#cackle heart hyena

[fandomgingerfox]

Here’s more but with other fandoms

Here’s some art of my most favorite ships!

[unrealcities]

JESUS OUR LORD AND SAVIOR

[rosegolden13]

Some thoughts about John Price who owns a hardware store in a small town post-retirement for a bum leg… That man could never be forced to not work. He’s not one to sit still for long, even with a small limp. 

Maintaining the place is simple work, easy on his heart and mind after all the stress of his previous job. Does he miss the adrenaline? The feeling of importance? Of course. So, he runs that hardware store like he’s still a captain. You bet those aisles are fully stocked and organized by product and alphabetized by brand. His book is always neatly filled out at the end of each day, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose as he records the daily finances and stock in a neat print. 

He wears kakis that fit just a bit too tight around the crotch, a red collared shirt that all the employees wear with a little logo that Soap designed over the chest pocket where John always has a pen tucked away. 

The biggest perk? The cute little clueless bird that comes in irregularly, needing help. Finally, he gets to feel competent again, needed by someone for his skill and expertise. 

The men almost never ask for help, too obsessed with their own masculinity to do that. Most of the women don’t need it, experts at the gardening or DIY projects they’re doing. 

But you? There’s some sort of home maintenance crisis you need help with nearly every month. John’s beyond grateful that you don’t just go on YouTube for tutorials or call a repairman like everyone else seems to be doing these days. He needs those doe eyes of yours trained on him as he explains the different types of hammers they have in stock and which one would be best for that loose floorboard of yours. He needs your sweet, grateful smile as you thank him for all his help.

He’ll get you the right wrench, doll, don’t worry your pretty little head. In fact, here’s his number in case you need help fixing your leaking sink. 

You need fertilizer for your garden? He’ll carry out the premium brand to your car for you and brush off your thanks with a simple “anytime, sweet'eart”.

The rest of the boys come in on their leaves to help out around the shop with stocking shelves and whatnot. Gaz and Soap cackle like hyenas the first time they see Price rush to your side when you tilt your head in confusion at all the different types of super glue. Even Simon is smirking a bit under his mask. The man is whipped.

[nanamiskentos]

WHAT? LIKE IT'S HARD? ✶ choso kamo

abstract ✶ there are six physiological stages of having a crush. you just wish that you didn't have to learn this through first-hand experience. everyone said that choso kamo was a loser in high school, a quiet kid who haunted the campus with no friends. sure, he was brilliantly smart, but he dropped out in senior year. he even managed to break your heart, the glittering prom queen, with the world at your fingertips. imagine your surprise three years later, when you find yourself stuck with him in med school. what's worse? he's actually super hot now!

PART II. of the new years letters, a series of fics dedicated to some of my lovely mutuals! 🎁

pairing. choso kamo x afab!reader genre tags and warnings reader is practically a blair waldorf prototype (filthy rich, a bit bratty, spoiled), bestfriend!gojo, background gojo x geto, mentions of blood and injuries, med school, MISCOMMUNICATION, angst and hurt, fluff, kissing and making out. sukuna and yuuji cameos.

word count. 17.5k! song inspiration. crush culture — conan gray

a/n. shameless med student insert i rlly projected my full heart and soul into the anatomy lab ick. art belongs to all respective artists [will add credit!] crossposted on ao3 💖

dedication. for my dear kashika, first of all happy (belated) birthday @kasukuna 💗 wanted this to coincide with ur day but i'm late, i fear!!! you hype me up so much, send the sweetest asks and you're so damn talented that i'm left begging for an ounce of your creativity and amazing mind! your fics are so witty and well thought out and i like to think that you've spawned an incredible dumbass!bf sukuna renaissance on jjk tumblr 😭 idk if you remember but i sent you an ask on creamflix so long ago like the start of december asking you to choose between characters and au's so i tried lifting this as verbatim as i could from ur answer <3 hope you had the most amazing day ever!!

mp3. ✶ crush culture makes me wanna spill my gut out, i know what you're doing! tryna get me to pursue ya <3

You refuse to speak to Gojo Satoru ever again. Not today, not tomorrow, not in this lifetime nor the next. He’s officially dead to you, figuratively, of course. Unfortunately.

The moment he stops cackling like a deranged hyena in the middle of your bedroom, you’re going to shove him out the door so hard that he’s going to see stars. You’ll block his number, you’ll delete every photo of his smug grin, and you’re going to hire an exorcist to cleanse his essence from your life.

Except right now, your best friend is sprawled across your bed, practically writhing as he gasps for air in between bouts of ridiculous, chipmunk-like squeals. He’s still in his uniform, having crashed at your place after school, with his white shirt untucked, sleeves pushed to his elbows and his tie dangling uselessly around his neck.

“You are such a child,” you grumble, shoving your sticker-laden journal off your lap with a huff, just so you can aim a precise kick at his ribs. Satoru wheezes dramatically, clutching his stomach like he’s just been mortally wounded in battle.

“It’s -” he’s snickering, slapping the fine-thread sheets with the fervour of one trying to summon a higher power, “It’s just too good. I – oh my god, I really can’t breathe! I think I’m going to pass out.”

Satoru’s rolling over dramatically, dark-tinted sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his hawkish nose, leaving him to look like a cherubic bird with a bad attitude.

“If only,” you mutter darkly, arms crossed over your own blazer as you glare daggers at the white-haired boy, “It’s not that funny.”

But Satoru just doesn’t listen, of course. His grin is wide enough to split his face in half, and every breath that he takes is another affront to your polished dignity, and every stupid wheeze is a reminder that you made the colossal mistake of trusting this man with classified information.

“Keep laughing,” you say, your tone low and menacing as you snatch your phone off your nightstand, “And see what happens when I play offence.”

That gets Satoru’s attention, as he freezes mid-snort. Grin faltering just enough to make you feel a small and petty thrill of satisfaction, “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” you say, already tapping away on your phone, scrolling past the ninety-nine notifications clogging Instagram. A certain raven-haired boy’s name hovers in your mind, one who shares the same initials as Gojo Satoru.

You’re not above sending a risky message.

Hey! Gojo’s been totally obsessed with you, ever since you bashed his head in with a spiral notebook back in seventh grade, and called him a spoilt, rich kid. He draws love hearts around your name every night. Just thought you should know, XOXO.

“Wait!” Satoru bolts upright so fast that his sunglasses fall into his lap, his grin morphing into a scowl as panic flashes in his too-blue eyes, “That’s playing dirty. Totally unfair.”

“You’re the one who laughed like a lunatic,” you say sweetly, tilting the phone towards him as if you’re about to hit send.

“You can’t be serious!” Satoru points a long, accusatory finger at you, his dramatic outrage undercut by the way his lips keep twitching, “I mean -” Another snicker escapes him as he buries his face in his hands, shoulders shaking again, “Like how? Of all people, you really have a crush on that guy.”

For a fleeting moment, you wonder if it’s too late to enrol in witness protection. It was clearly your mistake, deciding to tell Satoru critically sensitive information. Revealing the name of the boy that you were crushing on.

And yes, your type has turned out to be greasy Tim Burton reject loners who wander around school in faded Lord of the Rings hoodies.

You’re just totally head-over-heels for Choso Kamo.

“Whatever,” you snap, shoving your phone into the pocket of your school blazer with as much dignity as you can muster under the barrage of Satoru’s relentless cackles, “You wouldn’t understand?”

“Understand?” Satoru shifts himself with all the casual arrogance of someone who, unfortunately, has never been truly humbled in his life, propping himself against one of your enormous plush pillows.

The velvet squishes beneath his weight, gold embroidery bunching, but he’s utterly unbothered. “Enlighten me, we’re talking about the same Kamo right? The guy who sits behind you in class, and doesn’t so much blink in your direction? The one who looks like he’d rather gargle glass than talk to you?”

Another pillow sails across the bed before you even realise that you’ve hurled it. It strikes him square in the face, with a satisfying thwump! Muffling his laugh as he flails, tangled in thick, down stuffing.

“He’s just shy!” You insist, your voice rising as you get up to pace. Your Prada loafers click against the polished floor, before you kick them off. “And he only acts like that when others are around, by the way. He talks to me when it’s just us.”

“Oh, sure,” Satoru sits up, wrestling the pillow aside with a theatrical groan. His snowy hair sticks up at angles, like he’s been electrocuted, “That’s probably because he’s plotting his escape route while you corner him, like a lion closing in on its prey. Poor Kamo’s the gazelle.”

“Just know that I’m blowing you up in my mind.”

Satoru huffs, “So, what is your plan now? Are you going to ask him to prom? Are we going to see a proposal for the ages?”

You pause mid-pace, fighting the hot flush that creeps up your neck. It burns brighter as you glance towards the gilded vanity mirror, for that is exactly what you had wanted. You just needed to hear someone’s validation, “Should I?”

Satoru’s grin falters for a second, replaced with a look of sheer disbelief, “You’re kidding, right? That kid hates social events. You think he’s going to go with you?”

“Why not?” You’re fiddling with the crystal perfume decanters, the bottles of skincare on your vanity, “I’ve been dropping hints, okay? Subtle ones, all that manifesting shit.”

“Subtle?” Satoru snorts, “You mean letting half the football team pile bouquets into your locker? The locker that’s right next to his? Oh, yeah. Super low-key. Very humble.”

“At least I have options,” you snap back, flicking on the lights as the sun begins to sharpen its afternoon glare. Warm golden light spills across the room, catching on the ceiling-length silk drapes, “Meanwhile, I hope you end up alone at prom. Making ugly, kissy faces at Geto Suguru, while he’s with someone else.”

Satoru groans, like you’ve truly pierced his heart, “Cruel. So cruel when provoked,” but he’s propping himself back up on one elbow, “But hey, if you really do like Kamo, you know that makes him my future brother-in-law or something. That’s cool.”

Your gasp is sharp, scandalised, “Excuse me?”

“But think about it,” Satoru continues, ignoring your sputters, “You’re practically confirmed to be Prom Queen. Do you really want to drag that guy up on stage with you?”

“I think you’re being judgemental,” you mutter, tugging the drapes close and blocking out the faint twinkle of the city skyline, “He’d have to be insane not to say yes to me.”

“Someone is going to deflate that big head of yours one day,” Satoru says, and his voice has softened just enough to make you glance back at him, “You do know he cuts class a lot, right?”

“What’s your point?”

“I’m not being a bitch, I swear,” Satoru holds up his palms defensively, “He shows up for only half the month, you might want to check on your boy.”

You flop onto the chaise lounge, throwing an arm over your face tragically, “This isn’t the inspiring pep talk that I need right now.”

Satoru leans lazily against the gilded frame of your canopy bed, “Hey, it’s not my place to tell you what to do. But if you are that into him, then fine! Just ask him to prom and see what happens. And tell you what? If you ask Kamo, I’ll ask Suguru.”

You narrow your eyes, “Wow, this must be serious if you’re out here wheeling and dealing like this. Are you feeling okay?”

Satoru presses a dramatic hand to his chest, his grin morphing into something faux-solemn, “Cross my heart. I’m making a binding vow, like, it’s unbreakable. Life or death.”

“Deal,” you quickly say, ignoring the sudden leap of your pulse, because there’s no way that you’re letting him see how the sudden time-pressure is making your stomach twist into ugly knots. You point towards the door with a flourish, “And as much as I love our time together, I need to get ready. So…out! Chop-chop.”

Satoru groans like you’ve just asked him to drag a boulder uphill with his teeth, slumping off your bed in exaggerated defeat. He sluggishly reaches for his discarded backpack from the floor, slinging it over his shoulder, “I still don’t get why you bother with working. You and I both know that we don’t need it,” he mutters, as if the concept of responsibility personally offends him.

“It’s just babysitting,” you gently correct, shrugging on a cashmere cardigan from the back of your chair, “And anyway, you know I need a well-rounded list of extracurriculars for Pre-Med.”

“I’d rather eat my sunglasses, one lens at a time,” Satoru shoots back, adjusting said sunglasses squarely over his face, “Instead of being stuck babysitting brats all evening. We’re not meant to be saints.”

“It’s just one kid tonight. New family, new house,” you reply, grabbing your bag where it rests by the vanity, “Anyway, I expect a full report on your prom date by tomorrow, Satoru. I’m not forgetting that vow.”

Satoru pauses in the doorway, with the edges of his grin sharpened into something that makes you pity Geto Suguru in advance, “I never disappoint.”

You had finally managed to shove Satoru out of the doorway, his obnoxious laughter echoing faintly down the hall. The quiet that follows is a relief, albeit short-lived. You’re left standing in the stillness of your room, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the text with the address of tonight’s gig.

Honestly, Satoru might have a point. You, the only child of one of the country’s most obscenely wealthy families, babysitting? It’s not like you’re chasing pocket money or trying to build character. But medical school applications don’t only care about your bank account, there’s so many extra boxes to tick. Factors like being selfless or dedicated to the community.

The request had been odd from the start. Some child had called you himself, and normally, it’s the frazzled parents who handle that kind of task. His voice had been small, but determined, saying that his brother was out, and he needed a sitter for the evening. Something about the earnestness of it had softened you, though, now you were starting to regret the whole thing — seeing how far out this house was from your own penthouse.

Showing up in the Bentley with tinted windows and your chauffeur had felt a little off brand for this role. So, in the name of relatability, you had popped a piece of cherry gum and a book, taking on the bus. The sticky seats and questionable patrons had almost been enough to make you reconsider, but the suburb itself offered a strange charm.

It was quiet here, too quiet, the kind of place that might have once been picturesque, but it had gone soft around the edges. The homes were older, cozy but tired, with paint peeling in places and lawns that were overrun with weeds. You wrinkle your nose as you step off the bus, weaving through tufts of stubborn greenery and abandoned toys in the yard.

The house that you’re looking for stands a little crooked, but sturdy. It’s faded shutters are barely hanging on, and a basketball hoop leans precariously over the driveway. There’s a small, red toy car that’s entirely faded and scratched, sitting forgotten near the porch steps.

Just as your knuckles hover over the worn wood of the front door, it swings open with such force that you nearly stumble backwards. A blur of motion catches you off guard, and you’re suddenly face-to-face with a tiny, pink-haired whirlwind.

The boy’s grinning up at you, wide and gap-toothed, with big golden eyes. His hair is wild, a fluffy crown of rosy strands over a dark undercut, and his scraped knees are haphazardly patched up with dinosaur bandages.

“Wait here! I’m going to get my brother!” He chirps, his voice bright and slightly whistly, thanks to the missing tooth. Before you can get a word in, he’s gone, sprinting back inside with the energy of an overeager puppy, leaving you stranded on the porch.

You shuffle awkwardly, glancing down at the scratched paint on the doorframe. There was something endearing about the child, and you’re starting to feel less apprehensive. That is, until the door opens again, and time slows.

Your heart stutters, skips, and then plummets. As if someone’s dropped you into an industrial freezer. Standing there, with one hand resting lightly on the kid’s shoulder, and an expression that’s one part confusion and one part disbelief, is Choso Kamo.

It’s as if the universe has conspired against you, playing its most cruel and ridiculous joke yet. Tall and broad, with tired eyes that sweep over you in slow recognition. Dark mark twitching across his face, like a deliberate smudge of ink.

Choso’s blinking, startled to see you here, though his usual stoic expression has yet to crack. Meanwhile, your inner monologue is screaming a symphony of pure panic. You can already heal Satoru’s stupid squeals in your head.

The pink-haired boy tugs on Choso’s arm, “See, I got a babysitter! Isn’t that cool?”

Choso glances down at the kid, then back at you, his lips parting as if to speak.

“Uh, hey,” you manage. The picture of eloquence, the master of the verbose elite.

It strikes you, with almost absurd clarity, that you’ve never seen Choso outside the campus bubble. No dim library corners, no lab tables cluttered with textbooks, or heavy beat-up laptops parked in front of him. Gone are the oversized hoodies thrown over his school uniform, or the baggy jeans he dons when he forgoes the dress code entirely. Instead, he’s here, standing in the soft glow of the broken porch light, wearing a loose black tee and dark track pants.

His chestnut hair is free from the two greasy, spiky knots that he favours on his head, falling softer around his face. Your traitorous heart lurches, feeling a sharp pang of betrayal.

“You’re the babysitter?” Choso’s voice cuts through your spiral. Raspy as always, roughened like rock salt, but there’s something else threaded into the question. A flicker of irritation, and confusion. As if he’s struggling to reconcile you, with the person standing on his doorstep.

“You didn’t know when you booked?” You shoot back, aiming for casual indifference, but landing somewhere closer to petulant. Your eyes flick to the box he’s holding, with contents that glint faintly in the light. Suspiciously metallic, as if he’s cradling surgical tools.

Choso follows your curious gaze, exhaling sharply, and shifting the box to a nearby table, just out of your line of sight.

“I didn’t book,” he grunts, “Told Yuuji to check the ads, and pick one.”

“And I picked the best one!” The delighted chirp comes from behind Choso, as Yuuji reappears, practically bouncing with a sunny grin. His golden eyes are locked on the ribbon-wrapped box in your hands, and his expression is lit up with unabashed glee.

You glance down at the box, containing an array of decadent artisan doughnuts. Saffron glaze, coconut cream, pistachio and chocolate. All from that impossibly chic Swiss patisserie downtown. You ignore the dull ache building between your eyes, smiling as you hand the box over, “These are for you, little man.”

Yuuji’s already snapping his hands for the box, as though you had just delivered a treasure chest of gold doubloons, “Can I have one? Please? Pretty-please?”

Choso glances down at him with a long-suffering look that somehow manages to carry an undertone of fondness, “Just one,” he warns, his voice dry but warm, “For now.”

Yuuji doesn’t need to be told twice, bolting towards the kitchen and clutching the box to his chest like a sacred relic. The faint sound of icing being smacked off fingers echoes from somewhere around the corner.

Choso watches him go, before turning back to you, his posture easing slightly. “That was nice of you,” he says, his voice softer now, almost tentative, “But he’s going to crash hard after that sugar high. Good luck.”

You wave off his scepticism with a breezy smile, “I’m good with kids. I’ll manage.”

For a moment, the boy’s expression shifts. Something fleeting and unreadable flickers across his face, a hint of thoughtfulness or something heavier.

Another thought gnaws at the edges of your mind, a tiny spectre of dread wrapped in Gojo Satoru’s smug grin. Two hours ago, though it feels like a lifetime now, you made a pact.

You ask Kamo, I’ll ask Suguru.

At the time, it had seemed like an impossible bluff. But the thing about Satoru is that he’s infuriatingly reliable when he sets his mind to something. No matter the cost.

Which is why you’re here now, sweating under your cashmere sweater. The fabric is suddenly too soft, too warm, clinging to the nape of your neck. You, with half the school population ready to pen sonnets just for a chance to take you to prom. Jocks, debate captains, the crème de la crème of eligible dates. All overlooked in favour of the quiet boy that no-one seems to notice.

The boy whose locker was assigned right next to yours, empty and cold steel. While yours was glittered with Polaroids, and pastel sticky notes, and the occasional folded love letter. The boy that everyone said had no friends, but he was easily the uncontested valedictorian. The boy that you desperately wanted to ask to prom.

Choso is shuffling papers on the table, avoiding your gaze like it’s a laser beam. His movements are slow, and deliberate, but there’s an edge of tension in the way his fingers linger on a set of silver keys, before he slips them into his pocket.

“What?” His voice breaks the quiet, low and rough like gravel underfoot. It startles you out of your spiralling thoughts.

“Nothing,” you blurt out, far too quickly. You’re grasping at straws to keep the conversation going, “Where are you headed?”

Choso hesitates, a slight hitch in his movements, picking that cardboard box again. For a moment, you think he’s going to ignore your question, but then he mutters, “Work.”

You tilt your head, your curiosity outweighing your better judgement to never press Choso Kamo for more than two sentences in a conversation.

He shifts uncomfortable, and you catch a glimpse of latex gloves tucked neatly inside before he angles it out of view, “I…clean up things,” he says finally, his tone clipped as though every word is a concession, “Errands. I’m a cleaner.”

The kind of response that’s designed to kill conversation in its track. It’s vague, annoyingly so, but you let it slide, “Oh.”

You’re this close to spontaneously combusting. The pact, the reason that your hands shake when you catch yourself staring at Choso Kamo for just a second too long. It’s either now or never. Rip the band-aid before your central nervous system completely betrays you and implodes.

Objectively speaking, you’re a real catch. Second-best grades in the cohort, from an old business dynasty that rivalled the Youngs from Crazy Rich Asians, two-time prom queen with med-school practically knocking on the door. Yeah, a dream. College applications adored you. Surely, Choso would have had to be running on a clone’s brain stitched into his head to say no.

Yet, somehow, it doesn’t make your heart beat any less erratically. It doesn’t erase the hollow pit that’s clawing at your insides. And now, you’re wishing that you had asked for advice from someone with an ounce of finesse. Like Shoko, or Utahime. Not your best friend who called himself The Honoured One.

You clear your throat, the taste of artificial cherry gum still lingering, “So, are you going to prom?”

Choso snorts, the sound entirely dismissive. But he seems to realise that you’re not joking, flicking you a glance, like he’s deciding to humour you, “What’s it to you? Need me to vote for you to be prom queen?”

You roll your eyes, fighting the flush creeping up your Burberry sweater, “Didn’t I already ask you to do that, like, two months ago?”

His lips twitch, barely, like he’s holding a smile back under layers of indifference, “Yeah. You pestered me three times. And I actually did it.”

You latch onto the softer tone in his voice, “So, are you going to go, then?” You’re watching him, almost desperate for a sign, for anything other than no.

Choso’s shoulders tense, “Can’t.”

“Can’t?” The word slips out of your mouth before you can stop it, incredulous, “What do you mean can’t? Why? You need to study or something?” You’re trying so hard to sound indifferent, like you’ve got a roster of dates lined up. And well, you do. But this is the only one that you want. The panic creeping into your voice betrays you before you even realise it.

“No,” Choso replies, his tone quieter, “I really just can’t go.”

A weight drops in your stomach, heavy and cold. Is this what rejection feels like? The thought hits like a wave, leaving you breathless. Your heart’s flipping in your chest like it’s teetering on the edge of cliff, seconds away from freefalling into nothing.

You inhale sharply, steeling yourself for the words that are about to spill out.

“I want you to be my date for prom.” “I can’t go because I dropped out.”

The words slam into each other, and for a moment, everything freezes. Choso’s mouth has fallen open, the curve of his lips slack with shock. As though as someone’s hit the pause button on him, mid-thought. You blink at him, your brain becoming a skipping CD. Round and round, never quite catching the beat.

“What did you just say?” Your brows knit together in a sharp pinch, like your face can’t decide whether to wince or frown. But Choso just grimace, lips curling into a tight line as his shoulders stiffen.

“You first.”

Your fingers fidget around the cream Van Cleef that rests on your throat, tracing the cool edge of the pendant. It’s one of your mother’s newer gifts, the kind that comes with all the frills and none of the warmth. Her true transactional brand of maternal affection.

“I wanted to ask if you’d go to prom with me, as my date,” It spills out of you in a jumbling mess, like you’re tripping vowels and consonants over each other. Choso’s eyes widen, but you barrel on before he can interrupt, “I mean, I get it if you think it’s lame or boring, or you just don’t want to go. But I promise my friends are actually really nice, and you can sit with us.” The rest of your monologue trails off, crumbling to dust, “I just really wanted to ask you.”

You wish to sink into the floor, like the soft earth will swallow you whole. You can almost picture Satoru’s ridiculous proposal to Geto Suguru, no doubt involving fireworks or an airplane trailing a banner.

The air is so still, you can hear the faint crackling of Yuuji’s incessant doughnut quest from across the small house, his movements clumsy and unintentionally loud as he rips open cellophane for more than one sweet treat.

Choso’s shifting slightly, and there’s a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. The pink hue is a stark contrast to his usual sickly pallor. Even his ears are a shade darker, and his jaw tightens like he’s chewing on something bitter and struggling to swallow it down. It’s hard to tell if he’s upset or just lost. Or somewhere in-between.

“You wanted to go with me?” His voice is low, hoarse, like the idea is too outlandish for him to even process. You don’t know whether to laugh or apologise.

“Mhm.” It’s all you can manage, your throat suddenly dry and tight.

“I dropped out of school two days ago,” Choso mutters, as he runs a hand through his dark hair. He’s glancing at you, with the ghost of an apology flickering across his expression, but the shock that you can’t seem to mask makes him wince, “Look, it’s not a big deal. And it’s nice that you asked, but…”

“Dropped out? Like, entirely out of school?” Your voice cracks, each word climbing higher like you’re stepping on a broken escalator, “Why? What happened?”

Never let anyone tell you that teenage love is simple, or wholesome. Full of first crushes, and sweet moments. Because this? It feels like someone ripped the floor out from under you, the air yanked from your lungs, leaving you stranded. And it’s not a pleasant feeling, being denied something that you want, for the first time in your life.

Choso shrugs, like he’s been answering this question a thousand times already. Though, you’re sure that this is the first time he’s said it to out loud to anyone, “Family stuff. Just had to.”

You try to piece this together, for this house does smell faintly of stale coffee, and the worn leather of the couch has clearly seen better days. You can tell, on some level, that something is off. That there’s no parental figure in sight for little Yuuji, just the harsh edges of whatever it is that Choso seems to carry on his own.

You can feel the words bubbling up again, stupid and reckless, “But you know you just can’t leave. You’ve got the top marks in the class, Choso. And you know that you were on a scholarship, right? For one of the most elite schools in the country? How are you ever going to get that again?”

The second they leave your mouth; you hear how self-righteous and insensitive you sound. You already regret it, almost reaching up to slap your hands over your face.

Choso’s expression darkens, his face tightens. Like a storm cloud rolling in, as his lips pull into a tight and angry line, “Back off,” he snaps, voice suddenly sharp enough to cut, “You don’t know a damn thing about my life.”

His sneer twists, not with malice, but something deeper. Harder, like he’s being chewed up by all the things he never got to say before, “Don’t worry, though. I’m sure they’ll make a big, shiny tiara for when they name you valedictorian. Maybe, it’ll match your prom dress.”

“Hey!” Your eyes well up, stupid heat of tears prickling behind your eyes, and swelling a thick lump in your throat, “That’s not what I meant.” You cannot believe that you’re tearing up, over this. Over wanting something that you can’t have, and someone who seems to have more to lose than you ever thought possible.

Choso’s lip curls into a half-sneer, but there’s a flicker of something else there. His posture shifts, as if he’s trying to fold in on himself. He lowers his voice, still low and uncomfortable, but careful. Careful, because his little brother is just down the hall.

“I don’t need your pity, okay? Or your help.” His fingers grip the metal of the net door, “I have to go now. Just look after Yuuji.”

The heavy clang of steel on mesh echoes in your ears, sharp and final. The sound lingers like a ringing in your skull as you stand there, utterly paralysed as your mind scrambles to catch up with the wreckage of what just happened. Your five-year crush crashing down in five minutes.

Your feet move, and you find yourself in the bare dining room. Yuuji’s perched at the table, with a doughnut half-eaten in his hand, a mess of pistachio cream smeared across his chin like a brave trooper. There’s an iPad, an old, scratched model, with a silicone tiger case, propped up in front of him. The screen is flashing with something, like blueberries. Bouncing in time with some peppy tune.

“Did Choso leave for work?” Yuuji asks, utterly oblivious to the emotional landmine that his brother left in your hands. His eyes are wide, curious, the innocence of a kid who still thinks the world works in neat, little boxes.

“Yeah,” you say, forcing a smile, “He works a lot, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Yuuji mumbles through a mouthful of pastry, sugar clinging to his lips, “He always gets upset when Uncle Kuna’ calls him in. Even after school.”

Choso has never mentioned an uncle. Or a brother, for that matter. But then again, why would he? You had never even asked for his number, never bothered to learn anything beyond what was right in front of you. You realise, with a strange pang of guilt, that you’ve built your entire image of infatuation with Choso, from incomplete sketches. Filling in the blanks with whatever fits into the tiny box you’ve kept him in.

“Hey, do you have Netflix?” Yuuji’s voice cuts through your thoughts, bright and eager. “I want to watch How to Train Your Dragon. It’s Fushiguro and Kugisaki’s favourite movie!”

The names are unfamiliar, but Yuuji’s excitement is infectious. You cannot help but smile at the boy, his messy hair and too-big shirt. It’s hard not to be fond of such a kid. You take the iPad from his sticky hands, logging into the app. All the while, chasing yourself around mentally with a baseball bat for the biggest fumble of the century.

If last night felt like a disaster, this morning was just the encore performance. And you were the unwilling star. Just the effort of peeling yourself out of bed felt like an Olympic event. And facing your reflection of swollen eyes and blotchy skin felt like punishment for sins that were way out of your paygrade.

Reluctantly, you’re tugging on your blazer, and clipping a barrette into your hair. There’s a sparkling, diamond tennis bracelet fastened around your wrist. All little things that you need to don like armour, to face your senior year, the student population and the empty locker that would remain untouched next to yours.

Satoru and Shoko are the first faces that you spot in the crowd, and Satoru’s practically bouncing down the hall, “Oh, yeah, I got it locked in,” he announces, cheeks flushed with an absurdly boyish grin, “I got it in the bag.”

He’s sliding his sunglasses down just enough to peer at you, wordlessly handing you his coffee cup, as is your morning ritual. The overly sweet, creamy warmth does nothing to ease the ache in your chest, and your lip-gloss stains the edge of the paper.

“What about you, eh?” Satoru chirps, but you must look blatantly devasted. Because your best friend’s grin falters, the corners of his mouth pulling down.

“Wait, you’re joking right?” His voice is marred with disbelief, and his eyes scan the hall like he’s trying to spot someone’s dark head of hair, “Where is he? Jughead Jones lookin’ ass? Shoko, do you know where Choso Kamo sits? Because I’m going to give him a real piece of my mind and —”

You cut him off, abruptly shoving the coffee back into his warm hands, “It’s fine. He dropped out school, anyway.”

Shoko hums beside you, her fingers absentmindedly twirling a strand of cinnamon-brown hair. The chipped polish on her nails catches the fluorescent light, “Prom queen and valedictorian in one year? Not a bad run for you.”

You glare at her, and Shoko’s doe-eyed expression softens. The breeze from the open window catches her sleek hair, making it sway gently, and she shifts. Voice dropping to something quieter, more thoughtful, “That really does suck, though. Sorry.” She sounds like she means it now, her usual flippancy up in smoke, “I didn’t even know you liked him like that. Not until Gojo told me, like, two hours ago.”

Your eyes snap to Satoru who, for once, has the good sense to shut his mouth.

Shoko’s voice is subdued, “I wonder if it had anything to do with him being called into admin.”

“Wait, when?” Satoru interrupts. He’s taking another long slurp of his sweet mocha, the froth giving him whiskers.

“Three days ago,” Shoko shrugs, “Some big guy rolled up to the office. Demanded to see the principal. No idea who he was, but he was important. And rich. Like you need to be super wealthy to call the shots in a school for the children of the top one percent.”

You must look tragic, because even Shoko pauses mid-chew. Her lollipop moving from one side of her mouth to the other. She looks at you, really looks at you. You can see the careful shift in her demeanour, as though she’s considering the most diplomatic answer that she can offer you to avoid making things worse.

“Well, you don’t have to go to prom with anyone, right?” Satoru says, the words hanging awkwardly in the air like a balloon that’s just lost its helium. His consolation is well-meaning, but a bit clueless. But now, his sunglasses are perched atop his head now, leaving his eyes exposed. Icy blue, framed by lashes so long that they practically flirt with his eyebrows. For once, there’s a flicker of real concern in them, clouds passing over clear skies.

“I know,” you gripe, your voice flat as you find yourself glaring at a group of juniors who are skipping by, with their phones out in unison, clicking away like it’s a competition. Fantastic. You can already see the gossip Instagram stories by lunch, wondering what happened to you. Rumours milling about the reason for your glum expression.

Shoko shifts her heavy bag onto her shoulder, patting your arm. “I’ll see you at lunch. My treat,” she says, turning her heel for the Chemistry building. Leaving you alone with Satoru, as Shoko quickly picks her pace up to catch her Honours class.

“So,” you start, keeping your eyes on him out of the corner of your vision, watching how his fingers twitch around the coffee cup, “How did it go with Geto Suguru?”

Satoru’s shifting, as though he’s trying not gloat, but clearly bursting to tell you, “It was nice,” which is an unusually subdued, sensitive explanation from Satoru. The one who can take five hours to tell a story that you could wrap up in ten minutes. “He was really friendly. More than I thought he would be.”

“That is nice.” You’re forcing some perk back into your voice, but it comes out rather weak, “Like, genuinely.”

Satoru crumples the empty cup in his hand, tossing it into a nearby trashcan. Then, he shoots you a sharper look, “Did you actually talk to Choso, like, in-person? How did that go?”

You exhale, “Turns out I was babysitting his little brother,” and Satoru’s eyes widen slightly, “He was fine. And then he wasn’t. I asked him to be my date, and told me he dropped out. I said something…stupid. And now he’s going to hate me forever.”

Satoru stares at you, his gaze sharp, as though he’s dissecting you. And you swear that he can see right through your skin, right into your bones. It’s moments like this that make you feel like maybe your best friend has a sixth sense, some secret radar for picking up on these things.

“Wow,” he murmurs, a touch of something in his voice, “It really got you bad, huh?”

You bristle, a mix of annoyance and embarrassment flooding your chest. You’re straightening your shoulders, but it’s all too obvious and so fucking frustrating, “Yeah, well, I don’t even know why it matters so much.” The bite in your voice is more directed at yourself, than him.

Satoru doesn’t flinch, just tilts his head, and he’s quiet. It’s a weird look on him, soft concern, “You genuinely really liked him that much?”

The truth sticks to your throat as your chest tightens, and your eyes blur. It would be nice to tell Satoru that you didn’t really care that much. That it was never fully that serious, but the lie won’t leave your lips. The lump in your throat is palpable, and all you can do is sniffle, “Yeah. I did.”

“Do you want to cry?” Satoru’s voice is gentle enough to catch you off guard.

You open your mouth to retort, something sharp and defensive. But before you know it, tears spill as your chest constricts. It’s sudden, like a storm that breaks on the horizon.

And just like that, your best friend pulls you into him. For once, the wild energy that crackles off him is gone, replaced by something quieter and more unwavering. You can feel his shoulder under your cheek, soft and warm, salt staining the expensive fabric. And if anyone does see you sob into Gojo Satoru’s arms, while the white-haired boy pats your back, no one says a word.

But to borrow a line from Bangtan Sonyeondan, life goes on. The next few months slip by like the kind of indie film that you’d see at film festival. It’s bittersweet, and there’s a melancholy that everyone can taste in the air, especially as you all realise that this last blue spring of youth is slipping through fingers like sand.

In this haze of time, you discover a few things that you didn’t expect. For instance, Geto Suguru is, in fact, far more than the tall and brooding figure that you once shrugged off. He’s the stillness to Satoru’s sharper teeth, the quiet that counters the blue eye of the storm. He’s soft-spoken, with an easy patience that tempers Satoru’s edges. He’s become a bit of a constant presence, as they always bicker and makeup in a sort of perpetual cycle.

Spring arrives like a first kiss. It’s hesitant, not rushing in. Just tiptoes around you, tentative enough as it coaxes you out of winter’s gloom. Before the flurry of sparkly gowns and speeches, there’s Utahime’s birthday to celebrate. It’s supposed to be a relaxed affair, she insists that she has no desire for fuss. But you all show up anyway, surprising her with a giant, pastel cake that takes up nearly half the table.

Her laugh is loud, and carefree, mixing with the salt of the ocean breeze on this beach trip. Her black hair whips around her face, even as she blushes at the attention. She’s protesting, but it’s swallowed by laugher, by the sound of waves breaking against the shores.

The awards and titles are all well and good, prom queen and valedictorian. A shiny, little stamp on your high school resume, a golden ticket to the next chapter of your life. But when anyone brings it up, or someone presses too hard on the subject, you shift uncomfortably, your fingers toying with the edge of your pre-med acceptance letter like it just might tear under the pressure of your grip. No-one talks about how you’ve been visiting your locker less and less.

Satoru, of course, loudly denies crying at graduation, even as salty, shiny tears tack to his cheeks. They’re practically immortalised in every digital snapshot that you take. But for now, he’s too busy wrapping everyone in a bear hug, clutching the group that it’s the last time he’ll ever see them. Nanami’s already peeling him off, shaking his head with a worn sigh.

It's late in the morning after the graduation ceremony, as you all pile into cars, driving to a riverside café. It’s one of those places where people with money go to prove that they have money, to prove that even their breakfasts are above the meals of the common folk. But you all sit there, with the graduation ribbons still pinned to your lapels. There’s the debate over who cried the most during the ceremony (Gojo, easily, though Haibara is a close second) and who’s the one who peaked in high school. Everyone unanimously votes for Geto, who sulks as he tosses his hair out of his face, ever the drama queen.

“Bullshit,” he’s grumbling, “Just you wait. You’ll see what I accomplish in ten years.”

Satoru grins, all teeth and lazy confidence, “Yeah, what? You’re going to start running a pyramid scheme cult?”

Utahime’s voice cuts through the chatter, her white ribbon flouncing as she leans towards you, blinking at the empty space in front of you, “Where’s your food?”

You wave her off with a smile, “It’s fine. You guys can go ahead and start, I’ll just go and check.”

You hear Satoru choke around a mouthful of food, already bulldozing half his way through his plate like a bottomless pit.

There’s a pretty glass display at the front, filled with delicate chiffon cakes that glisten in the soft light. You wonder if you should have just ordered one, perhaps to share with Nanami. You know he likes desserts like this.

“Can I help you?”

Your pulse stutters as you bite your tongue, heart crashing against the rocks. You soothe your tongue over the tang of iron that blooms in your mouth from the stupidly familiar voice.

Choso Kamo.

You’d like to say that he looks good, but the truth is, he doesn’t. The hollows beneath his eyes are far more accentuated than you remember, and his hair is pulled back into a messy knot at the back of his head. Even his pale skin has taken on a sicklier pallor than usual.

“Hello?” His voice cuts through the silence, sharper this time, carrying an edge that takes you by surprise.

“Oh, uh, hey. Choso. Just wanted to check on my order,” you say, like it’s a poor prelude to small talk. It sounds far too chipper, almost artificial.

Choso’s expression tightens immediately, in an ill-omen. It’s as if he’s irritated that you even have the nerve to recognise him, to stand there in his space. He doesn’t meet your gaze, his attention flicking back to the screen in front of him with a quickness that almost feels deliberate.

“Hello.” He’s muttering back, more out of obligation than any real interest. Like it’s a formality.

The sharp, hollow feeling in your chest expands, deeper than you’re willing to admit. The last time you saw him, you had been standing at his door, and he had slammed it in your face.

“What are you doing here?” Your question is clumsy, hanging in the air, and far too intrusive for a stranger.

“What?” Choso doesn’t even look up. But then he does, just briefly, his gaze flicking to yours with the same disinterest. He shrugs, as though the query is too trivial for any answer.

“It’s just…it’s been a while, yeah?” You’re not quite sure how to word and I want to know how you’ve been.

“I’m fine,” Choso replies quickly, dismissing your question with a wave of his pale hand, “Just working around here and there.”

It’s offbeat, landing wrong. You don’t think it’s unfair to think that everyone expected more of him. One of the smartest, most brilliant minds in your cohort, who had been a shoo-in for medicine, alongside you.

The bustle of patrons behind you intensifies, but you stubbornly dig your heels into the polished tile, “How’s Yuuji?”

The mention of his younger brother softens him, just a little. A small, bashful smile tugs at the corner of Choso’s pink lips, hesitant, like he doesn’t quite know how to let it show, “He’s good. Says you were the ‘bestest’ babysitter that he ever had. Even asks about you sometimes.”

You fight the urge to smile too openly, not wanting to seem too affected by the gentleness that suddenly lingers in the space between you two, “I’m glad. And…are you still working for your uncle?”

It’s as if you’ve thrown a switch, causing all the warmth to evaporate from his features. His jaw tightens, as his brow furrows. Settling a coldness over his expression, “Who the fuck told you that?”

You blink, surprised at the sudden harshness of his words. “Yuuji mentioned it,” you murmur, quieter now, careful. The hesitation in your voice isn’t feigned, and you realise you’ve broken the golden rule of ‘never push Choso Kamo about his personal life.’

Choso doesn’t seem keen on letting you explain, as his glare cuts through you, “If you wanted to snoop into my life, just ask me your stupid questions, okay? Don’t drag my little brother into it.”

The accusation lands like a slap, stinging you more than you expected, “What? I wasn’t snooping,” you insist, defences flaring open, “He told me that himself. I didn’t even ask him anything, and I didn’t ask anything else!”

He just stares at you, eyes burnished and unreadable, but he seems mollified by your answer. Like he knows that your explanation is sincere, but the chasm is nigh impossible to bridge, “Sure. Okay.”

You don’t know how to respond, opening your mouth to ask what on earth has made him so unreasonable. To dig the tips of your almond nails into his long sleeves, and demand that he treats you as adoringly as everyone else in your life does. But he interrupts you first, “Your order’s coming.”

Choso’s tone is clipped, colder. As though he’s already moved on, “And I’ve got a lot of other customers to serve. Nice seeing you again, or whatever.”

A dismissal, if there ever was one. The embarrassment rushes up your neck, hot and insistent, but you bite your tongue. You let your heels clack a little more loud than necessary, as you stomp away. You’re swivelling your head to deliver a final, withering stare but his gaze is no longer on you.

Choso’s looking at the table where everyone is sitting. Where your friends are laughing, leaning into one another as they snap their final graduation photos. Where Geto has his lips pressed to Satoru’s cheek in a rare display of affection, arms linked with Shoko and Utahime. Where even Nanami’s smiling, the sunlight leafing through his golden waves of thick hair.

There’s no anger in Choso’s eyes, or even that solitary, brooding stare. He looks almost…sad. Profoundly sorrowful, in a deep and aching way that makes your anger dissipate.

He’s looking at your friends, at their graduation certificates stacked in sleeves on the table, as though he’s lost something that he never had. It aches your chest tightly, a knot pulling at your heart.

Once, he was Choso Kamo — the quiet boy you liked in school. Then, he became Choso from the café. Soon, he'll be someone whose name you won't even remember in a few years, someone who's path you'll probably never cross again.

You find yourself blinking furiously, feeling as though you've just lost something yourself, but you fight back the salt that threatens to blur your vision before your friends see.

THREE YEARS LATER.

Your day had started off deceptively well, like a glass of water poured perfectly. Clear, refreshing, with no chance of spilling. The sun was shining, your skin looked like it was having its best day, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. But of course, it didn’t take long for things to spiral, as they tend to do.

It was like playing a real-life Sisyphus game, except instead of a boulder, it was a series of small, dumb annoyances that you couldn’t dodge fast enough.

First, Satoru had texted to cancel lunch. And to be fair, you weren’t that bothered. He had been talking all week about a world-renowned professor dropping in on his fourth-years Honours class, something about nuclear engineering. And you knew that Satoru lived for anything involving theoretical mass and explosions.

Then, your favourite tote bag had decided it was done with you. The strap had snapped off with a surprising, sudden violence. Your beautiful new water bottle had hit the floor with a sickening, metallic thud. Pens rolled across the tiles like little soldiers. You had been kneeling, already late for class, muttering curses under your breath when your phone had rung.

Your mother.

And you already knew that tone well enough, that voice that could cut through steel.

“You missed the charity dinner? You know how embarrassing it is for your father and I to come up with excuses, just to explain your absence —”

Yeah, like you had personally insulted her by choosing to study for your exams, instead of milling around an event hall. You tried to explain, but it was like trying to explain Satoru’s quantum physics to the wall. Totally pointless, and not worth your time and energy. And naturally, her tone escalated, because that’s what she just tended to do. Nevermind that she was calling from some ritzy hotel in Europe, crackling over the phone.

And then, just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, the course coordinator paged you in for a meeting. You were still in your first few weeks of medicine, so you had been scratching your brain for what he could have possibly wanted, snapping gum as you rushed and clacked up stone steps, breezing through campus.

Now, here you were. Standing in front of his desk with your arms crossed, almost petulantly. The room smelled like old coffee, and expired textbooks as the man coughed, leaning back against his desk, littered with academic transcripts and stacked envelopes.

“Look, there’s no denying that you’re one of our most brilliant students. All the tutors and lecturers admire your work ethic,” and the professor stopped, and you grimaced. Ah, here it comes.

“But, you’ve chosen Ieiri Shoko as your partner for the past three years, am I correct in saying this?” His dark eyes are narrowed behind wiry glasses, as you frowned.

“Yes.”

Shoko had practically excelled in Pre-Med alongside you, surviving late night study rants, extreme caffeine dependency, and textbook-induced breakdowns.

“You work together well,” the coordinator adds, looking like he was trying to make this sound like a compliment, “But you need to branch out. Develop your versatility. In a noble field, such as medicine, it’s important to be able to work with others. Not rule and conquer.”

You blink at him, “Branch out? I don’t know how else to say this, but I don’t like anyone else in my class. And Shoko and I are easily the best.”

He ignores your comments, “So, I’ve thought it better to move you to a new stream. Instead of Tuesday’s clinical practice, I’ll have you attend the Thursday session, starting today. There’s a new partner for you, and I assure you, he is just as competent as Ieiri Shoko,”

You doubt it. No-one can handle the sight of infected perineum stitches like Shoko can.

It seems there’s only one card left for you to pull, “My grandfather paid for this entire wing of the building. His name is on the plaque outside.”

The coordinator doesn’t even budge, “That may be true. But you still need to grow. You will never learn if you just continue to stick with what is familiar.”

You leave the office with a sour taste in your mouth, clutching the crisp sheet of paper that’s already being emailed to your student account, no doubt.

“Collaboration,” you’re muttering under your breath, “Building character, my ass.” You’re squinting at the page, trying to decipher the name of your new stream partner, but it’s obscured by a hastily scribbled note with your classroom change.

The faint ache in your neck refuses to budge, and you roll your shoulders with a sigh. Pushing through the double doors to the anatomy facility. Immediately, the frigid air bites at your cheeks, sharp and unwelcome. These buildings always feel like high-tech mausoleums, with tables lined up like gleaming altars. Surfaces cold enough to numb your fingertips if you’re careless.

The faint, cloying scent of formaldehyde hangs in the air, sharp and chemical. It’s supposed to preserve the cadavers, but it has the unfortunate side effect of making your stomach growl at the worst times. Hunger, and embalming fluid. A combination so disgusting that you try not to dwell on it for too long.

Your lab coat is rubbing uncomfortably against your arms, and your Loewe sweater is bunched awkwardly around your elbows. It’s a long-suffering sigh that echoes the hall as you shove the heavy barred doors to the classroom.

The tutor is a stalk-like man, with perpetually knitted brows, glancing up at you as you enter, “Ah, yes. The transfer,” he’s brisk with it, “Got the note about you moving to my Thursday stream. Just sit over there, for now. Yeah, there. Your partner should be along soon. If he’s a no-show, I’ll reassign you to a different table.”

You nod wordlessly, scanning the room as you head to your non-descript, assigned corner. The faces at the other tables blur together, some curious and others indifferent. Most focused on pushing worksheets under steel clipboards.

Great. A room full of strangers with all the warmth of wet cardboard.

Sliding into your plastic seat, you pull your notebook out and flip it open, the pages crinkling and echoing in the too-quiet room. It’s a minute, maybe two of shifting uncomfortably in your chair, feeling the awkward hollowness of sitting alone at a two-person station. But the door swings open with a groaning creak.

“Perfect! Full class today, that’s what I like to see. Just head to your usual spot, and I’ll start passing the models around.”

You glance up, squinting at the figure who’s broad enough to cause a solar eclipse of the fluorescent light.

“Get out,” you blurt.

“This is my class,” Choso Kamo stares at you, equally bewildered. His bronze eyes widen briefly, flickering from your face to the lab tables, to the unaware tutor.

“Don’t care. Get out,” you scowl, speechless for a moment, “No. Don’t sit. This is my assigned stream. Don’t tell me that you’re my —”

“Partner?” Choso finishes for you, deadpan.

“Of all the people in this entire school —”

“I’m starting to feel offended,” Choso cuts in, already pulling out the chair beside you, and slinging his bag down with an air of resignation.

“What are you doing here?”

Choso’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t quite smile, “I’m getting an education. Obviously.”

Your gaze flickers away from his unfairly handsome face, following the motion of his hand as he shifts. There’s a single black hair tie, looped around his wrist.

But something just does not add up for you. This isn’t just any medical program. It’s the kind of rigorous, cutthroat, soul-consuming degree that requires three years of a top GPA from Pre-Med. It’s designed to weed out the faint hearted before the first semester is even over. Graduates here don’t just get jobs. They get titles, and invitations to Westminster where the British monarch probably bestows them with Dame, or Sir, or some other archaic title.

And Choso Kamo is a high school dropout, with nary a certificate to his name.

“You got into medicine?” It’s as blunt as you can get.

“What? Like it’s hard?”

“Don’t quote Legally Blonde at me,” You snarl, wordlessly taking the tray of silicone gashes from the tutor.

Choso blinks, as though he’s truly stumped by your hostile reaction, “Then don’t ask stupid questions.” He seems…different now. Sharper, and less apologetic. There’s a streak of confidence that’s as unnerving as it is infuriating. Is he taller? He seems taller.

You exhale sharply, a sound between frustration and resignation. It’s not like you can go up to the course coordinator now and say, ‘Oh, sorry! I can’t be in this stream because my new partner is the boy who broke my heart in high school. I cried and threw up on my best friend’s blazer for three days.’

But you’ve definitely given the group chat enough material to fuel their devious amusement for days, even weeks. You’re practically writing the jokes for them.

With a defiant swing of your arm, you hoist your bag onto the desk. The soft leather tanking against the sterile surface, like a gauntlet being thrown. You slide it firmly into position, the strap dangling just enough to make a point. That this is your line in the sand.

“Don’t move one centimetre over your side of the desk.”

Choso just rolls his eyes.

“They…modify bacterial ribosomes.”

“Wrong.”

You sigh and tap the edge of your notebook with the tip of your mechanical pencil. The rhythm is irregular, your thoughts too scrambled to produce anything like a steady beat.

“They inactive carbapenems,” you try again, your tone pitched with the kind of hope that knows it’s already on life support.

“Nope.”

Choso’s shaking his head, the movement loose and lazy, and it sends strands of his chestnut hair tumbling into his face. The harsh fluorescent lights above make his hair shine with an almost metallic lustre, and as he tugs a thick sweater over his broad frame, your gaze drifts.

The fabric of his white top is riding up, revealing a pale stretch of skin. There’s the faintest dusting of dark hair trailing downwards, and your eyes snap back to the textbook. Your cheeks flushed, for the briefest second as your resolve breaks.

“Just tell me the answer.”

Choso exhales, in a soft and patient sound, sliding the textbook your way. He’s tapping the page with his finger, his blunt nail landing on the highlighted sentence.

“Extended-Spectrum Beta-Lactamases hydrolyse a wide range of beta-lactam antibiotics, including third-generation cephalosporins. This contributes to antibiotic resistance.” His voice is smooth, but it carries that faint rasp that always makes it sound like he’s just woken up.

“I was close.”

“Close doesn’t get you any marks,” Choso replies, deadpan.

Your retort dies on your glossy lips, when a sharp shhh cuts through the air. You glance up, spotting a student two tables away, glaring at you over the rim of her stylish tortoiseshell glasses.

Your next sip of coffee is deliberate, making an obnoxious gurgle as you drain the bottom of your cup. Choso’s eyes flick to the order scribbled on the side, Caramel Crunch Latte, Extra Whip. His lips twitch, but what can you say? Satoru’s dropped a habit or two on you over the years.

This has become the routine over the past few weeks. The outright disdain you had initially felt had eroded, once you had realised that you were truly stuck with the man. It had become something closer to a begrudging truce, but ‘truce’ may be too generous a word.

The two of you found yourselves studying together. Regularly. Choso needed to interact more with people, and less with his old, dusty laptop. And you needed a study partner that could match your wits. Unfortunately, Choso seemed entirely oblivious to the reason you nursed an ancient grudge against him, choosing to accept your bad attitude in stride.

It doesn’t help that Choso is, well, hot now.

In high school, he had always been cute in that underdog way. Endearing, if not exactly the type to inspire confidence. He had been the subject of your sweet trope-like fantasy that you would nurture during long, dull classes.

You, the radiant prom queen, standing under a canopy of glittering lights, extending a perfectly manicured hand to him. The shy, awkward loser who’d clearly underestimated how gorgeous his messy hair and tendency to trip over his own words were. Ugh, now you’re not sure who had been the bigger loser.

But three years had passed, and the Choso that sat across from you now bore only a passing resemblance to that daydream. Time, it seemed had been suspiciously kind to him. Unfairly, even. His frame was lean but undeniably defined. His shyness remained, because you knew that he refused to correct the woman at the food trucks whenever she got his name wrong, but it had softened into something less clumsy, and more self-contained. Far less teenage angst.

The dark violet smudges beneath his eyes were still there, giving him that haunted and sleep—deprived look. And his hair was still the same stringy, chestnut mop that you remembered. But it was more of a deliberate statement now, instead of an oversight. It hung just over his shoulders, and you had heard many a passerby giggle and whisper about hot emos on campus. Like, get in line.

“What are you doing next weekend?”

The question comes so abruptly that your head snaps up like a spring-loaded trap.

“Huh?” You blink, the tip of your pencil teetering dangerously close to snapping against the page.

Choso stares back at you, his expression maddeningly neutral, “Like, are you busy?”

“It’s my friend’s birthday on Saturday, we’re going out at night,” you’re narrowing your eyes at him, already feeling your composure fray.

It’s Suguru’s birthday, and Gojo’s gone full-out with a surprise planned at some five-star restaurant. You managed to get your hands on a vintage vinyl turntable for him, courtesy of a Sotheby’s auction.

Choso nods, like he’s filing that away somewhere, “What about Sunday?”

“Sunday?” You repeat, dragging it out, “I’m free, I guess.” Against all reason, you find yourself answering honestly, even as some internal voice is screaming at you to lie and make up an excuse.

“Do you want to study at my place?”

There’s a pause, long enough for the air to grow heavy between you two. You wonder if he remembers the last time that you asked him to go out with you. Your eyebrows shoot up, and your mouth must be twitching in something close to incredulity.

Choso notices, for his ears go pink first. Then his cheeks, like someone’s spattered him with a splotchy watercolour paint. The flush sits pretty, just under the dark mark that crosses the bridge of his nose, “No, I mean, like really study. Just studying. It’s easier than being here…” He twitches, looking anywhere but you, “Yuuji would be happy to see you again, and stuff.”

And stuff. How ridiculous that two words make your heart trip over itself. Your three-year resolve to keep him firmly in the do not touch zone has basically cracked wide open. There’s a traitorous smile tugging at the corner of your lips, but you manage to suppress it. Barely. Playing it off with a nonchalant hum.

“Hmm. Sure, I’ll think about it.”

Choso lives in an apartment now. Not a polished high-rise with sleek fixtures and panoramic views, but a tired and unremarkable building with flickering yellow lights that cast long and ominous shadows along the stairwell. You clutch the slip of paper that he scribbled his address on, squinting at the nearly illegible scrawl. It’s barely decipherable, a penmanship perfect for prescriptions and indecipherable notes.

In your other hand, you balance a box of cream rolls from the bakery that Nanami swears by, their golden horns stuffed with airy dairy and dusted with cinnamon sugar. The smell is warm and sweet, a sharp contrast to the questionable stairwell.

The ascent feels longer than it should, each step accompanied by the faint swing of those tired lights overhead. But you bite back any judgement, you’ve made that mistake before.

Someone else is already there, a tall figure that knocks on Choso’s door with wide, lazy knuckles. Once. Twice. The man huffs, pocketing his phone and pulling out a key. There’s a practiced ease to the way he clicks the lock open, and for a moment, you hesitate, wondering if you’re witnessing a breaking-and-entering type of situation.

But there’s something familiar about the muted shock of rosy, pink hair that spikes over his head.

“What are you doing?” His voice is rough, deep, with an edge of irritation that makes you stand a little straighter. He looks over you once, and his eyes fall on the box of pastries in your hands. Disinterest giving way to a little bit of curiosity. It reminds you of Itadori Yuuji.

“Uh,” you clear your throat, “Choso invited me.”

The man’s eyebrows lift in surprise, and you’re fascinated by the tattoos that curl around his face. Even running along his jawline, and down his neck. There are silver studs littering his ear, and if you didn’t know better, you would say that there are real precious stones scattered among them.

“Didn’t know he had a date.” The man seems gruffly amused, and you stomp your heels, the sound snapping off worn walls.

“It’s not a date. We’re studying.”

“Don’t care. Didn’t really ask.”

With that, he swings the door open, stepping inside before you can. You linger in the doorway, before hesitantly following him, watching as he kicks the door shut with his heel. He seems to be making himself at home like he owns the place, peering through an empty fridge and rifling through cabinets. All before collapsing on the sagging couch like it’s his throne, sprawled out as he starts scrolling through his phone again.

You just perch awkwardly on the edge of a cold chair, as the space suddenly feels oddly claustrophobic. Your fingers toy with the edge of your notebook, as you wonder whether you need to call Choso, to see if this was all a mistake. Instead, your gaze flickers over to the man sitting opposite you.

You’re sure that he comes from money. You’ve spent enough summer holidays backstage at Milan and Paris shows to recognise the season’s latest pieces. And the crimson racing jacket on his shoulders is definitely a Dior piece that costs more than what you assume is the rent of this entire apartment complex. Plus, you had spent enough time flicking through Van Cleef’s catalogue to recognise the whirring, high-jewellery piece that sat on his wrist. A watch with an eye-like mechanism, studded with Burmese rubies. Easily the price of your penthouse.

“So, you friends with Choso?” He asks suddenly, lowering his phone. His eyes are sharp russet, locking with yours.

“We know each other from high school,” you say, trying to keep your tone neutral. It’s best to leave it at that, it’s safer that way. You’re playing Choso’s game, the one where you don’t share a thing about your personal life.

“Hmph,” The sound is more of a grunt than a response, and it makes you bristle. Why bother asking a question if you’re not interested in the answer?

“Did I leave the door unlocked?”

You hear Choso’s faintly bewildered murmur, almost to himself, before he catches sight of you. It’s cute, how a bashful smile creeps over his face again, almost embarrassed at the sight of you. But it darkens instantly, sharply. His bronze eyes are fixed on the man that loiters on his couch.

“Get out.”

The man is unfazed, “Why? Am I interrupting your date?”

“It’s not a date. We’re studying.” Choso’s mirroring your exact, previous words. His tone is stiff, like you’ve never heard it before. A snarl, with irritation bubbling underneath the surface.

“I don’t know how else I can stress this enough, brat. But I really do not care what you do to get off.” The man drawls, pushing himself off the couch. He’s absurdly tall, easily the height of the ceiling. You catch a glimpse of the tattoos trailing up his forearm, dark ink that winds around his wrist. A startling splash of red staining the sleeve of the pristine jacket. It’s dried up now, crusting the edges of the fabric. Sort of like…

Weird. And impossible.

Choso grunts, “Fine. Get up. Go,” and he’s gesturing towards a door leading into another room, his jaw clenched tight. The muscles in his neck are taut, the apology in his expression at you somehow mixed with a faint flicker of regret, like he wishes you weren’t here to see this.

What happens next is an absolute masterclass on being nosy. You’ve edged closer to the door, shifting on the couch so you’re practically perched on the armrest. You can hear the muffled thrum of Choso and the stranger’s voice through the door, but it’s not enough. Curiosity is clawing her sharp nails at you, and you wonder if you should text Satoru. Or maybe drop a quick message in the group chat.

You end up leaning in closer, ignoring the way that you’re teetering on the very edge.

The conversation is low, like the rumble of thunder in the distance, but the voices are gradually building until —

“What? You did not just fuckin’ throw something at me!” The man’s voice booms so loud that you almost jump out of your skin, “What is wrong with you? Can’t even have an honest conversation these days?”

Choso’s response is tight, simmering with frustration that you don’t understand, “Nothing you do is honest. And don’t break into my place then!”

“Your place?” The man’s scoff is almost a sneer, like he’s amused at the mere thought, “Brat, let’s not forget all the favours I’ve done you.” There’s a crash, something hitting the floor with a thud, and the man’s voice bellows again, “Oi! Put that down right now. Don’t you dare throw something else at me. Fuck, you’ve got good aim, I’ll give ya’ that.”

You can hear Choso shuffle, spit something sharp in response.

“You’ve done all these things for me before, eh? Why the hesitation now? Got tired of cleaning it all up?”

Choso’s response is firm through the thin walls, “I’m done with doing your dirty work all the time.”

The silence that follows is thick, suffocating, punctuated with a low and disbelieving laugh.

“You said that last time. But you came crawling back when you couldn’t handle looking after the kid all on your lonesome.”

“Leave Yuuji out of this!”

There’s another muffled scuffle, a loud thud that makes your heart race as the stranger growls, “Can’t believe you bit me.”

The door swings open with a suddenness that almost knocks you off your seat. Choso’s practically putting his entire back into shoving the man out with a sharp grunt, like he’s had enough.

The stranger turns, giving you a lazy, bored wave. Like he knows that it will simply irk Choso off even more. And he’s right. Choso, not having it for a second, snaps at him, “Get out. And don’t come back.”

The man rolls his eyes, but not before pulling out a pricey Italian wallet, slapping a wad of thick bills down on the kitchen counter, “That’s for this month. I’ll send a cheque next month for the little brat’s birthday.”

Then he’s gone, muttering something about bitchy, little bastard children, born on the wrong side of the sheets, with sharp teeth.

Choso’s whirling around to you, his expression unreadable and blank. Like the surface of still water that refuses to betray even a ripple of emotion. You school your features, meeting his gaze with a look of equal, quiet disinterest.

“Friend of yours?” You ask, your voice cool. But there’s questions dancing on the tip of your tongue, and you can taste them in the air.

He doesn’t answer right away. He’s flicking through the thick stack of bills that the stranger left on the counter. The sound of cash shifting in his hands is oddly loud, and you whistle low, almost involuntarily. It makes Choso look up, catching your appreciative gaze. His fingers tighten around the stack, his jaw clenching, as if to keep in whatever thoughts or words are threatening to spill out.

“Don’t say anything.” His voice is a low mutter, hard.

“I didn’t.”

Choso looks at you again, his hazel eyes softening just enough that you catch the flicker of something unsure. He lets out a low sigh, “But you want to ask.”

“Will you let me ask?” You’re pushing, your voice a little softer and coaxing than you intended. You can already see the signs, the slight stiffening of his shoulders, the way his gaze flickers to the door as if he’s considering an exit. Choso’s like a clam, snapping shut, as if there is a pearl that he’s not ready to share.

“What do you want to know?” He’s saying this like it’s a chore, as if it is the last thing he wants to do.

You make your way to the kitchen counter, “What will you tell me?”

If Choso is irritated by the vague, passive nature of your questions, he doesn’t show it. He simply tugs his purple sweater down, sharply. “Yuuji will be sad if his uncle didn’t send him money for his birthday. He turns ten next month.”

“So that was…Uncle Kuna,” you ask, murmuring more to yourself than to him. But Choso’s sharp gaze flicks to you, a faint confirmation in the nod that follows.

“Mhm.”

And just like that, something clicks in your brain. A conversation that you had overheard once, perhaps a year or two ago. A rare moment that both your parents had been home, still too distracted to realise that you were listening. The realisation hits you hard, like a small shot of adrenaline, “That’s not Sukuna, is it? Ryomen Sukuna?”

Choso’s amber look is like fragile glass now, “Yeah. How’d you figure?”

In a world such as yours and Satoru’s, it’s quite hard to avoid gossip, and whispers that float around in the backrooms of business meetings, or in the too-quiet halls of private clubs. For all the older business-clans, Sukuna is quite the upstart. A man who clawed his way to the top, not just content with money, but power and influence as well. Apparently, he made quite the name for himself, building an empire with wealth beyond measure.

And all at the low price of being wanted in more than thirty-five countries and territories. A businessman, a crook and a criminal. Your father said that Ryomen Sukuna’s ledgers were written in red ink, fresh blood for both personal and financial debts that were owed to him.

“Why did he say that you came crawling back to him?”

Choso’s eyes flutter shut, and you can see that he’s calculating whether it’s worth the effort to respond.

“He’s the reason I dropped out of school,” Choso mutters, the words low enough that almost don’t catch them. They land with a soft thud, the kind that makes your pulse stutter. You stare at him, with the kind of look that people give when a ticking time bomb has just been dropped in their lab.

Choso scoffs, eyes darting away, “Yeah. He’s always been sending money for Yuuji. And I was stuck doing his…favours.”

Suddenly, you’re back in high school. On Choso’s doorstep, watching him try to hide a cardboard box of surgical tools. There’s a little corkboard map in your head connected with red strings, as you pin other things on there. The latex gloves in the box, Choso’s general lack of squeamish misery when it comes to the stickier parts of medicine, and the bloodstain on Ryomen Sukuna’s Dior jacket.

It’s almost odd, in a morbid way, that a crime boss chooses the latest Vogue streetwear, instead of a dark Godfather suit and a cigar.

Your expression must betray the pieces that you’ve put together, because Choso’s eyes widen, like he can see the cogs turning in your brain. “Look,” he stammers, voice rougher now, with a nervous edge, “I didn’t do anything wrong. Never saw what he did. Not really. Just —”

You shush him gently, a hand reaching out to land on his, a little too quickly and a little too hot. The instant your skin brushes against his, there’s a sharp feeling. Like you’ve touched something that burns beneath the surface. His face flashes a faint pink, muscles stiffening as though your touch seared him in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

“Go on,” you hope that your tone is reassuring.

Choso swallows, his throat bobbing as his fingers suddenly curl around yours, “Anyway, I got tired of doing his dirty work, you know? Thought that if I dropped out, I could get a job. Work enough to support myself and Yuuji, without taking a single dollar from him.”

“But he’s your uncle?” Your question is tentative, like you’re testing the waters of a deeper pool, “Wouldn’t he support you, too?”

Choso’s sigh is deep and weary as he gently corrects you, “He’s Yuuji’s uncle. Yuuji’s my half-brother.”

Suddenly, Sukuna’s comment about ‘biting bastard children’ snaps into place with clarity. Oh.

You’re not sure what to say now, what words could possibly fill the emptiness that lingers between the two of you. What a misery it would have been. Being a teenager with such potential, forced to close off your own future for the sake of family, and those that you love.

You remember Choso’s face that day, after graduation, with his hollow expression as he watched your friends celebrate their youth. There’s a bitter lump in your throat, but for once, you keep it down. This really isn’t about you.

You frown, the thought sneaking up on you and settling in your chest like a splinter you can’t ignore. “He said you owed him favours.”

Choso exhales sharply, his shoulders stiffening as if bracing for something unpleasant. His voice is low, bitter. “You think high school dropouts pay their own way into med school without a benefactor?”

Right.

“So?” Choso’s voice cuts through the fog of your thoughts, and you blink at him, startled.

“So, what?”

Choso shifts, unease seeping into his posture. His calloused fingers are still curled tightly around yours, like he’s afraid that you’ll pull away and slip past him.

“Are you angry?”

You’re not sure whether to laugh, or sigh, “Why would I be angry?”

He’s hesitating, dark hair falling loose around his face, “I was a jerk to you.” The words come quietly, like they’ve been gnawing at him, biting at the edges of his thoughts, “At the time, I don’t know, I guess I was just angry. Everything felt unfair, and I didn’t want anyone else to be involved.”

You frown, not fully understanding what to say, “You were still a teenager,” you say slowly, like you’re trying to convince both him and you. You hesitate, unsure whether you’re underplaying things, so the worlds come out a little jagged, not quite as comforting as you wished. “I guess…” It feels weak as your words suddenly stagger off.

Choso’s eyes flicker to yours, searching, like he’s trying to figure if there’s something else, you’re not saying, “What?”

You can practically hear Satoru’s voice in your heard, groaning and whining about screwing the long game. But you puff a breath through your cheeks, worried you’ll lose the nerve, “You know, I really liked you, right, Choso?”

Choso’s mouth drops open, as his face flickers with disbelief. The same way it had three years ago, “Like, really?”

You nod, a smile tugging at your lips without even thinking, “Yeah. And you know, everyone else thought I was being, like, silly. But I really liked you. I just never knew what to say to you.” It feels so stupid, and obvious now. But back then, it had been a great chunk of your world. You force yourself to hold his bashful gaze.

Choso’s quiet for a moment, before he admits, “I couldn’t believe it when you asked me to be your date. I thought it was just a game you were playing, or there was no-one left to ask.”

And then, after a beat, “Who did you go with?”

You snicker, a little too bitter and honest, “No-one.”

Choso’s quiet, relieved ‘damn’ makes you laugh even more, threading your fingers with his.

“I just can’t believe he’s in your classes. What are the odds?” Satoru mutters, abandoning his sunglasses for the evening, his bright eyes flashing like sunlight refracted on water. He claims that his eyes are less sensitive today, but you’re certain it’s an excuse for him to freely rifle through your kitchen without obstruction. In the living room, the rest of your friends hover like a pack of starved hyenas, waiting for the snacks that Satoru is currently monopolising.

“I’m telling you, when I first saw him, my heart dropped straight to my ass,” you say, tearing open a bag of sour cream crisps with more force than necessary. The chips tumble into the earthenware bowl in a noisy cascade.

Satoru snickers, expertly arranging small platters on a big, oaken serving board, “I pity the lack of cushioning it got.”

You flick a stray crisp at him, the chip bouncing off his shoulder with a gratifying crunch. For a moment, his grin is steady, but it quickly turns rueful. That slight furrow in his brows, the way the corner of his mouth twitches downwards. There’s something else simmering under that veneer of carelessness.

“You’re not happy, Satoru?”

His expression hardens slightly, plucking a cluster of wine-red grapes, twisting them off their stems with methodical precision.

“Well, yeah,” Satoru admits after a beat, his tone uncharacteristically sober, “I’m glad that he’s, like, nice now or whatever. But he basically broke your heart, didn’t he?”

You glance away, your fingers tighten on the corner of another snack bag, “He had his reasons.” Your flat reply avoids his curious gaze, perceptive and knowing. You hadn’t filled him on the Sukuna-lore. You’re not sure what it is, but there’s bad blood between the Gojos and Sukuna, and you’re not keen to exacerbate it.

Oh, hey, Satoru! So, Choso is like Sukuna’s adopted nephew. And I think Sukuna forced him to like clean up people’s chopped fingers and arms, or whatever. But I have a big crush on him, yep. Right after I said that I wouldn’t catch feelings again.

Satoru scoffs, wagging a long finger at you. A glistening droplet of grape juice clings to his thumb like a ruby bead, “Don’t make excuses for someone hurting your feelings. You know better than that.” His tone carries the same theatrical lilt as always, but it’s underpinned with something firmer, genuine.

Before you can fire back, a new voice meanders into the kitchen, soft and unhurried, “Who hurt your feelings?”

It’s Suguru, propped lazily against the doorway, choppy layers freshly framing his sharp features. The dim kitchen light catches on the faint sheen of his silver rings as he crosses his arms.

Satoru grabs a bag of pretzels, lobbing it towards him, “Choso Kamo. Remember that emo guy I told you about?”

Suguru catches the bag with practised ease, without looking, his mauve gaze flicking to you. You silently curse Gojo Satoru for broadcasting your love life, or lack thereof, to what feels like half the city.

“What’s he look like again?”

You narrow your eyes at the tall man, “He was literally in our grade.”

Suguru shrugs, his palms raised in mock innocence, “I never saw him, okay? He was quiet as hell, never had classes with him.”

“He wasn’t that quiet,” you protest, but your words are drowned out by Satoru’s triumphant declaration.

“Hold up! I got visual aid.”

He’s whipped out his phone, unlocking it with a brief glance of his face, before shoving the dimmed screen inches from Suguru’s puzzled face. The photo, a grainy yearbook photo of Choso in junior year, gleams under the kitchen lights. You wonder if you’re going to need to fight for your life on the frontlines again.

For a moment, Suguru’s expression remains neutral. Unimpressed even. Then, as if someone’s flipped a switch, his eyes widen with dawning recognition, “This is Kamo? His girlfriend’s my neighbour.”

Half a grape travels down Satoru’s windpipe, “The villain!”

Your best friend’s exclamation ricochets off the kitchen walls, loud enough to silence whatever protest was forming on your lips. Not that you had much ground to stand on. How would you even know? Choso had talked to you about his family, not his love life. You saw him a few times a week, and then the two of you would drift away, back to your own orbits. And he was a grown man with a life that had surely moved past you.

You had told him that you had liked him, and he hadn’t said a word back that hinted at any mutual connection. How had you missed that?”

Satoru is still recovering from his near demise at the hands of fruit, “What girlfriend? You’re sure, Suguru?”

Suguru raises an eyebrow, looking like he regrets ever opening his mouth, “Hey. Don’t pin this on me. But he comes by, with a little pink-haired kid. His brother? And she’s like talkative,” and he gestures vaguely above his head, “Like, really tall. Blonde.”

Your eyes had drifted to the unopened case of vodka sitting on the counter.

Satoru clocks you immediately, “Don’t even think about it. We’re going to handle this like mature adults.”

“We?”

Satoru nods solemnly, looping his arm through Suguru’s leather jacket, “Yes. Your Choso loss is my Choso loss,” and he pulls Suguru closer, “Our Choso loss.”

Suguru sighs, not shaking him off as he looks at you sympathetically, “Why am I a part of this? No offense. You could skip all this misery, and I don’t know because I’m just spit balling here, ask him?”

The dark-haired man continues, “Or, and I know this is radical for two divas like you, you could just let it go and spare yourself the drama. If you’re going to be working in the same field, wouldn’t professionalism be better?”

Satoru scoffs, “Or! We do some reconnaissance. I mean, you’re the girlfriend’s neighbour, Suguru. Go snoop around.”

“Why is it always me?” Suguru’s pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Because it is always you. You’ve got the best sneaky liar face I know,” Satoru replies breezily, ignoring how Suguru mutters about the love he feels in this kitchen, “And you need to do this for the greater good. All that noble shit.”

Suguru shoots you a half-hearted glare, as if this is somehow your fault, and not Satoru pulling every string. You’re one more inconvenience away from slumping onto the counter, head in hands, a shot glass by your side.

Your mind flickers to the hair tie that Choso always wears on his wrist. It could be innocuous, sure, but the green-eyed monster claws itself up in your chest. You imagine this faceless girlfriend passing it to him, like an intimate, inside joke.

“What am I supposed to do? Corner him in the break room on placements, and interrogate him? Should I pull out the clan funds, and pay him to date me?”

“It’s what I did with Suguru,” Satoru quips, not missing a beat.

“Now who’s the liar,” Suguru murmurs.

The hospital’s looming ahead. A hulking mass of glass and steel that outline the bleak sky. It’s a bitter Monday morning, the kind that bites at your cheeks and sinks into your bones, no matter how tightly you bundle up. The drive has been long and so utterly tedious, the pale sunlight doing little to brighten the cityscape as you crawl along congested streets.

Now, on the far edge of the suburbs, you’re left squinting and fuming as you circle the parking lot for the third time. The situation is grim, spots are scarce, and every turn feels like an ill-fated gamble that only ends in someone else’s bumper.

You mutter curses under your breath, the heater in your car doing little to thaw your mood.

Choso’s already there, not a massive surprise, for his apartment is far closer than your waterfront residence, smack-bang in the city’s central district. His dark hair is loosely tied back, and he’s thrown an old hoodie over his scrubs. There’s a clipboard tucked under his arm, and a coffee cup in the other.

He extends the cup towards you without preamble, “Want it?”

You blink, catching on the incongruity of the gesture. But Suguru’s intel still echoes in your mind, he has a girlfriend.

You furrow your brow, the cup hovering between you, “Where’s yours?”

Choso shrugs, “I don’t drink coffee. Makes me jittery.”

This answer irritates you for no logical reason. Who doesn’t drink coffee? It feels like some fundamental character flaw, and you snatch the cup from his hand. Doing your very best not to unfairly glare at him, for the sole crime of having a life outside of you.

It’s hard to focus when he’s nailed your exact order. You lower the cup, the warmth seeping through the cardboard sleeve and into your fingers, doing little to melt the icy knot that sits in your chest.

Choso seems almost unnervingly chipper this morning, a far cry from his usual brooding demeanour. There’s no scowl etched on his handsome face, no trace of his typical stoicism. Instead, he wears the faintest trace of a smile, a subtle and almost tentative thing that pulls at the corners of his mouth as he glances over a nearly printed itinerary.

The sight throws you further off-kilter. It’s rare to see him like this, easy and unguarded, and you can’t help the way your lips twitch, the barest hint of a smile threatening to escape before you smother it.

“We’re starting in the ER for two hours,” he reads aloud, voice steady, “then, the paediatric unit.” He pauses to flip the page, his expression shifting to mild exasperation, “And then, paperwork in the break room.”

“Figures,” you grumble, tucking your hands into your coat pockets, “Free labour from the students, yeah?”

Choso glances at you, from the corner of his eye, an unimpressed but faintly amused look on his face, “Thought that you would start the day with a more upbeat attitude.”

You grunt in response, which only earns a shake of his head as he folds the itinerary back into his clipboard.

A beat of silence stretches between you, only punctured by the sound of light metal snapping as you clip a badge to your pocket, but he’s speaking again.

“You good?”

His bronze eyes flick to yours, clearly searching, and your pulse stutters, “Yeah. Obviously.”

Choso takes a deep breath, his chest rising and gearing up for something monumental. The way his fingers fidget against the clipboard betrays him, they tap out a staccato rhythm. There’s a flush creeping on the back of his neck, subtle but unmistakeable.

“Want to get dinner tonight?” He blurts, the words tumbling out so fast that they barely sound like a sentence.

You blink at him, confused, “Bless you.” Your automatic response, because he spoke so quickly that it sounded as though he had sneezed.

Choso’s scowl is immediate, “No.” He says it firmly, drawing out each word in exasperation, “I asked if you wanted to get dinner tonight. After this.”

Oh. Oh.

The realisation hits you like a jolt, and for a second, all you can do is gape at him. He’s looking at you now, an almost defiant sort of expectation in his gaze, as though he’s worried that you’re going to laugh at him. But before you piece together a coherent response, there’s a sharp rap-rap-rap of knuckles on the doorframe.

The ward manager is here, her expression brisk and no-nonsense, gesturing for the two of you to begin your shift placement.

Your head snaps back at him, mouth moving before your brain diplomatically catches up, “I don’t think that’s fair to your girlfriend, do you?”

Choso’s brows knit together, his expression shifting to something startled and indignant. Irritated, even, as you push past him.

He’s trying to speak to you. It’s painfully obvious, as he’s got that mildly dazed look. All that awkward, earnest attention is squarely focused on you.

You’re having none of it.

He steps to your side as you shuffle through patient charts, his broad frame taking up more than his fair share of narrow space, shadowing your elbow as you scribble furious notes. His mouth opens, probably to say something that you don’t want to hear, but you’re faster.

“Hey, Choso, what’s her blood pressure?” You interrupt, not bothering to look up from the faintly lined paper.

There’s a second of hesitation before he answers, “120 over 50. Just write that down. Got it? Okay, yeah, can you stop moving for a second and —”

You squint at the chart, cutting him off again, “Hmm, don’t you think that the diastolic is a little low?”

His shoulders slump, “Yes, but the doctors already know that. She has hypothyroidism, you told me that when you interrupted me like half an hour ago. Can’t you just —” Choso stops mid-sentence again, muttering a resigned oh my god, when you pivot away and head to the next room without so much a glance back.

It sets the tone for the rest of the shift. You make a sport of avoiding him, weaving through the emergency department like a fish slipping upstream, leaving Choso stranded in your wake. He follows, persistent in his mild-mannered way, but you’re relentless.

“Can you hand me that chart?” He’s trying again, as you’re elbow deep in filing.

“Oh, this one?” You sweetly ask, holding it just out of his reach, before conveniently remembering that you need to double-check something on it. He just huffs at you.

By hour three, it’s clear that Choso’s patience is wearing thin, and fighting a war against his professionalism. He corners you near the supply cart while you rummage for gloves.

“There you are.”

“Oh, are we low on size medium?” You cut in, loud enough to catch the attention of a passing manager, “Should we restock?”

Choso inhales through his nose, “We’re not low on gloves. We’re fine on gloves. Can you stop talking about gloves for one second?”

You flash him a smile that’s all teeth, “Gloves are important, Choso. Hygiene is crucial.”

This time, you see him run an exasperated hand over his face, before realising that now he’s just contaminated his own pair of gloves. Snarling at you as he rips the blue latex off and reaching for the size large box.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, once and then twice. Then thrice, as if whoever’s contacting you as something urgent to say. You ignore it, you’ll check it after placements.

The hours tick by, and your strategy remains the same. Stay busy, stay distant, and stay unreachable. Don’t make it seem like you’re irrationally bothered by Choso having a life of his own and having a girlfriend. Or that you actually had hope that this time round, his feelings for you were requited.

By the time you both stumble into the break room, Choso looks as if he’s experienced the full emotional spectrum, like he’s been knocked through the five stages of grief and landed somewhere in the resigned space of acceptance. He looks as if he’s clearly preparing to lecture you, to tirade you on professional conduct and —

Without warning, his phone buzzes.

You don’t even look up from cracking open your water bottle, the sound of plastic barely crinkles louder than the dull thud of your own heartbeat. Choso glances at you out of the corner of his eyes, a flash of alarm crossing his face, before he draws his attention back to the screen of his phone.

You hear the faintest scoff from his direction, and he’s shaking his head as you watch in mild interest.

“What?”

Choso doesn’t answer immediately, still scrolling through his phone.

“I’m not dating Tsukumo Yuki.”

Your mouth goes dry. You blink rapidly, wide-eyed as if he’s just spoken in an ancient, dead language.

“What?” You manage weakly, “Who? What? —”

There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, and you fear the cause of this slow and curling chest is a meddling duo of two men, one with dark hair and the other with snowy-white.

Choso doesn’t even glance up at you, his voice tinged with something incredulous now, “Why is Gojo Satoru texting me? He says that you’re not replying to his or Geto Suguru’s messages. And apparently, this is super urgent, and he feels like he must do his divine duty by interfering before you do something stupid.

Choso pauses, finally looking at you as if he’s truly baffled, “And you all thought that I was dating Tsukumo.”

You’re crafting a list in your head. Twenty creative ways to kill Gojo Satoru and not land in prison afterwards.

Maybe you should ask Choso for Ryomen Sukuna’s contact.

“That’s crazy,” you say, the words tasting thin and hollow in a bitter, embarrassed lie.

Choso shakes his head at you, some dark strands of hair falling across his eyes, “She looks after Yuuji sometimes. I take him over to her place because Yuki’s adopted a kid, Todo. The two of them are friends.”

“Uh.”

Choso turns back to his phone screen, scrolling through whatever nonsense Satoru is feeding him, “Have you being icing me out all day, because you thought I had a girlfriend?”

“Will you hate me if I say yes?” You’re looking anywhere but him, focusing on the chipped, lilac paint on the break-room door. Or the slightly off-centre light bulb flickering above. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you’re adding Geto Suguru to your kill list.

Choso’s voice is softer when he answers, almost too quiet, “Hey. You know I couldn’t hate you if I tried.” But there’s a strange mixture of amusement and disbelief in his voice, a bemused chuckle that lingers in the air, “Wow. Just wow.”

You grimace, fingers toying with the edge of the water bottle as you wrangle your thoughts into words, “Are you mad? I mean, look. I told you I liked you. And then you held my hands, so I thought you liked me back. And you got me coffee. But Suguru said you had a girlfriend, and you can’t blame me for being — Oh my god, I’m going to stop talking, you’re looking at me like I’ve gone crazy.”

Choso’s expression shifts, just staring at you. You don’t more than a split-second to process his strangely intense look. There’s no time to recover before he leans down, his hands surprisingly warm and gentle as they cradle the side of your face.

Your breath hitches, but before you can form another thought, his lips are on yours. They’re warm, deliberate and surprisingly firm. The scent of crisp green apples falls over you, as his hair envelops your face.

He pulls back just enough to study you, “Was that okay?” he asks, his fingers still lingering at the curve of your jaw, like he can’t believe he just kissed you. You can feel the sharp blush sting your face, as your heart practically goes into cardiac arrest, nodding quickly.

“Uh, I’m not really an expert in this field,” Choso murmurs, “But I can’t believe that I waited this long to do that.”

“You can do that again,” you say. Wondering if you should buy Satoru and Suguru a bouquet of flowers instead.

Choso, predictably, blushes deep enough that it nearly looks like he might combust. His eyes flicker away, avoiding your gaze in that way he does when he’s trying to sort through his emotions. But it’s hard to miss the warm flush that’s firmly planted on his neck.

“Can I do it over that dinner?” Choso murmurs, his voice dipping lower, before he quickly rephrases, “I obviously do want to kiss you now, again, that is, but if they catch us in the break room —”

You suddenly beam up at him, patting him on the cheek, “You can kiss me as much as you like over dinner.”

Choso looks as though he’s been struck with a metaphorical thunderbolt, as if he didn’t expect you to agree so straightforwardly. And then, as if he can’t help himself, he presses a quick and soft kiss to your forehead. For the briefest second, it feels as if you’re a teenager again, caught in the whirlwind of something simple and so sweet.

“Okay. So, is that a yes?” He asks, a little breathless, as if he’s not sure what kind of confirmation he’s just gotten but needing it to hear it anyway.

“If it’s a proper date, it’s a yes.”

Choso mutters under his breath, “You know Geto Suguru texted me with a five-paragraph apology, something about sneaking around my apartment. Stalking me this morning,” and here, he looks at you, utterly exasperated but fond, “Something about checking to see if I had a girlfriend. I mean, I don’t even know the guy. We never talked in school.”

You loop your arm with his, pulling him in slightly, “See, I always did say my friends were super nice. They’re going to be super nice, and normal. Trust me.”

ONE WEEK LATER.

“And to my brother-in-law, my brother-in-arms, my brother in the Constantinople Crusades of 1204,” Satoru hiccups, his words slurring together in a rambled mess, as he sways over the edge of Suguru’s arms, and for a split second, you’re worried the white-haired man is going to tip over entirely, “My new brother, Choso. We always knew it was going to happen, eh?”

Choso’s cheeks turn a faint shade of crimson in the sudden spotlight as everyone cheers, and he shifts awkwardly. Suguru’s shooting him an apologetic look, the corners of his mouth twitching as he props Satoru up, “He’s a lightweight. And we watched a historical movie last night.”

“I can tell,” Choso grumbles, his face flushed now as Satoru’s monologue drifts like an aimless plastic bag in the wind, his words growing nonsensical as you reach over to pinch at his cheeks. He yelps but continues to babble on about how he and Choso are going to be best friends now, and they’re going to go shopping together, and ice-skating, and fruit-picking. All nonsense burbles being strung together by the tequila shots that Satoru swore he could handle an hour ago.

You glance over at Choso, faintly embarrassed, but he just laughs, a sound that’s unexpectedly light and unguarded. His fingers slide into yours once more, and the motion is gentle and natural, as though this, you, are exactly where he’s meant to be. And he drapes the wide expanse of his aviator jacket over your shoulders.

Meanwhile, Suguru is wrestling with Satoru, pushing him back down from his impromptu toast to your boyfriend, before the bartender can usher you all towards the exit. The burly man is already giving Satoru’s drunken proclamations a nasty look.

Shoko, of course, is grinning at you, a tankard of beer glimmering in front of her. Her eyes gleam with the sharpness of someone who’s won a decent amount of money in a bet. And Utahime is standing back with a faintly judgemental expression that only veils her gossipy curiosity, and a glum look as she passes wads of cash into Shoko’s waiting hands.

“They really do like me,” Choso murmurs, his voice low and almost carrying the undertone of vulnerability, alongside some quiet self-awareness.

You laugh, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand, leaning in to press a quick peck to the dark mark that streaks over his face, “They all have no choice. You’re my boyfriend now.”

The words slip out effortlessly, and for a moment, they hang between you like something solid and unspoken, as though saying it aloud has made it feel real in a way it never quite did before. Choso’s eyes flick to yours, and something shifts in his expression — just a slight softening around the edges.

Then, without warning, you lean in, closing the distance between you, and kiss him. It’s slow, deliberate, with none of the frantic energy of your first kiss but instead the quiet certainty of something just beginning to bloom. You feel the faintest sigh from Nanami in the background, the sound of Geto groaning as Gojo whoops with drunken delight.

The noise from the bar fades into nothing as you focus entirely on the warmth of Choso’s shy lips against yours, the gentle pressure as he presses more into you, the soft thud of his heartbeat where your hand rests over his chest. For that moment, it’s just you and him, and everything else is an afterthought.

“Okay! I’ve had enough of the lot of you snogging and yelling in my bar! And take stupid Jack Frost out with ya’!”

[xomakara]

Ranching Hearts

SUMMARY |  You're an overworked accountant with little time for a love life. Desperate for a break, you join your girlfriends on vacation at a dude ranch. Mingi, the handsome ranch owner is instantly attracted to you and vice versa. But Mingi is about to lose the ranch and everything he's worked for. Will you extend your stay to help him out?

PAIRINGS | Mingi x Reader

RATING | Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+

GENRE |  cowboy!Mingi, overworkedaccountant!Reader, smut, modern Western au, country/ranch life

CONTENT/WARNINGS | profanity/strong language, filthy dirty thoughts, unprotected sex (wrap it up ya’ll!), fingering, oral sex (both female/male receiving/giving), dirty talk, praise kink, pet names, vaginal penetration, creampies, shower sex, outdoor sex, sexual innuendoes

LENGTH | 16,907 words

TAGLIST | —

NETWORKS |  @illusionnet @cromernet @wonderlandnet @k-vanity @othersideoutlawsnetwork. @ksmutsociety

AUTHOR’S NOTE |  Hi hello. Thank you @aaagustd for the beautiful banner and thank you @kpopflowerfield for beta reading this! I really appreciate it💚 Show support by liking, commenting and reblogging. Love you all 💚

ATEEZ Main Masterlist

"Oh come on," Hyemi sighed, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards the van. "This trip won't be the same without you."

"You really need a break, Y/N," Jinhee muttered. "You're so overworked these days, and all that stress can't be healthy."

You pinched the bridge of your nose as the women clamored their agreements. Despite their arguments that it wouldn't be the same, they were all packed, ready to go, and stood around your luggage as you dithered. "Why a dude ranch?"

"Because we needed something in the middle, so everyone could get to it with ease," Bora said. "And we already paid in full, plus I saw some super hot photos of the cowboy who runs it."

“Cowboys? Seriously?” you asked, incredulous.

Jinhee tossed a magazine towards you. A six pack man filled the front page of it, and your brow furrowed at the photo. Something about the set-up felt artificial, and not only because the man was topless. His boots were pristine, not worn out like you expected. Was this guy actually a cowboy?

"Real life cowboys do not look like this," you announced.

“Have you ever met one?” Hyemi asked.

“Yes,” you replied.

"Seriously?" Hyemi leaned on your shoulder to look at the picture again. "You have been holding out on us! Have you—"

“I’m a country girl, did you forget?” you shook your head.

Bora hopped back onto the van, laughing as the other girls got in. "Tell us all the deets on the way there!"

"Oh, and Y/N?" Hyumi smirked and hit the van door twice to make sure you couldn't close it. "I put condoms in your bag, okay?"

"Maybe there's a hot cowboy, looking for someone to ride him instead of a horse." Hyemi cackled. "If you catch my drift."

"Can we please get going? I have no patience to listen to you guys go into a hyena-like laughing fit," you grumbled as your heart began to hammer away. The prospect of meeting a stranger—no, a possible lover was thrilling enough to make the argument to join them seem pointless now. With a sigh, you waved at Hyemi. "No promises, but I will come along and see what the place is like."

A squeal tore through the van and you cringed at the loud sound. As the chatter in the car began again, you couldn't keep the small smile off your face at the thought that maybe your vacation wouldn't suck. Maybe, just maybe, you'd find someone worth coming home to.

The road trip was filled with laughs and lots of chatter. Your fingers had scrolled through hundreds of articles by the time you arrived and pulled up in the long driveway of the ranch. The entrance to the farm was huge; large wooden signs pointed in different directions, denoting different barns, activities, and lodgings. In the distance was a house, which sat behind the largest barn and closest to the river you saw winding around the land. Your eyes widened at the view.

The air seemed purer, crisper, as though nothing from the city could touch such a remote place. Fresh grass coated the fields of the property, a stark difference to the worn and dull roads you passed as your taxi traveled from the main highways and smaller routes before it. Rolling hills gave the feel of being in a separate world; this place was idyllic, a hidden gem in a world of chaos.

Bora beamed, "This is fucking incredible. Look at the river!"

"Do you think people go fishing in it?" Jinhee asked. "Like, for fun?"

Hyemi smiled as she shook her head. "We can ask the man when we check in. Speaking of—" She grabbed the receipt from your hand and headed for the door. You didn't have time to follow or call out for her to stop, as a tall man appeared from the first barn.

His clothes were much different than the ones you'd seen in the photos in the magazine. A plain white shirt was tucked into well-worn and dusty jeans; black hat covered a mop of black hair and equally dark brown eyes looked over you in one sweep.

Your knees buckled when his gaze landed on you; was he as affected by the attraction as you felt? The tension in the air felt suffocating in its heaviness.

He had his hands pushed deep into his pockets as he watched the rest of your party empty from the vehicle and a light chuckle escaped his lips. "Ladies."

Hyemi took a few steps separating the two of you and held out her hand. "Hello, my name is Hyemi. This is our first time staying here. Are you Mingi?"

Mingi?

"Sure am," he drawled as you took in the deepness of his voice and his strong accent. His gaze moved between the four of you. "Is it just y'all here or do more folks drive down?"

"It's just us. But we heard about the dude ranch and it seemed like the perfect destination to escape the city for a bit and see the countryside. Y'know... uhm... horses, cowboys, nature, all that?" Hyemi asked with an eager expression.

A rumble left Mingi's lips as he fought a laugh. "Of course. Well, welcome to Sunflower Ranch. As your hosts, me and the other guys will provide anythin' ya need, be it horses for a trail or drinks and dancin'. We got plenty of stuff goin' on so if y'all would like to follow me, I'll bring y'all to the cabins."

Mingi reached into the van and removed some luggage with practiced ease and with one more glance at your figure, turned and gestured for the group to follow.

Hyemi smacked your shoulder, her voice hushed with awe. "He's checking you out."

Your own voice came out high-pitched and whiny as you walked to follow. "Who, Mingi?"

"Yes, obviously! He didn't give me or the others the same intense eye fuck as you did." Her eyes took a quick assessment. "Damn, maybe I should've bought some more sexy clothes."

Your heart hammered. "Don't you start—ugh, fuck—this whole weekend."

"Maybe we won't have to. Mingi looks like a man who eats pussy like—" Hyemi continued.

“Hyemi!” you scolded.

"Fine, fine. But I'm snagging the first cowboy that looks my way and it better be that hottie with the long luscious hair," Hyemi adjusted her outfit as she eyed a tall man coming your way to help with the luggage. "You can have Mingi. I'm gonna go and milk that tall drink of water and get a good ride while I'm here."

“You are insatiable,” you said, shaking your head.

"Ain't nothing wrong with enjoying yourself and having fun, Y/N. Maybe you should take a leaf out of my book and have a wild side while we're here. Fuck the stress," Hyemi laughed when your brows knit together in a scowl. You picked up the pace, aware of Hyemi giggling like a fool. It's a mystery how that girl managed to attract so many people when she can't keep her dirty little comments to herself.

You'll have to remind Hyemi not to go and make a joke like that in front of the employees of the ranch. The last thing you needed was to offend Mingi in any way or god forbid have her embarrass you further with her words, so you make a mental note and stick your earphones in. Hyemi will have a heyday of pointing out all the beautiful men on the ranch. At this moment, you can't deal.

As you and the others fall in behind Mingi, the closer proximity gives you a good chance to size him up. His large muscular frame was tightly confined in his clothing and damn did those jeans hug him in all the right places. Not a single thing you were complaining about. Your eyes fixed on that plump round behind, the thick muscles of his thighs and it was hard not to notice the long lengths of his legs. The guy was damn well hung. A blush bloomed over your cheeks when a snort of laughter escaped Hyemi. 

Caught red handed. 

How embarrassing.

"First time to a ranch?" The man with the long luscious hair asked, as he stepped in tune with Mingi. "I'm Seonghwa and I'm one of Mingi's many helpers. There's eight of us, including Mingi, that will be making sure ya ladies are well taken care of while on the premises."

Hyemi spoke first, taking a moment to flutter her long eyelashes. "That's good news, we want all of your help, right Y/N?" She nudges your side with an elbow and you nod slowly, pretending not to notice her sudden attraction for the taller man, which was borderline embarrassing, not to mention desperate. 

"Yes," you sigh. Hyemi pressed her body to your arm as her smile deepened. You side eye her, annoyed she was clearly up to mischief.

Seonghwa chuckled, "Whatever the ladies ask. Here we are. Y'all will be in the end cabin." 

Mingi pointed the building out, a row of four smaller structures of varying designs and sizes. "There is a bathroom that everyone shares since the one in the main house is being renovated right now. I would suggest you ladies shower in the mornings between seven to nine since the guys are usually in there in the early mornings."

"Noted," Jinhee nodded and clapped her hands.

"Just head on inside and we'll get your things settled," Seonghwa gestured to the open cabin doors and you and your friends began piling inside. The two men deposited your things inside and dusted their hands as they both exchanged nods.

A gasp fell from Jinhee as she took the building in. "Will you look at the lake! This view is incredible."

"Take a swim after dinner? Ladies night." Bora laughed.

"Are y'all interested in fishin'?" Seonghwa asked.

Hyemi smiled, her voice simpering. "Anything you'll teach me."

Your brow knitted as the flirting ensued. How anyone could do that so brazenly was baffling. If only you had such confidence... Then again, Hyemi wasn't one to get too attached. And given the look on Seonghwa's face, that wasn't going to be a problem here.

Once you get into the room you couldn't hold it in. "Damn, you're quick to pick."

"What?" Bora and Jinhee squealed and hurried to watch Hyemi.

“Seonghwa,” you said. “Looks like Hyemi made her choice already.” 

"Wow, we are literally five minutes in and you're already throwing yourself at a cowboy," Jinhee laughed.

"Am I a bad girl for wanting to ride him?" Hyemi sighs as she stares out the window, looking for Seonghwa.

"When are you a good girl?" You quipped.

“Never,” Hyemi giggled.

You sighed and ran your fingers through your hair. Hyemi could go for anyone here if she played her cards right. There's no shortage of people, and no shortage of looks on the ranch. "They did mention that there's six more of them running around."

Bora glanced out the window and nodded over to a handsome figure. "I bet he's one of them. Just look at those bulging muscles! Maybe he can throw me on his shoulders."

"He looks like he could pick anyone up and fuck them against the wall," Jinhee added as she stared out the window.

You let out an exasperated sigh. "God, I'm surrounded by a whole bunch of horny women."

The comment earns a laugh as you step outside. A slight breeze lifted the edges of your loose tee and cooled the skin that had already begun to warm beneath the sunlight. Taking a look around, your gaze focused on the large barn. Though it wasn't obvious what it contained, curiosity begged your feet to lead you toward the source of the loud voices and banging noises. As your steps led you close, the distinct sound of hooves caught your attention first.

Following it, the shadow of something massive and alive passed overhead and your gaze slowly tilted upwards. It took a few seconds for the creature to pass your gaze before it hit you. "Horses!"

"Big bastards, ain't they?" a deep voice said from behind you.

Jumping slightly, the soft laughter caught you off-guard and you turned, sheepishly meeting Mingi's gaze. "Sorry! I haven't seen one in years."

"Naw, not a problem, but why the interest?" He stepped in beside you, watching his hand move to adjust his hat. There was no denying the heat swirling inside, seeing this cowboy up close, smelling the mixture of sweat and spicy cologne was one hell of a rush and your head swam as the sensations washed over. Was he this beautiful and tall when you arrived? Maybe. Your head is full of lust filled thoughts, seeing him next to you in the bright midday sun just amplified the attraction tenfold.

Your words sounded faraway, even to your own ears. "Oh, uh... I-I grew up around horses."

"Really?" He tipped his chin and peered beneath the lip of his hat, those big brown eyes piercing and wide in wonder.

A spark flew inside, your stomach suddenly in knots. This guy had a pull, but you weren't sure if it was the charm and attraction or his expression, or the way his head tilted. "Uh, yeah. I grew up on a farm. Been a while, but I used to compete as a teenager."

“And here I thought y’all just came here to have a nice time away from home. Ya sure did surprise me,” Mingi chuckled.

You let out a small laugh. "My friends are city folk. I moved to the city for a job a few years back, but my family... They're all still in the countryside. Guess I missed it, even the early mornings and mucking out stables."

A chuckle rose. "Y'all wanna muck out the stables, just say. We can get it sorted out for ya. Free, too."

The way his dimpled grin warmed as you locked eyes made your cheeks heat up. "Maybe another time, if I'm up for it. Besides, I doubt my friends would enjoy it."

"Or just keep it our lil secret?" he winked.

You found it hard to break your stare away from his eyes. Something behind those pools of dark chocolate seemed to want to tell you something. A sense of ease lingered, you couldn't explain the calm you felt and the desire to be next to Mingi was hard to push away. Your tongue flicked to wet your dry lips and you smiled, "I'm sure we can work something out."

Mingi leaned back against the fence, watching the animals graze lazily in the green pasture. Your gaze followed and took in the other four horses. Some were big, some short with stubby legs. A couple had spots, another was entirely black, and the fourth horse was pure white and looked the biggest. The urge to stroke its neck tugged at you.

"Cute ones you have here," your smile broke the tension.

"Some are mules, and they're in need of some attention." His eyes went to the four mares and a hand came down, resting on your shoulder. "Ever ridden bareback?"

Your eyes widened.

"If the sight of horses excites yah so much, then what 'bout a nice ride? We could saddle the animals or..." The heat in his eyes was intense. "Maybe you're a daredevil and prefer it free. Up to you, darlin', I'm willing to oblige your needs. I'd give it to ya however yah wanted."

Words caught in your throat. "You want me... to ride... bareback?"

"However, you want, darlin'," he breathed as you inched closer. His other hand moved to touch your shoulder, giving you a brief rub before the same hand lowered to your hip.

Your breathing turned shallow, your knees weakening with each passing second. Heat seared the air around you, but you stayed where you stood, drawing courage to respond to the playful innuendo. "Okay, but if I break my leg, that's on you."

Mingi laughed and jerked his chin back towards the big barn. "I'm sure ya can handle this ride, darlin'. You said you've done this before. Now's a good time to refresh that knowledge, get to know the horses, and give them a workout. Think of it as the best type of warm up to really get you loose and warmed up."

A deep throb burned in your pussy.

Shit, had you gotten wet from some double meaning sex innuendos, and the suggestive smirk playing on Mingi's face made the butterflies swarm furiously in your belly. What the hell was happening to you right now? His finger pressed against your lower back, encouraging you to start walking toward the open doors of the barn and a gasp left your lips when you realized just how much the simple touch sent shivers throughout your body. You don't think you'd ever wanted to be touched so much before by someone.

Fuck... were you this desperate for a man that the simplest of touch would set you off?

"Picked the horse yet?" Mingi asked as your gaze landed on a massive black beast. Its tail flicked gently and a warm welcome flared in its eyes as Mingi led you over to the gate of its paddock. "I was thinkin' you should ride Raven here. He's a big bastard, but once you ride a stallion, any other horse becomes easy. How 'bout it?"

“H-huh?” you stuttered.

"Would ya like to ride a stallion?" He raised his brow, but a teasing smile played on his lips. His hands grabbed the rail of the pen as you walked through the gate and he leaned forward, bending a leg and resting it on the lowest bar. It should've been illegal to look that good when dressed for manual labor. "Have you ridden a stallion before?"

What kind of question was that? A million dirty ideas flooded your mind.

"It's been a few years, but I'd like to try one," your voice seemed huskier, low enough to get his attention, and Mingi lifted his chin, eyes scanning your face. A hitch of breath escaped him and you took it as encouragement, moving closer. He smirked, which only deepened his dimples. How easy it would've been to run your finger over each little dip on his face, but the act would be too bold, right? Too much for two strangers?

Yet he was inviting you to ride...

You moved over to the stallion, placing a hand against its nose as your fingers brushed against the coarse, yet soft hairs that made up its mane. Your lips pulled upwards when its head moved close to your body and leaned against it, eliciting a soft, nicker sound. "Hey, gorgeous."

Mingi opened his mouth but his words died when he caught your expression, noting the smile you were wearing. Damn, did you look good as you stood, hand petting his stallion, talking softly and exchanging pleasantries with the big creature.

As you interacted with his horse, the thought of him going behind and sliding his hands around your waist to steady the movement or hold you upright flashed, sending the blood to pool below. It took a conscious effort not to lick his lips, but damn it all to hell, was his mouth dry with the imagination running through his mind. "Do you... need help getting up, miss?"

You glanced at him. "I think I can manage."

Moving closer, he let his hands hang in a relaxed way at his side, hoping the thick material of his jeans hid the growing bulge. What the fuck were you doing to him so fast? He barely knew you, didn't know much beyond your name, yet his mind was in turmoil; he had never had such a physical reaction so quick, and for a woman to affect him in the ways you did wasn't helping his growing problem.

Said problem seemed to have a mind of its own, not to mention a penchant for ignoring the current issue.

You swung a leg over the back of his horse and he inhaled sharply. Oh, dear, sweet hell... how badly he wanted to see your thighs spread for something else entirely. To get between and taste you, bury his tongue against those smooth folds until your sweet sounds are lost to the wind.

Mingi bit his lip and offered you the reins as his mind imagined its way into an improper fantasy. Those damned city girl shorts you had on showed too much of your perfect plump ass. Nowhere near proper attire for riding a horse bareback or sitting in the saddle. That ass needed something thick and stiff to sink into, to take a punishing ride. The feeling of you on top was going to kill him.

"Good?" Mingi asked as he watched you settle onto the horse's back.

You grinned, eyes crinkling from the smile.

That was a look he'd not forget anytime soon, especially given the situation down south, which was ready to burst his seams if he was still thinking in those terms. When was the last time he felt so inclined? Never.

"A lot harder without a saddle, but it feels good," the smile is real, one that touches your eyes and makes him burn with curiosity. "I missed this feeling of being on a horse."

Mingi nodded. "I bet you did."

You couldn't help but stare at Mingi as you watched him converse and talk in a fluid manner with one of the men named Yunho, a very tall and attractive man with brown hair. You were sitting with the other girls at one of the benches waiting for dinner and there were lots of conversations. Jongho, one of the more quiet ranch hands, had served a bowl of steaming hot vegetable soup and bread to your table. The smell of the cooked carrots, onions and green peppers were all mixed in nicely with the savory taste of the broth. A bottle of ice cold water was placed next to you as well, it felt like a fancy restaurant serving amazing food. The bread was fresh and homemade, you noticed from the breadcrumbs when you bit down.

But you weren't talking, just admiring the view of a handsome tall and masculine cowboy. You took a gulp of your water and cleared your throat. The flutters came in as you looked back at him, not wanting to be obvious in your staring. But that didn't seem to go unnoticed as Bora tapped you with an elbow to your rib. You looked back and narrowed your eyes at her as she took a slurping spoonful of soup and giggled at the sound.

"So you were spending the whole time riding horses, huh?" Jinhee started and gave a quizzical smile to you.

“I... felt a little inspired today,” you said, trying to keep your voice even. “Mingi knows how much I enjoyed it, though. And it was fun. I haven't had a workout like that in a while.”

Hyemi looked up and glanced at you from her spoon of soup, her eyebrows scrunching, a face only for you and she returned to the spoonful of broth. "We are talking about the horses, right?"

"Hyemi," you whined out her name in annoyance, brows dropping in the center in a scowl, only for Hyemi to return a smug smile as she sips her spoon again.

"The first day's been wild," Bora spoke again and wiped the corner of her lips with a tissue as she chewed on the chunk of bread she cut off from the roll and chewed a bit.

You took a sip of water, happy at the sudden topic change. There's no telling what else your friends have to say or rather what they might assume. It isn't like you were expecting anything from Mingi. You were here to have a good time with the girls. That was your motto and motto only, no other reasoning or implications was to be associated, and certainly no fantasizing, so why would it cross their minds otherwise?

You smiled again and placed a napkin in your lap. "Thanks for dragging me out to come here. This reminds me of home. I didn't realize how much I was craving that country air until right now. Makes the food even better."

"Is the country girl happy?" Hyemi teased.

"Are you city girls happy?" You countered with an equally joking response.

"So, um, which one do you girls wanna choose tomorrow?" Jinhee asked and scooted her chair closer. "Ride the trails, fishing, hiking? I'm dying for some adventure here. I need more than the pasture, and these mountains look lovely. I wanna feel the dirt beneath my feet, wading through a shallow river."

"Oh," Bora responded with the sound coming from the back of her throat. "That sounds heavenly. Hey, Seonghwa!"

He paused his steps, glass and jug of tea in hand. "Yes?"

“Can you find a good trail for us to hike tomorrow? And a river with calm water for us to wade through?” Bora asked. “Jinhee really wants a thrill while we're here.”

Seonghwa nodded with a deep chuckle and made a step back towards the cabin to gather a list of activities for the four ladies. "San and Wooyoung are available, I'm sure they'd show y'all to the good spots."

Bora laughed, her voice catching the cowboy's attention. "Let's do the works tomorrow, shall we? Ride the horses, fish, cook the fish, then hike and play in a river. All that good stuff. Hyemi, you in?"

Hyemi smiled, that cat-like smile in place that revealed her dimples on the one cheek and nodded. "Yup, I'm in. "

“Y/N, what about you?” Bora asked.

You purse your lips as you think about it. "I was thinking about getting my hands dirty and mucking the stables."

Your girlfriends stare at you as if you'd gone bonkers. Even Hyemi gave you a hard stare, almost as if trying to figure out where the fuck that idea came from.

Bora had a perplexed look on her face, the wrinkling in the corners of her brow apparent. "You're actually going to do that? With those hands? You're actually willing to break a nail?"

"Yeah... Why not?" You said. "I used to do that all the time back home."

Hyemi sighed as a strand of hair blew across her face with the breeze, a sight that should have distracted anyone else. "Don't you wanna play with the sexy cowboys? Jinhee here is already eyeballing one named Wooyoung." 

You shook your head. "It's fine. Really."

"Will you muck stalls every single day while we're here?" Bora questioned.

"Of course not, don't worry," You patted the top of her shoulder.

"I guess you can't take the country out of the girl," Jinhee jokes.

"It's only for one day," your friends still looked unconvinced. "I just wanna muck a stable."

"Or, ride another horse," Hyemi quipped under her breath with a tiny giggle.

You rolled your eyes and picked up the remaining chunks of your bread, taking it as a chance to leave. "And I'm heading off. Good night, you three. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Yes, mother dearest," Jinhee hollered.

You picked at the bread piece and swiped it, tossing the remnants into a nearby garbage. One by one you stepped into your sleeping quarters and began gathering a set of sleepwear and clean underwear, before padding toward the shared bathroom, determined not to be distracted by the languid caress of cool breezes that wafted gently over your bare arms and shoulders.

An evening shower was calling your name.

Stripping the dirty garments off and tossing them aside in a hamper, your hands found the water dial, turning on the warmth as steam clouded the mirror. You stepped in with an exhale, sighing out loudly. Fuck, a bath or shower was always a welcome break. The warm water relaxed and softened skin, easing sore muscles, and that was a welcoming feeling after the long afternoon horseback riding session.

Warm streams coursed down your body. Soothing sensations coated the entirety of your flesh. The feeling of fingers in your scalp, massaging shampoo in and the heady fragrance of honey-vanilla filled the room as you ran your conditioner covered hair through a comb. After letting the conditioner marinate into your hair strands for a while, you rinsed it clean and turned off the water, wiping down your hands, face and hair as you squeezed out excess water, standing naked as the last drops ran down the drain.

The door to the shared bathroom flew open.

"Shit," you shouted as you wrapped a large, clean towel around your wet body, glancing around to catch a shirtless Mingi. His cheeks turned beet red as his gaze averted out the window as he rubbed a hand over his mouth.

He shook his head. "Sorry, didn't think you'd...I didn't think anyone else would be up this late to shower."

You're eyeing him and he's eyeing you back, in fact, his eyes were eating you up. There was no denying how you enjoyed the hungry look in his eyes as they drifted along your wet curves, and you felt like the moment was to keep him busy and allow him to look his fill. "I just wanted a late night shower after all that riding."

“Don’t let me get in your way,” Mingi said. “I can go later, s'fine.”

You grabbed his wrist to stop him, pulling him back inside the bathroom and closing the door behind him and locking it. The tug made him move forward toward you and the end result was his muscled chest against your covered breasts, nipples protruding and rubbing against the hard muscles. You wanted to keep him and his perfect physique close, feeling his hard and chiseled edges press up against your body.

His expression seemed flustered.

"Join me," you said with a quick lick of your lips, sending him a seductive gaze and hoping that his brain was able to grasp the meaning behind that. "Or rather..."

A finger curled around the strap of your towel and gently pulled downwards, releasing the hold and leaving the fabric on the floor. Mingi's breath hitch and his lips parted. You leaned up as he dipped his head and met your lips, crushing against them softly, savoring the connection and the kiss. Your naked chest pressed against his own naked chest and his hands skimmed down your sides until he's gripping and pushing a thigh in between your legs, leaving your dripping cunt wide and open against his denim-clad thigh.

Your skin erupted into goosebumps and a soft moan slipped out of you when his lips connected to your throat and your teeth nipped playfully. A hand snaked downwards toward the growing erection pushing insistently against his jeans and Mingi growled into your skin as your palm pushed down slowly. The feel of that firm member, twitching beneath the constriction made your toes curl with the realization. You wanted that big dick in you now, wanted to get stretched open until you were stuffed to the brim with his cock.

But first things first.

With nimble fingers, you undid the front buckle, working on his belt and tugging the jean fabric down. The brush of Mingi's lips came off your throat and landed on the shell of your ear. His heavy breathing was a symphony. A sensational noise you'd wanted to hear.

"Damn, woman..." he husked and the roughness in his baritone made you shiver. "Need me that bad, don't you?"

"You were the one who said that you'd give it to me however I wanted," you said and felt the heat rush to your core as a pair of calloused hands clasped around your ass cheeks.

"I meant for ridin' horses," he was guiding your body backwards until your lower back hit the smooth surface of the bathroom counter and hoisted you up to sit on it. "And didn't imagine in my head that you'd make it dirty."

"That's what you say, cowboy," you placed a kiss to the edge of his mouth. The hands squeezing at your plush flesh was intoxicating.

His fingers slid upward along your sides, until those thick digits traced the curve of your waist and a single thumb reached up and brushed the edge of your supple breast. You're rewarded with a moan escaping your throat as his thumb found a hardened nub and twiddled, eliciting a string of heated moans as you closed your eyes in pleasure. You relished his touch as it moved back down to your thighs and he parted your legs, those talented fingers dipping low as the tips teased and pressed lightly at your sex. "So how do yah wanna get it, darlin'?"

"Surprise me," you replied, but Mingi didn't waste time as his strong, broad shoulders pried open your thighs. He gripped the fleshiness, fingertips digging as your stomach lurched in anticipation. What's he planning on doing? The cowboy dropped to his knees with a thud as you watched.

"Move backwards a little," he said in a gravely tone, not hesitating as you spread yourself before him, angling your body up and raising a leg over his shoulder to give the man better access. "Just relax and let me do my magic."

Watching the man on his knees, spreading you wide was such an erotic sight. His expression held lust and hunger and you felt a swell in your chest, aching to be touched and nibbled and licked at by Mingi's tongue. Then a palm presses to the inner-meaty of your thigh, nails softly digging.

His mouth is on you then, licking along the slit. The swipes tease and taunt you, making you throb for more attention. You want to fuck his face. How lovely and filthy a sight. That thick tongue swirling around the sensitive spot sends sparks to fly and dance throughout the room, soaking your inner folds. It's divine, indescribable even, what he's doing to you, and his skilled ministrations had your head falling back in bliss.

His thumb finds a pert nipple again and lightly grazes over it, massaging it slowly in small circles. There's a slight pressure as his middle finger travels between the inner lips, the cold feeling making you gasp and want to contract against his digits, wanting them deeper inside of you. "Holy shit, Mingi."

“Do you want me to keep going?” Mingi asked.

"Please," the word is more of a purr than a statement, and the sensation has you wrapping both thighs around his neck. The fingers curl and press right against that bundle of nerves, making your body erupt into a fit of moans. Then his mouth is back on your center, adding to the delicious teasing from his tongue and your toes are curling as you press the backs of your legs into him.

And you're lifting your body slightly upwards as if encouraging him further to work deeper into that spot. There's an almost growl emitting from him when you wiggle your hips and you swear there's a grin that appeared against your soaked sex. Mingi is fucking smirking, eating your juices like a damn meal.

“Gods, yes...” you moaned.

"Fucking delicious," he muttered against the folds, and when his other hand grips your ass to bring your pussy closer, you throw your head back and close your eyes, one hand gripping onto the counter top and the other finding a home in Mingi's dark hair. Your nails lightly tug at the locks, and you're rewarded with a groan against the hot, wet heat between your thighs.

"Shit, that's good," your walls clenched tighter around his fingers as he increased the pace. He works faster, sucking and nipping as the walls clamp down harder with each motion and sensation. There's a desperate tug now in your clit, pulling tighter. He's not only sending you spiraling closer and closer, he's edging you to your climax. "Fuck, that's perfect."

"Cum for me, darlin'. Cum on my mouth. It'll make my job that much easier." Mingi moans against your heat.

Oh, lord...

You shuddered and twitched as his fingers thrusting inside the pulsing, twitching sex made it harder to breathe and focus on his words. Your back arched in response and your body jerked violently in a trembling motion as that sensitive pearl continued to be manipulated by Mingi's experienced thumb, sliding slowly over the folds.

"That's it," he says softly and that's it, the coil bursts and unravels, flooding your whole system with relief and release. The tension evaporated. You came hard on Mingi's lips. So hard your walls clamped around his tongue and his digits as a few drops squirt out of your entrance and down your thighs, covering his wrist as he worked you through the orgasmic pleasure and high.

When the grip of your legs loosen and his arm retreats back to his side, you glance downwards and see the smirk forming on his lips. They glisten, plump and swollen from eating you out, but you reach a hand out and pull him towards your face and lock lips, your mouth finding his own, tasting the leftover mixture of his saliva and your nectar. A mixture which has you wanting to moan.

"We're not finished, cowboy," you whispered against his lips as you reached forward and gripped his now aching hard on in your hand, watching him squirm and writhe as his dick throbbed in response to your touch.

"Woman, I've been dying to be in since you rode that stallion." Mingi admitted.

You grinned. "Dying you say?"

"Fucking hard, and ready. Ready to be mounted by you," he grunted as you palmed the long length, applying the perfect amount of pressure to bring the cowboy pleasure. "Riding a stallion's one thing. Now you wanna ride something else."

Your heart stuttered in its beats as you replied with an answer. "Always."

Mingi chuckled, unlocking the door. "Let's save the rest for later, hmm? No point gettin' started on the main course, while the other guys are in the vicinity. Though I might wanna suggest taking this little show out of the bathroom next time, and doin' it in my bedroom, somewhere more private and quiet."

Your cheeks reddened and you bit back a tiny smile. "Maybe I'm okay with that. Being alone and having no prying eyes."

Mingi nodded, leaning in towards your mouth, grabbing the back of your head and tilting your chin up. He pecked a couple of small kisses to the edge of your lips, placing a finger along the top of your chin. "We have all week, darlin', don't worry. We have lots of time. Plus, I know exactly where to put a nice little hickey, so no one will see."

Hearing that and imagining that, made you shudder. You released a sigh as he kissed you, tasting remnants of your sweetness along the upper lip, his eyes twinkling. A single hand glided through your damp tresses and came up along your jawline as the kisses became deeper, exploring his mouth.

You could kiss him all night. But at the mention of 'week' it occurred to you that you'd spend every other night for the following seven days getting your fill of Mingi's dick. Couldn't have anything more perfect than that.

Mingi grinned.

And when he did, you melted.

Fuck the damn man-eater.

With your friends hiking the trails and Mingi tending to some of the work around the ranch, you find yourself somehow in his office trying to make some sense out of the paper mountain on his desk, after Seonghwa and San had warned about Mingi's flair for letting everything pile up for too long. You didn't mean to be in here, it's your vacation after all, but you needed a quiet place to escape to answer a few phone calls and emails.

When you stepped into the room with your tablet under your arm and some of your own work documents for reference and in search of a table, you didn't anticipate getting yourself involved and wrapped into Mingi's paperwork. Mingi found you in a flurry of folders and documents scattered across the office floor, filing cabinet drawers flung open as you frantically looked over receipts, trying to piece the puzzle together.

“Y/N, why are ya in here?” Mingi asked.

You raised your head and offered a sympathetic look. "Mingi, hi. I wanted to help."

“Ya know, you are a guest here. Ya didn't have to do that, none of this stuff, and my messy stack of papers ain't yer concern. You should be spending your vacation out riding horses with the others or soakin' in the hot springs,” Mingi said.

You bit your lower lip. "I couldn't stop looking, and it felt important. As an overworked accountant with absolutely no time for a social life, and therefore not dating anyone, and hence the reason I'm here for the week, this felt important. Maybe I could help."

Mingi watched carefully. "Help with what exactly?"

Your expression softened, though you tried to remain neutral. "Help with the muckstacks of financial records, the expense records, invoices and ledgers. I want to help."

"Look darlin', you don't have to," his hands pushed down on his jeans as he adjusted his stance. You wanted to look elsewhere, anywhere, at something besides the tight material pulling at Mingi's muscles and thighs and cock.

He had his full attention fixed on your face. It wasn't going to do you any good. There'd been enough interaction and temptation between the both of you as it was. "It's fine, just let me have a few moments and I'll take care of the mess later. Why are these files in so much disarray?"

He looked up in the air as if in deep thought. "These were put together and sorted by Jongho, one of the employees around the ranch and well, that guy's not good with math or anythin' related to the ranch's financial stuff."

You scanned around the cluttered office. "Well, at least his intentions were noble and I think we'll have some fun sorting this out later."

"Fun?" Mingi laughed.

You sighed. "All work and no play makes for a very, very dull girl. Besides, my friends are going to be gone for a while. And I might as well do something while they're gone hiking."

“Hiking? Why didn't ya go along?” Mingi asked.

"I prefer the company of the horses and other ranch activities," you said. "You can take the girl out of the country but you can't take the country out of the girl."

His grin had returned, lighting up his face. "They headed off with San and Wooyoung, or who knows, one or two more people might come down to help later. I'm guessing they'll be back around evening for some campfire activities."

"Guess that's something to look forward to," you said.

You brushed your thumb along the edge of the stack. A page had slid out and you picked it up, frowning at it.

"What is it?" Mingi asked.

"How has the ranch been doing financially? Your ranch has a nice reputation with its clientele and your reviews speak volume," you answered. "And yet these numbers, some of your expenditures here, show some discrepancies."

"A little money trouble," he answered with a shrug.

You furrowed your brow, turning to the calculator and scribbling some quick numbers, before jotting them down on a small notepad. Mingi is now hovering, watching you work as if mesmerized.

"Okay, these expenses are adding up, you've been a little irresponsible with some purchases but overall this should still leave your profits over what you're actually projected. So this money must have gone missing somewhere along the line, I'm guessing in payroll," you explained.

He's impressed.

"You can see that in such a quick manner and those pages I handed ya? No way..." He laughs then and you're taken aback. There's something boyish, gentle in the gesture and in that laugh. He's sexy, he's charming, and now this cowboy is full-on boyish and you find it undeniably alluring.

Damn it, you want him so bad.

You return his smile.

Mingi cleared his throat, a blush working up his neck and coloring his skin a dusty pink. "Darlin', you're amazing. S'much appreciated, and thank ya, i'd love your help."

"Of course," you replied and started sifting through the stack of papers, plucking some up here and there.

He had no clue as to why you'd even offer, when you were already taking time out of your vacation and then here you are doing his bookkeeping as well. "What made ya come on a week long horseback adventure in the first place?"

"I was persuaded by some of my friends," you responded. "They told me that they wanted me to tag along, that I needed to spend time away from my stressful and dead-end job. That I had spent too much time being a hermit and wanted to bring me on a nice trip to relax."

"No boyfriend to drag along or some such? A pretty thing like you not havin' someone special around makes me a little suspicious, honey. How many hearts have ya broken along the way with yer beauty?" Mingi asks.

You snorted and shook your head at the suggestion and shot him an incredulous look. "What about you, cowboy? Why don't you have a girl of your own, Mingi? I find that surprising. Seems like you would be scooping ladies up off the ground wherever you went."

He laughed. The sound is charming and a little intimidating. "Just haven't found a gal quite perfect for me. Guess I gotta be lookin' a little longer then."

You flashed him a half smile and went back to work, moving onto a small stack of receipts, jotting down things, calculating, and comparing numbers.

"Hey, mind if I stay in here a little while to watch you work? Yah know, keep you company and all," Mingi questioned.

You shook your head. "Don't bother me at all. I really appreciate the company."

So, as you began to scatter the papers all over the surface of the large table and organized a system, Mingi dropped himself down into a nearby chair and began observing your working and sorting, paying attention to what you were doing and trying to learn, much to your amusement.

Watching you at work was impressive as hell, and it didn't take you much time to notice the fact that his eyes never wandered. In fact, they seemed locked.

Mingi may not have been an educated guy, not in the books like you, but he was focused, you could tell. Mingi is driven. When he's on something, nothing comes between him and it until the job is complete. Right now, it's his ranch and what he wants. You have to admit, he's dedicated to what he wants, he wants his dream alive and well, and here you are.

At some point, you'd gotten lost in your numbers that you'd forgotten Mingi was there. Not until a large hand gently touched your backside.

"Why don't ya take a break from work and come outside with me," he'd suggested.

You're still startled from the small touch but not repulsed by it. A little tickled pink. "What for?"

He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, horse ridin', feedin' the animals. I'll let ya hold the baby chickens if ya promise to not run away with one, steal it and smuggle it to the city."

You tried to control the laughter but you failed, letting the bubbling up come through. "That wouldn't be very bright, I live in an apartment."

"Guess not then," he said.

You let out a small stretch. "But you know what, how do I say no? I would love to go riding with you."

The corners of his lips curved up a bit as you set down your pencil. You glanced outside toward the setting sun. What the hell, a change of pace was going to be interesting. You stood up from the small office table, where you'd been organizing and taking stock of inventory. "Lead the way, Mr Song."

"O' course," he said and made sure you were behind him, to follow him to the stables. "After yah, Miss L/N."

You both headed out towards the barns to catch a few more hours of daylight. You weren't expecting the view, watching Mingi trot out of the stall on his own personal horse, leading another towards your direction.

Your breath hitched.

Okay, sure you told the girls that cowboys don't exactly look like the men in the magazine because you know cowboys, you've met your fair share of cowboys before. Dated a few even. The picture of the cowboys didn't even come close to how beautiful this man in front of you truly was. He's gorgeous, simply and utterly breathtaking and you couldn't look away if you tried.

“You still with us?” Mingi asked.

Hearing him say that and knowing he's still on earth with you brought a rush of heat to your cheeks. Oh fuck... "Um, yes. Sorry, spaced out for a moment there. It's the accounting."

He flashed you an easy grin. "Take a break from those numbers, darlin' and come along with me. No point in being surrounded by such paper piles when you have something better to look at right in front of you. Ya'll have all week."

You let out a laugh as you swung your legs over and mounted the horse. Once you're situated with your balance and grip on the reins, you begin leading the stallion on the outskirts and just outside the property where you're able to view the vast space surrounding the barn and the ranch.

Mingi let himself have a big wide smile. He watched as you expertly climbed on the back of the horse, positioning yourself and getting into the saddle and not missing a beat. Sure there were other women that would throw themselves at him during their stay at the ranch, but all those women only wanted him for the view. For the image of a hot cowboy with abs and the talent on the rodeo. But not this girl. 

Not you.

You didn't come to the dude ranch just to make eye contact with him. You'd been riding the horses since a young age. You were the kind that liked nature and didn't wear high heels, didn't do anything extravagant or try to impress him with fancy and glamor. And that's the kind of woman that captured his attention, that could probably have him falling. He couldn't deny the attraction he felt for you. He was losing it, falling fast and there was absolutely no point in trying to stop it.

That was it for him. He was a damn goner. You were it.

“Darlin’?” Mingi called.

The wind pulled the words away, leaving you barely hearing what he's saying to you, and it's nice, so lovely, to hear his voice out here, where you're just enjoying nature and not buried into sheets of documents and numbers.

“Yeah, Mingi,” you replied.

“How 'bout a friendly race?” Mingi asked. 

A friendly race. He's asking you for a challenge. You lifted your brow and the corners of your lips raised. With his horse he can have an unfair advantage. After all, you didn't expect him to come saddling out behind you with his own horse. A big grin appeared on his face, while he had your stomach dropping. His features looked rugged under that damn hat of his and he's just got that dangerous sort of glint in his dark eyes. You shivered with thoughts, all the wicked and filthy images coming to mind.

“I thought you might go easier on a guest of yours,” you said.

“But I never had a guest who knew her way around a horse,” Mingi replied.

"True," you replied, gripping the leather saddle beneath you, the old material coarse against your palms.

Mingi narrowed his eyes. "So? Do ya accept then? I got a price of some sort for ya if ya win."

Your eyes sparkled at the challenge and you took a deep breath, clearing your thoughts. Your attention returned to Mingi. "And what is that, if I win?"

He raised his chin up, licking the edge of his lower lip. "Name the reward then. Whadda you say? Come on darlin', lemme get an answer from yah. Put me out of my damn misery."

Your chest flutters at the last word and at that hopeful expression in Mingi's eyes. What could a nice race possibly give you as a prize? Anything would be worth it. "Okay, Mingi, if I win the race, you have to do something for me."

“Like?” Mingi asked.

You were both traveling slowly across the landscape, both keeping your respective horses on a short reign so as to not gallop away too quickly.

“An exclusive date with the handsome cowboy who owns the ranch,” you said.

You watched him swallow as you proposed the suggestion. "Just that then? I'm a lucky bastard, I'd be thrilled if I win. Then I'd get a date with a girl as pretty as you. Winning a kiss, holding your hand for a single day could be nice."

The warm flush works its way down your neck and settles below your throat. You shift in the saddle, watching his head as he turns to focus on the ranch and the landscape in front of you. A white cap has now settled itself and a tiny breeze drifted around you both.

"And you?" you asked, your gaze falling back toward him, observing how the horse moved beside yours, watching how he adjusted his hands against the leather bridle.

"And I what, darlin'?" he asked, leaning forward and you notice his upper arm muscle bulging from under his shirt sleeves. He's staring forward and now you can see a pair of gray-blue eyes focused.

“Well, what's your end of the bet? What is the prize to you?” you asked.

You.

You reached a river flowing gently across the landscape, watching the currents change with every slight turn of the horse you're sitting on top. Beside you, Mingi adjusts his hat on his head as he leaned back in the saddle.

"Guess ya won this one," he said quietly.

You pull the reins and lead the horse around, coming face to face with Mingi. The both of you had dismounted and led the horses to the riverside, giving them a moment to feed on the fresh grass. The stallion is kneeling down near Mingi's horse, tearing the green shoots up and chewing the sweet tender grass blades.

"Better luck next time, cowboy," you patted the horse. "Now, don't we have a little business we need to attend to?"

Mingi, red in the cheeks and feeling warm all over, nods. "Ya won."

“That means the winner gets her prize. How about right now? Just you and me,” you purred.

"Sweetheart, there's nothing but the river and these fields," he smirked and lifted his hands. "What do you plan on doing here?"

"Showing you a little something," you murmured, your fingers grasping the hem of your shirt. Mingi's eyes grow wider as he watches you lift off the white cotton shirt to reveal a pretty blue lace bralette.

"Let's finish what we started the night in the shower," you muttered as you dropped to your knees, your hands grasping the leather belt on the front of his jeans. "Is that okay? Don't you want me to?"

"I do, sweetheart. I do," Mingi let out. "But you deserve to be in the comforts of a bed, not out here on the grass. Are you sure?"

“Mingi, right now, on this field or in the middle of that cold shower, it doesn't matter,” you said. “Right here, just us, as long as we're together is where I want this.”

"Then so it'll be," he says with a smirk. He walks to his horse and pulls out a thin blanket from one of the side pouches, draping it over the ground. "I don't want you to get dirty, and the grass is prickly."

Your hands had undid his pants, freeing his thick length from the fabric confinements and watched as his cock had already started growing. The warmth of his hardness against your palm. "I bet you fucked plenty of girls out in the open if you had a blanket ready."

Mingi laughed, but there wasn't humor in it, as you began stroking up and down his shaft. "Not as many as you're thinkin' sweetheart. I only have it on the days I'm riding out at night and sleeping out under the stars."

"Yeah?" you muttered, dragging his pants further down his legs. You glanced back at him and he's now  unbuttoning his shirt, letting it slide off.

"Yeah," Mingi answered, then stepped out of his jeans and tossed them on his boots. "Open up those pretty lips, darlin' and take me deep."

"You don't have to tell me twice," you grinned and inched closer to his crotch, guiding your tongue along his length.

Your soft wet tongue glides against his shaft. Mingi's not quite prepared and so you open wide as you suck him down, listening to him gasp when you bob down and back up again and begin sucking harder and harder, taking a few inches further in.

Your tongue swirled at the tip before you dove right back onto his thick cock, stretching your lips to accommodate his size, feeling him press back toward your throat and you swallow, letting it tickle down into your throat. He's already filling your mouth so well with just a taste.

"Good girl, just like that," he grunts and strokes your hair, using it as an anchor, tangling his fingers and weaving it through as you sucked his entire length. "Let me see those beautiful eyes."

And he's watching you now, his gorgeous brown eyes as they stay glued to your face, meeting his lusty gaze. That familiar hunger had come back, so intense, making you weak to the bones. You've been with plenty of men, plenty of cowboys, and none have ever had the same effect, have taken hold of you so fast like this.

"Such a filthy girl, your lips look amazing around my thick cock," Mingi is beautiful above you. His eyes shuttering close, his head falling back, lips parting in a groan.

When he opened his eyes again, they were darker. As he continues to rock in and out, he makes a low sound and places a large hand on the back of your head, his fingers digging in tight. He's pulsating in your mouth and you can feel his thickness throbbing, that thick head forcing its way back against your throat.

"Ah fuck. Darlin'... fuck, baby, that's good, too damn good," his voice groans.

You pull back, relaxing your throat and give yourself a moment of relief to catch your breath. You're using the opportunity to continue jerking and slicking your hand. Saliva and pre cum was spilling on your skin, creating a slippery friction.

You stared down at your hand, your fist moving in a pumping motion against Mingi's thick, wet cock. There's a bit more slickness at the tip, pre-cum dribbling down, running in a steady stream over his length. Mingi grasps your jaw. You have to tilt your head.

"Don't think you're done yet, pretty baby," Mingi reaches for the waistband of your shorts and pulls it down, then guides his fingers to slip inside of your panties and move them over. 

"Fuck," Mingi muttered. He can feel the warm juices spilling out of your soaked and sticky slit. He plays at your entrance, just teasing it before slipping his finger into you. You clenched tight and he smiled down at you, moving in a quick circular motion and back out. His hands move to pull the lace down further, revealing his glistening wet fingers, that's coated with your essence. He smirks, his expression dripping with filth. He licks them. 

"Darlin', there's something I gotta ask," Mingi's voice is deep and raw, filled with desire, and oh he can barely keep himself contained, wanting to dive into you and bring you to pleasure again. "Ever ridden a cowboy before?"

You rolled your eyes and smirked, biting down on your lower lip. "Maybe," you admitted, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Mm hmm," Mingi slid his pants the rest of the way off and took you by the wrist. He sits back on the blanket, his erection sticking up, angry and stiff, curving almost perfectly as he relaxes against the flannel material. He pats his thigh, a smirk working across his lips. "Come and mount me, cowgirl. Saddle on up."

With a smile, you position yourself over Mingi's thick cock, slowly sinking down inch by inch until you have the entirety of his shaft, stuffed inside. A delicious moan slipped out of you. It was just as full and stretched as it felt during the night at the shower. His girth split you and you're nearly shuddering with how the heat throbs between your legs. You're clenching against his thick length and it feels incredible. "Oh my god... Mingi, it's..."

"Gonna be a bouncy ride. Don't worry sweetheart, I'll hold you tight, trust me," he grinned at you, sliding his large hand across your ass cheek and grasping it, palming at the supple curve.

"Yessss..." you drawled out a moan and the moment you start moving, feeling him glide in and out of your slick passage. The ripples of pleasure began to ripple from the bottom of your toes and run all through. "Shit, you're gonna ruin me for anyone else. Mingi, god, this thick dick is gonna wreck me."

He licked his lower lip, thrusting up, pushing his hips and following you. "Feel good? Tell me, I wanna hear, tell me just how you feel, darlin'. Take all of this big fat cock you can get."

You leaned back, reaching your arms up to get a nice grip on Mingi's muscled shoulders. It was easy to steady your pace, his girth sinking into your warmth with his constant upward strokes. It was different, doing the motions in reverse, having a view of the man before you while still seeing his perfect cock slip in and out of you.

"This what ya needed, honey? Say my name," Mingi's voice is gruff and sultry, as you bounce your cunt against his cock, causing wet skin sounds that could be heard with every smack of his thighs meeting yours. His dark, piercing stare remained on you, focusing in, paying attention to the little details, especially every inch of exposed skin, everything that could send pleasure through your body.

"Fuck, it feels amazing," you whispered against his ear and sank your teeth on the skin of his earlobe. He grasped your ass and yanked you towards him, ramming his cock inside of you. "Yes, fuck, I love how good this is. It's going to ruin me, but damn, I don't even want it to stop."

A deep chuckle left his chest. His warm breath grazing the skin along the crook of your neck. "Ride this cock till you milk me for every drop. Use me for every inch you need. Whatever it is, whatever ya want, darlin', it's yours. You have control." 

Mingi stroked your face with his free hand. Your soft warm pussy clenched against his shaft as you continued riding him. Mingi groaned, his fingers pressed into the flesh of your thigh. "Fuck, that's what you wanted all day, isn't it? Just the promise of my dick deep in you. Needed me to fill up your pussy, sweet baby."

You've fucked a cowboy or two, in your experience, but man none of them compared to Mingi. None have held a candle to how fucking thick his shaft is as it reaches every spot inside. Even your toys have nothing on the stretch that you're getting from the man currently beneath you. Mingi's dick felt amazing sliding deep, your cunt sensitive and tensing. 

"Yes, yes. It's the only thing I've wanted," you told him. "Nothing better."

The corner of his lips tilted upwards, feeling a bit smug as he raised his knees and changed the angle. He's angling your movements now and it's hitting that glorious sweet spot with ease. 

"This dick the best you've had, sweet girl?" He grunts in between breaths. His strong thighs rocking, grinding, driving his fat shaft. "Nobody else is gonna fuck you this good, hm? No way any other cock will be this thick or nice, make you feel like this." 

He's taking your moans like a goddamn mantra of sweet noises. "Oh? What was that sweetheart? Come and lemme hear."

He pulled you flush with his body. Your cunt now kissing the base of Mingi's hard shaft.

"No one..." you managed to gasp out, breathless, and began working up the pace. Fucking him fast, feeling his thickness caress that special spot again. "Never.. felt this fucking good," your hands grabbed his hard pecs. "Oh fuck, Mingi!"

"Come on, baby, show me just how much ya love taking my fat cock," he grinned up at you, eyes bright and flashing with wicked gleams of light. "That's right, show me, sweet thing, c'mon. That's good, good fucking girl. Keep it like this and milk me til ya squeeze me dry. All the cum I've got for ya."

Hearing him talk was beyond hot. There is no doubt he has ruined you. Fuck any other guy. Mingi's the one you needed to be fucked by. Your hands found a grip on his solid muscular shoulders. Your pace never slowed down. Mingi was helping you out, setting the rhythmic beat, meeting the clap of your hips. 

"Oh yes. I'll be your dirty girl, no matter the kind of request, no matter how nasty. As long as it's you giving me all the cock," you purred. "Fuck, no one will ever compare. Want this inside of me everyday."

“Such a greedy little thing,” Mingi chuckled.

"Fuck, cowboy, yeah just like that. Ruin me," you whispered, arching your back, bouncing down, harder, faster, allowing him deeper. "Make me addicted to this big fucking cowboy cock."

Your dirty, sexy words drove him crazy, feeling him turn wild underneath you. In a split second he's switched you both, rolling so he's on top now. Your legs fell open wider, letting his full weight down on top of you. He's starting a vicious and wicked pace, just drilling into your cunt, rough, strong, slamming the base against you. "What would your friends think, huh? Sweet pretty thing like you, enjoying such a dirty fuck. Laying under me with such a greedy wet pussy."

"Don't care," you grunted. "I only fucking want you."

"Are you on birth control, Y/N?" His voice came in a husky tone. He kept moving, pumping into your clenching heat.

"Yeah, yeah I am. Mingi," you whined, your grip firm on his arm.

"Good, beautiful. Been dreaming about coming inside, fillin' ya up all warm. Making you drip out all my seed. Damn it," his lips found your own. He was moving as close to you as possible, leaving little room for his hands. He kept fucking hard into your core. "How much of me can you handle?"

"All, everything. I'm begging you," you met his lips with more force, loving his kiss, hungry for the taste. You held on to his head, not breaking the touch as he moved and pumped harder.

“Hang on then, you're about to get a damn gusher,” Mingi warned.

A throaty moan leaves you, feeling that hot gushing warmth filling you up. There's so much cum, already slipping out as he continued fucking into you, drawing out every last drop. His body shuddering on top, your arms holding on, squeezing his large form and you were moaning from the intense pressure of your orgasm rippling through.

Your pussy is flooded with Mingi's cream as he gently drops his mouth on your neck and kisses and licks away, continuing to spill his seed deep inside of you and you both enjoy the mutual pleasures of your orgasms. You closed your eyes, rolling in ecstasy, your entire body becoming relaxed and tired.

"Thank you, sweet girl," Mingi dropped his forehead on yours, catching his breath and gradually calmed his thrusting. He was looking down at you with such a content face, sweat slicking his hair. "Let's get ya cleaned up and then head back to the ranch."

Your friends watched the whole scene unfold between you and Mingi riding back in on the horses as they waited for your return. Jinhee sees the small smile on your face from her position near the picnic table, setting up for some good old fashioned dinner style campfire. She let out a silent squeal, squeezing her hands tightly and grabbing Bora by the forearm. "Y/N and Mingi are riding back."

"She looks so happy," Bora replied. "I think she really missed the country lifestyle."

Hyemi nodded. "She looks at peace here. I've never seen her this happy ever since she joined the firm. She could finally enjoy herself."

"She's actually been relaxed for once in her life," Jinhee teased, resting the platter of hotdogs and meat onto the side of the table and taking a long gulp from her s'mores stick. "Not wound up and frazzled with all her paperwork she brings with her everywhere she goes."

"Uh, ladies," Hyemi began, moving closer towards the women.

You rode up along the pasture with the tall cowboy not too far behind. You tugged on the reins, bringing the mare to a slow walk and allowing Mingi and his steed to catch up.

"Nice race, pretty lady," he gave you a wink.

"Can't believe I beat you at a race. Are you really rusty?" You laughed.

“Maybe you were pretty damn distracting along the ride back to the stable,” Mingi replied. “Distracting enough to leave me speechless. You sure damn well know how to leave an impression.”

You turned and watched him climb off his stallion and steady his footing, throwing the straps over the wooden bar. Once he's secured the animal, he offered you a hand and helped pull you down off the saddle.

Your feet finally touch the ground. "Pretty good for a city girl, am I?"

"Ahhhh but you're a country girl, remember?" He winked.

"That I am," you laughed. You patted the horse. "I'm not ready for my friends' teasing. They saw us ride back in."

"So they saw me get my ass whipped. Oh well, what's a man's pride anyway when he's faced with a beauty like yourself," Mingi replied and let out a smile. "Hey, you did earn your reward darlin' and I'm a man who keeps his promises. Now go on. I think your friends are waitin'."

He kissed you on the cheek, a small, chaste brush against skin. He's left you breathless, staring after him and your knees feeling a little weak, all too aware of how hard he can kiss. It wasn't fair to turn on that charm at a moment like now.

The women all giggled, waving you over once you've headed towards them.

"So...were those rosy cheeks because of a nice ride on your horse? Or because of a certain tall, dark, and handsome someone you were with?" Jinhee questioned, eyeing you from head to toe.

You were a mess and you know it, covered in sweat from your horse ride with Mingi, still filled to the brim with adrenaline and some hormones.

"You're asking me the wrong questions, I'm too overwhelmed and heated from the sun," you joked.

Bora crossed her arms, frowning, not buying any of the bullshit. "Something is different. That sparkle, the glint, in your eyes says there's something more to that cowboy we met the first day we came."

"Pssssh," Hyemi pipped up. "Don't lie, Y/N, we saw the look on your face when you were riding back. You looked happy, more happy than I'd ever seen."

Your shoulders shrugged and your lips pursed, holding back the excitement and pure happiness wanting to pour through.

Hyemi went up behind you and clasped her hands together. "Oh come on, tell us more. Tell us anything, everything!"

You were not going to tell your friends about having gotten eaten out in the bathroom by Mingi or even have sex out in the open fields, but you could tell them about the racing bet. 

You turned to them, facing the group as one. "Well, let's talk about that over some beer and dinner. I'm starved."

The sun set beyond the horizon and the glow illuminated the landscape. With the lantern lights, the campfires and the company, this is the most peaceful and happiest you've been in a long, long time.

The coolness of the evening washed over your skin and you felt free, carefree.

Not spending time worrying about money and expense statements for a single business, stressing and working non-stop every single week just to make ends meet. You're used to this, you've lived with the pressures of city life.

And being in this place? Back in the countryside and enjoying your old habits and life, brought you some type of solace and a level of contentment you never experienced.

The familiar crackle, pop of the fire as you sat around, snuggled in a quilt. The cold beer, the smores, and laughter. You breathed deep into the fresh air. It'd been so long since you'd seen so many stars in the sky. A couple nights in the city would yield nothing.

This was your heaven.

While the ladies gathered themselves and talked, you didn't feel a little lost on the side of the camp, looking up.

“Beautiful view, isn't it?” Mingi asked.

You jerked your neck in the direction of the sound. Mingi had sat next to you with a beer in hand and a curious look upon his features.

"It certainly is," you responded. "It's hard to look at the stars in the city. But this? Makes me not want to return."

He cocked his head to the side. "Surely this can't compare to your fancy job," he said.

Your shoulders raised. "Honestly? It isn't glamorous or exciting like the people might think. All I do is stare at numbers day in and day out and live for those paychecks. So the view here? Is something I missed about home."

"Ever thought about going back?" He questioned. "Thinking maybe that move was a mistake."

You let out a soft sigh. "Every single day. I'm thinking that I've made a huge mistake. Working in a place where I can be overworked and not paid what I'm really owed. I don't understand why I'm struggling in the first place, but I do know that there has to be a better option out there. But I wouldn't have met my friends if I didn't move to the city. But still, there are times when I want to go back."

He's so close to you, and in the darkness his eyes look like glitter, bright and reflecting the starlight.

You shook your head and broke out of the haze you were caught in. He leaned closer, closing in the distance and the gap between you. Your throat thickened as your skin pricked, an awareness washing over your body. His jaw works as he swallows hard and lets out a slow and hot, heavy breath. He wants, so badly, to press a sweet kiss to the corner of your lips. But he wouldn't dare ruin this, not with your friends just a few feet away.

"Then stay," Mingi murmured and lifted his head so his gaze could meet yours. The hand holding his beer shifted, and you could swear you saw his fingers move toward yours as a sweet offer. "Stay with us. I could use your help around the ranch, a woman with your skill could be the blessing I'm waiting for. Staying would give ya a chance to get out from beneath those numbers and back out here in the country. The ranch isn't far from the city so your friends could visit anytime."

The warm huff of his words breezes across your nose, and then it's his smell that surrounds you. His sweet musk and the deep earthy woodsy scent.

“You've been working on my papers so you already know how bad my books are. The ranch isn't thriving right now, not when I got these things just hangin' over me. But with a fresh pair of eyes? Maybe a new opportunity? I need your help, Y/N,” Mingi said. “In anything. Accounting, bookkeeping, the finances. Heck, if ya offered to help around the ranch, I wouldn't mind that either.”

You heard your friend's conversation still playing out, their soft, lilting laughter in the background. And Mingi's whispers as his mouth ghosted the curve of your ear. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he muttered as he leaned his head closer, his hand cupping the curve of your face, bringing your nose closer to his and leaving a short gap between your lips and his. His lips pressed against the soft pillow of yours, kissing it briefly and ever so softly.

The world faded away. All that's left is Mingi. And it's just his voice, his closeness and the way his breath touches you and ignites tiny sparks underneath your skin.

He inhaled, taking a sharp, small breath as his face inches nearer towards yours, noses nearly touching and lips barely grazing against each other, a ghost-like touch and heat, making you warm. You breathed in his musk scent, an intoxicating pull that pulled you to him. He kissed you again, soft, not seeking any kind of tongue, and you didn't dare try either.

A warm wave washed over you, this warmth of desire spreading through and the blood humming with the light contact of lips brushing lips, both pulling each other closer.

His mouth fit so perfectly against yours.

You broke away slowly and looked into Mingi's eyes, heavy lidded. Your forehead dropped to his shoulder and the soft chuckles vibrated through his chest, causing a ripple against you.

The beer was forgotten and you were only holding onto the blanket around you, you heard the hoots and hollers of your friends that jolted you out of the fantasy. That you had to snap back into reality. Your lips are on fire and there's still the warmth that he left with that sweet little touch, seared onto your skin and igniting every part of your body.

He had sat up straighter, away from you, watching from his peripheral view and knowing there were eyes trained on the pair of you. He coughed and started to drink his beer, but you've both lost that brief moment of privacy and connection you just had moments ago. 

"Gonna think on it, darlin?" Mingi asked and reached over to grasp your hand and stroke a thumb over the knuckles, slow and intimate.

You couldn't breathe, and he chuckled and dropped his hand from yours. Mingi stood up and gave a brief smile, and a quick nod before tipping his cowboy hat at you. "Let me know." Then he walked towards Yunho and Seonghwa, who were eyeing him while drinking from their own bottles of beers, and slung his arms around both the ranch hands' necks. The three men laughed and walked back towards the direction of the stable.

Fuck you had it bad for Mingi. Badly. Like ridiculously fucking bad.

"Don't you even try to deny anything!" Bora pointed. "We all fucking saw that shit. You had heart eyes! Who the fuck are you and what have you done with our serious and strict workaholic friend who won't even allow herself time to enjoy the simpler life?"

"Was he a good kisser?" Jinhee asked, a genuine curiosity on her face.

"Yes," you mumble.

"Say that again? You're gonna have to speak up because even a mouse is quieter than you." Hyemi teased.

"For fuck's sake, yes he was a damn good kisser. Wouldn't you wanna be kissed by someone like him?" you let out a sigh of defeat.

Bora and Hyemi high five each other while Jinhee is cackling.

"She admitted it, pay up, girls," Hyemi held her hand out, awaiting a few large bills. She collected the money from Jinhee and Bora. "Didn't I tell you I called Y/N and her cowboy kiss?"

“Did you two do anything else? Anything kinkier than a sweet and chaste kiss?” Bora asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

"Uh.." you didn't know how much you should admit.

"Y/N, you dirty minx," Hyemi winked and slid a drink over your way. "But I won't press you, I just hope it was satisfying and worth your time."

You took a gulp and said, "It was more than satisfying."

"Well, well, well," Bora put her elbows on the table and leaned in, pressing her hands to her chin, resting her head against them. "What's gonna happen to our best friend?"

"Who knows," you sighed, allowing the cool crispness of the alcohol burn down your throat and calm your racing heart, wondering what would happen now. How did things progress further with a simple and brief touch of the lips? "Who the hell knows."

Mingi, Yunho, and Seonghwa wandered back up the pathway, walking towards the stable to call it a day and start to head inside to meet up with the other five men that were his ranch hands and friends.

Seonghwa had a big smirk plastered on his face, tossing his hand up and patting a hand against Mingi's shoulder blade, shaking his body. "Someone's got an itchin' for a certain lil lady."

Yunho was walking alongside, listening, giving Mingi a side eye.

Mingi put up a dismissive gesture, shrugging.

"My question is," Seonghwa started. "Is this about lust or love? Huh?"

"She's not mine to claim, Seonghwa, not just yet anyway." Mingi stopped to look up at the night sky, rubbing the back of his neck with the palm of his hand and taking off his hat. He brushed it along the curve of his leg, ridding himself of dirt before he returned it.

He heard some distant squeals and yells from the girls across the yard, coming closer. A beautiful night filled with beautiful memories. "A week isn't long enough to develop feelings for a pretty girl such as herself," he commented.

"Bullshit," Wooyoung groaned and his brows knit together. He swung a strong arm at Mingi's, cussing at the man who's got the bigger body structure. "All ya do is eat, sleep, and fuck. Those feelings don't exist?"

"She's different, okay? I can't explain why, I know this is very hard to believe considering I fuck around all the time. But Y/N? Man, she knows her way around a ranch, she knows business and books and that kinda stuff," Mingi breathed deep. His eyes followed as the group walked by. "She knows about the situation with the ranch and she offered to help with the papers when I never asked her to. No strings attached and she wanted to do it because she has a heart of gold and that kindness is why she decided to. It was just for fun but she is intelligent as fuck and knows her shit when it comes to numbers. Y/N could easily kick my ass if we were on even footing. Don't even question me man, she's special."

The girls continued to move around.

Mingi closed his eyes. "I'm not looking for another fling."

"Shit, is my pansy ass cowboy boss fallin' in love?" Jongho questioned and placed his palms on his chest, a loud groan. "Love makes you weak."

Mingi tried to shrug, a smile creeping to his lips. "Haven't ever thought of feeling this way until I met Y/N. Hell, I even asked her to stay longer."

"What?!" Yunho finally spoke, eyes wide and round as he looked over to his best friend.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mingi replied. “And I wasn't kidding.”

"Are you stupid?! Have you lost your mind asking someone who's got their whole life planned back in the big city, to stay here with the likes of us? Living like this in the country,," Hongjoong raised his voice.

"You guys weren't there when she was talking about missing home. Missing her family's ranch and having that time out of the corporate bullshit she does day to day. She's lost, she knows she needs to leave but doesn't have a reason. Maybe Y/N stays for the ranch, maybe she'll stay for me," Mingi suggested, grinning. "What do I have to lose?"

"Your sanity. Everything you have is riding on that little city slicker," San joked.

"Look, you can take the girl out of the country but you can't take the country out of the girl," Mingi interjected, laughing. He turned away from the others, walking toward his house. "Who knows, if this is about a one week fling, then fine. She goes and that'll be it. But Y/N stays a little longer and she fits right in here with us, then I'll be damned if I let her go back."

"Ya'll fucked, didn't ya?" Wooyoung commented, brows furrowed.

Mingi waved him off. "Piss off, you dickheads, leavin' ya to clean the mess in the stable and tuck the horses in for the night. Don't forget to give the chickens fresh water!"

Mingi kept a smile on his face, laughing when Seonghwa scoffed and he looked over his shoulders. "And go ahead and polish the stallion's boots because I'll be sure not to leave the stallion untied!"

San chuckled, mumbling. "That's what ya'll are..."

Mingi flung his hands back, his middle fingers up high, pointing both his fingers out for his group of friends. "I can hear ya, asshole!" He gave one final wave before stepping back into his house, calling for his dogs, and closing the door. 

He rested against the wooden frame, leaning his head against the entryway. He couldn't get this week out of his mind.

He didn't expect any of these events to transpire. For a girl, for a woman, for you, to make him feel so strong and alive. Mingi can't wrap his mind around it, the fluttering feeling in his chest that made him weak in the knees, whenever he's with you.

He exhales sharply and tries to close his eyes and breathe. But this time, his fantasies of you come rushing forward. He can see your beautiful body spread bare underneath his gaze, head thrown back, naked chest flushed and panting. He can see it all with clarity, and his cock gets harder thinking about it. And it makes his heart pound faster, and Mingi wants you again, badly, so so badly, but for a completely different reason. It wasn't a physical thing, not anymore.

After those events between you and him happened, everything has changed. The need for him and wanting his body has transformed. Mingi knew that somehow you felt the same way. Maybe you're the girl for him.

Mingi's body yearns for a good night's rest and he is quick to start a shower. He quickly strips and takes a hot, soothing shower, allowing the steam and water to wash over his aching muscles and body.

But he cannot shake the urge to see you, his soul cries for you, so he peeks his head out of the shower curtain. His eyes dart quickly around for any sight of his boxers, but they're nowhere to be seen. He checked and rechecked his laundry basket. Nothing, empty, nada. Mingi saw that those boxers were nowhere to be found. "Sonofabitch." He was hoping, praying that his dogs haven't gotten ahold of his boxers. Because of the teasing that'll happen with those smartass guys that work with him and him having to deal with their non-stop joking comments, that's something that'll really irritate him for an entire week. He shook his head and grumbled, a habit he had picked up from Seonghwa.

Fuck it. He quickly finished up and scrubbed his body, smelling of a soft forestry scent, and grabbed his towel from a rack in the shower to wrap it around himself. Water dripped along the toned muscles of his chest, sliding along his abs, the indents that the towel molded to. Water dribbled from his dark wet locks, splashed against the shower and floor. He was so engrossed in drying off, his legs swinging wildly to a beat as he danced and shimmied while drying his lower half, that he didn't even notice you entering his bedroom.

"Oh my god, Mingi," you hastily turned away and put a hand over your eyes. You peeked through the crack of the two fingers holding over your eyelids and Mingi couldn't help but laugh.

"You're so shy all of sudden? This is the same woman who was bouncing up and down on my dick for the world to see outside?" Mingi snorts and continues drying off his body. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"Couldn't sleep so I figured I'd help finish your paperwork, also-" you stopped. You almost blurted out that you missed the hell out of him and couldn't get him out of your mind but bit your lip and prevented yourself.

“What else? Your face is reddening up. What is it?” Mingi asked.

"Well, I, uhhh- " Your hands were clasping and wringing the hem of your pajama shirt, biting on your lower lip. The awkward silence between you was becoming so very obvious. And in the corner of your peripheral vision, you could see him shaking his head and scoffing, smirking as he reached for a pair of pajama bottoms and throwing the towel to the floor.

"If you want more, just say so." Mingi winked.

"Yeah?" you breathe. "You'll give me more?"

"Somethin' tells me that the bookkeeping stuff isn't what brought ya here in the first place." Mingi smiled as he pressed up against your body. Your chests colliding with his full and naked body. The rough texture and sturdiness of his body provides the support to your own body that is needed.

"Can we just lay in bed together instead?" You looked up with hopeful eyes and whispered against his collarbones.

"Now darlin', you don't gotta ask. If that's what makes ya happy." He threw himself on top of the covers of the bed. Gestured for you to come up beside him and welcomed the embrace with arms open, wrapping around your form. A tiny, perfect fit within his long frame. His muscular arms and legs trapping your smaller ones. You breathed a contented sigh. It felt perfect, being in his arms. "You're not gonna disappear in the morning are you?" Mingi asked.

You huffed a laugh, his fingers were stroking and kneading through your hair. "Not planning on going anywhere."

"Mmm…" his eyelids drooped as his thumb rubbed your scalp, melting into a warm state. "And if your girls are looking for you?"

"They can deal with me tomorrow. They're big girls. And I'm tired," you breathed against his bare shoulder.

"Yes ma'am. Do what you will. Although, I gotta say," he shifted, releasing your head to look at you, only for you to rest against the planes of his bare chest. You felt a few droplets of water trickle across your forehead. You both remained in comfortable silence. You heard his deep inhalation and felt his lungs expanding beneath your arms. 

"This is something I'd wanna wake up to every day," he whispered and brushed some stray hairs away, his thumbs stroking your jaw, and pulling your chin up. Your lips pressed firmly against his soft, full and puffy ones. "I like you, darlin'. Real, real bad. So I'd love it if you stayed."

He pulled the blanket up, covering your shoulders. He turned to switch off his bedside lamp. And then, it was darkness that settled. Only your quiet breath could be heard, and the deep evenness of Mingi's that you matched.

"Thank you for the week, Mingi," you whispered and tipped your nose up, brushing against the soft sensitive skin under his chin, trailing soft kisses along the skin there. "Really."

Some Months Later

"Mingi...The girls are going to be here soon!" you whined as your back was plastered against the wall, arms wrapped around his neck and his legs caging you. There is the light flush of your cheeks. Lips, red and bruised. Mingi's cowboy hat placed crooked on your head.

"Don't care, baby, we have a few minutes before they're due," his raspy and growling voice had you pressing your knees closer together, fighting off a soft whimper.

"So...rude," you sighed heavily and crossed your arms, avoiding him. "At least give me time to catch my breath!"

"No, baby, want ya now," Mingi groaned out.

"God, you're fucking impatient!" you groan and giggle as his head bows and peppers soft kisses across your cheeks.

"Yer fault for looking so sexy wearing my clothes." Mingi muttered.

"It's only a t-shirt, it's comfortable, okay,” you retorted.

"Mmhm...and my hat," he whistles low. "Love seeing you wear that and nothing else."

"When my friends get here, you better behave," you warned him.

Mingi nodded eagerly, nuzzling the crook of your neck, teeth grazing your pulse and biting a mark. He wanted everyone to know you belonged to him. "Yes, ma'am. Do I ever disobey yer orders, darling?"

"Yes," you quickly responded. "So often and I hate it."

His large warm palms grazed up and down your thighs and squeezed a handful of your ass. "Now, what do you really want, darling?" He rolled his hips and gave his stiff erection a light press against the area where your thighs met, giving a sharp hiss at the contact and pressure.

"Okay. maybe, I like you disobedient," you moan. "But can we wait until later? They'll be here and I-"

"Seonghwa and the guys can help them out," Mingi nipped at your collarbone. "It's not like the girls haven't been on the ranch before."

"I guess, just a quickie, maybe?" you glance over the clock hanging near your hallway, time is running low.

"How much time do you think we got? Five minutes tops?" Mingi laughed.

"Maybe five, or less," you dropped your eyes. You just couldn't resist him. You never could.

Mingi smirked. "Have I told you how sexy you are and how I want you all the time?"

You kiss him softly. "At least a hundred times in the past week." You slipped a hand down his chest and dipped a finger into his pants. His hips jerked.

"Hey," you heard a voice and footsteps coming from the door. "Yunho wanted me to─Oh damn it," and Bora started coughing to hold back a laugh, eyeing the way you clung onto Mingi. She turned back away quickly, hollering at the others. "They're still fucking! Don't bother knocking! She can't be separated from him!"

"Sonofabitch," he groaned. "I guess not today."

"I told you we didn't have enough time!" you pull down your top and slide Mingi's hat from your head, placing it back. You roll your eyes and tussle your hands through his hair. "Behave, yeah?"

"Never," his hand is on your back and he walks with you out of the bedroom. "Baby?"

"Hmm?" you give him a quizzical look.

"I'm happy you decided to stay. This all means everything to me," he whispers softly and leans down, embracing you in a slow, tender kiss, dipping his cowboy hat at you with a wide smile once he pulls away. "Love you, darlin."

You giggled and patted his shoulders, smiling right up at him, "Love you too, sweetheart."

After another kiss, you and Mingi walked towards the others and watched as Wooyoung showed Jinhee how to feed a horse. Bora was eyeing San and asking him many questions while Seonghwa and Hyemi conversed amongst each other. Jongho and Hongjoong were busy attending to a few others who were also out for riding and your eyes fell to Yunho and Yeosang. They were busy showing other guests a couple things to make sure they were riding safely and had your brows furrowed.

As soon as Hyemi turned to her side and noticed Mingi and yourself, she rushed over with excitement, arms around you. "The ranch sure is growing fast, it's looking great here!"

"I still can't believe you decided to stay. All because of one cowboy man," Jinhee patted her hands against your arm and sighed. "But if you're happy, then I'm happy for you."

"We missed you!" Bora ran from her spot over to you and latched herself onto you, tightly gripping at you and her.

"Not too tight," you let out a small laugh. "I can barely breathe."

"Oh?" She pulled away with her brows raised, grinning widely.

"Well," your hands fell to Mingi's biceps, fingertips massaging the warm muscles. He hummed happily. "I was waiting to tell you the news."

"What news is it that you couldn't tell us over the phone?" Jinhee cocked a brow.

"Turns out," you looked up to Mingi, then glanced over at the other men around. "We're getting married and..."

You shared a brief look with Mingi. A happy gaze over one another, warmth growing. Mingi's smile broadened and the smile crinkled as his arm dropped and reached out for your stomach, feeling the smooth, tiny curve there. And the fingers that curled over your hip pulled you close, leaning his head down. 

"Yeah," he breathes. "We got a new little rancher, ready to join our family."

"You're having a baby?!" Your girlfriends exclaimed in unison.

"I'm moving to the ranch now just so I can be here when the little one joins," Hyemi was hopping from foot to foot, giddy. "Do you have an extra room for me?"

“There's lots of rooms. Unless...maybe you're willing to bunk up,” Mingi said.

"I think Seonghwa's willing to bunk," you teased and gave a loud laugh.

Seonghwa lets out a laugh and comes over, his arm stretching around her, pulling Hyemi over his shoulders. His lids dropped in a lazy fashion. He let out a simple, yet attractive chuckle, "If the little lady wants."

Hyemi blinked. She gulped and slowly gave her approval with a gentle nod and her voice wavering slightly. "Yes please."

Seonghwa lets out a hissing laugh. And his expression softened, the usual blank look was washed from his face, making him look almost human and his lips quirk upwards as he gave her the friendliest smile anyone had seen on him. His brows wiggled. "I'd have you begging for me within a month."

"Excuse me, Mr. Park, you got your work cut out for you," she gives him a challenging smile. And Seonghwa tilts his head, curious at the cute remark. "Cause' I don't think you'd have to try."

Seonghwa wraps his arm around her lower back, pulling Hyemi tight against him. "I miss ya too, darlin'. Thought ya would never show yer cute face again."

You let out a laugh as you watched Hyemi's face turn rosy red in a flash and let out a squeak. You nod in her direction, your finger poking his chest and scrunch your nose playfully, "Have fun tonight, don't keep her out too late, mister. You have animals and people to take care of tomorrow."

Seonghwa smiled softly. "Yes, boss." He gives you a wink before guiding Hyemi back to his cabin, murmuring under his breath.

Mingi lifted you off the ground and gave you a twirl, followed by a long and affectionate kiss. Then his palms were splaying out across the slight protrusion in your abdomen, soothingly caressing his knuckles gently.

You saw the tender look that was on his face and your heart melted for him. His affection was so innocent and warm, and you wished he'd continue to look at you like this forever, every day, always, you were falling deeper and deeper in love with him.

Your hands gripped around his neck, fingertips curling through his dark locks. "I love you, Mingi, so much." You whisper.

Mingi set you down and he turned to see his friends smiling up at him. Yunho, Jongho and the other's were clapping softly. He was a proud father. Or, at least, soon-to-be-father and it wasn't going to change. This man and child are his and the love and adoration you give back to him is so special and Mingi's world is shining bright as you look right up at him and he would do absolutely everything for you to remain right in his arms like this.

He kissed your lips softly, chuckling softly before whispering against your mouth, "And I love you both, so fucking much, sweetheart."

[yanderecrazysie]

Twisted Zoo Ending One: Queen of the Jungle

This is based on the stories of a keeper reader with the octotrio by @ashensgrotto and @merakiui .

I am no longer doing tags. Tumblr hates me and I’d rather not waste my time when there are so many! You can keep up to date on Twisted Zoo on Tumblr, Quotev, Wattpad, or AO3.

WARNINGS: yandere themes

Note: For Tumblr, the mature version of the endings (the afterendings) will begin sometime after I finish all the normal endings.

Note 2: Sorry this is short, I wasn't sure how to write this one lol.

In each hand you carried a bucket, filled to the brim with steaks. It was kind of nostalgic of your first time in the exhibit. It was hard to believe it wasn’t that long ago.

You hummed to yourself as you approached the lions’ area. You furrowed your brow- the rocks had been rearranged in nearly a complete circle, with just enough room for you to walk inside and approach the king of the jungle’s sunning rock.

“Hey, Leona!” you called out to the lion halfling lazily regarding you from his perch, “Dinner time!���

The pride’s leader leapt down from his resting spot and casually approached you, his movements lazy yet filled with grace. His eyes, intelligent and painfully sharp, never left you as you entered the circle of rocks.

The other lions were nowhere to be found. Confused, you searched for them in the shade of the rocks, but there was no one there.

As you reached the middle of the circle, something occurred to you. The usually-cackling hyenas were unusually quiet. The hairs on your arms stood on end. Something’s wrong.

You turned to face the circle’s exit and, within an instant, strong arms had wrapped around your stomach, pulling you back against a solid chest. You gasped and dropped both buckets as you struggled to break free. The grip did not budge no matter how hard you fought.

“Shhh, easy there, herbivore,” a voice murmured in your ear, low and gravely and filled with amusement.

Your heart jumped out of your chest. It was Leona who had spoken, but it wasn’t the Leona you knew. It was the Leona whose gaze had started to linger too long for your liking. The Leona who had always seemed too much like a predator than a human.

But he wasn’t alone. 

Now facing the circle’s gap, you saw Ruggie, grinning from ear to ear, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he blocked your only exit.

“Gotcha!” Ruggie snickered, “Took you long enough.”

“What… what are you doing?!” you cried, trying to twist out of Leona’s grasp, making no progress whatsoever on escaping.

Leona’s breath was hot against your neck, “You spend too much time with those other exhibits,” he spat out the word like it was a slur, “You must pay more attention to us.”

Ruggie snickered again and leaned casually against the towering rocks, his eyes tracking every movement you made, “You ignore us. Not fair, y’know? You must remember your real favorites.”

Panic surged through you, but you forced yourself to stay calm, “This isn’t funny- let me go.”

Leona chuckled, the sound vibrating through your back, “We’re not joking, herbivore. You play with fire, you get burnt. We don’t like to share.”

“Share?” you echoed, voice shaky with fear and confusion, “What do you-”

“You’re ours,” Leona interrupted sternly, “You have always been ours.”

Ruggie pushed off the rock and sauntered over, his sharp-canined grin widening as he got closer, “You should have seen this coming. We dropped hints. You’re just too silly to notice.”

Leona’s nose brushed against your hair, inhaling deeply, “We’re tired of waiting around. You stay here now.”

You began to thrash desperately in his hold, but he held you effortlessly, like a mouse in a cat’s jaws.

“You’ll love it here!” Ruggie cooed, “No more zoo. No more stress. Just you, us, and the savannah. We will keep you cool. It’s perfect.”

The reality of the situation hit you all at once. They weren’t going to let you leave. They were deadly serious. The playful smile Ruggie wore was just a mask for the possession lurking beneath.

It was too much for you, and as hopelessness began to sink in, you began to cry, “Please just let me go, we can forget this ever happ-”

“You will not leave,” Leona growled, “You are our mate. And if anyone tries to take you away…”

You gulped at the insinuation. 

Ruggie moved closer and brushed a stray tear from your cheek, “Don’t cry. We take good care of you, promise. You won’t worry ever again.”

The vast savannah, once one of your favorite parts of the zoo, now felt like a huge, hot cage.

You were no longer a researcher to them. That much was clear.

And there was no escape from the lion’s den.

[invincibledc]

KICK ASS‼️

Damian Al Ghul-Wayne x GN!Reader

Summary: accidentally snapping when someone unknown touches you, you flipped them straight onto their ass only to learn it’s the Batman’s sidekick Robin.

Something clicks in your mind when you feel threatened, it’s like you have an off and on switch for combat mode as you don’t comprehend your own movements. You sometimes just do it, it’s not an order. It’s a will to survive.

It’s always a will to survive when you live in the bad parts of Gotham and work for Batman undercover. Being a minor civilian and helping Robin with his own stuff or even helping solve crimes with Red Robin has its perks. They didn’t even need to train you when they seen how your eyes snapped around. Searching your surroundings like a hawk ready to take on its prey.

You had just came from an after school activity, it’s cold and windy for a night in Gotham as you can hear faint police sounds and just cars speeding pass. You scoff seeing some guys smoke and laugh loudly like cackling hyenas. It was perpetuating. And it make you sick at how they stare at people as well. You kept walking though, not paying any mind until you heard footsteps that didn’t sound like your own. You started to pace up, hearing the Same footsteps fasten as well.

You kept walking fast, hearing the footsteps gain on you as your breath going in rapidly. In. Out. In. Out. You couldn’t feel yourself hear your heart anymore when you felt a gloved hand touch your shoulder.

And that’s when it activated.

Your eyes widen, body moving before your mind can pace itself. You grabbed the hand that dropped onto your shoulder. Twisting its wrist and pulling its arm forward and flipping their entire body weight above you.

A hiss and groan came out of the person’s mouth, you let out a breath of air. Ready to stomp their head before seeing the red and yellow colors. You halted your foot above Robin’s head. “Dude, I could’ve killed you.” You said in a weary tone as your combat mode decease. Helping the short boy up who seemed to scoff.

“I could’ve handled the hit to the head. But good reflexes…” you only rolled your eyes before looking at him with worry. “You sure I didn’t slam you on the ground to hard? I’m pretty sure I don’t know how to handle my own strength…” you said as Robin dust himself off. Looking at you now with a small smug.

“I’m fine. But you, you kick ass, and that’s for sure.”

[lunajay33]

Over Looked

•🪽🌌🌑•

Summary: Being the youngest Archeron sister was hard and when you’re thrown into a new life as a high fae living in the night court people don’t see your struggle, and the one you crave only has eyes for your sister Elain

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

Info: Elain and Nesta always hated reader, Rhys and Feyre adore her, angst with a happy ending

•Masterlist•

After years of living in poverty, sleeping on the cold hard floor while my three older sisters shared a bed, my two oldest sisters hating me, after almost dying trying to sneak into prythian finding myself lost in the woods for months until a tall man with dark hair found me curled up in the autumn court woods almost starving from being lost for so long and running for my life every second, he was like a dark angel as he kneeled infront of me

Flashback

“Your sister has been desperately trying to find you” he smiles as he pick me up and glimmering smoke surrounds us

“Feyre” I whisper when I open my eyes again I’m in a fancy house and there sits my lovely sister but she was undeniable more beautiful, he lays me on the couch as Feyre kneels next to me

“I tried……I tried to save you Fey” I sigh weakly noticing the tears in her eyes

“I’m so sorry, none of this would’ve happened I should have protected you” she cry’s

She filled me in on everything that happened, how the man that found me was her mate and this was the night court, how she was now a high fae

She helped me bath and fed me, introducing me to Mor, Cassian he was like a huge teddy bear, and Azriel he was the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen but he seemed to be standoffish, quiet and mysterious but his shadows would seem me out sometimes late at night when I couldn’t sleep, terrified of the memories of the monsters that had chased me

Then everything changed, me, Elain and Nesta got taken, thrown into the cauldron and turned into high fae, Elain got powers and so did Nesta, I was yet to discover if I had any ability, even now as we were all in the inner circle Elain and Nesta took any chance they could to jab at me

Present

I’m still having a hard time adjusting to this new life, finding it hard to let my old life go wishing I could have what Feyre had, she looks so happy as she looks into the eyes of her mate as they are sat at the head of the table while we all eat our dinner

I look back down the table noticing the way Azriel would glance at Elain, I’ve caught it a few times and it broke my heart each time, the moment I crawled out of the cauldron and looked at him I felt it in my chest that he was the one for me but he had eyes for one of the sisters that made my life hell

“Y/n dear aren’t you hungry?” Mor asks smiling as she’s sat next to me, I put on a fake smile and shrug my shoulders

“Oh I’ve just lost my appetite is all”

“Probably for the best anyways she could afford to loose some weight” Nesta laughed as Elain joined in like cackling hyenas, I can feel my lip wobble as I try to keep the tears at bay looking down at Feyre for help, she always stuck up for me

“Nesta Elain that’s enough” she said sternly, Rhys next to her shooting them daggers with his eyes

“I think I’m just going to go to bed” I excuse myself going down the hall to my room hearing Feyre scold them but they just kept laughing

Looking in the mirror I hold up my shirt sighing, were they right? Maybe Azriel would notice me then, I feel a shadow swirl along my leg up to my cheek giving me a comforting feeling like it’s my own emotional support shadow

I lay in bed as it dances around my fingers, why is it always her, everyone wants them but no one ever wants me, a knock raps on the door and in steps Cassian in all his cuddly glory, since Rhys rescued me he’s helped nurse me back to health and became like a big brother to me

He throws himself on the bed next to me with a pout as he watches me play with the shadow

“You know I’ve never seen them do that with anyone else” he says

“Can I ask you something?” I ask looking at him now

“Of course”

“Am I……ugly?” His eyes grow wide

“What? Of course not your beautiful, don’t listen to them they’re just playing around”

“No they aren’t, they’ve treated me like that from the day I was born, called me ugly, chubby, no one will ever want me, they pick on everything I do and now……the guy I’m destined to be with doesn’t even second glance at me to preoccupied with someone else, of course he would not even my own mate wants me” I rant finally getting it off my chest

“WAIT WHAT? You’ve found your mate and you haven’t told any of us? This is a huge deal who is it?” He asks like a girl wanting all the gossip

“Come on Cas, why would I wanna tell you it’s embarrassing, they always want her” I sigh shrugging my shoulders

“Want who?” He asks rubbing my back

“Elain, but why don’t guys look at me I’m nice and I’d give my heart to him but all he sees is Elain and how pretty she is”

“Elain? Who’s looking at he….” He stops as a see the realization on his face

“Azriel? He’s your mate” I nod looking away

“Like they said I’m too ugly for someone like him” I try to distract myself with the shadow still around my fingers

“Hey you’re beautiful, why don’t you tell him or talk to Feyre and Rhys”

“Maybe”

I made my way down the hall to Rhys’s office where he and Feyre were chatting

“Hey can I talk to you guys?” I ask nervously

“Of course sit” Feyre says motioning to the chair infront of her and Rhys

“I’m sorry about before I’ve told them to stop talking to you like that” Feyre smiles gently

“Thank but I wanted to tell you something else, it’s really been weighing on me” they give me their full attention

“What is it sweetheart?” Rhys asks

“I’ve found my mate”

“What since when?”

“Since I came out of the cauldron” I say as another shadow comes and plays through my hair and they smile

“Azriel?” Rhys asks

“Not that it matters he only has eyes for Elain”

“Oh dear he might come around just give him time” Feyre says

“Why don’t you tell him”

“I can’t I can’t handle that rejection” they give eachother that look that tells me they’re talking to eachother through the bond

“I’m gonna go, it’s getting late” I say leaving quickly before they could stop me

I head to my room and pack a bag, I can’t stay in this place anymore what’s the point Elain and Nesta taunt me all the time, Azriel won’t even look at me

Waiting until the house is quiet I take my bag and head out to the front door about to leave by I feel a tug on my ankle and wrist, I turn seeing shadows trying to pull me back in

“I’m sorry little guys I’ve got to go” they loosen just enough for me to get out of their grasps and leave walking out into the late night, the streets are empty and chilly

“And what’re you doing?” I hear behind me making me stop sending a shiver down my body

I turn seeing Azriel of course the shadows would tel him

“Leave me alone, you’ve done a good job of that so far why stop me now” I keep walking not even knowing where I’m going

“You have no where to go” he says now walking next to me

“Like you care” I sigh

“Why wouldn’t i” I stop and turn to him

“Just give it up Az, you can’t stand me, you don’t talk to me or even look my way, all you can do is ogle Elain and what’s so good about her hmm?”

“She’s having a hard time”

“She’s having a hard time? Can’t you feel it, can’t you see how I’ve been drowning every second and you don’t even feel me” his eyebrows furrow in confusion

“You never told me your problems”

“I shouldn’t have to you should feel them Az, hell the shadows can, they visit me every night”

“They do?”

“Yes but you didn’t even realize right? I’m not waiting around just to watch you fall in love with my own sister” I brush past him but he catches my wrist

“What’re you saying”

“YOURE MY MATE AZRIEL” the night becomes even more silent as he just looks at me

“Why didn’t you tell me” his voice gentle now

“Seriously? You know why”

“I’m…..I’m sorry just give me a chance” I pull my arm back

“I need time az, you’ve hurt me too much”

•

Part.2

[noorpersona]

Jealousy: Osamu

The scent of rich broth and fresh noodles hung thick in the air, filling Osamu’s restaurant with a warmth that, under any other circumstance, he would have appreciated.

But tonight? Tonight, it was the smell of betrayal.

Osamu leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching with thinly veiled irritation as you happily slurped down another bite of Atsumu’s ramen.

His twin sat across from you, looking way too pleased with himself, arms folded as he watched you enjoy his so-called cooking.

Osamu hated that look.

It was the same damn smirk Atsumu had worn their whole lives—whenever he managed to piss Osamu off, whenever he got away with something he shouldn’t have, whenever he won by sheer bullshit luck.

And now? Now he was wearing it in Osamu’s own shop.

"Damn, ‘Tsumu," you sighed, tilting the bowl to sip the broth. "This is amazing. I didn’t know you could cook like this!"

Osamu felt a deep, personal offense settle in his bones.

His entire career revolved around food. He had spent years perfecting his recipes, testing flavors, fine-tuning every last detail. He had trained under some of the best chefs, built this restaurant from the ground up.

And now, here you were, gushing over a bowl of glorified college survival food.

Atsumu leaned back, smug. "Told ya. I got talents."

Osamu let out a slow, controlled breath through his nose.

"You put a packet of dried seasoning into hot water," he said flatly.

You blinked. "Yeah, but the broth is really flavorful! What did you put in it, ‘Tsumu?"

Atsumu smirked, tipping his head like he was about to unveil some grand chef's secret. "Oh, ya know, just instinct—"

"It’s instant."

You didn’t even catch the shift in energy, completely oblivious to the deadly stare Osamu was leveling at his twin.

Atsumu sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Technically, yeah," he admitted, "but I added some stuff—”

“Oh, yeah?” Osamu lifted a brow, arms still crossed tight. “And what’d ya add, exactly?”

Atsumu suddenly found the ceiling very interesting. “Uh. A soft-boiled egg.”

Osamu’s eye twitched.

Silence stretched between them.

Tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

You, utterly unaware, stretched with a satisfied sigh. “I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick.”

You leaned down to press a quick kiss to Osamu’s cheek—normally enough to calm him down—but he was too busy staring daggers at his brother to even register it.

The second the door shut behind you, Osamu turned to Atsumu.

���What’s your deal?”

Atsumu blinked, mouth half-full of noodles. “Huh?”

Osamu’s jaw tightened. “Ya woke up today and decided to piss me off?”

“For makin’ ramen?”

"She liked it."

Atsumu stared, then—as if the realization physically smacked him across the face—his lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, like he was witnessing something life-changing. His eyes gleamed with mischief. "Are ya—jealous?"

Osamu stiffened.

"Shut up."

"No. No way." Atsumu clutched his chest like he had just been blessed with the funniest joke in history. "Yer seriously mad ‘cause she liked my ramen?”

"Ya don’t cook," Osamu shot back, glaring. "That’s my thing."

Atsumu laughed. Full, loud, obnoxious cackles that echoed through the kitchen.

“Oh, ‘Samu,” he wheezed, wiping an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye. "I promise, yer the only chef in my heart."

Osamu grabbed a dishtowel and launched it straight at his face.

Atsumu barely dodged in time, still laughing like a damn hyena.

By the time you returned, Atsumu was half-wheezing into his bowl, Osamu was murdering a pile of green onions with his knife, and the air was thick with something way more intense than sibling rivalry.

You raised an eyebrow. "Uh… did I miss something?"

Atsumu, struggling to breathe through his grin, pointed a dramatic finger at his twin.

Osamu, without looking up, muttered, "He’s banned from my kitchen."

[meadowfics]

keep your eyes on me

berlin (song jung-ho) x f!reader

based off of this request here

warnings: threats, mentions of injury, jealousy

you've never been the jealous type, or at least that's what you tell yourself.

however, there's something about the way tokyo looks at berlin, something about the way they exchange glances in silence, the way they seem to understand each other without words even in their arguments and fury.

it's been poking at you since the heist began. it's probably nothing. berlin has been yours for years now, since the moment he crossed into south korea, bloody and half-dead, desperate for escape.

tokyo has a thing with rio anyways. however, you've stood by berlin through everything, watched him rise again, rebuild himself into something terrifyingly magnificent. y

ou've seen every inch of him, every flaw, every secret...so why does tokyo make you feel like you're missing something?

maybe it's the stress. maybe it's just the paranoia that comes with a job this big. every time you see them lock angry eyes across the mint’s floor, your stomach knots up, and your hands clench into fists.

so, you decide to do something about it.

it starts small.

you stop standing at berlin's side, opting to linger near denver instead. denver, who is easy to get along with, who doesn't have the same unreadable expressions and complicated histories as berlin. denver, who laughs with that ridiculous hyena-like cackle, who doesn't take everything so damn seriously.

he flirts easily, and you let him. even though the both of you know damn well that you guys do not like each other. denver has a thing with that beautiful hostage, and you support it.

however, denver seems to notice that you're using him and he wants to piss off berlin too as revenge.

you let yourself laugh a little louder with denver. you touch his arm when you talk, lean into him when you're standing close. it’s harmless...at first.

then you start choosing denver’s side over berlin’s.

when a small argument breaks out over how to handle a hostage trying to make a run for it, berlin says to use fear. denver says to use charm. you agree with denver.

you make a point of siding with him, nodding along as he grins. berlin’s face barely changes, but you know him. you know the tension in his jaw, the slight twitch in his fingers.

so you push further.

when denver struggles to move a heavy stack of cash pallets, you rush to help, grinning as you brace against the weight with him. berlin watches from the other side of the mint, his arms crossed over his chest.

he doesn’t say anything, but you feel the weight of his stare, burning into you like a brand.

it’s working. god, it feels good.

you don’t speak to berlin unless necessary. if he gives you an order, you act like you don’t hear him the first time. you only respond when he repeats himself, your tone clipped and indifferent.

he isn’t used to this. he’s used to controlling you, to knowing where you stand, to having you in his orbit. he doesn’t like this new distance.

by the second day, berlin has had enough.

the professor is gone, caught up in his careful dance with the inspector. the others are preoccupied. the moment he finds you alone in the office, berlin shuts the door behind him and locks it.

the sound of the bolt sliding into place echoes in the small space, and before you can react, he’s in front of you, his hand wrapping around your neck...not tight, not enough to hurt, but enough to command your full attention.

“i know what you’re fucking doing.”

jung-ho's voice is low, controlled. the man's thumb brushes against your pulse point, and you know he can feel how fast your heart is racing.

still, you tilt your chin up, keeping your expression blank.

“what are you talking about?”

berlin lets out a quiet, humorless laugh, shaking his head.

“don’t play dumb, barcelona. i know you too well.” jung-ho's grip tightens just slightly, just enough to make his point.

“you think i don’t see the way you’ve been throwing yourself at denver? the way you go out of your way to undermine me?”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you repeat, voice steady, even though your whole body is tense.

“don’t you?” he leans in, lips brushing against your ear.

“you’re trying to make me jealous. trying to piss me off.”

you scoff, trying to ignore the way your skin burns under his touch.

“get over yourself, berlin.”

berlin hums, considering you. then, his other hand trails down your side, slow and deliberate, his fingers pressing into your waist.

“you want to know how i know?” he asks, almost lazily, “ it is because i threatened denver today.”

your breath catches.

he smiles, slow and sharp, like he can taste your reaction,

“told him if he didn’t stop entertaining your little games, i’d make sure he regrets it. and the hostages? well, let’s just say they almost suffered for your little stunt.”

your stomach twists. you know berlin. you know he’s capable of anything. your anger flares, hot and sharp.

“you’re sick.”

“and you’re reckless,” he counters, “playing with fire just to get a rise out of me? you should know better more than anyone else here.”

you glare at him, hands pressing against his chest, shoving him back just enough to breathe.

“maybe if you weren’t so fucking close to tokyo and arguing with her all of the time, i wouldn’t have to.”

berlin blinks, then exhales through his nose, amused.

“so that’s what this is about.” he tilts his head, eyes searching yours, “you’re jealous.”

“i’m not—”

“yes, you are.” berlin's fingers trace patterns along your collarbone.

“you think i want her?” he leans in again, lips just barely brushing against your jaw, “when i have you?”

your breath stutters. you hate how easily he does this to you, how effortlessly he dismantles your defenses.

“tokyo means nothing to me,” he continues, voice softening, but not losing its edge, “she’s a soldier. a piece in the game. but you?” his thumb presses against your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“you are mine.”

you hate how much you love hearing it.

berlin watches you carefully, reading every flicker of emotion across your face.

“say it,” he murmurs, “say you’re mine.”

the silence stretches between you, thick with tension. you should fight it. you should push him away, walk out that door, keep playing your game.

you don’t.

“i’m yours.”

berlin’s lips curl into a victorious smile, “good girl.”

then, he kisses you...hard, claiming, punishing. you meet him with equal intensity, fingers twisting in his hair, pulling him closer. berlin's grip on your neck eases, sliding down to your back, pressing you flush against him.

the heat between you is undeniable, electric, all-consuming.

when he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your lips, his hands finally leave your body.

“no more games, barcelona.”

you nod, but you both know better.

berlin may have won this round, but the game between you is far from over.

masterlist

[ryebread0605]

Humbly begging on hands and knees for Ruggie with a taller female reader who laughs openly and isn't afraid to put the boys in their place when they step out of line. Say what you will but I completely head cannon that the beastmen act at least a little like their animal counterparts and I just KNOW he'd go feral with a strong female partner. (Since hyenas live off of a matriarchal society) I'd like it to be smut but I understand if you get more ideas writing it as fluff, lol.

First of all, incredible username. Second, YES I AM TOTALLY ON BOARD WITH THAT HC! Now I do hope you are ok that I made Ruggie trans as I personally hc him to be trans. With that out of the way, enjoy your smut my dear reader!

“- And if I have to tell you guys again I swear to the Sevens I will lose it!” The growl in your voice made even Leona’s hair stand on edge as you glared at the guys who had stupidly decided you must be an easy target, being the only girl in NRC. Yeah, that didn’t exactly go as planned for them, not when they realized not only how tall you were but also how strong you were. Only one of them wasn’t tensed up like the rest.

The hyena beastman simply stared in awe at you. Tail wagging rapidly, ears perked up, and a dumb smile on his face.

In that moment he knew he had to be yours. 

After weeks and weeks of bringing you items that he thought of as high value whenever he would… *borrow*… from the dumpsters, you finally realized the small hyena was attempting (rather poorly but still adorably) to court you. And when you told him, with a laugh that sent his little heart soaring, that you loved him too? Oh Sevens his tail almost broke from how fast it was wagging.

He adored seeing you snap at others when they stepped out of line, always feeling a surge of happiness at your displays of dominance as it solidified for him that he chose the right partner.

And yet, you never snapped at him. 

Even now, as he lays on his stomach with his hips propped up and a paddle hitting his bare ass, you still coo and praise him for ‘handling it so well’ and ‘making such cute noises’. He adores the way you make his mind melt, letting him be a complete submissive mess for you as his tongue lolls out of his mouth. 

“There we go, such a good boy~ being so loud for me, letting everyone know exactly who you belong to~” you cooed into his ear as you thrust your strap deeper into his leaking cunt that just pulled you in more. His moans were like heaven to you, the boy having no problem being loud with his occasional cackles added. 

“Yes~ I’m a good boy~ your good boy~!” His tail was wagging fast as you continued to thrust fast and hard into him, each shove hitting his g spot over and over as your index finger rubbed at his sensitive clit. He had lost count of how many times he had cum, and yet he didn’t feel the smallest bit exhausted yet. His stamina was incredible for someone his size and it only made you even more lustful to break him. 

It didn’t take much longer for all semblance of actual words to leave his mind, the only thing he was able to focus on was the overwhelming pleasure coursing through his system as he came around your strap for the nth time that night. He didn’t care if anyone gave him dirty looks the next day, all he cared about was being dominated by his big strong girlfriend and nothing else mattered. 

You smiled softly as you pulled out of the now worn out boy, tucking his messy hair behind his ear and kissing his cheek gently as you praised him for how good he had been for you. Despite his exhausted state, his tail still continued to wag as you cleaned him up and lay beside him. With his head on your chest, it didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, knowing his perfect mate would protect him from anything that could ever harm him. 

[dabilove27]

ahhhhhHHhHhHhh

Omg omg omg RIVALS TO LOVERS WITH ZORO~ I’m going to need to reread this multiple times please and thank you

OMG THE KISS PLEASE😍😍😍😍😍

Oofff 🥵🥵

It was the ending for me 😌✨

Jesus Christ!!! Yes!!!

God, Luna. I love it when you write this man. This was so so good. 👌🏻 the bits where you interested the prompts? And the banter and the spicy scene was just perfect.

"just say you want me"

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x f!reader

Rating: MATURE, minors dni

Warnings: idiots/rivals to lovers that's literally it (oh and this is set during the Arabasta Arc because that's where I am in the anime k cool)

WC: 2.1K

Thank you to my beloved @gixxie for this request, I AM OBSESSED WITH IT. It's like twice the length it was supposed to be, oops. This idiot has my heart + soul, wanna bicker with him every day till death do us part 💚

You were currently crouched behind some barrels in the dirt in the middle of Nanohana's marketplace. It was as hot as Satan's asshole in Arabasta, not helped by the overcrowded streets and local delicacies being cooked over open flames at various stalls. Not even the obscenely skimpy dancer outfit Sanji picked out for you could placate the devilish heat. You hated it here. And you hated the one crew member you happened to be stuck with.

It was his fault you were hunched over supplies of what could only be perfume, the sickeningly sweet scent causing an ache to form between your brows, hiding from a couple of Marines - a woman carrying a sword and some newbie in full uniform. Zoro always managed to make your life more difficult. And more irritating. Somehow you always got stuck with the agitated swordsman. To the disgust of you both.

You peeked over Zoro's shoulder as he peered out from your hiding place to watch the woman converse with a local, no doubt asking if they had seen your pirate Captain or any of his crew. He looked panicked and very uncomfortable, brows pinching in the middle of his forehead, the longer he watched the interaction.

You rolled your eyes at his theatrics and couldn't help the scorn that slipped past your lips. "Unbelievable. Scared of a pretty little Marine."

Zoro flinched at your voice as if he hadn't realised you were so close and turned to you with a scowl, "I'm not scared, and she's tougher than she looks." He mumbled the last part, eyes flicking back to the blue-haired woman. You had no idea who she was but clearly Zoro did. And knowing him he probably pissed her off to some degree, if his cowering was anything to go by.

Nothing ever went simply for your crew...as if facing off against Crocodile wasn't a daunting enough task. The Marines just had to follow you here and get involved.

"Nawhh, does Zoro have a crush?" You put on your best simpering voice, pouting at your crew mate and making kissy noises. You doubted he actually did, the oaf was always too busy trying to be the world's greatest swordsman to ever entangle himself in romantic feelings (something that made you feel horribly relieved), but your words had their desired intention. Zoro's face grew red with anger as he clenched his jaw to hold back the tirade of insults you knew he wanted to spew at you.

"Shut. Up." He growled at you, a warning in his tone. You'd both been at it all day, bickering back and forth over nothing, the heat prickling at your waning patience. The two of you were even more impossible to be around than usual that even Sanji had made a comment to you about laying off Zoro. And he never defended his green-haired nemesis. It had been very disturbing, indeed.

You just smirked at him, wholly unaffected by the underlying threat simmering in his gaze. "Who knew the greatest swordsman in the world" - you put heavy sarcasm into the title making Zoro bristle further - "could be so shy? Maybe I'll call her ov-"

Just as you pushed yourself to your feet and raised a hand- you were yanked back down again. Your head narrowly missed the metal edge of the barrel and you hissed at your companion, rage bubbling in your gut.

"Idiot!" Zoro seethed, his grip around your wrist tighter than it needed to be, but you wouldn't let him know that. "If she's here, then Smoker isn't far behind."

Oh, you definitely pushed too far this time. Zoro looked as if he was about to throttle you. Good. Now he knew how it felt being around him all day every day.

"Pussy," you scoffed, wrenching your wrist from his fingers with a sniff.

"You're so fucking annoying, yaknow that?" He sighed, dropping his hand to rest on his sword's pommel. Clearly, you'd won this round. The old-man-at-heart had run out of steam. The thought made you immeasurably proud.

"The great Roronoa Zoro finally too afraid for a battle," your tone was light and voice low, testing the waters of his patience. He was faced away from you again, checking the situation in the street, but he stiffened at your persistence - the grip on his swords was so tight that his knuckles turned white.

You decided to be less of a brat and give him an inch. Only one though.

"Besides, you could beat him easy. Don't see why we have to hide." Your voice sounded petulant, like a child's, to your own ears. But the words seemed to breathe new life into your crew mate.

He glanced back at you from the corner of his eye, gaze flicking over your face for a second too long, before he trained it on the Marines once more. "I must be hallucinating because that almost sounded like a compliment."

It was your turn to tell him to shut up. The ghost of a grin pulled at his lips hearing the embarrassment in your voice.

"Shit!" Your quiet sulking was dashed with the panic in his voice. He scrambled backwards further behind the obstructing barrel pulling you with him.

"Fuck, what?!" You shot at him irritatedly, doing your best not to land on your ass in the dust.

"They're coming this way!" He whisper-shouted at you, dark eyes wide as he reached to pull one of his swords from its sheath at his side.

This was bad. All teasing aside, it was a smart choice to stay hidden and out of the Marines' way until you made it back to the ship (hopefully, with your Captain in tow sooner rather than later) -- as Luffy once told you, not everything can be solved with violence. And you were too darn hot to be engaging in battle right now. The crisp sea breeze aboard the Merry was calling to you.

The Marine didn't know your face, most people didn't, for despite your earlier protests at hiding you preferred to fight from the shadows (you were the ship's assassin of sorts). She only knew Zoro's. And since his most prominent feature was hidden behind a large hood all you had to do was make sure she couldn't see his face. So you did the only thing you could think to do.

You pulled Zoro up by his shirt and backed him against the nearest building behind you. He let out a strained 'oof!' as he hit the limestone wall. You didn't give him a chance to protest before you were pressing yourself into his front and smashing your mouth against his.

Zoro went rigid at the action, his shock evident in the way his hands shot up to grip your shoulders, holding your body a hair's breadth away from his despite the hand fisted in his shirt and your lips mushed against his. He could have pushed you away entirely if he wanted to but he knew what you were doing.

You could hear the Marines behind you questioning another citizen. You moved your mouth against his clumsily, trying to communicate through touch that he needed to look less like he was being attacked, and more like he actually wanted this. You cupped the back of his neck with your free hand and traced your fingers over his skin in an oddly comforting gesture to loosen him up.

Zoro hesitantly kissed you back, lips moulding to your own, as the tension left his posture and he relaxed into you slowly. You hummed into his mouth as his calloused hands slid from your shoulders and came to rest on your hips. His hands were so hot against your bare skin that it was chilling. Sweat trickled down your spine as your whole body flushed in response to his touch.

It felt nice. Too nice. And clearly Zoro agreed because he deepened the kiss, nose bumping yours as he changed the angle, exploratory tongue flitting out to request permission. You wanted to protest, push him away, but instead your lips parted instinctually. Obediently. You felt him smile against your mouth, and it made your stomach flip, heat pooling between your legs.

You felt as if you were swimming underwater, the sounds and sensations of the world around you muffled and far off. All you could feel and taste was Zoro. Instead of shoving at his chest you gripped his shirt tighter, so tight that you couldn't feel your fingers, grounding yourself so you didn't get completely lost in him.

His face was warm and his lips surprisingly soft, in harsh contrast to his rough hands pawing at your waist. You weren't a small woman but he still dwarfed you in size -- his frame curled around you as he dipped to better accommodate you against him. It was a soft gesture that made you feel giddier than it should.

He tasted like sea salt and ale. You inhaled his earthy signature of spices and sandalwood, the scent clinging to the inside of your lungs.

Your consciousness bubbled to the surface as a loud crash sounded behind you, your ears ringing harshly as you re-entered reality. The realisation of your predicament and the current position you were in slowly sank into your brain and you pulled gently against the hands holding you.

When Zoro failed to let you go you sank your teeth into his bottom lip, the man cursing you loudly as he reared back and away from you, bumping his head against the wall behind him in the process. You held in a laugh, placing your hand flat against his chest, and smoothing out the wrinkled fabric you had clenched so tightly only seconds before.

You shook your head at him slowly and turned your face to the side to surreptitiously check your rear. Zoro stilled in place as it dawned on him that you were supposed to be stealthy, his long fingers flexing against your bare skin where he still held your waist, keeping you flush against him. Thank fuck your remaining crew mates hadn't been here to see your little show, they'd never let you live it down.

You slumped in relief as your eyes confirmed that the Marines had moved on -- your plan worked. You turned around to smugly announce your victory only to find yourself chest to chest and almost nose to nose with Zoro. Your hand was still pressed against his sternum right over his wildly thumping heart. You flushed, your cheeks heating despite your wishes, as you blinked up at him.

The irritation that had been twisting his face only moments before morphed into a cocky smirk. His arms were still around your waist and he took the opportunity to fondle the tie at your waist that held your skirt up with a thumb and forefinger. You tensed, unprepared for the familiarity of the action. Your thighs clenched together involuntarily seeking friction.

This was the closest you'd ever been to Zoro minus your sparring sessions. But this felt very different than when you were trying to knock him on his ass.

"What the fuck was that?" He asked gruffly, his voice lower and thicker than usual. You admired his lips as he spoke, kiss-swollen and flushed a pretty pink.

You forced your eyes to look anywhere but at his face, worried your staring would betray your internal feelings.

"I-" Any snarky comments died in your throat, because honestly you were as curious as he was. "I don't know," you mumbled, staring hard at the rings decorating your fingers as they lay splayed against his chest.

You sucked in a breath as he crowded your space this time.

"Well, they say the second time's the charm." Zoro mumbled against your cheek, his nose brushing your temple. You swallowed thickly and tried hard to work a scowl onto your face as you pulled away to look up at him.

"Pretty sure it's third time's the charm, dumbass," you sassed with a roll of your eyes . He was such an idiot. You ignored the thought that flitted through your mind that it was sort of endearing.

It wasn't until you finally looked at his expression that you realised the implication your words held and you gulped, blinking up at him rapidly, heart rate skyrocketing.

His shit-eating grin widened, all white teeth and tanned dimples. You didn't even have the energy to be mad about it because he was so stupidly gorgeous when he smiled. If it wasn't for the ruddy hue working its way onto his cheeks you'd be self conscious about your own obvious attraction to him. He let out a puff of air as he looked into your eyes, his breath fanning across your lips and making you shiver in his hold.

He was close again, so close his lips brushed your own when he spoke, "Just say you want me."

[lick-me-lennon22]

Poly!Beatles X F!Virgin!Reader - Open Invitation

(HELLO AGAIN!!! my sincerest apologies for the short hiatus, I've been struggling with some heart issues and work troubles but I am back in business and rest assured, all of your requests WILL be filled !! ✨️ please enjoy this lovely request from anon :) 💕)

⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️!!! VERY NSFW!!!⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

You'd wondered about the strange look they seem to have shared, but thought nothing of it until reached your hand in your pocket to pull out a lighter, only to find a scrap of paper. The boys had slipped a special invitation into your pocket at your meet and greet, one they had been saving for a very special fan.

But here you were, standing in the hotel hallway and staring up at the door in front of you, glancing down at the slip of paper to make sure you have the right room number. You suddenly began to get cold feet, wondering if this was some kind of sick joke. Would you open the door, only to be met with bewildered expressions on unfamiliar faces? Or, even worse, would you be greeted by the four of them, cackling like a pack of hyenas at your gullible nature?

You push away those unwelcome thoughts, putting on as brave a face as you can muster and raising a trembling hand to the door. You knock thrice as instructed, waiting with bated breath. Until...

"Y/N! We were beginning to worry you'd run our invitation through the wash. Come on in!" Paul welcomes you, holding the hotel door open.

You sigh in relief and chuckle nervously, taking a few tentative steps into the suite, the scent of cigarette smoke and cologne almost overpowering. The other three all greet you, seated in various positions on the sectional sofa.

A voice stands apart from the others, clearer than the rest - it's John.

"We've been looking forward to this all week."

Your heart skips a beat and you look to him with innocent confusion.

"And... what, exactly, is this?"

The four men exchange shocked glances, having assumed you knew what was intended by the invitation.

"Well, we thought... you know, with us," Ringo begins, but John cuts him off.

"We want to shag ya. The four of us," he explains bluntly.

George gives him a swift elbow to the ribs.

"Knock it off, mate! You'll scare the poor thing." John only rolls his eyes in response.

You're taken aback by the proposition. You know no one in their right mind would pass up such an opportunity and, though not opposed, you can't help but feel intimidated. This would be your first time, and with The Beatles? All of them?!

Paul interrupts your train of thought.

"You really don't have to, we can just-"

"No, no! Believe me, I've dreamt about this forever. It's just..." you trail off, somewhat embarrassed.

"What is it? You can tell us, we won't judge," Ringo encourages, but John interjects.

"If we didn't say anything about that outfit you wore to our concert, you know we're good for it," he snickers.

George throws him another jab to the ribs with his elbow.

"Ow!"

You ignore his snide comment, too focused on the matter at hand to be offended.

"I'm... a virgin," you admit, bracing yourself for laughter. Instead, you're met with gentle nods and understanding expressions from the four men. They take a moment to process your admission.

"We wouldn't want to pressure you," assures George as you take a deep breath.

You take a moment to consider the idea. On one hand, this is an important part of someone's life, a milestone - not exactly a decision to be rushed. But on the other... it's The Beatles. I mean, come on. This is the opportunity of a lifetime.

"Well, if there was ever a good time... I suppose this would be it."

"You sure, love?" Ringo chimes in. "The last thing we'd want is for you to feel uncomfortable."

"I'm sure."

"Well, all right then." They share another look amongst themselves before John nods and looks to you.

"We'll start off slow then, yeah? C'mere," he says, patting his thighs. You approach, nervous excitement coursing through your veins.

You sit on his lap, your body tense. He places his hands on your shoulders, rubbing them soothingly.

"Loosen up, I wont bite."

"Yeah, right."

He shoots George a look.

"Unless you ask nicely," he says with a wink.

You chuckle, beginning to relax. The others watch intently as John shifts his hands to your waist, gently massaging your sides. He mumbles lazily in your ear, his thick accent intoxicating.

"Speak up, Johnny!"

"Share with the class, will ya?"

"Oh, piss off," John dismisses Paul and Ringo, returning to your ear for a nibble. You giggle at the unfamiliar feeling, his nose brushing against your cheek. He moves to your neck, starting off with gentle kisses before growing bolder, leaving love bites along the junction of your neck and shoulder.

You shiver as his hands wander lower - down to your hips, giving them a squeeze, then coming to rest on your thighs. The size of his hands and the warmth of his palms stir something within you. You inhale sharply, biting your lip as a familiar heat pools in your abdomen - the same kind you feel when you watch the lads perform. Judging by the growing bulge beneath you, it seems John is enjoying himself just as much.

"Is this okay?"

"Yes!" You reply breathlessly, a little too eager. "Yes. Keep going."

This earns a chorus of chuckles from the group, who have each begun to palm themselves through their trousers at the sight.

John's hands work their way to your inner thighs, caressing and squeezing gently. He mumbles sweet nothings in your ear as he parts them. His warm breath tickles the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

"More, I want more."

At that, Paul stands and steps closer to you, twirling a lock of your hair around his finger.

"You want more, do you, pretty girl?"

You nod enthusiastically, whining in arousal.

"Perhaps she could use something in that pretty mouth of hers to muffle those whines," George suggests with a smirk. You get what he's hinting at, biting your lip and giggling nervously as you look up at Paul.

"I'm not sure I know how..."

"Oh, I'm more than happy to show you, love... if you would."

"Please."

"Eager little thing, eh?" George and Ringo tease, but Paul ignores them.

"Sweet girl... I'll give you what you want."

Paul undoes his trousers and drops them to his ankles, followed quickly by his briefs. You can't help but stare, awestruck, and Paul chuckles.

"Like what you see?"

You nod.

"Would you?" he asks, and it takes you a moment to realize he's inviting you to touch. You reach a tentative hand out in front of you.

"No need to be nervous," he soothes, stroking your hair tenderly.

You grasp the base of his length, hand trembling, and Paul groans at the contact. His skin is softer than you's expected, somehow, and you decide you like the feeling. You begin to move your hand up and down, pumping him cautiously as if afraid to hurt him. Your eyes flicker from your own hand to Paul's face, cheeks flushed and mouth agape. The sight of him this way, knowing what you can do to him with just a few simple touches, makes you feel powerful in a way.

Meanwhile, John's hand slips beneath the waistband of your knickers, traveling lower until he reaches your heat. You instinctively tighten your grip on Paul and the two of you moan in tandem. John trails a finger up your slick folds, drawing gentle circles around your clit.

"Mm... are you ready to open up for me, sweetheart?" Paul asks, his voice almost sickeningly sweet. By this point, Ringo and George have both unzipped their flies, tugging their trousers and briefs down past their hips. They're clearly enjoying this little show, pleasuring themselves as they devour you with their eyes.

"Go on, doll," John encourages. "Take 'im into your mouth."

You do as he instructs, eliciting another soft moan from Paul. He tightens his hold on your hair, using all of his willpower to keep himself from tugging you down onto him.

"Oh, good girl... further, if you can. I won't rush ya."

You pull back for a breath before obeying, slowly taking more of him into your mouth. He throws his head back, groaning in satisfaction. A string of curses tumble from his lips at the soft, warm feeling and you hear John snicker behind you. You really start to get the hang of things, falling into a steady rhythm and bobbing your head as if you were made for this.

All of a sudden, your focus is broken as John's fingers cease their movements and you feel them wander lower. He slides a finger inside of you, taking care to go slow - he's far more gentle than you had imagined. You moan around Paul and he growls, faced flushed pink and eyes screwed shut.

"Fuck... don't stop, doll. You're perfect," he praises and you continue as John's hand moves between your legs.

The friction of his fingers along with Paul's words of praise leaves you lightheaded - well, that and the lack of oxygen. As you pull away for air, George clears his throat.

"What about us, Macca?" He quirks an eyebrow, gesturing to himself and Ringo.

Paul hesitates for a moment before sighing, irritated.

"Fine... I'm getting close, anyway," he grumbles, tugging his waistband back up as you pout in disappointment.

Soon enough, Paul takes a seat on the sofa and George and Ringo take his place, pumping themselves idly as they gaze down at you with lust-filled eyes.

"Go on, doll," George begins, a wolfish grin playing on his handsome features. You comply, taking him into your mouth a little too far as you sputter and cough.

"Careful, dear," he chuckles. "Take it slow."

You try again, more gradually this time. John squeezes your hip with his free hand and you squeak, sending pleasant vibrations through George's lower half.

"That's it, love. Nice and easy," he groans, running his fingers through your hair. After a few minutes you gain momentum, growing more confident in your actions. A tight knot forms in George's stomach as he feels the others' eyes on the two of you, heat rising to his cheeks as he lets out another deep growl. You continue your work on him, but Ringo becomes impatient, scoffing and nudging George's shoulder to snap him out of his stupor.

"C'mon, mate. I think it's my turn - that is, if the lass'll have me." He turns to you, a hopeful glint in his blue eyes.

You nod, humming an "mm-hm" around George's cock. He relents, pulling away begrudgingly.

"Fine. Go on, Rich."

"Attaboy, Ritchie," John pipes up, a lazy grin on his face. Paul simply gazes at you through half-lidded eyes, mesmerized by the performance you've been putting on.

Ringo stands before you, trousers undone. He seems a bit nervous, but any reservations he has are quickly overpowered by desire as he sees your glistening lips and messy hair. You reach a curious hand up and Ringo takes it in his calloused one, guiding you to grasp the base of his length. You give him a soft tug, catching him off guard. He draws a breath through clenched teeth, eyes fluttering closed.

You take him slowly into your mouth, your jaw working overtime to accommodate his size. Once you've settled into your pace, you begin to experiment with your tongue, tracing the underside of his cock. He growls almost primally, tightening his grip on your hair and moaning your name as you bring him closer to the edge.

"All right, you've had your fun," George interrupts and buries his own hand in your hair, gently grasping and tugging. You go to work on him once again, in a daze.

"That's not fair, mate. I had her," Ringo retorts, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling you back in his direction. The two men bicker as they stand over you, essentially playing tug-of-war with your mouth.

"All right, all right, that's enough of that." John swats their hands away and they draw back, pouting.

"Yeah, c'mon, lads. We'll each have our turn," Paul chastises.

"In fact, " muses John, "I'd say it's about time Paulie and I take the reigns, eh?" He withdraws his hand from between your thighs, casually licking his fingers clean.

"Wait, wait... and? How's that supposed to work."

"Come with us, love. We'll show you." Paul takes your hand and leads you to the bedroom, the other three following suit.

John places a soothing hand on your upper back, ushering you to the bed.

"On all fours, darling. Just relax."

You do as he instructs, getting into position as the others watch on with hungry eyes. John pushes your skirt up above your hips and tugs gently on the waistband of your knickers.

"Can I take care of these for ya?" he smirks.

You hesitate for only a moment before turning back to look at him over your shoulder.

"Yes. Please."

"Eager, are we?" They all chuckle and John slides them off, his trousers growing even tighter at the sight of you bare before him.

"Christ, you're soaked," he murmurs and you blush, somewhat embarrassed.

"Is that... bad?"

"Oh. Right." You bite your lip. John undoes his trousers and lines himself up at your entrance, stroking your hair to calm you.

John chuckles, amused by your inexperience. "No, sweetheart, not at all. It tells me you're excited - y'know, ready for me."

"Now - you're sure you want this, yeah?"

"Yes! Yes. I've thought it through, and..." you draw a breath, "this is what I want."

John groans, satisfied by your response.

"All right. Relax your body as much as you can, and keep your breathing steady. Don't worry, I'll be gentle," he reassures and you nod.

"Ready for me, love?"

You hiss and squeeze your eyes shut. John waits for your body to adjust to the intrusion before gradually sinking all the way in, using your hip as leverage while he buries himself inside you. The others look on with a combination of jealousy and need, wishing they were the ones to fill you.

"Yes! Yes. I want you, John," you beg and he takes your cue, pushing slowly into you.

"Fuck, doll. You're so bloody tight," John growls as you grip the bedsheets beneath you. The other three groan, imagining themselves in John's place. After a few moments, he speaks up.

"I'm going to move now, doll."

John begins to move, sliding in and out of you slowly, careful not to hurt you. You whine in pleasure, the sudden friction causing you to arch your back further. His breathing grows heavy, grunting as he increases his pace.

"Mm-hm," you whimper and brace yourself.

"Ah... fuck. Uh-huh," you manage as John continues to fuck you into the mattress.

"Mm... you're doing so good. Think you can take Paulie too?" he challenges and Paul lifts his head, pausing his movements.

Paul approaches, a sly grin on his boyish features as he stands in front of you.

"Yes, Paulie, yes! I need you all so bad."

"Sure you can handle it, love?"

You moan around him as he slides himself into your mouth, stilling when he hits the back of your throat. He pauses, composing himself before sliding in and out of your mouth, gripping the base of his length as he guides himself.

Your words elicit a collective moan from the men and Paul presses his tip to your mouth, eager to have you again.

"She's damn good, ain't she, Paulie?" he asks through his own pleasured grunts. Paul hums in agreement as the two men thrust in and out of you, the rhythmic push and pull scrambling your thoughts and dulling your senses.

"Bloody hell," he mutters, "Her mouth feels so good Paul groans as John chuckles breathlessly, increasing his pace to match Paul's.

"Feeling generous, love? You've got two hands, after all," Ringo points out. In your lust-filled trance, you raise your arms, offering your hands to the two men. They gratefully accept, thrusting into your fists as the four of them surround you.

Ringo and George, stroking themselves to the sight, begin to feel left out and approach the bed.

You take care of the men's needs surprisingly well considering your lack of experience.

"She's too bloody tight to have done anything before. Trust me, Macca," he groans, gripping your hips as he fucks you into the mattress.

"You sure you haven't done this before, doll?" Paul questions, but John interjects.

"Fuck... Christ, love. Where do you want me?" he asks and you consider your options.

Your whines increase in pitch and frequency, but you certainly aren't alone as all of the men approach their climaxes.

"On my ass," you reply and he pulls out near-immediately, spilling his load on your lower half. You revel in the warmth, moaning around Paul as he approaches his own summit. He pulls out of your mouth, unloading onto your pretty face while you lie as still as possible, drunk on the taste of him.

"Bloody hell, Y/N..." Ringo murmurs.

While John and Paul catch their breaths, George and Ringo increase the speed of their movements, driven by the sight of you drenched in their bandmates' cum.

"I-I'm going to-" he pulls out of your hand, covering your chest and shoulder with his hot cum as George does the same, groaning your name loudly.

The five of you take a moment to breathe, all of you sweaty and spent. You collapse onto the bed, none of them really caring about the mess.

"You should probably clean yourself up, love," Paul suggests. Begrudgingly, you rise from the bed and head for the attached bathroom. You manage to make yourself decent, dressing yourself in a t-shirt one of the boys left behind before stepping back out into the bedroom.

They all stare at you in disbelief, mouths agape.

"So, uh... can one of you drive me home?"

"Plus, you ARE wearing my shirt," John points out.

"You really think we're going to let you go back to your flat after THAT?" George asks, incredulous.

You chuckle in response.

"Guess not," you reply, flopping down on the bed. The men clean themselves up, returning to your side.

"So good for us," George adds, nosing into your hair while the others hum in agreement.

"Such a good girl, you are," Paul praises and kisses your forehead.

By the time they start arguing about John hogging the covers, you're already drifting off to sleep, the familiar chatter comforting you and quieting your mind.

"Aww. Look at that, lads. Guess we lulled her to sleep," Ringo snorts.

"Yeah, but I should-" John pauses, interrupted by your faint snoring.

They each lean over to place kisses on your cheeks, whispering their own "goodnight"s and finally shutting the light off to join you in your slumber.

[noirflms]

୧ ˚₊ YOUR HAND LOOKS HEAVY, CAN I HOLD IT FOR YOU? — suna rintarou

you realise that the fox eyed silent volleyball player is just a big doofus and utterly bad at flirting ( because he turns nervous when he sees you. )

suna rintarou is a bad at flirting, but that is something he has not yet realised, nor have his friends told him of his bad skills, they enjoy the way he flirts – lazily even – for they get to tease him later, trouble him with the same certain antics he troubles the other. it is atsumu miya to say the least who has videos of his weird flirty encounters, but all had gone quite good according to what most think of it.

but to atsumu, he knows girls turn putty when suna looks at them — it’s his face that makes girls fall for him, not his stupid words. they blush when they hear him speak, but it is just the lidded gaze of his, the smirk on his face that does the magic, not his words, that is until miya atsumu had finally caught one of suna rintarou’s failures on cam.

“your hand looks heavy? can i hold it for you?”

your dreamy eyes blink at him, confusion present in them for you certainly didn’t understand this way of flirting. suna has his usual smirk on, but it only bemuses you further into the whole of bewilderment and nothing more. you currently have books in your hands, so you muster up to think, he’s asking about the books you were holding — they certainly were quite heavy to hold.

and in the next second that is what you do, putting a bunch of books in his hand with a soft smile — it’s genuine to say the least — setting them right into his hand that is held out to you. but this time it only baffles the fox eyed male, as you shift the books from your hands to his.

“thank you for the help, they were quite heavy! please leave them at the teacher’s desk!” you cheerily speak before waving at him and walking away to the group of giggling girls, as you ask them ‘what’, which is laced with confusion but they shake their heads and guide you away, laughing that is, while suna watches with wide eyes, as miya atsumu cackles like a hyena in the background.

since that moment, he had made his mission to get your flustered, but it only ends up with you blinking your eyes up at him, saying something he takes light years to comprehend and walking away. it gets the boys laughing when they catch him talking to you, only for his plans to fail. his words start to get jumbled with time the more he goes out of his way to talk to you.

suna rintarou never in a million years had ever been nervous to talk or flirt, yet when your eyes set their gaze upon him, he feels his hands start to sweat, heart begins to race like a formula one race car, his minds starts playing the theme of mario kart unknowingly, and his eyes, oh his eyes, become hearts and he begins to melt in his place at the very sight of you.

it was later into the times you have encountered him, you had realised the words he spoke to you, and a light switches on in your head — suna rintarou was trying his utter hardest to flirt with you. you are suddenly overcome with the many rejections that he was faced with by you, and your eyes widen in embarrassment, this was utter humiliation of yours at this point.

“what do you mean?” your voice is one laced with bewilderment, you eyes your laughing group of friends, they have their heads thrown back as they have broken into complete laughter at your inability to understand the concept of flirting. “guys! this is embarrassing!” you look at them with a pout but that doesn’t stop the group from laughing.

“he was trying to flirt with you, [n/n]!” and you are found to be in utter distraught at their words, you gulp, internally screaming at the encounters that had taken place the past few weeks, all ending with you rejecting his flirty words, even though you do not why was he so adamant of flirting with you.

now you find yourself face to face with the fox eyed boy — you also got to know he is part of the volleyball team of your school — his face sparkles with determination this time and yours with understanding, it takes him aback, while you await for him to say anything and suddenly with one utter innocent blink from you, he is nervous again, sweat rolls down his temple as he swallows hard at the mere sight of you.

and he utters once again, “your hand looks heavy? can i hold it for you?” his voice cracking a bit in the end as he clears his throat looking away, cheeks heated with embarrassment, but his ears perk up at the sound of your soft laughter, your eyes sparkled as they looked at him flustered.

“yes, you can hold it for me!” you say between the laughter and the breath suna had been holding is suddenly released, a soft smile on his face as he reaches out his hand for you to take, and you slide yours in his smiling gently. it is a cause for celebration that breaks out among the boys who had been watching him from behind the lockers.

and in suna’s mind, he has finally beaten the ‘bitchless’ allegations that he was marred with by his seniors — it was just aran and akagi.

it’s been years since that moment had passed, you are now working, while your dear boyfriend went pro, you stayed by his side, even when time was less, you liked to support him, make him reach out for his dreams, after all that is what two partners are together for, and he does the same for you, expect his habit of speaking up pick-up line has not still changed yet.

those lines had always put you to realise that this man was not at all good at flirting, he was utterly bad at it, and you had put it out for him to hear a dozen of times, and it only gets you to break into boisterous laughter, whenever your bring him to notice that he is really, really bad at flirting.

but you like it, you like him being cheesy at times, you like that he hasn’t changed an ounce since then, but not has his habit of turning utter mess when you gaze him, and you know it, and it becomes so easy to tease him.

suna is a bad flirt, and atsumu has proof of that 🤭

NOIRFLMS 2023 ! all rights reserved - plagiarism is a crime , do not translate my works without permission. REBLOG MORE PLEASE !

[wannaeatramyeon]

Helloooo I just wanted to say I absolutely love your writing! I always look forward to your posts, they just make my day! When I‘m feeling down they cheer me up and when I‘m in high spirits they make me even happier. So keep up the good work :3

Btw I‘d also like to request the Lookism boys reacting to them accidentically hurting their S/O (especially Jake and Goo, I just love them) 🥹

If you don‘t want to it’s fine! I also just wanted to tell you I really appreciate your writing🫶🏻 Thx!

~Your fan

Hi Anon! SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY. I know it's been a while. Thank you so much for your kind words omg 🥹 your words are also a wonderful pickmeup for me too. I will work harder to keep making the most of this fixation with these silly boys 🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️ And don't worry, as long as I keep putting out bullshit for Lookism, there will always be some Jake and Goo cos they are my faaaaaves.

Accidentally hurting S/O: Goo, Jake, Gun, Samuel, Vin

Neither of you ever go full force in your spars together. The intent was to improve, not maim.

However, seeing a gap in your defensive stance, their right fist jabs out. Quick as lightning, hitting you in the ribcage.

Which you usually would be able to tank, except.

Fucking liver shot.

All your focus and drive is knocked out with that one hit. You're breathless, trying desperately to stay standing-

Goo x Reader

"Princess?"

Goo raises his eyebrows, a smirk gracing his features. It's not the first time you've manipulated him and then punched him as soon as he was within reach. No chance is he falling for it again.

At the sound of your whimpers, and pathetic sight of you head down, clutching your side, Goo finally backs down.

Surely he didn't hit you that hard, right? He thought you were much sturdier than that especially with all the trash talk coming out of your mouth.

"Cupcake, you ok?" The mirth isn't entirely gone from his voice, but he tilts your face up towards him and gasps at the tears in your eyes.

"My little baby! Did I hurt you?" his fingers come up to wipe the tears from your cheeks, "I didn't know you were so weak. Such a delicate little flower, my buttercup. I didn't even try, and you couldn't withstand that? My sweet darling."

Your tears dry quickly when you hear his words. More gloating than concern. "You asshole, that was a cheap shot."

"If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen, sweetheart."

"Asshole," you repeat as he cackles like a hyena.

"C'mon," Goo gives you a loud obnoxious smooch on the forehead for your troubles, "Let your Goo bear look after you today."

Jake Kim x Reader

Jake realised the impact before you did. Already too late for his fist to change course and resulting in your face crumpling up in pain.

"Shit!" his hands come up, gingerly assessing the area and eyes frantically searching yours, "Y/N, are you ok?"

"No," you squeak out and Jake has never felt such panic before. Is that his life flashing before his eyes?

And then when your eyes well up with tears, lip starting to quiver, Jake feels his soul departing his body.

Shitshitshit-

The apologies tumble out.

Of course, you can't blame him. Accidents are a natural byproduct of sparring. Jake suffered a sprained ankle not too long ago, and you still can't bend your left middle finger fully.

You regain your breath as his hands rove all over to check for any other injuries. Needing to touch you and feel that you're still fine.

"Jake?" You interrupt his worried movements.

"Hmm?"

Probably an inopportune moment, yet even through the pain, it warms your heart seeing how much Jake cares about you. "Love you."

Oh. Jake wasn't expecting that. That's what you give him after a liver shot? You really are too adorable for words.

With a soft smile, he tells you he loves you too.

Gun Park x Reader

Clearly unimpressed, Gun watches you.

With anyone else, he would have called them pathetic, worthless and a waste of his time.

But with you, it's not time wasted. He would rather be with you, than not at all. Which he finds difficult to admit. That fact at complete odds with his drive and his self. A personal weakness he is willing to overlook.

From the offset, Gun could see there was zero possibility of you becoming his masterpiece. Simply put, you didn't have the body nor talent nor skill. When you first asked him to start sparring with you though, he acquiesced. Frankly, has he ever even said no to you.

You chance a peek at your boyfriend. Already you are expecting a look of disappointment, instead you see his retreating back, leaving you alone.

Tears spring to your eyes and you drop your head in shame. Damn, this hurts. You're no match for Gun, no match for most people really. Still, you've been trying to improve.

As you wallow, a blanket is wrapped around your shoulders. In the blink of an eye, Gun hoists you into an effortless bridal carry, calling you an idiot.

You know his words have no bite, his actions speak far louder.

Arms wrapping around his neck, the pain subsides as you nuzzle him.

Samuel Seo x Reader

Samuel feels it in his superiority complex first, always bubbling away and too deeply ingrained for anything else.

Incapacitating an opponent, dominating them, proving that he is better.

Followed quickly by fuck. This isn't an opponent. Not really. It's you.

"Y/N?" he holds you by the shoulders and you lean into it, your legs too weak to hold you up.

Samuel's eyes cloud with worry when you let out a feeble groan.

"Come on," he picks you up, maneuvering you into a fireman's lift with grace and you with anything but. Ass in the air, hair flopping down, still feeling waves of pain.

Samuel faintly recalls his packed calendar for the rest of his day. Meetings upon meetings. Calls and face-to-faces with vendors and investors and corporate fucks who can barely form a thought between them without a brainstorming meeting and a presentation.

"Ughhh Sammy I feel like shit," you gurgle from behind him, and that is all it takes for him to wipe his schedule clean.

None of it matters.

He'll be spending the rest of the day with you instead.

Vin Jin x Reader

Vin nudges you with his foot, "Get up."

In the end, your legs had crumpled beneath you until you're flat on the floor, hands clutched to your throbbing side.

At your lack of response, Vin tries again. "Get up you pussy."

Vin is Vin. An asshole to the end.

"Go away," your voice is weak, barely reaching his ears.

He squats down and squints through his shades, trying to get a closer look at what the hell is wrong with you. He barely even touched you.

"Yeesh, are you really this weak? You're no fun."

You can't bring yourself to say anything to that, just throwing a glare at him. So venomous that you hope it penetrates those stupid sunglasses and into his soul.

"Whatever, if this is what we're doing now." As if he wasn't the cause of your predicament, Vin lets out a melodramatic sigh and lies down beside you.

"You're such a loser," he says, even as he shuffles close, carefully positioning your head on his shoulder and pulling your body to his.

[altocat]

we are mean to them 😔 but we let them have fun sometimes and it's not always backed by angst!

as a resident sephirologist i am asking ur PhD opinion bc my seph thoughts are not as developed. i know in my heart of hearts A Real Genuine Genesis laugh is a hyena cackle with clapping and rearing back and everything. another case of "is this dramatics" and it's not he's just got big feelings. all of them unfortunately. even that time a real ojousama laugh possessed him and okay he's little embarrassed about that one but she was real. a

i will PERISH LIKE A BEAST on the hill of A Real Genuine Angeal laugh is either so charmingly boyish half the room falls in love with him or a near terminal case of the giggles where if you somehow don't come out not enamored you cannot resist the contagion. he's aware of the gap moe. he cannot forget the joint lecture zack and genesis gave him about gap moe and how it applies to him

but a sane sephi laugh! my options are so limitless!!! we know post nibelheim he's too in the soup for more than a villainous heh and some chuckles. what happens to presoup seph in terms of critical character analysis like laughter headcanons!! is he just really flushed? just shit laugh all around good job buddy- worst they ever did it? maybe he snorts if the joke is good enough......... leaves you several fine nuts and grains i had in my pocket but i arrange them into a KILL HOJO sign

I love these. I LOVE ALL OF THESE ASRDFGHJGFDFGHG SO MUCH

SEE ALSO:

Genesis unable to keep a straight face during his giggle fit, constantly cracking up regardless of whether or not the "funny incident" happened forty minutes ago. His friends are genuinely concerned and think he's having some kind of mental breakdown. He's completely immobile and faceplanting on the couch, occasionally twitching. Angeal and Sephiroth draw straws for the honor of poking the body.

Angeal lighting up the entire room with a full belly laugh. In that moment, he's more gorgeous than Genesis and Sephiroth combined. A literal beacon, glowing for all to see. Genesis and Sephiroth stand there in absolute awe because LOOK at this precious oaf. LOOK at him. They both have literal heart-eyes just admiring his ANGEALness.

To answer your Seph question, Sephiroth is a wide spectrum of laughs. Silent little stone-faced convulsions. Smooth, rumbling chuckles. A soft smile, the laughter completely absent save for the way his eyes are glittering mischievously. So beautiful. So refined. So elegant. Like a walking work of art....only for everyone within a five mile radius to run for the fucking hills when he laughs for REAL because that shit is the stuff of nightmares and they are convinced Satan is in the room with them damning souls to Hell. You never know just what you'll get with Sephiroth. A boyish giggle that's endearingly childlike. A suave, smirking half-grunt of amusement. An immature snort over something suggestive Genesis whispers in his ear. Or Satan-sounds. The Awakening of Paimon. Fucking Bagul. That horror movie shit lmao.