also rediscovered how stressful writing can be (🙂🙂🙂) when it comes down to it, there's joy and happiness in my life that wasn't there last year and that's all because I started writing again. And because some lovely folks here decided to let me know they liked what I was throwing out there. The years have not been kind to ol' Sammy Sam-Sam and this year was no exception, but getting to forget about all that shit and write my silly little wrestling fanfiction has been a great distraction and a comfort through this whole year.

So...yeah. Thanks to everyone who's ever commented on my writing, thanks to the folks who follow me on here (I don't know how you manage that though, I'm such an annoying bitch, aren't you sick of me yet?) and thanks to anyone who I've had the chance to chat with about writing and ships and whatever silly little ideas pop into my head (any of y'all feel free to message me at any time, I am always down to blab about whatever blorbos/ideas take your fancy). I'm hoping I can keep this train a-rollin' a little more next year. Still thinking back to when I started writing again, I made my new AO3 account expecting to write Dustjim only, but then I quickly decided I couldn't write those two well enough, and since then I've bounced around a bunch of different pairings, with a few rarepairs shoved in between for good measure. God only knows where my head will be at this time next year, LOL. I'd love to finally be able to attempt some of the bigger ideas I've been cooking up for a while now. Maybe I'll even write a proper multi-chapter fic? We'll see, but this bitch can dream, at least.

Rules:

Feel free to show whatever stats you have. Only want to show Ao3 stats? Rock on. Want to include some quantitative info instead of stats? Please do this. Want to change how yours is presented? Absolutely do that. Would rather eat glass than do this? Please do eat glass, I’ve heard it’s good for your gums.

I'm not going to tag anyone because I'm pretty sure everyone I know who writes has already been tagged? So if you're reading this and you haven't, go ahead and do it! By which I mean, eat glass. Eat all the glass that you want. Accidents happen in the dark.

[thatpunkmaximoff]

[Book 2 of 2]

Storyline: 5/5 Smut: 10/5

So, Hunting Adeline is definitely darker than Haunting Adeline, but that was a given from every review I read about this book. I was afraid I wasn't going to be able to read this book because these rape scenes greatly differ from those "rape" scenes in Haunting Adeline, but I ate this book up!

Yes, it's terrible that Adeline goes through everything she does. But I loved the way Zade handled everything and helped Adeline overcome her fears and trauma. I never thought I'd root for a stalker, but here I am rooting for Zade fuckin' Meadows lol.

Now go forth and read my thoughts as I read the book lmao:

So not a quick reunion. I’m already gonna hate it.

Day one of reading and I didn’t even last 3 pages. Not the book’s fault, it’s the inevitable storms heading my way. I’m nervous as fuck rn lol

Back to reading! Okay, so we’re back to having more letters at the end of the chapters. Who the fuck is Molly?

THE FUCKING SENATAOR’S WIFE IS WHO SET ZADE UP AND HAD ADELINE KIDNAPED?! FUCK THIS HOE!

Jay and Zade trying to call via their Bluetooth had me grinning like an idiot. *sighs* And now back to Adeline and whatever hell she’s going through.

Oh great. So the doctor’s a creep too.

I’m so glad Zade got to Daya and she’s okay. She’s gonna keep him in check on their hunt for Adeline, isn’t she?

And Adeline’s found another journal. Maybe this one will tell her how to escape.

Right off the bat, I don’t like Sydney.

..and there’s the first rape scene.

So what’s the deal with Rio? He’s so hot and cold. Do I like him? Or is he gonna prove to really be an asshole? I’m so confused.

Woo. Zade is PISSED.

And fuck Sydney! I hope Adeline kicks her ass.

She survived the Culling! But Sydney is up to something. I really hate this girl.

That’s right, Adeline. Don’t be a meek little mouse around Sydney. Show that bitch everything Zade has taught you.

Two months later. Fuckkkk.

Oh shit. Zade rescued Jillian and Gloria. They’ve told him about Adeline!

Holy shit! That’s my fucking girl! She killed Sydney and I’ve never been happier. And now Rio is helping her escape? Oh mama. I’m ready for this, although I have a bad feeling she’s gonna get caught.

THEY FOUND EACH OTHER! THEY’RE FUCKING REUNITED 😭

“I see you’re still creepy.” “Forever and always, baby.”

“Meadows, baby. Our last name is Meadows.” 😏

Omg. Sibby is back! 😂 And she was totally feeling that sexual tension between Zade and Adeline, and wanted in too lol

They found Francesca and Rocco! Fuck yes. Let the kidnappings and torture begin.

That fucking knife scene! Holy shit! And Adeline making him beg for a lick 🥵

Wow. Adeline was doing so well and then Xavier fucking sent her twenty steps back.

Oh. Oh damn. Zade took control and then Adeline took control.. and 💥 They really did that with a rose, huh 😂

Oh my fucking god. Zade making Adeline cum in front of Xavier 🤣 Fuck yes. He always wanted Adeline to moan his name, but she never did. She moaned for God. God equals Zade and now Xavier knows. He’s a jealous little bitch now.

Thank god those sick fucks are dead. Sibby playing frisbee with body parts and Zade having to search for them cracked me up.

And the re-opening of her scars and that bathtub scene. Holy shit. Why is all the weird stuff so fucking hot?

She told him she loved him!!!!

Oh damn. Her mom was shot 😬 And her dad’s being a dick.

Zade being a dick and telling Adeline he took out her IUD while fucking 😂

Claire finally got what was coming. Fuck yes.

Wait! Who the fuck is Kraven and how does he know Sibby?! You can’t do a three month time jump after that without explaining!!

And Sibby is gone. Aww.

Holy shit! They’re engaged!

Seriously?! It’s gonna end with a note from Rio?! I need more!!!!

[hwaslayer]

project: make you love me (jyh) | seven.

♣︎ spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: yunho can’t stand how you’re so wrapped up in the notorious campus fuckboy, park seonghwa. he would gladly love you the way you deserve, despite being shy, awkward and the complete opposite of seonghwa. thus, when he finds himself spending more time with you over literature reviews and random study sessions, he decides to take on the challenge to win you over.

—pairing: jeong yunho x f. reader x park seonghwa

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers/friends to lovers, college au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 4.4k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing, oc teaches yunho a few moves hehe, subtle flirting and small signs of affection, yunho meets oc's mom and sis! (coincidentally) lol, mingi being weird again due to his loyalty with hwa, yeosang encourages yunho to just go for it 😭

Yunho swings his keychain around his finger, letting out a breath as he makes his usual trek to the back parking lot. He's exhausted, and he can't wait to just plop onto his bed and do.. nothing.

As he approaches the gym, he hears the once-subtle music now getting louder and louder— though, the rest of campus is quiet, the parking lots are quiet, gym much emptier than usual. When he passes the dance studio window, he sees you alone. Your music is blasting, you're figuring out choreography and cleaning steps up. Yunho can't help but stare a bit until he realizes how odd he must look through the window. So, he diverts his attention and begins to walk on, afraid of ruining your me-time.

"Yunho!" He turns over his shoulder, seeing you leaning near the window screen. "Hey you!"

"Hey." He stops and takes a few steps closer to you.

"You were just gonna pass without saying hi? I've barely seen you all week." You pout, and Yunho thinks it's the cutest thing the world.

"I'm sorry, it's been quite the week. But, you looked too focused, I didn't wanna interrupt."

"Not even! I could use the distraction." You motion for him to come inside. "Come! Unless you have other plans, then don't let me be a bother." You chuckle.

"Alright, if you say so." Yunho laughs a bit and walks towards the front desk, tapping his student ID card on the reader before walking in. He hasn't been to the gym in a minute, mainly because of how swamped he's been with homework and projects. He quickly peeks into the basketball courts, seeing there's open gym going on for those who want to play volleyball. He catches a glimpse of Soobin and Seungmin joining your other friends in a game, Chaery nowhere to be found.

He finally turns down the hallway and finds the dance studio, seeing you continuing to rehearse with the music booming in the room. He steps inside and shuts the door behind him, standing off to the corner to let you finish off your thought process this time around. Your moves flow together, fluidly shifting from one movement to the other— Yunho thinks you're pure art, even if he's not witnessing the entire piece right now.

"You can sit if you want." You tell him as you jog over to your phone and lower the volume.

"What're you working on?"

"Finalizing a part of our piece for a competition coming up soon."

"Competition, hm?" Yunho sits against the glass with one leg propped up, arm hanging loosely over it. "Don't you have a performance tomorrow?"

"I do." You laugh. "But, we wanted to do something a little different for the competition. It's something we've performed before. Just changing a few things around."

"I see."

"Where were you coming from? Library?" He nods.

"My usual. Why aren't you taking a break and playing with your friends?"

"I'm terrible at volleyball, I'll just make them lose and they'll be mad." You giggle. "Chaery is having dinner with her parents. They came down to visit."

"Yeah, I didn't see her around."

"Mhm. She'll probably be back later tonight." You yawn and try to shake off the exhaustion slowly hitting you. "So.. are you coming tomorrow?" You shyly ask him and all Yunho does is stupidly shrug in response.

"I'll try." And he wishes he could take that back the moment it slips out. Because he really does wanna go. He's just not sure how comfortable he'll feel. But he does. He wants to support you and be there for you. You've been nothing but patient and incredibly sweet to him, it's the one thing he could do.

He doesn't do this, though.

He's not really sure how to?

Should he just say congrats after the performance and give you a hug [which might turn into an awkward one-handed hug because he is who he is]?

Should he buy some flowers?

Should he wait for you with the flowers?

Should he buy some for Chaery too so she doesn't feel left out or anything? Because don't you two come in a package deal?

God, it's been so long for him. And he feels so pathetic.

"You promise?" 

"Promise." 

"Fair enough." You smile. "I just need to go through this a few more times before calling it a night. I gotta teach it to the group."

"You're okay with me around? Isn't it a secret?" You nod.

"Of course. The piece isn't a secret." You tilt your head and giggle. "Actually. Can I teach you a few steps?" Yunho laughs, ears a bright red tint.

"Teach me? I don't know how to dance, Y/N."

"Everyone does, especially once they learn a few steps." You hold out your hand. "Please? It'll be simple and quick." He sighs a bit and stands, slowly walking over to you.

"I don't know. As long as you don't make fun of me."

"I won't." You take his hand and lead him to the center of the room. You watch as he stands tall next to you, shaking his head and slightly creating some distance.

"Wait, I don't know. I-I really don't think I can—"

"Yunho." You look up at him and hold his wrist gently. "Just a few. You're gonna do great. Trust me?" He swallows the lump in his throat before silently nodding, letting you take the lead on teaching him a simple 8 count. He follows along easily, and he learns quick. You're surprised Yunho has never had any dancing history because with the way he moves, you would've believed he had been pursuing it just like you— as a passion, a hobby. You repeat the 8-count a few more times with him before you're blasting the music and having him join along with you. He gets a bit more comfortable, letting you playfully hit him when he messes up on purpose and gives you a look. But, there are other times when he'd reach for your hands and try to prevent your hit— holding your hand and laughing along with you.

"I'm done, I'm done. I swear I'll do it right this time." You slightly whine, letting his hand go to get back into position.

"Yeah, you better."

"I'm not the one with a competition!"

"Still!" He laughs.

"Okay, okay. Jeez, I didn't think I was gonna workout today." He smiles, a soft pink tint coloring his cheeks. He gladly works through the steps once more before stepping out and letting you do your thing, watching off to the side. He crosses his arms and nods in acknowledgement, softly clapping his hands when you've stopped dancing.

"I don't know how this is gonna work."

"Y/N, you're doing great. Seriously. It'll turn out amazing. You have a bit of time, don't be so hard on yourself."

"You think so?" 

"You need to give yourself a lot more credit."

"Thank you, Yunho. Especially for letting me randomly teach you." He chuckles.

"It was fun, and I am honored." You giggle.

"Are you just going to head home?"

"Mhm. Be lazy. Think I can give myself that. Do you need a ride?" You shake your head.

"I'm here until Soobin and Seungmin finish."

"You sure you don't need a ride home?" 

"Positive. I should really finish this anyway." You giggle before softly hitting him on the chest. "Hope you got a good workout today."

"Kinda, yeah. Probably won't do that for awhile."

"Have a good night, Yunho." You look up at him so sweetly that Yunho feels his knees buckle a bit. Even under the dim studio light, he finds you so, so pretty.

"Will you.. text me when you get home?" He scratches at his temple, unsure if he's coming off needy. 

"Of course."

"Okay." Is all he says before grabbing his things, holding his keys in his hands. "Have a good night, Y/N. Don't practice too hard."

"I'll try not to." Yunho gives you a small nod before walking out of the studio. He's not sure if he'd ever say this out loud, but he feels something in his chest when he hears the door shut behind him— now creating a barrier between you and him. He pauses for a second, pondering if he should just sit in the studio and get more work done while you practiced, but he shakes it off and continues walking out of the gym facility.

No.

He was here to help you with literature. He didn't think it'd be anything outside of that. So no, he can't be too much for you right away. He doesn't want to be.

When Yunho gets home, Yeosang is in the kitchen making himself some food. Yunho greets him and brushes past to grab a cold bottle of unsweetened green tea from the fridge.

"Did you just finish from the library?"

"Kinda, yeah." Yunho takes a quick sip. "I, uh, saw Y/N while she was practicing so I hung out in there for a bit." 

"Cute. She has another performance tomorrow, right?"

"Mhm, but she was practicing for their competition coming up soon."

"Shouldn't she be taking a break for the performance tomorrow?" Yunho shrugs.

"Her friends are playing volleyball." Yeosang chuckles.

"Are you going to go tomorrow?"

"Hm, I think so. I don't know."

"You should."

"Mm, I don't really go to these things." 

"You can do one night for Y/N." Yunho nods.

"Yeah, I guess so. I probably will." He sighs. "I wanted to get her some flowers but I didn't wanna be too much."

"What? No. You wouldn't be. She'll appreciate that gesture."

"Maybe." Yunho lets out a small, pathetic laugh. He is definitely overthinking, and Yeosang is very aware.

"Let me know how it goes." 

"Yup." Yunho bids him farewell before settling in his room.

The next day comes quick, and it's a blur for your team. You get to the auditorium bright and early, instantly doing a dry rehearsal and marking the stage before putting on some stage makeup and rehearsing with your performance outfit. It's been so busy that you haven't really gotten a chance to text Yunho back after his goodmorning text—

you: hi yunho, goodmorning! it's gonna be super busy today so i'm sorry if i don't text back right away. i hope i'll see you later, i'll be looking out for you in the crowd. ☺️

yunho: aw, morning! no worries, goodluck today 😊 you'll kill it!

Meanwhile, Yunho heads to the front of the building, quickly buying a ticket before heading indoors. Right before he enters the auditorium, he sees single roses being sold near the far right entrance of the auditorium. Yunho thinks to himself for a moment, wondering if it's a good idea to do this or not. He already settled on the fact that he wouldn't— just to play it safe. But somehow, he feels like this is a sign that he should do it.

Fuck it.

He lets out a breath before he maneuvers through the crowd, instantly handing the seller some cash. He quickly thanks her and makes his way inside, finding a seat in the middle— close enough to see you, but far enough to see the entire stage. He wants to make sure he sees your friends, and he wants to see the piece in its entirety. He lets out a breath, settling into the [uncomfy] chair with the program in his hand.

He flips through the page, reading through the various performances, seeing your group come up towards the end. Typically, he'd hate to sit through all of this. But, he knows you'd really appreciate him staying and supporting the entire show. 

So, he sits. He waits. He supports.

But, he's eager to see you. He's eager to see you kill it on stage because he knows you will. 

In the next 15 minutes or so, the lights dim in the auditorium, and the MC is beginning to kick off the night with a brief introduction, followed by the meaning behind tonight's concert and what it will be supporting. It takes off with a quick, and intense start— another dance group guesting and beginning the show.

Afterwards, it follows with some singing. A band playing their instruments. Traditional, cultural dancing. Solo stages.

Until the lights shine down on the stage, and he finally spots you, Chaery, your friends. You all hold your poses until the music starts playing loudly in the auditorium, surround sound speakers booming in their corners. You all start off strong, facial expressions properly conveying the intensity of the piece. It splits off into an all-girls piece, before the boys find their way in and it becomes one. All of your moves are pristine and sharp, and the entire piece flows cohesively. Yunho is in awe, and he's not even sure where to look first. 

He regrets not having watched you earlier. 

The piece is 5 minutes, but Yunho feels like it goes by way too quickly for his liking. The last bits to close the piece out makes the audience roar in screams and yells just as the lights dim and your figures are hurrying off the stage. Yunho claps, smiling big and wide after; feeling the adrenaline and excitement that is being shared amongst the entire room right now. 

You killed it out there.

Yunho feels proud of you, and he's glad he got to see you on stage.

When the show closes out, everyone stands and begins to make their way out of the auditorium. Yunho matches the slow pace of the crowd as everyone continues to walk out and wait for their loved ones to come to the lobby. Yunho feels like he should wait here for you to arrive, but he sees a group of people push through the hallway doors on the right— screams erupting from the other side. Before he can even think about it, his feet are already taking him to the hallway, hoping he can find you there.

And luckily for him, he does. 

He smiles to himself when he sees you down the hallway; fresh off the stage and looking beautiful as ever. A few people come to greet you and hug you, praising you and your friends for the great performance. Yunho keeps his hands behind his back as he walks closer, your eyes landing on him from past your friend's shoulder.

"Yunho!" You squeal, running to him. "You actually made it!"

"I did." He smiles. 

"Sorry, I'm gross and sweaty."

"You look good, Y/N."

"Are you lying?" He laughs and shakes his head.

"No, never that." He shifts. "I.. have something for you?" He says in a cute, questioning tone just as he pulls out a single rose from behind his back. "You did great out there." He smiles at you, a subtle rose-tint growing on his cheeks.

"Yunho." You look at him, and at first, he's not really sure if he fucked up already. But, before he could let his thoughts consume him, you wrap your arms around his neck and hug him tightly. "You're so sweet. Thank you." Yunho takes you in before wrapping an arm around you. He does wrap the one arm around you tightly though, giving you a gentle squeeze before pulling away.

"Where's mine?!" Chaery playfully questions, but Yunho chuckles a bit and pulls out another rose from behind his back. He genuinely wanted to buy her one since she was your bestfriend. Chaery has always been nice to him, and it's the least he could do to show his appreciation for that, and for always taking care of you. Chaery gasps, pouting while taking the flower from Yunho's hand. "Oh my god, I was totally just kidding. You're so sweet, Yunho. Thank you." She pouts.

"It's nothing. You guys did really great up there." Yunho shifts his weight from one foot to another before digging his hands into his pockets.

"He is so cute, please Y/N." She turns to you and whines. "Please snatch him up."

"Can you quit?' You whisper harshly before Yunho is greeting Soobin and Seungmin, praising them for the successful piece. Suddenly, your mom and your sister come rushing through with a big bouquet in hand, your mom pulling you into a big bear hug.

"That piece was amazing! You guys did great!" Your mom praises you with a smile, brushing your hair out of your face before moving onto Chaery.

"Proud of you as always." Your older sister hands you the bouquet, eyeing the rose already in your hand. Her eyes go to you, Yunho's [who is back to observing on the side], then back to you. "I see you got a rose already?"

"Oh, uh." You shyly chuckle and tuck your flowers close to your chest. "This is Yunho. Yunho, my mom, my sister Leia."

"It's nice to meet you." Yunho swallows the lump in his throat, feeling like the world is caving in on him right at this moment. He should've expected your mom and sister to be here, why wouldn't they be? He just didn't expect to be introduced. Jesus Christ, Yunho. Get it together.

"A very tall and handsome one." Your mom says, making your sister and Chaery giggle. "It's nice to meet you, Yunho." She smiles at him.

"My parents wanna grab something to eat with everyone. Shall we get going?" Soobin comes towards you, your family and Chaery. You all nod, giving leverage for your mom, sister and Chaery to shift their attention towards him, Seungmin and the rest of the dance team. Yunho slowly steps closer to you again, a small, toothless smile on his face.

"Gonna go eat?"

"Mhm. You should join us!" He shakes his head.

"You should enjoy your dinner with your family and friends." You give him a tiny smile of acknowledgment.

"Thank you for coming, Yunho. Seriously." You chuckle and nod before raising the rose up. "And for this. I'll make sure to take really good care of it."

"Good." He tilts his head and quickly swipes his tongue over his lips. "Have a good dinner."

"I will. You too? Get something to eat, okay?" You gently set the flowers down before wrapping your arms around his neck for another quick hug. This time, Yunho can successfully wrap his arms around your waist and pull you close properly. He smells like.. woody sage, with a mix of his laundry detergent. You slowly pull away, keeping your gaze on him while subtly biting on your bottom lip. "I'll text you later."

"Okay." Is all he responds with. You find it hard to pull yourself away from him, like some kind of force that wants to keep yourself attached to him; a force that keeps you wanting more from Yunho. But, you're pulled out of your thoughts when Chaery yells your name, begging for you to hurry so everyone could leave.

So, you catch up with your friends, your family; happily holding your flowers on the way out, while Yunho's left here, wondering what to do.

Suddenly feeling like he's alone, like he's missing you even though you've only left him a few seconds ago.

Why the fuck is he feeling this way already?

He shakes it off and leaves, brushing through the people that are still crowding around the front of the auditorium. He has to snake past a few, feeling awkward at the random contact he has to make just to get by—

"Ayo!" He hears a familiar voice call out just as he's made it through the crowd. He stops and turns over his shoulder, spotting Mingi coming towards him. "Dude, I didn't know you were coming."

"Uh, yeah." He gives Mingi a dap. Looking past Mingi's shoulder, he sees Seonghwa and San looking over— probably talking shit about him as they speak. To each their own. Yunho could really care less what Seonghwa thinks about him. He must be livid over you calling it quits, but who else is there to blame for that? He didn't cherish you while he had you, now he feels like he has the right to be upset? He feels like he has the right to be mad at you, at Yunho?

Please.

"Were you here the entire time?" Mingi asks.

"Yeah, I told Y/N I'd come to watch."

"Oh, that's cool." Mingi just nods, but Yunho knows he's thinking about other stuff. Probably his loyalty to Seonghwa, how much he wants to tell him not to pursue you while Seonghwa is sulking. Shit like that. "Yeah, we dropped by to catch their performance too. It was sick."

"Yup, they were great. She did great." Yunho responds, hoping to egg Mingi on in one way or another. If he wants to ask, he should just ask. Lo and behold:

"Cute. So, is that a thing now?"

"Odd question considering Seonghwa has feelings for her." Yunho turns it around on him since, you know, dude tried to talk him out of it the last time they spoke.

"They called it quits. I was assuming it was because of you. Hwa's been all sulky about it." Yunho chuckles a bit hearing the way that it was phrased. They.

"Hm." Yunho hums, no longer wanting to entertain this any further. They could keep guessing all the want, Yunho could really care less about Seonghwa and his feelings. "Anyway, I need to head out. Catch you later?"

"Hop on Valorant tonight!" Mingi easily switches the topic just as Yunho is about to turn on his heel and walk the hell away.

"Maybe. We'll see." Yunho gives him one last nod before walking off to his car. Mingi heads back to his friends, greeting a few more people on the way over. 

"I'll never understand why you're friends with him." Seonghwa furrows his brows at him and shakes his head.

"He's cool people." Mingi shrugs, unsure of how else to respond. Mingi really did enjoy being friends with Yunho. They don't talk too often, and their conversations aren't typically heavy or incredibly insightful, but Mingi likes the good vibes he gets from Yunho. He's genuine and he's real, and Mingi knows that's hard to find over the years. Don't get him wrong; he feels the same with Seonghwa and San. They mainly have more of the same interests as Mingi does, which is why they're stuck to each other like glue. They like partying and going out, they like drinking. Getting into wild shit from time to time. You know how it goes.

Overall, Mingi still respects Yunho, and he finds comfort in their friendship. It's different from the rest.

Yunho's drive home is quiet, but pleasant. OG Heartthrob by Majid Jordan comes up on the rotation, and he finds himself lowly singing along. His thoughts start wandering over to you, smiling a bit to himself like a dumbass when he remembers how happy you looked on stage. How happy you looked seeing him. How happy you looked when he gave you the rose.

You look good happy.

And Yunho loves being the reason you're happy. 

He kinda wishes he could keep being the reason you're happy.

He kinda misses you.

But, he shakes off the thoughts when he pulls into the lot and passes your building. He shouldn't be jumping to conclusions, no. For all he knows, you're probably just being incredibly nice to him, and you're probably still trying to find the right words to let him down easily.

You probably wouldn't feel the same way as him.

Yunho lets out a sigh when he pulls into his usual spot, sitting in the driver's seat for a minute even though the car is set to park. He's so torn about this. Because as much as he wants to say it out loud, he's afraid to.

"How'd it go?" Yunho hears as soon as he steps through the door. To his surprise, it's another night when Yeosang is sitting on the couch, indulging in a show. He's eating some takeout laid out on the coffee table in front of him while Yunho sets his things aside.

"Good. They did really good." 

"I've seen a bit of a performance before. They are pretty good." Yeosang looks over at him as Yunho leans near the patio door, trying to make sense of the show Yeosang has on.

"Mhm."

"How come you aren't hanging out?"

"She's eating with the team and their families. I actually met her mom and sister earlier." Yeosang's eyes widen a bit.

"No shit?" Yeosang smirks. "That's serious."

"What do you mean?" Yunho chuckles confusingly. "People meet family members all the time."

"Yeah, but you know. I always feel like people get introduced if they mean something to the person." Yunho cocks a brow up, listening to Yeosang's reasoning. He can be quite the person, but Yunho does enjoy their conversations when they come up. "She didn't have to introduce you. But, cause you mean something to her, she did."

"Uh, that or maybe just cause her sister noticed the rose I bought her?"

"My guy." Yeosang smiles and shifts topics. "You did it?"

"I wanted to." Yunho shrugs.

"When are you hanging out with her next?"

"She invited me to this little movie night thing they're doing soon."

"Honestly, I say go for it."

"Go for what?"

"Y/N."

"She just ended things with Seonghwa."

"Okay, but that wasn't even considered anything in my very honest opinion. Just a good girl who got wrapped into a dude's schemes. Nothing more, nothing less." Yeosang looks at him. "I think she likes you too."

"I never said—" Yeosang rolls his eyes.

"You didn't have to. I can see it. And by the sounds of it, you seem to make her genuinely happy. She wants you around, she wants to hang out. She enjoys having you around. Don't skip on the chance." Yeosang stands and stretches. "Seonghwa's loss. It's not your problem." Yunho quietly nods.

"Thanks."

"Yup." Yeosang switches the TV off. "Anyway, I gotta finish some stuff before I call it a night."

"Not hopping on League tonight?"

"Nah. For once." Yeosang chuckles and walks off to his room, gently shutting the door behind him. Yunho pushes himself off of the wall and tidies up in the living room a bit before walking into his own room. He really doesn't find himself getting hungry right now, and feels like he could just use this time to be lazy— catch up on a few shows or movies he wanted to watch. He grabs his pajamas and heads to the bathroom to get freshened up and ready for bed, shutting off the lights in the hallway before retreating into his room for the night. He slips himself under the covers, sheets messily pulled up to his chest. He scrolls through his phone, wondering if he should check up on you or let you know that he'll be here watching a movie until you're home.

He doesn't wanna do too much, but he just misses your company. 

You.

Yeosang is right.

He should go for it.

Yunho has given himself enough time to move on and work on himself over the years. In the end, he does wanna be the reason why you smile. He does wanna be the reason why you're happy.

♣︎ taglist: @s-nsanshine @soupbinlily @tyongff-ff @jiminiscricket @g1g1l @staytinyinmybpack @woomyteez @gfksz @bitchwhytho @savluvsmingi @thisisntmyrightera @hyukssunflower @miriamxsworld @tmtxtf @kuromibabe04 @lmnhead @carrietwrites @tournesol155 @persphonesorchid @txt-yaomi @marsattacks @mxnsxngie @h-nji @mundayoonimnida @jalapeno-princess @nakiiko @asjkdk @kunikku @idkwgoh @kyeos4ng @agust-d2 @araknoid @bintific @primoppang

[kingofbodyrolls]

I haven’t read it yet because I was at work, but I read your notes to keep my eyes busy and saw you said your husband beta read it which is so funny to me.

Could I request a non spoiler-y review from the big man himself? (Your husband) how many stars on GoodReads would you give author-nim.

Hi anon!

Don’t worry, it will be there whenever you have the time to read it! And yeah, he did! It was actually his first time reading one of my fanfictions (he has read some of my original none-smut stories before though). I’ve been asking him for a long time to read some smut, and he said that if he could critique it, he would read it 🤭

I asked him if he wanted to make a review, but he said no 😢 But he did give it a GoodReads rating, which is 4 (he said if he could give it 3.5 he could). I can tell you what he said to me after, because I did ask him what he thought, but it wasn’t really a cohesive review.

He was really looking much more for the grammar (which I’m horrible at to be honest). He has studied linguistics (though not in English (English is not my first language lol)), so he was nitpicking a lot (it actually gave me so much anxiety). In terms of the story, he said he found it really interesting, he commented on the reading experience (especially in the beginning, so I fixed some stuff there). He was very surprised by the smut 😂 It was his first time reading smut in a story, and he got really flustered and he said it felt weird reading it, but that it was really good. (and then I’m over here feeling that it sucked because I didn’t pay much attention to the smut as I usually do). Overall, he liked the story, said that he might read another if it wasn’t as long and if it had less smut in it 🤣

Also— he doesn’t really read fiction anymore, and he has never read a fanfic before. But I’m very happy he read it, even though it did give me a lot of anxiety, we were also able to laugh about it, because he had some very funny comments throughout and felt sad for the reader 🥹

Thank you so much anon!

For sending in the ask. I hope you have a happy reading when you get to it and have a lovely day/night 🫶✨💜

[fleshthatfalls]

𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖞 𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝖑𝖎𝖆𝖗 -- 𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖔𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖚𝖘 𝖘𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖝 𝖔𝖈, 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 1

♡ - hi hi hi everyone ! it's of great excitement to announce that i've finally completed my first coryo x victor! oc fic. after several months in the making (it's long af, i sowwy) this is my final product ! i haven't written much in well over several years, so please bear with me, lol. henceforth, i do intend on making this a series starring snow and his little bitchy girl with fics centered around a variety of stages and happenings within the relationship. since tumblr felt the need to implement shitty character limits, the smut will be in a part 2 that i'll be posting shortly. i additionally have a prologue prepared and will be fleshing out a masterlist in due time, so if you find yourself vibing with our questionable couple, i'd be more than happy to add you to a future taglist ! to conclude, i do hope you all come to enjoy my writing (and smut, as what coriolanus snow fic would be complete without it) and i'm immensely grateful for any and all likes and reblogs !

♡ - warnings ; set eight months after lola's victory in the 12th hunger games, loads of glee scene refrences, lola is essentially just santana but bi and more fucked up, mentions of drugs

Cool, stagnant air encompassed the ostentatious, albeit agreeable setting of the sitting room, belonging to none other than Coriolanus Snow, newly appointed President of Panem. Flickers from the vivid glow of the fireplace illuminated the warm tan of Lola's face, as she perched on the upholstery of a posh settee occupying the space. "I'm telling you, Tigris, that Lysandre character is a fucking psycho." Lysandre. Tigris's fresh-faced, undergrown cretin of a boyfriend. The young victor shifted, her intense brown, borderline black irises fastening on Tigris Snow- Dolores's former stylist and cherished companion. The woman's benevolence was never lost on Lola, and where the majority of Coriolanus's personnel failed to apprehend was the absence of insults noted in his wife's exchanges with the eldest Snow. An Achilles heel accounted for such inability, the prospect of throwing even the most minimal of shade to Tigris chilled the blood in Lola's veins.

"Here we go again." Tigris's voice drifted airily, forsaking the topic in favor of reviewing some pretentious, page-length fashion article of Capitol Couture.

"Listen. When I first met him, totally thought he was weird. He smelled all talcomy like an old doll and then he said I wasn't a 'real' Capitolite until I had my first makeover and I was like, what does that even mean, who are you?" Onyx stilettos clinked sharply against the floor tiling as the victor stood, eyes rolling reflexively and narrowing into a glare. "Who, Lysandre? He's a sweetheart." The statuesque blonde refuted with what almost sounded to be a rehearsed aplomb. "That's what I told myself. I said so what if he's completely hairless and made out of plastic, i'm going to look past the fact that he probably has a disgusting pornstar landing strip. I'm going to give him a chance, but then I found this- twelve thousand Panem dollars in cash." A wallet engraved with incriminating initials was tugged from Lola's bra, it's exterior tinged a dubious crimson. Stillness recircled the room, palpable tension virtually emanating off of Tigris below her.

"And when did you find that?" By now, the blonde's magazine was promptly flung aside. "When I was rooting through all of the pockets and drawers in this mansion." Came Mrs. Snow's clipped response, all too eerily indistinguishable from her own husband's. "Wait..what- Lola, you went through all of our stuff?" Golden-hued pupils locked with Dolores's. "Yeah, that's a thing I do." Yet another offhand explanation she supplied. "It's completely unacceptable!" Snapped an exasperated Tigris, the blonde's demeanor descending into one of what Lola would categorize as atypical.

In a flash of movement, Tigris sprung from her seat, impelling the victor to retract backwards. "Okay. I like how you always pretend to be so accepting about everything, but when your friend who lives here, mind you, goes through all of your stuff, you're offended?" but Tigris advanced with a look of dismay, arms folded stiffly across her front. "Just because he keeps money on him doesn't make him a psycho!"

"That's what I thought, right? Who cares if he's terrified of flames, because if I were made of plastic I'd be scared of alot of things too. Open flames, barbeques, but then I found this." A device bearing a resemblance to recorders commonly programmed into the Jabberjays of the Capitol's War department. "What, a remote?" Questioned Tigris, reluctantly allowing herself to examine said appliance that dangled between Lola's fingers, the sheen of polished violet tips catching the gleam of dusk filtering along the windowpane.

"This is a pager, my friend. And there's only one type of person in this world that carries both cash and a pager- Lysandre is a morphling dealer." She finished, inwardly soaking up the hubris that bounced around in her mind.

"He's not a morphling dealer, please, okay? It's snowing outside, so he's likely stranded somewhere. Do you want me to call him?" Okay, I'll prove it to you." No answer was given in the seconds Tigris took to make her way to Coryo's desk, clenched hands hastily removing a telephone from it's designation on the hardwood. Fingertips flew across the dialpad, grasping the reciever to her ear. The opposing line crackled to life. "Hey Tigris, what's going on?" With a pointed glance given to Dolores, the stylist relaxed her grip. "Hey, sweetheart. Where are you?" A playing card was plucked from a deck strewn amid the desk's surface as Lola maneuvered to it's edge, using the card to mimic a chopping motion. "Uh, all of the trains are closed so I'm stuck at my friend's house for the time being." The brisk reply that left the recieving line only prompted the victor to slant over, with one fingertip to the side of her nose, 'snorting' a line of morphling- glossed lips curving into a wild grin.

"You remember Festus, right?" Lola could easily see the endeavored glower darting behind her friend's eyes. "Well I miss you." Said playing card fell to the floor, and as Tigris crouched downward to retrieve it, Lola's petty mockery concluded with a blown, widening of her pupils. "Hey listen. I've gotta go, but I will be back as soon as I can." The abrupt level of silence as the line clicked off had Dolores eyerolling to the skies. "See? There you go!" All too plainly an recited answer, duh ! No exchanges continued as  the still ambience encirled the white room once again, unprompted.

[fairydares]

Chasing Tails Chapter Three: Trees and...

AO3 Link; fanfiction.net link ; Chapter 1 on here (you can find the “back of the book”-type summary here or at one of the other links)

Chapter Summary: Natsu finds a tree. Nashi finds Natsu. (Happy voice) And then...!

Author’s Notes:

First and foremost: Chapter 3 took forever for me to publish. Oops.

I genuinely expected zero people to read this, so when it actually got some hits, and I even got kudos, comments, reviews, reblogs, likes, and favorites (Thanks so much! You have no idea how much you guys helped!) I had an, “oh, shit” moment where I realized I actually care about making this story halfway decent. A lot of the work I did went to outlining and research (even though most of the research will be blatantly ignored lol). I hope it will pay off and allow me to publish chapters more frequently, but I have also been busy.

NOW. onto notes that are actually important to the story:

Initially, Layla’s earthbound last name was “Turner.” It was supposed to be her last foster family’s surname. However, I edited and changed it to O’Neil because I realized that made more sense. Sorry for any confusion. I went back and edited a couple other details, too, but nothing too big.

For anyone waiting for smut/lemons, I’m going to try to label chapters with lemons (at least on AO3). We’ll see how that goes. Nothing this chapter.

*Content Warnings:

Almost everything to do with Nashi’s upbringing on Our Earth is a very inaccurate portrayal of CPS, foster care, and the police. I didn’t bother doing deep research on those things because it’s only vaguely relevant to most of the story. Please criticize cops and the failings of the foster care system, just not on the basis of this fic.

Also: Drug & Alcohol abuse mentions; swearing; graphic violence; nausea & puke mentions; ignorant ableism (mostly by Nashi/Layla, whose top personality trait ATM is “just wrong” but still); bullying mentions; death mentions (not any OC’s); discussions of sex.

tbh, most of that’s gonna be standard fare for this fic.

*Tumblr-Specific Tip: I recommend scrolling to the bottom and reading the footnotes first. That way, you won’t need to scroll all over the place. I listed them all with context for this specific purpose.*

----------------------

“This tree is talkin’ to me!” […] “Yes, Great Tree!” - Natsu’s line, Episode 76, English dub [~2:45]

----------------------

“Oi, Mad Cow! If you don’t quit whining and drive faster, I’ll break your damn neck! You hear me?!”

The thick throat bobbed under Natsu’s forearm in response to the growled threat. “Y-yes,” came the hoarse choke. “But…it’s Mad Bull, not—“

“Like I care!” Natsu snarled, managing to hide his vehicular distress behind a scowl he fixed on the little mirror the big bastard’s eyes kept darting to. Sweat crawled down his temples.

It had taken mere minutes for his despair to burn into rage after Nashi left—and it didn’t even happen because of how badly their reunion had gone. The guy Nashi had just finished thrashing had been holding a weird-looking Mini-Comm to his ear as exited the same door she had, too distracted by his conversation to notice the pink-haired man curled wallowing on the ground amidst a scattering of untouched bills.

Natsu would barely have noticed him, either—if he hadn’t caught part of the asshole’s side of the conversation:

“—think I tried that?! The little freak was gone by the time I could sneak into the—yes, I’m fucking sure! How the hell could I miss her pink hair?!”

Natsu had stilled on the ground.

“—sure that’s the little bitch’s apartment building?…Well, whatever…don’t need an exact address, I’ll kick down every door in the damn place till she comes out if I have to, and make sure that whore regrets the day she ever—ARGGHH!”

The hulking man had bellowed in pain as he staggered from the Dragon Slayer’s sucker punch. His weird Min-Comm skidded across the ground, going totally silent as it audibly cracked against the ground.

“YOU’LL PAY FOR THAT, ASSHOLE!” the big man shouted, lunging.

Despite the brand new wave of near-paralyzing vertigo, it had been easy for Natsu to take him down. First, because the loser really was a huge waste of size and strength. Second, because of the rage which had driven him to his feet.

The world had both seared red and spun around him. In the back of his mind, he noted that the dizziness was almost definitely at least partly due to the fact that his fire was trying and failing to rise to the surface. Every attempt at using his Magic in this world, so far, had resulted in shattering dizziness. He didn’t worry about it too much. He wouldn’t have been able to control his Magic, anyway—not when he was this pissed.

After easily slamming the man to the ground, Natsu yanked the bastard’s arm across his back until it trembled on the verge of breaking or (even more likely) dislocating.

“I know I didn’t just hear you call my daughter a whore, you bastard!” he’d hissed, pulling the massive arm an inch further back, barely refraining from ripping it off.

“D-daughter!? You’re—?”

“SHUT UP!”

Natsu had garroted the freak’s throat with his free arm and chuckled darkly when he spluttered and gagged. He’d thought quickly, fighting his ongoing dizziness for clarity.

“Right. You’re going to take me to Nashi’s apartment. Now! Then you’ll get lost and stay lost, you got it?!”

“N-Nashi? Who the fuck—?”

“THE GIRL YOU WERE JUST TALKING ABOUT, MORON!”

He’d been forced to accept a car ride—very reluctantly, giving in only when Mad Cow had spluttered that it would take them hours to walk to Nashi’s building.

Now, sitting in a moving car yet retaining the wherewithal to keep the guy’s throat locked under his arm from the back seat, he remained as creeped out as he’d been at the beginning of the journey. He’d always thought it would be awesome if he could ride in a vehicle without getting sick, that Wendy was basically a miracle-worker whenever she used Troia to help him out.

Now, under these circumstances, with his heightened senses stolen from him—Natsu found himself disturbed as hell by his ability to keep his wits in a dreaded moving Magical Vehicle.

It made an awful kind of sense, though. Whatever this world did to Magic sucked so much out of you, Dragon Slayers even had their motion sickness reduced. Maybe to the point they didn’t have it at all, eventually, if Nashi’s ability to ride a Magicycle was anything to go by.

In any case, Natsu’s nausea was still pretty bad—but not so bad he had to let go of Mad Cow, which was good because the asshole had already tried to attack him once, when Natsu was reluctantly oozing into the car. The bastard paid for it with a head slam that created a small crack in his Magical Vehicle’s window. As satisfying as his scream of pain and frustration had been, it had tested Natsu’s already overtaxed temper. He couldn’t hurt the guy badly enough that he couldn’t take Natsu where he needed to go, but boy did he want to.  

Sweat slithered down his face, stomach rocking persistently, but he managed to hide his strain until the car finally swished and jerked to a halt across the road from a medium-tall, crummy building. With a trembling, meaty hand, Mad Cow pushed the stick he’d been holding forward between the two front seats then quickly lifted his hands like a robber.

“W-we’re here…” he sniveled.

Natsu glanced around, eyes narrowing as they briefly latched onto the Magicycle gleaming under a street lamp before returning to meet Mad Cow’s beady gaze in the little mirror. “Right.” He pulled his arm tighter against the thick throat, relishing the distressed-sounding gargles he got in response and the way a Vulcan-ish hand started clawing uselessly at his arm. “If you even think of laying a hand on my daughter again, I’ll flay you alive! You got that?!”

Natsu had to let up on Mad Cow’s throat just enough to hear the wheezed affirmative, wishing badly that he had his fire so he could brand this freak with the threat. There was something in the way those dark eyes gleamed and darted around that he didn’t trust.

But he didn’t have the option, and his stomach was rocking violently. The lump on Mad Cow’s head and the crack in his Magical Vehicle’s window would have to suffice. If he got any ideas about trying something, Natsu would be nearby to protect her, anyway.

“Good!” For the first time in living memory, Natsu was able to stagger right out of a Magical Vehicle and stay standing, albeit by the skin of his damn teeth. He scowled after the car as threateningly as he could as it roared away. Only after it had screeched around a corner did the Dragon Slayer double over to groan in agony.

After recovering, he stared up at the apartment building for a minute, somber and contemplative. So. This was where his daughter lived. Angry shouting emanated from broken windows, slurry arguments, violent threats, and the sounds of loud sex layered over each other. A man puked on the cracked bricks of the building’s side. From the dark alley of the other side, a pair of shiny eyes stared at him unblinkingly.

Lucy would have blown her top if she found out their daughter had been living in a place like this. Natsu couldn’t say the looks of the place was doing his blood pressure any favors, either.

Noting the location of the building, he’d hobbled off in search of food. As reluctant as he was to lose walk away from where Nashi was, passing out from hunger wasn’t going to help either of them. Fortunately, he’d thought to grab the money Nashi threw on the ground and shove it in his pocket just before ordering Mad Cow to make sure his Magic Vehicle didn’t shake too much. An order which had made the bastard splutter excuses about how “that was impossible!” and which he had not obeyed.

Natsu panicked slightly when he realized everything Nashi had given him only a couple hundred jewel-things. But when he found an open food stand (with wheels?! What sick bastard combined something so beloved with something so terrible?!) he sighed in relief upon reading the low prices. Jewel-whatevers went further here, obviously.

He proceeded to cheerfully order all the spiciest things on the menu until he was out of money. He wished it was Lucy or Mira’s cooking—and that it came with his usual side of fire, but the food was tasty enough. Nothing could could clear his head or perk him up like good grub. He felt much better as he hobbled away from the wheeled food stand, waving back at the beaming (and oddly weeping?) family talking excitedly in a language he didn’t understand.

Still, being clearheaded wasn’t as much fun as usual, at the moment. He brooded as he ambled back to the dumpy building, the truth sinking in like a rock in a pond.

Nashi didn’t believe him. Not just about the fact he was her dad, but about…anything. Hell, she didn’t even go by the name “Nashi.” Natsu could sort of start to understand how she’d come to be called “Layla”, seeing as it was her middle name. He worried about the specifics of the name change, though. Fairy Tail’s Strongest Team had had to use fake names on a few missions, mainly to infiltrate dangerous groups and take them down from inside.

Another guildmate who’d used fake identities in the past was Jellal (now the official Master of Fairy Tail’s Branch Guild, Crime Sorcière). Aside from playing Mystogan back when he’d been a fugitive, he’d done it mainly to prevent enemies from retaliating against Fairy Tail or his family. Then there was Mest, who Natsu was pretty sure still did spy things for the guild, but thankfully didn’t manipulate his own memories any more. None of the reasons he could think of for why Nashi might be hiding behind an alias made him feel too good, especially after his encounter with Mad Cow.

Even more concerning was the fact that Magic didn’t exist here. That you were considered insane if you mentioned it at all. Even Nashi, one of only two born Dragon Slayers in history, thought so. What the hell was he even supposed to do with that?! He couldn’t even protect her from whatever had forced her to take the name “Layla.”

He stopped in front of her apartment building and scowled up at it for the second time, struggling to think straight enough to come up with a plan with how physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted he was.

It was supposed to be simple: find Nashi and everyone else who vanished into those portals, then bring them home. Since the day they all vanished, that had been his main goal. Hell, it was the self-appointed mission of pretty much all the Mages left in Fiore—most of whom had also lost at least one person close to them to the mysterious portals which erupted across the country. Natsu had achieved the first part of the mission only for Nashi herself to become a new obstacle. In every possible way, he was lost.

His head felt like it was going to split. The pain made it even harder to think clearly. But standing there, Natsu did manage to draw one important yet unfortunate conclusion: kicking down the door to his daughter’s apartment building and yelling her name till he found her was almost certainly a bad idea.

He sulked at the realization. That was exactly what he wanted to do. Patience had never been his strong suit, and he was barely clinging to it at all after finding his daughter only to immediately learn she was in danger and living in a shit-hole. It was only what wisdom he’d gained as a grown man, a husband, and a father that allowed him to accept all he was likely to get from chasing her down again tonight was another kick—not to mention a lower chance of ultimately convincing her he was her dad. Something he had no chance of figuring out how to do when he was this tired and frayed.

Eventually, reluctantly, he headed to the park across the street from her house.

Or, uh, maybe a park? he wondered, eyeing all the dirty, bedraggled people curled up on benches or over the grass. Maybe travelers of some kind, seeing as some of them were in tents not too unlike the one he and Lucy had started bringing on missions after they’d started getting frisky. So long ago, now, but he could remember like it was yesterday.

He chuckled to himself at the thought and suffered the wave of ensuing (decidedly less-than-pure) homesickness. The breeze cooled Natsu’s skin pleasantly as he scanned for a good spot to rest for the night, quickly spotting a tree with wide branches.

He didn’t particularly like dozing in trees, preferring to spread out and/or cuddle Lucy as much as possible. But being able to was a skill that came in handy as a Mage—especially for S-Class missions that required initial reconnaissance.

Besides. In terms of this “mission”, the tree’s largest branch also happened to overlook Nashi’s apartment building. Even from here, Natsu could see her Magicycle gleaming beneath its street lamp, well in-sight of the tree branch he had his eye on. From there, he could watch over her.

“Oi, watch it!” someone snapped when he tripped over them on his way over to the tree.

“Oops, sorry! My bad, man!”

The tree bark was merciless against his palms. He grimaced at the trouble his knee gave him going up and grunted as he pulled himself onto the wide branch.

“This sucks,” he grumbled, shaking out his arms and glaring at his bloody, dirty knuckles. An entire lifetime of training dedicated to both his Magic and his body. Now he couldn’t even punch a couple people without exposing bone, could barely climb to the lowest branch of a damn tree. He wondered idly if this is how Loke felt when he’d remained on Earthland for such a long time.

He wondered how Nashi must have felt, when she landed here. How hard it must have been for her. At least she hadn’t been all alone. Even if Harley couldn’t fly, now, Nashi had confirmed they’d been together. The thought provided a sliver of comfort.

He settled his back against the trunk and peered out over his left shoulder, pleased he’d been right: from the perch he’d found, he had a clear view of Nashi’s Magicycle and apartment building perfectly. The nearly empty road between them sat like a dark and eerily still, silent river far below. Which apartment was hers? Could she look back at him, if she stood at a window?

“I’m keeping my promise,” he vowed softly, staring at the apartment building. “No matter what, I’m taking you home, Nashi.” He sniffled a bit, swiping the tears from his cheeks before they could wet his smiling lips.

Natsu crossed his arms behind his head and fell into a rather easy sleep, considering the bruises and aches on his weakened body.

----------------------

Thud!

 She fell back to the ground with a cry of surprise and pain. A small one—the squeaky cry of a child no older than five. Frustrated tears gathered in her eyes. She groaned, propping her elbows beneath her and squeezing warm dirt between her fingers.

 A huff met her ears, and she lifted her eyes to focus on the person strutting towards her. It wasn’t until he stopped right in front of her, blocking the sun with his head, that she could make him out. A scowling boy. Bigger than her, older, with hair the color of midnight.

 It was when she noticed the edges of his form shimmering under the sun that Layla realized she was dreaming.

 It had been a while since she’d had this dream…

 The bright scent of fire and the smell of coming rain hung strong in her nostrils, so sharp they were breathtaking. So sharp they kept her in the dream despite her awareness of it. The combination of scents was inexplicably comforting. Familiar.

 The boy crossed his arms over his bare chest, grunting irritably. “Would you quit?! Jeez! How many times have I told you to quit following me around, ya damn pest!?”

 “Too bad!” she growled, still trying to get up. Her arms and legs weighed about a thousand pounds, and she wound up flumping backwards with a groan. “I-I’m gonna beat you, I swear!”

He rolled his eyes. “You mean like you said you were gonna yesterday? And the day before yesterday? And the day before that? And then also the—“

 “Shut up!” Her cheeks burned. “Today’s gonna be different!

 “You get that I’m, like, way older than you, right?”

 “So what?!”

 “So I’m bigger and stronger, that’s what!”

 She groaned, pushed again. Once more, she fell. This time her head thumped against the dirt.

 Concern peeked through the boy’s scowl, his arms dropping back to his sides. “Oi! Take it easy for once, would you?”

She ignored him. “Get up!” she growled, fighting back tears of frustration. “I always get back up!”  Moving her legs was like swimming through sand. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get them under herself. Finally, her frustration boiled over, and she stabbed a finger at the boy. “GET UP!”

 “YOU’RE THE ONE THAT’S ON THE GROUND!” [*1]

 He took a couple deep breaths. However, it became clear his efforts to calm himself didn’t work when he exploded, “Why do you wanna beat me so bad anyway, huh?! I mean, the hell’d I ever do to you?!”

“It’s not that!” she groaned, still pushing. “It’s not like you did anything! I wanna beat you because…because you’re so strong! If I wanna be the best, I can’t waste time fighting a bunch of babies! If I wanna be the best, I gotta be able to beat the best!”

 She could feel his gaze on her as she finally managed to push herself to her hands and knees, breathing heavily.

 He huffed again, and this time, the sound was less annoyed. “That’ll never happen,” he chuckled, then sighed. “Damn…you really are a pest, you know that, Nashi?”

 Just as she gritted her teeth, preparing to stand, a hand appeared in front of her face. She looked up in surprise to find the boy smiling down at her. The irritation in those strange, clear blue eyes—fringed in long, dark lashes—had softened into an exasperated sort of fondness. His outline was clearer, now. Less shimmery. “Well? Thought you said you were gonna beat me. Can’t do that from down there, can you?”

----------------------

It was when she took the sparkly Edward Cullen child’s hand that she woke up. Always then.

Awareness of the pain in her battered body slammed into her like the morning’s white light against her eyelids. Groaning, she flung an arm over her eyes only to hiss when the movement tugged at muscles stiffer than cold taffy. Harley stirred at Layla’s abrupt movement, a purr emanating into her side. Her joints throbbed as did the underside of her right jaw.

She could tell from the din of traffic floating through her closed window that it was past time to get up. She’d had an absolute shit of a time falling and staying asleep the previous night, but she couldn’t afford laziness now, when the Championship fight was less than a week out [*2].

Unlike most fighters of Layla’s caliber, she didn’t have top-notch sparring partners, a doctor, or a nutritionist at her beck and call. She didn’t have money to throw around so she could pay other people to make her the best; she didn’t even get paid anywhere near as much as the assholes she fought, whenever they won a fight. Hell, she didn’t even have one coach any more. She was the best because she woke up earlier, trained harder, gave more, and aimed higher. It was up to her. Her alone. It’d always been that way.

And yet…that morning, for a few longing minutes, she tried to let sleep keep her. She clung to the details of the years-forgotten dream, heart pinching inexplicably as they faded despite her best efforts, like smoke slipping through her fumbling fingers. The smell of fire and coming rain were swamped by the pungent odor of sweaty clothes and kitty litter. The echo of the boy’s voice slipped away beneath the sounds of traffic and the couple next door’s shouting.

Unfortunately, the one part of the dream she wanted to forget—the detail she’d stewed over all night—stuck to the front of her brain like it’d been superglued:

 “Damn…you really are a pest, you know that, Nashi?”

 …Nashi…

That damn name.

Rage Layla had been too tired to fully realize the previous night boiled up in her chest as “NASHI” screen-savered through her head, the memory of that homeless, pink-haired wingnut popping up between the floating words like a bad jump scare. She gripped her bedsheets with swollen, lilac knuckles and clenched her teeth so hard, they creaked like they were going to break.

Why? she fumed silently, struggling to swallow the hot, frustrated scream clawing its way up her throat—only because she didn’t want to scare Harley. Fucking WHY?

It was bad enough that she’d stewed over the bizarre encounter until the not-so-wee hours of morning, unable to sleep thanks to her shithead roommate and her “friends” making a bunch of sounds she’d never wanted to hear in her goddamn life! (Not to mention the conversation she overheard between two of Gracie’s creep-ass “guests” right outside her bedroom door, two guys egging each other to “get the pink-haired girl involved in the fun” until Gracie lured them back to the living room—lucky for them.) But when she’d finally started to drift off, she’d sworn not to think of the incident until after her fight four days from now.

That’s right...she thought grimly. Four days.

The Championship.

Her shot at redemption.

Her stomach churned. The frustrated scream climbed higher in her throat.

It was humiliating and infuriating enough that Pinky Wingnut had caught her off-guard so bad. For most of the night she’d raged at herself for engaging with some freak who was so clearly insane, let alone almost believing him, let alone asking him about…that name, a name she didn’t even give a shit about anymore. A name gathering dust in the bottom of the tattered, locked trunk across her room, right along with the police file it was tucked away in.

It felt like she’d had an embarrassing childhood toy she didn’t remember burying shoved into her arms without warning. And instead of throwing it back in the jerk’s face and telling him to fuck off, what had her stupid ass done? Asked him where he dug it up. Oh, and paid him for his trouble.

But no, she brooded, dropping her arm from her face and letting the light sear her eyes so that she could glare at the ceiling. Worse than the fact that she’d let him wobble her mentally and emotionally, worse than the fact she’d given him $250 she couldn’t really afford to hand out…worse than any of that was the bastard’s timing.  

The moments following her win had already been a shitshow, even if no one but her knew it. It’d been that way the whole past year, but last night—the semi-final fight—had definitely been the worst. The second Lee had thrown her away from Mad Fuck or whatever and she’d managed to pull herself out of “fight mode” to convince herself that yes, she’d actually won, her mind had eagerly jumped to her corner—only to remember it was empty, now. There was no one there. No strong, smirking older blonde boy or a tiny, old one-eyed man offering up one of his rare, proud smiles through his mustache.

Just a little bit of hope had kept her heart from sinking too far as she remembered that her friend from the system, Rose [*3], had promised to come out to watch her tonight.

The triumphant smile and pose had been a facade, one which she struggled more and more to keep up this past year. The effort had felt monumental while she strutted around the perimeter of the cage, heart warming a bit at the sight of some regular fans cheering from the front row, decked out in what must have been homemade merch with her name all over it, even as she remained desperate in her search for skin pink and slightly warped with an old burn; messy brown waves of hair; and large, dreamy hazel eyes in the crowd.

She never found them.

As her eyes’ search had faltered, realizing her friend wasn’t there like she’d promised she would be, they’d begun to sting, much to her horror. Bitterness nipped at her crumpling heart.

 I…have nothing—

It was with the thought she barely managed to stifle, this time, that she’d been completely unable to maintain the facade, all of her effort needed to smother the pit trying to yawn wide inside her. The throbbing, gloved fist she had lifted in triumph had begun to drop, the smile had fled, her vision had blurred…

And then Pinky Wingnut had appeared like a bolt from the damn blue, bellowing the name she’d been so close to finally forgetting. In front of a shit-ton of people, no less. He hadn’t even looked embarrassed for himself. Had thrown himself into the arena like he had any—no, every damn right to be there, obviously not caring who he had to punch, elbow, or throw to get there. Had shamelessly barked and pitted himself against the ref, Lee, whose very presence demanded respect.

No, he was too crazy for shame, something which had finally been driven home during their second “reunion” when he’d started yelling about Harley—a name he definitely shouldn’t have known. Not even if he somehow had a copy of the same police file she did. Her police file. In the notes they took during the interview with her five-year-old self, the cops had consistently misspelled Harley’s name as “Charlie,” one of the many ways those dolts had fumbled and fucked up while trying to figure out who and where her parents were.

At least “Charlie” makes more sense than “Nashi Layla Dragon O’Neil”…she thought, eye twitching at the thought of the ridiculous name the pigs claimed her five-year-old self told them. Granted, Little Layla had been pretty obsessed with dragons. Even more than she had been throughout most of her childhood in the system. Even more than Pinky Wingnut. Maybe even enough to make up such a ridiculous name, one which literally contained the word “Dragon.”

If she remembered the interview correctly, she’d even whined that she was hungry and begged the cops for some fire to eat—that was, when she wasn’t too busy crying because Harley wouldn’t talk to her or making up wild shit about how her parents were warlocks or whatever, how she belonged in a fairy tale. She hadn’t even bothered to specify which one.

Throwing her blanket off herself and the cat in question, who beeped hoarsely in protest, Layla swung her legs out of bed. Her bruised bare feet slapped against the cold, cheap, off-white tile as she fumbled for her trusty bottle of pain pills on the nightstand, popped a couple, then brought her water bottle to her lips to wash it down.

She stood and stretched her arms above her head with a groan, scratching at her tan, toned stomach and wincing slightly as she tottered over to her bedroom window, tripping over piles of manga volumes on the way [*4]. She’d gotten lucky with her view of the park across the street, especially with the big, half-dead old tree which dominated the middle of the panes.

Now, Layla was so busy raging at herself, she barely registered the sight. Didn’t see the sunny day, the homeless people rolling up their tents and clearing out before someone driving by called the cops. She glared at the cars moving below, seething with her own thoughts so hard she could almost feel steam pouring out of her ears and nose into the room.  

No more goddamn distractions, she swore viciously to herself. No more crying during her victory lap like a pathetic weakling. No more getting sidetracked by delusional Pinky Wingnuts. No more thinking about…that name and all the mortifying bullshit that came with it. Four days out was Championship night. Until then, no more fucking distractions.

She sat there, staring unseeingly at the old tree and tried to amp herself up, frustration detonating slowly in her brain as her heart barely stirred at her own lecture. No matter how hard she worked, how much she tried, or how many times she yelled her catchphrase at the end of her fights…for the past year, something just wasn’t there.

“I’ve got a fire inside me you’ll just never put out!” came closer and closer to getting completely stuck at the back of her throat—and staying there. It felt more like a lie every time it left her lips.

Frustration finally hitting boiling point like a fucking teakettle screaming, she stomped back over to her nightstand, less tripping over her manga than kicking the pile, this time. She unplugged her phone from its charger, scowling as she scrolled through the notifications to see that not only had Rose not bothered to show up, she hadn’t even fucking texted to explain why. The last text she’d ever sent came two days ago, just the words, I’ll try n be there punctuated with a shitty smiley face.

“You fucking liar,” Layla seethed under her breath, croaky voice shaking.

Distantly, she registered Harley (who’d apparently decided to quit being a lazy little lump) twirling around her ankles, mewling for breakfast.

She told herself it was anger making her heart wince, not pain. She knew Rose struggled. She did. She knew that. Her life hadn’t been any easier than Layla’s—in ways, much harder after the fire which left them both scarred in different ways. After Layla and a reluctant Gracie had managed to convince her to get help a couple years ago, she’d been so much better for a while. But now…

Now whatever, Layla thought viciously, black flames licking furiously at her insides. One thing, she’d asked for. It wasn’t like she wanted anything crazy, just for one person who mattered to show up for two of the biggest fights of her life (so far). She’d long given up on Gracie, but Rose used to show up—even if it was only occasionally. Sometimes even when she was going through a bad period. Layla had been there for Rose as much as she could after juvie, had picked her up after benders, beat the shit out of anyone who made fun of her burns. And her “friend” apparently couldn’t pay her back by just freaking showing up once or twice.

So much for “Foster kids don’t ditch each other,” she thought bitterly.

Fuck you too, Rose, she typed aggressively. Seriously.

Layla hit Send. Then, after pausing for a second, she typed out:

 If you’re not there Friday night, I’ll fucking kill you!

Layla hit Send again. Clicking out of their conversation, she scowled as another text from an unsaved number made itself known through bolded font:

Yo, congrats on the win! Looks like we’re up again! A fist emoji. Good luck...you’ll need it... 

That text was punctuated by a winky face. Another text followed it up:

I heard some crazy shit went down at the end of your fight, tho…u good?

Layla’s eye twitched. Ever since that motherfucker Helio thwarted her attempt to take the championship title from him a year previously, he’d decided to fuck with her mind by sending annoying texts at least a few times a week. If that naive, gullible dumbass Rose wasn’t the one who kept giving him Layla’s number, insisting he “wasn’t such a bad guy” Layla would have killed her.

She gritted her teeth hard enough to give herself a headache, almost mangling her phone. No matter how much she tried to tell herself she was too experienced a fighter to let that stupid douchebag psych her out, the rage burning in her chest and the fact that she still hadn’t been able to make herself rewatch last year’s championship fight—the only one she’d lost in the semi-unders—said otherwise.

The most she’d ever sent him was a poop emoji. Their “conversation” was basically just littered with them. But now, her temper was so close to snapping that she just deleted the conversation entirely with hard taps, refusing to give herself a chance to reply something stupid.

For all the fucking good it did. This time, the frustrated scream did leave her throat, making her sound like a fucking demon smoker.

She threw her phone on her bed with more force than necessary, breathing heavily while she watched it bounce.

“Whatever,” she breathed to herself like a fucking bull. “Forget it, whatever!” At least she didn’t get any texts from that other, much worse bastard anymore…obviously, changing her number a bunch of times had done the trick.

Harley, wholly unperturbed by her outburst, decided to up the breakfast-begging ante. She went from weaving around her ankles to clawing viciously at her bare leg, meowing louder.

“Ow!” Layla snapped, swatting at the little gremlin to shoo her off. “You fish-addicted, fucked up cat!”

Harley yowled petulantly. The little shit was Layla’s best friend, and she loved her to death, but she could really be a monster when it came to her damn “fishies.” Or scratching the shit out of her furniture and walls. Or if anyone other than Layla came near her (though Layla didn’t really blame her for that one).  

The little cat leapt atop one of the few still-intact pile of comics and manga near the window, white tail swishing agitatedly. Those odd, blank-but-not, round, charcoal eyes of hers an unblinking, salmon-filled demand. Layla was geared up to ignore her and get ready for the day—maybe even eat her own damn breakfast first, for once, if Harley was going to be such a little brat!—but her anger cooled when the morning light streaming in from the window illuminated the sheen of pink skin peeking through her white fur. Barely visible, but still there. A burn gained in the same fire as Rose’s, before Layla managed to get her out.

Layla didn’t feel bad for calling Harley “fucked up.” She didn’t. She was a cat, for crying out loud. She couldn’t even understand a word she said anymore than she could fly like Pinky Wingnut the Stalker, seemed to think.

The fighter sighed. “Tch…well, who wants a fishies, then?” she half-cooed, half-grumbled her usual morning phrase—which she’d never, ever say in front of anyone else—then snorted and made to get dressed when Harley practically sang a meow at hearing her favorite words.

----------------------

“Fuck off, Gracie!”

Her shithead roommate was the absolute last person Layla wanted to see while she and Harley were trying to enjoy their breakfast that morning. Especially when the jerk was practically naked—clad only in a thong and one of her loser “friends’” shirts (Layla assumed); especially when the apartment had gained a new beer can and burnt tin foil rug overnight; and especially when she was trying to steal Layla’s food.

She slammed a bruised fist onto Gracie’s lanky hand as it snaked to towards her bacon. The table, silverware, and Harley’s bowlful of raw salmon rattled as she pinned it to the wood hard enough to leave a bruise.

“Ouch!” Gracie squeaked, wriggling her hand out from Layla’s fist, Layla only letting her up after giving her a good long glare.

Harley, perched on the table right next to Layla’s morning feast, was barely fazed by the jolt to the table or loud sounds. However, she was clearly not happy with Gracie’s nearness. If Layla hadn’t been there between them, there would have been a real concern for the safety of Gracie’s hands. She lifted her head from the bowl of raw salmon she’d previously been loudly scarfing to stare down their lanky, pale roommate. Though her tail briefly bristled like a soda bottle, she quickly returned to devouring her fish to no one’s damn surprise, although she ate more quietly now.

Meanwhile, Gracie pouted, rubbing her hand and eyeing Harley with a distaste that was far too familiar. Then she finally returned her angled, glinting dark eyes to her angrily flushed roommate. Her pout grew bigger as she threw her skinny, naked ass into the chair on the opposite side of the table from Harley.

“Seriously? You have that ginormous breakfast and can’t even give your own bestie one tiny slice of bacon?”

“Bestie” was a major stretch, especially at the moment. But admittedly, it was a big breakfast:

One huge veggie omelet and a sizable hunk of meat (bacon, today) both marinated in enough spices to turn most peoples’ tongues to leather. Whole wheat toast with almond butter. A big protein smoothie to top it all off. It was a ton of calories, but every one would be needed for today’s training.

Makar, Layla’s old coach, would have skinned her alive if he’d been around to know she wasn’t taking the day after a fight to rest [*5]. She’d always thought it was a stupid rule, but she’d grudgingly followed it out of respect for her coach.

But now, Mak was buried in the graveyard a couple blocks over, and so was the “Rest Day Rule” as far as Layla was concerned. She hadn’t rested a single day the past year, not even when sick. Rest was for spoiled douchebags like Helio who had an entire team dedicated to shaping him into an amazing fighter like a ball of fucking golden clay. Hell, he even had a fight manager now that most of his fights were in the “real” octagon rather than the semi-underground.

She should know, since she’d been watching all his fights since forever.

(Just not theirs.)

Layla bared her teeth at Gracie. “No, I can’t! I need the energy for training! And even if I could, I wouldn’t! Get your own damn food!”

“Ugh.” Gracie rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her braless chest. “Don’t tell me you’re butthurt about last night. God, it’s not even that big a deal. You are such a slut-shamer.”

“Don’t fucking call me a slut-shamer!” she snapped back, throwing her chopsticks down on her plate just to taunt Gracie with the fact that she wasn’t even eating the breakfast she refused to share. “As if that has anything to do with shit! Last night was the semi-final—“

“I forgot,” Gracie sniffed, turning away while closing her eyes.

“Like hell you did, liar!” Layla snarled. “I reminded you like a thousand times!” She scooped her chopsticks back up, squeezing them so hard they threatened to break. “I don’t care who you bone, but I’ve got four days to the Championship fight, and I’m not getting there like a zombie because I had to keep listening to your shitty crooning! Next time, I’ll throw their asses out!”

She pointed her chopsticks at the girl whose aura was now definitely souring, ignoring the sounds of Harley now loudly licking her chops from the other side of the table.

“And while we’re on the subject, how does that scenario even happen!? ‘Oh, hey, Rando, do you happen to be a huge asshole?’” She pretended to pause as if listening, then to brighten with a mocking amount of pageantry. “ ‘Oh, you are? Fantastic! You pass the audition! Come on over around 8 for a gang-wang!’”

“It’s ‘gangbang’,” Gracie sneered, her laughter making Layla’s ears heat with embarrassment. “Seriously, how do you get to ‘gang-wang’?” Layla hunched her shoulders in an attempt to hide the effect, hoping Gracie would just move on. But since when had she ever gotten what she wanted?

“And also, I just meet guys at parties, get their numbers, and text them. Really not rocket science. But then, you wouldn’t know that, would you? Since you’re such an oblivious prude. Not to mention an imbecile.” She stood, turning away to stretch and giving Layla an unfortunate full view of her bony white horse butt. “But then again…” She turned smirking over her similarly bony shoulder. “That’s only to be expected from a gorilla.”

Layla stiffened as the cruel nickname was thrown at her for the second time in as many days.

Let it go, she tried to tell herself. She’s just pissed because you called her out. Foster kids don’t ditch each other. They stick by each other.

But this time, the placations didn’t work; her rage leapt to her tongue faster than she could bite it.

“Go fuck yourself, Third-Base Grace!”

Her roommate froze, turning to stare at her with wide eyes full of horror and disbelief as Layla glowered up at her, cheeks tinged in anger. She’d never resorted to calling Gracie that. Ever. Hell, she used to beat people up when they called Gracie that, after they both left juvie and wound up in the same high school.

The worst part was that she couldn’t even make herself feel bad for pulling out the mean high school nickname. Not when she was having such a shit morning. Not when the resentment had been festering within her for this long. 

Not when Gracie had done the exact same thing to her—several times, now.

When their glare-off lasted for several seconds, Gracie’s devastation transformed just as surely and quickly as Layla’s had. Layla could see it in her eyes. For a second, she thought Gracie was going to say something really nasty, and she geared up, ready to fucking throw down if it came to it. Throwing her naked ass out was looking more appealing by the minute, let alone by the day, if she was being honest.

But then, as soon as Gracie’s eyes narrowed and the fire flared within them, her anger was muted. Not exactly gone, but looking like a veil had been cast over it, darkening it.

“Whatever,” she scoffed, snatching her phone off the couch she’d been crashing on for months and stalking towards the bathroom. “Get that hideous thing you call a cat off the table.”

Harley, obviously unable to understand the girl, paid the words no mind, flicking her bristled tail while she watched her walk away.

Layla, on the other hand, felt her temper spike. “Her name is Harley! And fucking make me!” she snapped back. “And all this shit better be cleaned up by the time I get back, or so help me—“

The slam of the bathroom door cut her off, leaving Layla cursing under her breath.

Suddenly, she wasn’t hungry any more, but she forced herself to shovel down the rest of her breakfast as quickly as possible. She told herself it was the spicy food making her eyes burn.

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A good, hard run served as Layla’s daily warm-up for training. Always had, as far as she remembered. As per usual during the flaming can of garbage that was the past year, she felt like she was flagging the entire time. According to the timer on her phone, her times were better than ever. Yet she’d never felt slower.

Sometimes, it felt like her phone and even her Wikipedia page—which documented her unbroken record over the past year—were lying to her, playing tricks on her. Like a light scale, something she’d had to deal with occasionally back when she competed at other types of martial arts for Mak as a kid [*6].

It also didn’t matter that she refused to look at the graveyard when she passed it on her route; she could always hear Mak’s voice , like the loudest bastard of a ghost ever from the moment she dashed her first step.

 “GET YOUR ASS IN GEAR! DON’T EVEN FUCKING THINK OF LETTING THOSE BOYS BEAT YOU!”

Nevermind the fact that she didn’t run alongside any boys to beat, anymore.

“Foul-mouthed…old…man,” she wheezed to herself, leaning against the big, dying old tree where she always finished her run, the one she could see from her window. She ignored the passersby who gave her strange looks.

Jeez, she thought after a while. It’s really taking me a long time to catch my breath. She felt way better, but she could still hear herself. In fact, it almost sounded like…

Her eyes widened. Hold up! That’s not someone catching their breath, and it sure as shit ain’t me.

Instead, it sounded like…snoring? Pretty loud snoring, too. Layla straightened. Warily, she glared down several of the passersby, wondering if one of them was fucking with her or something. To her fury, several of them eyed her suspiciously, like she was the one standing there in broad daylight snoring out loud like a fucking freak.

“What the hell are you looking at, huh?!” she snapped at one old man with a weird green had and a particularly disdainful glare. He huffed something about “rude brats” while shuffling along.

She frowned as he vanished, glancing around to see that most people in the immediate vicinity had cleared off. Yet the snoring raged on, sounding like a bear except when it would stop entirely, turning into these obnoxious little snorts. With a huff of confusion, she walked around the tree, frown deepening as she looked to see if someone was sleeping on the other side.

“Alright, seriously?!” she exclaimed throwing her arms up before flinging them across her chest, pouting in thought. She was stumped. If the snoring wasn’t coming from her, then what, was it coming from the freaking tree?!

She paused, actually considering the possibility. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. “Huh…” she muttered, eyes widening in fascination as she crouched down, putting a hand against the bark and wiping at her sweaty forehead with the other. “Well, I mean, plants gotta breathe, too, don’t they?” At least, she thought she remembered learning something like that in school.

Suddenly, the snoring ceased, turning into a groan. Layla yanked her hand away from the tree like it burned her, eyes bugging. “W-what the hell?!” she whispered, now officially getting creeped out.

Then the tree fucking gasped.

And then, Layla finally figured out it wasn’t the tree when the gasp was followed up with an unfortunately familiar voice crying a hoarse, “Nashi!”

She looked up.

She screamed.

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Footnotes:

*1. On Layla telling the “Edward Cullen” boy to get up when she’s the one on the ground:  You might recognize this interaction from the original story. Natsu said it to Gray when they were fighting as children in one scene. I couldn’t resist borrowing the moment as both a hint and for nostalgic reasons.

*2. On having two fights within the same week: In the UFC, fighters have ~5 fights a year at most. The idea of someone doing a sport as violent, intense, and damaging to the body as UFC-level MMA even multiple times in one month is ludicrous. Doesn’t really matter since this is a Fairy Tail fic, and I won’t correct everything that’s inaccurate, but if I don’t roast myself just a little all my research was for NOTHING!!

*3. On mentions of characters from “Our Earth” such as Rose and Helio: Little characters and details like this are genuinely important to the fic and will ultimately be relevant even to Fairy Tail’s OC’s, I promise. This is NOT going to be one of those fics that’s ostensibly a Fairy Tail fic but in execution could really be totally unrelated to the original story, I promise.

*4. On Layla/Nashi’s manga volumes: Nashi’s love for manga (including eventual mentions of stories some of you may recognize) is as close to a crossover fic as this story will ever get.

*5. On Layla not taking rest days after fights: no

*6. Meaning of “light scale”: a scale that gives out readings less than one’s actual weight, an infamously common problem with the scales provided by US Olympics in sports such as Judo, where fighters have to cut (lose) or make (gain/maintain) weight to compete in certain weight classes

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Author’s Notes:

Hmm…could “Makar” be an Edolas-like parallel, I wonder?

Again, sorry this took so long! Tried to cut back on the “Our Earth” exposition, but kind of think it might still be too much? I’m also nervous about Layla/Nashi’s second debut. She’s definitely been something of a handful to write. But this is just how the story developed in my head, so oh well.

Like I said, I’m going to try to get chapters out faster, from here on out. I’d like to aim for at least one every week and a half, but I won’t give you guys a real, hard number until I figure out what works for me.

Thanks for reading, and hope you enjoyed!